Title: In The Ground (1/1)
Author: Rabbit
Email: gatewaytoarashmaharr@hotmail.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/impudent_guttersnipe
Spoilers:Forever
POV: Buffy, then Spike.
Summary: "In Forever, when Joyce knocks on the door, Buffy is ready to accept her
mother back, but Dawn rips up the photo. What if she hadn't?"
Disclaimer: I do not own. Chances are, you probably don't either. This is fan written
fiction. For fun, not profit. (Some dialogue from Forever was used.)
Distribution: Ask please.
Rating: not so bad, maybe R for strangeness.
Feedback: I like it.
Improv: Improv #29 (century -- unleash -- ground – melt)
http://www.obsessedmuch.net/buffyangelimprov/
Challenge: #217 at You Got The Stones
http://www.four-am.com/stones/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In The Ground
By Rabbit
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes reaction happens before reasoning kicks in. As a slayer she should know that.
Usually it's not a problem, there's not too much intellectual bargaining needed if the
choice is evil vamp number one, or two. But, this would be the perfect time to stop, to
weigh the pros and cons, to remember that there is no coming back. And five years on a
hellmouth seeds almost enough cynicism to knock the hope out of her voice. Almost.
"Mom?"
Random snippets of cautious British warnings: //convergences of mystical energies,
unpredictability of magicks//, mentally trail behind the click of the knob. She never did
listen to Giles; the realization comes just as the weather stripping along the bottom of the
door squeaks against *that* point of the floor. Pomposity and tweed lose the fight to an
impossible wish come true: death is not forever. Her mother is back.
And for all the screaming she wants to do at Dawn, Buffy's still the first one there, still
the one racing to the impossibility of beating mortality. After all these years of being
locked into a no escape clause slayer contract with a guaranteed fatal ending, when did
she become so optimistic? The door is already opened, because damn all of those worst
case scenarios, that's her mother out there.
Wide-eyed and hopeful, her neck cranes as the door swings open. And Buffy doesn't
know what she expects- her mommy as she remembers her before the doctors and
tumors, before slayer hands crushed her ribcage in a clumsy, but heartfelt attempt to bring
her back? Some fragment of time before she had to pick a dress for Joyce Summers to be
buried in? She doesn't have time to register anything, doesn't know whether to hug her or
to cry. She settles on both.
"Mommy, mommy, mommy," Buffy melts, tucks her chin into that hollow dip just above
her mother's clavicle, squeezes her eyes shut and just keeps repeating it. It's the sweetest
sound she's ever heard as she psychologically dances around the bitter tang of soil and
decomposing eaves, moss, and whatever…
She hears the choked sob behind her just before Dawn's body slams into them, sniffled
breaths and an endless stream of sound intended as words, that come out only as the most
primitive expressions of pain. Poor Dawnie, this is a lot for someone her age to deal with.
Buffy turns her head and kisses her little sister, she shouldn't have yelled at her earlier.
Some small part of her feels a pang of guilt? Jealousy? Dawn was the only one with balls
enough to pursue this, to find a way to bring their mom back, and she wasn't even the real
daughter. Chosen one? Saving mankind? Some independent slayer she was, caving to
Giles and Willow's warnings. She should have looked it up on her own, tried to do
something. Yeah, she wasn't a witch, but neither was her little sister.
Yet, somehow Dawn has succeeded in doing the impossible. It's scary to think what kind
of power she's released into the world, what could have happened, to worry about that
cosmic conscience biting you in the ass. But here they are, all unharmed, and all the
lecturing has been taken right out of her. She'll have Willow talk to Dawn about the
dangers and responsibilities of an action like this. As if she'd listen.
Buffy thinks she should ground her though, give her something to think about. The
thought strikes her that she doesn't have to do that anymore, that her mom is back and
Buffy doesn't have to play at half-assed, pseudo parent anymore with no plan, or idea
how to even begin to fill her mother's shoes. Not tonight though, tomorrow. She'll ask
Willow to talk to her. Dawn worships Willow and Tara, and will probably listen to them
more than she will an interfering big sister.
