By Alex
Awards
won for this story here.
Disclaimers – All the characters from BtVS belong to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon.
Other
Disclaimers – No infringement of any kind
intended. The story however is a figment of my own twisted imagination. :-) Warnings
: While there is no explicit sexual content a loving relationship between two
consenting women is suggested. If this offends you (Man, are you in the wrong
place) or is illegal where you live (I suggest you move). PLEASE DELETE NOW!
Warning
#2: This story portrays the explicit use of
controlled substances and IV drug abuse and an attempted suicide. Again if this
bothers you, find something else to read. Cause you won't like this one at all.
Summary - Due to circumstances beyond their control one of the gang is lost and alone and isn't handling it well at all.
Feedback - Please any comments or suggestions to: keeper444@webtv.net .
<< thoughts >>
**flashbacks**
The huddled figure hurried down the quickly darkening street, the shadows deepened by the absence of street lights sure didn't make the area seem any friendlier.
This was not the part of town you read about in the brochures, no, this looked more like a war zone than a part of the pretty little town of Sunnydale and it smelled even worse.
At a run down brick building with broken windows and boarded up doors the figure stopped, and furtively looked around to be sure it wasn't being observed, then it stealthily went to one of the blocked doors and moving a loose board the figure slipped into the condemned building.
Someone had jumped over the old electric meter and had illegally turned on the water but nobody that lived there knew who, they didn't care.
The individuals had no idea who they shared the building, nor did they care. They all knew their status in life. They were the cast-offs from a society that didn't want to recognize their existence.
The huddled figure cackled insanely at these thoughts, no they didn't really want to know who or what cohabited their little world. They had their own problems that absorbed their attention.
Each had succumbed to their own private hell and had nothing left over to share with their fellow sufferers.
Climbing the dark narrow stairs the figure wondered how much longer it would have the strength to make this ascent, knowing when that time came they would have crossed the line from inhabitant to prey, and would no longer be safe here.
After that the downhill slide they'd been on since that night would soon reach its inevitable conclusion and it was just another lifeless body in the morgue, unknown and unclaimed, filler for another hole in Potters field.
Coming to a nondescript door at the end of a long dark hallway the figure made another furtive glance over its shoulder then used its shoulder to shove open the portal to its own private section of hell.
The room was small and as dirty as its occupant, all it held was an old cot with an old lumpy mattress that smelled of bodily fluids and mildew, a badly abused night stand and an rickety old table with a scared top and a straight backed wooden chair.
Lighting was provided by a shadeless lamp with a dim bulb. On the table was all that was necessary for its life now, a candle, matches, a spoon with a bent handle, and several used syringes.
“Decor by House of Hell in early Junkie” the figure mumbled chuckling at its own humor “Gods, it’s hot in here.”
The figure began shrugging off its outer layer of clothing stopping when it reached its last layer. Now clad in old worn grimy jeans and a ragged dirty and horribly stained tank top.
Underwear had disappeared within the first month on the streets. Now it was possible to see that it was a female, she’d once even been considered pretty.
A year on the streets and the junk had taken care of that now, only a shadow of her former self remained. Wiping her forehead and realizing her teeth were chattering she knew she’d gotten back just in time. She’d already started the cold sweats and before long she’d start the stomach cramps, followed by the crawlies and serious shakes. What came after that she had no idea, she’d let herself get to the shakes only once and she wouldn’t ever let that happen again.
<>Better to die than withdraw<> she told herself.
She smiled sadly at the prospect of death. Once she’d fought hard to keep from dying, now she’d welcome it with open arms. The only reason she was still alive was she was too much of a coward to kill herself, so she’d chosen the easy way.
As she looked at herself in the cracked and warped mirror, she could see that it wouldn’t be long now. Who knew how she’d go? There were a thousand ways for a street junkie to die, there was exposure, malnutrition, raped and murdered in some alley. That one made her laugh as she once more looked at her reflection.
