Vanishing Point by FetchingMadScientist

Chapter #1 - 0ne-six

2029 Joni walked her usual route. The night air was getting crisp, and she'd left home without her gloves. Her fingers were turning pink from the cold. Not even blowing on them seemed to take the chill out. Even though her legs were moving at a brisk pace in a desperate effort to get her to the safety of her warm bed, the chill of the November frost had already seeped onto her bones. There was no escaping it. It was so cold out here that even her breath was freezing into an ice cloud and shattering into a thousand fragments on the air. Maybe what was chilling her wasn't the weather at all. Maybe she just missed her Daddy. Little girls did that sometimes, didn't they? They sometimes missed their Daddies, even when the little girls weren't so little anymore. Joni missed her Daddy, very much. It had been two years since he'd gone away, and it still hurt her heart like it had happened yesterday. For some reason she couldn't say the word, "death" when it came to describing what happened to him. She could think it just fine. She just couldn't say it. So, for her, he had just, "gone away." He wasn't dead. Death just seemed so, permanent. That just couldn't happen to her Daddy. Not again. Joni missed her Daddy so much. But the thing she missed most about him was the first thing that she knew was his. As a baby, she had been soothed to sleep by the gentle rolling thunder that his voice had been for her. And now that it was silent again, like it had been after her Mom died, isn't it funny how a word she couldn't even utter in relation to her Daddy just seemed to roll off like water when it came to her Mom, she really did miss it. The first thing Joni ever had a conscious memory of was her Daddy's voice. He would sing her to sleep at night. Usually with old songs no one heard anymore. Not even on the classics band on the radio. She loved his voice. It was made up of rumble and softness and purring, like a big cat. But, it could be loud as a thunderclap when her Daddy needed to protect her or her Mom. Her Mom, she was small and delicate, like her Daddy was. But she was strong too. She was what they used to call a Slayer; at least that's what her Daddy said she was. But that was before the sickness came and took her. It took all the Slayers. One by one, until none were left but her. One Slayer. Just like in the beginning. When Mom left, Daddy's rumble got quiet, too quiet. And he didn't sing anymore. Not even for her. Joni wondered if her Daddy blamed her for her Mom's death. After all, Mom got sick and she hadn't. The sickness hadn't even touched her. Somewhere deep down, Joni blamed herself for her Mom's death, so why shouldn't her Daddy do the same? Joni remembered one conversation very well. Brian McCoy had called her a stupid name, because of her birthmark. She'd come home crying to her Daddy. She was twelve at the time, and her Daddy did what all good Daddies do when their daughters cry. He threatened to beat him up. Then, they sat down, he dried her tears, and they started talking about things that really mattered: "So," he grinned, "how bloody do you want him? Schoolhouse tussle, or British football enthusiast?" Joni stared at him, wide eyed, "But Daddy you can't!" "Oh, but I can, Dove," he assured her, "Brian McCoy hurts my little girl, you bet I'm going to set him to rights about it! Especially when he hurts my girl over something that's none of her doing," he smiled, seeing that the threats of violence, even ones he had no intention of carrying out, had had their desired effect. She'd stopped crying, "And it's fun too." "No!" "All right," he relented, "For you, I'll let him go. But, just this once, if there's a next time, all bets are off. What was it he said to you that upset you like this?" "He made fun of my freckles," she pouted. He'd tilted his head the way he always did when he knew she wasn't telling him everything, "Not just your freckles. Am I right, Dove?" he indicated his cheek, mirroring where her birthmark was, "This was about your mark, wasn't it?" "Yes." His voice took on a stern tone. A tone he rarely used with her, "Jonina Dustin," he said, taking her by the hand out to the hall mirror, "I want to show you something." "No Daddy. I don't want to look." She hated mirrors, and he knew this. It wasn't because she thought herself homely. She thought she was rather pretty, even if she didn't look like the ones she called her Mom and Daddy. They were the ones who'd raised her, ever since her parents had been killed by a vampire when she was three months old; they were her Mom and Dad, in every way that really mattered. No, there was another reason she hated mirrors. She hated them because she couldn't see her Daddy when she looked into one. She could see herself, but not him. And, that made her sad. "I know you don't want to look," Spike said as he turned her to face the mirror, "but humor your old Dad, all right? Now, what do you see?" She stomped her foot, "Me, with a big purple splotch on my face," she said petulantly. Spike shook his head, a bit amused at how much like her she really was, "So much like your Mother. What else do you see?" Her eyes welled up with tears, "I know what I don't see," she choked, "You. I don't see Mom, either, and I think that's so unfair!" she turned to face him, "Do you hate me, Daddy?" Spike was shocked, "Hate you? Why would I do that, Dove?" "For taking Mom away." "That wasn't your fault! Never even think that." His brows furrowed and he held her tightly, "Do you understand me? I could never hate you," he shook his head again and whispered, "I could never hate you. Not you." "But he hates me." He could tell by the look in her eyes that they weren't talking about a schoolyard infatuation. Somehow her little girl logic had brought up something that was hurtful to her, and distasteful to him, "Now we're talking on a subject you shouldn't be worrying your pretty ringlets over. He's not worth the breath it takes to worry over. He's not even worth mine. So no talk of that, now." **************************** That was when she was twelve. She was seventeen now. And, she was an orphan again. She hated him for that. For two years that was all she had in her. It was all she knew. She knelt down in front of his marker, cleared the dry leaves away from the stone, and touched the letters lovingly, "Daddy, it's me. It's your 'Little Dove.' I'm sorry I haven't been by for a visit lately. But I've been busy. I thought I'd say goodnight to you before I head home. You'd be upset with me. I went out without my gloves again." She could almost hear the wind bellowing his response, "I know, I know. I'd forget my head if it wasn't on my neck. I promise, it won't happen again. And I also promise that somehow, some way, Angelus is going to pay for what he did to you and Mom." *********************** Willow was having some trouble tracking Joni without being seen. Joni was a creature of habit. Just like her father had been. She was out the door for her nightly patrols precisely at dusk and she was back just before the first blush of sunlight. Impeccable timing. Like a Swiss watch. It wasn't that Willow didn't know where Jonina was; she did, at all times. It was just that Willow wasn't seventeen anymore. She wasn't the one fueled by grief and anger and loss, at least not now. There had been a time in her life when that would have described her to a tee. And because Willow knew what it was like to feel that, because she knew what it was to be that destructive, she feared what Joni would do. And before he died, Spike had that exact same fear. That was why he'd made Willow promise him that Joni would never find out. Willow promised that she would watch out for Joni and keep her safe. And that was why she was out here, a woman well passed the age where staying out all night is any kind of fun, crouching in the cold and trying not to be seen by a girl who could smell the wind change directions before it even had the chance to think about changing. Joni had somehow doubled back and Willow was heaving breaths trying to keep her in sight. She heaved a few breaths, hissing, "Did you have to train her so well, Spike? I'm getting way too old for this," she looked up at the canopy of stars twinkling above her, "And I know what happened to both you and Buffy is kind of my fault," she winced as her lungs burned trying to supply the air that she needed to keep up with her niece, "Okay, so it is my fault. But Buffy could have let me in on the fact that you were her ace in the hole, literally. Then we might not have done that spell. But who knew you were gonna go all hero? And then a few years latter, 'Wunderkind' of yours comes down from the planet Krypton, and everything goes kerboom?" she took a moment to catch her breath and to try and sort through her latest babble. She only did this kind of thing when she was worried, "And I've been talking to Andrew way too much," she looked at the blinking starlight, "haven't I? Sorry. Back in surveillance mode now." ************************************* This was like playing hide- and- go- seek for Joni. But, unfortunately it wasn't nearly as much fun playing cat and mouse with her aunt as it had been with her Daddy. If she didn't have an objective, she would have slowed down so that aunt Willow could catch her. But she couldn't do that tonight. This was too important. And it was her only chance. She didn't care about the consequences, she really didn't. ********************** She had tried to tell her Daddy that she was ready. She tried to remind him that she was the same age Mom was when she became the Slayer. And that he had taught her everything he knew about fighting. He just smiled, pleased with her confidence in both his ability to impart wisdom and appreciating her own surety, "Yes, Joni I know you're strong. But the Watcher seems to think that you are key to an as yet unknown apocalypse. And George, she's a smart one. I'm obliged to take her at her word." "But Daddy," she begged, "You're not as strong as before. You can't do what you used to do. If you go out there a bus could hit you. I have to protect you now. That's my job now, Daddy. I'm the Slayer." He'd just rolled his eyes at her, "Thank you for reminding me that this humanity thing doesn't come with a warranty," he sighed, looking at her with eyes that seemed to see past her, "I thought I wouldn't need one. Certainly never thought I would regret snatching the brass ring from Angelus's claws. But, you see, I've never had a daughter before, and I never thought I could love anyone more than I loved," he cleared his throat, overcome with emotion, "love your Mum. But, it seems I was wrong." "Daddy don't..." "You see, this prize? It comes with a catch. Limited shelf life; and there's no telling how far away the use by date is. So it seems that I've just proven the old adage. You do always want what you haven't got. I need time, but it seems that I'm running short, so I have to make you as strong as you can be so that you can fly without me, Dove. Because, some day the world's going to need you, just as much as I do, and you have to be ready to fight." The only way Joni could express what she felt for her Daddy at that moment was to hug him. There were no words big enough to show him what he meant to her. Joni neared the clearing in the park. There was the gazebo, just where they said it was. It looked just like her mind thought it would when it drew pictures of it from the bedtime stories they used to tell her. It was like stepping into her very, own real life, fairy tale. Only when she was a baby they didn't tell her that her own Mom and Daddy were the prince and princess. She didn't find that out until much later, when the fairy tale took her Daddy and Mom away. Joni approached the gazebo with all the ingredients she needed for the spell. It had been tough trying to sneak the things she needed past her aunt Willow, but she'd done it. Aunt Willow had spent months trying to talk her out of this. She tried to tell her it was wrong, that there were better ways, healthier ways to deal with the pain of losing someone you loved. But she knew her aunt was a hypocrite. Her aunt wasn't one who went through pain very well. Aunt Willow knocked pain down and stomped on its face. Then when she caught up with the person who'd caused her pain, the person who'd killed the one she had loved, she skinned him alive. But, she didn't stop there. No, she had to kill the world. Joni didn't want to kill the world. She just wanted to see her Daddy again. Really see him. Maybe then the pain and the hurting she'd been feeling for two years would ease some. She sat in the small circle of candles and started to pray, "Nepthys, grant a daughter passage from the is to what has been. Grant the way that the grief will cease and loved ones passed will be present once more. I offer myself a supplicant to you. Please grant me passage." Just as the wind started to pick up, she saw a vortex open up in front of her. It was composed of green and blue light, swirling together and meeting at a point where nothing existed. Beyond that point where the two met, there was nothing. That was the point where two times became one, where there was no past and no future, only one way. That was the vanishing point. Beyond that point, her Daddy still existed, even if she did not. But without her Mom and Daddy she felt she could not exist. So, just as she heard her aunt's anguished pleas for her to turn around, for her to stop, she stepped forward and let the light swirl around her and pull her inward. She let it guide her to the vanishing point. As Willow watched Joni disappear in the light, she sobbed, her voice barely distinguishable from the great, howling wind, "God, Spike, I'm sorry!" she cried, knowing that she had failed to do the one thing he had begged her to do. As the light encompassed her, she realized too late that her aunt Willow might have been right. Maybe the reaches of space and time would punish her for stepping outside of where she belonged. Perhaps every being did have a certain time and place in which they fit in the universe. Perhaps there was only one time, one moment when the world bends to their will and becomes putty in the hand. And she realized that that time might indeed be finite and measurable. Joni thought that maybe she'd overstepped the invisible boundary, because the instant she felt herself being pulled into the apex of her spell, her body felt like it was being ripped open at the seams. It could be that the universe was trying to tell her that this wasn't the place for her, this time. It may have been that her aunt Willow was right, just this once. A scream tore from her throat, but it could not be heard. The vacuum of time had snuffed out the sound, and the thought that made it, before it had even had a chance to begin. ************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM He was up and pacing again. Buffy tried to calm him, but she knew that that was like trying to calm a whirlwind, "Spike, if you don't calm down they're not going to let you in. I couldn't bear it if I had to be without you," for the first time since her arrival here, she felt like crying, "Please don't make me do this without you. You came all this way. I'm so proud of you. Please calm down." "So this is purgatory, being omnipresent and still not being able to help? Her blaming herself nearly broke my heart the first time around. If I have to watch this happen to her again... Love, I just can't do it." "Spike, she doesn't understand. She didn't know. All she knew is she missed her Daddy," Buffy hugged Spike as his head pressed into her neck, "I'm sure you remember how that felt. Here, the years go by so fast, I still feel like I just left you. But, I know that you were so long without me. Five years felt like an eternity, didn't it?" He nodded, the tears he shouldn't be shedding, not when he was finally with her again, obscuring his vision of her. "Spike, you were over a hundred years old. Joni's just a little girl. She's seventeen, Spike. Two years without her Daddy? Trust me," she smiled, wiping his tears, "for a Slayer, that's forever. Add on the fact that she's also a little girl who had her Daddy wrapped around her little finger from the first time he laid eyes on her, and that's forever plus one." "I know Love, it's just that I feel so helpless here. I should be doing something. I told Red to watch out for her. Turns out you can't send a witch to do a vampire's job." "We could tell Cordy," Buffy offered, "she could get word to Angel. She's still on probation because of that whole Circle thing. But there could be an exception." "No, absolutely not! I will not let that overzealous berk near my baby girl!" "Then how do we help her?" Spike shook his head in thought, "If only there were some way to..." his eyes brightened with hope and mischief, "That's it!" "What Spike?" "I've got an Idea, Love," he smiled, holding her tight as she looked into his face, "It won't be pretty. In fact, it's gonna hurt a lot." Buffy smiled, "I guess this is one of those times a borrowed soul really comes in handy, huh?" "...But, if this works, I can have you, and my baby girl. And, Red won't have to go through years of guilt over her part in teetering the balance. I need to talk to your Mum." *********************************** MARCH 22, 2005 Spike couldn't believe he wasn't dreaming. She was here, and she was his. It was all still a blur. Had she really married him? He let air into his lungs. The scent of her washed over him, and he could hear her steady heartbeat and the hush of her breath. But, even though his superior senses told him she was indeed there with him, he knew from experience that, when it came to something he wanted with all of his heart, sometimes his senses could lie to him. They could lie to him with surprising ease and skill, especially when it came to her. That was why he'd lain there, for what seemed like hours, awash in her warmth and her scent, and he still couldn't find the courage to open his eyes. He didn't think his heart could take it if all of this had been a lie. He moaned a little at the thought. What was it she had said about removing a bandage? Best to do it fast, then it's over quickly with a minimum of pain. He didn't want to tear the bandage off of his heart, but he had to. So, he opened his eyes. In the dim light of the room, he saw the delicate outline of the wedding gown she wore. The fabric was as light as a snowflake and sparkled in the light that only he could see. He saw the bottle of champagne, still on ice, on the table inside his small flat. The fact that the bottle was more than three quarters down, could well be the explanation for the rather pleasant buzz he had around him. He wasn't near drunk, just pleasantly numb. He shifted slightly and rose up on his elbow so that he could look down at her sleeping face in the pre-dawn light. He knew that they would have to find somewhere new to be. This was a warrior's living space. This was no place for a husband and it was definitely no place for a wife. The bed alone was woefully inadequate. But at the time, it was enough. After all, he wasn't going to entertain any visitors, was he? But now, if his wife hasn't been so petite, there would be no room for her to sleep comfortably. And, there it was. The word. Wife. He had a wife. He looked down at his hand, and the small silver band confirmed that this was no dream because when he saw her small hand there was the circle's twin. The band was small, delicate and perfect, just as she was, and it confirmed the miracle. She was his, and he belonged to her, now and always. He brushed his knuckles against the skin of her cheek. The skin was soft as rose petals and glowed with an inner light. The kind of light that he'd never seen before, but he hoped would never leave. It would be his job to keep the flame inside of her alive. It was his job to keep her safe. A job he took on willingly, and one he would never quit. He whispered softly in her ear, knowing that somewhere in the space between sleeping and wakefulness, she would hear him, "I love you Buffy. I really love you." ***************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM "Joyce, I need your help. There's no way I can stop Jonina from doing this thing, but I can give some warning so that it doesn't blindside them. The first time around, by the time I pinpointed the source of the illness, it was too late for Buffy, and I loved her too much to see her hurt. I tried to tell her that I loved her. That it wasn't her fault," he paused, reliving the hurt of his heart, his little girl, " But the grief, it eclipsed everything else. And by the time I worked through it, no amount of hugs and kisses. No amount of love could convince her that I did. Love her. That can't happen this time. I can't let it. I need...some kind of warning." Joyce nodded sympathetically, "I know how you feel, Spike. I think I know how to help you." ****************************** As he slept with his wife in his arms, for some reason, Spike dreamt of flying doves. MARCH 22, 2005 Joni's body was screaming. Every nerve was on fire. She had never felt pain like this before. Not even a jump into Hell would be close to what she was feeling now. She breathed in. The air burned her throat like acid, but at least she had a throat, and a nose. So maybe she'd gotten lucky, and the forces she'd called upon to bring her here, wherever that was, hadn't decided to boomerang her back through the rift she'd made with that spell. Maybe. But somehow, Joni knew that the reason she wasn't a bit of smear on the cosmic windshield was because of him. He was still watching out for her, even from the nether realms. She opened her eyes to darkness, which meant either she had been blinded by the shock she had subjected her body to, or she was dead. She really hoped that wasn't the case. She tried to sit up and felt asphalt under her. That probably meant a city of some sort and judging from the lack of starlight, probably a big one. Maybe even Los Angeles. Then again, she could be completely wrong. She could be on the other side of the planet. Or she could be on another planet, in another dimension. Somewhere she and her Mom and Daddy didn't exist at all. And that would really suck. If she made it this far though, she knew that her Daddy was looking out for her. Knowing him, he was probably angry enough to spit nails at her. But she knew that no matter how mad he got at her, he always loved her. He didn't think she knew that, but she did. And right now that knowledge was a comfort to her. It was the only comfort she had, because her body seemed to explode with fire when she tried to move and the fuzziness of unconsciousness was pulling at her. It demanded her obeisance. Her last thought before she succumbed to its will, was that somehow her Daddy had to find her, he had to know. ******************************* The dreams had made him restless. He didn't know what they meant, but they filled him with a sense of foreboding. It was like seeing your own agonizing death, and that didn't make for a good night's rest, wedding notwithstanding. But that wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst was the little girl. Oh, God, the sound she was making! He didn't think he'd ever forget it, even if he survived another millennia. And the look in those big brown, saucer eyes of hers, if his heart weren't already dead that alone would have killed it. Whoever this girl was mourning, and that's all he could describe it as, she must have thought of that person very dearly. This wasn't the first time he'd had this dream, either. They'd started the night Drusilla was staked. And they were steadily getting worse. It was as if something was trying to warn him about another apocalypse. At first, he'd thought it was just stress manifesting itself. Imagine that, a vampire under so much stress that he's having nightmares. And the stuff of a vampire's nightmares would put any Hollywood creature feature to shame. Now he just wished they would leave him the bloody Hell alone. This was his wedding night, after all. One night wasn't too much to ask, was it? Just one night without ghouls and monsters, so he could focus on more important things, like being a husband to his wife? But no, it seems that that was not to be. Not for them anyway, for two reasons he could think of, just off the cuff. One, being that he was a monster himself, so no help there, and two because tonight had been the worst one yet. Most of the time he woke up to just a fogy memory. But, tonight was different. It was still so vivid in his mind that he could almost reach out and touch the little girl's hair. He could still hear her cries ringing in his ears. And he could still see her eyes. Oh God, her eyes. He remembered those eyes as he sat down to try and sketch what he could remember. And, he remembered something else as well. A mark, almost like a port wine stain, was on her cheek. The particulars were lost in the fog of sleep, but as his pencil glided along the paper, a shape began to form. What stared up at him from the small scrap of paper resembled a bird in flight. There was a tiny mewling sound from the bed, "Spike, come back to bed," her voice was slurred from sleep and alcohol, "What's got you up anyway?" she asked. More alert now, she sat up and squinted at him as he was hunched over the small table, "After all that, even you should be a little sleepy," she yawned. "Sorry Love didn't mean to wake you. I had that dream again," he shook his head trying to clear his mind of the images, "And this time, I can't seem to shake it." Buffy put on her robe and went over to where Spike was sitting. She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort. She knew these dreams disturbed him because some nights she would have them too. Fortunately tonight she had been spared the imagery. But, it seems, Spike hadn't been so lucky, "That girl again?" she asked, looking at the sketches he'd made. "Yeah," he confirmed, "Only now there's this," he said, showing her the drawing of the bird. ********************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM "Spike, don't be too hard on her," Buffy pleaded, "She wasn't trying to make things worse. And now, because of you and Mom, she may even be able to help." "I know that, Love. But, he... I mean I..." Spike rolled his eyes in frustration, "Oh, I'm never going to get used to being everywhere at once!" he looked down into his wife's laughing eyes, "Go ahead and laugh now, Misses. Did you ever get used to it?" She shook her head, "No. In fact it still makes my head spin a little." "Well, that makes me feel ever so much better," he kissed her lightly, "The point is, I'm not ready to handle another apocalypse right now. She managed to land herself right in the middle of our wedding night, for God's sake!" "Spike..." Buffy warned. "Sorry Love, but the girl's got to learn that there are boundaries. She has to know that she can't just..." "And when did you learn this lesson, oh wise one?" Buffy smiled. "I was hoping she wouldn't use me as a template, Love. I'll do what I can. And, I'll try not to be too hard on her." "Good." "I won't make any promises." "I know," Buffy smiled as she watched him walk away, "You old softy, you." ***************** As the car drove slowly up and down the night covered streets, he grumbled, just a little, at their predicament," I can't believe we're doing this. And on our wedding night, of all the nights." "And, 'of all the gin joints, she had to walk into yours'", Buffy teased, good-natured, "Play it again, Humphrey. But look on the bright side. Maybe we're starting a new tradition. You know, like my birthday?" The look Spike gave Buffy was as sharp as a knife, "Love, have you forgotten how disastrous your birthdays can be? Don't even think it!" "Oh come on," she teased, "It could be fun. And this way you'll never have an excuse for forgetting our anniversary!" Spike knew it was hopeless to argue. And what's more, he didn't want help, not for this. This was something he hoped he'd always have. He loved her so, "All right Love. Keep an eye out for anything that looks out of place." "You mean, other than a frantic husband and wife, who just happen to be a vampire and a vampire slayer, prowling the streets of Los Angeles looking for a teenager, they've only seen in dreams? I don't know, Spike, seems pretty normal to me." "Yeah," he said, sardonically, "other than that." ********************* Joni thought she saw her Daddy, but she couldn't be sure. That looked like his car that just passed by, but she didn't have the strength to call out. Then there was that fuzzy figure in the corner. It seemed to be leaning against the bricks on the other side of, what was this anyway, an alley? It was on the other side of the alley from her, and it was getting closer. Coming into focus now, she saw the familiar features she missed so much, "Daddy?" "Yeah, Dove. It's me." "It hurts, Daddy." "It hurts because you don't belong here, Sweetling. I thought you knew how I felt about magic. It can be a bad thing. There are always consequences." "I didn't mean to Daddy. I just missed you so much." "I know," he said as he looked over his shoulder at the black car as it slowed to a stop. Two people, a man and a woman, got out and rushed to help her. They were saying something, but she couldn't understand them. Joni thought they looked a little like her Mom and Daddy. But that couldn't be because her Daddy was standing right in front of her, and he was still talking to her, "And you and I are going to have a lot of time to catch up. You and I are going to have to talk about letting Mummies and Daddies have their private time, Dove. But don't worry, you'll be back in the game again, when the time is right for you to be," his face held a whimsical expression as he watched himself, and Buffy, trying to rouse her. They were shouting but getting no response from her, because she could not hear them, "But all is not lost, Dove. I think you may have just helped...me save your Mum." "Really, how?" "Just by being you, Dove. Now let's be going." "Where?" "Home." **************** Spike checked the girl's pulse. There were no signs of injury, yet he knew she was beyond saving the moment he saw her. He tried again to speak to her, "We'll find your Daddy, Love. Please just hold on," he looked again for injury, but found none, nothing was wrong internally, so this girl should not be dying, right before his eyes, "Don't do this, Love," he begged, "Please, not this." He heard her soft voice behind him, "It's too late, Spike. She's dead. There's nothing we could have done." Spike looked up at Buffy's face, "But why, Love? Why is she dead?" As she looked into his questioning eyes, she began to wonder that herself, "I don't know why, Spike. But we're going to find out." Buffy couldn't understand how this had happened. Just eight hours ago, she'd been dancing on a cloud of air. Doing something Angel had convinced her she couldn't do. Couldn't have, because she was the Slayer, set apart from the world. Different. Alone. Yet she wasn't. Not anymore. He'd convinced her that the Prince of her youth, her forever love, wasn't. He'd been a magician when he'd pulled a happy ending from the tatters of what should have been a tragedy. And he'd done it all himself. While she'd been busy mending bones and muscles after Drusilla's attack, somehow he'd put together the perfect fairy tale ending for her. Completely out of thin air, suddenly there were trombones and roses, champagne and star light. And he'd done it without complaint. The others had quietly pulled her aside, cautioning her to watch for the crash they were sure would come. It seems that this happy ending had been all that had been fueling him. Buffy knew Spike had seen some horrible things. And, once her wounds had begun to heal she wanted to be there for him, to help him sort through all the traumatic things they both knew he'd experienced in that old distillery. But, he never made any mention of them, preferring just to focus on her recovery. And as she watched the police, and the coroner's van, drive away with another teenage, "Jane Doe" to analyze and catalog, she saw the façade he'd spent months, even years, building crumble away as if it had never been. It was as if she were back in that little chapel in Sunnydale. He sounded broken. And, it broke her heart. "...There's no reason for it, Buffy. None. She shouldn't be dead. Why is she dead?" his eyes were looking to her for the answer, and she had none to give. When no answer came he continued pacing as if he'd never stopped to address her at all. He was pacing and mumbling to himself, and looking at his hands as if they were some new part of his anatomy. The scene reminded Buffy of something straight out of a Shakespearian tragedy, "There should be blood," he said, looking at his hands and then down at where the dead girl had been, "There should be blood," he nodded to himself, "She's dead. But, there's no blood," his eyes never left his hands, "It's here. It should be here," he turned his palms over slowly, examining them in the light of the streetlamps, "There's so much of it." "Miss, is he all right?" the officer asked, "Does he need an ambulance?" "No, Officer, he just needs a minute. We're not really used to seeing young people just keel over like that. He just needs a few minutes, and then I'm sure he'll be fine." The officer was skeptical, "Well, if you're sure he'll be all right." "Yes, I'm sure, Officer. Thank you." She turned to Spike and tried to sound calming to his obviously frayed nerves, but she didn't know if she could accomplish such a feat of acting when seeing him like this brought her tears so close to the surface, "William, go back to the car," she pleaded with her voice, "Remember your allergy? You don't want to have another attack. I'll finish telling the policeman everything I remember," his eyes were wide and frightened as he looked at her, "Then we'll start our honeymoon. We'll be out of here before you know it," Buffy gave him a slight hug and he held her as if he was afraid she'd slip through his fingers, "Go back to the car," she hoped she wouldn't dissolve into tears and cause him more stress, "Please?" For an instant, he seemed not to recognize her. Looking at her as if she were a curiously beautiful butterfly he'd only just discovered, he nodded, turned on his heel and walked stiffly toward the sanctuary the big, classic car offered him. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the door close, encasing Spike in the darkness that was his safety. Turning to the officer, she asked, "What do you want to know?" ********************* In the cool darkness of the car the nightmares came flooding back. The images came too fast for him to process them. Each one pummeled him until he couldn't defend himself anymore. He was just too tired. Six months of this. He thought immersing himself in the fairy tale would help him to beat it. But, he was wrong, he realized that, now. There were things that went through his head when he went to sleep, and sometimes when he was awake, that he could never tell Buffy about. Buffy. Perhaps he'd been wrong about who Drusilla's last victim had been. Maybe it wasn't Buffy at all. Maybe, it was he. He pulled his knees up against his chest, suddenly not caring what a sad picture he must have seemed, a full-grown man cowering in the corner, and tried to make himself as small as he possibly could. If he made himself small enough then maybe the nightmares wouldn't know he was there. If he were small enough, maybe he could escape them. He'd tried it once before, in another time and place. But, that time and place was closed off now, and he couldn't go back, no matter how much he might want to. It hadn't worked anyway. The nightmares still found you, no matter how hard you tried to outrun them they still found you. He understood that. And so did Angelus. ************************ He'd been patrolling when he noticed their car. Theirs. Yes, they were together now, he knew that. Who didn't? It was all over the West Coast inside a week. It was unheard of. It was an, ironically, unholy alliance. A Slayer and a vampire were to marry? Impossible. It was against every rule, written or not, that there was. It just was not done. He'd tried to spare Buffy from that. He'd tried to give her a normal life. And he'd tried to make Spike see reason and let her go so that she could have the normal life he knew neither of them could give her. But Spike was never one to be reasonable. As Angel watched the coroner's van pull silently away, he decided to follow. Spike had been right for once. There was no physical reason, that he could detect, for that girl to be dead. From his rooftop vantage point, Angel could see that this runaway's death had Spike quite visibly undone. Even Buffy was having a difficult time settling him. He had a bad feeling about this. Spike had done many things, but he didn't spook easily. For that reason alone, Angel was going to find out what had caused her death. ***************************** Buffy ducked into the car. She found Spike curled up in the corner of the back seat. His back was pressed against the doorframe and his head was resting on his knees. The posture reminded her so much of his time in the Sunnydale High School basement that it sent quivers down her spine, "Spike, are you all right?" He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in years, instead of mere moments ago, "Buffy?" "Yeah," she smiled, "Buffy Anne Summers at your...I mean," her eyes twinkled at him as she tried on her new moniker, "Mrs. William Alistair Dustin, at your service, sir," she giggled, "You never told me you had a goofy name like Alistair." The look on his face had proven her right. When in doubt, distract. "Goofy? My name's goofy?" he huffed, "Where as, 'Buffy' is a classic that's been around for generations! Queens and noblewomen the world over have been called Buffy!" he shook his head a little, giving her a smile, "Love, that's not your actual name," he winced, "is it?" She pouted, "What, you don't like my name?" "I love your name, Pet," he assured, "It's just that 'Buffy' used to be a nickname, of sorts, for Elisabeth. Is your Christian name, Elisabeth?" "Yeah, but I like Buffy better." "So do I, Love," he grinned, some of his pains forgotten when he looked into her face, "I'm really sorry about losing myself back there." She waved him off, "No problem! If you can't wig out a little in front of your wife... Besides, if you got out of control, I'd just kick your ass." He nodded and smiled at her, grateful for the bit of normalcy she offered him, "You would at that, Pet." "Damn right I would," she touched the hand that bore the ring that matched hers, "Now, what do you say we start our honeymoon?" ********************* Angel walked into the police station, appearing frantic, "I need to report a missing person." The officer at the desk didn't even bother to glance up, "Name, age and physical description?" "Lorraine Angelus. She's seventeen," he said, wringing his hands, "She ran away a week ago. Her mother and I have been so worried about her. I wonder officer, have you seen her?" "I won't know that until you tell me what she looks like." "She's just a little over five feet tall and has maple colored hair and brown eyes. Oh, and she has a very distinctive birthmark on her left cheek. It's a kind of purplish color. It looks like a bird." That description caused Officer Theodore Brown to look up at the frantic man giving the report. Just as he came on shift this evening there was a coroner's report that crossed his desk about a "Jane Doe" matching this exact description, "Are you this person's father?" he asked. "Yes," Angel lied. Theo's heart sank. He hated this part of the job, "I see. Sir, come with me, please." ****************************************** Buffy's mind suddenly went blank. There was no room in her head for rational thought. Not when he was touching her like that. His hands. His hands were doing things, and touching her in places she'd never been touched before, by anyone. Not even him. Somehow, he'd managed to find places she didn't know existed. And it wasn't just his hands that were taking her to new heights. He was doing things to her that she didn't even think were possible for the average human to endure. It was a good thing for the both of them that she wasn't the average human. "Oh, God, Spike," she moaned, thrilling at how her body felt. "Like that, Pet?" he purred against her skin, "You taste so good. You're ambrosia." "Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, when she had regained the rational thought needed to construct a simple thought. His eyes were dark and shining with lust, and love for her, "Wouldn't you like to know?" "Yes, I would," she said, lazily, "So we can go there. And, do that again." Spike smirked at her, "Why travel so far, when you have everything you need close at hand?" "I do, you know," she paused at his quizzical look, "Have everything I need," she coaxed him up for a kiss, "Right here." Spike nuzzled into the crook of her neck, clearly overcome with emotion, " I love you, Buffy. I just... love you. You know I would never hurt you, don't you?" "Not unless I asked you to," she said, slyly. She could see from the look on his face that he wasn't in a teasing mood, and she sobered quickly, "I know," when he tried to avoid her eyes, she asked, "Where did that come from?" He was suddenly stuttering and unsure. He sat up in the bed, his back to her, "I don't know, exactly," his eyes were bright, "It's just that..." he looked at his hands again, touching the ring he wore, a bit timidly, "these hands have done so much. Too much, you don't even know..." Buffy sat up and held his hands in hers, looking down at the place where they were joined now, "I know what it is you've done. But, we're together now. From here on out, we go through things like a team. Together," she pushed his face toward her so that she could see his eyes; "You're my partner now. You're more than that now," she said, remembering the words etched into both of their wedding bands, "You're me." ***************** As Angel searched through the girl's personal effects, he discovered a small silver band, tarnished with age. He could tell that this piece of jewelry was a prized possession, the metal made soft from constantly being near the skin. On the inside of the band, Angel could just make out an inscription, "W.E. are one." IN THE INTERREGNUM "Spike, give him a chance," Buffy cajoled, "He could surprise you. Maybe he's changed." Spike was incredulous, "Changed? Love, he hasn't changed his hairstyle in a hundred years! What makes you think things will go differently this time?" "As I recall, he used to say the same things about you. I can still hear him now, 'Spike will never change. He only thinks about himself. He's not as special as I am.'" "The ponce said that? To you?" She nodded, "He did," she kissed away the grimace that was starting to form on his face, "But that's not important now. The point is, you proved him wrong. You nursed Joni through skinned knees, bumped elbows and broken hearts. Not to mention the illness and death of a parent. It was very important that she learn that she can move through the hurt, and still be herself. That's something you taught Joni, and her Mommy, very well. I'm very proud of you. And, so is Joni." "Love, I had hoped to find the answer in time," he cast his eyes downward, "to save you. Maybe then, Joni would have known I loved her," he sighed, "Buffy, how can you say I taught her anything? I was shut down for an entire year. She needed her Daddy and I wasn't there. I didn't teach her anything." "Hey," she tilted her head so that she could see his eyes, " She grew up, didn't she? She was the best Slayer, even better than me. I'd say you taught her enough," she smiled at him, tilting his eyes up to her, "And, don't be so gloomy faced. Not here. I had a good life. Joni's was just starting. And maybe now, we won't have to go through that." "Yeah. Somehow I doubt it. I don't like the idea of Peaches having that much power. It tends to corrupt. And, he's very suggestible. The first time around we had seven years together, fighting your average everyday vampires and demons, before 'Lace' came along, and my whole world imploded. Now, Angelus has his finger on the button, and he doesn't even know it. And me?" Spike shook his head, "Love, he's still reeling. He's not near ready enough." "Well," Buffy said, "it looks like he's going to have to get ready." ********************* Holding her hand as they walked along the beach, Spike watched the way the moonlight reflected off the water and set her aglow in silver. The light from the stars bounced in her hair, setting it on fire and giving her face an appearance he dimly remembered. He saw her face like this once that he could recall, and that was when he'd had the gem and ambushed her in the quadrangle. He'd toyed with her and delayed what he thought would be his gratification, because he had needed those precious few seconds to memorize how she had looked with the sun radiating out of her skin and hair. He needed to freeze those few moments and file them away so that, when his own world got too lonely and cold, he would have her image to keep him company. That was just one of the things he never told her about. And now here she was. But this was not a memory, at least not yet. This was real. And she looked so much softer than he remembered. She seemed lighter somehow. She was more full of life now than she seemed then, and he couldn't believe it was all due to him. He knew he didn't have that kind of power. No, this was all her. "Hey, you're a million miles away, mister. You'll start to give a girl a complex," she squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present, "What were you thinking about?" He laced his fingers through her hair and watched as the moonlight danced between his fingers as he slowly let the strands fall. As they moved through her hair, his fingers seemed to ignite fragrances he'd never known before. She was new to him, just waiting to be discovered. She was amazing. He was so dazzled by her that he was nearly mute, "You. Do you know how amazing you are?" As Buffy looked at him, he seemed to transform right before her very eyes. In an instant he went from a man to a vulnerable and awe struck boy. A boy she wanted to protect, with all her heart. "You're pretty amazing yourself," she said as she kissed him. ************************* The coroner's report took a week to compile, mostly due to the fact that Lorraine Angelus's hematology was anomalous. The blood seemed to contain antibodies that had never been seen before. The usual protocol in matters like this would be to call in the proper authorities. With the atmosphere so twitchy about anything unexplained these days, notifying the local hazardous materials squad as well as the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta had become almost second nature. So, imagine Doctor Samuel Hill's surprise when word came down from his superiors telling him that there would be no need to notify those agencies of his findings. Any statement of his findings, as well as the body the statements referred to, was to be released to her father immediately for cremation. As he prepared the medical waste for proper disposal, he grumbled a little, "Just when did this new policy go into effect, anyway? I don't remember seeing a memo about it. But then again, they don't tell me everything," he put his head down, trying to dot every " I" and cross every "T", in triplicate. It had to be perfect, or he would be sure to hear about it, "This just creates more work for me. I hate paperwork." ********************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM "You sure you want to do this, Dove? I don't want to make you do something you don't want to. You won't be able to protect yourself. And if he finds you first," his grip tightened on her arms, "I swear, I'll make him pay. If he thinks he's cursed now... He may just have to redefine the word." "Daddy, you wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for me. You deserve everything Daddy. I can't let him have it when it doesn't belong to him. If coming on stage a little early means that I can have both you and Mom," she nodded, " then I'm doing it!" "But Dove, he killed your parents and he nearly killed you! A little baby! He found out what you could do, and all his morality flew out the window while he was throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I don't trust him. Not one wit." "Well Daddy," Jonina leaned up on her toes to kiss him, "You'll just have to stop him." ************************************** "Oi, sleepyhead, wake up." Spike tried to ignore it maybe it would go away. "Ignoring me is not going to make me go away. You know Peaches tried that. It only made me more annoying. And you know how annoying I can be when I put my mind to it." "I'm on my honeymoon," he told the darkness, because he refused to open his eyes and acknowledge the presence in his head. And that's exactly where it was, and where it was going to stay, "Go away!" "You're right, I am in your head. But I'm other places too. I know where you are because I've been there too. Believe me, I don't want you to miss this, not for the world. It'll be all you have, later," the voice that sounded like him, the one Spike had started referring to as, "Jiminy," sounded almost nostalgic, "I don't want to ruin this for you." "Then don't!" Spike hissed. "I don't want to. But this is so important that I'm about to do something I already hate myself for. Hang on. I'd say take a deep breath but, right now, you don't need it. This is going to hurt." Spike's brain was flooded with pictures he didn't want. But he couldn't stop them: Buffy's death from a lingering illness he's powerless to stop. Seeing the little girl that haunted him crying her little heart out. Angelus, killing a mother while she held her infant close to her and snapping the father's neck when he tried to protect the infant that was falling from her mother's grasp. And that dove. The child. Oh, God! He woke up, screaming and shaken, "Buffy, we have to go back," he gasped.

