'Twas The Night Before Christmas

Author's Note: This is the ficlet follow up to Brave New World. Just a note to set the time frame. This is just over six months into the future, so Dawn spent the summer in summer school to catch up, but is now on Christmas break.

It was 11pm on Christmas Eve when Buffy Summers tip-toed along the hall to her sister's room. The door was slightly open, colours flickered across the floor from the TV, and Buffy could hear Christmas music. She pushed the door open a little and smiled at her sister, then frowned. Her sister was asleep, robe wrapped around her, teddy slippers kicked across the bed. But she wasn't alone. Andrew had fallen asleep beside her in his usual nightly sweat pants and Harry Potter T-shirt. A Santa hat rested on his head, slightly askew. His arm was round Dawn's shoulder and she was snuggled against him.

She considered shaking them awake and demanding an explanation, but then remembered Andrew bounding up the stairs after Dawn a couple of hours ago when she said she was going to watch Sleepless In Seattle.

She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, smiling as her sister. She looked so young and she was. She was in high school now, after slaving away for three whole months to catch up so she wouldn't end up in a lower year. And Dawn and Andrew had grown incredibly close over the last few months. He was two years older than Dawn, so he didn't have to get back to school, but they still got on well. And if Buffy was being honest, she liked Andrew. He reminded her of Xander.

After a moment's silent contemplation, she went forward quietly, lifted the blanket shoved to the end of the bed, and pulled it up over the slumbering teenagers. Then she kissed her sister's forehead and turned the TV off as she left the room.

Andrew opened one eye and looked around the room. He opened the other eye when he realised Buffy had gone and breathed a sigh of relief. He had thought she would kick the crap out of him for still being there. He shifted a little so he could see Dawn's face in a shaft of silver moonlight. She moved a little, muttering something about Santa and presents. He smiled and snuggled down under the blanket as gently as possible.

"'Night, Andrew," Dawn muttered, hardly awake as she pressed her head into his shoulder.

"'Night, Dawn," he whispered in reply. "Merry Christmas."

"I don't understand Christmas," Anya announced, frowning at the scrolling credits of The Santa Clause. "I mean, I get Santa and presents. And I get the whole religious thing behind all that. But we're not exactly the most religious of people, are we?"

"You don't have to be," Doyle answered, going into the bathroom. "It's the family thing most people care about, Anya."

"Oh, yeah right," she said sarcastically, coming into the bathroom behind him and pulling her shirt off. "Don't think I didn't see the way your eyes lit up when you heard me say I'd got your present."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, licking his lips as he watched Anya undress and slip into the shower. "There is that. You know, there's an old tradition I haven't let you in on before…"

"What's that?" Anya called over the sound of the rushing water.

"The, uh, tradition where we exchange gifts on Christmas Eve. Which is… today," he saw her fuzzy figure falter and turn in the direction of his voice.

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you, Princess?"

There was a silence and Doyle grinned, grabbing his shirt to tug it over his head. His hand had reached the buckle of his belt when Anya said his name.

"Doyle? Do you think you could go take a shower and get changed in one of the other rooms?"

"Huh?" he stopped, jeans around his ankles and shivered. "Did I miss something? I told you about the togetherness thing, right? The part where Christmas is a time for people to get together and enjoy each others company?"

"Yes, you gave me a very amusing and in depth explanation about the Christmas traditions. But you've just let me in on another one," she opened the glass door of the shower and smiled at him. "And I need to get everything ready to give you the best present."

There was a lustful twinkle in her eye and Doyle wasted no time in pulling his jeans up and running out of their room to one of the empty rooms down the hall.

"Goddamnit, Red!"

Willow blinked at Spike as he paced the space at the end of their bed, kicking at stray balls of wrapping paper.

"Spike -"

"Oh, bloody hell!" he moaned, waving his bare foot around to dislodge the ball of Scotch tape that had stuck to his foot, attaching a large red bow to his big toe.

He sat down on the end of the bed and pouted, grabbing the Scotch tape and ribbon and scrunching it up, before tossing it carelessly into the bin.

"Feel better?" Willow asked, a slight smile on her lips.

