***

Rupert Giles placed the phone back in its cradle and sighed. It was late and he was tired--logic would dictate that he seek out his bed and have a nice long sleep.

But--in an unusual turn for the watcher--logic wasn’t calling the shots on that early Christmas morning. He’d just hung up from a long talk with Buffy and his emotions were still raw. Rest wouldn’t be found easily.

Both had laughed, smiled and shed a few tears. As grateful as they were for what they still had--family, health, friends--the pain from their losses remained as acute as when they’d driven off in that bus months ago. Rona, Chao-Ahn and the other girls who had fought so valiantly for a cause that was new to them, but no less important; Anya, poor, poor Anya, thought Rupert, a millennium old, yet still too young to die; and Spike. He still had trouble swallowing the sacrifice that the vampire had made--his own life. He’d listened with awe as Buffy, through tears and a proud smile, had told everyone about the amulet and the all-consuming fire. William the Bloody had died in an inferno, elated at the feel of his soul.

Bugger if that hadn’t finally changed Rupert’s mind about the bleached pest.

A sharp rap at his door caught his attention. “Hello?”, he called out, baffled at who it could be at this late hour. A woman, in her mid-sixties, walked in. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Giles, but this came in for you just now. I could ‘ear you walkin’ around up ‘ere and figured you might want to see it.”

“Thank you, Millicent.” The watcher took the parcel and couldn’t hide his amusement at the ‘To: Rupert/From: Santa’ tag that was taped to the bright blue wrapping paper. Turning his attention back to the woman, he frowned. “Not that it’s any of my business, but why are you still up so late? I hope I didn’t keep you awake with my pacing.”

Millicent laughed. “Oh, no, Mr. Giles--my nerves are all aflutter! I couldn’t sleep if you gave me ‘alf a dozen toddies. My Anne-Marie--the one who’s in New Zealand, teaching--is in the ‘ospital. She’s in labour wit’ her first child.”

The woman’s smile stretched from ear to ear and she simply glowed with pride. Now that’s what Christmas is about, Rupert mulled. “Congratulations are in order, then! It’s so nice to hear good news for a change.” His gaze returned to his gift. “Did you see who dropped it off, by chance?”

“Oh, no! But it was the oddest thing, you know? I was sittin’ at my kitchen table and closed my eyes for a sec--I may be excited, but I’m still tired, bein’ an old lady and all--and when I opened them up again, there was the present, right there ‘afore my eyes! It was the strangest thing, Mr. Giles; it was like ol’ Saint Nick really did bring it ‘imself.” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Well, I must be off--can’t stray from the phone for too long! Happy Christmas to you, Mr. Giles!”

“Yes, Happy Christmas to you too, Millicent. And congratulations, again.” Rupert Giles saw the woman out of his apartment and closed the door. Once again, his attention was diverted to the parcel in his hands. Although not very big, it was quite heavy--he hadn’t a clue as to what it could contain. The notion that it might be a ruse of some sort flitted through his mind but was instantly discarded. Something about this gift felt... right.

Tearing through the paper, he almost dropped the box when he saw that it said ’Victoria’s Secret’ on the cover. If this is Xander’s doing, I swear I’m going to...

Whatever retaliation he had in mind was forgotten as he opened the box.

A leather-bound book: Rupert pulled out the dog-eared book from its packaging, shaking his head in wonder. It was his Watcher’s Diary. How on earth did someone get their hands on this? he wondered to himself. In his haste to fight the good fight, his bible--as Buffy’d always called it--had been left behind at the Summers household. His thoughts hadn’t even wandered back to it until much later, when he was trying to rebuild the Council.

And at that point it was all he could do not to think of it. Not only for the valuable information it held, but also for the memories. Everything he and the Scoobies had gone through was recorded in that diary and although his memory was good, it couldn’t compete with the accuracy of the written medium.

He flipped through the pages, reading an entry here and there: meet Buffy for the first time, meet Angelus, Faith appears, Joyce dies, Xander and Anya become engaged... It was all in there--everything he and his charge had been through. In retrospect, the book wasn’t as much a Watcher’s Diary as a record of the good times and not so good times he’d shared with friends who had become family. He put the diary down, caressing its soft cover. “There’s still lots of time for us to get reacquainted, old friend,” he muttered, stroking it with great affection.

A bottle of Glenlivet scotch: Rupert brushed away the Styrofoam pellets and discovered the one thing he would have needed above all else immediately after the Hellmouth’s collapse: his prized bottle of Glenlivet. It had always remained at the back of his liquor cabinet, saved for a grand occasion--whatever that turned out to be. Spike had constantly badgered him for a sip but that was one bottle that would remain untouched.

