Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike: Winter Wonderland
Word Count: 1,790
Date Written: 29 December 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
He wakes to a subtle shift in the night air. His window’s open, and the night air streaming in has a touch of ice and the smell of ice cream to it. It also brings the familiar senses of other powerful signatures. With a groan, Spike moves from his bed to the window and looks out. Sure enough, peering back at him is Angel.
“What the Hell do you want, Nancy boy?” he starts, snarling, but then he stops, noticing that there’s something different about Angel. His dark hair is longer, brushing pass his shoulders, and he’s dragging something bloody through the snow.
Spike’s stomach flip flops as he recognizes the girl he’s holding and the reason for the change in his grandsire. If he had any blood of his own, it would be drained from him on the spot, but instead all he can do is stand and stare. He finally finds his voice and whispers hoarsely, “No,” just as Drusilla steps into view.
“They’re beautiful girls really,” she says, tossing a blonde corpse out into the snow just before Spike’s crypt. “It’s a shame they wouldn’t join us. They would have made delightful pets.”
Tears fill Spike’s eyes as anger shakes him. Darla’s trailing the other two Vampires and dragging two bodies through the snow with her, but he barely even glances at Giles and Xander. He can’t even look back at poor Dawnie. He’s too busy staring at Buffy. His heart feels as dead as hers now is, but it’s twisted by disgust and horror.
He reaches for his jacket and all the weapons it contains. His movements are rigid and slow. He doesn’t stand a chance against these three, but he doesn’t care. They’ve killed Buffy! The least he can do is go out fighting to honor her memory and try to free her body before they do the disgusting things they’re wont to do.
Squealing with laughter, Drusilla pounces onto the Slayer’s cold, still body. “Beautiful eyes, she has, this one.” Her fingers poke into Buffy’s sockets and somehow come out with her lovely, green eyes staked on top of her sharp, blood red fingernails. She holds the eyes up to Spike. “Care for a bite, luv?” she croons. “Oh, don’t pout so! I thought killing the wench would free you, dearest William! Don’t tell me you’re still in love with her corpse!” She laughs.
The sound slices through Spike like ice as he leaps out onto the snow. It seems to move beneath him like frozen water mingling with rushing streams of blood. “I loved her. I’ll always love her!” He’d once thought he loved this monster, but the monsters they’d been and the monster she still was knew nothing about love. Buffy had taught him what true love was, how hard it was to attain, and how one had to fight for it. Buffy had taught him so much, and she loved him even before she had been able to admit the truth of her feelings to herself, but now that love and her beautiful light in this dark world, in his dark world, were gone.
With a cry of outrage, Spike charges at his sire . . . and sits bolt upright in bed, panting hard, covered with sweat, and feeling Buffy’s hands on his bare chest. She looks up at him, her green eyes full of life, love, light, and concern, concern for him, concern that no monster could ever deserve. “Nightmare?” she asks.
All he can do at first is nod. “Must’ve been a major bad one,” she acknowledges, leaning up on her knees and wrapping her arms around him.
She feels warm, something he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years before she first hugged him. He grips her to him while trying to refrain from revealing his true intentions for anything more than a hug. He buries his nose into her long, blonde hair and inhales her scent deeply. She smells of sunshine, happiness, and life. She’s alive. The monsters, although they are still out there somewhere and, he knows, will always be, even if Angelus is, for now, still Angel, have not yet gotten her. She’s here with him. She’s alive. She’s safe or, at least, as safe as the Slayer ever is.
But it wasn’t being the Slayer that had caused her death in his dreams, or Dawn’s, or even Xander’s or Giles’. It was being with him, caring for him, loving him. A tremble passes through him. Buffy pulls back in his arms just enough that she can look up at him. “You okay?” she asks softly. She pouts a little when he delays in answering. “You know you can tell me anything,” she reminds him, cupping his face in her hands and caressing him.
“I know,” he murmurs, remembering all the secrets they’ve shared, all the things he’s told her of which not a one was enough to make her turn from him, and all the things, nightmares and otherwise, from which he has comforted her.
“Drusilla?” she asks softly, guessing and, at the same time, showing how well she knows him.
