AN: scene separations are noted by 'QQ'...it's the only way I can separate scenes due to the system at this site.
Part 3
"Buffy?" called Xander, placing a hand on the motionless blonde's shoulder.
She didn't flinch at the unexpected touch, nor did she answer him. Her eyes were trained solely on the patch of dirt that now rested above her much-loved brother. As far as Xander could tell, Buffy had been standing that way for nearly an hour. The graveside services were long over, and now the young man had to figure out a way to get his friend to leave. He knew it wasn't healthy for her to stay there much longer.
"Buffy? We should go. Everyone is already back at the house," he told her, referring to the post-funeral gathering.
Silence again greeted Xander. He wasn't even sure she heard him. It unnerved him the way she just stood there, staring blankly before her.
"I don't want to leave him," she finally whispered several minutes later. "He'll be all alone."
Xander fought back tears at the words she had spoken. His heart, already broken by the loss of Oz, shattered further at the brutal statement. As heavy as his own grief was, he knew that Buffy's was a hundred times worse. Her entire world was crumbling. Again. He was seriously concerned for her welfare after this latest blow. How much could one person take before they broke? He would do anything possible, though, to keep that from happening. Buffy had always been like a sister to him, and Oz was his best friend. It was his job now to keep her safe.
"He's not alone, Buffy," he said comfortingly, pulling her into a hug. "His soul is up in Heaven with your Mom."
Buffy choked back a sob, squeezing Xander tighter. "Do you really think so?"
"I know so," Xander reaffirmed.
"I miss him," she spoke in a whimper.
"I do, too," he whispered. "But he'll always be watching over you. That's what big brothers do."
She didn't respond, too lost in her grief to say anything more. Xander simply held her in his arms, doing the only thing he could do at the moment. It wasn't much, but he hoped she would realize that she wasn't alone.
A few raindrops hit Xander's skin. He looked up at the sky, seeing the dark clouds looming. "We should go before it starts pouring."
Like a robot, Buffy moved throughout the house, accepting condolences from close friends, casual acquaintances, and perfect strangers. She didn't want to hear their kind words. What she wanted was to have her brother back, for Oz to come rushing down the stairs because he was late for practice again. But he would never go to practice again. He'd never do anything anymore. He was dead.
The word 'dead' echoed inside her mind. Her steps faltered. She would have fallen if the kitchen counter hadn't been nearby for her to grab on to. For several minutes she remained in that position, gripping the counter so hard her knuckles turned white. She could hear the voices of people speaking in the next room, but they sounded so far away. But not far enough. She wanted them all to go away, to leave her alone.
"Buff?" Xander's voice broke through her thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Buffy willed a small smile onto her face and turned to look at her friend. The moment she saw his eyes, her steely façade almost crumbled, but she held on. He couldn't see her cry. They couldn't see her cry. Just a little bit longer and they would all be gone.
"Yeah?" she asked dully.
"I've, uh, gotta go to work. Are you going to be okay? I can call in sick if you need me to," he offered, taking a step toward her. He would have been lying if he said the dead look in her eyes didn't bother him.
"I'm fine," she assured him, though the excessive cheer in her voice was more than enough to belie her words.
Xander knew she wasn't telling the truth. There was no way that she could be fine. There was no way any of them could be fine. He couldn't force her to grieve, though. Only time would dull the pain and help mend her shattered world. Still, he wished that he didn't have to work. He worried about her being in the house all alone once all the others had left.
"Okay, but if you need me, don't hesitate to call," he ordered, hugging her once more before leaving through the back door.
Buffy released a relieved breath as soon as the screen door snapped close. One less person to deal with. Now if only the others would leave. Though what she was supposed to do after she didn't know.
"Hey, Xander," Angel greeted solemnly from his seat at one of the tables in the break room at the police station.
"Angel," Xander said, startled to see his friend there. "I didn't think you were working tonight."
"I wasn't. Matthews called in sick," explained Angel, rising from the chair and going over to his locker.
