FATHER CHRISTMAS

A Secret Spike Gift

For Bree

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... 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 TWO

Spike moved in stealthily, under the cover of darkness, as the Slayer slept.  It had taken him a couple of hours to open a drain so his flooded crypt could run-off into the sewers.  Then he had packed a soggy duffle with equally soggy necessities and headed for Chez Summers.  He didn't have to break in these days.  Dawn had given him a key when Buffy died.  So far, the Slayer had neglected to demand the key's return.  Luckily, it had been in his inside duster pocket.  During the evening's cultural exchange, Spike had transferred the key, his smokes and his lighter to the Santa Pants.

After entering the house, he tucked two packets of blood in the refrigerator veggie crisper.  Gripping another packet in his teeth he made his way from the kitchen to the basement.  Up ending his duffle over the washer, Spike started a load going.  He tossed the bag of blood on top of the dryer.  Then he began searching the high shelves for the family camping gear.  Locating the folding cot he had used off and on over the summer he dragged it down and set it up.  He ate his meal, smoked a cigarette, transferred his clothes to the drier and flopped down on the cot to wait out the laundry.  Within a couple of minutes he was fast asleep.

Spike was awakened 12 hours later by a steady ringing sound punctuated by rhythm-free pounding.  Groggily he made his way upstairs.  The sun was lowering in the west.  He glanced up the stairs.

"Slayer?" he bellowed. "Dawn? Auntie Serena? Anybody home?"

"Hey! Hello!" the persistent twonk at the door yelped and redoubled his doorbell ringing efforts.

No one answered Spike's summons, and after a few more minutes of external shouting and pounding, Spike opened the door a crack.  A sandy haired man of about 45 and a teased-up, well-stacked red-head of about 25, pushed their way inside using their luggage to batter open the door.

"About time," the man said. "We've been standing out there for thirty minutes.  I swear it was like trying to wake the dead."

"We work nights," Spike said, rubbing his eyes and wondering why he was explaining himself at all. "And who the HELL are you, then?"

"Hank Summers," the man announced, holding out his hand. "They must have a ton of pictures around here? Me and the girls?"

He glanced around the foyer as if he expected to see the walls covered in his likeness.  Spike stepped back and leaned over to look at the one small photo of Buffy's dad in the family display.  The Slayer had pigtails and braces in the picture and Dawn was about five.  But the man in the shot looked much the same as the one standing in front of Spike.  The in-person version had a little less hair and a touch more gut but the same used-car salesman patina.

"See, the genuine article," Hank Summers assured, with boyish enthusiasm.  He inclined his head to indicate his girlfriend, "This here is Annette.  And you must be the boyfriend...the Soldier...now don't tell me the name...it's on the tip of my brain...I know it's...Scottish or...Irish, maybe...Bailey? No, that's not it...Flynn?...O'Brien?"

"He sounds English to me, Honey," the bimbette Annette said, snuggling into Hank's shoulder.  She lowered her voice to a stage whisper adding, "And I don't think they let albinos into the army."

Spike stared at them for a long beat as he contemplated the genetic accident that had let this man father the Slayer.  He wondered if Joyce slept around.  He wondered if he was doing her a disservice to hope that she had.  Finally, he decided to set the twit straight.

"Yeah," Spike drawled, "that's right!  I'm Buffy's English Albino Boyfriend but I'm NOT in the Army because the IRISH name you can't seem to tease out of the fog in your soddin' head is...RILEY!  And he's the EX-boyfriend.  A full year EX, mate!"

"That's it," Hank Summers said with a snap of his fingers.  He was apparently immune to insult and insinuation, "Riley! I knew it was Irish!"

"So," the redhead asked, popping her chewing gum. "What's your name and why are you wearing Santa Pants?"

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

"Two Hundred Dollars!" Buffy was saying as she turned the car into Revello drive just at sunset. "Two HUNDRED Dollars!  Right at Christmas! Do you know what that means?  A three-week diet of tuna fish sandwiches for supper, that's what it means."

