Steps

Dawn woke slowly. Her whole body felt like it was made of clay. Her mind, too. She remembered the night before.

. . . cried all over him, I swear he’ll think I’m a freak, and oh, God, what did I say to him, how could I have said that to him, I can’t face any of them, no, not ever again . . .

She wanted to burrow back under her covers and never come back out, but she desperately needed to use the bathroom. With great effort, she forced herself to sit up and swing her feet off the bed. There was a squeak of alarm from the floor.

"Careful where you’re putting those, Dawnie," Cordelia’s voice said. Dawn looked down, mildly curious to find the Seer cocooned in blankets beside the bed. Cordelia disentangled herself and sat up, folding her arms on the side of the bed and propping her head on them. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I . . ." Dawn thought about it a long time. "I can’t tell. Does Angel . . . hate me? For what I said? Do you hate me?"

Cordelia’s hand reached out and squeezed Dawn’s wrist. "Of course not. Of course not. Don’t even worry about that. All we’re concerned about is you."

Dawn shut her eyes, trying to stem the tide. "Tonight . . . it’s the . . ."

"Funeral," Cordelia gently supplied. "Yes, it is."

"Dawn?" asked Cordelia. "Hey, Dawn, come back."

"I-I don’t think I can. I don’t think . . . I’m not ready. Not tonight."

"Then let’s not think of tonight." Dawn looked at her, startled. "Let’s just think of going downstairs and eating breakfast. I think I smell Angel cooking."

"I’m not sure I can do that, either."

Cordelia pushed herself to her feet. "I think you can. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. Come on." She held out a hand.

Dawn took the offered hand and stood to her feet, allowing Cordelia to support her. "I’ve got to pee."

"We’ll hit the bathroom on the way, all right?"

Dawn nodded. "Okay. Just . . . go slow."

"One step at a time, sweetie. We’ll do this one step at a time."

***

It took a long time for Giles to wake up. It wasn’t so much the fact that he’d had two glasses of bourbon the night before as it was the feeling that there was nothing to wake up for. He pondered that thought.

Since Buffy’s death, he’d slept no more than one, maybe two hours at a time, and that only when he couldn’t find something else to do. Now, waking after some six hours of slumber, feeling more or less rested, he realized he’d never truly awakened to a world without Buffy in it. For so long, she’d been his reason.

Part of him didn’t want to get up. What would be the point, anyway?

But there was one last thing he could do for her: take care of her friends and her sister. Taking care of them meant being at the funeral. Being at her sodding funeral.

So he stood, and he stretched, and he showered, and he dressed. He paid little attention to what he wore—a random shirt, jacket, and pair of slacks. Everything in his closet matched, anyway. Then he walked out his front door, shutting and locking it behind him. He got into his car, started it, and drove to the Summers home.

Inside was an incongruously homey sight. The kitchen shades were drawn, keeping out the sunlight, and Angel—Angel!—was busily flipping pancakes. Wesley, Cordelia, and Dawn, yes, Dawn, were all sitting at the table eating. Dawn, Giles noticed, was eating very slowly, as if every bite was an effort, and frequently took sips from her glass of milk. Cordelia and Wesley were talking quietly. They both looked up as Giles entered.

"Hey, Giles," said Cordelia, not quite cheerfully, but making an effort. "Do you want breakfast?"

Giles started to say no, but just then, Dawn looked up at him. If she could force herself to eat, Giles decided he could, too. "Yes, I think I do."

"Here," said Angel, behind him. Giles turned and received a plate with two pancakes on it. As he did so, he looked into Angel’s eyes.

Blank. Empty. The vampire was keeping the pain at bay through sheer force of will, almost as if he was frightened of what it would do to him. And that, Giles decided, was a most interesting choice of words. As he sat down at the table, the Watcher looked over at Wesley and Cordelia. Wesley nodded minutely. They were keeping an eye on their friend.

"Good morning, Dawn," Giles said.

