"Death is my gift."
The words hung in the air between them, stark and unyielding as their speaker, and she turned away from him, eyes distant. She was pulling away from him, from everything, and even her hand in his was cold and statue still. Troubled eyes watched her carefully, waiting for any hint of movement, any hint that she wasn't as dead inside as she thought she was. Because she wasn't. He would know, better than anyone else if she were. He squeezed her fingers gently, to attract her attention, and slowly she turned to meet green eyes with blue.
"It is." He'd known, had foreseen it through the Force. His gaze was unsurprised as she looked upon it. Thin shoulders slumped, her face fallen, and he released her hand to cup her cheek. "It is your gift, Buffy; you shouldn't fear it. It's not the doom you think it will be."
"What, am I supposed to embrace it?" There was life again in her eyes, amidst the talk of death. A spark of fire that warmed the chill from her skin, and the corners of his lips quirked up as she pulled from his touch. "I'm sorry, if I don't share your whole 'death is not the end' Jedi thing. Maybe it's not the end for you, but from where I'm standing, it's pretty final." Behind the fire, a flood of pain that she fought back for the sake of her sister, but he could always see it, just beneath the surface. Ever since- "If death isn't the end, then why is she gone, Luke?"
There wasn't an answer for that. Ever mindful of who she was in this moment, where she was in her life, he didn't move to comfort her as he might have at any other time. A force of calm to her turbulent turmoil, he instead reached out with that calm, to sooth the raging storm of pain within her. Slowly, her shoulders loosed their tension, and her fingers fell from their fist.
"Your gift is not your end, Buffy. Remember that."
Their time was drawing short; the edges of the world began to dim and crackle to white. Before it faded completely, he dipped to press a chaste kiss to her forehead.