Chapter 2: Observing Tradition

His people once believed that mistel held a certain power. He supposed that was why he found himself acquiescing to Pam's request to go beyond Fangtasia's usual Christmas decorations. Though she claimed that it would help business over what was a typically slow holiday for the bar, he suspected she had other reasons, more personal ones.

He was surprised, as he had thought she was past such sentimentality. But there she was, stringing up the little sprigs around the bar.

Amused, he watched her for another moment before focusing on the task at hand. The Slayer would be there soon to discuss business, and he needed to prepare.

Most vampires had thought him mad, reaching out to the Slayer and her Council, and so soon after the Great Revelation when their position in the human world was tenuous at best. When he had heard that the self-righteous vampire killers had had a change in management, however, he had known that the moment was his to seize, and seize it he did.

After all, he hadn't survived for over 1000 years without learning how to adapt.

It was far from the perfect alliance, certainly. Perhaps it more closely resembled an uneasy truce, one that might not withstand a 'misunderstanding'. And of course there was also a risk that some would perceive him to be a traitor to his own kind. This was necessary step, however, especially since one couldn't so much as flash a little fang nowadays without tripping over one of the many slayers that now littered the earth.

Besides, he was already maintaining a legitimate appearance for the sake of Fangtasia, and associating with the Council had its advantages. Even the queen herself was wary of interfering too greatly.

The greatest benefit, however, was her, Buffy, the Slayer. Now she was unexpected, and the more he learned about her, the more she surprised him, something not easily done. And that intrigued him.

She was a bundle of contradictions. A slayer that had not one but two relationships with vampires?

And that was only the tip of the iceberg, for it was impossible not to see that she possessed an extraordinary ability to adapt, one that rivaled his own. In fact, he thought it was her strongest asset and the reason why she had survived for so long. Wasn't she the first to recognize that the vampire-slayer game had changed, that even she and her legion of girls couldn't defeat them all, especially now?

Yes, she was unique; the other slayers were simply inferior to her, which was why he insisted on dealing only with her – and why he didn't hide the fact that he wanted her.

It had been quite some time since he had last seen her, however, and he found himself anticipating her appearance. He had the distinct impression that she was purposefully avoiding him – and had been ever since Halloween. For something seemed to change that night, something that made her uneasy, though the night itself was markedly uneventful; rather he had felt it in her voice, in her glance, in her very demeanor.

"Your little human is here."

Eric looked up to see Buffy walking across the club. As she approached, she rolled her eyes. "I don't even know where to begin taking offense to that statement," she said dryly.

Pam studied the Slayer - and her reaction - with a faint gleam of appreciation in her eye. Though his childe held humans in disdain, he knew that she, too, found this one fascinating – and enjoyed provoking her almost as much as he did.

"It would be interesting to see what kind of vampire you would be," Pam said with a thoughtful expression.

Eric watched as Buffy raised her eyebrows for a moment before shaking her head ruefully, a slight smile playing on her lips. Apparently she understood that this was meant as a compliment – the highest, in fact. She turned slightly toward the bar to look at Pam's handiwork.

"Nice decorations. The bar looks awesome," she commented. "You're like an evil Martha Stewart – well, eviler, anyway."

Obviously pleased with the compliment, Pam smiled before turning back to said decorations.

Buffy's eyes continued to scan the room, only coming to rest on his throne, which was also festively decorated. She turned to Eric with a smirk. "So, do I see a Santa suit in someone's future? Cause I gotta tell you, I'm seeing potential here," she said in a sing song voice.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Oh, come on. Where's your Christmas spirit?" she goaded.

He looked her over appraisingly. "If I did, would you sit on my lap and tell me if you've been naughty?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

With a snort, she made a face. "And let me guess, that wouldn't be a stake in your pocket?"

He just grinned at her, fangs fully extended. To both his surprise and delight, he watched as a faint blush tinged her cheeks. That was interesting.

"As fascinating as I find this unresolved sexual tension, you two are in my way," Pam cut in. Then she gave Eric a meaningful look. "Staff will be showing up soon, too."

