Buffy Summers paused outside the front door of Revello Drive. In the shade of the porch that blocked the late afternoon sun, she took a deep breath and pasted the required smile onto her face. The teen Slayer wasn't exactly sure why she had to fake the grin but she had come to the realization that it was what everyone expected of her. It didn't matter that her boyfriend had was acting strangely lately and causing her all manner of stress. It didn't matter that her mother had only been recently released from the hospital after treatment for a brain tumor. It didn't matter that her younger sister was a magical construct forced upon her by a group of out of touch monks who wouldn't have known a good idea if their life depended on it which unfortunately, it had. Hence the deadness that was the Order. It didn't even matter that the weight of the world had been resting on her thin shoulders for more years than she cared to consider and that she wasn't so sure they were strong enough to take any new burdens. What was important to the people around her was that she appeared to have everything under control thereby avoiding the potential harassment or manipulations of those around her.
Buffy sighed. She normally didn't feel this defeated and it normally wasn't so hard to put on her perky face mask. Unfortunately, her recent life had been filled with more losses and scares than clear cut victories. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She felt lost and scared. In truth, the teen wasn't overly frightened for herself. She had started coming to grips with her own mortality after her first death. Those feelings had only been cemented after her most recent brush with death. She had healed from the stake to the gut but the memory of the momentary slip up had not left her mind. It was a sobering but understandable conclusion. She no longer truly feared her own end. She might not have embraced the death wish Spike had told her that Slayers developed but she had accepted that she would one day lose her battle to stay alive.
Her own mortality aside, these days, most of her fears centered around her immediate family. Her mother's recent brush with cancer had frightened the teen in a manner that even the creepiest demon never could frighten her. Thoughts of the mortality of a loved one were often a sad topic when pursued in a purely academic manner. When a beloved parent or caregiver was actually faced with the very real possibility of natural death, it was so much more than merely sad. It reduced the child, no matter what their age, to the mentality of a scared little kid hiding under the covers and fervently praying for the monster under the bed to find someone else to bother. The Slayer might have been able to slaughter the evil communing with the under the bed dust bunnies but Buffy was another story. She hadn't been able to defeat the specter of death that had been hovering over her mother. No matter how powerful a Slayer, she could not defeat cancer. All she could do was press her hands together and try to hold inside the raging fear. Her mother may have survived her recent brain surgery but Buffy had not survived the emotional destruction it caused. The teen was still trying to find the proper steps to take to heal her ragged soul.
Riley's insecurities and accusations were only making the situation more difficult. It was just another confirmation that the teen was not enough. Not enough to keep him happy. Not enough to keep him satisfied. Not enough to even merit some space to deal with her own issues with her mother. It was uncomfortable at times and made her feel like he thought she was incompetent.
Buffy straightened her lax posture. She forced the corners of her mouth upwards. The teen took one more deep breath and centered her thoughts on only one thing. It was the only positive thought she could currently find and she grabbed it with both hands in a strangle hold of pure stubbornness. Her mother was on the other side of the door and not in a hospital bed. She wasn't hidden behind a metal door at the morgue. She was inside their home doing whatever mom thing her surgeon had approved for her. It was this thought that Buffy used to spark a bit of life into her previously tired and lost eyes.
Buffy found her perky mask and pasted it onto her face with all her strength of will.
With a single nod to herself in self-approval of her acting abilities, Buffy twisted the doorknob and bounced into the house while calling out a greeting to her mom. From her new position in the foyer, the teen heard her mother returning her hello from the back of the house. Following Joyce's voice, Buffy headed to the kitchen where she found her mother sitting at the counter island with a cup of tea and a bunch of papers in front of her.
Joyce offered her daughter a genuine smile of pleasure when she appeared in the doorway.
"No classes this afternoon?" the older Summers woman inquired as she set aside her pen for a moment and turned on the stool slightly to better see her child.
"Class free and hoping for some mom time," Buffy offered in reply because she wasn't about to admit to skipping history class in order to sneak in a visit with her mother. She slipped forward and clasped her mother a quick hug around the shoulders and kissed the side of Joyce's head. She deftly avoided the shaved and bandaged area that her mother had hidden under a scarf.
Her mother beamed with pride and happiness as she moved to stand.
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
Buffy's hand caught her shoulder before Joyce could fully rise from her seat.
"I can get it myself," the teen countered. "You just keep resting."
Joyce chuckled and admitted she had been doing nothing but resting since she got out of the hospital. She teasingly griped that it was getting a bit on her nerves.
Buffy made appropriate noises of sympathy as she went about fixing herself a cup of tea. The water was still hot in the pot and so she just poured it into a mug along with a fruit and spice tea bag. The Slayer shook her head slightly as she realized how her Watcher would cringe at the warm beverage that was masquerading as tea.
"So whatcha doing?" Buffy asked as she plopped into the seat beside her mother and stole a look at the papers strewn over the counter top.
Joyce shifted some of the papers a bit out of the way of her daughter's sloshing drink and shook her head in tolerant amusement. She grabbed a small hand towel from across the counter and used it to dab up the tiny specks of spilled drink.
"Oops, sorry," Buffy muttered which pulled a chuckle from her mother.
"That's okay, Sweetie. A little mess is never too bad a thing. At least you didn't knock a hole in something."
Buffy's fake smile shifted to an embarrassed but more genuine expression. She repeated her earlier question with a nod towards the stationary before she started spooning large quantities of sugar into her cup.
