Eighteenth. I’ll have a blue Christmas without you.
I'll have a Blue Christmas without you
I'll be so blue thinking about you
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me
I'll have a Blue Christmas that's certain
And when that blue heartache starts hurtin'
You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white,
But I'll have a blue, blue Christmas
Billy Hayes and Jay Johnson
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
and presents on the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
Kim Gannon and Walter Kent
Will woke far too early for most normal humans, to find two little sprites bouncing on his bed, their voices very soft. One of the little angels pressed her mouth to his ear, whispering, “Unca Will are we quiet? Mommy says we gotta be quiet til its time to waked up.”
He rolled over, getting an armful of little girl, Kathy tumbling over his chest while Darla sat on his legs, kicking her feet off the mattress. “We was quiet as mouses, right?”
There was no way he could tell those two to go away and let him sleep, much as he’d like to, but house rules said that no one opened presents until everyone was awake. No doubt these two had been waiting long enough. He groaned internally, sitting up. “All right, you two, ‘m up. Go tell your mum.”
Darla scrambled off the bed first, hitting the door and the sound barrier at the same time. “Daddy! Unca Will’s awaked!”
Kathy rolled over, her little face just inches from his. “Unca Will? I gots a present for you, come see!” She tried tugging him from the bed, barely budging him.
“Go on poppet, I’ll be right there.” Will watched her scurry from the bed, her fluffy slippers almost tripping her up as she practically ran from his room, chasing after Darla.
Will rolled over onto his side, squinting at the bedside clock. It was barely six and he’d gotten little over two hours sleep. He’d kept Buffy on the phone until four when it was apparent they were both in danger of falling asleep.
It had been one of the best conversations he’d ever had, phone sex aside, and he hadn’t wanted to hang up. He’d promised her, that when the holidays were over they would figure out some way to spend more than a few stolen moments together.
Darla’s shrieks sounded in the hallway as Liam scooped her up after chasing her from their bedroom. Passing his opened door with the little girl hanging off his shoulder, Liam grumbled, “I’m up, Will, time to haul yer arse outta bed.”
His daughter’s outraged giggled ratted him out. “Mommy, Daddy sayed a bad word. Get soap!”
Liam slapped her butt playfully, “I thought you were on my side.”
“Mommy promist me ice cream.” She wriggled, trying to get out of his arms, calling out, “Unca Will, Santa came!”
Drusilla passed his door, her long hair falling down her back and a grin crossing her features, “C’mon Will, come see what prezzies we’ve got.”
Grumbling half-heartedly and praying that he’d be able to get a nap at some point, Will got out of bed.
It was nearly noon when she finally made her way downstairs only to find that her mother was the only one awake. Willow was still sacked out comfortably on the couch.
“Merry Christmas.” Joyce barely looked up from her coffee when Buffy entered the kitchen.
“Yup. Merry Christmas to you too Mom.” She headed straight for the refrigerator for the grapefruit and orange juices.
“Buffy, have you given any thought to the Finn’s offer?”
Are you fucking joking? Its Christmas morning and she wants to talk about Riley? And . . . . augh! She’s impossible. Buffy slammed the refrigerator shut. “You wanna talk about this today?”
“Why not? What’s wrong with talking about this now?” Joyce stared at her daughter over the rim of her coffee cup, a set look on her face.
“Coz, its Christmas. You know peace on earth and all that? Can we talk about this some other time?” Buffy leaned against the counter, unfazed by her mother’s expression.
“No, I think we should talk about it now. You’ve been avoiding me since the other day and you don’t ever want to talk about this. Now’s as good a time as any.”
Buffy was shaking her head. “Nope, Mom. Not in the mood to discuss this and besides, Willow is still sleeping on the couch.”
“Buffy, we need to talk about this. You can’t keep putting it off. I have a feeling that this is going to be their final offer and then you won’t have anything.” Joyce refilled her mug, her jaw clenching as the argument escalated.
