Gifts

Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, although I wish I did. I’d have made every Christmas merry.

Summary: Set post-Showtime. Spike and Buffy share a little Christmas cheer. Goes a trifle AU.

A/N: Yet another in my holiday request ficathon. effulgent_girl requested a fic where Spike gives Buffy a late Christmas present after she rescues him from the First.

He had nothing to give her; that was the first thing that occurred to him. She had done so much for him over the last few months, and he was laid up in her bedroom, essentially forbidden from moving lest he inadvertently re-injure himself.

“I brought more blood,” Buffy said, slipping into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied. “’Bout time I let you have your bed back.”

“I’m not in a hurry.” She tried for a smile. “I haven’t been sleeping much anyway.”

Spike wanted to offer her something, anything, that might help her relax, but he wasn’t sure how the suggestion would be received with everything that had gone on between them. “Still. I imagine you’ll sleep better.” He put the mug on the bedside table and began to slide out from between the sheets. “You’ll need to get the chains out now that I’m mobile again. Don’t want the First usin’ me to hurt any of you.”

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders before he could rise. “Spike, no.”

The scent of her—the feel of her—nearly undid him. He closed his eyes. “What?”

“Just—stay. One more night won’t hurt anything.”

Looking up at her, Spike could see something in her eyes, the same emotion that had been there when she’d rescued him from that cave, when she’d cut the ties that bound him—and bound him more firmly to herself for that. “I think it might be better if I go,” he whispered. “What I did—you can’t rest easy with me here.”

“I couldn’t rest easy while you were gone,” was her reply. “How’s that for irony?”

“I meant it,” he whispered. “This soul was meant for you, even if it only caused you more trouble in the long run.”

Her grip tightened in a wordless gesture of sympathy. “The First would have found another way to get to me, and to you probably. It seems to like vampires.”

“You didn’t have to come for me.”

“Yes, I did.”

His hands drifted up of their own accord to rest on top of Buffy’s, and they didn’t move for a very long time. “You should try to sleep tonight, Buffy. I can take the floor.”

“Your ribs aren’t healed,” she pointed out, sounding determined. “Besides, I think the bed is big enough for both of us.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t think you can keep your hands to yourself.”

The words stung, although she used a playful tone. Spike knew he’d cut his own hands off before he’d touch her against her will again. The gentle moment was broken, the dam he’d built inside his head to keep his guilt in check burst, and it swamped him again.

What was he doing here, pretending that she cared, that he wasn’t beneath her?

“I should go,” he muttered, attempting to rise. She shouldn’t have to assuage his guilt the way she’d bandaged his wounds; Buffy had done too much for him already.

“No.” She spoke quickly. “That came out wrong.”

“It was true enough.” It was a battle, but he met her eyes. “I don’t trust myself, Slayer; I don’t see why you should be any different.”

“I told you,” she replied, a little impatiently. “I believe in you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

“Not when it results in you being hurt.” This time he put some effort into shaking off her hands, and in spite of his injuries, was at the door of the bedroom before she could stop him. “I can’t give you much, but I can let you have your bedroom back.”

Spike hated the desperation in his voice; in a way, he hated that he still loved her, that she could still make him feel this way.

“Wait.”

That one word stopped him with his hand on the door knob. “Yeah?”

“I haven’t given you your Christmas gift yet.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“Your gift. I got one for you. In case—for when we—for when I got you back.”

Her language was telling. Spike turned from the door to face her. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“Yes, you do,” Buffy replied quietly. “You can stay tonight. You can lie next to me. You can tell me that you won’t leave again.”

His heart would have been beating wildly, if it could beat at all. Buffy was looking at him with those luminous eyes of hers, and he couldn’t decide whether to stay or run. He was almost certain that she would regret those words tomorrow, and he’d be left out in the cold again.

And yet—and yet if that was what she wanted out of him, didn’t he owe her that much? Didn’t he owe her everything?

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. “I won’t leave until you ask me to.”

“Good.” Her smile was supremely satisfied, and he wondered at it, although he didn’t understand it. “Don’t you want to know what I got you for Christmas?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Spike.” The one word was a warning, which he took.

“What did you get me for Christmas, then?” he asked, his lips quirking into a smile. The expression felt foreign to his face.

Buffy walked around the bed and over to where he stood. “Just this.” And she looked up.

Spike’s gaze followed hers, and he saw the mistletoe hanging above them; he was sure he hadn’t seen it before. “Where did that come from?”

“You’ve been sleeping a lot the last couple of days,” she reminded him, then pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was nearly chaste, after everything else they’d done together. It was, however, what a first kiss might be like, if both parties involved were a little uncertain, a little shy. In a way, it was reminiscent of the kiss they’d shared in his crypt, after he’d been tortured by Glory.

Maybe he should get tortured more often.

“What was that for?” he asked, after she’d pulled back and he thought he could speak in a steady voice.

Buffy smiled. “That was to tell you that you’ve got a clean slate, Spike. Whatever happens from here on out—the past is forgiven.”

Spike stared her; the gift was almost more than he could bear. “I don’t have anything to give you,” he repeated, feeling inadequate.

Buffy just smiled and stroked his cheek with a gentle hand. “You’re here, and that’s enough. Now, come lie down.”

He followed her willingly, knowing that he would give her all he had, and pray it was enough.