And so much pain
That we forget
"Giles!"
Lifting his head from where he'd buried it in his hands, Lindsay spots Giles slowly trying to push himself up off the floor, groaning in pain with each restless movement. Racing over, he kneels by the englishman's struggling frame with an expression of weary affection. "You're not dead!"
"No..." The familiar quirk of Lindsay's smile flashes before him as he's suddenly, and painfully, swept up into a tight hug. "However, I am still in some pain."
"Oh..." Releasing his grip at Giles' wince, his relief turns to uncertainty. "Well...why aren't you dead? Why aren't I dead?"
"The threat's gone," he explains, gratefully accepting the hand Lindsay was offering him to help him sit up. "Willow's been stopped."
"You mean...she's-"
"No, she's alive," he's quick to dissuade his initial fear. "The magic she took from me, it did what I hoped it would do."
"Oh..." Lindsay leans back, comprehension slowly growing in his mind. "You dosed her. You knew she was going to take your powers all along."
"The gift I was given by the coven was the true essence of magic. Willow's magic came from a place of rage and power. The magic she took from me tapped into the spark of humanity she had left- helped her to feel again. Thankfully it gave Oz and the others the opportunity to finally reach her."
******
In the rising glow of the full sunrise, Buffy and Cordelia stand
watching as Willow sobs, cradled in Oz's arms. The dark energy had
finally been absolved from the wiccan, leaving her red hair to reflect
the sun's shimmering radiance. From his own spot along the edge of the
hill, Angel casts one final glance at the heartrending scene over his
shoulder before wearily making his way down the bluff's incline.
Which is how he came to discover Xander's lifeless body, lying
beneath what had once been part of Proserpexa's altar. Bending down to
check for the signs of life he knew he would not find, he felt the grief
that came with a growing sense of resignation. Xander was pale and
clammy- as much of him as was not covered in blood- and was showing all
the classic signs of massive blood loss. The causes weren't hard to
find- the wicked-looking wounds in his chest, and the huge, steadily
flowing gash grazing his temple from the rock's blow. Whether one
infliction had been more fatal than the other or whether the injuries
had worked together to finally end Xander's suffering, Angel had only
one certainty to bring back to the others waiting up top- both had come
from Willow's own hand, the full repercussions waiting to unfold.
And its real... ******
Part17
As promised, Doyle was early arriving at the mansion, Cordelia no
more than a step behind him as they stepped inside. Quietly shutting
the door behind her, the brunette spots Joyce already sitting in the
great hall. "I'm gonna...go and..." she nods to across the room,
receiving a weak smile from Doyle in approval. Letting his gaze linger
on her for a few precious moments, watching as she smooths a hand over
the folds of her dress in her steps across the floor, the half-demon
finally turns, headed towards the dining room. Hovered over a mess of
folders and papers, Angel and Oz were already seated, while a clearly
frustrated Lindsay was in the midst of his phone call, pacing around
them wildly.
Spotting him out of the corner of his eye, Angel motions for him to
come over, lifting his head from where he'd been leaning it against the
wall to greet him. "How's your arm?"
"Still there," he shrugs, his shoulder stirring slightly beneath the
sling. "At least I hope it's still underneath there. Doctor said it's
only a small fracture. Should heal in no time." Besides the few bumps
and bruises that they'd all sustained at one point or another over the
past few days, Doyle had been the only one seriously injured. And in
the face of all they'd endured, having a broken arm was hardly serious.
"Hurts like hell though."
"...I realize that, but these are special circumstances, detective,"
they overhear the young lawyer's desperate voice bark out. "I don't
think you realize everything that needs to be considered-"
"And I don't think *you* realize that I could care less about your
'special circumstances', McDonald," the detective snaps back, hardly in
the mood to deal with the devious lawyer she'd already had too many
dealings with in the past. "I have procedures to stick by."
" 'Detective'?" Doyle stares over to him. "You talkin' to Lockley?" At
Lindsay's grimace, he stands to his feet, a quick wave of his hand
signaling to be handed the cordless. "Kate...are we having a problem
settling all of this?"
"The only problem I have is being brought into this case in the first
place," her voice begins teetering with irritation. "It's bad enough my
men have had to clean up all of your messes here in LA. Why should any
of your latest problems in Sunnydale concern me?"
