Christmas Without You (1/4)
Title: Christmas Without You
Pairings: Canon BtVS season 5/6.
Rating: Adult (violence, language, torture, sex)
Summary: (AU where Buffy was never resurrected.) It’s almost Christmas in Sunnydale, and months since Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world. Things aren’t going well with the Scoobies. Their relationships are coming under strain -- and to make things worse, a new and powerful threat has come to the Hellmouth, looking to capitalize on all of this holiday un-cheer.
A/N: For noel_of_spike. My experiment with this fic was to write it like a Buffy episode, although it focuses on Spike and has a lot more angst than humor. The entire story is basically two episodes, each broken in half to make the whole thing 4 parts, which I will post over the next 24 hours. This is the 1st -- the 2nd will get posted when I wake up, in about 6 hours.
Episode 1
Part 1
There was nothing quite like the feel of bones breaking beneath your hand. The sudden give beneath the flesh, the sensation of the crunch, like you were hearing it through the pads of your fingers. Beautiful -- one of his favorite ways to relieve rage and frustration. Made his teeth feel like they were vibrating in his jaw, the excitement brim in his dead chest.
Spike hauled back and punched his opponent square in the nose, just to catch another feel of shattering skeleton. The injured demon reeled back, howling, raising a hand to cover its face. Its other hand hung limp at its side, broken from one of Spike’s earlier attacks.
Spike bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning and beckoning the demon forward as it raised angry red eyes at him. It roared in defiance and charged, raising its claw to swipe. Spike grabbed its wrist to block the attack, then let out a cry of surprise as the demon used the claws connected to its broken arm to get a lucky catch in through his shirt.
Ignoring the burning, itching sensation of ripped flesh, Spike kicked up at the demon’s chest, knocking the wind from it and sending it stumbling back. The demon recovered and lowered its head, smiling malevolently as it hissed through its fangs. Spike smiled back and slipped into game face.
“Just earned yourself a few more broken bones, mate,” he promised.
He charged, exhilaration flowing through his limbs.
The demon suddenly stiffened, gurgling, and grasped vainly at the metal that was now sticking through its chest.
His advance cut short, Spike skidded to a halt and watched the blade twist and then disappear back through the demon, leaving a gaping bloody hole. It collapsed dead onto the ground with a dull thud.
Panting, feeling disappointment soak away his delight, Spike slumped his shoulders and faded back out of demon face. He raised his eyes to the cheery, blindingly white smile of the Buffybot.
“Didn’t need to do that, you know,” he groused, shaking his hand out and raising it to check the slices in his side. “Had him nearly taken care of.”
The Buffybot’s expression immediately slipped into one of deep solemnity. “But he was going to hurt you and ruin your sexy shirt.”
Spike shut his eyes at the spear of pain that thrust through his insides at her words. It had been a simple job, come to the cemetery and expunge the latest in a long line of annoyances that would otherwise terrorize or kill the citizens of Sunnydale. Somehow, the Buffybot always made everything harder.
And not in a good way.
Thankfully, at that moment a breathless Xander came running up, Anya closely in tow. The boy stopped and bent double, breathing hard.
“I got mine,” he said. “Well, actually, I had him at least having second thoughts, when the Buffybot came and chopped his head off.”
“Yeah,” Spike said, adjusting his duster. “Has a habit of that.”
“I must protect my best friend and my boyfriend,” the bot intoned.
Xander raised his eyebrows, finally getting enough breath to straighten back up. His breaths clouded the air. “She’s still going on about that? I thought Willow was supposed to fix her.”
“Willow’s always saying she’s going to fix that part of the Buffybot but it never happens,” Anya said, shivering in her sweater and scarf. “It’s only getting worse. The other day she drew me sketches of what she and Spike used to do to each other.”
“I know,” Xander said. “You stored them in my underwear drawer.”
Anya nodded. “For references. We need to keep our sex lives interesting, especially after we‘re married.”
Xander grimaced. “Can we not talk about that right now?”
Spike grit his teeth and decided it was best to make a hasty exit before anything more humiliating came from this. Anyway, he didn’t really want to be an audience to the latest problem with Harris and his bird. The two of them had been getting testy -- they were engaged, but Anya wanted to plan the wedding already while Harris wanted them to wait. The two of them were heading for a meltdown if they weren’t careful.
Well. Didn’t matter to him so much. All that mattered was walking back to his crypt, alone, so he could--
“Spike! You’re hurt!”
--have his escape cut off by the witches.
Willow and Tara stopped in front of him, the latter’s eyes locked in concern on his torn shirt. He quickly closed up his duster.
“It’s fine,” he said. He sighed and stared off longingly in the direction of his crypt. “We done here?”
Willow frowned a little as she looked at him. “Well, yeah -- I mean unless we want to patrol for vampires, but Buffybot could do that just as well.”
“Brilliant. I’m off.”
“Oh!” Willow exclaimed. “You’ll be down for Dawn tomorrow, right? We have class at nine.”
“I’ll let myself in before the sun rises,” Spike assured, then hurried away before the bot could come over for any more interaction.
He slowed his steps once the sounds of the others faded. He’d been babysitting Dawn more often the past week. Her school had already let out for the winter, but Willow and Tara would have classes for a day or two more before the university did the same.
He stayed with Dawn as much as was possibly these days, and even from time to time would find himself outside the Summers house in the middle of the night, mostly only when he felt the local demon population was getting to be a bit too frisky. He owed it to Buffy to keep such a close watch over her sister. After all, she’d be here to do it herself if it wasn’t for him.
Back into his lonely little abode, Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge, lit a cigarette, and slinked out of his duster. Didn’t bother to turn the telly on. He sunk into the cushions of the sofa, listlessly staring at the black screen. Finished the drink and the smoke, and was soon asleep.
**********
“Does Spike seem kind of upset to you?”
Willow was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her and Tara’s room.
Joyce’s room.
She wondered when it was she’d started thinking of the room as her and Tara’s, and then felt guilty -- like to think so was wrong, somehow. Was it disrespectful for someone to come and use a dead person’s things? It wasn’t like Joyce would have been the type of person to want her things to go on untouched, was it?
“Honey?”
Willow blinked, bringing herself out of her thoughts.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m miss spacey-head lately. What was the question?”
Tara came out of the bathroom, dressed in her pajamas, looking soft and huggable. She had her arms crossed around herself.
“I was asking about Spike. Does he seem depressed? I mean, more than usual.”
Willow shrugged, but in fact she had noticed the clear dip in the vampire’s good moods. She hoped it wasn’t because she still hadn’t managed to program out Buffybot’s attraction to him -- she was still trying to work out the kinks of the system, and the last time she’d tried to alter the behavior, it had backfired, and Buffybot was back to thinking Spike was her boyfriend. She’d tried to explain it to Spike once, apologize, but he was stiff and unresponsive when the subject came to Buffybot.
The only time she’d seen him look half happy these days was when he was babysitting Dawn.
Tara was speaking again. “I know he’s been sad since…” She trailed off, but Willow heard the unspoken words. Since Buffy died.
“Well, maybe we should do something to cheer him up,” Willow suggested. “Oh! We can invite him to our holiday soup party.”
