TITLE: Ghosts of Christmas Past
SERIES: Ice and Fire (Part 10/12)
AUTHOR: Kerry Blackwell
DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX and Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I own only my genius (yeah, right!)
FEEDBACK: Well, I'm certainly not going to complain! :-)

SPOILER WARNING: New Zealand, Australian and UK readers, I'm very, very sorry but this chapter contains a pretty big spoiler for episode three of season six of Buffy. I didn't mean to put in any spoilers at all, but like the earlier one, this just came along and HAD to go into the story. The tale would be diminished without it. If you know nothing, it might go straight past you, but it might not as well and I don't want to spoil it for you. So I've made the warning and I leave it up to you to decide whether you want to take the risk or not. Again, huge apologies, because I meant this to be something everyone could enjoy.

"Dessert?" Cordelia asked rhetorically as she looked down the length of the table at her guests.

"Gaargh," Wesley managed to mutter.

"No way," Gunn mumbled.

"Thank you very much, but no," Angel added.

There were various nods and head shakes from around the rest of the table, with two noticeable exceptions.

Little Jeremy was sound asleep in the high chair.

"Ice cream!" Miri declared happily.

"Later," Susan told her firmly. "We'll have dessert later, and you can have ice cream then."

"But..." Miri pouted and her mother ignored her easily.

"Come on, kiddo," Hazel offered. "How about Joy and I help you explore your new doll house Gran and Grandad gave you?"

Ice cream was immediately forgotten. "Okay." Miri climbed out of her seat and grabbed Hazel's hand. "Come on!" Hazel flicked a vaguely apologetic glance at Joy and allowed herself to be dragged.

Joy stood up obediently. "Sorry, Aunt Cordy," she said, sounding the exact opposite. "Looks like I'm booked. You'll have to get someone else to help you clear up."

"Go," Cordelia told her with a chuckle. "I've got lots of other people here I can volunteer."

"Aunty Joy!" Miri's voice called from somewhere along the corridor and Joy waved at the rest of the room and disappeared.

Buffy stood. "I'll help." Movement from across the table caught her attention and she stopped. "Fred, are you okay?" She'd been watching Fred, aware that the other woman had been even more twitchy than usual over the course of the meal. She was feeling a little antsy herself - in a way she hadn't felt since the day she'd stopped being the Slayer - and she was worried about her friend.

Fred looked up, the trace of something wild in her eyes. "Yes," she agreed too quickly. "Yes, I... I just need..." She shook her head once, sharply. "I need to... go."

Before Buffy could react any further, Fred had stood and walked out of the room. Buffy watched her thoughtfully for a moment. "Rupert, you help Cordy," she said finally. "I'm going after Fred."

"Leave her alone, Buffy," Angel said gently. "She still finds Christmas hard."

"Yeah," Gunn agreed. "Just let her have some space."

Buffy shook her head. "She's right. I... I need to go, too." She gave Giles a confused look. "I don't know, I just..." She shook her head, not realising it was exactly the same gesture Fred had made moments before. "I'm going after Fred," she said firmly. "Everyone else clear the table and stuff and we'll both be back for dessert."

"Are you sure, love?" Giles asked gently. "Do you want me to come?"

"No. This is something about me and Fred. We'll be fine."

Her husband took her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. "Go, then. Be careful."

Buffy nodded and left the room.

There was no longer any sign of Fred, but somehow it didn't matter. Buffy knew exactly which way the other woman had gone and she followed the feeling. It took her up the stairs to the second floor, past the bedroom where she and Giles had slept the night before, past the door to the little room Miri had proudly shown off last night, calling it her 'princess room'. She walked on towards the back of the house.

It was there, in the back passage, that she found Fred.

"It's in the attics," Fred said, speaking without turning. "Can you feel it?"

"I can feel it," Buffy agreed. "I don't know what it is, but I can feel it."

"It doesn't feel bad," Fred added. "Just..."

"It's like an invitation," Buffy said quietly. "Shall we answer it?"

Fred nodded and they walked the length of the passageway together. They turned the corner to the attic staircase and stopped.

Two people were sitting on the narrow stairway, waiting for them. The woman sat further up the steps, non-existent light falling gently on her honey-blonde hair. The man was younger and sat below her. Tall and gangly, there was a sense of grace about him Together, they seemed to shed an aura of peace about themselves.

When they smiled, it was like someone had turned on a light. A warm, gentle light that washed you in its presence, soothing away all your hurts and pains and heartache, leaving nothing but light and joy and peace.

