TITLE: Free Fall [1/4]
CHALLENGE: Timeline
AUTHOR: Nymue
EMAIL: josette@aol.com
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com
RATED: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.
SPOILERS: "The Gift"
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated.
***
Part One: Falling Towards What, Exactly?
***
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies ...
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
-- William Cullen Bryant
***
Accepting destiny is never easy. Just ask anyone who has lost a loved one because he or she followed a calling or a cause, or someone who is dying from a terminal illness. Better yet, ask a Slayer.
For millennia upon millennia, Slayers have been trained from birth so that they will not question, will not falter, merely accept their lot in life. Understanding is not necessary, only obedience, goes one saying. However, every so often there comes a Slayer who is different -- through an accident of birth, a lack of guidance, an epiphany or simply by virtue of a unique soul. These girls and young women do not meekly accept destiny, but fight until the end and often become restless spirits who seek to continue their lives and work.
One such Slayer was all of the above. Born to an unwatched family, she was not given the proper training usually accorded a potential Slayer; after her Calling she fought with spirit and a sense of fairness denied and had many epiphanies ... she is truly a unique soul. Moreso, because when the time of reckoning arrived she accepted her destiny and her Gift. Yet, that core of tenacity lives on. The end of her life she readily accepted, that she was destined to die to save the world ... but beyond that? No, the rest of her balks at giving up. It is not so much peace that she seeks, but rather she wants to know that she is making a difference, creating an impact on the world.
Simply put, she wants to *live.*
And so it was that her soul left her body before its death, and flew into the portal that she sacrificed her life's blood to close. She travels now, seeking out new experiences without even knowing what it is she seeks. Buffy Summers is about to change her life.
All of them.
***
In one instant there was the sensation of falling, of a battle so profound that it took all of her to fight ... yet there was nothing to do but fall. Falling to the ground she could no longer see, to everywhere, to nowhere, to destiny ... to death. There was sadness and grief, but peace and acceptance as well. And love, so much love that it burned her from the inside out, from the core of her soul to the tips of her toes.
There was a battle to be won, though, a fight to win. So she summoned her will to fight, to protect ... but all she could do was fall.
In the next instant there was a feeling of being sucked into something unknown and yet utterly familiar, uncertainty instead of peace, pain rather than grief and the unmistakable pull of Slayer senses.
A jolting feeling forced Buffy Summers to open her eyes as she felt herself settle back into her body, but the sight that met her eyes filled her with confusion. She could easily have accepted seeing the top of the tower from the ground ... Dawn or Giles or Willow ... perhaps even her mother and Kendra if she had reached the other side of life. Any of these would have been preferable to finding herself in a familiarly unfamiliar body, sitting in a leather chair across from a power-suited woman with short, curly dark hair who was regarding her with a mix of loathing and smug holier-than-thou saccharine helpfulness. Her senses, Slayer senses, weaker but still there, confirmed the two were alone in an office -- a very nice office -- and from the faint traffic sounds she could hear through the walls that she was still on Earth.
The woman -- Buffy noted that a gilded nameplate read Veronica Richards, M.D. -- eyed her closely. "What did you feel?"
Confused and not a little shocked, Buffy absently responded. "Falling."
Sleek eyebrows lifted skyward as a look of surprise crossed Dr. Richards' face. Carefully schooling her features not to reflect her shock, the doctor smiled. "Well, this is a bit of surprise, Buffy. What do you think it means?"
The Slayer swung her eyes to meet the gray orbs that were so intently studying her and narrowed her own before lifting a shoulder. "I don't know," she whispered, trying to settle into her skin. It itched and felt too tight, too small, and her confusion was all too encompassing. "Maybe ... falling?"
