This city never seems to change, not really, Buffy mused. It changes, of course -- doesn't everything, eventually? But this city keeps itself together; it's still as vibrant and reserved and chic as it ever was. There are new buildings going up, but the old buildings, the ones she remembered, were still there, sometimes next to the newer ones. Not even two world wars managed to destroy this city or the will of its people.

Despite the change in fashions -- which Buffy still wasn't sure she completely approved of even if it eliminated floor-length dresses, corsets and petticoats -- and the changes wrought by the ongoing fight for equality between races and sexes, people stayed the same. Businessmen hurried along, housewives did their shopping, teachers taught school, doctor and nurses did their best to save lives. But their hopes, dreams, concerns, even some of their nightmares were the same.

And after sixty-five years of living in this world that pleased Buffy immeasureablely.

But the innocence of the children was what struck her the most. Nothing changed that except for age and experience or extenuating circumstances, like wars. Buffy leaned against the iron railing and watched the children, all bundled up because of the cold, running, skipping and generally playing in the park. She smiled at a group who ran past her, calling after one of the girls to be sure to tie her shoelaces, and found a spot to sit down. Tipping her head back, she gazed at the happiness of all the children who surrounded her.

Or rather, almost all.

One boy caught her attention. He did not appear to be particularly happy, nor was he quite as young as the others. About ten, he walked around kicking at the ground in front of him, casting glares back at the man and young woman he had arrived with. His father and sister, Buffy surmised as they made a circuit through the park, engrossed in a conversation that did not include him.

She watched as he purposefully stayed away from the others, casting glances at the children running happily about. He seemed almost wistful, Buffy thought as she studied him, and yet resentful at the same time. What, she wondered, had caused this young boy such conflicting emotions?

And when he looked up and met her eyes, she knew.

His father had forced him to come here, something he rarely did. Usually he stayed behind, content with a few hours away from the suffocating presence of his father, and what he represented. Most days he was able to sit with his mother and forget, for a while, his life. His dull, rigid, unhappy life.

So, when he finally managed to elude them and find some solitude, he was surprised to see a lady sitting in his spot. She was pretty, he decided, and looked like someone who wouldn't bother him too much. In fact, he thought, she didn't seem too happy, either.

And when her gaze met his, he knew.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking. Finally, the boy approached her and said, "You're sitting in my spot."

"Am I?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But I don't mind."

She shifted anyway, and he sat down in the space she had vacated. He craned his head to look at her, his young eyes holding more wisdom than all of the children in the park put together -- and then some.

"You're not like them," he said, motioning toward the parents and guardians of the assembled children.

"No," she acknowledged. "And you're not like them," she told him, gesturing to the children.

"You know," he stated.

"Yes," she replied, "and so do you."

He nodded. "My father says I must, to fulfill my destiny," he scoffed.

"He's right," she told him. "Almost."

His eyebrows went up, and his eyes narrowed. Her breath caught in her throat. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she opened them and told him, "I'm Anne."

He was still wary. She gestured to the sky, where the sun was, for once that winter, shinning brightly. "I'm here, and look," she said, gesturing to the tiny silver cross that rested in the hollow of her neck.

This appeased him, and he relaxed a little. "They'll never know, will they?"

"Probably not," she answered.

"Why?"

"They're the lucky ones, the ones we protect so they don't have to know that their nightmares are real."

"Why do we have to be the ones to do it?"

She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe it's destiny, or fate, or whatever. Or maybe the Powers That Be have a sick and unfair sense of humor. I really don't know."

This time he sighed, and gazed off into the distance. "I really hate this," he said.

"I know," she told him. "But it does get easier, eventually."

He snorted.

"Just remember something for me ... "

He looked up at her.

"The laws and rules of our 'fathers' aren't always right. Follow your heart, and listen to yourself," she whispered.

"Rupert!" the man called. "Rupert Giles!"

"I have to go," he told her as he got to his feet.

"Wait," she tugged on his sleeve. "Take this," she said, putting the tiny silver cross in his palm.

"I can't -- "

"Yes, you can," she whispered. "Keep it Rupert Giles. And one day, give it to your Slayer. She's going to need you, more than you can ever begin to imagine."

He stared at her for a long moment; then his fingers curled around the pendant. He his eyes met hers again, her past and future merging into the present.

And then he was gone.

 

The End