Afterlife Happens
by Exiled-Too
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Part Six
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I follow Giles down the stairs, he has his glasses in one hand, and he's holding on to the banister with the other. Each step is slow and deliberate. I can't tell if he's having trouble negotiating the stairs or if he's just using the time to process what he found. When he left a few days ago Buffy was dead; now she's alive.
Even though I called him and broke the news; I guess he just didn't believe me.
But now he knows the entire truth; she's alive--only she wants to be dead. I guess it's a huge shock for him. I don't know. I don't want to know.
I decide to break the ice, and it was ice I was feeling off of Giles. Or fire? Fire and Ice?
"How did you get here so soon?" I remember that he told me it would take a few days to get the tickets and clear up loose ends with the council.
"What?" He asks looking back over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, well it was Anya's friend Hallie? Wasn't it Anya?" He says reaching the bottom of the stairs.
Xander touches my shoulder from behind; I think it's in support. I'm not sure because I've had to shut down. All my energy has to be given to Buffy or to keep the Power from rising. I have nothing to spare.
I see Anya pacing in the living room as I follow Giles into the room.
"Yes, Hallie owed me a favor so I 'wished' Giles was here." She tells me as she rushes over to Giles. "Was I right?" She asks him, it's unusual to see her so nervous and upset.
"Anya?" Xander says from behind me and walks over to her to give her hug. It seems to be an unspoken agreement that my confession to Giles will take place in here, the place where Buffy found her mother dead.
Irony thy name is mine.
Xander engulfs her in a tremendous hug. "I love you, and I know you didn't mean to rip Buffy from heaven," she tells him when he releases her.
"What?" Xander is dumbfounded and I have to admit that I am too.
"After what Willow said this morning I did a little more checking into the," she pulls away from Xander and uses her fingers to put quotation marks in the air. "The Slayer goes to Hell thing," she finishes.
"And?" He motions her to hurry up the explanation but it seems that Giles is out of patience.
"And she found out that it's nearly impossible for a Slayer to be cast into Hell, unless the Slayer is physically living, and then they usually die before the denizens of place can have their way with her." Giles finishes and turns to look directly at me. "But of course if you had done just the modicum of research you would have found that out."
Giles is shaking in rage. I have never seen him look like this, except for that one time when we discovered that it was Ethan Rayne behind the cursed costumes. I still feel strangely calm.
"When I found that out I sent Hallie after Giles," Anya finished for Giles.
"Hallie?" I hear Xander's question but my entire vision is filled with the man that has been more of my father than Ira Rosenberg.
"Halfrek" Anya clarifies, "she's a Justice Demon and she owed me one."
I can now understand why Ethan Rayne backed away from Giles all those years ago. The gentle librarian has been replaced by a wild eyed mad man — and I feel — nothing. I want this over so I can get back to Buffy. This is just something to get through, that's all.
Giles, whose approval meant everything to me yesterday, means nothing now. And I hear a slightest hint of a voice in my ear, 'as it should be, he is nothing.'
He is now beneath me.
No, that's not true, I love him and despite his anger I know that he still loves me. I shake myself, and then fold my arms in front of me. It's not a defensive pose so much as just a tired and cold one. It's only been a day and I'm exhausted from containing the power inside me.
"I want to know what happened, what spell did you used to get Buffy. . . " his voice cracks on her name. He takes a breath and continues, "to get Buffy back?"
I try to tell him but I can't, I turn around to face the mantle and I see the picture of Buffy that we all have. I remember the bright sunny day it was taken; we were seniors in High School and the sun . . . on her hair . . .
I feel the tears start falling down my cheeks. Well at least the ice is melting. I only want it to be over, for Buffy to be glad to be alive, for this insane power inside of me to be gone.
I guess Anya realizes that I can't speak so she starts to explain to Giles how I could be so much more than wrong.
"Willow and I bid for the Urn of Osiris on E-bay, then Willow collected the final spell ingredients and we did it, except for the demons that interrupted it, that is. We thought it didn't work until Buffy ran into us . . . " She relates the facts to Giles in her straightforward way.
I just stand there with my back turned staring at a happy Buffy in the picture. 'You will be happy again one day,' I promise her.
"So the ritual of resurrection might not have been completed?" I hear his words, and I hear real fear in his voice.
"No, after this morning Tara and I did a simple spell to see if Buffy—was well—Buffy. And she is, Buffy that is, except for a little rearrangement of some genes and stuff." Anya trails off and I feel Giles eyes on me again.
"The ritual," he begins and I sense a change in him, in his tone. "I assume it was the one that some people think Isis used to resurrect Osiris after Seth?"
I turn back to him. He's staring at me intently. I nod.
"Vino de Madre?" How did he know? Does this man know everything? It's as if he can see the blood on my hands. I just want this over with, I need to see Buffy, I need to reassure myself that she's still asleep. And there is something deeper, too.
"A baby deer," I say, then regret it when hear Xander's horrified gasp as he finally figures it out.
Anya tries to take him in her arms to comfort him but he steps away from her.
"I helped Willow in the ritual and I'm not sorry about it." I am so proud of Xander and yet, I know he's wrong.
"No, Xander it was me, I'm to blame," I tell him and try to give him a small smile. He gives me a tight nod and then steps back toward Anya.
"So you used blood magic, life force magic, to call Osiris to grant you a life that was taken before her time?" Giles was relentless.
