Buffy awoke to the chiming of the old carriage clock downstairs. She lifted her head groggily from the pillow, frowning as the memory of the dream began to trickle back to her.
With a gasp she re-envisaged Faith’s ghostly form, wrapped in layer upon layer of iron chains that by her own admission she had weaved herself with all of her sins.
Jumping out of her bed she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, passing by the faint sounds of snoring coming from both Dawn’s and Willow’s rooms on the way down.
The knowledge that there were other people nearby was comforting although she was a little scared of the spirits that dream-Faith predicted. It was ridiculous for a Slayer to be afraid, of course. Little (and big) nasties were supposed to be terrified of her because she was the all powerful Slayer. Mommy and Daddy demons told their spawn horror stories of the golden haired Slayer who could kill them why they slept.
However, ghosts weren’t really Buffy’s territory. Firstly, in her experience ghosts or spirits weren’t exactly of the corporeal persuasion which meant that she couldn’t simply thrust a stake through their heart or casually lop off their head. Secondly, her job was to kill evil beings and if these spirits were really being sent to her by the Powers that Be, then they weren’t going to be evil…probably. Which meant she would have to endure whatever torture they had in store for her.
Either way it left her with a dilemma and feeling more than a little bit afraid of what was to come. Not that Slayers were supposed to be afraid, but Buffy had never gotten a copy of the official handbook so she wasn’t all about playing by the rules.
Entering the kitchen she flipped on the light and made her way over to the sink, pouring herself a large class of cool water which she proceeded to gulp down without pausing to draw breath. The cold liquid slid down her throat, helping to refresh the parched tissue and when she finally slammed the glass back down on the countertop she felt more than a little rejuvenated.
She turned out the light and was about to head back upstairs when she saw it. A tiny luminous flickering out of the corner of her eye. Spinning to the direction where the flickering was coming from, she realized there was nothing there, but she did hear a giggle from behind her. Once again she spun around only to meet with empty air.
“Okay, I got no time for games, so show yourself Tinkerbelle before I remember I’m the Slayer,” Buffy demanded with more bravado that she was feeling right now.
A sudden flash momentarily blinded her and she steadied herself as a wave of disorientation washed over her. Warily opening her eyes, she saw a small glowing girl in front of her. The girl was a strange sight to behold. While her form was that of a child, she possessed wizened eyes, like those of a supernatural being that’s several centuries old. Buffy shook off the thought that the intense eyes of the girl were reminiscent of those of a bleach headed vampire.
The ancient child had long golden locks that seemed to melt into the long flowing white robes in which she was dressed. The Slayer squinted as she studied the figure in front of her, sure that she had encountered her before.
“I’m guessing you’re ghostie number one?” Buffy asked meeting the floating spirits penetrating stare. “Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that cheese before bed.”
The spirit ignored Buffy’s quip. “I am,” she agreed. “I am the ghost of Christmas Past.”
“Whose past?” Buffy wondered curiously. “My past?”
The spirit tinkled with laughter, like a thousand Christmas bells all chiming together in harmony. The sound was strangely beautiful and ugly at the same time as if it was a noise that should never be heard by human ears.
“Every past is connected,” the spirit informed her, somewhat haughtily. “Every human life forms part of an intricate tapestry, woven together to form humanity as a whole.”
“Okay, that makes the kind of sense that’s not,” Buffy muttered.
“Silence!” the spirit commanded, her eyes glowing brighter. “I will show you what you need to see to understand. Shadows of what have passed for you and others can help you realize…”
“Realize what?” prompted the Slayer.
The tinkling laughter sounded again. “Oh my, I can’t tell you that. That would be too easy. I must show you. Come.”
Buffy knew she should protest, argue, even get her slayage on. But all she could do was nod numbly at the spirit. There was something deep within her that responded to the spirit’s commands, as if she was innately programmed by the Powers That Be to react positively to their messenger.
With a smile, the spirit guided Buffy to the front door, her white robes trailing behind her like moonbeams. When the door swung open, Buffy glanced down at her attire and realized she was still dressed in her pajamas. She didn’t always have time to be fashion queen due to the extreme toll slaying took on her wardrobe. However leaving the house in ratty old PJs was hitting a new low for the blonde.
Seemingly sensing her dilemma the spirit glanced at her and smiled, a perfect set of white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
“What you wear is not important, my dear. What you see now is what counts, and besides, they won’t see you anyways.”
Before the spirit had barely breathed out the last of her words, the room began to spin violently and the earth trembled as if it was imploding in on itself. Buffy scrambled to find purchase but there was nothing to grab on to and she found herself struggling to stay on her feet.
She felt like the world was spinning off its axis, which in some ways it clearly was, she supposed. It reminded her of the earthquake that had preceded her first death and she trembled on the outside and inside at that horrible recollection. Unfortunately Buffy had a feeling that today was going to be filled with horrible memories.
When the spinning finally subsided, Buffy huffed out a relieved breath and flashed a glare at the smirking spirit. Yes, the mischievous little ghost was reminding Buffy of that annoying vampire more and more by the moment. They even had matching accents, not to mention the matching sneers.
