December 23rd, 2001

Sunnydale

In his box, he carried a gallon of red wine, six-packs of cheap champagne in cans, and tall bottles of musketel, and ripple.

"Isn't it a conflict of interest to celebrate, ya know?"

In her box, she carried bourbon, whiskey, a huge can of beer with a name she couldn't pronounce, and a hideous decanter meant to look like a famous general but really didn't.

"Not really. I mean, it really just took over from the festival of Mithras. That is, in terms of date celebrated."

Together, they had spent an hour picking out these things just so, fear in their voices, sweat on their faces, anxiously rechecking the lists.

"Xander, how is she?"

He jostled his box, yet it did not drop.

"Tara, you made the right choice. She was out of control. I love her, always have, always will. But we both know she had to hit bottom."

She appeared to trip, but her box seemed in no danger.

"All I can remember is the look on Dawn's face as I left."

He acted as if the bottom on his box were about to fall out.

"All I can remember is the look on Dawn's face as I changed her ace bandage."

For no apparent reason, she shook her box as though it were far too heavy to carry any further.

"I've had nightmares about Willow draining me to get more magic. Then I have nightmares where she needs me, but I can't help her."

His box tipped two ways before he steadied it.

"I've had nightmares where all of them decide that the exclusion they pushed on me during that Hellmouth rising two years back is made permanent, by Willow's suggestion. Then I see Will change into a comic book character named Jean Grey. Short version : That story had a bad ending."

She pointed out a spot, and he agreed by nodding.

"I'm glad she'll always have you."

He sealed his box's top and bottom with duct tape, and then did the same with hers.

"Me she has. You she needs, lady."

As one, the two smashed their boxes upon the ground. The glass inside shattered, and all the hard liquor contained therein leaked out and was wasted. They each spoke in a monotone.

"Wow, Xander. All that booze my parents sent me out to fetch. All their good holiday booze money wasted. You and I are likely due for punishment. From both our families."

"Oh, Tara. I am in so much trouble. Its my job to get the stuff from the liquor store. The owner knows my folks very well, so he lets me carry it. What will they all do without their holiday booze?"

They picked up the boxes they had carried as children and been warned by hellfire torrents of yelling never to drop, spill, break or lose.

"I may not be simon-pure on this garbage. But I am going to fight like hell not to see Christmas through a gin-soak."

He threw his box into the dumpster.

"Festivals of rebirth should not be marked by numbing all your senses. Whatever we celebrate, we reject this notion and all its works."

She threw her box into the dumpster.

They made for Buffy's, where Willow tried hard to keep herself together in the presence of the one she loved, heart, body and soul. Only one incident even broke the surface.

"Tara, I'm totally not accusing or suspecting, or even thinking that you were talking about me. But did something happen between you and Xander?"

It was a secret she took with her when she left this Earth.

"Hmm? Oh, we talked. Had a drink. Reminisced. And yes, we did talk about you. Good-wise talking."

Later that night, Tara and Xander clicked glasses filled with egg-nog dangerous solely for its sugar and fat content. Grief lay ahead and behind, but for then and there they all knew Peace On Earth.