"I bloody hate Christmas," he muttered darkly, glaring at their Christmas tree. "And I thought you were Jewish? Why are you taking part?"

"Because I like Christmas!" she answered. "And everyone else is. Anyway, you're only being all moody like this because you can't find your present. That's all."

"No," he answered, but she caught his guilty look and grinned.

"Yes, it is!" she crowed. "That's why you've been Mr-Grumpy-Vamp for the whole day! Couldn't you wait 'til tomorrow?"

"I've not had much practice," he replied. "I don't normally do Christmas."

"Neither do I," she shrugged.

"So…" he began after a moment's silence in which Willow shifted closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, slipping her hand though his. "You gonna give me my present now then?"

"No!" she replied, straightening up and punching him lightly in the shoulder. "But…" she smiled mischievously and moved to sit in his lap. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, before lowering her hands and untying her robe, letting it slip over her shoulders.

Spike pulled back from the kiss and paused, staring at the flimsy satin and lace nightgown in red and white. He met her eyes and she struck a little pose.

"Will…" he blinked. "Uh, red and white? That's a Christmas thing, right?"

"Yep," she nodded.

"Then Christmas isn't so bad after all," he said, raising an eyebrow before bundling her over onto the bed.

Tara yawned and stretched, setting Miss Kitty Fantastico on the floor before turning her attention to the final present on the table before her. She cut out a long piece of wrapping paper and set about wrapping the Magic 8 Ball she had bought for Andrew. But after a moment, her attention was drawn to the lone Christmas card set up on a little table in the corner, lit by a lamp. All her other cards were strung up downstairs with everyone else's. But this one, this one was one she wanted to keep all to herself. Her own little secret.

With a secret smile, she stood up and picked it up to read it for the hundredth time.

To Tara,

Merry Christmas.

How about a drink in the New Year?

Love, Kennedy.

"Dawn and Andrew are sleeping together," Buffy announced, sliding into bed and yawning.

"What?" Wesley asked, looking up from the book he was reading. "What did you say? Sleeping together? She's barely sixteen! He's eighteen, he should know better. You haven't just -"

"Calm down," Buffy cut in, pressing a finger to his lips. "By sleeping I actually did mean sleeping. They fell asleep watching a movie; I didn't want to disturb them. Do you realise how scarily big brother you were then? No, how scarily Spike you were?"

"Well, you must have known what conclusion I would jump to," he muttered, putting his book to one side and sinking down a little. He shot her a look and took her hand. "You've been awfully quiet all day. You didn't even moan when Spike beat you at Go Fish."

She rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. He frowned and rubbed it and she giggled, kissed his shoulder and snuggled down into his arms.

"I've been thinking," she answered after a moment.

"About your mother," he replied softly.

"Yes," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "And the others. Giles, Xander, Oz, Angel," she paused and glanced up at him before adding, "Cordelia."

He didn't answer for a long moment and she saw that his attention had fixed onto the far wall.

"It's only natural," he answered finally. "It's your first real Christmas after all," he smiled. "Hopefully a good one."

"So far, so good," she nodded. "Y'know… there was snow… that last Christmas… It saved Angel's life."

He heard the sadly nostalgic note in her voice and looked down at her, her hair glowing golden in the lamplight. He tightened his hand on her shoulder.

"I heard," he said gently.

"I wish there could be snow this year," she sighed wistfully.

"Well, now you've worked out my present for you," he huffed. "But then, I suppose a snow machine was a little too big to hide."

She looked at him for a moment, then broke out into loud peals of laughter before kissing him.

Doyle knocked on the door impatiently, holding up his jeans his one hand, his shirt in the other hand. The door opened and Doyle gaped at Anya, lounging in the doorway, a smirk on her face. Dressed in a Santa outfit. Though, Doyle doubted it qualified as an outfit. Nothing that tiny could be called clothing.

"You like?" she asked, pulling him inside. "Willow helped me choose it. She got one too. Only hers was more satiny and lacy. But I thought you'd prefer -"

"Anya," Doyle cut in. Anya stopped, nibbled her lip a little nervously. But he grinned and pulled her towards him. "You look gorgeous, darlin'."

