It was late May.  The sun shone warm, and the flowers of Southern
California bloomed, mingling with the scent of the funeral arrangements.
A greying man carrying two vases made his way through Homeland
Cemetery and sat down between two graves.

"Hello, my darlings," he said softly, setting the vase of white roses at the
stone marked Jenny Callander.  "There's your roses, my love."  He
carefully set the vase of hyacinths at the marker of Willow Rosenburg-
Giles 1981-2015.  "And hyacinths for you.  'You gave hyacinths, the
called me the hyacinth girl.'  You always did love Eliot.  Enjoy the
flowers, my dears."  He had buried his young wife next to his beloved
Jenny at her request.  His own plot was between them.  Some would call
him morbid, sitting on his own future grave and talking to his dead
lovers.  But the talking was the only thing that kept his sanity.

He sighed heavily.  "I miss both of you terribly.  Willow, I still have
trouble getting to sleep.  The bed seems so big and empty.  Too many
nights, I find myself reading your old Watcher Diaries, or your files on
the Dread Machine.  Jonathan worries about me, I know.  It's been five
years.  I should be used to you sleeping here.  But I wake up every
morning expecting to find you beside me, and your side of the bed is
cold.  And you're not showering.  And you're not making tea.  There are
so many places you aren't, my dearest."

"I wish you could have seen Jonathan graduate.  I know he's only 16, but
he'll spend his first two years at UC Sunnydale, and live at home.  Then
he's off to Berkeley for his Computer Science degree and his doctor of
divinity in Witchcraft and Earth religions.  You'd both be so proud of
him.  He is truly a technopagan."

He paused, overwhelmed by memories. "This is, you know, the
anniversary of Faith's death.  I failed the child somehow.  I still don't
understand how I could have made things different.  I only wish I could
see.  But that hindsight is dim.  And Buffy's death is next week.  I'll
bring more flowers then, darlings.  She lived longer than any other slayer
on record," he added with a touch of pride.  "I saw Joyce last week.
She's lucid, but still believes it is 2002.  Her medication was adjusted
again.  She asked how you were doing in your classes, Willow.  I lied
and told her fine.  I know I don't help by contributing to her delusions,
but it seems the kindest."

He brightened briefly, "I talked to Xander last night.  He and Oz have a
large order at the Magick Shoppe and needed my help cataloguing it.
They are both doing very well.  Funny, they seem to have turned their
love for you into a love for each other.  Oz even taught Xander the
guitar.  Their new band is very good, a far cry from The Dingos.  They
do very mellow music.  We've all mellowed in our old age.  They worry
about me.  They think I've gone a bit looney without you."He dropped
his voice to a whisper.  "They may be right."

"The council made me a Watcher Emeritus this week.  I get a stipend, a
plaque and permanent ownership of our flat.  I also get to pass on the
annual meeting."

"Angel is still around.  After he staked Spike for killing Buffy, we all
thought he'd just sit in the sunlight for too long, remember?  But he's
still here, lurking and brooding.  Still hunting vampires."

"There aren't as many now.  The Hellmouth closed up, remember I told
you about that?  Still a few, but not the infestation we had at the turn of
the century.  Not many demons either.  There are always a few in any
population center, but most are fairly mild."

"Anya and Amy are still here.  Anya has adjusted to life as a mortal, but
she's not coping well with approaching 40.  She manages a Women's
Crisis Center and seems happy with her job.  Amy is one of the most
respected holistic healers in the country.  She doesn't do transformations
any more.  Six months living as a rat seems to have cured her of that
idea."

"Willie the Snitch closed his bar last week.  He broke his leg this winter
if you recall.  Getting around and working was just too difficult."

"Wesley Wyndham-Price died three days ago.  Coronary while sitting by
the fire.  Pity, that.  He'd turned into quite a worthwhile Watcher.  Both
of his Slayers managed to live 4 years.  Not quite Buffy's record, but we
all know the average lifespan after a Calling is 18 months."

"And I caught a glimpse of Cordelia the other night.  We're still hunting
her.  She's managed to take over Spikes' old coven, and is running most
of LA now.  Word is she controls not only the undead, but a sizeable
movie industry interest as well.  Very wealthy, very powerful, and still
not above taunting old friends."

He stood up and began to complete his weekly ritual with the words he
always said.  "That's all the news, ladies.  I love and miss both of you.
Willow, Canticles 4-6, as you always used to say to me when we were
apart.  Jenny, I would gladly sit through another monster truck rally just
to have you by my side.  I will see you again next week, if I do not join
you before then.  Enjoy the flowers, my darlings."

Silently, Rupert Giles picked his way out of the cemetery to where his
aging Avalon sat. Silently he drove back to the apartment he shared with
his son.  Jonathan would be home soon.  And then there would be dinner
and dishes and maybe TV.  Then he would lie on his large empty bed
and try not to think too much about Jenny and Willow asleep in their
cold narrow ones.

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