"Wesley," Fred finally breathed softly.

And, as if that had broken a spell, Buffy could move again. She lifted a hand, let it fall again in disbelief. "Mom," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy," Joyce Summers said gently.

"Merry Christmas, Fred," echoed Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, his gaze, his smile only for his wife.

Fred could only stand there, unsure if this was a miracle or a cruel joke. It looked like him, it sounded like him, she was close enough to know it even smelled like him.

But Wesley was dead. He'd been dead for a long time. Unable to help herself, she smiled, unaware that her eyes were full of tears. He looked exactly as he had when they left the mall all those years ago, racing for home before they got soaked, protecting the package that had been their reason for going out at all on Christmas Eve. It had been a gift for Gunn - one he thought she had bought already, and she thought he had bought already. She still had it; she brought it with her every Christmas and she'd never yet been able to give it away. It was the only connection she had to her last moments with Wesley.

Except that Wesley was here in front of her, his darling, awkward smile on his face and all the love they had ever shared in his eyes.

"Is it really you?" Fred asked tremulously. "Because you're dead."

"Yes, I'm dead," he agreed. He managed to shift his gaze from his wife for long enough to smile at Buffy. "We're both dead."

"Mom," Buffy said again, unable to get her brain to move past that single, small word that meant so much.

""Buffy, it's me," her mother promised gently.

"How?" Buffy whispered.

"The Powers let us come," Wesley answered. "And it's this house. There was an open invitation made here once - that any spirit of goodwill would be welcome here during the season of goodwill."

"Christmas," Joyce added, seeing a familiar, puzzled look on her daughter's face.

"We were granted permission to join you," Wesley continued. "Just for today, because of love shared and duties fulfilled." He stood finally, walked down the last step and stopped in front of Fred. "They are greatly appreciated, all the sacrifices made and responsibilities taken by everyone gathered in his house. It's time you all knew that."

"Is it a good place?" Buffy asked quietly. "Where you are?"

Joyce stood too, and walked over to her daughter. "Oh, honey," she said softly. "Don't you remember?" She reached out her hand to cup Buffy's cheek, flesh touching flesh, and in that moment of contact Buffy could remember it all.

Happiness. Peace. Feeling warm, loved, completed. Being herself without the restrictions of form and flesh, knowing those she loved were safe and well.

Love and peace and perfection.

Finished and completed as she was meant to be.

And then the knowledge was gone again as Joyce's hand fell. But this time it didn't leave a gaping hole inside her. Instead it was a promise, a glimpse of completion that she knew she'd never really see again, even as she was warmed by that something she couldn't remember for the rest of her days.

"It's a good place." Joyce answered the question, but Buffy didn't need to hear the words anymore. She _knew_.

Despite that brush on the cheek, Buffy found she was afraid to attempt to touch her mother, afraid her hand would just pass through empty air. Joyce sensed it, knew it somehow. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, catching her in a mother's hug. Buffy remembered hugging her own children when she had arrived last night and found herself crying, overwhelmed by the wonder of being hugged that way again herself.

"Dawn," she whispered at last. "You have to come and see Dawn."

"I know," Joyce agreed softly. "And everyone. I want to hold my grandchildren for once. And my great-grandchildren." She laughed. "What have you done to me, Buffy? You've made me a great grandmother."

"Bet you never thought that would happen," Buffy said with a chuckle.

"I had my doubts," Joyce admitted. "Now it's Dawn I wonder about."

"No," Buffy said seriously. "I don't think there will be any children for Dawn."

"So long as she's happy."

"Let's go down and you can ask her."

"I'd like that," Joyce agreed.

"Fred?" Buffy asked.

Fred looked up into Wesley's eyes. "We'll be down soon," she told Buffy.

Her friend laughed. "Take all the time you want." She reached out and took her mother's hand as if she was six years old again. "We'll be waiting for you."

She glanced back at the end of the corridor and was unsurprised to see Fred being soundly kissed by her husband. She tried to imagine what it would be like to see Rupert again after such a separation, and found it was impossible. He was such a part of her; they had become entwined, like two trees, their branches twisting together as they grew.

_Poor Fred,_ she thought. _She never had that chance._

Joyce squeezed her fingers, as if she knew exactly what Buffy was thinking, and Buffy smiled.

As they walked down the main stairs together, Buffy wondered if joy could break a heart, because hers felt like it was bursting.

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