A/N: This is actually from a post-"Chosen" fic I wrote years ago, and reading it over now, OMG it's the sappiest, most saccharine thing EVER. Slaymesoftly actually said she couldn't believe I wrote it. I'm having trouble believing it myself. So I ended up cannibalizing it to write this drabble series - seven drabbles and one double drabble (because I really liked the passage and couldn't cut it down any further).

*****

I.

They spent the first night at a Motel 6, twenty miles from the crater.

Once the lodging assignments were sorted out, Buffy settled down in one of the rooms and pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. It was crumpled and bloodstained, but the number was still readable.

“Hey, it’s me… Yeah, we made it… I know. Listen, I can tell you all about it, but right now we need some help. We’re at a motel in the desert, and a few people need a doctor… Really? You can send – you have helicopters?… Oh, wow. Okay. See you soon.”

*****

II.

The second hotel belonged to Angel’s law firm.

“Thank you,” Buffy said. “You’ve been… thank you.”

Angel shook his head in amazement. “You did it. You really did it.”

Pausing at her door, Buffy looked down the hall as her friends and the potentials – no, Slayers – disappeared into their rooms.

“We did it.”

“The stuff I gave you helped?”

She closed her eyes, could see the light as it poured through Spike. “Yeah, it did.”

Angel followed Buffy’s gaze. Going over the faces in his mind – some he recognized, some he didn’t – he realized whose was missing.

“Buffy. Where’s Spike?”

*****

III.

The fifth night was when Xander broke down.

Buffy could hear them through the wall, Willow’s comforting murmurs interspersed with Xander’s painful sobs.

She felt like she should be in there, too – after all, she was pretty much the expert on lost loves, and besides, that’s just what friends do – but she was afraid that if she saw Xander cry, she might not be able to stop herself.

She couldn’t cry. She needed to be strong, needed to be a leader. The battle was over, but there was still an army to lead. Grief was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

*****

IV.

On the seventh day, Giles laid out the plan.

A new Council for a new world, a world where Slayers outnumbered Watchers a hundred to one. It was unclear if anything could be salvaged – books that hadn’t been destroyed, money sitting in accounts, maybe even Watchers still left alive. But they had a responsibility, Giles reminded them. They’d activated all these Slayers, so now they had to find them, train them, be role models for all the newcomers in the fight against evil.

Buffy had to admit, when she came up with the idea, she hadn’t thought this far ahead.

*****

V.

By the eleventh day, the Slayers were gone.

They’d all gone home for a well-deserved rest, a chance to visit with their families before reporting for training at the new Slayer Central. Whatever that might look like. Giles had warned that they had a lot of planning and hard work ahead of them.

Rona and Vi were the last to leave. Buffy smiled as they made the rounds, saying goodbye. They’d make good leaders someday.

“Oh, I’m gonna miss you guys!” Vi cried, as the car pulled up to take them to the airport. She glanced at Andrew. “Even you.”

*****

VI.

The eleventh night, Buffy cried.

She’d kept up the brave face ever since they’d left Sunnydale, tried to show how proud she was that Spike had saved the world, that he’d redeemed himself. But all she felt was an empty hole in her chest.

Buffy recognized that feeling. It was the guilt she’d felt driving a sword through Angel’s chest. It was the missed opportunity when she watched Riley fly away in a helicopter. It was the helplessness of finding her mother dead on the sofa, the panic of losing her sister to Glory, the abandonment of Giles returning to England, the agony of watching her best friend turn evil from grief. It was the loss of every vampire’s victim she hadn’t been able to save, the death of every potential she hadn’t been able to protect. It was all of that and more, the pain gnawing at her chest, the bitter taste in her mouth, the hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing.

She’d been strong for so long. In the end, Spike had been her strength, the reason she’d made it through this apocalypse. Now, she wasn’t sure she could make it through tomorrow.

*****

VII.

The passports arrived on day fourteen.

They’d need them for the trip to England, to see what remained of the old Council. Angel had made all the arrangements – even if they’d all had passports, no one had thought to bring them to the apocalypse, and so they’d been destroyed along with everything else in Sunnydale. Angel had managed to pull some strings and cut through a lot of red tape, so everything was processed right away, no questions asked.

Staring at the lifeless expression she wore in her photo, Buffy wished it were that easy to recreate everything she’d lost.

*****

VIII.

On the nineteenth day, Buffy went back to work.

He had given her one hundred forty-seven, would have given her as long as it took, but he didn’t have the responsibilities she did. Didn’t have everyone looking to him to lead. She thought she’d earned a break, but nineteen days were all she got before the first Slayers arrived in England. Then it was back to being Buffy, the Chosen One. One of many, but still special, still singled out.

And as a black whirlwind erupted from an amulet in Los Angeles, Buffy was called “ma’am” for the first time.