Last Ones Standing

The sky was so blue, with no chalky smears marring the endless whirl of it. She wanted to throw herself into it and wrap herself in the warm, soft colour. She could turn to ash quite happily up there and rain down upon the unsuspecting heads of the Sunnydale population. Never leaving, always there, in the ground, the air, everywhere. Just being.

She must have been watching a little too closely, because her hand began to smoke and he grabbed her arm above the elbow and yanked her back sharply. Any other time she would have protested, maybe hit him back playfully, but his eyes swung towards the table and it's quiet occupant. Her mouth snapped shut and her stinging comment was swallowed when she saw the look on his face.

She knew that look. His face looked like it had been carved from stone and his eyes were quiet and still. The grief was masked and she remembered how she had watched the mask slide into place the night before as he quietly scooped up the body and carried it back to the crypt as the sun broke over the horizon.

He reached over her shoulder and tugged the small curtain across the tiny window in the side of the crypt. Then he held her, his arms around her waist and his chin resting lightly on the side of her head. She sank back against him and sighed as they stared out of the window through a chink in the curtain. She had noticed that she had gained patience over the years since her turning. She didn't have to fill every single minute anymore. She wasn't constantly aware of her own mortality anymore so she could stand silently for hours at a time. She no longer thought about death, she knew it and understood it.

She remembered when death was all she could think about.

After her mother's death, she had wondered morbidly if it had hurt, if she had watched them as they cried and organised her funeral. She had wondered how long it took her mother to die, wondered what was on her mind as she passed away, wondered if her mother even knew she was dying.

Then her sister died. She still had the nightmare of watching her sister leap from the tower. Every night she relived that, relived walking down the stairs and watching her sister's friends weep over her body. She went over telling them the Slayer's final words. Then it changed and she was at her sister's graveside, watching as she clawed her way up from the depths. In her nightmares, her sister would look at her, murmur her name then lunge at her.

She would always wake up screaming.

"How long?"

"What was that, pet?" he answered, the vibrations of his voice through his chest thrumming along her back.

"How long 'til sunset?"

"Few minutes."

She nodded and gently moved away from him. He followed her, dropped into a chair, and stared at her as she stood by the table. Her hand hovered nervously over the sheet that covered the body, saving them the pain of looking at the body. Saving them the pain of looking at it and seeing their friend, seeing someone who wasn't really there anymore. She remembered the first time it had happened. She remembered how everyone stood around the body of their fallen comrade.

"It's starting, isn't it?"

The words echoed inside her mind and she remembered how she had looked at the body before looking at the ex-demon who asked the question. She still remembered the devastation on her face; it was etched clearly into her mind. She remembered every tear track, every smudge of mascara. She remembered the way her breathing was hitched and filled with sobs.

"What's starting?" she had asked her, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears. At the time, she supposed it was shock.

"This," Anya looked at the body, at her friends who stood staring blankly down at their mentor. "It's starting. The death. I know Tara died, but this is different. Giles died because of a demon. It's starting. This is the beginning of the end, isn't it?"

She wasn't able to answer, because her sister bent to pick up her Watcher and carried him back to the house. She remembered how like a funeral procession it was. She remembered how Willow and Xander flanked her and she, Spike and Anya brought up the rear. They never saw anyone as they marched down the street. The night was quiet. Once at home, her sister placed Giles on the couch, gently placing a cushion beneath his head. She then quietly requested if they would clean him up while she made a phonecall.

She had hung back as Willow and Anya cleaned the blood from his chest and face. Xander left to get him a new shirt and she had just stood there, watching the ministrations and listening to her sister talking on the phone.

"Angel. Hi, it's me… No, I just wanted to tell you that… Giles is dead," her sister broke into raking sobs and she had just stood there, unable to move, remembering how the last dead body on the couch had been her mother. "About half an hour ago… A-a demon. I tried, oh God I tried so h-hard to save him, Angel… You'll come… Thank you. Yes, Cordelia and Wesley too…. I know… M-me too…. I'll be ok, I think… Yeah. Bye."

