Wishes and Dreams
By: Julia
Sunnydale, California. December 24, 2002.
Snow was falling heavily, enormous white flakes sticking to every available surface. Festive wreaths and rows of brightly colored lights were just barely visible beneath the powdery covering of snow. People hurried along the empty sidewalks, collars turned up against the bitter cold.
Storefronts were filled with musical displays playing carols, with tinsel and garland accenting the massive windows. All along the street doors opened to let out puffs of warm air as another shopper left with their arms full of presents to be wrapped.
The windowpanes of her house were frosted at the edges, a light dusting of snow framing the glass. Buffy pressed her nose against the icy glass, her eyes sparkling as she watched the remains of the shoppers hurry past. She turned away from the window, wrapping her chenille blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Sinking down onto her overstuffed coach, Buffy tucked her feet under her body and let out a contented sigh.
A loud buzzing jarred her out of the picturesque moment and Buffy shot straight up in bed. Her blankets pooled on the floor and she groaned, leaning across her nightstand to smack the top of her alarm clock.
Squinting at the bright red numbers, her face twisted in a bitter scowl. Buffy swung her legs onto the floor, wishing that her perfectly manicured feet would touch icy floorboards that would remind her of the snowstorm outside. Instead her calloused, unpolished toes stepped onto a sun-warmed carpet that reminded her that it was still sixty degrees on Christmas Eve.
How the hell was she supposed to get into the Christmas spirit when there wasn't a hint of chill in the air and no hope of snow?
Buffy had watched enough Christmas movies to know that the holiday season meant winter coats to catch the wet flakes of snow, ice skating on frozen ponds, standing outside to admire an enormous tree decorated with too many lights, making snowmen and snow angels.
It didn't mean waking up to brilliantly blue skies and sunshine, somehow the holidays in Sunnydale just didn't seem right. Stepping in front of her window, she yanked open the blinds and bright sunlight flooded the room.
She turned towards the pile of clothes on her floor and picked up a pair of jeans that weren't terribly wrinkled. Leaving her sweatpants in a heap on the floor, she slipped into the jeans without even looking in the mirror. Buffy barely registered what shirt she had pulled on before she turned her attention to her tangled hair.
She brushed her hair back into a tight ponytail, tucking the long front layers behind her ears. This time she glanced at the mirror, not wanting to look for too long, afraid that she might notice how tired and worn her face was.
Moving back across the room, she sighed heavily. Buffy leaned against the window ledge, her hands spread across the wooden sill as she stared outside. Flecks of paint were chipping off after years of using the window as an exit and she could feel the tiny cream pieces collecting underneath her sweaty palms.
Instead of a picturesque fairytale snowstorm, Buffy found herself staring at a nearly empty yard. Two of the potential Slayers were sitting at the picnic table, staring at a magazine between them. She had no idea where anyone else was, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care. Lately her house had felt more like a hotel or the headquarters of some rag-tag army, with people coming and going all day long.
Buffy dug her nails into the wooden sill as a single tear made its way down her cheek. She felt empty inside. Buffy felt like she was standing in the center of a crowded room, screaming at the top of her lungs while everyone else moved around her, uncaring and completely unaware.
Only this time, Spike wasn't there to make her feel alive.
She was truly alone.
"Hey Buffy?"
At the sound of her younger sister's voice, Buffy turned away from her window. She looked across the room at Dawn who was leaning against the wooden doorframe, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans.
Brushing stray tears off her cheeks, Buffy stared blankly at her sister.
"What," she asked dejectedly, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.
If Dawn noticed her sister's tears, she didn't say anything. Instead the teenager shifted her weight from one foot to another, staring at some imaginary spot just above Buffy's head. She smiled sheepishly, her brown eyes flashing hopefully.
"Some of the girls were wondering if we were going to do anything tomorrow. You know, for Christmas."
The muscles in Buffy's jaw tightened and she clenched her fists angrily.
"Really," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well you can tell the girls that we don't have time to do anything. We've got more important things to worry about then presents and lights and putting up a tree. We have to train, we have to research….we've got to figure out what the hell we're fighting against."
Her voice broke and Buffy continued in a hoarse whisper, her voice too low for Dawn to make out the mumbled words. "We have to get Spike back."
Dawn sighed, she hadn't expected her sister to jump onboard the 'Happy Holidays' bandwagon but it was worth a try. She took a step into the room, reaching out a hand towards her sister.
"Look Buffy, you'll get through this. You always do."
Backing away from Dawn, Buffy shook her head. She didn't want to get through anything, she wanted all of this hell to be over.
"Just get out," she told Dawn, sinking back down onto her bed. "Just leave me alone."
Surprisingly she didn't need to tell her sister twice and when Buffy finally tore her eyes away from the printed flowers on her comforter, she was alone.
New York City, New York. December 24, 2003.
Buffy glanced out the window again, transfixed by the powdery white snow falling outside. She'd finally found her picturesque winter night, the dreamy snow storm she'd been yearning for. Two heavy storms in the course of a week had left the city blanketed beneath a thick layer of white. Her dream had left out the brownish-gray slush and the icy sidewalks but Buffy didn't mind. For the first time in her life she was in a place where white Christmas was more then just the title of a song.
Moving across her small living room, she sank onto the lumpy cushion of her futon with an exhausted sigh. Buffy crossed her legs underneath her body and reached for the water bottle she'd left sitting on the coffee table. All of her presents were wrapped and her cards were addresses, both currently sitting in some post office waiting to be shipped across the US and overseas.
She'd finally put up the artificial tree that she had picked up on her way home from work two nights ago. Despite her best efforts, the scraggly mess of branches, lights and cheap ornaments looked like a missing prop from a stage production of Charlie Brown's Christmas story then something out of a holiday classic.
