Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode "Shadow" written by David Fury.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae

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Chapter 9

Shadow

In the morning I think, it has to be a dream. Vampires and crying Slayers? Definitely non-mixy. I'm not sure why I'm dreaming about impossibly nice vampires, but I figure it's probably some leftover Angel thing. I don't think about him as much as I used to, but I can't help but miss him, sometimes.

Mom and I head over to the hospital, and I call Willow who promises to meet me there. Right now I definitely need my best friend. When they wheel mom into the exam room, I pace nervously until Willow and Tara arrive.

"How're you doing?" Willow asks.

"I'm..." holding up? Okay? Not good? Ready for another breakdown and could someone please put me to sleep so I can go cry all over a dream vampire? "Hanging in there," I say finally. "They're taking her in for a CAT scan."

It occurs to me, as I say it, that I'm not really sure what a CAT scan is. Just that they x-ray your brain with it. Kinda wish I'd asked Spike, last night, when he said he knew what one was. He'd have told me. He probably would have gone into gory detail about it, if only to wig me out, but he'd have told me. And then I wouldn't be nervous and wondering.

"She'll be okay," Willow says. She has her reassuring face on. "It's just to look, right?"

"Right," I say. They're just... looking. It'll be okay.

It seems like we're waiting for hours, and maybe we are. When Riley comes in I barely register it until he’s standing right in front of me.

"Hey," he says. "Sorry... I heard. I thought maybe you might... need..."

He heard? I can't even remember who I told but maybe Willow told Xander and... it doesn't matter right now. I’m just happy he’s here, that he’s worried about my mom, too. "I do," I say, folding myself in his arms. "I do... I'm glad. I just, I didn't want...I mean, until we knew what it was..."

If you don’t say it out loud, it’s not real.

"I understand," he says, but it doesn't sound convincing. It sounds a little... angry? Why would he be angry? I just didn’t want to upset anyone, in case it turns out to be nothing.

Please, let it be nothing.

"How's she doing?" he asks, and I'm grateful for the subject change.

"Well, she had a CAT scan. I was just about to go in and find out. Um... Willow and Tara are over in the waiting area, would you mind... letting them know and... I kinda need to..." do this on my own, I think. If I let him in with me, I'll lean on him, and then I'll break down. I can't do that right now. Right now I have to do the strong thing, for Mom. Thankfully he seems to get it.

"Yeah," he says, stepping back. "You got it."

When he leaves, I brace myself, and go in. The room is dark, mom and the doctor are standing in front of some X-ray images stuck on the wall. They’re black and white, and if they were framed and on the wall in my mom’s gallery they might look like some kind of crazy abstract art. In here they just look kinda obscene: the secrets of my mom’s brain on display. It’s wrong.

"May I come in?" I ask, quietly.

"Oh, of course, baby, come in," Mom says, reaching for me. I give her a hug, breathing in Mom-scent, trying to convince myself that it’ll be okay. Then I steel my spine, ready for the worst. I hope.

The doctor excuses himself, saying something about the OR.

"The OR?"

Mom looks uncomfortable, and scared. A shiver of fear goes down my back. "Dr. Issacs says I'm lucky there's one available on such short notice. Some people wait for days, sometimes weeks."

I stifle the shiver before she can see it.

"Mom," I ask, around the lump in my throat. "What—what did they find?"

"A shadow," she says, her eyes looking haunted. "I've got a shadow. Somewhere... over there. He showed it to me but, um... they have to do a biopsy to find out exactly what it is."

I glance over at the x-rays again, trying to see what she sees, but they’re all just a jumble of black and white and gray.

A shadow...

It should be creepy and sinister, I think. It should come to life, oozing across the images and out onto the floor where I can fight it, where I can slay it. But the x-rays just hang there, like a strange kind of puzzle whose pattern I can’t quite figure out.

I hug my mom tight, careful not to bruise her. I want to hug her with all my strength, hold on to her so tightly that I never have to let go. I can't.

"Doctor says it's too early to be concerned," mom says, but she's wrong. I live on the Hellmouth. It's never too early to be concerned.

"Right," I say. "No concern."

"Just a shadow," she says.

How do you fight a shadow?

