Her fall seemed to last for a long time.

It hurt, but not in quite the way she had expected. As the energy that crackled around her began to pierce her body, she expected to feel like she was being torn apart, but she didn't. Instead, there was only the dizzying sensation of continued falling, and then the realization that she was no longer breathing. Still she fell, on and on, until she lost track of how long it had been, where she was coming from, and which direction she was going.

Someone was whimpering for her mother, and it took awhile to realize that the voice was in her own mind.

Then there was silence, and a brilliant white light, that seemed to be the sum of all of the colors in all of the dimensions of every universe.

When she next became conscious of herself, she seemed to be crouched on some kind of glowing surface, with her hands over her head, trying to shield her eyes from the light.

"The light won't hurt you now," someone said softly. "Not any more."

It took awhile to realize that this voice was not in her mind. Tentatively, she tried looking up, not sure that she would be able to see anything in the wash of brilliance all around her.

There was someone standing there, but she couldn't make out a face at first, through all the light. Then he seemed to move a little closer, although she wasn't sure whether either of them was actually moving at all.

"Welcome to Valhalla.... more or less." The other laughed softly. "Well, rather less than more, actually, but I've been waitin' nearly two years to say that to you."

She blinked, trying to focus. The person looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. "I know you, don't I?"

"We met once, at Angel's old place, in L.A.. The name's Doyle."

"Oh, yeah, that's right." She paused for a moment, gathering her scattered thoughts. "You're dead."

"Yep."

"So am I."

"Right again."

"Where are we?"

He approached and sat down next to her, although there didn't actually seem to be a floor, or any kind of surface, underneath them. Now that he was closer, she did recognize him, or maybe it was just her own mind, filling in the blanks from her memory. She wasn't sure.

"Well, they call it 'The Place of Choosing.' Kind of a way station, you might say."

"Not Hell, right?"

"No, not Hell, nor Heaven either. You an' me, we're in sort of a special category among the dead, you see."

"I don't understand."

"That's all right. I didn't either. Give yourself a minute to rest, here, before I start with the explainin'. You've had a long trip."

Dazed, she muttered, "Yeah, I guess I have."

They sat for awhile in silence, as she tried to sort things through. She wrapped her arms around her legs, and realized that her body was only there when she thought about it. When she stopped thinking about it, she couldn't see it any more.

She glanced at Doyle, and saw him watching her patiently, with a smile. In this light, his eyes looked very blue.

"Let's start over," Buffy said abruptly, with sudden decisiveness. "You said, Valhalla, more or less."

"I did, yes."

"What's special about this place, about us?"

"Well, we've actually got quite a lot in common, you and I. Y'see, the Powers have a special likin' for people who die the way we did. They figure we've earned a kind of choice, more than other folks get when they die. Are you following me so far?"

"Not really," she answered bluntly. "How did you die?"

"You don't know?"

"No. Angel and Cordelia wouldn't talk about it, even when I did get to talk to them, which wasn't often. I haven't seen either of them much lately, you know -"

"I know."

"Wesley told me once that you 'died a hero,' but he said he wasn't there, either, so he didn't know much about it himself, except that Angel seems to be afraid to speak your name, and Cordy likes to pretend most of the time that she doesn't even remember you." Buffy laughed shortly. "That's Cordelia for you."

"Hey, give her a break. If it makes her feel better not to remember -"

"It's not right. That's all we leave behind, isn't it? That people remember us."

"Sometimes."

"So, you didn't answer my question. How did you die?"

"Well, I took somebody's place, too. You know, how you put yourself into that portal in Dawn's place - "

"I'm asking about you, not me."

"All right. It wasn't quite the big apocalypse for me. I didn't save the world or anything, just thirty or so half-demons, and Cordelia, and Angel. Angel was all ready, he was going to be the one to die."

"What?"

"Yeah. I couldn't let that happen."

She stared at him. "So, you...."

"I took his place, yeah."

"You ... you saved Angel's life?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking. It was better than the alternative. You know, he has a destiny, and all that. I couldn't have taken his place doing all of the other things."

"I didn't know about that," Buffy said slowly. "No one told me that you saved Angel. They should have told me. Thank you."

Doyle laughed softly, surprised. "You're welcome."

"Doesn't anybody over on this side ever say thank you?"

"Not really, no." He smiled slightly. "And Angel wasn't too happy about the whole thing either, I guess. For a while there, he did his best to prove that I'd wasted my death. But he got over it."

"I don't know what you're talking about on that, either."

"That's all right."

"After my mother died, when he sat with me in the cemetery...." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Doyle gave her an encouraging look.

"By the way," she interrupted herself, "Do I get to see my mother?"

"Not yet."

"Knowing the Powers that Be, why am I not surprised?"

