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Date Posted: 09:53:29 12/24/03 Wed
Author: Kuzibah
Author Host/IP: 208.59.89.53
Subject: Re: Holiday Fanfic (Conclusion)
In reply to: Kuzibah 's message, "Holiday Fanfic (Part 8)" on 09:52:23 12/24/03 Wed

Willow stood in the back of the church as the worshippers from the Midnight Mass filed out. She knew, intellectually, this place had nothing in common with her beliefs as either a Wiccan or a Jew, but the curved stone walls, black from centuries of candle smoke, and the stained-glass, letting in only dots of blue and red light from outside, and the near quiet, broken only by whispering and lapping water, seemed hallowed all on their own, without any trappings of faith.

Two tiny old women, all in black, their heads covered in scarves, knelt side by side in the front row, rosary beads clacking lightly in their hands.

Willow dropped a Euro into the alms box on the wall, and picked up a thin white taper. She touched its wick to one of the other burning candles and pushed it down into a box of sand to stand and burn alone.

She had left Kennedy, her lover, at their hotel and ventured back out alone. Having had Tara called again to her mind, she’d realized how much she still had to reconcile that loss, and Kennedy couldn’t understand. She hadn’t known Tara, and Willow wondered if the two would even have liked each other in the parallel dimension where Tara still lived.

“I miss you,” Willow said, tears filling her eyes again.

The candle, made of soft beeswax and very thin, burned quickly, and Willow stood and watched until it extinguished itself in a pool of melted wax.

- - - - -

The elevator doors hissed open and Angel stepped into the room that even in Wolfram and Hart was particularly private and hidden. It was well-appointed, with tasteful furniture no one ever sat in, beautiful paintings no one took the time to admire, flowers brought in fresh each week to scent the air and removed before they could wither.

An antique canopy bed hung with rich satin and velvet stood in the middle of the room, and two nurses, kind and discreet, stood nearby in their starched caps. Angel approached the bed in silence, and gazed down lovingly at the occupant.

Cordelia’s dark brown hair, now grown out long again, lay carefully arranged on the white linen, framing her pale face like a halo. Her eyes were closed, her lashes brushing her cheeks, and her eyelids having the slightly bruised look of the comatose.

Angel sat beside her on the bed, and took one still small hand in his. He brushed his other hand over her hair, moving it back from her face. “Happy Christmas, Cordy,” he said quietly. “We all miss you terribly. It’s not the same without you here.” He touched her fingers to his lips. “Come back to us,” he whispered, and held still for several minutes. The room seemed to hold its breath.

There was no response, and he lowered her hand back to the damask coverlet.

“We had a party last night,” he said. “Remember the Secret Santa? We all revealed who we had. Spike had me, can you believe? But he tried his best, and it turned out okay. I was astonished, and I think he was, too. But don’t tell him I said so. I’d never live it down. And Gunn gave Wesley a trip to Utah, a skiing weekend…”

- - - - -

A ringing phone slowly and painfully brought Spike to consciousness. He groaned at the sensation of the enormous vice tightening on his brainpan and the taste of the vole that had crawled into his mouth and died, and struggled through the tangled bedclothes and empty liquor bottles to reach the offensive instrument. He snatched it from his cradle and growled “what is it?” Regardless of the answer, he was already composing a profane and devastating putdown for the idiot on the other end of the line.

“Spike?” came the small voice, tinny and distant.

All Spike’s words failed him, and he sat up and clutched the phone in both hands. “Buffy..?” he replied.

“Oh, my god, it is you,” she said. “We heard that you were alive, well, un-alive… back, I mean.” She took a breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Spike took a breath of his own. “I’m better now,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m in England, with Giles.”

She fell silent, and Spike listened to the sound of her breathing.

“Are you having a nice Christmas?” she asked finally.

“Shouldn’t you be calling Angel?” Spike said, and instantly regretted it.

“I will,” Buffy said. “But I wanted to talk to you first. I was worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” Spike said, grateful she’d ignored his reflex jab at her. “I think about you all the time,” he said. “I wanted to go to Europe, but, there were things…”

“There are things here, too,” she said.

They both fell quiet again, and this silence was tense and drawn.

“I have to go,” Buffy said. “I just wanted to…”

“Buffy. I…”

“I’ll call soon,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

Spike held the phone to his ear for a long time, listening to dead air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Happy Holidays, Everybody. Enjoy yourselves, take care of each other, and may you have many blessings in the coming year. ~Kuzibah

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Replies:

[> Re: Holiday Fanfic (Part 8) -- wwolfe, 11:06:24 12/24/03 Wed (161.149.63.107)

I liked the ending a lot, and I wouldn't have expected to, if you'd asked me ahead of time. Overall, I enjoy the allusive way you tell these vignettes, through suggestion and implication. And, as always, the defining details, like Giles's Christmas ornaments, the votive candle, and Anne's non-recognition of Gunn-in-a-suit. The combined effect is very cinematic: I can see the cross-cutting between the individual scenes, and it's enjoyable.

Oh - and Snoopy. Sigh.


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[> [> I'm glad you enjoyed them -- Kuzibah, 13:03:28 12/25/03 Thu (12.175.117.195)

And if it stays this slow at work today, there may be a short postlude.

Merry Christmas to You and Yours.


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