Living
By Rach L.
rach_jiwon@hotmail.com
Archive: Yes, but please drop me a line first? ;)
Category: Angst, Dawn POV.
Season/Spoiler: Season Five Finale (Yep, another of those)
Summary: Living scares her more than death.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. The story does.
Note: My first proper Buffy fic, induced by the finale.
***
I have ten fingers, five for each hand.
Which, for the majority of the people on Earth, is the truth. A hand is naturally composed of five fingers, and people don't think about it that much. If you're a human.
I'm not. I'm not sure what I am.
But when I lie on the bed, I stretch my one arm up and take a good look at my hand. In the dark, against the white ceiling, I can see my fingers. Fold one, two, three, four, and five. Then I have my fingers balled up as a fist. Fist, so when you hit something, you won't break your fingers.
If I'm to break one, then I'll appreciate them more, but since there're all five, I don't.
Every night, it's one of my weirdest habits to stretch my one arm up and observe my fingers. Five, all there.
But now, as I stare up at my hand, I see one of them is beginning to fade in my vision. It just does. I don't know how or why, but it just does.
And no matter how I try to get it back, no matter how much I need it, no matter how it hurts inside, it's gone.
I'm not lying on my own bed right now either, am I?
***
"She was only being human."
The voice is familar. Giles'. But what is he saying?
"We can't fault her for that."
The pain is carefully concealed in the tone of resignation. What more can you expect from her Watcher, her ultimate father figure? He says all the right things, all the comforting things for his kids, but he can't show his pain, hurt, or even anger. He's not allowed for that.
"But that wasn't right. She just can't do that to us. Why did she--"
Xander's voice breaks. Why did she have to sacrifice herself, he probably wants to ask. He knows why, though. Because there was no other way. Because she had to. And there is no point in his angry outburst, but it's his way of dealing, and no one blames him. There's a sound of Anya trying to soothe him, and then a quiet cry. Then nothing.
"I just wish...I just wish she was here. You know?"
Willow, oh Willow. Her voice is cracked and numb, but she sounds composed, at least calmer than the others. But I know that her numb state was achieved only after hours of sobbing by herself. She tried to calm me down in Xander's bedroom, and as soon as she thought I was alseep, she weeped. She needed some time alone by herself, while the sister of her best friend slept in exhaustion. She brushed my bangs away from my forehead, just like Mom did. Just like Buffy did.
I don't hear Spike. He isn't in the living room, I know. He's probably lurking in a shadowed alley somewhere, drinking himself to death. I'm afraid that Spike would take the hardest beating over this. He had no one except for her. I'm a little too young to understand, they say, but I know. I remember his look before he fell from that...place. He was sorry. God, he was feeling sorry, guilty and all the other emotions for me. And for Buffy.
And she's dead.
She took an easy way out. Like she said, it's harder to live than just to give up, to die. It's easier to give up than to face living without the loved one in your life.
So she doesn't have to feel what *we* are feeling.
What about us, Buffy? What of us you left behind?
She took an easy way out.
And I hate her for that.
***
"Thank you for coming."
Dad says. I know he is sad. Buffy was his flesh and blood.
But it's not fair to Giles, really. I think Giles would have liked to do the funeral arrangement, and every other thing a father was supposed to do. Maybe he might not have really *wanted* do to the works, but he must've wished he was in the position to do so.
Giles nods and speaks sincerely, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss."
Can't imagine what must be going through his mind now. Dad is...Dad, but he doesn't know how Buffy was like. Not just her duty was the Slayer, but how she liked her cereal, her favorite lipstick color, what she wanted the most for Christmas. Dad's clueless about any of that, and he still gets to greet people with a sad expression, while Giles stands here like a complete stranger, as if he's just one of the teachers who liked her enough to come to her wake.
Tara and Anya are helping out in the kitchen. I can see from here that Tara is trying her best to teach Anya how to act in a wake, but Anya's definitely failing. It's good to see Tara so...normal.
Willow's on the phone, and Xander's behind her, looking at her worriedly.