"Good question...but why don't you ask whoever called you in to
investigate this in the first place instead of trying to make things
harder for everyone on our end?" Though he had a good idea Lilah had
probably placed a call to the detective the second she'd heard about the
week's tragic events, he decides to probe Kate for some details anyway.
"Just who is paying you to look into this case anyway?"
"Wouldn't you like to know..."
Feeling his own features turn grim at the sound of the discouraging
conversation, Oz reaches across the table, grabbing one of the folders,
and begins looking through its too-familiar contents with a heavy
heart. "I, uh...I stopped by Giles' place last night," he begins softly
over to Angel, though his eyes barely shifted from the contents of the
file's contents.
"Is everything set?"
"Just about. He said they'd be leaving tonight. Right after..." he
finds himself trailing off, too overcome to verbalize the two events
he'd been dreading all week. He'd already been given the chance to say
his private goodbye for the one, the second quickly approaching within
the hour.
"...don't give me that crap, Kate!" Doyle's harsh snap breaks Oz from
his thoughts. "You weren't here, you don't know how everything went
down, so don't start with the accusations, alright?" Sensing another
opportunity to jump in, Lindsay brusquely lifts the phone from his
friend, trying his second approach at reaching their mutual 'connection'
in LA. "Kate, we've already been over everything. How are you going to
tell me you can't settle all of this from your end?"
"I never said I *can't*...I just said I *won't*."
Having listened to the back and forth banter between the lawyer and
detective mostly all morning, Angel was just about ready to step into
the matter himself until hearing the mansion's front doors open once
more. Peering across the hall to see Gunn appear in the doorframe, his
features lighten, just barely enough to bring him to his feet as he
makes his way over to him.
"Hey man," Gunn offers a quick nod in greeting. "The limo just picked
us up. You all about ready to head over?"
"Yeah." Taking a step back to let him fully into the mansion, Angel
gives his friend a quick once over before turning to let the others know
they were getting ready to leave. "Aren't you missing something?"
"Huh?" A quick look down to where the former vampire was pointing
reminds Gunn of the small item missing from his otherwise fitting
attire. "Oh yeah- couldn't find a tie this morning. Fred said not to
worry about it. I guess I shouldn't be worrying about it. I mean,
you're not wearing one," he points out, noting the total absence from
the ubuttoned, dark blue collar of Angel's silk shirt. "I'm not too big
on the whole 'dressy' thing to begin with though, right? But I- I
really did want to wear one for today. Graham's wearing one...I- I
really should be wearing one too..." the young man's uncharacteristic
babbling continues, his dstress and grief lurking underneath. "I guess
it's not really that important," he shrugs, a brief pause lingering
before his next disheartened thought. "Like anyone's gonna really be
paying attention to stuff like that when we're out there."
Offering only a soft murmur of agreement in response, Angel slowly
makes his way into the great hall. "The limo's here," he calls over to
Joyce and Cordy, his eyes darting to the staircase. "Is Buffy still
upstairs?"
"She was almost done when I came down," Joyce explains, already making a
move to retrieve her daughter. "I'll get her."
"That's alright, Joyce," Angel reaches for her, a warm hand coming to
rest on her shoulder. "I'll get her. I was going up to look for a tie
for Gunn anyway," he manages a soft chuckle, throwing him a quick glance
over his shoulder. "Go on out to the car," he yells down, already
halfway up the stairs, "we'll be out in a minute."
For all his hurrying to reach the master bedroom, Angel was
somewhat reluctant to step inside. Shedding his momentary hesitation,
he swings the door open, giving a soft knock to the doorframe so as not
to startle Buffy. "Hey..." His whisper carries across the room,
falling upon the slayer's still frame, quietly seated on the edge of
their bed. "We're ready to go."
With her hands resting limp in her lap, her shoulders slumped,
Buffy remains silent, staring ahead at the full-length mirror from her
old bedroom standing just a few feet from the bed. She looked so
forlorn and inconsolable, her dark attire an extension of her despondancy.
