TITLE: A Picture Tells A Thousand Words
AUTHOR: Ragna (writinggoddess@aol.com)
RATING: FRT
SPOILERS: Set in the summer before season 7. Direct mention of events in Lovers Walk.
DISTRIBUTION: Sure, just tell me!
DISCLAIMER: Everything except what comes out of my pretty little head belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy.
FEEDBACK: Wanted. Needed. SEND IT!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was in response to a fic challenge, if I remember correctly. I just found out that the person who got me involved in the entire BtVS online community was killed in a car accident, and I feel so sad about this. So, this entire fic is dedicated in loving memory to Jackie Trainor, and hopefully such a senseless death's impact can be lessened through the healing power of writing. Also, dedicated to Carolyn for ragging on me. If you hadn't done it, I wouldn't have written one of the scenes, because that's what I was missing. Thank you for being the rational one in the group...*g*

***

It wasn't that he wanted to be alone right now.

It had been a fight, they'd had a fight. It didn't happen often, but when it did...he left. It always went that way. Then the next day, one of them apologized. Maybe he should just call her and apologize now...

So he looked at his empty bottle, his fourth, and shrugged, signaling for another beer.

And he turned to watch the news.

"This just in," the newscaster said, looking at a piece of paper handed to him. "Two college students, both female and attending the University of Sunnydale, have been found dead in the 42nd Street cemetery in Sunnydale. It appears to be foul play but police have had no comment. The names will not be released until the families are notified."

He just shook my head. Seems the vamps struck again. Vaguely, before the alcohol cut off all normal thought, he briefly wondered if he knew the two girls...

***

"Xander! Xander, man, wake up!"

"What, Devon? I thought I didn't have to do any work until noon."

The band's singer stood over him. Xander had agreed to become a roadie for Dingoes Ate My Baby for the summer, so he could get some extra money. "Dude...take a look."

Xander looked at the paper in front of him, and saw two very familiar faces.

Willow.

And Buffy.

"What?" he asked quietly, sitting up and taking the paper. Glancing at the headline, it read "College Students Murdered." He shook his head. "No..."

Devon stood there silently. After a few moments of awkward silence, he replied. "Oz knows, too."

Xander just nodded, his brain too shocked to allow him to speak.

"Maybe he should come in here, man. He's being more Zen-like than usual."

Xander just nodded numbly. Devon headed out the door, and Xander stared at the short article.

"In yet another case of murders with seemingly no suspect, two college students, Buffy Anne Summers, 20, and Willow Sheila Rosenburg, also 20, were found dead last night at the 42nd cemetery. The causes of death appear to be a broken neck and blood loss, respectively."

Xander shook his head once more. It seemed to be the only thing his body would let him do. The door opened again, and in the back of his mind her heard Devon try to say something to Oz and, having no success, leave the room and shut the door behind him.

"Xander," Oz began, and finally Xander looked away from the paper.

"Who did it?" he asked in reply, his voice cracking slightly.

"I...I don't know. Maybe Giles does. Or Spike...one of them might now."

Xander nodded slowly. "Why them? Why'd she have to die now?"

"Honestly, Xander, nobody knows." Oz looked at his hands, then at Xander's room.

It was a typical young person's room: memorabilia from past events, basic necessities...and pictures.

Every time the gang had done something important, someone had a camera. There were pictures of everyone up there. Xander, Buffy, Willow, Giles, Cordelia, Anya, himself...even a few of Spike, with Buffy, mostly.

"Wonder how he's going to take it," Oz muttered out loud.

"Who?"

"Spike."

Xander looked at him. "Not well, I think. Does he even know?"

***

As the two young men approached, the sound of shattering could be heard quite clearly from inside the small house.

"I think he knows," Xander said, without a hint of humor.

Oz opened the door, knowing Spike probably wouldn't want to see them, but at this point not really caring. Both of them expected to find him vamped out and in a rage, or being quiet and numb like both of them.

