•••

“Angel, answer the goddamned phone,” Wil muttered softly. In response to the blonde’s request, Angel reached for the offending item, which was ringing incessantly—and had been for the better part of five minutes. He wondered who it was, since it was only noon and most people would call the office and leave a message. Very few people had his private number, so that narrowed the list down considerably.

“Hello?” Angel said quietly into the telephone.

Wil, who had drifted off to sleep once Angel silenced the phone, woke up again when the dark vampire left the bed. He sat up, confused, watching Angel walk out of the bedroom and into his living room. Curious, Wil rolled out of bed and pulled on his pyjama bottoms, which he’d left lying across one of Angel’s armchairs.

When he got into the living room, he found Angel listening intently to whatever was being said, a severe frown on his face. He could have easily gotten closer to Angel and listened to the other side of the conversation, but he didn’t. After all, Angel did occasionally have private conversations that didn’t warrant his involvement. Wil did note that Angel’s side of the conversation was limited to encouraging noises.

A few short minutes later, Angel hung up the phone. He looked rather grim. “What is it?” Wil asked, concerned.

Angel set the phone on a side table and rested his hands on his knees, staring at the floor. “Tara’s dead.”

•••

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Cordelia asked Fred as she swept into the hotel. She’d gotten a phone message on her cell saying that Angel wanted to see her right away. That meant cutting short a shopping trip to find Gunn something for his birthday.

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know, really. He just said he wanted to see me here, at this time.”

The two young women watched as, one by one, every member of Angel Investigations filed in. The last two were Wil and Angel. Both vampires looked distinctly unhappy.

“What’s this all about, Angel?” Gunn asked impatiently.

Angel looked over at Xander, the longtime Slayerette turned demon seer. “I got a call from a contact in Sunnydale today,” He said. “Before you start asking, I’ll tell you. Tara was killed two days ago.”

Xander didn’t even feel Oz’s hands helping him into a nearby chair. He couldn’t believe that she was gone, just like that.

“You mean Willow’s Tara?” Cordelia asked. Angel nodded. Recognition lit the faces of the other investigators. None of them really knew Tara, or Willow for that matter, but they’d heard stories from Xander. He had regarded the young witch very highly, and her death was obviously a shock to him.

“The reason I asked you here is because we need your help,” Angel continued.

“Why?” Gunn asked.

Angel sat down. “Because Wil, Xander and I need to go back to the funeral—it’s going to be in Sunnydale, and that’s not a place the three of us need to go without backup here.”

“Four.”

“What?” Angel said, looking at Oz.

“I’m going,” Oz said. His decision to go was based mostly on Xander; his mate didn’t handle this kind of loss very well at all.

“What about this place?” Gunn asked, looking pointedly at the office. “Who’s going to take care of visions and things?”

“Whoever doesn’t go,” Angel replied. “I figured it would be you, Cordelia, Wes and Fred.”

The foursome nodded their agreement. Xander could call in any visions he had and between the four remaining investigators, they could handle most of the stuff that might occur.

“When to we leave?” Xander asked, having found his voice again.

“When the sun sets,” Wil answered. “Funeral’s tomorrow.”

•••

Wil curled up in the front seat of Angel’s car, watching in the rear view mirror as Xander huddled next to Oz. None of them were looking forward to this trip, each for their own reason.

Angel didn’t want to see Buffy. While it was true that he had recovered from their relationship, that didn’t mean he actually liked to see her. She dragged up too many memories to ever be a welcome presence in his life; reliving every moment of some of his worst mistakes wasn’t conducive to being a good warrior for The Powers. Now that he had had, and lost, Connor, Buffy was an even more painful topic. She had always stood for what he couldn’t have, and now that she had miraculously gained a sister while similar such miracles gave and took a son, Angel would rather stake himself than talk to her again.

