Author's Note: Xander and Andrew's quotes are taken from George Lucas's excellent film, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. The structure of this chapter was inspired by an episode of Joss Whedon's superb television series Firefly, entitled 'Out of Gas'. The old black and white film that was alluded to is the classic Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Praise and thanks to my beta-readers!

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The Inventory of Good-bye

I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides - what a bargain - no expensive phone callcaps.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an off-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us

Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, and I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.

Anne Sexton
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02. Valediction

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Buffy stared aimlessly out of the double-layer window from her seat next to Lorne, her eyes unseeing. She and the green-skinned karaoke enthusiast were flying first class from Las Vegas to London, all travel expenses to be reimbursed in full by the New Watchers Council. Leaning her forehead against the cushioned paneling of the airplane cabin, Buffy idly fantasized about kicking open the emergency exit and throwing herself bodily off from the plane. Chuckling sadistically to herself, the blonde Slayer conjured up images of herself plummeting into the waiting abyss of the blue Pacific in her head. The flight intercom chimed to life just as her mental counterpart plunged into the bottomless depths that promised absolution and repose. For a brief instant, Buffy entertained the idea in earnest, wondering whether she would die first from the asphyxiation during the fall or the impact itself. She heaved a regretful sigh as the pilot announced their scheduled landing in London International Airport in one hour's time.

If only dying were that easy...

Glancing down at her black dress clad self, the petite blonde marveled once again at the newly unmarred skin. Seeing her seventeen year-old self staring back at her in the mirror had been quite the shock. Of course, Buffy had cursed herself for her naivete afterwards. Freaky shit always seemed to happen to her and those around her, and after eleven years as the Chosen One, she really should have known better. Still, Buffy could not have been more pleased about the physical regression the PTB had gifted her. As a Vampire Slayer, she had always healed fast and seldom scarred. But even her impressive rapid healing had not been enough to disguise the physical testament of her second taste of eternity. She still remembered the uncontained expressions of horror on her rescuers' faces when she had finally emerged from that particular hell, almost physically unrecognizable and half driven out of her mind. Willow had blanched and convulsively thrown up on the spot, while for the first time since Buffy met the brunette Slayer, Faith appeared to be near tears. But Spike, he had looked at her as if she were still beautiful... Thankfully, Willow's glamour spell had worked like a charm. Within the day, the blonde Slayer was back to looking like her old self. Only Buffy herself was able to tell the difference when she bothered to look hard enough.

Buffy snuck a gander at Lorne, who was currently humming along to the latest Mariah Carey CD, looking unaffected for the first time since he'd sought her out. His Wiccan witch friend had conveniently cast a glamour spell on the Empath Demon so he would blend in better with their fellow travelers. All in all, the blonde Slayer thought Lorne looked adorable as a tall, dark-haired man, so adorable to her at that moment that the corners of her mouth twitched for a brief instant, so briefly that you would miss it in the blink of an eye. Feeling the burning sensation of guilt beginning to coil in the pit of her stomach, Buffy quickly shifted her gaze away from the loveable demon. She was truly sorry for the way she had behaved during the past week, for shutting Lorne out so thoroughly despite his admirable efforts at playing the supportive, chipper host even as he was dealing with his own grief over Angel and Spike. She was sorry for the mess she had made in his bathtub, sorry for his having to rush her to the emergency room, sorry for his having to hide all the knives in the kitchen. She was sorry for a lot of things.

Vaguely, Buffy recalled how she had locked herself away in one of the guest bedrooms in Lorne's amazing Vegas penthouse suite as the full weight of everything finally sunk in. Day and night had bled one into another as time crawled at an agonizing pace and the Slayer lost herself to sorrow and grief. Sitting alone with her demons under the garish rays of the Nevada sun, Buffy had been blind to the world as her mind drowned itself in half-remembered reminiscences and nightmarish hallucinations. It had all come to an abrupt stop, though, when Lorne had burst in on her, his ruby eyes wild with worry and concern. The days after that had been hard, but the Empath Demon had stubbornly kept her from slipping back into that dark place. For that, Buffy would be eternally grateful.

A light tap on the shoulder interrupted the Slayer's thoughts. Turning her head, Buffy noticed that the pretty stewardess had parked up her cart beside them in the aisle and that Lorne had removed his earplugs and was gazing in her direction, his snack table pulled down to accommodate a lunch tray.

