Happy Birthday, [info]lilithbint!

Title: A Gaslight Christmas
Author: [info]fenderlove
Summary: This story is for [info]lilithbint's birthday, and its events occur after my fanfiction Automated Utopia, which is set in a Victorian SteamPunk Alternate Universe in which inventions such as Charles Babbage's Difference Engine and the harnessing of steam-power have launched a technological revolution far earlier in history. The time is late 1885.
Pairings: Spike/Fred.



A Gaslight Christmas

The house at 117 Fairfax Street was practically glowing from preparations for the residents’ Christmas festivities. Snow had been swept from the front stoop and walk, and fresh verdant boughs spiraled down the stair railings. Tin lanterns were lit in every window, and the smell of baked goods and roast game was wafting pleasantly through the chilly night air. The entire street appeared more cheerful than it ever had previously.

“There, how’s that?”

From her position on the settee, Fred looked up from the lapful of gingerbread and ribbon to see Spike was precariously teetering on a small ottoman, trying to reach high enough to hang glass ornaments on a sparse evergreen.

“That’s perfect, Will,” she smiled, threading small loops of bright red ribbon through holes in the gingerbread stars and moons to create sweet-smelling ornaments for their tree.

It had been Fred’s idea for the addition of the tree to the household’s Christmas decorations. Neither Angel nor Spike had had much experience with modern winter celebrations; there had been no Christmas trees nor store-bought ornaments when they were human. As trees had never been a part of the Burkle family’s traditions either, Fred had decided that exploring different customs would be an excellent scientific endeavor. After all, The Continental Lady’s Journal of Science had boasted that there were many aspects of the holiday season that could be enhanced by modern technology, which might be a lucrative enterprise for the future.

“My dear, if you insist on calling me Will, I will spend the rest of the evening calling you Winnie, despite the protests I know you’ll make,” Spike climbed down from the ottoman, setting the empty ornament box on the settee and making a grab for a gingerbread star from the tray in Fred’s lap. His vampiric speed allowed him to do so before she could even make a move to stop him.

When Spike started reaching into the ceramic bowls of popped corn and dried cranberries that were meant to be made into garlands, Fred smacked his thigh lightly, “If you keep eating all the decorations, they’ll be none left for the tree.”

“And what incentive do I have to behave, Miss Fred?” Spike said with a mouthful of purloined treats as he sprawled on the cushions next to her.

Fred gave him another smack, this one closer to his hip, “If you do not settle yourself, I’ll make you spend the whole evening in the corner.”

And Fred did not mean that in jest as Spike well knew as she had done it before when he was being particularly bothersome while she was working. At first he was embarrassed by the situation, but the shock of it quickly turned to the erotic. What a night that had been when he was finally allowed out of the childish position!

“Oh,” he pouted with an innocent expression, “I was hoping you would take me hand… like that time with the rattan rug-beater-” The rest of his recollection was cut short by Fred shoving another piece of gingerbread into his mouth.

“You’re absolutely wicked!” she tried to sound appalled, but a small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “I ought to tan you just for that alone.”

Fred was blushing though she could not help it. She greatly enjoyed the games that she and Spike played, sometimes more than she liked to admit. She had never met a man that enjoyed being disciplined like an errant schoolboy. Fred had to wonder which of the two of them was actually the one being domineered. Was it she being goaded into punishing her preternatural lover, or was it Spike who simply had a predisposition to crave the gentle dominance of another? In any case, Charles had certainly never allowed her to do the things that were carried on between her and Spike, especially not the incidents to do with rug-beaters, canes, belts, and certain vampires being squeezed into corsets.

“Of course, I am wicked, my darling,” Spike leaned over to nuzzle her face, carefully nipping her earlobe, “but I have you to tame me.”

Rolling her eyes at the notion, Fred replied, “I do not think I’ve been doing a very good job of it if you still insist on doing bad things.”

Spike attempted to reach through the side of Fred’s short apron, hoping to gain better access to her bosom, “Just think of it this way, Pet, if you weren’t here to keep me in a better humor with better manners, then Angel would throw me out onto the street, the poor pitiful waif that I am!”