What they didn't expect was to find Spike sitting on the floor, holding a picture and sobbing. The broken glass from the picture was in a scattered pile next to him.

It was only when Xander shut the door did Spike realize he wasn't alone. "Get the bloody fuck out of here and leave me alone."

Xander started to turn around, but Oz stopped him. "Spike...we just want to know what happened."

"I should have killed her. I should have killed the bloody wench when she was turned."

"Who, Spike?" Xander asked.

He took a long pause, trying to collect his emotions. He couldn't quite succeed, and spat out the name.

"Faith."

"I thought she was--" Xander began.

"Dead? Not bloody likely. She got turned, mate. About a year ago. But the Council had been using her for their 18 year test. I just found this out a few days back, when she escaped."

Oz shook his head. "They kept it that much of a secret?"

"This is the Council; they're a bunch of pillocks," Spike muttered. His sadness has slowly started to turn into a rage.

There was a knock on the door, and Anya walked in. "Spike, Giles wanted me to--" She stopped and looked around. "You guys know?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Oz nodded, and Xander simply looked at her, pain shining through. She walked over to him and took his hand, a simple comforting gesture. They'd been like that for a long time, wordlessly speaking to each other.

"What did Giles want?" Spike asked, staring back down at the picture.

"He wanted to know if he could help you with anything."

Spike shook his head. "Right now...I really just want to be alone."

"What are you looking at?" Anya asked after a moment of silence.

"A picture of Buffy. One that Xander took." He held it up so the others could see.

"I remember. You told me you wanted a picture of Buffy in the sun, being happy," Xander said, taking the picture from Spike for a moment. Buffy was standing there in a short flowing blue dress, the ocean behind her and her hair framing her face.

"That was a good day," Oz said quietly, back to looking at his hands.

Anya shook her head. "No, it was a cold day."

Spike looked up at Anya and grinned a bit. "Thanks, love."

"No problem. Sarcasm and satire, free of charge." She took the picture from Xander and handed it back to Spike. "Maybe...we should get together later. Bring all our pictures of them and just...share them. And the memories behind them."

"Why?" Oz asked, a slight amount of bitterness in his voice.

"Well, we each know different things about them. Maybe...it'll help. It was a stupid idea."

"No," Spike said, standing up. "It really wasn't. Maybe...maybe we should. I just want to be alone, for now, though."

Xander nodded. "How about tonight? At the library. I don't think Giles will mind."

Oz looked away. "All right."

"Then it's settled," Anya said. "Let's go. Spike...you have my pager number. Call if you need anything."

Spike nodded, standing in the same place and looking at the picture again. The other three filed out, walking back out into the morning, and shutting the door behind them.

***

Xander looked at the coffee cup. "I can't eat or drink right now."

"I understand," Anya replied, reaching over to take his hand again.

"I haven't even cried yet. That just makes me feel so horrible."

"You will when you're ready."

He ran his thumb over her fingers, lightly. "They were my best friends. They didn't deserve this. Not even Buffy, even if she is...I mean, was, the Slayer." He shook his head.

"She knew it would happen eventually, Xander. She was ready. She lived her life like that day was going to be her last day."

"And yesterday it was," Xander said bitterly.

Anya sighed, then got up, moving to sit next to him. "Tell me what else is wrong. I know you; something else is wrong."

"I was supposed to patrol with her last night, not Willow."

Anya nodded. "But you couldn't help the last minute gig, Xander."

"But I should have died, not Willow. Not her," he said, guilt and sadness and anger finally getting the best of him, as tears rolled down his face. "I should have died..."

Anya pulled him to her, cradling his head as he sobbed. He needed the release, she knew that. But her heart ached for the only person she'd ever been in love with, to see him hurting so badly. "It'll be okay," she murmured softly. "Everything will be okay."

***

Oz stopped the van.

