Series: Mortal Allies
Story Title: Episode 3, Postcards From the Edge
Chapter 5: Santa Worship
By: Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who is reading and extra sloppy doggie-Spike kisses to everyone who has left a comment or a 'like'/'kudos'. It seriously means so much to me, you have no idea!
Some dialogue borrowed from 'Amends'.
Warning for this chapter: Angel will be telling Buffy just what he did to Dru before turning her. It is not terribly graphic - I will let you draw your own mental images - but still is disturbing with more detail (including references to rape) than what was given in canon, so just be prepared.
As always, my undying gratitude to Holi117 and PaganBaby for their betaing, encouragement, idea-bouncing, banner-making, and overall awesomeness!
Chapter 5: Santa Worship
Sunnydale.
The twinkling lights of the town on Christmas morning were spread out beneath them, but Angel and Buffy weren't focused on those earthbound stars. Something Giles called 'The First Evil' had come to town this year instead of Santa, and everything had gotten twisted and tattered. Buffy had wanted Angel to tell her about Angelus – well, in some ways she'd gotten more than she'd bargained for. Dreams. Dreams shared with Angel. Dreams of her first love killing and raping, and laughing all the while.
"It told me to kill you!" Angel reminded Buffy as he waited on the hilltop for the sunrise. "You were in the dream. You know! It told me to lose my soul in you and become a monster again."
"I know what it told you. What does it matter? It's not ever going to happen," she assured him, her voice pleading as she watched the sky lighten in the east.
Yes, she'd been angry with Angel lately, annoyed with him, but he had started talking to her, giving her what she knew were abridged versions of the life and times of Angelus. And, yes, she was worried that what happened between them could happen again – not between them, but with Angel and another Slayer, in another time. That Angelus could be freed again. But even with all that, Buffy didn't want him dust. Maybe she should want that, but she'd killed him once already, and it had nearly destroyed her. She'd grown since then, healed, hardened, and she could honestly say she was not in love with him, she wasn't sure she even liked him half the time… but he was in her heart. Angel was her first – her first everything. Her first love, her first lover, her first heartbreak – and that kind of connection just didn't go away. He'd always be part of her – good or bad, what they'd done had shaped her, changed her, become part of who she was, like DNA.
"It matters because I wanted to!" Angel admitted. "Because I want you so badly! I want to take comfort in you, and I know it'll cost me my soul, and a part of me doesn't care. Look, I'm weak. I've never been anything else. It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man."
"Oh! You're not perfect? You're weak? Everybody is! Everybody fails. But we get back up! We try again! We do better!" she insisted. "Angel, you have the power to do real good in the world, to make amends. But if you die now, then all that you ever were was a monster."
"Maybe that's all I've ever been!" Angel retorted.
"It's NOT all you've ever been," Buffy shot back, anger overtaking her fear of the coming sunrise. If he was nothing more than a monster, then what was she? The girl who had loved him? The girl who had felt the world ending when she'd killed him? If he was a monster, what did that make her? "If it was, then killing you wouldn't have shattered me! If you won't live for yourself, then live for me. I can't watch you die… not again."
"Then go!"
"NO!"
"You can never understand what I've done!" Angel insisted. "What I've told you… it's… God help me, it's not even a tenth of the pain I inflicted, the lives I took, the damage I've done."
"Then tell me what you've done! All of it! Make me understand! I'm not a naive little girl anymore, Angel. I can take the truth. And, when you're done, if I think all you are is a monster, that there is no good in you at all, then… then I'll stake you myself."
Angel stared at her, tears of frustration and fear streaming down his cheeks. "Do you promise?" he asked softly.
Buffy nodded, her own tears flowing in hot rivers down her face, dripping from her chin. "I promise."
The big man dropped to his knees before her, wrapped his arms around her, and sobbed.
"Angel, the sun," she warned, trying to pull free, but he just held on tighter, not moving.
"I'm so afraid, Buffy," he cried against her. "The demon's always there… it wants out, it wants you in every way… in horrific, vile ways. And the man… God help me, Buffy… he wants you, too."
Buffy began to wrench his arms from around her when the first snowflake landed on her face. She looked up at the suddenly cloud-cloaked sky and more snowflakes joined the first, freezing her tears to her lashes. She sighed in relief and wrapped her arms around his bowed head, holding him to her.
"It'll be okay, Angel… I promise," Buffy murmured as his shoulders trembled with his sobs and he clung to her, desperate and afraid as snow covered them in a white, icy shroud.
