Author's Notes: Thank you all for the lovely reviews on the last chapter. All I have to say about this one is… it’s fluff. Loads of fluff with some UST. However… fluffiness aside, Buffy’s not going to change her mind overnight. She’s in no way ready for a lightbulb moment. She’s got to come to some realizations all on her own, and I fully intend to let her.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy every single UST laden moment before then, however.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: All me again… though one of the scenes is canon derived. I’ll let you figure out which. Oh, and music credits go to Dr. Seuss.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae

---

---

Chapter 15
Silent Night

"Can demons change?" I ask Mr. Gordo a few nights later, after a sparring session. We're sprawled on the bed again, once more with some distance between us, trying to catch our breath. Well, I am. He's just panting because he's weird.

Yes, he taps lazily against the headboard. I try to imagine how he must be laying so that he can easily reach it and come up with a blank. Hard to picture someone you've never seen. Every so often I'll try to come up with a mental image of him, but it always fails to stick, as if somehow I know it's not the right one. I've imagined him looking like a frat boy, like a musician, like a nerd. I try to imagine the kind of human he might have once been, to be such a... friendly vampire.

Sometimes I think he must have been a little awkward as a human, which is why he's a little weird as a vampire. Maybe quiet and shy, which is why he can't talk.

Or won't.

Sometimes I want to ask which it is, but I'm always sure I'll be disappointed by the answer. If he can't talk, it means he never will, and I'll never get to have an actual conversation with him—which, yeah, I know I'm not supposed to want to have a chat with a vampire, but sometimes when I'm talking to him I can tell there's things he wants to say.

If he won't talk... well that's disappointing, too. Because it means he doesn't want to talk to me.

But if that were the case, wouldn't he always just come in and go to sleep and not try to communicate?

So I'm pretty sure it's can't.

But it might be won't.

So I don't ask.

"See," I say, "here's the sitch. Spike, my annoying neighborhood vampire who I can't dust because he's... well... handicapped? I ran into him at the mall the other day and... we actually managed to spend a few hours together without trying to kill each other. Not, you know, together together, I mean. Anya, Willow and Tara were there along with about a half a million Christmas shoppers. And even though we basically made him cart around all our stuff... he wasn't as much of a pain as he usually is. Tara thinks that he's... changing. 'Cause of his handicap, maybe. So... do you think that that's possible?"

He's quiet for a while then taps Yes, in such a lazy way that I'm almost certain he means "sure, why not?"

"Because after we left, I realized he'd left his stupid new shirts with me. And I know I should take them over to him, but... I really don't wanna. Because the Spike I'm used to? There's no way he's not going to make a thing about it. And right now I so can't deal with Spike being an asshole. I just know I'll end up punching him in his smug, arrogant face. Or crying. He's going to make some dumb comment about Riley, and... and I don't want to talk about Riley right now. Every time I even think about Riley lately I want to cry or hit something. Usually both."

I sigh. Mr. Gordo is still.

"But he was kind of okay, the other day. Not, you know, the kind of guy I ever want to be best pals with or anything, but he was... tolerable. So maybe it'll be okay. And... well... it's Christmas. And you're supposed to be nice to people on Christmas. Not that Spike is people. Ugh! Maybe I'll just wait until he comes by to get them and then I can just ... except my mom wouldn't like that. She likes Spike. Which is weird, because nobody likes Spike. He's... cocky and arrogant and ... way too conceited about how he looks. I mean, okay, so yes, for a vampire... he's good looking, but he doesn't have to parade around all the time like he knows it. And his mouth? Never shuts. Not even when he sticks his foot in it. ... and why do people say that? 'Stick your foot in your mouth'? Who does that? And what does it have to do with saying something dumb?"

Mr. Gordo gives a short, soft chuckle.

"You're laughing at me?"

Yes.

I sigh. "I should just take Spike his stupid shirts, shouldn't I?"

Yes.

"I'm getting lessons in manners from a vampire. The Watchers' Council would be beside themselves.... and what does that mean? Beside yourself? How can you be beside yourself? Unless you're Xander and you get split into two people, of course."

Mr. Gordo chuckles again.

"Weirdo vampire," I mutter.

***

Christmas Eve is freezing. Literally. The guy on the weather says that this is a record low, and we might even see snow by tomorrow—which reminds me too much of Angel. And angsting over exes is so not a great way to spend the holiday.