Buffy watched with no pleasure as a wave of frustration passed over the perfectly manicured doctor's expression and silently questioned the sudden sense of elation that past through her. Unsure just how she knew, she did know that this woman was not to be trusted; despite the tight feeling of her skin and the limited range of her senses, she somehow knew that this woman must be endured. However, the imp of perverse within -- and where did that come from, she wondered -- dictated that some enjoyment made the time pass more quickly. Unfortunately, a slight rap on the door brought a look of relief to the doctor, but also ended Buffy's tenuous foothold on reality.
"Well, Buffy," Dr. Richards rose from her seat and crossed to perch on the desk in front of her. "I hope the rest of your week is pleasant, and perhaps next time we might explore this falling you mentioned. I know you must know, but the more you talk about how you feel helps us help you with your illness."
Receiving no response from the shocked Slayer, she inwardly sighed. Why her? Why did she wind up with Henry Summers' messed up kid?
Buffy's head swam with thoughts and feelings she was unable to place, let alone name, and she stood and moved towards the door in the hope that her head would clear enough to allow her to function with some semblance of Slayer capacity. Shaking off her confusion momentarily, she turned in the doorway and gave the woman a look demons had learned to fear. "I don't have an illness."
Before the psychiatrist, and Buffy was sure she knew a shrink when she saw one, could say a word, she was out the door and in the lobby where she stopped, unsure of how to proceed now that she had a chance to think. However, the moment was broken when a paper was folded and she turned to her left only to find Wesley Wyndham-Price gripping her arm and leading her to the door.
"What the ... " she started.
"Not here," Wesley said in clipped tones.
"Huh?"
"In the car, Miss Summers, we will talk in the car," he told her in a voice that clearly said that she should already know this.
Shaking her head, she allowed herself to be led from the building and out to the street where she came to a complete stop as she looked around. It was a foregone conclusion that she was not in Sunnydale -- she had decided that while still in the office -- but she had still thought to be somewhere in California, perhaps Los Angeles. She was not, then, expecting to see the outline of the Mall or the top of the Washington Monument from the curb.
"What the hell?" she whispered, the sensation of falling once more overcoming her as the ground seemed to drop out from beneath her feet. However, unlike before the feeling quickly passed and she found herself on the receiving end of an impatient stare from Wesley, so she abandoned the sight and slid inside the sleek, shiny BMW and let him take the wheel.
Silence reigned supreme as Buffy watched him navigate the seemingly mad traffic in the nation's capitol, glad for a few moments to collect her thoughts. Clearly, she was alive, but she was not at home; and she was just as clearly not dead and in the hereafter ... whatever it was. After filtering and discarding a hundred possibilities within the space of a minute, Buffy finally came to the conclusion that the portal she had given her life to close was somehow responsible. It was really the only viable option, after all -- this was not *her* body, but it was the body of Buffy Summers. If the portal that was opened was strong enough to tear down the barriers between dimensions, then surely it was strong enough to send her soul ricocheting through various alternate timelines ... crazy as it sounded.
And Buffy was fast approaching the conclusion that crazy sounded pretty damn sane.
Blinking back hot tears and clenching her fingers to avoid ripping the door open, Buffy fought the urge to demand that Wesley stop the car and explain what the hell was going on. She fought the urge to scream and shout, to cry and rage at the death that had eluded her once more. She mourned her sister, her family, forgotten friends, enemies and Angel, and she bit her lip as she swallowed the wail that threatened to spill over her lips. She cursed the Powers that had apparently abandoned her here, that had so flippantly disregarded the magnitude of her Gift.
And she ignored the voice within that cried, nay, wept with such joy that she was still alive.
It was the taste of her blood as well as Wesley's voice that pulled her mind from its seclusion. "I take it that your session with Dr. Richards went as usual?"
Blood tastes like copper pennies suspended in the sweetest syrup, she thought, swallowing the precious fluid. "Usual?" she asked once she found her voice.
