Title: All I Needed to Say
Author: sprite
Summary: Buffy’s late night visit to an old London cemetery for a discussion with the three men in her life
Disclaimer: Characters (except for Hubbard) are not mine and are used for entertainment only with no profit gained because reviews are payment enough for me. (subtle hint, don’t you think?)


A/N: After re-reading this, it became clear that I did a poor job of summarizing and posting it. I do apologize for all the confusion!



From the window of his darkened house, Edward Hubbard, the old cemetery caretaker watches the petite blonde follow the winding path through old headstones and crumbling monuments to long dead loved ones. The gates have been locked for several hours but he does not wonder how she managed to get inside. He’s no fool. Having worked in the same cemetery for thirty-five years he’s seen things that no one, save a few fellow caretakers, would believe. She’s not the first young girl he’s seen wandering this hallowed ground nor will she be the last. Unlike the others, however, she does not seek out the undead creatures. If one approaches her during her nightly visits, she will not hesitate to kill him, but most vampires have learned to avoid the far northwest corner of this particular cemetery. That is her corner.

A flash of movement catches Hubbard’s attention. A lithe man with shockingly white hair follows some distance behind the blonde. It is obvious that he does not want to be caught. As they pass near his cottage, he momentarily considers calling out to warn the woman. The love and adoration so evident on the man’s face prevent Hubbard from leaving the safe confines of his house to warn his lovely visitor. Seconds later the duo disappears from view. Many times his curiosity has driven him to tag behind the young woman, but always stops when she reaches her corner. Her whispered words are too soft to hear and the grief marring her lovely face makes him feel guilty for intruding on an intensely private moment.

Abandoning the window, Hubbard returns to his muted television. The program has always been one of his favorites, but tonight neither the witty dialogue nor suspenseful plotline hold his attention. His thoughts are with the blonde guest and her handsome shadow wondering what put the spark of life in woman’s normally haunted hazel eyes.

Reaching the part of the cemetery that she’s grown to think of as hers, Buffy pauses at the first headstone and places a single rose at its base. There are a dozen bright red roses in a crystal vase next to the headstone. A diamond solitaire ring is tied to a ribbon around the vase along with several hundred-dollar bills. Buffy smiles at the reminder of Anya and her love of capitalism. She lets her fingers drift along the cool granite as she moves on to the next headstone and again places another rose on the soft grass. There are numerous flowers and herbs already there undoubtedly left by Willow. Buffy murmurs a quiet prayer for the young Wicca who at times had been more of a sister to Dawn than she had been.

At the third headstone, she bows her head and places two roses on top of the angel statuette. Though she and Dawn had argued over the figure, she’d eventually seen the logic behind her younger sister’s argument. Their mother was an angel constantly watching over them and guiding them, hadn’t she learned as much during her own brief stay in heaven? “Sorry I can’t stay, Mom. I’d love to talk to you, but tonight I need to talk to him. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promises, voice thick with emotion.

The fourth marker is over a century older and the engraved sentiments are no longer as readable as they once were. It makes no difference to Buffy; she knows each letter by heart. She lovingly traces the words as she kneels beside the tombstone.

“In the three years I’ve been coming here, I never once stopped and talked to you. I left flowers, yeah, but never talked to you the way I do to Mom or Tara or even Anya. I’d like to think it was because I was still too mad at you to form words, but that’s not really it. I was scared, still am as a matter of fact, of actually admitting you were gone for good. I have something important to tell you so I guess I’d better start at the beginning.

Willow and the rest of the coven felt the pull of energy in L.A. the day of your big fight against Wolfram and Hart. Andrew finally ‘fessed up about you being back. I was standing in line waiting for the plane to board when the call came from Angel. He said that once again there was only one vampire with a soul. Yeah, I know, kind of an odd way to put it but that’s Angel. King of Cryptic. I was so mad at you that day. How dare you keep a little thing like returning from the dead a secret? You may not have believed me those last few minutes, which don’t think I’ve forgotten about buddy, but I meant every word. And just when I think I’ve got you back, you’re gone again.

