Title: Departure
Author: Jenny Kane
Part: 1/1
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Both season finales, but especially 'Buffy's'
Summary: After Buffy's heroic death, this is my version of what happens next.
Feedback: Always welcome
Distribution: Please ask
Disclaimer: I own none of it. It all belongs to Joss, David, the WB, the UPN
and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just using it for my own selfish reasons.



It was white, pure white. White as the new fallen snow; white as the
fluffiest cloud in a perfectly blue sky. White, misty, empty, lonely. She was
alone...alone in a sea of white. It was void of color, void of light, void of
life. There was...nothing. Just nothing, plain and simple. The nothingness
went on and on. It seemed as if she had walked for miles in the unending
mist, but never seemed to get anywhere. Not that she knew where *to* go.
So...this was *it*? After all the battles fought and won, all the
sacrifices made and precious things lost...this was it? This was the
afterlife? This was 'Bliss'? This was where all fallen heroes were sent to
their rest? All her predecessors? Were they here too? Had they been as
disappointed as she was? She hadn't expected a tickertape parade or anything;
she wasn't *that* vain, but some sort of recognition would have been nice.
After all, she'd given up everything...her freedom, her future, her loved
ones, her life. Xander, Willow, Giles, Anya, Spike, and Dawn, her dearest
Dawn. She'd left them too...left them alone and on their own. Would they
make it? *Could* they make it? She could only hope so.
What about Angel? Did he know? Did he know that their unvoiced dream
could now never come true? She'd hoped for more where her vampire with a soul
was concerned; deep down in her soul, unspoken, unheard, she'd hoped for so
much more.
"Well," she said, wanting to hear some sort of noise reverberate within
her ears. Her voice sounded loud in the absolute silence. "Apocalypse
averted! You *do* know that, right? I mean, 'death was my gift'? So, is
*this* my reward? I mean, I know there were times when I said I needed some
space, but this is ridiculous."
There seemed to be no choice but to go on walking in the hope that at
some point she would end up somewhere. However, after what seemed like hours
of travel, nothing surfaced, nothing moved, nothing changed.
Buffy Anne Summers sank down through the mist to sit on the seemingly
nonexistent surface beneath her. She was tired. Could you be tired when you
were dead? She hadn't thought so, but, boy, she was exhausted. She hadn't
slept much during the latest series of disasters with Glory. Could you carry
exhaustion over to the other side? She gave an enormous yawn. Her heavy
eyelids started to close...
"Buffy?" A soft, familiar voice close to her ear startled her; her eyes
snapped open to look into the face of...her mother. "Buffy, darling. You
can't go to sleep. You have to stay awake. You have to keep going."
"Mom?" Buffy whispered, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.
"Mom, is it really you?"
Joyce Summers nodded. "Yes, dear. It's really me..."
"Oh Mom!" Buffy threw her arms around her mother's neck, held her
tight, felt tears of joy run down her cheeks. (Could you cry when you were
dead?) Okay, now maybe she could begin to believe that this was heaven, that
this was her reward, that here, at last, she could find peace. "Oh Mom, we
missed you so much. It was so hard."
Joyce returned her daughter's hug, smiled a very gentle smile. "I know,
Buffy, but you've done well. I'm very proud of you, you know. So proud. You
saved Dawn. You saved the world...again."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Again. One last time." She pulled back to look at
her mother, her bright, contented smile lighting up her face. "But now I'm
here with you, Mom. I'm here with you. Safe with you." Her smile faded as she
watched Joyce frown slightly. "What Mom?"
Joyce hesitated, looked away for a moment or two. "Oh dear. I told them
this was going to happen."
Buffy was confused. "Told who?"
Joyce didn't answer her question. "I never should have come. But I
wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."
"What!?" Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Mom, of *course*
you should have come! We should be together! We *belong* together!"
Joyce gently shook her head. She then looked directly into her
daughter's eyes. "No, Buffy darling. I can't stay here. Neither can you. He's
waiting for you. He needs you. You need him."
"He?" Buffy queried. "He who?"
Joyce once again smiled her lovely smile; it gave away...absolutely
nothing. "You'll know when you find him."
"When I find him?" Buffy cried. "Mom, I don't even know where I am. How
can I 'find' anything?"
Joyce Summers stood, drew her daughter with her. She held Buffy firmly
by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes. The gentle smile was gone. In
its place was a look of steely determination. She did not want to let her
child go, but knew she had to. "You will. You are the slayer."
Buffy shook her head. "I'm not. This slayer is dead. Faith--or
another--will take my place; she probably already has. I'm dead, Mom. I'm
dead." Then, as a thought occurred to her, "Aren't I?"
Again, Joyce did not answer her question. "You cannot stay here, Buffy.
You must go on. You *must* find him."
"Find *who*? Find him how?" Buffy cried as she waved her hands
helplessly at the nothingness all around them. "There's nothing here.
Nothing!"
"No, Buffy. *He* is here. You must find him. You must go on." Joyce
pulled her daughter into a gentle embrace. Buffy returned the embrace, closed
her eyes, held on tight. Mother and child hugged each other for several
minutes. Then Joyce slowly, reluctantly began to pull away. "I must go,
Buffy."
