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maidenjediTITLE: And Death Shall Have No Dominion
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: general television series spoilers, set post-season 5
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss and Mutant Enemy.
SUMMARY: The burial, and beyond. Missing scenes between seasons 5 and 6.
A/N: Title from Dylan Thomas poem of same name.
---
Another day, another funeral. This is Sunnydale, so no one thinks twice about the hearse, the limo full of mourners in black. The cemetery is twice the size of the rest of the town, and it's the only landmark anyone uses when giving directions. "If you passed the mausoleum with the marble door, you went too far." The obituary section of the newspaper takes up three or four pages on a good day.
Seven and half pages today. So, clearly, not a good day.
The funeral processions are endless, a loop of black cars and sobbing women set on repeat, and no one really wonders anymore who is in the coffin, how did she die, and what will the children do. It isn't that they don't care - they insist that they do - it's just that they've all been there, everyone has a sensible black dress or a clean black suit in the closet, and everyone has a recipe for a dish that will feed five people and takes just five minutes to heat up in the microwave.
There's another secret, too. Everyone here knows someone who didn't stay in the grave. Everyone knows someone who came back. So if there is a funeral, there is just as likely going to be a story in the paper the next day about grave robbers or teenagers' wicked desecration games.
Another day, another funeral.
If you told passers-by that this hearse held the Slayer, that she'd saved the world (again) but this time she didn't make it, none of them would understand what you meant. They'd blink and nod politely. "How sad," they'd murmur, and then they'd walk away. They will miss her, but they won't know it.
This is Sunnydale.
--
"Why are we doing this?" Anya said this in her most practical, "I'm-an-ex-demon" voice.
Xander was startled. "It's...well, it's what you do, when someone..."
"Jumps off a tower? Yes, I get that part. But why are we doing it? Don't you think it will be rather obvious, a tombstone with her name on it in the cemetery? Don't you think word will get out that the Slayer is dead?"
Xander stared at her. No one had thought of this, not even Giles. Xander called out to the rest of the Scoobies, who were scattered around the Magic Box, still in funeral black.
"Giles, Anya brought up a really good point - what if the demons, the vampires, what if they figure it out about Buffy?"
"Actually, I said that it's rather obvious, since...."
"Yes. Well. That's...."
"Wow. I didn't even. I mean. I didn't think. What should we do, Giles?"
"I'm not sure."
They all hemmed and hawed and pretended to really think about what they could do. Xander and Anya offered to patrol, for at least the first night. Giles recommended a schedule, rotating shifts, because none of them was the Slayer, and sooner or later they would need a new plan.
It was Dawn that pointed out that they still had the Buffybot.
----
Spike did consider staking himself, or walking out into the sunlight. He felt, on some level, like he owed it to her because he had really, honestly failed, on top of the fact that he was certain he couldn't live without her.
But it lasted only seconds, because there was Dawn. He had made a promise to a lady, after all.
He had taken Dawn home that night. The Scoobies had decided it, Willow dictating in a cracked and worn voice. "Spike will take Dawn home. Giles and Xander will carry the bod...will carry Buffy. Anya will take Tara home. And I...will...I will call the morgue."
Spike and Dawn made it to the house with seconds to spare, as the sun broke fully over Sunnydale. Dawn was still wearing that ridiculous dress, shredded and blood-stained. She walked upstairs and Spike asked if she was hungry. "No, not really."
It was then, just then, that Spike considered suicide. But then he heard Dawn's sobs, and he drew himself up. He was needed.
----
Dawn thought of the Buffybot long before anyone had figured out that they might need it.
After coming home, changing into normal clothes and disinfecting her cuts, she came downstairs, put Spike's jacket on the coat rack, and reminded him about the robot. He winced at first, trying not to think about what that thing had been made for. But she was right, and he told her he would collect it after dark. Just now though, he was tired. He wanted to sleep. Would Dawn be alright if Spike napped a little right here?
And she said yes, not offended like she would have been just a week before, not thinking about who treated her like a little girl and who didn't. Spike fell asleep in the chair, and Dawn went out to the kitchen, still not hungry but thinking there might be something comforting there. Sunlight streamed through the windows, the cheerful sunny morning oblivious to all that had happened. Sunnydale had taken a bit of a beating in the wee hours, but old Mister Sunshine, he kept right on shining. Dawn felt relieved, somewhere under the numbness.
She looked around the kitchen with the sobering realization that this was her house, just hers, and Mom and Buffy were never coming into this kitchen to make her breakfast again. With tears sliding down her face, Dawn made her own breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast. She ate all of it, and then threw up in the sink.
----
Willow worked on the bot with something akin to her old schoolgirl dedication and fascination. She had always
liked this, tinkering with electronics and the inner workings, programming and the like. She would have been
good at this, in life, if she led a different life. Gone to Cal Tech, or maybe MIT. She would have thrived.
It took her mind off some of the horrible things she had been contemplating, at any rate.
Tara came in with a mug of tea, kissed the top of Willow's head, and walked out again. Willow had asked to be
alone while she worked, and so she was. The tea was welcome, though, soothing her throat, which hadn't quite
recovered from her crying.
The funeral had been a sort of proof that none of them were convinced Buffy was gone. They hadn't told anyone, not even Buffy's dad, and it had just been their little crowd. Willow thought she might have to call Angel, who would find out and be pretty pissed if they hadn't said anything to him. But that was it. No one could know Buffy was gone, because this was the Hellmouth, and the only Slayer left was in prison.
