For all other info: See Part One
"*YOU*?" Angel asked in shock. "You're the Ghost of Christmas Present?"
"You catch on quickly, huh Dead Boy?" Xander said, taking another big bite out of his Twinkie. "Yeah, I'm here to help you. Of course, I'm not the Xander you know. I'm just the semblance of him." with a quick glance at his Tweety watch, he grabbed Angel's sleeve, and without a word of warning, their surroundings melted and changed to become Buffy's living room. Unprepared, Angel lost his balance and crashed to the floor.
"Whoops." Xander said, insincerity practically dripping from his words.
Looking around, Angel saw Willow, Cordelia, Oz, and the version of Xander that he knew piled onto the couch. Faith was spawled on the floor, listening to her walkman. Willow had the TV remote and was flipping channels absently. Giles walked into the room, cleaning his glasses with a napkin. All four looked at him expectantly as he seated himself in an armchair.
"Buffy's trying to call Angel one last time, than we'll start eating." he said.
"Can't she take a hint?" Cordelia griped, toying with the cuff of her shirt. "She's called like ten times, and he didn't come last year either."
"Ah, but it wouldn't be Christmas without waiting until the food gets cold for the cold-blooded killer to make an appearance." Xander said.
"That's not entirely fair." Willow admonished him lightly.
"Oh, no? Let's think. Buffy invites Angel to Christmas Eve Dinner so that he won't be alone, just like last year. He stands her up, just like last year. She postpones dinner for two hours, hoping that he'll show, just like last year. Then, when he doesn't come or even call, she's depressed. Why does she even bother with him?"
The others looked at him, but none of them answered. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Buffy walked in. Looking at her, Angel could see the sadness in her face that she was trying to hide.
Everyone looked up with guilty expressions on their faces. "Angel?" Cordelia asked.
Buffy tried to smile, but it wasn't a very convincing effort. "He didn't answer his phone, so I guess he's out. Let's eat."
Extracting themselves from their seats, everyone filed out. At the end of the line, Xander put a comforting arm around Buffy's shoulders. She smiled at him in mute thanks as they joined the others.
Watching them, Angel turned to the ghost, who was now scarfing down a box of HoHos. "She might be sorry that I'm not there, but the others are happier for it."
The Ghost grinned at him lopsidedly. "Oh, yes. Happy that it's Christmas Eve and Buffy is depressed?"
Angel glared at him. "Xander was certainly happy that I wasn't around. He's always hated me."
"True," the Ghost agreed, "but have you ever thought *why* he hates you?"
"Because he loved Buffy, but she loved me instead." Angel said.
"In the beginning, yes. But in time that faded. By the time that Buffy's seventeenth birthday rolled around, he could tolerate the relationship, and even, in his way, support it."
"Than now he hates me because of what Angelus did."
"Partially. Xander looks at you, and he sees the monster that hurt his friends. His friends are the most important people in his life, and he remembers how much you hurt them. But he also hates you for what you are now."
"For what I am now?"
"Yes. No matter what you've done, Buffy still loves you, and that means that you can hurt her like no one else, even your alter ego. *You*, Angel, not Angelus. Xander sees Buffy's pain when you stand her up, or her pain when you show. He would do anything to stop that hurt, but he knows that there is nothing he can do. He sees the unconditional love that Buffy holds for you, and he thinks that you don't deserve it."
"You're talking in riddles. If I show up, I hurt her, but if I stay away, I'll hurt her just as much? So what should I do?"
"It's up to you." the Ghost said, and with that the scene faded away, and Angel was back in his own room. "One left to go, Angel. Make the right choice."
Xander faded away, leaving only a few packaging wrappers from his treats. In his place appeared a figure wrapped in a long black cloak. The hood was pulled forward, hiding the face in shadow. Remembering the Dickens story, Angel decided to forgo pulling back the hood.
"So you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? The one that doesn't speak?" he said, his voice cracking slightly. The figure reeked of the tomb and death, and filled Angel with an almost unreasoning terror.
As it had so many other times that day, Angel's room melted away, replaced by the library. The Christmas decorations were up again, but a sense of despair seemed to permeate every corner. Looking around, Angel saw Giles seated at the table, a shot glass and a brandy bottle in front of him. The older man was cradling a bright red stocking in his hands. Angel was surprised to hear a muffled sob come from the Watcher. In a lightening-swift change of mood, Giles swore and threw the glass across the room and into the door, where it exploded into fragments barely a foot away from where Angel was standing.
Jumping, Angel looked automatically at his guide, but the figure remained as remote as ever. Looking back at Giles, he saw the man staring blankly at a wall. Beside him, he felt rather than heard the Ghost turn and begin to walk away. Shaken, Angel followed.
The school hallway faded away, and became the graveyard at night. Looking around, Angel reflexively jerked backwards as the Ghost slowly raised its arm and pointed to a small clump of people gathered around one lone grave. Creeping closer, he recognized Cordelia, Xander, Willow, Faith and Oz. He watched as Xander slowly knelt and placed a small bouquet of lilies on the ground in front of the tombstone. Reaching out, the teenager put an arm around Cordelia, who was sobbing uncontrollably. The group began to walk away, but they paused when Faith didn't follow. She gave them a small smile and then gave a little wave that said, 'I'll be along'. Nodding, the others walked away.
Moving forward, she knelt in front of the marker, reaching out with one hand to lightly brush her fingers over the inscription.
