It snowed the day they buried Buffy.
Furiously the snowflakes came down; this was no peaceful snowfall but instead
a harsh reminder of everything they had lost. Silent tears froze on their
faces; no one could take their eyes off the modest casket as it was being
lowered into the ground. Still no one could believe that this had happened,
that it was true.
They held hands, hoping for some comfort in their friends but finding none to
spare from anyone on that cruel day.
Her marker read, "Buffy Summers, 1981-2009. Loved by many and Chosen by all."
* * * * *
"Why didn't it save her?" Willow asked.
Giles lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I don't know. The spell that the
vampires were casting should have filled her with the oldest power when she
killed them, and because Buffy was on the side of good, it should have... It
should have..."
"It did," Angel said quietly, from the corner. "It was a mist that filled
her when she staked that final vampire. Maybe the power didn't help her like
we thought it would. But... But she wasn't in pain, Giles. As soon as it
touched her body, the pain was gone from her face."
Giles winced at the word pain and then looked around the room. Everyone
shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, like children caught doing something
they weren't supposed to.
Angel continued, "When she... She was everything that was good. I saw it in
her eyes. She was everything that she had always been, brought to its full
potential. And she..."
Xander and Willow stood and the same moment, shaking their heads. They
looked at each other for a moment and then left Giles's apartment separately,
heading in different directions. After a moment of surprise, Oz and Cordelia
got up and followed them out.
Giles took off his glasses and wearily rubbed at his eyes, sitting heavily in
a chair.
Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Giles held up his hand, gesturing for
him to stay silent. "Goodbye, Angel," he muttered, his voice not brooking
any arguments.
Angel stood there for a moment, sadness on his features, and then was gone.
And Giles buried his face in his hands.
* * * * *
Xander was silent on the ride home. The few times Cordelia tried to talk to
him, he would look at her sideways and she shut up. So instead she settled
for reaching over and taking his hand, holding it tightly, telling him in her
own way that she was there and that she loved him.
When they got home, he went inside and turned on the television. Staring
blankly at it, his mouth remained closed, his eyes distant.
Hours were spent like this.
Cordelia finally sighed and approached him. "Xander..."
He looked at her again, angrily, but his eyes softened when he saw the tears
in her own. "What is it?"
"It's not going to be like this forever," she assured him, rubbing his knee.
"It'll get better. And I'm going to be with you for the whole thing. If you
want to cry, you can cry. If you want to scream or yell, I won't leave. I
love you."
He exhaled heavily and turned off the TV, taking her in his arms. She placed
her cheek against his shoulder, comforted by his touch, hoping hers was doing
the same for him. "No, it won't be this bad forever," he murmured, as a
promise. "It won't be."
But somehow his words were empty. He didn't believe them.
Because he was sure they were a lie.
* * * * * *
Willow and Oz entered their apartment, everything that they weren't saying
hanging over their heads like a curse. Willow dropped her keys onto the
coffee table and sat down, propping her feet up, looking down at her nails.
After a moment, she admitted, "I don't really know what I'm supposed to do
now... I mean, half of my life, I've been committed to helping..." She shook
her head.
~I won't say her name. I won't. I *can't.*~
"I know, Baby." Oz sank down next to her, on the couch. "I see how you're
hurting. I'm hurting too, and I know it can't compare, but if there's
anything that I can do, just tell me and I will."
He laid his hand over hers and Willow flinched, pulling away from him. She
scooted over a few inches so that there was more space between them, and when
she looked at him, her eyes were helpless. "I- I'm sorry."
"No," he shushed her, "Don't be. Just... Whenever you need me."
"Got it." She managed a tight smile, and they both slipped into silence
again, staring into space.
Into nothing.
* * * * * *
Angel walked through Buffy's apartment reverently, touching little items here
and there. Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig; her collection of bad ice-skating
movies; pictures of her and her friends that hung on the wall-- a lonely one
of him on her nightstand. She had shined so bright in those pictures, even
days ago. So beautiful...
He sat down on her bed and picked up the sweater that had been left on her
floor when he had taken it off of her a few days prior. Lifting it to his
nose, he inhaled deeply and then shuddered as her scent surrounded him,
filling his senses. Keeping the sweater tightly in his hands, almost as if
it were his lifeline, he stood and looked around. He didn't quite know what
to do.
