Title: Advent.
Author: [info]fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Fred
Warnings: This ficlet is rate PG for language.
Summary: Spike is having a bad Christmas until he gets a few unexpected surprises. Set after IDW's After the Fall. I wrote this for [info]nekid_spike's Nekid Numbers; my prompts were Fred and an advent calendar. This is a bit late, but I never thought that this would be as long as it turned out to be. :D



Spike’s coffee table was littered with torn wrapping paper and half-empty mugs of eggnog. That evening had been both a Christmakkuh/house-warming party for Spike’s new apartment. After almost a month back in Las Vegas, Spike’s former group therapy-mates decided he needed a bit of holiday cheer whether he liked it or not.

Dr. Thibault, Biv, Marv, and Anna had headed back to Primm a few hours before, but Beck and Betta George had stayed behind to help clean up. However, the Firestarter and the Splendeen demon were passed out in a nog-and-cookie-fueled coma on the thrift store couch. Spike was trying to shrug off sleep as he relaxed in his crowded corner of the sofa, popping open all the little doors in a cardboard advent calendar and eating the tiny chocolate pieces within. The calendar had been a present from Anna. Marv had chided her since it was Christmas Eve and the calendar had been rendered useless, but she confidently said it was much better this way with twenty-four pieces of candy in one go rather than one a day. Spike agreed; he wasn’t really the delayed gratification type.

His other gifts were scattered on the table. Dr. Thibault had given him a journal, a not-so-subtle attempt to lure Spike back into therapy no doubt. Biv and Marv brought him cookies and booze, which were much appreciated. Beck gave him a t-shirt with “Merlotte’s” emblazoned on the front. Off his rather confused expression, Beck explained a little about True Blood, which was a TV show that was very popular with the residents of the Mosaic Wellness Center. She then promised to bring Spike her DVDs so that he could get caught up with the series and join in their viewing parties when the new season started. Spike feigned interest, but something about a young blonde woman with supernatural powers being in love with a broody vampire with bad hair didn’t sit well with him.

George’s gift had been a copy of “One Thousand and One Ways to Make Hot Chocolate!” which, upon unwrapping, Spike had threw a ball of festive wrapping paper at him for, cursing the Splendeen’s ability to read the thoughts of others.

“I’ll have you know that having telepathy makes me a great gift-giver!” George huffed, but then reassured the overly sensitive vampire, “You don’t have to use the recipes for hot chocolate only. I thought you might give them a try with blood and stuff!”

Currently, the oversized guppy was snoozing while Beck slept with her arms wrapped around his puffy body as though he was a Betta-themed pillow.

Spike was feeling a bit guilty for not being more grateful that he had friends that actually wanted to be around him and put effort into buying things for him. He felt even guiltier for not even having a single thought about buying any of them anything. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he’d had a holiday to celebrate with anyone at all. Hanging out with people and fighting along side them didn’t mean that you had to buy them a jaunty sweater come the holidays. Certainly no one in quite a while had jotted Spike down on a Christmas shopping list. Actually, the thought that Beck and the others had possibly written his name down on such a list, purposefully shopping for a gift for him made Spike’s stomach knot up. He hadn’t put any thought into gift-giving since the fiasco that was Buffy’s birthday several years previous. He’d wound up sharing the box of chocolates he’d intended to give her with Dawn instead.

Looking down at the half-eaten calendar of chocolate, Spike nudged Beck awake, offering her some of the small candies.

“Oh, no thanks,” she yawned, “I’m too filled with cookies.” Beck sat up and stretched, but then looked over at Spike, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he shrugged.

Her brow furrowed as she tucked a lock of her long black hair behind her ear, “You look sort of… sad.”

Spike glanced over at her. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him was a little sad. Well, maybe he was more disappointed than sad.

“There’s no snow,” he said at last, tossing what was left of the advent calendar onto the coffee table.

Beck was a tad confused, “No, I don’t think Vegas has had a really big snow since the seventies. You’ve lived in this region for a while; you know we don’t typically get a lot of snow.”

“I mean, it’s downright balmy, shorts-wearin’ weather out there most of the time, and it’s December!” Spike got up and pointed towards one of the windows. “It’s Christmas Eve, and, by God, people are out in the bloody swimming pool!”

Spike’s apartment was on the ground floor of an Art Deco hotel that had been renovated for residential housing. In the center of the apartment complex was a large swimming pool and jacuzzi.

