Title: A Cup of Good Cheer Author: kindred Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon. I'm just tinsel happy. Rating: PG-13 Feedback: Happily accepted Summary: Written for Enigmaticblue's Holiday Ficathon. There's mistletoe and camaraderie and some egregious fluff 'n' stuff, therefore it doesn't exactly fit within Mr. Joss' canon parameters of angstertainment. S/B with Dawn, Giles and Clem. A/N: For all my Gutter chums I wish a safe and peaceful holiday. May 2005 be filled with wonderful stories! "Christmas sucks." Buffy folded her arms in a sigh of exasperation. The relentless sounds of seasonal gaiety assaulted her ears like a herd of drunken crickets. The mall, always an oasis from her reality, had turned into a battlefield. The crunch of crazed holiday shoppers grated even on the most dedicated scion of commercial excess. "Thirty minutes in line at the cashier and some elf type individual with bad breath has the gall to offer me a candy cane to pass the time." She took a deep breath, "It was furry. Ugh! Eau de suckage." Spike stood stalwart and silent beside her, holding a number of festive shopping bags. His girl was grumpy and the mall experience was making it worse. An avid proponent of guerilla shopping most days, Buffy found herself gasping for air in the monsoon of holiday spending madness. "Don't you find any of this the least bit oppressive?" Her eyes scanned the cavernous expanse of the mall. Every possible surface was festooned with glittering bits of fluff, wreaths in a rainbow of colors and pulsating ropes of lights. Mammoth load bearing columns were transformed into candy canes festooned with frolicking stuffed elves. Store after store belched out ear bending renditions of supposedly familiar tunes, each more annoying than the last. In the center of the shopping melee was a miniature kingdom that looked like a ton of multicolored marshmallows exploded and then melted. A long line of sweaty, wiggling, squealing and screaming children trailed off from the entrance to "The North Pole" through a maze of cordoned off ropes. Spike surveyed the mallscape with a jaundiced eye. It wasn't exactly his scene. A little too aggressively cheerful and not enough bourbon, but he wasn't going to let Buffy down. Baggage handler wasn't his preferred designation, but he'd hold back his growls. Somewhere in these bags was a tin of imported specialty hot chocolate powder. That was worth a little patience. And a cryptless Christmas had definite advantages as far as Spike was concerned. "I don't know, love. It seems right festive to me." Buffy's face twisted. "When I was a kid it was festive. Now it looks like some sequined demon threw up all over everything. Twice." She pointed to a suddenly offensive mauve wreath. "And what the hell color is that? Wreaths need to be green. Not whatever purplish puke that is, or salmon, or bronze or friggin' plaid for crying out loud." "Are you all shopped out? Is that it? What about an ice cream? The salad hut? What do you say we fuel up the spending machine. Hmm?" He smiled cautiously and nodded in the direction of the food court. Buffy huffed a piteous pout and lurched heavily toward the neon splattered food court. * "Four hours in the friggin' mall and then I run into a demon in the parking garage. Can you believe that?" Buffy stood in a pose of theatrical helplessness at her front door as Spike removed her purse and shopping bags. Dawn looked on from the kitchen. "But you got tinsel, right? Tell me you got the tinsel." Dawn raised her eyebrows for the answer. "I got the tinsel, Dawn, but this demon thingy peed on the bag!" "The little blighter was terrified, love." Spike interjected helpfully. "Ew." Dawn's nosed wrinkled. "It was corrosive stuff, look at the state of my shoes!" "And?! Buffy, we need tinsel to finish the tree. You said it yourself -- the tree's not finished until the tinsel's on." "Calm down, Bit. We got some more." As proof, Spike pulled out a box of sparkling tinsel. He read the label. "Prismatic icicles. There you go." "Cool." Dawn took the box and held it up to a light, rotating subtly to see the prismatic effect. "How's things going here?" Buffy looked around. The table was set, certain palatable smells wafted from the kitchen. Demons with corrosive urine seemed suddenly far away. "Everything is under control. I just put the chicken thingys in the oven." That produced a sigh of relief from Buffy. Finally something was going according to schedule. "Giles' plane leaves at ten tonight and he'll be here any second. Although why anyone would want to go to a tropical island for Christmas is beyond me." "He deserves a vacation, Dawn. At least he's not swamped with more Watcher crap. Maybe he'll even get a tan." It seemed doubtful. Years of living in sunny southern California had yet to register on Giles' Celtic pallor. Buffy moved