Disclaimer, etc as on first chapter
Author's Notes: Right. Well. Having never been out of Europe, I've never been to Cleveland, so all and any suppositions on its layout, people, buildings, etc. are my own. And completely fictional. It's a Cleveland in a mysterious and unknown state, just like Springfield. This fic will spread over a number of years, sort of in two bits, more or less, with the middle bit being a general all-encompassing 'time passing' thing. But that's a long way off yet, so here's the beginning, sort of from where we left off at the end of "Chosen". This is a long chapter, probably longer than the others, to 'situate' the fic; basically, it's pointless preamble, and it jumps back and forth a little, though hopefully not enough to be confusing. Also a first attempt at writing Andrew and Kennedy, the latter of whom I'm trying to put in a good enough light, but wow, I hate that girl; oh, this'll be interesting. =) Enjoy.
Chapter One - Being Alive
In the waking darkness, light birdsong drifted through the drawn curtains, gently pulling her out of a restless slumber. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling as she'd done most of the night, every night since they'd been here, and listened for any noise that might indicate the others were up. A sliver of light escaped through a crack in the curtains, casting a white band across her bed, slicing her neatly in two like a magician's assistant in a box. Really, that was quite fitting; she'd fallen asleep curled around herself, cutting off the circulation to her legs, and they were numb.
The house was silent. In the corner of the room, her sister's light breathing emanated from the other bed, quiet snoring penetrating the stillness. The teenager shuffled, turned over; the sheets rustled. A slight breeze caught the curtains, briefly widening the band of whiteness at her waist, and blinding sunlight caught her gaze as she looked to the window.
Oh, what a beautiful morning, she thought to herself, sadly. Repressing a heavy sigh, she forced some feeling back into her legs, wincing at the sensation of stinging pins-and-needles that came when she swung her feet to the floor, and walked to the window. With one hand on the thick fabric, she paused a moment, turning to look at the back of her sibling's brunette head. It was too early, and a weekend, and this was the only peace anyone got lately. It seemed such a shame to disturb it. But there were still things to be done, too much to rebuild, too many tasks to complete and people to find, and sleeping in on a Saturday was a luxury nobody would see for a long time, yet. She turned back, steeled herself for the inevitable surge of bright sunlight, and pulled the drapes aside with a loud, satisfying 'swish'.
Blinking as her eyes readjusted, she let out a yawn, then stifled a groan. Her bed was a mess, from hours of trying to get comfortable: the sheets all crumpled and ruffled, duvet half on the floor, and the pale pillow smudged with streaks of mascara-tears. Mr. Gordo, who had been safely shipped out of the old house along with a few other personal, irreplaceable possessions before the inevitable happened, was lying on his back on the carpet, legs in the air, flung from the bed in a moment of anguished self-pity. Her inner child guiltily made her pick him up, stroke his faux-fur back into place, and put him in back in his rightful place in the middle of the pillow.
She left the bed in a mess, merely kicking the duvet further against it as she passed to wake the other occupant of the room. The snoring had turned into normal breathing, punctuated by sighs. Hearing her elder sister coming behind her, the younger girl buried herself further into the bedclothes, and pretended the world didn't exist.
"Dawn…" she said, crouching to bed-level, her voice placating and weary. "Dawn, c'mon. I know you're tired, but you know how much there still is to be done." The girl-shaped mound of duvet made a point of ignoring her. "The sooner you get up, the sooner everything'll be finished and you'll get your weekends back."
Dawn emerged, reluctantly, from her cocoon, peering at her sister with bleary eyes, her hair a mess. "Can't you just tell Giles I'm sick, Buffy? Please?"
"With what?"
"Work-itis?"
Buffy wanted so desperately to crack a smile at Dawn's continued efforts to get out of doing anything, but it was starting to wear thin. Dawn didn't know the meaning of tired; at least she'd managed to sleep more than an hour or two on average. If she'd had the energy, she would have pulled the duvet off her, forcing her to get up; as it was, she could barely even muster the possibility of threatening it.
"Just get up," she said, with finality. "I want you out of bed by the time I get out of the bathroom."
