Baby Steps
Two left feet. Each bronzed shoe hooked easily over a finger, magically erasing the years. He remembered Buffy's chubby child's hands clutching his fingers and Joyce's, gazing up at them with such loving trust.
Joyce had pressed the half pairs into his hands before leaving for Sunnydale. "They're still little girls, Hank. They need us both." Now she was dead.
Buffy said they were fine, and yes, she could look after Dawn until school ended. He focused on how grown up she'd sounded, not how world-weary, telling himself they didn't need him any more than he needed two left feet.
With Her Boots Still On
They were trying to be quiet, but even from downstairs Tara could still hear Willow and Anya as they discussed Buffy's clothing. Anya insisted favorites were more important than matching when it came to footwear. Willow sounded relieved. Who'd have thought preparing Buffy's body for her funeral was what would bring them together?
She hadn't given any thought to why Dawn had gone to the basement. Not until she'd gone up to tuck her in and sat on top of what turned out to be a pair of ice-skates laced to Dawn's feet.
"Dawnie?"
"They-- they were her favorites."
Dancing Shoes
"I wish you wouldn't smoke down here, Spike."
"I wish you wouldn't fix that bot down here, Red." He'd hoped that would shut her up. No luck.
"How'd she do?"
He shrugged. "Got in a few good blows. Said something about 'if the shoe fits, buy it'. I staked it."
"That's good, right?"
"S'pose." He took a drag. "They don't fit, though."
"What?"
"Buffy's shoes. Too big for it. Why the smirk?"
"She was self-conscious about the size of her feet. If she were here…"
If she were here, he'd tell her they were perfect as is. Perfect for dancing.
Unfulfilled Potential
Faith grumbled as she rummaged through the closet. Sure, the First Evil's minions were out there and sure, another apocalypse was knocking on their door, but wasn't that all the more reason she needed a kicking wardrobe? Never seeing prison denim blues or institutional shoes again would still be too soon. So why was she digging through castoffs like she was back at the Salvation Army store?
She'd just pulled on a pair of boots that had potential when Dawn's oh-so-surly voice snarled, "You can't have those, they're Buffy's."
"S'okay," Faith replied, peeling them off. "Didn't fit me right anyway."
It Comes in Threes
"One girl? As if, Giles."
He took her hand as she slept, rubbing his thumb over the paper-thin skin, her pulse thready. "You miss him, don't you? But they'll never fill your shoes."
Her eyes popped open, laugh lines bunching. "Whatever. I'm totally obsolete. No demons left." She squeezed his hand. "Or hardly any."
How did she find the strength? Still teasing him, loving him. Yet every shaky breath and sigh demanded he call the others -- soon.
"A lot."
"What?"
"My tombstone."
"Not yet," he begged.
She pressed on. "I liked the last one: She saved the world. A lot."