<>Sucker’d have to be pretty desperate to wanna rape my bony carcass<> She told herself.
She’d seen it happen more than once down here, some poor junkie, like herself, would get some money, one of the others would find out, and beat them to death for twenty bucks.
What a joke her life had become. She reached into her boots that were two sizes too big and pulled out three small plastic bindles of white powder and threw them on the table along with a pack of generic cigarettes.
It had been a good day of panhandling. She’d made enough to not only get enough stuff for today and tomorrow, but she had been able to buy herself a whole pack of smokes.
The waif thin girl then pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it drawing the harsh smoke deep into her lungs. She coughed a little then took another drag this time when she inhaled there was no adverse reaction. Now that her lungs had settled down she began the daily ritual of getting the fix.
She tore open one of the packets and dumped its contents into the spoon. Leaving it on the table, she picked up the least dirty glass from the sink and filled with the brownish tinged water from the tap and returned to the table.
Using her newest syringe she drew up some of the water then carefully let it drop into the spoon with the powder. Then slowly with all the concentration of a brain surgeon she held the spoon over the lit candle heating the contents while gently stirring it with the end of the syringe until all the powder was dissolved.
Once the elixir was liquefied she sat the spoon ever so carefully on the table and tore a small piece of the cigarette filter cotton with her teeth. Rolling it into a minute ball she let it drop in the spoon so that it touched the edge of the liquid.
Holding the needle on the cotton to filter the mixture she drew the liquid ‘escape’ into the syringe. Closely examining the contents of the syringe she smiled just a little.
“Damn Jonesy must have a new connection.” she muttered pleased by the purity of the drugs “Almost all came back, just hope he ain’t cuttin’ it with strychnine again. Shit makes my kidneys hurt.”
Talking to herself was another habit she’d picked up over the last year. Her fellow street junkies were not much for stimulating conversation.
She pulled the belt from around her jeans and went over to sit on the edge of the bed.
Getting as comfortable as she could. She pulled the belt through the buckle making a loop and put that around her bicep then pulled it as tight as she could. She pumped her fist trying to raise a vein, she’d already burned out the veins the hooker had shown her so no one would see the tracks and now she had fried the major ones in her left arm.
Finally after having to slap her arm to get the vein up to where she could see it, she found what she’d been searching for. Holding the end of the belt with her teeth to keep it tight and with her left hand she slid the needle through her thin pale white skin and into the blue vein at the bend of her elbow. She drew a little blood into the syringe to be sure she’d pierced the vein then she pushed the plunger and forced the contents in to her vein and released the belt allow the blood to flow freely carrying the drugs throughout her system.
First came the overwhelming waves of nausea but there was nothing in her stomach to bring up so that was no big deal. Then with a heavy sigh she felt the release of the drug as it invaded her brain making her feel like she was floating without a care in the world. At last she’d reached
the point she was hoping for and for a few minutes it didn't matter that they were all dead. She could forget that the one true love of her life had died and left her alone to face the world without her.
With that thought the anger came. How dare they, it wasn’t fair, everybody felt sorry for them, it was so awful what happened isn’t it too bad they died.
Yeah but at least for them it was over but for her it had just begun.
As the powerful drug set her mind afloat on a sea of euphoria, at peace, but the peace didn’t last. Just like the last two times the memories came pouring back to her now.
Her uncluttered mind, no problems, no worrying about being found, no hiding in dark corners because she saw a familiar figure on the street. Like today, she saw that seemingly familiar looking person as she was leaving Jonesy’s place right after she’d scored. At first she’d thought
it was a narc but it wasn’t long before she knew it wasn’t any of the cops that hung around there hassling the junkies, hookers, and pimps while taking protection payoffs from the dealers.
“Sunnydale’s finest,” she snorted sarcastically. “What a joke. How they gonna clean up the streets when they couldn’t find their ass with a flashlight and they lived in some small time pusher wannabe’s hip pocket.”