***

The waiting is the worst part. The pacing. The cups of coffee I don't want to drink. The way Riley keeps looking at me as if he thinks I should do something, even if that something is the one thing I can’t do right now: cry. I can’t afford to break down. Willow and Tara have been great, mostly just by being there. I mean, I need to be strong, but I don't really want to be alone either, you know? They keep Riley company while I pace and worry, and, later, when I glance over at them they seem to be involved in a pretty deep discussion. Every now and then Riley's eyes follow me, and they look sadder and sadder.

He pities me. I don't want pity. I want... I just want him to be there.

When I finally sit down he comes to sit with me, wrapping his arm around me and letting me put my head on his shoulder. For a few minutes I just let myself rest, feeling like I'm taking a breather in the middle of a fight.

When the doctor comes back out, I'm ready for round two.

I get up and go to speak with him.

"Let's sit down over here for a minute," the doctor says. Doctor speak for 'I've got bad news.'

"No!” I say, maybe a little too loudly. He winces, like he’s getting a headache himself. I lower my voice. “Excuse me, no. I... I don't mean to be rude, I just, I've been sitting for hours. I don't wanna sit. I just... tell me, please."

The doctor's eyes are kind and tired. Not good.

"Your mother has... the term is low-grade glioma. It's a brain tumor. The clinical name is oligodendroglioma. It's in the left hemisphere of the cerebrum. In your mother's case the tumor seems to have started there. In other words, it hasn't spread from another part of the body..."

His words start to fade out, replaced by someone in the back of my head chanting ohgodohgodohgod over and over again.

A brain tumor.

My mother has a brain tumor.

Cancer.

The thing I didn't want to say because it might be real? It's real. And it's here now, eating up all the air and space in the room like a giant invisible elephant.

And I don't know what to do.

The doctor's mouth keeps moving but I can't follow his words. He might as well be speaking another language. Finally, something comes through.

"...I know this is very difficult," he says, "and, uh, because of the nature of your mother's illness... unfortunately, things may progress very quickly."

"Things?" I ask, confused. "What things?"

"Symptoms," he says. "There's a fair variety that might present. Loss of vision or appetite, lack of muscle control, uh mood swings..."

I don't care. All I care about is stopping it.

"But what can we do?" I ask.

"Well," he says. "Not much, until we determine if the tumor is operable. Which we are working on." He says this like I might think they’re slacking on the job. Slowly he leads me to a chair and I sink into it automatically.

"Is there something I... I mean... can I help?" Inanely my brain insists that repeating Spike's words means things are really bad.

"Well, there's some literature you might want to look at,” he says. Research? He wants me to research? Aren’t doctors supposed to have done all that already? How can I help with that? I’m only a college sophomore who doesn’t even have a real major. “If we aren't able to go in surgically, there are a number of new treatments that are very promising. Your mother's prognosis is a lot better today than it would have been only a year ago. Even if the tumor's not operable she has a real chance."

I really don't like the sound of that.

"What's a real chance?" I ask, even though I don't want to know the answer.

"Nearly one out of three patients with this condition does just fine," he says reassuringly.

Yeah. I really didn't want to know that. It’s not reassuring at all.

"Now, let me ask...Does your mother's insurance company require copies of the MRI and pathology reports?"

I frown. Insurance... I don't know. I... I've never even thought about insurance or... Mom handles that stuff. Suddenly I'm tuning out again, thinking of all the things mom handles, every day. Stuff I don't know anything about. Insurance, and bills, groceries, taxes... who... who's going to do that stuff? Me? I can't even drive and I'm...

I can do this. I can. I just have to...

Mom. I just have to get Mom better.

He starts to ask me more questions, but every one just makes me feel more and more lost. What do cell phones have to do with anything or.. chemical plants? Or...

We live on a Hellmouth for heaven's sake. How much more bad influency can you get?

Wait a minute.

Hellmouth.

We live on a Hellmouth.

By the time he excuses himself, I can tell he's irritated with me. I don't blame him. I've never felt so clueless in my entire life, and that's counting all of high school as one big no-clue-apalooza.

When I check with the nurse she tells me my mom's going to be sleeping for another six or seven hours. I've got to do something. Sitting here is killing me. Six or seven hours of sitting is time that I could be spending in better ways, trying to find a cure.

"Buffy," Riley says, putting his hand on my shoulder. I turn to him, too restless for a hug.

"It's bad," I tell him, because I have to tell him something.

"I know," he says, only he doesn't because how could he? I can't stay here... I have to... I have to do something. Try something.

"Will you... will you stay and keep an eye on her?” I ask. “I... I need to do something. Just, if she wakes up, call me?"