Wesley sighed. "I do wish you would look on this opportunity as a chance to work through some of your more ... typical issues, Buffy. It behooves no one, least of all yourself, to continue with this rebellious front. I understand that you do not wish to see her, but you know as well as I that after your ordeal with the Kzatcha demon you were inadvertently diagnosed with borderline personality disorder ... "
Buffy's mouth dropped open. A personality disorder?
"And you know how lucky you are that your father realized how hard any organized school would be for you," he finished. "Only through sheer serendipity and a bit of magick was the Council able to appoint me as you tutor ... and even that was quite fortuitous."
Huh?
"And speaking of such," he continued as he slowed the car and entered an older, residential neighborhood. Even at only twenty miles an hour Buffy felt as if the scenery was a giant blur, but she could hazily make out houses that looked like the much more somber sisters of the beautiful Painted Ladies she and her mother and Dawn had seen years ago on a weekend trip to San Francisco.
Mom, her anguished mind called.
Dawnie! her heart screamed.
"Buffy, please!"
She jerked around to see a pained expression on Wesley's face. "While I know I may tend to drone on, as you put it, you could at least pay some heed to my words, Miss Summers. As I was saying ... "
Buffy nodded, and tried to look alert.
His eyes softened just a touch; had she not been looking she doubted she would have seen it. "You need not patrol tonight, Buffy. I have no doubt this has been a trying day and you should spend the remainder of the weekend resting. We'll resume lessons on Monday morning at nine."
The Slayer shook her head to clear away the cobwebs, but was so unsuccessful that she smiled at Wesley and, once she realized the car had stopped, turned to let herself out. As she slipped out of the shiny vehicle, she gazed up at white Italianate Victorian house with dark blue trim in astonishment ... before her gaze made out the name on the mailbox.
SUMMERS.
Her mouth fell slightly agape as she shakily pushed open the wrought iron gate, vaguely registering the click as it fell shut behind her and the sound of the BMW pulling away from the curb. In front of her loomed something so unclear and uncertain it left her breathless -- it was only a house, she told herself. A very nice house, she amended as she climbed the stairs to the large, covered porch.
A house your father lives in, a little voice reminded.
Fully on autopilot by this time, Buffy rummaged through the bag she had absentmindedly taken from the car until she found a set of keys. This body must be familiar with this, she thought, surprised that the first key that came to hand had opened the door. Stepping over the threshold was easier than she would have imagined it's just a doorway and she was immediately swept away by the dark, glossy hardwood floor and the stained glass ceiling that cast colorful patterns on everything around her. Mesmerized, she stood silently still and stared at the beams and fractals of light that inhabited this room, struck by the beauty and the sacrilege of the scene. Surely nothing this beautiful should exist outside of a sacred space, she thought dizzily.
"Well, you're home then," a voice from the periphery called. "Your father called to tell you he'd be home late ... some meeting with the Committee, he said ... "
Buffy frowned. She knew that voice from somewhere ...
"I'm making baked chicken with that pepper and onion sauce you like for supper ... "
A hand clasped against her mouth. It couldn't be ...
"And I thought about frying some rice and peppers in ginger to go with it, what d'you think?"
No, no, it wasn't possible.
An older woman with graying hair and a musical voice stepped into the foyer and stopped, staring at the stricken blonde. "Buffy, are you all right?"
"Mattie," Buffy whispered, unbelieving. How could this be? This was Mattie, her parents' old housekeeper who had looked after her from before memory until a year or so after Dawn was born and Mom decided to stay home --
"Lovey?" Mattie questioned, alarmed. "Should I call the doctor?"
Eyes wide and luminous with unshed tears, Buffy's legs slid out from under her and she fell to the floor in a heap. More concerned with Buffy than with a doctor who might not even be in, Mattie dropped to her knees next to the prone Slayer and clasped the pale face between her two hands. "Tell me, Buffy! What's wrong?"