It seemed like decades ago when the vampire was chained to his bathtub, making a complete nuisance of himself. Back in the days of Willow’s apology cookies, Scooby meetings in his living room, donut jelly in his oldest, most delicate books. What he wouldn’t give to go back to those simpler times.

But things hadn’t been simpler, had they? Loved ones died--sometimes they came back, sometimes they didn’t. Lovers turned into enemies and enemies became lovers. Maybe it was safer to say that times had been... different.

Sick of his maudlin humour, the watcher decided that this was as good a time as any to break the seal. Celebrate life and all that rot, he mused as he got up to get himself a tumbler. Once again comfortably seated, he grabbed the bottle and did a double take. The seal was broken and some scotch had been taken. Who the hell would take a thirty year old bottle of scotch--someone else’s thirty year old bottle of scotch--and just help themselves?!

The answer came to him in the guise of his third ‘gift’: A mug with ‘Kiss the Librarian’ stamped on it. A mug which, when sniffed, smelled an awful lot like Glenlivet.

The mug nearly slipped from the watcher’s hand as he put two and two together.

“Bloody hell...”

***

Spike stared in rapture as the ‘crater-that-was-Sunnyhell’ regained its form, just like in those documentaries that played a building’s demolition in reverse. The weight of a hand on his arm gently roused him from his stupor.

“We can only keep this up for forty minutes--not a minute longer.” Fred smiled at the shell-shocked vampire. Giving him a push forward, she giggled. “That means ‘skedaddle’, silly!”

Spike set out on his mission. Vampire speed notwithstanding, getting everything done in forty minutes wasn’t going to be easy. Especially since, at the last minute, he’d opted to go in alone. He didn’t want anyone else in there in case they took too much time and the whole thing collapsed on them. “There’s already enough blood spilled on the Hellmouth, Peaches,” he’d argued. “I’m not going to be responsible for any more of it.”

***

A series of piercing shrieks roused Buffy and Dawn from their bedrooms and brought them running as fast as possible towards the living room.

The sight of a pyjama-clad Andrew, dancing on his tiptoes, caused both girls to groan.

Yawning, Dawn gave him the evil eye. “Andrew, I swear if this is another Nathan Lane impersonation, you’re going to be eating those Aragorn pj’s!”

Ah, but the youngest Summers’ bad mood couldn’t quench the immense joy resounding through his entire being. A parcel in each hand, the young man danced around the sunny apartment, doling one out to each of his room mates. “Santa came! Calloo, callay! I told Mom he was real! But no, she tried to ‘let me down’, tell me the ‘truth’...” Laughing, he jumped back into a chair, his own parcel cradled in his arms like a baby.

The two girls exchanged a look, shrugged, and took a seat. After all the crap they’d been through it was nice to bask in a bit of happiness.

A collectible figurine: Buffy didn’t even have the tag ripped off her own box before Andrew let out yet another shriek. “Oh my God! It’s a limited edition 1979 Boba Fett!”

Dawn frowned, watching the young man pose the figurine in the YMCA dance steps. “Shouldn’t it be in packaging or something?”

“Well, I...” He hadn’t really thought of it, with all the excitement of Santa‘s visit. Andrew took a closer look at the bounty hunter and, as if burned, dropped it to the floor. Pointing at it, he jumped up onto his seat. “That... that’s Warren’s!” He whimpered, eyes never straying from the toy. “Oh, the purgatory for my misdeeds has begun; whoa is me...”

The Slayer picked the figurine up, turning it under her gaze. “How can you be so sure it’s Warren’s? I mean, didn’t they make thousands of these or something?” And what was it with guys and these things, anyway? They were just like mini-dolls. Little armed, fatigue-wearing dolls.

“There’s a scratch on the helmet where Jonathan... um, ok--where I scratched some of the paint to see what was underneath. There can’t be two of them with a scratch like that!” Eyes all watery, he looked at the girls. “Why would Santa send me this? Is it some kind of message?”

Really wanting to avoid one of the young man’s nervous fits--the ones he’d suffer at the mere mention of either of his two deceased compatriots--Buffy walked over to him, put her hand on his shoulder and gave him the Star Wars figurine back. “Andrew, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything like that. Maybe... maybe Santa wants you to have it for some reason.” Then, a stroke of genius hit her. “Maybe it means you’re forgiven.” Trying to ignore the little voice that kept repeating ‘you’re talking to a 23 year-old about Santa as if he really exists! Hello?!’, she nodded and smiled at him. She handed him his gift box, which had fallen between the chair and the sofa, and went back to her own place beside Dawn.