They’d decided to call it a “soup” party since there were a few different winter celebrations between them. Being Jewish, Willow didn’t particularly care for celebrating Christmas, but Dawn had gotten so excited for the upcoming holiday that she didn’t want to upset her by denying her a tree or presents. This of course had prompted Anya to go off on a tangent about what she used to do back in the day to celebrate winter solstice, but after stopping her halfway through a long-winded description involving deer entrails in defiance of Santa, they all decided pretty emphatically that was one way of celebrating they weren’t going to involve in the festivities.
“Do you think we should get him some presents?” Tara asked, as she pulled the covers back and settled into her side of the bed.
“That might be good.” Willow frowned. “What does Spike like?”
Tara gave a small smile of amusement. “Besides alcohol, cigarettes, and blood? I’m sure there are a few things we could get him. Maybe like a new lighter or something.”
“I could get him a goldfish to keep him company in his crypt,” Willow suggested. Then, at Tara’s look -- “Kidding. Besides, I’m not much with the advocacy of keeping fish on the Hellmouth. Mostly I think he’ll be glad that he’s being all included.”
“I hope so,” Tara said, her eyes softening a bit in sadness. “No one should be so depressed at this time of year.”
**********
There was no point in living any more.
Scott Jameson nursed the pain in his belly and heart as he walked by a Christmas tree lot, taking another deep gulp of his beer. He was twenty two years old, and about to commit suicide.
A month ago he’d been dumped by the love of his life. Since then he’d been living in a haze of memory, his every waking thought on what he’d lost.
The event had created a downward spiral in all other aspects of his life -- he’d lost his job, was failing all his college classes, and had alienated his friends. He couldn’t see any good in his future. Over the past two weeks he’d been steadily attempting to get all his affairs in order, and decided that tonight would be the night.
The gun in his hand felt cold and slippery with the sweat from his palm. He paced, his mind running through what he was about to do, thinking that the aches inside him would finally be soothed away.
A rustling sound made him pause. It was coming from the Christmas trees. He turned towards it, expecting to see a skunk or some other wild animal skulking about, but there was nothing.
Back to the gun. Another drink of beer, before he dropped the bottle to the ground. This was it.
His heart skipped a beat as the rustling sound startled him again. It was louder, now.
Scott looked back towards the lot, and froze in fear.
A pair of large yellow glowing eyes on a dark humanoid shape stared at him unblinkingly from beside a tree.
Oh God! What the hell is that?
He had enough time to gasp in a breath before something was pulled over his face, muffling his screams as strong hands grabbed him and he was dragged away.
**********
**********
Waking up at 10 AM was a more reasonable schedule, Dawn thought, as she gave a leisurely stretch. Much more reasonable than the one she’d been forced to take during school.
And Tara and Willow had probably already left for their classes, so there’d be no waiting to get in the bathroom, and no rush once she got in.
Fully awake, Dawn slid from her bed and contemplated whether to get dressed yet or spend a few more hours in her pajamas. Not that it would take a lot of work to get changed -- it was more the comfy novelty of staying in her sleep clothes than anything.
She paused as she remembered how her mother would celebrate her first day on vacation by making her chocolate chip pancakes the next morning. The soft sugary gooey goodness of which was then soured by her mother handing her the post-school list of daily chores.
It was different with Willow and Tara. They didn’t leave her any lists -- sometimes Tara would ask for help with the dishes after dinner, but that was pretty much as far as it went. Which wasn’t bad -- just different. More lonely. Just another reminder of the mom who wasn’t with her.
Suddenly she didn’t feel like doing much of anything. It was going to be one of those days -- she could feel it. And she wasn’t even PMSing.
She trudged downstairs, moving to the kitchen, and felt her heart jump as she caught a shape out of the corner of her eye. The shape turned out to be Spike, sitting on the couch.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re here.”
He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, going back to staring out into space.
Dawn had noticed that Spike was getting more and more quiet these days. He used to show so much emotion. He didn’t even turn on the TV when he came over anymore, which was why she was so surprised to see him -- before she’d be alerted to his presence by the sounds of whatever program he was watching.
Dawn felt a bit of selfish anger rise in her -- where did he get off staying this depressed? She was the one who’d lost both her sister and her mother.
She reached into the cupboard for a mug, placing it down a little too harshly onto the counter. It clanged loudly against the surface.
Channeling your emotions into making hot chocolate wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but she hoped she was a little calmer when she finally moved into the living room and took a seat next to Spike. The cup in her hands was warm and the chocolate steamed, wafting up a nice sugary smell. It wasn’t chocolate chip pancakes, but it was close enough.
“Anything good on?” she asked, picking up the remote control.
Spike shrugged. “Dunno.”
Dawn frowned, frustrated at his refusal to even try to give her a way to connect. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about her. Like that time it had somehow gotten out that Buffybot was a robot, and an entire group of demon bikers had come to massacre Sunnydale. She and Spike had been out, and she’d gotten caught by the leader of the gang. Spike had challenged him one-on-one, and practically ripped the demon apart when he was done. The others had tried to attack him after that, and he’d killed two more of them before the rest had finally caught the hint and ran off.
When he’d found another of them near her house on the way back home, he’d disposed of it in just a violent a way. It had taken Tara hours to scrub the blood from the porch.
Spike had sneered when he’d seen the blood gone. “Should have left it,” he’d said. “Scent would have warned the other idiots off.” He’d made out like the mess was intentional, but Dawn had seen the difference in the way he fought when he thought he was defending her life. He was savage, more reckless. He let himself get hurt more -- actually, it was almost like he couldn’t feel any pain at all. His hands had been badly mangled by the end of that night of demon fighting, from cutting himself on the numerous sharp piercings the bikers wore.
But who knew. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t really her at all but Buffy’s memory alone that made him protect her. He certainly wasn’t helping convince her otherwise.
She sighed, suddenly desperate, and said the one thing she knew was guaranteed to get him to respond, even if it sometimes made it feel like they were more distant than ever.
“I miss Buffy.”
She felt him tense, and for a moment she was scared her tactic wouldn’t work. Then she’d really be devastated.
But then, finally, Spike reached a hand around her shoulders and pulled her close. She immediately leaned into him, grateful for the affection, inhaling deeply the comforting smell of leather and tobacco from his duster.
“Me too, Bit,” he said, but his eyes were still far away. “Me too.”
**********
“It’s been months! Can’t you get over this already?”
Xander didn‘t look up from the books he was sorting from the recent shipment to the Magic Box. Here they went again. As if he didn’t get badgered about this enough at home -- Anya was going to find plenty of time during her work hours to do it, too.
“Ahn, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good time to decide a date for the wedding yet.”
Though he wasn’t looking directly at her, Xander watched Anya out of the corner of his eye. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked genuinely unhappy and frustrated as she added more eye of newt to the shelves.
“Well why not? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, now? I mean, isn’t that what an engagement’s for?”
“An engagement is a time for people to get to know each other,” Xander said, keeping his voice calm and cool. Getting all emotional about this wouldn‘t help anything. “Set rules and regulations for each other, get an idea of what the rest of their lives are going to be like together.”