“You know something Mom, this isn’t the time to talk about it. Its Christmas, and I’m trying to keep happy thoughts in my head.” Adding silently, and you really aren’t helping, coz Riley is so not a happy thought. “So can we please talk about this later?”
“I really want to talk about it now.” Placing the mug on the counter, Joyce turned to face her only child, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Mom. I’m not getting into this with you. Not today. We can talk about it tomorrow. Its not like anything is gonna get finalized today anyway. It’s a holiday. Remember?” Buffy faced off against her mother, her jaw just as set and her stance just as belligerent.
“We could at least be ready to accept first thing in the morning.”
“No. If you want an answer that’s it. I’m not accepting.” Buffy put her half finished glass of orange juice mixed with grapefruit juice down, unable to finish it because of the nerves tightening her belly. “If you keep pushing Mom, I’m just going to keep saying no.”
“You can’t do that. You aren’t an adult and I can accept the offer on your behalf.” Joyce pushed herself away from the counter, reaching for Buffy’s arm.
Buffy pulled away from her mother, moving toward the hallway. “Do that Mom and I’ll leave. I won’t take their money.”
“Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, young lady. You’ll do what I tell you. If I think this offer is something we should accept then you’ll accept it.” Joyce closed the distance between them, bringing up her hand as if to slap Buffy.
Grabbing her hand, stopping her mother’s forward motion, Buffy said, “you really don’t want to do this Mom. I asked you not to bring it up now, and you didn’t let it go. I can’t talk about this right now. And stop pushing me.”
Without another word, Buffy headed up the stairs to her room, fighting the tears of anger and frustration that were threatening.
Willow watched her go, sympathy flooding her features, but when Joyce emerged from the kitchen a few moments later, the redhead was feigning sleep.
He and Liam both managed to nap in the early afternoon, falling asleep in the chairs, while the girls played with their dolls and tea-sets and dress up clothes quietly in front of the tree. Drusilla watched the two of them, a small smile playing about her lips. Oh she had news for Will, news he probably wasn’t going to like very much, at least not now. Tilting her head, Dru listened to something only she could hear and, with a last look at the girls, she sped off to her bedroom.
When he woke up, the girls were playing quietly and Drusilla was nowhere to be found, but Will had thought he’d distinctly heard his name being called, but he just didn’t. . . . if he had been more asleep, he would’ve sworn he was dreaming because the voice sounded like Buffy’s.
Shaking his head, Will got up and wandered into the kitchen, to find Drisilla sitting at the table, a bunch of cards strewn about the table. Taking one look at the cards spread before her, Will knew she wasn’t playing solitaire. Drawn to the table, Will bypassed the refrigerator to see what she was doing. Drusilla motioned him to sit, and then scooped up the cards and handed them to him.
“Shuffle them.”
Expertly shuffling the cards, Will stared at the almost exotic features of his former girlfriend. “So pet, what’s new?”
She smiled a bit, shook her head, saying gently, “let’s see what the cards say before I tell you what’s going on with us, okay? Cut the deck.”
“All right.“ He laid out three piles of cards, then stacked them up again. When he was finished with that, she took the deck from him and she said a brief prayer under her breath and she laid out seven cards. Taking one look at them, Drusilla’s smiled widened and she began speaking.
“So, William, you’ve met someone. There’s lots of . . . “ she pointed to the second card, the eight of swords. “Things are very rough for her right now, she’s got some hard things she’s dealing with and nothing’s going very easily for her is it?”
He was shaking his head, murmuring under his breath something that Drusilla didn’t hear. She tapped a long fingernail against the next card, a knowing glint in her eyes. “So she’s captured your heart and it looks like you’ve captured hers.” When he didn’t speak, to either confirm or deny her vision, Drusilla continued the reading. She glanced back to the first card and blurted out the question before she thought to censor it. “Is she pregnant?”
