Afterlife Happens
by Exiled-Too
Afterlife Happens
[reviews]
_______________________________________________
Afterlife Happens
________________________________________________
Part One
"That's okay. I've got it. Look, guys . . . There's this thing. And I'm just gonna say it."
Willow watched as her best friend fidgeted. Something that Buffy never did in front of the gang before. . . before she died. The red headed Wiccan didn't know what do or say to help put her friend more at ease. She was worried that Buffy was just going to have to ride it out. They all were just going to have to ride it out.
'There is no greater gift than for your brother to give up his life for yours.' Willow thought about what Buffy had done for them and that quote seemed to fit it. They had done the play in her drama class during the summer and Willow remembered reading it for the first time . . . Tara hadn't understood.
"You brought me back," Buffy was saying, "I was in a place . . . "
This was hard for Willow to watch as the Slayer struggled to stay coherent.
"I was in Hell," the blonde was able to spit out.
An overpowering sense of pride rushed through Willow. This was the acknowledgment she had been waiting for; the validation she had craved.
"I don't . . . I can't think much about what it was like. But it felt . . . I felt like the world abandoned me there. And then suddenly you guys . . . You did what you did." Buffy's words ground to a halt and Willow could see her friend fight to force a smile.
'What tortures the she must have endured! Well,' the Wiccan thought to herself, 'if I can pull her out the actual three-D surround sound version of Hell with magic, then I'm sure there's a spell I can use to help her through this horrible time.'
"It was Willow. She knew what to do," Tara said quietly.
Willow felt her pride rise another notch as Buffy turned her sad eyes on her.
"So you did that?" Buffy questioned.
Willow could barely contain her delight as Buffy singled her out—the pain in Buffy's face more than dampened that joy. There must be some kind of spell she could do to erase the pain and bring the old Buffy back.
"And the world came rushing back. So . . . thank you. You guys gave me the world. Thank you. I can't tell you what it means to me." Her newly resurrected friend ground to a halt once again. Long pauses between words seemed to the norm with this version of the Slayer.
Willow felt a jolt when Buffy finally lifted her eyes enough for her to fully look into them. What she saw was beyond pain, beyond horror, and the witch almost thought she saw longing there.
"I should have said it before." Buffy finished.
Willow could tell Buffy had prepared and rehearsed the speech. Willow shrugged; asking Buffy's permission to hug her. It was an old Scooby thing, she had once explained to Tara, Buffy was a sensitive empath, it was how she was able to feel vampires close to her. It also meant sometimes it meant that the Slayer just couldn't stand to be physically touched, even by her friends. Especially by her friends. At her best friend's nod, Willow quickly crossed the short distance to her.
"You're welcome," Willow blurted out between the tears. 'I promise you, promise you, I will find a way to wipe away that look in your eyes.' She vowed silently to herself
"Welcome home, Buffy." She heard Xander say just as he joined the hug and together they engulfed their friend.
Willow knew Buffy wouldn't be able to tolerate the contact for long, so it was no surprise when after a few seconds Buffy broke the hug.
"Sorry guys. . . " the blonde started to apologize.
"It's ok Buff!" Xander interrupted backing away.
"It's just too soon," Buffy said looking up at Xander and Willow heard her mutterd. "I-I just can't deal with. . . "
"It's ok!" The Witch tried to put her friend at ease, Willow could tell that she'd lost her when Buffy turned and started wandering towards the training room.
Willow just watched her go; there was no use in trying to stop her or engage in conversation. The few days since she'd been back, once Buffy drifted off mentally she stayed gone for a while.
"Now that's a sad puppy," Xander mentioned while sitting at the round table in the center of the Magic Box.
"Yeah," Willow's mind was going into her overdrive mode. She turned back to her friends after hearing the outside door to the training room close. "I think we should make Buffy forget."
"What?" the other three people chorused at the same time.
Willow walked over to the table. 'Quickly, I have to say this and do it quickly, today; it would be the only way the spell could work.'
"I've been researching the spell the monks used to create Dawn. . . " She started only to be interrupted by her lover.
"Willow," Tara started in that maternal voice the young Wiccan despised. "We can't do that kind of magic! Do as you will and harm none!"
Willow glared at Tara, thinking what a stick-in-the-mud she'd become. 'She's holding my own growth and power back!'
"Look Tara," Willow snapped. "If you'd had your way Buffy would still be in that torturous Hell Dimension!"
"Will, all she's saying. . . " Xander started.
Willow burned, seethed with rage at the mutiny! Turning, she made for the training room, fully intending on doing the spell.
"I'm right about this," she told them as she left, "and you guys will see!" She hurried, because if she was going to rework Buffy's memories of Hell, she had to do it quickly
"Buffy?" she queried, getting no answer. When it was apparent her friend wasn't in the room, she opened the door to the outside.
Willow was startled to hear Spike's voice and the tail end of his comment. " . . . but I know a thing or two about torment."
"I was happy," she heard Buffy say in that same sad voice. Everything inside Willow froze. She couldn't move, couldn't think, stuck holding the outside door slightly ajar. She couldn't believe she'd heard correctly. Buffy couldn't have been happy in Hell! It was that bastard, Spike! He'd done this to Buffy! He'd confused her to the point where she didn't know what to think!
"Wherever I . . . was . . . I was happy. At peace," her friend reiterated.
All Willow could do was stand there as if her feet were stuck in glue. Her emotional high from Buffy's praise only a few minutes earlier drained out of her. 'No!' she thought frantically. Bile rose up in her throat. 'What have I done?'
"I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it." The words seem to pour out of Buffy's mouth and each one was like the stroke of a whip.
'But we weren't all right; we were never even close to all right!' Willow thought. . . begged . . . in her mind. 'Don't you understand nothing was right, nothing could ever be right, without you here?' Fat salty tears began to stream down Willow's face, and she was able to free a hand from the paralysis that had gripped her long enough dash them away. She wanted to turn away from the words, from Buffy—she couldn't.