away from the door and piled bags on Spike for him to take upstairs. She needed to tackle the potatoes. "Giles with a tan and tweeds? I'd have to see it to believe it." The doorbell chimed and Dawn sprang to open it. Giles stood shouldering a carry-on bag. Clem toddled up the walk behind him carrying a covered dish. "Hey, Giles and...Clem?" Clem's wrinkles parted as a giant smile covered his face. "A festive Yule to you and yours Dawn. Um...Is this a sleep over?" He eyed Giles' suitcase. "Should I have brought my jammies?" "Buffy!" Dawn yelped, unsure of the protocol. Clem was a friend and welcome anytime, but this was supposed to be pay-attention-to-Giles night. The gang plus Clem was invited for Christmas Eve. Tonight was going to be more sedate, more Giles-ish. Clem was always the life of the party. Sedate was not in his play book. Perhaps his particular brand of boisterousness should be put off a day or two. Buffy appeared at the door and welcomed Giles. "A tweed jacket Giles? How are those solar rays ever going to find your epidermis? Tell me you packed a short sleeved shirt." "I did, in fact. Perfect for sitting on my hotel balcony and catching up on my reading." "Giles!? You are not flying halfway across the ocean to read a book. Didn't you pack some swim trunks?" "Hey Buffy!" Clem waved from the porch. "Say Mr. Giles, ever heard of the man thong? It really eliminates the tan lines, let me tell you. It takes self-confidence, but you strike me as an adventurous dude." Clem nodded to Spike who was coming back down the stairs. Dawn snagged Giles' elbow and pulled him toward the enormous pine tree in the corner of the living room. "Bloody hell, Clem. You've got the dates mixed up." Spike scowled at his affable friend. "Hey, no probs. I can come back...um, when was it again?" "Christmas Eve." "Right, that's okay. I'll come back then." "Spike!" Buffy hissed in a whisper. "Clem's already here, and I'm not sending him away." She put a welcoming smile on her tired face. "Won't you come in Clem? I see you've brought something," Buffy indicated the ceramic dish in his possession. "Kitten free, I'm hoping?" Clem saw her concern and quickly soothed her fears. "OH! Yes! Completely. I'm trying to cut down in that department. Gluttony is not my preferred lifestyle." Clem stepped into the house and pried back a corner of the lid. "Double chocolate chunk pudding fandango. It's not kittens, but I'm told it's quite tasty." Buffy's eyes glazed over with startled lust. "I've heard it called sex in a pan. I don't really get the reference, but there you go." He handed the confection over to Buffy with a smile and a shrug. "I also brought some holiday videos for our viewing pleasure." Clem took off his coat and hung it on a hook. * "So Giles, any strong personal feelings about chiropody?" Dawn stood by the tree juggling long wisps of prismatic tinsel and a handful of small foil wrapped chocolates. Clem took the opportunity to be helpful and joined her to decorate the tree. "I beg your pardon?" "Or podiatry, take your pick." "What one earth are you on about, Dawn?" "Any problems with hammer toes? Bunions? Plantar's warts? The heartbreak of athlete's foot?" "Hammer toes are a bitch, no question." Clem added with a nod. "Dawn?" "Buffy got you a foot spa kit Giles. I told her it was weird. Like, she shouldn't be thinking about the hygiene of your toesies AT ALL. Don't you think it's freaky weird?" "Well, ah...It's a thoughtful...um...thought." "Yep, you think it's weird too. BUFFY! I'm right. Giles thinks it's el weirdo for you to pamper his feet. I told her to buy booze, but does the kid get a vote?" Buffy walked into the living room with a tray of cut vegetables, artfully arranged crackers and small pots of creamy dipping concoctions. "Dawn, shush! Gift giving is supposed to be a surprise." "I hate surprises. Where's the fun in that? I know exactly what I'm getting, therefore I have the correct reaction when I open each present." "Now, that's planning ahead!" Clem rippled his lips in haste to suck the remaining tendrils of tinsel into his mouth. "Less eating, more hanging." Dawn sternly pointed her eyebrows at Clem. He got the message. "Fancy some eggless nog, Rupert?" Spike looked in from the kitchen and angled the label of an excellent bottle of scotch in Giles' direction. "Er, yes, um, Spike. That sounds eminently civilized. And this spread, Buffy it looks delicious." "Thank you Giles." "I peeled the carrots!" Dawn chirped up as she unwrapped yet another tiny foiled chocolate confection. "And a splendid job you did of it too, Dawn." "Thank you Giles. See Buffy? Giles thinks I did a splendid job. Clem, do I have to take that tinsel away from you? You'll spoil your dinner." * The odd combination of guests soon settled into a friendly camaraderie. A generous flow of libation helped. "Wow, these little puffed