“The rest of the East Wing trainees will be flying out of Edinburgh tomorrow,” Giles is saying, standing at the white board with a marker in hand. “Geneva and Rabia will need transport to Dublin by the 23rd. Somehow the entire Dublin squad got the holiday off”—he spares a displeased look at Andrew—“and they’ve volunteered to serve as backup.”

“I had Aoife on rotation,” Andrew protests immediately.

“Uh huh,” Giles says, pausing to give Andrew his attention, “and why is she no longer covering the holiday?”

“Her grandmother is dying,” Andrew says with deep sympathy in his voice. “This could be her last Christmas. They need to be together.”

Giles sighs. “Aoife doesn’t have a grandmother.”

Andrew blinks. “What? But she told me…” He turns imploring eyes to Xander. “Nana Mona…?”

“Sorry, bud,” Xander says, with a gentle clap to his shoulder. “Nana Mona’s a scam.”

“There might be a new girlfriend named Mona though,” Willow whispers under her breath, nudging Xander’s ribs.

“But she gave me those puppy dog eyes!” Andrew insists, seeming shocked and appalled by this news. “She told me about Nana’s hip surgery!”

“As I was saying,” Giles says, turning back to the board, “we’ll need Geneva and Rabia in Dublin by the 23rd. I’ll slot them in for teleport if that’s all right, Willow?” He waits for her to flash a thumbs up before continuing. “Now for the 24th.”

Only half listening, Xander glances past Giles’s shoulder to where the door to the hall stands open. Buffy passes, her arms overflowing with red and green fabric. An unspooled trail of ribbon follows in her wake for almost a minute before disappearing from view. Leaning a little to his right, Xander whispers, “Am I the only one worried about the Buffster? She’d decked every hall in the castle and she’s still going.”

Nodding her agreement, Willow says, “She’s one grocery trip away from the UK declaring a national chestnut shortage.” She frowns slightly. “She says it’s for Emmy.”

“Emmy’s two months old,” Xander says, stating the obvious.

“Two guesses what it’s really about,” Willow murmurs back, before straightening up as Giles finishes his overview of their upcoming holiday arrangements.

Xander only needs one. “I’ll see if there’s any news,” he says.

Willow squeezes his arm, getting to her feet with everyone else.

Xander hangs back as the others trickle out, waiting until it’s only him and Giles left before he stands and joins Giles at the large table.

Seeming to know what’s on his mind, Giles says, “I guess you noticed who wasn’t on the transport list.”

“It’s been way too long,” Xander says, frowning. “Faith should have been back at least a month ago. Are we sure they’re safe?”

“Reasonably sure,” Giles says. “Ngorn tells me they radioed in yesterday. It sounds like they’ve got a good lead on the creature.” He frowns, looking tired. “I’ve tried to get Faith to come home—we can send in someone else, restart in the new year, whatever we need to do—but she declined.”

“Or at least that’s what Ngorn says.”

Giles retrieves his handkerchief from his pocket and unfolds it. “Are you telling me you have a hard time believing Faith wouldn’t give up in the middle of a mission?”

“No,” Xander admits, “but I don’t like that we haven’t heard from her directly.”

“I don’t disagree,” Giles says, “but there are reasons for that. The issues with the sat phone, the remoteness of their location.” He shrugs helplessly, cleaning his glasses. “Would you have us send in an extraction team? If nothing’s wrong, we’ll jeopardize all the work Faith and Chanlina have put in.” As if seeing the conflict in Xander’s face, Giles reaches over and squeezes his arm lightly. “I’ve known Ngorn a long time, and he’s always been on the up and up. I’m not sensing any deception from him. I know it’s hard, but I think we have to let this play out.”

Xander reluctantly nods. Mustering up a smile, he says, “If Faith doesn’t come home soon, she’s not going to recognize the castle.”

Giles glances around the conference room, which has already been festooned with garland and lights. “Buffy can go a little overboard on the holidays.”

“She’s filling the hole in her heart with tinsel.”

“That too,” Giles agrees. He gathers his things and stands up straight. “There’s still a few days left before Christmas,” he says. “We can hope for the best.”

“A Christmas miracle?” Xander asks skeptically.

Giles smiles faintly. “They’ve been known to happen.”

XXXXX

Buffy considers the box in front of her. It’s square, neatly wrapped in purple and pink paper, with an inordinate amount of silver ribbon rounding out the presentation. It’s missing something… Turning to the larger plastic tub beside her, she digs inside for the gift toppers she bought at the store last week. Before she can find the perfect one, a gurgling noise comes from the direction of the box.

Abandoning the hunt, Buffy turns around. The baby lies cushioned in her baby lounger, bright blue eyes trained on Buffy as her little hands open and close in apparent glee. A red and white bow droops from the patchy dark hair covering only the top of her head. “Hey Emmy girl,” Buffy coos, leaning down and gently tickling the baby’s belly.

A gummy grin is her response.

Buffy grins back. She lifts Emmy up and sets her against her shoulder, enjoying the way the tiny body snuggles towards hers.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by a voice from the doorway. “Please tell me these aren’t all for her.”

Buffy looks up to find Dawn crossing her arms with a look of disbelief on her face. “Only like half of them,” Buffy says defensively.

Dawn gives her an exasperated look.

“Okay, two thirds.”

“Buffy!”

“What!” Buffy exclaims. “She’s my niece; I get to spoil her.” She leans the baby back, cradling her neck, and smiles at her. “Besides, I figure, you know, I’m filling in for Mom too.”

Dawn softens, dropping her arms as she enters the room. “If you’re going to start talking about Mom, I will cry,” she threatens as she folds her long legs into a sitting position across from Buffy. “These postpartum hormones are no joke.”

Buffy gives her a sympathetic look. “I won’t talk about Mom if you let me buy her an entire toy store.” She carefully hands Emmy across the space between them, not releasing the baby until she’s firmly cradled in Dawn’s arms.

“No deal,” Dawn says in the sing-song voice, giving her daughter a wide smile. “Your auntie Buffy is crazy, yes, she is,” she tells the baby. Returning to her normal tone, she surveys the sea of boxes parked under the large Christmas tree. “Tell me the truth; has anyone else even put anything under the tree yet?”

“I distinctly recall seeing Xander put at least three presents under,” Buffy sniffs.

