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Jun. 3rd, 2003 07:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupA post-Chosen fic, continued from what I posted yesterday
“No, I haven’t seen or heard from her since...the day before yesterday.” Xander peered into his cup to see if there was even a drop of yummy caffinated stuff, something he could catch on his tongue to slake his craving. Damn. Nothing. He set it on his desk and refocused on the conversation. Dawn sounded really worried. Worried like he hadn’t heard her in, well at least since they’d settled down here in..
“What?” Xander was jolted back again when Dawn mentioned something about Buffy’s bag.
“Her bag is here. With all her stuff in it. She didn’t take anything.” Panic was beginning to tinge the young woman’s voice.
Xander hadn’t seen Buffy without that bag in…well at least 3 years, ever since…
“And there’s no note, nothing on the machine, I’ve already called Willow and Giles and they don’t know anything either.”
“So I’m your last hope, huh?”
“Are you even listening to me Xander?” Dawn’s voice took on a hard edge, very reminiscent of her older sister.
“Okay. Okay. Yes. I get you. No Buffy. Just bag. I’m sorry.” Xander wiped his hand across his forehead and became duly sheepish. “No, Dawnie. I haven’t seen her. I haven’t heard from her. I’ll be right there.”
*******************
A flash through her mind *What the hell?*
She awoke with a start and tried to move, only to find that her limbs felt sewn to the bed. Her eyes immediately began to water from the combined brilliance of the lights around her and the white of the walls and ceiling within sight. Turning her head was a feat of obdurate willpower.
Now she saw an assortment of machines, blinking and beeping and occasionally spurting paper. She recognized the heart monitor and the IV bag, but the rest were a technological puzzle.
“Hello?” Or that’s at least what she tried to say. When she opened her mouth nothing came out but a shallow, breathy, croak. She started to cough. A deep, rattling, scratchy, non-ending cough. That’s what finally loosened her leaden body from the bed—the need to clutch and grasp and bend and contort.
Within minutes her room was a hub of activity. Nurses in bright, multi-colored scrubs and even a doctor or two in crisp-white jackets scurried through her vision. Neatly skirting one another’s arms and bodies, charts were scribble in, lines and cables were checked, screens were monitored and then finally, someone spoke to her, “Hello Miss Chase. How are you feeling?”
**************
Willow and Giles arrived just after Xander at Buffy and Dawn’s apartment. With some re-arranging they all managed to fit at the small kitchen table in the studio, which had the faint odor of something acrid.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning, once more Dawn, “ Giles looked around at the group, “that way we’re all on the same page.”
Smoothing her hair behind her ears, Dawn drew a hand across her face and began, “I came home about 4 o’clock yesterday after classes, and it’s not like Buffy’s ever home then anyway—she starts at the gym at 3—but I noticed that her bed wasn’t made and there were clothes hanging out of her dresser and the coffee maker was still on; which I guess explains the smell.”
Dawn’s voice began to quiver slightly, reminding the others of the young girl she used to be, “I mean I should’ve known something was wrong then; she’s usually so…immaculate—or at least she has been since…” she trailed off, searching the faces at the table and internalizing the nods she saw there.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until she didn’t come home after work and didn’t call, that it really started to click that something was wrong.” Dawn got up from the table and started to pace, repeatedly crossing the space between fridge and sofa with long, elegant strides as she continued to talk. “Sometimes, no rarely, very rarely, she goes out patrolling. Not that she has to here, but I think a part of her still NEEDS to. I just…I should’ve called you guys sooner, but it wasn’t until I saw her bag,” Dawn gestured toward a large, worn black mass, “that I realized…and now…” she slumped, drained, against the sofa arm and placed her head in her hands.
“Aw, Dawnie, stop with the nasty self-recriminations.” Willow crossed to her and stroked her head. “Buffy’s grown. An adult. All responsible—well, usually—and she’s always been able to handle herself; how could you have thought anything other than she was okay?”
“Yah, no reason to think otherwise, right?” Xander chimed in.
“Dawn, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” Giles stood up from his chair and walked to her, gently patting her shoulder. “I’m going to examine her….” he searched for the right word, “sleeping area, and see what I can glean from the state of things. Willow, why don’t you see if there’s been any magic at work and Xander, you call Andrew, Faith, Robin and, “ he ground to a halt for a moment as he thought about his next word, “Angel. See if they’ve heard from her.”
Relief washed through Dawn’s entire body and she looked up with shining eyes at her friends. There was something just under the relief though, something…poignant. It was almost like old times.
*************
The chill was beginning to seep through to her bones--it was an achy uncomfortable feeling that she was completely unfamiliar with as of late. She sat, back to the door of scorn, staring at the dead in front of her. She’d seen and fought and mutilated mucous demons, slime demons, blood demons, any and all number of demons, but all these dead, skinned, dismembered animals were really beginning to gross her out. She may never eat meat again after this.
She looked back at the phone in her hand. The message had changed one last time. This time it read, “Come on. You know you want to. 777-555-1212.”
She’d stared at it for a while and waged an internal debate. Not the Lincoln-Douglass kind, just a regular old battle of wit, only without the wit. And finally, she punched in the numbers.
She didn’t know what she had expected, but the velvety timber of the cheerful female voice that greeted her, was about 300 light years away from the mark.
>Wow, you lasted longer than I thought you would. Guess I lost in the pool. How are you Buffy?<
“Who is this? What do you want? Why am I here?”