Buffy held her tighter, refused to let go. "No Mom! Don't go! Don't
leave me. Don't leave me here alone!"
"You're not alone, Buffy," Joyce told her as she successfully pulled
back to once again look her daughter in the eyes. "You are not alone." She
put a gentle hand on Buffy's cheek, then leaned to kiss her on the opposite
cheek. "I love you, my darling Buffy. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom." The tears were running unchecked down the
slayer's face. "I don't want you to go."
"I know, Buffy. But I must. As must you. You must go on." As she spoke
Joyce began to fade from Buffy's view.
Frightened, Buffy reached out to touch her mother; her hand went right
through her. "Mom...don't go! Please!"
Joyce's voice was as insubstantial as her form. "We'll be together
someday, Buffy. When the time is right...we will. Go on now. Find him.
Do...what...you...must...do..." Then she was gone.
"Mom!" Buffy cried. "Mom, no!"
There was only silence. Only silence in the pure white mist.
Buffy stood quiet and still, staring at the space which her mother had
occupied only seconds before. She had no desire to 'go on', to find this
person her mother had spoken of. She was tired, she was confused, and she
was, once again, alone.
She had to fight the urge to give up, to lay down and sleep for all
eternity. Only one thing kept her on her feet: Joyce had said that this 'he'
needed her, that he needed her help. Well, that was what she did, wasn't it?
She helped people. Tired or not, dead or not, she had to find him, she had
to help him...whoever he was.
She trudged on through the thick, swirling mist. Again, she walked for
what seemed like hours and hours, walked until even her strong, young, slayer
legs could not take another step. She was exhausted; she had to rest...just
for a few minutes. She wouldn't sleep, knew she couldn't; she might never
wake up. Lost in this colorless void, that prospect didn't seem like such a
bad thing. She let herself sag down onto the 'floor' beneath her, then sighed
with relief, closed her eyes. Pulling a Rip Van Winkle wasn't the worst thing
she could do...was it?
"Buffy!" A sharp female voice brought her violently awake. Her head
jerked up and her eyes snapped open to look into the face of someone she
hadn't seen in a very long time. "What do you think you're doing? You can't
go to sleep! You really might *not* wake up!" The woman shook her head. "And
that wouldn't do, Buffy. That wouldn't do at all!"
Buffy looked at the young woman through disbelieving eyes. "Miss
Calendar?"
Jenny Calendar nodded impatiently. "Yes, of course it's me! Buffy, what
are you doing? You can't stop here! You must keep going! "
Her annoyance didn't seem quite fair to Buffy. She sighed. So far, it
had been one *hell* of an afterlife. "I know, I know. I must keep going. I
must find him!"
Jenny nodded, appeared satisfied at Buffy's answer. "Yes. That's right.
You must."
"Why?" Buffy asked, then waited for the reaction.
She wasn't disappointed. Jenny's satisfaction turned to incredulousness
mixed with disgust. Buffy tried to remember if she'd been this irritable in
life. "What do you mean 'why'?" the ghost teacher wanted to know.
"I mean *why*! In fact, I mean why, who, how and what! I mean all of
the above," Buffy told her as she got determinedly to her feet. "*Why* must I
keep going? Why must I find him? *Who* is it that I must find? *How* do I
find him? And if I do, *what* does he mean to me...or I to him?"
The self-satisfied smile returned to Jenny's face, and Buffy realized
that she'd been lured and rallied to her feet. Jenny's smile widened as she
recognized that Buffy understood what had been done. Her reply, however, was
as non-committal and ambiguous as they come. "You must go on because you must
find him! You *must* find him because that is what is necessary and what is
required of you. I cannot tell you how to find him. Just know that you will.
I also cannot tell you what you mean to each other, but know that what
you--the two of you--mean to others counts for so much more." She reached
out, touched the slayer's shoulder. "So much more, Buffy."
Buffy looked into her former teacher's face, saw the woman Giles had
loved, the woman Angel had killed. Angel had been soulless when he had
murdered Jenny Calendar, and he had been soulless because of *her*. Giles had
lost his beloved Jenny because of her...her and her forbidden vampire love.
Buffy reached up, laid her hand on top of Jenny's which still rested on her
shoulder. It wasn't often one got to apologize to someone they had helped
along to their untimely, gruesome death. "Oh, Miss Calendar. I'm sorry. I'm
so sorry."
Jenny understood. She shook her head gently. "It wasn't your fault,
Buffy. Or Angel's really. It was mine. I knew what would happen. I knew you
were getting closer. I did not stop it in time." She smiled a compassionate
smile. "I'm not unhappy, Buffy. And...it *was* my time. You should not burden
yourself any further with it. Nor should Angel." Her hand suddenly tightened
on the slayer's shoulder, her voice and the look on her face both became more
urgent. "We must concentrate on the present, on what must be done *now*. You
must go on. You must reach him. You must help each other. Will you do this?"