She stood, determinedly ignoring her sister's further protests, and reached for her bathrobe from the back of the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror of their shared dresser, she stopped, running a hand through her hair. No amount of showering seemed to shift the residual slickness of Hellmouth dust that had settled in it; as an afterthought, she grabbed a towel and some shampoo, before finally leaving the room.
Dawn watched her go, then conceded defeat and dragged herself out of bed. The sunlight pouring into the room was making it seem less of a chore, and if Giles was determined for them to scout the town again for possible Hellmouth-y hotspots, at least she wouldn't freeze. Noticing the state her sister's bed was in, she felt slightly guilty for being difficult. Not even Mr. Gordo could hide the fact that she'd cried herself to sleep again. Glancing out of the window to glimpse the distant buildings of the town, Dawn felt a familiar, unwelcome yearning for everything they'd lost. Her room, the house, the highschool, the cemetery, all the various possessions accumulated over the years - reminders of family and friends, so many photographs - even the neighbours they'd barely spoken to, but knew just the same… all were gone. Acceptance had been slow to come for everyone, though Dawn had coped better than most, managing to settle into the new routine more or less instantly.
Gone was the near-constant sunshine and winter rainstorms of Sunnydale, and in its place was the changeable and inconsistent weather of Cleveland. With everything so different, all that was left to do was to move on. That theory was taking a long time to come into practice.
She tore her gaze from the window, and made her bed. As an afterthought, she also made Buffy's, by way of apologising. She got dressed unenthusiastically, grabbing the first thing that came to mind instead of agonising over it, and ran a brush through her hair. Once Buffy was in the shower, it was pointless even hoping she'd emerge within the hour, so Dawn made her way downstairs.
She and Buffy were sharing one of the two larger rooms of the four-bedroomed house, the one at the front. Willow and Kennedy took the other, which overlooked the back garden. Xander and Andrew had ended up sharing the medium-sized room - "The womenfolk have more pointless junk", he'd said, letting the girls have the larger rooms - while Giles had situated himself in the small box room at the back. There were also several of the surviving Potentials - no, Slayers, she reminded herself - camping out in the lounge downstairs, though not permanently.
Dawn passed Willow and Kennedy's door; there was low talking coming from within, indicating that they were both up and about. Over the past few days, Dawn and Kennedy had been getting increasingly irritated with each other; Dawn had never been on the best of terms with her in the first place, but the close quarters and Kennedy's superiority complex - which was especially heightened since she'd found her powers - meant that Dawn was struggling to be civil at the best of times. The pain of Tara's death still stung, all the more so now that there were new casualties to add to the list, and Kennedy was certainly no Tara. Friendships were beginning to strain, and the close quarters weren't helping.
From within Giles' box room, there was silence: he was already up, doubtless chasing up the other Slayers already. The remaining bedroom was similarly quiet, but Xander and Andrew didn't really talk very much. From the bathroom, the sound of the shower and the constantly creaking pipework. They were the first two to be up, so she revelled in the relative silence for a while.
In the kitchen, situated at the bottom of the stairs, Dawn helped herself to some cereal, munching it slowly. Down the corridor, the Slayers were waking up, chatting amongst themselves, trying to put off the inevitable task of getting up. Alone, Dawn ate her breakfast.
Buffy finished her shower and quickly dried herself off, noting with some dismay that her hair had retained its greasy finish. As she made her way back to the room, she wondered if Sunnydale would ever leave her. They'd been in Cleveland only a month or so, living out of the school bus for a week - and the four days or so spent on the road - before she and Giles had sorted out the complicated insurance process, and bought the house they were currently living in. He'd accumulated quite substantial wealth over the years, but he couldn't work miracles; luckily enough, the insurance company did pay up, which was probably partially due to the circumstances. Stories - some closer to the truth than others - had already spread about the demise of Sunnydale, and its survivors found sympathy wherever they went.