She had replaced the receiver and upon Xander's return, she announced that they would do the funeral themselves.

"Not a church service," she had said. "We can say something ourselves. It would mean more."

She hadn't understood why they had all agreed. She had wanted to scream that he deserved more, that he deserved the service and everything. And she wanted to demand why no one was listening to her.

"It's starting, isn't it?"

"It's over now," she whispered as she pulled the sheet back from the face. "All over."

She smoothed the hair and looked at the man slumped in the chair.

"Help me?" she asked.

He didn't seem to hear her. He stared at the hair; the one or two shots of grey hair through the still vivid red. She could read him like a book. She could see in his eyes that he was running down the list, replaying each death, each burial. The first had been Giles, then, barely a year and a half later, the Slayer had died. Her sister, the woman he loved. And she knew it killed him even more the second time around because she had started to accept the two of them. She had begun to see that they were right for each other.

She knew her death was in there too. She knew he was remembering how she had gone on patrol after she split up with her boyfriend. She remembered herself, how she had been attacked from behind, how, because of her slow response, the demon had quickly gained the upper hand. He had been too late. By the time he snapped the demon's neck, she was lying dying on the ground. He had seemed to fall down beside her in slow motion, his voice far away, his words making no sense.

"Niblet? Can you hear me? Hang on, pet. It's ok, it's gonna be all right."

She knew it wouldn't. And suddenly her wishes were coming true. How many times had she longed to die, to just fade away and let everyone get on with their lives? But now it was here, now she felt her heart slowing, felt herself slipping away, she was terrified. She was only twenty and she didn't want to die. She had caught the lapels of his leather jacket and looked into his eyes. She was shocked to see the tears in them as he silently begged her to live.

"I don't want to die."

"You're not going to. It'll all be ok."

"No, I'm dying. I'm dying, Spike."

"No, you're not."

"Turn me."

That had startled him and he had shook his head violently. But with her last breath, she begged him and in his desperation, he had sunk his fangs into his neck. He had gone to Willow, so he told her later, and begged her to restore her soul. He wanted her to be the same; he didn't want to lose her, so he said. Xander had beaten him so hard that when she awoke, he still had the bruises.

But they had accepted it after a while and she grew to think that they were quietly grateful for him turning her. Spike moved into the Summers' home with her and Willow shortly after at her request. But they had a crypt in case they were ever caught out by the dawn while they were out and they couldn't get home.

It was also a convenient place of rest for the bodies of their friends before their burial.

"Spike?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Help me?"

He stood slowly and moved over to the sarcophagus where the coffin lay. He had lain the body on the table then slipped out through the tunnels while she cleaned her friend's face, tidied her hair, and touched up her makeup. She had done it all without seeing. She just did it, the features in the face didn't register with her because she didn't let them. If she had allowed herself to look, she knew she would cry and she didn't know if she would be able to stop. When he returned, he carried a large coffin and a bundle of clothes were pressed under his chin. He laid the coffin gently on the sarcophagus then tossed the clothes to her and slipped out again. She had carefully dressed the body and he returned an hour later, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's in one hand and some bags of blood in the other.

He stood slowly from his chair and walked quietly toward the table. He scooped her up and she imagined for a moment that her friend wasn't dead, just hurt. But the white of her friend's skin cut short her flight of fancy. She watched as he lifted her gently and laid her in the coffin.

"You got a nice one," she commented, arranging the hands neatly, never looking at the face.

"Always do," he answered.

He bent over the coffin and carefully nailed it shut while she stood back and watched.

Anya had died about seven years after her turning. A demon attacked her on her way home from work. Xander had managed to get her away, but she had died in his arms. They buried her alongside Buffy and Giles in a quiet ceremony, this time they did not call the gang in LA. Xander had died a week after Anya, on a mission of vengeance. He had gone after the demon in a fit of drunkenness and had paid with his life. They buried him alongside the woman he died for.

