The Three Kings, Part Three
Author: Elsa Frohman
Rating: PG.
Spoilers: Post NFA
Summary: This is my 2004 Christmas story. Spike, Gunn and Angel survived NFA and are back in the detective business.







We open on a crane shot of the interior of Kings Cross Station, London.

We're looking down from somewhere near the ceiling at a roiling mass of travelers. Everyone has someplace they need to be this night before Christmas. The air smells of roasting spiced nuts and wet wool and melting snow tracked in on thousands of boots. The shops ringing the edge of the main hall have Christmas decorations and lights displayed -- they twinkle and shine, adding to the chaotic ambience. "Deck the Halls" is playing over the public address system -- interrupted every few seconds by the announcement of another train departing. Neither the music, nor the announcements are intelligible to human ears assaulted by a din of echoes and shouting voices.

There are long lines at the automated ticket machines and longer lines at the ticket booths. Luggage is stacked around every seating area.

Into this mass of confusion come two parties of travelers. A pretty, blonde woman leads a slight, increasingly harried young man in from the main entrance. He's carrying shopping bags. She's dragging their luggage. She's reached the point of irritation where she doesn't speak to her companion anymore. She simply gestures the direction she wants him to move.

Rising up an escalator from the Underground station on a lower level, come three men -- possibly not the wisest in the great hall of the station, but bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. One has hair bleached as white as the snow falling outside. He wears a long, black, leather duster. The collar and shoulders of his coat are dusted with snowflakes that are slow to melt since he isn't producing any body heat.

The second is black. His close-cropped hair is sparkling with melted snow. He wears a wool jacket that may have come from the Salvation Army store and scuffed work boots. He scowls as he hurries to keep up with his two companions.

The third traveler is withdrawn, wrapped in his own thoughts focused far away. He wears a short leather jacket, dusted with snow like the first traveler's. As they get off the escalator, he takes the point, pushing his way through the crowds toward Platform 9.

From our vantage point above, we see the two groups of travelers pass within a few feet of one another. But the crowds and confusion ensure that they never become aware of their proximity.

Now, our view pans to a ledge high above the milling humanity. Here, unnoticed by most of the people below, a man and a woman stand watching. From the vantage point of the floor, they look like part of the holiday decor. He's wearing a red satin robe trimmed in golden embroidery and white fur. He carries a staff topped by three golden spheres. His dark brown hair is long, falling over the collar of his garment. He has a dark, close-trimmed beard and deeply-set, dark eyes that twinkle beneath his prominent brow. The woman has glossy, dark brown hair that falls in curls around her shoulders. She wears burgundy silk, trimmed in gold and sequins. She is slender and lithe; undulating in rhythm to music only she can hear. Her face is lit by a childish smile and she giggles periodically.

"Oh! They passed so close to one another!" she exclaims. "The game will be spoiled if they meet too soon!"

"Don't worry, my dear," the man says, his voice deep and rich. "They'll be blind to one another until I open their eyes." He laughs a full, merry laugh.

The woman claps her hands in delight.

"We shall have such fun with them!"

"We shall, my dear" the man says, turning to his companion and kissing her on the forehead. "Indeed, we shall."

Both parties of travelers board the express train for Harrogate, the three men just one car ahead of the woman and young man. The doors close and the train pulls out into the early-evening darkness for a three-hour journey north.

------------

Gunn settled into his seat across from Angel and Spike. He was hoping to catch a nap during the train ride. He'd been awake all day after flying all night, and the jet lag was catching up to him.

Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those days when Spike and Angel barely spoke to one another. They were positively chatty tonight. Gunn considered moving to another seat, but the car was crowded, and there was no room to stretch out alone.

They were right behind the club car, and the St. Blase Senior Choir was up there drinking hot buttered rum and singing Christmas carols. The music, interrupted periodically by raucous laughter drifted back into where Gunn was sitting with the two vampires.