“Spike,” she had to give him a soft push, filling his hands with the bowls of popcorn and cranberries, “your whole body and mind are the Devil’s playthings when you’re not kept busy.”

“What’s this for again?” Spike asked, obviously trying not to devour any other food items.

Fred held up her copy of the ladies’ magazine, showing him an illustration of a tree not dissimilar to their own, “You take this needle and linen cord, and you’re going to string the berries and popcorn on it to fashion a garland, just like in the picture.”

“In my day, we did not waste food such as this,” he scoffed, though he was already threading the needle without further instruction.

“In your day, one could not send even a telegraph,” Fred retorted as she began to hand the gingerbread stars and moons over the bare spots in the tree’s branches.

A short time later, as Fred and Spike had just finished arranging the garland around the tree, Charles and Wesley emerged from the basement atelier with a large crate, both huffing and puffing with effort as they went from the landing to the drawing room.

Fred clasped her hands happily, “Oh, good! I was afraid that it would be too heavy for you two to carry!”

“Nonsense,” Wesley wheezed, attempting to cover his mouth with a handkerchief as the box was unceremoniously placed on the floor in front of the tree. “It was no trouble at all.”

“If by “no trouble” he means that I nearly broke my back, then, yes, it was no trouble,” Charles eased himself into an overstuffed armchair and sighed.

Opening the crate, Fred removed several heavy pieces of curved translucent piping and wove it through the branches of the tree, connecting each piece in a spiraling circuit. The branches sagged a bit, but she knew it would be worth it for the effect. As she assembled the piping, Lorne entered the drawing room with a large bowl of punch.

“It’s about time for us all to celebrate! There’s pudding fermenting in the kitchen, and I’ve made my special festive brew to warm our bones and put hair on our chests,” Lorne grinned, but then nodded to Fred, “Not yours, of course, Pumpkin… Probably not Spike’s either.”

“I’m not sure if I want any of that punch, Greensleeves,” Spike grimaced, “I can smell at least four varieties of alcohol from here.”

“Shush, you’ll reveal my secret,” Lorne chided, ladling the pink-coloured punch into little crystal cups.

“Before I put the final touch on the very top of the tree, someone must go fetch Angel,” Fred said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Spike, if you would?”

Spike held back a remark he longed to make about Angel’s study being the most depressing place on the entire planet, but instead trudged off to find his grandsire. Without knocking, Spike entered, finding the brunette vampire much as he though he would- sitting alone, in the dark, brooding away as if he did not have a house full of people who cared about him.

“Up! Come on now, the party’s starting,” Spike tried to sound pleasant as possible, but it did not last long when Angel made no attempt to stand. “Move your behemoth arse, and get up!”

Angel sighed, a heavy put-upon sound that drove Spike insane, “I’ll just spoil the festivities as I’m not in the mood for company right now.”

Spike’s tone of voice started off eerily calm but sharply escalated into one of very noted frustration, “You’re going to stand up, go into the drawing room, and see what a beautiful job Fred did with decorating everything! You’re going to make chit-chat with everyone because they’re your friends, and I don’t give a good goddamn if it takes you drinking every last drop of Lorne’s punch to do so!”

Angel’s eyes narrowed at his annoying grandchilde, “Who appointed you the cheer-pixie?”

“Fred,” Spike said matter-of-factly. “She’s in there, waiting for you so she can show everyone what gadget she’s cooked up just for us.” His voice softened a bit, “We’re family whether you like it or not. We’re a strange, demonic family of bumbling detectives that can’t keep a house servant longer than a week, but one thing that still holds as true to the season now as it did when we were actually breathing is that no one should shut their family out during the holidays.”

“You should write those Christmas greeting cards they’re making now,” was Angel’s reply. Before Spike could respond in an equally snarky manner, Angel continued, “I invited Connor to come home from a few days as a break from his studies, but he didn't write back.”