"Mystical death," I correct. I feel fresh tears on my face. I'm fighting my feelings of shame; I'm fighting whatever power it is inside me because it just wants to be free.
"And the ritual was nearly completed when the, ah demons attacked?" He takes out a hankie and wipes tears off his face before putting his glasses back on. I know I'm not supposed to answer his question, he's in Giles thinking mode.
"So then . . . "Some kind of light goes on in his eyes. He's figured something out. "You rank arrogant amateur!" The rage from earlier comes back and he steps into my space, much the same way Buffy did a few moments ago. I'm shocked into losing some of the tight leash I have on the power and I feel it rise up, trying to break free.
Giles takes a step back, blinking at what he sees in me. I hear a gasp from Xander and there is true fear in his eyes.
"Osiris I presume?" At Giles' question it's like the floodgates are opened and the power surges through me. I--I, that never occurred to me--I never thought--I am so stupid!
I have to close the gate; I can't let an ancient God loose on my friends! I try, I really do. But it's--he is just so strong.
I hear Giles' voice through the fog of rage that Osiris feels at being contained. I just don't want to fight him anymore. I want to curl up and sleep.
Giles grabs my arms and I vaguely hear what he is saying, I concentrate on his mouth, then his words . . . "He can't control you, it's your vessel, your body, he can't control you without your permission." I don't know where Xander came from but his arms suddenly wrap around me from behind, he's not trying to restrain me, he trying to make sure I know he loves me.
"He. . . Your permission." Giles is holding onto my arms. I feel his warmth through my skin. "It's not like me! This isn't like that time with Eyghon, Willow!"
I can feel Giles' love! Was he ever really angry with me or was that an act? Oh God, I can't hang on! "It hurts Giles! Its hurts so bad!" I know my mouth is working, I can feel it moving--but all I can hear is Osiris--instead of vague whisper, now that he has been named, he's shouting.
Osiris wasn't planning on showing his true nature until he had worn me down more; made my life so hard that I just gave up. But, Giles named him—he figured it out—he's trying to save me.
"Lies! Lies!" Osiris yells clearly in my head, my heart, my soul. "You don't want to live in this world." Osiris tells me and at this one moment it's true. I'm so tired of the constant struggle and of fighting to keep the Power, no him, contained. And I know there is still another fight, the fight to keep Buffy alive.
It's all my fault; I'm to blame.
"I can make sure the Slayer returns to her reward, you can't!" The Power, or Osiris, is just so strong, he's so relentless.
He's right, too. All I really care about is making good my mistake. I know he speaks the truth, that if I release the Power, Osiris, into this world, he will keep his word and send Buffy back.
"I will not hurt your friends, nor your family. I want the world, they do not matter." He continues, and it's not just words, its thoughts and feelings. I know he will honor any agreement he makes with me. I know because we're almost one . . .
"Don't do it Willow!" Xander's whispering in my ear.
Giles must sense my resolve lessening because he shakes my arms. . . and the forgotten picture of Buffy I had been clutching falls out of my hands. The glass doesn't break as it lands face up on the carpet. Giles reaches down and scoops it up, grabbing my face in one hand and holding the picture before me in the other.
"Look at her!" Giles makes me see her, my best friend, the person that I owe my life to many times over. "Remember love Willow, she won't make it without your love!" He continues and I can't understand how there can be two truths--the one from Giles and the one from Osiris.
Giles squeezes my cheeks with bruising force, "Don't close your eyes! Look at Buffy!"
It's like my best friend is smiling at me. It's like she's in the room with me right then and she's smiling at me. And then I know, in my heart of hearts, that I could never give in to the promises of a dead God.
I love her with all my heart and soul--if she never loved me back--if she never forgives me, it won't matter as long as she's happy.
So I start the slow climb back; inch by inch, the God kicking and clawing every agonizing inch I force him down, until at last I slam the lid on him.
I finally see Giles clearly; I see his love, he's no longer angry--if he ever was, he's just relieved.
And I also see pride in his eyes? No, I have to be mistaken. I've done nothing for him to be proud of me.
The strange numbness is returning; though I'm now not sure it really left--I want to get back upstairs--not stay here talking.
Buffy I need Buffy . . .
Then my body violently protests, it tells me that I was just in a battle, as bile rises up.
I just have time to drop to my knees and get sick in the fireplace—instead of on the carpet--which is good 'cause Buffy would be mad if she had to clean the carpets.
Wouldn't want Buffy mad at me, any more than she already is, or Dawn . . . Xander's supporting me, keeping me from falling on my face in the--yuck!
"You're my best friend!" I tell him. Why is he kneeling down? Why are there tears in his eyes? Why am I so dizzy . . .
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Part Seven
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I feel something cold over my eyes when I wake up. I reach up to pull the cloth off and I'm met with the bright light of the table lamp. I realize that I'm laying on the couch in the front room.
"Buffy?" I say trying to sit up. I have to see her; I have to make sure she's all right.
"Easy Willow," I hear Giles' voice seconds before his hands appear to push me back down. "She's fine; I boosted the sedative just an hour ago." He reassures me as he sits down on the coffee table.
I lay back closing my eyes against the light.
"How long have I been out?" If he's had to boost the sedative then . . . I don't know because I didn't know what time it was before. "I mean what time is it?" I change my question.
