Miles To Go
by Shuvcat (c) 2000
Well, gosh. I wasn't going to post this Christmas story at all, but Alan liked it so much... what's it about? Um, Faith. On Christmas. During Season 4. Read the book.....
Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, and the WB own the characters from the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If I owed them, the show would have a very different title indeed. >:)
Faith stared at her tiny, stubby fingers clutching the present. To Faith? From Buffy? She looked up. The girl sitting across from her could not be more than seven years old. Her golden hair was feathery, hanging in babyish tendrils around her heart-shaped, baby-cheeked face. Her green eyes sparkled happily in the firelight. She looked like a cherub, like those paintings of the angel with the guitar. Her sister? Faith looked down at her own self. Her chest was completely gone. Her skinny, knob kneed legs stuck out from the ruffly edge of the slightly stiff nightshirt, her toes wiggled. They were sitting on a large Oriental rug, with the bizarre design woven in. The rug, she knew without knowing how, had cost nearly a thousand dollars. "I dare you to open it early," said Buffy with a seven year old grin. Her teeth were crooked. Well, they would be. She hadn't had braces, she'd told Faith that she didn't get them till she was ten. Joyce had held out on getting them till later because.... Braces? Joyce? Faith frowned. Nothing seemed right....she looked around at the room for clues. The candles on the tree.... who put real candles on their tree? People hadn't done that since like Ebenezer Scrooge's time. There were funny-looking decorations draped on the rich furnishings of the room. Everything was made of cloth, there wasn't a strand of tinsel or a plastic ornament to be found. Popcorn -- real popcorn, not the fake stuff -- was strung around the large tree, in addition to the string they were in the middle of making. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, hanging nearby was a calendar which read -- Faith stared. "What the hell--?!" Buffy gasped. She looked at the tiny blonde kid, who was staring back at her, tiny mouth open in an O. "Faith!" the girl admonished. Faith was filled with a dim sense of dread. Buffy was upset....Buffy was angry.... "B, what's going on?" she asked. "The calendar.... it's like, 1907??" It was the wrong year. Even Faith knew that. She was from the era of Playstations and microwaves and MTV and.... she was seven years old, and she didn't have any breasts, and B had somehow been turned into a kid. Somehow....they had to get Giles, he would know what to do... Faith frowned at the idea of the Watcher...him and the other British guy, what was his name.... no, she didn't want to see either one of them. They were angry at her-- Her thoughts were coming in and out, running into each other, going head to head with this other stuff. She knew stuff without knowing how she knew it; she knew the Christmas tree had been cut from a forest outside Sunnydale, remembered bringing it home on a carriage, singing Christmas carols on a dark, cold night. She remembered growing up in this house with her sister, the pair of them playing with dolls and pulling taffy and Slaying and going to homecoming together.... no, they hadn't gone to homecoming yet, they'd been confirmed together though, she remembered seeing B in the white dress with the baby's breath....no, she didn't. How could she? That had never.... "Faith..." Buffy, or the seven year old version of her, leaned close, her voice dropped to a stage whisper. "...Santa won't bring you anything if he hears you talk like that!" Faith was unreasonably nervous. She didn't want to get Buffy angry. Whatever weird stuff was going down here... "I'm sorry," she whispered back. She didn't understand what was going on. She remembered Buffy...Giles....the kid with the fangs? "B...uffy," she whispered, again, "....where are we?" Buffy gave her a duh look. "At home, you goose!" "No--" she shook her head, and noticed for the first time how thin and light her own brown hair was. She reached up a hand and felt the bows tied in her hair, and wondered where the closest mirror was. "--I mean...do you remember anything? What day is this?" "Tuesday," answered Buffy. Faith shook her head. It was hard to think. "The date. What date?" Buffy looked like she was getting worried. "The 24th," she said slowly. "Christmas Eve, Faith. Why are you being so funny all of a sudden?" Faith couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. Besides the obvious weird-ass surroundings, the fact that they'd been dropped into the Little House Christmas Special, besides the fact that Buffy was ten...eleven years younger than she should have been... Faith was almost afraid of this tiny blonde girl, and she didn't know why. Why should she be afraid of a little kid? Her Slayer powers hadn't been activated yet...and Faith pushed aside the question of what the hell Slayer powers were. "Buffy, do you remember--" "Faith!" A new voice cut through the large room. "Buffy! Set the table, dears, dinner's almost ready!" Faith turned from the incredibly confusing situation to see a stranger had entered the room. The woman was dressed in an embarrassingly old-fashioned red dress, with a high white collar and a...what the hell were they called, breeches? Brooches. A brooch with a cameo face at her throat, it couldn't have been easy to swallow in that thing. Her thick black hair was done up in one of those buns, and her face was weirdly familiar..... "Mama!" Buffy jumped up, ran across the room on tiny legs, hair flying. "Please let us open a present, Mama, please?" Faith couldn't figure this. The...woman...had to be Joyce. But she looked nothing like what Faith remembered Mrs. S looking like. Faith knew, in fact, that this woman was supposed to be her own mother. Except she looked nothing like Faith remembered her, either. The conspicuous lack of booze and crack, for one thing..... She remembered this woman caring for her, feeding her, making her dresses. The memories were unfamiliar right up until Faith thought about them very much, then it seemed as if they had always been there. And it was nice. Faith swallowed, the warmth she was suddenly feeling toward this woman twisted in her stomach, hurting like she'd been-- Faith screamed.
The woman that Buffy was calling Mama, and Buffy herself, both stared, startled. "Faith, for heaven's sake, what's the matter?!" Mama asked. Buffy stared at her with worried green eyes. No wonder. Faith had doubled over, clutching her stomach in agony. Her stomach...something was wrong with her stomach.... The woman in the black dress came running over. "Faith, my child, look. Look at me." She gently straightened the girl, towering over her even though she was bent over. "Faith!" Faith looked up to find herself face to face with dark brown eyes. The face around them was pale but kindly. "Tell Mama where it hurts," the woman said earnestly. "Is the pain in your chest?" "N-no." The girlish whimper that came out of her own mouth made Faith sick. She didn't hurt now, but the memory....Buffy.... But Buffy looked scared, too. "She's not gonna get the croupe, is she Mama?" she asked. Mama was gazing at her intently. "Sweetheart, every time someone gets sick it's not the croupe. Faith, you doubtless have, ahem, the vapors." She looked discreetly shamed at the impolite term, but couldn't come up with another. "I've told you before, don't bolt your food." She patted Faith's cheeks affectionately. "You'll be all right, dear heart." Her smile was so kind. For all that, Faith was nervous. Mama's smile had an odd urgency to it, like she was really trying to make Faith believe it was all right. She straightened up, smiling at her daughters. "Now, you may each open a present. One present! Scoot along, dears, pick something before you set the table." Squealing happily, Buffy skipped back to the tree, snatching the present she'd tried to make Faith open. "Open it, Faith!" she shouted, tossing it at the younger girl. "Buffy, don't throw things in the house!" their mother admonished. Faith's head was spinning. She looked down at the gift she had easily caught. A present. From Buffy. For some reason, she really didn't want it. She opened it, nonetheless. She tore back the tinfoil wrapping and pulled away the tissue with a feeling of impending doom. It was a monkey. Faith picked it out of the box, hand shaking. It wasn't anything dangerous or scary at all. It was just a stupid tin monkey that swung its arms in a circle and walked through them, a mechanized thing. She looked at Buffy, feeling like she'd just escaped some kind of close call. "Thanks," she muttered. Grinning childishly, Buffy ripped into her present. She shrieked. "A comb!" she shouted, holding it up. It was long, shiny, hooked on one end, with wicked spikes on it. Faith stared. It was a trick of the light, had to be...but the damn thing looked exactly like-- Buffy jumped to her feet, running toward Faith with the gleaming weapon. "Lemme comb your hair, Faith!" she shouted gleefully. Faith cringed. Her eyes grew wide as she jumped up, in a frantic attempt to get away from Buffy and the knife. "No!