Just Human, Chapter 3: Ex-slayer, SWF, seeking ... a life

The sun was already high when Buffy woke after she slept through the night
like a stone. It was one of the advantages of getting drunk. Oblivion came
easily and you could avoid restless sleep and heavy thoughts.

Yawning and ignoring the already familiar hangover headache Buffy staggered
from her bed, then to the bathroom. Not bothering with her appearance she
made her way to the kitchen for some coffee when the doorbell rang.

Muttering something about people who didn't call before actually standing
right in front of her door, and ignoring the fact that it was almost noon
already, she padded barefooted towards the door, combing her greasy hair
behind her ears. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered when the bell rang again. She
blinked when she finally opened the door and her eyes fell on her best
friend. Or rather, judging the expression on the redhead's face, her former
best friend, "Willow?"

"Yes, Willow," the witch narrowed her eyes at the blonde's appearance. "Why
the hell," she shouted, "didn't you answer your phone last night?"

Taken aback, Buffy let her enter her apartment, not caring for the total
chaos, "Whoa," she tried to get her friend to calm down. "Last Night? The
phone didn't ring last night."

"Didn't ring?" Willow spat right into her face. "I tried calling you about
twenty times until the thought entered my mind that you were probably too
stone drunk to even register the ringing phone."

"Now, wait a minute-"

But the redhead didn't want to wait, she was angry, not scratch that, she was
furious. Furious because she hadn't been able to reach Buffy when an
emergency occurred, furious that a scared little girl had to go to a
hospital without her mother, and also furious because her best friend was
just slipping away, giving up, and there wasn't a damned thing Willow was
able to do.

"No, I'm not waiting a minute. Actually, I just came to deliver a message
and after that you might as well go to hell." She was so angry, she didn't
even try to calm down.

"Willow-"

"No, I don't want any excuses," the redhead raged on. "Marlie had to go to
the hospital last night. They had to do an appendectomy on her. It was an
emergency. Obviously she's had tummy aches for a while but didn't tell us
because she said she wanted to tell her mommy but her mommy wasn't around."
She paused, staring at Buffy, daring her to say one word.

The blond didn't. She was too shocked to say anything. Her daughter was in
the hospital. Precious, little Marlie, her sweetheart had been into surgery
and she hadn't even known. Marlie had gone through a nightmare and there had
been no mother for her. After she'd lost her father only six months ago, her
mother wasn't there for her either.

"I really had no idea what to say to her. So I just held her hand. And when
she woke up the first thing she said was Mommy. But you know what, her mommy
wasn't there. Because her mother is too busy destroying herself, and the
tiny bit of love her children still have for her." Willow took a deep
breath, her hands at her hips, her eyes blazing with anger, but she was a
bit calmer now, that some of the fury inside of her had been left out.

Buffy was searching for words, and as she found none that were appropriate
to say, she simply asked, "Are you going back there now? To the hospital?"

"Yes," the redhead replied. "I'm going back to her. She's five years old
Buffy. Five years old and alone in a big hospital. Sure, the staff is nice
and the nurse who cares for her is a sweetie, but Marlie doesn't know anyone
there and she's terrified. She just lost her father. Her mother doesn't care
a damn..." she took a deep breath again. No, she decided. She had said this
to Buffy again and again and it never worked. There was really no sense in
getting worked up over this. But she had been so angry to see Marlie's
scared little face and hearing her ask for her mother...

"I'm coming with you," Buffy was saying, already looking around for some
clothes that weren't completely out of question.

"No," Willow replied sharply, not caring when the blond stared at her as if
she was speaking another language. "No, you aren't coming with me," she
clarified. "I don't want you to come with me. Marlie doesn't need a mother
who comes rushing to her side out of a momentary flash of guilt, only to
abandon her in one or two days again. She doesn't need that emotional roller
coaster. No. I just came to tell you."

