"So it's a Scooby Christmas," Xander said, hugging his winter coat tighter. "Not loving the cold, but otherwise it sounds good." He sat on the hill overlooking the Quidditch field. Willow, wrapped in a blanket and several sweatshirts stolen from Grey, lounged beside him. Dawn had gone off with Harry and Ron; Buffy had wandered off to have her talk with Spike, while Giles and Hermione remained in the library. Grey left early for London.
"That it is. Not so much wishing for anything else, either." She really liked the fact that she and Xander had squeezed some time alone together. "How's the ol' homestead?"
"Good, surprisingly. New uber-vamp in town, some ex-Order-of-Aurelius Master wannabe. We're thrashing his minions off and on. I'm enjoying it."
"You know, if you guys need help, I'm a magically-free phone call away."
"I know. Thanks." Xander smiled.
"I kind of meant, how are you? As in you, Xander, my bestest bud."
He sighed. Willow abruptly appreciated how old they were both getting. The years of group slayage had worn lines on his face that she didn't remember from high school. She wondered if she had them too.
"Honest?" She nodded. "A little tired. I miss Anya."
"Kinda figured. No movement on that front?"
"Nah. Not since the giant spider episode when she lost her powers. We talk a little, in groups. She slays with us. But we're strictly friend-zone."
"No other prospects?"
"Probably could be, I guess. I can't say I'm big with the looking, though."
"Give it time, Xand." Her mitten-clad hand patted his. "One way or another, time will heal it." He shrugged. They spent five minutes in silence before he spoke again.
"Ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"No more vanilla?" She had worn vanilla as long as he could remember. Hugging her earlier, the sharp tang of cinnamon took him by surprise.
"You know that girl Jess? The one in Buffy's dream?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, she's Grey's ex, and he smelled the vanilla, which she wore a lot, and it brought on the wig the first time we almost kissed."
He appraised her with a long look.
"So you really like this guy, huh?"
"Yup. Officially head-over-heels. He makes me tingly." She knew she wore a dopey ear-to-ear smile and didn't care. She ignored again the pang of apprehension about the recent revelations on the Jess front. That was a Tara or Buffy discussion, not a Xander discussion.
"He seems a little … broody. Like Angel, sort of?"
"It isn't him. He's not like that with me. It's this whole defensive thing he does, because we're trying to put the good-whammy on his ex-girlfriend the Big Bad. Plus, definitely not with the Angel-esque guilt."
"High walls?"
"The highest. The Walls of Jericho pale in comparison."
"Don't misunderstand. I like him. I just want to make sure he's okay for my Willow, you know?"
"I know, Xand. Thanks." She felt warm inside, understanding that she had just received the Xander seal of approval. She knew Grey liked Xander a lot. It made her happy to at least semi-avoid the normal Scooby relationship conflict. It almost seemed required by now. "He's … we've gotten really close, really fast. There's a lot of stuff about him that reminds me of you. The toys and comic books, plus the endlessly loyal-ness."
"You never said comic books. He has comic books?"
"Lots," she confirmed.
"I think you should marry him. Quickly." They both laughed.
"What's up with the Buffy-Spike huggage?"
"I think she misses him," Xander said, a pained look on his face. "We hang, but it isn't the same for her. I think she lacks a real foil, you know?"
"Foil-less is bad. Especially a witless foil like Spike. I know you, though, Xander. You must be pretty not okay with this."
He sighed.
"After … what happened with Anya, I'm trying to do less judging. I'm failing at it, but I'm trying."
"You knew it was coming."
"I thought it might. The Dawnster and I talked about the possibility over pizza. She wanted to make sure I didn't 'pull a Xander' and do something dumb." Willow chuckled.
"You do have a knack for doing the wrong things about Buffy's boyfriends."
"I don't think she loves him or anything. Not without a soul. If he had a soul, I'd start to do the Scooby dating dance of worry." His voice sounded far away. "I think she's lonely. I don't want her to be lonely." She patted his hand again, following his train of thought.
"You'll find somebody, Xander. So says Willow, seer of fortunes and futures, predictor of hopes, dreams, and the occasional Xander miscue."
He gave her a pure Xander grin, the one that was amused and thankful that she would always be his friend.
Grey always wondered why the shop smelled like toffee. All of the wonderful flavors floating around, but only the toffee dominated.
"Aah, knew you'd be back, I did," Miss Agnes said when he entered. She could have played the crone out of any fairy tale, but he thought she was a fabulous old woman. "What flavor does your lady fancy this year?"
"Apple cinnamon," he said, trying to sound bright as he approached the counter. She fished around for her wand and swished it experimentally while he spoke. "Just like every year. How have you been, ma'am?"
"Still alive, mostly," she said, cackling at her weak joke. "Truth is, you'll probably come back next year and find a pub." She said that every year. He wondered how old she really was. "And you, dearie?"
"Oh, just fine, you know."
She inspected him like a fly in soup.
"Don'tcha be lyin' to Miss Agnes, young man. Too old for that nonsense. I can smell it on you. Troubles with your lady?"
"No, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. "No troubles at all."
"Must be a different lady then." He gaped. "I didn't get to be an old witch by not payin' attention, young man. Tell me, how long ago did she leave?"
"Seven months or so," he said, not knowing why he was answering.
"And you're still buyin' her popcorn?"