Instead I help my mom clean up the house, then try to help as much as I can with dinner. She still tires easily, after the surgery, but she's doing much better. She even got dressed up.

Giles arrives early, like a big tweedy Santa Claus bearing wine and presents. Willow and Tara are next, both with covered dishes and more gifts, and the others are coming up the walk as I take Willow's coat. Xander's got gifts and Anya is frowning dubiously at some kind of plastic wrapped thing held in her arms like a brick.

"It's fruitcake," she says, smiling brightly as she hands it to me. "I don't understand why anyone would want hard bread with bits of dried fruit in it, but according to all the magazines and books it’s traditional." She shrugs.

"Thanks," I tell her. Even with my Slayer strength the fruitcake seems heavy. "I'll just... um... find somewhere for it."

By the time we've arranged all the gifts under the tree, dinner is almost ready. Willow and Tara are describing our Crampy attack at the mall the other day for Giles.

"And none of you could actually see it?" he asks, polishing his glasses. "Except Spike?"

"How did you know he wasn't lying?" Xander asks.

"I could feel it," I pipe up. "Demon tinglies. And then it was pretty obvious when we were fighting it. I mean... not obvious in the visible way, but in the I just punched something and it hurt kind of way."

"It's really not so unusual," Anya says, fussing with some place settings. "There are lots of demons that are only visible under special circumstances or to certain kinds of people. Krampus are pretty rare, though. I'd be surprised it was here, but, you know: Hellmouth."

"How is it that you recognized it from Spike's description, Anya?" Giles asks. "I'd heard of them before, but I'm not certain I'd have known what it was so quickly."

She looks up, waving a hand, "Oh, they weren't really uncommon where I'm from. I mean, where I was from before I was a vengeance demon, that is. Local legends. You'd recognize Santa Claus from a verbal description even if you hadn't seen a picture of him for... well... a long time, wouldn't you?"

Giles nods. "We seem to be having an influx of demons from northern Europe lately. This thing, the Mara demon..."

"Could be coincidence," Willow says.

"Or maybe we've become a wacky tourist destination for European demon travelers," Xander says. "I wonder if they have to visit a time-share?"

"Bad enough we have to deal with the local demons, do we really need them shipped in from out of the country?" I ask.

Mom comes in, carrying the last of the food dishes. "Everybody ready to eat?"

There's a rush to get to the table, and then we're a little too preoccupied with stuffing ourselves with Christmasy goodness to worry about demons for a while.

***

After dinner Xander declares that he's going to barf if he eats one more thing, and then manages to put away two whole pieces of—okay, slightly burned—pie.

Then we all head to the living room for presents. Even though this year nobody is going away for Christmas Day (or Chanukah, in Willow's case), we decided we liked our traditional Christmas Eve thing. This is Tara's first Christmas with the Scoobies, so she gets to open the first gift.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she says, her eyes gleaming as she pets the soft fabric of the new messenger bag Willow got her.

After that things go great. Mom loves her blouse and jacket, and the pretty necklace and earring set I got to go with them. For Anya, I got a gorgeous new purse, and gift certificates to some of her favorite stores, which seem to make her even happier than the purse. Giles likes his sweater, and Xander drools a little when he opens the DVD set. I found a really pretty quartz pendant necklace for Willow and a basket with some of her favorite bath stuff from that online place she likes so much. I wasn't sure what to get for Tara, but in the end, Xander and Anya helped me find a great gift.

"It's a Scooby-Doo necklace," I tell her as she opens the little box and looks at the tiny gold pendant shaped like the cartoon dog. "So you know you're one of us. You're family now."

There are tears in her eyes when she hugs me, and I feel like I've made a new best friend.

Afterward there is eggnog and some slightly tipsy caroling before everyone heads home for the night. I slide my coat and gloves on with everyone else.

"You're going out?" Willow asks, the last one to leave.

"Just a quick patrol," I tell her. "Need to work off some of the food."

After she heads down the walk to catch up with Tara, mom hands me the handles of a paper bag.

"I added something," she says. "I know you said he doesn't celebrate Christmas but I thought he might not mind a present."

I frown into the bag, then smile for her sake. "I'm sure he'll appreciate them," I tell her, then take a deep breath.

"Be nice, Buffy," she said. "It's Christmas. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men. Even if they are vampires."

"Right. Santa Buffy officially on duty," I give her a hug. "I'll be back soon. Now, inside with you, young lady, before you freeze."

