Ficathon entry for Dierd1's Comic Covers Ficathon
Been waiting for the ficathon to go live.
The rules were, pick a Jo Chen cover, and write a story that the cover would fit - and NOT be a Season 8 story. At all. I picked Cover #35, Twilight Part Four.
***
The people were still in Buffy’s mind. She could see them.
Hear them.
Smell them, even.
The redhead, the one that Buffy thought of as a best friend that was almost a sister to her, the one that Buffy could depend on for anything, the one that had held Buffy when she cried over Angel, that had the adorable quirky grin, that could hack into the FBI if that’s what they needed or come up with quantum physics or some other really cool thing that only Willow could do, she smelled like violets and sage.
Except that she wasn’t a best friend. She wasn’t someone Buffy could depend on for anything. She hadn’t held Buffy when Buffy had cried over Angel. She didn’t have the adorable quirky grin. She couldn’t hack into anything, and she couldn’t do quantum physics or some other Willow-y type thing, and she didn’t babble, and she didn’t smell like violets and sage because she didn’t exist.
The one eyed guy. The one that always had a hug for her when she needed it. Who always knew the absolutely right thing, or the absolutely wrong thing to say. Who had horrible taste in women. The one that was always there when she needed him. The one who would roll up his sleeves and fix the window again. The one who gave her the absolute best speech ever and sent her chasing after Riley. The one who she needed more than anything else, because if anything happened to one of the others, it would be a blow, but she’d keep going, but if anything happened to him, she’d be devastated. The one that could only do Xander type things the way that Xander could do them. He smelled like coffee and sawdust.
And sometimes sweat.
But he didn’t only have one eye because he’d knocked another girl out of the way, because the other girl belonged to his Willow, and he couldn’t stand to see his Willow hurt in any way. He didn’t give her hugs when she needed them. He didn’t always have the right thing, or the wrong thing to say. He didn’t have horrible taste in women. He wasn’t always there for her. He didn’t fix her windows. He hadn’t given her the speech where he told her she was his hero and he hadn’t sent her after Riley. He didn’t smell like sawdust and coffee. He didn’t do the Xander type things, because he wasn’t Xander. He wasn’t real.
Her sister. Dawnie. Dawnie with the bright blue eyes and her earnestness, and sure, Dawnie was a brat, but all teenage girls are brats. Dawnie with the long brown hair that she would every once in a while let Buffy brush through, when the two of them were either on good terms or trying to fix things so they could get back to being on good terms. Dawnie, who was one of the strongest people Buffy knew, because Dawnie didn’t exist more than the others didn’t exist, even, but who had decided that she did exist and fought for it. Dawnie who’d had her first kiss with a vampire - like sister, like sister, apparently - and Dawnie who had summoned Sweet - because Xander had covered for her, but he was crap at lying - and Dawnie who had gotten her driver’s license before Buffy did and lorded it over her. Dawnie smelled like brownies and gummi bears, except for when she got into Buffy’s bath stuff.
And Buffy wanted to cry when she realized that Dawnie didn’t exist on two levels. That wasn’t fair. No one should be told that they weren’t real, and to go through it twice, even if you didn’t know that people were saying it about you, just wasn’t fair, and of course the universe wasn’t fair, wasn’t that what she’d always been told? But the world should be fair, and Dawnie should be real.
Faith, who Buffy would probably never understand and would always deny the fact that she did understand the darker Slayer. Faith, who was wild and reckless, but was the best natural fighter Buffy had ever seen, until Buffy saw Vi fight. Faith, who Buffy would never, ever admit was one of the strongest people she knew, because of all the things she’d had to deal with in her life and still come out mostly okay. Faith smelled like cigarettes and popsicles.
Giles. Giles, the man who was more a father to her than her own father. He was the one who had been there when her mom died. He was the one who tried to take care of the Master for her because he wasn’t willing to see her die. He loved his surrogate children fiercely and without conditions. Even though he’d abandoned her when she needed him, he was trying to do the right thing, and he’d apologized for it. Giles smelled like old books and tea and tweed and the wind right before it rained.
He smelled like home.
She could smell all of them when she had her delusions. That’s what the doctor called them. She could see and hear and smell and feel, and they had to be real, they had to be!
But then she’d wake up in the white room, in her white dress, and her mom would be there, and she didn’t want to leave because her mommy was here, and her mom wasn’t with the others. Her parents were both here, and they needed her.
When she was awake, she couldn’t see the other people, or hear them, or smell them, or touch them. She began to believe that the doctors were right, and she had created this elaborate world in her head.
She stopped talking about the other people, the other life she lived when she was asleep. She made herself focus on the here and the now, and on living with her mom and her dad, and she never said how much she missed Dawnie, even if Dawnie did always steal her clothes and read her diary.
