The Love That Remains

[madimpossibledreamer]

tbh the hardest thing about writing this chapter was the title.  that, and xander figuring out what he was gonna say.  I finally narrowed the title it down to saudade because of the facts of the case, because some things have been altered permanently and there's no going back, but there's also happiness through the grief and allowing the grief to cleanse and wash away so they can move on to the future and let go of the past...what, I have a lot of feelings so complicated about this chapter okay
Willow doesn’t get much of a presence in the first mission.  That’s deliberate—she doesn’t go out in the field until she has the demonstrated ability to not die.

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: They deal with the aftermath of the case, which includes a fae funeral.
Word Count: 2180
Rating: Teen

          In the end, it’s Elaine who goes on the shopping trip with Buffy, but she’s more than happy to spend money on them.  Xander never learns how much she’d actually heard about what went down, but she’s definitely more gracious, even if she retains the same amount of poise.
          They drag him along on one of the trips, Buffy snickering at the fact that he’d rather face a demon horde rather than go shopping, and Elaine mentioning more primly, “This is for the funeral.  Buffy assures me you have nothing to wear.”  At least the humans she’d vampirically drained had mostly recovered, though Alisha mentions they’re a little off and privately he wonders about souls, but the Fae that had gotten eaten had yet to return, and if they’re holding a funeral…  He settles down after that, long enough for them to pick out an on-sale decently classy navy turtleneck (“it’s not like you overheat, so it’s all-year, plus we get a discount,” Buffy whispers), and black slacks.  They compromise on the leather gloves that catch his eye and the flashy silver-buckled belt (because they insisted on not leaving the store before he picked some belt) and on the fact that he won’t agree to any of the fancy shoes (but he insists on not leaving the shoe store before they buy the boots with a ridiculous amount of buckles and threatens to just ‘acquire’ them if neither Buffy nor Elaine will agree to buy them for him).
          “I didn’t realize it before, but you’re such a goth.”  They are shopping for a funeral; dark colors are kinda a given.  He ignores the fact that most of his wardrobe is dark colors, aside from the Hawaiian and a couple show-based shirts he’d managed to snag.  “Do you want makeup?  Because I can get you makeup,” Buffy muses, and he casts her a sidelong glance.
          “You want makeup.”  He knows what she’s angling for.
          Elaine stares at him speculatively.  “I don’t know if he has the face for it.”
          “We could paint your fingernails silver.”  Augh, she’s really good at this ‘tempting’ thing.
          Still, he has to try to assert his independence before he’s dragged in.  “I’m not a shop window dummy!”
          “Dummies don’t make as fun faces or noises,” Buffy agrees, and there’s no escape from Slayer strength.

