The day is rapidly approaching when we must admit the truth to the others, yet...we can barely admit it to ourselves. To include all those we love, all those who share our lives, would be to admit that the truth is just that.
The truth.
Buffy is dying, and no can save her.
[Excerpt from the Personal Journal of Rupert Giles, May 8, 2005]
*****
Every night, after he's fallen asleep, I sit here on the bed we've shared for two years, and watch him. I know, it's kind of ironic.
He's not a peaceful sleeper. Too many bad memories, too many dark life experiences, I guess. His dreams make him restless, and he tosses, and calls out.
Sometimes he calls out Jenny's name.
We, my friends and I, tended to dismiss their relationship. It was just beginning. They barely knew each other. They were old, and old people couldn't love like we could.
We were a bunch of idiots.
It doesn't hurt anymore, when he dreams of her, because, I have him in the waking world, and I know he loves me with all he is.
He always has.
And always will?
I hope that a part of him will, but...I want him to be happy, to find someone else, just like I hope and pray Jenny did. It's too selfish to want him to build a shrine to me in his heart and keep it closed forever. He's given so much to me, I couldn't possibly ask that of him.
And...I want Ryan to have a mother. I don't know what I would have done without mine in my life. Even when I told her I was in love with a man more than twice my age, a man she herself had slept with, she just blinked, yelled, then hugged me.
Still hates being called a grandma though.
*****
"NO!"
Angel sat up with a start, instinctively reaching for his lover, who was curled in a tight ball, rocking herself and saying the word 'no' over and over. Slowly he got her to unwrap her arms from her legs, and curl against him, all the while murmuring soothing, meaningless phrases to her.
Tears spilled from her eyes and she sobbed brokenly against his muscular chest. Finally, she began to quiet down, and Angel asked her the important question. "What did you see, Delia?"
"Buffy," was her strangled cry, that froze his heart.
*****
The full moon woke Willow, and she sat up, not even glancing at her lover who sat in front of the fire, reading, gold spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Rising from the bed, her white silk gown swirling around her ankles, she went to the window and stared discontentedly at the stars.
"Pet?" Spike asked, not looking up from his book. He was accustomed to her uneasiness on these three nights a month, but he tried to reassure her. "He's fine, luv. I checked on him not twenty minutes ago."
"It's not him," she whispered almost to herself. "Something's going to happen or...is already happening. Something very bad." A shiver ran through her and she hugged herself.
Concerned, Spike set aside his book and glasses and rose to stand behind her, circling her waist with his arms and hugging her tightly. "We'll find it and fight it, luv. It's what we do, remember?"
She nodded.
But, didn't believe it.
*****
Anya walked the floor with her infant daughter, trying to calm her cries. Nearly three months old, Brianna had never cried like this, and after nearly two hours Anya's nerves were frayed. Five times in the last fifteen minutes she had been tempted to call Xander at work, but she had resisted.
She could do this.
She was the mother, and she could do this.
*****
Morning came ushering in bright, sunny skies and a warm Spring day. In four households, the brightness was dimmed by the events of the night.
*****
Angel sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly into a cup of coffee. Cordelia was still in the shower. She'd been there for nearly an hour, as if she could scrub the memories away.
For five years her dreams and visions had helped him save people, but this time...
He couldn't save the person who meant the most to him in the world.
Buffy was dying, and no one could save her.
It was her time.
Dimly Angel wondered if the numbness he felt inside himself would ever fade.
*****
"I don't know what's wrong with her," Anya whimpered to her husband's first question when he came home from his late shift at the prison. "She's been crying forever, it seems, and it makes me cry, and..."
Gently Xander took the baby and put her on his shoulder, stroking her back. Her cries were weaker, and she dozed in and out, but deep sleep hadn't come, nor had she wanted to eat. Xander grew cold as he listened to Anya recite everything that Brianna had done and hadn't done. This wasn't natural.
"Honey, go wash your face and put some clean clothes on. I'll call the doctor."
"Do you think she's sick?" Anya asked almost hopefully, as she got up from the couch to freshen up.
"I'm sure that's all it is," he assured her.