Without waiting for him to confirm that, Dru nodded her head, “she is. Oh Will. . . . what are you going to do?”
Will got up from the table, pacing the length of the kitchen, avoiding her gaze. He wondered just how much he could confide in her and, suddenly giving in, knowing he needed to talk to someone before he exploded, William leaned against the counter. He started talking, his eyes never leaving Drusilla’s face. “She is pregnant, but its not mine. I haven’t touched her, not that way, not yet. The baby’s father dumped her as soon as he found out and she’s . . . Dru, pet, you need to promise me something here.”
She got up from the table, leaving the cards laid out, and stood next to him. Her hand was on his folded arms, and her mothering instinct took over at the look on his face. “Talk to me Will, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothin’s wrong.” He laughed, then said honestly, “not much is bloody right either.” He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the curls into wild disarray. “Your promise, Dru, of silence, before I go on.”
“You know I’ll keep . . . I won’t say a word. So tell me.” He laid his head down on her shoulder, seeking comfort from her nearness, then straightened up and averted his eyes from her intense gaze.
“She’s only seventeen. One of my students.” Drusilla made no comment, merely waiting for him to continue, but she did lay her hand on his clenched hand offering silent comfort. “Always thought she was bloody adorable, but never did anythin’ but look. Til I found her wandering about a cemetery, crying her eyes out an’ lost. She’d just found out about the baby, hadn’t even told the father or her mum. And when she told the boy, he flipped on her. Damn near assaulted her and then dumped her. Her mother is never home, always traveling. And her bloody father. . . . she told him over Thanksgiving and the fucking bastard threw her out of his house. She called me to come get her, because she’d been out on the street for almost a full day. “ He closed his eyes as renewed anger flooded through his body. A muscle ticked in his jaw and Drusilla knew the hold on his temper was tenuous at best.
He blew out a breath, mentally counting down, trying to get his temper under control. Dru ran a gentle hand over his chin, drawing his face to look at her. “Do you love her?” She looked into his eyes, finding the truth in those incredible blue eyes. “Never could lie well, silly boy. You do love her. What are you going to do?”
“Soon as she’s old enough, I’m gonna marry her.” There it was. He’d finally said it out loud, admitted it to someone other than himself. “Not gonna let her go, Dru. She’s mine.”
“Have you told her this?” Drusilla left his side, filling the kettle, her mind trying to come up with something to say to him about all this.
“Not yet. Christ, she’s only seventeen. Still in school. Still in my bloody classroom. Can’t . . . . Don’t want to,” he ran his hand through his hair again, almost pulling some out. “Could get into a world of trouble over this. We’re already walkin’ a fine line.”
“So you aren’t being foolish then. I was beginning to worry when you said she was only seventeen.” Drusilla faced him, her eyes full of caring and concern. “Have you slept with her yet?”
“Slept yes. Had sex, no.” He paused, then paced around a bit. “She’s not ready yet. Besides, we can’t. . . I won’t do that until she’s eighteen. ‘m not a complete idiot.”
Her light laughter filled the kitchen. “Glad to hear that. You do know the dangers involved.”
It wasn’t a question, but then he hadn’t expected it to be one. He trusted Drusilla to speak her mind and to tell it straight, and not sugar coat things. She might go off on how the universe would see things right and how little birdies or pixies or some such had told her in a vision, but she wouldn’t ever lie to him or withhold her opinion.
“Yeah, which is why I’m not pushing her.”
“All right then. You’ll just have to trust the stars that it will be all right in the end.” Dru leaned over the table, once more glancing down at the cards laid out on the table. While the beginning cards weren’t overtly “happy” cards, there was the possibility that it was all temporary, and there, at the end were the signs she’d been looking for. The King of Cups, the Empress and the very last card was the Ace of Cups. So there it is, you, her, happiness and lots of babies. One final glimpse at all the cards and Drusilla debated with herself about what to tell him. She’d never lied to him before and the upcoming events weren’t going to be easy. Glancing at him from beneath lowered eyelids, Drusilla read the agitation and upset covering him like a shroud and she made her decision.
