Perfect Day
By Dana
Disclaimer: The characters all belong to those who own them. Now, wasn't that specific? ;-) All is Joss's.
Summary: The Slayer dies. And then...
Notes: This was inspired by the movie Elizabeth, when I finally understood (boorish person that I am) what a certain sentence means. It's not all depressing, just read it though. Buffy POV.
Thanks: To Gabi for her initial encouragement, and to SkyCat for being a wonderful beta.
* * *
There is a certain peace in death. I'm not dead yet, I suppose, but it's only a matter of time till my blood runs out and all that's left will be a body. But I'm not scared, and I don't feel any pain. No, I do feel pain, but it doesn't hurt. Sounds funny, doesn't it? I've had lesser injuries that hurt more than this, maybe because I'd known that I would survive those. But this particular pain, this throbbing in my chest, my stomach, ... it will go away soon, so I pay no attention. I don't feel like I'm dying.
Instead it seems like I'm living, like my senses have opened up truly for the first time in my life. It's just past sunrise, so the sun does not blind me. It's light washes over the trees and the grass, falls like a liquid that bathes my body and warms it, just a little. All I can see is the sky, never touching any horizon, just a pale blue that goes on and on into infinity. I'd almost feel like I was floating in all that blue if it weren't for the strong pull of gravity that presses my body flat against the ground, only it feels more like it's my body that pulls the ground towards it, and if I were to let go, the earth would fall. It makes me a bit dizzy to think about it.
I know there's more around me, besides the sky. I'm lying on grass, which I can picture as bright, bright green, like a soccer field. And if I were to move my fingers I'd probably discover that it's the softest grass in the world, but I don't think I can move my fingers. There isn't really any reason to.
There are also trees, behind me, at my sides. Tall, deep green pines, stretching their limbs, reaching for the sky, reaching for heaven. I think I believe in heaven now. I never thought I did, and there were times I believed in nothing, but now I believe that there is a heaven, with angels and maybe even God, and that I will go there. Suddenly I'm filled with energy and I feel that if I wanted too I could climb up those pines and go to heaven right now, using them as a ladder like Jack's beanstalk, only the sky's too clear and I'm afraid I'll keep climbing forever. Easier to just get there the old fashioned way.
The air is fresh today. Just about the cleanest air I've ever breathed, though it's not really easy breathing. A thought pops into my mind and I imagine millions of bubbles of oxygen floating in the air and little people carrying them into my body, like in that old TV show I used to watch as a kid, can't remember the name. If I had the strength to laugh now, I would.
The air opens up all my senses. I can taste it in my mouth, like the minty taste you get after brushing your teeth, a nice, clean taste. And I can smell the pines around me, the scent of wood and dew and wet grass. I can feel the soft, cold, early morning breeze against my body, cooling it down, engulfing it, and it feels like the world saying goodbye with a final caress. Goodbye, I want to whisper back, but it seems like too much of an effort to move my lips. Instead, I listen to the wind. On a normal day I wouldn't be able to hear it, it's so quiet, but now I hear it swaying the grass blades, rustling faintly in the leaves of the trees. Strangely I don't hear any birds, and I wonder if that has to do with the fact that I'm dying or maybe the demon I killed. The only thing I can hear besides the wind in the beating of my heart. It's not a strong, sure beat but I can hear it nonetheless, loudly and clearly, in tune with the throbbing of my chest and the blood pumping out of my body. It's not beating very fast, which is surprising because I thought your pulse is always very quick before the monitor goes flatline. Rather, it's slow, lazy beat, kind of like the way I'm feeling.
It's a perfect day. A perfect day for anything, and I guess dying counts. It's so different from the last time I died, thrown like a rag doll into that pool of water. That had felt hollow, empty, dimmed somehow, like the way sound travels underwater. Not at all like this feeling of rebirth into a beautiful world. A world that is just a sky, a great, blue, open sky...
Except that now there's something there. A figure getting nearer and nearer to me, coming from the sky, kind of transparent, not real. But I know he's real. I realize that I know him because I suddenly remember the last time I saw him, the only time I saw him, three years ago at the Master's cave. He hadn't told me who he was then, but now I recognize the face as Spike's, only he's called William and he's alive. Or dead, I don't know. I feel his hand stroking my hair, and he asks me if I'm ready for the change. I can't talk, but I think I am, and as I think the words my strength starts to leave me.
