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Well, I can't keep this story bottledup any
longer. Hopefully I can get the whole thing posted over the next weekto
ten days. Okay, keep your hands inside the car at all times, and makesure
your seatbelts are fastened. We're off.
Disclaimers;
Joss Whedon created them, 20th Century Foxowns
them, we just empathize with them when they are made to suffer.
Author's Note;
The following is an alternate Fifth season
finale, an extrapolation of recent events, but with the supposition that a)this
is the last story of the series, and b) Willow is Buffy's destined soulmate.
Spoilers abound, up to "The Body", as does angst(Hey, after that ep, what do you
expect?). Bear with me, this is going to be a harrowing ride.
Oh, and the title? Latin, means, "Thus passes the
glory of the world".
Rating; R for disturbing images, thoughts of
death, and violence. Just remember, this is the last ep of the show. Who says I
have to bring Buffy back alive? ::diabolical laughter::
Summary;
How far will the Slayer go when she loses too
much?
========
Sic
Transit Gloria Mundi
By
Kirayoshi
========
Chapter One
Ragnarok and Roll
"Freedom's just another word for
nothing left to lose."
--Janis Joplin, "Me and Bobby
McGee"
She stood outside of the cemetary,
while her sister laid a single rose on top of the grave. She never set footin
the cemetary after the funeral. She couldn't bring herself to.
It was two months ago when her world
was finally and forever ripped away from her. Two months ago when her last
tether to her real life was severed. Two months ago when everything stopped
making sense.
Two months ago when she came home to
find the flowers. And to find her.
Her mother, Joyce Summers, lying on
the couch. Her eyes wide open and lifeless. Dead.
It wasn't any kind of vampire, demon
or other big bad that killed her. There wasn't a spell, a vengence ploy or any
evil involved. Her tumor, the one the doctors said had been successfully
removed, had flared suddenly. Too suddenly. All at once, the loving, vibrant
woman who had cared for her, sometimes misunderstood her, but always loved her,
was nothing more than a lifeless bag of meat and bones.
She suddenly found herself alone, with
her little sister to take care of. Her home felt empty, lifeless. Dawn barely
spoke to her, as though she blamed her for their mother's death. She was the
Slayer, she had saved the world more times than she had eaten in restaraunts,
and she still couldn't save her mother.
The day after the funeral, a lawyer
read Joyce's last will, which named Buffy as Dawn's legal guardian, requesting
that Giles should take custody if anything happened to Buffy and splitting her
assets and worldy goods equally between Buffy and Dawn. Remembering her earlier
tumor scare, Joyce had arranged trust funds for both of her daughters, naming
Giles as trustee to Dawn's fund. And Buffy's fund would at least cover another
year of college.
College. Like Buffy was even
considering that an option anymore. In the two months since her mother's death,
she had effectively dropped out of all of her classes. She didn't even bother to
sign up for any classes in spring quarter. When Giles heard about this from
someone in the faculty, he grew angry at the Slayer. Buffy shot off the defense
that she probably wouldn't live long, being the Slayer and all, which only
served to make Giles madder. She didn't listen as he ranted at her, she just
didn't care anymore.
Somewhere along the line, shefound
herself thinking about that situation a few months ago involving the
ferula-gemina. Something called a Toth demon used that magic device to split
Xander into two seperate entities. Apparantly its original target was Buffy, to
split her into her human half, and her Slayer half. She started to think that
she could do something like that, seperate the weaker part of herself, the part
that failed to save her mother, and rid herself of it. She started to thinkof
herself, not as Buffy, but as the Slayer. 'Buffy' wasn't able to save anyone
when it really mattered. Not Jesse, not Jenny, not Kendra. And certainly not her
mother. 'Buffy' was weak, small, stupid, a coward who would be better off dead.
She simply stopped being Buffy, and became the Slayer full time.
