DISCLAIMER: Nope, I'm not Joss. I don't think there's anything wrong with having all my characters be happy at the same time *sigh*.
SPOILERS: 'The Body', general season 5.
FEEDBACK: Is adored.
RATING: PG
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is really more of a general Buffy POV than a usual OWIS, but then the episode wasn't like a usual 'Buffy'. I hope it's okay.
DEDICATION: Lasca, for providing the inspiration.

It's not that I don't want to see him. It's that I don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to shut Mom out, if I am when all that seems to be painted on my eyelids is the image of her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Not staring.

Eyes are the windows to the soul. His eyes really did show the difference between the demon and the soul. Mom's eyes really did show the difference between her soul being there... in her body... and it being... where? I guess there's somewhere. Angel's soul always went 'somewhere'. Maybe it's different if the body that's left really is left a body.

What do my eyes show? Not much. Emptiness, weariness... the absence of emotion, negative emotion. It's obvious I've been crying. The whites of my eyes aren't white, they're bloodshot, around my eyes is swollen and my nose is red from all the tears. My lips and cheeks are hurting from wearing the fixed, fake, thank-you-for-your-sympathy smile. I don't want their sympathy. I don't want to be in a position to be getting it.

He wouldn't give me sympathy. He'd give me comfort, and understanding, and a safe, warm place to cry. He wouldn't say anything until he knew I wanted to listen, and then he'd know exactly what to say to make me feel better. Not a lot better. But it'd be smart, and wise, and right because it'd be out of love. He'd give me so much more than sympathy. I'm not sure why I won't go for it.

If he's there to give it, anyway. I haven't forgotten what he told me, about Darla. I don't think he's lost his soul. No-one's called, no-one's come. And so he must be okay, and even if he's not, what help would I be? I'm not in a position to spout off about the good in the world and the good of people and the eventual rightness of fate. Fate took my mother; Destiny screwed me over, again. Could *he* help *me* find the right? Maybe I'll find out.

But not tonight. Tonight I have to be here, ready to soothe Dawn if she wakes crying the way she cried herself to sleep, not embroiled in a dream with Angel. He's not here. He doesn't know. And I don't think my mother liked him much anyway.

Dawn shifted, rolling away from my shoulder. She groped blindly around the bed, and I cast around for a second before reaching for Mr. Gordo and placing him in her arms. She hugged him tightly. God knows whether she realised what she was doing. I'd hoped that drowned in the darkness of sleep she'd be able to forget for a little while, and it doesn't even look like she's been granted that.

I already know what I'd be granted is Angel. Right now, I'd like the silence.

Almost my first thought after I found the body - God -, and Giles came was about Dawn. My sister. She is my sister, and I'm prepared to fight for her; that was the first real clarity I had. *Mommy told me... love Dawn like she loves me*. Mom really loved me, and I *will* make sure Dawn has that. My dad might not even try to get custody, and how awful is that? He won't win, anyway. I'm an adult, I live here, where Dawn knows, and I've got family here. Inbuilt support system. I expect I'll have to drop out of school; it was never going to do much for me anyway. I'm the Slayer. Even beside my mother's body, I had to be the Slayer.

I watched Dawn for a couple of minutes, watching her expressions as she lay in a dream I couldn't see and probably wouldn't understand. When I was pretty sure she wasn't going to wake up, I leaned over and kissed her cheek gently. Trying to put into it everything I felt from Mom's kisses. It didn't seem to help her.

I wandered out of my room. I considered the roof outside the window, but I felt kind of wobbly. This time Angel wouldn't be there to catch me if I slipped.

I hovered outside Mom's room for a few moments, but I didn't want to go in just yet. Not now, in the dark, alone in the house. I've seen too much not to believe in ghosts. And the thought of going through her things made me feel physically sick. I know it won't help anything to pretend that she's just out of town for the night. But it won't help me to go in there either. Maybe in a couple of days... I guess I'll have to. No-one's made funeral noises yet, but I've seen enough death to be a pro at this.