I think I'm about to cross the line between life and death. At any rate it's very thin, and more figures appear before me, figures that I know I'm not imagining. The first one I can recognize is my grandfather. He died when I was in the sixth grade but I remember him clearly, he looks just the same, with that sly smile and those twinkling eyes telling me not to be afraid. Holding his hand is a girl in her early teens with long, straight hair. Instinctively I know her name, Dawn, and even though I've never met her, her essence is familiar. She whispers something that I can't make out, but it's reassuring and I trust her.
Next I see Merrick, and almost choke in relief that he doesn't blame me for his death. And I see Ford, and Jenny, and even old Principle Flutie, and so many people who have died. I've known so much death in my life, I realize. Too much. There is a crowd of ghosts before me, far more people than I thought I knew. But I know I'll be among friends now, eternally happy, I look forward to it.
Finally a last figure appears before me. It's a woman, not young but not too old either, and she's wearing an old fashioned dress. She speaks to me in a soft Irish brogue. "Don't worry about a thing, precious, have no regrets. You were the best gift he could have received, you had my blessing..." It's his mother, I understand, and with that comprehension my heart catches in my throat and for the first time I think of what I'm leaving behind.
My mother. Will she survive this? I have to believe she will, but I'm not sure. She has no one. My friends were prepared for this, they'll have each other to comfort and be comforted, but Mom will have nothing left. Can I do that to her? Can I myself keep living- whatever life you have after death- without her? I suddenly remember the ballet tickets hanging on the fridge at her house. We were supposed to go next week for her birthday. I shouldn't have died this close to her birthday.
Maybe Giles can take her. I wonder if he likes ballet, I never asked him. All Englishmen look like they probably like ballet but he has a history of demon hunting so you never know. Why have I never talked to him about it? I thought I knew Giles best. He knows everything about me; he's one of the most caring people I've ever known... With horror I realize that I don't even know his birthday. I've never given him a single present in all the time I've known-not known-him.
There's no use thinking about it now, there's nothing I can do. It's just... if I only got a few more minutes to say some things... things that suddenly seem very important. Like to tell Giles that I love him. Have I ever told him that? God, I hope he knows. I need to tell Xander too. If I could take back this whole year, the way me and Xander have grown apart, I would. We should have gone on that road trip together. After all, what good did college do me? I haven't even finished my first year and I'm dead now. Xander. I hope he stays with Anya. I don't know if I ever made it clear how I feel about her. I may not love her myself but if she makes you happy, Xander... you deserve happiness.
Willow comes to my mind now. There are too many things I have to tell her. She has to know I don't blame her for this, I'm glad she was out having fun tonight... last night. I put the psyche notebook she lent me in my purple bag, I hope she doesn't look for it too long; it'll drive her crazy. What if she can't find it? Walsh will give her a hard time. First Oz, then me. I hope she won't drop out of class, Willow loves psyche. As much of a computer girl as everyone thinks she is, she sees right into the heart of people, I know she'd make a great psychiatrist. What will she be in ten years? Will she be married? I wish I could see her kids, but I guess I'll be missing. I'll miss everybody's future. What would I have been?
Nothing. I've always been the Slayer, and knew that I always would be. As much as I talked about the future, I never had any dreams. I didn't want to become a doctor or a dancer, to be married with children, to see the world-I didn't let myself want. I was the Slayer.
Who will be the Slayer now? The Slayer is dead, long live the Slayer. That's the way it goes, right? Or 'short live the Slayer', I guess, would make more sense. I don't think another Slayer will rise after me. There's already Faith. She's in prison but if anything important happens I don't doubt they'd be able to deal. Even without her, my friends will survive. There is no more need for Slayers. There are demon hunters now, there's the Initiative, there are a million and one fighters against evil that will keep doing their job well without a Slayer in Sunnydale. I trust my friends to deal with whatever happens, I wish I could be there to protect them, but I trust them. I trust...
...Angel. The one person I'm trying not to think about, the one person I'm afraid to leave behind. I don't know how you will live without me, I'm so scared, I don't know how I'll go on without you. I know what I said but you're worth a thousand Rileys, a million. Was it a mistake? Should you not have left, was this year wasted? I don't know. We lost so much time, and I'm struck with the image of a clock ticking inescapably towards nine. Now I know about that day after Thanksgiving but it's all right, I forgive you, you have to know that, I know I was angry at first but what you did was right and thank you, thank you for taking away the memory because I wouldn't have been able to live with it, to stay away. I love you, Angel. Your mom... there are tears in my eyes and my throat tightens, I need you to be here, to listen to me, to know that you know before I'm gone. Your mom, Angel, did you hear what she said? She said... she said... oh, God, she called me precious, Angel, she said we had her blessing... Tears are running down my cheeks now, my vision of the perfect sky begins to blur. I'm dying, Angel, I don't want to die yet, I have to talk to Mom...
