Author: Aeneas

Rating: PG-13 (violence, language, sexual situations - actual sex scenes have been removed)  Unedited version can be found on my website.

Summary:  AU Season 7 where the Scoobies discover that they are caught in something much larger than themselves.  Spike/Other but relationships aren't the most important part of the story.  Parts of Season 7 have been integrated into the story.

Disclaimer: In some other Universe, maybe the one with all the shrimp, I'm brilliant enough to have created the Buffyverse on my own.  Unfortunately this isn't that Universe and I am but a lowly follower.  All things belong to Joss and ME except Kamaria, her brothers, and the demon armies.
 
 

Chapter Fourteen – Back to Life
 
 

Not for the first time, Spike cursed the sun above him for not rendering him to dust the way it should have.  Instead it tried to warm and sooth him as he sat against the base of a tree and listened to the birds singing.  He should have wondered how the battle had ended.  It didn't matter.  He should have cared if his friends had lived or died. None of it mattered anymore.

Arriving in heaven, he had carefully cleaned Kamaria's body, sobbing at the bloodless wounds covering her body.  Even in death, she was beautiful.  Carefully, he had dressed her in the white flowing robes he remembered her wearing and had laid her cold body in the cream canopied bed that had been his heaven for ten short years. After kissing her lips one last time he had simply lay beside her and slept.

Hunger had finally driven him from the room and he had found fresh blood waiting for him in the kitchen, as if she had left it for him like she had before.  He drank without tasting it.  Everything tasted of ashes and death.  He discarded his torn and bloody clothes, dressing in the soft linen that reminded him of her soft caresses.  Unable to cry any more tears he had returned to her bed to watch over her body.  Days blurred into nights until he forgot how to speak, knowing only where to find a tall glass of blood and that his heart was broken.

She simply faded away.  Each day she slipped away a little bit more until he could barely see the outline of her body against the sheets.  Then there was nothing.  No ashes.  No hint that she had even lain there.  Nothing.

The routine continued.  Occasionally he would venture outside, as he was now, and sit in the sun, remembering the first time he had crawled out of his pit of despair. Memories that he had lost were returned to him, bittersweet in that their happiness was now tainted with loss.  Sometimes he thought about Sunnydale but it was far away and unimportant.  He had no desire to leave the house and the sweet smelling flowers that reminded him of her.  In his more lucid moments, he realized that he had no idea how to leave even if he had wanted to.

The bodies had taken weeks to remove.  Buffy had been happy to discover that a handful of the warrior demons had survived even if they felt that they had failed their leader and their God.  She abandoned any hope of trying to convince them they were not returning to their homes in failure and dishonor.  She found Inanna lying under a tree, eyes half closed and wounds healing slowly.  The lion curled around her, coaxing her onto its back and they had disappeared silently.  Without the protective wards of the African shamans, the citizens of Sunnydale ventured from their homes only to return in horror and shock as they stumbled across the stench of the carnage.

The gang had stayed at Rona's side for three long days before the doctors moved her from intensive care and announced that she would make a full recovery in time.  For the entire group, the number of stitches ran well over a thousand and all the humans but Faith and Buffy had spent at least one night in a hospital bed at Sunnydale Memorial.

A lecture to Dawn about staying out of the battle never happened.  It was something that Buffy now understood.  They had been pieces on a chessboard but none of them had been pulling the strings.  A game of wits had been played between an ancient evil and a War God on a grand battlefield.  The reasons behind the game had been so simple that Buffy had been both awed and infuriated.  Revenge.  Pure, simple, and human.  Blood had been spilt and lives had been lost because the First had wanted payback for being sent to time out.  Kamaria had cheated him with her own blood.  Her death transferring her power, the very essence of warfare and of life, to the Slayers and condemning the First even in its triumph.

Eventually the potential slayers returned to their families, relieved to know that there would not be a need for any more guardians in Sunnydale.  The First had been banished with the destruction of his physical form and evil was running scared, leaving the eternally quiet Hellmouth and often the entire dimension for other, greener pastures.

