The Gift
Inspired by: The Christmas Gift by Richard Paul Evans


The holidays came and with them the demons, both
real and imagined. The battle had been fierce, long
and bloody. Thankfully, everyone had survived and the
injuries were minor.

Exhausted and still on edge, Rupert Giles returned to
his home. Home to fight his inner demons. 'No rest for
the weary,' he grumbled to himself as he unlocked
the door.

He frowned, tossing aside his stakes and crossbow and
started up the stairs. A small voice stopped him.

"Daddy?"

He turned and saw her. Small, even for a six year old,
wearing only her white nightgown, she sat crosslegged on
the floor. A menorah at her feet and box of matches
grasped in her little hand.

"Rowan," he sighed. "It's late."

"I know, but it's the first night," she said anxiously
clutching the matches.

"Put those down," he said sternly.

She did as she was told, her face sad and contrite.

He sighed again and sat down next to her. "I'm sorry,
darling," he said shaking his head. He looked at the
menorah and saw just another painful reminder of things
he'd lost.

The two sat in silence for a long moment. "It's okay," she
soothed him.

He smiled sadly and looked at his beautiful child. Her red hair
and emerald eyes so much like her mother's. Gods, he missed
her. Had it only been two months?

Rowan watched her father patiently, with the tenderness
reserved only for him.

Since his wife's death Giles' temper was quick to flare,
and his moods mercurial. He loved his daughter with
everything he had, but that seemed like so little these
days. The sadness he felt, the loneliness, was breaking
his heart. He had to be strong, for Rowan. But there were
times, like today, when he didn't think he had the strength
to go on.

Rowan reached out and picked up the box of the matches.
She held out her hand to her father, offering them to him.
Asking him to keep this part of her mother alive.

Giles nodded and reached for the matches. He struck
one and closed his eyes, remembering the first time they'd
shared this ritual. She was far from orthodox and he'd
been raised Protestant, but had she insisted they celebrate
this. "It's about family," she had said.

He cleared his throat and spoke softly as he touched the
small flame to the wick. "Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech
ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel
Chanukah."

Rowan beamed. She didn't really understand all of what was
said, but it reminded her of her mother, and that was enough.

Giles smiled over at his child, but his eyes held a deep
and abiding pain.

Secretly, Rowan reached behind her back and pulled out
a brightly wrapped present. She looked sweetly at her
father and pushed the box toward him.

"Don't you want your present first?" he asked in surprise.

"No," she said solemnly. "I think you need this more,"

He took the present and carefully unwrapped it. Setting
the papers aside, he opened the box. It was empty -- as
empty as his heart felt. He frowned in confusion and looked
at his daughter questioningly. "It's empty."

Rowan smiled tenderly. "No, it's not, daddy. I blew kisses
into the box."

A tear came to his eye as Rowan gazed at the present and
continued. "I know you miss mommy," she said softly. "So
I put some left over kisses I had from her in there too."

The tears fell, and Giles' heart filled with a love and a joy he
hadn't felt in far too long.

That night, and in the many nights to come, after he
had put his daughter to sleep, Giles would climb into
bed, open the box and take out a kiss. And with each
kiss the pain lessened and his heart grew full again.

The End