Those Ain't Exactly Visions Of Sugarplums
"What in the heck is that supposed to be?" Xander felt a little queasy at the sight.
"What?" Spike glared, the effect noticeably undermined by his rumpled hair and the liberal smudges of flour on his face. "They're Christmas cookies, they are!"
Xander blanched. "Those are meant to be eaten?"
"Very funny, mate. Nobody said they were for you, you know."
Xander's prayer of thanks was brief and silent, but the most heartrendingly sincere one he'd made since that pack of Uurq'osh demons had dangled him over a highway overpass until the Scoobies kicked their butts. Their many, many, scaly, slimy butts. With great effort he suppressed a whooshing sigh of relief. "So, uh, who would be the intended vict- er, recipient of these..." Another great effort and he did not shudder. He may have started to sweat a little, though, from all the exertions. "...tasty treats?"
"They're for Red, if you must know. Witch's made me a lot of cookies over time. Thought it might be nice to return the gesture, what with the holidays and all."
Xander felt a sense of severe disorientation at the notion of William the Bloody looking for ways to be nice to people. During the holidays. With flour on his face. And could those be sprinkles in his hair?
He ran a quick reality scan. As of his arrival, the sky had been blue, right? Check. Grass green? Check. Sun yellow? Check. Clouds fluffy and white? Check. He gingerly picked up a wooden spoon that looked like the fast-fading survivor of some horrible ordeal. He dropped the spoon. The spoon fell. Law of gravity? Check.
Evil soulless hell-spawned creature of the night stirring a bowl of vanilla icing... Xander figured this might be a good time to sit down.
"You alright, mate?" Spike was looking a bit concerned. Xander repeated the thought to himself for clarity's sake. Spike. Was looking a bit concerned. About him.
"I could maybe use a glass of water." Xander fought a wave of panic as Spike headed for the fridge. "We do have just plain water right? Water that has had nothing done to it? No cooking or garnishing of the water?"
Now Spike was looking at him oddly. "Yeah," the vampire said, handing him a glass. "It's just plain water. Drink up. I've just got to put some finishing touches on these-"
"Willow!" Xander gasped. He'd forgotten all about his dearest friend! Survivor's guilt, perhaps, but he felt duty-bound to try to save the poor girl from her impending cookie and Xander used the term loosely) laden doom.
Spike frowned. "You sure you're okay, mate? Maybe you should go lie down. I'm Spike, me, not Willow."
"No! I mean, not that you're Willow. You look nothing like Willow. She's small and red-headed and curvy in some places and you're bigger and blond and compact but well-muscled and I would never think- that is-"
Spike just frowned some more. "You're getting a bit agitated, pet. Perhaps we should run you by the Watcher's, see if he can't fix you up. You been bitten by any strange new demons lately? Clawed? Exposed to magical backwash from the witches' spells?"
Inspiration struck. "She's Jewish!"
"What?"
"Willow! Willow is Jewish!"
"She is?"
"And... and Orthodox! Very, very Orthodox! She can't eat Christmas cookies!" It was not too late, Xander rejoiced. He could save his friend. No one need suffer the dread fate of those... things. Which Spike had just finished slathering with a most gruesomely-colored shade of icing.
Spike's face fell. "Oh," he said. He wiped his floury hands on his apron. "Guess she can't have these, then."
"Um, no. Not really." Xander had just done a Very Good Thing. Why did he feel like a Very Big Heel?
Perhaps it had something to do with the dejected-looking vampire in his kitchen, presently putting away a battered copy of The New Joy of Cooking. Spike gave the countertop a halfhearted swipe with a dough-encrusted sponge.
"Listen, would you like me to help you clean up in here? And maybe you should go wash your face or something. You've got flour all over you."
"S'not flour."
Xander felt the queasiness return. "It isn't? Just what did you put in those things- ah, cookies?"
"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, whelp. I used flour, alright."
"From wheat?"
"From wheat. S'just not what I'm covered in. Had a bit of a spill with the powdered sugar."
Ah. Oh. Ack. Eeep. "So what you're saying is there's gorgeous bleached blond covered in sugar pirating my kitchen." Whoops. Had he said that out loud?
Spike's face lit up. "Think I'm gorgeous, do you?"
"Uh... I didn't say... that is..."
Spike's grin turned sly. "Didn't you once say you'd eat just about anything covered in sugar?"
The vampire stepped closer and Xander could suddenly feel large amounts of blood he probably very much needed elsewhere (like, say, his brain) suddenly dive southwards. "Um, I'm pretty sure that was during Halloween..."
Spike was standing very close indeed now, staring hard at Xander. "You sure you're feeling alright, pet? Maybe I should check your temperature."
"My temp..." he squeaked. No, no, no. Manly Xander. Much with the deep voice and complete sentences. Complete. Sentences.
Any minute now.
Any.
Minute.
Ah, screw it.
"Argh!" he cried, and pounced, taking the startled blond with him.
"Bloody hell!"
It was sometime in the small hours of the morning when a groggy Xander stumbled into the darkened kitchen in search of something to calm his growling stomach. He groped for the jar where he usually kept his eat-on-the-run foods.
A cry pierced the night, jerking a certain blond vampire from a deep slumber in a warm bed very much not his own.
"Good lord, these are fantastic!" came from the kitchen.
Spike smirked and went back to sleep.