"No, Mom, I won't be home," her expression is strangely tangled and twisted, as if she can't bear to speak, "No I can't. I'm needed here. ...Well, what part of 'I don't want to be there' don't you understand? Not like you were ever home for my birthday, now is it?" She hangs up almost violently, and her shoulders begin to shake.
"Sssh, it's okay." Xander puts his hands over her shoulders. "It's okay."
"Of course it is," Will says, a strained grin on her face. "So my mom, who's seen Buffy a few times and still calls her Bunny, who knows Buffy is my best friend--" 'is', not 'was'. Apparently even Willow hasn't got the tenses right just yet, "--is asking me to join the birthday party instead of being here. There's nothing wrong with that, right? Why should she care about my friend, because you know, I never mattered much to her..."
Xander embraces her gently and lets her break down. Frienship is good. A deep friendship that lasted for years is better. They can be there for each other, and they know how to comfort the other. Two is better than one, I guess.
Two is definitely better than one.
And I'm alone.
"Dawn?" It's Dad. "You should get something to eat."
He's worried. I don't think I care.
"I don't want to."
"You should." A gentle nudge and probbing. He's trying to force me, trying to be an adult figure in my life. I don't need him. I don't need anyone, because the one I need isn't here. Doesn't matter how much I hate her still.
Because she isn't here.
I do the usual rebellious daughter act who lost mom and sister in consecutive months, and excuse myself to my room. Think I've earned it.
Spike's nowhere in sight.
***
Life is unfair, they say, and I know by experience that the statement to be true.
But coming to school after everything has to be the most painful thing.
"Hey, sorry about...you know...?
Even Kristy is nice to me. Well, there's a drastic change. I'm surprised that no one's yelling "Carry!" at me and pour a bucket of blood over me for being so, what, unfortunate? Kristy can make up any story she wants. Like maybe I'm cursed, or devoted in witchcraft to sacrifice my family or something.
But I am cursed, aren't I? And can't say I didn't try witchcraft, though all the witches I've known are the nicest people ever.
"Hey, are you...all right?"
Kevin in the art class. I heard so many things about being in love, and before Mom...passed away, I used to believe I was in love with him. He's now showing concerns for me, and his pretty eyes are looking straight at me. Something I'd wanted all along.
But, you see, now I don't give a damn.
I skip the rest of the class.
All the love stories I've heard are of Buffy and Angel, and Buffy and Riley. That's where I know what love is from.
Love isn't supposed to be selfish. Love isn't supposed to be about me, but the person I love. If I loved her, I should've stopped her. She was going to die, for me, for herself, for the world, and I let her go.
So, no love. I don't believe it it.
***
"Are you positively freakin' *insane*?"
I almost have to put my hands over ears when he barks at me. He's so loud, and somewhat irritating. Plus, Spike smells of alcohol, and of vomit. He doesn't look that pretty either. He's angry, too. An angry Spike is something that you don't want to deal with, at least not without Buffy to back you up, but strangely, I've never been afraid of Spike. I have a feeling that I will never be.
"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?" Spike's still ballistic, pacing like crazy in the dark alley he seems to be currently inhabiting, "You've got a death wish? That it?"
Considering he just saved my life from becoming a meal for a newbie vampire, I guess I should be grateful.
Actually, I should hate him for it.
"Why do you care?" I snap. Offense is the greatest defense. "You haven't even shown up! Not once! You don't care about me now that Buffy's..."
I can't say it.
He can't either.
That Buffy is dead.
I don't know when my legs gave in, but they did. I'm now crumbled on the cold cement, shivering, and he sinks in beside me.
We stay like that for a while.
I finally say, "I thought you were dead."
"...I thought I was, too." His almost inaudible reply.
He really loved her, didn't he?
He still does.
And yeah. I still do, too.
***
I broke my finger.
It bled. A lot.
Anya was with me when it happened. She's around a lot lately, just hanging with me in the kitchen, cooking for me and stuff. And she totally freaked out when she saw all the blood, so she and Xander took me to the hospital.