“Are you sure? It’s kinda nippy for people to be in the pool- Spike! They’re in the hot tub,” Beck got up from the couch and looked out the window. “Even people at ski lodges get in hot tubs.”

“Yeah, well,” Spike didn’t know why he was so irritable, but he gestured towards the palm trees that lined the walkway around the complex, “They put fairy lights on the sodding palm trees! That’s just ridiculous!”

“Fairy lights?” Beck started to giggle at the term.

Spike folded his arms across his chest, “And they don’t show the good claymation Christmas specials nearly as much as they show those new CGI cartoons and the cheesy Hallmark movies! Sure, I can watch A Christmas Story all day tomorrow, but I’ve only see Rudolph and Charlie Brown once this year. Once!”

“They’ve got those movies on DVD at Target, you know,” Beck said, not fully understanding what had gotten Spike so riled up.

“That’s not the point,” Spike muttered, sitting back down on the sofa. “It’s not the same as it used to be.”

“I guess you’ve seen a lot more changes in the holidays than me,” she sat down next to him, wrapping her thin arms around one of his, her head on his shoulder.

Beck had a way of making Spike feel comfortable. She was always quick with a hug, never afraid to touch him or get close. He wished he could be that way, to not fear being rebuffed.

“I suppose,” he replied, taking a gentle hold of her hand. “When I was a kid, we didn’t really have Christmas cards or stockings and only a few of the Christmas carols that most people remember nowadays.”

“And did you have to walk to school in the snow uphill both ways?” Beck teased, playing with the heavy silver bracelet around his wrist.

“Please, I went to boarding school,” he rolled his eyes.

Beck held back a laugh, “So you were too preppy to walk in the snow?”

After a few minutes of indignant silence, Spike sighed, “I guess I just miss how things used to be.”

“Well,” Beck took a breath and then ventured, “we could always go to one of those Victorian Christmases that the Historical Society puts on?”

“So I can find out what Yanks think plum pudding is? No thanks,” he groused.

“You’re just being a Grinch,” Betta George said. The Splendeen did not so much speak as telepathically communicate.

Spike glared at him, “Are you trying to say that my heart is two sizes too small?”

“Everyone gets a little bummed that the holidays aren’t like they remember. I think it’s part of growing up,” George replied, floating over the coffee table. “Maybe you just need a real Christmas tree for this place, and you’ll feel better.”

George might have been right. Spike looked at the fish and then at Beck. He wasn’t sure what family George had, but he knew what had become of Beck’s. Spike suddenly felt very childish for carrying on about the holidays like he was the only one with something to be sad about when Beck must been feeling the same things he was.

“Yeah, a tree and some decorations… Or maybe a grocery store?” George added.

Spike frowned, “I told you to stay out of my head!”

Betta George stayed out of Spike’s reach as he hovered overhead, “Come on, I think it sounds pretty cool.”

“What does?” Beck’s curiosity was peaked.

Spike took a breath, “One of the first Christmas presents I remember getting was a toy grocery store.”

Beck burst into laughter. “I’m sorry!” she gasped for air, trying not to snicker, “It just sounds like such a girly toy.”

“It wasn’t! It was for boys!” Spike felt rather defensive. “Girls got dolls and hairbrushes and nonsense like that.”

“So this grocery store wasn’t for dolls to play in?” she was still bouncing from her giggling-fit.

Before Spike could respond, George butted in, “If I might… I could show her?”

“You mean, you want her to see what I remember,” Spike looked rather skeptical about letting either of them in his head.

“Yeah, just a peek, and I promise to restrict it to just a few minutes,” George said solemnly.

Shifting uncomfortably, Spike reluctantly agreed since Beck insisted on pleading with big puppy eyes.

George’s mode of giving Spike a glimpse into his past was less unsettling than the Prokaryote Stone Giles had used on him. With a single blink, Spike found himself basking in the warmth of a pleasant-looking kitchen. A woman with cheeks as shiny as a copper teakettle was standing over a preparation board cutting vegetables. Spike turned his head at a sudden flurry of movement in his periphery. His mother was flitting about between the dining room and the kitchen. Her blonde hair was undone, shimmering curls cascading down her back. She held a three-year-old boy on her hip; his curly locks a perfect match for hers in colour. The boy was getting immense pleasure from nibbling on a piece of gingerbread.

“Is that you as a kid? Why are you wearing a dress?” Spike heard Beck whisper.

