No update to 'A Unique Specimen' tonight. For those of you following both, I'm sorry. Truth is, 'Sorrow's coming easier at the moment, but I promise to work on 'Unique' next, inspiration permitting.

Chapter 7 - A New Beginning

I waken slowly. I don't know where I am. I look around the unfamiliar surroundings, and wonder. Too late I spot the sunshine on my arm. Instinctively, I roll away, off the bed and into its shadow. I check my arm for damage and see nothing. Not even the tell-tale smoke rising from charring flesh.

I tell myself this should mean something. Slowly it comes back to me. It was a dream of some sort. I was talking to a glowing child. She told me I was going to be like Buffy. Not human, but like her. Whatever I am, it's the same as she is, and has been for a year, and she's been able to go out in the sunshine.

With that memory, come the others. Inevitably, the first is the memory of hurting her. It cuts through me, and I hear a sob coming from my chest. That thought leads me to all the others. All those who lost someone because of my bloodlust. I lie still for a while, just letting the pain wash over me. I don't know how long I've been lying there, but slowly the pain recedes. It's so slow that at first, I don't even realise it's happening.

After a while, I manage to get up. The girl, she said she was going to make some changes. She said it was a reward for making the right decision. Except it wasn't a choice. She didn't give me a bloody choice.

I look around the room. It's not too big, but it has a large bed, a chest of drawers and there's a wardrobe. I approach the window cautiously, a century of habit impossible to break in a few moments. I look outside. There's a small garden, nothing special, just some grass and a few bushes. I check the drawers and pull out some jeans and a T-shirt. They're blue, but there doesn't seem to be any black, and they fit, so with a shrug, I dress.

Once I'm decent, I open the door. It leads into a hallway. There's no sign of anyone, so I open another door and find a bathroom. Another leads to a kitchen. I check the fridge, and there's no blood. There is a range of standard foodstuffs - milk, eggs, butter. I open a cupboard and find some breakfast cereal. I realise I'm hungry, so I pour some into a bowl I pull from another cupboard and pour over some milk. A drawer contains cutlery, so I help myself to a spoon. Bowl in hand, I continue my perusal.

Down the hallway a bit more, and I see a lounge. There're some chairs, a TV with video and DVD player, a music system and a collection of CDs that look remarkably familiar. A small dining table sits at one end, and there's a lap top on that. Recent one, too, by the looks of it. To one side of the table is a chest. I open it and find a small selection of weapons - stakes, a crossbow and a sword.

Through the lounge is the front door. I open it and find myself in a standard suburban street. With a certain amount of trepidation, I walk outside. The sun is pleasantly warm on my arms and there is no sign of smoke. There's a mail box and I open it. Inside are a couple of letters addressed to Mr. William Prescott. I stare at the name I haven't seen in so long. In a daze, I head back to the kitchen, and put my bowl of cereal down.

This whole situation has me spooked. I mean, really nervous. I need some time before I can open these letters. For something to do, I look around and to my relief find an electric kettle. I fill it with water and switch it on. I root around in the cupboards and find some teabags. The kettle boils and I pour the boiling water into a mug right over the bag. I know it seems silly, but the familiar action of making a mug of tea is the only thing that's keeping my sanity intact at the moment. When the tea's ready, I pull out the bag. I can't see a bin at the moment, so I put it in the sink and add some milk to my tea. I sit in front of my cereal and force myself to eat it.

I consider the possibility that this is another dream, but a pinch to my arm proves otherwise. The cereal is finished, and I pick up one of the letters. I notice my hands are shaking as I open it. It's a typed letter on a plain white sheet. As soon as I start to read it, I hear her voice, the glowing child, reading it to me.

William,

I hope you like your reward. It's nothing special, really, but I hope you think it's better than before.

The flat is yours. In the top drawer in the bedroom are the papers that give you an identity, along with bank and credit card details. You should have a job offer soon. Please accept it. I know you'll find it difficult, but it really is necessary to your role as joint protector to the Key.

As you may have realised, you no longer need blood to survive. A basically human diet should suffice, but should you become injured, blood will accelerate your healing. The same goes for Buffy, although I suspect she doesn't know that yet.