Today though it hadn’t been some dirty cop trying to extort a few bucks out of some burned out junkies, no, today was something different. The sight of this figure had been like a dagger through her heart. It had dredged up all the agonizing memories that had driven her into this life.
Surprised by tears she thought she no longer had, she realized she was crying again as all those memories burst through all her carefully constructed barriers and came roaring back into her consciousness, invading her waking hours instead of remaining only in her sleeping nightmares.
Even the drugs weren’t helping to hold back the visions of her and the horror of the remembered sight of her love’s death. She cried out in agony and buried her face in her battered dirty hands unable to fight off the pain that ripped through her heart and soul.
“Alone,” she wailed drowning in a sea of despair and hopelessness. “Why am I here alone. You promised you'd stay with me forever and then you left me.”
Her pain was unfathomable, it wasn’t just sorrow and grief no, it was all that and far more. She'd lost more than friends and a lover that night, she’d lost her soul, it shriveled up and died as she watched them go down under the onslaught of the undead.
It had taken an army of unholy demons and monsters to do it but, it had been done, Now she was left to deal with the guilt of having lived while everything she held dear in her life was destroyed. She had reached the end of her tolerance, for over a year now she’d been living with it.
After a while she was able to function and the smack had forced back the painful memories relegating them to her sleeping time only, but now after today she knew it was over.
The pain had found her and forced her out into the light so it could rape and destroy the remnants of her sanity to leave her with nothing, but she knew she had a choice. She could put a stop to the agony that was trying to drag her down into a living hell of pain and depression leaving only a drooling babbling shell like some of the others she’d seen.
No, she could stop that and now was the time, if she waited she knew it would be too late and the pain would win.
Determined to follow through with her plan she drug herself off the bed and crawled to the table.
She almost passed out as she pulled her drugged, abused, and battered body into the chair.
Her lungs burned and her frail body shook uncontrollably. She sat up in the chair and took in several deep breaths struggling to regain control of herself so she could finally stop her pain.
Having steeled herself and forcibly keeping her body from shaking she realized she was more relaxed right now than she’d ever been since that night. She rationalized that having finally come to a decision about her future had helped her gather her remaining strength; so she could do what was necessary.
She lit another cigarette and relaxed for a moment, then she picked up both of the remaining bindles and emptied their contents into the spoon.
As she heated and stirred the elixir that would take care of her future and finally make the pain go away for good, her mind back to the event that happened on that night over a year ago.
This time she didn't fight it knowing that soon all the agony she’d suffered for so long would soon be gone.
************It had been the same as every other night of their adolescent lives, they had all met at Giles' apartment to get ready for the nightly patrol.
It was clear to all of them that something big was about to happen. Buffy had been running into more and stronger opponents every night and thanks to Willow’s “research girl” act they’d figured out that once again they faced an enemy of apocalyptic proportions.
Since the portents of an escalating threat were clear it had been decided that all of them would go out on patrol with Buffy.
Even Wesley was there to help, and according to him Angel had some thing pressing to attend to then he would be arriving to help.
They loaded up, Buffy carried her usual assortment of weapons, while Giles and Wesley opted for crossbows with hardwood quarrels. Willow and Xander were bringing along stakes and Super Soakers full of Holy water.
In other words they were armed to the teeth. When they entered the cemetery they spread out but made sure to keep each other in sight.
They covered as much ground as they could without putting themselves in harm’s way. Things had actually gone pretty slow and the consensus was that either their information was wrong or they’d read it wrong. Both of which were possible when you were working with a centuries old prophecy and living on the Hellmouth.
It was decided to head for the house after one more sweep of the campus. Even she would admit that they were lulled into a false sense of security and even though they knew better all of them slacked off relaxing their watch or maybe these were smarter adversaries than they were used to.
Whatever it was when the group had come to a spot where they had to separate and just as the two groups were out of sight of each other the attack came.
To her it seemed that the vamps just appeared out of nowhere and in spite of all their preparations there was simply too many of them.