--" She ran around the living room, behind the overstuffed chair, panicked. Behind her, Buffy giggled, running with the knife. Faith leaped away, scrambling to escape, running toward the hallway. Where could she hide? She tried to visualize the house, where she could go-- She slammed into something tall and hard. Mama. Again. Hands clutched her spaghetti arms, holding her tight. She couldn't escape. "Buffy," her voice came, smoothly, "don't terrorize your sister. Faith does not want her hair combed, as you can see." Faith turned around, backing into the woman's dress. Buffy had stopped chasing her. She was frowning, her cute little face drawn in a confused pout. Faith forced herself to look at the thing she was holding. It wasn't her knife at all. It really was just a comb -- shiny, new, edged in silver, intricately patterned. Just a comb. It couldn't kill anybody. Well, not in a conventional way, anyway. A good Slayer could kill with a breadstick. "I wasn't going to hurt her," Buffy pouted. Faith didn't know what to make of this. Buffy was completely oblivious to the freakouts Faith was experiencing. "Sorry," Faith muttered, for the second time. She didn't want to have Buffy upset, she really didn't. She wasn't sure why, but.... "Maybe-- you can comb my hair or somethin' later," she fumbled. Like hell. No way was she letting Buffy anywhere near the back of her skull. Mama smiled, gave her a satisfied pat on the head. "There now, all's well with the world," she beamed. "Run off and set the table. Papa will be home any moment." She patted them both off. Faith didn't want to. Buffy, for no reason she could see, set her new comb down on the ornate rug. She clasped her hands together, bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Faith," she said. And that was it. Buffy turned around and ran for the dining room, presumably to get the china out of the cupboard. Dazed, Faith followed.
In a weird way, it was the kind of thing she'd always dreamed about doing with B. Among other things...but definately on the list. Hanging out with her, at her mom's house. Eating together. Being treated like family. It had happened, that one time, the first day they'd met..... Faith's brow furrowed so hard it hurt as she set the table. She remembered, distinctly, meeting Buffy for the first time. They were not sisters, and they were never children together. So how could they be here? How could they be doing this? And why the hell were they in the wrong damn year -- 1907 -- instead of wherever they were supposed to be? Faith had gotten her first real good look at herself as they'd passed the hallway. There was a huge mirror there, and Faith stopped dead, staring at a body she'd devoutly hoped never to see again. Those huge sick-dog eyes. The skinny little arms and legs. The pencil neck. She used to look like one of those starving Mexican kids in Unicef commercials. Granted she looked a little better now, since she wasn't suffering from lack of decent food like she'd been in Boston, when she'd really been seven. She still looked like a total geek, though. Now she looked up at the other girl -- her sister. Buffy looked great, even as a kid. Perfect as always, a little angel. Like Cindy Lou freakin Who, for god's sake. She had been looking too, her green eyes peeking at Faith from under the yellow bangs. She quickly looked away. "B," whispered Faith. "Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked. Faith didn't know what to say. She couldn't ask any questions, it seemed, without first explaining to the child why she was asking them, and if she had to explain, then the girl wouldn't be any help anyway..... Buffy set a fork down, picked it up, and then set it down again a micron of an inch differently. "You've always done that, since day one," she muttered. Faith looked up, unbelieving. Did the other Slayer -- if she was still a Slayer -- did she remember? Buffy was staring at her. Their eyes were locked on each other, asking, answering. "How did we--" Faith started. "I don't know," said Buffy abruptly. "Do you remember?" "Not really." Her small brow furrowed cutely. "Faith, you look....." "Seven?" Faith nodded. "So do you." "I'm older." Buffy looked confused. "I think I'm eight. Right?" "One