Authors Note; As always, I don't own Buffy or any of her friends. I wish I did.

I'm not completely happy with it, please read and review to let me know your opinions because I'm considering either a revamp or drawing it out so that each time they meet is a different chapter. Let me know!


I picked up the soul of a little girl who was lying dreadfully still on a hospital bed. The little girl's death would be a shock to her family, but then most deaths are. I held her fragile little soul to me, I couldn't feel sadness for the child's death. I see a lot of death you see. I was pleased however that it was me who would take care of this soul, for if I didn't then who would? It was a terrifying thought.

It was then that I noticed a little girl, she looked horrified and I knew that she had seen a demon who was called 'Death'. How pretentious of him. I tried not to frighten her, because she seemed to be able to see me. How odd. Usually nobody sees me until the last minute, when I swoop in and save them. But this little girl could see me.


I don't know exactly when I found out that her name was Buffy, but I had almost forgotten about her when I saw her next. She was a few years older, much less of a child and much more of a woman. A young woman yes, but certainly not a child. She had a look about her now, a look of sadness, a look of hope, but mostly she looked old. I would meet her on a very regular occasion now but she didn't know that yet.

On this occasion, I came to collect the soul of a watcher. As I drifted over to his body and pulled his soul free, I noticed the girl fighting a demon. She killed it and then something that touched me happened. The girl walked over to where her fallen watcher lay, knelt down and placed his bleeding head in her lap. Tears ran down her cheeks but it was silent crying, that was the last thing I saw before I left her there. She hadn't seen me this time but I was used to that. As I said earlier, people don't usually see me.

So she was a slayer now was she? That was very interesting. I never would have picked it when I met her as a child and I've met all of the slayers. People might wonder if a slayers soul is different to a regular soul. It's a tricky question. You have to understand that all souls are unique; every single soul that I have ever had to pick up is completely different to every other soul, before and after. Slayers souls? They're just heavier and so, so dark. Not what you'd expect from a bunch of little girls with a calling.

It usually doesn't take long for me to meet a new slayer, they seem to only last a year or so before I get the call to pick them up. They usually come with me quickly, ready for a chance to sleep and forget about the evil in the world.


She was dressed like a virgin bride when she died. Her dress had been a struggle for her single mother to afford, and both of them loved it. I could feel the love that had gone into that dress. The Master would have been able to feel it too, although I bet that he didn't mention it. He had no finesse. He was just a brute and you could tell from what he had done to her.

The bite mark in her neck was savage, he hadn't even bothered to drain her, just taking a few mouthfuls and tossing her into the water, wasting the rest. Horrific. I descended into the water with her, she was face down. It struck me as comedic for a second that her cause of death was drowning, not what you'd expect for someone who just fought a vampire. I came in close to her and put my hand into her chest. Her soul was half out when all of a sudden she was ripped from my grasp by two men. They were both genuinely horrified at what had become of Buffy and the one with a working pair of lungs began to resuscitate her. I watched, filled with fascination, as they brought her back. You don't see that often in my line of work.

She took a breath on her own and started coughing up water, but it didn't take long before she was back on her feet and they were all ready to leave the underground church. Before they left me there, alone in the candle filled room, Buffy looked at me. Right at me. I could tell that she recognised me and I knew that she knew that I had touched her soul. It was over in an instant, and I knew that this teenage girl, this young woman, this slayer, she was special.


I saw her from a distance on plenty of occasions, parent teacher night, when the school blew up, and many others. She was always trying to help someone, or upset that she couldn't. It wasn't until the death of her mother though that I got to properly meet her again.

I was holding Joyce in my arms when Buffy first noticed that her Mom was dead. She was at her mother's side in an instant and her panic was haunting. She called, pleaded with her Mom, repeating the same word over and over. I will never forget the look on her face. Not ever.

I stayed there for a while, watching her as other people arrived and began to contaminate the air with their grief. I wanted to tell them to go away. The grief that Buffy had filled the room with was haunting, shocking, yet beautiful and it had an effect on me. Their grief, while real, wasn't the same.

I didn't leave until the ambulance officers took the body away, then I left her once again and I took her mother with me. I wish that Joyce could have seen the way in which her daughter reacted. You certainly know that you are loved when someone near to you reacts like that.


The next time I got to meet this intoxicating young woman, she had died again. Her golden skin and hair were beautiful, as was the peaceful expression on her face. Not many people who die look attractive in their final moment. Usually they are terrified, confused, or in pain, but Buffy was beautiful. Even her soul was the same golden colour; hers was a strong soul, unafraid of what would happen next. Instead of me having to extract her soul from her chest, it met me quite happily. Her soul was unlike the other slayers I realised then, even though I'd met it before. Her soul was different because it was light, both in colour and weight.

Her friends had gathered around her by this point, some hysterical, others in shock. They knew, like I did, that tonight someone very special had died and while I was unperturbed, cradling her in my arms, they were devastated.

That was where I left them, as I took Buffy with me and tucked her in next to her mother. Then I did something that I've never done before or since. I promised her that I would take care of her, that everything would be ok. I don't know why I did that and it turned out to be a lie anyway.


A few months passed, and this story should be over. Buffy's body was committed to the ground, while I travelled the globe, picking up other souls and bringing them home. Then something happened that shocked me. Buffy's friends stole her back from me. The witch cast a spell that dragged Buffy from the bed that I had made for her, pulled her away from her mother and I. I'll never forgive them for that.

Now, I still see her from time to time, at a crime scene, or after she was shot when I watched her from the bedroom window as I held Tara close to me. She seems different now. Still special, don't get me wrong, but it's like some of her shine has worn off and her soul seems a little heavier now. That is why I can never forgive the friend's, it wasn't that they brought her back wrong, more that by bringing her back she lost her innocence.

I promised her that I'd look after her, I didn't keep that promise. I hope that the next time we meet I am able to make it up to her.