Clouds by Amy

"You died," is the first thing Willow says when she sees her. The schoolbooks fall out of her arms and crash tot he floor. Every book makes an individual dull thump.

Willow barely hears them, barely feels the sharp corner biology text currently digging into the toe of her sneaker. It's one thing to live on a Hellmouth, even to be faced with vampires and zombies and other creepy crawly things that go bump in the night. It's a whole other thing to walk into her bedroom and see her dead computer science teacher (she wasn't just that Willow) (she was more) (she was so much more) sitting on her bed, looking something that is very much not dead.

She wants to say "Jenny" but her lips won't move.

The you died hangs in the air like a mushroom cloud.

A patient smile, the type she flashed so often in class, so often in life, but it feels anachronistic here, a digital watch on a caveman's wrist, a laptop at the finggertips of the Romani ancients. Willow is trembling as Jenny answers. "I did."

Willow studies her. She looks the same, almost. She's wearing a dark gray turtleneck with a long black skirt, and her hair's in an upsweep, and if Willow saw her in the computer lab instead of her bedroom she'd probably just go straight to her usual desk instead of up to the blackboard to teach like she's been doing these past few weeks.

But she's not in the computer lab. She's here.

It's here that she looks off, and Willow doesn't know if it's because she's dead or because she's in her room, her room; any previous encounters had been at Giles's house or the library, someplace safe and mediated, or in Jenny's apartment.

This is new, seeing Jenny on her own bed, and Willow can tell that she's trembling, just slightly. "You're here, though."

"I am."

"How? Why?"

"I missed you."

The words are simple, but nothing about them is. There's so much in them; everything is loaded.

Every word hurts.

Willow tries to answer, but she's shaking too hard to speak.

I missed you, Jenny.

Jenny, you're dead.

Willow feels faint.

"You've never been here before."

"Where?"

"My room."

"Oh."

Willow wants to ask her why, all the important whys really, why now and why here and why after everything and why her. But instead she just stares at her, lips refusing to move. She feels stupid, young- all the things Jenny used to seem to take away from her. All the good is replaced by emptiness.

"You want to know why I'm here," she prompts gently.

Willow nods mutely. She feels like her head has been packed in cotton. She wonders if she'll ever grow up to a point where she'll be able to just talk, no problems, no questions asked. At least to someone she knows. At least to someone she loves.

Loved, she reminds herself. Jenny is dead.

All visible evidence to the contrary.

"I came to say I'm sorry," Jenny says. Her voice trembles, just barely, just enough for Willow to catch it.

Willow wonders at how upsetting this must be for her. Dead people shouldn't be afraid. They're already dead. "Why...?"

The mushroom cloud expands, covering small villages up and down the countryside, and a thousand people get [illness] of silence and death.

"You would never have had to deal with all of this... without me."

"Sure I would."

"I could have warned you."

"No. You couldn't have." Willow remembers, vaguely, like in a dream, that she was angry, that she was terrified. But right now she finds herself flush with determination and nothing more. "I wouldn't have believed you and Buffy would have thought you were trying to hurt her or Angel. Or both of you. And then none of us- and then- Giles would have-"

"This isn't about how Rupert feels right now, Willow. I'm visiting you, not him."

"W-well, maybe you should. He's a grown-up, and he's h-h-"

Willow can do many things, but call Giles hot is not one of them, and Jenny smiles, understanding without her speaking, the way she always used to.

Willow misses her so much she aches.

"He's a grown-up," Jenny agrees softly. "But you're my Willow." Her smile is genuine, and Willow almost bursts into tears, but she can't. The tears won't come.

Her eyes ache with dryness and it hurts.

"I love you," she says simply.

"I love you too."

"Will you-" Willow feels silly speaking, feels silly even being.

"Say it," Jenny prompts, and it's so matter-of-fact, so real, that Willow suddenly feels silly about feeling silly; this doesn't feel like reality, but the dream isn't half bad, and certainly isn't something to be ashamed of.

"Will you still be here tomorrow?" she asks. Her voice sounds desperate, crazed, but she can't control it.

"I'll be here as long as I can," promises Jenny. "As long as I humanly can."

"What's it like?" Willow asks. "Being dead, I mean."

"Like being asleep," Jenny says back. "But being asleep without you."

Willow nods slowly and then moves closer, towards Jenny, closer and farther away all at once. Crawls up onto her own bed like she's a tiny child, and it's the biggest distance in the world.

"I missed you."

"I missed you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

They are twin echoes personified. Everything that is, everything that was, everything that ever shall be. Willow tilts her head towards Jenny, the way she used to do so often. Slowly, gently, hesitantly. Everything is different but even in its difference it is the same. She leans forward, to hug her, to kiss her. Her. Jenny. Who is here.

Willow wants to melt into her arms.

They get so close that Willow's cheek is warm with Jenny's breath, and leans forwards to finally kiss her. But when their lips touch, Jenny is nothing but air, and Willow can feel her arms closing around empty clouds and memories.

.End