Along with the house, they'd acquired a much larger building. It had been abandoned for years, and the council had been debating for several months exactly what to do with it; in the end, when Giles offered to take it off their hands and turn it into a 'specialist' school, they'd practically given it to him for free, especially when he said he had all the appropriate people to refurbish it. 'The appropriate people' was, of course, Xander, and the building would very soon become the world's first Slayer Training Centre. Despite the catchy title, however, it was in a secluded, woodsy area, and would be surrounded by secure gates. Only Slayers, Watchers, and associated members would know about it. They were currently in the process of finishing off the dormitories, so that the Slayers they already had could move in, and redecorating the interior; then, there began the world-wide task of seeking out the other Slayers, and finding them Watchers with which to reform the Council. Things were going to be very different now that Rupert Giles was in charge.
Nevertheless, despite the constant looking to the future, they were all haunted by memories. Nostalgia formed the basis of nearly every late-night conversation: stories about families and friends, reminiscence about days in High School and Maggie Walsh's lectures, those they'd lost both recently and years ago, and even old, easy apocalypses, back in a time when saving the world didn't mean destroying an entire city. They'd saved what they could, but lost more than they'd ever imagined.
The reason they were even in this place at all was what continued to plague Buffy's mind. The Champion, who saved the world, sacrificing himself so she could carry on living. She felt to blame for his sacrifice, not giving him an adequate reason to survive. As she searched mindlessly through the wardrobe for something that wasn't Dawn's - they'd all been spoiled horribly since they got here, but Buffy's heart just wasn't in it - she let her mind drift back to those final few days.
I was too late, she thought. Too late to tell him. Too late to save him.
And now, she needed him. It was as simple as that. She needed him. Even surrounded by loving friends and family - friends who were family, for all intents and purposes - she found herself unable to think, unable to function as a person with normal human emotions, without him. The fact that he was well and truly gone, never to return, hurt far more than she'd ever anticipated it would. But then, she'd never anticipated he would leave; she should have, but she hadn't.
'Every night I save you…'
She'd lost count of how many nights, now, she'd had to cry herself to sleep. Her mind would wander in the dark, waking dreams brought on from sheer exhaustion. So many times, she'd brought him back; so many times, she'd saved him, dragged him from the cave, ripped the amulet from his neck and thrown it into the pit. 'Why?', he'd ask her, in the confused, disbelieving aftermath of safety when they were clear of the crater.
'Because I love you,' she'd say, 'and don't you dare tell me I don't mean it.' And then he'd hold her, so close, tight enough to suffocate her, and that would be that. It would all be over, and they'd be in this Godforsaken city together. The instantaneous realisation, night after night, that she was dreaming, hurt deeper than she'd ever imagined; she'd snap herself out of it, roll onto her side, and catch a glimpse of her sister, sleeping peacefully through the night. There was no comfort, not even from his self-confessed 'best friend'.
She was slipping into the same reverie even now, and fought back tears, concentrating instead on brushing her hair and contemplating what Giles needed them to do. Part of her, for so long, had been numb - and wasn't that a familiar feeling, considering what had happened the year before? - and she wasn't entirely sure if she preferred the pain. Certainly, it proved she was still alive, but it made the loss more poignant.
It was then that she noticed her bed. She smiled, suddenly overwhelmed by Dawn's simple gesture of apology, and let some tears escape. Dawn would snore all night, keep her awake even when her wandering thoughts didn't, and despite Buffy taking out most of her grief and tiredness on her first thing in the morning, she remained mature - mostly - and took it in her stride. She missed him, too; neither of them wanted to talk about it.
She sniffed, drying her eyes, and headed downstairs.
"Y'know," he said, "I always wanted a brother."
Xander groaned, staring steadfastly at the wall, trying to ignore Andrew's voice as it emanated from the bunk above his. "You already have a brother, Andrew. Before we knew your name, we just called you 'Tucker's brother'."
"Oh, yeah…" A pause. "But he was older than me. I always wanted to be a twin or something, have all those psychic powers and stuff."
Xander rolled onto his back, and hurled a pillow unceremoniously at the bottom of Andrew's mattress. "Not all twins are psychic, ya big geek."
"Are so."
"Are not."
"Are so."
"Are-" Xander stopped. "I can't believe I'm even arguing this. You want proof? You want me to get you some twins to run tests on?"
Andrew leaned over, his head appearing upside down in Xander's line of vision. "Really?"