Oz was only going to support Xander. Nothing waited for the werewolf in Sunnydale but bad memories. After all, he was going to the funeral of his ex-girlfriend’s lover. The last time he’d seen Willow, when he’d hooked up with Xander, she had made it clear that there was no room in her life for him. Oz had taken that to heart, giving up on his sometimes-hometown for good…or so he'd thought.

Xander, of course, had almost as little reason to return. His relationship with Anya was nonexistent before his departure with Oz, and Willow had distanced herself from him some time ago. Seeing Buffy with Riley had been the last straw for the young man. Now he was going back, but that didn’t bring him any peace. He was a demon now, something that Buffy hunted. He also worked with her ex, Angel. The only reason Xander had to return was that he had genuinely liked Tara. She never treated him like an idiot, something that Buffy, Willow, Anya and Giles could never claim. Tara had in a very short amount of time endeared her self greatly to Xander.

Finished studying up on his companions, Wil turned to himself. He was going because he, like Xander, had really felt affection for the little blonde witch. She never failed to make Wil feel welcome, even when others were determined to run him off. They’d even shared a laugh or two, when nobody was looking. But Tara’s funeral wasn’t what Wil was dreading. It was Buffy. She had made her feelings really clear when he’d left last time, and she wasn’t one to mellow. Absence definitely didn’t make the heart grow fonder in Buffy’s case. While Wil didn’t feel quite as strongly for her now as he did then, it would still be painful to have her treat him poorly. And if Riley was there, things could get extremely ugly indeed.

Wil also worried about Buffy’s reaction to Angel showing up with her one of her former best friend, her current best friend’s ex boyfriend, and her ex archenemy. The images Wil came up with were uniformly ugly. He couldn’t see a way for Buffy to be understanding. The many changes that had occurred to all of them were remarkable, but difficult to swallow.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Angel said, breaking the silence Wil hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Not liking this trip,” Wil whispered. “Bad idea all around. We should have stayed in L. A. and sent the others instead.”

Angel grinned weakly. It would have been funny to send the ‘home’ team to Sunnydale. The only problems were that Cordelia wouldn’t be caught dead in Sunnydale now, and Wesley was vehement about his not being welcome there. He was also quite paranoid about being attacked for his new status.

•••

The situation in Sunnydale was so bad that the arrival of the four exiles didn’t even register for almost ten minutes. Angel stood in the doorway of the Magic Box, waiting for Buffy to acknowledge his presence. It wasn’t the Slayer, though, that noticed them, but Giles. He must have flown back from England for the funeral. The Watcher looked truly old for the first time in Angel’s memory; he hadn’t looked quite that bad even when Angelus had killed Jenny. Perhaps it was the way Giles was when Buffy had died; Angel hadn’t been there.

“Angel,” Giles said. “And…”

Angel stepped aside, revealing the others.

“Xander,” Buffy said dully. “Spike?”

Wil winced reflexively. “Buffy.”

“Where’s Willow?” Xander asked, looking around. Buffy pointed to the training room. “Why?” Buffy just shook her head.

“She needs…time,” Giles replied. The L.A. gang nodded slowly. Time they understood all too well.

“You’re different,” Buffy said to Wil. “You…look weird.”

“Thank you,” Wil replied softly.

Giles peered more closely at the vampire. “Why did you leave?”

Wil looked over at Buffy. “I wasn’t wanted here, and Angel needed me.”

Buffy swiveled to look at Angel. “Needed you? We *needed* you, damn it!”

Wil winced. Perhaps she was right. Had he been there, perhaps Tara wouldn’t have died. Xander was the next to speak, however. “What about me? I left too.”

Buffy grimaced. “You we needed too, Xander.”

“Where’s Riley?” Xander asked, wondering suddenly where the ex-commando was. That question really made Buffy twitch.

“Somewhere in Vietnam,” Buffy replied weakly.

“Gone again?” Wil asked. It figured that Riley would leave. After all, hadn’t everyone else left Buffy? She had no one that hadn’t left at some point or another.

