Title: Lost and Foundering
Author: HLynn
Home Page: http/members.
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, please!
Archiving: Sure thing. Just let me know.
Spoilers: Spoilers for Season 5, especially the finale, The Gift.
Summary: Buffy's return raises more questions than answers, as
Willow's continuing unchecked use of magic strains her relationship
with Tara. Meanwhile, Spike's feelings for Buffy are put through an
unusual test.
Disclaimer: Buffy, et al, are the property of Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
No infringement is intended, and the characters have been left unharmed.
Well, mostly. ;)
Author Notes: While it's technically a B/S fic, it's not just about
that. Or at least, that's what I was shooting for. :) Thanks go out to
the Bloody Awful Poet's Society for the feedback on past fics, and to
my friends at Club Spike for the support.
Chapter One
The streets of Sunnydale were quiet for a late Saturday night, the
partying crowds of young teenagers and newly arrived college kids
already home or gone elsewhere. No need to tell them that staying out
late wasn't conducive to a long life--it was an understood necessity.
Especially since the Slayer of Sunnydale had died three months ago.
It wasn't a well-known fact amongst the townspeople; one day, the
vampire threat was more than just a threat. Those who subconsciously
counted on the Slayer's presence were in the midst of a rude awakening.
Some had seen a motley crew of young people with weapons trolling the
town, and even rarer still, a shockingly blond man prowling the
cemetery. Very few connected the brief periods of respite to the group,
and if they did, it was considered nothing more than damage control,
not enough to stem the tide. Word of the Slayer's death had traveled,
and vampires who previously shied away from the town now came to revel
in her passing.
A cold wind blew through one of the residential streets in Sunnydale,
rarer in late August than a day without the sounds of a passing ice
cream truck. It swirled at a point in the Thompsons' backyard, and no
one was around to witness the flashing of lightning and a pulse of
brightness that faded to reveal a nude female form, crouched in a near-
fetal position on the ground.
The young woman blinked and rose unsteadily to her feet, glancing at
her surroundings. Then she covered herself as best as she could, her
face showing that the reality of her situation was just now kicking in.
And with a voice that was heard by her alone, she muttered, "Oh, crap."
Things had changed significantly for Buffy's friends in the last three
months. Not only did they have to keep up with an ever-constant vampire
population, they also had to try to live their lives minus the one
person who had helped link them all together.
Dawn's custody was the first hurdle needing to be jumped. They asked
Angel to use his sources to try and track down Hank Summers, Buffy and
Dawn's wayward father. After some searching around, it turned out that
the company was also trying to find the missing man--he'd apparently
embezzled several hundred thousands of dollars from the company before
he went on 'personal leave time' with his current secretary. The trail
went cold in the south of Spain...the best guess they had was that he'd
made it into Morocco and gone elsewhere from there, under an assumed
name.
When Dawn's assigned DCFS caseworker heard about this, and with no
other family able or willing to take Dawn in, he began insisting on
putting her into foster care. Giles was the first among the group to
step up and argue that he could take care of her, but the courts
wouldn't hear of a non-resident, unrelated male having legal
guardianship over a teenage girl.
In the end, it was Anya who pulled it off. With steady employment, her
own place to live, solid investment portfolios and a good credit
record, she was granted guardianship until Dawn was legally an adult--
or until a relative stepped in to take the girl. Unfortunately, Anya
hadn't realized it meant living in the house after the deal was done.
The first few days of cohabitation had been interesting, to say the
least.
Since Tara needed a place to stay, thanks to Glory's efforts, she
became a boarder at the Summers' home and her only rent was taking care
of groceries and cleaning up the house. With Tara there, it helped free
up Anya from the responsibilities of looking after Dawn every day, in
addition to working full-time, making wedding arrangements, and finding
time to spend with Xander. It also gave Giles enough peace of mind to
sell his business to Anya and head back to England.
