Return
by Kirayoshi
Death and the Maiden
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Chapter Nine
Death and the Maiden
"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated."
...Attributed to Mark Twain
"I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life." ...Deuteronomy 30:19
When she was six years old, Buffy Summers had her first encounter with death.
She was on her way home from school, skipping merrily. She had the power of her youth on her side, an invincible shield against the terrors of the real world. She had gotten a gold star on her math assignment, had finally mastered her seven times tables, and rushed home happily to display her accomplishment to her parents.
Just as she rounded the corner to her house and was about to jump up the front porch steps, something caught her eye. She turned around, and shuddered at the sight of a dead cat in the street, apparently the victim of a hit-and-run. The cat's eyes were bulging out of its skull, and what fur on it that wasn't flattened by a tire was matted with blood.
Buffy gazed intently at the sight, unable to turn away. Her six-year-old heart went out to the unfortunate creature, and she felt an indescribable sorrow that the cat would no longer run and play in a world that was made for such as him.
The spell was broken when her mother called her name. She turned around and slowly made her way home. Somehow her gold star didn't seem important anymore. Her mother sensed her deep sorrow, gave her some ice cream and made Buffy's pain disappear, if only for a while.
Two years later, her cousin and closest friend Celia died, under mysterious circumstances. She recalled sitting in the hospital, knowing that Celia was lost to her but not understanding why. That was her first brush with the idea of death, her first realization that life, all life, someday ends. She saw death as a thing to be hated, a thing to be avoided.
That was her real thought of death until after she turned fifteen. Then a strange old man visited her high school and told her that she was destined to fight the vampires and demons of the night. Shortly after, her life became filled with death. Her friends died. Merrick died. Hundreds more would have died, but for her actions.
Shortly after that, something else died. Her home, her parent's marriage, her father's love for her. All of that had died.
Now she saw death as an adversary, something to be fought and defeated. A conqueror, whose victories against humanity were what she was put on this earth to prevent.
Then came Sunnydale. The home of Death.
Jesse died. Mr. Flutie died. Jenny died. Kendra died. All because she didn't act fast enough.
She faced Celia's killer, the thing called die Kinderstod, and thought she had achieved a victory over death. But that victory was illusory. Death still struck her, hard and often.
Allan Finch died, and his killer just said, "No, you don't get it; I don't care."
Her classmates died by the score at their graduation, before she could defeat the monster that had been Mayor Richard Wilkins.
Death after death, corpse upon corpse, and all Buffy could do was maintain a running tally.
Death was now the one constant in her life. Angel left her because he wanted to protect her. Riley left her because he wanted to hurt her. Willow and Xander were still there, but they had their own lives and loves to keep them occupied. Only death remained. The one constant, the one companion she could count on.
Then her mother, the woman who consoled her with ice cream after she witnessed that first death, she died.
A dead man with a British accent and an attitude told her that death was her art. A spirit in the desert told her that death was her gift.
She finally decided that death was what she wished for, more than she wanted anything else. A cessation of pain, an end to the misery of a life she no longer desired. The fact that her death would allow the only people who mattered to her to live beyond her, that was just an added consideration.
Now she knew what death really was. She was standing in front of Death. She was a raven-haired, goth dressed girl with pale skin and a warm smile. This wasn't how she imagined it.
"You're Death?" Buffy asked the mysterious woman. The ageless one nodded quietly. "Whoa. Not what I was expecting, really."
"Let me guess," Death quipped, fingering her ever-present ankh pendant. "Something in a rotting skeleton in a tattered black sackcloth robe, carrying a scythe, sort of a Grim Reaper motif?" She chuckled brightly. "Sister, I pretty much gave up that look after the Black Plague. Word of advice, sackcloth is not something you want to wear on a regular basis." With a gesture, two chairs and a table materialized from the substance of Buffy's mindscape. "Sit, relax, take a load off. We need to talk before you go." She sat in one of the chairs, and bade Buffy join her.
"Go?" Buffy asked hesitantly as she took her seat. Death seemed amused at Buffy's confusion. "Go where?"
"Well, that's up to you, isn't it?" Death nodded once, and two hi-ball glasses appeared on the table, each with a black straw. Death took one of the glasses and sipped daintily at her drink. Noticing that Buffy hadn't touched hers, Death assured her; "Don't worry, that's not part of the process."