"Morning." Her voice was very small, but after days of not speaking, then the previous night’s outburst, it was a great improvement. She set down her fork, looking at the remains of the pancake on her plate. It was a little better than half-eaten. "I don’t think I can finish this." The last words were spoken to Cordelia.

"That’s okay," Cordelia reassured her. "Probably best not to push your stomach. Can you finish your milk?"

Dawn nodded and drank the rest of her glass. "What now?"

"How about a shower?" Cordelia fingered a little of Dawn’s hair. "No offense, but you smell a little funky, and ew—grease!"

A wan smile flitted across Dawn’s face. It hit Giles that the older girl’s take-charge attitude was probably exactly what Dawn needed to get through the day. The child stood, taking her plate back into the kitchen and giving it to Angel. Then, to Giles’ surprise, Dawn walked over to the Watcher and wrapped her arms around his neck. He hugged her back for a moment, and then she went upstairs to shower.

Giles took a few moments to spread some jam on his pancakes. An empty glass appeared by his elbow, and he filled it with orange juice. "How is she?" he asked when he ran out of distractions.

"Not quite all there," said Cordelia. "She’s just . . . hurting so bad she can’t even think right now. I’m just trying to help her get through the next five minutes."

"It looks like you’re doing wonderfully." Giles looked at her, suddenly overwhelmed by pride. He had known, in an abstract way, that the teenage queen named Cordelia Chase had hidden depths. Those depths were no longer hidden. "Sometimes, the next five minutes are the hardest thing in the world."

***

Willow was trying very hard to not obsess about the little things. Therein, she thought, lies the road to madness. She had purposely gone with her first instinct on what to wear and had done her hair as simply as possible. Makeup was another story. Willow generally didn’t wear much, but the sight of her pale face in the mirror had shocked her into digging out some foundation and blush.

Tara entered the room, putting on earrings. Her shirt was pearl gray, paired with an off-white broomstick skirt. She crossed the room and put her arms around Willow from behind.

"How are you this morning?"

Willow held onto her lover’s arms. "I think I’m okay. A little. It’s . . . subject to change without notice."

Tara squeezed her tighter. "I know."

"I mean, I think I’ll be okay for the funeral, but just to warn you now, I’m fairly certain I’m going to fall apart afterward."

"I’ll be here."

"I know." Willow stood and hugged Tara tight, desperate for the warmth of her. "I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do . . ."

"Shh," whispered Tara. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

Willow pulled back enough to press her forehead against Tara’s, then let go and continued with her makeup.

"Willow."

"Yes?"

"How well do you know Angel?"

Willow shrugged. "He’s not exactly easy to know. I mean, I knew him in high school, sort of, and I always liked him, but I don’t think we were exactly what you’d call friends. Buffy, she knew him, and Wesley and Cordy do, too, I guess, but . . ." She cut her babble off. "Why?"

Tara shook her head, examining some of Willow’s knickknacks. "I . . . he was giving me the strangest look last night. He kept doing little double-takes at me. Is that something he usually does?"

"No." Willow’s forehead crinkled. "That’s not like Angel at all, as far as I know. You should really ask Cordy, though." She snapped her makeup bag shut and sighed. "How do I look? Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Charlize Theron and one being ‘Demon begone,’ where am I?"

Tara smiled. "Eleven. You’re always my eleven."

The redhead smiled back, but her face crumpled a moment later. Tara stepped forward and took her in her arms again.

"I can’t believe this is happening," Willow whispered, barely holding back the tears. "Buffy knew, she always knew. She said Slayers don’t live long, and she told me that whenever it happened, she didn’t want me to be sad, but I can’t help it."

"No, you can’t," Tara whispered.

"I just . . . it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all."

"No."

Willow rallied, pulling back from Tara and blinking away the tears. "We should go. I want to be there for Dawn. And Angel. And Xander. Giles, too."

Tara took her hands. "We can do this. We’ll be strong."

"Like Amazons."

"Like Amazons."

***

"Anya!"

The ex-demon poked her head into the bedroom at her fiancé’s call. "What is it?"