Dawn’s gift remained on her lap, unopened. What the heck would be in hers if they were getting guilt gifts? One of the bracelets she’d shoplifted? “So, what else do you have in there?” That’s it--stall!

A classic: The young man dragged his fingers through the Styrofoam popcorn and picked something out. Quietly, he examined what seemed to be a book. Awe-struck, he began leafing through the first pages. “It’s a first-edition copy of The Hobbit. It looks like it’s been read a few times, but... wow...”

“Hey--I’ve seen that book before!” Buffy’s exclamation came as a surprise to everyone, including herself. Memories of a bleached vampire, sitting on the sarcophagus in his crypt, reading by candlelight flooded her. She’d teased him about it--reading a children’s book--until he offered to read it to her, out loud. Sleep had overtaken her so many times after that, lulled by the rising and falling cadence of his voice, as the adventures of Bilbo Baggins were relayed to her. They had been such intimate moments to share, something she had been unaccustomed to with Spike. Too often, their time together was spent arguing, a push-and-pull of wills. She’d claimed that she hated him, but what she truly hated was how she’d grown fond of his company, fond of him.

“Um, Buffy?” Dawn’s voice broke the room’s silence. A far-away look, a wry smile--it had to be Spike; nothing else could steal her sister like the bleached blonde’s memory. But what could he have to do with Andrew’s book? When Buffy snapped out of it and was looking at her, she nodded towards the book. “You said you’ve seen it before?”

“Uh, no. I just thought I remembered it.” She wasn’t ready to share such intimate memories with anyone--not yet, anyway. Maybe one day she’d be able to sit with Dawn, on one of those lazy ‘it’s raining outside let’s have some hot chocolate and chat’ kind of days, Buffy would bare her soul. Everything they’d done--the good and the bad--but especially all the happy little memories. But that wasn’t for today--no, she couldn‘t even consider how the book had even reached Andrew, never mind the why of it.. Anyway, there were two people with unopened presents, and that was way wrong. “Why don’t you open yours, Dawnie? See what Santa gave you.”

Gulp. Here goes... Taking about as much care with her paper as the young man before her, Dawn tore through the shiny green wrapping. A plain white box stared back at her, possibly the bringer of bad, bad memories. Shrugging, she decided to just open it and find out--no use avoiding the unavoidable. Or something like that...

A journal: A shriek equalling Andrew’s shot from her lips. “My diary!!” She pulled it out, noting that the key was indeed still attached to it. Unlocking it, she began to read through it, a goofy smile plastered across her face. “Oh my God... Buffy, remember Ted? That creep that Mom was seeing, that turned out to be some sort of robot?” She laughed out loud. “Geez, I’d forgotten about him...” Her entire life, seen through the eyes of first a naive pre-teen, then an angst-ridden teenager, lay before her. “And here’s the entry you wrote in it: ‘Stop writing lies about me or I’ll burn this thing’. I was sooo mad at you.”

Buffy laughed at the memory. “Yeah, I didn’t know it was possible for the human voice to reach notes that high.”

The younger Summers sister just chuckled in agreement. A year ago, she would have yelled back, stomped to her room (probably stepping over a dozen potentials) and sulked. But now things were better between her and her big sister. They’d had more than one serious talk, ironed out a lot of differences, and had finally found the sisterly vibe they’d lost after their mother’s death. She rifled through the box and pulled out a second gift.

A photograph: Not the first Scooby to receive an unexpected surprise on that Christmas morning, the young woman choked back a sob, her fingers gripping the picture frame in a white-knuckled grasp. Her voice, rough with emotion, was but a whisper. “Mom...”

“What about Mom?!” Buffy’s body went rigid as she leaned over and grabbed the object from her sister’s grasp. Her mouth opened and she let out a pathetic ‘oh’ as her eyes set upon the picture in her hand. It showed Joyce and her two daughters, standing in a copse of trees, all three smiling widely.

And that was when something totally unexpected happened. Buffy smiled. The smile turned into giggles, and the giggles into outright laughter. Scooting over to sit hip-to-hip with her sister, she lay the picture down so that it sat across their thighs. “Remember when this was taken? Mom always had the craziest ideas when it came to parenting...” She paused, sensing Andrew behind them, then moved her head a bit to the side so he could see it too. Good memories were too few and far between not to share. “I think she’d read something in one of those books of hers about how important it was for parents and kids to do things together--I’ve no idea where she came up with a nature walk...”