The fierce battle that followed was too fast and too spread out for her to recall what exactly happened. All she could remember for sure was that at some time during the fight she was thrown up against a nearby building and was knocked unconscious for how long she wasn’t sure.
That didn’t really matter, what mattered to her was what happened after she came to. She pushed herself up, and looked around, while she was out the fight had moved away from where she had lain.
Slowly regaining her feet she stopped to survey the scene. She was horrified. Only two of her friends remained standing and even from her distance she could see the defenders were out on their feet. To make matters worse there were several more vamps running to join the fight. As she watched she saw her friends go down under a massive wave of the undead.
She heard someone screaming “NO” then she realized it was her and fearing to call attention to herself she forced herself to shut up, but she was too late.
Three of the vamps on the fringes of the fight saw her and began to come after her. Then she did the unforgivable.
She ran and left her friends to die. ***************
“That’s right,” she told herself, as she drew up the drug from the spoon, laughing derisively at herself, “the great hunter of the undead, friend and confidant to the down trodden, defender of humanity, the all powerful Willow the Wyccan ran like the gutless coward she is.”
Using back alleys that only she and her childhood friend Xander knew, dodging into a couple of churches Willow had gotten away from her pursuers. Finally after she'd run for what seemed like hours Willow had stopped and assessed her situation.
It was then the true realization of what had happened dawned on her. As far as she could tell all of her friends were dead or worse. She’d seen them fall and then she fell to her knees no longer able to stand. Just as she began to mourn her friends Giles the ever present ever concerned guide and mentor, Wesley the stoic, stiff, unsure, funny, watcher reject, Xander her lifelong friend, the one that made her laugh, that held her as she cried when things became too much to bear, and showed her that she could handle anything, all gone. Taken from her in a moment.
What would she ever do without them, what would Buffy... Then it hit her, like a sledgehammer to the chest. Buffy had gone down with them. For Willow the world as she knew it ceased to exist.
She couldn’t breathe the world was spinning and her legs wouldn't hold her up then everything went black. Willow woke up to a bright sunlit sky and found herself laying on a pile of trash in a deserted alley in the middle of an abandoned industrial district, where the city had discovered it was cheaper to let the old condemned buildings sit and rot, rather then tear them down.
No one cared about the area and very few police even cared enough to patrol the area. For sure nobody was worried about one distraught red haired girl. It had become a dumping ground for the city’s unwanted waste both trash and human. A haven for the homeless and the lowlife that preyed on them, the small time drug dealers, pimps, and other dregs of society that even the criminals wouldn’t bother with.
It was in this environment that the young sheltered and grieving girl found herself lost and alone. Kneeling in the scum of a stinking alley, the desolate woman-child was being crushed by the weight of her devastating loss.
To lose your friends would have been enough to break anyone but to lose the one true love of your life right after you had found each other, was more than any being could be expected to deal with under the best of conditions.
Lost and alone devoid of all hope; all that was Willow Rosenberg curled up inside her body and slowly, painfully, ceased to exist, like being born in reverse. She was suddenly aware of a high pitched eerie keening sound that sounded like a soul suffering the torments of hell, then she knew that poor tortured soul was her.
Without her Buffy, she was only half a soul and only half of a living thing can’t live. The sensitive red-haired girl died inside and simply knelt there in the unbearable agony not moving, the only sign she was alive was an occasional sob followed by a soul-wrenching moan.
She would have probably knelt in the filth of the alley until she died if not for an accident of fate. An old broken down heroin addicted hooker stumbled upon the grief paralyzed girl. For some unknown reason she took pity on the child and led her through the motions of surviving the streets.
After dragging the near zombie around for several days the old hooker introduced her new- found protege to the mind numbing escape that the wonderful world of drug use provided. To the soulless waif it was the keys to heaven. With the old hooker’s able assistance the redhead was soon well on her way to a serious habit and the forgetfulness she yearned for.
After a few weeks the two companions stumbled upon the body of a well known and abusive pimp. He had apparently had a run in with someone that didn’t like him very well because they’d pumped several bullets into him.