That time they called Cordelia.

She went to the door and opened it, staring out across the old boneyard at the final rays of the sun. She returned to the sarcophagus and gently lifted one end of the coffin. He grabbed a spade and took the other and they silently left the crypt and carried the final Scooby to the clearing.

She felt his anger when they saw the man digging into the ground and they placed the coffin gently on the ground beside the start of the hole. She watched as he glared down at his Grandsire.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Spike, calm down, I'm just trying to help."

"Why did we have to call him, Bit? Go on, you great pouf, go on back to LA."

"I'm not going anywhere, Spike, I'm here to pay my respects."

She watched him deflate, almost like he was shrinking and she wanted to punch Angel for making him look like that.

"Where's Cordelia?" she asked instead.

"In LA," he answered. "She had a vision about Willow's death and she's really upset. I wanted to stay with her, but she told me to come here. Aimee's looking after her."

"Little Aimee Gunn? She working for you now?" Spike asked, grabbing the spade and jumping into the hole beside Angel.

"Yeah," he answered. "How did it happen, Spike? How did Willow…?"

Spike looked at him, then down quickly.

"Thought you said Cordelia had a vision?" he answered gruffly.

"I said she was upset. I'd just put the phone down after you told me and she had the vision. All she said was 'I know,' then she burst into tears and ran to our room. I didn't want to ask her. So, how did it happen?"

"Does it matter?" she asked. "She's dead, does it make any difference how?"

"I just want to know."

She clenched her fists and sat down hard on the grass, one hand laid gently on the coffin. There was silence, all except the scrape of the shovels through the dirt. It sent a shiver through her. Then she heard Spike clear his throat. She listened as Spike explained in a flat voice as hollow as the ground they stood in.

She listened as he said she had come along on patrol with them, that she came every night. But last night it had been different. It was his fault really, she was getting too old for that sort of thing, he should have told her so. Not that he hadn't before, of course he had, but, you know Red, she was stubborn, wouldn't hear of not going.

He had heard through Willie that there was a new gang in town, he had told her, told her it would be too dangerous, but she had laughed, pulled on her jacket, grabbed her stake and followed them to the graveyard. They found the gang; you always do when you don't want to. There had been too many for them and he hadn't been able to get to her before one of the vampire's snapped her neck. He'd killed it, staked it good and proper. Too late though. So what's new?

The hole was deep enough by the time Spike had finished his recollection. He climbed out and waited for Angel to clamber out and stand next to him. The open grave was next to Tara's. Xander on the other side, then Anya. On the other side of Tara lay Buffy and Giles. She struggled to her feet and waited for the men to pick up the coffin. They lowered it carefully into the grave and she stood at the foot of the grave between the male vampires. Spike put an arm around her waist and she leant her head against his chest.

"D'ya want to say something, pet?" he asked.

"Er, yeah. I just want to say…. Thanks, Willow. I'm…. I'm really gonna miss you. When Mom and Buffy died, you and Tara were the best moms' I could ask for. I'm sorry I never told you. I always knew how much you missed her, y'know. Tara, I mean. Sometimes, I'd come into your room and catch you looking at her photo. You always used to hide it away, wipe your eyes and smile. I loved you for that. I hope you're with her now. I don't know if Heaven exists, or some other place. I'm not sure what I believe anymore. But I hope, wherever you are, that you and Tara are together. Goodbye, Willow, I miss you already."

She rubbed at her eyes and sniffed loudly, looking up at Spike expectantly.

"What? Oh, right. Yeah. Everything she said, Will, I agree with all the Bit said. You were a right good'un, I'll tell you that. Best of the lot. Liked you best. You always took right good care of Niblet, did a better job than I ever could. Thanks. I - er, I hope you're happy. Put you next to Tara, thought you'd like that. So, er…. I'll um, miss you, love. Bye, then."

