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| 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 FIVE | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Buffy woke to an aching emptiness. She was alone in her mind...alone in her body. She was no longer filled with her lover's cold flesh. He was no longer thrusting into her thoughts. She reached out, her hand smoothing the rumpled surface of the sheet and blanket. Her bed was empty, too. She sat up, checking the rest of the room. Spike was gone. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| A rumble of engine noise drew her to the window. She arrived in time to see Spike's bike pull away from the house. He hesitated at the end of the driveway. Buffy placed her fingertips against an icy pane, cupping her hand around him. For a moment she seemed to hold him under her palm, like a butterfly under glass and then his motorcycle roared out into the street. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| She watched as he passed beneath the glow of the streetlight on the corner of Revello Drive. He disappeared into the darkness, the night quickly swallowing up the sound of his motorcycle. Hugging herself against the chill, Buffy stumbled back to bed. She tried not to care that he'd left her. Then she tried to be angry. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| She told herself she had every right to be furious with Spike. He had assaulted her. He had entered her mind, accessing her private thoughts. He had forced her to submit to his will. Buffy knew she should hate him for the violation but all she could manage was a deep sense of loss. Shaking, cold and lonely, she curled up in a tight ball in the center of the bed. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| He had made a mistake. Spike acknowledged it privately as he drove away. He hadn't realized how serious a mistake it was until he'd tried to leave. The siren's call of the Sire Bond was blaring inside him. He paused at the curb outside the Summers' house, gunning his engine. He needed to stay with his love, the bond screamed. He needed to keep her safe. Turn her; feed on her, flow into her. They loved each other. He knew it was true even if she refused to admit it. She was his. And the urge to complete the siring was more primal than appetite. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| It was a new experience for him. He had never sired anyone. Spike wasn't one for elevating the livestock. Never met anyone he fancied living forever at his expense. And frankly, it had never been necessary. Dru was a prolific breeder. She had kept them hip deep in unwanted minions without Spike's help. But he knew what was expected of him. It was instinctive, the drive to procreate. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The Sire bond turned lover into offspring. It helped perpetuate the species. But it went beyond that. It connected all of his kind, generation to generation. They were, in a sense, one demon. It was the simplest form of reproduction, the division of self. And once the bond was invoked it was always consummated. It wasn't supposed to be temporary. It was eternal. Not a test of fidelity but fidelity itself. Infinitely more binding than "'til death do us part." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Bloody fool," Spike snarled inwardly, "leg-shackled yourself to the Slayer. Not enough of a slave to her already? Had to make it worse? Had to burn her soddin' brand into your flesh?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike had no idea how long he sat, with his motorcycle idling, outside his crypt. He didn't know when he'd arrived. He remembered nothing of the trip to the cemetery. His mind had been filled with images of red death and tenderness. His mouth watered and his body ached. When he stepped out of the saddle, he nearly collapsed. His knees buckled and he, quickly, widened his stance, bracing himself against the bike. Panting, head hanging low, he stood there. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| God, if he went back now...if he took her...? Spike's heart and mind rebelled against the thought even as his demon voiced the demand. He must take her. It was no longer a question of if, only when and how. She was his; his Mistress, his Daughter, and his love. The same blood flowed in their veins. She would fight him but he would pull her down in time. Spike knew one day he would remake Buffy in his image. And he was horrified at the thought of it. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| He needed a distraction. Something to return him to the semblance of humanity, something loving, something, in short, far removed from the cold-blooded monster he knew himself to be. Spike needed to focus on the task that had driven him back to his crypt. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey," a familiar voice twanged, "whatcha doin' back here? Don't tell me she threw you out on Christmas Eve? Man, that is cold-hearte-ehhhgk," Larry squeaked, backing hastily away as the beam of his flashlight picked up the amber fire in the vampire's eyes. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Forehead casting bumpy shadows and white teeth glinting in the moonlight, Spike stalked the groundskeeper. Larry two-stepped around tombstones in a complicated dance of avoidance. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Uhm...look, Spike...we go back a long way," he babbled, "...you and me.... and I know you don't want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendshiiiiYEAACK!" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The little man tripped over a sprinkler head and went down. Spike was on him in a heartbeat. His fingers curled like talons, cutting into Larry's arms, dragging him upright. The vampire leaned in close. Chilled breath crawled along the groundskeeper's skin as Spike spoke in a low menacing growl. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I need a Christmas present," he said. "Fast! Tonight! Who do you know?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "It's a junkyard," Spike said. He cast a dubious eye on the high wooden fence lit by his motorcycle's single headlight and the double beams of the cemetery station wagon. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yep," Larry agreed, happily, his head half out the car window. "Better hours than the Sunnydale Mall. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The groundskeeper shut off the car, climbed out and slammed the door. After a moment's hesitation, Spike knocked down the kickstand. He cut his engine and stepped off the bike, adjusting a black duffle on his back with one hand as he pulled his 12-gauge from the motorcycle's holster with the other. He still felt off. He struggled with the bloodlust as he watched Larry ramble over to the barbwire-topped fence. The groundskeeper pressed his finger on a button next to the gated entrance, holding it down. A buzzer blared in the distance. Dogs barked and snarled on the other side of the gate. Spike snarled back. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Doesn't quite have that mall atmosphere," he commented, peering through a crack in the fence. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Well," Larry shrugged, when he finally released the button, "it's like I told you, Spike, this ain't the best time to go shopping. But my buddy, Darrell, is a night watchman here. Lives in...sweet deal...got a little place set up and all. And he has this side business in nearly-new and previously-owned merchandise." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yeah," Spike said, turning a very toothy smile on the man, "but I'm not looking for a set of hubcaps. I need something nice. Tasteful. Something for a young lady." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "You'd be surprised what people leave in their cars, Spike. 'Specially the DUI's that need late night towing. Lots of fine things just laying around on the seat or in the trunk." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Thought the police took that stuff into custody," Spike said, carelessly. "Being evidence and all?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Nah," a deep masculine voice growled, from behind the fence, "not in Sunnydale." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| A large black dog with a nail-studded collar barked furiously, lunging up behind the man as he opened the gate. He swatted it hard; eliciting a sharp yelp, "Shut the Fuck up, you stupid mutt," he roared at the beast before turning back to his visitors. "Cops'll come by in the morning and go over a tow sometimes," he continued, "I'm not suppose to touch 'em 'til they give the okay." He laughed, heartily, at this idea. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The newcomer was a dark, heavy-set man with two days growth of beard and three days worth of body odor. A motor-oil stained t-shirt made a valiant effort but didn't quite cover the expanse of his belly. He scratched the hairy skin of his abdomen as he ran a critical eye over Spike. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "So, Larry here tells me you gotta do a little last minute shopping," he said, chuckling again. He waved one beefy arm, pointing down a darkened corridor between smashed vehicles, "Come on in, I'll fix you right up." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "My aren't you the jolly old elf," Spike muttered, as he trailed after Darrell and Larry. "Shame I don't still have those Santa Pants to trade." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The unlikely trio wandered through a maze of crushed vehicles stacked twelve feet high. Spike tried to ignore the claustrophobic feeling that tingled through him. He looked back at the distant gate and caught the red wink of 2-dozen pairs of eyes. Small things watching from the shadows; dogs, cats, rats or maybe Santa's little helpers. Spike tightened his grip on his shotgun as a wave of paranoia swept over him. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Darrell and Larry stopped and waited at the center of the web of connecting passageways. As Spike drew closer he noticed that what appeared to be a random pile of junk was actually a cottage. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Home sweet home," Darrell announced, waving them ahead of him. "Ya'll come on in out of this harsh winter night." He laughed again, his belly rolling. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike wrestled with the urge to cut and run as he approached the shed. The door was narrow and the ceiling was low. Ducking to avoid the steep slanted beams overhead, Spike entered Darrell's lair. The place smelled like the man that owned it only more so. It was close inside and cluttered with all manner of machinery, gutted appliances and crates of car parts. Greasy, yellowed newspapers tied in twine were stacked to the ceiling. Drawers and bins and boxes were filled to overflowing with bottle caps, string, nuts, bolts, gears and other less easily identifiable things. At the center of it all was an overstuffed recliner and a huge entertainment console. A scuttle of movement drew the vampire's eye to a dining table half-buried under empty beer cans and old plates apparently being picked clean by the cockroaches. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Think I've seen enough," Spike said, turning on his heel to leave. The massive body of Darrell was blocking the exit. The man needed to loose a few pounds or add a few inches to the doorway. A low growl rumbled in Spike's throat; the hairs bristled up on his arms. He could feel the warm flood of Buffy stirring in his belly, urging him to attack. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Now, don't be coming over all queasy on us, Spike," Larry soothed. "Darrell may not be the best housekeeper in the world but he's got an eye for what will fence." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike searched the confines of the tiny room with mounting apprehension. He and Larry were standing well back as the fat man huffed and heaved himself into the cramped space. The vampire checked for another exit, just in case. He found one. There was a dormer style skylight halfway up the slanted roof. Spike relaxed slightly, still high on Slayer blood but less of a trapped predator now that he had an escape route. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Right then," he snapped, placing his shotgun on the table and trying to ignore his radical internal swings from euphoria to paranoia. "Let's get on with it. I need a gift. Something special. For a young lady." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "He's in the dog house," Larry supplied, earning a glare from the vampire and a murmur of denial. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "How bad?" Darrell asked, edging past Spike to lift down a plastic bin from one of the many stacks. "For the royal fuck up, I got a really nice fur from a totaled Mercedes tow last Tuesday...fox...size 16." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Is that real small?" Larry frowned. "'Cause his old lady wouldn't overflow a rain barrel...little slip of a thing." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Look here," Spike said, trying again for coherent communication, "you got the wrong end of this. I need a present for..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Petite, huh?" Darrell considered, caught up in the problem and ignoring Spike in favor of the more familiar Larry. "Not clothes then. Don't have nothing decent smaller than a eight...'cept a few leather items." He addressed the vampire over one ample shoulder, ass in the air as he shoved through the clutter, "Your woman? She into that sort of thing? Studded collars? Thongs?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike stood very still while he contemplated the corpulent man through dangerously narrowed eyes. On the one hand, Buffy in a studded collar was a wonderful idea...inspired really...he could picture her vividly...stripped to the barest essentials...moaning beneath him...manacled to the head of her bed...but on the other hand... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "What the bloody hell kind of question is that?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Okay," Darrell said, calmly. "I'll take that as a no...can't blame a fella, though! By the look of you...I thought maybe...." He let the sentence trail off. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Larry was nodding in sage agreement with his buddy's remarks but as Spike shot him a baleful look he held up a placating hand, "Nothing against her, Spike...beautiful little girl, sweet as springtime to look at...I'm just saying," he shrugged in helpless apology, "she's kind of a street fighter, you know? Last month, I saw her take on three of your sort and lay them out cold...nothing but net." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike felt that sense of duality take him again as he contemplated Buffy's extraordinary skill at hand-to-hand. Mental images of flesh impacting flesh assaulted him...sensory memories of rib-cracking punches merged with those of slender fingers thrusting deep into his core. He needed to be with her...he needed out of this stinking hole...he needed...blood and sex and death...sweet violence, like honey full of stinging bees...and... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Darrell had returned to rummaging in assorted cardboard boxes, but he broke off at Larry's final comment to ask, "She the physical type?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey, now," Spike blinked, snapping back into reality with his mind so far in the gutter it couldn't see over the curb, "you really need to watch your mou..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Sports, I mean," Darrell said, pulling a tennis racket out from behind a dishwasher carcass. "Does she need any new equipment? I got rackets, weights, gym bags and shoes. Lots of shoes. And a fine pair of skis came in yesterday..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Must work out," Larry commented. "Seen her throw a huge ax near 20 feet once...using only one hand, too. But I'm not sure he should get her any thing sharp...it's bad luck...'specially if she's likely to use it on him." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Okay, that's ENOUGH," Spike barked, coming out from under the influence for a minute. "Present's not for BUFFY...it's for her sister." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Oh, Spike," Larry cautioned, "Sisters are bad news. You don't want to go there." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike gaped at the man and then rolled his eyes heavenward. He opened his mouth to explain, considered his impaired senses and thought better of it. Instead, he unzipped his duffle and upended it into the seat of the recliner. A number of beautiful crystals and magical texts and amulets tumbled out of the bag. Darrell levered himself up and shuffled over to peer at the vampire's offering. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Not much to trade," the fat man said, getting down to business, "but I have a buyer for that Lasseria Stone...throw in your shotgun and I could get you a nice audio system for her car." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I don't think she drives," Larry said, quietly. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Which one?" Darrell asked, out of the side of his mouth, his eyes never leaving Spike's barter items. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Neither of 'em." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Jewelry?" Spike suggested, starting to space again. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Well," Darrell considered, "Costume jewelry maybe...don't pay to keep the real stuff around." He wrinkled his nose up and added, "Not that you could afford it." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike zipped open a pouch on the duffle and took out a wad of bills and a small packet of stained and faded cloth. He tucked the mystery package into his jeans' pocket and tossed the money into the chair. Biting down on the need to ask what the vampire was holding in reserve, Darrell scrunched up his face and thought hard. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Turning, he waddled over to the entertainment center, popped open one lacquered door and took out a red metal box. The box was bent and battered but Spike noticed the lid was painted with the Chinese symbols for peace and longevity. It made him want to giggle. The sides of the box were decorated with an interlocking pattern of white cranes. Darrell pried off the lid and held the Oriental tin out so that Spike could inspect the contents. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Any of this do?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Sadly, none of it would. The jewelry in the red box was tangled together in a gaudy mess of bright beads and tarnished chains. Turning away with a sigh, Spike started reloading his bag. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey, where are you going?" Darrell said, sharply. He reached past the vampire, pudgy fingers straining toward the Lasseria Stone. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike morphed up, whipping around and striking without thought. The headache arrived on cue. But it was distant and blunted. His synaptic responses were already on overload from the continual stimulation of the incomplete bond. Spike realized with gleeful certainty that he could tolerate the diminished pain. He could work through it. Snarling, he advanced on Larry and Darrell. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The little groundskeeper squealed in terror. He pushed past his buddy and headed for the door at best possible speed, scrambling like a rat over the piles of junk in the way. Spike smiled at the spectacle, exposing sharp teeth. He was about to pounce when Darrell loomed up in his path. The mountainous man had stepped directly in front of a bloodthirsty vampire, cutting off his charge. Nobody did that unless they were slack-brained...or suicidal...or.... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike's eyes took the long trek up the steep slope of belly to Darrell's face and completed the thought, "or...armed?" he said, gravely. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The rotund man nodded. He was holding a remote control device in one hand and with a flick of his wrist he plunged them into darkness. Spike froze for a second. Nothing happened. He shifted back a step. Nothing continued to happen. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "You turned out the lights," he said, after another few seconds ticked by uneventfully. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yep!" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I'm a vampire. I can see in the dark, you stupid git." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "It won't help you." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| And suddenly the room was full of movement. The darkness stirred, coagulating into solid form. Spike felt the rush of lithe bodies circling. Red-eyed beings, dozens of them, were materializing around him. They mewed and snapped and hissed as they came through the walls like apparitions. Spike knew what they were, not upper echelon demons, but lower animal forms. Beings too much a part of the dark to live independent of it. They weren't intelligent or large or even particularly strong but then again they didn't have to be. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Vespertines!" Spike spat out the name even as the pack leaders leaped in to hamstring him. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Fur flew, fangs ripped, necks and backs and assorted limbs crunched. Larry paused in the open doorway to look back toward the sounds of battle. It took a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the dark and in that time, Spike killed ten or more of the creatures. But they kept coming. The floor grew slick with ichors as the body count mounted. As far as Larry could tell, the vampire was relatively unscathed but he was being pressed back, maneuvered into position. Larry saw the trap first and, reflexively, yelped out a warning. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Spike, behind you." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| NEXT PART | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| E-MAIL RABID | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| PREVIOUS PART | HOME PAGE | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||