Disclaimer: All belongs to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, etc. I'm just borrowing them for a while. I'll give them back, I promise.
Chapter Four: Willow
The ground is cold beneath her.
She looks down, and is nauseated by what she sees. The battle had been undoubtedly brutal: blood has pooled together with the rain of the previous evening creating grisly rivers all around her. She watches as the revolting mixture runs the length of the alley before fading into L.A.'s labyrinthine sewer system.
She listens to the sounds of rushing water as all evidence of the horror around her washes away.
She is silent as she clutches Buffy to her, holding her as a mother would a child. She offers no words of comfort or condolence, however, for there is nothing to say.
Xander stands nearby gazing at the sunrise. Sorrow marks his features giving her pause. He turns his head and their eyes meet. She hears what he whispered to the dawn, and her eyes fill. She smiles and gathers Buffy closer in her arms.
She is surprised at the peace she feels. Surrounded by death and the ghastly remains of battle, and yet she feels only an all-encompassing stillness and tranquility.
They would perhaps never know fully what had taken place here, but the outcome is clear. The scales had been checked, and balance achieved; a sacrificial act for the triumph of all.
The sudden equilibrium gives her a heady feeling, and she indulges herself in the sensation. She hadn't realized the weight she carried. It is gone now, and the sense of freedom, the sense that for the first time in years she is master of her own life is liberating and terrifying all at once.
She supposes everyone keeps a list of people, or events in their lives they think of as life-changing, and she is no different.
A broken crayon in kindergarten; getting perfect scores on a test that most of the class had failed and thereafter being labeled asa nerd; Buffy introducing herself on her first day at Sunnydale High; seeing a vampire dusted for the first time; Xander making it known he had slept with Faith; Oz leaving her; meeting Tara and falling in love; Buffy jumping to her death; Tara collapsing to the floor in front of her; dead; embracing evil; watching Sunnydale falling into the earth...
The list seems to go on forever, but buried in the maelstrom is a memory of Angel.
She had gone to L.A. to tell him about Buffy's death. She still doesn't remember the two hour drive to L.A., only the turbulent emotions coursing through her, and how she agonized about how to tell him. She remembers the resentment and anger she had felt knowing she had to do this alone.
The Hyperion had been empty, however, when she arrived. She had been ashamed of the relief she experienced in that moment.
So she waited.
He had known. As soon as he had seen her face he had known. In the end, she didn't have to say anything at all.
She had stood mutely as he seemed to deflate, and sink slowly to the steps below him, Cordelia and Wesley sitting on either side of him lending him support.
She had haltingly told him what had taken place: Glory, Dawn, the portal, and finally, Buffy's death to close it. She had watched him while she spoke and had glimpsed pride and approval beneath the anguish.
She hadn't understood, or thought she'd misinterpreted the emotions in his eyes.
Now she knows.
He had understood that Buffy's death had been a precious gift borne out of her love for them all. He knew she had forfeited her own life for the greater good, and he loved her all the more because of her choice. He seemed to make a decision in that moment to respect and honor her.
She wants to share this with Buffy, but doesn't know how. She knows how empty and worthless words can be in moments like this, but feels she should share this memory of Angel with her.
She takes a breath, and steels herself, but it is Buffy who speaks first.
"Death was my gift," she whispers brokenly. "I guess it was his, too."
There is nothing more to say.
She nods wordlessly watching as Buffy stiffly pulls away from her and stands.
It is time to go home.