Chapter #2 - seven-ten

April 8, 2005-LOS ANGELES "Where do you suppose they went on their honeymoon?" Xander smiled at Dawn, "Like I've said already a thousand times, 'I don't know.' He wouldn't tell anyone where he was planning on taking her. It was kind of an obsession with him, which doesn't really surprise me all that much. Giving her a happy ending after what happened, we all wanted that. So, he didn't tell. And, I didn't ask." Dawn's face glazed over as her mind sifted through all the romantic places Spike could have taken her, "Do you think it was the beach? Buffy loves the beach. Or, maybe he took her to England? You know, take her to visit his old stomping grounds?" Xander sighed. He was no match for a girl who'd been raised on fairy tales, "I don't know Dawn. And personally, I'd rather not have a play-by-play running through my head, if you don't mind." Dawn smirked, "Jealous?" "Yes. Now, let's get back to research mode." "I don't understand why we don't just call them. I'm sure they'd come back." Xander leaned in close over the table, "Maybe we're not calling them, Dawn, because they're on their honeymoon?" Dawn reached into her purse, which she had tossed on the table after Giles summoned the gang to George's old garage for a powwow, and took out her cellular phone, "If Buffy didn't want to be interrupted, then why did she leave her cell phone number?" He shrugged, "Habit? She's not the only Slayer, now. I'm sure we can handle this on our own, Dawn. I'm still not sure why Giles even called us here. This is L.A. after all, it's not like a mysterious death is all that mysterious." ************************** It seemed to Buffy that long moonlit walks and lovemaking in the sand just weren't in the cards for them. Not that he hadn't tried to give her those things, he had. And the nights were wonderful. Having him there, she felt like she was the only person in the world. He looked at her as if he could see the moonrise in her eyes, and she kind of liked being that important to someone again. After Willow's spell that awakened all the potential Slayers, she kind of missed being the only one. She didn't think she would, but she did. No, the nights were fine. Cataclysmic in fact, in a very good way. It was just the days that bothered her. She wasn't worried about herself. It was Spike she was concerned about. His days were filled with fitful sleep. Drusilla's attack seemed to hit him much harder than he had ever let on. Though there was a permanent scar that Drusilla left them both with. The viciousness of her attack had affected their future in a way neither of them had foreseen. Drusilla had hurt them in a way, and in a place that couldn't be spoken of. A place that Spike wouldn't share with her. She tried to assure Spike that it wasn't important to her. That he was all that mattered to her because he was, all that mattered to her. He was the past and the future to her. Nothing else mattered. Spike did not see things the way she did. He became fixated on the idea that he was somehow responsible for her condition. She tried to tell him that, even if she didn't have children of her own, they could always adopt. Once she felt it was safe to take responsibility for something bigger than a goldfish, they could always adopt. But that day was perhaps years away. At least it sounded more sincere than the "cookie dough" speech. Maybe it sounded more sincere because it was. Her assurances did not assuage the guilt he felt at being, at least in part, responsible for her ordeal. She knew that, and she wished that there were something she could do for him, to help him through this. He said that he knew that there would be sacrifices that had to be made for him to be with the one person he knew was right for him. If that meant becoming a vampire so that he could be around when that one girl came into being, so be it. And, if being around when she came into the world meant that having Nibblets of his own was out of the question that was just how it had to be. But, when it came to her? That was another story altogether. He'd said it. But, when he did, she noticed a light went out of his face. It was almost as if he'd finally given up on a dream. Let go of something he'd just realized that he grew out of. Something he didn't even know he wanted until the possibility of having it had been snatched away from him. After that, the dreams about the little girl started. It was then that Buffy knew just how much Spike had wanted it, the whole dog and white picket fence and two kids, one boy, one girl, just to give things a kind of equilibrium thing. And it broke her heart because she knew that, somewhere in Spike's subconscious mind, he'd constructed this child that haunted him as a means of dealing with a loss he didn't even know he was feeling. A teenager could be explained. Maybe it was a Slayer dream, something he shared with her as a result of what happened on the Hellmouth. The loss of hope was a horrible thing. And Buffy knew that the sudden appearance of a baby was just a manifestation of the loss he was feeling. She knew how he felt, because she was feeling it, too. She wanted to help him through it, if he would only let her help. "Spike, could the things that happened in your dream, could they be memories of things that have already happened?" Buffy tried to reason with him, "I mean, Angel and Drusilla did have a thing for children, you know, when they were evil." Spike paced in front of the curtained hotel room window, "Love, I only hope this is just stress. Do you really think I wanted to interrupt our honeymoon with tales of the boogieman?" he sat back down on the bed, visibly shaken, "I'm half taken to believe that I've gone round the bend again, like before. That would be preferable to this," Spike ran his fingers through his hair in distress, "What's in my head now, Angelus couldn't even fathom. Not even he's that twisted," he shook his head, trying to summon the words that would let her understand, "No, Love, this was cold. So cold that..." he lost the words and looked at her. He looked so lost that her heart tore in two for him. He was near sobbing when he next spoke, his words muffled by the comfort she was trying to give him, "I've done some things that would make your blood run cold, Buffy. But this? It was like I'd seen it all before. It was like I knew what was going to happen. Like I was seeing it all in slow motion, only I couldn't stop it. It was all happening again and I couldn't stop it," he looked at her, his face bewildered and his eyes searching as he held her tightly, "But how can that be when you're still here?" he paused and studied her closely, "You are still here, aren't you?" Spike's eyes looked as if they were balancing on the precipice of insanity. He looked at her as if something had broken inside of him, "It hasn't touched you? Please, say it hasn't." She was resolute, "No. It hasn't touched me. I'm still here," Buffy's voice was strong even though the sight of Spike this vulnerable was, to be honest, more than a little frightening, "And, it won't touch me, because we wont let it. If you think the best place for us right now is back in Los Angeles, then we go back." "I'm sorry, Love. This is probably nothing but newlywed jitters," he said sheepishly. She tried to comfort him, "Vampires get those too, huh?" ************************************* Rupert Giles had never seen anything like this. Not in all his days on the Council of Watchers, before the change or after. Not even his foray into the world of dark magic prepared him for what he was reading. "What caused this?" he asked, hoping that he was somehow missing some important factor, "Have you contacted the authorities about this?" "No," Angel said, "That would only cause a panic. This is why I came to you first. If anyone would know if the girl's condition was just an aberration, or something more ominous, it would be you." "But why would you come to me with this? You know I don't trust you." Angel nodded, "That's exactly why I came to you," he put his head down, in deference to the enormity of the information he'd just laid on the Watcher's shoulders, "I know that the Council has the blood profiles of all the active Slayers. And none of them have ever had numbers like that, am I right?" "Yes." "If this were to be released on the general population," Angel shook his head, "It would make the Ebola virus look like the common cold. It needs to be contained." "I agree. But how?" "If there were some way to limit it. Target it to one, specific population, maybe then, it could be controlled." Rupert felt his jaw twitch and his voice harden as he looked at a creature that had tortured him just for the pleasure of hearing him scream, "Which population do you suggest?" Angel sighed, "One that's strong. One that may be able to adapt quickly enough to survive," his voice became hard as stone, "One that has been thrown out of equilibrium of late, due to certain actions." "The Slayers. Willow's spell. You'd endanger Buffy?" "To save the world from extinction?" Angel nodded, grimly, "Yes, I would." "What have you done with the body?" "It's been cremated. And, the medical waste incinerated," he nodded toward the papers in Giles's grasp, "Once you burn those, no one will know that Lorraine Angelus even existed." ***************** APRIL 8, 2005 "Are you completely out of your mind! I am not putting the Slayers' lives in danger, not to mention Buffy's when there is no proof whatsoever that this is anything but some sick concoction of yours," Giles paused, taking the time he needed to gather his breath, as well as the venom needed to finish his address of this creature, "Angelus." Angel winced at the contempt that the old Watcher had for him, "I don't care what you think of me," he said softly, "And I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't. But numbers don't lie. Those numbers," he said, pointing to the papers in Giles's hand, "Are totally skewed. If this is more than just an accident, some freak of nature, a one in a million thing? Then, we need to be prepared," he shook his head, "because this even has me scared. And I used to be good at the apocalypse thing. Both stopping them," he put his head down, overcome with the stress of the things that had happened over the last few months, "And causing them." Giles looked at Angel's demeanor. Instead of being open, with a wide stance that would convey confidence, he was closed in tightly, trying to look small. Seeing that caused a chill to spread out over his limbs, "You're not lying to me, are you?" he asked. "No," Angel said as he took a small plastic bag from his pocket, and threw it on the coffee table in front of Giles. The bag was clearly marked with the label, "Police Evidence," "But, if you don't believe me, there are some things in there," he gestured toward the bag on the table between them, "that might change your mind. Those are some of 'Lorraine Angelus's' personal effects. They were found on her the night she died. They were released to her 'father' before she was cremated," Angel turned to leave, "You may be shocked at what you find in there," he squared his shoulders, "I know I was," he said as he closed the door. Giles looked over the contents of the bag. There was a small journal, apparently belonging to someone named Jonina Irene Dustin. It looked well worn. So that was her name. Giles had a penchant for being able to call up the most obscure meaning of a word. It helped him to understand Latin more easily. Her name denoted strength. Without knowing it, her parents had befitted this anonymous girl with a name that any Slayer would be proud to have. Dustin, Jonina Irene was a "Valiant Dove of Peace." The wheels began to turn in his head as Rupert began to sift through the meager belongings of this unfortunate young lady. Dustin. He was sure he'd heard that name somewhere before. Yes. That was the name William used. It was the name Buffy had taken when she'd wed him. Oh, God. He began to search franticly over the scraps off a life he didn't know, but now through tragic events, must begin to know intimately. To his horror, he found something he recognized. A tiny silver wedding band with an inscription he knew well, "W.E. are one." With trembling hands, he opened the small, worn leather bound notebook to a random date. The detail with which the seen was described transported Rupert Giles through time and space, to a world he did not want to know. ******************* DECEMBER 2, 2027 Willow knew that the end was coming soon. She'd seen this happen with all the Slayers, eventually. It just never happened this fast. Maybe he just missed her too much to put up a fight anymore. She only hoped that she would be able to take care of Jonina the way he wanted her to when the time finally came. Willow slipped quietly into the sickroom, trying to tune out the sobbing that was filling the room. Georgina saw her and left Joni to her grief. The two of them went out into the hall, both out of respect and to escape the sorrow that was taking the air out of the room, "It's happening fast," George said, "I don't know what Joni's gonna do," she sounded tired and on the verge of sobbing herself, "He's her world. Once he's gone…" "I know. He tried to prepare her. But there's just no preparing for something like this. And, if Joni ever found out…Well Spike has been spending what little strength he has making me swear to him that she won't. He's afraid of what she'll do, when the reality finally hits her." "Has she had any rest?" George asked, peeking in the room and noticing how frail she looked. Even more frail than he did, and he was, sadly, on his deathbed. Willow shook her head, "No. I've tried to make her come away. I even tried telling her that having her sick too is not what her Daddy would want, but nothing's worked. She won't budge an inch. She says she doesn't want to miss anything," she nodded to herself, the tears started to flow down her cheeks, "But he can't even see her anymore," she sniffed, "I doubt he even knows she's in the room." George fought to maintain a quiet respectful tone, when all she really wanted to do was go into that room and hold Joni, and cry like a baby because she was losing a friend, just as Joni was losing a father, "But she will know, Willow. And, that's all she has right now." ******************* Joni tried to be strong. She tried to be brave. But how could she when her Daddy was dying, and of the same thing that killed her Mom? "Lace." What a pretty name for such an ugly, disgusting and vile thing. There was nothing pretty about what, "Cassandra's Lace" did, to anyone. If it were anyone but her Daddy lying there, she could have been more clinical about the whole thing. She could appreciate the beautiful brutality of the thing. She couldn't the first time, she'd been only ten. All she'd understood then was that her Mom had been taken away from her. She was older now. Her Daddy, and the Slayers had been fighting this thing almost from the time she was born. She should have been used to it. But she wasn't. She hated it. And she hated her Daddy even more because, when he'd been different, he hadn't thought of her, or the future. He only saw Mom. But he couldn't save her. And then the change happened. Something he'd forgotten about happened. And, now she was losing her Daddy because he forgot about everything. He forgot about her. Forgot about how she would feel. She hated him for that. Joni tried to be brave as she surveyed the damage the virus had done to him. She tried to see him through the shimmering mist that was over her eyes. She wasn't crying. Her Daddy wouldn't want that. The broken capillaries under his skin gave it the appearance of red lace. It was this that gave the virus its deceptively benign name. The buildup of pressure in his brain had destroyed his optic nerve, rendering him blind. The pressure, coupled with the virus's insatiable need for nerve tissue, had slowly eaten away his voluntary muscle control. If it hadn't been for his strong physical condition when he'd first been infected, as well as his, "special" circumstances before, he would have been dead weeks ago. Instead, he lingered for months. He had known the horror of his death from the moment the change occurred. He had given up on the idea that things would change, so when they did, it was a shock. He began to mourn Joni's loss with her, almost from the start. Because of that, because he didn't want to leave her, he held on long after he should have let go. "Daddy, can you hear me?" she asked as she held his hand, "I'm here, Daddy. It's 'Dove.' I'm here," she murmured. He may not have been able to see or speak, but he could still hear her. She didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse. He still had some muscle control, probably due to his indomitable will, and he turned his head, slowly and painfully toward the sound of her voice. Sightless eyes blinked in acknowledgement of her, and tears glossed over them as his jaw worked to clench muscles that had long since been deaf to his commands. "It's all right Daddy," she said, as her own tears mixed with his, "You don't have to talk. You've said it all before. I know. I know. I'm a big girl now Daddy," she said as she smoothed his brown curls from his forehead, "And, I can fly on my own, just like you taught me," her voice seemed too small for her throat, "It really is okay, Daddy," she nodded, "I know you're tired of fighting. Even you have to stop sometime. You've been doing it for so long now. I know you're very tired, and I know you miss her so much," Jonina watched as the tears came faster, somehow, as if he were begging her to forgive him and let him stay, "I miss her too," she sobbed, "Daddy, tell Mommy I love her. It's all right, Daddy." With one last, chaste kiss, a daughter said goodbye to her father for the final time. There would be no coming back from this journey. As she watched his eyes drift shut, she moved stiffly to inform her family that her Daddy was gone. ********** Giles's hands trembled as he read the words. If this girl was who she seemed, then she held inside her a warning that they must heed. Or they would all die. APRIL 9, 2005 After reading the entirety of Jonina's journal, Giles felt conflicted. The world she described was indeed a world that needed preparing for, but he knew from experience that time and space could be a fickle thing. Often if one thing were thrown out of balance, nature compensated, and very quickly, too. Angel was correct in one respect. Willow's spell was ingenious. It helped them to defeat an obvious enemy. But, much like the animal kingdom, there is a delicate relationship to predator and prey. If one is overpopulated, often the other becomes weak and dies off. In the case of the vampire and the Slayer, on its face, this may seem to be a good thing, but with no prey, the predator often becomes extinct. There was a reason there was only one Slayer the whole world over. And, Willow's magic, although an ingenious stratagem may have been shortsighted. The illness described in this young lady's journal, may have been natures way of restoring the balance. If that were to be tampered with things could be made worse. ******************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM "Dove, I know you're anxious to fix what you did," he smiled a little at the way she'd taken after him, "You're a bit like your Da that way. But, you need to give the old Watcher time to figure it out. And you need to give him," he shook his head. Spike still couldn't get used to referring to himself in the third person, "a chance to get to know his daughter. Angel has taken you away from him for the time being." Joni tried not to cry. She hadn't seen her Daddy in so long that it was hard to keep the tears away, "Angelus didn't take anything from him Daddy. I did." "Sweetling," he cooed, "we are not going through this again. This is not your fault. If anything, this is Angelus's fault, for jumping the gun." Jonina was inconsolable, "Then it is my fault, Daddy," she resisted his embrace, but Spike didn't loosen his gentle hold on her, "If I'd only listened to Aunt Willow! Then it would have stopped," her voice quivered, "with you. And your death wouldn't have been for nothing. I'm so sorry, Daddy." He shook his head, "Hush, none of that now," he smiled, gently lifting her chin to meet his eyes, "Or, do I have to bring your Mum in here?" "Daddy, this is so hard. All I wanted was you, and now all I want to do is help. Now, I can't do that!" Looking into her sienna eyes, Spike realized how much he did love her and how much he would love her, if he were given the chance, "Can't help? Now, come on, you know how smart your Mum and Dad are. I'm sure you can. You just have to wait a few more months so that your Da can get his footing again. And when he knows what you can do, when he puts the cure with the disease, when he sees what you can do?" he hugged her tightly, "Sweetling, when it all falls into place, your Da will move Heaven and earth to protect you. Even from Angelus. You are the key to stopping this. Angelus didn't see that. But your Da, he will. I'll make sure of it." "I know you will, Daddy. I just don't want to see you hurt again. I hate it." "I know, Dove," he said as he kissed her hair, "I know." ************************* Giles knew that nature sometimes encapsulated the cure within the disease somewhere. Darwinian Theory even had a term for it. It was called a, "spontaneous genetic mutation." The fittest among a population do survive. And, Jonina Dustin, bless the young lady's heart, had somehow defied time and space to place the answer to an upcoming apocalypse in their hands, months, perhaps years before it was needed. And now, all that was left of Jonina Irene Dustin was a page of numbers and ratios he did not understand. There were a few trinkets, some of which confirmed who she seemed to be. There was that small journal which, along with telling of a horrible disease, also told of a daughter's love for her mother and her father. But, from what Giles could glean from her words, Jonina had an incredibly loving relationship with her father, one that, at times, as he read the words from a phantom life, would bring a tear to his eye. It was the kind of relationship that Buffy had said, over and over again, ad infinitum, that Spike was capable of. A relationship that, until reading the words in this journal, Rupert Giles had thought was impossible for a creature such as he. And now, because of the impulsive actions of Angelus, the cure to an absolutely horrid plague may have turned to a handful of white ash. Giles gathered up the leather-bound volume that delineated a small but incredibly enormous life and swept it into his palm, where it rested with the weathered and aged wedding band, the same one that he had last seen glistening happily on a young bride's finger as she held her husband's hand. A hand with a band of silver that glowed in answer to its mate, along with that rested the treasured chrome-plated lighter. These were small treasures of a life that, through another's actions, would not, at least through any avenue he could foresee, be able to preserve the lives she loved so well. ******************** Buffy winced as Spike ran his fingers lightly over her swollen ankle, "That hurt, Love?" She bit her lip, trying not to yelp even as tendrils of pain shot through her leg as he touched it, "Um hum," she whimpered. He shook his head as he watched her ankle turn purple and swell even more as he touched it, "It was your bright idea to go hiking…in the daylight…without me. You're lucky I found you." "What, I didn't yell loud enough? I think the whole park heard me," she sighed, "Of course, you brought out 'Dudley Do-Right' and his pals. So that could have helped a little. Stupid rock. Stupid shoe." "You were wearing plimsolls, Love," he said, looking at her with a soft gaze, "It wasn't the shoes. You shouldn't have gone out without me." "You're looking at me like I'm made of glass. You know I'm not." "I just don't want to see you hurt, Love. I just found you." "Ditto." Just then, the cell phone she'd insisted on bringing along even though he protested, chirped for her attention, "This had better be good," she said cheerily, "Because we're on a honeymoon and we plan to be so for another week. So, talk fast," she winked at Spike, " 'Cause, we're busy. And plan to get busier." "Glad to hear it," her Watcher's tense voice filtered into her ear, "And I wish I didn't have to pull you away from your well deserved happiness, Buffy. But, it seems that, in your absence, another apocalypse has reared its head." "Oh, that," Buffy grumbled, "It must be Tuesday…somewhere." IN THE INTERREGNUM "Joni, your Daddy said you needed to talk to me?" Joni was pacing, much like her father did. She was all nervous energy, even here. At first Buffy couldn't understand it. She thought that maybe something would change inside; she thought that something would be different about them. But then she remembered that when she was first here, she was still who she was. Even though she wasn't on that plane of existence anymore, she was still who she was. She didn't change. Why would she expect it to be different for the ones she loved? Joni ran to her mother's arms, the tears running down her face, "Mommy, is that really you?" "Yep," Buffy nodded as she held her daughter, "Me and Daddy and Grandma. We're all here. And, we love you." "I missed you all so much!" "I know, Sweetheart. And I know you want to help," she winked at her daughter, "So, what do you say you give your Mommy a little help setting someone on the path to becoming your Daddy, and fulfilling a destiny he'd given up on?" Buffy could see the impish twinkle flare in Joni's eye. She was so like her father that it made Buffy smile, "Okay," Joni smirked as she held her mother's hand, "what did you have in mind?" Buffy leaned close to Joni's ear and whispered, "I was thinking, we needed to do something really important to get his attention." ***************** Spike didn't like it. Slayers didn't just trip on rocks and twist their ankles until they became swollen purple masses, despite what Buffy said. In all the times they'd been locked in combat, whether he was her enemy or her ally at the time, she never once twisted her ankle. Not once in all the time she fought him. This just wasn't right. Buffy tried to push him away. She didn't need him to hold her up. She could walk to the car on her own. Okay, so it was more like hobbling, but it still got her to the car, "Spike, go away, I'm fine," she saw the worry mixed with a touch of fright, competing for dominance in his eyes, "Don't get me wrong, I love that you're so attentive. And, the next time I get the flu, I'll soak up all the attention you can give out," she put her hand to his cheek, trying to soothe the worry lines she saw there, "But right now I need you to stop treating me like spun glass. It makes me nervous. And, it's just a twisted ankle. In two days I'll be ready to spar with you again," she smiled, "It'll be just like old times." "That's exactly what I'm afraid of, Love. I'm not ready for another apocalypse right now," Spike shut his eyes, suddenly realizing that for the first time in six months, perhaps longer, he was admitting to being scared, "I don't think I'm fit to be in that world. And, I can't protect you unless I'm on top of my game. And I'm nowhere near ready." Her face softened as she smiled at him. She really did love him. And she could say that now. Buffy knew that she would do whatever she had to, to keep that lost, sad look from overshadowing the sparkle in his eyes, "Who says I need protecting?" Buffy asked, wishing she could wipe the worry out of his azure eyes. At his downcast eyes, indicating her bruised ankle and she countered his silent argument, "That was gravity. It wasn't demonic. Even the best person, Slayer or not, falls down sometimes," she shrugged her shoulders, "And as far as apocalypses go, they come whether you're ready or not. But, if it'll make you feel better, there are still six hours until sunset. Why don't you rest? Then we can get back to the world saving business." Spike let out an unnecessary sigh, "All right. I know you think I'm being overcautious. But something in me is telling me that whatever Rupert has brewing, it feels big and bad and ugly, and I don't like it. I want to keep you from it, if I can." "Spike, I love you for that. I do. But, ugly, big and bad, that's what I'm good at." ****************** APRIL 10, 2005-LOS ANGELES Xander slammed the book closed in frustration. The remnants of the original "Scooby Gang," had been up for the last forty-eight hours, looking for a "Big Bad" that Giles was being extremely vague about, "We got nothing, Giles," he looked up at the Watcher, "Don't you have anything more specific?" Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his tired vision, and looked knowingly at Willow, who seemed to shrink under the heat of his glare, "I already told you my theory. Willow doesn't want to face the possibility that her spell may have been responsible for this girl's genetic anomaly. Unless we can pinpoint the exact cause, we may have no hope of fighting this when it comes, if it isn't already here." "And because of the 'Dead Boy Wonder' all we have left of this mysterious Typhoid Mary, is a group of numbers on a piece of paper with the County Coroner's letterhead?" Giles nodded, grimly. "Did he drink her blood?" Xander asked, with relish, "Because if he did, maybe we can drain it from him, slowly, and see what it looks like?" he threw the Coroner's report down, in frustration, and it skidded across the table, coming to rest on the floor at the foot of the other side of the table, "I didn't understand trigonometry when I was in school," he yelled, "How am I supposed to understand it, now? Does Angel even understand how evil he is?" Xander asked, through gritted teeth. "Creatures such as he, rarely comprehend the havoc they reek, until the damage is done," Giles said. ************************** For the first time in six months, Spike was able to rest. Although he did have dreams, they were different. He saw the little girl Buffy and he had found dying in an alleyway, on their wedding night. Except, she wasn't dead. He saw her, striding with purpose through a cemetery. This wasn't patrol, but she carried herself like a Slayer. There was something familiar about the way she carried herself. It reminded him of the way Buffy had moved, after they began to train together. It seemed as if he had trained this Slayer. But the only place that he could remember her face was from that night in the alley. He would have remembered her from the last days of Sunnydale. She held herself, trying to warm her small frame. Her feet seemed to crunch as she walked, as if there were dry leaves under her feet. He could see the white wisp of her breath as it floated on the air. He could tell that wherever this cemetery was, it wasn't California, by any stretch of the imagination. To Spike, it looked a little more like New England. The girl looked so lost that Spike decided to follow her. He would stay to the shadows so that she wouldn't see him, but he would follow. She seemed to sense him, no matter how careful he was to stay out of sight. She wasn't making a point of letting him know that she knew he was there, but she wasn't going out of her way to expose him, either. And, she wasn't headed for the more lighted pathways, so he could tell she wasn't scared. That was good. Slayers should be alert, but not scared. This Slayer wasn't a newbie. Just as he was about to settle in and watch a true Slayer work, she addressed him. Without looking back at him, she spoke to him with a voice that was as soft and familiar as an old plush toy, "Don't bother trying to hide, Daddy. I know you're there." The fraternal form of address froze Spike on the spot. She turned, and smiled. He was gob smacked, "Daddy?" he asked. She nodded, slowly stepping toward him, "What else would I call you? You're my Daddy." He stared at her in wonder, "But…how? Buffy and I…we can't." "That won't make any difference to me when I'm seven, and you're teaching me how to ride a bike without training wheels." "Are you real?" "As real as your dreams are," she smiled, "More," she knelt in front of a tombstone and lovingly brushed the dry leaves away. He tried to read the name that was carved into the stone, but she moved to block his view, "No Daddy. This isn't important now," she straightened, turning to see him with her back to the engraving, "The thing that has been creeping inside you, that you've been scared of?" her eyes stayed on the ground, "I'm the cause of it," she looked into his horrified gaze, "Please don't look at me like that, Daddy. I didn't know I was going to hurt you." Spike could see that she was crying, "I just missed you and Mom so much. I just wanted to see you. I didn't know. I'm also the cure, too," she whimpered, "But, Angelus doesn't know that," she sniffed, her arms itching to hold him and have him tell her he loved her again. Like he had before her Mom died, "You have to save me, Daddy. You have to save me, and Mommy, too." "I can't do that if I don't know your name, Dove." She blinked in surprise, "Dove?" Spike nodded, indicating the mark on her cheek, "Oh, I forgot," she said placing her hand on her face, over her mark, "That's what you used to call me. My name is Joni. It's Jonina, actually. Jonina Dustin. Remember, okay? It's time to wake up now, Daddy. The answer is back in Los Angeles. I know you can do it, Daddy. I have faith in you." Spike woke up at dusk, and he and Buffy packed up the car and headed back to Los Angeles. ************************* On the long drive back to Los Angeles, Spike thought about the dream he'd had. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got; angry enough to propel him to do something about what he was feeling. As he drove, he waited for someone to pick up the line. It was Giles who answered, "Watcher, the Slayer and I are headed back. We should reach the Jennings Street dojo just before dawn. Before we arrive, see what the Council can unearth on the girl Buffy and I sent to the coroner March twenty-second. She's not a 'Jane Doe' anymore, Giles. She has a name. It's Jonina Dustin." "How did you know?" Giles asked. "Don't ask, Watcher. Just get me the information, any way you can." The look on Spike's face left Buffy with no doubt as to whom his Grandsire was. It also told her he was serious, and deadly so. And that frightened her. She placed her hand on his arm, feeling the taught muscles under his shirtsleeve. He was tense. Too tense for her own comfort, "Are you all right?" she asked. His jaw twitched as he told her, "I will be. Just as soon as I get my hands on Angelus."

Chapter #3 - Eleven-Thirteen

Spike strode into the Jennings Street dojo that had become the makeshift research station for the "Scoobies" of late. He was starting to feel like his old self again. Buffy had been right, being back in the world-saving business was just what the doctor ordered. And the possibility that throttling Angelus might actually help to save the world? Well, that was an unexpected bonus. "Well Watcher, what have you got for us?" "Us?" Giles asked. "Yeah," Buffy said, as she came in behind Spike, "with a name like Dustin," she shrugged, "I figured this was a we thing and not just a he thing." "Oh," he nodded, "Quite right," he noticed Buffy's slight limp, "Demon fighting, I presume?" She shook her head, " Nope, just good old- fashioned gravity." "Well, that does happen to the best of us." Giles said. Buffy leaned into Spike's side, lovingly patting him on the shoulder, "That's what I've been trying to tell this guy." Giles's face changed as if a cloud had passed over it. He picked up the plastic bag that held Jonina Dustin's belongings and felt the weight of it. These meager belongings weighed more than they should have. Perhaps that was because her life carried within it the life or death of the Slayers. He turned the bag over in his hands as he approached Spike. Suddenly his head felt heavy on his neck. Spike seemed to notice, "The weight of the world on your shoulders there, Watcher?" he asked gently as he took the bag from him, "Let me take it," Spike shrugged as he saw from Giles's eyes how important this little life was, "It's what I'm good at." Giles's voice was gruff, "Yes. Well, the two of you may want to go somewhere private to go through the girl's effects," he turned to retrieve the coroner's report from the table behind him. "Along with this," he held up the report, "Those few things are all that remain of Miss Jonina Irene Dustin." "What happened to the body?" Spike asked. "Cremated. Her father identified her and had her cremated, almost immediately." Buffy was confused, "Then shouldn't we be talking to him?" she turned her attention to Spike, "Maybe he's a distant relative of yours?" Giles burst forth in an awkward fit of laughter, "If I hadn't lived on a Hellmouth, that would almost be funny," at their quizzical looks he added, "The answers are in the girl's effects. And, the reason that report and those personal items are all that's left of that young woman," he said, his gaze and jaw hardening, "Is because of Angelus." ************** The girl's life was so small that Spike knew he had to protect it. And it wasn't just because of the dreams. He could take the dreams, because they weren't substantial. He could dismiss them. But, he couldn't dismiss this. This was real. So real, it made his knees weak. And what made it real was the ring that he was holding in his hand. It just seemed so small. It was so small that the edges of his entire world seemed to implode in on themselves, taking him in their wake. ********************** He looked at Buffy and saw the pain and sadness that he was sure she could see in his eyes, "Buffy, this little girl seems to be very important to us, not just the Slayers, but us." Before she could respond, Buffy could feel the tears building up behind her eyes as she looked at the Zippo lighter and the wedding band as they were arrayed on the small table in the small locker room in the back of the dojo, "Yep," she said. She took a deep breath, and tried to be strong. He needed her to be strong. She stared at the small notebook that had her name on it, "Have you looked at her book, yet?" He shook his head, "No. I'd rather face a herd of fire-breathing dragons, and Mathias Pavaine, in one night." "Know what you mean," she admitted, "It is kind of creepy. Feels kind of like we're spying. Sort of like 'Back To The Future.' But still, if it's that important, enough that Giles makes that face," she winced as the look on the man's face flashed through her head, "maybe we should. Do you want me to do it?" Spike held the volume in his hand and gently turned it over. He'd faced the fires of Hell, looked into the face of death and spit in its eye, won and lost his soul and went a few rounds with a Hellgod, and he was still standing. So why did something so small make his hands shake so badly? In an effort to hide his trembling hands, he thumbed through the pages, stopping to pull out some loose papers that were pressed in between the pages, "These seem to be addressed to her Mum," he looked at her and tilted his head in sympathy as he handed them to her, "I guess that would be you." She nodded and bit her lip, taking in a cleansing breath, "Okay. Jumping in, now," she said as the papers passed from his hand to hers, "I'll go first. You want to take the diary, somewhere else?" she asked. He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers, "No way, Love. I'm not going anywhere," he gave her a knowing smirk, "I'm not leaving, until you toss me out. And, that's final." ****************************** Dear Mommy, I'm eight now, but you know that. I'm writing this because Daddy says that you miss taking me on bike rides and you want me to tell you everything that I do at school. I remember, last Trick-Or-Treat Night. I went as a Princess. And you and Daddy went as a vampire and a Slayer. I thought Daddy's scrunchy face was very funny. I kind of like it when he does that. I think you do too, because you got that special look on your face, the one you don't think I see. The one you only get when I'm in bed. But, I'm not in bed. Sometimes I sneak out. I'm really quiet so you don't see me. I got so much candy. Daddy said I'd get a tummy ache. I did. Do you remember that? Daddy says you get sad now, because sometimes you forget things. Don't worry Mommy. I'll tell you things if you forget them. I can do that. I'm a big girl. You know that. I love you, Mommy. I hope you never go away. I love you a lot. And Daddy does too. I hope you don't forget that, but if you do, I can tell you again. That's okay. Mommy, I love you. Remember, okay? Love, Joni The little girl scribble brought a tear to Buffy's eye. She didn't think she could do this, not alone. But she wasn't alone. Spike was with her, "Oh God, Spike," she whimpered, "I don't think I can do this." "You can, Love," he said as he gently kissed her tears away, as they drifted down her cheeks, "You can. You're strong. You're the Slayer." Buffy looked at the aged bits of paper that sat on her lap. Some of them were covered in a rainbow of crayon markings and whimsical drawings. They looked like homemade greeting cards. Cards made with love, by little hands. Hands that she might never get a chance to know, because of Angel. Buffy opened one of the cards. But it wasn't a card. It was a drawing. The drawing was of a blonde stick figure, obviously meant to be her, wearing big, fluffy angel wings on her back. At the bottom of the paper was the line, "I Miss You Mommy." "Spike," Buffy turned the drawing so that he could see it, "look at this." His jaw twitched and his eyes widened as he looked at the scene on the paper. It depicted a moment in time that only someone who'd actually known them, could possibly put pen to paper and draw. It must have been a Slayer dream. Poor little thing, to be saddled with that, at so tender an age, it was a hard thing for him to go through and he could only imagine what it must have been like for her to see her Mummy, die. On the page was a crayon-colored nightmare. Buffy, lying on the rubble of a construction site, while a stick drawing with a black body and a shock of yellow on his head, was in the corner crying blue teardrops. Above that was a figure with white angel wings, racing to heaven. "I think it's my turn now, Love," he said as he opened the journal. **************** The diary spanned from the year 2022 to 2029. Just seven years, but seven years was a long time for someone so young. It was long enough for him to fall out of love with Dru, and in love with Buffy. Worlds were won and lost in less time. This was obviously a time of great turmoil in this young person's life. The pages fairly screamed it out to him. July 8th 2022 My Aunt Willow gave me this diary because she thought I would be needing to talk to someone. My Mommy is really sick now, and all my Daddy does is cry. I know that all the Slayers are getting sick, but I thought my Mommy wouldn't. I don't know why she's sick, but I think it's my fault. Daddy says it's not. But then, he gets this funny look on his face, and he hugs me so tight I can't talk. He says he loves me, but he's so sad. Still, he gives us our medicine every day, Mommy and me. I don't know why he gives it to me. It hurts when the needle pokes me, but I don't cry. I'm a big girl. Mommy can have my medicine, too. I know if Mommy has enough, she won't be sick anymore. That's what Daddy says, so Mommy can have mine. I told my Daddy that today. He started crying again and hugged me, too tight. I know I make him sad, but I don't know why. It was obvious that some sort of illness had struck the Slayers. Poor little sprite, no child should have the world on their shoulders when they should be mucking about in their Mummy's makeup and playing with tiny teacups. But, the entry that really gave him pause was one of the last ones. It told of a daughter's discovery of a secret that spurred her to hurtle herself into his life. February 26th 2028 I found your research today, Daddy. I wish you would have told me. But, I guess you didn't want to hurt me anymore. It's too late for that now. I understand why I'm the last Slayer now. And, I know why you got sick. God Daddy, why didn't you tell me? I lost Mom, and you told me it wasn't my fault, but it was. I understand why you lied. But that doesn't bring you back, or Mommy. And you're who I need now. I wish I was still a little girl, and you were here to hold me and kiss and hug me, and put me to bed at night. But you're not, neither of you. Maybe Angelus should have killed me. Maybe then you'd still be here, singing like you used to. I loved watching you and Mommy dance. It was like magic. I miss you both so much. I'll have you back, I promise. ********************** Spike placed the precious things back into the plastic bag, and tucked it into his pocket. He left the small locker room in a state of shock. He had to know if Angelus had access to this journal, his daughter's life. He had to know if he had taken it upon himself to make a grief-stricken wish come true. He'd read, with horror, the details that surrounded his own deathbed. His only hope was that Angelus didn't have the patience to read, and comb through, every single detail of her life. He hoped that he hadn't read every tear-stained word, and didn't know his daughter's every joy and sorrow. Because if he did, it might come down to a battle between them, for the life of a true innocent. Spike was glad that Buffy wasn't the one who read all the gory details. He didn't know if she could handle it. Honestly, he didn't know if he could. But, he had to. The look in Buffy's eyes told Spike that she was asking the same question. He walked slowly up to the Watcher and asked the question they both needed the answer to, "Rupert," he rasped out, "tell me Angelus did not find that journal." "I wish I could. He's the one that pointed it out to me." ******************* APRIL, 20 2005- SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES Talitha Sands opened the door. She and David had been inundated with flowers and congratulations lately, because they were expecting. The baby was due to arrive some time early next year. The house was so full of flowers now, that she didn't know if there was enough room for more. When the doorbell rang, she went to the door and signed for the flowers that the deliveryman was holding, "Thank you," she said, taking the box and closing the door. Everyone was being so nice, she thought as she looked around for a space that wasn't crowded with blooms. That was going to be hard to find, the house was starting to look like a botanical garden. She opened the box and saw what was inside. She dropped the box, and the blooms it held inside it, and screamed for her husband. David Sands rushed to his wife's side and saw the black roses lying on the floor. ***************** David Sands rushed to calm his wife. The way she screamed, he thought something had happened to the baby. When he looked her over and found nothing amiss, he widened his search to include the floor. Seeing the fallen florist's box and the flowers that were strewn on the dining room floor, he tried to soothe her as best he could, "Maybe it was just a mix up at the florist, Sweetheart," he said, looking around the room at the veritable jungle his house had been transformed into, "It looks like all the flora from miles around is in our house at the moment. How many people did you tell, anyhow?" David rubbed Talitha's shoulders, gently kissing the nape of her neck, "Maybe they ran out of all the other colors? What does the card say?" "I don't know," she sniffed, looking at the piece of white cardboard that was in amongst the black petals, "I didn't look." David knelt to pick it up, "Well, let's find out, okay?" he flipped the card over and read aloud, " 'Congratulations on your bundle of joy.' See?" he assured her, "Just a mix up. Hey I know, to take your mind off of things, why don't we go out? Nothing too strenuous, and we won't be gone long, just to get you out of here, for a while. How about that new place, 'Veritas'?" ********************** THREE NIGHTS AGO-"VERITAS" NIGHTCLUB He strode past the inviting neon sign that declared this new club open for business. The interior was familiar. So familiar that his stomach lurched at the sight of the stage. There had been many a night when he'd been forced to sing like a canary for little or no information. Or information he could have gotten faster, in his old stomping grounds, just by introducing the right, or the wrong depending on which side of the fence you were on, kind of people to his fangs and fists. But this was another town, and another place and another time. Or so it seemed. The bartender hadn't noticed him. No matter. He wasn't looking to be intimidating, at least not tonight. Tonight he wanted information. Information only the bartender knew how to give. He slid silently up to the bar and leaned into it. Without looking up from his inventory of whiskey and rum, the green-skinned gentleman said icily, "I thought I told you never to look for me. Although, I don't know why I'm surprised. Cockroaches can survive a nuclear blast. Why should you be any different?" Angel knew coming in here that he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, despite what the sign in the foyer said, but he needed information that only he could provide, "I know," Angel said, as he looked around at the club's rather garish décor, "But to be fair, this isn't exactly hiding." Red eyes narrowed at him, "You aren't supposed to be looking. What do you want, here? I'm busy." "I need to know if a woman's been in here." Lorne huffed, "Women come in here all the time. That doesn't mean I'm gonna pick up the 'Bat Phone' and tell you." "You'd notice her. She most likely is expecting a child." Lorne shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at the door, "Then you've got the wrong place. Pea-In-The-Pod types don't come in here. This just isn't their speed." Angel took a napkin from the bar and fished a pen from his pocket. He scribbled something on the napkin, "I'll take the risk. If she comes in here, call me," he said as he slid the napkin across the bar. Lorne nodded, "Sure. Now get out." The second Angelus wasn't darkening his doorstep, Lorne crumpled the napkin into a tight wad of paper, and tossed it, from the three-point range, into the wastepaper basket, "Ice water's chance in Hell that'll ever happen. I do know whom I will call though, and it sure isn't you." ******************* For Spike, the past month had been a blur. First, he'd been blissfully happy. There was no way to describe how happy he'd been in that penguin suit, twirling Buffy up and down that dance floor until they were both giddy from the weightlessness of it all. Then, his little oasis of life came crashing into the reality of death, and everything changed. Now, with this little book in his hands, the two forces of his existence seemed to come together, here. It seemed that the Chinese philosophers, and dear little Georgina, had been right. In order to be whole, one did indeed need both. He needed Jonina as much as her writings seemed to tell him that she needed him. He loved her already, and she wasn't even a twinkle in someone's eye. He couldn't give that up. Not for the world. Not even for her. Somehow, he just couldn't let go of her, of the idea of her. He needed it. He needed her. And no one was going to take her from him. Just reading her words, she painted the pictures with such meticulous skill that he could hear the sounds she heard and see the things she saw. As he read the words now, he could almost hear the cant of her voice and her cadences as they whispered to him. DECEMBER 6, 2027 We buried you today, Daddy. Right next to Mom, like you wanted. George and aunt Willow sang that old lullaby you and Mommy used to sing me to sleep with, even after I'd grown out of it. I heard it on the television just yesterday. That film has got to be almost a century old. But then again, it kind of makes sense. It was like you and Mommy were trying to tell me everything was going to be all right and that you were still out there somewhere, watching out for me. I stopped to listen, and I cried a little. I miss you both so much. I can still hear it in my head, as if you were right here. It helps me get to sleep at night. I asked George to write the words down for me, for me to look at when I need you: "Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine. Little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say; Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine. If they knew sweet little you they'd end up loving you, too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you. From your head to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows. But, you're so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine." I know it's not you, Daddy. But, it's close enough. Spike blinked away the tear he felt in his eye as he closed her book, "Don't you worry, Sweetling," he sighed as he made his vow to her, "I'll find you." *********** IN THE INTERREGNUM Joni was so excited she couldn't stand still. She and Buffy were locked in a hug so tight that not even a crowbar could pry them loose, "I told you it would work, Daddy! See, I told you!" Buffy smiled at Joni, "Yeah, you sure did. But I think your Daddy forgot just how sentimental he really was…make that is, deep down," she said as she kissed his face and watched his eyes roll up in surrender to the feminine influences of his world. Buffy even thought she heard him sigh, "Oh, you love it," she teased, "I bet you used to cry at Garbo pictures, right?" Spike's back went rigid, "I bloody well did not!" he hissed. But Buffy could tell that he was covering. Being the "Big Bad" for Jonina's benefit. But she knew she was right. Wives just knew that kind of thing, "Uh huh," she nodded. ******************* APRIL 20, 2005 George answered the telephone quickly. No one who wanted a schedule of martial arts classes usually called this late at night. Still, just to be on the safe side, "Synergy Dojo, may I help you?" "Is the heir apparent, about, Georgie Girl? I need to talk to him." "Lorne! How are you? Is this important?" "Only in a Messianic sort of way. Listen, don't bother him if he's busy saving damsels in distress. Just let him know that I'm sending a very important couple, apocalyptically important, to rest at his inn for the night. Tootles, Georgie." Lorne gave the couple the address on Jennings Street, "Go to this address, nowhere else. The couple that run the place, they're friends of mine. And, they're yours, too. Believe me," he motioned to the cabdriver, "I'll have Bernie, here, take you there. I trust him. He'll get you there, without a scratch." "Thank you." David said, as he took the address from him. *************************** George took the message, picked up the phone to dial the extension but then thought better of it. Lorne had said that he would be sending the couple over, so no need to disturb them. Bad news was like the night that followed the day; it came whether you wanted it to or not. This could wait a few hours. ***************** "Spike, there's nothing you can do," Buffy tried to smooth the worry lines away with her fingers, "I'm here. And, I'm alive. Right here," she pulled his gaze to her, "I'm here," she saw the far away look in his eye. Usually when they were together, in the quiet moments, he was with her. But tonight, he was elsewhere. She bit back the unreasonable jealousy that she felt for a phantom girl, and asked, "Where are you?" The timber of her voice brought him back to the present. It reminded him of how his own voice sounded to his ears on those nights that she had used his presence to fill the void of her life. Back then, he would talk to her just to fill the silences so that he wasn't alone, even when he was with her. He hated that he had brought her voice to such desperation, "Sorry Love," he said as he kissed her lips, "I know I should be here. I've wanted this for so long. My God," he sighed his apology into her skin, "I'm such a fool. You're here," his fingers began a slow and deliberate dance over her body, drinking her into his memory. Tracing every curve as if he'd been a blind man just granted his sight. Buffy sighed as his loving adoration hummed over her skin, sending little tendrils of pleasure up her spine and radiating out to her fingers and toes. She felt herself slowly burning as his touch began spreading a pleasing rime throughout her body. The depth of what she was feeling had no words. She wanted to give back all the things he'd given her, and more. She wept at the inadequacy of language. Spike looked down and saw the tears well up in her eyes. He was drowning again, in the quicksilver of jade. He'd swam these depths a thousand times, and he would swim them a thousand more, "I know, Buffy," he breathed, "I feel it, too," his voice was deepened with the passion he felt for her, "God, I love you. So much," he shook his head and kissed her brow, feeling her eyelashes caress his lips as she closed her eyes, "You don't have to say it. I know." She shook her head, hoping that he would understand her need. She kissed his neck and gently rocked him until he was beneath her, "No, I have to show you," she sighed as she placed small kisses of flame deep into his flesh. Buffy tried to press her body as close to his as she could. For Buffy, she could never, would never be close enough. She knew the things he could not voice. Words were useless here, in this place. In this place that was no place at all, because there was no difference between them, here, when she took breath into her it was his heart that beat. Here, when he bled, it was she who wept. Spike tried to swim against the tide of ecstasy that was swamping him. She had to stop or her fire would consume him. And he didn't care. He wanted it. The passion of her loving touch and the long, exquisite tortures that her kisses were, stoked the flames that lapped at his heart, "Buffy," he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to give her the world. The forces inside of him were struggling to surface, making words difficult. She felt his body tremble under her slightest touch. "Buffy," he gasped, "if you don't stop," his head lulled and his eyes drifted shut, "Oh, for…please…don't stop." Buffy looked down at Spike's face. The effect that she had on him was beautiful. She loved that she could make him look like this. Amazingly, his face seemed flushed with the passion they both felt, cheeks reddened from it. His eyes were glazed with lust, his vision unfocused by the feelings she set loose inside of him as she touched and kissed him into a babbling, blissful idiot. She loved it. Buffy smiled down at him, "Wasn't gonna," she giggled as she took his lips to hers. "Oh, God," Spike moaned as his head flew back on to the pillows, "…Killing me," he rose up to meet her. Buffy hummed with pleasure, "Hmm…Love you. Let it go, baby. Love you so much," she sighed, as they fell into the rhythm of the ages, "Want to see all of you. Every part. Show me all of you baby." Spike swept her up in his arms, and his azure gaze swirled to amber as he gazed down at her, "That's it," she smiled, tilting her head to expose her neck. His lips whispered a tender, "I love you, Buffy," as he kissed her pulse point. Buffy felt the fangs as they slowly kissed her neck. He never took more than a thimbleful during these moments, but in something that small, she discovered, over and over again, how vast and their love could be. ***************** Angel didn't know why he thought the reception at 'Veritas' would go differently. How did he expect that Lorne would trust him when he wasn't being entirely trustworthy, himself? He had regrets. He regretted not having Buffy with him. But, she was happy now, and that was because Spike did something that Angel could now admit, although not in the open, certainly, that he couldn't give her. Buffy was happy. And, so was Spike. If it took getting rid of one dead girl to keep them that way, he would take it. The journal with the familiar scrawl on its pages, stayed under lock and key. It would stay there. He held it back from them to let Buffy keep the life she had now. She loved Spike, and even though he'd rather take a noonday walk than tell him so, and watch that self-satisfied smirk grace his lips, Spike loved her. This small journal, in William's elegant handwriting, detailed the full extent of his grief. He'd mourned for her, and for the fact that he'd tried to race vainly against the insidious predator that had brought her death with it. He wanted to do what he could to save them both from that. So, he kept silent. For her happiness, and his. ********************** The few hours of peace that they had had were inturrepted by a discrete knock at the door. Dawn's uncomfortable whispers broke it, "Um, guys? Sorry to interrupt, but, it seems we've got visitors. See you down in the dojo, proper, in… ten minutes?" Spike kissed Buffy lightly as he sighed in response, "Make it fifteen, Bit, and you got a deal." "Okay. But it is important. Lorne referred them." "Got it," he looked at Buffy and smiled, "Ready for another apocalypse, Love?" "Lead the way," she said.