She looked around, taking in the scattered clothes everywhere, the two empty
bottles of Whisky on the table, the layers of dust on every shelf, then
shook her head, "If you can't take care of yourself, how are you supposed to
take care of your children? I'm even going to tell you, you can't come to
the hospital. Either you get your life back on track or you better stay away
completely. The way you are at the moment, you're of no use for your
children. You're just going to hurt them again."

She turned and her hand was already on the door handle, when Buffy suddenly
cried, "I just lost my husband, Willow. He was healthy and fine and a week
later he was dead. Dead. Do you understand? He isn't just miraculously
coming back tomorrow. He's dead."

"Yeah, I know," the redhead turned around, her face sad, "We were around
death a lot for a while if you remember. Death isn't unfamiliar to me. But
you know what the real problem is, Buffy. Riley's dead and I know it's hard,
but maybe you should start realizing that you're still alive." With a last
long look she opened the door and was gone.

*

Buffy stared at the closed door for a long while. What the hell had happened
to Willow? Shouting at her as if this was all her fault. Couldn't she see
that life hadn't dealt her a fair hand? Oh sure, it was easy for Willow to
yell at her and demand she should get her life back on track. Willow hadn't
lost her husband to a fatal disease, she was still living her pretty, little
suburban life with her equally happy lover and their nice, pretty girls.

God, they were disgusting with their great happiness written allover their
faces.

"No, it's you who's disgusting here."

Now, Buffy thought, she had completely lost it. She wasn't drunk now. Yes,
she had a horrible hangover and a killer headache, but besides that, she was
absolutely sober, but she could've sworn she had heard her mother's voice
behind her. Maybe this was one of the final stages of being a drunk,
complete with hallucinating, although people didn't usually get into those
final stages after only six months. Or at least, she hoped they didn't.

"No," she said firmly, "You are not here. I'm not hearing a ghost talking to
me in bright sunlight."

"No, of course not," her mother replied, and darn the woman, her voice held
a trace of amusement. "Because if you did, you'd probably be crazy. Isn't
that the explanation the inhabitants - including me - of Sunnydale have told
themselves for years to deny all the things that went bump in the night? So
why should you believe that you are talking with your mother's ghost?"

"Oh, that's really great. Come on, throw more of my own words back at me,"
Buffy hissed, turning around. And of course there she was. The
materialization of Joyce Summers was right in her living-room,
floating just inches above the carpet. The very dirty carpet. Oh God, this
was a nightmare. Last night Buffy had been too drunk to care, but here, in
broad daylight, it wasn't a nice thing to have the ghost of your mother in
your apartment that was far from clean.

"At least you still remember things. It's a relief, you know. To see that
the alcohol hasn't melted your brains already."

"You're so funny," the blond told her mother. "Did you take classes for
making jokes up there, or what?"

A laugh was her answer. "I always thought I had a good sense of humor.
That's how I managed to deal with the fact that my daughter was facing death
every night," she paused, her smile turning soft, "That, and the fact that I
trusted you. I trust your strength, your will to survive. But now, you seem
to have lost it. What happened to you, Buffy? Why did you give up?"

"You know why. My husband died, after we spent almost 20 years together.
Don't you think it's reason enough?"

Joyce, or rather her ghost, sighed deeply, "It might be. For another woman.
But not for you."

"Why?" Buffy whirled around, glaring at her mother, "Because I was a slayer?
Because I'm so strong and not entitled to fail. Newsflash Mom, I failed a
lot. I couldn't get you back to life. Jenny Calendar died and I couldn't do
a thing and Dawn," her voice broke and a sob tore from her throat. But she
quickly had herself back in control. "So you see, I'm not some unfailing
super-hero. Sorry, to disappoint you."

"Yes," Joyce nodded, "I am disappointed. But not because people died. People
die every day. I died because I was sick. Dawn died because it was her fate.
She was doomed to die from the start. I know she felt real to us, by God,
she felt very real to me, but the fact remains that she wasn't. Those monks
made her for only one reason, so that you would protect the energy that was
bound in that human body. And yes, it was a cruel twist of fate, but you
couldn't have changed it."

Buffy snorted at her mother's words and turned to start her coffee maker.
She needed a cup of coffee now. Badly. And maybe, just maybe, the
Joyce-ghost would go away then, noticing that she didn't want her here.