year, anyway," said Faith. Cautiously, she edged her way around the huge table toward the girl. "How...how much do you remember?" "Like, besides the mall?" She looked down at herself. "Like clothes that weren't made by Laura Ashley?" A nervous smile appeared as she dared look Faith in the eyes. Faith grinned. B was there, buried in a kid's body, but she was there. They giggled, poking at each other's god-awful nightgowns. "What the hell is this stuff, anyway?" "Feels like burlap," said Buffy, scratching her neck. "Seems like Giles told me once that's what they used to make p.j's out of back in...." The confusion came back to her face. "....Faith, this is so weird. What year is this? How did we get here?" Faith didn't know any better than Buffy did. "What's the very last thing you remember?" she asked. "I've been rackin' my brains all night, and all I come up with is that I'm supposed to be scared of you for some reason." Buffy looked at her with a quizzical look. Then something happened to her face. It seemed to go dark, as though she were remembering something, too. Faith's stomach tensed, wondering what B was thinking. "I'm supposed to be angry at you," Buffy said slowly. It occured to Faith that Buffy as a kid looked a little like Alice in Wonderland. Faith hated that book. Not because the poems were so weird, just the thought of some kid wandering around in a kiddie dress talking to mushrooms and grinning cats gave her the creeps, for no reason. "Girls!" Mama came into the dining room suddenly, sparkling in her embroidered red dress, all excited. "Papa's home!" The veil that had seemed to be lifting from Buffy's eyes drew together again, locking Faith out, swallowing whatever lucidity had been coming. Faith felt curiously relieved. They'd been on the edge of a breakthrough, and she had the feeling it wasn't one either of them would have liked. B's blonde head jerked toward the entrance hall. "Papa!!" she shouted happily, leaving the table and running out of the room. Faith looked to Mama. The woman in red was looking at her strangely. Her face was pleasant enough, but closed... like a mask. "Come, Faith," she spoke. "Your father's waiting." She didn't have a father. She'd never had a father, she thought as she followed Mama into the front room. The only father she'd ever known was-- Faith stopped dead, frozen in her size three tracks. "Boss?!" she whispered.
Buffy ran across the Oriental rug, hair streaming behind her like a comet, squealing happily. "Papa, Papa, catch me!!" she shouted, leaping into the arms of her father. Faith couldn't believe it. Mayor Wilkins dropped the huge gift-wrapped boxes he was carrying and scooped the child-Buffy up in his arms, laughing that eerie, giggling laugh. "Buffy, my little gingersnap! How's my big girl? How was school today?" Faith walked toward the scene like she was sleepwalking. The Mayor looked slightly different -- had weird outdated sideburns that were apparently the style back in nineteen-whatever. Actually he had a lot more hair, looked for all the world like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Fabulous Life or whatever the hell that movie was. But that wasn't the important thing. He kissed Buffy's hair paternally, grinning at her. At Buffy. Buffy who was-- Something twisted violently in Faith's small stomach. Panic, unreasonable, burning her skull. She had to get Buffy away from him. She was going to hurt him-- "Faith!" The Mayor caught sight of her, setting Buffy down, to the blonde girl's clear dismay. "My little firecracker! Come here and give Papa a hug!" He spread his arms. She was already running toward him, but it wasn't to give him a hug. She jumped on him with so much force it knocked him back, sitting him down hard on the rug. With all the force in her, Faith got her scrawny kid's body between him and Buffy, who was staring, openmouthed. "Faith!" Mama scolded. "Don't be so rambunctious, dear!" The Mayor was laughing. "It's all right, my dear, she's just happy to see me. I expect with the days' work I've been putting in it must feel like she hasn't seen me in months!" He beamed kindly at Faith. She just stared at him. There was something wrong here, really wrong. He looked...weird. Not demonic or anything...that was it, she realized. The whole time she'd known him he'd had that creepy, not-quite human thing going on underneath his eyes. That was all gone. He was the same guy in all physical aspects, but the evil, the darkness, seemed to be