FATHER CHRISTMAS

A Secret Spike Gift

For Bree

EMAIL RABID

BY-Bree's Secret Spike 1stRab-id

STORY - For and somewhat about Bree

RATING- G, PG, R, NC-17

COUPLE - B/S but lots of S/D too though not shipperishly

REQUEST - A Dramedy

SPOILERS - Up to WRECKED

MY BETAS - The AIGTeers, Carrie, Sabrina, Nauti, Rilla and also MKStatz

CANON COMMENT: Re: Spike and siring (with Ford or Sheila).  Nauti caught me out on this already, but I didn't  miss anything there (Ford was with dozens of other vamps and Sheila was with Dru).  I could easily be wrong, but this is my take on Siring for this fic.  And I would challenge you to prove something different but remember just because something was insinuated doesn't mean it ACTUALLY happened.

DISCLAIMER - Suddenly I own it all...no just kidding...still Joss and  Co. and UPN and Fox TV and Mutant Enemy, et al...definately NOT ME!

PART ONE

"Just pick something!'

"I can't decide!"

"Now there's a surprise."

"Tell me which one you like best."

"Okay...the blue."

"I was thinking the pink...or maybe green...she already has like twenty in blue. And is a sweater even the right thing?"

"Niblet," Spike growled warningly, "I'm only here to keep you from getting eaten on the way to and from the mall. I can't pick out Buffy's gift for you, too."

"Sure you can," Dawn said nudging him in camaraderie, "You know what she likes."

"Yeah," Spike said, momentarily distracted by the thought of exactly what Buffy really liked and how much he wanted to give it to her.

The vampire's eyes were drawn inexorably to the lingerie department on the far side of the store. There was a luscious cream negligee with a sheer golden leaf pattern on display.  It was more like a party favor than a piece of clothing.  Spike toyed with the idea of suggesting that Dawn purchase it for her sister.  The colors would suit the Slayer's radiant skin and her pert nipples would look positively exquisite just visible behind the gauzy veil of...

"Spike?"

"Hummmh?"

"Hello?" Dawn said, waving a hand in front of her friend's face.

"Stop that," Spike commanded, coming back into focus. "It's rude!"

"So is not listening," Dawn commented. "I asked you: What are YOU getting Buffy for Christmas?"

"Nothing," Spike shrugged, putting the idea of naughty nightwear out of his mind.

"But I thought you two were getting along, since she came back...did you have a fight or something?"

"Something," Spike thought.  But all he said was, "Demons don't do Christmas, Bit."

"Sure they do," Dawn poohed, waving her hand at him again. "Who do you think is responsible for all of those 'VERY SPECIAL' Holiday Specials on TV?"

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him,  "And the invention of those dancing, singing Christmas trees?"

"Okay," Spike said, undone by her logic, "Then I don't do Christmas. Never have.  Well, not since...."

"Are you Jewish? Like Willow?"

"No," Spike mumbled as he sidled toward a cash register counter. "Look the pink is fine.  We need to get you back home before Buffy calls out the National Guard."

"Are you a Pagan?" Dawn asked, ignoring Spike's prodding as she flipped through every sweater on the rack. "Like Tara? Cause there's always Solstice.  Or are you a Jehovah's Witness? My friend Katy is a Jehovah's Witness and they don't do any holidays...even Birthdays."

"Yeah, that's right," Spike smirked. "I'm a Jehovah's Witness.  Explains why people are so reluctant to invite me into their homes."

"You know, maybe I should get Buffy a CD instead," the young woman said, pursing her lips. "She already has more clothes than one person could possibly wear in..."

"SNACK-SIZE!" Spike barked, making both Dawn and the salesclerk, who was desperately trying to help them, jump into the air like a synchronized swim team.

"We have been at this friggin' mall for three and a half hours," he growled between tightly clenched teeth. "We've hit every store and the soddin' food court twice over.  In twenty minutes, they are going to lock us in.  Just pick out a bloody present for your Sister and be done with it."

"Fine," Dawn sniffed, obviously put out.  She unhooked a lovely emerald green sweater with a glittering seasonal decoration on the front and handed it over to the clerk, "We'll take the green one. Gift wrapped, please."