Sunnydale was peaceful.  The Summers' basement returned to its former shape and plans for the new high school were released.  It would be built on the other side of town, far, far away from the silent Hellmouth.

"Seems anticlimactic, doesn't it?" Faith smiled, holding her schoolbooks against her hip.  She had been accepted to UC Sunnydale and had picked up a couple of history classes to occupy her time.

Buffy smiled and moved over so her friend could share the bench at the Espresso Pump.  Her tea was cold but she hadn't wanted it anyway.  "Yeah.  So normal.  It's weird."

"I'm sure the nasties will come crawling back at some point.  Until then, it's the normal life for me."  She was cheerful.  "How's Dawn?"

"Good.  She's really getting into her computer class.  Willow's worried she'll turn into a nerd and never get a date."

"Like that'll happen." Faith laughed.  "You'll have to beat them down at the door."

"Yeah." Buffy shook her head.  "Xander's moving in with Nancy.  They found a cute little house a few blocks away from me and he got the bid for the new high school. They couldn't really blame him for the destruction of the last one.  Act of God, they called it.  First time they've ever been right about anything."  They didn't speak of that night very often, the memory still too painful in their minds.

"Good for Xander.  You seeing anyone, B?"

"Nope.  Still single white female here.  No prospects." She looked around the café thoughtfully.  No one had even captured her interest.  They weren't tall enough or they were too tall.  Or too tan.  Or their hair was too dark or didn't curl the right way.  Eventually she had just admitted that they didn't appeal to her because they weren't a certain vampire.  They didn't speak of Spike either, just wondered and hoped that he was all right somewhere.  She knew that Anya could contact him if they needed to but she had been adamant about letting him grieve.

"There's a cute guy in my European history class."

"Cool.  Has he asked you out yet?"

"Nah.  Still in the asking for notes stage." Faith shrugged.  "Not in a big hurry to start something."  She had moved in with Buffy and Dawn after Willow had returned to the campus dorms while she finished her degree.  "Heard from Giles?"

"Last night.  His flight was hellish as usual.  You'd think he'd get used to it after this many trips." She smiled and swirled her tea.  "He's happy to be home though.  I'm thinking of giving Dawn a trip to London for her graduation.  I think she'd like that."

"Yeah, see the world a bit.  It'd be nice for her." Faith tapped a finger on top of her stack of books.  "B.  Can I ask you something?"

"Fire away, sis."

The dark haired ex-Slayer hesitated for a moment, "Can you still feel it?"

Buffy nodded and finally sipped her drink, grimacing at the cold and bitter liquid.  How had she let Giles talk her into switching to tea?  She knew what Faith was referring to, the power that had filled her that night on the battlefield.  The call of war and the exhilarating bloodlust screaming for violence.  It was like fire in her blood. Occasionally, at night when she watching TV instead of patrolling, she felt it begin to simmer inside.  She knew that if she went out, searching for a demon to kill, she would find that she was faster, stronger, more powerful than she had ever been.

"Do you think it'll go away?"

"I don't know.  I think it was a gift." Buffy said simply.  She bit her lip, "Faith?"

"Yeah, B?"

"Do you ever wonder if it had nothing to do with us?  That maybe we were just there?"

Faith shrugged, "I'm not sure we can ever really understand, B.  Not even if we live another ten thousand years."

"It just feels, sometimes, that it was all about winning instead of wrong and right or good and evil. That it was just about..." She stopped, searching for the words.

"Power." Faith said simply.  "It was about power, B.  Who has it.  Who wields it.  That's all, Buffy.  Don't overanalyze it."

Buffy sighed, staring into her cup as if it would spell out the answers for her.  She no longer had vampires to slay every night or demons coming to town to kill her or open the Hellmouth.  No more prophecies.  No more torn leather pants and ruined boots.  No purpose or direction.  Even though she had fought it bitterly, slaying had been so much a part of her life that she was left floundering now that it was gone.

"How do you do it, Faith?  How do you know what you want to do or be or anything?"

