QuotEstisInConvivio

Disclaimer: Buffy, Giles, Dawn, Joyce and the rest of the characters and situations relating to �Buffy the Vampire Slayer� are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB Network. No ownership by the author is either intended or implied.

Notes on �Quot Estis in Convivio�: I wrote this story prior to this past Tuesday�s episode, so it�s set out of time with the series, but luckily not as much as yesterday�s. The quote is from �The Boar�s Head Carol� (a song which is basically an ode to gluttony) and means �To All Our Gathered Company.� Also, everything in italics is a flashback. And on a personal note, I just want to wish everyone the happiest of holidays, and many blessings and happiness in the New Year.
Suggested Soundtrack: The Christmas Attic, by The Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

Feedback: It would be the best present ever!

Archive: Please email me first.

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On the road the frost is glistening
People stream from midnight Mass
Friendly candles glow in windows
Strangers greet you as you pass
Come now to the laden table
Ham and goose and pints of beer
Pass the whiskey round in tumblers
Christmas comes but once a year
-�Christmas Comes But Once a Year� (Amer. Trad.)

"Hi, Giles," Buffy said, holding the door open for her watcher.

"Merry Christmas," Giles answered as he entered. "How's everything going?"

"Pretty well," Buffy told him, leading the way into the living room. Dawn was lounging in front of the TV, watching "A Muppet Christmas Carol."

"Hey, Mr. Giles," she said, giving a distracted wave.

"Hello, Dawn. Merry Christmas."

"Dinner should be ready in about an hour," Buffy said. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll take some eggnog," Dawn said.

"I was speaking to our guest," Buffy told her.

"Eggnog sounds very nice," Giles said, taking off his jacket. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No, everything's under control," Buffy said, walking to the kitchen.

Giles followed behind. "And how is your mother?"

"Tired," Buffy said. "She's upstairs resting now. But she's doing better."

"I'm glad to hear it," Giles said. "I've been rather worried, what with everything else..." He lowered his voice. "And how is Dawn holding up through all this?"

"She's okay," Buffy said. "Now that we know Mom's going to get better instead of worse. She really has been a big help with all the holiday things. Totally a little trooper."

"Whatcha' reading?" Dawn asked, coming into the kitchen to find Buffy with a stack of books and a notepad.

"The Joy of Cooking."

Dawn's brow furrowed in confusion. "Is that for a class?"

"No, it's for Christmas dinner," Buffy said. "I invited Giles over. How does a nice roast beef and baked potatoes sound? Maybe some frozen peas and carrots on the side?"

Dawn slid into a chair beside her sister, and picked up one of the other books, "Meals in Thirty Minutes."

"I thought we were supposed to have turkey on Christmas," she said.

"I'm looking for something easy," Buffy said. "Something I can just shove in the oven and ignore till it's done."

"You made turkey last Thanksgiving," Dawn pointed out.

"Yes, and we all learned a little lesson from that, didn't we," Buffy said. "If this ends up being a Buffy Christmas, I don't want to be worrying about anything burning."

"That's a beautiful tree," Giles remarked, returning to the living room.

"I decorated it," Dawn said. "Well, after Xander helped us put on the lights."

"Is he coming for dinner?" Giles asked.

"I think he and Anya are spending time together," Buffy said. "She said something about seeing enough of us the rest of the time."

Dawn rolled her eyes.

"How much time to you have off from school, Dawn?" Giles asked.

"I go back January second," the younger girl said. "But I'm thinking of taking some time off to help Mom out while she gets better."

"I don't think you need to skip school to help Mom watch video rentals," Buffy said.

Dawn made a small pout. "You were just saying what a big help I've been."

Buffy wrestled the shopping cart up the vegetable aisle of the supermarket, trying to avoid the bins of apples and onions strewn about like land mines. The front wheel was permanently misaligned, and Buffy wondered if it would be an abuse of her slayer powers to bend the wretched thing into so much scrap metal.

She carefully picked through the potato display, choosing four large baking ones and checking them off her list. Dawn was a short way off, selecting some tangerines and putting them in a bag.

"Dawn," Buffy called. "What are you getting tangerines for?"

"To put in the stockings," Dawn said. "You know, down in the toe."

Buffy felt a small pang at that. She'd almost forgotten; she and Dawn would have to be Santa this year.

The two sisters turned into the canned foods aisle, Buffy searching for gravy. Dawn poked through the soup cans, trying to keep herself entertained through this exercise. "Look at this," she said, holding up a can of cream of mushroom. "This has a recipe on the back for green bean casserole. It doesn't look that hard."

Buffy pursed her lips, about to voice some protest about this being an easy meal.

"I'll make it," Dawn pressed.

"Give it here," Buffy said.

Joyce entered the dining room, still in her pajamas and housecoat, just as the girls were setting the table. She wore a soft, floppy velvet hat, a Christmas gift from Dawn, to hide her still-healing scalp. Dawn had explained when her mother had opened it that she'd gotten it from one of the hospital volunteers, who made them specifically for cancer patients, and Buffy had to admit, even bearing that in mind, it was flattering in a funky, stylish way.

"Can I do anything to help," Joyce asked.

"Nope," Buffy said. "Everything's way under control."

Dawn put down her stack of plates and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. Joyce stroked her daughter's long hair, and Dawn looked up at her.

"Do you want something to drink?" she said. "Mr. Giles is having eggnog in the living room."

"I think I just want a little orange juice," Joyce said. She gave a pronounced sniff. "Dinner smells really wonderful. It must have taken you forever."

"Oh, days, anyway," Buffy said.

"Can we make Victory Cookies?"

Buffy looked up from where she was putting the fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator's crisper. "What?"