She steps back, and lets Dawn greet their mother. Buffy's hand smoothes down Dawn's
long, straight brown strands, pulls them away as they stick to the tears running down her
little sister's face. Dawn's eyes will be red, they always are when she gets this upset, and
they have been for the last few days. Buffy rubs a couple of sun-bleached pieces through
her fingers, and wonders if her mom's hair had been this dark when she was Dawn's age?
They really were so similar; her dad always used to say so.
But actually he hadn't had he? He'd never really met Dawn? Hank Summers hadn't even
come to her mother's funeral, never saw her lying there in the dress Buffy had picked out,
never noticed how the blue made Joyce Summer's skin seem impossibly pale.
You'd think that Buffy would have been used to that death pallor by now, but she never
really had. She survived it by shutting herself off from it, concentrating on the way
Xander's chin tightened, or Giles' eyebrows wrinkled. If she kept Willow's
sad/determined face in focus, she could organize her thoughts and carry on her duty
without fixating on the latest victim and wondering if someday she would be cold and
lifeless like that. Even after hundreds of times, it's made it easier to distance herself,
because she thinks she might go crazy if she doesn't.
Her mother must be exhausted. She can't even raise her arms to return Dawn's hug, hasn't
returned Buffy's either come to think of it. And when Buffy really*looks*, she can see
the dirt smeared against the robin egg's blue of Joyce's skirt as a sharp reminder of what
she's been through.
What are they thinking keeping her out here? Every muscle in her body looks stiff
enough to snap, and she's not even focusing on anything, just staring straight ahead,
looking like she's about to collapse.
"Maybe you should come inside mom. We can run you a nice bath, make you some tea?"
Yeah, that'll wipe away the horrors of the grave. Damn, Buffy's not sure what to do with
someone who has risen from the grave, usually they require staking, not comforting, not
reintegration. "And then you look like you could use some sleep."
"Oh yes," Dawn agrees, swiping the back of her hand across her face, takes Joyce by the
hand, "Don't worry mom, we'll take care of everything." And the three-person procession
makes it way upstairs.
When they reach the bathroom, Buffy notices the crusting of dirt under her mom's nails,
and knows there are orange sticks here somewhere-tiny little wooden cuticle implements.
More than once when she was soaking after a particularly heinous patrol, she'd imagined
a Slayer Barbie stalking Vamp Ken. And why does she have such strange train of thought
moments? She shakes her head.
Dawn is leaning over; hair swinging as she inspects the various bottles ringing the side of
the tub. The slayer takes a moment to watch her mother. Joyce is facing the mirror above
the sink, engrossed. Buffy steps forward quickly, lowering her voice in an effort to
comfort her, "Don't worry mom, you'll feel like a new person in about an hour. I
promise." Buffy rests her hand on Joyce's arm, and turns her head to meet her mother's
eyes in the reflection of the mirror, but realizes her mother was never interested in the
first place. She's been staring at a spot on the wall about three inches to the right of the
mirror. When Buffy tears her gaze away from their likeness and looks in confusion at her
mother, she notices that Joyce's pupils seem unnaturally large, nearly blacking out the
irises.
Dawn giggles to herself as she stands up, bottle in hand. "How about Raspberry? I never
know whether to bathe in it, or put it on top of ice- cream."
"Mom?" Buffy questions out loud, hoping for any kind of response. She gets nothing, and
starts to fight a growing sense of panic.
"It's okay mom," Dawn offers, filling the awkward silence. "Bubbles are optional. You'll
love it. Trust me." The pipes grind as she twists the faucet knobs. A gush of water, and
the room is soon filled with steam. The youngest Summers has towels tucked into the
basket at the side of the tub before she turns and realizes her mom is still standing in her
burial garb. She seems momentarily surprised, but recovers quickly, undoing buttons and
pulling the blouse over Joyce's head. "I'll help you."
The possibility seems too cruel, but unarguable as Dawn pats Joyce's thigh, encouraging
her to lift it and step into the tub. Buffy's head swims with the steam of the room and the
unfairness of her suspicion, and she feels dizzy when she steps to the front of the tub,
looking down at her mother and sister.
As Dawn gets their mom settled in the water, Buffy asks, "What was it like mom, where
there a lot of bugs and stuff down there?" Her voice is sharp, blunt with the bitterness of
despair, as she has to raise her voice to be heard above the splashing filling the tub.
