Numb and Number: Chapter Nine

[jesterladyfic]

Chapter Nine

They buried Buffy at night. That was when she really lived anyway. Then she was a glowing, vibrant force; the sunlight she saw during the day, captured by her hair, shining, as she fought her foes.

The coven Dawn was linked to could not reach her, but they promised that Dawn was doing fine. Willow was
still searching the world for Xander, but thus far, had been unlucky. So the burial took place without three of the
people that Buffy loved most.

There was a cemetery high above the city of Rome. It was not the famed Vatican Hill, but beautiful and sacred
nonetheless. Willow said that Buffy loved to go there even though there weren’t a lot of vampires because people
really weren’t buried there anymore. But Buffy was.

They also didn’t have a priest. What was the point anyway? Giles spoke a few words before letting Spike say
his goodbyes. He stood looking at the grave where she lay beneath the earth. Each of them held candles and they
flickered over the gravestones. It was a fitting tribute for she who hangs out in cemeteries. Or rather, hung out in
cemeteries.

“You were heaven to me,” Spike said softly. This really wasn’t for the others to hear. “I was lost and because of
you I changed. Wasn’t supposed to be, but you never obey the rules, love. Guess we’re similar that way. I can’t
say I’m sorry it happened, but I wish the end didn’t have to be so soon.” He cleared his throat as the tears rose up
and knelt to be closer to her. “All my love goes with you to the grave and beyond. I can’t do anything else, because
you claimed me from the moment I saw you. I love you, Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.”

He rose and took some petals from the bowl that Willow held and sprinkled them on the grave. They each
copied him in turn.

Willow leaned her head on Giles’ shoulder and he put his arm around her. Her other hand reached out and
grabbed Oz’s. He looked down at their linked hands and looked surprised, yet hopeful.

“Bye, Buffy,” Willow sobbed out. “I promise I won’t resurrect you this time. I know you’ll be happy and I swear
to you that I won’t rest until Illyria is gone from this earth. I love you.”

“Buffy, I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent this,” Giles said haltingly, grief formalizing his words. “But whatever happens
next I am more honored than I can tell by your continued faith in me. I am immensely proud of you, more so than I
would ever have imagined. You have my pride and my love.”

“Thank you, Buffy, for your strength and loyalty,” Wesley said. “I am glad we had a chance to make amends for
our past. You were the Slayer and Slayers everywhere should be proud to be a part of that heritage that you’ve
honored so.”

“You took care of us,” Oz said quietly. “There was much more underneath your surface than was ever showed.
You loved where there was no love. You’ll never be forgotten.”

“I’ll take care of the Nibblet,” Spike promised, “till the end of the world. She loves you too.”

“And Xander loves you,” Willow said softly.

“And Angel loves you,” Wesley said even more quietly.

The others walked away then, seeking comfort in each other, but Spike stayed all night. Sometimes he talked
to her, sometimes he said nothing, but he stayed until the sun made him go. He placed a single kiss on the
headstone and left.

The rising sun flickered over the white marble that read.

“Buffy Anne Summers. She did the impossible.”

***

After a month Willow finally stopped trying to find Xander, but she never stopped her relentless crusade to take down Illyria. Oz and Giles kept a close watch on her, but she was careful to avoid them as much as possible. Oz’s inner thoughts raged from a desire to ignore the entire thing and an overwhelming fear that Willow was going to get hurt. He found her by herself one day surfing the net and chanting as she learned spells from witches around the world. What alarmed him was that the tips of her hair kept turning black.

“Will, did you notice your hair?” he asked calmly.

She barely glanced up.

“I can handle it.”

“Doesn’t the black mean darkness?” Calm still reigned over his tone.

“And doesn’t the red coming back mean I’m cleansing it?” she returned sharply. “Stop being such a nanny
goat. Or maybe you want evil Willow to sacrifice you,” she ended nastily.

“Stop playing games,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you being a witch. It’s about what kind of magic
you’re messing with.”

“Since when do you know anything about magic?” she retorted in disgust, finally looking up. “You always tried
to hold me back. You’re afraid of power and that’s what I am, so just go away and find yourself another lady wolf or something.”

A series of images flashed through Oz’s mind. Veruca slinking along the bars of his cage. Willow’s shocked
face. The bars of the Initiative accompanied by blue shocks of pain. Tara’s frightened eyes running from him.
Circles of incense rising above the snow. Men in orange robes burning spells. The laughing face of a girl. A claw
shorn off. The sight of blood and herbs simmering together.

His jaw muscle spasmed and Oz took a step closer to Willow and spoke very deliberately.

“You have no idea what I have done or what I know. I grew up, little girl. You are playing with fire and you will
get burned because you are not God or anything resembling one. Don’t let your pride get in the way of what she died for.” And Oz turned and walked away.

***

Willow stared after Oz for a brief moment, feeling guilty and yet feeling stupid for feeling guilty when after all, he was just being emotional. When had Oz become too emotional? Well, she didn’t know him anymore and it didn’t matter because she was doing something for Buffy and he just couldn’t see it. Willow turned back to her computer and began to chant again as the dark in her eyes began to expand.

***

Giles looked up from his research as Wesley came in through the door, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Wesley said as he sat down. “I’m still not up to my usual state of health, but I can definitely
say that this is the first time that I only became winded on the fourth flight instead of the first.”

