A Slayer Lost (11/11: Burial In Absentia)
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.
Author's Notes: Oh my God, I'm done. I'm done. Finished. Finito. WHOO-HOO!!! I'm really sorry I took so long. Thank Kathy for urging me along. And next, I have promised Jewls that I will finish Toy Story. I hope that will make the rest of you happy too. In the meantime, I'm also working on a *huge* Buffy/Angel crossover and Immortal Beloved Part Two, tentatively titled Grasshopper. Peace out everybody. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

~*~

The motley crew gathered at the grave site is a small one; it consists of Willow, Tara, Xander, Anya, Giles, Dawn, Angel, Cordelia, and Oz. Willow and Xander clasp hands, Tara and Anya, respectively, clinging to them protectively. Dawn is sandwiched between Tara and Giles, Angel and Cordelia slightly behind them, his arm around her shoulders. And Oz stands off to one side, as if he's not quite sure he should be here, an outsider once again.

They're dressed all in black, but characteristically so: Giles in a tweed suit, Dawn in a simple scoop-necked dress, Willow and Tara in blouses and long, flowing skirts, Xander in a slightly rumpled suit paired with tennis shoes, Anya in a very modern, off-the-shoulder, up-to-the-minute stylish dress, Angel in a silk shirt dress shirt and pressed slacks, Cordelia decked to the nines in a designer dress and pumps, and Oz in jeans and a blazer over a T-shirt; all black, of course. The sun beats down on them from above in the typical fashion of a Southern California midday, but it's as if none of them can feel it.

They're all stoic; each and every single one. Anya doesn't know enough to cry, but Xander and Tara have already cried themselves out. Cordelia's red eyes are hidden behind her designer sunglasses, while Angel is as stone-faced as Giles and Oz. They all assume that Dawn is like Xander and Tara, but she simply looks at her sister's casket, empty except for a pile of sand for weight, with a faint smile. It's Willow that's the exception, however. Amazingly enough, she hasn't cried at all. She feels a little bit guilty about it, but she knows that Buffy would understand - she's got all of them to take care of, after all. Breaking down is the last thing she needs right now.

She really wishes Spike were still here, to offer some advice and a good dose of his trademark sarcasm. She's been acting on total overload ever since he left. Having Giles here helps. Even having Oz helps a bit, despite the tension between the two of them being so thick that she's sure she could cut it with a knife. But the unnerving thing is knowing that no matter how much she wants or needs them here, sooner or later, Giles will have to go back to England, Angel and Cordy back to L.A, and Oz will slip off without a goodbye back to wherever the hell he was and she'll be left all alone; the worst part is not knowing what will happen next.

She supposes now that she knows somewhat how Buffy felt; having to take everything day by day, never knowing what was coming. They all lived a bit like that, but Buffy more than any of them. They could never hope to understand what it was like to live as the Slayer, with their days numbered. But Willow feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she thinks that perhaps, by gaining this sudden insight, it has brought her just a little bit closer to her friend.

"I'm gonna slip away for a minute and get some peace and quiet, OK?" she murmurs to Xander and Tara on either side of her. Tara squeezes her arm in a silent vote of support while Xander just nods numbly. Sending false smiles at everyone else, she makes her way to the other end of the cemetery where a wooden bench beckons to her tired feet.

She sighs as she sits; she's pretty sure it's the first time she's been off her feet since she heard the news. There's just been so much to do, what with planning the funeral. No that the planning in itself was the difficult part; no, being that the funeral home was in Sunnydale, they'd had no problem arranging the funeral in a day; the attendant hadn't even batted an eyelash when Willow had told him that they had no body to bury. They'd buried a pile of sand instead. Buried in the sand was a picture of Buffy and the cross necklace Angel had given her; the cross that had become her protection, her shield.

Getting the others here hadn't been hard, either; as soon as they heard what had happened, Angel and Cordelia had taken Angel's car, while Giles had hopped a plane. He only got here a few hours ago, in fact, and is still jet-lagged. She can tell by the way he keeps forgetting to clean his glasses.