missing. "The Ascension!" she blurted out. The Mayor blinked. "Gesundheit!" he returned after a beat. Tears were welling in Faith's eyes, for no good reason she could think of. It was so obvious. The boss had told her things would be completely different after his big day, that the world would all be changed, and she herself would be something totally different from what she'd been, but this.... "I get it," she got out. "You did it, right? You ascended or whatever." She felt strangely, inexplicably relieved, though not really comforted. She looked him over, he didn't look any different than he had before, besides the weird clothes. "I thought you were gonna be some huge snake thing. You said...." She looked around, words failing her. "...and this is the big change you were talkin'? The whole world looks like Walton Mountain now?" She sniffled. "And no offense, boss, but geez, you couldn't have left me my chest at least? I look like a scrawny little chihuahua or somethin'!" The Mayor was just staring at her, openmouthed, eye sparkling at some unknown joke. "Faith?" he questioned. "Heh....what are you talking about, sweetheart?" "She's been sick," Mama stepped in suddenly. "She's been acting strangely all afternoon. I think she might be taking ill." Faith's head jerked up at the woman she was supposed to call mother. Mama looked back down at her calmly, coolly. Faith didn't like this. This woman -- and she knew her name, cause the boss had mentioned it at least once -- was hiding something. But the Mayor wasn't picking up on it. "Uh-oh," he said. "On Christmas Eve too!" He laid his hand against her forehead. "Well, you're not feverish. Have you been bolting your food again? You know that can lead to--" "Vapors, yeah," Faith shook it away, frustrated. "What is that anyway, gas? You can say it, I'm not sev--" Oh. Damn. "--what's going on here?! Why'd you make Buffy think she's my sister? And why'd you make us little kids? I don't want to be a kid!" The Mayor was looking at her like she had antennas for ears. Faith felt hands -- cool hands, womanly hands -- coming down around her face from above. "Terribly ill," repeated Mama. "Faith, now, perhaps you should seat yourself by the fire for a while until you feel better. It'd be a shame for you to have to miss Christmas dinner." The warmth Faith had felt toward this chick was rapidly waning. Why was she trying to make everyone think she was sick? The woman obviously didn't know much about Slayers, even as a half-pint Faith bet she could put this lady through a wall. That's if she had her powers. And considering she was seven, she bet she didn't. Buffy probably didn't either. There wasn't a lot she could do. Stuck in this lame little body, the bod she hadn't been too fond of the first time around in it, she didn't have much choice. She was stuck in a world a thousand years away from her own, and she had no idea what was going on, or how the hell she was going to get out. The Mayor, at least, noticed her consternation. "Oh... look at that face," he teased, tweaking Faith's nose. "By golly, when Faith's not happy, the whole world's not happy. I bet I know what can cheer my girl up." He reached into his coat and pulled out....a present. Long, thin, flat, gift-bowed. Faith felt another unreasonable stab of fear. "Go ahead and open it! Early Christmas present!" he said with a grin. "Papa always liked her best," Faith heard a voice, bitter with childish indignance. Mama turned her eldest daughter around, away from the Mayor and Faith. "Buffy, dear, why don't you go stoke up the fire. It's getting chilly." She pushed the girl off in the direction of the fireplace, turning back to them. "Go on, Faith. Don't be afraid." The peculiar encouragement came like she knew Faith was nervous. So Faith unwrapped the second Christmas present she'd recieved in a real long time, not entirely eagerly, either. She opened the box slowly, half expecting to see..... It was a bow and arrow. A miniature, silver, engraved bow and arrow. "For Elizabeth," the Mayor told her. Elizabeth was a doll she had. Faith hadn't known this until just now, but like the other memories, the second she thought about it she remembered a whole bunch of things about it. It was her favorite doll, and they'd been giving her costumes and accessories for it for years. She was partial to warrior's clothes, from history, and instead of being aghast like other parents would be at their youngest daughter liking "boy's" toys, her father indulged