“Will? Come look at something.” She pointed down at the cards, running her hand in the air over them. “See these? Those are the good news, that things will eventually be settled and you’ll both be okay. But these are what you have to get through first.” She pointed to the swords, and he nodded, not necessarily understand the meaning of each card, but going by the pictures, he could guess.
“So its going to be worse before it gets better, yeah?”
“Pretty much. Just keep faith, Will, everything will work out in the end.”
“I have to believe that Dru. It’s the only thing keepin’ me sane.”
They’d spent most of the day avoiding each other, neither one of them willing to budge and Buffy firmly resolved not to speak about anything that had money or Finn in the conversation. She managed to avoid Willow’s questions, promising her she would talk about it when she wasn’t so angry about the whole situation, but she couldn’t promise when that was going to be.
She couldn’t believe how incredibly insensitive her mother was. What kind of mom brings up stuff like this on freaking Christmas? What the hell had she been thinking? Buffy shook her head, unable to figure her mother out. Apparently she couldn’t get past the idea of all that money, not caring about what Buffy was trying to say, or the point she was trying to make.
It wasn’t like she wanted anything to do with Riley Finn anymore. I’d be a clam if I never saw or heard his name ever again. But I don’t have that luxury. Bleah. So not your fault baby. Buffy cupped her hand over the growing bulge of her belly. All her clothes still fit, pretty much, except for some of the skimpier outfits, but getting bummed about that was silly, since there was a whole list of things to wig about. Staring at the bump in the mirror, she turned sideways and flattened her shirt, pulling it tight against her skin. Nope, not big at all. Just a teeny-tiny little lumpy-bumpy. Hello baby. Mommy’s looking at you. She giggled a bit, then collapsed on her bed.
Willow had gone home an hour ago and she had been sitting up in her room, trying not to think about Riley, or her mom or money, but it was difficult. It had been almost two months since she’d had a conversation with him and she finally had enough of the reminders of him around her room. There were pictures taped to her mirror and gifts and stolen clothes and notes and little toys that he’d given her and she was sick of looking at them, or having them around. Grabbing her wastebasket, Buffy ripped down the pictures, tossing them in, then moved around the room, gathering everything.
Within minutes of her almost frenzied attack the wastebasket was filled and she needed something bigger to hold the remains of her failed relationship. She was going to be ruthless, cut him out of her life completely, and just dump his stuff somewhere. Running down the stairs to find something bigger, Buffy scrounged around and finally located a box in the basement. Hauling the empty box up the stairs took her only a few moments, and despite some banging, she managed to get away without her mother’s interference.
She never realized just how much stuff he’d given her, from stupid little toys to expensive jewelry, plus the notes and cards they’d passed back and forth in the hallway and Buffy just threw it all in the box. It was all garbage and she wanted no reminders of Riley Finn anymore.
Throwing in a tee-shirt, Buffy held onto the cards and letters, trying to figure out how to get rid of them. Oohh, I know. Dumping all that into the wastebasket, she raced for the stairs. Breezing through the dark kitchen, Buffy grabbed the automatic lighter for the grill, heading directly out the back door. She opened the barbeque, removed the grill and tossed all the papers inside. Quickly, before she could second guess herself, Buffy held the automatic lighter to loose piece of paper, and watched while the flame caught and held.
Stepping back away from the fire, Buffy watched as the flames flared high and burned.
Goodbye Riley. Goodbye.
The flames must have blazed too high, because while she watched, her eyes intent on the orange glow, the back door flew open and Joyce yelled at her from the back porch. “Buffy, what are you doing?”
Without turning her head to look at her, Buffy said, “I’m getting rid of some garbage Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
“What? Don’t worry about it? What are you burning?” Joyce started down the steps, the small kitchen fire extinguisher in her hands. “Buffy move away from the grill.”
