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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 27: The Body
 
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Author's Notes: Chapter 26 was posted last night. Make sure you’ve read that before this one.

And…for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

This chapter follows the episode it’s named for pretty much exactly, minus Dawn. I’ve been up front about my plans to stick to canon on this one since early on. There was no way to change it that I would have believed and it’s an important part of the story.

Still, I’m sorry. It was hard to watch, hard to write…

If you don’t want to go through this again—I’ll see you in Chapter 28.

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 "The Body" written by Joss Whedon.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae






Chapter 27

The Body


I stop off at the Magic Box and let Giles and Anya know what happened. He promises to tell the others when they come in after class. Xander apparently is taking care of the repair work on the window at the dorms, so I swing by to see how it's going. It looks good, and even with the cold air blowing in through the empty frame it's nice to just sit and talk.

I leave him as he's finishing up, and head home. Just inside the door I notice a huge bouquet of flowers.

"Hey, Mom!" I call out. She should be home from work by now. She's only been doing half shifts since she went back. There's a card tucked into the flowers and I pull it out and read it, smiling at the note Brian left for her. "Some guys out there still gettin' it right," I murmur as I put it back. I slip my coat and scarf off and toss them on the banister. "Mom!" I call out again, then catch a glimpse of her on the couch in the living room.

"Mom? Whatcha doing?" I ask, turning.

Something about how she's lying on the couch…

"Mom?"

She's so still.

"Mom?"

She's not blinking. Why isn't she blinking? The floor gives a little lurch under my feet, as if it's trying to slide away.

"Mommy?" I ask quietly.

But she doesn't answer. Like April, she lays there, still, a sleeping doll with her eyes open.

No.

No.

Nononononononono.

I must cross the room somehow but I…and then I'm shaking her, trying to wake her up, but…she's not breathing.

Oh, god, she's not breathing.

And her skin is…

She's collapsed. That's it. Just…I need to call…phone. There's a phone in the kitchen and my fingers pound the three keys in a blur. Then there's a voice on the other end of the line, this tiny, distant voice that I can barely hear over the weird roaring sound in my ears.

"Hello? My mom, she-she's not breathing," I tell the voice.

"Is she conscious?" it asks.

"No, I-I-I can't…she…she's not breathing," I say because she's not, but I go back into the living room, hoping she is now.

The voice says something, but all I hear is "…address."

"What?" I ask.

"I'm going to send an ambulance over," says the voice, patient and calm. Oh. Okay. Address.

"S-Sixteen thirty Revello, it-it's a house, Revello, near Hadley," I say hoping that the voice knows where that is.

"I'm sending a unit right away. Are you alone in the house?"

"Yes," I say.

"Well, did you see what happened, did she fall?" asks the voice.

"No…no, I-I came home and she…what should I do?" I ask. Give me something to do. I do things.

"Do you know how to administer CPR?"

I should. I took a class. And Giles showed me and…I should know this but all I'm getting is this big blank and…"No, I don't remember," I tell the voice.

"Okay. It's very simple," says the voice, and begins to talk me through it. As it talks I remember. Tilt the head and…and…I can do this. I remember now.

I drop the phone on the table where it keeps talking, and I slide Mom down on the couch a little, so she's more comfortable.

Breathe. Breathe.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Breathe. Breathe.

Onetwothree …

Something cracks under my hands. I've forgotten not to be…and it cracked. It cracked. I pick up the phone.

"I-I …are you there? I-I broke something," I say.

"Hello?" says the phone.

"It cracked," I tell the voice.

"Is she breathing?" asks the voice.

"No," I say.

"Paramedics should be there in a moment. You might have cracked a rib, it's not important," says the voice, but…

"She's cold," I say, touching her hand.

For a moment there's nothing. No sound. No words. Nothing.

"The body's cold?" asks the voice.

What body?

"No, my mom! Sh-should I make her warm?" I ask. I could do that. It's cold, in the house. I could turn up the heat and…blankets, there are blankets.

