It was Buffy's funeral, and it was raining. It was the first cold day Sunnydale had seen in a long time. Thick, dark clouds hung in the sky, and blocked any rays of sun from penetrating their gray delivery of cold, stinging raindrops. A makeshift tent stood in the middle of the cemetery: four metal poles stuck in the dirt, with a slick green tarp hung over the top to keep the rain from hitting the crowd gathered underneath it. There were rows of gray metal chairs where the attendants sat. In front of the chairs, back a ways, was the coffin made of oak and steel. Top of the line. Water resistant for maximum preservation. It was open. To the side of the open casket was the priest behind his pedistal; open Bible in hand. Xander, Anya, Willow, Tara, Dawn, and Giles all shared the first row of seats. Spike hung in the very back, behind the last row. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the face of the girl in the wooden box. Xander and Anya had each other's arms. Willow and Tara had each other's hands, and Dawn's had Giles' comforting shoulder. Spike had the face of the dead girl in the box.
The priest informed the crowd that they were gathered there that day to mourn the death of Buffy Anne Summers. Dawn couldn't feel her hands, or her feet. She watched closely the face in the casket. She squinted her eyes, trying to discern her sister's facial features, but she was too far away. After a brief opening, the priest began reading:
"…Love justice, you who judge the earth; think of the Lord in goodness, and seek him in integrity of heart;
Into a soul that plots evil, wisdom enters not, nor dwells she in a body under debt of sin.
Court not death by your erring way of life, nor draw to yourselves destruction by the works of your hands.
Because God did not make death, nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.
For he fashioned all things that they might have being; and the creatures of the world are wholesome, and there is not a destructive drug among them, nor any domain of the nether world on earth,
For justice is undying.
It was the wicked, who with hands and words, invited death, considered it a friend, and pined for it, and made a covenant with it, because they deserve to be in its possession…. (The Book Of Wisdom: Chapter 1)."
Spike put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the wet grass. Listening to the words made his insides twitch and writhe with uncomfortable strangeness. He felt a villainous smirk crawl its way onto his face, because he had eluded judgment. There was no condemnation for him to fear, because his soul, still innocent, dwelled else where, and creatures of the night like himself welcomed the horrors of Evil. At the same time, he realized that the death he was rooted in, was the same death that took Buffy away; the same death that takes all life. His smile faded quickly. He felt no remorse for the things he had done as a vampire, but he felt guilty for not feeling guilty. This is what Buffy had done to him. He had ties to this world now. He had become attached, to Dawn mostly. He didn't regret his past wretchedness, but because of these attachments, he felt that he should. Damned Slayer… he cursed in his mind, trying to drown out the priest's words
"…Before your silver cord is snapped,
Cast your bread upon the waters.
After a long time you may find it again.
You know not what misfortune may come upon the earth.
When the clouds are full, they pour out rain upon the earth. Whether a tree falls to the south or to the north, wherever it falls, there shall it lie.
One who pays heed to the wind will not sow, and one who watches the clouds will never reap.
Just as you know not how the breath of life fashions the human frame in the mother's womb, so you know not the work of God, which he is accomplishing in the universe.
However many years a man may live, let him, as he enjoys them all, remember that the days of darkness will be many… (Ecclesiastes: Chapter 11)."
Giles looked out at the clouds. He had not cried yet. If he stayed strong, he thought, maybe she would come back to him. Maybe, if he stared at the sky for long enough, when he turned back around to face the casket, it would be empty, and Buffy would walk up beside him with a lollipop in her hand, rambling aimlessly to him about the poor fashion sense of a vampire she had just staked. She would ask him with annoyance what everyone was doing, and say how silly of them to think anything like death could happen to her. She would say she was fine, and they would all laugh and go home to warm beds. He shut his eyes to the rain and faced forward again, but when he reopened them, she was still there, lying lifelessly in the satin bedding. Giles couldn't believe his eyes. He thought for sure it would work…
"There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace…"
It wasn't her time… Willow thought to herself. It can't be her time. It can't be right.
Suddenly she began to panic. Her heart quickened, and her breath came short and fast.
"Baby..?" Tara whispered, turning to her. Willow only looked back at her helplessly, her lips crumpled, and tears running down her face. "Oh, baby, come here." Tara said through her own tears, taking Willow's shaking figure into her arms.
"It's not time…it's not right!" Willow cried. Tara only stroked her hair and held her tightly.
"…What advantage has the worker from his toil?
I have considered the task which God has appointed for men to be busied about.
He has made everything appropriate to its time, and has put the timelessness into their hearts, without men's ever discovering, from beginning to end, the work which God has done.
What now is, has already been; what is to be, already is; and God restores what would otherwise be displaced.
And still, under the sun in the judgment place I saw wickedness, and in the seat of justice, iniquity.
I said to myself: As for the children of men, it is God's way of testing them and of showing that they are in themselves like beasts.
For the lot of man and of beast is one lot; the one dies as well as the other. Man has no advantage over the beast; but all is vanity.
Both go to the same place; both were made from the dust, and to the dust they both return.
Who knows if the life-breath of the children of men goes upward and the life-breath of beasts goes earthward…?"
Dawn turned around to locate Spike in the crowd. He stood stone faced against one of the metal poles. For some reason she found more comfort with him then with the others. He didn't sugar coat things for her. He didn't tell her everything was going to be okay when really, things were far from okay. She didn't like people trying to make her feel better, because nothing could make her better, and they knew that, so why did they bother trying? Why did they always have to pretend? Spike was the only one who would face the reality of things, and she needed that badly. It hurt, but at least it was the truth.
Spike caught her eye and gave her a small smile, but he did not hide the grief and sorrow behind it.
"…And I saw that there is nothing better for a man than to rejoice in his work; for this is his lot. Who will let him see what is to come after him?" (Excclesiastes: Chapter 3)