So Much
The prompt at still_grrr this week was "Thanksgiving".
So, naturally, I decided to write something angsty and depressed. (I have a very weird brain.)
Here it is...
So Much
Anya is thankful for something involving retail. Like customer loyalty coupons, or something.
Xander is probably mostly thankful for Anya.
You shift, slightly, and try to catch your breath.
Funny, you didn’t even remember it was Thanksgiving tomorrow until the man serving you drinks mentioned it.
Thanksgiving this year was supposed to be the good one.
Everyone there, together and happy, operations and hospitals a distant memory, a huge turkey with walnuts in the stuffing, no fights, no Chumash, no stress, just everyone… together.
Funny how it still seems so possible, inside your head.
Hands move, drawing you closer, and you give in. No point even pretending to resist right now.
Tara will be thankful for good friends, and ice-cream, and flowers, and puppies - something really sappy like that. You still don’t really know Tara all that well. Makes it hard to guess.
Spike’s probably thankful for-
Thanksgiving this year. It should have been so good. All of them, together. All of them, moving on - instead of getting stuck in the past, always, always, trying to bring back things as they were far too long ago.
They would have cooked the turkey together, and it would have been burnt but everyone would have pretended not to care, and after dinner they would have raised their glasses to “loved ones no longer with us”, and they all would have gotten a bit sniffly, and they’d all smile sadly and keep on living, and it would have been all noble and tragic and after-school-special, and that’s what should have happened.
It would have worked.
The band starts another song, slow and sappy. Should have been a fast one. You pretend it is anyway, and don’t slow down at all.
Giles is probably just thankful that he got out before things get even more insane.
He’s sitting on a plane, drinking wine, and feeling really happy because at last he gets to move on…
You really hope Giles is feeling happy about something right now.
A hand grasps the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he pulls you even closer. And you can tell your hair’s coming down - it’ll look really messy in a minute - but it really doesn’t matter at the moment.
Doesn’t matter. What does?
If it hadn’t happened - if none of this had ever happened, then Thanksgiving would be at Mom and Dad’s house tomorrow. With Mom making a mess of the kitchen, and Dad reading out crossword clues and insisting no-one give him the answers, and Dawn dressing up and waiting excitedly for her big sister to get home from college for the whole weekend.
Actually, come to think of it, Dawn wouldn’t be there either.
You grip his coat with both hands, and close your eyes even tighter. Not seeing - just feeling.
What’s Dawn thankful for?
It used to be easy to guess: “lemon and raspberry jell-o from the pier”. That was always her answer, every year since she was three. You’d all say your I’m-thankful-for’s, one by one, and the last one mentioned would always be Dawn and her lemon and raspberry jell-o, and you’d all laugh at your silly tradition together - just like a big mental family hug.
Except now she’s never been to the pier. Can she still be thankful for something when she knows she’s never tasted it?
He bites your bottom lip gently, and you gasp for a moment.
Willow’s probably thankful for constructing the perfect reality - for manipulating everyone into where she wants them, how she wants them, even pulling her best friend out of-
No. You’re not going to do this. You’re not going to take it out on her. She didn’t know.
She should have known.
He’s pushing you back into the side of the stairs. And you wouldn’t care, but there’s a nail sticking out, straight into the wrong part of your back.
Actually, screw that. You still don’t care.
Of course, you could have all been sitting in the hospital right now. No - coming home from it. All together.
And the tv would say that it was Thanksgiving, and no-one would remember if they knew how to cook, but there’d be cookies and soda in the kitchen, and that’d be enough.
And everyone would be thankful for “having names” and “saving Randy” and “each other”, and no-one would know any better.
Or any worse.
Everyone here probably thinks the two of you are together. As in really together, not just right now together. Which makes sense, given that your hands are on his chest and his tongue hasn’t left your mouth for about five minutes, but even though they’re wrong - completely wrong - you really can’t be bothered correcting them right now.
For one thing, you’d actually have to stop long enough for a whole sentence.
Dawn’s thankful for Miss Kitty Fantastico, and the sky, and pizza.
Willow’s thankful for nail polish.
And you? You’re mostly thankful that, right now, none of your friends know who you’re making out with.
