Three Stories
Merry Ho Ho and Happy New Year!
The following vignettes are small fics written by myself and two other authors who worked with me on my Virtual Season 8 project and are hence written in that season's canon. That said, the stories are fairly universal and can be enjoyed (IMHO) whether you know the canon or not. Either way, hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday.
CP
One
The Tree
Engel's Family Tree Lot, December 19th, 2003 – Outskirts of Langston, Ohio
"I still don't know why you had me come along," Dawn whines as she slams the car door.
Buffy glances over at her taller and younger sister, "Because Xander said I couldn't drive his truck unless someone came with me."
Dawn rolls her eyes, "I wonder why."
Buffy glares, "Well excuse me for being possessed by some dead chicks who wouldn't cross over."
"Believe me, that ain't the reason," Dawn mutters under her breath.
"I heard that."
"Heard what?" Dawn turns to her sister, eyes wide with innocence. Buffy just shakes her head and the two Summers girls walk in through the entrance of the Christmas tree lot near the mall. The loose snow crunches under their boots, delighting them both in an almost childish way. Snow was still relatively new to the California girls. They had really never seen real snow except for that one really strange Christmas back in Sunnydale.
They wander down the rows of trees, breathing in the wonderful smell of freshly cut Douglas fir and white pine. After picking through an assortment of trees, Dawn finds one she seems to like. "This one's nice," she says standing up a tree about a foot and a half shorter than her.
Buffy eyes the "tree". After a minute she replies, "Dawn that looks like a reject from A Charlie Brown Christmas."
Dawn sticks out her tongue at her sister and holds the tree out at arm's length to examine it. The branches are sticking out at awkward angles and one side is bald nearly. "Yeah, but its nice."
"Put it back."
Dawn glares and sets the tree back. "C'mon Buffy, it needs a good home."
"Then I doubt our home is the ideal place. If a demon doesn't come crashing through our living room, Andrew'll set the house on fire with all the extra lights he's planning to string up."
Dawn rolls her eyes, "All that aside, it'll be loved and appreciated. If we leave that tree here all the other trees with laugh and point, mocking him with their bushy green branches."
"Him? It's a boy?" Buffy asks with a wry smile. Dawn gives her a withering look. Buffy sighs and shakes her head. "Fine, fine, get it; but no more hanging around at Council HQ. You're starting to use Willow-logic on me."
Dawn grins and runs back to the tree, dragging it back. "Oof! A little help?"
Buffy looks back at her, "No, I think you got it."
"Hey, you're the one who got the Slayer strength. All I have are the brains and the looks."
"You wanted that tree, you carry it."
Dawn struggles with the tree behind Buffy to the makeshift counter next to a camper at the end of the lot that has a cheery plume of smoke coming from a large woodstove set up next to it. She props the tree up next to Buffy and smiles proudly at her sister.
"Hi there," a friendly voice calls out to the sisters from behind the counter. Its owner, a man in his mid-fifties with a pleasant wind-chapped face, emerges rather suddenly from a grove of more trees.
"Hello," Dawn chirps.
"You're new here, eh?"
Buffy and Dawn share glances, "Yeah," Buffy replies cautiously.
He grins revealing a mostly toothless smile that's oddly charming. A small sea of wrinkles erupt at the corners of his eyes when he does and his eyes twinkle pleasantly. "Yeah I thought so. I'd remember ladies as gorgeous as the two of you."
Dawn giggles and Buffy smiles, "Thank you."
"Oh don't go listening to him," a pleasant looking woman with graying hair comes up behind the man. "He's just trying to soften you girls up."
"Marie, take a good look at these girls and tell me they couldn't pass for angels," the man tells her.
Marie inspects Dawn and Buffy, looking at them up and down. She nods approvingly, "Yes, I believe they could. Skinny angels, but angels nonetheless." She smiles warmly, "I'm Marie, and Casanova here is my husband Raymond."
"Nice to meet you," Buffy extends her gloved hand, "I'm Buffy and this is my sister Dawn."
Raymond shakes Buffy's hand. "I think I've heard that name before."
"Really?"
"Sure, a name as uncommon as that one, you tend to remember."
Buffy frowns slightly then nods, "Yeah, I guess so."
Raymond smiles. Something was oddly familiar about these two to Buffy. She knits her brows together in silent contemplation. Raymond went on gabbing.
"So, you two are from California, eh?"
Dawn nods and looks surprised, "Good guess. How'd you know that?"
Raymond shrugs, modestly, "It's a gift. Plus, you have that California, fun-in-the-sun girl looks."
Dawn smiles wide, "And where are you guys from?"
"Oh, up north," Raymond replies.
"Canada."
"Sure." Raymond replies cryptically. He looks at Dawn's tree. "So that's the tree?"
Buffy snorts, "If you wanna call it that."
"It's a good tree," Dawn protests.
"It is a good tree," Raymond agrees. He studies it, "Yep, a real swell tree."
The Slayer rolls her eyes, "It looks like it's made of green pipe cleaners."
"I didn't see you picking out any," Dawn retorts.
"You know, they say 'It is the creative potential itself in human beings that is the image of God'," Raymond interrupts, smiling good-naturedly.
"See?" Dawn tells her sister triumphantly, "The tree has potential."
"Whatever," Buffy mutters. She looks down at her gloves, "Damn, I got sap on my glove."
"Oh let me get that for you. I've got something that'll take that right out," Marie says and Buffy follows her.