"It's not my fault you didn't want to see Spike," Dawn pouted. "All we had to do was go by his crypt and get the pants back. But, oh, no!  You wouldn't hear of it.  So don't blame me because we had to pay for the costume."

"That's not the issue here Dawn.  The issue is..." Buffy began and then her voice trailed off as she spotted the silver All-Terrain Vehicle parked in their driveway. "There's a huge jeep thingee at our house.  Do we know anyone with a huge whatever that is?"

"I don't think so," Dawn said, looking over the vehicle as Buffy pulled the sedan up behind it.

Large road hogging ATVs were the bane of the Slayer's tenuous existence as a licensed driver.  They were constantly cutting her off and blocking her view.  She had been involved in two accidents with them in her short and jaded career.  For something so obvious they always seemed to be coming at her out of nowhere.  This one was no exception.  It had a vanity plate that said 'MTSTUD.'.  Buffy read it as she got out of the car and hardily hoped that it stood for Montana Student.  Somehow she doubted that it did.

Spike heard the Slayer drive up but didn't move fast enough to out flank Hank Summers.  Buffy's father met her at the door and swept her into a bear hug.  The plastic shopping bags she was carrying slipped to the floor.

"Binkybuff!" he exclaimed, swinging her into the air.

"Daddy?" Buffy gagged.

"Spike?" Dawn mouthed, shifting a brown paper grocery bag on her hip as she noticed the vampire come out of the kitchen. Buffy felt herself go cold as her gaze followed her Sister's.

"Hey, Niblet," Spike said, casually, never breaking eye contact with the Slayer. "Glad to have you both home.  Wasn't expecting your Dad?  He just popped in on me."

Spike leaned in to kiss Buffy's cheek before adding, "But I told him WE could always make room for family."

Looking at the vampire over her father's shoulder, Buffy's face went through a range of emotions: shock, anger, fear and finally a sulky acceptance.  She pulled back to look at Hank Summers as he put her feet back on the floor.  She managed a sickly smile.

"We can put you in the guest room," she said, with forced cheerfulness.

"Bill got us settled in there already, Sweetie," Hank informed her.

Buffy caught herself just in time...Bill...William...okay...so, not SPIKE!  Not one of the Evil Undead.  Just an ordinary man. Someone who belonged in the two-story house on Revello Drive. Someone who greeted her with a kiss on the cheek when she came home. Someone who even now was divesting her Sister of her paper bag burden and heading for the kitchen.

"Uhm...Us?" the Slayer inquired.

"Me and my main squeeze, Annette," her father explained, gesturing behind him.  For the first time Buffy took in the well-endowed bimbette coming down the stairs.  She barely heard her Father continue, "We're on our way out to Colorado for the New Year but I thought I would stop in and see my girls.  Can't stay too long, Honey, but at least we can spend Christmas Eve together."

"I'm happy your here, Daddy," Buffy reassured her Father, finally managing to tear her eyes away from his 'main squeeze.'  "Why don't you...both...go into the living room and relax?"

She gave Hank a shove in the right direction, "I just need to put a few things away and then we can talk.  You know, catch up.  Dawn, I need you to give...Bill...and I a hand in the kitchen?"

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

"Dawn, put the groceries away," Buffy said, as soon as they hit the other room.  She grabbed Spike by the front of his t-shirt and headed for the basement door, "You come with me."

"What if Daddy comes in here?" Dawn whispered back, in desperation.

"Stall," Buffy returned, still hustling the vampire toward the cellar stairs.  Spike wrenched free and turned back to Dawn.

"I'm your Sister's Fiancé," Spike informed the teenager. "My name is Bill. I teach at your school.  Music.  And I have a band, keeps me up late.  I sing and play the guitar.  That's really all they know about me, Nip."

He started to follow Buffy down the stairs then suddenly stuck his head back out,  "Oh, except that I live outside Sunnydale, my place got flooded so I'm puttin' up here for the week."