numbers are to die for, girlfriend!" Clem stood beside a plate of warm hors d'oeuvres, munching enthusiastically on a cheesy item. "More egg nog, Clem?" Buffy noticed his empty glass. "Sure!" Clem handed over his glass. When Buffy's back was turned, he grabbed two puffs, covertly sandwiched them around an aromatic clump of pine needles and champed heartily. Cheesy pine goodness was right up there with cheesy kitten goodness. Clem never thought human ritual celebrations would be so tasty. The conversation continued pleasantly until the feast was laid out on the dining room table. Buffy knew how to warm up frozen chicken Kiev portions and she'd only scalded the mashed potatoes a bit. Dawn made the salad and prepared some garlic bread. Giles was given the chair at the head of the table. Buffy and Spike sat opposite Dawn and Clem. "What a faboolusss spread, Buffy," Clem slurred. He giggled and looked across at the scowl forming on Spike's face. "What have you been drinking, Clem?" Spike asked, not ever having seen his friend inebriated before. "Relax, dude. I'm not wasted. No-o-o-o-o. Booze has no effect on me at all. I've only had a few of those creamy noggy things. With sprinkles." "Is Clem drunk on egg nog?" Dawn's eyebrows raised in question. "Like, is that possible?" "Maybe some solid food would help. Clem? Help yourself to the potatoes..." Buffy offered and turned to whisper in Spike's ear. "What's he like drunk?" "Dunno. Never seen him actually drink anything before. I always thought him a dedicated carnivore, buffalo wings and the odd kit--" "OH! I forgot the pickles." Buffy jumped to her feet and headed to the kitchen. "Giles, I know how you like the pickles." "Er, yes, thank you." Buffy returned to see a small glacier of potatoes filling Clem's plate. At least he wasn't being loud. He appeared to be sculpting something with his spoon, and that something began to resemble a creamy feline. Giles was the first to notice when Clem reached in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of pine needles and started to garnish his culinary creation. Discretion seemed to be warranted as Clem seemed a blissfully cheerful and coniferously occupied demon at present. "So what will you girls be up to while I'm reading in the south seas?" Giles accepted the dish of pickles from Buffy and pierced one expertly with his fork. "Thank you." "I'm going skiing over New Year's with Janice and her parents." Dawn bounced on her chair and chewed happily through her grin. "That certainly sounds adventurous. Buffy?" Giles turned his eyes to her. "It's double shifts for me at the House of Lard." She hazarded a glance at Clem. His mashed potato sculpture now had whiskers. Soon all eyes stared agog at the creamy artistic creation. Clem looked crest fallen and a little teary. "It's hard sticking to a low kitten diet, you know." He sighed. "Are those needles from our tree?" Dawn strained her neck to see the tree in the corner. It did look a little gnawed on one side. "Gosh, this is such a swell spread. Buffy, you are a fantastic cook!" Clem smiled sweetly, desperately wanting to fit in with the group. "Hey, did I ever tell you guys the one about the Fyarl, the Nezzla, and the blob of sentient cytoplasm?" Four pairs of eyes blinked in unison. "Funny story, you know. And true, too. You see..." * Clem giggled and hooted through his meandering, non-linear tale and at its abrupt conclusion met the faces of four dumbfounded companions. "Woo, hee hee! Now, that's a good one!" He let out a satisfied sigh, oblivious to the silence around him. "Was there a punch line in there somewhere?" Dawn looked toward Buffy for some assistance. "Don't get me wrong Clem, you told it really well--" "Oh, shoot!" Clem's ears flared dramatically. "Did I leave out the part about the Fyarl's issues with, um, personal hygiene?" "Bloody hell," Spike interjected with a hiss. He put down his cutlery. "Anecdote time is over Clem. You are schnackered but good. Time for a little lie down I think." "I am feeling a little queasy. I apologize profusely, Buffy. I've made a mess of Mr. Giles' bon voyage party." "I think you just need to lie down for a while Clem." Buffy smiled with some evident concern. All of a sudden, Clem burped. It was nothing less than an echoing expulsion from the fiery pits of hell itself. His mouth unfolded in a flash of flailing lips, spiraling teeth and what looked like several nests of cranky miniature demons wildly flailing their tentacles and various unmentionables. In a second his face returned to its familiar wrinkly visage. "Pardon--" Clem exclaimed in a woozy voice and promptly fell forward, face first, completely demolishing his well formed potato kitten. "YIKES!" Dawn jumped in her chair. "What the HELL was that?" Buffy chimed in. "Dear lord, that was disturbing." Giles took one look at his own plate and set down his