Chapter 4

Xander and Willow met at the entrance to the graveyard, falling into step next to one another. It felt strange to be walking through a cemetery in the daytime, but even stranger to be there without Buffy.

“How’s Anya doing?” asked Willow.

“Oh, you know. She complains a lot about the frailties of the human body, but she’ll be okay.” Xander allowed himself a tiny grin. “I just keep feeding her those painkillers the doctor prescribed.”

Willow nodded. “Good.”

“How’s Tara?”

“Good,” Willow repeated. “She’s – she still has the nightmares, but it seems like she’s all there, you know? She’s Tara.” She looked at him, and Xander could see the mixture of hope and worry and love she had for Tara written all over her face.

“She seemed to be back to normal,” he said. “The past few days.”

“Yeah.” Willow sighed. “I don’t – I don’t think Glory did any permanent damage.”

She fell silent as they stopped in front of the freshly covered grave. They were in the farthest corner of the cemetery, a secluded area amidst the trees, where no one would think to look for a headstone.

Willow bent down and placed a bouquet of lilies next to the stone. Her face contorted with grief and she turned into Xander’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her. Her tears left a wet stain on his shirt, and she gasped for air through her sobs.

He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting his own silent tears fall, and whispered, “Oh, Buffy,” his voice hoarse with grief.

*****

Spike crept up from the basement once the sounds of humans bustling about upstairs had died down. He couldn’t stand all the bloody people around – especially not Angel and his crew – but his crypt was just unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, juxtaposed with the memory of her falling, and now with the image of her grave where they’d all gathered the night before, muttering useless platitudes that were meant to comfort but didn’t.

For the first time he could remember since becoming a vampire, the idea of living in a crypt, of sleeping among the dead, made him sick. What did it matter? After all, he was dead, too, wasn’t he? Except he wasn’t, really. Not dead like she was dead. Being in his crypt among all the coffins and the corpses reminded him of that, so he’d snuck back into the house in the wee hours of the morning and curled into a corner on the floor of the basement. His sleep wasn’t much better there, but finally pure exhaustion overtook him, and he passed into a fitful slumber.

He awoke in the afternoon to find most of the houseguests getting ready to leave. Once it seemed as though everyone had cleared out, he made his way upstairs to the kitchen. He’d completely lost his appetite for blood – not that he was likely to find any in the fridge anyway – but nibbling on some regular food would at least give him something to do. Something to take his mind off things.

Spike had just started pawing through the refrigerator when he heard a snuffling sound coming from the living room. Upon investigation, he found Dawn curled up on the sofa, all alone. He wondered where the Scoobies had gone. Surely they’d think to leave someone here with the girl.

“Niblet?”

She looked up at him and hastily wiped the back of her hand across her face, as though she could hide the fact that she’d been crying.

“You - you all right?”

It was a stupid question; he knew that before the words left his lips. But what else was there to say, really?

Dawn met his eyes momentarily before she sighed and averted her gaze. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to respond, she blurted out, “I hated her so much when we moved to Sunnydale.” Spike furrowed his brow and he moved to sit next to her on the sofa. “I had to leave all my friends. It was her fault. If she hadn’t burned down the stupid school… I hated her so much.” Then, her expression changed as realization dawned. “But I guess I really didn’t, did I? Because I didn’t really exist then.”

“See? No use fretting then, eh, pet?”

“But I hated her plenty of times after that, when I did exist.”

“No, you didn’t. May’ve felt like you hated each other. But deep down, you always loved her.” Spike wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“And she loved you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Dawn was silent for a moment, then looked up at him. “Spike? She loved you, too.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed on her. “Don’t say that, Niblet.”

“But –”

“Won’t do to hold onto false memories, now, will it?”

“I know she did, even if she didn’t know it. Or she would have, if she’d let herself.”

Spike looked away, intently studying the fireplace mantle so she wouldn’t see the tears well up in his eyes.

*****

Giles eased open the door to the training room at the back of the Magic Box. Angel followed him inside and wandered around a bit, taking it in. Weapons hanging on the wall, the chest where the more functional and less decorative weapons were stored, the training equipment scattered around the room – punching bag, straw dummy, puffy Xander suit, all lying as Buffy had left them over a week ago.

“This is – this is nice,” said Angel.

“Thank you.”

“I bet she really liked it here.”

“Yes. I – I believe so.” Giles paused. “I don’t know what we’ll do with it now. Possibly use it for storage or –” He broke off, suddenly realizing that getting rid of the training room meant Buffy was really gone.

Angel was silent. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. He was a brooder, an expert in wallowing in guilt and grief. Comfort seemed almost a foreign concept to him. He glanced over at Giles and nodded when their eyes met.

Giles nodded in response, unspoken acknowledgment of something neither of them quite understood.

*****

Xander stroked Willow’s hair in a slow, soothing rhythm. The crying noises coming from his shirt had quieted. “Hey, Will?” he asked.

She pulled her head out of his chest and looked up at him.

“Do you really think you can fix the Buffybot?”

Willow nodded. “Sure. I just need to reattach her head, fix some of the wiring. She should be good as new.”

“Please tell me you’re gonna reprogram it, right?” Xander suppressed a shudder. “I don’t think I could stand watching Buffy – even a robot Buffy – worshipping Spike the sex god all the time.”

“I’ll do my best.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t think he wants that, either.”

“Who, Spike? Of course he wants his little sex-Buffy. That’s what he had her built for, remember?”