"I don't.  I'm just trying to find my way like the rest of humanity." Faith smiled.  "It's easier for me because I had demons on my heels that I could finally put to rest." Her eyes got that far away look.  "My mom wasn't around.  You know that.  She didn't care about me.  She didn't want me even though I wanted her to.  I wanted her love so bad, B.  It made me crazy, literally."

"Remember that phase.  What happened?"

"I found out that I had a different kind of mother." She looked down at the table, still uncomfortable with her emotions.  "One who loved me for who I was.  One who loved me even when I had blood on my hands and my heart was so full of hate that everything I touched went to Hell.  A mother who died for me.  For you.  For us.  I was loved, B.  I was loved that much."  Tears were glistening in her eyes.  "Somehow that makes this life a little more special for me.  I got to chuck some of my baggage and let go of the past forever."

Buffy took her hand, squeezing gently and smiling.  There was silence for several minutes, each lost in their thoughts and memories.  "You're right." Buffy broke the silence.  "Time to get out there and live a little.  I don't suppose that cute guy has a friend?"

Faith laughed, "He does but you're not ready."

"I am so ready." Buffy protested.

"He's not your type."

"How do you know what my type is?"

"He's not Spike." Faith said quietly.  "Don't you think I've noticed that whenever you meet a guy who's interested, he's never the guy.  His sense of humor isn't right or he doesn't do something else.  Little things.  Details really.  But it's really because they're not him."

"I'm that transparent?"

"Only to me, B.  We've been to the end of the world and back.  You can't hide anything from me."

"Do you think he'll come back?"

"Does it matter?  Are you going to wait for him?"

"I don't know."

Faith sighed and stood up, restacking her books as she shifted their weight to her hip.  "If you love him, really love him, then go find him and bring him back."

"He doesn't love me anymore Faith." Buffy rubbed her face with her hands, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  "He lost his mate.  The woman he wanted for all eternity.  I can't.  I can't ask him to forget her."

"Then don't."

Buffy closed her eyes, "Don't you have class soon?"

"You betcha.  Just leaving.  Will you still be here when I get out?"

"Probably."

"Good.  We'll hit the mall and find you a great pair of boots.  That'll cheer you up."

"You certainly know the way to a girl's heart.  Good luck in class." She smiled as she watched Faith head for the door.  "And ask him out already!"

"Later, B."

Buffy sank back against padded back of the booth and took a deep breath.  Her tea was beyond salvage now and she had already gone through the newspaper front to back three times.  The sign for the Magic Box sparkled in the sunlight invitingly.  Muttering about having no life, she left her cold tea on the table and headed across the street.

The bell jingled merrily as the door opened and she heard Anya call out from the back of the store.  "I'll be right with you!"

"Just me Anya." She yelled and took a seat around the table.

"Buffy."  Anya came out of the basement with her arms full of jars.  "Today's your day off.  I'm not paying you overtime."

"No worries, An.  I'm here for the ambiance."

"Oh. Well. Okay." The vengeance demon had hired Buffy to work at the shop five days a week so she could continue her vengeance work, although Buffy knew for a fact that the demon's idea of vengeance had changed dramatically in the past year.  More of a Gently-Helping-People-See-The-Error-Of-Their-Ways Demon.  She had even begun talking classes in marriage counseling so she could help her customers more effectively.  After Kamaria's death, the contract for Anya's vengeance work had been relinquished to Anya herself, giving her complete freedom.

"How's Dawn?"

"Good." Buffy's eyes wandered over the shelves.  "Anya?"

"Yes?"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not really.  A few men have hit on me but I haven't met anyone I'm really interested in."

"What if you never do?  Meet someone that is."

Anya stopped and stared at Buffy for a moment before she put the jars down on the counter carefully and took a seat next to her.  "I could talk to him.  See if he's ready to come home."

"I think he is home, Anya.  He's where he was with her.  I can't ask him to come back for me.  It's too selfish.  I'm done being selfish." Buffy laid her head down on the table, watching her friend as the woman tried to think of something to say.  The demon had come so far in the past year that sometimes Buffy wondered if she was even the same Anya they had known.

