All it took was one small magical push, child's play, and it was over.
She felt him go to dust inside her, tasted graveyard on her tongue.
Lay there, still and silent, legs still bent and open, for a long time. Trembling. Bleeding.
Then she got up, finally, and the room spun a bit around her. She went to the kitchen. Picked up the phone and called Buffy, agreed to fly out there. They would hug and reminisce and let go.
Hung up the phone and then picked it back up again. Called a number she'd had in her purse for months. A coworker.
Asked if she wanted to meet up sometime, have coffee. Smiled, a real smile, when she accepted.
She walked back out to the living room when she was done, and looked out. Cleveland. Sparkling city lights, shimmering in the night. She leaned up against the cool glass, and felt, again, the tears. But different than before. Not sharp, not burning. Clean and cool, sliding easily down her cheeks, curling around her jaw.
There was a Hellmouth out there, she knew, buried under the office that she worked in everyday.
But no vampires. No apocalypses.
A quiet city. A quiet world.
She'd been waiting and waiting, for so long, and finally, for the first time, she understood. For the first time, she could relax.
Giles was wrong. She had been wrong. This was no calm before the storm.
This was victory.
The End