It took him a few moments to realize he'd driven out into the warehouses, specifically the one where Spike had taken Willow and Xander almost four years before.

It hurt to be there, but something drew him there. Wandering around, he went to the burned remnants of the place they'd been held captive, and carefully made his way down what was left of the stairs.

In the back of his mind he half hoped that the stairs would collapse for him, hopefully making him fall on a piece of wood that could very well kill him. Then he wouldn't have to live without Willow.

But rationally, he didn't want that to happen. He just wanted to sit there for a moment. Flicking his flashlight on, he scanned it around.

A glint of something caught his eye. Moving the flashlight beam back in that direction, he saw the metallic gleam once more. Carefully, he made his way over there, and picked up the glinting object.

It was the bracelet he'd given to Willow when they'd first started to date.

He held the small silver object in him hand, looking at it. It'd always been too big for her wrist but she didn't want a smaller one. She'd loved this one.

Just like she'd loved him.

Slipping the bracelet on, he sat down, turned the flashlight off, and buried his head in his hands.

And started to cry.

***

Spike had drunk just about every nonalcoholic drink in the house. She hated him getting drunk, so he stopped. Most of the time, anyway.

Everywhere he looked, there were reminders of her. Of course there were, he berated himself quietly. She'd lived there too. It was her had been home just as much as it had been his.

But it wasn't a home anymore, not right now, maybe not ever.

He went into their room. It was a mistake; there was constant reminders of her all over the place. Her clothing was scattered on the floor, her make-up on the vanity, her schoolbooks by the desk.

It was so normal looking. It'd never be this way again.

Spike sat down on the bed, clutching one of her shirts, and curled up with it like a comforting blanket. The smell of her was so strong, it overwhelmed him. He finally passed out from pure exhaustion, inhaling her scent even though he didn't need to.

Even though he didn't need to breathe.

Because it kept her close.

***

Devon recognized Oz's van. He'd been on his way to the Bronze to help with a soundcheck for Flick, the band who'd be covering for Dingoes until Oz was...

Was what? Devon went over to the van, finding it empty and letting himself in. He knew Oz wouldn't care; he never did.

Sitting there, he thought about what had just happened. His best friend, the person closest to him, like his second family. And he was in pain and there was nothing he could do about it.

And Xander...Devon remembered when all of them were younger, way before he'd dropped out. He'd always envied those two, they're closeness.

And then he'd befriended Oz.

Oz was his perfect match. Where he was brash and loud and attention-seeking, Oz was modest and quiet and careful. And when he hooked up with Willow, he'd just opened up more, something Devon had never really thought was possible.

So even though he envied Willow for being the one to alter Oz's demeanor for the better, he'd never wanted anything like this.

Oz didn't deserve the pain. No one did.

***

Xander woke up, vaguely remembering what had happened.

Except the pain.

The pain hit him like a ton of bricks, and he shut his eyes, not surprised to feel a slim arm slip around his shoulders.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," Anya muttered, waking up herself. She looked down at her clothes, which had gotten wrinkled from the tossing and turning of the last few hours.

"I kept dreaming about them," he said in a pain-laced voice. "It wasn't a bad dream; they weren't in pain and they almost seemed happy. But...I don't know. It just hurt to see them."

Anya nodded, letting him get this off his chest. "How did it hurt?"

"I was glad to see them, but I knew it was a dream and that I was going to wake up...and I didn't want to."

"What was the dream like?"

"We were at the library, and we were...I don't know, researching. And it was all of us there, and even though everything was normal, it just...wasn't." He reached over to touch Anya's face. "Did you ever put any men through this type of pain before?"

"No...well, sort of. Once, a woman's husband had--Do you want to hear this?"

He nodded slowly, shutting his eyes again, just for a moment. "Yeah. I think so, at least."

She took a breath. "A woman's husband had cheated on her, and she was about to give birth. I posed as the midwife, and...the baby died. In my arms. And the woman just sobbed. It was so sad," she said quietly.