** X-X-X-X-X **
"Maybe you shouldn't have come over," Xander told Willow on Christmas morning as she sat down in the grass next to his sleeping bag where he was camped in his backyard. His parents had started drinking on Christmas Eve – the morning of Christmas Eve. They'd begun fighting by the afternoon. He'd escaped to the backyard long before the Christmas lights had blinked on up and down the street, unable to stand to listen another moment.
"W-we can't even be friends, anymore?" the redhead pouted. "We've always been friends. I used to come over all the time, and I hated thinking of you all alone out here with your pagan Santa-worshipping rituals."
"And I appreciate that, but…"
"We stopped. It's all good," Willow assured him confidently. "It's been, like, five whole weeks since we… you know."
"Except that time in the library…" he reminded her.
"Well, yeah, that," she agreed. "But we were both really tired and our defenses were down."
"And that time walking home from Angel's after Spike ripped that crazy-fake-Watcher's arm off," Xander added. "And can I just add, that dog is kinda scary at times."
"Okay, sure, there was that. But exception for trauma and scary dogs," Willow excused.
"And that time—"
"Anyway, I brought donuts!" she interrupted, opening the red and green box. "Look! They're in the shape of trees."
"Well, in that case, you can stay." Xander sat up, reaching for one of the brightly-decorated treats. "Oh! Crème filled, too!" he exclaimed excitedly.
Willow smiled and picked one of her own. This was fine. They could totally be together alone as friends, just like they always had. They'd completely stopped with the inappropriate kissage… or, well, mostly. Just a couple… okay, a few slips was all. It was no big deal. Spike – the vampire, that is – calling them out at Buffy's that night had been a huge wakeup call! It could've been so much worse! Yeah, Buffy kept asking her what was going on between them, but Willow could answer honestly: nothing was going on. There was absolutely nothing going on here but friendship. Old friends sharing donuts in the backyard on Christmas morning. What could be more normal than that?
Did Xander know he had green icing on his lip? Maybe she should just… you know, wipe it off, as friends would do for friends. Oh… oh, my… how did her finger get into his mouth? What was his tongue doing? Oh… goddess. That was… wow. And… look, more icing on his lip, she could just kiss that off and taste that tongue… Oh my.
They both jerked back, eyes wide, lips tingling, tongues coated with too-sweet icing. A snowflake fell from the sky and clung to Willow's eyelash. She blinked in surprise, but it didn't budge. Xander reached over and gently swept it off. They both looked up at the sky as more and more snowflakes fell.
"Snow in Sunnydale exception?" Xander asked, looking back at her hopefully.
Willow's sweet lips curled into an impious smile as she licked some of the crème filling from her donut and leaned in for an illicit kiss beneath the snowy sky. Just this one last time.
** X-X-X-X-X **
Mexico.
Spike was just wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth as he left the bodega in Pisté, his stolen treasures tucked up within his duster, getting ready to head back to their room.
Dru was off running with the spirits of the jaguar warriors through the jungles around Chichén Itzá. She'd been better since arriving at the Mayan ruins, less disagreeable and more attentive to her childe. Running through the bloody jungle was just what she needed, apparently. Spike joined her the first couple of times, but he'd never seen any ghosts or any jaguars – a few rabbits and deer was about it. He'd rather watch the telly back in their room, if he was honest. 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' would be on soon.
He looked at the postcard in his hand and smiled, wondering how Buffy spent Christmas mornings. Spike hadn't celebrated in over a century, but he'd seen enough TV shows and movies to know how it was supposed to be – festive tree, lots of colorfully wrapped gifts beneath it, candy canes and fruitcake, a fire crackling in the fireplace, carolers, eggnog, a turkey in the oven, snow on the ground. He chuckled, be no snow in Sunnydale, of course.
He wondered what the Slayer would be asking Santa for for Christmas. Stakes? Crossbows? A new battle-axe? If he was there, he'd get her some proper music, that's what he'd get the girl. And some chocolate… one o' those sampler things. He'd get rid of that flavor-key on the lid, though. No fun having a sampler if ya know what you're getting before you bite into something nasty. Like playing chocolate roulette.