The doctor, who doesn't look a thing like Ben, put something over my finger and told me I don't need any stitches. He said it'd heal.
When I get out, I see everyone's outside in the corridor, and I mean everyone. Willow and Tara are talking with Xander and Anya. Even Giles is here. You'd think there's a fire or something.
But they're all here, because they care. About me.
I suddenly notice a ring on Anya's finger.
Life goes on. A cliche, but it does. My sister is gone, and no matter how much I need her back, no matter how much it hurts inside, she's gone.
"How's your finger?" Giles carefully asks.
"It'll heal," I answer.
***
"We have a problem," Giles declares.
"Like we don't know," Xander snorts, slutched in his designated chair in the magic shop, "Vamps are now camping around the Bronze. Not a good sign. All in favor of taking them out?"
All five hands up, including mine. What do I know, really? This is like my first official meeting with the Scooby Gang. But I've decided a long ago that I'll go with the flow unless I have a better opinion, which is highly unlikely.
Giles, being Giles, doesn't agree with our hasty decision, and has to frown. "Yes, but we do not know what the bigger picture is. If they're to assemble--"
"Harvest," another voice joins us, and we turn around to see the owner of the voice standing at the doorway, "The bottom feeders decided to unite and start another harvest. Not the brightest chaps, if you ask me."
Spike's casually standing there, just like he used to, a cigarette between his lips.
"Spike!" Willow jumps up from her seat that she shares with Tara, "You're...you're..."
There's an almost-grin on his face. "Alive, no. Undead, yes."
No one knows what to say, really. Everyone's here again, except one.
We're all aware of that empty hole, that it'll never be filled.
But I promised her, didn't I? I promised to take care of them for her.
"So," I say, "Are you joining us, Spike?"
He stares at me, briefly. A look of something passes across his face, and slowly, ever so slowly, he walks down toward us.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
I look down at my hands. All ten fingers, all nicely healed.
Thanks, Buffy.
I love you, too.
END
05/27/01
By Rach L.
rach_jiwon@hotmail.com
Archive: Yes, but please drop me a line first? ;)
Category: Angst, Dawn POV.
Season/Spoiler: Season Five Finale (Yep, another of those)
Summary: Living scares her more than death.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. The story does.
Note: My first proper Buffy fic, induced by the finale.
***
I have ten fingers, five for each hand.
Which, for the majority of the people on Earth, is the truth. A hand is naturally composed of five fingers, and people don't think about it that much. If you're a human.
I'm not. I'm not sure what I am.
But when I lie on the bed, I stretch my one arm up and take a good look at my hand. In the dark, against the white ceiling, I can see my fingers. Fold one, two, three, four, and five. Then I have my fingers balled up as a fist. Fist, so when you hit something, you won't break your fingers.
If I'm to break one, then I'll appreciate them more, but since there're all five, I don't.
Every night, it's one of my weirdest habits to stretch my one arm up and observe my fingers. Five, all there.
But now, as I stare up at my hand, I see one of them is beginning to fade in my vision. It just does. I don't know how or why, but it just does.
And no matter how I try to get it back, no matter how much I need it, no matter how it hurts inside, it's gone.
I'm not lying on my own bed right now either, am I?
***
"She was only being human."
The voice is familar. Giles'. But what is he saying?
"We can't fault her for that."
The pain is carefully concealed in the tone of resignation. What more can you expect from her Watcher, her ultimate father figure? He says all the right things, all the comforting things for his kids, but he can't show his pain, hurt, or even anger. He's not allowed for that.
"But that wasn't right. She just can't do that to us. Why did she--"
Xander's voice breaks. Why did she have to sacrifice herself, he probably wants to ask. He knows why, though. Because there was no other way. Because she had to. And there is no point in his angry outburst, but it's his way of dealing, and no one blames him. There's a sound of Anya trying to soothe him, and then a quiet cry. Then nothing.
"I just wish...I just wish she was here. You know?"