Chapter #4 - forteen-seventeen

David Sands was still trying to make sense of what had happened tonight. He had only wanted to take his wife somewhere to get her mind off of the florist's mix up. Talitha liked karaoke; at least she had when they were dating. They used to go to "Caritas" on a weekly basis. That is, until it closed for repairs and then never opened again. So, when Lorne Green opened a new place, David thought it would be the perfect way to brighten his wife's mood, maybe make her feel like everything was going to be okay and that she didn't need to be scared. But then he and Talitha got up to sing a few bars of that sappy little elephant lullaby that she loved so much, in honor of their unborn child, and everything went crazy. Before they knew what was happening, they were being whisked off, like they were in the witness protection program, to somewhere they didn't know, to be protected by people they didn't know from something that they couldn't see. If this was a prank, Joe was going to have some explaining to do at the office about the shiner he was going to have on Monday morning. Talitha, however, seemed to be in her element here. She even seemed to know who the girl who greeted them at the door was. This was just another example of just how mysterious Talitha could be. She never said much about her life before they'd begun dating. But somehow David knew that these people held the answers to some of the riddle his wife was to him. *********************** Dawn opened the door to let the couple in. She fully expected to have to make up some outrageous cover story to explain Lorne's otherworldly appearance to them, but when Lorne told her that they'd been regulars, at least separately, at his other club, she knew that she might not need to explain as much as she might have otherwise. She opened the door and saw a face she knew well from her days of rounding up Slayers after the Hellmouth was closed in Sunnydale, "Talitha Littleton?" she asked, hugging the girl, "How long has it been?" "Hello Dawn," Talitha said, "It's been almost two years. And it's Sands now," she said as she nodded to the man who stood at her side, trying to take in everything. "Oh," Dawn extended her hand in greeting, "How do you do? My name is Dawn Summers. Your wife and I used to," she looked at Talitha to get a feel of just how much of a lie she should spin for this man. Talitha's eyes told her to spin big. Her eyes returned to him, "go to gymnastics school together," she winced a little for his benefit, "Believe me, it's not as much fun when your sister's an instructor. But we managed," she said with a smile while she extended her hand. "David Sands," he said, but refused to take the hand she offered to him, "Mr. Green told us to meet someone here. Someone named Dustin?" Dawn kept smiling, even though she thought the man was being rude. Maybe he was just not used to meeting new people. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, until he confirmed otherwise, "Then you've got the right place. They'll be down in just a few minutes," Dawn tried to make small talk, "So," she asked Talitha, "is this handsome guy the reason you left the Academy?" "No," Talitha glanced down, unable to meet Dawn's eyes, "Remember my..." she searched for the right words to let Dawn know just why she'd left the Slayer training facility, without letting her husband find out, "insomnia? Made it hard to train?" she nodded, hoping Dawn would catch on. She did. Dawn knew why Talitha left. Talitha left for the same reason she came. She was having dreams of Spike. It was hard to go out and hunt vampires because they were evil, when one that was so clearly not, haunted your dreams. The dreams had haunted Talitha Littleton so much, that she took a bus, all the way from Kansas to Los Angeles to find Buffy and train with her. That was right before they'd pulled up stakes and moved the whole Academy to Rome. "Oh," Dawn's eyes widened as she remembered who was upstairs, "That can be a problem," she said as she backed toward the staircase, "Do you still have that problem?" she saw Talitha nod, "Oh, I see. Well then... um I think I'd better get Buffy first." Dawn said as she raced up the stairs. "Buffy!" she called out, as she ran. ************************** The pounding on the door was so loud it even made Spike nervous, "Hold your knickers on, Bit. We've still got five minutes." Dawn's voice was a tense whisper, "Buffy, that visitor you've got, the ones that Lorne sent over? One of them you know already." "Who is it?" There was a sigh from behind the door, "Talitha Littleton. You remember her? She had those dreams... about Spike?" Buffy tried to discern Spike's mood by his eyes. She honestly didn't know whether he was shocked or flattered, or a bit of both. He nodded, "And let me guess. She doesn't know I've come back from the 'Great Beyond,' yet?" "No, she doesn't. That's why I thought that it would be better if Buffy came down to meet her, you know, first." "Okay, Dawn. I'll be right down." Spike could see from Buffy's eyes that she did not want to leave him, "It's okay, Pet. I'll stay up here until you give the, 'all clear.' Don't want to frighten the poor thing, or the little tot she's carrying." Buffy was surprised at that, "She's pregnant?" He raised an eyebrow in response, "Yeah. Heard the little thing the minute our guests came through the door. That one's strong. A real scrapper." "How did you know?" Buffy asked. "Simple Love," he said as he kissed her, "I can count. There are five, living breathing, human beings in this dojo. Downstairs and up; but there are six heartbeats." "Wow." He shrugged, "Just a little something we vamps are good at." ********************** Buffy hugged Talitha, "It's good to see you," she looked at the freckle-faced man standing next to her, "Although I do wish it were under different circumstances. Dawn said that Lorne sent you, and that you need our help, is that right?" David bristled. Lorne Green had said that these people would help them. But so far all he'd seen was a secretary and a teenage girl. And the more his wife talked to these people the more cagey she seemed. He didn't like it, not one bit, "Excuse me, Miss..." "Misses," Buffy corrected, "Dustin. Buffy Dustin." "Oh," Talitha exclaimed, reaching for her left hand to see the ring she wore, "You got married?" "Uh huh. So did you." Talitha nodded, "Yes. I did. But, I didn't think you would after..." Buffy rolled her eyes in excitement, "Oh believe me, I've had a weird year!" David Sands couldn't take it any more. He tried to lie to himself about the flowers. He tried to explain away the strange little gifts that had been appearing on their doorstep, every day for the past month, but he couldn't explain it away. Some psychopath was frightening his wife and child, and the people who were supposed to help them wanted to talk about wedding rings and china patterns? This was ridiculous, "Excuse me," he said, "but we came to you for help. Some weird guy is leaving dead birds and flowers on our doorstep! He's been doing it every night for the past month. We want him to stop. If you can't help, I'll find someone who can!" Buffy tried to calm him, "Take it easy, Mister..." "Sands!" his face was getting red from the exertion, and if he yelled any louder, Buffy was sure Spike would come bounding down the stairs in full game face, "Just like I told your little girl over there!" "Sands," Buffy said calmly, "My husband and I are very good at this type of thing. If we weren't, Lorne wouldn't have told you to come here. It's just that, my husband is an old friend of Talitha's and it might be a bit," Buffy looked at Talitha, begging her to catch on and follow her lead, "awkward for her to see him after all this time." Buffy could see the light of recognition in her eyes. She always had been a quick learner. The best of her class as a matter of fact. Talitha would have made a good Slayer. If only the dreams hadn't introduced her to the enigma that was Spike. She nodded slowly, taking the silent information that Buffy was sending her, "Oh... really? Isn't that nice," Talitha took the first seat she could find, "I think...I'd better sit down?" she nodded to Buffy with her eyes wide. "I think that would be a good idea. Just to be on the safe side," Buffy agreed, "And Dawn can bring you a glass of water," she looked at Dawn, "Would you?" "Sure," Dawn said, taking a Dixie cup into the ladies restroom, and filling it with water. When Buffy was sure Talitha and David were sufficiently calm, she called out, "William, you can come down now." "Coming, Love." Talitha had only heard that voice in dreams. But now it was attached to an actual someone. Talitha had been curious what he really looked like. And it seemed she was about to find out. As Spike came down the stairs, he caught sight of a girl. Well, to him she was a girl, but she was of childbearing age, that was obvious from the tiny flutter of a heartbeat that beat just under her own. And for some reason, it seemed to pick up speed as he got closer. The girl had features he recognized somehow. But, there was one feature that was unmistakable. The birthmark on her cheek shaped like a bird in flight. He walked slowly over to the couple, "Hello," he said, nodding to the husband first. His eyes lingered a fraction longer on the woman he'd seen in his dreams, "I think we can help," he knelt down to take Talitha's hand, fully aware of the watchful eyes of her husband, "My name is William Dustin," he could see recognition and admiration in the woman's eyes. She knew him. She hadn't seen him before, but she knew him. He was looking into the eyes of a Slayer, and he knew it, "Your wife, and some others may know me better by a nickname I picked up when I was a bit younger. I was a bit of a ruffian and I made quite a name for myself," his eyes flashed at Buffy and at Talitha, "People in certain circles used to call me, 'William The Bloody.' Some people still call me that. Or they call me, 'Spike.' I assure you that I'm not nearly the cad I used to be. But, if someone is stalking you, Lorne was right to send you here. I heard some of the conversation my wife and you were having Mr. Sands. And, I think I know who this person is. I have had run ins with him, and his type before," he stretched to his full height and spoke to the husband again, "This would go so much smoother if we all had our cards on the table," he could hear Buffy's breath hitch. She didn't want him to tell this man anything he wasn't ready to hear, so he would not. It was only a simple question to see how far he would be permitted to go, in the man's presence, "Don't worry, Mister and Misses Sands. We'll find this," he looked at Talitha. She knew what he knew. She knew exactly who was toying with her, he'd done it for centuries. The question was, how much did he know, "Person," he continued, "And, we'll make certain that everyone," his eyes flashed toward the unborn child in her womb. The child he had yet to be told existed, "is safe here. I only have one question sir." "What is that?" "What would you do to keep your loved ones safe?" "Anything I had to." "I assume, then, that you will allow my wife and I to do whatever we have to do, to keep you safe?" "Yes, of course." "Good. Buffy and Dawn will set up some cots in the locker room for you to use tonight," Spike turned to Buffy, and saw her nod, "It's not much. But, it'll keep you safe, and warm, for the night. Tomorrow, we start looking for your stalker." ************** IN THE INTERREGNUM The horror of what they were asking made Spike want to grimace. The forces that controlled existence on that plane had definitely been out of the game too long. Their little girl was not going through that. Not if he could help it, "Are you daft?" his voice rumbled in a barely contained rage, "You must be, or you wouldn't ask that." "Child," the spirit's voice was calm, even as the atmosphere was in tumult, "Entropy has been fractured. How do you propose it be mended?" "Not this way!" he hissed, "She was just a child. She missed her father," his fist thumped his chest, "She missed me. What did you expect her to do," Spike's voice quivered in empathy for her, watching her warm eyes shine, "when the one person she counted on, couldn't hold on?" The spirit was infinitely patient, "Child, humans die. It is the way of countless universes. She sought to subvert the natural order. That cannot be tolerated. Something must be done." "If you have to punish someone," he looked longingly at Buffy and Jonina as they huddled together trying to be brave. Spike's chin lifted in defiance, "Punish me. I'm the one who left her alone. I'm the one that drove her to it." "Daddy, no!" Jonina gasped. Spike continued, as if he hadn't heard her gentle sobbing. If he allowed himself to be distracted, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to go through with this, "Because of my mistake, it's coming ahead of your precious timeline. Because of my weakness," he looked at Buffy's suffering eyes, "A child will lose her mother before she's ready. And I will lose something dearer to me than my own…anything!" he fell to his knees, "I'm begging," his voice was gruff and Buffy could hear the tears in it, "The world needs her. Let Jonina go. Please?" In the emptiness of time, the spirit contemplated the odd child, bent in supplication, "We shall do as you request, child." Spike bowed his head and his shoulders slumped in relief, and defeat, "Thank you," he sighed. They both knew what the consequences of their actions would be, but once it was done they had to help their daughter. She was proud of him. They both knew that the punishment for interfering would be harsh. They were prepared to take the brunt of it. So when they were told that Joni was to bear the horror of that, Buffy was fully expecting to take it, if only to spare him from his worst fear. But he just couldn't keep the Champion from showing through. He refused to hear her arguments against it, stubborn to the last. He took the pain on himself and placed his heart in her hands again. If she were to refuse the sacrifice he was offering her, Buffy would hurt him. And she had promised herself that she would never hurt him again. That would be worse than not having him. The very fact that he was willing to do this should have proved to them that he was more deserving of the honor. Buffy hated the idea that someone less deserving might take it, by default. Buffy experienced something she hadn't felt for what seemed like millennia, as they led him away. Time meant nothing here, and she didn't want it to. All the time in the world meant nothing to her if he wasn't with her. Her heart ached even at the small reprieve of his soft farewell kiss, "Hey, no tears, Love. Remember? Not here, they don't belong here," Buffy watched his face harden in an effort to hide the pain she could feel raging in him, "And now, neither do I." "That's not true, Spike! You…" Spike brushed away Buffy's tears, "No more tears. I have enough of my own. I'm not taking yours with me, too. Then it truly would be Hell," he leaned over and kissed her ear, "Love you. Always," he turned his eyes to Joni, "Always remember I love you, Dove. You're my heart. And now you're my soul. You'll be my true north when your Mum can't be that for me. He's going to need you, Dove. I need you. I love you." "We love you too, Daddy!" Joni sobbed, "Remember, please." Buffy watched his eyes, those beautiful eyes, as they slowly faded into the mists of time. She cried at the pain of separation, and her heart ached with pride. ********************************** NOVEMBER 1, 2030 The man walked through the cemetery with his heart in his throat. The ache was a familiar companion now. It was the only friend he had now. The closer he got to the cluster of headstones, the more he wanted to scream but there was just no room for words here. He hated being here, not just because of the cold, but also because of the fact that being here brought some painful memories. He knelt down, stirring the leaves under his weight. There was a sense of déjà vu about being here. Like someone had seen it all before. "Hello William," he said, taking in his surroundings. All around him there was death. From the dying leaves and the grey winter sky, to the headstones of departed family and friends, all around him was death. He focused his attention on the task in front of him, "Who knew? Someone once told me that prophecies were tricky things," he hung his head in shame, "Who knew that that was the one time he was telling the truth?" He looked at the newest stone to be erected in this part of the cemetery. He knew it was the newest because he was the one who'd had it placed here. He had it placed here so that there would be an acknowledgment of her. They would have wanted it that way. He had begged Willow to pull Joni back before she could change things, maybe make them worse, if that was even possible. Willow had tried. He'd brought in mystics from the four corners of the earth. They had worked for nearly a year to find her when Georgie, Willow and he finally gave up. Illyria even sacrificed herself in an attempt to retrieve Jonina from a timeline that was foreign to her, and nothing worked. There wasn't even a body to bury. Under the headstone that bore her name, there was just an empty vault. A flash of red distracted him on the sea of grey, "Remember when things were so much easier? Black was black and white was white. Now there's so much grey. What's a person to do?" "Holland," he rasped, "It's over. There's no one left. Holland chuckled at the sad scene he made, sitting in this graveyard, with only tombstones for company, "Oh, it's never over. You know that." ************************ APRIL 21, 2005 There was a knock at his door. He double checked the safe and opened the door to reveal Spike, "Hello, Angelus," he said, looking at him through hooded, suspicious eyes, "I think we need to talk." APRIL 21, 2005 As they put the Sands down for the night, Spike was comforted by the small flutter of the child's heartbeat. He loved hearing it, and judging by the way the little flutter sped up whenever he spoke, the tot had a fondness for him as well. Will wonders never cease? That wasn't what was rolling around in his brain right now. Right now, what was worrying him more was the nagging feeling that something was just…off. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he would find it. Buffy managed to drift off to sleep about two hours ago. That was a mixed blessing, because her dreams seemed to be making her sleep restless at best. Her heart rate alone told him that at times, during the night she had been in the realm of nightmares. He did what he could to comfort her, whispering soothing words into her ear. Lying there listening to her, he couldn't help but kick himself for ever believing Angelus and staying away from her for as long as he did. As he listened to the soft cries fill the room, even as he tried to comfort her, he was reminded of the pain he felt when he first realized that he didn't belong anywhere. Hell wouldn't have him, and he wasn't vain enough to think that Heaven would. So, where did that leave him? It brought him here, awake in the wee hours of the morning, walking the floor, when he should be holding her. He was here, listening to a quartet of rhythms, trying to chase away the irrational fears that he'd been plagued by for more than six months now. And, listening to Buffy's lonely cries at his absence, at the absence of what little peace he was able to provide in the midst of the storm that seemed to be raging in her, did nothing to quiet his own. ************************ MAY 30 2003 It was so dark in here that even her eyes were having trouble adjusting. There was no sound except for her heartbeat. This place was familiar, sickeningly so, in fact. She'd been here every night since Sunnydale collapsed. Every night since he… She closed her eyes, because she knew what was coming. It was the same every night. Her throat tightened in anticipation. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want to see it. Not again. It hurt to see the pain in his eyes. "Buffy," his voice was tinged with pain, the sound bore straight to her heart and her nerves fired in sympathy, but Buffy still remained blind to the sight of him. The sight caused her too much pain, "Don't forget me. Please Buffy. You're all I have." Buffy opened her eyes and saw him. The contrast of his alabaster skin against this pitch-black darkness was striking. So striking that the glare of it hurt her eyes. But, she could not look away. Spike, lying in the void, curled in on himself as if he were in the womb. She knelt down, just as she did every night, and felt him tremble, "Where are you, Spike?" The question brought a sob tearing from him. His words were halted and filled with agony, "Alone. It hurts. Nowhere. Angels don't want me. Can't forget. They claw at my eyes so that I can't see," he pulled his limbs in tighter, shielding himself from the tortures Buffy could only imagine, "I scream but there's no sound. Nothing here. Not even me. I learned it all. But I don't remember. Don't make me remember. But I need it," she could see his throat working to keep his pain inside of him, "Buffy, please find me?" he choked. Buffy woke up, like she had every night since the Hellmouth closed, screaming for him, and covered in sweat. ******************** APRIL 21 2005 Even as he held her, Spike could feel the violent tremor of emotion as it tore through her, "Hush, Love," he soothed, tracing comforting patterns over her skin, "I'm here. I'm here now. And, I'll never let you go," he whispered as he held her close, "Never." Her cries reminded him of his own when he'd first gotten his soul back. Nothing seemed real. Sometimes, not even Buffy seemed real. It was as if his existence had been placed overtop of something else, and at times, he would fall through the holes and see what was underneath. He would see the things that were hiding just under the surface. There, his soul could rest. There, he was loved. There, he was at peace. And now, the dreams of sickness and death, her sickness and death, threatened to send him hurling into madness again. He would die, again, before he'd let the only peace he'd really had be disturbed. Spike caught the scent of unshed tears as they welled up behind closed eyelids, and he held her tighter, "Love, it's all right now," he whispered. Wet eyes looked up at him in astonishment, "Spike?" she asked, as the confusion of sleep slowly began to lift. "Yeah, Love. It's me." "Oh, thank God," she sobbed, as she held him tight, "I thought I lost you." He kissed her lips, reassuring her that he was real, giving her something that she couldn't give him back in Sunnydale, "I'm real. And, I'm not going anywhere." ******************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM "But, Mommy you can't do that." Her eyes flashed, "I know why he did what he did, Joni," her chin quivered at the emptiness and loss she was feeling, "But, you should know by now that your parents don't exactly follow the rules. I promised him once that I would follow him, no matter where he went. And, I'm keeping that promise. He needs me." "But, what about…" Buffy gritted her teeth and tilted her head in determination. For an instant, Joni was reminded of her Daddy, and how much she missed him, "Joni, I don't really care what happens. I have to be with him. I can't leave him alone, not when he needs me. What can happen," she asked the wide expanse, "I die again?" she smiled wryly, "Been there. Done that," she hugged her daughter close, "I have to keep my promise, Joni." *************************** OCTOBER 22, 2002-SUNNYDALE In the corners they couldn't find him. If he was still, they couldn't find him. If he didn't think or listen to the voices, things would stop spinning. If they stopped spinning, then he could help. He remembered that. And he would help. He did. If only he could make things stop spinning. Down here, things spun in time with him. When he was here, they made sense. He understood things. The trouble lies in making them understand. Making her understand. How could he make her understand, when sometimes she wasn't real? The coolness of the concrete floor grounded him. He sensed her as she knelt beside him. He felt her touch the back of his neck. She always did that when he needed comforting. He missed it, and her, so much. He tried to speak above the pain. He hadn't seen her in so long, he was nearly undone by the nearness of her. He nearly swooned as her scent, the scent of someone barely remembered, touched the air surrounding him and clung to his skin, "I'm in trouble, Buffy." Warm fingers soothed his brow, "Spike, it's me. It's you, and it's me. And, we'll get through this," she whispered. ******************** NOVEMBER 1, 2030 Holland knelt next to Angel and contemplated the tombstone, "That's the one drawback of being omnipotent, Angel," he sighed and shook his head, "Things are never really over. In fact, things are changing even as we speak," he tilted his head in contemplation, "That is, if we really are speaking. Some day, you may wake up and find you no longer exist. But then," he gestured to the sea of tombstones, "without them, you don't exist, do you? How many times did he try to tell you that, Angel?" he clicked his tongue in sympathy, "If only you had listened. He did understand, Angel. It was you who didn't." ************** NOVEMBER 1, 2030 As Angel walked through the cemetery, he wondered where he’d gone wrong. The sickness was destroying the Slayer line. So, the thing to do was to find the source of the virus, and eliminate it. That’s what he was good at. When a threat came, he found it, targeted it, and killed it. Then humanity would live to see another day. At least, that was how it was supposed to work. It had always worked that way before. Always. Except it hadn’t worked that way. His way of doing things only seemed to make things worse. He had seen the child as a threat, a genetic anomaly that must be eliminated. Angel shook his head. Irony was a funny thing. He’d moved heaven and earth to save his own child. He even altered reality so that that child could live a more normal life, and be safe, warm and protected. But, when it came to saving the child that he saw as the agent of the Apocalypse? That was a different story. He was now beginning to see the grey areas that Spike had been so fond of dwelling in. Only now, it was too late. “It’s never too late, Angel,” Holland said, “In fact, ‘The times they are a-changing.’ Wasn’t it Bob Dylan who said that?” at Angel’s blank look, Holland continued, admiring a small telescope he carried in his hands. He held it out for Angel to look at, “Have you ever seen one of these?” he turned it over in his hands, and squinted through the glass lens at one end of the cylinder, while turning the other slowly with the fingers of his other hand, “Ingenious really. And to think it’s only a child’s toy,” he turned the disk slightly, “Just one turn of the wrist, and everything changes. All the colors are there. Nothing’s been removed, but, one twist and it all moves. It becomes something new. And the old scene, with all its colors, doesn’t exist anymore. But take one little grain of sand out, and it’s never the same again. No matter how many times you turn your wrist, the colors will never fall the same way twice, because something critical is missing. Sad to think that your existence comes down to child’s play, isn’t it?” Holland narrowed his eyes at Angel, “Or maybe it comes down to the child?” he shrugged, “Huh, just something to think about.” “What do you want?” “Not a thing,” Holland said, “Just contemplating the universe. Did you know that sand can, and does, turn into glass. All you need is sand, and a few other common minerals. Add a little heat and you’ve got glass. But if the right kind of sand is left out, then you end up with something else,” he gestured to the field that had become a thriving necropolis, “You might end up with places like this,” Holland winced at the number of tombstones, “Although, I shouldn’t complain. You are keeping the Home Office very busy,” his eyes widened as he remembered something he’d forgotten, “Oh,” he said, “I meant to thank you,” Holland smiled warmly, “I did get that promotion. And, it’s all thanks to you.” The ache Angel felt came close to consuming him. Every time he felt the pain lessening a bit, over this last year, Holland would be sure to twist the knife just a little more, “Holland,” his voice was tired and on the edge of giving out altogether, “I am tired. There is no way that I can change what happened. I’ve tried to bring her back,” the tears were sliding down his face, “I tried to love her. I really did. But, it wasn’t the same. Not like it was with him. And when she found out,” his breath shuddered, making his shoulders quiver, “At least, when he was here…” Angel looked at the name on the stone, and his voice suddenly failed him. There was nothing but the pain now. The stone bore the name of the one person he loved so much that it could only express itself as loathing. That was the only way he knew to express his true feelings. To show love any other way, for him, only brought pain. Angel knew love. He knew of it. He knew what it was, but not how to feel it, “At least when he was here, I had a buffer. His love for her, and hers for him, it kept me safe from her. But when he left?” he sighed, “There was nothing. And, she hated me, so much!” Holland knelt down and picked up a handful of dirt. Pressing it between his hands, he let it fall gently to the ground again, “What did you want, Angel? Her father was meticulous, took very good notes,” Holland admired, “Even though the grief was consuming him. You didn’t think you could keep the truth from her forever, did you?” The grief contorted Angel’s face into a grimace and his shoulders bowed under the weight of it, “He tried to,” he gasped in desperation, “Before he…” the rest was a choked sob, “died, he told me to burn it all. He said that he was truly frightened of what she would do,” Angel hid his eyes, as the images of William’s last few weeks flashed through his mind. His body had been weak and frail. But his will, oh God, his will was so strong. He was still trying to set things right. Still trying to correct a mistake that wasn’t his. The rest of his body had begun to still. As if it were trying to prepare itself for his final death. But William’s eyes still flashed, defiant as ever. It seemed to Angel, at the time, as if something remained of the vampire he had been. If it were at all possible, and even if it wasn’t possible, Spike wasn’t going to go down, for the final time, without one Hell of a brawl. Angel remembered, and smiled through the grief he knew Spike would have balked at, “I should have listened.” “First time for everything, I suppose,” Holland smirked. ******************************** APRIL 21, 2005 Spike waited until his wife and their new charges had been fed to approach Buffy with his idea, “Love,” he began shyly, unable to meet her gaze, “I don’t know how clear my thinking has been of late. Recent events seem to have turned my head around a bit.” Buffy looked up from her scrambled eggs, “It didn’t do a 360° did it?” she teased as she traced a circle in the air, “Because if it did, we need to run for higher ground.” The retort Spike wanted to give had to be tempered in light of the fact that, at least half of the couple under their protection had no idea what went bump in the night, and if any part of their conversations were overheard it might be difficult to explain. So, even though what was said was completely benign, the eyes said what couldn’t be voiced, “You watch too many horror movies, Love.” Buffy watched as Spike’s eyes and his body stance told her what he could not. He was scared, and he wanted to find out why. She chose her words carefully, “You watch just as much as I do,” she nodded, telling him she understood, “Did you have nightmares again?” “Yeah, Love,” he nodded toward Talitha, whose eye widened at the sudden attention, “Seems to be going around.” Buffy nodded her head, unable to speak because of the mouthful of eggs, “I’ll look after David and Talitha until you get back.” Suddenly David separated from the wallpaper he’d been part of, and spoke up, “You’re going to leave us and let your wife protect us? We don’t even know who this sicko is!” Spike tried to contain the nearly maniacal laughter that was bubbling up in him because of Buffy’s disgusted look, “Trust me, Mr. Sands. My wife is much stronger than she looks. In case you haven’t noticed,” Spike stepped back and spread his arms wide, showing the space around them, “we run a martial arts dojo,” he winked at Buffy, “She works out. I’ll be back soon. But until then, you are in good hands.” ****************************************** The little white notebook glared up at Angel. The apocalypse that was contained within its pages hit him in a place he didn’t want to admit to. William Alistair Dustin’s grief was something that pulled him into its undertow. He was drowning in it, and he would do anything he could to save himself, and Spike from it. If that meant letting the one person that William’s writings pointed to as the source of the virus, die, so be it. He would do what he needed to do to spare Spike from the pain of losing Buffy again. Even though the pain must have been killing him, Spike painted such a vivid picture that Angel could almost feel the agony with just his words: SEPTEMBER 21, 2022 I never thought this day would come. I never wanted it to. And, after seventeen years, somehow I thought she would escape it. Or, I thought I’d be dust again before it happened so that I wouldn’t have to see it happen. I know it’s selfish, but that was what I was trying to do in Sunnydale and in that blasted alley with Angelus, and countless other times. I was trying to disappear so that I wouldn’t have to watch her die. God must be laughing at me now. That is, if the wanker even exists. I watched her die today. I’m supposed to be dead. I must be, because my heart is ripped out. I thought I was dead before, all those years ago, when I let William go. I would have done it a thousand times over. I would. To have her, I would take anything Hell could dish out. I would go through it all again. I don’t even know how I’m here. Yes, I do. I have to take care of her now. She needs me. She’s my soul now, my compass. Without her, the world would spin off its axis. My world. It really is amazing. I’ve saved the world more than once. But now, the only thing in my world is what shattered it into a thousand shards of glass. Just looking at her is painful. She doesn’t understand. I’m not sure I do. Things made more sense on the Hellmouth, when I was mad as a march hare. At least there I had my delusions to keep my mind working, keep it from seizing in agony. But now, I don’t know how I’ll go on. I’m so cold. ****************** OCTOBER 8, 2002- SUNNYDALE For an instant the world spun so fast he couldn’t keep up. She was there, right in front of him. She was shimmering with the light he didn’t deserve to have eyes to see. He wanted to hide his face from her. She shouldn’t have to look at his unworthy face. But somehow the witch didn’t see her. He didn’t think that there was anyone more unworthy than he. But it seems there was. It was then that the world stopped spinning just long enough for him to understand. He clapped his hands, pleased that he’d solved the riddle, “Someone isn’t here. ‘Button, button, who’s got the button?’ My money’s on the witch,” he knew what she did, and now, he saw her gasp as he stared at her, so did she, “Red’s a bad girl.” ******************** IN THE INTERREGNUM “I’ve tried giving her warning,” Joyce said, “ I even made an appearance for Dawn,” she shrugged, “Nothing seems to be sinking in yet. They don’t understand.” Joni smirked as an idea struck her, “That’s because the recognize you, Grandma. They think you’re the First,” she tilted her head in thought, “They wouldn’t recognize me. If I came to one of them, maybe to Daddy, it might help. And if he does know me, they won’t listen to him,” she frowned as she felt the pain he was going through because of her, “They think he’s mad,” her lips quivered, “But even if he doesn’t know who I am, to me, he’s still my Daddy.” ****************** SEPTEMBER 24, 2002- SUNNYDALE Joni couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. That is, if she had a hand to see. But she knew her Daddy was here, she felt him. Her Daddy was here. She heard a whimpering sound in the corner of the room. Her Daddy’s voice sounded like it did after Mommy had died, “No, it’s too much. It’s just too much.” Jonina knelt down and looked at her father’s face. His eyes were closed, but the pain of separation was etched on his face. She saw his unkempt clothing and noticed the gentle rocking motions he was using to comfort himself, and was again reminded of the first few months after Mommy had died, when Aunt Willow took him to that special “hospital” in Rome. And, it broke her heart. Then she noticed the deep red gashes in his skin, and her eyes welled up with tears, “Daddy, did you hurt yourself?” He looked at her with glazed eyes, “No. No one’s Daddy. Not true. Not true. Not true,” the words became a whispered mantra. “I am true, Daddy. But you have to be brave because Mommy’s coming.” Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the little room. Spike’s head snapped up, and he moved his stiffened limbs to the door. He placed his hand on the cool, steel door. He knew who was on the other side. He felt her presence and he missed her. Oh, god, how he missed her. The door came open with a crash, and there she stood. She blinked, and he didn’t dare move, if he moved she would disappear again. Was she real? Then an angel whispered, “Spike, are you real?” And he laughed because he knew he wasn’t. ************************* APRIL 21, 2005 He’d spent the wee hours of the morning lost in a world of little girl grief. Her little journal was the only thing that tied him to her. It was the only thin he had of her, and that was because of Angelus. Spike had a strange feeling that Angelus knew more than he let on. Angelus had the answers. So, it was time to see the wizard. Spike knocked on the door, “Angelus, we need to talk. I’ve got questions, and it seems, you might have the answers I need.” *****************

Chapter #5 - Eighteen-twenty-one

IN THE INTERREGNUM-HOME OFFICE Even with the daily reports, the numbers were changing faster than Holland was comfortable with. The start date for the endgame was still years away. The biomechanics division was working overtime to perfect the mutation. It couldn't be rushed. Perhaps the best defense was a good offence. If enough red herrings were thrown in their path, he could prevent the Higher Ups from alerting their Champion too soon. Holland looked up from his desk as she came in, "You wanted to see me, sir?" "Yes Persephone. Please come in," he grinned indicating the char across from his desk, "Sit. I know you're new here, but I think you can handle the assignment I have in mind for you." "Oh, I can sir!" she said eagerly, "I can't wait to get my hands dirty." Holland held up the file he'd just been poring over, "This assignment requires finesse. It's deep undercover," he handed her the file and nodded, giving her permission to look through the file. Persephone slowly flipped the pages and smiled at the Regional Director, "Entropy engagement? That's ingenious! And, it should create just enough confusion to throw them so off track that they may play right into our hands," she bit her lip, "But what about the Champions?" "Well," Holland sighed, "one of them is safely," he searched for the right word, "contained for the time being. The other, however, is your responsibility," He waved his hand in the direction of the file Persephone was reading, "You will notice that you will be entrenched, complete with a new identity, to be used for the duration of the operation." She nodded, trying out her new name to see how it felt on her tongue, "Eve?" she smiled, "I could get used to that." **************** OCTOBER 1, 2002-SUNYDALE Buffy was still angry at him for leaving town and not letting her take out her revenge personally, "You wanted to talk, so talk. What's going on?" He was uncomfortable being here, but he knew he deserved the disquiet he felt, "I was hoping you could tell me. You're the Slayer, connected to the visions. Long line of worthies? I'm just a guy with his ear to the ground, and even I can feel it. I don't know what it is, exactly, but something's brewing. Something's coming, Buffy. I don't know what, but, it's so big, ugly and damned it makes you and me look like little bitty puzzle pieces." ***************** JANUARY 7, 2003 INTERDIMENSIONAL SPACE "The First did not cause the disruption, only seized upon it," the oracle said. "What caused the disruption?" Giles shouted into the howling of empty space. "The Slayer," the oracle said. ***************** APRIL 21, 2005 "You know something, Angelus, and I'm here to find out what that something is." Angel looked at the determination in Spike's eyes and was very glad that it was there. He would learn to cope with the loathing and hatred that would be reflected in his eyes because of his subterfuge. He didn't like it. Never would, he supposed. But Angel was committed to keeping the grief over Buffy's death, his wife's death, on the pages of a journal, and out of Spike's eyes. If that meant that he would be cut to ribbons by the shards of his gaze from now until he was dust, so be it. That was better than the ache he felt leaking from the pages of William's journal. "What do you mean?" Angel asked. The eyes looking at him flashed amber, "I think you know what I mean, Angelus. The little girl, I've seen what's left of her and even though there isn't much, unlike you, I can use my brain. I know that girl was more than she seemed," Spike tilted his head and regarded his grandsire with barely contained disgust. His voice rumbled with the effort to keep his anger under control, "At least to me. And, I'm betting that you knew that, somehow. And that's why you rushed to 'identify' the poor thing and had her remains cremated," Angel was astonished at the agony he saw in Spike's face. The pain he saw ran deep. It seemed that it was an integral part of him now. Angel knew he had failed, because now he could finally see his own reflection. Angel could see the kind of pain he felt when Connor left, in Spike's eyes. "You wanted to hurt me?" Spike continued, "I didn't think it was possible," Spike could feel the void in his chest and the tears well up in anger. He was not going to give him the satisfaction of tears. The fingers of his left hand itched as he felt the stake become part of his hand as it pressed up against the only obstacle that stood between him and the girl he thought of as his daughter, the girl whose life he wished he could have been part of but now could only grieve, "You will tell me what you know, and why you're leaving dead birds on some expectant mummy's doorstep. Why? Is the little tot she's carrying a threat to you, somehow? I thought 'hero' types like you respected the life cycle, and the human race," Spike said as he pressed the stake a little further, and was rewarded for his efforts with a sharp hiss from Angelus, "Or so help me, I'll dust you," Spike grimaced, "And then, you and I can both put that pesky old prophesy to the test. What do you think?" Angel winced at the tiny starburst of pain the point of Spike's stake made in the center of his chest and rasped out, "I'll tell you what I know. I swear," he hissed through the pain, "Just put the stake down." *********************** OCTOBER 28, 2004 Angel knew that Buffy was still in the hospital recovering from the injuries that she'd received in the old distillery. He knew the kind of depravity that Drusilla was capable of, and he was amazed that Buffy was still alive, let alone healing as quickly as she seemed to be. Given what he'd seen of her injuries, six weeks was an amazing recovery time. Spike hadn't left her side in all that time. There were times when he had to be reminded to take care of himself so that he could be there when Buffy needed him. And, even though the prospect of the two of them together still stung him in a way that was unimaginable, he had things he had to make amends for, so if Spike couldn't stand in the gap that the human race didn't even know existed between them and their constant destruction, then he would do his best to fill it. An eerily familiar voice made his stomach clench. If he'd needed nourishment to thrive, his stomach would have spilled out at the sound of it, "Glad to here that someone's taking up the slack, Angel. Someone has to." Angel looked and saw the one man he never wanted to see again, "Holland," he growled, "What are you doing here?" The well-tailored, Brooks Brothers suit shrugged and the face smirked, "I'm neither here nor there, Angel. And, why are you so surprised to see me? I told you we'd be doing business again soon. I just wanted to give you a heads up for the next Apocalypse." "Why would you want to do that? I thought the Home Office's wheels turned with the grease of plagues and pestilence. Why would you want me to know anything is coming? Doesn't that put a crimp in your bottom line?" "It does," Holland assured, "But we're not in the business of wiping out the entire human race. It's not cost effective. Without them, the wheels grind to a halt." "What do you want me to do?" "A child will be born in early 2006. That can't be allowed to happen," Holland said as he scribbled a name on a business card, "If she is born, first the Slayers will die, and then the entire human race." "You mean Buffy?" "Yes. Buffy will die," Holland nodded, wincing, "slowly and painfully. I don't even want to think about what she'll go through. And, Buffy's death will send Spike into a tailspin he won't be able to recover from. I'm sure you would do whatever you could to spare him anymore pain." "I would," Angel admitted. "That's what I thought," Holland said as he handed the card to Angel, "Here is the name of the child's parents. Keep it in mind." ***************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE Holland knew that the Higher Ups would try to alert the Champion of what he was doing. But, if he crated enough confusion, it wouldn't matter if the Higher Ups handed the Champion a roadmap and blueprint, no one could make sense of it. At least, not until it was too late to stop. Being omnipotent really helped him do his job more efficiently. He'd even made sure to take care of both variables. Chaos Theory was a beautiful thing. And with Lila and Persephone taking care of one Champion and the other mad as Ophelia, there was no way he could lose. After all, it would take someone with a little wit to realize that, when deciphering meaning, sometimes it is the mad who truly do know the truth. And, let's face it, the Slayer may be long on strength, but she comes up short when it comes to reasoning. So, how could he lose? ********************* SEPTEMBER 21, 2022 Dawn was suddenly grateful that Georgina had agreed to take care of Jonina for the night because she didn't think she would be able to explain this to her. The wail was as inhuman as anything on the Hellmouth. They were all huddled outside the small bedroom of the idyllic New England home. He had brought the tiny family here when she had taken ill, to take care of her. It was as far from the Hellmouth as he could get her. The look in Willow's eyes as she reacted to the sounds of grief emanating from the room were nothing compared to the void that Dawn knew awaited her when, and if, she was brave enough to go into that room. Willow wanted to do what she could to comfort him, and started to make her way to the doorway when Dawn stepped in her way, "Willow, I'm not sure that's a good idea right now," she said, as she listened to the slowly rising tide of grief, "You never know what he could say or do," she nodded begging her to understand, "He may still blame you." "I know," Willow sobbed, "And, I don't care. I deserve it." The sound that Dawn heard coming from the room now was a sound she hadn't heard in twenty years, and it chilled her to the bone. That sound meant only one thing. It was over. Her sister was dead. Dawn tried to close her ears to the sound and focus on Willow. It wasn't much, but she would take any port in the storm of grief that she was sure awaited her once she went into that room. She didn't want to go into that room. She would have done anything to stay out of the Hell that was in that room. She couldn't bear seeing that vacant look in his eyes again. He had put all his hopes in her and now with her gone she wondered if he would be able to pull himself out, or if he would let himself drown again. Dawn walked slowly into the darkened room. The haze of sorrow that hung in the air made it difficult to see, though she could make out the outline of Spike as he hovered near the head of the bed, "Spike, is there anything I can do?" His voice was a strangled whisper, "Nothing to be done, Bit," the vortex of pain and grief that rose up to meet her nearly made her gasp, "She's dead. There's nothing left." The pain she felt riveted her to the spot. It took all her effort to make the muscles of her throat work so that her voice could be heard over the lump of sadness that had settled in the pit of her stomach, "Yes, there is, Spike," her voice wavered, "There's you. There's me, and there's Joni." His eyes narrowed, as if her name was painful to him, "Joni?" his eyes widened in recognition, "Joni? Where is she, Bit?" he stood up abruptly, his voice shaken, "Bit, tell me she didn't hear that. I didn't…oh God," his head was shaking in disbelief, his eyes beseeching her to understand, "Bit, I didn't mean for her to hear," Spike had crossed the little room with surprising speed, grasping Dawn's shoulders in a desperate embrace, "Tell me she didn't hear that. I couldn't do that to her." Dawn could see that the idea of keeping Jonina insulated from her mother's death was the only thing that was keeping him tethered to this reality, "No, Spike, she didn't hear that," she said softly, "Joni's safe," at his questioning, frenzied look she finished with, "She's with George," she nodded, "Understand? She'll be back in the morning." He looked back at the window, his voice seeming to come from very far away, "It's dark. She hates the dark. She needs a night light." Dawn couldn't be sure he was talking about Joni, "She'll be all right," Dawn cooed, as she led Spike slowly out of the room, "She's your daughter. She'll be all right." For the first time since she knew him, Spike truly felt like dead weight in her arms as she guided him out into the small hallway. Buffy really did seem to be his life force. And now that she was gone, Dawn didn't know if he'd ever be the same again. As they reached the threshold Willow stepped into their path. Dawn silently prayed that she would just keep her mouth shut and leave him alone. She hoped that Willow would know enough about Spike by now to just let him pick up the pieces at his own pace. Once he could put the pieces back, in some kind of order, then he'd approach her. Willow just needed to give Spike time to lick his wounds. She just needed to back off. But, Dawn knew, in her heart, that this was something Willow still needed to learn. "Spike, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, "I never, never thought that this would happen," the tears were flowing down her face, "I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do…" Dawn winced as the demon he seldom let come to the fore revealed itself, as if it were protecting the injured part of itself from a threat, "Why is the witch weeping?" he growled, "Your job is finally done. She finally succumbed," his head tilted in grim contemplation of the instrument of his destruction. Amber eyes swam as they stared at her, "I admire your prowess, witch," he spat, "I've known the lifeblood of two Slayers," his throat and lips quivered. It was a thing that Dawn didn't think she'd ever see. A demon in the throws of sorrow, "And shared the life of one. But you," he pointed a shaking finger at her, "you've taken the lives of hundreds! How does it feel, witch, to have your hands drenched in their blood?" Willow shrank under his fiery glare, "Spike, please. I want to help." His jaw twitched, "You wish to help me, do you, witch?" She nodded. Spike placed his hand in the center of his chest and nodded, "You want to help me, Red?" his face fixed itself into a mask of agony, "Find a stake and do it, Red. It's hollow." Willow shook her head in horror at what he was asking, "No!" she gasped, "What about Joni?" "Please, Red, I'm empty without her. You've already killed me. Just finish the job," he choked down a sob as he begged for release from torment, "Please?" Willow was stunned into silence as Dawn gently guided him past her, "Come on, Spike," she whispered, "You don't know what you're saying. Let's get some rest." ******************* MAY 19, 2003 "I don't mind telling you I don't like it, Slayer. It's just too risky. Red seems in control, I know, but something like this could cause ripples for eons. I don't like it. There's only supposed to be one Slayer. And, that's you." Buffy couldn't read his face because of the shadows that played in the room. She couldn't tell if he was saying this because he doubted her, or Willow, or the both of them. Or, he could be saying this because he didn't want to see her hurt, or worse, "Don't think I can do it, Spike? Why didn't you say something in front of the others?" He rolled his eyes and threw his head back in frustration, "And create dissention in the ranks?" Spike shook his head, "No thanks. You've got Rona for that. It's a god plan, Slayer. It'll work," he lowered his eyes, "I just don't want it to. I've got a bad feeling. And, I don't want to risk you," he turned the amulet over in his hand, "This little bauble could do the job, Love, with no risk to you or the little girls." Buffy stepped closer to the cot, "No, Spike. I don't know what that thing could do," she swallowed to loosen the knot in her throat, "It could kill you, Spike." Spike smirked, "Thanks for the concern, Slayer. But in case you've forgotten, I'm dead already." "That's not what I mean, Spike. And I think you know that." "I know," Spike said, "But I need to do this. I made a promise." "Ditto," Buffy said. *********************** MAY 20 2003 Willow felt the power of the spell surging through her. Somehow she felt time vibrate and shatter; the shards escaped her grasp before she could gain control of them. Too late, the reality of what was happening below her, to Spike, was opened to her. Too late, Willow knew that she'd made a grave mistake, "Oh my Goddess," she gasped. ********************************** APRIL 21, 2005 Even though, unlike Angel, Spike knew better than to take what Holland said at face value, all this talk of death, her death, was bringing him closer to his Grandsire's temperament. He knew he could trust one thing, and one thing only, to bring him out of the quicksand he was in danger of sinking down into. He trusted his eyes. He rushed through the door of the dojo; saw Buffy standing there, alive. She was all lit up with an inner light that made her glow with the soft pink light of life around her. It was so beautiful he just had to be part of it. He crossed the distance between them with large, confident strides and he swept her up in his wake and carried her to their upstairs apartment. Caught of guard by his impulsive actions, Buffy whooped in surprise, "Spike, what are you doing?" He kissed her, and said, with a devilish smirk, "If I need to draw up a schematic, Love, I'm doing it wrong." "Oh," she giggled. APRIL 21, 2005 Spike parked the car in its usual spot. He wasn't going to go in just yet, not when the tremors were still shaking him. Angelus's black and white way of seeing the world was a dangerous thing. And, the small journal he was holding proved it could also be deadly. At first Spike assumed that the notebook was one of Holland's tricks. That was until what Angelus said had the ring of truth in it. He wasn't sure why, but a strange sense of déjà vu seemed to thicken the air around him the longer Angel talked. He'd asked for the notes in an attempt to shake his disquiet. The notes had the opposite effect. Reading the account of Buffy's death was vivid enough to transport him through time and helped him experience the sights and sounds and scents of it. And, the fact that Spike recognized the penmanship as his own only strengthened his resolve. Angelus might have a fatalistic worldview, but as far as he was concerned nothing was set in stone. Time was elastic and changeable. As far as he was concerned this was a warning that Jonina Irene Dustin, whoever she was, and whomever she would still become, sacrificed herself to bring to him. Spike took the Zippo that had served as Buffy's anchor during their lost year, and sparked the flame. As he watched the orange-red light dance against the white of the pages, turning the edges black and curling them into nothing, he sent her silent thanks. Something inside of him seemed to jump. Suddenly his silent thanks seemed woefully inadequate, and he felt he had to give voice to the peace that seemed to wash over him, "Thank you, Dove, so much. I promise, if you need protecting, if you need anything, I'm the one to come to. Now, and forever." ************************ IN THE INTERREGNUM Buffy had waited so long for this. Even though there was no such thing as time here, it seemed like years since she had seen the soft brown curls that framed the angles of his face. It had been so long that she couldn't wait to be in his arms again, as he slowly crossed the distance between them, she rushed up to meet him and was enclosed in his strong embrace. She felt her feet float up, as he spun her in wide, happy circles. She didn't want it to stop, and now that he was back with her again, Buffy knew it never would. "I missed you, Spike," she said, choking back the tears, "I never wanted you to leave. I understand why you did what you did, now. But I didn't then," she looked at the infinite patience shining in his eyes as he looked at her, "Joni said that's what was vexing you when you first came back. I wish I'd paid more attention to you. Maybe then, I could have spared you some pain." As he listened to her cry, he whispered soothing words to her, "Hush, Love. We've got them back on track now," he smiled at the beautiful emerald glow of love in her eyes, "And as long as Angel doesn't fall for Holland's web of half-truths," he swallowed as the tears of reunion overwhelmed him and he gripped her tighter, "I don't ever want to leave you again." "I did what I could," Buffy bit her lip, "to help, you know?" Spike nodded, "I know. Without you, and Jonina the First really would have driven him mad. Toward the end he would have given up," he bowed his head, remembering the pain he'd been through, "I know I nearly did. I do wish you would have come around sooner though, but it's not your fault you were so pigheaded back then." "Hey, can I help if I think in linear terms? I'm not the one who spent a century taking tea with Miss Edith." "How are they, by the way?" Spike asked. Buffy smiled, "All three of them are blissfully happy. Mother has her son again, and he finally has the perfect mate." "That's good to know," he said, "Now where is the little minx who caused all this upheaval in the first place?" "You mean Cordy? She's being punished for setting this all in motion," Buffy winced, "I don't even want to think about what she's going through." Pain flashed across Spike's face, briefly, "I know something of it. But she's not the only piece of that puzzle, and you and I both know that. Hopefully we have lessoned the body count. Actually, I was referring to Joni." "Right here, Daddy," Joni appeared, looking sheepish, "Are you mad at me?" "Mad? No!" Spike opened his arms and took his daughter into his chest. The peace he felt at having the kind of Heaven he'd always read about, but never thought he could have, was immeasurable. All of his family was here for him to hold. And he would hold them, forever, "How could you think that," he sighed into her hair. He didn't know how it was possible, but even here she smelled of a mixture of talc and cinnamon, "How could I be mad at you for doing something that your dear old Dad would have done. I always taught you to think outside the box. Your Mum did, too. Now if I can only teach Angel to think the same way too." "You really think Angel will listen to you?" "He'd bloody well better. Unless he wants to count my daughter, the Slayer, as an enemy." ********************************** NOVEMBER 1, 2030 Angel walked slowly between the silent rows of stone. A vampire should feel at home in a place like this, but he didn't. Maybe it was because the cluster of stones he was headed for now, contained names of people he knew. The newest stone could be found under a dusting of snow. That was surprising considering the October they'd just been through here in New England. One of the worst in all recorded history, or so the newspaper touted. They said it was one of the earliest snows they'd had here in a long time. To Angel, it just seemed typical. He knelt in front of the stone. He knew he should say something, but what could he say? What do you say to someone when he'd entrusted you with his life, his only child, and she'd been missing for over a year? "Well, where does the time go?" a confident voice asked, "It seems like we were just here a moment ago." The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he had to use all his faculties to keep his demon at bay. He stared into the stone grey eyes, "I told you to leave me alone, Holland." "Yes, but fortunately, I answer to a…different authority. Don't be so glum though. This place used to be full of…residents," he spread his arms wide, indicating the whole of the graveyard, "Now, there's space to spare. You should be glad." "What are you talking about?" Angel balked, turning his attention back to the stone, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm here to make amends," his eyes went down in shame, "If I can." "Oh, that's right," Holland sighed, "You don't know," he bit his lip in confusion and turned to look at something behind him, then turned back to look at Angel, "Or is it that you don't remember? I can never keep it straight," he shrugged his shoulders, "Oh well, that's life. Or in your case, not so much." "Leave!" "So be it," he said as he disappeared. He contemplated what he would say and sighed, feeling the weight on his shoulders, "Spike, ever since you died, things have gotten bad, really bad. And, I don't know how to fix it," he felt the pressure of tears building up behind his eyes, "Now Jonina's gone, and I don't know what to do. Spike, you were always better with words," the tears spilled out and his voice broke under the weight of his failure, "What do I say to her? I used to know, but I don't know anymore. I don't know anything." **************************** APRIL 21, 2005 Buffy stretched her body out slowly, enjoying the smooth coolness of the sheets beneath her. The pleasing coolness and the warmth of love spreading over her, had her grinning from ear to ear, "Not that I'm complaining, but tell me one thing, "Spike." Spike turned his head and looked at her with an impish glow in his eyes, "What would that be, Love?" The look on his face was so open that Buffy knew she could ask him anything and she knew she'd get an honest answer. As if Spike were capable of anything else, "How is it that you make me feel like I'm the only person that matters," she suddenly became shy and felt her cheeks start to flush, "Why is it that with you I feel like I'm the only person in the world?" The girlish blush that crept up her face sent a ping of joy sounding through him. She looked so lovely he had to reach out to touch her skin. He brushed the fingers of one hand lightly against her cheek, and let out a sigh of contentment as he felt her body hunger for his touch, "That's simple, Love," he said slowly, so that she could take in his meaning, "The reason you feel that is because that is what you are," Spike watched as Buffy's eyes widened as the depth of his meaning began to sink in, and her eyes became moist, "To me," he cleared his throat, suddenly overcome with emotion that made his voice gruff, "you are my world." The only thing Buffy could think to do was kiss him, "Oh, Spike, I love you." **************** Buffy could taste the sadness in his kiss and she could see it on his face, "Hey, why are you so sad? I mean, I know you're not used to me complementing you, but I do love you," she held up her left hand, admiring the way the silver glinted in the dim light, "And, I'm wearing the jewelry to prove it," she saw the haunted look in his eyes and gasped. Her eyes misted over with the tears he couldn't, or wouldn't shed. Her voice carried the weight of the fear she just realized he felt, and she was shook to her core with it. Buffy needed to comfort him, needed to touch him to help him know that she was his, "Spike," she asked, touching his face with the knuckles of her hand, and feeling her skin vibrate with the tide of emotion that was surging through him, "What did Angel tell you?" her eyes widened, "I've never seen you like this." He sighed and dropped his chin, not wanting to see what he felt reflected in her eyes, "It's not what he said, Love. It's the secrets he kept," he shook his head and got up from his place on the bed and reached for his robe, which was lying on the bedroom floor, having been discarded from the bed in favor of Buffy's warmth. His fingers shaking slightly as he tied his robe closed, "I never told you what Pavaine did to me, Love. I thought it was all just smoke and mirrors," he padded across the room, stopping to run his hand along the edge of the thick draperies that covered the widow and shielded him from the sun's deadly rays. Buffy held her breath in horror as she watched the muscles of his back tense in determination, and his fingers closed around the fabric. Then she exhaled a prayer of thanks as she watched the fight go out of him again. He kept his back to her, and she had to crawl off of the bed and stand beside him with her hand on his arm and her head on his shoulder before he would continue. To Buffy it seemed almost as if he'd forgotten she was even with him. His voice seemed so small, "But after what Angel told me," the pain she saw in his eyes, even in the half-light of the room, made him look a thousand years old, "I think what he showed me may have been true, Buffy," his tears shown as glistening streaks in the shadows of the room. "What did he show you, Spike?" Unneeded breath shuddered through him as he relived his own private Hell, "Pain. Death," he looked at her with frightened eyes, "There were thousands of them Buffy. All of them were in pain. I still shook it off. I knew it was a trick, until I saw you." "Me?" she whispered. He nodded, "You were feverish, in pain. But, you didn't move a muscle. You couldn't, the pain was too much for you. And, there was so much blood. So much it just covered you like lace…like some macabre sort of… Oh God," he sobbed, "I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear him apart for showing me that, Buffy. And I did. If I could have, I would have killed him all over again. I knew I couldn't save you," he sobbed, "I couldn't even touch you. But I could save Fred," he whispered, "She died anyway." Buffy's face hardened into a mask of determination as she held his hands and gently walked backward across the room, bringing Spike slowly along with her, "All right, Spike," she smiled, "A year with Angel was not good for you," her eyes gave a sweeping glance of the room, "I mean, look at you, all darkness and brooding," she reached for his neck pulling him down to kiss her. She had to pull him out of himself or she would lose him, "Now, in case you've forgotten, there is a couple downstairs, and a tiny person, who is waiting for you to make the world safe again." Spike's voice was filled with apprehension, "Think you might have the wrong vamp there, Love." "No, I don't," she said tenderly, pulling him along until her back was against the closed door. Still holding his hands lightly in hers, she ran her thumbs over his skin, "Now, close your eyes." He closed his eyes and sighed, "Buffy…" "That's good, you're half way there. Stop talking." "Love, what?" he asked, in confusion. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but sometimes her flight of thought was hard to keep up with. She nodded in sympathy, "I know it's hard, especially for you. But, do it anyway, for me. Stop talking." He nodded, "Haven't we done this before?" She nodded her head, her eyes glinted with humor, "Yes," she murmured, "we have. But, I think you need it now, 'Grasshopper.' Now, listen close. Stay quiet for a minute, then tell me what you hear." Spike closed his eyes and listened to the sounds that no one else could hear. He heard the alveoli in her lungs fill and empty as her body delivered the oxygen her body needed. He listened to the muscles of her ribcage expand and contract as the lungs filled and deflated. The rhythms of her blood as it rushed through her became a symphony to him. Under that was the quiet woodwind concerto of the bloodstreams of their guests. People who put their trust in him, these people did trust him even without knowing anything about him. But that was wrong. The woman did know who he was. He could sense that Talitha Sands was a Slayer. She knew who he was, what he was and she knew what it was he had done. She knew all of it, and she still trusted him to protect the life that was inside of her. Spike tried to zero in on the small life force inside of her. The prospect of protecting it was daunting, but he found himself wanting to take it on. In fact, Spike felt he needed to. Given what he had been told, if it was true, the idea of protecting a pure, innocent soul from that Hell was fast becoming his driving force. He slowly tuned out the faint background noise of the others and focused again on the strong, steady beat of Buffy's heart. It was so strong and steady, so confident in her own skin. So confident in him; Buffy told him that it was his strength that had made her strong when she needed to be. She had said that it was his strength that had held her up even when she didn't know that he was in the world to hold her. He just hoped that he could keep his footing atop the pedestal she seemed to be holding him to, "I hear you. And, I hear them, too." "There're alive, right?" she whispered. Spike blinked. He thought that much was very obvious, "Yeah, Love, very much so." Buffy wanted to kiss the perplexed look off of his face, "Spike," she said, "They're alive because of you. I'm alive because of you." Spike shook his head, wanting to say something in protest, but she cut him off, "…It's true. You may not believe it, but it is true," her eyes went down in thought, "Others," she smirked, knowing that the mention of her past would anger him, "who shall remain nameless," her eyes lit up with mirth at the slight rumble she heard sounding in his chest, "have tried. But you," her hand rested on his chest, and he hissed because of the heat he felt, "you are, the one, the only, accept no substitutes, Champion. And that baby," she asked, "She doesn't know who you are, or what you've done. She only knows 'now.' And now, she trusts you." "She?" Spike asked. Buffy shrugged, "Call it a hunch. She trusts you to protect her from the boogiemen, big and small. Angel's been put in his place, at least for now. If Angel thinks something else is coming, then we have to make sure that it doesn't touch her. You have to make sure of that. And, I know you can do it." "I hope you know what you're asking, Love," he heaved a sigh and closed his eyes against the flashes, in his head, of the horrors he had seen when he was at Pavaine's mercy, "If even a speck of what Pavaine showed me comes to pass," he swallowed the stone of sorrow that lodged in his throat. He felt it settle somewhere near his inert heart and tried to will away the wetness that was in danger of seeping out of his eyes at the thought of Buffy experiencing any pain at all, "Love, I don't want to lose you." Buffy's own voice seemed older, somehow, even to her own ears, "Nor I you," she said, sighing, "That's why we have to do what we can to stop it."