"I think I almost got it, I think I can turn you on," Willow whispered as she worked. She didn't think about
what she said. She was just chatting, just soothing Buffy, she'd done this hundreds of times, thousands.
"Hello. I am Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Have you seen Spike?"
Got it.
----
Giles picked up the phone, dialed the number, and put the phone back down.
He took off his glasses and polished the lenses. He paced behind the counter. He flipped open a book on toad
usage in everyday household spells. He closed the book.
He picked up the phone, stared at the receiver, and put it back down.
If he was quick about it, he could be on a flight to London within three hours. Well. Maybe four. If he was
quick. Otherwise, he would have to wait until tomorrow.
He would have to live through the night, in Sunnydale.
Giles picked up the phone, dialed the number, let the salesperson say "Cross Atlantic Air, this is Rachel, how may I help?" and hung up again.
"Whatcha doin', Giles?"
Dawn.
"I'm...just trying to decide if I shouldn't call your father after all."
He wasn't. He would never.
"Oh." Her voice was small, disappointed.
"But I don't think I shall. I don't know...would you rather I didn't?"
When did Rupert Giles become so hesitant?
"Please don't." She didn't cry, she looked as though she were through with crying, she was sick of it.
"Alright."
"Can I come over tonight? Spike said he wants to patrol."
This was what they were all reduced to.
"Aren't Anya and Xander....?"
Dawn squirmed. "They need some, um, you know."
And Giles did know. He wished Dawn weren't standing right there. He would pick up the phone and be in Olivia's arms by this time tomorrow.
"Why don't I just come to your house, then."
"Yeah, okay. I didn't think you'd want to."
Because Buffy wouldn't be there.
----
Spike had told them he would patrol, and said they should rest, he would take care of it. Xander wasn't going to say so, he figured the look on his face was enough, but that was really fucking annoying, Spike taking care of things. Since when was he a good guy?
But Willow was pretty insistent that they needed Scooby time, and Xander didn't want to argue with Willow. And it was raining, and he was still pretty sore from the fight. If Spike wanted to be out in this weather, more power to him.
So the four Scoobies sat in Xander's living room, not munching on the cheese puffs and soda he'd put out, and not really talking.
Willow spoke up first.
"The Buffybot is fixed. I managed to reattach her head. She's going to need some new programming; we're going to have to think of all the ways she'll have to stand in, for now."
"How long, do you think?" Tara asked.
Willow shrugged. "For awhile."
She looked at Xander, and he had the feeling she was trying to tell him something.
Trying to tell him, she had an idea.
----
Tara tried to tell Willow that it might be better to tell Angel in person. But Willow shrugged it off, said a phone call would do, and none of them felt right about leaving Sunnydale right now anyway.
So Tara relented, not wanting to press, too happy to be sane and in love once again to push it to a fight of some kind. Willow called Angel, who came to town that very night, demanding to see the grave.
He needed proof that Buffy was dead.
Tara didn't say anything to Willow after that call, for a whole half hour. Willow's mood swung like a child on a tire swing in summer, up and down at a rapid pace that would frighten any squeamish person. But Tara waited. She made tea, she nodded or shrugged or shook her head as Willow's mood dictated, and then finally Willow said something that Tara had to address with her voice.
"I want to raise her, Tara. I think I could do it, we could do it, I mean. I think the spell would work. I know it would."
Tara had known this would happen. And the truth was, part of her agreed with Willow.
The part that had already acknowledged that Willow was more powerful, and gaining more power every day, than Tara could even imagine, much less touch.
"Willow, I th-think we sh-should talk about that some more. But not now."
Because the sun was setting and Tara was superstitious, not much but enough to want to put off talking about raising the dead for safer daylight hours.
Willow nodded, visibly relieved that Tara hadn't just crapped on the whole idea before giving it a fair shake. Tara wasn't at all sure that she could give Willow the encouragement to go through with something like that, but she could hear her out.
It was Buffy they were talking about, after all.
When Angel arrived, he collapsed in Willow's arms, and Tara went down into the kitchen.
----
The vampires didn't cotton on to Buffy's absence. They all took the Buffybot at face value, and the stories they told about the Slayer now were tinged with more real fright than they ever had been while Buffy herself had lived.
Of course, part of that was because of the Scoobies. Whispers around town had it that the witch was killing vamps with just a glance, and the menace to their kind was now somehow worse than it was when it was just the Slayer they dealt with. But the Buffybot had a precision to her slaying that the real Buffy only showed glimpses of. The bot didn't toy or play or throw out witticisms (at least, not until Willow added a program). She was efficient. The vamps were rightfully worried, and talked about what could possibly have driven the Slayer to this point.
Spike went to Willy's every so often to see if he could gather intelligence, and one night he heard a Ewelk demon telling a story about girl robots. The Ewelk clan was a gossip-mongering one, and Spike followed this one back to it's nest and slaughtered the lot. It hadn't been referring to a specific robot, but Spike still felt the need to kill the vamp and the Gorlik demons who had been listening, just in case.
He was dealing, just barely. He spent most of his time these days with Dawn, and as far from the Buffybot as he could get. Willow had finally dealt with the love program, and the bot no longer flirted or propositioned him. He wasn't entirely sure he didn't want that kind of thing right now, but it was safer all around if he didn't get into the habit of thinking it was Buffy herself talking. And she'd been right - the robot was gross and obscene. Spike didn't want to do more damage, even if she wasn't here to see.