Buffy still didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about. "I'll
try."
Jenny's smile said that, coming from the slayer, this answer was
acceptable. She nodded her satisfaction as she said, "Good. Go then. Stay
alert. Stay vigilant. Find him. Find...him..." Like Buffy's mother before
her, Jenny was gone.
Buffy took a deep breath. 'Find him,' Jenny had said. 'Help each other.
What you mean to others counts for so much more.' She still had no idea what
Joyce and Jenny were talking about, but it and this 'he' of theirs were
obviously very important. They were right. She must find him, if only to
learn what was really going on here. She had no knowledge of who or what 'he'
was, thus she had no idea how or if she could help him.
The seemingly unending mist was a daunting prospect, but she forged
through it anyway, determined that this time she would reach this illusive
'he'. However, after what seemed to be hours upon hours of unending and
monotonous travel, she, once again, became discouraged...discouraged and a
little angry.
"Okay," she said to the infinite mist. "I want to know. Does this guy
really exist...or is this just some test I'm being put through? Or some kind
of game that someone's playing? Well, if it is, I'm telling you right
now...game over! I've had enough tests and games to last me through to the
next millenium. So, if this guy is really here and he really needs my help,
then let me help him...or forget it!" With that, the slayer sat down on the
'floor' determined not to move until she got some kind of answer. Someone was
watching. She knew that much. Someone was trying to call the shots. Someone
other than her mother and former teacher. Someone...
"It's no game, Buffy," he said from behind her.
Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed hard as she
forced her suddenly trembling body to a standing position, then turned slowly
to face the owner of that voice. Her eyes met his with a jolt of complete
recognition. "Oh no," Buffy breathed as horror spread through her. "Oh no."
Suddenly she was running through the mist, running as hard and as fast
as she could. Tears streaming down her face, she leapt into his waiting arms,
then held him tightly and with all her might. "Oh, Riley...no!"
Riley Finn hugged her back, his boyish face creased with concern. "It's
all right, Buffy," he whispered soothingly. "It's all right."
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes frantic and forlorn. "No it
isn't! You're dead! And it's *my* fault! Mine! Oh Riley!" She left his arms,
walked to stand several feet away from him, her face buried in her hands, her
shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"No, Buffy." Riley walked to her, put his hands on her trembling
shoulders, turned her to face him. "It's not your fault. You hunt enough
demons...eventually one of them is gonna get you."
Buffy understood that. After all, it was a demon 'god' that 'gotten'
her. Still... "But it's my fault you left! I didn't get there in time,
and...you didn't hear me. Then they said you were MIA, but I didn't want to
think that...I couldn't think that you were...dead." Her shoulders drooped
beneath his hands. "But you are." She looked up at him, her heart in her
eyes. "I did come that night, Riley. I did."
"I know." Riley smiled at her. "I know you did."
Buffy felt relieved. He knew. He knew she had been there that night, he
knew that she hadn't wanted him to go. It was a start. It was all starting to
make sense now. Riley needed her. He was the one she was looking for.
"Okay," Buffy said, more to herself than to Riley. "So, now I know who. But
that doesn't tell me anything else." She looked up at her former lover, her
eyes full of questions. "Why are we here, Riley? What is it we're supposed to
do? How can I help you?"
"Buffy..." Riley looked confused at first, then pained as understanding
came to him.
"What?" Buffy felt suddenly deflated. "Don't tell me you don't know."
"No, it's not that." Riley hesitated, then, "Well, actually, it's
partially that, but..."
"But what?"
Riley sighed. "It's not me, Buffy."
It was Buffy's turn to look confused. "What?"
"I'm not the one."
Buffy looked at him with a mixture of comprehension and disbelief.
"You're not the one..."
"You're looking for," Riley finished. He shook his head. "No. I wish I
were. But I'm not, Buffy. I'm dead..."
So was she...right? "But..."
"I'm just here to tell you that...it's not a test, it's not a game.
It's real. *He's* real." He gently squeezed her shoulders for emphasis. "And
he's out there, Buffy. He's out there waiting for you. He's *been* waiting
and he's...losing hope. You have to find him. He needs your help. You need
each other."
Buffy moved away from him, her thoughts all in a muddle. She'd been so
sure that the 'he' was Riley. It was hard to switch gears like this.
"But...who is he, Riley? How does he need my help? I...just don't understand.
This...isn't what I expected at all."
"I know, Buffy. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't answer your
questions. Only *he* can do that. All I *do* know is that we're all given a
path to follow...and this one is yours." He walked to stand before her; his
eyes looked deep into hers. "I'm not lying to you, Buffy. He exists. He is
important. You are important. You must find him." He once again gripped her
shoulders. "Do you believe me?"
She found that she did. "Yes. I believe you."
"Good." He released her, stepped back. "I...have to go now." He turned
away, then turned to look at her. "He's close, Buffy. You're not that far
away. Just don't give up. Keep going."
Buffy nodded, watched as Riley smiled at her, started to leave again.
"Riley?"
He stopped. "Yes?"
"I did...*do* love you. I don't want you to think that I never did."
