DISCLAIMER: The people belong to Joss, the ghost belongs to Dickens, and the song 'All I Want For Christmas' belongs to whoever did it first, but they've been pretty free with it already anyway.
TIMELINE: Christmas 2000.
SPOILERS: B/A canon, general season 5.
SYNOPSIS: The Ghost of Christmas Future tries to get Buffy and Angel back together.
DISTRIBUTION: Well, it is topical, but if you want it just ask!
FEEDBACK: *Insert undignified, but heartfelt, plea here*.
RATING: PG

Do you have any idea just how frustrating it is to have a couple who you know are so important to the future of well, everything, to have them living barely two hours away from each other, and to have them *hardly ever see each other*?

No. I know you don't. Because *you're* not the Ghost of Christmas Future (of late unwisely involved in the Cupid franchise: Shoot An Arrow, Make A Marriage.)

That's me, if it wasn't clear. (And, by the way, the franchise isn't worth the money; at least for me, I'm working on commission and my shooting skills are somewhat lacking.)

But I was not responsible for the Slayer and the commando boy, I swear. Even I'm not that bad a shot.

* * * * *

I should explain. Once upon a time, there were a couple; a lovely couple, who looked nice together and were very deeply in love, despite some rather huge barriers to the relationship. But, as star-crossed lovers are wont to do, they got past that and were set to have a few perfectly pleasant, if rather danger-heavy, years. And I was set to hang around most of the year and just come out for the run-of-the-mill miserly around Christmas time.

Then someone Up There screwed up (no-one will admit to responsibility for it, but it was January, so it was off my shift). And the Man turned evil and tried to kill the Girl. And then she sent him to hell, and it was truly horrible, and I know because I visited, having nothing else to do. And when he came back, there was awkwardness, and it was *not* perfectly pleasant and eventually he left, and I happen to know they both had fairly crappy Christmases that year.

Though not as bad as the year before that, because he tried to kill himself then.

Anyway, come this year, Up There has decided to do something about this, that is get them back together, and it was decided I would be the representative. (When I say 'decided' I mean some archangel came up with the idea that it should all happen at Christmas because of goodwill towards men - note the no mention of vampires - and the Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present got together and unceremoniously chose me, on the very flimsy grounds of 'it's going to screw the future up if they don't get back together and aren't you still doing the Cupid bit on the side?')

* * * * *

So off I flew (wings. I don't like those new-fangled flying machines.) to California, and what a sight greeted me.

I thought it might be bad, but I never thought it would be *this* bad.

He was obsessed with his newly-revamped sire (don't ask).

She was worried about her mother and her boyfriend was going crazy.

Obviously they were affected more than we thought.

* * * * *

I commenced with the female, a bit of blonde fluff who packed a hell of a punch. (Occasionally on the male, a rather more substantial bit of brown-haired brooding.)

I went with tradition; dreams. Shame we'd have to miss the journey through her whole life, but Past refused to get involved and Present was unavoidably detained with a lawyer in Spain.

I'm ashamed to admit that the dream lent more to my side profession than my calling; lots of fluffy white clouds, soft music from an invisible CD player, worries-left-at-the-door, little lambs frolicking ... okay, maybe there aren't any lambs.

(We will, however, provide champagne by prior arrangement.)

Her dream was, in retrospect, somewhat unconvincing; I believe her prophetic dreams have in the past come in the form of dinky naturalistic scenes, which is unfortunately not my speciality. Not to mention a belief that she and her Destined would never be together that was so deeply entrenched in her that not even the appearance of the Cheese Man (a secret weapon of Those Who Are Not Talked About Up There) was able to shake it.

Those of us from Up There are unable to hear human speech, but many reactions can be gained from careful observation and a speedy if illegal glimpse into their mind, so I was able to deduce from a conversation she held with a friend that she had not found the dream tempting; there were gestures that seemed to suggest 'sweet brown foodstuff' and 'no more before bed'.

I did get something of a result; the Girl split up with her unsuitable partner that day, in an encounter that involved throwing things, fierce scowling and apparently high decibels (her) and crying, begging and hiding of bite marks (him).

