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Disclaimer: They’re not mine!
Author's Notes: Basic Christmas fic. I can’t believe I’m done two weeks early! *gasp* Which might just possibly give me enough time for re-writes… Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and Happy Winter Solstice! And happy all the other holidays too! Or no holidays, if you don’t celebrate anyway…and I’m gonna shut up now…
Spoilers: "Amends", Season 5 of Buffy, through "Listening to Fear" and Season 2 of Angel, through "The Trial"
It wasn’t snowing. It wasn’t even cold. And there wasn’t going to be a Christmas miracle this year. Not for Buffy Summers, who held the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. Not for her mother, who wasn’t allowed to get off the couch. Not for her sister, who wasn’t her sister at all. It wasn’t snowing, and Buffy knew it wouldn’t make a difference if it did. Some things even a miracle couldn’t help.
"Can I put the angel on this year?" Dawn asked, hanging a golden glass ball up on the Christmas tree.
"How about the star?" Buffy suggested quickly, the word ‘angel’ bringing unwanted memories. Riley had gone home for Christmas. And he hadn’t called since he left a week ago. It was over, Buffy knew that as much as she knew the next day was Christmas. And it brought about the same emotions: next to none. No misery because he was gone. No joy and cheer that it was Christmas.
What Buffy felt mostly on that Christmas Eve, was the complete nothingness of despair.
"But we always do the st—" Dawn began, and cut off at a look from Buffy. "Okay…Star it is…"
Buffy turned back to the tree, picking another glass ball from the box and hanging it on one of the branches. Though she generally loved Christmas, this year she felt like she was just going through the motions. She’d taken Dawn to get a tree, she and Xander had put up Christmas lights outside the house. She’d gotten presents for everyone, and shopped for stockings. And she was forgoing patrolling on Christmas Eve to decorate their tree. But she wasn’t doing any of it because she wanted to, or because she felt like it…she was doing it because there was nothing else to do. Because Joyce needed to feel like her daughters’ lives were still normal. Because everyone thought Christmas would distract Dawn.
Why couldn’t it distract her?
"Remember the year we didn’t have time to decorate the tree?" Dawn asked. A smile tugged at the edges of Buffy’s mouth.
"Yeah…We were waiting for Dad, but he got caught in Chicago…" she recalled.
"And Dawn cried for an hour because we didn’t have any ornaments on the Christmas tree, and she thought Santa wouldn’t come," Joyce finished, laughing softly.
"But Santa did come," Buffy murmured.
"And he decorated the tree all by himself!" Dawn exclaimed, the glint in her eyes indicating she knew the truth. Joyce’s eyes were bright with joy at the memory, and for a moment Buffy felt warm, touched by the magical memory of waking up that morning so long ago.
"Remember the year we went to Hawaii?" Joyce asked.
"It was awful!" Dawn recalled, wrinkling her nose.
"It was *gorgeous*!" Buffy replied, grabbing a piece of popcorn left over from stringing and throwing it at her little sister. Dawn ducked, laughing. "But *you* complained the entire time, you little monster!"
"It was horrific," Joyce laughed. "There wasn’t a moment of peace. ‘This isn’t Christmas!’ ‘I want a tree!’"
"And then you stole my sunscreen, and I got a sunburn and couldn’t go out in public for days!" Buffy exclaimed, mock-furious, laughing. She’d been so angry, she’d tried to drown Dawn in the snorkeling lagoon before Joyce had stopped her. Dawn laughed triumphantly at the memory.
"You looked like a racoon!" she recalled with glee. Buffy threw more popcorn at her, which she ducked and ran to hide behind Joyce on the couch.
"And then there was the mountain trip. You two wanted a white Christmas *so* much, and you begged for months…"
"And it was perfect!" Buffy replied. Joyce’s eyebrows shot up.
"Perfect, if you call sitting in a little cabin for a week with the two of you bickering ‘perfect’!"
"We didn’t bicker!" Dawn exclaimed, then exchanged a glance with Buffy. "Much." The two began to giggle, and Joyce joined in.
And then, all of a sudden, Buffy thought, < That never happened. We didn’t bicker, because Dawn wasn’t there. And she wasn’t in Hawaii either. And she never cried about the Christmas tree. Because she’s not really alive and she isn’t really my sister. >
It was like all the air suddenly left the room. Dawn and Joyce were still laughing, but Buffy felt removed, silent, muffled, as if she was in another dimension, one in which she could not breath.