Riley's smile grew wider. "Thanks, Buffy." He then faded from her sight.
For the fourth time, Buffy the Vampire Slayer took a deep breath and
forged back into the mist. Nothing would deter her this time. No matter how
far she had to go or how long it took or how exhausted she became, she would
not stop until she found 'him'.
Riley's idea of 'close' differed greatly from Buffy's. Once again, it
felt as if she had been walking forever; her feet ached, the muscles of her
legs burned, her head swam with fatigue, but she was determined not to stop
again. Riley had said that this guy was important; Joyce and Jenny had
implied the very same thing. Riley had also said that he was losing hope.
Buffy wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she recognized that any
additional delays just might jeopardize him further. She had to reach
him...and soon.
She trudged on to what had to be the other side of forever. She was
starting to think that, despite Riley's assurances, this guy really didn't
exist; he was just a figment of someone's vivid imagination or a wild goose
that she was being conned into chasing.
Then, however, just as she was getting ready to call it quits for the
last time, she noticed something...the heavy, dense mist was changing,
lifting; it was becoming lighter and less thick. At first she thought that
she was just imagining things, but as she traveled, it became increasingly
apparent that she was not. The mist *was* thinning out.
The timely change gave her a renewed surge of energy, helped her get
her second wind. She picked up her pace until she was running...running
through the dissipating mist, until, suddenly, it was gone. She burst through
the last tendrils of the mist into what could only be called a clearing. The
mist swirled and circled around its edges, but there was an empty space of
several feet that was totally clear, totally devoid of the pure white vapor.
Buffy stopped just inside the clearing, the mist nipping at her back, and
breathed a deep sigh of relief. She had found him. At last, she had found him.
He sat in the middle of the 'clearing'; his back was to her, his knees
drawn up to his chest. His arms rested on the tops of his knees and his face
was buried in his arms. She couldn't tell if he was crying or not, but his
shoulders were slumped in what could only be called defeat and his posturing
clearly showed his feelings of loneliness and utter desolation.
Buffy's heart went out to him. Who knew how long he had been waiting
here? Who knew how long he had been waiting for *her*? She had to tell him
that she was here. She had to let him know that he was no longer alone.
She approached him slowly and carefully, not wanting to unduly frighten
him. She positioned herself directly in front of him, but a few feet away,
then said in a soft, unthreatening voice, "Hey. I'm here."
Perhaps her extreme caution had been a mistake, for his reaction told
her that she could not have scared him very much more. With a sharp intake of
breath, his head snapped up, his shocked gaze locked with hers, and Buffy
found herself looking into a pair of the most intense blue eyes she had ever
seen.
The two of them looked at each other for several long, very tense
seconds. He was staring at her as if he had never seen another human being
before...or, at least, not for a very long time. "I'm sorry," she said in a
comforting tone. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you okay?"
He said nothing, just continued to stare at her, unblinking, unmoving.
She felt as if she were speaking a foreign language. Maybe she was. "Oh boy,"
Buffy murmured. A lot of good it did her to have finally found him only to
discover that she couldn't communicate with him. She found his intense gaze
somewhat disconcerting, although it gave her an opportunity to study him as
well. There was something familiar about him, something she recognized in the
lines of his face, in the cut of his dark hair, in the depth of his
mesmerizing eyes. Something.... Buffy shook herself, for that wasn't what was
important at this moment. She needed to focus on how she was going to talk to
him. She pointed to herself. "My name is..."
"Buffy," he said, badly startling her. It was now the slayer's turn to
stare at *him*. "I...didn't know...it would...be you." He paused, swallowed.
"I'm...sorry," he went on in a halting voice; it was as if he hadn't spoken
in a very long time. "I've...been here...awhile. No one...to...talk to. No
one to...talk to...me."
Disjointed though it was, his voice was familiar too. There was an
Irish lilt to it that she knew she had heard before. "That's okay." She moved
a couple of steps closer to him, was relieved when he didn't flinch or try to
move away. "You knew my name. Have we met? We have, haven't we?"
He smiled slightly as he nodded. "Once. Briefly. Not...long enough
to...get acquainted ...or anythin'." His smile grew a little wider as he
said, "At...the time...you had...other thins'...on your mind."
She could see it then. Angel's office. Angel. Cordelia. This young man.
"You're Angel's 'vision guy', aren't you?"
He nodded, then shook his head. "Yeah...well...no. Not anymore."
His name continued to elude her. Her look turned apologetic. "I'm
sorry. I don't..."
"Doyle," he told her. "My name's Doyle."
Yes, of course. 'This is Doyle,' Cordelia had said. 'He has visions!'
"Doyle," she repeated. She then remembered what had happened to this man
named Doyle. He had died. He had died a hero. And he was here, here in this
white wasteland. Just like her. "You...died," she said hesitantly. "Didn't
you?"
"Well, that's...the theory." Doyle shrugged a little. He looked up at
her, his eyebrows raised slightly. "But then, so did you...yeah? Died...I
mean."