Giles' departure had been both expected and surprising. It seemed like
he would always be around, yet Buffy's death had affected him to the
point where he hardly contributed to the meetings, or instructed anyone
in anything. The archiving project begun two years ago, when he
originally planned to leave, was now finished. And with no Slayer to
watch, and little interest in the day-to-day work of owning a magic
shop, he felt detached, restless. Despite his insistence that after a
week or two they wouldn't even miss him, there was a keenly felt gap in
their meetings and a day didn't pass when someone didn't mention him,
or wish he was there to answer a difficult question.
No Slayer had been called, so it appeared Faith was the only Slayer
now. The original worry they had about the Watchers' Council
interfering with either political string pulling, or with plans more of
a fatal nature, faded when weeks passed and Faith was still safe and
sound in her jail cell. Since she had little chance of getting out of
prison soon, it fell to the remaining group to do the slaying in
Sunnydale.
The big guns of the group were Spike and Willow, but only he was out
every night, looking for action. She spent much of her time studying
the now-digitized occult texts, or at her summer job at a local
restaurant. The rest of the gang tried to create normal lives around an
unnatural hobby, and taking care of each other as Buffy had wanted them
to do.
Spike felt the cold wind blow that night, but didn't think much of it.
In the past three months, he'd gone through his grieving, a bout of
drunkenness, then reclaimed his duty to Dawn and began hunting nightly
as a way to keep her safe and honor Buffy's memory. He paid a visit to
her grave every night, keeping curious vampires away and preventing any
sort of degradation to her gravestone or burial site. It was the only
way he could think of to express his love for her, even after death. He
could hope that somewhere she was watching with approval, but that was
more of a fanciful romantic notion. The cold, hard fact was that Buffy
was dead, and she wasn't ever coming back.
So the chill wind blew over his shoulder and across his neck without
even raising a shiver. It was only the faint scent of something...he
didn't want to call it human, much less of Buffy, but there it was. It
was a mistake, though, just the product of an overactive imagination.
It had to be.
Spike tamped out his cigarette on some fellow's burial statuary and
dropped it next to the gravesite, joining others that he'd left there
in the recent past. Time to get back to work. He let out an unneeded
breath, and walked back into the dim corners of the graveyard, looking
for anything to stir the heart of a vampire that had never felt so
dead.
The disoriented and frightened young woman had no idea where she was,
or how she got there. Although her memory was fuzzy, she knew that her
parents would likely be in hysterics if she came back wearing no
clothes and being out as late as it seemed to be. She could hear the
tirade already.
Wary of running into anyone in her state of undress, she considered her
options. She could hope that the people were home and were nice enough
to take pity on her. If she wasn't in a nice neighborhood, however,
then that wasn't a good plan.
She could hide in the bushes, hoping to see a police car go by and flag
him down. Or flash him down, as the case was. God, she almost hoped she
wasn't in L.A. What if someone she knew saw her like this? She's never
live it down at school.
Well, she wasn't getting any help this way, and after a lack of any
cars passing by, she decided to approach the house. She could only be
grateful that it was nighttime, and that she wasn't in the front yard.
The worry she had about her lack of memory faded in the fear of her
present situation. Once she had the luxury of clothing and access to
the phone, she could worry about it then.
"Um, hello?" she called softly, after knocking on the back door.
"Anyone home?"
No answer came from inside, and the lights were still off. With a
curiosity she couldn't stifle, she tried twisting the doorknob to see
if it was open. Instead, she ended up ripping the knob right off.
Stunned, she figured it must have been old...except for the sounds of
strained metal she'd heard right before it came loose. Now worried
about the property damage, she tried shoving the knob back on the bolt.
With a crack of splintered wood, the doorjamb broke and the door swung
open, allowing passage into the house.
"Oh God. I didn't mean to do that!" She whispered, ashamed. How had
she done that? The jamb must be rotten or something--it was the only
explanation. Well, not the only one, but she wasn't entertaining any
other ideas at the moment.