After that I went on this whole big research spree. It probably would have made Giles proud if he hadn’t been too busy worrying about me ruining his precious books. I wanted to learn everything I could about William the Bloody. I won’t lie to you… ha! Bask in the novelty of that for a moment. Okay, basking moment over. There was some pretty gruesome stuff in there that was definitely stakeworthy. Had you still been around it probably would have earned you a punch in the nose or two. Then again if you’d been around I wouldn’t have needed to read the old Watcher’s Diaries, now would I? Eventually it all led me here to you. Except, you’re not really here are you? Sometimes I can feel your presence though. Kinda stupid, huh?

It gave me an idea though. We lost so much in Sunnydale, so many things we couldn’t take with us. I realized one of the things I missed most was stopping to talk to Mom or Tara while patrolling. Plus you seemed kinda lonely all by yourself in this huge corner. Xander was a little reluctant at first, but Dawn and Willow were all for it so now we’ve got Anya, Tara, and Mom right here along with you. Of course, their graves are empty, too, but hey, on the plus side no holes to dig.

Dawn’s doing good. She tries to stop by whenever she’s in England, but she hasn’t had a chance to visit in a few months. She’s part of the Council in Rome. Has a new boyfriend, too. He’s the son of a former watcher so they have that whole bit in common. She still misses you a lot. Went through this whole punk phase for about a year. I gotta tell you, it’s not all that easy finding Sex Pistols cds in Italy. Fortunately she’s outgrown that now, though I’m not sure if this phase is any better.

The others are all right. Xander ran off for a while but came back and helped Giles rebuild the Council. He’s even a watcher now. Willow and Kennedy broke up thank God. Kennedy’s out in Japan training the slayers there and Willow’s here in London with the rest of us. I moved back here right after Dawn graduated from high school. She didn’t need me any more and it just didn’t feel like home. Giles loves his new position as head of the Council. It took some time, but we’re getting back to where we were before all that badness in Sunnydale. Though he’s not too happy with me right now. Every time he sees me it’s glasses cleaning and irritated muttering. Ah well, same old Giles.

Which brings me to why I’m here. Dawn’s grown up now. She’s got this great life in Rome with her friends and Tony. And Angel? He’s a great friend and will always be in my heart but I’m not a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old anymore. It really wasn’t working out with the Immortal. For a while I thought it was me, you know. That somehow I’d forgotten how to love… yeah, I know. Been there, done that, learned that death was my gift. And I know I’m just bursting with love; only problem is I have no one to give it to. Willow came up with the idea after I told her about my problem. It seemed a little out there at first, but she assured me that it would work. Don’t ask me to explain it. I don’t understand how the earth magic and mystical forces work. Something about a person’s impression being left upon the earth and their essence being part of… ugh, never mind.

The point? I’m having your baby. Don’t quirk your eyebrow at me like that. I know what I said and no I haven’t been drinking. There was some herbs, some chanting, some really icky orange liquid I had to drink and poof magical pregnancy. Though going by the morning sickness, I’d say the rest of it is going to be fairly normal. Even though I can’t have you back, I have a piece of you to love and cherish and somehow it makes everything more bearable.

I miss sparring with you. I miss patrolling with you. I miss your snarky comments and your annoying bluntness. I miss knowing you had my back no matter what. I miss seeing you, smelling you all blood, whiskey and tobacco-ey. But mostly I just miss you. I love you. And don’t you dare say that I don’t or I’ll kick your ass. Yeah, not so scary when you’re already dead, right?

I’ve got to go now. Giles may not be pleased with the pregnancy, but that hasn’t stopped him from acting like a mother hen. I’ll be back tomorrow, same as usual. You know I loved you once. I love you stronger everyday. And I wish you were here.”

Roughly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Buffy stands and gives the headstone one last long look. A whiff of an achingly familiar scent tickles her nose bringing fresh tears to her already bloodshot eyes. Pressing a trembling hand over her still flat stomach, she turns and races out of the cemetery never seeing the figure standing a few feet away tears shining bright in his cerulean eyes. “I love you too, pet.”