"Time didn't mean anything, nothing had form . . . but I was still me, you know?" The young witch saw the Slayer look questioning at the Vampire before she continued. "And I was warm and I was loved . . . and I was finished. Complete. I don't understand about dimensions or theology or any of . . . but I think I was in heaven."
'Heaven?' Willow thought, 'you were loved here? I love you! I've always loved you!'
"And now I'm not."
"Buffy?" Spike asked.
"I was torn out of there. My friends pulled me out. And everything here is bright and hard and violent . . . Everything I feel, everything I touch . . . this is Hell."
'Hell is being with me,' the witch thought in anguish.
"Willow? Sweetie?" Tara's voice broke the thrall Buffy's words had over Willow and she let the door slide softly shut. As the door's lock clicked all control the young girl had over her tears dissolved and she slowly slid down the wall as sobs wracked her small frame.
She couldn't see her lover through the torrent, she could only feel Tara's hand on shoulder.
"Sweetie, honey, what's wrong?" she heard Tara ask and it enraged her.
She pushed to her feet, "What's wrong?" Willow knew she was shouting. She couldn't stop herself, couldn't stop screaming, at the one person who always believed in her.
"What's wrong? Well, I'll tell you what's wrong!" She paused at Tara so she could walk up to the Xander blob that just ran into the room. "I'll tell you all what's wrong! Buffy was in heaven! Heaven and I sundered her from it, I pulled her out of heaven!"
"Will, you aren't making any sense." Xander told her calmly walking up to her and gathering her into a hug. "Tell me again, slowly and in one syllable words."
It almost worked. He was almost enough, but he wasn't. Buffy's words echoed in her mind, 'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
"Oh God, I have to go!" Willow said quietly, and when Xander wouldn't release her, she threw him against the wall and dashed out into the day.
Part Two
I look around the park I found myself in when I was too tired to run anymore. It's a nice park by Sunnydale standards. A small lake on one end, a pretty little stream and bridge on the other. Tara and I would come and eat lunch here between classes last year. Before she lost her mind, before Buffy called me her "big gun," before Buffy died.
Before: 'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
I so don't want to go there right now; I try to distract my mind by looking around. There are lots of people out sitting at tables, having picnics, so I guess it must be lunchtime. Which means it's only been a few hours at the most, since I overheard Buffy's confession to Spike.
Dawn will be getting out of school in about 3 hours, I think automatically. Then remember that Buffy's back so I don't have to worry about picking her up anymore.
'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
Dawn! Think about Dawn and how Tara and I tried to never leave her alone after. . . well . . . Buffy killed herself. Well, she didn't exactly kill herself; she just jumped to save the world . . . yeah, right.
That's what it felt like. My best friend was so tired and worn down emotionally last spring that I thought, from her message to Dawn, that she was happy about taking the high drive off the tower.
And I was right.
Oh, Goddess Bless! How could I have pulled her out of heaven! How could I been so selfish? I find myself on my hands and knees getting sick on the beach. The bile rising up in my throat like the red hot lance to my heart I feel at my actions, if only I could purge this guilt as easily. Buffy was in heaven, she had reached her reward; she was warm and safe and happy. The tears start again, but I'm too weak to get up and run so I slowly collapse onto my side.
'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
How could I have done that to my friend? How could I have been so arrogant as to assume that magical death equaled Hell? Why didn't I just trust in my craft enough to simply ASK where my best friend was, my love for her gave me the right to know.
'You didn't ask because you love her and you didn't want to live your life without her.' The voice in the back of my mind answers for me.
But that wasn't totally it . . . I answer the voice and now I'm getting really concerned for my sanity.
I felt her death! I felt the pain, and yes fear, she had at the moment her soul separated from her body . . . her body that fell a hundred feet--just like so much meat. Her body that the Powers that Be couldn't have lowered to the ground with some kind of dignity. Not let it drop, broken, and soiled, and . . .
Lifeless!
The Powers That Be, or God, let his warrior die like that and I--I had the power to change it, so I did!
I did without asking because I no longer believed in the Goddess or God, I just believed in me . . .
And now, it's too late.
'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
She's here and so am I.
And I might not know about God but there is one thing this little lapsed Jewish girl is sure of, you can't take your own life. Oh no! What if Buffy's planning to do that? No, she wouldn't, she's the Slayer and they fight to their last breath . . . except that's what Buffy did, last spring.
I would reverse the spell; only in my research last night I found out that once the Hitchhiker was dead the spell I did was permanent.
I realized that my body was getting chilled from lying on the rough sand of the small beach. I don't know how long I had been there, the lunchtime crowd had cleared the park.
Thank God for the residents of Sunnydale extreme denial because not one of the people stopped to check on me as they left.
I slowly sit up thinking about how to help Buffy . . . I could kill her and then she would go back to heaven. I already have a curse on my soul for working the dark, who am I kidding, the Black Magic, no even that's not correct, Blood Magic to bring her back.
I was hoping that by bringing back the warrior of the people it would bleach out the stain a little, and then future good deeds would wash it away.
Only now it doesn't matter, I'm damned. Taking her life, a mercy killing at that, wouldn't add to the damage.
I stand up with my mind made up. I will kill my best friend and then beg what Gods there may be for forgiveness and hopefully she will be accepted back into heaven.
Oh man! What am I thinking? I fall back to my knees as the bile comes back; I have to swallow it down.
No, no, don't think about killing your love, your friend, if you do then you'd never be able to do it. Stop thinking about never seeing Buffy again! Stop it! Now! Stand up; no it doesn't matter if your legs are wobbly, walk . . .
This is just another . . . mental exercise. No, no crying. You caused this, you have to fix it.