"About 3 in the morning. Here try some of this tea; it tastes awful but should calm your stomach." I open my eyes to see a cup in my face. The odor is truly awful, but I take a tentative sip of it anyway. Giles steadies the cup while I drink, otherwise I would spill it.
After I finish he puts the cup back and just looks at me.
"Are you quite aware of things? Do you have it under control or do you need some more time?" He asks cautiously, as if expecting the God to reappear in the room. 'Hey, maybe he should be careful?' I still feel disconnected; like I'm not really here.
I check the Power and it's dormant at the moment; so I sit up and nod to him.
"Where is Xander?" I hate to say that I'd just noticed that he wasn't around.
"He's giving Dawn a break so she can get some sleep." Giles tells me standing up and walking over to a chair. He pauses, taking off his glasses to clean them, and I brace for some bad news.
Its a few minutes, in which he cleans every single spec of dirt that even thought about attaching to his glasses, then he puts them back on as if they were a piece of armor.
"I had Anya retrieve your notes on the resurrection ritual from the Magic Box, while you, ah, took your nap." He starts, pointedly not looking at me as he sits down in the overstuffed chair. "They were quite thorough," he motions to the coffee table and I see all my notes spread out on it.
When he finally turns toward me I find that I've discovered a sudden, intense interest in a string hanging from my shirt.
When I have no comment he continues.
"Yes, well, the gist of it is, since you used your body to channel the energy of Osiris and didn't complete the ritual you are stuck." I glance up at that; I didn't realize, I didn't think! I'm suddenly full of nervous energy, I can't stay still so I stand up and begin to pace. I guess I'm taking on the mannerism of the Slayer?
"Of course! It all makes sense to me now." I say pacing back and forth. The resurrection part of the ritual was complete, but the part where I sent Osiris packing wasn't.
"I can't believe that I'm that stupid!" I turn to Giles and he jumps as if he thought I was about throw a lightening bolt or something. So I look out the window instead of watching the fear grow in his eyes. "Magic 101, always ground the power after you use it, always, always release the unused energy back to where it came it from."
I feel his nod; the strange detachment is changing into an unusual awareness. It's like I can now spilt my consciousness because just thinking about Buffy brings an image of her unnaturally still on her bed; with Xander sitting in a chair next to the bed trying not to doze off. It's like I'm floating above them, only I'm not because I know I'm in the living room with Giles.
I hear him clear his throat; loudly. So I glance over my shoulder at him to continue, the hyperawareness fading back into numbness.
"While you are correct;" he starts up his lecture voice. "If you had finished the ritual within 24 or 48 hours you might have avoided this fate." I tense as his hand falls on my shoulder; I hadn't heard him walk over here. At a gentle pressure I turn around to him.
"But you have to remember that according to Xander, the backlash of the spell breaking rendered you unconscious. Then Xander went on to tell me how, though drained and slightly disoriented, you were able to defeat several of the demons that invaded Sunnydale." He finishes then goes to lean against the fireplace.
I guess someone cleaned up the mess that I made. Though as empty as my stomach was . . .
"You must realize that you were not simply playing the fool; you were not being stupid and raising a demon for personal gain or gratification." What is left unsaid is the damage he did when he raised Eyghon.
I shake my head to clear it; I have to figure out what he's saying.
"So what you mean is that I'm stuck with Osiris inside me; that I'm a Glory?" I ask while staring at the reflection of the wan red headed girl in the darkened windows.
Despite all the sleep I'd gotten in the past few hours I still have deep circles under my eyes. I have a new understanding for what Ben went through and how Glory could, finally, overwhelm him.
"Not exactly, I believe, and this is just conjecture on my part; that if we complete the ritual then the essence, or the soul if you will, of Osiris will gladly leave." Hope springs up inside me, even now with the Power dormant I still feel it waiting for any sign of weakness. But my hope is short lived as I see the expression of Giles' face reflected off the same dark windows.
"The catch is?" I ask spinning around. He sighs, and takes off his glasses again. How do we ever get through these conversations when he's always cleaning those damn things!
"Giles! This life please?"
"Yes, quite right," he puts the damn things back on. "I am reasonably certain that we can get rid of Osiris . . . but you have opened conduits of Power within yourself that were never meant to be opened . . . " Again he pauses, this is so frustrating, maybe I should blast him one. Then realize what I'd thought and I'm immediately sorry.
"Please Giles just use a few nouns, just spit it out!" I'm getting frightened, or more frightened, or frighteneder? The blank numbness is finally beginning to burn away.
"You are or will be, the most powerful Sorcerer this world has seen since Merlin."
'Well, I wanted him to spit it out'. I think to myself.
"It is my belief that Osiris is in control of the power at the moment, he is trying to use it as leverage in his quest to usurp your body, but once he is gone, that bit of control lost, you will be able to kill with a misplaced thought."
'Where are my legs? Where did they go?' I think as I begin to slide to the floor, only to be caught by Giles. He's so warm and I feel so cold, as he carries me back to the couch. He's careful when he lays me down on it.
I have to protest his words; "I would never think of killing someone!" I try to shout but my voice is nothing more than a horse whisper because I know it's a lie. What if the power had been in my control when I carelessly thought about blasting Giles a second ago? Would the man who's my father now be a pile of ash? How do you control your thoughts?
"Oh God, I'm going to be sick." I tell him, and he has time reach for the trash can by the table.
