December 21

FANTASY   

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Giles/Xander

TITLE: THIS CHRISTMAS
AUTHOR: PhenDog
EMAIL: Phendog@gmail.com
DATE: Dec. 21st
FANDOM: Fantasy-Buffy the Vampire Slayer
PAIRING: Giles/Xander
RATING: PG (weird, I know!)
SUMMARY: Xander recounts how Christmas has been a special time for him and Giles over the years and how their relationship has flourished and changed.
ADVERTISEMENT: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm 
BETA: Thanks go to Kim! (who gets sick, perverse pleasure out of adding commas, who gets breathless trying to read my enormously long sentences, who has declared death to my dashes, and who has, apparently, been known to cheat at trivial pursuit by memorizing cards)
A/N: For clarity purposes: “you” are writing a biography of Rupert Giles and have been given access to many of his personal records and also have been interviewing him for this purpose. In this story, “you,” get to talk to Xander and have him tell you his side of things… Christmas present chapters are written from the 2nd person perspective, whereas chapters about past Christmases are Xander’s 1st person testimony.

THIS CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER 1: CHRISTMAS PRESENT

“Hey, Merry Christmas!” Xander Harris greets you at the door, though the holiday itself is a few days off. You wait for a moment for the invitation before remembering that the custom of inviting guests to come in does not apply here, in this household. Silently, you berate yourself once again, thinking this is an example you ought to be following as well. Your own family may have been Watchers, but they have grown lax from years of relative security. The two people who live here, in this apartment, still observe the safeties, though—and for good reason. That thought makes you shiver slightly as you step through the open door with your own holiday greeting and hand over your coat to waiting hands.

“A little cold out there?” he smirks. “I almost mistook you for a walking icicle.”

Indignation passes quickly, and you can’t help but inwardly laugh at the friendly look on the man’s face, even though you do try to keep your outward expression stern. “You come out of this nice warm flat of yours for a few hours, and we’ll see if you aren’t frozen solid too, Mr. Harris,” you retort dryly as you run your hand through your hair, trying to relieve it of some of the dripping moisture from melting snowflakes.

“Nah. We Californians are smarter than you silly English. White stuff is not supposed to fall from the sky. It’s unnatural.” The conviction in his voice as he says it almost makes you smile openly. By the barest thread, you refrain from explaining snow is one of the most natural weather phenomenons there is.

“Anyway,” he continues, “Giles isn’t here right now. There’s this thing with a demon and three Slayers and something about green acid snot eating through somebody’s leg—not his. He actually wasn’t there, even though he’s going to the hospital with them now—and trust me when I say that’s all you want to know. So do you mind waiting? I can get you some tea?”

That’s one of the better suggestions you’ve heard all day, and you accept gratefully as he leads you to the couch and lets you sit down. While he’s in the kitchen, you also have an opportunity to look around the flat. You were here a month ago as an invited guest at one of the more informal Council socials. The rich oak floor and vaulted ceilings impressed you then, but there’s something about it now—it feels so warm and welcoming, you realize. Various holiday touches are visible everywhere. The fireplace not only has a fire, but a pair of holiday stockings are hanging from the pine boughs that cover the mantle, adding to the evergreen smell of the tree in the corner. It’s lit with white lights, and covered in a rather garish collection of Christmas balls. Strings of cranberries and popcorn top it off, and they almost look like they’ve been handmade. There are presents under the tree, and you mentally smile as you think of some of the names that might be on them. Could there be one from Willow Rosenberg, the witch who had Called all the Slayers? Or from Buffy Summers, the most famous Slayer of them all? Very likely, and it’s with a mixture of regret and relief that you see Xander coming back before you can satisfy the itch that would have you go look.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris.” You accept the steaming mug gratefully, the feel of it in your hands fighting the last of the chill from outside.

“Xander, please. And I hope hot chocolate is okay? I, uh, had a tea disaster.” He sits down opposite from you with a mug of his own.

“Actually, it’s wonderful,” you reassure him, trying not to wonder what exactly would constitute a ‘tea disaster.’ Surely even Americans can manage tea?

There’s quiet for a moment while you both sip from your cups. “This is nice,” you say awkwardly, trying to share the thoughts that had been on your mind and failing. “You’re staying here for the holidays?”

“Yeah,” he ducks his head, and you think to yourself once again that he is quite good-looking, even with the eye patch. It almost gives him more character, and you find it reminding you of just how much he’s been through. “We’re, uh, going to something official at the Council on Christmas Eve for a few hours, and then some of the Slayers are coming over on Christmas day for goose and pudding and other things I can’t even name, but the rest of the time we’re just staying here.”

Sensing he has more to say, you wait, and are rewarded for it. “Christmas has always been special for Giles and me, I guess. But this Christmas…this Christmas is our first as…”

“A couple?” you offer, and he blushes as he agrees. He’s still not used to it, you realize, and it’s somehow endearing. You know they’re still private about it, though the relationship between Rupert Giles and Xander Harris is becoming more and more widely known. Certainly, they were open with you about it when you first asked, and the subject of your book put his arm proudly around the boy as he claimed him. Since then, you’ve eaten out with them, and although they kept the public displays to a minimum, the affection between them is obvious.

It’s amazing really, how much they’ve let you into their lives, but they seem to think this book you’re working on is important, too. Their history from Sunnydale until now is something that *should* be recorded, and while Rupert’s diaries are informative, they are not what you’d call ‘meant for public consumption.’ Your intention was to focus primarily on Rupert Giles for now, and then do a second book on Buffy Summers, but you’re slowly starting to realize just how many people were involved in their long fight on the Hellmouth. Not the least of whom was this young man. Joining the fight as a completely untrained human teenager, he’d never found himself with any special powers, yet he too had saved the world more than once. It’s almost mind-boggling every time you think about it. If the fate of the world ever rested on your shoulders, you know the planet might as well just say its good-byes then and there.

He mistakes your silence, and apologizes. “I really don’t know when the G-man will be back. I hate to make you wait…”

“Actually,” you say as you finish the hot chocolate, “I’d been hoping for a chance to talk with you.”

“Me?”

“If you don’t mind? The diaries only tell me so much.”

A shadow of pain crosses his expression at that. “I’ve never read them,” he admits. You’re not really sure how to respond to that, but he hurries to explain. “Giles said I could, I mean. I just…I’m not sure I want to know everything that’s in there.”

There’s a plea in his voice, and you realize he’s hoping you’ll tell him it’s alright, and that they aren’t as painful as he’s afraid they might be. Remembering your own horror at some of what you’ve read, however, you know that’s an assurance you can’t give him. Would he want to read about how much the Watcher wanted to follow his Slayer into death, or how angry he had been at the four of them for the spell that brought her back? Did Xander know about the depression and the nightmares following Angelus’ torture? Maybe he does, you realize; maybe Rupert dreams about it still.

“He always wrote very highly about you—the whole group—but he was especially proud of you,” you say, knowing there are some things in the diaries he *should* hear. There is one of the diaries in particular, a different colored cover from the rest, that concentrates primarily on their triumphs, more of their normal lives, and how Rupert felt about the others in the group. It is your favorite, and you think you ought to suggest later that he perhaps should read at least that one.

“And Buffy,” he replies to your comment.

“Yes, but she was his Slayer. She may have been a particularly extraordinary one, but it was still her sacred duty.” You lean forward to emphasize your conviction before considering about the ground you’re treading on. “But you…you amazed him, Xander Harris. You amaze me, too, quite honestly.” Then you sit back a little and finish, “That’s part of the reason I’d love to capture your perspective.”

“Thanks.” He looks down at his hands, but he smiles. “So what do you want me to talk about? Just about Giles in general, or…”

“Yes, but I’d like to hear about you as well, if that’s alright?”

“About…about the two of us?” His tone is slightly suspicious, and you can’t help but admit to yourself that it is a topic you *are* personally interested in. The relationship between the Head of the Council and this young man has always been a rather burning curiosity. They seem so opposite, and yet they are so comfortable together. From what you’ve read, you know it’s something you never would have imagined from the diaries alone, and you’re betting when it happened, it came as a surprise to them, too.

“If you like. But mostly, I just want to know more about you and him—who you *are*. Your past amazes me. It’s almost surreal, and anything you can do to bring the humanity into it for me would help me more than you can imagine.”

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits.

“Well,” you ponder for a minute. “Maybe it’d be more helpful if you don’t concentrate on the battles—I’ve read about those. Maybe just some details about your normal life over the years?”

His eye twinkles with mirth, and he laughs openly at that. “Normal life? I think you’ve got the wrong people entirely. Normal is so far from us, I’m not sure we know the meaning of the word.”

You can’t help it. That makes you laugh too, because he’s right. Still, you need him to talk about something. “You mentioned Christmas being a special time? You could tell me about that,” you suggest.

He looks at you quietly for a moment, and you feel like you’re being put to some kind of test. Finally, he gives you that shy smile again, and you know you’ve passed. “Yeah, why not. I don’t know if it’ll help you with the book or not, though.”

“That’s alright. I’d love to hear it.” You take out your ever-present tape recorder and ask if it’s alright to use it, hoping it won’t make him shy, but knowing it could be valuable later.

“Yeah, just…you’re not gonna put all this in the book, are you? Some of it…it’s kinda not stuff I’d want people to read about.”

You shake your head. “No, most of it will stay here, I think, but it will help me personalize it to both of you. In the end though, nothing will go in that you don’t both approve of. Fair enough?”

The tension leaves his shoulders, and he stands up to get both of you more hot chocolate and some sugar cookies as well. When you sense he’s ready to talk, you turn on the tape recorder and sit back deeper into the soft suede couch, making yourself comfortable as you wait for him to begin.

==========================================

CHAPTER 2: CHRISTMAS 1997

I…I guess the best place to start is in the beginning, then, huh? Because that’s really where it started, though that first Christmas was kinda weird, because we still didn’t know each other that well. He’d only been in Sunnydale a year, and he was the grown-up in our little group, so we kinda looked at him like a teacher or something. But it’s a good place to start, because I guess that’s where I first really thought of him as my friend.

Let’s see. It was actually the night before Christmas. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I was out looking for something to eat…because, um, I kinda didn’t want to be in the house. Uh, that’s definitely something you can’t put that in the book, okay? Anyway, it wasn’t exactly fun around my place most of the time, but it was worse around the holidays.

Right. So I found a place. It was one of those miserable little gas stations, open on Christmas Eve just because nothing else was. You know the kind of place, right? Anyway, someone had made a half-assed effort to bring the holidays inside with a crackling radio belting out carols and a sad little string of colored lights sagging from the edge of the counter, but all in all, the effect was somehow more depressing.

I remember I nodded to the kid behind the counter—a senior at Sunnydale High that I vaguely recognized—and he nodded back before going back to his paperback novel. In a sick way, it actually kind of comforted me to know that there might actually be someone who was going to have a crappier Christmas than I was.

Heading toward the back, I grabbed a bag of Doritos and looked around for what else I might be able to snag. I couldn’t really cook anything without my parents catching me in the house, but there was a microwave, so I’d thought I maybe I could get a burrito and nuke it. As I walked up to the refrigerator coolers along the wall, I didn’t bother to look at the other person who was picking though the meager collection of TV dinners. Not until he spoke, anyway.

He said my name, “Xander?”

I almost dropped the Doritos when I realized who it was, tweed jacket and all. See, G-man just didn’t really strike me as the Exxon shopping type. I fumbled for words, and I ended up asking something like “Uh, hi. What’re you…I mean, you probably need gas, right? Car getting low?” as the thought occurred to me that that’s probably the only reason a sane person would be in a place like that at seven o’clock on Christmas Eve.

He glanced away, and there was a slight stutter in his voice when he answered. “I…I’m afraid I didn’t realize none of the stores would be open…” he trailed off and waved the turkey Banquet Meal in his hand, before I realized he was in the same position I was food-wise. That surprised me a little, but at the time I just assumed it had something to do with the fact that it was his first Christmas in America and stores were probably different about that in England—actually, I still don’t know if that’s true, even though I guess I’m a Brit now, almost officially, so I probably should. Anyway, that doesn’t matter; it didn’t occur to me then that the main reason was because it was his first Christmas alone, too. “And you?” he asked, referring to why I was there.