"What is it?"
Death smiled. "Whatever you want it to be, Buffy. It's your mind." Buffy hesitantly took the glass in her hand and risked a sip at the straw. Diet cola danced on her tongue at the first sip. Buffy relaxed slightly, accepting the familiarity of her favorite drink.
"Somehow I never pictured Death as being so...friendly," Buffy made a wry face at the entity.
Death arched her eyebrow at the Slayer. "A fellow by the name of Walt Whitman said it best when he said that death was different than anything that you could imagine, and luckier. I'm not what anyone pictures me to be. I'm who I am. I'm a process, nothing more. When the first life came into being, I was there waiting for it. When the last life in the universe dies, my work will be finished. I'll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me as I leave."
The Slayer sat quietly as she digested these words. She knew she was dead, she hadn't survived the final fall, so this seemed strangely normal, this conversation with Death. "So," Buffy asked. "What do we need to talk about?"
"Oh, my favorite subject, life," Death mused almost dreamily. "Your life, in particular. Y'see, two months ago, your soul passed from the material world. But circumstances have conspired to present you with something I never give anyone. A second chance."
"Your soul, Buffy, is very powerful, like all Slayers. That sort of power can sometimes take on a life of its own. When your soul departed from your body, it was fragmented, split into three. Each component of your soul fell into the keeping of one of your friends."
"Giles, Xander and Willow," Buffy mused. "The Enjoining spell."
"Told you, your soul is a powerful thing. Powerful enough to seek its own survival, even when the body is pretty much trashed. After that, our soldier boys in the Initiative managed to pull off its little Frankenstein project with your corpse. The pieces were in place, they just have to be brought together."
Buffy barked a sarcastic laugh. "So in spite of my best efforts, I'm still alive?"
"Not now," Death explained. "Not dead either. You're at a crossroads." She let the words hang over the table. Buffy weighed and measured each word, praying that her next question would not be a mistake.
Finally she steeled herself, and asked; "So, am I going to live?"
"It's entirely your call, Buffy." Death folded her hands on her lap and leaned forward. "Free will and all that. It's your choice, live or die.
"To be or not to be," Buffy whispered to herself. "That is the question."
"Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," Death continued, "or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about, didn't he? Of course, by 'take arms', ol' Bill meant to commit suicide. A lot of people don't know that. I always got the impression that you weren't the take-arms type of person. That's why I like you so much.
"I doubt you're aware of this, but we have something of a special partnership. I am the process, the passage from one state of being to another. But there are forces that work against that process, that work against death. Unnatural forces. Forces like vampirism. They work against me, against death. That's where you come in. To prevent this perversion, the Slayers came into being. To prevent the deaths of innocents, and to assure that those who were turned into vampires completed the process of their deaths. Vampirism cheats death, and I don't like to be cheated."
"So my job, in essence," Buffy frowned, "is to kill."
"No, to slay," Death corrected. "To finish the process. Those poor souls were already dead, their bodies just didn't know it. Their bodies still kept a portion of their souls anchored to the physical world, and prevent them from travelling to the next world."
"So there is a next world?" Buffy grasped at this straw desperately. Death just gave her a 'you-know-I-can't-tell-you' look. "Sorry, I just needed to know..."
"Don't be sorry," Death smiled. "That's the nature of humanity. The need to know what's next. Well, I could tell you what lies beyond life, but then you would have made your choice in favor of death. I can tell you that you mother is happy, and at peace." Buffy felt her shoulders sag as an unknown tension revealed itself by its sudden absence. A terrible burden left her, and she felt infinitely lighter as a result.
"I know about Spike," Death commented, "I remember what he told you, about how every Slayer has a death-wish. In a way he was right. Not a wish to die, but a wish to know what happens when you die. A need to know. Of course, you have that in common with most of the rest of your race. It's just that in your case, death is a more prevalent force in your life, so naturally it's going to be on your mind more."
Buffy sipped drink again, considering what was being offered. A return to her life. But was that what she wanted?