Dawn gasps and swings her head around, mouth agape in shock. "Morbid much? What is
wrong with you?" She turns around and presses a soapy washcloth into Joyce's hand. It
lays limply from her fingers, but Dawn doesn't seem to notice. "You don't have to answer
that mom. She's just pouting. She's been in a terrible mood ever since you…" Buffy can
see Dawn's lips tighten as she bites off the last of her statement.
Buffy swallows once. "Yeah, it's really been a bitch since you died."
There is no expected parental disapproval over the word, one of the words Joyce
Summers has always demanded never be used in her house by one of her daughters. Even
Dawn's shoulders stiffen in anticipation of the reprimand that never comes.
"Dawn," Buffy says calmly, and wonders where that even tone of voice is coming from,
because she feels like screaming. "Something isn't right. I think there's something wro…"
"Shut up!" Dawn screams, whirling around. Buffy can see the tears clinging to her lower
lashes, and the first streams of glistening mucus running from her nose. "Shut up and stop
trying to ruin this. THERE. IS. NOTHING. WRONG." Even as she shouts the last four
words, she's already turning her back to the slayer, turning off the water.
Dawn takes a cup from the side of the tub, fills it with water and gently pours it along
Joyce's hairline. The stream slides over the surface of their mother's face, tiny trails of
bubbles running into her open eyes, and Dawn whispers, "Mom, close your eyes."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn is rattling around at the stove, cooking in that haphazard, unnecessarily
complicated way that people who don't do it often do. Every pan is lined up along the
counter, spilling into the sink as she tries to make French toast for dinner. Buffy could
help her, but she feels weighted down, unable to carry out the simplest tasks. Plus, she'd
have to stand by the thing that Dawn's conjured, and she's been trying to avoid that ever
since last night.
It's deteriorating rapidly, falling apart right before their eyes. And Dawn is still insulated
in her denial, keeps it sitting at a barstool next to her as she cooks.
Something is going to have to be done about it, but Buffy's still tied by its resemblance to
her mother. Instinct and calling clearly tell her strategies, techniques, 101 ways to kill the
undead. She knows what should be done, but can't bring herself to that point yet.
Matricide. She can already feel herself morphing into Giles as her lips move along to the
syllables. She has to kill her mother, well not her mother, this zombie thing Dawn's living
in fantasy with. She knows her watcher would agree, if she'd told him, but she couldn't
bring herself to make the call last night. One long, sleepless night staring at the phone and
wondering how to phrase a nightmare come to life- she has to watch her mother die
again.
Dawn stayed home from school today, she refused to go and leave 'their mother', so the
three of them had locked themselves away, barricaded in the house with the phone turned
off. The pretense of normalcy is very fragile, protected only by Dawn's overly cheerful
voice, and Buffy's silence.
There's a knock at the backdoor, panes of glass rattling prove how tense the slayer is
when she jumps at the sound. "What now? I don't have anymore dead relatives." Spoken
just soft enough so Dawn can't hear. (She glares at her big sister anyway.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The minute she answers the door, he knows it was stupid to come here. It's very
dangerous to be around her right now, relying on his poker face while he waits for one
word from her, one word that will bring everything down around him. Can't get the
nightmare of five odd feet of slayer fury facing him with hands on hips, asking aloud,
"what did you have to do with this?" out of his mind.
Because of course she'd believe that he just wants to do something to make her life a little
bit easier. No tickertape parade, or ride down Main Street on Scooby shoulders. He just
wants something simple, just one thing. To. See. Her. Smile.
Oh pathetic.
And so much easier when the girl involved would giggle at the site of a severed head, or
a handful of messy, dripping entrails. Easier when someone looked at him with the eyes
of a lover, and he'd already proven to them what lengths he'd go to. Not this endless cycle
of trying to prove himself only to be shot down, constant rejection tossing him back and
forth between maudlin self-pity and frustration.
Somewhere deep inside, he would like to just reach out and crush her delicate throat in
his hands- the faint stirrings of the demon coiling low in a place he hasn't been able to
reach himself since he came back to this Godforsaken Hell Mouth. The demon tells him
that the only way he'll ever be free of her is if she's dead, but it knows he's not capable of
that. So instead, it slides through his belly, mocking him for loving her. The archaic
syllables of its language call for her death, or his. It's not used to this imprisonment, not
after more than a century of sovereignty in his psyche.
