Disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Joss, LXG belongs to WB, I think, and Dr. Jekyll belongs to Stevenson though I think he's public domain, now.
Title: A Merry Little Christmas
Author: Kate
Pairings: Spike/Dr. Jekyll
Summary: Spike remembers a love at Christmas and that love comes back to him


He told the Scoobies he'd rather spend Christmas alone. He didn't tell them why as he considered it none of their business, but he wanted to be alone to remember the one person he'd loved as both a human and a vampire. The person that loved him the same. The person he hadn't seen in over a hundred years. But he knew his love was still out there. Knew the man still lived. He just wasn't 'here' and Spike missed him and hated celebrating Christmas without him. not even Dru, when she was with him, or even Angelus offering him people to torture, could lighten his mood on this holiday and though he knew it bothered them, they did, thankfully, leave him alone on the holiday. Even after Dru was hurt, she left him be on Christmas.

That was wise of her because, if she'd dared to cross him or even thought about entering his rooms in the factory or mansion, he'd have killed her. Wheelchair bound or not, if she or Angelus 'dared' to cross him, they'd both have died.

And they knew it, too.


Someone is missing at Christmas
Someone I loved all my life
Someone I played with and laughed all night long
Someone I think of when I hear that song


He hated, 'Ha-Ted' with a blinding passion the song 'Merry Little Christmas'. That song hurt and he wanted to strangle anyone who sang it near him. They best be glad he had the chip as Chubs and Anya loved it and if she'd played it one more time there would have been a blood-bath in that basement. 'Through the years we all will be together.' No! Not true. The man who carried his soul was missing. That song was shit, as far as he was concerned, and untrue. They weren't all together. His heart was missing. He wouldn't have himself a Merry Little Christmas until he had it back.

"Henry," he moaned into his pillow, "Oh, Henry . . . ."


Someone is missing at Christmas
Someone has left me alone
Someone so close even though we’re apart
Someone who’d finished the sentence I’d start


He remembered baking. Henry couldn't cook to save his life but thankfully, William could. He used to love cooking for Henry, make him gourmet meals for when he got home from working in his lab late. But Henry'd left him alone. Close in his memories but so far away physically and he missed Henry. Missed him so much, his sweet, beautiful, gentle, Henry. H held his memories of Henry close and he treasured them. Guarding them like a pit-bull over food.

Memories of Henry were the food of his heart and soul.

"Should we try," he remembered saying once while he cooked.

"Nutmeg?" Henry completed handing him the glass dish of seasoning, "Why not? Traditional topping for Eggnog, right?"

"Shocked you got your head out of your chemicals enough to . . ."

"Know that? Why wouldn't I, Will? You've talked of nothing but Christmas all week."

He'd laughed and given Henry a kiss, passing a morsel to him as they opened their mouths to taste each other a bit.

"It amazes me," he remembered saying, "that a man so brilliant as you with the chemicals sucks so badly at cooking. Principle's the same practically."

"Indeed?" Henry asked, "Perhaps I've never been inspired to learn cooking. After all, the right teacher and right incentives, can make miracles in a man, even one like me. Sweet by the way."

"Ponce," he'd said with deep affection.

"Mm, true," Henry remarked, "But I'm 'your' Ponce."

"No," he'd said, cutting him off, "You're my Henry and my heart."

"Always," Henry answered, with another kiss, "My Will . . ."

He sighed, missing Henry even more, and again moaned into his pillow.

"Oh, Henry . . . miss you so . . . ."


Someone whose love is my favorite gift
Someone whose presence is my Christmas wish
Someone who always was here
Someone is missing this year


They spent Christmas in bed that year. Henry gave him his love and they fed each other the Christmas breakfast Henry's staff made for them. Lunch wasn't needed, breakfast was so filling, but they did go down for dinner. Since it was just the two of them, they weren't in fancy dress. Henry didn't do church, after all, not after one of their 'treatments' killed his ailing father, and so the church near him, the one that'd killed the older man, he called full of pompous, murdering, self-righteous, short sighted hypocrites.

Over dinner, they fed each other morsels and the good food made them both languid and content. He and Henry retired to Henry's room early, the meal making them both tired, and they made love, again and again. He never went home, living with Henry in bliss, away from his domineering mother, almost like a dream.

Henry was wonderful.

But then Edward came and changed it all. Destroyed his safe dream and killed the man he loved by inches.