Little William was dressed in a navy blue wool kilt with a matching jacket. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, but thick black leggings were covering his feet.

“It’s not a dress!” Spike replied grumpily, “It’s a kilt.”

“Oh, Mrs. Gardiner, there is still so much to do! How will we ever get it done before this evening?” Anne sighed with a contented tone, settling William in a chair next to the preparation table. She began gathering several small tin ramekins and arranging them in front of her.

Mrs. Gardiner had an expression on her face that seemed to imply that more work could be done if the mistress of the household would get out of her way, but she calmly said with a voice filled with concern, “Ma’am, this must be terribly stressful for you. Perhaps you and Mr. Pratt could take the baby to the park for some air?”

“Oh, nonsense!” Anne smiled brightly, “I just need to get one thing done at a time.” With a large bowl of dough and another of pie filling, she began to attempt to make a batch of small fruit pies for their evening’s Christmas party. She had never been allowed to learn kitchen-wise things as a girl, but she had often watched the cooks in her employ and was sure that baking and such could not be that difficult. As this was the first time Anne would be playing hostess for such a large gathering in her home, she was determined to make it perfect.

William had finished his gingerbread and seemed keenly aware that his mother’s attentions were now elsewhere, “Mama! Mama!” He waved his hand at her.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Do you want to help?” Anne took a small ramekin and a ball of dough and gave it to her son to play with.

Anne was quite entertained by her toddler’s attempt at baking as she spooned filling into the ramekins and began to crimp the top crust down around the edges. At first it appeared that William was trying to mimic how his mother rolled the dough into the tins, but that quickly turned into him just trying to eat the dough instead.

Spike felt a catch in his throat. He couldn’t remember his mother looking as vibrant and filled with energy as she did in that moment. He realized that perhaps it wasn’t the decorations or the proper Christmas weather that he missed at all, but rather it was his family.

“Annie darling, we have a last-minute guest…” a tall, lanky gentleman entered the kitchen carrying a piece of cardstock in his hand.

William perked up from the mess he was enjoying making and chirruped, “Papa!” He held up a shapeless blob of dough and pie filling in his father’s direction.

Anne laughed softly, trying to wipe off William’s face and hands with a dish towel, “I think your son has a promising culinary future, Phineas.”

Her husband replied, "I'm not sure they offer Culinary Studies at Cambridge, love." After a pause, Phineas Pratt seemed more aware that of Mrs. Gardiner's agitation at the presence of "outsiders" in her domain. "Darling, I am absolutely out of my depth with these RSVPs. Could you join me in the parlor?"

Anne nodded, helping her son down from his chair and letting him toddle along beside her. As soon as they were out of the kitchen, she mused, "How can a college-educated man have difficulty counting guests?"

Phineas leaned over and kissed her forehead, "I don't, but I was worried that our cook might decide to play Titus Andronicus with my dearest treasure if I did not intervene."

"Honestly, the way you poke fun at me! If I didn't know better, I would think that you didn't love me," Anne folded her arms and pouted.

It was that particular expression that made Beck and Betta George realize that Spike definitely took after his mother in appearance.

While his parents playfully bantered with one another, William had taken an opportunity to explore the parlor, which was bedecked in fresh garlands and colourful decorations. The Christmas tree was atop a small table at the room's center, a pile of glazed calico-wrapped parcels beneath it. The small boy pointed at various objects, chattering quite happily to himself, apparently carrying on a grand conversation, before plopping himself down on the floor in front of the presents.

"William, no," Anne went over to her son and began to pick him up, but he made a very discontented squeal. His mother sighed heavily, "You can't have any presents until tonight, sweetheart."

To a three-year-old, however, "until tonight" might as well mean "never." William's bottom lip quivered, and he looked on the verge of tears.

"Maybe he could have just one?" Phineas suggested, crouching down beside his son, tousling the boy's curly hair.

"One couldn't hurt," Anne smiled, more than willing to dote on her child and prevent a tantrum.

Spike chuckled to himself as he wondered how he could have turned out so good-natured in his human life when he was terribly spoiled and indulged as a child. Though maybe it did explain it. He didn't start acting like a royal terror until after he was a vampire. When his parents were around, he had no need to throw tantrums since he always got what he wanted.

"Here, let him have this one," Phineas pulled a particular large parcel from behind the others. "It will keep him occupied until the party."