"No, if she's not responding to CPR, the best thing is to wait for the paramedics, okay?" says the voice.

"When will they be here?" I ask, angry because…I have to do something. That's…

"They're very nearby," says the voice.

I look out the window, but they aren't there yet. All there is outside is blankness. Sunlight, snow. The empty road. The phone is still talking to me but…I have to do something. Someone should know.

Giles.

Giles will know what to do. Giles always knows.

"I have to make a call," I tell the voice and hang up on it.

Call Giles. There are buttons on the phone, but they seem huge. They don't make any sense. I can't remember what his number is.

Speed dial. I push the button and listen to the ring.

"Hello?" Giles says.

"Giles. You have to come," I say.

"Buffy?"

"She's at the house," I tell him and hang up.

The front door is closed. I open it. The street is empty, but nearby a siren wails. I leave the door open and go back inside.

Mom is laying on the couch.

Her skirt has ridden up, from where I pulled her down, and her slip is showing. Outside, there are voices, and people doing things, and they're going to come in here and see her with her slip showing and she's going to hate that. I fix it, quick, before they can come inside and see.

"She's in here," I tell the men who come in the door. They bend over mom.

"I'm getting no pulse," says the first one.

"Let's lay her out," says the second.

They lift her down to the floor and the first guy starts pulling out equipment.

"How long has she been like this?" asks the second one.

"I found her," I tell him. "A…a few-few minutes."

They attach wires to her. "Was she conscious?" the guy asks.

"No," I tell him.

"I'm bagging her," says the other guy.

"What?" I ask.

"We're gonna intubate. Just trying to get her to breathe, all right?"

Okay. Okay. They pull out more equipment. "This your mother?"

"Yes," I say.

"She have any serious physical health problems? Any history of heart disease?" he asks.

"No," I say. They study their equipment very seriously. "I mean…there-there was a tumor…a-a brain tumor, but she had an operation and she's fine now. She…she's been fine."

They have a plastic mask on her face. And, the second guy is pushing on her chest. Suddenly she coughs and gasps.

"I got her! My god, we got her!" cries the EMT.

"Let's get her on the truck now. I'm calling ahead," says the second.

Then we're in the ambulance and racing for the hospital, and she's okay, it's a miracle, she's going to be fine, and the doctor is giving her a cleanbillofhealthandMom'ssohappyIfoundherintimeand…

It's still silent, except for the guy doing the chest compressions.

"She's cold, man," says the first one.

"Call it," says the second.

They move, packing things up, removing their equipment and putting it away. Mom lays on the carpet, very still.

Then there's a shadow in the way, one of the ambulance guys and he's talking. I watch his mouth. Watch him make words with it.

"Wha-what do we do now?" I ask.

"I'm sorry," he says, and it echoes a little in the silence, slow and strange. "But I have to tell you that y o u r m o t h e r i s d e a d."

I watch the words shape his mouth, but they don't make sense. He says other words. "…like she did die a good while before you found her. There's…nothing you could have done," he says, but that's wrong. I know that's wrong. I do things. It's…there's something wrong. This is a dream. I'll wake up in a minute.

He talks and I hear the words in spaces.

"Aneurysm."

"Clotting."

"Complication."

My eyes are wet. He explains some more things. His lips move.

The other guy has a radio, and it squawks. They talk in words that sound far away. Another language.

"I'm gonna call this right away," he says, speaking in English again. "Now the coroner's office may take awhile. In the meanwhile, I think you should sit. Have a glass of water, and try not to disturb the body. Do you need anything, is there someone you can call?"

Giles.

"Someone's coming," I tell him.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he tells me.

"Thank you," I say, because I don't know what else there is except to be polite. Mom would want me to be polite. I walk them to the door. "Good luck," I tell them, and they're gone.

I'm still holding the phone. I put it down somewhere. Glass of water, he said. I remember that. I go toward the kitchen but I stop just inside the living room. The breeze outside is blowing the wind chimes that I bought mom for her birthday a few years ago. They sound like bells.