Chapter #6 - Twenty-two-Twenty-five

NOVEMBER 1, 2030 All Spike had really wanted to do was protect his family, which at the time consisted of only Buffy and Dawn. Angel understood the impulse. And unfortunately, so did Holland Manners. Holland Manners was perhaps the only one who truly understood his impulse to hold on to things with an iron fist. It was only now, after he'd lost everything, and everyone who ever held any meaning for him, that Angel understood that if you wanted to hold those you loved close, you couldn't use an iron fist. If you did, the fine crystal that you loved was often crushed to bits of ground glass that would end up cutting the fist that held it, to ribbons. Watching that baby grow inside that woman made him ache. What hurt even worse was watching Spike and Buffy bonding with the child. And, he had already sacrificed so much to keep Connor safe. In an existence full of killing innocents, some, like Winifred Burkle, were killed to satisfy a higher purpose. Or so he thought, at the time. He couldn't explain his reasons then because no one would have understood. And he certainly couldn't justify them now. Not to him, and defiantly not to her. All she knew now was grief. And to her, he was the reason for that grief. He contemplated what he would say. Taking an unneeded breath, he started with the basics, "Well, here I am again, although I'm really not sure why. I tried to explain things to Joni and," he couldn't even bring himself to speak her name, "her. Joni was so angry," he shook his head in astonishment, smiling a little at the person who had seemed to flash in her eyes, just briefly, "So much like you," he mused, "for an instant, I could have sworn her face changed. And, her head tilted in just that way. She saw it too. I heard her gasp. Joni took that cigarette lighter of yours, lit the flame," Angel chuckled, "Do you know, I think she really might have used it. She told me that if I ever came near her, or her mother, again, I'd know what her Daddy felt in that alley. She asked me what I thought would have happened if you had taken my advice. I told her I didn't know." And he really didn't. He still remembered the conversation very well, even all these years later: *************************************** APRIL 21, 2005 "Spike, it's really not a good idea to bond with it." " 'It?' 'It' is a child. An innocent. Why wouldn't I?" Angel sighed, "Because it will die. They all will, eventually," his eyes became hooded in shame, "Even Buffy." "I know that," Spike ground out, hurt, "and I hope she's wrinkled and old and," his head tilted as he smirked, "still kicking your ass, Peaches." "If it's born, Spike. If it's allowed to live, Buffy will die. And she'll die sooner rather than later." Spike shook his head as if he were witnessing the most pathetic sight he'd ever seen, "You. How did you ever survive this long? Or, maybe you're the ghost, rattling around this wide, wonderful world, in touch with nothing and no one? Is that how it was so easy to go from crusader to megalomaniac in one short year?" "You know," Angel said, "I think I've heard this argument before." Spike laughed low in his throat, "Been down this road before, have we?" he bit the inside of his cheek in thought, his eyes floating to the ceiling, "Slow on the uptake then, are you? Maybe you should have listened. Maybe then you wouldn't be asking me to stand by and watch you do something that, only a few years ago, the 'Champion' would have waded neck deep into holy water to prevent," he exhaled in frustration, hissing through his teeth, "Jesus Christ, Angel! I may have hated your self-righteous attitude, Angelus, but I respected the effort. I could, and still can, respect a worthy adversary. But you're not, anymore. Now, you're just an enemy," Spike picked up the small journal as he turned to leave, "Even without the soul that you seem to prize so highly, I pity you. But," he warned, "If you go near that child, I will kill you. Fair warning, Angelus." ********************************** Yes, he remembered that conversation very well. The fire in his eyes was something Angel did not want to see extinguished, and he knew that if Buffy died, all the people that he knew Spike would help would lose a Champion. Even if Holland hadn't told him what Buffy's death would do to him, Angel knew. Spike was a visceral creature. Everything he experienced he internalized. Everything he went through became a part of him. This tendency made him good in a fight, but he usually never saw the forest for the trees. He never saw the big picture. And although Angel would never say so out loud, the big picture was that Spike was the only thing left that he loved. He wasn't going to see him hurt. He looked askance at the tombstone, its carved lettering seemingly mocking him, "I know. I know I should have listened to you. My attempts at saving you from the kind of pain I'd been through only bonded the two of you to her tighter. Until it became impossible for you, or Buffy to do what had to be done, and because of that you only saw one way out. That way, it did save her," Angel nodded slightly, as if the wind had whispered to him how obvious his statement had been, "Which I know was what you wanted. It's what I wanted too. Your unconventional thinking did save quite a few Slayers, Buffy included. But I forgot to tell them about the Shanshu. So, when Buffy lost her husband, and Jonina lost her Daddy? Well, as you can imagine, they were very angry when they found out I knew about this, and didn't tell them. And since you weren't around to punch in the nose, they took it out on me, and rightly so," he choked back a sob, "They weren't the only ones who lost something when you died, you know, Spike. You helped me save one son. But I lost someone I thought of as a son," he smiled wryly, "Or as close to one as I want to admit. I lost you." ****************************** OCTOBER 13, 2005 George picked up the phone, "Synergy Dojo, may I help you? We're running a pre-Halloween sale this week. Buy six lessons, get the seventh one free of charge," her eyes squinted in surprise and she switched to her hands free headset, and moved her wheelchair lightning fast in an effort to catch their attention, "Angel, why are you calling here? What?" she tore the headset off of her head, in one brutal swipe, and screamed, "Spike!! Where is David?" The terror in her voice had him rushing through the maze of workout rooms to the front desk, "What is it?" She pointed to her discarded headset, "That was Angel. Don't ask me how he knew, but he was calling from the hospital. David...he was mugged...Stabbed. He's dead." "What?" came Talitha's anguished cry. In the blink of an eye Spike was behind the wheel of the Desoto, calling out to Buffy and Talitha as he rushed to the car, "Talitha, stay here. I'll check it out. Buffy, use your stake if you need to. I'll call you when I know anything!" with that, the car sped off in the direction of the hospital. ************************ NOVEMBER 1, 2030 The groundskeeper of this particular cemetery liked his job very much. When it was hot, in the summertime, he kept the grass above his charges from turning dry and brown from the heat. In the fall, he kept the leaves from marring the landscape. And, in the winter he took special care to brush the snow from the stones. He took care of them all, but for some reason there was one grave, in particular, that drew his attention more than most. Perhaps it was because, in the sea of roses and lilies that he gathered nightly, this one instead was always adorned with a bright bouquet of orange marigolds. They reminded him of the sun, and perhaps that was why, while going on his nightly rounds, William Alistair Dustin received his special care. Of course, in order to take proper care of that one, he had to work later than was expected, because conditions of his employment here required that he remain unseen by visitors. He understood that. He knew that it was sometimes disquieting for loved ones to know that their dearly departed had been disturbed in any way. Even if the people who visited them here knew, in their heart of hearts, that someone was taking care of the daily minutia, it was still a difficult thing to actually see a stranger roaming around a loved one's resting place. So, he remained unseen, although with "Marigolds" that was difficult. That one had visitors well into the wee hours of the morning. As his wristwatch told him it was three a.m., he was grateful for the small cottage that he had on the grounds. He liked the arrangement; keep the cemetery neat and tidy, in exchange for room and board. And the neighbors were quiet, which suited him just fine. He knelt and picked up the bundle of blooms from the ground, and smiled, "Well William, I see the wife's been by again. She's a different one, isn't she? I bet you already knew that, though," he looked down at the flowers in his hand, his head tilted in thought, "There's something about these flowers. Something specific. She leaves them every day, and it's always the same. Marigolds are so different, after rows and rows of roses. Don't get me wrong, roses are beautiful, but the marigolds are so refreshing. Almost like she's giving you a bunch of sunshine every day. It's like she knows you miss it." ***************************** Buffy Anne Dustin hated this. She hated walking through cemeteries now, she hated it more now than when she was an active Slayer, and she'd hated it so much back then that she didn't think she could hate it more. At least back then there was a chance of spotting him lurking somewhere close. Now though, she knew all too well were to find him, and she hated it so much. She was so young then, so much younger than she was now. And to think, it'd only been two years. No not even that long. It had been six hundred and ninety-eight days, and nights, since he'd died. And, each night was just as fresh, just as raw, as the first one had been. Buffy approached the gravesite with an ache in her heart. Spike had always been her rock. When she'd first gotten sick, and her world became a haze of pain and needles and antiseptic, he'd stayed with her, even though his eyes told her how frightened he really was, he still stayed with her. The only thing that gave him any focus outside of her was taking care of Jonina. Willow had told her that their daughter had been the only thing that kept him from sinking into madness when she'd taken ill. They had seen what the virus could do to a Slayer, and how quickly it took hold. She and Spike had been working on isolating it almost from the moment Jonina was born. She remembered that Spike took it hard each time a Slayer was stricken with the virus they called "Cassandra's Lace." He seemed to take the virus's appearance as a personal affront to him. And when Joni started showing signs of being a Slayer, nothing else seemed to matter to him more than finding the answer to the puzzle. He seemed driven; haunted by something he wouldn't share. Then, despite her best efforts to conceal them, she started showing symptoms. She shrugged them off at first, but there came a time when even she could no longer deny what was happening to her. She was dying, and they both knew it. They'd both seen it happen to other Slayers, and now, it was happening to her. She had accepted it. But, Spike had not. Because of his stubborn refusal to accept their world the way it was, she was the one standing in a graveyard, putting flowers on a grave she never really thought she would ever see. Because of him, Joni was living in a world that once again contained an army of Slayers, albeit a small one, who were now beginning to forget what peril they had been in just a few short years ago. And she was standing here. That fact alone should have brought her happiness, but it didn't. And the reason it didn't is because, once again, he'd sacrificed himself to save her. Buffy looked at the stone that bore his name, and tried it out on her tongue. It had been so long since she had been able to stand here. Being here, looking at his name, hurt her in a place she couldn't name. It evoked a pain that she couldn't give voice to. So when she heard her voice sounding like a thimble, small and tin-like in her ear, saying his name aloud, it didn't seem real at all. She read the stone aloud. It was the eulogy she knew he deserved, but never received, at least not from her. It hurt too much to believe that he was gone, "William Alistair Dustin, beloved husband, father, friend, and champion. Departed, but not forgotten, December 2, 2027," Buffy kissed her fingers and pressed them to the letters of his name, "Who is it that takes care of you now? Where are you? I tried to find you, you know," Buffy felt her lip tremble and tasted the salt water as it slid down her face to her lips, "Just to know where you are. Joni and I miss you so much," her face twisted in sadness and anger. She knew her thoughts were disjointed, but she had so much loss in her right now, that she had to give it an outlet, "Willow said you weren't in Hell, and that's good," she sniffed and wiped her eyes, "But she said you weren't in Heaven either. It didn't make sense. I mean vampires don't die of viruses! They just don't. Okay, there was that time that Angel got sick because of that poison, but I saved him. But when you got sick, you wouldn't let me save you. Why?" she sobbed, "When you were feverish and delirious," she bowed her head, reliving the pain of her loss, "while you could still talk, you kept talking about a trade, some kind of bargain. I know you were in pain. I know it. But you never complained, not once. And then Angel tells me about some kind of prophecy. I tell you, Spike, I was so angry, I could have staked him. Joni nearly did. And now, I come here, every day, just in the hope that, some way you'd find me," Buffy left her bouquet for him, "I know it's silly. But, I wish you were here," she said as she left the graveyard. ************************ IN THE INTERREGNUM Spike nearly jumped for joy, "I thought you'd never ask, Love." OCTOBER 13, 2005 As Spike raced toward the hospital, the nightmares came rushing back, leaving painful, bright phosphorescent trails in their wake. The echo of her tiny heartbeat filled his head. Over the months, Talitha and Buffy and he had bounded. Maybe that was because they all shared something that David Sands couldn't understand. And maybe that was the reason David never trusted him. He could relate. But he was trying to protect the child. She was important, and by extension, so was he. All that David could see was another man moving in on his girls. Oh, how he could relate. And because David Sands didn't trust him, he never followed his advice, no matter how well founded. Because of that, he never listened to his warnings about going out alone at night. Spike had tried to assure him that his cautions were in no way an indictment on his manhood. If he loved his wife and child he would keep himself safe. But, that advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. Now he was hoping that what Angel had told Georgina wasn't true, because if it were then he would have to inform the widow, and the stress could be dangerous for both of them. He already knew that, for a Slayer, Talitha had a delicate constitution. There was something off about her scent. Perhaps it was her impending motherhood that he was sensing. Spike hoped that he was overreacting, but somehow he knew he wasn't. He hoped that David hadn't been killed, and he hoped that Angelus wasn't responsible, but Spike knew he was. As he pulled in front of the hospital, Spike was grateful that the sun set early in October, this way he wouldn't have to worry about his "allergy," as Buffy liked to call it, while in polite company. But, if it came down to that little baby's well being, he wouldn't have cared if it were high noon on the hottest day of the year, he was going to find Angelus. Spike strode quickly through the sliding glass doors, briefly glancing at the volunteers, in their smocks, who sat at the front desk. He could sense Angelus the second he walked in the doors, so there was no need to waste time asking questions of people who didn't understand what went on right under their noses. Besides, Spike was fairly certain that his purposeful steps and baleful countenance made anyone who might have attempted to slow him down, allow him a wide berth. Spike headed straight to the small room that served as the hospital chapel, but then thought better of it. Angelus could wait. He had to make a stop at the morgue. *********************** Heather wanted to be a doctor. But everyone had to start somewhere, and for her the starting point was working the evening shift in the County Hospital's morgue. Most people her age wouldn't take this job. But she didn't mind. It was quiet and no one bothered her. So when someone who was quite obviously not a hospital employee appeared, it was a red-letter day. "Miss," he said, "I know this normally isn't permitted," Spike lowered his lashes bashfully and said, "but, you see, I was hoping to pay my last respects to my cousin. I just got the news, and I can't quite believe it," he choked, "Was hoping it wasn't true. Do you have someone by the name of David Sands here?" Heather wasn't sure why, but there was something in his eyes that made her trust him, "I really shouldn't even let you be here," she said, "I should be calling security. But," her eyes drifted sideways in thought, "I'm about to go on my coffee break. I'll be back in ten minutes," she left the clipboard with the manifest on her desk while getting up to go to the break room, "If you're still here when I get back," she nodded as their eyes met, "I'll have to call security," "Understood," Spike said. The manifest said that David Sands was in drawer number three. He quickly strode over and opened it, reverently pulling back the sheet that covered the body. He closed his eyes in shock and frustration as he peered down into the unnaturally serene face of David Sands. "Oh, no," he breathed. ********************** Holland admired the small room. Even though the room was not exposed to natural light, it was still illuminated in soft muted colors due to the beautifully painted heavy glass windows. He was very comfortable here. He knew that places like this were often incubators for troubled souls. The hunched figure casting a long shadow in the corner was a case in point. Holland quietly slid in beside him, "Honestly Angel, I don't know why you chose to hide here. I mean," his eyes glanced up to admire the prisms of light that traced ribbons across the room, "places like this can be real bonanzas for the Home Office. They're like battlefields," he shrugged, "This is the one place were the Home Office and the Higher Ups tend to meet, and more often then not, this is where they clash. So, why do you hide here, when you knew I'd find you?" In this place of light, his face was cast in shadow and his voice was heavy with fatigue, "I have nowhere else to be. This is the one place where I know where I stand. And, I need that, even if I'm not welcome here. At least here, things aren't so grey," Angel sighed, "At least here, things make sense." "I understand," Holland said, "You know he'll think that you had something to do with this, don't you?" Angel heaved a sigh, "I'm almost counting on it," his brows creased with the stress he was feeling, "Spike is bound and determined to see this thing through no matter what I say. And I don't think that I can stand by and watch him disintegrate," his voice seemed very old, "He's going to learn that a champion can't be everywhere at once. He'll learn that if you bond with them, it only hurts more when you realize that you can't save them. It's better that he learn that now, before he bonds with that child." Holland smiled wistfully, "Spike is a rambunctious youngster, isn't he? It really is remarkable how he never saw the glass as half empty. With him, it's always half full," he nodded his head in admiration, "I really have to hand it to him. He really is a plucky sort, isn't he?" Angel shook his head in resignation, "And when he loses everything that's important to him? When the sandcastles he builds are crushed by the waters of grief, what then?" "My," Holland was surprised, "waxing poetic, and about Spike? He would be proud." "I don't want him to be like me. But, in order to save him from," his shoulders sagged as he leaned forward, "becoming me I have to make sure something he already loves ceases to exist. If I do what I know I have to, Spike eats himself away with anger. If I don't do this, he falls deeper and deeper in love with Buffy, if that's even possible, and becomes an instrument of humanity's destruction because of his grief and inaction." Holland nodded in commiseration, "Welcome to the bog that the ethereal dwell in. Believe me, where I am, where the Higher Ups are, there is never a dull moment. It's like waiting on line at the Baskin Robins. The menu board is full of choices and we're all waiting to see what the flavor of the moment is, literally. And, it's all up to you and your choices. It's like dominos down here," Angel was surprised at the exasperated tone in Holland's voice. It was almost as if he actually cared how things came out down here, "One choice impacts another. And we can't tell any of you which one will cause what outcome. It really is up to the people who live down here to make it better. Or to leave it be, that is up to you." ******************* IN THE INTERREGNUM Joyce addressed the Spirit with respect, "Yes, they are interesting, aren't they? They're diamonds in the rough. But, I tried to tell you that." "You did, child. It seems that we may have to reevaluate his status in light of this new development," the Spirit gently chastised her, "Although, we still disapprove of your methods." She shrugged, "What can I say, I take after my son-in-law." Jubilant pearls of laughter that were closely followed by Joyce being swept off of her feet by a very excited Spike, "Mum," interrupted the dialog between the beings, " What did you do? I still can't believe it! How did you do it? They told me, but I didn't want to believe it." Joyce hugged him back, "Believe it. This is the place of miracles, didn't they tell you?" she smiled slyly at him, "Holland is just a gnat in the ointment. Up here, we take up for the underdog, and here you have more of us pulling for you than you know." Joyce smiled as she heard him squeak, "Really?" She nodded, reveling in how boyish he was, "Yep. With all due respect to that poof of a Grandsire, there are countless legions of angels in your corner, Spike. Ones you don't even know about. That's why Wolfram and Hart wanted to keep you under their thumb. They were afraid of what you would do if you weren't watched. They still are." "Poof?" his eyes sparkled with mirth, "Joyce, I love you." ************************************* Spike quietly slipped into the hospital chapel and found Angel sitting in a corner, "Keeping in mind where we are, Angelus, I will try to keep this simple," Angel looked up to see amber eyes staring back at him, "I know what you told George. I'm here to make certain that you had nothing to do with it." "Have you been to the morgue?" "Yes," he hissed, "and if I find out you had anything to do with it, we will have problems. You had better hope that the news does not send mother and baby into a shock that could endanger the baby," his head pivoted menacingly, "Are we clear?" Angel nodded. ******************* On the ride back to the dojo, Spike wondered what he would say to her. Over the months, Talitha had opened up to him. He knew all her hopes and fears. She even made sure that he and Buffy were made the tot's legal guardians should something untoward happen to her or her husband, effectively naming Buffy and him the baby's parents. The weight of the news bowed his shoulders, as he met Buffy at the door. He didn't even have to open his mouth. She knew. It screamed through his eyes. His shock was mirrored in Buffy's slack-jawed expression and her whispered, "Oh no," as she grasped him tightly, giving Spike the strength he would need to tell Talitha that she was a widow now, "I'll try and prepare her, Spike. Are you all right?" "No," he confessed. He didn't know if he would ever be all right again. OCTOBER 16, 2005 He put his hand to the glass, afraid that the tiny bundle of pink on the other side would evaporate if he touched her. Or was it that he was afraid to touch the little ray of sunshine, for fear that he would disintegrate? He wasn't sure. He did know that that little girl had been through more in her first forty-eight hours of life than most went through in fifty years. She'd fought her way here, and now she was fighting to stay. She had no idea how cruel this world had already been to her. It had taken her Daddy and her Mum before she had even been born. She was new to this world, and already an orphan. Seeing that painfully small bundle of life wriggle in her incubator made him feel his true age, perhaps for the first time. He remembered that, when he was human, infants that small didn't survive. Now looking at the wires and the machines that aided her, he was saddened by the intrusiveness of modern technology. He wouldn't have blamed the little thing one bit if she decided that the world she had crashed into was too cruel and too hard to stay. Spike wouldn't be surprised if she chose to leave, because something in him said that she knew there was no one to protect her here. No one, that is, except for him. And, he wasn't sure he could do it. ************************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM He spun her around again, "Joyce, how did you do it? I'd given up. Really, I had. I knew it belonged to Angel. Didn't much care for the idea, but I knew what I'd given up when Drusilla had Buffy. I would have given up anything to have her. My eyes were open. I knew that I'd never be with her," his voice was overcome with emotion, "Especially after what I did to put things right. I'd accepted it." Joyce was swept along with Spike's emotions, "I know you did," she choked, "That's why I couldn't leave you there. Buffy was so lost without you, even here. She hurt. I couldn't let that happen," she shrugged, her eyes twinkling, "What can I say, I couldn't wait." Spike raised an eyebrow, "Joyce, you have no idea how much I love you." "Spin me around one more time and I might start to have one," she laughed. He shrugged. He could never resist a Summers woman, "If you insist," he smiled, whirling her once more. When he'd set her an her feet again, he asked, "Where is that beautiful wife of mine?" he sighed, "It really has been forever. I miss her so much." Joyce smiled and shook her head, "Not half as much as she missed you," Joyce stepped back and pointed off into the distance, "She's been waiting for you. I think you had better make an appearance. She still doesn't believe it. Neither does your daughter." He smiled, "Well, seeing is believing, isn't it," he winked at Joyce and gave her a kiss on the cheek, "I'd better go. Thanks again," he said as he walked toward Buffy. "You're welcome," she sighed as she watched her family reunite. Buffy had waited so long for this. Even though there was no such thing as time here, it seemed like years since she had seen the soft brown curls that framed the angles of his face. It had been so long that she couldn't wait to be in his arms again, as he slowly crossed the distance between them, she rushed up to meet him and was enclosed in his strong embrace. She felt her feet float up, as he spun her in wide, happy circles. She didn't want it to stop, and now that he was back with her again, Buffy knew it never would. "I missed you, Spike," she said, choking back the tears, "I never wanted you to leave. I understand why you did what you did, now. But I didn't then," she looked at the infinite patience shining in his eyes as he looked at her, " I wish I'd paid more attention to you. Maybe then, I could have spared you some pain." As he listened to her cry, he whispered soothing words to her, "Hush, Love," he smiled at the beautiful emerald glow of love in her eyes, "I don't ever want to leave you again." ********************* Buffy hadn't wanted to leave him there. Talitha's death had been a shock for them both, and it truly was a miracle that the baby, tiny as it was, had survived this long. Spike had refused to leave the baby's side so she didn't want to leave his. After all, she'd argued, they were a team, and a team doesn't work if there's only one member. It also doesn't work if her teammate collapses from hunger and exhaustion. But he had insisted that she go home and get some rest. Spike told he to come back at sunup, explaining that her arrival would keep him orientated as to time. She had reluctantly agreed. She had done this for two days straight. As she stepped off of the elevator onto the neonatal unit, she was glad she'd remembered to pack two thermoses of coffee. One thermos was filled with black coffee; the other was filled with coffee that was laced with pig's blood. She was glad she was here now, because it looked like Spike hadn't moved a single muscle in over twenty-four hours. Buffy waved at the charge nurse at the desk, she remembered that her name was Tara, as she walked by. Buffy saw the concerned look that passed over the nurse's face as her eyes drifted toward the haggard man who stood at the nursery window. They were fleeting glances that Buffy wasn't meant to see, but she did. Buffy heard the whispers too. The staff had begun to murmur that they had never seen such devotion in a father. They were starting to worry about his health. Buffy sighed as she came up beside him, gazing down at the little warriors in their bassinets. They were all warriors. Every baby in this unit was fighting to stay alive. Buffy silently poured the thermos contents into a cup, and handed it to Spike, "Here," she handed him the cup, letting her fingers brush lightly against his but never taking her eyes off of the window, "breakfast is served." Spike felt a shock of warmth shoot through him at her touch, but couldn't afford to take his eyes off of that little baby he'd only just realized he'd loved from the moment he saw her. His eyes remained fixed on the window, "She's so tiny, Love," he whispered, "Her skin is translucent. It's as thin as paper," he gasped involuntarily, the fact that he did not need to breathe forgotten completely. Buffy noticed his slow, regular breathing. It was almost as if he was trying to teach her how to do it, willing her to live, "She's a paper doll. So delicate," he looked at Buffy in agonized wonder, "How can she trust me?" "She's new, Spike. They all are. Trust is the only thing they know. It's all they can do," Buffy brushed her fingers against his as he held the cup, "Now drink up. You're starting to worry the nurses," she lowered her voice, "And me." He acquiesced and took a small sip from the warm cup, "Better?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Tons," she sighed as they walked the short distance to the parents' lounge area on the unit. She took his hands in hers as they sat down on the old sofa that was trying to make the antiseptic hospital seem a little less antiseptic, "Giles finalized the paperwork. By this afternoon," she pointed to the glass enclosure, "That little bundle of pink fluff in there will have a home to go home to," Buffy smiled shyly, "She'll be a 'Dustin,' officially." "If she makes it home," Spike said grimly. Buffy's eyes flashed with fury, "Don't you dare give our little girl a death wish! Hasn't she been through enough?" Spike's eyes were downcast, "Certain sure, Pet. May be she's been through too much for someone so little." ************************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM Spike gave her one last hug before letting her fly, "Well Dove," he said with pride, "it's show time. Remember what I used to sing to you when you got scared?" Jonina tilted her head, trying to pull the memory up into her conscience mind, "Yes, Daddy. I think I do." "Well it still applies. Whether you hear me, or not, I'm right here," he nodded firmly, grasping her tighter, "Know that." "I do, Daddy," she said as she melted from his sight. ********************************** Buffy tried to soothe his nerves, "Don't worry Spike, we'll find out exactly what killed Talitha. Giles is working on it right now. He flew her body all the way back to Rome. Everyone in the Council is working on it. Dawn has all her people working on it," she drew his eyes up to her and marveled at just how blue they were, even though they were clouded with worry and weariness, "She's just like you Spike," for an instant Buffy saw his eyes flash with horror. Buffy knew that he worried about her. And now, with Dawn's new position working in the Council's laboratories, he worried for her even more than usual. She shook her head, trying to clarify, "No, not like that. She just loves to sink her teeth," as his eyes widened, Buffy realized the comparison wasn't helping at all, and she spoke faster, "Not literal teeth, Spike! She just loves a challenge," she smiled at him, "And she loves bossing Illyria around, too." "Doesn't surprise me," he smiled weakly at her, "She always was a bossy bint. Just like her sister." "Hey!" Buffy gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Sorry Love, but it's true," he smiled a playful smile, "It's what I love most about the both of you. You know what you want, and you know how to get it." Buffy's face scrunched in confusion, "You did know of me three or four years ago, didn't you?" she looked down bashfully, "I wasn't exactly known for my communication skills." Spike chuckled, and rubbed his thumbs along the back of her hands affectionately, "Might have heard of you, yeah. My nose certainly remembers you." Buffy winced. She often wondered just how many times she had broken Spike's nose over the years, "Sorry about that." "Think nothing of it," he nodded toward the empty plastic cup that once again rested on top of the thermos jug, "Thanks for this." "I knew you'd be needing it," she said as she strolled with him back to the nursery window. Buffy saw how small the baby was. She looked like an astronaut floating in space with only wires and tubes to keep her company. To Buffy it seemed cold and unfeeling. Suddenly an idea struck her. She knew how tactile Spike was, and she knew that this was something that they all would need if they were going to be a family. "I'll be right back," she said as she left to get the nurses' okay to go ahead with her plan. As Spike watched her talking softly with the nurses, he looked back at the glass and wondered if he would be a good father. He wondered if he could be tender enough to care for her, yet tough enough to protect her from this world that had already dealt her such devastating blows. He didn't know if he could do it, but he knew that if he didn't try, he would be letting her down. So he promised her that he would do his best. And he promised her that promise with his whole heart. Just as he made that promise, his ears picked up a slight jump in her heart rhythm just before the machines started to beep and click, and whirr alerting the doctors and nurses of the change. The nurses swarmed in with stark looks on their faces, ready to give whatever help the child required. At first, Spike was alarmed. But then a strange sort of calm seemed to settle over him as he whispered to her, "That's it baby. You light up. You let them all know that you're here and that you're strong. Daddy's here now. I'll be right beside you. I'm never leaving you," he smiled to himself, "I even have a name picked out for you. I'm sure your Mum will agree. I think I'll call you Jonina. I'll call you Jonina Irene," he nodded, as it seemed to fit her, "You're my little 'Dove of Peace." He held Buffy close as she came back to stand beside him, saying, "Come on, 'Daddy,' let's say hello to our daughter." *********

Chapter #7 - Twenty-six &Twenty-seven

Spike fumbled nervously with the cap and mask that the nurse had given him to wear. He looked sheepishly up at Buffy, "I don't know about this, Love. Are you sure I won't frighten her, looking like this?" Buffy stood on tiptoe to help him pull the sterile cap over his ears and to whisper to him, "Love," she brushed her lips against his ear, "there are so many things that she's worried about right now, seeing those bright blue eyes of yours," she stood back to be sure everything was in place, "well to be honest, I'm a little jealous. How could she be scared of you when the cap matches those eyes?" she shrugged turning him and giving the mask tie one last check, "Now, why don't you and she get acquainted," she said as she opened the nursery door and let him step through once she was certain his feet were covered with plastic booties. Spike felt like an alien stepping into that room. Never had he felt more like a bull in a china shop then he did at this moment. He was never more afraid to move a muscle. Rows and rows of paper dolls, and they all looked so breakable. He searched the room for a friendly face, someone to show him what to do. He found his savior in the nurse in the pink smock that smiled at him with her eyes, she had to, the eyes were the only part of her face that was uncovered, and showed him to the baby girl's bassinet. His knees were shaking as he sat in the rocker next to the child as she lay in her incubator. He was unsure of what to do next. He wasn't even sure if he could touch the sides of the glass cradle that held her without causing her harm. The nurse noticed and said kindly, "Mister Dustin?" she asked sweetly, "Do you see the holes on the side of the isolet, the ones that have the elastic stretched across them?" He nodded. "Good. You can put your hand through that hole. The other side is kind of like a windbreaker with elastic around the cuff. It will stretch to fit your hand," her eyes smiled again, "You can put your hand through, as long as you're wearing gloves," at his alarmed look she added, "I'm sure she's just fine. But considering that her arrival was a little bumpy, we want to make sure her immune system is strong. It is pretty weak right now. But she's getting better. And she'll get better faster if she knows her father's touch," she nodded encouragement, "Go on, touch her." He looked up at the nurse, "You're sure it's all right? I don't want to hurt her." The nurse's eyes smiled again as she looked down at the cradle, "Well, would you look at that," she seemed astonished, "You may not be sure, Daddy, but she is," she pointed a finger at the baby, "Look," she said, "I think she heard you. And I think she knows who her Daddy is. She's looking right at you." Spike turned in time to see two little brown eyes staring at him as if to ask him all the questions in the world, starting with the one every child seems to ask, "Are you my Daddy?" He blinked. This little baby was looking at him as if he were her world. Which Spike knew would work out nicely, because at that very moment she was his entire world. His vision was eclipsed by the smallness of her. Everything about her was small, too small, and it brought tears to his eyes to see her struggling. To see her tiny feet as the kicked weakly at the air, her hands, that were so tiny that Spike was sure that the whole of her hand could fit through the wedding ring he wore on his finger, balled up into wee fists, as if to take on the world. And her heart; Spike could actually see her heart fluttering in her chest with the speed of a Hummingbird's wings. He was so in awe of her that when that hand, that tiny, little hand was actually pressed up against the walls of her cage, he audibly gasped. She was trying to reach for his finger as it ghosted up against the barrier between them. In that instant he knew what to do. His cautiously slid the fingers of one hand through the opening to touch her lightly with his fingertips. He started with the top of her head, and slowly made his way down to the soles of her feet. Spike was careful to use just the tips of his fingers because his palm alone would have covered her completely. As his fingers felt the tiny bones in her hands and fingers desperately trying to gain purchase as this giant suddenly invaded her world, all the muscles seemed to come under her command at once and she closed her fingers around the tip of his index finger, and would not let go. He felt the pressure of her fingers around his and was amazed. For someone so small, she was exerting strength that was the equivalent of a vice just trying to hold on to him. Right then his heart melted, "Oh, hello cutie," he whispered, as he felt the pressure of tears building up, "It's me. I'm your Daddy. I don't really know why you chose me. I think you might not know what you've gotten into, Dove," the skin of her forehead seemed to crease a little. It was as if she were asking him if he'd lost his mind; of course she knew what she was signing up for. Would there be any other person, any other family worthy of her time? He chucked as the pressure around his finger increased, "Oh, so I'm the daft one, am I? Well, if you insist. You know, with all due respect to your Mum, I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Spike winked at her, "And believe me when I tell you, I've seen more than my fair share of beautiful women. I promise, I may not always so it right," he smile to himself, "and sometimes it may look like something else, but I'll try to protect you. Can you hear me, Jonina?" Spike cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing every detail of her, committing her to his memory. He took note of the velvet feel of her skin, and the brassy timbre if her blood as it rushed through her little body. Spike detected a slight hitch in her breathing. It was so slight that the machines that she depended on hadn't even picked it up. Perhaps he was being over vigilant. He tried to dismiss it. But, he began to notice a slight discoloration on her left cheek and called the nurse over, thinking that it might be a sign of something threatening. He was so unnerved by the sight that he had to make sure he had full control over his baser instincts, so as not to alarm anyone, before voicing his concerns, "Nurse, there seems to be a variation in her skin tone, around the arch of her cheekbone," he tried to keep his tone calm, his eyes flicking toward the gages that monitored the oxygen content in the isolet. The monitors indicated nothing amiss. But, he could sense something was off, and if it wasn't remedied soon, the baby could suffer brain damage, or worse. "Nurse," Spike stuttered nervously, "I'm no expert but, her skin seems a bit blue. Is there something wrong with the oxygen flow to her cradle?" The woman in the veil of pastel pink came rushing over, her brows furrowed with cautious worry. She checked the monitors and let in an involuntary breath while pushing buttons. Her voice tried to sound calming, but Spike knew he'd been right. He knew it. "Everything checks out. Why don't you let us examine this little princess," she said as she quickly ushered him from the nursery, "We'll keep you informed Daddy. Don't worry," she said as she closed the door, effectively cutting him off from the only person who truly loved him, without question. He was alone again. Set adrift. Then, as if by some miracle, Buffy appeared. And, he held tight to her, for dear life. Buffy quickly undid Spike's face mask as she watched tears roll down his cheeks and tried to comfort him, "Let's go home," he whimpered in protest, his body stiffened in sympathy for the pain the child was going through with strangers swarming all around, "Just for a few hours," Buffy was saying, "I can bring the car into the underground parking lot," she peppered his tear-streaked face with kisses, "Meet me there. We'll both get some rest. Then we'll be back. I promise." ************************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM-HOME OFFICE Holland slammed his fist on his desk, in a rare show of temper. He had worked too hard and for too many years to let a child ruin the Senior Partners' plans. Every contingency was planned for, and countered. He had the right mix of envy, fear and of course, the extra dose of Angel's paranoia only made it sweeter. He looked at the figures again. He must be missing something. What was he missing? Why was he losing? He knew it wasn't the Angelus angle. No, it couldn't be that, he had Angelus so spun, so lost in a miasma of displaced guilt, that Holland was sure he actually had him convinced that the child was an agent of destruction. He was sure that Angel had no idea the power she actually wielded. He'd made sure of that. So what was thwarting his plans? It was miniscule, Holland knew that, and as he looked at the reports that were strewn across his desk, he knew he had to find it. The blur of words on the paper melted into focus on the one factor Holland hadn't considered. And he hadn't considered it because in the Home Office it didn't enter into the picture. "I don't know how, but I have to find a way around this." ******************************* Angel watched, from the safety of shadow, as Spike peered down at the infants in the intensive care unit. He looked exhausted, and perhaps that way the reason he was able to get this close to his target without being noticed. Spike was too focused on the newborn to notice him and that was good. He had waited for hours for his opening. And it finally came in the guise of a caring wife. As Buffy led Spike to the parents' lounge, Angel drew the mask up over his face, completing his camouflage. Angel silently made his way into the sterile room. He knew his disguise was perfect because no one questioned his presence near the children. If Spike were watching, he would only see another nurse in a sea of nurses. He strode up to the monitors that watched over the little girl, pushed a few buttons, and walked away. No one even blinked as he left the room and then the hospital, and took refuge in the sewer tunnels beneath the city. Now, all that was left to do was wait. ************************** Buffy led Spike past a very worried looking Georgina, "Close down for a while George," Buffy mumbled as they went by, "No calls. Tell people that there's been a family emergency or something." George nodded, "Already done. We've been closed down for three days now." "Good. If you hear anything... "I know where to find you." As Georgina Roberts watched them go up the steps, she put the finishing touches on her letter. She knew it wasn't much, but maybe it would help them through the hard times. She hit the last few keystrokes, then reread it before hitting print: Dear Spike and Buffy, I know I'm just a secretary here, and right know there are bigger things to think about than my opinion. But, since the baby can't speak for herself right now, I'm sure I speak for her when I say that she's strong, and she'll make it. I say this from experience. I was a baby who was in such a rush to be in this world that I came even earlier than she did, and I'm still here. All that little girl needs to survive is time and a little love. And you both have those things, in excess. That is a very lucky little girl, and I think I might be a little jealous. Georgina She pressed print and placed the letter where she was sure they would find it, made sure to forward all the dojo's calls, and left for home. ************************** Spike finally drifted off to sleep. He didn't want to sleep, but his body had taken over and wasn't listening to him anymore. Vampire or not, going three days without sleep would shut down anyone's system. And Buffy was glad that the lines on his face had finally smoothed out. The blood he'd taken did help, but not much. She lay down next to him and he seemed to melt into her embrace. He purred softly as her scent invaded his sleep, "She'll be all right, Spike. I know she will. With you in her corner, she's already a winner." Spike looked so angelic when he slept. The only things that gave a hint of his true age were the small scars on his face. Those scars were his badges of honor, but they just reminded her of all the pain he'd been through. Some of the scars were visible, but some were not. She had years of hurt to make up for. Spike prided himself on the assumption that he was nothing like Angel. He gloated about it in fact. But, the truth was, the two of them were so much alike it was scary. The only difference that she could see was in how they dealt with things. Angel was the type that would hold things in and let them build up to a slow burn, which, if he weren't careful, would end in an explosion that might take out half a city block, and anyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Buffy had been burned in a few of those explosions. So had Spike. Spike was the type that wore his heart on his sleeve, almost daring anyone to just come along and tear it right off of that sleeve and stomp on it. She knew he'd dared her to, more than once. Spike would tell you when something hurt. And he would tell you loudly. But even Spike had a breaking point. Even he could be hurt once too often. Even he could become numb and shut down if he'd just seen too much, hurt too much. Buffy saw the look in Spike's eyes. He tried to hide it, for her sake, she supposed. But, it was there when he looked at her. She knew that look. She'd seen it when she looked in the mirror, before her Mom died. He was looking at her like he knew she was going to die. She was not stupid. She knew that one day it would happen. She would die, and she wouldn't be coming back. It was just a part of life. But, she'd never really looked at that part of life from his perspective before, from the perspective of someone who could, quite possibly, go on forever. What would it be like, to watch things be born, watch them grow and change, and know you never would? What would it be like to watch things die, knowing that you would stay the same? It could make for a very lonely existence. As Buffy watched him sleeping, she realized why Spike had clung so tight to the idea that she would, someday, love him. That hope was all that kept him connected to the world. It was all that kept him a part of it. Buffy had to admit, even the idea of love was a better way of dealing with a world that didn't want you than trying to end it on a regular basis. ***************************** Angel didn't know why he thought he could hide here. Holland belonged in the sewers anyway, so it wasn't a surprise to see him here. What did surprise him was the fact that the Brooks Brothers suit still seemed impeccably tailored even down here, "Isn't it bad enough you haunt me topside? Do you have to annoy me down here too?" Holland took in his surroundings in disgust, taking his red linen handkerchief from its place in his vest pocket and guarding his mouth and nose against the stench of the sewage, "You'd think being incorporeal I'd be saved from having to smell things like this. But I suppose that there is a reason a 'dirty job' gets its name." Angel winced. Holland's voice, his very presence, had always been like fingernails on a chalkboard to him, but it had never been this bad before, "What do you want, Holland?" Angel couldn't keep the whining tone out of his voice, "I've ruined their lives. They'll never forgive me," he shook his head, sadly, "They shouldn't. I've ruined an innocent life in order to save the life of someone who doesn't want me in his life." Holland took his notebook from his pocket, and consulted it, giving a slight nod; "You're speaking of Stephen, now aren't you?" "Yes." ****************** Buffy had to do something. She'd tried to go back to sleep, but something made her restless and she had no idea why. She just had a queasy feeling in her stomach and she wanted to hunt down whatever it was that put the feeling there. She wanted to find it, and kill it for making her feel useless. Perhaps it was that their daughter was in the hospital fighting for her life and there was nothing she could do to help. But, since killing babies was definitely not in the Slayer code, she would just have to settle for beating the stuffing out of the tackling dummy that was down in the dojo. She was the Slayer. It took actually running away from all that that meant, it took highjaking a bunch of teenage girls into a life they weren't prepared to deal with, to understand what being a Slayer really meant. It meant protecting the innocent. It meant protecting those who could not protect themselves. If she couldn't protect a tiny little girl, then what was she here for? The more she pummeled the dummy the weaker she felt. She wasn't as strong as that little girl. And, she knew she never would be. Buffy just hoped that she could be a good Mommy. ******************** Spike had fallen asleep amidst vanilla and roses and had dreams of home and hearth. He knew that in the waking world there were things he couldn't have. Things made up of sugar and spice were off limits to things like him. He was never one for rules. He'd rather do what he wanted and ask permission later. That tended to be irksome to the Powers, whoever they were. So really it came as no surprise that the closer he got to having just those things, the things he wasn't supposed to have, the more those forces seemed to align against him. But he knew Jonina was strong. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He would have her, and Buffy, and they would be a family. They would be all right. He would make sure of it. Spike reached out in his sleep for Buffy but found the space beside him empty. He sat up and searched the room frantically with his eyes, but noticed that her space on the bed was still warm from her body heat so that meant she hadn't left that long ago. Spike heard the muffled sounds of a scuffle beneath him. He felt the emotions surging through him: Confusion. Anger. Hurt. His mate, his wife was hurting and needed him. The baby. Oh God. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself bounding out of bed and down the stairs, his demon rushing forward to protect her. He let out a territorial growl, his eyes sweeping the dojo for any concealed threat. Everything seemed in order. That was when he noticed the dummy, its stuffing strewn all about. It looked like a cotton mill had exploded beneath his feet. And there stood his Slayer, his love, in the center of all the fluffy carnage, with tufts of the cotton tangled in her hair, pouting like a lost child, her eyes brimming with tears. Buffy heard the growl and looked up to see Spike staring at her, his azure eyes smiling as he took in the damage she'd done. She didn't want to wake him, but she had. She'd made too much noise. In his rush, he'd come downstairs in just his dungarees. Those only made him look even more vulnerable to her. He'd even forgotten his boots; he stood there, as the innards of the tackling dummy lay around him, with nothing protecting his feet. His feet looked so small. She looked down at the clouds of white around her, and sniffed, "Sorry. I think I broke him." Spike nodded, "Yeah, looks that way," he knelt down to pick up a mangled mound of rags and fluff that had once been an arm, and said, "What have you got against old Scarecrow anyway, Pet?" Buffy let out a frustrated sigh, "I don't know, all right?" she yelled, "I just needed to hit something, and you were asleep so I just…" she shrugged, bringing her eyes up to his, "I don't know how to help," she whimpered. Spike looked at her eyes. They were so open, for once, and giving. He saw how much she wanted to protect him. How much she truly loved him, and he felt a warmth, the likes of which he hadn't felt before, shoot through him. He stepped gingerly over the remains of Ray the scarecrow, and took her in his arms. As she fell into his arms, he whispered, "It'll be all right, Love. Joni will be fine." The question was soft against his chest, "Joni?" He swallowed the nervous tickle in his throat as he fished the cotton out of her hair, "It's her name. I gave her a name. Figured it would help her to fight, if she knew she was important enough to have a name," Spike looked down at her teary eyes, "You know, show her that someone in this world believes in her." "Oh, Spike," she choked, "Joni what?" "Jonina actually. Jonina Irene," he said shakily, "Is that all right with you, Love?" "It's beautiful, Spike. How do you do it?" Buffy asked, her eyes swimming. Spike looked down into those shimmering pools of jade and drowned for the thousandth time that day, "Do what, Love?" he asked tenderly, brushing his lips against hers. "Stay so hopeful in a world that rejects you?" Spike put his chin up in thought and sighed, searching for the right words to help her understand. He chuckled to himself, "Funny you should ask that, Love," he kissed her again, tasting the salt and bitterness of her tears, "If I didn't have hope I wouldn't be here." Buffy looked down in shame, "You mean with me?" "No. I mean at all. I would have died over a hundred years ago," he smirked at the irony, "I mean, I did die and all, but I wouldn't be talking to you. I'd just be some footnote in history. Not worth anything. I had hope that there was something beyond my death. And, I was right," Spike put his fingers under her chin, and brought her gaze up to his, "There was my life," he caught a tear as it cascaded down her face, "There was you. And now there's Jonina." *********************** IN THE INTERREGNUM "I don't know about this, Joyce. It seems so unfair to them both. Can't they know? Why can't I tell them?" Joyce was still surprised at how young he could be, "Now Spike, you knew this was how it would be when you went in Joni's place, remember. You said you understood then. Are you backing out now?" His eyes went wide with the possibility that this small chance could be taken from him, "No! It's just," his eyes swept downward, "being so close, seeing how they're suffering, and not be near them, not tell them? I don't think I could do that." Joyce smiled at him, "I know you've never been good with waiting, but, those angels I told you about? They broke so many rules to give you, Buffy and Joni this small chance at happiness," she took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly, "Don't squander it because of your nervous energy. Good things are worth waiting for." ********************* DECEMBER 6, 2027 The caretaker strode slowly through the grounds. There was a new resident today. He'd observed other interments from his vantage point in the cottage. He'd seen other family members grieve for loved ones lost, and it hurt him, every time. That was why he took his job here so seriously, it was his way of trying to do what little he could to ease the suffering he saw. Every goodbye hurt him just a little. But for some reason, seeing this widow, and her beautiful daughter saying their final goodbyes, cut him, and it cut him deep. They were both so young, but they looked so old. The widow couldn't have reached her fiftieth year, but her eyes looked ten times older. He wondered how someone that young, could look that old. He felt old, working here. But someone that beautiful shouldn't feel old. He wondered what those eyes could have seen. The daughter was no different, barely into her second decade and already wise beyond her years. It made his heart hurt. But sometimes when someone is taken away through illness, or unexpectedly, the ones left behind haven't fully let go, and so some part of them leaves with the departed, leaving a ghost where the heart should be. Because he knew what it was to feel that, he decided to take special care of that little family. He would do what he could to make the hurt less. He'd waited until well after hours to appear, making sure that she had left the cemetery. And although he felt a weight on his heart, for some reason he felt the need to sing, as he attended to this particular gravesite. It was a song that was an odd one to be singing in a graveyard, if this was a place where gaiety belonged at all, but he sang it just the same, to comfort something that pulled deep inside his bones. "Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine. Little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say; Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine. If they knew sweet little you they'd end up loving you, too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you. From your head to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows. But, you're so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine." Joni froze. Just as she was about to leave the cemetery, she heard it. Maybe it was because she missed him. Maybe it was because she was so tired she couldn't think straight. But, she'd heard it. Their song; the song that washed over broken hearts and bumped knees, the song that was the last clear thing he'd ever said to her. The song she carried with her in her heart when he could no longer speak. It was there. She'd heard it. Joni closed her eyes, as a cool wind blew against her cheek, "I love you, Daddy," she whispered as she left the cemetery, "Always and forever." ************************

Chapter #8 - Twenty-eight

IN THE INTERREGNUM Spike's eyes remained hooded in deference of all that Joyce and nameless others had sacrificed to bring him here. He was well aware that his place here was tenuous, at best, "I understand," he tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I won't tell them. I'll take it slow. I won't push. She can take as long as she likes. It wouldn't be the same if she weren't ready. But, Joni," his voice was tight, "I love her. I think you know that. I have to be near, to help her," he pleaded with the Spirit that held his life in the balance, "If I'm not with her, she could get lost again. And it could all happen again," he felt the tears as they slid down his face, "Then, all that I've done will have been for nothing. I swear, they won't know it's me. I won't reveal myself until they're ready." ******************************* DECEMBER 2, 2028-LOS ANGELES As she sat next to her on the plane, with nothing but sky and the ground miles below for company, Joni began to hate the silence. Her mother hadn't spoken in months. Joni really wasn't surprised. When Angelus showed up at her Daddy's grave and dropped the bomb, she'd wanted to set him on fire. She even reached for his beloved lighter to do the honors. Joni remembered wanting to scream. She wanted to tear him apart for coming to her Daddy's grave to unburden his soul. And she would have too, if her Mommy hadn't put her hand on her shoulder, and spoke quietly in her ear, "Joni, the Slayer doesn't kill humans." That was the last time her Mom had spoken. That was almost three months ago. The doctors didn't know how to help her. She hadn't known what to do. If it hadn't been for her friendship with the cemetery gardener, she would still be frozen with fear. It was the gardener who'd given her this idea, "Take her someplace that feels like home to her. We all grieve differently," the gardener paused, and Joni wondered at him, as a strange look clouded his eyes. He seemed to nod to himself, "Yes," he'd said, "Take her somewhere where your mother can put the ghosts away and start to live again." That was why she'd bundled her Mom up, and against doctors' advice, started on the trip back to where it all began for them; the little dojo on Jennings Street. It was her "Homecoming Day," the day she saw the gardener for the first time. She had begun visiting her Daddy every day since her Mom no longer could bring herself to do so. She was still mad at the world for taking her Daddy away, and giving such a precious gift to someone who didn't deserve it. ************ NOVEMBER 1, 2028- NEW HOPE CEMETERY- NEW ENGLAND The caretaker made his usual rounds. He strode confidently past the Peterson crypt, and made sure that Elijah Morris's nephews had not thrown the rocks that were left on his tombstone and in a fit of youthful exuberance, did damage to his neighbors' resting places. Everything seemed in its place, until he happened upon the Dustin plot. There was someone lying on the sod above William's resting place. A quick look at his watch told him that he wasn't early; it was this girl who was extremely late. Fearing that he might have to summon medical help, he approached quickly. But as he got closer his ears picked up her soft, regular breathing. She had fallen asleep. The poor thing had actually cried herself to sleep. Not wanting to wake her by shining his flashlight in her eyes, he knelt down and shook her gently, "Rise and shine, little one," he said softly, "Time to get you back to your bed." In the twilight of half-sleep, her true heart's wish came through, "Daddy?" she mumbled. His heart went out to her. She must miss her father terribly. He had to bite the flesh of his inner cheek to fight the urge to tell her everything would be all right. Suddenly the right words came to him, "Your Daddy's always with you, Sweetheart," he whispered, brushing the maple-colored hair from her temple, "But I'm certain he wouldn't want you to freeze to death out here." The voice was comforting, like a warm blanket. In her dream state, she could have sworn it was her Daddy. The haze of longing made her eyes snap open in a vain attempt to catch him. He flew away into the shadows of sleep. In the light of waning starlight, a stranger stood in his place. Joni wiped the tears from her eyes as she stood up, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be any trouble," she felt her lips quiver and she wasn't sure if it was the cold, or the hole in her heart that was causing it. "It's no trouble." "...It's just that today is my 'Homecoming Day.' And this is the first one he's missed," her eyes looked down at the frost that covered the tips of the grass under her feet, "The last one, he was very sick, but I still had him," she sniffed, "I could still hug him and tell him that I loved him," her eyes drifted shut as she felt a cold breeze brush past her, "I don't have that anymore." "Sweetheart," he struggled to find the words, as his heart was gripped in pain for her, "you've been here since yesterday," even in the glow of impending sunrise he could see the deep well of pain, that she drew her only sustenance from, in her deep sienna eyes, "Surely your father," he nearly choked on the word, "wouldn't want you to risk your heath? Not for his sake. Go home now." "What time is it?" she asked. The question caught him off guard, "Four in the morning," he blinked, as he saw her face set in determination, "Why?" "Then I have to stay. It's past midnight. It's November first. Today is my 'Homecoming Day.'" Conflicting emotions warred in him as he studied her. He didn't know whether to scold her or kiss her forehead, "It will be November first all day today, Sweetheart. For twenty more hours, to be exact," he smiled at her, "I'm sure you're father wouldn't mind if you went home to rest and then came back." "No," she shook her head, "you don't understand. I can't leave. He has to know I'm here. I can't leave," the tone of her voice was rising with anxiety, "Please," she begged, "don't make me leave," her tears shone like beacons of life in this place of death, "Please, let me stay?" His eyes closed in sympathy for her, "Your father knows you're here," he said softly, "Believe me. He knows," he put a hand on her shoulder and felt her shudder from the cold, "It's cold out here. You should go home," her eyes told him she needed to talk. He nodded his head in the direction of his cottage, "If I make you some tea, will you tell me why today is so important?" Something in his voice, in the way he stood, was familiar to her, "You know, you're right. I should go home. My Daddy was always worried that I'd catch a chill," she smiled in thanks, "The tea is a nice offer. But, no thank you. I will tell you why today is so important though," she was surprised to feel her heart jump when she saw the stranger smiling back at her, "because you seem like a nice man." He bowed slightly, "Why thank you, young Miss. That is very kind of you to say." "You are very welcome. Do you know how some people only celebrate their birthdays and Christmas?" "Yes." "Well you see," she mused, "I'm sort of special. My father died before I was born and my mother died giving birth to me a few hours later." His eyes widened in saddened shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" "It's all right," she assured him, "because my Mom and Daddy adopted me before I even came out of the hospital. I had a home to come to. And I did. On November first, I came home to live with them," she smiled, "So I have my birthday, Christmas, and 'Homecoming Day.'" "That's a nice memory." "Yes," Joni said, "it is. What's your name?" "What?" "I told you something very personal. I don't do that with strangers. My name is Joni," she said, as she shook his hand, "What's yours?" "Call me...Homer." "Well Homer," she said wearily, "it's time I said goodnight," she looked back over her shoulder, as she left the grounds, at the man standing beside her Daddy's tombstone, "I wouldn't want my Daddy angry with me. Take care of him while I'm gone, will you?" As he watched her disappear from sight, he whispered, "Always, Dove. Always." ************************** DECEMBER 2, 2028-LOS ANGELES The building's bricks were somewhat faded from the sunlight and weather, but it was still a sound structure. Joni was sure it was safe to bring her Mom inside. Even though it had been seven years since they'd lived in the little apartment above the dojo, to Joni, this was home. She had no problem getting the key so that she could gain entry to do what she needed to do before she brought her Mom here. After all, the property still belonged to the family. She'd had her Aunt Willow make sure everything was safe, and just as they had left it. Joni knew that her Mom and Daddy had intended to come back when he got better. Unfortunately for all of them, he never did. She just hoped this would help her Mommy remember what her Daddy had promised them. "We're here, Mom," she said gently as she helped her mother out of the car. Joni felt the sharp brittleness of her mother's body, even under the loose, ill-fitting clothing she wore. She continued to coo to her as she led her into the building, "You'll see. It's all right to remember," her face softened as she looked at her mother's anguish and grief as it poured out of her. Joni could almost feel the sobs that wanted to tear out of her. Her Mom was frightened, "It's okay Mommy. Daddy would want you to remember." ************************************** OCTOBER 20, 2005 As the second day dawned with still no sign of Spike at his usual post at the nursery window, Buffy became alarmed. She asked the nurses if they had seen her husband. They all smiled at her as one of them said, "He said to tell you not to worry. He said to tell you that he was going to go to one of those all night superstores to pick up some paint for Jonina's room. And, if you needed him he'd be back at the flat until evening." "Oh," Buffy sighed, "that's a relief. So I guess that means that Joni's out of danger then? If he felt it was safe enough to leave her for very long?" Rose, the day nurse, nodded her head, rapidly, clearly astonished at the little girl's improvement, "Yep. We've never seen anything like it," she winked at her, " The nurses and I have a treasure trove of sweets for her if she makes it home by Halloween. And, if she doesn't, we'll give them to her anyway. That girl's just blown us all away." "Well then, if you're sure Joni's okay, I think I'll check on my husband." ************************** The smell of fresh paint was palpable as soon as she walked through the door of the dojo. If the smell was this thick downstairs, even with the windows open to let in fresh air, Buffy wondered what it was like in the apartment. She didn't have to wonder long. Spike's gentle baritone floated down the stairs to meet her, "Love, if you're coming up, I've left a mask for you. It's in the locker room. The air is a touch thick in here," he chuckled, "The not needing air thing? It really is handy at times." As Buffy went into the locker room to retrieve the paper mask, she talked to the ceiling. She was a little concerned because the downstairs area was flooded in streams of sunlight, giving the place an open, airy feel. It was nice. And, if her husband and sunlight were on friendly terms, she wouldn't have batted an eyelash, "Spike?" "Yes, Pet?" Her voice was tinged with fear, "Are you painting in the dark?" "Oh, Pet, you know me. I'm fast on my feet. And daylight hours have never been a deterrent for me." Her heart jumped in her throat as she rushed up the stairs, "But Spike, the whole room is flooded with sunlight, not even you can move that fast!" Buffy threw open the door of the spare room in their apartment, and gasped at the sight she beheld. Spike, dressed in painters' whites with blue and yellow paint splashed across the front of the overalls and on his face, grinning from ear to ear. But that's not what made her gasp. He was standing in direct sunlight, with no means of shelter in sight. And he wasn't turning to ash. It had to be a dream. A smirk played on his lips. He'd shocked her so thoroughly that she'd forgotten to breathe. Part of him was pleased that he could still take her breath away. His logical side won out as he put his hands up in surrender, "I told you I was going to have Georgina order necro-tempered glass for the whole place," he approached her slowly, "It came last week. They just finished installing it," he looked down bashfully as his hands traced up and down her arms lovingly, "Just because her Daddy is a vampire doesn't mean Jonina, or you for that matter, has to live like one. You both deserve to be in the sunlight." The blur of tears in her eyes prevented her from seeing the beautiful fresco that was painted on the facing wall. Buffy blinked to see the painting clearly. She stepped back to admire it, "Did you paint this?" she was captivated by its whimsy. His use of subtle light and shadow captured it perfectly. He nodded proudly, pleased with his work, "That I did, Pet. Did I get it right? I wasn't sure about the shading but I think I got it right." It looked so real she felt she could reach out and touch it, "Oh, Spike," she whispered, "Have you ever seen one of these?" "Yes, but it was a very long time ago, Love. I was afraid I'd forgotten. My little girl will not be deprived. Her world will be bright. Not shrouded in shadow. I don't want that, for either of you." Buffy gazed in awe at the delicate rainbow, against an azure sky, that spanned the breadth of the wall. Under the colors of the rainbow, just under the arch, he'd written the phrase, "Our love for you will last longer than the rainbows in the sky." "Oh, it's perfect," she whispered. ************************ DECEMBER 2, 2028 Joni slowly led her mother up the stairs. She opened the door to her old room. The room she grew up in. Over the years, as she grew older, her rainbow had been painted over. But, a little paint thinner, and some Slayer elbow grease, had exposed a portion of the original fresco. The one her Daddy had put his heart in. The one that depicted something that he could no longer have but would not deny her. Buffy walked up to the wall and touched it lightly with her fingers, as if the wall would evaporate if she touched it, just like the bridge of light and sun. Joni saw the tears brimming over her Mom's eyes, and heard her croak, "Oh, Spike. I miss you." It had been so long since she'd heard her mother's voice that Joni started to cry as well, "Mom," she asked, "do you remember what was written under the rainbow?" Buffy only nodded. "Our love for you will last longer than the rainbows in the sky," Joni said, "That's true for Daddy; and me too, Mommy. We both love you very much, and always will." ************************* OCTOBER 17, 2005 The nurse smiled as the nervous father held his daughter, "I know it looks intimidating. All those wires and tubes shooting every which way, but her father's touch is the best medicine. And as long as you stay near the isolet, and mind the leads, she'll be right as rain, William." "Thank you so much, Tasha. You're sure it's all right?" "Certain sure, William," her eyes smiled at pure ecstasy on his face, "I'll leave you two alone," she said, as she went back to the nurses' station. His fingers trembled as he held her. She was so small, but she was so strong. He could tell. That made him proud. "Well, look at you," he purred softly taking in her tiny features. She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. From her small fingers to her tiny toes, as she kicked against his palm, she was perfection. " I see you've got a strong kick, there. Take after your Mummy, do you?" his eyes swept over her reverently, "God," he breathed, "but you are beautiful. You're as delicate as a rainbow. I'm afraid I might shatter you," he studied her closer and noticed the broken blood vessels that caused an oddly shaped mark on her cheek. It was a battle scar. Her first, and he hoped her last. It was the only sign of her recent struggle for life. The nurses couldn't explain it. But it didn't matter. She was still here, "But that's nonsense, isn't it? You're strong, aren't you? You even have your first battle scar. Wear it proudly, little girl. You've earned it," his throat was raw with emotion, "And I know you can't see me under this mask. But, believe me, I'm grinning like a fool. You fought like a tiger, you did. I'm so proud of you," he placed his finger over her heart, and reveled in the strength of her petite heart. He let the sound vibrate through him and his eyes fell shut in silent thanksgiving, "You have no idea how much I love that racket you're making. You promise to keep it up, and we'll be just fine, you and I," it was then that he noticed that the mark on her face was in a familiar shape of a bird, "Oh, my God. It's you. You came," he gasped. ***********************

