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“So let me get this straight,” Jenny says as she hangs gold tinsel on the library’s banisters, “I was sick for three days, and in that time, you all got brainwashed by eggs with tentacles into slaving away for a giant parasite under the school?”
“And this surprises you because ...?” Giles says wryly from where he’s trying to untangle fairy lights.
Jenny shrugs. “Good point. It would have been weirder if things had stayed uneventful. Hey, thanks for still taking the time to bring me soup.”
“Well, you know. Priorities.”
“That, and he didn’t get eggy-brained until the last day,” Buffy adds. She’s sitting at the table, wearing a Santa hat and cutting out paper snowflakes. Beside her is a giant box of Christmas decorations, gathered by Jenny and now the property of Sunnydale High School. “So that soup was probably store-bought.”
“Would it kill you to let me retain some dignity for once?” Giles asks her.
“Probably,” Buffy chirps.
Jenny smirks.
“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” he adds chivalrously to Jenny.
“Right back atcha, egg tentacle brain.” She kisses his cheek, ignoring Buffy’s theatrical shudder. ‘Now, let’s get started.”
“I still firmly maintain that this is completely unnecessary.”
“Not if you ask Principal Snyder. We’re starting a ‘new tradition,’ remember?” Jenny’s enthusiasm levels are right about nonexistent. The rest of the Sunnydale High faculty weren’t too psyched either at last week’s staff meeting, which made holiday cheer officially mandatory for anyone on the payroll.
Giles rolls his eyes. “Does the man really think that covering the school in—in tacky red and green decor will just miraculously make everyone forget the neverending slew of on-campus deaths?”
“Look.” Buffy unfolds one of her paper snowflakes. “Look how pretty!”
Jenny points to the snowflake with a ‘how do you argue with that?’ expression.
Giles huffs.
Jenny laughs at his stuffiness. “Far be it from me to agree with the little rat man, but come on, Rupert. It’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 3rd.”
“There’s nothing wrong with trying to create a more inviting atmosphere around here.”
“If it’s inviting, then more people will come in. Not precisely the ideal outcome when your library’s a front for a demonic emergency conference room.”
“Huh,” says Jenny thoughtfully.
“He makes a good point,” Buffy acknowledges.
“He does,” Jenny agrees. “But also, have you seen this dancing Santa?”
She lifts a little stuffed, sunglasses-wearing toy Santa Claus out of the box. She squeezes its hand, and it starts dancing to a tinny version of ‘Jingle Bells,’ swinging its little Santa hips with verve.
“I hate it with every fiber of my entire being,” Giles declares.
“I knew you would,” Jenny coos. She and Buffy shimmy along to the terribleness.
“This is a library. A place that prizes intellect. A treasury of contributions from the greatest thinkers of all mankind.” With a disdainful sniff, Giles concludes, “Dancing Santa can live in the computer lab.”
“Another child of divorce,” Buffy says faux-morosely, patting the Santa’s head with a blue-nailed fingertip.
“I’m not calling it quits just yet,” Jenny tells her. Then she turns to Giles and says cajolingly, “I made you your very own customized stocking.”
“You did not.”
“Oh, didn’t I?” Jenny pulls a red stocking out of the box. At the top of it, ‘Mr. Giles’ is written out in careful puff paint letters.
Giles’s expression softens.
“Ms. Calendar, you sure know how to go right for the jugular,” Buffy remarks. “The heart jugular, that is.” She frowns thoughtfully. “The hugular?” She brightens. “Hey, that’s cute.”
“You made that for me?” Giles asks meanwhile. His tone holds what some might call an irrational level of tenderness.
“And all of the other still-breathing faculty members,” Jenny admits, sighing. “Snyder enlisted me in stocking duty. But I took extra time on yours. Look at those perfectly shaped letters.”
“Exquisite,” Giles says, only half-teasing.
“By the time I got to mine, I was totally exhausted, not to mention that the head cold had seriously started to set in.” She holds up another stocking with a very wobbly ‘Ms. Calendar’ written on it. The last few letters of her name are scrunched together. “That makes two things this week that should never be seen by the light of day. Brain-sucking tentacle-having egg monsters, and this stocking.”
