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Buffy had agreed to Dawn’s proposed ‘Secret Santa’ not because of any sense of holiday spirit or seasonal gaiety. The horrible truth was that, as her little sister grew up and matured, it became harder and harder to deny her things, far more so than it’d been when she was small and annoying and easier to outrun.
And, as she watched said sister, her friends, and a select number of young Slayers exchange presents she couldn’t help her frown because, really, the party was winding down and no one had handed her anything. It didn’t help that it felt like she’d passed her present to Willow off hours ago (mostly because that’s how long ago it’d been) and she was getting tired of standing there, alone and distinctly giftless.
That is, until someone cleared their throat and a messily wrapped package was thrust into her chest hard enough to make her wince. “Ow,” she groaned, pulling the box away to rub halfheartedly at her sternum.
With a readymade glare on her face, she looked up only for her expression to melt into one of unadulterated surprise. “Faith?” she gasped.
“Sorry, B,” the dark Slayer said, looking appropriately contrite if you didn’t account for the gleam in her dark eyes, “Don’t know my own strength sometimes, ya know?”
“You’re my secret santa?” she asked, almost disbelievingly. Because, really, what kind of ‘intricate sorting process’ had Dawn used if this was the result? Names and a hat?
Faith laughed, a low, husky thing that sent a pleasurable shiver down Buffy’s spine. “Not disappointed, I hope,”
Since her cheeks flushed the minute she began her attempt at sputtering out some sort of denial she cleared her throat and tried a different tactic. “How’d she even get you to agree to this?” she asked, more than a little curious. It wasn’t like the younger Summers’ could hold familial obligation over the dark Slayer, after all.
She shrugged. “What can I say? Lil sis’ pretty convincin’ when she wants ta be,”
“You can say that again,”
They stood there for a minute or so, not talking, until Faith cleared her throat. “So, uh, not ta press ya or anythin’ but ya gonna open that any time soon?”
Buffy blinked, hating the way her cheeks burned as she remembered (because she had, honest-to-god forgotten about) the package in her hands. “Oh! Right, of course. Let the opening commence!” she joked half-heartedly before tearing into the paper.
Beneath the generic holiday spread was an equally unassuming, white box. And, inside of that, Buffy found a beautiful dark corduroy leather trench that completely took her breath away. Touching the lapel almost reverently, she looked up at Faith in something akin to awe. “It’s…it’s beautiful. How did you…?”
Was it just her or did their resident dark Slayer look a little flushed? “Well, ya wear a different jacket almost every day an’ Dawn said ya liked Burberry so…” she trailed off with a shrug, “I just picked one I thought ya’d like,”
She sucked in breath. Burberry? Oh no, oh no, no, no, no.
Faith frowned and, like an uppercut to the jaw, it hit her that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “If ya don’t like it, I can just-”
“What? No!” she cried, clutching it to her chest and earning more than one odd look from the people around them. “I didn’t mean-, I love this coat. I’m pretty sure I want to be buried with it. Hell, I might even want to marry it,” she gushed, “What I meant by the, uh, the ‘oh no’s is…this is too much. It’s too much, Faith,”
Clearly relieved but trying not to show it, the brunette smirked. “B, it’s no big,”
“It is big. Too big. Huge,” she insisted. “You didn’t have to do this,”
She gave her a strange look. “I know,” she said simply, “But I wanted too,”
There were more protests, a flood of words on her tongue, but at the look on her sister Slayers face, she swallowed each and every one. Instead, she said, “Thank you,” and Faith smiled and it was even better than the jacket (and that was saying something). “Merry Christmas, Faith,”
“Merry Christmas, B,”