Flood
by Valyssia
13.3 Epilogue: The Seeds of Life
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Three
(twenty years)
After the Flood
Faith saw it coming. The world around her slowed to a crawl. The fist hooked under, speeding toward her. She could've stopped it. Instead she allowed it through. She clenched her jaw in preparation. The fist struck her under the chin, lifting her off her feet. Pain surged through her head. She sailed backwards across the open lawn, peering muzzily at the furious blonde. When she smashed into the ground, a breath of air rushed out of her mouth, carrying with it droplets of blood. Her gaze fixed on the spray. The tiny globules of blood hung in midair over her face. Turned by gravity, they began to fall. Her eyes snapped closed as the spray misted her skin.
Clamping her eyes shut tight, Faith ignored the hateful words. She listened instead to the crickets, chirping in the woods. It's peaceful here. I always loved coming to visit B. and Red. A tear leaked out past her clenched eyelids and she inattentively wiped it away.
The tormented words, "You're crying?" shattered her reverie, followed closely by the foot that smashed into her ribs. Faith ignored the pain, refusing to react. She could feel Buffy starting to pace, following the path laid out by her supine body. I won't fight you, B. I get it. It hurts more than dying. You want something you can fight. You're still the slayer after all these years. Trouble is: I can't fight you—not over this.
Faith could sense the rage. She respected it. It was like a caged animal paced the ground next to her. Buffy wasn't really there. Eventually, several blows later, the animal started to depart. When the woman returned, she fell to her knees and began to weep.
Through the sobs, Buffy rasped, "But why?"
Faith opened her eyes and rolled onto her side, propping her cheek in her gloved hand. A deep sigh drifted out before she replied simply, bluntly, "Because it's wrong, B."
The rage returned and Buffy looked up. Glaring at Faith, she growled, "How dare you?"
Faith implored, "Just hear me out" — holding her free hand between them to call for peace — "if you still got a problem—well, I'm not sure. Guess I'll lay here and let you beat me to death. Not like it'd be the first time."
Tears continued to leak from Buffy's eyes. Despite this, she smirked and shook her head. A soft snicker sounded through her nose and she submitted, "Make it quick. I gotta get back."
"I know ya do, B.," Faith confirmed. Sitting silently for only a moment to reflect, she marveled at the blonde. In twenty years you haven't changed a bit, B. Can't you see that's wrong? Red aged. God she was a beautiful woman. I swear she just kept getting prettier, classier, while you and I stood still, frozen in time—frozen by the blood.
Buffy reclined back on her elbows in the yard and stared expectantly at the brunette.
"I wasn't with you for this, but R—" Faith started, falling short as she choked over the name. She growled with frustration and said, "Red," through clenched teeth, "told me that when your mom got sick you tried giving her your blood. Remember that?"
Appearing annoyed, "Yeah, it didn't work," Buffy replied, "But that's not what I'm asking for."
"I know what you're asking for, B. and I'm not going back. I would—I'd do it in a heartbeat if I thought it was right," Faith responded, quickly adding, "It's not."
Sitting up, Faith turned her attention toward the lawn. I can't take seeing her like this. I need to just say this shit and leave. She began to run her dead fingers absently through the freshly mowed lawn as she reflected, "B., you and me, we're freaks. I wouldn't do this to anyone. Certainly not someone I care for...and you know I do. People are supposed to die. It's how things are. You value what you have more when you know it's gonna end. It's not fair, but it's real—it's what we got, or what we should have."
"That's not the reason, though," she added quickly, cutting the rage off before it welled up. "The reason's simple. What's going on with Red—there's no magick that can fix it. You should get that from your Mom. You tried. The stories" — she glanced up, forcing herself to meet the wounded expression on Buffy's face — "I heard them. It took years, but I heard them all. I get that you want to make it better. I totally get that you want something to fight, but this is not the way."
"But it can be, Faith!" Buffy raged, "Why don't you get that?"
"No it can't," Faith rebuffed, raising her hands again to keep the peace. "Hear me out. Say we go and by some miracle manage to get whatcha want before she dies. What makes you think that what you get back would be Red?"
When the blonde sputtered in answer, Faith continued to drive the point home, "Its encephalitis, Buffy. Her brain's already swollen so much that you know—you have to know—there'll be brain damage. She doesn't know us. She doesn't know you. That won't change regardless what we do. You gotta let her go."
Buffy's head sagged into her hands and she started to weep again. Eventually, she managed to rasp through her parted fingers, "But we just went to Baja for the weekend—our first vacation in years. We made love on the beach. It was so beautiful."
Faith placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder to comfort her as she listened. I wish I could feel, B. I wish something about my touch felt like more than the plastic and wires wrapped in leather.
"Next day Will was running a fever and throwing up. We waited till afternoon to leave, hoping it'd pass—figured it was just the water. Y'know how Mexico is—she couldn't remember if she checked the top on every bottle she drank. She had a few bug bites, but nothing bad—nothing to make me think—" A bitter snicker slipped out and Buffy supplemented matter-of-factly, "It was sort of a bummer, but no big, right?"