She stepped inside, praying the people inside could forgive her for
breaking their back door. Mom and Dad would pay for it of course, but
boy, was that going to come out of her allowance.
Still dark, and still quiet. She looked over the room before closing
the door behind her, recognizing it as a kitchen. A calendar hung on
the wall next to the door, and it said...
No. That couldn't be right. It was just--wrong. A joke, or a dream, or
something. Something other than this Twilight Zone episode she was
living through. It was not August, and it certainly wasn't the year
2001. As if she'd miss five years of her life!
She wiped away sudden, lonely, and desperate tears. "I just wanna go
home," she mumbled only to herself, scared of what was going on. But
somewhere deep inside, a part of her grabbed hold, causing the tears to
dry up. She had to find out what was going on, and crying wouldn't help
solve this problem.
Taking a good look at the calendar didn't allay her fears of
authenticity, but it did show that for two weeks in August, the family
who lived here had planned a vacation in Mexico. She had no idea what
day it was, but the possibility that no one was home made her feel both
relieved and nervous. She hoped they didn't have a security system.
She crept to the front door, found a coat rack and grabbed a woman's
beige trench coat from one of the hooks to wrap around herself. With
some modesty gained, her confidence trickled in enough for her to check
upstairs and make sure no one was home.
"Hello? Anybody home? I'm not a thief or anything, and if you heard a
loud cracking noise I'm really, really sorry about that," she called
out. With no reply forthcoming, she peeked into each bedroom and found
it empty. The first two were obviously occupied by boys, and the last
one must be the parents' room. Hopefully the mother was about her size,
but if not she would make do.
A quick search through the drawers and closet produced a black tank top
and pair of khaki shorts that didn't look very expensive or new. The
woman was a large versus her small frame, and probably about five
inches taller, but with some fiddling they would work.
When she looked at herself in the nearest mirror, she gasped at the
sight--not from the clothes, but rather from the face staring back at
her. Small lines were forming around her eyes, and the oversized
clothes made her looker even thinner than she was. The girl inside
didn't recognize this woman she was staring at, and it scared her in an
entirely new and unexpected way.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the one thing she knew for certain--
she was Buffy Summers, daughter to Joyce and Hank Summers, and that was
true whether she was in some kind of Twilight Zone rerun or not.
A sudden idea came to her, and she embraced it more for logic than
comfort. Rather than living through the plot of an old TV show, she
merely had forgotten the last five or so years of her life. Terrifying,
but there was some relief at the thought--if it was true, then it was
only a matter of regaining those memories. First, however, she had to
figure out where she was, and whether she even lived around here.
More searching uncovered a phone book, old junk mail and some maps,
showing her that she was in Sunnydale, a couple of hours from where she
lived. Or used to live, if that was the case. She decided to call her
house to find out for sure, and she could only hope her mother picked
up the phone. Instead, she received a prerecorded message that the
number didn't exist.
"Okay, that didn't work," she said softly, and moved the phone book
over to the window. She didn't dare turn on the lights, in case the
neighbors saw it and assumed she had broken in. The fact that she had,
in fact, broken in was something she didn't want to dwell on just yet.
Her eyes spotted it in an instant. Summers, Joyce, 1630 Revello Dr. She
let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and went
back to the phone to call the number.
Her finger paused on the first digit. What would she say? I can't
remember the last five years of my life, and I don't have any clothes,
so could you come and bring some? And why was it listed under Joyce,
and not Hank? Summoning up her courage, she continued dialing and
waited seconds that seemed stretched into minutes.
Three rings, then four. A click on the other end came through, and she
heard the whirring sound of an answering machine. She nearly sighed in
frustration, but then a young female voice began to speak.
"Hi, sorry I'm not home. You must have just missed me or something, and
considering my active social life, that's entirely possible. Kidding!