          They’re significantly more solemn for the funeral.  Neither of them are wearing their recently acquired makeup, though Xander assumes it’s a mere reprieve.  It’s not like they have any bodies to bury, but they’d been invited by Tristan and it was impolite to refuse.  The Fae still seem to be burying empty coffins, but while he’d offered to lend a shoveling arm or even a shoulder, he’s laughed off.  “Mingle,” he’s told.  Even Alisha’s here, though he hadn’t filled her in on too much of what had happened, and it seemed the Fae were as good as their word because nobody had found traces of the battle.  Willow’s here, too, having found some black witch-like dress.  She’s quiet and practically glued to his side, merely squeaking when some attractive Fae servant had attempted to talk to her.
          Gjallar’s joined the requiem choir, overseeing the proceedings with a calm, collected attitude he just kind of envies, because he is feeling way too exposed like this.  Each of the five he’d managed to snag from the Nameless Mist has come to thank him personally, and he’s not used to the attention and honestly pretty close to just going Spiky Form, wrapping his wings around himself, and disappearing.  It’s not even like it’d be hard, given that it’s midnight and all.  At least the turtleneck is soft.  Giles at least seems to be enjoying the attention, though, again, he doesn’t seem to mind the flirting from a rather attractive Fae woman.  Once again making him a hypocrite, but Xander’s patient.  Their maybe-not-so-out-of-practice Chaos Sorceror will come around eventually.  If all else fails, Buffy will nag the man into being nice to him.
          Kryvi stands, largely transparent but no less present, beside him, arms crossed.  He’s even managed to change from his usual outfit into a suit, somehow.  It looks good on him.  Of course, he’s sensed Xander’s uncomfortable and is spending most of his time glaring at anyone who dares approach.  Even if it’s Buffy.  She just rolls her eyes, entirely unimpressed by the Patented Glower.
          Elaine still looks out of place in her mourning dress, but not as upset about it, and her brother stands next to her in an equally pricey black suit.
          A special spot on a wooden table they’ve managed to drag out into the forest (Xander is carefully not asking) was prepared for Kryvi’s empty form, Arawn, and Kalvul, and Asmosaos, and Eghira, and he can feel the quiet pride and solemn respect (well, from most of them; Anzai hasn’t come down from the hyper bundle of excitement and keeps asking about when he’s gonna get to fight with Buffy as his wielder next, and for once, Yachi’s disapproval is not directed towards Xander—he half wonders if she thinks he’s too similar to her brother and therefore a bad influence).
          Elaine steps forward to the table as a hush falls, cupping her hands in the basin of water as instructed.  “Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.”  There’s a roar of approval, and she startles, but Xander grins.  He’d been listening to the lectures Giles gave—that there were some important similarities between Egyptian and Fae culture, specifically that to be forgotten was to die the Second Death.
          She gasps as it starts to glow and evaporates into a will ‘o wisp.  It floats, green and beautiful, out of her hand, and then hangs in place in the clearing.
          “Beautifully done,” Tristan murmurs, too soft for maybe Giles and Alisha and Willow to hear, but audible to everyone else.  She blushes slightly.
          “You have done your duty,” he states when it’s his turn, and his is a softer blue.
          Alisha has her turn after a few other Fae, who seem to be saying the traditional (but no less heartfelt!) Fae funeral things (okay, Xander’s basing that mostly on nonverbal cues and Giles’ fascinated reactions).
          “I haven’t heard the story and don’t know if I ever will,” she begins, and it seems she’s actually going to go for the longer, more traditional human sort of thing.  “But for so long, I’ve been blind.  Blind to this whole other side of existence, and…it’s thanks to beings such as you that I could live in blissful ignorance.  Thank you.”
          The clearing is silent after hers becomes a welcoming orange wisp, and she looks a little worried as she turns to look at the rest of them.  “Was that…okay?”
          “It was very human.”  Tristan’s voice cracks a little from the emotion as he responds, and she gets nods from some, smiles from others.
          “If it wasn’t acceptable, a wisp wouldn’t form, at least, so the books say,” Giles adds.
          Even Kryvi tries his hand, and grins, eerie in the glow, and giddy when a red one forms despite the fact that the water fell through his cupped hands with the words, “A salute from one warrior to another.”
          “I…would’ve liked to meet you,” Willow whispers shyly, smiling at the orange wisp that forms, although there’s a little chuckling when she realizes it’s following her and ducks.
          “The magic likes you, Will,” Xander stage-whispers to a few chuckles, even as a few other Fae go.
          “The circle of life is the circle of death.  Live your utmost in both.”  Gjallar’s is an interesting case, since she has to hold the water in her beak and speak, so she sounds a little weird.  She still manages a blue wisp, though.
          And then it’s his turn.  Pashran might be good with words, but he’s still working on it, and he’s still a dumb teen who’s still blundering his way through a world that’s so much bigger than him.  And they didn’t have to die.  If he’d been a little faster, or they’d been a little faster…but it was their choice to sign up for a fight they weren’t sure they could win.  Senseless deaths happen every day, but the choice to try to reunite a family when it offers the Fae no benefit…that should be honored.  “I…really don’t know what to say,” he confesses, and there’s a definite hush that falls, because he’s pretty sure that’s unheard of.  “Don’t worry, you did your jobs, because we kicked its ass?  I hope that I’ll live for a fraction of the years you lived and see a fraction of the wonders you have?”  He takes a deep breath, because he’s losing his composure again, and everyone’s eyes are on him and he’s going to cry with everyone watching.  “Or maybe I’ll just quote someone, because I’m terrible at being original.  The future is born out of pain, and you chose to follow your Lord Tristan into uncertainty, writing the future with your pain so that others would not have to share your fate.”  He manages a smile.  “I’ve never met a group of people who are so very Narn.  If nothing else, you have shaped my future, making me be a different person than I was yesterday.”
          And his wisp turns silver.  It’s a surprise that he gets anything at all, because magic tends to go wonky when he’s around.
          All he gets are silent, respectful nods, and he feels smaller and oh-so-insignificant, but that’s the beauty of an unfair universe, isn’t it?
          “This guy likes to grandstand, seriously.  How am I supposed to follow up that?” Buffy complains to the water, and he chuckles and tries to disappear without actually disappearing because Buffy would definitely kick his butt for that.  “You let me be free, but reminded me there’s more to all this than just having fun and kicking butt.  We do what we do for a reason.”  Hers burns gold.
          When she gets back to her place, they look around at the clearing now full of will ‘o wisps.  It’s so much brighter than just the small Fae lights, making the clearing almost bright as daylight.  He doesn’t know the lore, but he likes to imagine that some day someone’s going to get off the trail and find this little clearing and see one of the wisps, just for a second, a magic memorial remembering their existence and the ending thereof.

