Rick:
The aftermath of the battle is almost as difficult as the battle itself. Most people have gone back to their homes. I have to hand it to them, they must have gone to a lot of trouble to get here just for that. Anyway, with the large-scale destruction of the building, it's getting harder and harder to hide everything from the public. Edward doesn't seem to care. I think he'd like it if everything was revealed. But for now he's trying to find a cure for Jericho. Or a curse, I wasn't really paying attention. So, in short, cleanup of the building is left to me.
A lot of files were destroyed in fires, but we're salvaging what we can. There are charms, spells, all sorts of records that we're missing. I've just sent someone to take what we've already found down to the couriers at the doors while I search some more offices.
Did I just hear something? I turn, but can't see anything. There it is again, carried on the wind (there aren't very many windows left).
"Rick…" I turn around again, and illuminated in the door is the last person I expected to see.
"Jackie? No, you can't be real…"
"I'm real," she says, smiling. "Well, sort of."
"What are you?"
"Oh, I'm an avenging spirit." She laughs, just like she always used to.
"What do you want?" I ask, slightly nervously. It's not every day that I talk to someone raised from the dead. What am I talking about, that's exactly what happens every day.
"See, I have this problem," she says, hands clasped behind her back and strolling forward. "Because this vampire – maybe you know him – killed me the other day, and not one person tried to stop him. Why do you think that is?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"Of course you did, you were there."
"I couldn't do anything." She's behind me now, and I'm so ashamed that I can't bear to look at her.
"You killed me, Dick. Now allow me to repay the favour." There's a snarl, and a sharp pricking in my neck. Oh, wow.
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Angel:
"Whistler!" I shout to the skies. "Show yourself."
"That's quite a pair of lungs you've got on you," says a voice from the shadows on the other side of the street, and Whistler, my old mentor, moves into the light.
"Yeah, that's one of the benefits of being human: they get plenty of exercise."
"I wouldn't know, would I?"
"You know, I knew it was you. You helped Matt get his bearings."
"The kid looked so forlorn. Kind of like you did, only he wasn't the one who had killed his girlfriend."
"Neither did I."
"Well you get my point."
"You've been watching events played out for millennia, haven't you?"
"Just as a middle man. The guys upstairs don't trust me with the big jobs, just the important ones."
"Right. I take it you're the one that's responsible for me keeping my strength after being raised by BC&N."
"Look I'm just a messenger. As a rule I don't get involved." I just glare at him. "Well, except with you." I continue to glare. "And with Matt."
"So why have I still got my strength? Why is Buffy here? And it can't be coincidence that the leader of our little group here is called Giles, can it?"
"Whoa, so many questions. Angel man, you know better than anyone that I can't just go around answering all the questions you might have."
"Then take me to someone who can!" He nods.
"There's this witch I know. She lives alone in the city. It's been an age since anyone talked to her. She might be able to help."
"Where can I find her?" I can tell he's having trouble with this, debating with himself whether he should tell me or not. Finally, he says,
"Follow me," and begins to walk away.
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The Observer:
He's coming here. Angel is coming to my home. There was a time when I would have tried to make myself presentable, but I don't have the strength any more.
I shuffle over to my bed and sit down just as I hear the door open. My bones ache more and more now, and I'm forced to spend more and more time in bed, my scrying bowl my only 'entertainment'. I miss my youth, but in my old age I've come to realise that youth is something that must be used wisely. Put it into the wrong hands and terrible destruction follows. That's the problem with vampires. Blessed with eternal youth and cursed to misuse it.
They're just outside the room now, talking. I'm guessing they don't know I can hear them.
"Anything you want to tell me before I go in there?"
"Not really, but I will say this. She's powerful, and for the most part she's on our side. But she's a wild card. She doesn't serve the Powers; she just does things her own way. Always has. You may want to be careful."
"Thanks." Then the door swings open.
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Angel:
The door swings open – like everything else in this world it seems to be made of plastic textured to look like wood – and I can see the witch lying in bed on the other side of the room. It's slightly smaller than I was expecting. She's very old, her hair completely white and tied in a bun behind her head. She's also very thin, the skin of her face drawn against her cheekbones, and I'm guessing she isn't very strong physically. But from the way she's looking at me, her mind's as keen as ever it has been. Whistler was right: I'll have to watch myself around her.
"Hello, Angel," she says even before I've had a chance to speak.
"Do you know me?"
"I used to. I'm not really surprised you don't recognise me. We've both changed a lot in the last few centuries. Perhaps this will help." And with that, she closes her eyes and begins a meditation.
In just a few minutes her cheeks have fleshed out slightly and her hair, once white, is now tinted with strands of vibrant ginger hair. The woman I had taken to be eighty or ninety years old now looks to be in her mid-forties. If she has this power, there's no telling how old she could be. And though her face still shows signs of wear, and she has a wrinkle or two, there's no mistaking the witch before me.
"Oh my god… Willow…"
Yes, Willow was the Observer all along. Well... more or less. Keen readers might notice that some of the earlier Observer paragraphs have a more 'Whistler' feel to them. I'll let you decide for yourself why that is.