Xander didn't even bother. He obviously wasn't going to get any more sleep now that his bunkmate was awake. The bunkbeds were an unfortunate necessity; the room wasn't quite big enough to accommodate two singles - at least, not unless the occupants wanted somewhere to move - and it wasn't entirely fair to expect Andrew to sleep in the lounge with the girls. He'd fought practically tooth and nail to acquire the top bunk, and nobody had expected any less.
He got up, moving to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room to root through for something to wear; he distantly heard the bathroom door open and someone shuffle down the landing past their door.
"Sounds like Buffy's done. You want first digs on the bathroom?"
"Nah."
Xander closed the drawer, jeans and a shirt draped over his arms as he reached for a towel. "You'd think a house with four bedrooms would have another bathroom. At the very least, a shower-room or something." At which point, Willow and Kennedy's door opened, and one of them ran down the corridor into the bathroom, slamming the door. He let out a sigh, midway between sympathetic and annoyed, and sat down in the overstuffed armchair that was currently occupying the room until it could fit back into the lounge. He gestured to indicate the door. "My point…"
Andrew nodded absently and sat on the edge of his bunk, legs hanging over the ladder that provided access. "So… yeah… I'm thinking I might leave."
"Yeah…" The blond's comment suddenly registered. "What?" Andrew shrugged, as if it was self-explanatory. "Why?"
He shrugged again and examined his fingernails. "None of you guys really need me. You didn't really need me back in Sunnydale. I can't… train the Slayers or do magic or anything like that; I'm just taking up space. So… yeah."
"Whoa, back up a sec, Andrew. We never said you weren't welcome."
"You never said I was, either."
That much was true. They'd dragged him out of the High School because it was the right thing to do; all for one and one for all, or something like that, and they weren't about to leave him behind to get devoured by the Hellmouth. When he'd joined them in the house, following them on a sort of auto-pilot, nobody had thought anything of it. He was a part of the group now, and, just like them, he had nowhere else to go.
Xander pointed this out. "Where're you gonna go?"
"I dunno. I guess I'll hitch a ride somewhere." By way of unnecessary explanation, he added, "I failed my Drivers' Ed."
"Isn't this a little sudden? I mean, what, you wake up one morning and bam! - you're leaving?" Andrew didn't answer, which seemed to imply it was the opposite. He'd thought about this before now.
"I don't know why you're so worried, anyway," he said. "You'll have a room to yourself."
The notion had occurred to Xander before now, that a room to himself would be bliss. The truth was, however, that none of them could sleep alone any more. Dawn had admitted to Giles before that Buffy's presence was comforting, that being alone only served to remind her of the previous year she'd spent without her sister and dredged nightmares of losing her to the First. Kennedy staying with Willow was a given, and nobody questioned it. And Xander, although he'd initially complained about having to share, had to admit that Andrew's company was better than nothing. His incessant babbling helped to take Xander's mind off what had happened; arguments about Star Trek stopped his mind trying to fill in the blanks about what he didn't know.
And that was another thing. Andrew claimed that she'd died saving his life, and Xander could believe that. It didn't stop him being curious as to what, exactly, had happened, but Andrew refused to tell him; he didn't want to go through it again.
He snapped himself out of his reverie and glanced up at Andrew, who looked decidedly miserable by his own decision. "Look, Andrew… you don't have to go, okay? Just give it a few days. The girls'll be at the dorms soon and there'll be more room."
"Thanks, Xander, but-"
"Quit arguing. Besides…" he began, pausing. "I… I need you here, man. You're the only one who saw what… what happened to her."
Andrew smiled, a little uncomfortably. How could he tell him that witnessing her death was one of the reasons he felt he had to leave? Xander was counting on him to, one day, give him the closure he so desperately needed; Andrew was content to forget the horrendous images that continued to plague him, day and night, but he couldn't, because he knew that, like it or not, he'd have to relive it. "Okay," he said. "I guess I'll stay." As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, it's not like any of you can cook."
"We would indeed be lost without your culinary wizardry," Xander agreed.
Light poured into the room as she flung the curtains open, and the girl in the bed winced as her eyes struggled to adjust. She shaded her vision with one hand and glared at the silhouette at the window, which then moved to yank the bedclothes away.