"Have you seen my green socks? I can’t find them, and I know I just did laundry . . . was it last week?" Xander was stirring his sock drawer. "I’m thinking I’ll wear my green button-down, but you’ve gotta have the green socks for that. Unless you want to look like a fashion victim, and hey—not anxious for Cordy to see me looking like that. Not that I really care if she thinks I’m a fashion victim or not. I just . . . have you seen those socks?"

"I haven’t."

"I know I just had them last week. I wore my green shirt for that site management meeting."

"Honey . . ." Anya looked worried, confused. "That was two weeks ago."

Xander slammed his sock drawer shut. "Right. Two weeks. Back then, I had green socks, and Buffy wasn’t dead. How about we all go back there?"

"Xander, why are you acting like Willow?" Xander stared at his fiancee. "This is the way Willow was acting when we heard about Joyce. Why are you doing it? Does it help?"

Xander bit his lip. "Yeah. Obsessing about something idiotic helps take your mind off the fact that somebody ripped your guts out. Doesn’t work for long." He ran a hand through his hair. "This just . . . Buffy was alive, An. Nobody was as alive as she was. That’s why I loved her the second I saw her. She was special, and not just because she was the Slayer. She was . . . Buffy. I don’t know what the world’s going to be like without her. I’m not sure I want to know."

Anya looked into his eyes for a long time, then walked to the closet and pulled out a dark red, long-sleeved shirt. She produced matching socks from the drawer and handed the clothes to Xander.

"Here," she said. "Buffy always liked you in red, didn’t she? You should wear red." The ex-demon pulled back. "Or do you need to obsess a little longer?"

Xander took the clothes and set them on the bed, then pulled Anya close. "What would I do without you?"

She held onto him as tightly as she could. "You’ll never find out. I promise."

***

Wesley walked up the stairs of the Summers home, making for the guest room. Cordelia had sent Angel there an hour ago, but Wesley had an odd feeling the vampire wasn’t going to take her advice and get some sleep. As he came to the door, the ex-Watcher paused only briefly before quietly opening it and walking in.

Angel stood before the window, staring out. Fortunately, the window had northern exposure, so no direct sunlight was coming in. Still, it unnerved Wesley to see Angel silhouetted against the light like that.

"Angel?" he called softly.

"Wesley." Soft, flat voice.

Wesley went to stand beside him. "Angel, what’s happening with you?"

The vampire shook his head. "I don’t know. I couldn’t say."

The ex-Watcher looked at Angel’s taut profile, weighing what to say. "We made the mistake last year of not talking to you. Letting you get away with freezing us out. That’s the last thing I want to let happen again, Angel. Cordelia and I are here for you."

Angel’s eyes flicked to Wesley, and for a moment, there was emotion in them again. "I know. I just . . . can’t right now."

It wasn’t the answer Wesley had hoped for, but he realized he couldn’t press the issue any further, not right now. "Cordelia has asked me to keep Dawn occupied, so I have to go back downstairs."

Angel nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. She needs you."

"So do you." On impulse, Wesley set his own hand over Angel’s, which was resting on the window frame. "Whenever you feel you can talk, whenever you need us, we’re here, Angel. We’re not letting you go."

Angel nodded again, still numb, still locked within himself. Wesley gave his hand one last squeeze, then withdrew. He decided it had been a thoroughly unsatisfying conversation.

Still troubled, he made his way back down to the living room. There, he found Dawn examining a picture. As he came closer, he realized it was one of Joyce, Buffy, and Dawn in better times. All three looked so happy, so carefree.

"Dawn?" he asked softly.

She turned. Cordelia had gotten her into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee. So thin had the child become that the clothes hung off her. Still, there was a little color in her cheeks, which was a definite improvement.

"Wesley," she said. Her voice was as soft and flat as Angel’s had been, but with an underlying vulnerability he hadn’t shown.

The plan that had seemed intelligent earlier now struck him as unspeakably stupid, but he clung to it gamely. "I, um, noticed the cribbage set earlier and was wondering if you played."