But Buffy couldn't hear. Her mind saw only the scenes of yesteryear, images of her parents and her little sister when they were still so happy; then flashes of Tyler and Pike and Merrick, the feel of the first vampire she'd ever dusted, a glimpse of a burning gym and a frantic Dawn, Giles in the library. Willow and Xander and Cordelia at Sunnydale High, Angel lurking in the shadows but ready to help, the Master in his lair, her mother's face after Parent-Teacher night, Angel sick from the spell to restore Drusilla, her mother's relief and her sister's continual fear after Ted was truly gone, the glory and pain of her one night with Angel, Angelus and his twisted obsession.
Angel in the instant she plunged the sword into his chest.
Coming home, Mom's relief, Dawn's anger, the resentment, the guilt, Angel's return, Faith, Oz, Anya, love Angel, love Mom, love Dawn, no more Angel, so tired, so cold, happy Willow and Oz, Parker, Veruca, sad Willow, angry with Angel, kissing Spike, Riley - Riley - Riley, distance, Faith again -- bad, bad, bad -- Angel angry, Angel hit, Mom hurt, Dawn upset, Willow and Tara, Riley hurt, Angel back, Adam, fight, Primal Slayer, Riley, Mom happy, Dawn pissy, need to know more, worried, so worried, Mommy hurt, Dawn not real, Glory, Giles, Key, Dawnie, cutting Mommy, no more Riley, happy Mommy and happy Dawnie, Spike is sick, Mommy gone, Dawnie upset, everything stops but doesn't, Death as Gift, Angel back, Angel care but Mommy gone and Dawnie upset, Dawnie gone, must get to Dawnie, have to save Dawnie, take care of her, love her, love Mommy, Love them all, Mommy, Dawnie, Willow, Xander, Giles/Daddy, Angel, Angel, Angel, Mommy, Anya, Dawnie, Tara, Dawnie, Mom, Mom, Mom --
"Mommy!" she wailed as the tears poured from her eyes and her body was wracked with sobs.
Mattie blinked back her own tears as she rocked the slender girl in her arms. "I know, lovey, I know."
[end part one]
CHALLENGE: Timeline
AUTHOR: Nymue
EMAIL: josette@aol.com
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com
RATED: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.
SPOILERS: "The Gift"
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated.
***
Part One: Falling Towards What, Exactly?
***
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies ...
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
-- William Cullen Bryant
***
Accepting destiny is never easy. Just ask anyone who has lost a loved one because he or she followed a calling or a cause, or someone who is dying from a terminal illness. Better yet, ask a Slayer.
For millennia upon millennia, Slayers have been trained from birth so that they will not question, will not falter, merely accept their lot in life. Understanding is not necessary, only obedience, goes one saying. However, every so often there comes a Slayer who is different -- through an accident of birth, a lack of guidance, an epiphany or simply by virtue of a unique soul. These girls and young women do not meekly accept destiny, but fight until the end and often become restless spirits who seek to continue their lives and work.
One such Slayer was all of the above. Born to an unwatched family, she was not given the proper training usually accorded a potential Slayer; after her Calling she fought with spirit and a sense of fairness denied and had many epiphanies ... she is truly a unique soul. Moreso, because when the time of reckoning arrived she accepted her destiny and her Gift. Yet, that core of tenacity lives on. The end of her life she readily accepted, that she was destined to die to save the world ... but beyond that? No, the rest of her balks at giving up. It is not so much peace that she seeks, but rather she wants to know that she is making a difference, creating an impact on the world.
Simply put, she wants to *live.*
And so it was that her soul left her body before its death, and flew into the portal that she sacrificed her life's blood to close. She travels now, seeking out new experiences without even knowing what it is she seeks. Buffy Summers is about to change her life.
All of them.
***
In one instant there was the sensation of falling, of a battle so profound that it took all of her to fight ... yet there was nothing to do but fall. Falling to the ground she could no longer see, to everywhere, to nowhere, to destiny ... to death. There was sadness and grief, but peace and acceptance as well. And love, so much love that it burned her from the inside out, from the core of her soul to the tips of her toes.