"What?" Buffy screeched and Spike yanked the basement door closed to stifle the sound.  He took a deep unnecessary but stabilizing breath.

"My place is flooded," he repeated, "and I need to stay here for the week."

"Flooded like this basement was flooded?" Buffy said, in astonishment.

"Well, irrigation pipe in my case," Spike shrugged. "But, yeah, same result.  Maybe this is a Hellmouth thing.  Or could be that frost monster...p'haps he thaws out, cause that could increase the water pressure and..."

"There is NO such thing as a frost monster," Buffy snapped, "and even if your crypt IS flooded," she continued, making it sound like she doubted the truth of the statement, "I don't see why you would have to move in HERE."

"Everyone else does," Spike grinned, showing a slip of pink tongue. "Why not me, then?"

"And just how did we end up engaged?"

"Usual way I expect.  Me working up my courage to ask.  You coyly letting me wait for your answer 'til I nearly go mad.  Then the shy tilt of your head and the soft acceptance before we seal it all up with a kis..."

"SPIKE!"

"Didn't know how else to explain," Spike said, hastily. "Me answering the door and nobody else home."

"Never dawned on you to just NOT answer the door? Or maybe to say you rented out the spare room from us?"

"Nope," Spike admitted. "Never did!"

"That figures," Buffy snorted.  She glanced down and asked, "Why are you still wearing those ridiculous pants?"

"Like I already told you," he sighed, "the zipper is stuck and...HEY!!"

Buffy had interrupted him by rudely tearing the Santawear from his body with one Slayer strength yank.  Spike clenched his jaw, balled up his fists and rolled his eyes in frustration.

"AND," he continued, pointedly, "I promised Dawn that I WOULDN?T rip them."

"Yeah," Buffy replied, before ripping the cloth one more time. "Well, I paid nearly two hundred dollars for these things and I'll do whatever I PLEASE with them."

She folded the red velvet material into a bundle and with a small flex of her muscles tore it again.  Spike grabbed at her, turned on by the violence and her undeniable power.  She twisted away but he shifted his grip and pulled her in for a brutal kiss.  His mouth was hard on hers, bruising and demanding.

Buffy dropped the torn cloth and let her arms snake around his neck.  She backed Spike up into the dryer pressing her body into his, once again aware of the deep hunger that seemed to always be burning in her belly.  The Slayer clawed her hands down his chest and then slid them up under his shirt.  Panting, Spike broke free of her lips, his own hands tugging at her clothing.

"Slayer," he growled into the soft curve of her neck. "It's been three long weeks.  I don't wanna fight, Baby.  Jus' let me give you what you need."

There was a sudden chorus of 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' from right over their heads. Hank Summers had flipped on the CD player.  Spike muttered a curse as Buffy went suddenly stiff and cold in his arms.  She shoved him away with both hands.

"Stop it!" she commanded, still holding her hands up between them. "I told you that will never happen again.  It's over."

"And I told you," Spike added, in the same seriously dangerous tone, "not to say that... EVER!"

"Dawn is right upstairs," Buffy trumped him.  "And my Father is here.  He doesn't even know I'm the Slayer.  Let alone that I died and came back all sick and twisted.  Or that vampires are real and there's one in the house right now.  So, can we just NOT do this?"

"Fine," Spike sighed, knowing she had beaten him this time. "You want the nice normal family Christmas with the dead-beat dad.  So I'll stay away from the mirrors and you stay away from my hot, tight little body and somehow we will get through this bloody charade."

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

"So...how did you two meet?" Hank Summers asked, as Spike handed him the mashed potatoes.

The entire family was gathered at the dinner table.  Hank and Annette were asking all the wrong questions.  Dawn was trying not to look anyone in the eye.  Buffy was fidgeting as Spike helped himself to more take-out chicken.  He was enjoying the role of doting husband-to-be, just a little too much for Buffy's peace of mind.