>Mmm. That last is a bit more philosophical than we have time for, but to answer the first two: Lilah and…your help.<
“No, I haven’t seen or heard from her since...the day before yesterday.” Xander peered into his cup to see if there was even a drop of yummy caffinated stuff, something he could catch on his tongue to slake his craving. Damn. Nothing. He set it on his desk and refocused on the conversation. Dawn sounded really worried. Worried like he hadn’t heard her in, well at least since they’d settled down here in..
“What?” Xander was jolted back again when Dawn mentioned something about Buffy’s bag.
“Her bag is here. With all her stuff in it. She didn’t take anything.” Panic was beginning to tinge the young woman’s voice.
Xander hadn’t seen Buffy without that bag in…well at least 3 years, ever since…
“And there’s no note, nothing on the machine, I’ve already called Willow and Giles and they don’t know anything either.”
“So I’m your last hope, huh?”
“Are you even listening to me Xander?” Dawn’s voice took on a hard edge, very reminiscent of her older sister.
“Okay. Okay. Yes. I get you. No Buffy. Just bag. I’m sorry.” Xander wiped his hand across his forehead and became duly sheepish. “No, Dawnie. I haven’t seen her. I haven’t heard from her. I’ll be right there.”
*******************
A flash through her mind *What the hell?*
She awoke with a start and tried to move, only to find that her limbs felt sewn to the bed. Her eyes immediately began to water from the combined brilliance of the lights around her and the white of the walls and ceiling within sight. Turning her head was a feat of obdurate willpower.
Now she saw an assortment of machines, blinking and beeping and occasionally spurting paper. She recognized the heart monitor and the IV bag, but the rest were a technological puzzle.
“Hello?” Or that’s at least what she tried to say. When she opened her mouth nothing came out but a shallow, breathy, croak. She started to cough. A deep, rattling, scratchy, non-ending cough. That’s what finally loosened her leaden body from the bed—the need to clutch and grasp and bend and contort.
Within minutes her room was a hub of activity. Nurses in bright, multi-colored scrubs and even a doctor or two in crisp-white jackets scurried through her vision. Neatly skirting one another’s arms and bodies, charts were scribble in, lines and cables were checked, screens were monitored and then finally, someone spoke to her, “Hello Miss Chase. How are you feeling?”
**************
Willow and Giles arrived just after Xander at Buffy and Dawn’s apartment. With some re-arranging they all managed to fit at the small kitchen table in the studio, which had the faint odor of something acrid.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning, once more Dawn, “ Giles looked around at the group, “that way we’re all on the same page.”
Smoothing her hair behind her ears, Dawn drew a hand across her face and began, “I came home about 4 o’clock yesterday after classes, and it’s not like Buffy’s ever home then anyway—she starts at the gym at 3—but I noticed that her bed wasn’t made and there were clothes hanging out of her dresser and the coffee maker was still on; which I guess explains the smell.”
Dawn’s voice began to quiver slightly, reminding the others of the young girl she used to be, “I mean I should’ve known something was wrong then; she’s usually so…immaculate—or at least she has been since…” she trailed off, searching the faces at the table and internalizing the nods she saw there.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until she didn’t come home after work and didn’t call, that it really started to click that something was wrong.” Dawn got up from the table and started to pace, repeatedly crossing the space between fridge and sofa with long, elegant strides as she continued to talk. “Sometimes, no rarely, very rarely, she goes out patrolling. Not that she has to here, but I think a part of her still NEEDS to. I just…I should’ve called you guys sooner, but it wasn’t until I saw her bag,” Dawn gestured toward a large, worn black mass, “that I realized…and now…” she slumped, drained, against the sofa arm and placed her head in her hands.
“Aw, Dawnie, stop with the nasty self-recriminations.” Willow crossed to her and stroked her head. “Buffy’s grown. An adult. All responsible—well, usually—and she’s always been able to handle herself; how could you have thought anything other than she was okay?”
“Yah, no reason to think otherwise, right?” Xander chimed in.
“Dawn, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” Giles stood up from his chair and walked to her, gently patting her shoulder. “I’m going to examine her….” he searched for the right word, “sleeping area, and see what I can glean from the state of things. Willow, why don’t you see if there’s been any magic at work and Xander, you call Andrew, Faith, Robin and, “ he ground to a halt for a moment as he thought about his next word, “Angel. See if they’ve heard from her.”
Relief washed through Dawn’s entire body and she looked up with shining eyes at her friends. There was something just under the relief though, something…poignant. It was almost like old times.
*************
The chill was beginning to seep through to her bones--it was an achy uncomfortable feeling that she was completely unfamiliar with as of late. She sat, back to the door of scorn, staring at the dead in front of her. She’d seen and fought and mutilated mucous demons, slime demons, blood demons, any and all number of demons, but all these dead, skinned, dismembered animals were really beginning to gross her out. She may never eat meat again after this.
She looked back at the phone in her hand. The message had changed one last time. This time it read, “Come on. You know you want to. 777-555-1212.”
She’d stared at it for a while and waged an internal debate. Not the Lincoln-Douglass kind, just a regular old battle of wit, only without the wit. And finally, she punched in the numbers.
She didn’t know what she had expected, but the velvety timber of the cheerful female voice that greeted her, was about 300 light years away from the mark.
>Wow, you lasted longer than I thought you would. Guess I lost in the pool. How are you Buffy?<
“Who is this? What do you want? Why am I here?”
>Mmm. That last is a bit more philosophical than we have time for, but to answer the first two: Lilah and…your help.<