Before Buffy could say anything, the door swung open as Dawn ran into the shop. “Hey, Buffy. Sorry I’m late. The movie just got out…” Dawn’s voice faded as she saw Xander, Oz, Wil and Angel. “Spike?” She whispered. “Xander?”

Wil grinned lopsidedly as Dawn launched herself at him. “Spike!” Wil caught her easily, noting that she’d grown.

“It’s Wil now, luv,” Wil whispered in her ear. She jerked a little but nodded.

“Cool,” She whispered back.

Giles took off his glasses to polish them. “I assume you’re here for the funeral?”

“Yes,” Angel replied for all of them.

“Ah, then it would be inappropriate for me to ask why you’ve been accompanied by three of Buffy’s former colleagues?” Giles remarked.

“Perhaps a bit awkward right now,” Angel answered.

Giles nodded sagely. “Very well. We shall broach the topic a bit later. As it happens, you’ve arrived just in time. As per Tara’s wishes, her service, such as it is, will be held tonight. She wanted Spike to be able to attend,” Giles said.

“Wil,” Wil said reflexively. Buffy didn’t notice it, but Giles did. His only response was a single raised eyebrow.

•••

Angel watched as Wil stared at his old crypt. It had been the site of so many pivotal events in his childe’s life. Now it would stand a solemn watch as they witnessed the conclusion of one of Wil’s friends’ lives. He knew Wil was hurting, but now was not the time to say something, or offer a comforting embrace. Mostly he didn’t want to mar the service with his dust when Buffy staked him for doing so.

Buffy and Dawn had managed to get Willow cleaned up enough to attend, although the witch still looked like she was falling apart at the seams. Wil winced when he saw the bruises, scratches, and dark circles under her eyes. Xander had taken one step in her direction and then practically ran away behind Oz. Now the Raphe was meditating almost continuously. The witch was radiating anguish. Wil was desperately glad he wasn’t an empath.

According to Dawn, the ceremony was to be pagan in nature. She knew parts of it, but was worried about the rest. Willow was in no condition to say anything and Buffy couldn’t seem to get more than a couple of sentences out at a time. She didn’t know what to say, and Giles was completely overwhelmed with keeping his witch and his Slayer from falling to pieces.

All the attendees stepped, or were carried, into the circle as Dawn cast it. Willow shrieked as she felt the magic shimmer through the air. Buffy began to cry. Giles reached for Buffy, who began to weep on his shoulder. Dawn cradled Willow, who had fallen down. She looked up desperately at Wil. The ceremony had to be finished. Something had to be said.

Angel looked at Wil, who was staring up at the night sky, his eyes glistening with tears. Xander shuffled nervously, wondering what was going to happen and hoping that whatever it was occurred quickly so he could get away. Oz just watched Willow, wishing he could do something to ease her pain, and thus Xander’s.

‘I am a little church, no great cathedral,
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities.
I do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
I am not sorry when the sun and rain make April.

Wil paused as Willow’s plaintive wail echoed through the trees.

‘My life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving
finding and losing and laughing and crying children,
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness.

Again, he stopped, this time because Buffy had sunk to the ground next to Willow, who was by now tearing at her hair, having escaped Dawn’s hold. He pushed on, though, since it had to be finished.

‘Around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and death and glory and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope, and I wake to a perfect patience of mountains.

I am a little church, far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish, at peace with nature
I do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
I am not sorry when silence becomes singing.

By now Willow’s keening was continuous and Wil had to raise his voice, his deep baritone resonating well beyond the confines of the cemetery. Dawn sensed that the ceremony was near its end and stood up, holding the urn containing Tara’s ashes.

‘Winter by spring I lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Her Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of Her presence,
welcoming humbly Her light and proudly Her darkness.’3

As the last word faded, Dawn raised the urn and threw it high in the air. At its apex, a bright flash of light emanated from it, spreading down to the circle below. When the light faded, the urn, and with it Tara, had disappeared.

•••

3 i am a little church(no great cathedral) e. e. cummings