Three French Hens

3. On the Third Day of Christmas… Three French Hens, by hesadevil

27th December 2003

Spike watched with amusement at his past self, rummaging in the refrigerator in Angel’s penthouse apartment at Wolfram and Hart.

“It’s not natural!” past Spike said from within its depths.

“What isn’t?” Angel looked up from the TV guide he was studying.

Spike wrenched open the plastic box he'd found on the top shelf.

"Can't I get moment's peace?" growled Angel. "You may not be a ghost any more, Spike, but you're still turning up at the most annoying moments. I was going to have a nice quiet evening."

Spike ignored Angel's complaint. "This," he gestured at the shelves of the fridge, bare save for a few cartons of blood. “It’s meant to be the season of cheer and goodwill and all that.” He slammed the door shut. “There’s bugger all cheer in there.” He spotted a familiar bottle on the coffee table and aimed for it. “Now that’s more like it,” he chortled, rubbing his hands together.

Spike turned to Illyria as his past self took a swig of Scotch straight from the bottle. “You wanted to see friendship? Wrong place, wrong time, and definitely the wrong bloke.”

Illyria contemplated the scene as Angel stood up wearily and crossed the room to intercept the younger vampire.

“Something deeper lies between you. It is something primal. It has power. We shall stay.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” Angel asked, sulkily, snatching the bottle out of Spike’s grip and marching him towards the elevator. “Isn’t it time you were heading for Europe?”

“I’ll go in my own time!”

“Why are you here? Why aren’t you out tormenting Carol singers or whatever it is you do at Christmas?”

Spike resisted Angel’s shove towards the exit. “Nah! It’s no fun when you can’t stop ‘em singing by killing ‘em. Mind you, if I hear ‘Frosty the bloody Snowman’ one more time, I might just jump off the wagon.”

“So, again I ask, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

“Nice try. Now – out!” As the elevator doors slid open, Angel made a grab for Spike’s collar, but stopped as he caught sight of Fred, weighed down with shopping bags on one side and a cardboard carton on the other, waiting to exit.

“Hi Guys!” she beamed, not at all concerned by their bickering. “Ready for our little party?”

“See!” Spike said smugly, taking some of the bags out of Fred’s hands “We’re bunking off from whatever we do here for a bit - in style by the looks of it.”

Angel glowered. “You don’t do anything here, Spike. Except annoy me. Get out.”

“Actually, tonight is more about celebrating Christmas together than taking time out,” said Fred. She gave Angel a look that would have been stern on anyone but her, as she shoved her remaining bags into his hands. “Angel, let’s put that machismo away for one night. Spike’s our friend.”

Angel deposited the bags onto the coffee table grumbling softly to himself. “Not my friend.” He looked up sharply, Fred’s first words finally connecting with his brain. “Celebrate together? Us?” He glared at Spike.

Spike continued unpacking the groceries in the kitchenette. “We don’t do the Christmas gig, Pet. Vampires, remember?” he called. “Hey! Is this what I think it is?” He opened a box and popped a piece of crystallised ginger into his mouth. “Mmmm, this is great,” he said, reaching into the box for more.

Fred marched into the kitchen area and snatched the box out of his hand, passing it to Angel. “Vampires with souls,” she corrected. “Christmas is about being with people you love.”

As Fred spoke, Illyria moved slightly for a better view of both vampires, recording their reaction to Fred’s words.

Spike glanced at Angel and raised an eyebrow. “So why are we here, then?” he said between mouthfuls.

“People I love,” Fred chastised gently. She returned to the main room and emptied the contents of the carton she was carrying onto the floor. Out tumbled Christmas decorations, fairy lights, garlands, holly wreaths and tinsel; all jumbled together in a sparkling heap, shedding glitter and needles onto the polished floor.

“I spent Christmas with my folks. Mom baked and Dad found this box in the garage.” She shook a garland free from its neighbours. “Wesley went to London. We were both with our families,” she continued, unaware of her nemesis’s presence in the room. “What did you two do?”