No, making plans wasn't the hard part; the hard part was holding together as she did.

It's probably hit Xander hardest of all, second only to Dawn, Willow muses. He's had so little love in his life that this is like a punch in the gut to him - taking away one of the people that loved him so dearly, that he loved just as much if not more so in return. He feels bad about blaming Spike, and keeps trying to apologize, no matter how much she insists that it isn't necessary. To her, it's just the natural human reaction of looking for someone or something to blame it on. To Xander, it's just one more thing to feel guilty about.

She's glad to see Tara, in contrast, taking it so well. But then again, she's dealt with death before. And she hadn't known Buffy anywhere near as long as the others had. She'd been getting closer to her these last few months, though, Willow recalls. She can remember them getting together for lunch every so often. She never questioned where they went or what they talked about, just respected their friendship. But now, however, she weeps inside as she remembers every minute she spent without Buffy. Oh, to have that time back...

She has to blink back tears as her gaze moves on to Dawnie, both for the teenager's sake and her own. Really, if she wants to get all technical, Dawn's known Buffy for a shorter time that any of them. Of course, as with anything on the Hellmouth, reality's not what counts. What counts is that this poor, grieving girl has lost the sister that she remembers as her mentor, teacher, best friend, and hero all rolled into one. And to make it even worse, it hasn't even been a year since Joyce's death. First her mother, now her sister and surrogate brother. Willow feels a sharp pang of sympathy for the girl - she knows what it's like to feel alone in the world.

Anya, for one of the first times she can remember, is silent and serious. She seems to have learned from her mistakes, because she refrains from asking taboo questions like what they do to dead bodies before they bury them. She's silent and supportive at Xander's arm, giving him the strength he so desperately needs, and there's somewhat of a calmness about her, as if she's managed to finally gain some insight into human life, even if it has to do with such a horrible subject as death.

Angel, in stark contrast, is all depressed and glowery. Then again, she's rarely seen him look any other way. There's a sadness in his eyes that was there when he and Buffy parted ways, but is now intensified a thousand-fold. Willow doubts that the sadness will ever leave. And at the same time, she wonders how he's going to survive. It's never been a secret that Angel's life depended on Buffy, whether they were together or not; as did hers on his. But what now, now that she's gone? She worries about him.

He's got Cordy to look out for him, though. And - Willow can't believe she's saying this - she's glad for that fact. It's obvious that they care for each other, although how deeply and in what way she's not sure she wants to know - not because she thinks he's betraying Buffy or anything, but because the thought is more than a little disturbing. After all, no matter how much she changes, she'll always be Cordy - the May Queen; the cheerleader; the bitch. She has changed alot, though, Willow notes. She seems a bit less whiny, a bit more mature, and a bit less the spoiled little rich girl. But having the IRS take away your house can do that to a person. Willow doesn't dwell on Angel and Cordelia's relationship, she just hopes they're happy. Or as happy as any of them can be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Giles, and turns to observe him now. He, along with Angel, Xander, Dawn, and her self, is one of the worst ones affected by this. He's been trying to slip back into his parenting role ever since he got here, but it's almost as if he's forgotten how. Willow herself has taken on that role now. After all, she learned from the best. She knows it's been hard on him - accepting the fact that his Slayer no longer needs - needed - a Watcher. Just as hard as it had been on Buffy herself. And some part of her knows that Giles will always blame himself for her death. Heck, even if he'd been here - Watching her, teaching her, protecting her, fighting alongside her - he'd still have blamed himself, she admits. It's in his nature. Willow looks at him and sees the man she loves as a father, but with a haunted look about him that's not just due to the jet lag. Only time will help him - and alot of it. Willow wishes for about the millionth time in the past half-hour that this day would just end. Now.

