Deck The . . . Walls?
The decorating process for Christmas has been going on for nearly a week now and Faith has had more than her share of it. She likes Christmas as much as the next guy but really, there’s such a thing as too much holiday cheer, especially when it comes to tinsel and all of the other gaudy decorations that have turned their comfortable home into an overcrowded den of tackiness.
Not even the couch in the living room is safe; Andrew has replaced the everyday throw pillows with Christmas pillows that are way too small and totally uncomfortable. Faith has been trying to get comfy on the couch for the last ten minutes by adjusting the pillows under her head but it just won’t work; they’re scratchy and hard and killing her will to live.
“Andrew!” she yells out. “I want the normal pillows back!”
“But they’re not festive,” he says as he walks into the room wearing a Santa cap on his head, carrying an armful of Christmas stockings.
“I don’t care if they’re not festive, they’re comfortable. If I gotta lay here all night long like this I’m gonna get a crick in my neck and turn into the Grinch.”
“You already are,” he mumbles under his breath but quickly changes his tone when Faith narrows her eyes at him. “I have an idea, he says, then yells out, “Buffy! You’re needed in the living room!”
His call sounds through the house and a few seconds later Buffy jogs down the stairs, greeting him and Faith in the living room. She raises her eyebrow at him in question, as does Faith.
“If you’d be so kind,” he begins and holds out his arm, gesturing for her to have a seat on the couch. Buffy does as he asks and when she’s seated, Andrew looks over to Faith and continues. “Improvisation. Lay your head on her lap and you have a nice Buffy-pillow.”
Faith is wary for a moment as she looks at him but then shrugs and shimmies further down the couch so that she can lay with her head on Buffy’s lap. When she’s all situated she looks up and meets Buffy’s amused gaze.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi,” Buffy answers back, her fingers brushing Faith’s hair away from her face before leaning down to plant a kiss on her lips. “Were you aware that your complaining about the pillows would lead us here?”
“Didn’t have a fuckin’ clue,” Faith says and chuckles. “Not complaining though.”
“Neither am I, but Dawn may wonder where I disappeared to in the middle of helping her with her English assessment project when I don’t come back.”
“Just tell her you were saving Christmas,” Faith says, then wriggles around and gets perfectly comfortable so that they can watch TV together.
They try to relax and just enjoy their time off but Andrew keeps bustling around the living room, trying to find the perfect place to hang their stockings. There’s no fireplace so he’s trying to make do but he just can’t seem to settle on the right location.
“Andy, hang the damn stockings up or I’m gonna hang you up,” Faith says, frustrated.
“But I don’t know where. If I put them on the mantle I’ll have to move the snow globes, but if I move the snow globes I’ll have to move Willow’s menorah and I don’t think I’m ready to face her wrath.”
He continues to list off things he can and can’t move and Faith can’t take it anymore. She hops up from the couch and walks over to the hallway where Xander stashed some of his tools earlier. Grabbing his nail gun, she walks back into the living room and grabs the stockings from a surprised Andrew and begins to drive them into the nearest wall. She doesn’t even bother to put the nail in the wall first and hang the stocking up on it after; no, she simply nails right through the stockings so that they sag awkwardly and leave no room for any gifts to be put in them.
When she’s done she steps back to admire her work, then sets the gun on the floor and lays back on the couch where Buffy is trying to hide her smile with one of the gaudy Christmas pillows held over her mouth.
Andrew stands speechless, staring at the wall with his mouth wide open. After a few moments he closes it and looks thoughtful, turning his head to the side a little to look at it from a different angle.
“Actually, that’s not so bad,” he says. “Just what this room needed to finish it off. I believe my work here is done.”
“Thank fucking christ,” Faith says under her breath.
“On to the kitchen I go!”
Andrew gathers an armful of garland and decorations and finally leaves the room, ignoring Faith’s annoyed groan.
“Hey baby?” Buffy asks after a few minutes pass.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve misinterpreted the song. It’s Deck The Halls, not Wreck The Walls.”
Faith shrugs and grins slightly.
“Yeah, well sometimes it’s all about improvisation. Andy taught me that.”
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