Summary: Another late night visit to a lost lover (Six Months Later)

Edward Hubbard is somewhat flustered to see his lovely blonde visitor without her faithful shadow. He quietly steps out onto the covered porch admiring the seemingly ethereal way she glides along the rocky uneven path. Never before has a woman, not even his beloved Cora, been as graceful or radiant while heavy with child. Just before sunset he’d ventured into her corner and set out a cushioned wicker chair and matching table along with a thermos of hot chocolate. The nights were growing colder and the damp grass was no place for a lady to sit.

She offers a kind smile and a small wave when she passes, the simple gesture warming Hubbard’s worn heart. Several seconds later, her white-haired shadow jogs up the path wiping a fine coating of dust off his hands and slipping a stake into the back of his jeans. His scowl deepens when his eyes fall on the blonde and her jacket… or lack thereof. Chuckling to himself, Hubbard nods in greeting and returns to the warmth of his small house.

Buffy’s eyes light up when she spots the chair and small table. The night before, it took nearly fifteen minutes for the feeling to return to her legs after an hour spent on the ground. After moving the chair to her desired location, she lets out a contented moan as she sinks onto the soft cushion. The thermos’ temptation is more than the slayer can handle. Not caring that her bladder will have her racing for a bathroom in the near future, she sniffs the fragrant liquid and takes a hesitant sip.

Comfortable and warm, Buffy’s attention turns to the empty grave in front of her. She’d been avoiding him for over a week, but it was time to stop procrastinating. There were things that needed to be said before she could feel any closure.

“Of all the people in my life you were one of the few constants. Predictable, unchanging, immortal you. Somewhere along the way I forgot that immortal doesn’t always mean invincible. Maybe you forgot, too. In some ways you were the most fragile one of all.

Champion. I really hate that word, hate what it’s come to mean. Especially for slayers and vampires with souls. Why don’t they just change it to monumentally stupid? That’s what it means, isn’t it? You become a champion and suddenly it’s great fun to be horribly outnumbered and out of ideas. Yeah, yeah, I know me kettle you pot. Those who swan dive into portals shouldn’t throw stones and all that.

I used to wis – scratch that. I used to wonder what my life would be like if I’d never met you. If you’d never come along and messed with my mind, made me doubt myself and turned my black and white world into one big shade of gray. Of course it was only gray when you wanted it to be, right? All that soul versus no soul talk was just a load of crap. I never really understood the difference until after you left. Having a soul didn’t always make you right and it didn’t keep you from breaking my heart.

I hate the way my relationship with you affected the way I viewed others. I hate that you lied to me about him. One less vampire with a soul. Why couldn’t you have just said ‘Hey Buff, guess what, I’m human?’ I know he wanted you to keep it a secret, but since when are you two best buddies? I had a right to know. Your petty, stupid jealousy might have ruined everything.

I hate how things ended with us. I may still be chosen, but I’m no longer the only one. I don’t have to live my life apocalypse to apocalypse anymore. You wanted me to live, didn’t you? So why do you get so mad when I finally start? Who cares if it happens to be with another vampire? I’m happy and that’s all that should matter. Which reminds me of something. I don’t appreciate being treated like a prize in your stupid testosterone tug of war. What do I mean? Come on, I’ve seen fourth-graders with more maturity. You’re both thickheaded obnoxious… men. Ugh.

What I’m really trying to say is I love you. Part of me always will. But I’m not in love you anymore and honestly, I haven’t been for a while. Times changed… I changed. I’m not the perfect little slayer and you’re not the glorious unshakable champion. There was no happy ending to that story. I see all your flaws but you were never willing to see mine. I can’t be perfect for you and you shouldn’t expect me to be. It’s a shame we never could work it out. I’d like to think we could have been friends but who knows. Maybe there was just too much pain and heartbreak between us.

I’m glad we could talk. It was nice, you know, without all the accusations and yelling. Take care of yourself. We miss you.”

Bracing herself with the arms of the chair, Buffy precariously rises to her feet. She bends down and presses a gentle kiss on the headstone, pretending for a moment that the cool marble was a familiar set of cold lips. With a heavy sigh and lighter heart she turns on her heel and heads back down the path.