But he won't…or can't…or something. He's unable to play the role of archenemy
anymore, so he's stuck being the hero- a role he never really did get the hang of. Luckily,
she doesn't accept or expect it from him.
"What do you want? Did I send out my misery sonar again and you came running?"
Just because she's opened up to him once or twice, why does he think that would ever
soften her? Not likely. At least she steps back to allow him entrance to her house. And
now all he has to do is justify his presence. "Heard through the demon grapevine that it's
free lunch out there. No patrol tonight. Thought I'd check in with you." Spike tries to
keep the nervous shuffling of his right foot still, shoves his hands in his pockets because
he's afraid he might just reach out to touch her and try to heed the demon, unleash it. If he
didn't think she'd get mad, he'd smoke, but girlies always did get weird about that sort of
thing.
There's no denying it. He's turned into a sniveling jackass. Next, he'll be handing her slips
of paper- Do you like me? [check yes or no.] She's staring at him, chewing her lip as she
contemplates something and it's all he can do not to sway towards her and kiss her.
Thinks he just might take the beating she's bound to give him if he tries it.
He's thankful for a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, swings his head
around in desperation to find something to focus on besides the slayer. "Dawn."
He can feel the tired energy all around her, lines of stress about the corners of her eyes.
Little bit should have a few more years of living before those appear, and he wonders if
the conjuring didn't work out.
"There's kind of…a thing…that happened." Buffy stammers behind him, drawing his
eyes back to her.
"A thing?" Spike questions.
"Well, um. My mom, she's back. She came back last night." Buffy's wringing her hands,
and he doesn't remember ever seeing her this nervous before.
"A resurrection just like that huh? Well good news for the Summers then 'eh?" This isn't
exactly the reaction he envisioned when he agreed to help Dawn, but then he's not sure
what he really had expected? His whole insistence at anonymity had scratched out a
deliriously grateful slayer throwing herself at him in his mind's eye. Maybe just a smile-
the kind that actually reached the corner of her eyes?
"Dawn brought her back, she did a spell." Slayer's voice sounds over his left shoulder, he
can feel that she's taken a step closer to him and he closes his eyes, partly in self defense
to mask his feelings and partly in concern that a young girl like Dawn shouldn't see the
evil, lustful natures of men- or vampires anyway. Bit knows the theory of his feelings for
her sister, but not the practical application. It's so fucked up he doesn't understand it much
either.
"A spell huh? Hard to keep that right note of surprise in his voice, and when he looks at
the youngest Summers, he tries to warn her not to spill their secret. Proud to see her stoic
improv, gives her a slight nod of approval before he asks flippantly, "Living La Vida
Wicca now?"
"There's something…she's…she's not right."
Dawn's stare switches defiantly to her sister at the sound of the accusation, squinting at
what's obviously a fresh point of anger between them. "Mom's back," Dawn says with
stifled satisfaction as she steps away to reveal Joyce sitting behind her.
He can't help but jump, and gasp softly at the true mask of death that greets him, frozen
facial muscles and cloudy, opaque lenses that cover Joyce's irises with a milky fog. The
fluorescent lights of the kitchen glance across their dull surface. She shows no
recognition, or understanding of anything going on around her, and try as he might, he
can't detect any bit of life force in her.
This isn't quite the gift he's imagined, but should have known. The laws of magic are
chaotic, with a perverted sense of humor. This just wasn't something he'd ever wanted to
see.
"Dawn, that's not Joyce."
"Now you're taking *her* side?" She glares at her sister, and asks incredulously, wide
mouthed at what she sees as his betrayal.
"Dawn," he tries to reason, "That's a thing, a zombie or whatever. It's not your mum, it's
not even human."
"It's her, I know it's her," Dawn insists stubbornly.
He doesn't nearly have the stomach for what he's about to do, but he reaches out and
strikes the corpse across the face. The soft crunch is sickening, as the vertebrae twist with
the force of his blow. He's hit it too hard though, and it careens into Dawn, taking them
both to the floor. He moves quickly to free her from the weight of the thing lying on top
of her, but she's already squirmed away from it, squatting two feet away from it, as far as
she can get, her back is against the cupboard behind her. And she glares at him in hate
and shock.
