Fic: Christmas Present, PG
Only one offering from me today but I hope it's enjoyable as I delve a bit into Faith's perspective during the Season 3 Christmas episode (which I probably play a bit fast and loose with timelinewise as I haven't seen it in a decade or so.)
Title: Christmas Present
Author: Laure Alexander
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Warnings: Melancholy, a bit of language
Disclaimer: Nothing about BtVS belongs to me; it's all Joss; I'm just playing with his characters and making them do naughty things except nothing naughty in this fic.
Distribution: Please ask first. Will be at my site Meandering Muse
Word Count: 1335
Summary: Balmy weather, always green grass, palm trees decorated for the holidays, just don't sit right with Boston-bred Faith as she faces her first Christmas in Sunnydale.
It just didn't seem like Christmas.
As Faith patrolled early on Christmas Eve night, she had a perpetual frown on her face. There were colored lights on houses and fake Santa's on lawns, but there were also wreaths tacked to palm trees and it was balmy.
Balmy!
The breeze that ruffled the leaves--leaves!--was warmish. It had to still be in the 60s despite the sun being down for over an hour.
It just felt wrong.
As she walked down main street, passing the still-open stores with their last minute shoppers, Christmas carols spilled from doors as they opened and fake garlands hung from the street lamps and yet the shoppers were in shorts and t-shirts and the whole thing smelled wrong.
She missed the scent of snow, even dirty snow from the streets of Boston.
Now, Christmas in Boston was how it was meant to be. Even if there was no snow, you could guarantee it would be cold.
Faith remembered patrolling last Christmas, right after she'd been called. She'd been scared--and exhilarated--and cold. Her Watcher had given her a new pair of woolen gloves and a scarf for an early Christmas present--she still had them but they were buried at the bottom of her duffel bag as she had no use for them here--and she'd had to practice using a stake while wearing gloves. It had a different feel.
Slaying in the cold and snow had a different feel.
Southern California had its bonuses--longer days, no need for bulky coats, no fear of sliding on ice of having to climb over snow mountains to cross the street--and the last month or so had been great, easy to adjust as she just pretended it was a Boston early summer, but now that it was nearly Christmas, the wrongness was hitting her.
Trying to shake herself out of her mood, Faith left the downtown behind and headed for the first of five cemeteries she'd give a run through before calling it a night and heading to Buffy's. She'd promised the older Slayer she'd check in on her mom while Buffy was doing something way important.
Frowning at the twinge of...what was it? Jealousy? Dissatisfaction? Annoyance? All of the above? Faith shoved open the gate and entered Restfield Cemetery. So what if the senior Slayer was on a secret mission, there were still plenty of bad things out there that needed to be taken down.
Two hours later she left Shady Glen feeling a bit better. Taking out four vampires and a minor Krelnor demon had lightened her mood, not quite to the giddy, nervous need to celebrate she often felt, but good. Faith headed to Buffy's with a lightness to her steps, not even annoyed when she passed a fake snowman decked out in a Hawaiian shirt on someone's lawn.
Joyce welcomed her inside and offered her eggnog--virgin, unfortunately, but beggar's couldn't be choosers. The house was cozy, despite the air-conditioning she could feel, with a well decorated tree, the smell of ginger and cinnamon coming from the kitchen, and the low tones of Bing Crosby on the stereo.
Faith had just meant to stop by, but Joyce convinced her to stay, and since she really had nowhere else to go but her bleak motel room, she agreed, settling on the couch with eggnog and a gingerbread woman that, to her amusement, had a stake in one hand. Apparently Buffy had a hand in the decorating.
They talked about various things, dancing around the slaying gig and Buffy's current whereabouts. Faith found herself spilling about Christmases in Boston and how she was finding it hard to get in the mood here. She registered the surprise on Joyce's face when she let it slip that she'd been raised from age five by her Watcher, and she stressed that Mrs. Cummings had been a nice woman. Stern, but also caring, and she'd let Faith get away with quite a bit, including her style of dress.
Joyce despaired over Buffy's style of dress, too, so it was probably a generational thing. They both chuckled at the heels the older girl wore. Faith had on comfortable and well-broken in Doc Martens. Good for shitkicking demons, but she didn't mention that to Joyce.
She tried to leave a couple times, but finally gave in to Joyce's entreaties to stay the night when she finally realized that, beneath the talk of Christmas and the sharing of eggnog and cookies, Joyce was scared for her daughter.
Faith wasn't sure anyone had ever been scared for her. She knew Mrs. Cummings had cared about her, but, something had changed when Faith had been called. There were less smiles, less letting Faith slack off on training, less letting her talk back. Looking back, Faith could see that her Watcher was closing her feelings off, because Slayers didn't live long.