I start back for the house that I've shared with Dawn and Tara for the past 5 months planning the murder of my best friend, a knife would be too painful, and hey, Slayer reflexes. Stabbing her in the back would be too "Et too Brutus?"
How about a gun?
I've never used a gun. And I'd heard about people surviving even the worse wounds: shotgun blasts from point blank range that nearly cut them in half . . .
So a Slayer? Check gun off the list of 'How to murder your best friend.'
I hear a crazed giggle and I look around to see where it's coming from, before I realize it's me. I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to make it stop. When I think I can continue, I start back down the street.
I could overdose her. I get lost in a fantasy of grinding up painkillers into her drink. She would just go to sleep and back to her reward. The trouble with that is it would take so many it would be all powdery pills and very little drink.
A bark of a laugh escapes before I can pull it back and make the thought go away. And I have to use the hand again. I know I must look strange walking down the street with tears flowing down my face and a hand over my mouth.
Sunnydale: as long as I don't bite or threaten to kill anyone I'm safe with my thoughts of. . . well. . . killing someone.
"That's just sick." I say out loud. "I'm sick!" and I finally get a stare from someone that I'm sharing the sidewalk with, and she hurries to cross the street. Good riddance. Leave!
"Hey," I shout and can't stop my words. "Buffy died for you! And do you thank her?" I look away from her back as she runs into a nearby shop.
The shop brings me up short because I realize that I'm back in the downtown section of Sunnydale and I don't want Tara or anyone else to see me. I don't want them to know I'm a cold-blooded murderer on top of being a dark witch. I slip into a nearby alley, it's a longer way back to the house, but I don't think anyone will see me.
As soon as I know I'm alone I continue my plotting.
The ideas come and go--gun, knife, stake, sword, poison, drugs--none of which I'm totally sure would work, or work quickly enough that she wouldn't feel too much pain.
Let's face it; trying to kill a Slayer just ain't that easy. I nearly bark another laugh as I walk up the step to the house that I considered home for these past months.
"Hello, I'm home." I announced as I walked into the house hoping that no one will be there. I really don't want to explain either my tears or what I heard this morning. When no one answers I think I'm safe.
It was still early for Dawn and I pray that Buffy decided to go pick her up.
And at the thought of Dawn, her frantic face comes unbidden to my mind. I can hear the youngest Summer say clearly: "You can't bring her back and then take her away again . . ." I stop dead in my tracks and I feel my heart seize. I realize that I could never kill Buffy. It was just a sick fantasy.
I feel the tears start as I realize just how much pain I've caused. I want to turn around and run away. I don't deserve to breathe the same air as these people. Here I've spent the better part of an hour plotting my best friend's death! I can't kill her, I would never be able to, and even if I did, it would be like sticking the knife into Dawn, too.
I'm so ashamed.
'Stop it!' I order myself silently. I pause at the staircase and sit down on the bottom riser. 'You can feel sorry for yourself later; just think of a way to help Buffy now.'
'I need to check my books; maybe there's some kind of spell.' I start up the stairs intent on finding something that will help Buffy, when about half-way up a feeling--that can only be described as agony--hits me right between the eyes.
I nearly double over from the sheer force of the emotion that's radiating down the hallway from . . . Buffy's room!
A sense of prescience fills me with dread, I know in my heart what Buffy's doing, and I'm as sure as anything in my life that if Buffy succeeds then it won't be Heaven she would find herself in.
I run the rest of the way up the stairs and fling open Buffy's bedroom door to find . . .
. . . Buffy sitting on her bed with a razor blade poised over the major artery of her wrist and arm. We both stare in shock for a beat; Buffy's eyes looking exactly like the doe's that I slaughtered two days ago to bring her back.
Then at the same time we break from our paralysis. The power rises up within me, I now know where it's coming from, but it doesn't matter! It never mattered! With a wave of my hand the razor blade flies out her fingers, cutting them deeply, and imbeds in the window frame.
"You have no right!" She screams jumping up, and the doe-eyed look is now one of murderous rage. Only the worst vamps earn this particular look of rage from the Slayer maybe Angelus . . . maybe the Master.
The power is curling around my hands, crackling; I see the red and black forming and engulfing my arms. How dare that little girl challenge us!
I throw my arm up in a stop motion and the mighty Slayer is thrown head-over-heels over the bed. I'm surprised, then frightened at the power that's filling me. I'm mad though, I thought there was a chance Buffy might try to kill herself, I never actually thought she would truly do it! That she would give up, again!
The Slayer is pulling herself up by using the bedpost for support. She's dazed, I know from experience that this is when she's most dangerous. When she's a little dazed she's not in control of the Slayer as it fights to survive. I won't get another chance, power crackling between my fingers or not.
She just begins to face me when I lift my hand, only this time I use it as a focus point to direct my Will into her mind . . . Sweat beads on her forehead has she resists my intrusion, so I smother it along with her consciousness.
She falls face forward onto her bed--out.
The power wants more, though. The power isn't finished, and I start feeling lightheaded and happy. A strange feeling of euphoria runs tingling through my body from my hands, the power just feels so good . . . I sit down on the floor laughing, I'm strong, I am the strongest person in this world!
'I was in heaven, and now I'm not, I was torn . . .'
Well, that's a downer. And I start to fight the power. It takes a while, but it retreats. For the time, I feel it, though. It's like a living entity, it's old and patient and now that it's awake, I will always have to be on guard against its seductive call.
I look up at my best friend and know I'm in over my head. Both with the power I can now summon with a careless thought, and how to help Buffy. I notice blood pooling around her hand where the razor blade cut her fingers . . .
Well one thing at a time.
I wrap a towel around her hand, then I tuck her in the bed.
I go to Tara's and my room to get the phone; I have to call the Magic Box . . .
Its time to fess-up to my friends and let us figure out a way to keep Buffy alive. Because I know if the Slayer is going to let her commit suicide, then we have a long road ahead of us to keep her alive.