I've arranged for Buffy to have a hint as to her true nature. Well, considering the nature of the messenger, it may have been more of a hint. You were not mentioned, however. How you break the news of your return to her, is up to you.

A Friend

I sit and stare at the letter for a while after I finish reading it. I'm wondering what the news she's no longer human is doing to Buffy. She must be so scared. A while ago, it's news that would have had me rejoicing. It would have proved the point I tried to make - that she belonged in the dark with me. Now, well, I haven't a clue where I belong, so I'm not about to try deciding for someone else. I remember her despair, and my first inclination is to go over there, but I know that isn't a good idea. I don't even know what day it is. I mean, how long was I gone? And, to be honest, I wasn't keeping too close a track of time while I was in Africa.

I head for the bedroom and find the papers like she said. I also find a wallet and a set of keys. Looking at them, there are keys to the flat, and some car keys. I grab both and head out.

The front door has a number 4 on it, and beyond that, there're some parking spaces. The parking spaces seem to be allocated to the flats, and there's a car parked in my space. It's a recent model saloon, but nothing special. Certainly not what I'd have chosen, but I'm not too worried.

I get into the car, and realise I'm still holding the second letter. This is on headed paper and it's from Sunnydale High School. It's offering me a job as Security Officer. I didn't know schools had security officers. I read further, and the letter goes on to outline the fact that this is a unique position due to the rather unique history of Sunnydale High School on that site. I check the address and realise it's the same as the old school. The one right over the Hellmouth. Bloody Hell, won't they ever learn?

I drive down to the local shops, pick up a newspaper and some food. I head back to the flat and proceed to make myself at home. According to the paper, it's Sunday, and I don't start work for another week. Ignoring the fact that it's still morning, I pour myself a beer, and sit down to consider what to do.

She wants me to go and work at the school. The school that Dawn goes to. Where Buffy's going to work. My first reaction is to tell her to sod off. The pain of seeing them both will be too great. Then it hits me. I need the pain. Pain's the only way I can make amends for what I did. I just need to see that it won't cause them pain. Anyway, if Dawn's at school over the Hellmouth, she's going to need protection.

So, how do I break the news of my return? I decide on a letter, and rummage around the flat for some paper. I find some and start to write. Half an hour later, I've used more than half the pad, and the floor's covered in paper balls. I didn't realise this would be so hard. I start again.

Buffy,

I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I had to let you know I'm back. A lot's happened to me, most of which you won't want to know, but I have to warn you about something.

I'm coming to work at Sunnydale High School. I know that's going to be difficult, but, believe me, it wasn't my choice. Someone thinks Dawn's going to need protection, and wants both of us close to her. That's the only reason I accepted.

I know that words can't make up for what I did that last night, but for what they're worth, I am truly sorry. I would do anything to change what happened, but that's impossible. I know you'll never forgive me, and I've got to live with that.

My address and phone number are at the top. If you need me, just ask. I'll always be there to help, but I know that you will never trust me.

Yours always,

Spike

I still wasn't happy with it, but I couldn't think of any way to tell her that I would be happy with. I shoved the letter into an envelope and found a stamp in my wallet. I had noticed a post box a couple of blocks away, so I headed out into the morning sunshine. Despite everything, I knew I was smiling as I walked. People who passed me were either returning my smile or looking at me as if I was mad, depending on their inclination. It was just so damn good to be outside in daylight. I'd been telling myself for over a century that I didn't miss the sunshine, but I'd been lying. I don't know that California weather's exactly what I'd choose, but right now, sunshine's all I want.

Funny thing is, the other thing I'm aware of for the first time in forever is that I'm too hot. I guess all the time I spent in warmer climates was as a vampire, and that way, temperature's immaterial. Not that I'm saying that the weather in England's bad. I mean, it can get cold, but not too bad. Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't snow there very often. And it doesn't rain that much either. I suppose it's what I grew up with, but it always seemed just about right to me.

I'm really not sure what to do now. I've posted the letter, but it won't arrive before tomorrow morning. So, what to do with the rest of the day? Easy. I go back to my flat, raid my drawers for some things, and head to the ocean. The memories of that dream are just too clear, and it felt so good, only this time I intend to get very wet.