Spike laughed, thinking of Buffy's face if she got one of those cherry ones – how she'd shudder in disgust, how her nose would wrinkle up. She'd want to spit it out, of course, but couldn't, being too polite and all – have to swallow it. God, the face she'd pull! Be priceless, that would! Yeah, that's what he'd get her, he decided as he dropped the postcard into the letter box on the sidewalk and kept moving down the block, still smiling, his belly full, and the nicked cigarettes and liquor tangible weights in his pockets.
** X-X-X-X-X **
Sunnydale.
Sitting in the school library, Buffy tapped an impatient staccato with her pen on the table as she looked over her notes in the journal in front of her. Her 'interviews with a vampire' had begun in earnest after that last dance at the Bronze. She knew Angel hadn't been 100% candid with his descriptions of events, and he'd confirmed that yesterday morning on the hill, but that wasn't really the important thing. She just needed to know dates and places to piece together a timeline. Had he been stalking Slayers or not?
Of course, Angel didn't really know the motive behind the interviews – at least Buffy hoped not. All she'd told him was that Giles was making her document Angel's history as punishment for not consulting her Watcher prior to going off with Spike to save Dru. It seemed like a good cover, since no way in hell would Buffy freely choose to do research of any sort.
She heard someone moving around up in the stacks and looked up to see Angel emerge from behind a bookcase and begin down the stairs. "I wasn't sure if you'd come today," she said in greeting, watching him as he made his way to the seat across from her. "After… you know, the whole 'Man from Snowy Sunnydale' thing yesterday."
"It's the only time I really get to talk to you," he admitted, his voice resigned. "Well, now and, I guess when you're saving me from the sunrise."
"Well, credit the Powers That Be with the saving. Snow in Sunnydale? Even at Christmas that is not of the normal," she pointed out.
"I guess, but I'm not sure they're the best judges. I trust you, Buffy. You said you'd tell me… tell me if all I am is a monster," he reminded her, pulling the chair out and sitting down across from her. "Did you mean it? Will you keep your promise?"
Buffy sighed and set her pen down. "I'll keep it, but I need you to be honest with me – like, Mr. Rogers honest. What did you mean before… about the kind of man you were—are?" she asked then. "You said it wasn't the demon who needed killing, it was the man. What did you mean?"
Angel hung his head, shaking it slightly, his eyes glued to the tabletop. "I wasn't a good man, Buffy. I…"
When he didn't say anything more for several moments, Buffy suggested, "Slept around a lot?"
Angel snorted and looked back up at her, his brown eyes serious. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it."
Buffy nodded, remembering Spike's words from their road trip, "From what I hear, our Liam wasn't what you'd call the most upstanding of citizens," he'd revealed. "What do you think drew Darla to him in the first place? Watched him fight and drink and carouse, she did. Watched him fu… errr… Use the girls – whores and virgins alike – and toss 'em away like ragdolls, leaving 'em preggers or worse. Never gave 'em a second thought, never looked back. Though, I do reckon Angelus made good in the end, killin' them all, putting them outta their misery."
So, Spike had been telling her the truth about Liam's past. Not that she really doubted it, but with the animosity between the two vampires, it wouldn't have been a huge shock if Spike had embellished the tale a bit.
"What kind of man was Spike, you know, before?" she asked, the question past her lips before she could stop it. She could've kicked herself! Buffy braced for the jealous outrage from the brunette, but it oddly didn't come.
Angel arched a brow at her, but leaned back in his chair. "Why do you want to know?" he asked warily.
"Curiosity," Buffy replied.
"Curiosity killed the cat," Angel reminded her.
"But satisfaction brought it back," she countered.
"You think Spike can satisfy you?" he snarked scornfully.
"Don't be an ass," Buffy shot back, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Angel took an unneeded breath and sighed it out, apparently the only apology Buffy was going to get. "What did he tell you?"
"Are you going to answer every question with a question?" Buffy wondered, her annoyance growing. "I thought we agreed that you would truthfully answer whatever I asked." She shouldn't have asked about Spike in the first place, she knew that, but, now that she had, damn it, he should just answer her.
Angel sighed. "I will. I just want to know what he told you."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "He said that he'd 'always been bad,'" she admitted.
The brunette snorted in amusement. "Honestly, I didn't know him before Dru brought him home, but bad?" Angel shook his head. "The only thing bad about William was his poetry. That's where he got his name, you know?"
Buffy's brow furrowed. "Spike?"
"No, William, the bloody awful poet," Angel revealed. "It's what his high society friends called him behind his back… or well, not quite that far behind his back, I guess. He'd just been dumped by one of those incredibly dull, simpering morons when Dru found him, all weepy and heartbroken. Of course, he made the name a bit more literal after that."