And--I think I might need help--too.
*************************************************
Part Three
*************************************************
I'm sitting here sewing up Buffy's fingers; normally she doesn't need stitches, even when the cut is down to the bone like it is now. All Giles used to do was pull the edges together with tape and by the next day the cut would be closed. The day after that, the scar would be gone.
Tiny stitches, close the wound, pull the thread, tie the knot, move on to the next one.
The light from the window I'm sitting under is just enough. It's the window that Buffy would climb out each night to go on patrol.
I guess I'm overcompensating for not fixing her hands when she clawed her way out of her own coffin. And the guilt just keeps on coming. Not only do I pull her out of heaven; I leave her in a coffin, six feet underground.
I'm two for two in the 'let's traumatize your best friend' competition.
Well, at least I'm using the purple thread. She likes purple. I have no idea why surgical thread is different colors. It just never occurred to me to find out.
I hear the front door slam open and footsteps on the stairs; it's a single set so my guess it's Tara. Xander probably went to pick up Dawn from school and Anya wouldn't leave her money in the middle of the day, so it has to be Tara. Usually I would be able to feel it when Tara was this close to me; only now, I'm working hard at not feeling anything.
Tiny stitches, close the wound, pull the thread, tie the knot, move on to the next one.
She comes rushing into Buffy's room all out of breath and flushed faced . . . And her beauty absolutely stuns me. I don't want to feel, I don't want to think of the conversation we have ahead of us.
Tara always warned me about using too much magic; to her it was her religion. She truly believes in the natural order of things, 'do as ye will and harm none.'
Well, I'd say she's broken that rule. I'd say she's harmed one, so what does that mean?
Have I damned her, too?
Don't think, don't feel, don't breathe.
Tiny stitches, close the wound, pull the thread, tie the knot, move on to the next one.
She's standing a few steps inside the doorway watching me. I can see the concern written all over her face, and at the same time I know she's reaching out to me. Not on a physical level, we are so past that, she's reaching out to me with her emotions.
She's an empath; she can project her emotions—calm reassurance—that's what I suspect she trying to send to me.
"Sweetie?" when she gets no response, she moves further into the room to stand by the opposite side of the bed.
All right, so now I have to talk to her. I can do it; I used to talk to her all the time. But that was before I found out that I may have talked her into damning herself to raise my -- what? Just what was, I mean is, Buffy to me? More than a friend, less than a lover, no she's more than a lover; she is a part of me.
"Willow, sweetie, Xander said you sounded . . ." She starts with that concerned tone of voice she has, the tone I used to love, only now I can't stand to hear.
"Tara," I cut her off without looking up, I don't want to miss a stitch, now do I? "Tara, I will tell you what's going on when everyone else is here." I have to pause, the tears have started again and I don't trust my voice.
"I will only be able to say it once," I finish lamely. I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my face.
"Willow, baby," she starts to come around the bed. And I don't want that so . . . If I can't stand to hear the concern in her voice then the touch of her love will shatter me.
"Stop!" I shout, and I suddenly feel it, the power, uncurling, looking for a fight. I want to use it; I want to crush her just so I won't have to look at the pain in her eyes. It wants to crush her, it wants to be released and I want to let it free.
God help me, I want to let it have me. I would do anything to make this burning in my soul stop.
Tiny stitches, close the wound, pull the thread, tie the knot, move on to the next one.
Don't move, don't look up at Tara, keep your hand steady. Don't let her know . . .
Is this what it means to be damned? Is it this constant torture, this searing insight into how horribly you have hurt the person that you love most, is this what Hell is going to be like?
I can tell I'm crying because Buffy's fingers have become blurry. Oh, well, there wasn't anymore room on her fingers to put another stitch. I start to methodically pack away the First Aid kit, when I realize that Tara is still there.
She must have seen something in me because she's still standing exactly as she was when I shouted at her. I mildly wonder if some of the power might have leaked out and I froze her accidentally.
But then her hand flies to her mouth in horror, so nope, not frozen.
"Willow, honey, please let me help," she begs.
I look up at her for the first time, I meet her eyes with mine and I let her see it. I'm not sure if it manifests on a physical plane or not. With Tara it doesn't matter. She takes an instinctive step backward before she can catch herself.
We just look at each other for a few moments -- not moving, not speaking -- not feeling.
The front door opens downstairs and I hear Xander and Dawn come into the house. Since I have no idea how deeply Buffy is sleeping, I motion Tara to follow me as I stand up. As I brush past her, she doesn't touch my arm but her words stop me.
"We will talk about this, I will not lose you," Tara tells me, her voice is full of confidence.
I let it come out a little bit more, enough so I know it shows on the outside, enough for it to take the edge off the worst of the pain. Once I take the reins off, it floods outs--oh god the relief--it's smothering the agony. It drowns all the questioning, all the wondering . . . gone in a blink of an eye.
When I'm ready, I do a slow pivot to face Tara. I want her to see it, I want her taste it, to touch it, this is power! This is the monster I'm destined to become.
"That's not your choice," I say coldly, using a tiny hint of force. "Nothing will be your choice ever again." She backs away from me and keeps backing until her back is pressed up against Buffy's closet door. Her expression is one of utter devastation as the tears well up in her eyes.
"Will-Willow," I notice her stutter is back. Her fear of me is wafting off her in waves and it's delicious. "I know you're not a bad person . . . "
"I don't care what you know or think you know, Lover." I mock her, feeding off of her hurt along with her terror.
I detect the magical energies forming around her and act before she's ready to anchor the shield. With a twitch of my little finger I shatter it.
"Always the Wiccan, Lover?" I smirk, "a mirror shield to deflect my power back at me?"
One measured step forward into her space. "A mirror shield, Lover? Come now, can't you do better than that?" An idea forms in my mind . . . "If you like mirrors so much, how about I put you in one? I wonder how long it would take for you to loose your mind?" I pause for effect. "Again."
