"He's singing again." It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even a statement of surprise. Jenny just noticed and mentioned.

"He's been doing that a lot lately."

It wasn't forbidden to watch the living. It wasn't frowned upon. Most just found it amusing, when the shadows of the living glared so brightly on the souls of the dead. Jenny Calendar and Joyce Summers would sit for eternities, gazing on the lives of those left behind.

"He has a beautiful voice."

"Yeah."

"Wish he'd learn something written after 1979, though." Jenny laughed, a sound like crystalline water in a magical stream.

"I like the acoustic stuff," Joyce countered. Her color had come back, vibrant and lovely as in her youth. Pain no longer creased her features, and she seemed indistinguishable in age from her friend.

Any thought of pain or jealousy between them had vanished, no doubts or insecurities could survive the pure light of spirit. They watched, for love, for memory, for peace of mind. Buffy. Rupert. Dawn. Willow and Xander and the newer arrivals. Cordelia and Angel and Wesley. They watched.

"We shouldn't have let her return," Joyce said.

"We didn't have a choice."

"She was so peaceful. She was happy here."

"Willow couldn't have pulled her back if They didn't think she still had work to do." Jenny leaned on to her stomach, chin resting on her hands as she listened to Rupert's song. "He is so lonely."

"He prefers it that way."

"You think?"

"Deep dark type." Joyce stretched. Jenny lay next to her, lean and feline in her youth. They had been unlikely friends, Jenny with her ancient soul and powerful will, Joyce the younger and more brash soul, more insecure in her path. But the fates had brought them together, and no amount of differences could break that bond.

Jenny smiled. "I loved him."

"I know."

"She's going to be okay, you know."

"I know."

Jenny frowned as Rupert sipped a bit of Scotch. Not as much as during the worst times, but still enough to crease her brow. "I wish he wouldn't do that. It clouds his path."

Joyce rolled over onto her side, facing a large canvas. On it, a watercolor image of her daughters came to life. Buffy, frowning and worried. Dawn, so eager to please, trying too hard. "Maybe we could..."

"No, you know we can't."

"They're so confused. If we just sent them a clue."

"No clues." Jenny reached out, stroking the air just above the image of Giles. "We can't help them. They have to help themselves."

"What if they don't make it?" Joyce kept the quiver from her voice as she watched Buffy curl into her bed. With Rupert back to England, her elder daughter seemed more drawn and miserable than ever. "What if they fail?"

Jenny took a deep breath. "Then they try again. And they try again. And we'll be there to help them when they do."

Joyce laughed. "Of course, we won't have any more of a clue than them when we do."

"Speak for yourself, kiddo." Jenny grinned, her essence reaching out to the younger soul and briefly joining with it. Looking back on Rupert, she yelled jovially, "For god's sake, man, learn something new!"

The sound of laughter echoed throught the halls, startling the younger souls who went about their work and thought little of the concerns of living men. But in that moment, two souls reach down in laughter. For a moment, two living beings felt lighter. Buffy Summers pulled her covers around her, a scent of her mother lingering on the soft material. And Rupert Giles played a song by Sting.