"Currently, I am writing a letter to your Aunt Darlene," Joyce explained.
Buffy paused in her stirring. She frowned in confusion.
"Why wouldn't you just call her? Be a lot quicker."
Joyce chucked.
"True, and I did just talk with her a few days ago when I got back home."
Joyce picked up the cream paper with the tiny leaves imprinted along the margin of one side. She stacked the three pages that already held her fine blue inked script and placed the unfinished forth one on the top of the now neat pile.
"I heard on the radio this morning that it was National Letter Writing Day so I thought it would be a great idea to support the postal service and stationary industry by writing someone," the older woman explained with a flick of her wrist towards the four sealed envelopes resting upright against the tea creamer. Although Buffy could only read the address on the front most missive, Joyce had one addressed to her sister Polly, her ex-husband Hank, her daughter Dawn and her daughter Buffy. They were just waiting for her to place the stamps and set them into the mailbox for pickup.
Buffy smiled when she read Dawn Summers on the top most envelope.
"Isn't it kinda silly to send a letter to your daughter who lives in the same house with you?"
Joyce reached out and tucked a stray bit of blonde hair behind Buffy's ear.
"No stranger than writing one to my daughter who is sitting beside me and drinking a cup of tea flavored sugar."
"Yeah, yeah, find fault with the girl's taste in tea," Buffy complained teasingly before she took another sip of her hot beverage. She scrunched up her nose slightly before adding two more spoonfuls of sugar. This time, she murmured happily when she took another sip. Her mother just shook her head in amazement before asking Buffy about school.
The pair slipped into a comfortable conversation about Buffy's classes and the happenings of the past couple weeks. They skirted around Joyce's health issues and Buffy's slaying in order to avoid any darker topics that might sour the pleasant afternoon. The harshest topic they briefly touched dealt with Buffy's relationship with Riley. The teen assured her mother that everything was find with the couple and that she was sure Riley would be around later to see how Joyce was recovering.
The conversation slowed and finally fell silence after Joyce refilled and finished another cup of tea and Buffy had snagged and devoured an entire bag of corn chips from the cupboard. Buffy noticed that her mom looked exhausted and so she suggested she go grab a short nap before Dawn arrived home from school. Conceding that she was feeling a bit tired, Joyce began to tidy her paperwork but noticed the way her daughter was watching her movements.
"Do you want me to leave you some stationary so you can write your own letter?" her mother asked as she gathered up her completed letters but left the still blank envelopes and stationary.
Buffy ducked her head to hide her longing expression. She didn't really want to write a letter. She wanted the letter her mother had written to her and just spirited away into a large pocket in her cardigan sweater. Even though Buffy had just spent the last hour in her company, the teen wanted the little blue inked words that her mother had shared with the paper. She didn't want to wait for the letter to arrive in the mail to her. She wanted it now.
Hoping to hide her irrational need for the tangible words, Buffy shrugged.
"Yeah, you can leave me some paper. Maybe I will write something while I wait for Dawn to get home from school."
Joyce gently trailed her hand over her daughter's head. Her fingers ghosted lightly through Buffy's hair and the teen reveled in the uncomplicated affection.
"Stay around for dinner?" Joyce coaxed as her hand fell from her child's head.
Not trusting her voice that was suddenly choked with emotion, Buffy nodded.
Her mother patted her on the head one more time then left the room. Buffy followed her progress with her ears as Joyce's footsteps sounded in the hallway, the foyer, the steps and finally into her upstairs bedroom. The Slayer listened for the closing of her mother's bedroom door and then the movement stopped. When no further sounds reached her ears, Buffy glanced about the room and wondered what she could do for the hour and a half before her mystical whirlwind of a teen-aged sister would clamor through the door. She quickly put the tea cups and snack dishes into the dishwasher and wiped the crumbs from the counter.
The teen plopped back onto the stool and contemplated what to do with the remaining hour and twenty-five minutes of time. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled the stationary towards her. She picked up the discarded pen and tapped it against the blank paper. Tiny pinpricks of ink dotted the creamy page as she contemplated who she could write. The teen snorted. Other than the required thank you notes for Christmas and Birthday gifts, she hadn't written a letter in years. She racked her mind trying to remember the last time she actually put pen to paper and wrote a letter. She frowned as she realized that a letter to Santa Claus when she was ten or eleven was probably the last time.
With a shrug, the teen decided that she would just go ahead and write to Santa. It was the season anyway.
An hour and forty minutes later, Buffy scribbled her name on the bottom of her letter just a few moments before the door slammed open and her little sister entered the house with an obviously unneeded scream that she was home. It was clear she had arrived by the slamming of the door and the clatter of her book bag being tossed unceremoniously onto the steps in the exact spot she always tossed it despite the repeated scoldings from their mother about it. It was a trip hazard on the stairs.
Buffy called to her from the kitchen as she folded up her letter and stuffed it into one of the envelopes. She scribbled Santa on the front in almost illegible scrawl. The teen then shoved the entire envelope in her back pocket of her jeans as she demanded to know why Dawn was late.
"God, who died and made you the timekeeper of me. I'm five lousy minutes late cause Janice forgot her notebook and had to go back to her locker for it," Dawn snipped as she made a beeline to the refrigerator and pulled out the quart carton of orange juice. Instead of getting a glass, the younger Summers girl opened the container and started gulping directly from the carton.
"Ugh, must you drink from the carton?" the older girl complained.