her, giving her Indian costumes and spanish conqueror armor and so on for Elizabeth to wear. A bow and arrow. Protection against bad things. Faith could literally feel herself getting choked up. It was the best gift he could have given her. She looked from the toy to the Mayor, not knowing what to say. "It's great," she finally croaked. "Thanks, boss." "'Boss'?" The Mayor uttered a chuckle. "Good God, I feel like I'm at work. Since when do you call me boss, pumpkin?" He didn't really expect an answer, and she knew he didn't really mind. He was looking at her like she was his number one kid, like Buffy didn't even exist. Faith knew it was true: he did like her best. He picked her up off the floor. Faith had never been picked up, even as a kid. She had a front row view as the Mayor kissed his wife hello; it was clear they were nuts about each other. "I think you can open this early, my dear," he said to Mama. From the same pocket he'd brought Faith's gift from he pulled another, this one much smaller. The woman's mouth dropped open as she opened the case. "Pearls!" She looked overcome. "A real pearl necklace! Oh--" The Mayor set Faith down momentarily while he fixed the thing around Mama's neck. "Merry Christmas, Edna," he told her affectionately, cupping her face as he kissed her sweetly. Okay, Faith was thoroughly weirded out now. She was in 190-whatever, and this was the Mayor's house, the way it had been back then, and this was his wife. Edna Mae -- the gal who'd ended up wrinkly and dead, cursing him for staying young. Faith remembered the boss speaking of her, that night they'd had to trade Willow for that damn box. She was alive. So what the hell was B doing here? And when was Rod freaking Serling going to show up? She looked over at B, who had come back from fireplace duty and was grinning like a cat at their parents. "When I grow up, I want a man just like Papa," she gushed to Faith. Considering you hooked up with a two-hundred year old demon, thought Faith, I'd say mission accomplished.
Later that evening Faith sat in the huge rocker, rocking sullenly back and forth, watching as Papa -- the Mayor, she insisted -- played with Buffy. Her sister. They were sitting on the rug by the fire, she cross-legged, he stretched out, pondering some weird game with matchsticks stuck in a board of wood. Mama approached her bearing a tray with two glasses of something or other. She sat herself down uninvited, handing one glass to her. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked softly. Faith shrugged as she took the drink. "I'm not sick," she insisted. "I know." Mama looked to the happy father and daughter on the rug. Almost like she was afraid they would hear. She beamed. "This will be the last time we're all together before Buffy goes back to college, though. You ought to be kinder to her. You won't see her for a while." Faith frowned, confused. This was one of the weirder statements in a night full of weird. College? "She's eight," she protested. She turned to see the woman gazing at her. "What's troubling you, Faith?" the woman asked in a weirdly flat voice. "Little girls should have no troubles, particularly on Christmas Eve." Faith had had enough of the secretive crap this woman was pulling. "I'm not a little girl," she said flat out. Silence. "I'm not seven years old," she said. "I'm not supposed to be here. Something's wrong, this whole place, this whole thing's wrong. And you been good to me and all, but I know something's up that you know all about, and I don't like secrets." She stared at the woman. "You know what I'm gettin' at, don't you?" Mama nodded gravely. "I do," she answered. Faith sat up. "So spill," she said. "I may be a squirt right now, but the right moves are still wicked painful, even without Slayer strength. What the hell's going on?" The woman sighed. Her brown eyes gazed wistfully at Faith. "Firstly, dear, don't use that language in front of me. Secondly, you're terribly defensive, for no reason. Nothing has happened tonight to make you believe you're in danger, has it?" "You tell me." Faith stared her down, trying to be as intimidating as a seven year old could be. "B's here, she's wiggin' me out and I don't even know why. You're supposed to be my mother? I don't know you from jack. The boss doesn't remember anything. It's the wrong year and I can't slay worth a...." God, how did people get along without good old fashioned cuss words?! "....I can't slay," she finished angrily. "It's unreal. It's