"I-I have to get some air," she gasped, and saw their expressions turn puzzled, then worried. But she didn’t hear them call out to her to stop, she’d already grabbed her jacket and ran out the door, into the warm night air where she stood gasping as if for dear life (though at that moment, she didn’t hold life very dear). And then, because she knew they’d be coming after her, she started running down the street, away, away from all the Christmases that never really happened.
The streets were empty; apparently, even vampires had a home to go to. Buffy longed to kill something, just to have something to do. Something she *could* do. There was so much now she couldn’t. So much she could never do.
Like help her mother. Like make her sister a real person. Like look Dawn in the eyes and forget for even a moment that she wasn’t real.
Like be happy on Christmas.
What was Christmas anyway? Some stupid holiday celebrating the birth of a guy that had died two thousand years before, and who didn’t even do anything. Not really. Jesus Christ, the savior. Hah. Could he save her mother’s life? Was he the one protecting Dawn? Walking the streets every night, risking his life to keep people safe and innocent, happy in their warm, beautiful homes with their pretty, neat lives?
No, that was Buffy. The Slayer. And did anyone celebrate her birthday?
Christianity had never been a big factor in her life. Christmas had been about family, and tradition. But now none of the traditions were real anymore, and most of the family wasn’t either. And Buffy couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t sit there and smile and pretend like everything was okay, like presents and mistletoe and Santa Claus actually meant anything. The truth was they didn’t. They didn’t mean anything at all. The only thing that meant anything was that she was alone, and that there wasn’t going to be a miracle this year, as much as she needed it. Miracles were once-in-a-lifetime, and besides, the last one hadn’t been for her, it had been for Angel. Who was now in LA, doing what? It didn’t matter. He was alive. And so was Buffy. And she didn’t even know if that was a good thing anymore.
Maybe Spike was right. Maybe she did have a death wish. And maybe the next vampire she saw, she wouldn’t fight that hard. She wouldn’t be as fast as she could be. Maybe she would die. And maybe that’s what she wanted.
"Merry Christmas," Buffy whispered to herself, and was surprised to find she had tears running down her cheeks.
There was music from down the street, and Buffy found herself drawn towards it against her will. It was, she discovered, from a church. There was a choir inside, singing Christmas hymns. She stood on the threshold, and remembered how her mother had always loved Christmas carols, and wondered if she would live to sing them again. And then Buffy walked inside.
There weren’t many people there. The church was largely empty, the pews mostly deserted. There were far more people in the choir than in the rest of the church combined. But those that were there…they looked so happy. So…peaceful. And because Buffy wanted to look like that, she sat down, and listened.
They were singing "Joy to the World" and it only made Buffy cry harder. Joy to the world, the lord is come, let Earth receive her king, let every heart prepare him room and heaven and nature sing and heaven and nature sing. But she didn’t feel like singing, and she didn’t feel joy. What she felt, mostly, was cold.
Riley had left her. And it wasn’t his fault, it was hers. She couldn’t open up to him. She couldn’t be weak in front of him. And he needed her to be weak in front of him, as much as she needed it. But she couldn’t, and he couldn’t accept a relationship without…what? Trust? Honesty? Mutual weakness? Whatever it was, she hadn’t been able to give it, and he was gone. And it hurt more than she hadn’t been able to open up than that he was gone. She hadn’t loved him. She’d loved the idea of someone loving her.
And heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing.
And then there was her mother. A quiet sob ripped through Buffy at the thought and her fingers closed around the pew in front of her, gripping hard. No one even turned to look—the few people in the church were engrossed in the music. They’d started to sing "I Wonder as I Wander"…how Jesus the savior did come here to die, for ornery people like you and like me…
Did he die for them? Did he really? Because it hadn’t helped her mother. It hadn’t helped her at all.
Buffy had done so much. She’d fought. She’d saved the world. She’d died. And she couldn’t have this one thing. This one life, for all the ones she’d saved. She would give them all back if her mother would only live. That was her prayer. That was her Christmas prayer this year. < Take them all back God. Take me back. Just give my mother another chance… >
Except she wasn’t really sure she believed in God. Not after everything that had happened. If there was really a God, why did the Dark keep coming? Why did they keep winning?
Silent night. Holy night. All is calm, all is bright.
But nothing was calm. Nothing was bright. Not for Buffy.
