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[Sorry]
In reference to this. Buffy is playing with Bee's permission
She’s taken the day off, called in sick and it wasn’t entirely a lie. The loss of a slayer always makes her nauseous. She can’t do it. She can’t face teenage boys and smile and laugh and teach them how to defend themselves, or make a joke about if zombie’s attack they’ll be prepared. She can’t do any of it when there’s a seventeen year old girl dead.
Jessica Friedman
The name repeats in her head as she looks down at the scrap of paper in her hand. It’s damp because her palms are sweaty and she rode the subway over here. Her skirt is too long, too tight and her jacket is too warm for the summer heat. Her hair is pulled back so severe it’s giving her a headache or maybe it’s just that she’s about to tell parents of a teenage girl that their daughter is dead. She knocks on the door and even that sounds like an apology but sorry is a lame, lame word when there’s a girl in a box behind it.
The woman who answers looks like an older verison of the pretty red head in the picture Buffy received and all she can think about is that if Jessica hadn’t been a slayer, this is what she would have looked like one day. Her smile feels inadequate and she knows it reeks of bad news by the look the woman gives her.
“Do I know you?” There’s defense in her words and Buffy can’t blame her at all.
She shakes her head apologetically and her smile fails. “I’m here about Jessica.” She can’t even say she knew Jessica because she’s never met the girl and yet her death lays upon her shoulders, stacked up alongside so many others. “My name is Buffy Summers. Can I come in?”
For a moment she thinks Mrs. Friedman is going to deny her access and for a moment she wishes she would. She wants to shove this off on Giles because he does it so much better and she knows that’s not fair. Finally the older woman nods and steps aside but Buffy hesitates as she goes over the threshold. This feels like a hostile invasion.
“Robert, there’s a woman here…about Jessica. Her name is Ms. Summers.” The woman’s voice trembles and Buffy knows in the pit of her stomach that she knows. The words are merely formalities.
Robert joins them as they’re walking into a living room that is so middle class America it makes Buffy want to weep. It feels like her Mom’s living room and she wishes she were home again. She wishes she could step back into a life where her greatest concern was whether she’d make it out alive. Robert introduces himself and his handshake trembles just a little. Buffy thinks maybe she squeezes too hard just trying to make it all stop because there’s a wince that crosses his face or maybe he knows as well and it’s a reaction to the message more than the messenger.
Her report is sketchy. She only knows what she learned from Baileigh and she doesn’t want to give too many details. It’s best left unsaid that a monster killed Jessica. It’s best left unsaid that there was blood and there are so many things best left unsaid and yet Buffy has to say some of them.
“I’m sorry.” It is the culmination of the whole event. The Friedmans hover on the edge of breakdown and Buffy wants to rewind it all. “Jessica was a good slayer and she was saving people. She’s going to be missed by everyone that knew her.”
“Did you know my daughter?” Mrs. Friedman asks, courage bolstered and staring straight into Buffy’s eyes.
She looks down and shakes her head. “No…I never got the chance-“
The sharp crack of a slap across her face stops her words. The slayer in her rails at being locked down as Buffy nods. She folds her hands into her lap and hesitates before she gets to her feet.
“Your wishes for her will be respected and the body is being sent here. You’ll have details by tomorrow.” She gets a card out of her bag and lays it on the end table. “Call if we can do anything.”
“You’ve done enough.” Mr. Friedman’s voice is cold and hard. She knows it’s just a reaction to the situation but it makes her flinch.
“No. I haven’t but I’ll show myself out.”
She is several blocks away before she leans against a building and takes a deep breath. She pulls her cell phone out and glances at the time on it. It’s past six and she thinks Danny should be almost finished at work. Maybe even on his way home. He picks up after a couple of rings.
“Hey, Summers.”
She feels things in her unwind and spots soften at his voice. Tears spring to her eyes as the pressure in her chest builds. She slips her shoes off to dig her toes against the concrete. She knows it’s filthy and she doesn’t care.
“Can you just talk to me?”