knife and fork. "I'm sorry love, never seen him like this." Spike stood and went to his friend. Buffy scooted into the kitchen and brought out a wet cloth. "Put him on the couch, Spike." "That was wicked sick!" Dawn's face curdled with revulsion and mischief as the seeds of a plan sparked in her eyes. That little party trick wasn't going to be politely forgotten. "Buffy, do you think he'd do that in front of Janice if I asked him nicely? She'd pee her pants! More salad, Giles?" "Erm. No thank you Dawn." * Giles stood in the doorway clutching his carry-on bag. A taxi awaited him at the curbside. The evening proceeded smoothly enough after Clem fell asleep and too soon it was time for Giles to go. "You have the number of my hotel if anything untoward occurs." "I do have some experience with untoward, Giles." Buffy gave him that look, the look that made him feel like he was a dinosaur witnessing his own fossilization. He started to fluster, looking about haphazardly and checking his pockets. "Plane ticket, Giles?" Dawn chirped up, knowing she was only fueling his anxiety. "Dawn," Buffy scowled over her shoulder at her sister. "I'll be fine, Giles. We'll be fine. The hellmouth will be fine. You go have a good time. I hear the sound of a lapping shore is something not to be missed." "Yes, quite." Giles smiled. He'd been looking forward to this vacation despite his initial indifference. Once Willow had shown him the small resort's site on the Internet he was already there, reading and relaxing in blissful windswept silence. "And thank you for your thoughtful gift." He clutched the box of foot pampering potions and salves. "Well, if Clem had been over for dinner yesterday, you might just have gotten that man thong." "There's still your birthday!" Another pleasant thought from Dawn. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Buffy opened the door and Giles stepped out onto the porch. "Have a great vacation, Giles!" Dawn yelled out the door. * Clem roused momentarily and moved onto the rug by the Christmas tree. He was then fast asleep once again. The clean up went quickly with Buffy elbow deep in suds and Dawn and Spike on tea towel duty. Soon they wandered back into the living room once again. Dawn repositioned a few ornaments on the tree. Buffy and Spike settled into a snuggle on the sofa. Not wanting a front row seat for more enthusiastic kissing, Dawn decided that conversation would impede any extended forays into perv town. "Clem reminds me of grandpa's old dog Rex, Buffy." "Dawn, that's a rude thing to say." "Well, look at him. His feet are moving just like Rex's did when he slept. I bet Clem's dreaming of chasing some kittens." Sure enough, Clem's sleep position did indeed have a canine aspect to it. He yowled faintly in his throat and his feet and hands moved in tandem, as if running or climbing. "Definitely no more egg nog for Clem." Buffy pronounced. She wriggled into Spike's side and closed her eyes. Dawn feared a return of the tongued desperadoes. She'd already witnessed that pervy express in the kitchen while the sink filled with soapy water. Dawn spoke up with a kiss free plan. "Didn't Clem say something about holiday videos?" Dawn walked to the front hallway and pulled a few well worn VHS tapes from Clem's pockets. Dawn shuffled through the tapes and walked back into the room. "Well, he certainly has some interesting choices here...Murder in Maui: A Baywatch Christmas, The Best of the Andy William's Holiday Specials featuring the Osmond brothers, whoever they are, Kristi Yamaguchi's Skates of Fire, and the Kitten Chorale's Meowfest. God, somebody tell me that's not Clem's idea of porn." "Dawn!" "Hey, did somebody say Kitten Chorale?" A groggy Clem suddenly roused and stretched. "It's really quite the artistic vid. Those kitties do an Ave Maria that will having you weeping." "Of that I have no doubt," Spike added his opinion. "Oh, come on Ebenezer, it's that special time of year when you can be shamelessly sentimental." "I am never shamelessly sentimental, and I resent the implication." "Okay, okay. Sheesh. Give the Big Bad a holiday too, why dontcha?" "If you don't like Clem's choices, Spike, I have Jim Carrey in the Grinch." Dawn stood with her hands on her hips, just itching to inflict that video on Spike again. "I guess this means there will be no help from you any time soon, huh?" Spike turned a suspicious eye toward Buffy. "I like Jim Carrey. He's funny." "Is Pam Anderson in the Baywatch one, Clem?" "Yepper." "Okay, bikini Christmas it is." "You are so predictable." Buffy folded her arms. "Where's the droolage for Buffy and me?" Dawn pouted. "Well Dawn," Clem spoke up brightly, "Mr. David Hasselhoff is a very attractive fellow and if I may add, a supremely talented thespian. Watch for the arrest scene, it's thick with Shakespearean subtext." "I'll bloody well believe