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The Sunnydale Tragedy

by spikeNdru

Written for the Worldstage Fic multifandom Elizabethan theater quotes fic challenge.

Genre: Character study, Buffy POV

Characters: Buffy and Dawn

Rating: PG

Time Frame: Three years post-Chosen

Length: 3541 words

Disclaimer: Joss owns the sandbox, he just lets us play in it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;

He promised life, this other threatened death;

He won my love, this other conquered me:

And truth to say, I yield myself to both.

The Spanish Tragedy, attributed to Thomas Kyd

Buffy refused to admit that she was lonely. If she kept busy and didn't think about it, it would pass. It had to. She smiled wryly. Yep, she was just taking a quick dip in the river of denial that she had thought they'd left behind in Sunnydale. She wasn't drowning in it. Oh, no . . . not her. Not Buffy! 'Cause she always saw things so clearly; never made with the wrong decisions; always ate her vegetables and was the first to admit it when she'd made a mistake.

Buffy made an unladylike noise that sounded suspiciously like a 'snort'. Yeah, right! That was her: Saint Buffy.

She was twenty-five years old—it was more than time she got used to being on her own! Most girls—no, women—her age had been on their own for years. Most Slayers were always on their own. But she had been surrounded by friends and family, and it just felt weird to be totally alone.

She should have gone to England when Dawn left for Oxford. Why hadn't she? Why had she insisted upon staying in Rome? It wasn't like there was anything keeping her here. It certainly wasn't The Immortal.

The Immortal. He went by a title—and how stupid was that? Didn't the man have a fricking name? She'd started calling him 'Morty' because The Immortal just sounded so pretentious, but even with that provocation, he still wouldn't tell her his real name. She'd stopped seeing The Immortal when she discovered he'd known Angel and Spike had come to Rome and he hadn't told her. Was that why she chose to stay in Rome?

Because Angel and Spike knew she was here, and she still had hopes that one or the other might come back? That was silly! They were reasonably intelligent guys with nearly 400 years experience between them. If they'd managed to survive that battle in LA when a portal opened, releasing thousands of demon warriors, they would certainly be able to discover she'd left Rome for England.

It was funny . . . she'd thought she'd feel free here. Living on her own, with no one to take care of but herself. No responsibilities beyond a normal nightly patrol to keep the vamp population aware that Rome was protected by a slayer. So how come she didn't feel free — just lonely? Maybe she'd see if Dawn could fly down for the weekend?

Maybe not. Dawn was busy with school and friends and had her own life to lead. A needy big sister with a case of the lonelies was the last thing she needed! Buffy knew that Dawn would come if she asked—maybe that knowledge was enough.

Buffy wandered restlessly through the apartment, picking things up and then putting them down again without really looking at them. She felt . . . twitchy. And not the good kind of evil's-afoot-and-I-can-go-kill-something-big-and-ugly twitchy — just a vaguely uncomfortable I'm-forgetting-something-important-and-I-don't-have-a-clue-what-it-is type of twitchy.

Maybe she'd call Willow—she hadn't had a nice, long, just girl-talk conversation with Willow in ages. Maybe Willow could come for a visit? No. Not a good idea. If Willow came, she'd probably bring Kennedy, and Kennedy made her twitchy. Far be it from her to cast aspersions on anyone else's relationships, but she just couldn't understand what Willow saw in Kennedy. Both Oz and Tara were sort of low-key, laid-back, mellow people; Kennedy was pushy, confrontational, aggressive and didn't have a laid-back bone in her body. But at least Willow had someone, and that was more than she could say for the rest of them!

Maybe it was hormones? If she was PMSing, that would explain the twitchiness and sort of depression, wouldn't it? It couldn't be just because she didn't know how to be alone with herself! What was wrong with her? This introspection wasn't getting her anywhere.

Buffy grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and checked the inner pocket to make sure she had a couple of stakes. She needed to go kill something.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dawn was worried. Buffy had sounded so . . . lost . . . when they'd spoken last night. Maybe Althenea could help? There was no way Buffy would agree to talk to a counselor, and even if she did agree, no counselor in the real world could help. They'd just think she was crazy, what with the demons and vampires and slayers and hellmouths . . . but the Coven had helped Willow—maybe they could do something for Buffy?