While Dawn and Raymond chatted, Marie studies Buffy. "You look wistful, dear."
Buffy chuckles. Wistful, that was different. She had been happy, mad, sad, glad, furious, overjoyed, contemplative, hurt, pained, sick, in love, and dead, but wistful was new. "I do?" Buffy asks.
Marie cocks her head to the side, "Yes. How many Christmases has it been?"
"Huh?" Buffy was confused.
"About... three now, I'd say. That first one was the worst wasn't it?"
Buffy frowns. Where was this lady getting at? "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"She's always watching over you, you know. Always with you and your sister," Marie tells her.
Buffy stares at this woman. Her graying hair pulled back, soft wrinkles around her brown eyes and pink mouth, her womanly frame, child-bearing hips, blue jeans and heavy jacket over a thick flannel. She had a motherly look to her, and seemed for a moment to exude peace.
Marie smiles, "No matter how tough it gets, how difficult the choices are, she's always proud of you. Love knows no barriers. And a mother's love is eternal."
Buffy's breath seems to be caught in her throat, and her eyes are wide in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
Dawn looks over at her sister and Marie talking. "Buffy looks upset."
"Hmm..." Raymond muses. "She loves you very much, you know."
Dawn snorts, "Yeah, she shows it real good."
A smile plays at the corners of Raymond's mouth, "Well, I can just tell. There's not a thing in the world she wouldn't do for you."
The teen falls quiet. That was true. Buffy, as overprotective and as stubborn as she is, would do anything for her. And it wasn't just because she was the Slayer, but because she was her sister. How many other people could say that their sister died for them? Dawn smiles softly, "Yeah."
"She's just worries dear."
"Worries?" Dawn had never thought of her sister afraid. The only time she had seen Buffy truly breakdown was after Mom died. She never thought that there was anything the Slayer couldn't handle. It almost seemed silly to Dawn for Buffy to be afraid of anything; she was uber-strong and really brave. Okay, yeah, reckless and arrogant sometimes, but she was still Buffy; still the Slayer.
"No, Buffy's not worried about anything. Believe me."
Raymond shakes his head. "She is."
"Of what?"
"Losing."
"She's never lost at anything."
Raymond tilts his head, "You so sure about that, eh?"
"Well..." Dawn pauses to think. "I guess... yeah she has." Angel, Ms. Calendar, Kendra, Tara, Spike, Mom... Dawn lists off the people that have died in her head.
"She's worried about losing you, too Dawn. Why do you think she fights so hard?"
"Because it's her job," Dawn says plainly. "Well not so much anymore, but yeah, she's obligated to … and what are we talking about?" Dawn catches herself and eyes the older man suspiciously.
"Strike two, sunshine. She fights time and time again for you. If you weren't here, there'd be no reason for her to go on."
My mom?" Buffy asks, her voice shaking.
"She loves you so much, Buffy. You and Dawn. She's so proud of you."
Buffy backs away. This was all becoming too surreal for her to handle. "I... I have to go." The Slayer turns to look for her sister, who is staring at Raymond. "Dawn!" she calls out. "Let's go!"
Dawn acknowledges her then faces Raymond. "Here's the money for the tree."
Raymond accepts the money, and hands Dawn back her change. "Thank you and have a Merry Christmas." He tells her warmly.
Dawn just nods uncertainly. She gets the tree and drags it back to the truck where Buffy is waiting, shivering. Wordlessly, they load the tree into the back of the truck and climb into the cab. Buffy sits a minute before placing the key in the ignition and Dawn is also stony, both contemplating their earlier conversations. Finally Buffy breaks the silence.
"You know, I'm really proud of you."
"For what?"
Buffy sighs, "For the other day. With Phineas. You were really brave and I'm just proud of you."
Dawn feels tears sting her eyes, "You stopped them, I just got myself in trouble. Again."
"No," Buffy shakes her head and wipes her nose, "I was scared. When Robin said that you had gone to Phineas' house, I was so scared that they would hurt you. That I wouldn't get there in time."
"But Buffy, you did."
"Yeah."
They're quiet again and suddenly, Dawn reaches over and hugs Buffy fiercely.
"Thank you."
Buffy tightens the embrace and closes her eyes. "I love you Dawnie."
"I love you too." Dawn squeezes her sister and lets her go. Buffy smoothes back a strand of Dawn's long straight hair, and the sisters smile at each other. Buffy turns the ignition and the pickup pulls out of the empty, snow covered parking lot. "His name's Phinny," Dawn tells her.
"Huh?"
"Don't call him Phineas. His name's Phinny."
"But that is his name," Buffy says.
"But I call him Phinny."
Buffy rolls her eyes, "Well excuse me."
Dawn glares at her older sister. "When are you gonna start dating again?"
"What?" Buffy shakes her head, "I'm not dating anymore."
"So you're just gonna become the spinster sister then?"
"Shut up."
"What? Every family has one. With cats."
"Shut up please."
Dawn laughs and the girls drive off into the night, back home to put up their tree. Back to their lives and their family.
"They're gonna make good angels one day, eh?" Raymond asks his wife.
"Yes, dear. They are."
Written by: The Charmed Citlali
Two
In the Spirit
Midtown Mall - Langston Ohio
"I don't think that this ear is on right. It feels … distorted." Andrew whines. He's applying a prosthetic elf ear, messing around with the application gel. "These are so inferior to the official version 6 Vulcan ears, and can you believe there was a price markup for version 7? Well at least these aren't those cheap $6.99 pieces they sell on eBay."