“I like it,” Giles says staunchly.
Buffy watches them with a little smile on her face.
Until Jenny lifts a sprig of mistletoe out of the box and grins.
That knocks Buffy’s smile right off.
“Well well,” says Giles, looking away from the still-tangled fairy lights with interest, “what have we here?”
“That’s my cue to bounce,” Buffy announces, wrinkling her nose. She takes off the Santa hat and leaves it on the table. “I’m meeting Angel to patrol. Don’t get too frisky, kids. This is a library.”
“That’s quite funny,” Giles says. “You warning us about ... public frisk.”
“Hey, I know the danger is real. I walked right in on you guys in here last week.”
“You did not,” Giles says, scandalized.
“Oh,” Buffy says, “so you haven’t been kissing in the library?”
Giles and Jenny are awkwardly silent.
“Exactly,” Buffy says. “I’m just saying. Think of the children. And on that note, goodnight!”
“She saw us?” Giles groans as the door swings shut behind Buffy. “How did I not notice that?”
“You must have been very busy,” Jenny says innocently.
“I suppose we must work on our professionalism.”
“Oh yeah. Big priority.”
“Or,” Giles says.
He plucks the mistletoe out of her hand and holds it above their heads.
“Merry Christmas.” He leans in to kiss her.
“It’s December 3rd,” Jenny reminds him, affectionately mocking.
“Very poor holiday spirit,” he murmurs against her lips, making her laugh.
The next morning, Jenny comes into the library to find Giles in rare conversation with a student who isn’t part of the demon-fighting social circle. So maybe the whole ‘inviting’ thing was a wrong move after all.
It sounds like the student—not one of Jenny’s, thankfully—has a paper due sixth period and is trying to get Giles to recap the plot of The Great Gatsby for him. Giles looks a little nostalgic for tentacle eggs. He lifts his hand in greeting to her, but that’s all he has time for.
“If you didn’t read the book,” he’s saying, “then—then I don’t feel it’s proper to tell you what happens.”
“Tell me only the end, then,” begs the student.
“I just love when Gatsby and Daisy live happily ever after, don’t you?” Jenny says as she passes them.
Giles gives her a look of great appreciation.
“Yes!” cries the student. “Thank you, Miss Computer Lady. So, uh, before the ending. What happens at that part?”
“Shockingly enough, you can find out for yourself,” Rupert says. “All you have to do is read the book.”
“Have you got a VHS section?” the student persists.
“Before they live happily ever after,” Giles says decisively, “Daisy and Gatsby share a very nice swim in a pool.”
Jenny laughs to herself as she steps into Giles’s office. She turns the kettle on. The man’s gonna need tea. As she sets down a few borrowed books from Giles’s personal collection (one dusty tome of eldritch witchcraft, one Dorothy Sayers), something catches her eye.
Hanging above his desk are the ‘Mr. Giles’ and ‘Ms. Calendar’ stockings, nestled against each other like lovebirds.
Jenny smiles. She reaches out and runs a finger over the squished letters of her name.
It looks better than it had before. Just right, in fact. Probably because it’s got good company.
“That’s it,” Giles announces, bursting into the office. “He started playing with the dancing Santa and gave up on Fitzgerald entirely. Makes Xander look like Willow. I-I quit.”
“You decorated,” Jenny says softly.
“Not much,” he replies, irritation defusing at once. He goes slightly pink.
“Just enough.”
“Yes, well. In the spirit of new traditions.”
They gaze at each other for a moment, enjoying the promise in his words. Even if neither of them are quite ready to say so outright. Not just yet.
“Er,” Giles recovers, “at the school, of course.”
“Of course.” Jenny tilts her head. “Hey, is Buffy dropping by this morning?”
Giles steps closer to her, taking off his glasses. His face is alight with interest. “Dropping by before first period when she was out late patrolling with Angel last night? Not likely.”
Jenny smiles. “Good.”