![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Stepping Stones.
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenderlove
Rating: PG.
Summary: Buffy takes a step forward. Spoilers for S8 #40.
Notes: This fic does not contain Buffy-bashing in any form. I mean that from the bottom of my heart, and it is my solemn promise.
Stepping Stones
Staring at the card tight in her grip, Buffy took a deep breath. She felt so awkward. What should she say? How could she possibly explain everything that had happened? What if no one wanted to listen?
Buffy was not sure why she had held onto the card for the last two years, but for some reason she had stowed it away with a few other trinkets. Now, she was standing in front of an office door whose number matched that on the business card. She put her hand on the doorknob with some trepidation, but then, decidedly, turned it and marched into the office.
"Good morning. Do you have an appointment with Dr. Fontaine?"
The receptionist's overly chipper voice startled Buffy. No one sounded that happy around her lately, not that she could blame them, though a part of her did.
"No, I-" Buffy paused, "I don't have an appointment, but I thought I might be able to talk to her. She gave me her card a while back..."
The receptionist asked for her name and, upon receiving a reply, buzzed over her headset to the doctor's office.
After nodding her head listening to what was being said to her over her headset, the receptionist finally looked up at Buffy, "Dr. Fontaine can see you now."
The doctor's interior office was cozy, decorated with plush furniture in warm earth tones. As she shut the door behind herself, Buffy thought that Dr. Fountaine's office looked much different than the over-saturated pastels of the first psychiatric office she was taken to shortly after becoming the Slayer and different still than Mr. Platt's office at Sunnydale High. Dr. Fontaine was standing up from her chair when Buffy came in, and she extended a hand towards her.
"It's nice to see you again," Dr. Fontaine smiled.
Buffy accepted the handshake though she still felt nervous. When she and her friends began doing recruiting sweeps of new Slayers, they had come across Dr. Fontaine. She was in her early fifties, neatly dressed, pleasant-looking, and possibly the oldest Slayer that had ever been called, or so Giles had speculated.
"I didn't expect to hear you say that," Buffy said, resigned.
Dr. Fontaine did not want to be a part of the fighting, but she had offered her services as a therapist to all the young Slayers under Buffy's care. At the time, Buffy had staunchly rejected the offer- too many girls in too many locales, not enough time, no possible way that anyone could get anything meaningful out of it. The Slayers were at war, and there was no time to waste letting girls cry about their boyfriends to someone who wasn't involved in the fight and would only take up space and resources. Perhaps it was Buffy's own stint in a mental institution and delusional reliving of that had made her so irritable about it, or maybe it really was a reasonable decision. Still, in hindsight, Buffy began to wonder how many other Slayers might have had skills that would have been beneficial in the long run even if they weren't interested in the actual slaying side of things. Along those lines, would some Slayer Doctors or Slayer Nurses been helpful? On the whole, Buffy's Slayer army had little medical qualifications, save field dressings. If it hadn't been for the healing provided by Willow and the Wiccan Slayers, they probably would have lost a lot more girls in the beginning. Of course, by the grand finale, it didn't make much of a difference.
"I understood your position," Dr. Fontaine motioned for Buffy to have a seat of the plush couch and then continued, "Although it might not have been feasible for me to help everyone, I did want to try to do some good with what services I could offer." Sitting in an armchair beside the couch, she said, "However, I doubt that's what you've come here to talk about."
Buffy let herself sink into the couch cushions. They were very comfy, much nicer than Xander's sofa. She had to think for a moment about what she wanted to talk about and why she had thought to look the doctor up. It had been so spur of the moment that she was afraid to question her impulse too hard lest she act against it.
Her hung head a little as she answered, "I'm not sure."
Dr. Fontaine leaned back in her chair, "That's all right. We can figure that out as we go along. Let's start from another direction. What did you hope the end result of you talking to me would be?"