I know I'm going to die now, I hear my heartbeat falter, and I know my life is supposed to flash before my eyes but instead I see a single image. I'm standing on a stage receiving the title of Class Protector and I look at the people watching me. Willow is there, and Oz, Cordelia, Xander, Anya, Wesley, Angel, Giles, my whole class, the whole school. But they're not the only ones. My mom is standing at the back looking proud, wiping tears from her eyes, and my dad, too. And Riley's there, cheering me on, and Forrest and Graham even though we never really got along, and all my college professors and other students, and people from Sunnydale whose faces I recognize but don't even know their names, people I wave to on the street or meet when I buy my groceries. Kids from my junior high in LA and even from elementary school, all looking older now. Everyone's clapping and there's a roar of applause in my ears, so loud that I can hardly hear anything, a rush fills me as they all cheer for me, and from above I see angels swooping in and they join the crowd in the clapping, spreading their wings in celebration of my victory. I know they're here to take me but I see my Angel's reassuring smile from the crowd and I'm at my Prom now with my date and I'm so happy that he's proud...
The image fades as abruptly as it came and suddenly I'm all alone, a feeling that comes to me like an unbearable wrench that drops me in cold air and empty silence. Once again all I know is the piercing blue sky, but there's something off about it, something not quite right.
At the back of my mind I'm aware of a different picture than the perfect day. The sky is ugly and gray, and the grass isn't green but red and wet and sticky beneath my body. The wind is cold, freezing, I don't think I've ever been this cold in my life and my body is shivering and shaking uncontrollably, the stink of a demon carcass invades my nostrils, makes me gag, a bitter taste in my mouth, I try to breath but my lungs won't fill I'm choking and coughing my body racking with pain and I'm crying it hurts so bad and I don't want to die I don't want to die Angel, why aren't you here I don't want to die it's all fading away...
"Buffy."
I can't see, my eyes are closed. The air is still. I no longer feel the wind, I neither smell nor taste a thing, but only hear that voice, calling me. I feel... curiosity, at facing my afterlife. These are my final moments between earth and... Heaven?
I open my eyes.
"Buffy!" Soft, almost a whisper. "Guys."
I hear chairs moving and Xander's face above me. "Xander?" My voice sounds pathetically weak.
Xander's face is kind, relieved. He smiles. "Yeah, I'm here. We all are. God, don't do that again, okay?" He leaned closer and whispered. "A ninety-year-old nurse keeps pinching my butt."
"What... Why am I here?"
He frowns a little. "You don't remember?"
I try to think, but the last thing I can remember is having lunch with Willow a couple of hours ago. I feel fuzzy, it's hard to concentrate. With effort I shake my head.
"You were..." he looks to the others for help, and suddenly I noticed their presence. My family, my friends, all crowded into a small space above me.
"You were injured badly in a battle against a Niyar demon." Giles says cautiously. "You don't remember anything?"
I shake my head again, slowly. It's hard to stay conscious. With a last effort I manage to ask, "Did I kill it?"
Giles expression changes from concern to amusement, and I see him nod before I fall back to sleep.
When I wake up only Willow's in the room with me. "Buffy?" she asks immediately. I reach my hand out to her, and she takes it, squeezing lightly. "The others are all eating," she says. Her voice is strange. She's looking almost... giddy.
I'm not as woozy as I was earlier. "How long have I been here?" I ask. I can hardly move, the demon must have done some serious damage.
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks?" I repeat faintly. My coughing cuts off my gasp.
"Shhh, don't breath too hard," she orders. "You need to relax. You've gone through a couple of operations, and a... a lung transplant."
I feel my eyes widen and she grins. "Don't worry, you're okay now. You can't imagine how scared we were before you woke up, it was really touch and go there for a while... Listen," she straightens, her eyes sparkling. "We have something to tell you. I'll go call the others, okay?" She gives my hand a last squeeze and leaves the room.
I lean deep into my pillow and raise my hand to my chest, cringing as I sense the rough surface of the bandages on my fingertips and simultaneously feel my hand sorely on my chest by the slight pressure it exhorts on the bandages. The skin there is really tender, I guess. It's... impossible to take in. I have somebody else's lung inside me. Someone who's... dead? Two weeks, and I can't remember anything, not even the demon Giles was talking about. Had I walked into some kind of trap? How could it have done this to me? How much damage did it do? I shudder. I'm glad I don't remember.
A sudden fear grips me as I'm hit by the notion that I might be paralyzed, but I wiggle my toes and see the sheet above them move. At least I have that.
For the first time I lift my head to look at the hospital room and-
Oh my God.
