The Christmas Blues: Tidings of Joy.

Disclaimer: Since I'm not currently UPN or Fox, these aren't my characters, but the burning gingerbread men are, and the demon.

Spoilers: Up to the episode 'Wrecked' on BTVS, and the episode 'Dad' on Angel, both in season 6.

Last minute shopping:

(*=Idea of Xander's.)

-Stocking stuffers for Dawn and Co., preferably chocolate???

-Magicky stuff for Tara; eye of newt, powered mandrake, pentagram necklace*, etc.

-'A Charlie Brown Christmas' on VHS for Will, also make sure oven is safegaurded.

-Christmas lights?

-X-Mas tree; not plastic this time.

-Christmas cards to send to relatives & LA Gang.

-Machete.

Outside, there are lights on the lawn. Dawn and Willow are in the process of decorating the house, which means that every christmas light in town will be used to zap electricity into my house, and make it look all pretty. I, on the other hand, am condemned to sorting through various Christmas decorations.

At least I'm supposed to be.

Everyone is here. And when I say everyone, I mean it. Giles is here. I guess Christmas in England is just too darn…well…English. Maybe it's cause their Santa is always drunk on eggnogg, but y'know, that's just my idea. His reason is that 'Rain on this holiday is quite forboding; I'd much rather have depressively bright sunshine.' Except he was cleaning his glasses, and added an extra 'hmm' at the end. I'm just praying that there aren't any Christmas demons, or big evils. I just want a nice, normal Holiday with my friends.

How the hell did I end up with this?

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"If the phone rings again, I'm going to stake it."

Anya wasn't paying any attention. Apparently, she was engrossed in a demonology book. So, I decide to investigate. Surprise, she's once more sneaking peeks at bridal magazines. I think this one is titled 'Be all the Bride You Can Be.' What originality.

Actually, something just caught her attention.

"Buffy, is the tree on fire?"

I look at her, raise an eyebrow, and continue signing Christmas cards. "I think we'd notice."

"Oh…" She shrugs, and flops back onto my couch. "Well, it smells like pine, and something's burning, so I suspected the tree."

"Anya, the tree is in front of you. I really think you'd notice," I glare.

Oh, the oven's on fire. I thought I'd told Will not to make any more cookies, and I guess she didn't listen, because there is now a distinct odor of sugar wafting around the house. Yikes. The latter skids into the living room; flour all over. Boy, I hope she has a good excuse and a lot of cookies.

"It's okay! Nothing is…" I hear a smash in the kitchen. Oh god. Willow looks a bit stunned, but she regains composure. Go her… "…Completely ruined." --er…she owes me a new stove. The sound of voices draws me back into reality, and I stand, dusting off my jeans. "Well, lets put the…past…in the past. I'm sure we can get the oven to work."
Willow timidly stands, also. "It's…not just the oven." Great. Just fab.

I believe this is a good time to end the conversation; plus I think there's someone at the back door. Whoever it is is probably suffocating in there.

"Will," I begin, turning to face her while walking into the kitchen/dining area, "How bad is it? D'ya think I'll be able to cover it with what little finances that I have left, or will this require me suing dad for child support?" I'm not watching where I'm going, and before I realize it, I'm surrounded in a gigantic cloud of black smoke. Coughing and sputtering, I emerge from the cloud. The voices are growing somewhat louder, and an unknown fear clouds my heart. So, this is Christmas. Burnt cookies, an undecorated tree, a sister mummified in twinkling lights, and an ex-demon in my living room. Could it get any worse?

And at this exact moment, the voices are right behind me.

Now I know where the fear came from, because these are extremely familiar voices. One is waspish and female, the other woman is timid, one sounds a bit…ghetto, and there's an Englishman. Suddenly, I hear another voice. This voice comes with a face, and a name. The face comes into view; handsome and pale, with deep dark eyes and a sensuous, oh-so-tempting mouth.

Well, it just got worse.

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Why do I always say that? Yeah, I mean, it's not like it could get worse…

I'm so stupid. Because right now, everything is far from good. I don't think there are words enough to describe it.

"Angel," I breathe, not taking notice of his lackeys. "Hi." These are the only words I can muster. Pathetic much.

"Buffy," He replies, oh-so-suave OF COURSE. "Hello. How are you?" He looks concerned. How can he look concerned? If anything, it should be me. I'm the one being invaded, it's my heart that always skips a beat…

"I'm good." My gaze falls to the floor, and I focus on a few black splotches, rubbing them with my foot. Finally, I look up again. "Angel, we need to talk." He nods as me, and I gingerly step through the door into the hallway, knowing fully that he'll follow behind.

We don't touch, because we both know that it would be too much. Heading to the back of the house, I lean against a wall, turning my pleading and desperate (for all I can tell) gaze towards him.

"What's going on? Why are you here?"

"It's Christmas. Just thought I should pay you a visit…"

"No! You didn't think. You didn't call. Did you even consider that I might be busy? Or that I would have company? Or—god forbid—I wouldn't want you here?" I glare sharply at him, and for the first time in history he seems to deflate.

"I'm sorry Buffy."

"Don't," Tears well in my eyes, "Look what you've done to me, just look at what you're doing to me. I'm breaking up inside and I can't tell anyone. I feel like my heart is shattering into pieces, and it's all your fault. Then you have the nerve to waltz down here with your…posse, and pretend that we're okay, that we're on the 'friend' basis. Well, news flash, we aren't. I can't even be in the same room with you for more than two minutes without feeling like I'm going to die. You're killing me, Angel." I look away, my speech finished.

He's staring at me, and I can feel the tears rush down my cheeks. "God, Angel, I don't know what to do anymore. I just can't live like this, It's too hard, it's just *too* hard."

He reaches out one of his hands, his fingertips lifting my chin so I looked into his eyes.

"I know what it's like. I know how much it hurts. And I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted you to be safe. As long as I know you're alive, and happy…" He inhales, keeping my gaze… and I interrupt.

"I'll never be happy."