The police never questioned any of them again. Someone at the hospital had talked to them and explained Joyce’s condition leading up to the fall, her illness, her tendency to have dizzy spells, all the things Buffy should have known, but didn’t. She still hated her mother a little for that, for leaving her so unprepared, so shell shocked, having to face that some doctor or whoever it was had been able to read off a sheet more than she even knew about her own mother. She hated her a little for putting her in that position and that feeling tasted bitter on her tongue every time she had the thought.
She felt like a ghost, she’d sit in her mother’s room, at her mirror, the one she remembered sitting at to have her hair braided as a child. She sat there everyday for hours, because she didn’t want anyone to see her fall apart. She was never bothered in there, Giles had taken to sleeping on the couch and no one else wanted to go near it yet. So for a few hours a day she’d sit there and cry, thinking about nothing in particular, in fact it was the time when she didn’t have to think about anything. Then she would pull herself together, she would leave the room and for the rest of the day she would worry about everyone else. Everyone thought she went in there to organise things, to ring people, to set the funeral or other things in motion, but it was not a place to go to put things together; it was a place for the opposite.
On top of all the confusion and lies and guilt she had, she had to deal with everyone else’s feelings as well. Everyone was coming to her, ringing her cell, asking for her when they called the house, giving condolences, bringing food, being nosey, you name it. Buffy was the spokesperson and she couldn’t escape it; everyone assumed she would take over everything, and of course she had. Who else would? Spike had offered to help, but it didn’t feel right, he’d already lost one mother and he’d gone through this before. She knew Joyce meant a lot to him, but she could spare him from arranging, and relatives, and remembering, she could do this by herself.
And then there was Dawn and Rupert. Dawn would spend hours in her room, which Buffy thanked her for silently, but only because she couldn’t deal with her. She flittered between tantrum style outbursts and fits of tears. Buffy didn’t know what to do when either occurred; her mom had always dealt with Dawn.
Giles was equally as difficult; he wouldn’t speak to Dawn, to step up to his role as sole parent, but Buffy couldn’t blame him for that, not yet. She struggled to remember the last time she’d heard him say anything to any of them and they’d been staying here a week now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him when he wasn’t holding a bottle of liquor either, or at least going in search of one.
It’d been worse since Spike tried to intervene a few nights ago. Giles had fallen asleep at his desk with a bottle in his hand and Spike had taken it from him and woke him up to put him to bed, neither of which pleased him much.
They’d argued about his drinking, Buffy was in the room across, but hadn’t been close enough to hear it all until they stepped into the doorway, and then she was too close to leave without being noticed.
“Dad, you’ve got to knock this off. It’s getting out of control that’s all I’m saying.” Spike’s tone was soft, there was no judgement for Giles’ choices only a wish that he would stop and think, but Giles found the negative in everything nowadays.
“And I suppose you’re perfect, son?” he said standing up straight, then he looked into the room where Buffy had been trying to act nonchalant, “And you Buffy? Are you perfect?” She didn’t say a word, and he gave up and walked into the hall and then out into the night to buy more whiskey.
Buffy looked at Spike and his eyes filled with sadness, he was begging her not to think about them in that moment, to not over-analyse anything, but she’d already gone there and Giles’ words stung more than he’d meant them too.
Was that the last thing he’d said to them then? No she wasn’t perfect; she was sleeping with his son behind his back.
After that she didn’t know how she could tell Giles to do anything, and she’d never known what to say to Dawn; both pained her. Sometimes she selfishly welcomed it, because wracking her brain about how to help them made her sometimes not think of how much she missed her mom, other times it did the opposite because she knew her mom would know just what to do. She hadn’t been perfect, she wasn’t the most level headed or unselfish woman, but when tragedy struck she was everyone’s rock.
The worst thing was Buffy knew not one damn thing she did would be any good, even if she thought about it for days, weeks, years. What could she do to make up for losing a wife? Or a mother? The only thing that made it bearable for her was Spike, and he wasn’t transferable.
“What are you thinking about?” he said as he climbed into bed behind her.
They did this every night, after Dawn had been in bed a couple of hours and Giles had passed out downstairs Spike would come out of his room into Buffy’s and lock the door.
“Nothing.” she said unconvincingly.
He turned her chin towards him and she rolled over a little to turn her head fully. He just looked at her for a while.
“Okay,” she surrendered, “everything.”
This was another few hours in the day when Buffy didn’t have to act, she could just be. Every night was different, she’d cried herself to sleep on his chest, they’d stayed up and talked about her mother, they’d laid together silently holding each other, but tonight she wanted to be close to him.
“What is it, luv?” he asked sadly, knowing she wanted to say something to him, something specific, but was too afraid.
She hesitated, but she had to say it, even if he said no she couldn’t leave it unsaid. “I want you to make love to me, Spike, and I’m scared you’ll say no because of…well because you’ll think I’m not ready, but I’ve been without you so long and I miss you.”
She turned over all the way and he pulled her close to let her know he wanted her too. She knew that didn’t mean he was going to agree.
“I know,” he said stroking her face, “I miss you too.”
“This isn’t about sex, it isn’t about me being a nympho,” she explained, “or forgetting what’s happened, or channelling any feelings somewhere else…this is about me and you, and me missing you and needing to love you and for you to love me and…”
“…its time?” he finished for her.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, she put a hand to his cheek and brought his lips down to hers and they kissed. She still felt like she was falling, but what changed is she didn’t feel like she was falling alone.