There are dozens of flower bouquets filling the room. Not dozens, hundreds, in different sizes and colors and on every available surface, in vases, in jars, in mugs and finally in buckets on the floor. My heart beats faster as I take the card from the nearest one and read it. It's a simple "Get Well Soon" from Simon MacLean, addressed to me. I don't recognize the name, but it sounds familiar...
Oh. I'm completely and totally shocked. It's my dentist! The one I go to barely once a year! His son was with me in high school, Dan. I can't believe it. Why would he send me a card?
"Oh, look, Sleeping Beauty decided to wake up," I hear a loud voice. It's Cordelia but she's grinning, and she comes closer to me and murmurs "don't worry, I did your hair today so you look presentable," and winks.
"You came all the way from LA?" I ask, surprised.
"Well, your father gave me a lift."
My eyes widen again and I find a crinkled smile. "Dad?" There are too many surprises today. This can't be good for my lung.
Everyone comes to me together, each welcoming me back in their own words, and the atmosphere in the room is not what you'd expect after such a... tragedy, I suppose it was. I mean, I was really beat up bad, and I understand their relief, but there's something more there. Barely concealed excitement.
"Didja see the flowers?" Xander asks.
I grin, somewhat amazed. "Are all these really for me?"
"You bet! Apparently you're a Sunnydale celebrity, Buff. The second it got out that Buffy Summers was hanging between life and death, all of Sunnydale practically lined up to donate organs. And money. All your operations are paid for. I tell ya, you're gonna have a hell of a time with the thank you notes," Xander finished, looking like he's enjoying the effect his words have on me. My jaw is hanging open.
"Well, what'd you expect?" Cordelia rolls her eyes, "you're the town hero. I must have gotten, like, fifty phone calls to the office-and how did they find the number to the office, anyway?-from half the Class of '99. It was embarrassing," she adds.
I don't know what to say. I look at the faces of my friends, of my family, grateful at... everything. But-I frown, and search their faces again. A face is missing.
Willow catches my look. "Angel wanted to be here-"
That's enough for me. It's a bit hard to breath, and I try to take it slowly, while my heart feels like a lead lump. I try to reason his point of view, of course, why should he come, it's not like I was *dying* for Christ's Sake!
"It's okay, Will, you don't have to explain." To make excuses for him. I try not to seem affected, but my voice sounds horrible.
"-But," she gives me an arching look, "you need fresh air to recover, and it's three PM." I follow her gaze to the wide-open window and notice that the sun is shining brightly in the room, and everyone laughs when they see the enormously relieved expression I must have. "Angel's at Giles', waiting for sunset," she adds, and I blush.
"Okay," I say, trying to divert the attention away from my embarrassing Angel-issues. "Are you going to finally tell me what it is you're all so delighted about, or am I going to have to guess?"
Their smiles widen and they turn to Giles expectantly, who blushes at the attention.
"Buffy," he begins, and suddenly the crowd has left and the only people in the room are the original, sophomore-year Scooby Gang. "The demon you fought was the creator of this Hellmouth. When you killed him, it was sealed forever." I stare at him with disbelief, but he's not finished. "You were very... badly wounded." His look is soft, and he brings his hand up to my head and tenderly strokes my hair. It's one of the only times he's ever touched me like this. "We didn't think you were going to make it, and the council recognized everything you've done for Sunnydale, and for the world. And they decided to, er... relieve you from your job."
What?
Too shocked for words, I lie, wide eyed. Speechless. The others are staring at me, waiting for a reaction, and to burst the silence I blurt: "They fired me when they thought I was dead?"
"To put it crudely, yes," he says, and to my amusement gives Cordelia an accusing look as if to say, 'did your tact rub off on her?'
"So... oh. Oh, my god..." I trail off faintly. I'm not a Slayer. I'm not a Slayer anymore. Then what am I?
I don't know how to be anything else.
After a few minutes of silence, I say: "So what do I do now?"
Relived that I've spoken, Xander breaks into a grin. "First off, you can add another sixty years to your life span, at least."
"You finish college," Willow says plainly.
"And find a guy." Cordelia winks. "Get a job you like-"
"And, for once in your life," that's Giles, "just be yourself."
I look around the room. My eyes land on machines, windows, my friends, the sun, a thousand flowers, and my hands, so used to fighting, curving slightly as if around a stake. Will they hold plowshares now? I relax my fingers, then stretch them; they're surprisingly long. I might have been a pretty good piano player. Might... be.
"The Slayer is dead," I whisper, the phrase for some reason coming to my mind.
Giles seems to catch what I'm saying and he nods.
"Long live Buffy."