My stomach lurches and I sink to the floor, throwing up on the carpet to the sound of the wind chimes. I must not have eaten anything, because all it is is bile.

In the kitchen I open the back door. The sun gleams off the snow, and the wind is cool on my sweaty skin. I don't know why I'm sweating.

Far off, children play. A door closes. A car starts. A dog barks.

The paper towels unroll in a long stream of white. I fold them carefully and cover the vomit on the rug, watching it seep through the cotton.

"Buffy?" says a voice. Giles. Giles is here. He's standing in the front door, panting a little as if he ran. "What is it?"

"I'm waiting," I tell him. "The…the coroner's coming."

"What?" he asks. He steps into the room and glances into the living room. "Oh, god," he says.

"No. No! Don't. No, it's too late," I try to tell him, but he's moving now, faster than I've ever seen him move and he's saying her name and I'm trying to tell him but he's not listening and then he's there, kneeling over her and shaking her and I have to make him listen because they told me, they told me …

"We're not supposed to move the body!" I say.

I freeze.

Mom. The body. Mom.

My mom is dead.

She's dead, and all that's left in the living room is her body and she's gone.

She's gone.

There are arms around me. Giles. He's holding me and rocking me and I can't close my eyes. Can't stop staring at the body on the floor, with its eyes open, looking so broken and strange.

***


Time passes.

I watch it go by as if underwater.

Giles sits beside me in the kitchen, holding my hand. An anchor, keeping me from floating away.

Light plays over the cabinets. Cold wind blows in through the open door. Outside there is noise, but inside we are still. Unmoving. Silent creatures in an empty house.

Last night I sat here, in this chair, and laughed with my mother about her date. There was hot chocolate.

This morning I ate cereal here. Had orange juice. Mom blew me a kiss on my way out.

The dishes are still in the sink.

When the coroner arrives, Giles goes to meet him.

Sluggishly, I crawl back to awareness. I need to move. Need to do.

In the living room I watch as if from a distance, still, as they put my mother in a body bag and zip it closed. Giles stands beside me, talking to the man in the uniform.

They give me papers to sign and I do, because they tell me to. Giles moves around, shutting doors. I hear him call someone. Willow.

I watch them wheel the body bag out and into a van. It's a familiar sight, in this town, this van. It just doesn't belong here in front of my house. When it drives away, I feel a strange sense of relief.

Giles hands me my coat and I put it on because he tells me to, then get in his car because he says I should. He closes the front door and locks it with my keys while I sit in the front seat of his car and stare at the empty street.

***


At the hospital we settle in to wait. That's what you do in hospitals. You wait. People go past, and you watch but you don't. Instead you focus on the wall, on trying to decide what the exact shade of the paint is and wonder if the people in the room know that your mother just died.

Eventually the others arrive. All together, each of them holding onto themselves as if they might fall apart. Until suddenly, one by one, their arms open and enfold me.

Willow smells like sandalwood and lavender, and she hugs me so tight I'm not sure which of us is stronger right now. Xander's hand is bandaged, and he smells of sawdust. Was it really only a few hours ago I watched him installing a window? Anya hugs me tentatively, as if I'm made of glass and might shatter. Tara's arms are warm, I want to hold on to her a little longer because she smells a little like my mom's shampoo.

We talk, but it's not the words that register.

Giles is the first to see the doctor, and together we step forward. The others wait, a silent, solid wall behind me.

"Okay," says Dr. Kriegel. "I've examined your mother's body. The on-site report seems more or less accurate. Your mother did have what what looks like an aneurysm. A sudden hemorrhaging from a ruptured arterial vessel near the…uh, where the tumor was removed."

"Shouldn't we have known about that? That, that was a danger?" I ask.

