Title: Borrowed Time
Author: Beer Good
Rating: PG
Word Count 920
Characters/Pairing (if any): Willow, Xander
Summary: So I said to myself: Self, I said, here's a challenge for ya.
1. Tara's funeral.
2. NO resurrection spells, spirit worlds, manifestations or hauntings. Just... death.
3. Happy ending.
Well... I tried.

The mourners paraded by the grave, paying their respects in a slightly haphazard but earnest mixing of faiths – Wiccan, Jewish, Christian or just plain personal. They left their offerings and the obligatory "I'm so very sorry"s and "If there's anything you need"s with the woman in the chair, who remained perfectly still throughout, just barely acknowledging their presence. As she had requested, they then left her sitting alone at the graveside.

The widow sat there for a long time, looking at the grave as if trying to see right through the dirt. If she noticed the approaching footsteps she showed no sign of it, and when she felt his hand on her shoulder she didn't turn around to see who it was; she didn't have to. "Hey, Xan."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier. I had a flat tire... today of all days, right?"

She forced a smile. "Your excuses really haven't gotten much better since fourth grade, y'know."

"Well, in my defense, neither has... uh..." He choked on his own witty comeback. "God, Willow, I don't know what to say. I'm so -"

"OK, if one more person says they're sorry..." She swallowed to keep her voice from slipping into dogs-only territory. "Could you just hold me? Please?"

Xander kneeled down and put his arms around her. At first she remained almost stiff, but then gradually the tears started coming until it seemed like they would never stop. His jacket was soaked right through by the time she calmed down, pulled away and slipped her glasses back on. "Thanks. I couldn't... in front of all those people. I-I guess this is one of those things you can never really prepare for even if you know, y'know?"

"Yeah..." He kissed her forehead. "It really was a shock. I mean, I understand if you two didn't want anyone to know that she was feeling -"

"No, it was nothing like that. She was... fine, really, and then... the doctor said she probably didn't even know it happened. Just like going to sleep." Willow shrugged. "But she knew. We both did..."

"What do you mean?"

Willow sat back in her chair and her oldest friend sat himself beside her, feeling his knees pop as he did. "Remember..." Her voice caught and she had to start over. "Remember that time when Buffy got shot? That Warren creep?"

"Like I'd ever forget... I was right there, remember?"

"Then maybe you remember that one of the bullets hit our window?"

"Wait... oh yeah. We had someone else replace it, right? That was a crazy week..."

"Well... it hit Tara." Xander's jaw dropped, but Willow didn't notice, lost in long-ago memories. "Or OK, I guess 'grazed' is the right word, coupla inches to the left and she would have been a goner, but there was hardly even any blood... And then when we heard you yelling for help she didn't even let me look at it, she just took off downstairs."

"I remember that there was blood on her, yeah. I figured it was Buffy's, from the first aid..."

"Yeah. Anyway, later at the hospital, she told me. She had a dream. About this." Willow gestured at the grave. "She saw me at her grave and said she... she realized that if she was going to go first, she wanted to spend every minute until then with me." She took off her glasses again, wiping her eyes. "I've never felt luckier in my whole life, even with everything..."

"And she did."

"Well, I distinctly remember bathroom breaks..." It was something between a sob and a giggle. "But... yeah. Pretty much."

For a while, there seemed to be nothing to say.

"Xander?"

Her voice shook; he held her tighter.

"How am I supposed... I mean, who's going to... nag at me about the dishes, or remember to pay the bills, or steal all the covers, or... everything everyday in my whole life? I keep expecting to see her if I just turn my head, and she's just not there anymore... I mean, when you lost Anya, how could you even sleep at night?"

"I couldn't. At first." He sighed. "Life goes on, I guess. Somehow."

They sat for a little longer, until suddenly someone cleared their throat behind them. Xander turned around and did a double take; of course he knew the young woman standing there, but he hadn't seen her in a few years and it struck him now that she looked like she had walked straight out of the past. Blue eyes, dark blonde hair... even that sad smile seemed almost the same. At least today; maybe he just wanted it to. "Hello, Maddy."

"Hey, uncle Xander. Glad you could make it. Um... Grandma Willow? It's starting to look like rain, we thought maybe you wanted to come inside?"

There's a certain kind of smile that's reserved for interrupting grandchildren. "I guess I'd better. Give me a hand here, Xan? Arthritis isn't doing me any favors today..."

Xander helped her to her feet, and she leaned on him as she ducked down to touch the brand-new tombstone (Tara Rosenberg-Maclay, 1980-2051, Beloved).

"I'll be seeing you."

The rain held off until they were safely indoors. Then it fell in heavy drops on the fresh earth.