By Dana
Disclaimer: The characters all belong to those who own them. Now, wasn't that specific? ;-) All is Joss's.
Summary: The Slayer dies. And then...
Notes: This was inspired by the movie Elizabeth, when I finally understood (boorish person that I am) what a certain sentence means. It's not all depressing, just read it though. Buffy POV.
Thanks: To Gabi for her initial encouragement, and to SkyCat for being a wonderful beta.
* * *
There is a certain peace in death. I'm not dead yet, I suppose, but it's only a matter of time till my blood runs out and all that's left will be a body. But I'm not scared, and I don't feel any pain. No, I do feel pain, but it doesn't hurt. Sounds funny, doesn't it? I've had lesser injuries that hurt more than this, maybe because I'd known that I would survive those. But this particular pain, this throbbing in my chest, my stomach, ... it will go away soon, so I pay no attention. I don't feel like I'm dying.
Instead it seems like I'm living, like my senses have opened up truly for the first time in my life. It's just past sunrise, so the sun does not blind me. It's light washes over the trees and the grass, falls like a liquid that bathes my body and warms it, just a little. All I can see is the sky, never touching any horizon, just a pale blue that goes on and on into infinity. I'd almost feel like I was floating in all that blue if it weren't for the strong pull of gravity that presses my body flat against the ground, only it feels more like it's my body that pulls the ground towards it, and if I were to let go, the earth would fall. It makes me a bit dizzy to think about it.
I know there's more around me, besides the sky. I'm lying on grass, which I can picture as bright, bright green, like a soccer field. And if I were to move my fingers I'd probably discover that it's the softest grass in the world, but I don't think I can move my fingers. There isn't really any reason to.
There are also trees, behind me, at my sides. Tall, deep green pines, stretching their limbs, reaching for the sky, reaching for heaven. I think I believe in heaven now. I never thought I did, and there were times I believed in nothing, but now I believe that there is a heaven, with angels and maybe even God, and that I will go there. Suddenly I'm filled with energy and I feel that if I wanted too I could climb up those pines and go to heaven right now, using them as a ladder like Jack's beanstalk, only the sky's too clear and I'm afraid I'll keep climbing forever. Easier to just get there the old fashioned way.
The air is fresh today. Just about the cleanest air I've ever breathed, though it's not really easy breathing. A thought pops into my mind and I imagine millions of bubbles of oxygen floating in the air and little people carrying them into my body, like in that old TV show I used to watch as a kid, can't remember the name. If I had the strength to laugh now, I would.
The air opens up all my senses. I can taste it in my mouth, like the minty taste you get after brushing your teeth, a nice, clean taste. And I can smell the pines around me, the scent of wood and dew and wet grass. I can feel the soft, cold, early morning breeze against my body, cooling it down, engulfing it, and it feels like the world saying goodbye with a final caress. Goodbye, I want to whisper back, but it seems like too much of an effort to move my lips. Instead, I listen to the wind. On a normal day I wouldn't be able to hear it, it's so quiet, but now I hear it swaying the grass blades, rustling faintly in the leaves of the trees. Strangely I don't hear any birds, and I wonder if that has to do with the fact that I'm dying or maybe the demon I killed. The only thing I can hear besides the wind in the beating of my heart. It's not a strong, sure beat but I can hear it nonetheless, loudly and clearly, in tune with the throbbing of my chest and the blood pumping out of my body. It's not beating very fast, which is surprising because I thought your pulse is always very quick before the monitor goes flatline. Rather, it's slow, lazy beat, kind of like the way I'm feeling.
It's a perfect day. A perfect day for anything, and I guess dying counts. It's so different from the last time I died, thrown like a rag doll into that pool of water. That had felt hollow, empty, dimmed somehow, like the way sound travels underwater. Not at all like this feeling of rebirth into a beautiful world. A world that is just a sky, a great, blue, open sky...
Except that now there's something there. A figure getting nearer and nearer to me, coming from the sky, kind of transparent, not real. But I know he's real. I realize that I know him because I suddenly remember the last time I saw him, the only time I saw him, three years ago at the Master's cave. He hadn't told me who he was then, but now I recognize the face as Spike's, only he's called William and he's alive. Or dead, I don't know. I feel his hand stroking my hair, and he asks me if I'm ready for the change. I can't talk, but I think I am, and as I think the words my strength starts to leave me.
I think I'm about to cross the line between life and death. At any rate it's very thin, and more figures appear before me, figures that I know I'm not imagining. The first one I can recognize is my grandfather. He died when I was in the sixth grade but I remember him clearly, he looks just the same, with that sly smile and those twinkling eyes telling me not to be afraid. Holding his hand is a girl in her early teens with long, straight hair. Instinctively I know her name, Dawn, and even though I've never met her, her essence is familiar. She whispers something that I can't make out, but it's reassuring and I trust her.