"I didn't see you at Buffy's." As he spoke, Xander glanced at Angel out of the corner of his eye. He immediately noticed the stiffening of Angel's body at the mention of Buffy.
"I went to the funeral, but I didn't think I'd be wanted at the house," Angel relayed sadly.
Xander sighed loudly, running a hand over his face. As much as he hated to admit it, Angel was probably right. His presence would likely not have been taken well. Buffy and Angel couldn't even be within viewing distance without gut wrenching angst ensuing. It had been that way for almost three years, and even though he knew the whole story, it still hurt him to see his friends act like that.
"How is she?" Angel asked when Xander remained quiet.
"Not good," answered Xander, shaking his head.
"I wish...," Angel started, but then quickly halted his thoughts. It didn't matter what he wished. Buffy would probably never speak to him again let alone allow him be there for her.
"I thought sometime next week I'd take her to get some flowers to plant at the...the...grave," Xander choked out the last word, still having a hard time himself accepting that his best friend of seven years was dead.
"That sounds good," mumbled Angel. "I better get going."
"Yeah," Xander agreed, grabbing his stuff from his locker. "We don't want the Chief on our asses again."
Just outside the front door to the house, Buffy hugged her Aunt Phyllis, forcing her body to respond to the unwanted gesture. She'd met her aunt maybe two or three times in the duration of her life so it was more than a little awkward to have the woman hugging her like they were extremely close. At least this time she wasn't pinching her cheeks and commenting on how cute she was like the woman had done when Buffy had last seen her when she was twelve.
"We're flying back home tomorrow, dear, but I want you to call us if you need anything," the middle-aged woman commanded gently.
"I will," Buffy answered automatically, knowing she had no intention of doing any such thing.
The two women said their goodbyes and Buffy watched as her aunt climbed into the waiting taxi. As soon as it was out of sight, the forced smile fell from her face. A few tears gathered in her eyes, but Buffy refused to let them fall. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she turned and walked back into the house. She only had one more person to get rid of and then she would finally be alone.
Inside the kitchen, she could hear the clattering of dishes as Willow cleaned up. Willow Rosenberg had been her best friend since the move from LA despite the fact that she was a year older than Buffy. They hadn't spoken much during the past two years since Willow left Sunnydale to go to college at Berkeley. Buffy didn't know whether it was the distance that had put a rift in their friendship, or the fact that Willow and Oz had ended their two year relationship just before she left.
Pausing in the doorway, Buffy studied the mechanical movements of her friend. She knew Willow had to be just as hurt as she was over losing Oz. Her brother and Willow had had such a strong relationship. To this day, she still didn't know what had caused their falling out. Even though they hadn't been together anymore, Buffy knew they still cared a great deal about each other.
"You don't have to do that," Buffy told the redhead. A frown formed on her face as she noticed Willow's entire body stiffen at the sound of her voice.
"Fine," muttered Willow, turning slowly to face Buffy.
The look in Willow's eyes made Buffy flinch. There was a coldness in them that she didn't understand. "Um, thank you for coming down. I appreciate yo-."
"I shouldn't have had to come!" she snapped, cutting Buffy off.
"What?" Buffy gasped, shocked by the barely restrained anger radiating from her friend.
Willow took several steps toward Buffy, stopping two feet away from her. "Oz shouldn't be dead!" she shouted.
"N-no, he s-shouldn't be de-...dead," Buffy stuttered, a tear falling down her cheek as the word 'dead' passed her lips.
"It's all your fault!" accused Willow, glaring menacingly at Buffy.
"M-my fault?" Buffy repeated, her lower lip trembling. "It...it was an a-accident."
"That's not what I'm talking about," Willow spat, her eyes narrowing. "He should have been with me."
"I-I don't know what you're t-talking about," denied Buffy, taking a step back.
