Tara was buried on a bright, sunny morning four days after her murder. Services were in a small, oppressively tidy funeral home near the town where she grew up. The air conditioning wasn't quite up to it's task, but the funeral home provided old fashioned paper fans depicting The Last Supper or Jesus Knocking at the Door attached to a little wooden handle. Only the older mourners used them, or children desperate for something to play with.
The funeral home consisted of a chapel, a sitting room and a porch. The sitting room was the woman's domain. They brought offerings of food and lay them out on rickety card tables. There was coffee; thin, watery and too hot, but people still drank it. The women sat around the card tables in folding chairs, smoking, eating and talking. Only infrequently and reluctantly did conversation turn to the deceased. Few of those in attendance really knew much at all about Tara and those that did either dreaded the inevitable questions about her life and choices hated the answers.
The front porch was where the men congregated. They stood in small groups around too few chairs, all dressed in dark pants and crisply ironed white shirt. The discussions were of mundane matters, renewing acquaintances and greeting friends and family only seen at funerals. There was a complicated system of precedence determining who got the chairs. It ran on age and closeness of relation to the deceased. There was less of a mournful air here then in the sitting room. It was as if escaping the physical confines of the funeral home allowed less formality. There was an air of good fellowship, a feeling that here was a place to relax, having escaped for a moment the women and the dead.
The chapel itself was dimly lit. There were threadbare pews filling the room and large, over stuffed chairs placed around the wall. Here the sexes mixed, sharing the pews, talking quietly. Often there would be a subdued chuckle or sound of pleased surprise at seeing someone not expected. Less often, someone cried. Here the pall of death was inescapable. It lay at the front of the room in an ugly high necked blue dress that Tara would never have chosen to wear if she could have voiced an opinion. People frequently came and went from the chapel.
At the front were gaudy floral arrangements, their color shifted by the pink light that shone down from the ceiling. The light was pointed mainly at the face of the deceased to provide a more rosy cheeked appearance. The cheap effect of the light and the poorly chosen bright blue of the dress served only to highlight the fact that four days were at least a day too long to wait for an open coffin ceremony. Still, people came in and the first thing they did was to walk slowly up the aisle to look down at Tara and her ugly dress and say how natural she looked.
Attendance at a rural funeral home is an ironclad social requirement. Even the most tenuous link made a trip to visitation necessary. There were many people here that Tara would have been stunned to see, and quite a few she wouldn't have known or remembered. Most surprising for Tara, had she been able to know, would have been the few who were happy that such a lovely, gentle young woman had left this small place far behind and had a few years of the life she wanted.
It was a long drive from Sunnydale but four people had made the trek. They arrived at the little brick building in a rented minivan provided by Giles, who could not yet travel. Xander and Buffy got out of the front seats; both dressed nicely and even stylishly, both terribly out of place because of it. The side door opened and Dawn got out, looking every inch the coltish youth she was, uncomfortable and unsure. Finally Willow slid out, looking drained, weak and haunted. Xander went immediately to her side and took her arm.
It was dry and the lot was unpaved so their shoes were dust covered by the time they crossed it, each step stirring up a tiny cloud. The men on the porch looked at them as they approached. Those who knew about Tara wondered which one was the other pervert. The rest wondered who they were and admired the women, all three attractive in their black. The funeral director approached them. He was a chubby, ruddy faced man who perpetually looked far busier then he really was. His suit was seersucker and his hairpiece was obvious. He shook Xander's hand, holding it a bit longer then was normal and said, "Were you friends of Ms. McClay?"
"We are," Xander replied.
"Come right this way," replied. He offered his arm to Buffy, who reluctantly took it. They walked past the men on the porch, who nodded neutral greetings at them. They were led into the chapel, pausing first to sign the guestbook. From the back of the room, in profile, they could see Tara lying still in the gunmetal gray coffin. They walked up the aisle, the other mourners looking on curiously. Willow began to tremble and make a tiny little noise, a drawn out high pitched moan. Xander put his arm around her to provide extra support.
They got to the kneeling altar in front of the coffin and looked down at her. Willow began shaking and Buffy moved to her other side. They all had tears, but Willow was beginning to wail. "Tara…" she cried in a low, drawn out voice, "Oh, Tara…"
The room became very silent. The other mourners looked on. Most of them had expressions that told of how unseemly they thought the display. Only a young widow or mother was forgiven such loud expressions of grief. Buffy and Xander were physically supporting Willow. Dawn stood still and ran through her own memories of the gentle, motherly woman who had meant so much to her. She was perhaps paying more attention to her surroundings then the others, because only she heard a woman's voice mutter softly, "That must be her girlfriend." The last word was said with such an air of contempt that Dawn could not believe at first she had heard it. She turned and faced the room, tears on her cheeks but her eyes suddenly dry and hot. She searched the room, looking for the one. It didn't take long. There was one woman, middle aged, overweight, and over made up with a chagrined, guilty expression who wouldn't meet Dawn's gaze. Dawn stared at her for a long moment, her young eyes not blinking. Finally the woman stood and left the room. People came and went into the chapel all the time during the visitation, so it wasn't unusual, but everyone who was there knew what had happened. A few grinned in approval. Most didn't. Dawn turned back just in time to be taken in Willow's arms and start crying again and they escorted Willow to a seat. They clustered together against what felt like a hostile environment.