"And if he wants to come home?"

"He doesn't love me Anya.  End of story." Buffy sighed.  "Sometimes I think I'll find someone else.  Someone nice and normal and wonderful.  But every time I look around, there's nothing.  No sparkage anywhere in sight.  It's as if part of me just died.  I've tried to be interested.  I've tried to get out there and find someone.  I don't even want sex anymore.  Just thinking about it turns my stomach."

"Perhaps you should talk to someone.  A licensed therapist, perhaps?"

"Maybe.  Maybe something's wrong with me.  Faith has it all together.  She's excited and she's got her groove on.  She's so alive and I feel so dead inside."  Buffy shuddered.  "He was the only one who made me feel alive."  She hated referring to the darkest year of her life even though the pain had long since vanished.  "What if no one ever makes me feel alive again?"

"I'm sure there is someone out there who is capable of that.  It's a small town.  You should take a vacation or something.  Go to Los Angeles or New York.  More opportunities there.  It's all a matter of numbers." Anya patted her hand comfortingly.  "There are six billion people on this planet.  There has to be at least one who could be good for you.  You just have to find him.  Maybe take a few classes next semester, there are a lot of eligible men there."

"Yeah.  I guess I could go back to school.  Get a degree and all that." Buffy smiled and sat back to stretch her back.  "I just need to find a purpose.  Something to do.  I used to have patrolling and slaying.  I probably just have too much time on my hands and that leads to too much thinking."

"Which leads to brooding."

"Which leads to turning into the magnificent Poof." She smiled at the Spikism and tucked her hair behind her ears.  "And one Angel is more than enough."

"Absolutely right." Anya nodded matter-of-factly and returned to sorting jars.

"You're right about the vacation too.  I've been thinking of sending Dawn to see Giles.  Maybe we'll both go."

"Giles would enjoy that.  And you could meet English men there."

Buffy stood up, feeling energized and optimistic.  "Thanks Anya.  I needed to hear a practical viewpoint and you've always been good at that."

"I aim to please." The demon grinned.

"And I'm sure Spike is happy where he is.  I'm sure he's doing just fine." Buffy nodded to reassure herself and headed back to the Espresso Pump to wait for Faith.  Boot shopping sounded like the perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Anya waited for the bell to ring before she took a calming breath and finished sorting the jars and placing them on the shelves.  She hated lying to her friends.  She hated not being able to tell them that she had already gone to see Spike and that what she had found had her profoundly worried.  Spike was not okay and Spike was not happy. In fact, he hadn't even seen her when she had found him lying in a bed of ferns.  His blue eyes were blank, lost in his own grief at the loss of his mate.  The silence had been unnerving, the vampire had always been unable to keep his mouth shut.  She couldn't bring him home and she couldn't take anyone there.  What good would it do to tell her friends that he was catatonic in heaven and would probably remain so for eternity.  She kept her silence, returning occasionally to check on the vampire, hoping that one day she would see a change.

There was a voice trying to ruin his peace.  He could hear the voice but the words seemed to be chopped and disjointed.  Did he know those words?  He had known them once.  Some part of his brain remembered when things had been different.  There had been sounds other than the birds chirping and the winds rustling.  There had been colors other the gold of day and the indigo of night.  Other voices too.  And there had been emotions other than despair.

"Vampire." The voice came again.  A male voice.  "Vampire."

His eyes focused on the dark shape curled at his side, finding liquid black eyes staring out of the warm fur.  He blinked, wondering what he was supposed to do.  Could he even speak?  How long had it been?  The words didn't form, they merely scattered when he tried to grab hold of them.

"You are lost, vampire." The panther was watching him.  Why was the panther speaking?  Cats couldn't speak.  Nothing here spoke except the birds and the wind.

"You are far from home and from those who love you."

Love.  That word hurt.  Why did it hurt so much?  Why did everything hurt so much?  He wanted the cat to go away.  He wanted the sun to go away.

"There is nothing here for you, vampire."