Damn. I didn’t have a clue how to answer that as I looked down at the Doritos and realized I could hardly say I was just picking something up for mom to go with the cranberry sauce. “I…” I closed my eyes, trapped.

“Xander?” he looked concerned, and as I imagined the look on my face, I didn’t have much trouble figuring out why.

“I’m sorry, Giles, I…” my mind was blank, and words came out before I even knew what I was saying. “It’s my parents. They fight a lot around Christmas,” I blurted out moments before nearly dying of embarrassment. I was so afraid back then. See, I was always afraid of what anyone would think if they found out, or what they might do. It was private, and I wanted it to stay that way. I was only glad I hadn’t told him the rest of it.

He started to say something, but I knew I didn’t want to hear it. I shrugged, thinking fast, trying to make the situation better. Maybe if I pretended it wasn’t a problem, Giles wouldn’t treat it like one, I thought. “Willow’s parents don’t celebrate Christmas with the whole Jewish thing, so they don’t mind,” I told him. “Normally, I would just stay with her, and we’d watch movies and stuff ourselves with marshmallows. No big.”

The instant I said it, I knew I’d slipped more, implying that I *wouldn’t* be doing my annual tradition. Not only that, but he knew as well as I did that Willow was with her parents on vacation in Washington D.C. She’d been bubbling about the trip for a month. God, I couldn’t even lie well.

But Willow had just been the first thing that came to mind, because he knew we were really good friends. The fact of the matter was, I’d never actually told Willow that I couldn’t stand to spend Christmas at home; though considering what she knew of my parents, it wouldn’t have surprised her, I don’t think. Still, there were things I tried to shelter her from back then.

See, the truth was that I normally went over to my other friend, Jessie’s, house. His mom was usually drunk too, but at least she was a nice drunk and even if she didn’t cook well, she cooked a lot. But that year…that was the first Christmas there wasn’t any Jessie. Did you know I had to stake my one of my best friends the same week I found out vampires existed? That was part of the reason I started fighting, I think. But that’s off topic, and, uh, kinda not something I want to talk about right now, if that’s okay.

Anyway, Giles caught the one lie about Willow, even if he didn’t catch the deeper one behind it. That’s the problem with hanging out with smart people. “But not this year?” he asked quietly.

“No, they’re on vacation, but…” I looked down, my face hot. I remember I could hear the chips in the bag crunching as I gripped it harder, but I didn’t care. I was just…just so sick of hiding crap like that, but a little part of me hated him too, for pushing me. What business was it of his? I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I told him, “But it’s okay, really. I’ve got a sleeping bag, and camping out is fun. Nice California weather.”

When I looked up, he was opening the door of the cooler again and taking out three more of the frozen dinners. He turned, and I can still remember recoiling from that look on his face. His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark with something that scared me. Giles must have seen my reaction because his expression softened immediately, but I could tell the emotion was still there. Then I realized he wasn’t angry *at* me. He was angry *for* me.

“Xander, you don’t have to tell me what you’re avoiding at home. Not if you don’t want to, but if you can’t spend Christmas with your family, at least let yourself spend it with a friend. I hope you can consider me that?”

I still remember the feeling. For whatever reason, I was floored. Maybe I knew him better than the average teacher, but he was still the Librarian. With a capital ‘L’. Either that or Watcher, with a capital ‘W.’ I mean, I knew our little group shared something in battle, and he’d saved my sorry rear more than once, but this was my personal life, you know? No vampires or demons or overdue books here. This was different, and it shocked me that he *cared*. I started to think that maybe we *might* be friends. I knew that at that moment, I really wanted us to be. After all, he was pretty much the only adult who even spoke to me like I was human back then.

Numbly, I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as I tried to stop imitating a goldfish. Giles put his hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the front of the store. It was a good thing, because walking was proving interesting with my head feeling light and my feet feeling like lead. He dropped the meals on the counter, and before I even realized I was still holding the Doritos, he was paying for the dinners and the chips too.

The kid behind the counter put down his book and took the money. He looked at Giles, then at me, his eyes flickering between us with surprise. “Mr. Giles? Hey, Merry Christmas.”

Giles smiled at him and offered the proper response, but as we turned to leave, I saw the kid look at me disgustedly and make a not-so-nice hand gesture. When he did that, I realized what he thought. The school librarian—who, I, the not-so-great student, spent a lot of time with anyway—was meeting me conveniently in a gas station when no one else was around, picking me up, buying food for both of us, and taking me home with him. And in that moment I surprised myself, because you know what? I realized I didn’t care. I was just so pathetically grateful that Giles thought enough of me to invite me to come with him, that I didn’t care *what* some idiot might be imagining of in his mind. Not then, and not now either, actually.

The drive was quiet. Giles started to realize what he’d done on the way back to his apartment, I think, because he apologized that he wouldn’t be very good company and that he wouldn’t have much to offer me. We didn’t really know each other outside of school and demons much at that point, you know? Anyway, I tried to tell him it was all right. Mostly, I was just proud of myself for not asking idiotic questions like “Do they have Christmas in England?” because, trust me, that even though I’m not QUITE that stupid, I do sometimes sound like that in person.

I don’t think I really got nervous until we got to the apartment—‘flat,’ Giles keeps correcting me, though where that term came from, I’ll never know. I bet you Brits don’t even know. Anyway, I’d really only been in his flat once, and that was with Willow over that first summer when we came back from burying the bones of the Master. You know about that, right? So, I just kinda stood there outside the door while he fumbled for his keys, and I started thinking about the fact that I had *no* idea what we were going to do with each other for the next day or so, and Giles probably didn’t either. At that point I was seriously considering just turning around and making a run for it. But I didn’t.

He invited me in and mentioned he had some eggnog Jenny had brought by. Then I started to think I might be intruding, and I got all worried about it, but he just said not to be; she wasn’t coming over because she was with her own family.

She’d—Jenny Calendar, I mean, by the way. The one that…good, you already know the story. She’d left him with a tree too. One of those tiny little plastic ones that come predecorated. It was small, but we plugged it in, and it helped make it feel more like Christmas.

So then Giles brought out the eggnog and some brandy. I got a little wide-eyed when he offered to spike mine, I think, but he said it was okay. He said after all the things I’d been through in the past year, I could certainly have a little nip on Christmas Eve if I wanted it. I have to admit I wasn’t sure I did, but of course I told him to go ahead. It burned, but I have to admit, it made me feel warm inside when I drank it.

Then I started asking him questions, and somehow I ended up asking about his family and saying, “Bet you really wish you could be back in England with them now, huh? With mushy peas and roasting chestnuts and wassailing, whatever the heck a wassail is, and all the rest of that?”

Giles looked down and sighed before looking back at me with a sad little smile. “Xander,” he said, “they…I don’t have any family any more. They were, uh, killed years ago.”

I just about choked, and I remember it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d never thought about his life before Sunnydale, and, I mean, holy cow, that was harsh. What do you say to something like that? Still, I was glad he hadn’t let me dig an even deeper hole. I stammered some sort of apology, but he just leaned over and put his hand on my arm. “It’s alright, Xander, you couldn’t have known. It was, um, it was a long time ago. I was away because of my training with the Council, actually. My father had made some enemies in a rather powerful demon clan, and they decided to take revenge. It doesn’t make me happy to remember it, but it’s an old wound—mostly healed. Don’t concern yourself with it, please.”

I nodded because that seemed like the expected response. “So you’re used to Christmases alone,” I whispered, suddenly starting to feel more sorry for him than I’d been feeling for myself.

“No, actually.” I looked up and saw he was smiling a little. “I usually spend them with friends—from the Council, from the museum, and now with you.”

I just…I felt so warm inside because of that. I remember feeling like I wanted to just reach out and hug him or something like that, but, of course, I couldn’t because he was British and a guy and older and all that, but still, I wanted to. See, that was the cool thing about Giles. He always made me feel special, and he did then, too. Still does, every time I see him.

For some reason, it stopped being awkward then. He started to tell me stories about his family and being in England and going to school. Mostly about the winter holidays, you know? He….he had a big family as a kid. A lot of the cousins are still alive, I guess, though he’s kinda broken ties with them after…everything. It’s pretty shitty, but I think in a way they blame him because he wasn’t there when it happened—the, um, the attack on his family, I mean. And, uh, don’t tell him I told you about that, okay? I know you probably know some of what happened from records and stuff, but he doesn’t like to talk about it. Looking back, I’m really surprised he told me as much as he did back then, but he did.

Anyway, that’s not what we talked about.

Giles talked about how they used to have good, proper snowball fights and build stuff with it, which sounded really cool because I’d never seen snow, then. He told me about making taffy with his sister, and how they’d sleep in the attic to listen for reindeer. Giles explained all the British stuff too, like crackers and pudding and Boxing Day where they gave gifts to the mailman and the maid—he actually had a *maid*! And I laughed when he told me that his grandmother used to knit him a sweater every year, and he always hated it, but his mum made him wear it anyway.

Then he told me about what it was like when he was sent away to school. I guess he didn’t get to come home every year because of special Watcher stuff, but there were a couple of other boys he’d hang out with and they used to play tricks. Oh God! There’s this great story he has about letting in a baby Galrash demon and hiding it in the headboy’s room—though I’d ask him about that one, if I were you. He tells it better, and I don’t think he’d mind telling you. I’d screw it up.

At some point, I guess I just started talking too, telling him about what Christmas used to be like at our house. It was never perfect, but back before dad started, um…yeah, anyway, it was better. Mom used to make pies, and I’d make caramel-flavored popcorn balls and get to eat them until I made myself sick. Then Christmas Eve, we’d all go over to my aunt’s house and open presents with her kids. We usually stayed there until Christmas Day, which was cool because then I could play video games with my cousins.

Somewhere along the line, Giles put a couple of the TV dinners in the oven and then dumped them out onto plates…turkey, potatoes, and green beans, but it tasted good. Kinda small though, so he dug around in his fridge and found some apples. He cut out the cores and filled them with brown sugar and butter before throwing those in the oven too. To this day, I think those apples might be on my top ten list of ‘Best Things I’ve Ever Tasted, Including Pizza.’ He said we could try to make them this year, too.

So after that, we pretty much just kept talking until I fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, I woke up with a blanket tucked around me, and I just remember thinking again how nice it was to have someone just *care*. Made me wanna stay that way forever.

Finally, he came downstairs wearing casual clothes for the first time I can remember, and we ate some eggs and the other two frozen dinners while we played cards and he tried to teach me how to play chess—which, I might add, is something he finally managed to do years later, even though I still only win when he’s distracted or throwing the game. But it was a great day, anyway.

I love that memory. All things considered now, I don’t really want to think of him as a father-figure, because that could lead to nasty places and icky thoughts, but that Christmas, he was kinda like how I WISHED my parents would be, though maybe better even. Not only was he the first adult to treat me like I was worth something, but he treated me like an equal. Like I wasn’t just some kid to kick around and shove out of the way.

When I left after that and then saw him with the group again, things were pretty much just back to normal, but we were more comfortable around each other. After that, it wasn’t casual friendship just because we were in danger all the time. After that it was real.

So…so that was the first Christmas we spent together. Kinda what you were hoping to hear? Anyway, that’s the kind of man he is.

***

CHAPTER 3: CHRISTMAS 1998

The next Christmas would have been, uh, 1998, I guess, cause we graduated high school that spring in 1999. Yeah, that was a really harsh year for everyone, but I guess Giles kinda got the really nasty end of that stick with Jenny and Angelus and then Buffy running away.

Anyway, Christmas is normally kinda quiet—Halloween’s always been our biggest Holiday Horror-fest, no matter WHAT those books will try to tell you about demons giving it a rest—but that year wasn’t, at least not for Buffy and Angel. That was the first time we ran into the First Evil and the Bringers, you know. Wowsers, that was a long time ago!

But that was a big drama at the time, and everyone was caught up in that. As far as actual Christmas stuff goes, I was in the same position as the year before, but even though I mentioned it to the group, I tried to make the best of it, and no one really seemed to notice. Willow had her own stuff going on with Oz—trying to make up for, well, um, that’s not important. Buffy was with her mom, and they were doing things with Faith, trying to make her feel more at home, for all the good that did.