She distanced herself from her friends
more. Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara, all of them tried to reach her, none of them
succeeded. Even Dawn, who could always be counted on to annoy the hell out of
Buffy, failed to get a rise out of her. Every day, she made herself a little bit
less accessable.
Willow was hit by her coldness hardest
of all. She had been Buffy's best friend, she loved her as deeply as she loved
Tara, if in a different way. She grieved with her when they buried her mother.
She had always liked Joyce Summers. She and Giles were the only two adults in
Sunnydale she could talk to about things; about her wicca practice, about her
love for Tara. Her parents would never understand, but Joyce, for all of her
protests regarding Buffy's 'night life' and her own efforts to 'march in the
Slayers Pride parade', she could understand. She got her. And Willow loved her
for that. And she wasn't her real daughter, so she could only imagine how
devistating this was for Buffy and Dawn.
But Buffy had refused any andall
attempts at sympathy. "I'll tough it out," she always said, "I'm the Slayer."
Yes, she was the Slayer. But she once
was Buffy. And now Buffy was being lost under the grip of the Slayer. Willow was
losing her best friend.
And she didn't know how to make things
right.
========
"Large and heavy package for Rupert
Giles," Anya announced in a too-chipper voice. Giles emerged from the back room
of the Magic Box, where Willow and Tara were sitting at a nearby table sifting
through arcane texts while Buffy was currently engaged in beating the living
daylights out of the bodybag.
Xander brought the large package in on
a dollie, and Giles looked it over. "Hmm," the Watcher mused, "no return
address, British post-mark." He ripped off the brown paper, and pried open the
packing crate with a screwdriver.
The first thing he saw was a letter,
written in the crisp, concice handwriting of Quentin Travers. He read the note
carefully;
Dear Giles;
The contents of this package must be
guarded at all cost. The sword Ragnarok within must be used only to defeat
Glory. It took a great deal of doing on my part, as I had to call every favor I
had with the Council, but I was able to convince them of the neccessity of these
measures.
This crate, as I have indicated,
contains the sword Ragnarok, and a copy of the pertinent texts. It is a
desperate gambit, as you shall read. I pray that the Slayer is up to the
challenge. And that she has made peace with her God.
Good Hunting,
Quentin Travers,
Watchers Council
Giles looked again at the letter,
thunderstruck. Ragnarok, the Godkiller? He knew all the legends, most Watchers
did. Have things gotten so out of hand with Glory that such drastic measures
were truly needed? He stared at the letter for a few more seconds, then started
to dig through the styrofoam pellets, finding the sword handle. An ornate
knotwork pattern, like Celtic but different somehow, graced the handle, as the
pommel shined with a light that seemed to come from deep within itself. From
what little he knew about the sword, he dared not handle it any further.
Willow glanced at the sword, while
Giles dug out a small, tattered book bound in red cloth. As he read the book
hurriedly, his face blanched even further; so the reports about Ragnarok were
indeed true, its terrible legends accurate.
Buffy emerged from the backroom,
towelling herself off, and saw the sword. "Hey, what's happening?" she asked, as
she casually gripped the handle of the sword. "New toys from the Council?" She
lifted the sword out of the box, and began to feint and parry into the air.
Giles stood thunderstruck at her suddenly improved fighting form; it was as
though the sword had made her more profiecient in the use of arms. Buffy herself
marveled at how easily the handle fit her hand, as though molded only for her.
She thrust a few more times in the air, getting a sense of the blade's
balance.
"Buffy," Giles whispered hoarsely,
"put that sword down now, please."
Buffy stopped her exercises, and put
the blade on the table. "Right, Giles, no touchie."
"So," Xander asked, "What's the deal
with Green Destiny here?"
"Wha--" Giles stammered slightly,
before realizing that Xander was referring to the sword. "Ah, yes, the sword is
called Ragnarok. I had believed until this moment that Ragnarok was a myth.I
certainly prayed that it was."