Dawn took one more deliberately loud gulp of orange treat before lowering the container and putting it back in the fridge.
"What do you care. Not like you live here anymore. You're not gonna be drinking it."
Before Buffy could rise to the bait and return volley on the impending sibling argument, Joyce entered the kitchen.
"But I will and I have told you over and over again to use a glass," corrected their mother as she brushed past her elder daughter to give Dawn a welcome home hug.
"Buffy was standing in front of the cupboard," Dawn whined in her defense even though Buffy had been nowhere near the cupboard. "I didn't have a choice."
Buffy rolled her eyes and would have denied the accusation but didn't bother when she noticed the indulgent expression on her mother's face. The older teen knew from the look that Joyce didn't believe Dawn but that she was really hoping to avoid a confrontation. The Slayer watched with annoyance and a hint of jealousy as Joyce gave Dawn another hug and tickled her on the belly. When the younger girl squealed in mock annoyance Buffy suppressed a sigh. She didn't ever remember having a playful relationship with her mother and she truly wondered if she had one before the magic mojo that created her sister had messed with all their memories.
Disgusted with the monks who manipulated her family, Buffy's stomach clenched and she suddenly felt the need for some sort of action to release her resurfacing frustration.
"I'm going to go patrol," the Slayer stated as calmly as possible before turning to leave the kitchen. Joyce and Dawn stilled from their silly game of avoid the tickle at the statement.
"But I thought you were staying for supper?" Joyce responded with a hint of disappointment in her voice.
Buffy looked over her shoulder from the entrance to the room.
"It's gonna be dark soon. With it almost being winter and all, the nights are a lot longer. More time for the beasties to come out and cause problems. I'm just gonna head 'em off before they start anything major."
Buffy noticed the concerned expression on her mother face as she asked her about eating.
"Well, we paid for the meal plan at school, seems silly for me not to use it," the older teen replied before turning to go. She took a single step before turning back to the room. Quickly, she crossed to her mother and wrapped her arms around her.
"I'll be back to visit soon, Mom. I love you," she stated before slipping away from the embrace and all but running from the room. Buffy was well out the door before Dawn started babbling about ordering Chinese for dinner since it was just the two of them. Joyce had just nodded distractedly and waved her younger daughter towards the phone.
"Stupid vampires," the Slayer complained as she stomped through her fourth cemetery for the evening. She hadn't found a single undead to beat down and the closest thing to Slayerly action to be found had been accidentally scaring off a poor Krip'na-gak demon who was attempting to clean spray painted graffiti off a vandalized crypt. Buffy hadn't meant to frighten the poor little demon. They were not currently on her slay list after all.
Krip'na-gakus were tiny, timid demons who revered the dead. She discovered a nest of them living in Piney Wood Cemetery just a few weeks before Dracula showed up in Sunnydale. Chances are that the Slayer would have slaughtered the little demons that looked similar to really skinny versions of the Henson goblin puppets in Labyrinth if Xander and Anya had not been with her on patrol. Buffy had startled the harmless things and they had scattered in all directions amid much tinny screaming and crying. Anya had recognized the little creatures for what they were and begged her not to kill them. Buffy had been poised to skewer one on the end of stake when she stilled her hand in response to Anya's loud request.
The ex-demon had immediately set to explaining why the Krip'na-gakus were not something she needed to slay. They were peaceful and beneficial to the area. They preferred to eat dead or decayed plants but would eat sticks and trash debris if it was dropped in what they considered their holy grounds. Since anything related to the dead was holy, the small demons were great caretakers for cemeteries. After a quick glance around the area, Buffy had to admit that she had never seen Piney Wood look so well kept. There was no litter, the grounds appeared freshly mowed and the dead plants were all removed instead of rotting in their planters. They even repaired vandalized tombstones. The Slayer had giggled the first time she saw one of the little guys fitting chipped pieces of old marble back together like a three dimensional puzzle and then gluing them into place with tile adhesive.
As she approached the edge of the graveyard, Buffy found her first bit of action for the night. Two vampires were sharing a midnight snack by the small iron gate at the back of the property. The bloodsuckers had most likely grabbed their meal off the sidewalk and dragged him into the darkness of the cemetery thinking they could feast and scarper without fear of anything finding them. They were wrong.
Without a single word, Buffy stomped across the grass. The idiot vampires were so invested in their quickly fading dinner that they never noticed the Slayer approaching them. The vampire on the right dusted without even realizing what was happening. His companion was a bit more observant. He at least tore his head away from his victim's neck in time to see the approach of the Slayer's stake. Squealing like a terrified child, the vampire flung himself away from the incoming strike. Wood grazed his arm as he fell toward the ground.
"Why bother dodging," Buffy stated in annoyance. "You're just prolonging the inevitable."
The vampire on the ground scrambled backwards like an over-sized crab as he babbled a number of apologies and promises that it would never eat someone again if she would just let him live.
"Now that is just pathetic," the Slayer muttered as she reached out to check on the badly shaken man who was dazedly leaning against the iron fence. His hands had risen to hold the slowly leaking wounds on either side of his neck. The large man started to tumble at the same moment the scuttling vampire decided to stand and flee. Buffy took a moment to let sail the stake in her hand before she attempted to catch the collapsing victim. The wooden projectile slammed directly into her intended target at the same time the falling victim slammed into Buffy. The Slayer stumbled under the suddenly dead weight of the much larger man. The slick grass slipped under the teen's fashionable but poorly treaded boots. With a squeak, the girl landed in the grass with the now unconscious victim on top of her.