"Work!" Buffy said, happy that it wasn't a lie.

"Work?" Hank puzzled over this. "Bill said he was a teacher but NOT while you were in High School so how did you..."

"Buffy means her work," Spike said, quickly, and then realized he had nowhere to go with the story.  He mentally kicked himself for not going with the obvious, "Parent/Teacher Night."

"At the Bronze," Buffy picked up the ball and returned it to the playing field of truth. "It's a local hang out. I worked there as a...a waitress.  And...that's where we met."

The vampire was studying her with predatory intensity.  He was remembering their first meeting.  And just before it, how he had watched Buffy dance.  Inside the club and outside in the alleyway, he watched her, knowing she was meant to dance with him.  He had envisioned it then as a quick pas de deux.  Blooming bright and burning out.  He had had no idea.  Spike couldn't help asking himself if he would have set foot in the Bronze that night if he had known how their dance would end.

"Spike's band was playing there," Dawn supplied, startling the vampire out of his reverie.

"Why do you call him Spike?" Annette drawled, giving the vampire a suggestive look.

"Stage name," Buffy covered, taking the potatoes from her father, "from the band.  We kind of call him that around here...like a pet name."

"Oh, I have a stage name too," Annette said, brightly. " used to do an act at one of the clubs outside Paris.  They called me Le Rouge. Or they did until Hank came and stole me away from my professional career.  He said I wasn't going to take off my clothes for anyone but him from now on.  It was so romantic."

"You're a STRIPPER?" Buffy yelped.

"I prefer the term Entertainer de Dishabille," Annette said, primly, as she adjusted her cleavage.

Buffy couldn't help noticing that Spike was giving the bimbette an especially warm smile even as Hank continued the conversation along different lines.  The Slayer barely listened to her father.  She ran a critical eye over the redhead's lushly formed and unabashedly displayed figure.

"And soon my little girl will be Mrs. William 'Spike'...uhm...Hey, Bill...Did you tell me your last name?"

There was an overlong pause as the impromptu players exchanged panicked glances.

Buffy was about to spill the gravy as a distraction when Spike said, "Don't rightly remember if I told you or not?"

"Hunter," Dawn blurted out and then laughed nervously. Everyone was looking at her so she looked down at her plate and mumbled, "His last name is Hunter...Mr. William Hunter."

"So that will make you a Hunter," Hank smiled, at his elder daughter.

"Suits her," Spike said, giving Dawn's foot a nudge under the table.  The teenager shot him a grateful glance.

"Pie," Buffy said, standing up, suddenly. "I need to start the pie for tomorrow."

"But you haven't eaten your dinner," Hank commented.

"Not hungry," Buffy said, picking up her barely touched plate of chicken and salad. "Too much to do for tomorrow."

"Willow left a message on the machine," Dawn said, getting up too. "She said she wouldn't be back until after New Years.  Are Xander and Anya still coming?"

"I think they were planning on coming over for Christmas dinner." Buffy gave Spike a worried look.

"You should call Harris and let him know that your Father is here, Luv," Spike suggested.

"Tara, too," Dawn said. "I can call if you want."

Buffy nodded.  She edged her way into the kitchen, wondering how things had gotten so far out of hand.  Her father wasn't the warm, funny man she remembered from so many years ago.  He was a self-centered buffoon with a stripper girlfriend who looked young enough to be...well...Buffy.  The Slayer had nearly died for the third time when she first saw Annette vavooming down the stairs in a skintight skirt and sheer red blouse.  Buffy couldn't believe the nerve of her father introducing the bimbo as his 'main squeeze.'

But at least Hank Summers wasn't lying.  The Slayer's life was a tangle of half-truths.  She was exhausted from the constant covering and the insincere smiling.  And she was shocked to discover that she didn't particularly like her own father.  She had clung to her child's eyes image of him for so long.  Even when it became apparent that he had forgotten about his responsibilities.  The only saving grace of the night was that Spike was for the most part behaving himself.  She looked up as the vampire entered the room.