Sighing again, Buffy picked up the cordless phone she'd left sitting on the coffee table. Staring blankly at the black plastic headset, she dialed a familiar number with trembling fingers. Before anyone could pick up on the other end, she hung up.
The message light was still blinking on her answering machine and Buffy knew that if she pressed the blue button that Angel's voice would fill her small apartment. He'd called her the night before, leaving a cryptic message about her calling him as soon as possible.
Buffy dropped the phone onto the futon; she wasn't in the mood to talk to the brooding vampire, especially not on Christmas Eve. Their conversation would just be another reminder of how alone she was.
She pressed her lips together in a sad smile, a part of her wishing that she had booked a flight to Cleveland and the other part telling her to sit back and enjoy the snowfall.
A knock on her door startled Buffy out of her internal babbling and she frowned in the direction of the noise. With a confused look on her face, she crossed the room and raised herself up on tiptoes to see out the peephole.
Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, blood pounding furiously in her ears as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her mind. Buffy drew a shaky breath, reaching out to undo the locks and deadbolts that kept her apartment locked away from the rest of the world.
"No, no, no," she kept muttering under her breath, slender fingers deftly undoing every bolt and knob.
The door swung open to reveal a familiar cocky blonde, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his black jeans, the collar of his duster turned up, crystal blue eyes twinkling above chiseled cheekbones.
"Hello luv. Miss me?"
Buffy felt like she was drowning, sinking deep into the part of the ocean that was too far from the surface for any light to penetrate, falling farther and farther into the welcoming blackness.
She swayed on her feet, grabbing onto the door for support. Buffy swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, trying to form the right words through her dry lips.
Shaking her head back and forth, she took a step away from the door, covering her mouth with her hand.
"You're not real." Her voice sounded too small and high-pitched to be her own.
Spike's lips curled into a devilish smile. "'Fraid so pet. Corporeal and everything."
Buffy's eyes narrowed in confusion and she stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.
"What do mean, corporeal, when were you not corporeal?" Before she could segue into the land of senseless babble, Buffy stopped talking. She frowned, a thin line appearing between her eyebrows as she bit down on her lower lip.
Seeing the indecision flicker over Buffy's face, Spike smiled understandingly. He'd been expecting something like this from her; at least she hadn't slammed the door in his face or threatened to kill him.
"Why don't you invite me in and I'll tell you," Spike countered, his eyes staring intently into Buffy's.
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind out of the daze that had engulfed it the minute she opened the door. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish who'd suddenly found itself on the beach with no idea how to get back to the sea.
"Yeah, I'm sorry." If there was any hesitation in Buffy's mind, Spike couldn't hear it in her even tone.
"Come in Spike."
Quirking his scarred eyebrow, Spike stepped into Buffy's small apartment. He glanced around the main room, taking in the waist-high partitions that divided the space into several smaller areas. It looked homey but still had a barely lived in feeling that almost made Spike feel uneasy.
Acutely aware of Buffy's closeness, Spike kept his back to her, pretending to be terribly interested in the layout of her apartment.
"What are you doing here?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, a mere shadow of the determined woman he remembered leading the battle against Evil last year.
Spike turned around slowly, resisting the urge to brush away the tears that spilled from her green eyes.
"Came to see you."
Stunned by his honesty, Buffy didn't know what to say. She stared at the carpet, pushing the toe of her sock against the cream surface.
"Buffy."
She looked up at him, green eyes locking with blue and Buffy momentarily forgot how to breathe. Somehow she'd forgotten how amazing his eyes were, the way they captured the light and sparkled like sapphires.
Licking her lips, Buffy took a step closer to him, reaching her arms out towards him. She didn't care how desperate she looked or what kind of apocalypse-causing magic was behind this; all that mattered was that Spike was standing in her living room.
His mouth twisted into something that resembled a smile and Spike closed the distance between them with a stride. Wrapping his arms around Buffy, he hugged her close to his body.
Enveloped in his familiar embrace, Buffy couldn't hold back the harsh sobs that rose up in her throat. Her tears dampened the front of Spike's black shirt as he stroked her hair soothingly.
"It's alright luv, it's alright."
Pulling away slightly, Spike pressed his fingers against Buffy's chin until she was forced to meet his gaze. Her eyes were shiny with tears but Spike still thought she looked beautiful.
Leaning down, he captured her lips gently with his, butterfly light touches that told Buffy how much he had missed her. When they broke apart, she stared quizzically into the blue eyes she knew so well.
"That's what the call was about, wasn't it? It was about you."
Spike chuckled, resting his forehead against Buffy's.
"Guilty as charged, pet."
Her eyes narrowed, as Buffy struggled to absorb all of the information at once.
"So you're back," she said, elongating every syllable, drawing out the word for as long as possible.
Spike grinned, nodding as Buffy continued to think aloud.
"I'm back."
Her eyes filled with tears again and her lower lip began to tremble.
"Back to stay," she asked, her voice high pitched with the fear that Spike would say no.
"You're stuck with me, luv," Spike teased, raining gentle kisses down Buffy's neck.
She smiled, the first real smile in months and wrapped her arms tightly around Spike's neck. "Okay," she whispered in his ear, her high pitched giggle ringing through the apartment.
Their mouths met again for a hungry kiss, as the two blondes poured every ounce of themselves into the passionate dueling. They fell backwards onto the futon, laughing and smiling like carefree teenagers in love.
Outside the snow had stopped, leaving the city covered in a thin blanket of white snow. As the two lovers embraced inside the apartment, chimes rang out from St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Tomorrow Buffy and Spike could deal with the complexities of their relationship, tomorrow they could worry about the challenges before them. But that could wait.
Right now the only thing that mattered to them was that it was Christmas and that their wishes had finally come true.
The End.