Character: Buffy Summers
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1991
Setting: pre-Pilot

It had taken Buffy less than ten minutes to gather up and pack away her things into the duffel her mother had given her. Now she was leaning against her emptied cabinet, staring blankly at the bag on the bed she'd come to think of as her own.

So this was it. She'd lost two weeks of her life to this place, and after everything that had happened she was just going to walk away. She'd been assured this chapter of her life would never reach her personal records, and that as far as the world was concerned she'd never even been here. It was all over, and she was free to go.

She wet dry lips.

How could it be this simple? They'd locked her up and caged her in to keep her safe from both herself and the world, and now she was getting the go-ahead to return to life amongst the sane. It was all so neat and tidy, as if Stone had somehow managed to tighten the loose screws in her head just by making her talk to him. It was all so ridiculous.

Buffy exhaled, pressing her fingers into her forehead.

She didn't know what awaited her now. She was getting out, sure, but she wasn't any less expelled from Hemery. Where was she going to go? And if she was no longer going to be the Slayer, what would she do? How could she go back to being a normal teenage girl after everything she'd seen? After everything she'd lost?

Then again, she mused as she looked around her room, how could she resume life as the Slayer? It had brought her nothing but grief, and if she continued down that path it could only lead back to here or to a premature death. She wasn't sure she had the strength to take that kind of risk anymore.

Sighing, she got off the cabinet, then grabbed her bag. She'd had more than enough time to think lately, and right now it was time to go. Taking one last look around the room, she threw the duffel over her shoulder and walked out.

The hallway was deserted as she made her way down it, and eventually she reached the door she'd only gone through once before—on the night she'd first arrived. She stared at it for a beat, remembering the hospital and the police precinct and the alley where Tisha had died, reliving the terror and the hurt at being abandoned here. She was leaving, and it was over. It would have to be. She wasn't going to do this again.

Shaking her head, she rapped her knuckles against the door. It was opened almost immediately by Stone, who looked at her with those kind, grandfather-y eyes she hated so much. "Ready to go, Buffy?" he asked, voice as gentle as his gaze.

"Yeah," she nodded, looking past him. Her mother had been seated alone on one of the waiting room chairs, but she'd risen when Buffy had entered.

"Come on, honey," she said, walking over and taking her hand.

"Goodbye, Buffy, Joyce," Stone said, "and good luck."

They gave their own goodbyes, and then they were walking outside. It was a cloudy late November day, and all the trees were bare. The air felt cool and clear after the stuffy heat of the clinic, and Buffy paused for a moment to breathe. The knowledge of her newfound freedom had lifted a heavy weight from her soul, and even though it was a cloudy day, the world and all its colors seemed just a bit brighter. She could even hear a few birds chirping.

"What a beautiful morning," she said, and it felt true even though it wasn't entirely.

"Yeah," Joyce said. She didn't smile, and she started off in the direction of her car without her. At some point she'd dropped her hand.

Buffy watched her, eyebrows dipping. Already she could feel her spirits dimming. Something was up with her mother, and whatever it was, it wasn't of the good. Exhaling, she trotted after her, studying her as they opened the car doors and slipped inside.

As she started the car, it occurred to her that her mother hadn't smiled much at all today, and her silence was heavy. She had a sinking feeling she knew the reason why: there was a void in the car where her dad should've been. In fact, there'd been a void where he should've been these past two weeks. Whenever her parents had visited, they'd done it separately. She still hadn't asked why, but today of all days he should have been here, and in that moment she knew something was horribly wrong.

Suddenly, the world seemed grey and dark again, and her stomach was tightening into a knot.

"Mom?" she forced the word out as they backed from the parking lot and headed for the street.

"Yes, Buffy?" Joyce asked, glancing at her.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. "Did something happen to Dad?"

"What?" she repeated. "No. No, he's fine."

Her foot was already in the door, and she knew that that wasn't the end of the sentence. "So why didn't he come? I haven't seen him in like five days."

"You'd have to ask him, Buffy," her tone was flat, almost bitter—so unlike her mother.

There was real fear in her gut now. "Did something happen between you two?"

She opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say died on her lips. After a long pause, she finally said, "It's complicated, honey."

"Simplify it," her voice was hard.

Another pause, longer this time. Finally, "We had a fight. Several fights, actually."

This was nothing new in the Summers home, but she knew this time it was different. Otherwise he would've been here. Otherwise she would've seen him more in her time at the clinic.

"About me?" she guessed.

Joyce glanced at her again, then looked away. "About a lot of things."

"But I was one of them?"