Anyway, when you hear the beep--well, you know what to do."
Buffy heard the beep, said nothing for a couple of heartbeats, then
decided to hang up. Who on earth was that, and why was she on her
mother's answering machine?
Dawn rose clear and bright that morning, and Willow shut her eyes
against the encroaching light coming through her bedroom window. Last
night had been an all-nighter cramming with Giles' old scanned-in
texts, looking for a way to circumvent a necessary--yet incredibly rare
and expensive--ingredient for a spell she had uncovered. She figured if
cooks could do substitutions in recipes, why not witches with spells?
But in this case, it didn't look like it was going to happen. Nothing
else came close to it, and the one record of a witch who'd tried
substitution for it had disappeared into the maw of a giant, teeth-
ringed hole that had closed and vanished after consuming the
experimenting witch. Willow had no desire to end up with a similar
fate, so she'd given up and dragged herself into bed.
Tonight it was her turn to patrol, although she knew it wouldn't be
done alone. Spike had almost become a friend that way, and she didn't
really mind. Xander might still be on the defensive regarding Spike,
but after several nights of him guarding her back, it would have been
rude to not give him some respect and overtones of friendship. That
he'd actually reciprocated was amazing in itself, but she wasn't going
to look that gift horse in the mouth. She'd take whatever goodness
she could get from him while it lasted.
Groaning, she decided to get dressed, despite the fact it was her day
off. Originally, she had wanted to intern somewhere this summer, but
the prospect of a lack of decent pay, long hours, and horrendous
commute had her waitressing at a local restaurant, earning good tips
while coming home with numb feet.
Willow packed up a bag of spell components and headed over to the
Summers house to meet up with Tara. Last night had been a 'me time' for
the two of them, so while Willow studied, Tara went out with friends to
see a movie. They had planned on doing some spells together today, and
Willow had no intention of letting her lover know what sort of spell
she had been trying. It was bad enough that Tara knew as much about her
'testing' as she did--it was better for both of them if she didn't know
the extent of her experiments.
As Willow walked, she absorbed in the sights and smells of the early
morning; dew clinging delicately on blades of grass, morning air not
yet tainted by the fumes of cars starting their daily commute, and the
sleepiness of the households she passed on her way. She shook her head
as a thought ran through her mind--how oblivious they all were to how
close to death they had been, just a few months ago. If not for
Buffy...
She stopped herself, knowing that only sadness and pain waited for her
down that path. It just wasn't fair. And no matter how much she wished
it had been different, nothing could change the fact that her friend
was gone.
Shaking away the melancholy, she continued on, ignoring the tempting
thoughts of what her skills in magic could provide to alleviate that
pain.
Buffy woke up in the parents' bed, having gotten only a few hours
sleep. It was still early enough that she could sneak out without
anyone being the wiser, so she gathered up everything she needed, made
sure the note about the back door was on the kitchen counter--she was
still amazed at how easy it had been to move a large piece of furniture
in front of the door, so it wouldn't open in a strong breeze--and used
a key from one of the spare key sets hanging on pegs in the kitchen to
lock the door once she left. Once outside, she tossed the spare house
key under the doormat and sauntered away like she belonged there.
No one was up yet, thank goodness. Buffy took out the map and looked
again at her destination--a good seven blocks away, but it wasn't as if
this town was Los Angeles. It actually looked quite nice, with the sun
rising and all. A walk across town wasn't nearly as bad as it had
seemed last night, and she almost began to smile. In a matter of
minutes she would be home, and her mother would help make things right
again.
The inhabitants of the Summers' home were still asleep when Willow
arrived. Dawn came to the door in a sleep-induced haze, squinting at
the over-zealous witch.
"Willow? It's not even seven in the morning, yet."
"I know, I just got an early start, that's all. I didn't feel like
puttering around at home," Willow replied, and the realization of how
truly early it was filtered in. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean--I
should have--"
"Just come in," Dawn waved blearily, not up for an extended
conversation. "If you want breakfast, there's some Pop-Tarts in the
cupboard."