“And Angelus,” he whispers, his eyes seeming haunted. “And Darla.”
She smirks. “The gang’s all back.”
“They were,” he admits, “and -- “ He can’t bring himself to say the words, but he doesn’t have to.
“And they killed me,” she surmises correctly. “Spike, you don’t have to worry about causing them to come after me. If Angel ever reverts back to Angelus, he’s going to come after me, but I’m still waiting. I’ve still got a stake with his name on it.” She sounds braver than she feels. He knows that’s true, because just as she felt the shiver pass through him, he can feel her shivering against him.
“I know.” He shrugs. Trying to make light of his nightmare, he scoffs, “Besides, it’s not likely for what happened in my dream to really happen. It snows here, what, maybe once in a hundred years?” And since that’s already happened, and she got to share that snow day with Angel, when it snows again, Buffy should be long dead. That realization brings him no comfort. The thought of losing her -- rather it’s by the hands of monsters he knows or monsters he doesn’t know, or because of something foolish he himself does or fails to do, or even if it’s simply her time when she’s old and gray -- is something that always fills him with fear and sorrow.
“Yeah.” Buffy smirks again. “Something like that. You had a Winter Wonderland, did you?”
“Nah. It was definitely not a wonderland,” he mutters, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. He kisses the top of her blonde hair and takes comfort in the sound of her heart beating lively in her chest pressing against his. He lays back down gently, slowly, taking her with him. She nestles her head into his shoulder after pressing another kiss to his chest.
As she starts to drift back off to sleep again, Spike has another realization of his own. He grew up in London. He was used to having snow-filled Christmases. Even when he’d been traveling with the other members of the Fanged Four, they had always sought out Wintery destinations during the month of December. They had enjoyed streaking the white snow with crimson blood and breaking the “wings” of snow Angels. But a warm Winter holiday was something he’d never really known, or even considered, until he’d come to California.
Yet he still has a Winter wonderland. Right here, in this room, while the sun begins to bake on the people already moving around outside for the day, he has his very own Winter wonderland. Wherever Buffy is is his wonderland. She fulfills him, inspires him, completes him like no other. She’s so much more than just his lover. She is his heroine, his rescuer, the one true love of his life.
He kisses her head again and knows, from the shift in her breathing that, feeling safe and contented in his arms, she’s dozed back off again. They did have a busy night of it again last night, saving the world not once but twice. That’s his girl, Spike thinks, with a proud smirk, always saving the world, even if it’s from him, but those days are long past. As long as she’s a part of the world, he’s never going to try to end it again.
He’s always going to keep striving to do better, keep trying to be the man she deserves although he knows he’ll always come up short. No man can ever be good enough to truly deserve her love after all. But maybe if he can come up with the right gift this year, he can earn her love a little more. Smiling to himself, Spike closes his eyes and begins to focus on his thoughts on what he will get for her this year, or perhaps make, or perhaps he’ll create something and buy something -- or lift. As long as she doesn’t know how he procured it, it doesn’t matter how he gets it. All that does matter is that it makes her smile and reminds her of how much he loves her and how much he’s never going to be a member of the Fanged Four, as the Scoobies call them, ever again.
He smiles, beginning at last to relax around Buffy again. She’s right: Darla and Drusilla are still out there, and as long as Angel lives, there will be a chance that Angelus will return. If he does, they will come after her again, and not entirely because of Spike although they’ll be after him too. But even if, or when, they come, they’ll be waiting. Buffy survived before, and she’d had no one else to help her fight the battle against her first serious boyfriend. Spike will be there the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that for however many times they come back. He’ll be there always, and together, they’ll defeat them every time.
Buffy cracks an eye open and smiles as she sees Spike falling asleep again. She snuggles closer into him, kissing his side and then laying her head against that same part of his body. It’s funny how warm she feels in a Vampire’s arms, not that it’s cold yet this Winter, but Spike always makes her feel warm. He makes her feel loved, and lately, he even makes her feel safe. If, and when, they come again, they’ll be ready for them and they’ll beat them. They can’t win against them together and their love. Buffy falls back asleep smiling just like the man who holds her so dearly.