Chapter 17
Spike thought things would be different somehow. He didn't know what would change, or how, but he counted on something being different. But things seemed normal.
Well, no, not quite normal. Things were never normal for Spike. It definitely wasn't normal to be drinking eggnog in Buffy's house and watching Scrooged with Dawn. He'd never admit it, but he thought Bill Murray was pretty funny. It wasn't normal to exchange presents with Harris, and it wasn't normal to exchange stories with Giles.
Spike hadn't celebrated Christmas for years and years. Sometimes he and Dru would attack a group of carolers, or those Salvation Army Santas.Spike felt a sharp pain at the thought of Drusilla. He didn't think of her often. Quite frankly, he had been too busy the past few months to spare you much more than a second or two. Honestly, he wished that she hadn't died. Drusilla was not supposed to die. But vampires weren't supposed to love Slayers, and watch Christmas movies, and agonize over carefully chosen gifts for a bunch of soddin' humans either.
He heard something shatter in the kitchen and Buffy's muffled curse. He would have ignored it-she made it quite clear that she didn't want help- but he also smelt her blood wafting through the air. He jumped up and hurried into the other room.
"Pet, you ok?"
She was holding her hand under the running water. "Yeah, I think I am. Just a little nick."
Spike pursed his lips, "Let me see."
"No, I'm fine."
"Slayer, don't be such a baby."
"I'm not a baby!" She whined.
Spike smiled and crossed over to her side, gently taking her wrist in his hand. He pulled her hand away from the sink and frowned.
"This is a lot more than just a little nick."
"I'll be fine. I have super-super healing powers now," Buffy shrugged.
"Yes, you do," Spike agreed softly, mesmerized by the tiny, scarlet rivulets flowing down her arm. He could feel his demon struggle for relief, and his face changed and reverted to normal in a flash. It was fast, but not so fast that Buffy didn't catch it.
"Spike, what's wrong?"
"What?" He looked slightly dazed.
"Why are you staring at me like I'm the All You Can Eat Buffy."
"I'm not," Spike said weakly, his gaze still locked on her wrist. She pulled away from him and in the same motion, pushed him.
"Damnit Spike! Snap out of it!"
"Is everything OK in there?" Giles called from the dining room where he was immersed in research. Buffy knew he wouldn't stop until he figured out what the hell was going on with her. And why it hadn't happened yet.
"We're fine!" Buffy called. She stared pointedly at Spike and said softly, "Aren't we?"
"What? Yeah." His face cleared as soon as she bandaged her arm. His reaction to her blood wasn't unexpected, but it still gave her the wiggins. She tried to hide her wound from him because he had been doing this ever since she got back from the hospital. He used to clean her various battle injuries and bandage them, giving no outward sign of the distress it caused him to be that close to her lifeblood. But now the slightest scent of it would send him a million miles away.
"Spike, seriously, what's going on?"
He took a slight step back, unwilling to tell her what he had been going through lately. He was increasingly sensitive and hyper, easily distracted. He didn't want to kill anybody, but at the same time, he couldn't think of anything else than dark, sweet, fear drenched blood filling his mouth and sliding down his throat in hot, delicious bursts...and shit, there he goes again.
"I...don't know," he confessed.
"It's the blood." Not a question.
He nodded his hand, no sense in lying to her. "I haven't had bloodlust like this since I was a fledgling."
"Why?"
Spike shrugged, "I don't know."
"For how long?"
"Since I drank from you."
"You wouldn't.." Buffy didn't want to finish the sentence though.
"I would never drink from anybody, Buffy. Never," Spike insisted earnestly.
Buffy reached up and cupped his face, "I know."
Spike decided to change the subject, "So, what's going on here?"
Buffy grimaced as she bent to pick up glass shards. "I dropped the casserole dish. Fortunately, there wasn't anything in it."
"Are you sure you don't want any help in here?"
She threw the broken dish away and looked at him skeptically. "You know how to cook Christmas dinner?"
"Well, not exactly, but I can offer advice. And moral support." He lit a cigarette and sat down on one of the barstools at the counter.
