Boondock Slayer

Home for the Holidays

Author: Kosh_len <kosh_len[at]>

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners... none of which are me. If they knew what they were doing I wouldn't have to write this stuff.

Summary: Back to where it all began for the holidays.

Warning: Crossovers ahead. (Yes Plural.)

Rating: PG-13 to PG-16; for mild cursing, violence, and demonic horror content... in other words a bit more grown up then the series...but only cause I don't have to suck up to censors.

Author's Notes: A special thanks to Tenhawk for letting me play in his mucked up little world. Also thanks to my editor Shollin for all her help in keeping my stuff straight. We interrupt this regularly scheduled fic for a holiday special. Sit back and enjoy this treat from Me and my editor Shollin. Happy Holidays folks.

December 24th, 1995

Sinclair looked at the door with suspicion, his mind trying to come up with a way out of his impending doom. He glanced around, trying in vain to figure out a path of escape, but he was blocked on all sides. All three of his enemies held him close.

"Can you explain to me why exactly are we here again?" Robert asked, hoping that the answer might lead to his escape.

"I told you, because we made a promise," said one of his captors.

"But." began the mage.

"No, buts about it, yer goin' in there, whether you like it or not," said the second captor.

"Look, I already went this year, twice even, why now?" Sinclair begged.

"Because it's Christmas Eve, this is what we do on Christmas Eve," said captor number three. "Just get in there!"

Sinclair sighed and shuffled his way into the church, looking over his shoulder at the three terrors of his life. Each wore a smile of victory. Since they had met the man, they had yet to get him into a church on Sunday. This was a victory, albeit a small one.

"Look at it this way, boss," said Faith with a grin. "After everything we've been through, do you actually think you should be avoiding this? Hrmm?"

Sinclair smiled at his young charge. In a way she was right, not that he would admit it to her. Since his run-in with the young Slayer, his life had gotten strange - better, but strange.

As he sat down, he let his mind wander over the past year, the cruelty of what he had suffered at the beginning of it, and now, the joy and hope at the end. Maybe, just maybe, he did have something to be hopefully for.

As the midnight Mass began, the mage joined his voice with the rest of the congregation, sharing in the happiness and peace.

December 25th, 1995
Boston Orange and Green Pub

The pub was in full force when the trio arrived. Christmas had exploded in the pub, with lights, candles, greenery, and trees all over the place. Music thundered from the stage, with all the participants singing along. Faith and the two brothers received hugs from all around as they walked through the pub. Sinclair was met with a suspicious look from everyone.

Faith walked through the bar, taking her hugs and greetings, all the while looking for two people. As she neared the bar itself, she heard yelling and arguing. A guy she didn't recognize was in Sharpe's face, yelling at him and cursing him. Sharpe's eyes flicked just a moment in Faith's direction, and that was all it took for the drunk to lurch at Sharpe.

"Ye fucking English piece of shit, ye killed my family, I'll kill ye!" he said as he tried to attack the large man.

"Ahem," said Faith.

"Wha?" said the drunk, trying to place the voice. He turned and saw a small girl standing there behind him, her arms crossed across her chest, a frown on her face.

"It's Christmas, shouldn't ye be behaving yerself?" said Faith, her acquired accent slipping into place.

"Back off, girl, this isn't any of yer business," sneered the drunk, who turned away from the girl to face Sharpe again.

"Actually, it is. Ye see, that's my friend yer poking yer finger at," smiled Faith.

The drunk turned and loomed over the smaller girl.

"Ye claim to be friends with this shit. His kind killed my family," snarled the drunk.

Conner and Murphy shook their heads and started moving the crowd out of the way.

"Hey Robert, can ye do us a favor and go hold the door open?" asked Murphy.

Sinclair nodded and opened the door, fully expecting what was about to come.

"I suggest ye get out of my face, sit yer arse down, and enjoy Christmas, or I'll be givin' ye a gift ye'll likely not forget anytime soon," said the Slayer in a quiet voice.

"I'd listen to the girl if I were you," said Sharpe from behind.

"Piss off, Sassenach!" yelled the drunk, not noticing the bar had gone quiet and all eyes were on the confrontation. "And what would a wee slip of a girl like ye do to."

"I'm betting four bounces," said Murphy.

"I'll go six," replied his brother.

"Put me down for five," said Sinclair from the door.

Faith grabbed the drunk by the collar of his shirt and heaved, picking him up over her head. The drunk's eyes grew wide as the small girl literally pressed him over her head and carried him toward the door. As she neared the door, she heaved, sending the drunk sailing into the street.

Thump. Bang. Smash. Crash. Meow.

Everyone winced as the drunk bounced his way out into the street, tumbling through trash cans, bags, and other junk. Sinclair smiled at the two brothers, who were shaking their heads.

"I'm telling you, he's using magic," mumbled Conner to his brother, who merely nodded.

Faith dusted off her hands and turned toward Sharpe. The Englishman enveloped her in a large hug, kissing her on the top of her head.