She avoided her eyes.

She felt sick as a new, terrible thought entered her mind. "Oh, god," she breathed. "You're getting divorced, aren't you?"

There was a long silence. As she had been so often lately, her mother seemed close to tears. Just a few months ago, Buffy had never seen her cry, and it was with a sharp stab of guilt that she realized that that had changed because of her. It was all her fault, and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

"When did this happen?" she asked.

She inhaled, "That, uh, the night we, uh...when we admitted you."

The sickness was quickly becoming nausea. So it had been her. "That's why...why he hasn't been coming with you." She stared at the dashboard, not really seeing it. Oh, jesus. Oh, god.

"Yeah."

Any happiness she'd felt on leaving New Horizons was gone, and once again she could feel her world tunneling in and collapsing around her. "So he's not...home anymore?"

"No."

She was still staring at the dash. "So where is he?"

"A motel."

"Is it nice?" she didn't know why she asked that.

"I don't know. I haven't seen it."

"You haven't seen it," she repeated. The reality of the situation seemed to be sinking in. Her parents were getting divorced. They were already separated, and now they would be forever.

"No." It hadn't been a question, but she'd answered anyway.

Her dad wasn't going to be coming home anymore. It would just be her and Mom and Dawn. She wondered when she would see him again. She wondered why he hadn't even bothered to come today.

"Are you, uh...you're still talking though?" she asked.

Joyce sniffed, then cleared her throat. "Yeah, honey, we are."

She latched onto that, looking at her half-desperately. "So, that's good, right? I mean, talking is good. You could still make up."

Again she avoided her eyes. "Maybe, sweetheart."

Said to assuage, not to assure. Her mother didn't believe it, and consequently neither did Buffy. "Dawn knows?" she asked, hope having left her voice as quickly as it'd come.

"Yeah." Her tone was sad.

She looked back at the dash. Her sister was only ten, too young to really understand what was going on. She wondered what they'd told her, and she wondered where she was. Did she even know where Buffy had been all this time? She remembered her mother telling her they'd said she'd gone away to some kind of camp thing, and she wondered if the story had changed. She hoped to god it hadn't.

"Where is Dawn?" she asked.

"At the house."

"Alone?"

"No, Penny's staying with her."

"Oh." Penny was their neighbor. "Dad couldn't take her?"

"No."

She wanted to know why, but at the same time she didn't. She didn't know what she wanted. Maybe just to have the last several months of her life back, so she could do it all again. Her world was falling apart, and she couldn't seem to stop it. She just wanted a do-over.

"Is it..." her voice trailed off as she searched for the words, "you know, official?"

Her eyes were still on the road, "What?"

"The divorce. You know, have you signed papers and everything?"

There was a pause. "Not yet."

She cleared her throat. "When?"

"I don't know yet, Buffy."

"Soon though?" she didn't know why she was asking all these questions.

"I really don't know, sweetheart."

"Who's taking us?"

Finally she glanced over at her, but Buffy was still staring at the dash. "I think, uh...I think I am."

"You haven't discussed it?"

"We've discussed it. Right now, you're both going to stay with me."

Her entire body felt numb. "He doesn't want us?"

"Honey, no," she took her hand and squeezed it, "Don't think that, not for a second. Your father loves you very much."

"Then why isn't he here? Why isn't he with Dawn?" Why was she pursuing this?

"It's just complicated, sweetie," she squeezed her hand again. "Look at me, please."

She did. Her mouth was paper dry.

Joyce glanced between her and the road, "This is a difficult situation, for all of us, you have to know that. He couldn't come today, but it doesn't mean he doesn't want you. You are so loved, Buffy, by both of us. You know that, right?"

She said nothing, her gaze slipping downward, to some random point in space.

Her mother squeezed her hand again. "Right, Buffy?"

"Right," she said finally, voice throaty. Her mouth was so dry.

"He said he'll be by tomorrow."

"To see us or to pick up his things?" she asked dully.

"To see you, Buffy. He's missed you too, as much as I have."

"Yeah," she murmured, looking out the window. There was nothing beautiful about the day anymore. She couldn't see the sky for the clouds.

Silence spread between them as they rolled down the streets, inching ever closer to their house. There was nothing comfortable about it, and the air seemed heavy with her mother's sadness. She felt like she couldn't breathe, but she was too paralyzed to crack her window.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," her mother said suddenly, glancing over at her again.

"For what?" she asked, unable to look at her.

"For...just everything."

"Yeah," she exhaled, leaning her head against the cool glass. "So am I."

And then it was silent again. It was silent the rest of the way home.