Buffy frowned, her heart twisting oddly in her chest in sympathy for the blond vampire… or for what he had once been. "So, he was a lovelorn choirboy?" she asked, the words she'd said in jest to Spike during their trip coming back to her.
Angel chuckled darkly. "Worse – a lovelorn poet."
"Spike… he… he seems to love Dru a lot," Buffy posited hesitantly.
"She's his destiny," Angel agreed disdainfully, gesturing with his hands dramatically.
A zing of completely inappropriate jealousy shot through Buffy. Spike was so not the point of these conversations. Why had she even brought him up!? But Angel wasn't flying off the handle about it, what did it hurt? Know your enemy, right? Yeah, that's it! It just made sense for her to know as much about Spike as she could, for, you know, some later, non-truce-y time.
"Why…" Buffy began, trying to corral her thoughts and ask something meaningful to her cause. "Why do you think Spike can love and Angelus couldn't?"
Angel swallowed and looked back down at the table, shaking his head. "Spike was always… strange."
Buffy almost laughed out loud, but covered it with a cough. "How so?"
Angel looked back up at her and shrugged. "All that romantic drivel and talk about destiny and true love. I mean, I can understand it now, with my soul… after you," he admitted. "But at the time – it just wasn't… normal."
Buffy furrowed her brows. "What about Dru? She seems… fond of Spike."
Angel snorted and rolled his eyes skyward. "Dru follows the pixies… Spike follows Dru. She could cut his heart out and eat it, say she was still hungry and he'd offer her his liver."
"So, she doesn't love him?"
Angel shook his head. "Dru's not capable of love… not like we know it, anyway."
Buffy chewed her lip, considering all that, remembering Spike being injured on the road trip and Dru not helping him, not even seeming to notice his pain. "Before — last year, when you were trying to warn me about Ford — you gave me the Reader's Digest version of what happened to Dru. Tell me the rest."
"The rest of what?" he asked.
"The rest of how you turned her… how you drove her insane. It's what you were trying to do to me, wasn't it?"
"Not me. Angelus," he muttered darkly.
Buffy stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes he talked about Angelus as a different person, other times he didn't… like, he forgot to. She was less and less convinced Angel and Angelus were so separate. "Fine, Angelus," she capitulated. "Tell me what he did to her."
"You don't want to know."
"I really do," she insisted. "You agreed to tell me everything so I could decide if you were nothing but a monster – remember? If you aren't going to keep your agreement…" she threatened, beginning to close the journal.
"Fine," he acquiesced bitterly, not wanting her to leave, but then grew silent for well over a minute, perhaps two. Buffy waited, not pushing more, relying on the extra guilt The First had poured into him the last few days to work in her favor and get him to open up.
Finally, Angel took a deep breath and began, "Angelus was going to break you… like he broke Dru, turn you, keep you, but you were stronger than she was… not just your body, but your mind. She was always… fragile. Beautiful like a diamond, but if you strike at just the right angle, it shatters."
"And you knew the right angle?" Buffy prompted.
"Angelus made it his business to find weaknesses and exploit them," Angel admitted. "He killed her friends and her family, even her parish… but that's not what twisted her ability to love."
"What was?" she asked when he didn't continue.
"She was pious… innocent, a devout Catholic, virginal… so pure," he said finally, his voice soft, barely audible, his eyes on the table between them. "Before Angelus made her a demon, he made her feel things she'd never felt – heaven and hell, rapture and agony. He brought her body to the highest peaks, then plummeted her into unimaginable pain. He made her scream first in pleasure, then in anguish, then back to pleasure, over and over."
Angel paused and swallowed audibly, clearly uncomfortable, but Buffy didn't push, didn't want to push him away now that he was really opening up, telling her the whole, ugly truth.
After a few moments, he began again, still talking about Angelus in the third person, as if it wasn't the vampire across the table from Buffy who had done these things. "He shared her with… with minions – men, women… even children – let them ravage her, use her… as long as they didn't kill her, he set no limits. They took her over and over, in every way possible. They would brutalize her, then Angelus would comfort her, heal her, only to give her back to them when her tears dried. And the whole time, through her tears and her screams, through her agony and her bliss, for days and days, he told her…"
Angel stopped and clenched his jaw, making muscles bulge and tic in his cheek before continuing, "He told her what a good girl she was, and how much he loved her. And then, when she couldn't tell the difference any more between the pleasure and the pain, when she begged for both, when it all meant 'love', then I... he did the worst thing he could do – he let her go, he gave her hope.