Giles smiled briefly before returning to his books.

“No word from Angel?” Wesley interrupted.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Giles took off his glasses and wiped them slowly before speaking again. “Were you
expecting to hear from him?”

“No, but I’d rather hoped I would. I know my place is here, but for a long time it was beside him and I wish the
two could be reconciled.”

“Unfortunately, reconciliation is not always possible,” Giles said heavily.

“Especially where that git is concerned,” Spike said harshly as he came in the door. He was covered in
something questionable, but he headed straight for the kitchen where he heated up some blood with quite more force than was necessary.

Giles and Wesley exchanged a quick glance. They knew better than to argue. Spike was beyond arguing with
these days and mostly, when he wasn’t spouting cutting, negative remarks, he was ignoring everyone.

Oz came in from the bedroom.

“Good patrol?” he asked Spike, eying the slime or guts or something that covered his frame.

“Keen,” Spike answered shortly.

“I wanted to know if you would-“ Oz began, but Spike cut him short.

“Gotta clean up. I think you should go check on the witch, make sure she hasn’t destroyed the world yet.”

“What’s left to destroy?” Oz asked Spike’s departing back.

“What indeed?” Wesley whispered.


***


Later that day, Wesley was sorting through his belongings in order to see if there was anything that could be of use to his and Giles’ research. He didn’t really think there would be seeing as how he didn’t have much in the way of possessions and what was before him was less than what he owned. Spike and Angel hadn't had much time to gether personal belongings when they'd fled the country. There were some books he treasured; however, and some that had come with him from England. Taking those he thought would be useful, he carried them to the table and put them in the research pile.

“Having any luck?” he asked without hope.

“No,” Giles confirmed his beliefs. “But I’m sure your help will speed things along. We need to look for things
that Illyria won’t expect from us and that haven’t been used against her before. She can’t be caught the same way
twice.”

“I’ll get on it,” Wesley said, taking a pile of books with him over to the window seat.

This particular batch Giles had managed to scrounge together from the remains of the Council library. Picking
one at random, Wesley settled in to research.

But the book that he held was not from the library, or at least, should not be. This was a journal, a Watcher’s
journal to be sure, but one who had never had a Slayer. This was his father’s journal. Wesley opened his mouth to
ask Giles what he was doing with it, but he closed it again just as quickly.

Shaking slightly, Wesley opened the book and read. He read for hours. His father’s words enlightened and
sickened him at the same time. All the old insecurities, the unhealed wounds, the heartless words, the shameful
glances, the excuses, the rage, came flooding back to Wesley. He was on the verge of standing up and throwing the
book into the fire when he came to an entry that had marked the changing point in his life.

‘I cannot express fully the shame I feel at the decision made in Council a week ago. I do not claim to have
full influence at the Council, but I thought I had more than some unknown, hooded stranger who has bespelled the
wits of our organization. There was a decision to be made, that of the replacement of Rupert Giles who has ineptly
exercised his duties as Watcher to our active Slayers and has, therefore, been terminated. In the general vote, it
was unanimously decided to appoint Alfred Winder, the son of my friend Charles Winder. His results at school and
field experience clearly indicate him as the right candidate for the job.

To my everlasting horror; however, another candidate was put forward by someone unknown to me. That
candidate being my own son, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Wesley’s ineptitude marks him as an embarrassment to
the entire Council of Watchers. My argument against this mistake was forceful and almost carried the day. But to
everyone’s eventual detriment, this stranger, using methods that I could not detect, somehow rallied all to his side
and the vote swayed toward Wesley.

I would be most gratified to learn from whence he gets his influence. It would be an excellent bonus to have on
my side should I ever need it. But all I can express at this point is my utter shame that my son, who has always
failed to prove himself in every area, will now be the Watcher to our Slayers. Whatever this may mean for us all, I do
not know. I wish it were a cruel prank on our part, rather than a decision made in seeming rationality, at the urging of
someone whom I could never find out his name. I can say with relief that the entire Council does seem to have come
to its senses and regrets this decision as I do. But at this point it is too late until Wesley fails, which I have no doubt
he will. I watch the coming months with dread.’

Wesley’s body shook with rage, shame and curiosity. So this was how it came to be. He was not sorry it had
happened, no, he’d only started living once he’d reached Sunnydale. But for his father to - how could he? Wesley had often wondered how he’d gotten the Watcher position. He couldn’t imagine why, with his father putting him under at every turn. To think, he owed his whole life, its joys and its current agonies that would never cease, to someone nobody knew. The irony almost overwhelmed him and he wanted to laugh, but instead he stood up and threw his father’s journal in the fire. It was nothing but ashes anyway.


***

Willow could hear the mumbling of voices in the other room, but she continued to turn the pages of the books she’d taken from Giles’ piles. She eagerly looked for the right way to kill Illyria. Her power was set and her magic more than she could hold. All she needed was a means and then Buffy would be avenged and it wouldn’t matter what Oz or Giles or anyone thought and Willow would be free of this dreadful feeling of guilt and need that was driving her will at the moment.

She might not ever be the same, but she’d come back once, she could do it again. She knew what she was
doing.

The last page, she sighed. But there were words that caught her eyes and suddenly she smiled. It was not a
nice smile.

“I’m ready.”