Xander grunts in response, and adjusts his beard. Not only had the elf ears been purchased on eBay but he had gotten them for $4.99.
The small, enclosed area they are in is set up directly behind the Santa exhibit and all around them is the noise of busy shoppers. Xander had quickly dressed and is now reclined on the single chair in the area, absently thinking about which gifts he still needs to buy, and waiting on Andrew to finish dressing.
Xander is fully clad in Santa wear, covered from head to toe in red faux-velvet and cotton fluff. Too bad they couldn't spring for the deluxe model; it came with a model sleigh and reindeer. Reindeer were the only part of Christmas that Xander really enjoyed; especially since he learned the truth about the 'real' Santa. "You look more like a hobbit than an elf," Xander remarks, knowing full well Andrew's position on the elf versus hobbit issue.
"Shut up tubby." Andrew snaps, accidentally spilling some of the gel onto his hand and clumsily dropping the tube. "Noooo! That gel was measured exactly for the application of two ears! What am I supposed to do now? I'm not about having single body parts where two should be … no offence." He stares at the ear, sitting limply on the counter. Andrew bends over to pick up the tube, pushing back his pointed hat to keep it from falling off.
Xander rolls his eye at his inadequate elf counterpart, and then stares suddenly, a smirk emerging in the corner of his mouth.
"What are you looking at?" Andrew sneers, looking in the mirror behind him. He has accidentally smeared some of the gel into his hair, causing a large portion of it to stand vertical, stiffened from the "quick dry" gel.
"Going for a 'Something about Mary' approach to hair styling now are you?" Xander chuckles, holding his strap-on belly as he does so.
"Xander! What am I gonna do? We have to be out there in T minus 4 minutes, and I've got one ear and a disturbing do." Andrew frantically tries to bend down his tuft of hair into something more acceptable.
"Relax. Everyone will just figure you were too busy to get that other ear on." Xander thinks about his comment. "Which is worrisome and entirely unacceptable for being around children. Tuck it under the hat."
Andrew complies, and uses the remaining gel to shoddily apply his right elf ear. "Hey, I kinda look like Spock." Andrew says proudly, and stands back to admire his costume. It's a deep green, and quite tight, especially compared to Xander's roomy attire. "Why does it have to be green? It doesn't meld well with my complexion. I'm more of a rouge guy."
Xander glares in Andrew's direction. "You scare me sometimes."
Andrew ignores the comment and smoothes out the outfit, turning to view it from all sides. "This isn't entirely as cool as Legolas. At least he gets a bow."
"Ah yes, that's because he's a fortunate young lad from the Woodland realm, and you, poor fool are part of the Northern folk who get stuck with candy canes and stomach aches." Xander's belly grumbles. "Speaking of, I'm pretty famished. Aren't cookies supposed to be part of this gig?"
From behind the large curtain draped across the entrance of their changing room, a young man enters. "You guys ready? The rug rats have about filled the line up here so yeah, let's clear 'em out. Remember, just tell them whatever you need to get a good picture and then get them on their way. Smile boys, its show time." As suddenly as he emerged the man disappeared again.
"Great pep talk. Not exactly going to replace 'win one for the Gipper' though." Xander shakes his head, grabbing Andrew and making a grand entrance through the curtains.
The children cheer with excitement, and the parents look relieved. They probably wanna get outta here as much as our pep talker, Xander thinks. Well, may as well make the best of it. This is for the kids after all.
Xander settles in his large red chair, and readies his knee for hours of kid butt. "Hello there boys and girls!" He says in his most Santa-like voice. It seems to go over well with the children; or most of them anyhow.
The first girl in the line up is adorable; she's about three and has strawberry blonde pig tails. Xander smiles at her, reminded of how Willow looked when they first met in kindergarten. He opens his arms wide, welcoming her forward. Her mother walks up with her and she climbs upon his lap, smiling ear to ear. She feels his beard and laughs.
"Hi Sanna!" She exclaims, reaching around his large belly and squeezing tightly.
Xander laughs heartily, and signals for Andrew to approach. "What's your name?"
"Jessie," she tells him, very deliberately, as though she's practiced. Her slight lisp adds greatly to her cute factor.
"Look what my top elf has for you," Xander pats Andrew's back, and the younger man pulls out a candy cane. Jessie's face lights up as she carefully takes the candy cane and smiles at her mother.
"And what would you like Santa to bring you Jessie?"
Four Hours Later
As some things get better with age, children do not, Xander thinks. It's been a few hours, and the visits have been heading downhill since. For unknown though probably nap-time related reasons, most of the youngest kids had come by early, and the elders were impatient and cranky after several hours of being dragged around the mall by their parents while there were perfectly good cartoons and video games at home. Xander's beard had been yanked off twice and was now held together by a poorly tied job of dental floss and scotch tape that Andrew had managed to scrounge from the malls employee lounge. The elf had also been the subject of some wear and tear and was now only sporting one ear much to the amusement of the older kids and was muttering recriminations under his breath.
A plus size child bounded up the small set of stairs towards Xander, and he cringes. She must weigh 120 lbs or more, and she appears to be no older than seven. Shouldn't she know about Santa not being real yet? Xander thought right before shed lands on his lap, causing the chair to creak alarmingly beneath them.
