Disclaimer:See, there's this god that walks around on earth, and this god, he owns 'em all. Bow down to the great Joss! Ya'know, 'cause I'm just a lowly fan who likes to sneak in and borrow the characters; Hey, I promised to return 'em eventually.
Author's Notes: This fic is an AU of 'Normal Again', where Buffy finds herself in the "normal" world. This fic is finally completed, though much shorter than initially anticipated. If anyone is still reading this, apologies for a truly unacceptable delay, but I hope the ending is at least somewhat satisfying. If anyone is interested in the original plot outline, I can give the broad strokes.
Summary:AU after 'Normal Again.' Buffy wakes up alone and cold, back in that 'normal' world. What's happened? Buffy can't remember. What does she know? Her new therapist is eerily similar to someone from her other life.
Date Started/Date Finished:February 5th 2003/July 4th 2016.
Life In The Sun
Day 1: Session Log Started, 9:58am.
"Ms. Summers, our session is almost over. Are you sure there's nothing you want to say?"
Buffy stared wide-eyed at the person, taking in all their words as usual, but unable to form her own. She had been crying, and she was going to cry again, very soon. Buffy wanted - more than anything - she wanted to go home.
She couldn't understand why she was here; it was scary and harsh. The person was worse, so she looked down at the couch and said nothing. It wasn't like she had anything productive to say, 'Hi, I want to go back, I hate being here.' She could see how she would get points there.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Summers, that you aren't ready to talk to me. Our session is over. You'll be escorted back to your room, and I will see you tomorrow at the same time."
Buffy felt herself nodding, blankly, because she wasn't ready to talk. Buffy guessed she would - talk that was - later, but not right now. Because she couldn't remember up until an hour ago, and it was raw and painful that she was still here. All Buffy wanted to do was curl up in that horrible room that was 'hers' and cry into one of the starched white pillows.
The white-clad person stood up, coat rustling against the seat, and motioned towards the door. A guard came in and helped Buffy up, half dragging her out the door.
Buffy made no move to protest, not ready to face even her own weakness here - not ready to face anything.
As the door closed, the person sat back down, sighing deeply before turning towards the mirror and loudly asking, "Send the next patient in, please."