Hope. That word had been bandied about a lot lately. Buffy did not know if she had any hope left, wasn't completely certain if she had any to begin with, and that realization made her feel somewhat empty. She had been hopeful once. When she was little, Buffy had wanted to be a superhero, called herself Power Girl, but she could also remember wanting to be a ballerina and a professional figure skater. Where did she see herself going after all that she had been through? Normal dreams that normal people have just did not seem to fit with Buffy. Education, marriage, careers, children, even pets... Those were not pieces that meshed well with the Slayer lifestyle, and Buffy could not figure if they belonged in her puzzle to begin with. Did she want them? Did she deserve them?
"I think I would like some answers," Buffy said quietly.
The doctor nodded in typical doctor fashion, "Answers? About your Calling?"
Letting her arms rest on her knees, Buffy replied, "Maybe just about me. I don't really know where to begin."
"Well, how are you feeling today?" Dr. Fontaine asked.
"Definitely not good. I haven't felt good in a long time, and the times that I do... It's wrong. Something's wrong with me, or I don't see something coming because I'm too involved with the happy," Buffy bit the inside of her cheek, "And, more than anything, I am terrified."
"What makes you feel that way?"
"Me. I do it to myself, I guess. I haven't made the right calls, and I know it, but... There are times when I get angry when I'm feeling guilty. It's just a chain reaction of badness. I got my paycheck the other day, and I felt great. Hard day's work gets a hard day's pay. But the lady at the cashing place started telling me about their safety deposit box program, and I started thinking about all those banks I rob- This is confidential, right?"
"Of course."
Buffy gave a sigh of relief and then began again, "Anyway, it reminded me of all the banks I robbed to pay for the upkeep of all the new Slayers, and I felt really guilty. I took jewelry and coins to sell, and, even though I made sure that every box I took from was insured in case of theft, I didn't stop to think if the things were heirlooms or if they had sentimental value. And then I got so mad."
"Who were you angry at?"
"Everyone!" Buffy rubbed a hand against her forehead, "I just... No one offered their own money to help. I mean, I know that a lot of the new Slayers were teenagers without a lot of money, but somebody's parents should have sent tuition or something! Kennedy's parents are loaded. They maybe could have given a few grand, at least. And Giles! He had assets he could have given over to us. We could have stayed in Devonshire instead of going all the way to Scotland, but no!"
Dr. Fontaine tilted her head, "Most military organizations don't usually require their soldiers to pay fees to be recruited."
Buffy threw up her hands, "Exactly! I know that! I'm not stupid. That's where more guilt comes in. I can't ask people to pay to risk their own lives, but it's the fact that no one else offered that makes me angry."
"Did you feel unsupported while making decisions about how day-to-day operations would be carried out?"
"I guess. Giles gave us," Buffy had a pause a moment to regain her composure, "He came up with the daily routine for training. It was based on how the Watchers' Council used to do things, and it helped at first, but when we started splitting up and going off into different squadrons, I felt lost, like I wasn't really in the loop anymore."
Dr. Fontaine inquired, "Now that the fighting has subsided, what would you like to do? What's the first thing that pops into your mind?"
"The first thing? Anything I want it to be?"
"Yes, anything at all."
Buffy blurted out, "Ice skating."
Trying to stifle a little bit of a laugh, Dr. Fontaine repeated, "Ice skating?"
"Yes," Buffy nodded sharply. "I want to go ice skating in Rockefeller Center. I always wanted to go when I was a kid, but it was too far for vacation."
"I think that that is a healthy goal to set," Dr. Fontaine smiled, "but what about long term? Is there a job you could see yourself doing for a long period of time?"
"I've had this recurring dream about running an office supply store," Buffy answered, "I don't really know anything about business, but in these dreams, I'm pretty good at inventory. Also, I think I could probably collate and bind an annual report for Goodyear Tires, so maybe a office supply store and print shop? I'm beginning to wonder if a past Slayer worked at a Kinko's."
"That's interesting and also a somewhat reasonable goal," Dr. Fontaine responded. "You could write down all the steps you would need to take to reach that goal. You could start off with finding some local colleges that might offer small business management courses, or finding a similar store that is hiring. It might get your foot in the door."
"I don't know," Buffy suddenly looked sheepish, running her hand through hair, "It was just a silly thought. Maybe it's not really what I want to do. Impetuous Buffy does not always make the best choices."