“Got out, got drunk, got laid. Not necessarily in that order,” Spike replied.

Angel dropped his eyes and muttered something unintelligible.

Spike sniggered. “Poofter!”

“What did he say?” Fred asked, looking up from her unpacking.

“The Big Fairy spent it watching telly. ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ – again! You’re a sad bastard, Angel. Never realised how sad until just now. Bet you cried at the end of ‘Gone with the Wind’.”

“It’s a fine movie,” Angel folded his arms and glared at Spike. “How did you know what followed It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“There is much affection between you both,” remarked Illyria as she watched the exchange with fascination.

“Affection?” spluttered Spike. “Take that back! Seething resentment and mutual hatred more like.”

He watched himself hesitate for a fraction of a second, searching for the sharp comeback that never came.

His past self stopped munching on the nibbles, embarrassed that his secret had been found out. “Because… it always is, innit? That and that big green thingy,” he finished lamely.

“Lorne?” asked Fred. “Oh. Is he here yet? He’s in charge of entertainment.”

The phone rang, allowing Spike to regain his composure and resume sampling the contents of the packages Fred had laid out on the dining table.

Angel picked up the receiver and handed it to her. “It’s Lorne. He’s downstairs with Wes and Gunn.”

Fred took the handset and started to discuss arrangements while Angel rescued plates of food from Spike’s grasp.

“I think you should all come up straight away,” said Fred, watching the two vampires squabble. “I’m in need of Santa’s little helpers right now.” She replaced the receiver and regarded Angel and Spike sternly. “Lorne is stopping off at his office to pick up the movies he ordered,” she said evenly. “We are going to have a wonderful evening. I want it to be the first of many Christmases I will share with my favourite boys.”

Present day Spike winced at that statement. Knowing that the Christmas they were watching would be her last gave him a painful knot in his chest. He ignored it and tried to concentrate on the slight affectionate smile that twitched at the corners of Angel’s mouth. Too busy competing with his Grandsire, he’d missed that the first time this scene had played out. Maybe the broody git had some emotions after all.

Angel’s features softened further as Fred removed her coat, revealing a cherry-red off-the-shoulder crushed velvet dress. The full skirt was trimmed with white faux fur to match the hat she wore.

“Thought I told you to quit it with the prying into folks feelings.” Spike glowered at Illyria.

“Do not presume to judge my actions, half-breed,” replied Illyria icily. “I wish to know what power Winifred Burkle had over those who professed to love her.”

Fred twirled gracefully; showing off the slender ankles bearing fine silver straps that held her precarious looking stiletto shoes in place.

“How’d you keep from falling off those things?” Spike’s past self asked, eyeing her appreciatively.

“Years of practice. Working for Angel and living on a knife-edge helps.” replied Fred, laughing.

“Never understood women and shoes,” Spike continued, holding out a hand and escorting her to a chair. “Buffy did some of her best slaying in the most ridiculous boots…” He trailed off, a far away look in his eyes.

Fred reached down to the bag at her feet. “Put these on,” she said softly, standing up and holding out her hands.

Spike snapped out of his reverie and blinked.

Fred held out a pair of slippers, each shaped like a polar bear.

Spike frowned. “Why would I do that, Pet?”

“Inappropriate footwear,” replied Fred mischievously, pointing at Spike’s scuffed Doc Martins. “It’s Christmas, Spike. Let Blondie Bear out to play.”

“Blondie Bear!” exclaimed Spike “Not bloody likely.”

Fred stepped close to him and whispered in his ear. “Forget the Big Bad persona for one night. Let someone else see the man I got to know these past few months.”

Spike dropped his eyes and shrugged, looking up at her through his lashes.

“After all,” said Fred loudly, smiling slightly at Spike’s bashful face, “it’s the season of peace and goodwill to all... creatures...” she trailed off uncertainly.

“Great and small?” finished Wesley, stepping from the elevator with Gunn beside him. He swayed slightly and held up two bottles of Champagne in each hand. "I come bearing gifts of Christmas spirit!”