Taking his place beside her, Angel's own eyes remain fixed on their
somber reflections as he reaches out tentatively for her hand. In her
first bit of movement since finishing getting dressed, Buffy closes her
eyes, willing the tension behind them to disappear, but to no avail.
Closing her eyes only seemed to make the scenes of the past week all the
easier to relive instead of remove. As she tries to supress the
accompanying shudder, Angel glances down at her, sensing her growing
anxiety, her unwillingness to have to go through with the finality of
the whole ordeal. His lips lower to brush across her cheek, the hand
that had been firmly grasping hers coming to rest across her shoulders.
Without a word, her eyes still closed, Buffy crawls up against him
searching for familiar comfort. Angel rests his head atop hers, lightly
stroking the curve of her spine. "We should go," he feels her mumble
against his side, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes for the
first time since he'd entered their room. With a gentle nod, he offers
her his hand, pulling them both to their feet and towards the closet.
With Buffy clinging to his left arm, Angel makes a quick search through
its contents with his right, finally producing a simple black tie.
"For Gunn," he answers the slight confusion etched across Buffy's face.
He passes her a small grin, relieved to see her return it in part as
they begin their walk downstairs.
Still hugging to Angel's side, the slayer's eyes shift upward as
she picks up on the all too familiar sound of Lindsay's frantic yelling
echoing out from the kitchen. "Don't try and lecture *me* about the
law, Kate, cause you're jerkin' around the wrong guy! The only thing I
know how to play better than our annoying little legal system
is...well..." his smile turns to a smirk, one he was sure she'd pick up
on over the line, "...I guess I don't have to tell you, now do I
darlin'?" he reminds her with surly amusement.
"You're a complete, worthless bastard, you know that, McDonald?" she
sneers in disgust, hating the man whom she'd foolishly let 'play' her
all too often in the past.
"I pride myself on it," he drawls, quick to repay her taunt with another
one of his own, "and as I recall, I had you singing quite a different
tune not too long ago. You used to pride me on a helluva lot more than
my malevolence...I had you singing my more *endearing* praises sometimes
three, four times a week, didn't I, dear?" The angry frustration in the
detective's accompanying muttering falls like sweet music on Lindsay's
ears as he thumbs through the pages of his file in hand. "Okay- you
want something legal...without evidence and without witnesses, none of
the rag-tag cops here have even tried to make a case-"
"Out of *MacClay's* death," she points out. "Tara was already reported
as a homicide. I'll grant you that- open and shut case right there.
What about Harris? And Finn for that matter-"
"As far as anyone's concerned, Riley's taken a leave of absence,"
Lindsay casually notes. "No body was found, remember?"
"Still...how the hell do you expect me to cover up all of this?"
"Hey, you're the detective. Why don't you tell me?" he asks bitterly.
"It's not that simple, McDonald, and you know it. Look, I've covered
your ass as best I could for the last few years- this time your, uh,
'circumstances' are stretching things way too far. My hands are tied."
"Yeah, and I'm willing to bet who's supplying the rope to tie 'em," he
spits back indignantly, already anticipating his next encounter with the
detective, as well as with his former associate.
"Don't you have a pathetic excuse for a nightclub you should be running
instead of pestering me?"
"Yeah- and remind me who to take off the guest list. You'd just better
have something for me to work with by tomorrow..." he pauses, noticing
Buffy and Angel waiting for him in the hall, "...I'll be at your office
first thing in the morning. Oh- and make sure to give Lilah my
regards," he snaps triumphantly, dismissing her for the moment as he
angrily slams the phone down. His heavy sigh follows the loud sound as
he turns to follow the two lovers out of the mansion, an even more
unsettling matter awaiting them all at Restfield Cemetery.
******
It was only one hour ago "We have gathered here today to remember two dear friends, taken away
from us at such tragically young ages...Tara Elizabeth Maclay and
Alexander LaVelle Harris..."
The sky was an achingly beautiful blue, dotted by clean, white,
wispy clouds. Rolling hills of green grass stretched out across the
small community, the various scattered images playing out before the
parked car's tinted windows. < Too picturesque a scene to be a
cemetery...> For a moment, the englishman considers verbalizing his
observation to his fellow passenger. But one quick glance to where
Willow was idly staring out of her own window at the scene was enough to
keep him silent a few moments longer, alone in tortured thought. He'd
seen too much in his years; buried too many. He'd never thought he'd
come to see this day. To have two young lives he'd come to value as
dearly as his own snatched away right before him...it took all of his
strength to contain his own emotions.