As they waited for the clerk to box up the sweater, Spike leaned on the counter and tried to block out the tinny sound of Christmas Carols.  The annoying drone was being piped into every store.  It seemed to the exhausted vampire that his chip was amplifying the cheerful ditties and force-feeding the melodies straight into his brain.  Spike was certain that if he heard Silent Night one more time, he was going to kill someone.  Possibly himself.

Dawn was fumbling with the closure on her purse.  She seemed to be having trouble latching it using only one hand. Spike reached out to help her but she turned quickly away from him.

"Independent little twig," Spike thought, "just like big Sis."

"Deck the halls with balls of barley, fuddle, doodle, diddly-daddle, Shamus a gnu," Dawn sang, under her breath as she worried at the stubborn locking mechanism.

The clerk came back with a beautifully wrapped present and proceeded to ring up the purchase.  Dawn handed the woman a fistful of crumpled bills.  The teenager was holding her still open purse against her body with her broken arm.

"So," Dawn asked Spike as the clerk bagged the gift, "If you WERE going to get Buffy a Christmas present what would it be?"

Spike ignored her.  In deference to the teenager's injury, the clerk came around the counter to slide the store's signature carryall bag over Dawn's wrist.

"Thank you for shopping at MAUDE ADDAMS' and have a Merry Chri..." The saleslady broke off gasping, as Dawn's handbag fell to the floor and burst open like a piñata.

An assortment of stolen lipsticks, combs, brooches, and earrings spilled from Dawn's purse and scattered across the tile.  A single pair of panties with tiny bears on them slid to a halt just short of the salesclerk's sensible shoes.  Most of the items were still tagged; two of them were obviously lifted from a display on the counter top.  Spike felt a momentary rush of pride in his little girl.

"I didn't see you nick any of that, Sweet Bit," Spike said, without thinking. "And you with only one good arm. That's natural talent, that is!"

"Spike!" Dawn yelped, in frustration.

The vampire followed her glance and noted that several Mall guards were converging on their location.  No doubt in response to the saleslady's strident and ongoing cries of alarm.

"Oh, right," Spike muttered, "Uhm...RUN!"

Dawn reached down to retrieve her purse but Spike caught at her shoulder and spun her out into the aisle.

"Now," he ordered. "Get moving."

The Slayer's little sister performed a graceful pirouette to avoid the lead guard.  Spike darted left and drew off a second officer.  However, a third man moved to block Dawn's exit at the store's entrance into the mall.  Leaping over a table filled with folded stacks of colorful jeans, the vampire charged the guard.  Just as the man made a grab for the teenager, Spike smacked into him and sent him flying, giving Dawn a clear path for her get away.

"OW! Bloody Hell!" Spike gasped, holding his head. "I didn't hit him that hard you soddin' indiscriminate piece of..."

"Grab her," cried several voices, coming from within the mall and from other departments of MAUDE ADDAMS.  Spike realized that he didn't have the luxury of being one with the pain, at the moment.

"Spike?" Dawn called as she hesitated at the top of an escalator, "Come on!"

"Down, go down," the vampire commanded, racing to her side.

He herded the girl ahead of him and they plunged recklessly to the first floor of the mall.  Hitting the ground floor at a dead run, Spike yanked Dawn along behind him as he zigzagged past potted plants.  They danced around kiosks selling incense burners and t-shirts and cell phones. The teenager's shopping bag thudded into both of them as they ran. They slid to a halt next to a 'You Are HERE' sign at the proverbial and literal crossroads.

Spike looked in all four directions assessing their odds for escape. There were pursuers behind and in front of them.  To the left the mall dead ended into a series of blank wooden walls emblazoned with 'Coming SOON' notices.  To the right there was a traffic jam of automatonic reindeer, faux elves and children up way past their bedtime.  Belligerent, over-taxed parents were arguing heatedly with equally harried workers who were trying to close up Santa's shop for the night.

"Looks like the jig is up, Niblet," Spike said.