"Cut it out!" shouted the body in the bed, clinging to the duvet and tugging against her assaulter.
"Well, aren't you a Grumpy-Pants this morning?"
"You would be, too, if you'd been woken up like that. God, Willow, a light shaking would have been fine."
Willow ceased the tug-o-war with the duvet and sat down at the dresser, convinced that Kennedy was awake and would stay that way. "I tried that," she said. "You're a really heavy sleeper. Maybe we should invest in an alarm clock. Y'know, one of those that shouts at you 'til you get up."
Kennedy yawned and stretched, watching Willow brushing her hair. "Or, y'know, we could persuade Giles that normal people sleep in on weekends."
Willow smiled, setting down the brush. "It won't be for much longer. He's just making sure, sweetie. He wants everything to be done right this time."
"Yeah, well, does he have to be so uptight about it?"
"He's not being uptight," she corrected, her tone irritated. Kennedy raised an eyebrow to suggest that it looked that way to her, and Willow continued, "I've known him longer than you, Kennedy. Believe me, when Giles is being uptight, you'll know about it. This is just Giles being organised and acting like the Big Boss Man. It'll pass."
The brunette sighed. "I guess you're right…" She forced herself out of bed, pausing briefly to gaze out of the window. Over the back fence, there was much less of the town to be seen, only other streets and the woods that hid the future Training Centre.
They'd all been to investigate the building, to decide what rooms would be used for which purpose, and it had felt like being in a fairy tale land. The dorms looked out at the level of the trees' foliage, creating the impression of being lost in a sea of dark green. The sunlight came in small patches through the leaves, casting intricate patterns on the walls and floor. All of the girls had decreed it would be wonderful to sleep there, and couldn't wait to move in. Kennedy, however, was less enthusiastic. She was older than the others, and, though she was more than willing to hone her Slayer powers, she was less willing to fall into the routine of the Training Centre. To her, it felt too much like a boarding school, and the images of strict regulations that came with that idea wasn't particularly appealing.
She was searching through the wardrobe pondering this, when it seemed as though Willow had read her thoughts. "Besides," she said, "you're going to have to get up even earlier than this once training starts up."
Kennedy emerged from the wardrobe and held up an outfit for approval; Willow nodded with a smile, and she set it on the bed. "I know."
Looking thoughtful for a moment, Willow pondered how best to approach the subject she'd been thinking about for a while. She decided to just say it, hoping Kennedy would appreciate the directness. "Are you really sure you want to stay here, Kennedy? I mean, it'd be so much easier for you if you just stayed in the dorms…"
The younger girl bristled. "Yes, I'm sure I want to stay here. Though I'm starting to think maybe you don't want me to."
"I never said that-"
"You didn't have to." She frowned. "You think I could stand to live with them?" she asked, rhetorically, gesturing randomly towards the bedroom door to represent the girls downstairs. "They're a bunch of kids!"
Willow rose to the bait. "Oh, like you're so mature."
"Meaning?"
She made a 'duh' face. "Picking a fight with me for no reason? That's adult behaviour…"
Kennedy bit back all of things she wanted to say, realising Willow was right. "Okay… Point taken. But I thought you'd want me to stay here."
"All I suggested was that it would be easier; it wouldn't be permanent. There's always weekends and vacations, and anyway, it'd be no different if you were heading off to college or something." Off Kennedy's darkening expression, she hastily added, "And, no, I'm not suggesting that I want you to leave. It's up to you."
"Then I'm staying here," she said, determinedly. Her tone was still defensive enough to make Willow's own more irritated than she intended.
"Fine. Just don't expect me to wake you up. I'm not going to bail you out if you're late and Giles complains." She'd intended the final comment in jest, but it hadn't come out that way.
"Thanks a lot," she muttered, sarcastically.
"Look, if you want to be so mature, start acting like it. I know this is completely different to what you're used to, but this is how we live, now. Everyone has to muck in, and the sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be."
Kennedy's eyes flashed brief anger and hurt. "It's nice to know I'm as high in your regard as everyone else's, Will," she said, her voice trembling.