The doctor said, "Impetuousness brought you here, and I hope that it turns out to be a good choice for you. As to your dreams, how will you know that it's not something you want to do until you do a little research. You have to be reasonable with financial limitations and other real-world complications, but you might find that there aren't that many roadblocks in your way."
"What about slaying? Do I..." Buffy lost her words for a moment before recovering, "Do I continue to be the Slayer?"
Dr. Fontaine answered, "That's entirely up to you. You have to choose if you want that to be a part of your life."
After seeming to mull it over in her head, Buffy replied, "I do. I really do."
"You have your answer then."
Buffy stood up from the couch, "I have my next shift in an hour, but I would like to come back to talk to you, if that's okay. I don't have a lot of money, but-"
Dr. Fontaine held up her hand, "Don't worry about that right now. We'll work a payment plan out for you. Just see Cindy at the desk to make your next appointment."
After pocketing her appointment card in her jacket, Buffy left the office still with some doubts, still unsure, but with a renewed effort to try to hope.
Stay positive. It's not the end of the world... yet. No, don't think like that. Stupid brain. Got to stay focused. I just need to not over-think things. One step at a time, Buffy, just one little step. And breathing. Can't forget to breath. Maybe I can get a small business loan. I'm pretty sure the big fat Homeland Security "terrorist" flag will kill my chances for one of those.
Putting on her apron at the coffee shop, Buffy felt some easiness ebb over her. She had to be watchful, of course, and things would not get better over night. Maybe they would never get better, or maybe they would get worse. One therapy session couldn't fix her world, couldn't take away her mixed emotions of being unfairly persecuted and yet guilty at the same time, couldn't bring back all the people she had lost, couldn't make those still around her hide the contempt in their eyes.
Baby steps, Buffy. Gnome steps. Itty bitty teeny tiny steps. Perhaps just leaning. Leaning might better.
There was resolve there in Buffy's mind that solidified. She could only step forward, no more going back. It would require a lot of self-survellience, but no one could help her but herself. No white knight was going to ride in to save her. Buffy was the damned white knight, and she was going to take back her mantle.
The end.
Author:
fenderloveRating: PG.
Summary: Buffy takes a step forward. Spoilers for S8 #40.
Notes: This fic does not contain Buffy-bashing in any form. I mean that from the bottom of my heart, and it is my solemn promise.
Stepping Stones
Staring at the card tight in her grip, Buffy took a deep breath. She felt so awkward. What should she say? How could she possibly explain everything that had happened? What if no one wanted to listen?
Buffy was not sure why she had held onto the card for the last two years, but for some reason she had stowed it away with a few other trinkets. Now, she was standing in front of an office door whose number matched that on the business card. She put her hand on the doorknob with some trepidation, but then, decidedly, turned it and marched into the office.
"Good morning. Do you have an appointment with Dr. Fontaine?"
The receptionist's overly chipper voice startled Buffy. No one sounded that happy around her lately, not that she could blame them, though a part of her did.
"No, I-" Buffy paused, "I don't have an appointment, but I thought I might be able to talk to her. She gave me her card a while back..."
The receptionist asked for her name and, upon receiving a reply, buzzed over her headset to the doctor's office.
After nodding her head listening to what was being said to her over her headset, the receptionist finally looked up at Buffy, "Dr. Fontaine can see you now."
The doctor's interior office was cozy, decorated with plush furniture in warm earth tones. As she shut the door behind herself, Buffy thought that Dr. Fountaine's office looked much different than the over-saturated pastels of the first psychiatric office she was taken to shortly after becoming the Slayer and different still than Mr. Platt's office at Sunnydale High. Dr. Fontaine was standing up from her chair when Buffy came in, and she extended a hand towards her.
"It's nice to see you again," Dr. Fontaine smiled.
Buffy accepted the handshake though she still felt nervous. When she and her friends began doing recruiting sweeps of new Slayers, they had come across Dr. Fontaine. She was in her early fifties, neatly dressed, pleasant-looking, and possibly the oldest Slayer that had ever been called, or so Giles had speculated.
"I didn't expect to hear you say that," Buffy said, resigned.