"She fled to a convent, desperate to take her holy orders, to be cleansed and safe... safe from me, safe from herself. As soon as she thought she was free, absolved... then he delivered the final blow, broke her utterly. He snatched her hope away, reclaimed her body for himself, made her beg for it over and over again – for pain and pleasure – and finally turned her into a demon."
A thick, oppressive silence settled over them for many long moments. Buffy had to swallow, had to try and remember how to breathe, before she could ask, "You said the demon wants me in every way… in horrific, vile ways. Is that what you meant?"
Angel closed his eyes, then gave a small nod.
A frisson of fear and revulsion skittered down Buffy's spine, but she only nodded in return, and looked down at her journal, which blurred behind a layer of moisture that filled her eyes. Her heart ached for Drusilla, for what she'd been through, for what had been done to her. It explained a lot. How the insane vampire was functional at all was the biggest shock, really. She'd been a victim, as had William… as, Buffy supposed, had Liam at one time, and even Darla. Buffy shook her head. She couldn't think like that – that attitude was a very good way to get very dead very fast.
The Slayer took a breath and let it out, blinking back her tears, trying to find a way to turn the conversation to something else. She wasn't sure her stomach or her heart could handle much more brutal honestly right now, especially about someone she knew. "Spike said all vampires were different, that he and Angelus were on the opposite ends of the spectrum," she offered quietly.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Angel agreed in a hoarse whisper, seeming relieved for the change. He reached across the table and covered her small hand with his. "But all vampires are dangerous. Angelus is dangerous, Dru's dangerous. Spike's dangerous. He's got no scruples, no conscience, no morals. He's deadly, Buffy – he's killed two Slayers already. He'll kill you if he gets the chance. You've gotten lucky with him so far, but… please trust me. If he comes back, you need to take him out… or call me and I'll do it. If he kills you… I..." His voice broke and he just shook his head, unable to find words.
Buffy thought of the postcards. She thought of their road trip to rescue Dru, of Spike letting the dog in to comfort her when she'd been crying. She thought of him stopping the car and singing radio-karaoke with her. She thought of him drinking hot cocoa with her mom. Of him feeding her dog, and remembering to get him water. Of him leaving sweet surprises in her overnight bag. She didn't doubt that Spike would try to kill her given half a chance – it was his thing. But 'no scruples, no conscience, no morals'? No – that wasn't Spike at all. That was Angelus.
Buffy nodded, giving Angel what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and pulled her hand from beneath his, trying to stifle a shudder than ran through her at his touch. "Don't worry. I can handle Spike," she assured him as she picked up her pen and looked down at the journal.
"Maybe we should just get back to the timeline," she suggested. "We were up to 1771 and Rome. Where did you go after that?"
** X-X-X-X-X **
Buffy and Angel both looked up as the double doors of the library swung open sometime later. Giles came in, carrying a pile of journals in his arms, along with a large blue crystal. It was still Christmas break, so the school was quiet and empty apart from them.
"Angel, Buffy," he greeted them simply, unsurprised by their presence. "How is the assignment going?"
Buffy looked down at her notes, once again tapping the end of the pen on the journal. "We've made it to 1860," she revealed. "So, you know, progress."
"Very good. I do appreciate you taking the time to assist in this project, Angel," the Watcher said, setting his burden down onto the checkout counter.
"Uh, yeah… sure," Angel stammered, standing up, still uncomfortable around the man Angelus had tortured so brutally.
"I-Is now a good time to break from your inquiries?" Giles asked Buffy. "I have a new training technique I'd like to begin with you. If you can master it, I believe you will find you will have a better command of your focus and concentration, making distractions less, well, errr… distracting during a battle."
"I should be going anyway," Angel excused, heading back for the stairs and the door behind the stacks. "Tomorrow?" he asked, looking at Buffy.
"Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel," she agreed, trying to sound chipper but falling short, as she closed her journal. Her stomach still churned with Angel's revelations about Drusilla, but she was doing her best to not think about it. She had a feeling she'd be seeing too much of that in her nightmares, she didn't need it in her daymares too.
"Guess I'm all yours," she said to Giles in a too-bright tone that did little to disguise her dread of trying to learn another of his new-agey concentration thingies. She was sooo not concentration girl – she was action girl.
