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Vibrations in a wire.
Ice crystals in a beating heart.
Cold fire.
A mind's frigidity: frozen steel,
dark rage, morbidity.
Cold fire.
Defense against a cruel life
death and strife:
Cold fire.

--The Book of Counted Sorrows


As always, I am indebted to my wonderfully patient beta, Fetching Mad Scientist as well as owing her my deepest gratitude that she isn't ready to thump me on my noggin quite yet.

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Dawn shifted a bit, her head sliding off of his arm as she curled up in a fetal position, her long limbs tucked tightly to her body as Spike frowned, reaching for her in his sleep. To look at them, one would marvel at their differences. He was lean and angular, tightly muscled and dressed in black upon black with smooth, unblemished, alabaster skin and a shock of almost white hair. She was willowy and delicate, soft, sun-kissed features blossoming into rounded curves that pushed her past girlhood, but not quite into womanhood, hidden beneath an over-sized nightshirt in the palest shade of dusty blue adorned with yellowed crescent moons and white wispy clouds; tendrils of golden-brown hair tickling over lightly freckled cheeks. A small whimper escaped her pouting lips and it was there that their differences ended as they both were conjoined in their mutual grief, lost within a shared nightmare of a brave golden girl that fought a hundred times bigger than her height implied.


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Faith rolled over in her bunk, her surprisingly sort-of comfortable mattress muffling the sounds of the bed frame’s creaking as she tossed and turned. Shifting, she kicked her legs out, trying to get comfortable as she flipped over onto her stomach, her dark hair spilling over her bunched up pillow to hang over the side of the mattress.

Sighing loudly, she raised up, using a fist to punch her pillow into a different shape before flopping back down onto it, folding her arms around and beneath it as she tried to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in as her bunk creaked and groaned in protest. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about disturbing a slumbering “roommate” as she continued to toss and turn agitatedly. She had her own cell, which was a bit smaller than the ones that housed two girls, but it was all hers as the Warden was wise enough to let her room by herself. Her first two days in the Los Angeles Women’s Correctional Institute were spent with some of the older, more butch ladies trying to intimidate her. Faith did a little bit of correcting herself when her taller, shaven-headed cellmate decided that she wanted an extra pillow and let Faith know in a showy display of bullying and a multitude of foul words. Faith decided to teach her the evils of what her Grandmother used to call a “souillé orifice”, and flushed her head in the toilet a few times to help her rinse her dirty mouth. The next day was spent defending her lunch against her new, much larger cellmate; a woman with arms almost as big as her head. If it hadn’t been for her Minnie Mouse voice, Faith would have sworn she was a man, despite the large pendulous breasts. That afternoon, Gigantor decided that she was still hungry and shoved Faith backwards out of her chair and then promptly sat down and began to shovel large mouthfuls of Faith’s lunch into her mouth.

Picking herself up, slowly off of the ground in which she sprawled, Faith shoved her hair out of her face and then cracked her neck loudly.

“Well not only do you look manlier than most men, but you eat more manly than most men as well.”
Turning around, the stout woman glared menacingly before standing up, purposely stepping into Faith’s personal space and standing so close, Faith could see the bits of corn in her cellmate’s mouth as she chewed.

“Look Bitchzilla, you might want to step back a bit because frankly, we don’t have that close of a relationship, ya know?”

“Yeah? Well we’re about to form a special connection between my fist and your face,” the taller woman said menacingly.

Brown eyes crinkled in disbelief as full lips twisted in a grimace. “Your fist and my face?!? Really? With a pathetic threat like that, I just have to do this…” and Faith reached up and grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of the taller woman’s head, kicking her legs out from beneath her and using the momentum to bash her cellmate’s face into the flat surface of the aluminum table, her nose making a sickening crunching sound as it broke.

After that, she was moved into her own cell and the women of the facility left her alone which was just what she preferred.

So why was she now tossing and turning in her bed, her stomach a writhing mass of nerves, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking about Sunnydale and Buffy Summers, and wishing she could call her?


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Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Opening bleary eyes, Rupert Giles blinked slowly, the sounding of someone knocking at the front door finally settling into his consciousness. Kicking off the covers, he called out, “Yes. Yes. I’m coming,’ as he sat up, reaching for his glasses on the coffee table, putting them on as he stood up and walked towards the front door. Smoothing a hand over his hair and tugging at the hem of his tee-shirt, he opened the door to find a somber looking de-spectacled Wesley Windham-Pryce.

“Ah, Mr. Giles. I tried your apartment but there was no answer so I thought you might be here.”

“Wesley? What in the blazes are you doing here?”

“Miss Rosenberg paid us a visit last night. I’m so sorry Rupert. Is-is there anything…”

“Ah, yes. Willow’s visit to L.A. Do come in.” Stepping back, Giles gestured with an out-swept arm, opening the door more widely to allow the ex-Watcher to come inside.

