WHAT HAPPENS NOW?  by Jayne Leitch
  C. 1998

    The new books had come in.

    Giles hefted the heavy crate onto the main table in the library, careful not to set it on top of the scattered tomes that littered its surface. Just to be sure, he glanced at the postmark--England. Good. Nodding once, briskly, he turned and headed into his office to get a crowbar.

    As he worked at opening the crate, he wondered at just how much good the new--old--books were going to be in his current situation. After all, even if he did find something in them about some new prophesy or demon or other such hellmouth-y thing--the Slayer was missing. Expelled, and out of town.

    Her absence did not bode well for the state of the world.

    Giles felt the same mushrooming anger he'd felt when he'd first heard of Buffy's expulsion. The day he'd returned to work, Snyder had called a staff meeting to 'discuss' the recent events--the dead body, the abduction of the librarian, the beating senseless of one of the school's best students (oh, and of course that Harris boy), and finally, the expulsion of the culprit, Buffy Summers.

    Giles had listened in shock as the principal nattered on about how to deal with the various repercussions, what the school board had decided about keeping the expulsion final...by the end of the meeting, he'd resolved to set things right--what he could, anyway. He hadn't bothered to approach Snyder; instead, he'd gone straight to the police and fabricated some story about gangs and initiations and eyewitness accounts and whatever else he could think of. The police had grudgingly dropped Buffy as their prime suspect, and turned their attention elsewhere. A call was made to Snyder and the school board about the new facts, and Giles hoped that whatever the principal thought of the developments, he wouldn't keep Buffy from the school.

    If she ever came back...

    With a growl of frustration, the Watcher dropped his crowbar and turned away from the crate. He fervently wished that he knew what had happened during the final fight between Buffy and Angel. He'd been nearly unconscious as Xander half-carried him from the mansion; the boy hadn't seen anything more than he had, so occupied was he with supporting him as they left. The only light he could shed on the subject was that he saw Spike carrying an unconscious Drusilla towards the door; Giles had supposed that they escaped while Buffy was busy stopping Angel.

    Which she wouldn't have had to do if he hadn't told them...

    Giles closed his eyes and took off his glasses, determined not to dwell on his guilt. He'd been unprepared; previous Watchers hadn't had much contact with Drusilla, so there hadn't been much about her in their journals. Certainly nothing about her extraordinary powers of mental persuasion. With a humourless chuckle, Giles recalled the total reality of her deception. It was as if Jenny was there in front of him, telling him everything he'd ever wanted to hear: that she loved him, she wanted him--she forgave him...

    With a start, Giles realized that he was crying. His eyes snapped open and he swiped at the moistness on his cheeks with the tissue he used to clean his glasses. It didn't matter; the tears kept coming, steadily relentless. It *hadn't* been Jenny. The image Drusilla used was the one from his mind--the one that painted her as he wanted her to be, not as she was in life. She was too perfect; he should have known it was a trick.

    The man lowered himself into a chair, his body wracked with sobs. He had betrayed his Slayer, and now she was gone.

