Epilogue: The Interview

I sat across from Giles while he set up for the interview. He had a notebook, a pen, and a voice recorder going on the table, as well as a list of specific questions he wanted to ask me.

To say I was nervous would be a gross understatement. In a way, I felt my life was on the line with this interview. I was fairly certain by this point that I wasn't on the verge of getting staked by the Slayer, but I still felt as though I was being watched, which I'm used to, but it was an added pressure I didn't really need.

The Watcher cleared his throat as he readjusted the notebook for the fifth time.

I realized he was just as nervous as me. I leaned back in my chair and rested my hands in my lap, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. This was, after all, presumably the first time he had been alone with a monster.

He was trusting me not to rip his throat out.

"Right," he said, "so, we'll start from the beginning: when were you born?"

"1360." I answered promptly.

"Can you be any more specific?" he asked, scribbling on his notebook.

"I think it was in April." I said. When he gave me a curious look I shrugged apologetically.

"My birth was never celebrated," I explained, "so I don't know what day it was."

"Didn't they keep a record of your birth?"

"As far as my mother's family was concerned, neither she nor I existed after my sire…well, did what he did with her." I played with the ends of my sleeves, trying to avoid his gaze. I start stammering when I get uncomfortable, and I didn't want to sound like I was lying, since I wasn't.

Why yes, I do tend to overthink things when I'm under duress, how ever did you guess?

"I see." Giles scribbled that down. I chanced a glance at the notepad.

Dear God, the man knew shorthand.

"And do you know the name of your father?" he asked.

I swallowed.

Of course I knew it. My earliest memory was hearing my mother shriek his name in her sleep. She did that every night, since she was plagued with night terrors.

"I'll write it." I said. "I won't speak that name."

You have to be careful about speaking the name of a demon, and since mother never knew the name of the host the demon used, I only ever knew the demon's name. There was a high probability nothing would happen should I speak it, but I'd rather not take that chance.

Giles nodded and slid the notebook across to me, and handed me his pen.

I took it and wrote: "Zarthos"

He took the notebook back and underlined the name several times and wrote a note beside it. Presumably it was a reminder to research the name. I already had. I still regretted it.

My father…Now that was a monster.

"Where were you born?" he asked next.

"England." I answered, "In a small town no longer in existence. I believe the plague took most of its citizens in 1412, and those who survived burned the village to the ground to kill the rats and to rid themselves of the corpses."

"And what was your mother's name?"

"Cristiana Selwyn. Daughter to Cedric Selwyn, a minor lordling. She was the third of eight children, and one of two to survive childhood." I answered mechanically. Giles nodded, writing faster with every answer.

"And in spite of your…origins," Giles said delicately, "your mother still raised you?"

I nodded.

"Why?"

"I think even she questioned that. I don't know if she ever knew the answer." I answered with a shrug, "Perhaps she thought I'd be normal? I don't know. Mostly I think she just wanted something to punish for what had happened to her. She couldn't touch my father, but she had me."

Giles' pen faltered.

"Your mother…abused you?" he asked. His voice dropped down into a gentle tone.

I didn't know how to respond to that.

Anger I was used to. Fear I was used to. Distrust, suspicion, hate, etc. All of these reactions and behaviors I was used to dealing with when it comes to humans. But gentleness? Genuine concern and caring? Those are behaviors I'm not used to.

I shifted in my seat and looked away, feeling an odd choking sensation in my throat.

I nodded.

There was a silence.

"I'm sorry." He murmured. I nodded again, if for nothing else than to let him know I'd heard him. Then it was back to business.

He cleared his throat and rustled his list of questions to ask. He ticked off a few of them, and then pressed the tip of his pen next to one of them. He hesitated over it, debating whether or not to ask it at all.

"How many…" he faltered and a flush crept up his neck. I knew what the question was.

"How many have I killed?" I finished for him. He nodded, refusing to look at me.

"Honestly, I've forgotten." I said.

"Could you give a rough estimate?"

A pause.

"You won't like the answer." I said quietly. I didn't like the answer myself.

"Go ahead." He encouraged.

"I stopped counting after ninety-three," I said, "but if I had to estimate…I'd say a hundred and seventy."

Giles' scribbling faltered again. I looked at him.

The look on his face…

"I said you wouldn't like the answer." I said. "Not that it makes any difference, but I'm not proud of that number."

Giles didn't answer, he looked back down at his notebook and finished writing his note.

He tapped the end of his pen and eyed me thoughtfully. It wasn't a suspicious or malicious look, but it still made me uneasy.

"And have you ever had any affiliations with a vampire or anything of dark origins?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I have not." I said, "Vampires don't care for my kind very much. They find me disgusting. Like the weak runt of the litter that shouldn't even exist in the first place. As far as I can tell, nearly every time a half-vampire has been created, it's been because the vampire was not discreet enough, or was too stupid to finish his victim. In my case, he was interrupted, or he would have finished the job."