“So here we are,” the spirit said to Buffy, pulling the Slayer from her deep musings.
It was only then that Buffy took a look at where she actually was.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed soaking in the room in front of her.
Buffy Summers was standing in the living room of the house in which she’d lived as a child. The room was adorned with tinsel, decorations and a huge Christmas tree. Three stockings were hanging over the fireplace and Buffy slowly approached them, gazing at them as if they were something precious. Each of them had a name weaved on to it: ‘Hank’, ‘Joyce’, and ‘Buffy’.
“How…how are we here?” Buffy asked incredulously, soaking in the familiar surroundings.
The spirit didn’t answer her but let out a trickle of her tinkling laughter which immediately brought Buffy’s hackles up. However, she silently vowed not to be provoked by the intentionally irritating ghost. She turned back to the stockings and gazed at them nostalgically.
“I remember this,” Buffy murmured turning to face the smiling spirit. “When I was a kid we used to hang the stockings every year. I used to help Dad go pick out the tree and then me and Mom would decorate it. When Dawn was born she came with too. She used to love Christmas. It was always her favorite holiday. Mine too I guess…before.”
She felt tears welling up in her eyes as thoughts of her past Christmases flitted through her mind. During her childhood, when the word ‘calling’ was merely something you used the telephone for, Christmases had been joyous. It was the one time in the year that she looked forward to, knowing it would be perfect.
After she’d been Called and her parents had divorced, Christmas had started to lose a little of its shine. Yet her mother had still tried to make it special. Together they’d decorated the tree, cooked the turkey and celebrated the day together. A small smile touched her lips at the happy memories.
A noise startled her from behind and Buffy nearly jumped clean out of her skin. She watched with morbid fascination as her parents come bounding into the living room. A younger version of herself was perched on her father’s shoulders laughing with the freedom that only comes with the innocence of childhood. She couldn’t have been more than four years old and looked the picture of adorableness clad in her little fuzzy sweater and snowdrop covered pants.
Buffy gasped, vaulted across the room, and ducked down behind the couch. Panicking, she looked wildly to the spirit. She was pretty sure that if her parents noticed a strange woman in their house they would suddenly start suffering from a major case of wiggage.
“Don’t worry child,” the spirit reassured the blonde, sensing her distress. “These are merely shadows of things that have been. They have no consciousness of us.”
“So they can’t see us? They don’t know we’re here?”
“No, my dear. They are not here now. They are shadows of thin…”
“…things that have been. Got it,” Buffy finished.
“And yet you look at them as though they are flesh and blood in this moment,” the spirit sighed. “We are here for a reason however. Watch them.”
Buffy nodded absently and turned her attention back to her parents and her younger self.
“Mommy,” she whispered under her breath, tears filling her eyes as she listened to her mother’s happy laughter drift into the air. After her mother died Buffy had never really gotten a chance to grieve for the older Summers woman properly. With Glory on the scene everything had been too hectic to take that chance. It wasn’t like she could just retreat from the world when she had to protect her little sister.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she focused on just how much she missed Joyce. She frantically scrubbed at her eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of this picture of family happiness.
Buffy sniffled loudly.
“Shush,” the spirit chided her. “Watch.”
Older-Buffy turned her eyes to her younger self. The little girl looked so carefree and innocent that it broke her heart. She could barely remember a time when she’d been so happy. If only that little girl knew what was in store for her. Buffy wondered how she would have coped if she actually had known back then. Would she have done things differently?
Joyce sat down on the couch and giggled as Hank passed their precious little daughter over to her, before sitting down with his beloved wife and child. Joyce gave her child a big kiss on the cheek and settled her comfortably on her lap. The little girl fidgeted and wriggled though, clearly too excited about Christmas to settle peacefully.
“Can I open ma pres’ns now?” little Buffy asked hopefully, looking from one parent to another.
“Now that depends. Have you been a good girl this year?” Hank asked playfully, ruffling his daughter’s hair with one hand.
“Mhm,” little Buffy confirmed. “Been a good girl, Daddy.”
Joyce and Hank shared an indulgent smile over their little girl’s adorableness and Hank went over to the tree to retrieve Buffy’s gifts. The girl tore into her presents like a wild animal, ripping open the paper and discarding it on the ground. Her first gift of a Barbie doll provoked some elated shrieks, as did the gift of a soft stuffed pink pig.
“I’ma call him…uh…Mr. Gordo!” proclaimed the child proudly.
“What a lovely name,” cooed Joyce. “Where did you come up with that, honey?”
“Saw him in a dweam. There was umm a man with snowy hair and yellow eyes and he was holding him and he called him Mr. Gordo,” her daughter told her proudly, drawing a frown from her mother.
However, the conversation was quickly forgotten when Buffy came to her final gift. It was a large brown box wrapped in bright pink paper and finished with a shiny purple bow. The child’s eyes widened at the size and weight of the box. She ripped off the covering and, with her mother’s help, managed to open the box, gasping at the contents.