"No thanks," Willow smiled, trying to be as polite as she could. "I'll
just sit in the living room, really quiet, like a mouse. You won't even
know I'm here."
Dawn grunted out, "Whatever," then disappeared back upstairs. In the
meantime, Tara had woken up and in lieu of questioning a barely-awake
Dawn, came downstairs to see who had come in. The two witches smiled
instantly when they saw each other, and Tara took Willow into the
kitchen to talk.
"Dawn stayed out late with some friends of hers, and she knows better
than that. Anya's over at Xander's, and if either of us had been home,
she wouldn't have stayed out so long." Tara started to make tea for the
both of them, and she asked, "What's up? Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong...I just woke up early and couldn't go back to
sleep. I missed you," Willow said, and Tara smiled softly.
"I know. Missed you too. But once the school year starts, we can move
back into the dorms."
Willow's smile at the thought tapered off. "It won't be the same
without Buffy, though. It doesn't seem fair that she didn't even get to
finish college. She didn't get any breaks in her life--and now Dawn..."
she trailed off, unable to continue. The microwave beeped softly, and
Tara fished out the two mugs and handed one to Willow.
"I know, honey. I know. But you're aware that resurrection's forbidden.
We've had this talk already," Tara replied, adding sugar to her tea.
Willow stared at her cup as she bobbed the tea bag around before taking
it out, then answered, "I understand, I really do. It's just...Buffy
didn't deserve this. She should've had a normal life, where she could
just be a normal girl. She wanted that so much."
"Sometimes life isn't fair. For us it seems wrong, and harsh, but
that's how it is. She was chosen to be the Slayer because of who she
was, and once it was done, it couldn't be undone. Whatever chose her
did so for a good reason, and we're alive because of that reason."
"But...but if that's so, then why did she die, when she's still needed?
Faith can't be the Slayer since she's in jail, and without Buffy we're
barely treading water, so to speak. If these Powers That Be have
everything in control, then why is everything so topsy-turvy?"
Tara had no immediate answer to that. After taking a long, thoughtful
sip of her tea, she replied, "I don't know why. But just because we
can't see it, doesn't mean there isn't a pattern, a reason for it all.
We have to wait and be patient. I'm sure it'll become clear in time."
"It's been three months already. How much longer do we have to wait?"
Willow asked, her sorrow mixed with anger.
The doorbell rang, startling the both of them. Tara tried to smile
through the awkwardness, "Maybe that's your answer?"
Willow grinned at Tara's light tone, and blew out a tense breath.
"Yeah, maybe," she said wryly, then went to answer the door.
Buffy was starting to think this had been a monumentally bad idea.
First off, this house didn't look like anything her mother would own.
Second, she didn't recognize the car in the driveway, but a rational
part of her mind said it didn't mean anything. However, the same girl's
voice she heard on the answering machine last night called down to
someone named Willow, asking her to answer the door.
God, what if her mother had moved? What if these people didn't know
where to find her? And the police--they helped find missing people, but
what if you needed to find people who weren't actually missing, just
misplaced? Could she find her dad, if they really were divorced?
The locks rattled, and Buffy instantly tensed up. Maybe it wasn't so
bad, maybe her mother had just taken in some girls who needed a home...
And then the door opened on a redheaded young woman she'd never seen
before in her life. However, the other woman's eyes flew open in shock.
For some reason, Buffy couldn't help noticing her skin was incredibly
pale.
"Hi, I'm sorry to come over so early, but I...I'm trying--"
"Buffy. Oh my god. Buffy!" She looked like she couldn't decide whether
to hug her violently or put her under a microscope. "Is that really
you?"
"Well, yeah, it's me. Buffy Summers. Um, do I...know you?"
Relief and joy faded into pain and confusion. "Buffy, you--you don't
remember me? Willow? Willow Rosenberg?"