Dr. Fontaine did not want to be a part of the fighting, but she had offered her services as a therapist to all the young Slayers under Buffy's care. At the time, Buffy had staunchly rejected the offer- too many girls in too many locales, not enough time, no possible way that anyone could get anything meaningful out of it. The Slayers were at war, and there was no time to waste letting girls cry about their boyfriends to someone who wasn't involved in the fight and would only take up space and resources. Perhaps it was Buffy's own stint in a mental institution and delusional reliving of that had made her so irritable about it, or maybe it really was a reasonable decision. Still, in hindsight, Buffy began to wonder how many other Slayers might have had skills that would have been beneficial in the long run even if they weren't interested in the actual slaying side of things. Along those lines, would some Slayer Doctors or Slayer Nurses been helpful? On the whole, Buffy's Slayer army had little medical qualifications, save field dressings. If it hadn't been for the healing provided by Willow and the Wiccan Slayers, they probably would have lost a lot more girls in the beginning. Of course, by the grand finale, it didn't make much of a difference.
"I understood your position," Dr. Fontaine motioned for Buffy to have a seat of the plush couch and then continued, "Although it might not have been feasible for me to help everyone, I did want to try to do some good with what services I could offer." Sitting in an armchair beside the couch, she said, "However, I doubt that's what you've come here to talk about."
Buffy let herself sink into the couch cushions. They were very comfy, much nicer than Xander's sofa. She had to think for a moment about what she wanted to talk about and why she had thought to look the doctor up. It had been so spur of the moment that she was afraid to question her impulse too hard lest she act against it.
Her hung head a little as she answered, "I'm not sure."
Dr. Fontaine leaned back in her chair, "That's all right. We can figure that out as we go along. Let's start from another direction. What did you hope the end result of you talking to me would be?"
Hope. That word had been bandied about a lot lately. Buffy did not know if she had any hope left, wasn't completely certain if she had any to begin with, and that realization made her feel somewhat empty. She had been hopeful once. When she was little, Buffy had wanted to be a superhero, called herself Power Girl, but she could also remember wanting to be a ballerina and a professional figure skater. Where did she see herself going after all that she had been through? Normal dreams that normal people have just did not seem to fit with Buffy. Education, marriage, careers, children, even pets... Those were not pieces that meshed well with the Slayer lifestyle, and Buffy could not figure if they belonged in her puzzle to begin with. Did she want them? Did she deserve them?
"I think I would like some answers," Buffy said quietly.
The doctor nodded in typical doctor fashion, "Answers? About your Calling?"
Letting her arms rest on her knees, Buffy replied, "Maybe just about me. I don't really know where to begin."
"Well, how are you feeling today?" Dr. Fontaine asked.
"Definitely not good. I haven't felt good in a long time, and the times that I do... It's wrong. Something's wrong with me, or I don't see something coming because I'm too involved with the happy," Buffy bit the inside of her cheek, "And, more than anything, I am terrified."
"What makes you feel that way?"
"Me. I do it to myself, I guess. I haven't made the right calls, and I know it, but... There are times when I get angry when I'm feeling guilty. It's just a chain reaction of badness. I got my paycheck the other day, and I felt great. Hard day's work gets a hard day's pay. But the lady at the cashing place started telling me about their safety deposit box program, and I started thinking about all those banks I rob- This is confidential, right?"
"Of course."
Buffy gave a sigh of relief and then began again, "Anyway, it reminded me of all the banks I robbed to pay for the upkeep of all the new Slayers, and I felt really guilty. I took jewelry and coins to sell, and, even though I made sure that every box I took from was insured in case of theft, I didn't stop to think if the things were heirlooms or if they had sentimental value. And then I got so mad."
"Who were you angry at?"
"Everyone!" Buffy rubbed a hand against her forehead, "I just... No one offered their own money to help. I mean, I know that a lot of the new Slayers were teenagers without a lot of money, but somebody's parents should have sent tuition or something! Kennedy's parents are loaded. They maybe could have given a few grand, at least. And Giles! He had assets he could have given over to us. We could have stayed in Devonshire instead of going all the way to Scotland, but no!"