Chapter #9 - Twenty-nine

IN THE INTERREGNUM Spike paced the vast emptiness. The very idea nauseated him. He looked at Joyce incredulously, “They can’t be serious! This just clinches it,” he ran his hands through his hair as he paced, “They are out of their minds!” he roared. Joyce held her hands out, half in surrender, half in an attempt to contain the rage that didn’t belong in this place, even though she understood it completely, “Spike, please calm down. You make enough noise, you won’t stay here no matter how many angels you have in your corner,” Joyce took him firmly by the shoulders, forcing him to focus on her, “Do you really want to leave her, again?” she shook him roughly, “Do you want to go back there? You’ve been there,” she reminded him. She was certain he didn’t need reminding, but she also knew that, when it came to him, emotions could cloud everything else, “You know what Hell is, and how it feels,” she met hid glistening eyes, “and I know you don’t want to put Buffy through that.” The mention of Buffy’s name seemed to ground him. And, he gasped in shock, “No! I don’t!” he hissed. “…Because that’s what this would be,” Joyce could see that the steady rhythm of her voice was finally starting to calm him. All the rage left him, with one shuddering gasp, and he fell in a weeping tangle of limbs. As if he were a marionette whose strings had been cut. Joyce swept him up in her arms as if he were a small boy, “Buffy could have anything she wanted here,” she tried to comfort him, “But, she wants you. So, if you weren’t here? For her, this would be Hell.” Spike sobbed out all the hurt he could never, would never tell Buffy about. He searched her face for some kind of understanding, “Joyce,” he choked, as another sob wracked him, “You don’t know what it was like in that place. It felt like years, Joyce. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, before I saw her again,” the rage was shining in his eyes now, even as his body’s energy was spent. He was weary of the fight, and Joyce knew this, “And now, the Gods of bloody Mount Olympus tell me,” his voice rose to an almost deafening roar as he railed against the heavens, “They have the gall to tell me that I can save Joni, and Buffy, and the whole bleeding human race,” he sagged against her more, defeated, all his strength sapped. The sound in his chest became an echo of itself. It, and he, had been stretched too thin. So thin that when he did speak the sound hurled out into the void and shattered, “But if I do, I can never have them. Now they tell me that I have to stay in that place until I’m numb, and forget them. And not because of the hundreds of people I killed to survive. I have to stay in that Hell because of what I did to save Buffy. Because of my sacrifice, because I did what Angelus wouldn’t, I’m sentenced to Hell, but he gets to have them? He gets to dance with them in the daylight? He gets to sing our daughter to sleep at night? You tell me, Joyce. Please tell me how is that fair?” “It’s not,” Joyce agreed, “The Higher Ups brought you in to try to show him what he could have been. But, instead of following your example, he let Holland turn his head around. He really is like every little emperor there ever was, isn’t he?” Joyce mused, “But, what Holland didn’t factor in, is the mother of one Buffy Summers-Dustin,” she slowly untangled herself from him and stood, “Do you think you can stand?” He nodded, forcing tired limbs to move. “Good, because we have a very important meeting.” ************************ JULY 10, 2012 Buffy could tell from his demeanor that the news wasn’t good. When Spike’s face looked like that, it could mean only one thing. Buffy knew that look, because Spike had worn it for almost a year now. The weight of carrying this had placed deep-set lines on that exquisite face. Even through the heat of fever, she could tell. Another Slayer had fallen ill. Spike carefully shut the bedroom door. He would face Hell again before he let Jonina hear this. As he sat down on the edge of the bed, “Looks like you’re not as unique as we thought, Love,” he tried to keep the mood light, but it was difficult, as he felt her stiffen under the bedclothes. His eyes drifted toward the closed door, “That was the Nibblet. It seems Martha Glen wasn’t as strong as you are,” his eyes went down because he didn’t want to burden her any more than he needed to. But he also found it physically impossible to lie to her, “It took her,” he sighed. Sensing her dread, with a stiff smile, he quickly added, “But with the barrels of midnight oil that Dawnie and Illyria are burning trying to suss out this thing, and with me in it with both fangs.” He kissed her forehead, and the fever seared his lips, “It won’t be long before we find it. A good bit of Winifred is strong in Illyria. So with her, it’s like having two people for the price of one. So with all of us puzzling this out, one of us will hit on the answer soon,” his face grew shadowed, “I swear,” he whispered. Buffy slowly closed her eyes at the rush of ice that spread through her fire engulfed nerves as he kissed her temple. He shut his eyes against the tide of her pain as it shot through him, “I know that hurt, Pet,” he straightened up slowly as the sorrow and exhaustion pulled at him, “But, I’ve almost got it. I’ll get it. I’ll find the answer,” he swore as he shut the door and let Buffy fall into the mercy of sleep. He placed his hand reverently against the door and whispered, “If it takes working myself to a pile of dust.” On his way down to the makeshift laboratory in the building’s basement, he stopped by for his nightly dose of sunshine. Nothing was a better motivator than seeing her. He cursed to himself. He really must be exhausted, because there was no other excuse for missing her accelerated breathing and heartbeat. She was awake. She’d had a nightmare, and he wasn’t there to shove the monsters back under the bed. He sighed as he tapped the door lightly, “Hey, Sunshine, what are you doing up?” he purred as he looked in on her. He took in the dusky mixture of pencil lead and crayon wax as it wafted through the air and over his nose and mouth. She was an artist, his girl. He stood motionless as gentle moonlight washed over her, making her delicate features seem even more so as she hunched over her little drawing table with her hair in her eyes. He could see the tip of her tongue as it slipped out from between her lips, trying to guide her hands as they put the wispy dream images to paper before they flew from her mind. As she turned her head, her maple hair flashed gold in the moonlight. Her eyes were narrowed in curious contemplation of him, “Daddy,” Jonina asked, “do you have another face? Are you a monster?” At first horror, then a quiet acceptance flooded his brain. There was no fright in her voice. There was only the quiet questioning of a precocious little girl, trying to define her world. He came the rest of the way into her room and knelt down to her eye level. He reached over to turn on the desk lamp that was supposed to illuminate her drawing space, why she always chose to draw in the dark he would never know, and asked her, “Why do you ask, Dove?” Joni shook her head quickly. Her Daddy tried not to show her, but she saw. She did. She’d hurt him by asking that stupid question, “No reason, Daddy. It’s just that, in my dreams, sometimes…” she drifted off, avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore. “Sometimes what, Dove?” he prompted gently. She bit her lip as she thought, bringing a tiny pinprick of blood to the surface. Just that small amount was enough to send the demon singing through him, and he had to avert his eyes or he would lose control of himself. He closed his eyes tight and tucked his chin to his chest. Spike was disgusted with himself. He should never have allowed himself to become this exhausted. So deprived of sleep and nourishment that even his own daughter looked like a meal to him. He really was a monster. “Daddy, you looked scared? Are you all right?” The soft, tender look in her eye, nearly brought him to tears, “Daddy’s just a little sleepy, Sweetling. Just like you should be.” “But Daddy, the boogieman…” Spike looked closely at his child’s face. In it he didn’t see fright. Instead he saw sadness. This wasn’t like her other night terrors, “What about the boogieman, Jonina?” “Daddy,” she whispered as her little fingers traced his face. They traveled nimbly over his eyebrows and the arch of his cheeks, then down over the bridge of his nose. It was then that Spike realized what she was asking. She had seen a part of himself that he’d tried to hide from her. She was asking about his demon. That could only mean one thing. She was a Slayer. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt the sting and pressure behind his eyes. “Daddy,” little fingers touched his face and her voice hitched in childlike fear. Her hero was scared and it was her fault, “Why are you crying?” The sweetness in her face stung him, “Sweetling, tell me the truth. Did the boogieman look like me?” She nodded slowly, “Yeah. But he didn’t have brown hair like yours. His was white.” ******************** OCTOBER 17, 2005 Spike placed her carefully back into her isolet. Bringing the little pink baby blanket up the her chin, “Rest well, little one,” he grinned at her under his mask, “I’ll take care of you,” his hand pressed against the isolet, “I promise, you won’t ever be afraid of me.” Leaving the nursery, he shed the sterile garb that covered his street clothes and nodded to the nurses as he left. He had promised to protect her, and he was going to do just that. ******************* In a place as big as this Angel could get lost. And as long as he stayed in the shadows he wouldn’t be noticed, not by humans anyway. He had counted on Spike being to preoccupied to notice his presence. He was wrong. As Angel prepared to take the stairs down to the main parking structure, he found himself pinned to the wall with surprising speed. He blinked as amber eyes held him, “I can see that you haven’t learned your lesson,” Spike growled, “So, I’ll tell you straight, if that precious crystal in that bassinet, who for some reason, someone has seen fit to let me be a father to; if she even sneezes and I think you have something to do with it, I will kill you. I know you had something to do with monitors not functioning properly. I know who she is, and what you’re trying to do. I won’t let you near her. Do you understand me? I know how important that dove is in there,” his eyes narrowed, “And I know you do. She doesn’t need that burden. She’s had enough for three lifetimes, and she’s only three days old!” “Spike, you don’t understand,” Angel said, “I’m trying to save you!” “Well stop!” Spike commanded. ********************* The phone rang in the Jennings Street dojo. Buffy checked the caller I.D., “Hello Giles. Do you have any news for us?” “Yes, Buffy. Dawn has isolated the cause of Talitha Sands’s death.” Buffy felt strangely apathetic, “Well? Shoot, Giles. It’s about time for another apocalypse.” A heavy sigh could be heard over the telephone line, “Buffy, Talitha died of the same virus that killed your daughter’s namesake. The one we were all hoping wouldn’t come.” Across the ocean, Giles heard the thud of a telephone receiver hitting the floor. ***************************************

Chapter #10 - Thirty

NOVEMBER 10, 2028- NEW HOPE CEMETERY Joni patrolled this cemetery last. Ever since she lost her Daddy, the nightly duty of patrol had lost its sparkle. Perhaps it was because she knew her Daddy wouldn’t be lurking amidst the mausoleums, his eyes glinting with pride, waiting to give her pointers he, and she, knew she didn’t need. She was so much like her Mom. Her Daddy kept telling her that. For her, he said, slaying was like breathing. If that was true, why did her chest hurt so much? He even had a tombstone. He was just dust, like all the vamps she’d ever dusted. He didn’t need a marker, there was nothing to bury. When the end finally came, the sight had filled her with horror. One second, her Daddy was lying on his bed, his face a mask of pain, and the next, he’d dissolved into nothing but ash. All of the sudden he wasn’t there anymore. It had all happened so quietly. Joni felt certain there would be some kind of noise. This was her Daddy, after all. But there wasn’t. He just left. No, he didn’t need a stone. But he had one. Her Mom insisted on it. He wasn’t just any vampire, he was her husband, and he deserved some kind of acknowledgement. As she walked closer to the part of the grounds that she dreaded, a fog seemed to roll in. It enveloped the whole graveyard, and made it difficult to see. Joni squinted to see through it, and what she saw made her blood boil. Someone was there. She felt like screaming. But something stopped her. There was something familiar about the man bent over her Daddy’s stone. The man that knelt there was lean and angular. Even under the ankle-length duster he wore to protect him from the early November chill, she could see he was lithe like a dancer. But what made her heart skip a beat, was the white hair that cut through the blinding fog. It was like something out of a dream. Or, maybe it was a nightmare, like something from her childhood. Before she was conscious of it, her feet were carrying her toward the thing that couldn’t be. The sound of her heartbeat rushed in her ears. It kept perfect time with her footsteps and the word was out of her mouth before she could stop it, “Daddy!” Joni held her breath as the man turned toward the sound of her voice, and she was shocked to see her Daddy’s blue eyes meet hers. It was her Daddy. It was. And he was so real. Then she blinked, and the magic ended. And it was Homer standing there taking care of her Daddy, just like he promised. “Joni?” Homer asked, “What are you doing here this time of night?” She lightly fingered the stake in her pocket as she watched the older man stand with difficulty. He stretched his muscles slowly, wincing as they protested, sending pain in response to his commands. Joni smiled. Sometimes when she was a little girl she would play pretend and imagine what her Daddy would have looked like if he were allowed to grow old. And Homer looked just like that. Joni could hear his bones creaking as he stood and she knew why she was here. She was here to protect men like him from evil things because he couldn’t protect himself. She shrugged in answer to his question, “Habit?” There was something in the way he smiled that sang through her blood, “You don’t sound very convinced, little one.” “Well I…” she stopped speaking when she saw him grimace in pain, and her heart seized. The empty feeling kept her still even though every nerve in her screamed at her to help him, “Are you all right?” she asked. “Yes,” he assured her, “It’s just these old bones. Sometimes I feel older than I look. Is everything all right with you?” he glanced at the green patch in front of them. It had been solid green for weeks, and he was concerned. The marigolds had stopped. And he missed them, very much. “Is your mother well?” She lowered her head, “No. She hasn’t been the same since…” she turned her eyes slowly to the stone. Homer nodded, “I understand. When my Elisabeth left,” he mused, “I was never the same again. It was like all the light went out of my world and I knew I’d spent the rest of my days in shadow.” “It’s like that for my Mom, too. It’s like she’s living in a constant eclipse,” she looked at Homer with a questioning face, “Have you ever seen an eclipse?” He smiled a sad smile, “Yes. I’ve seen a few.” “Well, for her, it’s like that. All the light’s gone,” Joni stifled a sob, “I don’t even think she remembers how to breathe. She’s so lost, and my Daddy wouldn’t want that for her. I know he wouldn’t. How do I help her?” The plea in her eyes made him want to scream. But he had made a promise, “Tell me,” he said. ***************************** DECEMBER 2, 2027-NEW ENGLAND He’d brought them here so that she could see the colors. When she had her sight back, the first thing he wanted her to see was the color of the change of seasons. And she did. She saw brilliant oranges, fiery reds, blazing gold, cool greens and soothing white. She saw everything with new eyes. Maybe that was because of the joy he took in watching her live again. Everything he did made her feel more alive, like she couldn’t breathe without him. And now the light was dimming. Slowly, slowly down to dark. Now her world was greying out. The grey light of morning was slipping through the window, but Buffy didn’t notice. She knew that these were her final hours with him. She didn’t know how she knew but she did. She also knew that the Slayers owed their very lives to him. Again. In the history books, the name William Alistair Dustin would go down with the likes of Jonas Salk. “Lace” had been eradicated due to the vaccine he’d developed. William the Bloody had, in the end, saved more Slayers than he ever killed. Buffy cursed herself a thousand times for not listening to the Shadow Men all those years ago. If she had, then maybe Spike wouldn’t be lying in that room now, in so much pain it physically hurt her to watch him struggle. And he wouldn’t be struggling now, if it hadn’t been for her brilliant stratagem. An army of Slayers; what a brilliant idea that was. If only she’d known. She would have saved him so much pain. Spike always told her that she had a bit of a demon in her. He said that was what made her a good Slayer. And now thanks to him it was true. Thanks to Spike, all of the Slayers had a bit of a demon in them. The demon was the key to the virus. It was what kept her alive. And in return, she was killing him. He once told her she was a little bit in love with death. He’d recognized it before she did because he was too. Joni watched her mother shiver in the grey light that seeped through the haze of death that hung over the house. Daddy and she had tried so hard to make this a place of life and color. And they had. As she went through the photographs of her mind’s eye, everything was saturated with such vibrant color. The life and laughter that she grew up with was so bright that the world outside paled in comparison. Her Daddy had done his best to make a world for her. A world full of the things he couldn’t have. And now she wondered what would happen to that world once he left. Would it be dimmer, somehow? This house already was. Joni slipped silently in beside her mother, and took her hand. Joni wasn’t even sure she had noticed. Her eyes never left the grey mist of fog that seemed to hang over the house now. She just stared out into space, her voice was stilted and raw, “He wanted you to have everything, Joni. He wanted you to have the best.” “I did Mom,” she said in a hushed tone, “I had the best. I still do. I have the best, Mom. I have you,” her eyes bobbed on a sea of unshed tears, her Daddy wouldn’t want her tears, “And I still have Daddy.” Joni could see the pain in her eyes as Buffy looked at her, “He was right, Joni. They all go by so fast, and it’s really not enough.” “What isn’t, Mom?” “The years. It’s not enough. We’ve been married a little longer than you’ve been alive Joni,” Buffy heaved a heavy sigh as tears rolled down her face, “Nearly twenty-three years, and it still isn’t enough. “Twenty-three years,” she shook her head in a wash of memories, “and in love much longer than that,” she slowly wiped the tears away, “Although you’d never know it from the way I treated him,” her eyes sparkled with a far away light, “I think I loved him the minute I s-saw him.” “Daddy’s still here, Mom. You can still tell him,” she nodded toward his sickroom, “Daddy still loves you,” she choked back a sob, “Tell him, Mommy. Give him a reason. Please, he needs it!” Her eyes widened with fright, “No Joni, I can’t go in there!” Buffy’s breath came in strangled gasps, “I can’t watch. Oh, God,” she gulped, “I can feel it. But, I can’t watch.” Joni tried to keep the anger she felt in check. She had to remember that her Mom loved him too. This was just as hard, maybe harder for her Mom than it was for her, “But Mom, when you were sick, Daddy never left you. I was little, but I remember. He never left your side. He never left you alone.” “I know,” Buffy sniffed, “I remember. But,” she could no longer hold the sob back, “your Father’s always been stronger than me.” Her Mother’s weakness hurt Jonina in a place she didn’t know could hurt, “I understand, Mommy,” she lied, “I’ll go,” she said as she slipped into his room to say goodbye. ********************** OCTOBER 17, 2005 Angel opened his eyes and everything hurt. To the people in the hospital, the confrontation in the stairwell may have looked like nothing more than a heated argument. The pain in Angel’s body however, said that it was something more. Spike was giving him a warning. He loved that child. And he loved Buffy. He was putting Angel on notice. Nothing, not even the fires of Hell, would keep him from protecting the people he chose to think of as his family. Because of that, people were going to die. ******************* Spike was still trying to shake off the feeling of disgust that shrouded him after his encounter with Angel when he entered the Jennings Street complex. It didn’t take long for his senses to tell him that something was wrong. They screamed at him as he raced to find Buffy, calling her name as he navigated swiftly through the twists and turns. When he got to the point his heart led him to, he dropped to his knees in horror. Buffy was unconscious on the floor, the telephone receiver three feet away. His mind raced. The first thought that flashed across his mind was Joyce. He’d known that Joyce had died quickly, of a brain aneurysm. She had died, and no amount of speed could have saved her. If it had been anyone but Buffy lying there, his vampire senses would have picked up the steady pulse. But Spike’s brain had gone into sensory overload. He took in the paleness of her face, and his world narrowed to the tiny rhythmic movement of the skin of her neck. The blood rushed up and back again to make its presence known, and he sighed with relief. He didn’t sense any other injuries. She’d fainted. When she moaned, he grabbed her up and held her tight, touching her face lightly as he sighed, “Oh bloody Hell, Love, if I weren’t already, oh God, you make a bloke’s heart stop, you do, what with the tricks you pull!” **************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM-HOME OFFICE Holland took a deep breath. With a risk as big as this one was, failure was a possibility. He just hated broaching the subject with the Senior Partners. He addressed the sea of charcoal suits, “Well gentlemen, it seems our carefully laid apocalypse, the one we’ve been working for eons to accomplish may have been scuttled by one little girl. It’s unfortunate. It may be time to bring out ‘Plan B.’ It is a touch more heavy-handed, but it gets the job done.”

Chapter #11 - Thirty-One

Spike handed Buffy the glass of water. He let out a sigh of relief as the color returned to her face. He brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, and a look of concern crossed his face as he sat near the edge of the bed, “Sip that slowly.” Much as she loved being pampered and fawned over, she hated the look of worry in his eyes even more, “Spike, I’m fine,” she assured him, noticing the tremble in his hands as she held them, “I just didn’t have much of a breakfast,” when Spike’s eyes flashed in protest, she added sheepishly, “You know me, Spike,” she reached up to touch his cheek and smiled as he leaned into her touch, “I’m all about Hell gods and apocalypses,” she smiled coyly, ducking his gaze, “My day isn’t complete without a ‘Big Bad.’ But, I’ve been so worried about Jonina that I forgot to eat. Then Giles called, and everything crashed,” Buffy hated seeing that face grow more and more shadowed by the day. More and more like Angel’s. She shook her head, “It won’t happen again, I promise.” Spike nodded, looking deep into her eyes, “Bloody right it won’t. I’m making sure of that. We’re going back to hospital and letting the docs give you the once-over,” he put his finger to her lips when her eyes widened in protest and she took a breath to speak, “No arguments, Slayer. I’m deaf to them anyway, won’t help,” he took his finger away from her lips, and smiled when she brushed a kiss against the tip of his finger as he pulled it away, “ Then, once the doctors have had their say, I ‘m gonna have mine. I was going to be a doctor, you know.” “No!” Buffy yelped in surprise, “Really?” “Yes. And I have one prescription for you, Buffy. ‘Eat!’” ********************************************** As he waited outside the emergency room for the doctors to examine Buffy, Spike knew he was being overly cautious, but he didn’t care. If he didn’t stay ahead of this thing, all the horrors that Pavaine had subjected him to would be more than a psychotic’s parlor trick. They would be real. He remembered it all perfectly. The sights, the smell and the sound of it; he remembered it, still. As if he could ever forget. Pavaine was right. The soul that blessed him damned him to suffer. Even without it, its echo still rang through him. The things he’d seen would be his constant companions. Fred once asked him where he went when he vanished from sight as a ghost. He never did tell her the complete truth of what he’d seen. In their reality, he would disappear for minutes, maybe hours at a time, but for him it was days, even years, at a time. There were times that he wondered if he’d ever come back. And now, it seemed as if the point at which he vanished was fast leaving the realm of nightmare and becoming reality. He still remembered the little girl. She was such a sweet little thing, and so trusting. Now his Heaven and his Hell were starting to merge. For upstairs, in that little glass bassinet, that same little girl was fighting for every scrap of life the world could give her. ********************************* OCTOBER 8, 2003 Only a moment ago he was standing in a laboratory, surrounded by faces he didn’t know, save for Angelus, and his was not a face he considered friendly in the least. Especially after what he did to Buffy, abandoning her to face the Hellmouth without his help. He loved her? Huh. Yeah, right. Now he was here, in what looked to be a child’s room, if the disgusting amount of plush toys was any indication. The room was darkened, but he could make out the painting on the wall. Bands of yellow, green, and, was that orange, stretched across a span of blue. He knew this. That was a rainbow. A child’s room; he was in a child’s room. A little girl’s from the looks of it. But what was he doing here? There was a tiny gasp from behind him. He whirled and met the wide brown eyes of a little girl. She squinted at him, and then looked at the closed window that held the moonlight out. Her large doe eyes slowly came back to his, and she clutched her tattered, floppy-eared rabbit a little tighter and moved him more toward the center of her body. She was using the toy as a shield, and her eyes were tearing up. She was frightened of him. Something deep in him found that notion detestable. Something in him did not want this little girl to be frightened of him, ever. He tried to swallow the screaming fear he felt and gave her a little smile. He noticed the bird shaped birthmark on her left cheek as she took a timid step toward him, “Why are you here?” she asked. “I’ve been wondering that myself, Dove,” he said softly. The little voice was more confident now, “My Daddy calls me that.” “Does he now?” She nodded. “I see. Well, I can’t take your Daddy’s name for you away from him, now can I? I’ll just have to call you something else,” he went down on one knee, “What’s your name, Princess?” She hid her eyes behind the fur of her stuffed toy, “Joni,” she said shyly. “What a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty little girl.” “Pretty?” Her eyes were so open and trusting, and her face was round and plump. She had perfect apple cheeks that were a complement to the ruddiness of her skin. Her hair was a mixture of light and dark. The natural lights of the honey strands were offset by the dark of cinnamon. The light from the window played in her hair, making her a strikingly beautiful girl, “I think so. How old are you, Joni?” Her little chin jutted out in pride, “I’m five.” “Well, aren’t you a big girl,” he looked softly up at her and pointed to the rabbit held tightly to her chest, “Does your bunny have a name?” “Yes,” she whispered, “I named him after the Prince in my dreams. He saves the Princess.” Spike smiled at that, “Well if he didn’t he wouldn’t be much of a Prince, would he? What is his name?” There was the light of recognition in her eyes as she stepped forward again. Her eyes held a sad acceptance of him, “Will you save my Mommy, please? She’s sick. My Daddy’s sad all the time.” His heart clenched. He was about to lie to this trusting little face. He didn’t know where he was or if he’d be back, but the pain on her face was more than he could bear, “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for her. But, if you tell me the rabbit’s name, I’ll come back whenever you need me, all right?” “His name is Spike,” she said, “I named him after you.” ***************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM Joyce knew he would be angry. But, he had to have a reason to stay. He’d given up everything for Buffy, and she appreciated his need to rest; to let it be over. She understood that. According to their timeline only nineteen days had passed. For him, though, the time had gone by so much slower. Where he was, where she’d pulled him from a thousand years could pass there before a day was ended. Joyce knew he’d fight for her. So, she gently guided him to her. Then, she would let the father and daughter bond do the rest. Joni would have to keep him alive until he could pay her back for her kindness. **************************** Spike’s Hell wasn’t the fire and brimstone type. Oh, he’d been there, sure enough. He’d even felt the flames liking his skin. He felt himself melting away. That he could take. What he couldn’t stand was knowing that both his girls were compromised. The only thing that gave him any peace was making sure Buffy was taken care of. With that in mind, he placed a plate full of food in front of her as they sat in the hospital’s cafeteria. Buffy looked across the table at his expectant eyes, then down at the plate, which she was sure was full of perfectly good food, but the food looked like a pile of unappetizing sludge to her, “Spike,” she begged, “please don’t make me eat this. I can’t,” she grimaced as she pushed the food around her plate, “Can’t I just go home?” “Nope. Not until you get at least some of that into your system. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too. Jonina needs her Mummy.” “She needs her Daddy too,” Buffy sighed, looking into his drawn face, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” He smirked at her, “Ah, but I’ve got a strong constitution, Love. You know that. This isn’t about me. You’re the one who’s important here,” he pushed the plate further toward her, “Eat.” Buffy grimaced again as she shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy into her mouth, “Happy?” Blue eyes rolled skyward as he grinned, “Blissfully.” ******************************************* Ever since the battle with the Circle of Black Thorn, Holland was Angel’s constant companion, someone he couldn’t get rid of; like Angelus. Holland kept popping up to remind him what kind of a failure he was. It ate at him and wore him down, like it was doing now. It was bad enough that he was still nursing the bruises that had started appearing on his skin after the confrontation in the hospital’s stairwell. Now he had to deal with this as well, “What do you want, Holland?” The grey haired man shrugged, and then winced at the unsightly purple around Angel’s neck, “Does that hurt? It certainly looks like it does. But then, you can’t see it can you?” he shook his head, “I really would hate to be on the receiving end of Spike’s wrath. Imagine what he could do to you if he really tried.” “Spike can use me as his personal punching bag if he wants. The alternative is not something I want to think about. I’ll ask you again. What are you doing here?” “Just here to make sure our champion is still on track.” “Spike will be fine,” Angel said bitterly. Holland nodded, “Yes. I’d say we’re right on track.” *******************************

Chapter #12 - Thirty-Two

“Spike,” Buffy protested weakly, “I’m the Slayer, remember? I can go without sleep and still be up for an apocalypse. This is just silly. Jonina needs me.” “Yes, she does need you. And she needs you healthy. Not many Slayers are lucky enough to have children.” Buffy dropped her eyes. She didn’t want to see the concern that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his eyes, “You mean most don’t live that long.” Buffy heard the stress for her come out in his voice, “Please, do this for me. You sleep, Love. Just sleep. You need it. I don’t ask much, Buffy. Do this for me? Sleep. I’ll take care of everything else.” ********************************* He listened to the steady hush of her breath as she slept. Hearing it gave him the peace he needed. The peace he hadn’t really had since a little girl’s grief pulled him through space and time to comfort her. At the time, he wasn’t sure of anything. He’d accepted his fate. He’d jumped into oblivion with a sneer. He wanted to see how it all would end. Thanks to a little girl, he did. And he would do whatever he had to do, to change it. ******************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM Joyce knew that there would come a time when she’d have to pay for meddling with his fate. But if she didn’t Buffy would be lost. Joyce had been with her in the Hellmouth. She was with her the second she realized her love. She was with her when she cried at night as her heart bled for him. It bled, and Joyce knew that if the bleeding wasn’t staunched, her little girl, and her future would die and the world would be left without a protector. Joyce couldn’t allow that to happen. As she watched things unfold, she saw her opportunity. True, she may pay for this later. But, as Spike was sure to find out soon enough, there were worse things than Hell. ****************************************** MAY 21, 2003- 6:45 A.M.-SUNNYDALE CRATER Watching her sister dig in the sand and debris was heartbreaking. The wind was still, and Dawn wished it would gust because if the wind were roaring in her ears, she wouldn’t be able to hear Buffy sobbing. Maybe if she couldn’t hear her, it wouldn’t be true. Maybe then, Spike wouldn’t be dust. Dawn didn’t know what to think. She knew that Buffy’s hope was fading as the sun crept brightly over the horizon. Dawn knew that she would never hate her name more than she did now. It was awful, “Buffy, please climb out of there,” Dawn saw the sun slowly coming over the horizon and heard her sister’s desperate pleas for the one she lost; the one she thought of as a brother, and who died thinking she didn’t love him. Dawn felt the tears coursing down her face as she looked at the lightening sky, and silently asked for his forgiveness, “Buffy, the sun is coming up. He’s gone.” “He can’t be, Dawnie,” Buffy sobbed as she kept digging. She looked at Dawn with eyes wide, in desperation, “You didn’t see him climb out, did you?” Dawn shook her head, “No.” she whispered. But, Buffy hadn’t heard. A glint of light had caught her attention. She reached for it and found the amulet that Spike wore around his neck; it’s gaudiness glaring happily at her from under the sand. That was all that was left. Suddenly the horror struck her. He was gone. And in her frenzy, she had disturbed his resting place. She picked up the jewelry that at once became her most precious possession, and put it lovingly close to her heart, making sure he was safe before she started her climb out of the pit. In death she finally acknowledged the place where he’d been for longer than she’d ever expected. Maybe from the very beginning, “I’m sorry Spike,” she whispered, as she prepared to start the life that he had died to give her. She reached the rim of the crater just as the sun came up full in the sky. She looked at her friend’s shocked faces and handed the amulet to Giles with shaking hands. Her throat was raw as the words came, “Giles, Spike is gone,” she choked on the grief looking at her friends, who just hours ago seemed to have forgotten him, “Are you happy now? Are any of you?” Buffy took one last look at the amulet in Giles’s hand, “Giles,” she said as she watched the sun glint off the glass he held in his hand, “That is a murder weapon. When we get to were we’re going, send that thing back to his murderer.” ************************** OCTOBER 15, 2003 Spike listened to the little girl sobbing, and wished he could hold her, “Joni, I know it hurts. But sometimes Mummies get sick. That happens,” he shook his head, sadly watching her little chin quiver, “Oh Sweetling, don’t cry. Please?” He saw the longing in her eyes. She wanted to run to him and have him hold her. And he wanted to hold her. More than anything else in the world, more than he wanted to see Buffy again, he wanted to hold this little girl. He wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be all right. He wanted to make things right for her. She seemed to read his mind, “But, you can save Mommy,” she sniffed, wiping the tears away with the back of her little hand, “You can. The Prince always saves the Princess.” “I know, Dove. But…” “My Daddy calls me that,” Joni interrupted. Spike berated himself. He didn’t want to break her trust. He didn’t know why he was here, but as long as he was, he didn’t want to cause her any hurt, “ I know. I’m sorry.” Joni turned to face her closed door and held her rabbit tightly as she mumbled, “My Daddy’s with Mommy. He always is.” “I’m sure he is,” Spike said. Her voice was so small that Spike could barely hear it, “But he forgot me.” Spike shook his head, his voice gruff with denial, “No, Joni. Don’t you think that. I’m not a Daddy, but I know that Daddy’s don’t forget their little ones.” Joni turned to face him, “Daddy?” she asked in awe. “No Sweetling,” he said, as his heart broke for her. “Yes,” she insisted, “I know you. You’re here to save my Mommy. You look funny. But, you’re my Daddy too.” Spike tilted his head in thought, “What’s your Mummy’s name?” “Mommy.” He smiled at that, “Of course it is, that was silly of me. What does your Daddy call Mummy?” Joni’s face scrunched in thought, “He calls her Buffy when he thinks I’m asleep.” His eyes twinkled, “What’s your last name, Sweetling?” “Dustin.” Reality hit him, and he turned toward the little girl’s door, dreading what lie behind it, “Oh, God,” he gasped, “Buffy…” ************

Chapter #13 - Thirty-three

Author's Note: Might be helpful to reread previous chapters after reading this. Also remember that the "Interregnum" is timeless. Everything happens at once there. *************** As he watched her sleep, Spike shook off the ghosts of his past. He watched as her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and her face was in peaceful repose. Now, she looked like the angel she was. He would do whatever he needed to do to keep her safe and protected. Anything, including learn from his past. He wasn’t sure how it was happening, but somehow, something or someone was giving him a chance to save Buffy again. And he would be a fool not to take it. ******************* OCTOBER 15, 2003 It wasn’t until she spoke again that Spike realized that he wasn’t alone. “Daddy?” Her sweet little voice brought him out of one horror and sent him spiraling down into another. He turned to her, and for the first time in decades he was glad he was dead. The weight of worlds was on that little face. She trusted him. God help him, she trusted him. He would do whatever he needed to do to be worthy of that trust. He knelt down in front of her again, “Sweetling,” he said softly, “where is your Mummy?” “Don’t you know?” she tilted her head in a familiar way. “No. Baby, I wish I did. I want to help. You know that, right?” Little fingers twitched as they reached out to him, “What happened to you, Daddy?” she whispered, her fingers inching closer to his face. Suddenly her breath caught, “What happened to you, Daddy? Your face…?” This was just another torture the Fates had concocted for him wasn’t it? It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t rest. They couldn’t just leave him between Heaven and Hell, able to see, hear and feel every emotion imaginable, but still unable to touch or feel anything; they had to make sure he scared the one person who somehow kept him tethered to Buffy. His demon had obviously surfaced, and due to his ghostly existence, he was unaware of it. He just couldn’t take hearing another little girl screaming in terror at the sight of what he’d become. There were already too many to count. His soul would break if hers were a voice added to his private symphony of terror. He closed his eyes, waiting; bracing himself for the scream he knew would come. He waited. It would come. They always did. He’d been a beautiful demon. He’d prided himself on the fact that he could charm the smallest of them, his victims, into trusting him. Then, just before the kill, he’d make the wail in fright. It was so good then. The terror made their blood run hot in his throat, made their blood sweeter than honey. It was good then. But it wasn’t now. So, he waited. And he waited. But, it never came. “Daddy,” that sweet little voice was a miracle to him. She wasn’t scared of him at all. And, as he looked into her eyes, they seemed older then her five years. It was as if she knew all that he’d been through. Her eyes told him that she would be with him to help him through things he had yet to see. She seemed to have seen too much for as small as she was. She’d been through things and she would help him see where he had to be. “I want to know what happened to you,” she nodded toward the world outside her bedroom door, “He won’t tell me.” He smirked at that. If her Daddy was who he thought he was, there was no doubt in his mind that he was tight-lipped about who, and what, he was, “I’m sure he has his reasons, Sweetling. As for me, there is too much to tell,” he smiled wearily as he watched her rub her eyes with her tiny fists, “And you, little girl, are much too tired. Go to sleep now, and Spike will take care of everything.” Her lips pouted, “But I’m not tired. My Daddy never tells me what happened. I’ve seen you before. I know you. Tell me.” “You’re too young to see the things I’ve been through, Princess. Too young to know what I am, what I’ve done.” “But I have. My Daddy doesn’t like it when I tell him the things I see in my dreams,” she lowered her eyes, “I think I scare him. I think he’s afraid I’ll get sick,” she raised her eyes again, and Spike could see the wave of tears in them, “like Mommy.” “I’m sure your Daddy loves you very much.” “I know you do,” she said. Spike lowered his head, overcome with emotion, “I do,” he confessed, unable to deny any longer what his heart knew, “I’ll take care of you. Now go to sleep, Joni. I’ll watch over you.” He followed slowly after her, as she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, “Promise?” she asked as she held her toy rabbit close. He fought the lump in his throat as his fingers ached to pull the wisps of hair behind her ear, and his lips longed to kiss her monsters away for her, “I promise.” ******************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- “This isn’t just about Jonina. It can’t be. One little girl cannot cause a dimension this much chaos,” Spike said as he paced waiting for his meeting with the Higher Ups, “There has to be more to it,” he bit his lip, “If I could just suss this out, it would make sense. I just haven’t got all the pieces yet.” Joyce nodded, “You’re right. This is about more than Joni. So much more than that little girl, that’s why I had to keep you alive. You’re too important to leave Joni now,” she lowered her eyes, not wanting to see the concern and the determination to do what she knew would break even him, all for her sake, in his eyes once he saw how and where he fit in the scheme of things, “I’d go to Hell because I know that you are the one to save Joni.” His eyes blazed at her, “They’re not thinking she’s responsible for this,” he hissed, “Are they?” “The balance that Willow changed has to be restored. Joni put things into further chaos,” Joyce saw Spike’s eyes flare and his jaw twitch as he fought the wave of fury, “And she’s not the only one,” she said softly, “I had a hand in this too.” Spike gasped in horror, “No Joyce you didn’t.” She nodded, “I did.” “I want that meeting you promised,” he said, “Now.” ***************************************

Chapter #14 - Thirty-Four

SEPTEMBER 18, 2027- Willow left the room with a heavy heart. He’d begged her not to tell them. He’d said it was enough that Buffy and Joni had suffered so much when Buffy was infected. Spike said he didn’t want them to suffer any longer because of him. Spike had begged her to downplay the effect “Cassandra’s Lace” was having on him, if for no other reason but to honor his love for his wife and child. Spike was playing dirty pool. Willow knew it, and so did Spike. Willow owed him a debt she knew she could never repay, and Spike knew that, and now her debt had come due. This was dirty pool. It was true. She owed him. But she owed Buffy too and it wasn’t fair to keep this from Buffy. The conflict within her made her heart heavy as she gave the girls the news. She’d respected his wishes for months, even though the look in Buffy’s eyes told Willow that she knew what was happening, without being told. For months, she stayed mum. But she couldn’t stay quiet anymore. Buffy heard the door open, and was in front of Willow before she got the door closed again, “Willow, how is he?” She was frantic, as the images of Spike collapsing from exhaustion at her feet, flashed through her mind. Willow took a deep breath. She was exhausted from the strain of trying to reach Spike, as she had once done with Buffy, through the illness and pain, “Buffy, it’s all through him now,” she blinked away the tears, “The pain Buffy, you know it.” “Yes,” she whispered, “I remember.” Willow looked back at the door behind her, and thought of the strong hero lying behind it, “Well, you know what happened to the Slayers, and how fast it happened, before Spike developed the vaccine,” she hid her eyes from Buffy. She didn’t want to tell her, not only because of her promise to Spike but for selfish reasons as well. She didn’t want to cause Buffy any more pain, and deep down, Willow knew that Spike’s illness, and Buffy’s and Jonina’s pain, was on her head, “And he’s been fighting for a long time. He didn’t want to tell you how much this thing had really wore him down.” “But why Willow? Why would he keep this from me?” “Buffy, think about it. You had just started to recover. You were getting better, and he was so happy. He didn’t want to burden you with what he’d done to help get you back.” “But I should have known,” Buffy was only now beginning to feel the pain Spike had been shielding her from. Now that he was unconscious, there was no way to keep it from her, “Willow, we’re connected,” Buffy felt her throat tighten and she could barely speak the words, “Now more then ever. I should have known. I should have felt it. How could it be this bad and I didn’t know?” “Because he didn’t want you to know. He can be very stubborn,” Willow looked at her friend’s grief-stricken face, and pulled her into a hug, “If he wasn’t, I’m almost sure I’d be talking to him right now, and you would be lying in that room dying…” “Dying?” Buffy gasped as she pulled away from Willow’s embrace, “He’s dying?” she shook her head in fierce denial of what she already knew was the truth, “But he can’t be. Not him Willow. No, he’s just tired. No,” she looked at Willow with hope shining in her eyes, “You’re wrong, Willow. In a few days, he’ll be fine. He just works too hard.” Willow hated seeing the hope slowly draining out of Buffy’s eyes, “No, Buffy, Spike won’t be fine. He saw what ‘Lace’ was doing to you, and to Kennedy, and Faith. He knew what it could do to him, and he still made the choice. Buffy, he didn’t do this for you.” The look of hate that passed over Buffy’s face almost made Willow wince, but she continued, even though the tide of emotion she felt when she’d connected with Spike’s mind, made her breathless, “He did this because he couldn’t watch you die again,” the press of his emotions was overwhelming. Willow had seen what Spike had gone through that horrible night. She had seen, and heard, the torrent of grief as it poured out of him. And now she’d been witness to the feelings, as if they were her own, as well. Willow was surprised when the sadness she felt was only able to manifest through the solitary tear she felt sliding down the ride side of her face. With the force of what she felt from Spike, nothing else but gut-wrenching sobs would do it justice, “Believe me, Buffy. I was there, before, and I know what it did to him,” she pulled Buffy into another embrace, “He wouldn’t have been able to go on if it happened again.” Joni’s sobs were heard in the quiet room then, “Then if he doesn’t want to hurt us, how could he let himself get that sick? Why doesn’t he fight?” It took all of Buffy’s composure not to slap her daughter’s mouth. She walked up to Joni, and in a controlled rage, spat out, “Jonina Irene Dustin, because I know how much you love your father, and I know you’re hurt, I will let that go. You are never to even suggest that your father is weak, in any way, again. Do you understand me? You don’t remember what happened to you when you were a baby. I hope you never do. But I will not have you deny him this. He will be spoken of as a hero, from this point on, and only a hero. Is that clear?” Joni bowed her head in shame, “Yes, Mommy.” ********************************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- “You are an insolent child.” He couldn’t help it; the chuckle was out of his throat before he could stop it. They may be all knowing, but that statement proved that the Higher Ups were slow on the uptake as well. He now knew why they’d backed his Grandsire for a hundred years, “Where you been for the last century?” he growled, “This isn’t exactly news to anyone who even took a passing interest in what was going on down there! Yeah, I’m stubborn. And, I’m rude, and a few other things that would cause your angelic ears to burn,” he looked over his shoulder at Joyce, who despite her best efforts to hide it, was smiling. He took that as the encouragement he needed, “And let’s call a spade a spade, you need someone who won’t give up.” “But child, what you ask, it goes against the natural flow of things. It just simply is not done.” Spike smirked, “Now you’re getting it. I’m bad. I’m rude,” his eyebrow quirked in defiance, “And, stubborn as Hell,” he looked back at the three women he loved most in the world, “And I will not have anyone I love, especially not Buffy or her Mum, subjected to that sort of punishment simply for doing what it is that Mums do best. I will not have either of them punished for simply loving a child, and wanting to protect that child.” “You would not?” the spirit inquired. He stood firm in his answer, and nodded, “I would not.” “You speak of love,” the spirit continued, “yet there is no reason for you to speak in this manner. The other spoke of love as well. The one you’ve raised, she has torn countless dimensions with her love. Is this the kind of love you speak of, vampire?” It had been eons since Spike had been reminded of what he was. And the reminder stung him. His mouth had gone dry in fear for her, “No,” he choked, “what Joni did wasn’t love. That was an act of desperation,” he looked back at Joni and Buffy as they held each other, “I know what it means to be that desperate. I don’t blame her.” “You would have her endure the punishment, then?” the spirit asked. The horror of what they were asking made Spike want to grimace. The forces that controlled existence on that plane had definitely been out of the game too long. Their little girl was not going through that. Not if he could help it, "Are you daft?" his voice rumbled in a barely contained rage, "You must be, or you wouldn't ask that." "Child," the spirit's voice was calm, even as the atmosphere was in tumult, "Entropy has been fractured. How do you propose it be mended?" "Not this way!" he hissed. The spirit was infinitely patient, " She sought to subvert the natural order. That cannot be tolerated. Something must be done." "If you have to punish someone," he looked longingly at Buffy and Jonina as they huddled together trying to be brave. Spike's chin lifted in defiance, "Punish me. I'm the one who left her alone. I'm the one that drove her to it." "Daddy, no!" Jonina gasped. Spike continued, as if he hadn't heard her gentle sobbing. If he allowed himself to be distracted, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to go through with this, "Because of my mistake, it's coming ahead of your precious timeline. Because of my weakness," he looked at Buffy's suffering eyes, "A child will lose her mother before she's ready. And I will lose something dearer to me than my own...anything!" he fell to his knees, "I'm begging," his voice was gruff and Buffy could hear the tears in it, "The world needs her. Let Jonina go. Please?" In the emptiness of time, the spirit contemplated the odd child, bent in supplication, "We shall do as you request, child." Spike bowed his head and his shoulders slumped in relief, and defeat, "Thank you," he sighed. **************************** He left her to sleep. There was no point in disturbing her. The only thing that would give him any peace now was seeing her. As he drove to the hospital, he wondered if he was placing too much of a burden on that fragile little soul. How many other little girls were their parent’s sole reason for being? He knew he was being unfair to her, but he had never loved anything, Buffy included, as much as he loved her. Jonina was the first thing he’d touched in ten decades that wasn’t tainted, in some way, by death. Somehow she awakened something in him that he thought was lost. She awakened the part of himself that he had buried when he rescued Buffy from Drusilla. She was his soul. Together with Buffy, she made him live and breathe again. And that made her precious to him. As he watched her sleep, he contemplated how his past and his future were on a collision course, and he touched the glass of her isolet reverently, “You don’t know what I’ve been through, to be your Daddy. But some day, Jonina, I hope you know how much I love you,” he tilted his head as he took her in, “And I hope some day you’re proud of me.” ******************* As Angel lurked in the shadows, watching Spike bound with that child, he only hoped that, one day, he would be forgiven for what he was going to do.