"Then what happened?"

"She made her wish. She wanted her husband to feel all the pain she felt. So...he had a heart attack. And then she was truly alone."

"I don't want to be alone, Anya. I don't want to lose anyone else," Xander murmured, resting his head on her shoulder.

She reached over and took his hand again. "Xander...you're going to lose people. But...you won't lose your memories. That's what counts."

"But I want them here."

"I know you do. I want them here too," She looked away from him and stared at the wall, not knowing what else to say.

***

Giles sighed. It had been a long night, one he had never hoped to have again, not after Jenny. Buffy had no longer been his Slayer; he watched the newest one. But she was more to him, now.

She was family. More specifically, his adopted daughter.

He sat next to Joyce, who was completely numb. She hadn't spoken, hadn't eaten, and it was worrying him. It hurt him to see her go through this, just as much as Buffy and Willow's death had hurt him.

"Joyce," he began softly, not surprised when he saw no reaction. "I'm...I'm going to call some people. I need to know some...some things."

She nodded slightly, and he squeezed her hand, standing up.

They had gone to his classroom after finding out the news. The dean of students wouldn't even let him take the day off, and he hadn't wanted to leave her alone. Not like this. He'd canceled his classes, the dean be damned, but all his books were located here, and right now he needed those.

He went into the office, keeping an eye on Joyce through the window, and began making calls, the process of actually doing something taking his mind off his grief. But not all of it; he had a vague idea who had been behind the deaths, and wouldn't rest until he knew the truth.

***

Oz finally looked into the van. "Dev..."

"I'm sorry, man. Just thought you might need someone to talk to."

Oz shook his head. "Not right now."

Devon nodded, opening his door. "It's cool, man. I'll be at the Bronze." He got out and headed in that general direction. Oz watched as he walked away.

He couldn't loose it, no matter how much he wanted to. No, right now what he wanted to do was curl up in a tight little ball and die, never to have to face the world again.

But it wasn't possible. He knew Willow would want him to keep fighting, to keep going on. To be as alive as possible and enjoy what was left of his life.

His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, until his knuckles turned white. He couldn't handle this; not alone.

Getting out of the van and locking the door behind him, he entered the Bronze.

***

Angel took a look at the paper. He'd just woken up; he hadn't really wanted to read it, but something drew him to it.

Flipping through the pages, he noticed a section was missing. "Cordelia?"

He got no response, which was strange. No...he got a muffled response. Either it was two people talking or it was crying.

He was hoping it was the former.

Getting up, he walked into the main room of his apartment, knowing Cordelia would most likely be there with a stack of cases he had to look at. She did that every evening before she went to sleep at night. It was an economical way for them to stay in Los Angeles; he stayed in the apartment during the day while she stayed at night.

Instead of finding her lounging on the couch, flipping through the TV channels like she usually did, he saw her slumped down sitting in a chair, sobbing quietly.

"Cordy, what's the matter?"

She looked up, her face mascara streaked. "We...we just started to get along..." she said, choking back sobs. Her hand shaking, she handed him the missing newspaper section. "Doyle...he told me..."

Angel cautiously opened the newspaper, looking at the tiny newsprint. His hand started to shake as he found the article, and his eyes grew wide.

"No..." he said quietly. sitting down next to Cordelia, he focused on that one word, saying it over and over until the words ran together into a long monotonous string of sound.

Cordelia reached her hand over, and Angel finally broke down, comforted by her touch. If he shut his eyes, he could almost imagine that she was Buffy.

And that Buffy was still alive.

***

Spike awoke with a start. It was colder now, signaling that it was night. The summer had been hot and muggy; he could always tell when night had fallen when the temperature dropped.

He had no energy left, and laid in the bed, still clutching what he had in his hand, the piece of clothing. He stared at the wall, not blinking, not breathing, willing himself not to fall apart again.

The clock said it was only six. That gave him about forty-five minutes to get the pictures for that evening, but he found he couldn't move.