If I'd thought she was afraid before, I now know what real fear tastes like. I take it all in--the rapid heart beat, the quickened breath--she's gasping for air like a marathon runner on the 26th mile. It's all--glorious! I start the spell as she slides down the door to huddle on the floor.
Choking sobs behind me catch my attention and I whirl, bringing my hands up to blast anyone sneaking up on me . . . All I see is my best friend curling into a ball and rubbing her eyes like a petulant child that has cried herself to sleep.
A flash of purple on her hand sparks a memory . . .
Tiny stitches, close the wound, pull the thread, tie the knot, move on to the next one.
I realize, for the second time in two hours, that the power has taken hold of me. I stand there in shock and I start to feel so cold that my teeth begin to chatter.
"Fight Willow, fight it," I can hear Buffy's voice in my head. "You're my big gun . . . I kind of love you!" All the times Buffy told me she loved me, or told me I was worth something, that I wasn't just a geek to her, it all rushes through my mind.
The power is old and strong, and it's so embedded within me that I don't want to resist it, I want it to wash away my pain, I want it to wash away all my mistakes.
I hear a whimper at my feet and I look down in time to see Tara pulling herself to her feet with the help of the doorknob.
'Oh no! I couldn't have . . . ' I think frantically.
"Tara baby," I plead. She won't look at me; her hands are trembling and she won't look at me. I reach out to touch her on her shoulder and she shies away.
"Please, Tara, look at me, say something!" I beg falling to my knees. She's been my rock, my constant. "Please you have to forgive me! I can't loose you too!"
Tara takes a step, then two, away from me. I think she's leaving but she stops and turns around. Tears are running freely down her face, her eyes are red and bloodshot, she tries to take a deep breath only it catches on a sob.
What did I do? What could I have done to cause this? I have no memory from the time that I stood up, until now . . . I vaguely remember something about a mirror, only that thread is quickly fading . . .
Tara looks away, running trembling fingers through mussed blonde hair.
"When my mother died," she starts, then has to pause to gather her wits. I know this because I know her; I see her straightening her back, standing up as if her mother was here, watching us.
"When my mother died," she repeats. "I promised her that once I moved and left Daddy and Donnie, I would never live in fear."
Tara turns to me and her eyes are cold. I know what's coming, I know and I can't stop it.
"I love you, Willow, I'm not the one you love, and I'm not the one you want . . . And after today I'm afraid of you." Tara's composure totally dissolves on the last word and she turns to dash out the door. Only Dawn and Xander are standing there as silent witnesses.
"No! No, baby! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" It's too late, she ignores my pleas. Tara gives Dawn a hug and then she leaves.
The power is building in me again . . . It's whispering that it will take all my troubles, that it can fix everything if I would just let it out. I would never have to know what it does; I would be happy and safe . . .
I feel like I've lost everything . . .
I don't want to resist.
I do.
I fight it because I haven't lost everything--yet. Tara was right, she was right that she's not the one I want . . . not the one I love.
And even if Buffy hates me for the rest of my life, I will hold on to this one truth: when I was at my darkest, twice in one day, my love for her saved me.
With that realization the Darkness, the evil, the power--retreats and leaves me to my mistakes. I can never fix my best friend; I can only love and support her, and hope that one day she recovers.
Still the power is old and patient and it's awake now.
_____________________________________
Part Four
_____________________________________
I stand up and dash the tears from my eyes. Tara was gone, I knew her inside and out, and she was truly gone. There would be time for tears, private tears, in the future.
Now, I had to check on Buffy. I ignore the questioning glance from Xander and the accusing glare from Dawn to turn toward the Slayer. She was so beautiful; my heart just melted all over again. It looks like she had been sucking on her thumb the way her fisted hand was laying next to her face. She had pulled into herself; she only slept on her side when she had strong nightmares. I learned that during the High School sleepovers we would have when my parents were out of town. I was the one she trusted with her troubles back then, not Spike.
It seems like this nightmare was one of the 'bad ones.' The kind that was more night a terror than nightmare. That's if the tear tracks on her cheeks and muffled moans were any indication. I have to still my hand as it instinctively reaches to shake her awake, like I used to do.
"Willow, she's dreaming, wake her up," Dawn tells me from behind. "You know you're the only one that could ever do it safely." I swallow the ironic laugh. Dawn doesn't know that I'm teetering on the edge of insanity. She doesn't know that Buffy probably hates me right now.
However, she's right; compassion demands that I wake the Slayer from whatever holds her in its grip. She is enspelled and I don't know if she can fight her own way out of the dream. It's hard enough for her do it when she's sleeping normally!
'How will you be able to control her when she wakes?' The nagging little voice was back. The answer of course was: I don't know. OK, cue the power sluggishly turning its head like a long asleep anaconda, 'We will be able to easily keep her under control. Actually, she will never have to even know it.' The Power whispers seductively in my ear. It is watching, waiting for any chance to be released into the world again.
"No, never." I tell it not realizing that I say it out loud, until I feel Xander's comforting hand on my shoulder.
"What Will? Why not wake Buffy up?" He gently tightens his fingers as an affirmation of his words. "What's going on?"
I turn my head to the side to see concern, confusion, and trust in his deep brown eyes. The trust nearly does me in and I walk into his strong warm arms.
"I've messed up Xander," my voice is muffled against his shirt. For once Dawn doesn't say anything, as I feel her supportive arms wrap around both of us.
"You brought her back, Willow. There is nothing . . . " I just cry harder drowning out the youngest Summers' words.
After a few more minutes I think I have enough control to try and help Buffy with her nightmare.
Xander and Dawn let me step out of their arms without a word. Both are looking at me for answers I don't have at the moment.
Turn away from their eyes and just think Willow! I command, just think . . .
"Xander, where is Oz's gun?" I ask turning back to him.