“Skaties!” she exclaimed with a squeal gazing down blissfully at the two small, white figure skates lying neatly inside the brown box. She threw her hands around her mother’s neck and kissed him on each cheek before repeating the same show with her father. “Can we go today? Can we? Can we? Can we go skate? Pwease!” Buffy pleaded.
“We can’t go today, honey. It’s Christmas Day,” Joyce informed her sadly feeling her heart break at her daughter’s look of dejection. “But I promise you that we’ll all go this week. Okay?”
Buffy’s face illuminated with excitement and she leapt off her mother’s lap. The little girl jumped up and down with the kind of exhilaration that only a child can really feel. “Yay!” she shrieked. “I can’t wait! Can I go put Mr. Gordo with all of his new fwiends?”
Joyce nodded. “Okay, baby. But hurry down because we’re going to eat soon.”
But Buffy was already gone out of the room.
Hank slipped into the empty seat beside Joyce and pulled his wife into his arms. He placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, you know,” he murmured to the curly haired blonde and Joyce smiled.
“I love you too,” she told him. “We both do.”
“You and Buffy are everything to me, darling.” He sighed and breathed in the sweet scent of Joyce’s hair. “And at least we can bring up the time we bought Buffy the figure skates she begged for when we’re old and gray and need our girl to take care of us.”
Joyce giggled and placed a gentle hand on her husband's thigh. “You see us being old and gray together?”
“Of course,” grinned Hank. “There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with.”
“No more time to stay here,” the spirit sighed watching as little Buffy came running back in from the hallway and settled down between her parents to watch a movie. “We have too many other things to see to linger here.”
“I’m not ready to go. I need to stay a little longer,” Buffy insisted, looking longingly at her giggling parents.
“No,” said the spirit. “It’s time to let go. Time to move on.”
Buffy was about to protest but the ground beneath her feet started to shake. It was the same unnerving feeling as she’d gotten before they ended up in this place, or time, or whatever it was. Her head pounded painfully as the pair were thrust through the dimensional mists. She struggled to breathe, to think, even to stay standing. However, almost as soon as it begun the shaking was over and once again she stood on firm ground.
It didn’t take a moment for Buffy to realize that she was in the same house, still standing in the same spot, but things seemed…different. There was a cold chill in the air that hadn’t been there before.
It wasn’t long before she realized exactly which Christmas this was when she saw her father come storming into the room, the front of his shirt covered with a gooey yellow stain. That was a memory that she could still recall vividly. She was fifteen that year and had been running with a jug full of eggnog. Unfortunately she hadn’t quite adjusted to her Slayer senses yet and had gone barreling into her father, spilling the pale yellow liquid all over his silk shirt. The sting of his ensuing wrath hadn’t faded with time though.
Buffy watched with forced detachment as her teenage self came jogging after her father, full of heartfelt apologies.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” the younger Buffy pleaded. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You never mean to!” he interrupted her.
“These things do happen sometimes,” she pouted, trying not to flinch as he glared at her.
“You stupid girl,” yelled Hank, his face beet red. “I’m supposed to meet a client today and now I can’t with goddamn eggnog all over my shirt.”
He pulled out a handkerchief and scrubbed at the stain, annoyance etched on his face. Her father was incredibly volatile recently so sometimes it was like living on top of a volcano and not knowing when the inevitable eruption would happen.
Buffy flushed and felt the tears start to come. She hadn’t meant to spill the stupid drink on her father. Having Slayer strength was supposed to stop the clumsy, not encourage it.
“Don’t talk to her that way,” warned Joyce, coming up behind her daughter and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s not her fault.”
Hank glared at his wife and scoffed. “Of course you’d take her side, Joyce. I wouldn’t expect any less.”
“This isn’t about sides, Hank,” she retorted angrily urging her teenage daughter to the side so she could stand toe to toe with his husband. The teenage blonde moved back and let her mother slip in front of her.
“Well that’s lucky then,” he said sarcastically, “seeing as how you’ve already picked your corner.”
“Buffy’s our daughter. Are you saying I shouldn’t defend her?”
“She’s out of control!”
“Spilling the ‘nog was an accident!”
“I’m not just talking about the drink,” he spit with venom. “I’m talking about in general. The girl gets into fights, comes home with blood on her clothes…if she comes home at all.”
“What would you know?” Joyce yelled. “You’re never here anyway. You’re the one that’s always absent, so it’s no wonder that our daughter’s acting this way.”
“Oh ho ho! I wondered when you’d lay the blame at my feet.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t realize you’re partly to blame. You’re never here Hank! Look at this, right now. It’s Christmas Day and you’ve got one of your mysterious business meetings. So surprise! You won’t be here to spend the day with us again!”
“It’s my meetings that put a roof over your heads. If it wasn’t for me, you and the brat would be on Skid fucking Row.”
“Don’t you talk about her like that! You think I don’t know just what you’re up to, Hank Summers?”