Giles though…he was having a rough time. Deadboy—uh, that would be Angel—was being haunted by the First, and the asshole actually had the nerve to ask Giles for help. I mean, I don’t care what he was going through; he probably deserved it, but that was just shitty.

I, uh, well, Giles doesn’t talk about it, and this doesn’t make it in the book either, hear? But I was the one who found him, after. After Angelus was done with him and got the 411 on how to open Acathala, I mean. God, I…it’s a memory, I don’t want. Angelus broke him, physically, mentally, all of that. Cuts, burns, bites, broken bones—his body still has those scars. Not to mention the mind game crap. When I asked if he was alright, the first thing he said to me was to tell Buffy he was sorry—the second thing he said was to go find Jenny, because Angelus had taken her with him when he’d left. He didn’t remember she was dead and that the bastard had killed her—that’s how bad it must have been. I wouldn’t tell you that, except you’ve read the journals, and I know he had to have talked about it some there; he didn’t tell anyone else, and that’s too much to just keep inside. Actually, the only reason I’m telling you now, though, is so you can understand why I hate Angel so much. He never…I don’t know if he thought he couldn’t come up with an apology that was good enough or what, but he never really tried. I’m not sure he knows just how bad he hurt him.

Anyway, I’m not sure the others saw how bad of shape Giles was in. I know Buffy didn’t—she was too busy with Angel, and that just made it worse, I think. She was his world back then. It’s why when Angel asked for help dealing with the First, Giles gave it, even after all that.

I wanted so badly to offer to spend Christmas with him. You know, return the favor from the year before? Because like he said, Christmas should be with friends. But I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He was kinda skittish from everyone, then—ever since he’d found out Angel was back, and I was afraid to ask, because I didn’t want to make it worse. Besides, I was really worried he’d say something about the stuff in the past year, and I wasn’t ready to deal with it. It sounds dumb, now, I know, but that’s how I thought.

But then Christmas Eve came, and I was camping out, and something really weird happened. It started to snow. In California? That’s like a miracle.

It was the first time I’d ever seen snow, anyway, but I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was wet and cold, and my sleeping bag was really thin—not designed for that. So I decided…I decided to check up on Giles after all.

When I got there, he was staring out the window, looking at the snow. I…I think it was kinda special for him because it reminded him of here. The one thing he always said he missed the most about England was the weather—though honestly? I’m kinda partial to boringly sunny.

But when I got to the door, he opened it before I even knocked. “Xander?” I think he was a little curious why I was standing there in the dark.

“Hey, G-man, come out here.” Then his eyes darkened, and his entire face seemed to fall. See, he, um, thought I might have been turned, because it was an odd thing to ask, but exactly the kind of thing a vampire would say. Immediately, I stepped inside, but I forgot to hide the snowball in my hand, and, of course, he saw it.

“You, didn’t intend to attack me with that, did you?” he asked. raising an eyebrow, though he was smiling slightly.

“Well, yeah,” I tossed it outside because it was so cold, my hand literally felt like it was burning. “But then someone had to get all suspicious.”

He was quiet for a second, and then he told me to wait there. When he came back, he was wearing his coat and gloves, and he tossed a pair to me. “We’ll do it right, then. Teach you to be so bloody impudent.”

I followed him out to the courtyard in front of his flat, and, before I even got the gloves on, he was pelting me with snow. See, apparently it’s a bad idea for a rookie to take on a veteran, but I finally managed to fight back, and we both started yelling and laughing as the snow came down harder. I’d never thought about the fact that Giles had neighbors before, but he did, and one of them started yelling at us to shut up, but, of course we didn’t listen. Then a kid came out, and his mother watched from the doorway of her apartment as he and I—I think his name was Brandon or something like that—but we ganged up on Giles. It took him a while to get into it, but he was a pretty good shot, and Giles finally called out ‘uncle,’ which I guess is British for ‘I give up.’ Then the three of us kinda collapsed, breathless, and Brandon’s mother came out, and he talked us all into helping him make a snowman, so we did. I even gave it demon horns.

When she invited Giles and me to come in for hot cider, I think it sounded really good to both of us. I guess she knew Giles a little, even though she’d just moved in that summer. She recognized me too. Said she noticed all of us coming and going. When Brandon went upstairs to change out of his wet clothes, she asked, “So how do you all know each other?”

That was, as you know, kind of a complicated question, and I could tell Giles couldn’t really decide how to answer it, so I spoke up. “Giles is our High School librarian. Sophomore year, a bunch of us started hanging out in the library, because, well, it’s a good place to hang out. And Giles, he…he’s our friend, helping us out, keeping us safe.” I looked over at him on the other side of the couch, and he smiled at me, so I went on. I’m not quite sure why I told her, but I did. “Some of us, um, don’t really have much at home, you know? That’s why I, uh, came here. Giles, he’s like family.”

She looked down for a second, and when she looked back up again, she thanked us. She’d come from Vermont, but Brandon grew up in California like me, so it was his first snow too, and she was trying to make it a good Christmas for him. See, his dad…um, well, they had some story, but I’m betting a vamp got him. It’s hard, but in Sunnydale, you get used to hearing things like that.

Actually, a few months later, a demon chased us into the courtyard. She saw it, and after that, Giles told her that Sunnydale wasn’t safe, that if she and Brandon stayed there, bad stuff would probably happen. He told her that she should get out of Sunnydale, go back to Vermont, whatever, and they did. I’m glad.

But we stayed for a while, and Brandon invited us to watch TV with them, so we stayed and watched ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ until one in the morning. Brandon was asleep when we left, but we said good-bye to his mother.

When we got back to Giles’, he asked if I’d had any dinner, and I admitted that I hadn’t. He said he hadn’t either, so we cracked out some Campbell’s soup. Not exactly gourmet, but it was hot. Giles gave me a pair of his sweats and offered to give me the bed too, but I pointed out the fact that he’s a pretty big guy. So, I ended up on the couch with some blankets, but I was warm, and I was happy.

The next morning, the snow was pretty much gone, but we patched up the snow-demon the best we could, and then Giles actually had a chicken in his freezer, so we cooked that. There wasn’t really anything for traditional side dishes, but it would have been all right, I think. Anyway, Brandon knocked on the door and told us we were invited to their Christmas dinner if we wanted, so we took the chicken and went over.

Brandon’s mom smiled at us, and I remember that she invited us in, which really bothered Giles, he told me later, but I mean, what do you say to people who don’t believe in vampires? Don’t invite in anyone? Not even friends and family? You just really can’t.

The food was really good, though. They had yams—or sweet potatoes, ‘cause I can never tell the difference between my orange mashed-up veggies—and gravy, and turkey breast, but it was a good thing we brought the chicken, because even though they’d cooked a bunch of potatoes and whatnot, it was sort of obvious they’d bought for two, not four. And Brandon was an awesome kid. I mean, hey, he laughed at my jokes, so what’s not to love there, right? I taught him the Snoopy dance too, so I’m kinda proud of passing that on. You know from ‘Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown?’ Well, when you get a chance to see it, watch the dog. I’d do it for you now, but, uh, you don’t wanna see a grown man do that. Anyway, it always comes on TV a few days before Christmas, and Willow’d sneak over to my house and watch it—‘cause her family was big with the Jewish thing and wouldn’t let her—then I’d do the dance for her.

Back to the story, though. Brandon had a bunch of zombie video games for his Super Nintendo, so we played those while the G-man ran and got his guitar. I didn’t actually know he *had* a guitar, but he did some carols, and we sang with him. He’s got a *fantastic*, should-be-making-lots-of-money voice, by the way, and I’m seriously not biased about that. Actually, at the time, I didn’t realize he sang other stuff, too—not until later when the girls and I walked in on him at the Espresso Pump, the, uh, local coffee house he used to sing at the first year Buffy went off to college.

Actually…I should ask him if he’ll do it at Christmas dinner this year. I think the Slayers would like it, and most of them don’t know what a great voice he has. He sings for me a lot; just before we go to sleep, sometimes, but not in public too often. If you get a chance, you should ask if he would for you—I tell him he should more. Not really something that’ll help with the book, but you’ll enjoy it, trust me.

But, yeah, it was good. I spent that night at Giles’ place, too. After that, I waved ‘hi’ to Brandon and his mom a few times, but I never really talked to them again. Giles said he did, but mostly I’m just glad they got out of there. I don’t know how it’s going in Vermont, but I’m guessing a lot better than if they’d stayed.

Honestly? Sunnydale was the only home I’d ever known, but I’m glad it’s a crater in the ground. Even though Cleveland is just starting to open up, I’m glad it’s Wood and Faith who’re there and not me. I’m done with Hellmouthy fun.

***

CHAPTER 4: CHRISTMAS 1999

Yeah, let’s see. The next one would be right after high school. Anya and I—she’s the ex-vengeance demon who worked for Giles in the shop later—were a couple by then, but she was still a little new to being human, which is, ah, kinda a long and confusing story involving an alternate universe. Anyway, she didn’t really understand about Christmas, yet. She kept asking why we looked forward to a time where everyone was really miserable. See, I guess next to Valentine’s Day, the Christmas holidays are the peak season for ticked-off, vengeful, wish-making women. New Year’s Day, too, when people make all those resolutions about things to get rid of in their lives. I guess for the female population, a lot of the things they want to get rid of are boyfriends and husbands they blame for whatever else is wrong. On behalf of all the guys, it’s a little offensive.

So I was kinda torn between showing her what Christmas was all about or else just shacking up with her all holiday and just, uh, doing what we usually did. Which, uh, basically consisted of bedroom-type activities, though not always with the bedroom. Changing topics now…

Anyway, what really decided it though was Willow. She was still getting over Oz—her old boyfriend. He’d run off with this wolf-chick, ‘cause, yeah, he was the werewolf who used to be part of the gang, and, anyway, she was taking it pretty hard. She needed someone to hang out with, so I told Anya about Christmas being a time for friends, and told her we should invite Willow over since she didn’t have anyone. Anya, of course, managed to make a few tasteless comments about it, but it worked out okay. It wasn’t so much that she tried to be tactless, by the way, even though I was kinda on her case about it a lot back then. It was just that she wasn’t used to being human, so she was a bit too…honest. Regardless of what they might tell you, that isn’t *always* the best policy.

Anya said, though, that since we were going to hang out with Willow, we might as well invite Buffy, too. I think she was excited to be invited into my circle of friends, even though I didn’t think about it that way at the time. See, she wasn’t quite part of the group yet, even though she did Thanksgiving with us, and besides me, they were pretty much the only people she *did* hang out with. But when I asked Buffy, she said she was going to be hanging out with her mom and sister. Honestly, it’s kinda sad that even though her dad wasn’t around like mine and Willow’s, she still probably had the best family life of all of us.

Then I got to thinking about Giles. I felt a little bad about it really, you know? Because the last two years had been him and me, and now I was gonna be mostly with Anya. Then there was the fact that since the high school got blown up, he didn’t have another job yet and we didn’t see him everyday. That was especially true of Buffy, because she was off being college-girl and chasing soldier-boy. Plus, Giles had this girlfriend, Olivia, who’d just left him after we had this thing with these nasty voice-stealing guys called ‘The Gentlemen’. I don’t think the girlfriend was serious or anything, but with everything else, that meant he was gonna spend Christmas alone.

So I told Anya, we should ask him. “Besides,” I pointed out. “If we do it right, we can go over to his place.” Which was important, because I was living in my parents’ basement at the time, and Willow was in the dorm.

I have to admit that we had been really crappy about visiting him since graduation, so when I knocked on the door, I think Giles was really surprised to see me. Especially alone. After that last Christmas, I used to come over and crash on his couch sometimes, when I didn’t want to be at home, but I hadn’t since Anya and I became a thing.

He just sort of looked at me and said something Giles-like, along the lines of “Xander, is something amiss?” because he figured the only reason I’d probably be there like that was if something was wrong.

“Easy, G-man,” I assured him. “No apocalypses today.”

He rolled his eyes and did what he always did, telling me not to call him that—‘G-man’, I mean. Giles has gotten a bit more lax about it, but I still call him ‘G-man,’ and he still tells me not to. It’s…well, it wouldn’t be normal if it didn’t work like that. Same reason I still call him ‘Giles’ most of the time, even though it surprises people. They think I should call him ‘Rupert’ now, I guess, since we’re involved and all, but no matter how much things change, I guess we both like the fact that a lot of things never will, either.