As his wife stumbled down the hall, his face fell.
Brianna wasn't ill. Xander called the doctor's office, but he also called Giles.
*****
Oz woke slowly, his body stiff, the muscles sore. The cage door was open and he shuffled out, reaching for the clothes Willow always left for him. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head, Spike walked into the basement room, carrying a mug of strong coffee. Oz took it gratefully.
"Something's up," Spike said, hands in pockets.
"Yeah. I felt it all last night." Oz' eyes shifted slightly and he sniffed. "Willow's disturbed."
"Something bad is happening."
"Death," Oz added, scenting it on the stale air.
"She's been casting since last night. The truth came to her about an hour ago."
"Who?"
"The Slayer."
Oz nodded solemnly and followed Spike up the basement stairs.
Willow knelt in the middle of a casting circle, herbs smoking, candles burning around her. She was naked, her hair entwined with flowers, and her hands were palm up in supplication, as she prayed in an ancient language.
The scent of blood filled the room and Spike morphed, growling. "She cut herself."
Only Oz' quick intervention kept Spike from breaking the circle. Both men watched helplessly as Willow's blood dripped from her breasts into a vessel between her legs. She'd carved sigils into her flesh, and they glowed with blue energy.
"She sent me down to fetch you, the sneaky bitch," Spike cursed, angry at himself for leaving her alone. "She's determined to find a way to save Buffy."
"She'll fail," Oz answered, knowingly.
*****
Giles hung up the phone, and turned, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache had formed behind his eyes. Buffy puttered around the kitchen, Ryan in one arm, first a plate of toast, then the coffee pot, in her other hand, as if it was a perfectly normal morning.
"Problem?" she asked, passing him and putting a plate of bacon and sausages on the table.
"Oh, that was Xander. Brianna has been crying all night."
"Babies cry." She glanced at her own baby who cooed up at her, making her smile.
"Have you ever heard her cry, Buffy?" Giles asked quietly.
Buffy slowly shook her head, not looking at him. "Do you want fried or scrambled eggs?"
"I want you to sit down. We need to talk. We need..."
"I need to have this just be another day, Rupert," she interrupted strongly. "Please."
With a soft sigh, he conceded. "I'm not hungry for eggs."
Glancing down, Buffy noticed that her baby had nodded off, and she flipped a smile to her lover. "Hungry for something else?"
"Xander and Anya will be here in an hour," he tried to protest.
"Plenty of time."
*****
"You're going to try to stop it, aren't you?" Cordelia asked, her fingers tightly gripping the wheel of Angel's boat of a car as they barreled up the highway past Santa Barbara towards Sunnydale.
"I can't stop it," Angel answered numbly from underneath a blanket on the back seat.
"But, you're still going to try."
"I can't just let her die without trying."
"Doyle confirmed my dream. Willow's divination did the same thing. She's going to die today, Angel. We have to accept it." Her words were hard, but he could hear the restrained tears choking her.
"It's not fair," Angel cried harshly.
*****
"It's not fair," Willow sobbed hoarsely, staggering out of the circle and into Oz' arms. He scooped her up easily and carried her cold body over to the couch. Spike knelt to stir up the fire, as Oz wrapped her in a blanket and held her tightly. "I can't stop it. I can't find a spell or anything. Why can't I save her?"
"It's her time, luv."
"No," she denied vehemently. "She's only twenty-four, and she just had a baby, and..." She broke down completely, sobbing violently against Oz' chest, as he tried to soothe her.
Spike watched them for a moment, then left the room, returning a few minutes later with a glass of orange-papaya juice. He handed it to Oz, who coaxed Willow to drink some. Both men looked at each other, despair in their expressive eyes.
*****
I know my college friends--those who didn't know the real me--are totally baffled by my relationship with 'some old guy', but...if they could see my beloved Ripper now...
He's on his back, his large hands, a few of the fingers slightly crooked, gripping my wrists and holding my hands to his mouth. He's kissing and sucking on each of my fingers, and that simple action is making me burn. I sit on his stomach, my whole body quivering. His erection rubs against my butt and I wriggle, driving us both insane.