Next I see Merrick, and almost choke in relief that he doesn't blame me for his death. And I see Ford, and Jenny, and even old Principle Flutie, and so many people who have died. I've known so much death in my life, I realize. Too much. There is a crowd of ghosts before me, far more people than I thought I knew. But I know I'll be among friends now, eternally happy, I look forward to it.
Finally a last figure appears before me. It's a woman, not young but not too old either, and she's wearing an old fashioned dress. She speaks to me in a soft Irish brogue. "Don't worry about a thing, precious, have no regrets. You were the best gift he could have received, you had my blessing..." It's his mother, I understand, and with that comprehension my heart catches in my throat and for the first time I think of what I'm leaving behind.
My mother. Will she survive this? I have to believe she will, but I'm not sure. She has no one. My friends were prepared for this, they'll have each other to comfort and be comforted, but Mom will have nothing left. Can I do that to her? Can I myself keep living- whatever life you have after death- without her? I suddenly remember the ballet tickets hanging on the fridge at her house. We were supposed to go next week for her birthday. I shouldn't have died this close to her birthday.
Maybe Giles can take her. I wonder if he likes ballet, I never asked him. All Englishmen look like they probably like ballet but he has a history of demon hunting so you never know. Why have I never talked to him about it? I thought I knew Giles best. He knows everything about me; he's one of the most caring people I've ever known... With horror I realize that I don't even know his birthday. I've never given him a single present in all the time I've known-not known-him.
There's no use thinking about it now, there's nothing I can do. It's just... if I only got a few more minutes to say some things... things that suddenly seem very important. Like to tell Giles that I love him. Have I ever told him that? God, I hope he knows. I need to tell Xander too. If I could take back this whole year, the way me and Xander have grown apart, I would. We should have gone on that road trip together. After all, what good did college do me? I haven't even finished my first year and I'm dead now. Xander. I hope he stays with Anya. I don't know if I ever made it clear how I feel about her. I may not love her myself but if she makes you happy, Xander... you deserve happiness.
Willow comes to my mind now. There are too many things I have to tell her. She has to know I don't blame her for this, I'm glad she was out having fun tonight... last night. I put the psyche notebook she lent me in my purple bag, I hope she doesn't look for it too long; it'll drive her crazy. What if she can't find it? Walsh will give her a hard time. First Oz, then me. I hope she won't drop out of class, Willow loves psyche. As much of a computer girl as everyone thinks she is, she sees right into the heart of people, I know she'd make a great psychiatrist. What will she be in ten years? Will she be married? I wish I could see her kids, but I guess I'll be missing. I'll miss everybody's future. What would I have been?
Nothing. I've always been the Slayer, and knew that I always would be. As much as I talked about the future, I never had any dreams. I didn't want to become a doctor or a dancer, to be married with children, to see the world-I didn't let myself want. I was the Slayer.
Who will be the Slayer now? The Slayer is dead, long live the Slayer. That's the way it goes, right? Or 'short live the Slayer', I guess, would make more sense. I don't think another Slayer will rise after me. There's already Faith. She's in prison but if anything important happens I don't doubt they'd be able to deal. Even without her, my friends will survive. There is no more need for Slayers. There are demon hunters now, there's the Initiative, there are a million and one fighters against evil that will keep doing their job well without a Slayer in Sunnydale. I trust my friends to deal with whatever happens, I wish I could be there to protect them, but I trust them. I trust...
...Angel. The one person I'm trying not to think about, the one person I'm afraid to leave behind. I don't know how you will live without me, I'm so scared, I don't know how I'll go on without you. I know what I said but you're worth a thousand Rileys, a million. Was it a mistake? Should you not have left, was this year wasted? I don't know. We lost so much time, and I'm struck with the image of a clock ticking inescapably towards nine. Now I know about that day after Thanksgiving but it's all right, I forgive you, you have to know that, I know I was angry at first but what you did was right and thank you, thank you for taking away the memory because I wouldn't have been able to live with it, to stay away. I love you, Angel. Your mom... there are tears in my eyes and my throat tightens, I need you to be here, to listen to me, to know that you know before I'm gone. Your mom, Angel, did you hear what she said? She said... she said... oh, God, she called me precious, Angel, she said we had her blessing... Tears are running down my cheeks now, my vision of the perfect sky begins to blur. I'm dying, Angel, I don't want to die yet, I have to talk to Mom...