Finally, after a bit of a struggle, he sat up, on the verge of tears as he saw her things. This was unlike him; he had been the one who never cried, never showed a hint of sadness. Never showed any of the emotions she had known him to have all those years ago: the anger, the spite, the need and thirst for power.

He'd made her happy, and that, in turn, made him happy. And she was all he'd needed, all he'd wanted, and now she was gone.

Standing up, slowly, not wanting to mess with any of her things scattered on the floor, he went to their closet, pulling out a box that he knew had all the pictures they had kept in it. He didn't want to look at them, but if it would help to ease the pain...

The pain hurt him so much. It ripped through him, and the home was a constant reminder. But he wanted her near.

No. He wanted her alive, breathing, sleeping with him, living with him, being alive. Being here, with him.

He just wanted her back.

***

Anya looked at the large collection of pictures Xander had. "They're beautiful, Xander."

He nodded, still searching for something. "I guess I got better with more practice."

"That's a good thing," she said, tearing her eyes away from the pictures and looking out the window at the darkening sky.

"Yeah," Xander said, at a loss for words.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, curiosity winning her over. But before she could get to him, another picture caught his eye.

It was small, 2 x 3 maybe, and showed Buffy in a creamy silk dress, holding a dozen roses. Looking over his shoulder, Anya recognized it from one of the pageants the college held.

She'd won first runner up. And she'd been devastated, but she kept the smile on her face. At least until all of the new Scooby Gang was alone, then the tears started to flow freely.

"This," Xander said, choking back another sob. "She never really looked so happy, yet was so sad, too. Never." He shook his head and kept digging through the pile of pictures.

"What else are you looking for?"

"Something I think Spike would want..."

***

"Whoa, Oz. I think that's a bit much."

Oz looked at the bottle in his hand. "Shut up, Devon," he said, his voice slurring. "I wanna finish the bottle."

Devon shook his head. "No. You're not going to finish the bottle," he said, sending a quick glance at the other three bottles on the bar top.

Oz sneered. "Who's going to stop me? You? You're a wuss..."

Devon realized it was the alcohol talking, not Oz. "Oz, man, give me the bottle."

"I said NO!" Oz yelled, swinging the bottle at Devon.

It hit him in the side of the head, breaking upon contact. Oz didn't realize what had happened until he saw Devon clutching the side of his head, blood oozing out from between his fingers. He started to sober up almost immediately. "Dev..."

He grabbed a towel from the bar and held it towards the singer. "Dev, I'm sorry." Oz stood up and moved closer to him...

...and Devon backed away. "Stay away from me. Until you're sober." Grabbing the keys to Oz's van, Devon walked out of the Bronze, holding another towel to his head. Oz looked at the empty club, the glass scattered around, the specks of blood on the chair Devon had been sitting in, and he felt anger.

Anger at the world for still turning, anger at Faith for killing his beautiful Willow, anger at Spike for not patrolling instead of Willow, anger at Buffy for not protecting Willow, anger at Xander for still having the person he loved, anger at Devon for trying to understand, anger at...anger at...

Himself.

Because his last words to Willow had been filled with anger and pain.

Because he didn't want to live in a world without her and it was his own fault.

Because he didn't tell her he loved her the night she died.

Because...he fought with her and assumed everything would work out.

And it didn't.

Because she died.

***

At seven o'clock, all of them but Oz and Devon were in the library, a place they all had known well in high school. Though it was different, the area held special memories.

The new library was very different. It smelled of new books, not the musty smell of leather and oldness. This new library was modern, a testament to the future.

The irony of the fact was not lost on those five people gathered.

"Where's Oz?" Xander asked, looking around.

Spike shrugged. "I don't know, mate." He looked at the shoe box he'd held in his hands with a tenderness he hadn't shown the entire day. "But...can we start soon?"

Giles nodded. "Anya, I believe this was your idea, correct? You should start."