"Ah, Christmas Eve," Spike said wistfully.

"You're sounding positively nostalgic," Angel said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess I am. I was just thinking about how it used to be. You know, back before..."

"Your family used to make a big deal of it, I guess," Angel replied.

"Yeah, we'd have a pudding -- soaked in brandy and set ablaze. And a Christmas tree lit with candles, with glass and tin ornaments and a porcelain angel on top."

"Candles on a tree," Gunn said sourly. "Sounds like a fire code violation."

"Nah, we always had a bucket of sand right there, and we only let it burn for a little while. But it was really beautiful -- all sparkles. And before bed, Mum would read aloud from one of the Dickens Christmas books. And the next morning, there would be the swag from Father Christmas."

Angel was giving Spike an odd look.

"What?" Spike asked, noticing the incredulous stare.

"Nothing... I just never figured you for an elf."

"Don't start with me, Peaches. Come on, you must have had some Christmas traditions..."

Angel heaved a sigh.

"My father didn't allow much merrymaking. We were Catholic. We always went to Mass on Christmas Eve. And he'd give the servants each a coin for faithful service. Never gave me anything. Said I was a wastrel and didn't deserve it."

Spike's face took on a sympathetic expression.

"Even when you were little?"

"There was one thing we did," Angel said, a distant smile coming to his lips. "We'd hunt a wren and beat it to a pulp. Then we'd put it on a stick and go around from house to house and knock. When the people came out they had to say "The wren, the wren, king of birds..."

Gunn opened an eye. He couldn't let that go by.

"You beat the crap out of a harmless little bird and put it on a stick and paraded it around. Right... that sounds like what vampires would do on Christmas."

"No!" Angel protested. "That's what we did when I was a boy -- before I was changed."

"Pull the other one," Gunn replied.

"No, he's telling it right," Spike said. "It's an Irish thing. Legend has it that a bunch of Micks were going to sneak up on some British soldiers who were sleeping off a big Christmas bender, but the wrens pecked on their drums and woke them up. The British, naturally, kicked their arses, and ever since, the Paddies have had it in for wrens."

Angel huffed.

"So, what did your family do at Christmas?" Spike asked, looking at Gunn.

"Nothing worth talking about," Gunn grumbled.

"Come on, out with it," Angel said with a chuckle. "I told mine."

Gunn resisted, but Spike and Angel weren't taking no for an answer.

"We lived in the projects. We got a lot of nothing," Gunn snapped. "But then, once in a while, the charity people would get around to us, and we'd get a bunch of lame, half broken shit, and we'd have to act like we really liked it.

"And Santa Claus -- what a scam," Gunn continued angrily. "One Santa at the mall, another at the parade, another at another store where we didn't have no money to buy nothing. And then there was black Santa at the Christmas party at Ma's church. And none of them were good for jack shit. Just boozy old farts hired for a few weeks in December to get kids hopes up so they can be real disappointed on Christmas morning.

"And you haven't lived until you've seen what my Ma could do with a couple of cans of beans from the Salvation Army pantry for Christmas dinner."

Gunn crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Right, glad I asked," Spike said quietly.

--------------

The platform at the Harrogate station was almost as crowded as Kings Cross Station had been. Buffy and Andrew pushed their way through the crowds to make their way out onto the street -- where, for some reason, there were an unusual number of people in 19th century costume. Buffy did a quick double take and considered, briefly, that they might have been caught in some sort of time travel spell -- but the neon "Guinness" sign in the window of the pub across from the station quickly disabused her of that idea.

"Wonder why everybody's playing dress up?" she asked to no one in particular. She certainly didn't expect Andrew to answer -- she'd pretty much got him conditioned to keep his mouth shut on the train. However, a woman in a Victorian cloak and bonnet overheard.

"It's the Jane Eyre Christmas Experience, Miss," the woman replied. "We're recreating the holiday as the Bronte sisters experienced it. Didn't you know about it? We've been advertising all over. It's to get the tourists in."