He never went to the graveyard, unless it was to hunt and patrol. He stayed clear of the grave, feeling a bit morbid in his superstition and fear. Yeah, kiddies, old William the Bloody was afraid. Buffy's grave was fresh, the dirt just settling, and it made him think of other graves, ones from which his kin would leap. He had nightmares about a vamped Buffy, and he did not want to tempt the fates. Why that thought haunted him, he didn't know, but he was glad he'd never tried it, glad she'd died how she did, if she had to go at all.
She was gone, and not coming back, in any form.
----
Willow was the one who came up with the scheme for fighting as a team. She tracked the demons as best she could (that spell never did quite what it was supposed to do) and she came up with the surveillance-and-attack idea. The sidekick had grown to be a natural leader. Of course she was, or so it had been decreed at a Scooby meeting.
Not that she thought she could ever really replace Buffy, and she wouldn't have to do this much longer, because they were bringing Buffy back.
Well, they were going to try. Tara hadn't raised objections, really, just pointed out the dangers, and she actually led the search for a good spell. Most of the ones they found had awfully consequences, and most ended in some kind of zombie situation. Willow was sure they could find a spell that would bring Buffy back just as she had been; this was a mystical death, after all, and not a regular mortal human death.
Xander took it badly, worse than Willow expected, and ranted for hours about the consequences, how it was defying and possibly defiling nature. He sounded like a less coherent Tara might have sounded. But Anya talked him down, showing him the bruises she had from fighting vamps and demons, and it worked. He was convinced - mostly. The closer they got, though, the more squeamish he became, and he took to haunted Buffy's grave. He put flowers down daily, on his way to work, and Willow caught him at after a week.
"Why do you come here, Xander? This isn't permanent. She's going to come home."
Xander shrugged, and wouldn't look Willow in the eyes. This was happening a lot lately. "What if she is home, Will?"
Willow frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if she got a reward - what if she's in heaven, Will? Is it even right to want her back, if that's where she is?"
"We can't know where she is, Xander. And you were there. That energy didn't open heaven. It ripped apart the boundaries between our dimension and the demon dimensions." She didn't add, and there is no such thing as heaven. She hadn't believed in heaven, any kind of heaven, for a very long time.
"Yeah. But. Look at her tombstone. She saved the world a lot. You and I both know, that's an understatement. What kind of powers would let Buffy go to hell when she died?"
Willow shook her head, stood up and brushed dirt and grass off her jeans. "The kind of powers that had nothing to do with her death. Glory was a hell god, Xander. That energy? Was her ticket back to hell. Buffy was caught in the middle."
"Okay. Say you're right. Say she went to hell. What if she comes back wrong? Tortured and crazy? Remember what Angel was like, what Buffy told us about how he was almost an animal."
"It isn't going to happen like that, Xander."
"Will, you can't know that."
"Yes, I can."
He looked up at her then, tears in his eyes. "You can't."
"Are you saying you don't want to do this?"
He shook his head, let out a rueful laugh. "Do I even have a say? I know you have a point, Willow. And I want her back." He let his fingers run through the dirt over the grave, which was quickly filling in with grass. "I do want her back. I just don't want to lose you both to get there."
He stood up, and without looking at Willow again, walked away.
She watched him go, and bit back the tears. Xander had always been that voice in everyone's heads, telling them it might not work, wouldn't it be better to stay safe at home. And maybe he had a point, but every time Willow closed her eyes, she imagined her best friend being tortured in an unspeakable hell dimension. Saved the world a lot or no, Buffy was paying the price for saving it this time, Willow was quite sure of it.
And she was going to save her from it.
----
A month gone, and Spike had stopped avoiding the Buffybot. Which was good, since it was now "sleeping" and "living" at the Summers house, where he spent the majority of his time.
Dawn thought it was a great thing to have the Buffybot so close, but she never said anything, not wanting anyone to think she was weird or something. She thought of it as a version of her sister. Possibly the best version, since it didn't get mad, or yell, or refuse to let Dawn know things. It was a bit on the dim side - a robot, a machine, can only know what it is told - but Dawn found it comforting.
She knew Spike felt somewhat the same. At least, if nothing else, there was a face just like Buffy's in the room.
Sometimes it would say cheerful, Buffy-at-her-best kinds of things, and it would be kind to Spike, which would send him out of the house. But most of the time, the Buffybot was perfectly quiet around him, not so much as addressing him, because Willow was working on a program to get it to ignore Spike. It was what he asked for.
So Dawn was surprised to see him standing in the doorway to the living room one evening, watching her and the
Buffybot play a board game. It was a test Willow had asked her to do while the Scoobies went patrolling. She
had installed a program to sharpen the bot's deductive skills.
"I win!" The Buffybot was unfailingly cheerful, and she had, in fact, beat Dawn. Dawn smiled at it.
"That's so great, Buffy...bot. You're doing really well!"
Spike came closer. Dawn watched him, but said nothing, because he wasn't looking at her at all. He was staring at the Buffybot. He put his hand out, and placed it on its hair.
The bot was quiet. It might not have even known he was there, except he breathed out the name "Buffy" as he
shut his eyes. The bot imitated him, without realizing it, shutting its eyes.
Spike stood there, stroking the bot's hair, for a full minute before opening his eyes and looking at Dawn. He
was crying. "I miss her," he whispered, and he came over to sit by Dawn. The Buffybot watched them both, her
face as sober as plastic and metal and paint could become. Dawn didn't know what to do, Spike was completely
broken up. So she put her arm around him and patted his shoulder.
"I saved her, you know. Last night. Night before. All the nights before."
Dawn put her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. They cried together, and the Buffybot
just watched them, for once not commenting on the situation before it.