"I don't know what to say, B." the Slayer whispered. "I guess I never really thought that anything would happen to you. You had already lived longer than just about any other Slayer, and you were twice as good as me." Faith smiled wistfully in memory. "I'm going to miss training with you. With you kicking my ass, then showing me what I should do differently next time. But there isn't going to *be* a next time for you. No reset button." tears started to flow down the girl's cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away. "And it was my fault! I got so distracted by that one vamp...and you were handling all the others...and then...and then...Damnit Buffy!" the girl screamed, "Why did you have to babysit me? If you hadn't been watching *both* of our backs, than that vamp would never have gotten in that lucky shot!" she sobbed for several minutes, until the tears slowed, and she looked at the stone again, pensively.
"I remember what you told me that time," she said, "when I asked you how you dealt with the fact that we weren't going to live very long.....and you just looked at me and said, 'Savor the moment'. And then I asked if you meant 'carpe diem', but you shook your head." the young Slayer smiled as she recalled the words of her friend. "You said, 'don't just seize the moment, because that can come around and bite you in the ass. Savor the moment. When you're surrounded by friends, or people who love you, don't clutter it up with worries. Recognize it for the gift that it is. Don't measure your life in years, but in good memories.'" Faith wiped her face as she slowly rose. "I'll try, B, I'll try."
Faith disappeared, and Angel walked slowly over to the front of the tombstone, knowing what would be there.
Completely forgetting the Dickens novel, Angel strode up and yanked the hood back, revealing...nothing. There was nothing in the hood, or the cloak for that matter, and it fell to the ground limply.
"You always were a bit thick, weren't you, Angel?" a sardonic voice came from behind him, and Angel spun to see himself. But not himself. The body was an exact match of his own, but the cold humor behind the eyes and the cruel twist of the mouth belonged to only one being.
Angelus.
"Did you kill her?" Angel asked, unconsciously backing up a step.
"These are shades, fool. Futures that might or might not be. But rest assured," and here the demon smirked, "That tombstone is in every future. As for who killed her," he shrugged carelessly, "it might've been you, it might've been me. For all I care, it might have been that idiot Watcher of hers. This isn't about her *death*," and to Angel's amazement, the figure of Angelus shifted into the figure of Jenny Calendar, "but about her *life*."
"What game are you playing?" Angel asked cautiously, backing away carefully.
"No games." she said, stepping closer to him, "Merely illuminating some things for you. You can spend another century brooding about what you have done, and even though empires might rise and fall, you will remain unchanged." the figure changed again, this time becoming the badly-dressed demon that Angel remembered so well, "That's the easy choice. If you go on that road, it'll just be you and your memories. Just the two of you. Or," the figure of Whistler shifted and melted, becoming Kendra, "Ye kin choose de other path, and live in de world. Dat path is harder and filled wit pain. Dat's because it's *life*, and life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is selling someting." the Slayer's form faded, and became Willow. "But, sometimes, life can be nice. I mean, there's love, and happiness, and there's friendship." Willow's figure faded away, to become Xander. The dark-haired teenager looked at Angel calmly, and said, "So choose." and then he vanished.
Angel woke up at dusk. Twisting around, he realized with relief so profuse it was almost a living entity that it had all been a dream.
~But what a dream..~
Angel sat back against his pillow, and considered his options.
....later that night....
Willow, Cordelia, Oz, and Xander sat piled onto the couch. Faith was spawled on the floor, listening to her walkman. Willow had the TV remote and was flipping channels absently. Giles walked into the room, cleaning his glasses with a napkin. All four looked at him expectantly as he seated himself in an armchair.
"Buffy's trying to call Angel one last time, than we'll start eating." he said.
"Can't she take a hint?" Cordelia griped, toying with the cuff of her shirt. "She's called like ten times, and he didn't come last year either."
"Ah, but it wouldn't be Christmas without waiting until the food gets cold for the cold-blooded killer to make an appearance." Xander said.
"That's not entirely fair." Willow admonished him lightly.
"Oh, no? Let's think. Buffy invites Angel to Christmas Eve Dinner so that he won't be alone, just like last year. He stands her up, just like last year. She postpones dinner for two hours, hoping that he'll show, just like last year. Then, when he doesn't come or even call, she's depressed. Why does she even bother with him?"
The others looked at him, but none of them answered. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Buffy walked in. Looking at her, the group could see the sadness in her face that she was trying to hide.
Everyone looked up with guilty expressions on their faces. "Angel?" Cordelia asked.
Buffy tried to smile, but it wasn't a very convincing effort. "He didn't answer his phone, so I guess he's out. Let's eat."
Extracting themselves from their seats, everyone filed out. At the end of the line, Xander put a comforting arm around Buffy's shoulders. She smiled at him in mute thanks as they joined the others.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Turning, Buffy hurried to answer it as everyone stood in the hallway, looking on curiously. Standing on the front stoop was Angel.
"Sorry I'm late." he said, smiling at her apologetically.
Looking up, Buffy returned the smile. "No, that's alright, come on in."
(fade out as the door closes, and the sounds of general merriment can be heard from inside)
Merry Christmas To All, and To All A Good Night!
{Robyn, what was with that ending?}
{It was a wonderful ending! I wanted to be ambiguous! You know, let the author decide how things went after that}
{You've been reading too much Hawthorne. Now fix it!}
{Nag, nag, nag. Why did I make you my Muse?}
{.....}
The Alternative Ending...
(fade back in, voice of the quickly cast Narrator speaking, who sounds oddly like Gaius Petronius...)
Narrator: Angel was better than his word. He quit brooding and became not only as good a vampire, as good a blood sucker and as good a demon as good 'ole Sunnydale ever knew, or any other vortex, alternate reality or Hellmouth in the good ole world...
And it was always said that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if anyone dead possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us and all of us. And as Giles observed, "Uhhh...I'll have to consult my books..."