Anya, who had just finished rather expressively opening the till at the register, began to count the money in an impressively rage-filled manner. “That sounds an awful lot like what we were doing before the engagement,” she protested, and then went quiet, the only sounds in the shop suddenly the sound of money sliding against money.
When she was done with the bills, there was then the loud clinking of coins.
And just when he'd thought she'd let it go, she started up again. “I think I was right. You really did just propose in the heat of the moment, world at stake adrenaline rush.”
Xander sighed. It was definitely a good thing he loved this woman, otherwise the constant doubt would grate on him a lot more than it was. They’d been engaged seven months now -- he didn’t see the problem with waiting a little longer.
“I get that you’re upset. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with it, especially so soon after--”
“After what? After Buffy’s death?” Anya slammed the till shut, then picked up another shipping box and started carrying it to the back. “Yeah well, thanks, Xander. If I had known she was your true love and you were never going to move on I would have never agreed to condemning myself to agonizing weeks of waiting.”
Xander had to hurry to catch up with her, and grabbed her arm to stop her angry exit. She wrenched herself from his grasp and turned to face him, her face furious.
“It does still hurt to know she’s gone,” he admitted. “But that’s not the only reason I want to wait. You don’t have to worry. When I engaged myself to you, it was one of the most serious moments of my life.”
“Then start getting re-serious about it.” Anger and sorrow warred together in her chestnut eyes. Abruptly, she directed her gaze downward. “I’m going to move out for a while. Though financially, it‘s a stupid idea, I‘ve decided it hurts too much to stay around you and know that we could be married already but we‘re not.”
Xander felt a bit of panic at her words. He hadn‘t realized it was coming to this. “Anya--”
“No -- don’t say anything, unless it’s to tell me you’re ready to start planning our wedding.” She looked him up and down, before managing to meet his gaze again. Her eyes were glistening at the edges. “I’d like you to leave my shop now. I‘ll probably come and get my belongings to relocate while you‘re at work.”
Dumbfounded, Xander watched her begin putting items on the storage shelves. Then he made his way with slow steps from the room and out of the Magic Box.
**********
Willow turned a sour eye at the sky and shivered, then hugged her bare arms. “Well that figures.”
Tara smiled, recognizing Willow‘s tone as more sulky-disappointment than serious misery. “What?”
“It was all nice and bright this morning, so I put on my sunny day clothes, only for it to turn out, well -- not so sunny.”
“Well, you can wait around and hope for the sun to come out again, or--” And at this Tara pulled her back pack around and started rooting through it. “You can take this extra cozy cable sweater that I packed just in case.”
Willow smiled, reaching for the offered item. “Sweater, please.”
Tara stopped and waited as Willow put her back pack on the ground so she could put on the sweater. “Mmm,” came Willow’s muffled voice as she pulled it over her head. “It smells like you.”
Tara blushed, rubbing her hand on the arm of the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing.
“Is that good?”
“Yep!” Willow grinned as she replaced her back pack. “Hence the ‘mmmm’ and not the ‘eeew!’ Nice Tara smell. Very non-fishy.”
“Always good to know I’m not a fish.”
They continued walking on, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Tara could feel the love and happiness flowing off of Willow in waves, and it fed her good mood.
“So what do you think?” Willow asked. “Should we go pick up some holiday decorations?”
Tara knew how much Willow liked to decorate and make things look nice, but she had to keep in mind the third occupant of their inherited house.
“We should pick up Dawn first. I promised her she could come.”
Alarmingly, Tara felt a change in her lover’s aura. Something about what she had said was causing it to darken.
“Oh,” Willow said, disappointment coloring her voice.
Tara frowned, her heart suddenly beating faster in reaction to her distress. It was the same feeling she used to get being around others -- a result of her deep shy nature and inability to fit in. She rarely felt that way around Willow, but she was definitely feeling it now, and that knowledge dismayed her more than anything.
“I-Is something wrong?”
“No! It was just -- well, with Dawnie being out of school and all, we haven’t really had that much time alone together lately, and I was thinking, maybe, this could be an outing with just the two of us?” Willow frowned suddenly. “Nevermind. You’re right -- let’s go get Dawn.”
Willow was still obviously upset. Bewildered, Tara desperately tried to make it better. She didn’t want this feeling to be associated with Willow -- Willow who’d turned her life around, made her feel loved and accepted for who she was.
“We don’t have to bring her with us. We can just do half of the shopping now, and then do the rest as a group.”
“No, it’s fine,” Willow said, even though it obviously wasn’t, and Tara felt her heart break a little more. “I wanted to do a bit more tinkering with Buffybot, anyway.”
But Tara couldn’t think of anything else she could do to cheer Willow up -- it seemed her choices would only make the difference between what level of unhappiness her lover was feeling.
Swallowing the lump that was starting in her throat, Tara followed Willow on what was shaping up to be a very long walk back to their house.
**********
Spike was looking over the pictures on the wall of the Summers household. Dawn had watched the television until she’d nodded off, and was now sleeping on the couch, her dark brown hair curved over and spilled out onto the cushions.
It was part of his routine when he came over to babysit her. He looked over the photographs, to remind himself of what Bit had lost. What she’d lost because of him.
There they were, on a beach somewhere in the sun. Buffy wearing an orange and red two-piece number and Dawn not more than ten in a one-piece blue bathing suit. They were both smiling -- not that cheap, fake, spur-of-the-moment photograph expression either. Bare toes buried in white sand and they both had huge grins on their faces, like they’d been in the middle of laughing and were trying to stifle themselves for the photo. A moment of no quarreling -- just two sisters together, experiencing pure, unbridled joy.
Spike spent a long time staring at this photo during his visits. He’d never really seen Buffy this happy, and felt a bit heartsick at the thought that now he’d never have the chance. The only time that came halfway close was when Willow had screwed up that bloody will-be-done spell, but even then it’d just been that -- a spell. Not real. Not real like this.
He raised a hand to trace over her face, the plastic somehow feeling soft under his fingers. God. It still hurt so much that she was gone. One hundred and ninety nine days. One hundred and ninety nine days since he’d failed her.
He gently took the photo from the wall, cradling the cool frame and its smooth edges in his hands, his eyes locked onto her glowing expression.
The front door opened and he nearly dropped the photograph in surprise, then hastily jammed it into the pocket of his duster and whirled around to see Willow and Tara come in. He berated himself for getting so distracted that he hadn’t heard them approach. That thought left him as he took in Tara’s uneasy expression -- something was up.
Dawn was groggily raising her head from the couch, and she brightened and shook off the sleep when she saw the two witches.
“Hey,” she greeted.
Tara raised an eyebrow and gave the girl a knowing smile, shaking off her previous mood. “Still in pajamas at this hour?”
Dawn rubbed at her eyes and nodded. “I thought about changing this time, at least.”
“That is quite the improvement,” Tara joked.
Spike’s eyes drifted to Willow, who had a wearied and discontented expression as she headed upstairs, not even affording any of them a glance.
Dawn noticed, too. “What’s up her butt?” the girl asked.
“She’s just -- she’s tired. School, you know -- and she has to work on Buffybot a bit.”