When the gang returned, Tara was the first one to walk in, and she saw them like that. Spike came to his senses and left, and Dawn watched him go with a look very like pity. Tara never told the others. It seemed far too private, and she regretted that she'd been so hasty walking in.
----
Giles toyed with going back to singing for awhile. In fact, he was booked for the new coffee shop that opened
up on Elm Street, and he gave Anya the running of the store for the evening to keep most of the gang occupied.
He lost himself in a couple of Moody Blues tunes, gave the crowd his mellow version of "Freebird," and went home alone.
There was something pathetic in all of this, really. Why was he even still here?
He had broken out the old Watcher diaries, and read obsessively. None of them went on after the Slayer in question had died. It was as if the Watchers had simply withered away, and Giles was beginning to feel like he might do the same.
Until he came to a diary written in the mid-eighteenth century, by a Watcher stationed in Paris. The Slayer, Marie, had died averting an apocalypse plotted by monks worshiping a literal Sun God. It was a fascinating tale, but the story itself didn't interest Giles as much as the last fifteen pages of the diary did. These contained about three weeks' worth of entries after the Slayer's death. The Watcher, Sir Basil Edwards, wrote passionately about his own experiences here. He talked of Marie's burial and how they couldn't have a funeral until they were certain a new Slayer had been called. He wrote two pages, in miniscule script, about what it had been like for him, to lose his Slayer, a girl he had come to care for as a father might a daughter. She had been called at the age of 14, and lived to the remarkable and heartbreaking age of 22.
Edwards wrote that he had no idea what to do with his life with his Slayer gone, but as the Council generally encouraged retirement and a return to England to live a quiet, studious life after the death of a Slayer, he seemed to be headed that way. But on the very last page, Edwards wrote in a hurried, desperate scrawl.
"I am leaving tonight, but not for London. They tell me a new Slayer has been called, in the West Indies. It hardly seems possible, that she would come from such a savage place. I am called home, but I am free now - we have buried Marie and I am free. As a child I dreamed of far-off places, and Marie so often talked of going somewhere peaceful and beautiful. I hear there is a vast wilderness on the American continent. I shall go there. I may not die a happy man, but I will die a free man."
Giles read between the lines. The Council was, even then, a controlling force and not a very benevolent one. Edwards had grown too close to his Slayer by the judgment of the Council, and his retirement was likely as not to be within the confines of an asylum, if not the Council's headquarters, to be a slave for their whims. He escaped, and Giles hoped that Edwards found what he wanted.
It was a satisfying read, but it didn't really answer the questions that Giles had been asking himself. He was in a far different position from Edwards. The Council, as far as he knew, were unaware of Buffy's death. She had already died once before (how ridiculous that sounded!) and triggered the Calling of a new Slayer. So there was no way some young, unsuspecting girl in Burma was being Called now. Faith's death was the only thing that could cause that.
Faith. Giles wondered about her, not for the first time. The world needed a Slayer, of this he was certain, and he wondered if she had changed at all. And shook his head, knowing his vague idea was foolish.
There was only one solution, at any rate, for Giles himself. He needed to leave Sunnydale. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps he needed to make sure Dawn would be alright first. But he needed to leave.
He made up his mind to tell the gang (he still wanted to call them children) in the morning.
----
"I found a spell!"
Willow was excited, giddy almost. Xander recognized the look on her face, because it had often appeared just after they got test scores back. This was Willow the student finding a solution and discovering that it worked.
But he didn't want to believe her.
"You found a spell."
She nodded vigorously, grinning. Tara watched her, grinning back a little from pride. Anya was the one to ask.
"Well, what kind of spell? What kind of ingredients?"
Willow spread out her hands and ticked them off. "An Urn of Osiris, dirt from the grave, some herbs. It's not a terribly complicated spell, either, the incantation can be said in English. I found it in Moste Potente Spells & Incantations. I think we can do it."
"What's an Urn of Osiris?" Xander asked.
"Far as I can make out, it's probably classified as an Egyptian artifact, and its magical properties aren't known to many. It will look rather plain and dull, really. I was hoping Anya could help with this part."
"Sure, I know what the Urn of Osiris is. There aren't but a couple of them in the world now, if that many. I'll see what I can do."
Tara looked down for a moment, but only Xander saw her. Willow and Anya were talking over spells and resurrection, looking at a calendar to determine when they could pull it off. They didn't see or hear Tara's sigh, but Xander did. And he wondered about it.
Willow had been getting more powerful for a long time, but this was over her head, and Tara knew it. That's what Xander read into all of this. But the truth was, Tara was afraid that the opposite was true, that Willow was powerful enough to pull off this and much more.
And resurrection spells were the darkest magic, because death is supposed to be forever. You aren't supposed to come back.
Tara was supportive of Willow in front of the others, and she kept her questioning to a minimum, only asking that Willow be upfront about what this spell would do, what the "trials" would mean, that kind of thing.
Xander knew none of this and had to be content in Tara's faith in Willow.
So they planned.
----
One hundred and forty-seven days.
That's how long they were without Buffy.
It was just enough time for Dawn to stop crying at night. For Xander to stop obsessing over whether it was right or wrong to want Buffy back. For Willow to convince herself that it was her sworn duty to bring Buffy back from the dead. For Tara to start to wonder and fear Willow all over again. For Anya to want life to move on, to tell everyone she and Xander were engaged, and to start planning a wedding instead of living through a funeral day after day. For Spike to find some cold comfort in routine, and in duty.
It was just enough time for Giles to find a sense of direction.
It was just enough time for everything to go wrong.