Now smiling fondly, Dawn nodded in agreement. “Yeah... We lasted what, twenty minutes before she got someone to take this picture so we could leave? Then we drove to the mall, had the most obnoxiously yuppie coffees at Starbucks and shopped for shoes ‘til we couldn’t walk.”

Happy tears. Neither girls had ever understood what they were until now. Being able to laugh as you remembered someone who was special to you, smiling at the good times you shared. That’s how people went on with their lives, that’s how they ploughed ahead, strengthened--not weakened--by their memories.

Dawn laid her head on her sister’s shoulder, still sniffling. “I still miss her so much, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does...” Buffy reached over and plucked some Kleenex from the box on the end table, handing her sister and Andrew--who was also sniffling--some. “Now, is there anything else in there, or can I open mine?”

Gaming supplies: The younger sibling leaned over and gently placed the picture on the coffee table. She reached into the box and pulled out a copy of Rummy for Dummies with a pack of cards tied to it. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind went back to a few summers ago, when Spike tried his best to teach her to play rummy to pass the time before Willow and Tara returned from school.

She must have been trembling, because Buffy’s hand went to her arm. “Dawn? What is it?”

Dawn’s voice quivered as she answered. “Buffy--when you... when you said you recognized Andrew’s book. Were you thinking about Spike?”

A moment passed before the Slayer let out a long sigh. “Yeah. He... I think that’s his book--I mean, it’s the exact same copy he used to read from. Why?” Why was Dawn asking? Why was she sharing this information? Why was she all of a sudden afraid of a Rummy for Dummies book?

“That summer--the one where you weren’t there, Spike spent almost every day trying to teach me how to play rummy.” Tears in her eyes--some for the memories of that harsh summer, some from guilt because she never forgave the vampire--she looked at her sister. “Do you think Spike sent these?”

A loud bark escaped Buffy’s lips, something between a laugh and a cry. That was a thought that was too frightening to consider. “No, Dawnie. That’s impossible. I saw him... he couldn’t have survived that.” He was beautiful...

The words were out before he could stop them. “Oh no, it makes complete sense.” Andrew’s eyes grew large at the gaffe he’d just committed. Spike had been adamant that no one know about his return--especially not the Slayer. “Because... because...” Damn it, think! His eye caught his Boba Fett. “Well, you say the book was his, and he threatened Warren’s Fett once, when he was still evil, so he could have remembered it... Maybe he took all this stuff before the big fight and sent it to someone--maybe Santa, maybe Angel--so that you would have it eventually.”

The young man was so proud of himself. Now he could add ’quick-witted’ to his Watcher Resume, right under intrepid, fearless, vampyre expert... Hopefully, the two girls would buy it.

Something about Andrew’s explanation didn’t ring true, but Buffy couldn’t refute it. In a way, it wasn’t at all like Spike to think ahead, but he’d surprised them so many times that he could easily have taken the steps to have their cherished belongings stored safely. “I guess that’s possible,” she admitted out loud. “In that case I wonder what’s in my box?”

Her eyes grew large as an idea came to mind. “Oh, please tell me you’re in there!!” she yelled at the box as blue paper flew everywhere. The lid was off, landing squarely on Andrew’s head, before either of the younger roommates could ask her what the heck she was talking about.

A stuffed animal: Everything else in the world could have imploded at that moment and Buffy Summers wouldn’t have noticed. Holding Mr. Gordo in a crushing hug she began to kiss him, laughing. “Oh, I missed you so much...”

Andrew looked at Dawn in a ‘and she thinks I’m nuts for believing in Santa?!’ way. The young woman, though, shook her head. No one would ever understand the intense relationship that had always existed between her sister and the stuffed pig.

“Um, Buffy? Maybe you could stop macking on the pig and see if Santa sent you anything else?”

A silver ring: Her face pinched in a petulant pout, Buffy sat Mr. Gordo on her lap so that he could see, too. A burgundy satchel was plucked from the box and opened, and the Slayer gasped as she peered inside. She tipped the bag over her hand and a silver ring fell out. “Angel...”

“What is it?!” Dawn pulled her sister’s hand closer, careful not to tip it to one side or another. “Wow... Isn’t that the ring that Angel gave you when you guys were going out? I thought you gave that back to him.”

“I did.” Now she--and everyone else in the room--were thoroughly confused. Angel may have been close to Buffy, but he couldn’t have sent Andrew the bobafek doll or the book--heck, he didn’t even know Andrew, and he’d never paid enough attention to Dawn to know about her journal... “Maybe Andrew was right--maybe Spike sent this stuff to Angel, and he added this to it.” It was the most logical answer, but it was still just plain weird to think of the two vampires working together on anything.

