Disclaimer: Joss, WB, UPN et al. own Buffy. I don't. (You know, this disclaimer lark is getting really boring. Does ANYONE actually think I might own these? Would I be at university if I did? No, I would be sitting in an office with my only worry being how much my latest plot idea will piss off the fans…)
Title: Returning to Your Past
Author: Paradigm Shifter
Feedback: YES! For the love of any non-corporeal-über-being YES!
Rating: I don't know. This definitely isn't R, but I'm not even sure if it requires PG-13. It might even be G. That has to be a first for me. But, to be safe, it's gonna be PG-13.
*
The man smiled out of the hotel window at the world moving past.
So, it begins again. I have returned, and it was not a decision that I made lightly. This place has many bad memories.
Of course, it also has good ones, but they were few. Bad far outnumber good in this hometown.
I find it amazing, however, how little this place has changed. Nothing has moved. The School is still standing this time. But admittedly, there was no help or the students attempting to demolish it to save the world. The coffee bar where we used to meet is still the same. Run by different people, but that is to be expected. I doubt any other than I have lived this long. Maybe a few of the 'Immortals' as they call themselves, but even they have a finite lifespan. Inevitably, they go mad with time…and take their own heads. I met one once who has since done so. It was a shame. He was a friend… a friend like that I have not had for along time…
The curtains whipped shut and the man dropped his pen on the desk. An ink spot formed where the nib touched the page, but he neglected it. This was but a draft anyway.
It was time for a walk…
*
The man walked down the streets of Sunnydale, watching people move, people laugh, and people love. He shook his head.
Time was fleeting. Nothing could ever replace the innocence of childhood lost too soon to strange unholy creature that preyed on the living. Nothing.
The man watched the sun set from the park. When he had left his hotel, it had been midmorning, maybe a few minutes before noon. The sun did not burn his flesh like it burnt that of his 'brothers' they had, and he smiled grimly at this… an… allergy… to sunlight. Even the strongest was turned swiftly to dust if he so much as strayed into a beam of sunlight.
But he did not.
Even that release was denied to him.
Hearing a commotion, he decided to investigate. It was not as if anything could hurt him badly anyway. And it might save someone else's life. Frowning, he increased his pace until he broke through a tree line to see what the noise was.
It was the current Slayer, fighting vampires.
About to turn away, he noticed that the girl was injured, and while trying to show bravado, was slowly being worn down by the struggle of the vampires she was facing.
Sighing heavily, not wanting to get involved, the man sidled up to the fight, cautiously. Interesting. The vampires didn't seem to be up to much. If the girl was having trouble, she was either new, or one of the worst Slayers he had ever had the misfortune to meet.
Neither boded well.
Two of the four vampires were dust before they had time to realise someone was behind them. The other two split up when they realised that their friends were gone, and attacked individually.
Not the brightest of ideas, but then, it wouldn't have mattered in the first place. He kicked the one charging toward him in the gut, and as it sagged to the ground, smashed its face in with his heel.
Dress shoes are harder than they look.
A stake quickly finished it off. The man stepped back to watch the Slayer, brushing dust off of his dress jacket. A strange thought ran through his mind for a second.
How am I going to explain this to the cleaning maid?
But he knew this for fact; all of his staff were used to his eccentricities. Like sleeping with the curtains open, but having them shut during the day. Only sometimes, would he have the sun shining in his home. The staff could go out pretty much when they wanted. As long as someone was in at all times to answer calls and fetch food or other insignificant items, the man was happy.
Time snapped back, and the Slayer was loosing even to the one vampire.
Oh, brother… why hasn't she died yet? He wondered. If she is this bad, her first vampire should have turned her…
The man stepped forward, and tripped the vampire up as it charged. The vampire growled, and caromed into the Slayer, sending them both sprawling on the grass of the park.
He nearly chuckled.
Nearly.
Before he grabbed the coat of the vampire and sent him hurtling through the air. Deciding that the Slayer was safe for now, he followed the path of the vampire, only walking, rather than flying.
Flipping the vampire over, he looked into his eyes.
Fear. That was what was in those depths. Fear of death, even after death happened long before. Fear of the thing that was stronger than he was.
"I expect that you came out this evening with the notion of a quick snack, hmm? I expect you didn't think you would die tonight, did you, DEMON?" he screamed the final word; his mouth inches from the vampires face. Spittle impacted softly on the vampire's features, but it did not flinch.
The vampire shook his head, which slowly turned to dust as a stake entered its heart.
It left Xander, the man, kneeling on the grass, and looking at where his opponent left the party too soon.
He surged to his feet as he heard a noise behind him, and gripped the person standing behind him by the throat.
He released his grip when he saw it was the Slayer.
"Are you a demon?" she asked with a hint of fear. No, not fear. Terror.
The man smiled. "Could be."
She swallowed, and Xander was fascinated at the way her throat bobbed as she did. "Because… if you are…" he voice cracked, "… a demon, err… I mean… I'm… uh, gonna have to kill you…"
Xander smiled and shook his head. "You couldn't kill me."
She started to get angry. "Don't be so sure! You know who I am?"
Xander threw his head back and laughed. It felt good to after all these years. "Oh, I am sure I do not know you personally, girl… but I know what you are, certainly. You are…" he leaned forward like it was some big secret, and chuckled when her breathing hitched, "…the Slayer, are you not?"
She stood defiant, anger making her brave. "Yes! Yes, I am!" she waved the stake menacingly. "And I'll stake you if you so much as look at me wrong. No human has powers like that!"
Xander nodded, "True… but that does not mean that I am inhuman."
She frowned and took a faltering step forward with the stake. Xander stepped back.
"You do not know what you do, little girl. Stop playing with sharp things and go home, hmm?" with that, he turned and walked away, back to the hotel.
The Slayer screamed in anger and threw her stake on the ground. The man's voice floated back to her.
"You had better pick that up. You don't know when a challenge may come along…" he laughed, and his voice faded out, disappearing along with his body.
His presence remained…
*
Days later, the man sat once more at his desk, behind the old oak and began to write once more.
In that visit to Sunnydale, I purged some devils of my own. I know now why I had to leave. Nothing there was of any danger to me, and somehow, I knew that. Craved competition. Only the best and most powerful enemies could satisfy my thirst.
That, in truth, was how I met Samuel. He dies years ago, deciding that the passage of centuries was too much, and that the 'game' that all immortals played was not worth it.
I saved his life, and he, in turn, saved mine a few years later. It was a gift from him I wish he had not given me, as I am as sick of this as he had become. Those are tales that I am not yet ready to tell. They still hurt too much, too fully. Maybe in time… yes, everything in time…
The man set his pen down and picked up his cup. Looking down distastefully at the contents, he leaned back in his chair and stuck his arm between the curtains, out of the open window.
With that, he tipped his hand until he felt the liquid pouring out. When empty, he brought his hand back in. The cup was empty. No, not entirely empty, it still had some small quantity of liquid in the bottom.
He rang the bell for the maid, and gestured to the cup and saucer when she arrived. Taking it and the tray away, she waited until she reached the doors of the study, and smiled softly at him.
"Pour it out the window again, sir?"
Then she was gone.
The man growled low in his throat and picked up his pen.
"Why do they always call me 'sir'?" he asked out loud. A voice in his head answered for him. Because you, and only you, pay their wages, and let them live in your home. It isn't exactly a slum, you know…
The man stabbed the desk with his pen…
And made a statement for the world to hear.
"I can't stand cold tea."
A muffled giggle was heard from behind the door to the study.
He made a louder statement.
"And I can't stand eavesdroppers!"
The giggle ceased instantly.
The man smiled.
*