A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, my excuse is an injured arm. That would also explain the shortness of this chapter. I'll post again soon.
"I just can't believe she's…" Willow felt numb, too numb to find the words to explain her numbness, to numb to feel Xander's warm arms wrap securely around her. How could Buffy be dead?
"I know Will, I know." He whispered to her, fresh tears pooling in his eyes.
"But I mean, Buffy can't die, Buffy's the slayer." She paused to collect her thoughts. "Do you think Angel knows?" Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn't know why. The pain hadn't set in. I must be in shock.
"I don't know." Xander couldn't stop his despair from overflowing, the pain was deep, the loss of his friend, one of the greatest friends he'd ever had – every imagined having. No, the pain ran deeper than that. Buffy was more than that.
"Should we call him?" Willow asked unsure, Buffy's boyfriend should know.
The teenage boy drew a rattled breath and then released Willow from his embrace. "I can't." His voice broke with salty wet liquid pouring down his cheeks. "I can't."
Willow took his arm and hers, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He breathed shakily again and then kissed the top of her head.
"What are we going to do now?" He asked. "Our whole lives since Buffy got here has been slay, slay, apocalypse, slay some more, I don't think we can ever go back…" He tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat. "It'll never be the same without Buffy."
At his words, Willow felt herself coming down from her high. He was right of course; nothing ever could be the same with Buffy gone. Buffy had come to Sunnydale a little over a year ago, and she and the red head girl and become quick friends. But Buffy had also brought a dark secret with her – one that would forever change the lives of Willow and Xander.
"Buffy's gone." Her lip jutted out and trembled as tears began to form quickly. She shook slightly, not welcoming the sudden flow of emotion that made her heart break into a million pieces. "Buffy's really gone." She sobbed once and pulled her face into Xander's shirt, holding onto him for dear life. He wrapped his arms around her and looked up, trying to escape his tears, and blinking them back furiously. As much as his heart yearned for her, as much as his reasons to live didn't seem to matter anymore, crying wouldn't help. He couldn't cry forever. But his heart betrayed his mind quickly and he began shaking and crying again, into his dear friend's hair.
"The funeral will be held tomorrow evening, so you should be able to attend." Giles said emotionlessly to Angel, sitting on the couch across from him in the Summers' living room. Joyce was in the kitchen, on the phone with Buffy's father. From the sound of it the call wasn't going too well.
Angel stared ahead of him, not quite seeing anything in particular. He just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Buffy had been safe in his arms only a short while ago, lying with him, kissing him, holding him… How could it be that she was gone? His mind rejected the truth, she couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. But she was, and he knew in his heart that it was his fault. I knew she was weak, he thought miserably to himself. I knew she was weak, and I didn't bring her home. He groaned and threw his head into his hands. I could have protected her – I could have saved her. His thoughts wreaked havoc on him, how could it not be his fault?
The coroner had come to take Buffy away only minutes before Angel had arrived. He'd missed her by that much. His last chance to really see her. He'd have to wait for the funeral now to see her, if he went. He knew he had to go; he had to pay his final respects to his love. Maybe end himself later. But he didn't know if he could handle it. Handle seeing her there, dress in a pretty dress, hair done up, looking asleep, peaceful even. He didn't know if he could bare the sight of her only meters away from him, and not be able to hold her, to see her face drained of her once beautiful colour, cold with eyes unable to open.
"He'll be on the first plane here." Joyce Summers said from the threshold between the kitchen and the room they were sitting in. This room had been made to be comfortable and warm, inviting. But now it only held coldness and a feeling of dread, death and decay. Joyce lifted a finger to her cheek and wiped away a tear. She wondered for a second how long it would take her to cry herself dry.
"I'm so sorry Mrs. Summers." Angel breathed, lifting his head only slightly from his hands. His face was white, eyes a sharp red.
"Oh Angel," She whispered, and though it was almost inaudible, his vampire senses heard it without effort. She sat beside him on the couch and put a hand that tried to be comforting on his shoulder. "She loved you, she loved you so much."
Angel responded by choking out a sob and then shaking his head back and forth rapidly, face in his hands again, and then rocking back and forth in his seat. "It's all my fault." He moaned. "It's all my fault."
"Now Angel," Giles protested. "I know you're feeling guilty, it's only natural. But you cannot go beating yourself up over this. It is not your fault. You didn't send her to her death." He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's clearly mine."
"Yours?" Joyce asked looking confused.
"Yes, it is my fault."
"No," Angel looked at Giles almost angrily. "You weren't the one who let her go out there alone. I offered to walk her home, she didn't want me to. If I were any good to her – as good as she thought I am… was – then I would have walked her, followed her even. I could have saved her." He sobbed again.
"You aren't the reason that her powers are gone." Giles' eyes filled with hatred. Towards himself, towards the council, the vampires and the demons, everything that had ever posed as a threat to her. Himself, especially himself.
"What do you mean?" Angel breathed.
When they all reached their warm beds, their pillows welcomed them with open arms. First Willow and Xander, then Joyce, Angel, and eventually Giles made their way under the blankets. Tears met their pillows in a warm fluid stream that seemed as it would never end, before exhaustion finally took them into a dreamless sleep. Every last one of them feeling heavy and surreal.