Dawn shook her head. "It was my mom’s. I never learned."

"Perhaps I could teach you, then. Would you like that at all?"

"This is just to pass the time, isn’t it?" she asked. There was a dangerous fragility in her voice now.

Wesley sighed. "Actually, I was hoping to help you get your mind off time passing, and believe it or not, this was the best idea I could come up with."

Something in that honesty seemed to reach Dawn. She carefully set down the picture frame, then reached down and picked up the cribbage set from under the coffee table. "Okay," she said.

"Thank you," he confided. "This keeps me from getting into trouble with Cordelia."

A tiny smile touched Dawn’s face at that, and Wesley suddenly felt much more satisfied.

***

The minute Willow walked through the door of the Summers residence, Cordelia yanked her aside and started giving sotto voce orders.

"All right. Dawn showered, and I got her into some clothes. Not her funeral outfit—we’ll deal with that later. It’s been about four hours since she ate breakfast, so she’s going to need lunch here soon. I need to get myself cleaned up, so you’ll have to take care of that. Just put something in front of her and tell her it’s lunch like there’s no question she’ll eat it, and she will. Just be positive. And whatever you do, don’t talk about the funeral or anything that’s happening any further than five minutes away. Okay?"

"Uh, okay." Willow was just a little confused. "What’s happening?"

Cordelia peeked into the living room, where Dawn was playing a quiet game of cribbage with Wesley. "Dawn’s barely going to get through the day as is. Keep her in the moment."

Willow nodded. "In the moment. Got it. I can do that." Cordelia flashed her a smile and turned to head up the stairs. Willow caught her. "Wait. What should I do for lunch? I-I’m not very good with food. I mean, about all I can cook is grilled cheese sandwiches . . ."

"So make her one. Just don’t show any doubt that she’ll eat."

"Okay. But why me? Why not Wesley? Or Angel?"

Cordelia made a disgusted noise. "Please. Men simply cannot do this sort of thing. Besides, Wesley’s got his hands full making sure Angel’s not going nuts—he’s upstairs in the guest room, by the way. Not sleeping. You’ll do fine, Willow." With that, Cordelia went upstairs to shower.

Willow ended up making a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. She got Wesley’s attention, and he sent Dawn into the kitchen.

"Lunchtime," said Willow, gesturing awkwardly at the soup and sandwich. "Time to eat. I made . . . lunch."

To her surprise, Dawn sat down without protest. She only ate half the sandwich, but she finished a bowl of soup and another glass of milk. Afterward, she went back to the living room. There, she sat on the couch by Tara, who was flipping through a National Geographic one-handed and humming abstractedly. Dawn leaned against her. Tara, moved by some instinct, placed a throw pillow in her lap and guided Dawn’s head down to rest there. Within a few minutes, the girl was asleep.

Cordelia came back down the stairs in fresh clothes. She looked approvingly at the scene in the living room, walking over and holding out a hand to Tara.

"I don’t think we really met last night. I’m Cordelia."

Tara displayed her bandaged hand apologetically, and Cordelia withdrew hers, understanding. "I’m Tara. I’m pleased to meet you."

Cordelia gestured at Dawn. "Is she . . ?"

"Just napping, I think. That’s good, isn’t it?"

"Perfect." Cordelia smiled. "Nice to meet you, Tara." She turned and went into the kitchen.

Willow held out a glass of iced tea to her. "I forgot I can make iced tea, too."

Cordelia took it and sat down at the table. Willow sat with her. "Thanks, Will. Dawn ate, didn’t she?"

"Yep. Not very much, but way better than nothing. How’s Angel doing?"

Cordelia sighed. "I really don’t know. My guess is that we’re looking at one hell of a delayed reaction here. This is so not going to be fun." She rubbed her forehead. "This has been an incredibly tough year for all of us, especially Angel. He got . . . he got lost, Will."

"Lost how?"