“Don’t be so glum,” Spike clapped a hand down on Angel’s shoulder, “The kid’s just off with his mates, enjoying a little independence. I’m sure he’ll pop ‘round before New Years.”

And with that, Angel removed himself from his chair, from his dark, musty study, and was led to the drawing room to partake in the Christmas festivities.

Fred was nearly bouncing as she held a large glass star in her hands. With Spike’s hands on her waist, lifting her up, Fred was able to attach the star to the translucent piping at the very top of the tree. As she did, the pipes began to glow a familiar pulsing soft blue all around the Christmas tree. There was a moment of awe that passed through everyone as they stared at the beautiful sight.

“Incredible,” Wesley spoke, adjusting his glasses, “you’ve managed to create an independent housing for aether lights.”

“It took a bit of doing,” Fred nodded, looking quite proud of herself. “I had to make all the glass pipes custom. I call it a Self-Conducive Aether-Powered System, or SCAPS for short.”

“I think I’d call just call them ‘Christmas lights,’” Spike said, admiring his darling Winifred’s handiwork.

Everyone gazed at the tree for a few moments, taking in the sight of the tree lit up cheerily with its homemade and store-bought decorations and a pile of gifts below it, before Lorne passed around cups of punch. Angel’s discontentedness melted away some, and he was able to enjoy one of the rare disaster-free moments of his life.

“In all seriousness, you could patent those lights. People could light their whole homes with them instead of using clunky aether lanterns,” Wesley said, his glasses slightly askew as he’d sampled a little too much punch.

Fred was feeling a tad bit tipsy herself and had to keep reminding herself not to sip anymore from her cup, “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought! To be free of steam-powered bases that warp metal and wood surfaces! These lights contain everything within their own circuits and filaments. Plus, they are surely much safer than candles!” She giggled a little at that, and Spike had to catch her cup before she dropped it.

“That’s quite enough punch for you, Missy,” Spike drank what was left of her helping in one shot as a small scuffling sound could be heard coming from the front door.

Everyone was up peering at the door suspiciously, fearing that the one night they thought they could spend in peace was about to be interrupted. Could it be carolers out wassailing? Could it be some hideous evil ready to spring on them? Angel was the first one to walk closer to the door.

“If it’s Appleyard and Pleydell come around to collect for the police retirement fund, you can tell ‘em to sod off,” Spike stage-whispered.

Before opening the door, Angel did what it was always safest to do in their situation by checking through the drapes on the front hall windows. He froze for a moment and then threw open the door in a flourish.

Connor had a heavy valise bag under each arm and was trying to scrape the snow from his boots before he knocked. He looked surprised that his presence was already known to the household.

“Happy Christmas, Father,” he smiled cheerfully. “I would have been home sooner, but I had the most dreadful time catching a hansom near the university. I had to trek all the way down to Bowman Street just to find one! Can you believe that? I suppose I should have set out yesterday.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you’re here,” Angel helped the boy inside, letting his bags remain in the front hall as he showed Connor into the warmth of the drawing room.

Fred leaned against one side of the doorframe while Spike was at the other as the rest continued with feasting and merrymaking. Her eyes were a bit sleepy from too much punch, but she appeared contented.

“What’s got you so starry-eyed, Fred?” Spike asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He too was feeling happy and satisfied with the way the evening had progressed.

Fred didn’t answer but merely pointed up. A sprig of mistletoe was hanging from the top of the frame. Spike grinned, taking Fred’s hand and pulling her close to him.

“I worried you wouldn’t know what it was, seeing as how you didn’t have Christmas trees or things such as that when you were human,” Fred spoke, letting her hands rest on his broad shoulders.

Spike laughed, “Are you serious? It’s a tradition to do with kissing; of course, I know what it is!”

Leaning down, he caught her lips in a tender kiss, his arms wrapped around her tightly. Her hands came up to cup his face as they went on like that for several minutes until someone from the drawing room threw leftover popcorn at them.

“Happy Christmas, William,” Fred smiled with a small gasp for breath.

With his forehead touching hers, Spike kissed the tip of her nose, “Happy Christmas, Winifred.”

The End.