Just Human, Chapter 1: Older. But Wiser?

20 years later

Buffy had never seen ghosts in the 40 years of her life. Of course that
wasn't entirely true. She had seen ghosts, lots of them actually, but
somehow none of them had ever left a profound impression, and ten years
after she had slayed her last demon, after the council had let her retire at
the age of 30, they had somehow slipped her memory.

But now when the image of her mother materialized in her living room, Buffy
found herself gasping in surprise and - she had to admit - in shock. The
image of Joyce Summers, her ghost, or whatever that thing was she saw,
looked at her daughter for a long while, then she tilted her head and smiled
sadly, "You're pathetic, Buffy Summers," she said, "and you know it."

It wasn't the wisest thing to get drunk on your 40th birthday, Buffy thought
as she refilled her glass yet again. You could start seeing ghosts. Even a
ghost that looked shockingly like her mother. Her mother who was dead for
almost 20 years now. But then she wasn't really drunk, she told herself.
Just trying to get into a good mood. It was her birthday after all and she
was entitled to have a good time tonight.

Squinting a the TV she leaned back in her chair, the glass of Bourbon in her
hand, and studying its contents she thought what she was going to do with
herself for the 40 odd years she statistically expect to continue living.

Twenty years ago she would've gone out slaying some vampires or decapitating
demons, but as there was no Hellmouth anymore in Sunnydale and she had lost
her slayer powers ten years ago there wasn't a lot she could do, but wallow
in self-pity.

Or talk to ghosts. "Shut up," she hissed at her mother. "What do you know?"

"More than you think," Joyce replied, still smiling. It was a smile Buffy
had never seen on her mother's face before. It was a knowing smile. The
smile of a person who understood and wouldn't be deceived.

"Oh yeah?" Buffy said sarcastically, "You never knew anything. It took you
two years to realize what was going on with me and even then you only knew
because I told you."

"You shouldn't be drinking, Buffy," Joyce said mildly, ignoring her
daughter's biting comment. "You're an alcoholic, and you know it. You gave
up on life. There's no excuse for that."

Of course Buffy didn't believe her mother. She felt absolutely
self-righteous in her misery, the pig's sty that had once been her treasured
apartment, and the one she'd been living in for 19 years. Eighteen of them
together with her husband.

Taking a large gulp from her glass she stood and stumbled over to the desk
in the corner where a bunch of pictures were standing in sliver frames. She
lifted her glass and toasted to them, then smiled ironically. They were
smiling. Why the hell did they dare to smile when there was absolutely
nothing to smile about? Life wasn't nice and fun, it was bad, very, very
bad.

"What do you know?" she asked the materialization of her mother again, "You
never lost your husband to a fatal illness. You just divorced him." Of
course Buffy knew the accusation wasn't fair. The marriage of her parents
hadn't worked because her father had been married to his work instead of his
wife. But nobody was fair these day, so why should she, start. Life wasn't
fair.

Emptying the glass with the next gulp, she turned away from the smiling
faces of her husband and her three children. Her children. A harsh laugh
came from her throat and she stumbled back to the table and refilled the
glass yet again.

Her children. Three of them. And all of them living with strangers. No, she
corrected herself and drank again, not strangers. They were her so-called
friends. Some friends they were. One morning they had stood on her doorstep
and told her - mind that - just told her that her children would live with
them from now on. That there was no way they would be watch it any longer,
the way she was neglecting them, and herself.

Gulping the rest of the liquor down, she angrily shook her head. She wasn't
neglecting herself or her children. Okay, so the living room hadn't been
dusted since... well, for a while, there was not one clean plate in the
kitchen and in the fridge were some unidentifiable cultures growing, but all
in all her life was in control.

All right, she had lost her job three weeks ago because she has shown up at
odd times if at all, but her boss had hated her forever and just waited for
an opportunity to get rid of her. And besides, she wasn't the only American
citizen who was out a job. There were a lot more and she would find a new
one. As soon as she could find the energy to shower and dress and maybe do
the laundry first, because frankly she had no idea if there was any clean
clothes left.

Okay, maybe she had been neglecting herself. Just a little. But wasn't one
entitled for some misery if your husband of 18 years just fell victim to an
extremely fatal form of leukemia. If you were making love to your husband
one week and the next you were spending it choosing a grave and the right
music for the funeral. In Buffy's book that gave you the right for a lot of
things. And that was exactly what she was doing. A lot of things. Like
drinking, and drinking, and drinking a bit more. But she was feeling good
when she was drunk, and she wanted to feel good. Especially on her birthday.