She stopped letting herself think about how much the other people needed her. Because even though they were all there inside her head, they shouldn’t be.
After months of that self discipline, she was even allowed to go home with her parents for short periods of time. Then for overnight trips. Then for weekends.
Soon, she was home home, even if it didn’t smell like Giles, and went back to the doctors for visits, instead of the other way around. When she was asked, she made up things that she was dreaming about. She didn’t say that she still dreamed of the other world every night.
She wanted to be normal again. She tried to be normal again. She tried to be everything her parents wanted her to be, everything they needed her to be.
One day, she and her mom were at the mall, just enjoying the day with each other. This goofy guy with two brown eyes walked into a column staring at Buffy. As if that wasn’t enough, he managed to then run into her, and knock her over. As he was helping her pick her bags up, he blurted out, “Can I have you?”
She should run. She should leave. She should get out of there. Instead, she repeated the pattern of what had happened eight years previous inside her mind, but of course, had never actually happened. Because she gave him a confused look, and he amended his statement to, “Uh … Can I help you.”
She accepted the teeshirt from his hand and shoved it back into the bag. “Thanks.”
He handed her something else that she couldn’t be bothered to care about. “Do I know you.”
Buffy smiled at him in spite of her confusion and fear that everything was going to come crashing down around her, because this wasn’t good. “I’m Buffy.”
“Xander. Is me. Hi.” He gave her the grin that she knew so well, and god! but she’d missed seeing him smile like that with both eyes and not an eyepatch, and she could smell sawdust and coffee.
She should leave, she should run, she could get out of there.
She didn’t. Instead, she accepted his hand up to help her stand. Mom was smiling at her, encouraging her to go for it. This was the first guy that Buffy had said more than three words to in years that wasn’t wearing white or a lab coat. This had to be a good sign, from Mom’s point of view.
Xander introduced himself to Mom, and Buffy noticed the quizzical frown line furrow between her brow as she heard his name, and then Mom just shrugged it off, because really, Xander probably wasn’t that odd of a nickname, right?
But then Xander’s friend came bouncing up to them, and Buffy recognized her, right down to the quirky smile and the smell of violets and sage.
A whimper clawed its way out of her throat, and now the frown line on Mom’s brow was more pronounced. Mom’s reaction to something distressing Buffy was the same as it always was: protect and remove. Mom’s arm came around Buffy’s shoulder, and she started saying something, but Buffy couldn’t really make out words. Willow and Xander were talking, something about water? and Buffy found herself sitting down in the food court, while the redhead disappeared and came back with a cup of water.
Buffy drank, and managed to compose herself. She looked at the other girl and said clearly, “You’re Willow.”
Willow and Xander shared a glance, and Buffy could see that they still had their eye conversations going on, and Buffy spoke up again, deciphering their words through their eyes. After all, she’d had years of practice, if only in her head. “No, Xander didn’t mention your name.”
The two head swiveled towards her. “Then how did you know?” Willow’s voice was still Willow’s voice, all sweet and tentative and bright and cheerful, even when she was worried and confused.
And that was the question of the ages, wasn’t it? “Pretty sure you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Willow’s chin came out, and there was the patented Resolve Face. “Well, going by the rules of the word, either you were stalking us, which you really don’t seem the type, what with your meltdown earlier. Unless you’re a better actress than I’m giving you credit for, which is entirely possible, but no, I don’t think so. Or you’re psychic of some kind, which I’m not entirely sure I believe, but there’s not enough irrefutable evidence one way or the other for me to know where I stand for sure.” Willow babble was Willow babble, and there was nothing quite like it.
Willow babble scared Buffy even as it comforted her.
Buffy managed a small smile at the redhead. “Sure. Something like that. Let’s go with that. I like that explanation.”
* * *
Joyce was frozen in her seat. Her initial reaction had been to simply remove Buffy. Get her out of the mall, away from the people that was causing distress, and get her to the safety of their home.
But the redhead was so earnest and sweet, and honestly wanted to help. Joyce couldn’t say no, not without causing a bigger scene. She’d expected to sit Buffy down, let Buffy drink the water, and then leave.
But then Buffy knew the girl’s name, and the three started talking, sharing what they knew. With Buffy glossing around the vampires aspect, and just making it more into an alternate reality where she knew the other two.
Xander was a coincidence. A coincidence. But Willow? Willow couldn’t be a coincidence. Not with the two of them being best friends. The names weren’t common enough for Buffy to pull two names out of the air and have them be best friends for years. And not to have been able to describe the personalities and the way they looked.
Buffy had gotten too many details right. Too many details for it to be a coincidence.
That left one other option: her daughter wasn’t crazy.
Her daughter had never been crazy.
Hank and Joyce had subjected Buffy to nine years in an asylum, with a needless cocktail of drugs being pumped into her baby girl’s system, for no reason.