Dawn tugged at him in a panic.  She made small dashing semi-circles around him, rather like a rabbit in a snare.  Her eyes darted about and then, quite suddenly, lit up in relief.  She sighed and began pulling Spike purposefully in the direction of Santa's Sanctuary.

"We aren't caught, yet," she informed him.

They ducked under velvet ropes and pushed rudely through the throng of parents and kiddies, with Dawn dragging Spike in her wake.  There was a grumble of weary protest but it quickly subsided when it became apparent that the strange pair was NOT cutting into line.  They seemed to be heading directly for the throne where Father Christmas was holding court.  The jolly old Symbol of the Season was surrounded by extra tall elves and was jostling a whiny child on his padded knee.

"Bree!" Buffy's sister yelled, suddenly.  She released Spike's hand so that she could wave frantically at one of the elves, "Bree! Over here!"

"Dawn?" the elf called and broke formation handing off her assigned brat to another one of Santa's helpers.

Spike eyed the diminutive creature as she headed in their direction.  She was an attractive little thing with her wavy reddish brown hair and twinkling eyes.  Extra bite-able! Looking down he noticed that unlike her fellow elves she was bare-footed.  Spike wondered briefly if that violated some health code then he shrugged dismissively.  He decided to go with the flow of juvenile delinquency.

"Hey," Dawn greeted the newcomer. "I heard that you got the Elf-gig?"

"Yeah," Bree shrugged. "Beats working at the food court again.  But the little monsters are driving me crazy."

"I don't know if I could take it," Dawn sympathized. "I had a babysitting business for all of two weeks and it nearly made me..."

Not to interrupt the reunion, Platelet," Spike growled, as he glanced over his shoulder and spotted a uniform, "but we are in a bit of a hurry here."

"Oh, right," Dawn said, as if her imminent arrest had slipped her mind. "We need to get out of the mall the back way, Bree.  It's kind of an emergency.  Can you let us into the inner sanctum?"

Bree looked over at the shortening line of kids and then glanced at her watch.

"Sure, the mall's closing anyway," she shrugged. "I guess I can knock off early."

Spike, Dawn and Bree slipped to the side of Santa's workshop.  The elf-girl pushed back a drapery of fake snow to reveal a door.  She turned the knob and motioned them inside.  They were in a seemingly endless access tunnel that ran the entire length of the mall.  Doors opened off of both sides of the corridor and several signs announced that this area was for 'STAFF ONLY.'

"This way," Bree said with confidence and headed off down the hallway.  Spike and Dawn trotted obediently along behind her.  After a moment the elf-girl asked the inevitable question, "So, why do you need to get out of the mall the back way? Did you steal something?"

"No WAY!" Dawn announced, with an indignant bristle. "There are just some guys after Spike and he didn't want any trouble while I was with him.  It's kind of a gang thing."

Spike admired how the lies simply poured off of her tongue.  He was reminded, yet again, why he loved the Summers' women. All of that beauty and wit and ferocity was coupled with the ability to invest total confidence in their own bullshit.  How many times, Spike wondered had Buffy looked him square in the eye and denied she felt anything for him at all?

Then, three weeks ago, in the wreckage of an abandoned building, she couldn't seem to get close enough to him.  Spike let his mind wander a bit as he replayed the highlights of that night in his mind: Buffy's lithe naked body, Buffy's mewling cries of delight, Buffy's savagely intense technique when she....

"...all here for the party tonight," Bree was saying when Spike tuned back in. "Usually we close early on Sunday but with tomorrow being Christmas Eve they thought we would stay open late tonight, do the party thing and then everyone can go home early tomorrow,  'cause the mall is closing at six."

Spike was about to ask what the two of them were on about when one of the doors up ahead opened and several red-suited fellows with white beards and bells on poured into the hallway.

"Bloody Hell," the vampire exclaimed. "It's a soddin' Father Christmas Convention."

"Weren't you listening?" Dawn sighed, her attention split between Spike and the view of the parking lot the incoming crowd offered her.  There were several police vehicles parked outside the back door. "Bree just said the annual Mall Santa Party is being held here tonight.  All we have to do is mingle with the other Santas and sneak out."

