Title: I Give You My Love
Spoilers: Basically everything’s happened like on the show: in college, Giles owns the Magic Box, but Spike doesn’t like Buffy, Riley isn’t there, and there’s no Tara, even though I like her character.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing save the individual plot.
Distribution: Bite Me Please..., Near her Always, Willow‘s Lil’ Secret, and anyone who has my other stories if they let me know they‘re putting it up. Anyone else who wants this or any of my others, just let me know where it’s going, it’s yours.
Summary: It’s Christmas and gifts from the heart reveal what feelings are hidden there.
Feedback: Please, pretty please, it is the season of giving you know. :)
It’s Christmas Eve and I’m at the soddin’ Watcher’s place, have been for the last forty-five minutes. It seems I’ve been invited for some sort of frickin’ holiday dinner thing. I’m not sure why I was invited. I have a feeling she had something to do with it. I seriously doubt any of the others would have even considered inviting me.
She’s not here yet. I’ve been sitting on the old man’s couch for almost an hour, listening to the rest of them chatter on about anything and everything. Right now they’re discussing some movie or such. I’m not really sure, but the moron’s dancing around the living room. At least I think it’s supposed to be dancing. He’s floundering about like a soddin’ trotter. Anyway, it’s really starting to get bloody-well annoying. I don’t know why I even came in the first place. Who am I kidding, I know exactly why I came.
Sod it all! I am not going to sit here all night, listening to them. I could be back at the crypt watching a movie; instead I’m here. Bugger. I’m leave... holy shit. She looks like a goddess. She just walked in and is wearing a stretchy form-fitting turtleneck. It’s black with gold blended in. The black trousers are almost form fitting and the entire outfit shows off her curves. The dark colors make her pale skin almost glow, and the gold brings out the highlights in her crimson hair. She’s got dark green glittery eye shadow on, making her eyes look like two perfect emeralds. The black heels she’s wearing are nearly three inches high and make her legs go on forever. I can barely take my eyes off of her, and any thought of leaving is buried under the overwhelming desire to drink in her beauty for as long as bloody possible.
She’s saying something about needing help bringing things in from her parents' car. Apparently they’re heading to the airport and don’t want to be late for their flight. It’s just fuckin’ amazing that those wankers would voluntarily spend so little time with their only daughter.
The moron’s going out to help and I want to friggin’ dismember him. The Slayer’s going too, the twat. I want to be the one that helps her, who fulfills her every need and grants her every wish. But I know it’ll never happen. I’m a blood-sucking demon, a killer; she’s a goddess. She’s an angel, sweet, pure, kind, giving; she’s everything I’m not. I want her to be my goddess, my own personal angel. Bloody hell! Listen to me, I’m a fuckin’ whipped nancyboy. But I can’t help it. Every time she walks into the room I turn into a pathetic excuse for a man, let alone a vampire. I’m even worse than my poof of a sire is.
Xapper and Slutty are back, one carrying two paper-bags and the other, a large cardboard box. She’s right behind them with a third bag. She’s telling them to put the stuff down. Everyone is getting ready to eat now that she’s here. I watch as she takes two containers from one of the bags and takes them into the kitchen. I’m always surprised at how bloody graceful she is, especially for a human. Even now, her slender form seems to glide across the room.
As they all take their seats around the table, they remember I’m here for the first time since my arrival. I force myself to look away from the kitchen doorway and adopt the attitude they expect. I sigh, forcing unneeded air through dead lungs, and leave my spot on the couch to approach the table. I make sure that my face holds no expression save annoyance and boredom. I make some rude comment about not wanting to be here and the Slayer tells me I didn’t have to come, and I tell her to sod off. I know there is no way I could have turned down an opportunity to spend an evening with my scarlet-haired goddess. Even if it was in the company of Slutty and her merry band of idiots. The only free seat when she returns is the one across from me and I know I’ll have a hell of a time keeping myself from staring at her all night.
Dinner lasts almost an hour and the Slayer and moron are on my last nerve. Demon girl mentioned disembowelment twice throughout dinner. I really think I’m starting to like her. I don’t think the watcher shares my opinion. He looks like he’s one ill-timed comment away from getting in his motor and leaving.
She’s said hardly anything all evening. Everyone else has finished eating and she’s leaving the table and I’m afraid she’s going home, but she just goes into the kitchen. She comes back out a minute later and is carrying the two containers from the bag. She opens them and we are greeted with two mouthwatering chocolate confections.
One is a chocolate cheesecake and the other is a chocolate pudding pie with a chocolate crumb crust. I’m surprised when she said that she made them both earlier in the day. Xapper goes into the kitchen for a second to get the whipped cream. She’s serving the pie and I give her my plate. The moron says something about vampires not eating human food and I make a snide reply that I happen to bloody well like chocolate. It’s partially true, I do like chocolate, but I really just want to try what she made. I even go so far as cover it with whipped cream, just to annoy the pillock. It tastes delicious, not that I’m surprised. I doubt anything she’s ever done has turned out less than perfect.
