Live for Me
by Sandra Lee
Disclaimer: The characters used in this story are the intellectual property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Giles
Dawn.
Giles tore his gaze from the heartbreaking scene before him and glanced up at the early morning sky. The events of the long night already seemed unreal, a particularly vivid nightmare. There were no clouds... This would be another beautiful Southern California day. A wild voice gibbered in the back of his mind, insisting that the sun could not rise - not now, not ever again.
Oh, dear Lord! Dawn.
He glanced behind him. Dawn was there. She stood on the steps, grasping the rail, and stared at her sister's body. Her eyes were filled with unimaginable pain. Giles started toward her, to hold her, talk to her - anything to make her feel less alone, anything to keep his own wild grief at bay.
He was distracted by the smell of smoke and looked around cautiously, ready for some new danger. Xander cradled Anya in his arms; she was conscious, but hurt. Willow and Tara held tightly to each other. Tara appeared to have recovered from her unfortunate run-in with Glory.
"You're a killer!" she had said. Lord, forgive me.
They all stared unbelievingly at the body of their friend. Willow was crying silently. He heard louder sobs echoing from behind them.
There. It was Spike, his head covered with blood from his own terrible fall. He was crumpled in the shadows near the wall, shudders racking his entire body. His hair and feet, caught in the pale sunlight, were already beginning to smolder, but he made no further attempt to protect himself. Without pausing to consider what he was doing and why, Giles grabbed a heavy canvas cover from a piece of construction machinery and gently draped it over the vampire's head and body. Spike didn't seem to notice.
We band of brothers...
Giles returned to the stairs and stood next to Dawn. There was nothing to say, so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders - offering, not insisting. Dawn stiffened, then collapsed against him, rested her head against his chest and simply cried.
He heard sirens in the distance, and briefly wondered who had called. He then realized that the short-lived apocalypse would have generated a number of casualties in other parts of Sunnydale. In all of the general chaos, the authorities would not expect a rational explanation for all of this. At least he and his friends wouldn't have to muster the energy for a cover-up. He sighed, knowing that they would have to call, and soon.
Not yet.
Giles allowed himself to look once more at the lifeless body of his Slayer - and, finally, to cry.
Xander
"It hurts."
Xander stared numbly at the door, holding Anya's hand while she lay on the examination table. "I know," he whispered.
"No, I mean my head hurts," Anya replied.
Xander turned back to his girlfriend. My fiancée. She gazed back at him with frightened eyes.
"I don't think it'll be much longer. A lot of people were hurt when...when the..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
"Aren't you going to cry?" she asked softly. "You cried when Joyce died..."
Xander gave her hand a little squeeze before he let go and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. He felt the pressure of the engagement ring, still in its box in his pocket. Later. "I can't. Not yet. Once I start..."
Buffy. He wanted to shut down, shut it all out, knock himself unconscious so that he wouldn't have to face the pain.
"I thought..." He drew a deep breath. "We all knew what being the Slayer meant - that she was living on borrowed time. I thought I'd be ready when...if it happened, but she was so strong... I kind of thought she'd outlive us all." He smiled wryly and added, "Just to spite the Council, if nothing else."
She was my hero.
"What's going to happen now, with Dawn?" Anya asked. "Where is she going to live?"
I am so not ready for these questions...but Anya...
Anya had a desperate need to understand. He shook his head. "I don't know. She could stay with Giles, or with us, for now - I guess, or someone could stay at her house. I think they'll let her do that, at least until after the...the funeral." Oh, God. "After that...I don't know. If her dad's still AWOL...it could get complicated."
"Do you wish that Dawn had died, instead of Buffy?"
Xander reacted as though she'd slapped him. Yes! A guilty part of his mind railed against the unfairness of it all.
No, this is the way Buffy would have wanted it - did want it. I love Dawn too.
The door opened, and Xander was spared by the doctor's arrival.
Dawn
Dawn sat in a chair in Xander's apartment, alternately staring out the window and watching the people around her. She'd managed to sleep for a few hours in the afternoon, but she felt exhausted, drained. Drained... It should have been me. She resisted the urge to scratch at the bandages on her torso where Doc had cut her.
Don't pick at it!
She didn't have the strength to wonder whether the memory of Buffy scolding her over a skinned knee had been real. The memory itself was painful enough.
Xander was busy in the kitchen, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Anya lay on the sofa, a soft pillow under her head. Tara and Willow sat on the floor nearby, quietly holding hands. Willow seemed lost in a world of her own. It would be a very long bus ride to L.A. this evening, but Angel deserved to hear about this in person, from a friend.