What she felt, more than anything, was cold. And it wasn’t even snowing this year.
Silent night. Holy night. Sheperds quake at the sight. Glories stream from heaven afar. Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia.
Which was when Buffy realized that not everyone in the church was watching the choir. One man, a hundred feet away, was sitting quietly in a pew and watching her.
And on that Christmas Eve, Buffy found an unexpected Angel.
She stared at him, hardly able to believe that he was really there, and he stared back, his eyes dark, looking just the same as always. As the choir began to sing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" she stood up, very slowly, never taking her eyes from him, and turned, finally looking away, walking slowly down the aisle, out of the chapel, into the lobby. He caught up with her as she reached the front doors. She could feel his presence behind her as she paused, one hand on the door.
"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked.
"Merry Christmas," he said, not a reply, just a wish. She supressed a bitter laugh.
"Thanks. Now tell me what’s going on." She started as his arm appeared in the corner of her eye, but he was only opening the door, walking out into the night air. She followed, fixing her eyes on the back of his leather jacket.
"I came to give you a warning," Angel admitted, turning to look at her. Unable to stare at his back, she let her gaze drift over her clothing. Black, of course. He hadn’t changed much. Had she? She didn’t let herself think abut his words. About his warning. She couldn’t take anything else right now. If she thought about it … she would scream. Or collapse. Something. "Drusilla’s back," he said, and Buffy caught her breath, concentrating on not thinking about what that meant. There was a pause, a hesitancy, as if he meant to say more but couldn’t. "And Darla."
Buffy’s eyes snapped upward despite herself. "What?!" she demanded.
"Some of my enemies brought her back," Angel explained. "As a human. But Drusilla…vamped her." There was a lot of pain in his voice, not evident to most people but…Buffy could tell. She tried not to think about that either. "I don’t think they’ll come here. They’re after me. I just…thought you deserved a head-ups."
"Like I didn’t give you one with Faith?" Buffy asked, the blame in her voice directed at herself. He didn’t say a word, but her lips twisted into a bitter smile anyway. "Thanks. You could have told me over the phone. You said you’d call next time…"
"I know," Angel replied softly. He didn’t offer an explanation, not at first. Which was probably good, because Buffy wasn’t really sure if either of them could deal with the explanation just then. "How are you?"
Buffy swallowed, hard. She could be strong around a lot of people. She was getting very good at lying. But when Angel asked her in that tone of voice… "Not good," she whispered, desperately grasping for self-control.
And then he was there, inches away, lifting her chin with one of his fingers. "What’s wrong?"
"Do you know who Dawn is?" Buffy asked. A puzzled frown crossed Angel’s face.
"Of course."
"Really? Because I don’t," Buffy whispered, her eyes filling with tears, gleaming brightly in the starlight. "More accurately, I don’t know *what* she is. Angel, she’s not really my sister. She’s…she’s this thing, made of energy. She was sent to me, to keep her safe, but I can’t keep anyone safe. And I love her, she’s my sister, but she *isn’t*. And nothing I know, none of my memories are real! Nothing I know is real! And I can’t tell anyone…I haven’t even told Xander and Willow! And Dawn…if she ever found out, she would be…crushed. Dead. She *is* real, but she isn’t, and I don’t know what to do!"
Angel was silent for a long moment, processing all this new information. "Buffy, I know my memories have been warped too, but… she is your sister Buffy. In all the ways that matter. Maybe before she was sent to you you had other memories, but now…the ones you have are real. Reality is what’s in your heart."
"That’s not all," Buffy said, unable to help herself, unable to be comforted even a little. He gave her a querying look. "My mother’s dying."
Silence again. < Silent night, holy night… > whispered Buffy’s mind.
"I’m so sorry," Angel said finally, "Where is she?"
"At home," Buffy replied, surprised at the question. And then Angel looked at the church and Buffy understood what he was getting at. "I had to get away," she said defensively, knowing the excuse was terrible.
"What if this is her last Christmas?" Angel asked. "Are you going to spend it in a strange church, alone, crying?"
He’d seen that?
"Why not?" Buffy countered. "Christmas doesn’t mean anything."
"You used to think it did."
"Yeah, well that was a long time ago. Besides, there was a miracle. I don’t see any miracles now."
"They don’t come on cue Buffy," Angel chided gently.
"They did for you."
That was completely unfair, and she knew it. He’d spent three hundred years in Hell before that miracle came.
