Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
There is a forest in the south of England which is so beautiful and peaceful that when you walk through it, you feel as though you have entered another world. The south end of this forest is on a small hill, and at the bottom of this hill lie two shallow graves. There are no markers on these graves, no fancy headstones declaring who is buried there. In fact, you could walk over these graves without ever knowing that there are two dead people beneath your feet. These graves are a secret; only a handful of people know about them and they do their damndest to keep it that way.
Of course, what they don't know, is that when they died, these people left something behind...
* * * * *
PART 1
Now: October 2018
Grace Whittaker sheilded her eyes from the bright Californian sun as she stepped out of the airport. The seventeen year old had never been to America before. Growing up her family had never had much money, and so holidays were limited to the Lake District or the Norfolk Broads or, occassionally, a package holiday to somewhere in the Mediterranean.
But Grace had left school straight after her GCSE exams and had spent the last year saving up funds for her trip to Sunnydale. Coming here was something she had dreamed about since she was ten years old, and now she had finally done it she knew that she was one step closer to filling in all the gaps in her life.
She made a striking picture as she stood there, taking in her surroundings. Tall and slim, with huge green eyes set in an open, heart-shaped face that was framed by long, dark tresses, there was no denying that she was beautiful. Her face told a thousand stories. There were hints of nervousness, masked by excitement, but most of all, determination. Grace was here for a reason. She had a mystery to solve, one which had plagued her throughout her whole life. And she wasn't going to stop until she had all the answers.
* * * * *
"Class, I'd like to introduce you to Willow Harris. Mrs. Harris is one of the country's leading computer programmers and an ex-pupil of Sunnydale High. I've asked her to come in today and talk to you about a very exciting new online project."
The teacher looked towards the pretty red-haired woman who stood at the side of the class, motioning to her to come to the front. The small figure was only slightly nervous about addressing the group of teenager. It had, after all, been twenty years since her junior year of High School when she had filled in as teacher for a term, following the death of Jenny Calender.
"Hey, everybody," she began, getting no response. "I, er, I know that most of you probably think I'm really dull and boring and that my life revolves around e-mails and mouse pads - well, that and trying to teach my husband, Xander, how to cook."
That got their attention. There was only one Xander in Sunnydale and everyone knew who he was. Xander Harris - one of the town's most respected and successful men who had inherited thousands from his Uncle Roary and doubled his money in a year by buying the town's most popular nightclub, The Bronze. Suddenly all the kids sat up in their chairs and focussed their attention onto Willow. If this woman was married to Xander Harris she must have something going for her, right?
"But actually computers are really exciting," she continued. "Okay, so learning about binary coding is totally yawn-worthy - even *I* sleep through half my lectures on that!" The class laughed. <I made them laugh! The joke thing still works!>
She continued with her speech for the rest of the lesson, frequently raising a laugh and engendering genuine interest. By the end of the session she had managed to sign up ten more kids for the Octopus 3000 project, which was being sponsered by Three Lions ISP, the fledgling company that Willow had helped take to the top. When the bell rang, Principal Taylor led the computer expert into her office.
"Thank you so much, Mrs Harris," she said.
"No, thank *you* for lettting me come!"
"You certainly have a way with kids. You could teach some of the staff here a thing or two."
"Thanks. I love it though. When I was a kid I was always tutoring my friends or helping out the teachers with classes for extra credit."
"Well y'know I'd love you to talk to some of the other years. Do you think you could do it? I just have one more appointment before lunch, we could grab a bite to eat and talk about it then?"
Willow agreed and sat down in the corner of the room as Principal Taylor called her last appointment in. Willow studied the girl closely as she walked in. She reminded her of someone, but she couldn't quite think who...
"Miss Whittaker?" Principal Taylor asked.
The girl nodded her confirmation.
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, basically, this may sound a little weird, but I was adopted and I'm trying to track down the family or friends of my parents. I don't have very much information about them, but I know that they lived in Sunnydale and I'm guessing that my mother was a student here, probably sometime in the late 1990's, and so I was wondering if I could get a hold of some old yearbooks from around that time, you know, to get me going?"
Principal Taylor frowned. "Oh, I don't know whether I can help you. The school burnt down in 1999, a lot of stuff was destroyed. There are yearbooks around, but..."