The funeral part, at least. The part where it's my mother's funeral... that part is new. Maybe she could wear that new dress she wore for her date. I remember her happy in that dress. I'll talk to Dawn. Maybe not if it's going to be cremation. I don't even know if my mother would have wanted cremation or burial. I welcomed the wave of irrational anger which swept through me, burning out, albeit temporarily (so temporarily), the aimlessness. She could have died through that operation. She should have discussed with me what she wanted to happen if anything went wrong, not that I would have wanted to hear it, but she should have told me so I know if I'm doing what she wants because something has gone wrong and I just made it to the toilet before I threw up.

I tried to retch quietly so I didn't wake up Dawn. She needs me to be strong, and thinking of that helps me to be.

I flushed the toilet and washed my mouth out with clear water. I looked into the mirror, ignoring my reflection; I know I look like crap. Maybe I thought I'd be able to look in the mirror and if I didn't see her, she must be there. I guess so much time with Angel made me think that.

I opened the cabinet and considered sedatives. If they'd even work on me. Milk sounded better; big cup of little-girl-warm milk. Mom swore by it for helping insomnia. When I was young, before Dawn came (before I remember Dawn coming), when I had nightmares I'd crawl, sleepy and scared, into my parents' bed and let Mom cuddle me while Dad went for milk. That was before they started arguing a lot. I'd be squished between my parents, and drink my milk, and let them talk me back to sleep, and when I woke up again I'd be back in my own bed.

I used to be determined I'd do that for my kids one day. Soothe them back to sleep with hugs and love and warm milk; I guess every parent thinks they will. I'm not going to be a parent. This is so hard for me, now... how can I have a baby knowing I'm practically guaranteed to put them through it in their early years? Even normal people don't last forever, and it's always sudden, like Tara said. My death will be sudden, but it's always half-expected. You hope - I hope I won't die, but the prospect is there. Most people don't have to think like that.

I wish I didn't. Part of me is almost glad that now I'll never put Mom through losing her daughter. Child burying parent, that's the natural order, right?

I felt sick again. I hadn't eaten for a while.

I wandered down the stairs. The house was really silent. And cold. I realised my skin was covered in goosebumps and reached distractedly for the cardigan hanging on the banister, wrapping it around me. It was Mom's. I thought for a moment I could smell her on it, but even Slayer senses couldn't pick anything up.

Well, those same Slayer senses were afraid of the dark right then, so I guess that's understandable.

The darkness inside the house was more oppressive that the paling predawn outside. I crossed the living room, avoiding the couch. Maybe I'll have it burnt.

I pulled the back door open and sat on the porch. I did this when I first knew she was sick. Back at the beginning. Now at the end. I felt better than then, for her... the pain's gotta be over... but for me...

You're not sad for the person who's died. You're sad for you, left behind and lonely and crying and wondering how the hell you're going to cope. It's selfish, but I never get much time to be selfish; there's always a hell portal to be closed or a giant snake to stop. Or a little sister to comfort. That's not really fair, it makes me sound like I resent her or something... I don't. I think she'll help.

I never got the spiel about stars being the spirits of people who have died, but leaning back and looking at them, fading to pinpricks as the sky lightened, preparing for sunrise, it seemed like a nice idea. Like I said, we don't know where they do go. Somewhere where they can watch us is a nice thought. Maybe I'll pull Dawn out here in a couple of days, get her to pick one with me. Mom-star.

Not like having her here. Obviously. It still feels like she is, though... I know I haven't processed, that I'm clinging onto a truth that isn't true anymore. I just don't know how not to. How can she never be going to come home again? Her stuff is here. We're here. But she's only here on photos, in my head.

I'll never see my mother's face again.

I wrapped my hands together in my lap, turning my knuckles white, and realised with a surprise it was wet. I raised a hand to my cheeks and noted with detached surprise that they were wet, tears were dripping from my abused eyes and down my throat and into my lap. It's amazing how quickly you get inured to crying. I've done... a lot. Often over someone going away. Dad, Angel, Riley, Mom.

I didn't realise how much I needed her until I realised I've got to stop, because she simply isn't here anymore. Not simply. The most complicated, confusing thing in the world. Why my Mom? Haven't I done enough? Hasn't she done too little?

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears squeeze relentlessly through anyway. I leaned back, and for a minute there was a cool, solid chest there to rest against, and comforting familiar arms around me, his body curled protectively around mine, my head nestled in the curve of his shoulder and his head a soothing weight on my hair.

I opened my eyes, and I was alone.

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