"Knew you were desperate for a bit more of a man than you got but didn't think you were resorting to ambushing fellows in cemeteries," a snide voice called from the darkness behind the Slayer.
"And now my night is complete," grumbled Buffy as she shoved the limp body to the side so she could climb back to her feet.
The Slayer sighed as she reached for the unconscious but not dead man.
"Would it be too much to ask for some help?" she complained to the bleached blond vampire who was watching her check the man's pulse. Of course, the Slayer never gave her undead companion a chance to reply. She just continued to fuss as she hefted the large man's body up. She slung his arm over her shoulder and started out of the cemetery.
Spike started forward to offer to help. His boot stomped on paper instead of grass. The crinkle caught his attention for a moment. Stepping back, he reached down and pulled the crumpled envelope from the ground.
"Um, Slayer? You drop this?" he called but immediately realized he was too late. The teen had already rushed from the graveyard in a huff with the injured vampire victim slung over her shoulder. He could still hear her complaints about ungrateful unconscious people and unhelpful wanna-be Big Bads. Spike shrugged and contemplated tossing the envelope back to the ground until he noticed the name scrawled across the front. He smirked as he slipped the missive into his pocket to read later as he took off to follow the Slayer. Within a block, he caught up to her and silently slipped his shoulder under the freely hanging arm of the still out of it man.
Buffy stumbled slightly as the heavy weight suddenly lightened. She craned her neck to the side to see around the victim's hanging head.
"Thanks, Spike," she muttered with a touch of amazement in her voice.
The vampire snorted in response.
"Just don't be expecting me to make a habit of it," Spike replied gruffly although he was secretly touched that the teen had even bothered to thank him. It was surprising.
"I never would," Buffy responded with a roll of her eyes as she turned her attention back to the street and the couple more blocks to go until they reached the hospital. A few steps from the hospital, her vampire companion slipped from under their unconscious burden and retreated. The Slayer staggered under the unexpected weight but didn't drop the victim. Under her breath, she muttered a useless curse at the vampire who abandoned her but then shook her head. She had actually been amazed he helped in the first place. She fleetingly wondered what he had planned since helpful was not a normal word she associated with Spike. At least it wasn't a word for him unless linked with some fairly credible death threats from her.
Dawn was fast approaching when Spike kicked off his boots and flopped onto the ratty chair he scrounged to make his crypt a bit more comfortable. He reached out and dug into the pocket of his black duster that he had slung onto the top of the sarcophagus he was using as an end table. The vampire smirked slightly as he pulled out the wallet he had lifted from the giant git who was stupid enough to get munched by vamps and needed to be saved by the Slayer. He rifled through the contents and pulled out a nice wad of cash. The idiot had obviously recently visited the ATM because there was a stack of nice, crisp twenties stuffed inside the faded leather wallet.
Spike shoved the bills back into his duster while his other hand flipped through the rest of the wallet's contents. A California driver's license with a very unflattering picture, a health insurance card, a bunch of receipts from Burping Bernie's Bar, and an expired library card were tossed towards his trash bin hidden behind his make-shift stone table. For a moment, the vampire stared at the plastic MasterCard that remained. He debated for a second or two before shoving the card into his duster pocket too. He might have a chance to use it before the bloke canceled the account.
While pocketing the card, the vampire's hand brushed against the crumpled envelope from earlier. Spike smiled and extracted the damaged letter simply addressed to Santa. With a deft slide of his finger, he laid open the ruined stationary and pulled free the enclosed slips of paper. It didn't matter that the letter was not addressed to him and he was invading the Slayer's privacy. After all was said and done, he might be chipped and smitten with the Slayer but he still prided himself on his evilness. At least in the broad sense that wouldn't get him staked. Or in the sense that wouldn't hurt Buffy. Spike paused for a moment and frowned as he realized it probably would cheese off the Slayer if she found out he had been reading her mail. For a second, the vampire almost returned the paper to the envelope.
"God, don't be such a ponce," he muttered to himself in annoyance as he reminded himself that he was evil and it wasn't like the Slayer was going to burst in any second and find him reading her silly letter to Santa. Shaking his head, Spike tossed his right leg up over the arm of his chair and settled into place to read the note.
He smiled slightly at the expected opening.
Dear Santa,
Today, my mom suggested that I write a letter to someone and I realized that it has been years since I actually wrote anything beyond a simple thank you note or a quickly scrawled something to let someone know where I was or what I was doing. Or maybe the silly little notes Willow and I used to pass in class. Not sure those count as letters though. Definitely not mail worthy or anything. Strangely enough, I truly think you are the last person I wrote a real honest to goodness letter to.
How sad is that? I mean, my last letter was to someone who is most likely not even real. Well, maybe you are. With my luck, you're actually some evil demon thing with giant tentacles and smelly cloven feet that eats small children who forget to leave you bribes of cookies and milk. Maybe you hang with a bunch of Chaos demons. Their horns would be a great starting point for the whole reindeer pulling the sleigh idea. Sorta might figure that you were demonic instead of saintly. It would allow for one more of my childhood dreams to be crushed in the name of Slayerdom. Somehow that would be fitting, I guess.