"Ragnarok," Willow repeated the word
slowly. "Isn't that a Norse word for 'Armageddon' or something like that?"
Giles nodded, his attention still
riveted to the blade. "Specifically, Willow, it means 'Twilight of the
Gods'."
A brief and profound silence was
broken by Xander, who said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You saying Twilight, as in End?
As in, this thing can kill gods?"
"The sword is also called the
Godkiller, Xander," Giles replied somberly.
Xander started to chuckle, then laugh
out loud. "Somebody give me a Hallelujah!"
"Xander--"
"I mean, here we are with a psycho
Goddess on our case," Xander continued, "and the Council guys send us the very
thing to take her out of the picture."
"Xander--"
"I say we take her out tomorrow night.
Tell her we have that key thingie she's looking for, and ambush her when she
gets here."
"Xander!" The young man's ramble
stopped suddenly as Giles shouted, something he rarely did before. "I have a
vault in the backroom for dangerous mystical artifacts. I'm placing Ragnarok in
the vault immediately, and tomorrow I'm sending it back to the Council."
"Good idea, G-Man," Xander nodded
enthusiastically, "we wouldn't want her flunkies to get their mitts on the blade
before you SEND IT BACK TO THE COUNCIL?"
"That's precicely what I said,
Xander," Giles intoned. "We cannot ever use this sword."
Xander gaped at the former Watcher,
his mouth wide open. "Giles, I do believe you've your brain's developed a slow
leak. Now, follow my logic here. This blade is called the Godkiller.
Translation, it kills gods. Now we have a god who desperately needs
killing--"
"Ahem," Anya coughed rudely.
"Okay, honey," Xander amendedhis
statement, "Goddess, but leave us not get bogged down in gender issues."
"If I may continue," Giles' voice grew
more irritated, and Xander meekly silenced himself. "The sword can only be used
by one person, the Slayer. And its use would kill her."
Xander blinked at Giles as his words
sunk in. "Cancel that Halleluja and make it a Hoo Boy."
Giles smirked ruefully as Xander
conceded him the point. "The sword may only be used to kill Glory if it is
annointed with the blood of its wielder. That annointment creates a bond between
the Slayer and the sword. The sword becomes master, its wielder a servant to the
sword. And should the Slayer, god forbid, succeed in killing Glory, her death
would release her goldy energies, creating a feedback that would kill the
Slayer." He stared intently at Buffy, saying, "Do you understand what I'm
saying, Buffy? The bond was begun already the moment you picked up the sword. If
you were to actually use it, the bond would be complete, and you would
die."
The room fell silent as Giles
concluded his lecture. All eyes fell upon the cursed blade. All thoughts
mirrored Giles'; they had in their grasp the tool to eliminate the mad goddess
Glory, to save mankind from her wrath, but to use the tool would mean the end of
Buffy's life.
Buffy broke the silence, calmly
saying, "So now we at least have a plan 'B'."
Giles glared sharply at Buffyas she
spoke. "The sword goes back to the council tomorrow," he insisted.
"You can't do that, Giles," Buffy
answered coldly. "That sword is the only sure chance we have to take down Glory.
If no one has any better ideas, we need the sword."
Giles stared at Buffy silently. The
others sat still, the silence a palpable and wearying force over them all.
"Buffy," Giles finally said, "may I see you in the back room?" Buffy silently
followed her Watcher to the backroom. None of the others dared follow, or even
dare speak to each other.
========
Giles looked at Buffy, a profound
sadness in his eyes. Buffy sat silently on the lifting bench, her hands in her
lap, awaiting what he had to say. "Buffy," he said, as gently as he ever spoke
to his charge, "I was not on good terms with my father when he died. I'm sure
you know of my wild past, my 'Ripper' years. But the news of my father's death
did something to me. I understand what you're going through. We all do, we all
have lost someone close to us."
"Yeah, I know," Buffy answered.
