This has been floating around on my computer for a while and I finally finished it. It has no couplings in it! Gasp!

Conversation at Midday

Cemeteries during the day feel different than cemeteries at night. Warmed by sunlight with the soft pastoral grass, flowers, and little brick walkways they can almost look like parks. At least, that's what he thought. In the day time cemeteries were pretty picture books that easily hid the sinister secrets of the night like he hid pot from his parents.

The boy walks the plots looking at every marker searching for the correct row. He's got a scrap of paper in one hand, the ripped corner of a novelty to do list with imprints of old doodles and a scrawled note in black marker. The note has the number of a grave plot with the owner's name underlined in frantic swipes written in his own hand. In his other hand he holds a bunch of roses, the cheap kind, wrapped in pink cellophane, the same kind he would bring his girlfriend on silly anniversaries that he deems unimportant. He's unsure if the roses are appropriate, roses have always been deemed as those 'here they are aren't I romantic, lets fuck' kinda flowers, but he doesn't know what else to bring a dead woman.

He finds the row and the headstone, unpleasantly surprised to see someone else there already. It's a man and even in the day light, he's intimidating. He's bigger then the boy, not fat but big with muscles and strength. He's got a mane of wavy black hair, ratty jeans and, if possible, an even rattier leather jacket. And, he's got an eye patch, a black one, like a cartoon pirate might wear.

The boy realizes that as he's been watching the man the man has not been watching him but instead staring at the grave in front of him; the man is talking to it. His voice is low, too low for the boy to catch enough words to make up a sentence. He catches what he thinks are the wispy mournful sound of 'sorry' repeated but he's not sure. He wants to leave, leave the whole damn cemetery behind because he feels wrong and out of place, a granny in Hot Topic, and he's changed his mind about opening this box.

Just like Pandora he's too late and the man looks up at him. His good eye locks in on him more judgmental then cool high school girls and despite the fact boy is not a coward he wants to bolt. The man takes in the flowers in the boy's hands then looks back into his face. The boy looks back trying to mirror the look. Unknowing he does a good job.

He feels silly for starting a staring contest with the burly pirate 'cause he's not so much a starving beret wearing college student as he's a preppy Daddy will pay for everything student and he has a white shirt and pressed kakis to prove it. He's hardly bad ass, except, of course, he is. He's deadly, and dangerous all those dark dirty evil D words wrapped up in a college boy's skinny frame with too long brownish-blondish hair. He looks at the man, weary and ready even though it's daytime. He reminds himself that daylight is not necessarily safe, you never know and evil monsters lurk everywhere and wear any type of skin.

"It's ok. I was mostly done." The man's voice is low but without any malice. Despite his words he doesn't leave; he just stands there and looks at the boy. The boy has one side wanting to challenge this strange man for being at this sacred place and the other that wishes to back down. He does neither still a mirror of the pointed staring.

"So how do you know the beloved deceased?" The man nods at the grave stone as if it were another guest at a party. The boy has a flash of the woman, the beloved deceased, dressed as if for a party. Beautiful in white.

"How do you?" he shoots back, not really in defiance but instead to ground himself from the momentary fluster the memory gave him. If the man is offended he shows no sign.

"Na. I asked first. If you tell me how you knew her I'll tell you how I did."

The boy nods. It's only fair. Those are the rules of the playground and in real life they are the only rules that matter.

"I don't really. I forgot her when I lived in a place she didn't exist." The boy doesn't even know if that makes sense. He shrugs wondering if the man thinks he's crazy. "You know?"

"Maybe. Sounds familiar. How'd you remember then? If you were in a place where she didn't exist?" The man asks this nonchalant

And the boy looks at the man who is calm and he wonders if the man knows what the world really is.

"There was this prophesy about me." His voice is steady and he pretends that he doesn't care. And he doesn't especially if the pirate man is just humouring him. "I was destined to be here."

"Mmm. Did you fulfill your prophesy?"

The boy nods and the man's mouth twitches slightly to convey a smile.

"Did you die?"

