Outside the Sunnydale pit, 2003

The nearly-mortal wound. The taunting First. Willow's spell remaking the power as something to be shared. It all knocked the last pieces of the puzzle away. Spike had said it, after all. I wasn't brought back right.

I'd always held William in affection. Like Xander, he understood how to push away the nonsense of the life they all lived, and get down to its basics. Had I better been able to handle Gen-X hormones, my time with Spike might never have occurred. But, we did all protest for sexual freedom. Hurrah that we won, if anyone did. But that's how it really goes, right? You take what you can. Oh, baby. I never understood. I never knew how thin the line really was, till I was called back over it.

Holding the scythe makes it easier to remember, somehow. Willow chanting over her grave, trying pointlessly to call back a spirit that was both at peace and totally exhausted. Ultimately, I tried to nudge you back, knowing somehow what was to come and how needed you were. I felt safe, right? The spell wasn't intended for me. Now, I realize my error. See, I had already been brought back. By Dawnie. Sweet, beautiful thing, mine so short a time. Her spell had been disrupted, but never cancelled. I only lacked a body, and the urn drew me in like a straw in a hurricane.

The instincts were there when I got back, but being the Slayer is so much more than instinct. They all kept waiting for me to fire up again. I'll chalk up Rupert's not tumbling to it to distance. I'll chalk Willow's lack to self-absorption. Tara did a direct read on me, though. Did she know and keep that from me? If so, bless her. I would have cracked wide open at that time, had I known. Did The First know? Tough to say. But that could be why it never taunted me as Joyce. A wedge to play, like the song in Spike's head.

So it was that all the little things--the pompous speechmaking, the pointless ultimatums--Hell, I'm surprised I didn't catch on. At least now, I can be better at taking care of Dawn. I have some mixed results experience. Will I ever tell the others what happened? Maybe someday. But Xander and I both agreed to let her confidence and stability grow before attempting to put back his eye. If she can handle that without problems, then she'll be ready to know and handle the truth without digging up another urn.

Buffy Summers is dead. I may not be the ideal replacement--after all, she was supposed to be mine, technically speaking. But I am here, and I will, with God's grace and the help of all of her--all of our--friends, prevail. Angel I will handle another decade. Oh. he'll be happy. Yeah.

---------------------------

The bus was quiet.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, Dawn?"

"Its message aside, do you really think that when I saw Mom, it was The First, playing with me?"

Buffy looked over, her eyes gentler than ever towards the young woman.

"Trust me on this one, Dawnie...."

She fought back a gulp.

"First or no first, what you saw was not the ghost of Joyce Summers. I can guarantee it."