Being as tough as he had to be to survive he must have gotten away from them and crawled into the alley and died where they found him. It was bad luck for him, but really good for the two street dwellers because his pockets were loaded with the money he’d forced from his girls and the packets of heroin that he’d used to enslave them. A regular treasure trove for the two scavengers, and Willow, now called Sweety by her fellow denizens of the street, got the oversized leather trench coat she always wore when out.
The next morning Willow found her new friend and mentor dead of an overdose. Following the rules taught her by the old hooker, Willow took everything she could find of the old woman’s that had value. Shortly there after she found the old squatter’s flat and moved in.
Sweety soon became a fixture on the streets. She was known and feared, especially after a pimp threatened her, then he fell to the ground and was attacked by rats.
Sweety swore she had nothing to do with it, but her legend as a spooky kid you didn’t mess with was already born and flourishing. Every once in a while she’d hear stories of the Slayer and the night creatures she protected humanity from, street people knew all about the creatures that ruled the night.
She just figured that it was another Slayer that was called to take her Buffy’s place and tried not to listen to the stories because they only renewed her pain and desolation. Then about six weeks ago one of the younger street kids came running up to her.
“Hey Sweety did ya’ hear?” the exuberant youth yelled as he ran across the street to talk to her. “It’s really big news about the Slayer.”
“No Teddy, you know I don’t care about such things,” she said rather harshly but seeing his disappointment at her rebuff broke down “Alright ya’ little runt what about the Slayer?”
“Well me and the guys was hangin’ out over by the old factory,” the excited boy began “and these older guys was talkin’, Ya’ know the guys that always know what’s what. Well we heard one of em sayin’ that the Slayer got some help, and there was this huge fight and when it was over she’d closed the Hellmouth.”
She went into a state of shock. Closing the Hellmouth had always been a dream of theirs. She and Buffy always said that once they closed the Hellmouth they’d move some place where they could be together and not have to worry about it bothering their families.
Now it had happened but there was no Buffy to celebrate with, no soulmate to move with, in short no future, no dreams left. That Buffy and her lover, the Witch Willow, no longer existed; they were for all intents and purposes dead.
It was the single most devastating moment since the death of her lover and her friends. She turned an walked away from the boy without a word, he called out to her but she just ignored him, and with the arrogance of youth the boy just shrugged his shoulders and left without pursuing the matter any further.
From that moment she began the downward spiral that had brought her to this moment. The pain was too much to go through without the one person she loved more than life itself. It was
ludicrous to even try, even the drugs didn’t give her the escape from reality she craved any more.
She might have lasted a while longer, but soon word came down that there were people looking for her.
Strangers had been on the streets describing her as she had been a year ago, asking for Willow Rosenberg and showing an old school picture. Not that Sweety looked anything like that Willow, not any longer at least, but it was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together and came up with Willow and Sweety were the same person.
She couldn’t go back, and she was sure it was someone her family had hired or worse yet a representative from the Council. Either one would try to force her to go back and they wouldn’t understand that without her Buffy there was nothing there for her, so it would be better this way.
No one would ever know what happened to Willow, she’d be another urban legend, everyone speculating her fate, and Sweety, well she would be just another dead junkie, and good riddance to bad rubbish.
It was the fate she deserved for deserting her love, her life, her soulmate, and daring to live on after her Buffy’s beautiful soul was gone.
She held the syringe up and examined the oversized dose of the thick elixir that had allowed her to last this long without her heart and soul, and now it was only right that it would give her the final release from the hell her life had become.
She tied off her arm and quickly located a vein. With expert ease she slid the needle home and pushed the plunger. As the last of the fluid entered her blood stream and she was releasing the tourniquet she could hear heavy footsteps coming up the hall.
<>They found me<> she thought smugly <>You’re too late the only thing here is a soon to be dead worthless junkie<>
Her vision was already fading when the door flew open revealing a strangely familiar silhouette.