"Oh, let me guess. He never told you. Have to protect poor, little Buffy," she mocked coldly. "I asked him to move with me up to Berkeley, and he wanted to! But he said he couldn't leave you here alone. So I told him he could come up after you graduated high school, but he still said no. He had to stay here with you when he could have been with me!"
"I didn't know," Buffy whispered brokenly, tears now freely falling.
Ignoring the statement, Willow continued. "And he would have never gotten into an accident and been killed if he had gone with me! It's all your fault that he's dead because he had to stay and play guardian angel!"
Buffy reared back from the force of the accusation, almost as if she'd been physically slapped. Her thoughts swirled together in her head, the phrase 'your fault' overtaking all else. "It...it was an accident," she repeated meekly, unable to think of anything else to say.
"You just keep telling yourself that," Willow snorted. She spared one last glance at Buffy before storming out of the house.
Buffy never heard the slamming of the door that followed. Her feet felt like lead, mired in a wasteland of pain, grief, and now guilt. Willow's brutal words echoed repeatedly in her head.
Her fault.
Oz was dead.
It was her fault.
Numbly, she stumbled out of the kitchen. The rooms of the house spun uncontrollably before her eyes. She slammed into the hallway wall, hardly feeling the blow. Her hand grasped at the railing running along the stairs, using it for balance.
Somehow she ended up in the living room, standing frozen in the center. The pictures, smiling laughing portraits of times past, all seemed to stare at her, mocking her with their happiness. On the wall opposite her, two clay plaques rested, handprints made when each of them were five. A stack of sheet music sat on the coffee table, never again to be touched.
Buffy turned wildly, trying to escape the harsh reminders of all she'd lost, but instead of escaping, she was faced with more. Argyle, the golden retriever Oz had had since he was fourteen, sat mutely in Oz's favorite chair; a chair he had hardly left in the week since his master's death, a chair that Oz would never sit in again while they watched cheesy eighties movies together on a Saturday night.
Falling to her knees, Buffy screamed. The sound came out primal and barren, reverberating loudly throughout the almost empty house. A house that had once been home to her family: herself, her mother, and her brother. Now they were gone. First her mother, then Oz. It was too much for Buffy to bear.
"Angel?" came Xander's frantic, staticky voice over the radio in Angel's patrol car.
Grabbing the small receiver, Angel replied, "Yeah, Angel here."
"I just got a call from one of Buffy's neighbors. She said something's wrong at the house. She heard a scream and then a lot of crashing and banging," Xander relayed in a panic.
"Fuck!" Angel cursed, slamming on the brakes of his car.
"I'm all the way on the other side of town. Where are you?" asked Xander in a rush.
"Only a few blocks from her house," Angel answered distractedly, his thoughts on Buffy.
"Okay. I'm on my way. I'll meet you there," Xander said quickly.
Angel never answered. He threw the receiver onto the passenger seat of the car, all the while hating himself for not being there. She shouldn't have been alone at a time like this. His chastising would have to wait, though. He needed to get to Buffy. Flipping on the siren and lights of his patrol car, Angel pulled a u-turn, his tires squealing loudly in the quiet night.
A mere two minutes later, Angel had arrived at Buffy's house. He didn't even bother to knock, just threw open the front door and rushed inside. What he had expected once he got there, Angel didn't know, but it certainly wasn't what he found.
The entire living room was trashed. There didn't appear to be an inch of it left untouched. The coffee table was upside down, its contents strewn across the floor. A large crack etched the glass of the TV screen, likely caused by the metal sculpture lying in front of it. The flowery curtains Joyce Summers' had put up years ago hung lopsided and torn along the windows. And that was only what Angel saw at first glance.
He didn't have time to examine the room further because within seconds, his eyes found Buffy where she lay motionless in the middle of the floor with Argyle at her side, his head resting on her chest. When the dog stood, Angel saw the blood, red splatters dotting her shirt and the floor surrounding her.
"Buffy!" he shouted, yanking out his cellphone as he rushed to her side and praying to anyone listening that she was all right.
TBC!!