Stepping out from underneath the cover of an old tree, Spike tosses his cigarette butt on the ground then glares at the stone and the engraved words. “He died a hero,” he quotes, shaking his head in disgust. He moves closer until he’s standing over the empty plot. “Ha bloody ha, Peaches. I win.”

“Hurry up, Spike, it’s cold!” Buffy’s voice echoes through the otherwise silent graveyard.

Spike rolls his eyes in amusement and reaches into the pocket of his coat. “So sorry we can’t continue this conversation. It’s not nice to keep a slayer waiting. Here’s a little something for the afterlife.” He sets a jar of hair gel on the grass and dashes off after Buffy.

Last visit and Epilogue.


The sound of heavy footsteps along the pathway beside his house has Edward Hubbard dropping his spade and abandoning his precious garden. A sigh of relief passes through his lips at the sight of his two favorite visitors. They’d been avoiding the cemetery for nearly a week and after the last two monuments he’d seen erected, he could hardly blame them. No one, no matter how strong or immortal, should have to bury a child and a parent on the same day.

William, as Hubbard’s come to know him, offers the old caretaker a wretched smile as he and his lady pass by. The woman’s eyes never leave the ground and she is leaning heavily on her companion. Hubbard nods sympathetically and, remembering his wife’s grief at having to bury their first stillborn child, murmurs a few awkward words of consolation then leaves them to mourn in peace.

Buffy stops abruptly just outside the crumbling brick wall that serves as a barricade between this small corner and the rest of the cemetery. Though it is mere steps to her destination, her feet refuse to take her any further. Spike stands beside her with an arm around her waist offering reassurance but not pushing her to move forward. If she wants to have what will undoubtedly be a painful and agonizing conversation with two of the people she loved most, then he will wait in the shadows then help put back the pieces of her broken heart. If she chooses to turn around and return to their warm house, he will lead her back and never pressure her to speak with either of them, no matter the resolution it will bring.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, she takes one hesitant step inside what has become her second home. Spike lags behind, allowing his slayer to set the pace. They unhurriedly walk through the narrow path to where the two newest graves await. Buffy stares longingly at Joyce’s angel statue, desperately wishing she could pause for a moment and speak with her mother. If she stops now, she will lose her nerve and run home so she bravely continues on.

Spike slows as a pink granite headstone comes into view. Buffy instinctively pulls him closer and squeezes him tightly. His loss may not be as great as hers, but that does not make his sorrow any less profound. For a moment, she is both grateful and mournful that neither of them had a chance to hear their daughter’s laugh or see her sweet smile. One the one hand, losing a child you only held once was hard; losing one after years of loving and nurturing would be unbearable. Yet there would be no cherished memories to fall back on the nights when the silence becomes intolerable and the overwhelming depression returns.

When they reach the small stone, Spike reluctantly moves away from her side to kneel beside the tiny grave. It is one of only two in this corner that are actually occupied. He slowly traces the engraved name with the tips of his fingers. His azure eyes well with tears upon reading what is carved just below the name: She was her father’s joy. The news of his child’s existence had pushed Spike into revealing himself to Buffy in the cemetery. From that point on, preparing for her arrival had been his sole duty – one that he’d devotedly dived into.

Buffy places a trembling hand on top of the headstone and opens her mouth to speak but no words come forth. She shakes her head wearily when Spike turns his head to stare at her curiously. There will be no conversation with her little one this night. The wounds are still too raw and the agony too intense. She wordlessly gestures towards the second grave. While she cannot bear to speak to her child just yet, there are a few things that still need to be said. Spike adjusts his position so that he can watch as she sits next to the modest marble memorial, his hand never leaving the pink gravestone.

“You lied,” she begins softly, the accusation tempered by the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “After Sunnydale and… everything, you promised that you’d never leave, never abandon me for my own good. You said once that if all the slayers were like me, a watcher would only be useful for a few years and then he would no longer be needed. It’s very rare that I get to say thing to you so excuse me for gloating just a little. You were wrong. I never really stopped needing you.