"She wasn't getting any better as we made the drive home. It was awful. I got her to the first state-side hospital I could find. They ran their stupid tests. Eventually, they came back with malaria as a diagnosis. I couldn't believe my ears. I was stunned. I thought only people in underdeveloped countries got that. How could that touch us?"
"How, Faith? How?" Buffy begged as if there might be some answer she was missing. "That was four days ago. How can it be 'the right thing'? How can it be right for someone as beautiful—someone as wonderful as Will to die..." Her jaw set with rage and Buffy looked up. Snarling through clenched teeth, she concluded, "Because of a fucking insect."
Faith stood up and turned her back on the livid blonde. As she started to walk away, she whispered, "I didn't say it was 'just.' That's not the same thing as 'right' and you know it, B."
Faith prepared to take another hit when the blonde leapt to her feet and started to close the gap between them. Instead the rage faded, giving way to confusion and pain. She froze, listening to the soft raspy voice.
"I just don't get it, Faith. I don't understand how something so insignificant could do this. I really wish someone would make it make sense to me. How could something you squish—? A mosquito lands on your arm—you slap it away without a second thought—'cept the 'eww.' We've done it, thousands of times—everyone has. It just—"
Buffy gasped, breathing hard, struggling to choke away the tears enough to speak. When she continued her voice was very soft and thick with hurt, "It's just stupid. How could something so small do this? What kind of a world does this? It makes no sense to me."
Threading her fingers into the pockets of her jeans, Faith slouched, refusing to turn around. I dunno, B.
When Buffy's voice rang out again it was stronger, but still laced with pain, "And y'know, they tried to explain it to me. I still don't get it. I know the 'what'—viral encephalitis—but I don't know if the 'malaria' thing was a misdiagnosis, or if one thing became the other. I thought malaria could be treated. I thought there was stuff they could do. I dunno if they just didn't do what they should've or if it was inevitable.
"That's the worst part—the not understanding. Will was always the one that'd make stuff like this make sense to me. She'd explain it. She'd take the time to break it down and simple it up so my stupid brain could handle it.
"What I did know is she wouldn't want to be in that place. She hated hospitals. They didn't like it when I took her, but they couldn't really stop me. I brought her home because it was the 'right' thing to do. She'd want to—she'd want to be in her own bed."
Buffy's trembling voice fell silent and Faith stood rooted to the spot for another moment. Not knowing exactly what to say, she began to walk away. I wish I had something for ya, B. I wish I could say the right thing and make it all fit. But fact is: it just doesn't. It can't. There's no sense to be had here. That's why they call shit like this a 'senseless death.'
She was almost to the driveway when Buffy's voice rang out, strong and confident this time, "Come back in the morning, Faith."
Faith spun on her heel. Confusion crinkled her face as she gasped, "Huh?"
Closing the distance between them, Buffy reached into her blouse and withdrew an object. As she pulled the necklace over her head, she reflected, "Look, it's just you, Dawnie, and Xander. That's it. All the others are dead."
Holding out her hand when Buffy gestured, Faith accepted the necklace. As she stood silently peering down at the tiny silver locket set against the black leather glove, her thoughts began to drift. I don't think I ever told you how he fought for me. How much we struggled when I started rejecting the implants. I know you've looked at my hands and wanted to know. Questions would form on your lips and you'd think better of it, understanding it'd just be too painful to ask. Thank you, B. Looping the necklace over her head, she tucked it into her shirt before distantly remarking, "I know. I was on the roof, remember?"
"Yeah, I know you were with Angel," Buffy confirmed. A wry grin flickered across her features. It was consumed so quickly by the grief that Faith blinked, wondering if she imagined it. She turned away, listening to the blonde's soft pensive voice.
"I always wondered—call it a last request—did you and Angel ever—?"
Faith's shoulders slumped as she took the last few steps to the long gravel driveway. Finally, she mumbled just loud enough for the other slayer to hear, "Never, B. He was always too much like a brother to me. It wouldn't've been right."
"You'll come back?"
The gravel crunched under the heel of her boot as Faith glanced over her shoulder for one final look. "Yeah," she murmured, "I'll come back." The blonde stood with her hand on her hip on the sprawling lawn. It occurred to Faith again that it was almost like looking back in time. She paused, remembering the first night they met at the Bronze. A long ago club, in a long ago town that had been swallowed by the earth.
Nodding, Buffy asked anxiously, "And you'll take care of them?"
"Till the day I die, Buffy." After making eye contact one final time with her friend, Faith set off into the night.
***********
Buffy stood anchored in one spot for several moments. Her gaze fixed on the other slayer. When Faith disappeared into the wooded thicket between the house and the road, Buffy turned to face the house. Soft light radiated from their bedroom window, calling her. I'll be right there, love. Promise.
Urgency pressed down on her as she strode back up the drive. Breaking into a run, she covered the distance in a blink. I was gone too long. She stood in front of the door. She gets so scared, but I wouldn't let them do it. I couldn't let them tie her down. I hope it's okay. Hesitating, she peered down at the polished brass knob for a moment. This is stupid! Her hand trembled as she reached for it and pushed the door open. This is our house—same house we've lived in for ten years now. She stepped inside.