Willow paused for a moment before answering. “It’s different now, Xander.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze falling on the grave at their feet. “Everything is different now.”

*****

“It’s my fault,” Dawn said.

“Bollocks.”

She looked at him, her eyes too deadly serious for a teenager. “It is. It should have been me. I was supposed to die.”

Spike shook his head. “You’re singing my song now, pet.”

Dawn’s expression lost some of its ferocity as she tilted her head, a gesture she’d learned from him. “What do you mean?”

“I promised your sister I’d take care of you. If I’da done that, even if I didn’t make it, she wouldn’t have had to jump. This was supposed to be – I was gonna go out in a blaze of, well…” He grinned wryly at the pun. “My redemption, of sorts. Spent all that time killing people, now I get to die saving the world.”

Dawn thought about that for a minute. “You won’t really leave us, will you? If they decide to use the Buffybot?”

“I dunno, pet. I don’t think I could stand it, looking at it every day, knowing it wasn’t her.”

“But you’ll stay, right? For me?”

Deep down he knew, ultimately, he would stay. Because he’d made a promise to protect Dawn, and he couldn’t very well do that if he was running from his memories, could he? Maybe if Willow could reprogram the bot so it wasn’t so obsessed with him, it might not be so bad.

Who was he kidding? It would be hell. Absolute, living hell. But he’d do it, for her.

Spike glanced out the window, although he could have sensed the sunset even if he were underground. “Nearing sundown now, Bit. Best be going to ward off the beasties.”

Dawn grasped his hand as he got up. “Spike?” She looked up at him with child-like eyes. “Don’t leave. Please?”

He looked down at her small hand clutching his, and he knew she wasn’t talking about right now. He nodded almost imperceptibly and gave her hand a squeeze before pulling away and heading out the door.

*****

“Can I ask you something?” Angel put back the sword he’d been fiddling with and turned to Giles. “I know you never really liked me, but… do you think I did the right thing? Leaving her?”

“Do you?”

Angel looked away. He hated to admit it, but Spike’s accusation had been eating away at him for the past few days. “I did. But I can’t help but think, if I’d been here, I could’ve helped.”

“There’s no possible way to know.”

“I know that.” He sighed. “I just wanted her to have a normal life.”

“I think we both forgot that wasn’t possible.”

Angel looked back at him, surprised.

“I keep feeling as though I didn’t do my job,” said Giles. “I know this is how it always happens. Slayers rarely outlive their Watchers, but I… became attached, I suppose. And I lost sight of the way things would have to be. She would never have had a normal life.”

It was a difficult truth for both of them. They’d embraced the notion that if they could just do the right thing, they could change Buffy’s fate. Giles had resisted against everything his Watcher’s training had taught him, he’d gotten too close, and he’d thought that he could keep her alive. He’d bitterly rejected the idea that someday he’d have to sacrifice his Slayer.

Angel, for his part, had tried to be self-sacrificing, as if by removing himself from her life she would be free of the complications he brought. But he could never rid her of the vampires or her duty to slay them, and he realized how futile his efforts had been, however motivated by love they were. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe he should have stayed, so Buffy could have had her lover by her side. Even if it was against their nature and better judgment, they could have been together for the brief time she had left.

“I know I was the one who left,” Angel said, “but I guess I always thought, maybe, someday…”

Giles shook his head. “Slayers don’t have the luxury of ‘someday.’”

*****

Xander glanced up at the sky. The last streaks of orange were fading into twilight as the sun slipped below the horizon.

“It’s getting dark, Will. We should go soon.” They didn’t want to be caught in the cemetery after nightfall. They hadn’t even brought stakes – they didn’t expect to stay this long, but grief didn’t seem to pay attention to the clock.

Willow knelt by the grave, running her fingers lightly over the dirt. “Goodbye, Buffy.” She fussed with the flowers for a minute, until Xander’s gentle tug prompted her to rise. They made their way back to the entrance, where Xander’s car was parked.

*****

Spike made his way to a different cemetery gate, a recent memory running through his head. Tara had just been brain-sucked, and Buffy foolishly thought a simple conversation would convince Red not to rush off looking for vengeance.

I told Willow it would be like suicide, she’d said to him.

I’d do it, he’d replied. Right person, person I loved. I’d do it.

He certainly had a reason now. The right person. The only person, except maybe the Niblet. He’d die a thousand horrible deaths – the worst ways he could think of and more – if it meant bringing her back. Even if it wouldn’t, even if it was just payback. He was starting to understand why that demon girl of Xander’s had gotten so much business in her day.

The only problem was there was no one to fight. Glory was gone. He could kill demons until the end of time, but it wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he needed. For a creature who thrived on violence, there was no way to avenge her death.

All he could do now was fulfill her last wish. Take care of Dawn. He’d patrol with the Scoobies, and even that bloody bot if he had to. That would have to be enough.

It was all there was.

It didn’t seem like it could hold the depth of the grief he needed to pour into it in order to keep himself going. It didn’t seem like there would ever be enough to fill the empty void she had left. It didn’t seem like it would ever stop hurting.

Spike stopped at Buffy’s grave and noted the flowers placed carefully by the headstone. No one was around – her friends, of all people, knew better than to visit the cemetery at night. He crouched next to the grave, running his fingers over the smooth stone.

He didn’t speak – there were no words to say – but hid his face in his hands and wept.

*****

the end