"Chicken broccoli or filet mignon, miss?" the flight attendant inquired pleasantly.

"No thank you," Buffy answered, lowering her own snack table from the back of the seat directly in front of hers.

"Would you like something to drink, then?" the stewardess asked as she placed the tray on Buffy's table.

"Just water, please."

Buffy gingerly picked up her clear plastic cup, idly observing how the light reflected off of the sparkling surface.

"'It's over, Anakin! I have the high ground!'" threatened the Obi-Wan action figure from atop a can of soda.

A beat later.

"'You underestimate my power!'" cried the miniature Anakin Skywalker figurine, blandishing his lightsaber in a menacing manner.

"'Don't try it.'" Obi-Wan jumped down from his perch, viciously swiping his tiny, plastic lightsaber at his young apprentice's left arm.

"Ow, Xander! That's my joystick hand!" Andrew shrieked in a slightly high-pitched voice, rubbing his right hand gingerly.

Xander rolled his eyes melodramatically at the junior Watcher's peevishness. "That's not part of the movie, Andrew."

"Oh! Okay, sorry! Continue," Andrew quickly amended, righting his Anakin Skywalker to confront his Jedi Master.

Obi-Wan's lightsaber lashed out at Anakin's left arm again before going for his kneecaps.

"'You were The Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy The Sith, not join the—'"

By this point, Buffy, who had been sitting across the aisle from the pair and observing with marked amusement, burst into a silent fit of giggles. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tried in vain to contain her mirth. The blonde Slayer continued to snigger quietly into her hand, not sure whether the exchange was actually funny or if the Transatlantic, flight-induced insomnia was finally getting to her.

"'-m! It was you who would bring balance to The Forc—'"

"You're doing it all wrong!" Andrew complained. "Everyone knows that Obi-Wan cuts off Anakin's legs first and then his arm!"

"Oh, shut up or I'll break your lightsaber for real, Andrew!" Xander hissed in an annoyed tone.

The blonde-haired, junior Watcher's eyes widened comically for a second as he hid his beloved action figure with a shocked gasp. "You don't have the midiclorians!"

In response, Xander attacked the action figure clutched in Andrew's hand with his own.

"Hey!" Andrew screeched, causing the elder Watcher dozing lightly in the seat at his side to stir momentarily. He poked Obi-Wan back with Anakin's lightsaber in retaliation and a frenzied fight of arm-jabbing ensued until the plastic cup of water sitting on Giles' pull-down snack table was knocked over in all the excitement. Giles woke with a start as he felt icy wetness seeping through the thin fabric of his slacks. Bolting out of his seat, he surveyed the still-dueling pair for a split-second before rounding on them in a Ripper-like fashion.

"ANDREW! XANDER! Will you two stop playing with your confounded dolls for one minute!" Giles shot Andrew a withering glare as the lanky young man gasped in outrage at his revered deluxe edition action figurines being relegated to 'doll' status. "As much as it would behoove you to behave like serious adults for once, need I impress upon your thick skulls that we may well be heading into the apo—"

He paused exasperatedly as Xander started guffawing like a crazed hyena. "What is it, Xander?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"It looks like you peed your pants, G-man!" Xander replied, pointing a finger toward the elder Watcher's trousers.

Giles looked ready to threaten the incorrigible youth with bodily harm if he ever called him by that atrocious name again, but stopped in his tracks when he glanced down to check the state of his trousers. Sighing in defeat, the head Watcher stalked off in the direction of the men's room of their private charter plane, muttering darkly under his breath about the abysmal pitfalls of being completely surrounded by inane children.

It was a fucking travesty, to be burying her friends when, by all intents and purposes, they should have outlived her by least a couple of decades. In retrospect, Buffy was thankful that the weeks of frantic preparation preceding their confrontation with Abaddon had reunited them all from their respective corners of the world. Over the years after Sunnydale, she and the Scooby gang had inevitably drifted apart as the Herculean task of simultaneously rebuilding the Watchers Council, starting up the baby Slayer academy, and guarding the Cleveland Hellmouth had scattered them to wherever they had been needed. It had taken an impending apocalypse to throw together the diverse group of individuals who had unwittingly become virtual strangers to her (Faith and Spike being the sole exceptions). It was during those desperate days that Buffy had rediscovered glimpses of what had compelled her to fall in love with them in the first place. And even though time had not healed the grievous wound they had dealt her four years prior, she had slowly begun to question her decision of keeping them at arm's length. Now, she was very, very glad that she had had the chance to spend time with them again.