Didn't know how to say goodbye.
He sat down at her desk, a faint smile lifting his mouth as his eyes locked
on a picture taken over ten years before, before things had gotten
complicated, when their love was still new and fresh and the whole world lay
in front of them. It was of the whole group, right before Buffy's
seventeenth birthday party. They were smiling at the camera, on the steps of
the library, happy.
Who had taken that picture? he wondered for a moment, not remembering, and
then let the thought slip from his mind. It didn't matter. What mattered
was that day; that perfect day when everything was right with the world.
He was sure it would never be right again.
Opening her desk drawer, he sucked in some unneeded breath as he noticed her
stack of diaries lying inside. Years of her life were contained in those
pages and on a slip of paper on the top of them was a note that read, "For
Angel."
Tentatively, feeling slightly sick, he lifted the one on the top, her most
recent, and began flipping through the pages. Some entries made him smile,
"After almost fifteen years of friendship, I've finally gotten to see
Xander's Snoopy dance. Willow forced him to do it for me, of course, but I
don't care why he did it, all I care is that he did." Some made him ache for
her, "I thought of Angel today. From nowhere, his smile came into my head
and I began crying because I missed him so much. I managed to talk to Cordy
about him... Didn't tell her why I was asking the questions and I know she's
curious but I actually am, too. Sometimes I think I'm over him and other
times I realize how full of bullshit I really am."
But the last one made him pause.
He read it carefully, and then again, not letting his eyes miss a single
syllable that had been written down. He could only assume that she had known
he would find these, that she wanted him to have them.
After reading her last entry a third time, he touched the pages lingeringly,
his eyes sad and accepting. "Okay, Buffy," he said to himself, to the room,
in the off chance that she could hear him.
Her voice slipped through his mind, caressing him. "Yes."
He smiled, not wanting to smile but not being able to hold it in with that
touch from her. She could always make him smile. And now, he would do what
he knew she wanted.
Because he loved her, and them.
That's what the whole thing was about, after all.
Furiously the snowflakes came down; this was no peaceful snowfall but instead
a harsh reminder of everything they had lost. Silent tears froze on their
faces; no one could take their eyes off the modest casket as it was being
lowered into the ground. Still no one could believe that this had happened,
that it was true.
They held hands, hoping for some comfort in their friends but finding none to
spare from anyone on that cruel day.
Her marker read, "Buffy Summers, 1981-2009. Loved by many and Chosen by all."
* * * * *
"Why didn't it save her?" Willow asked.
Giles lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I don't know. The spell that the
vampires were casting should have filled her with the oldest power when she
killed them, and because Buffy was on the side of good, it should have... It
should have..."
"It did," Angel said quietly, from the corner. "It was a mist that filled
her when she staked that final vampire. Maybe the power didn't help her like
we thought it would. But... But she wasn't in pain, Giles. As soon as it
touched her body, the pain was gone from her face."
Giles winced at the word pain and then looked around the room. Everyone
shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, like children caught doing something
they weren't supposed to.
Angel continued, "When she... She was everything that was good. I saw it in
her eyes. She was everything that she had always been, brought to its full
potential. And she..."
Xander and Willow stood and the same moment, shaking their heads. They
looked at each other for a moment and then left Giles's apartment separately,
heading in different directions. After a moment of surprise, Oz and Cordelia
got up and followed them out.
Giles took off his glasses and wearily rubbed at his eyes, sitting heavily in
a chair.
Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Giles held up his hand, gesturing for
him to stay silent. "Goodbye, Angel," he muttered, his voice not brooking
any arguments.
Angel stood there for a moment, sadness on his features, and then was gone.
And Giles buried his face in his hands.
* * * * *
Xander was silent on the ride home. The few times Cordelia tried to talk to
him, he would look at her sideways and she shut up. So instead she settled
for reaching over and taking his hand, holding it tightly, telling him in her
own way that she was there and that she loved him.
When they got home, he went inside and turned on the television. Staring
blankly at it, his mouth remained closed, his eyes distant.
Hours were spent like this.
