COUNTING OUR BLESSINGS

by - perletwo

TITLE:	COUNTING OUR BLESSINGS
AUTHOR:	perletwo
DISCLAIMER:	Joss is God! Mutant Enemy *rocks*! Grr, arrgh! (please don't sue me, 'k?)
SUMMARY:	A Very Tabula Rasa Thanksgiving. A standalone in the AmnesiaVerse series.
RATING:	G
SPOILERS:	Here be spoilers for Tabula Rasa.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:	...can be found at the end of the story so's not to spoil a plot point.

"Explain to me why we're doing this again?" Randy muttered as he set the table with the linens and good china they'd found in a breakfront.

"You want the reasons in ascending or descending order of obviousness?" Joan called back from the kitchen.

Presently she wandered out with an armload of freshly washed cut-glass goblets and began setting them at the places. "One, to make things feel a little more normal for Dawn; two, to skate around the fact that except for you and your dad and Dawn and me, none of us've really found any solid family-type roots around here."

Joan cocked her head to the side and examined their handiwork as she continued. "Three, we want to get our minds off hunting for that stupid crystal and act like normal people for a change; four, we've all had a rough month adjusting to living like this and it's good to spend happy-time with people in the same boat."

After a moment's thought, she made her way around the table rearranging Randy's placement of the silverware. "And five, it's just time for a party. OK?"

"Bossy wench. Although the party part, I guess I can do. Did we lay on any Guinness by chance?"

                        ****

"Turkey's almost done!" Tara called, closing the oven back up. "Finally!"

"Can you give me a hand with this chopping? I think my hand's about to fall off at the wrist," Willow called across the butcher-block island. Tara dug around in a drawer and produced another vegetable knife, settled onto a stool opposite and attacked a pile of carrots.

Willow sneaked glances at the taller girl as they worked. Her hair was pulled back off her face for a change, and her skin was shiny and pink from the heat of the oven, exertion and delight. It was wonderful to see her...friend...throw herself into something so completely she forgot her shyness.

Her cutting pace slowed to a more languorous rhythm as her train of thought led her to...other things Tara might throw herself into to forget her shyness.

                        ****

"Dawn, you are *so* not wearing that!"

"Randy, back me up here!" the teen pouted, turning in her outfit.

Randy looked over the black micro-mini and tight tank top. "You look lovely, ducks. An' I'm sure you'll be perfectly comfortable all night. As long as you don't move." He bent to look at her back. "Or sit down." Pulled back up to look at her front. "Or breathe."

Dawn threw her hands in the air in exasperation as Joan herded her up the stairs. The older girl threw a whispered "thank you" over her shoulder to her friend, who waved as she disappeared onto the landing.

                        ****

Willow, Tara and Randy were setting serving plates heaping with food out on the table when the doorbell rang. Joan and Dawn headed through the living room to answer it.

Giles, Anya and Alex filled the entryway with hugs and a high-pitched babble of affectionate greetings. "Anya's brought some sweets, Alex brought chips and dip for the ball game and I've brought a case of Guinness Dark." He bent to kiss Joan's cheek. "You Yanks put on a good holiday, but you've got no sense of occasion when it comes to the tap!"

"Can I have one?" Dawn asked, peeking in the liquor-store bag.

"Dawnie. Game now. Wheedle later." Alex passed her a bag of chips. The pair hurried off to the TV, hunkering down on the floor by the coffee table where they set up the snacks. They got the set turned on just in time for the kickoff.

Anya shook her head bemusedly. "Kids..." She slipped an arm through Giles'. Joan took his other arm and they headed into the dining room together.

                        ****

The eight of them crowded around the table, serving their plates. Plenty of jostling and boisterous talk in the process was to be had by all.

"WHOA! What the heck is *this*?" Alex called as he lifted the lid off a steaming casserole dish, letting a pungent aroma out into the room.

"Blood pudding. I made it," Joan answered. Taking in the amazed stares this drew, she added, "What?! We've got Limeys at the table for a Yankee holiday. I thought we ought to make something English for them." She tossed her hair, trying for dignity.