Luckily she seemed more interested with the food court then Santa and asked for a doll house and candy and was squirming with impatience as the photographer snapped a quick Polaroid for posterity. Xander quickly sends her off, nursing his sore knee and not grudging the loss of about twelve candy canes that she snatches from the bowl on her way off the dais, clomping along with her also hefty mother.
The line is now very short with only two children remain. Xander sighs in relief as a boy, around eight years old, marched towards him in a militaristic fashion. The boy's father stands on the side of the 'North Pole' and periodically allows his gaze to drift towards some of the more scantily dressed girls who pass by.
"Ho, Ho, Ho and hello there, what's your name?" Asks Xander, now very tired of the sound of his Santa voice.
"What's it to you lard ass? What's your real name? I'm bettin' it ain't Saint Nick," the boy says waspishly and reaches up to snap the strings holding on Xander's beard for the third time that afternoon.
Xander looks at the boy in amazement. What kind of father would allow this to behavior to take place? Xander feels the anger in the boy, and isn't in the mood to be taking shit without giving some. Not upsetting this child at this point of the day was not high on his list of priorities.
Andrew moves towards Xander, sensing the other man's rising anger and tries extending a candy cane to the boy but Xander waves him away. Andrew just shrugs and moves back to his spot near the stairs.
"Wanna hear a little story about Ol' Saint Nick?" asks Xander, placing the boy on his knee. "Sit tight, this'll be a doozie."
Xander leans in and with painstaking attention to detail describes the lifestyle of the real Santa Claus as told to him by Anya . The boy's eyes widen in terror as Xander whispers to mim, making sure not to leave out any important or especially graphic details. After a few moments he finishes his tale and the boy nearly hurtles from Xander's knee to his father's side, whimpering in fear and casting horrified glances back at Xander as his father leads him away. Where's your smart ass remark now brat?
Xander takes a deep breath, and readies himself. He glances at the soul figure left in the line and his brow furrows slightly in concern. The last child seems so tiny, standing alone on the red carpet. His parents don't seem to be around. Xander and Andrew exchange looks. The boy cautiously climbs the steps and moves towards Xander, placing his hands on "Santa's" knee.
"Hi Santa," he says quietly. His gaze shifts to Xander's drooping beard and the ex-carpenter absently wishes for some of Andrew's ear adhesive to fix it, despite the pain in the ass it would be to pull off the fluffs of beard later. Xander compensates by lifting the boy up and placing him gently on his lap, careful to keep his askew facial hair away from the boy's line of sight.
"Hi there. What's a little guy like you doing out on your own? Finishing up the Christmas shopping?" Xander asks gently, and now happy that the Santa voice seems to be intact.
"No sir." The boy replies. "I live in the apartments across the street, and Johnny in my class said that you were going to be at the mall so I wanted to see if you could help." Xander grimaces slightly. The apartments that Bobby had just mentioned were considered some of the worst housing in Langston. Dawn's classmates called it "little Compton."
Andrew brings a candy cane over, and the boy takes it graciously. "Thank you Mr. Elf," he says politely before placing the candy in his pocket.
"What's your name? I'll see if you're on my list here." Xander pulls out a scroll filled with ornately handwritten names. It was one of the props the agency had given him and it covered most of the common names like Susan, John, Mike, Stephen, Sara and Jennifer.
"I'm Bobby. Bobby Jacobs," he replies, his dark eyes shifting to Santa's scroll. Xander dimly recalls the name from somewhere but can't place it. He looks through his scroll and spots the name Robert thankfully.
"Ahh there you are Bobby. Wow, you've been a very good boy this year. Congratulations! So what can I get for you? G.I. Joe action figures? Maybe a nice red fire truck?" Xander thinks back to his childhood … he never did get that fire truck.
"Actually Santa, if I could, I'd like to have Christmas back again for my dad." Xander looks at him questioningly, then the name clicks in. The Jacobs family had lived in a working class section of Langston, mostly blue collar but very respectable. Several months ago there had been a terrible fire at a home owned by the Jacob's family caused by faulty wiring. The father had been laid off a few months earlier and because their insurance payments hadn't been entirely up to date the company had given only the most meager coverage. The mother had been horribly burnt and lingered in the hospital for weeks racking up enormous medical bills in the process. There had been a large article about it in the Cleveland Daily news and also coverage by the Langston Gazette but the resulting donations had barely covered the funeral expenses. To make matters worse Mr. Jacobs had suffered a nervous breakdown barely a week after his wife's internment and Bobby of course was left to suffer. It was one of those horrible tragic things that make people shake their heads at the unfairness of the world before turning the page to the sports section and promptly forgetting about it. Xander realizes with not a bit of guilt that he had done almost exactly that himself. He nods slightly and motions for the boy to go on.
"I lost my mom this year, and my dad is very sad. So am I." Xander hears a slight catch in the boy's voice but respects that the kid is trying to be the man of the house and probably doesn't want to be condescended to. He compromises by making a consoling noise with his throat and patting the boy's arm. The kid seems to appreciate it and soldiers on with his story. "Christmas was always our favorite day, but he said this year we can't have a tree or turkey cause of him losing his job." His voice seems to catch again but Bobby manages to recover and continues in a voice not much louder then a whisper. "So I came here to see if you could help me get Christmas back, for my dad, and also for my mom."