He slunk off, packed his bags, and I called Present in to visit him as soon as possible. The boy desperately needs direction.

* * * * *

Satisfied with my effect on the Girl, I turned my attentions to the Man. He is somewhat easier for one of my kind, being naturally untalkative, but I sensed that the dreams were not the way to go here. Whenever he experiences happy dreams involving the Girl, Guilt and Self-Hatred gang up on him with You Wish, Pal to convince him that it is no more than a product of an overactive imagination and an overpowering desire to be with her, with no regard to real life.

Which, of course, it usually is, but it made my job harder.

Until I noticed that his Assistant is one chosen as a Seer. Planting visions is even easier than dreams; they don't have to make as much sense.

I promptly formulated and sent a vision of the Girl and the Man graphically entangled in the odd way humans have (Chapter Five of the Cupid manual: What They're Doing and Why They're Doing It When It Looks So Bloody Uncomfortable). The Assistant was delighted with this vision, waving her arms about at the Man and shouting at him happily.

The Man, bizarrely, took to his bed, without calling the Girl to ask for her presence there with him for some bloody uncomfortableness.

* * * * *

Upset with the failure of my plans (culled from Chapter 4: Divide and Conquer To Get Together: What To Do When Opposites Attract), I consulted the spirits of the Oracles who Man had once looked upon as allies. They were sipping pina coladas and watching lives pass them by on a metaphorical beach Up There.

They explained the turning evil more fully to me and detailed the facts of the curse, which still held and prevented the two from running back to each other in slow-motion slushy-movie fashion. Upset, I asked whose idea this was and received the reply 'it was ineffable', which is the celestial equivalent of 'someone agreed to it but we can't make out the signature'.

* * * * *

So I began to plan anew (Volume 2, From Break-Up To Make-Up: How To Proceed When Things Look Bleak) and came up with the unbeatable plan to banish the troublesome part of the Man's curse and get them together while it was still Christmas break and she was away from university (Chapter 1: Times In Their Lives When They Can Manage It For Themselves).

I appeared as an angel to a high-profile shaman, who genuflected in quite an unfamiliar manner for a shaman, who usually believe themselves to be the pinnacle of evolution (not uniquely, I might add). Presumeably this one was a sinner.

I told him of my holy mission (Cupid Rule four: Lying is okay in the name of love) and he eagerly agreed to cast the binding spell I required. He looked somewhat uneasy when I stayed around to watch him do it, but stay I did and cast it he did.

I sent another vision to the Assistant, assuming she would pass the message on.

* * * * *

I was reliably informed by a Cupid junior (Up There is stingy with the PAs, which is where a side job comes in useful) that she had; and yet still the Man made no moves to reclaim the Girl.

At this point, I sent a six-point memo to the Metatron (the vice-president of the Powers That Be) detailing my many issues with this case, stating that I was not a one-Ghost dating agency, and was this couple really so crucial as to take me away from my given position?

The reply stated simply 'yes'. And that I may not be Cupid by calling, but he happens to know I am by chosen trade, which blew that argument.

I said, then was I allowed to take advantage of that trade?

He said, to do whatever the glory I wanted but by heaven do it fast and do it well.

I spent three days in target practice, and returned to the Girl filled with new vigour (Rule 1: If you don't enjoy getting them together, they won't enjoy being together!).

* * * * *

A pretext is always an simple thing to create for such a busy and absent-minded creature as the common human; here, the Man did not run far from the Girl before settling and it was easy to subtly nudge her into a present choice for her best friend, the Witch, that she could find only in L.A.

It was equally easy to nudge him into a restless wander of the streets of L.A. Thank Them for late-night shopping.

It was a shame that, while watching over the Girl, I lost sight of the Man, and next time I went to look for him, he was gone.

It *shouldn't* be easy to lose a distinctive male figure, a vampire with a soul, Destined of the Chosen One; even in such a large city. I returned my arrows to my quiver, returned to the Girl and frantically induced her to follow me while I searched for her mate, though of course *she* thought she was searching for an obscure book on witchcraft.