I know I'm going to die now, I hear my heartbeat falter, and I know my life is supposed to flash before my eyes but instead I see a single image. I'm standing on a stage receiving the title of Class Protector and I look at the people watching me. Willow is there, and Oz, Cordelia, Xander, Anya, Wesley, Angel, Giles, my whole class, the whole school. But they're not the only ones. My mom is standing at the back looking proud, wiping tears from her eyes, and my dad, too. And Riley's there, cheering me on, and Forrest and Graham even though we never really got along, and all my college professors and other students, and people from Sunnydale whose faces I recognize but don't even know their names, people I wave to on the street or meet when I buy my groceries. Kids from my junior high in LA and even from elementary school, all looking older now. Everyone's clapping and there's a roar of applause in my ears, so loud that I can hardly hear anything, a rush fills me as they all cheer for me, and from above I see angels swooping in and they join the crowd in the clapping, spreading their wings in celebration of my victory. I know they're here to take me but I see my Angel's reassuring smile from the crowd and I'm at my Prom now with my date and I'm so happy that he's proud...
The image fades as abruptly as it came and suddenly I'm all alone, a feeling that comes to me like an unbearable wrench that drops me in cold air and empty silence. Once again all I know is the piercing blue sky, but there's something off about it, something not quite right.
At the back of my mind I'm aware of a different picture than the perfect day. The sky is ugly and gray, and the grass isn't green but red and wet and sticky beneath my body. The wind is cold, freezing, I don't think I've ever been this cold in my life and my body is shivering and shaking uncontrollably, the stink of a demon carcass invades my nostrils, makes me gag, a bitter taste in my mouth, I try to breath but my lungs won't fill I'm choking and coughing my body racking with pain and I'm crying it hurts so bad and I don't want to die I don't want to die Angel, why aren't you here I don't want to die it's all fading away...
"Buffy."
I can't see, my eyes are closed. The air is still. I no longer feel the wind, I neither smell nor taste a thing, but only hear that voice, calling me. I feel... curiosity, at facing my afterlife. These are my final moments between earth and... Heaven?
I open my eyes.
"Buffy!" Soft, almost a whisper. "Guys."
I hear chairs moving and Xander's face above me. "Xander?" My voice sounds pathetically weak.
Xander's face is kind, relieved. He smiles. "Yeah, I'm here. We all are. God, don't do that again, okay?" He leaned closer and whispered. "A ninety-year-old nurse keeps pinching my butt."
"What... Why am I here?"
He frowns a little. "You don't remember?"
I try to think, but the last thing I can remember is having lunch with Willow a couple of hours ago. I feel fuzzy, it's hard to concentrate. With effort I shake my head.
"You were..." he looks to the others for help, and suddenly I noticed their presence. My family, my friends, all crowded into a small space above me.
"You were injured badly in a battle against a Niyar demon." Giles says cautiously. "You don't remember anything?"
I shake my head again, slowly. It's hard to stay conscious. With a last effort I manage to ask, "Did I kill it?"
Giles expression changes from concern to amusement, and I see him nod before I fall back to sleep.
When I wake up only Willow's in the room with me. "Buffy?" she asks immediately. I reach my hand out to her, and she takes it, squeezing lightly. "The others are all eating," she says. Her voice is strange. She's looking almost... giddy.
I'm not as woozy as I was earlier. "How long have I been here?" I ask. I can hardly move, the demon must have done some serious damage.
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks?" I repeat faintly. My coughing cuts off my gasp.
"Shhh, don't breath too hard," she orders. "You need to relax. You've gone through a couple of operations, and a... a lung transplant."
I feel my eyes widen and she grins. "Don't worry, you're okay now. You can't imagine how scared we were before you woke up, it was really touch and go there for a while... Listen," she straightens, her eyes sparkling. "We have something to tell you. I'll go call the others, okay?" She gives my hand a last squeeze and leaves the room.
I lean deep into my pillow and raise my hand to my chest, cringing as I sense the rough surface of the bandages on my fingertips and simultaneously feel my hand sorely on my chest by the slight pressure it exhorts on the bandages. The skin there is really tender, I guess. It's... impossible to take in. I have somebody else's lung inside me. Someone who's... dead? Two weeks, and I can't remember anything, not even the demon Giles was talking about. Had I walked into some kind of trap? How could it have done this to me? How much damage did it do? I shudder. I'm glad I don't remember.
A sudden fear grips me as I'm hit by the notion that I might be paralyzed, but I wiggle my toes and see the sheet above them move. At least I have that.
For the first time I lift my head to look at the hospital room and-
Oh my God.