--------------------
The end.
--
4834
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: general television series spoilers, set post-season 5
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss and Mutant Enemy.
SUMMARY: The burial, and beyond. Missing scenes between seasons 5 and 6.
A/N: Title from Dylan Thomas poem of same name.
---
Another day, another funeral. This is Sunnydale, so no one thinks twice about the hearse, the limo full of mourners in black. The cemetery is twice the size of the rest of the town, and it's the only landmark anyone uses when giving directions. "If you passed the mausoleum with the marble door, you went too far." The obituary section of the newspaper takes up three or four pages on a good day.
Seven and half pages today. So, clearly, not a good day.
The funeral processions are endless, a loop of black cars and sobbing women set on repeat, and no one really wonders anymore who is in the coffin, how did she die, and what will the children do. It isn't that they don't care - they insist that they do - it's just that they've all been there, everyone has a sensible black dress or a clean black suit in the closet, and everyone has a recipe for a dish that will feed five people and takes just five minutes to heat up in the microwave.
There's another secret, too. Everyone here knows someone who didn't stay in the grave. Everyone knows someone who came back. So if there is a funeral, there is just as likely going to be a story in the paper the next day about grave robbers or teenagers' wicked desecration games.
Another day, another funeral.
If you told passers-by that this hearse held the Slayer, that she'd saved the world (again) but this time she didn't make it, none of them would understand what you meant. They'd blink and nod politely. "How sad," they'd murmur, and then they'd walk away. They will miss her, but they won't know it.
This is Sunnydale.
--
"Why are we doing this?" Anya said this in her most practical, "I'm-an-ex-demon" voice.
Xander was startled. "It's...well, it's what you do, when someone..."
"Jumps off a tower? Yes, I get that part. But why are we doing it? Don't you think it will be rather obvious, a tombstone with her name on it in the cemetery? Don't you think word will get out that the Slayer is dead?"
Xander stared at her. No one had thought of this, not even Giles. Xander called out to the rest of the Scoobies, who were scattered around the Magic Box, still in funeral black.
"Giles, Anya brought up a really good point - what if the demons, the vampires, what if they figure it out about Buffy?"
"Actually, I said that it's rather obvious, since...."
"Yes. Well. That's...."
"Wow. I didn't even. I mean. I didn't think. What should we do, Giles?"
"I'm not sure."
They all hemmed and hawed and pretended to really think about what they could do. Xander and Anya offered to patrol, for at least the first night. Giles recommended a schedule, rotating shifts, because none of them was the Slayer, and sooner or later they would need a new plan.
It was Dawn that pointed out that they still had the Buffybot.
----
Spike did consider staking himself, or walking out into the sunlight. He felt, on some level, like he owed it to her because he had really, honestly failed, on top of the fact that he was certain he couldn't live without her.
But it lasted only seconds, because there was Dawn. He had made a promise to a lady, after all.
He had taken Dawn home that night. The Scoobies had decided it, Willow dictating in a cracked and worn voice. "Spike will take Dawn home. Giles and Xander will carry the bod...will carry Buffy. Anya will take Tara home. And I...will...I will call the morgue."
Spike and Dawn made it to the house with seconds to spare, as the sun broke fully over Sunnydale. Dawn was still wearing that ridiculous dress, shredded and blood-stained. She walked upstairs and Spike asked if she was hungry. "No, not really."
It was then, just then, that Spike considered suicide. But then he heard Dawn's sobs, and he drew himself up. He was needed.
----
Dawn thought of the Buffybot long before anyone had figured out that they might need it.
After coming home, changing into normal clothes and disinfecting her cuts, she came downstairs, put Spike's jacket on the coat rack, and reminded him about the robot. He winced at first, trying not to think about what that thing had been made for. But she was right, and he told her he would collect it after dark. Just now though, he was tired. He wanted to sleep. Would Dawn be alright if Spike napped a little right here?
And she said yes, not offended like she would have been just a week before, not thinking about who treated her like a little girl and who didn't. Spike fell asleep in the chair, and Dawn went out to the kitchen, still not hungry but thinking there might be something comforting there. Sunlight streamed through the windows, the cheerful sunny morning oblivious to all that had happened. Sunnydale had taken a bit of a beating in the wee hours, but old Mister Sunshine, he kept right on shining. Dawn felt relieved, somewhere under the numbness.
She looked around the kitchen with the sobering realization that this was her house, just hers, and Mom and Buffy were never coming into this kitchen to make her breakfast again. With tears sliding down her face, Dawn made her own breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast. She ate all of it, and then threw up in the sink.
----
Willow worked on the bot with something akin to her old schoolgirl dedication and fascination. She had always
liked this, tinkering with electronics and the inner workings, programming and the like. She would have been
good at this, in life, if she led a different life. Gone to Cal Tech, or maybe MIT. She would have thrived.
It took her mind off some of the horrible things she had been contemplating, at any rate.
Tara came in with a mug of tea, kissed the top of Willow's head, and walked out again. Willow had asked to be
alone while she worked, and so she was. The tea was welcome, though, soothing her throat, which hadn't quite
recovered from her crying.
The funeral had been a sort of proof that none of them were convinced Buffy was gone. They hadn't told anyone, not even Buffy's dad, and it had just been their little crowd. Willow thought she might have to call Angel, who would find out and be pretty pissed if they hadn't said anything to him. But that was it. No one could know Buffy was gone, because this was the Hellmouth, and the only Slayer left was in prison.