Buffy had every reason in the world to be depressed—the last few years of her life would have broken anyone else. Brought back from the dead with no real support system, forced to take on responsibilities way beyond slaying . . . Dawn's face flushed with guilt. She'd been no help at all—in fact, she'd been a large part of the problem.

Okay, she'd been a kid, and wasn't coping well with the deaths of her mom and sister, but why hadn't she seen that Buffy was floundering and needed help? How could she have been that self-involved?

Dawn closed the book she'd been attempting to study and plugged in the hotplate to make a cup of tea. She was on the verge of an epiphany here, and that seemed more important than homework.

Did they still call it 'homework' when you were in college? 'At university', she should have said. In addition to the Classical and Ancient languages she was studying, it frequently felt like she was having to relearn English. Or, maybe she was learning English, after speaking American her whole life.

She tore the paper covering from a tea bag—Giles would have been appalled, but at least it was Twinings and not Lipton—and poured the boiling water over it. She firmly pushed the idea of homework—assignments—whatever—to the back of her mind.

She'd been so glad when Buffy had been resurrected. Good god, she'd been a self-centered little prat! There had been some underlying resentment there, too. If Buffy could be resurrected, why not Mom? Tara had tried to explain that bringing Mom back was against the natural order of things and all, and she'd just begun to really accept that when all the time Willow and Tara were planning to bring Buffy back!

Dawn sipped her tea. If felt sort of . . . hypocritical. Her spell to bring Mom back was a bad thing, but their spell was all fine and dandy? Well, apparently they didn't consider the repercussions, either. As Spike said, “There's always consequences.” But none of them noticed how damaged Buffy was. None of them offered help or support. They all thought she could just pick up her life and be fine. Giles went back to England, Willow and Tara and Xander went about their own lives and she—what had she done to help? Complained and whined and sneaked out and shoplifted and acted out. Way to go with the supportiveness, Dawn—that was really helpful!

The point was, Buffy never really dealt with the whole resurrection thing and then Willow went dark and Spike went crazy and The First and the Potentials . . . It's a wonder Buffy didn't just give up and check into that mental institution for real! But she didn't. She stayed strong and got most of them through it . . . and now? Now, maybe she could offer Buffy the kind of support she hadn't been able to do before. God knows, she owed Buffy!

Dawn grabbed her backpack and upended it on the bed. She had a paper to write and some reading to do over the weekend, but she could do that in Rome as well as here. She repacked the backpack with the books she'd need, added a notebook and a handful of pencils, pens and felt-tip markers. She slid her laptop in behind the books and stuffed in two clean shirts and a few pairs of socks and underwear. She zipped the backpack and set it on the floor beside the bed. Shoving the remainder of the backpack's previous contents out of the way, she sat cross-legged on the bed and picked up her phone to book a flight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dawn struggled to extract her key from the front pocket of her tight jeans while balancing the backpack slung over her left shoulder and her coat draped over her arm. She fumbled with the lock, the backpack causing her long, thick hair to fall forward, obscuring her vision. She finally got the lock to turn and opened the door to be greeted by the point of a sword at her throat.

“Geez, wound a bit tightly, are we?”

“Dawn?”

“Hey, Buffy.” Dawn's breath whooshed out of her body as she was treated to a slayer-strength hug.

“I've missed you, Dawnie!”

“Yeah. Me, too. I was thinking about you after we talked the other night and just decided to fly in for the weekend to surprise you. But I didn't think it'd be this much of a surprise.”

Dawn looked pointedly at the sword still in Buffy's hand. With a look of chagrin, Buffy lifted the lid of the weapon's chest and replaced the sword.

“It's too bad slayers don't get that heightened sense of smell that vampires do. 'Cause then you could have just taken a sniff or two and known it was me. You got rooked!”

Buffy smiled faintly.

“Is everything okay, Buffy? You look kinda . . . down or something.”

There it was—that full-blown, mega-watt smile that told Dawn her perceptions were correct. There was definitely something wrong.

“Everything's fine, Dawnie. I want to hear all about school and your classes and your new friends . . .”