There was a battle to be won, though, a fight to win. So she summoned her will to fight, to protect ... but all she could do was fall.
In the next instant there was a feeling of being sucked into something unknown and yet utterly familiar, uncertainty instead of peace, pain rather than grief and the unmistakable pull of Slayer senses.
A jolting feeling forced Buffy Summers to open her eyes as she felt herself settle back into her body, but the sight that met her eyes filled her with confusion. She could easily have accepted seeing the top of the tower from the ground ... Dawn or Giles or Willow ... perhaps even her mother and Kendra if she had reached the other side of life. Any of these would have been preferable to finding herself in a familiarly unfamiliar body, sitting in a leather chair across from a power-suited woman with short, curly dark hair who was regarding her with a mix of loathing and smug holier-than-thou saccharine helpfulness. Her senses, Slayer senses, weaker but still there, confirmed the two were alone in an office -- a very nice office -- and from the faint traffic sounds she could hear through the walls that she was still on Earth.
The woman -- Buffy noted that a gilded nameplate read Veronica Richards, M.D. -- eyed her closely. "What did you feel?"
Confused and not a little shocked, Buffy absently responded. "Falling."
Sleek eyebrows lifted skyward as a look of surprise crossed Dr. Richards' face. Carefully schooling her features not to reflect her shock, the doctor smiled. "Well, this is a bit of surprise, Buffy. What do you think it means?"
The Slayer swung her eyes to meet the gray orbs that were so intently studying her and narrowed her own before lifting a shoulder. "I don't know," she whispered, trying to settle into her skin. It itched and felt too tight, too small, and her confusion was all too encompassing. "Maybe ... falling?"
Buffy watched with no pleasure as a wave of frustration passed over the perfectly manicured doctor's expression and silently questioned the sudden sense of elation that past through her. Unsure just how she knew, she did know that this woman was not to be trusted; despite the tight feeling of her skin and the limited range of her senses, she somehow knew that this woman must be endured. However, the imp of perverse within -- and where did that come from, she wondered -- dictated that some enjoyment made the time pass more quickly. Unfortunately, a slight rap on the door brought a look of relief to the doctor, but also ended Buffy's tenuous foothold on reality.
"Well, Buffy," Dr. Richards rose from her seat and crossed to perch on the desk in front of her. "I hope the rest of your week is pleasant, and perhaps next time we might explore this falling you mentioned. I know you must know, but the more you talk about how you feel helps us help you with your illness."
Receiving no response from the shocked Slayer, she inwardly sighed. Why her? Why did she wind up with Henry Summers' messed up kid?
Buffy's head swam with thoughts and feelings she was unable to place, let alone name, and she stood and moved towards the door in the hope that her head would clear enough to allow her to function with some semblance of Slayer capacity. Shaking off her confusion momentarily, she turned in the doorway and gave the woman a look demons had learned to fear. "I don't have an illness."
Before the psychiatrist, and Buffy was sure she knew a shrink when she saw one, could say a word, she was out the door and in the lobby where she stopped, unsure of how to proceed now that she had a chance to think. However, the moment was broken when a paper was folded and she turned to her left only to find Wesley Wyndham-Price gripping her arm and leading her to the door.
"What the ... " she started.
"Not here," Wesley said in clipped tones.
"Huh?"
"In the car, Miss Summers, we will talk in the car," he told her in a voice that clearly said that she should already know this.
Shaking her head, she allowed herself to be led from the building and out to the street where she came to a complete stop as she looked around. It was a foregone conclusion that she was not in Sunnydale -- she had decided that while still in the office -- but she had still thought to be somewhere in California, perhaps Los Angeles. She was not, then, expecting to see the outline of the Mall or the top of the Washington Monument from the curb.
