Buffy answered the door only because she was supposed to. Somebody knocks, you answer it, right? It was one of those things.

To be honest, she probably wouldn't have even bothered to get up off the couch when she heard the knock, except Dawn had told her that Willow and Giles were coming, and that they would be here any minute, and that Dawn had to use the bathroom; so if somebody knocked could Buffy please let them in?

So she'd opened the door; that was easy enough. After all, there wasn't any kind of rule that said you had to give a damn about who was on the other side waiting.

Not even – or maybe especially – if it turned out to be a Watcher who used to be your surrogate father, and a powerful witch who used to be your best friend.

Buffy stood there and stared at the two of them for a minute before remembering that they would probably want her to invite them in.

She didn't do invitations, not anymore – veteran of the Hellmouth, after all – but she did open the door wider and step back out of the way, a little, enough for them to drag their suitcases in behind them without rolling over Buffy's toes.

The two of them were saying things, but Buffy simply didn't care enough to pay attention; Dawn was out of the bathroom, she could answer them. Instead Buffy went back into the kitchen and stood staring at the package of saltines on the counter. Dawn kept telling her she needed to eat, and she knew Dawn was right, but her appetite was just… gone.

Lots of things were gone, though; she'd told her sister that a couple days ago. Or whenever it was.

Buffy had only just pulled one cracker out when the knock at the door had come. Now it lay on the counter, a little salted square of off-white, just taking up space, same as she was.

Oh, right. She was supposed to be eating something.

Buffy lifted her hand, heavy as it was, and set her fingertip in the middle of the cracker, pressing down gently until it split apart with a soft crunch. Now the counter held only crumbs and salt, and four odd-shaped pieces that would never go back together again.

Her, Willow, Xander and Giles. Buffy, Mommy, Daddy, and Dawn. Heart and soul, body and mind.

The girl, the Slayer, the vampire, the man.

She stared at them, her finger in the middle, and then remembered again that she was supposed to be eating. Turned her hand over and looked at the little bits stuck to the end of her finger, then stuck it into her mouth with a little sigh.

Crumbs and salt.

"Buffy… Buffy?"

It took a minute to realize that Dawn was standing in the kitchen doorway, calling her name.

"Um… Could you come out here? We kinda needed to talk to you," she said. "I mean… that's why they came – was for you."

Buffy said nothing, but she let Dawn take her hand, lead her back to the couch, and sit her down with Willow curled up at the other end and Giles in the nearest armchair. She thought that she might have been irritated with them for showing up like this, if she were able to get the energy together to care. But caring would require her to make an effort, and as she'd told Dawnie, that effort was simply beyond her capacity now; there was nothing left in her to give this world, including her curiosity.

Let them talk at her, Buffy thought; just like with the door, there wasn't a rule that said she had to give a damn anymore.

That changed when Giles opened up his suitcase, pulled out the Scythe, and laid it across her lap.

---

They'd only been apart for two weeks, but when Willow once again got a good look at her friend, standing in the doorway of their cozy Roman apartment, it was all she could do not to start crying right then and there. That Buffy was damaged, Willow already knew – the magic had warned her of that much, at least – but to look at Buffy in person, to see the effects of that damage written all over her for anyone with eyes to see, was nearly unbearable.

Buffy resembled nothing so much as a ghost, trapped in a still-living shell. Her hair hung lank and unwashed, she was dressed in clothes that looked like she'd slept in them more than one night, and her face was bare of makeup. Her lips were chapped and pale and the circles under her eyes looked like bruises, and her stare… Willow hid a shiver. Buffy's face held something that went deeper than grief and was more devastating than despair.

She looked as though she'd had her heart stolen from her, ripped right out of her chest while leaving her still alive to bleed forever. The scary part was that Willow thought that might be exactly what had happened, given the hints she'd gotten from her magic exercise the other day.

Buffy stood there just staring at Willow and Giles, until Willow couldn't be sure whether her friend would say anything, burst into tears, or simply close the door in their faces. She couldn't even be sure whether Buffy was actually looking at them, or through them to something else far away. At last, though, Buffy seemed to remember herself, and stepped aside to let them enter. She didn't answer Giles when he spoke to her, just wandered off to the kitchen and went back to staring, this time at something lying on the counter.

Drusilla, she thought suddenly. Buffy's behavior, the injury wrought upon her very soul, reminded Willow of Drusilla. And wasn't that an optimistic thought to have when looking at one of her best friends, possibly the strongest person Willow had ever met. It shouldn't be possible… but from what she could see, Buffy the Vampire Slayer had finally broken, collapsing under the weight she'd carried for so long.

Goddess, Willow hoped she was wrong.

"Thanks for coming," Dawn said quietly, stepping in from the hallway and waving them toward the living room. She, too, looked worn and sad, no doubt from seeing Buffy in this state and doing her best to care for her over the past couple days. She perched at one end of the sofa, but didn't let herself slouch back against the cushions; couldn't seem to make herself relax, tired as she had to be. "You, uh… you can see what she's like."