He cleared his throat roughly and dug through his pockets to retrieve his cigarettes. He lit one and took a long drag. Angel glanced at the two of them before stepping forward and scooping up the bunch of flowers he had brought with him.

"Goodbye, Willow. Cordelia sends her love. Er, well, um, bye."

Spike snorted loudly as Angel threw one of the flowers into the grave. She heard him mutter "soft git." She took the offered bunch of flowers and threw her own onto the coffin. She handed the bunch to Spike and he stared at them for a moment before tossing one in and handed the bunch back to her. He picked up the spade and began to fill in the grave.

"I'll help you," Angel said, stepping forward.

"No, mate. You get off home to your girl. You can't leave her with that Gunn kid all night."

"Aimee's capable of looking after Cordelia."

"Yeah, but she's not you, is she?"

"No... You're sure?"

"Yeah. Now, bugger off."

Angel smiled grimly and extended his hand. After a brief hesitation, Spike took it and shook it firmly.

"I miss them too, you know, Spike," Angel muttered.

Spike didn't answer. Angel nodded and turned away, pulling her into a hug before he disappeared into the shadows of the trees. She remembered her sister always used to say that about him.

"What's he like?"

"Who?"

"Angel."

"How do you - well, he's handsome, and strong. A good guy to have watching your back. But he does this really annoying thing where he disappears into the shadows like he wasn't even there to start with."

She stood stonily still and silent as she watched him fill in the grave, her fingers crushing the stems of the remaining flowers.

When he had finished, she laid the flowers on the mound of earth and stepped back into his arms. She twisted around and kissed him hard on the lips. When they pulled apart, she saw his eyes slant toward her sister's grave.

She only made a move on him after she was turned. She was stunned when he reciprocated. They had been together ever since.

She had decided he must be over her sister when she came on to him. She figured he didn't visit the Slayer's grave anymore, that must mean he didn't love her anymore. Silly really, to think that. She should have known better. Two nights after their first kiss, she went to visit her sister's grave and found the remains of God knows how many cigarettes scattered along the foot of the grave. She had sunk to her knees and sobbed. She hated her sister, wanted to beat the hell out of her and that scared her because her sister was dead and she shouldn't hate her, she couldn't blame her for someone being in love with her. But she did, because it wasn't just anybody who was still in love with her, it was him, the man she wanted, the one she loved.

When she had cried every last tear out of her body, she realised that loving her sister was part of him and in a way, she loved that about him. So she dug a tiny hole in the grave and dropped all the cigarette ends into it. She saw it as a testimony of the vampire's love for the Slayer.

"We could leave, you know."

"What?" she asked, shaken out of her thoughts.

"We could leave here. We could go to LA. From what I've heard, Angel's little gang isn't exactly as good without Wesley, Gunn and Fred. He could do with a hand, I guess. If you want to, I suppose I could put up with the giant prat if you wanted to leave here."

"You'd hate it."

"I'd do it for you."

"I know. But I want to stay."

"Why?"

"Someone's gotta look after them," she gestured to the graves. "And I like it here."

"Me too. You're sure, love?"

"I'm sure. Unless you want to leave Sunnydale?"

"Well, someone's gotta watch the Hellmouth, haven't they, pet? There's not a Slayer here anymore, just us. You and me, against the world, Bit."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that, Spike. You're not my babysitter anymore."

"So what am I then?"

"The man I love."

He smiled at her. She loved his smile. Loved the way it extended to his eyes, loved the way he would smile at her when they were researching with the gang. It was a secret smile, once that said he loved her.

"I love you too, Dawn."

She grinned at him and he caught her around the waist and swung her around as he kissed her.

She knew it probably wasn't right to be giggling at what could laughingly be called a funeral. But her sister told her that the hardest thing in this world was to live in it. And right now, it was hard. Too hard. Too hard to say goodbye, too hard to watch the ground swallow her last friend.

But he was the only thing that made it easier to bear.

The End.