"Speak of the devil," Buffy muttered, under her breath.

"Turning into a French farce out there," he grinned, "a festive web of lies.  Strippers and long lost relatives revealed and now the lovers meeting in secret.  How you holding up, Pet?"

"I'm fine," she said, tipping her plate up to empty it into the trash. "And we're not lovers."

Unruffled by her correction, Spike caught her hand and turned the plate upright before the food slid into the garbage.

"You may want something later," he advised, as he took the dish from her suddenly nerveless fingers.  He sat it on the countertop and covered it with foil before sticking it into the fridge.  Buffy was staring at Spike as if she had never seen him before.

"Look, no one is watching us now," she reminded him, "so you can cut the act."

"'s not an act," Spike mumbled. "You should eat.  Need some meat on your bones."

"I like my bones the way they are," Buffy whispered, harshly, "and I didn't hear you complaining about anything a few weeks ago when we..."

Buffy stopped mid-sentence.  She was appalled.  She had forgotten herself in the heat of the moment and broached the forbidden subject of their liaison.  Spike's unfortunate choice of words had caused an immediate picture of the voluptuous Annette to spring to the Slayer's mind.  She and the redhead were roughly the same age but the stripper was dating Buffy's father.  Sleeping with her Father, she mentally corrected.  And now even Spike was making Buffy feel like a gangly child.

'How dare he smile at the overblown tart and then come in here and tell me I should eat more," she thought, angrily.

"I'm not complaining, Luv," Spike said, stepping close to nuzzle her cheek. "?I just want you to keep your strength up."

He pulled back to give her a suggestive grin before adding, "Need you in fighting trim don't I?  Never know when I might want to go a few rounds."

"Get away from me," Buffy ordered, pushing at him then she froze, listening.  There was a furtive sound just outside the door to the dining room.  Exchanging a quick glance she and the vampire went to investigate.

"Mistletoe," Annette sang out, holding a sprig up over Buffy's head as she came through the doorway.

It took every ounce of meditative calm she possessed, but Buffy kept herself from decking the Bimbette.  It was a close call.  Coming up behind the Slayer, Spike wrapped her in a tight embrace.  He was aware of the hostile tension in her body but he wasn't about to let the such a prime opportunity pass unseized.

"Can't argue with tradition," he murmured, in her ear, and stepping to one side he turned his head so that their lips met.

Annette gave a little sigh of appreciation as the kiss lingered and deepened.  It was the slow, sweet kiss of new love.  Dawn was back at the dinner table with the cellphone pressed to her ear.  The teenager couldn't believe her eyes.  She gave a gurgle of surprise and hung up on Xander.  Spike was kissing Buffy.  He was holding her in his arms under the mistletoe in the Summers family dining room and kissing her like Riley always meant to but never quite did.

"Hey, now," Hank Summers said, as he entered the room with a cup of Eggnog in each hand, "save that for the Honeymoon."

The Slayer gave a guilty start.  A wave of crimson heat washed over her skin.  Spike's non-existent breath caught in his throat.  He felt the sanguinary desire rise up in his gullet and threaten to swamp his reason.  His hold on his beloved shifted and tightened.  Buffy's nails bit into his arm.  The sudden sharp pain brought him back to the glittering reality of their situation.

Spike became aware of the Father, the Bimbo and Niblet at the table looking on for this private moment like the bloody Wisemen gawking at the Holy Birth.  Four years ago he would have killed every one of them and taken what was his.  Now, there was something else he craved far more than blood or sex or power.  Now there was Buffy's love.  Spike released his hold on the Slayer but he let her see the possessive fire in his eyes and savored the answering spark in her own.

"Who's up for the decorating of that soddin' tree, then?" he asked, turning away from temptation to address the room.