“God, do you ever stop nagging, woman?”
Neither of the two adults noticed when their daughter slinked out of the room, tears running freely down her face. Their argument continued, oblivious to her distress.
That had been one of Buffy’s most horrible Christmases. She’d spent the day in her room, sobbing into her pillow. That was the first time she remembered feeling that intensely desolate loneliness. It had haunted her to some extent ever since and was one of the things that made her resent her Calling so often.
That was also the day when her views on relationships really changed forever. It was the day when she lost her hope in love. After her parents’ fight, her father had stormed out of the house and didn’t return for three days. In retrospect it was easy to assume he was with one of his women but at the time she had worried he was lying dead in a gutter someplace. When you have such deep knowledge of the supernatural, it’s not difficult to imagine monsters lurking behind every corner.
In this case the only monster was her father’s libido and lack of morals.
Her mother had proceeded to drink herself into a near coma, passing out on the couch. The room had been littered with empty bottles of gin for days afterward. Buffy took care of her mother, only slipping from her house to patrol before coming back and doing her daughterly duty once again.
Only one month later the Summers women had moved to Sunnydale.
And a whole new chapter of pain had fallen open.
She’d had to grow up so fast.
In front of her eyes now the mammoth argument continued. The two people who were meant to unconditionally love and protect her were flinging hate filled bile at each other without so much as a thought for their adolescent daughter.
Older Buffy watched the horrible scene with a lead brick lodged firmly in her chest. Remembering the first scene that the spirit showed her, she wondered how her parents went from being so happy and in love to being a bickering couple that despised each other. Her childhood had been saturated with happiness, so unlike her young adulthood. It saddened her to realize that she was so jaded but she could help but wonder if this was how all relationships were destined to turn out.
“Not everyone ends up like your parents,” the spirit sighed, as if she’d read Buffy’s mind. “Some creatures can find love and stay together for a century or more. Even ones who you might think incapable of emotions like love. Your parents didn’t work at their relationship. Every year they grew a little farther apart until they didn’t have enough between them to support their love and it crumbled away like dust on the wind.”
Buffy didn’t respond but she lifted a shaky hand to wipe away the tear that trickled from her downcast eyes. “Why are you telling me that? And why are you even showing me this anyway?”
The spirit turned to face her, her glowing eyes strangely serious. “You need to understand this. The past is what shapes us. It makes us what we are and what we will become. But it can also teach us about ourselves. We don’t lose the capacity for happiness, my dear. You were happy once, before this. You must remember that. Things have happened to chip away at that joy but you can draw happiness even from the ashes of what you never believed could be.”
“But…”
“There is no more time to stay here,” the spirit said, her eyes glowing with anticipation. “We are to take the next step on our journey.”
Buffy’s eyes widened as the world whirled and crumbled around her again, falling down and building itself back up. The image of her childhood home, parents, and younger self dissolved into nothingness as flares and colors spun wildly in front of her. Finally the spinning sensation stopped and Buffy tossed the grinning spirit a nasty glare.
Apparently this method of traveling didn’t get easier the more she did it.
Buffy took in her surroundings, quickly realizing that they were in Sunnydale again. Having spent only a few Christmases in Sunnydale that didn’t give her much of a range to choose from in identifying which one this was. They were standing in front of Kingman’s Bluff, the night air strangely frosty considering that she was only seeing a reflection of past events. Her arms came around her middle, warming herself and providing her with a feeling of safety.
Suddenly a splinter of fear lodged in her heart, obliterating any sense of comfort.
Oh no! It couldn’t be that one! She just couldn’t relieve that memory.
Not again.
Almost as soon as the thought struck her, her worst fears were confirmed and a brooding looking Angel came padding up the bluff, his face upturned to the still-dark sky.
“I remember this,” Buffy said with trepidation. She remembered it very clearly and very painfully. That night was etched into her brain. It was the night that the First Evil had tried to force her first love to watch the sunrise. “I don’t want to watch this again.”
“Why not?” the spirit asked, floating above the frozen ground.
“Because as much as I hate myself right now, reliving the trauma reel of my life isn’t my idea of fun-day.”
“These are things that cannot be changed,” the spirit said, holding a hand up to stall Buffy’s retort. “But you can change the way they affect you. You must see these memories and learn from them if you are to ever move on to your future.”
Buffy opened her mouth to reply but the spirit hushed her as they saw a slightly younger version of the Slayer approaching. The younger girl was frowning, her face puffy and haggard from worry. There was also a determination set on it that Buffy vaguely remembered feeling. She wondered when and where she lost that drive her younger self had so copiously possessed.
“Angel?” younger Buffy said, cautiously approaching him as if he was a cornered wild animal.
Angel stared at her ground absently. “I bet half the kids down there are already awake. Lying in their beds... sneaking downstairs... waiting for day.”
Buffy sniffled and look at him with a pleading gaze. “Angel, please. I need for you to get inside. Th-there's only a few minutes left.”
“I know. I can smell the sunrise long before it comes.”