That's the final proof that they're both on the same level. The man asks with a straight face and the boy doesn't raise a brow because it's a perfectly reasonable question. The boy shrugs and tilts his head with an almost thoughtful expression.

"Kinda. Not my body but part of me. One of me." He shrugs again a stronger rise of his shoulders even though his eyes are trained fully on the ground before him. "I guess that still leaves two people alive so it doesn't really matter much."

"Yea, I get that. Too many people in one body." The boy does raise an eye at this and the man, grinning crookedly eye bright with mirth and maybe slight insanity (sanity never lasts long with anyone living in this world), taps the side of his head. "Possession," he says by way of explanation, "Afterwards the voices like to hang around. So you weren't? Possessed that is."

"No. Not really. It was more like magic memory manipulation. I'm not sure exactly. I don't remember what happened." This is enough to draw a laugh from the man and the boy is pleased at amusing him.

"I suppose that would happen with magical memory manipulation. Nice alliteration by the way."

"Thanks."

They're both silent for a moment and they stand side by side before the grave neither looking at the other. Finally the boy breaks the silence. He's starting to hate silences and maybe, he figures, this guy hates them too.

"I met her before all the new stuff. That's why I don't really remember her. She just kinda…popped up in my mind last night. I had to see her, had to talk to her but…" He just looks at the gravestone. The marble is really just pressed bits of stone; some of them sparkle dully, an oxymoron, in the sun. "I found out she was here."

"I'm sorry. She was…" his companion seems at a loss for words and the boy tries to think using memories that slip in and out of his grasp like half heard songs he can hum but never sing.

"Special?" The man finally supplies.

"Unique."

"Beautiful."

"Yes. She was."

And silence threatens again so before either of them can fall into the peril of their own thoughts the man speaks up. He turns his head to look at his companion with his one eye before turning back to the grave.

"So how does the memory thing work? Didn't anyone else remember?"

"No it's…" He's never talked about it to anyone really. He's been alone in this world with his memories unfurling in his mind and no one understands because anyone who could is dead. Now he has an out lit but the truth is…freaky. "...all a lie. The magic made me an elaborate lie. My family, my memories, my childhood, none of it's real. I'm not real." It's almost a revelation because though he's thought it, in silence, at night, he's never said it out loud to anyone. Who'd he tell any way? Angel's dead and so's anyone the boy's even known connected to the vampire. Tell his fake memory family? That's a laugh. They can barley grasp the fact getting hit by a speeding van didn't kill him. They won't be able to take this.

He looks at his companion to see how he takes it. Surprisingly this revelation barely scratches up an emotional response besides more amusement and understanding filling that warm eye. The man nods.

"Yea. That has to be hard." At the boy's continuing look the man grins wide with a fond look. "I have a friend," he explains "she's like that. Not real but real to me and her friends and family. I used to baby-sit her except I didn't. She's going to graduate this year but really she's only been around for what…three years? It doesn't matter. I still love her. I guess it's probably easier to get over though if it isn't you it happened too."

"Probably. I'm not over it yet." The boy smiles suddenly. "I'm especially not over the fact that didn't throw you."

The man chuckles. "Nope, not that story. Wanna try again?"

"I grew up in hell. You have a counter to that funny man?"

"I grew up on a hell mouth. I knew a guy who was sucked into hell for a hundred years before coming back a few months later. Oh and I helped to pull one of my best friends out of heaven but I don't think that counts."

"You know a lot of people." That's all he can think of, half hearted accusation because the man ain't lying.

"What can I say? I'm a people person." They both smile almost cheesy grins relived at their ability to find humour any humour even bad humour.

"So…how did you know her? I don't really remember her much at all."

"Well…" And now the man struggles with wording. He gazes at the headstone. "She was…Cordy. The queen C. Leader of the school pack. Head cheerleader at Sunnydale high. My first girlfriend."

"Did you love her?"

The man snorts. "No. It was just a high school romance. Sometimes I liked her, other times I couldn't stand her. Sometimes we were friends though. She's too young to be dead. God," he covers both his eye and the black patch with his hands and hangs his head body slumping almost defeated. "Everyone I know's too young to be dead."