“Uh huh.” Dawn gives her a knowing look, settling Emmy across her folded lap. “Have you gotten anything for Faith yet?”

Hearing Faith’s name makes Buffy’s throat feel a little tight. “Yeah,” she says, gesturing behind Dawn. “The ones in the craft paper with the trees are for her.”

Dawn glances back, then does a double take.

“I miss her!” Buffy says before Dawn can comment on the number of presents wrapped in that paper. “She was supposed to be gone for a month at most.”

“I know,” Dawn agrees, then looks down at Emmy. “You should have gone with her.”

Buffy immediately feels terrible. “No, Dawnie, I wanted to stay here. You think I was gonna miss out on this little nugget coming into the world?” She reaches over, smoothing Emmy’s hair back. The little bow gives up the ghost and drops free from the baby’s thin hair. “Besides, I learned some new curse words, watching you deliver.”

A glare is her response.

“The baby’s first word will probably be fu—”

“I’m gonna remember this if you ever decide to squeeze a baby out of your vagina,” Dawn says pointedly.

“Ohhhh, I think my biological clock stopped ticking around hour 14 or so of labor.”

“Smart,” Dawn says. “Mine too.”

Buffy smiles and scoots closer. She puts an arm around Dawn, squeezing her shoulders. “You were incredible. Mom would be so proud of you.”

Her sister’s head dips, long hair falling across her cheek. “I don’t think this is exactly what Mom had in mind for me.” She chuckles darkly. “Getting knocked up on winter break, dropping out of college?”

“You think this is what Mom had in mind for me?” Buffy asks, gesturing to the wall across from the Christmas tree, which houses several swords lovingly draped in glowing lights. “You’re amazing, Dawn. The only thing that having Emmy changes is now you’re an amazing mom too. And you can always go back to school. I’ll help you; you know that.”

A long sniffle emerges from behind Dawn’s hair. “Damn it, Buffy. I told you not to make me cry.” Her arm snakes around Buffy’s waist, squeezing hard.

“And I told you to let me buy my niece a toy store,” Buffy says smugly.

“Fine,” Dawn sighs, lifting her head. Her cheeks are a little damp, and she wipes her sleeve across them. “I give up. Go crazy.”

“Yesssss,” Buffy says, victorious. She chucks Emmy’s chin and beams at her. “Baby’s first Christmas is going to be epic.”

“Best Christmas ever,” Dawn deadpans.

Buffy’s still thinking about ways to make this Christmas the best one ever when she pulls on her Snoopy Christmas pajamas. She’s got the presents; she’s got the trees. The halls have been decked, the stockings hung by the chimney with care (after the menorah was carefully placed upon the mantle for the upcoming Hanukkah celebration), mistletoe was placed, and she’s got gay apparel ready to go. There’s only one thing missing.

Making her way to the dresser, she picks up the container of fish food and unscrews the lid. Franklin’s ready for her approach, already swimming to the top of the tank. He slows near the surface, the fan of his multicolored fin surrounding him.

“Hey, buddy,” Buffy greets while opening the top of the tank. She sprinkles a pinch of flakes across the surface, then closes the tank once more. Setting the food aside, she leans on the dresser, chin on her forearm so she can watch him. It might be her imagination, but she swears Franklin has seemed a little out of sorts lately. Projection, she thinks, the long gone voice of Maggie Walsh floating from the recesses of her mind. When she’s satisfied that the fish is eating, she gets to her feet and faces the daunting prospect of her empty bed.

Her side of the bed is rumpled from where she’d thrown the covers together this morning. The other side of the bed is relatively well kept, the covers still smoothly tucked, the pillow plump with disuse. At least the nightstand still looks inhabited. It’s scattered with lotion, chapstick, and discarded jewelry, all of it echoing the presence of the bedroom’s missing occupant. Buffy climbs into bed, doggedly facing the wall rather than Faith’s absence. They’ve rarely spent a night apart since Faith officially moved to Scotland earlier this year, and Buffy’s still not used to the space beside her being cold. There was a time when this was commonplace. Before Faith, Buffy’s bed was empty more often than it was full. Even after they got together, long distance dating meant Buffy was often tucking herself in at night. She’d thought all that was behind them. The knowledge that Faith’s working, and that she’d be back by now if she could, does little to ease the ache in Buffy’s heart.

The only thing that comes close to making Buffy forget to worry and miss Faith for a little while is spending time with Emmy. So Buffy’s going to throw herself into this Christmas thing. Emmy’s going to have the best first Christmas any kid ever had. And if Buffy’s voice warbles a little while she’s singing baby, please come home, or her fingers falter when she’s hanging the Red Sox ornament on the tree, no one’s going to be the wiser. She’ll keep it together. For her family. For Emmy. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll get her Christmas wish in the end.

XXXXX

Half a world away, Faith peels her damp jeans down to her knees and crouches beside a tree to relieve her bladder. Mid stream, she glances up and locks gazes with a pair of beady red eyes. “You gotta be kidding me,” she mutters to herself, continuing to pee as she and the snake assess one another. Its body is two, maybe two a half feet in length, its scales a bright green that blends easily into the foliage. It’s a pit viper, she thinks. She remains utterly still, aware that any movement would likely not be fast enough to avoid the snake’s bite. She’s racking her brain, trying to determine if she could whistle or call for Lina without unnerving the snake, when her bladder is finally empty. The snake seems to detect the change in circumstances and flexes its jaws. Fuck, she thinks, before the thing makes a sudden movement toward her.

Faith yelps, stumbling backward in her crouched position, but the snake’s bite never comes. Instead, a machete flies through the air, cutting the head from its body just as the snake fully opens its jaws. The machete keeps moving, embedding in a nearby tree, as the decapitated snake meets the forest floor.

Lina appears, sweat plastering her dark hair to her forehead. She’s frowning in concern. “Okay?” She asks quietly, taking no notice of Faith’s bare thighs and ass visible from beneath her shirt’s hem. After spending more than two months in the oppressive heat, pulling leeches off one another and sharing a mystery ointment from Lina’s pack to treat the heat rash and bug bites coating the two of them, things like modesty have gone by the wayside.

