Yes! and the bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!
Giles sprang up from his duvet and grabbed the stereo remote control, flipping through the stations searching in vain for one that conveyed speech not music. All were playing festive songs, however that served as no confirmation of the fact Giles sought, such melodies had been broadcast for weeks. At last a voice broke in over a fading tune:
‘A classic Slade song there, and as Noddy Holder said, iiiittttttTTTSS CHRISTMAS! We’ll be back in a moment with more essential tracks for a rockin’ Christmas morning…’
Giles started to laugh, really, for a man who had been so out of practice, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
‘It's Christmas Day!' said Giles to himself, glad for the first time in forty years that it was so. ‘I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. So can I. I can change.’
He snatched up his wallet and keys intending to begin at that very moment, then caught sight of himself in the mirror. He felt amazing, high on the sheer pleasure of existence, drunk on the sensation of being fully awake without being weighed down by the toxic shimmer of fatigue. He looked awful. Clothes that had been neat and smart more than twenty-four hours ago were now hopelssly rumpled and he needed to attend to both his hair and the stubble on his face.
Sometime later Giles emerged from the bathroom and had cause to pause a while before dressing. For so long he had unthinkingly worn the suits, ties and waistcoats that befitted a man of his status, but today, oh this wonderful and unusual day, Giles did not desire to be the Head of the Council of Watchers, only himself. So he chose his garments with care, selecting the jeans, shirt and boots whose casual nature and lighter colours were more suited for a man at his leisure. Finally he opened a small box, and after a couple of attempts succeeded in applying the correct force necessary to drive the stud he took from it through the almost closed over hole in his left earlobe.
Confident in his appearance, euphoric with a fantastic sense of well-being, Giles pulled on his heavy, black winter coat, and went out into the streets to search for a taxi. There was no fog and no mist, but clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; golden sunlight, a heavenly sky, sweet fresh air and merry church bells. It was a truly glorious morning. So much so that it seemed almost a shame to hide from it in the back of a cab, though Giles had to for there was somewhere he needed to be.
‘Hither Green,’ he ordered the driver. ‘Via the first open off-license you can find.’
********************
Drawing up outside the house in which the ghosts had shown him love, saddness and death, Giles gave the bemused taxi driver a colossal tip then knocked at the door. Feeling suddenly mischievous, he drew himself up to his full height, gathered his coat around him and adopted a most intimidating expression, so that on answering the summons, the welcoming smile was wiped off Xander’s face when he looked upon the forbidding cause of the disturbance.
‘Mister Harris,’ intoned Giles coldly. ‘You were not at work today.’
‘You gave everyone the day off.’
‘Does that sound like something that I would do?’
Xander stepped forward, pulling the door behind him as if to shield those within from his words.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ he said, his tone every bit as hostile as Giles’. ‘On account of you having lost your mind. Jeez, Giles. Do you even know how much of a psycho you’ve turned into? When are you going to lighten the hell up?’
‘Actually I thought today would be rather a good time to start,’ said Giles with a grin. ‘Am I still invited to dinner?’
Xander froze momentarily, puzzled by the hugely unexpected outcome of their exchange. Then the corners of his lips twitched up in a tentative smile.
‘Sure. Always good to have you around.’
Xander ushered Giles in, took his coat, eyebrows skyrocketing when he noticed what the man he had loved as a friend and more recently despaired of as a boss was wearing.
‘Giles is here,’ called out Xander in a voice slightly higher than usual. ‘And he’s in no way acting like a crazy person.’
Dawn and Willow jumped up off the couch.
‘Giles!’ Willow yelled making as if to throw her arms around him, then pausing and looking almost shy. ‘We’ve missed you, but I understand that there’s lots of people at the Council now, so we’re not going to get any special treatment, which is fair and professional. Which we are, professional that is,’ Willow displayed her ‘resolve’ face. ‘In fact you shouldn’t even be here. Favouritsm is bad and we want to be good…’
‘Willow,’ said Giles gently. ‘You’re talking utter rubbish.’
‘Oh yeah,’ murmured Willow as she let Giles pull her into a hug, he then handed her a bag, inside of which bottles clinked together.
‘Champagne, I felt it might be needed. After all it is a frabjous day, is it not?’
Giles addressed his last comment to Dawn, who looked surprised then elated as she threw herself at him.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ asked Dawn disappointed.
‘Nah-uh. Looks like you owe me some sweet cashola,’ said Xander.
‘What is going on?’ said Giles confused.
‘Dawn bet that you’d pretty much freak out when you saw her hair. But I had faith in your ability to play it cool, G-man.’
Giles had quite forgotten that only to him was this the last of several meetings, the rest of which had taken place under the guidance of the ghosts. In reality a significant swathe of time had passed since last he’d seen Dawn. He looked over the bleached spikes, lamenting the loss of the long dark tresses that had looked so sweet. It occurred to him that the image of Dawn he had carried was that of someone much younger, for she was most assuredly grown-up. Giles felt a surge of paternal over-protectionism.
‘Erm. Am I supposed to hate it?’
‘Totally,’ replied Dawn with satisfaction.
‘How fortunate.’
‘Buffy’s in the kitchen,’ said Xander. ‘You should go say hi.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Willow with the enthusiasm of one who wants all to be well. ‘You should definitely see Buffy.’
Buffy was crouched over an open oven, spooning the juices that drained from it as it cooked, over a fine, plump turkey. The fan of the oven noisy enough for her not to hear Giles walk in and lean up against the table a little way behind her. When the turkey was in need of no further ministration Buffy shut the oven door and so Giles spoke:
‘Hello.’
‘Giles,’ Buffy turned around and regarded him critically. ‘Woah - not Giles.’
‘It is me, I promise.’
Buffy drew closer.
‘You didn’t get possessed or turned or anything did you?’ she enquired without seriousness.
Giles proffered an upturned wrist so she could check his pulse.
‘You’re alive - it’s official.’
‘That’s good to know,’ he said. ‘I’ve had my fill of ghosts.’
The Watcher smiled down at his Slayer: determined to ensure that she would forgive his prolonged lapse in attention towards her and abandon her deception of patrolling alone. It was Christmas Day, a magnificent, splendid, wonderful day during which miracles can and did happen. To Giles there was no greater miracle than realising that he wasn't alone and that his family had been waiting for him.
'Buffy, I'm sorry.'
********************
So it was that Giles took the first step towards a long and happy life. The abhorrent nature of the future the final ghost had shown him, did not transpire, nor did Giles ever speak of it. Adapting his account of the night that changed his life so completely in order that the fine detail of that last, otherworldly encounter went without elaboration.
Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to be secure in the excellence of his work and bliss of his home: his own heart laughed and that was quite enough for him.
Giles had no further intercourse with spirits, but not a day went past when he did not give thanks for their intervention. And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! God bless us, Every One!
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