There are dozens of flower bouquets filling the room. Not dozens, hundreds, in different sizes and colors and on every available surface, in vases, in jars, in mugs and finally in buckets on the floor. My heart beats faster as I take the card from the nearest one and read it. It's a simple "Get Well Soon" from Simon MacLean, addressed to me. I don't recognize the name, but it sounds familiar...
Oh. I'm completely and totally shocked. It's my dentist! The one I go to barely once a year! His son was with me in high school, Dan. I can't believe it. Why would he send me a card?
"Oh, look, Sleeping Beauty decided to wake up," I hear a loud voice. It's Cordelia but she's grinning, and she comes closer to me and murmurs "don't worry, I did your hair today so you look presentable," and winks.
"You came all the way from LA?" I ask, surprised.
"Well, your father gave me a lift."
My eyes widen again and I find a crinkled smile. "Dad?" There are too many surprises today. This can't be good for my lung.
Everyone comes to me together, each welcoming me back in their own words, and the atmosphere in the room is not what you'd expect after such a... tragedy, I suppose it was. I mean, I was really beat up bad, and I understand their relief, but there's something more there. Barely concealed excitement.
"Didja see the flowers?" Xander asks.
I grin, somewhat amazed. "Are all these really for me?"
"You bet! Apparently you're a Sunnydale celebrity, Buff. The second it got out that Buffy Summers was hanging between life and death, all of Sunnydale practically lined up to donate organs. And money. All your operations are paid for. I tell ya, you're gonna have a hell of a time with the thank you notes," Xander finished, looking like he's enjoying the effect his words have on me. My jaw is hanging open.
"Well, what'd you expect?" Cordelia rolls her eyes, "you're the town hero. I must have gotten, like, fifty phone calls to the office-and how did they find the number to the office, anyway?-from half the Class of '99. It was embarrassing," she adds.
I don't know what to say. I look at the faces of my friends, of my family, grateful at... everything. But-I frown, and search their faces again. A face is missing.
Willow catches my look. "Angel wanted to be here-"
That's enough for me. It's a bit hard to breath, and I try to take it slowly, while my heart feels like a lead lump. I try to reason his point of view, of course, why should he come, it's not like I was *dying* for Christ's Sake!
"It's okay, Will, you don't have to explain." To make excuses for him. I try not to seem affected, but my voice sounds horrible.
"-But," she gives me an arching look, "you need fresh air to recover, and it's three PM." I follow her gaze to the wide-open window and notice that the sun is shining brightly in the room, and everyone laughs when they see the enormously relieved expression I must have. "Angel's at Giles', waiting for sunset," she adds, and I blush.
"Okay," I say, trying to divert the attention away from my embarrassing Angel-issues. "Are you going to finally tell me what it is you're all so delighted about, or am I going to have to guess?"
Their smiles widen and they turn to Giles expectantly, who blushes at the attention.
"Buffy," he begins, and suddenly the crowd has left and the only people in the room are the original, sophomore-year Scooby Gang. "The demon you fought was the creator of this Hellmouth. When you killed him, it was sealed forever." I stare at him with disbelief, but he's not finished. "You were very... badly wounded." His look is soft, and he brings his hand up to my head and tenderly strokes my hair. It's one of the only times he's ever touched me like this. "We didn't think you were going to make it, and the council recognized everything you've done for Sunnydale, and for the world. And they decided to, er... relieve you from your job."
What?
Too shocked for words, I lie, wide eyed. Speechless. The others are staring at me, waiting for a reaction, and to burst the silence I blurt: "They fired me when they thought I was dead?"
"To put it crudely, yes," he says, and to my amusement gives Cordelia an accusing look as if to say, 'did your tact rub off on her?'
"So... oh. Oh, my god..." I trail off faintly. I'm not a Slayer. I'm not a Slayer anymore. Then what am I?
I don't know how to be anything else.
After a few minutes of silence, I say: "So what do I do now?"
Relived that I've spoken, Xander breaks into a grin. "First off, you can add another sixty years to your life span, at least."
"You finish college," Willow says plainly.
"And find a guy." Cordelia winks. "Get a job you like-"
"And, for once in your life," that's Giles, "just be yourself."
I look around the room. My eyes land on machines, windows, my friends, the sun, a thousand flowers, and my hands, so used to fighting, curving slightly as if around a stake. Will they hold plowshares now? I relax my fingers, then stretch them; they're surprisingly long. I might have been a pretty good piano player. Might... be.
"The Slayer is dead," I whisper, the phrase for some reason coming to my mind.
Giles seems to catch what I'm saying and he nods.
"Long live Buffy."