Maybe I should ask Anya if you are real. She always seems to know that kinda stuff. Her mind must be a scary place. A thousand years as a demon. Wonder if that gives her some sorta record for being on the naughty list? And if it doesn't, does it at least earn her an honorable mention? Or maybe that isn't the way the naughty or nice list works. Perhaps each person gets a redo each year. Like that Table- Ra-ra thingie Professor Walsh pushed on us during the childhood development section. Like Locke said every kid was born as a blank slate, maybe each year our naughtiness and niceness gets wiped clean. We are born renewed. It would be a nice concept to be forgiven all the bad stuff you did before as long as you were good this year. That seems more fair than everything being biologically preordained. Ready made. Never given a chance to change. Inescapable fate. Prophesied.
God, I hate prophesies.
I really hope you don't buy into the whole unchangeable fate thing. Destiny sucks. I mean, I guess if someone had a destiny to rid the world of hunger, or negotiate peace in the middle east or make a truly comfortable pair of high heeled shoes, it wouldn't be so bad. Unfortunately, the whole Fate thing? Doesn't seem to work for those happy kinda things. It only seems to be the death and destruction stuff. Who wants that kind of life being their only available option? I know I don't. I never did. I want to be able to live my life prophesy free. I might not be able to escape being who I am but it doesn't seem right that who I am wouldn't ultimately mean that I have control over myself. Otherwise, why am I something and someone else isn't? It wouldn't make a difference cause Fate would just make us be the way it wanted us to be regardless of ourselves.
I figure you don't believe in all that inescapable destiny stuff. If you did, why offer presents as an incentive? I mean, why give gifts for being nice if the person didn't actually earn them with their good behavior? If they have no real control over their actions and outcomes then how do they deserve a reward, good or bad? The folks writing the rules and playing puppet masters would be the only real ones with the power. They would be the ones who should get the prezzies for being good then. Or the coal and switches if they were bad. And then, if say you actually do give gifts based on the idea of good and if a person doesn't get a reset, when does their behavior put them on the naughty list? How about it being across a whole lifetime? Would it only work in one direction or can it go both way? Does being bad late in life mean all the good you did when younger is null and void? Would that mean that Spike wouldn't have gotten any gifts from you as a little bitty William? Would being good after being bad have a time frame too? Could Angel get a gift now despite what a horrible ass he was as Angelus? And what about Drusilla? Angel said she was pure before he got his hands on her. Then he made her nuts. Then he made her evil. Do you give special treatment for folks who can't help themselves? I mean, Dru is nutty as a fruitcake so does that give her a real excuse for not being good? It just seems like a poor system if you ask me. Too many variable to consider.
So, I am guessing you work on the what have you done for me lately kinda principle. It makes the most sense. Although, I am not sure why that makes sense. Not much seems to be logical in life anyway. I mean, everywhere around me there are all sorts of things that make no possible sense. My life is just overfilled with the lack-age of logic. My whole existence is just plain dumb. The Chosen One. Why One? Seems pretty idiotic in my book. Lets make one girl, shove a bunch of powers in her and say hey, go save the world from the legions of demonic bad guys. Sounds logical... not.
If you can make one Chosen, why not make an army of them? Armies are not made up of one person. That is not an army. That is a suicide combatant. Like those pilots in World War II. They knew they were gonna die so they threw themselves and their plane at the enemy in hopes of taking out as many opponents as possible. They still died though and lost their plane. Seems like a serious tactical error. I mean, it takes a long time to become a pilot and then you just shrug and go, okay, don't need that resource any more. I can just get a new one. And a new plane. Kinda like with us. Sure, they make a new Slayer each time one dies but then they have to train her all over again. She isn't really ready to take over her duties. It takes a while to get into the groove and really know how to properly get a slay on.
Well, I guess some of them are more ready. I know that the Council finds some of the girls with the potential to be Slayers but obviously they don't find all of them. I know they didn't find me until after the big old gift that really isn't hit me. I know they had their hands on Kendra at the time she was called. I doubt they did the same with Faith. She wouldn't have spent so much time bopping from crap home to crap home if the Council knew to be taking care of her. If you ask me, it just seems like yet another poor system.
Nobody really asked me my opinion though. Not on Slayers at least. If I am perfectly honest with myself, I don't get asked my opinion on much of anything really. I have no say in lots of things. Obviously, I have not say in the global mechanisms. Although, that seems kinda unfair since I seem to be saving the place all the time. Would think that would merit me having a say in something, right? Of course, I don't even really have a say in my own life. How can I expect to have a say in the world?
The lack of control really bothers me sometimes.
My mom is sick. Has been for a while. You probably already know that if you have been watching in your crystal ball thing or magical well or whatever it is that allows you to watch everyone and determine if they are good or bad. Anyway, I don't have any control over mom being sick. I can't fix it. I can't do anything to make it better. I can't beat it up or kill it. I have to rely on the doctors and stuff to do what they can. That and the off chance that some greater power might step in. I wish it would happen but I know it won't. Like I said before. The good stuff? Not so likely as the death and destruction stuff.
I also have the fate of the world looming over me again. Those idiot monks I mentioned previously? Well, they sent me this Key to protect from a really powerful enemy. They expect me to keep her from doing whatever she needs to do with it. Again, if they had asked me, I would have made the Key a wee bit less easy to damage. Possibly sent it to another dimension or something. Something other than what they did cause really, what really happened here... well, it was really just another set of stupid men unable to fight their own battle and forcing it onto some unsuspecting girl. Can we say, stupidity repeats itself?