"Mingle?" Spike's voice hit a rather high note. "What do you mean...'mingle?'  Never say you expect me to dress up in a poofy suit and prance around like.... Okay, no worries 'cause we don't have a Santa suit do we?  So...we think of another plan.  Maybe we can get out onto the roof and then..."

"Bree is taking us to the changing room," Dawn replied, cutting him off. "The mall has a spare Santa suit and she's going to lend me her elf outfit."

"Here we go," Bree said, pushing open a 'Mall Employees Only' door to reveal a bank of lockers and a series of curtained changing rooms.  A limp red outfit and several green ones dangled from pegs on the wall. "You guys can change in the cubicles," Bree informed, "but you better hurry cause the mall is closed and the other elves will be here any minute."

"Thanks Bree," Dawn said, hugging the other girl. "You're the best. Are you sure you don't mind missing the party?  I could always wear one of these other outfits."

"Nah," Bree said, keying open her locker and fishing out sweat pants and a flannel top. "There won't be too many elves there.  And I don't want you getting in any MORE trouble.  It's bad enough we are borrowing the Santa Suit.  You can bring both costumes by my house tomorrow morning.  I was thinking of calling in sick tomorrow anyway.  Now, I have a good reason."

"Look," Spike said, "I'm all atingle that you girls had this special moment but I am not dressing up in that soddin' costume even to save you Niblet.  And besides what would I do with my duster?"

"I can tuck it into my bag...no, we better leave that here," Dawn mused, mentally considering and discarding options. "Oh, I know, Bree can keep your duster until tomorrow. I can pick it up when I drop off the suits."

"Sure," Bree said, with a shyly suggestive smile.  She was eyeing the soft black leather and the hot body it was currently wrapped around as she made for a curtained cubicle. "I'd be happy to look after your coat for you."

"There you go," Dawn said, perkily. "Now, let's get changed."

"What if someone sees me?"

"They won't recognize you.  That's the whole point of being in disguise."

Spike poked the padding on the suit front.  He fluffed the beard.  He grimaced.

"Nope, I won't do it.  Sorry, Bit!"

"Spike," Dawn sighed and then inspiration hit. "Well, okay! If you don't think you are demon enough to pass for Santa I understand.  I mean Anya says he is one of the most evil creatures ever to prowl the night...so...if you just can't make yourself impersonate him...well..."

"Evil...Riiiight!" Spike snorted.

"No, really," Dawn assured him.  She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Anya says he eats little children."

"EWWW!" Bree inserted from behind one of the dressing room curtains and Dawn looked over at her stall before leaning in very close to Spike.

"How else are we going to get out of here?" She mouthed, into his ear. "The place is surrounded by cops."

"You Summers' women are going to be the death of me," Spike groused, as he ripped the suit off its peg and stalked toward a changing room.

"A nice clean staking is that too much to ask?" he continued grumbling, as he pulled off his duster, pillaged the pockets and then tossed it over the divider wall to Bree.  He stepped into the Santa Pants still muttering, "Used to be you could count on the Slayer to lop off your head.  Now she rips out my heart every Tuesday.  And instead of snapping her beautiful neck like I should, whadda I do?  I let her kelptomanical sister dress me up like a bleedin' Ken doll and parade me around town in a fat suit and fake whiskers.  What's next?"

They escaped from the mall without incident.  Dawn tucked her long hair up under a jingly elf hat and Spike covered his signature black with Seasonal red. The Slayer's sister had pulled the elfsuit on over her cast so there was no evidence of her injury.  Buffy's gift was wedged into the crook of her broken arm so it looked as if she was simply holding it tight.

The cops were looking for a bleached blond man in black and a longhaired girl with a broken arm carrying a MAUDE ADDAMS shopping bag and wearing a red dress.  The threesome that came out of the Employees Only area didn't fit the description the police had been given.  Bree stopped to chat with one of Sunnydale's finest and show off her 'new' coat as Spike and Dawn made their getaway.

"See how easy that was?" Dawn said, cheerfully, as she hustled Spike across the dark, deserted parking lot. "And fun too. You know, we should go shopping together more often."

