Part 11

"Is she here?"

Joyce nodded. "Yeah, she's upstairs… As she has been for the past three days."

"Still hasn't come out?" Jenny asked, feeling the hope she'd held on her way over melt away.

"Nope. Not once."

Jenny released an elongated breath, letting out her frustration, which was outweighed by sorrow.

Three of days of being back home and Buffy had yet to utter one word to anyone. Her recovery was shaky, but improving. She always was bundled up to keep from shivering from the cold only she seemed to be affected by. The doctor said that was from losing so much iron and when her blood count returned to normal she would be fine. As for the result of her c-section, the wound was healing well. She wasn't allowed to lift heavy things or do anything remotely physical that could possibly strain her, but otherwise, in the words of the good doctor, "there will be no long-term damage except a scar."

No long-term damage. Hmm. How could there be no long-term damage? She was broken, and not one of the doctors or nurses had come to her and tried to actually help. Dressing bandages and changing IV bags wasn't the same as an actual connection. Granted, Buffy probably wouldn't have accepted their offered friendship but it would have been nice to at least try.

Joyce had taken her in to see the baby yesterday, despite the uncertainty of how well Buffy would handle it. They'd both stood outside of the room, watching the tiny girl lie sleeping. The tears shed then had been silent, almost solemn. Buffy had gone in with her mother's encouragement. She'd put her hand inside the incubator, the same way as she had over a week ago, and this time, her finger was held. Not firmly, but definitely with a grip. She had been so shocked that she stood there for nearly ten minutes, unable to blink. Joyce had to fight herself from becoming too emotional when she saw Buffy's eyes widen and turn from surprised to absolute joy.

On their way out of the hospital, they'd filled out the remaining part of the birth certificate, which had been almost forgotten with all the other things going on. Buffy had stared at the paper for the longest time when her pen reached the name columns. Joyce had practically been able to see the wheels spinning in her daughter's head, as she mentally debated with herself about what to write. Joyce had focused intently on Buffy's face as conflicting emotions and decisions flew across her eyes.

Finally, Buffy placed the tip of the ink down and slowly wrote three words. Summers, Katherine Elizabeth.

"Well, it's a beautiful name," Jenny commented will a light smile.

Joyce sighed, but nodded in agreement. "It is. But… If you could have seen Buffy's face when she wrote Summers…her whole hand was shaking. It was horrible."

"Have you talked to her about…you know?"

"I tried," Joyce said. "She still won't say anything about it. It's unhealthy, isn't? To hold up all these feelings? I mean, I ask and I ask, but she just won't talk about it. Do you think it would be wrong to suggest for her to go speak to someone?"

"Oh, I think it's a good idea," Jenny said, "but I just can't see it working for someone like Buffy. When she doesn't want to talk, she won't. You could ask her but…"

Joyce nodded. "Yeah."

"Is Hank still in town?"

"No, he had to go back to work. But I was so glad he came. Apparently, he and Buffy parted on some shaky terms, and they talked a couple days ago. They seem OK now."

Jenny smiled. "Well, then that's good." She paused, wondering how to phrase her next question. "So…what about Katherine?"

Surprisingly, instead of sighing, a small hint of a smile appeared on Joyce's face. "She's gotten better. A lot better. I mean, she's not anywhere near as healthy as other babies are, and her heart isn't very strong, but since last week…so much improvement. It's amazing."

"That's wonderful. It seems like things starting to improve, huh?"

Joyce nodded. "Yes, they definitely are."

~~~

Buffy sat in her room, staring at the blank piece of paper, as she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes. Maybe if she inspected it long enough, something would just appear there, showing her what to write. Because she had no idea. She'd eaten some crackers and drank some juice for her breakfast, and then gone back upstairs to barricade herself in her shell. She'd been looking at the small Polaroid of her baby, which Cordelia had taken, and she suddenly needed to write. Out of the blue, she just had to put something down on paper, though she honestly had no idea what or why.

What could she possibly write that could come close to conveying what she was feeling? Nothing really would be able to. But she wrote. Her pen curved slowly around the paper, as words she'd longed to say for so very long materialized in front of her eyes. They were words of her heart, of her very soul. They were simple, but they were the only things she knew. She wrote of hopes and dreams…and she wrote of the things that had destroyed them. She spoke joy and happiness, and raw emotion and pain. She wrote of love. She wrote of angels.