So anyway, I have to protect it or the world ends. Same old song, different verse. I have that a lot is seems. Same story, different chapters. Or maybe characters. Case in point? Riley. Something is going on with him. He is acting weird. I am not sure what it is but something is off. I mean, I get the whole not liking being a plain old human after having been a supped up version. I really do understand. I hated when Giles stole my powers as my coming of age birthday gift. So wanted to return that one. Anyway, Riley was a real life Captain America guy. Part of the big plans to make super soldiers by the US government. Too bad they were hurting the guys so badly to do it.
Now he is back to what he was before all the drugs and microchips and heart attack inducing what ever. He doesn't like it. I think it is making him feel inferior. At least, I think that is what is going on. I can't really tell. He never tells me. He just sorta shuffles around and makes up ridiculous stuff. Like that I only find guys with superpowers attractive. Which is totally unfair. I have totally seen more normal guys than the supped up versions. Even if I only count the guys I dated since coming to Sunnydale, it still ends up heavy on the average human side. Owen... totally normal if a bit overly fascinated with poetry and death. Cameron... now there was a winner... turned into a fishy monster but was human for the whole thirty seconds I was interested in him and before I broke his nose for being a complete ass. Hmm, Scott... also totally normal and bonus, no evil monster turning afterwords just jerky breaking up-ness. Lets see... guess I could count Tom too... total creepy demon worshiper but still human. Maybe even Ford... childhood crush who seemed interested but it was only because he wanted to feed me to Spike and Dru in exchange for immortality as a vampire. Oh, and can't forget the absolute winner that was Parker. Waste of time and I should have known better but still, human. And of course Riley is a regular guy or at least I thought he was. I thought he was just an average graduate student when I first met him and I still feel for him now that he is no longer Super-Riley.
See, almost all my date-age has been human. I mean, Angel is the only supernatural guy I dated. Granted, he was THE GUY for most of my dating but still. That is only one against all the others. Dracula so totally doesn't count. That was all the thrall. Also, he didn't want to date me. Just drain me and make me his undead wife or something. Oh, and then there's Spike, yeah, we might have been engaged but that was totally a spell so I can't be held accountable for that one either, right?
Oh god... I never actually thought about all the dismal issues I have had dating since I moved to Sunnydale. I hate to admit it, but I think Spike might be right. I have tragic taste in men.
I guess I am just waiting for the fiery end with Riley. I know there is something off but I just can't focus on it now. I have too many other things weighing me down. That seems to be the problem with most of my relationships. I mean, yeah, most of those guys I mentioned aren't really relationships. They were dates. Beside Riley, none of them ended well. I had to slay them or drop them or they dropped me. Well, maybe Spike wasn't so bad. I mean, the spell broke and we were right back where we had been before. All with the snipping and snapping. He didn't feel the need to run off. Guess I have to appreciate that. I can count on Spike to not run off in the face of adversity. I wonder if Riley will be the same? He ran off from the military when he thought it was the right thing to do. The military is a commitment, like a relationship, right? Does that mean he might be more inclined to run away from me and out relationship too?
I am not sure how much more leaving I can handle. It tears at my soul and each one takes another little bit with me when they leave. Even the ones like Parker who never deserved to have any part of me. They still chip a little bit from my whole and leave a little crack or hole in their wake. How long until I am more cracks and holes than person? Will my soul be able to handle if something happens to mom? Or if I can't protect Dawn? Or if whatever is going on with Riley ends in him running away too? How do I cope with more loss when I am already frayed so very ragged?
I sometimes wish that I... hmm, wait, no wishing. Not even sure on paper if it is safe to do it. Anyway, there are times when I long for childhood and the times before I lost so much. When I could dream about things. When a letter to Santa asking for a Polly Pocket Ice Rink was all I had to write. When I still had the hope for a happy ever after with a man that I love and thought joy was the norm and pain was something mom could kiss better after she covered it with a band-aid. I miss those times. I miss that life. I miss being able to dream about something other than blood and dust and death. I miss having a dream that is mine and mine alone.
I miss being me.
The me that had importance for who I am not just what I am.
The me who dreamed and hoped as well as protected.
The me who knew how to live and love.
I am lost and I don't think I can find myself again.
I miss me.
And I seem to have missed the point of writing this letter. I am sorry for rambling so very much. I actually intended this to be the normal type of letter to Santa. All about the stuff I wanted and so on. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to say so much other stuff but it just sorta happened that way. Guess I needed to say it to someone and you seem like a safe enough outlet. Anyway, Dawn will be home from school soon so I will need to go. Duty calls. I have to answer. It is what I do.
Thank you, Santa.
Oh, and I hope you are real but not some creepy demon. I would hate to have to slay you.
Love, Buffy
Spike lowered the letter and stared at the wall for a couple minutes. He lifted the letter and read it again. The vampire shook his head and folded the stationary carefully and placed it back into the matching envelope. With a sigh, the bleached blond shuffled across the crypt and dropped into the darkened cavern where he normally slept and kept his personal things. He held the letter up in the dim light one last time before shaking his head once more.
"Oh Slayer," he muttered with concern evident in his voice as he tucked the telling letter into one of the books he had stuck in a stack beside his bed. Silently, the vampire feared the eminent arrival of One Good Day and wondered how he could prevent it.