Buffy could recall the fear she felt as she watched Angel waiting for the sunrise. She’d felt so thoroughly helpless, so useless. She’d hated that feeling and she’d laid herself down for the dark haired vampire, begging him to save himself. She put her heart on the line and in the end he’d skipped out on her, left her all alone because he believed she should seek the elusive normality.
It was strange to watch herself beg him to come inside because she realized she’d never really been able to save Angel. He never viewed her as his equal so her opinion wasn’t relevant to him. If she could go back would she ever have gotten involved with a man who treated her like a child?
That guileless truth was that she'd never been happy with Angel, not really, no matter how much she would have liked to believe it was a fairytale affair. In a lot of ways her 'love' affair with Angel had been posthumously romanticized long after it should have been cold and rotting in the ground.
The spirit glanced at her, coughing loudly to get her mind back on the scene in front of them.
“But if you're too much of a coward for that, then burn,” the younger Buffy was saying. “If I can't convince you that you belong in this world, then I don't know what can.”
Her own words struck a chord. Not because of Angel but because of herself. She realized that although she’d gotten the shitty end of the stick in being torn out of heaven, she was back in this world now. And she was being too much of a coward to actually live in it. All she did was hide away from it and punish anyone who tried to connect with her.
The image of an eager blond vampire popped into her head. Spike’s love for her had fueled his desire to save her from wasting away to ashes and dust. In much the same way as she had once wanted to save Angel, Spike tried to save her. Did she push him away in the same way? Could he really hurt as much as she’d been hurting?
The startling revelation of what he must be feeling stunned her into shock. Although she denied that Spike had any real feelings, deep down she knew that wasn’t true. She saw them shining from his eyes every time he looked at her.
And she was hurting him. Hurting a sentient, emotional being because she was too selfish to try to change.
With a lump in her throat she watched the younger version of herself wander hand in hand with the dark haired vampire through the snowy streets of Sunnydale. It was a strange sight to see herself with her first love. In her mind she’d idealized their relationship, but in hindsight it was easy to do that, especially with a romantic liaison. When she saw it like this, it had been less than perfect. The younger-Buffy didn’t know how many trials and tribulations she still had to face. She didn’t know just how many more times she would have her heart ripped out.
Of course it wasn’t long after that Angel had left. They always left though, didn’t they? Her father had been happy once and yet he’d still deserted her and Angel had just followed suit. Even Riley had run away as soon as he got the chance. Hell, even her surrogate father Giles had returned to England at the time when his charge needed him the most. Men never stayed around Buffy Summers. It was like she was cursed or something when it came to the opposite sex.
It was little wonder that her attitude toward relationships with men was less than healthy. Even taking the whole ‘back from heaven depression’ problem out of the equation Buffy had been damaged so many times by men walking out of her life that she thought love was hopeless. Sure, the spirit guide she visited in the desert before her death told her that she was ‘full of love’ but clearly that copious love was hiding between layers of emotional scar tissue.
She knew that the only one who didn’t leave was Spike. Or at least, he always came back, like some kind of demonic boomerang. Even when she wanted him to go he clung on like a limpet, impossible to shake.
For the first time, the thought of his unwillingness to leave her warmed her heart.
Until she’d confronted her past, she never understood how precious his tenacity actually was.
“There is more that you need to see,” the ghost said gently, ushering Buffy away from the shadowy image of the Slayer and Angel as they continued to saunter through the snow together, hand in hand. “We don’t have time to stay forever.”
The Slayer gritted her teeth as the ground started to tremble beneath them once again. She thought she might have grown used to it by now but she could feel the familiar sensation of nausea washing over her. Buffy groused silently, thinking that these stupid ghosts should have found a non-nauseating way of traveling through the fabric of time.
When they finally came to a stop, Buffy clamped a hand over her stomach and tried to steady herself. Her head was still spinning but a few deep breaths managed to clear her senses a little. However when she glanced around at the scenery that sick feeling came rushing back with a vengeance.
Where the hell were they?
Or more appropriately…when the hell were they?
“Um I think you went a little crazy with the rewind button, sister,” Buffy commented as she looked around, diving out of the way of a passing carriage. Granted, it couldn’t hurt her but having solid objects pass through her was very wiggy. It made her feel even deader than the times when she’d actually found herself sans heartbeat.
“No, Buffy, we’re not in the wrong place or the wrong time,” the spirit corrected. “This is something you need to see.”
“Well where are we?” asked Buffy, gazing at the frozen streets and the throng of people navigating them in clothes that gave retro a new meaning. “Wait, scratch that. When are we?” she inquired, voicing the question that had been rattling around her brain for the past few minutes.
“1878,” responded the spirit simply.
“Uh, I hate to break it to you, but I wasn’t born yet in 1878. Isn’t this little ‘journey to the past’ thing supposed to be about my former Christmases?”
The spirit sighed, seemingly exasperated with the Slayer. Buffy smiled secretively to herself. If she could get a spirit straight from the Powers all riled up, then she had to still have retained some of her former fire.
