Title: A Cup of Kindness
Author: Mab
Posted: 12-24-2003
Email:
Rating: PG
Category:
Content: Cordy/Xander
Summary: A one-eyed man and a seer walk into a bar...
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Take it, but let me know where, please.
Notes: This story was written over many days mostly while chatting with Lara, so it’s only fitting that this fic goes to her. Merry Christmas, Lara. I hope I done good.
Feedback: Please, please, please.
Thanks/Dedication: To Little Heaven and starlet2367 for a most excellent beta and to Psychofilly for feedback that made me dance. I’m the luckiest Santa in the world to have elves like ya’ll at my side.
Secret Santa Fic for: Lala247
And in despair I bow'd my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
-“I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day”
The night was frigid, the wind harsh and unforgiving. Frigid. She laughed bitterly. Spike had just recently used that word in reference to her. Fitting then, that LA. was experiencing its coldest winter in years and she was forced to be out in it. Icy cold for the Ice Queen.
“Thirty friggin’ degrees and my stupid car breaks down. On friggin’ Christmas Eve,” she muttered to herself as she shivered her way over to a light post, shining like a beacon through the fog.
The mist cleared as she neared the bright light, revealing an old-fashioned looking pub. She looked up at the sign and groaned. St. Nick’s Food and Spirits
“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. But a glance through the window promised warmth, so she wasn't about to let her Scrooge complex get the better of her. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door. Warmth washed over her like a tidal wave, courtesy of a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Her senses were assaulted by sounds and smells of the season - Christmas music piping through the walls and the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon wafting through the kitchen door.
She sat down on a wooden bar stool and removed her coat, hat, and scarf. A grandfatherly man was behind the bar, serving up drinks and conversation. All she was interested in was a warm drink.
“What'll you have, pretty lady? A nice cup of nog with a kick to warm you up?”
She forced a smile. “That sounds perfect.”
He nodded happily, fetching a cup from underneath the bar and filling it to the brim with creamy egg nog. He winked at her as he sprinkled nutmeg and sugar on top, then set it atop a napkin in front of her.
“Enjoy your cup of kindness, pretty lady,” he said with a smile.
She raised her eyebrow at the phrase.
“Cup of kindness. That's what my Martha, God rest her soul, called her egg nog. She was convinced that a good cup of kindness could cure the world of all its ills.”
Oh, how she wished that were true. She smiled at him, and this time it wasn't forced. She took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes as the thick liquid slid down her throat. She opened her eyes and licked the foam off of her upper lip. “Delicious,” she said and the old man winked at her again before leaving her to help other patrons.
Her shoulders slumped. She was tired. Drop dead, bone tired. Tired of the visions that had returned in all their painful glory when she was kicked out of the higher realm. Tired of fighting day and night. Tired of giving up so much for the good fight. Tired of sleeping all by herself. She'd once told Wesley that maybe they were meant to be alone. Funny that she ended up being the only one without an “other”. Gunn and Wesley had found something really special - in each other no less. As for her, well, the only thing on her romance-o-meter was a bleached blonde vampire who paraded about heralding his love for her. And she was so not interested in that. Like at all.
Sighing, she went back to worrying about her current predicament. How the hell to get home. Wesley was visiting with his mother so she didn't want to disturb him and that left only...
“I am not going to call him. I will stay here all night if I have to, but I will not call Spike. Hell will freeze over before I call him.” On second thought, she'd better scratch that. A glance out the window told her that hell had indeed frozen over.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” a familiar voice said from behind her.
She whirled around on her stool and found herself staring at Xander Harris.
“When in doubt, never, ever call a vampire,” he continued.
She grinned wryly and stood up to hug him. However, what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks.
“That's not a disguise, is it?” She asked, knowing the answer, but dreading his response just the same - confirmation of a truth she'd rather not face.
“No. No, it's not,” he answered slowly, his gaze unwavering.
The world seemed to stop as she digested this information.
“I was going to send out notices, ya know, to avoid the initial awkwardness. Not that this is awkward. I enjoy being stared at. Your oh-so-steady gaze is nice and not at all uncomfortably penetrating.”
“How can you be so glib?” she asked, incredulous.
“Because I'm alive,” he said simply.
She willed herself not to cry, not to scream, not to shout at the utter unfairness of it all. Rebar in the stomach aside, Xander was one of the good ones. The world needed more Xanders. She was loathe to admit it, but it was true. Nobody fell down and got back up again like Xander Harris did.
She reached up and touched his eye-patch lightly, giving him a watery grin. “Dammit, I've missed you,” she said and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. He squeezed back and she inhaled deeply. Xander-smell. Cheap cologne and laundry detergent. Suddenly she was back at Sunnydale High in the janitor's closet, stealing kisses between periods.
