It had taken over an hour and a half to get to the small cemetery on
a cliff overlooking the ocean. Angel had chosen this place years ago,
trying to keep it far enough from both LA and Sunnydale so his friend would
not disturbed at his final resting place. Over the years, that decision
seemed smarter and smarter. He paid a caretaker very well to keep this plot
of land immaculate and not to ask questions.
On one side lay a small grove of trees with a wrought iron park bench. The first grave was closest to the bench. After a few years, the granite faded a bit, the mound where the grave had been dug settled, and it began to look like it belonged, like it was supposed to be there. Over the years, Angel had spent a lot of time many cemeteries, yet he still hadn't been able to pinpoint that imperceptible point in time when a new grave stopped appearing raw and began looking like part of the landscape. This was Doyle's grave.
The same couldn't be said for the two graves next to it. Both headstones glistened in the moonlight, the newly carved lettering looking deep black against the near white stone. Cordelia Chase and Winnifred Burkle. He'd decided to put up a headstone for Fred even though there was no body to put under it, and even though no one had informed her parents yet. With everything that had happened, the opportunity just hadn't presented itself. Or so he kept telling himself.
Between Doyle and Cordy's grave lay a rectangle of bare dirt where another stone had lain for a brief period of time. He had come here as soon as he could get away after his son had returned, and he'd destroyed the stone, throwing the pieces of granite in the ocean. He'd never told anyone that about any of it, though he suspected Cordelia had known.
"I do not understand." Illyria said archly from behind him. She sounded angry.
"She deserves to be remember as more than just your shell." He replied tersely, knowing what she took issue with. He continued before she could argue. "Let's start with Wesley."
He opened the trunk of the car, removing a shovel. As he passed the young Slayer, he checked to be sure she was still asleep. She'd passed out halfway through the ride. It amused him that she snored softly.
He thought about waking her, but decided against it. For all she wanted to help, this was a private matter.
Illyria watched silently as he dug. "Am I supposed to cry?" She asked.
Great, he thought to himself. He was going to be her new guide? What the hell did he know about being human? "I don't know." He said honestly. "Do you feel like crying?"
"I – I do not know."
"Most people cry when someone they care about dies. Some of them do it in private, though."
She appeared to think that over, then took the shovel. "Let us finish this, so I may think on this further."
On one side lay a small grove of trees with a wrought iron park bench. The first grave was closest to the bench. After a few years, the granite faded a bit, the mound where the grave had been dug settled, and it began to look like it belonged, like it was supposed to be there. Over the years, Angel had spent a lot of time many cemeteries, yet he still hadn't been able to pinpoint that imperceptible point in time when a new grave stopped appearing raw and began looking like part of the landscape. This was Doyle's grave.
The same couldn't be said for the two graves next to it. Both headstones glistened in the moonlight, the newly carved lettering looking deep black against the near white stone. Cordelia Chase and Winnifred Burkle. He'd decided to put up a headstone for Fred even though there was no body to put under it, and even though no one had informed her parents yet. With everything that had happened, the opportunity just hadn't presented itself. Or so he kept telling himself.
Between Doyle and Cordy's grave lay a rectangle of bare dirt where another stone had lain for a brief period of time. He had come here as soon as he could get away after his son had returned, and he'd destroyed the stone, throwing the pieces of granite in the ocean. He'd never told anyone that about any of it, though he suspected Cordelia had known.
"I do not understand." Illyria said archly from behind him. She sounded angry.
"She deserves to be remember as more than just your shell." He replied tersely, knowing what she took issue with. He continued before she could argue. "Let's start with Wesley."
He opened the trunk of the car, removing a shovel. As he passed the young Slayer, he checked to be sure she was still asleep. She'd passed out halfway through the ride. It amused him that she snored softly.
He thought about waking her, but decided against it. For all she wanted to help, this was a private matter.
Illyria watched silently as he dug. "Am I supposed to cry?" She asked.
Great, he thought to himself. He was going to be her new guide? What the hell did he know about being human? "I don't know." He said honestly. "Do you feel like crying?"
"I – I do not know."
"Most people cry when someone they care about dies. Some of them do it in private, though."
She appeared to think that over, then took the shovel. "Let us finish this, so I may think on this further."