Anya looked at the few pictures she had. "I mean, I've only known you guys for a few years now. I don't have the history..."

"It's okay," Xander said. "Just, show us what you do have."

She picked up a strip of pictures, like ones given at photo booths. "We took these in Los Angeles, when all of us went up there to see Dingoes at The Key Club. While you guys were sleeping the next day, we went out with Cordelia, and had 16 of these taken," she said with a sad smile.

The four women were grouped up in front of the camera, making faces and acting silly, even Cordelia. They were color pictures, and it was interesting to see the differences that the years had made on their faces.

If not the years, then it was the stress of saving the world.

But the happiness radiated from their eyes, and it made those changes seem small, minuscule. They almost disappeared from their faces.

Almost.

***

After a few more pictures, Anya turned to Giles. "You have any?"

He shook his head, then stopped, pulling out his wallet. "Just one." Opening the wallet, he pulled one picture out of the billfold.

"From the wedding," he said absently.

It was a picture taken at the beach. Joyce was wearing her wedding dress, a pale blue dress that looked absolutely fabulous on her. Giles stood next to her, uncomfortable in his tux.

And Buffy was in the middle, holding her bouquet and smiling, her blond hair curled and cascading down her back. She was wearing a spaghetti strapped pale pink dress that went just below the knees, and was wearing a diamond pendant.

"Wow," Spike said, looking at the picture. "She looks so...beautiful."

"I'd forgotten you weren't able to attend, Spike," Giles said. "I thought she'd given you one of the pictures of her from the ceremony."

Spike shook his head. "No, mate, she didn't. She said she hated the way she looked in them."

Giles smiled slightly. "She would say that, wouldn't she?"

***

Oz walked around, the incident with Devon having sobered him up totally, or at least enough to walk around, one thing on his mind.

Kill Faith.

It was as simple as that, it seemed. Forget the fact she was a former Slayer. Forget that she was a vampire. Forget she had an intense hatred for all of them and wanted to do to the others what she'd done to Buffy and Willow.

Just find her and shove a stake in her back.

"Man..."

Oz stopped in his tracks, recognizing Devon's voice. "Dev?"

Devon walked out from an alley in the Bronze, still holding his head. "Man, I can't see straight enough to drive. But I'm not giving you back the keys."

Oz nodded. "Want to help me find Faith then?"

Devon thought about it. "Naw, man. I need to get to a hospital or something."

"I don't think so."

Both of them turned around, looking right at the object of Oz's hatred.

"Hello, boys," Faith said urbanely, looking at the two of them. "How are you enjoying the last night of your life?"

"What the fuck?"

Devon looked from Faith to Oz and back to Faith. "Is she...?"

"She's Faith. The really messed up vampire. Former Slayer."

Faith shook her head, pulling out a small white handled dagger. "You shouldn't have used the term 'messed up,' Oz. Really, it isn't even remotely cool."

Oz glared at her. "Right now I couldn't care less about cool. You killed Willow," he said in a steely voice, keeping a close eye on the dagger.

"Yeah, I killed her. So?" Faith said, shrugging. She tossed the dagger from hand to hand, watching Oz's eyes follow her movements. A smirk crossed her face. "She was a fun kill. She suffered...I mean, she fucking begged."

Oz grit his teeth, visibly being restrained by Devon. Faith just grinned even more, enjoying what her taunting was reaping.

"And her last words were your name..."

Suddenly a fist crashed across her face, and Faith fell backwards, dazed and a bit confused.

"And hopefully she'll stay that way."

***

Joyce had pulled out an album. "This is her when she was really young," she said, holding out a picture of a toddler. They moved around it to look, and there was a bit of "Ooohing" and "Ahhing." She then handed the album to Giles, who flipped through it before passing it to Spike.

Joyce had quite a few pictures of Buffy, it turned out, and even had a few of all of the gang together. There was one she was particularly proud of.

