One-shot / Drabble

The morning of the funeral, Buffy found flowers on her porch. Immediately they brought tears to her eyes. Such a small thing made everything better, and everything worse.

Flowers.

It had all started with goddamn flowers.

Her mom had been lying there, dead, and Buffy had been smelling her flowers.

She scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember. Remembering was hard, but… flowers from who? What was his name – Brian?

Had anyone told Brian he wouldn't get another date? Had someone notified him of Joyce's death, and would he come to the funeral?

See you soon (?) – that's what he wrote. It seemed like a sick joke, now.

Buffy sank to her knees, sobbing, as she clutched the small bouquet of wildflowers to her chest.

She guessed they'd been placed there the night before, and no doubt lay in her mind over who had done it. They had wilted in the heat of the morning sun. That seemed appropriate.

Another memory. Vague awareness of a confrontation outside the front door that she had ignored, at the time.

Buffy felt that she should have been mad at Spike, but she wasn't. Her mother was a great lady. Wasn't it appropriate that even evil demons thought so?

Despite being crispy in some places and limp in others, the flowers gave off a strong fragrance.

When she'd collected herself, Buffy took them back into the house.

Pushing aside the large displays that were expertly arranged, Buffy put the new bunch at the forefront – pride of place.

Over the coming weeks the others were thrown out, but Spike's had dried quite well in the California heat. Being without water, they were preserved.

At some point they ended up in her bedroom, laid on top of her dresser.

When Dawn asked about them, all Buffy said was, "They're a token."

"Of what?" Dawn pressed.

Buffy had sighed, not really sure of the answer. To her they exemplified the mortal coil – temporary, yet ever lasting. She couldn't put any of that into words, though. Finally she answered, "Just a token."