Spike had to fight the urge to curl his lip. Why the hell did everyone call it “Buffybot” like that was its name? Like it was more than just a thing.
“Hey, you ready to do some Christmas shopping tonight?” Tara asked.
Dawn’s eyes lit up. “Are you kidding? I’ve only been complaining for like, two weeks.”
“Give or take a week,” Tara said.
Familiar footsteps were coming down the stairs. Spike shut his eyes at the panic-laced misery that raced through his veins. Bloody hell, does she have to bring it down here?
“What’s Christmas?” the bot asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Only they weren’t, because it wasn’t real. Was less real than when people forced themselves to smile for their cheery photographs.
“You don’t know what Christmas is?” Dawn asked in disbelief.
The bot tilted its head. “That word is not in my database.”
Willow came down with a few tools in her hands. “Guess holidays weren’t really the top of the list of programmable information.”
Yeah. Holidays had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d commissioned the robot.
It hadn’t noticed him yet. He began inching for the back door, loosening his arms from the sleeves of his duster in preparation to pull it over his head to protect himself from the sun. He was thankful for the clouds that had seeped in since that morning.
“You’re leaving?” Tara asked.
Spike stopped with a flinch and swore internally as the bot focused its attention on him. Bloody woman! She was so good at reading auras, why couldn’t she have taken a hint from his?
“Spike!” All teeth in that smile, teeth and pretty stretched lips. So like the picture, and yet nothing at all like it. A disgrace to her memory. “Are you going Christmas shopping, too?”
He grit his teeth. “Yeah. Matter of fact, I’m going right now.”
He tried to make his escape, only to have the bot eagerly rush in front of him. “I’ll come with you! You can teach me.” Its expression changed minutely, going to what passed as lust for the bot. “You’re so very good at teaching me things.”
A hand brushed against the front of his jeans.
He jumped back in disgust, rage building, and turned on Willow, snarling, “You can fix the sodding thing any fucking day now!”
The girls and the bot were stunned into silence at his outburst, all their eyes on him. He hadn’t ever cursed so angrily in front of them, before.
Whatever. They could bloody deal with it.
He pulled up the duster over his head and moved for the back door before anyone could stop him.
Willow’s voice followed him in a frantic rush. “We don’t have class tomorrow but we do the next day!”
He slammed the door in answer, sprinting off down the street.
**********
Willow felt like a gigantic knot of ickiness was gurgling around in her belly. She hadn’t really eaten since breakfast, and the gnawing hunger added to the feeling.
She looked at Tara and Dawn, seeing the shock and hurt she felt mirrored in their faces.
Then Willow noticed with alarm that Dawn was about to cry.
“Dawnie,” she said. “He’s probably just having a bad day.”
“Yeah,” Dawn said, and there was a bitter edge to her voice. “Just a bad day.”
Tara reached over and rubbed at Dawn’s back.
Buffybot looked at Willow sadly. “Why doesn’t Spike like me anymore? Am I not a good girlfriend?”
“No,” Willow reassured, knowing it was easier to console Buffybot rather than explain the truth to her. “No, you’re a great girlfriend. Don’t worry about him, he’s just being a big meanie right now. Come on, sit on the couch so I can look inside you. If we get this done quick, I might even have time to teach you about Christmas.”
Buffybot’s gigantic smile rushed to her face and she excitedly went to the couch, sitting next to Dawn. “Thank you, Willow.”
The phone started ringing. Willow glanced at it and then looked at Tara. “Can you get that?”
Tara walked over to the phone, and Willow was suddenly reminded that the mood of their relationship wasn’t exactly on good ground today, either.
The cause had been mainly Willow’s frustration. Hanging out with Tara at school was all well and good, but it seemed like lately their lives were totally revolving around Dawn. Which wasn’t a bad thing so much as a hard thing, but it weighed on Willow all the same. Every once in a while she needed to be reminded -- in other ways -- of Tara’s love, and those ways lately had been moved aside in favor of getting enough sleep before class or work at the Magic Box. Or getting back home as soon as possible to relieve Spike of Dawn duty.
Janice’s family was out of state for Christmas vacation, so Dawn had pretty much needed round-the-clock surveillance by one of them. And Xander and Anya were working just as much of the time, making it so Willow would have felt bad taking their free time away by making them babysit Dawn.
She sighed. What she wouldn’t give for someone who’d watch Dawn for just a day, to ease the burden a little.
Tara suddenly looked directly at her with the phone still pressed to her ear. “It’s Giles,” she said. “He’s coming back from England for Christmas.”
Willow blinked, elation spreading through her while Dawn made a small squealing noise. Huh. She guessed something had to go her way eventually.
**********
Spike felt like he was a robot himself as he walked across his crypt to grab another beer. Spikebot. He snickered at the image and opened the bottle, downing half in one go.
At this rate he’d clean himself out, and he didn’t have that much money for more. But he didn’t really care about that at the moment. Something would come up again. Some other baddie, and he could charge the Scoobies for his services. Tell them it would be extra if the bot was there.
They didn’t pay him for sitting Dawn, but he’d never ask.
Wouldn’t refuse if they offered, either, but still -- he’d never ask.
His prize clutched in his hand, he went back to the sofa and collapsed into it, legs spread, body curved somewhat uncomfortably against the angles of the chair. He couldn’t care enough to move himself, and took a long gulp of the beer, staring at the black screen of his television set. He could see the sofa reflected on the screen, and the frame of the photograph that was sitting on the arm, and his duster draped haphazardly over the back of the chair. But no reflection for him -- he was invisible as ever.
Another gulp, and then he propped the bottle between his legs, grabbing the photograph in his fingers, which were moistened from the condensation on the beer bottle.
Buffy was still there, still happy. She could have had more moments in life like that, if it wasn’t for him. So could have Dawn.
Tears were building in his eyes. Fuck. He brought the heel of his hand up to rub at them. It was the alcohol -- making him soft. Making him more miserable, punishing him before he could reach that lovely spot of numbness.
Buffy, I’m so sorry.
It was going to be day two hundred tomorrow. Day two hundred in a long line of days to come.
He couldn’t see himself feeling different even if the day two thousand came up.
Two hundred. Another one hundred sixty five and it’d be a year. A year and she still wouldn’t be back. She’d never be back.
He sniffled, exhaling shakily. Tears stuck to his eyelashes and blurred his vision. Blurred the image of her lovely face, so happy and free in the sun.
There was a scratching sound at his door.
Brought out of his thoughts, Spike darted from his seat, cursing when the forgotten bottle of beer between his legs spilled over onto the ground. He reached down and quickly put it upright on the ground, placing the photograph safely on the cushion of the sofa.
The sound happened again. Spike wiped harder at his eyes, deciding that since whatever it was outside his door was going to die anyway, it didn’t matter entirely too much if it saw him in this state. He moved towards the door of his crypt, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
The scrape came again, and he noted it was high on the door. Whatever was out there was tall. He should have brought a weapon with him.
Didn’t matter. Whatever beastie was out there was going to learn just what bad timing it had the deadly way.
Hand on his door, he listened for it, his senses screaming. He felt itching at the areas in his mouth where his fangs would drop.