“I’m fine. Its gonna burn out in a couple of minutes anyway.” And even as she watched, the flames started going down, the ashes of her childhood blowing away on the slight breeze.
Her mother dropped the fire extinguisher, a strange expression on her face as she watched her daughter stare at the fire. “Buffy what was that?”
The fire had burned out and there was nothing left, mere curled and burned pieces of paper in the bottom of the barbeque. Buffy put the grills back on, then closed the top. “Just papers and stuff that I don’t want any more.”
Joyce looked at her, noting the lack of emotion in her eyes, but the slight track of tears on her cheek made a mockery of the stoic expression. As Buffy walked passed, Joyce held out her arm, slowing her movement. “Buffy? What was all that?”
“Like I said Mom, it was notes and cards that I don’t want any more. Nothing important.”
Buffy shook off her hold, heading toward the house.
Finally catching on a bit, Joyce followed her inside, asking quietly, “do you want to talk about it?”
“No Mom. I just wanted to get rid of the garbage.”
Without any further explanation, Buffy went back up the stairs to her bedroom.
The box was still sitting in the middle of her bedroom when she went to bed that night. Buffy couldn’t decide what to do with the clothes or the stuffed animals. She did know one thing though, she wanted no more reminders of Riley or their time together hanging around. That part of her life was done, over with and very much a part of her past. The only reminder she was willing to have was the baby, but in her heart, this was just her baby, and Riley had no right to make any demands or decisions regarding the two of them. There was really only one thing she wanted from him. And that wasn’t so much the money but the acknowledgment that he had some responsibility also. In the back of her mind she knew her thoughts were contradictory in a way, but she didn’t care. Riley should take some – maybe not responsibility – but he should at least admit that the baby was his. He wasn’t even doing that.
She had just gotten out of the shower and her hair was still wrapped in a towel when her cell phone rang. Glancing at the time, she figured it was way to early to be Will and it had to be either Willow or Xander.
Her insides melted when she heard Will’s voice and Buffy sighed into the phone. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself, kitten. How was your day?”
“Pretty okay. Mom decided she wanted to wig on me about something, and we almost had a screaming match over it, but we didn’t.” She fiddled with the edge of the towel covering her from armpit to mid-thigh, wondering when she could tease him with what she wasn’t wearing.
“Fighting about anything in particular?” He had a pretty good idea of what it might be, but he figured he’d ask anyway.
“About the money. They upped the offer.” She’d told him everything during one of their cemetery meetings and Will agreed with her about making Riley pay monthly.
“Ah, and she’s trying to get you to change your mind.”
“Pretty much.” She hesitated, then blurted out, “really don’t want to talk about this tonight. How was your day?”
“Was good. The girls were adorable, even though they woke me up just after six this morning.” He chuckled when she finally giggled, picturing him being all rumpled and sexy early in the morning.
“I miss you Will. A lot.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and he could almost see the sad expression in her eyes.
“Me too, sweetheart. Kept thinking about you all day.” He settled down onto the bed, shifting so that the pillows were bunched behind him. The tension between them was thick, and he couldn’t think of a way to break it, torn between what he wanted and what he thought she needed.
Buffy wasn’t comfortable. The towel was wet and her head was heavy from trying to balance the towel and the phone at the same time. She shifted, nearly dropping the phone and said, “Will, I need to put the phone down, my towel is falling off.”
“Towel?”
“I just got out of the shower.”
And the tension was gone. “Did you now.”
Her breath hitched as she answered him. “Yeah. I’m, uh, I haven’t dried off yet.”
“Oh fuck, baby. . . “ He breathed heavily through his nose, inhaling sharply. “So you’re all wet, are you?”
“Yeah.” Her voice took on the tones he’d coaxed from her . . . was it just last night?
“Will? I wish you were here. . . “
And just like that he was lost.
So, was it any good? Was it worth posting early? C'mon, you gotta let me know. . . .