Warning: Character Death, kind of.



Three Years Later

The man smiled a faraway smile. “She was truly unique,” he told the others gathered around him. “Immersed in the supernatural, yes, and while- some of you may scoff at this-” His eyes lit upon her father with calculated British disapproval. “She was responsible for the fate of the world. And this world will not be the same without her.”

He moved to the side, resting heavily on the arm of the woman who helped him down.

It was a dark, overcast evening, perfect weather for a funeral if not the perfect time. But Dawn Summers’ mother had insisted on a nighttime procession, for some unfathomable reason, and Giles had reluctantly agreed. The woman didn’t need any more stress in her life, not after losing both her children and the cancer from which she’d only just recovered.

Anya, uncharacteristically quiet, led him over to Joyce. He gave her a wan smile and she nodded back. She hadn’t been very happy with him when she had first discovered the dangers he was thrusting at her daughter, but over time, she’d grown accustomed to it and even proud of Dawn’s accomplishments. When Dawn had sacrificed herself for her younger brother, the boy that never really existed, Joyce had comforted Giles, promised him that she didn’t blame him for Dawn’s death. Dawn had gone with grace and doing her life’s work, a comfort to her mother. And unfortunately, Giles already knew that Joyce must be quite good at coping with grief. She had rarely, if ever, mourned Buffy publicly.

Little Connor clung to Janice, both their eyes very red with tears. Giles looked away, unwilling to face either one just yet. The pain of knowing that Dawn’s death could have been prevented by Connor’s sacrifice was still too sharp, and Janice was well aware that Giles would have chosen otherwise.

Where were the witches? He peered around, searching in the dark for Willow and Tara, and finally caught sight of Willow’s distinct hair over by the far corner of the funeral party. He made his way over there, blinking when, for a moment, he’d thought he’d seen someone else with them.

But that was impossible. William the Bloody had left Sunnydale three years ago after helping Dawn defeat Angelus. He’d since heard that Spike had been to South America and then Europe with a new paramour, this one as fair and spunky as his prior Drusilla was dark and sultry. Apparently, the vampire had been moved by his relationship with Buffy, regardless of how brief it had been.

He smiled fondly, remembering the little spitfire who’d never limited herself until she’d been murdered. Giles didn’t like to think about the girl much; it reminded him of Jenny and what he’d lost then. But Anya had been helping him heal for long enough that he could recall that part of his life with less pain. And now, at her sister’s funeral, Buffy would be remembered.

He moved to the tombstone, tracing the words on the marker.

DAWN SUMMERS
SHE SAVED THE WORLD
A LOT.

--

The Watcher was the last of the well-wishers to leave, close to midnight.

Minutes after he departed, two figures emerged from the dark. They stood together by the Slayer’s grave for a long time, their hands together and their heads bowed.

Finally, the young woman raised her head and murmured something in the man’s ear. He nodded, and they moved away into the darkness.

It was time to move on.

The End.