Leaning down, I flick my tongue over one of his nipples, wetting the graying hair on his chest, then squirming down so that my own, pebbled nipples can rub against that hair. It's a friction I crave every time I touch him.
He's done with my fingers, and his hands cup my bottom, raising me, then lowering me onto his thick cock. He groans as I engulf him, and I smile, squeezing muscles I worked darn hard to strengthen after giving birth three months before.
"Buffy..."
His eyes fall shut, his breathing grows ragged, and I feel like crowing in elation, that I can make this man want me so badly. Me, skinny, odd, little Buffy Summers.
And, he doesn't just want me. He loves me.
He loves me...
With a sharp cry, I slam my hips down, grinding against him and riding him hard and fast. He meets each thrust desperately, his fingers bruising my hips as he guides me. His legs raise and he pushes me back so that I'm leaning against them, still thrusting and retreating, feeling him fill me to my very core.
His eyes open, and they shine with love and need and sorrow...No, no sorrow, not yet. Silently I cry for him to just be happy, but, he wouldn't be my Giles if he wasn't complicated.
Our eyes meet, and he smiles slightly, then slips his fingers into my wet cleft, fingering my swollen flesh and rubbing my throbbing clitoris.
I bite my lower lip, moan softly, and explode.
As I fall forward, my hips still churning, driving him to his own climax, tears slip from my eyes, wetting his chest. Giles' arms wrap around me, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe, and, with a harsh cry, he comes, pumping into me desperately.
He collapses beneath me, and I hear his own breathy sobs, and blindly find his mouth with mine. We kiss gently, tenderly, lovingly...
Knowing that this was the last time...
*****
As soon as Xander carried Brianna across Giles' doorstep, she stopped crying and fell immediately asleep. He stared down at her, as Anya breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed exhausted on the couch. Xander licked his suddenly dry lips and looked up at Giles.
Giles looked back with dull eyes and took the infant. "I'm sorry, Xander," he murmured, cradling Brianna in one arm.
"What's wrong with her?" Xander whispered, as if asking out loud would mean that there really was something wrong.
"Nothing," Giles reassured him. "She's a perfectly healthy child." Before he could continue, Buffy entered the living room, fresh from the shower and wearing a comfortable t- shirt and pair of shorts.
"Hey. She's not crying now. Rupert has a way with babies, you know."
"She stopped crying as soon as we came in," Anya replied, half asleep on the couch.
"Maybe she missed Ryan. It's been over a week since their last play date."
"All they do is sit there in their carriers and gurgle at each other," the ex-demon answered with a slight snort, but a prideful snort.
Buffy took the baby and headed down the hall, saying, "I'll put her in the portable crib in Ryan's room."
As soon as Buffy was out of sight, Xander gave Giles a hard, expectant look. The older man sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes where the headache had returned. "Please, sit down, Xander."
"What is it?"
"Please..."
Frowning, Xander sat next to his wife, who leaned against him, her eyes only half open. Giles took a deep breath and sat down in a chair across from them, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Brianna was crying for a reason. It started at midnight, correct?"
It wasn't really a question, and Anya came fully awake, giving him a startled look. "Yeah, I think so. I was watching Howard Stern's new show and it starts at midnight."
Giles nodded, and continued, "All the potentials feel it, beginning at midnight on the day..." He swallowed hard, and shook his head, tears blinding him.
"What are you saying, Giles?" Xander demanded.
"Potential what?" Anya asked at the same time.
The answer came in a painful whisper. "Slayers. On the day of one slayer's death, all potentials, all those in training, know it's going to happen. Naturally, infants react by crying. It was only when Brianna arrived here and felt..."
"WHAT?" Xander jumped to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. Anya grabbed him, trying to pull him back down, as Giles rose, too, retreating slightly. "How long have you known?" Xander asked, his voice deadly.
"Since about two months before Brianna's birth."
"My daughter a slayer?" Anya muttered, horrified, bounding to her feet. "No, I won't have it. I won't. I...Wait...a slayer dying?"