"What the hell?" she whispered, the sensation of falling once more overcoming her as the ground seemed to drop out from beneath her feet. However, unlike before the feeling quickly passed and she found herself on the receiving end of an impatient stare from Wesley, so she abandoned the sight and slid inside the sleek, shiny BMW and let him take the wheel.
Silence reigned supreme as Buffy watched him navigate the seemingly mad traffic in the nation's capitol, glad for a few moments to collect her thoughts. Clearly, she was alive, but she was not at home; and she was just as clearly not dead and in the hereafter ... whatever it was. After filtering and discarding a hundred possibilities within the space of a minute, Buffy finally came to the conclusion that the portal she had given her life to close was somehow responsible. It was really the only viable option, after all -- this was not *her* body, but it was the body of Buffy Summers. If the portal that was opened was strong enough to tear down the barriers between dimensions, then surely it was strong enough to send her soul ricocheting through various alternate timelines ... crazy as it sounded.
And Buffy was fast approaching the conclusion that crazy sounded pretty damn sane.
Blinking back hot tears and clenching her fingers to avoid ripping the door open, Buffy fought the urge to demand that Wesley stop the car and explain what the hell was going on. She fought the urge to scream and shout, to cry and rage at the death that had eluded her once more. She mourned her sister, her family, forgotten friends, enemies and Angel, and she bit her lip as she swallowed the wail that threatened to spill over her lips. She cursed the Powers that had apparently abandoned her here, that had so flippantly disregarded the magnitude of her Gift.
And she ignored the voice within that cried, nay, wept with such joy that she was still alive.
It was the taste of her blood as well as Wesley's voice that pulled her mind from its seclusion. "I take it that your session with Dr. Richards went as usual?"
Blood tastes like copper pennies suspended in the sweetest syrup, she thought, swallowing the precious fluid. "Usual?" she asked once she found her voice.
Wesley sighed. "I do wish you would look on this opportunity as a chance to work through some of your more ... typical issues, Buffy. It behooves no one, least of all yourself, to continue with this rebellious front. I understand that you do not wish to see her, but you know as well as I that after your ordeal with the Kzatcha demon you were inadvertently diagnosed with borderline personality disorder ... "
Buffy's mouth dropped open. A personality disorder?
"And you know how lucky you are that your father realized how hard any organized school would be for you," he finished. "Only through sheer serendipity and a bit of magick was the Council able to appoint me as you tutor ... and even that was quite fortuitous."
Huh?
"And speaking of such," he continued as he slowed the car and entered an older, residential neighborhood. Even at only twenty miles an hour Buffy felt as if the scenery was a giant blur, but she could hazily make out houses that looked like the much more somber sisters of the beautiful Painted Ladies she and her mother and Dawn had seen years ago on a weekend trip to San Francisco.
Mom, her anguished mind called.
Dawnie! her heart screamed.
"Buffy, please!"
She jerked around to see a pained expression on Wesley's face. "While I know I may tend to drone on, as you put it, you could at least pay some heed to my words, Miss Summers. As I was saying ... "
Buffy nodded, and tried to look alert.
His eyes softened just a touch; had she not been looking she doubted she would have seen it. "You need not patrol tonight, Buffy. I have no doubt this has been a trying day and you should spend the remainder of the weekend resting. We'll resume lessons on Monday morning at nine."
The Slayer shook her head to clear away the cobwebs, but was so unsuccessful that she smiled at Wesley and, once she realized the car had stopped, turned to let herself out. As she slipped out of the shiny vehicle, she gazed up at white Italianate Victorian house with dark blue trim in astonishment ... before her gaze made out the name on the mailbox.
SUMMERS.
Her mouth fell slightly agape as she shakily pushed open the wrought iron gate, vaguely registering the click as it fell shut behind her and the sound of the BMW pulling away from the curb. In front of her loomed something so unclear and uncertain it left her breathless -- it was only a house, she told herself. A very nice house, she amended as she climbed the stairs to the large, covered porch.