Buffy looked at her in sympathy. "No, I'm sorry, I...I don't remember
anything, really. I mean, I remember who I am, but the last thing I'm
sure of is living in Los Angeles with my mom and dad. Does...does my
mom live here? Do you know who she is?"
The girl called Willow looked even more grim and sad than before. A
taller, blonde woman was now walking over, wearing the same stunned
look on her face. Willow turned to her and said, "Do you remember
Tara?"
"No, I don't. I'm sorry," Buffy was trying not to cry. At least she'd
found people who knew her, but it still didn't solve her main problem.
"Is my mom here? I really need to see her."
"Buffy, come in," Tara said, holding out her hand. Buffy walked inside
and felt the young woman's hand guide her into what must be the living
room. Or family room, considering there was a TV in it. "You're in the
right place. Just sit down and we'll get you something to drink. What
would you like? Water, tea? There's orange juice, too."
"Orange juice," Buffy replied as she sat down on the couch, growing
worried over their solemn behavior. "And I'd like to talk to my mom,
please."
Willow glanced at Tara, then folded her hands. "Buffy--"
"Where is my mother?" Buffy cut her off, frightened at how they weren't
answering her question.
The redheaded woman gave her a pained expression. "Buffy, your mom,
she...she had surgery to remove a brain tumor, and even though we
thought everything was fine, it wasn't. She died six months ago."
Willow wasn't sure her words were sinking in, until Buffy's eyes
started to tear up. "She...died? My mom is dead?"
This was just too unbelievable, to have Buffy here, alive. It was
almost like a dream, a painfully good one. Unfortunately, it appeared
that she didn't remember the past five years or so. What made her
memory loss so horrific wasn't so much the fact of it, but that Buffy
would now have to relive through all her past losses and trials. "I'm
sorry, Buffy. I'm so sorry. I guess I shouldn't have told you so soon,
we should have waited--"
"No, I asked," Buffy said quietly, with almost too much composure. "How
did she die? Was it from another tumor..?"
"No, no...I think it was an aneurysm. A blood clot in the brain, to
simplify it, but it was quick and painless. She didn't suffer."
"What about my dad? Where is he?"
Willow smiled apologetically; her father's exact situation could wait.
"He's overseas, somewhere, but he's okay. And Dawn's upstairs, she'll
be happy to see you."
"Dawn?" Buffy's look of incomprehension made Willow very uneasy.
"You know, Dawn...your sister. Don't you--? You don't remember her. Oh
boy." She looked up at the other wiccan and asked, "Tara, you
think...?"
She nodded. "The spell. It probably ended when she--" Tara made a vague
hand gesture, but Willow knew she meant the jump from the tower.
Buffy wiped her eyes, looking at them like they were crazy. "What do
you mean, 'the spell'? And I don't have a sister, I know that much.
At least, I think I do. I remember being in high school...," she
trailed off, and Willow followed her gaze to see Dawn at the foot of
the stairs, staring at them.
Tara started towards her. "Dawnie, how long have you--?"
"Long enough." Her eyes were haunted, and she looked about four years
younger at that moment. "Buffy, you don't...you don't remember me?"
Dawn's voice cracked on the last word, her tears of relief and fear
taking over. Buffy glanced at Willow, not knowing what to say. Willow
tried to give her a supportive look, but this was hard enough for her
to comprehend, herself.
Finally, Buffy cleared her throat and replied, "The last year I
remember is 1996. I was living with my mom and dad in LA. And now it's
suddenly the year 2001, my mom is...my mom is gone, my dad isn't here,
and I don't remember any of you. I'm sorry, I want to remember--" Her
voice broke, unable to stop the sobs from coming this time.
Dawn walked over to her sister's side and sat down next to her. "It's
okay. We're here, and we love you." She reached out a hand and started
to stroke Buffy's hair, like Willow had seen Buffy do for Dawn on
occasion. "I can't believe you're here. It's a miracle. Willow, it has
to be miracle. I mean, you didn't do this?"