All the fury fled from Xander, as that part of Giles' statement began to register. "Buffy?" he finally whispered.
Giles nodded and his voice was full of sorrow. "She'll die today."
Shocked, Xander sank back down onto the couch, tears springing into his eyes. Anya just stared, for once silent.
A moment later, Buffy returned to the living room, just as the door bell rang insistently. She opened the door and was pushed aside by two vampires covered in smoldering blankets. Angel and Spike dived into the nearest shade, and Buffy quickly closed the door behind Oz, Willow and Cordelia.
Everyone stared at Buffy, who stared at the floor, fidgeting slightly.
Giles cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Well, this is fortuitous.
"Buffy, you can't die," Willow cried, grabbing her friend and hugging her for dear life.
"Will," Buffy murmured, hugging her friend back. "It's...it'll be okay. Come on, everyone sit down. I shouldn't be surprised that somehow you all know."
A few minutes later, everyone was seated except for Giles who leaned against the mantle, and Buffy who stood beside him, her hand tightly clasped in his.
"It all started when I got pregnant," she began softly, her eyes downcast. "I was thrilled, but Rupert...He was worried. You see, slayers aren't supposed to have children. They aren't supposed to live long enough to have children."
"They aren't supposed to live past twenty-one. I've asked him before how old the oldest slayer was, but he never told me. I've beaten the oldest by three years and...it's been borrowed time." She swallowed hard, and ran her eyes over her friends, her family, touching briefly on each one, lingering on Angel for a moment longer, before going past them all to her reflection in a mirror.
"We don't know if I might have lived longer if I hadn't accelerated things by getting pregnant. It's kind of moot now, and...well I wouldn't trade any second of pregnancy or motherhood for another second of life."
She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around Giles' hand, and she continued, "Today's the day, my last. But, you all seem to know that already."
*****
Buffy insisted that no one be negative, so for the last two hours we have all been sharing stories. Happy stories, stories of donuts and demons and first love and lasting relationships, of times shared as children and as adults, dates, dances, birthdays, weddings. All the good times that people should have a long lifetime to share with their friends and lovers.
Not just a few years.
I watch them laughing, but the laughter never reaches their eyes. It's a strain to be happy, but they try. They all, even Spike, want to make her last day a happy one.
My eyes go from one dear friend to the next, finally lighting on Angel. He's told a few anecdotes, but mostly just listened, and, as I watch him watching her, staring so incredibly sadly at her, I wonder if this day won't see two deaths.
I've always known that a large part of her heart, maybe the largest part, has always belonged to him. For three years, I refused to think about it. He rarely came here; we rarely went to L.A. We all got on with our lives.
But, their love was a thing of magic, and it still exists. It never interfered in the love Buffy and I share--it doesn't even at this moment--but it is still a thing of exquisite beauty.
I have to wonder why I don't feel jealous.
Maybe...maybe because to love Buffy is to simply love...
Out of the corner of my eye I see her smiling at me, and I smile back. I know I should be howling in grief, but...we've known this was coming. We've had time to prepare, to say our goodbyes. Now, it's time for her to grant the same to her friends.
They're all handling this amazingly well.
*****
After the story-telling, I take each one into the study to say a private goodbye. Spike's first, and he gives me a flippant grin, and a hard hug.
"You were a worthy enemy, Slayer."
"You, too, Spike." I can feel my smile fade, and I slowly nod. "You take care of Willow for me. She's going to need you."
He nods, fidgets, then cups my chin in his surprisingly gentle hand. Oh, I've often wondered just what Willow sees in him, but...as he looks at me so seriously and sadly...As I see the life and love and caring in his eyes, for the first time I see him as she sees him. We'd been enemies, then grudging partners, and finally reluctant friends.
But, he truly loves my dearest friend, and I will always be grateful for that.
"Goodbye, Buffy," he murmurs, then leans down and kisses me on the cheek, his lips cool on my heated flesh. As my eyes fall briefly shut, he slips from the room without a sound.
*****
Cordelia, Xander, Anya, Oz, all come to say their goodbyes, to hug and cry and commiserate, to begin the mourning process. It's only natural. I've been mourning my own death since Rupert and I figured it out two months ago. We only told my parents, and I've already said goodbye to them.