Then I asked if he had any plans for Christmas, which was like a week away. “Ah, no, actually,” he told me, taking off his glasses to clean them, “but won’t you be with Anya? If you’d like to spend the holidays with her, Xander, you should.”

I got a little embarrassed, because, see, he thought I was feeling obligated to spend it with him, which really was only half true, and that made me think I *should* really be obligated, and that made me feel guilty. I told him though that actually, I was spending it with Anya—Christmas Eve, anyway, but that I thought we should spend Christmas Day with friends, and that meant Willow, and, if he wanted, him.

He was just getting ready to respond, and I didn’t even have a chance to ask if we could all go over there, before we got interrupted. “So you lot are all going to pile over here, eh?” Spike commented, as he emerged from the kitchen, sipping blood out of a mug. “Could be fun, Watcher. Better than you and I just sitting around getting pissed drunk on spiked blood and eggnog, trying to belt out bloody carols and seeing who passes out first.”

“Yes. Thank you for that, Spike,” Giles told him, before turning back to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’d love to have you and the others here, if you’d like. I shall warn though, we’ll have to put up with my unwanted pest of a houseguest. I really don’t know where else to put him, and I rather doubt Buffy would want to take him.” Spike was behind him, giving him the two-fingered salute. I’d forced Giles to explain that one to me after Spike had stayed with me in the basement for a while during Olivia’s visit. Spike had his chip back then, but we weren’t really sure what to do with him at the time, and he was sort of our hostage. Giles tried chaining him in his bathtub for a while, but he whined too much.

“We couldn’t just tie a big red bow on him and send him to L.A. with a tag reading ‘To Angel, from Santa,’ could we?” I asked.

Giles smiled at that. “Would serve them both right.”

“Sod off. You are NOT sending me to the poof. Not when I can’t even bite. It’d be embarrassing!”

“And I’d care, why?” I asked.

Spike and I fought for a bit more before Giles threw me out, but we were on for Christmas.

So Anya and I did our thing on Christmas Eve, and then we picked up Willow the next day and went over there.

Giles cooked, though he admitted later Spike helped. Honestly, it amazes me how a vampire, who doesn’t even have to eat, can be such a good cook—even if he does tend to add too much spice. Later, when we were all camping out at Buffy’s with the Potentials, Spike and Andrew used to fight over who got to do the meals. Andrew usually won, though; he was more annoying. Giles isn’t half bad himself though, especially when he really gets into it. He does all the cooking around here, because if it were up to me, we’d be surviving on take-out and macaroni.

They’d decorated too. I hadn’t expected that, but even though it was just garland and some lights, it looked good. There were gifts too…mostly just little things, but stuff for everyone, even Spike, because, as Willow had said, leaving him out would have been mean. I was a little offended that he gave Anya lingerie, but she liked it and, I have to admit, Spike has good taste. It was, you know, not much, but it was nice. Willow even made us sing, which, since, no offense, but the girl can NOT hold a tune, turned out pretty funny.

After that, we didn’t have much in the way of plans, but I’d rented some movies, because Giles had a VCR. We got all the really old ones, like the Charlie Brown special I told you I used to do the dance from, and ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,’ and whatnot, because Anya hadn’t ever seen any of them. I guess vengeance demons don’t have much time for great cinema. Watching movies with Anya, by the way, was one of the most disturbing experiences ever. She’d usually cheer for the bad guys, for one thing, and then tell you stories that usually ended up in someone getting castrated or disembowled. It was even worse there with Spike to cheer her on. She was happy the Abominable Snowman got to be friends with everyone, though. By the way? Don’t ask a thousand-year-old vengeance demon about the real story behind Santa Claus. Trust me…just don’t.

But Anya eventually fell asleep against me, and Willow was sitting on the floor by Giles’ legs, snoring when the last movie ended. Spike was in the chair—I’m not sure whether he was asleep or not, but when people don’t breathe, it’s kinda hard to tell. Giles asked if there was any particular time any of us needed to get home by.

“No, not really,” I admitted. I mean, really, what did any of us have to get home to?

“You’re all welcome to spend the evening here, then, if you like,” he told me, and, looking at the girls, I agreed it was a good idea.

He stood up carefully, and said he was going to go get blankets and pillows. I offered to help, and eased Anya off my shoulder. My gal always was a heavy sleeper, though.

“So, you and Spike really decorated for us,” I whispered, walking up the stairs and waving at the still-lit strings of lights that adorned the various alcoves.

He shrugged. “It only seemed right to make a proper thing of it this year. Besides, he’s got a better disposition when I keep him busy, and I fancy he’s not had the chance for a decent Christmas in a while either. I rather got the impression Spike enjoyed himself, based on his grumblings on how there ought to be a tree as well, though, why a vampire should care so much for the holidays is a bit beyond me.”

It did seem a bit out of character. I mean, generally, Spike liked to talk about how much fun it was to torture helpless victims, not deck the halls and make merry with the pumpkin pie, you know? “Perhaps our Big Bad isn’t quite as bad to the bone as he’d have us believe,” I suggested to Giles. “Either that, or when he was neutered, they housetrained him, too.”

Giles’ response was his typical dry retort. “If so, I should like a bloody refund. He’s a damn pest.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agreed, “but the vamp makes some of the best gravy I’ve ever tasted. Buffy would stake him for the recipe if she only knew.”

At some point, we got to the linen closet, and Giles handed me a pile of blankets before pulling out pillows for everyone. I don’t recall quite how it came up, but he started to apologize for the other two Christmases—that even though this one hadn’t quite been the best possible, he should have been able to offer me more then, too, in terms of decorations and gifts and food.

“Hey,” I told him, turning on the stairway with my armful, and forcing him to stop too. I think I might have even forgotten to whisper a bit. “Never do the sorry thing about that. I don’t know how you feel about it, but those are the two best Christmases of my life, and so far this one’s been pretty damn good, too.”

I remember I hadn’t even realized it was true until I said it, but it was. With the exception of last Christmas, they still are, actually. So far anyway, of course. But yeah, Christmas with the drunk relatives even on the good years and shiny new toys can’t even compare with my Giles Christmases. I tried to tell him that. “If you apologize for them, that just means they weren’t good enough, and they were. So don’t.”

Giles just kind of stood there for a few seconds, and there was this look in his eyes I can’t even begin to describe. Then, he thanked me and said they were memories he really liked a lot too. The word ‘treasured’ was in there somewhere.

I think I responded by telling him that as far as I could tell, the main thing that made them all special was him. Then, I said “let’s not talk about it anymore,” and turned and went the rest of the way down the stairs.

He wrapped a blanket around Willow, and I helped him ease her to the ground. She mumbled a bit, but didn’t really wake up. Then we did Anya, and finally Spike. I asked Giles if we should bother with him, since he didn’t have a body temperature, but Giles said he’d whine if we didn’t.

I took my blanket and mentioned that I’d sleep on the couch with Anya. She’d probably kick me in such close quarters, but there was room for both of us.

“You’re very fond of her,” he observed, and I remember it surprised me, ‘cause, you know, he was Giles, and we didn’t talk about relationship stuff much. Plus, I was never really sure the others approved of Anya.

“Yeah,” I smiled and touched her hair. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m glad,” he told me. “You’ll forgive me if I admit I had my misgivings at first, but I think she’s been good for you. And you for her…even if I have to confess that how you can deal with her, ah, frankness, is at times beyond me.”

I couldn’t really tell him how much his approval meant to me, so I joked about it. “Well, they say the basis of a good relationship is communication. So I figure Anya communicates enough for both of us.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled softly, and I saw his smile reflected from the lights.

“You could stay down here with us,” I suggested, but he begged off, saying he’d run out of furniture. I told him the floor was surely big enough for both him and Willow, but he commented that as uncomfortable as she was likely to be in the morning from sleeping on such a hard surface, it’d be worse for him. Before he went upstairs, though, he took my hand and gave it a squeeze, telling me “Merry Christmas.”

I said it back, and then he left. There was a good feeling in the apartment then. That kind of after midnight quiet of a warm, full place where everyone else is asleep, touched by the festive glow of the lights.

I enjoyed that for quite a while before I managed to get Anya to move enough to squeeze between her and the back of the couch and go to sleep.

Now, I find myself really wondering what Giles felt that night, but I do know, I’m really glad we decided to go to his place that Christmas. I doubt it meant as much to Willow and Anya, but I think they were glad too.

***

CHAPTER 5: CHRISTMAS 2000

The Christmas after that one is pretty special in a different way—to all of us, really—even though it isn’t really a me-and-Giles memory. It was the only real Scoobie Christmas, though. With all of us together, I mean, and it was the last holiday with Buffy’s mom. She, uh, died a few months after that, but she was good then, and we all came over, ‘cause really, it’s not like any of us had anything else to do.

We had tried to, uh, do Thanksgiving the year before that at Giles’ place like I said earlier, with everyone there and Buffy orchestrating the whole thing, but it turned out kinda disastrous. As in arrows and smallpox and other diseases that are a lot more embarrassing than that. Anyway, that year we were kinda busy dealing with this giant snake thing during Thanksgiving, so Buffy decided we should do Christmas instead.

I spent Christmas Eve with Anya, of course, but Christmas Day we all went over to Buffy’s and helped cook food. The bigger group Christmases I remembered from before that were back when my family used to go over to my aunt’s when I was younger, and there was always bickering and at least one drunk relative, but it wasn’t like that, then, that Christmas at Buffy’s. Everyone was really happy, and we got along. Like I said, kinda what everyone thinks of when they think of the perfect Christmas. Which is good, because with all the crap, I think we really needed a memory like that. It was special for Buffy and Dawn too, because…well, yeah.

The Summers waited for us all to get there to decorate the tree, so we did that, and then we ate. Pretty typical for us—lots of inappropriate jokes and laughter, and Anya’s truly disturbing Santa Claus story, but fun. Really, really fun. So much food *I* even managed to get full, which, believe me, takes a lot. Cranberries, and turkey, and stuffing, and Buffy even did mushy peas, though I’m not really sure that they’re supposed to be just canned peas squashed up, but whatever. And nog, lots of nog, most of it spiked. I’m pretty sure even Dawn was drinking the alcoholic stuff because she got pretty tipsy as in ‘oh, look at the pretty lights’ and giggling a lot, though she does that anyway…so maybe it wasn’t the alcohol.

Let’s see…what did we do after that? Yeah, I guess those of us who hadn’t cooked were on clean-up, which was pretty much everyone whose last name wasn’t ‘Summers’. I got out of doing the massive pile of dishes that wouldn’t die by volunteering to clean up this pumpkin pie that fell on the floor. When the soap bubble fight started, I got in on that, though. So yeah, clean up took a while.

After that, we decided to go for the games, though there really aren’t that many games that are friendly to eight players, regardless of what it says on the box. Dawn REALLY wanted to do Twister, but eight times two hands and two feet each is…a lot, and there weren’t enough dots to really make it work. We started on the Trivial Pursuit, which was mostly just Willow against Giles, since they’re the ones who answer like ninety percent of the questions, and then the rest of us picking one side or the other and pretending to be on their ‘team.’ We tried guys vs. girls, which was kinda one-sided, since it was Giles and me against, um, let’s see…six of them? Made me sorta wish Spike was there, or even Riley—Buffy’s ex, but it worked out well, ‘cause Giles is Bookman, and I’m Pop Culture Boy, so I filled in his gaps. We still lost, but not by much. Of course, I think half of it is because Willow’s memorized most of the cards, but that’s just my theory. I notice she doesn’t do half as well at ‘Trivial Pursuit Millennium Edition.’

There were gifts that year too, though since there were so many of us, we’d drawn names. The only rule was that no one could have their significant other and no one could have anyone with the same last name because we figured they’d probably want to do their own gifts and probably want to spend more than the $20 limit, too. I had Willow, which was cool, because she’s the best friend. I never saw her wear it, but I gave her one of those t-shirts that says “Sorry I skipped church; I was busy becoming a lesbian and practicing witchcraft,” and then a kit for playing doctor—the naughty way. I *know* she and Tara used that, though I won’t tell you how I know. And Dawn had me. She gave me a Backstreet Boys CD, which was based on a comment that Anya had made…one NOT appropriate for a fourteen-year-old, by the way, that was definitely NOT true. Not a bad CD though.