After his mother helped move the wrapping away, William smiled upon seeing his present. The toy grocery store was basically a wooden hutch attached to a small bench. It came with a balancing scale and weights, empty tins and boxes which were miniatures of actual products, and even a roll of butcher paper to wrap "purchases."

"If he can't be a restauranteur, he can be a grocer, at least," Phineas laughed, watching his son tap at the little metal dishes on the scale.

A mere second later, Spike found himself back in his living room in Vegas. Beck practically bounced off the sofa and wrapped her arms around Spike in a very tight hug.

"You were such a cute little kid!" she giggled.

"Yeah, yeah," Spike smirked, "don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my street cred'."

Beck leaned her head against his chest, her voice softening, "I can see why being in Vegas wouldn't feel quite like Christmas to you."

Playfully patting the top of her head, Spike replied, "It's all right. I think I'm feeling less like a grouch." He nodded towards Betta George, "Thanks for that, Guppie."

After a few minutes of doing the clean-up work they had originally intended to do, Beck and Betta George stepped outside of the apartment and began walking to her car.

Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, Beck was quiet, not wanting her friend to see the tears that were threatening to fall, though she knew he could not help but hear her thoughts.

"Beck, I'm sorry," George said, placing a delicate tendril of a fin on her shoulder. "I know that you miss your family too."

She let out a little laugh, forcing a smile, "I think that Spike has missed his family much longer than I have. His own memories are probably a lot fuzzier than mine, and I'm glad that it made him happy to get a clear picture again."

George heard her thoughts, however, and though he offered to show her pleasant memories of her family as well, she politely declined. It made the drive back to Mosaic a little uncomfortable.

The mood did lighten as the car approached the renovated treatment center. After Spike had helped liberate the patients of Mosaic, the overall approach to treating demonic impulses was turned completely around. Instead of preaching repression, Dr. Thibault and the other doctors began to work with their supernatural wards to teach them how to harness and control their powers to integrate into society. They were also free to come and go as they pleased, which was the most welcomed change of all.

The interior of Mosaic had changed dramatically as well. It now appeared like a modern medical institute with pleasant pastel colours on every surface instead of the maximum security prison that had greeted Beck and the others upon their original arrival. Now, holiday lights were strung across the information desk, and a large tree and decorations of various religious denominations were set up near the communal television.

Beck and George made their way back to their rooms only to see that Marv was making out with Anna underneath some mistletoe in the hallway.

"You guys are back kinda late," the werewolf said. His speech was slightly slurred from too much eggnog.

"Spike needed some cheering up, so we stayed a bit longer," Beck explained, feeling something rub on her hair. It took her only a split-second to realize that the invisible force was Biv.

As George gazed around at some of the paper and tinsel-y decorations hanging around and remembered Spike's sparse apartment, he spoke up, "Hey, I have an idea!"


On Christmas morning, George and the others made their way back to Spike's apartment piled into Dr. Thibault's station wagon with a few boxes of decorations and a small tree borrowed from Mosaic's cafeteria.

"He's going to be pissed," Biv muttered, only visible by Anna's presence and the ridiculously long scarf around his neck. "This time of morning must be like the dead of night for a vamp."

"Hush," Beck replied, "Spike's going to love this. Trust me."

At Spike's apartment complex, there were several children outside showing one another what Santa had left for them. One little girl was riding her brand new bicycle around the sidewalk still in her pajamas. Beck was out of the car before Dr. Thibault had even gotten the vehicle in park. She hastily knocked on Spike's door, secretly hoping that she was right about him not being pissed at being woken up.

To her surprise, Spike opened the door looking fully awake. He was dressed in a pair of charcoal grey slacks and a red button-up shirt, and he had a bright smile on his face.

"Hey, I was hoping you guys were headed over here," he said, holding open the door while staying out of the sunlight. "I called up to Mosaic, and the receptionist said you'd all gone out."

"You wanted us to come over?" she was a bit surprised.

As everyone filed into his apartment, Spike answered, "Yeah, I was thinking about what we talked about last night, and I decided to try something different."

"Wow, that looks a lot more appetizing than what they're serving at Mosaic," Anna exclaimed, as she caught sight of the mountain of food that was laid out on the formica dinette table.

A silly grin came over Beck's face as she poked Spike's side with her elbow, "You cooked?"

"I'm an excellent cook, thank you," he replied with a rather smug expression. He then added, "I drove around last night until I found a store still open and stocked up on what was left of their holiday fixings. Got some excellent deals, by the way."