Christmas at Revello Drive had been boisterous with good cheer this year. The fancy dishes had made it through the meal without a single shatter. No demons invaded between courses to steal the spiked egg nog. Tara felt comfortable enough to participate in the conversations. Despite being Jewish, Willow hadn't rallied against any of the Christian holiday traditions. Anya had not over-shared any stories about her and Xander's sex life. Xander had consumed the slightly smashed and burnt pumpkin pie with relish. Even passed off as Cajun style, it was better than anything his mom normally baked and bonus for him that the day had no arguing with his father. Giles and Joyce had enjoyed a couple bottles of wine and Dawn hadn't driven Buffy insane with annoying little sister antics.
Everyone was now settled in the living room while a VHS tape of A Charlie Brown Christmas played on the television. Everyone had clapped and cheered for Xander and his Snoopy dance. There had been much giggling when he had tried to teach Dawn and Anya how to do it too. Buffy had withdrawn slightly from the cluster of her friends and family and was leaning against the wall beside the tree. She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned her head back against the wall for a moment and took a deep breath. She slid slowly down to sit at the foot of the tree. Shifting her attention from the happy holiday antics in the room, she opened her eyes slightly and turned her gaze to the lit tree. With her eyes barely open, the lights held a blurry quantity that suited the Slayers muted feelings. They were almost hypnotizing and a measure of peace washed over the young woman as she sat there staring at the glow.
Buffy's brow crinkled slightly. Something caught her attention in the tree. The cut pine was decorated with family ornaments that she always recognized and fought with Dawn to place in just the right positions. She moved from her sitting position to her knees and reached towards the tree. From deep in the branches, she pulled a wrapped package. She tilted her head slightly as she stared at the simply wrapped gift.
"Whatcha got?" Dawn demanded as she abandoned the television program and bounced over to her preoccupied sister. The younger Summers noticed the present in Buffy's hand.
"I thought we opened all the presents," Dawn stated as she bent her head over the package to see if it was for her. When she read that the tag said Buffy on it, she shrugged and lost interest. If it wasn't for her, the teen didn't care about another gift.
"Guess not," her older sister replied as she carried the small gift towards the group who were still watching the disaster that was Charlie Brown attempting to direct a Christmas pageant. The Slayer lowered herself onto the floor beside the corner of the couch where her mother was resting. Buffy fit comfortably in the space beside her mother's legs and Giles' feet since he was sitting in the chair catty-corner to the couch.
"We missed a present?" Joyce asked her daughter when she noticed Buffy holding the small gift in her hands.
"Yeah, it was tucked back inside the branches about halfway up the tree," her daughter explained.
Giles chuckled.
"Ah, that was where my grandmother always put our gifts," he offered in amusement as he was reminded of the long forgotten childhood memory.
"Why would she do that?" Buffy asked as her fingers tugged at the little silver tag that simply read her name in elegant scroll.
"Just a stolen British tradition," Giles explained before taking a sip of his dark red wine. "I believe it started with Queen Victoria after she married Albert. It had been something they did in Germany and Victoria adopted the concept for her own children. Of course, it then became quite popular with the masses as a result."
Buffy lowered her head to look at the present. She had a pretty good idea who hid the gift in the tree once Giles mentioned the tradition. It wasn't like she had a large number of Victorian Era British acquaintances. The Slayer was so distracted by the thought of the gift giver that she never noticed that someone paused the Christmas program so they could all watch her open the unexpected gift. Her stomach tightened slightly as she gently pulled the curling red ribbon that was tied in a bow and circling the simple green paper. Pulling free the package from the ribbon, the teen slid her finger along the tape holding the strangely shaped gift inside its wrapper. The paper fell away and Buffy was left with a small, pocket sized bit of plastic with an even tinier card taped to the top. There was also an obviously used and poorly folded up map of Sunnydale.
Buffy unfolded the map of her hometown. Her eyes scanned the wrinkled page. The gift sender had taken a big black marker and scribbled little notes all over the town. At the top were the printed words "So you are never truly lost". Some of the notes were just silly little pictures like the coffee mug scribbled over the Expresso Pump. Others were more meaningful. Where the school used to stand, a fanged mouth had been drawn. A big star had been drawn over the spot where her dorm was but a large sun complete with smiling face had been marked over her home on Revello Drive. Giles' home, the magic shoppe, Xander's apartment, the Bronze and Willy's likewise sported little black sketches. There was even a tiny star over Sunnydale Cemetery that read Home of the Big Bad. Buffy shook her head before setting aside the silly map and turned to the bit of plastic and the card.
Flicking her left hand over the clasp at the front of the plastic container that looked like a large make-up compact, Buffy opened the lid of the little toy. She just stared at the tiny miniature doll scene. With her left hand, she lifted one of the two tiny figures from where it lay along the edge and set it on the little play skating rink.
"Oh my god!" Squealed Dawn as she grabbed for the tiny toy. "That's a Polly Pocket."
With her Slayer reflexes, Buffy had no trouble keeping her sister from snatching the silly little doll play set. She shifted the toy away from Dawn and scowled at her.
"Yeah... it's like the Polly Pocket Ice Rink and Mall that I got from Santa and you broke within three minutes of me opening it. Keep your mitts off it," Buffy stated as she almost reverently lifted the tiny plastic figure from the ice rink and laid her back in the free spot beside the tiny table. She gently closed the lid and pulled free the folded index card taped to the top. Once again, she frowned slightly as she read the note.
"What's it say, dear?" her mother prompted with genuine curiosity. The oldest Summers also had a good idea of who had left her daughter the gift and wondered if the note would confirm her suspicion.