"Ken-"
Her apology was cut off by the younger girl getting up and storming out of the room, gesturing a "don't bother" with her arm as she went. Willow heard the bathroom door slamming, and winced. She tried not to act like a fussing mother hen around Kennedy, but sometimes it was difficult to kerb the instinct, especially on mornings like this one. She was well aware that her girlfriend didn't get on with the other Slayers particularly well, if at all, and there was definitely bad air between her and Dawn these days, more so than before. She was really all Kennedy had.
It had been so difficult to let her in, after Tara, and it wasn't the same, by any stretch of the imagination. Being with Kennedy, in a relationship that had finally managed to survive an apocalypse - the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, in fact - had to mean something. The fact that they'd both come out of it unscathed was a miracle in itself, and the experience they'd shared should have brought them closer together. With the upcoming Training Centre, however, Willow knew they'd grow apart; perhaps her suggestion that Kennedy move into the dorms had been her way of unconsciously providing an excuse. It wasn't that she wanted them to lose what they had, but somehow, she could see it becoming inevitable.
Kennedy seemed determined to make it work, where Willow found herself making suggestions that might end things for good. It made sense that she'd want to share their new life in Cleveland with her. As a Slayer, Kennedy was prepared for adventure; Willow, like Buffy, was ready for an easy, peaceful life.
She pulled herself out of her wandering thoughts, remembering that the teenager was in the bathroom, probably feeling even less loved than during their brief argument. Heaving a sigh, Willow went to talk to her.
Dawn was still alone, even though Buffy had since come downstairs, and following her after a few minutes, both Xander and Andrew. A few of the new Slayers had meandered in to grab cereal or toast, but they had soon ventured back into the lounge. The kitchen was silent; Buffy stared into a mug of coffee that had gone cold; Xander sat reading the local newspaper, though there was nothing of interest in it; Andrew stood at the stove, making a concerted effort to feed those who had yet to emerge.
Each was confined to their own thoughts, and the silence in the room was deafening to the point that Dawn thought she might scream. We're alive, God dammit! she thought to herself. We survived the end of the world! Nobody should be alone. Finally, she cleared her throat, attempting to break through the invisible walls each person had built around themselves.
"Buffy, um, the coffee isn't going to drink itself…"
"Huh?" The Slayer looked up, meeting Dawn's gaze, and realised she'd been drifting off again. "Oh… yeah. Sorry, Dawn." She pushed the mug away from herself, its contents having become decided unappealing. "Thanks for the bed…"
Her sister shrugged, inwardly glad the gesture had been noticed. "No big…" She glanced over to Andrew. "What's cooking, Spock?"
"Omelettes," he told her. "Three different varieties." Despite his engrossment in the task, he didn't sound particularly enthusiastic about it. Dawn feigned interest to keep him talking; things were bad enough without the usually chipper Andrew being mopey as well.
"Three? How come?"
"Oh, well, see, Willow likes the cheese ones, and Kennedy likes plain. The third's for me; it's got bacon in it."
"That's so thoughtful."
He shrugged. "I gotta do something, right?"
"I suppose…"
The conversation died as soon as it had begun; Dawn was about to say something to Xander, but caught her sister's eye. Buffy shook her head, indicating that it wasn't worth the effort, but smiled to show that she understood, and appreciated the attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and a few seconds later, Willow emerged, followed by Kennedy. The latter's eyes were puffy, and the two were avoiding eye-contact. Xander looked up as they entered the kitchen, caught sight of Kennedy, and sighed; he locked eyes with Willow, who silently pleaded for him not to ask. Instead, he put down the paper, and avoided the subject entirely. "The Masterchef has your breakfasts all ready, ladies."
Andrew served up the two omelettes. "They're not very good."
"I'm sure they're fine," Willow reassured him, digging in. Kennedy prodded hers with a fork, but made no further effort to eat it. "You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry," she said.
Willow bit her tongue, stopping herself from saying that it would have been polite after Andrew made the effort. They'd already had one argument; she couldn't cope with another one. Xander broke the awkward silence by reaching over to take Kennedy's plate.
"Well, if you don't want it, I'll give it a good home…"
"Knock yourself out."