"Long, long story. The short version is, he got royally screwed over in the worst possible way and went a little postal. Really postal, actually. We didn’t know what to do, or how to reach him. He ended up shoving us all out of his life—Wesley and Gunn and me. That was . . . really hard. It took awhile, but he did finally come back to us. For those few months, though, it hurt. Worse than anything that’s ever happened to me, it hurt. But he found his way back, and we got to be family again."

She looked at Willow. "You know, I always used to envy you and Buffy and Xander. I envied you guys so much."

That, Willow had not expected. "You did? Why? You had, like, everything."

"I had nothing," Cordelia countered. "Nothing that mattered, anyway. Nothing the IRS couldn’t take away. You guys, though—you had each other, in a way I didn’t have anybody. Nobody cared about me like that. Not until Angel and Doyle. I went from having nobody to having Angel, Wesley, and Gunn. Three wonderful, totally exasperating big brothers who would cross into a demon dimension to save me." She bit her lip, eyes moist. "I’m not letting him go again, Willow. I can’t."

"I know." Willow reached out and squeezed Cordelia’s hand. "He’s lucky to have you."

Cordelia pulled herself back together. She glanced back to where Tara was still humming softly and stroking Dawn’s hair. "So Tara’s your SO, huh?"

"She’s my girl," Willow said proudly.

"She seems really nice."

"She is."

Cordelia’s face scrunched. "Xander’s really getting married? Isn’t that, like, against the laws of God and nature or something?"

Willow grinned. Some things about Cordelia Chase would never change.

***

Dawn slept for about a half-hour, awakening just before Xander and Anya made their appearance. Xander was in his red shirt and camel-colored slacks, and Anya was wearing a blue sundress. They were immediately placed on "Dawn detail" by Willow and Cordelia. Xander dug out a game of UNO, which Dawn played listlessly, but it got her talking a little.

Then, just after three, someone else knocked on the door. Cordelia opened it to reveal . . .

"Oz," she said, blinking.

"Hi," said the werewolf.

Oz’s name was echoed around the room. Xander abandoned his cards.

"Oz, man, am I glad to see you!" The two gave each other a manly, back-slapping hug. "How did you ever . . ."

"Oz." Angel had appeared at the top of the stairwell. "Glad you could make it."

"Thanks for giving me the heads-up." At Xander’s startled look, Oz told him, "Angel and I email. Have for awhile."

"I thought he should know," said the vampire, sounding a little unsure of himself.

Willow approached her former lover. "Oz, I-I’m—it’s really great that you’re here. I mean, I wish it was for any other reason, but . . ." She stood there awkwardly.

Oz’s face eased into a near-smile. "It’s okay, Will."

"Good." Willow walked forward and hugged him tight. "I’m glad you could make it, too."

They stepped apart. "I was in southern Oregon when I got Angel’s email. Drove here as fast as I could." He shook his head. "How did it happen?"

Willow took a quick glance at Dawn, then at Tara, who smiled softly and nodded. Willow gave her a grateful look. "How about we sit down in the kitchen, and I’ll tell you. Are you hungry?"

Xander looked over at Tara. "Want to take over my hand?"

"Sure," said the witch, and she picked up Xander’s cards. The UNO game continued between her, Dawn, and Anya. Xander joined Willow and Oz in the kitchen.

At four, Giles came back to the house, having been involved with last-minute preparations at the funeral home. He greeted Oz and conferred briefly with Xander, Willow, Wesley, and Cordelia. Cordelia then went upstairs and fetched a brush, a comb, and a cordless curling iron. She returned to the living room and began to work on Dawn’s hair. She plaited four tiny braids leading back from Dawn’s face, secured them at the back with a clip, and curled the rest. After Dawn’s hair was finished, Willow took her upstairs to pick an outfit.

At five-thirty, Xander and Anya went and fetched some Chinese take-out for dinner. Tara loaded up a plate with Mongolian beef, steamed rice, and an egg roll and gave it to Dawn. The girl finished about two-thirds of it. Angel returned to the downstairs. Dawn, once she finished her dinner, sat down beside him on the couch. Neither spoke.

At six-thirty, Spike walked through the front door.

"It’s time," he said.