"Well, this is from the homecoming game, your freshman year. Remember the theme?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah, 60's Week, I remember."

"Wasn't our picture on the front page of the Sunnydale Times?" Anya said, smiling slightly.

Joyce nodded. "I managed to get the photographer to give me an 8 x 10 of the picture in exchange for a discount on some antiques. And he had a few other shots as well. I have them all." She pulled them out of a small brown package.

Anya took the pictures first. "Willow had come up with the costumes. Man, it was a trip."

"Don't forget I helped, love," Spike said, glancing at his box. Joyce looked from the pictures of them in hippie gear to the vampire who'd actually been there.

"Spike...what's in the box?" she asked gently.

"I'll show it. Later," he said gruffly.

***

Angel stood over the lifeless body. "I've always wanted to do that," he said in a pain laced voice.

"Shit!" Devon said. "What the fuck did you do?"

"He hit her," Cordelia said, stepping out of the alleyway. "That's what he did."

"Long time no see, Cor," Devon said, looking at her appreciatively.

"Oh, grow up," she muttered, shaking her head. "Look...we wanted to find out what happened."

"And apparently, she happened," Angel said, picking up the limp body. "Let's get her into the library where we can keep an eye on her."

Oz nodded, picking up the small dagger that lay beside her as the four of them headed towards his van.

***

Xander sat up, holding a small stack of pictures. "These...Willow and me, when we were kids. It...our parents didn't talk much, so these are only the pictures my Mom and dad took."

Willow looked very different back then. Her hair had been a brighter red, her smile had been big and toothy, and she'd had a brightness in her eyes that had dulled in high school and reemerged in college.

"She always wanted to be a doctor, or something where she could help people." Flipping through the pictures as he handed them out, he stopped at one, and silently started crying.

Anya gently pulled his head to her shoulder, comforting him with silent movements, as she took the pictures from his hands. "Here," she said silently, passing the picture around.

It was five of them: Buffy, Willow, Oz, Cordelia and himself, dressed in their graduation caps and gowns.

Anya looked at their faces, all the while stroking Xander's hair, murmuring simple words of comfort as he shut his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

They all looked on the verge of breaking down when the door opened.

Angel dropped Faith's limp body on the floor. "It's true. She did it."

Devon nodded as he walked in, followed by Cordelia, Oz, and a newcomer. "She said--"

"Stuff," Oz said, cutting him off. "She said stuff." He sat down on the floor near Giles and Joyce, burying his head in his hands.

The newcomer nodded. "The lass...we tried to get here as soon as possible, before she could hurt any of you. But...we were too late." Noting the looks on some of their faces he shook his head. "Name's Doyle. Been helping Angel and Cordy here for a few years." Cordelia nodded, and only then was it evident that Cordelia and Doyle were holding hands.

"You...knew?" Xander asked quietly, but Angel shook his head.

"We only found out she had gotten loose a few hours before they were killed. I...I paged Buffy, to warn her, but it didn't help. Her pager was already off." He sat down, kicking Faith's limp body in the process.

Spike watched the entire exchange quietly. Finally, he stood up. "Angel...did you really try?"

Angel looked up. "Of cour--" but Spike snarled, his anger coming to the surface.

"Then WHY IS SHE DEAD?!?"

"I...I don't know," Angel said, looking his childe in the eye.

Spike stood up. "She's dead...she's dead because someone let her down." Sitting down again, he buried his face in his hands. "I let her down."

Devon started to speak up, but stopped, glancing at Doyle. "Why do I feel like I only know half the story?" he said quietly.

"I feel the same way," Doyle said, shaking his head. "Could you explain what you meant, Spike?"

The blond vampire nodded, pulling out the box. "I...I was going to give her this, last night. And I didn't get it right away, and...I wasn't where I said I'd be to meet her."

When he opened the box, everyone gasped. It was a silver cross necklace, beautifully and meticulously carved with tiny curved lines and with roses etched on it.