She was 40 years old, an ex-slayer, widowed, with three kids, and about 40
years in front of her. Forty years full of emptiness. A sob tore from her
throat and she realized that she would need at least another bottle if she
wanted to make it through the night. She couldn't allow herself to think, to
let the fears rise, or she would crack. She'd been so close to a nervous
breakdown but thanks to her friends Whiskey, Bourbon and others she had
found a way to cope.

With a pained cry she suddenly threw the glass towards the pictures on the
little table, but it missed and smashed against the wall. "Why did you die?"
she cried, staring at Riley's smiling face. "Why did you have to die and
leave me? You bastard. You promised me forever and then you left and what am
I going to do now?"

"He would be very angry if he could hear you now," Joyce scolded her gently.
"He loved you, you know. Very much in fact."

"Oh yeah?" Buffy whirled around, glaring at her mother. "Loved me, huh? But
he left me. You did too," a sob formed in he throat and she forced it down,
"And Dawn. Everyone leaves me."

Stumbling towards the kitchen she noticed that there were no glasses left in
the cupboard and so she took a mug instead. Not a bad choice. It was nice
and big and a lot would fit into it. No need to refill often. Returning to
the living room she stared at the picture again. Why did they all leave her?
Why did everyone she loved die? Her mother, her sister, Riley. Would it
never stop? Was she doomed to lose everyone she loved?

"Yes, everyone," Joyce agreed, "Even Angel."

At that Buffy froze. She hadn't allowed herself to think about him for a
very long time. She didn't even know where he was living or if he was alive
at all. Then she shook her head at the absurdity of her thought. Of course
he was alive. He was a vampire after all and they were immortal.

And what on earth was wrong with her mother to bring up Angel? Hadn't Joyce
been the one who hated Angel the most? Who had blamed him for all the bad
things that had happened in her daughter's life?

"Yes, I know. I misjudged him by a lot. And I'm very sorry about that. At
the time I thought it was the best for him to leave." She sighed and rubbed
her forehead with one hand, "Looking back, maybe it would've been better if
he'd stayed. At least a while longer."

Buffy shot her mother an irritated glance, "Are you reading minds now?"

"Well, the form of my existence is... special. Words or thoughts are the
same here."

"Oh, this is great," her daughter threw her hands in the air. "Now nothing
is safe from you anymore. Not even my private thoughts."

She tried desperately to suppress thinking about Angel, not with the ghost
of her mother around, reading her thoughts. But the images wouldn't stop
coming. It was as if the mention of his name had opened floodgates.

It had to be the date, Buffy decided. Her birthday. Today 23 years ago, they
had made love. The first and only time with Angel. It had been heaven and
then hell. God, she could still remember his hands on hers, could remember
the way he had kissed her neck, her breasts, her whole body. She had made
love uncountable times with Riley over the last 19 years - and before - but
try as she might, she couldn't remember the details. Maybe because it had
become too familiar, maybe because...

NO, she refused to go there tonight. She had loved Riley. Had loved his
laughter, his smile, and his uncomplicated way to enjoy life. She had
enjoyed being around him, had enjoyed having children with him. It had been
a good time and she wanted it back. Wanted to see him laugh again, wanted
him to tell a joke, wanted him to make her laugh. But of course it wouldn't
happen. Damn him. Why did he have to die six months ago and leave her?

"Because that's what happens," her mother said wisely, "Birth and death are
part of it. It's a circle," now an odd smile played around her lips, "Our
whole life moves in circles. You just have to keep your eyes open, and not
shut life out."

"Really?" Buffy hissed bitingly, "And what sort of life is there for me? I'm
forty years old. I have three kids who don't want to have anything to do
with me. My friends are avoiding me. Nobody understands what I'm going
through. There's nothing for me out there anymore."

Joyce sighed heavily, "I see. One night won't do. You're a difficult case,
Buffy Summers. But we will get you back on track. Just trust me."

The image of her mother faded and Buffy shook her head in disbelief. She had
to be drunker than she'd originally thought. She had actually spent a good
part of her birthday talking to a ghost. Shaking her head again, she let out
a harsh laugh. Trying to see the label of the bottle standing on her desk,
she decided it wasn't really important what she was drinking, as long as it
made her feel good. And that was how she felt. Good. Definitely good.

... to be continued