Nothing.  That's what he wanted.  Nothing.  If he could disappear into nothing the pain would end.  His suffering would end.  Sluggishly, his mind pointed out that there was no chance of that happening in this soft world of peace and silence.

"Do not dishonor her memory." The cat was speaking again.

He turned his face away.  The cat didn't understand.  There wasn't a soul in this place that understood.

"I will return, vampire."  And then the cat was gone.

Good.  He had thought the beast would never leave.  It had pulled him from his rest, his solitude.  Hunger gnawed at him.  His muscles complained as he pulled himself up and headed into the house where the blood waited for him.  Always waiting for him like the sun and the night.  An endless cycle that blurred into a single eternal day marked only by pain.

"How do I become strong enough?"

"You suffer."

Familiar words.  That voice.  He knew that voice, had heard it in his dreams so many times that it had become part of him.  Woven so deeply into his heart and soul that he often wondered if it was his own voice that he heard.  The voice meant peace and love and happiness.  It soothed him.  He stood in the kitchen, empty glass in hand, staring out the window at the mountains.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

"I love you, Spike."

More pain.  Where was the pain coming from?  When would it end?

"Why can't I take the pain away?  Why couldn't I prevent Spike from suffering?  The man I have loved for more than a hundred years.  The one man in my entire existence that I have loved with all my heart and all my soul.  Even for him, I could do nothing.  I could not take his pain.  I could not suffer for him.  I have held him at night when his dreams left him screaming in pain and terror.  I have seen despair so deep in his eyes that my heart has broken.  And I have been powerless to stop it."

His eyes squeezed shut as he fought to keep the tears at bay, hands shaking as memories began to creep back into his clouded mind.

"He came after you and I couldn't even hate him.  When he hurt you, I couldn't. I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I couldn't kill him for you.  For Nikki and Jia Li."

"Love isn't brains, it's blood."

Tears slipped down his cheeks, cool and wet on his skin.  The glass shattered in his hand, cutting through skin and falling to the floor like diamonds.  Why wouldn't the voices leave him alone?  He looked down at his hand, seeing the blood on his pale skin.  Blood on his hands.  There was always blood on his hands.  Blood and death.

"Spike?"

Another voice.  Was it in his head or was it real?  He turned, slightly, and caught sight of a woman.  Familiar.  She visited him sometimes.  Blond hair and sweet brown eyes.  Did he know her name?

"Spike."

Was that his name?  Did he even have a name?  He shook his head, trying to shake away the questions and the voices.  He wanted to be alone and quiet.

"I know you're hurting, Spike.  I know you've lost something that I can't even begin to understand.  I just wanted you to know that we're here for you.  Well, actually, we're in Sunnydale.  But we'll be there if you need us.  We love you and we miss you.  Come back to us."

Sunnydale.  More memories.  Faces, colors, flashes of someone else's life.  Far away from Heaven.  A name.  There was a name.

"Anya." It was barely a whisper.

"Yes." She was excited that he had finally recognized her.  "I'm Anya.  I'm your friend."

"Friend." He repeated the word softly, unsure of its meaning.  Everything seemed to be so far away, lost in a heavy mist.  It was all jumbled.  Just words and faces. Nothing made sense.

"I'll come back soon.  I promise."  She vanished.

"Anya." His voice was louder, stronger.  "Spike." She had called him Spike.  The cat had called him vampire.  Vampire.  Also familiar.  Slowly he crawled through the thick tar of his detachment, grabbing hold of words he knew from a time long past.  With agonizing effort, he remembered that he was a vampire.  That's why he drank the blood that waited for him every day.  Vampires drank blood.

He was frustrated, lost and trapped in a maze within himself.  Disoriented, he stumbled through the hallways, searching for something he didn't know or understand.  He would know it when he saw it.  Something to make the pieces fit.

A door swung open and the wind drew him into the room.  A bed.  He remembered that bed.  Black hair.  Violet eyes.  The voice from his dreams whispering to him. Frowning, he turned to the closet, trailing his fingers over the clothes.  White and soft, they flowed through his fingers.  Then they were black.  Leather.  Red eyes full of power and fire.  Fire.  Blood that tasted of fire.  His fist closed around a pair of leather pants and memories came flooding back, sending him to his knees.