“I've missed you, too, Queen C,” he said, taking a step back to look at her. He shook his head, “Still unbelievably gorgeous.”
“Pfft. Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I have hat hair and I haven't showered in two - no, make that three - days and I -” she broke off as Xander kissed her on her forehead.
“Gorgeous,” he insisted.
“What are you doing here?”
“Giles heard word of a nest of Sapphostrata demons in the area and wanted me to escort them to safety before they caused any damage.”
“Well, you can tell Giles that it's been taken care of.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yep,” she said, taking a sip of her egg nog. “Had a vision, took care of them. Then my car broke down and that's how I got here.”
Xander sat down on the stool next to her and the bartender immediately rushed over.
“Care for a cup o'kindness, lad?” he asked.
“Can always use one of those. Hey, make sure there's extra kindness in there, it's damn cold outside.”
The bartender laughed heartily. “Sure thing, lad, sure thing.”
“You're awfully cheerful.”
“What's not to be cheerful about? It's Christmas Eve, it's snowing - in Los Angeles, and I ran into an old friend I haven't seen in ages.”
“See, I'm thinking more of the upcoming Apocalypse - the one due on January 3rd? And the one after that and the one after that...
“You can't think like that, Cordy. If you do, then there's no point to any of this. Don't live to prevent the next apocalypse, live for what happens when death doesn't take us. Live for-”
“Bunnies, puppies and rainbows?” she interrupted dryly.
Undaunted by her sarcasm he continued, “Live for hearing your friends laugh, not getting both eyes poked out -”
“Having sex and NOT getting impregnated with demon spawn,” she broke in.
“See,” he said. “That's almost the spirit. There's hope for you yet.” He smiled and took a swig of his drink. “Speaking of impregnation, how are you, since, you know...”
“Fine,” she said, a little too harshly. “I'm fine,” she repeated in a gentler tone.
Xander nodded slowly. “It must've been hard, though, having someone take over your body like that, using it against the people you love.”
She smiled faintly. “I imagine losing the woman you loved wasn't any easier.”
“We've both lost a lot. Anya...Angel.” He said the last name softly, but it screamed at her nonetheless.
Angel. It had been almost a year since his death. A year since she had said goodbye to the man she had once considered her best friend. They hadn't been on the best of terms when he had died, but she still missed him fiercely.
“It's just not fair,” she said shaking her head. “We do our damnedest to keep the world safe and sound, but we can't plug the dike on our own pain.”
Xander took her hand in his. “Cordy, we make the world livable. Not pain free. No one gets that luxury in life. It's the pain that keeps us grounded, keeps us connected. Without it we wou-”
“We'd be happy? Lucky? I'm not seeing the bad here,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.
But Xander held fast. “Without it we wouldn't be human. We wouldn't recognize joy - true joy - like this,” he said, digging into his pocket. It was a picture, but not an ordinary picture, but a kind picture that was familiar to Cordelia. An ultrasound.
Tears pricked her eyes and she looked at Xander, her eyes wide.
He nodded. “Buffy's about four months pregnant,” he said, his voice wavering, but full of pride.
“You're going to be a father, Xander,” she said, completely awestruck.
“Yep and I gotta tell you - petrified. Absolutely petrified,” he admitted. “I mean, ME, a dad.”
“A dad,” she echoed. “Oh my God, you're going to be wonderful.” She laughed out loud. “You're going to be an amazing father.”
“You really think so?” he asked.
“I'm Cordelia. I don't think, I know. Okay?”
He laughed. “Okay.”
“Well, as much as I hate to go, I have to get going. Let me give you a lift home,” Xander said, standing up.
She was about to say “yes,” but changed her mind at the last minute. “Nah, I've got a ride.”
“You sure?” he questioned.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Go home to your wife, ya big dork,” Cordelia replied, reaching to hug him goodbye.
She squeezed him tightly, saying goodbye to Xander the boy and silently greeting Xander the man. The moment was both precious and bittersweet.
Xander dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You'll find yours, Cordy. I know you will,” he whispered before walking out the door.
She watched him leave, a fierce longing inside of her. Not for Xander, but for her own joy. She wasn't sure what form her joy would take, but she knew where to start looking for it.
She dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed.
“'Lo?” A familiar british accent drawled.
“Spike. It's Cordy. I need -”
“Cheerleader, Happy Christmas! So nice of you to call. Why, yes. I am out of Wheatabix.”
“Spike. Shut it. I need a ride home,” she said and recited the address.
“It's always about what you need, innit? Well, what about what ol' Spike needs? Huh? I've been meaning to talk to -”
Click. She hung up on him, smiling widely. If he got here quickly she might even let him hold her hand. In public.
Her phone rang. “Yes?” she answered.
“Be there in twenty minutes.” Click.
Cordelia Chase grinned. Happy Christmas, indeed.
End.