I’m not really sure who else had who. I remember Giles had Buffy because he gave her something old and Slayery, which I’m sure didn’t technically cost him much but was worth WAY more than the $20 limit, and then Tara and Joyce had each other. Willow had Anya, and I have to give Will credit—the girl knows her magic sex toys. Though I was kinda glad we managed to change the subject before Dawn could ask more details on how it worked.

I’m not entirely certain why, but I got a gift for Giles, too. I guess it’s because after the last few years, I felt like I owed him something…or maybe not owed, but at least wanted to get him something. I waited until movie time though, and then asked him to come out to the entryway for a minute.

“Here. I just wanted to,” I told him, as I thrust it at him a little awkwardly. Fortunately, I’d gotten it wrapped at the store to save it from the doom of ‘guy-wrapping,’ which means I probably would have just mucked it up with duct tape or something otherwise.

It wasn’t much, really, just a leatherbound journal like the rest of his diaries, and when Giles opened it, he waited for me to explain, so I did. “Buffy was telling me about Watcher diaries,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and not quite able to look at his face. “She told me that most of them are either really boring, talking about tactics and stuff, or else they’re full of bad stuff. The good things are there, but kinda few and far between. And I thought…well, we do a lot of the bad sometimes, and that’s gotta be depressing. So, I wanted you to have one where you could only write good things.”

See, I figured it’d be okay, because that’s gotta be educational to Watchers too, you know, reading about the demon that turned out to be just a three-foot kitten who liked to try lick you to death, and about how Buffy liked to name her favorite weapons and make notches in the vaulting horse for every time she managed to disarm Giles using a sword. That was the one weapon he could usually beat her at, you know.

I even got a different color, because he used brown leather journals to write in—most Watchers did, I guess. I don’t know if they were standard issue, or what. But anyway, this one was green, the brightest color I could find in the store.

I didn’t really think it’d mean that much to him, but he got that weird look on his face, like when he’s trying to be all British and reserved and failing a bit. “Xander, I—” he started to say, but then he told me to wait there, and he went up the stairs, I guess to the guest bedroom where we’d left our bags.

“I meant to give this to you later, but now seems as good of a time as any,” he told me, as he handed me something wrapped in tissue paper with my name written on it in his writing. “It’s not much, but it makes me think of you.”

I opened it up, and it was this little medallion. Some sort of dark silver metal with some engravings on it. The main picture was this sort of curly thing crossed with a spear.

“It’s a nra-lan. There’s, uh, a bit of a story,” he told me. Then he explained what it meant. See, there’s this ancient civilization in Asia, though I don’t remember their name. Anyway, they’d sworn themselves to fight demons and whatnot. A lot of demon hunters had magic or other special powers, but these guys didn’t—a whole clan of Zeppos, like me. They just fought anyway, because it was what they thought they had to do and what they trained their whole lives for. When a man fought and killed his first demon in single combat, he got one of these nra-lans. It’s kinda a blessing, and as long as its owner is brave and strong of heart, it’s supposed to give strength and keep him safe.

“I can’t really say whether or not the blessing works, particularly as every warrior of the clan who died in battle was usually carrying one, but even though you killed your first demon a long time ago, I thought you should have it. It’s…well, I’m proud of you, Xander,” he told me. “I’m honored to have you fight with Buffy and I, and to call you my friend. I…I just thought you should know.”

I could help it…when it came to other guys I wasn’t really the huggy type back then, but I had to hug him. It was quick, but I did. See, the thing with Giles is he doesn’t say things like that very often, or at least not until lately, but when he does, he means it.

I carried that medallion for quite a while, even after Giles left us and came back here to England. Not all the time, but whenever I knew we were going to fight, I usually had it. I don’t know if the blessing worked or not, but one of times I didn’t have it was when I met up with Caleb. He was the one who made sure my depth perception would never be the same again. I still have it too…one of the only things I managed to take from Sunnydale with me, but only because it was in my pocket when we hopped on the bus and tried to avoid being part of the giant crater. I knew that last fight was going to be a big one, even if I didn’t know how big. After the third apocalypse or so, you learn to calculate the size and difficulty of the battle *after* you fight it.

We didn’t say much else…just went back to the others until the party dissolved and everyone went home, me with Anya of course. Good Christmas, though, and like I said, I’m glad we did it, ‘cause I miss Buffy’s mom, too.

***

CHAPTER 6: CHRISTMAS 2001

Uh, 2001. Not much to tell there, I’m afraid, and that one, uh, that one’s not a good memory. Are you sure you want to hear it?

Yeah, it’s okay…he and I—we’re past it now. That’s the year…that’s the year Giles went back to England, because when Buffy came back from being dead, she, uh, wasn’t dealing very well with it. He thought the best solution was to go away, though I still disagree with that, and I think he thinks he was wrong now too. But stuff was pretty bad. Willow had her magic problem, and Tara broke up with her. Anya and I were busy with wedding plans…even though that turned out really bad. Buffy, she, um, she had a crappy job and pretty much just yelled at everybody. I don’t know if she was doing horizontal things with Spike yet or not…uh, don’t put that in the book either.

Wait, Giles wrote about it? Yeah, I guess he would have mentioned the whole Spike-Buffy thing the year after that, if nothing else. He didn’t really agree with a lot of her decisions about Spike—thought she was blind when it came to him, even if it did work out okay in the end. I’ll tell you I never trusted him either after that chip came out, though.

But, yeah, the point is we were all kinda busy. It was so bad, no one even noticed Dawn was becoming a little thief.

So, yeah, he was in England, and we were back in Sunnydale. He called, the day before Christmas. Anya picked it up at the shop; she was about the only one he ever talked to most of the time, and that was about business, but this time he was trying to talk to Buffy. Giles said he’d already called the house, but no one answered, which was no surprise. Willow was probably sleeping off a high, but Buffy and Dawn were with us at the shop. When Giles asked for Buffy, she growled at Anya to tell him she wasn’t there and then stormed out.

Anya, being Anya, of course told him, “Buffy says she’s not here, so you can’t talk to her,” so I told her to give me the phone.

“Hey,” I told him. “Sorry, about that. It’s just—”

“I know,” he said, saving me from having to explain. “I had hoped…but I’m not surprised she hasn’t forgiven me, yet. Is everything all right? Every time I ask Anya, she avoids the subject. Badly and tactlessly, I might add.”

I sighed, but I knew Buffy and Willow had both made comments to the effect that Giles wasn’t to be told anything. “Look, Giles, you left, and that means you aren’t part of the gang anymore. We miss you, but unless you’re willing to come back, it’s just really painful for Buffy—all of us, really—to have you call and remind us that you’re gone.”

“Xander,” he started to say, but I cut him off.

“No, listen. I know, you think this is best, and maybe you’re right, but I don’t think you are. You want to know how things are? I’ll tell you.” And I did. I told him that Buffy was a walking zombie about to lose Dawn to social services, and about Willow’s problem, and Tara leaving.

He told me later he almost decided to come home then, but a week later he managed to talk to Willow, and I don’t know what she did, but she managed to convince him that things really weren’t that bad. I’m not sure if you can use magic over the phone, but honestly? It wouldn’t have surprised me if she had. Giles is strong, magically, but Willow is stronger.

But the point is, I think that at the time, it was pretty shocking for him, especially since no one had been telling him anything.

Then I asked him how he was doing, and he told me the Council had him on assignment. I know he kept separate journals for that time period. Did he give them to you? You might ask him, if you’re interested. Probably he just didn’t think about it. Interesting stuff, and I’m guessing he wrote about most of it. He couldn’t tell me much at the time, but he’s told me stories since. Ghosts and demonic activity. Like ‘The Exorcist,’ only with Watchers instead of priests, and with less head-spinning and split pea soup. Apparently, that’s what the Council did when it wasn’t harassing Slayers, ‘cause, you know, one girl can only do so much.

It was a short conversation at the time though, and we said ‘Merry Christmas’ to each other. Then I told him I wished we could see him, and he said that he wished things were different so he could see us too. Then we hung up.

That’s about it. I mean, he spent Christmas in a haunted castle in Ireland, and I spent it here with Anya, picking out china patterns and making out under the acres of mistletoe that dotted our apartment.

==========================================

CHAPTER 7: CHRISTMAS PRESENT

You’re both startled by a loud ‘click’ from the tape recorder, and Xander stops mid-sentence.

“It’s the tape,” you rush to explain. “Um, the darn things aren’t very long…”

“And I talk too much,” he grins. “I’m enjoying it though…you’re a good listener.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got another tape, and I’m a good listener because it’s my job. You’re a great storyteller, though. I’d like to say…thank you for what you’ve told me so far. I realize it must be rather personal.”

He ducks his head, embarrassed and shy again, the spell broken. “Yeah. Well, you said to talk about stuff other than the battles, and about the two of us.”

“And I appreciate it. It’s invaluable, really, for just understanding *who* you are…as people, not just legendary evilfighters. But more than that, it’s a great story. I never knew…” you know you’re explaining it badly, so you try again. “I mean, well, hearing the stories and reading the diaries makes all of you seem a bit larger than life.”

Xander laughs slightly. “Yeah, if I read it, I don’t think I’d believe it either, honestly. Sometimes I still wonder if it all really happened. Harry Potter books seem more believable somehow.”

Then you remember something you’d wanted to tell him. “By the way, I’d wanted to mention this earlier,” you say, “but was afraid to interrupt you much on the tape. I thought you should know, though, that the journal you gave him?”

“Yeah?” he looks up, interested.

“He did as you said. It’s filled with anecdotes and stories about you and Willow and the others. Rupert finished it before he returned back to Sunnydale with the Potentials, so he left it here in England with the others, and it survived.”

You remember how its green color had drawn you, and how you’d briefly noted the words ‘Only Good Things’ scrawled in a blocky handwriting on the inside cover. The script was different from what appeared in the rest of the journals, and now, you’d bet anything Xander had written it. More than ever, you’re glad it’s not one of the few of that last year in Sunnydale that disappeared when the city did. “This may be a bit forward of me, but if you don’t read the others, you should at least read that one. I think…there are things in it you’d like to hear.”

Xander is quiet for a second, still absorbing the information, and you’re nearly certain, he’s trying to imagine what sorts of things Rupert might have written about. “Thank you,” he tells you. “I…I didn’t realize, but then he doesn’t talk about the diaries much. I think I’d like to read that one.” He stands up and offers to take your empty mug.

“I need to take a break anyway,” he excuses himself, presumably to relieve a certain call from nature. “When I come back, would you like me to bring more hot chocolate and cookies?”

“That would be lovely,” you say, noting with embarrassment that the biscuits are all eaten, and you’re pretty sure you ate most of them.

You don’t mind being left alone though, as it gives you time to think over some of the stories you’ve just heard. You know when you asked Xander to tell you about Christmastime you didn’t expect to hear what you’ve been hearing or to be touched by it quite so much. You wonder if Xander knows how much you’re enjoying listening, or if you should feel a tiny bit guilty for enjoying it quite so much. These are real stories, after all, and the pain you can hear behind many of them is just as real as the joy.

Xander comes back in with the promised tray. “I called Giles. They’re still at the hospital bandaging up the last girl, even though it’s nothing serious. So he’ll be a while longer, yet.”

Privately, you rejoice at that, though you certainly won’t say so out loud. Instead you say, “I truly don’t mind waiting…particularly if you wouldn’t mind telling the rest of your story.”

There’s a slight laugh. “Typical journalist—author, whatever. I don’t mind though…like I said before, it’s kinda nice for me to remember this stuff too.”

“Well, every good story should be told through to its end,” you reply, remembering a comment from the person who first encouraged you to write.

“Hey! Watch it…this one isn’t over yet. The best I can do is bring you up to the present,” he tells you.

“Up to ‘happily ever after,’ then?”

That gets another one of the smiles as he munches on a cookie. “Huh, I never thought of it that way, but yeah. At least I hope so. Got your tape all ready?”

“Any time,” you tell him. He nods, and you hit ‘record.’