"Oh God." His voice was ragged.  She was dead.  His beautiful mate was dead.  Her blood had covered his hands because he couldn't save her.  He hadn't been strong enough to save her.  Her skin had been ripped, her bones broken.  She had felt so small in his arms as he had carried her away.  Small and fragile.  Images blurred and he could see her smiling, her laughter filling him until he wondered if his heart would burst.  He could feel the silk of her skin and the power of her body beneath him.  Lush, earth colored lips whispered and kissed him.  Her scent was life and sunlight.

"I couldn't save her." He was sobbing, holding onto her clothes like a lifeline.  "I couldn't save her.  Gone.  Forever.  Gone."  The fog beckoned to him and he struggled to stay coherent.  He shouldn't trust the fog or the peace it gave him.  It wasn't right.  He needed to stay away.

"You weren't meant to save her, vampire." It was the cat again.  The cat with the gentle voice and the ageless eyes.

"Why?" Spike slumped against the wall.  "Why not?"

"She died that you might live."

"I should have been the one.  It should have been me."

"It was as it should have been." The cat nudged him gently, his nose soft and wet against skin.

"What now?  What do I do now?  I'm nothing without her."  With an anguished sob, the vampire pulled his knees closer to his chest and stared desolately at the cat.  "I can't spend forever without her.  I can't go on forever."

"That is not what she intended for you." Black eyes regarded him wisely.  "She died that you might live."

"You've said that before.  I know that.  I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You're not listening.  She died that you might live."

Spike stopped, "Live?  As in alive?  As in a heartbeat?"  He frowned at the thought.  "That's impossible.  I'm a vampire."

"It was her gift.  Your redemption.  You merely need to accept it."

"What?" he rubbed his temples, trying to comprehend what the cat was saying.  "How?  I don't understand."

"You have tasted her blood.  You have tasted life itself.  It can be returned to you."

"I would be mortal?"

"Yes.  You would live out your life as any other and you would die as any other."

Death.  He wanted death.  He wanted the nothingness that came with death.  Did he want to breath?  To have blood flowing in his veins again?  Would he still be Spike? What would he do?  Where would he go?

"I just wanted you to know that we're here for you.  Well, actually, we're in Sunnydale.  But we'll be there if you need us.  We love you and we miss you.  Come back to us."

Sunnydale.  Home.  He could go home.  He could live.

"Have you decided, vampire?"

"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it." He whispered into the silence.  "Would I be able to come back here?"

"This place will disappear once you have left.  Without its Queen, it will fade into nothing eventually."

"Will I forget her?"

"No.  You will not forget her."

Spike got to his feet slowly and deliberately, "Then I choose.  I choose to live.  For her.  She," he winced.  "She would have wanted it."

"Very well.  Farewell vampire."

The world was blinding light and movement.  It dazzled with its breakneck pace while it seduced with quiet, languid moments that lasted much longer than they should have.  Seething, teaming masses of life and humanity covered the world with heat and passion.  Each breath was full of so many smells and aromas that it would take several lifetimes to experience them all.

William Forsyth stood on the corner of Johnson and Grafton watching tourists and locals alike meander through the crowds.  Shopping bags full of recently acquired treasures hung heavily from their arms as they went about their lives without noticing his watchful gaze.  Booths of homemade jewelry and scarves were set up at the intersections and the familiar flower vendors were a sea of brilliant colors.  His blue jeans and charcoal linen shirt were unremarkable, brown leather boots typical of the footwear in Dublin.  He had bleached his hair blond, leaving it loose and curling just to the tops of his ears.  Pale skin had tanned to a light bronze despite the rainy temperament of the Irish weather.

He had chosen Forsyth because it meant 'Man of Peace' and it had reminded him of Heaven.  On a good day the memories left him feeling warm and optimistic.  Bad days were usually spent staring into a pint of Guinness in a dark corner of The Brazen Head.