I head a way out of Sunnydale. I don't want to take the chance of meeting any of the gang by accident. I think, too late, that some sun block would be a good idea. I mean, my lily white skin hasn't seen the sun since a time when a sun tan was considered coarse. I spot a drug store on the way and head in to remedy my omission. As I walk back to the car, I notice a neighbouring shop is being refitted. There are newspapers on the floor, apparently there to protect the carpet from paint. I don't know why, but I stop to look in the window. As I turn to leave, something catches my eye. I turn back again, finding the face quickly. My breath catches in my throat as I put the photo and the headline together.

UC Sunnydale Student Shot

There's no doubt who's in the picture - it's Tara.

I walk into the shop and pull the sheet off the floor. The decorators look at me, mystified. As I turn to leave, one of them calls, "Just help yourself, why don't you?" and shakes his head in surprise. I ignore him as I read the details of Tara's death. I'm shocked beyond telling. I go back to the car, and I read the article again. It says the police are, or were, looking for Warren Meers in connection with the shooting of Tara and Buffy Summers. It says that Warren is believed to have left the country.

Now I know why Dawn looked like she had changed this summer. She almost lost Buffy again, did lose Tara. I wasn't here to keep her safe, to keep them safe. The guilt starts to rise again, making it's presence felt. It had been there all along, but at a level which allowed me to well, not ignore it, but put it to the back of my mind. Before I know what's happening, I'm sobbing, my arms braced on the steering wheel and my head on my arms. I let them down again. My girls. How could I even think about being part of their lives again, even just as a protector? What sort of protector goes off and leaves them to face that? Answer's simple. A disgusting dead thing. Me.

I don't know how long I sat like that, but when I look up again, the sun's low in the sky. There goes my day at the beach, but then, I don't deserve such things. I wish I hadn't posted that letter this morning. If I hadn't, I could just head out of town and never come back. Take my disgusting and useless presence out of their lives forever. I don't care what that girl said, they'd both be better off without me.

I consider what to do. I can't leave. Not now Buffy will know I've been back. I've got to see her, let her tell me I let her down. Maybe she'll try to stake me. Probably. I think about the pain of having a stake pushed into my chest. It'll be so much worse than if I was still a vampire, because I'm not going to turn to dust. Of course, I might just bleed to death. There are worse ways to die. And I always knew she'd be the one to do it. It's her right, and I won't lift a finger to stop her.

With a certain amount of resolve and even relief, I head back to my 'home'. I spend the evening watching TV and listening to music. I find that there's not a lot I'll miss about life. Not a lot of what I've got, anyway. Only things I'll miss are my girls. And they're better off without me. I go to bed late and spend the night between waking and nightmares. In each of the dreams, someone I care about dies. Mostly it's Buffy or Dawn, but a couple of times it's Tara. And every time it happens, I know it's my fault. As dawn approaches, I give up on trying to sleep. I shower and dress then go into the kitchen to get some breakfast. This is one thing I'm going to struggle to get used to again. Vampires don't need to feed three times a day. I don't feel like eating, my stomach's sickened at the prospect, but I know I need to do it. Tea, the traditional cure for all ills. For everything from a shock to a bereavement, make a cup of tea. That's how I was brought up. Of course, back then, I didn't make the tea, that was done for me, but the inclination's still there.

I ransack the flat looking for fags. None. I consider the possibility that the glowing child's trying to tell me something. Still, it's something I can go without. If I have to. I pull out everything I can find that gives me a clue to my purported past. I mean, I've got the identity, papers, flat, car. I assume it's all legal and above board. I doubt that there'll be a record somewhere stating my previous occupation as 'Scourge of Europe', or 'Evil Dead Thing', or 'Big Bad'. I settle down to acquaint myself with my 'past' - just in case I have a future. All the time I sit there, I'm expecting Buffy to come storming in, kicking the door down. I imagine her, full of righteous indignation, a stake in her hand. I smile at the picture. She's so damn glorious like that. Like an avenging angel. I take a deep breath, and sit down to await my fate.