A/N: While rewriting 'My Agony of Yours' and trying to find the muse to continue writing 'Faith, Hope and Ethan Rayne', I've been working on numerous Spuffy projects all the while and have made the decision to start sharing some of them, even if the others aren't finished yet. If you like this story, please be sure to leave a review, each one has so much power when it comes to our work, and ever one of them, no matter how short or simple, is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to the great God of Nerds, to whom we pray will one day bring back our beloved Serenity crew, until then however, our Spuffy dreams will keep us happy.

Trigger Warning: This story deals heavily with the subject of attempted suicide, the feelings and emotions surrounding it, as well as the thoughts and such associated with losing a loved one.

Joyce was dead…

Her mother was gone…

Her soul passed on…

Her body buried in the ground…

And there was nothing she could do to bring her back…

She'd never experienced loss like this, even Angel's death couldn't compare. To have that one person who had been there her whole life, the one who had taught her how to walk and talk, the one who had tucked her into bed at night, who had scared away the made-up monsters and told her the real ones didn't exist. The one who had held her when she was scared and told her everything would be okay. The one who had waited up at night when she was out with friends. The one who made sure she always knew that she was loved, and when she had discovered the truth about Slayers, she had loved her no less than before.

Buffy remembered the pain of heartache, but this was so much worse. It was suffocating, draining, as though the loss and pain were trying to take her life too. It was so hard just to breathe, and Buffy found herself wondering why she bothered to try. Sleep was impossible, patrolling was pointless, and conversation was a nightmare to follow. People tried to talk to her, but all she heard was noise. Now that the funeral was over and the phone calls had come to an end, Buffy was lost with what to do with herself.

There were no more pressing duties she absolutely had to attend to. There were no more distractions to keep her from thinking about the fact that her mother was dead. That glowing presence, that warm embrace, that smile that reminded her that she was loved and she was safe. The house felt cold without her there. Buffy was in an almost constant state of worry and always on the verge of tears. She was so afraid she was going to stuff something up, that she would forget something. Like, what if she forgot to pay one of the bills? Or she forgot to turn off the heating when they left the house and racked up a bill they were so not prepared for? Could she do that in one day? She'd barely had a chance to look over the house bills, she had no idea how any of this worked.

If it wasn't for Giles, Buffy could be facing a frightening financial mess right now. She needed him to help her with everything, she didn't even know how to file taxes! She'd never had to, it was never supposed to be a part of her life and so no one had ever taught her how to do it. Her mother was supposed to be there to handle those things…Slayers weren't supposed to live this long. Buffy couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection there, like, by her living so long when she had been expected to die any time in her first year, had the universe decided to take her mother's life instead?

It was insane and ridiculous, but she couldn't stop the bizarre places her mind would go. But every time she wondered if there was someone she could blame, her thoughts always came back to herself. Tears escaped without her notice, her heart burning with the grief and guilt of loss. Why couldn't she save her? Had there been signs she had missed? Ignored? Did her mother know how much she loved her? Had she told her enough? When was the last time she had said those words to her anyway? What else had she forgotten to say or do?

Like a ghost wandering through the underworld, Buffy moved slowly through the cemetery, her arms bound around herself, long hair framing a face wet from silent crying. She felt cold inside, empty, like everything good and warm about her had suddenly been ripped out of her stomach. Her body shivered from the cold, her lack of thought to bring a coat just one of the many things she had failed to consider today. Her mind was a mess of confusion, anger, sadness and pain. Why couldn't she have saved her mum? She was the damn Slayer, wasn't she? Yet she couldn't protect her mother from death? What good was she if she couldn't help the ones she loved when they needed her most?

What would happen if Willow got sick? Or Xander? Or Giles? Or Dawn? If she couldn't fight it, couldn't save them, then what good were her powers and her strength? What was the point in being a superhero when you couldn't protect the ones you loved?

A strangled whimper broke the silence of the night, and Buffy bit down on her lower lip, trying to prevent any further noise from escaping her, unbidden. She didn't want anyone to hear her, didn't want anyone to know. She had to be strong, she had to be tough; she had to be able to handle things when the world was falling apart. She couldn't let anyone see her be weak, to see her cry. But it was just too hard to keep it up this long. It had been hard when her mother was in the hospital, when Buffy had been worried sick and trying to take care of Dawn. It had been hard when she had watched her mother be wheeled away to her operation, wondering if she would ever see her again. To be told the danger was over, that everything was fine now and Joyce would recover completely, for life to get back on track and everything to be wonderful and good and…and then for it to all fall apart so suddenly…

She couldn't get that image out of her head, of her mother lying on the couch like that, her eyes open, and her skin pasty and white; stone-cold dead before she'd even walked in the door. How long had she been lying there, alone, before Buffy had come home? What had she felt before she collapsed? Had she been in pain? Had she reached for the phone? If she'd had the time, would she have called her? In those last few seconds, had she known she was about to die?