By silent agreement, both Eric and the Slayer immediately began to head for the door in the back of the club toward his office. As they walked down the hallway, they saw that Pam had been very busy – the entire corridor was covered in decorations, all the way down to his office door.

The Slayer let out a low whistle. "Boy, you vamps take your holidays seriously," she commented. "Who woulda thunk?"

Eric narrowed his eyes at the festive arrangements. This was a little unusual, and he silently wondered at Pam's decorating fervor – right until he walked through the doorway.

Stopping short, he looked up; at the same time, he felt the Slayer's slight form crash into his backside at his abrupt stop.

"Geez, do you need to come with brake lights or something?" she grumbled as she regained her balance.

He ignored her, however, instead focusing on the little sprig of above his doorframe, nestled among festive red bows and boughs of pine – which almost completely masked the scent of themistel.

He didn't know what irritated him more; that he had so badly misread his scheming childe or that he hadn't thought of it first.

"Hello?"

Eric looked down at Buffy, who was staring at him in exasperation. Soundlessly, he pointed up at the mistletoe. Her eyes widened as she saw what was there.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, NO," she said hastily. She looked back at him, accusation in her eyes. "Mistletoe? Seriously? You set me up!"

"Set you up?" he asked mildly, though the amusement was clearly in his voice. "What happened to Christmas spirit?" At the same time, he inched closer so that he was almost looming over her.

Her eyes widening, she was speechless for a moment. Still, she refused to budge and within moments, she regained her composure. "This has nothing to do with Christmas spirit. It has to do with sneaky, manipulative vampires, who apparently would stoop very, very low just to cop a feel," she shot back. "What's so Christmasy about mistletoe anyway? I mean, hello, it supposedly killed a god. I don't see how that inspires kissage of any kind, and I definitely don't see what that has to do with Jesus' birth."

Eric was momentarily taken aback by this, that she knew the origins of mistletoe – his origins. He studied her thoughtfully. Was she reading up on him, in a manner of speaking? And was he actually touched that she might have gone to the trouble to do so?

It must have shown on his face, because she frowned.

"What?" she said defensively. "I can't know things?"

"About the old ways?" he prodded. "How… coincidental."

The blush came back as the Slayer's face flushed crimson. "No! Yes! I mean, could you be more self-centered?" she exclaimed hotly. She glared at him, even as she turned still a deeper shade of red, before she swung her gaze up to the mistel resentfully.

And yet she stayed. In fact, it seemed to him that she wasn't completely opposed to the idea; rather she was frozen in a moment of indecision.

Enough talking. Here was another opportunity, and Eric would be foolish not to seize it. Taking full advantage of her hesitation, he leaned down to capture her lips with his own – which she returned almost immediately.

Smiling against her lips, he deepened the kiss, enjoying the warmth of her tongue on his, her hands as they traveled up his back. He only pulled back many moments later – very reluctantly, of course – when he knew that she would need to take a breath soon.

She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes slightly glazed, her face flushed, her breath catching in her throat, and he couldn't resist resting his hand on her cheek.

"Den som står under mistel så ödmjuk, ingen skada skall dem ske, endast en kyss, ett kärleksbevis," he murmured. As he said the phrase long forgotten, he felt an odd tug inside, one that was very unsettling.

To think that he was susceptible to the same sentimentality that he had so readily accused Pam of having.

The Slayer gaped at him for a moment, clearly shocked by his soft words; then she came back to herself. "You have a death wish," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Council, be damned. I'm out of here." Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the hall toward the main room.

Eric watched her go, deep in thought. He barely heard Pam's laughter as Buffy stormed out of Fangtasia.

His people once believed that mistel held a certain power. Perhaps they were correct.

A/N: Den som står under mistel så ödmjuk, ingen skada skall dem ske, endast en kyss, ett kärleksbevis - Who should ever stand under the humble mistletoe, no harm should befall them, only a kiss, a token of love.