"Willow and Xander lost Jesse, you lost Jenny. And you know what? If I'd been
doing my job then, they'd be alive. But no, I had to be normal, I had to have a
life." Buffy stood up and paced the room, giving Giles the impression of a wild
animal, straining at the leash. "And now, when my mom needed me, I wasn't there
either!"
"Buffy, you cannot blame yourself for
what happened to your mother," Giles started.
"Why not?" Buffy cried out. "Dawn is!
I'm the Goddamned Slayer, and I couldn't even save my mom! Where was my blasted
Slayer-Sense when it really mattered?"
Giles let her rave for a minute
longer, recognizing that this was something that has been weighing down on her
soul for too long. "We were learning about past Slayers these last few months,
Giles. I think I know now why they never lasted as long as I did. Because they
weren't supposed to. After eighteen, they start to get sloppy, they think they
can do anything! But when it comes to crunch time, they can't do squat! At least
with this sword of Hardrock I can stop Glory before she finds out that Dawnis
the key!"
"At the expense of your own life,"
Giles argued.
"Oh yeah, like that's worth
something!"
Giles got up and placed his hands on
Buffy's shoulders, stopping her pacing. "Is that what this is? You want to die
that badly? This isn't self sacrifice on your part, this is suicide!"
"Why not?" Buffy shouted. "I've
endangered you guys long enough! Why not end the whole thing? Glory's gone,
Willow, Xander, all of you guys can have a normal life, away from
Hellsville!"
Giles looked at the broken soul that
stood before him. Her mother's death had done what all of her greatest enemies
could never do, it had truly and completely destroyed her. Crushed her souland
robbed her of her will to continue. He knew that she was holding it all inside
her to keep the others from worrying about her, but now it was all out in the
open.
"Buffy," he stated calmly, "you must
understand, I am concerned for your well being, for your future--"
"I'M THE GODDAMNED SLAYER!" she screamed. "I DON'T HAVE A FUTURE!" "Yes you do, Buffy," Giles snapped
back harshly. "And I'm not going to stand by and allow you to throw it away!" He
stopped himself before his anger spilled over any further. He collected himself
and continued. "When this ordeal with Glory is over -- and we will find a
solution that doesn't involve you sacrificing your life -- I want you to
consider hanging up your stakes. Perhaps you're right, Buffy. Perhaps you
shouldn't be the Slayer any longer. You have greater responsibilities now, to
Dawn, for her well-being. You need to start your own life, outside of slaying,
outside of Sunnydale if you can arrange it. It's time for you to stop beingthe
Slayer, and start living a normal life again."
Buffy was genuinely surprisedat the
suggestion. She stared hard at the floor in front of her, ashamed of how angry
she had been at Giles before. "But what about my responsibility? You know, the
one girl in all the world, yadda yadda yadda."
Giles chuckled dryly at her words.
"Buffy Summers, no one has upheld that responsibility better than you have.And
you have already lost too much because of it. You've done your bit for kingand
country, several times over. It's time for you to think about your own future.
It's time to stop being the Slayer, and start being Buffy Summers again." Giles
bent to look at Buffy's face, and could swear that he saw a tear coursing down
her cheek. He thought that he might have reached her.
That hope was dashed when shesuddenly
got up, clenched her fists, and shouted, "Who wants to be that loser anyway?"
She grabbed her things and charged out of the backroom, out of the Magic Box,
and far out of sight.
Xander and the others stared at the
swinging door, and back at Giles. "She's had a rough time recently," was the
Englishman's only explaination.
"I'll take the Glaringly Obvious for
100, Alex," Xander shot back angrily, adding to the tension.
"Should we go after her?" Tara asked.
"Maybe she needs us."
