Post_Sunnydale
It was a long flight, my stomach tied in knots, looking at the dark land of America disappearing into a night-black sea, and then only thousands of miles of water before we touched land again. Flying creeps me out. I guess it's my age. Can't get used to something this unnatural, which is sort of funny, given what I am.
As Andrew promised, I arrived in London in darkness. Thank God for that. I had been sort of worried that the sun would come up as we circled the capital and I'd go poof in my chair and scare my neighbouring passenger. No worries there, though.
It was about five in the morning when I got checked out - fake passport and all, now bearing the stamp of Her Majesty - and I crashed in a sweaty little hotel, all narrow windows and yellowing walls, until the next night. Time to find her.
I weaved my way through the city of London, finding my feet again. It'd been a lifetime since I'd seen this place, and it still felt like home, even though the horse carts and carriages were replaced by Porsches and souped up Volkswagens (they amused me, their blue underlighting like the gold spurs dandies of my time sported), and neon lights shone brightly instead of gaslamps. Still home. Why had I stayed away so long?
Eventually I found the house. Giles' place. Suitably historic for the old fart - Victorian, I reckon, seeing as I knew the time. Red brick, lots of windows... Took me back. Kicking myself out of nostalgia, I looked through the windows. Giles was fiddling in the kitchen, old fashioned kettle on the stove. Hadn't he heard of electric kettles yet?! Strange bloke. Dawn - I've missed her, silly kid - was watching TV. But where was Buffy? Out, maybe. With a man? Stupid jump of logic, but I couldn't help it. Why would she be waiting for me? She already had a new life.
I couldn't just knock on the door and waltz in like nothing had happened. Could I even face her? I walked down the road, kicking a crumpled coke can, and headed into the park.
She was there. I knew it before I saw her. Smelt her skin on the air, like I smelled it when I waited for her in my crypt. Knew she was waiting outside, hand raised to the door. Warm flesh, the feel of her... My body tightened with desire, but I found I was afraid. What could I say to her?
She was dusting vamps with her customary style. She was in a hurry this evening, not enjoying the hunt. Strictly business, but she did it with class. What a girl. I watched her for a while, trailed her through the park, as she punched and kicked, barely raising a sweat or crumpling her skirt.
I was almost at her shoulder when I stood on a twig. The crunch echoed in the empty air.
"I'm so not in the mood, so let's make this quick," said Buffy, turning, and knocking me to the ground.
"Bloody hell, love," I said, rubbing my face as her eyes widened with shock, "you've still got a strong right hook."
As Andrew promised, I arrived in London in darkness. Thank God for that. I had been sort of worried that the sun would come up as we circled the capital and I'd go poof in my chair and scare my neighbouring passenger. No worries there, though.
It was about five in the morning when I got checked out - fake passport and all, now bearing the stamp of Her Majesty - and I crashed in a sweaty little hotel, all narrow windows and yellowing walls, until the next night. Time to find her.
I weaved my way through the city of London, finding my feet again. It'd been a lifetime since I'd seen this place, and it still felt like home, even though the horse carts and carriages were replaced by Porsches and souped up Volkswagens (they amused me, their blue underlighting like the gold spurs dandies of my time sported), and neon lights shone brightly instead of gaslamps. Still home. Why had I stayed away so long?
Eventually I found the house. Giles' place. Suitably historic for the old fart - Victorian, I reckon, seeing as I knew the time. Red brick, lots of windows... Took me back. Kicking myself out of nostalgia, I looked through the windows. Giles was fiddling in the kitchen, old fashioned kettle on the stove. Hadn't he heard of electric kettles yet?! Strange bloke. Dawn - I've missed her, silly kid - was watching TV. But where was Buffy? Out, maybe. With a man? Stupid jump of logic, but I couldn't help it. Why would she be waiting for me? She already had a new life.
I couldn't just knock on the door and waltz in like nothing had happened. Could I even face her? I walked down the road, kicking a crumpled coke can, and headed into the park.
She was there. I knew it before I saw her. Smelt her skin on the air, like I smelled it when I waited for her in my crypt. Knew she was waiting outside, hand raised to the door. Warm flesh, the feel of her... My body tightened with desire, but I found I was afraid. What could I say to her?
She was dusting vamps with her customary style. She was in a hurry this evening, not enjoying the hunt. Strictly business, but she did it with class. What a girl. I watched her for a while, trailed her through the park, as she punched and kicked, barely raising a sweat or crumpling her skirt.
I was almost at her shoulder when I stood on a twig. The crunch echoed in the empty air.
"I'm so not in the mood, so let's make this quick," said Buffy, turning, and knocking me to the ground.
"Bloody hell, love," I said, rubbing my face as her eyes widened with shock, "you've still got a strong right hook."