Title: Sap Ahoy
Author: InLoveWithNight
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: PG
Authors Note: Call it part of the banter!verse, where the s5 crew is all alive (or at least in the same state of undead they were at the start of the season), happy, and at W&H, which they have turned to good instead of evil.

Vampires don't celebrate Christmas. Especially not with Midnight Mass.

Angel isn't really sure why Fred is having such a hard time grasping that concept. But there was definite pouting before she finally gave up and agreed that having Wes and Gunn both go with her would be good enough. He wonders if this is all because he was Irish before he was dead. He's pretty sure she didn't bug Lorne this much about it.

Anyway, they've finally left now, and the Host is doing what he does best- hosting- at some kind of a party down in the demon district. Good for Lorne, spreading holiday joy to the fiends of the earth. There should only be one other being in the building with Angel right now, but he can't find him anywhere.

He's checked the lab, the kitchen, the lobby, Gunn's office, Wesley's office (and that reminds him, he needs to tell Spike to quit stealing the tea blends Wes is ordering at great expense from England, because it's just rude)...no Spike. Only place left to look is the TV lounge.

And wonder of wonders, there he is, slumped on the couch and scowling at It's A Wonderful Life. "Bloody Jimmy Stewart," he mutters, presumably by way of greeting, as Angel joins him on the couch.

"I kinda like him. What are you doing?"

Spike nods at the pen and box of stationery on the table. "Fred was perfectly horrified that I hadn't done cards. Said there was still time."

Angel picks up one envelope and squints at the name on the front. "Charlie-boy. You have the handwriting of a serial killer, you know."

"Of course." Spike chuckles rather humorlessly and glares at the TV some more. "Oh, quit whining, you miserable git, either kill yourself or don't!"

Angel quickly shuffles through the stack. "Hey, there isn't one for me."

Spike shrugs again, eyes not wavering from the screen. "Couldn't come up with anything proper to say. Besides, vampires don't celebrate Christmas."

"Oh." Of course Angel doesn't feel disappointed. He doesn't want a card from Spike, anyway. His eyes wander over to the trash can next to the table. Hmm...crumpled-up card. To get cardstock to fold like that, you have to use some force. He reaches out and plucks it up.

"Aww, don't," Spike protests, glancing at him anxiously. "It's just a crap poem, Angel, let it go."

Angel hesitates, looking down at the poor abused card. "You wrote a poem for me?"

"Yeah. It's terrible. Throw it back. Come on, I'll take you out drinking, just don't read the poem." Spike shifts anxiously on the leather sofa, Jimmy Stewart entirely forgotten.

"I liked your poems," Angel says softly, gently bending the card back into shape and reading the scrawled lines. When he looks up at Spike again, the blond vampire is biting his lower lip and looking at him with hopeful terror in his eyes.

"I wish that I could breathe/So that when you kiss me I would stop," Angel quotes softly. He lets the card fall from his fingers. "That's beautiful."

One corner of Spike's mouth twitches, but the hope doesn't fade from his eyes. "You like Barry Manilow."

"Shhhh." He leans over the other vampire, pinning him back against the couch, and touches his face gently. "Here's the thing about kissing and not breathing, though...the kiss never has to stop."

"Oh," Spike mumbles, staring into his eyes as if hypnotized. "Didn't think of that."

"Let me prove it."

So it's a wonderful life, but being dead isn't ALL bad.