"Spike?" Buffy stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, giving the vampire setting the table a questioning look. "I thought I asked you to put in some Christmas music."

"I did," Spike said, standing back to check and see if the silverware was lined just right next to the plate. He adjusted the knife straighter.

"This is not Christmas music."

"Is too," Spike insisted. He moved to the buffet to retrieve another plate, napkin and silverware.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is naaaargh!" Buffy threw her hands in the air. "You are the biggest pain in the neck."

Spike looked up and smirked at her. "Why thank you, pet."

"This goes off before they get here," Buffy warned, then headed back into the kitchen.

"But why?" Spike called after her. "This is good Christmas music!"

Buffy rolled her eyes and continued putting the finishing touches on Christmas dinner. Everyone was due to show up at her Mom’s house shortly, including her mother, who was out doing some last second shopping. She really should get her undead best friend to change the music, but she had to admit, it was sort of fitting for the mismatched group about to arrive.

The doorbell rang and Spike yelled, "I’ll get it." Practically bouncing to the door, he threw it open with a large smile on his face.

"Hi Spike," Willow greeted. "Ha-"

She was cut off by Spike grabbing her, bending her halfway over his arm, and plundering her surprised, open mouth with his own. As abruptly as he kissed her, he straightened and released her.

Then he grabbed Oz, who was making one of his rare, angry facial expressions, and kissed the werewolf just as deeply.

Spike released the werewolf and stepped back to let the stunned couple enter. It was Oz who noticed first. "Aah, mistletoe," he said, pointing up to the area just outside the front door. "Nice placement."

"Thanks, mate," Spike said, the large grin still on his face. "I got to get my jollies somehow."

"Spike, can you come help me?!"

"‘Scuse me," the vampire said. He gestured towards the living room. "Make yourself at home."

Willow and Oz exchanged rueful grins, hung up their winter coats and went into the gaily decorated living room. They added their gifts to the pile under the tree — the group of friends were doing Secret Santa’s this year —then took a seat on the couch.

"It sounds like Spike picked the music," Oz commented.

"You think?" Willow said.

The doorbell rang again and, before Oz could rise to answer it, Spike came sliding down the hallway on his green sock-clad feet. The two on the couch heard a loud shriek, then yelling, both of which were cut off abruptly. A few seconds later, Spike sauntered past the living room entry back towards the kitchen, then Anya and Xander joined Willow and Oz.

"Mistletoe," Oz said to the other couple.

"I had Spike’s tongue in my mouth," Xander said, a slightly stupified look on his face. "His tongue."

Next to arrive was Giles, who joined the four in the living room, flustered and slightly reddened. "I say, Spike is-is certainly enthusiastic about the-the-the holidays this year."

"Maybe he’s had too much Egg Nog," Willow suggested.

"Or he’s horny," Anya said. "He is male, after all."

"Happy Holidays," Joyce greeted, coming into the living room, carrying a plate of appetizers. "Can I get anyone something to drink?"

"Something that will take the feeling of Spike’s tongue out of my mouth, please," Xander replied.

Joyce, whom had returned a short time ago and entered through the kitchen door, shook her head. "Did he put the mistletoe above the door?" The five in the living room nodded.

The doorbell rang again and Joyce went to answer it, and almost got bowled over by the blond vampire. "Oops, sorry, luv," Spike said, steadying the Slayer’s mother. Then he opened the door to see Cordelia, Doyle and Angel standing together. He grinned broadly, about to grab the former cheerleader and give her something to cheer about, when Joyce put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly.

"Come in, please," Joyce invited, pulling Spike backwards as she stepped out of the doorway.

Spike stuck his lower lip out and mentally grumbled about his fun being ruined. Then Doyle sneezed, his face erupting into short blue spikes, and the blond vampire quickly changed his tune.

"Eew, Doyle," Cordelia said, handing her coat to Joyce. "Cover your mouth.

I don’t want your germs."

"Dorry," Doyle said, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. His face returned to human and he smiled apologetically at Joyce and Spike. "I god a cowd."

"Oh, you poor dear," Joyce said. "Did you take any cold medicine?"

"I’m dwugged do da giws," Doyle replied. "Danks, dough."

"Let me guess, you picked the music," Angel said to Spike.

Spike grinned at his sire. "Isn’t it great?"

"I fear you."

The large group of friends gathered in the living room, minus Joyce and Spike, who’d been conscripted into cutting the turkey, and happily chatted over the music.

Dinner itself was a loud and boisterous affair, with good conversation, good wine, and good feelings abound. They all ignored the music still playing on the stereo.