Maybe part of her jealousy over Buffy--and she could admit to herself that it was jealousy--was that Giles didn't seem closed off. He so obviously cared. Maybe that was because he hadn't known his Slayer for long.
The Watchers probably had long boring books written on the subject.
She kind of liked being in charge of herself. Giles gave her some instruction but they were both waiting for her new Watcher to arrive to really take over. So, meanwhile, Faith was on her own.
It wasn't bad.
Waking up on the couch hours later to find Joyce dozing beside her, Faith pushed down the quilt the older woman must have draped over her, and sat up, yawning. The clock over the unused fireplace showed it was just past six in the morning. The sun would be up soon. There didn't seem to be any sign of Buffy and she felt a moment of worry, quickly brushing it aside since she knew the other Slayer could take care of herself and, surely if something had happened, someone would have come to tell Joyce.
Letting herself relax again, Faith looked around the comfy living room, seeing the benefits of having a family, and not just a mom sleeping next to her, waiting up for her little girl to come home.
Until last year, she'd had something like it with Mrs. Cummings, in their little two bedroom apartment in a century old brownstone near the heart of Boston. She'd grown up there, learned to tie her shoes and whittle a stake and make a mean pot roast. In that apartment Faith had snuck her first drink of whisky, her first cigarette, kissed her first boy.
Melancholy swept over her and she forced herself under control before her hands began to tremble.
Silly to miss anything. She was a Slayer. Slayers lived in the now or they died quickly from distraction.
A noise from an awakening Joyce drew her attention back to the present swifter than her own dark thoughts, and she followed the older woman's gaze to the front windows. Joyce hadn't closed the curtains all the way and the porch lights were on illuminating a bit of the yard. Something was fluttering down past the eaves of the porch and the tree in the front yard to the grass.
Something white.
Shocked, Faith jumped to her feet, dimly registering that Joyce was beside her as she headed to the window and pushed back the curtains further.
Snow.
It was snowing.
Unable to stop herself, Faith laughed and heard Joyce join her, before they both moved to the front door and stepped out into a familiar cold. Goose bumps popped up on her arms--a tank top had seemed sensible a few hours before but now it was brisk and she could see her breath and there was snow falling heavily, quickly covering the still-green grass.
In the distance church bells chimed the dawn, but there was no sun showing through the heavy cloud cover, and Faith drew in a deep breath.
It finally smelled like Christmas.
End
Title: Christmas Present
Author: Laure Alexander
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Warnings: Melancholy, a bit of language
Disclaimer: Nothing about BtVS belongs to me; it's all Joss; I'm just playing with his characters and making them do naughty things except nothing naughty in this fic.
Distribution: Please ask first. Will be at my site Meandering Muse
Word Count: 1335
Summary: Balmy weather, always green grass, palm trees decorated for the holidays, just don't sit right with Boston-bred Faith as she faces her first Christmas in Sunnydale.
It just didn't seem like Christmas.
As Faith patrolled early on Christmas Eve night, she had a perpetual frown on her face. There were colored lights on houses and fake Santa's on lawns, but there were also wreaths tacked to palm trees and it was balmy.
Balmy!
The breeze that ruffled the leaves--leaves!--was warmish. It had to still be in the 60s despite the sun being down for over an hour.
It just felt wrong.
As she walked down main street, passing the still-open stores with their last minute shoppers, Christmas carols spilled from doors as they opened and fake garlands hung from the street lamps and yet the shoppers were in shorts and t-shirts and the whole thing smelled wrong.
She missed the scent of snow, even dirty snow from the streets of Boston.
Now, Christmas in Boston was how it was meant to be. Even if there was no snow, you could guarantee it would be cold.
Faith remembered patrolling last Christmas, right after she'd been called. She'd been scared--and exhilarated--and cold. Her Watcher had given her a new pair of woolen gloves and a scarf for an early Christmas present--she still had them but they were buried at the bottom of her duffel bag as she had no use for them here--and she'd had to practice using a stake while wearing gloves. It had a different feel.
Slaying in the cold and snow had a different feel.
Southern California had its bonuses--longer days, no need for bulky coats, no fear of sliding on ice of having to climb over snow mountains to cross the street--and the last month or so had been great, easy to adjust as she just pretended it was a Boston early summer, but now that it was nearly Christmas, the wrongness was hitting her.
Trying to shake herself out of her mood, Faith left the downtown behind and headed for the first of five cemeteries she'd give a run through before calling it a night and heading to Buffy's. She'd promised the older Slayer she'd check in on her mom while Buffy was doing something way important.
