Disclaimer:  The universe these characters inhabit is not mine.  It belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  I'm just borrowing it for a little while to have a few of my characters run around in it.

Chapter 15:

Darkness.

"Dee, wake up."

Don' wanna.

"Dee, it's time for you to get up now."

Go 'way.

"Pumpkin?  There's someone you need to see."

Tell 'em I'm dead, call back later.

"C'mon, Dee.  Up 'n' at 'em."

Daddy?

"That's right, Dee.  Now open your eyes."

The light the pushed its way into her eyes as her eyelids lifted was bright, but not harsh.  It was warm and comforting.

Daddy, is that you?

"What do you think?"

I think you're probably not going to tell me one way or the other.

Her father, or what looked like him, smiled, "If I said 'yes,' what would you say?"

I'd say: "bullshit, I'm dreaming."

"That's my girl."

So, what is this?  "This is your Afterlife?"

"You're not dead yet."

Yet?

"Nope.  You've got quite a few years yet."

Couldn't be a little more specific, could you?

"And take the fun out of life?"

So, why am I here?  For that matter, why are you here?

"It's your brain we're in right now.  You tell me."

I guess…  I don't know, really.

"I suppose you could call me a guide.  I've got something that you really need to see."  He waved a hand.

Daddy?  Something was changing.  The white light was taking on a definite form walls, windows, a single bed, some chairs.

"Shush, it's okay."  His voice was soft, soothing.  "You need to see this."

She inched closer to him, trying to take comfort in him.  The walls became a bland beige, and the form of a man laying on the bed, face up with his eyes closed began to take shape.  The Venetian blinds over the window sent long shafts of light shining down on the bed.  Outside, it looked like late spring, or early summer.  Sitting next to the man, holding his hand, appeared the form of a young woman with dark hair.

Tears flowed freely from Dee's eyes now, Daddy, no.  Don't make me watch this again, she pleaded.

"I have to, Pumpkin.  You have to see.  You need to understand."

I've seen this show before.

"But you missed the point."

"Daddy, how are you?"  The young woman spoke.  The voice was Dee's, but it was younger, stronger.  The ECG machine beeped rhythmically in the background.

"I'm dying, Dee."  Her father's voice was weak.  His health had been progressively declining ever since he'd been diagnosed with leukemia, and the disease was starting to win.

"No, daddy, no.  They'll find a donor.  I know they will."  Dee's own tests had turned up a negative match for a bone-marrow transplant, as had her sister's.  Now they were looking in the unrelated bone marrow registry.

"No, Dee, they won't."  The weakened voice was gentle, but firm.  "I know it, the doctors know it, and deep down, you know it too."

"Don't say that!"  The nineteen-year old Dee started crying, the twenty-six year old Dee was crying harder.

"Dee, I have three months, if that."  He told her, "And by then, what they bury won't be me anymore, and you know it."

"Daddy…"

"Dee, they'll spend the next three months poisoning me to within an inch of my life, hoping that it kills the cancer cells off before it kills me."  He weakly raised his right hand, resting it gently on his daughter's cheek.  The plastic cup over his index finger which read his heart rate gently brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes.  "Dee, it's over."

Daddy, please don't make me watch the rest.  Dee pressed her face hard into the apparition of her father's shoulder.  He felt solid enough, anyway.

He gently pushed her away from him, and turned her to face the bed again, "you have to, Dee.  You have to understand."

"Dee, I watched my father die this way.  I'm not going to go through that, and I'm not going to put you through that."

In a motion which seemed impossibly smooth for one so weak, he gently slipped the heart sensor off of his index finger and onto his daughter's.

The ECG machine groaned slightly as it detected what appeared to be a slight arrhythmia in the heartbeat, but the machine almost visibly settled down as the heartbeat returned to normal.

The teenager looked down at the sensor on her finger, then over at the ECG machine, beeping rhythmically, strongly, oblivious to the weakened state of her father.  A look of horrified realization spread across her face as the picture finally slid into focus.

"Daddy… no.  No.  NO!"  The nineteen year old shook her head in vehement denial.  The heart rate measured by the ECG accelerated to a furious pace.

"Shh, Dee.  It's okay."  He rested his hand gently on hers, "You have to let me go."

"No, Daddy, no."  Both Dees were whimpering uncontrolably.

"You have to, Dee.  Listen to me: the IV there is a morphine drip.  The rate is controlled by that valve near the top.  You open that all the way, and I'll fall asleep and my heart will stop."

"No, Daddy."

"Dee, listen.  I won't let you watch me slowly turn into a living corpse.  You have to be strong, Dee.  I need you to be strong."

"I can't do this alone, Daddy."

"Yes, Dee, you can.  You're gonna grow up to be an incredible woman.  You're going to make your father proud."  His hand again came to rest on her cheek, gently brushing the tears away from her eye.  "You take care of yourself.  You have a good life, you hear me?"

"Daddy, don't talk like that."

"Dee," his voice was infinitely gentle, "It's over."

"No."

"Yes, Dee.  The doctors can't save me, but you can."

"No!"

"Dee, you know I'm right about this."  He paused, "I'm asking you to do this for me."

Dee watched herself take in a long, shaky breath, and nod quietly to her father.  Then slowly, deliberately, she opened the valve, allowing the morphine to flow freely into her father's veins.  She listened to his breathing slow, she felt his pulse slowly weaken under her hands.  Her eyes never strayed from his face even after his eyes closed and he could no longer see her.

The ECG machine pinged out her heart beating steadily, unwaveringly as his own slowed to a stop.

God dammit, why are you making me see this again!?

"Because you need to see it again.  You've been carrying the guilt for this moment around since you were nineteen.  It's time to let it go."

I'm here because I feel guilty!?  You just watched me kill my own father, how the fuck am I supposed to feel!?

"Like you did the right thing.  Like you made a choice you can be proud of."

He died thinking I hated him enough to kill him.

"He died knowing you loved him enough to let him go."

I killed him.

"Death comes to all of us.  This was his time."

I made this his time.

"No, you let it be his time."

I killed him.

"Did you love him?"

Of course I did.

"Then let it go."  The apparition of her father placed a hand on her cheek, exactly where her father had all those years ago, "He would want you to let it go."

I don't know how.

He smiled, "You have so much love in you, but nobody ever gets to see it because you keep it buried under all that guilt.  It's time to live again, Dee."

How?  If I'm not dead now, I will be in a second.

"You're not dead yet.  Whether you are in a second, well, that's up to you.  Choose life, or choose death.  But don't choose either one for a man who died when you were a teenager."

The apparition snapped his fingers, and instantly the room, her younger self, her dying father and the apparition vanished.

She was back, lying on the street, with Anne pinning her down, ready to bring the final, killing blow down into Dee's skull.

"So tell me now," Anne taunted, "what made you think you could win this?  What is it you think you have that I don't?"

Then, ruthlessly, she drove her fist at Dee's head.