"I think I almost got it, I think I can turn you on," Willow whispered as she worked. She didn't think about
what she said. She was just chatting, just soothing Buffy, she'd done this hundreds of times, thousands.
"Hello. I am Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Have you seen Spike?"
Got it.
----
Giles picked up the phone, dialed the number, and put the phone back down.
He took off his glasses and polished the lenses. He paced behind the counter. He flipped open a book on toad
usage in everyday household spells. He closed the book.
He picked up the phone, stared at the receiver, and put it back down.
If he was quick about it, he could be on a flight to London within three hours. Well. Maybe four. If he was
quick. Otherwise, he would have to wait until tomorrow.
He would have to live through the night, in Sunnydale.
Giles picked up the phone, dialed the number, let the salesperson say "Cross Atlantic Air, this is Rachel, how may I help?" and hung up again.
"Whatcha doin', Giles?"
Dawn.
"I'm...just trying to decide if I shouldn't call your father after all."
He wasn't. He would never.
"Oh." Her voice was small, disappointed.
"But I don't think I shall. I don't know...would you rather I didn't?"
When did Rupert Giles become so hesitant?
"Please don't." She didn't cry, she looked as though she were through with crying, she was sick of it.
"Alright."
"Can I come over tonight? Spike said he wants to patrol."
This was what they were all reduced to.
"Aren't Anya and Xander....?"
Dawn squirmed. "They need some, um, you know."
And Giles did know. He wished Dawn weren't standing right there. He would pick up the phone and be in Olivia's arms by this time tomorrow.
"Why don't I just come to your house, then."
"Yeah, okay. I didn't think you'd want to."
Because Buffy wouldn't be there.
----
Spike had told them he would patrol, and said they should rest, he would take care of it. Xander wasn't going to say so, he figured the look on his face was enough, but that was really fucking annoying, Spike taking care of things. Since when was he a good guy?
But Willow was pretty insistent that they needed Scooby time, and Xander didn't want to argue with Willow. And it was raining, and he was still pretty sore from the fight. If Spike wanted to be out in this weather, more power to him.
So the four Scoobies sat in Xander's living room, not munching on the cheese puffs and soda he'd put out, and not really talking.
Willow spoke up first.
"The Buffybot is fixed. I managed to reattach her head. She's going to need some new programming; we're going to have to think of all the ways she'll have to stand in, for now."
"How long, do you think?" Tara asked.
Willow shrugged. "For awhile."
She looked at Xander, and he had the feeling she was trying to tell him something.
Trying to tell him, she had an idea.
----
Tara tried to tell Willow that it might be better to tell Angel in person. But Willow shrugged it off, said a phone call would do, and none of them felt right about leaving Sunnydale right now anyway.
So Tara relented, not wanting to press, too happy to be sane and in love once again to push it to a fight of some kind. Willow called Angel, who came to town that very night, demanding to see the grave.
He needed proof that Buffy was dead.
Tara didn't say anything to Willow after that call, for a whole half hour. Willow's mood swung like a child on a tire swing in summer, up and down at a rapid pace that would frighten any squeamish person. But Tara waited. She made tea, she nodded or shrugged or shook her head as Willow's mood dictated, and then finally Willow said something that Tara had to address with her voice.
"I want to raise her, Tara. I think I could do it, we could do it, I mean. I think the spell would work. I know it would."
Tara had known this would happen. And the truth was, part of her agreed with Willow.
The part that had already acknowledged that Willow was more powerful, and gaining more power every day, than Tara could even imagine, much less touch.
"Willow, I th-think we sh-should talk about that some more. But not now."
Because the sun was setting and Tara was superstitious, not much but enough to want to put off talking about raising the dead for safer daylight hours.
Willow nodded, visibly relieved that Tara hadn't just crapped on the whole idea before giving it a fair shake. Tara wasn't at all sure that she could give Willow the encouragement to go through with something like that, but she could hear her out.
It was Buffy they were talking about, after all.
When Angel arrived, he collapsed in Willow's arms, and Tara went down into the kitchen.
----
The vampires didn't cotton on to Buffy's absence. They all took the Buffybot at face value, and the stories they told about the Slayer now were tinged with more real fright than they ever had been while Buffy herself had lived.
Of course, part of that was because of the Scoobies. Whispers around town had it that the witch was killing vamps with just a glance, and the menace to their kind was now somehow worse than it was when it was just the Slayer they dealt with. But the Buffybot had a precision to her slaying that the real Buffy only showed glimpses of. The bot didn't toy or play or throw out witticisms (at least, not until Willow added a program). She was efficient. The vamps were rightfully worried, and talked about what could possibly have driven the Slayer to this point.
Spike went to Willy's every so often to see if he could gather intelligence, and one night he heard a Ewelk demon telling a story about girl robots. The Ewelk clan was a gossip-mongering one, and Spike followed this one back to it's nest and slaughtered the lot. It hadn't been referring to a specific robot, but Spike still felt the need to kill the vamp and the Gorlik demons who had been listening, just in case.
He was dealing, just barely. He spent most of his time these days with Dawn, and as far from the Buffybot as he could get. Willow had finally dealt with the love program, and the bot no longer flirted or propositioned him. He wasn't entirely sure he didn't want that kind of thing right now, but it was safer all around if he didn't get into the habit of thinking it was Buffy herself talking. And she'd been right - the robot was gross and obscene. Spike didn't want to do more damage, even if she wasn't here to see.