"Wonderful, then let's get started," the Watcher suggested as he heard the door close behind Angel. "Err, where is your counterpart?" he asked, looking around for the dog.
"Oh, Mom took him to the groomers for a cut and a blow dry. He was thinking of going blond, too, but I'm not sure if the world could handle two blond Spikes," she quipped.
"Ah. I see," Giles replied flatly, looking a bit distracted.
"That was a joke – there will be no bleaching of doggie fur," she explained.
"Yes, yes, of course." He chuckled unconvincingly.
Buffy sighed. No one appreciated her Spike humor. "He doesn't have to learn to focus too, does he?" she wondered, mostly joking.
"What? Oh, no, no… I simply… I-I had a treat for him. Perhaps you could make sure he gets it?" he suggested, pulling a small Ziploc bag from his pocket and handing it to her. Inside were a few brownish morsels that looked like beef jerky.
"Sure," Buffy, agreed, stuffing the bag into her purse without question. People bringing treats for Spike wasn't unusual – Spike was a treat demon. "So, am I the only one who gets to learn this new thingy, or should we call Faith? Cos, pretty sure she could use some focusy-goodness."
"Uhh… no, just you," Giles stammered as he brought the crystal over from the counter and set it on the table in front of Buffy.
"Wow. Look at me with all the luck having," Buffy continued, rolling her eyes. "Pretty rock, though – very blue," she observed. 'Like a certain vampire's eyes.'
"Yes, quite. Now, then, the idea is to look into the crystal and find the flaw. To do so, you must block everything else out, excluding all external distractions from your focus. Shall we give it a try, then?"
"Why not?" Buffy agreed, taking a breath and letting it out like Giles had shown her numerous times before, then focused her eyes on the crystal.
"You may need to soften your gaze, look through the stone until the flaw comes into focus," he advised.
"Oh! Like those trick pictures at the mall," she confirmed, nodding. "Gotcha."
Thoughts flitted through Buffy's mind as she tried to focus and find the flaw in the crystal – nothing new there. Focusing was not her thing. She thought about Angel – about all that she didn't know about him, and all that she wished she didn't know. She thought about Spike – about how he, too, had hidden things about himself. Bloody awful poet. But she couldn't honestly blame him for that. It certainly wasn't something a vampire, or anyone else, for that matter, would go around bragging about, was it?
She tried to picture Spike before he met Dru – as William, crying over some woman who had rejected him. Was that why he could love so deeply, even without his soul, because of his state of mind when he'd been turned? Or was it, as he'd told her, just that all vampires were different, that they retained more than just memories?
Or maybe Spike was just strange, as both she and Angel had observed. She laughed to herself. He was strange, alright.
She very pointedly did not think about Dru.
"Alright, my dear, that's enough for today," Giles said, touching her shoulder.
Buffy jumped, blinking, and looked around. "Huh? Oh… sorry, I guess not too focusy today," she excused.
"It's quite alright. We'll practice more, you'll get it in time," her Watcher assured her.
"Oh, fun!" Buffy announced, sarcasm dripping like maple syrup, as she stood up and began gathering up her journal and purse, only then noticing the time. Her brows furrowed and she looked back at Giles. "How long did I stare at that rock?"
"Uh, j-just a few minutes," he replied, his gaze averted from hers as he took the crystal from the table.
She frowned, looking up at the clock. She was sure it had been about 8:30 when Angel had left and now it was well after nine. Had she looked at the clock wrong before?
"Don't forget to give your housemate his treats," Giles reminded her as he headed for the office.
"Trust me, he'd never let me forget – he'd sniff them out," Buffy assured him, calling, "See you tomorrow," as she headed out, shaking off the weird feeling of lost time.
** X-X-X-X-X **
"I'm home," Buffy announced after doing a quick sweep of Restfield. She'd worried that Angel would wait for her outside the school, or track her down and offer to 'help her patrol', but, apparently, he'd finally gotten that memo. It had probably been fully delivered the last time he'd gotten between Spike and a fledge, resulting in a few cracked ribs and plenty of doggie drool all over Angel's clothes. Spike was nothing if not an enthusiastic deliverer of memos.
