The Funeral
Once again, I own none of these characters. They belong to that magician Joss Whedon. Enjoy (And review!!! please!!).
Giles was at his house.
He was sat looking at the door. He had been here for about two hours. He had closed the shop early. He had said he would meet Angel here. He wanted to keep the vampire as far away from Dawn as possible. He knew seeing him would be hard for Dawn. If she felt anything like him, she would blame the en-souled demon for Buffy's death.
In truth Giles didn't blame Angel, but he did feel that if the Vampire had cared as much as he said he did he should have been there, regardless of whether he was in another dimension or whatever he had told Willow. He should have found a way.
Willow had returned two days ago, but Angel had to sort a few things out before he could come down. Giles had telephoned and told Angel to meet him first at his house before going to Dawn's.
There was a knock at the door.
Giles got up, took a swig of his glass of scotch and walked to the door. He took a deep breath, and turned the handle. He did not expect to be greeted by who was in front of him. An as the shock registered itself, two arms came lunging at his neck.
"Giles, how you been?" squealed Cordelia.
The ex-cheerleader wrapped her arms around the ageing librarian. Behind her stood Wesley, the man who had been charged with looking after Buffy when the watcher's council had fired Giles. He looked different, more assured.
"Cordelia, don't take this the wrong way, but what are you two doing here?" Giles asked, as he tried to remove her vice like grip. Wesley walked into the house after Cordelia, who had unattached herself from Giles' neck.
"We came for the funeral," he explained to Giles.
"When we found out we had to come. We knew her too Giles," Cordelia justified herself. Wesley looked at his feet as Giles closed the door behind them.
"Where's Angel?" he asked, whilst nodding in response to Cordelia's statement.
"Well you know our dark avenger," the skinny girl told him. Giles looked on puzzled, as if to ask 'what?' "He's avenging" Cordelia told him, sounding almost disgusted that she had to explain herself.
Giles looked over to Wesley. "Cup of tea?" he asked his countryman.
"Thank you, but I'm not that thirsty," Wesley replied. He looked at Giles' home. It was different from what he had expected. There was a guitar in the corner for one. He had never imagined Giles as a musician. Lorne would have loved him.
"Cordelia?" Giles asked as he turned.
"Have you got anything stronger??" Cordelia asked him. Giles motioned to the bottle of scotch he had been drinking from moments earlier. Cordelia picked up the scotch and poured it into an empty mug that was on the table.
"Giles, are we staying here tonight or at Buff-" Wesley stopped before he could finish what he was saying. "Sorry, I didn't think"
Giles looked at the young English man. "That's why you'll be staying here. In case you have any more lapses" he seemed angry at Wesley's mistake. They all stared at each other, silent. Cordelia hated awkward silence.
"Well this scotch is great!" she exclaimed.
Spike walked into the kitchen of Dawn's house. He walked to the fridge and pulled a packet of pig's blood. He ripped it, poured the blood into a mug and placed the cup in the microwave. He turned the machine on and sat at the counter.
He palmed his face, rubbing the weariness out of his flesh. His hair wasn't neatly slicked back as it normally was, but instead tufts were sticking up. He couldn't be bothered to put it right. He wasn't trying to portray an image. He was fighting evil so he could hardly claim to be the big bad. And the only person that he gave a toss about how they saw him was dead. He looked through the doorway into the hall. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear crying. 'Probably the witch' he thought to himself.
He looked at a magazine on the counter. It was a fashion magazine. He flipped through the first few pages and came across a picture of a girl who was the spitting image of Buffy. He paused and looked at the girl. He wondered what her life was like, if she had a brain cell in that pretty little head of hers. He guessed not, otherwise why would she be modelling the latest shoes from some French prat?
He heard a bell go off, and turned towards the microwave. His blood was done. He opened the microwave door and took a gulp. As he did he remembered one of the last things he had said to Buffy. It had been about how it had to be Dawn's blood that opened the portal to Glory's home. Blood kept you warm, gave you life. He felt guilty drinking it. He felt like he was taking life from Buffy. He wondered what was in store for the future. Spike couldn't understand why a soulless demon was saved, and why the champion of the human race was allowed to die. He didn't understand. He didn't want to understand. He finished his drink and walked out the door. There was more on the streets than vampires. Worse. And Spike was angry.
Dawn was sitting on her bed. For the last few days she had been hard at work trying to fix something she had broken. Her diaries. She was trying to re-write them.
"This would be so much easier if I had the originals" she sighed to herself.
She was trying to remember the time when she was five and Buffy had stolen her favourite doll. She couldn't quite remember how her dad had solved that dispute; just that it ended with ice cream all round. It was like some kind of sit-com solution to problems. "Let's get ice cream!" her dad had exclaimed. Thinking back it was kind of weird. Kind of too perfect. Dawn guessed the monks had messed up with that memory. Everything else was almost perfect, apart from the odd glitch.
Like the fact Dawn had always known that Buffy was the slayer, but had never let it slip to their mom. She always tadled on Buffy. Always. But not this time.
She heard a door slam. She looked out her window. Spike was leaving the house. She got why Spike had stuck around. None of the others did. Spike had loved Buffy, and if he hadn't been caught out by that freaky old man, Doc Spike had called him, then Buffy would be downstairs right now shouting up the stairs to her little sister about how much trouble she was in. Spike felt guilty. Dawn could identify with that. If she hadn't been given to Buffy to protect, then her sister would still be alive. Only she wouldn't be her sister. They wouldn't have ever met; Dawn might not even have been human. She certainly wouldn't be the person she was now if it weren't for Buffy.
She was made from Buffy. The monks had used the slayer as a template in creating her. It was one of the reasons Dawn wasn't as upset as everyone else. She missed her sister, she had cried for days. But she also knew that a part of Buffy was in her, a large part. And that Buffy wasn't really dead as long as she was around. Tara had told her that. Dawn loved Tara.
