Disclaimer: As we all know, Buffy belongs to the manacle Joss Whedon, who without his creative genius, what else would I watch. The only character I own is Morningstar, and if anyone wants to use him, please, feel free.



Feedback: As always, please do so. I'd like to thank all of you that did give me some feedback on chapter 1.

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DAYTIME



Willow Rossenberg tried to keep her head down as she walked through the cemetery, trying not to look up at the picture perfect morning that surrounded her. Mornings like this, when she would awake and slip out of bed, carefully as to not wake Tara, she would feel terrible as she looked out the window. It was another beautiful sunrise that Buffy would never see, just another morning that would go on without her. Buffy had lived for sunrises, it had meant the end of another usually long night of battling the undead.

To Willow's left walked Xander Harris. The two of them had been the closest to Buffy during the five years that Buffy had spent in Sunnydale. The three of them had always been there for each other if they could, and Willow knew that Xander felt the same as she did. If she could give her life up to bring Buffy back, she would in an instance, no second thoughts, no regrets.

It had been over a month since Buffy had sacrificed herself to save the world. So many tears had been shed in the first few weeks, Willow didn't think she'd ever stop. But the past couple of weeks, the hurt wasn't as strong. It was still present, but it was not as burning, not as raging as it had been. This made Willow feel guilty, she thought that it should hurt forever. She would never tell Dawn that, she gave her the same song and dance. 'It'll get better, Buffy's always with you etc etc.' but in herself she wasn't so sure. The rational part of her understood, that the pain of Buffy's death would subside, and her memory would live on. But none the less, guily had built up inside of her.

Willow looked out of the corner of her eye, her head still down, to glance at Xander, who stared strait ahead as he walked. When the two of them would come up here to visit Buffy's grave, this being the fifth time since the funeral, Xander rarely spoke, which was a feat in itself. He usually had something to say about everything, ever since he and Willow had met at Sunnydale Elementary. It had gotten him beat up a lot in school, he would sometimes say that it was like a separate entity living inside of him, words just came out of his mouth before he realized they did.

But this was a different side of him, a sullen, very tight lipped Xander. The only time he'd ever be anything close to this is when he would sneak out to come to Willow's on the nights his father had been drinking heavily. This was his tradition that he had when they came up here, just as Willow always had her head bowed.

They rounded the long bend that led up the small hill, the trees on each side of the path drooping low in eternal sadness for the dead that rested here. Willow thought about how Buffy had spent so much of her young life in this place, just to spend the rest of eternity here.

'Some sort of twisted poetic justice' Willow thought

They approached the top of the hill and turned to the right, walking between the graves to the small clearing where Buffy's final resting place lay.

Giles had paid for all the funeral expenses, and had found this little clearing, which was a miracle. They're was quite the population in the Sunnydale cemetery, due to the large number of deaths that occurred in Sunnydale a year. Willow had once looked into the death rate of Sunnydale in comparison with other cities and was not real shocked to find that Sunnydale had the highest death rate in the country, and no one seemed to notice. She looked back to every year starting with 1960. They always maintain the same level, up until 1996, when it dropped suddenly, not by much, but compared to other years it made Willow smile. The rate had decreased ever since '96 and it had made her feel good, that Buffy, herself, Xander and Giles had made a difference in helping the innocent people that just happened to live in a Hellmouth. The same people who had no idea about the creatures that go bump in the night, or the girl who had put herself between the lines.

"Oh my God,"

Xander's voice broke through Willow's thoughts, and she blinked twice to clear her head. There was something in Xander's voice, a mixture of awe and fear. Willow looked up.

The ground in front of Buffy's tombstone had been turned up. Dirt and grass was everywhere. Willow felt her heart rise up into her throat.

"What...how.." Xander stammered.

Willow knelt down and looked at the small hole. One larger enough that someone could crawl out of. She put her hand down near the hole and closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears.

"What does this mean?" Xander asked, standing next to Willow, his eyes never leaving the hole.

"I...I don't," Willow whispered.

"Let's get Giles," Xander suggested.

  • * * * * * * * * * * * *


Rupert Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding, a direct aftereffect of the pervious night of drinking to much Scotch, it felt as if someone had set a bomb off behind his eyes. Willow, Xander and himself stood around the grave. The two young people were staring at him, he could feel their eyes on him, waiting for to come up with an answer for this question.

"Any ideas Giles?" Willow asked.

"I'm...I'm not sure," Giles said, putting his glasses back on, snapping everything into clarity.

"What about magic," Xander asked, "Will, you yourself said that it is possible to bring someone back using magic."

"That is a possibility," Giles said "But that bring forth the question of why."

