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Silent Night, Holy Night	By : pepperlandgirl Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2143 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BtvS or AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Silent Night, Holy Night
- 2-Holy Night
- 1
- 2
Title: Silent Night
Rating: PG
Pairing: B/S
Summary: Set after Angel 5.08. Spike feels the pull of the Sunnydale Crater and finally returns on Christmas Eve.
Disclaimer: None of it’s mine.
Distribution: Heh, if you want it, let me know.

Spike examined the towering Christmas tree in the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. It stood over two stories and glowed with thousands of lights. Gold, red, green, and blue. Tinsel draped off of each limb, and silver icicles dripped off the tips and sparkled in the blinking lights. A huge star perched on the top of the tree, liom tom the inside, and casting a golden glow on all the people below. Glass balls bobbed and spun on the branches. Under the drooping branches sat gaily decorated boxes—large, small, square, and misshapen. Huge red ribbons decorated the boxes, and a nametag proudly proclaimed which gift belonged to which employee.

Fred pointed out that it would increase morale if the employees received gifts as well as bonuses. Knox had told her that in the past, Christmas gifts usually consisted of severed heads and mystical do-dads that could kill your enemies. Spike thought that was a damned good gift, but he didn’t voice his approval. Fred and Lorne had taken a weekend long shopping trip, scouring most of southern California for the perfect gifts. Lorne had read nearly everybody before they left—a long boring process that hurt Spike’s ears. He could hear their off-key caterwauling no matter where he was at in the building.

Spike couldn’t stop looking at the tree. He had seen some impressive trees before. Dru liked to go to Rockefeller Center every year and eat carolers. The Wolfram and Hart tree put that famous tree to shame. Even so, that’s not what kept Spike glued to the spot with a mingled expression of interest, horror, and amusement.

He heard Angel pass him several times, but he never acknowledged the other vampire’s presence. Not even when Angel lumbered by carrying a steaming mug of otter’s blood. Spike still wasn’t satisfied…he ate more than he needed to. Though oddly enough, he didn’t really crave human blood. He didn’t care where the blood was from, or how he got it, he just constantly wanted more. But he couldn’t pull himself away from the tree to search for more food.

“What are you looking at?” Angel finally asked, exasperated after several hours.

Spike blinked. “The Christmas tree.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

Spike shook his head without looking at Angel. “Other than it’s extremely tacky, nothing.”

“Then why are you looking at it?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re bugging me,” Angel said tightly.

“Why do we have a Christmas tree?”

“What?”

“Why do we have a Christmas tree?” Spike repeated slowly. “Isn’t it a bit…stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Spike,” Angel sighed.

“Oh like hell it’s not. An evil law firm ran by a vampire and staffed with a bunch of fucking demons, with a bloody huge Christmas tree, and you say it’s not silly?”

Angel glared at him. “Fred wanted a Christmas tree.”

“Oh. Well, never mind then.” He glanced at Angel and said casually, “I’m leaving.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since I can see you’re heartbroken, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Angel asked, though it was clear from his voice he was just trying to be polite.

Spike didn’t bother responding immediately. He walked over to the tree and picked up a small, rectangle box propped up against the larger gifts. His name was written in black in Fred’s firm, yet somehow girlish, handwriting.

“I’m going to take this now.”

“Do you not understand the concept of Christmas presents?”

“Won’t be here for Christmas, mate.” He slipped the box into his pocket. “I might be back for the New Year’s Eve bash though.”

“It won’t be a party without you,” Angel said dryly.

Spike turned on his heel and headed for the door. Angel didn’t know it, but Spike had the keys to his viper tucked securely in his jeans’ pocket.

“Where are you going?” Angel repeated.

Spike put his hand up and waved goodbye without slowing or turning. He knew it would annoy Angel if he just left without any sort of indication of where he planned on going. He didn’t even have to turn around to see Angel’s face twisted, irate and slightly angry. Tough for him. Spike tried to make a clean break, but he was stopped short by Fred and Wes in the garage.