Spike sniffed the air. “Been into it already then, Percy?” He clapped Wesley on the shoulder and picked up the large red sack Wesley had left on the elevator floor.

“Just a little.” Wesley grimaced. “Christmas with Father,” he added by way of explanation. He glanced at Spike’s feet as the blond vampire shuffled over to the sofa with the sack. “Nice – bears,” he sniggered.

“Wesley found succour in the smoke flavoured spirit even before the loss of Winifred Burkle,” Illyria commented without emotion. “He did so after visiting with his father. I do not...”

“Understand. Yeah, I know.” Spike squinted at her. “Look, Highness, there’s a lot of things I don’t understand about relationships. Not sure you’ve chosen the right bloke to take you on this winter wonderland tour. P’raps we should call it quits, eh?”

Illyria regarded him through unblinking ice-crystal orbs. “Wesley believed he was not suitable guide for one such as me,” she said quietly. She swung towards the trio surrounding Fred and let her gaze rest on Wesley. “He was incorrect.”

Gunn hugged Fred and stood back to appraise her outfit. “Cool Mamma Claus look you got goin’ there,” he said appreciatively.

Fred smoothed the folds of her red dress and smiled broadly at him. “Why thank you, kind sir. I too come bearing gifts of friendship and lots of good things to eat and drink. Lorne’s bringing the movies and music...”

Angel froze. “Music? I don’t have to sing, do I?”

“Baby!” Fred giggled. “Now come and help me put these up.” She handed Angel a handful of sparkly garlands and pushed him gently towards the window. “Drape them over the frame,” she said. “And Spike,” she called over her shoulder, “you’ll find some mistletoe in that bag. Hang it up somewhere for me, please?”

“Only if I get first kiss,” Spike replied, “as a reward for looking a right berk in these.”

“Back off Blondie Bear,” said Gunn, sniggering. “The queue starts here. I got priority rights – right Fred?”

Fred blushed and glanced at Wesley. “Maybe the mistletoe wasn’t such a good idea,” she stammered. “Not if it...”

The sound of the elevator doors interrupted her and all activity in the room ceased at the sight of the apparition that stepped out.

“It’s the bloody Grinch!” exclaimed Spike, bouncing over to unburden Lorne of the many articles he was carrying.

“And seasons greetings to you too, oh formerly evil one.” Lorne grinned at the sight of Spike’s feet. “You think I’ve overdone the green?” he asked turning to Fred in concern. “I was trying for Dudley’s elf
look... Dudley Moore?” he explained at Angel’s blank expression. “‘Santa Claus the Movie’?”

Angel shook his head.

“Angelcakes, are you in for a treat! I’ve brought the very best of the turkeys from yesteryear.”

“I thought turkey was Thanksgiving?” Angel said, bemused.

“Metaphorical turkey, Dumbo,” Spike snorted.

Angel held up his hands in surrender. He was outnumbered. “I’ll just finish doing this then,” he muttered, opening a bottle of champagne and half filling two glasses from the first gush of foam.

“Dumbo! My all time favourite,” Fred squealed. “You remembered it, didn’t you Lorne?”

“Would I ever let my best girl down?” Lorne put his arm around Fred and led her to the sofa, sweeping up the two glasses on their way past the table. “Uncle Lorne has brought gems as well as turkeys, Snow White, Bambi and Dumbo.”

Fred kissed his cheek, then looked over at Angel. “Finished with the sparklies?”

Angel looked at the number of DVDs Lorne had handed Spike. “It’s going to be a long night,” he sighed.

Gunn emerged from the kitchen carrying a stack of crockery. Angel helped him pile the serving dishes high with the delights Fred had brought. Spike looked over Angel’s shoulder and grabbed a handful of home-baked Christmas figures.

“Gingerbread! I haven’t had this in a while. Have a bite, Angel,” he said, offering him a reindeer with a cherry nose.

