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Date Posted: 15:51:25 12/19/03 Fri
Author: Kuzibah
Author Host/IP: 208.59.89.53
Subject: New Holiday Fanfic (part 1)

Christmas Cards 2003
by Kuzibah

Well, here it is. Year five of writing these. The show is over, the board has shrunk considerably, but I hope you’ll all read these and enjoy them. The next three installments will be next Monday through Wednesday, and while Monday’s (like today’s) will feature the “Angel” crew, the “Buffy” folks will show up Tuesday and Wednesday.

If these are new to you, and you’d like to read previous years’ stories, they can be found at my website: The Muse’s Oubliette.

Disclaimer: Characters and situations particular to the TV shows “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Angel” are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Evil Fox, and various other entities. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. Happy Holidays, you bloodsucking lawyers.

Secret Santa: Prologue

“Is there anything else we need to discuss tonight?” Angel asked across the picnic table. Gunn, Wesley, and Lorne shook their heads, eager to get home, and Spike, standing a bit away, remained sullenly silent, as usual.

“Okay, then,” Angel said. “I’ll see you…”

“Actually,” Fred said in a small voice, and the men gave her their attention. She blushed, then said, “as you know, Christmas is coming, and I know most of you don’t celebrate, for various reasons…” she averted her eyes away from Lorne and the two vampires, “but I thought maybe we could have a… uh… Secret Santa?”

“A what?” Spike said first, moving closer.

“Secret Santa,” Fred said. “You know, we pick a name out of a hat and get something special for that person anonymously, and then reveal on Christmas who we had. It’s fun, and it’s a way to get to know each other.”

The others exchanged looks that ranged from dubiousness to disgust.

“Come on!” Fred insisted. “It’s Christmas!”

“Very well,” Wesley conceded, and the rest agreed reluctantly.

“You have to be serious, though,” Fred said, ripping a sheet of paper into slips and writing each one’s name. “You have to get something the person wants no matter what your feelings are personally.” At this she gave pointed looks to Angel, Spike, and Gunn.

“Now don’t forget,” she said, folding the slips and mixing them in her cupped hands, “it has to be a secret. The point is to find out about the other person, not just ask what they want.”

Fred held out her hands. “Now, everybody pick one.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Secret Santa I: Spike – Comfort and Joy

“Letter for you, Mr. Spike,” the new mail boy chirped, handing Spike a cream-colored Wolfram and Hart envelope. Spike took it back to his room to open.

Inside was a typed letter informing him that his “Secret Santa” had arranged for him to have a therapeutic massage at the “Holistic Wellness Canter,” and that he should call to arrange an appointment.

Spike sniffed the letter and envelope, but detected only the scent of the mail boy and an unknown female he took to be a secretary. His Secret Santa had taken the necessary precautions, then.

Shrugging, he dialed the Wellness Center’s number and was informed they had an opening that night. He made the appointment.

- - - - -

The waiting room of the Holistic Wellness Center was more like an intimate café than a doctor’s office. A large marine fish-tank dominated one wall, and the sound of running water provided a soothing soundtrack. There were large, overstuffed chairs and low tables, and to one side there were complimentary beverages and snacks. Spike helped himself to some herbal tea and a cinnamon scone, then took a seat.

Somewhere within the building he heard the low murmur of voices, too quiet even for his enhanced hearing, and the buzzing of some sort of equipment. He had just become distracted watching a purple and yellow fish swim among the swaying plant leaves in the tank when the receptionist said, “Mr. Spike? Shelby’s ready to see you now.”

Spike looked up to see his masseuse, Shelby. He’d known this was a serious therapeutic office, so he’d known better than to expect an over-inflated blonde or a chintzy fake geisha. But he hadn’t anticipated a middle-aged hippie-type in a peasant skirt and blouse, her long, brown hair pulled into a loose bun.

The thought passed through Spike’s mind that this could be Willow’s witchy girlfriend, if she’d lived to be 45.

She led him into a small, dim room with a narrow massage bed. Scented candles flickered in small alcoves in the wall, and a Bose CD player played the sound of a distant thunderstorm accompanied by Native American flutes. Shelby picked up a clipboard and regarded Spike critically.

“May I use your first name, Mr. Spike?”

Spike hesitated for a moment, then said, “it’s William.”

Shelby noted this on her clipboard, then said, “are there any problem areas you want me to pay special attention to? Any particular stress?”

“No. Not particularly.”

Shelby nodded and moved towards the door. “Get undressed,” she said, “then lie, face down on the table and cover up with the flannel sheet. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When she’d gone, Spike did as she asked, noting as he did so that the table was slightly warm. Electric heat, he surmised.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Shelby asking if he was ready, and then she entered and began.

She folded the sheet back from one limb at a time, carefully giving her attention to each in turn. Spike felt tenseness he hadn’t even been aware of gently coaxed out of his limbs, leaving him limp and sluggish. When Shelby had given her attention to all parts from the waist up and the thighs down, she asked Spike to turn over, and readjusted the sheet to lie over him smoothly. Then she began again.