Willow, oh Willow. Her voice is cracked and numb, but she sounds composed, at least calmer than the others. But I know that her numb state was achieved only after hours of sobbing by herself. She tried to calm me down in Xander's bedroom, and as soon as she thought I was alseep, she weeped. She needed some time alone by herself, while the sister of her best friend slept in exhaustion. She brushed my bangs away from my forehead, just like Mom did. Just like Buffy did.
I don't hear Spike. He isn't in the living room, I know. He's probably lurking in a shadowed alley somewhere, drinking himself to death. I'm afraid that Spike would take the hardest beating over this. He had no one except for her. I'm a little too young to understand, they say, but I know. I remember his look before he fell from that...place. He was sorry. God, he was feeling sorry, guilty and all the other emotions for me. And for Buffy.
And she's dead.
She took an easy way out. Like she said, it's harder to live than just to give up, to die. It's easier to give up than to face living without the loved one in your life.
So she doesn't have to feel what *we* are feeling.
What about us, Buffy? What of us you left behind?
She took an easy way out.
And I hate her for that.
***
"Thank you for coming."
Dad says. I know he is sad. Buffy was his flesh and blood.
But it's not fair to Giles, really. I think Giles would have liked to do the funeral arrangement, and every other thing a father was supposed to do. Maybe he might not have really *wanted* do to the works, but he must've wished he was in the position to do so.
Giles nods and speaks sincerely, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss."
Can't imagine what must be going through his mind now. Dad is...Dad, but he doesn't know how Buffy was like. Not just her duty was the Slayer, but how she liked her cereal, her favorite lipstick color, what she wanted the most for Christmas. Dad's clueless about any of that, and he still gets to greet people with a sad expression, while Giles stands here like a complete stranger, as if he's just one of the teachers who liked her enough to come to her wake.
Tara and Anya are helping out in the kitchen. I can see from here that Tara is trying her best to teach Anya how to act in a wake, but Anya's definitely failing. It's good to see Tara so...normal.
Willow's on the phone, and Xander's behind her, looking at her worriedly.
"No, Mom, I won't be home," her expression is strangely tangled and twisted, as if she can't bear to speak, "No I can't. I'm needed here. ...Well, what part of 'I don't want to be there' don't you understand? Not like you were ever home for my birthday, now is it?" She hangs up almost violently, and her shoulders begin to shake.
"Sssh, it's okay." Xander puts his hands over her shoulders. "It's okay."
"Of course it is," Will says, a strained grin on her face. "So my mom, who's seen Buffy a few times and still calls her Bunny, who knows Buffy is my best friend--" 'is', not 'was'. Apparently even Willow hasn't got the tenses right just yet, "--is asking me to join the birthday party instead of being here. There's nothing wrong with that, right? Why should she care about my friend, because you know, I never mattered much to her..."
Xander embraces her gently and lets her break down. Frienship is good. A deep friendship that lasted for years is better. They can be there for each other, and they know how to comfort the other. Two is better than one, I guess.
Two is definitely better than one.
And I'm alone.
"Dawn?" It's Dad. "You should get something to eat."
He's worried. I don't think I care.
"I don't want to."
"You should." A gentle nudge and probbing. He's trying to force me, trying to be an adult figure in my life. I don't need him. I don't need anyone, because the one I need isn't here. Doesn't matter how much I hate her still.
Because she isn't here.
I do the usual rebellious daughter act who lost mom and sister in consecutive months, and excuse myself to my room. Think I've earned it.
Spike's nowhere in sight.
***
Life is unfair, they say, and I know by experience that the statement to be true.
But coming to school after everything has to be the most painful thing.
"Hey, sorry about...you know...?
Even Kristy is nice to me. Well, there's a drastic change. I'm surprised that no one's yelling "Carry!" at me and pour a bucket of blood over me for being so, what, unfortunate? Kristy can make up any story she wants. Like maybe I'm cursed, or devoted in witchcraft to sacrifice my family or something.
But I am cursed, aren't I? And can't say I didn't try witchcraft, though all the witches I've known are the nicest people ever.