She smiled then and lent forward to kiss him, but he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. She frowned at him.

"I thought you said I looked -" but she stopped as he gently turned her around to face the window across the room.

She gasped and practically ran to the window, throwing it open.

"I told you it was a little cold for LA. Guess the PTB thought we needed a little present," Doyle said, looking out of the window as the snow fell slowly.

Anya leaned out of the window, laughing, snow sprinkled liberally over the red outfit and in her hair.

"The last time I saw snow was in Russia," she said quietly. "And that was decades ago. I never felt like this about it. Is it a human thing?" the question was directed pointedly at Doyle, and she turned her head towards him, cheeks rosy with cold.

He didn't answer her for a moment, just looked at her. At the way the cool temperature made her face white, but her cheeks red. The way her hazel eyes sparkled like a little kid at… well, Christmas.

"Yeah," he answered at last. "But it's less of a human thing, more of a Christmas thing," she leaned back and snuggled under his arm, singing under her breath.

"Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me. Been an awful good girl, Santa, baby. And hurry down the chimney tonight…"

"Spike. Spike!" Willow gave her boyfriend a none to gentle poke in the shoulder and he growled, looking up at her.

She pulled the strap of her nightgown back over her shoulder and pushed Spike away from her. He sat back and stared at her.

"What did I do?" he asked, astonished. "Sometimes, Willow, you bloody confound me. What did I do?"

"It's not you," she replied and shifted along the bed closer to him. "Will you just look!"

He sighed and followed her pointing hand to the window.

"I don't see - oh," he stopped as he noticed the quickening snow gathering outside. "I thought it didn't snow in LA?"

"It doesn't," she said excitedly. "It never used to in Sunnydale. But it did one year. Maybe the Powers think we're doing a good job?"

Her voice rose in question and Spike tore his gaze from the window to look at Willow.

"Probably," he agreed, then smirked. "Or they just really, really like your outfit."

"Dawn," Andrew gave her a little nudge. "Dawn."

She frowned; keeping her eyes stubbornly closed and groaned.

"No, Mom, I don't wanna go to school."

Andrew gulped hard and continued to nudge her awake.

"It's Andrew," he said softly. "Wake up, Dawn."

"Huh?" she blearily opened her eyes. "Is it time for presents?"

"Not yet," he answered, squinting at her clock. "You've got ten minutes before midnight."

"So what d'ya wake me up for?" she huffed and to Andrew's utter shock and amazement, snuggled down against him again and closed her eyes.

"I-it's snowing," he whispered and heard her chuckle in reply.

"That's not gonna get me up, Andrew," she told him. "I'm asleep. It's doesn't snow in LA. LA doesn't even have seasons."

"Well, it never snowed in Sunnydale, but it did that one year," he reminded her.

She sat up, frowning at him.

"I remember," she answered softly. "Mom had lit the fire and turned on the air conditioning 'cause it was hot," she smiled a little, her expression distant. "She had to turn it off when it started snowing. Faith took me into the garden and we built the world's tiniest snowman."

He nodded in the direction of the window and she turned, a little unsure, to look at the snow.

"Wow," she whispered, crossing her legs and gazing toward the window.

"Me and my brother sneaked out," Andrew told her quietly after a long silence. "Mom and Dad told us to stay in bed, not to come downstairs to look at the presents. That year, we weren't interested in the presents. We went to the front yard and had a snowball fight," he laughed. "I had the worst cold for ages. But Tucker never told mom how I got it."

Dawn looked at him.

"You don't talk about him much."

"I'm talking about him now, aren't I?"

"Yeah," she whispered, and after a hesitation, slipped her hand in his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Andrew."

"You too," he replied, easing the tremble from his voice.

Tara placed the neatly wrapped presents in a bag and left it by the Christmas tree. She turned off her stereo and the low hum of Christmas songs cut out, leaving the room suddenly empty. She shivered a little and pulled her robe tighter around her.

She gave the card on her TV a final smile and moved toward her bed. But she stopped as she passed her window and stared at the snow. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and stared. Then she glanced back at the card.