Dr. Fontaine tilted her head, "Most military organizations don't usually require their soldiers to pay fees to be recruited."
Buffy threw up her hands, "Exactly! I know that! I'm not stupid. That's where more guilt comes in. I can't ask people to pay to risk their own lives, but it's the fact that no one else offered that makes me angry."
"Did you feel unsupported while making decisions about how day-to-day operations would be carried out?"
"I guess. Giles gave us," Buffy had a pause a moment to regain her composure, "He came up with the daily routine for training. It was based on how the Watchers' Council used to do things, and it helped at first, but when we started splitting up and going off into different squadrons, I felt lost, like I wasn't really in the loop anymore."
Dr. Fontaine inquired, "Now that the fighting has subsided, what would you like to do? What's the first thing that pops into your mind?"
"The first thing? Anything I want it to be?"
"Yes, anything at all."
Buffy blurted out, "Ice skating."
Trying to stifle a little bit of a laugh, Dr. Fontaine repeated, "Ice skating?"
"Yes," Buffy nodded sharply. "I want to go ice skating in Rockefeller Center. I always wanted to go when I was a kid, but it was too far for vacation."
"I think that that is a healthy goal to set," Dr. Fontaine smiled, "but what about long term? Is there a job you could see yourself doing for a long period of time?"
"I've had this recurring dream about running an office supply store," Buffy answered, "I don't really know anything about business, but in these dreams, I'm pretty good at inventory. Also, I think I could probably collate and bind an annual report for Goodyear Tires, so maybe a office supply store and print shop? I'm beginning to wonder if a past Slayer worked at a Kinko's."
"That's interesting and also a somewhat reasonable goal," Dr. Fontaine responded. "You could write down all the steps you would need to take to reach that goal. You could start off with finding some local colleges that might offer small business management courses, or finding a similar store that is hiring. It might get your foot in the door."
"I don't know," Buffy suddenly looked sheepish, running her hand through hair, "It was just a silly thought. Maybe it's not really what I want to do. Impetuous Buffy does not always make the best choices."
The doctor said, "Impetuousness brought you here, and I hope that it turns out to be a good choice for you. As to your dreams, how will you know that it's not something you want to do until you do a little research. You have to be reasonable with financial limitations and other real-world complications, but you might find that there aren't that many roadblocks in your way."
"What about slaying? Do I..." Buffy lost her words for a moment before recovering, "Do I continue to be the Slayer?"
Dr. Fontaine answered, "That's entirely up to you. You have to choose if you want that to be a part of your life."
After seeming to mull it over in her head, Buffy replied, "I do. I really do."
"You have your answer then."
Buffy stood up from the couch, "I have my next shift in an hour, but I would like to come back to talk to you, if that's okay. I don't have a lot of money, but-"
Dr. Fontaine held up her hand, "Don't worry about that right now. We'll work a payment plan out for you. Just see Cindy at the desk to make your next appointment."
After pocketing her appointment card in her jacket, Buffy left the office still with some doubts, still unsure, but with a renewed effort to try to hope.
Stay positive. It's not the end of the world... yet. No, don't think like that. Stupid brain. Got to stay focused. I just need to not over-think things. One step at a time, Buffy, just one little step. And breathing. Can't forget to breath. Maybe I can get a small business loan. I'm pretty sure the big fat Homeland Security "terrorist" flag will kill my chances for one of those.
Putting on her apron at the coffee shop, Buffy felt some easiness ebb over her. She had to be watchful, of course, and things would not get better over night. Maybe they would never get better, or maybe they would get worse. One therapy session couldn't fix her world, couldn't take away her mixed emotions of being unfairly persecuted and yet guilty at the same time, couldn't bring back all the people she had lost, couldn't make those still around her hide the contempt in their eyes.
Baby steps, Buffy. Gnome steps. Itty bitty teeny tiny steps. Perhaps just leaning. Leaning might better.
There was resolve there in Buffy's mind that solidified. She could only step forward, no more going back. It would require a lot of self-survellience, but no one could help her but herself. No white knight was going to ride in to save her. Buffy was the damned white knight, and she was going to take back her mantle.
The end.