Draining the contents in a single gulp, the Slayer crushed the cup in her fist and climbed to her feet. At Lorne's concerned glance, she shrugged and mouthed 'bathroom' before making her hasty escape into the cramped cubicle. Turning on the cold water tap, Buffy bent forward, splashing the cool liquid on her face.

She looked up in the mirror to see Willow exit one of the stalls and stride over to the sink counter beside her.

"It kinda feels just like old times, running into you in the girl's restroom," the redhead grinned as she turned on the faucet to wash her hands.

Buffy took the time to observe Willow. This confident, mega Wiccan witch was so different from the shy, insecure, social outcast she had befriended eleven years ago that sometimes the blonde Slayer had to pinch herself. Shaking her head slightly, Buffy wondered when exactly it was that Willow, Xander, and she had all grown up. She had never thought she'd see the day that their little Scooby Gang passed from the formative years into adulthood. And now, they were flying into Cleveland for another apocalypse tomorrow morning. It did feel just like old times. "Yeah," Buffy scrunched up her nose, beating back the unbidden nostalgia that tugged insistently at her heartstrings. It didn't bode well to wax sentimental right before a big, evil throwdown.

"Except I feel like one of the teachers now instead of one of the students."

Willow shot her a funny look. "Well, technically, you are a teacher."

"Yeah," the veteran Slayer yawned, stretching out her sore, overworked muscles like a cat before sprawling bonelessly on the sectional sofa by the door.

Willow walked over, plopping down on the empty space beside her. "How did the junior Slayers exit exams go?"

"They were fun," the petite blonde breathed with an air of pride and content, "most of the girls passed with flying colors." Turning her head to regard Willow, she grinned a little in self-deprecation. "Except, I think we should rename it to 'Let's Beat the Living Crap out of Buffy Day' instead next year, 'cause I'm feeling all kinds of ow right now." If there is a next year, she wanted to add.

Willow arched an eyebrow at that. "You mean one of them actually beat you?"

"Nah, they just had to last at least five minutes with me in hand-to-hand combat," she answered, rolling her neck to get out the kinks. "But it got a little hairy after having to do that thirty times."

"Oh, hey!" Willow chirped excitedly, her eyes brightening. "I could brew you up an anti-exhaustion potion. It'll take the edge right off!"

Buffy opened her mouth to refuse before quickly changing her mind. They were both afraid of talking about real things with each other now. Sometimes, she'd call Willow to ask about Kennedy and her life down in Rio or they would chat about the baby Slayer academy and Spike, but they never said much anymore. As if by mutual, tacit agreement, they had decided that it was safer to tread lightly than to revisit the painful past. So, Buffy smiled and nodded her thanks, not vocalizing her qualms about how the redhead still thought sometimes that magic could make all things better, heal all hurts. Real life didn't work that way. Sighing wistfully, Buffy curled up next to Willow on the sofa, resting her head on the witch's slender shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here, Wil."

She remembered the two of them sitting there, just talking and laughing, gabbing like they used to in high school before both had lost their innocence to broken hearts, death, loss, and their respective inner demons. It wasn't until the hours had long stretched into night that Giles barged in to imperiously usher them off to bed. There hadn't been any deep confessions that night, nor were any needed. Buffy had seen so clearly in Willow's eyes the unspoken yearning to go back to the good old days, to erase all the badness and be able to live in simple black and white again. Willow had wanted so badly for things to be like they were. And, deep down, so did she...

Hearing the pilot's announcement for all passengers to return to their seats, Buffy detachedly dabbed the water droplets dry with a paper towel as she stared into her lifeless eyes before pulling open the door and resettling in her spot next to Lorne. The blonde Slayer attempted to shut her mind off from all conscious thought as she gazed resolutely into the white expanse of perpetual cloud cover outside of her window.

Buffy started as she felt her hand being gently squeezed. She whirled around to find Lorne pulling her up to her feet and leading her down the aisle toward the plane's docking tunnel.