When Faith nods, she disappears in the direction of her machete, leaving Faith to situate herself. Without further delay, Faith pulls her underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them quickly and checking to ensure she hasn’t lost anything from her pockets. The majority of her supplies are in the pack that she picks up and slings onto her back. But her front right pocket contains her most prized possession: a picture of her and Buffy, tucked in a plastic baggie for safe keeping from the weather. Faith pulls it free and gives it a once over. The baggie is intact, the picture slightly creased but no worse for the wear. She allows herself a few seconds to dwell on Buffy’s smile and remember the feeling of Buffy’s arms around her before she tucks it away.

The request for help had come in mid September. An old acquaintance of Giles’s had called with some alarming developments. People had been disappearing from the remote areas along the Areng River. The only witness to these disappearances was a young girl who had barely escaped with her life, missing the better part of her left arm and clearly terrorized. The child’s description was muddled, but definitely pointed at something more supernatural than natural, given that whatever it was had carried away her father in its jaws after he’d ripped the girl free. The closest resource to the area was Sok Chanlina, a young slayer who had little experience actually slaying, but plenty of experience with the local flora and fauna. With Dawn ready to pop any day, Kennedy in the field elsewhere, and the Scotland squad otherwise consisting of less experienced slayers, that left Faith.

Months later, she finds herself skinning the snake that almost took her out, tying its meat to a stick and getting ready to roast breakfast.

Lina’s not bad, as company goes, but Faith’s more than ready to get out of the jungle and get back home. She’s not sure exactly what the date is, but it’s definitely into December. It took them nearly a month to track the first of the creatures, following it further and further into the mountains. It blended in with the local crocs when it needed to, using the presence of dangerous wildlife to hinder their hunt further. When they finally caught up to it, the demon’s sudden desire to dine on the locals started to make sense. The one they’d been tracking was bringing food back to a nest, its mate and what was obviously a juvenile of their species waiting for it.

A carefully orchestrated attack managed to take out the original demon they’d been tracking, but momma and baby are in the wind and proving even more elusive than the original creature. All in all, you could say this mission’s gone to shit, but Faith refuses to throw in the towel. They’re this close to catching up with the remaining two demons; she can feel it.

Satisfied with her breakfast preparations, Faith settles herself on the ground beside their small fire and holds the stick above the flames. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And today, she really needs it. Today, she’s gonna find these dinosaur looking, crocodiles from hell, whatever the fuck they are things. And then she’s gonna kill them.

XXXXX

Giles is fast asleep, warm duvet keeping out the drafts so prevalent in the castle, when his laptop begins chirping incessantly. The infernal machine is typically housed in his office overnight, but the holiday spirit had finally prevailed upon him, and he’d enjoyed a rendition of White Christmas on his laptop (and a glass of brandy) before bed. 

Now, he rolls over, bleary eyed and confused. The clock at his bedside reads 3:51, and Giles suddenly feels wide-awake. A call coming at this time of night is bound to be an emergency. He pushes back the covers, pulls his dressing gown from the chair, and finds his laptop where it sits on the desk. The small blue ‘S’ symbol bounces at the bottom of the screen, and it takes him two tries to click it, opening the video call. 

As the screen loads, Giles fumbles for his glasses, shoving them on hastily.

Ngorn beams at him through the screen, still somewhat blurry and unevenly lit. Behind him, Giles can see his small kitchen, filled with late morning light. “I have good news for you, my friend,” Ngorn says. “The besach has been slayed!”

Before Giles can ask for further detail, Faith crowds into frame, a stuffed roll of some sort in her hand. She looks decidedly worse for the wear, her lank hair pulled back, her face a little thinner. Giles has never been happier to see her. “Faith,” he says, relief and affection packed into the word. 

“Hey, G,” she says back. He imagines he can hear the same in hers. “Long time no see.”

“Are you all right?” He asks immediately.

“Could use a shower and about a month’s vacation,” Faith says, “but yeah, I’m okay.”

In spite of his assurances to Xander, Giles has been worried about Faith as well. Hearing her response, he feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders. He asks, “And Chanlina, is she well?”

“She’s great,” Faith says. She leans out of frame, dragging the younger woman back into view with her a moment later. “She saved my bacon a few times out there.”

Chanlina flushes, offering a shy smile to the camera. Giles doesn’t know the young slayer well, but he can see similar changes in her appearance as he noted in Faith’s. “I’ve no doubt about it,” he says. “Well done, both of you.” 

Chanlina gives him a nod, her cheeks still pink. Faith smiles around the mouthful of roll she’s just bitten off.

“Have we identified the demon?” Giles asks, trying his best to look and sound like a professional in spite of the fact that he’s wearing pajamas.

Ngorn speaks, although he’s mostly blocked from view by the two slayers. “I believe they were krasachus.”

Not able to immediately place the name, Giles frowns. Then the rest of the sentence clicks. “They? As in more than one?”

Chanlina nods. “We found a mated pair and one offspring.”

“Almost felt bad about taking out the little one,” Faith adds, in between bites of her snack, “until the thing sliced the shit out of me.” She turns, lifting her shirt to show Giles several healing claw marks on her back.

“Juveniles come into their full maturity at three months,” Ngorn says. “It could have been much worse.”

That fact finally clarifies the demon species for Giles. “Krasachus,” he says thoughtfully. “Native to Southeast Asia, reptilian… they’re meant to be extinct, aren’t they?”

Faith snorts. “Maybe they are now.” She holds up her hand expectantly, and Chanlina lightly high fives her.

“This is interesting,” Giles says, plucking a notepad from the desktop. He flips open the cover and begins making notes. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“Absolutely,” Chanlina begins, squaring her shoulders.

“G,” Faith cuts in, laying a hand on Chanlina’s arm, “maybe debrief can wait?”

He takes in the tired slump of her shoulders and the healing bruises on Chanlina’s throat, and nods. “Of course.”

“And uh, no offense to you guys,” Faith says to her companions, then looks back at the camera, “but maybe we can save it for when I get home. How soon can you get me out of here?” 

He glances automatically at the clock on his laptop although he already knows the date. It’s December 23rd, and he knows from the constant complaints of his admin staff that commercial flights have been booked out for weeks. Willow’s been overextending herself, trying to get dozens of slayers back where they belong for the holidays. “I’ll look into it right away,” he says, “but it may take a few days for us to make arrangements.”