"I thought I did. But now, I'm not so sure." She returned Doyle's look,
her gaze intense and deadly serious. "Am I dead, Doyle? Are *we* dead?"
Doyle's look was just as direct as he shook his head. "No, we're...not.
But...we're not...alive either. We're..." He paused, searched for the words
he wanted. "Somewhere...in between."
"In between," Buffy mused. "You mean, like Limbo?"
Doyle nodded. "Yeah. That's a...good word...for it."
"So we're in between." Buffy said, then realized that she was getting
tired of standing. Her legs and feet felt as if they might fall off. She also
figured that Doyle might be getting tired of craning his neck to look up at
her. She eased down beside him, was slightly off balance as she sat
cross-legged on the white surface beneath her. "But what exactly does that
mean?" she asked as she unconsciously put a hand on his shoulder to steady
herself. "I..."
Doyle gave an audible gasp, flinched as Buffy's flesh met his arm. A
sob escaped from deep down in his chest as he turned away from her, his head
bent, his eyes tightly closed.
Buffy jerked her hand away from him as if she had been burned. "Oh God,
Doyle. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" She should have thought before she touched
him. Who knew what kind of boundaries and limits had been set here in this
strange, white wasteland?
Doyle shook his head. "No, Buffy. *I'm* the one who's sorry. It's
just..." He turned to face her, couldn't hide the tears in his eyes. "Like I
said, I've been here awhile. No one to talk to. No one to touch...or touch
me. I..." he gave a sad, small chuckle, "I guess I gave up on anyone comin'
for me a long time ago. I guess I started to think that they'd lied to me or
somethin', started to figure that I was here for the long haul...alone.
It's..." He had to stop as another small sob broke through. He once again
turned away from her to try to hide the tears that were now running down his
cheeks. "It's just been lonely for me here, you know? Really lonely."
Buffy felt her heart twist inside her chest. Lonely, she figured,
wasn't even the word. Lost. Abandoned. Forgotten. Betrayed. Now *those* were
words. She tried to remember how long it had been since Doyle's 'death'. A
year and a half, two years? A relatively brief period of time in the scheme
of things, but to Doyle, alone in this vast land of nothing, it must have
felt like an eternity. He had died a hero, sacrificed himself to save others.
Yet, *this* was how they, whoever 'they' were, repaid him for that? *This*
was his reward? Left alone adrift in a sea of white, never truly knowing if
he would ever be rescued, if he would ever see another living being again. It
was like a prison sentence, and *that* she didn't understand.
Not wanting to startle or frighten him again, she moved slowly and
carefully. She reached out and touched him, took his hand in hers, heard his
breath catch in his throat, felt his body shudder slightly as her fingers
interlaced with his. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath; it was as if
he was trying to drink it all in, trying to savor, to remember this moment in
case one like it was never to come again.
Determined to dispel his fear, Buffy leaned over to whisper directly
into his ear. "You're not alone anymore, Doyle. I'm here now. You're not
alone anymore."
Doyle drew another trembling breath, nodded slightly, then opened his
eyes as he turned to look at her. Drying tears stained his cheeks, fresh ones
shimmered, ready to fall. "Thanks, Buffy."
Buffy nodded, squeezed his hand comfortingly. They sat in silence for a
few minutes as she let her presence become real to him...really real. She had
quite a few questions, was relatively certain *he* had the answers, but she
didn't want to rush or push him or cause him any duress.
Doyle smiled knowingly. "Go ahead, Buffy."
"What?" His voice startled her a little. She had expected that *she*
would have to speak first.
"Ask away. I'll...tell you what I know, which, by the way, may not be
everythin'." He gave a half laugh. "I know some, although I'm not sure how. I
haven't exactly been residin' *inside* the loop...as you can see."
"So, you *have* been here since you..." Buffy paused, no longer sure
what word to use.
Doyle found it easier. His stay here had been a sort of living death.
"Died?" He finished for her. Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Right here. Waitin' for--as
it turns out--you."
"Waiting here for me? *Specifically* for me?"
"Yeah, well, I didn't know *who* it was, until you showed up and all,
but yeah, I was waitin' specifically for somebody." He shook his head at the
ambiguity of it all. "Yeah."
"Who put us here?"
"As far as I know it's the *Powers that Be*." Doyle's gaze went
heavenward as he said the words.
Buffy absorbed that information for a second or two. "*The Powers that
Be*?" she queried. "I thought they were the *good* guys."
Doyle caught the slight sarcasm in her tone. "Buffy, they *are* the
good guys." She raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. "They are!"
Buffy shook her head. "Then why would they do this to you? You were
their messenger! You worked for them! You 'died' for them! You died doing
their good! Why would they punish you like this?" She looked into Doyle's
eyes, tried to visually pry the answers from him. "I just don't understand.
We fought evil! We...helped people. We did the good we were *supposed* to do.
Why are we here? Why couldn't we pass go? Why have we been sent directly to
jail? Why Doyle?"
Doyle hesitated. Her probing gaze was disconcerting to say the least.