Cordelia finally sighed and approached him. "Xander..."
He looked at her again, angrily, but his eyes softened when he saw the tears
in her own. "What is it?"
"It's not going to be like this forever," she assured him, rubbing his knee.
"It'll get better. And I'm going to be with you for the whole thing. If you
want to cry, you can cry. If you want to scream or yell, I won't leave. I
love you."
He exhaled heavily and turned off the TV, taking her in his arms. She placed
her cheek against his shoulder, comforted by his touch, hoping hers was doing
the same for him. "No, it won't be this bad forever," he murmured, as a
promise. "It won't be."
But somehow his words were empty. He didn't believe them.
Because he was sure they were a lie.
* * * * * *
Willow and Oz entered their apartment, everything that they weren't saying
hanging over their heads like a curse. Willow dropped her keys onto the
coffee table and sat down, propping her feet up, looking down at her nails.
After a moment, she admitted, "I don't really know what I'm supposed to do
now... I mean, half of my life, I've been committed to helping..." She shook
her head.
~I won't say her name. I won't. I *can't.*~
"I know, Baby." Oz sank down next to her, on the couch. "I see how you're
hurting. I'm hurting too, and I know it can't compare, but if there's
anything that I can do, just tell me and I will."
He laid his hand over hers and Willow flinched, pulling away from him. She
scooted over a few inches so that there was more space between them, and when
she looked at him, her eyes were helpless. "I- I'm sorry."
"No," he shushed her, "Don't be. Just... Whenever you need me."
"Got it." She managed a tight smile, and they both slipped into silence
again, staring into space.
Into nothing.
* * * * * *
Angel walked through Buffy's apartment reverently, touching little items here
and there. Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig; her collection of bad ice-skating
movies; pictures of her and her friends that hung on the wall-- a lonely one
of him on her nightstand. She had shined so bright in those pictures, even
days ago. So beautiful...
He sat down on her bed and picked up the sweater that had been left on her
floor when he had taken it off of her a few days prior. Lifting it to his
nose, he inhaled deeply and then shuddered as her scent surrounded him,
filling his senses. Keeping the sweater tightly in his hands, almost as if
it were his lifeline, he stood and looked around. He didn't quite know what
to do.
Didn't know how to say goodbye.
He sat down at her desk, a faint smile lifting his mouth as his eyes locked
on a picture taken over ten years before, before things had gotten
complicated, when their love was still new and fresh and the whole world lay
in front of them. It was of the whole group, right before Buffy's
seventeenth birthday party. They were smiling at the camera, on the steps of
the library, happy.
Who had taken that picture? he wondered for a moment, not remembering, and
then let the thought slip from his mind. It didn't matter. What mattered
was that day; that perfect day when everything was right with the world.
He was sure it would never be right again.
Opening her desk drawer, he sucked in some unneeded breath as he noticed her
stack of diaries lying inside. Years of her life were contained in those
pages and on a slip of paper on the top of them was a note that read, "For
Angel."
Tentatively, feeling slightly sick, he lifted the one on the top, her most
recent, and began flipping through the pages. Some entries made him smile,
"After almost fifteen years of friendship, I've finally gotten to see
Xander's Snoopy dance. Willow forced him to do it for me, of course, but I
don't care why he did it, all I care is that he did." Some made him ache for
her, "I thought of Angel today. From nowhere, his smile came into my head
and I began crying because I missed him so much. I managed to talk to Cordy
about him... Didn't tell her why I was asking the questions and I know she's
curious but I actually am, too. Sometimes I think I'm over him and other
times I realize how full of bullshit I really am."
But the last one made him pause.
He read it carefully, and then again, not letting his eyes miss a single
syllable that had been written down. He could only assume that she had known
he would find these, that she wanted him to have them.
After reading her last entry a third time, he touched the pages lingeringly,
his eyes sad and accepting. "Okay, Buffy," he said to himself, to the room,
in the off chance that she could hear him.
Her voice slipped through his mind, caressing him. "Yes."
He smiled, not wanting to smile but not being able to hold it in with that
touch from her. She could always make him smile. And now, he would do what
he knew she wanted.
Because he loved her, and them.
That's what the whole thing was about, after all.