She glanced up as Spike clasped her hand, sending him a smile that faltered despite her best efforts as she watched everyone else exit from the Council HQ's main conference room, or as Andrew had christened it from some old black and white movie: the War Room.

"Chin up, Slayer. 'S not the end o' the world... yet," Spike shot her his trademark smirk before leaning in to brush his lips softly against hers, making her heart flutter for a fleeting instant before anxiety set in once more. Sighing contentedly as his strong arms encircled her small waist, pulling her flush against him, Buffy let herself enjoy the moment a little as his tongue slipped past her lips, deepening the kiss. Before she knew it, Spike had backed her up against the wall, his lithe body pressed up intimately against hers as he kissed a heated path from that sensitive spot behind her ear down to the side of her neck.

"I know what you're doing, mister," Buffy said with increasingly shallow breaths as she tried to stave off her body's response. "You're just trying to distract me."

Spike pulled back to gaze down at her, amusement glinting in his cerulean eyes. "Well, you can't blame a bloke for tryin' to squeeze in some quality pre-apocalyptic shaggin'. Those are the best kind," he added with a wolfish grin. Running his hands down her sides, Spike lifted her up against him, eliciting a moan from the blonde Slayer, who obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist as her skin sparked and burned at his touch.

"Jesus, you two are like freakin' lust bunnies! Can I steal her for a sec before the clothes come flying off?" a familiar female voice said from behind them.

The two of them reluctantly pulled apart as Faith strode into the room and hopped up to perch on the massive oak conference table with a wry grin on her face.

"I'll be in the gym with Peaches, luv," Spike called from the doorway before he left the two veteran Slayers to themselves.

Faith planted her foot on the seat of the leather office chair to her side, nudging it gently so that it slid on its wheels a little away from the table for her sister Slayer. Buffy sighed tiredly as she pushed herself off from the wall, striding over and flopping down on the proffered seat.

"So, what's with the 'something' face, Faith?" she asked, catching the serious expression that had replaced the brunette's usual devil-may-care look.

"Are you sure you can handle this, B? You know that we can go without ya, right?"

Buffy was slighted unnerved by the level of concern she heard in the dark-haired Slayer's voice. "Gee, you sure know how to make a girl feel wanted," she replied lightly, trying to brush aside the concealed question in Faith's words.

The brunette Slayer was not one to be brushed aside so easily, however. "You know what I mean, B," she insisted, rolling her eyes. "Sure you wanna face all that badness again so soon? I sure as hell wouldn't blame you for pulling out now."

Buffy sighed once more, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table as she rubbed her face with the palms of her hands. "I know, Faith," she sighed. "But Abaddon wasn't really the one the dealing out the fun and torture. For the most part—" she trailed off in a strained voice as the old horrors resurfaced with a vengeance.

Faith reached a hand forward, giving the blonde a firm squeeze on the shoulder and forcing Buffy out of her pained memories. Their eyes locked as the brunette spoke again.

"I'm just worried about ya, B. Sure you'll be okay?"

"Five by five, Faith," Buffy replied in a good imitation of the dark-haired Slayer's trademark catchphrase. "I'll be fine, really."

Faith laughed at that. "Alright, B," she grinned, the cockiness was back. "The fucking bastard won't know what hit him!" she vowed, the vicious glint in her large, doe-like, brown eyes promised gory, bloody revenge on the one who had hurt her beloved sister-in-arms more than she could bear.

Buffy smiled, touched by Faith's affectionate protectiveness. "You know, Faith. I kinda love you—rough edges and all," she professed quietly, her heart swelling with sudden emotion.

A look of naked surprise flickered across the brunette's features for a second, which endeared her to Buffy even more. Sure, Faith put up a front of brazen cockiness, but the little look of delight on her face at the words reminded Buffy of just how much insecurity the dark-haired Slayer hid beneath the bravado.

"You're alright too, B. For a tight-ass bossy bitch," Faith grinned, shaking her head fondly. "Come on," she said while getting up. Pulling the slight blonde along to her feet, Faith threaded her arm through Buffy's. "Let's go find us some popcorn and watch Blondie and Angel beat the crap outta each other."

Buffy allowed herself to be pulled along as she quickly swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, not trusting herself to say anything that wouldn't have sounded like a good-bye.