A house your father lives in, a little voice reminded.
Fully on autopilot by this time, Buffy rummaged through the bag she had absentmindedly taken from the car until she found a set of keys. This body must be familiar with this, she thought, surprised that the first key that came to hand had opened the door. Stepping over the threshold was easier than she would have imagined it's just a doorway and she was immediately swept away by the dark, glossy hardwood floor and the stained glass ceiling that cast colorful patterns on everything around her. Mesmerized, she stood silently still and stared at the beams and fractals of light that inhabited this room, struck by the beauty and the sacrilege of the scene. Surely nothing this beautiful should exist outside of a sacred space, she thought dizzily.
"Well, you're home then," a voice from the periphery called. "Your father called to tell you he'd be home late ... some meeting with the Committee, he said ... "
Buffy frowned. She knew that voice from somewhere ...
"I'm making baked chicken with that pepper and onion sauce you like for supper ... "
A hand clasped against her mouth. It couldn't be ...
"And I thought about frying some rice and peppers in ginger to go with it, what d'you think?"
No, no, it wasn't possible.
An older woman with graying hair and a musical voice stepped into the foyer and stopped, staring at the stricken blonde. "Buffy, are you all right?"
"Mattie," Buffy whispered, unbelieving. How could this be? This was Mattie, her parents' old housekeeper who had looked after her from before memory until a year or so after Dawn was born and Mom decided to stay home --
"Lovey?" Mattie questioned, alarmed. "Should I call the doctor?"
Eyes wide and luminous with unshed tears, Buffy's legs slid out from under her and she fell to the floor in a heap. More concerned with Buffy than with a doctor who might not even be in, Mattie dropped to her knees next to the prone Slayer and clasped the pale face between her two hands. "Tell me, Buffy! What's wrong?"
But Buffy couldn't hear. Her mind saw only the scenes of yesteryear, images of her parents and her little sister when they were still so happy; then flashes of Tyler and Pike and Merrick, the feel of the first vampire she'd ever dusted, a glimpse of a burning gym and a frantic Dawn, Giles in the library. Willow and Xander and Cordelia at Sunnydale High, Angel lurking in the shadows but ready to help, the Master in his lair, her mother's face after Parent-Teacher night, Angel sick from the spell to restore Drusilla, her mother's relief and her sister's continual fear after Ted was truly gone, the glory and pain of her one night with Angel, Angelus and his twisted obsession.
Angel in the instant she plunged the sword into his chest.
Coming home, Mom's relief, Dawn's anger, the resentment, the guilt, Angel's return, Faith, Oz, Anya, love Angel, love Mom, love Dawn, no more Angel, so tired, so cold, happy Willow and Oz, Parker, Veruca, sad Willow, angry with Angel, kissing Spike, Riley - Riley - Riley, distance, Faith again -- bad, bad, bad -- Angel angry, Angel hit, Mom hurt, Dawn upset, Willow and Tara, Riley hurt, Angel back, Adam, fight, Primal Slayer, Riley, Mom happy, Dawn pissy, need to know more, worried, so worried, Mommy hurt, Dawn not real, Glory, Giles, Key, Dawnie, cutting Mommy, no more Riley, happy Mommy and happy Dawnie, Spike is sick, Mommy gone, Dawnie upset, everything stops but doesn't, Death as Gift, Angel back, Angel care but Mommy gone and Dawnie upset, Dawnie gone, must get to Dawnie, have to save Dawnie, take care of her, love her, love Mommy, Love them all, Mommy, Dawnie, Willow, Xander, Giles/Daddy, Angel, Angel, Angel, Mommy, Anya, Dawnie, Tara, Dawnie, Mom, Mom, Mom --
"Mommy!" she wailed as the tears poured from her eyes and her body was wracked with sobs.
Mattie blinked back her own tears as she rocked the slender girl in her arms. "I know, lovey, I know."
[end part one]