“Is there anything I can do… anything I can help you with?”

For a moment, Wesley thought the ex-Watcher was going to break down in tears when he visibly drew himself upright, straightening his spine as he cleared his throat, before he spoke quietly, the tremor in his voice belying the typical British stiff upper lip.

“No. No thank you. I took care of all of the… arrangements… yesterday. The funeral will be tomorrow at sunset,” Giles replied solemnly, closing the door.

Standing in the doorway to the living room, Wesley glanced worriedly at his fellow ex-watcher who seemed to have aged more than a decade since he last saw him just over a year ago.

“I hope you don’t think this to be too forward of me, but with Faith in jail and-and Buffy….” Wesley swallowed hard at the pain that flared in the other man’s eyes, reaching out a hand to clasp a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Giles—what will become of Sunnydale?”

Pulling his glasses off, Giles used thumb and forefingers to rub at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between them before shaking his head and replying, “I don’t know.”


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‘No. No, no, no, no, no! Buffy!’

With a start, Spike sat up quickly, his panicked eyes darting around at somewhat familiar surroundings before he realized that he was still in Dawn’s room, the young girl curled up at his side. Squeezing his eyes shut he sighed deeply, shaking his head a bit and trying to obliterate the last vestiges of the nightmare that yanked him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at the still sleeping girl, frowning at the dark circles beneath her eyes and he reached down and tugged the blankets up to cover her to her shoulders before swinging his still-booted feet to the floor. Standing up carefully, so as not to disturb Dawn, he stretched for a bit, bending backwards slightly to relieve the kinks before walking as quietly as he could to the partially open door. Peeking back at Dawn to make sure he hadn’t disrupted her much needed sleep, he stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door open as he made his way to the stairs.

Descending as quietly as he could, Spike stopped at the foot of the stairs as he came across Giles and the other ex-watcher standing in the living room talking quietly, before they turned to look back at him, surprise stretched across the features of one while the other just looked as if he were about to collapse again.

His lips pressing into a tired line, Giles nodded towards the bleached vampire, ignoring the shock that stole over the features of the man by his side.

“Spike.”

Nodding back, Spike acknowledged him just as quietly. “Watcher.”

Biting the insides of his lips, Spike waited for a moment or two before he nodded again, turning towards the kitchen.

With a start, Giles called out, “Spike! Wait! The curtains…” before he moved forward, stepping into the hallway with the bleached vampire.

Nodding in acquiescence, Spike stepped back, allowing the shopkeeper to pass ahead of him and check that the curtains were safely closed, following behind him at a short distance while Wesley brought up the rear, managing to curb his obvious surprise.

“I’ll just be going now. The Nibblet is still asleep upstairs. She slept okay through the rest of the night, but see that she is not disturbed as much as possible. The kid could do with a couple more hours of kip.”

The sound of the front door opening halted Spike’s wrapping of himself with a blanket and whatever Giles was about to say as they all turned towards the doorway, expectant looks on three faces. Just then Anya appeared with a large pastry box and Xander followed close behind with a smaller box filled with capped Styrofoam cups with the Espresso Pump logo decorating their sides.

“Hi. We brought breakfast. I noticed that Buffy… that the shopping hadn’t been done yet so we stopped off and picked up doughnuts and pastries and coffee. I figured after no one eating yesterday, we could all probably use a little bit of something in our stomachs,” Anya explained solemnly, gesturing with the oversized pink box.

“Except for you… the coffee I mean. I figured with you being English and it being breakfast and all, we got you some English Breakfast tea,” Xander said, his voice sounding flat in spite of the teasing words. Noticing that Wesley was in the kitchen, he cocked his head in question. “And you. I didn’t get you coffee or tea since I had no idea you would be here. Sorry, British Man.”

“No, no. It’s quite all right.” Wesley responded quietly, his smile small and uneasy.

“Doughnuts though! And other sugary breakfast treats. We have plenty of those. Anya picked out enough for a small army.”

Spike lifted the blanket he held up higher, shrugging it over his shoulders and was about to raise a section to cover his head when Xander’s voice stopped him.

“Hey Blanket Boy. You still like those lemon filled?”

Turning with the blanket still hovering in the air over his head, questioning blue eyes landed on the younger man and he found Xander staring at him looking worn and weary but without a trace of malice in his sad brown eyes.

“They didn’t have any of those powdered round ones that you liked, so I picked out a few of the powdered, lemon-filled éclairs…” he continued in the same steady tone, the corners of his mouth raising ever so slightly in the smallest of smiles as Spike stared at him as if he suddenly sprouted a second head.

“Yeah. Those are a bit of all right,” Spike replied in tone laced with caution and surprise, stepping back towards the counter as Xander picked up the now-opened pink box, holding it out to him in silence. Not knowing what else to say, he glanced around the kitchen. Anya was puttering about, checking the contents of the cups before passing them out while Giles stood by the sink, cocking his head towards the box.