~~~

The night was calm. It was still. The only sound that filled the house was the gentle clang of dishes being washed. Life seemed tranquil, simple. A mother cleaning up after dinner, a teenaged daughter in her bedroom. So simple.

Appearances were deceiving.

Buffy gazed out the window, just as she had done many times before. Cold autumn air blew at her face, swirling around in her hair. She had written today but it was more than just wasted ink. She felt lighter, lifted, relieved. Free. She knew where she stood in life. She knew who she was, and no matter how complicated that notion was, no one could take it away.

Turning her head slowly, her eye caught the phone resting on her nightstand. She considered it a moment before reaching over and taking it off its cradle. She dialed a number she knew by heart and waited.

"Hi, Willow. It's me." A small smile spread across her face as her friend bubbled out a surprised greeting. "I'm fine…No, I was just thinking about stuff…Yeah, it's a good thing…I was wondering if we could talk. You could come over here tomorrow. If you wanted…Great…Yeah, see you then…Bye, Will."

She replaced the phone and resumed her seat. Tomorrow. It would be hard but she was going to do it. She had to…and she wanted to. Willow was going to come and Buffy was going to tell her everything. Everything.

A soft knock sounded from the door and Buffy turned to see her mom.

"You should probably get some rest," Joyce said quietly.

Buffy stared at her for a while as deja vu played out in her room. This same conversation had played all too many times months ago. She had been withdrawn, just as she was now. It had to be finished.

"OK," she said. "I will."

Joyce looked mildly surprised at a response and nodded quickly. She lingered at the door for a moment before stepping back to leave.

"Mom, wait."

She paused and turned back. "Yes?"

"Goodnight," Buffy said, her tone simple but firm.

"Goodnight, Buffy," Joyce replied, and accepting smile playing across her lips. "Sleep well."

"You too."

Joyce nodded and, still smiling, shut the door and headed back down the hall.

Buffy stared at the spot where her mother had been, feeling appeasement she hadn't experienced in so long. So closed her window and slid into bed. After turning off the light, she lay there, looking at the familiar ceiling. But it seemed different, almost new. She identified the same crack in the corner and the unchanging glow-in-the-dark star she'd stuck up their a couple years ago. It was the same but suddenly, everything had changed. And with the feeling of contentment, and hope of tomorrow, Buffy drifted into a gentle, peaceful sleep, dreaming of what was to come.

~~~

Joyce had awoken to the morning sun streaming vibrantly through the curtains, signaling a new day. And it definitely was. Last night had been the first night she'd fallen asleep without worry and sadness etched in her face.

Walking down the hall seemed like an entirely new experience, though she did it at least ten times a day. She quietly opened the last door on the right, and smiled tenderly when she saw Buffy lying on her customary position on her side, slumped against the mattress. Joyce went over to the windows and pulled back the blinds, the rays of the morning flowing profoundly into every corner of the bedroom.

She smiled again as she arrived at Buffy's side. Gently rubbing her daughter's back, she said, "Come one, honey. Time to get up."

Buffy didn't even groan in response, in a deep sleep. As Joyce continued the keep her hand on Buffy's shoulder, she was struck with how calm she looked. Usually Buffy was a pretty light sleeper, rolling away from noise the second she heard it, grabbing her pillow to press over her ears. Teenagers.

Joyce carefully rolled her over a little by pulling back her shoulder. Her body seemed so stiff…

There are moments of your life that, even thirty years later, you can remember so painfully clear that it scares you. You can see your surroundings, you can sense the temperature, you can feel the texture. Today was September first, and it was going to be a warm one. The leaves hadn't yet begun to fall outside of the Summers' home but they had turned a brilliant shade of various reds and yellows. Maybe it would rain soon… Buffy had always liked the rain.

The clock read 11:26. The sun cast intricate patterns of the bedspread, twinkling like little stars that had come out during the day to tease everyone.

Joyce was faintly aware of the doorbell ringing, sounding like it was a million miles away. She made no move to go answer it. Why was Buffy so still? Why was she so pale? Why wasn't she waking up, even as she was shaken? Why?

"Buffy, wake-up." The only sound that was heard was a bird, somewhere outside, twittering away like life couldn't get any better.

Joyce pulled back the covers, knowing her daughter would awake if she were cold. But she was already so cold. A sharp cry echoed throughout the house as the woman's eyes landed on the sheets. Once white, now ruby. A wine stain had formed around Buffy's legs, staining the bed and blankets and her nightgown. It stained everything, wine did. Joyce had once spilled it on a borrowed dress and it had never come out. But Jenny had forgiven her, saying it was only a dress. That was why she and Jenny were such good friends, they were open and forgiving with each other. Joyce was glad Buffy had such good friends as well.

The doorbell rang again. 11:27.

Then again, if they were such good friends, why was Buffy drinking wine? And suddenly, maybe it wasn't wine…

"Buffy, you need to wake-up," Joyce said, her voice sounding foreign in her own ears. "Buffy, wake-up… Wake-up!"

The doorbell rang again.

"Buffy…?"

