They never spoke about it again. He never told Buffy about it, when he came back. Maybe he should have.

He never spoke of Drusilla, nor of his grandchylde.

When he lost himself, he and Drusilla had been inseparable, whispering horrible things to each other. Death. Mayhem.

His grandchylde had never been of much interest to him, but his chylde seemed content with him. For this, he took all he could.

One night, his chylde whispered to him, her eyes wide. She pointed a finger at her chylde, then at their target:

"He's going to love her. Like you did."