that when I see it!" Buffy slapped Spike's chest and knotted her brow at him. "Behave or you may find a man thong in your stocking!" It wasn't exactly a threat. "Promise, kitten?" "Oh geez! Just put a tape in before they start up again." Dawn grabbed the tape from Clem and popped it into the VCR. She then joined Clem on the carpet. They both ignored the sounds of renewed smooching from the sofa. With a theatrical sigh, Dawn grabbed a plate of crackers with cheese spread and plopped it down in front of her. Clem pinched off a few needles from the tree and dipped them into the creamy concoction. "You gals sure run a swell party. Buffy, your tree is delicious." Clem and Dawn sat entranced by the story they were watching. Clem filled her in on the finer points of life guarding and detective work. "So, feeling any better?" Spike whispered into Buffy's ear. "Giles didn't like his gift. I could tell he wanted to clean his glasses the whole time, but his hands were filled with the gift of lameness." "It was thoughtful, and he said so. Have you taken a look at his shoes? It's a wonder the man can walk upright." Buffy shrugged. What was the use of rushing around buying gifts when they were as weird as a potato sculpture? Foot pampering gels for Giles? What the hell was she thinking? "Come on love, let's ask Clem to go, send Dawn to bed, and then I'll let you check my stocking for something naughty and nice--" "EW!" Dawn complained from the carpet. "I heard that. Ears, you know. That's foreplay! That constitutes foreplay in front of a minor and I have a witness!" Dawn's face curdled with annoyed teenage fervor. "Calm down Dawn, we're just cuddling." Buffy remained glued to Spike's side. "I could be persuaded to ignore this little incident for say...a hundred dollars more spending money for the ski trip?" "Fifty." "Seventy-five." "Forty." "Hey, that's not how it's done!" "Thirty-five." "OKAY! Okay...fifty's fine with me." Buffy and Spike curled into each other in an affectionate embrace and turned their attention to the mysterious death on the bikini crowded beach. "Now that's ridiculous!" Buffy sighed. "Slow motion running has NOTHING to do with solving crime." "You'd be surprised, Buffy. I think it activates crime solving brain cells. Any extras of that yummy tinsel, Dawn?" Clem looked hopefully toward a suspicious box on the coffee table. "Knock yourself out, Clem." Dawn handed him the box. "This is so cozy. Thanks for having me over Buffy. So...Christmas Eve I'll bring my jammies and we'll have a sleep over?" "Oh, can we Buffy?" Dawn's eyes opened widely. "I've got some games I can bring over...Sorry, Trouble, Boggle..." Clem's hairless eyebrows raised in expectation. "What do you say, love?" "Sounds okay to me." Buffy started getting the Christmas feeling again. Family and friends. She figured with the gang expected for Christmas day and Clem and Spike staying over, between the four of them they'd get that turkey stuffed and cooked. This was what the holidays were all about: huddling around the VCR, forced to endure cheesy videos, eating outrageous amounts of chocolate and sneaking some smoochies on the side. It was family stuff. Normal stuff. Christmas stuff. "I know who the murderer is," Dawn declared. "We all know who the murderer is, Bit." Spike sighed from the couch. Too much plot, not enough bikinis. "Hey, keep it to yourself! Some of us are still guessing." Clem's forehead folded in thought. "But this is your tape, Clem. You have to know how it turns out." Dawn blinked at him. "Mysteries are mysterious for a reason, Dawn." Clem nodded in a thoughtful manner. "It could be any one of them. See that surfer dude Santa? I'm always suspicious of him." "What do you say we go exercise some of that mistletoe, Slayer?" Spike nudged Buffy with his elbow and gestured toward the front hallway with his head. "That sounds do-able." Buffy rose from the sofa and stopped, staring toward an empty length of string hanging from the stairway railing where just hours ago a branch of real mistletoe hung. "Where'd the mistletoe go?" At that moment an odd gurgling noise sounded from the depths of Clem's tummy. "I'll just reach down his gullet and yank it out--" Buffy quickly hauled Spike around the corner. "Ew! Shh! Let's just crown you the King of Romance while we're at it!" Buffy whispered harshly. "Besides, I don't need no stinking mistletoe." She melted into his arms. "I just need some kisses from the smoochy-plum fairy." "You didn't just call me a fairy, did you Slayer?" "Deal with it, Mr. Nummy Lips." "At least when you're KISSING I can HEAR the television!" Dawn's voice bellowed from the living room. "You heard her Spike, shut up and kiss me." * "Um, Dawn. Are you going to eat those?". "No Clem, that's the tin foil wrappings." "Would you mind? I think I could do with a little roughage right about now." The End.