He had been in England now for three weeks, after procuring a false identity in L.A. he had flown first to France where ‘William the Bloody’ had a part interest in a certain highly profitable demon club just on the outskirts of Paris. Needless to say his business partner was most displeased to see that after all these years he was ‘not dust’. Even less so when Spike informed him that he wanted out of the thriving business and that he had forty-eight hours to come up with the cash. When Merv had hummed and hawed Spike’s patience, which seemed even less than usual lately, had given out. After a brief but thorough reminder of why it would be in Merv’s best interest not to piss him right off he had informed the terrified demon that his share had just gone up by 2% and that he would be back in two days expecting cold hard cash, good old Sterling too none of those poncy Eurodollars.

So William Prescott 28 years of age born in Rochford, Essex had rented a nice apartment in London and set about to explore the city that had grown massive since he had last seen it. In the three weeks since his arrival he had already acquired some favourite haunts. One of which was a small jazz club a few blocks over from his home, it was not his normal scene but the music was good, the atmosphere was soothing and best of all he wasn’t come on to a dozen times a night by the loud scantily clad drunken tarts that hit on him every time he set foot in one of the more upbeat nightclubs around town. He just wasn’t in the mood for company right now, not even for a shag and the stupid whiny little bints reminded him of Harmony, making his blood run cold. What had he been thinking?

Another of his favourite pastimes was walking along the canals, watching the world go by at a slower pace, the warm sunlight of a London summer shining down on him. It had taken him a few days for the rage that had consumed him to burn out, a few days over which Los Angeles’ demon population had diminished rapidly. Once it did however he had begun to appreciate the gifts that had been bestowed upon him. Sunlight and the comfort of its warmth surrounding him being his favourite.

*********************

Buffy was heading home after a long day to the ‘New Council of Watchers’ provided flat, Dawn was going to her new friend from school, Rebecca’s house for the weekend, so no diversion there. Willow was down in South America and Xander had returned home to The States a few months ago, homesick and heartsick. On impulse she turned away from home, opting instead to head for one of the many lovely parks London was famous for. She had done very little in the way of sightseeing since arriving in London, she had done very little at all in the way of living since that morning in the Hellmouth nearly 10 months ago.

Walking through the park, enjoying the peace, the softness of this long English twilight she lost all track of time. How long had she been walking lost in her own world, following a path that branched and meandered for miles? She had no idea where she was, or how to get back home from here. She cast her eyes around looking for somewhere she could get a taxi from, a figure in the distance caught her eye. Black clad body lean and lithe, possessed of a self assuredness and grace, white blonde hair slicked back against his head. She was not close enough to see the sharp angular features of a beautiful face, or the glorious sapphire eyes that could burn into your soul, but she knew they were there, knew every line of that face as if it were her own.

As her feet started to carry her in his direction she forcibly stopped herself. What was she doing? It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be, she knew that, she had seen him burning up, watched as his soul incinerated him from the inside and had been helpless to prevent it. This could not be him, it couldn’t. But oh how her heart longed to believe it could be. In direct disobedience to her orders her legs again started in the blonde’s direction, he was moving away from her in a smooth long legged gait. Speeding up to close the distance, her heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through her, she kept trying to tell herself not to be stupid ‘it cannot be him’ but no matter how much she told herself this as each step brought her closer to him she became more and more convinced it was him, it had to be!

She watched as her turned to a busy road, his arm reaching out, hand signalling as a big black London taxi pulled to the curb. No! She had to do something, she started to run, desperate to close the distance between them. “Spike!” She screamed out at the top of her lungs, legs still pumping as she hurtled towards him. The blonde figure stopped and looked at her. It was him, it was, she had known it had to be no matter what her common sense told her. She watched as recognition lit his face, her heart singing with joy. Then watched again in horror as his face hardened, he stepped into the taxi closing the door behind him. The black hulk pulled away from the curb just seconds before she reached it, with tears pouring down her face she crumpled to the ground in a heap.