too weird. Who are you anyway?" The woman sighed. "Unreal," she repeated. "Appropriate enough. That's exactly what it all is, Faith -- unreal. Your father is not real. Buffy is not real. In fact this house and everything in it is not real. And I...." she smiled, sadly. "...I become less real by the day, so I suppose that's nearly the same as saying I'm not real at all. You're the only solid, true person here, Faith." She didn't know what to say to that. "What is all this, if it's not real?" "Illusion." The woman looked at her. "Yours...and mine. Certainly the impulses were there....I just helped you along." "And you are?" Another sigh. "When I lived," she said, "I was the wife of the man you call boss." She held out her hand, like she wanted to shake. "My name is Edna M--" "Edna Mae, I know." Faith gave her the once over. She remembered....she remembered something else about this lady, that she knew she ought to remember more of, something that was making the pain in her stomach worse...and now her head was hurting, and she couldn't remember anymore. "You a ghost?" "Less than that, now." Edna had been looking nervous, as though she expected Faith's reaction to be quite different. Now she smiled, a sad smile. "You may have guessed I'm not your proper mother, either." "No crap." Faith couldn't understand. "Why you doin' this? How are you doing this?" Edna Mae looked off into space. "Let's say that you, in your present condition, are providing a palate for me to paint on. As for why...." She looked sad. "Consider it a Christmas present." "So it is Christmas." "Yes." "Not 1907, obviously." "No." "What year, then?" Faith gazed at her. "What's happening in the real year? Where's the real Sunnydale? Is it still around here somewhere? You just paint this illusion over it, or...." Edna Mae said nothing. There was no reason whatever for the child to know what was happening to her, in the year of our Lord nineteen-hundred ninety-nine. As long as she thought she was up and walking around, healthy and bright-eyed, and as long as she thought her world remained as she remembered it..... Faith shrugged, not getting any answers. "So...how long's this illusion going to last, anyway? When you gonna send me back?" Edna shook her head. "This particular illusion will be over when Christmas is over. You won't be sent back -- you've not gone anywhere. I'll be the one who goes. It's only tonight I've been able to...." She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the trim on her tapered red sleeve. "I wanted to see you," she went on. "I did a great wrong, my Faith. By many people. This is my sad attempt to put things right." She looked at the girl. "I wanted to give you something nice. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Your boss, and your sister Slayer -- your family? That's why I was able to come in, I think." She looked pleading all of a sudden. "Oh Faith, I wanted so badly to see him one last time. And you -- I dearly wanted to spend some time with you. I am to blame, I fear, for what has happened to you, and I--" "What's happened to me?" Even as she spoke it Faith knew, somehow, that it was all connected -- the bad feelings about Buffy, the dread about the Mayor, the sudden stomach pangs and headaches that came out of nowhere... Edna Mae's pretty face was grim. She looked about to say something, then closed her eyes, as if it were too cringeful. She turned her face, Faith thought she might be about to cry. Then she turned back, with a watery smile. She reached out a hand to touch the girl's face. "Dear Faith," she said quietly. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'? Consider this a pony." She smiled quirkily, she and her husband were well matched. "Sometimes good things happen...even to bad people. My advice to you is enjoy it, Faith. Humor me. Humor them..." she waved at the illusiory Mayor and Buffy. "It will be over with soon enough. For now, enjoy...and on your life, don't you dare look it in the mouth." Faith wanted to argue. It was her nature to argue. But something in her knew the strange dark woman, as spooky as she was, was not going to hurt her. If she was, she would have done it by now. Being changed back into a kid was humiliating, but not really horrible. A lot worse had been done to her by this time. This was actually kind of an improvement. They gazed at the Mayor playing with a giggling Buffy over in the corner. "He was like that once, you know," Edna's voice came. "He wasn't always