"You've packed everything you need?" Giles finally speaks up.
"I think so," Willow's eyes flicker to him, holding the elder man's gaze
for a second before returning once more to look on to the gathered
crowd. She'd expected there to be more people, but honestly wasn't all
that surprised to see no more than the few that were present. "Wh- what
time is it?"
"Oh...um, a little after three," Giles squirms a bit, shakily glancing
down at his watch. "A- almost three-thirty." It was entirely too quiet
in the back of the car, the two awkwardly silent for the next few
minutes. The former watcher found himself wishing that one of them
would say something. Anything. "Would you like to wait? I- I
mean...wait until...everyone else has left?" It hit him then, watching
the young girl as she absently folds her hands onto her lap, that he
hadn't seen her cry at all. Not once. Not when she'd first heard the
news, not as she'd packed, not when they'd finally gotten into the car,
headed for Restfield. < I suppose that's still to come...>
"No..." her voice whispers over to him. "No. I just wanna...I'll say
goodbye from here."
I grieve for you "We commend to almighty God..."
Buffy stares at the caskets in front of the kindly-faced minister;
she wasn't really listening to him. The words came from his mouth,
unbidden. Every once in a while, she would realize what he was saying.
Just words...meaningless, empty words, holding no promise, and no hope
of bringing either soul back. Their caskets were both closed- they'd
been closed during the mass too. This was a good thing, she supposed;
that she wouldn't have to stare at her friends' closed eyes. So she
wouldn't be tempted to open them, to see if any shred of forgiveness lay
in them. Forcing back an onslaught of fresh tears, her small frame
presses lightly to Angel's side, trembling slightly as she tries to hide
the truth from her friends and family, as well as herself. < Oh god...I
failed them both. >
The news that truly shocks "...earth to earth...ashes to ashes...and dust to dust..."
Angel, hand in hand with Buffy, had kept his head bowed during the
opening prayer, glancing downslope at the gunmetal-gray caskets
suspended over the open graves. With his knees threatening to buckle,
he winces slightly, as if in sudden pain. His eyes instantly seal shut
as the terrible image of Xander flat on his back, the column of stone
smashed down across his bloodied frame, plays out before him yet again.
All morning, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the nervous tension
in anticipation of the funerals, and the finality of seeing the two
names on the simple gravestones was jolting. Lifting his head, his eyes
are hit with another wave of concern as he watches Buffy, looking as
though she would barely be able to stand for another minute. In an
instant, she buries her face against his shoulder, thankful to feel him
gather her against him as he kisses her softly on the top of her head,
murmuring whatever reassurances he could offer.
I grieve for you "The Lord bless them and keep them. The Lord makes his face to shine
upon them and be gracious to them..."
Cordelia had chosen a spot near the back, a few steps behind all
the others. Doyle maintains his warm presence at her shoulder, as she
keeps her tear-streaked eyes down for the duration of the service,
preferring to look at her clamped hands than at the flowers heaped at
the graves before her. The loss of Tara had been bad enough, but to
lose Xander...
It was better to try and analyze where all this grief, this pain,
was really coming from because, really, Xander hadn't been *that*
important a part of her life. At first, she'd thought that it was just
misplaced grief from Tara's death. But the tears hurt a little too much
to be just that, and she sniffled and teared up a little too much while
looking at the flower bedecked ground for her tears to be just misplaced
grief. So then where was all this coming from?
The tears were coming a little faster, dripping down her cheeks to
splash and splatter, leaving small, round stains on her black dress, and
with it, the painful realization of why she was crying. For the people
whom she had known and loved and had died. More though, she cried for
the funerals that were to come, for the memorial services and all the
shiny, hard, wooden pews she would sit in and all the unknown friends
who would stand and speak, the prayers and the songs that were yet to be
sung. She cried because she knew that this was just the beginning, that
this was just the first confrontation with the aftermath of death in a
long, as yet to be experienced, line of emptiness and loss. But mostly
for the emptiness and loss that had sprung below the painful realization
that Xander Harris was an important part of her life, for good and ill,
and now...she'd never have the chance to tell him as much.
