When Xander found her, there was nothing left; just a dried out, empty husk. Her once soft skin was cracked and cold as he’d smoothed his hands down her arms, before taking hold of her delicate fingers.
There was so much blood.
Tears fell unbidden from his eyes, forming little puddles of disappointment on her hands; his own slightly calloused fingers rubbed the droplets like moisturizer into her ashen skin.
Daylight flickered away as the burning building in front of him smoldered and crumbled to the ground, and still he didn’t move. His eyes traveled over the length of her body, taking in the outfit she had chosen to fight this war in, and inevitably, to die in. They wandered up the length of her leg, past the swell of her breast, before lingering on her neck…
The bones were twisted at an unnatural angle, causing her lifeless eyes to stare down towards the ground that she lay on. The wound on her neck was vile to look at, the flesh torn and splintered. It appeared more like some rabid animal had gotten its jaws in her, rather then the bite of a vampire that had finally gotten one good day.
The pool of blood had congealed around her head in an obscene replication of a halo, and a bitter laugh died in Xander’s throat at the thought of the Angel who was responsible.
The sound of the firetrucks in the distance broke Xander from his silent eulogy, and he knew he needed to move quickly; there was no time for him to take her body away from this place. The wound on her neck meant she needed a more permanent form of disposition, and the thought of severing her head from her once powerful body made bile rise in his throat. The heat of the nearby flames made the decision for him.
He took one last moment to memorize her features; his red-rimmed eyes closed as he placed a soft kiss on her brow before he lifted her from her resting place and carried her toward the building. He maneuvered around the falling embers; his body barely registered the heat, absorbed as it was in the icy creature he carried in his arms.
A moment later he was out of the building and in the shadows offered by the nearby trees. He watched the building burn for several more moments, before he lowered his head and breathed out a few words of remembrance. He only wished he had told her how he felt when the chance was still his, now she belonged to the ashes.
“Goodbye, Buffy.”
The firemen arrived what seemed ages later. He wondered what inane story they would concoct to explain the burnt bodies they found inside. They’d find the shell casing for certain, and he thought they would perhaps weave their tale around the stolen bazooka and blame the whole thing on drug use amongst teenagers. The people of Sunnydale would be willing to believe anything that was spoon fed to them, as long as it wasn’t the truth.
The thought sobered him, and reluctantly Xander headed back to Willow and the others waiting at the hospital. Leaving the funeral pyre, and his beloved slayer, behind.