Title: Karaoke, Kittens, and Christmas
Season: Post Series BtVS / Angel Season 5
Story Bio.: Spike has some crazy seasonal adventures
Author Note: Originally written as a Secret Santa present for Tumblr, last year, I have reworked this story to give it an extra-special Spuffy ending.
Really, I should be working on my NaNoWriMo novel, but I wanted to post a treat for the free-for-all day, in light of just winning a few categories over at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfic awards. Enjoy!
Karaoke, Kittens, and Christmas
Wanting to avoid any potential re-run of antics from the last party, Spike took himself away from Wolfram and Heart’s LA offices as the festivities kicked off.
No matter how funny the idea of Gunn pissing in Angel’s chair was to him, and for all his wishing that it would happen again, the peroxide vampire wanted a little time to himself.
First there was drinking. A lot of drinking, as he tried not to think about “all that Shanshu guff,” as he called it. Nevermind the fact that he was also severely missing a certain slayer. Would she have a good year, this year? He certainly hoped so.
He got chucked out of bars one and two for muttering to himself; calling it all “bollocks.” While in bar three, which was a demon establishment, he stayed longer as he recounted the heroic tale of defeating his “arch nemesis” and beating him “to a bloody pulp” for a cup of Mountain Dew. Spike couldn’t decide if he was more baffled or offended when they threw him out for the supposed crimes of telling tall tales and ruining the atmosphere.
Bar four up next and it was time for a little kitten poker. Problem was that even when he won the blasted things he couldn’t bring himself to bite into any of them, as he pictured Dawn’s crying face anytime he tried. Rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath, he decided to drop the beasts off at the animal shelter across town, which was of course closed when he got there. Plan B? More poker, where he managed to get rid of half of the cats again by playing purposefully bad.
The bar he tried after that wouldn’t let him enter with animals, so shifting the last of the furry creatures became his number one priority again. Couldn’t be free of them fast enough, as far as he was concerned. They had managed to tear great big holes in his shirt and duster, because of his cunning idea to conceal them in his pockets. Turns out that clothing that makes meowing noises causes a guy to come off as creepy. (Who knew?)
At an all-night gas station, Spike traded two kittens for a bottle of whiskey, a notepad, and a pen. Meanwhile, the last feline got bored of him and just kind of wandered off.
Plan Six, or was it H? Spike sat outside another bar – which he’d stopped trying to keep track off – as he tried to pen some poetry just for the sheer hell of it. Reckoning that lack of alcohol was the reason his previous “works” were so bad, and completely sozzled as he was, there was nothing holding him back. Twenty minutes later the pad was as full as he was, and he made his way inside to put his name on the list. Trouble was, the regular poetry night had been put off in favor of an evening of festive karaoke instead. And once you put your name down there was no backing out. He should have figured, really, when the bouncer with the clipboard made him sign in blood.
Finally accepting his musical fate with a few more chosen swear words – after having told some colorful lies in the hopes of being thrown out again – Spike flicked through the list of songs to choose from and was dismayed to find most of them were recent ones he’d never heard of, and not a single rock ballad could be found.
Swallowing the last of his pride and merriment with his twenty-first drink of the night, Spike heaved a heavy sigh before getting up and delivering Mandy to a very impressed crowd who gave him a standing ovation. That made him smile, at least.
In the end, Spike staggered back into Wolfram and Heart to find the place in complete disarray – people yelling, a reindeer being chased by an Inpassu demon, a campfire in one corner of the foyer, and a distinct smell of urine coming from the potted plants. The Vampire shook his head slightly, exclaimed a loud “Bugger this,” and flirted his way into staying in a nearby hotel for half price and the cost of a kitten he found in his coat pocket.
“Wonder where that came from,” he said to himself as he handed it over.
Funnily, he had very little recollection of his Christmas Eve.
He definitely didn’t remember making a very important phone call, and leaving a deeply emotional voicemail message for one Buffy Summers.
It was to his utter astonishment, then, when she heard it and hopped on a plane first thing the next day – Christmas be damned.
Spike was just checking out of his hotel room when she barreled into him, knocking him off his feet and assaulting him with equal parts swear words and kisses.
On a heap, on the floor, he looked up at her. The light was shining above her head, making it appear like a halo.
“I am I still drunk?” he asked the apparition.
“You are a lot of things, Spike!” Buffy replied, before kissing him full-force on the lips again. “A complete, total, MASSIVE, idiot being the main one.”
“Oh, Buffy!” he exclaimed, holding her tight as the reality of the situation sank in.
After they embraced for a while, Buffy went over to the hotel clerk, to try and extend Spike’s stay.
The clerk had looked sheepish, as he told her Spike couldn’t afford it. But she told him to charge it to Angel.
“He’s another one I’m gonna have to yell at,” she said to Spike, hands on her hips.
“Will he also get the side order of kisses?” Spike asked, pouting.
“You idiot,” Buffy said again, “I love you!”
Spike’s face lit up with awe. Dragging himself up, he ran toward Buffy, and she opened her arms, but he continued on, past her.
“Quick,” he said to the clerk, “A notepad and pen!”
Looking quite unsure about what was unfolding before him, the clerk complied.
“Spike?” Buffy questioned, her eyebrow raised. “What the hell are you doing?”
He looked up from the notepad he was furiously scribbling on, and beamed at her.
“I’ve had the most fantastic idea for a poem!”
Buffy stared at him, blankly, for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Oh my god, I’ve missed you!”
Going to put the notepad in his pocket, Spike discovered yet another little fur ball had been hiding in there.
Handing it to Buffy he said, “Merry Christmas, Slayer,” before sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her back to his room.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/523517.html