"Yes, quite," said Giles. "She, er… has Buffy been like this the entire time since the, er, episode you described?"

"Pretty much," Dawn replied, twisting her fingers together in her lap. "She barely eats – won't eat at all unless I remind her, and even then, she hardly takes more than a couple bites. I can get her to drink water, usually. But that's it. She almost never talks, and I don't think she's sleeping either." Her expression crumpled, and she fought tears to say, "I've tried, but she just…"

"It's all right," said Giles. "You've done as much as could be expected of anyone, Dawn. Considering the nature of her injury, as it were, you've done remarkably well." He leaned forward long enough to rest a hand on her shoulder. "It's only natural to feel worried about her condition, but please – you needn't add guilt to the burden you're carrying just now."

Willow slid closer to give Dawn a brief hug. "Giles is right," she said. "The way she is right now isn't your fault, and you've done a great job taking care of her until we could get here. And now you're not by yourself anymore, sweetie," she soothed, running a hand over Dawn's hair. "We're here, for you and for Buffy. We'll do everything we can to help you both."

Dawn nodded, wiping her eyes. "Thanks, guys," she said with a little sniffle. "I know you will. It's just been…" She stopped, took a quick breath. "Thanks." Once Willow was back in her spot, Dawn rubbed her palms across her legs nervously. "So, you found something out before you got here, right?"

"We both did, yes," said Giles. "But I'd like Buffy to be here for this conversation, if you could convince her."

"I'll get her," said Dawn, "but she's been pretty spacey. Just because you say something to her doesn't mean she's listening. Sometimes I don't think she even registers, y'know, that anyone else is in the room with her."

"I thought that might be the case," said Giles, "and I brought something which I believe may help, a little."

So Dawn got up and brought Buffy out of the kitchen, leading her by the hand as if she were a small child or especially frail old woman, and sat her down on the sofa nearest to Giles. Buffy's face was so blank, Willow thought; it was hard to tell if she simply didn't care that they were there with her, or if she was so far gone that she didn't recognize them, or maybe wasn't even aware that she and Giles had come.

It was awful.

"Buffy?" she asked, but got no response. Which, okay, Willow hadn't been expecting an answer, but to not even see a reaction was unnerving.

Giles was bent forward, fiddling with the clasps on his suitcase where it rested at his feet. After a bit of fumbling he opened it and pulled free the Slayer Scythe.

"Whoa," said Dawn. "How in the world did you get that through Customs?"

"A simple concealing charm, of course," said Giles, "though that's not really the important thing, just at the moment. I brought it… well. Let's just see if my hypothesis was correct; if I'm right, then my reasons for bringing it should become quite apparent." He leaned forward, and carefully laid the Scythe across Buffy's lap.

Buffy looked down at the weapon, took a deep breath and held it as she blinked three, four times. She reached forward, fingers twitching, and wrapped her hands around the Scythe. Her expression changed ever so slightly, just the faintest hardening around the edges as she… came back to herself, was the only phrase Willow could think of to describe it.

"What the hell is this?" Buffy asked, her voice hoarse, quiet, but pitched low and carrying a hint of steel. She kept her eyes down, seeming to study the Scythe as she spoke.

"It's meant to help," said Giles.

"Help," she repeated. Buffy's face grew harder and her voice took on more of a growl. "With what, exactly?"

"Well, er, your emotional state, I suppose you'd say," Giles began, but Buffy caught him as he paused for breath.

"Right," she said. "My emotional state. Sure." Buffy ran her hand along the shaft, from the base of the axe blade to the socket that held the wooden stake. "Dawn called you, I take it?"

"Yes, shortly after the, er, incident," he said, pressing his palms together in his lap. "She explained as best she could what had happened to you… well, as much as she understood, at any rate."

Buffy nodded once, slowly. "And you just decided it was time to fly down from England and bring the Scythe here, to help," she said. "Not to stage an intervention, not to remind me of my duty, or tell me I'm being immature." She looked up finally, her expression somewhere between a scowl and that blank, thousand-yard-stare expression she'd had when they first walked in. "Just because of my emotional state."

Giles reached up to touch his eyebrow, clearly trying to leave his glasses on and resist his usual nervous habit. "I assure you, Buffy, we've planned nothing of the kind," he said. "No, no 'intervention' as you call it, or, er, confrontation whatsoever. We're here because we care about you and we are worried for you, nothing more."

"Somehow I doubt that," Buffy said drily. "Gee, why do you think that is?"

"It isn't like that, Buffy," Willow tried. "It's – we think there's something wrong with you." And oh, crap, as soon as the words came out Willow knew she'd phrased it wrong. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She grimaced at her clumsiness. Goddess, why did anyone ever let her talk at all?

So it was no surprise when Buffy turned away from Giles to glare at Willow, an expression of utter disgust on her face. Willow couldn't say she didn't have it coming.

