What Might Have Been.
By Dave Turner.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or anything else, now that’s really very sad. I write this for fun not profit.
Timeline: Some years after BtVS Season 5. Alternate Universe.
Spelling and Grammar: Written in glorious English, English. American idioms are used wherever possible, spelling and grammar is English.
Summery: After visiting the cemetery Willow wants some fun.
Authors Note: I found this during a clear out of my computer files. I wrote this sometime back in late ’05 or early ’06, it was going to be the start of a much larger fic which may have had something to do with ‘The Shield’. It still may at some dim and distant point in the future. However other things came along and I never wrote that fic. So here it is a bit of ‘fluff’. If you want to use it as the beginning of a fic or as the background for a fic carry on be my guest.
What Might Have Been.
In one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries there is a quiet shady corner hidden from the public view. On the first Sunday of every month a slim red-haired woman comes to tend the graves you’d find there if you were to look. She carries a small canvas bag and an armload of flowers.
Sometimes a slightly fuller-figured woman with mousy blonde hair comes and helps, this month the redhead is by herself. Yet she is not quite alone, two or three teenage girls always accompany her. They never help the redhead but stand at a respectful distance, talking quietly amongst themselves as the redhead busies herself at the gravesides. Anyone watching would swear that the girls were guarding the redhead, indeed if you were to approach too closely one of the girls would politely but firmly turn you away.
The redhead makes her way through the bushes and trees that shield this plot from the rest of the graveyard. She stands and surveys the head stones for a moment and makes a quiet ‘Tch-Tch’ sound to herself. Then she walks over to the oldest headstone, kneels down next to it and takes a small brush from her bag and starts to sweep the dust and cobwebs from the stone. Every month it’s the same; first she brushes down the headstone then she removes the dead flowers and replaces them with fresh ones, lastly she pulls up any weeds or blades of grass that threaten to encroach on the grave.
Each month she tends the graves in the same order; Joyce Summers, Buffy Summers, Xander and Anya Harris. Then she starts on the newer graves. Each headstone bares the name of a girl in her mid to late teens; they seem to come from all corners of the world. There are nearly two dozen of them and every two or three months another headstone is added.
After tending the last grave the redhead returns to one particular grave, she sits cross-legged facing the headstone and reads the words she’s read hundreds of times before.
Buffy Anne Summers.
She saved the world,
A tear rolls down her face, she breaths in deeply, composes herself and meditates for a moment to clear the mind.
“Hi Buffy.” She says.
“Hi Willow. What were you thinking burying me in this awful black dress?”
“I’m sorry Buffy….”
“It’s not you who has to spend eternity in the same outfit!”
“Actually it wasn’t my first choice…but you didn’t have much that was suitable!”
“What do you mean ‘not suitable’? I had loads of things…It was Dawn wasn’t it? I’d not been dead two minutes and I bet she was trying on all my best outfits! I didn’t know I was going to die! What’s a girl supposed to do? Think ‘I’ll look good in my coffin in that dress! I’d better buy it just in case!’ Oh well can’t be helped now. How are things in the world of the living?”
“Oh you know much the same. Every now and then we lose a Slayer, then we find another one, it all balances out...you know. How’s the afterlife going?”
“Same-old, same-old…more bliss than I know what to do with… doesn’t change much…”
For a few moments there is an embarrassed silence as the spirit and the witch try to think of something more to say.
“Same time next month then?”
“Yeah sure Will. I really look forward to these visits! See ya’!”
With that the Buffy Spirit vanishes and Willow moves on to the next grave, composing herself again she says.
“Hello Mrs Summers….”
An hour or so latter Willow emerges from the bushes and walks towards one of the service roads that criss-crosses the graveyard. The three teenage girls converge on her and take up protective positions around her. As this little group nears the closest road two cars drive up slowly. Both are black, the first is a large expensive limousine, the second is of a type favoured by the security services.
As Willow draws near the limousine the rear passenger door opens, she gets in without hesitation. After a final scan of the graveyard the three girls get into the second car. Both vehicles speed off.
Willow sits back in the plush leather seats of the limo.
“How was it Sweetie?” Asks Tara, Willow’s long time partner, “Bad visit?”
“Yeah I’m okay Baby.” Replied Willow taking hold of her girlfriend’s hand, “Buffy was complaining about her clothes again! I think she misses the shopping! Any news while I was away?” Tara becomes very business-like at this point and produces a notebook.
“The Mayor of Springfield phoned again. He says the towns being plagued by some type of Mischief Demon…says it takes the form of a ten-year-old boy. He wants to know when we can get rid of it.”
“That man’s a crook,” Muttered Willow darkly, “Tell him that not one Slayer or Witch will set foot in that town of his until payment is in our accounts! Who does he think he is? After trying to rip us off after we got rid of that plague of snakes for him! He’s lucky I don’t put a hex on him! Anything else?”
“The government want’s to know how much we want to get a demon out of the local FBI computer. Also you have a meeting with Professor. Hall at UCLA this afternoon.”
“Nooooo!” Cried Willow, “I can’t! Cancel them for me Sweetie, let’s take the afternoon off and have some fun!” Willow leaned over and kisses her girlfriend lightly on the cheek. “Let’s go to the beach or something? It’s been ages since we had some proper fun together!”
“Last night wasn’t…fun?”
“No! Yes! ‘Cause it was Baby…I mean daytime fun!”
“Anyway we don’t have any swim-suits.” Replied Tara.
“Explain to me how that’s a problem? We have our own private beach!”
At the gateway to the cemetery the Limo carrying the CEO of Slayer Inc. and her Very Personal Assistant hesitates before turning towards the beach.