And The Rest Is Silence: Part Two
by Amywyn
Part Two
*There will be no prayers on your return,
and there will be no party thrown.
And you will find your inheritance
is the silence that’s grown
It is the seed that you’ve sown.*
Willow leaned gently against the gravestone, staring morosely down at the freshly turned dirt. She had been staring at the same pile of dirt for nearly two hours now. She was beginning to think they had the wrong grave.
When she had thought about what it was like for Buffy to patrol, the word boring had never been added to the list of adjectives. She had always considered it exciting, to be honest. Well, in a dangerous and scary kind of way, but exciting all the same. Over the weeks that she and Xander and Oz had taken over the duties, she had had to revise her opinion.
Boring, interspersed with a few moments of near-panicked, terrified excitement.
How had Buffy done this night after night... alone more often than not? Even setting aside the actual slaying part of it, just the wandering through the silent gravestones was enough to send her into a soul-searching depression... and she had Xander and Oz with her. Buffy had done this on her own, with no one to chase away the silence in the hour after hour that nothing happened.
Willow wanted to abandon the nightly ritual after only the few weeks she had been doing it... could she really blame Buffy after years?
Forcefully pulling herself away from that line of thought, Willow lifted her eyes from what would hopefully be David Paresis final resting place to survey her companions. Her gaze fell first on Oz. He knelt a few feet away from her, his fingers gently tracing the name on the gravestone in front of him. She smiled despite her growing boredom and depression.
How she would have gotten through these last couple months without his quiet, gentle support she didn’t know. He had been on the patrol with her as often as Xander, only missing a few nights out of necessity. No matter what else was going on, gig or no gig, he was there. On the evenings the Dingoes were playing, he simply searched the various graveyards afterward until he found her in the night, and added his own dry wit to Xander’s more obvious humor to help chase away demons no one could truly see.
And it was so much more beyond just that, too. Beyond the dark nights, beyond the boring or frightening patrols, there were the afternoons when he would listen to the same story a dozen times without complaint. The times far too great in number to count when he would smile and agree with her hope - no matter how unfounded and blind it was - that *this* time Giles would find her. And the times that he held her as she wept when Giles didn’t.
There were times that his presence alone soothed her. Tonight was one of those times.
She shifted her gaze to Xander, and she had to force back an immediate annoyed response to what she saw. He was leaning cross-legged against a marble headstone, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, obviously asleep. Somehow, she had expected better of her oldest friend.
But, then again, she had expected better of him for the last two months and she had been continually disappointed. One would think she would learn.
Xander didn’t seem able to talk about Buffy at all. Not in any way, shape or form. Any time her name came up in conversation, no matter how, his eyes immediately fell to the ground at his feet; as if there were some kind of answers lurking in the dirt. He would get defensive for little or no reason, and was downright antagonistic about the patrols.
Willow let out a sigh, shaking her head in frustration at this latest act of defiance to their patrol effort. At least Giles had been up-front about not wanting her to patrol and why. Oz, too, had voiced a few objections. Both of them, however, had eventually accepted that she would not, *could* not, let it go and done what they could to help with little more complaint. Xander, on the other hand, while following along dutifully behind her each night, never let her forget that he was against it.
On the one hand, she understood why he didn’t want her doing this. Protective was one thing; it was kindof sweet actually, but the way he was going at it was anything but. Snide comments that never quite managed to not be cruel seemed to be almost all he could come up with to say to her anymore. And then there were these asinine, childish stunts - delaying the time they started by any means possible, deliberately forgetting the weapons so they had to go back... falling asleep on the job.
Or at least pretending to. As she continued to watch him, his eyes blinked half-open and then immediately shut again.
She didn’t bother holding back her annoyance this time.
“Xander,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation, “you may as well give it up. I know you’re awake.”
His eyes came fully open at her statement, fixing on her face immediately.
“The point is, I could be at home, in bed, asleep instead of staring at a boring pile of dirt. Who was the brain trust that decided this guy would join the ranks of the Army of Darkness anyway?”
Hurt flashed quickly, briefly in Willow’s eyes, and for that brief moment he regretted the words. Just as quick came the weary, already-defeated anger, and he regretted them even more.
Not that he would tell her so.
“Fine.” she finally said, her voice soft and tired, “Whatever. You were right, I was wrong, and now you can go home and get your beauty sleep.”
Oz came up quietly behind her and she slipped her hand into his, her eyes never leaving Xander’s face. She turned without a word and began the short trek back to Oz’s van, Oz following along without protest or question, his fingers tightening briefly on her own in comfort.
Xander’s eyes closed for a moment in both anger and shame, then he was pushing himself up off the ground and trudging after them, knowing that no matter how mad at him Willow was, they would not drive off and leave him in the middle of Sunnydale Cemetery on his own.
When he reached the van Willow wouldn’t even look at him, keeping her eyes focused on the deserted street ahead of them, her mouth set in a thin line of anger and eyes full of betrayal and sadness.
He winced as the sound of the engine split the night, staring down at the floorboard between Willow and Oz, knowing that Willow had not deserved that. Hadn’t deserved anything he had been dishing out over the past few weeks, in all honesty.
“Sorry.” he finally said, when the silence became too much for his conscience to bear.
Willow started at the sound of his voice, her head turning slightly in his direction, eyes still flashing things he had never intended to cause. She turned to look him fully in the face, wondering what had brought on the apology; wondering just what part of his recent behavior he was apologizing for.
“I just,” he paused, unsure how to adequately express himself, “hate this.”
Well, that was lame. But it seemed to have worked, at least a little bit. Willow’s eyes were no longer angry at least. Now they were just sad.
“I mean,” he began again, “we really don’t know what we’re doing or how to do it right. I hate that one of us could get hurt or killed because of some stupid mistake that we probably wouldn’t even know we were making.”
Willow said nothing, just letting him talk it out as much as he needed to.
“I hate that Giles is getting older by the day. I hate that Buffy’s mom can barely speak to any of us...” his voice trailed off, as always, at the mention of her name. Softer, quieter, he finally continued, “I hate that we don’t even know...”
“I know, Xander.” Willow interrupted him, unwilling to let him finish that thought aloud. “I know. It’s okay.”
She flashed him a quick, sad understanding smile, then turned back to face the ribbon of road in front of them. Her hand reached out, and Oz’s was there almost before she knew what she was reaching for. She squeezed his fingers once, then just enjoyed the comfort of his touch for the next several minutes.
Silently, privately, each of them finished Xander’s aborted sentence. I hate that we don’t even know if she’s alive.
To Be Continued...
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