"Right," Buffy scoffed. "Of course you do. You always think that, when I stop acting all chipper and perky. Buffy's upset, so something must be wrong with her – with her. Buffy's got an opinion we don't agree with, so something must be wrong with her. Buffy doesn't react well to being programmed to act like the fucking robot, but clearly that means there's something wrong with her, 'cause God knows there isn't anything wrong with us when we pull this crap on her."

Oh.

Um.

Willow blinked, risked a quick glance at Giles to see if he had anything to say to all that. She rubbed suddenly damp palms down her thighs and tried to come up with something herself, but… well, the idea in coming here had been to be completely open and honest with one another, and if Buffy had been hanging onto this resentment for so long, it could only be a good thing for her to let it out now, right?

Could be worse, after all, she thought. The last time Willow had gotten all bitter, she'd ended up trying to kill her friends and end the world. If Buffy wanted to rip her a new one, Willow decided she could take it.

She hoped.

Buffy clearly decided that Willow's silence spoke for itself, because, "God," she went on, "one of these days both of you will realize I'm not a high school sophomore anymore, and your lives will get a whole lot easier. And so will mine. Because then you won't feel a need to spend so much energy trying to get me to behave the way you want me to behave." She shook her head, closed her eyes for a second. "That'd be nice."

There was nothing for Willow to do but keep being honest and hope that Buffy was willing to hear her. And if she wasn't willing, well, it probably still would be really good for Buffy, if Willow went ahead and gave her openings to vent all this anger. Just don't goad her, Willow thought. Don't take it personally. This isn't about you – let her say what she needs to say. Don't be a jerk.

"Buffy," she tried softly, "I swear. That's not why we came. It isn't like that."

"No? Really?" The glare was back, aimed right at her, and Willow fought not to flinch. She had no intention of attacking Buffy, but she wasn't going to back down, either.

"I swear, Buffy," she said again. "I swear we're just here to help."

"I've seen the way you help," Buffy sneered. "You can keep it."

And yeah, that hurt, but again – not undeserved.

Giles cleared his throat. Willow watched as her friend jerked her head around to glare at him, her grip tightening on the Scythe. "Buffy, I understand your suspicion –"

"Suspicion," Buffy spat. "Right. Because after everything you've done to screw me over, it would be suspicious of me to think that you might have some ulterior motive for being here."

"But we don't," said Willow, "please…"

"Let me guess," Buffy cut her off, breathing heavily in her anger. "'Buffy's upset that Spike is dead, she's deluded herself into thinking he's important, but hey, I'm sure once she gets her hands on the Scythe again, she'll get right back to killin' things and everything will be just fine' – is that about right? Am I close?"

"No, Buffy, really…"

"Oh, no, wait, you said that's not it. You swear, even. Well, that's okay then. I guess I should be grateful, right, since you actually don't have any plans to cheer me up by any means necessary?" Buffy's glare hardened, and she actually bared her teeth at Willow. "Rewrite my memories?" she demanded. "Make me over into your own version of what Buffy is supposed to be? I guess I should just jump up and down with glee because you don't plan to throw me out of my own home this time, right? 'Cause you're really only here to help. You don't have any plans." She shook her head with a scoff. "Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

"As I said," put in Giles, "I understand your suspicion – I do, truly – but I assure you, we have absolutely no intention of trying to, to manipulate you, o-or pressure you, in any way. Dawn told us about the, er, incident, and after some consultation…"

"Consultation," Buffy muttered in disgust.

"…we thought that it might be to your benefit if we could bring you into contact with the Scythe again," he concluded. "Nothing more than that."

"And again," said Buffy, "why should I believe that?"

Willow took a breath, but it was Dawn who jumped in next. "But Buffy," she said softly. "It… it is helping."

Buffy froze, looked at her sister for a long moment. Willow held her breath.

"What?" she finally said. Wary, distrusting.

"Well… this is the most you've said in two days," Dawn replied; her eyes were kind and her tone gentle. "And – and it's the first time you've made eye contact since that night. You've been… you were… kinda out of it, a-and then you touched the Scythe, and it was like you… woke up."

Buffy looked down, seeming to study her hands where they gripped the Scythe with white knuckles. She took a breath and flexed the fingers on one hand, then the other. Another breath, and her shoulders began to drop, her rigid pose softening just slightly.

When she looked at Giles again, her eyes were still full of skepticism, but the deep, bitter anger that had flooded them was receding, and it was all Willow could do not to shake her fists and whisper "Yes!"

Whatever had happened to Buffy, it looked there was still a chance to reverse it, both the recent wounds and the old scars. Thank the Goddess, there was still a chance to heal the damage – Buffy's, hers, theirs.

"Fine," said Buffy. "Talk."

---

Sorry for the delay. Motivation issues, holidays, and most recently getting sick for about a week. Angst is hard to write and keep motivated, you know?