Frowning at the twinge of...what was it? Jealousy? Dissatisfaction? Annoyance? All of the above? Faith shoved open the gate and entered Restfield Cemetery. So what if the senior Slayer was on a secret mission, there were still plenty of bad things out there that needed to be taken down.
Two hours later she left Shady Glen feeling a bit better. Taking out four vampires and a minor Krelnor demon had lightened her mood, not quite to the giddy, nervous need to celebrate she often felt, but good. Faith headed to Buffy's with a lightness to her steps, not even annoyed when she passed a fake snowman decked out in a Hawaiian shirt on someone's lawn.
Joyce welcomed her inside and offered her eggnog--virgin, unfortunately, but beggar's couldn't be choosers. The house was cozy, despite the air-conditioning she could feel, with a well decorated tree, the smell of ginger and cinnamon coming from the kitchen, and the low tones of Bing Crosby on the stereo.
Faith had just meant to stop by, but Joyce convinced her to stay, and since she really had nowhere else to go but her bleak motel room, she agreed, settling on the couch with eggnog and a gingerbread woman that, to her amusement, had a stake in one hand. Apparently Buffy had a hand in the decorating.
They talked about various things, dancing around the slaying gig and Buffy's current whereabouts. Faith found herself spilling about Christmases in Boston and how she was finding it hard to get in the mood here. She registered the surprise on Joyce's face when she let it slip that she'd been raised from age five by her Watcher, and she stressed that Mrs. Cummings had been a nice woman. Stern, but also caring, and she'd let Faith get away with quite a bit, including her style of dress.
Joyce despaired over Buffy's style of dress, too, so it was probably a generational thing. They both chuckled at the heels the older girl wore. Faith had on comfortable and well-broken in Doc Martens. Good for shitkicking demons, but she didn't mention that to Joyce.
She tried to leave a couple times, but finally gave in to Joyce's entreaties to stay the night when she finally realized that, beneath the talk of Christmas and the sharing of eggnog and cookies, Joyce was scared for her daughter.
Faith wasn't sure anyone had ever been scared for her. She knew Mrs. Cummings had cared about her, but, something had changed when Faith had been called. There were less smiles, less letting Faith slack off on training, less letting her talk back. Looking back, Faith could see that her Watcher was closing her feelings off, because Slayers didn't live long.
Maybe part of her jealousy over Buffy--and she could admit to herself that it was jealousy--was that Giles didn't seem closed off. He so obviously cared. Maybe that was because he hadn't known his Slayer for long.
The Watchers probably had long boring books written on the subject.
She kind of liked being in charge of herself. Giles gave her some instruction but they were both waiting for her new Watcher to arrive to really take over. So, meanwhile, Faith was on her own.
It wasn't bad.
Waking up on the couch hours later to find Joyce dozing beside her, Faith pushed down the quilt the older woman must have draped over her, and sat up, yawning. The clock over the unused fireplace showed it was just past six in the morning. The sun would be up soon. There didn't seem to be any sign of Buffy and she felt a moment of worry, quickly brushing it aside since she knew the other Slayer could take care of herself and, surely if something had happened, someone would have come to tell Joyce.
Letting herself relax again, Faith looked around the comfy living room, seeing the benefits of having a family, and not just a mom sleeping next to her, waiting up for her little girl to come home.
Until last year, she'd had something like it with Mrs. Cummings, in their little two bedroom apartment in a century old brownstone near the heart of Boston. She'd grown up there, learned to tie her shoes and whittle a stake and make a mean pot roast. In that apartment Faith had snuck her first drink of whisky, her first cigarette, kissed her first boy.
Melancholy swept over her and she forced herself under control before her hands began to tremble.
Silly to miss anything. She was a Slayer. Slayers lived in the now or they died quickly from distraction.
A noise from an awakening Joyce drew her attention back to the present swifter than her own dark thoughts, and she followed the older woman's gaze to the front windows. Joyce hadn't closed the curtains all the way and the porch lights were on illuminating a bit of the yard. Something was fluttering down past the eaves of the porch and the tree in the front yard to the grass.
Something white.
Shocked, Faith jumped to her feet, dimly registering that Joyce was beside her as she headed to the window and pushed back the curtains further.
Snow.
It was snowing.
Unable to stop herself, Faith laughed and heard Joyce join her, before they both moved to the front door and stepped out into a familiar cold. Goose bumps popped up on her arms--a tank top had seemed sensible a few hours before but now it was brisk and she could see her breath and there was snow falling heavily, quickly covering the still-green grass.
In the distance church bells chimed the dawn, but there was no sun showing through the heavy cloud cover, and Faith drew in a deep breath.
It finally smelled like Christmas.
End