"No," Willow said wearily. "What she
needs is for the last six months to never have happened. She needs to wake up
and find out this is all a dream, there isn't a phycho goddess after her sister,
her mom isn't dead and her boyfriend wasn't a jerk who got his jollies shagging
vampires!" Getting up from her chair, she collected her coat, and said, "I'm
going out for a while. A long while. Don't wait up, Tara, I wouldn't be fit
company anyway." She left the Magic Box in a hurry, and over the next five
minutes, the other young people quietly filed out the front door.
Giles sat alone for a very long time,
wondering where it all went so horribly wrong, and why everything was falling
apart so fast. "Joyce Summers," he murmured to the air around him, "your absence
is felt more keenly than you could imagine."
Buffy, for her part, managed to make
it down several blocks before she could walk no more. Not caring who saw her,
she dropped to her knees and wailed loud and long. She cried not only for her
mother, but for all those she couldn't save. Jesse. Kendra. Jenny. Faith.
And herself.
========
Dawn was in her bedroom, plowing
through her homework, desperately trying to come to grips with her algebra
assignment. She found herself solving the same damn story problem three
different times, with three different answers, before she threw her books off
her desk in disgust.
What had happened to her? Whydid she
have to lose her mother? Why did her life have to be a hollow lie, a fiction
made up by some monk to protect her from some goddess?
I'm Dawn Summers, she reminded
herself for the million-and-seventeenth time, not the Key. I'm Dawn
Summers! It didn't keep her mind away from the horrors she's seen in the
last year.
Sure she knew her sister was the
Vampire Slayer; two years ago, she was sitting on the stairs listening in when
Buffy finally told her mother, and Mom went Pompeii over her. She knew that
Buffy had fought the nastiest of nasties, from vampires to demons to those
freaky Gentlemen creeps(her personal least favorites). She knew that if given
the chance, Buffy could probably flatten that Zhang Ziyi chick from "Crouching
Tiger Hidden Dragon". And she knew that her friends could probably paste the
X-Men in a clinch. But it didn't make her feel any safer. Especially since she
became the target.
And especially since something as
mundane as a brain tumor managed to kill her mom.
Before she could continue that line of
thought, the doorbell chimed. Dawn got out of her chair to answer the door.She
immediately recognized the woman on the other side. Honey-blond hair,
early-forties, watery blue eyes, even her wardrobe was the same. The woman
smiled at Dawn, saying, "So how's my little girl?"
Dawn gasped slightly. "M-Mom?"
"Yes, honey, it's me," her mother
answered. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Dawn snapped out of her shockand
gathered her wits quickly. "The hell I am!" she shouted to the older woman,as
she backed away in search of a crucifix. "I know the rules; I don't invite you,
you can't come in."
The woman looked saddened at Dawn's
fear. "You think I'm a -- a vampire?" She started to laugh warmly. "Oh honey,
I'll prove I'm real. See?" She stepped across the threshold into Giles' house,
and smiled at Dawn. "You're right, dear. If I were a vampire, I couldn't walk in
without an invitation."
Dawn gaped in wonderment. This woman
wasn't a vampire, wasn't a demon. She was Joyce Summers. Her mother. Dawn rushed
into her waiting arms, and cried tears of joy. "Oh Mom," she sobbed, "I missed
you so much!"
"There, there," the older woman
soothed, stroking Dawn's hair. "I missed you too, my little burro."
Dawn just caught that last part, and
it made her stop and think. "You never called me that before, Mom."
"But you are, my dear," a different
voice answered. Dawn looked up, and into the face of her mother.
But now she wasn't her mother. She was
the enemy of mankind. She was Glory.
"My little burro," she started to
laugh. "My donkey. Get it? Dawn-Key!" She laughed hysterically at her own humor
while Dawn was too scared to scream. "Oh I just kill me sometimes," Glory
gleefully announced as she transported herself and her captive away.
"God does not play dice with the
universe; He plays an ineffible game of His own devising, which might be
compared, from the perspective of all the other players(ie., everybody), to
being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room,
with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the
rules and who smiles all the
time."
--Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett "Good Omens" |