When I'm done, I sit there panting; he leans over to remove the trashcan and picks up the washcloth. I stop his hand as he starts to wipe my face. There is only one answer:
"Kill me; it's your job to protect the world. Just kill me." Now that I'm faced with it, I don't want to die, I want to be here for Buffy, I want to protect her, love her . . . but I know if we don't get rid of Osiris sooner or later I'll give in and let him have me.
I'm not that strong.
He flinches and I can't tell if it's from my words or because of the death grip I have on his arm.
"No Willow, you must accept the responsibility of your actions, you must learn to live with the results." He tells me as he shakes his arm loose and continues to wipe to face. I see the love in his eyes, and I feel it in his touch. I always knew that Buffy was his daughter; I just never knew I was too.
"What am I going to do?" I cry to him, he's the adult, he needs to fix it.
"You have to choose to live; you have to choose to learn to control this power. Power corrupts Willow; you can't let it destroy you." I can't stand the earnest look in his eyes, so I turn away from him.
"I can't Giles," I tell the wall. "What happens the first time I go into babble mode?"
Giles' fingers touch my cheek, forcing me to face him.
"I know you can control this Willow, I know you can learn how to use this Power for good." He's trying to give me strength through his touch. He's trying to keep me grounded in this world through the sheer force of his love.
Just like I tried to do with Buffy. Just like I know WE can do with Buffy.
I can feel him, he knows that I'm beginning to listen to him, to believe his words.
"Think of the good you can do with it, Willow? Think of the help you would be to Buffy in her fight?" Now that did it, that was it, I would do anything for her and he knows it.
'Damn him!' he knows of my love for her.
The floodgates open, not of the Power, but of my pain and guilt, and I begin to sob. Giles just sits down on the couch and holds me.
"How?" I mumble into his shirt hoping he knows what I'm asking.
"There is a coven in England; I've already spoken with them on the phone." He tells me and, despite my tears, for the first time I begin to feel like things might get better.
"We can drop you off on our way to taking Buffy to the council for treatment . . . "
Part Eight
"We can drop you off on our way to taking Buffy to the council for treatment . . . "
"What do you mean drop me off? You can't take Buffy to England!" I shout, standing up out of his arms. "How do you propose to get her there?"
He looks guiltily away from me, and I know his plan. "You're going to keep her drugged!" I can't seem to lower my volume. I hear footsteps on the stairs and Dawn and Xander's voices.
But it's just Dawn that comes into the room.
"Willow we cannot keep her alive; the Council has resources that we . . . " He trails off, sitting back in the couch. He turns slightly pale.
"I don't understand. . . I'm against the very thought of the Council having their hands on Buffy in this state . . . Oh wait a minute, yes, I do understand!" I shout back at him. "They think of her as a tool only, Giles, not as a friend, or a sister, or a daughter. They don't love her!"
"What?" Dawn gasped. "You can't be serious!"
Score one for her, at least she didn't shout.
Now it's his turn to jump to his feet angrily.
"They can keep her alive, they can give her the professional help that she needs to get through this . . . crises!" He half-pleads with Dawn and half-orders her to understand.
Dawn answers him; I'm too shocked to say anything. "They don't love her! They want her to get better so she can just go out and fight their little war. Well she died for them and I won't let her die—again." The youngest Summers finishes, crossing her arms in front of her. It's not a protective stance; it's the mirror image of the Slayer's 'I'm going to kick your ass' stance.
But, something that Dawn just said sets off--I don't know what--I can feel the answer surfacing, I can't push it, I have to wait for it to come to me. I go sit down and just listen for a change.
Giles looks away from us both. "No Slayer was called. So the line runs through Faith, they don't want Buffy to die." He doesn't sound entirely convinced. He shakes off whatever doubts he has and turns back to Dawn. Since I'm sitting down and quiet I think he feels I've given up the argument.
"Well, how do they expect to keep her there? She's the Slayer, if she really wants to get out she will!" Dawn counters sarcastically, then she glances to me for help, I just shake my head.
Giles is right, we can't keep Buffy here in the house—she's the Slayer, she could have overpowered us all earlier. And let's not forget all the weapons and sharp objects we keep around. All she would have to do is grab a knife or a sword, or even a crossbow, and it would be over. 'Then why did she choose a razor blade? Her father's razor?'
"They have ways of . . . neutralizing her . . . extra abilities." Giles' face has turned nearly white; the words he just uttered are so extremely distasteful to him.
Dawn gasps, "You want to take Buffy and stick her in a—a prison! You want to strip away the very things that make her Buffy!" Giles flinches as if each word Dawn says is a physical blow; he remembers her eighteenth birthday. I think he's had more nightmares about it than Buffy.
"That's not living." Dawn is relentless as she takes an aggressive step closer to him. Note to self: never try to cross the youngest Summers.
"I know, but at least she'll be alive!" Finally, that insane British reserve is broken as Giles yells back at Dawn. He falls, more than sits, back on the couch.
"What kind of life is that Giles?" Dawn presses, her voice cracks and she has to clear her throat before continuing. "You want to keep her locked up, away from the sun, in a chemically induced haze? How could that possibly help her? This isn't something in her mind, this is a trauma and she needs us, she needs all of us!" She finishes by uncrossing her arms; fists clinched at her sides, once again a mirror copy of Buffy. She stares down at him.