Then he pushed the door open.
Pairings: Canon BtVS season 5/6.
Rating: Adult (violence, language, torture, sex)
Summary: (AU where Buffy was never resurrected.) It’s almost Christmas in Sunnydale, and months since Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world. Things aren’t going well with the Scoobies. Their relationships are coming under strain -- and to make things worse, a new and powerful threat has come to the Hellmouth, looking to capitalize on all of this holiday un-cheer.
A/N: For noel_of_spike. My experiment with this fic was to write it like a Buffy episode, although it focuses on Spike and has a lot more angst than humor. The entire story is basically two episodes, each broken in half to make the whole thing 4 parts, which I will post over the next 24 hours. This is the 1st -- the 2nd will get posted when I wake up, in about 6 hours.
Episode 1
Part 1
There was nothing quite like the feel of bones breaking beneath your hand. The sudden give beneath the flesh, the sensation of the crunch, like you were hearing it through the pads of your fingers. Beautiful -- one of his favorite ways to relieve rage and frustration. Made his teeth feel like they were vibrating in his jaw, the excitement brim in his dead chest.
Spike hauled back and punched his opponent square in the nose, just to catch another feel of shattering skeleton. The injured demon reeled back, howling, raising a hand to cover its face. Its other hand hung limp at its side, broken from one of Spike’s earlier attacks.
Spike bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning and beckoning the demon forward as it raised angry red eyes at him. It roared in defiance and charged, raising its claw to swipe. Spike grabbed its wrist to block the attack, then let out a cry of surprise as the demon used the claws connected to its broken arm to get a lucky catch in through his shirt.
Ignoring the burning, itching sensation of ripped flesh, Spike kicked up at the demon’s chest, knocking the wind from it and sending it stumbling back. The demon recovered and lowered its head, smiling malevolently as it hissed through its fangs. Spike smiled back and slipped into game face.
“Just earned yourself a few more broken bones, mate,” he promised.
He charged, exhilaration flowing through his limbs.
The demon suddenly stiffened, gurgling, and grasped vainly at the metal that was now sticking through its chest.
His advance cut short, Spike skidded to a halt and watched the blade twist and then disappear back through the demon, leaving a gaping bloody hole. It collapsed dead onto the ground with a dull thud.
Panting, feeling disappointment soak away his delight, Spike slumped his shoulders and faded back out of demon face. He raised his eyes to the cheery, blindingly white smile of the Buffybot.
“Didn’t need to do that, you know,” he groused, shaking his hand out and raising it to check the slices in his side. “Had him nearly taken care of.”
The Buffybot’s expression immediately slipped into one of deep solemnity. “But he was going to hurt you and ruin your sexy shirt.”
Spike shut his eyes at the spear of pain that thrust through his insides at her words. It had been a simple job, come to the cemetery and expunge the latest in a long line of annoyances that would otherwise terrorize or kill the citizens of Sunnydale. Somehow, the Buffybot always made everything harder.
And not in a good way.
Thankfully, at that moment a breathless Xander came running up, Anya closely in tow. The boy stopped and bent double, breathing hard.
“I got mine,” he said. “Well, actually, I had him at least having second thoughts, when the Buffybot came and chopped his head off.”
“Yeah,” Spike said, adjusting his duster. “Has a habit of that.”
“I must protect my best friend and my boyfriend,” the bot intoned.
Xander raised his eyebrows, finally getting enough breath to straighten back up. His breaths clouded the air. “She’s still going on about that? I thought Willow was supposed to fix her.”
“Willow’s always saying she’s going to fix that part of the Buffybot but it never happens,” Anya said, shivering in her sweater and scarf. “It’s only getting worse. The other day she drew me sketches of what she and Spike used to do to each other.”
“I know,” Xander said. “You stored them in my underwear drawer.”
Anya nodded. “For references. We need to keep our sex lives interesting, especially after we‘re married.”
Xander grimaced. “Can we not talk about that right now?”
Spike grit his teeth and decided it was best to make a hasty exit before anything more humiliating came from this. Anyway, he didn’t really want to be an audience to the latest problem with Harris and his bird. The two of them had been getting testy -- they were engaged, but Anya wanted to plan the wedding already while Harris wanted them to wait. The two of them were heading for a meltdown if they weren’t careful.
Well. Didn’t matter to him so much. All that mattered was walking back to his crypt, alone, so he could--
“Spike! You’re hurt!”
--have his escape cut off by the witches.
Willow and Tara stopped in front of him, the latter’s eyes locked in concern on his torn shirt. He quickly closed up his duster.
“It’s fine,” he said. He sighed and stared off longingly in the direction of his crypt. “We done here?”
Willow frowned a little as she looked at him. “Well, yeah -- I mean unless we want to patrol for vampires, but Buffybot could do that just as well.”
“Brilliant. I’m off.”
“Oh!” Willow exclaimed. “You’ll be down for Dawn tomorrow, right? We have class at nine.”
“I’ll let myself in before the sun rises,” Spike assured, then hurried away before the bot could come over for any more interaction.
He slowed his steps once the sounds of the others faded. He’d been babysitting Dawn more often the past week. Her school had already let out for the winter, but Willow and Tara would have classes for a day or two more before the university did the same.
He stayed with Dawn as much as was possibly these days, and even from time to time would find himself outside the Summers house in the middle of the night, mostly only when he felt the local demon population was getting to be a bit too frisky. He owed it to Buffy to keep such a close watch over her sister. After all, she’d be here to do it herself if it wasn’t for him.
Back into his lonely little abode, Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge, lit a cigarette, and slinked out of his duster. Didn’t bother to turn the telly on. He sunk into the cushions of the sofa, listlessly staring at the black screen. Finished the drink and the smoke, and was soon asleep.
**********
“Does Spike seem kind of upset to you?”
Willow was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her and Tara’s room.
Joyce’s room.
She wondered when it was she’d started thinking of the room as her and Tara’s, and then felt guilty -- like to think so was wrong, somehow. Was it disrespectful for someone to come and use a dead person’s things? It wasn’t like Joyce would have been the type of person to want her things to go on untouched, was it?
“Honey?”
Willow blinked, bringing herself out of her thoughts.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m miss spacey-head lately. What was the question?”
Tara came out of the bathroom, dressed in her pajamas, looking soft and huggable. She had her arms crossed around herself.
“I was asking about Spike. Does he seem depressed? I mean, more than usual.”
Willow shrugged, but in fact she had noticed the clear dip in the vampire’s good moods. She hoped it wasn’t because she still hadn’t managed to program out Buffybot’s attraction to him -- she was still trying to work out the kinks of the system, and the last time she’d tried to alter the behavior, it had backfired, and Buffybot was back to thinking Spike was her boyfriend. She’d tried to explain it to Spike once, apologize, but he was stiff and unresponsive when the subject came to Buffybot.
The only time she’d seen him look half happy these days was when he was babysitting Dawn.
Tara was speaking again. “I know he’s been sad since…” She trailed off, but Willow heard the unspoken words. Since Buffy died.
“Well, maybe we should do something to cheer him up,” Willow suggested. “Oh! We can invite him to our holiday soup party.”
