[ and where jack feels only a twinge, buffy feels a deluge. guilt floods her in that familiar shock of hot humiliation -- colouring her cheeks and making her restless. she reaches for an empty glass and tosses it between empty palms. and she's glad the sword is gone, because it had somehow made her anxious.

winry's right, of course. it's not the same. jack's dead and when he leaves he will be dead again. as much kinship as she felt with the dead, the line is always drawn at that far outer edge. she gets to live when she goes home, despite being twice-dead.

buffy prepares herself a very weak rum and coke of her own, thinking about how she gets to live... ]

There's something to be said for a long and profitable life -- no matter how crookedly those profits were obtained. [ and she makes one for jack, so all three of them have something. ] I'll drink to that.

[ a toast to jack horner. heaven help them all. ]