"You know... Grandma's Victory Cookies," Dawn said, and Buffy remembered.

Somewhere in her mother's kitchen cabinets was a binder with carefully preserved magazine pages from McCall's December 1943 issue. They had first been cut out by their grandmother, then a girl herself. The recipes on them had been developed with wartime shortages in mind, with numerous versions of each recipe depending on the availability of sugar or eggs.

After the war, she had kept them as a curiosity, and as time went on, a conversation piece. Joyce told how she and her friends in the liberated 70s had laughed at the language around the recipes, like "a good hostess can serve these Victory Stars with pride, even to her husband's boss."

Then, when Grandma had passed away, her daughter found the faded pages, seeing her own mother's handwritten comments in the margins, from childish notes like "these are good" to the grown woman's "subst. dates for raisins" and "use 3/4 cup veg. oil inst. of lard."

Joyce had put the pages in plastic folders, and brought them down every Christmas to whip up a batch or two of Victory Stars or Oatmeal Victory Delights.

�Allow me,� Giles said, taking the carving knife and fork from Buffy and quickly slicing the roast beef.

Buffy moved to the other serving dishes, spooning vegetables out for her mother before passing them on to Dawn.

�Shall we pray?� Dawn asked softly.

�Let me,� Joyce said, reaching for her daughters� hands. They each held hers, then took Giles�s hands to complete the circle around the table.

�I am so thankful that I�ve been blessed with two strong daughters and good friends to help me through this crisis,� Joyce said. �May the coming year bring us more happiness and good fortune.�

�And thank you for making Mom well,� Dawn added.

�Amen,� Buffy said.

After the meal was over and the dishes cleared, Giles met Buffy in the kitchen. �It�s so strange,� he said softly, so that Joyce and Dawn, looking through family pictures in the living room, wouldn�t overhear. �I remember the past few years with Dawn in our lives so vividly, and yet intellectually I know this is her first Christmas.�

�I know,� Buffy said. �I�ve spent the past week nostalgic for family traditions that don�t really exist.� She set the last of the silverware in the drainboard to dry. �I try not to think about it too much. I want to make it good for her.�

�It�s an important thing you�re doing, Buffy,� Giles told her. �And I believe the rewards will be worth all the challenges.�

Buffy glanced through to where Dawn was curled on the couch beside her mother, the girl�s dark head resting against Joyce�s shoulder.

�I know it�s worth it,� she said.

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Epilogue:

Buffy slowly climbed the stairs to her room. She was tired, but as Xander would say, it was a good tired. She was glad Giles had come for dinner; he knew so many stories to keep them all entertained, he and Joyce were of a common era and could reminisce about the past, and he and Dawn even seemed to be warming up to one another.

Her mother had gone to bed early, still tiring quickly during her recovery period, and Dawn and Buffy had stayed up with Giles, telling stories of childhood Christmases. Dawn had even convinced the normally reserved Watcher to sing a few traditional carols the two Americans were unfamiliar with.

Buffy continued to talk shop with Giles for a bit after Dawn went to bed, and finally he�d begged off, as well. The Slayer promised to catch up with him at the Magic Box the next day, and the two bid each other Merry Christmas and good night.

Buffy opened her bedroom door and, without turning on the light, changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed.

Rolling onto her side, she slid one hand beneath her pillow and felt something strange. She sat up and pulled it out, flicking on her nightstand light.

It was a package, only a little larger than her hand, wrapped in sparkly blue paper. Carefully she undid the wrapping.

Inside was a small velvet box in deep blue, stitched with pale golden thread. Buffy opened the box to find a cobalt crystal bottle filled with perfume.

She held it up to the light, examining the tiny writing on the label. �Night Adores Her,� it read, and below that, even smaller, �Branch & Sons, Perfumers, London.� She opened the stopper and sniffed at it, gingerly.

If asked to describe the aroma she�d have called it �mysterious,� or maybe �exotic.� There was the cool scent of night-blooming flowers, and below that, teasing her nose, a sensuous musk. It was oddly evocative of secret desires, this perfume. She touched some to her wrists and throat, then replaced the stopper, looking it over again, wondering who could have left it for her.

Outside, on the street below, a creature of the night, his own senses hundreds of times sharper than any human�s, even one as formidable as the Slayer, caught the scent as it drifted out the open window and caught on the breeze.

�What do you think?� the chemist said, his voice barely audible for his fear.

The vampire, his face a twisted mockery of humanity, bared his fangs in the human�s direction, and lifted the glass jar to his face. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, unneeded breath which he let out with a sigh of delight. �You�ve done it,� he said. �You�ve captured her essence.� He took another deep breath. �Yes, my Black Princess. My night-blooming rose.�

�Then you won�t�� Thomas Branch couldn�t bring himself to say the words aloud.

�A genius like you?� the vampire said. �I wouldn�t deprive the world.� His face shifted back to its human visage, settling into smooth, handsome planes. �I daresay this will make generations of your family quite wealthy. One could say you actually owe me, now.�

He imagined he was touching her throat himself, drawing his sensitive fingertips over her white flesh, burning beneath his cold hand.

He imagined nuzzling that soft throat, drawing in the scent of �Night Adores Her� mingled with her own particular essence.

�Why aren�t you wearing the perfume I bought you, pet?�

�That garbage?� Darla snapped. �I made her throw that cheap trash away.�

Spike bristled. �Cheap��

�Ridiculous. Bringing her trinkets like she was a weak, mortal girl. It�s embarrassing.�

Spike ignored her. �Drusilla��

But the dark vampiress only shrugged. �Grandmama knows best,� she said.

Spike stared a moment longer, until the light snapped off, and he heard the whisper of sheets drawn up over the girl�s body.

Then he turned, and walked into the darkness.

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