THIRTY-SEVEN

* * *

And days became weeks and the ward with its struggle went on. Xander visited often, often bringing Dawn, and there was no change. The doctors had tried medication, other therapies. It looks like shock, they said. Something really shocked her.

I'll say, Xander thought, but he said nothing because he knew there was nothing they could do for her. He had been there.

Joyce and Cynthia visited a lot too. The doctors knew what the shock was, and they tried what they could, but to no avail. We'll keep trying, they said.

It's like she's somewhere else, Cynthia thought one day.

And Joyce and Hank visited. Hank burned with hate and envy; hate that his little girl was back the way she had been, envy when he learned that only with Dr. Garrett would she talk.

Only with Dr. Garrett.

But this at least was something. And Joyce had told him to leave her here, to let Garrett try. She had told him she would divorce him if he interfered, and Hank couldn't bear the thought of losing both his daughter and his wife, and so gave in.

Progress, such as it was, came slowly.

#

They were back in Edwards' office. Garrett had wanted to hold sessions here as quickly as possible, to get her out of the bare, dull rooms of the ward, get some color back into her life. He had learned a lot these past weeks, about Cynthia and Mom and Dad, and about what had happened on prom night, and what had happened in the glade when the demon had eaten Willow.

What does it mean? he wondered. Does it mean anything?

He asked her this one day when she seemed fairly lucid.

"They died," she said.

"That's all? What does it mean to you, Buffy, that they died?"

"You should know that," she told him.

"My son?"

She nodded.

"No meaning, then."

She nodded again.

Garrett sighed. He thought of mourning, of what it felt like and what it was. We can't let go quickly, but we do let go, most of us. We have to. The dead must be allowed to rest, and the living must be allowed to live.

Have I let myself live?

And what is life, as opposed to death?

These questions troubled him for some time.

And then, in her eyes and dreams and fears and sadness, he began to see.