"Thanks for coming." Dawn managed a weak smile.
Tara smiled back. "Of course," she said.
At least Tara's okay now. That was all my fault, just like... She savagely forced those thoughts down.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Giles entered. Everybody was here...almost.
Spike should be here. She remembered the silent apology he'd given her just as Doc threw him off of the platform.
He's probably blaming himself. It wasn't his fault...He tried.
The atmosphere in the little apartment was quiet, subdued. Dawn waited until Giles settled into the other chair and Xander sat on the floor next to Anya, and then she spoke.
"Before...before she died, Buffy asked me to tell you..."
Dawn related Buffy's message as best she could remember. She described the way Buffy looked in those last moments, so calm and at peace. As she spoke, she began to cry again. This time, the tears felt cleaner, somehow, and it seemed as though a terrible weight had been lifted from her.
When she finished, the group sat together in a comfortable, tear-filled silence, appreciating each other's company and Buffy's final gift to them.
Willow
"We commend to almighty God our sister, Buffy Anne Summers..."
Willow barely heard the words - the same words, spoken by the same minister who had presided over Joyce's funeral just a few short months before. Dawn and Giles stood together in front of the grave, the rest of the group gathered close around and behind them. A few of their schoolmates and teachers and some of Joyce's friends from the art gallery were also there to pay their respects.
Buffy's grave was in a secluded part of the cemetery, a beautiful wooded spot only a stone's throw from the place where her mother had been buried. In less troubling times, Buffy had often stopped here on patrol, to meditate or to talk with her friends.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
Dust. Willow tightened her grip on Tara's hand. She stared at the coffin inside the open grave, felt Tara's quiet strength beside her, and the rapidly increasing power within herself. It was there, insistent, demanding to be used.
I need you, Will. You're my big gun.
It wasn't enough. I failed her - I was too busy being selfish, little Miss Center-of-the-Whole-Universe, wanting to stay with Tara when I should have been helping Buffy. I could have...should have done more, and now she's gone and...
...and I could bring her back.
Again, Willow reminded herself that resurrection spells were forbidden, because they worked against the natural order of things, and because... Because why? Because Tara says so? She crushed that particular line of thought before it could go any further.
She hadn't mentioned the idea to Tara. It hurt her to keep secrets from her beloved, but she didn't want to risk another fight, not now - not after what had happened the last time.
For now, Willow banished the temptation from her mind and tried to focus her attention on the ceremony, and on her friends.
By the time it was over, Dawn had broken down completely. Giles graciously accepted a few condolences on Dawn's behalf before he gently guided her back to his car. As the last few stragglers turned to leave, Willow asked Tara to go on ahead.
After everyone had gone, Willow stood before the grave and, as she'd always done, began to share her thoughts with her best friend.
Spike
Spike stood alone and dejected before the fresh grave. His physical wounds had healed, but he felt as though his heart had been crushed. Buffy was gone. Why, then, did he still feel her within himself, a part of him?
The only part that matters anymore.
Death had long ago ceased to hold any terror for him, but the image of the woman he loved, lying dead upon the rubble, had been seared into his brain. He would have welcomed the pain caused by the chip in his head, if it could only distract him momentarily from the deeper pain of his loss...and his failure.
I'm counting on you, Spike. To help protect her.
Bloody lot of help I was. I could have saved her, could have stopped the sodding ritual before it started - and Buffy wouldn't have had to die to stop it.
He no longer knew who or what he was. A monster, certainly - but what kind of monster could feel guilt, regret, grief...and a love so overwhelming that it reached back from beyond the grave to leave him forever changed?
"Buffy," he whispered. "I promise, I'll make it up to you...make you proud of me. That's all I ever wanted - all I could hope for, anyway. If it kills me, I'll find a way."
Egg of the Ghora gives life.
The possibility continued to haunt him. It might work, but was it what Buffy would want, or would it give her yet another reason to despise him? Would it bring back the woman he loved, or something else - something twisted, wrong, just like everything else he had tried to do for her ended up twisted and wrong?
He heard soft footsteps in the grass behind him and stiffened, sniffing the air. Dawn. No. How could he face her, after failing her so completely?
Dawn came closer. She stood next to him for a moment, staring silently at the grave, then turned to look at him. He braced himself to meet her gaze, and nearly wept at what he saw there, beneath the pain: understanding, forgiveness...and need.
'Til the end of the world...
He couldn't bring himself to speak, but his face must have told her enough. She slipped her hand into his and turned away again. The two remained there for a while, each of them very alone in the world...but not entirely.