"Hey, are you...all right?"
Kevin in the art class. I heard so many things about being in love, and before Mom...passed away, I used to believe I was in love with him. He's now showing concerns for me, and his pretty eyes are looking straight at me. Something I'd wanted all along.
But, you see, now I don't give a damn.
I skip the rest of the class.
All the love stories I've heard are of Buffy and Angel, and Buffy and Riley. That's where I know what love is from.
Love isn't supposed to be selfish. Love isn't supposed to be about me, but the person I love. If I loved her, I should've stopped her. She was going to die, for me, for herself, for the world, and I let her go.
So, no love. I don't believe it it.
***
"Are you positively freakin' *insane*?"
I almost have to put my hands over ears when he barks at me. He's so loud, and somewhat irritating. Plus, Spike smells of alcohol, and of vomit. He doesn't look that pretty either. He's angry, too. An angry Spike is something that you don't want to deal with, at least not without Buffy to back you up, but strangely, I've never been afraid of Spike. I have a feeling that I will never be.
"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?" Spike's still ballistic, pacing like crazy in the dark alley he seems to be currently inhabiting, "You've got a death wish? That it?"
Considering he just saved my life from becoming a meal for a newbie vampire, I guess I should be grateful.
Actually, I should hate him for it.
"Why do you care?" I snap. Offense is the greatest defense. "You haven't even shown up! Not once! You don't care about me now that Buffy's..."
I can't say it.
He can't either.
That Buffy is dead.
I don't know when my legs gave in, but they did. I'm now crumbled on the cold cement, shivering, and he sinks in beside me.
We stay like that for a while.
I finally say, "I thought you were dead."
"...I thought I was, too." His almost inaudible reply.
He really loved her, didn't he?
He still does.
And yeah. I still do, too.
***
I broke my finger.
It bled. A lot.
Anya was with me when it happened. She's around a lot lately, just hanging with me in the kitchen, cooking for me and stuff. And she totally freaked out when she saw all the blood, so she and Xander took me to the hospital.
The doctor, who doesn't look a thing like Ben, put something over my finger and told me I don't need any stitches. He said it'd heal.
When I get out, I see everyone's outside in the corridor, and I mean everyone. Willow and Tara are talking with Xander and Anya. Even Giles is here. You'd think there's a fire or something.
But they're all here, because they care. About me.
I suddenly notice a ring on Anya's finger.
Life goes on. A cliche, but it does. My sister is gone, and no matter how much I need her back, no matter how much it hurts inside, she's gone.
"How's your finger?" Giles carefully asks.
"It'll heal," I answer.
***
"We have a problem," Giles declares.
"Like we don't know," Xander snorts, slutched in his designated chair in the magic shop, "Vamps are now camping around the Bronze. Not a good sign. All in favor of taking them out?"
All five hands up, including mine. What do I know, really? This is like my first official meeting with the Scooby Gang. But I've decided a long ago that I'll go with the flow unless I have a better opinion, which is highly unlikely.
Giles, being Giles, doesn't agree with our hasty decision, and has to frown. "Yes, but we do not know what the bigger picture is. If they're to assemble--"
"Harvest," another voice joins us, and we turn around to see the owner of the voice standing at the doorway, "The bottom feeders decided to unite and start another harvest. Not the brightest chaps, if you ask me."
Spike's casually standing there, just like he used to, a cigarette between his lips.
"Spike!" Willow jumps up from her seat that she shares with Tara, "You're...you're..."
There's an almost-grin on his face. "Alive, no. Undead, yes."
No one knows what to say, really. Everyone's here again, except one.
We're all aware of that empty hole, that it'll never be filled.
But I promised her, didn't I? I promised to take care of them for her.
"So," I say, "Are you joining us, Spike?"
He stares at me, briefly. A look of something passes across his face, and slowly, ever so slowly, he walks down toward us.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
I look down at my hands. All ten fingers, all nicely healed.
Thanks, Buffy.
I love you, too.
END
05/27/01