That realization scared Joyce more than believing that Buffy had been crazy.
END
The rules were, pick a Jo Chen cover, and write a story that the cover would fit - and NOT be a Season 8 story. At all. I picked Cover #35, Twilight Part Four.
***
The people were still in Buffy’s mind. She could see them.
Hear them.
Smell them, even.
The redhead, the one that Buffy thought of as a best friend that was almost a sister to her, the one that Buffy could depend on for anything, the one that had held Buffy when she cried over Angel, that had the adorable quirky grin, that could hack into the FBI if that’s what they needed or come up with quantum physics or some other really cool thing that only Willow could do, she smelled like violets and sage.
Except that she wasn’t a best friend. She wasn’t someone Buffy could depend on for anything. She hadn’t held Buffy when Buffy had cried over Angel. She didn’t have the adorable quirky grin. She couldn’t hack into anything, and she couldn’t do quantum physics or some other Willow-y type thing, and she didn’t babble, and she didn’t smell like violets and sage because she didn’t exist.
The one eyed guy. The one that always had a hug for her when she needed it. Who always knew the absolutely right thing, or the absolutely wrong thing to say. Who had horrible taste in women. The one that was always there when she needed him. The one who would roll up his sleeves and fix the window again. The one who gave her the absolute best speech ever and sent her chasing after Riley. The one who she needed more than anything else, because if anything happened to one of the others, it would be a blow, but she’d keep going, but if anything happened to him, she’d be devastated. The one that could only do Xander type things the way that Xander could do them. He smelled like coffee and sawdust.
And sometimes sweat.
But he didn’t only have one eye because he’d knocked another girl out of the way, because the other girl belonged to his Willow, and he couldn’t stand to see his Willow hurt in any way. He didn’t give her hugs when she needed them. He didn’t always have the right thing, or the wrong thing to say. He didn’t have horrible taste in women. He wasn’t always there for her. He didn’t fix her windows. He hadn’t given her the speech where he told her she was his hero and he hadn’t sent her after Riley. He didn’t smell like sawdust and coffee. He didn’t do the Xander type things, because he wasn’t Xander. He wasn’t real.
Her sister. Dawnie. Dawnie with the bright blue eyes and her earnestness, and sure, Dawnie was a brat, but all teenage girls are brats. Dawnie with the long brown hair that she would every once in a while let Buffy brush through, when the two of them were either on good terms or trying to fix things so they could get back to being on good terms. Dawnie, who was one of the strongest people Buffy knew, because Dawnie didn’t exist more than the others didn’t exist, even, but who had decided that she did exist and fought for it. Dawnie who’d had her first kiss with a vampire - like sister, like sister, apparently - and Dawnie who had summoned Sweet - because Xander had covered for her, but he was crap at lying - and Dawnie who had gotten her driver’s license before Buffy did and lorded it over her. Dawnie smelled like brownies and gummi bears, except for when she got into Buffy’s bath stuff.
And Buffy wanted to cry when she realized that Dawnie didn’t exist on two levels. That wasn’t fair. No one should be told that they weren’t real, and to go through it twice, even if you didn’t know that people were saying it about you, just wasn’t fair, and of course the universe wasn’t fair, wasn’t that what she’d always been told? But the world should be fair, and Dawnie should be real.
Faith, who Buffy would probably never understand and would always deny the fact that she did understand the darker Slayer. Faith, who was wild and reckless, but was the best natural fighter Buffy had ever seen, until Buffy saw Vi fight. Faith, who Buffy would never, ever admit was one of the strongest people she knew, because of all the things she’d had to deal with in her life and still come out mostly okay. Faith smelled like cigarettes and popsicles.
Giles. Giles, the man who was more a father to her than her own father. He was the one who had been there when her mom died. He was the one who tried to take care of the Master for her because he wasn’t willing to see her die. He loved his surrogate children fiercely and without conditions. Even though he’d abandoned her when she needed him, he was trying to do the right thing, and he’d apologized for it. Giles smelled like old books and tea and tweed and the wind right before it rained.
He smelled like home.
She could smell all of them when she had her delusions. That’s what the doctor called them. She could see and hear and smell and feel, and they had to be real, they had to be!
But then she’d wake up in the white room, in her white dress, and her mom would be there, and she didn’t want to leave because her mommy was here, and her mom wasn’t with the others. Her parents were both here, and they needed her.
When she was awake, she couldn’t see the other people, or hear them, or smell them, or touch them. She began to believe that the doctors were right, and she had created this elaborate world in her head.
She stopped talking about the other people, the other life she lived when she was asleep. She made herself focus on the here and the now, and on living with her mom and her dad, and she never said how much she missed Dawnie, even if Dawnie did always steal her clothes and read her diary.
She stopped letting herself think about how much the other people needed her. Because even though they were all there inside her head, they shouldn’t be.
