disclaimer in part 1

Swan Song
By Diane
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THE VOID

The rumbling had stopped. The quaking vibrating bass of the
whirling vortex was the last to go, sucked back in along
with the collapsing sphere of energy like a subwoofer in
reverse, until all the aftershocks were gone and the only
light present was from the rising sun.

The light of dawn. Ironic.

And all was blessed silence.

Giles was the first to notice.

His shoulders slumped, a certain sadness weighting on him as
he stumbled rather undeftly to his feet. Dawn, poor Dawn.
Buffy had actually gone through with it.

He had to find Buffy -- she would be in an awful state right
now. There was time to grieve for Dawn later. Now, he had
get to Buffy. He wasn't going to let her run away again and
spend a summer or perhaps a lifetime trying to ignore her
pain.

He simply wouldn't let her.

Not again.

He glanced around a bit through dirtied spectacles and saw
the others struggling to their feet. Xander was cradling an
injured Anya lovingly in his arms -- she appeared dazed and
weak, but nothing too serious. Willow and Tara were helping
each other to their feet, and Spike was by himself,
ratcheting to his own wobbly feet.

No Buffy.

With dread, he realized that she was probably still up on
that tower, just staring at where her sister had been before
she returned to her energy state. He almost couldn't bear
the thought of her sitting there, all alone. She really
didn't have anyone anymore. The rest of the gang, excluding
Spike, always had someone else to lean on.

Poor Buffy was expected to hold herself and everyone else up
on her already wilting shoulders.

Buffy...

He heard Willow inhale deeply, as though someone had punched
her in the gut, and then a small whine rattled through her
torso. "Buffy..." she whispered. "Oh God, Buffy..." She
stumbled, but Tara kept her up. A pitching wail. Her eyes
flashed in denial as her face crept back in a horrified
grimace of pain.

Why was she calling to Buffy?

And that was when he saw Dawn stumbling down the steps of
the platform, her face cherry red and streaked with acid
tears. She was staring shakily at something off to her
right. "Buffy..." Giles saw the word form on her lips, but
he didn't actually hear it.

A cold feeling developed in his stomach. He blinked, took a
deep breath, and opened his eyes again. Dawn was still
there. And Buffy was not.

His palms started to clam, fingers began to shake. Teeth
clenched. He turned in the direction of Dawn's horrified
stare, and felt his innards fall into his feet.

Buffy.

She was lying there, her neck turned cruelly, body sprawled
like a broken old rag doll thrown out after many years of
good use.

Not moving.

Her beautiful sun-soaked hair flowed out around her like a
crown of ivy.

Not moving.

He stared.

Spike stumbled once, twice, and then fell to his knees. He
started bawling. Bawling. His agonized cries bounced off
the walls and surfaces until they were standing amidst a
grieving maelstrom. The vampire's hands flew to his face
and wrenching bitter sobs fell with abandon, his pale lips
falling apart in a crooked grimace of despair.

And then Willow was gasping, sucking wrenching sobs into her
spasming solar plexus, held up only by Tara. She was
trembling, looking like she was about to shake right out of
her skin.

Xander just stood there, Anya limp in his arms -- as if he
didn't quite realize what had happened. Couldn't quite
connect what he was seeing with the part of his brain that
was saying, "Hello. Xander is home. Feel free to talk
anytime and I'll respond with a witty rebuttal..."

Giles felt his throat constrict. He struggled not to choke.
"Buffy..." he whispered. He took a small step forward.
Another small step. Baby steps. And then something
snapped. He launched towards her after only a seconds
hesitation. Oh lord, please, please no...

< I sacrificed Angel to save the world. I loved him so
much... but I knew. What was right. I don't have that any
more. I don't understand. I don't know how to live in this
world, if these are the choices, if everything's just
stripped away then I don't see the point. I just wish... I
wish my mom was here. >

He knelt down beside her and placed his index and middle
finger at the junction between the underside of her cheek
and her delicate swan neck.

