It's Too Quiet

by Saber ShadowKitten
My Childe 24






I miss him already.

I know it's only been an hour. Hell, he isn't even in Sunnydale yet. Him and Buffy are still in the car, driving further and further away from me. Driving out of my life.

Okay, I'm depressed. I keep telling myself that sending my beautiful boy from here is the best thing. But now... now that it's so quiet in here... so very quiet...

My Will has this presence about him that I could never ignore. Even when he was walking around here as if he were afraid to make a single noise -- which, in reality, he was -- I still could tell he was here.

No he's not, and it's too damn quiet. Cordelia and Doyle went out for a very, very early breakfast, leaving me here alone with the silence for company. My demon isn't even making any noise. He's not taunting me or planting evil thoughts in my head or fighting with me since I allowed him a bit of control. He's pouting.

I sigh as I glance around my apartment. Everywhere I look I'm reminded of the sweet, hurting boy who resided with me for nearly a year. The windchime. The second mug in the dish drainer. The small pile of library books on the floor beside the bed.

I drop down onto the couch, lean my head back and stare up at the open ceiling. An ache has settled in the middle of my chest. An hour ago, the two that I love most in this world were both here, in my arms, loving me unequivocally in return. Now, they're both gone, and I'm left alone again.

I don't like it.

I know I'm suppose to be seeking redemption and I don't deserve any sort of blessings, but having my sweet Childe here made me feel good, despite the painful circumstances. I know he was... is... healing, and I played a part in that. I gave him safety. I gave him support. I gave him my love without strings. It really does sound somewhat egotistical when I think about it, but I suppose that this is what all fathers feel like when they realize the impact that they had on their sons' lives.

I hope he'll be okay in Sunnydale. I trust Buffy unconditionally, and I know she'll take care of him. Rupert is a good man, just like I told Spike, and I trust him to watch over my Childe like he watches over all of them.

Still, I won't be there to make sure my beautiful Will has what he needs. Or to wake him when he has a nightmare. Or to be in the bathroom while he takes his shower. Or to make sure he feeds. Or to hold him when he needs to be held. Or to just sit quietly beside him, allowing him to feel safe and protected.

Maybe I shouldn't have made him go.

No, I didn't decide wrongly. I need to wholly focus on stopping the Initiative, at least where my Childe is concerned. Somehow I have to remove the threat to him all together, and the threat to myself, too, while I'm at it. With Spike here, half of my attention would be on meeting his needs, which could prove to be a fatal mistake, as it almost was earlier this night.

I know my demon has a differing opinion. He thinks if he was in control, Spike would be just fine staying with him. However, despite utilizing my mind, my demon is too cocky. He thinks he's invincible, which would make this body a pile of dust before the entire threat to Spike was removed. He'd go on a rampage, kill every Initiative he could get his hands on, until they grew wise to his abilities and took him down.

I, on the other hand, know I'm not infallible, or completely immortal. I have to think with my head, not my heart. That really sounds silly, come to think of it. The evil, cruel, cold demon who also inhabits my body is the one with the problems of following his heart. Sometimes unlife is just too strange.

With another sigh, I bring my hand up to rub my eyes. I wince slightly as the gash in my side is affected by the movement. I was hurt in the encounter with the Initiative soldier, too, but in areas easily covered up by a dark shirt. The spiked knuckles the guy had worn ripped a nice hole in my lower back. My poor boy, though, he got it much worse. Luckily vampiric healing is very rapid and his cut face should be fine by this afternoon.

His emotional wounds, on the other hand...

I curse myself quietly and rise to my feet. I need to get to work before I start brooding over what I'd done. I'm a marathon brooder. Once I get going, I can go for weeks without a break. And that's not going to help my Childe one iota.

First, though, I'm going to put on some music.

It's just too damn quiet in here.



End