    * What happens now? *

~~~~~

    Five weeks. His cast was coming off in five weeks.

    Xander dropped his book on the bed and flexed the fingers of his left hand.  Holding the heavy tome open without the help of his right hand cramped the muscles and eventually became painful, so he couldn't read too much at a time.

    Read. The boy snorted. If Willow knew he was voluntarily reading, she'd have a heart attack. Especially if she knew what his reading material was...

    He'd come across the books of poetry while he helped Giles clean up the shelves that the vampire had pushed over onto his best friend. There were three volumes in total, each filled with academic verse--interspersed with instructions on how the poetry could be used in spells. The writers were mundane--Milton, Blake, Coleridge, Tennyson--but the works were
changed by the compilers, who worked added meaning into the phrases,
turning poems like The Divine Image into a summons for demonical hellspawn. Xander was vaguely disturbed by the twisting of the words, but
found the material too interesting to stop reading.

    Of course, it *would* take a tragedy like the one he'd lived through to make him want to read classic poetry.

    Sighing heavily, Xander rolled off his bed and walked slowly around his room, glancing over the various things decorating the walls--and floor--of his humble abode. He could remember with perfect clarity where he'd come across each item. Willow had been with him for most of them--Willow or Jesse.

    He closed his eyes briefly. He'd lost Jesse to the vampires; he'd almost lost Willow to plain old violent death. And now Buffy was gone...how many more? How was he going to lose Cordelia?

    Cordelia. Xander felt an ironic smile twist his mouth for a second. Who saw her coming? He'd hated her for as long as he'd known her; but then, didn't Willow tell him at some point that hate and love were the two closest emotions? Then again, maybe he'd heard it on Springer.

    Love and hate. They were the biggies. He loved Cordelia, groping
opportunities or no. He also loved Willow, which was driving him crazy.
How long had she pined after him before Oz came along? Better yet, how
could he not have noticed how good they could have been together? And
why did it have to take almost losing her to get him to notice? Heavy
questions, ones he didn't feel like thinking about. So instead, he thought
about Buffy.

    Yes, he loved Buffy, even if it had turned into more of a friendship thing than the lustfulness that it was when she first showed up. He'd seen so much of her after two years that he wasn't sure if she was what he wanted any more.  Of course, if she offered, he'd take her, all present melodramatic thoughts aside. He loved her, but he would be happy with keeping their relationship the way she wanted it. If she ever came back.

    Love and hate. Well, he'd gone through the love. Who did he hate?

    Xander stared distractedly out the window at the warm, sunny afternoon.  That was easy. He hated Angel, and sincerely hoped that, whatever else happened in that mansion after he'd left, Buffy had killed the bastard. He would have done it himself, for what the vampire had put them through. For what he'd put *him* through...

    He hated to admit it, but before Angel had lost his soul, he'd thought of the vampire as a friend. Nothing like what Jesse had been, of course, but someone who was going through the same things he was--a general lack of direction in life, a going-nowhere attitude, a lust for Buffy...

    Buffy. He'd lied to Buffy. Xander shook his head, jumping on the truth in an attempt to make it a little less harsh. No, he hadn't lied to her. He just knew that Angelus needed to be destroyed, and the Slayer couldn't risk enough to do it if she knew there was a chance she'd get the real Angel back. Willow's plan had been risky from the start, and attempting to bring back his soul again was too dangerous for Buffy, for Giles--for him.

    Because if Angel came back, he'd be welcomed and forgiven. And Xander
didn't think he would be able to forgive as readily as the others.

    His room was suddenly too small for him. Xander took a deep, constricted breath, forcing back the tears that threatened to run onto his face. Hurrying towards the door, he realized that he wanted to go to the library, even if he wasn't going to see Buffy there. She was gone, Angel was gone, Willow was with Oz.

    *What happens now?*

~~~~~

    Oz wrote such beautiful music.

    Willow sat in her desk chair, staring out the window, not paying much
attention to anything other than the quiet strains of Oz's guitar, the soft music emanating from her tape player. He'd made the tape a few days ago, and presented it to her on their two month anniversary. He hadn't let her play it until he had gone home, however, and when Willow eagerly stuck it in the machine and turned it on, she was startled and very happy to hear that he'd written three songs, specifically for her. He wasn't much of a singer--she'd discovered why he insisted that the band only had him for instrumental support--but the guitar was beautiful, and a far cry from the pounding, throbbing music she normally associated with Dingoes Ate My Baby.

    Of course, her first impulse was to race over to Buffy's house and play the tape so her friend could listen to it. When she realized the impossibility of that urge, her mood deflated, and she'd felt like crying.

    Where had she gone? To be with Angel? Willow sank back against the seat, her eyes leaving the window and going blank as she considered the
possibilities.

    The spell had been successful, she was sure of it. Whether she could have done it without...whatever...taking her over, she didn't know, but with that help, she'd done it. The orb had glowed brightly, then disappeared, and when the presence deserted her, she was left with the firm belief that she'd succeeded.

    But then where were Buffy and Angel?

    Buffy wasn't dead, at least she knew that. Willow remembered briefly the day that Mrs. Summers had come to her house, acting kind of...fragile. It was the afternoon of Willow's first day back at school, and she'd asked
Joyce eagerly when Buffy was coming back to class. The gang had been
wondering earlier, she'd continued, oblivious to the older woman's look of
pain, because we have a lot to talk to her about. Mrs. Summers simply sat
down beside her on the couch and told her about the note her daughter had
left.

    Willow blinked, and realized that the tape had clicked off. Buffy had run away from home, from family, from friends--from responsibility. Was she with Angel? If the spell was successful, the vampire would undoubtedly feel horrible about what he had done, but would he push Buffy away or accept her forgiveness? If he had gone on by himself, had Buffy followed him?