"If it helps, I've got some."
Grace looked over to the woman in the corner of the room who had just risen from her seat and was making her way over to the desk.
"I was a senior the year the school blew up. I still have all my old High School and college yearbooks - you're welcome to have a look."
"Really? That would be wonderful!"
"Here," Willow said, reaching for a pad of paper. "Why don't I give you my address and you can come by tonight and I'll see what I can do."
She tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Grace. In her mind she was asking herself whether she had gone mad, inviting a perfect stranger to her house. But there was something about this girl. It was almost like she had to help her.
"That is so nice of you, thank you so much."
"Think nothing of it."
* * * * *
"She's looking for her family?"
"Yeah."
"She's trying to find her family by looking in old High School year books?"
"Yeah."
"And so you invite her round for dinner so that we can take a trip down the hell that is memory lane?"
"Honey..."
Xander Harris crossed to the other side of the kitchen to where his wife was standing. "I'm sorry Will," he said, putting his arms around her shoulders. "This is just so unlike you. Besides, you know I hate looking at the yearbooks."
"I know, I just felt sorry for her I guess. Besides, it might be kinda fun to look at our old pictures."
"Oh yeah. We could play 'spot the living person.' You know if I had my way we'd get rid of those things."
"We can't do that! Those books have been signed by Buffy and Oz..."
"...And Cordy and Giles and Larry and Jesse and everybody else who's ended up dead! It's just depressing."
Willow was about to open her mouth to berate her husband again, when she was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
"That's her," she said. "Now I want you to be nice to her," she warned.
Xander saw the resolve face she was wearing and decided it was best not to argue. He and his wife had very different views when it came to the memories of their High School and college years. While Xander preffered to forget the pain that they inevitabley caused, Willow constantly tried her hardest to the memories of her friends alive. She still kept photos of all of them around the house. Buffy and Giles smiled up in the hallway. They had been the first to go. Eighteen years ago they had been invited to England by the Watcher's Council, who had hoped to call a truce with them, but they had been killed in a car crash just a week into their stay. Oz went a few years later. He escaped one night when he was in werewolf form, and he'd been shot by a hunter. He was followed soon after by Cordelia, killed by one of Angel's random vampire foes. So now they were the only members of the Scooby Gang left.
Xander stood behind Willow as she opened the door, and was amazed at the sight that greeted him. The girl that stood in the porch of his five-storyed home was so hauntingly beautiful, he was speechless. Her long hair had been carelessly swept back into a half ponytail, which left a few wispy tendrils framing her heart shaped face. No matter how hard he tried, Xander couldn't stop staring at her. It was almost as though...
"Xander?"
Xander shook himself from his reverie and forced himself to draw his eyes away from Grace. <Way to make the poor kid feel uncomfortable, you dirty old pervert,> he mentally chastised himself.
"Sorry. Er, I'm Xander. Xander Harris, nice to meet you."
He took hold of her hand and shook it, smiling, what he hoped, was warmly.
Grace returned the gesture, before Willow offered her a drink while leading her into the dining room. The room itself was huge, and the table could seat eighteen people, but the clothes and bags and pieces of scrap paper gave away the fact that the Harris', despite their wealth, had no airs or graces about them.
Willow had already dug out her old yearbooks, and had them ready and waiting on the table.
"Okay then," she said, sitting down inbetween her husband and the newcomer. "Let's get started." She reached over and pulled out one of the yearbooks. "What were your parent's names?"
"I don't know."
There was a moment of stunned silence before a reply came.
"I'm sorry," Xander said. "Did you just say you don't know?"
Grace sighed heavily before launching into her explanation. "Okay look," she said. "I was found when I six months old. My mother abandoned me. She left me in a hospital in London - just me, in a basket, with a blanket and an envelope. In this envelope there were four things - two photographs, a necklace, and this..." she reached into her bag and pulled out a battered piece of paper, the edges frayed and torn, the once crisp whiteness now yellowing with age.
"This letter." She handed it to Willow, who opened it up to reveal the hurried, rushed script of a person with not enough time left. She began to read outloud.