Giles holds her gaze for just a moment then he drops his eyes. "I just don't want her to die again, I—I don't know if I could live through it." He whispers, looking away. Giles looks like he's shrinking, aging before my very eyes. "This way she could get better—maybe—one day?" The tears overflow and start streaking down his face. Now it's his turn to clear his throat. He takes off his glasses to clean them, trying to gain some composure. "At least where there is life, there is hope." He says putting his glasses back on, determined.
And I have nothing to say to that, he's right. Where there is life, there is always hope.
Dawn gives up, in that one point they agree. She goes around the coffee table and sits next to him; he breaks down in her arms and begins to cry. She comforts him in much the same way that he did me a few a minutes ago.
My terrible mistake is bringing us together, instead of separating us, like I feared it would when I found out about Buffy being in heaven. I hated myself, I wanted to die, I wanted to kill Buffy—I thought I was damned—that I deserved to be in Hell.
I thought I was damned, so why did it matter what I did?
Maybe I'm not damned?
Why it does matter?
We love each other, that's why. That's the basic truth in all this . . . mess; we simply and completely love each other. When I thought the only answer was to kill my best friend, I didn't because of Dawn. It would have crushed her to come home and find her sister dead.
Buffy didn't fight us or try to overpower us because she still loves us.
'Why the razor blade instead of a dagger? Because Xander gave her the dagger for her birthday, the sword was from Giles for Christmas her senior year in High School, the Crossbow from Dawn, the knife from me . . .
That's the key and an idea springs forth . . . Love is the key. I think.
"Giles?" He looks up at me and I continue. "Will you give me one chance to talk to Buffy before the council takes her?"
"What are you going to do?" He asks, hope shining in his eyes, in his face, in the way he lifts his shoulders and pulls out of Dawn's embrace. Then I can see him come crashing down. "I won't allow you to place a, Gea, a magical compulsion on Buffy or to erase her memory -—"
I hear Dawn's gasp and ignore it. I have to think, I have to concentrate on Buffy. She's all that matters right now.
I interrupt him. "First I doubt I could place a strong enough Gea on her to keep her from figuring out some way to hurt herself." I hold up my fingers counting them down. "Second, 'Hello, Heaven!' It was a huge crime ripping her out of there; it would be a bigger one wiping her memory." I pause for a moment, seems so long ago, and yet it was just yesterday when I thought wiping her memory was the right thing to do.
So much has changed.
"Then what do you plan?" He asks, such a simple question . . . such a long answer.
"I don't know." Ok--not so long. "I sort of need her to wake up; if it doesn't work . . . then at least she'll be able to say good-bye to us before she leaves?"
He nods, only I'm not sure he knows what he's agreeing to. He's not sure, because I'm not sure and it's my plan.
"She should begin to wake in 2 to 3 hours," he continues standing. "She'll be fully awake by mid morning." Giles finishes speaking through a yawn; it's contiguous because I yawn too. Once again, I am exhausted. Though I don't understand why Osiris has been quiet for all this time. Maybe he knows I'll never let him win?
"Ok you two go to bed. I'll relieve Xander for a few hours." Dawn has turned into a little general. I want to protest, I can't. I'm too tired. Dawn stands up and points at the couch.
"Giles, sit down before you fall down." And the funny thing is that he obeys her.
"Willow, upstairs, after you check on Buffy tell Xander to sleep in my room." With that she heads off to the kitchen. And I head up to bed for a few hours. I need rest to keep Osiris contained and to help Buffy.
I think I have the key, I just hope that Buffy still can feel love; it might pale in comparison to heaven and it might not be enough . . .
There is only one person on this earth that can help Buffy and I know who it is.
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Part Nine
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I wake to the sun streaming in through a crack in the curtains and immediately start to close them using magic . . . and stop just in time. Osiris is just waiting for a mistake like that one. Using magic would let him rise up while I'm too groggy to control him—I don't want that to happen.
Thinking about Osiris is certainly a great way to become wide awake, it works better than coffee. Though I'm still tired, there is none of the confused grogginess that I normally have in the morning. Yep, being possessed by the God of the Dead is a great way to deal with the early morning groggies.
I take a quick internal inventory. Say that three times fast . . . or not. The little sleep that I've gotten has refreshed my mind, if not my body. It has also helped me focus on the situation with Buffy. It's important that out of all the weapons in this house she chose to use her father's razor, the one thing none of us gave her—I know I might be taking a huge gamble by banking on that one little thing—I just pray that I'm right.
I get out of bed and make a quick bathroom stop, there are advantages to having Joyce's old room, and privacy in the bathroom is just one of them. When I get back to the room Dawn knocks and pokes her head through the door giving me a tired smile that doesn't reach her eyes. I remember the brat, the self absorbed teen from just last year. When her mother was alive, when her sister wanted to be alive . . . I'm sorry Dawny, I sorry you had to grow up so fast. I'm sorry that your sister was the same age when she killed her first Vampire.
"I heard you moving around," she explains, oblivious to my thoughts. She glances over her shoulder toward the hallway, toward her sister's room. "Buffy's awake and she . . . well you'll just have to see for yourself." It's plain that she's worried about leaving Buffy's side. I nod at her, and she backs out of the door closing it.
I would have preferred to get some coffee or a bagel or to read War and Peace . . . anything before I see her or maybe that's just because I don't want to do this? Duh, you think Willow?