You tried so hard to stay involved with my life and I kept pushing you away. I guess part of me hated you for bringing the whole slayer gig back into my life when I first moved to Sunnydale so the more you tried to lead, the less I followed. But now with t-t-the baby and the problem with the slayers, Giles, I’m finally lost enough to let myself be led and you’re not here to guide me.

Remember Spike’s warning about magic having consequences? Apparently that holds true even if the magic stops the apocalypse to end all apocalypses…er… apocali. Never mind. The Powers That Whatever paid us a visit last night via our buddy Whistler. By activating all the slayers, we shifted the balance too far. We could either keep things the way they were and face an even bigger bad or deactivate all the slayers except for one. I’m sure you can guess which one we chose. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all. To keep this from every happening again, the slayer line would end with that one person. She’d be stuck with a lifetime job. They let us pick the oh-so lucky girl.

Faith suggested arm wrestling for it. Dawn said that we should hold the Slayer Olympics. Xander wanted to have a Miss Slayer World pageant, but I think that’s just because he wanted to see a whole bunch of slayers in bikinis. Aside from just randomly drawing a name from a hat, there was no good way to decide so I volunteered. Yes, you heard that right. I volunteered to continue being the slayer for the next few centuries or so.

Whistler made a big speech about my “selfless sacrifice for the greater good.” I didn’t do it for the greater good or the Powers. They’ve done nothing but screw up my life since day one. I did it for you. You believed in this cause so much that even when faced with a defiant, self-absorbed bitch of a slayer, you didn’t back down. Besides, Kennedy was winning the arm wrestling match and there was no way I was letting her be the last slayer!

Xander’s taking over the Council. Most of the watchers will stay on and train with the girls who continue to fight. Dawn will be returning to Rome next week. She’s been a great help these past few days, but they need her back there. We renamed the library the
‘Rupert Giles Memorial Library.’ Willow even got this neat little plaque with a picture of you cleaning your glasses.”

She sighs heavily and wipes at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. A heart attack, not a demon or a mystical force that they could have fought, had taken the man she loved like a father away. “You meant so much to me and I don’t know if I ever told you that. You did everything you could to make being a Slayer easier on me… though I do wish you hadn’t got quite so friendly with my mother. I hope I can make you proud. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

Her tears spent, she slowly rose to her feet and nodded back at the vampire behind her. As they slowly walked hand in hand out of the cemetery, Buffy paused and turned back to her watcher. “It’s hard right now and it hurts, but we’ll make it through. Please take care of my baby, Giles, and I know she’ll be fine.”

One Hundred Years Later:

Andrew Hubbard looked up from his reading at the unmistakable creak of the wrought iron gate swinging open. A quick glance at his watch told him it was exactly midnight. He cautiously made his way to the large picture window and glanced out into the dark cemetery. He’d heard the legends stories about the cemetery’s nightly visitors, but had never seen them for himself. His grandfather’s grandfather had been the first to meet the otherworldly duo. They had mysteriously disappeared just before he’d taken over as caretaker a little over two decades ago. He’d heard reverent whispers about the guardians from several other caretakers around the world.

Feeling especially courageous, he ventures out on the porch and waits patiently as two blondes make their way up the path by his house. He feels somewhat disillusioned when they stop in front of his house. The stories depicted them as invincible, fearless warriors yet they seemed as frail as any mortal. “I-I p-planted a new t-tree in your corner,” he stammers nervously. These are the two he’s grown up hearing stories about, stories he then passed on to his own son.

The woman smiles brilliantly and murmurs a polite thank you. She shifts the picnic basket in her hands and inquires about his father. Her companion elbows her in the side and points at the small cluster of gravestones next to the house. She blushes self-consciously and hastily apologizes. Hubbard finds her blush endearing and makes a mental note to take better care of the northwest corner. Now that his heroes are back in town, they grass will need to be cut every week and the flowerbeds watered daily. It is the least he can do. “What are you here for?” he calls out curiously. There have been no vampires in this cemetery for well over fifty years. No one dares step foot on ground protected by The Slayer.

A laughing, cheerful voice calls out as the pair ventures further into their spot. “Family reunion.”