“Where are you going?” Fred asked.

“On a trip.”

“Will you be back in time for Christmas?”

“Probably not.”

He walked over to the Viper and unlocked the door.

“Does Angel know you’re taking his car?” Wes asked.

“He’ll figure it out.”

“What about your gift?”

Spike looked at Fred and smiled slightly, then pat his pocket. “I’ve got it.”

“What if we need you?” Fred asked.

“You won’t.” Spike slid behind the wheel of the car and started the car. The engine roared and echoed off the garage walls, deafeningly. Spike slammed the door and rolled down the window. “Be good kiddies.”

“Where are you going?” Fred asked again.

Spike answered just as he gunned the engine, and his voice was lost in the sound. “Sunnydale.”

~*~

Spike made good time in the Viper, despite the holiday season. Trying to get out of L.A. was a bitch, even when he wasn’t mystically tied to Angel. The freeways were clogged and the surface streets weren’t much better. He blasted the radio and sang along with the music to kill the time as the traffic inched forward slowly.

He knew once he got out of the city, it would open up, and then he’d be in Sunnydale just an hour later. He couldn’t exactly explain why he needed to go back to Sunnydale, which was the main reason he didn’t tell Angel where he was going. Not that it was any of Angel’s business anyway. He also didn’t know how long he’d be there. Maybe he’d spend all of Christmas Eve and Christmas day at the crater, or maybe he’d turn around after five minutes. Maybe he’d go to New York. Who the fuck knew anymore?

It did only take an hour to get to the crater once he escaped the towering buildings and bright lights. He drove too fast, zipping in and out of traffic with complete disregard for his own safety, or for anybody else’s. He hated L.A. and he couldn’t get away quick enough. The city sprawled for miles and miles but to Spike, it was smaller and more confining than Sunnydale. It felt like a prison. He would say it felt like hell, but now he had a small taste of what hell was…

He didn’t want to go to the crater. Not really. All in all, a Christmas party sounded a lot more fun that a cold night outside of his would-be grave. Even if the Christmas party included Angel. But Christmas parties also included booze and he could get absolutely shit-faced and it wouldn’t matter who was there with him. That held a certain attraction, but he couldn’t deny the very strong pull he felt to Sunnydale. It was almost as if the Hellmouth was calling him—the Hellmouth he had closed only months before.

Since he had received the mysterious package in the mail, a voice in the back of his mind urged and cajoled him to go to Sunnydale. For nearly three weeks he stifled the voice, ignored it, and tried to live his life—or what passed for his life now. But that morning he woke up, sore and slightly hung over, and he couldn’t deny the pull any longer.

The desert was empty and cold. After about thirty miles from the city, the traffic thinned until he was the only one on the road. Of course he was…nobody else would be driving to the massive hole in the ground. There wasn’t anything there. Not for him, not for anyone, so what the hell was he doing on this fool’s mission?

For the first time since he became corporeal, he started craving cigarettes. He wanted one so badly he could taste it and his hands shook slightly. He promised himself that if he passed a gas station, he’d stop and buy a pack. He didn’t even care about which brand. He wished he had had the foresight to bring along a flask of whiskey as well. He would need it in the cold, empty, lonely night.

Buffy drifted into his thoughts. He didn’t bother to push her away. Like a ghost, she sat beside him in the car, watching him with a bit of hair falling over her forehead and into her eyes. He knew she was just a figment of his imagination—not the First one of the haunts from the law firm. He didn’t like to think about her too much. It was too painful, and some days, not painful enough. He began to think of her the way he thought of Drusilla now—more than a touch of regret, mingled with love and acceptance that it was over.

Spike had never spent a Christmas with her in any way. Which made sense, because Christmas was for family and friends, and he was never either to her. Not until much later. Not until right before he died. He had wanted to though…the year she had come back he bought gifts for both Buffy and the Bit. Buffy had thrown them out without even opening them.