Thinking of the devil-dog made him appear. He bounced up to her happily, doing a little doggie dance around her feet before bumping against her legs and nearly knocking Buffy over. She leaned down and hugged his neck. "You smell good! And they got all those tangles out, too," she told him, rubbing his silky coat playfully. "Who's a handsome boy?" she asked in a baby-talk voice. Spike's tail began stirring enough air to lift a helicopter off the ground as he tried to turn his head and lick her face. "Spike's a handsome boy, that's who," Buffy continued in the same tone, laughing, and standing back up to avoid the sloppy kisses.
"There was something in the mail for you," Joyce called from upstairs. "It's on the table."
This had become a favorite part of Buffy's day. Mail call. It wasn't like a card came every day, but it was often enough to make her tummy turn little flips in hopeful anticipation every evening when she came in. Having a card from Spike somehow made the stresses and even the horrors of the day fade, at least for a little while.
Buffy set her purse and the journal down and quickly sorted through the mail on the table by the door. Junk. Junk. More Junk. Ah-ha! She grinned as her fingers pulled out the colorful, glossy cardboard.
"It's a little late," Joyce said, coming down the stairs, tying a robe closed over her PJs, watching her daughter.
"Vampires and Christmas are usually unmixy. I don't think Angel even knew it was Christmas – despite the literal flashing lights announcing it," Buffy admitted.
As had become her tradition, she first took in the picture on the card, before turning it over to read what Spike had written. This one had a colorful drawing of a Calavera, a sugar-skull, decorated in green and red. There were poinsettias in the eye sockets, a Christmas tree for the nose, and curlicues of holly leaves festooning the bone. It wore a red Santa's hat, with 'Feliz Navidad' in neat handwriting across the white band. There was even a gold cross in the middle of the skull's forehead, which made Buffy wonder if Spike had to be careful when he'd touched it – did drawings of crosses burn vampires? Inquiring minds want to know.
Joyce watched her daughter's face light up as she turned the card over and read Spike's holiday greeting, 'Word to the wise: Santa's a sodding demon, so don't go sitting on his lap making daft wishes. Happy Christmas. HYYF —S'
Buffy laughed and looked up at her mom, who was smiling back at her. "Is Santa really a demon?" the older woman wondered.
"God knows – probably!" Buffy replied, still smiling, but not letting anything more than amusement show. Spike had remembered Christmas! Seriously!? And sent her a card? Yeah, it was a couple of days late, but still… he'd remembered. Little colorful Christmas lights sparkled and glowed in her chest, making her feel all tingly.
Joyce turned and headed back up the stairs. "I made you a plate for dinner – you'll just have to warm it up," she called back over her shoulder.
"Thanks, Mom," Buffy replied, heading toward the kitchen with the postcard still in hand. "Oh! Treats," she remembered, spinning back around and grabbing her purse. "Giles sent you treats," she told the big dog, who had tilted his head in keen interest the first time she'd said 'treats'.
Buffy pulled the Ziploc baggie out and tossed Spike one of the bits of jerky, which he gobbled up with alacrity, before eagerly eyeing the remainder of the bag. Buffy rolled her eyes. "I know you got treats at the groomers, too," she chastised, heading for the kitchen again, the big dog right on her heels. "You're gonna get fat and lazy, then what good will you be delivering memos? Tell me that."
"Rrrrr-warf!" Spike replied, his front feet bouncing off the floor before nudging the bag in her hand with his muzzle.
Buffy sighed and shook her head, tossing him another bit of dried meat from the bag. "Yeah, yeah, you say that now. You'll be singing another tune if I have to put you on a diet," she continued, taking the plate her mom had made her from the fridge and putting it in the microwave.
Spike sat down, his mouth hanging open happily, his tail swishing across the tiles, sweeping away any trace of dust that might've been there. He watched her like a… well, like a dog waiting for a treat, his eager brown eyes following every move she made. "Rrrrwarf!" he said again when another treat did not magically appear in the air in front of his nose.
Buffy turned around and sighed. "I blame Spike for this. He totally ruined you," she chastised lightly, tossing him another bite from the bag. "That's what happens when you hang out with evil vampires – they ruin your perfectly good dog by feeding them French fries."
Spike sneezed, his whole body quivering with the motion, and looked back up at her expectantly.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know – you disagree. Stop the presses!" she mocked.
"Woof!" Spike replied happily, his eyes glittering with anticipation.
"I give up," Buffy sighed, tossing him the last two treats from the bag. "All gone now," she told him holding up the empty bag. "And, no, you can't have any of mine."
