Continuance: Somewhere in between Hell's Bells and the episode where Riley returns. I have used my creative writer's license for some this.

Distribution: Just let me know where it's going.

It was almost funny how something as small as a ray of sunlight could keep him crunched in what had to be one of the most rank, disgusting alleys in the town. Nothing but a golden ribbon illuminating the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. Almost made one forget about the scum lining the damp concrete, the mounds of litter piled haphazardly in the corners, or that just a few hours ago rats had scourged the area searching for food.

Inwardly, he scoffed. Some Big Bad he was: inching back towards the grimy wall every time his mind wandered and his feet began to slip into the light. A warrior, killer of thousands and he was being held captive by a couple of sunbeams. He let out a short bark of laughter that quickly turned into a wet, shuddering cough that took him a few seconds to get under control and left his chest burning. Carefully, he wiped his lips and saw the flecks of blood dotting his fingers.

Damn. Must've punctured a lung, bloody claws. He frowned a bit; he wouldn't be smoking anytime soon. As if asking some higher being, he raised his head towards the sky for a moment. Just answer me this one question: What the hell was an Agarim demon doing in California?

The creature that was suited for more wild, untouched areas--like the jungles of Papua New Guinea--was fast, with quick darting movements that normally wouldn't have been a problem, but as the case was lately, his mind had been wandering. One would think that for once he could contemplate--not brood, mind you--in peace, but it just wouldn't be Sunnyhell if a vamp could take a leisurely stroll through his favorite cemetery without being rudely interrupted by a screeching hell spawn that sported hedge clippers for fingers.

He winced as he shifted a little to quickly in the tiny crevice. Better add broken ribs to the list.

A list, that he noticed, was becoming very long and didn't make this little stay any more comfortable. His own fault, really. The fight had lasted too long; in the end with the creature getting a good snap to the neck. However, the dawn was coming, and in his hurry he had dumped the body in a Dumpster behind one of those ridiculous fast-food places. A smirk appeared on his face as he imagined some little grease ball going to empty the trash and finding more than leftovers from last week that probably tasted better than the food from this week. He quickly controlled himself so he wouldn't let out another laugh. That first one had hurt like a mother. Yet after he had disposed of the body, he found that the first rays of morning were just about to creep over the horizon.

Mr. Sun would wait for no one, not even a neutered vampire who seemed to have a little identity crisis. Which was not exactly a false description. As time went on, he grew less and less sure of who he was. Or what he was. Oh, how he sometimes longed for the old days of bloodshed and slaughter without a thought. Those nights filled with the sweet, coppery smell of blood. Times when others feared and respected him, not jeered and spat at him when he walked by.

When had all of that changed?

It was because of these damn humans. He nodded his head to himself. First they put the bloody hardware in his head, and then they won't shut up about telling him how wrong everything about him was. And to put the frosting on the bloody cake, somewhere along the road, (a loud sigh here) they made him begin to care. To actually give a fuck about their welfare.

He snorted. It was ridiculous--he was ridiculous. And more than a tad pathetic. He sobered and leaned back against the fading brick, platinum hair becoming unruly and wild, matted with blood and dirt. What had caring brought him? A piss-load of nothing. He was still on the outside--always had been, he supposed. He had love for a woman who didn't want him in her life. But it wasn't so much what he had, but what he didn't have. A place. He had no place in this bright world full of latté-drinking, cell-phone-talking, television-watching humans. Nor did he really have a place anymore in the gory, selfish, shady world of demons. It was as if he were doing a balancing act between lives, or rather, unlives. With every sharp tug of his demon, there was an equal pull from the small bit of humanity that he'd thought he lost so long ago. Eyes that used to be such a bright, clear blue but were now bordering on gray, slowly closed in a moment of near-exhaustion. Then jerked open in a flash of anger. He didn't fit in anywhere, and goddamn it, he was so sick of trying. Couldn't go back to what he used to be because that wasn't who he was anymore and, to be completely honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be.

A low growl rumbled in his throat and his body tensed. He didn't need this growing pressure in his chest, the endless days of insomnia, that one fleeting moment before he took a sip from his mug to wonder if everything about him was wrong. To wonder if everything they said and thought about him and what he was, was true. He didn't deserve all this, all the chatter in his mind...well, okay, maybe. Hello? Evil dead here. If he could even be classified as that anymore.

The smell of singing flesh and smoke alerted him that somewhere along his mental rant his legs had decided to get a tan. Hastily, he pulled them back up to his chest, cursing a blue streak all the way. Another deep sigh and he wondered how much longer until sunset. The blood was long dried, and some of the bruises had faded to yellow, but he was uncertain as to how long he had actually been sitting there, in his little corner of hell. There was nothing left to do but wait and watch. Just like he always did.

In the magic shop, on patrol; any time he was momentarily (or as often happened, longer) forgotten. Face adorned with the perfectly practiced look of indifference as he leaned against the wall of the magic shop, underneath he was always listening. Little glances out of the corner of his eyes picked up minute details, sharp ears gathering whispered words. Always watching. Always noticing.

It was the little things. The little facts that had accumulated in his mind that would never have a use. Like how Willow's favorite color was green. Or how the whelp was good at not only bowling but not bad at pool either. And the ex-demon, Anya, how if you listened carefully her questions were sometimes perfectly logical. Or the other witch, Tara, how she had the same tea at least once a week. Then Dawn with her love of kiwi-flavored lip gloss. Dawn, who, at one point, almost made it all worth it. The one who actually gave him a smile, made him not feel so cold inside. His friendship with her had been real--one of the few things left that was. But the 'Bit was busy with school and didn't seem to need him anymore; didn't need to sneak over to his crypt to watch black & white movies until she fell asleep and he had to carry her back to the house before someone noticed she was gone. Finally, there was Buffy. She had, in some part, caused all of this too. Her inability to make up her mind, and how she could go from being so tough to being incredibly fragile in mere minutes. More than anything in this world, he wanted to be with her; maybe have a shot at happiness.

Another short laugh, this one not as painful anymore. Now he was really rambling; sounded like a regular ponce he did. Again he shifted and pulled his legs tighter to his chest so they wouldn't slip towards the light. Sunlight. He could never touch it again. But somehow being around Buffy made him feel bathed in light. But that light, too, was gone. Much like he was from her life.

At the time, he thought that this was the right thing to do--especially for her sake. But now, after being away for more than two weeks he felt more submerged in the darkness than ever. He was the one drowning. Yet, unlike other times, he didn't welcome the darkness. He struggled against the current, grasping for the light. The light was not his to have, however, and he was trapped in the dark just like right now. He wanted to scream his throat raw in frustration that the light was so close but he couldn't touch it, and now the sun was setting and it would soon disappear from his clutch.

The last bit of the sun snuck down and left him, until the alley was once again a gray, littered, hole in the wall. Wearily, he stood up and shook out his legs to rid them of the numb, tingly feeling that still inhabited him, even after he no longer had a circulation. Running fingers through his hair he set off for his crypt, or maybe Willy's. He kicked at an old beer can. Getting plastered sounded really good at the moment. Wipe his mind from the buzzing thoughts that occupied it constantly. Drown his sorrows and forget his depression. Forget that he knew, even if one day he did reach the light; did touch the light, he would only get burned.

Author's Note: I'm almost positive this has been done before, but when an idea hits me I can't let it be. It was too great to resist the chance to explore the mind of everyone's favorite vampire. Please tell me what you think, no matter how short. Suggestions are also welcome, and flames will be used to roast marshmallows.