Chapter #15 - Thirty-Five

NOVEMBER 10, 2028- NEW HOPE CEMETERY- NEW ENGLAND As the images of her mother’s grief flashed through her brain, the feelings Joni thought she was dealing with so well came up from where she buried them. She didn’t think she’d missed her Daddy this much. With her Mom in the hospital, crushed under the weight of her grief, Joni had to be strong. Someone had to take care of the boogiemen. Someone had to protect people like Homer from the things he couldn’t know about, so she pushed the grief down under her heart, where it didn’t hurt as much, and went on. And now, an old man’s request made her realize just how much she missed her Daddy. She missed him, and for the first time in months, she felt it. And she cried. Homer let out a sigh of relief when he heard the sob in the little girl’s throat, “That’s it, Jonina. Let it out,” he whispered, as he moved closer to her, “Let it all out.” Joni suddenly realized what she had done. She’d broken a promise and given a stranger something that was private. Something that was the only thing she had left to give her Daddy. All she had left to give him was her tears, and now she didn’t even have that because she’d just given her most precious thing to a total stranger. And that made her angry. She wiped the tears away from her face furiously, “I wasn’t supposed to do that,” she croaked. The emptiness in her voice nearly broke him, “Why not?” Homer asked. Looking at the kindly old man’s face only made the betrayal of her father sting Joni more, “Because my tears belong only to my Daddy. You can’t have them,” she sniffed. As she looked into his smoke-blue eyes, she suffered even more. Ever since her father had died, every pair of eyes she looked into looked like his somehow. “I’m not taking anything from you, Sweetheart. I’m trying to help you.” The quizzical tilt of his head as he looked at her made the tears start flowing again. Why did this stranger have to remind her so much of what she knew her Daddy could never have? “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. I just realized now how much I missed him. There’s so much I would do differently, if I had the chance.” Homer nodded as his attention was drawn back to the tombstone in front of them, “I know the feeling. I know it well. It sounds to me, as if your father was very loved. And I’m sure, if he could, he would tell you he loves you.” Joni felt a pain in her throat as she said, “You mean loved. He’s dead.” The gardener’s breath caught as if she’d struck him. Joni looked and saw pain flash in the old man’s eyes, “No,” he said slowly, “I mean loves. Don’t you know love is eternal?” Joni let out a sigh and whispered, “My Daddy was too. Once.” “What was that, Sweetheart?” he asked as he eyed the stone intently. “Nothing,” Joni mumbled. His eyes seemed to twinkle in the darkness as he stood next to her. Joni didn’t know why, but it made talking to him more comfortable. The next words out of Homer’s mouth made her heart skip a beat. He made her feel like her Daddy was close enough to touch. It sounded so much like him that she almost giggled, “Let’s play a game,” he said. “What?” she nearly laughed. Homer smiled, “Humor an old man, would you,” he tapped his temple with his left index finger, “This is a thinking game. Maybe it’ll get your mind off the grief for a little while.” “Okay,” Joni smiled despite herself, “I’ll play.” “Good,” he smiled, “Have you ever felt déjà vu? Like you’ve done something before, but you knew you had not?” “Yeah. It happens all the time.” “Yes,” he smiled, “it does. It happens to me too. More as I get older, for some reason. Do you believe in an afterlife? Perhaps a deity of some sort?” Joni had to think about that one. With all the things she’d seen, and with what she knew about her Mom and Daddy, she knew that there were so many unexplained things in the universe that they all just couldn’t be random. There had to be a reason for all of it. Plus, she remembered the stories that her Mom used to tell her, about Heaven, when she was a little girl. Her Mom believed. So, why shouldn’t she? “Yes, I do,” she said. Homer’s eyes twinkled like stars in the dark of the cemetery, “Well,” he asked, almost conspiratorially, “what if, when all was said and done, someone you loved or someone who loves you, were given the chance to fix things that they’d done wrong? You said yourself that you would do thing over, do them differently, if you could. What if your father got the chance to do things over?” The gardener’s eyes seemed to glow brighter as he asked her this. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to Joni that her new friend was trying to convince her it could be possible, “ It is a nice thought,” she sighed, “A very nice one, in fact. But, you didn’t know my Daddy. I think he’s used up all his chances.” “All of them, are you sure?” She smiled sadly, “I’m pretty sure,” she said as she thought about how her Daddy seemed to be able to charm anyone out of anything. He certainly had her wrapped around his little finger. She was a Daddy’s girl, even now, “But,” she mused, “if it could happen, my Daddy would be the one who could do it.” “He was special then?” Homer asked. “Very special,” Joni chuckled, “And, if it were even remotely possible for him to do it, to come back somehow, and he knew how much my Mommy and I missed him, I have no doubt that he would do it.” He stepped closer to her as he said, “You are a very special young lady. I’m sure, wherever your father is now, he would want you to know he loves you.” Joni let out a shuddering sigh, “Thank you for helping me through this. That nice thought makes missing my Daddy hurt a little less,” she kissed Homer lightly on the cheek as she turned to leave the graveyard, “It’s nice to think that maybe my Daddy can see me.” Homer watched her leave, and his heart felt light and saddened, all at once, “I can see you, Dove,” he whispered. ***************************

Chapter #16 - Thirty-six

Author's Note: The "Interregnum" is starting to come together. If you're still with me, please review. ******************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- Spike pleaded with the spirits, “I understand, I do. I know what’s at stake,” he looked, sadly, over at Buffy and Joni as they stood huddled together, trying not to look as devastated as he felt. “Child, you understand that if this is done the other will receive the thing that should rightfully be yours.” “What?” Spike gasped. “It is done, and it will not be undone. We have done as you requested, child. We can do nothing more,” the angel he had pinned his daughter’s future to, and Buffy’s as well, disappeared from sight. For an instant, nothing moved. Nothing could. Even here, Angelus had managed to best him. He just couldn’t fathom it. He turned when he heard his daughter and wife sobbing. He saw the pain on their faces, and tried to smile, “You be good now, Joni. Take care of your Mum. She’s gonna need you,” he looked at Buffy longingly as he wiped away her tears, “No tears now, Love. Please? I couldn’t take it. We know I don’t belong here now. Maybe I never did.” “That’s not true, Spike!” she sobbed, “You…” He shook his head, resigned to his fate, “That may have been true once, Love,” he shrugged, “But I never really belonged anywhere. I’m used to it,” the next words came out quickly, for fear that they would be taken from him before he could say them, “I love you,” he was desperate, “Remember that, please!” In the blink of an eye, they disappeared. And he was alone again. He was numb again. Dead. He’d been alive, through them. He’d been warm. Living, breathing and alive. Now he was not. A primal rage boiled up in his veins, and he howled as he felt his heart tearing away from his body. The unearthly noise brought Joyce out of her shock. She watched as Spike paced mindlessly. It made sense. When a soul is overburdened, it falls back to what it knows best. It goes back to the basic functions of comfort. He was blind to all but his pain. Spike paced the vast emptiness. The very idea nauseated him. He looked at Joyce incredulously, “They can’t be serious! This just clinches it,” he ran his hands through his hair as he paced, “They are out of their minds!” he roared. Joyce held her hands out, half in surrender, half in an attempt to contain the rage that didn’t belong in this place, even though she understood it completely, “Spike, please calm down. You make enough noise, you won’t stay here no matter how many angels you have in your corner,” Joyce took him firmly by the shoulders, forcing him to focus on her, “Do you really want to leave her, again?” she shook him roughly, “Do you want to go back there? You’ve been there,” she reminded him. She was certain he didn’t need reminding, but she also knew that, when it came to him, emotions could cloud everything else, “You know what Hell is, and how it feels,” she met hid glistening eyes, “and I know you don’t want to put Buffy through that.” The mention of Buffy’s name seemed to ground him. And, he gasped in shock, “No! I don’t!” he hissed. “…Because that’s what this would be,” Joyce could see that the steady rhythm of her voice was finally starting to calm him. All the rage left him, with one shuddering gasp, and he fell in a weeping tangle of limbs. As if he were a marionette whose strings had been cut. Joyce swept him up in her arms as if he were a small boy, “Buffy could have anything she wanted here,” she tried to comfort him, “But, she wants you. So, if you weren’t here? For her, this would be Hell.” Spike sobbed out all the hurt he could never, would never tell Buffy about. He searched her face for some kind of understanding, “Joyce,” he choked, as another sob wracked him, “You don’t know what it was like in that place. It felt like years, Joyce. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, before I saw her again,” the rage was shining in his eyes now, even as his body’s energy was spent. He was weary of the fight, and Joyce knew this, “And now, the Gods of bloody Mount Olympus tell me,” his voice rose to an almost deafening roar as he railed against the heavens, “They have the gall to tell me that I can save Joni, and Buffy, and the whole bleeding human race,” he sagged against her more, defeated, all his strength sapped. The sound in his chest became an echo of itself. It, and he, had been stretched too thin. So thin that when he did speak the sound hurled out into the void and shattered, “But if I do, I can never have them. Now they tell me that I have to stay in that place until I’m numb, and forget them. And not because of the hundreds of people I killed to survive. I have to stay in that Hell because of what I did to save Buffy. Because of my sacrifice, because I did what Angelus wouldn’t, I’m sentenced to Hell, but he gets to have them? He gets to dance with them in the daylight? He gets to sing our daughter to sleep at night? You tell me, Joyce. Please tell me how is that fair?” “It’s not,” Joyce agreed, “The Higher Ups brought you in to try to show him what he could have been. But, instead of following your example, he let Holland turn his head around. He really is like every little emperor there ever was, isn’t he?” Joyce mused, “But, what Holland didn’t factor in, is the mother of one Buffy Summers-Dustin,” she slowly untangled herself from him and stood, “Do you think you can stand?” He nodded, forcing tired limbs to move. *************** Spike’s eyes remained hooded in deference of all that Joyce and nameless others had sacrificed to bring him here. He was well aware that his place here was tenuous, at best, “I understand,” he tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, “I won’t tell them. I’ll take it slow. I won’t push. She can take as long as she likes. It wouldn’t be the same if she weren’t ready. But, Joni,” his voice was tight, “I love her. I think you know that. I have to be near, to help her,” he pleaded with the Spirit that held his life in the balance, “If I’m not with her, she could get lost again. And it could all happen again,” he felt the tears as they slid down his face, “Then, all that I’ve done will have been for nothing. I swear, they won’t know it’s me. I won’t reveal myself until they’re ready.” ******************************* NOVEMBER 10, 2O28 As Joni walked home from the graveyard, she went over everything she had told the old gardener. She remembered being told, through the haze of her Mother’s pain, that something had happened to her when she was a baby. Something that she didn’t remember, but her Mother did, and whatever it was, she hoped that she would never remember it. That was when Homer’s words came home. If, in the afterlife, it were possible to change things, what would they change? ******************* OCTOBER 22, 2005 “But it’s sheer poetry, don’t you understand that?” Holland did his best not to openly guffaw at the look on Angel’s face, “What better way to take a champion out of the game than to take his child from him?” he shrugged his shoulder, and his lips pulled themselves into a sneer. His eyes glowed with a malicious light, “It’s worked to our advantage before. It might again.” Angel squinted his eyes at Holland, “What?” he paced his small basement apartment furiously, “I’m beginning to think Spike may have been right all along. What have you got against this little girl? She’s so tiny, she can’t even breathe on her own. She may die before she even leaves the hospital,” Angel’s throat felt raw as he drew breath to speak and pointed an accusatory finger at his own accuser, “I gave up my hope. You, and the Circle saw to that,” Angel lowered his eyes in shame, “I’ve watched him bonding with that little girl,” Angel tore his eyes from the floor and lifted them to the darkness that seemed to mock him from the world outside, “They’ve even painted rainbows in that child’s room,” the pain of his own failure crept into his throat, “A nursery she may not even live to see,” Angel turned questioning eyes to Holland, “Do you know how rare a thing like that is, for creatures like us? Rainbows? That’s like blue roses for humans. It just doesn’t happen. Not in our world. Yet he paints them. And do you know why?” Holland gave an uninterested grunt, “Why don’t you enlighten me?” “Because he believes!” Angel shouted as he came up into Holland’s face, “Because something in that annoying little fop refused to die, when Drusilla sired him. He’s still a poet! He still believes that day follows night. And that’s why he paints rainbows,” he let out a deep sigh as he backed away from his tormenter, “I had that spark once too. When Connor was here, I believed in things I didn’t see. I believed in the sunshine, even though I knew I’d never have it. But then Connor was taken from me, and the hope left. I will not take that from him.” “You love him with a Father’s love, don’t you?” “Connor? Of course I do.” Holland shook his head and sighed, “No, I’m not talking about Connor. I’m talking about William.” “Yes,” Angel admitted. “Sometimes a Father must choose the lesser of two evils to save his son,” Holland said, somberly. *******************************

Chapter #17 - Thirty- Seven

OCTOBER 15, 2003 Joni giggled as she hid her eyes, “Can I look now?” “Not yet,” Spike said as he concentrated on how his spectral body felt as his demon came upon him. It was strange to think that his body, such as it was now, could feel anything at all. But with this little girl, all things seemed possible. He felt the particles in the air he inhabited now, buzz around his phantom limbs and shift into place, “All right, Sweetling, you can open your eyes now.” She opened her eyes, and smiled at his face. But the smile faded to a frown when he shook his head. Her face became sullen, as she was learning a difficult lesson. Spike hated to see her look harden, but she had to learn this lesson, “You see this face?” he asked her seriously. Joni nodded, her face pulled down into a frown and her eyes wet with unshed tears, “Yes.” “If you see it, or any other like it, you run. And, you run fast. You get away. Understand?” “But you…” Spike shook his head again, “No Sweetheart, not even me. You run. You understand?” “Okay,” she whispered. Spike pondered. How to tell her this next bit? He looked at her and smiled, feeling the air around him shift again, “Have you ever had an ice cream, or a snow cone?” She nodded vigorously, “Uh huh. I like ice cream.” “Well,” he looked down in thought, and then back up into her soft brown eyes, “Do you remember how the ice cream feels on your tongue?” She nodded again. “If anyone’s skin feels like the ice cream does, and it’s not snowing? You run then, too.” “You feel like that, don’t you?” “Yes,” he said, “I wish I didn’t, but I do.” Joni smiled again, “That’s okay Daddy. I’ll make you warm.” It shouldn’t have been possible, but Spike felt warmth rush through him just then, “Oh, Sweetling, you already do.” Her eyes held a question in them, “Daddy, can I ask you something?” “Anything.” “What’s snow?” ******************** OCTOBER 27, 2005 Spike thought about that moment as he held his little girl in his arms. He would go to the ends of the earth for her. If she asked him to see snow, he’d move Heaven and earth to bring it to her. Just then, a knock on the glass made him look up. There, he saw Buffy with a wide grin on her face, beckoning him to join her, outside their daughter’s little chrysalis. After making sure Jonina was safe in her bassinet, he joined her on the other side of the glass. “What is it, Love?” he asked as she pulled him into a crushing embrace. Buffy was crying and grinning at once, “Oh Spike, I don’t know what you said to her, but you’d better keep saying it. The nurses tell me that Joni can go home by the end of the week!” The boyish hope Buffy saw in his eyes made her even more joyous, “Truly?” he asked searching her eyes for confirmation, and gripping her shoulders in exuberance. She nodded slightly, her eyes dancing. Before she knew it, Buffy was being pulled lightning fast through the corridors and to the car that waited in the parking garage. It all happened so fast that Buffy was nearly breathless, “Spike, where are we going?” There was an impish glint in his eyes as he sat behind the wheel, “To celebrate! But we’ve got a few stops to make first!” he smirked as he started the engine. ********************** Spike closed his umbrella as he entered the car again. The umbrella was less protection from the sun than his old duster had been, but it was much less conspicuous. Buffy looked at the bouquet that landed in her lap as the sped off again. Purple, white and gold flowers stared up at her, “What’s this, Spike?” “Those are magic flowers, Love,” he said with laughter in his voice, “Did you know flowers can talk? Or, at least they used to.” “Are you drunk?” Spike threw his head back and laughed, “Not yet, but I plan to be. When I was a boy, one couldn’t talk to the opposite sex. Not like you can now, it wasn’t considered proper. So we let the flowers talk for us. Each one had a special meaning.” Buffy took in the flowers’ delicate scent, “And what do these say?” “Just that wishes can come true. I know mine did.” ****************************************** SEPTEMBER 28, 2028-NEW HOPE CEMETERY He visited the grave just after dusk, and sure enough they were there again. Whoever this mourner was, Angel was certain that he had no clue what kind of significance his choice of blooms had. At least he hoped that was true. Because, if this plot were being watched and the flowers that adorned this particular spot were chosen because of what they had once meant, then Angel would have to think twice about leaving them in the vase in Buffy’s hospital room. Not that she would have noticed them. It had been a long time since she noticed anything. She’d shut down. And he didn’t blame her. The change had certainly been a shock to him. But it had been an even harsher shock to her. Angel looked around nervously. He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean that something wasn’t there. There was always something there. And, he should know, because he used to be one of those things. As he listened to the wind whistling through the trees, rustling the leaves as it blustered through the cemetery, Angel wondered why he had chosen to visit this grave after dark. Doing this could be considered reckless, given what he knew, and whose grave this was he’d decided to walk past tonight. It was habit, he supposed, and old habits, are hard to break. It was especially reckless for him because, even though the thought defied reason, he had no doubt whom it was that had left the small bouquet of flowers that was silently mocking him now. There they were, a mixture of bright, magenta zinnias, white azaleas and golden dandelion blossoms. They were all there, staring up at him from the green. Daring him. Screaming the message of hope. Hope that Buffy had lost. Angel thought, for a moment, that whoever this was, he was just as sick and twisted as he had once been. But along with that thought came the hope that there was still someone lurking around this old bone yard that could translate the message that those beautiful cuttings conveyed to all who passed by, but especially to the one he’d most beloved. Angel went slowly over the message in his mind. He had to get it right, if he wanted to tell Buffy. It all fell into place, and it was beautiful. It was in keeping with the poet in him that had refused to die so long ago. Magenta zinnias: “I still love you.” White azaleas: “Take care of yourself for me.” And of course, golden dandelion: “Wishes come true, Buffy.” As he knelt down to pick up the flowers, he whispered to the stone, a part of him still believed that there would be someone there to hear him, “I’ll be sure to give these to her,” he shook his head, wondering at the slight tinge of fear he felt, “It’s silly. But, I wonder… these have been here every night for almost a month. They’ve been here ever since I…” he looked up at the sky, questioning, “You know she hasn’t spoken since that day? Giles even took her back to Rome, to try and care for her there. But she only got worse,” Angel hung his head, and sighed, “Wouldn’t eat for two weeks. They flew her back here and now she eats, but it’s just enough to survive. That’s all,” even though he fought against it, Angel felt the pressure of tears building up in his eyes, and the air was squeezing out of his chest, “I’ve tried to take care of them. But they need you,” he laughed softly at himself, “You know I wonder if you’re watching me?” The wind picked up around him, sending cold air billowing under the edges of his coat that had been shut up to protect his sensitive skin from the elements. Then the answer came from behind him. Angel spun, truly frightened to the bone by what he heard, “Alas, the man is dead. But, I am not.” Angel saw the old face as it smiled at him, with wide eyes. It was then that Angel took in a shuddering breath, “I didn’t hear you there,” he said as he smiled to himself because he’d let an old man frighten him this much, “I thought I was alone.” The old man seemed shy, his head inclined in a way that kept his eyes hidden, “I’m normally an unobtrusive sort, but I’ve noticed you here, and I wonder, could you tell me why the widow has stopped visiting?” “What do you know of the widow?” Angel asked. “Absolutely nothing. It’s just that, I take care of the grounds here and she is a regular fixture here. Rather like clockwork. She has been missing for quite some time. And her absence has been… noticed.” ****************************** It was kind of the old man to let Angel take the flowers to Buffy. He silently stepped into her room and placed the flowers in the plastic vase. These little flowers were the only brightness in the grey room. Angel made sure the blooms were arranged perfectly and placed them in the center of the windowsill, so that she would be sure to notice them. He turned toward her bed, trying to ignore the lifeless expression in her eyes, as she blinked at him, “Well Buffy, it seems as though you’ve made a new friend. The cemetery caretaker asked after you tonight.” There was no response from her. Angel knew there wouldn’t be, “He let me bring this little bouquet of flowers back for you. I thought they would brighten the room up a little. What do you think?” There was still no life in her eyes. He turned to leave, and as he did, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I can’t bring him back to you.” *************************

Chapter #18 - Thirty-eight

Buffy let the sweet sensations of his closeness, and the flowers that perfumed the room wash over her. She hummed with delight as Spike trailed his fingers lightly up her spine, his voice cooing as he nibbled on her ear, “Have you had enough, Pet?” he asked as he began placing gentle kisses along the length of her spine. He was playing her like a Stradivarius. And she didn’t mind one little bit. “Never,” she smiled into the pillow, “And as soon as the tingly feeling stops, it’ll be your turn to be a puddle of goo.” Buffy felt his breath against her neck, “I don’t know, Love. I like you this way. You’re happy. And that makes me happy.” Buffy slowly rolled over so that she could look up into his face. She sighed with contentment at what she saw. His eyes were lazily drinking her in and the glint they held within them made her feel very much like a woman. It almost made her feel uncomfortable. She felt herself start to blush. “Well, look at that,” he said thickly, “After all the things we’ve done, you still blush like a schoolgirl.” “Don’t tease,” she pouted, “I think I’m a little drunk!” He smirked, kissing the small wound he’d made on her neck, “More than a little, Pet.” “How come you’re not?” He kissed her eyelids lightly, “Who says I’m not? I can hold my liquor, that’s true. With a vampire constitution, it would take quite a lot to make me slur my words and stagger, but I still get drunk, same as you. And, don’t forget,” he said as he nuzzled her nose, “I’ve had twice as much as you have.” He touched her forehead gently with his and chuckled when her face became tight with confusion, “Huh?” “When we make love, and I bite you, like I did tonight, I can taste what’s in your blood. I take it in. So, when you get drunk, I do too. I’ve had double my share of celebration tonight. Yours, as well as mine, so if you feel drunk, if you are drunk, then so am I.” “Oh. It’s kinda fun, isn’t it?” she asked as she drifted off to sleep. “Yeah, it is,” he whispered. As he listened to her breathing even out, he hoped he’d masked the unease he felt. Tomorrow, he’d get word to Giles. He wanted to know where the research was headed in regards to the thing that killed Talitha Sands, and he wanted to know fast. Because, something wasn’t right, and he knew it, because he’d tasted it in Buffy’s blood. ********************** Buffy awoke once again to the scent of zinnias, azaleas, and dandelions. And forgot, briefly, where she was. She didn’t want to remember. Her mind could be so cruel to her now. She had been happy. She remembered it. She’d had the fairy tale. For nearly twenty-three years, she had her Prince. And, she was happy. She was. Until almost ten months ago. Buffy’s world had gone grey. Without him, there was no color. Somehow, the world had gotten smaller too. It consisted of four walls, a door, a window and a bed. There was a television too. It splashed images of the outside world across her vision, not that she cared. She wasn’t paying attention. She had enough trouble just remembering how to breathe. It hurt too much to even eat. Everything tasted like cardboard. Her throat was so raw and tight that it was almost impossible to force food down. The only reason she even tried was because of a promise she had made him. And now they even took that from her. The intravenous line connected to the glucose drip took care of the hunger. It sat silently above her bed, forcing the nourishment in. It said nothing, and that was fine. She had nothing to say to it, either. Her world had gone away. In one night, that’s all it took. Now she knew her world would never be the same again. Is this what it felt like, to just exist? Was this what it was like for him? Was this what it felt like? Was this what it meant to be soulless? My god, why didn’t you tell me that it was this cold? That it hurt this much? For a long time, it was like that, cold, grey, and lifeless. Until one night, he came. Buffy didn’t know how, or even why, but she didn’t care. He stood there, a vision in black leather and peroxide. He looked disoriented. As if he wasn’t sure where he was. He seemed to be drinking it all in slowly. The walls. The window, with the tiny vase of flowers, they were the only things that even dared speak of life in this room. He was pulled to the flowers, as if they spoke to him. And they had, once. Buffy remembered when he told her. She saw his shoulders slump under the leather, and his neck bowed a little. Was he praying? Buffy would have asked, but she was afraid to speak. She was too afraid that speech would break the magic, and he would be gone again. Suddenly he began to turn, and Buffy saw his profile in the half-light of the window. He was as thin as mist. That was when she knew. He wasn’t real. She smiled and spoke its name, “Spike?” she croaked, trying to keep her sanity against a tide of unreasonable hope. Buffy could hear the hiss of unneeded breath, and watched the trapezius muscles rise and fall with the hurried breathing and she knew the hallucination was complete. She needed him, so she conjured him. He behaved in every way she knew he would. Every detail was perfect, right down to his almost feminine eyelashes, and the absolute blue of his eyes. He turned. Blue eyes met hers and at once wept with joy and horror when he saw her, “Buffy?” it questioned as it floated nearer to her. It took in her clinical surroundings and her frail body. A genuine look of pain crossed its face, and for a moment, Buffy believed. She hated how accurate her heart could be. Why did it have to torture her like this? Why had she chosen to bring this vision to herself? Why had she chosen to see her husband this way? Not the way he’d looked for nigh on to a quarter century, no. She had to see the Champion he had once been, instead of the frail and broken form he’d willingly become, to save her. Buffy supposed there was a kind of mercy in that. She could hear the longing and the pain in the voice as it asked, “Are you real?” the voice seemed stronger, “Buffy, are you real?” She shook her head. She wasn’t real. Nothing would be, ever again. The head fell to the side, “Are you ill, Love?” Buffy only smiled a tearful smile. ********************************** NOVEMBER 10, 2028- Joni smiled to herself as she remembered the imaginary playmate she’d had as a child. He’d started visiting her when she was five, and left, for good and all, when she was about ten. Thinking back on it, Jonina realized that those were the years her Mom had been sick. Those were the years her Daddy had been consumed with grief, and had no time for her. She supposed that was why she’d conjured him up the way she did, to look like her Daddy. Her friend kept her company when her Daddy couldn’t. He taught her things she would later put to good use as a Slayer. He would only appear when she needed him to. And when he did disappear, she could remember wondering where he would go when he vanished from her room. ******************************************** OCTOBER 15, 2003 He was back in the lab again, when only moments ago he was looking at Buffy, lying in a hospital room, wasting away before his very eyes. That truly was Hell. Fred had to help. He turned to her and pleaded, “…Help me?”

Chapter #19 - Thirty-Nine

NOVEMBER 15, 2028 Homer’s words rang in Joni’s head for days. She tried to put them out of her mind and do her job. But with the kinds of things she knew about, being one of the few Slayers left in the world, and knowing what she knew of both of her parents, the words held a certain ring of truth. Her parents were never the type to just accept things. They had their own view of the world and how it should be. Yes, there were things that couldn’t be changed. But there were things that could be changed. All the Slayers could have died. Her mother could have died. She could have died. But, she didn’t. She was still alive, and the Slayers still existed. Mom was still here, although Joni knew that sometimes she wished she wasn’t. She knew that sometimes her Mom wished she could follow her Daddy to wherever it was he had gone. Joni thought about what the last few months with her Daddy were like. They were awful. He was seldom conscious. And when he was, moments of clarity were few and far between. But, sometimes he would say things that, at the time, sounded like the ramblings of a fevered mind. Now though, Joni wasn’t so sure. Even her Mom had trouble making sense of all the things he said. And he said a lot of things, before he couldn’t anymore. ********************* SEPTEMBER 13, 2027- Buffy woke to a darkened house. She looked at the bedside clock; it told her it was three in the morning. Of course it would be quiet. She really hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she was so tired. For an instant, Buffy’s heart seized. She looked over at the place where he had been, and it was empty. She stared at the spot where he should have been, and wanted to blink the image away. She was tired, but that was no excuse. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. She shouldn’t have let him down. Panic surged through her. Then came the terror. The most unreasonable, unrelenting terror she’d ever felt ripped through her. She had to find a place to hide. “Get low,” it told her, “Be small, then it won’t find you.” She’d felt this before, somewhere in her brain she knew that this was a part of the sickness she’d gone through, and that now it was passed. For her, the time to fear the unknown was passed and was replaced by the gaping fear that her present had become. Spike was in the worst fight he’d ever been in. His brain didn’t enter into this. She welcomed the fear. It meant that he wasn’t dust. He was going by instinct. And now, so was she. Her instincts told her she’d find him where he thought he’d be safe. For him, safety meant darkness. That meant the basement. So, down she went. She saw it all unraveling in front of her, and she’d done nothing to help him. Buffy cursed herself for being so blind. Buffy had never known it was this bad before. No. That was wrong. She had known it. Knew it was happening. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it was happening. Not to him. Not like this. She saw it all in slow motion. The walking stick she had passed off as nostalgia. As a bit of whimsy, and he didn’t tell her otherwise. He just smirked at her and winked. It was the same with the eyeglasses, the ones he shouldn’t have needed, that sat perched on the end of his nose. She’d seen it. But she’d run from it. She ran from it. And now, as she stared into the darkened basement, it was all catching up with her. She had to choke back a sob at the shock he presented, as his white skin glowed against the dark. Buffy remembered the heat. The virus closed off all sensation but one. Slowly, the burning of the nerve fibers was all that was felt. It was all the virus allowed. That made movement, eventually, impossible. The virus slowly and mercilessly robbed its victim of any refuge from the pain. It robbed its victims of the ability to cry out for comfort. It isolated them from any solace that could be had from contact. First through pain, then by cutting off all other outside stimuli, painful or otherwise, due to blindness and deafness. It was a horrible way to die. Right now, Spike was being engulfed in a fire that consumed everything, yet touched nothing. Buffy knew that pain. And his was a thousand times that. When the pain had started for Buffy, her first instinct had been to rend herself free of her clothing in an effort to cool her emblazoned nerve endings. Joni had been small then, so in order to keep little eyes from seeing what they should not, Spike would spend hours, perhaps days, just holding her. He used his body’s unnatural coolness to calm her, and keep her safe. Buffy had no such mercy to give him. So here he was, lying nude on the concrete floor of the basement, unmoving. She rushed over to him, and he stared at her with pain-blinded eyes, “Help,” he panted, “Angel…he has…to help. Joni…too small…can’t save…Buffy…Angel can…but…won’t.” Buffy didn’t want to see what the virus was doing to him. She didn’t even understand how he was able to talk. She had been saved. The Slayers still were, thanks to him. A part of him knew that, she felt sure. The vaccine he’d developed could not be synthesized. Each time a Slayer was stricken, it meant that Spike had to expose himself to the virus again and again. He knew that eventually even his body would become saturated with it, to the point where his body could not repair itself. But, he didn’t care. Time disorientation was a symptom of the virus. Buffy knew he had no idea where he was, or when. She closed her eyes and tried to draw in a calming breath, “No Love,” she said, “that was years ago,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, and cooed, “You saved us. You saved me.” His eyes fluttered shut, “B…uffy? Saved you…did?” “Yes,” she told him reverently, “you did.” “Now…promised…me…not…you.” Buffy bit her lip in worry. The disorientation really had him in its grip, “What did you promise?” “I die,” he rasped out, “Not you.” “When did you promise this?” “Before,” he whispered, “And…after. I love you…love…always,” with that, his body gave out, and he fell into unconsciousness. ************************************* OCTOBER 29, 2005-ROME Giles wasn’t sure Spike had been sober when he spoke to him on the telephone. He’d even asked him about his apparent state of inebriation. That was the only reason that Giles could justify what he was asking the Council to undertake. The Council had a new relationship with the Slayers in the field, that was true, but for Spike to ask for this, especially after what had happened to him under the auspices of Wolfram and Hart, he had to be impaired in some way. “You want me to do what?” There was a sigh, “Told you, Rupert. The figures you sent me, they smack of an evil beyond what Angelus, or I, is capable of. This smells of the Senior Partners. Wolfram and Hart still has an office there in Rome?” “Yes.” “Good. See if you can gain access to their Conduit.” “Their what?” “Conduit. A magical, mystical know- it-all that keeps the keys to all the other dimensions; it knows all there is to know. See what it can tell you.” “And how do you propose we gain access to this, ‘Conduit?’ Do you think they will just open the doors and let us walk right in?” Giles could hear the mischievous grin, and the glint in his eye, “No,” Spike said, “But I happen to know someone with a skeleton key.” “And what do we inquire after?” “That’s simple, Rupert. Angelus, and his dealings with the firm.” *****************************************

Chapter #20 - Forty

IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE The word came down from the Higher Ups. The request had been granted, and Holland was incensed. The Senior Partners had spent centuries trying to control the anomaly. He’d even been party to the operation for a time. It had been so deceptively simple. Control through manipulation, something the Home Office had perfected over millennia. If there was a prophecy foretelling of a vampire with a soul playing a role in the Apocalypse, then the answer was simple. The Home Office had seen to it that the one vampire with the most potential for corruption and be certain that one, is the one the prophecy speaks of. After that vampire has been laden down with guilt, you extend a hand and build him up again, in your image. Through the use of a misplaced scroll, the vampire’s guilt is eliminated. He’s given a destiny and it doesn’t matter anymore. The grey is gone. The world is strictly black and white. There is only one way to think, and it is your way. All other ways of thinking are flawed. All others are in error. There is no right or wrong. You are the one. You will be rewarded. It was a tried and true formula, and it worked. It did work. Their Champion had been eliminated before he could isolate the cure, and Angelus was prevented from continuing the work the Champion had started. Prophecies can be tricky things. But something even trickier is the power of grief. It can be a powerful weapon for the Home Office. Or it can be a destroyer. Grief could have the power to stop an Apocalypse, just as Holland feared it was about to do here. A little girl’s grief and love for her parents, a second chance and the house of cards was about to fall, “Damn,” Holland hissed as his fist slammed down in anger. *********************************** SEPTEMBER 17, 2027- Buffy stared at Willow, her eyes narrowing in disbelief, “What do you mean you won’t? You use magic all the time! Magic is what got us into this mess in the first place,” Buffy felt the ache rising in her chest as she watched Joni holding her father’s hand. The look of bereavement that she saw on her daughter’s face led Buffy to nod her head toward the door. Willow nodded in kind and they slipped silently out into the small hallway outside the door. Buffy turned to Willow with tears in her eyes, “Willow,” she begged, “part of this is my fault. If I hadn’t asked…” Willow sighed, unable to look at the hurt in her friend’s eyes, “I know. Spike and I had this conversation when you first got sick,” Willow’s voice became tight as the memories washed over her, “And again after Kennedy died. I said no then, and I’m saying no now.” Buffy’s eyes flashed in anger and she laughed bitterly, “Oh isn’t that funny!” her face held a look of disgust, “Now that my husband is dying, now you have ethics? Now you have a conscience?” Buffy raised her chin in an effort to hide her pain, “Willow, I’m not asking. I’m telling. You do what you can to help,” she pointed a shaking finger at the closed door, “You tell me what he can’t,” her voice became barely a whisper, “I don’t want him to be alone.” ******************************* OCTOBER 29, 2005- “Are you sure?” Giles asked. “Yes. You keep the Nibblet and Blue working on the ‘How and Why.’ I have a feeling that time is a critical factor here. And the Hellmouth is closer than Rome is. Wolfram and Hart has an office there too. Besides, this kind of information gathering requires a finesse that you just don’t have, Watcher.” **************************** “That’s right, Love. You and Joni have some girl time, and I’ll be back in a few days. Just in time to take our little girl home.” Buffy looked up at him in confusion as she tried not to let her feelings affect the tiny baby she was holding in her arms, “But where are you going?” she asked, keeping her voice calm so as not to frighten Jonina. “Angelus and I are going on a little trip…to the Hellmouth.” Buffy’s eyes widened as realization hit. She shook her head, “You’re not,” she said as she unconsciously held her daughter closer to her, “Tell me you’re not. Please.” He nodded, his eyes steeled with determination, “Afraid so, Pet.” “You mean to tell me Angel just offered to go? Because you asked him to?” “No. That’s not what I’m saying. He didn’t offer. And, I didn’t ask.” ************************************ The nameless workers in the cubicles of the Cleveland, Ohio office of Wolfram and Hart tried to ignore the two men as they strode with purpose to the elevator, but it was difficult to do. Perhaps because the taller of the two men wore a shirt that was torn, exposing a tattoo of a ring of thorns. That, and he seemed to be being led bodily toward his destination by the smaller man. Once inside the elevator and away from prying eyes, Spike hissed as he jerked Angel’s ear to his lips, “Come on, Angel, we’re off to see the wizard.” Standing in the void of the White Room, Angel looked down in shame as the form of the Conduit came into view. Spike smirked watching Angel squirm. He had to admit, he was a bit flattered, “Well,” Spike said casually, “ ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall.’ I didn’t realize I was that short.” The Conduit smirked and shrugged, “It’s all in the attitude,” blue eyes glinted at Angelus, “The user chooses the form I take. Feeling a little guilty, are we?” Angel nodded wordlessly. “What do you have to be feeling guilty for?” Spike asked, “Other than the obvious reasons, I mean?” The White Room rang with a familiar laugh, “Oh, is that a loaded question,” the Conduit howled, “So many things,” the Conduit prowled closer to Angel, eyes burning with a cold fire, “Thousands of dimensions. How does it feel? All that carnage, and all to protect one child,” the Conduit’s eyes drifted in Spike’s direction, “by killing another.” Spike’s eyes met his own spectral reflection and his throat felt ragged as he hissed, “What?!” The Conduit looked nonplussed, “Oh, Angel, you didn’t tell him about your son?” Angel said nothing as the Conduit continued, “Yes. Angel has a son. And, in order to protect him, and give him a ‘normal’ life, Angel decided that it was best to alter perception. The people who raised that child and helped to protect him don’t even remember him. The child was special. He had special abilities,” the Conduit crossed his arms, “He still does have those abilities. And they make him vulnerable to certain… opportunistic infections that might come along,” the Conduit looked menacingly between the two vampires, its eyes settling on Angel, “We gave you Wolfram and Hart. We gave you power and influence. All we asked in return is that you stop one child from being born. Now,” the head was shaking as if in pity, “so many will die. So many already have. I think now,” the form began to slowly back off and disappear into the ether, “I’ll let you two gentlemen,” it smirked as it slowly faded from sight, “work this out.” Angel was forced to the floor with lightning speed. The room reverberated with an animal growl. Angel heard his bones crushing loudly under Spike’s fierce blows. First his nose, then his cheeks, then his jaw were snapped like twigs. The blows kept coming, and he welcomed them. His ribs, legs, kidneys and liver all were punished. He’d forgotten how swift justice could be. Angel barely registered the torrent of anger that rushed by his ears. He couldn’t hear it all for the blood that was quickly pooling in, and spilling out, his ears, “You son of a bitch! Power and influence in exchange for my daughter?! It’s the details that matter, isn’t it? The devil is in the details. Oh, you sadistic son of a bitch!!” ************************************* THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE “Persephone,” Holland said casually, “we have a simple retrieval assignment for you.” “Yes, Sir.” *************** LOS ANGELES Beating Angel to a pulp made Spike feel better, elated even. But the feeling quickly left when he saw the empty look in his wife’s eyes. He knelt down beside her as she sat on the floor, in the middle of the empty nursery, “Love?” he ventured as the fear climbed up his limbs and into his throat, “What happened? What’s happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tried. Couldn’t find you,” her voice and face were flat, smothered by fear. Spike’s thoughts were racing. The White Room, he thought, the one place that exists, yet does not. The one place he couldn’t be reached. He closed his eyes in dread and heart-clenching fear, “What happened? Where’s Joni?” Spike watched tears slide down Buffy’s face as she stared at the bright paint on the wall, “Gone.” The useless heart in his chest was squeezed with terror, “Dead?” he asked, fighting back the storm of grief that was going to drown them both. Buffy shook her head, “No,” she whispered, “Someone took her.” ************************* As Angel nursed his wounds, he spat his venom at Holland, “I did what you wanted! I led him to the White Room so that you could snatch her away. Now leave me alone!” ********************************************

Chapter #21 - Forty-One

DECEMBER 2, 2028- LOS ANGELES Joni watched her mother’s fingertips brush across the faded paint that had been left on the wall, and she was horrified and grateful. She wasn’t sure if the tears that blurred her vision now were from happiness or grief. This trip had done what she hoped it would. It brought her mother back into the world. She spoke her first word in months, and it was her Daddy that broke her silence. She missed him. Joni had been witness to just how much her parents cared about each other. When no one else was able to reach her, somehow her Daddy was able to reach up and pull her Mom back into the world of the living, even from beyond the grave. To her, it was like a miracle. The miracle quickly melted into a nightmare as her mother’s tears seemed to overwhelm her. They became sobs when she touched a large divot in the plaster that marred the paint. Joni was afraid that she had ruined the painting while trying to uncover it so that she would have her mother back. Joni moved swiftly and quietly to hold her as she cried. She didn’t want to jar her Mom any more than she had to. Joni knew that her Mom’s nerves were still raw because hers were as well. Only her friendship with Homer eased her pain at all. But her Mom didn’t have a shoulder to cry on, or anyone to talk to. Her grief had nearly drowned her in its undertow. Joni hated to bring her more pain, “I’m sorry, Mommy,” her throat ached, “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just,” Jonina swallowed painfully, “can you stop crying?” she didn’t want to hurt her, not at all. This was meant to help. That’s all she meant to do. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her more, “Please?” Buffy shook her head sadly, awash in grief and memories. Her fingers trembled as they ran over the rough edged break in the plaster, “A year,” she croaked, her voice weak from months of silence, “A year…so fast,” Buffy looked at her daughter, almost in awe that she was standing there with her. Buffy was swimming in memories now. Memories that spun out of time with where she seemed to be, and it confused her. Spike understood that. But now, he was gone. “…That’s right Mommy. It’s been a year. A year today,” Joni whispered as she tried to stop her own tears from flowing. “No…” Buffy whispered, as the memories of that awful day, and the weeks that followed it pulled her under. Buffy could still remember the roar of anguish. It was the only thing that cut through the wall of shock that was around her. What happened after…that was too awful to think of, so she didn’t think at all. She couldn’t. It hurt too much. ************************* Time slowed down. He sat there, watching the tears tearing horrible liquid gashes in her face and eyes, and he did nothing. Her arms reached for him and held tight to him. Yet, he felt nothing. The ghastly light streaming from her eyes held him fast. In each silver droplet he saw waves of blue and yellow. It was beautiful, and it was horrible. It was the perfect torture. As he watched the agonizingly slow cascade of sorrow, he saw each droplet form the perfect rainbow and then break as it plummeted from her eye on its slow march, tearing him to shreds as he watched the little rainbows burst, one by one. The rainbows were gone, and he could do nothing. His rainbow was gone, and he’d done nothing. His little girl was gone. Everything was broken. His life was broken, and he wasn’t there to catch the pieces as they fell. Looking at the pain on her face and knowing that Angelus had put her in that place of grief was nothing to the rage he directed at himself for letting that pain be there. He should have known. He shouldn’t have left them alone. He shouldn’t have let Angelus win. As he looked at that bit of light and air that was frozen in place on the wall, the rage began to bubble up inside of him. The pressure from it hurt his eyes and he felt the demon gnawing slowly away at the base of his skull. The pain at the back of his head was competing with the odd crushing sensation he felt in the center of his chest. The thought that that tiny little girl was not in her Mother’s arms, but was out there somewhere, cold and hurt, or worse, made his vision redden and blur. The pain swirled in his stomach and burned in his throat. The edges of his vision went gray as he struggled to his feet. The rage ripped at his throat and grew to fill his mouth and nose. It was so large that it forced his jaw open and exploded. He roared with such force that the inertia of it made him dizzy. The room was spinning at an alarming pitch. The nauseating rolling pitch and yaw made it difficult to stand. He threw his body at the wall in an effort to stop the spinning, and came away with blood and plaster dust. It wasn’t any help, but he had to do something. The murderous rage would not be satisfied. There was nothing to ease the pain. Yes. Yes, there was, and he would do it. He focused again on Buffy, who seemed so incredibly small amidst the ruins of their lives. He knelt down again and spoke softly in her eat as he pulled her to her feet, “Love, I’m taking you to ‘Veritas.’ I have a friend there. You’ll be safe there,” he murmured, “Among friends. I’ll come for you when it’s safe. Stay there until I come for you. Understand?” She nodded. “Good,” he whispered as he led her to the car, “I’ll find Joni. I swear to you, I will find our girl.” ********************************** DECEMBER 15, 2028- When her Daddy’s stone was placed in this cemetery over a year ago, she noticed the cottage. She noticed the small plumes of smoke that wafted from the chimney every now and then and she wondered, fleetingly, who lived there. Who would choose to live in a place that signified death? Many times over the long nights she would feel something familiar in the air. Maybe it would be the way the wind would tickle the tiny hairs on her face as it blew softly against her cheek when she thought of him. There were so many things that brought him to mind. But his presence seemed stronger here. Each time she came here, she felt drawn to the warm light glowing from the old stone cabin’s windows. She would feel a warmth that went down to her bones and comforted her. Watching the golden light as it poured out to her. Calling to her. Opening its arms to her. Waiting to embrace her. Drawing her close. And, ever since she’d met Homer, the pull grew stronger all the more. Talking to him was so easy. It was as if her Daddy never left. Joni felt comfortable with him. She had given her tears to him, the ones that were for her Daddy alone. At first it felt like a betrayal. But Homer seemed like an old friend. He seemed to understand. Crying in front of him didn’t seem like weakness. It felt like strength. If she was strong, why did her knees go weak at the thought of knocking on that little cabin’s door? Why is it she had so many questions? Why was she afraid to find the answers? Her mouth went dry as she knocked on the door. She saw the mild shock in his eyes, and a familiar glint that went right down to her core, as he opened the door, “Joni,” he balked, “What are you doing here?” She was overcome with emotions and could feel her chin quivering as she said, “I just wanted to thank you,” her throat closed in around the words, making them painful to say. The old man touched his heart in a show of the feelings that flooded him, “Thank me? Whatever for?” Homer’s body stiffed slightly as she fell into his arms. As he gently folded his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her soap and shampoo, he had to remind himself that this would all go away if he broke his promise. He nearly swooned as he listened to her, “…For helping my Mom. How did you know?” she pulled back to search his face, “How is it that you seem to know where it hurts?” ***************************** Angel saw a blur of movement and heard the roar a split second before he felt the sting of the metal of the axe against the flesh of his neck. In the millisecond before he turned to ash, Angel saw the chasm of grief in Spike’s golden, rage-filled gaze. In the forever of that moment Angel knew he’d finally seen his own reflection. He knew he was going to Hell. ******************************* Holland found Angel in his usual spot. He was crouched in front of her tombstone. In a sea of tombstones he’d helped to erect, this one was the worst. The name Jonina Irene Dustin screamed out at him from the stone. She was his greatest sin. Angel looked at Holland and was shocked to find him gently rocking the infant he’d torn from Buffy’s arms just as sure as if he’d kidnapped her himself. Holland was cooing to her with a tone that made him sickened to hear, “Well, Joni, say hello to Uncle Angel,” he cooed to her with a voice that held the threat of menace, “Hi Uncle Angel,” he grinned, “Welcome to Hell.” ************************************************************