“A few days?” Faith echoes, frown lines appearing in her forehead.

“With Christmas so close,” Giles says, then trails off. “I’ll do my best.”

Faith nods, looking more exhausted now. “Do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t tell B yet?” She asks. “I don’t want to get her hopes up. You know how she is with Christmas.” She looks down. “I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“I’ll just let her know you’re all right and things are going well,” Giles agrees. “You both get some rest. I’ll get started on arrangements.”

Faith nods. “Thanks, Giles.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “And Faith?”

“Yeah?”

“See you soon.”

XXXXX

Faith was hoping ‘soon’ would turn out to be later the same day, but by sundown, Giles hasn’t had any luck in procuring her a ride home. Faith rarely asks for favors—in spite of her relationship with Buffy, she still feels like the odd one out with the old Scooby gang—but this time she forces herself to do it. “Could Red maybe…?” She suggests, Ngorn’s cell phone pressed to her ear.

“She would,” Giles says quickly, “of course she would. It’s just that she’s booked solid with last minute transport. It takes a lot out of her.”

“Yeah,” Faith agrees, the brief flicker of hope going out in her chest. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going to keep working on it,” Giles promises.

“Yeah,” Faith says again, “thanks.”

Forcing her fingers to unclench from around the phone before she damages it, Faith ends the call, setting the phone carefully on the kitchen counter. She pushes her hand into her pocket, fingertips brushing the little photo she’d carefully tucked into the clean jeans she’d put on after her shower. The urge to run crawls over her, stronger than it’s been in a long, long time. There was a time when Faith spent most of her time running from things, the mother who couldn’t see her through the cloud of her own addiction, the foster care placements that were usually worse than home, then later the consequences of her own choices, the feelings that were too big and heavy for even a slayer to carry. She hasn’t felt the urge to go in a long time, her muscles jumpy and her blood too quick. Only this time, she doesn’t want to run away from something; she wants to run toward it. She wants to be home, pressed into service as Buffy’s gift wrapper and ornament hanger. She wants to be in her own bed in the castle that’s too big and too drafty, but it’s the safest and best place in the world because Buffy’s in it with her.

Last year they celebrated their own little Christmas a week late, when Faith had been able to get away to Scotland. They spent two days locked in Buffy’s room, exchanging small gifts, eating their weight in chocolate, and testing the limits of slayer endurance in bed. It was the best Christmas Faith had ever had. This year should have been even better—their first Christmas together since Faith had moved to the castle. Instead she’s stuck halfway around the world, she hasn’t even been able to talk to Buffy in weeks, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

A quiet cough from behind her makes Faith turn. Lina leans in the doorway, a sympathetic look on her face. Her hair is still damp from the shower, but she’s wearing clean clothes for the first time in weeks. The bruising she sustained from their early morning encounter with the mother/daughter duo from hell is fading as well.

“Hey,” Faith says gruffly. “What’s up?”

Lina stands up straight and opens her palm to reveal a set of keys. “You said you wanted to get out of here.”

Somewhere reachable by car isn’t exactly what Faith had in mind, but it would be nice to get some space from Ngorn. The guy’s sweet as hell, but she’s already growing tired of his mother hen routine. He’s plied them both with some kind of fried cake that was admittedly delicious, steamed buns, lok lak, and more milk fruit than any human should consume in one day. She’s stuffed to the gills, miserable as hell, and if she doesn’t get out of her soon, she’s going to lose it. “Yeah,” she says.

Lina disappears into the small living room again, coming back with two jackets and tossing Faith’s to her. “Let’s go,” she says.

Pulling hers on, Faith hesitates. “What if Giles calls?”

Lina pulls a cell phone free of her pocket and holds it up. “Ngorn will call if Mr. Giles makes the arrangements.”

Good enough for her. Faith follows Lina through the back door.

Outside, Lina retrieves an ancient looking motorcycle from where it’s propped against the wall of the small outbuilding that houses the water buffalo (“Pisey and Akara!” Ngorn had announced them with a grin, leaving Faith to shuffle closer and awkwardly pat each of the large animals in greeting).

“That thing runs?” Faith asks dryly.

Lina ignores that, save for one raised eyebrow, and busies herself with climbing aboard and fitting the key in the appropriate slot.

“You old enough to drive?” Faith asks next.

Her answer is a noisy belch of exhaust as Lina kick starts the rusty monstrosity like a pro.

“Okay then,” Faith mutters. She climbs onto the seat behind Lina and loosely wraps an arm around her waist.

Faith spends the next 40 minutes alternately fearing for her life and marveling at Lina’s skill. They weave around potholes on dirt roads, overtake slow moving farmers in ox carts, and at one point, briefly take flight when Lina deliberately steers them toward what appears to be a natural ramp. By the time they slow to a stop, Faith’s amazed that they’ve survived this long. She clambers off the bike, glancing around for their destination.

It doesn’t take long to spot it. A neon sign proclaims that they’ve arrived at Rickie’s Café. Green, plasticky garland hangs from the roof line, with twinkling Christmas lights mixed throughout. Spray painted snow lines the windows, with a jolly mixture of snowflakes, candy canes, and extremely anatomically incorrect reindeer seemingly hand painted on the glass. Bing Crosby is warbling about being home for Christmas from a strategically placed speaker above the front door.

“Uhhh,” Faith says.

Lina beams at her. “You were upset about missing Christmas,” she says. “I brought you to Christmas.”

“Uh huh,” Faith agrees. “You did.” She’s equal parts appalled and mystified by the cafe, but she’s also a little touched. Lina’s a sweet kid, and she’s spending her first night back in the real world hauling Faith’s ass to some weird ass cafe. She musters up a smile. “Should we check it out?”

She allows Lina to shepherd her through the door. Inside, the place is set up like a tiki bar. A chalkboard by the door boasts a burger of the day and a cocktail called the Mele Kalikimaka. Faith scans the ingredients and grimaces. It’s going to be a long night.

XXXXX

“Buffy?” Dawn asks. “Are you listening to me?”