It's hard, saying goodbye to my friends, to realize that I won't ever see them again, won't see them grow old, their children grow old. Won't ever know if Cordelia gets her big break. Won't ever know if Oz and Willow manage to have a child. Won't ever know if Xander succeeds in breaking the pattern of alcoholism in his family. Won't ever know if Anya becomes the perfect mother I think she will.
They've been such an integral part of my life for so many years. We've fought and cried and screamed and...none of it has ever destroyed our relationships. Not Willow's feelings of insecurity, nor Oz' defection our freshman year in college. Not Cordelia's bitter fury, nor Anya's brief return to demonhood.
No circle of friends can ever have been closer.
And, I'm down to two to say goodbye to.
*****
Willow slips into the room, her eyes red with dark shadows beneath them. She's so frail sometimes, the magic that she casts takes so much out of her. And, I know she's been trying to save me.
She'd give her life for me, as I would for her.
Over the years we've become closer than sisters. Although I found it bizarre, I supported her relationship with Spike that blossomed into a threesome when Oz finally returned. She supported my love for Rupert. I remember when I first told her.
She just smiled, giggled, and said 'finally'.
"I can't believe this is happening," she finally says, her voice hoarse with unshed tears.
"I know, Will..."
"Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you let us try to help you?"
"I...guess we didn't want to make it real. Within forty-eight hours we knew there was no way to stop it. We told my parents, and mourned with them, then...continued to live. I had a one month old baby and a husband who was trying to be strong for both of us, and...it was just easier not to talk about it."
"Sometimes even, not to think about it."
"...Are you scared?"
I nod slowly, and she takes my hands, squeezing them tightly. We sit, and I tell her how I found out, the dreams, and the visit to the Oracles. She listens as she always does, her mind playing through all the possibilities, and, finally, I see acceptance in her pain-filled eyes.
We embrace tightly, and the tears fall.
*****
Angel is last. Willow left nearly fifteen minutes before Angel comes into the library. He sits next to me on the sofa, and just looks at me, as if he's memorizing me.
After several minutes, he speaks, his voice low, and empty of emotion. "I knew this would happen some day. I just...didn't want to think about it."
"Me neither."
He takes my hands in his and brings them to his lips, then our eyes meet. "You've been happy with Rupert."
It isn't a question, and I nod, tears springing into my eyes. "I moved on, like you wanted, like...I had to."
A small smile plays on his lips as he nods in understanding. "And, to a very good man who loves you with all his heart and soul. Who walked with you in the sun, and gave you a child."
The tears spill free and I collapse into Angel's embrace, burying my face in his chest. "I don't want to die." Quietly he soothes me, his hands stroking my back, his lips running over my hair as he murmurs unintelligible phrases.
"I don't want to leave him or Ryan, not now. It's not fair," I cry, pulling back and brushing the tears brusquely from my cheeks.
"No, it's not. Very little in life is."
I look up into his wise, ancient eyes, and sniffle. "Yeah, it really sucks."
The smile returns, warming me. "It's not the end, Buffy, only another beginning. I have to believe that. And, someday, we'll all be together again."
I want to believe him. I know there's a hell. Does that mean there's a heaven? Are the powers that be God? I'm the Chosen One, but who chose me? I've never really thought about it much. "Angel, will you promise me something?"
He nods. "Anything."
"Keep an eye on Rupert and Ryan, and everyone here in Sunnydale. I'll...rest easier knowing that you're watching over the people I love once I no longer can."
"I will, I promise. No harm shall come to any of them if I can prevent it."
His solemnly spoken promise makes me feel a bit better, a bit relieved, partly because...in the past two months I've wondered if Angel would go on without me. I knew Rupert would, and not just because of Ryan, but Angel...
Sometimes he seems so fragile. I know, that's an odd thing to think about a two hundred and fifty year old vampire, but, he's lost so much over the centuries. Maybe it's my own ego talking, but I wondered if he would kill himself once I was dead.