~~~

The first day of senior year. Oh the chaos. The class of '99 had already started acting like it was summer and they were finally free of high school. Snyder wasn't too happy about that one. He ran around the campus, issuing detention left and right, trying in vain to control the "outrageous, completely unacceptable behavior." In wasn't working in the least.

Angel sat at his desk the history room, waiting for his first class of the year to arrive. Had it been any other opening day, he would have already thought of some rousing speech to encourage the seniors to make the most of their final months of school. He would tell them about college and pursuing dreams and ambitions. The class would get all riled up, and, without knowing it, would become excited to learn. But today, Angel's mind came up blank for anything remotely inspirational to say. If fact, he couldn't really think of anything to say…

Glancing out of the window, he saw Willow, Cordelia and Xander standing together in the parking lot. It still amazed him that they had become friends. Two years ago, Cordelia wouldn't have gone anywhere near them unless she'd come up with some witty insult or jibe. And now they were all inseparable. Their friendship hadn't been shaken throughout the last year, showing they had a truly strong bond.

Angel frowned a little as he watched them interact. There was something wrong. They weren't smiling, they weren't laughing. They were just standing there, motionless. Willow's arms were wrapped around herself and her posture was hunched. Cordelia's purse dropped suddenly to the pavement, her arm giving way. She took a staggering step back from the redhead. Xander just stood there, frozen, as Willow said something else. Cordy began to shake her head in denial.

Angel barely noticed when kids begin to enter the classroom. His eyes were trained on the trio.

Willow's hands had slumped to her side, no longer having the strength to hold them up. Cordy abruptly cried out, though it appeared silent from where Angel sat. As she began to sob hysterically, still shaking her head, Xander pulled her body to him, his eyes blank with shock. Willow's head lowered, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to block those stupid tears.

"Mr. O'Connor."

Angel jumped a little, reluctantly taking his eyes of his deranged cousin and her friends. He turned to see Rupert Giles, the librarian of the school, standing by his desk. The man, who was around his late forties, looked utterly awful. His eyes held bags that could only be caused by heartache and lack of sleep. His clothes were rumpled and his tie was crooked. It scared Angel; Giles was always so neat, never to be seen looking remotely disheveled. He was now.

"I…I must speak with you in private," he said, his voice quiet.

"Is there something wrong?" Angel asked, worry worming its way into his mind.

Giles jaw twitched a little and he momentarily averted his eyes. "Come."

With one more glanced out at the now empty parking lot, Angel stood as the older man motioned for him to follow. They were silent as they walked down towards the library. They passed the office where many teachers had gathered, some crying, some just in shock. What was going on?

They reached the library and, when Angel went in, Cordelia, Willow and Xander were already there. Cordy's face was buried in Xander's shirt, and Jenny Calendar sat with Willow, holding her hand, mourning quietly.

"I think it would be wise to take them home," Giles suggested, gently, his eyes on his wife.

"What…what's going on?" Angel asked, fearing the answer. Buffy's friends were here; Buffy's family friends were here. His mind raced in denial. The baby… He wouldn't allow himself to even think that the tiny girl was… No. She wasn't. She wasn't…

Giles looked over at him, desolation clouding his weary features. "We…we just got some news yesterday… I…I heard you were close with Buffy Summers."

Angel didn't answer. Instead, he swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat, and asked, "What happened?"

Cordelia, just recognizing his presence, unstably stood and went to him. She nearly threw herself at him, more sobs escaping. "Oh God, Angel… Tell me this is a nightmare. Tell me."

Angel's eyes flew helplessly to the other occupants gathered. Xander was the only one who met his gaze.

He looked from his broken girlfriend to his teacher and gave a tiny, senseless laugh. "Buffy's dead."