"We get you home safe and I am going to kill you nice and slow," the vampire growled.

Dawn shot him an apprehensive glance.  She was pretty sure Spike was kidding but, with the fake whiskers, she couldn't tell if he was smiling or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Will you hurry up?" Dawn asked shifting from one foot to the other, "I'm freezing and I have to use the bathroom."

"The soddin" zipper is stuck," Spike grumbled. "Look! Give us a hand."

"I can't touch your zipper," Dawn hissed, appalled. "I'm only 15."

"Oh, for pity's sake, I'm wearing my jeans underneath and I'm old enough to be..."

"One of my long dead ancestor?"

"Your Father!"

"Yeah, right," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "Bet you're not old enough to be BUFFY's father."

"This is crazy, Bit," Spike said. "Just let me rip it and we can say it was an accident."

"No! Bree will get in trouble," Dawn chided, "and she helped us.  I could go get Buffy but she's gonna ask questions."

"Yeah, like where have we been all night and what the hell I am doing in this ridiculous outfit?"

"Or..." Buffy said, conversationally from behind them, "what do you think the police were doing here for nearly an hour tonight?"

Spike and Dawn whipped around.  The Slayer was standing just outside the back door.  She tilted her head to one side and held up a handbag.  The one that Dawn had dropped on the floor of MAUDE ADDAMS department store.  The one with the teenager's name, photo and home address emblazoned on all the ID inside.

"Hey, Buffy," Dawn squeaked, twiddling her fingers.

"Slayer!"

"Bonnie...Clyde," the blond woman returned, nodding at them in turn.

"I can explain everythi..." Dawn began but her Sister cut her off.

"I'm sure you can," Buffy sighed, stepping away from the door and out onto the porch, "and I look forward to hearing it but right now I want to talk to Spike.  Alone! You go on upstairs and get ready for bed."

She tossed the teenager her telltale handbag as she passed her.

"But Buffy," Dawn whined, as she awkwardly caught at the purse. "It wasn't Spike's fault.  If you would just listen for a minute."

The Slayer's hand closed like a vise on her sister's good arm. She gave the unfortunate girl a small pointed shake.

"You don't want to do this right now," Buffy growled, throatily.

"Uhm...okay," Dawn capitulated, with a sickly little smile. She shot her vampire cohort a sympathetic look as Buffy released her. "G'night, Spike. Thanks, for looking out for me."

"Sleep tight, Bit," Spike said.

Vampire and Slayer stood silently side-by-side, waiting until Dawn entered the house and trudged wearily upstairs.  Buffy was rubbing her neck trying to work out the tension that had settled there.  Spike reached out a hand to assist her and she slapped him away.

"So," she said, opening the conversation. "You're teaching her to shoplift, now? What's next? Gambling? Drinking? An under-age prostitution ring?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth, Slayer."

Buffy slammed him against the wall of the house with a one-armed shove.  A tingle of purely sensual memory raced through Spike's body.  He let his mouth fall open in his signature grin.  He gripped the Slayer's shoulders but made no effort to break away from her.  They held their respective positions a few beats too long.  They were both lost in identical recollections. Spike broke the silence.

"You wanna get that zipper, Luv?"

"What?" Buffy gasped, sotto voce. She let him go and shot a quick guilty glance at the open kitchen door.

"It's stuck," Spike sighed, doing his best to come over all innocent. "And since I don't fancy spending the rest of my life in these poofy pants.  I thought you might be able to help me out."

The Slayer glanced down at the fur trimmed red velvet garment the vampire was currently wearing. She stepped away from him and turned to pick up the neatly folded upper part of the Santa outfit.

"And why are you running around town in St. Nick's underoos?"

"Just getting Dawn home safe from her little 'buy Buffy a present' mall trip," Spike shrugged. "Amazing what comes with the job.  I was planning to tell you about this later," he assured.  "Didn't think you'd want to deal with the girl's five-finger discounting right at the Holiday is all." He hesitate his voice and eyes softening as he added, "Seems like you had to deal anyway."