"I know what you're thinking, Buffy," Death observed. "You haven't had an easy life before this point. And I can't promise that you're gonna have it any easier if you choose to live again. You'd have to take that up with my brother Destiny, and I wouldn't recommend it. The guy's a real bring-down boy." She leaned forward in her chair, her gaze commanding Buffy's attention. "All I can tell you is this; whatever happens from the point of your decision, that's up to you. No matter what the Council of Watchers says, no matter what pressures your calling as the Slayer places on you, in the end your life is just that. Yours."
"Hmph," Buffy mused. "What about my gift? My death was my gift."
"You got that wrong, friend. Death wasn't your gift. Your life was your gift. You gave your life for your friends, for your sister, for your world. Death may have been your gift, but it certainly wasn't your only gift." She leaned back in her chair and sipped her drink again. "Well, now you have new gifts. Your soul, bright and vibrant, is your gift. Your heart is your gift. You are your gift. Just don't be so stingy with those gifts." Buffy smiled ruefully at Death's words.
A memory came to the Slayer, unbidden but nonetheless welcome. A sweet and smiling Willow, happily announcing her plans to remain in Sunnydale after graduation, to support Buffy in her war against the dark. "It's a good fight," she said then, "and I want in."
"It's still a good fight," Death observed, a knowing look in her eyes.
"Yeah," Buffy admitted. "And I still want in."
"Then the choice is made," Death stood up in her seat and started to walk away. "Good luck, Slayer."
"Hey," Buffy called out to the departing figure. "Will I see you again?"
Death turned her head back toward Buffy, and smiled. "Someday, Buffy Summers, you will see me again. Then, I will tell you everything. Take care." The Endless one turned away and faded from Buffy's sight.
========
Dawn stirred on her gurney, becoming vaguely aware of her surroundings. She first noticed the restraints that bound her to the gurney, then saw Spike standing over her, loosening her bonds. "Hey, Niblet," the vampire spoke as soothingly as he knew how. "You okay?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Dawn sat up as the strap over her chest was released. She shook her head, struggling to shake off the effects of whatever sedatives were used on her. "What happened, Spike?"
"Someone used you for an evil experiment," Graham answered. "The Initiative..." he hesitated, unsure how the young girl would take what had happened. "They tried to reanimate your sister's body." He stopped talking and gauged the growing shock and disgust on Dawn's face. He understood that expression, for he shared her disgust for ever being part of the Initiative. If they could desecrate the body of a hero...
The others started to awaken slowly, first Willow, then Giles and Xander. "Wha...what happened?" Willow asked as she shook off the effects of Glory's attack. "Where's Glory? Where are the others?"
"We're right here," Giles murmured. "But if someone would kindly shut off the Iron Maiden concert in my head..."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Xander complained wearily. He and the others glanced around, and found Buffy's body sprawled on the floor. He stepped back slowly, warning the others away. "Back off, guys, we don't know what'll happen next."
"What do you mean, Xander?" Dawn asked frantically. "What did they do to Buffy?"
Giles stammered quietly, carefully considering his reply. Before he could speak, the slayer's body started to move. She slowly rose from the floor to a standing position, and opened her eyes. The others stood back, ready for anything.
Her eyes rested on her friends, on Willow and Dawn especially, and she smiled. Her smile wasn't the terrifying grin of the deranged goddess, but the warm, caring smile of their protector, defender and friend.
There was no logical reason for anyone in the room to believe this, but somehow they knew the truth, beyond any doubt.
Dawn was the first person to speak after a minute's shocked silence. "Buffy?" she whispered. "Is that you?"
"It's me, Dawnie," Buffy assured her.
The slayer's sister launched herself into Buffy's arms, nearly knocking her onto her butt, and hugged her fiercely. She wept openly, gladly, as she relished this contact with her sister. Buffy clung to her sister just as fiercely, tears of joy staining her face as well. Soon, as though released from a spell, Willow, Xander and Giles approached the two sisters, and Buffy opened her arms to them as well.
Spike hung back, watching the reunion of old friends. He simply nodded his acknowledgment of Buffy's return with a smirk on his face. But he wasn't fooling anyone present; he was as glad to see Buffy's return as anyone else.
Graham said nothing as this strange family simply held each other, restoring that precious connection that had been lost to them before. There would be time later for Buffy and the others to deal with the realities of her temporary demise. There would be time later for him to deal with Riley Finn's imminent court-martial, and the final dismantling of the Initiative. For now, it was enough to know that their friend had been returned to them.
Buffy Summers had returned.