evil, the way you knew him. Your friend was no doubt that way once as well. Innocent, childish...knowing nothing of Slaying, or jealousy--" "Or me," said Faith. It was strangely good to see B the way she'd been as a kid, before all the Slayer stuff happened, before Faith had come along to screw up her life. Faith felt deeply depressed all of a sudden. "No, no." A cool hand brushed her wispy hair back. "Don't be sad, not tonight. There's so little time. It's Christmas Eve!" Edna Mae smiled, pushing the last of her melancholy away. "Goodness, Santa might be here any moment!" "Papa, tell us the Santa story!" Buffy exclaimed. The Mayor grinned. "Now there's an idea." He got to his feet, leaving the game on the floor. He came over to where Faith was sitting in the rocker and picked her up like she was a doll, no heavier. Giving her a smile, he seated himself in the rocker and sat her down comfortably on his lap. Buffy tried to climb up too, squishing into the rocker with them. "All right now, where's the book?" "I want to look at the pictures!" squealed Buffy. Faith watched as the man she was calling a father opened the huge gilt-covered book and started to read to them. Twas the Night Before Christmas. He did all the voices and everything. Buffy read along at parts and giggled at the voices, but it was at Faith that the Mayor smiled like she was a precious china doll, like she was his pride and joy. In the dark corner, Edna Mae watched with a motherly smile, and Faith thought there were tears in her eyes, though that could have been the fire. Late into the night, he finished the poem and they all had one last glass of Christmas punch. And Faith, to her horror, was getting sleepy. She didn't want to go to sleep yet, but her head was nodding. Buffy was already conked out, her feathery golden head resting against the Mayor's suspender strap. The next thing Faith remembered was the bannister, moving by slowly as she was carried upstairs. She moved her head, trying to wake up. "I'm not sleepy," she protested. A gentle laugh welled up in her father's chest. "Will you listen to this one? She's not sleepy, she's just resting her eyes." Over the Mayor's shoulder Faith could see Edna Mae carrying Buffy, head slung over her gingham shoulder. The bedroom they shared was barely visible in the dim flickery light from the oil lamp, but Faith caught sight of sheep and ducks and Little Bo Peep frolicking on the walls, painted underneath Victorian moons with faces and overdecorated stars. The Mayor laid her out in the warm, huge, cotton-sheeted bed, tucking the thick quilt under her chin. "Now you get some sleep," he told her as Edna tucked Buffy in next to her in the same bed. "And tomorrow Santa will have brought you a whole new world of toys. Sleep tight, Faith." He leaned over and kissed her on top of her head. Faith's heart hurt. "Sleep tight, boss," she told him, wanting to cry. He smiled at her. "Will you listen? Boss this and boss that, all day!" He chuckled goodnaturedly as he ruffled her hair, getting up. He backed out of the room, following Edna, who was taking the lamp. "Goodnight, girls," he said one last time before shutting the door. Faith looked at Buffy, sleeping next to her in the warm canopy bed. Seven years and eight years, sisters. B looked back at her, green eyes glowing in the dark. "Goodnight, Faith," she said quietly. Faith didn't know what the world was going to look like when she woke up. Right this minute, she didn't care. Right now she was warm and safe, and all was right with the world. "G'night B," she answered back.
Christmas Eve, 1999 The intern on watch looked boredly at the clock on the wall, which read 12:01 AM. Hell of a way to spend Christmas Day, or Eve, for that matter. His shift wouldn't get over with till 4, then he could go home and get about three hours sleep before his cousins visiting from Florida started hitting the tree. He looked over at the girl laying in the hospital bed, the beeps on the monitor the only indication that she was alive at all. Why the hell the hospital thought they needed to keep a constant watch on this one was beyond him. He had to feel sorry for her, though. Fell off a building, they said. Severe cranial hemorrage, probably a veggie if she ever woke up. Christmas Eve in critical care. He took back what he said before. He counted his blessings. At least he wasn't as bad off as this kid. The intern shrugged, turned back to his magazine. Three and a half more hours. Miles to go.
End