"To Whoever finds this letter,
This is my daughter. Her name is Grace. She was born in Oxford on April 14th 2001. Her father is dead, and by the time you read this, I will be too. I have enclosed within this letter three things: a necklace, which was a present from her father to me and two photographs - one of her father and one of myself. Let her have these things, and this letter, when she is older. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT publish these photos in the hope of finding our family or friends. You would only be endangering them, yourself and Grace. I cannot tell you what has happened - it is too dangerous. I can only hope that you will do as I ask and help my daughter to have the kind of normal lfe she deserves. I never got that chance, and so it is my greatest wish for her.
To Grace. I pray that someday you will find within your soul the strength to forgive me for what I have done, and that you will believe me when it tell you it truly is the best option. Indeed, it is the only option. I wish I could have had more time to get to know you, to see you grow up, to keep you safe from the evils which I know exist in this world, to hear your jokes, to comfort you when you are sad, to rejoice with you when you are happy. The thought that you will not remember us is the one which is causing me the most heartache now. If, when you are older, you ever want to know who we were, go to a town called Sunnydale in California. There you will find at least some of the answers. If there is a life beyond this, then I promise you that we will watch over you and keep you safe. But know this: your father and I loved you, and each other, very, very much.
I must leave you now, to go and join your father. I love you, Grace.Your Mother, October 19th 2001."
"Wow," Xander breathed.
"That's all I have to go on. That and the photos. Hence, me wanting the yearbooks. I figured I could trail through them and try and match up my mother's pictures. It's a long shot, I know, but I've got to start somewhere."
"That's one of the saddest things I've ever read," Willow said, blinking back tears as she folded up the letter. "What on earth could make someone that desperate."
Grace's eyes got a faraway look to them, as she let her guard down for a split second. "That's the question I've been asking myself all my life." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "Um, this was the necklace she talks about," she said, flicking her hair back from her shoulders to reveal a startling diamante cross hanging from a sterling silver chain.
"It's beautiful," Willow remarked.
"What about the photos?" Xander asked. "Do you have them?"
"Uh-huh," Grace nodded, reaching into her bag again. She pulled out two, slightly aged photos, and handed one to Willow.
"That's my mum," she said, pushing the hard paper into her hand. It took a moment for Willow's brain to register what it was seeing, and when it did, all the blood in her veins turned to ice. Staring back at her was a face that she had not seen in almost twenty years, and which she knew she would never see again. She suddely realised why Grace had seemed so familiar. Apart from the dark hair and the height, the girl was hauntingly similar to her mother. She tried to speak, but found her throat unable to contract in order to make the necessary sounds. She barely managed to squeeze out,
"It's...it's..." before leaving Xander to finish her sentence.
"Buffy."
Grace's ears pricked up at the mention of a name.
"Buffy? Did you know her?"
"Know her?" Willow said, finding her voice. "Know her? She was my best friend!"
"Oh my God," Grace exclaimed breathlessly. She couldn't believe she'd hit the jackpot. All her life her parents had been a complete mystery, the empty space in her existence, and now here she was, talking to her mother's best friend!
"This is impossible!" Xander said. "You're seventeen, right?" Grace nodded her confirmation. "Buffy died a year before you were born."
"What? That can't be right!"
"You're telling me!"
"Wait a minute," Willow said, trying to make sense of what was happening around her. "Let me see the other photo, the one of your father."
Grace eagerly pulled it out and shoved it in front of them.
"No way." Those were the only words that Xander could think to say as he took in the image in front of him.
"Xander, that's..." Willow began.
"Giles," he finished.
* * * * *
"Those we love are with the Lord, and the Lord has promised to be with us. So if they are with him, and he is with us, they cannot be far away."
Standing with Willow and Xander in Restfield Cemetary, the place where Buffy and Giles were buried, Grace read the inscription out loud, before letting her eyes fall on the words above them.
Buffy Anne Summers
19th January 1981-
17th June 2000
She glanced over to the headstone on her left and studied the words carved into the heavy grey stone.
In Loving Memory of
Rupert Peter Giles
21st March 1955-
17th June 2000
Always in our Hearts
Her parent's graves. Graves which declared that they both died a year before she was born. She wiped away a stray tear and let out a heavy sigh into the warm, evening air. She had come here to solve a mystery. Instead, she feared she may have unlocked another.