Slowly sipping her coffee, Buffy’s focused on the opposite side of the dining room. Several minutes ago, Giles had come in, clad in a rumpled sweater, and said something that prompted Xander to leave his cereal bowl half finished. Now, Xander’s come back, and Andrew’s getting up from the table, carrying his half eaten French toast out of the room as he leaves with Xander. Buffy narrows her eyes, instantly suspicious. If there’s one thing she knows about the two of them, it’s that they both consider brunch to be the holiest of meals.

“Buffy?” This time it’s Willow’s exasperated voice that breaks into her thoughts.

“Huh?” Buffy says, turning back to her sister and best friend with an apologetic smile. “Did you guys see that?”

“See what?” Dawn asks, shifting Emmy in her lap. “I asked you to hand me that towel.” She dabs at the baby’s chin with her bib, an obviously futile effort against the amount of drool escaping her mouth.

Buffy plucks the towel in question from the other side of the table and hands it over. “Sorry,” she says, smiling at her niece while Dawn mops up drool. “Giles came and got Xander, then Xander came back for Andrew.”

Dawn shrugs, adjusting the decidedly less wet baby in her lap, and reaches for her own mug.

“It was weird,” Buffy says. The castle is pretty dead. Most of the slayers have gone home for the holidays, and the staff has already started their vacation. Some of the Scotland based squad live locally and are still around, but they’re mostly juniors. The most experienced slayers, those who trained with Buffy and Faith in Sunnydale, are running their own teams now, as are many of the first crop of trainees to pass through Command. Satsu’s leading Tokyo these days; Nisha’s in Cartago. Kennedy’s chosen to remain in Scotland and she’s more than capable of handling any issues that come up, but Buffy’s still the official squad leader. If there was any kind of slaying emergency, Giles would have come to tell her, so what are they up to?

“Of course it was,” Willow says. “Andrew was involved.”

Buffy snickers. It’s true that Andrew hasn’t gotten any less strange, but he does tend to grow on you a bit. Just a bit. “I’m gonna see what they’re up to,” she says, climbing to her feet.

“I’ll go with,” Willow offers. “You need a refill before we go, Dawnie?”

Dawn shakes her head, waving them off. “I’m good.”

Buffy rinses her coffee cup and sets it in the dishwasher on their way out. It’s a short walk to Giles’s office on the first floor, and the two of them make good time. The door is cracked when they arrive, and Buffy hears snatches of the conversation.

“—private options?”

“I was hoping to avoid that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And we’re keeping this a secret?” Buffy recognizes Andrew’s voice. “Buffy might—”  

“Oh, hey, Buffster,” Xander says loudly, having spotted her and Willow lingering outside.

Buffy nudges the door open with her foot, taking in the three men. Giles is doing that calm, expressionless face that she’s learned to interpret over the years. He’s hiding something. Xander’s expression is one of faux nonchalance, but the panic on Andrew’s face is obvious.

“What’s going on?” Buffy asks, crossing her arms. “What’s a secret from Buffy?” Before any of them can respond, dread pools in her stomach. “Is this about Faith? Did something happen?”

Beside her, Willow slips an arm around her shoulders. Giles shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says firmly. “Faith’s fine, Buffy, I promise you. I actually spoke to her this morning.”

The relief is immediate. “You did?” She asks, as Willow rubs her back briskly.

Giles nods. “They were able to, um, repair the phone, so she called in. She’s absolutely fine. They’re making good progress.”

Buffy’s so glad to hear that that she almost forgets what she overhead. Then she focuses again. “So what’s the secret?” She asks, looking between them.

“It’s a Christmas surprise!” Xander says a little too forcefully. “Can’t tell you. Right, guys?”

To say Buffy’s skeptical about this would be an understatement, but Andrew is nodding entirely too quickly now, and even Giles agrees.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin Christmas, would you, Buffy?” He asks.

Glancing at Willow, Buffy sees her looking equally as disbelieving, but on the off chance that this is legit, she says, “No.”

“Yes, well, good then,” Giles steps toward them, taking the doorknob in hand. “We’d better get back to those, erm, Christmas plans!”

The door is closed in their faces before Buffy can protest. Buffy and Willow look at each other. “That was weird,” Willow says thoughtfully.

“Very,” Buffy agrees as they walk away.

They make their way down the corridor and pass into the south wing, which houses Willow’s office, the apothecary, Giles’s private book collection, and the infirmary.

“They’re definitely up to something,” Willow says as she lets them into her office, “but still, you kind of jumped straight to ‘Oh God what’s wrong with Faith?’ territory.”

She gestures toward the couch, and Buffy seats herself.

Settling into the space beside her, Willow prompts, “Is throwing yourself into Christmas to distract yourself from Faith being gone not working anymore?”

“Hey,” Buffy says defensively, “the Christmas stuff is for Emmy! And Dawn!”

Willow merely waits.

“Fine,” Buffy admits, deflating slightly, “you’re right.”

“Buff,”—Willow reaches across the couch and takes her hand—“it’s okay to miss her. We all miss her. You don’t have to become Mrs. Claus to compensate.”

“I know,” Buffy agrees, squeezing her hand. “Sometimes I feel like…” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, and Willow waits patiently for her to continue. “I wasted so much time not being with her,” Buffy says, “and even with all the slayers active now, it just feels like I can’t take any time for granted. Because I don’t know…”

“How long you might have?” Willow suggests gently.

Buffy nods.

“I understand.”

“I know you do.” Buffy gives her a sad smile, sure that they’re both thinking about Tara.

Things are quiet for a minute, then Willow says, “There’s never enough time. Even if you both live to be a hundred and you spend your whole lives together. You always want more time with the people you love.”

Buffy thinks of her mom then, of birthday cakes and Christmas trees, and Saturday morning cartoons with the three of them on the couch together. She nods.

“She’ll be home soon,” Willow assures her. “Until then, best friend reporting for hug duty whenever you need it.” She holds open her unoccupied arm.

“I’m gonna need it a lot,” Buffy warns, leaning into Willow’s hold.

“I got you.” Willow’s arms are warm and solid around her, and she still smells the same as she always has, a pleasant mix of herbs, fabric softener, and just a hint of smoke from the candles that seem to be perpetually burning in her office.

“I know,” Buffy says, sinking against her, grateful and, at least for the moment, feeling better.