Life carries on in the people I meet For his own part, Oz watches the others in their remorse, unsure if
the vaguely empty, hollow feeling overwhelming him was normal in the
face of such sorrow. It was just that he was...numb. He didn't feel
anything right now. Not love, not hate, not pain or sadness...or even
happiness, as appalling as it might've sounded, to see the chief
individual responsible for such suffering having finally been "dealt
with" in a sense. There was nothing really deep, just flitting, empty
images of feeling. The illusion of feeling that emptied him and numbed
him all at once, made him depressed but in a cold, distant, indifferent
way, like a bystander looking in on someone else's world- a world of
sounds and images that signified nothing. He should have been sad, but
instead he was empty and he wondered at that- wondered if any of it was
real; and with the damage both done to and done by Willow, he wondered
if anything could ever be real again.
Life carries on and on and on and on "The Lord lift up his countenance upon them..."
In the rosy glow of the approaching sunset, Anya stands unobserved
from across the field, hesitant to make a move to get any closer to the
sight. With the pain in her own broken arm flaring up, she couldn't
help but curse Xander in her mind, for this latest injury, as well as
the numerous others. She'd inflicted excesses of pain in her own right-
that much she was willing to admit, with even a certain sense of pride.
But she'd dealth with her own pains as well, in large part thanks to
him. Even now, standing before his final resting place, she attributes
the heartache and sorrow quickly consuming her as being all his fault.
The fact that he'd somehow managed to touch what few remains of true
humanity she'd held onto in her lifespan left the restored demon with a
new sensation of emotion. For the first time in as long as she could
remember, she finds herself feeling remorse. Not an overwhelming
amount, just the slightest twinge, but still...as much as she hated it,
deep down she had to admit- she did love him. < Just typical...worthless
weasel's finally gone and he didn't even give me the chance to say it to
him. Inconsiderate little...> Folding her free arm across her chest,
tucking it neatly below the sling suspending her other, she slowly turns
away, leaving her final thoughts of Xander, as well as Sunnydale, behind
her.
Just the car that we ride in "...and give them peace."
With a spasm of almost unendurable agony, Willow finally steps out
of the black Lincoln towncar, not even bothering to shut the door behind
her as she takes a few steps towards the edge of the field. Their two
simple graves were being set only a few yards apart in a quiet corner of
the graveyard. An old tree stretched its branches protectively over
them, and had covered them with a soft shroud of fallen leaves. She'd
already watched the funeral proceedings from inside the car, the whole
ordeal having lasted only an hour. And now, with everyone being left to
say their final goodbyes, the sight of the two coffins being lowered
into the ground was quickly tightening the chokehold on her heart.
From her distance afar, she can make out her friends' sleek
outlines, slowly departing from the cemetery. Their heads were all
hanging low, as if, by now, lacking the strength to hold them up.
Echoing their motions, she finds herself feeling suddenly so lost, so
sad and desperate. From the anguish that had taken seemingly permanent
residence within her comes the only words she can muster. "I'm
sorry..." her inaudible whisper comes, her voice raw with suffering,
haunted by memories.
She can feel Giles step alongside her, looking over to her with
huge, worried eyes, asking "are you all right?" and resting his hand
clumsily atop her shoulder in that heavy, awkward, masculine fashion of
comfort. And even though she wasn't all right- wasn't anywhere near
being 'all right,' would probably never be 'all right' ever again- she
manages to smile, stopping the tears that were threatening to finally
fall from her weary eyes, and say "yes" before taking her place back
beside him in the car, setting off on her new journey- a road to recovery.
Did I dream this belief ******
Back to Skylar's Fluff Courses
As morning comes...
The silence
It was all so different then
Nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Is just the way that we had tied it
But there's no one home
And you leave me
So hard to move on
Still loving what's gone
Say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on
Is the empty, empty page
While the final rattle rocks
Its empty, empty cage
And I can't handle this
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing what's gone
Say life carries on
Say life carries on and on and on
In everyone that's out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
The home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
As life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Or did I believe this dream
How I will find relief
I grieve
Feedback
Back to Lit Department