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Preparing The Gift...
Jun. 24th, 2023 01:57 pmUnlike most girls, well, young women, now, her age, Buffy has had many chances to think about the things she might want to think of for the last time. After all, she’s been there, if only briefly. She knows that both Willow and Giles feel majorly ripped off that she has no eyewitness accounts of any Other Side to bring them, but that, for once, came with no dreams or visions. Just wetness and some kind of algae
.(She was able to get the dress cleaned, but had her mom donate it somewhere for girls that couldn’t afford their prom dresses. She’d lost all enthusiasm for wearing it. But she didn’t think it was cursed or anything. She hoped not.)
Out of habit, even climbing the tower, she thought “I meant to ask Giles.” And realized she would soon be out of times to ask him anything, and that hurt a little.
As did the memory of herself being all Quippy Girl telling both Will and her Watcher that the next time she died, she’d take a pad and pen and record impressions along the way,
and laughing at how their expressions and even voices kind of matched when they said “Would you?
” Till they realized she wasn’t serious, that is.
Will even said “My mother would be kind of upset with me for asking, cause we’re Jewish, and an afterlife isn’t really on our menu, but I think I’d feel better if…”And she got all pink, in the way that announced a Major Willow Difficult Topic. “And you know, pissing off Dr. Sheila? Always kind of a bonus.”
“If I see Anne Frank,” Buffy said. “I’ll tell her hello from you. Without saying anything about that.”
“Thanks,” Will said. “But she might understand. She struggled with her mother, too. Also, keep an eye out for Jenny. I have dreams about her sometimes, but they aren’t like yours.”
“I do,” she’d replied. “A lot.” But she’d never thought much about it till she told Willow that.
Kind of random, as last impressions go, but at least on-topic. If anyone were reading her mind right now(never completely off the table in Sunny D, by the way) she’d hate for them to see that climbing all those steep stairs reminded her of the diving board at the public pool in LA, and how she was the first kid to jump in the deep end every summer. Even though they started going when she was six or something, and sometimes parents gave Joyce dirty looks to see her in there in her little pink suit. Which, to her credit, Joyce totally weathered in public, but she did get upset at home sometimes.
Her dad, ex-football jock before he was, like, ex-dad, almost wanted to take credit. Hard to imagine, now. She climbed things a lot, actually, tall neighborhood trees, mountain paths on girl scout hikes, and, just like during her ice-skating lessons, it was like her body told her not to be scared, that it could take most of what she dished out. Maybe the slayer thing shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But it totally was.
The climb seems both endless and not long enough. She is still surprised, that, say “Time of Your Life” or, even, and she hopes Oz, wherever he is, misses this part of her mental transcript, some version of Hallelujah isn’t playing while she flips through a slideshow of thoughts about Dawn, who is, after all, the object of this sacrifice, even more than this messed-up world that she is saving. Again. She tries to picture all the girl-talk they’ll be missing and closes her eyes, waiting for tears. Under her closed eyelids, she can see a green ball of energy.
She takes a deep breath, and plunges.
.(She was able to get the dress cleaned, but had her mom donate it somewhere for girls that couldn’t afford their prom dresses. She’d lost all enthusiasm for wearing it. But she didn’t think it was cursed or anything. She hoped not.)
Out of habit, even climbing the tower, she thought “I meant to ask Giles.” And realized she would soon be out of times to ask him anything, and that hurt a little.
As did the memory of herself being all Quippy Girl telling both Will and her Watcher that the next time she died, she’d take a pad and pen and record impressions along the way,
and laughing at how their expressions and even voices kind of matched when they said “Would you?
” Till they realized she wasn’t serious, that is.
Will even said “My mother would be kind of upset with me for asking, cause we’re Jewish, and an afterlife isn’t really on our menu, but I think I’d feel better if…”And she got all pink, in the way that announced a Major Willow Difficult Topic. “And you know, pissing off Dr. Sheila? Always kind of a bonus.”
“If I see Anne Frank,” Buffy said. “I’ll tell her hello from you. Without saying anything about that.”
“Thanks,” Will said. “But she might understand. She struggled with her mother, too. Also, keep an eye out for Jenny. I have dreams about her sometimes, but they aren’t like yours.”
“I do,” she’d replied. “A lot.” But she’d never thought much about it till she told Willow that.
Kind of random, as last impressions go, but at least on-topic. If anyone were reading her mind right now(never completely off the table in Sunny D, by the way) she’d hate for them to see that climbing all those steep stairs reminded her of the diving board at the public pool in LA, and how she was the first kid to jump in the deep end every summer. Even though they started going when she was six or something, and sometimes parents gave Joyce dirty looks to see her in there in her little pink suit. Which, to her credit, Joyce totally weathered in public, but she did get upset at home sometimes.
Her dad, ex-football jock before he was, like, ex-dad, almost wanted to take credit. Hard to imagine, now. She climbed things a lot, actually, tall neighborhood trees, mountain paths on girl scout hikes, and, just like during her ice-skating lessons, it was like her body told her not to be scared, that it could take most of what she dished out. Maybe the slayer thing shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But it totally was.
The climb seems both endless and not long enough. She is still surprised, that, say “Time of Your Life” or, even, and she hopes Oz, wherever he is, misses this part of her mental transcript, some version of Hallelujah isn’t playing while she flips through a slideshow of thoughts about Dawn, who is, after all, the object of this sacrifice, even more than this messed-up world that she is saving. Again. She tries to picture all the girl-talk they’ll be missing and closes her eyes, waiting for tears. Under her closed eyelids, she can see a green ball of energy.
She takes a deep breath, and plunges.