***

The walk to the cemetery is cold, but peaceful. Like Halloween, Christmas is one of those holidays when vampires and other demons keep to themselves, so I don't even have to use my stake by the time I reach Spike's crypt. I'm half hoping he's out, and I can sneak in and leave the bag without him noticing...

...but no such luck. Even from outside I can hear the faint sounds of music coming from the crypt. I pause to listen, wondering what Spike would be listening to on Christmas Eve. I'm kinda expecting to hear some punk thing, or the Pogues singing Fairytale of New York, so I'm surprised when it's familiar.

"...You're a monster, Mister Grinch. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders; you've got garlic in your soul, Mister Grrrrrrinch. I wouldn't touch you with a... thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole!..."

Well, at least it's appropriate.

I contemplate kicking in the door, but it's Christmas and I promised. I can't quite bring myself to knock though. Instead I just push it open and step in. Spike looks around in surprise from where he's sitting sprawled in his chair in front of the TV, with one leg tossed over the chair arm. There's a bottle of wine open on the floor beside him, and he's writing in a battered up book propped on his thigh. He's ... barefoot?

Huh. Spike feet. For some reason I figured his feet were big-ugly-boot-shaped, but they're actually kind of... nice. Long and white with nice toes. Never really thought about it before, but...vampires have toes. Freaky.

"Buffy," he says, frowning at me over the back of the chair. "What...Shouldn't you be tucked in bed, dreaming of sugar plums and waiting for old St. Nick?"

"He came and went already," I tell him with a shrug. "We did presents tonight."

On the TV the Grinch is slinking through a Who's living room and plucking ornaments off trees. Spike glances at the TV then gets up and turns the volume way down. When he turns around I realize what else is bare.

Whoa. Barefoot Spike, now bare-chested Spike. He's got his old red shirt on, but it's unbuttoned and there's nothing underneath it. Well... not nothing.

Okay... so half of me is all with the ewww, but, the other half? Guh. Now I know what Willow and Anya were talking about. He's all... ripply and chiseled and... whoa. I can safely attest to the fact that not all vampires are built like that. Why wasn't Angel built like that?

I shake my head and try not to think about shirtless Spike even though he's standing there, staring at me like I'm some new species of Slayer he hasn't seen before.

"What?" I ask.

"Was gonna ask you the same, Slayer. It's a bloody holiday, don't you get the night off?" he asks, frowning.

I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable telling bare-chested Spike that I came all the way out here to see him. "Well, you know the Hellmouth. Evil never sleeps."

He gives me a funny look, his jaw working like he wants to say something. "Sure it does, pet," he says finally. He fidgets for a moment, as uncomfortable as me. "You gonna tell me why you're here or keep me guessing?" he asks. "Really don't fancy spending tonight with a broken nose, just so you know."

"You left these," I say, holding out the bag. "At the mall the other day."

Warily he steps forward, but he doesn't take the bag yet. "Forgot," he says, then he looks at me as if he’s confused. "Figured you'd leave 'em there."

Really? Why would he think that?

Well... okay, I can see why he might think that.

"You paid for them," I say feeling awkward. "Besides, you helped carry all our stuff around without complaining... much. And you did help with the demon."

"Right," he says, still staring at the bag as if it's a stake. He glances up at me, cautious. "'Bout that..."

"Please don't ask me for money, Spike. Not tonight. The First Bank of Buffy is officially closed for the holidays," I tell him, exasperated.

"Wasn't," he says, and the look on his face is surprisingly honest. "Swear I wasn't."

"Then what?" I ask.

"Just... I was useful, right? With the demon and the fighting and all?" I can't quite figure out the look on his face.

"Yeah," I say cautiously.

He rubs his fingers through his hair, and I realize that the gel that normally holds it in place is mostly gone, leaving him with a mess of tousled white curls. His hair like that is oddly... adorable. Then I realize what I'm seeing. This is Spike without his armor. No duster or big ugly boots, no carefully controlled curls or cigarette dangling out of his sneering mouth, and very little attitude. Somehow I've caught him off guard and he's oddly vulnerable like this.

I'm not sure I like it.

I'm much more comfortable with Bad Ass Vampire Spike... or Irritated and Impotent Spike. This Spike is too... too much like a man, not a demon; and I don't know what to do with that.