But there's still Oz. Silent, sturdy, comforting, achingly familiar Oz. And still loyal to a fault, apparently. The glances he keeps shooting her are making her burn and shiver at the same time, yet she can't bring herself to say anything to him just yet. Wait, that's not right - it's more that she can't think of anything to say to him that won't sound too forced and artificial. That won't send one of them or the other - probably herself - bursting into hysterics, tears, or a fit of rage. No, she seriously doubts that neutrality exists between her and Oz any longer. She's betting on him disappearing as soon as the funeral's over without a word - not that he's ever needed any. But despite the fact that so much as looking at him makes her want to scream in frustration, she's glad he came. It shows that he still cares for all of them, regardless of his feelings for her, and it was that sort of nobility that drew her to him in the first place.

Oz. Seeing him brings back memories of the "old days" - days back when they were still in high school; back when they were young and carefree and stupid and completely oblivious to the harshness of the "real world" that awaited them. She wishes she had those days back now.

For the first time since Spike dropped the bomb on them all, Willow began to cry. She's not sure how long she sits there, the tears streaming down her face, but when they finally slow to a trickle, she feels oddly refreshed.

With a sigh, she stands. It's time to go; time to venture back to the grave, to put her best friend in the ground. She sniffs back a final tear, done with crying. From now on, she's the strong one; the Giles.

As she prepares to approach the group once again, she pauses, feeling...something. A presence. Warm and familiar and...no. She shakes her head. It can't be - it's impossible. Things will be much better when she can just stop imagining things like this. But that feeling, that presence...so real...

With one last look around, Willow marches resolutely back to the small congregation of past and present Scoobies, ready to be the strong one, and silently wishes her best friend well wherever she may be.

~*~

She stands, watching. Off to the side, safely hidden from both the sunlight and the group in front of her. She sees Willow's head jerk up and look around, and she tenses, prepared to run if need be, knowing that the Witch senses her. But finally, she just walks away, and Buffy breathes a deep sigh of relief.

For what seems like an eternity, there is nothing but silence. Willow rejoins the group, exchanging hand-clasps and hugs, and they murmur sadly to one another in voices so low that Buffy can't discern actual words. She watches Oz with a fond smile, because now she knows what it's like to be the outsider looking in.

And all of a sudden it hits her. Well, not quite hits her, per se; more like all of the sudden she's forced to accept it: that she's no longer a Scooby, but the very thing against which they fought. It's hard, becoming the enemy. Although in this group, that's not always a problem. Oz found out that he was Wolf-Boy, Angel lost his soul and went homicidal on them all, Giles turned into a Fyarl demon, Willow lost control of her magic, Tara thought she was a demon, Dawn turned out to be the Key, Anya was a man-hating demon for 1120-plus years, and Cordy had been a bitch to all of them in the very beginning before becoming a part of the group. But their misgivings had all been forgiven and forgotten. Even Spike, the Master Vampire who had tried to kill them all time and time again, had been begrudgingly made sort of an honorary Slayerette, after all he'd done and gone through for and with them.

But her situation is different, Buffy tells herself. This change wasn't a mistake or an accident or a misunderstanding; she'd had full and complete control of her body when she'd given it to Spike to claim as his own. What's her excuse, then? What can she possibly say to these people, her best friends, to make them understand?

Nothing, she finally realizes. There's nothing she can say or do to set things right except what she already has planned. Running away. Not the most mature decision, but the best one nonetheless. Spike was right, back in the Bronze, what seems like lifetimes ago: she is his. She belongs in the shadows, with him.

She doesn't jump in surprise like a human would when she feels the cool, strong pair of arms embrace her from behind; she would have heard him coming a mile away. And if she hadn't heard him, she would've felt him. She leans back into his embrace, wondering what she would do without him. He kisses her temple gently.

"We should go, luv," he murmurs into her hair. She nods.

"In a minute," she promises. He kisses her again before dashing from the shade to the car, leaving her standing under this tree as she requested, watching the small group of people that at one time were all she had. Now all she has is him.

With her final moments before her, she takes one long last look around the cemetery. This is it; the last she may ever see of Sunnydale.

And somehow, that thought is no longer as sad as it once was.

She turns, not able to bring herself to say goodbye, and enters the car.

"Are you ready, luv?" he asks.

"I'm ready." He reaches over, takes her hand, and starts the car.

They drive straight out of Sunnydale.

And she doesn't look back.