FOURTEEN
* * *
Together.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Together. They were.
She still sat with her knees drawn up, her hands close, her back to the wall, the frame of the bed against her back. She could watch the world that way, could watch the door.
The world was firmer today, more stable. That was good.
She thought of her own bed, the comforter drawn up close by Tara.
Together. They came in.
"Hello sweetheart."
Dad smiled as she raised her gaze to him. Mom came close, tentatively, sat down on the side of the bed.
"How are you today, Buffy?"
She looked at them. They were there. Words were hard to find suddenly. When they came it was slow, soft.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
Mom reached out, her eyes wide and loving, hand caressing gently at her shoulder.
"Oh, honey, you haven't done anything wrong."
Buffy shook her head, looked down. It was hard not to cry and then she was.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I wasn't there. I should have been there ...."
"No, Buffy, it's all right ...."
But the tears were flowing freely now, clouding her vision. She drew her hands closer to herself and shook her head.
"I let you die, Mom .... I let you die .... Please .... I'm so sorry ...."
Mom was reaching out then, and something soft was dabbing at her cheeks.
"I'm not dead, sweetie. I'm right here."
"No .... No ...."
Mom's voice firmed suddenly, just a bit.
"Buffy, look at me."
Buffy did, watching warily.
"Listen to me, Buffy. Whatever you thought you did wrong, it doesn't matter. You know I would forgive you. You know that. You're my little girl and there's nothing you could do that would make me not forgive you."
The words sank in slowly, but they sank in deep. And with them there was Mom, and there was Dad, and they were close and it was good.
#
In time they sat and watched each other. There was much to say, and little.
"The doctor tells us he's happy with your progress," Dad said finally.
Buffy looked at him.
"I'm sick," she said.
They looked at one another, paused. Then Mom spoke.
"Yes, honey. But ...."
Buffy looked at her. You're a dream, Mom. I love you so much but you're a dream. Tara will bring me the antidote and you will go away, like you did last time.
Last time. She remembered last time.
Was it a dream?
The demon, in the basement. Screams. Dawn and Xander and Willow and Tara, and the realization, through it all, that she did not know, really, what was a dream, and what was real, only that she had to choose.
Choose. Let them go.
And she had.
But was it a dream? Is this a dream?
I don't know.
Let them go. She remembered the choice. There can be only one world, one place for you. Let them go.
Cut them away.
They would ask her again, Mom and Dad would. Just like the doctor, they would tell her that all that she knew was wrong, that it was all false, that it was all only because she was sick.
But I am sick.
She shook her head now.
"I can't," she said softly.
"Buffy?" her father asked.
She looked at him. "I won't let them go. I won't let them die."
Words. The new doctor. I am no threat to your friends.
Dad looked at Mom again. He opened his mouth to speak, said nothing. Then Mom spoke softly.
"Honey, you don't have to let them go."
Buffy felt herself go tense.
"You said I did. Before. You said they weren't real."
The words were true and she saw Mom's face pale, just a bit, as they sank in. Dad looked away.
Mom nodded then.
"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry, Buffy. I can't see them. I don't know them. But I shouldn't have told you not to have your friends. Dr. Garrett has told us that they are yours and that we can't tell you not to have them. But sweetie, please. Please don't cut us out of your life because of them. Please let us love you too."
Dad's gaze had returned and he nodded now, slowly. Buffy watched them both closely now.
Choose.
What choice? Ever?
Did you choose to be the slayer? Did you choose to get sick?
What did you choose?
Buffy watched them both and suddenly she knew.
* * *
Together.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Together. They were.
She still sat with her knees drawn up, her hands close, her back to the wall, the frame of the bed against her back. She could watch the world that way, could watch the door.
The world was firmer today, more stable. That was good.
She thought of her own bed, the comforter drawn up close by Tara.
Together. They came in.
"Hello sweetheart."
Dad smiled as she raised her gaze to him. Mom came close, tentatively, sat down on the side of the bed.
"How are you today, Buffy?"
She looked at them. They were there. Words were hard to find suddenly. When they came it was slow, soft.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
Mom reached out, her eyes wide and loving, hand caressing gently at her shoulder.
"Oh, honey, you haven't done anything wrong."
Buffy shook her head, looked down. It was hard not to cry and then she was.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I wasn't there. I should have been there ...."
"No, Buffy, it's all right ...."
But the tears were flowing freely now, clouding her vision. She drew her hands closer to herself and shook her head.
"I let you die, Mom .... I let you die .... Please .... I'm so sorry ...."
Mom was reaching out then, and something soft was dabbing at her cheeks.
"I'm not dead, sweetie. I'm right here."
"No .... No ...."
Mom's voice firmed suddenly, just a bit.
"Buffy, look at me."
Buffy did, watching warily.
"Listen to me, Buffy. Whatever you thought you did wrong, it doesn't matter. You know I would forgive you. You know that. You're my little girl and there's nothing you could do that would make me not forgive you."
The words sank in slowly, but they sank in deep. And with them there was Mom, and there was Dad, and they were close and it was good.
#
In time they sat and watched each other. There was much to say, and little.
"The doctor tells us he's happy with your progress," Dad said finally.
Buffy looked at him.
"I'm sick," she said.
They looked at one another, paused. Then Mom spoke.
"Yes, honey. But ...."
Buffy looked at her. You're a dream, Mom. I love you so much but you're a dream. Tara will bring me the antidote and you will go away, like you did last time.
Last time. She remembered last time.
Was it a dream?
The demon, in the basement. Screams. Dawn and Xander and Willow and Tara, and the realization, through it all, that she did not know, really, what was a dream, and what was real, only that she had to choose.
Choose. Let them go.
And she had.
But was it a dream? Is this a dream?
I don't know.
Let them go. She remembered the choice. There can be only one world, one place for you. Let them go.
Cut them away.
They would ask her again, Mom and Dad would. Just like the doctor, they would tell her that all that she knew was wrong, that it was all false, that it was all only because she was sick.
But I am sick.
She shook her head now.
"I can't," she said softly.
"Buffy?" her father asked.
She looked at him. "I won't let them go. I won't let them die."
Words. The new doctor. I am no threat to your friends.
Dad looked at Mom again. He opened his mouth to speak, said nothing. Then Mom spoke softly.
"Honey, you don't have to let them go."
Buffy felt herself go tense.
"You said I did. Before. You said they weren't real."
The words were true and she saw Mom's face pale, just a bit, as they sank in. Dad looked away.
Mom nodded then.
"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry, Buffy. I can't see them. I don't know them. But I shouldn't have told you not to have your friends. Dr. Garrett has told us that they are yours and that we can't tell you not to have them. But sweetie, please. Please don't cut us out of your life because of them. Please let us love you too."
Dad's gaze had returned and he nodded now, slowly. Buffy watched them both closely now.
Choose.
What choice? Ever?
Did you choose to be the slayer? Did you choose to get sick?
What did you choose?
Buffy watched them both and suddenly she knew.
