Piece_of_Metal
The hospital light flickered and the doctor looked at his watch. I found it so fucking ironic that the light flickered. Figures. Had to be some real sign. Some real confirmation. My best friend was dead. And then the light flickered.
I leaned against the glass window and saw the doctors standing in a moment of silence. One was writing on a clipboard. Statistics most likely. T.O.D. Or time of death. And what hospital and what illness and all these other legalities. I wanted to scream out something like "Stop writing, bring her back you bastards!" But like I would ever do that.
It reminded me of South Park. "You killed Buffy. You bastards!' But this so wasn't the time for comedy. The time for comedy was over. That pretty much always happens when your best friend dies. But in this case, she always came back. But here, here was different.
God damnit Buffy! We keep having to bring you back. If you keep on dying we'll have to take away your slayer priveleges. So, not the time. One doctor walked over to me and said something, it sounded muffled or like he was inside a box but I knew it was me. I didn't want to hear him.
Or maybe I couldn't. Maybe I had gone deaf. I had read something in one of Giles' books about a guy going blind and deaf after being attacked by a beastie. Well, this was like a beastie. One I couldn't kill. You can't kill death. You may be able to beat it in Checkers and Chess and Battleship but not in the game of life.
Anya always beat me at that. The doctor walked me out of the room and sat me down. He started reading to me about his funeral. No, my funeral, wait wrong again. Something about funeral arrangements and left a clipboard where he sat. That was not on the top of my list. Filling out papers was not what I did. I built things.
But this. This couldn't be excavated or given foundation. In Buffy's case her foundation fell from under her. In the form of a bullet.
I replayed it over and over in my head. I hugged Buffy and she pushed me out of the way. And then she was on the ground, blood oozing out trying to escape her body and I remember thinking, NO! You don't get to leave! You can't leave. That's not what you're supposed to do. You're supposed to power Buffy, give her her strength. Not take it away.
The doctor returned and bent down this time talking about if I had any phone calls to make. "Yeah, friends." And then it hit me. What about everyone else? I sprang up and went to the payphone across from me fumbling coins into it. I swear about 30 cents worth hit the ground.
The dial tone dissapeared and the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang and then the answering machine. The fucking answering machine. "Guys, it's Xander. It's me and Buffy, Warren...badness. Bullet. Bad bullet. Hospital." I hung up and slunk into it crying. I hadn't cried yet and I was surprised about that.
And finally here was me, Xander Faucet Harris. I pulled myself up as a doctor handed me that damn clipboard. "Do I look like I need a fucking clipboard right now?!" I yelled and stormed past. And then through the glass.
The bag. The black bag. Zipping up. Buffy's beautiful blood splattered body dissapearing under the black leather. And me, not being able to save her for once.
Never in my life have I ever felt...this helpless.
I leaned against the glass window and saw the doctors standing in a moment of silence. One was writing on a clipboard. Statistics most likely. T.O.D. Or time of death. And what hospital and what illness and all these other legalities. I wanted to scream out something like "Stop writing, bring her back you bastards!" But like I would ever do that.
It reminded me of South Park. "You killed Buffy. You bastards!' But this so wasn't the time for comedy. The time for comedy was over. That pretty much always happens when your best friend dies. But in this case, she always came back. But here, here was different.
God damnit Buffy! We keep having to bring you back. If you keep on dying we'll have to take away your slayer priveleges. So, not the time. One doctor walked over to me and said something, it sounded muffled or like he was inside a box but I knew it was me. I didn't want to hear him.
Or maybe I couldn't. Maybe I had gone deaf. I had read something in one of Giles' books about a guy going blind and deaf after being attacked by a beastie. Well, this was like a beastie. One I couldn't kill. You can't kill death. You may be able to beat it in Checkers and Chess and Battleship but not in the game of life.
Anya always beat me at that. The doctor walked me out of the room and sat me down. He started reading to me about his funeral. No, my funeral, wait wrong again. Something about funeral arrangements and left a clipboard where he sat. That was not on the top of my list. Filling out papers was not what I did. I built things.
But this. This couldn't be excavated or given foundation. In Buffy's case her foundation fell from under her. In the form of a bullet.
I replayed it over and over in my head. I hugged Buffy and she pushed me out of the way. And then she was on the ground, blood oozing out trying to escape her body and I remember thinking, NO! You don't get to leave! You can't leave. That's not what you're supposed to do. You're supposed to power Buffy, give her her strength. Not take it away.
The doctor returned and bent down this time talking about if I had any phone calls to make. "Yeah, friends." And then it hit me. What about everyone else? I sprang up and went to the payphone across from me fumbling coins into it. I swear about 30 cents worth hit the ground.
The dial tone dissapeared and the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang and then the answering machine. The fucking answering machine. "Guys, it's Xander. It's me and Buffy, Warren...badness. Bullet. Bad bullet. Hospital." I hung up and slunk into it crying. I hadn't cried yet and I was surprised about that.
And finally here was me, Xander Faucet Harris. I pulled myself up as a doctor handed me that damn clipboard. "Do I look like I need a fucking clipboard right now?!" I yelled and stormed past. And then through the glass.
The bag. The black bag. Zipping up. Buffy's beautiful blood splattered body dissapearing under the black leather. And me, not being able to save her for once.
Never in my life have I ever felt...this helpless.