Andrew served up the final omelette for himself. There was no more room around the kitchen table, so he leant against the countertop. "Buffy," he asked, "what time's Mr. Giles coming back?"
She glanced at the clock. "I'm not sure. He said he'd be up early to sort out the paperwork and stuff up at the STC, but he didn't give me a specific time. I don't think he'll be much longer." Smiling, she corrected him a little. "And you don't have to call him 'Mr.' Giles, Andrew. You're one of us, now. I'm sure he won't mind you calling him just 'Giles' like the rest of us."
"Yeah, he's still like the librarian to me," he explained. "He always scared me a little, actually. He was all stuffy and British."
Willow laughed. "Yeah, he kinda scared us for a while, too."
"At least he's given up the tweed," added Xander.
"Oh, God," said Buffy, remembering, "and all those comments about us mangling the language. It didn't take him long to pick up on it."
The three friends all laughed at the memories, exchanging old anecdotes, while Dawn sat back and basked in the warm glow the kitchen had since acquired. The loving banter of friends was preferable to the horrible silence. Some memories needed a darkened room and individual torment; others thrived on the energy of many. Andrew, although he hadn't been part of their group, reminisced along with them, revelling in the nostalgia of old teachers and school bullies. Soon, all five of them were giggling, having run out of stories to tell, each one lost in their own personal memory.
As the laughter died down, Xander wiped a tear from his eye and said "Oh, man. Good times, huh, guys?"
"Yeah," said Willow. "Good times."
The joy became bittersweet, as reality struck once more; the High School, along with everything else, was dead and buried, and memories were all that remained. Never before had the past seemed so far away.
Throughout all of this, Kennedy had been fuming quietly to herself, her arms folded across her chest as she watched Willow and her friends reminiscing. Nobody had acknowledged her presence, nor even attempted to bring her into the conversation; true, she hadn't been a Sunnydale student, but that didn't mean she was devoid of her own memories. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, the wood clattering against the kitchen tiles as she did so, causing everyone to look up.
"Kennedy?" asked Willow, confused. "Where are you going?"
"To leave you to your little family reunion…" she said, and stalked out of the room. Willow briefly debated going after her, but decided it was ultimately futile. It was easier to let her get it out of her system and talk to her tomorrow. She was attention-seeking, though Willow hated to acknowledge it, forcing her to care and be the one to fix things. But sooner or later, Kennedy had to learn that life wasn't like that any more, and now seemed as good a time to start learning than any.
The former students of Sunnydale High - in both of its incarnations - sat quietly at the kitchen table, Andrew having taken Kennedy's seat. Things were different these days; gone was the routine and familiarity of the first Hellmouth, and in its place was uncertainty, the uncharted territory of the second. There were Slayers to train, a house to decorate, and five separate lives to lead. The prospect was terrifying, yet liberating, but they had each other. They'd survived. They were going to survive again, together.
A/N: Hmm. I'm not entirely happy with the end of the chapter, since it means I'll have to do even more explaining in the second one. Nevertheless, it sets the scene, and now you know vaguely what's going on, though it will become clearer later on. This one's going to be a challenge and a half, I can tell you, especially seeing as the songs are only to set the mood rather than dictate the entire chapter. Ah, well. We'll see. It'll get better, honest. Review, if you would be so kind... Lyrics and credits follow.
Being Alive
Somebody, hold me too close
Somebody, hurt me too deep
Somebody, sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep
And make me aware of being alive
Somebody, need me too much
Somebody, know me too well
Somebody, pull me up short
And put me through Hell
And give me support for being alive
Make me alive
Make me alive
Make me confused
Mock me with praise,
Let me be used
Vary my days,
But alone is alone, not alive.
Somebody, hold me too close
Somebody, force me to care
Somebody, make me come through
I'll always be there
As frightened as you of being alive
Being alive, being alive
Someone you have to let in
Someone whose feelings you spare
Someone who, like it or not
Will want you to share a little, a lot of being alive
Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive
Somebody, crowd me with love
Somebody, force me to care
Somebody, make me come through
I'll always be there
As frightened as you to help us survive
Being alive, being alive,
Being alive, being alive.
(from Company; lyrics by Stephen Sondheim)