I sighed.

"So no, I haven't had any affiliations with vampires or anything else. I read about them, hear about them, and keep clear." I smirked and met his eyes over the rims of his glasses, "The same goes for humans. I tend to keep to myself."

"Well, I can understand how having human friends would be a problem, if they didn't know what you were."

"And how would it be better if they had known?" I asked. He chuckled at that.

"Good point." He said.

He reached over and turned off the voice recorder.

"Is it over?" I asked.

"I have enough to begin researching, yes," he said, "however, I have one more question: if I speak to Buffy, and tell her I think you should join us…would you be willing to help us? Or do you want to leave in peace?"

I looked at him in surprise. He actually thought I should join them?

"But…I've killed people." I whispered.

He nodded.

"You have, but when was the last time you fed from a person?"

"The early eighteen hundreds." I answered promptly. "After that it was a strict animal-only diet. And then some genius invented blood-packs and made my life so much easier."

Giles smiled a bit, but not enough to be reassuring.

"I don't like hurting people," I said, "and I try my best to control the Essence inside me, but I'll confess that sometimes it's just not enough." I swallowed, "But I promise you this: I will never willingly hurt any of you. I only want to stop whatever is happening here."

Giles thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"I'll speak to Buffy." He said, and gave me another one of those gentle smiles that sent a strange feeling through me. I looked away, and then stood up.

"Thank you for your patience." I said. "And for your consideration. It's more than I ever could have ever expected from…well, anyone, really."

"Of course," he said, and then offered his hand. "Welcome aboard." He said with a warm smile. I accepted his hand and gave it a firm squeeze as we shook hands. To be honest, I didn't want to let go. I could have kissed him I was so relieved and happy.

We released each other, and as he slid his hands into his pockets and started to walk away, I had a sudden, mad impulse.

"Giles?" I said, even while my mind screamed at me that this was a bad idea. He turned back to me with an eyebrow arched.

"Yes?" he said.

I suddenly felt terribly foolish for what I'd been thinking. I shook my head, immediately embarrassed.

"N-Nothing, never mind." I said.

"No, it's all right, what is it?" he insisted. His tone grew softer when he saw my distress and moved towards me. If I could have I would have been blushing. As it was, I felt my stomach grow hot with embarrassment.

"i-I have a great favor to ask of you, and if it's too silly, which I daresay it is, please do feel free to refuse it. It's so stupid I don't know why I even bothered-"

"It's fine," Giles interrupted, "what did you need?"

I swallowed again and curled and uncurled my hands.

"Could you…would you look at me and…tell me what color my eyes are?" I asked.

"You…you don't know?" he sounded shocked. I shook my head and peeked at him from my dark hair. I could see he was trying to imagine what it would be like to go through all these years, and never once know what you looked like.

"No reflection." I reminded him.

"Of course," he stammered, and looked me dead in the eye. He paused, and then smiled again and murmured: "They're blue." He said, "A very brilliant, azure blue. The clearest I've ever seen." His words were like music to me.

"Then…they're nice?" I asked. That may sound vain, but I'd been under the impression they were unnatural. I'd half expected them to be red or even black.

"Very nice." He nodded. "Beautiful, I'd say."

I cleared my throat and dipped my head in thanks.

"You've done me a great kindness," I told him, "I shan't forget it."

"It was my pleasure." He insisted.

"That's another," I said, smiling at him, "if you continue I'll never be able to repay the debt. Don't be greedy."

He chuckled and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I believe you have classes to get to," he said, glancing up at the clock.

"They won't miss me." I assured him, "They even forgot to call my name for attendance the other day." I smiled again, adding a sly gleam to it, "We abominations have ways of staying hidden and discreet. It's just an influence we have."

"I see." He eyed the stacks of books piled on another one of the tables. "Help me with returns, then?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask." I answered, darting to the table and scooping up armfuls of books.

Giles walked over and picked up his own stack, immediately launching into a lecture when he spotted the name of the author on the cover: Tolstoy.

Some would think it terribly boring, but Giles and I spent the whole day putting books back, taking some out, discussing them, arguing about themes, metaphors, and hyperbole until the final bell rang.

But honestly? It was one of the best days of my life, and not just because of the books, though that played a major part of it.

No, it was one of the best days of my life because in those hours of poring over pages and titles and names; I made a true and life-long friend. And I like to think he found the same in me.

(Thanks for reading, guys! Sorry if there's a bunch of typos here but I wrote it kind of late at night so have mercy! I'm planning on writing more if you guys want? Be sure and let me know what you think of it so far and what I need to improve upon. Thanks again for reading! I really appreciate it!)