The witch had been the strongest of the group in the aftermath. Even stronger than Giles, though he hid it well. Dawn had caught the watcher crying a couple of times, only to be told he had something in his eye. Tara had kept her grief inside. No one had seen her cry. Maybe Willow, but none of the others.
Dawn wondered how she would feel tomorrow. It had been her idea for a late evening burial, the last of the day. She wanted Spike there. She felt it was the least that the vampire deserved. It also meant that Angel could come. She didn't blame him for Buffy's death, but she did feel he should have been there. If he loved her as much as he said he did, he would have been there. She hoped there wouldn't be any trouble between Angel and Spike. At least not tomorrow. Tomorrow was for everyone. It was a chance to say goodbye before they moved on. It was a chance to say goodbye.
Tara was in the bedroom where Buffy and Dawn's mom had slept. Willow and her were sleeping in there now. It had made the most sense, seeing as they were going to look after Dawn now. They knew Giles was leaving for England soon. They were the only ones who knew. Giles was having a hard time breaking it to the others.
She was reading a book. It was Descartes six meditations. She was studying it in preparation for Philosophy next semester. She was also trying to get away from being the rock of the house. Everyone was falling to pieces, everyone apart from her. Dawn seemed to have accepted the death of her sister the easiest.
Tara, however, knew this wasn't the case. It had been Tara who had held Dawn's hand as she cried for the first few nights. It was Tara who tried to explain to Dawn that life goes on. And it was Tara who was wishing someone would do that for her. Willow was a tower of strength, but Tara knew she was as hurt as anyone else. Mr. Giles had enough on his plate for Tara to burden him with more grief. So she kept quiet. He read her books. She kept her pain inside. Buffy had been the first of the group to stand up for her when her family came to town. She had been her saviour that day.
And Tara felt that she had to look after the group in her absence. She had to become the mother. The others were so young. Tara may have been the same age as the others, but emotionally there was no comparison. Tara had been raised in a life of abuse and conflict. Being constantly told she was a demon, and how she would transform at her twentieth birthday. Being forced into a life not of her choosing. When she had left for collage she had tried to forget, but it had stuck with her. She had trouble making friends. She had trouble speaking to anyone. Willow had changed that.
And now she was the most able of the group. Willow was a child at heart, unsure of the world, curious. Xander felt he had to resort to humour whenever the going got tough. Anya didn't understand death. Dawn was technically one eight months old. She had to keep them together. Had to keep them strong. Especially now that Mr. Giles was leaving. She sighed and put her book down. She felt tense. She felt soar. Tara walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind her and ran a bath.
Angel walked down the steps that led to Giles' house. He paused. He could smell that Cordelia and Wesley were already here. He didn't want to see Giles. He didn't want to have to explain himself as to why he wasn't there when Buffy died. He didn't want the watchers eyes staring into him. Even though Angel was over two hundred and forty years old, something about Rupert Giles made him uneasy.
It might have been the fact that he had killed the ex-librarian's girlfriend, and then tortured him for good measure. He didn't have a soul then, but he could still remember it like it was his hand cutting into the Englishman's flesh, his lips tasteing the blood of the gypsy woman. Back before he had been turned he wouldn't have felt any guilt hurting the pigs that had taken his homeland. But when you became a vampire you left behind nationality. You left behind those feelings. You didn't hate anyone. You pitied them. You killed them. It wasn't the same.
He sat on the steps. He could see through the window by the door, and he could see Cordelia sitting at a table. He couldn't see Giles or Wesley. He could imagine whatever they were talking about wouldn't have been that interesting.
Angel's thoughts turned to Fred. He wondered how she was doing. He wouldn't see her for a long time now he knew. He hadn't told the others yet, but he was going to go away for a while after the funeral. He had to take some time once Buffy was at rest. He had to assess his life. He had to find a new reason to fight for. He looked up when he heard a noise. Giles was staring at him, the door ajar.
"You had better come in," the watcher's elegant tone of voice inviting him, but also scorning him.
Angel swallowed hard, got up and walked into the house.
Spike jumped from the wall, and landed a punch on he demon he had been chasing. The monster fell to the floor, dropping a basket he had been carrying.
"Nice basket, wager there's a baby in there, right?" Spike asked the demon.
The basket had fallen in such a way, that the lid had opened. Kittens ran loose.
"Oh, bollox!" Spike moaned, "I nailed the big kitten thief? Well that's heroic!"
The demon got up, his extra skin flapping as he got up. "Why did you jump on me?" he asked, his eyes wide open.
"You're a demon. You're evil. I was trying to hurt you, you nit!" Spike told the demon.
"I'm not evil. Just because I haven't got a soul doesn't make me evil. It just means that I were to kill anyone or do something of equal evilness, which I haven't, I wouldn't have any guilt. Doesn't mean I want to hurt things" the pink demon defended himself.
Spike looked at the creature. "Well I guess you do have a point," he said, straight faced. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you"
"Wait, wait a second. I got money?" the demon pleaded.
Spike moved in on him.
"I got kittens, well I had kittens,"
Spike vamped out.
"I have buffalo wings at my place!"
The last ditch effort got Spikes attention. Buffalo wings. He did like buffalo wings. But this was a demon, and Spike wanted to get his anger out on something.
"I can make those flower onion things that go with them!" the demon tried in vain to make it seem more appealing.
"You got beer?" Spike asked. The demon nodded. "Fine, let's go" Spike told him. The demon wasn't exactly going to destroy the world. He wanted to be drunk. He wanted to forget. He wanted Buffy.
"My names Clem, by the way," the demon told an uninterested Spike "What's yours?"
The two walked off together.