She doesn't think she'll ever feel again. Happy, weightless chatter surrounds her, the sun gently caresses her cheek, the universe moves in its regular course, as if everything was okay. But it's not.
The potentials – no, the slayers – are doing their version of a Scooby dance in the middle of the road, not a mile away from where the hellmouth used to be. For a minute she wonders why they're so happy. If they even have the right to be so happy. How can they be so happy when everything around them is in shambles?
Willow and Kennedy sit arm in arm, staring into the sun. They're talking quietly together, exchanging smiles. And right then, she knows. Willow is done. Her first two loves were snatched away because of who she was, and in the firm set of her friends jaw, Buffy can see that this one won't be. She'll leave, taking willing Kennedy with her, live quietly together somewhere where they won't get torn apart.
Giles is leaning on Dawn – for the first time she notices how old he really is. Always looked at him as a tower of strength for anyone to borrow, and it's finally taken it's toll. He looks frail, and his fingers poke restlessly at a crack in his glasses. Dawn – her little sister who knows too much for her age in human years, is cuddled into his coat. Everyone needs a daddy figure to turn to, she's done it for all her life. Now it's Dawn's turn.
Buffy feels a light touch on her arm, and Xander is settling down on the rock beside her.
"I'm coming with you."
She shakes her head. No one is coming with her. Whatever harm she does from now on, she'll do only to herself. Buffy wont be responsible for ruining any more lives.
"I'm coming with you, Buffy."
Firmer now, and she looks at him for the first time.
This was Xander, who giggled like a girl and shouted out stupid jokes when everyone got too somber. This tall, broad man – she had never really realized how tall Xander was until now, when he sat hunched on the grown beside her.
"Strange isn't it?" He speaks up. "All that time we spent trying to close it, all those people that died. And in the end, the one to end it all was a vampire."
Anger courses through her, her teeth are clenched together so hard they could break.
"Ever wonder who chooses who lives and who dies, Buf? You've got the inside scoop, having been in heaven and all that. So tell me. Who decided that Andrew lives–" he gestures towards where Andrew sits quietly, lost in his thoughts. "And Anya dies."
"And who decides that Spike dies, and you live?"
Xander of the old would have squawked indignantly, stupid things that no one meant about how people were always better than vampires. The current Xander just blinked at her.
"You tell me. Seemed like you were all with the answers when Dawn asked you what you would do, and now you're just sitting. Don't look to be going anywhere."
"You heard what Willow said," she replies. "I'm not the slayer anymore. I don't need to go anywhere."
"But where do you wanna go?"
"As far away from here as possible. And you?"
He grins wryly at her, stretching out his large form.
"As far away from here as possible."
She considers – unlike the chattering crowd, Xander lost someone. Xander has shadows under his eyes, tears right under the surface. Xander would be too caught up in his own problems to try to help with hers.
"Wanna come with?"
"Sure. Why not."