Everyone had a wonderful time, setting up the tree and decorations and tucking into the seasonal fare with gusto. Beck refused to touch the plum pudding for fear that it had blood in it, and Marv got into the garbage in the kitchen, pulling out a half-burned chicken which was the only evidence of Spike's first attempt at cooking that morning.

"This is a perfectly good bird, man!" Marv said with a mouthful of crispy charred chicken meat.

"Some cook you are," George chuckled. "What'd you do, Spike? Baste the thing in lava?"

"I got a little pre-occupied while it was in the oven," Spike frowned, taking a swig of beer, "I never said I was Martha bloody Stewart. Besides, the second one turned out pretty good."

"Don't listen to 'em," Marv was reveling in his treat from the trash can, "This chicken is just Cajun-style." He offered Anna a bite, but she made a gagging noise, pretending to stick her finger down her throat at the werewolf's display.

"Oh, gross-me-out, Marv!" the Ringel squealed as he pushed the charbroiled bird carcass at her. "I can't believe I let you kiss me!"

That statement only led to much teasing and hypothetical talk of what would happen if a Ringel demon and a werewolf had a baby. Dr. Thibault tried to remind them that members of the same therapy group probably shouldn't be getting physical lest the sessions become uncomfortable for everyone. Biv made a few lewd comments as did Spike, but, being British, Spike's comments came off more charming than Biv's.

After everyone was suitably stuffed with food, Spike got up from the table and said, "All right, you lot, I've got presents to hand out."

George nudged Beck with a fin, "Why do I feel like I should be worried?"

Spike handed each of his companions a wrapped gift, all relatively the same size.

Beck dove into the wrapping, like a kid expecting an X-Box, "You didn't have to get us anything. It's so nice of you..." She paused as she stared at the giant As-Seen-on-TV logo staring back at her and glanced around the table. Everyone had the same expression on their faces.

"You got us Snuggies?" Biv sputtered incredulously. If he had been more visible, Spike would have been able to see that Biv had one eyebrow raised.

"I wasn't exactly expecting to do shopping this year, so be happy with what you got and accept a promise that I'll do better next year," Spike smirked. He was feeling rather proud of himself for pulling everything together so last minute. Plus, Snuggies were damned comfy, not that he would ever admit to having firsthand knowledge of that fact.

"Mine's pink!" Anna already had the backwards-looking robe out of its box and was trying it on. She appeared to be in heaven.

"If you're good, then maybe Santy Fangs over there will get you some horn-warmers?" Marv guffawed loudly, picking his teeth with one of the chicken bones.

Just as Beck was attempting to help George get his fins into his leopard-spotted Snuggie, there came a knock at the door.

Spike rolled his eyes, "It's going to be just my luck that that's Angel. His heart will have grown three sizes by some Christmas miracle, and he'll be wanting a gift too."

"He can have mine," Biv grumbled, but quickly shut up when Spike flipped him a rude hand gesture.

Opening the door, Spike was surprised to find not Angel but Illyria on his doorstep. He would have been happier if it had been Angel.

"Long time no see, Blue," Spike said, leaning against the door frame. "You're a bit late. We've already carved the roast beast-"

A brunette blur crossed into his line of vision, and Spike suddenly found himself with an armful of Fred. It almost overwhelmed his senses to be able to touch her, see her, smell her, and know that it was truly her at last. He glanced at Illyria, her face expressionless and passive.

"The Burkle requested to see you," the former god-king spoke.

"How? I don't understand," Spike didn't know where to begin. The only thing that his brain could process was that Fred had returned, and nothing felt better in the world than wrapping his arms around her.

"When the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart caused my true form to manifest and the temporal shift back to this plane, I became aware that my powers had regenerated-"

Fred was shaking with fists tightly clenched in Spike's shirt, "I was so confused. I was just in my lab, and then I was staring at something that looked just like me only it wasn't me; it was her. She told me everything that happened to me, to Wesley, to everyone." A small sob escaped her lips as though she'd been bottling it up for far too long.

"... These emotions the Splendeen forced upon me were growing most inconvenient, so I decided to confront the source of them once and for all. I was able to create a tertiary temporal shift upon another, pulling my shell from the moment she was to open my sarcophagus and replace that with a duplicate from our timeline to create a dimensional fold-"

"I didn't know what to do at first or who to talk to," Fred said as Spike pulled her inside, helping her to sit on the couch, "but I didn't want to be alone, not today."