"Smells wonderful, luv," Randy told her.

"I quite agree. My family used to make blood pudding for the winter holidays when I was a child, I think...I seem to associate the smell with Christmas trees and eggnog," Giles said.

"That explains a *whole* lot about you and Randy," Alex grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

"More for me, then?" Randy needled him with a wicked grin. On his way around Joan to get to the salad bowl, the young vampire gave his friend a peck on the cheek and a whispered "thank you".

Joan gave him a little wave as he headed back to his seat.

                        ****

Rupert tapped a spoon against his crystal goblet, the chime cutting through the babble of voices in the room. "May I have a moment, please, everyone?"

Once all the chatter was stilled and all eyes were on him, Giles cleared his throat, drew himself up and began to speak.

"When Joan brought the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner here at the rooming-house by the shop the other day, Anya and I discussed how best to conduct ourselves at such an occasion, since neither of us has any clear memory of holidays in our past lives." He beamed briefly at his fiancee, who glowed happily right back.

"After tossing the question back and forth a few times, we realized that out of deference to whatever religious sensibilities Ms. Rosenberg -" he lifted his glass to Willow "- and any other non-Christians at the table -" Tara felt a small 'ping' of recognition at this "- might once have had, saying Grace or blessing the table would probably not be wise."

He poured some ale into his goblet and waited for the head of foam to subside. "So we came up with a secular alternative: a toast. Which, if you'll all fill your glasses, I'd like to offer you all."

Once everyone had a full glass before them, Giles continued. "Although Thanksgiving is not a tradition among my countrymen, and my memories of our traditions are hazy at best in any case, it is one with a distinctly American flavour. By this I refer, of course, to its inclusiveness. The notion of stopping to give thanks for the bounties life has brought them is so simple, so humble and so far-reaching it can be embraced by anyone - of any faith or social station or country of origin." He nodded to his son, who nodded back with a smile of recognition.

"Best of all is its elasticity. The idea of giving thanks is so broad it's open to a million and one interpretations. Even the humblest of men can find something to be thankful for, even if only that he lives another day." Joan's eyes met Randy's at that; her friend's expression betrayed nothing of his secret, nor did he acknowledge her concern for more than a second.

"At first glance, it might seem to a casual observer that life has brought the eight of us upon hard times. What we've lost could appear to outweigh what we have in our lives now. And I grant, these last few weeks have been rough ones for us all; relearning our lives has given each of us our share of awkwardness and disappointment."

Rupert smiled. "But I believe that despite all that, we have much to give thanks for this day. We have something few people ever know...a chance to stop and take stock of our lives...to look at the choices we've made, the terms circumstances have forced upon us, the big decisions that once set seem irreversible...and we have the opportunity to change them all if we choose. Thanks to this spell, we have the chance to re-make our lives - and ourselves - more to our liking, without harm or consequence to anyone."

Anya slipped her hand into his.

"And those who do know those things lack one gift which has sustained us through these weeks. We have each other. I know I have drawn strength and comfort from every one of you, each in your own way, when I hit the rough patches after we awoke. And I daresay each of you could say the same, if we cared to compare notes."

He looked around the table at seven faces, all as dear to him as family. "I have seen the eight of us strengthen the old bonds that joined us before, and establish new bonds that help sustain us as we start on this new path we've been placed on."

"For all these things, I for one feel truly blessed. And I ask you to raise your glasses and drink to them with me." He raised his glass high. "To friendships, old and new...and to second chances."

Eight goblets emitted high-pitched pings among a murmur of voices as they drank the toast.

                        ****

A/N: Yes, Virginia, there really *is* such a thing as blood pudding, and yes, actual blood is the main ingredient. I found a contemporary recipe for it in "The New York Times Heritage Cookbook;" Joan's version omits the garlic, of course. Incidentally, the recipe notes that kid's blood may be substituted for hog's blood, in case you ever have to cook for a vamp :-)