London had been too much for him. Too much noise.  Too many people.  And too many reminders from when he had been there so many decades before.  He had wandered the city in wonder at the changes he had missed.  The old, familiar city he had loved was long gone and he had found himself feeling more alone because of it. Bare essentials had been acquired in the dark alleys and basements of the city's underbelly.  When he had just enough of the forged paperwork he needed, he had managed the rest with charm and a little pleading.  Young female secretaries were particularly vulnerable and had been willing to bend some of the rules.  He had identification, a birth certificate, and a passport for when he was ready to return to California.

Unwilling to abandon what had once been his home, he had waited for the city to take hold of him and enchant him the way it once had.  One warm, hazy afternoon he had stopped in a café for coffee and had nearly bumped into Rupert Giles.  The experience shook him and he had left town that night.

Roads led him north through Wales, a ruggedly beautiful land that had welcomed him without feeling like home.  He had taken the ferry to the Green Isle on a lark.  His first steps down the streets of Dublin felt so natural that he stayed.  The air was cooler and sweeter than London.  He could stroll leisurely through the pedestrian streets without feeling that he should be hurrying toward some unfathomable goal.  It was a soft city.  Comfortable and friendly without being invasive.

He rented a room from an older woman who was hell-bent on making sure he found a nice Irish lass.  She was a terror but also a compassionate woman who reminded him of Joyce.  Maybe it was the little marshmallows she put in her cocoa with a conspiratorial wink.  He found work as a bartender in one of the trendier pubs where his bleached hair was considered stylish and his strength was valuable in dealing with the occasional customer.  The retention of his vampire strength and speed had been unexpected.  More often than not, he would have preferred the superior night vision or fangs.  Human growls didn't carry the same threat.  It came out as a strangled cough and wasn't at all intimidating.  There were vampires in Dublin but they had learned to stay away from him soon enough.

It was a rare day.  Cloudless blue skies and the warming sun had brought people out of their houses in droves to fill the streets and enjoy the break in the weather.  He didn't mind the rain.  Restlessness had finally driven him from his haven on Newmarket and he had walked into the heart of town to watch the city as it celebrated the sun.

Buses rumbled past him and he had cast a silent salute to the statue of a woman selling her wares.  Exactly what those wares were was a subject of humor among the Dubliners and the statue itself was more often than not referred to as the Tart with the Cart.  It made him smile for a reason he wasn't quite sure of.  Perhaps it merely felt good to smile at something those around him found entertaining.  He had wandered mindlessly, randomly choosing streets and stepping into the occasional shop to browse.

The Temple Bar district was always good for people watching.  It was filled with college students, political activists, artists, and the ubiquitous tourists.  There was life in the air, raw and undiluted.  A metal bench in the shape of a flower had fascinated him for days as he watched people laugh and smile, insisting on having their picture taken sitting beneath the petals.

He thought about getting a tattoo for a while but he couldn't think of anything meaningful.  Finally he had shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on his way, always searching for something he couldn't explain.  The emptiness in his heart ached to be filled but it left him no clues as to what was capable of the feat.  Women had smiled and flirted with him.  He had even kissed a few of them only to realize it was hollow and lonely.

The crowd and the sun had soothed him with warmth and the pleasant babble of the Irish tongue.  From the corner he could watch both ends of Grafton, following a family or a single person from one end to the other as he wondered where their life would lead them and what pain they would face in the future.  A sea of unfamiliar faces with strange voices and unknown paths.

Long brown hair caught his eyes.  A young girl, fifteen or sixteen.  Like Dawn.  He smiled faintly at the memories of the youngest Summers.  She would be graduating from high school soon.  He had lost track of time while he was in Heaven and had been surprised to realize he had been gone so long.  Graduation was supposed to be a grand event with family and celebrations.  Absently he wondered if she'd like something Irish as a graduation present.  Maybe he could go home.

Home.  For the first time since he had returned it felt comfortable and easy to think of Sunnydale as home.  He stood on the corner, struck with the realization that he was in a foreign country and thousands of miles from where he should have been.
 
 

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