==========================================

CHAPTER 8: CHRISTMAS 2002

And then the Christmas after that was our last in Sunnydale. Giles was back and Tara was gone…dead, actually. Might as well say it. Willow was back too, after her dark, veiny, let me kill everyone phase, and still dealing with the whole magic thing. Anya and I were broken up and still on shaky ground, and pretty much everyone lived at Buffy’s house, which was Slayer-central with all the Potentials.

Actually, there weren’t that many then, but Giles had brought the first three with him when he came back to Sunnydale, and they just kept pouring in. I think there were about six or seven of them by Christmastime, and then another one came in Christmas day. Most of them were raised by Watchers, but a couple of them had come straight from their families. Anyway, it was a hard time of year for a lot of them, ‘cause Christmas isn’t usually about fearing for your life for most people, you know? And the no-eyed army was doing a pretty good job of giving them a reason to be afraid.

Unfortunately, between uber-vamps and trying to figure out what was going on at the high school, there wasn’t a lot of time for Christmas type stuff. Even me—I wasn’t doing much fighting and planning and researching, but I swear literally months of my life went into rebuilding the walls of Buffy’s house. Bad things couldn’t stop crashing into it. Seriously, if I’d have known how much work it was going to be, I would have knocked the damn thing down myself and bought us all a bunch of tents.

And then there was Andrew…we still didn’t really trust him at that point—and to be honest, I’m still not really sure I trust the little rat all the time—but he was kinda starting to get the run of the place, and he wanted to do Christmas for everyone, so we let him. It was…interesting.

He did okay with the decorating I guess, and the girls had fun doing cookies and cutting out snowflakes, even if some of them—particularly Kennedy—grumbled that it made them feel like they were in kindergarten again.

But then there was Christmas Eve. The day itself was sort of no big deal because there was this thing with this demon so everyone was just mostly tired and sacked out and went to bed. But I didn’t…couldn’t get to sleep. Don’t know why exactly, but that happens sometimes, so I went to the kitchen to get something to eat.

I was stumbling around in the dark when I heard something else move. Scared me silly, and I think I scared her, too. It was one of the girls, Vi, I think.

“What’s up? Besides us, obviously,” I asked her when I’d found the light in the kitchen and flipped it on.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, kinda stating the obvious. “So I thought…food, maybe?”

I laughed at that, I think. I mean, she sounded like me. “Should I make snacks for two then?” I offered, and she took me up on it. When I asked what she wanted, she just said something with chocolate, so I popped a couple of graham crackers in the microwave with half a chocolate bar on each. That’s the secret you know…microwave just the chocolate for ten seconds first, *then* add the marshmallow and microwave again for another fifteen. Kinda fun to watch actually—it puffs up all big and…uh, yeah, anyway then you just put another graham cracker on it and you’ve got a s’more. MAJOR sugar high, but good. Just don’t ever feed them to Willow. Not unless you want to be peeling witch off the walls for days afterwards. That’s one girl who just can’t hold her hyper. Anyway, we only had those colored mini-marshmallows, so you have to use about five of them, but it looks cool.

I grabbed what was left of the milk—really, we were lucky there was any at all, because there were certain things we were *always* running out of, and that was one of them.

Then Vi got this idea. “Hey, hand me the marshmallows.” So I threw them to her and she washed up a pair of forks—pretty much every dish in the house lived permanently in the sink. Then she turned on the stove—one of those gas ones, you know, with the blue flame?

We started sticking little green and pink marshmallows on the forks and roasting them. Or actually, she was doing more roasting, and I was doing more burning…which is kinda scary when you’re indoors, but the smoke alarm never went off so either it wasn’t that bad, or the smoke detector was broken. Probably the latter.

And we started telling weird and kinda dirty jokes about Santa and Christmas, and how the angel got to be on top of the Christmas tree…you know, late night stuff, where everything seems WAY funnier than it is. It was cool though, because I didn’t really actually talk to the Potentials much. As people, anyway. I guess we were kinda loud though, because we woke up one of the other girls too, who came in to see what we were doing. So we just tossed her a fork and she joined in. She was shy of me, at first, but that passed soon enough.

It’s not really that surprising that we woke up Giles too since he was sleeping in the living room on the couch…see, he was kinda homeless that year, at least when he was in California. He’d sold his apartment—flat—so he just sorta wandered between hotels and Buffy’s couch. When he first came in, I thought he was going to tell us to be quiet. Like I said, it’d been a hard day, but he just walked in kinda rumpled, did the thing where he runs his hand through his hair, smiled at us, and asked what was up.

“Coming up with a new Christmas tradition?” he asked, just about the time I caught another marshmallow on fire and accidentally dropped it on the burner. I think I said some bad words then, but got the flame out.

The girls both knew him pretty well, actually…better than they’d known me, since he was the one who brought Vi to Sunnydale and then, in Melissa, Melinda’s, I’m not sure which; anyway, in the other girl’s case, I’m pretty sure she was one of those who didn’t even know she *was* a Slayer Potential until Giles got to her before the Bringers could.

Anyway, he did his own marshmallows—golden brown by the way, something I’ve NEVER managed, hence the aforementioned microwave skills, and somehow he and I ended up telling the girls about stuff. You know, like about Spike before he was chipped, and about killing Adam, and about how Anya once ordered like a hundred of these little lizards for the Magic Box because they were for spells, but she didn’t know they were going to be alive and they escaped all over the store. One of them got into some powder or something and ended up getting to be about ten feet long before Willow and Tara managed to get it shrunk back down again. Just really random things.

Another girl ended up coming down too before it was over—seriously, that house was really crowded that year, and I don’t think any of us got to bed until about four in the morning. Giles and I sent the girls off first though…we didn’t talk long, but, I don’t know, I guess we both figured since we were up, and sorta a tradition with us, that we might as well.

So, we each had a cut of tea. Normally, I’d go for hot chocolate, but the marshmallows were kinda too much sugar, and somehow, between the five of us, the whole bag disappeared. Giles and I didn’t really say much…I think I said something like I was glad he was back with us that year, and he agreed.

Then, I asked him about what was going on. Something along the lines of, “So there’re going to be a lot more of these girls before this is all over, aren’t there?”

“If we’re lucky, yes,” he told me. That kinda made me shiver because I knew he meant that the Bringers might be getting to them first.

“And the Council?”

Giles looked down at his tea and got this look in his eyes. “Most were in the explosion, I’m afraid. The students at the academy and some of their professors survived, and then there are those who had retired or were on assignment, but I’m afraid the Bringers have been…effective there as well.”

I honestly could have hit myself when I realized it. “A lot of them were your friends, weren’t they?” I asked.

“Yes, but,” he sighed, “life goes on, Xander; at least for the survivors. It’s one of the dangers of those in our profession—you know that.”

I think, honestly, that even then he knew he was going to probably be a big player in the New Council when it was rebuilt. He was right, of course, obviously, but knowing him, he probably already knew the kind of opposition he’d be facing and everything else, even though none of us had a clue at the time there would even *be* a Council after that.

“This is going to be big.” I said finally. “I mean, not that all our big battles aren’t…big…but this one’s going to be bigger, isn’t it?”

I remember he nodded. “Quite possibly.”

“Are we talking world ending?”

That got a barking laugh. “When aren’t we?” he asked, amused, and I had to smile too. I remember Buffy once mentioning that Riley—one of her ex’s—said something about one of the bad things about being around us was having to know the plural of ‘apocalypse.’

The tea was kinda done and it was really late…or really early, so I put the cups in the sink. “I missed you,” I told him. He said something, and we did hug then…like I said, we didn’t often before we…well, you know, until later, but we did then just quickly.

“Get some sleep,” he told me.

“You too,” I agreed, and then I went back to where I was sleeping at the moment…honestly, right now I can’t even remember which room that was—seemed like I moved every couple of days to make room for more Potentials.

Then the next day came, and most of us got up pretty late, which, for those of us who did the after midnight kitchen party was a good thing. I remember the only reason I even got up was because of the smell of food cooking.

We had two turkeys to feed everyone, and Andrew had this weird idea—or actually semi-normal for him—about turning them red and green, so he injected them with food dye. When we cut them open, they looked like they had some sort of disease. It was all uneven and spotty, so turkey consumption kinda hit a low that year, even though it tasted okay.

The rest of the food was really good though. Besides Andrew’s stuff, Dawn helped out a lot and there was all the normal stuff plus about a hundred different things with sugar. I swear, it’s a good thing we didn’t have to give out dental plans to the future-Slayers for the cavities incurred during the holidays.

After that, we did presents. Giles and Willow did the Santa hat bit and handed them out. The main group—I mean the non-Potentials: Giles, Willow, Buffy, Dawn, Anya, Spike, and me—we did little gifts for each other and wrapped them all up so each person got one box. Then for the girls…and Andrew, I guess, we did these other gifts. Mostly just toiletries and snacks and stuff like makeup—though we didn’t give Andrew any of that—and notebooks and whatever. ‘Cause, you know, the girls had to leave a lot of stuff behind and most of them didn’t have much when they came. Mostly we just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a terrible Christmas for them even if they couldn’t do the friends and family bit, and I think it worked out okay.

So…that’s another Christmas. Last one in Sunnydale. After that, more and more girls came, and then there was the big battle, and then the whole big show down with the First Evil.

And then there’s last Christmas…

***

CHAPTER 9: CHRISTMAS 2003

Last Christmas, yeah, that was a weird year. It was just that summer that the whole Sunnydale equals a giant crater thing happened, and then we all just sorta scattered. Giles came here, Willow and Kennedy were in South America, Faith and Robin stayed in Cleveland, Buffy and Dawn were in Italy like they are now, with Andrew traveling back and forth between here and there, and then me, I was in Africa, picking up new Slayers.

That was a lot of fun, actually, and kinda surprising. The furthest I’d ever been out of Sunnydale before that was L.A. But Africa—it’s a really beautiful place, with a lot of bad stuff. Poverty, angry people with guns, and stuff like that, you know? Yeah, the guns are definitely a lot scarier in person, when they pull you out of the car and make you kneel down with one to your head…anyway, that’s its own story.

But a lot of the girls were in these little villages, and most of those were really cool. Fortunately, a lot of them spoke English, but some didn’t, and that was really hard. It was weird how the families reacted, too. A lot of them had noticed the girls were different, stronger. Some acted like they were really honored that the girls had a destiny, some were afraid of them, and then there were others who just didn’t care. I actually had to *buy* one girl from her family. Three hundred American cash and a pocketknife I happened to be carrying.

It’s really hard to have to tell girls about having a sacred destiny to fight demons though. They really don’t have to do much if they don’t want to these days, but it kinda made me sympathize with what it must have been like for those Watchers who just had one Slayer and she *had* to fight. Buffy usually stepped up to the plate, but I bet there were a lot that didn’t…just based on my experience. Having a sacred duty doesn’t make a person brave, or responsible, or even that smart, necessarily.

Anyway, Giles was really busy that year, too, rebuilding the Council, trying to recruit all new Watchers and train them at the same time they were training Slayers, but then one day he called me on the satellite phone. There was some Council stuff he needed someone to do here—you know that Slayers originally came from Africa, right? Anyway, it was sensitive, and he thought he might be able to get away and do it himself, and he asked if I’d like to try be at the same place at the same time. He was going to do it in early January.

“You know if you came a week earlier, we could do the annual Giles-Xander Christmas,” I said, even though I never actually expected he would.

But then the next thing I knew, he was saying, “I suppose we could. Most of the Council will be busy celebrating the holidays, so there won’t be much going on. And Christmas is generally quiet enough demon-wise that I trust Terry to handle any big crisis that might come up. Would you like me to be there?”

“You’ve probably got other things to do, and other people to—”

He cut me off. “Xander, it’s true that I have friends here I could impose on, but they’ve got their own families, too. You’re…I think of you as a member of *my* family, Xander. If you’d like me to be there, I’ll come.”

“Yeah, I’d, um, I’d like that,” I practically whispered, but the phone didn’t quite pick it up, so I had to say it louder.

Then late December came around, and I was having kind of a hard time. You know, it gets lonely when you don’t really know anyone; lonelier when you’re the one everyone keeps asking to be in charge. I mean there was Jeff, the other guy from the Council—we got along okay, but we didn’t really have much in common, and when it came to talking to the Slayers and doing the basic training, he pretty much left that to me. He was good with locator spells though, I’ll give him credit for that. Not a bad negotiator either, and he understood local politics better than I ever care to.

