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Author's Chapter Notes:
I haven't seen AtS Season 5 so bear that in mind.

Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think.
Sometimes she really couldn’t stand this guy. Claudio. Known to most as The Immortal. She sometimes wondered if maybe he was called so because he outlived everyone he knew by boring them to death. He certainly liked the sound of his own voice. And he liked to tell her of the many wild adventures he’d had and the interesting people he’d met - and with over several hundred years of adventures to tell, he wasn’t running out anytime soon. And when he wasn’t talking, he was preening in a very Italian-like way. Sure, he was handsome but just not her type, even if he was a vampire.

A very Slayer-like urge in her was prompting her to wring his neck, but she kept her hands in tight fists under the table, plastering on the fake smile that had held his attention for the last few weeks. He had been more than pleased to meet The Slayer, the first, original One Girl In All The World. Another story to add to his repertoire, no doubt. And as long as she nodded along to his stories and pretended to show an interest, he lost none in her. Which worked just fine for her.

She had a job to do and with every word, he made it easier and easier for her to detach herself emotionally from the task at hand. Not that she had really been attaching emotions of late. Not since Sunnydale… Not since Spike… No, she couldn’t think about him. Not now, or she would never be able to sit through another moment of Claudio’s stories. He was gone. He had died so she could live. And now look what she got to do with her life.



She was certain she wasn’t the only one capable of doing the job - even if the original Slayer appeal had helped to lure Claudio. There were plenty of new Slayers out there who she was sure would have liked to be wined and dined for the job. At the same time, she knew she had been singled out for one very good reason: no-one wanted to watch her grieve and so, by throwing her back out into the field, they wouldn’t have to see it.

It didn’t stop because of their actions, of course – and it only made her charade even harder – but the theory back at Watcher HQ was out of sight, out of mind. They hadn’t said that, of course: Giles was far too British to be as forthcoming as that. They had given her some spiel about her being the only one experienced enough and how she would enjoy Italy. She didn’t buy it but had agreed, knowing there was no choice but to.

And, despite Claudio’s grating presence, she had fallen in love with Italy. So much so that her descriptions had brought Dawn to the country as well. It was a beautiful country, warm and friendly, and in some ways it helped to assuage just a small amount of the pain in her heart. And even though she was working, she felt freer than ever before. She no longer had the weight of the world on her shoulders and didn’t have to be worrying about demons every minute of the day.

Even here in Rome, there were two other slayers so that she could ‘focus on the task at hand’, in Giles’ words. She wasn’t exactly going to complain about having some of the work taken off her hands, although she still patrolled now and again, when the urge to fight something took her, or when Claudio had been particularly irritating.



She never made a habit of listening to what Claudio was talking about, only tuning in now and then to make sure she wasn’t missing anything important – and tonight was no exception. He sat opposite her, eating his spaghetti in that classy way all Italians seemed to have been born with, his latest story only interrupted for short moments as he ate. She sat there, smiling and nodding, listlessly eating the food she had ordered but had no real appetite for.

This was the second night this week she had had to put up with Claudio and she wasn’t sure it was good for her. At least the other night, they had been in a club and so he hadn’t really been able to talk and she could just lose herself in the music and ignore him anyway. As she danced, she closed her eyes, imagining herself back at the Bronze again. And the illusion was helped by that slight tingle at the back of her neck that had alerted her to the presence of one - maybe two - vampires close by. She had shrugged, knowing one of the other slayers would deal with the problem, and had gone back to her dancing, nodding absentmindedly as Claudio attempted to talk to her over the thumping music.

Today, there was no blocking out what he was saying: the music in the restaurant was far too low to cover his voice. God, even his voice and the Italian accent that had set her fluttering during the first few days of her stay in Rome was starting to grate on her nerves. But her job was far from over – she still needed to gain his complete trust. Which wasn’t exactly easy, thanks to the paranoia that had become natural for someone with the number of enemies he had. He was talking about two enemies he had encountered recently now, but she was barely listening, as usual.

She smirked to herself and quickly hid her smile in a piece of garlic bread. Like many Italians, Claudio was very quick-tempered and would be sure to get angry if he thought she was laughing at him – something she had learnt very early on. Chewing idly on the garlic bread, a name suddenly had her ears pricked up.



“And this Angelus… pah. He is even worse now than he was without his soul. I just can not do business with the man.”

She sat up, suddenly listening more intently – not that he noticed her change in demeanour, too caught up in his own little monologue.

“Both of them. They drive me crazy,” he exclaimed, gesturing with his hands, “They come to my city and then try to beat me at my own game.”

He gave a little self-satisfied laugh.

“You were involved with Angelus, no?” he asked, turning to her with fleeting interest.

“Err…yeah,” she answered, not that her answer really bothered him. He nodded, took a thoughtful bite out of spaghetti, and then continued.

“William the Bloody has changed though.”

Her whole body froze up and her heart missed a beat as she heard that name.

“And those clothes… pah.” He gave a thoroughly Italian grimace. “The punk look was never one I admired. But now, in the twenty-first century…”

He shuddered at the thought but she could process nothing. No, no it couldn’t be him. He was dead. For once, Claudio must have noticed her lack of fake attention and he turned to her with a frown.

“Buffy, cara?”

“William the Bloody?” she repeated, trying to keep her voice from shaking even as she clenched the chair tightly.

“Yes.”

He gave her a strange look then, a knowing look that belied his age.

“Ah, you were involved with this vampire too,” he stated.



She nodded numbly and then shook her head, raising her eyes to his.

“When did you say you saw them?” she asked. Maybe she had missed the time of this story and he was talking about some encounter that had happened years ago.

“This week. They were both in Rome, trying to steal from me.”

He gave another self-satisfied smile.

“I guess it is only fair after I stole their women…”

She was still stunned and her next words tumbled out helplessly.

“Are… are you sure it was William the Bloody?”

“Yes,” he answered, a tone in his voice that showed how little he liked being doubted, “It was him. Spike, as he calls himself.”

She shook her head numbly.

“No. It- It can’t be. He’s dead.”

“You saw him die?”

“No… But he… There’s no way he could…”

She trailed off and suddenly pushed her chair back from the table.

“I’m sorry, Claudio. I have to go.”

Before he could answer, she grabbed her purse and raced out of the restaurant, receiving a few strange looks. As soon as she was out in the street, she sank against the nearest wall, her hands shaking helplessly.

“It can’t be true,” she whispered to herself, “It can’t.”

She felt like she was choking for breath and she pushed herself away from the wall, tripping along the cobbles in her high heels, one hand held to her chest.



Somehow, she made it home and stumbled through the door, shutting it blindly behind her. She went through to her bedroom and threw her bag down on the floor as she kicked off her shoes. She then sank to the bed, curling up in a ball, her hands fisted in the covers. It couldn’t be true. She knew it couldn’t be – there was no way he could have survived Sunnydale. She had been lucky to get out alive. And he had already been burning up from the inside when she had left him, her hand scorched from his touch.

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t, but thanks for saying it.”

With the memory, tears she had managed to hold in for the last few weeks came pouring out, her chest heaving with painful sobs as she buried her face in the covers. Every time, the pain of his loss seemed to hit her like new, crippling her and making it hard for her to breathe. She tugged one of her pillows down to her and buried her face in it, the tears dripping down onto it and no doubt staining it with mascara. She was beyond caring though and all she could do was sob with a helplessness she hadn’t felt for a least a month now. Hugging the pillow to her, she cried herself to sleep in the darkness of her room.





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