I don’t want to be too un-vamp-like and don’t take any of the cheesecake. This time it’s Buffy the Bint who comments and I snap back that I have to watch my figure, making sure that the response is dripping with sarcasm. I am an evil demon after all, and we wouldn’t want them to think otherwise, would we? That would bring up too many friggin’ questions I really don’t want to answer any time soon.
Everybody has finished their dessert and the watcher is clearing the table while her beautiful body is putting away the leftover food. The other three are gathering by the tree, picking out the presents addressed to them. I’m sitting on the damn couch again, somewhat away from everyone. My eyes follow her as she goes over and stands with her friends. She picks up the presents with her name on them and sits down with the rest to open them.
The carpet around the tree is strewn with wrapping paper and ribbon, and everyone is busy thanking each other for the gifts, and I realize that none of the ones that were opened were from my angel. I’m not the only one who’s noticed because Anya asks my witch why she didn’t get anyone anything. The little wanker reprimands his girlfriend as my redhead goes over to the bags she brought with her. She starts removing boxes wrapped with brightly-colored paper and the others join her to receive their packages. She’s emptied all three of the bags and is telling everyone that the boxes all have an assortment of cookies that she made. They all thank her, but I can tell that they’re as frickin’ anxious to see what’s in the cardboard box as I am. She can tell too, and walks over to open it as well. From it she removes five gaily-wrapped presents.
I watch as they open their gifts and I’m not at all surprised to see that each one is perfect for its recipient. To the watcher she gave an effin’ copy of The Book of Kells, an extremely old historical text of Irish-Catholic mythology. It must have cost her a small fortune to get one so antique. She probably could have gotten a new reprint, but the damn man doesn’t seem to have a new copy of anything in his whole collection.
For the moron she got two tickets to some sold-out comic book convention. Anya got ID papers: a birth certificate, kindergarten, elementary and high school diplomas, social security number and card, and a drivers license. I guess you could say she gave the former demon an identity and a human past to go with it.
She gave the Slayer a very nice dagger with a gold handle that had her initials on it and a leather ankle sheath. She also gave Slutty a small wooden box to keep it in with an inscription on the top. I’m not sure what it said, something like, ‘for our hero’ I think.
Everyone is preoccupied ‘Ohhing’ and ‘Ahhing’ over the gifts and I’m headed towards the door. I have to get the bloody hell out. I should have left after dinner, I knew staying would mean standing around, watching the rest of them. It’s just another reminder that I’m not wanted or welcome in the close group. I’m out the door and halfway across the small courtyard when I hear someone come out after me.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing when I turn around. The biting comment dies on my lips as I see her standing there. She’s got a box and an envelope in her hands and I can’t think of why. She’s walking towards me and it’s all I can do to keep my feet still and my expression blank.
She stops a couple feet away and holds out the box. Her voice is soft and hesitant as she tells me that she wasn’t sure if I ate regular food or not, and so made me a box of cookies just in case. I take it from her and she takes a deep breath before continuing. Handing me the envelope, she informs me that it’s for me too and wishes me a Merry Christmas before turning and heading back inside. I stand there for a minute or so before I leave the courtyard and make my way to the park two blocks over.
I’m sitting on a bench in a dark, deserted park, staring at two bloody packages. Eventually I set the box next to me on the bench and turn the envelope over in my hands several times before opening it. Inside I find several sheets of paper stapled together. As I read the first page I realize what it is that she’s done.
Somehow she got me, or rather William Thompson, an account at the friggin’ town blood bank. According to the letter, I’ll have a dozen pints of blood set aside for me every week. And not just blood, human blood. I’ve been living off of old pig’s blood since the damn chip and the thought of having actual human blood makes my fuckin’ teeth hurt. All I have to do is go down and pick them up. That means that I no longer have to rely on that cow and her watcher to get it for me.
I scan over the other two pages and the little witch floors me for the second time in one evening. She’s even arranged that if I ever need any additional blood, I just have to call and the bank will have up to five pints ready for me in an hour. I never have to worry about getting blood when I need extra to heal.
I’m staring at the street lamp across the street when I hear the sound of heals on pavement. Looking down the street, just past the lamp, I see her approaching figure. Picking up my box and stuffing the papers into my coat pocket, I quickly step into the shadows of a nearby tree. When she’s a block ahead of me I start to follow.
I trail her at a safe distance until she reaches her house. I then stop and watch as she puts down the bag she was carrying, unlocks her front door, picks it back up again and goes into the house, closing and locking the door behind her. She must have put the bag’s contents away somewhere in the back of the house because it’s several minutes before the light in her upstairs bedroom turns on. Confident that she’s safe, I turn and head back to my dank crypt to absorb my new independence, courtesy of a beautiful, angelic witch.