Buffy groaned, sinking back against the porch railing, "She really stole all of those things? Panties and lipstick and earrings?"

Spike nodded his confirmation and Buffy shook her head in disbelief.

"Why?" she asked.

"Cry for help maybe," Spike guessed, stepping closer to the Slayer. "Lot's happened to her in the last year.  Finding out about her origins, your Mom dying and then you, getting chased and kidnapped and such.  This thing with Willow.  All too much for her, I expect."

Buffy dropped her head into her hands as if it was all too much for her, too.  Spike hesitated briefly and then hooked his arms around her waist.  He pulled her forward, cuddling her close.  After a moment, Buffy let herself relax into the vampire's body.  She breathed in the cool comforting scent of him.

"I hate Christmas," the Slayer murmured.

"Me, too," Spike commented, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head.

"Well, not exactly the demon season?" Buffy chuckled, nuzzling her nose into the curve of his throat.

"Suppose not," Spike agreed, with a small smile of his own, "But that's not why I hate it. It's 'cause..."

The vampire paused, not sure how much he wanted to say, then he sighed and added, "My Mother died...this time of year...1880...on Christmas Eve."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat.  She tensed and pulled away from him.  She turned her head away but Spike saw the disgust in her eyes.  He bristled angrily.

"I didn't kill her, if that's what you're thinking," he snarled, his own eyes glittering with sudden moisture.

"It was the White Plague...Tuberculosis," he continued. "You know, Summers, hard as it is for you to believe, we don't ALL murder our families.  Some of us actually take care of our loved ones.  Look after them.  Keep their little Sis safe after they go and leap off of a ruddy tower and..."

Spike's voice broke and he made a savage motion with one hand, "Bugger it!  Don't know why I bother!"

He shoved past the Slayer and bound down the steps.  Buffy called after him.  Her tone was contrite, almost pleading, but he was too angry to hear her.  Within seconds, Spike was swallowed up by the night.  Buffy looked down at the Santa coat, hat and whiskers.  She gathered up the costume and for the first time noted the festively wrapped present lying underneath.  To her surprise, tears started falling from the Slayer's eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike stalked through the cemetery cursing Buffy Summers and the next twenty generations of her family.

"Black-hearted, cold-blooded, two-faced, tight-assed little BITCH!" he said, kicking in the door to his crypt with one booted foot.

The metal door clanged satisfactorily against the marble wall and then bounced back so he could kick it again.  He did.  Swinging his foot back for a third kick, Spike noticed the unmistakable sound of running water coming from the opening in the floor of his crypt.  With a loud oath, he raced to the stairwell.  He glanced down.  The subterranean level was knee deep in water.  Worse yet, there was a steady torrent pouring out of the far wall.  An irrigation pipe had burst.   It must have been gushing for hours.

Spike stormed up to the cemetery's security vehicle.  He pounded on the side window of the station wagon until Larry, the caretaker, woke up.

Larry was a wizened, twitchy, gnome of a man.  His sole qualification for the caretaker's job was his highly honed instinct for survival.  He couldn't read or write.  He had a fondness for cheap whiskey and was often found passed out in the car by the day crew.  But Larry had stayed alive longer than anyone else in his high mortality field.  He and Spike had an arrangement that kept Larry off the menu and allowed the vampire to have all the comforts of home in his crypt.

"Spike?"  Larry muttered sleepily as he rolled down the window. "Hey...Merry Christmas! Why you wearing Santa Pants?"

"Stick it up your ass, Larry," Spike growled. "I need you to turn off the bloody sprinklers."

"No can do, Spike," Larry yawned, snuggling back down in the driver's seat. "They're on a timer."

"My crypt is under three feet of water," the vampire said, opening the car door and dragging the man out bodily.  "And the tide is still coming in, so you either show me where the timer is or..."

"There's a leak?" the caretaker asked, perking up slightly. "Well, I suppose we could take a look.  You're good at figuring things out, right?"

But the timer mechanism proved stubborn.  The vampire and the little man tried every way they could think of to disconnect the mechanism all to no avail.  When Spike picked up a shovel to pummel it into submission, Larry managed to override his reflex for self-preservation and voice a protest.