"Huh?" His confusion was evident.
"Willow, no?" Dawn starts but I wave at her to be quiet.
Xander blinks at me as he realizes that I'm serious and then his dark eyes grow darker with worry.
Before he can answer Dawn does. "It's in the closet down stairs, the darts are on the top shelf." She turns, "I'll go get it, last time I checked the drugs were still in date." She's out the door and poor Xander is still at . . . "Huh?"
I have to dismiss him from my mind. I'm hoping that we won't have to use the gun on Buffy but its nice to have backup in case what I'm about to try doesn't work. I refuse to use the Power I have; I refuse to unleash it, I mean me, on the world. At least not with my friends in the fallout zone. So I'm going to try the next best thing.
Just like Tara, Buffy is an empath; it's how she knows when vampires are around. She can feel vampire's emotions inside of her. I'm hoping she'll be able to feel me. I start taking deep cleansing breaths like Tara tried to teach me last winter.
"Find your center Willow; everything comes from the center of you." I hear her words in my ear. I, of course, didn't want to find my center, I wanted learn spells. I didn't want to waste my time learning the "touchy feely" side of magic. Buffy needed Power to fight Glory. But that wasn't the real reason that I ignored Tara's teachings, the real reason was that I thought I knew better. Now I know I didn't.
'Too late now . . . ' It tells me.
'No, its not,' I answer.
I start to breathe, in one two three, out one two three . . .
'How boring!' I hear it mumble. 'You don't have to do it this way; all you have to do is wave your hand . . . '
I keeping taking deeps breaths, the way Tara tried to show me. Thank God that Xander's quiet or he could ruin my concentration.
As I breathe, I finally begin to relax, and I'm able to start thinking about Buffy.
I think of how she looks with the sun shining in her hair, turning it into golden silk. I think of her kindness, of her bravery, of the way she fights and how much it resembles ballet.
When I'm ready, I walk around the bed and start to stroke the damp hair away from her face. I try to project my love in my touch—experience the peace her beauty gives me—I want her to know what she gives me everyday just by being my friend.
I'm frightened that the power might rise however it stays dormant—silent—I don't know why.
Slowly, I hear her sobbing stop. She uncurls from the ball that she had pulled herself into, to lie flat on her back. I watch as she takes a huge breath and then releases it and I know she's drifted into calm, more peaceful rest.
Since the Power stays quiet I risk looking at Buffy with the sight that Tara taught me to use. She could naturally read auras, whereas I never thought of it as an important skill. You don't need to see a Vamp's aura to know its evil.
I can't be sure about Buffy's because that part of me is so weak, I think she's in a deep dreamless sleep.
Dawn appears in the doorway with the gun. She looks at me and I shake my head no. Relieved she hands the gun to the still confused and stunned Xander.
My best friend, a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but I love him anyway. I just hope he still loves me after he hears what I have to say.
I don't want to leave Buffy alone and yet, I don't want to have this conversation in here, so I compromise on Dawn's room. I know that from her doorway I can just see Buffy. I motion them to follow me. Once in Dawn's room I can't stay still so I pace the small area. I just don't know how to tell them this awful news.
Xander stands with the gun close to the doorway, which interferes with my pacing, so I glare at him until he moves further into the room. Dawn just makes herself comfortable on her bed.
My pacing takes me out of sight of Buffy for a second so I rush out of the room to look at her.
"First thing we buy," I tell them walking back, "is a baby monitor."
Dawn picks up one of her stuffed animals and hugs it close to her. I can feel her worried eyes on me. Xander is just waiting for me to say how bad it is, so he can go about trying to fix it.
I face them, they have the right to see my eyes and know that I'm a monster.
"Buffy wasn't in Hell, like I thought, she was in Heaven," I blurt out.
"So that's what you meant this morning?" Xander says, yes . . . he's sometimes not the brightest.
"I don't care." Dawny tells us softly, as one single tear overflows and tracks silently down her face. "I don't care, I know that makes me a selfish person, I'm just glad she's back. I needed my sister."
She seems to calm while saying her piece; I was worried that we were going to be treated to one of her legendary temper tantrums. She also doesn't seem surprised by my revelation.
"So what's the stitch Will?" Xander asks as he wipes at his eyes. "We—we took her out of Heaven, as in the angels sing and the trumpets sound?" His weak joke falls flat.
"Yes, we—I since I'm the one that insisted on doing the ritual, 'tore'--I think her exact words were--that we tore her out of Heaven." I don't want to mince words with them. I want them to know just how bad it is, just how damned I am. That I'm a vile dirty thing and I don't belong here.
I wait for their words of disgust, I brace to hear the worse they have to offer because I deserve it. I deserve to be punished, to be banned or exiled from them. I couldn't stand to see the depth of their hatred so I turn back to go check on Buffy.
I guess my hideous crime has left them speechless. The Power is beginning to notice my despair—it's waking again—it can take all this away.
"Willow." Xander is right in front of me; he grips both my shoulders and gives me a small shake.
"Xander?" I'm a little confused and slightly panicked. The last time this happened Tara left . . . Buffy?
"Where's the gun . . . "
Dawn gives me a tiny wave with her free hand, she has the gun.
Lost time, yes, right.
"Will, you just zoned out there for a minute." He tells me, watching me intently. I shake off his hands and resume my pacing.
"Sorry." I choke out as the pain overwhelms me again and I crumble to my knees sobbing. 'How many times in one day can I cry, how many tears do I have to shed before it will all just stop?'
I vaguely notice Dawn handing the gun over to Xander. I feel her arms going around me and I want to pull away, I don't deserve her sympathy. They need to watch Buffy in case she wakes up. Dawn is so warm and right now I am so cold.
After some time I'm able to pull myself together and while I don't stop crying I can at least form words.
"Thank you Dawn," I tell her pushing away to stand up. I notice that Xander has taken over my place by the door, watching Buffy, and us. I'm relieved that he realized the need.