"It would have had to have been someone of incredible power," Willow said "and even then, it might not have worked. Bringing the dead back to life isn't an easy task."

Giles was staring at the hole. It was evident that it had not been dug down to get the body, but rather had been dug out of. The thought chilled him even more.

"Where is Dawn?" Giles asked.

"She's at my apartment with Anya," Xander said, "She didn't feel well this morning, so I let her sleep."

"I think that it is essential that we keep an eye on her," Giles commented, "at ;east until we figure out what's going on."

"Let's not tell her about this," Willow said. "No need to get her hopes up."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Xander mumbled.

Giles and Willow both looked at him with questioning expressions.

"I mean, if Buffy did come back to life, you'd think that she'd come to see Willow, or you Giles, or me, and if not any of us, then at least Dawn."

Giles rubbed his forehead. The constant drinking since Buffy's death was starting to dull his wits. He sighed heavily.

"Okay, Xander, go back to your apartment and check on Dawn and Anya. Willow, you and i should go by the Summers house to see if she'd gone back there." Giles said.

The two of them nodded and not for the first time, Giles wondered if they'd follow him into the depths of Hell.

'They almost have' he thought.

'Not you old man' another part of him growled, the same part that told him one more drink would be fine, your only a little drunk, 'They'd follow the Slayer, not you.'

Giles looked down at the hole, the hole with scratch marks in it.

'What happened here Buffy,' he thought.

  • * * * * * * * * * * * *

LOS ANGELES



Angel walked through the empty halls of the Hyperion hotel. He wore nothing but a pair of black pants, his bare feet slapping against the mahogany floor. He approached the marble stairs and made his way down to the expansive main lobby. He walked with a slight limp, the battle wounds of the previous night still fresh on his body. He reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way across the lobby to where a beautiful brunette and a wiry black haired man sat, drinking out of styrofoam cups and eating pastries.

The brunette looked up at Angel approaching.

"Angel," she exclaimed, "what are you doing up, it's like 9:30."

She looked him up and down.

"You look like hell," she commented.

"Thanks Cordellia," Angel scoffed, going to the fridge.

He opened the door and pulled out a small bag of blood. Opening it, he poured the thick liquid into a mug. Tossing the bag in the garbage, he opened the microwave door and placed the mug in. He closed the door and punched a few buttons.

"Angel," the wiry man spoke up, "are you alright."

The truth was, he wasn't. He couldn't sleep, he wasn't eating very much, he couldn't get her out of his head.

"I'm fine Wesley," Angel lied.

The microwave beeped and Angel popped the door open, and grabbed his lukewarm mug of pig blood.

Cordellia and Wesley exchanged a look, one that had been passed between them a lot lately. It was always a look of mixed concern and exhaustion.

"I was watching you fight last night,' Wesley said very low.

"So you followed me," Angel said, back still turned to them.

"Yes," Wesley replied, adjusting his wire rim glasses.

Angel turned towards them. He leaned back on the counter and ran a hand through his jet balck hair.

"And?" he asked.

"You were sloppy," Wesley said. "You were fighting like you had a death wish. I watched you take risks in a fight that you would never have done two months ago."

Angel laughed and looked away from Wesley.

"That's funny," he laughed, turning his head back to lock gazes with the young Brit. "You giving me fighting tios."

Wesley bit his bottom lip to contain what he wanted to say.

Cordellia said it for him.

"You are so full of it," she sighed. "Ever since...since Buffy died, you've been working non stop. Your wearing yourself thin Angel."

Angel took a drink of his blood and looked at them both.

"Angel, we all know how much you miss.." Wesley began.

"No you don't," Angel whispered. "She's everywhere I turn. When I try to sleep, she's haunting my dreams. When I'm training, she's in my head, it's like I'm fighting her. But when I'm working, my head is in the work, or the fight, that's it. It's the only place I can escape to."

"You can't keep this up, you'll die out there," Wesley said.

"Don't you think I know that," Angel snapped. "My reflexes are sluggish, so are my instincts. But I can't stop these thoughts. I've tried...I've."

Cordellia got up and wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders in an embrace.

"We all miss Buffy," she said, "But you getting killed won't change what happened. We have to move on."

Angel wanted to drop his head to her shoulder and cry, let everything in him let go, but he shoved the urge deep inside of him, to toil with the rest of emotions he'd been pushing down there for the past month.

"Thanks Cordy," he whispered.

She pulled away and smiled at him, that sweet smile that would melt the hearts of men.

Angel drained the rest of his blood and set the cup down.

"Maybe I'll try to get some sleep," he said.

That was another lie. He knew, he'd get up to his darkened room and lay there, thinking about Buffy and his inability to save her.