They’d decided to call it a “soup” party since there were a few different winter celebrations between them. Being Jewish, Willow didn’t particularly care for celebrating Christmas, but Dawn had gotten so excited for the upcoming holiday that she didn’t want to upset her by denying her a tree or presents. This of course had prompted Anya to go off on a tangent about what she used to do back in the day to celebrate winter solstice, but after stopping her halfway through a long-winded description involving deer entrails in defiance of Santa, they all decided pretty emphatically that was one way of celebrating they weren’t going to involve in the festivities.
“Do you think we should get him some presents?” Tara asked, as she pulled the covers back and settled into her side of the bed.
“That might be good.” Willow frowned. “What does Spike like?”
Tara gave a small smile of amusement. “Besides alcohol, cigarettes, and blood? I’m sure there are a few things we could get him. Maybe like a new lighter or something.”
“I could get him a goldfish to keep him company in his crypt,” Willow suggested. Then, at Tara’s look -- “Kidding. Besides, I’m not much with the advocacy of keeping fish on the Hellmouth. Mostly I think he’ll be glad that he’s being all included.”
“I hope so,” Tara said, her eyes softening a bit in sadness. “No one should be so depressed at this time of year.”
**********
There was no point in living any more.
Scott Jameson nursed the pain in his belly and heart as he walked by a Christmas tree lot, taking another deep gulp of his beer. He was twenty two years old, and about to commit suicide.
A month ago he’d been dumped by the love of his life. Since then he’d been living in a haze of memory, his every waking thought on what he’d lost.
The event had created a downward spiral in all other aspects of his life -- he’d lost his job, was failing all his college classes, and had alienated his friends. He couldn’t see any good in his future. Over the past two weeks he’d been steadily attempting to get all his affairs in order, and decided that tonight would be the night.
The gun in his hand felt cold and slippery with the sweat from his palm. He paced, his mind running through what he was about to do, thinking that the aches inside him would finally be soothed away.
A rustling sound made him pause. It was coming from the Christmas trees. He turned towards it, expecting to see a skunk or some other wild animal skulking about, but there was nothing.
Back to the gun. Another drink of beer, before he dropped the bottle to the ground. This was it.
His heart skipped a beat as the rustling sound startled him again. It was louder, now.
Scott looked back towards the lot, and froze in fear.
A pair of large yellow glowing eyes on a dark humanoid shape stared at him unblinkingly from beside a tree.
Oh God! What the hell is that?
He had enough time to gasp in a breath before something was pulled over his face, muffling his screams as strong hands grabbed him and he was dragged away.
**********
Click to view**********
Waking up at 10 AM was a more reasonable schedule, Dawn thought, as she gave a leisurely stretch. Much more reasonable than the one she’d been forced to take during school.
And Tara and Willow had probably already left for their classes, so there’d be no waiting to get in the bathroom, and no rush once she got in.
Fully awake, Dawn slid from her bed and contemplated whether to get dressed yet or spend a few more hours in her pajamas. Not that it would take a lot of work to get changed -- it was more the comfy novelty of staying in her sleep clothes than anything.
She paused as she remembered how her mother would celebrate her first day on vacation by making her chocolate chip pancakes the next morning. The soft sugary gooey goodness of which was then soured by her mother handing her the post-school list of daily chores.
It was different with Willow and Tara. They didn’t leave her any lists -- sometimes Tara would ask for help with the dishes after dinner, but that was pretty much as far as it went. Which wasn’t bad -- just different. More lonely. Just another reminder of the mom who wasn’t with her.
Suddenly she didn’t feel like doing much of anything. It was going to be one of those days -- she could feel it. And she wasn’t even PMSing.
She trudged downstairs, moving to the kitchen, and felt her heart jump as she caught a shape out of the corner of her eye. The shape turned out to be Spike, sitting on the couch.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re here.”
He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, going back to staring out into space.
Dawn had noticed that Spike was getting more and more quiet these days. He used to show so much emotion. He didn’t even turn on the TV when he came over anymore, which was why she was so surprised to see him -- before she’d be alerted to his presence by the sounds of whatever program he was watching.
Dawn felt a bit of selfish anger rise in her -- where did he get off staying this depressed? She was the one who’d lost both her sister and her mother.
She reached into the cupboard for a mug, placing it down a little too harshly onto the counter. It clanged loudly against the surface.
Channeling your emotions into making hot chocolate wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but she hoped she was a little calmer when she finally moved into the living room and took a seat next to Spike. The cup in her hands was warm and the chocolate steamed, wafting up a nice sugary smell. It wasn’t chocolate chip pancakes, but it was close enough.
“Anything good on?” she asked, picking up the remote control.
Spike shrugged. “Dunno.”
Dawn frowned, frustrated at his refusal to even try to give her a way to connect. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about her. Like that time it had somehow gotten out that Buffybot was a robot, and an entire group of demon bikers had come to massacre Sunnydale. She and Spike had been out, and she’d gotten caught by the leader of the gang. Spike had challenged him one-on-one, and practically ripped the demon apart when he was done. The others had tried to attack him after that, and he’d killed two more of them before the rest had finally caught the hint and ran off.
When he’d found another of them near her house on the way back home, he’d disposed of it in just a violent a way. It had taken Tara hours to scrub the blood from the porch.
Spike had sneered when he’d seen the blood gone. “Should have left it,” he’d said. “Scent would have warned the other idiots off.” He’d made out like the mess was intentional, but Dawn had seen the difference in the way he fought when he thought he was defending her life. He was savage, more reckless. He let himself get hurt more -- actually, it was almost like he couldn’t feel any pain at all. His hands had been badly mangled by the end of that night of demon fighting, from cutting himself on the numerous sharp piercings the bikers wore.
But who knew. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t really her at all but Buffy’s memory alone that made him protect her. He certainly wasn’t helping convince her otherwise.
She sighed, suddenly desperate, and said the one thing she knew was guaranteed to get him to respond, even if it sometimes made it feel like they were more distant than ever.
“I miss Buffy.”
She felt him tense, and for a moment she was scared her tactic wouldn’t work. Then she’d really be devastated.
But then, finally, Spike reached a hand around her shoulders and pulled her close. She immediately leaned into him, grateful for the affection, inhaling deeply the comforting smell of leather and tobacco from his duster.
“Me too, Bit,” he said, but his eyes were still far away. “Me too.”
**********
“It’s been months! Can’t you get over this already?”
Xander didn‘t look up from the books he was sorting from the recent shipment to the Magic Box. Here they went again. As if he didn’t get badgered about this enough at home -- Anya was going to find plenty of time during her work hours to do it, too.
“Ahn, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good time to decide a date for the wedding yet.”
Though he wasn’t looking directly at her, Xander watched Anya out of the corner of his eye. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked genuinely unhappy and frustrated as she added more eye of newt to the shelves.
“Well why not? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, now? I mean, isn’t that what an engagement’s for?”
“An engagement is a time for people to get to know each other,” Xander said, keeping his voice calm and cool. Getting all emotional about this wouldn‘t help anything. “Set rules and regulations for each other, get an idea of what the rest of their lives are going to be like together.”