By the time I drove to the airport in Nairobi to pick up Giles though, I really needed to see a friendly face. I remember I couldn’t stop grinning, and babbling. I think I talked pretty much the entire three-hour drive back, mostly just telling stories about what things were like in Africa. He’s used to Xander-babble though, so he just let me go on. One thing I noticed—he was looking really tired. I kept asking him if he wanted me to shut up so he could go to sleep, but he kept saying ‘no’. It gave me the impression things in England were really wearing on him, too.

After New Year’s, we were going to be heading for the city, but at that point we were staying in tents outside this little village, because we hadn’t sent off the latest group of girls, and there were too many of us to really impose on the locals. So I showed him around—not that there was much to see, and introduced him to the girls. He’s good with them, and I’d told them all stories about Sunnydale and Buffy and stuff, so they knew who he was.

Anyway, it was nice, just hanging out for a few days. The village where we were had had a mission years ago, so they celebrated Christmas too. That day there was a lot of singing and dancing, and kids running around, and *tons* of food, which is *always* a good thing. Like whole roast pigs-type food. And, ah, the local alcohol is made from some sort of fruit, but it’s really, really strong. I’d learned after the worst hangover of my life not to touch the stuff, but Giles had brought some red wine, so he and Jeff and I drank that.

Then, you know, ah, everyone stayed up pretty late, I guess. It was fun, though, but finally people began dropping out, and most of the village had called it quits for the night, so we walked the Slayers back to our camp.

Giles was sharing my tent, and I was practically nodding off on the walk back, so I thought I’d go to sleep right away, but you know how it gets when you stay up so long that suddenly you’re wide awake? It was like that, and I don’t know whether it was the wine or what, but he was pretty giggly too. So we started talking more about what the last four or five months had been like since the group sorta split up, but at some point it got more serious. I kinda mentioned off-hand that I was…I don’t know. Depressed, lonely…not really, but just sort of missing everybody.

Then he started telling me about life back here. How a few of those who hadn’t been killed in the explosion were fighting against him because they didn’t agree with the new Council and blamed him for all the shit that happened. How some of the girls were really messed up, and they had to lock them up because they couldn’t figure out what to do with them and they couldn’t just let them run around super-strong and homicidal. How others really didn’t want to be Slayers, and how some of their families wouldn’t let them train and blamed Giles for turning their daughters into freaks. And I realized…I realized he felt really alone, too.

I didn’t really know what to do, because he was always the one making us feel better, you know? He was the kind that kept it all in—he still is, though he’s getting better with me—and it was weird just to hear him dump it all out like that. But it was a good thing, too. There was a lot of stuff—Jenny, Angelus, all the stuff with Buffy, that I don’t think he *ever* talked about, until just recently. So I just listened, ‘cause that’s how he always helped me the most.

But when he was done, I didn’t really know what to say, so I tried reminding him of the good stuff in Sunnydale—it wasn’t all bad, you know? And, and, uh, we started laughing about stuff like the Magic Box, and that last Christmas with Joyce, and that time at Thanksgiving the Indian spirit gave me…uh, never mind, about that. But he said he wanted to show me something. He dug out his wallet, and there was this picture in it. Same picture that’s in the frame, over there, actually, although that’s a bigger copy we had made. The copy kinda shows how bad the condition of the original is, but, well, it’s been carried around for a while. Here, let me get it for you.

See, that’s from just before Buffy, uh, died that second time. We were all just sitting around researching and Dawn had the camera—that’s why she’s not in it. But there’s Willow and Tara with their arms around each other, and Buffy, and Spike probably saying something snarky, and Giles with his pile of books that’s bigger than everyone else’s just to show off, and those other two…the guy kissing the girl’s neck, that’s me and Anya. You can’t really see me that well in the picture—Anya and I were really big on the disgusting PDAs back then—but you can see her.

Giles said he’d forgotten he had that one, but that he’d had it tucked in behind his U.S. driver’s license and had just found it a few weeks before. Anyway, for some reason, it really affected me. I mean, not much survived Sunnydale, and pictures and stuff didn’t make it. I remember Willow having to make some of Tara using memories and magic. She offered to do the same for me, but, I, uh, wasn’t sure I wanted to. What if the memories were wrong, you know? But this was the real thing, and it was the first time I’d seen her since—well the last time I’d seen her, she was alive and we were just getting ready for that last battle.

So I just sat there and touched the picture. I think Giles realized the picture wasn’t having the intended effect, so he touched my arm, and asked me what was wrong.

“It’s just…Anya,” I told him. “I don’t know if she ever forgave me.” And I didn’t, either. Wait, do you know the story? Um, yeah. To make a long story short, I loved her and she loved me, and I did something really bad. We were supposed to get married, but I backed out on the wedding day. After that, well, I don’t know if we ever could have fixed things up, but we were starting to. Starting to be friends at least, but she was still really hurt. Maybe we would have never been together again, and I was okay with that, but I wanted it to be okay between us, you know? I also told him, I didn’t know if she knew how proud I was of her.

“I think she did know, Xander,” he told me, “or at least she had an idea. You meant a lot to her, and…and I think even if you didn’t say it, you tried to show her that you cared.” Then his voice got really hoarse. “Sometimes we don’t say things that we really should. Do you know how proud I am of *you*, Xander?” He, um, he—sorry, this is hard—he told me again that I was his friend and his family, and, uh, how much he’d seen in me over the years and lots of other stuff.

Then I tried to tell him how much he meant to me, even though I’m not as good at it. I might talk a lot, but he’s, uh, he’s a lot better with words than me. Still, I tried, ‘cause he was right, you know. Sometimes you just have to let people know how much they mean to you. And he’s…he’s always meant a lot, ever since, well, as long as I’ve known him. He was always the one looking out for us, encouraging us, rolling his eyes at us, whatever. That’s why it was so hard to forgive him for leaving us, even. We all needed him, and honestly, I know that I, for one, still do.

And I don’t even know how it happened, but the next thing I remember, he was holding me. A full body kind of thing, and part of me just wanted to sag into it and let go of everything—all the crap I had inside—let him take it for me, but the other part…it felt like it was going to explode. There was all this energy and heat, and somehow I pulled myself up by his sweater and started to kiss him.

He was surprised at first, ‘cause, hey, who wouldn’t be? But then his mouth got all soft, and even though he let me control it, he went along with it.

For me…for me it was the weirdest feeling. It was something I’d never imagined doing, but while I was, I kept thinking ‘I should be freaking out,’ but I wasn’t. Freaking, I mean. It felt good, and everything seemed to be all right again. No loneliness, or doubt, or pain, you know? I just had this friend, who cared about me and understood me, and who I was…kissing.

Finally, I broke it off and when I looked at him, he was just staring at me. It kinda hit me then. Suddenly, I started to get really afraid, and I babbled something about whether what I’d just did was okay.

“Xander…” I heard him say. Giles started to raise his hand, and then I saw it shaking and that’s when it hit me. He was scared, too. “Xander, why?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I kept saying. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just. Um, just…”

He cut me off again to ask why, and I finally admitted it was because it just felt right, but that I didn’t know what I meant by it.

Giles said I didn’t have to know. Not just then. It’d been a long day for both of us, and we should just sleep. We could talk about it tomorrow. He asked if I was okay, and I said I was.

We didn’t really say much after that, just kinda got ready for bed, and crawled into our sleeping bags. Because that was awkward enough, and I think we were both afraid of making it awkwarder…more awkward? Whatever the word is. When I put the lantern out, I whispered “Merry Christmas,” for whatever reason, and he whispered it back from the other side of the tent. Not sure why I did it, but usually I talk when I’m trying to deal with stuff, you know, and I’d just remembered it. Anyway it just felt good to hear his voice. I really wanted to say more, but I knew I shouldn’t, so I didn’t.

I really didn’t think I’d get to sleep that night, but I did, almost right away. I woke up the next morning, though, and I thought about a lot of stuff.

We did talk a lot that next day…for the next few days, actually. I traveled with him until his business was done there, and he had to go back. We decided…we decided when I finished up gathering what Slayers I could in the area, I’d come back with them to England. We both thought maybe we’d like to be, um, more than friends. Sorry, it’s hard to explain…just kinda complicated. There was this weird physical attraction—I mean, I knew he was attractive, and there’d been some thoughts and dreams over the years. But I was still really surprised by it, and even more surprised that he felt that way too, I guess. Deeper than that, though, there was just this feeling of warmth. There always has been that though; like it’s okay, and we can make everything all right. We weren’t sure of a lot…just that we wanted to try it. So we decided if we still wanted to try it when I came to England, we would. About a month later I came here, and I remember being so nervous. But then he met me at the airport, and when he smiled at me, I knew it’d be okay.

I guess I might as well tell you the rest of the story about us, huh? As long as I’ve said this much and all. There’s not much left, really. He moved me in here with him to his apartment—flat, whatever. I mean, we didn’t, um, right away, or anything like that. We just got to know each other a lot better. Not…not, I mean, we just told each other a lot of personal stuff, and he showed me a lot of stuff around London and with the Council, and then we just got used to each other, annoying habits and all. And I have a LOT of annoying habits, trust me. You don’t even want to know how often we argue over toothpaste tubes or leaving water glasses on the coffee table, or whether or not…ah, never mind. That one’s kinda private. Did I mention I talk too much?

Yeah, so anyway, we took it really slow in the beginning. And then, ah, then this summer there was this thing with a demon—he went out with some of the Slayers so he could identify it because he’s pigheaded like that and doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and it got him. I got really, really scared, and even though when they found him, he was all right, I really yelled at him about it until I broke down. Then I started telling him how much I didn’t want him to die. And, well, the rest of that’s private too, but that’s when we got really serious. ‘Cause in our world, life is too short to waste, you know? But it’s been good. Real good. Giles and I…it just makes sense.

We were afraid, at first, what people might think. But then we started telling some close friends. Willow was totally cool, though either she was *really* excited when we told her, or she was high on caffeine. Anyway, she was practically bouncing off the walls.

Buffy was surprised, I think. She kept questioning whether we were really sure and not under a spell or anything, but about a week later she was okay. She warned us if either of us hurts the other, though, there’s gonna be some major ass-kicking, and I think I believe her. See, the statistical lovelife of our little group kinda sucks big time, and I think we’re all sick of seeing each other getting hurt. She’s really happy for us now though, and that’s nice.

Dawn was—I think she had a crush on me back in Sunnydale—but she was happy for us right away, and she’s been really awesome about it…when she’s not giggling. Willow said she was like that around her and Tara for a long time though, so…I don’t know. Buffy might be right when she says the girl has a gutter mind.

And Andrew…holy cow, I *really* wish he hadn’t found out when he did. We didn’t want to tell him, ‘cause the guy’s just plain weird, but he walked in on us…yeah, knocking really isn’t one of his strong points. He was *way* too excited about it. Still is. My god. He actually mentioned a wedding at some point. Though that was almost worth it, just for the look on Giles’ face when I whispered he was gonna have to be the bride. But then Giles brought up my past record at the altar…yeah, anyway. Andrew is…Andrew.

A lot of the others at the Council were great too. They either were happy for us, or just didn’t really have a problem with it one way or another. There were a few who…but not as many as we thought, and the only ones who really disapproved weren’t people we really cared about, anyway.

But it was amazing how many people around here already suspected we were a couple long before we really were, actually. I mean, when we first moved in together, we really weren’t, even though we were planning on trying it. Still, a lot of people apparently just assumed, based on the way we acted around each other, I guess. We thought we were being discreet, but, um, apparently we kinda suck at that. The only thing that made them wonder was that I still call him Giles, but like I told you before, ‘Rupert’ just sounds weird to me after all these years, so I’m thinking that’s not going to change.

Even now, we keep the whole me and Giles thing pretty quiet, but I think most people know. And if you want to mention it briefly in the book, I guess we’d probably both be okay with that, though you’ll want to ask him. I’m more worried about people knowing than he is, really, but I think this is gonna be a long-time thing. I learned my lesson about holding onto a good thing when I’ve got it, and this is a *very* good thing. Giles…he says so, too.

