SERIES TITLE  : A Time To Cry
CHAPTER       : Interlude
AUTHOR        : Black Widow
EMAIL         : bw@l...
SUMMARY       : When death is only the beginning of the pain and        
                suffering
SPOILERS      : Season 5
RATING        : PG
PAIRING       : Gen Fic
DISCLAIMER    : The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant
                Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, and Greenwolf Productions, 20th
                Century Fox, the WB Network, and whoever else may have a
                hold on them. The situation is wholly mine, and I do
                not mean to infringe upon any copyrights.
ARCHIVE/DIST  : Whatever.  An email if you use it would be nice
NOTES         : The prologue, interlude and epilogue tell the story, as
                it was related by the Slayer's mother, so that it could
                be remembered. 
                The other chapters (should they ever be told) will tell
                the story of her death in full, of how she lived and
                loved and lost, of the guilt and the pain, and her
                dream for an end to the suffering.

*

So began my nightmare. I was trapped in Tara's body and I thought and
hoped that it would be just for a short time. What with Tara's skills
and Giles' books it would surely be a matter of days before I was free
and able to rest in peace.

Yet I lived in Tara's body while everyone grieved. I saw first hand
more of the pain of my death than I care to remember. And this was just
the beginning. Willow was young and deeply upset, so Tara and I cared
for her and comforted her.

My body was buried and with Tara's protection I was able to attend the
funeral. Tara offered her support to everyone that needed it. 

And as the days passed we grew so close but we could never find any
answers. We accepted each other so easily that we continued to live
Tara's life as if it had always been this way. Until, one day - no
different from any other - I realized that she was no longer there.
Everything we did - I did - had become so natural, it was as if I had
been thinking to myself all along and answering my own questions. I
knew who I was yet I was not in my own body - except that I was. I had
grown to love Willow as Tara had; I had learned to live as Tara did. I
had all her interests, her passions, her desires. I had all her hopes
and fears, all her dreams and nightmares. I had all her memories. And
all of mine.

I had to cope with seeing my daughters fall apart and not be able to do
anything about it. I saw and lived through Buffy's decline and all her
failures. I saw Dawn's denial and the destruction of the family and of
friendships that I thought would last forever. I lived through all this
and was powerless to do anything about it other than what Tara would
have done. What she had to do.

The end, when it came, was harrowing for everyone. Buffy's death was
such a traumatic experience that all we wanted to do was forget. We all
survived, but we were broken. Another Slayer would be called but we
wanted no part in it. None of us had anything left to give. So Willow
and I made all of us forget. We all went our separate ways in blissful
ignorance. But I never did forget. I would never be allowed to forget.

Willow and I lived together and, as soon as we finished school, we
started a family and had a daughter of our own. A remarkably gifted,
beautiful girl, intelligent and caring and strong, who would get into
no end of trouble - as all little girls do.

Then there came the day, shortly after her fifth birthday, when I saw
her with a strange man. I saw her jump and strike him, and I knew. A
normal five year old girl couldn't send a full-grown man sprawling. We
had a Slayer for a daughter.

I cursed the Goddess for all I was worth. I told my daughter that I
knew all about what she was and that I would do everything in my power
to protect her. That she had nothing to fear, that I loved her more
than anything.

She died - she was killed - less than six months later. It was Willow
who discovered her mangled body amid piles of dust. And the bite marks
and the cuts and the bruises that were already half healed as she lay
dying. The shock of it made her remember.

I told her everything. Everything about who I was, what had happened,
how Tara had loved her, and how I loved her and Tara. She stared at me
in disbelief, thinking I was quite mad. Through all the tears and the
pain and the anger she railed at me for lying to her, for thinking that
I couldn't trust her.

And I ran. I couldn't bear to go through the grief all over again. When
our daughter died, I ran as far away as possible. I couldn't face
Willow's grief; she was so distraught I couldn't possibly face her. She
never believed that I wasn't really her Tara even though our - my -
daughter was a Slayer too; and it was then that I understood my curse.
We had lived our lives together as we would have done if I really had
been Tara. The only difference was me. I was Tara until I ran and
killed myself.

Then I awoke again and I knew I had to find another. And then another
and another and another.

Before me the mothers weren't chosen they were just victims. I thought
it would be easier to inflict myself on others, on complete strangers,
but it never was. I traveled around the world looking for ways to make
the pain less. I know poverty and cruelty, I know starvation and pain
and the true meaning of what it is to suffer better than anyone alive -
or dead. But I grew tired of the pain, so I chose wealthy women; women
who could give a good childhood to my daughters so that they may have
some joy in their life; and always I chose women who preferred other
women, forever searching for another Willow, another Tara, even though
I knew I could never find their equal. I lived in comfort and my
daughters were well cared for, but I was never happy.

It became so easy to slip into the body of another, acquire their
memories and live their lives for them, yet I could never forget a
single one. They would always become a part of me. The anguish used to
be an enemy but then it became my friend and then my only companion
until I realized the truth.

My dying on the Hellmouth allowed me to keep their memories that I may
better learn my duty.

But it was a false gift because I remembered the pain and suffering,
the loneliness and the fear, lifetime upon lifetime of grief and I
remember how I ruined all the lives and loves of those who were the
most dear to me and those for whom I thought I cared not one iota. And
each time my Slayer died - if I didn't die first or suffer the horror
of dying in childbirth - I killed myself. But I still remember them and
love them and cherish them as I do my own daughters.

Everyone knows the life of a Slayer is brief and fraught with danger,
but no one ever thinks of her mother. 

No one thinks of what makes a Slayer.

This is my role.

I am a Slayer's mother. I am of The Powers That Be and now my suffering
is eternal. I should be blind and ignorant, moving from soul to soul
without care or volition yet I am cursed. I am the only one who is able
remember and I am so alone. But now we are going to change that.

Now we are a Slayer's mother, and I have told you all this before you
are made to forget so that you may know how much I love you and how
much I loved your mother and her sister and all her friends. I am not
going to make the same mistake with you for, if you will, we shall live
and die on the Hellmouth. And you are not going to forget me.

We shall be a family again. We will have happiness and laughter in our
house. I am your grandmother, my name is