Years Later Series:
Broken
by KNS

And so they sat together, all of them but Angel, and listened to the final words said for their lost friend. Strangers they had never met went up to the front and said kind, flattering things about her, things that may or may not have been true, things that brought no comfort to those on that front bench.

Those that knew her best in all the world did not go up to say things that those in the rest of the church wanted to hear. Those strangers didn't want to know about her struggles and heartaches - they didn't want to hear about her bouts with alcohol, her miscarriages, her nightly fights with creatures of darkness. They only wanted to hear about a glorious hero, and Buffy herself would have mocked the image they cast her into.

When the services were over, the people lined up to walk past her closed casket. They laid their hands on the cool wood, laid flowers on the carpet beside her, wept their few tears and went away.

The group on the bench watched them all pass by. No one came to offer them condolences. They were a bunch of rag-tag misfits no one saw fit to bother with. None of them paused to consider that the one they had come to mourn had been a misfit herself, as all true heroes are.

A small cluster of three or four Watchers came to Giles, bearing a young woman with them. She was a fresh faced girl with dark brown hair and dark eyes she was no more then fifteen or sixteen years old.

"Mr. Giles, this is Ginna North, the new Slayer," one of the Watchers said brightly. Although Giles had not given the Council his official decision, it was understood that he was the Council head.

Giles nodded shortly, then pointedly ignored them.

"The Council Oath, Mr. Giles," another of the Watchers reminded him.

Giles gave the speaker a look that instantly quelled further words. "I am at a funeral, man. By God, have some respect for the fallen Slayer. I'll never swear an oath to this girl, not in the presence of her predecessor."

The Watchers suddenly looked guilty. They shuffled their feet like children and threw hesitant glances at the casket behind them, as if truly afraid they had offended the one within.

"Of course," one of them said softly. "Forgive our intrusion." They started to move away, but the girl held her ground.

"Wait," she said. "Mr. Giles - I, I just want you to know that I'll try my best to be as good as she was. Maybe even better. I'll do it to honor her memory."

Giles turned his eyes to regard her for a brief moment before looking away. "You'll never be anything compared to her," he said quietly. "Do you understand?"

As the girl's eyes filled with sudden tears the Watchers pulled her away. The group on the bench paid her not a second thought.

They were gone. After hours of people filling the church, they were finally all gone. Not one person remained in the silent room, not a single soul broke the silence.

Except for one lonely figure.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Angel walked down the aisle towards the white-wooded casket. His footfalls muffled by the carpet, his breathing lost to the silence, he moved towards where she lay.

This was it. The end. Their would be no smiles, no promises of future meetings, no kisses and no pleas to stay just a moment longer. And when it was over, there would be no more second chances, and he would be alone forever.

He stopped, hands clenched at his sides, head bowed. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it.

"Go on, Angel," a voice said from behind him. "You'll hate yourself later if you don't."

Angel spun around to find Whistler standing behind him. The demon wasn't wearing one of his funky outfits for once, but rather wore a respectable suit and tie. He'd even forgone his usual hat.

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked, his voice low. "Come to gloat? Say you told me so?"

Whistler walked towards him, shaking his head. "Nah. I'm here for the same reason you are." He continued walking down the aisle and Angel reluctantly followed him. He halted a few steps away from the casket and Angel stopped behind him.

"She was a good Slayer," Whistler said, looking at the light box. "And she was a good person - which is sometimes harder."

Angel ran a hand over his face. "She deserved more than this - to be murdered by someone who should have been her closest ally. She deserved more."

Whistler offered Angel his lopsided smile. "Few people die the way they deserve to. It's very rare that somebody actually gets what they should."

Angel looked over to the casket. Slowly, as if mesmerized, he went to it. Of its own accord his hand lifted and traced the ancient symbol engraved there. Hands for friendship. Crown for loyalty. Heart . . .

He closed his eyes. "I wish I could tell her just one more time. . ." he whispered.

"She knew, Angel," Whistler returned, not unkindly. "She knew, because you stayed."

"It wasn't suppose to be like this," Angel said after a moment. "When she died, I should have died with her." Except that Willow hadn't been able to finish the spell, and once he was human no one thought about doing it again. Yet another quirk of the Fate that had never been kind to them.