“No thanks,” said Angel. “I’m not a gingerbread kinda guy, Blondie Bear.”

“But there’s an Angel, Angel!” Spike smirked. He held up an Angel shaped cookie and waved it in his face.

“Stop that!” Angel snarled.

“Make me,” Spike taunted. “On second thoughts, best I just put you out of your misery.” He held up the baked figure and bit its head off.

Lorne left the sofa and stood between the two vampires. “Hey, let’s take it down a notch or three. Get everyone back into the Christmas spirit.”

“Yes please,” said Wesley holding out his glass. “Top her up!”

Angel sank onto the sofa beside Fred. “You know this wasn’t ever going to work, don’t you? Not with Spike here.”

Fred’s face fell. “Can’t you two make an effort?” she asked, looking across at Spike who nodded. “For me?”

“Don’t bother, Pet,” Spike snorted as he plonked himself onto the other side of Fred. “Peaches isn’t going to put himself out to be nice to me just ‘cos you’re here.”

Fred sighed. “You two really are the most stubborn, hard headed...”

Exasperated, she got up and grabbed a champagne bottle. She pulled the cork out too sharply and it flew across the room, narrowly missing Angel and came to rest in Wesley’s whiskey.

“Hey!” Wesley cried. “Can’t a chap have a quiet drink without being attacked?”

“Sorry! I was aiming for these two.” She gestured at Spike and Angel, who both managed to look remarkably innocent. She turned her back on them and poured herself another glass of champagne.

Spike glanced at Angel and winced. “But you love us both, right Pet? ‘Specially me... After I wore the slippers an’ all?” he asked.

“Not at the moment.” Fred remained standing, with her back to them.

Angel studied her slight figure and thought for a second. “What do we do first, Lorne – turkey or gem?”

Fred turned back and smiled gratefully at him. “Let’s start with a turkey,” she said, draining her glass. “‘Santa Claus the Movie’.”

“Bloody Dudley Moore?” Wesley sank into the nearest armchair. “I need another drink,” he groaned, reaching for the Laphroaig again.

Gunn stopped piling chocolate fudge squares onto the mountain of confectionery already on his plate and grabbed a glass of champagne. “What you got against the little guy, Wes? He’s funny.”

Wesley shot him a glance that would have frozen a lesser man where he sat. “Dudley was just annoying.”

“Like Spike.” Angel eyed the other vampire. “A short, annoying, Goon.”

“Dudley Moore wasn’t a Goon,” Spike smirked. “But he was successful and charming. Great with the ladies...”

“You’re not ‘great with the ladies’. They’re always…”

Fred laid a hand on Angel’s shoulder to interrupt him. “Angel,” she said softly.

“This chocolate fudge is great,” Gunn said through a mouthful, breaking the tension. “Want some Spike?”

Spike glanced at Gunn. Then his eyes met Fred’s and narrowed. He studied the two gingerbread figures in his hand; a bear and a headless angel. Spike looked questioningly at his Grandsire.

Angel returned his gaze with a twitch of his eyebrows and a small sigh. He patted Fred’s hand and took the glass of champagne she held out to him.

Illyria moved closer to the sofa. “Something has changed,” she said peering at Spike. She held her fingers to her temple and closed her eyes, concentrating. “There’s my boys,” she said in Fred’s voice.

“Don’t do that,” Spike snapped. He watched as his past self shifted slightly on the sofa, making more room for Fred to resume her place between himself and Angel.

Fred gave them a lopsided smile. “There’s my boys,” she said, taking a bite out of the head of the gingerbread bear in Spike’s hand and gesturing at the remains of the Angel. “You’re even now,” she giggled.

“This frail human has wrought a change,” Illyria observed. “And yet she has done nothing of significance.”

“You’re wrong there,” Spike growled.

Angel eyed Fred with growing concern. “Are you alright, Fred? You seem a little...”