"Just thought...," he sighs and sucks in his cheeks so they're even more hollow than usual. "Just thought maybe... you'd let me in on the fight sometimes, if you want some extra muscle."

"Why?"

His head comes up.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to help? For money?" I ask.

"No," he says, defensively, then thinks better of it. "Not that I'd turn it down, if you offered. Can always use a bit of dosh but—"

"Why then?" I demand.

He growls and kicks at an empty beer bottle on the floor in frustration. "Because I'm tired of feeling bloody useless! Sitting here, night after night, taking down a demon or two on my own... it's not the same."

"Same as what?" I ask.

He takes a prowling step forward, then stops himself.

"Being... in the thick of it. Being... part of something. Doing something," he says. "I used to go where I wanted, did what I bloody well pleased. Had plans and things to do. Evil, yeah, but... things. Now I've got soddin’ daytime TV and...," he stops, staring at me, his nostrils flaring. "I could be useful, right?"

"You want to be one of the good guys?" I ask, incredulous.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "Not like it'd be the first time, eh? Seem to remember a similar conversation a few years back."

I want to save the world...

"That's not the same," I tell him. "You're not talking about a one time truce and trade here, Spike. How do I know you won't turn on me the first chance you get? You and I both know that the minute you get that chip out you're gonna come after me again."

He slumps back against a coffin, deflated. "Right," he says. "Forgot. Nevermind. Was a stupid idea in the first place. Knew you wouldn't want me kicking about and getting in your way." He wanders over to his chair and picks up the wine bottle, then takes a long swig. "Just hate feeling..."

He doesn't finish the sentence but I know what he means. Useless sucks. I think about what Tara suggested the other day, and Mr. Gordo's assertion that he thought demons can change, that Spike might be changing. Suddenly it seems... possible.

"I'm not saying no," I tell him. His eyes slide my way, like a wary animal. "I'm not. I just... let's see how things go, okay? I need to think about it, talk to Giles and the others. You were helpful the other day, but that doesn't really make up for years and years of trying to kill us, Spike."

"Haven't tried in awhile," he says.

"Hello? Adam?"

"Wasn't really trying then, either. Wanted the chip out. He wanted me to split you and your Slayerettes up and pass on some info. Not the same," he says, his voice getting bitter. "Wanker never meant to take the chip out anyhow. Played me like a bloody puppet."

"What about that Initiative doctor a few months ago? You tried to kill me then, as soon as you thought the chip was out you went straight for my throat."

He mutters something.

"What was that?"

"I said: I wasn't. Gonna. Kill. You," he says a little defensively. "Just... was gonna... I was frustrated, alright? And... 'm sorry 'bout that."

Whoa.

Did...? Did Spike just apologize?

I glance up at the ceiling. Clearly there's some big cosmic joke being played on me.

"You needn't look so shocked, Slayer," he says wryly. "I'm capable of being sorry. Just...don't usually bother."

Okay.

"Alright," I say, shaking my head and hoping reality stops warping. "Look, it's Christmas Eve. Can we just... I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay," he says. "Not asking to be one of your Merry Men, just so you know. Just freelance muscle, for when you need it. Or... you know, information. Only without the nose punchin’." He glowers at me, like he thinks that'll make a difference.

I chuckle a little. "We'll see," I say, rolling my eyes. On the TV, behind him, the Grinch is listening to the Whos down in Whoville singing. Spike walks toward me slowly, then holds out a hand. "What?"

"Gonna hand over my honestly acquired goods, Slayer?"

Oh. Right. The bag.

I hold it out, and our hands can't help but brush as he takes it from me. His skin is cold, since the crypt is cold, and static sparks loudly as our fingers touch. Just this tiny little burst of electric from his skin to mine, and we both freeze, staring at each other. In the flickering candlelight and the backglow from the TV, his normally blue eyes are so dark they're nearly black.

Then he gently pulls the bag from my hand and frowns, peering in. "What's this?"

"Mom," I say, trying to shake off my intense and entirely wiggy new awareness of the vampire in front of me. "She thought you could use a few spares."

He pulls up three new black t-shirts in surprise, his face softening and a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. When he speaks his voice is a little rough. "Tell her... tell your mum I said thanks."

"I will." I turn and head for the door. Just as I pull it open, he speaks.

"Happy Christmas, Buffy," he says. When I look back at him he's smiling, and it's a friendly smile that I can't help but return.

"Merry Christmas, Spike," I say, and head back out into the cold.

---