"It's a poem," Buffy explained softly before reading the words aloud. "Hold fast to dreams/ For if dreams die/ Life is a broken-winged bird/ That cannot fly./ Hold fast to dreams/ For when dreams go/ Life is a barren field/ Frozen with snow. It says it is by Langston Hughes."
"Hey, didn't we read some of his stuff in high school?" Xander offered with a look of deep concentration on his face.
"Yup," Willow replied proudly as she patted his knee. "Junior year with Ms. Beakman."
Collectively, the graduates of Sunnydale High School shivered at the thought of the strict English teacher who had regularly threatened to fail at least two of the three Scoobies.
"Miserable woman," Giles muttered into his almost empty glass of wine.
Dawn reached for the note and snagged it from her sister while she was distracted by the thought of one of her dreaded high school teachers. The younger girl stared at the card for a moment before tossing it back to her sister.
"It doesn't say who it is from," Dawn whined at her sister as if it was her fault that the note had been unsigned.
"Must be from Santa," Buffy replied as she gathered the gifts, the paper, ribbon and the handwritten note into a small pile. She stood and moved towards the foyer while her friends speculated on who had left the gift. Anya was particularly bothered by the thought that Santa had been the one to leave the gift and Xander had to offer her a hug to comfort her.
"Hey! Where ya going?" called Dawn as she noticed her sister's retreat. "We need to finish watching Charlie Brown."
Buffy offered everyone a soft smile that she knew would reassure them.
"You go ahead. It's not like we don't all know how it ends. I'm just going to put this stuff away."
As Buffy headed up the steps towards her room, she heard someone restart the tape and Linus' childish voice covered the sound of her retreating footsteps. She sighed in relief that she was able to escape without much fuss. Once she got to her room, Buffy carefully placed the note, the map and even the tag with her name on it in the drawer beside her bed. For a long moment, she just stared at the miniature doll set. Closing her hand gently over the gift, she turned and headed for the window. She shifted it open and slid silently onto the roof. With her toy still grasped protectively in her hand, the Slayer made her way to the ground following the route that she often took to escape in the first couple years living there. She had only taken a few steps across the grass when she suddenly turned and headed towards the shadows of a large tree instead of the sidewalk. She stopped and crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
"Not much call for a patrol tonight, Slayer," Spike commented as he stepped from the darkest shadow.
"Not planning to patrol until later," she replied. "After everyone goes home."
Spike nodded in understanding but offered no comment. Silence stretched between the two like a tangible band that threatened to snap at any moment and sting whoever spoke first. Finally, Buffy braved the quiet.
"You know it's illegal to steal someones mail."
Spike grinned.
"Well, I am evil."
Buffy shook her head and uncrossed her arms. She lifted the little plastic toy to show him that she was holding it. She flicked open the top and pulled free the little blond doll in her tiny blue skating skirt and blouse. Buffy set the doll on the ice rink and deftly twisted the table that allowed the sparkling ice rink to circle and make Polly appear to move across the ice.
"When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a professional ice skater," Buffy admitted into the darkness.
Spike's grin shifted to a softer smile.
"That's a right proper dream for a little girl," he replied as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his duster and swayed slightly at the knees. "Bet you looked cute in your little skirts and sequins."
Buffy smiled back and nodded.
"I did," she admitted before her smile faded and a sigh escaped her lips. She twisted the table one last time before snagging the skating doll from the plastic ice. After putting the doll back in her place, Buffy snapped the compact closed.
"I'll never skate in the Ice Capades," Buffy whispered without a hint of emotion in her suddenly flat tone.
"Nothing wrong with changing your dream, Slayer," Spike countered. "Ice dancing is a dream for a little girl. You're a might bit more mature than that now. You need to find yourself a good grown up dream."
Buffy considered the vampire's words but somehow doubted she had the heart to find a new one. She already felt like Langston's barren field. Unwilling to admit the weakness though, she did what she had been doing for years when she was scared or worried. She covered.
"You wanna come in for some rummy nog?" she offered with a welcoming smile.
Spike's eyes narrowed at the obviously fake smile. Unlike her other friends and family, he always watched her so closely that he recognized the act for what it was. He sadly shook his head.
"Don't wanna cause a disruption to the festivities," he countered. The vampire correctly knew that if he appeared that there would be a fuss. He didn't want to mess up the Slayer or her family's holiday. He wouldn't mind upsetting the whole lot of her friends but the Summers women were another matter entirely.
Aware of the same fact, the Slayer did not press her invitation. Instead, she offered her undead companion a final smile.
"Thank you, Santa," she murmured softly as she took a single step backwards and out of the dim shadow of the tree. "I really did love the prezzies."
Spike watched Buffy take two more steps backwards.
"Find a new dream, Slayer," he stressed with only a hint of the desperation he had been feeling in the weeks since he read her letter to Santa.
Buffy nodded once and then turned to trudge up the steps to the porch.
"Merry Christmas, Spike," the girl murmured into the darkness as she straightened her shoulders and pasted the required smile back on her face. She pulled open the door and stepped into the light and noise. She flinched just slightly as the empty feeling of being alone in a crowd curled into its normal residence in her heart.
"Happy Christmas, Pet," the vampire replied into the darkness as his shoulders lowered in sadness and concern. He had hoped the gift would help but he doubted it did much good. He melted into the darkness. He sighed lustily as the empty feeling of being truly alone pricked at his unbeating heart.