Xander was exhausted. He had physical injuries from Willow's rampage and he felt used up from taking care of what felt like everything and everyone. He had no time for himself, no time to process or even think. He sat and let Willow lean on him and hold onto his arm. He didn't know what else to do. They sat for a while, till he could take it no more. "Will? Willow, honey, I have to get up for a minute." The frail looking girl nodded and moved away from him. A glance passed between him and Buffy, acknowledgment of a burden for the moment passed.
Xander just needed a moment to himself. He wandered outside, fatigue clear in every step. He was exhausted. First chasing Willow, then dealing with the police and all that, then packing and starting the long drive here, he had only a few cat naps in four days. He rubbed his face and felt like an old man. "Long drive?" a rough voice asked him.
"Yeah." Xander turned to see an old man in dark ill fitting slacks and a white shirt. "Names Xa… Alexander. I knew her in California." He put his hand out. The old man shook it.
"Figured that. I'm Raymond. I was her uncle by marriage." Xander nodded in reply. He waved his hand at a younger man in a chair to get up, pulling the chair next to Xander and sitting. "You don't look good, boy."
"I was there when it happened." He wondered why he was talking to this man. He knew what Tara's family was like, but but Raymond just didn't have the sinister feel Xander had from her family. May be he just needed it.
"What happened, son?" Raymond had seen the look that this boy carried before. He had been in Korea on the march south from Chosin. That look was the one that meant a man was about to give up hope. This young man needed to talk.
Xander started into the distance. "There was this guy. He... resented a friend of ours, the blond woman we came in with. He came to the house with a gun but he missed. She got hit. We were all in the yard. She was inside. He couldn't even see her. I'm not even sure he knew her. It was just a stupid mistake."
"Holy Jesus," Raymond muttered, "... the waste. The goddamned waste. Did the police get him?"
"No, and they won't, either." Xander's head whipped up when he realized what he had said and he looked at the older man.
Raymond knew in that moment that there was a killer in fresh unmarked grave somewhere in California. No loss. "Were you her boyfriend?"
"No. She didn't have a boyfriend." After a moment, Xander thanked Raymond and walked back inside. The old guy was trying to help, Xander knew, but there was too much that couldn't be said.
Buffy excused herself for a moment and went to the restroom, unable to wait for Xander to get back. She found the small room and had to wait behind two other women. They were talking quietly. "No!" one said, a very thin and with a pinched face.
"Yes," said the other, the woman that Dawn had stared down. "She was a lesbian." Her voice dropped low when she said "lesbian".
"And that little redhead who cried so hard is her… girlfriend?"
"Yes. They lived together and everything."
Buffy turned and walked away, unable to listen to another word. She and Xander met in the hall. He grinned at her, and she returned it weakly. "Does it make me a bad person if I want nothing more then to get away from Dawn and Will for a few minutes?"
"No. I'm in the same boat." She took a good long look at Xander, undeniably handsome in his dark suit. They stood for a moment, her hand on his arm. He was clearly tired. Buffy herself had been unable to get much sleep, but she had advantages. Even so, she was nearing her limits. How much worse would it be for him? She took his hand and pulled him to one of the folding chairs that lined the wall between the chapel and the lounge. "Sit down, I'll be right back." She went to the lounge. There were three card tables in the room, each covered with food of all descriptions. Buffy steeled herself before stepping in. There were four women there now, all smoking. It being the only room inside where it was allowed. Quickly, she began filling a plate. The women from the restroom were there and they and Buffy ignored each other. With food and coffee in hand she returned to Xander. He was leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing. She sat next to him and handed him the plate.
"We can get out of here as soon as the funeral's over. We don't have to stay another second," he said, taking it gratefully.
She smiled wanly. "Only if you think I can drive and you sleep on the way back."
"Sorry, I just can't sleep when y… someone else is driving." Xander said, correcting himself.
She heard the slip, but really didn't care. "Well, then we go back to the room and get some rest. You have to rest, Xander. Eat, too." He nodded in agreement but just held the sagging paper plate on his knee.
"You're right. Okay. Under one condition, you eat too." They ended up sharing the contents of the plate, as well as a restful and companionable silence.
The funeral service consisted of a red faced, panting preacher giving a sermon that rose and fell with real oratory but that was directed at converting the living, not comforting them or commemorating the dead. It lasted almost forty five minutes and the hypocrisy of a Christian service for a pagan wasn't mentioned. He talked about the reward for the righteous, those washed in the blood, and the punishments for those not. He was certain, he said, that Sister McClay had gone on to her reward. So was Buffy and she knew far better than that well spoken charlatan whereof she spoke.
The actual burial was in a small, dry cemetery that sprung up out of nowhere from the drab landscape. There were no trees for shade or anywhere for visitors to sit. The grass was thin, coaxed from the reluctant earth by sprinklers that were used as sparingly as possible. Her headstone, like all the rest, was simple and unadorned, giving her name and two dates. It was very quiet and very solemn and they had to hold Willow up the entire time.