“Faith?” she asked as she faded out
“Aw damn Red,” Faith groaned, “What the hell have you gone and done to yourself? B’s gonna kill me if I let anything happen to you now that I found you for her.”
That was the last thing she heard as the blackness closed over her.
-------
Faith began her search into the lowest bowels of the city digging up every dealer, pimp, and snitch she could latch on to. Just when she was about to give it up and try another way she saw a huddled figure coming out of a dealer’s place that struck a familiar cord in her mind. On a hunch she followed the person on a meandering trail home.
It took every ounce of Slayer skill to tail this one without being seen. Her determination paid off and she located the building where the person lived. She was sure that it was the elusive little redhead.
After letting Giles know where she was but not the blonde Slayer. They didn’t want to get Buffy’s hopes up only to have to tell her they were wrong.
The brunette Slayer entered the hovel and after several wrong doors followed by several profuse apologies she found one last door on the very top floor of the building, so hidden even her Slayer enhanced senses almost missed it.
This had to be it. The little voice in her head told her it was Red, and that voice hadn’t been wrong yet.
Faith just knew she’d found the holy grail she’ been looking for, and something was telling her to hurry up, and get in there.
Even then she was almost too late, it looked as if the desolation had finally defeated the once feisty redhead, a few minutes later the girl’s suicide attempt might have been successful. Faith knew suicide when she saw it, she’d been on the verge herself enough times to recognize the symptoms.
She scooped the unconscious girl up into her arms, and she ran down the stairs with her discovery.
Willow had lost so much weight Faith could carry the skin-covered skeleton in one arm. She used her cell phone to get help, making sure they realized it was an OD.
Fortunately the names of the Slayers carried a certain amount of pull since the sealing of the Hellmouth and the ambulance arrived in record time. Faith rode along to be sure the paramedics knew that this was no ordinary junkie O.D.ing here, and the hospital would know that cost was no object.
As far as Faith and Buffy were concerned the little witch would get the best of everything, there was no other option available to them.
**************
As soon as Buffy received word that her missing love was found, and of Willow’s condition, the Slayer raced to the hospital ignoring every posted speed limit and violating very nearly every traffic law known to get to her long lost lover’s side.
Upon her arrival Buffy took over the care of her Willow, or she did after she finished crying when she saw the little redhead’s physical condition. Her once healthy, happily babbling, best friend, and lover, was so malnurished, and frail. She looked so tiny in the bed. Buffy thought her beloved witch now looked like a concentration camp survivor.
“Oh my love,” Buffy cried out her heart breaking at the thought of how much her Willow must have suffered over the last year. “What happened to you? What drove you to this? Was it me, did I do something wrong?”
Not getting an answer from the unconscious girl, Buffy became obsessed with getting her well so that she could have her lover back, even if it was only as a friend. Swearing to whatever gods were listening that she would cherish and care for her precious witch for as long as they both lived.
The nurses and doctors were only allowed to perform what ever medical procedures were necessary, but Buffy refused to allow anyone to do anything else for her lover.
Buffy cleaned her, dressed her, no task was too menial for the Slayer. The only other person
Buffy even allowed in the room was Faith. They had become friends after the dark eyed Slayer had returned at Buffy's request for help with the minions of the Hellmouth.
It was Faith who had studied Willow's research and found the clue the Wyccan had discovered that led them to the secret of sealing the Hellmouth.
Buffy smiled sadly, remembering Faith’s comment that fateful night when they ended that threat for good.
Even when she was gone the feisty redhead was still saving their butts. It had been Faith’s idea to look for the missing witch among the homeless of Sunnydale, so Buffy owed the second Slayer everything and she never missed an opportunity to tell Faith how grateful she was.
Faith would come by every once in a while to relieve her friend, demanding that the devoted blonde get something to eat, and to rest, reminding her that Willow was going to need her partner when things got tougher later and Buffy would be of no use to her suffering lover if she too was on the verge of collapse.