It was when she had his right arm extended, his hand tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and was massaging the tension out of his bicep that Spike realized he had not been touched with such tenderness since he had been alive. The revelation was almost painful in its intensity, the sudden memory of his Mother’s fond hand on his arm as he left for the party that fateful night, the last loving touch he would know.

Drusilla had been too demanding, Harmony too self-involved. And Buffy? Well… that had never been about love on her part.

“Did I hurt you?” Shelby asked. “You just tensed up.”

Unwanted tears came to Spike’s eyes, and he dropped his hand from Shelby’s shoulder to swipe them away. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Would you like a few moments?”

“No, I…”

Shelby took his hand in both her own. “It’s alright,” she said. “Occasionally somatic memories are released. It’s perfectly normal. Let it out if you need to.” She let him go and Spike gave two choking sobs and a few shuddering breaths, his knuckles pressed to his eyes. After a moment it was over, and he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Please, don’t worry about it,” Shelby said, silently resuming her work.

- - - - -

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Replies:

[> Re: New Holiday Fanfic (part 2) -- Kuzibah, 15:52:29 12/19/03 Fri (208.59.89.53)

When Shelby had finished, Spike dressed again and returned to the lobby. He felt he owed Shelby a substantial tip, if such a thing was allowed.

“How was it?” the receptionist asked.

“Very nice,” Spike said, and, truthfully, he felt more calm and relaxed than he had in some time.

The receptionist pulled out an appointment book. “Now, I know this first session was paid for by Mr. Pryce,” she said casually, “but did you want to schedule a session next month?”

Spike stood mute for a moment, startled by the casual revelation of his benefactor. Of all of them, Wesley had been the last one he would have imagined to have given him this gift.

“Not right now,” Spike murmured, taking a brochure from the Lucite stand on the desk. “But let me call you in a day or two.”

- - - - -

Spike stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He was still shaken by his experience in the massage chamber, and still unable to believe the ex-Watcher, his most outspoken critic, had come up with it.

On the other hand, Spike reflected, Wesley was the one most familiar with his history, aside from Angel, and maybe he had surmised a distinct lack of tenderness in Spike’s vampiric existence. Perhaps he had extrapolated from Angel’s experience as a souled vampire (though Spike was loathe to admit this possibility.)

Or maybe, Spike thought, the man was himself acquainted with loneliness. Spike knew all too well how propriety and discretion could conceal a quiet desperation. It was practically the cornerstone of the British National Character. And sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, Wesley’s eyes showed a glimpse of inner pain. The others might not see it, but Spike had seen a lot in his tenure as resident ghost.

Maybe Wesley, far too proper to pay for companionship of a more carnal nature, indulged himself with this platonic but caring laying on of hands.

Perhaps this had been an olive branch of sorts, a little glimpse of understanding between them. An offer, if not of friendship, at least of mutual amity.

Pondering these thoughts, Spike resolved to speak to Wesley the next day, and let him know the offer was appreciated and reciprocated.

- - - - -

Spike watched from the doorway of Wesley’s office as he carefully explained various declensions of the Veerstad demon language to a bespectacled Watcher-type leaning on the edge of his desk. He seemed oblivious to the woman’s attempts at flirtation, or perhaps he was just being coolly professional, Spike mused.

After a few minutes she left, carrying her tome, and a silence broken only by the scratching of Wesley’s pen descended on the dim room.

“I know you’re there,” Wesley said after a moment. “You’re not exactly invisible anymore.”

“Sorry,” Spike said. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“Now that you’ve bothered me,” Wesley said, not looking up, “what do you want?”

“I…” Spike hesitated. “I know it was you gave me the, uh, you know, the Secret Santa thing.”

Now Wesley did look up. “Oh,” he said. “And how was it?”

“I liked it,” Spike said. “And I…” He hesitated again, trying to read Wesley’s expression, but the ex-Watcher bowed his head over his work again.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Wesley said. “I really had no idea what to get you, and one of my staff suggested a massage as a good neutral gift.”

Spike said nothing.

“Seemed a bit California to me,” Wesley went on, “but as long as you liked it.” He glanced up again. “Was that all?”

“Yes,” Spike said stiffly. “Be sure to thank whoever it was.” Then he turned and stalked down the hall. As he passed one of the office Christmas trees he pulled off a silver ball and crushed it in his fist. The slivers of glass cut his palm.


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[> Terrific story. -- wwolfe, 20:11:08 12/19/03 Fri (209.179.51.222)

Excellent insight into Spike's reality as a vampire, and a good rendition of Spike's analytical abilities. He's always been great at that, so it's enjoyable to see the process from the inside, rather than only seeing the results when he makes his pithy observations.

I took the ending as at least somewhat ambiguous, as far as whether Wesley really did or didn't choose Spike's present. If he did, it would be in character for him to be uncomfortable with admitting it to Spike. If he didn't, it's a nicely ironic undercutting of the meaning which Spike had read into the present.

I'm looking forward to the rest of the stories and I'm very glad you've continued this tradition.


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[> [> Thank you -- Kuzibah, 14:01:56 12/20/03 Sat (208.59.89.53)

As for the ambiguity... I noticed that, too. :)


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