"We expected you last night," he said.

"We got delayed, we stayed at another pub outside New York longer than we had planned," said Faith, taking a hot mug of cider from the bartender.

The two brothers wandered over and shook hands with Sharpe. Sinclair tentatively joined them, standing outside the group, watching.

"Sharpe, this is Robert Sinclair, he's joined us for the duration," smiled Faith.

Sinclair reached out and shook hands with Sharpe, each man staring hard at the other.

"Peace favor your sword," said Sinclair with a grin.

"And yours," said Sharpe with a nod.

Faith raised an eyebrow at the exchange, but shrugged, seeing the smiles on both men's faces.

"What pub did you get delayed at?" asked Sharpe as he settled back down on his stool.

"A pub called Mary's Place, in Suffolk County," smiled Sinclair. "Since we were headed this way, I suggested we stop in and say hello. It's where these three hellions met me."

"Mary's Place? Never heard of it. I knew of a bar out that way called Callahan's Place, but it's long gone," said Sharpe as he took a pull of his beer.

"You knew Mike?" asked the mage, and soon he and Sharpe were trading stories.

Faith continued to wander through the crowd, enjoying the music and laughter. As the music played on, someone grabbed her, dragging the girl into a dance. Faith twirled and laughed her way across the dance floor, a man from the battle in the warehouse spinning her around.

The bar felt like home. For just a moment, she let herself relax, forgetting that she was the Slayer. Conner and Murphy watched from their spots near the bar and grinned.

"She looks at peace," said Conner as he took a sip off his Guinness.

"Aye," said Murphy. "Almost looks like a little girl, not a warrior."

His twin nodded. He held his glass up in toast to his brother, who clanked his glass against it.

"To a job well done," said Conner.

"Aye," smiled his twin.

After a few spins around the floor Faith finally managed to slip out. She moved her way back through the crowd, still hunting for someone. She found him in a corner, nursing a shot glass.

"Now, why on earth are you back here, on Christmas Day, sulking?" she asked the big Irishman.

"Go away, girl, I'm in no mood to be sociable," said Harper as he started into his drink.

Faith pulled out a chair and plopped down in it. She motioned to the bartender, pointing at Harper's shot glass. Sean frowned but shrugged, tossing another glass to the Slayer. Faith deftly caught it, reached over the table and grabbed Harper's bottle, pouring herself a shot.

"Here now, what the devil do ye think yer doing?" demanded Harper as he tried to take the bottle away from the tiny girl.

"I'm joining ye, ya big lug, ease off," she smiled, sipping on her shot. "Mmmm. Bushmills. It's better in coffee, mind ye, but good this way too."

Harper stared at the young girl, his eyes growing bigger as she tossed back the shot before refilling her glass.

"Have ye gone completely batty, lass?" he asked. "Ye don't need to be drinkin' that stuff."

"And ye don't need to be sulking, so which one of us is going to stop?" she smiled sweetly. "So what's wrong?"

The Irishman growled and tried to ignore the girl. It worked till he noticed his glass was empty. He reached out and tried to pour another, only to discover the bottle was stuck to the table. Literally. He frowned and pried at the bottle, picking the table up.

Faith chuckled and looked over to her Watcher, who winked at her. She sat back and watched as Harper fought to free the bottle from the table's grip. Several other patrons chuckled as they watched Harper fight with the bottle before sitting the table back on the floor. He gave the laughing Slayer a droll look.

"Cute, lass, real cute," he grumbled.

"What? I didn't do anything," she said as she reached over, picked up the bottle easily and topped off her glass before setting it back down.

Harper narrowed his eyes and looked around the bar. The twins sat at the bar, Sharpe was talking to some guy he didn't recognize, and everyone else was either watching him in amusement or not paying attention. Just as he turned back to ask Faith what was going on he caught the guy with Sharpe wink at her.

"So who's yer new friend?" he asked calmly.

"Oh, that's my new Watcher, and before you pop a gasket, he's on my side and mine only," she said, her face hardening as she watched the Irishman grow a little angry.

"Are ye certain?" he demanded.

"Positive," she smiled. "He and Travers have already danced once, and there is no love between them."

Harper looked long and hard and the girl and then over to the man talking with Sharpe. A nod in the Englishman's direction brought the two over.

"Sinclair, meet Harper, Harper, meet Robert Sinclair, Watcher," smile Faith.

"My condolences that you're stuck with this little spitfire," said Harper, taking the mage's hand.

Sinclair shrugged and sat down, pouring himself a drink off of Harper's bottle. He sat the bottle down and smiled at the Irishman.

Harper narrowed his eyes and reached for the bottle, only to discover it stuck fast to the table again. Faith and Sinclair chuckled. Faith snapped her fingers as if remembering something.

"I knew there was something I was forgetting. He's also a mage."

Harper looked flatly at the three people at the table who were chuckling at him. He rolled his eyes and finally joined in the laughter. He reached out and took hold of the bottle, and smiled as it came loose.