"She's … it's complicated. We're not together. I'm hoping we might be friends."
"Well, good luck to you with that, dear. I'm sure the new one is very nice, too."
"How did…"
"You changed your smell." Miss Agnes gave him a knowing smile. In a younger person it might have been a leer. "Always smelled like vanilla, you did. 'S how I knew you were lying. You smell like cinnamon now, boy." He shook his head, marveling that she could smell Willow on him with all of the other scents in the room. "Is this for the new one, or the old one?"
"For the old one. Just a small tub this time, please."
The elderly witch nodded, peering at the table in concentration. She muttered an incantation and moved her wand about. Two tubs appeared, each a quarter of the size of the one he normally bought. She handed him the left one. "Apple cinnamon, for your friend."
"Thanks, Miss Agnes." She lifted the second tin. "Oh no, really, this is fine."
"Wasn't askin' yer opinion, was I?" She handed it to him. "This one's from me. For the woman you love."
"Oh, wait, don't misunderstand, I don't …"
Her glare shut him up.
"You live in here?"
"Problem, Slayer? S'a lot less drafty than the crypt, at least."
Buffy looked around Spike's apartment. He occupied an old, unused dungeon in the Hogwarts basement. She noticed that he had a stereo and a fridge, but neither was plugged in.
"Why do you have those if they don't work?"
"They work. Dumbledore enchanted 'em, like the Watcher's cell phone."
"I get it," she said. "No t.v. though. How do you watch Passions?" She knew the answer, via Willow, but she wanted to see Spike huff and puff.
"I don't, which you bloody well know. He enchanted the telly but it got bollocks for reception, and we're a few blocks from a video store here." His growling over missing his soaps made her laugh.
Spike lit a cigarette and dropped down on a worn sofa. She took an armchair.
"You wanted to talk, Slayer. So talk. Come to brag on about your new honey, have you?" She shook her head.
"No new honey, Spike." Unsure how to begin, or even what she wanted to say, she stalled. "Grey told you I missed you?"
"Yeah. Tol' me you called me your Spike."
"Drusilla was being all possessive. I was trying to distract her so I could get to Tara," she lied.
"About what I figured," he said. Damn. Knew that was what happened. Stupid Jedi, getting my hopes up.
"You aren't hurt, right? From her visit?"
"Not that you actually care, but no."
"I care," she said weakly.
"Don't want Spike goin' bad again, eh? Worried that his dark goddess will come and tempt him back?"
She looked at him with Slayer eyes.
"No. You know that isn't it. Stop being so … Spike."
"Why are you here, then? Can't really give you info about some baddies, can I? Or are you looking for somethin' a bit more … personal?" He leered at her, inspecting her curves.
"We're over, Spike. I told you that." She gave him a look of disgust.
"So? What is it?" Buffy sighed.
"I don't know. I just … feel like things are unsettled between us, despite the over-ness."
"'Zat bother you, pet?" What the bloody hell is she up to?
"Kind of."
"So you do miss me, then?"
With a pained grimace, she nodded.
"I know why you did what you did, Slayer. I don't want you to hurt because of that. Where are you goin' with this?"
"I guess I just … I don't know. I should just go." She rose and walked towards the door.
"Buffy." Sincere Spike voice. Oh no. "Stop." She halted. "You want to talk. Fine. We'll talk."
"I don't know what I want to say, really. I don't feel bad about what happened, but I kind of need to … ask you something, and I feel bad about that."
"Care to let the vampire take a stab at it? It's you, the nibblet, Chubs, and Demon Girl now. You're the undisputed head of the class in that bunch. You wish you had me to talk to, but you felt bad using me for shaggin' and sent me away. Now you want me back for the non-shag parts, but you don't want to ask."
"When did you go all percepto-guy?" His explanation sounded eerily correct. The new Scoobie dynamic had her feeling really alone. Spike, for all his annoying Spike-ness, she thought, understands me. I could talk to him.
"Lived a long time, luv, an' I used to be a poet. I know a lot about people and emotion."
She sat back down, heavily, knowing what she wanted to do and summoning the courage.
"Will you come back? According to Willow, you don't have much going on here."
"Can I get a moment of honesty from you, luv?" She nodded. "If I come back, is it for the talking only?"
"Spike … I can't have you in my life that way. Don't you see? It isn't fair."
"But it's fair to use me as your vamp-shrink?"
"It's different. I won't be leading you on that way." He raised his scarred eyebrow. "What?"
"If you think that, then you don't know me, Buffy. The shaggin' is good, but love is a thing of the mind. I couldn't be a part of your life that way without the hope surviving."
"You won't come back," she said, crestfallen.
"What would it take for you to love me?"
"Don't go there, Spike. Just … don't."
"That's what I thought. The answer is no, luv. I'm stayin' here."
"I … I understand. It wasn't fair of me to ask."
"Probably not, but I appreciate that you did. Makes me think you almost see me as a real person." She let that pass, as he knew she would.
"Can you do one other thing for me, instead?"
"What's that?"
"Keep an eye on Willow? Please?"
"No harm'll come to Red, Slayer. My word on it." She nodded.
"Thanks. And Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"It was good to see you." She said it softly as she left.
He sat alone in the dungeon afterwards, thinking about who and what he was. Briefly, he wondered if Buffy was more important to him than he was to himself. He knew the answer right away.
"Damn," he said aloud.