Xander feels his eyes stinging slightly and looks over to see Andrew's eyes swollen with tears. Oh shit, Xander thinks seeing the expression on Andrew's face. Here we go …
"Oh, the humanity!" Andrew starts with a wail and begins to rush forward but Xander manages to catch the young Watcher's glance just before he flings himself in a histrionic frenzy that the boy's feet. Not that Xander doesn't share the feeling. Reading it in the paper was entirely different to hearing it first hand and Xander decides on the spot that Bobby is going to get something more tangible then tears and pats on the back. Andrew manages to get himself under control but is still quivering with what Xander strongly suspects is the barely conquered urge to fly into an impression of Shatner doing Hamlet. Xander looks Bobby in the eye and smiles. "Miracles happen every day Bobby. Santa and his elves will look out for you. You go and spend some time with your Daddy, everything will be alright."
"Thank you Santa, thanks elf." Bobby hops down from Xander's knee and gives them both a grateful smile before slowly walking down the steps and towards the main doors leading out of the mall and to his home.
Andrew and Xander look at each other, unsure of what to say. Their hearts ached for this boy. They had to do something.
Christmas Eve
Bobby's father enters the door of his apartment after another fruitless day of dropping off resumes and looks up in time to see his son run up to him and nearly strangling him with a hug. His father hugs back, not wanting to let go. He thinks angrily of the small toy car in his pocket that was all he could afford for his son on Christmas. Sorry Bobby, we'll try for better next year, he thinks sullenly. He lets go and then suddenly notices something strange. There is a flickering coming from the living room. Bobby takes his dad's hand and leads him through the house.
In the center of the living room a large tree is standing, beautifully decorated, and overflowing with presents underneath. He glances around him in amazement as he sees much of the room decorated as well, little Christmas villages and reindeer scattered about the furniture tops. A smile that seems to start at his toes and bulge up through his legs and chest before finally erupting into his lips seizes his face. Bobby feels his happiness, and squeezes his dad's hand, neither of them sure of what to say. Bobby then leads his dad to the dining room, where a magnificent turkey on a platter swarmmed by roast potatoes and carrots is laid out. Mincemeat tarts and glazed turnip casserole sit in large dishes next to it and candied yams and bright green steamed broccoli flowers linger in other dishes. Two candles flicker cheerily amidst the feast and there are places set for two.
Mr. Jacobs looks to the ceiling and says a quick, silent prayer. Atop the table is an enveloped addressed to the two of them. Bobby opens it and hands it to his father who reads aloud.
"Miracles do happen. Have a very Merry Christmas! Love, Santa and the Elves."
Written by: littlebit
Three
Burp Medicine
Christmas Eve 2003 - Lincoln Heights, South Boston
"You're sure you wanna do this?" Robin looks at Faith uncertainly. The building is cold and tired feeling. The peeling yellow walls seem to sag with a beaten fatigue that matches the mood that he's in. The whole way over Faith had been unnaturally quiet and the edginess in her posture and mannerisms has transferred to the Watcher. "Giles will be back in an hour after he picks up that stuff from Terry. We can find a coffee shop or something if you want."
"No," Faith says quietly. She traces the wall with her finger tip as they walk down the dimly lit hall. She stops in front of an apartment door, wavering while she considers Robin's suggestion of an easy escape. She closes her eyes momentarily, then opens them again and smiles sheepishly at her boyfriend. "I said I was gonna do this so now I'm going to follow through. Lesson 3 in murder rehab; Make peace with your demons," she raps lightly on the door and suppresses a shiver as they wait. Robin squeezes her hand supportively and she thanks him silently for his reassuring touch. Behind the pea green door a rustle of movement is heard and Faith braces herself for the inevitable as the door opens a crack.
"Yeah," a suspicious baritone slinks from the shadowy figure barely visible through the small chasm. Instantly Faith sighs in a mixture of relief and disappointment. This isn't her mother's home anymore. Faith had been told years ago, just before leaving for Sunnydale in fact, that her mother had died but still needed to know for herself. Well if she was still alive she didn't live here. Theresa Lehane would never allow a man into her home on Christmas Eve. Drunk and unpredictable as her mother could be, she was oddly fastidious about certain things and entertaining a man on Christmas was something that she would never do. Maybe.
Faith clears her throat and manages to speak. "Uh, yeah. Hi. We're looking for Theresa Lehane. Is she here?"
"Lehane," the frown in the voice is apparent, even from behind the door and safety chain. "No Lehane here Miss. I think you have the wrong place."
"No," Faith says heavily, suddenly feeling very tired and panicky. Almost like she wants to sleep and lash out at the same time. She takes a breath and continues. "Theresa Lehane used to live here. 'Bout six years ago. Tall woman, dark hair, early 40's?"
"Sorry," the sound of the chain being pulled back grates through the heavy door and it opens more fully, revealing a sixtyish man with low slung brown pants and an age yellowed undershirt. He looks at the two suspiciously. "I moved in here about 5 years ago and the apartment had been vacant for a few months before I came." He pauses, seeming to weigh the two younger people with his gaze. "Why don't you try Mrs. McMurtry down in 412? She seems to know more about me then I do sometimes and she's lived in here forever."
"Sheila?" Faith looks at the older man in some surprise. "God, she must be 90 by now."
"Don't I know it," the man smiles for the first time revealing nicotine stained teeth. Oddly, it's rather endearing and the care lines on his face smooth away making him look several years younger. "That old broad keeps half the building up at night watching her bloody Coronation Street, laughing and coughing like a dying horse."