The now familiar sensation of bile churning in her gut returned and Buffy rocked from the nausea. Her steps were clumsy and her head was spinning, but nothing came up. The sickness stayed where it was, to torture her with the threat rather than to see it through. Down on knees and hands, Buffy tried to calm her body. Pale hands clutched at the wet grass, her nails digging into the dirt. The earth. The ground. Within which her mother's body now lay…

She was alone now…

It was up to her to take control…

To grow up…

To take charge, run the house, pay the bills, raise Dawn, be a parent and a friend and a sister and a Slayer –

It was all too much, she couldn't do this, she wasn't ready; she didn't know how to be all these things so quickly. As her world began to spin again, Buffy clawed at her head, trying to will it all to stop, for time to pause and give her a chance to get a grip. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. The world was crumbling around her and all she could do was watch as everything fell apart.

A heart-wrenching scream pierced the quiet darkness, shaking the trees, startling the animals. But it wasn't enough. The pressure kept building. All of it was suffocating her: the guilt, the failure, the sorrow, the anger, the fear, the panic…and the envy.

Deep inside her mind, in a place Buffy rarely let herself go, she couldn't help but feel jealous of her mother's state. A state where there was no pain, no worries, no pressure, no expectations, no fear, no loss and no shame. She was in a place of peace now, and sometimes, more than anything, Buffy wanted to be there too.

Buffy choked on tears as she found herself hating her mother, for leaving her, for having it easy when everything was so hard for her. For not teaching her everything she needed to know, for not telling her how to take care of Dawn. For dying so suddenly without any kind of warning and leaving her here alone to put everything back together. Then she hated herself. How could she hate her mother when she was dead? How dare she even think such horrible things! It wasn't her fault that a little piece of clogged blood had killed her, she didn't choose to die! It wasn't a choice! It just happened! But she still wanted to blame her, she wanted to be angry at her, as though she had made some decision to abandon her just like everyone else she loved.

The ones she loved always left, it was just a question of when. Her father had left her, Angel had left her, and Riley had left her, now Joyce too. How long was it before Willow and Xander were next? How long until Giles decided he was tired of being her Watcher? Of playing the role of father and decided to get the hell out of dodge?

How long until she was completely alone…as a Slayer was supposed to be?

She was suddenly up on her feet, running through the graveyard with dark purpose. She couldn't remember getting up, or the run to the gate. She just kept running and running, as though running away from her problems would make them go away. As though she could outrun the pain and keep it from ever clawing its way back inside her heart. She passed by houses and buildings, parks and cemeteries, churches and schools and shops and halls. Into the woods that surrounded the town, into the depths of darkness that promised a twisted peace. Up the rocks and hiker's trails, past the signs and through the muddy earth. And then she was there.

Why? How? At what point had she decided this was where she wanted to come? What reason could she have to come to this place? To stand here on the knoll that overlooked the town. The place where Angel had once stood, waiting for the sun. Is that why she was here? Was she waiting for the sun? Slowly, Buffy moved forward, peeking over the edge at the steep drop, too far down for her to see in this light. It was endless, it was welcoming, and it promised her the silence she was so desperate to find. No, she wasn't waiting for the sun, but her purpose here was the same.

It never even occurred to her the consequences of what she was about to do. She didn't think of Giles or her friends. She didn't think of Dawn, of Glory, of Angel or the world. All she could think about was how peaceful it would be if everything just stopped. The pain would cease, the world would still; the fear would be washed away in the sense of freedom that would fill her. It would all be over…no more death…no more pain…no more crippling pressure that threatened to make her head explode. Everything would end…

…and she would be free.

Her decision made, her feet backed up a few paces, muscles preparing for a running start. Her body moulded into position before propelling itself forward. The wind gathered up her hair, the cool air brushing against her face in a soft caress. Freedom was only a breath away, she could almost taste it already, that peace and quiet. No more evil, no more fighting, no more end-of-the-world…all of it was about to end for her. Her toes met the ledge of the hill as she faintly heard someone screaming her name. Her heart jerked, her eyes grew wide and her mind cleared of the fantasy; suddenly and horrifically fully aware of what she was about to do. But it was too late.

She flew off the edge and into the empty air, her slight frame falling through the chilling gust. Her heart was pounding louder than thunder, fear spreading to every corner of her mind and soul. Terror filled her chest as she realised what she could truly expect to come. There was no peace or freedom at the end of this fall, there was only pain. The pain of bleeding to death, of lying broken on the hard ground, unable to move or cry for help. The pain her friends and sister would feel if this actually worked; the pain they would feel if it didn't. What if her Slayer abilities couldn't heal everything? What if she was left in a horribly incapacitated state, unable to care for herself without the help of her teenage sister or her friends? This was far worse than locking herself in her room and refusing to come out. This was worse than making herself so busy with work and funeral arrangements that she couldn't spend any time with Dawn. This was worse than running away to L.A. with no intention of ever coming home.

Losing Joyce had been hard for them all, but to lose Buffy would break them apart. In this act, she was giving up. In this act, she was betraying the world. In this act, she was abandoning the ones she loved.

Oh god, what had she done?