XXXXX

Her head is pounding even before she cracks open her eyes. The shades are down and relatively dark, but Faith recognizes the sheet covering her as belonging to Ngorn’s spare bedroom. She pushes it off her head, swatting at something fuzzy as it tickles her nose. She catches it, squinting in confusion at the Santa hat crushed in her hand, before she looks around. The room is outfitted with two narrow beds, and Lina is sprawled across the opposite one, her mouth open slightly to allow her snoring to escape. Last night comes back to her in dribs and drabs: the surprisingly tasty kalikimakas she’d knocked back; Rickie, the eponymous owner of the café introducing herself and a small group of expats that apparently regularly haunted the café; the Christmas karaoke she’d been persuaded to join. She has no memory of the ride home, but should probably count it as a Christmas miracle that she managed to remain on the bike at all.

Groaning, Faith pulls the pillow over her head.

The snoring from the opposite side of the room fades, and Lina mumbles, “Huh? Wha…?”

Two very good questions, Faith thinks, still clutching the pillow to her head. The squishiness seems to be helping.

“What’s that sound?” Lina’s a bit more coherent now, so Faith reluctantly peels the pillow back to listen.

It takes a second to click. Plane.

Her hangover forgotten, Faith nearly leaps from the bed. She’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes as she emerges from the room, headed straight for the back door. Ngorn’s starting to get up from the kitchen table, obviously having heard the sound outside as well. “Good morning,” he says sunnily, as Faith rushes past.

She calls back a greeting as she opens the door and hurries down the stairs. On the wide dirt road bordering the farm, a prop plane rolls to a stop. By the time the door opens, Ngorn and Lina are standing beside her, squinting into the morning sun. As they watch, a man climbs free onto the wing. He’s wearing an impeccably cut dress coat, creased suit pants visible from beneath it. Faith scans upward: sunglasses and a boxy fur hat that would look more at home on a Soviet-era Russian soldier complete the ensemble. She glances at Ngorn, who shrugs helplessly, and the three of them start for the plane.

The pilot seems to have climbed from the other side, and he meets them at the wing. Sighing in agitation, he gestures for the man to get down.

On the wing, the man reaches up and plucks his hat off. “Is it always this hot here?” He asks, before sliding indelicately onto his butt and scooting down the wing.

“I tried to tell him,” the pilot mutters, reaching up a hand to assist his passenger off the wing.

With both shoes on the ground, Andrew Wells tilts his sunglasses onto his head, squints into the sun, and goes for what’s probably supposed to be a rakish grin. “Someone called for a ride?”

He’s absurdly over dressed, his limp hair shoved back by his sunglasses, face turning red from the heat, and Faith has never loved him more. “It’s good to see you,” she says, throwing both arms around him.

“It’s good to see you,” he says back, squeezing her. When they pull apart, his nose is wrinkled slightly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Faith, but did you happen to fall in a vat of rum?”

“It’s a long story.”

Lina leans past her. “I took her to a Christmas café. She drank a lot.”

“Apparently not that long,” Faith mutters.

Andrew seems slightly confused by this information, but he rallies. “We have time for you to take a quick shower,” he says. “Then, let’s get you home.”

XXXXX

Buffy sips a giant mug of hot chocolate, surveying her handiwork. Don Henley’s crooning softly in the background, and she’s just added the most recently received Christmas card to the legions of them hanging above the sofa. Mel and Jas grin widely from the front, holding their newly adopted dog and wearing matching pajamas. Seeing the two of them reminds her of laughter filled dinners in Cleveland, and she has to turn her attention to the rest of the room before she gets too sad.

She’s done well on the tree this year (in spite of having to rearrange a few of the ornaments after two of the younger slayers “helped” her decorate). It’s in the first floor den, smaller and cozier than the castle’s formal living room, and close to the kitchen. It’s the perfect space to celebrate a Christmas morning, with a fire roaring and everyone gathered around the tree. The largeness of the tree also helps disguise the fact that she’d stuffed a few more gifts under it this afternoon. She wasn’t planning on getting anything else at this late stage in the game, but Kennedy had arrived home from a training trip to Turkey yesterday and needed a shopping buddy. Buffy went along to carry bags and lend suggestions, but then she found the most beautiful tweed and leather gloves and obviously she had to get them for Giles. Then they happened to be walking past the game shop when she noticed them stocking more games for the new Xbox that Andrew had finally managed to get his hands on after weeks of trying. Andrew’s been sick since yesterday and he’s missing all the festivities so… into her bags went a game. It was joined by yet more baby clothes, an amethyst pendant, Yoda socks, and a pair of boots that had been restocked in Faith’s size (finally!). So really, the whole thing was Kennedy’s fault, but Buffy dutifully wrapped the additional gifts and tucked them away. She’s also stuffed the stockings hanging around the fireplace, fluffed all of the Christmas cushions, and made sure there’s enough logs stacked to keep the fire going all evening and most of tomorrow. It’s almost perfect. Almost.

Xander joins her just as she’s sitting down on the sofa to finish her cocoa.

He sits close to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Buff,” he says, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “We still on for Charlie Brown tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she says, leaning into his hug.

“You doing okay?” Xander asks gently, before he releases her.

She’s sort of not, but Buffy nods anyway.

Xander peers at her a little closer. “You wouldn’t be lying, now would you? Because my best friend is a witch, and”—he puts on a terrible accent—“vee haff vays of making you talk!”

Buffy gives him a half smile. “I’m okay,” she says, “really. Faith will be home soon, and until then…” she makes a sweeping motion toward the tree.

“It’ll probably take us about a month to get through all of those,” Xander agrees. “She’ll be back before we’re done.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy says, “It’s not that bad.”

“Sure,” Xander agrees mildly. “Speaking of Giles, he wanted your help with something. Said to send you his way.”

“All right,” Buffy agrees, hauling herself to her feet. She drains the last of her cocoa. “See you later, Xand.”

“Buffy?” Xander gets to his feet.

When she looks at him questioningly, Xander envelops her in another hug. “It’s going to be an amazing Christmas,” he says. “You’ll see.”

Buffy’s not so sure about that, but she gives him a bright smile anyway. “Merry Christmas Eve, Xander.”

“Merry Christmas Eve.”

Buffy takes her leave, detouring to the kitchen to deposit her mug in the sink before she heads for Giles’s office. She finds him midway there, in the front hallway bundling into his coat and scarf. “Hey, Giles,” she greets, “what’s up? Xander said you needed my help?”