    Or was it like Xander had suggested? Could the spell have been too late?  And if not, did Buffy even realize it had worked? She'd told Xander to make sure Buffy knew they were trying again. If she knew, wouldn't she have tried to hold him off as long as she could...?

    Willow started. What if the spell had been successful but Buffy had to kill Angel anyway? The thought made her shiver. If Buffy had to kill Angel, she would want to be alone.

    The spell. It all centred around the spell. Buffy's happiness, Angel's life, Giles, Xander, Cordelia, Oz...even Willow herself. It had to affect each one of them...and she'd taken it on herself to cast it, make sure it gave her what everyone wanted. Either way it could have gone meant tremendous possibilities for each member of their gang...

    Willow stood up and began pacing. She'd insisted on performing the spell, hadn't listened to any other options. But what if the spell was the wrong thing to do? Buffy's absence seemed to suggest that possibility. What if she'd been wrong to force the magic?

    What if, what if, what if...

    Willow realized that she was breathing heavily. She wanted out of the room, wanted to be somewhere other than with these thoughts. She knew she was right to cast the spell; so why were her mind and her conscience telling her differently?

    As she rushed out the door, Willow decided to go see Giles at the library. In the face of everything that had happened, he'd been steady as a rock. If she wanted to talk, he'd listen.

        * What happens now? *

~~~~~

    Buffy was gone. Gone, because of what she'd said.

    Joyce gripped the steering wheel tighter, so tight that her knuckles turned white. Buffy's note lay in a rumpled, creased mess on the passenger seat, and she had to force herself to keep driving, and not pull over and read it again.

    She'd told her that if she left, she wasn't to come back. Joyce regretted the words as soon as she saw Buffy's eyes, staring back at her, disbelieving and full of pain. Buffy knew she hadn't meant them; she must have, otherwise she would've just packed up and gone without any other word.

    She'd left the note. That, at least, meant there was a chance she'd come back.

    Joyce navigated the streets mechanically. She knew the route to the school so well she could drive it in her sleep, and that's what it felt like she was doing. Sleepwalking through her life, as if it was all some kind of bad dream.

    Buffy's a vampire Slayer, and she's run away from home. Joyce felt a brittle smile crack her lips for a moment. A nightmare described her life perfectly.

    How long had she been oblivious? Buffy'd said two years. That meant that the trouble she'd been in in Los Angeles had something to do with it; she'd never really opened up about why she'd burned the buildings down, and Joyce had never asked. And then, once they'd moved to Sunnydale, she'd
turned a blind eye to everything her daughter did. How many times *had*
she washed blood out of Buffy's clothes? She couldn't remember, and it
frightened her. Joyce shivered as she realized that her daughter had been in mortal danger for months, and she hadn't noticed.

    But Buffy never told her...

    Joyce slammed her foot down on the brake, swerving off onto the shoulder.  No, Buffy hadn't told her. But weren't there some things that a parent was supposed to know instinctively about her child? If she was in trouble, or unable to cope with life. She < should > have known, even if Buffy had barricaded herself in her room and refused to talk. But she hadn't known, and now her daughter was gone.

    There was so much, too. Not just this Slaying business; Buffy also managed to keep normal, everyday teenage stuff from her. Like schoolwork, and test scores, and boyfriends...

    Joyce took a deep breath. She'd wanted to put her foot down about Angel from the beginning, but now she wasn't sure that would've helped. He had been the first man Buffy had...he'd been her first, and Buffy still hadn't decided to tell her about him. And then that night, that horrible night when the Slayer business had come out into the open...Buffy and that Spike person, they'd spoken of killing Angel.

    Killing. Her sweet, innocent Buffy, planning to kill someone. Was it any wonder she'd drank half the whiskey that night?

    But...Buffy wasn't innocent. Hadn't been, for a long time. If what she'd said was true, she'd killed countless...vampires...over the past two years, fought numerous demons, saved the world at least twice...and given up her virginity to a man who, for all Joyce knew, was dead right now.

    Killed by Buffy.

    She felt the tears well up in her eyes again and wiped her hand across them viciously, determined not to show up at the library looking like a wreck.  Buffy's note had told her to speak with the librarian, Mr. Giles, if she had any questions. Joyce felt a wave of bleak humour wash through her as she pulled back out onto the road. She'd thought Buffy was spending so much time with the man because he was helping her study...

    As she drove on to the school, she glanced one more time at the note. Buffy had written it, and then she had left. Left her mother to find out about this stranger she called a daughter all by herself.

    *What happens now?*

End.

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