“Listen, dear,” the spirit leveled glowing eyes to Buffy. “Do you remember when I explained about the tapestry of humanity?” Buffy nodded, and the spirit smiled like a proud parent and continued. “This is a part of that tapestry. There is a single thread that spans every Christmas from the very first. That thread traverses this one and it crosses with your own thread. Without experiencing this, you will never understand what has past and therefore you can never comprehend what is still to come.”
Buffy blinked dumbly, opening and closing her mouth several times. “Wait a second. If there’s a ‘thread’ that stretches all the way back from my time to 18…whenever then it can’t be a link to another person. For someone to be alive then and still be alive in my time then they’d have to be a…”
Buffy’s words were cut off as a young man came barreling round the corner like a wild thing. If Buffy had been made of flesh and blood in this time he would definitely have sent her sprawling to the ground.
The sandy haired young man had several boxes tucked under his arms as he ran through the streets. Following him at the urge of the spirit, Buffy realized there was something vaguely familiar about him but Buffy had only gotten the briefest glimpse so she couldn’t exactly indentify what it was about him. His hair was damp and flopped into his eyes as he ran, and when they finally came to a standstill in front of a large house. The spirit shepherded Buffy forward and the pair followed the young man inside the house.
Inside Buffy was impressed at the rather grand decorations. These people apparently didn’t go for minimalism. The floors were made of a dark oak wood and the walls were papered with floral wallpaper. Lines of portraits of classically dressed men and women lined the walls. Buffy came to a standstill in front of one painting of a dark haired man in his forties. He was very handsome with striking cheekbones and mesmerizing blue eyes. Even from the painting those eyes seemed to suck her deeply into them.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to herself. She’d only seen eyes like that once before and they belonged to…Spike. Frantically she glanced at the name below the painting and gasped when she read it.
John William Pratt – 1820-1872
“Is this…Spike’s home?” she asked the spirit.
“Spike doesn’t exist yet,” the spirit told her gently. “He won’t exist for many more years.”
“Okay, not Spike then…but William? This is William’s house?”
“Indeed it is,” the spirit agreed.
“But this place is pretty fancy. I mean Spike told me he was a badass vagabond when he was human. Whoever lives here is rich.” She wrinkled her nose in confusion.
“William was a better man that he would have you believe as a human. Perhaps some of that carried over into who he became as an immortal being.”
“Vampires are nothing like their humans selves,” Buffy retorted confidently. “They have nothing in common with who they used to be once they lose their souls.”
The spirit smiled knowingly. “So their souls define them?”
Buffy nodded decisively. “Absolutely. Like Angel is good because he has a soul and Spike is evil without one.”
“Ah, I see,” the spirit said, once again gifting Buffy with an indulgent smile. “Perhaps you should remember that nougat of wisdom for later.”
Buffy frowned but decided to move on from that topic. Talking about souls always made her head hurt. “So why are we here in William-land then?”
“This was his last happy Christmas with his mother. The last Christmas they were both alive and well. Two years from now and he will become a vampire.”
“Okay that makes everything so much not clearer. I still don’t get it. Why have you brought me here? Spi…William is nothing to me.”
The spirit tinkled out a laugh. “You still believe that my dear?” she asked. “I suppose you still fancy yourself in love with your tragic souled, yet conflicted vampire.”
“I thought we moved on from that,” Buffy snapped. “Remember? Soul equals good.”
“Ah yes,” the spirit’s glowing eyes filled with amusement. “Well I believed it was important to you to see just what our little chipped vampire was like in his human life. Sometimes a different perspective can allow one to have an epiphany.”
“I don’t need an epiphany.”
“We shall see. Now look and listen.”
The pair turned their eyes toward William who returned down the stairs with still dripping hair. He’d removed his heavy overcoat to reveal a tweed suit and Buffy almost cracked into two with the laughter that threatened to break forth from within her.
“Oh my God,” she giggled. “He looks like Giles Junior!”
His floppy curls bounced as he walked. There was a joy in his face that Buffy had rarely seen in his vampire self. In fact she could only remember him looking that way on one occasion, under Willow’s ‘Will Be Done’ spell.
“Mother, are you in here?” he called.
“In the parlor,” Buffy heard a refined female voice respond. Under the spirit’s encouragements, the blonde made her way into the parlor where the two remaining members of the Pratt family were seated.
An older lady with gray hair pulled back severely was sitting on a chaise longue. Her kind eyes and rapturous smile belied the stern nature of her hair and clothes. Buffy could see the strong resemblance between her and William as they both shared the same facial features, and kind expressions. William was seated at her feet, leaning against her knees. Buffy couldn’t help but notice how innocent and childlike his pose was.
She bit her lip at the thought that his ‘little boy-ness’ had carried through to his vampire-self. Many times he’d flashed those expressive eyes at her when they were saturated with hurt.
Recently it was usually hurt caused by her.