He began to head back to the stairs, when the huge front doors opened. All heads turned to the visitor. Angel growled. This was the last person he wanted to see.

"Hello warrior," one of the Oracle said.

"What are you doing here?" Angel demanded.

"We have a situation,' the Oracle responded.

"Sorry, can't seem to care right now. You people are not on my to see list for awhile," Angel snarled.

"I think you have a ......personal liking to this one."

  • * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dawn Summers sat alone on a small cot in the guest room in Xander's apartment. She sat there, holding her knees to her chest, his chin resting on her knees.

She was still in her pyjamas, and it was almost eleven o'clock. Xander had come in earlier this morning to see if she wanted to go with him and Willow to visit Buffy's grave. She had lied and said she wasn't feeling well.

It wasn't really a lie though. She felt terrible, but not the feeling of an oncoming flu, but the feeling of something being wrong. She had woken up with this feeling around 3:00 in the morning and had layed awake all night.

Something had happened to Buffy, she was back. Dawn was sure of it. As sure of it as she was about anything else she had ever been sure of before. She should have been overjoyed, she had dreamed of this since her death over a month ago, to be able to hug Buffy, to feel her close to her, to ease the pain that Dawn lived through everyday.

But for some reason, she was scared, so very scared.

  • * * * * * * * * * * * *

DUSK



Morningstar sat in an overstuffed chair, his hands folded in front of him, his index fingers pressed together.

Here's the church

Here's the steeple

The expensive suit hung off of him like a proper suit should. His long white hair hung around his shoulders. His intense eyes were locked on the body of the Slayer, who was layed out in front of him. He had taken the liberty of cleaning her up and changing her clothes. She now wore a jet black dress, with red splattered on the breasts.

There he had sat, sat in this very chair and waited. Six hours without moving a single muscle. Just sitting and watching and waiting. Imagining how his life was about to change, now that he had the power of a Slayer on his side.

He had seen the effectiveness of a Slayer in action before. Hell, he had the blood of three of them on his hands. One in the woods of Russia in 1864, another in 1908 in Rome and one in East Germany in 1947.

He had this fascination with the Slayer. He had spent a fair amount of his vast fortune on research about the Slayer and where they derive their powers from. A slayer and a vampire were so closely linked it fascinated him. The animal like instincts and agility, the phenomenal strength that increased with age, the speedy healing factor.

Slayers were an interesting species. One chosen woman to fight an army. The forces of Good were so damn stupid, how many young women had been killed in the line of duty trying to contain the forces of darkness was ridiculous. Morningstar had traced their existence of at least 2000 slayers, dating back as far as 98 BC. There were more than that, he knew, but there were no know traces of them.

Morningstar had first heard of Buffy Summers a few years ago. The Slayer who had taken down the Master. He had taken a special liking to this one, any Slayer who was cunning enough to kill the Master was special indeed.

He had sent one of his employees to keep an eye on her, to let him know of her exploits. He had heard of her slaying of Angelus, which pleased him very much. He severely disliked the vampire with a soul, ever since they fought in New Orleans in the 1930's during his brief visit to America.

He heard about her battles, how she stopped the Ascension, her killing the monster named Adam and all the battle in between.

Then two weeks ago, his employee had come to him with distressing news.

Buffy Summers was dead.

This came as a shock to him. He felt as if he had known her deeply. Somewhere inside him he felt loss and sadness.

He had booked a flight for a few weeks later to come to the Hellmouth. He was not sure why he waited a few weeks, usually he wanted to have his business dealt with quickly and efficiently. But a feeling in him said to wait.

Now, he realized that it was more than a gut feeling. He had been chosen to lead the army of the night into glory. Finally after almost 200 years of service, he had been rewarded by the Dark Powers.

Layed out in front of him was his queen. Together they would rule this misserable planet. He looked at his watch. The sun was due to set at 7:32. It was now 7:30.

Two more minutes, two more minutes before his dark bride would rise and the carnage would begin.

7:31

They would go and feed, turn this small town on it's side. Tear through this lown and leave it painted red. Spread the blood of the innocent, so much so that it would run freely through the streets.

His watch moved to 7:32.

Morningstar watched as the body began to twitch slightly.

"Yes," he whispered darkly.

Buffy Summers eyes fluttered open slowly. She blinked twice and shot up like a shot, her game face on.

She roared, a dark animalistic sound that echoed through Angel's old mansion.

"Good evening my darling," Morningstar spoke, standing to his full height of nearly six and a half feet. "I trust you slept well."

"Hungry," she growled, "I'm so hungry."

"Of course you are," Morningstar smiled. "Then let us go, let's you and I have our first night on the town together shall we?"

He extended his long hand to her. She looked at it and back up at Morningstar.

She placed her small hand in his.