"Right," Faith returns the grin and nods appreciatively at the older man. "We'll go see her. Thanks a lot Mr. …?"
"Murphy," the old man replies with a nod. "Folks call me Murph, though I s'pose there's some that call have called me worse. Pleasure to meet you Miss …?"
"Summers," the lie is automatic and Faith cringes inwardly to mislead this nice older man. Protecting her identity was automatic, but she knew that the second she saw Sheila that it would be all over Southie in a minute that she had been back." Thanks Murph. Merry Christmas."
"Backatcha," the old fellow replies and he closes the door with a smile.
"So what next?" Robin looks at his girlfriend in mild amusement, noting the thickening of her Boston accent the moment she had encountered a similar one.
"I guess we see Sheila," Faith shrugs and starts back down the hall, pausing in front of apartment 412. Again she takes a breath and raps on the door.
Muffled cursing comes from the interior and the distinctive notes of an old woman's voice can be heard complaining through the door. "Bloody Jehovas. Can't they let an old woman in peace on Christmas Eve?" The sound of footsteps approach the door and this time her voice is low and cautious from behind the cheap wooden pressboard. "Who is it?"
"Uh, hi Mrs. McMurtry. It's ahh, Faith Lehane."
"Lehane?" the old woman's voice ruminates momentarily then brightens with recognition. "Faith? Not Theresa's girl?"
"Yeah Mrs. M. Can you open up? I'm trying to find my mother."
"You are?" the sound of the deadbolt clicking back is unnaturally loud in the corridor. The door opens to reveal the impossibly wizened creature behind it. Mrs. McMurtry looks every bit her age of 90, possibly even older. But her hazel eyes are still sharp and attentive and she grins toothlessly at the brunette in recognition. "My stars look at you! All grown up it would seem." She shifts her gaze to Robin and the gummy smile falters. "Don't recognize you though. You look like a cop."
"No ma'am," Robin replies somewhat meekly. The woman's gaze is like daggers and Robin knows automatically that she's no fool and the story that he and Faith had concocted for the visit on the way over seems very thin and foolish under this old woman's lethal gaze.
"Hmm," Mrs. McMurtry keeps her uncomfortable gaze on him for another moment then shrugs. "Well I guess we'll know soon enough. Come in, come in. Where are my manners?" She opens the door wide and beckons to them, shuffling slowly back down the hallway. Faith steps in and looks at Robin questioningly. The Watcher sets his unease aside and follows her sheepishly down the hall, stopping to gasp in amazement as he gazes upon her living room.
Fenway park should be so Red Sox friendly. The walls are literally plastered with Red Sox memorabilia, pennants, news clippings, jerseys; some of which appear to be at least 80 years old. Robin steps closer to one nearest him and sees the name "Ruth" across the back. He reaches out hesitantly to touch it and is rewarded with a sharp crack across the wrist with the lady's cane. She may be old but apparently she still has the reflexes of a mongoose.
"Tsk, tsk young man. That is the jersey the Bambino wore during his two-hitter in the 1918 World Series." She pronounces the year as 'one nine, one eight' and smiles reminiscently and Wood feels an eerie sense of history wash over him. The woman's eyes have faded back and he gazes on this frail, old time-traveler who still remembered Babe Ruth in a BoSox uniform and a time when horses and buggies were still the mainstay of public transit. Suddenly her eyes clear and she offers her gummy smile to the black man, tapping the jersey with her cane. "My daddy got me that after the game. Told the Bambino I was sick and he gave it to my daddy without even a thought. Not like these new players," the old woman snorts and makes her way to an antique divan, sitting down with an audible grunt. "More worried about soda-pop ads on the TV and running shoe royalties then the fans."
"Mrs. M. I'm trying to find my mother," Faith says gently, getting the room back on topic.
"Your mother?" The old woman sighs heavily and gazes up at the brunette Slayer compassionately. "I see. Faith why don't you have a seat? An old lady like me has a tough time looking up at you younger folks." Faith sits obediently on an ottoman and Robin resumes his visual appraisal of the room. His mind boggles at the value of the memorabilia on display. He estimates the value of just what is on the walls as approaching $100, 000. What the hell was this?
"Your mother came to see me a few years ago. She was terrible upset. Theresa was a haunted woman. She never did seem to find her place in the world. A shame really. She was such a lovely girl." The old woman looks at Faith with a lopsided smile. "Just like her daughter it would appear."
"Was?" Faith says in a strained voice, the faint hope she had of finding her mother alive now dwindling into a black hole. The local kids had always considered Mrs. McMurtry a bit of a looney when Faith had lived here, but even as a child Faith had felt a certain attachment to the old lady. The first time Faith had come home and discovered her mother with one of her "clients" she had fled into the hallway and down to the laundry room, completely unable to deal with the sight that her pre-adolescent eyes had taken in. Mrs. M. had come in to get her wash and had found Faith huddled by the dryer, shaken and nearly mute with shame and loathing. The old lady had led her back to her apartment and taken out a secret cache of sugar cookies and Pepsi that the old woman had claimed at the time was one of the few worthwhile inventions of the 20th century.