“Tipsy?” she snorted. “I am! It’s the bubbles that do it. They make the alcohol travel faster, get the endorphins going again.” She bounced up again and tottered over to the table. “Chocolate! You can’t have champagne without chocolate. Endorphins need both to work properly, you know.” She winked at Spike.

“Does that work for vampires too?” Spike asked, glancing at Angel and getting to his feet.

“All in favour of endorphins, say aye,” cried Wesley from the depths of his glass. “Put some music on.” He lurched to his feet. “Care to dance before the film begins, milady?” He held out his hand to Fred.

“Only if you promise not to crush my toes again,” Fred giggled. She clung to Wesley and they swayed together in the centre of the room, oblivious to the others, or the fact that there was no music accompanying their dance.

Angel groaned. “Oh great. One drunken Englishman, two sartorially challenged demons, three movies I never want to see - ever again...”

“Not letting you count to twelve, Mr Gloom and Doom,” said Spike emphatically. “It’ll spoil the mood.” He stepped back, allowing Angel a clear view of the room. It had been transformed. Votive lights cast a soft glow on the festive treats laid out on the table. Piles of gingerbread Angels, snowmen, elves and reindeer jostled for space with honeyed dates, chocolate covered nuts and crystallised ginger. Champagne glasses filled with gently fizzing liquid sparkled in the candlelight. Gunn sat looking over Lorne’s shoulder, studying the DVD cover of ‘Bambi’. And, in the centre of the room, still entwined in each other’s arms, Fred and Wesley whirled slowly under the mistletoe.

“Bugger it Blue,” said Spike hoarsely. “Enough’s enough. Take me back. I need a drink.”

“You wish to experience the consolation of smoky spirits, just as Wesley did.” Illyria scrutinised his face. “I see something new in you.”

Spike caved. “Not gonna admit this to anyone else, Frosty, but I miss ‘em. Not just them.” He gestured at the figures frozen in time in front of him. “I miss the Bit... and Buffy and… Okay, especially Buffy,” he swallowed hard, blinking back unshed tears. “I miss every one of ‘em,” he whispered.

Illyria moved swiftly through the room and picked up the bottle of Laphroaig and two tumblers.

Spike raised his eyebrows. “But I thought...”

“My powers are limited here.” Illyria said and poured two measures of the golden liquid and handed a glass to him. “I strain to hold this journey together, but some things I can still control. An incantation is customary?”

“A toast,” Spike corrected. He raised his glass. “To absent friends.”

“Absent friends,” Illyria echoed.

They threw the contents of their glasses down in one gulp.

Illyria stared at Spike. “Frosty?”

“Not so much, you’re warming up,” Spike conceded. “Smokey spirit thaws a body somewhat,” he added, pointing at Wesley staggering across the room searching for the whisky bottle.

Wesley peered under the coffee table and then raised a pair of bleary eyes to Gunn, sprawled the armchair beside it. “You seen the Laphroaig, Charles? Could’ve sworn I left it...”

Gunn waved at the television where Illyria had placed the now empty bottle.

Wesley lurched over to it. “Now, how’d it get up there?”

“Fairies?” snickered Spike from the depths of the sofa.

Illyria and Spike watched as the room gradually settled down into a companionable silence fuelled by the mellowing effects of alcohol, the soporific effect of Lorne’s ‘turkeys’ and the calm determination of Fred to pour seasonal oil on troubled waters.

Fred. He looked down at her, relaxing on the sofa, one hand resting on Angel’s arm, the other clasped in his past-self’s hand. He found himself swallowing a hard lump in his throat and glanced up at Illyria, biting down a sudden searing flash of anger. So bloody unfair!

Illyria looked at him, considering. “You feel sadness.”

“Yeah, I feel sadness.”

“Because you feel the lack of these people from your past.” She tilted her head, bird-like, and peered at him.

“Like I said, not just them.”

Illyria considered. “I sense another for whom you hold affection. But it is affection unlike that for the others.”

“No! No, Illyria, enough. Take us back.”

Illyria ignored him. “I will understand this.” And once again time and space blurred.