Anya, who had just finished rather expressively opening the till at the register, began to count the money in an impressively rage-filled manner. “That sounds an awful lot like what we were doing before the engagement,” she protested, and then went quiet, the only sounds in the shop suddenly the sound of money sliding against money.
When she was done with the bills, there was then the loud clinking of coins.
And just when he'd thought she'd let it go, she started up again. “I think I was right. You really did just propose in the heat of the moment, world at stake adrenaline rush.”
Xander sighed. It was definitely a good thing he loved this woman, otherwise the constant doubt would grate on him a lot more than it was. They’d been engaged seven months now -- he didn’t see the problem with waiting a little longer.
“I get that you’re upset. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with it, especially so soon after--”
“After what? After Buffy’s death?” Anya slammed the till shut, then picked up another shipping box and started carrying it to the back. “Yeah well, thanks, Xander. If I had known she was your true love and you were never going to move on I would have never agreed to condemning myself to agonizing weeks of waiting.”
Xander had to hurry to catch up with her, and grabbed her arm to stop her angry exit. She wrenched herself from his grasp and turned to face him, her face furious.
“It does still hurt to know she’s gone,” he admitted. “But that’s not the only reason I want to wait. You don’t have to worry. When I engaged myself to you, it was one of the most serious moments of my life.”
“Then start getting re-serious about it.” Anger and sorrow warred together in her chestnut eyes. Abruptly, she directed her gaze downward. “I’m going to move out for a while. Though financially, it‘s a stupid idea, I‘ve decided it hurts too much to stay around you and know that we could be married already but we‘re not.”
Xander felt a bit of panic at her words. He hadn‘t realized it was coming to this. “Anya--”
“No -- don’t say anything, unless it’s to tell me you’re ready to start planning our wedding.” She looked him up and down, before managing to meet his gaze again. Her eyes were glistening at the edges. “I’d like you to leave my shop now. I‘ll probably come and get my belongings to relocate while you‘re at work.”
Dumbfounded, Xander watched her begin putting items on the storage shelves. Then he made his way with slow steps from the room and out of the Magic Box.
**********
Willow turned a sour eye at the sky and shivered, then hugged her bare arms. “Well that figures.”
Tara smiled, recognizing Willow‘s tone as more sulky-disappointment than serious misery. “What?”
“It was all nice and bright this morning, so I put on my sunny day clothes, only for it to turn out, well -- not so sunny.”
“Well, you can wait around and hope for the sun to come out again, or--” And at this Tara pulled her back pack around and started rooting through it. “You can take this extra cozy cable sweater that I packed just in case.”
Willow smiled, reaching for the offered item. “Sweater, please.”
Tara stopped and waited as Willow put her back pack on the ground so she could put on the sweater. “Mmm,” came Willow’s muffled voice as she pulled it over her head. “It smells like you.”
Tara blushed, rubbing her hand on the arm of the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing.
“Is that good?”
“Yep!” Willow grinned as she replaced her back pack. “Hence the ‘mmmm’ and not the ‘eeew!’ Nice Tara smell. Very non-fishy.”
“Always good to know I’m not a fish.”
They continued walking on, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Tara could feel the love and happiness flowing off of Willow in waves, and it fed her good mood.
“So what do you think?” Willow asked. “Should we go pick up some holiday decorations?”
Tara knew how much Willow liked to decorate and make things look nice, but she had to keep in mind the third occupant of their inherited house.
“We should pick up Dawn first. I promised her she could come.”
Alarmingly, Tara felt a change in her lover’s aura. Something about what she had said was causing it to darken.
“Oh,” Willow said, disappointment coloring her voice.
Tara frowned, her heart suddenly beating faster in reaction to her distress. It was the same feeling she used to get being around others -- a result of her deep shy nature and inability to fit in. She rarely felt that way around Willow, but she was definitely feeling it now, and that knowledge dismayed her more than anything.
“I-Is something wrong?”
“No! It was just -- well, with Dawnie being out of school and all, we haven’t really had that much time alone together lately, and I was thinking, maybe, this could be an outing with just the two of us?” Willow frowned suddenly. “Nevermind. You’re right -- let’s go get Dawn.”
Willow was still obviously upset. Bewildered, Tara desperately tried to make it better. She didn’t want this feeling to be associated with Willow -- Willow who’d turned her life around, made her feel loved and accepted for who she was.
“We don’t have to bring her with us. We can just do half of the shopping now, and then do the rest as a group.”
“No, it’s fine,” Willow said, even though it obviously wasn’t, and Tara felt her heart break a little more. “I wanted to do a bit more tinkering with Buffybot, anyway.”
But Tara couldn’t think of anything else she could do to cheer Willow up -- it seemed her choices would only make the difference between what level of unhappiness her lover was feeling.
Swallowing the lump that was starting in her throat, Tara followed Willow on what was shaping up to be a very long walk back to their house.
**********
Spike was looking over the pictures on the wall of the Summers household. Dawn had watched the television until she’d nodded off, and was now sleeping on the couch, her dark brown hair curved over and spilled out onto the cushions.
It was part of his routine when he came over to babysit her. He looked over the photographs, to remind himself of what Bit had lost. What she’d lost because of him.
There they were, on a beach somewhere in the sun. Buffy wearing an orange and red two-piece number and Dawn not more than ten in a one-piece blue bathing suit. They were both smiling -- not that cheap, fake, spur-of-the-moment photograph expression either. Bare toes buried in white sand and they both had huge grins on their faces, like they’d been in the middle of laughing and were trying to stifle themselves for the photo. A moment of no quarreling -- just two sisters together, experiencing pure, unbridled joy.
Spike spent a long time staring at this photo during his visits. He’d never really seen Buffy this happy, and felt a bit heartsick at the thought that now he’d never have the chance. The only time that came halfway close was when Willow had screwed up that bloody will-be-done spell, but even then it’d just been that -- a spell. Not real. Not real like this.
He raised a hand to trace over her face, the plastic somehow feeling soft under his fingers. God. It still hurt so much that she was gone. One hundred and ninety nine days. One hundred and ninety nine days since he’d failed her.
He gently took the photo from the wall, cradling the cool frame and its smooth edges in his hands, his eyes locked onto her glowing expression.
The front door opened and he nearly dropped the photograph in surprise, then hastily jammed it into the pocket of his duster and whirled around to see Willow and Tara come in. He berated himself for getting so distracted that he hadn’t heard them approach. That thought left him as he took in Tara’s uneasy expression -- something was up.
Dawn was groggily raising her head from the couch, and she brightened and shook off the sleep when she saw the two witches.
“Hey,” she greeted.
Tara raised an eyebrow and gave the girl a knowing smile, shaking off her previous mood. “Still in pajamas at this hour?”
Dawn rubbed at her eyes and nodded. “I thought about changing this time, at least.”
“That is quite the improvement,” Tara joked.
Spike’s eyes drifted to Willow, who had a wearied and discontented expression as she headed upstairs, not even affording any of them a glance.
Dawn noticed, too. “What’s up her butt?” the girl asked.
“She’s just -- she’s tired. School, you know -- and she has to work on Buffybot a bit.”