"Or too old." The boy adds softly barley audible. His companion hears any way and nods understanding which is nice but scary. The made up world the boy's been courting is becoming more and more real.

"Yea. Those immortals. They're too easy to kill in the end." The man sighs. "So you'll keep remembering her? All that old stuff is coming back?"

The boy nods somber the amusement of anything gone for the moment. "Yea. It all comes back like a bad nightmare. I don't think I want it back."

"She not worth it?"

"No. I think there's a good reason I don't remember. I think…" He bites his lip careful not to do it so hard that he bleeds. He's done it before. Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength. "I think I did bad things. I wanted to kill. Kill myself and her and…" He looks at his companion eyes itching before whispering. "I think I killed someone."

The man says nothing just gives a little nod to show he's heard.

"I can almost remember but it hard and I don't want to remember." He stops, taking a deep breath. "She was a girl. She was my age and someone…my mother told me not to but…I think I killed her. I remember blood on my hands."

He looks at the man's eye, desperate, because he wants it to taken away and made better and he honesty thinks the man can do it. He doesn't know why but he craves anything even a stupid platitude, clichéd and over used, to make it go away.

"I once ate a pig." was not what he expected and he laughs in surprise. He gets a tiny smile in return.

"So you got nothing on that then?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've done some bad stuff in my time. I've nearly killed my friends. I've hurt the woman I loved. Hurt the women I loved. I've…oh there's lots. You can't change it. Like you said you're not even the same person who did it anymore. Jail doesn't work in this world, not when magic's involved. You'll have to find your own salvation because nothing else will work." The man grins suddenly. "I have another friend and she was in a similar situation but, I'll spare you the story."

"Thank you. You know too many people." The boy sniffs and the man kindly looks away as the boy wipes his eyes clear of the sudden wetness. "You wanna know the really sick part of the situation?"

"Sure."

"I think I can make the memories stop. I think I know how to just keep them as dreams and déjà vu."

"Yea? How? And don't say with a spell 'cause I have to tell you, that stuff never works."

"No not a spell." No magic for him. It was evil and slimy and tainted. Magic was dirty. It made everything else dirty with it.

"Then how?"

"By stopping."

"Stopping?" The man finally asks after a few moments of silence where the boy doesn't elaborate. "Stopping what?"

"Doing…doing what they taught me to do." Who he can't be sure. His father. His fathers, plural, all three of them. Do the right thing. "I tried to stop. I thought I could ignore it all and just pretend it away. Everyone from this world was gone anyway, any link I had gone except these memories. Then, one night I'm walking home...Why was I outside at night...It was so stupid." He kicks the ground then soothes the dirt back with his foot. "I saw these people and they were being attacked by this big guy. Except he wasn't a guy. He wasn't even human anymore you know?"

He looks the man in the face and can see he does get it. Maybe gets it a bit too well.

"I see them being attacked by a…" And he just cannot say vampire because it's so fucking stupid but that's what it was and he know the man gets it. "And I…"

"You couldn't let it kill them?" The man guesses voice soft, looking past the boy, lost in time and his own memories.

"No. I couldn't. I killed it but…more come. They crawl all over this place and I have to stop them. I can't not." He slaps his forehead hard with his palm. "Jesus it's so fucking like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility."

"Yea I know what you mean. It's hard to just ignore when people…" The man stops himself mid sentence and looks at the boy. "Wait powers? Like power powers?"

"Yea."

"Like what?" and apparently humans with powers doesn't faze this guy either. The boy's feelings on this are a mix between relief and annoyance.

"Like super hearing and super strength. Speed, Agility. Stuff like that." Enough to scare him. What was he? Would he know when his memories reconstructed themselves? Was he evil?

"Huh. Well then. You should wear a cape." The man smiled giving him an out from his thoughts. The boy grabbed it gratefully with his own smirk.

"You think so? I should be a caped crusader and wear a costume?"

