Rating: G
Author: Trekker
Pairing: none
Fandom: Buffy
He was sitting at his desk--oh, yes, he, Xander Harris had a *desk*--when the call came in.
"Watcher's Council. Xander Harris."
An unexpected voice answered.
"Hey. Xander."
Xander swung his feet off his desk and sat up, suddenly tense, as though he needed to be on guard against someone an ocean and two continents away.
"Angel?"
"Yeah. Look. I've... I know you guys are... well. Look, I just thought you should know."
Xander leaned forward a little more, feeling his heart already beginning to pound. Things that people felt other people should know were never good.
"Know... what exactly?"
"It's Cordelia."
There was a long pause, then. Any other time, Xander would have jumped on the opportunity for snark, but at that moment, he was only silent, listening with his throat suddenly aching and dry and his eyes burning and damp. Because he had a feeling he knew what Angel's next words would be.
"She's. She died last night."
"Oh," was all he could think to say.
Then there was only the crackle of the international phone line until Angel said, "Yeah. So. Funeral's on Saturday."
"Right."
Silence until the click. Xander listened to the dial tone for a long time, staring out the window at the sunlight. Remembering. Bright smile. Surprising gentleness, hidden deep. Then he set the phone down, and picked it back up. Dialed.
***
Andrew had seen Rupert looking this lost before. But not lately. Lately, they'd mostly been past all that, or getting there. But now, as he set the phone back in its cradle far too gently, he looked, for a moment, like he was giving up.
Just for a moment, and then he shut his eyes, bowed his head.
Then looked back up, blinking a little too quickly but otherwise normal.
"Rupert? Who was--"
"Cordelia Chase," he said.
"Really? She was on the phone? Wasn't she in a coma?"
"What? Oh. No. No, it... it was Xander on the phone. It's... Cordelia. She's... she's gone."
Gone? Andrew's first thought was ?who would steal a coma patient?' And then he got it.
"Oh. Oh. I see."
And now Rupert was shaking his head slowly and pulling off his glasses.
"How many more children have to die?" he said, softly.
Andrew told himself, firmly, that the question was rhetorical, and resisted speaking.
"The world is... a little bit darker today," Rupert said.
He could remember Cordelia, a few years ahead of him and the girl everyone knew, with the perfect clothes, the perfect smile. The urge to speak got a little too strong, and Andrew blurted out, "That girl had style."
Rupert smiled, just a little.
"She certainly did."
***
So many dead, in such a short time. And still, one more hit her as hard as all the others. Cordelia. Weird to think of a world without Cordelia in it. Buffy was thinking as she packed.
Remembering high school, and wondering at how far away it seemed. Remembering homecoming, senior year, and how it had seemed so important to be queen. Stuck in that cabin with Cordy, so pissed off at her. And how, back then, it had been so important to her, to have a normal life, a future.
Now she did. And Tara and Anya and Cordelia... they didn't. Never would.
She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a cool teardrop fall on her hand.
***
Angel stood off, separated from the rest under a tree, watching from afar. Willow couldn't stop looking to him, as the preacher spoke on over the open grave, and a soft California breeze caressed them all. Kennedy's hand was warm and sweaty in her own, since Willow hadn't quite been able to let go of her since they'd gotten out of the car.
Hadn't expected her to, but she was glad that she came. Everything was solemn and awkward, more than at most funerals. The LA people and her people stood on opposite sides of the grave, separated.
They didn't look evil. They just looked like people, mourning. Even Angel just looked like a person, huddled in on himself and so alone.
She was the only one of them who could go up to him, after, to touch his shoulder and say she was sorry. Then, even she had to walk away, back to the others, Kennedy and Giles and Andrew and Dawn and Buffy and Xander, and for awhile, none of them could even meet *her* eyes. Like even touching him tainted her.
But once they got back to the hotel, once they'd all gathered in Giles and Andrew's room and Xander started crying, it all reset, and she could hug him, and then Buffy hugged him, and she hugged Giles, and all of them who had known her were crying, then, and Dawn and Andrew and Kennedy were all looking a little shell-shocked.
But it was ok. Because somehow, it almost felt good to grieve. Simple, honest pain for a life lost. Cleansing, like fire.
It meant they could still feel. It meant they were still alive.
In the end, that was what mattered most.
The End