"You and her always had bad luck with spells," Whistler said dryly. "But she did love you, Angel. Maybe in some life you two married and lived in Sunnydale for years on end before she died. Maybe you became human a lot sooner and enjoyed a wonderful life together, with a house and a cat and the whole bit. But in every life, in every time, she loved you. Always."

Angel turned to look at him, but the demon was gone, leaving him standing beside the casket alone.

Whistler was right. He had to see her, just one more time.

Slowly he set his hands to the lid and opened it.

He would have thought she was sleeping if not for the infinitely peaceful expression on her face. The little lines around her eyes were gone. She almost looked as if she were smiling. Hesitantly he reached out and touched her cheek her skin was soft, oh so soft, just as it had always been.

In the end, she was no heartless Slayer, no rebel misfit - she was a woman with a kind spirit and a heavy burden, who had fought too much and been alone too often. If she was responsible for the deaths of thousands of monsters, she was still curiously innocent, and trusting enough to be destroyed by the one who should have been most loyal.

He had always loved her. He couldn't remember a time when she hadn't filled his thoughts and turned his head. Even when he'd spent those twenty years away from her, he'd continued to love her. He'd seen her everywhere - in a crowded club, walking into a theater with a group of friends, turning a corner on a deserted street late, late at night. Her voice had haunted his nights and cursed his days, for its sweet ebbs and swells were sounds he'd always longed to hear once more. He couldn't escape from those that knew her, no matter how hard he tried. There was always someone there to say, ‘Ah, yes, I know her. . .' - like that woman in LA she'd helped out of trouble one summer he'd met up with the woman no so long afterwards bearing Buffy's middle name around her like a tattered blanket.

He had never been able to escape her love. He'd never wanted to, he realized now. He still didn't.

Her love had been different from his. Where to him love had meant letting go, for her love had meant holding on. "Love is fighting," she'd said once. "It's hard, and it's everyday."

And she had always fought to win. She did nothing by halves. Her weapons were forgiveness, caring and compassion, and she had used them with a skill beyond her years. After his demon had taken over and done unforgivable things - she'd forgiven him instantly. After returning from Hell, where he rightly belonged - she'd cared for him until he was strong. After telling her there could never again be anything between them - somehow they'd ended up dating once more, and every once in a while she'd have him actually believing that they could be together like before (like that time on the ice rink when they'd skated together side by side, hand in hand, until he'd stumbled and brought her crashing down with him, and their eyes had met in the old way. . .)

"You won, Beloved," he murmured softly. He'd come to understand that she was right - sometimes love wasn't letting go, it was holding on. In the end she'd won the fight and gotten her wish - she had died with his name on her lips, and he was here to bury her. Hail victory, he thought bitterly.

Standing beside her still, unmoving form, he was haunted by memories. She had been so full of life, how could she now be dead? He remembered the time she'd made him take her swing dancing, and although he'd never admitted it, he had had an amazingly fun time. He remembered that time they'd been discovered kissing on the beach by a group of boys, and he'd shown them his vamp face just to scare them away and make her laugh. He remembered the Halloween she'd put on that old fashioned dress and ended up acting the role of an eighteenth century maiden, much to his distress. He remembered the time the time he'd mentioned he wished he could see her in the daylight, and so she'd set up a video camera and recorded a funny, touching little message to comfort him - he still had that tape. He remembered teaching her to drive, for when every one else had refused she'd turned to him, knowing she could count on him - she had always counted on him. . . He remembered, oh God, he remembered . . .

And now he had lost her. She had gone, and had not taken him with her.

Slowly he opened his hand and laid the silver cross by her head. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny silver ring. It was her old Claddagh ring, the first one he'd given to her long ago, so long ago. It was the symbol of what had brought him back from Hell. When he'd gone to her Prom, and they had both known he was leaving, she had demanded he give it back to her, her wedding ring, hoping against all odds that maybe she could change his mind with that symbol. It was scratched and dull now, for it had seen many a year's wearing. What had she said? An ascension, two Masters, a world war. . .

Hands for friendship, crown for loyalty, heart for love. . .

