Bad Company: Interruption






The early morning sun made an unwelcome entry into the Summers' living room. Joyce was on the sofa either passed out or asleep or some enviable combination of both. Giles slumped in the armchair. He wished he were unconscious, but he was at that stage of inebriation when the alcohol was only making him sick. Alternately, he wished he could throw it all up - the booze and everything that happened since the first drink. That way he wouldn't have to see the corpse of his slayer standing at the door, speaking in Buffy's voice, Xander standing with her like a mockery of their living friendship. He wouldn't have to see the one who wasn't there, the one Giles made sure was dead. He wouldn't have to hear them speak about her casually after they had killed her. All those things were now finally making their proper impression through the thick barrier of alcohol. If he could only throw it up.

Joyce's arm hung from the edge of the sofa. It looked pale, lifeless. Her breathing was imperceptible. Giles assured himself that she was just sleeping. Joyce woke up suddenly saying Buffy's name, startling Giles. She rushed off to the bathroom to throw up.




Buffy had been taken to the morgue, her mother notified of her death. All this before Giles could make his way to her. In the morgue hallway, he watched Joyce. She looked sick, nearly doubled over from pain. Giles didn't approach her. He didn't offer his condolences. He hid. He watched the door, waiting for his chance.

Joyce was led away - forms had to be signed. Giles sneaked into the cold, bare room. Buffy was there, covered now. Giles removed the sheet from her face. It was her. She was very still, her skin a grayish white. He brushed the hair back that the sheet had disarranged. The bite on her neck stood revealed. He pulled the stake from his jacket. He held it firmly, positioned it over her heart. He pulled back to strike but didn't. She would be gone forever once the stake plunged through the sheet into her chest. How could that be better? He looked at the marks on her neck. They were his answer.

"Buffy," Giles said as if he needed her to agree.

"It's her," Joyce said from the door. Giles hardly recognized her voice. He wondered how long he had stood there motionless with the hand holding the stake hanging down at his side. He put the stake away quickly. He couldn't explain what he was about to do, worse, he couldn't explain why. Not to her mother.

Giles tried to speak, to say all those meaningless things people say to the bereaved, but his throat was closed. Joyce was leaning against the morgue door, her wet eyes on Buffy. Giles thought to cover Buffy's face again. But that wouldn't be right. He couldn't hide her from her mother any more.




Joyce was no longer retching in the bathroom. Giles heard water running. He stood up slowly letting dizziness and nausea wash over him. The bathroom door was opening. Giles realized that he should have been gone already. He was too slow again. Last night they had faced the results of his inaction - whatever was left of Buffy mixed with something evil, just enough of the girl she had been to rip them to pieces, but nothing more.

Giles gathered his coat, himself. He didn't look at Joyce. She was a just a silhouette in the doorway.

"If she comes again, don't admit her. Please," Giles said as he paused on the front step. He then he left without ever meeting Joyce's eyes.






To be continued