Spike had to fight the urge to curl his lip. Why the hell did everyone call it “Buffybot” like that was its name? Like it was more than just a thing.
“Hey, you ready to do some Christmas shopping tonight?” Tara asked.
Dawn’s eyes lit up. “Are you kidding? I’ve only been complaining for like, two weeks.”
“Give or take a week,” Tara said.
Familiar footsteps were coming down the stairs. Spike shut his eyes at the panic-laced misery that raced through his veins. Bloody hell, does she have to bring it down here?
“What’s Christmas?” the bot asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Only they weren’t, because it wasn’t real. Was less real than when people forced themselves to smile for their cheery photographs.
“You don’t know what Christmas is?” Dawn asked in disbelief.
The bot tilted its head. “That word is not in my database.”
Willow came down with a few tools in her hands. “Guess holidays weren’t really the top of the list of programmable information.”
Yeah. Holidays had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d commissioned the robot.
It hadn’t noticed him yet. He began inching for the back door, loosening his arms from the sleeves of his duster in preparation to pull it over his head to protect himself from the sun. He was thankful for the clouds that had seeped in since that morning.
“You’re leaving?” Tara asked.
Spike stopped with a flinch and swore internally as the bot focused its attention on him. Bloody woman! She was so good at reading auras, why couldn’t she have taken a hint from his?
“Spike!” All teeth in that smile, teeth and pretty stretched lips. So like the picture, and yet nothing at all like it. A disgrace to her memory. “Are you going Christmas shopping, too?”
He grit his teeth. “Yeah. Matter of fact, I’m going right now.”
He tried to make his escape, only to have the bot eagerly rush in front of him. “I’ll come with you! You can teach me.” Its expression changed minutely, going to what passed as lust for the bot. “You’re so very good at teaching me things.”
A hand brushed against the front of his jeans.
He jumped back in disgust, rage building, and turned on Willow, snarling, “You can fix the sodding thing any fucking day now!”
The girls and the bot were stunned into silence at his outburst, all their eyes on him. He hadn’t ever cursed so angrily in front of them, before.
Whatever. They could bloody deal with it.
He pulled up the duster over his head and moved for the back door before anyone could stop him.
Willow’s voice followed him in a frantic rush. “We don’t have class tomorrow but we do the next day!”
He slammed the door in answer, sprinting off down the street.
**********
Willow felt like a gigantic knot of ickiness was gurgling around in her belly. She hadn’t really eaten since breakfast, and the gnawing hunger added to the feeling.
She looked at Tara and Dawn, seeing the shock and hurt she felt mirrored in their faces.
Then Willow noticed with alarm that Dawn was about to cry.
“Dawnie,” she said. “He’s probably just having a bad day.”
“Yeah,” Dawn said, and there was a bitter edge to her voice. “Just a bad day.”
Tara reached over and rubbed at Dawn’s back.
Buffybot looked at Willow sadly. “Why doesn’t Spike like me anymore? Am I not a good girlfriend?”
“No,” Willow reassured, knowing it was easier to console Buffybot rather than explain the truth to her. “No, you’re a great girlfriend. Don’t worry about him, he’s just being a big meanie right now. Come on, sit on the couch so I can look inside you. If we get this done quick, I might even have time to teach you about Christmas.”
Buffybot’s gigantic smile rushed to her face and she excitedly went to the couch, sitting next to Dawn. “Thank you, Willow.”
The phone started ringing. Willow glanced at it and then looked at Tara. “Can you get that?”
Tara walked over to the phone, and Willow was suddenly reminded that the mood of their relationship wasn’t exactly on good ground today, either.
The cause had been mainly Willow’s frustration. Hanging out with Tara at school was all well and good, but it seemed like lately their lives were totally revolving around Dawn. Which wasn’t a bad thing so much as a hard thing, but it weighed on Willow all the same. Every once in a while she needed to be reminded -- in other ways -- of Tara’s love, and those ways lately had been moved aside in favor of getting enough sleep before class or work at the Magic Box. Or getting back home as soon as possible to relieve Spike of Dawn duty.
Janice’s family was out of state for Christmas vacation, so Dawn had pretty much needed round-the-clock surveillance by one of them. And Xander and Anya were working just as much of the time, making it so Willow would have felt bad taking their free time away by making them babysit Dawn.
She sighed. What she wouldn’t give for someone who’d watch Dawn for just a day, to ease the burden a little.
Tara suddenly looked directly at her with the phone still pressed to her ear. “It’s Giles,” she said. “He’s coming back from England for Christmas.”
Willow blinked, elation spreading through her while Dawn made a small squealing noise. Huh. She guessed something had to go her way eventually.
**********
Spike felt like he was a robot himself as he walked across his crypt to grab another beer. Spikebot. He snickered at the image and opened the bottle, downing half in one go.
At this rate he’d clean himself out, and he didn’t have that much money for more. But he didn’t really care about that at the moment. Something would come up again. Some other baddie, and he could charge the Scoobies for his services. Tell them it would be extra if the bot was there.
They didn’t pay him for sitting Dawn, but he’d never ask.
Wouldn’t refuse if they offered, either, but still -- he’d never ask.
His prize clutched in his hand, he went back to the sofa and collapsed into it, legs spread, body curved somewhat uncomfortably against the angles of the chair. He couldn’t care enough to move himself, and took a long gulp of the beer, staring at the black screen of his television set. He could see the sofa reflected on the screen, and the frame of the photograph that was sitting on the arm, and his duster draped haphazardly over the back of the chair. But no reflection for him -- he was invisible as ever.
Another gulp, and then he propped the bottle between his legs, grabbing the photograph in his fingers, which were moistened from the condensation on the beer bottle.
Buffy was still there, still happy. She could have had more moments in life like that, if it wasn’t for him. So could have Dawn.
Tears were building in his eyes. Fuck. He brought the heel of his hand up to rub at them. It was the alcohol -- making him soft. Making him more miserable, punishing him before he could reach that lovely spot of numbness.
Buffy, I’m so sorry.
It was going to be day two hundred tomorrow. Day two hundred in a long line of days to come.
He couldn’t see himself feeling different even if the day two thousand came up.
Two hundred. Another one hundred sixty five and it’d be a year. A year and she still wouldn’t be back. She’d never be back.
He sniffled, exhaling shakily. Tears stuck to his eyelashes and blurred his vision. Blurred the image of her lovely face, so happy and free in the sun.
There was a scratching sound at his door.
Brought out of his thoughts, Spike darted from his seat, cursing when the forgotten bottle of beer between his legs spilled over onto the ground. He reached down and quickly put it upright on the ground, placing the photograph safely on the cushion of the sofa.
The sound happened again. Spike wiped harder at his eyes, deciding that since whatever it was outside his door was going to die anyway, it didn’t matter entirely too much if it saw him in this state. He moved towards the door of his crypt, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
The scrape came again, and he noted it was high on the door. Whatever was out there was tall. He should have brought a weapon with him.
Didn’t matter. Whatever beastie was out there was going to learn just what bad timing it had the deadly way.
Hand on his door, he listened for it, his senses screaming. He felt itching at the areas in his mouth where his fangs would drop.
Then he pushed the door open.