"Don't smoke in here! You'll get ash in the food. Put it out!"
"Make me," he smirked.
"Oh, I'll make you." She reached up and plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth and tossed it nonchalantly into the sink.
"Bitch," he snarled.
"Oooh, did I make the Big Bad mad?" She taunted.
"I'll show you mad!" He lunged across the counter and knocked the flour onto the floor. A white cloud puffed into the air.
"Look what you..." Her words were cut off by Spike's demanding lips. Suddenly, she didn't care about the white powder covering her kitchen, as his hands found their way under her shirt.
"Spike," she moaned.
"Yes, luv?" He said softly.
"I've got pies in the oven..." She broke away from him, and for the second time in ten minutes, pushed Spike away. He growled, but stepped back.
"We'll have plenty of time for that later," she promised him.
"We'll need it," he winked.
Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge and went back to his spot on the sofa.
"Is she ok in there?" Xander asked.
"Stubborn, but fine."
"Why does she always insist on making holiday meals herself?" Dawn demanded.
Spike shrugged, "She like's playing Mama Hen once in awhile."
They lapsed into comfortable silence, watching the end of the movie. Spike had to admit that he was moved by Bill Murray's final speech, but that poncey song afterward was almost too much, so he excused himself to the dining room, where Giles and Willow were hunched over their books.
"Anything?"
Willow shook her head. "Nope. Big on the frustrating."
Giles nodded in silent agreement. He was reaching the end of his patience-almost to the brink. This was a point that even Buffy, in her most aggravating cheerleading days, had never pushed him to.
He looked at the blonde vampire briefly. He was still not quite comfortable with him, but that was something he would just have to get over. Willow had told him that Spike had an enormous amount of power and strength in his aura-more so than anybody she had ever seen except Buffy. Spike was not someone he wanted on his bad side right now.
Giles had also noticed a difference in the vampire's attitude. He was always a bit over-active, but now he was down right hyper. He jumped and hopped from room to room; he prowled the streets late at night, alone, patrolling. Giles didn't think that Spike had slept in days.
Spike shifted his weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. "Shouldn't we be different now or something?"
"We don't know Spike. We're working on it."
"Yeah, yeah." He didn't wait around to hear more of their hemming and hawing. He marched upstairs, searching for something, but not sure of what. Not only had he been dealing with intense bloodlust, he also had the feeling that he had lost something. Something vital. It was unnerving to say the least.
He flopped down on Buffy's bed-his bed too-and stared at the ceiling. Not normal, nothing normal. And nothing is different either. Except everything was different and not just the obvious things. It was driving him crazy.
It felt like minutes, but it was probably closer to hours, rushed by, as Spike was deep in thought. Buffy poked her head into the room. "Dinner," she said brightly.
"Not hungry," he muttered.
"Spike, it's Christmas Dinner."
"Well, the Big Bad isn't big on the old holiday cheer."
Buffy frowned, "Food. You like food. I even made **special** gravy for you."
"Why do you even celebrate Christmas? You're not religious at all."
Buffy sat down beside Spike. "Well, it's not just about the religious part. Christmas is about family, and friends, and being close and sharing."
"You sound like a bloody Hallmark commercial."
"You haven't been Mr. Grumpy for awhile. What's wrong with you?"
"Can't you feel it Buffy?"
"Feel what?"
"Something's missing."
"Everything feels normal to me.."
"Exactly," Spike said triumphantly, "Everything feels normal. But everything is normal, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at your hand?"
She unwrapped the bandage, and saw that her skin was completely flawless and perfectly healed.
"Point."
"I feel like we're running in place, Buffy. I feel like we're caged in...I can't stand this waiting."
Well, Buffy thought, that's really nothing new. "I know. But we still have to eat Christmas dinner."
Before Spike could respond, the room started to shake. A normal person in Southern California would simply pass it off as an earthquake, but Buffy's first thought was **Apocalypse**.
As soon as the shaking stopped, the room was plunged into darkness. Buffy felt panic well up inside her as her senses told her that she was alone---and that she was no longer in her room.