As I'm standing up I realize that I'm still weak and my knees start to buckle, Dawn is there to help me sit on her bed. She reaches behind her and picks up a cup of water that is on her dresser. I guess that's where Xander went--to get the water.
After I take a good drink, almost emptying the entire cup in one gulp, I give it back to Dawn. She hands me a wet wash cloth, the coldness feels good on my hot skin.
"Willow, I know you feel rotten and awful--I want you to hear us out." Dawn has her version of resolve face on, so I know I'm stuck.
"We're not sorry about having her back," Dawn is crying, too.
Xander clears his throat, "Will, you are still the boss of us." He states softly. Then clears his throat again. "Dawn and I have figured out that Buffy doesn't want to be here. So what do we do to keep her alive?"
I tell them the truth; "I don't know. This is bigger than me."
We look at each other, and then we know what to do.
"We need Giles," we say at the same time.
"I'll check on his flight and see if he can get an earlier one." Dawn says, leaving the room. Xander walks over and touches my shoulder and then goes into Buffy's room.
I'm left alone sitting on the youngest Summers' bed. She's no longer the only Summers thanks to me.
They think we need Giles for Buffy alone, they don't know that I need him, and I'm not sure if he can or even if he will want to help me. I need him anyway, to help Buffy.
___________________
Part Five
_____________________
"Willow! Wake-up, Buffy's up and wants to leave." I hear Dawn's urgent voice through the fog of sleep. The last thing I remember was Dawn going downstairs to call Giles and Xander looking in on the Slayer.
"Buffy, just wait for Willow, she'll explain," Xander says. Thank God for thin walls. And I'm instantly awake and moving towards the hallway. It'll only take me a few seconds however I know just how fast the Slayer can move. If Xander delays in using the gun she'll be out of here.
How could I have fallen asleep? I should've been there when Buffy woke up.
"Xander if you don't put that down, I'll wrap it around your neck and you'll wear it as a necklace!" Good--she's still threatening him, that's means there's time.
"Buffy," he tries to reason again as I get to the doorway - blocking it. "Wait for Will . . . low," he finishes.
"Yes, Willow," the Slayer crosses her arms and looks straight at me. Her blue eyes burn a hole through me; I'm stunned by the hatred coming off her in waves. I vaguely notice the overhead light--so it's dark outside. I wonder how long I was asleep.
"Well, Willow? We're waiting for you to explain why I'm prisoner in my own house!" The Slayer doesn't scream; she never screams. Still, if I were a vampire, right now I'd be saying my prayers . . . except vampires don't pray.
"Will?" Xander looks at me for support. He can see Buffy's blue eyes too. Buffy's eyes are hazel, the Slayer's are blue.
"Yes, Willow?" She raises her eyebrow slightly in question. "And while you're explaining why I wake up to Xander standing over me with a gun, you can also answer what kind of mojo you used to put me out!" Her voice is a barely contained furious whisper.
I don't know what to say. I wasn't expecting a defiant, angry Slayer. I was expecting a depressed or embarrassed Buffy. The difference has thrown me. I can feel all their eyes on me. Xander's pleading with me that I might have been wrong earlier.
Dawn is behind me, so I can't see her face but I can imagine it. They didn't want to believe that Buffy was in heaven because, let's be real, yanking someone out of heaven is a crime of biblical proportions.
Wrath of God and all that.
I've had time to accept my damnation, Xander hasn't. I spare a glance his way and notice that the gun has dropped slightly.
"Xander!" I hiss at him and he lifts it back up. I turn back to Buffy in time to see the slightest flash of frustration play across her face. Now I know why we are still talking instead of Buffy being gone.
Xander has kept the Slayer on the other side of the bed, while he's as far away from her as the small room will allow. He's backed into a corner. Buffy could probably get to him before he got a dart off but the uncertainty is keeping her in place, for now.
I take a breath, I have to sound calm and collected or Xander will lower the gun and Buffy will die. We're not even sure a dart will put her out; although I do think it would slow her down enough so that we could overpower her.
"Willow! Explain, now!" Buffy interrupts my train of thought. She is the very picture of indignation. Her arms crossed at her middle, her head held high, the rage at being told to what to do flashing in her eyes.
"Buffy, we know that you were in heaven, you don't have to pretend anymore," I tell her softy. I don't want to enrage her more than I have to at the moment.
There is a stunned silence and then she starts to laugh, she is laughing so hard that she nearly topples over onto the bed.
And I am again surprised.
I don't know what's going on with her.
"Buffy?" I question and take a tentative step into the room, and then notice that Xander has to adjust to have a clear shot, so I stop. When Giles was accidentally shot with the tranq gun he slept for three days. I would probably sleep for a week.
Buffy dashes the tears from her eyes and stands up straight.
"Look Will, I know that I haven't been little miss sunshine since I've been back . . ." She doesn't finish her sentence. I see her trying to breathe, only the air catches and she can't get it in. I want to go to her, I want to take her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be all right.
I ache. I literally ache with the desire to hold my best friend, to comfort her.
"Will," her eyes catch and hold mine for a moment. I can't tell what I see, I think it's hate, or anger, or fear?
"Xander," she does the same thing to him, only her eyes change, they're soft and loving.
"I wasn't in heaven. I—I can't talk about it." Her words run out and I can tell that she's about to slip away to wherever she's been going the past few days.
Xander lowers the gun and looks at me with uncertainty. What can I say to him? What do I say to Dawn or what can I think? Buffy wasn't in heaven? I know what I heard. I know what I saw this afternoon when I came home.
The Slayer shakes herself out of the trance she had fallen into, then walks slowly towards me. "May I go now? I have to patrol."
There is still something going on—the razor blade?