Willow shook her head in wonderment. "No, Dawn, I didn't." She glanced
over to Tara, then added, "Unless the Powers That Be have a really
weird sense of humor."
Buffy stopped crying long enough to ask for something to drink, and
Tara left to get it for her. Now that she had a hold of herself, kind
of, she could recognize things in the room. Mom's desk, her favorite
sculptures on the shelf of the fireplace, and a picture she'd hung in
their old family room. She stood up and wandered around the room,
looking at the photos on the wall. Some she recognized, but that girl
Dawn was in them. How could that be?
The ones she didn't recognize unnerved her the most. Her mother, older.
Her and Dawn, in what must have been a more recent photo, but Buffy
still didn't own the face in the picture as hers.
"How long have I been gone?"
"W-what?" Willow replied nervously.
"I must have been missing for awhile. Dawn said it was a miracle." She
turned and folded her arms. "Did I...leave? Or was it an abduction, or
something?"
"You've been gone for three months," Willow answered, and then Tara
returned with the orange juice, which Buffy took gratefully. She hadn't
dared take any food from the Thompsons'.
"Can I, can I see my room? I mean, my stuff, is it here?"
Dawn, Willow and Tara shared another one of those looks that was
starting to get on her nerves, and then Dawn smiled weakly, almost
embarrassed. "I couldn't bring myself to change anything. It's all
still there, as you left it. Well, I picked the clothes off the floor,
you kinda made a mess...but that's okay. I'll take you up there and
show you where it is. Tara's been staying in Mom's old room, to help me
out and stuff."
Buffy smiled at Tara, already liking the woman. Willow, too...although
she had no memory of her, she felt at ease around her, comfortable. She
could see how they'd become friends. "Lead the way. I really need to
change out of these borrowed clothes and find something a little bit
more this century."
Willow and Tara convened in the kitchen as Dawn gave Buffy the tour. To
say they were overwhelmed was an understatement. "I can't believe it.
Buffy was dead, we buried her...how did she come back?" Willow breathed
out. "And what if she's not a Slayer anymore? She doesn't remember
being a Slayer, at least."
"She'll need to find out eventually, though. About everything."
Willow frowned, then nodded. "You're right. Oh God, what if...what if
doesn't remember because those memories are gone, and she can't get
them back?"
"I think we'll know. If her amnesia is permanent, then maybe that's for
the best. You were just talking about how her life had been unfair, and
that she didn't get to be a normal girl. Maybe 'They' were listening
and decided you were right."
"Just like that?" Willow arched a doubting eyebrow. "No, there's
something else going on. Oh! I have to call Xander and let him know,
and Giles, and...and Spike."
Both of the witches grew silent at that. It was Tara who broached the
subject first. "He was pretty broken up when she died. How would he
take it if he knew she didn't remember him? Or remember being the
Slayer?"
Willow shrugged helplessly, not too sure herself. "I couldn't keep
something like this from him, though. He's been a big help, and he
loved Buffy--loves Buffy," she corrected. "I'll be the one to tell
him."
Tara hugged her arms. "Well, he can't get here now, it's past
sunrise...and if last night was like his usual nights, he'll need to
get some sleep."
"Tell me about it," Willow sighed. "Yeah, it can wait, at least until
we can get more answers. Plus we don't want to overwhelm her so soon. I
want her to feel like she can trust us."
The other witch absorbed this thoughtfully, then said, "We still need
to tell her about her life, though. You could start with the first
couple of years in Sunnydale. Between you and Dawn, I'm sure you can
answer anything she wants to know."
"Yeah, that's true," Willow smiled, finally letting go of the fear of
the unknown and embracing the happiness of her best friend's return.
"It'll be okay, for once. I'm gonna make sure of that."