Perhaps that was one reason he had been so willing to leave L.A. Christmas was for family and friends, and though he had no use for the religious meaning behind the holiday, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to celebrate it. But they weren’t his friends, his family, they were Angel’s. Spike recognized that some of the things Angel cherished still belonged to him solely.

Spike growled at his own despondency. It was stupid and pointless to allow himself to get depressed over something so stupid. Despite the recognized stupidity of the situation, he couldn’t help but miss the ones he loved…the ones he had loved and would always love. Drusilla, Buffy, Dawn…right at that moment, he would give his newly recovered body to spend the evening with any of them, just one more time.

Spike parked the viper at the very edge of the crater, where the road abruptly ended. He shut off the car and sat in the dark, listening to the gentle click of the cooling engine. The new silence was almost deafening, and his fingers twitched to turn on the car again, to blast the radio louder, turn around, and speed into the night. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out.

Spike sat down heavily on the very edge of the hole, his legs dangling over the precipice. It occurred to him that the ground could easily crumble beneath him, sending him plunging into the endless darkness of the pit, but he wasn’t worried. Whistling casually, he pulled Fred’s gift out of his pocket and turned over it in his hands.

Fred was a good girl. He liked her. In fact, he liked Angel’s whole gang. Even Charlie wasn’t half bad, and the green demon was only marginally annoying. He imagined by now they’d be drinking eggnog and mingling with the employees. Spike didn’t think they should have planned another party after the Halloween debacle, but Fred was adamant. That’s what he liked most about her. She was so goddamned determined about everything.

He could make out the wrapping paper in the dim light of the moon and stars—it was gold with red Christmas trees. He restrained himself from ripping into the present like a five year old, and instead, peeled the tape from the paper slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had received a gift like that, and figured he’d better take his time.

Spike peeled the wrapping away to expose a velvet box—a jeweler’s box. He frowned and let the paper flutter from his fingertips. It danced away on the wind, unnoticed, and floated into the gaping maw. Spike slowly opened the box, revealing a gold pocket watch. He could tell from one glance that it was expensive. And old. An antique. He turned it over but there was no inscription. No card.

Spike snorted—why did an immortal need a watch? He fingered the fine gold chain and opened the watch, exposing the face. It needed to be wound—or it was much later than Spike had thought. He slipped into his pocket carefully—wouldn’t do it drop it.

Now that he was there, he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. Once, before they left London for the last time, he had returned to the graveyard where he had been buried. It was a beggars’ yard. He had been thrown into an unmarked grave with all the other people who had died from exposure, or Angel’s gang. Only, unlike them, he had waked up and clawed his way out of the shallow grave. He had returned to the area without thought or any real intent. Spike remembered standing at the gate and letting his eyes linger over the anonymous crosses and somehow couldn’t reconcile the fact that he had been dead and buried and gone and nobody knew. Nobody knew that he had been buried and nobody knew that he wasn’t there anymore.

The same sense of unreality washed over him now. He still remembered dying. He remembered that part very, very clearly. The ghost of the pain still lingered in his body, and he doubted he’d ever be completely rid of it. He didn’t remember much else though. There was the battle of course. And all the girls became Slayers, and his senses went wild. Light, blinding light, then the pain, then just…nothing. He knew Buffy had been there, knew that he had talked to her…but he couldn’t remember the specifics. By then the pain and had taken over everything and he just wanted her to get out.

And she had. So that was good then.

Angel said she was in Europe. Spike knew he could find her. Thought that he should. But what if he did?

He picked up a pebble and threw it down into the hole. He strained his ears, but he didn’t hear it hit the bottom. Maybe it was bottomless. The perfect place to hide a body. He wondered if he could somehow crawl down the side of the wall…

Spike continued to throw rocks into the crater, as though a part of him thought he could fill it. He sat there for hours, the only movement was the casual tossing of the pebbles. He didn’t stand up and stretch his legs, didn’t move back to his car, and as the night drew closer to dawn, it didn’t occur to him to stand up.

