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By Julia Anne
Author's Note-- I have never cried in front of a television, more then I did after "The Gift". It was heartbreaking and utterly amazing. This little story, in no way does it justice. I just loved it so much, I wanted to write something. This is from Dawn's POV. For some reason I really like writing her... I think it's because she's the closest thing to Buffy that isn't Buffy. Lord, I don't know. Spoilers up to "The Gift". Set a few weeks after...
Feedback would be MUCH appreciated!!
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I’m sitting again. Staring at the wall. Her stuff is scattered all over the bed. I still feel guilty going through it. I keep getting the feeling that she’s going to burst through the door and yell at me for snooping and messing up her things. I wish she would.
I look down at the items on the bed. Pictures. Of her and Riley. Of Willow and Xander. Smiling faces. Sunny Days. Angel. Mom. Me. As I run my fingers along their edges, I feel a sudden tingle of pain. Paper cut. I watch as blood appears on the tip of my index finger, in a straight line at first, then spreads into a tiny red sea. I get up and get a Kleenex. I can’t even feel it stinging anymore. I can’t feel anything.
Her diaries are here too. They’re the only things I haven’t touched, except to move them here. I would never feel right reading them, but I like the look of them, all bound and worn. When I run my hands over the cover I can feel her. I can picture her up at night scribbling in them. I wonder what she wrote about me.
Something occurs to me. Are her diaries real? If I’m in them, dating years back, did the monks just make them up too? Are they even what she really felt? Can they do that? I guess they could have....but I don’t want to think about it.
I stare at a picture of her and Riley. He’s looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world,and she’s holding his hand, laughing. She really was beautiful. Riley came back for the funeral. He didn’t say much to me. I don’t think he knew what to say. He just sort of stared disbelievingly....stared like I’m doing now. Angel was here too, but they kept their distance. Though I did notice them shaking hands and sharing knowing looks, after the service. They both knew what it was like to love her.
Dad made it back in time for the funeral. He couldn’t understand why we had to have it at night. And as much as it was for Angel, it was also for Spike. He needed to be there. Even if he hid in the back, behind a tree.
Even at night, the funeral was packed. She had so many friends I never even knew. So many of them came up to me and told me stories of how she’d helped them. I smiled proudly back at them. Or tried to smile. Strange as it seems, I really am proud of her. I’m proud to have known her. To have fought with her. To have laughed with her. You know, I’m one of the few creatures who fought with the slayer, on numerous occasions mind you, and lived to talk about it. When I told Xander that he laughed. It was the first time I’d seen him smile since it happened.
Dad was amazed at the number of people who came to mourn. It’s a shame he never knew who his daughter was. I don’t mean the slayer. I mean a hero. I don’t think he knew how to react either. He didn’t cry, and after talking to Giles about my future, he left soon after, saying he would call. I don’t think he will, but I don’t really want him to. I think it hurt him that I couldn’t cry with him. That I couldn’t let him hold me the way I could Willow, or Xander, or Giles. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to sob in his arms. But I just couldn’t.
I miss her so much. Sometimes I go into her room and lie on her bed, trying desperately to feel her, or smell her scent on the pillows. Last night I climbed out her window just for the heck of it. I wanted to know what she had felt like all of those nights before Mom and I knew she was the slayer. I wanted to feel the drop, just as she had. Then firm ground below.
I wonder what it was like for her. Before Mom and I knew she was the slayer, I mean. It must have been horrible. I wish I could ask her. I wish I had. I just wish I could talk to her again. At least to say thank you.
But, as much as I miss and love her, sometimes I feel so jealous of her. I mean, I’m stuck here in this world of grey walls and horrible deaths, while she’s....somewhere else. Somewhere she gets to be with mom.... and as much as I hope they’re smiling and laughing together...part of me just wants them to be sitting around looking at their watches, waiting for me to come join them. I’ve thought about joining them so many times since she died. But I can’t. Buffy told me to live for her and I owe her that much.
Lord, I owe her so much more then that.She told me to take care of them. Of Giles, and Xander, and Willow. I’m trying to. I really am. But it’s just so hard. Everyone’s just hurting so much. Big waves of black, inky pain, crashing down on white cement.
Everyone hugs me a lot these days. I think when they look at me, and when they hold me, they can see her in me. I hope they can. I’ll never forget the night after she died. We were all sitting in silence. Just staring. Then Giles looked at me and said "Buffy, will you go get that book I was telling you about?"
We all looked at him not knowing what to do or say. Then he shook his head and apologized, saying he was tired and he didn’t know what had come over him. Then he stumbled into the back room, for some bourbon. We just nodded silently and returned to our blank staring.Now weeks later, I’m doing the same thing. Staring. I don’t know what else to do. Spike told me he thinks there might be some way of bringing her back. He loved her so much, I guess he needs some sort of hope to go by. He said it would be easier then the ritual I tried with mom, and much safer. And she’s likely to come back as herself, in one piece, because of her strength. He’s even heard of it being done before. He told me about a slayer being resurrected for the good of humanity 2000 years back.
As much as I would do anything to have Buffy back, part of me just wants to let her rest.
She deserves it.I don’t know.
My head is all fuzzy. I pick up one of the diaries and cradle it in my arms, taking in its feel and leathery scent. I lie down on my bed and curl up into a ball, putting the cool cover up to my cheek. I’m careful no to disturb the pictures, which are still scattered on my red comforter. I close my eyes. I imagine her fingers running through my hair until I can almost make believe that she’s really there, whispering softly in my ear..telling me it’ll be ok. Everything will be ok.
I don’t know anything anymore.
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