"Yer an arse, Slayer," he grinned.

"I might be, but it got you out of sulking. I swear, you Irish, that's about all you're good at doing. So why were you sulking?"

"Crisis of faith, no pun intended," said a voice behind Harper.

Faith looked beyond Harper and saw a man standing in the shadows behind Harper. His curly red hair and beard were a mess, but his eyes shone with laughter, happiness and peace.

Faith was about to say something when she realized no one else had heard the angel.

"Your right, they can't hear me," said Simon. "Your friend there is having a crisis of faith, wondering if they are making a difference."

Faith looked sadly at the giant of a man. She knew exactly how he felt, she felt the same way every morning when she woke up. She looked back into the shadows, only to see that the angel was gone.

"Everything alright Faith?" asked Sinclair, seeing confusion on his ward's face.

Faith nodded and reached her hand out and put it on the Irishman's arm.

"I know how you feel," she whispered. "The fear, the questions you ask yourself every time you bury a friend or an ally. They all build up like one big ball of pain. Usually I spend Christmas with my parents; this is the first year I haven't. Instead, I spend it fighting vampires and demons, fighting the good fight and wondering if what I do matters. I could just as easily go home, but instead, I spend it here, out on the front lines, fighting an endless battle and wondering why."

The Irishman looked at the girl, his eyes filled with wonder. She had gone to the core of the problem. No less than three days before, they had buried another man.

"I read something somewhere that puts what we do into perspective," said the mage. "God will never give me anything I can't handle; I just wish he didn't have so much faith in me."

Harper smiled weakly and nodded, his eyes still fixed on his glass.

"It's days like this, though, that remind us why we fight. Look around you, the laughter and the happiness. Children dancing and having fun, parents watching with pride," said the Slayer. "I may be young, but I do know one thing and I am sure the men that have passed on knew it. If we don't fight, if we stand idle, all this goes away. Poof."

Harper looked around the room, taking in the sights and the sounds, his mind recording this image.

"When duty calls me, I must go, to stand and face another foe," he mumbled.

Sharpe smiled and nodded.

"Aye lad, that's what it is."

Faith smiled and picked up her shot glass. She studied the fireplace, leaned over and whispered something to Sinclair. He glanced at the hearth and nodded. He reached into his pocket, handed the girl a wad of cash and nodded to the bar.

As Faith headed to the bar, she hooked her arms into Conner's and Murphy's and dragged them with her.

"What's going on?" asked a puzzled Harper as he glanced at the two men. Sharpe shrugged and Sinclair just grinned.

After a moment or two at the bar and a quick discussion with the bartender, Faith looked over and nodded at Sinclair. The mage smiled and glanced over at the fireplace.

Harper frowned as he saw the twins and Faith carrying trays of shot glasses around the bar, depositing them at all the tables and leaning in to whisper something.

"What is going on?" asked Harper a little louder.

Sharpe grinned and nodded at Sinclair, finally realizing what was going on.

"Easy there big fella, it's nothing bad, I promise," said the Englishman.

After a few minutes Conner and Murphy arrived at the table, depositing five shot glasses at it.

"No drinking till the lass has said her bit," grinned Conner as he stood next to the table.

Faith walked toward the fireplace, turned her back to it and started pacing away from it. She reached her mark, and with her toe, drew a line on the floor. The crowd grew silent as the young girl went through her motions, their eyes slowly fixing on the tiny figure.

"It's been a long year," she said to the crowd assembled. "A long year indeed. We have buried friends, family, and brethren, all for the sake of the good fight. Many have gone before us, have passed quietly into the night, their time past. Others have given their lives in our defense, be they in the military, police, firemen, or the common man. They died, knowing they did good in this world, and their memories will live on in our hearts, and our souls."

Faith paused to take a breath, her eyes misting up a bit.

"A man I met recently said that a bar is much like a church in its sanctity," she said, smiling in her Watcher's direction. "So, therefore, I can think of no better place than this one to say a prayer for those who have gone before us."

She held her glass high in toast, and watched as the others around the bar joined her.

"To all those who have gone, and to all those who aren't as lucky, to be in this place, with us," she said. "Amen."

With that, she tossed back her drink, and heaved the glass into the fireplace. The fire roared to life, a plethora of colors dancing in the flames.

Sharpe stood and drank his shot, his glass joining Faith's. Soon, all around the bar, glasses sailed through the air, the crashing noise filling the fireplace. Faith looked up at the musicians who began to play, solemnly at first, then bringing speed, happiness and life back to the bar.

Faith wandered back to the table, a smile on her face. The others smiled at her, and Harper stood and gave her a hug.

"Some demons," she whispered into the Irishman's ear, "can be chased out by words alone, never forget that."

Harper nodded and gave the girl a deep hug.

"Thank ye, lass, and Merry Christmas," said Harper.

"Merry Christmas to you as well," smiled Faith, as she settled down in her chair.

"Say lass. Did that lad that was looking for you ever catch up to you?" asked Harper.



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