Spike watched carefully for a moment to make sure it wasn't a trick – hoomans always thought it was funny to try and hide treats, but he could always find them, no matter where they were hidden. Finally, he decided she really didn't have any more of the savory morsels. He huffed out a disgusted breath and trudged over to his water dish, splashing enough on the floor to start a small flood as he drank. The microwave dinged and Buffy took her plate, a napkin, and some silverware and put it on a tray, grabbed a soda from the fridge and headed up to her room to eat, ignoring the puddle on the floor. It would dry, right?
In her room, Buffy set the tray down on her dressing table beneath her mirror, sitting down in front of it to eat. Spike had followed her up, and, with a resigned sigh, he turned around three times and plopped down heavily on the floor next to her – just in case anything fell that needed to be devoured immediately. It was one of his sacred duties, along with crunching rabbits.
Buffy propped the postcard up against the mirror, the smile returning to her lips as she looked it all over again, studying every detail until she found it. It was tiny this time, fangs and eyes drawn in, added to one of the teeth on the skull, turning the white oblong into a vampire. The Slayer laughed again, feeling victorious.
She took a bite of the leftover turkey and mashed potatoes from her plate and looked up at all the other postcards that circled her mirror, all tucked in between the glass and the frame. There were five in total, averaging about one a week since Spike-the-vampire had been gone, though they didn't come on any regular schedule. All the ones he'd mailed had vampire fangs drawn on it somewhere. Some were very easy to spot, others kind of hidden. It had become sort of a game for her to find them. So far, she'd found them all.
The postmarks were from different places. The first one to come in the mail had been from L.A., but all the subsequent ones were from towns in Mexico. Buffy had looked each one up on a map, tracking Spike and Dru across the vast country south of the border. It somehow made her feel more connected… which was stupid, she knew. Firstly, because she shouldn't even want to feel connected to the Slayer of Slayers, secondly because she was just tracking him on a map, like some kind of really lame stalker, and third because… Well, she couldn't think of a third reason, but there had to be one. Everything came in threes, right?
Buffy — or her mom or her dog — had gotten cards postmarked from Chihuahua, Mexico City, Ixtapaluca — which was near Mexico City— and this Christmas one from a town called Pisté, which she'd have to look up.
Of course, each message from Spike was different, from piggy to funny to just, well, kinda sweet – cocoa was sweet, right? Buffy sighed, eating more of her dinner, as her eyes wandered over all the cards. Once again, Spike, even from another country, had outdone anything any other man in her life had ever done to make her feel special. Not even her dad thought to send postcards when he traveled for work. He sometimes brought back gifts when she was a little girl, but they were clearly last-minute things picked up at the airport… some were from LAX, not even the place he'd gone. Even at five, Buffy could tell there'd been no thought put into them.
Angel had given her a Claddagh ring on her birthday last year… had it only been a year? Well, almost a year. Her birthday was still three weeks away. It felt like a lifetime since she'd stood on the docks with him, her world shattering, her heart breaking as he readied to board a ship for parts unknown. Of course, her world had shattered even more than she could've imagined when he didn't go. Buffy wondered if he would've thought to send her cards or letters on his trip. She shrugged one shoulder, taking a bite of potatoes, maybe… he might've. Angelus certainly enjoyed leaving 'gifts' for everyone. She shook her head. It just wasn't the same… Angel just wasn't the same as Spike, the whole vibe was different, and she had to admit she liked Spike's vibe better.
Buffy ate more of her turkey, then found a spot to slip the Christmas postcard in among the others on the mirror. She let out a sigh, feeling lighter and happier than she had all day. How could a simple postcard from her sworn frenemy lift her heart so easily? Almost as well as puppy-dog hugs and slobbery kisses?
"Stupid vampire," she muttered, shaking her head at herself. "Stupid me." Spike's vibe belonged to Drusilla. Who didn't even appreciate it. But who Buffy found harder to hate now that she knew more about what had happened to her.
The Slayer sighed, her mood turning melancholy. 'I so need to get a date, preferably with a guy who has a pulse and no girlfriend.'
End Notes:
I know that in canon Giles presented the 'find the flaw in the crystal' thing as part of an overall 'study of vibratory stones'. But, since that was nothing more than an excuse to get her trance-like, I figured he might've changed the reason he wanted her to 'find the flaw' in the big blue stone, so, in this AU, he did.
You can find banners and storyboards for this story on the postings on A03 and Elysian Fields.
Thank you so much for reading!