"Definitely. Just don't model it after Spiderman." They'd both turned and instead of standing side by side they were standing and looking at each other both ready to burst into desperate laughter. "Unless you did in fact get your powers from a spider. Then the rip off would be appropriate."

"Nope no spider," and he wouldn't be calling himself son of a vampire either. Vampman na na na na na na na Vampman! Nope. "How about Wolverine? I always liked him."

The man just rolls his eyes. "Everyone likes him. And yellow spandex? I don't think that'll work in the real world."

"I guess not. Suggestions?"

"Superboy?"

"You think I should wear red and blue spandex? That's warped."

And finally he's actually fazed the man. His eye goes wide and he can see that one eyebrow hidden by the eye patch peek out as the man raises both his eyebrows. He looks taken aback. Then he pins a you're an idiot look on the boy. "No. Think a little newer then that. Jeans and T-shirt."

"Oh. Well then, that's reasonable."

"No one should be fighting the forces of evil in spandex."

"Fight the forces of evil," he repeats. "God!" He put his head in his hands closing his eyes. "That's so fucking ridicules! Who the hell actually fights the forces of evil? Who actually becomes a super hero?" He presses his fists to his temples tempted to crush what lies between, those forgotten memories that keep leaking out of his own head. How did life turn into a comic book?

"It's ridiculous but it happens," The man's voice is soft and far away again. "Once it happens it doesn't go away. You wish you could but you can never unknow the truth about the things that go bump in the night. Ignoring it doesn't work 'cause things are still out there."

The boy doesn't bother pointing out the fact for a time he did forget. Ignorance was bliss. He keeps his eyes covered. "It be nice if it went away."

"Yea but it won't. For guys like you and me, it's what you have to do. We patrol and we fight and eventually we'll die. Hopefully there'll be people who come after us to stop the evil 'cause the bad stuff, the evil, they're never ever going to go away for good."

The memories in his head whisper and he can almost hear Angel, 'But that's why there's us. Champions. We live as though the world was what it should be, to show it what it can be.' except he can't for the life of him ever remember Angel telling him that in the short time he knew the man which means more memories are trying to reconstruct. He shudders, all the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end, and looks up wide eyed at the man who's unintentionally causing the return. The man sees the fear and puts a large hand on the boy's shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze. His voice and eye are warm.

"No one actually ever sets out to be the superhero or the white knight," The man's face is bitter as he makes the last description. "It just happens; then you're stuck."

"Yea." The boy nods only able to agree to that. He again shivers and looks down. The sun has moved during their talk and a tree casts its shadow down on them. The chips in the headstone don't sparkle anymore. The silence is heavy and his chest feels tight.

"Depressing," His companion comments. "Come on, let's go get a coffee or something." Before the boy can respond in agreement the man interrupts. "Never mind. I'm not in a coffee mood," there's a grim smile set on his face. "Let's go get some beers instead. We can hold an impromptu wake for…well everyone and anyone."

The boy smiles and asks in a light tone, "I am under age you know?"

"I may be a white knight an all but I'm not above bootlegging."

The boy smirks almost gleefully. "Cool."

"Com'on." The man swings a companionable arm around the boy's shoulder and begins to lead him to the entrance.

"Wait. Just a sec." The boy ducks out from under the arm and grabs the flowers he dropped sometime during his tirade. He sets them against the grave stone beside the wilted dandelions and daisies he assumes came from the man. He looks back at the grave then the grave stone and traces the name and date. The man is right. She was way too young to die. He adjusts the flowers so his roses are sandwiched by the yellow wildflowers and gives a nod. He hopes she'll like it

"I'm sorry Cordy." And he is. Even if he really doesn't remember her he knows he's sorry. He walks back to the man. "Let's go get beer."

The walk out of the day lit cemetery but they were the white knight and a superhero; they'll be back tonight because that's what they did.

Yea I'm sure it's no mystery who the characters are. Please leave a review. But you know, preferably a nice review. Or money. That's good too.

Love and Kisses-

GM

-Edit 10/02/06 for some annoying spelling errors. Thanks Julie.