He laid it under one of her rough, calloused hands. He would send it with her - that, and his heart. The gentle earth would lay over her, and she would never lie beside him again. . .

He sat down quite abruptly, his legs refusing to function anymore, and every pent-up tear and locked-away sob suddenly surfaced. He knelt beside her and wept for all that had been, for all that would never be, for all that was lost -

There were arms about him, comforting him, cradling him. A voice as tear-stricken as his own was whispering his name, sharing in his grief.

He lifted his head and saw Willow kneeling beside him, tears streaming down her face. She broke her silence with words of comfort for them all, for the others were there as well - Giles and Xander and Marianna. Giles had a hand over his eyes only his shaking shoulders gave him away. Xander and Marianna made no effort to hide their grief - what was the point. Who cared if their tears were seen? The one they loved lay dead beside them, and nothing could ever change that -

"Oh. My. God." The voice that spoke was full of fear and loathing. "Who's sick idea was this? Dammit - did I miss the flight to Ireland? There's gonna be one sorry sucker out there when I find out who did this." Suddenly the tone changed. "Hey guys. What's with the cry fest?"

Their tears stopped as suddenly as if a faucet had been turned off. They looked at each other, afraid to believe what they'd heard, afraid not to believe it. Slowly, very slowly they turned to look up at the casket above them.

Buffy was looking down at them as if they'd all lost their minds.

Willow looked to Xander. Xander looked to Marianna. Marianna looked to Giles. Giles turned to Angel.

Angel looked at nothing but her.

In an instant they were on their feet, babbling a hundred words a minute and reaching out to touch her with hesitant hands.

"Hey, quit with the show and tell already," she cried, throwing up her hands.

Something small and silver flew from her right hand, landed with a light thump on a bed of red roses.

Silence. Angel reached down and picked up the thing, already knowing what it was. He showed it to the others.

It was her old Claddagh ring.

"I had the strangest dream," Buffy said softly. Then she shook her head. "No. I was dead."

They looked at each other and at her and wondered if *this* were a dream.

"Geez, Buff, only you would confuse dreams with dying," Xander said shakily, and they realized that only in real life would Xander make such a bad joke.

Slowly Willow started to laugh. Giles joined her, lifting away a good ten years from his face. Marianna added her soft, musical laughter, and after a moment they were all laughing - a bit hysterically, true, but it was laughter all the same.

"I don't know which is more amazing," Willow gasped, "the fact that Buffy's alive or the fact that we're laughing at one of Xander's jokes!"

"The joke!" Buffy and Angel chorused. Angel turned to her and caught her up in a passionate kiss, lifting her from the casket, but broke it a moment later to continue laughing.

"Get me out of England," Buffy laughed. "And I though Sunnydale was bad - !"

Thus ends the story of how Buffy and Angel finally found their happiness after years of being apart.

Giles took over the Watcher's Council, and his first act as head was to officially move the headquarters from England to the United States. Although this brake with tradition arose quite an outcry, eventually all settled down and the change was made. Together he and Marianna rebuilt the Council, healing the wounds that had been created when Wesley Wyndham-Price had set himself against the Slayer.

Willow and Xander sold their memory-filled house and moved to the states as well, where Willow split her time between the Council and a very lucrative career in software design. Xander went to work on Wall Street, but he never again chose to spend more time at the office than with his family.

And as for Buffy and Angel - they bought a small house on the beach, where they took up training Slayers and those with the marks of potential Slayers. With their assistance, Slayers began to live longer, more normal lives, for when Buffy had died another had been called, and now there were three, which was quite an improvement from the time she had been called. The world was quite a big place, after all, and there was plenty of evil for everyone to have more than enough.

The lives of the old friends were not perfect. They continued to have their share of misadventures and close-calls Angel and Buffy's love was tested many more times, but it always proved true. The bonds that had always kept them apart were broken, and together they shared many, many more years and many, many more adventures.

But those are stories for another time . . .

The End.

I'd like to say thank you one more time to all the authors who gave me their permission to cite their stories in this fic. I strongly encourage anyone who read this fic to look up and read stories from the authors below. They are all much better writers than I am, and their stories are all GREAT!

The End

Feedback to strickland@frontier.net

Go here for more of KNS's stories.

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page