So, um, yeah. Christmas is a good time for us, and we’re really excited about this one. I don’t want to jinx it, but at least there’s no looming big evil right now, and, except for the dinner for the girls who don’t have anywhere else to go, we probably won’t have to spend time with umpteen-zillion Slayers this year, either. It’s weird to be semi-normal, but it’s nice, too. When I was younger, I always wanted my life to be exciting, but since I met Buffy, I’ve had a lot of time to rethink that. Non-exciting is good. Though I wouldn’t trade the past, I guess. Except for the whole losing an eye thing, it’s turned out well…a lot better than normal Xander probably could have hoped for.

And Giles and me, we’re having fun this Christmas, too. This is the first real tree either of us has had in a long time, and we got to go cut it ourselves. I just mentioned to Giles I’d wanted to do cranberry strings like I did with Willow for my tree at home, back before all the crap when Christmas was still sorta okay at my house. So one night, he came home with a bunch of cranberries, and we popped popcorn to go with it.

Took me forever to decide what I should get him, though. It kinda has to be the perfect gift this year, ‘cause G-man will pretend to like it no matter what, but I want him to know—

==========================================

CHAPTER 10: CHRISTMAS PRESENT

Xander breaks off, and you both look up at the sound of a door opening, followed by the stamping of feet—probably to rid boots of snow.

“Xander?” calls out the voice of the Head of the Council.

“Yeah, in here, G-man, flirting with your attractive little biographer.”

“Lord, I hope not!” he comments, obviously not the least bit concerned as you blush.

Then he comes into sight and you can see he’s grinning. He starts to say ‘hello,’ but Xander calls him over to his couch with a “Come here, big guy.”

When he sits down, he grabs a cookie, but before he can do anything with it, Xander grabs him by the shirt collar and pulls him down to welcome him in with a kiss more passionate than the pecks you’ve seen them display in front of you before. Rupert seems a little uncertain at first, but seeing Xander’s apparent lack of concern, he relaxes. “You taste like sugar, love.”

“And you still smell like demon snot.”

“Yes, well, I’ve changed my clothes, but haven’t had time for much else yet. The shower will have to come later.”

“In that case, I forgive you, so long as I get to be in there with you?”

Mr. Giles looks across at you a little uneasily. “Xander…”

“It’s quite all right,” you comment, with a slightly embarrassed grin—embarrassed mostly because of the mental images your unruly brain has managed to conjure up. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Yes, well then.” He takes off his glasses and begins to polish them. You’ve noticed before that whenever you talk about a subject he finds personally uncomfortable, he tends to do that. “I apologize for being late. Hopefully, you weren’t waiting too long?”

“Xander was keeping me company. We were talking about Christmastime.”

“And about us,” Xander whispers, running his thumb across Rupert’s hand where it lays between them on the couch.

“I won’t use most of it in the book, of course,” you rush to say. “Though I wouldn’t mind including a bit of it. You’d both have final say though. Still, I feel like I know you both a lot better, and I appreciate it a lot.”

“Ah, yes,” there’s color in his cheeks, and you suspect it isn’t just from the change in temperature from outside to inside. You’d like to reassure him about what Xander’s told you, but know Xander will have to do that later. “Well, as I’ve said so many times before, I’m quite sure the book will be invaluable when you’re finished—particularly now that the large incident in L.A. last year is causing more and more of the public to become aware of the reality of things, so I really can’t thank you enough for your attention to detail. Did you…you said you had some questions for me about one of the journals?”

His question reminds you suddenly of your original purpose, which you’d all but forgotten. Glancing at the clock though, you realize it’s nearly midnight.

“Yes, Rupert. Mostly about the Initiative this time. As you know, I’ve been having trouble getting supplemental material on that, as most of it seems to have been destroyed or hidden from even the Council resources you’ve allowed me access to. But it could take some time, I’m afraid, and it sounds as though you’ve had a rather difficult evening. We could meet at another time if it’s more convenient?”

You notice Xander’s hand silently squeezing Rupert’s as Rupert answers. “You don’t mind? I hate to have had you waste your time.”

“It wasn’t wasted at all,” you assure him. “In fact, your Mr. Harris—”

“Xander,” the younger man cuts you off.

“Xander,” you smile at him, “was quite helpful. Though our conversation was fairly informal today, perhaps in the future he could help me fill in some of the gaps in the journals too?” You eagerly look at them both.

“Yeah, definitely. I’m pretty sure I was there for most of it,” Xander responds. “If not, I’m great at making it up.”

“Just so long as you tell me which is which,” you laugh.

“Dear Lord, I hate to think of the lies he might feed you,” Rupert grins. “Ring me either here or at headquarters, and we can pick another time?”

You agree and thank them both, before beginning to take your leave. Both escort you as you go to fetch your coat. Out of the corner of your eye, you barely notice as Xander whispers something to Rupert and he nods.

“I’m not certain what your plans are for Christmas Day,” Rupert tells you, addressing you by name, “but if you’re free in the afternoon we’re having a rather informal meal for the Slayers and some of those from the Council. You could come if you like? I know you mentioned you’d wanted to meet some of those who will be there.”

Mentally you shift around your schedule until the afternoon complies with your wishes and becomes free. “I would love to, actually,” you admit and grin. “After all,” you say, flicking your gaze to meet Xander’s, “Christmas should be spent with friends.”

Rupert smiles at that and nods. “Yes. Old friends and new. We’ll count on you then.”

You say your final farewells and shake hands before finally leaving the flat. You turn back for one last look and can see their embrace through the curtains in silhouette. That makes you shake your head and smile again at the two of them as an idea begins to form.

***
***
***

EPILOGUE

“Thanks for helping with the clean up, Terry,” Xander tells the last guest as the Council aide picks up his coat and prepares to leave. “Tell the girls who stayed, too.”

“No problem! I know I ate more than my fair share, so it only seemed a proper thank you to you both. It was a lovely evening you made of it,” Terry responds, referring to the Christmas Day feast hosted by the Head of the Council and Xander Harris for Slayers and those among the Council who hadn’t had plans elsewhere. “Excellent goose, too.”

“Tell that to him,” Xander points to Giles. “If I’d cooked it there would have been raw meat and burnt meat instead of white and dark.”

As Giles walks up to Xander and puts an arm around him, Terry does as Xander suggested, and thanks them both once again, and compliments Giles on the carols he sang as well. There’s a handshake and some quick hugs before the door to the flat closes for the last time.

Giles draws Xander closer and leans down as Xander tilts his head up to receive the kiss.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Giles asks him.

“Mmmm, no. Great as always, even if the mistletoe is way over there,” Xander points, deliberately misunderstanding the question.

“I meant the party, you silly boy.”

“I know. That was good too, actually. A lot of fun, but I’m glad to have you to myself again.” Xander maneuvers his left hand to grasp his partner’s left, palm to back, twining the fingers together so the heavy platinum rings touch. Silently, he rejoices in the feel of the still unfamiliar metal he’s worn less than twenty-four hours—one of the gifts they gave to each other. “There are other things I’d like to do with you tonight. Things we really couldn’t do in front of the guests.”

Giles sighs theatrically. “They say the problem with dating younger men is that you can’t keep up with them.”

That earns a poke from Xander that causes Giles to flinch. “Whatever, big guy. Who’s usually waking who up in the morning?”

“Point taken. I won’t even bother to correct your grammar in that sentence.”

Xander feels himself being pulled to the couch, but then he sees the green-wrapped package out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Terry said one of the guests left us something.”

“There’s a tag, I hope? I’d hate to unleash some demon’s curse in disguise.”

“No, but there is a card,” Xander points out as he slips it from the envelope and returns to the couch. “And unless your biographer suddenly hates us, I wouldn’t worry. Let’s see…

“‘My Dear Mr. Giles, Mr. Harris, as a storyteller myself, I can tell you there are some stories that ought to be shared. I know I might be overstepping my boundaries in this, but I believe I’ve found myself the keeper of such a story for each of you.

“Rupert, Xander mentioned to me that you’ve given your permission for him to read the diaries, so there is one in particular I feel I ought to return to you early. Inside the box there are two items; the first is yours. It’s the journal bound in green leather. I’ve no doubt you recall what lies within its pages.

“Xander, the other is a set of cassette tapes, copies of the ones made a few days ago in which you were sharing your Christmas recollections with me. You may want to listen to them first, but know that I’ve edited them as I thought best, though very lightly. I would think at least one other person might enjoy hearing you tell them.

“To both of you, I’d say that what you do with these is entirely your own choice, but as I’ll say again, some stories are meant to be shared, even if only with the one you care for most.’”

Xander stops his recitation for a minute to look up and catch Giles’ reaction. His partner smiles at him and gives his knee a squeeze. “Xander?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you want. I’d like…to read, and for you to hear…”

“I’d like that too. Just know that I wrote the journal before we were more than friends.”

“Giles, I know, but I don’t care,” he moves closer, as Giles lifts his arm for Xander to tuck underneath. “Maybe you could read it to me?”

“Of course,” Giles kisses him on the forehead. “Any time you’d like.”

Xander turns back to the card. “There’s more, by the way. It’s signed, and then there’s a postscript on the back. It says ‘I noticed the rings tonight, and wanted to congratulate you and give you both my best wishes. This may be a bit forward, but if there’s ever a more formal ceremony with a large enough guest list, perhaps you’ll send me an invitation.’”

“If the book is half as bold as that note, it’ll be a bestseller,” Giles comments dryly.

Xander is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, just relaxing into the other man’s warmth. “I suppose we could do a ceremony or something. It sounds like it’ll be legal soon. In this country anyway.”

“Given your past performance in such circumstances, should I be concerned?”

Giles has to flinch slightly when Xander whacks his arm. “Well, not if we don’t invite a pack of vengeance demons. Or my side of the family, who, trust me, would not fly all the way to England for…well, let’s just say the age difference is going to be the least of their objections.” Of course, he realizes what little remains of Giles’ family probably wouldn’t come either—regardless of Xander’s gender. Their adopted family, on the other hand, both from Sunnydale and the new Council…

“If you’d like to, we can talk about it.”

Xander nods, content, knowing it can wait for later. It’s not something that has ever occurred to him, really. When Andrew had brought it up months ago, it’d seemed like a joke, but now it is an intriguing thought. Xander knows he’d want it small though, if they did, nothing like the stress of his last attempt at the altar.

“Shall we open this tonight?” Giles asks, patting the box he still holds.

“Well, it *is* Christmas.”

Giles laughs at the pleading expression on the other’s face, and in moments they have the box open.

“Yours,” Xander says firmly, placing the tapes in Giles’ hands, knowing he wouldn’t need to listen first. Really, the only thing he wouldn’t want his lover to hear is the commentary on Angelus’ torture, and he trusts that surely would have been edited out.

“And this would be for you,” Giles lifts out the journal reverently.

Xander opens the cover and traces his own words, still clearly written inside. “‘Only good things,’” he repeats.

“Yes,” Giles agrees. “I’m not sure you realized the gift you gave me in that, or how many times I found myself turning to my own words for comfort after…”

“Buffy died?”

“And after she came back, yes. You forced me to see there *were* good things, and to look for them so I could write them down.”

“Giles?” Xander mumbles against the other’s shirt.

“Yes?”

“I know we don’t say it to each other very often, but remember the thing about sometimes needing to tell people how you feel? I’ve loved you for a long time, you know. There’s no one else who could ever make me feel as confident, as worthy, or as strong as you do, Giles. Even when you joke about the eye, or me mixing up spells, or falling down when I’m trying to kill some demon, you don’t make me feel stupid, or ugly, or not good enough; you make me feel like…a comrade, a friend, someone who matters. And I never thought I could love you like this…you know, guy to guy, but I do. When I’m with you, I feel warm, happy, safe, loved. We make love, then I fall asleep in your arms and dream about you. I wake up, and you’re still there. I want that, Giles, and I want to make you feel that way too, for as long as we can.”

Giles strokes Xander’s cheek with his thumb, cupping the side of his face as he tilts it up so his eyes meet Xander’s. “Xander, I love you too. Merry Christmas.”

Xander’s smile is lopsided, and he sets down the journal so he can push himself up on the couch and pull Giles’ head down to his own. “Merry Christmas, Giles.” The kiss is long and slow before they pull apart, and Xander speaks again. “Of all the times we’ve said that to each other, I think this is my favorite.”

END: 12/17/04