* * * * *

I eventually caught the faintest tang of depressed vampiric brooding, surrounded by a selection of other demon traces, explaining why he wasn't immediately findable.

I hurried the Girl through to where I sensed him, noting with dismay that I was leading her into worse and worse areas. A Slayer is well able to take care of herself, but I worried for her.

Soon, all was explained. A bar owned and frequented by demons is better off in places humans fear to tread - most people will never see, and those who do won't care.

Again, I worried over the Slayer; she is small and young-looking and I hoped she had some sort of fake ID, or I would be orchestrating the reunion of the Promised Two in an atmospheric dingy alley (Chapter 6: Preferred Locations For Reunions Of Long Separated Lovers and that is not one of them). This is more of a problem than it might seem; there is a protocol for these things. Reports must be written. In triplicate. And many humans consider it to be nice if they have stories to tell their grandchildren.

It transpired that the Host of the bar was an empathic demon; recognising the Girl as a Slayer, he let her in without trouble, and I prepared an arrow to flame her senses and alight her desire for the moment when she saw the Man.

It came; her gaze swept the bar, ending at the small table in the corner where he sat disconsolately, a nearly-full glass of intoxicant on the table before him.

Their eyes met and locked, and a chorus of angels sang.

Well, alright, *I* sang, keeping in time with the customer singing 'It's Not Unusual' loudly and badly. We did Tom Jones' life one Christmas.

I could almost see him wondering what she was doing there and vice versa, and I could almost see the powerful emotion flowing between them as identically slow, disbelieving, loving smiles spread across their faces.

I saw the connection broken as the demon stood in front of her and tried to hand her the microphone, presumably requesting that she sing; I could make out her instant denial from the large step back, hasty waving of hands and pushing away of the mike.

Then the Man sauntered over and deftly interposed himself between them.

I saw the Host's pleased agreement with whatever he said, and the Girl's terror as he took the microphone and her hand and pulled her up to the stage after him.

She squinted out over the expectant audience and asked him something -he laughed and shook his head. She hit him gently on the chest, asking him something else, and he grabbed her hand and kissed it gently.

It seemed to take the fight out of her, letting in the pleasure she felt at his presence. Smiling at him brilliantly, she let their interlaced hands drop between them and placed her other hand over his on the microphone.

And they sang.

Music is very close to magick, in some ways. Spelling, for one. And that is why the human voices we cannot usually hear become clear when raised in song.

Even raised as badly as these two.

"I don't want a lot for Christmas, there's just one thing I need, I don't care about presents underneath the Christmas tree, I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come true... all I want for Christmas is you..."

They sang, perfectly synchronised, their voices melding to make a sound that, if not exactly tuneful, wasn't too bad. Most of all I watched, seeing their energies mix even as their voices did, complementing each other. Completing each other.

"I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need, I don't care about presents underneath the Christmas tree, I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace, Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas day, I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is you... you baby,"

As the pace rose they stumbled over the words, laughing together, which I know hasn't always been a feature of their relationship.

"I won't ask for much this Christmas, I won't even wish for snow, I'm just gonna keep on waitingunderneath the mistletoe, I won't make a list and send it to the North Pole for Saint Nick, I won't even stay awake to hear those magic reindeer click, 'cause I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight, what more can I do, baby all I want for Christmas is you..."

As they sang, they turned instinctively to each other, their eyes finding each other's again, pulling them into their own world where they sang only to each other.

Though I don't think that was previously a feature of the relationship, either.

"All the lights are shining so brightly everywhere, and the sound of children's laughter fills the air, and everyone is singing, I hear those sleigh bells ringing, Santa won't you bring me the one I really need - won't you please bring my baby to me..."

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and her voice faltered. Concerned, he stopped too, brushing her tears away before they could fall, murmuring to her, soft words of comfort that were lost to me.

We can't hear. But we can read lips.

I knew when he professed his love for her, and saw the beam that graced her lips before she returned his love and they shared it in a long, romantic kiss.

I put away my arrow once more and flew from the heartwarming scene, content.

Once that one, crucial kiss was shared, the ending was a given; they had many happy Christmases together. I guarantee it as the Ghost of Christmas Future (Cupid elect).

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