"Buffy when I walked in on you this afternoon I felt—I felt—an incredible amount of pain." I start remembering that it wasn't just me. "Then I saw you with a razor blade . . . "
"Willow," she shakes her head no. "I was changing the blade on my Dad's razor. I've had it since he left." She goes back around the bed, and after kneeling, holds up an old fashioned razor in her right hand. "I know Lady Bic would be better but it somehow makes him closer to me."
She sighs and stands up, putting the razor on the bedside table.
"Is this why you went all veiny?" She asks, coming toward me. "Cause I gotta say I didn't like whatever it was you did." She stops in front of me, staring up at me with fire in her eyes.
"Actually, I think you have the problem that needs to be addressed." She continues, "I think you are using way to much magic."
"She has a point there Willow," Xander agrees. He leans the gun against the doorframe and then walks over to us. "You have been depending on it too much."
What can I say to them? They're right; I almost lost it twice today. If it wasn't for Buffy and how much I love her, I would have lost it. Could I have been wrong? I know what I felt when I got home, could I have just been projecting my own fears and pains onto Buffy?
Tara is the empath, not me. I rarely feel what other people are feeling. Maybe I'm wrong; maybe I misunderstood what I overheard, too?
"Willow, this morning?" Dawn's question echoes my thoughts.
I seize on it.
"This morning I overheard you talking with Spike . . . " I never get to finish as the Slayer, with her eyes blazing, takes another step forward. There isn't six inches between us now. And despite the fact that she's a few inches shorter than I, she intimidates me.
She is the Slayer.
"How dare you listen to a private conversation?" She spits out, her voice a horse whisper, she's so angry. I really have no idea how she's restraining herself from lashing out physically. Her fists are clenched at her side.
The power rises up to protect me and I beat it back down. I stand fast in the middle of Buffy's emotional storm. Both Xander and Dawn have had to take a step away from her. The fire from her rage so intense that it's burning me from the inside out.
I want to run. I want to flee from this force of nature before me.
Dawn steps back up beside me. She places a hand on the small of my back and it steadies me.
What do I say to her? The truth.
"Yes, I listened to your private conversation; now did you tell Spike you were in Heaven?" I order her and for the life me of I have no idea where I got the strength to say those words. "Answer the question, Buffy" I demand.
Buffy is still staring into my eyes, she's still in front of me, she hasn't moved a muscle and yet I can sense something changing about her. A second passes, then two and I can see it. I can see the walls around her heart--no--her soul, begin to crumble into fine dust.
And I know I was right. She's been acting. Acting normal, because she knows that's the only way we'll leave her alone long enough . . .
I think she's stuck in the pose because I can see right through her. It's like she's becoming invisible.
Oh God, the pain that I felt earlier in the day starts again, it just begins to radiate out from her. The emotional storm changes into a hurricane.
"I don't have to deal with this . . . " She mumbles softly as she brushes past me toward the door. Too late I remember that Xander had put down the gun. There is nothing to keep Buffy from leaving. Nothing to keep her from dying.
The Power starts up; 'I can keep her here' I have to force it down even as I'm turning around to try and grab her. I know it's a useless gesture, there is no way I can stop her without magic.
Only I don't have to because Giles is standing there blocking the way out. And Giles seems to fill the doorway, more importantly; he has the Tranq gun pointed directly at her.
"I believe I would like to hear the answer to that question, too." He voice is steady, calm, but his eyes are flashing every bit as much fire as the Slayer's were earlier.
Buffy stops and then she just crumbles to the floor—the sobs being ripped out of her—she gasps for air and she can't breathe it hurts so badly.
"I just want to go back! Please Giles let me go back!" She shouts at her true father.
Xander takes the gun out of his hands so that he can kneel down and gather his Slayer into his arm as if she were a child. He cradles her against his chest as he lifts her and carries her to her bed.
He only glances at me as he passes but I can see the pure and adulterated fury he feels at finding his Slayer in this condition. 'That's ok, Giles, you can hate me as long as you help her.' I think to myself, I know this is my fault, and that's ok too, as long as we save Buffy.
She's all that matters right now.
He sits down and then eases back to the backboard of the bed, holding Buffy as if she were the most fragile crystal in his arms. It's painful to watch as her body trembles and is shaken by the sobs being torn out of her.
"Dawn, if you will, the first aid kit?" Giles asks, and Dawn is gone out the door in a second.
He strokes Buffy's cheek, mumbling soothing nothing words to her, he pushes her hair off her hot sweaty face, trying anything to calm his daughter's cries, but nothing can slow down the torrent of pain. She's curling tighter and tighter into a ball in his arms, I know what's she's doing, she's trying to retreat, run away from the pain. I take a step forward to help, and he waves me back . . .
"Giles?" I question him, "We have to do something."
He just nods and I see tears shining on his face. He can't talk because he, too, is sobbing.
Dawn returns with a full syringe. So she understood what Giles was asking her to do. I know what it is, and I just hope she has a large enough dose, because if we don't do something we're going to lose Buffy in a completely different way.
Dawn holds it up for Giles to check but he's crying too hard, so he just shakes his head. She hands it to me, I think it's enough, I hope it is at least. I take it from her and walk over to the bed. I ignore Giles' rage and plunge the needle into Buffy's thigh.
The Slayer has no reaction. I empty the syringe into her leg anyway.
Then I stand back as Dawn sits on the bed in front of Giles and Buffy and begins to stroke the Slayer's hair. Dawn sings to Buffy, some lullaby I think, I don't understand the lyrics.
After a few minutes the sobs slow, then stop, a few minutes later she's asleep. Dawn stands up so that Giles can put Buffy on the bed. When she's settled Giles turns to me, none of his rage has diminished.
"Xander, Willow, downstairs, now," he points needlessly at the door. "Dawn you stay here, and watch her, if she moves call me immediately."
I take one last glance at Buffy and then I meekly follow him. Whatever he does I deserve it.
As long as he can help Buffy.