I stop by the trunk were I keep my magic supplies and as I open the top the bile rises up in my throat and now I'm happy that didn't have that bagel or coffee. What's with me that I can't keep anything down?
Still the tension is building inside me and this time it has nothing to do with Osiris. It has everything to do with my love for my best friend. I brace myself to leave the room that Tara and I had made our own. It's funny that this is the first time since she walked out on me that I've thought of her. The woman that I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, leaves--and I don't care.
All I can do is think about Buffy.
It's only three steps to her room, but it feels much longer this morning. I hear Dawn talking so I pause right outside the doorway and listen.
"Please eat something Buffy." Dawn's pleading with her.
"No, Dawny, I'm just not hungry," she answers her sister in a flat monotone. That's not good; Buffy always uses her voice to convey emotion. Much like her expressive face.
"Hey, Buff just a little?" It's Xander. "Where is that legendary Slayer appetite?"
"I don't know Xander? Maybe it's in heaven?" Oh boy, this is bad. 'Well, you were expecting good?' That inner voice is really beginning to get on my nerves.
"Buffy," Giles warns.
"What, Giles? Put that gun down and let's talk about it?" Ok, sniping sarcastic Buffy just made an appearance.
'Showtime'. I think; and the tension I was feeling in my nice comfortable room just turned into . . . I don't know more tension, the most tension . . . delaying again Willow. I steel myself for what I might find . . . what does steel yourself mean . . . you become like steel? I don't want to be like steel I want to be caring and loving so I'll know what to do.
Oh, just go in there.
I walk into the room and immediately I'm assaulted by the heavy emotions swirling around in the tiny space. Fear is coming from Giles and Dawn—anger from Xander—grief from Buffy. Dawn stands up and lifts a tray of food off the bed and carries it to the makeup table. She then backs away giving me a wink, the hope is shinning in her eyes. She believes in me, she believes that I can help her sister and I have no idea why. Her faith in me is like a physical blow and I nearly double over from it.
I avoid looking at the Slayer for a moment to regain my composure. My eyes just happen to fall on Giles . . . he and Xander are backing up to stand against the wall. Like Dawn they pound me with their hopes. I flash on the despair I felt yesterday--everyone wanting me to fix things; I'm just not worthy.
At that thought I feel Osiris rumbling, knocking on the lid I slammed shut last night. He's not pushing, yet. Just checking for an opening, I don't give him one.
Giles settles the tranq gun in the crook of his arm. It's pointing in the vague direction of bed though; he doesn't have it aimed at Buffy. And it comes back to me, this is my fault, I might not be able to fix it, but I have to try. I feel the pain rising up and burning its way through me because I know; I just know that if the council gets their hands on Buffy then she'll give up. She'll let them drug her or do what ever it takes so she can sit and daydream about heaven day in and day out until she dies.
So which is better, she dies here, right now or dies later in the jail made of her own mind? Oh god! I don't want her to die! I shake my head to clear it; I have to push it all down. I let one lone tear escape to run silently down my face.
"Well are you just going to stand there and stare at the suicidal emotional cripple?" Buffy's biting words cut through my concentration and I turn my head toward her. She's carelessly sprawled on top of the bedspread with the pillows stacked up next to the headboard. It looks like she's washed her face because the tear tracks from last night are gone.
I want to open the 'sight' that Tara taught me to use, the empathic ability to read my best friend, but I can't risk it. I can't risk Osiris rising up. Then I realize that I don't need it. Buffy is staring at me with barely contained fury, her eyes flashing fire. And it hurts. It hurts to think that she hates me so much. I want to fall to my knees in front of her and beg for forgiveness!
"We're waiting?" The Slayer says, then sits up. I notice Giles aims the gun right at her until she settles back against the headboard. She pulls her legs up to her chest and then wraps her arms around them. "You're in charge of this little freak show," she says defensively.
I open my mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but nothing comes out—I literally can't get my voice to work. How am I going to help Buffy if I can't talk?
"What's the matter Will? Guilt got your tongue?" The venom in her words stings me. 'And you were expecting her to open her arms and give you a hug?'
The rest of the Scoobs fade into the background as I purposefully walk around her bed and stand next to the window. I can't worry about them; my mind is too full as it is right now. I can only concentrate on her. It's always been her, since I first met her.
"I love you, Buffy." It pops comes out of my mouth. It just jumped out and into the air.
"What? How dare you . . . You can't," she sputters, and the anger I saw earlier sparks over into rage. She doesn't move, she becomes so still it's frightening. She's one of those big cats getting ready to pounce and I'm her prey.
I have to turn my back on her, before I blurt anything else out. I try to school my expression into a neutral one. When I turn back she's still trying to form a reply so I answer her previous question.
"No, Buffy, guilt doesn't have my tongue; it doesn't because I don't feel guilty about bringing you back." I try to build up my courage by pinning her with my gaze. But then something even more frightening happens. Her face goes completely blank. I know that look, she's drifting off. I know I have to push it or I'll lose her.
"I did feel guilty, I felt terrible, and I felt so bad last night I asked Giles to kill me . . . " That got her attention.
"Then you know what I want," her voice is less than a hoarse whisper. "All I want to do is go back." And now she turns her head and her pain filled gaze pins me to the wall. "Will, you were my best friend, if you truly loved me, as you claim . . . " She continues sitting up and then kneeling on the bed.
