Title: In Memoriam
Author: Becca
Pairing: B/G
Rating: R, although it may be more of a PG-13
Spoilers: Passion

Summary: Buffy and Giles visit Jenny's grave on the anniversary of her death.

Disclaimer: No permission has been granted to use the characters. They are owned by their creator, Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, and Mutant Enemy. This story is non-profit and is intended solely as entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Author's Note: My first fic. There's a lot of angst. Feedback is welcomed, perhaps begged for, even if you think I should never write again.

Dedication: I have to blame/thank/dedicate this to Phen, who encouraged me to write and then was good enough to look it over for me.

Warm sunlight streaming through antique glass tickles my face, gently waking me. I hunch under the covers, the scent of rosemary tickling my swollen throat. As I slowly crawl towards consciousness, I notice the absence of warmth beside me. With a muffled groan I push the covers back and pull on a worn flannel robe before making my way toward the window. I stand in the early light for a minute, just absorbing its warmth. When I run my fingers over the trim, the rough grain pulls me back to the present, reminding me of the man who was absent when I woke.

Warm breath against the back of my neck announces his return. I sigh as his hands come up to encircle my shoulders, gently releasing the tension held there. After a few minutes, I turn toward him, opening my mouth to voice the feelings he sees so clearly in my eyes.

"Shhh," he murmurs, enveloping me in his comforting embrace. "We'll face it together."

With that, he rocks me in his arms as I begin to cry. His tears mingle with mine as we slowly collapse to the floor. Words of apology and comfort join our sobs as we clutch at each other, hoping to get through this day.

Eventually, he silences me with a gentle kiss. Lifting me into his arms, he clutches the window sill and stands up stiffly. A few steps take us to the bed, where he gently places me down before stretching out next to me.

He runs his fingers over the flannel, caressing my breasts through the material. I press my hand to his cheek, enjoying the feel of his early-morning stubble as he parts my robe. His body covers mine as he looks into my eyes, wordlessly asking my permission. I nod slowly in response, then pull him down for a desperate kiss as he presses into me.

His movements against me are long and slow. We come together countless times in the morning light. I hold him as he stiffens against me, then follow him over.

For a while, all is still. I lie against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Eventually, we get up and shower. The water washes away more than just sweat and tears.

As we dress for the day, another tear works its way down my cheek. "It never gets easier, does it?" I ask.

"No," he comments sadly in response. "But having you with me helps."

Giving in to the inevitable, we leave the room and step outside. The spring air carries the sweet scent of new life, causing us both to catch our breath sharply before continuing to the car.

The drive is long and silent. As we pull past the gate, my fingers brush the stiff paper of the letter he wrote. The gravel crunches softly under the tires as we near the end of our journey.

The sun shines down on our first hesitant steps toward her grave.

END