He didn’t think about anything in particular. His mind jumped from thought to thought like a hummingbird moves from flower to flower. Buffy, Angel, Drusilla, Dawn, Sunnydale, New York, the Slayers, L.A., London, Giles, the witches, the Hellmouth, his old crypt, the basement under the school, the chip, the Initiative…images and sounds ran round and round his head and he couldn’t concentrate on any one aspect of the past 120 years.

Spike typically wasn’t one for deep introspection, but now he was making up for lost time. The Christmas tree at the office still bothered him. The fading memory of Buffy’s face still haunted him and the smell of Dru’s hair still surrounded him.

“Are you real?” Her voice was high, surprised, soothing, and sweet. It affected him almost immediately. He didn’t need to turn around to see the surprise reflected on her face. Didn’t need to turn around to verify that she was really there. He could smell her. He could smell the powerful blood in her veins that called to him like elixir, he could hear her pounding heart—thump thump thump—he could almost taste her skin. “Are you real?” She repeated.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs and head with her essence. Memories that had been hidden, buried, with pain and neglect now bubbled to the surface and nearly overwhelmed him completely. His head spun, and he gripped the rough, rocky edge of the hole.

“Spike?” She sounded tentative now. Scared. Like maybe he was just a figment of her imagination. Or the First had returned. She didn’t take another step closer, though he knew she wasn’t afraid. Why should she be? She was the Slayer, after all. Nothing, not even the Ultimate Evil, could frighten her.

“I’m here, Buffy.” Spike was surprised at the way his voice sounded. Rough. Clogged. Raspy. Like he hadn’t spoken in months.

“How…?”

Spike shook his head. He couldn’t explain now because he thought he might be drowning.

Her heartbeat increased. Nervous? Excited? She moved now. He could hear the whisper of her shoes against the gravel. Seconds later, he felt the barest brush of her fingers against the back of his neck. He didn’t move. She was just testing, checking, making sure, being cautious, being smart.

“It’ll be dawn soon.” Her voice was low, heavy with emotion that he couldn’t name. He knew she was trying to sound casual, but that wasn’t possible. For either one of them.

Spike nodded, and moved to stand up. She took a step back, giving him room. He straightened and turned around, steeling himself for the shock of seeing her again—a shock that could probably jumpstart his heart.

At first glance, it seemed Buffy hadn’t changed much. But he knew he could spend hours exploring her body, inventorying the new marks and scars and signs of battles, counting the different ways she smiled, listening to the new tones of laughter. He didn’t think he would, but he knew he could.

She stared back at him, blinking. She put her fingers up to her lips, unconsciously, and touched them with her tongue. The sun was slowly starting to rise, and she was haloed in the purple and orange light. He could feel the new heat in the back of his head and behind his eyes. He blinked and wiped the water away—not tears, just a result of looking into the sun, that was all.

Without a word, he moved to the Viper and slipped into the car. Buffy watched him. He didn’t turn the car on, didn’t lock it, didn’t move at all. He longed for her to join him, but if she did, what would he say? She watched him until the sun climbed over the peaks of the distant mountains, waiting to see if he would burst into flames in the car without painted windows. Finally she moved around the car and opened the door. She moved quickly, sitting on the seat and slamming the door behind her.

“Special windows,” he offered.

“I see.”

For the first time in since he came back, Spike just didn’t know what to say.

“How long have you been…?”

“A few months.”

“Oh.”

A long pause. Enough time to say everything that needed to be said, only he didn’t know what needed to be said.

“Let’s go,” she finally said.

“Where?” He expected she would say LA.

Buffy looked at him and smiled. “East.”

“East?”

“East.”

Spike smiled back. “Yes ma’am.”

The things that needed to be said could wait until after the holidays.
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Silent Night, Holy Night