Chapter #22 - Forty-Two

Angel wasn’t shocked. He’d expected it. His shoulders sank in resignation, “So this is Hell,” it was a statement. It was an established fact. He already knew the answer. Holland touched the baby’s cheek and something inside Angel lurched as he listened to an innocent react with delight to a touch she didn’t know to shun. Holland smirked, “No.” That did surprise him, “But you said…” “I lied. It’s not the first time,” he looked around at the grey of the sky and granite that he’d chosen to surround himself with. It looked like it was biting cold as well. And he could almost feel it, that is, if he could feel anything at all. He nodded in admiration, “This isn’t Hell. But, considering the décor you’ve chosen, it’s pretty close. This is sort of a…” his eyes rose to the sky, searching for the words that fit, “way station for souls that are in question.” “Is the child’s soul in question?” Angel’s voice shook from the cold he felt inside. “No,” Holland said, holding the child a little closer, “But you see, Jonina is a Daddy’s girl. And she wanted to wait for her Daddy to come for her. This is a place where he can go. Where she belongs, he cannot follow. So she waits here for him, with us.” “How does she know he’ll follow?” “That’s the faith of a child. The Home Office has never found an antidote for it. And probably never will,” Holland gave a questioning glance and his brow furrowed as he asked, “Wouldn’t you follow? To protect an innocent, wouldn’t you follow, even into a place that didn’t want you?” Angel said nothing. “Oh, that’s right,” Holland smirked, “You didn’t,” he looked inquisitively at Angel, “Do you think he will?” “I don’t know.” Holland smiled down at the infant in his arms, “Time goes by so quickly here. She’s already much older than she was the last time he saw her. She may have all but forgotten him by the time he finds her,” he studied her intently for a moment, “I wonder, what will she fill the void with? It’s instinctive, you know. The need for connection, it’s a basic human need. Do you think she’ll be as creative as her parents were?” “Were?” Angel asked. “Oh, that’s right,” Holland rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, “I keep forgetting. You don’t remember.” ************************* The Cleveland offices of Wolfram and Hart were used to chaos. It was their business. The lawyers at this firm drank it up like it was mocha latte. They were on a Hellmouth. A certain amount of chaos came with the job. Anyone agreeing to work for the firm could expect the occasional vampire or demon, even the odd temporal distortion or two. But Pia Johansen was scared witless, and it was her first day on the job. She just wanted to hide away under her desk until the next ice age. Which, judging from the firm’s timetable, wasn’t due for at least another million years. And that was fine by her. She would just stay crouched under her desk, thank you, until the dust settled. They didn’t pay her enough for this. She knew she was just a poor paralegal. Not much more than a peon really, but the mêlée she was witnessing made her want to march right up to the Senior Partners and demand a raise in salary. And she would get it. Two of their best vampire security detail had already been dusted in a blur of black and white, and he wasn’t even three feet inside the door. He was death in motion, and she did not want to be caught in the crossfire. From her vantage point under the desk, all Pia could see was a fairly new pair of Doc Martens. She guessed they were new, because of the absence of scuff mark on them. The strange things that went through a person’s head when they were about to die, she’d heard stories about it, but never thought she’d actually experience it for herself. Yet here she was about to die, and she was thinking about shoes, and not her shoes, the shoes of her would- be murderer. It was surreal. It made absolutely no sense. Yes it did. It was the only thing that did, and maybe that’s why she was so fixated on the shoes. They made sense, when the things he was saying did not. “…How’s that for realism, mate? Anyone else care to dance? Because, you’re not stopping me, that’s just how it is. I’ll go anywhere I bloody well need to,” the voice lowered to a growl and dripped with menace, “I’ll go through anyone I need to, including you,” he chuckled, “My fangs are itching. It’s been a long time,” the backs of his boots stepped away from her desk. He’d turned around at the rustle of movement behind him. His sights were set on someone else. Under her desk, Pia was at once grateful and pitied the new target of his rage, “…You what to volunteer? No? Good choice. I don’t know if I could stop. Don’t know that I’d want to,” his voice was wavering between pleading sorrow and rage. It made Pia wonder what had brought him to such a state. Well this was new. Was this sympathy she was feeling, for her murderer? Yes, it was, and now as her body slowly lifted itself from under her desk, she knew she was insane. Pia’s voice was uncharacteristically small as she addressed the man’s leather- clad back, “Sir?” The shoulders stiffened and his left index finger shot up, giving her warning, “Don’t move,” His voice held a lethal tenor in it, “If you want to live, please,” his voice was raw with rage, “don’t move. Just give me what I want,” as he turned, Pia was pinned down by the deepest blue despair she’d ever seen, “Please?” Pia swallowed the lump in her throat, “Okay,” she nodded, hoping that he could see that she meant to help him, “I’ll take you there.” *************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- Joyce tried to explain it again. Even she was having trouble understanding it, “Now remember, Spike, she won’t remember, not really. She’ll have an inkling, but she really won’t remember being there with you.” “That’s good,” he whispered, “No one should remember that place.” Joyce took his hand in hers, “But you remember it,” she said softly. The look in his eyes told her that he did. He remembered it all too well, “Yes,” he shook his head as his eyes brimmed with tears, “But she shouldn’t. It’s a blessing that she won’t.” “Really? Do you think you can stomach being a dim memory for her? If you get her back…” His eyes blazed at her, “If?” he hissed, swallowing the rage, “I’ve done things…” his voice lowered to a mournful whisper, “He has to,” the decision was made. Conviction colored his tone, “He will get her back. And, I have to be there until he does. I can’t leave Joni alone.” “When he brings her back, Spike, everything will disappear. Things will go back to where they were before,” she lowered her gaze, not wanting to bring him any more pain, “And when he brings her back, he’ll bring the virus with her.” “I know that. But, she can’t stay in that place. Not alone, I have to be with her. To make it better for her, somehow.” Joyce bit her lip in worry as she watched him trying to control the swell of emotions he was feeling, “And you’re all right with just being a ghost in her memory, years later? You’re okay with being just some nice, old man that helped her through the hard times?” “Yes,” he sobbed. ******************* The voice that rang in the White Room cut through Spike’s memories, “Daddy, is that you?” The little girl hid behind her toy rabbit, her brown eyes glowing with hope. Spike took the room in four large strides, and sank to one knee in front of her, “Yes. It’s me, Sweetheart. Remember, me,” he nodded, “Spike? We used to play hide and seek and I used to sing to you? I sat with you while your Daddy…helped your Mummy?” She nodded, “Your hair is the same, but you look older.” He sighed, “I am, Sweetling. But I wanted you to recognize me,” he wanted to hold her, but he knew she wasn’t really there. He’d chosen this form for her, to try to ease his pain, “Can you tell me where you are?” Joni’s lip pouted in thought, “I don’t know. But I do miss you and Mommy. I wish he hasn’t taken you away from me.” “I do too, Sweetling,” Spike said softly, not wanting to frighten her with the intense emotions he felt, “I do too.” “I wanted to find you. Aunt Willow showed me how,” Joni nodded, proud of herself, “But,” her eyes lowered in shame, “I think I messed things up. I didn’t find you. I’m sorry Daddy.” “No, Sweet, it’s not your fault.” “I think it is. But don’t worry Daddy. Someone’s taking care of me.” Spike’s throat closed in fear, “Who, Sweetheart? Who’s taking care of you?” “Uncle Angel. And…Grandpa.” The answer didn’t help the tight feeling in his throat. Images of Holland Manners flashed behind his vision. He shut his eyes to block them out, “Grandpa?” he questioned. She nodded, “Yes. He’s really nice. He takes care of the stones…and me.” *******************************************

Chapter #23 - Forty-Three

Spike’s mind was spinning. He silently wished that he hadn’t chosen this form for the Conduit. He needed answers, and that was going to be difficult considering the answers he needed had to be filtered through the language of a five year old girl. Still, he knew the answers were there to be had, so he forged onward. “Can you tell me about the stones, Love?” She nodded, her eyes flashing with a knowledge that was beyond her little girl form, “There are so many of them. It’s hard to count them all. All in pretty little rows. They have names on them. Mommy’s name is on one of them,” as she looked at Spike, he could see the tempest of fear, pain, and determination in her eyes and her rosy lips formed a grim line, “Daddy’s too. I didn’t like it.” Suddenly Spike understood. He should, he’d stalked places like that for long enough. A graveyard. She was talking about a graveyard. Spike closed his eyes and swallowed the nausea he felt, “No Sweet, I don’t imagine you did. What happened?” “Mommy got sick. All the Slayers did,” Joni sniffed, “All but one. Me,” her voice grew stronger as she looked into his eyes, “Daddy taught me how to fight the boogiemen. He taught me how to be a Slayer,” her eyes glowed with pride as she pointed to her heart, “I’m the last one. But they’re all here. Mommy is too. She never really left, Daddy,” Spike could see tears welling in her eyes, “I’m sorry you couldn’t see her. I tried to help, really I did. I tried to make Daddy understand. But, he was so sad. He missed her. Then it happened.” Despite himself, Spike was paying rapt attention to the tale unfolding before him. It drew him in. The Conduit had disappeared, and in its place stood the personification of all his hopes, and his deepest dismay, “What happened, Love?” he urged as the hope and dread crowded his breast. “The boogieman went away, and Daddy was different.” The pieces started to fall into place. Spike drew in unnecessary breath, “The boogieman?” Spike felt the demon come upon him, “Do you mean this, Sweetling?” he asked as his hand ghosted in front of his demon visage. Joni nodded. Spike nodded, the joy he felt tempered only by the fear of what she had yet to say. He nodded again, “That changed,” he smiled sadly at her, “But then something happened, didn’t it? Something bad?” “Daddy…you got sick. You died. And there was no one for me to talk to. Not even Uncle Angel.” Spike had to quell the demon’s need to howl at the rage he saw building in her eyes, “He said he loved you, Daddy! But I know that’s a lie,” she hissed. It truly unnerved Spike to hear the almost lethal venom she was spitting at his Grandsire. It wasn’t that he did not deserve such treatment; but to hear it coming from such an innocent face was truly horrifying, “He was just jealous. He was jealous. He saw what I had. Knew that I was happy and that he couldn’t have that,” her eyes were shimmering with light, “So he took my happiness from me. When I found out his secret… Daddy, I was so angry. I was old enough by then. Aunt Willow told me not to,” she bit her lip, holding in the tiny sob that was trying to be heard, “She said you wouldn’t want me to. But I missed you. So I jumped. I jumped, like Mommy did.” Spike knew instantly what she spoke of, and his head bowed in solemn remembrance of that horrible night, “Oh Joni,” he whispered. “…I got caught, Daddy. It hurt. You saw me, I think. So did Uncle Angel. He put me in the fire.” Spike gasped in shock, “Did he hurt you?” he growled, as he felt the anger flash. “No Daddy. He can’t hurt me now. He’s where I am now. I’m waiting for you. Please come find us, Daddy?” “Us?” But he never got an answer to that question. Joni’s small form evaporated from his sight, and he was left alone again. The anger and fear he felt was almost overwhelming. If Angelus was with Joni now, there was only one place she could be. There was only one place he knew Angelus would be, and that was Hell. If Joni was there, he was going to get her out. He didn’t care how he did it, or what kind of bargain he had to make, or with whom. He was getting her back. He would get her back, no matter the consequences. ******************************************* Holland smiled down at the baby in his arms, “Children can be so trusting,” he mused as he listened to her coo at his touch, “and very creative when faced with a void. They will do what they can to provide themselves with the companionship they need, when it is taken from them,” he looked pointedly at the shadowed angles of Angel’s face, “or when it cannot, or will not, be given. They can create imaginary people to play with. Sometimes they make up entire towns,” his tone turned somber, “or dimensions. Many times a child won’t even have to go that far. Often, he’ll take the people he knows, his parents maybe,” he shrugged apathetically, “and place them where they need them most. Today’s asylums are just full to brimming with people whose only problem is that they needed to connect, and no one was there. Everyone was too busy with his or her own world to be a part of theirs, so they constructed their own. Your son did that, I believe, did he not?” Holland smirked, “An entire dimension. I really wonder what this little lady will come up with?” ********************************************** OCTOBER 31, 2005- ROME Dawn sighed with exhaustion, “I’m telling you, Giles. Whatever this thing was that killed Talitha, it wasn’t a fluke. And, it wasn’t a complication of childbirth,” she looked at her shoes, secretly hoping to find the answer there. She wanted to tell him that, as terrible as this young Slayer’s death was, it could be put down to natural causes. She couldn’t say that, “I know we all want it to be that. A terrible fact of life, something that just happens. We all wanted that,” she shook her head, wishing she could say it for him. But, her mouth couldn’t form the words they all needed to hear, “But, Giles this isn’t that. It’s something worse. Something demonic,” she did not want to tell him the next part. Didn’t want to feed his worst fears about him. Fears she knew were lurking just under the surface, waiting to escape, despite what he told her, and Buffy, “I tested the baby’s blood with what Riley could salvage from the Initiative’s archives in Nevada. And, there was a match. When the baby was born, some of the baby’s blood mixed with the mother’s, with Talitha’s. They were incompatible. That’s what killed her.” Giles nodded fervently, “You said there was a match to some type of demon?” “I did,” Dawn said, as she felt the weight of worlds settle on her shoulders. “What type?” “Vampire,” she said grimly, “Spike, to be specific.” ********************************************** AUGUST 20, 2009- LOS ANGELES Spike sat softly on the edge of her bed and gently kissed her forehead as he watched her deep sienna eyes grow wide with fear. She knew what was coming. I had become a bleak routine for all of them. He knew it hurt, and the thought of causing her more pain was unthinkable. But, what was even more unthinkable was being without her. So, he kissed her and tried to assuage her fears. He smiled as she brought her bunny close to her as a shield, “That’s right, Dove,” he whispered trying to distract her from the sight of the syringe, “You hold tight to old Spike Rabbit. And if it pinches the least little bit, you squeeze the stuffing out of him. That’s what he’s there for,” he winked at her as he slid the needle into her skin, “That’s his job, to protect you. He and I, we kind of love you. We don’t want to see you ill,” he placed the syringe in the medical waste container, “See? All done,” Spike said as he tucked her into bed, “Now where were we?” he asked as he settled into the seat next to her bed. The brief pain of the needle seemed to wash away on a tide of youthful excitement as she reminded him just where he’d left off in the fairytale, “The evil Glory monster had the Prince in her dungeon and was going to make him tell her where the Magic Key was,” she said in a breathless voice. She looked, and sounded, as if she were the happiest child on earth. And Spike wanted to keep her that way, “That’s right,” he smiled, “I remember now.” ***************************************

Chapter #24 - Forty-Four

DECEMBER 22, 2028- Joni wondered why she couldn’t remember. She knew that there had to be a reason Homer made things a little better for her. Then there were the dreams. She was the Slayer. The last. She was used to weird things happening, but the dreams were the weirdest of the weird. Some nights she was herself, sometimes she wasn’t. There was no way to make them make sense. When she was awake, her Daddy was dead. But when she was asleep he was alive doing things she didn’t remember. But, why didn’t she remember? Her first conscious memory was of her Daddy holding her. His rumble was loud, but she didn’t care. It didn’t scare her. It was comforting. Her first clear memory was when she was two. But she knew she had existed before that. For every person, time, and memory started when they were born, yet there was a knowledge that the world existed before they did. There was proof of it, in photographs, in Mom and Daddy and Grandma and Grandpa. That was the proof the world was. That was how time marched on, how you knew you were. She smiled as the answer came to her. That was it. Grandpa. Grandpa had the answers. ******************* The loud knock that resounded through the cabin made him forget where he was for a minute. He smiled as a wave of nostalgia struck a chord in his heart. He lifted his old bones out of the bed, groaning, “All right. All right. You’ll wake the dead with that knock!” As the door opened, Joni found herself staring into familiar blue eyes, “Let me guess. The dreams aren’t making sense,” he smiled gently at her, “are they?” She shook her head, hopeless, “No.” He nodded, his eyes sparkling with a knowledge she had yet to find, “This is the only place things do make sense, isn’t it?” he saw her eyes shine in answer to a question she didn’t know she was asking, “And you think I might be able to answer some questions for you, don’t you?” Joni nodded, “Yes,” she choked, “You knew my Daddy, didn’t you? You know things that I don’t, about him, and what happened.” The smile he wore was eerie to her. It was too familiar, “I did know your father. Better than I know myself.” “Tell me,” she begged, “Please?” He stepped back from the door, inviting her in, “I’ll make that tea I promised,” he said, “And, I’ll tell you all I can remember.” ********************************************************************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- Buffy couldn’t help laughing as she watched Spike run up and down the vast expanse as if he’d scored the winning goal for Manchester United. She was nearly doubled over with laughter just watching him, “Spike,” she gasped, feelling the tears escaping, “you are enjoying this way too much!” He bounded toward her, eyes twinkling with glee, “Oh Love, you don’t understand,” he chuckled, “Who knew he had it in him? Peaches can have the sodding thing! I don’t want it, I swear. That was worth it!” Buffy looked at him through her lashes, jutting her lip out, “Are you sure about that? I think you’re taking way too much delight in this.” The come- hither tone in her voice made him putty in her hands. The warm glow in her eyes drew him like a moth to a flame. He shook his head as he stepped toward her, wanting to hold her. Even here, he couldn’t deny her. His knees buckled slightly as he addressed her, “Love,” he begged, “give a bloke a break, would you? I was evil for almost two hundred years,” he held her close and purred into her hair. He didn’t know how it was possible, but she still smelled like sunlight to him, “Then I met you,” her eyes came up to meet his and he could see the possessive glint that dwelt in them, “But, that doesn’t mean that a part of me doesn’t still take pleasure in watching Peaches get his.” Buffy gave him a sidelong glance, “And that’s why you’re here and not where you could be.” He slowly drew his hands up her arms, and felt her warmth spreading through him, “ I’m here to protect her. That’s what I agreed to. I knew what the consequences were,” he looked at her with grateful eyes, “At least I’m not alone,” he said as he placed a tender kiss on her lips. “He isn’t either,” Buffy said. Spike rolled his eyes, “Whom he chooses to surround himself with is up to him. I only agreed to keep an eye on Joni. And, I will. Can I help it if she sees someone he doesn’t?” “Just protect her until he can find a way through.” “Always, Love. I don’t know how to do anything else.” ********************************************* As Spike left the White Room, he noticed the little girl who’d led him there was still lingering near, as if waiting to hear what he would need her to do next. He didn’t know if that was due to some sympathy she felt for him or an instinct for self-preservation. Right now though, he couldn’t care less which it was. He was going to use it. The auric flash in his eyes enthralled Pia Johansen as he looked at her, “Do you have clearance for the records archive?” he asked, his voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Everything in her wanted to say yes, wanted to please him. Wanted to live. His eyes were desperate and she knew her life depended on the answer. Her mouth grew dry as her mind searched for the right answer. She shook under the power of his gaze, “N-no,” she stammered. His scrutiny wavered slightly as he shrugged one shoulder, reaching out to take her hand, “No matter,” he said, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Come with me.” *********************************************** Pia chanced a glance at the man that had forced her to break into the Records Room. He was hunched over the filing cabinets, desperately looking for something. Her hands trembled as she skimmed the files, “What exactly are we looking for?” she wanted to appear confident but her voice was betraying her. He seemed to notice. His eyes and tone softened as he looked at her, “Easy Pet, I’ve got no quibble with you. Just doing your job, yeah? You’re just a worker ant. I’m after bigger game. We’re looking for anything that makes reference to the offspring of the former Chief Executive Officer of the Los Angeles branch of this firm. Give a shout if you find anything, all right?” Pia looked feverishly over the documents in front of her. She had no idea why she wanted to help him, but she did. In the midst of the black and white of ink on paper, a name jumped out at her. She looked to him for confirmation, “The former C.E.O.’s name was Angelus, correct? That’s Latin for “Angel,” isn’t it?” Spike’s eyes narrowed as he stepped over to her and looked over her shoulder, “Yeah. Did you find something?” “Something about a Connor Angel, also known as Stephen Riley. It says here he’s a student at Stanford.” Spike reached over her shoulder, snatching up the legal folder, “Jackpot, Love,” he sneered. ***************************

Chapter #25 - Forty-Five

DECEMBER 22, 2028- Joni took it all in. The cabin around her was painted in muted yet strangely inviting tones. The tiny space was bathed in light, even without a discernable light source. The furniture was antique and very ornate. There was an old-fashioned feel to the room but it wasn’t overpowering. It was like she’d stepped into an old friend’s world. He took the kettle down from its place above the small stove, and turned to look at her, he smiled. For an instant Joni was reminded of the soft gaze of her father as Homer looked over his reading glasses at her, “You can sit, can’t you?” She shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible. It was not. It could not be. “…Sweetheart, you’d better sit before the floor comes up on you,” he reached into his small pantry to retrieve a bag, “And, I think I’ve changed my mind about the tea. Would you like cocoa instead?” “Yes,” she said enthusiastically from her place at the small table, “My Daddy and I used to…” she saw the lines around his eyes pull up in a grin, and her heart skipped a beat, “But then, you knew that,” the world she knew was fast tilting on its axis. In order to keep her balance, he head followed suit, trying to keep her steady, “Didn’t you?” Homer padded over to the table and placed two mugs, with his homemade cocoa blend, on the oak surface, straightened and put his hand lightly over his heart, “You caught me, Slayer. Straight to the heart,” his aged voice sounded like velvet to Jonina, “You got me. I did know,” he said as he turned to take his kettle from the stove and walked back to pour the heated milk for her. “How?” she asked, watching as he slid into his chair with little difficulty. Joni was stunned. She knew she was just beginning to uncover something. And, she was not sure if she was ready to know, but she had to. “Well,” he mused as he sipped from his cup, “working in a graveyard, one tends to see things, know things that most do not. I know there’s a Slayer. Just as I know my eyes are blue,” he smiled as he felt the cocoa warm his old bones, “They’re more grey now, but, they were blue once,” his head tilted in thought, “At least I think they were. I don’t really remember. It doesn’t matter, though. The point is, I know you. Your Da, he used to take midnight walks around the old stones here. He told me all about you.” As Jonina took her first sip of cocoa, the sweet chocolate taste comforted her. She sighed as memories of late-night talks with her Daddy came flooding back and her eyes began to tear. She looked down in shame, “Was he ashamed of me?” He couldn’t help but hurt for her. His heart ached at the empty tone in her voice. He swallowed the stone that was in his throat and asked, “Why would he be ashamed of you?” “I don’t know,” she sniffed, “Maybe…” her eyes met his and the old man nearly sobbed at the mixture of pain and hope he saw in them, “Do you still see him?” He wanted to hold her. Wanted to tell her that he understood and that he loved her. He wanted so many things for her. But, most of all, he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t. “No,” he said, “I don’t. But you do, don’t you?” “Yes,” she whispered. Homer nodded, taking her hand in his, “That will go away in time. It will get easier…” Joni’s eyes flashed with hurt, “But I don’t want it to go away,” she whimpered, her voice made loud by the small space they shared, “I don’t want it to!” she wept openly, the tears cascading down her face, “He’s here. This is the only place he is. Here,” her gaze was hopeless, “and in my dreams. Dreams I don’t even understand,” she drew in a shaky breath, “Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me?” “No, that’s one thing I’m sure of,” Homer said sharply, making Jonina flinch. He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her, “He is not angry. Not with you. He could never be.” Watching her eyes widen, he realized his mistake, “You said is,” she whispered, the hope in her voice making him want to soar through the clouds. He stuttered. Think fast. If he let too much slip, she’d be here forever. And, he’d never have her back and everything would be gone. “Working in a cemetery one tends to get attached. Reality kind of slides,” he avoided her eyes, sheepishly, “Or, I could be just getting too old to know the difference. I’m sorry,” his eyes met hers again, “You wanted to know about your father. About why your memories aren’t linear?” he questioned. “Yes.” “You do know that some of the disorientation is because you carry, in that big heart of yours, the experiences of all the Slayers.” She nodded. “…As well as some of your own. You know that the Slayer’s life can be,” his eyes drifted toward the ceiling, searching for the right word, “…different.” She nodded again, impatient for him to get to the point. “Yours has been more different than most. There are only a few Slayers that have ever had another chance. You’re one of them.” “How?” she asked in an awed whisper. Homer chuckled, “Your father. He’d burst through Hell to have you back in his arms. He did,” he looked at her with such an intense fire that it took her breath away, “And, he will.” *************************************************** The sight of that little baby cooing in the arms of the one man he saw as the devil incarnate was just too much. If Angel could have vomited, he would have. Holland’s steel grey eyes feigned hurt, “Oh Angel, don’t look so peaked. I wouldn’t dare to drop her! This sweet thing is mine,” he smirked, “and always has been. Someone has to protect her,” the weight of Holland’s gaze made Angel cower, “You most certainly did not.” Angel couldn’t stand it anymore. Just watching that serpent holding that child pulled him to his feet, “You hurt her,” he hissed, “and I’ll kill you!” Holland shook his head sadly and tilted his head so that his twin wounds were visible to Angel. He ran his finger over the scar tissue, “Do you see these?” he said flatly, “You’ve already killed me,” his eyes flashed with a deep hatred when he noticed Angel had opened his mouth to protest. His index finger gestured for silence. Angel dutifully complied, “But you did. It may not have been your fangs that did the deed, but you were the agent of my death. You caused it to happen. Just as you took an innocent, and made him an agent of destruction.” Angel’s eyes shone with confusion in the darkness of his Hell, “Do you mean Connor?” he shook his head in fierce denial, “No! He was just filling the empty space in him when I…” his voice trailed off, shamed into silence. “…When you…stopped loving him?” Holland raised an eyebrow. “But I didn’t!” Angel insisted. Holland clicked his tongue, holding baby Jonina close to him, “You left him behind. You let him be taken, right from your arms, not once but twice! What’s a boy to think? If you loved him, why did he have to punch his way through Hell to get to you? You know you should have torn Hell apart looking for him.” ***************************************** OCTOBER 31, 2005- STANFORD UNIVERSITY Stephen Riley looked up from his Literature term paper when he heard the knock at his door. He glanced questioningly at the glowing clock radio on his desk. Was it really three in the morning? It was, and he was nowhere near finished. Not if he wanted a decent grade from Professor Gilbert. She was a real witch. He smiled a little at the flights his mind took when he was too tired to fight it. On the other hand, it might explain a few things. Oh boy, did he need a break. He slowly unfolded his tired limbs and made his way to the door. He opened it to a face he’d only seen, fleetingly, once before. When his “Dad” ran Wolfram and Hart. He knew him. He knew that he was a vampire. A nightmare made of leather and peroxide stood in front of him. There was rage and anguish in his eyes. Stephen knew that look. He’d seen it in the mirror when he found out who he truly was, “Has something happened to Angelus?” Spike nodded grimly, “Yes. He came between me and my child,” his voice was raw and hollow, “I’m here, he’s not. I’m sure you understand.” Stephen’s eyes widened in comprehension, “I think so,” he eyed his visitor suspiciously, “Why come to me? No one else should remember,” Stephen bowed his head, “It’s what he wanted.” Spike showed him the file, “I go where I need to. And, I’m coming to you because you know where the dragons are. You know the lay of the land,” his eyes shot to the floor, and the rest came out in a raw whisper, “This is undiscovered country. And, there’s no one else.” Stephen Riley sighed deeply as he felt the weight of the world settle on his shoulders again, “Come in,” he said. ************************************************** FRANKFURT, GERMANY The doctors had never seen anything like it. This seemingly healthy young woman’s central nervous system had disintegrated within weeks. The team had done everything they could think of to stop the lethal cascade. Everything they knew, and some things they didn’t, couldn’t stop young Astrid Hoffmann from dying. The death certificate listed the cause as unknown. But, it was known. And she was the first of many. ********************************************************* “VERITAS” NIGHTCLUB It felt like weeks, but it could have been only days since he’d left her here. The one who said he’d never leave had abandoned her. The world went on. She did not. She was numb. She blinked. Lone looked at her blank eyes and knelt, taking her hand, “Don’t worry, Moon Pie. He said he’d be back once he had your little one back. He promised. And, he’ll be back,” Lorne’s optimism pained him as he saw the sobs trapped in her eyes. But, it was all he had to give her when the future was so unknown. He smiled sadly, “He may be brash, but he’s as dependable as the sunrise. He’ll find her. If anyone can, he will.” Lorne only wished he believed his own words. ******************************************

Chapter #26 - Forty-Six

Spike was anything but stupid. Even though his head was spinning and his nerves were raw, he could do the math. They were facing long odds here. Not unlike the kinds of odds he faced in an alley on a rainy night, not so long ago. There was no way. He had better odds making it to Heaven, if there indeed was such a place, than he had of finding her. He didn’t care. “How many?” his tongue was slow to get the words out of his mouth because his mind couldn’t fathom it. “Thousands,” the boy said, “each one with its own dangers. There’s no guarantee,” he shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy himself, “Finding her could take decades.” Just like Buffy, he thought. He was now beginning to understand Willow’s dilemma. Spike still didn’t sanction it in the least. But, he understood it. The idea that someone that small could be caught up in Angelus’s wake of well- deserved agony, made his still blood churn with rage. Spike gave a wry smile, “Those are the kinds of odds I like to play.” Stephen Riley didn’t exactly understand what his visitor could find to smile about. He sat down heavily on his bed, careful to slide his textbooks out of the way before letting his knees unlock. He looked up at Spike incredulously, “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Spike nodded firmly, “Every word.” Stephen was confused. The vampire said he understood but he could still see the glint of determination in his deadly blue eyes, “How are you so sure I’ll find her?” “The Conduit,” he said, “informed me that she is where your blood is. Your blood, whether you want it or not, is Angelus. That’s why I’m here. You take me to him, I’ll find her.” Stephen could hear the steeled determination in his voice and nodded, “ All right,” he sighed, “I assume you have a start point? You’re not going at this blind,” his eyes narrowed at the menace that loomed in front of him, “Are you?” “No. Not going in blind,” Spike said, flatly, “ I know someone who would open the gates if I asked her to,” the demon pushed forward to protect him as an unwanted memory flashed over his mind. Spike was inwardly impressed when he saw that the boy did not react in fear, “She’s done it before,” Spike admitted, “She might be…persuaded to do so again.” ************************* The grey sky above him made him feel cold. This wasn’t the kind of cold that he was used to. It wasn’t the cold that came from borrowed blood. This was different. Silas Vale had been right, there was something left for him to lose. And, sitting here, in front of tombstones engraved with names he knew too well, Angel knew now what that thing was. And he knew the moment he lost it. Hope. Angel’s eyes ached from looking at the stone with his name on it. He rubbed his eyes, hoping the engraving would dissolve with his vision. He opened his eyes again, and the name didn’t change. He didn’t think it ever would. “This can’t be real,” he sobbed, “It just can’t be.” The voice that was, and had become, the bane of his existence, sounded in his ear. It was so close that the breath lanced through his skin and froze the tattered remnants of what was once a human heart, “I didn’t know you cared. And don’t worry, he never did. So,” Holland sighed, “your secret’s safe,” Angel could hear the smug confidence in his voice as he added, “Or maybe it’s not…a secret that is, since I know. But then again, I know a lot of things that others don’t, don’t I?” ********************* OCTOBER 31, 2005 BRAZIL Willow tried not to pay attention to the heat crawling up her skin as she tried to tell him how much she thought this was a very bad idea, “Spike, no. I won’t do it. And, I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this. I never thought you would, after what happened the last time.” From the tone and venom she heard over the telephone line, Willow could tell that he was losing his patience with her, and probably talking around a set of very sharp fangs, “Willow, I am not discussing this with you anymore. You owe me. And, you owe Buffy. If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’d like to explain to Buffy why you didn’t do all you could to bring her daughter back to her when you had the power to help. I’m sure she would understand how your principles are more important than a little baby’s life.” Willow could feel her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Her mouth had gone dry with fear. How was he able to do that? Spike was thousands of miles away, and she could still feel his hand around her throat just as sure as if he were in the room with her. She could practically feel the cold flesh of his fingers around her neck as they squeezed the air out of her, “All right,” she felt her throat squeezing around the words, nearly cutting them off, “You win.” “No, Red, I haven’t won anything,” Spike sighed, “ Jonina is still not here, where she should be.” **************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- It had been eons since Buffy had seen that glint in Spike’s eye. It was a relief to see it, but it shouldn’t have been at Angel’s expense. “Spike,” she said, “you’re torturing him,” her lower lip crept out, “it’s not fair.” There was a hint of hurt in his eyes as they turned on her, “Fair, Love? There are no boundaries here. I’m not doing a blessed thing to him. He’s doing it all for me. I’m just following his lead. And, when did he worry about fair?” his expression became serious, “He did things, Love. Things he never told you about.” “I know,” she whispered, holding him tighter “He did things,” he winced as he felt the bile searing his throat, “to me…that he can never, never justify,” he bit his lip, trying to keep the hurt down where it was buried, “If you ask me, this little masquerade is just me getting a little of my own back, is all.” Buffy eyes him knowingly. She knew that this was worse for him than it was for Angel. Despite her husband’s bravado, she knew he was in pain. He didn’t think she knew, even here, but she did. She remembered listening to him, when he thought she couldn’t hear him, tearing his heart open for her. Telling her about all the pain he’d been through on his search for Jonina. Everything he’d been through when she thought she’d lost him. She remembered the pain. The haze of pain at the end wasn’t hers alone, “I know,” she said tenderly, “Just don’t forget whom it is you’re here to protect.” “Always Love. Always,” he sighed, taking her scent in as he spoke. *********************** SEPTEMBER 19, 2027- Willow now understood why she was so drained. His mind was confused, not just because of the virus that he carried with him when he rescued their daughter. The reason what he was going through was so insidious was because part of him was fractured and straddling a number of different dimensions. Buffy had said that this kind of thing had happened before, when he was under the thumb of Wolfram and Hart. But Willow really doubted it was as extensive then, as it was now. Right now, Spike’s aura was so tattered that there was very little left of him at all. Her shoulders heaved in defeat. The pain she saw in Buffy’s eyes cut her like a knife, “Buffy,” even saying her name sent her heart into painful spasms, “There’s nothing I can do. He’s too far gone.” Buffy shook her head in denial, “No! No, he’s not,” she felt the blazing tears choking her, “I won’t accept that. I won’t!” Willow kept her head down, refusing to see the pain in her friend’s eyes, “It could be today,” she said softly, “It could be months from now, Buffy. But it will happen. There’s no way to stop it,” her own voice faltered, “If I were you,” Willow looked up to see the heat of hatred flash in Buffy’s eyes, “If I were you,” she repeated, trying to avoid being burned by her gaze, “I’d start saying my goodbyes.” **************************

Chapter #27 - Forty-Seven

What Willow said kept ringing through her head. Say her goodbyes. Oh, God, how? How, when just looking at the closed wooden door, and knowing he was behind it, made her dizzy. So dizzy it almost made her sick to her stomach. Buffy did not want to go through that door. Did not want her eyes to confirm what her heart already knew. She resisted it at first. The pull. The pull he always had, ever since she’d seen him behind the Bronze. But eventually, she would give in. She always did. She gave in to the horrible, wonderful, irresistible pull of her mate, even as her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Slowly, the door crept closer and closer. She tried to stop it. Tried to dig her heels in and stop her compulsive need to be at his side. Her mind and heart were screaming at her to stop. Even as she found her hand lingering above the brass doorknob, the little girl in her was sobbing, don’t go in. Don’t go in. Stop. Stop. Stop! But, a part of her didn’t want to stop because it knew what Willow said was true. If he was leaving, if he was truly dying, then she felt she needed to be by his side. She couldn’t leave him to face death alone. Not this time. With a trembling hand, she opened the door. Just a crack, but it was enough. That sliver of space was enough to let it out. It hit her in the solar plexus, and it hit her hard. So hard that she staggered back a step. If she hadn’t been grasping the doorknob, she would have sank, like a stone, to the floor. Being the Slayer, before there was a sea of Slayers that had gone to the edge of extinction and back, she knew that smell. It was the smell that weighed heavily in the air surrounding countless cemeteries. That smell became part of a Slayer’s life. It was in the air she breathed. It had been part of life. Inevitable. But not for him. Not this. Please, she silently begged as she held her breath to keep the invader out, not this. Not him. Please. Take anyone else. Anyone! Me! Please, you can’t have him. You mustn’t touch him. He wouldn’t let you in. He won’t! Even as her heart screamed, her brain understood. This was decay. This was death. In the dim room, she could see her daughter hovering over the head of his bed. The light of her tears went straight to Buffy’s heart, “I think he’s asleep, Mom.” In this light, Jonina’s hawk-like features were more pronounced. That alone called an image to Buffy’s mind. An image of the one Joni called her father, before the virus had left nothing but a shell. The way she carried herself spoke well of the pet name her father had for her. Jonina reminded her of a china doll, a china doll that was now on the verge of breaking because her world was slowly falling apart. Buffy went to the bedside and put a hand on Joni’s shoulder. She felt a shudder of relief when Joni leaned into the touch, seeking comfort, “Honey,” she said softly, “why don’t you get some sleep?” Buffy could see that Joni did not want to leave, and she held her shoulder firmly, “For your Dad’s sake,” Buffy gave her daughter a sidelong glance, wincing in sympathy, “I know how you feel, Joni. But, do you really want to explain to him,” her head tilted toward the sleeping vampire, “when he wakes up why his ‘Best Girl’ is sick?” Buffy hissed at even the thought of his reaction, “’Cause I sure don’t. You’re not putting that one on me, Sweetie,” she smiled wryly, “ I’ve faced many an apocalypse but I don’t want to face that.” Jonina nodded slightly, “You’re right Mom,” she placed a gentle kiss on the back of her Daddy’s hand, “Good night, Daddy. I love you,” she straightened, gave her mother a weary hug and quietly left the room. Part of Spike had to be aware of what was happening around him, because as soon as the soft echo of the door latch died in the room, his eyes shot open. And, even though his voice barely registered above a whisper to her ears, his words were very clear, though his thoughts were not, “Love, please.” “Yes Spike,” she leaned in close, hanging on his every word as if they were more precious than her own life. To her, at that moment they were, “What do you want?” She could feel her eyes swimming with tears, “Is there something you want?” “Y-y-ess,” Buffy could see his chest rising in an effort to gain the air he needed for speech, if not for life, “Leave me…please. Take...” Buffy could see that his mouth was forming the words he meant to say but could not because the pain would not let him. Our girl. “Away.” In that moment she knew what he was talking about. Knew where he thought he was. “No Spike,” she sobbed as her fingers quavered over his face as if to memorize it. Buffy completely ignored the blue lace-like mottling that covered his face. A mottling that would have been red if he’d have had circulating blood in his body. She didn’t see any of that. She only saw the face she once knew. The face she still loved, “I couldn’t leave you there. I just couldn’t!” “Can!” he hissed, “Can,” the effort was sapping his strength. I believe “…In you.” The fevered look of determination in his eye reminded her of that time. And that remembrance sent her body into painful full body sobs. Sobs that made it difficult to speak as she felt them take he over. But, she had to tell him she knew. So, she spoke, when all she really wanted to do, all she could do was curl up in a corner somewhere and die, “I know Spike,” she wailed, “I know you do. And, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As she watched the last of his strength leave him, as his eyes drifted closed, Buffy bowed her head and cursed herself for not believing in herself they way that he had. The way he did, and always would. She cursed herself for not being able to survive without him. If she had been able to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe the Slayers wouldn’t have been on the endangered species list. Maybe they all wouldn’t be here, like this, now. Maybe. ************************************************* Brown eyes met steel-grey in an eternal stand off. Which would blink first? Well, that Holland already knew. He grinned maliciously as the brown eyes faltered and looked away, “Too much for you?” he asked, in what seemed to be genuine concern, “It can be a bit overwhelming at times. I know.” “What do you know about it?” Angel moaned. Hurt flashed in his cold eyes, “I know plenty,” he said, as he leaned against the tombstone that haunted Angel, “Why are you here?” It was a pointed question. Angel laughed. There was no humor in it, “I’m here because Spike finally did me, and the world, a favor and killed me.” Holland crossed his arms, “Well, there is that,” he conceded, “But why are you,” he pointed at the tombstone in front of Angel and at the sod beneath their feet, “here? Why that stone? Care to read the name aloud?” Angel felt his throat tighten, “I’d rather not.” Holland nodded, “I know. Can’t always get what we want, as Mick once said. Read it.” “William Alistair Dustin. Gone, but not forgotten. December 2, 2027.” Holland stepped away from the stone and took his place beside Angel to ponder it, “It was a nice stone she gave him wasn’t it?” “Yes,” Angel nodded in agreement, “she…how did you know?” Holland sighed, “Because, we’ve done this before, you and I. Everyone chooses their own private Hell. And, for some reason you’ve chosen this.” “Then why are you here?” Holland threw his head back in laughter, “You see, that’s the funny part of this job. I’m here,” suddenly the little baby appeared on his shoulder again, seemingly unharmed and cooing happily in his care, “to make sure that this little Dove fulfils the plan that’s been laid out for her,” Holland began patting the child’s back, in slow gentle rhythm, “In order to do that, ‘Daddy’ must follow. And now,” he beamed down into the girl’s face, “he will.” As the light of understanding dawned on him, Angel hid his face in his hands and sunk, once again, to his knees, “Oh no. It wasn’t the baby you wanted at all, was it?” Angel’s eyes bore into Holland heatedly, “It was Spike you wanted all along. Am I right?” “You were always the quick learner, Angelus. That’s why we like you.” Angel felt something cold rise up within him and fill him, “I’ll stop you.” “And how would you do that?” Holland asked, looking around at the vast grey that surrounded them, “Even if you could somehow get out of here, and warn them, who’d believe you? Buffy certainly wouldn’t. Not after what you pulled,” Holland’s eyes gleamed with a perverse pleasure as he stared back at Angel, “As I recall, someone told you you’d get eaten, didn’t they? You’ve been swallowed. And you didn’t even notice. Too busy fighting the battle to see the bigger picture. How are you at history, Angelus? Have you ever heard of a little thing called a ‘Trojan Horse’?” *******************************

Chapter #28 - Forty-Eight

IN THE INTERREGNUM- He held her face into his chest, trying to protect her, “Love,” he whispered, “ you don’t have to watch this. In fact I’d prefer that you didn’t,” his eyes met hers and he tried to bury the fear under a need to protect her, “Please Love, leave me now. I can do this on my own.” Buffy’s eyes glistened up at him, “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to, not now.” Spike shook his head angrily, “But Love, it didn’t need to be this way! All Angelus had to do was stay away from Jonina. That’s all that had to happen. Just a few more months and Rupert and he would have sussed this out. And the body count,” Spike sighed in frustration. Not even the gentle press of her lips on his could pull him from his dark mood. He abruptly pulled away from her comfort, “I was just starting to believe that we could find a way to minimize the damage. Now, with Joni in danger again, he won’t be able to see. Love he can’t even think straight,” he ran his hands over her soft skin and lovingly cupped her face so that he could see her eyes, “He was just starting to put the pieces together. Now the Home Office found a way to throw him off the track…” “Throw him off the track?” Buffy whined, “Spike, this is our girl! Not just some nameless, faceless…” “I know,” he said softly, trying to soothe her, “I know. And he does too, on some level. I’m getting him so bothered he’s calling me ‘Jiminy Cricket.’ I’m part of the reason he can’t think. That’s how the Home Office was able to step this up,” he rolled his eyes up, “ I can’t help but think that part of this is my fault. And, that thing with Angelus? Yeah, part of me enjoyed it. You know that. But I know it didn’t help. In fact, it may have made things worse. I still can’t understand how Holland Manners’s word weighs more with that Ponce than…” Buffy noticed his voice trail off, and looked up to see his mouth pulling into a smirk, “Spike?” “…That’s it Love. That’s it.” “Spike, what?” Buffy asked, afraid to know the answer. “I told the Higher Ups I’d protect Joni. But, they left me to my own devices as to how I did the protecting.” ************************** All the way back to Los Angeles, the rage kept building. The boy had told him the odds he was up against. A part of him knew it was hopeless. But, his mind kept flashing on Buffy’s eyes and the way they looked when he found her in that empty nursery. That was all he needed to drive him onward. He would have their daughter back. The only problem he saw was this, would she be their daughter, still, when she came back, if she came back? The boy told him that when he was in the Hell dimension he called home, there, sixteen years had passed and he had come to call Holtz, Angelus’s nemesis and his captor and only human contact, Father. Sixteen years had passed for him, while on the outside a scant two weeks had gone by. Jonina was less then a month old, and had only been missing for three days. Three days had never felt more like a century than they did now. At least the boy had Holtz. Who did Jonina have to cling to? What would fill the empty space? Was there anything that could? Would she remember, once he had her back in his arms, would she remember them? Would she be theirs, or would she be changed forever? Would she still be his? What would fill the empty space, the part of him that she took with her when she left? ************************************************* Homer barely remembered her as he looked at this young lady sipping her cocoa, thoughtfully. Had she always been this beautiful? He ducked his head, hiding behind his lashes; afraid he would reveal something of his loneliness to her in his eyes, “What do you remember of your Da, Sweetheart?” She put her cup down and licked her lips taking away the sweet chocolate taste, “So many things,” she said dreamily, “Mostly, what I remember is his strength. And, his stillness.” Homer’s eyes widened in wonder and he had to hide the grin that was threatening, “Stillness?” he asked, clearing his throat. “I know,” Jonina felt the need to defend him, “I know he didn’t seem like he could sit still for three seconds at a stretch. But, I was a very colicky baby. The only way I would go to sleep, nights, was lain out on my stomach, across my Daddy’s chest. It was still,” Joni could feel the heat flushing her face, “I know it’s silly. But, it was soothing.” The memory ran across his mind and his breath caught, “That’s a very vivid memory. But, you were so small, surely you don’t really remember, do you?” She nodded, “A part of me does,” she touched her heart, “It’s here. Even if I don’t consciously remember it, a part of me always will.” Homer stifled his need to tell her, “Tell me more,” he said. **************************************************** NOVEMBER 1, 2005- ROME The phone rang. One. Two. Three. The machine picked up. Giles hated leaving something like this on a machine. Still, there was nothing to be done for it, “William, this is Rupert. I’m calling to inform you that the tests have been done. And, I regret to inform you that your child had…” he winced at his own insensitivity. So far as he knew, the child was still among the living, “…Has an extremely rare, ‘birth defect.’ I’m sending you the particulars, via fax, right now. Get back to me as soon as you can.” *************************************** Spike stood outside the brick building on Jennings Street. Now the place looked dark and foreboding, when only days ago it had been filled with light. It was ready to become his little oasis of life in this maelstrom of death that had consumed him for so long. As he put the key in the lock and turned on the lights, illuminating the small dojo around him, he chastised himself. Brooding like my Ponce of a Grandsire isn’t going to help me get my daughter back. He could hear the phone machine chattering away in Giles’s voice. Something to do with Jonina. Please, don’t remind me, not now. There’s no place for the hurt. Angelus. I can’t believe I actually dusted him. Yes, I can. I couldn’t see past the rage. It’s still in me. Spike made his way to the locker rooms at the back of the dojo. There he carefully shed his duster and boots, and came out into the dojo proper. The demon in him was itching for a bit of violence. Needed it, in fact, if he was going to center himself again. There was one person on this whole planet, aside from Buffy, who understood that need, and could give him a good fight. He went up to the secretary’s desk, dialed the number and punched the button for the speakerphone. One ring. Two. Three. Spike closed his eyes. It was clear that no one was home. Just as he was about to resign himself to the dim fate of having to abuse old Ray once again, he heard a voice question the air, “Hello?” Spike let out a sigh of relief, “Georgie, did I wake you?” “Nope,” she said quickly. “You up for a round then?” he asked, “Usual weapons?” “Sure. I’m on my way.” Good. If he was going to sublimate his baser instincts, he could think of no one better to be with. He knew his demon would not be satiated until blood was flowing. He also knew that if he let it take him over, if he truly gave himself over, the part of him that loved humanity and Buffy and Jonina in particular, would be snuffed out. He would become the thing he hated most. He would become Angelus. So, until Georgie arrived, a brutal round with the heavy bag would have to suffice. ************************ On her way to Jennings Street, Georgie couldn’t help but be concerned for him. She’d never heard that edge in his voice before. This was an obvious emergency. She pulled up, slowly got out and retrieved the supplies from the trunk. Carefully going up to the door, she gave a timid knock. Rustling could be heard from behind the door. It opened and it was apparent that he’d been working out. She tried, she really did, to hide the appreciative look she gave him. But, it wasn’t working, not if the smile he was giving her was any indication, “Sorry,” she said, clearly embarrassed by her girlish reaction. “Not at all, Love. I always knew you were a woman. And,” he winked at her, and she felt the blush burn deeper, “Seeing that,” his eyes flashed on her face, “Makes me know it’s all worth it. Did you bring the equipment?” “Uh,” Georgie stuttered, “Yeah,” she said holding up the chess set, “White or black?” she asked as she followed him into the dojo. “Black, Love. Always black.” ***************************** “VERITAS” NIGHTCLUB Lorne chanced a worried look over at Buffy, and turned his back, hoping she wouldn’t overhear, “Yeah, there was a hot spot where my old club was. I think it’s still hot. Why?” Lorne couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “The little sugar lump is there? In that place, oh no. Of course I’ll tell her,” he looked at Buffy again. He hoped she was together enough to understand, “We’ll be ready,” Lone said as he hung up the phone. Lorne knelt in front of Buffy, “Well Moon Pie, Spike’s coming. He’s gonna get your baby back to you, that’s a promise. But he’s gonna need your help.” ***************************** Homer noticed the tiny glint of metal as it shone in the light. He had to ask her about it, “What’s that around your neck, Sweetheart?” “Oh, this?” she asked as she fished the ring from under her sweater, “This is my Daddy’s wedding ring,” she said as she touched the metal with loving fingers, lost in memories, “Mommy gave it to me when he…” her voice trailed off, the memories too painful to relive. Lost in memories himself, Homer touched, absently, the place where that ring had rested for so many years. His voice was weighed down with emotion as he said, “He must have loved you very much.” Joni nodded, her eyes shining with tears, “He did,” she agreed, looking up into an old man’s tearful gaze, “I know he did.”