Faith had fallen asleep on the very divan that Mrs. M. now sat on and had gone home in the morning feeling a little better and grateful to the old woman. The next day she had gone to thank her but Mrs. M. had claimed to have no knowledge of the event and had even admonished the young girl for interrupting her 'stories' as she liked to call her daytime TV fixation. Later Faith had found two more cookies that had seemingly materialized of their own accord in her pocket and their secret had been solidified. For years after, whenever the kids of the neighborhood had reviled the old lad, claiming that she was a witch, Faith had joined in, joking about the old woman to seem like part of the crowd, but in her own heart of hearts she had always remembered the wonderful crumble of the cookies in her mouth and the sugary bubbles of the Pepsi washing it down. Burp medicine, the old lady had called it, cackling with delight.
"Yes, was. I'm very sorry to say dear but your mother passed a little over five years ago." The old woman lays a warm, gnarled hand on Faith's smooth one and squeezes it affectionately.
"Oh," Faith replies in a tiny voice, both saddened and relieved at the same time. She had bullied Robin into this visit, hoping to help her mother sort out things, much like Faith was sorting out her own demons. Now it was too late. She hates herself for the relief she feels in not having to deal with the stickiness of the original plan, but can't help feeling it nonetheless.
"Faith?" the old woman says quietly and the Slayer looks up to meet her gaze. "It's okay, what you are feeling. It's not a sin, God knows, to feel a sense of relief to avoid a hard task. That you came, that you tried, that is the measure of yourself. Don't be afraid of being human."
"Yeah," Faith says thickly. Robin comes up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder. Instinctively Faith reaches back and squeezes it. Her breathing is raw and raspy but her eyes are clear. She swallows hard and shivers lightly. "You said she came to see you?"
"Yep," Mrs. McMurtry rises slowly, gasping as her joints pop audibly. She shuffles to a tiny desk by the window and takes out a small box and an envelope. She comes back to the divan and seats herself again, setting the envelope on the coffee table and seeming to weigh the box in her hand. "She was having a really bad time your mother. The drink, you know. She got worse after you left Faith," she raises her hand to quell Faith's sudden stiffening at the comment and shakes her head slightly. "Now dear, that's not an accusation. You were better off going. Theresa, God love her, was a terrible mother. She knew it. Leaving was a necessity. However, after you left she did make one attempt to clean herself up a bit. She got a job down at Giovanni's Bakery, working nights. She kneaded dough and made biscuits and bread, kept away from the drink. She did very well for a while, but she knew. She knew herself and her own weaknesses so she came to see me."
The old lady pauses, suddenly seeming very tired, and Robin is reminded that she is indeed in her 90's and that despite her clear memory and language, she is a very old woman, possibly nearing death. She looks up at him with watery eyes and blinks a few times. "I wonder young man, if you would mind terribly getting me a glass of Pepsi? There's a bottle in the ice box and I get very dry these days." She gestures at the baseboard along the wall. "Horrid electric heating in these apartments. It dries a body out like a sun rack, I swear."
Robin nods and heads into the small galley kitchen, separated from the living room by a beaded curtain. Once he passes through the beads, the woman's eyes sharpen and she gazes at the brunette Slayer with a mischievous grin. "Sorry about that dear. Some things are better said in private."
"Okay," Faith says uncertainly, her own eyes locked on the tiny red box in the old woman's hand. "So what is it?"
"Your mother said some very odd things that night. Things about a British woman who came and took you away. Something about chosen this and Slayer that. All very garbled. At first I had thought she was back on the drink. She seemed almost frantic. But her eyes Faith … her eyes said different. There was no lie in them."
Now it is Faith who is very uncomfortable. She avoids the old woman's gaze, fixing her stare on a picture of Carlton Fisk's dramatic home run in game six of the 1975 World Series. The catcher was frozen in the black and white picture, his feet impossibly high off the ground as the ball slammed into the foul pole, forcing a seventh and deciding game. The old woman shakes her head in amusement and taps Faith's foot with her cane. "Now dear, it's alright. I know what you are, what you do." She snorts again in amusement. "You don't think I've walked this earth for over 90 years without knowing that there are bad things that walk amongst us, do you?"
"It's … uhm, I really don't know how to respond to that Mrs. M.," Faith says carefully. She looks at the old woman and sees that she is gazing at her warmly.
"No need dear." The old woman replies indifferently. "God gave us lips so that we could close our mouths when it was appropriate to do so. Shame less people practice it." She sets the box on Faith's knee and gestures for her to open it. Faith slowly takes it into her palm and opens the lid, her breath hissing out in shock as she does so. It is her grandmother's wedding ring, carefully nestled in tissue. She looks back up at the old woman, her mouth hanging open in wonder.
"Theresa left that for you," Mrs. McMurtry says plainly. She sighs and shrugs. "Theresa knew that if she kept it that it would never make its way to you. You see, she knew herself. Knew that her own demons would convince her to sell it for more money for drink. The thought horrified her."
Faith moves to touch the ring, but draws her hand back uncertainly. She didn't know what it was that she had expected the old woman to give her, but this certainly wasn't it. Instead she closes the box and stuffs it into her jacket pocket.
The old woman watches her like a hawk and nods slightly at the Slayer. "No need to fuss over it now Faith. I'm sure that Theresa would want you to keep it safe and pass it down to your own children."
"Yeah, I guess," Faith says hollowly. She shifts uncomfortably on the ottoman, desperately wishing for Robin to return. Now that she knows about her mother's fate all she wants to do is get out of here and try to clear her memory of all the things that had gone wrong six years ago.