He also had the feeling that she wasn't going to like the answers to all of
her questions. "Well, it's...not really jail, Buffy...and it's not exactly a
punishment, either."
"It's not?"
"No."
"Okay. Then what would *you* call it? Cause this doesn't look like the
'Ritz' to me!"
"Well, like I said, Buffy, we're...in between. This is like a...holdin'
area." Doyle didn't know how to explain it any other way. "It's not life.
It's not death. It's," he made a frustrated sound, "*in between*!"
"Yeah, you keep saying that, but what does it mean? *Why* are we in
between?" His hand still held tightly in hers, Buffy shifted her position so
that she was sitting directly in front of him...face to face. She took his
free hand, trapped it as well, met his gaze and held it. "Why are we here,
Doyle?"
"Buffy..."
"Just tell me! Please."
Doyle heaved a huge sigh. "Okay. You're here because...you weren't
supposed to die. It wasn't your time."
"It wasn't *my* time."
Doyle watched her closely. "Right."
"I just did what I *had* to do."
"Maybe." Doyle definitely understood the sentiment. "But *you* weren't
supposed to do it."
"Then who..?" Buffy stopped, couldn't believe she'd started to ask that
question. The answer was obvious. "Dawn."
Doyle nodded. "Dawn was the key. It was her blood that opened the
gateway; it should have been *her* blood that closed it."
Buffy felt a rush of panic. "Are you saying that it *wasn't* closed?
And Dawn..."
"No," Doyle hastily assured her. "You closed it. And Dawn's fine. Well,
she misses you... a lot, but she's okay, she's alive." He watched as Buffy
sighed with relief. "You were right, you know. Dawn *was* made from you. You
*do* share the same blood. But *she* was the key. Her life was expendable..."
He pulled one of his hands from hers, held it up as she started to protest. "
Buffy, girl, I'm not sayin' *I* feel that way. I don't. I know you love her."
Buffy gave him a grateful smile. "She's my sister."
Doyle nodded. "I know. But you have to understand, to the *Powers*, she
was the key to chaos and destruction. *That's* why her life was expendable.
You are the slayer. *Your* life is not." He waited for her to speak. She
didn't. He recaptured her free hand, held them both tightly in his. "Are you
understandin' me, Buffy?"
Buffy nodded. "I wasn't supposed to die. Dawn was. But, as for my being
the slayer...Doyle, it's not like I'm the last. We're not an endangered
species. Slayers *do* die. We just...get replaced."
"Not this time."
"Why?"
Doyle shrugged helplessly. "It wasn't your time."
Buffy moved on. "And you? It wasn't your time either? That's why you're
here?"
"My story's 'a little' different," Doyle told her. "I was supposed to
do what I did. I just wasn't supposed get killed doin' it. Although how I was
goin' to avoid *that* particular outcome has yet to be explained to me." He
smiled as Buffy laughed softly. "There was somethin' I missed, I guess.
Somethin' the 'promised one' should have known."
Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. "Promised one, huh?"
"That's what they 'tell' me. It's what I know, anyway." Doyle shrugged.
"I'm not exactly sure what it means, though. What do you guess a 'promised
one' does?"
"You mean besides saving a bunch of people trapped in a cargo hold from
certain death? Not to mention saving a certain vampire with a soul from
possible eternal damnation." She paused, looked away from the half-demon,
then right back at him. "That's what would have happened to him isn't it? If
he had been the one who jumped? He hadn't atoned enough had he?"
"It...wasn't his time either," Doyle hedged. "He...had more to do.
Still does, come to that."
Buffy smiled. "You sidestepped that nicely."
Doyle smiled back. "Thanks. I had pretty much elevated sidesteppin' to
an art form before the Scourge came callin'."
Buffy believed him. "Well, Mr. Promised One, now what? We're here.
You've *been* here, waiting for me. We're not supposed to be dead, but we're
not alive either. So, tell me, why have you been waiting for me, and what do
we do now?"
Doyle hesitated a minute, then took the plunge. "I've been waitin' for
you cause...you're my ticket outta here. You're my *only* way out, in fact.
And I'm yours."
"Why us?"
Doyle shrugged. "We both tried to 'die' before our time. We both did it
while savin' others. You're the slayer. I'm...whatever it is I am..."
"The promised one." Buffy told him, greatly enjoyed his blush of
embarrassment as she said it. He obviously wasn't completely used to this
hero stuff.
"Yeah, whatever," Doyle rushed on. "I guess that's 'why us'. Our
stories are similar. I just had to wait for *your* story to catch up with
mine. And here we are."
"Okay." Buffy thought about that a minute, then, "You said I'm your
only way out. And you're mine. Out of here, obviously. But to where?"
Again Doyle hesitated. He wasn't sure how she would react to what he
had to say. "Well, we weren't supposed to die...we weren't supposed to
leave the lives we had. I'm guessin' that *that's* where we'll go. Back to
earth...back to life."
Buffy stared at him. "To Sunnydale?"
"I'd say that's where the slayer's needed, wouldn't you?"
Buffy didn't reply. She let go of Doyle's hands, got to her feet,
walked several feet away from him. She stood still and silent, watching the
mist as it swirled and flowed.