"Yeah," he says, looking serious and sad, that little bit of pity back in his eyes. "I can do that."

"Okay," I say, and go to find Willow and Tara. I need to go to the Magic Box.

When fists don’t work, it’s time to break out the magic.

***

Giles is being a fat lot of no help.

"The truth is, uh... the mystical and the medical aren't meant to mix, Buffy. Sorry, um... the human mind is very delicate. Too much can go wrong," he says.

But there has to be... I mean, it's magic. Magic is supposed to do the impossible, right?

Tara's determined not to help either. "Yeah, I've heard stories about people trying healing spells... if we did something, it could make things a lot worse, Buffy." At least she manages to look apologetic.

Great. The one time I'm sure magic is the answer? Totally not.

I know that they aren’t saying no to hurt me. I know if they say that it’s a bad idea, it probably is. But that only makes it worse, because it means that there really isn’t anything I can do.

We talk about other things then. Inane things. Every day things. Things that don't involve the words cancer or tumor or inoperable because those are impossible words that have no solution. Instead we talk about vampires and demons and supernatural activity because those things can be fixed.

I'd welcome a Big Bad right about now, if for no other reason than to make me feel more useful or give me something I could do. But it's been quiet, the last few months. Just your usual run of vamps and minor demons.

Nothing nearly major enough to keep me from worrying about Mom.

I try to remember if we had a Big Bad last year this time. It takes a minute or two to work out the date.

It's almost Thanksgiving.

Last year I was... fighting off Native American vengeance spirits, and I was freaking out over the peas. Spike was knocking at the door, starving and looking like a sun-broiled ghost in a tattered blanket. Riley was a barely acknowledged blip on the horizon and Angel was poking his nose in where it wasn't needed. We'd barely even heard of the Initiative. All I'd wanted last year was a perfect Thanksgiving.

I don't even have a turkey this year.

I don't want a turkey.

I want my Mom to be okay.

When Riley shows up looking for me, I'm worried. Why isn’t he with Mom, like I asked?

"It's fine," he says, reading the worry on my face. "I'd have called if there were something wrong. I just... wanted to check if you were okay. See if you needed anything?"

"I'm alright," I say. I’d be happier if he’d stayed at the hospital, though. Now Mom is there alone, and if something were to happen... if she were to wake up and... Riley could have just called to see if I was okay. I’m not the one that’s in the hospital.

Xander says something to Riley about something they were supposed to do this morning, but I'm not paying much attention.

"I'm going back to the hospital," I say, interrupting whatever argument was about to be brewing. "I want to be there with my mom when she wakes up and they tell her."

"Do you need a ride?" Riley asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I just... I need to walk. I'll see you later, okay?"

He looks sad, but I can't deal with that right now. "Take a jacket," he says, finally. "It's getting cold out."

***

I sit with Mom while the doctor explains things to her. She’s confused at first, from the medicine, but I can tell when it sinks in. The look in her eyes is heartbreaking, but then I watch her put her Mom face back on. She’s so strong sometimes, I envy her. She’s strong in ways I’ll never be.

After the doctor leaves, Mom and I talk for awhile. She's worried about her hair, where they shaved it for the biopsy. I tell her it'll look fine. We can get wigs. We try to joke about it, try to laugh, because then it doesn’t seem as real or as scary. I can tell that my being there helps her, keeps her from being depressed or giving into the worry.

Riley comes by again, which is nice, but I really just want to spend time with my Mom. He tells me to go ahead and cry, but I can't do that right now. Not when mom is watching. I send him home and promise to call him tomorrow. Right now...

I have to be strong. It's what I do best, right?

***

I patrol later, after Mom falls back asleep, taking out my frustration on the two or three vamps who decide tonight would be a good night to rise. When I go home, the house is empty, the lights off. I sense Spike somewhere nearby but I'm not in the mood to deal with him tonight.

Instead I go up and go straight to bed.

When Mr. Gordo arrives, it's the same as the night before.

I don't know why I talk to him, except that I know he won't talk back. He won't tell me everything is going to be okay. He won't make it worse by telling me no, I can't do something. I can't see, so I don't have to see pity in his eyes. He won't make me feel useless.

It's easy to ignore that he's a vampire, at times like this. Even when I start to cry and he tentatively puts one arm around me, letting me sob on his t-shirt in the dark.

It's only a dream. It makes a strange sort of sense, somehow, that in a dream a vampire should be the one to give me what I need.

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