Buffy only surrendered to her friend’s demands after Faith, and a doctor that specialized in the rehabilitation of drug addicts, and that would accept the case, sat her down and explained what Willow was facing in the near future, if she regained consciousness that was.
The doctor made sure that the blonde understood that there was a chance that, given the patient’s severely poor condition prior to her overdose, there was every possibility she would succumb to the chemical damage she’d inflicted on herself without ever coming out of the present coma.
Faith asked a nurse why they didn’t just give the comatose girl a shot of dopeamine and bring her out of the coma.
“I always thought all you had to do was give her a shot and all this would be over,” Faith asked not fully trusting doctors.
“Normally we would, honey,” the charge nurse told her patiently, “but this one’s too weak to handle anymore than we gave her to save her life. Her poor body can’t take the shock.”
“In other words you don’t care how much she suffers.” Faith growled at the woman, she didn’t like it when anyone talked to her like she was a stupid kid, “as long as your butts’ are covered.”
The woman just huffed at the girl’s attitude and hurried off down the hall to continue her rounds. Of course Buffy heard him, but refused to even acknowledge the possibility.
Faith saw the look in her fellow Slayer’s eyes when the doctor spoke of Red dying. Faith knew denial when she saw it, so she stayed close. Even going so far as to rent an apartment right across the street from the hospital so she would be there if Buffy needed her in a hurry.
She knew in her heart that it would kill her friend if the little witch didn’t make it.
It was three days later when Willow woke up, and rudely awakened everyone else screaming, as the pain of advanced heroin withdrawals ravaged her severely weakened body.
Several nurses and orderlies came rushing into the room and with the blonde Slayer’s help restrained the mindlessly thrashing redhead. The doctor followed the other medical personnel into the room and with the girl held securely he gave her a shot of methadone to ease her pain.
Things had calmed a little and everyone but the doctor and Buffy was leaving the room when Faith burst through the door and came to a skidding halt next to her friend.
Willow was just barely conscious but her eyes grew wide as she focused on her beloved Slayer.
“Your d-dead!” the now crying red head blurted out nearly screaming in fright “I s-saw you d-die!”
“Hush now my sweet love,” Buffy said softly trying to reassure her beloved while she gently brushed her lover’s sweat dampened hair out of her face. “I was hurt but I lived, and so did you, thank the Goddess.”
Without fully comprehending Willow was still somewhat relieved and surrendered to the drugs the doctor had given her. The doctor pulled the two Slayers aside and explained how Willow’s recovery would proceed from this point.
“This is good that she woke up,” the doctor explained, “it means she is at least fighting to live, and I've given her the first shot of methadone, in her condition your friend’s body won’t tolerate any of our more aggressive treatments. The methadone will ease her pain and it’s less addictive than the heroin. She’ll be getting a shot per day every day in decreasing increments until she doesn’t get anymore. My staff and I will do whatever we can to ease her pain, but she will still have to suffer through a certain amount of withdrawal, there is nothing I can do to avoid it. That’s where you come in, Ms. Summers, she will need all the strength, support, and especially love that you can give her. Over the last few days I’ve seen your devotion to her; she is a very lucky girl to have you. She’s obviously a very special person to inspire such feelings. Rest assured we will do everything in our power to see that she gets through this ordeal safely.”
“Thank you doctor I appreciate your efforts,” Buffy told the compassionate man giving Faith a ‘keep your mouth shut’ glare, “and you are right; she is more special to me than my own life or anyone else’s for that matter. But you are wrong about her being the lucky one. I’m the lucky one for being allowed to receive her love. She just spent a year in Hell thinking I was dead, and we have to get her through this, because I’ve sworn to make it my goal in life to make the rest of her life as close to Heaven as possible on this Earth. And that's a promise I plan to keep.”
^^^^^^^^^^
FIN
^^^^^^^^^^
So there you go I hope you like this little trip through the demented
and twisted maze that is my mind.
Later
Alex