Summary: Songfic based on Greg Lake's 'I believe in Father Christmas'. If you've seen Bring on the Night then you know that Spike is having a bad Christmas. If you haven't seen it then trust me, he is. Some thoughts about what he might be going through.
> Denotes Song lyrics
>They said there'd be snow at Christmas
>They said there'd be peace on Earth
>But instead it just kept on raining
>A veil of tears for the Virgin's birth
Is that rain? It never rains here, not like in England. And if it's not raining, why can I hear it? Water; water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My belly is full with it; my chest aches with it, yet it's still raining. Or is it my soul that's raining?
It should snow at Christmas but the rain just keeps on falling, the sky weeps with it. Tears for a babe destined to die, tears for a world that has no one to save it - 'cept her.
How can it be raining? Yet it is. I can hear it. Jesus get a grip.
"You're a fool, boy. Always was, always will be."
When did he get here? He was me, I'm sure; the last time I looked. But he must be here 'cos his voice rakes through me, and takes me where I don't want to go.
~*~*~*~
"Do you think it will snow?" Dru's arms are wrapped around me as we curl together on the window seat, staring out into darkened streets. She smells of long remembered summer mornings. And how does she manage that? Her days in the sun are further away than mine, yet her hair still carries the scent of meadows and flowers.
"I remember Christmas. We had mince pies, and sausage, and we sang around the piano. And my mummy had soft hands. Do you remember my mummy?" Silently I pull her closer, wrapping her tightly in my embrace.
"It should snow at Christmas. But the sky is crying. Why is the sky crying, Spike?" As she lifts her face I can see her tears threatening to fall and I kiss them away. "Tell me story. A Christmas story."
So I tell her the only one I know. The only Christmas story there is. The one about the child sent to save the world, the chosen one, the beloved one. But she does not understand and I'm not sure I do anymore.
"Fool. Telling her children's tales. Making up pretty stories to fill her pretty head. It's raining, Drusilla, because there is no salvation, no hope but death, and no redemption for the maggots who crawl in human form." She whimpers and presses her face into my shirt. Why does he have to be so harsh? Surely she deserves some kindness, some gentleness.
But it's not in him to give. His black eyes spare no room for the pitiful clamorings of humanity and they turn her away, back into the cold, darkness of the night. That much I still understand - that the milk of human kindness has no place in Angelus' empty heart.
"Time to hunt. Bring a little Christmas cheer."
And the rain keeps falling, a veil of tears for the virgin birth.
> I remember one Christmas morning
>A winter's light and a distant choir
>And the peal of a bell and that Christmas Tree smell
>And their eyes full of tinsel and fire
Empty eyes, glassy, like the stuffed animals in my uncle's study. But these move, see me. And I need to run because I can remember her now. But escape is no option. She's so close - I can smell pine needles in her hair and she asks, "Why?"
"Why did you come? On Christmas day." And the blood on her face is still wet, like I remember. How can that be? It's over a hundred years since she died, and I should know because she met her death at my hands. Still she asks, "Why?"
"Why the children? Didn't they deserve to live?" Small figures cluster around her skirts, as I saw them when the door was first opened to us, and we were invited inside away from the wet chill of that Christmas night. Still she asks, "Why?"
"Why the fire? If you had to kill, why not make it quick?" And I see the babe in her arms; its charred flesh gaping like obscene scarlet mouths as it reaches out for me, and the fire is reflected in its eyes. Still she asks, "Why?"
"Why my daughter? She wasn't yet a woman." Large, dark eyes in a pale face peer at me from behind her mother's arm, tinsel in her hair, dress torn and fluttering round her delicate childish form, crimson staining her legs and sex. Still she asks, "Why?"
And I scream my answer, into the night, the dark, and the pain. "Because that is what I do! It's what I am!"
>They sold me a dream of Christmas
>They sold me a Silent Night
>And they told me a fairy story
>'Till I believed in the Israelite
"Surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision." "What do you want?"
"Something 'effulgent'. Can I touch you?"
"Do you want it?"
"God, yes."
Eternal life in an angel's embrace.
>And I believed in Father Christmas
>And I looked at the sky with excited eyes
>'Till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn
>And I saw him and through his disguise
Delivered from mediocrity into the arms of the devil.
Alive for the first time, the world fecund with opportunity and ripe for the plucking. And eternal life in an angel's embrace, in a soft bed, wrapped in strong arms. The dawn lightens even this secluded room and for the first time I can truly see - the veil of morning rips away every illusion.
"William. Little one. God, yes. Don't stop. Don't ever stop, boy."
The face of my salvation and eternal damnation.
>I wish you a hopeful Christmas
>I wish you a brave New Year
>All anguish pain and sadness
>Leave your heart and let your road be clear
The face of my damnation and eternal salvation.
She's back. But not her. Don't get me wrong, she is cruel. But hers has an edge this one is not worthy to touch because her cruelty, the real Buffy's cruelty, burns me in its light.
"You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance."
And what price that penance, Buffy? How many lives?
"You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man."
Better than what? Better than him? "God, yes."
Better than Angel with his thrice damned soul?
Better than the carpenter? Ah, but which one. Carpenters and Christmas. Did I miss something there?
"You may not see it, but I do. I believe in you, Spike."
Don't. I can't. I'm not the man you want me to be.
Look at the man I have become.
Look at what my blood has done.
Look at what answered its call.
Merry Christmas Buffy.
> They said there'd be snow at Christmas
>They said there'd be peace on Earth
>Hallelujah Noel be it Heaven or Hell
>The Christmas you get - you deserve.
Water; water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My belly is full with it; my chest aches with it, yet it's not enough. Never enough. Always more, and more.
God, can't they stop? When will it be complete? When will she come?
She said she believed but is that enough?
She said she believed but she's not here?
She said she believed but does she?
Will she? Come?
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