Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Spoilers: Surprise, Innocence, Passion

WARNING: Death of character, graphic details of violence inflicted on characters.

I park my car and get out. Tiny feet crunching on gravel. I try to remember the last time I have walked this path. I was young and naive. Now I am older, and wiser, and stronger.

But am I strong enough?

I am the only hope. I am the last. The others have all gone. One by one they have disappeared. Now there is only me. I, the weakest, am the only hope there is. I know I must triumph where the others have failed. I fight the urge to turn back.

I will not run.

Ms. Calendar ran. Ms. Calendar, who must have been terribly afraid before he snapped her neck.

I suppress a shiver a quicken my pace, as if I can escape the demons that follow. I slip through a gate that squeeks on rusted hinges. I look around. Nothing has changed in the years that have passed.

I leave the gate open, just in case. But I know I will not go out the way I came in.

I must keep the promise.

The promise that is whispered among the faded edges of my mind. The words I memorised long ago.

The last must end it.

I am the last

I weave in and out of the cold stones that mark where the others have fallen. For such a tiny place there are many graves. Many that are fresh.

The guilt overwhelms me.

I stop at a grave that bares newly cut flowers. The grave of a beauty. A girl who damned herself just by getting involved. I read the words they forgot to put on the cold block of cement that is her tribute. I pick up the flowers and fling them away.

There is no one left to leave flowers.

No one alive.

I run a hand over Cordeliašs grave. Cordelia hadnšt had any hands when she died. She hadnšt had much of anything left when we found her. But she had still been alive.

I can still hear the screams.

But she is the past and I am the now. I hold on to that.

I continue to make my way through the cemetery. My eyes go to my destination.

Our tree.

Buffy loved to sit on it when she hunted. She said it had wonderful karma. I never asked her what she meant. I wish I had.

Buffy had escaped.

A stake through the heart and she had been free.

Too bad it hadnšt been his heart.

Maybe then I wouldnšt be standing here in the dark waiting for the inevitable.

We had buried Buffy near her favourite tree. I could see her grave now. It looked like every other marker in this godforsaken place.

Ironic in my mind. The saviour of mankind lying under three feet of dirt along with ŒMr. Whatshisnameš and ŒMrs. Youknowhooš. The injustice of it all reared itself in my face.

I sighed and watched as the shadows parted so that he could step out. He looked the same. I shouldnšt have been surprised but I was.

He knelt and placed a single red rose on Buffyšs grave. The anger rose within me. His touch soiled her memory.

It was I who walked towards him and this seemed to surprise him. He had forgotten that I had grown up since I had last seen him.

Years of isolation and guilt will change a person.

He smiled at me but his eyes remained unfocused. I didnšt mind. I had looked into his eyes once and the things I had seen there made me not want to look again.

He seemed so harmless as I looked at him. And yet it was he who had made Giles watch as he ripped his heart out of his chest. We had had to sew Giles up with 132 stitches before we buried him. Not even the best make up artist in town could soften the look of horror on his face.

I watch with eyes dulled with the years of pain as Angel takes a step closer. I am ashamed to say that it startles me when he pounces. His hands are around my neck before I can scream.

Not that there is anyone left to hear.

My death will mean nothing, I know. There is no one to find my body. Not like I found Xanderšs

He looked just like he was sleeping. It made me smile. Until I realised that half his head was missing. Then I didnšt smile.

I didnšt smile, I didnšt scream, I didnšt cry. Why bother when no one can see or hear you.

But I have enough strength left to honour a last request.

He has once again underestimated me. I have a trick up my sleeve. Literally. He doesnšt see it coming. With my last ounce of strength I hurl a hidden stake into his chest.

There is a moment when the real Angel returns. łWillow˛ he whispers, and then he is gone. It is as if he had never existed. Ashes cover Buffyšs grave. How appropriate.

Only now do I smile, and scream, and cry.

For I am truly the last.