“Alaric tells me you’re the dead girl from the CDC,” said Maggie, arrowing in on Kelly with the laser-point accuracy that has made her editing skills feared throughout the Fictional world. “Nice trick. Explain it.”
“Hello to you, too, Maggie,” I said brightly, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Do you need antroduction to our guest, or do you prefer the tornado approach? Just so it’s said, she’s had a pretty shitty week, and I wouldn’t blame her if she freaked out on you. I mean, it’s been a shitty day for all of us, so I’d really appreciate it if you could take it easy on the Doc.”
Maggie stiffened. I looked at her calmly, waiting to see which way the dam was going to break: raging flood or anguished trickle.
Finally, her shoulders dropped, and she said, “Mahir kept Dave’s last post from going live, but he sent me a copy and said he thought you might be coming here. That’s why I sent everybody home.”
“That was a good idea,” I said, neutrally.
“I didn’t get to say good-bye, Shaun.” Maggie shook her head. “I should’ve been able to say good-bye. I should’ve been able to tell him… I should’ve been there.”
That was the sort of grief I can handle. Sadly enough, it’s the kind I’ve been on the inside of, because even saying good-bye isn’t enough. There’s always one more thing you should have had the time to say, or do, or ask. There’s always going to be that one missing piece.
I put my fork down and stood, shifting dogs out of the way with the side of my foot as I walked over to Maggie. She looked at me. I nodded, once, and put my arms around her, feeling the tension in her shoulders. “I won’t tell you it’s going to be all right, because it’s not going to be all right,” I said. “I won’t tell you I understand what you’re going through, because nobody who isn’t inside your head can understand, and I won’t say that we’re here to help. We’re not. We’re here to save our asses, and we’re here to find out what the fuck is going on. But I’ll say this: Dave made his decision, and they’re going to put him up on the Wall with all the other heroes. He’s going to be there forever because of what he decided was the right thing to do. I guess I can’t be too angry at him for that. George wouldn’t have hired him if she didn’t think he knew how to make the hard calls, and I wouldn’t have kept him if she wasn’t right.”
“I think I loved him,” said Maggie, her voice soft and almost muffled by her face pushing up against the side of my shirt.
I sighed deeply, looking over her head toward the others. Becks and Alaric had barely had time to get over being the walking wounded after losing Buffy and George. I’d barely had time to learn how to look like I was coping. And now it was all starting up again. The conspiracy theories, the confusing evidence, the deaths, the whole fucking mess.
The worst part was that deep down in my heart, in the part of me that no one got to see but George, I was glad. Because if all the old shit was starting up again, that meant that we were moving again. Moving toward an answer to the question that kept me from sleeping at night, and probably kept me from killing myself:
Who really killed my sister?
Kelly met my eyes and looked away, expression guilt-stricken. I’d have to talk to her about that. This wasn’t her fault, any more than it was mine, or Alaric’s, or Maggie’s. She was a victim, just like the rest of us. None of us did anything wrong. But that could be dealt with tomorrow, when we’d had time to sleep, reassure Mahir that we were still alive, and really look at Kelly’s data.
“I think we all loved him at least a little,” I said, with complete honesty, and I stood in that homey-smelling kitchen surrounded by the remains of my team, and I held her while she cried.
Screw you, David Novakowski. Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building, and screw you for that last transmission, and screw you twice for taking so fucking long to say anything. You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.
I loved you, too, you idiot.
I can’t post this. I want to post this. I can’t post this. But writing it down helps, a little, because writing it down is what we do. They’re on their way here—they have to be, because if they’re not… I won’t think about it. The house feels so empty. God.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041. Unpublished.
I’m sorry, my darlings, but I won’t be able to make tonight’s chat. I know, I promised, and I’m sorry, but Auntie Maggie has a headache right now and needs to have a nap. Normal transmissions will resume tomorrow. Be good. Be kind to each other. And if there’s somebody you love, tell them. The world always needs more love.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041
Seven