Afterwards, the group returned to the living room. The Secret Santa gifts were passed out by Buffy, who then sat down on the couch beside Willow. Ooh and aahs and thank yous were heard as they went around the jagged circle they made.

Buffy and Spike were the last two to open their’s and, surprisingly, they both received envelopes. Buffy knew her Secret Santa was Angel, because he was the last one left, for she was Spike’s Santa.

Carefully, she opened the red envelope and pulled out a card. On the front was a small, cartoon bear, holding a bouquet of flowers. The words "I’m Sorry" were written across the front. Buffy looked over at Angel, who’s face reflected no emotion, with a questioning lift of her brow. When he said nothing, and, under Willow’s nosy prompting, she opened the card.

Handwritten inside in Angel’s beautiful script were two short sentences that brought tears to her eyes.

"I can’t stop loving you," read the first.

And the second — "My soul is forever."

Buffy’s eyes shot to Angel and he nodded at the unspoken question. She pressed her lips together for a moment, then moved her focus to her mother and Giles. "You’re going to hate this, but that’s too bad. I love Angel, I never stopped loving Angel, and I won’t ever stop loving him. His soul is his, permanently," she told them. "And so am I."

"We already know, Buffy," Giles said.

"And I still think he’s not right for you," Joyce said. "But it’s not my decision to make. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy."

Buffy squealed in happiness and quickly went to hug both her mother and Giles. Then she threw herself at Angel, almost knocking over the chair he was seated in. His arms went around her waist, and she put her forehead his and looked deep into his eyes.

"I love you," she whispered in a tear-filled voice.

"I love you," Angel echoed, his own eyes filling with tears.

"How many of us are going to heave now?" Spike asked loudly. He raised his hand. Xander, Doyle, Anya and Cordelia raised their hands as well.

"Spike, shut up and open your gift," Buffy said. Angel kissed her softly, then settled her on his lap, he head resting against the crook of his neck, his arms tightly around her.

Spike shook his head in derision, then tore open his own envelope with little finesse. Inside he found a flat, grey, credit-card sized piece of plastic with the number 253 on it. He frowned at it, then looked over at Buffy. "What’s this?"

"A room key for the Embassy," Buffy replied, referring to the new, swank hotel that had been built in the next town over. "Go now, have fun, don’t eat the staff."

Spike was out the door of the Summers’ residence within five minutes. He sang off-key the entire drive to the hotel.

Outside of room 253, a note was taped to the door. Spike pulled it off and read it quietly to himself.

"Spike," he read. "You have reservations aboard the Sea Maiden bound for Europe leaving on Monday. Be on it, and don’t come back to Sunnydale this time. Your help is no longer needed. Goodbye, Buffy."

Spike felt as though he’d been staked. He crumpled up the note and threw it hard against the opposite wall. His best friend of three years wanted him to leave and never return. Tears sprang in his eyes, coinciding with the hurt he felt.

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged quietly and a couple came strolling, hand in hand, towards him. He quickly turned and inserted the key card in the door to room 253, not wanting anyone to witness his emotional reaction.

He stepped inside the room, closed the door behind him, and leaned back against it. He closed his eyes tightly and suppressed a cry.

"She said you would come, but I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore."

Spike’s eyes shot open and saw a vision in black and red standing further in the room.

"Do you still love me, Spike?" Drusilla asked.

"Dru?" Spike whispered, his undead heart hammering in his chest, even though it was an impossibility.

"That mean Slayer told me that I didn’t deserve my Spike’s love," Drusilla said. She glided over to him and lightly touched the front of his shirt. "I can be bad enough, my sweet."

Spike stood there for another second, then slid his hand into the back of her dark hair and kissed her passionately. She clung to the front of him, kissing him back with equal fervor.

He worshipped her that night and she worshipped him in return. And as the sun went down over the horizon the following day, Drusilla kissed Spike tenderly and said softly, "I love you, my Spike."

"I love you so bloody much, Drusilla," Spike responded, tracing the side of her face with his fingertips. "I missed you."

Drusilla smiled. "No more missing. Miss Edith says we’re going on a big boat."

"That we are," Spike said, mentally thanking Buffy. "We’re going back to Europe. Does that sound good, ducks?"

"Yes," Drusilla answered dreamily. "We will have such fun, and the moon will howl in agony." She looked coyly up at him under her lashes. "Would my Spike like to make his princess howl?"

Spike smiled, then bent to capture her mouth again, murmuring against her lips. "I think that can be arranged."

As the kiss deepened and he began to love her again, an odd sound came to his ears. Bells, ho-ho-hoing, then machine-gun fire. He chuckled silently and wished the fat, jolly, trigger-happy man a Merry Christmas.

Tell ya, something finally must have snapped...in his brain.~

The End