At the sound of a car door shutting, Buffy awoke to her surroundings. She was now situated in the backseat of a taxi cab with Lorne, no doubt on their way to the cemetery. Leaning her forehead against the glass of the cab window, she watched with no particular interest as the outside world sped past her field of vision in a blur. Buffy felt her chest tighten in anticipation and dread as they drew nearer to their destination. Exhaling a long, ragged breath, she idly traced patterns in the patch of fog that had formed on the curved window pane.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Buffy stood momentarily frozen as she heard the unmistakable voice coming from behind her. It would have been an understatement to say that she was surprised. After all, he had been purposefully avoiding her for the better part of three weeks now, ever since he found out about her recent engagement. Twisting around from her position in front of Faith's kitchen window, she caught sight of the person whom she had once considered to be the love of her life leaning casually against the island counter in a thin white t-shirt and drawstring sweats. A slight sadness drifted over her heart as the petite blonde realized with a pang that she could no longer sense the presence of the souled vampire the way she used to. Shaking her head, she quickly brushed the wistful emotion aside, determined to just be content with the fact that he was talking to her again in a non-group meeting capacity.

"Sleep is for weaklings," she declared, a small smile gracing her lips that didn't quite reach her burdened hazel eyes as she slid into the tall kitchen stool next to the handsome, dark-haired vampire.

Angel smirked before letting out a wry chuckle.

"God, I always hated the wait," Buffy sighed after several minutes of prolonged silence, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the familiar nervous energy of pre-battle anticipation that thrummed through her body. Running a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, the blonde Slayer tried to banish the nagging sliver of fear that was blossoming in the recesses of her psyche at the thought of their upcoming confrontation with the prince of Hell. She knew better than anyone of the grim odds they faced. On this night, the blonde Slayer held no tricks up her sleeve, no mystical scythe to bolster their numbers, no gaudy monstrosity of a gem to burn away the enemy ranks. Nothing was certain to her save a war that she had no delusions of ever winning despite her vehement, verbal assurances to the others. It was that thought that made her appreciate her former lover's selfless offer of assistance even more.

Angel turned to study her preoccupied visage. "It's always the darkest before dawn," he stated softly.

"Yeah, it really is," Buffy replied sadly, turning her head to meet Angel's gaze. She was suddenly overcome with a need to set things right between them as she gazed into the chocolate-hued orbs she had once loved so deeply, still loved.

"Angel, I'm sorry about—"

The dark-haired vampire held up a hand to halt her half-mumbled apology. "You don't have to apologize, Buffy," he said quietly. "Honestly, I saw it coming that day you left L.A. with him. It was just easier to fall back into the jealous ex routine than to have to face the fact that you'd chosen Captain Peroxide over me."

Buffy couldn't help but feel her heart break a little at the hurt and sobriety in his voice. "It doesn't mean that I love you any less," she began saying, staring at him with pleading eyes and hoping desperately that he would believe her. "It's just that—"

"You don't have to explain either, Buffy," Angel cut in again, his tone of voice was strained but contained no trace of bitterness or anger. He reached over to tuck a lock of errant hair reverently behind the Slayer's ear, his fingers lingering momentarily on the soft side of her cheek. "I'm glad you're finally cookies, even if it's for someone else."

Buffy closed her eyes for a second as she leaned into his comforting, cool touch. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders at once as relief flooded into her system at his roundabout blessing. The Slayer felt her mouth go dry as her mind raced to formulate the words to express how much his acceptance meant to her. Finding that she couldn't, Buffy turned her eyes back to the window to observe the beauty of the rising sun as it slowly made its ascent from the far horizon. Idly, somewhere towards the back of her mind, the petite blonde wondered if this sunrise would be the last as she pulled down the blinds for Angel's safety.

"I can't believe you still remember that stupid analogy," she said instead with a frown.

Angel's smile turned into an amused grin. "I remember everything you've ever said to me."

Buffy pulled a face. "That's good to know," she intoned sarcastically.

"So, you think Spike'll ask me to be his best man?" Angel asked in mock seriousness.

Buffy shot him a look. "I think you'd have better luck offing Faith to take her place as maid of honor," she retorted.

"Point taken." Angel nodded with his characteristic crooked smirk, pushing himself off from the counter and offering her a hand up.

"Come on, Buffy. It's time."

Taking Lorne's proffered hand, she stepped out of the cab and into the present.