He never went to the graveyard, unless it was to hunt and patrol. He stayed clear of the grave, feeling a bit morbid in his superstition and fear. Yeah, kiddies, old William the Bloody was afraid. Buffy's grave was fresh, the dirt just settling, and it made him think of other graves, ones from which his kin would leap. He had nightmares about a vamped Buffy, and he did not want to tempt the fates. Why that thought haunted him, he didn't know, but he was glad he'd never tried it, glad she'd died how she did, if she had to go at all.
She was gone, and not coming back, in any form.
----
Willow was the one who came up with the scheme for fighting as a team. She tracked the demons as best she could (that spell never did quite what it was supposed to do) and she came up with the surveillance-and-attack idea. The sidekick had grown to be a natural leader. Of course she was, or so it had been decreed at a Scooby meeting.
Not that she thought she could ever really replace Buffy, and she wouldn't have to do this much longer, because they were bringing Buffy back.
Well, they were going to try. Tara hadn't raised objections, really, just pointed out the dangers, and she actually led the search for a good spell. Most of the ones they found had awfully consequences, and most ended in some kind of zombie situation. Willow was sure they could find a spell that would bring Buffy back just as she had been; this was a mystical death, after all, and not a regular mortal human death.
Xander took it badly, worse than Willow expected, and ranted for hours about the consequences, how it was defying and possibly defiling nature. He sounded like a less coherent Tara might have sounded. But Anya talked him down, showing him the bruises she had from fighting vamps and demons, and it worked. He was convinced - mostly. The closer they got, though, the more squeamish he became, and he took to haunted Buffy's grave. He put flowers down daily, on his way to work, and Willow caught him at after a week.
"Why do you come here, Xander? This isn't permanent. She's going to come home."
Xander shrugged, and wouldn't look Willow in the eyes. This was happening a lot lately. "What if she is home, Will?"
Willow frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if she got a reward - what if she's in heaven, Will? Is it even right to want her back, if that's where she is?"
"We can't know where she is, Xander. And you were there. That energy didn't open heaven. It ripped apart the boundaries between our dimension and the demon dimensions." She didn't add, and there is no such thing as heaven. She hadn't believed in heaven, any kind of heaven, for a very long time.
"Yeah. But. Look at her tombstone. She saved the world a lot. You and I both know, that's an understatement. What kind of powers would let Buffy go to hell when she died?"
Willow shook her head, stood up and brushed dirt and grass off her jeans. "The kind of powers that had nothing to do with her death. Glory was a hell god, Xander. That energy? Was her ticket back to hell. Buffy was caught in the middle."
"Okay. Say you're right. Say she went to hell. What if she comes back wrong? Tortured and crazy? Remember what Angel was like, what Buffy told us about how he was almost an animal."
"It isn't going to happen like that, Xander."
"Will, you can't know that."
"Yes, I can."
He looked up at her then, tears in his eyes. "You can't."
"Are you saying you don't want to do this?"
He shook his head, let out a rueful laugh. "Do I even have a say? I know you have a point, Willow. And I want her back." He let his fingers run through the dirt over the grave, which was quickly filling in with grass. "I do want her back. I just don't want to lose you both to get there."
He stood up, and without looking at Willow again, walked away.
She watched him go, and bit back the tears. Xander had always been that voice in everyone's heads, telling them it might not work, wouldn't it be better to stay safe at home. And maybe he had a point, but every time Willow closed her eyes, she imagined her best friend being tortured in an unspeakable hell dimension. Saved the world a lot or no, Buffy was paying the price for saving it this time, Willow was quite sure of it.
And she was going to save her from it.
----
A month gone, and Spike had stopped avoiding the Buffybot. Which was good, since it was now "sleeping" and "living" at the Summers house, where he spent the majority of his time.
Dawn thought it was a great thing to have the Buffybot so close, but she never said anything, not wanting anyone to think she was weird or something. She thought of it as a version of her sister. Possibly the best version, since it didn't get mad, or yell, or refuse to let Dawn know things. It was a bit on the dim side - a robot, a machine, can only know what it is told - but Dawn found it comforting.
She knew Spike felt somewhat the same. At least, if nothing else, there was a face just like Buffy's in the room.
Sometimes it would say cheerful, Buffy-at-her-best kinds of things, and it would be kind to Spike, which would send him out of the house. But most of the time, the Buffybot was perfectly quiet around him, not so much as addressing him, because Willow was working on a program to get it to ignore Spike. It was what he asked for.
So Dawn was surprised to see him standing in the doorway to the living room one evening, watching her and the
Buffybot play a board game. It was a test Willow had asked her to do while the Scoobies went patrolling. She
had installed a program to sharpen the bot's deductive skills.
"I win!" The Buffybot was unfailingly cheerful, and she had, in fact, beat Dawn. Dawn smiled at it.
"That's so great, Buffy...bot. You're doing really well!"
Spike came closer. Dawn watched him, but said nothing, because he wasn't looking at her at all. He was staring at the Buffybot. He put his hand out, and placed it on its hair.
The bot was quiet. It might not have even known he was there, except he breathed out the name "Buffy" as he
shut his eyes. The bot imitated him, without realizing it, shutting its eyes.
Spike stood there, stroking the bot's hair, for a full minute before opening his eyes and looking at Dawn. He
was crying. "I miss her," he whispered, and he came over to sit by Dawn. The Buffybot watched them both, her
face as sober as plastic and metal and paint could become. Dawn didn't know what to do, Spike was completely
broken up. So she put her arm around him and patted his shoulder.
"I saved her, you know. Last night. Night before. All the nights before."
Dawn put her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. They cried together, and the Buffybot
just watched them, for once not commenting on the situation before it.