"Hey," the small man yelped, waving his hands for the vampire's attention, "if you break that the home office will have to send someone out and fix it."

"Good," Spike said, swinging his makeshift weapon back for the deathblow.

"What if they start poking around?" Larry reasoned, in a wheedling tone. "We don't want people poking around. Do we Spike?"

Spike glared at the man, but after a moment or two he threw the shovel to the ground in defeat.

"That's right, Spike," Larry soothed. "We got a sweet set up here.  We don't need those home office pricks sticking their noses into our deal."

After a bit of thought the little man snapped his fingers and added,  "Hey, I bet I know someone who can fix that leak for you.  My buddy Karl.  You remember Karl, the one I got to rig up that shower head for you?"

"Probably the soddin' shower head that's started this," Spike grumbled.  He pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to fend off his non-chip headache, before capitulating, "Okay, let's find a phone.  You can call this dodgy geezer and get him over here."

"It's pushing Midnight," Larry squeaked, in protest, "and Karl's an early riser."

"Like I care?"

"Well, Spike," Larry started in with the reasoning again, "thing is...it's the Holiday and Karl he likes a dip in the nog if you catch my drift."

"He's a sot."

"Well, I wouldn't have put it like that.  Him being a pal and all.  But you might get a better job out of him tomorrow or after Christmas is over even."

"And what do I do until then?" Spike asked gesturing toward his crypt with one hand.  "You want me to sleep in that fishbowl?"

"Little water shouldn't bother you, Spike.  Not like you need to breathe."

Spike bristled and stepped in menacingly and Larry hastily backpedaled.

"But I can see that you are a vamp of a certain standing and all," Larry immediately submitted, "so...uhm...HEY!  Why don't you stay in the Roosevelt Crypt?  Nice and dry in there...and they have that naked statue, too."

"That's a plaster rendition of the Bottocelli Venus, you idiot."

"Still a looker.  Kinda reminds me of your new girlfriend," Larry remarked and then quickly held up both hands to show that he meant no offense. "And I mean that in the nicest way, Spike. 'Cause I would never even dream of saying that your girlfriend had posed for something like that.  And I wouldn't want you to think that I would even look at her in that way or...you know...God forbid!  That I ever saw her naked because..."

The little man whimpered as Spike grabbed him by the shirt front, lifted him bodily off the ground and gave him a good shake.

"Best if you never do," Spike snarled really close to Larry's face. "'Cause you know how they say you could go blind?" The vampire paused meaningfully before adding, "You would!"

"Uhm...yeah," Larry gurgled his eyes darting about in panic, "I hear ya, Spike! Man's woman is like...holy...I know that for sure."

Mindful of the tiny tingle from the chip in his head, Spike sat the little man down with a bump.  Larry gasped and fussed with his collar for a few minutes while Spike contemplated a move to the Roosevelt crypt for the rest of the week.

"Say, here's an idea," Larry chirped, suddenly desperate to be helpful. "Why don't you just stay at HER place?"

"Stay at Buffy's?" Spike snorted out a laugh.

"Sure, why not?" Larry asked and then he narrowed his eyes at the vampire. "Say...she ain't a married woman is she, Spike?  'Cause nothing good ever comes of that!  They never leave the old man and iffin' they do then he hunts you down and carves you up and then the woman you get is a no good cheat and liar anyways."

Spike looked appalled by this speech.  Larry was the moral fiber equivalent of a Danish and coffee.  To take such an evangelical stand he must be speaking from personal experience.  The vampire was slightly curious but not enough to pursue the subject.  He stared into the middle distance and thought about the possibility of moving into the Summer's House for a few days.  They had a guest room.  He could spend the daylight hours in the basement.  Spike was under no illusions about Buffy's bed.  He knew he would not be welcome there.  But once he was under the same roof there was no limit to the number of times he could make the suggestion.

"You know, Larry," Spike said, at last, giving the gnome-like caretaker a friendly pat. "Now that I think about it, moving in with my lady is a wonderful idea."

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