Candlelit snapshots of Christmases gone by
You in your favorite chair
Memories like snowflakes melt in my eyes
I look and you’re not sitting there


He remembered when the change happened. Henry became sick and pale and weak a good part of the time. He tended his love as best he could all the way up until that last Christmas. Henry'd been so weak that he'd just held him and spoon fed him broth, kept him warm, and offered him comfort. No sex that day. No sex ever again that meant anything to him, after that. Then, Henry vanished, trying to protect him and everyone else from Edward.

Cicely had been an attempt at what Henry's letter begged him to do and find a life.

Then, Dru found him and gave him a way to wait for Henry.

Dru gave him time.

And Angelus got him Henry's favorite chair.

Looking at that chair, kept with him through all the running and traveling, he swallowed. Henry wasn't there. He hadn't been for years, and Spike missed him terribly. He wanted Henry in Henry's chair by the Christmas tree. He wanted Henry's shy, gentle smile to grace him again. His Henry, his Heart, and he wanted him back.

Now!


Someone whose love is my favorite gift
Someone whose presence is my Christmas wish
Someone is missing at Christmas
Wait… someone is touching my heart . . .


Late that night, Spike was woken by someone climbing into and lying down next to him in his bed. He was about to bark at whoever it was when a familiar touch over his heart stopped him cold. The touch got firm as he found himself pushed back onto the bed. Then the person shifted him and pulled him into his arms, his because there were no breasts, and pushed his head down on to a familiar chest with a familiar heartbeat.

"I'm here, Will," that loved voice whispered, "I'm here. Rest. I'll keep you near me."

"'Enry," he sighed, hugging tight and if this was a dream he'd stay in it, thank you very much, "My Henry."

"Your Henry," the voice affirmed, "Your heart. Sleep now. I'll be here when you wake. I Promise."

Spike did, not waking again until nearly sunset. Waking, he found Henry sitting up, leaning against the headboard reading and stroking his hair.

Just like he used to, in those long ago days in the house in London.



Someone has heard me and answered my call
Someone I love is not missing at all


"You're really here," Spike breathed, "You came back."

"I would have been with you sooner, Will," Henry said, "But you moved too much. Nemo tracked you for me by that chip and, oh, reminds me, I have a present for you."

"What present?" Spike asked.

"I deactivated your chip," Henry told him as he offered him his wrist, "When I came in last night or was that early this morning? Anyhow, Will, you're back in action. Wholly, I hope."

"Thanks 'Enry," Spike choked.

"Talk right, Will," Henry chided, "I know you can, m'love."

"Okay," Spike mumbled like a guilty schoolboy, "Oh! I need to call Joyce. YOU need to eat so I gotta tell her we'll be at her place for dinner."

Henry laughed and nodded as Spike took a cell phone from his coat pocket and made a call and smiling at what he was told.


Someone is with me at Christmas
Someone’s right here in my heart


Later, they walked to The Summers' house where they'd be supping. Spike held on the Henry's arm as they walked, grinning like an idiot as they walked.

For Henry, he dressed in his best clothes, looking almost gentlemanly.

For Henry, he would be the gentleman he was raised to be.

He mused on that as he knocked on the door, which was opened by Joyce Summers herself.

"Come in, Spike," she invited, "And your guest is?"

"Henry," Spike introduced, "Joyce this is Dr. Henry Jekyll. Henry, this is Joyce Summers, Lady of the house and one of the few Ladies I've met in my time."

"Madame," Henry answered, kissing the back of her hand, "The pleasure is mine with many thanks for allowing us to join you here this night."

"The more the merrier," she said, blushing at his old world manners.

"See, Xander," a female voice said, "Watch him. You could learn a lot about being a gentleman from him."

"Anya, please?" a male voice groaned, "Could you not point out my lack of upbringing in front of the guests?"

Spike snickered until Henry quelled him with a look and pulled him down at his side. Spike sat there, content, the entire evening, by Henry's side. He ignored any shots Xander may have thrown. Focused as he was on Henry, he missed a lot of the conversation but that was all right. Henry by his side was all he cared about this night. If he had Henry, he needed no one else.

Ever.


Someone I love is with me this Christmas
And will be each Christmas to come!


"Forever," Henry whispered, kissing him.

"And ever," Spike breathed when they broke the kiss, "My Henry . . . My heart . . ."

"Your Ponce," Henry said as they laughed together in bed, "I've never forgotten anything . . . My Will."

"My Henry . . ."

"Forever," they said together and then drifted into the deepness of sleep . . . .

And Peace.