In reference to this. Buffy is playing with Bee's permission
She’s taken the day off, called in sick and it wasn’t entirely a lie. The loss of a slayer always makes her nauseous. She can’t do it. She can’t face teenage boys and smile and laugh and teach them how to defend themselves, or make a joke about if zombie’s attack they’ll be prepared. She can’t do any of it when there’s a seventeen year old girl dead.
Jessica Friedman
The name repeats in her head as she looks down at the scrap of paper in her hand. It’s damp because her palms are sweaty and she rode the subway over here. Her skirt is too long, too tight and her jacket is too warm for the summer heat. Her hair is pulled back so severe it’s giving her a headache or maybe it’s just that she’s about to tell parents of a teenage girl that their daughter is dead. She knocks on the door and even that sounds like an apology but sorry is a lame, lame word when there’s a girl in a box behind it.
The woman who answers looks like an older verison of the pretty red head in the picture Buffy received and all she can think about is that if Jessica hadn’t been a slayer, this is what she would have looked like one day. Her smile feels inadequate and she knows it reeks of bad news by the look the woman gives her.
“Do I know you?” There’s defense in her words and Buffy can’t blame her at all.
She shakes her head apologetically and her smile fails. “I’m here about Jessica.” She can’t even say she knew Jessica because she’s never met the girl and yet her death lays upon her shoulders, stacked up alongside so many others. “My name is Buffy Summers. Can I come in?”
For a moment she thinks Mrs. Friedman is going to deny her access and for a moment she wishes she would. She wants to shove this off on Giles because he does it so much better and she knows that’s not fair. Finally the older woman nods and steps aside but Buffy hesitates as she goes over the threshold. This feels like a hostile invasion.
“Robert, there’s a woman here…about Jessica. Her name is Ms. Summers.” The woman’s voice trembles and Buffy knows in the pit of her stomach that she knows. The words are merely formalities.
Robert joins them as they’re walking into a living room that is so middle class America it makes Buffy want to weep. It feels like her Mom’s living room and she wishes she were home again. She wishes she could step back into a life where her greatest concern was whether she’d make it out alive. Robert introduces himself and his handshake trembles just a little. Buffy thinks maybe she squeezes too hard just trying to make it all stop because there’s a wince that crosses his face or maybe he knows as well and it’s a reaction to the message more than the messenger.
Her report is sketchy. She only knows what she learned from Baileigh and she doesn’t want to give too many details. It’s best left unsaid that a monster killed Jessica. It’s best left unsaid that there was blood and there are so many things best left unsaid and yet Buffy has to say some of them.
“I’m sorry.” It is the culmination of the whole event. The Friedmans hover on the edge of breakdown and Buffy wants to rewind it all. “Jessica was a good slayer and she was saving people. She’s going to be missed by everyone that knew her.”
“Did you know my daughter?” Mrs. Friedman asks, courage bolstered and staring straight into Buffy’s eyes.
She looks down and shakes her head. “No…I never got the chance-“
The sharp crack of a slap across her face stops her words. The slayer in her rails at being locked down as Buffy nods. She folds her hands into her lap and hesitates before she gets to her feet.
“Your wishes for her will be respected and the body is being sent here. You’ll have details by tomorrow.” She gets a card out of her bag and lays it on the end table. “Call if we can do anything.”
“You’ve done enough.” Mr. Friedman’s voice is cold and hard. She knows it’s just a reaction to the situation but it makes her flinch.
“No. I haven’t but I’ll show myself out.”
She is several blocks away before she leans against a building and takes a deep breath. She pulls her cell phone out and glances at the time on it. It’s past six and she thinks Danny should be almost finished at work. Maybe even on his way home. He picks up after a couple of rings.
“Hey, Summers.”
She feels things in her unwind and spots soften at his voice. Tears spring to her eyes as the pressure in her chest builds. She slips her shoes off to dig her toes against the concrete. She knows it’s filthy and she doesn’t care.
“Can you just talk to me?”