"I only wanted her to be safe, and she'd lost her other one during a fight a few days ago. This one...it was blessed, to protect all who wore it."

He stood up once more, taking the cross in his hand and ignoring the pain it was causing. He kicked Faith over with his foot, and laid the cross on her chest, which was exposed. There was shrieks of pain from the vampiress on the ground, and her eyes flew open.

"Bastard," she choked out.

Spike looked so pissed off at Faith that it scared even Angel. He was fuming as he grabbed her by the throat and pulled her up. "I should kill you again, slowly, then let werewolves gnaw on your carcass before I finished you off."

"I'd do it," Oz offered, a glare settling on his face.

"See? I even have his agreement to help. So what's to stop me from doing it?"

"Buffy's last words," Faith said quietly, her voice full of anger.

Spike slapped her. "Tell me!"

"She said she hated you, you asshole."

"Liar..." he said quietly, dropping her and backing away.

"She was going to leave you."

"No," he said, finally backing into Doyle and Devon, who gripped his arms to hold him back. He didn't even notice.

"And she said you were the worst lover she ever had."

Spike vamped out, losing all control, but the grip the men had on him was so firm he couldn't move.

And no one noticed as Joyce crept behind Faith, her daughters favorite stake raised.

"I hope you go to h--" Faith began, but was cut off as her ashes floated to the ground. Joyce sank to the ground, sobbing quietly and beating at the ashes.

Before anyone else could get to her, Giles was there first, holding her and whispering softly before helping her up and leading her out the door, saying a quick good night to the others in the room.

Oz looked at the others, and then his rage finally broke through. He punched the one person he knew could take it.

"You could have saved her, Angel."

Angel stood there, avoiding the punch to the face, and took the hits that Oz gave.

"You should have saved them. You knew. You should have saved them," he said, enunciating almost every word with a punch.

Devon finally let go of Spike, moving over to Oz. "Man...come on."

"No."

Devon dropped his usual casualness. "No. You will stop hitting him. Now."

Oz's punches slowed until they finally stopped, but he kept his hands at his side, his fists clenched. "She..."

And then he turned, and walked away.

***

Oz held the dagger in his hand as he sat on the bench by Willow's grave. He hadn't attended her funeral, for fear he'd get too emotional, only to come back to Devon's to find a message from her mother, lambasting him for not attending.

He never called her back.

So now he sat there, the sun falling on his shoulders, and he almost didn't notice the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Came to pay our respects, man," Devon said, gesturing to the roses. Xander and Anya were walking not far behind him. They too held roses.

Oz nodded, a weary look on his face. "I feel empty," he said quietly, pulling the bracelet out of his pocket and slipping it on his wrist.

"Hers?" Xander asked as they got up to the grave. He had attended the funeral, and had almost not returned to the grave.

"Yeah," Oz said, glancing at the bracelet. "I'm glad I'm not alone right now."

Anya put her arm on Oz's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "You're not going to be alone, not right now," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he said, tears falling down his cheeks slowly. The dagger slipped from his grasp, and he just left it there as he brought his hands up to dry his eyes.

***

The scene at Buffy's grave that evening was slightly different.

Spike had asked Joyce to have the cross he'd planned on giving Buffy be made a part of her headstone, and she'd agreed. Not caring about the pain, he lovingly ran his hand over the cross.

"You really loved her."

Spike looked up to see Angel standing over him. "Yes, I did. I still do, and I'm not planning on stopping."

"Neither am I."

Spike looked back at the headstone, then stood up. "She's one of the few things we'll ever both care about."

Angel nodded. "Spike..."

"What?" he asked, not looking at his sire, but Angel knew his childe was crying.

"I'm sorry."

Spike nodded, but kept looking at her headstone, and finally Angel just left. All alone, Spike sank to his knees on the grave, and sobbed, whispering over and over the same thing:

"I'll always love you, Buffy. Always."