I force myself away from the wall; I literally have to concentrate on getting my feet to move the two steps up to her bed. I reach out to her; I stroke my fingers down the side of her face, feeling the silken texture of her skin, trying to convey all my love in the touch. She allows the contact, staying still, her eyes pleading with me.
"I do love you, Buffy," I'm able to admit my feelings to her at last. "I've loved you so much and for so long . . . " I can't continue. I can't say the next words out loud; I can only say them in my mind and hope that my touch tells her the rest.
"I won't kill you." I see her flinch at my words. And it wounds me. She crumbles down into the bed, lying prone with her face buried in her hands. I sit down next to her; she's not crying, she's hiding.
"Buffy, please look at me?' I ask and she turns over. "I'm sorry I pulled out of heaven, I'm sorry I hurt you so much, but I'm so thankful you're back . . . " I didn't see the slap coming. One second she's just lying there looking sad and the next my cheek is stinging.
"Shut-up, Willow! Just shut-up!" she screams at me, sitting up, her fists clenching in front of her, she's trying so hard to hold them back, her nails are digging into her flesh. "Don't tell me you're happy I'm back, don't tell me anything!" She punctuates each word by hitting her thighs with her fists. "I hate you, don't you understand, I hate you all!"
I watch stunned as Buffy rolls over and gets out of the bed. She stands at the foot of it with her hands still clinched at her sides. A slow trickle of blood leaks from between her fingers to fall on the carpet.
"I love you, Buffy." There my mouth goes again; the words jump out and hang in the air between us. And it's like she has been struck in the face by the strongest vampire. Her head jerks to the side and her body whirls around. She ends up leaning her forehead against the closet door. Her shoulders are locked, the muscles rippling under the loose tee she's wearing. I can hear the dry panting as she struggles to get her breathing under control.
I count the breaths she takes, one, two three — I can't help it — I have to take my mind off what I'm about to do. She turns back around at four and now it's my turn to fight for air as I see the raw, the naked, fear—no—longing in her bright eyes.
"I gave and I gave to this Hell; I gave everything I had, every dream, every love, everything I ever wanted, I gave it . . . " The tears overflow and start to streak down her flushed cheeks. I can feel it, I can feel her pain and it's like all her nerve endings are scraped raw. She has no defenses, she has no barriers, all her emotions are open and they are consuming her.
"I gave it gladly, I gave it willingly and with love because that was who I WAS, Willow. Past tense—was . . . " She chokes, she's crying so hard that she can barely squeeze in a breath between the sobs. "And then," She has to stop again. "And then . . . I--All that I ever wanted or needed, all the love . . . I can't tell you, I can't explain it." She doesn't have to because I see it on her face.
I can feel it coming off of her in waves, the terrible agony is instantly replaced by a wonderful peace, a wonderful feeling of completeness, that all the love in the world was all for her, she had earned it, this was her reward. It was her right to be that loved, that warm, that finished.
Until I ripped her out of there--and after the glimpse I've gotten of it, of heaven, feeling the pain that comes rushing back is all the more crushing. It nearly drives me into the floor.
How can she stand it, how does she do it? Minute after minute? Moment to moment? I wouldn't have the strength . . . it's not strength . . . it's love. She's still able to love; of course she would still be able to love—heaven—she was immersed in it.
"Buffy," I sigh her name and it's loud enough to get her attention. Enough to pull her out of whatever daydream she had fallen into for those few seconds. "You're right, I can never understand it."
"Don't give me any of your pity!" She spits out, "I don't want it! Damn it, I just want to go back! Why can't you just leave me alone! Why can't you see that?" It's like I've been slapped again. She goes from that incredible love, to that horrendous pain; no wonder she wants it over, for it to end.
Now it's my turn to breathe, now it's my turn . . . I'm crying so hard I'm having trouble forming words. "I love you, we love you, and I know you still love us!" She turns back to face me again with an incredulous look, shaking her head no.
"No, I don't love you, I can't love anyone right now—don't you understand I can't feel anything!" She shouts it, thinking that volume will add force, will make the words true. But I've figured out the real truth, even if she doesn't know it herself yet.
I finally stand up from the bed and reach over to pull the razor blade out of the window sill. I shake it at her. "Then why did you try to use this to . . . to," I can't say the words. "Instead of any number of other things in this house?" I take a step toward her.
'Oh God!, I don't want to do this, please God, Goddess, Creator, Yahweh, please help me, please give me the right words to say, please make this be the right thing.' I pull out my Athame from the sheath I had hidden it in and wave it under her nose. "Why did you try to use this," I hold up the razor blade again," instead of something like this?" I throw the tiny razor to the floor and show her the 10 inches of sharp steel that I use as a ritual knife.
"I-I-I. . . "
"Stop stuttering," I yell, my face inches from hers. "You didn't use one of the weapons lying around the house because of the pain it would bring me—or Giles who taught you how use most of them—or Xander who made some—or Dawn." She's shaking her head no, so I grab her face like Giles did to me last night. I force her to look at me; I force her to see her truth in my eyes. Then I tell her very slowly so I know she understands . . . "I will not kill you, I don't want you to die." I release her face and pick up her now limp hand; I turn it over and place my Athame in it.
"We love you, damn it! And we would do everything we could to keep you alive and you know what?" I reach out to her, grabbing her shoulders with my empty hands. "All of our efforts would probably have failed, because you are the Slayer!"