There was also one other thing that she noticed. With most vampires there was an emptiness when you looked in their eyes. They lacked a soul which explained that swirling abyss. She still shuddered at the memory of that void when she looked in Angelus’ eyes. However, William’s eyes looked no different to Spike’s. At least, not substantially. There was a hardness in Spike’s eyes that had been generated by time and suffering that William lacked, but apart from that they both shared the same azure gaze.
It made her wonder just how much of William still remained in Spike. Hmm, maybe the spirit was right about getting a different perspective on things. It wasn’t that she was going to kid herself that the vampire retained his soul. But maybe his heart was so big that it was enough to make up for it.
Buffy shook herself out of her disturbing thoughts. She knew that she couldn’t allow herself to soften when it came to Spike because that damn vampire had a way of wriggling into places where he wasn’t wanted. But seeing the same expressions flitting over William’s face, as he laughed and joked with his mother, as she’d seen on Spike’s was unnerving.
It made the vampire seem more human.
She felt a slight chink form in the wall around her heart.
When William rose to his feet, Buffy decided to put all thoughts of his vampire alter ego out of her head and concentrate on his human self. The Victorian man looked a little nervous as he walked over to a small table and plucked a box from it.
“I should like to present your gift to you now, Mother,” he said, his voice as proper as could be.
“Oh! Now William, I hope you have not been spending your money on your old mother. You must save it for when you take a wife.”
“Oh pish posh! You know you are the most important lady in my life, Mama. I shall not alter my thinking on such matters even when I am betrothed. That is, should I ever be lucky enough to warrant the attentions of the fairer sex.” He ducked his head shyly as heat colored his cheeks.
Recomposing himself, William handed the box to her and she peeled it open to reveal a beautifully engraved silver box. The older woman’s eyes widened and sparkled with excitement. In a manner that quite belied both her age and Victorian breeding she squealed excitedly as she opened the box to reveal a stunning diamond necklace.
The chain looked like it was made from platinum and tiny diamonds peppered the lower half. At the very bottom it was adorned with a cluster of rubies and sapphires.
Buffy gasped at the offering. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
In spite of her elation, Anne Pratt frowned a little as she fingered the fine piece of jewelry. “Really William, this is too much.”
“No, Mother. There is no piece of jewelry on this earth which can compete with the beauty in your heart. I sourced the single most lovely item that I could find and it still pales in comparison to you.”
“I could never have asked for a better son,” Anne said, melting at his words. Her son was the center of her world, and she thanked the Lord every day for delivering such a darling boy to her.
“Allow me to put it on for you, Mother.”
Mrs. Pratt permitted him to fix it around her neck and smiled girlishly at her son. “You are wonderful, William,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I only hope that someday you are able to take a wife who can appreciate you as deeply as I do.”
“Thank you, Mother. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, my darling son.”
In spite of herself, Buffy sniffed at the touching scene. She felt a little pang of guilt gnaw at the edges of her heart when his mother’s words echoed in her head. Anne’s deepest wish had been for her son to find a woman who could love him completely and Buffy wasn’t sure he’d ever had that.
After all, from what she knew of Drusilla, the crazy vampire had never been faithful to him, straying even with his most hated nemesis, Angelus. And the Slayer doubted that his relationship with Harmony had been particularly fulfilling, at least on an intellectual level.
And then there was her.
Since Spike fell in love with Buffy all he’d gotten was pain. It had been doled out to him from every source possible, including her deceptively cruel hands. For the first time since finding out that he was in love with her, Buffy stopped to consider the fact that Spike actually did have feelings, even without a soul. She’d never realized that he was comprised so much of the man he used to be but when she was faced with the blatant truth she couldn’t deny it.
She made a silent vow that when and if she got back to Sunnydale, she would try to treat Spike a little more kindly.
“We must leave this place now,” the spirit said, carefully noting the Slayer’s pensive expression. “We have one other thing to see before we return.”
“You mean re-run season is almost over?” Buffy quipped snidely. The rush of emotion that was filling her heart was making her feel a little uncomfortable. The ice around her almost-dead organ was starting to thaw and it came close to physical pain.
Although she couldn’t be sure, it looked to Buffy as if the spirit rolled her eyes before the ground started to shake one more time. The familiar nausea flooded her senses again, and Buffy decided right there that she would never step onto a fairground ride for the rest of her life.
Finally the trembling of the earth subsided and Buffy huffed the stale air out of her lungs. She looked around at the snowy, vintage surroundings and it didn’t take more than a moment to realize that they were still consigned to the far reaches of history.
“Are we actually doing reruns on Spike’s past, ‘cause I gotta tell you, I’m not feeling it.”
In actuality Buffy was feeling something new and strange right now. She couldn’t exactly call it affection toward Spike, because it had been William who she’d seen. But she recognized his gestures toward his family from the way he treated her sometimes, as if she was the most precious jewel on earth. And that was very disconcerting.
“No,” the spirit said coolly. “We had to travel a little farther back for this peep show.”
“What are you talk…Oh my God!” Buffy gasped as she saw a long haired human who closely resembled her first vampire lover descending the street with a buxom redhead. They reminded her of pictures she’d once seen in one of Giles’ Watcher’s Diaries. “Is that…?”