So, naturally, I decided to write something angsty and depressed. (I have a very weird brain.)
Here it is...
So Much
Anya is thankful for something involving retail. Like customer loyalty coupons, or something.
Xander is probably mostly thankful for Anya.
You shift, slightly, and try to catch your breath.
Funny, you didn’t even remember it was Thanksgiving tomorrow until the man serving you drinks mentioned it.
Thanksgiving this year was supposed to be the good one.
Everyone there, together and happy, operations and hospitals a distant memory, a huge turkey with walnuts in the stuffing, no fights, no Chumash, no stress, just everyone… together.
Funny how it still seems so possible, inside your head.
Hands move, drawing you closer, and you give in. No point even pretending to resist right now.
Tara will be thankful for good friends, and ice-cream, and flowers, and puppies - something really sappy like that. You still don’t really know Tara all that well. Makes it hard to guess.
Spike’s probably thankful for-
Thanksgiving this year. It should have been so good. All of them, together. All of them, moving on - instead of getting stuck in the past, always, always, trying to bring back things as they were far too long ago.
They would have cooked the turkey together, and it would have been burnt but everyone would have pretended not to care, and after dinner they would have raised their glasses to “loved ones no longer with us”, and they all would have gotten a bit sniffly, and they’d all smile sadly and keep on living, and it would have been all noble and tragic and after-school-special, and that’s what should have happened.
It would have worked.
The band starts another song, slow and sappy. Should have been a fast one. You pretend it is anyway, and don’t slow down at all.
Giles is probably just thankful that he got out before things get even more insane.
He’s sitting on a plane, drinking wine, and feeling really happy because at last he gets to move on…
You really hope Giles is feeling happy about something right now.
A hand grasps the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he pulls you even closer. And you can tell your hair’s coming down - it’ll look really messy in a minute - but it really doesn’t matter at the moment.
Doesn’t matter. What does?
If it hadn’t happened - if none of this had ever happened, then Thanksgiving would be at Mom and Dad’s house tomorrow. With Mom making a mess of the kitchen, and Dad reading out crossword clues and insisting no-one give him the answers, and Dawn dressing up and waiting excitedly for her big sister to get home from college for the whole weekend.
Actually, come to think of it, Dawn wouldn’t be there either.
You grip his coat with both hands, and close your eyes even tighter. Not seeing - just feeling.
What’s Dawn thankful for?
It used to be easy to guess: “lemon and raspberry jell-o from the pier”. That was always her answer, every year since she was three. You’d all say your I’m-thankful-for’s, one by one, and the last one mentioned would always be Dawn and her lemon and raspberry jell-o, and you’d all laugh at your silly tradition together - just like a big mental family hug.
Except now she’s never been to the pier. Can she still be thankful for something when she knows she’s never tasted it?
He bites your bottom lip gently, and you gasp for a moment.
Willow’s probably thankful for constructing the perfect reality - for manipulating everyone into where she wants them, how she wants them, even pulling her best friend out of-
No. You’re not going to do this. You’re not going to take it out on her. She didn’t know.
She should have known.
He’s pushing you back into the side of the stairs. And you wouldn’t care, but there’s a nail sticking out, straight into the wrong part of your back.
Actually, screw that. You still don’t care.
Of course, you could have all been sitting in the hospital right now. No - coming home from it. All together.
And the tv would say that it was Thanksgiving, and no-one would remember if they knew how to cook, but there’d be cookies and soda in the kitchen, and that’d be enough.
And everyone would be thankful for “having names” and “saving Randy” and “each other”, and no-one would know any better.
Or any worse.
Everyone here probably thinks the two of you are together. As in really together, not just right now together. Which makes sense, given that your hands are on his chest and his tongue hasn’t left your mouth for about five minutes, but even though they’re wrong - completely wrong - you really can’t be bothered correcting them right now.
For one thing, you’d actually have to stop long enough for a whole sentence.
Dawn’s thankful for Miss Kitty Fantastico, and the sky, and pizza.
Willow’s thankful for nail polish.
And you? You’re mostly thankful that, right now, none of your friends know who you’re making out with.