As she shut the door, the smell of lingering death penetrated her senses. Remember this, Will? Remember watching Giles die? Feeling completely helpless to stop it? It's only been a couple years. He said he lived a good full life and not to fret. I never could listen to him. Disobedient right to the end.
She started to walk through the house. Her attention drifted. Pictures of familiar faces smiled at her from frames on the wall. As she passed into the living room, she heard the din of the heart monitor upstairs. It urged her on and she picked up the pace. Inattentive to the details, she pressed on through the dining room. Objects, hundreds of items assembled over a lifetime, passed by. Gifts given, things received, treasures collected that they both loved.
Rushing through into the kitchen, she flipped on the light and moved to the pantry. After grabbing a bucket from the floor, she returned to the living room and made her way swiftly up the stairs.
When she entered their room, the sound of the breathing machine grew frantic and labored.
"It's okay, Will, it's just me: Buffy," she offered patiently as she placed the bucket on the floor. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she looked down at the swollen, misshapen face of the woman she loved. A soft, reassuring smile warmed her features. The only details remaining, untouched by disease, were Willow's eyes and her hair. They were both unmistakably her. Buffy peered into her partner's eyes for several minutes as she gently stroked her soft red hair. Thank you for letting me do this. Last time I tried to touch— It's okay, though. You didn't know any better.
Tearing herself away, she went to her dresser and got out a pair of shorts and a tank top. Quickly moving to the bathroom, she started to undress, tossing her jeans, blouse, and underwear into the hamper.
Once she was redressed in sleep clothes, she pulled an I.V. needle, valve, and some tubing from the cabinet under the sink. After removing the sterile packaging, she cut the tubing and placed the valve inline just down from the needle. Lifting back her shorts, she leaned back and stretched out her leg. She was thin enough she didn't even have to feel for her femoral artery. Sitting still for a moment, she watched the skin inside her hip bone pulsate.
Buffy took a deep breath and pierced her skin. Her first two tries were unsuccessful. By the third time, she was getting frustrated, but she moved the needle until she hit the artery. The tubing filled with blood and she shut off the valve, wiping away the mess. After taping the needle and valve to her leg, she picked up the extra tubing and returned to the bedroom.
When Willow moved away like she was frightened, Buffy said in a soothing voice, "Its okay, sweetie, it's just me." This is gonna scare her, but I can't help it.
Moving to the bedside, she carefully ripped the face off the auto-infuser that fed Willow metered amounts of morphine. She removed the bottle and opened the nightstand, taking out a packaged hypodermic needle. Quickly reading the bottle, she prepared the hypo with thirty milligrams of the drug.
Her hands shook as she pressed the needle into Willow's I.V. I'm sorry. I just wish—well, I wish lots, not that you'll hear me say it. I wish we had more time, I guess. She pressed the plunger down and set the needle aside. The machines all fell silent as she ripped the plugs out of the wall.
After climbing into bed, she finished hooking up the tubing and taped the end into the bucket. Once everything was ready, she reached over and flipped off the light. Time to sleep.
Relaxing against the curve of her lover's body, Buffy closed her eyes. As she held tight to stifle the trembling, she started to whisper, "Twenty years. It was a gift. A gift you gave me. In twenty years we saved the world a dozen times or more. I dunno, I lose track of these things. You always were better at keeping track than me. Twenty years. We were lucky. We found peace by making peace. Twenty years is more than most people could wish for. Twenty years of knowing one thing with absolute certainty."
She stroked her partner's hair away from her face and stated the simple truth, "I love you, Willow Rosenberg." After kissing the redhead's puffy cheek, she added, "I couldn't ask for more." I hope the others will forgive me.
Once the tremors quieted, she placed her head in the curve of Willow's shoulder and turned the valve. There are people that say you'll go to hell for this. They preach and rage about sin. I never could get my mind around how being so angry over something—so quick to judge and condemn—could be good. I've been to hell—I've been to couple of hells, actually. I've seen things they couldn't imagine. I've done things they'd never survive.
Buffy began to feel weak. The Powers and me—we have this thing. Every time I get ahead, they smack me down. I've died so many times for the 'greater good' I've lost count. It never stuck. Right here at the end, when things were looking up—I saw rest on the horizon and they tried to take something—something I just—
The room started to spin and her eyes spotted behind closed lids. I'm tired. I just want—I deserve to rest.
Just let me rest, please.
***********
The last light went out in the house as Faith watched from the tree line. I'll give it an hour before I go look in, clean up and make the calls.
After cracking the seal, she raised the bottle in toast. Safe journey, Red, B. Tipping it up, she took a healthy gulp. Funny thing, I get it. I've never been in love—not like that, but I've watched. It's taken me years to get here. Now that I'm almost alone it's easy to see.
Her jaw clenched and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. If I wasn't such a pussy I might—but B. always was the stronger one.