When the gang returned, Tara was the first one to walk in, and she saw them like that. Spike came to his senses and left, and Dawn watched him go with a look very like pity. Tara never told the others. It seemed far too private, and she regretted that she'd been so hasty walking in.
----
Giles toyed with going back to singing for awhile. In fact, he was booked for the new coffee shop that opened
up on Elm Street, and he gave Anya the running of the store for the evening to keep most of the gang occupied.
He lost himself in a couple of Moody Blues tunes, gave the crowd his mellow version of "Freebird," and went home alone.
There was something pathetic in all of this, really. Why was he even still here?
He had broken out the old Watcher diaries, and read obsessively. None of them went on after the Slayer in question had died. It was as if the Watchers had simply withered away, and Giles was beginning to feel like he might do the same.
Until he came to a diary written in the mid-eighteenth century, by a Watcher stationed in Paris. The Slayer, Marie, had died averting an apocalypse plotted by monks worshiping a literal Sun God. It was a fascinating tale, but the story itself didn't interest Giles as much as the last fifteen pages of the diary did. These contained about three weeks' worth of entries after the Slayer's death. The Watcher, Sir Basil Edwards, wrote passionately about his own experiences here. He talked of Marie's burial and how they couldn't have a funeral until they were certain a new Slayer had been called. He wrote two pages, in miniscule script, about what it had been like for him, to lose his Slayer, a girl he had come to care for as a father might a daughter. She had been called at the age of 14, and lived to the remarkable and heartbreaking age of 22.
Edwards wrote that he had no idea what to do with his life with his Slayer gone, but as the Council generally encouraged retirement and a return to England to live a quiet, studious life after the death of a Slayer, he seemed to be headed that way. But on the very last page, Edwards wrote in a hurried, desperate scrawl.
"I am leaving tonight, but not for London. They tell me a new Slayer has been called, in the West Indies. It hardly seems possible, that she would come from such a savage place. I am called home, but I am free now - we have buried Marie and I am free. As a child I dreamed of far-off places, and Marie so often talked of going somewhere peaceful and beautiful. I hear there is a vast wilderness on the American continent. I shall go there. I may not die a happy man, but I will die a free man."
Giles read between the lines. The Council was, even then, a controlling force and not a very benevolent one. Edwards had grown too close to his Slayer by the judgment of the Council, and his retirement was likely as not to be within the confines of an asylum, if not the Council's headquarters, to be a slave for their whims. He escaped, and Giles hoped that Edwards found what he wanted.
It was a satisfying read, but it didn't really answer the questions that Giles had been asking himself. He was in a far different position from Edwards. The Council, as far as he knew, were unaware of Buffy's death. She had already died once before (how ridiculous that sounded!) and triggered the Calling of a new Slayer. So there was no way some young, unsuspecting girl in Burma was being Called now. Faith's death was the only thing that could cause that.
Faith. Giles wondered about her, not for the first time. The world needed a Slayer, of this he was certain, and he wondered if she had changed at all. And shook his head, knowing his vague idea was foolish.
There was only one solution, at any rate, for Giles himself. He needed to leave Sunnydale. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps he needed to make sure Dawn would be alright first. But he needed to leave.
He made up his mind to tell the gang (he still wanted to call them children) in the morning.
----
"I found a spell!"
Willow was excited, giddy almost. Xander recognized the look on her face, because it had often appeared just after they got test scores back. This was Willow the student finding a solution and discovering that it worked.
But he didn't want to believe her.
"You found a spell."
She nodded vigorously, grinning. Tara watched her, grinning back a little from pride. Anya was the one to ask.
"Well, what kind of spell? What kind of ingredients?"
Willow spread out her hands and ticked them off. "An Urn of Osiris, dirt from the grave, some herbs. It's not a terribly complicated spell, either, the incantation can be said in English. I found it in Moste Potente Spells & Incantations. I think we can do it."
"What's an Urn of Osiris?" Xander asked.
"Far as I can make out, it's probably classified as an Egyptian artifact, and its magical properties aren't known to many. It will look rather plain and dull, really. I was hoping Anya could help with this part."
"Sure, I know what the Urn of Osiris is. There aren't but a couple of them in the world now, if that many. I'll see what I can do."
Tara looked down for a moment, but only Xander saw her. Willow and Anya were talking over spells and resurrection, looking at a calendar to determine when they could pull it off. They didn't see or hear Tara's sigh, but Xander did. And he wondered about it.
Willow had been getting more powerful for a long time, but this was over her head, and Tara knew it. That's what Xander read into all of this. But the truth was, Tara was afraid that the opposite was true, that Willow was powerful enough to pull off this and much more.
And resurrection spells were the darkest magic, because death is supposed to be forever. You aren't supposed to come back.
Tara was supportive of Willow in front of the others, and she kept her questioning to a minimum, only asking that Willow be upfront about what this spell would do, what the "trials" would mean, that kind of thing.
Xander knew none of this and had to be content in Tara's faith in Willow.
So they planned.
----
One hundred and forty-seven days.
That's how long they were without Buffy.
It was just enough time for Dawn to stop crying at night. For Xander to stop obsessing over whether it was right or wrong to want Buffy back. For Willow to convince herself that it was her sworn duty to bring Buffy back from the dead. For Tara to start to wonder and fear Willow all over again. For Anya to want life to move on, to tell everyone she and Xander were engaged, and to start planning a wedding instead of living through a funeral day after day. For Spike to find some cold comfort in routine, and in duty.
It was just enough time for Giles to find a sense of direction.
It was just enough time for everything to go wrong.
--------------------
The end.
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