"Sometimes these things are detectable, and sometimes they're not," he says. "Joyce was aware of the possibility of a rupture and the effects. She didn't even get on the phone, so clearly this was very sudden. She may have felt a little nausea, and probably passed out as it happened. I doubt there was much pain, and …even if someone had been by her side it's doubtful that this could have been dealt with in time."

"Thank you, Doctor," Giles says.

I think of my mom, on the couch, still wearing her coat, as if she'd just gotten home, or was about to go out. Of the surprised expression on her face.

"Are you sure that there wasn't a lot of pain?" I ask.

"Absolutely," the doctor says. He says something else but I don't hear it. Maybe he's just lying to make me feel better.

"What, uh, what needs to be done now?" asks Giles.

"Well, there are…uh, there'll be some forms and some decisions you'll have to make," he tells us, but I'm starting to zone out again.

"Buffy, why don't you let me handle those as much as I can," Giles says.

"Please," I say.

"We will need you to sign a couple of release forms…," the doctor says. But Giles puts him off, promising to figure out which ones I need to see.

I move back to the others.

"What'd the doctor say?" asks Xander.

"Nothing," I tell him. "It's, you know, it's what we thought…the tumor."

Willow moves us all over to the seating area and I explain where Giles has gone off to. There's small talk, little jokes that don't make much of a dent in the air.

"I wish that Joyce didn't die," Anya says, a little loudly. The others freeze, staring at her and she shifts, uncomfortable. "…Because she was nice…and now we all hurt."

"Anya, ever the wordsmith," Xander says, half joking, half apologetic.

"Thank you," I tell her, because she's in pain, too. We're both confused, not sure what to do, what to say.

The talk turns to food, but I honestly don't know if I'm hungry. I can't remember if I've eaten anything today, and I'm so numb…Willow and Xander and Anya head off to get food anyway. Maybe if I see it, I'll remember if I'm hungry.

Tara sits with me, quiet, staring at the floor. We study the tile for a while, as if there are answers written there. If they are, I can't read the language. "I'm sorry," I tell her, after awhile. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

"You don't have to worry about me," she tells me.

"Everybody wants to help," I say. "I don't even know if I'm…here. I don't know what's going on. Never done this. …That's just an amazingly dumb thing to say. Obviously…I've never done this." I stare at my knees.

"I have," she says softly. I turn to look at her. "My mother died when I was seventeen."

"I didn't know," I say, and curse myself for being so insensitive and self involved. I barely know Tara. I never bothered to ask. "I'm sorry," I tell her, because I am.

"No, no…I didn't mean to…” she sighs, then tries again. "I'm only telling you this because…I know it's not my place, but…there's things…thoughts and reactions that I had that…I couldn't understand, or even try to explain to anyone else. Thoughts that…made me feel like I was losing it…or, like I was some kind of h-horrible person. I know it's different for you…because it's always different, but…if you ever need…"

Suddenly I'm glad she's here. Glad someone knows, even if all she knows is sort of what I'm going through.

"Was it sudden?" I ask. "Your mother?"

"No," she says, then thinks for a minute. "Yes. It's always sudden."

She tells me about her mom, and for a little while I live someone else's pain and it dulls the edge of mine. It makes me feel selfish and sorry, but Tara doesn't seem to mind talking about it, and it's easier than thinking about why I'm here and what I've lost.

When the others come back, it's with armloads of food and coffee. "We panicked," Willow says. They dump their bounty on the table and I look at the packages full of candy and caffeine and feel the bile start to rise again. No. I'm not hungry.

Still, Anya holds out a sandwich nervously, and to humor them I eat a little, which seems to make them all relieved. When they're distracted, I put the sandwich down.

Eventually Giles comes back with a clipboard and a pen. He explains what each of the papers are and shows me where to sign. Everything else, he tells me, can wait until morning. We're free to go.

"Do you…do you want to stay over?" Willow asks.

"No," I tell her. "Thank you…I just…I want to go home."

"Someone should stay," she says, half to herself, "with you, I mean, in case you …in case you need something?"