Her silence scared Doyle. "Buffy, what are you thinkin', girl?"
She could sense his fear. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him
distress. He'd been through enough. But she felt the way she felt. She turned
to face him. "What if I...what if we don't *want* to go back?"
Doyle looked startled. "What?"
"You said that were each other's ticket out of here, right?"
Doyle nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, if that's true, why do we have to take each other that way?"
Buffy wanted to know. "Why can't we go on the other way...to heaven or Bliss
or whatever you want to call it? Why can't we go where Mom is?" Tears started
to her eyes as she mentioned her mother. She brushed them aside, turned away
from Doyle.
"I...don't think we can do that, Buffy," Doyle said gently.
"Why not?" Buffy turned on him. "Haven't we done *enough*? Don't we
deserve it?"
"I think maybe we've got more to do."
"More to do," Buffy scoffed. "Well, maybe I'm tired, Mr. Promised One.
Maybe I don't *want* to do anymore. What do you think about that?"
Doyle hadn't expected this kind of resistance. "I'm not sure we have
much of a choice."
"Why?"
"Because the door only opens one way. We can't go forward. We *have* to
go back." Doyle knew he was missing something here. He just wasn't sure what.
"Or we could stay here."
Doyle was shocked and dismayed. He felt his heart sink into his
stomach and lay there. "Stay here?"
Doyle's face betrayed his feelings clearly. Buffy felt badly about
that, but wouldn't--couldn't--change her position. "Yeah. Why not?"
Doyle could easily give her a million reasons why not. "I...guess we
could, but why? I mean, there's nothin' here. Except us, of course.
But...there's no life here, Buffy. No *anythin*'. And you know, what happens
if the time comes when we *do* want out...and it's too late?"
Buffy looked at him as she considered what he'd said. She could think
of worse things than spending eternity with Mr. Promised One Doyle. He was
cute. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. He was funny. He
was smart. She liked the way he called her 'girl'. He could carry on an
intelligent conversation. Kissing him wouldn't be any great hardship either.
Yeah, she could think of a lot worse things. A hell of a lot. "I could live
with that."
"Could you?" Doyle watched as Buffy nodded. "Well, we'll never mind the
fact that we're not really livin' here, okay? Can you 'live' with the fact
that others might not live if we stay here?" Buffy stopped the slight pacing
around she'd been doing to look at him questioningly. Doyle nodded at her
unasked question. "Yeah. There are reasons that we're supposed to go back.
Reasons we weren't supposed to die at all. Probably life and death reasons.
Maybe even the lives of people we care about. Your friends, your watcher.
Angel, Cordelia...and who knows how many others. Buffy..." Doyle struggled to
his feet, got there with effort. Being lost in this place for a couple of
years had done nothing for his strength. He wavered slightly, might have
fallen had Buffy not rushed to his side and supported him. Doyle grabbed her
by the shoulders, looked into her eyes with a gaze so intense it was actually
painful. "Buffy, I know you know all this. You're the slayer. None of this is
news to you." Looking even deeper into her eyes, he could see an inner
struggle he couldn't quite understand. "What's really goin' on here, girl?"
She couldn't resist those eyes, but more than that, she couldn't bear
to think of anything happening to her beloved friends...or to anyone, not if
she would be able to stop it. Except... "Doyle, what about Dawn?"
Doyle remained confused. "What about her?"
Buffy had wanted him to understand without her speaking a word. It was
too hard. "If I go back, if I live...what happens to Dawn?" He continued to
look at her uncomprehendingly. She didn't believe he really didn't get it. He
*wanted* her to say it. "You said it wasn't my time, that I died in her
place. If I live, does that mean that *she* has to die? Because I don't know
if I can..."
"No, Buffy." Doyle shook his head, squeezed her shoulders in a
comforting manner. "What's done is done. Her blood opened Glory's door; your
blood closed it. It's done. We go on from there."
Buffy wasn't satisfied. Her eyes searched Doyle's as she said, "Say it,
Doyle. I need to hear you say it!"
Doyle smiled slightly, nodded his understanding. "When you go back,
Dawn will not die. She's completely human now. She's no longer the key.
She's just...your little sister. Who needs you."
Buffy drew a shuddering breath, closed her eyes for a second or two.
She opened them as a question occurred to her. "And Glory? What happened to
her? Is she dead?"
Doyle couldn't commit to a positive answer. "She's...gone."
"Gone?"
"She's a god, Buffy," Doyle told her. "A demon god at that. There are
no certainties." He shrugged. "And even if she is...dead, there's always
somebody to take her place. You know that."
Buffy nodded. "Amen to that." She continued to support him as she once
again looked into the swirling mist. "Okay. So, how do we do this? How do we
open the door?"
Doyle wasn't certain he knew. He was just grateful that she was
agreeing to do it. "I don't think it's that complicated. I'm thinkin' we just
start walkin' and, at some point, the door'll just...open."
"You don't sound very confident, Mr. Promised One," Buffy teased.