Well, at least now she and Kennedy would have something to talk about over that drink. Once Tara took her up on it.

Wesley pushed away Buffy's insistent hands and moaned, burying his head under the pillow.

"I'm asleep!" he protested, a slight whine to his voice

"Wake up, Wesley!" Buffy said, shaking his shoulders. "C'mon, please. Get up."

"What?" he mumbled.

"It's snowing."

He grinned into the pillow and chuckled.

"Buffy, it's not snowing. I may not know much about LA, as Dawn and Anya have pointed out on more than one occasion, but I do know that it does not snow in Los Angeles. I'd put money on it."

"Ok, fine. I really just wanted you to get up so I could give you your present. But if you're not that bothered…"

He sat up quickly, not realising how close he had scooted to the edge of the bed to escape Buffy's attempts to wake him, and tumbled off the edge. He grabbed the sheets to stop himself, but dragged them with him. He heard Buffy laughing and felt the sheets slide over his body as she pulled them off him. She pulled the sheets around herself, leaving him on the surprisingly cold floor.

"It is cold," he noted, getting up. "Though not cold enough… for… snow," he blinked in the direction of the window and then looked at her. "Well, I didn't actually believe you."

"That much was obvious," she replied, pulling him down on the bed and sharing the sheets with him. "And you were gonna put money on it," she leaned against him. In the following silence, Wesley slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer, silently arranging the sheets around her shoulders and over her legs. She looked up at him, slightly hesitant. "Wesley, what does this mean?"

"What does what mean?" he asked, though he knew full well what she meant.

"The snow. It never snows. It only snows when it means something, right? So what does this mean? Is it a sign, do we have to go save someone -"

"Doyle would have had a vision if that were the case," he cut in gently. "Though, yes, I suppose there is a reason."

"You gonna let me in on that or just leave me hanging?" she asked, her voice a perfect balance of amusement and impatience.

"I think it's to say merry Christmas to a beautiful young woman who deserves it after the last two years."

She smiled, blushing a little and nudged him.

"Hey, wasn't just me. I seem to remember a hot Englishman waving a rocket launcher around. Oh and a rifle at the same time. If I hadn't been so caught up in the fight, I might have fainted."

"I do believe you're mocking me," he said.

"No, it's a compliment. I get all woozy whenever you're around," she pressed her hand dramatically to her head and collapsed across Wesley's lap. "Oooh, Mr Wyndham-Pryce!"

"And I would demonstrate how my knees go weak whenever you're around, Buffy, but you're preventing any movement."

She laughed and sat up.

"Y'know, Dawn's always up around six on Christmas Day. That gives us exactly six hours of sleep before she runs in here, screaming. So, I guess we'd better get to sleep."

"And miss the snow?" he asked, jumping up and pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

"Wesley, what the hell are you doing?" Buffy asked.

"Going out to build a snowman. I suppose you could call it an English thing," he offered her his hand. "Coming?"

"You're crazy," she said. "It'll be freezing out!"

"Which is why you'll put on a T-shirt, a sweater and a jacket," he said, tossing her the items from the closet "And I find three pairs of socks always does the trick."

"You're actually serious," she gasped, as he pulled on a third pair of socks.

"Of course," he nodded. "Have you ever known me to be anything but serious?"

"Do you really want me to take you back a couple of days, to the whole bells and singing thing?"

He had the good grace to blush at the memory, but he shrugged nonetheless.

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time," he huffed. "So, are you coming with me, or are you going to stay here on your own in an empty bed on Christmas Eve?"

"Day," she corrected, getting out of bed and starting to change. "It's actually past midnight."

"Well, that gives us six hours to build a snowman. Think you can handle the pace?"

"Oh, I know I can," Buffy said firmly, struggling to pull on her shoes over the socks.

"Then prove it," he challenged.

"Oh, you!" she cried, grabbing her jacket and chasing him out of their room and out into the hall.

She caught him in the courtyard, tackling him to the ground so that he fell face first into a surprisingly deep snowdrift.

"You'll pay for that," he spluttered, wiping snow from his face.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she replied, weighing a snowball in her hand with a mischievous and happy grin.

The End.