Wiggy thoughts aside, she turned the ring over in her hand, trying to remember the emotions that had coursed through her the night that Angel had given it to her. She was so young then, so naive; she had really thought that the love they shared would be eternal. She slid the ring onto her finger, stretched her arm out to appraise it, and nodded. “You know, I think I’m gonna keep it. Silver pretty much goes with anything these days anyway.” It was a testament to a life she’d lost long ago and, although her love for Angel had changed, you never really forget your first love.

“Ok, so you’ve got the pig, the ring--now what the hell’s up with those scarves?” Dawn prodded Buffy out of her musings with a sharp index finger to the ribs.

Two scarves: “Ow! Geez--ok! Pokey much?!” The Slayer emptied the remains of her box on the floor, Styrofoam bits be damned. The only thing left was two emerald silk scarves.

And she didn’t have to think twice about where she’d seen those...

Blushing, she tried to nonchalantly brush them off. “Hmm... I don’t know what those are. They sure are pretty, though.” She got up quickly and headed towards her bedroom. “I’ll just go put them away somewhere...” Like under my pillow...

“Whoa right there!” Dawn and Andrew were standing in front of her before she knew it.

Damn... Curious roomies 1, Slayer 0...

“So what’s with the secrets all of a sudden? And the blushing and the running away?” The youngest woman raised her eyes and put her hands on her hips in an authoritative parent look that Buffy had seen all too often with Joyce.

Sighing, the Slayer slouched and returned, defeated, to the living room. She sat back down on the couch and stared at the two squares of fabric. If they could only be that, she thought, and nothing else. Goosebumps peppered her skin as the memory of cool fingers ghosted up her arms, a husky voice taunting her into agreeing to things she’d vowed never to do... “They’re Spike’s.”

“So, what--he collected silk hankies or something? That so doesn‘t sound like Spike.” Dawn had no idea why Buffy was acting so secretively. It’s not like she found handcuffs or anything, she thought, vowing to bleach her mind after that particular image.

“Ooh! Ooh! I know!” Andrew jumped up and down, holding his hand up. “They were his mother’s!”

There was no getting out of this whatsoever. Buffy let Dawn take one of the scarves before answering. “No and no.” Turning to her sister, she sighed. “You know all those times you said ‘I’m not a baby, I know about all that stuff!’?”

“Yeah...” The younger sibling had a scary feeling about where this was leading, so she held the green fabric between her thumb and forefinger--just in case.

“Well, take that, add to it ‘silk scarves’, and a whole truckload--no, wait--a whole boatload of TMI.”

Dawn nodded. “Oh.” Then her sister’s message came through loud and clear. “Oh! Oh, eww!!” She threw the scarf back at Buffy and wiped her hands on her pyjama pants. When she lifted her head again, her eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. “But really, really hot considering, you know, Spike...”

Buffy laughed out loud and nodded. “Believe me, a guy lives for a hundred and twenty years? Really does wonders for his repertoire...”

A sigh beside the two girls caused them to jump. Andrew was with them, on the couch, listening to Buffy with a dreamy look. “And those abs of his? Wow...”

Ah, hell, thought the older girl, why not? “Mmm.. Don’t even get me started on that...”

For the first time since it had been let, laughter rang out of the third-floor apartment. The Christmas spirit had indeed touched its three occupants, leaving them to revel in happy memories and good company.

***

The group from Wolfram and Hart stood silently as Sunnydale fell back into its crater.

“So that’s what it looked like from out here...” Spike watched in wonder as the buildings collapsed and the concrete caved in to cover the Hellmouth. But there was something amiss. Something that just wasn’t right.

And then it came to him.

“Hey--Charlie boy, toss me those keys to the van, will ya?” At the incredulous look the man gave him, he groaned. “Oh, come on! I’m not gonna bloody well run away--I just need to do something.”

Gunn muttered under his breath as he threw the keys to the bleached vampire. “I know I’m gonna regret this...”

Their attention diverted from the hole-that-was-Sunnydale, everyone turned to watch Spike hop into the driver’s seat. He drove out about thirty feet, turned the vehicle away from them, then hit reverse. The gang was speechless as the van was driven in reverse at full tilt, heading towards them. At the last moment, it took a sharp turn to the right and ploughed into the Welcome to Sunnydale sign.

Spike hopped out and jogged to the edge of the crater. Nodding in satisfaction towards the defunct sign, he tossed the keys back to Gunn.

“Now I‘m done...”

Author's Note: A little Christmas present for all my readers--I hope you liked it :) May you all have wonderful holidays, and spend them doing whatever you want (that's always a great present in itself!)