Once they got to the motel, Willow and Dawn crawled into one of the beds and fell immediately into exhausted sleep. Xander waited till last to use the bathroom and when he emerged, Buffy was lying on her side facing away from him. He picked up the pillow and began stripping the thick comforter off. "What are you doing?" Buffy asked.
"Getting a blanket," he answered, starting a pallet on the floor.
"Don't be ridiculous," Buffy said, lifting the thin blankets.
Xander slid in without comment, knowing he still wouldn't be able to sleep. Buffy lay flat on her back next to him. After a few minutes she whispered, "Slept much lately?"
"Can't seem to drift off."
"Me neither." They lay in silence for a moment. Finally she sighed. "I'm so tired."
"Me too, but there's been so much to do," Xander sighed right back, "what with everything…"
"...Will and Dawn and Giles." Buffy continued for him.
"And driving here, and the police." Xander went on tiredly.
"So much…" Buffy murmured. Xander hoped she was going to sleep, but she spoke again in a moment. "And you were hurt. How do you feel?"
"I'm OK. You were hurt, too. How about you?"
"Living. Better then some," she said with bitterness.
This time the silence lasted a little longer but it was plain no one was dozing off any time soon. Buffy said, "We have to sleep, Xand."
"I know. I just can't," Xander said. Again, they were silent. "Buffy?" he said finally, "have you cried for her? 'Cause I haven't yet."
"Right after," Buffy whispered. "Since then..."
"I was just thinking that I should but there's nothing there," Xander interrupted her.
"Oh, Xander," Buffy said, "of course there is. You just haven't had any time to… do anything"
"Buff, remember how good she was to Dawn?"
"When I couldn't be," the self recrimination was clear in her voice. Still, s thought she knew what he was doing and thought that maybe it was a good idea.
Xander wished he could give her a comforting lie and say that it wasn't so but something wouldn't let him. This was time for truth. "You were doing the best you could at the time. You're doing fine now and you're going to from now on, right?"
"Right," Buffy said, her throat constricting a little.
"When you're confused and don't know what to do, just have to ask yourself…" Xander's voice broke and he had to swallow before he could go on "how would Tara have done it?"
Perhaps it was that he said her name, a thing she suddenly realized they had been avoiding, that did it. Buffy rolled towards Xander and buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her crying. He wrapped himself around her tiny frame and let out his own tears.
They cried together for a while. When they stopped neither moved, clinging to the comfort. "I think maybe I can sleep," Buffy said eventually in a tiny, hesitant voice. Without answering, Xander settled onto his side and she just closed her eyes
Xander felt her shift a little closer to him, and it all just fell away. Tara was in a better place. Willow had been brought back from the brink, probably. Dawn and Buffy had settled things. It all went away and he didn't think about anything.
It had been only been about 6:00 PM when they all went to sleep. Willow woke first, having slept the entire evening and night. It was about seven in the morning. She got up to go to the bathroom and noticed that Buffy and Xander were sleeping pretty close together. It brought a bemused smile to her face, which she felt guilty for. She quietly woke Dawn and suggested they go for food.
At about eight, Buffy woke up. She was surprised to find herself in Xander's arms but didn't give it a lot of thought. Will and Dawn were gone. She gently disengaged from him and found the note left in the door. "Slept out, gone for food, be back soon." Buffy put it back where she found it and went to the bathroom, trying to be quiet and thinking very seriously about the night before. Xander and she had been the functioning adults through all this, and so had been relying on one another a great deal. They had both needed rest and comfort and there had been no one else to provide it. Still, it had felt so good to let someone do something for her just because they wanted to, even if it were something small. She had determined to live while she was in that cavern with Dawn. Xander had made that possible, for her and many others, with his compassion and self sacrifice. She remembered how it had felt for him to let her vent her grief. It felt safe and good. Most of all it felt comfortable. Sliding back into bed she wondered if she should go back to him but was afraid of waking him and maybe of other things too.
Her weight caused only a slight movement on the mattress but it woke him. "Hey," he said.
"I had to go to the bathroom," Buffy said, "Sorry to wake you."
"I'm going back to sleep," Xander said in a sleepy voice and reached out to her. "You too," he said.
Buffy lay down next to him, surprised at the request and bemused by her own acquiescence. They lay there but slowly both realized that more than twelve hours sleep was all they could stand. Xander got up and went to use the shower and when he emerged, drying his hair, he found Buffy regarding him very seriously. He met her eyes and they both stopped moving. Just before it may have become awkward, Buffy said "I couldn't have done this without you."
"The same goes for you," He replied seriously.
When Willow and Dawn got back with the food, Buffy and Xander were packing. They ate while the other two finished and got on the way home. About a half hour into the ride, Willow gently nudged Dawn and pointed at the gap between the two front bucket seats. They watched as Buffy and Xander hands moved closer together, as if by accident, until they clasped and held. Willow and Dawn shared a brief smile.