The Stonecutter: The Stonecutter
by Gaius Petronius
Spoilers: None - Written for another occasion, this piece seems appropriate since the WB announced the cancellation of Angel.

Disclaimer: Thank you Joss Whedon for allowing us lowly myth makers to borrow your wonderful characters. We promise to treat them well (yeah, right!) and not do anything so foul as to make money off them!

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The Stonecutter

Buffy's eyes darted from stone to stone as she moved stealthily through the thin flowing mists in the cemetery. The night had been uneventful but she had stayed far longer than normal. Something was different tonight. Yes, it was the same cemetery, the familiar rows of graves, the towering trees that seemed to hang low at night as if weeping under cover of darkness.

Yet, she was seeing things more clearly on this particular evening. The figures carved into the gravestones and monuments, in spite of the dim light and drifting fog, stood out more clearly. The inscriptions were sharp and distinct. Tonight she realized just how many graves there were in the cemetery. Most were modest, small, many unfinished. In their midst towered dozens of massive crypts. Among these a few were elaborate and ornate, their surfaces covered with flowing carved figures and large fields of text. Others were sharp, stark and soaring, their bold lines abstract and awe inspiring.

Buffy had paused many times during patrol, not just to contemplate these but also the rows of other stones that seemed to roll away into the unending fog enshrouded distance. Perhaps that was why she had stayed out longer than usual. Now here it was less than two hours before dawn, and she could sense the dim shades of grey forming at the base of the eastern horizon.

She was about to turn and leave by the north gate when she spotted a moving figure among the stationary black and grey markers. He wasn't a vampire, that she could tell. Wrapped in a long grey trench coat, he was kneeling down before a small bare stone. His hands moved rapidly across the flat empty surface as the tool he clasped firmly chipped away at the blank granite.

As Buffy approached, he stood up, oblivious to her presence, and stepped back from the gravestone to study his work. Not sensing any threat, Buffy walked up to his side and followed his gaze to the modest stone in front of them.

"Not bad," she said quietly.

"Thank you," the tall figure replied. A breeze shifted the mists about their feet and stirred his long thin strands of brown hair so that they slipped down across his forehead.

"So you're a stonecutter?" she asked.

The figure nodded.

"Weird time to be working," Buffy said.

"I always carve at this hour," the figure said softly.

"You know, you look familiar."

"I used to work here much more in the past."

"No kidding?" Buffy grinned, "Which ones are yours?"

"A couple of the big crypts up there on the hill in the older part of the cemetery," he mused. "And a few smaller ones scattered around."

"Oh yeah," Buffy mused, "I used to stop up there some . . . but I guess I don't do it much anymore." She stared at the ground and scuffed her foot against the grass wet with dew. "The carvings were so sad . . . sometimes they made me cry."

"I know," he answered softly, "so many of the stones here are sad."

For a moment neither spoke.

"But many are funny," he finally said with a slight grin and his brown eyes sparkled.

"Oh, yeah!" Buffy smiled back, "some are so wild, I just can't stand it! I hang around them a lot."

"Each has its own story."

Buffy nodded.

"Did you ever notice how so many of them are unfinished?" Buffy asked.

The figure nodded again.

"And some are just butt ugly!" she continued crinkling her nose.

"That's all right," he answered, "the carvers are new. They'll get better with time. I'm happy to see them though."

"What is it?" Buffy asked, sensing a change in her companion's tone of voice.

The figure didn't answer for a moment but only stared up at the lightening sky.

"The cemetery will be closing, you know," he said softly.

"Yeah," Buffy said, "I thought I heard something like that."

She looked up at him, puzzlement spread across her features that were softened by the dawn light.

"There's still plenty of room," she protested, "and I see stonecutters working here all the time . . . well except like now." Buffy grinned at him. "Why?" she said plaintively.

" . . . time . . ." he answered softly. "With time comes change."

The two stood silently for a few minutes more.

"Is it finished?" she finally asked.

The stonecutter examined the small monument silently for a moment. He then nodded in satisfaction.

"I think so."

"I like it . . . it's . . . peaceful."

"Thank you," he said.

Shadows from the growing dawn spilled across the cemetery lawn as the fog began to dissipate with the increasing daylight.

"Wow, I . . . I gotta go!" Buffy said abruptly as she glanced up at the sky. She began to run down the path leading over to the north gate. Suddenly she stopped. Turning back towards the figure, she called out.

"Will you be coming back? You can still sneak in over the fence."

"I don't know," he answered.

"Please do," Buffy said, "There are a lot of stones I really like, not just the big ones. But I don't see those cutters much anymore."

"I know. I miss them as well."

"Well . . . bye!" she said.

The tall figure in the trenchcoat smiled and waved. As she sped towards the gate, Buffy glanced over her shoulder one final time. The last thing she saw of him before he faded away in the morning light was the small pen grasped firmly in his right hand as he waved farewell.

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