Okay. Dawn decided she'd let it go for now, but she wasn't leaving until she got to the bottom of things. Buffy only called her 'Dawnie' when she was feeling guilty or hiding something!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy had made reservations for an early dinner at Dawn's favorite trattoria. The restaurant didn't really get busy until after nine when the dinner crowd began to arrive, but she didn't want to take any chances. She wanted everything to be perfect for Dawn's visit, so she ignored the assurances that reservations weren't needed at seven and insisted anyway.

They'd had a lovely dinner, and Buffy thought she'd pulled off a vivacious interest in Dawn's experiences at university quite well. Not that she wasn't interested—of course she was interested. She was glad Dawn enjoyed her classes and was making new friends. But when Dawn got that light in her eyes and her words came faster and faster, practically tumbling over themselves, as she discussed the finer points of cuneiform and went on and on about Essence scrolls or something, Buffy felt . . . jealous? No, not jealous. Out of the loop, maybe? She felt like she used to feel when she and Willow would come out of class and Willow would be all excited and practically sparking with energy as she talked about what they'd just covered and Buffy would be all Huh?

Maybe she should go back to school? She'd had to drop out pretty abruptly when mom . . . and then there was the whole thing with Glory . . . She could go back to school if she wanted to! Get her degree. And then what? a little voice asked. Maybe that was her problem? She didn't really have any life goals. Being the Slayer had pretty much limited her choices, and slayer life expectancies had made future planning sort of . . . superfluous.

But now she wasn't the only slayer, and the life-expectancy thing didn't seem to be an issue—every time she died, her friends just kept bringing her back—so maybe she should think about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life?

She and Dawn had finished their dinners and were enjoying cappuccinos and tiramisu when a couple of Dawn's friends descended on them. The girls were thrilled to see Dawn back in Rome and urged her to come with them to check out a new club. Buffy had seen the indecision in Dawn's eyes, so she encouraged her to go. They'd have the whole of the next day to do sister stuff, after all.

So, Dawn had gone off with her friends and Buffy found herself alone once more, feeling vaguely unsatisfied—with her life, with her self, with her choices. This introspection was really getting old!

Buffy picked up one of Dawn's textbooks and flipped through it. From the looks of things, Dawn was well on her way to becoming a Watcher. Of course she was. They'd all seen too much—knew too much—to ever be able to just have a normal job and live in the normal world. Although, Xander seemed to be better at it than the rest of them were.

After doing his part to track down wayward slayers, he'd asked to meet with her, Willow and Giles, privately. He'd started off by saying that he wasn't really necessary to the continuing fight against evil, as they were waging it now, with lots of slayers and a reformed—in both senses of the word—council. Before they could all jump in and attempt to convince him how essential he was, Xander had held up his hand and said he wanted out. He wanted to join the Peace Corps or Habitat for Humanity and continue to work in Africa where his carpentry skills could really be put to use, now that he no longer had to keep continuously patching up the Summers' house after various and sundry demon attacks. He'd said Anya had given her life to help save this world and the least he could do was to use his skills to make it better.

Buffy had envied him his clear purpose and wished she could feel that strongly about something . . . anything. So, she'd hugged him and wished him well and tried not to think of it as another man deserting her—the latest in a very long line.

Buffy put down the book and picked up Dawn's notebook. This was schoolwork, right? Not like reading someone's private diary. Not like that at all. This was probably just class notes and assignments and stuff. She was just interested in how Dawn was progressing in school.

She leafed through the notebook—when did her baby sister get so insightful and all deconstructy with the literary stuff? Buffy read a passage, followed by Dawn's analysis. So that's what it meant! How did Dawn know that? And why didn't she? She'd never been very good at looking beneath the surface. Ever since she'd discovered she was the Slayer, she'd trained for action, rather than introspection. Though maybe, if she had understood herself better, things might have gone differently with Angel and Riley and . . . Spike. It was time she got to know herself. Maybe Dawn could help?