“Are there any jelly?”

“There are tons of jellies! I think Xander picked out a dozen of the raspberry and blackberry filled. There is also Spike’s éclairs and a few of those custard filled ones with the chocolate glaze and a couple of glazed ones as well. The rest of the stuff is apple turnovers and cheese Danish and cinnamon strudel,” Anya nodded firmly.

Glancing back towards the young man still watching him quietly, hesitated for a moment before he reached out towards the box still being held towards him, flipping up the lid and selecting one of the powdered sugared treats, smiling in thanks as Xander passed the box towards Giles.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Giles decided to make his announcement while most everyone was in the kitchen already.

“I’ve made the arrangements for—for the funeral. I went through an unconventional means of doing so as right now with Buffy having—gone and Faith being incarcerated, I didn’t think it wise to advertise that the Hellmouth was without its Guardian.”

Not a single word was spoken, all eyes cast downwards as the weight of Buffy’s death settled heavily upon them once more.

Clearing his throat again, Giles continued in the same quiet manner, his voice taking on a slight roughness as his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“Tomorrow night. Her funeral will be tomorrow night at sundown and it will only be us attending. I—I tried to find a spot close to her mother and Spike suggested the flat knoll behind the Dresden crypt and I was able to secure a spot beneath the tree there so while she might not be beside Joyce, she will be able to look down over her.”

“It’s what she would have liked,” Xander spoke quietly. “She was always looking out for everyone in life so it’s only fitting that she’ll be able to continue doing what she always did.”


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The next morning dawned bright and clear, the weather taking a turn for the colder as a late spring cold-snap blew in from Canada, chilling everyone and everything west of the Rocky Mountains.

Quietly everyone went about their day, still land-locked in their grief as the hours passed and they began to get ready for an event they hoped never to have to witness and too soon the afternoon started to give away to the twilight tendrils creeping across the sky.

Stepping from the comfort of his crypt, Spike stayed well within the deepening shadows of the trees as he gazed into the sky watching blazing oranges meld with blood red, backlit by deepening gold and the wind seemed to blow down from the sunset heavens with the chilling ferocity of a cold fire.

‘It’s not right. The sky should be pouring buckets and the earth sodden with its weeping for losing its finest protector, not lit up like a bloody Christmas tree.’

Finally the twilight gave way to dusk as tendrils of indigo wrapped themselves around the lowering sun, pulling it deeper into the bosom of night when he arrived at the graveyard where they would put Buffy to rest. He could see a few of the Scoobies gathered already when suddenly his path was blocked by a deeply scowling Angel.

“Spike. What in the hell do you think you’re doing here.”

”I’m here for the same reason you are you arrogant poof, now get out of my face,” the younger vampire countered in a snarl, disgust dripping like venom with every word.

“You don’t have any right—“

“And what do you know of rights, Peaches? Where were you during this whole mess? You stopped by for a few hours when her Mum died but you didn’t exactly stick around to help out afterwards did you? I was the one here helping fight the Hell Bitch and you were doing what exactly? Relieving the good shops of Los Angeles of their burden of hair products?”

Dark eyes glinted dangerously, flashing yellow for a moment while hands clenched into tight fists and Angel stepped forward, invading Spike’s personal space, growling deeply.

“I can see how well you helped out. We’re all gathered here in celebration while we bury…”

“Oh do shut your mouth you inconsiderate Berk and come down off of your high horse long enough to show some respect for Buffy. Spike was her friend and has just as much right to be here as you do.”

Spike turned, surprised at the words that came from the shopkeeper making his way up the knoll behind him; surprised even further at the deeper lines creasing around his eyes and his mouth. The Watcher seemed to have aged years in the past twenty-four hours.

And so, under the chilly light of a rising moon, the hearts of her loved ones broke anew while they gathered around her coffin whispering quiet goodbyes to their sister, their friend and their Slayer as Buffy Summers was laid to rest.



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Note:
Ok, so my laptop is all fixed and stuff but sad thing is this: the five chapters I had ready to go to beta were lost--well 4 of them were as the geeksquad had to do a 'go-back' resetting my laptop to the week prior to my bringing it in to be fixed.

So, with that little setback, I had to re-write the chapters I already had ready for my FetchingMadScientist.

Now here's the other fly in the ointment: I've got the blasted flu! I ache so terribly that I can't get comfortable and while my head no longer feels as if I have some sort of furry animal stuffed inside my face, my congestion has given way to an extremely loud, painful cough--I do have to check to make sure I don't leave a lung in my tissues. *bleh*

So, story is going to continue, already have CH 4 with my WONDERFUL beta and I thank you all for being so patient and hanging in there with me.