Funeral
Part III

Faith had just picked up her stake and was about to go out on patrol when the phone rang. It was Giles. "What's up, G'?" she asked.
"It's Wesley," he answered. "He's dead."
"Wes?" asked Faith, as if Giles would answer "Did I say Wesley? I meant an evil vampire everyone hated. Sorry about the confusion." "What happened?"
"According to his father, they found him in the Los Angeles mansion of a powerful—and evil—sorcerer named Cyvus Vale. The sorcerer's head was crushed in, and Wesley seemed to die from a stomach wound from a knife or dagger some such instrument."
It was not as if the last year had been devoid of death. Faith was a Vampire Slayer, after all, and she was used to those around her dying. Anya. The potentials. Spike. Somehow, though, she had taken to believing that people only died around her. Intellectually, she knew they—Angel, Fred, Gunn—continued fighting without her Emotionally, she had believed that if she stayed away they would be safe. Suddenly, she found herself inextricably angry with Wesley. He should have died at her side. He was her Watcher, after all.
"The funeral will be Tuesday in L.A. Would you like to—"
"I'll go," she answered, hollowly. "Could you—"
"I'll make the travel arrangements," he agreed. Traveling half across the country while a wanted fugitive from the law required more finesse than Faith could manage. Her strategy would have been to hitchhike the entire way.

Most of the people at the funeral did whatever they could to avoid making eye contact with Faith. Not that she was surprised. Many of those attending were Watchers—she could tell by the British accents and stuck-up attitudes—and she was a Slayer. Of course, Slayers were a dime a dozen these days, thanks to that spell Willow cast, but she had been Slayer before that, and besides, she had made sure the Council would have stood up and taken noticed.
She had gone rogue.
Rogue. Even the word sounded ugly. Sure, she was a kick-ass X-man with a cool accent (Anna Paquin just wasn't up to it) and who could fly (Andrew once had gone on a spiel with an explanation involving Mystique—who was that blue chick—and someone named Miss Marvel, but Faith hadn't been able to keep up, nor had she wanted to). But while in prison, Faith had looked up what the word really meant. A rogue was a vagrant, a vagabond. Someone without a home, or friends.
Someone, in other words, who was alone.
"Faith, perhaps some others would also like to pay their respects." Faith started out of her reverie, realized she had thought all of these things while staring into Wesley's coffin.
"I'm good, G'," Faith said to Giles, moving on in the line. The Watcher followed her.
"Where's Angel?" she asked him. "Why isn't he here?"
Giles actually took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. Perhaps being around so many stiff Watchers had revived old habits—or perhaps it had been the year spent in London. "We know that the Wolfram & Hart building has been destroyed," he answered. "A very selective earthquake. Beyond that, our intelligence is only slightly better than useless. Since that night—the same night Wesley died—Angel hasn't been heard from. Neither have any of his associates."
"There's Fred, over there," pointing at the petite physicist. "I don't see Gunn anywhere, though."
"Gun?" asked Giles, confused. "Ah, yes. Charles Gunn. The head of Wolfram and Hart's legal department. Formerly the head, I suppose."
"And not bad in a fight either." Where was he? Where was Angel? She knew they wouldn't miss Wesley's funeral, not if they could help it, even if an apocalypse was occurring at the same time. Which meant it was rather likely an apocalypse was occurring. Or had occurred—no, she banished the thought from her mind.
It wasn't right, though. Wesley should be mourned by his allies and colleagues, and instead they were nowhere to be found. Well, Fred was there, and Faith liked to think that she herself qualified, but still it wasn't enough. Angel should have been there. Without him, it was like Wesley was being buried alone.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Requiescat in pace
1966-2004

A/N: Those of you who want a happy ending don't understand how I work. "Not Fade Away" ended a certain way, with the heroes locked in mortal combat with the Senior Partners. It was ambivalent to their fates, or else very explicit that they were going to die. If I were to undo that ambivalence, it'd practically be betraying everything that "Not Fade Away" stood for. Joss chose to end Angel with that moment for a specific reason, and even though I extend the Buffyverse past that moment in this fic, I want to remain as true as possible to its spirit.

Which means no happy ending.