“Ah,” he says, winding a scarf around his neck, “Buffy, yes. I have a bit of a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Buffy asks suspiciously.

Nodding, Giles holds out her coat to her. “You did say you wanted Mr. Paterson to get that giant wreath up on the eastern turret, didn’t you?”

Buffy grins, taking her coat. “ Really? He said he couldn’t find it!”

“He was sufficiently motivated by a little Christmas bonus,” Giles says dryly.

Laughing, Buffy pulls her coat on and begins zipping up. “Thank you, Giles. You know how much I wanted the castle to look like—”

“One of those dreadful Hallmark movies?”

“They’re not dreadful,” Buffy protests. She plucks her scarf from the hook where it hangs. “They’re beautiful, and I love them.”

Giles leads the way outside, muttering under his breath about the crass commercialism of the holiday. The sun’s just setting behind the castle, most of the face now in shadow. They walk together down the stairs and cross the stone bridge, stopping at the barbican. Turning back to view the castle, Giles says, “Any minute now.”

It’s less than a minute before the lights flicker on, following the lines of the castle’s face. As promised, a giant, glowing wreath is now positioned toward the top of the turret. Buffy can just make out the red bow through the lights.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, stepping closer to Giles’s side and slipping her arm through his. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Giles says softly, squeezing her arm with his. “You always do so much to make the holidays special for us all. This was the least I could do.”

They stand together for another few moments, their breath crystallizing in the air in front of them. Buffy’s eyes feel a little wet looking at this place, so far from the place she grew up, but slowly becoming more and more of a home because of the people she shares it with.

“I do have one more surprise for you,” Giles says lightly.

Glancing up at him, Buffy’s about to ask what it is when she hears the sounds of footsteps in the snow behind them.

Giles smiles at her and disentangles his arm from hers.

Confused, Buffy slowly turns to look behind her.

Faith stands in the snow, wearing a too big coat with her hands stuffed in the pockets. Her smile is soft, her eyes shining with the illumination of the lights on the castle. “Merry Christmas, B.”

Her heart sputters momentarily in her chest, and a huge smile takes over her face. Buffy spares Giles a grateful look as she takes off through the snow, boots noisily crunching as she goes. She throws herself through the air, and Faith half catches her, but they slip backward, with Faith’s ass breaking their fall. “Ow,” Faith complains, but she’s hugging Buffy back just as hard.

Her hands find their way into Faith’s hair, and their cold noses bump together. “You’re here,” Buffy murmurs, feeling her eyes welling with tears. Faith looks exhausted, but she’s back, with all her limbs attached and just in time for Christmas.

“I’m here,” Faith agrees, covering Buffy’s mouth with hers. Then she peppers the rest of Buffy’s face with kisses.

“How are you here?” Buffy asks, in between breath stealing kisses.

“I didn’t ask,” Faith says. “Andrew showed up with a plane and I got in.”

“Andrew?” Buffy asks.

“Hey, Buffy! Merry Christmas!”

She looks up to see Andrew waving at her with a mittened hand. Feeling a little silly now, she slides off Faith and gets to her feet. She pulls Faith after her, unwilling to let her go for even a second. “I thought you were upstairs sick!” Buffy says.

“’Twas an elaborate ruse,” Andrew says, in what she recognizes to be his storyteller voice. “Mr. Giles gave us the nigh on impossible task of getting Faith home before Christmas, and we knew we had to do it for you, our fearless leader, our—”

“Thank you, Andrew,” Buffy cuts in loudly, softening her rudeness with a sweet smile at him.

From behind them, the castle door opens, and Xander calls out, “Hey! Are you guys going to hog Faith all night, or do we get to see her too?”

“I should get to hog her,” Buffy grumbles under her breath, mostly to make the corner of Faith’s mouth turn up in that way that she loves.

“We’ll be right there!” Faith shouts back, motioning for Andrew to go ahead of them.

He gives them a knowing smile and then leaves with Giles, heading across the bridge.

Buffy turns back to Faith, gripping the lapels of her jacket and leaning in close. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Faith says, holding Buffy against her. “I missed your face.”

“I missed yours.” One of her hands slides up to cup the aforementioned face.

Faith squints at her. “Think you got even more beautiful while I was away.”

“Shut up,” Buffy says grinning.

“It’s true.”

“I already bought your presents; you don’t have to suck up so much.”

“In that case…” Faith says, then pauses to kiss her again.

“Don’t finish that thought,” Buffy warns.

Faith smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Buffy says, blinking back tears again. “We better go in before Xander comes out to get you.”

“Let’s do it,” Faith says, and they walk back to the castle, hand in hand.

XXXXX

Faith somehow makes it through dinner, a movie, and having to retell the story of how she and Lina hunted down and slayed a family of presumed extinct reptilian monsters at least three times, before she yawns loudly and announces they’re going to bed. “Fuck, I missed you so much,” she says after she’s crawled under the covers and shoved her freezing feet against Buffy’s. “I even missed this crappy weather.”

Buffy bravely bears the burden of warming Faith’s feet, reaching out to draw her closer. “I missed you too, so much.”

“Yeah?” Faith asks, nestling her head into Buffy’s shoulder. “What’d you miss most?”

“Hmm,” Buffy pretends to consider that, running her fingertips lightly up and down Faith’s spine. She dips a little lower until she’s cupping Faith’s ass. “Probably this.”

“You’re offending my tits, you know?”

“They know I love them.”

“Hmmph.”

“What’d you miss most about me?”

Faith wiggles in closer. “Missed this spot right here,” she says, then presses her lips to the side of Buffy’s neck, below her ear. “This is my favorite place in the world.” Her hand wanders Buffy’s side until her thumb dips under the waistband of Buffy’s panties and into the hollow of her hip. “This is a close second though.”

Buffy wiggles a little, ticklish, and says, “Twenty minutes ago you were falling asleep on the couch, and now you’re trying to start something?”

“I’m always trying to start something,” Faith points out, but Buffy’s right. She feels ready to pass out on the spot. For Buffy though, she’ll rally.