I think about it. About going home. I want to crawl into bed and not get up. I don't need anything. I shake my head and thank her anyway.

***


Giles drives me home. For a long time we sit in front of the house, staring at the dark windows. They look like insect eyes, soullessly staring back out. "Will you be alright?" he asks. "I can stay."

"Where?" I ask. I think about the sofa. About my mom's room.

"I could sleep on the floor, or…you shouldn't be alone," he says.

"I won't be," I tell him. He gives me a strange look. "I'll be okay. I'll…I'll call, if I need anything."

"Promise?" he says, clearly reluctant.

"Promise," I say. He waits until I unlock the door and go inside before he leaves.

I don't turn on the lights in the living room. Instead I go up the stairs and down the hall to my mom's room. It's just as she left it this morning, the bed neatly made. Her hairbrush still on the dresser. The closet door is half open. Leaving the lights on, I sit down on her bed, drinking in the scent of her that still lingers in the room.

Eventually, I know, it'll fade. But for now, for tonight, I feel like she's still here, with me. She's just…gone out for a while.

I'm not sure when I fall asleep. It feels as if one moment I'm sitting in my mom's room, and the next I'm in the dream room. I don't move. If I stay still, if I close my eyes, I can pretend I'm still back there, in her room.

I feel the tingles as Mr. Gordo approaches. He moves towards the bed and I track his progress almost absently. When I don't speak or move, he climbs into bed, then sits there. I can feel his eyes on me, studying. He taps three times.

I can't answer.

He shifts closer, taps again. I swallow hard, feeling the words in my throat, rising up like bile. My breath hitches as I fight to shove them back down.

Three more taps, closer still. Then cool hands on my shoulders, shaking me slightly. I open my eyes.

Black. Nothing. Darkness.

I can feel him in front of me, though, waiting, wondering what's wrong.

Something warm rolls down my cheek, followed by another. His thumb brushes away the tears. It's such a simple move, such a tiny gesture, but it's the final thing. The last little thing that I can bear, and then I'm sobbing, hard, harsh, gasping sobs and he's gathering me up into his lap, his hands smoothing over my hair and my back, letting me cry into his shoulder and the crook of his neck. I've cried on him before, but this is different. This is from the bottom of my soul, and it hurts to cry this hard. It chokes me and settles in my chest like a fist, and I can't breathe right. His hands never stop their motion, and I curl into him like I would a pillow, only he's stronger, strong enough to hold on to me even when the sobs threaten to tear me apart.

God, it hurts so much.

Why? Why did she have to go?

She was fine. Better. Things were…she'd just had a date, and now she'll never go out on another one again, and we'll never have hot chocolate again and laugh, or go shopping. She'll never come home with another story about the gallery, or greet me when I come home late from patrol. She's gone. Really, really gone and I never got to say goodbye.

At some point I realize I'm talking, that I'm saying this aloud, through my sobs, and my vampire is holding me, rocking me, and eventually it registers that the cold wet droplets that are falling on my face are his tears, and he's crying too.

So I tell him about her, because I know he doesn't know her and I want him to. I tell him about how wonderful she was, and how strong she was. I tell him about her and my dad, and how they met, and about the divorce and how brave she was to move us to Sunnydale. I tell him about the time she protected me from Spike with an axe, and about the night she found out I was the Slayer. I tell him about the time she went patrolling with me, and her trying to teach me to drive and about Thanksgivings and Christmases, and how she'd stroke my hair.

I pour my grief into him and he soaks it up, silent as a sponge. The tightening of his arms around me every now and then tells me he's listening, and his hands never stop stroking me. Finally I run out of words, if not out of tears, although they're coming silently now and slow. His hands smooth the hair away from my forehead and he nestles his face in my hair. Sleepily, exhausted now, I swear I feel him brush a ghost of a kiss against my forehead. Then he settles back against the headboard, tucking me up against him tightly, and holds me until I sob myself to sleep.








 
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