She had endured, for six years. Celibacy, California, the new and strange people she had for parents, and yet another trip courtesy of the Powers into the entirely over-rated world of childhood -- building a passable excuse for a life, biding her time until she was once more an adult -- or close to it -- and she could return to Europe, find Methos, and once again they could resume their lives together, as they had so many times before. She had lost count how many times she had been picked up and unceremoniously dumped into the life of a youthful Potential. Perhaps four hundred times, or more. Usually she was called as a slayer, on rare occasions she was not. At least in the last few centuries she had been in Europe, and able to locate Methos fairly easily once she turned eighteen or her 'first' death occurred at the hands of some demon or another. To find herself in America of all places -- Goddess, she hated America -- and California! Whistler had been wise to stay well out of reach his first few visits to see her.
When she had woken one morning to find that her breakfast juice glass shattered in her hand, and slayer healing kicking in to repair the damage, she'd almost breathed a sigh of relief. She was called. That was familiar. At least now she'd have something constructive at which to direct her screaming rage -- demons. Merrick had said she took to slaying as though she were born to it. She was. In all her long existence, she had been a killer -- and first, before the Game, before the Horsemen, before all the myriad battles she had fought for and against humans -- she had been the Slayer. Merrick had won her trust, and she had told him many -- but not all -- of her secrets. He had believed her. Merrick knew she was an immortal, and he had treated her like the adult she was, not the air-headed teenager she appeared to be.
When her mother had cast her out of the house, she had run. Ran for any hint of those she had known before, and when within a week she had sniffed out the Highlander on the west coast, she had raced to Seacouver, hoping for a whisper of Amanda, Jack, Cassandra, or Fitzcairn, anyone she had called friend before. Anyone who could point her to where Methos was hiding. As luck would have it, he had found her. And for the long wonderful, terrible summer she pretended. Pretended she was what she was before. Before Janna Kalderash, before Angelus, before Merrick had died. Before her failures had resulted in the exposure of her calling to Joyce, the one person she had truly cared for in this incarnation. Joyce's rejection of her had cut her to the core and destroyed one more tiny piece of the humanity she clung to so desperately.
Methos, or Adam as some called him, had helped. He had welcomed her home with open arms and they comforted each other. She held him on the nights that he grieved Alexa. He had stood beside her without a word of condemnation as she described her doomed affair with Angel. They had both attempted love with others, and they had both lost in devastating ways. To be once again by his side, even in this body that she still despised, six years later, and have him pay the same loving attention to her now that he had years before, decades, even centuries before, had eased a hurt in her she had not recognized until she had found Methos once again. While they grieved, they rejoiced in once again being together. Together the celebrated the joy of reuniting with their other half -- she to the oh-so-familiar and deeply loved body of her longtime lover, and he to the new and different one that housed his oldest and most trusted friend.
It had been a bittersweet parting, as she returned to the hellmouth after a visit from a flustered and cringing Whistler. When Adam appeared at the library doors, Buffy had wanted to touch every part of him to reassure herself that he was really there. The previous night's challenge had left her feeling raw and half-crazed. She hated challenges on the hellmouth. Even if the Quickening itself were not dark, the darkest portions of the loser's personality tended to dominate on the hellmouth. And Gregory, she had once called him friend. Actually, in the early 1300s, she had called him Watcher, lover, and husband. Until he had gone mad from venom of a Dra'xmari demon and stabbed her to death before hanging himself from the rafters of their home in Wittenburg. She had been long gone before he rose. That Gregory had wandered onto the hellmouth and challenged her -- well, it was freaking her out to say the least. She wanted to find a place to scream, cry, beat something into a pulp. But it was daytime, and few demons roamed the halls of Sunnydale High. She didn't feel the strength of will to keep up the appearance of her cover. It had become more difficult to maintain her valley-girl facade after she had returned from her summer in Europe, but with this semi-dark Quickening racing through her body and wreaking havoc with her slayer hormones and emotions, Buffy knew she was lost.
By second period, Sunnydale High School was all a-twitter about the handsome new teacher that had arrived. When Buffy arrived in the world history classroom for third period, the rumor mill was grinding fast and furious.
"I heard he's getting married to Miss Martin." Harmony squealed. "He's so cute!"
Buffy snorted under her breath.
"He's from France, Harmony, when would he have met Miss Martin?" Cordelia's voice cut through the crowd.
"Well, that's what I heard. Besides, Miss Martin spent the summer in the Loire valley." Harmony pouted. "No one's said what his name is, yet."
Willow ducked forward in her seat and whispered in Buffy's ear. "Have you seen the new teacher, Buffy"
"Yes." Buffy pretended to study the history book in front of her, flipping through the pages until she got to ancient Greece, the current topic of study.
"Well?" Willow waited. Xander looked over from his comic book to see what sort of response Buffy gave.
Buffy shrugged. "Well what?"
"What's his name? How old is he? Is he drool-worthy? Is he?" Willow mouthed the words soundlessly "human?"
"Adam Pierson. I don't know how old he is, but Giles taught him in college." She gave Willow an annoyed frown. "Of course he's human, Willow."
"I noticed that you didn't say if he's drool-worthy." Xander winked. Buffy glared back at him.
Xander's comment drew Cordelia's attention. "You've met the new teacher?"
"I said I had." Buffy attempted to return to her fake reading of the book.
"They were at each other's throats this morning." Xander teased. While Cordelia and Willow were watching for Buffy's reaction, Xander mouthed -- "tonsils."
"You've already fought with the new teacher? He's not even been here a day!" Even in a hoarse whisper, Willow's surprise was evident.
"I even have detention from Herr Snyder." Buffy griped. "It's not like I did anything."
"Why are you surprised, Willow? Buffy will fight anyone, she's a freak."
"I didn't fight with Adam!" Buffy whined. "We don't fight. We never fight. There was no fighting."
"Since when do you call teachers by their first name?" Willow chided.
"Okay, right. Mr. Pierson, then." Buffy scowled.
"We never fight?" Cordelia asked. "Sounds like you know the new teacher better than you're letting on."
Buffy had been saved from what would probably have been an injudicious response by the appearance of Mrs. Pratt, the history teacher. For the next fifty minutes, Buffy scowled and grumbled her way through the inaccurate retelling of the Peloponnesian War.