She'd loved her mother with all her heart, but she'd had to keep so much from her—so many secrets about the slayage, about Angel, the danger she was always in and the various monsters she fought—that she'd never really allowed Joyce to know the essential Buffy. She'd done that with pretty much everyone. They'd all known bits and pieces of her, but no one knew all of her. Spike had come the closest of anyone, but she'd deliberately closed off parts of herself and refused to let him in. And what did that say about her that a vampire knew her better than her family and friends?

She'd tried to protect Dawn. Keep things from her. Be the all-knowing big sister who always had a handle on things. And that had worked out so well, hadn't it? Dawn was an adult now, and yet Buffy continued to treat her as a child. She'd let Willow and Xander help with the slayage when they were younger than Dawn, and had no special powers or abilities, either. And as for her having a handle on things . . .

Buffy paused as she read Dawn's current assignment. Apparently, Dawn had to write a paper of some kind on her choice of three quotes. Was this Shakespeare even writing in English? Well, duh! He was English, so she supposed he must be, but what was the relevance of these words—half of which weren't even in use any more—to people today? What did any of this old English stuff have to do with—

Buffy froze as she read the third quote, which wasn't actually Shakespeare, but was attributed to Thomas Kyd. The words reverberated. They penetrated her very soul. This long-dead Englishman spoke to her, and that was definitely giving her a wiggins! Buffy smiled faintly as the high school-era slang term slipped into her mind.

He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes

That was it, exactly. Her relationships with Angel and Spike in a nutshell. She'd seen Angel as the courtly, romantic older guy from the very beginning. Mysterious and brooding, he even read old-timey French novels in French. Spike, on the other hand, wasn't cerebral at all. He was all physicality—poetry in motion. He wasn't a thinker, he was a doer.

He promised life, this other threatened death

Angel left because he wanted her to have a life—a normal life. Or, at least as normal as it could get for someone who carried the Vampire Slayer as an appendage to her name. This other threatened death—ya think? “You'll find out on Saturday.” “What happens on Saturday?” “I kill you.” The on-going dance of death, while he waited for the opportunity to slip in and have himself a real good day. For years, they'd spent all their time together ineffectively threatening each other with death, yet, somehow, neither could manage to actually kill the other.

He won my love, this other conquered me: And truth to say, I yield myself to both

Maybe that was the crux of the matter? She was so invested in both of her vampires that she couldn't make a choice because she couldn't imagine her life with one and not the other? Yet, by refusing to commit wholeheartedly to one or the other, she'd lost them both.

They'd both played such important parts at pivotal points in her life. Angel was her high school crush that evolved into her first experience with true love. Did she still love him, or only the memory of what they'd been to each other as she began the journey from being a girl into becoming a woman? She didn't know, and it was time that she found out. She and Angel were different people now. They'd grown and changed apart from each other. Could they each love the person the other was now, with all the foibles and baggage that entailed, or were they viewing each other through the romantic haze of memory?

Spike was there at the point when she was completing the journey from girlhood to becoming an actual, adult woman. That crazy time of discovering her sexuality and of both accepting and attempting to reject adult responsibilities. He'd helped her get through some of the darkest times of her life, and if he hadn't been there for her, she honestly didn't know if she'd still be here. Their relationship had been so necessary, and yet so destructive for them both. Could they forge a new kind of relationship, built on mutual support and respect? Buffy knew she loved Spike, but was she in love with him?

How could she possibly move forward with her life until she understood her past? She'd always sucked at history, but wasn't there a saying that if you didn't learn from history, you'd be destined to repeat it?

Well, she'd had about as much 'destiny' as she could stand! It was time she took charge of her life, looked at her past realistically, and made proactive decisions about her future. She was tired of drifting. She was tired of having goals thrust upon her as she reacted to each new apocalyptic threat the latest Big Bad decided was its goal. She wanted her own goals!

She was tired of being closed off and not letting anyone in. She wanted someone to know and love her for exactly who she was—prickly, warty, not-very-nice parts and all. She wanted to be a whole, complete person. She wanted to give and share and be totally honest and stop hiding and pretending. She wanted to throw open the doors of her Buffiness and let another person in. She wanted that person to be Dawn. She'd start this weekend. And maybe Dawn could help her figure out the rest. After all, weren't family the ones that had to take you in when you had nowhere else to go?

 

The End

 

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