The answering smile broadened to a grin, and she found herself warming to it. They sat in silence for a bit after that.

After awhile, Buffy spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Angel told me that night that he knows just how it feels when somebody you love dies, and you can't stop it, or change it, or turn back the clock, no matter how you much you want to do it."

"Did he, then?"

"I thought he was talking about his family, but maybe not." After a moment, she asked: "So, what is this whole Choosing Place thing about?"

"Okay then, I'll get started." Doyle seemed to straighten a little, as though he were delivering a speech that he had been planning for a long time. "When most people die, they don't get any choice about where they go - the Powers have already decided. Whether it's their own personal version of Heaven or Hell or Purgatory, or getting sent back for another round on the reincarnation wheel, they don't get to pick door number one or door number two. They just get packed off to wherever the Powers think they belong."

"And we're different? We're like gold star dead people or something?"

"Yeah. When we take somebody else's death, the Powers let us make our own decision about what we do next. For example, you could be a Guardian - which is kind of like a ghost, but with a specific job to do, and the powers that you need to do it. You can be a Guardian for centuries if you want, or for just a few years and then move on to something else."

"Like an angel?"

"Well, actually, the angels were never people, and people don't get to be angels, but it's a lot like what people think angels should be. Without the wings, of course."

"All right, I think I'm following so far."

"You could choose to be reborn right away, if you prefer. Or, if you decide that what you want most is to be reunited with lost loved ones, you can have that, if they haven't been reborn yet themselves." Seeing her about to ask the question, he anticipated her. "I don't know if your mother was reborn straight away, or not - they don't tell me these things. Most people don't go back right off, though. Usually they get to rest awhile, in whatever kind of heaven they've imagined for themselves, until they're ready to move on."

"I see. So, if I choose, I could be with my mother - but then I'd be giving up whatever other paths they might offer me, right?" Buffy guessed. "There's always a catch. Seems like they're heavily into the choices routine."

"You're getting it."

"Even when I'm dead, they won't leave me alone. Always with the tough decisions."

Doyle nodded, and they sat for a little while in silence.

"So then, answer man," Buffy asked abruptly, "What about hell? I mean, Angel's been to one, and I've been to a kind of one, too, but it wasn't the same as his. What's that all about?"

"Well, if people believe they're going to hell, or purgatory, they do - but they don't always stay. Like you said, there's more than one kind of Hell. Most of them are just demon dimensions of one kind or another. Besides, even if Hell itself lasts forever, any one person's stay there lasts only as long as the Powers consider necessary."

"And what about you? Why are you here, instead of someplace else, doing something else?"

"This was my choice."

"Well, yeah, I get that - I'm dead, not stupid - but what was your choice, exactly?"

"To wait for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah. You see, the job of saving Angel ....."

"What about it?"

"It's only half-done. And the Powers don't like to see a good death go to waste."

At her uncomprehending look, he smiled again, gently. "If you saw Dawn going off on the wrong track, well, you'd want to help her get straightened out again, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

"Well, I was sent to help Angel, you see."

"Mmmm-hmmmm. Go on."

"That's exactly what I'm doing, y'see. Going on, because the job's not finished yet."

"Going on, how?"

"I'll show you. Follow me."

He stood up then, and extended a hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, and then took it. He helped her to her feet.

"You said before that we have a lot in common," she said softly, as she stood up.

"Yeah, I did."

"More than the way we died, right?"

"More than that," Doyle agreed.

"And it has something to do with Angel?"

"Yeah. But you don't have to decide anything yet, not till you've seen a bit more."

He tugged softly at her hand, trying to lead her somewhere else, but she stood firm, unmoving. "Not yet. I need to know, first. I mean, there are some things you just can't get over, right? Not even when you die."

"You're right."

"Like, the people you love."

"True." He turned back toward her then, and the hand not holding hers came up to touch her face, lightly.

"You don't have to go on fightin', y'know. Death can be your honorable retirement. Word is, you lasted a lot longer than most other slayers in history, so you don't owe anything to the Powers. You might even say, they owe you one."

"Owe me what?" She stared at him, as he brushed his fingers very softly across her cheek, smoothing back her hair, and then traced a line down her jaw and across her lips.

"Well, if you wanted a next life that would be really quiet, and peaceful, without all those hard choices .... Some folks choose to have a happy childhood and then die young, so they can start all over again. Skippin' the whole adult thing altogether, it makes a nice break from the stress, I suppose."

"What's the alternative?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer, not directly.

"What you were, and why you did what you did.... Well, love doesn't really die," he assured her. "It may change, but it's never really gone. That's what this is all about."

She stood immobile for another long moment, then caught up his hand in her own, so that she was holding both. "All right, then. Show me."

"Follow me."

And she did.