Spike thought things would be different somehow. He didn't know what would change, or how, but he counted on something being different. But things seemed normal.
Well, no, not quite normal. Things were never normal for Spike. It definitely wasn't normal to be drinking eggnog in Buffy's house and watching Scrooged with Dawn. He'd never admit it, but he thought Bill Murray was pretty funny. It wasn't normal to exchange presents with Harris, and it wasn't normal to exchange stories with Giles.
Spike hadn't celebrated Christmas for years and years. Sometimes he and Dru would attack a group of carolers, or those Salvation Army Santas.Spike felt a sharp pain at the thought of Drusilla. He didn't think of her often. Quite frankly, he had been too busy the past few months to spare you much more than a second or two. Honestly, he wished that she hadn't died. Drusilla was not supposed to die. But vampires weren't supposed to love Slayers, and watch Christmas movies, and agonize over carefully chosen gifts for a bunch of soddin' humans either.
He heard something shatter in the kitchen and Buffy's muffled curse. He would have ignored it-she made it quite clear that she didn't want help- but he also smelt her blood wafting through the air. He jumped up and hurried into the other room.
"Pet, you ok?"
She was holding her hand under the running water. "Yeah, I think I am. Just a little nick."
Spike pursed his lips, "Let me see."
"No, I'm fine."
"Slayer, don't be such a baby."
"I'm not a baby!" She whined.
Spike smiled and crossed over to her side, gently taking her wrist in his hand. He pulled her hand away from the sink and frowned.
"This is a lot more than just a little nick."
"I'll be fine. I have super-super healing powers now," Buffy shrugged.
"Yes, you do," Spike agreed softly, mesmerized by the tiny, scarlet rivulets flowing down her arm. He could feel his demon struggle for relief, and his face changed and reverted to normal in a flash. It was fast, but not so fast that Buffy didn't catch it.
"Spike, what's wrong?"
"What?" He looked slightly dazed.
"Why are you staring at me like I'm the All You Can Eat Buffy."
"I'm not," Spike said weakly, his gaze still locked on her wrist. She pulled away from him and in the same motion, pushed him.
"Damnit Spike! Snap out of it!"
"Is everything OK in there?" Giles called from the dining room where he was immersed in research. Buffy knew he wouldn't stop until he figured out what the hell was going on with her. And why it hadn't happened yet.
"We're fine!" Buffy called. She stared pointedly at Spike and said softly, "Aren't we?"
"What? Yeah." His face cleared as soon as she bandaged her arm. His reaction to her blood wasn't unexpected, but it still gave her the wiggins. She tried to hide her wound from him because he had been doing this ever since she got back from the hospital. He used to clean her various battle injuries and bandage them, giving no outward sign of the distress it caused him to be that close to her lifeblood. But now the slightest scent of it would send him a million miles away.
"Spike, seriously, what's going on?"
He took a slight step back, unwilling to tell her what he had been going through lately. He was increasingly sensitive and hyper, easily distracted. He didn't want to kill anybody, but at the same time, he couldn't think of anything else than dark, sweet, fear drenched blood filling his mouth and sliding down his throat in hot, delicious bursts...and shit, there he goes again.
"I...don't know," he confessed.
"It's the blood." Not a question.
He nodded his hand, no sense in lying to her. "I haven't had bloodlust like this since I was a fledgling."
"Why?"
Spike shrugged, "I don't know."
"For how long?"
"Since I drank from you."
"You wouldn't.." Buffy didn't want to finish the sentence though.
"I would never drink from anybody, Buffy. Never," Spike insisted earnestly.
Buffy reached up and cupped his face, "I know."
Spike decided to change the subject, "So, what's going on here?"
Buffy grimaced as she bent to pick up glass shards. "I dropped the casserole dish. Fortunately, there wasn't anything in it."
"Are you sure you don't want any help in here?"
She threw the broken dish away and looked at him skeptically. "You know how to cook Christmas dinner?"
"Well, not exactly, but I can offer advice. And moral support." He lit a cigarette and sat down on one of the barstools at the counter.