"You're sure we don't have to say 'open says-a-me' or something?"
"I guess we could try that," Doyle replied.
Buffy noticed that his voice trembled a little. "Are you scared?"
"A little, yeah," Doyle admitted. "I've never come back from the dead
before."
"I did...once," Buffy relayed. "But I'm scared too...a little."
Doyle took comfort from her statement, nodded. They both stood there
for several seconds, staring into the mist and contemplating what they were
about to do.
Buffy broke the silence. "Do you think you'll go back to Angel and
Cordelia?"
The question startled Doyle who wasn't sure how to answer it. He'd had
a long time to think about what he would do if he ever got to go back. He'd
never actually come to any positive conclusions, had been afraid to. He shook
his head. "I don't know. I don't know that Angel needs me. Remember, I'm not
'vision guy' anymore..."
"No," Buffy agreed. "You're more than that now. You're the Promised
One."
"You really think that means somethin' big, don't you, girl?"
Buffy smiled at his 'girl'. "I know it does."
Doyle nodded, but didn't verbally address the comment. "Anyway,
they--Angel and," Buffy watched as a sad smile touched Doyle's lips,
"Cordelia--they've moved on without me. They seem to be doin' okay."
He had feelings for Cordelia. That had to have made his being trapped
here hurt that much more. "You mean they've 'gone on' without you," Buffy
corrected him gently. "They had to. It doesn't mean they don't miss you. That
they wouldn't want you back."
"Maybe." Doyle shrugged, then said softly, more to himself than to
Buffy, "I sure would have liked to have had that dinner, though. Or at least
have been able to ask her...just to hear her say yes."
He hadn't said it softly enough; Buffy had heard every word. "You are
going to tell them you're alive though, right?"
Doyle nodded. "Probably. When the time is right...if it's ever right.
We'll see." He turned to her. "Actually, I was kinda thinkin' I'd go to
Sunnydale with you, see what's happenin' there...if that's okay with you,
that is."
Buffy found that she would be glad--and grateful--to have him. "Yeah.
It's more than okay." She smiled at him. "For better or worse, Doyle, there's
always *something* happening in Sunnydale."
"Yeah. I kinda thought that's how it was. I've never been to a real
hellmouth before."
"Yeah, well, you know, you haven't *lived* till you've been to a real
hellmouth," Buffy quipped.
"That's what I figured," Doyle responded.
Buffy smiled. He really *was* cute. Then she turned serious. "That
really is what we're supposed to do, isn't it, Doyle? We're supposed to live.
We're supposed to go back. We're supposed to keep fighting."
Doyle nodded. "Yes, Buffy, my girl. It's exactly what we're supposed to do."
"Okay then." Buffy released him, then took his hand in hers, led him to
the edge of the clearing, just short of the flowing mist. "Are you ready?"
Doyle took a deep breath. It had been nearly two years since he'd
ventured into the mist, two years since he'd stumbled out of it into his mist
free 'accommodations'. He nodded, but his voice trembled as he said, "Yeah,
as ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Just," he blushed, "don't let go of my
hand, okay?"
"Don't worry about that," Buffy assured him. "And same to you."
"No problem there."
"Okay," Buffy said. "On the count of three, we'll go. One. Two. Three."
Together, they plunged into the mist...
They didn't talk much as they walked on and on through the dense vapor
all around them. Once again, it seemed as if it would never end...which it
probably didn't. After an uncountable number of hours, they were both tired
and discouraged.
"What do you think?" Doyle finally asked. "Should we try to go back?"
Buffy shook her head. "I don't think we could find our way back. I also
think you're right...the door *will* open. We just have to keep going."
"Okay," Doyle agreed. He was just glad he wasn't alone.
They walked on...and on...and on. They walked until Doyle, who didn't
have Buffy's stamina, knew he had to rest. "Buffy, I..."
He stopped speaking as a brilliant, bright, gold light suddenly
appeared in front of them, halting their progress. The light swirled and
shimmered and glowed as it redefined and formed itself, as it seemed to
solidify itself into the shape of a large, glittering, golden door.
"Wow. I guess this is it," Doyle whispered.
Buffy concurred. "It's beautiful." She looked at Doyle; he was staring
at the door as if it was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Maybe it
was. "Well, partner. Shall we?"
Doyle nodded, squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. "I guess we'd
better, yeah?"
"Yeah." Buffy took a step toward the door.
"Buffy..." Doyle stopped her with a gentle tug on her hand. She turned
back to look at him, a question in her eyes. "I just wanted to say thanks.
Thanks for helpin' me, thanks for gettin' me outta here, for takin' me home.
I'm thinkin' I was just short of goin' insane."
Buffy could understand that. She smiled at him. "It's my pleasure. And,
you know, you're taking me home too. So let's go." Her smiled widened as she
let go of his hand, put an arm around his shoulders, led him toward the
glistening doorway. "To not quite quote a very famous line from a very famous
movie... 'Doyle, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful
friendship'."
Together, they reached the golden doorway, together they stepped
through, and, with a flash of light, they were gone.

*********