Now, I know he won't. He keeps his promises. He'll watch them all, protect them all. He'll see my beloved baby boy grow up and play little league and have his first date and get married.
He'll do it for me, for my memory, because he loves me still.
I lean forward and kiss him lightly, then smile through my tears and leave the room.
*****
Our friends have gone, evening has fallen, and I watch Buffy sitting in the rocking chair in the nursery feeding our son. He suckles hungrily at her breast, and I hope he makes the transition to formula without too much trouble. Buffy had offered to stop breast feeding when we found out, but not for a moment would I have taken this away from either of them.
Ryan will need her strength, and Buffy needs these moments of joy.
I feel the tears well up in my sore, tired eyes, and lift them to the walls, scanning the murals she and Cordelia painted in the last month of her pregnancy. Sheep gamboling, teddy bears having picnics, stars and moons with faces, everything smiling in joy.
Somehow I manage to put a smile on my face as well. She looks up at me from placing a kiss on Ryan's forehead, and our eyes meet for a brief moment, then I see her swallow hard and her arms begin to shake. I'm moving forward before she chokes out my name. Taking our dozing son, I deposit him carefully in his crib, then scoop Buffy up into my arms with equal care.
Her whole body is shaking and she's as cold as ice, as I carry her into our bedroom. Sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, I hold on her my lap, her head on my chest. She's already too weak to lift her hand to my shoulder, and I clutch her tightly, trying to warm her, trying to hold on to her.
My tears start falling, fogging my glasses, and I feel her tears wetting my shirt. She doesn't make a sound, and I pray she's not in pain.
We never knew just what would kill her, only that she would die on this day. We tried to prepare, but how can you prepare for something like this?
I want to scream and curse at the gods, but none of it will make any difference. My screams and curses can come later. Buffy needs me now, needs me to be the strong one.
As I hold her, images of our life together flit through my mind, happy times and sad. From the first moment I saw her in the Library, the exasperation I felt in those first months, the agony when I found the prophecy that she would die at the hands of the Master. Jenny and Angel and Angelus and Spike and Dru, her seventeenth birthday, her eighteenth. My betrayal. Her forgiveness. Graduation, college, the first moment we finally let ourselves accept the feelings that, at least on my part, had been there for so long.
Our first night together, so wonderfully beautiful, yet slightly bittersweet as we laid to rest old lovers.
I see the reactions of our friends, of Buffy's mother, first shock, then acceptance, then joy. Then, that fateful morning when Buffy bounded into the bedroom, waking me and waving the plastic stick in my face which proclaimed her pregnancy. I see myself on one knee asking her to marry me, and I watch her cry and agree, but only after the baby is born because she wants to be beautiful for me. And, I tell her she will always be beautiful for me.
Ryan's birth shines in my mind. So surprisingly easy and quick, he came into the world only three hours after her labor started. I watch her joy at the first time he suckles, her playful resignation at dirty diapers and spit-up, her intense love for our child.
All leading to this moment. I refuse to remember the bad times, finding out her final destiny, our attempts to avert it, the tears and yelling, the terrible nightmares.
Closing my burning eyes, I picture Buffy as she was this morning, naked, her eyes wide and glazed with passion, her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her breasts full yet firm, not a stretch mark on her, as she reached her orgasm and sobbed my name.
"Rupert?"
"Yes, luv?" I whisper hoarsely.
"It doesn't hurt," she whispers back, her voice light and airy as if it could float away.
"I'm glad, luv." I hold her tighter and feel her lips move against my neck.
"Don't forget me."
"Never," I swear.
"I love you."
"I love you, too, Buffy. I love you, too."
I feel her lips turn up as she smiles, then feel her final sigh shudder through her...
...and she's gone.
*****
We all stand at her grave side after an evening funeral. Everyone is there, most crying. I'm not, though. I cried all the tears I had while she lived. I have to be the strong one now, for Ryan, for all of our friends and family.
As the mourners begin to file away from the grave with its beautiful white casket covered in white roses, I look at the simple marble tombstone.
Buffy Summers
February 5, 1981-May 22, 2005
She brought light and hope to the world, and she will be missed.
*****
End
