Title: Slayer's Footfalls Author: trixie trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com Disclaimer: Joss and co own them Rating: PG Author's Notes: this fic is based on a spoiler going around! If you don't want to know the spoiler, read no further:) I won't be responsible for those spoiled because they went ahead and read this... AN:2: I'm not going to pretend that this is any good. But I had to write it... Dedication: to my Mum, who I love more and more every time she laughs The wind is blowing in my ears. It sounds so far away. Bending down, I feel my knees shaking. Everyone is gone now. I'm pretty sure Giles took Dawn home. She hasn't stopped crying for a week. I don't blame her. She looks a little older every time I see her. Her pie-plate eyes have a knowledge. A swollen red knowledge. We're alone. My hair is getting between my teeth. Choking a little I press my hands to the stone. My fingers trace the lines carved there. "Joyce Summers". Joyce. My Mom. My Mommy. Under the ground. I haven't seen her in a week. Seven full days without her. Without a hug or a smile. Without her arms or her soft hair. The way she twirled around in that dress for us. I wonder where it is now. She was so excited about it. I won't ever see her again. Not for my whole life. No matter how much I yearn for her or beg for her...she's just gone. That's too hard a thought. I don't think I can master it right now. What I really want to do is die. I'm wearing black and the flowers are so white. They look like pale fish swimming against the dark brown mud. It's a fresh grave. I can't believe she's under me. I just wish I could see her, you know? Maybe tell her something. Goodbye? Don't leave me alone? I never knew that I needed a mother till I saw you lying frozen eyed on that couch? Pressing my hands to the dirt, I feel it squeeze between my fingers and its texture is heavy. My stomach hurts. So does my throat. It aches like its got a weight pressed against it. I can't stop shaking. Leaning down carefully so I don't hurt the pretty flowers people left, I lay my face against the ground. Does she hear me? "Mommy..." I whisper and the word makes me gag. Mommy, Mommy, will you read me a story to keep the monsters away? Yes, Buffy...come sit on my lap. I remember when I was little and I'd play dress-up with her. It was only me then. Dawn hadn't been born. I'd wear long black feather boas and her high heels. She'd put on some of her dress clothes and we'd strut around the house. She always played with me. The mirrors were kind to our reflections and she would lift me up, her lips against my cheek, like silk. "You fit my shoes nicely," she'd say. Even though they were too big on me. The mud is drowning me. It's wet. I think the place they put her into is cold and lonely. She won't be able to twirl around in there. I don't even know what she's wearing. The bugs will eat away at her. Mommy.... Mommy, will you sing me to sleep tonight? I don't want to have bad dreams... Yes, Buffy... and she's stroke my hair and her voice would lilt quietly as she sang me a lullaby. She told me her mother sang it to her. My fingers tremble as I touch the gravestone. Tracing the lines and words. An elegy. That's all that's left of her now. All she will ever become. Just a name, a few dates and some lines that don't mean anything. Mother and friend... what about the times she ate ice cream with me when I would cry about boys? Or when she faced Synder with me and we laughed about it afterwards? What about the times we would fight and I hated her so much because I loved her? Because I wanted her to love me? Because she did and I couldn't understand it... "Mommy..." I choke as the dirt gets past my lips and into me. Sucking in breath, I feel it fill my lungs with murky air and expand them. Like a balloon. That's about to pop. Mommy... Mommy, will you be there when I die? What, sweetie? When I die, Mommy...will you be there to hug me? Oh Buffy...yes, I will always be there... But you won't will you... the bitter acrid taste of bile on my tongue reminds me that I've thrown up five times in the last few hours and I think that my belly is pushing blood out of my throat now. I feel a hand on my back. Fingers that are strong and sure. I knew he would come. I turn around and still the words are cut into my eyes... Joyce Summers...Joyce Summers... Mommy, will you be there when I die? To hug me? His hands are wiping the mud and blood away from my lips and cheeks. Staring up at him, I see the tenderness and start to hit him. He knows me. No one can know me. Grappling with his shirt and chest, my fists and weak thin wrists snap like fireflies against him. He doesn't move. Stoically he stands in front of me, his black trencher flapping around us like an obsence black bird. He just keeps smoothing my face and he won't let me away from him even though I keep hitting him and screaming. And then the tears come. They are a burn. They hurt more than the quiet grief did. All the salt streams down my cheeks and lips and I make a keening sound that I know sounds like an animal dying. Or maybe a Slayer. That's when his arms go around me and I hold him so tight that I can't breathe anymore. I hope he crushes my ribs. I hope he makes sure this goes away. I wish I could wake up in twenty years when the pain will just be a tug at the strings of my heart. Not a roar in the deepest regions of my pores. The person who birthed me is dead. I'm dead. She's dead. I can't breathe. Sobbing so hard I feel like I'm about to crack, I press closer and closer to him and cry out. "Mommy...I want you...please..." he doesn't answer but he sits down and I'm on his lap. He's scooping me against his heart and his jacket is a coccoon that I'm inside. Mommy...can we be together when I get married? Will you still live near me? Of course Buffy...go to sleep... Sleep, Mommy. Sleep and miss my marriage and children. Miss my laughter. Miss my tears when I cut myself. Miss me calling for you in the dead of night when everything is silent and I need to know you're alive somewhere. Miss the new black shirt that I bought at the mall...that you never got to see. Do you miss me? Do you miss me already? Angel rocks me as I stare at the grave. His skin is cold and my cheek is hot and red. Joyce Summers... Mommy, when I die will you be there? To hug me? Yes, Buffy, I'll always be there... End. Feedback loved. trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com