Buffy considers what Death has told her, but it's like trying to think through a layer of cotton fuzz. "So I'm only mostly dead. How do I get back?"
"You'll be revived. Your friend Xander does it, actually. You're going to have a lot to thank him for."
"I will?"
"Oh, yeah." Death dims, and Buffy leans closer, almost involuntarily. "He'll come through for you in a big way, and it'll only be the first time. And you'll find out all those things you're worried about. You'll meet Willow's first boyfriend, and her first girlfriend. Giles will forgive himself, but he'll never forget, even a little."
"And Angel?"
"That's a long story," says Death. "But don't worry. It'll all work out eventually."
"How do you know all this?" The years that make up her future seem harder to comprehend than this embodiment of death, sharing a couch with her like they're at a slumber party.
Death opens her hand, and there's a cookie in it, even though she hasn't been anywhere near the plate. "It's my job. As long as you're dead, you're part of my realm. I like to take care of people."
"But you're telling me about things that haven't even happened yet." Buffy leans back and shifts over to a dry section of the couch. "What's the point? I've seen movies. If you know the future, you can change it. Mess it up. Next thing you know, you're Linda Hamilton in Terminator, looking all scary and shooting people."
Death chews and swallows. There's a cookie crumb balanced on her lower lip. "It's okay. You won't remember any of this -- not this time, and not next time. Maybe you'll tell a story about a white light and a tunnel, but no one really remembers. Not until it counts."
"Then why tell me anything?"
"Sometimes the transition back is hard for people. Coming back from the dead is kind of a big deal. This is just...look at it like a jump start. Knowing that you have all of these amazing things to live for will help you back into your body."
Buffy thinks of the stories she's heard. Near-death experiences. Homeless guys sleeping outside in freezing temperatures. Episodes of ER. "What happens to the people who don't have anything to live for?"
For a moment, Death doesn't bother to hide the ages of sorrow and knowledge in her eyes. "I can always find something."
"But..." Buffy starts, but she's distracted by a feeling of pressure in her chest.
"Wow," says Death. "It's time already."
"What? Time for what?" The pressure's coalescing into a rhythm. One. Two. Three. Her lungs inflate as if she's taken a breath.
"Time for you to go back. It always goes so quickly." Death takes her hand, and the firm pressure of Death's cool skin is suddenly the only thing that feels real. "But it was really nice to talk to you. I'll see you again in a few years."
Buffy wants to say something, make some sort of coherent objection, but she can barely take in everything she's being told. Death's glow intensifies. Buffy looks down, and she's fading out. She can see the pink fabric of the couch through her legs. She manages a faint "Thanks."
"And hey," says Death, blazing as bright as the full moon. "I'll take good care of your mother. Don't worry about her."
Buffy hears the words, but by the time they make any sense, she's already forgotten them.
--End--