"I’m sorry," she whispered. He shook his head.
"It doesn’t matter. But you should be home Buffy. With your family."
"What family?" Buffy demanded bitterly. "A sister that isn’t really and a mother that is so desperate to pretend everything’s okay she won’t even say—" She broke off, unable to go on. "What is Christmas anyway? It’s nothing. The birthday of some guy that did nothing for me, ever."
"That’s not what Christmas is, and you know it," Angel replied mildly.
"Then what is it Angel? Huh? Tell me what it is!" Buffy exclaimed. "Is it the day we all buy each other presents and pretend everything is great even when it’s terrible, because look, we have stockings and tree in our living room! Is it the anniversary of when you were saved, of the day the ‘Powers’ decided ‘hey, let’s make it snow. It’ll be pretty *and* save Angel!’ Is it the day God came into our lives? Because there’s no God in my life! You know the only power I’ve ever seen? The dark ones. There’s so much pain in this world, so much suffering and so much terror! And where’s the joy? Where’s the love? I think God’s dead Angel. Because everything that’s supposed to be good in this world is leaving. It’s dying Angel! And I want to die! I don’t want to live in this world anymore!"
Had she just said that? Had she just… by the look on Angel’s face, the answer was yes. She had. And it was even true.
"Christmas is when the light starts coming back," Angel said quietly, ignoring her cry, ignoring her bitter outburst.
Buffy stopped, and angrily dashed away the tears on her cheeks. "What light?"
"The light inside of you," Angel replied, putting a hand on her heart. A sob ripped through Buffy, because she knew he was wrong, and there wasn’t anything good inside her. She was what Dracula had said; and Spike; she was darkness, and she was going to die. Slowly, his arms slid around her and for the first time in… how long had it been now? Months? Years?… Buffy let someone held her while she cried. So she wasn’t entirely alone. Just mostly.
"What do you mean the light comes back?" she asked finally, when she was coherent again.
"Christmas is the Christian version of the Birth of Light. The Wiccans call is the Winter Solstice. Jews call it Hannukah. This is the darkest time of year, with the longest nights. The birth of Christ is the birth of light back into the world. From now on, the nights will get shorter, and the light will get brighter."
"Promise?" Buffy whispered.
"I promise…And Buffy, there is more. There is good up there. It doesn’t seem like it sometimes…a lot of the time, I know. Sometimes everything turns against you, as if the only thing in the world is darkness, and Evil is all that’s left. But it isn’t. I promise it isn’t."
"How do you know?" Buffy appealed.
"Because you’re here. And all those people inside are singing. And all around this town children are hanging up stockings and families are opening presents and laughing and eating and reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.’ And you have two people waiting for you at home that love you more than the world. That’s good Buffy. That means there is… something good out there."
Buffy nodded, still unsteady, still not sure if she believed. But it was nice to hear anyway. Nice to know that someone believed. And if anyone had reason not to…it was probably Angel.
"I should probably go home," she said after a long moment. Angel nodded, and released her arm, the only part of her he was still touching. Buffy looked up at him for a long time, remembering how he had looked two years before when the first snowflake had fallen in Sunnydale. How he had looked when he walked away from her after her graduation. How he had looked when he spoke of Darla being turned. And how he had looked when he spoke of a home, and a family.
"Come with me?" she asked, extending her hand to him. Slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe it, Angel placed his hand in hers. She threaded her fingers through his and began to walk through that long, dark, quiet night, and he followed at her side.
Dawn ran outside when she saw them coming, and flung her arms around Buffy, and grinned at Angel and told him she was making Christmas cookies. Joyce looked faint with relief when Buffy came in, and even welcomed Angel with a sincere smile. Giles and Xander appeared later, and looked surprised but not unhappy to see Angel. Buffy frosted cookies and opened presents and laughed and threw popcorn. Xander did the Snoopy Dance (which Willow appeared in time to see) and Giles read Dawn "Twas the Night Before Christmas" before she was sent up to bed. Buffy and Angel filled stockings in the dark, and bonked heads more times than was strictly necessary. When Dawn snuck down the stairs in the pre-dawn light, the first thing she saw was two heads, one blond and one dark, on the couch, and then closed eyes, gently threaded fingers and small, dreaming smiles. She grinned and snuck back up the stairs.
It wasn’t snowing in Sunnydale that Christmas morning. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t any miracles.