"Ah... OK," Buffy replied. "I don't suppose you know where we can get a hotel room for the night? I've got something I have to do, but then we'll probably want to stay over before going back tomorrow."

The woman shook her head.

"A hotel room? You don't have a reservation? That's going to be difficult. We're full up. Every room in town. Unless you reserved a couple of months ago, there just isn't going to be anything."

Buffy frowned.

"What about a cab then? I've got to get to the convent outside of town."

"No cabs," the woman replied. "No motor vehicles allowed on the streets at all for the weekend. You can hire a carriage to take you around, but most of them won't go outside of town. If they take the horses out on the highway, the cars frighten them.

"It just keeps getting better," she said between clenched teeth.

-------------

Gunn was beyond tired when they finally got off the train in Harrogate. Angel and Spike had broken off their chatter after he told them his view of Christmas, but he still couldn't sleep. He was on edge. He didn't like remembering those childhood holidays. They stuck with him, though, like a raw wound that never got a chance to scab over. Every now and again something would remind him, and he'd be living it all over again.

Now he focused on making his way through the crowd, pushing so aggressively that Spike and Angel were forced to hurry to keep up with him.

"Hey, wait up," Spike called out from behind.

Gunn spun on his heel and glared back at his traveling companions.

"Let's just get this over with and ... I don't know. Let's just get it done," Gunn replied, acknowledging to himself, at least, that he was being foolish to take out his feelings on Spike and Angel.

Angel nodded.

"The convent is out to the west of town. We should be able to get a cab," he said.

But outside the station, it didn't take long for the vampires to notice the costumes and lack of engine noises, or even the odor of exhaust fumes.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town; Not an engine was turning, not even a minicab," Spike improvised.

"Spike, do me a favor," Gunn said with narrowed eyes. "Don't write any poetry."

"Just trying to lighten things up," Spike said defensively.

"They must have something going on here," Angel said, looking around and noticing all the costumes.

"No shit," Gunn said darkly.

"Pretty clear we're not going to get a cab," Angel said, ignoring Gunn's tone of voice. "We'd better start walking."

They had only gone a few steps when they heard shouting.

"Oi! She took the baby! Come back!"

Angel broke into a run and reached the source of the exclamation before Spike and Gunn caught up. A distressed teenaged girl in a dark blue, 19th century dress and bonnet stood behind an empty stroller. She held a lace-gloved hand over her mouth in shock.

"What happened?" Angel asked.

"I don't know!" the girl replied breathlessly. "It happened so fast. She just ran up and grabbed the baby. We've got to get him back! It's Christmas Eve!"

"What did she look like?" Spike asked.

"Dark hair, long, red dress -- I'd say she was one of the festival actors, but I don't know her, and I would know her if she was. She was kind of crazy! She ran up to me and said something like 'I've got to borrow your baby,' and grabbed him and ran. We've got to call the police!"

"Was it your son?" Gunn asked.

The girl gave him a "what kind of question is that?" look, but shook her head.

"No, I was taking him over to the church for the nativity scene."

"We'll find the kidnapper and get the baby back," Angel said. "You tell his Mom and Dad that we know who took him. I think I know where she would go. You can tell the parents not to worry. We'll find him, and we'll bring him back to the church before midnight."

"Maybe we should call the police," the girl repeated.

Spike shook his head.

"No, it'll be better not to get the authorities involved. We've got experience with this sort of thing. And we know who the kidnapper was. We'll get your baby back. That's a promise."

Gunn moved away and gestured for Spike and Angel to follow.

"Can you promise her that?" Gunn whispered. "This is Drusilla we're dealing with. Haven't you said she likes to snack on..."

Angel gestured him to silence.

"She's got something planned for midnight. Something that involves somehow recreating or mocking the Christmas story. I think the baby will be safe until midnight. We've just got to get there before she gets started."