"I suppose a lesser being could consider it a pocket," Illyria continued as though there wasn't a room filled with people who had no idea who she was or what she was talking about. "There should not be any lasting complications from removing her from that timeline and bringing her to this one. She talks incessantly, and I hope that you will take custody of her from this juncture forward."

"No one needs to "take custody" of me," Fred replied sharply. "I just needed to see a familiar face."

Spike sat down next to Fred. Her small hands slipped into his and squeezed.

Fred smiled softly, "I remember what you did for me... when you thought it was me, at any rate. I wanted to thank you."

"I have told her that it is impossible for her to have any memories of what occurred on our timeline, but she insists otherwise. She has a most unpleasant temperament, which will make her a unsuitable mate for you, Vampire, as yours is equally disconcerting."

Fred blushed fiercely, "Stop that!"

"I understand the Burkle persona that still resides in me even less than before," Illyria said in a tone that could only be describe as irreverence tinged with petulance. "And now she has brought me into the center of your pagan revelry."

"It's pagan revelry with plum pudding though," George said defensively, still a bit weary of Illyria's presence.

While Fred and Illyria bickered, Spike was lost in a fog of disbelief. Fred was here with him, and she was real. Her hands were a little sweaty, but she was alive!

"Spike?" Fred appeared concerned when he was uncharacteristically silent.

"You're not wearing your glasses," he almost whispered the words. It was the only thing he could think to say.

She gave a little snort of laughter, "No, I think I left them in my office at Wolfram and Hart, and even if it were still around, I would not go in there for them."

To hear her sound amused, her little laugh, was a Christmas miracle unto itself. Spike had been for sure that the last memories he would have of the real Fred would be her lying drawn and sickly in a hospital bed. He embraced her, which caused Fred to squeak in surprise.

After nearly being pulled into his lap, Fred patted Spike's back and whispered quietly, "It's all right."

He loosened his hold on her though he knew it would be awkward for her, not truly remembering the closeness they shared when he had convinced himself that Illyria was her, "I thought I'd lost you. I shouldn't have given up. You never would have given up on me."

Fred placed a small kiss on his cheek, "You didn't give up on me. I feel like I was with you the whole time, but that's not possible or so Illyria tells me. Then again, it wasn't supposed to be possible that I could come back either."

"Probability can sod off," came his reply, which made Fred giggle. Spike returned her kiss, his lips resting gently on her forehead.

"This is an excellent emotional break-through for you, Spike. You've really taken down a lot of your boundaries today," Dr. Thibault hastily began to take out a notepad from his jacket.

"Don't spoil my moments, Doc," Spike said, having to hold back a growl. He returned his attentions to Fred, "It's a shame I didn't know you were coming, luv. I would have gotten you a gift."

"She can have mine," Biv responded and brought his present over to the couch, though it appeared as though the oversized piece of fleece floated through the air unaided.

"It's a blanket with sleeves?" Fred had a somewhat dubious expression.

"They were having a sale," was the only response Spike could come up with at that moment.

Introductions were made, and the tale of the heroic battle to save Mosaic was told, followed quickly by more feasting and much off-key and slightly drunken wassailing. Illyria had grown quite exhausted from making sure that everyone recognized her lofty status above mortal traditions and had retired to parts unknown. Eventually, the Mosaic-dwellers returned to Primm, leaving Spike and Fred alone in his apartment.

Fred had curled up around him on the couch, staring at the bright red and green Christmas lights strung around a tree that made Charlie Brown's look like a Sequoia. Spike handed her a mug of hot chocolate, and they both enjoyed the sounds of a few carolers who had strayed too far down the block from the local bar.

Spike was downright lightheaded. Perhaps it was caused by the copious amounts of alcohol in the eggnog, or the fact that having Fred so close by was making him nearly giddy. Whatever the cause, Spike found himself composing a bit of Christmas verse in his head.

It was the night of Christmas, and all down on the strip,
There were fine ladies dancing, with pasties on tits;
The neon wasn't dimming, and the lounges never close,
X-mas peep-shows were half-priced, a quarter per pose;
Out past the Rampart, without flurry or snow,
Even without seeing his favourite Christmas show,
A vampire had with him a tiny scientist who cared,
Though they didn't have much, they had the love that they shared;
And though they fought evil with no end in sight,
For this Christmas, they would have one good night.

The End.