He wished he'd taken him on for an altruistic reason.
He wished he'd done it because of genuine affection.
He wished he'd sat down, and thought it through, and decided that he truly
wanted a protégé.
He wished he'd decided that his knowledge was precious and needed to be
passed on to the next generation.
He wished he'd gone through all the prospects, and narrowed it down, and
made a decision with confidence and certainty.
Instead, he'd sat in a battered school bus with the grieving and the injured
and the Slayer that needed him no longer, and he'd looked at the boy.
And he'd thought, with a bleak certainty: If I don't tell him what to do,
someone else will.
And he'd closed his eyes just once, and given a small sigh of resignation,
"Andrew," he'd said. "I have something I need to talk to you about..."