< The spirit guide told me that Death was my gift... >

Nothing.

He waited for what seemed like hours. Please... PLEASE...

Nothing.

No rise and fall of her chest. No telltale pulsing
sensation in the arteries.

Nothing.

< It doesn't matter. If Dawn dies, then I'm done with it.
I'm quitting. >

"Giles, we... we have to call the paramedics..."

Xander. The sensible one? Who would have ever thought...
He was setting Anya down on wobbly feet. She stumbled a
bit, but managed to get herself balanced despite the woozy
look in her eyes. Anya appeared dismayed, saddened -- like
Tara, but she certainly wasn't flying off the handle like
Willow.

For a moment, he felt a touch of irrational anger at her
before he was able to suck it back inside himself and hide
it. Anya and Buffy were acquaintances. Just like with
Tara. There was nothing more.

Giles felt his eyes burning. But he would not cry. "Yes,
yes, right..." he whispered. Was that him? He sounded like
a choked bird who had spent too many of his days flying into
windows. With a rattling breath, he stood. Everyone except
Xander was still in pretty much the same spot.

It was getting very bright. "Spike..." Giles whispered,
finding himself surprised that he had even thought of the
weeping vampire.

But Spike was being lead away by Dawn, even as small tendrils
of smoke curled upwards from his unnatural pale skin. He
would grieve with Dawn. And Dawn would be safe -- as Buffy
wanted her to be.

Someone would have to call. Someone would have to call...

"I'll call, Giles," Xander assured him, and turned off in
search of the nearest phone.

Giles wanted to scream in frustration. This was the first
time he wished he had had one of those bloody cellular
phones... He stared back at the body, Buffy's body, and
felt a strange shivering sensation rack through him.

But he would not cry. Not now.

Not when even the sky refused to.

Willow's grieving sobs had subsided enough for her to stand
without Tara's aid. "Who..." she began with a hitched
breath. "Who's going to tell Angel?" Her tone was lost,
unsure.

Angel.

He wondered if anyone in the entire group had even thought
of Angel before now.

Of course, why would they? They all tried to ignore that he
had ever existed, even Willow to some extent, because Angel,
while he represented something that Buffy was forever
passionate about, he also represented a lot of her pain -- a
sad fact, but very true. Giles had begrudgingly called the
vampire to come down for the funeral at Willow's prodding.
Giles hadn't seen him at all, but Buffy had stayed out all
night after the funeral, and when she'd finally arrived
back, she looked... better.

Not wonderful, but she seemed to have had a little bit more
of a grip on herself and her situation -- at least a small
handhold that would balance her until she could lift herself
up under her own power. A tiny spark had been present in
her eyes that had dimmed gradually over the next few days
and disappeared, but Giles had certainly seen it.

"I'll... I'll call him," Giles bit out, unable to tear his
eyes from Buffy's body.

Buffy's still body.

Buffy's _dead_ body.

Willow shook her head as a few more crystal tears spilled
from her wide eyes. "No. It has to be in _person_. I'll
go," she offered, seeing Giles's reluctance. "I want to see
him again, anyway. He... he was close to her."

Giles nodded.

Close to her. Angel, of all things, had been that. Giles
had been acutely aware of how many times Buffy had gone to
her vampire rather than him over the years. And when Angel
had gone, she hadn't really gone to anyone. Not even Riley,
despite the fact that she obviously cared for him.

Flashing lights.

Xander was back. Had it been that long?

Paramedics flooded the scene. Examined Buffy. Tried to
revive Buffy. Pronounced Buffy dead.

The shock was real now.

Buffy. Dead.

Dead.

He could almost hear the judge's gavel come cracking down.
SMACK!

Dead.

He sucked in a breath.

Dead.

Willow's arms wrapped around him -- Xander's too. He could
hear them both sobbing in his ears, feel Willow's tiny hands
clenching his biceps. Even Xander was shaking now.

Dead.

And Rupert Giles, recently reinstated watcher for the most
powerful Slayer since the middle ages, finally began to cry.


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