It’s not her most energetic performance, but Buffy doesn’t seem to have any complaints. They cling to each other, foreheads touching as their hands work between them. It’s been so long that they could make it quick, but Faith doesn’t want to. She takes her time with Buffy, relishing the feeling of her in her hand, the sound of Buffy breathing her name, the taste of her skin under Faith’s tongue.

Buffy finishes first, sighing and relaxing against Faith for a few seconds. Faith was pretty close herself, and that coiled energy begins to dissipate now that they’ve stopped moving, but she doesn’t care. She watches Buffy catch her breath, her face flushed and damp with exertion, and feels so fucking happy that she can’t help the cheesy smile that overtakes her face. “I love you,” she says.

Buffy’s eyes flicker open. “I love you,” she says, and goes back to circling her fingertips gently over Faith’s clit. “So much.”

After, when Faith’s in that half dazed, half asleep post-orgasm state, Buffy lazily strokes her back and says, “Never go away again, okay?”

“You got it,” Faith says soothingly. “Not sure how Giles’ll take the news, but I’ll tell him I’m no longer allowed to leave the castle.”

“Good,” Buffy agrees. “Me too.”

The next thing Faith knows, it’s morning. Sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting sunbeams across their bed. It’s chilly in the room, and Faith pulls the covers higher over their shoulders.

“Mmm,” Buffy murmurs, “morning.”

“Morning,” Faith says, kissing her neck. “Merry Christmas, B.”

Buffy’s eyes open fully at that. “Merry Christmas!”

The sudden enthusiasm is a little jarring, and Faith asks, “We’re not going back to sleep, are we?”

“Nope,” Buffy says cheerfully, “but in the spirit of Christmas, you can stay in bed while I warm up the shower.”

Faith grumbles, pulling the blanket over her head as Buffy gets out of bed. She keeps grumbling all the way through her shower, getting dressed, and heading downstairs. She only stops when a coffee cup is shoved into her hand.

“Better?” Buffy asks.

Faith frowns, but only a little.

In the den, the rest of the gang is already gathering. Buffy immediately begins to coo over baby Emmy, who is dressed in Christmas footie pajamas and a Baby’s First Christmas bib. Faith takes a seat out of the fray, nursing her coffee and letting it slowly wake her up. She’s therefore not expecting it when she finds a squirming, roly poly baby presented to her. “Uhh?”

“Can you hold her?” Dawn asks. “Buffy’s gonna help me bring some presents down from my room. I did some last minute wrapping at like six this morning.”

“Oh,” Faith says, surprised. She’d met the baby the night before, briefly, but no one had suggested she hold her, and Faith definitely hadn’t offered. She quickly sets her mug on the side table and positions her arms in what she thinks is the appropriate way to hold a baby. “Sure.”

She must not have it too wrong, because Dawn gently sets Emmy in her hold, then adjusts one of Faith’s elbows to be a little higher. “There you go,” she says encouragingly. Turning to her daughter, she sweeps her wispy hair back and says, “You be a good girl for Auntie Faith, okay? No blowouts.” She grins again at Faith and then disappears without noticing that Faith’s gone a little misty eyed.

Auntie Faith?

“Cute kid, right?” Kennedy flops down beside her, and Faith tightens her hold on Emmy in a sudden flush of fear that the baby will tumble from her arms.

“Yeah,” Faith agrees, looking down at the little person in her arms. Emmy gives her a drool-filled smile in response, and Faith relaxes marginally.

“Looks a lot like Dawn.”

Faith can see it, with the dark hair and blue eyes. She thinks she sees hints of Joyce as well, in the shape of the baby’s cheeks and eyes. She’s not totally sure that’s logical, given Dawn’s creation story, but who knows?

“Good to have you home,” Kennedy says, then claps Faith on the shoulder and gets up to help find everyone a present to begin with.

Faith stays stock still, taking her job of babysitting very seriously, until Buffy and Dawn return. Once Emmy is safely out of her arms, Faith turns to Buffy. “She called me Auntie Faith.”

Buffy smiles. “She told me she wanted to do that.” She gives Faith a searching look. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Faith says quickly, “of course. Just surprised, is all.”

Buffy slips an arm around her middle and kisses her cheek. “I’ve been telling you everyone loves you and you’re already a member of the family.”

“Guess it’s finally starting to sink in.”

“Can’t get out now.”

“You made that clear last night.”

It takes Buffy a moment to remember what she’s referring to, then she smiles.

Sitting cross-legged in front of the tree, Andrew begins doling out gifts for each of them. Faith raises her eyebrows when she sees the veritable mountain of gifts all wrapped in pink and purple unicorn paper. “Are those all for Emmy?”

Buffy nods as she accepts the gifts Andrew’s passing her.

“You know she’s a baby, right?” Faith takes her gift as well, reading the tag. It’s from Andrew, so she’s really not sure how afraid to be at this point.

Buffy gives her a pouty lip. “I was lonely. Retail therapy helped.”

“I get it.” Faith scoots a little closer, so they’re sitting hip to hip.

“Everybody got something?” Andrew asks. “Then have at it!”

Faith watches for a second as the others open their gifts. Giles tries on his very sleek new gloves. Willow is good naturedly opening a gift wrapped in Hanukkah paper although the holiday doesn’t actually begin until sundown. Next to her, Buffy is already pulling on the ‘World’s Great Aunt’ t-shirt she’s just opened. Faith helps her tug it down in back and receives a quick kiss of thanks.

“Come on, open yours,” Buffy encourages. She leans in closer. “There’s like 30 gifts for you under there, you gotta get going or we’ll be here until New Year.”

Shaking her head, Faith slides a finger under the tape and begins pulling it back. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Crazy about you.”

“Corny too,” Faith says, tearing the paper free.

“You love it,” Buffy says, nudging her shoulder into Faith’s.

Faith does. She really does.

She opens the box to find a black and red scarf, with a very discreet Death Star pattern along the seam. By Andrew’s standards, it’s practically tame. She flashes him a thumbs up and mouths a thank you, earning herself a very proud smile in return. Winding the scarf around her neck, Faith sits back, Buffy nestled against her side, and watches the chaos continue. “Good Christmas?” She asks Buffy, rubbing her side lightly.

Buffy turns to her. “The best Christmas,” she says softly.

And looking at Buffy, back in her arms where she belongs, Faith can’t help but agree. It really is the best Christmas.