He turns to Buffy, wincing at what she must think of him now, and whispers, "I'm sorry."
before addressing Dawn, "See, no pain. You know I couldn't do that if it was."
Dawn's just crouching there shell shocked, tears swimming, and he wonders if he's
pushed her over the edge. She covers her mouth with her hand, the first fat drops of
moisture rolling off of her lashes as she just stares in terror, seeing for the first time what
she's been unable to accept. The grotesque angle of the now broken neck, the sightless
eyes, the complete lack of response to violence as it just lays there passively on the
kitchen tile. Endless minutes ticking, and he can't bear to slap her out of it, just stands
helplessly, wondering what kind of a hell they've all fallen into. It's a long stretch of time,
but Dawn seems to snap out of her catatonic state. With her free hand, she struggles to
pull a photo out of her pocket, looks woodenly at it for a second, then tears it in two.
The body disintegrates, leaving no trace. Typical hell mouth. Buffy moves in, bends over
and offers her hand, which Dawn rejects and struggles to her feet of her own power. "Are
you happy now? I have nothing."
Buffy straightens up at the verbal and physical insult. "What do you mean? You have
me."
"I'm just a nuisance to you. You can't even stand to look at me."
The slayer's eyes narrow in confusion. " That's not true."
Dawn's attack is hoarse, " Yes it is. Mom ... died, and it's like you don't even care. You
didn't even want her to come back."
The Slayer's shock is evident. "What in the hell are you talking about? What do you think
I've been doing? I've been killing myself here, trying to get through this."
" You haven't even cried," Dawn shouts." You're glad she's dead, then you get to run
around and boss everyone. Putting on this brave, martyr act. You love the attention."
Dawn's head snaps back when the slayer's hand connects with her cheek. Instantly, Buffy
realizes what she's done, and puts her hand over her mouth in horror. She's starting to cry
too. "Dawn, I have to do these things…"
It's hard to mistake the similarities between them when Dawn mirrors her sister's pain.
"No! You've been pushing me away."
"Don't you think I wanted her back?" Buffy asks incredulously. "God, when I saw her at
the door, that was the happiest moment of my life, but that wasn't her. It wasn't fair to her
to…" Dawn's mouth forms a stubborn little moue at what she perceives as another
lecture. But the slayer takes a different track, sounding weary, frightened." I don't know
what I'm supposed to do; I have no idea how to take care of things. I'm trying. Dawn, I
am, but I feel like such a failure- I'm not mom."
Dawn exhales a frustrated denial; " Nobody's asking you to be Mom."
Spike has to force himself not to step forward to try and comfort the slayer as she raises
her voice, answering her little sister in a voice thick with pain," Well, who's gonna be if
I'm not? Huh, Dawn? Have you even thought about that? Who's gonna make things
better? Our own father doesn't even care." Her voice breaks, and Spike wonders if she'll
be able to continue. She takes a breath. "Who's gonna take care of us?"
Dawn's wavering "Buffy" drowns out his own whispered, "I will, Slayer."
Dawn sniffles, attempting to talk," Every time I need you, if I try to touch you, or talk to
you, you're so far away. I can't get close to you. We're like two strangers living in this
house, afraid to talk about anything but the weather."
Buffy has to swallow several times before she can speak, and he doesn't think she's going
to last much longer. "I'm not trying to push you away. I have to be strong, I couldn't let
you see me. Oh god, Dawnie... what are we going to do?"
Two Summers women standing so awkwardly, still unable to connect. Buffy fights the
string of mucus starting to drip from her nose. Bites her lip as she decides whether to
speak her next sentence, " I'm scared Dawn." The slayer begins to sob, and Dawn comes
forward and hugs her. "It's okay," the teenager soothes as she pulls her sister to her. They
Sink to the floor, holding each other tightly and crying. Dawn just keeps repeating, " It's
okay. "
He's intruding here. Spike slips out the front door knowing Dawn's right. It will be okay,
because he's going to make sure it is.
-Rabbit
gatewaytoarashmaharr@hotmail.com
(
geocities.com/crazyevildru3)