Panya listened quietly, and when Giles paused he asked the question that had been in his heart since Simba had been taken from Africa, “What was Simba like before the change? Does anyone know?”

Giles sighed and sat heavily in the chair behind his desk, “All the Watchers who’ve had occasion to cross his path- their writings say the same thing- that he was a ruthless killer. One that took great delight in being what he was, in being a vampire,” Giles sighed again, trying to reconcile what he’d seen with his own eyes with what he had been taught, “Before the soul, he was just like any other vampire. He had no conscience to guide him. He was an animal.”

As Giles looked at the boy’s dark eyes, a shudder of guilt went through him. His mind flashed on his grandmother; she’d lived to be over a hundred years old, and when he’d finally decided to follow in her footsteps, and become a Watcher, she’d looked just as Panya did now when he refused to listen to her wisdom.

Why did he feel as though he had disappointed his grandmother?

Panya spoke quietly, “Forgive me,” he bit his lip as he tried to make his meaning clear, “perhaps I did not say it correctly. My English is sometimes faulty. My meaning was simply this; what was Simba like before. Before he became marehemu?”

“Marehemu?” Willow asked.

“A vampire,” Giles grumbled tiredly, “And the answer is, we don’t know.”

“I see,” Panya said, his eyes squinting in thought, “There was no family to speak to, when Simba joined the ancestors,” he could see the confusion in the older man’s eyes and tried to choose words that would better express his thoughts, “…When he…passed on?”

Giles sighed as he felt the laugh building up in his chest, “Out of the mouths of babes,” he mumbled softly, smiling to himself as he leaned back in the leather chair, “I am quite certain there was. Just as I am certain that, until this precise moment, the Watchers’ Council had absolutely no interest in what any surviving family members would have had to say on the subject of their departed loved ones.”

Even as he was speaking, Giles could not help but think of his Grandmother Rachel.
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11 SPETEMBER 1973

Rupert hated being here. Hospitals made him uncomfortable, and to make things worse, every time he came here, she expected him to wear a suit.

He kept his eyes down as she spoke. The sight of his grandmother made him squirm. She had become thin in her old age, and her skin was sagging off of her bones. The veins were too prominent, showing blue under her skin.

He knew that she was dying. And, he did not want to see it happen to her.

Her thin voice filled the small room, “Rupert, your father tells me that you have become incorrigible; and that you will not see reason, and you’ve refused your place in the Watchers’ Academy. Is this true?”

His weight sifted from foot to foot as he looked at the floor and mumbled, “Yes, Grandmother.”

The softness in her voice surprised him, “I understand, Rupert. You’re young…and to be focused on death at such a young age…” her voice faltered, and Rupert looked up to see his grandmother’s eyes bathed in tears, “…It goes against nature. I only wish that I had never…I’m ninety-nine years old, and closer to death…”

He winced not wishing to face what he knew to be true, “Grandmother, please…” he begged, “Don’t…”

She blinked at him and wiped her eyes with a shaking hand. She nodded and sighed, “For me…the Watchers’ Council was never a job. It is a calling,” her eyes shone at him, a glistening blue, “ and I don’t want you to ever forget what it is that makes you different from those poor souls that have not been able to rest. Rupert, never forget that you are human. Without that, we are no better than the…evil we fight.”

“…Mister Giles, has anyone thought to ask Simba?”
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His eyes were glistening as he looked at her. She could still see the shadows of his bruises as they were fading from his skin. And, she thought of the kind of force that would be needed to deliver a blow that could not only make his skin bruise, but make them visible weeks after the abuse had stopped.

She had an indication because her mind flashed on the night of the birthday party that wouldn’t end due to Dawn’s wish, and an overzealous vengeance demon. That had occurred a full week after she had beat him to a pulp outside of the Sunnydale police station, and his face had still been swollen.

The possibilities horrified her, “Spike,” she asked, in a timid voice, suddenly unable to meet his eyes, she unconsciously mirrored his posture, “when is the last time you had anything to eat?”

He bit his lip in thought, and sighed heavily as his eyes drifted up to recall the memories, “I think I took a good bite out of the Watcher,” his eyes returned to her head, that was lowered in thought, “Don’t know how long ago that was though,” he smirked, “Don’t think I would have finished him. He didn’t agree with me.”

Buffy put her legs over the side of the bed so that she could be face to face with him, and close the gap between them. When he saw her begin to move, Spike pushed his body, and the chair he was sitting on, slightly away from her.

She put her hand lightly on his knee as he pulled back, and as she did, she felt him shaking, “…And, there was me…” she whispered.

“No!” Spike cried, his eyes wide with shock, “Slayer,” he shook his head, “I won’t do that! I can’t…”

“Spike,” Buffy spoke slowly and carefully, “I think I understand. But…I already told you…you won’t hurt me.”

His voice shook as he spoke to her, “No…you don’t understand. I can’t do that. I just…I can’t,” his shoulders sagged and his voice ebbed with the despondency he felt, “I just…can’t.”

“But you need it, Spike. And, it’s been months since you’ve taken anything in. Panya told me that you hardly ate, in Africa, and so did Giles…”

“That’s just it,” he sighed and looked down at the bandages that ringed his wrists as the reality of what had happened to him hit, “Slayer,” his voice shuddered, “the Watcher…he hurt me. But, I hurt myself too. What I did to you…it was wrong…”

“No, Spike…”

“No, it was. It was wrong, and there’s no way I can say how sorry I am. It’s just not enough…”

“Spike…” she soothed.

His eyes shone up at her, “Let me finish…please. I had to rid myself of the monster that would do that to you. So I did…what I knew I shouldn’t have,” his voice lowered to a whispered, “And now, even the thought of blood…Buffy,” a sob burst from his throat, “It makes me sick. I won’t survive like this. I can’t. And there’s only one other who would understand…”

Buffy nodded, “Angel.”

“And, there is no way in sodding Hell I’ll go crawling back to him. So,” his face held a ghost of a smirk as he looked at her and his eyes sparkled with a bit of his old fire, “So…you and Rupes and I…we’ll work out a place for me, in the world, yeah? See if I fit?”

“Indeed we will,” Giles’s authoritative voice sounded softly from the open doorway.