"Don't smoke in here! You'll get ash in the food. Put it out!"
"Make me," he smirked.
"Oh, I'll make you." She reached up and plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth and tossed it nonchalantly into the sink.
"Bitch," he snarled.
"Oooh, did I make the Big Bad mad?" She taunted.
"I'll show you mad!" He lunged across the counter and knocked the flour onto the floor. A white cloud puffed into the air.
"Look what you..." Her words were cut off by Spike's demanding lips. Suddenly, she didn't care about the white powder covering her kitchen, as his hands found their way under her shirt.
"Spike," she moaned.
"Yes, luv?" He said softly.
"I've got pies in the oven..." She broke away from him, and for the second time in ten minutes, pushed Spike away. He growled, but stepped back.
"We'll have plenty of time for that later," she promised him.
"We'll need it," he winked.
Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge and went back to his spot on the sofa.
"Is she ok in there?" Xander asked.
"Stubborn, but fine."
"Why does she always insist on making holiday meals herself?" Dawn demanded.
Spike shrugged, "She like's playing Mama Hen once in awhile."
They lapsed into comfortable silence, watching the end of the movie. Spike had to admit that he was moved by Bill Murray's final speech, but that poncey song afterward was almost too much, so he excused himself to the dining room, where Giles and Willow were hunched over their books.
"Anything?"
Willow shook her head. "Nope. Big on the frustrating."
Giles nodded in silent agreement. He was reaching the end of his patience-almost to the brink. This was a point that even Buffy, in her most aggravating cheerleading days, had never pushed him to.
He looked at the blonde vampire briefly. He was still not quite comfortable with him, but that was something he would just have to get over. Willow had told him that Spike had an enormous amount of power and strength in his aura-more so than anybody she had ever seen except Buffy. Spike was not someone he wanted on his bad side right now.
Giles had also noticed a difference in the vampire's attitude. He was always a bit over-active, but now he was down right hyper. He jumped and hopped from room to room; he prowled the streets late at night, alone, patrolling. Giles didn't think that Spike had slept in days.
Spike shifted his weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. "Shouldn't we be different now or something?"
"We don't know Spike. We're working on it."
"Yeah, yeah." He didn't wait around to hear more of their hemming and hawing. He marched upstairs, searching for something, but not sure of what. Not only had he been dealing with intense bloodlust, he also had the feeling that he had lost something. Something vital. It was unnerving to say the least.
He flopped down on Buffy's bed-his bed too-and stared at the ceiling. Not normal, nothing normal. And nothing is different either. Except everything was different and not just the obvious things. It was driving him crazy.
It felt like minutes, but it was probably closer to hours, rushed by, as Spike was deep in thought. Buffy poked her head into the room. "Dinner," she said brightly.
"Not hungry," he muttered.
"Spike, it's Christmas Dinner."
"Well, the Big Bad isn't big on the old holiday cheer."
Buffy frowned, "Food. You like food. I even made **special** gravy for you."
"Why do you even celebrate Christmas? You're not religious at all."
Buffy sat down beside Spike. "Well, it's not just about the religious part. Christmas is about family, and friends, and being close and sharing."
"You sound like a bloody Hallmark commercial."
"You haven't been Mr. Grumpy for awhile. What's wrong with you?"
"Can't you feel it Buffy?"
"Feel what?"
"Something's missing."
"Everything feels normal to me.."
"Exactly," Spike said triumphantly, "Everything feels normal. But everything is normal, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at your hand?"
She unwrapped the bandage, and saw that her skin was completely flawless and perfectly healed.
"Point."
"I feel like we're running in place, Buffy. I feel like we're caged in...I can't stand this waiting."
Well, Buffy thought, that's really nothing new. "I know. But we still have to eat Christmas dinner."
Before Spike could respond, the room started to shake. A normal person in Southern California would simply pass it off as an earthquake, but Buffy's first thought was **Apocalypse**.
As soon as the shaking stopped, the room was plunged into darkness. Buffy felt panic well up inside her as her senses told her that she was alone---and that she was no longer in her room.