After months of that self discipline, she was even allowed to go home with her parents for short periods of time. Then for overnight trips. Then for weekends.
Soon, she was home home, even if it didn’t smell like Giles, and went back to the doctors for visits, instead of the other way around. When she was asked, she made up things that she was dreaming about. She didn’t say that she still dreamed of the other world every night.
She wanted to be normal again. She tried to be normal again. She tried to be everything her parents wanted her to be, everything they needed her to be.
One day, she and her mom were at the mall, just enjoying the day with each other. This goofy guy with two brown eyes walked into a column staring at Buffy. As if that wasn’t enough, he managed to then run into her, and knock her over. As he was helping her pick her bags up, he blurted out, “Can I have you?”
She should run. She should leave. She should get out of there. Instead, she repeated the pattern of what had happened eight years previous inside her mind, but of course, had never actually happened. Because she gave him a confused look, and he amended his statement to, “Uh … Can I help you.”
She accepted the teeshirt from his hand and shoved it back into the bag. “Thanks.”
He handed her something else that she couldn’t be bothered to care about. “Do I know you.”
Buffy smiled at him in spite of her confusion and fear that everything was going to come crashing down around her, because this wasn’t good. “I’m Buffy.”
“Xander. Is me. Hi.” He gave her the grin that she knew so well, and god! but she’d missed seeing him smile like that with both eyes and not an eyepatch, and she could smell sawdust and coffee.
She should leave, she should run, she could get out of there.
She didn’t. Instead, she accepted his hand up to help her stand. Mom was smiling at her, encouraging her to go for it. This was the first guy that Buffy had said more than three words to in years that wasn’t wearing white or a lab coat. This had to be a good sign, from Mom’s point of view.
Xander introduced himself to Mom, and Buffy noticed the quizzical frown line furrow between her brow as she heard his name, and then Mom just shrugged it off, because really, Xander probably wasn’t that odd of a nickname, right?
But then Xander’s friend came bouncing up to them, and Buffy recognized her, right down to the quirky smile and the smell of violets and sage.
A whimper clawed its way out of her throat, and now the frown line on Mom’s brow was more pronounced. Mom’s reaction to something distressing Buffy was the same as it always was: protect and remove. Mom’s arm came around Buffy’s shoulder, and she started saying something, but Buffy couldn’t really make out words. Willow and Xander were talking, something about water? and Buffy found herself sitting down in the food court, while the redhead disappeared and came back with a cup of water.
Buffy drank, and managed to compose herself. She looked at the other girl and said clearly, “You’re Willow.”
Willow and Xander shared a glance, and Buffy could see that they still had their eye conversations going on, and Buffy spoke up again, deciphering their words through their eyes. After all, she’d had years of practice, if only in her head. “No, Xander didn’t mention your name.”
The two head swiveled towards her. “Then how did you know?” Willow’s voice was still Willow’s voice, all sweet and tentative and bright and cheerful, even when she was worried and confused.
And that was the question of the ages, wasn’t it? “Pretty sure you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Willow’s chin came out, and there was the patented Resolve Face. “Well, going by the rules of the word, either you were stalking us, which you really don’t seem the type, what with your meltdown earlier. Unless you’re a better actress than I’m giving you credit for, which is entirely possible, but no, I don’t think so. Or you’re psychic of some kind, which I’m not entirely sure I believe, but there’s not enough irrefutable evidence one way or the other for me to know where I stand for sure.” Willow babble was Willow babble, and there was nothing quite like it.
Willow babble scared Buffy even as it comforted her.
Buffy managed a small smile at the redhead. “Sure. Something like that. Let’s go with that. I like that explanation.”
* * *
Joyce was frozen in her seat. Her initial reaction had been to simply remove Buffy. Get her out of the mall, away from the people that was causing distress, and get her to the safety of their home.
But the redhead was so earnest and sweet, and honestly wanted to help. Joyce couldn’t say no, not without causing a bigger scene. She’d expected to sit Buffy down, let Buffy drink the water, and then leave.
But then Buffy knew the girl’s name, and the three started talking, sharing what they knew. With Buffy glossing around the vampires aspect, and just making it more into an alternate reality where she knew the other two.
Xander was a coincidence. A coincidence. But Willow? Willow couldn’t be a coincidence. Not with the two of them being best friends. The names weren’t common enough for Buffy to pull two names out of the air and have them be best friends for years. And not to have been able to describe the personalities and the way they looked.
Buffy had gotten too many details right. Too many details for it to be a coincidence.
That left one other option: her daughter wasn’t crazy.
Her daughter had never been crazy.
Hank and Joyce had subjected Buffy to nine years in an asylum, with a needless cocktail of drugs being pumped into her baby girl’s system, for no reason.
That realization scared Joyce more than believing that Buffy had been crazy.
END