She steps away from me, her eyes are so bright when she finally realizes that she has the knife, and there is nothing we can do to stop her. She pauses to feels the weight, the balance, like a warrior should do when given a weapon.
"Willow, good lord!" I hear Giles from what seems like far away. I silence him with a motion of my hand . . . I don't think I used Osiris. And I wonder why the God of the Dead is so strangely quiet.
I know what Giles is thinking, that even if he fired a shot off now, Buffy would still have time to plunge the knife into her heart.
"My love gives me the right to ask this of you, and your love for me demands that you obey." I know that I'm pushing it by using the word obey; Buffy never 'obeyed' anyone in her life. She looks up sharply, a retort forming on her lips. I silence her like I did with Giles, with a wave of my hand. "I ask you one thing and one thing only, if you insist on dying, on suicide . . . " I see her flinch again and I am relentless. "You do it now, and front of us all." I can't risk a glance away from her to find out what the others are doing so it's a surprise to see Dawn step up next to me.
"She's right, Buffy; we can't stop you, we would try but eventually you would escape." Dawn reaches her hand out and runs it along her sister's arm. "I love you, when you were gone it was so awful . . . " Dawn chokes on a sob, I see her swallowing trying to get her voice under control. The pain of four months without her sister nearly overwhelmed her, the thought of loosing her again . . . it's the same pain that I'm feeling now.
Finally, Dawn's able to continue, "If you are going to leave me alone, then do it here, now, in front of me, I want you to see how much it hurts!" She screams, it's not the irritating scream of childhood, but the painful wail of someone that is nearly beyond their tolerance.
"Me too, Buff," Xander steps up behind me and he too reaches over to touch Buffy's arm. "I love you, I've loved you from the first moment I saw you. Over the years it's changed," he gives her that half-smile he does when conceding a point. "It's changed, it's grown, you're still my hero. And I know that you love me." He steps around me to rub her back with his other hand. He too starts to cry; only his tears add fuel to the fire of his words. "If you are going to die, if you're going to kill yourself, then do it now, and watch me die with you. 'Cause that's what happened last time when you jumped off that tower. I died."
And I can feel her being crushed by a totally new force, not the painful agony of a remembered place, but by the solid wall of love beginning to engulf her.
"I say, you all are mad!" Giles comes into the group from behind Dawn.
For the first time in the confrontation Buffy looks up and meets someone's eyes. She stares into Giles' bright ones. He's trying to hold in his tears and failing miserably. He gives her his patented fatherly shrug. "I told you before you died jumping off the tower, that you are everything a Watcher could want in their charge." He pauses to gather himself, it's made all the harder to see because he's normally so reserved. "What I've neglected to tell you is that you are everything I could ever ask for in a daughter. You are the daughter of my heart."
He then takes his daughter in his arms, holding her, trying to enforce his words with the sheer force of his love. "Please don't die again, for if you do you will take my heart with you."
Dawn joins their embrace, "Live, Buffy, please live for us."
Xander joins in and I see the mighty Slayer totally engulfed in the love of her friends, of her family, safe in her father's arms. Her legs give out and she's held up, supported, loved.
I have no place here so I start to turn around--I know her decision--she's not selfish. And it's going to be a long hard road for her, and for me.
I can't stand to watch, I don't know what I feel at the moment—love yes, I love her with all my heart—I'm still human though and I'm now faced with the reality of her words. "I hate you, don't you understand I hate you!" She had cried. And just a few minutes ago I was so sure that was a lie, I was sure she loved me too, if only as a friend, why can't I believe it now?
I start to walk out of the room, I need to be alone, I need to re-gather the peace I felt last night with Giles. I can feel Osiris beating on the lid to the prison in which I have contained him.
I hear her words! I have to go, I have to escape, get out of the room before she sees me fall apart . . . "I hate you, don't you understand I hate you!" Her voice follows me, it won't leave me alone. It echoes back and forth in my mind. It's bouncing from one side of my head to the other, growing louder and louder, drowning everything in its wake.
Until I can't think, I can't see, I can't feel. I stumble into the wall by the doorway—the noise of her screaming is deafening me—I can't stand it. It's assaulting me, but as the physical pain increases, it nothing compared to hearing the truth—she hates me, she will never love me, she will never forgive me, and I don't deserve it—I am damned. The damned are doomed to live forever without love, without peace, with the hate of the people that they wronged to keep them company . . . I can't deal, I am just so tired I want it to stop. I don't want her to hate me!
I stumble away from the wall, I'm so confused, I know I felt Buffy's love, I knew those words were just said in anger or pain . . . now they seem to be the truth. I can't live this way; I can't live knowing that she hates me!
Please I want it to stop; I want all this confusion and pain to end.
"Just make it stop!" I scream.
I hear a man say, "Thank you, I will."
And then . . . I feel a hard shove from behind . . . but instead of falling to my knees, I'm forced up, I'm pushed up into the air. I close my eyes and brace for the impact against the wall . . . that never comes.
When I open my eyes, I have a moment of disorientation because of instead of looking up to see my friends I have to look down . . . I look down and into the face of . . . me. Only I'm not me, because my hair is now pitch black, and my eyes are dark bottomless pits.
"Osiris." I whisper but no sound comes out of my incorporeal lips.
He's won.