On the first hour of Christmas, Giles told Spike rather politely,
“I’m having a guest. Would you please kindly leave?”
On the second hour of Christmas, Xander and Anya barred entry.
“Casa Harris is closed. This isn’t a charity.”
On the third hour of Christmas, Willow and Tara were about to leave.
“But if you want to stay here in the dorm, feel free.”
On the fourth hour of Christmas, Spike met friends of Riley.
“Hostile 17! Get that escapee!”
On the fifth hour of Christmas, Spike hid in Restfield cemetery.
“Bloody initiative pricks. Can’t believe they made me flee.”
On the sixth hour of Christmas, Spike skulked over to Willy’s.
“Don’t say a word. Gimme that bottle of Wild Turkey.”
On the seventh hour of Christmas, a sloshed Spike spouted poetry.
“The lights, how they shine, on the clinquant Christmas tree.”
On the eighth hour of Christmas, Spike staggered back to the dormitory.
“At least it’s a place to stay. Too bad there’s no TV.”
On the ninth hour of Christmas, Buffy stared with incredulity.
“Why are you here? And what did you do to that potpourri?”
On the tenth hour of Christmas, Spike admitted soberly,
“I’m all alone on Christmas. I’m wallowing in lavender-scented misery.”
On the eleventh hour of Christmas, Buffy grumbled irritably,
“Fine. You can come over for Christmas. But I still have Mr. Pointy.”
On the twelfth hour of Christmas, Spike jumped up with glee.
“I would love to spend Christmas with you, my favorite enemy.”
End