But, of course, no such luck for Buffy. Joyce came soundlessly floating
after her, materializing herself at the counter, and Buffy closed her eyes,
knowing that there was more to come.

"I'm disappointed because you're lying to yourself. I know Riley died and I
do believe that you miss him, but it has got nothing to do with your undying
love for him that night after night you try to drink yourself into stupor
and try to forget all the lies you've been living with for over 20 years with
it."

The spoon Buffy had been holding clattered on the counter and with a whirl
of her body she was facing her mother, advancing the ghost menacingly, "Shut
up," she shouted. "How can you even dare-"

"Are you angry now?" Joyce asked, interrupting her fury, "Do you want to
beat me? Well, go on, try it." She seemed to think about something, and then
said, "I've always wondered if it might hurt if someone hit me. So don't
hold back. Hit!"

Her daughter stared at her for a moment, then took a deep breath and
straightened, "I'm not going to hit you. You're my mother." The moment the
words were out of her mouth, she made a sound of disbelief and threw her
hands in the air. "God, now I'm going insane. What am I talking about?
You're a ghost. You're probably not even there. Did I actually refer to you
as my mother?" She shook her head, picked up her spoon again and measured
coffee for the percolator.

Mrs. Summers sighed deeply, "And I thought we were over that part already.
Yes, I'm dead and yes, I'm a ghost, but I'm here nevertheless and you of all
people should be able to believe that. I'm certainly not the first ghost
you've seen."

"No, you're not," Buffy confirmed. "But you're - don't take this personally
- but you're the most freaky one. Or what would you think if you met the
ghost of your dead mother?"

"Actually, I did meet her," Joyce replied cheerfully, "She's happy up here
and has lost a lot of her-" the expression in her daughter's eyes brought
her to an abrupt halt, "but of course you aren't interested in hearing that.
Maybe later. Now your grand-mother is the least of your problems, I
suppose."

"You have no idea what my problems are," her daughter bit off. "You never
did. You were the most oblivious person I ever met."

"But of course I wasn't a ghost then," Joyce said wistfully. "As I already
told you. For ghosts words and thoughts are the same. I know exactly what
you're thinking," her voice softened, and became like the one Buffy
remembered, the one that had tucked her into bed when she was little, "and
for that, I also know that you need to face hard truths. And soon. Or you're
going to lose everything that's important for you."

For a moment Buffy contemplated shouting at her again, but this was her
mother. And sure, they hadn't been always close, but a mother was the
closest relative you had - besides children - and although the ghost-thing
was definitely creepy, she thought, why not. She shut her eyes tightly for a
second, and then looked at her mother, "And what, if I'm not able to face
them?" she asked, her voice almost like that of a little girl.

"You are," Joyce said, "You've always been strong. But you've been lying to
yourself for so long, it's hard to break the habit. Believe me, I know. But
you're young, and there's a whole life out there. Don't throw that away. I
know, I'm not meant to tell you, but there's love out there for you. You
just have to go and get it."

"Love?" Buffy echoed incredulously, "Mom, I-"

"No," her mother shook her head, "don't say it. First deal with yourself.
Try it. Start today. Then take the next day and the day after that. Each day
it will become a bit easier and in the end you'll be living again. Really
living, not just existing."

"What if I fail?" the younger blond asked. "What if I can't get back, or
can't live with what I've done?"

"Don't think about failure now, Buffy," Joyce said softly. "Just think about
today. Try to get through today without a drink. I know it's hard. But you
can do it." She took a deep breath, a cheerful smile on her face now, "I
have to go now. This materialization thing is still not easy for me."

"No, Mom," Buffy cried in sudden panic. "Please don't go. I'm not sure I can
do this on my own."

Silence was her only answer. She ran from the kitchen into the living room
and frantically looked around, but there was no sign of her mother there.
She went through the entire apartment, looked for her even in the closets.
But like most things in her life these days, the search was a failure too.
Joyce was gone.

... to be continued