"She also left you a letter," the old woman lifts the envelope from the table and hands it to the Slayer with a shaky hand. "I wasn't sure that I'd ever get the chance to give it to you but God does seem to work in mysterious ways."
At that moment Robin reemerges from the kitchen, a glass of Pepsi in his hand. The old lady lets out a whoop and nearly snatches it from his surprised hand, taking a large sip immediately. She closes her eyes in pleasure and both Robin and Faith nearly leap up when a monstrous belch erupts from the woman. "Now that's some good burp medicine."
"Uh, yeah," Robin says in some confusion, shooting a helpless glance at his girlfriend. Faith looks back at the old lady, then back toward her boyfriend and starts to laugh. Soon the laughter is so out of control that tears stream down the brunette's face. Mrs. McMurtry gazes at Faith comfortably, and Robin just seems more confused then ever.
"Well," Mrs. McMurtry says as Faith finally gets her laughter under control. "It's been lovely having you young folks here but I do believe it's closing in on my bedtime. Do you need anything else?"
"No Mrs. M., we're good," Faith looks over at Robin, whose relief is almost palpable at the thought of leaving this odd woman's home. The Slayer stands and Mrs. McMurtry rises to see the two of them to the door. Impulsively Faith turns and embraces the old woman affectionately. "Thanks."
"No need to thank me Faith," Mrs. McMurtry replies in amusement. "Just nice to see you young folks on the night of our savior's birth. Merry Christmas Faith."
"You too Mrs. M.," Faith replies and she and Robin make their way out of the apartment, not turning as the door snicks shut behind them.
"I missed something there didn't I?" Robin asks cautiously.
"Maybe a little," Faith gives him a coy grin as the two descend the stairs and leave the building, their senses immediately assaulted by the cold Boston air. Across the street, Giles sits reading a newspaper in the rental Ford that they had picked up at the airport. The two hurry across the dimly lit pavement and Giles looks up as they climb into the Taurus. "Hey Giles. How'd your visit with the T-man go?"
"What? Oh, yes. Uhm, very well Faith, thank you." The Head Watcher hurriedly sets the paper down, wincing slightly from the lingering pain from where the specialist had drawn what felt like a gallon of blood. He had told both Robin and Faith that he was going to see Vi and her new Watcher Terry Jacobsen, who had moved to Boston earlier in the fall, but in reality he had spent the past hour with one of Harvard Medical's leading specialists on diabetes. "And did you get to see your mother?"
"Well not so much," Faith dodges. She doesn't feel like discussing her mother's death with anyone until she can read the letter.
"Oh," even Giles' frown seems to have a British accent and it causes Faith to stifle a grin. "Well then shall we head for Logan? If we're lucky we can be in Cleveland by midnight."
"You bet," Robin looks at Faith suspiciously but says nothing. He'd heard a great deal of the private conversation between Faith and Mrs. McMurtry but had decided to leave it to Faith to bring it up when she felt she was ready. Robin knew a bit about the grief of having a dead mother.
"Excellent. Faith is there a convenience store near here?" Giles pulls away from the curb and heads out toward Milk Rd. and the Interstate.
"Why's that Giles?" Faith asks with a grin. "You need smokes or corn-nuts suddenly?"
"Uh, well no," the Watcher replies. "It's just that I feel the need for something sweet." The insulin he had taken is kicking in and Giles needs something with sugar to offset the initial dosage.
On a hunch Faith checks her pocket and feels a lump inside her jacket. Smiling inwardly she pulls out a small baggie that Mrs. M. must have slipped in her pocket when she'd hugged her. Inside are several of the sugar cookies that she remembered so fondly. "Here Giles," she hands him one. "Will this do?"
"Why yes," the Head Watcher replies in some surprise. Faith hands one to Robin as well and the three of them dig in together. "These are marvelous," Giles says in some wonder, though it comes out 'theefermurvllis' as he chews.
"Yeah," Robin says, dusting the crumbs off his hands. "Where'd you get those?"
"A friend," Faith says, savoring the taste and remembering.
Robin and Faith's Apartment - Five Hours Later
"You coming to bed babe?" Robin's voice calls out from the bedroom. Faith is in the en suite, turning the letter that Mrs. M. had given her in her hands. She wants to open it but at the same time she feels like if she does that she will be finally admitting to herself that her mother is dead. Sighing she decides to read it and slits the envelope open with her nails. She removes the folded paper inside and begins to read.
Dear Firecracker:
I'm sorry about how thing went for us when you left. I didn't really understand some stuff at the time and I'm sorry about what a lousy mom I was to you for the last few years. I know that doesn't make things better but after you left I tried to sort out a few things and now I want you to have your gramma's ring. She would have wanted that. Faith, sometimes people get a little lost, they forget about the things that matter most and take love for granted. If I never give you anything else, I want to yell you to never let that happen to you. Don't be afraid to love and don't be afraid to care, the world is awful big and lonesome sometimes but it always seems a little cozier when you have someone to love and care about.
All my love
Mum
Faith carefully folds the letter and replaces it in the envelope. She turns off the bathroom light and opens the door to the bedroom, moving to the bed and sliding under the covers next to Robin's naked warmth. She kisses him gently on the lips and holds him lightly. The Watcher regards her carefully and then hugs her back. "I love you," she whispers against his neck.
"I love you too babe," Robin replies gently. He pulls back slightly and uses his thumb to brush a stray tear from her cheek. "Merry Christmas."
Written By:
Celtic Pride
The End