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

Buffy laid her head against the coolness of the refrigerator and listened to the happy sounds of Holiday Halls being decked.  She knew it was all false, a lie, a Hallmark commercial being filmed with actors pretending to be family.  But when Dawn's laugh rang out over the deeper masculine tones of Spike and Hank, the Slayer found she was smiling in spite of herself.  She wanted to give Dawn this moment, this semblance of a normal life.  It was the best she could offer her sister in this mixed up Hellish world where a bleached blond vampire was the only man both Buffy's father and mother found charming.

Sighing, the Slayer cracked eggs into the mixture of flour and sugar in a large bowl on the counter.  She set the electric beater to cream and began turning the bowl, watching as the batter turned golden.  The swirling pattern mesmerized her, sucking her into the past.

The smell of pumpkin pie cooling on the rack and chocolate melting on the stove and the sound of her father's voice in the other room took Buffy back to the last Christmas when they were all together.  Her father, her sister, herself...and her mother.  It was Joyce at the counter then making her famous Chocolate Gingerbread Men and the only thing to fear in the night was the sound of her parents arguing.  The only monster was the dreaded word spoken: Divorce.

"BUFFY!" Spike's voice screamed from somewhere far away.  He sounded frightened, desperate.  A sound like angry bees snapped the Slayer back into focus.

The pan with the chocolate was burning and the apron she had tossed too close to the stove was on fire.  The smoke alarm blared its warning as Spike rushed into the room.  He reached out his hand, unthinking.  Buffy watched it all happen in slow motion, seconds seemed to take forever to pass.  The burning cloth and the melted pot of chocolate dumped into the sink.  The smell of searing flesh as Spike's hand closed on molten metal.  Water rushing and then all of her focus narrowing down to the tiny flame licking at his t-shirt, spreading upward.

"FIRE!" The word registered in Buffy's brain as quick bright death and ashes.

She hit Spike hard, sending him to the floor.  Rolling over with him to smother the flame, feeling it sting her skin.  The vampire took a moment to register the danger and then he began tearing at his shirt.  Buffy's ruffled blouse caught fire and the words he had spoken to her nearly two years ago came unbidden into her mind. 'We'll both burn.'.  She tried to scramble away from him but she was caught in something.  She struggled frantically, trying to break free before she killed them both.

Dawn had dashed into the kitchen in Spike's wake.  Assessing the situation, she picked up the fire extinguisher and with a flick of her wrist shot a foamy spray at the still smoldering apron.  When Buffy took Spike down, Dawn stepped over them to the sink.   She turned the taps on full.  Grasping the sprayer, she pointed it at the pair on the floor and pulled the trigger.  After a liberal drenching, the Slayer and the vampire sat up sputtering and singed but otherwise unharmed.

"Geez, talk about childhood trauma!' Dawn lamented. "You two are like an Erwin Allen movie."

The teenager sighed and reholstered her water pistol on the back of the sink, "Is this some kind of transference thing?  'Cause...you know," she made a two handed gesture as if she was shoving them together, "DEAL! Before you bring the whole house down on top of us."

Buffy exchanged a loaded glance with Spike.  He was festooned in a strand of Christmas lights.  They were looped around his body and Buffy had become entangled in them when they did the drop and roll.  Calmer now, she freed herself, ducking her head to avoid the storm brewing in his blue eyes.

The emergency shower had tousled Spike's hair into sexy disarray and molded Buffy's clothing to her body.  She tried, she really did...but she couldn't help thinking about bringing down the house.  Lifting up the Slayer's chin with two fingers the vampire grinned at her and without a moment's hesitation she punched him in the nose.

"Buffy Anne SUMMERS!" her father's voice spoke in sharp rebuke from the doorway, "I think we need to have a word, young lady."

Mumbling something about needing to change, Buffy scrambled to her feet.  Her heel caught on Spike's decorative flashers and she stumbled forward.  Recovering, she tried to make a break for the stairs but Hank Summers caught at her elbow and marched along with her all the way up to her room.

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