Disclaimers and such: Not mine. Never will be. Nuff said.
Feedback goes to me at [email protected]
I wrote this because I needed to. Because we all need a little extra and I hope I delivered.
Dedicated as always to Trisha my beta and my friend. For Spike. For Buffy. For Giles. For all of them. And for the women I've met and loved throughout this fandom.
It's never quite bright enough.
The thought strikes at inopportune moments as it always does. Right now, on another plane crossing the Atlantic, hopefully for the last time, she thinks about the light.
Dawn is curled in the next seat, laptop at the ready, though Buffy wonders how she still manages to fold those way-too-long legs up in such a small pace. But Dawn manages. There are bits of her sister that never grew up; this is one indication. She holds on tightly to the tiny pieces of her innocence, even as she proclaims herself grown and an independent woman. In the five years since Sunnydale sank into the ground, Dawn has never left her side. There was a time when she had pushed and pulled at her sister, to go to college, make a life away from the endless wanderlust that gripped Buffy. Then, in a moment that showed the true level of maturity Dawn had reached, she calmly explained that normal was not an option for herself any more than it was for Buffy...so shut up and deal.
A slight grin pulled up the edges of Buffy's mouth as she watched Dawn chew on a bit of hair while entering another endless series of key strokes, working on the latest batch of research. If things had been different she could have been a Watcher. She had the skills, which just grew with each passing year. A Watcher equivalent with honors. Aided and, Buffy sometimes thought, abetted by a certain retired librarian. It was not the life she would have chose for Dawn but it was the life Dawn chose for herself and after all is said and done, it's all about choices.
A hand sneaks between the seats, grabbing at the forgotten bag of peanuts laying between Dawn and herself. Buffy raises a brow and grins over the seat as her other companion tears into his stolen prize, a less than repentant grin on his face. Dawn hadn't been the only one who had followed her from one end of the world to the other...one battle to the next. Xander left the group for a while, went to find himself apparently. He never told her what he had found, just showed up one day, tired and a bit too much with the world weary look. She stills thinks he found Anya, or his peace with her anyway. Since then he'd had a few women come and go in the night, but he never quite let them have that part of himself he left in Sunnydale. She knows how that feels.
A lot can change in five years; a lot can't. Love, the kind that sticks with you through the beginning to the end and beyond may grow but it never really changes. The warmth and security in a Giles hug is a constant. Even in that last year in Sunnydale when things were...less than great between them, the love was always there. It was there in his kitchen this morning as he saw them off to the airport, with a quick squeeze and a peck on the forehead. Well, maybe that had changed. He was much more with the home-baseness now and much freer with the affection. She wished he'd found someone to share his life with but again, the choice was not hers to make. Besides, it took a certain type of female to be comfortable with a wide array of young women tromping through the house at all times, messing with the doilies. Or so he told her when she pressed the issue. Maybe someday. As it stood, Giles always had a room and a cup of tea for a wayward Slayer and her entourage, all the Slayers and damn there are a lot of them. But there is one room that is left free at all times that belongs to the original and there's a certain amount of comfort in knowing that wherever she is, whatever she is doing, that room exists. Over the years Giles has come to represent home for her, more so now than ever before when home was a commodity that seemed like a very far away dream when she was stuck in a cave in Zimbabwe waiting out a demon that had gotten a taste for the townspeople instead of goats. So, after every excursion, she finds herself making her way to England and him...sometimes a girl never outgrows her daddy.
Speaking of potentials...or Slayers now. The ones that survived the last battle on the hellmouth took off shortly after, like rats scattering in the light. Okay, maybe not such a nice analogy, but that was pretty much the way it went. Sometimes an event like that would bring the survivors closer together, but she'd pretty much figured they wanted to get the hell away from her. Not that she really blamed them. Leading them had been a bitch, she hopes they figured that out afterward. Well, except for Kennedy. That girl was utterly clueless. She honestly has no idea how Willow puts up with her. Their relationship is a constant struggle to decide who was on top...okay, another bad analogy. Not that she saw them a lot, they stayed pretty much in the States, but when she did there was no doubt that love was the driving force behind it all. That was most likely the truth behind why she disliked Kennedy. Out of all of them, Willow was the only one who got to take her love beyond the mess. That had also been a good part of the reason they separated shortly after the dust settled. Not that any of them begrudged Willow her hard-won relationship. But sometimes you really feel the loss of another while in the company of those that hadn't. So, there was some petty jealousy in the mix. When push came to shove they were, after all, human. Besides, they made Willow keep Andrew.
So that was all of them. Could be summed up in a few short paragraphs on a blank notebook in some Watcher's journal if they had Watchers anymore. Of course there was way more to all their stories, there always is, but the end result is the same. They survived and continue to do so.
But still...there is never enough light.
No matter how many candles are lit, how many lamps bought, how many drapes thrown open to let in the daylight...even the sun itself, there is never enough light.
And she blames Spike for that.
Which is funny when you think about it. He spent his existence in the shadows and his testament to soul and life resides in the illumination he gave at the end. Wherever she goes, whatever she does, her reminder, her tribute, her penance to the man who, at the end, she loved.
There are a few words. Man and love. She never thought those would be weighing down anywhere in the realm with Spike. But they are, they did and it was good. He was good.
A slim shiver of light peeks through the airplane window and she closes her eyes. She lets the brief light of the sun warm her face. In the years that have passed, she's learned a lot and forgotten a bit and most of all discovered that forgiveness and choice are the most important of them all. As it stands, she's lit the last of her candles and proclaimed herself done. The last flight she plans to be on for awhile should hit LA in a few hours, Willow and Kennedy will be waiting to drive her to the next stage of her life.
There's someone there who has also finished baking.
Onto Spike's story