“That’s Liam,” the spirit replied, a cold edge to her voice that surprised the Slayer.
“Why are we here? I don’t get it. Are we gonna go through the history of every vampire in history? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I think that’ll take more than one night.”
The spirit didn’t dignify Buffy’s quip with a response. “Just watch,” the spirit said shortly.
Buffy turned her eyes back to the Irish couple in front of her. She couldn’t make out a lot of the words they were using, and both of them talked with a heavy lilt that made them even more difficult to understand.
However, she didn’t need to understand language to comprehend Liam’s next gesture.
With a look etched on his face that reminded the Slayer of Angelus, Liam shoved the girl against the stone wall at the back of a tavern, causing Buffy’s hands to fly to her mouth.
“I dun want trouble,” the girl said in a strong accent that Buffy could barely decipher. Tears were dripping down the redhead’s fair cheeks, her eyes two pleading pools of dread.
“Then ye better say nothing,” Liam warned her with a growl, his hands tightening around her biceps.
Liam pushed the girl up against the wall of the tavern, forcing his lips to hers, and lifting her skirts. The girl cried out quietly but her screeches were muffled by Liam’s meaty paw.
"Dún do bhéal!" he yelled, snapping the back of his hand across her pale face.
The dark haired man struggled to unfasten his breeches as he held fast to the young woman in his arms. Buffy didn’t want to watch anymore. She knew what was about to happen and she couldn’t bear to see it.
“I don’t understand,” croaked Buffy. “He’s human and he’s got a soul, so he’s supposed to be good. He’s not supposed to…” She trailed off, internally cringing at the realization that her entire world view had just been turned on its head.
“A soul isn’t all that makes you good,” the spirit sighed. “It can help, but what’s beneath the soul determines your true humanity.”
“No! His soul is what stops him from…hurting people. If he could do this with a soul then…” The blonde allowed the implications of that fact to soak into her consciousness.
If he could rape a woman before he was a vampire then when he became Angelus apparently the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She always deceived herself into believing that the souled Angel was superior to other vampires, but if he had Liam’s soul then he was just as bad as those vamps.
Maybe even worse.
Buffy stared out at the crowd spilling out of the tavern, drunken laughter echoing through the cobbled streets and sighed. Seeing human-Angel and human-Spike had proved they were polar opposites, and they were nothing like she’d expected either of them to be. In her head Liam had always been a white knight and William had been a no-good street urchin.
Ironically it seemed that she’d gotten their real personas reversed.
Of course becoming a vampire changed a person, but looking at Liam’s behavior compared with Angelus’ and even Angel’s she wondered just how much he’d really changed when he lost his soul. Similarly, William had been a kind, loving and generous soul as a human, and even though he’d become a renowned vicious killer as a vampire, he’d always retained his ability to love if his history with Drusilla was anything to go by.
She’d always denied Spike’s capability to feel real love but she couldn’t do that any longer. Tonight she saw the look of love in William’s eyes as he gazed at his mother, and she saw the same love in Spike’s eyes when he looked at her. Of course when Spike looked at her it was intensified with a deep sexual passion, but at its foundation the look was basically the same.
As that epiphany sank into her, Buffy turned to the spirit who smiled knowingly at her. Liam’s grunt of completion and the girl’s agonized cries suddenly sounded louder in her ears and her eyes widened.
“We’re done here, spirit,” she said desperately. “Please take me back. I don’t want to see any more of this!”
The spirit nodded and Buffy noticed that her light was markedly dimmer. “Yes, we must leave now,” she agreed. “My time on this earth grows short and I have shown you everything that you needed to see. Do not forget the lessons you have learned on his blessed eve, my child. They will stand you in good stead for my brother and the many lessons that he will impart to you.”
Before Buffy could open her mouth to speak the world around her started to tremble. Within moments the ground was crumbling beneath her feet. She scrambled to find purchase but failed and she was sure that the scream piercing her ears was emanating from between her own lips.
And then she was falling, her flailing arms and legs doing nothing to help her as she tumbled ceaselessly through the air. It was like being in a vortex with nothing else around her. She couldn’t halt herself and she felt like her body was simultaneously imploding and exploding.
It reminded her of when she jumped from the top of Glory’s tower. It was the same feeling of falling, except that time she’d been overcome with a sense of peaceful acceptance and now all she felt was the heart wrenching paralysis of impending doom.
Her heart pulsated wildly beneath her breast and the Slayer was more terrified than she’d ever been before. It was even worse than the first time she’d confronted a vampire.
When the ground finally came into sight, Buffy screwed her eyes tightly shut. She had a feeling this was going to hurt. However, before she could connect with the harsh carpet of her bedroom floor, everything dissolved into black.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for the reviews. :) This is a pretty long chapter. Please be aware there is a brief rape reference in this chapter but nothing graphic.
Chapter End Notes:
Please let me know what you think! Thanks. :)