          “Excuse me, what’s going on in the dining room?” Giles demands.  Xander’s stretched out to his full length on the couch, he’s full of that pizza he’d been craving, and Giles is bothering to speak to him and use polite words if not tone.  It’s not perfect, but this is his home, and he’s content.  If he was part cat demon he’d be purring.
          “Nerida came to clean.”  She’s still wearing the maid outfit.  Apparently she finds it funny.  He almost gets it, if he squints.  “But chefghost is seeing that as an intrusion into hisher domain, and is throwing a fit.  It’s better to keep out of their way; come to the slob side with us.  We have pizza.”
          “Besides, Xander hasn’t told you about the best part of all this.  He got Lord Tristan to break off any relations with the Watcher’s Council.”  Buffy’s beaming.  He half suspects she’s stuffing him with pizza until he can’t move so she can paint his nails, but while he sees the insidious trap he’s not sure he’s motivated enough to avoid it.  He does, however, wave that off, blushing, as Giles turns to him, hope and astonishment in his eyes.
          “It doesn’t quite go that far; Buffy’s exaggerating.  I did ask him how far he could go.  He agreed to, at the very least, frostier reactions toward the Watcher’s Council.”  He’s not sure how much they interact, so it might not change much.  And he’s definitely not sure how far it’ll go with Tristan’s superiors.  But he’d gotten a promise from one of the Fae, and is pretty sure it means something (and also that Tristan wouldn’t have agreed to it if the condition was impossible.
          “You are the pettiest half-devil I’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” the ex-Watcher exclaims, and he exchanges glances with Willow and Buffy.
          “…Uh.  Was that a compliment?  I honestly couldn’t tell.”
          Giles ignores that.  “Did they ever discover what her full plan was?”
          Xander sighs—so that’s bothering him, too.  “Seems like she was looking for something, but they haven’t discovered what yet, and obviously Amalgam isn’t around to tell us anymore, not that she was talkative in the first place.”  If it’s a problem, it’ll pop back up.  In the half-devil’s experience, it doesn’t go any other way.
          “We’re watching Darkman.  You can tell us everything that’s wrong with the movie,” Willow suggests shyly, and Buffy jumps up, marches Giles into a seat, and forces a slice of pizza into his hand.
          “I strongly suspect that something in my life went very wrong,” he complains, but settles down easily enough.