Chapter #29 - Forty-Nine

****************************** What Rupert was telling him quickly dampened the small victory Spike had felt over winning yet another chess match with Georgie. He didn’t win often, but when he did, he relished them, usually. Not today though. Today, he felt as though he’d won the battle but lost the war. He still couldn’t believe it, “Tell me again, Watcher,” he must have been sleep deprived. That was the only logical explanation for what he’d heard. Spike knew his worries for his child could do a number on his brain. But, how could it get this bad and he never noticed? “I think I misheard you. It sounded like you said…” he shook his head in disbelief, “What?” The air inside the little brick building on Jennings Street crackled with the sound of Giles’s tired, but understanding tone, “As I’ve said, Willow…and I think that what happened in Sunnydale did more than just awaken potential Slayers. It may have…done something to you as well.” “Well yeah,” Spike said derisively, “it turned me to ash, sucked me inside an amulet, which then spit me back out again, as a bloody ghost! That about the size of it?” “Quite,” Giles sighed, “Do you remember anything of the interim? The time between the Hellmouth and Wolfram and Hart?” “No,” the answer came firmly and quickly. Because, he was lying. He did remember. He remembered all too well. First, there was the odd sensation of being free. To finally be free, finished at long last had filled, was that his soul, with a joy he had never before felt. But that was short lived. Then came the numbness, and the terror. For what seemed to stretch into eternity, his limbs were torn asunder and his eyes, oh, God, his eyes. He’d wished for so long that he’d had the means to pluck his eyes from their sockets. He knew he didn’t deserve Heaven, but what, what had he done to be tortured like that? To see the one bright spot in his world of darkness fade slowly from his grasp was just too cruel. But then, that’s what Hell was, wasn’t it? He expected nothing less. He screamed for someone to save him, to sweep him up and keep him from dying, again and again, and again. But no one heard. No one was there to hold him. And, would never be, again. Buffy was dead. And, he was alone. He was numb again. Dead. He’d been alive, through them. He’d been warm. Living, breathing and alive. Now he was not. A primal rage boiled up in his veins, and he howled as he felt his heart tearing away from his body. He died, night after night. Day after day and year after year, blinded and silenced by pain, he died. And Buffy was still dead. He screamed until his lungs were raw, and no one heard. Until that blessed day his voice was heard, and on angels’ wings he flew. Flew to strangers’ faces, all except one, Angelus, who told him that she still lived. Oh, bright Angel, speak again! Tell me she yet lives! But then, that was torn from him too. He was plunged again into the depths of Hell. He kept vigil over first her stone, then his own. He went on like this, year after year, until he’d forgotten his own name. Then she came, and she brought with her the hope that he might yet escape this fate. If he could only keep her safe, then all would be well, and nothing could be ill. She was his one bright hope of escaping this fate, and he’d do what needed to be done to preserve that hope. Spike pulled away from the pain and tried to focus on what he was being told, “Did you hear me?” Giles was asking. “Yeah, just went elsewhere for a bit. You tend to get a bit dry, Watcher,” he lied. What the man was saying was utterly devastating, “So…Willow’s spell made things go wonky, did it? And Joni got drawn into that. Just one question, Watcher, how do I get her out?” “We…don’t know.” “Well,” Spike hissed, “since this is Red’s mess, first things first. She gets here. Now!” Spike growled, “Before I get really testy. And don’t lecture me about Council ‘procedures’ again. Are we clear?” “Yes, extremely,” Giles replied, tersely. ********************** Inside the cabin, Homer and Joni heard the wind howling outside. Homer had been here for years, ever since his sweet Elisabeth had been taken from him, and he’d never seen a winter, or a storm for that matter, come on so strong. Homer’s heart clenched with dread. His time with her was growing short. Some part of him knew that, and was glad. She should be with the living, not here among dead things. Yet, he would miss her when she left. He’d been so lonely without his dear Elisabeth. Having someone so young here lessoned the sting of her absence. Still, he knew this was how it was to be. He remembered that much. He watched as the wind swirled the white snow against an angry black sky. He looked over at his guest. She had come to stand with him by the window and was squinting, stretching her gaze out the window, her hands resting on the sill. She looked worried. “Storm’s coming,” he said, “and it looks like a big one, too. Never seen one brew up this fast,” he put his hand on her shoulder, “Maybe you should get home,” Homer tried to keep his voice steady, “Back to your Mum?” “You’re right. She’ll be worried,” Joni looked out the window of this tiny cabin. It was awful outside. Dark. And, even though she couldn’t feel it, she knew it was cold outside of this little oasis. It had to be. A night this dark couldn’t be anything else, “Maybe I should wait until the storm lets up a bit. Do you have a telephone?” “No,” Homer said, “I’m a bit behind the times here, “ he shrugged, grinning sheepishly, “Besides, I’m old and the neighbors aren’t very lively. Who would call me?” Something inside of Joni’s heart jumped, “Mom would know if I was in danger, or hurt,” looking into Homer’s eyes, she saw the glow of something familiar. It was so close, just out of her reach. If she could just know what it was that made her want to stay here, “She’d rather I was safe,” she shook her head as she saw the blur of snow outside the window, “It’s looking nasty out there. And, at least I’m warm and safe here. Right?” Homer nodded quickly in agreement, “Yes, as safe as can be.” Joni sighed with relief, “Well then I’ll stay. At least until dawn.” Jonina noticed the wave of gratefulness that came over the old man. It made his limbs loosen and pulled his spine straighter. He seemed instantly lighter, younger somehow. His face looked different. His eyes. Grey was suddenly overcome by blue. A deep and very familiar blue from someplace barely forgotten, stood instead of the grey. She blinked, hoping it would go away, yet wanting it to stay. Yes. Please stay. Tell me I’m not dreaming, please. In an instant, the old man was gone. Her friend was gone and her heart swelled with an aching joy at the one who stood in this tiny little cabin with her now. He watched her sway on her feet. That’s when he knew. She’d seen him. She’d seen through the veil of her grief, “Joni?” he smiled, trying to control the torrent of joy that threatened to take him under, “Joni, are you all right?” She knocked the breath out of him, taking him in her arms in the embrace of the lost. As if he could speak now even if he wanted to. His ears were full of her voice. Brimming with her joyful sobs, “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy! Oh, I am now. I am now!” ***************************

Chapter #30 - Fifty

The gloating session was short-lived. One minute Georgie was breathing a sigh of relief, pleased that she’d been able to put that sparkle back in his eyes and help him forget about the cares of the world, if only for a moment; she knew better then to expect him to forget that sweet little baby, but if he didn’t take care of himself and remember who he was, he’d never be able to help her. She had never been so happy to see that evil glint in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him shine like that since he’d given her a blow-by-blow rundown of how he’d beaten the tar out of her ex-boss, Mr. Angel, in that old opera house. Her heart soared seeing it. But now, that was gone. It had been replaced, in a flash, by something far more sinister. The pace and look of a trapped, wounded wild animal was what he stared at her now. Watching him move like that as he spoke to the Watcher, really made her wonder if this age of instant communication and gratification was such a good thing. There was something to be said for ages past and for the charm of distance. At least back when Spike had been a boy, bad news could be delayed. That wasn’t a luxury these days, not in the age of the computer, the television and the fax machine. Georgie knew there was no way to escape that tone in his voice. Even if she left, which was unthinkable at this point, his plight would give her sleepless nights. It already gave her nightmares. She tried to busy herself with tidying up the workout rooms. Yes, they had a cleaning service that came once a week, but a girl had to do something to keep from going insane. Even taking careful inventory of the towels didn’t keep her from hearing snippets of the conversation. Something to do with how he’d come to be at Wolfram and Hart; all this talk of amulets and magic spells made her feel as though she’d been dropped into the middle of some science fiction novel. She’d learned that, as an employee of Wolfram and Hart, it was better not to ask questions. But she knew better than to think that “Mr. Angel” and his circle of cohorts were normal. That’s why she had liked it down in the motor pool; at least there she knew what things were. A car was a car. There were no weird surprises. Spike wasn’t normal. She knew that. He was a vampire, like Angel. She knew that, too. But, with him, what you saw was what you got. There was no pretense. She loved him for that. No, it was more than that. She loved him. And, she loved him because he’d accepted her, imperfection and all, limitations and all, when the world did not. She loved him, and she wasn’t the only one who did. She knew that too. Because of that, she would follow him on whatever crazy adventures came along. It was the only thing she could do. She couldn’t help it. She loved him. Somehow, Georgie suspected that whomever he came into contact with loved him, whether they wanted to or not. Georgie was so engrossed in trying to keep her mind off of the details of the conversation she wasn’t supposed to be hearing, that when he stood in front of her she was startled. But, not as startled as he seemed to be, “Spike?” he looked stricken and lost, as if he didn’t know who she was. Her heart skipped a beat, “Oh my…God. What’s happened?” He tilted his head and squinted at her. Taking a step forward, he asked, “Who are you?” “What do you mean who…” that’s when she noticed it. The noise she was trying so desperately to tune out hadn’t stopped. Spike was still arguing with the Watcher. But how could that be, when he was standing right in front of her? Spike must have noticed as well, because he turned and moved in the direction of the voice, obviously wanting to hear more. Georgie closed her eyes. This wasn’t happening. She was just tired. That must have been it, because when she opened her eyes Spike was still on the telephone with the Watcher, arguing at the top of his lungs, “Changed…me…how?” “The spell,” Giles was saying, “…The amulet,” the man’s voice was ragged, “I’m sorry. There’s no other way to say this.” “Just say it, Rupert!” Spike growled. “It left a fragment of your soul…in the place where you were. Are you certain you don’t remember?” Georgie could hear the icy terror envelop the whole place as she heard him say, “ And Joni?” “I believe so. I don’t know how it’s possible, but that child is yours…by blood. I believe she may have been drawn to you. If she’s not here…then it follows that she is most probably…” “…There,” Spike finished, “Oh, God. No.” He did remember. It was torture, watching the one woman he loved even more than his own existence die over and over again. There were bright spots. When he had forgotten his own name. When he’d been driven nearly mad with loneliness, she came. But those were few. So few that, he’d begun to believe that the world he’d dreamed of at night was just that, a dream. ****************************** Joni didn’t want to let him go. If she was dreaming, she didn’t want to wake up. If she was dead, Aunt Willow should let her stay that way, “Oh, Daddy,” she sobbed, “Oh Daddy, I missed you!” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Oh, God. It was him. He was real. She was here. She was in his arms and she was real. He’d almost forgotten. Almost made himself believe he’d made her out of his own need, so that he could be rid of the awful loneliness that had followed him here. Almost. But he did remember her. Somewhere, he remembered his little girl and how she’d smelled of sunlight and soap. It all came back to him, and she was real. He started to sob, big wracking sobs, and he held her tightly to him, almost crushing her, because she was the one true thing. She was his proof, his one true north. The proof that he hadn’t gone insane in this prison he’d been banished to. And, as much as he loved her, as much as he needed her, he knew she didn’t belong here. “Joni,” he sobbed, hating to tear himself away from her sweet scent. The scent that meant home to him. Home, and her, “where’s your Mother?” He could feel the wetness of her tears and the pressure of her head against him as she shook her head, “I don’t know, Daddy. And, I don’t care. I want to stay here, with you.” “I know,” he whispered, letting his own tears fall, “I know you do. But you can’t. You don’t belong here,” he held her back, to stare into her large, beautiful, loving eyes. Eyes he’d only dreamed of, for so long, and shook his head in astonishment, “However did you get here, Dove? Will you at least tell me that?” She shook her head, still sobbing, “I don’t care! I don’t care. I’m here. That’s all I care about. That’s all I wanted!” As much as he wanted to drown in her, to take solace in his sweet little girl, one thought crowded out the joy he felt, “Where is your Mother?” Joni held him tighter, not wanting to tell him. She brought her eyes to meet his gaze, and then she knew. His eyes were so innocent, so trusting and open. He didn’t know. He didn’t remember. And she hated herself, once again, for being the means of taking that peace from him, “Oh Daddy,” she said as the tears welled up again, threatening to spill, and this time not from the joy of seeing him again, “don’t you remember?” He shook his head slightly, in disbelief and whispered, “No,” he staggered back away from her, in shock, “No,” he begged, his head still shaking in disbelief and denial, “She’s not…?” he beseeched her. “Oh, Daddy,” she cried, coming toward him with her arms up in a gesture of surrender and sorrow, wanting to hold him again, “I’m sorry. She died. Years ago.” ******************************** Giles was afraid that the subject may have brought on some type of shell shock, “Spike, are you still with me? Or, have we lost the connection?” Spike’s voice was chocked from stress, “No. I’m still here. I’m still here.” Though there was a time when he wished he wasn’t. A time when he had to lash out at someone. He needed someone to blame. He dimly remembered it now, but it seemed so clear at the time. ******************************* OCTOBER 3, 2003 A wall. No, this wasn’t right. Where was that little sprite that seemed to know him? Where did she go? “Where did you go?” He turned. There was that green fellow with the horns again, “What…what?” “You took the whats right out of our mouths. Where’d you go?” Why in Hell were they asking him? The last thing he remembered before waking up here was burning in the Hellmouth. Then he winks out and hears bits of a conversation about an amulet and someone named Joni. Something about that sent him reeling. Nothing made sense. He looked around for something to anchor him, a familiar face to pin to the wall. They said something about the amulet. Angelus brought the amulet to Sunnydale. This was his fault. Spike turned and pointed a finger of accusation at his tormenter, “You,” he croaked, “This is your fault. You brought that bloody amulet to Sunnydale. You would have been the one to use it, until you chickened out!” “What did you say?” Angel fumed. How dare Spike question his motives. “You heard me!” Spike shot back, “Abandoned the woman you claimed to love.” ********************************* Spike couldn’t take it anymore. Talking about this was bringing things up that he’d wanted to keep buried. Bringing up a time of pain that felt like years. He was here now, not in that place anymore. He didn’t have to be without her. He was here. And, so was she. And he would prove it, “Enough talk,” he said gruffly, “We have work to do, and I need to see her.” ***************************** Spike opened the door of “Veritas” feeling the desperation swell in him. He needed to see her. He needed to know that she was real, that she was alive. He scanned the dim atmosphere of the club for her. In the sea of demons, vampires and humans that mingled peacefully here, he saw her, sitting on a bar stool at the bar. She looked so lost that he thought perhaps she was a mirage. He moved swiftly to her, longing to hold her in his arms again, “Love,” he said as he knelt in front of her, “I think I know where she is,” he looked intently into her shining eyes. He didn’t want to see the tears that stood there fall. He kissed her lightly, savoring the softness of her lips and the sweetness of her taste. He had to remember it. He had to, because it was all he would be taking with him. And he knew, it could be the last, “I’ll find her and bring her back to you,” he whispered as he held her tight, inhaling the scent of her, “I promise.” **************************

Chapter #31 - Fifty-One

Author's Note: Messing around with "Buffy" seasons five and six here. Hope you don't mind...although it might explain some things that M.E. didn't bother to. ******************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE Holland Manners knew that entropy engagement was a tricky thing, and with this new development he had to scramble to salvage this operation. The Champion had help from an unexpected quarter. This was not foreseen, although, it should have been. As Holland paced his lushly carpeted office he surveyed the fine mahogany furnishings. Nothing but the best of everything was offered here. It was their best recruiting tool. Appeal to a being’s vanity, his baser instincts, and nothing can pull them from your grasp. Not even a Higher calling can sway them, once they’ve been led down the garden path. This kind of manipulation was what the Home office was known for. And it would have worked, if not for the anomaly that called itself a vampire. Holland Manners had grown accustomed to the perks that came with this office. And now because the Champion had somehow convinced the Higher Ups to make an exception, this could all disappear. In the blink of an eye, he could be down with the dregs, with the rest of the rabble. This was unthinkable. The Higher Ups had never, never granted this request before. The only way to stop this now was to take the child and keep her until her presence would no longer be of any effect. Holland hated to think of the kind of damage that would be inflicted by this agreement. The effects could be devastating. No Slayer had ever come back from the dead. This could be disastrous. **************************** THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE Joyce Summers knew better than to try to talk her daughter out of this. There was no talking a Slayer, or a Summers woman, out of anything once their minds were set. Still, she had tried. For hours she tried, but nothing had worked. There was still one thing she could pull out of her bag of tricks that might, just might, stop Buffy. “You know, Sweetie,” Joyce knew it was futile, even before she said it, but it was all she had. Why not go for broke? My God, she thought as she drew up the courage to say it, I really do take after my son-in-law, “Spike won’t really like this idea very much.” “I know,” Buffy acknowledged grimly, “That’s why he can’t know.” She shook her head, the images still swimming in her mind, “It was bad enough the first time around, for both of us. If he knew this?” her eyes gleamed back at her mother, “It would destroy him. I know it would.” Joyce tried to put herself in that position, to try to understand why Buffy felt she needed to do this, “But Buffy, that doesn’t excuse…” “No,” she agreed, “it doesn’t. But, in the end, he might be able to understand, and forgive me,” she sighed, “I can’t leave him alone. I have to do this. Even if it all ends up the same, even if he never knows, or understands why I did this, it still has to be done.” Joyce held Buffy’s shoulders lightly, trying to give comfort. She remembered watching, wishing she could do something, as his wounded soul agonized over the very same thing. It agonized so much that it nearly drove him mad, “He’s already forgiven you. He told you that.” “Then maybe I need to do this to be able to forgive myself,” Buffy looked down in shame, unable to meet her mother’s eyes, “Someday maybe I will.” Joyce gave a nod of sad acceptance, “All right then. She’ll be coming soon,” Joyce turned to leave, “You’re sure?” she called back over her shoulder, giving Buffy one last opportunity to back out. Buffy nodded. “I’ll go meet her then,” Joyce said as she disappeared into the mist, “She’s expecting me.” ********************************** MAY 22, 2001- The last thing Buffy remembered was jumping off that tower. Then, there was nothing. She saw all her friends standing still, in shock. They were looking at something on the ground. It was her they were looking at. She was lying on the ground. And, she was dead. Strangely, it should have hurt. She knew she was dead because her friends were all around her, and they were crying. She knew they were crying because she heard the sound. A sound unlike any she’d heard before. It sounded like an echo, like something empty would sound. Her body should have hurt, but it didn’t. The body was just temporary. She could get over the hurt of the body. It was nothing. It should have hurt. It did hurt. The empty sound tore at her. She had to make it stop. She had to find out what was making that sound and do whatever she could to offer comfort. Because she knew what that kind of sound came from. She’d made that sound herself, in her heart, when her Mom died. She looked around for the source of the sound. Maybe it was one of her friends. Xander, or maybe it was Willow who was making that sound. Or maybe it was Dawn. No. Dawn would survive. She was strong, and that was a good thing. Buffy heard a voice behind her. A voice that was dead and gone. Did people have voices after they were dead? Buffy didn’t think they did. But she knew now that she was wrong because her Mom said, “Hello, Sweetheart. How are you?” “Mommy?” she asked, putting her hands over her ears to block out the painful sound, “Is that you? Do you hear that?” she pressed her hands hard against her ears trying to block the sound. It hurt. It really hurt. It hurt so much that she was starting to cry, “What is that?” she yelled, trying to be heard over the aching wail, “Do you know?” Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. It had to stop. Buffy saw her Mom give a sad smile, “Yes. I do know. That’s what it sounds like when a soul breaks,” Joyce said, walking up to her daughter and hugging her, “It’s the saddest sound the angels can hear. They hear it every time a loved one dies.” Buffy couldn’t bear it anymore. She shook her head to try and force the terrible sound out, “Oh Mommy, it hurts! I didn’t know. I thought Dawn would be all right. I didn’t know…” “Not Dawn,” Joyce whispered, as the sound she had grown accustomed to grated against her nerves as well. Buffy’s eyes went wide, looking at her silent friends. She had no idea that he cared this much. She moved in closer to him, to watch his face, “Xander?” “No Buffy, not Xander.” “Then who?” she asked. Her mother turned around, stepping out of the way so that Buffy could see what she didn’t see before, “Look.” She did. What she saw stunned her. He was separate, away from the others. The strong vampire, the one she counted on to protect Dawn, was gone. Buffy didn’t even recognize him. No. It wasn’t possible. “And, why not?” Joyce asked gently, “Why isn’t it possible? He told you he loved you,” Joyce hated watching his pain and tried to keep the emotion out of her tone as she continued, “And unlike some of his kind, he has a hard time with untruths. But then, he’s always been a puzzle.” “But, he doesn’t have a soul,” Buffy wondered at him. She knelt down to see him better; grateful she was invisible because the pain in his eyes made her ache. She could see his hand trembling as he stared, disbelievingly, at the body that lie on the ground broken and battered. The body was nothing. It meant nothing. But somehow she still hurt. She hurt for him. As she watched him collapse as if something had been ripped from him, she heard the roar. And suddenly, she understood, “That awful sound. It’s deafening,” she gasped, as she knew it hadn’t abated, but grew in its intensity, crushing him under its weight. She turned her wondering eyes toward her mother, “It’s him, isn’t it?” she blinked back tears, “It’s him that’s making that sound?” Joyce nodded, “It is.” “I didn’t know,” she sobbed for him, “I swear…I didn’t know.” “There’s so much that this world doesn’t understand. So much that you don’t.” Buffy slowly drew herself away from him, and his pain, “But I want to,” she said as she came to her Mother’s side, “I want to. Show me.” ********************** In the blink of an eye she was transported through space and time. She found herself in an underground cavern. She had to squint because of a bright light. Weren’t caves supposed to be dark? She squinted harder, trying to find the source of the light. What she found amazed her. Spike was the source of the ethereal light that bathed the cavern. He was pinned against a wall of stone and sand. The emotions she felt flowing from him were seismic, yet he remained still and serene. He knew he was dying and that he wouldn’t have her light to guide him anymore. Time to fly. His chin lifted in defiance. Come on then. Let’s do this. Give it me good. Buffy. Goodbye, Love. Live for me. Live Love. And, be happy. Please. Was that a laugh she heard emitting from his disintegrating throat? Yes, it was. With that, the vampire she thought was indestructible scattered and disappeared. No, it wasn’t possible. Buffy was bereft, “How Mom?” Buffy had forgotten that she no longer needed to breathe, and choked on the hurt she felt putting pressure on her chest, “It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Why does it hurt so much to watch that?” “It hurts because of this,” Joyce said, as she waved her hand. The scene changed. Buffy saw two clasped hands, joined in flame, and in death. This was his last. She knew that. She couldn’t wait anymore. Couldn’t put it off. She had to say it, before it was too late. Buffy’s soul screamed out the words. I love you! Joyce watched as the tears cascaded down Buffy’s cheeks. She tenderly wiped them away with her thumbs as she comforted her grieving daughter, “It hurts because you’ve just been shown a thing that you’ve been taught cannot be. It hurts because, whether you know it or not, you’ve just been torn from your other half,” at Buffy’s puzzled look she said, “Without you he cannot fulfill his destiny. Without you, the First will win. Without him, you will die.” “What?” ******************* The scene before her changed once again: Dawn was suddenly grateful that Georgina had agreed to take care of Jonina for the night because she didn’t think she would be able to explain this to her. The wail was as inhuman as anything on the Hellmouth. They were all huddled outside the small bedroom of the idyllic New England home. He had brought the tiny family here when she had taken ill, to take care of her. It was as far from the Hellmouth as he could get her. The look in Willow’s eyes as she reacted to the sounds of grief emanating from the room were nothing compared to the void that Dawn knew awaited her when, and if, she was brave enough to go into that room. Willow wanted to do what she could to comfort him, and started to make her way to the doorway when Dawn stepped in her way, “Willow, I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” she said, as she listened to the slowly rising tide of grief, “You never know what he could say or do,” she nodded begging her to understand, “He may still blame you.” “I know,” Willow sobbed, “And, I don’t care. I deserve it.” The sound that Dawn heard coming from the room now was a sound she hadn’t heard in twenty years, and it chilled her to the bone. That sound meant only one thing. It was over. Her sister was dead. Dawn tried to close her ears to the sound and focus on Willow. It wasn’t much, but she would take any port in the storm of grief that she was sure awaited her once she went into that room. She didn’t want to go into that room. She would have done anything to stay out of the Hell that was in that room. She couldn’t bear seeing that vacant look in his eyes again. He had put all his hopes in her and now with her gone she wondered if he would be able to pull himself out, or if he would let himself drown again. Dawn walked slowly into the darkened room. The haze of sorrow that hung in the air made it difficult to see, though she could make out the outline of Spike as he hovered near the head of the bed, “Spike, is there anything I can do?” His voice was a strangled whisper, “Nothing to be done, Bit,” the vortex of pain and grief that rose up to meet her nearly made her gasp, “She’s dead. There’s nothing left.” The pain she felt riveted her to the spot. It took all her effort to make the muscles of her throat work so that her voice could be heard over the lump of sadness that had settled in the pit of her stomach, “Yes, there is, Spike,” her voice wavered, “There’s you. There’s me, and there’s Joni.” His eyes narrowed, as if her name was painful to him, “Joni?” his eyes widened in recognition, “Joni? Where is she, Bit?” he stood up abruptly, his voice shaken, “Bit, tell me she didn’t hear that. I didn’t…oh God,” his head was shaking in disbelief, his eyes beseeching her to understand, “Bit, I didn’t mean for her to hear,” Spike had crossed the little room with surprising speed, grasping Dawn’s shoulders in a desperate embrace, “Tell me she didn’t hear that. I couldn’t do that to her.” Dawn could see that the idea of keeping Jonina insulated from her mother’s death was the only thing that was keeping him tethered to this reality, “No, Spike, she didn’t hear that,” she said softly, “Joni’s safe,” at his questioning, frenzied look she finished with, “She’s with George,” she nodded, “Understand? She’ll be back in the morning.” He looked back at the window, his voice seeming to come from very far away, “It’s dark. She hates the dark. She needs a night light.” Dawn couldn’t be sure he was talking about Joni, “She’ll be all right,” Dawn cooed, as she led Spike slowly out of the room, “She’s your daughter. She’ll be all right.” For the first time since she knew him, Spike truly felt like dead weight in her arms as she guided him out into the small hallway. Buffy really did seem to be his life force. And now that she was gone, Dawn didn’t know if he’d ever be the same again. As they reached the threshold Willow stepped into their path. Dawn silently prayed that she would just keep her mouth shut and leave him alone. She hoped that Willow would know enough about Spike by now to just let him pick up the pieces at his own pace. Once he could put the pieces back, in some kind of order, then he’d approach her. Willow just needed to give Spike time to lick his wounds. She just needed to back off. But, Dawn knew, in her heart, that this was something Willow still needed to learn. “Spike, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I never, never thought that this would happen,” the tears were flowing down her face, “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do…” Dawn winced as the demon he seldom let come to the fore revealed itself, as if it were protecting the injured part of itself from a threat, “Why is the witch weeping?” he growled, “Your job is finally done. She finally succumbed,” his head tilted in grim contemplation of the instrument of his destruction. Amber eyes swam as they stared at her, “I admire your prowess, witch,” he spat, “I’ve known the lifeblood of two Slayers,” his throat and lips quivered. It was a thing that Dawn didn’t think she’d ever see. A demon in the throws of sorrow, “And shared the life of one. But you,” he pointed a shaking finger at her, “you’ve taken the lives of hundreds! How does it feel, witch, to have your hands drenched in their blood?” Willow shrank under his fiery glare, “Spike, please. I want to help.” His jaw twitched, “You wish to help me, do you, witch?” She nodded. Spike placed his hand in the center of his chest and nodded, “You want to help me, Red?” his face fixed itself into a mask of agony, “Find a stake and do it, Red. It’s hollow.” Willow shook her head in horror at what he was asking, “No!” she gasped, “What about Joni?” “Please, Red, I’m empty without her. You’ve already killed me. Just finish the job,” he choked down a sob as he begged for release from torment, “Please?” Willow was stunned into silence as Dawn gently guided him past her, “Come on, Spike,” she whispered, “You don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s get some rest.” ******************* Buffy’s heart clenched in fear and her mind reeled, “Mom, what was he talking about? There’s only one Slayer, always has been. Who’s Joni? Mom, who died? What would make him prefer a stake in the heart to being here? He’s always been so strong.” Joyce nodded grimly, “Yes. He’s always been strong. But, even the strongest of us have a breaking point,” her eyes went down in a gesture of love and respect for the loss they’d just been witness to, “His wife just died. And, Joni is their little girl. She’s only ten, and she’s just lost her Mother. Spike’s just lost his life.” Buffy was taken aback by this news, “Wife? Spike’s married?” “Yes. To the Slayer.” That made Buffy a little jealous. She grinned in spite of it, more than a little happy for the news. Though she was at a loss to explain why, “He married a Slayer?” “Not just a Slayer. He married * the * Slayer. Buffy, he married you.” Buffy began to understand. “Something happened, didn’t it? Because of this?” Joyce nodded again. Spike pleaded with the spirits, “I understand, I do. I know what’s at stake,” he looked, sadly, over at Buffy and Joni as the stood huddled together, trying not to look as devastated as he felt. “Child, you understand that if this is done the other will receive the thing that should rightfully be yours.” “What?” Spike gasped. “It is done, and it will not be undone. We have done as you requested, child. We can do nothing more,” the angel he had pinned his daughter’s future to, and Buffy’s as well, disappeared from sight. For an instant, nothing moved. Nothing could. Even here, Angelus had managed to best him. He just couldn’t fathom it. He turned when he heard his daughter and wife sobbing. He saw the pain on their faces, and tried to smile, “You be good now, Joni. Take care of your Mum. She’s gonna need you,” he looked at Buffy longingly as he wiped away her tears, “No tears now, Love. Please? I couldn’t take it. We know I don’t belong here now. Maybe I never did.” “That’s not true, Spike!” she sobbed, “You…” He shook his head, resigned to his fate, “That may have been true once, Love,” he shrugged, “But I never really belonged anywhere. I’m used to it,” the next words came out quickly, for fear that they would be taken from him before he could say them, “I love you,” he was desperate, “Remember that, please!” In the blink of an eye, they disappeared. Buffy watched as he disappeared from sight. Spike was condemning himself to Hell, and he was doing it to protect the people he loved. This wasn’t right. Suddenly it all seemed clear. The decision was an easy one to make, “I’m going to follow him,” she said. “But, Mommy you can’t do that.” Her eyes flashed, “I know why he did what he did, Joni,” her chin quivered at the emptiness and loss she was feeling, “But, you should know by now that your parents don’t exactly follow the rules. I promised him once that I would follow him, no matter where he went. And, I’m keeping that promise. He needs me.” “But, what about…” Buffy gritted her teeth and tilted her head in determination. For an instant, Joni was reminded of her Daddy, and how much she missed him, “Joni, I don’t really care what happens. I have to be with him. I can’t leave him alone, not when he needs me. What can happen,” she asked the wide expanse, “I die again?” she smiled wryly, “Been there. Done that,” she hugged her daughter close, “I have to keep my promise, Joni.” ************************* Buffy was dizzy with the impact of what her Mom was showing her, “His destiny is tied to me, isn’t it?” She understood what her mother was silently asking her, “I have to go there, don’t I? I have to give him hope. Keep the promise, so that he can save me.” “Yes.” Fine,” Buffy nodded, “I’ll go Mommy. I love you,” Buffy said as she melted into the mist.

Chapter #32 - Fifty-two

Spike turned his anguished blue eyes to Lorne, who was looking at Buffy with an expression that mirrored what he felt inside. Spike looked back at her blank face and asked, “How long has she been like this?” Lorne had busied himself with tiding up the bar after it had closed. He didn’t want to see the emptiness in her eyes, and he thought the chores would help to distract him. They didn’t. With a tone that revealed just how weary he was, he loved them both but this kind of emotional upheaval was pure Hell on an empath demon’s nerves, he told him, “She’s been like that since the little sugar lump went missing. She hasn’t slept since you left her here,” the cutting glance that was shot his way made Lorne draw back from its heat and put his hands up as if to ward off a blow, “I tried to make her eat. I did,” he shook his head in resignation, “But, she hasn’t done that either. At first I thought it was just shock. But, it may be something more than that.” As Spike looked deep into her eyes, he felt something in him drop. He’d seen that look before. Her eyes were hollow, like they were the night Glory took Dawn. He had sworn to himself that night that he would do whatever he had to, to keep that look of loss out of her eyes. But, here it was again. He’d failed her. Again. He needed her to be his center, his anchor, in more ways than one. Giles had told him that Hans Kraus had returned to Council headquarters. His Slayer, Astrid Hoffmann, was dead. And, it wasn’t a demon attack. It wasn’t an accidental or natural death, if the death of a nineteen-year-old girl could be called natural. No, her death wasn’t natural. Her death seemed to have been caused by the same virus that, apparently, caused the death of Jonina Dustin on his wedding night, with one glaring exception. According to Giles, when Astrid died her body looked like it was covered in red lace because her body had, essentially, exploded. His nightmares were coming true. He needed Buffy. He needed her as a sounding board. His little girl was gone. Slayers were dying. He needed her to stop the world from spinning long enough for him to keep his world from ending. He needed her. God curse him for being so weak, but he needed her. And now she was gone. Just like on that horrible night. He looked into her eyes and he realized they were empty. Not insane empty, like Drusilla’s had been. With Dru, if you looked hard enough, you could see something to hold on to. It didn’t always make sense, but there was something there. Buffy’s gaze held none of that hope. And that made him angry. So angry that he’d placed his hope in her, and been disappointed. Again. How dare she be this selfish, to leave him alone again, “Damn,” he breathed, his voice a strangled, weary mix of hurt and anger, “Buffy I need you here,” he shook her shoulders a little, trying to elicit a response. Any response would do, even if she punched him in the nose for his trouble, “Don’t you dare cut and run on me now!” he could feel the despair spiraling quickly out of his conscious control, “Don’t do that,” he begged her, “Not again! Don’t you dare leave me alone again!” Spike could feel the anger welling up inside him. He wasn’t going to fall apart. He couldn’t. She had seen to that. The anger kept building. It built to such a fury that he had to strike out. Some part of him understood that he shouldn’t, but that didn’t matter. That didn’t matter when his whole world, a world he’d fought, and died, to protect, and might well again, was falling apart and she had gone missing and yet hadn’t moved at all. It was selfish, and it hurt. How many times had she called him a monster? He’d stopped counting long ago. Yet, was he the real monster here, or was she? Was his beautiful sunbeam, his Goddess, the real monster? It just wasn’t fair. It hurt so much. He had to strike out against the pain. So, he did strike. The crack of fist against jaw jarred Lorne. But not as much as the sight of Buffy recoiling from Spike’s fist. His eyes widened in horror, not just at the violence he had resorted to, but at her lack of response. Aside from her head moving to one side, from physically being forced to by Spike’s blow, she gave no response. It was as if he’d never touched her. Lorne saw Spike’s fist pull back, like the hammer on a gun, to render another blow. He let out a shout as he rushed to the end of the bar, “Spike no! Don’t do it!” Spike teetered on the edge, ready to let the hammer fall where it may, when something stopped him. Something in the distance was telling him to stop. Don’t they understand that I can’t? If I stop the world ends. And, she dies. I can’t stop. Help me. I can’t stop. A powerful green hand covered the fist that was ready to deliver another blow. Spike blinked, not comprehending why Lorne felt it necessary to touch him. His gaze followed the green arm that was still straining under the effort of staying the fist still waiting to strike, down to the beautifully placid face that stood in front of it. Her face. His eyes widened as the blur in his vision began to take the shape of her face. His vision cleared then blurred again as her swelling, reddened lip became his sole focus point. It all became clear. The horror of what he’d nearly done made him a jumble of limbs in his haste to put distance between him and the object of his unbridled fury. Stopping only when he felt the cool plaster that made up the opposite wall of the club. Clear, horror darkened eyes begged Lorne to tell him it was all just a brilliantly sharp nightmare. In a voiceless whisper, he pleaded with his friend, “ Oh God, what have I done?” Lorne looked at him with sympathetic eyes even as he shook his head, “Not saying it’s right. But, I do understand it. Everyone has their breaking point. Come on,” Lorne sighed as he moved to extend his hand to help his visibly shaken friend to his feet, “we’ve got work to do before Willow gets here,” he said as the two friends walked back over to Buffy. Spike was still fighting the wave of adrenaline that nearly swept him away with it as he sat on his haunches, once again, in front of Buffy. The adrenaline that was still surging through his borrowed blood made his hands shake slightly as he touched her broken lip. He hissed in empathy for the pain she did not react to, wincing at the power he’d unleashed on her. He looked imploringly at Lorne, who produced a towel for him to wipe the seeping blood from her torn lip, “I know that hurt, Love. I’m sorry,” he turned his head to question Lorne, “Do you have somewhere she can rest?” “Yeah,” Lorne nodded, “Made her a cozy little niche in the Fallout Shelter in the back room.” “There’s a fallout shelter here?” Spike asked, clearly surprised. “It’s not the atom bomb type,” Lorne sighed, “Although given my past associations, that might be a wise investment. It’s for sleeping it off.” “Oh. Could you take her there and make sure she’s safe?” “Sure,” Lorne said as he led Buffy away, “ But,” he warned, “if you do that again, I may have to throw down. You remember what happened when I let my emotions take control, don’t you?” “Understood,” he nodded, “If that happened again, I’d welcome the beating,” he looked shamefully at Buffy’s small form as she slowly shuffled away from him, “Believe me.” ****************** He stared at the girl he’d thought was his daughter. He’d been fooled again. She looked so real. But, it was all a lie, “No,” he’d been here so long that even to him, his voice sounded thin and brass-like, “You’re lying. I sent her back!” The look of pure hatred that shone in her Daddy’s eyes made her breath catch in her throat, “Daddy, what are you talking about?” His voice became a low growl, “You’re not her! I…” blue eyes closed and his fingers shot to his temple. He winced, as if he were in pain. His teeth clenched and his throat made a guttural sound as he spoke with an almost deadly growl, “I…had a girl, once. I thought I did,” his eyes glistened at her, “But no. It was a lie. No one’s Daddy,” he looked confused, as if he were trying to hold on to water and was angry at the water for slipping through his fingers, “I wanted to…I…No! Can’t be here. No,” he shook his head, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, “I’m here. So…you’re not. Joni?” She nodded, even as the tears streamed down her face. “Why?” “Because Mommy couldn’t leave you alone,” Joni said simply. He looked with horror at the door that held out the howling wind and snow, and suddenly he knew. She was out there somewhere. She was out there somewhere, and he had to find her. He had to find her. And send her back because she didn’t belong here. He forgot everything but her. The cold didn’t matter. The years of isolation and loneliness no longer mattered. All that mattered as he rushed out the cabin door, forgetting to protect himself from the elements that whipped around the cold night sky, was her. He went out into the night air, screaming her name. ************************** Buffy strolled through the New England cemetery. She was grateful to Jonina for helping her through her grief. It still hurt, but at least now she could walk through this cemetery, even in late December, and not feel cold inside. Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone here. The snowstorm that was driving stinging snowflakes into her skin and whipping the wind until it became a comforting familiar growl didn’t scare her. Joni had said that she’d met a friend, an old gardener named Homer, and she wanted to thank him for befriending Joni, and helping her grieve, when she was not able to see beyond her own sorrow. There was a comforting light, coming from a cabin in the distance, which drew her close. She was close enough to see the person that stood behind the glass windows. She smiled. It looked warm and inviting in that place. It was a little oasis. Then, the howling wind became a voice, and the voice became a name. Her name. His voice, calling to her, “Buffy!” “Spike?” she whispered against the wind, not believing it was real until she felt his lips against hers. ******************************* All that was left was to kiss her goodbye. Willow had opened a portal, assuring him that he would be drawn to Jonina. There was no need for a guide. She was his blood, so he would end up where she was, wherever, and whenever, that happened to be. As he watched the vortex of light swirl to a point in the ruins of the old club, he looked at Willow with a skeptic’s eye, “You’re sure this will work, Red?” Willow nodded. Too quickly for his liking, “Uh huh. Pretty sure.” He raised his eyebrow, “Pretty sure?” “Sure,” she said. Spike sighed. He was too committed to stop now. Or maybe I should be committed, he thought. He took the ring and chain from his duster pocket and walked over to Buffy, who stared on, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. He knelt before her as he tenderly placed the silver chain around her neck, “Take care of this for me. Tell her I love her. Don’t let her forget me, all right?” he asked, as he gently kissed her, trying to take her essence with him, “Remember that I love you,” he stood and slowly turned away, not wanting her last sight of him to be his tears. “What kind of timetable are we looking at here, Red? Tell me.” “It’s hard to tell. Every dimension is different. You could be gone minutes, or hours…or years,” she said quietly, “There really is no way to tell.” “Make sure Jonina comes back,” he growled, “I don’t matter. She does,” he turned to look at Buffy and realized that he was leaving his heart behind, “So does she.” With one last look into the abyss before him, he took a cleansing breath and ran into the portal, disappearing from sight as the light swallowed him whole. As the light dissipated, leaving once again in its wake the ruins of a nightclub, a name could be heard. Sobbed by the one he’d left, “Spike,” Buffy sobbed, “Come back, please.” *********************

Chapter #33 - Fifty-Three

This was getting tedious. Being here he’d been forced into a kind of holding pattern. He had to learn to be patient and that was just not who he was, dead or not. In his other life he’d been the same as he was now the only difference being that his kind of anger had been socially unacceptable, so he’d had to stifle his blacker impulses with the guise of befuddlement. But he was tired of keeping the façade in place. It was what Angel expected, but it was very taxing to keep up. He wondered how long it would take for Angel to notice the strain. Once he’d become what he had been all bets were off. He could do, say, and have whatever he wanted. He loved it. He relished it. Then things changed again, and he found himself changing, wanting to be better, for her. When that had exactly happened, he didn’t know, nor did he care all that much. He had to get back to her. To do that, he had to keep Jonina safe. To keep Jonina safe, he had to be here. So, he stayed here and stood watch over him. Ever the fallen king’s loyal opposition. Tedious or not, it must be done. This had to be done, he reminded himself, for Jonina and Buffy. He would do this if it meant that they would be safe. He would endure whatever vicarious torture Angel could concoct for him. The specter that stood at Angel’s side had been willingly consigned to this vampire’s particular flames of woe to walk him through to the other side, kicking and screaming, if need be. Sighing, Holland took in the sorry tableau he presented, “Hello Humpty Dumpty,” he said as he leaned against the side of a neighboring tombstone. Angel didn’t move a muscle in acknowledgement of his visitor, preferring instead to focus on his chosen instrument of torture. That was of no consequence to Holland. He was here for one reason. A reason that Angelus had yet to understand; he was tired of dropping breadcrumbs. Angel had chosen to torture himself. That was no surprise, really. That was who he was. There was no changing that. For Angel, physical torture just wasn’t enough, there had to be a twisted psychological component or it just wasn’t worth doing. Although, even as he stared at the stone with the familiar name inscribed upon it, Angel’s keeper had to admit that this was veering into the theatre of the bizarre. The only thing that made him stay here was the insanely delicious notion that, if Angel truly understood whom he was speaking with in this graveyard, he might just squirm a little more. He would have rather stayed with Buffy. Still, if being here meant keeping Joni safe in his arms, so be it. Let the Heavens fall. He’d take it, and gladly. Angel noticed Holland’s casual air, watched the way his eyes seemed to wander as if he’d rather have been anywhere but where he was, and he fumed, “Have another appointment?” he asked flatly, “I thought there was no such thing as time here.” Holland took his pocket watch from its pocket and opened it to stare down at the delicate face. It was a fine piece, really. Victorian. Holland was sure the luster of the gold made his eyes shine, as they once did. He was quite surprised that Angel hadn’t noticed, given his fondness for antiques. But then, Angelus was, at the moment, fixated on other matters. He closed the timepiece with a soft click, and replaced it in his pocket, “Time exists everywhere, Angel,” he assured him as he looked at the self-imposed sadism that marred the vampire’s face, “It’s just not linear here. Another is due to arrive soon,” he shrugged, “It’s true. I’d like to be there to see his arrival. But, I’ve got all the time in the world,” he smirked a smirk that should have been known to Angel, had he been paying even a scant of attention, “I can stay. If you need me.” Angel’s eyes burned him with a cold fire, “Why would I need you?” he bit out, “You’re part of the reason I’m here.” Holland’s head gave a slow nod, “I am that. Yet, you keep bringing me here,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “To that stone,” he said, pointing where he could not look, “Why?” Angel kept his eyes riveted to the stone as he answered in a tone that carried centuries of shame, “Because I killed him.” Holland blinked. This was new. In all the years, years his charge was unaware of; that they’d been here, that admission had never crossed his lips. At least, not in that way, “You did,” Holland conceded, “You had given me the impression that you had gotten passed that,” Holland felt what could only be described as concern, “Apparently, you haven’t?” “No,” Angel said, “I haven’t. I took his child from him,” Angel’s voice was strained with the memory of an old pain, “and I did it to keep him from losing Buffy. The loss of a child, it may not kill him physically. In fact, it may take years for the body to finally catch up to his spirit, but he’ll still die. Believe me,” he sighed, as his hooded eyes looked at marker that had become his nightmare, “I know. Buffy may live but, without the child, they’ll both die,” he looked at Holland with eyes that seemed to be a thousand years old, “So you see, Spike may have taken me out of the equation and I may or may not have prevented a plague. Either way,” Angel pointed to the tombstone, “he’s dead. And because of that, I have killed hundreds of people that I’ve never laid a hand on,” Angel’s voice shook with the weight of his unseen penance, “That is why I haven’t gotten past this. And, I hope I never do,” Angel looked up at his tormenter, and was disgusted when he noticed the child, once again, in his arms. A child he helped to put there, “I’ve become the one thing I hoped the soul would keep me from becoming. I’ve become a monster,” his eyes cut back to the stone, “I’ve become what you wanted. If this is the reward for not being strong enough to stop you, or the Senior Partners’ plans, then so be it. I’ll take it.” The façade nearly slipped when Angel’s guide began to take in the quite real possibility that he might have been telling the truth, and he held Jonina tighter to him. This is what he thought he wanted. But now that it was here, he realized that this pitiful sight wasn’t what he wanted. Buffy needed help. Saving her from a living Hell, saving the Slayers, would take him away from her and he couldn’t live with himself if Buffy died of a broken heart while he was gone. She needed hope to carry on. And, as much as he hated the idea, Angel had the means to provide that hope. He grimaced inwardly, trying to keep the Holland mask in place. For this to work, Angel had to believe whom he was speaking to was who he purported to be, “I believe you’re right. That means that a vampire with a soul has indeed played a pivotal role in the apocalypse,” Holland sighed, “You deserve your reward. But, we must hurry, if we want to make it there in time.” Angel looked at him in shock, “What are you talking about? I tore up the contract. I gave up on the prophecy. I signed it away!” Holland shook his head in pity, “You know that contracts with the Home Office are iron clad. They cannot be made void. Ever,” Holland sighed again “And, a deal is a deal. You fulfilled your end. We will give you what we promised you. Things may not have gone the way the Senior Partners had planned, but the end result seems to have been satisfactory.” Even as Holland was speaking, a hole opened in the fabric of the sky above them. Angel looked and was amazed to see what was beyond the tear in the sky that extended to the horizon. Somehow, he could see a heartbroken Buffy staring at him from the abyss. Angel barely heard Holland’s voice over the howling wind. Didn’t hear the pain that he could no longer hide because he was too tired, “Well, Angel. It looks like your ship’s come in,” he looked up and nearly choked on the sorrow of his departure that was written on her face, “You’d best take it, before it’s too late. Go.” At Angel’s shocked look, he insisted, his voice hissing, “Go. Now! Take care of her. Please? Don’t let her forget.” The pleading tone cut through the shock of what was being said, and Angel saw, at last, what was just beneath the surface, “Spike?” Angel asked, too shaken to say anything else. “Yes!” Spike yelled over the roaring gale, “Now run. Quick, you ponce, before it closes again. If it does we’ll both be trapped here. That can’t happen! As much as I hate you, I hate the idea of Buffy being lost even worse that that. She needs you. Take care of her until I get back. And, I will be back! Remember that, and make sure she remembers that too. No matter how long it takes, I will be back!” Angel nodded, before turning and dashing toward the horizon, Buffy, and the unknown. As the tear repaired itself, leaving it eerily quiet once more in this graveyard, the keeper wiped his eyes of wetness, and made his way toward the crumpled figure that lay in a broken heap just on the horizon. *************************************************

Chapter #34 - Fifty-Four

Author's Note: Some threads are tied up using elements from prior chapters. ***************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- The roar of anguish that came shattered the calm of the place, and Joyce winced. Even without the need of a body, she felt the shock down to her bones. She’d felt it for years now, and it never ceased, never wavered. The poor thing was in agony, and Joyce suspected would always be so. She’d told her that. But, since when did Buffy ever listen to her? Joyce knew that things were going to get rough. Things weren’t going to be easy. But then, things with those two never did go smoothly. It was all about the consuming heat of emotions. The fire of love burned so bright in the both of them that sometimes it was hard to control. Each loved the other so much that it was hard to see past it, to be at peace with it. And they were both so stubborn. Both bound and determined to paint the world with their brush, their colors. She loved them both so much, but a love that big could cause fires. So now, Joyce was a firefighter. Joyce didn’t love the role she’d been cast into, the role of firefighter, but she accepted it. As far as the two of them were concerned, whoever got the job as their guardian angel would have to be a firefighter. And, it seemed that she was uniquely qualified. She felt it was necessary to show Buffy what her death had really done to his spirit. She needed to know. Joyce knew it would be harsh and cruel, but Buffy needed to see it. She needed to know that there was more to a being than a body and soul. If that were all there was to it, then there would be no evil in the world at all. There would be no murder, no crime, no inhumanity to man. She had to see that there was more to being human than just the label. Joyce knew now that she did see, and understood, because she saw his pain reflected in Buffy’s eyes as she tried to offer her daughter’s soul comfort, “Oh, Mommy it’s so painful!” she sobbed against her mother’s chest, “How long has he been like that?” Joyce held Buffy in a comforting embrace, gently rocking her as she whispered, “That spirit has been in pain since before even I knew it existed. When I came here, I was in as much shock as you are. I didn’t know that that was even possible. I’d been taught differently,” Joyce looked into Buffy’s pain-filled eyes and nodded sympathetically, “just like you had. And, he taught you what he knew. I’m sorry Honey, but Rupert Giles is wrong on this one.” “But what is it that’s torturing him? I’ve never…” the words for that kind of pain didn’t exist, in any language, “Oh Mommy.” “I know, Sweetie. I know. Are you sure you want to know what he does? In order for you to know what that spirit’s been through, you’ll have to experience something very close to it. It’ll be real to you, just like it was for him. Are you sure you want that? ”Joyce listened as the cry of grief grew louder, “I know he wouldn’t want you to go through that. He would do whatever he had to, to keep that kind of pain from you.” “I know. That’s why I have to help, Mommy,” Buffy sniffed, “I have to understand. If what you say is true, then I have to help. How can I? Will you tell me, please Mommy?” Joyce nodded. ****************************** Buffy woke to a darkened house. She looked at the bedside clock; it told her it was three in the morning. Of course it would be quiet. She really hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she was so tired. For an instant, Buffy’s heart seized. She looked over at the place where he had been, and it was empty. She stared at the spot where he should have been, and wanted to blink the image away. She was tired, but that was no excuse. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. She shouldn’t have let him down. Panic surged through her. Then came the terror. The most unreasonable, unrelenting terror she’d ever felt ripped through her. She had to find a place to hide. “Get low,” it told her, “Be small, then it won’t find you.” She’d felt this before, somewhere in her brain she knew that this was a part of the sickness she’d gone through, and that now it was passed. For her, the time to fear the unknown was passed and was replaced by the gaping fear that her present had become. Spike was in the worst fight he’d ever been in. His brain didn’t enter into this. She welcomed the fear. It meant that he wasn’t dust. He was going by instinct. And now, so was she. Her instincts told her she’d find him where he thought he’d be safe. For him, safety meant darkness. That meant the basement. So, down she went. She saw it all unraveling in front of her, and she’d done nothing to help him. Buffy cursed herself for being so blind. Buffy had never known it was this bad before. No. That was wrong. She had known it. Knew it was happening. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it was happening. Not to him. Not like this. She saw it all in slow motion. The walking stick she had passed off as nostalgia. As a bit of whimsy, and he didn’t tell her otherwise. He just smirked at her and winked. It was the same with the eyeglasses, the ones he shouldn’t have needed, that sat perched on the end of his nose. She’d seen it. But she’d run from it. She ran from it. And now, as she stared into the darkened basement, it was all catching up with her. She had to choke back a sob at the shock he presented, as his white skin glowed against the dark. Buffy remembered the heat. The virus closed off all sensation but one. Slowly, the burning of the nerve fibers was all that was felt. It was all the virus allowed. That made movement, eventually, impossible. The virus slowly and mercilessly robbed its victim of any refuge from the pain. It robbed its victims of the ability to cry out for comfort. It isolated them from any solace that could be had from contact. First through pain, then by cutting off all other outside stimuli, painful or otherwise, due to blindness and deafness. It was a horrible way to die. Right now, Spike was being engulfed in a fire that consumed everything, yet touched nothing. Buffy knew that pain. And his was a thousand times that. When the pain had started for Buffy, her first instinct had been to rend herself free of her clothing in an effort to cool her emblazoned nerve endings. Joni had been small then, so in order to keep little eyes from seeing what they should not, Spike would spend hours, perhaps days, just holding her. He used his body’s unnatural coolness to calm her, and keep her safe. Buffy had no such mercy to give him. So here he was, lying nude on the concrete floor of the basement, unmoving. She rushed over to him, and he stared at her with pain-blinded eyes, “Help,” he panted, “Angel…he has…to help. Joni…too small…can’t save…Buffy…Angel can…but…won’t.” Buffy didn’t want to see what the virus was doing to him. She didn’t even understand how he was able to talk. She had been saved. The Slayers still were, thanks to him. A part of him knew that, she felt sure. The vaccine he’d developed could not be synthesized. Each time a Slayer was stricken, it meant that Spike had to expose himself to the virus again and again. He knew that eventually even his body would become saturated with it, to the point where his body could not repair itself. But, he didn’t care. Time disorientation was a symptom of the virus. Buffy knew he had no idea where he was, or when. She closed her eyes and tried to draw in a calming breath, “No Love,” she said, “that was years ago,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, and cooed, “You saved us. You saved me.” His eyes fluttered shut, “B…uffy? Saved you…did?” “Yes,” she told him reverently, “you did.” “Now…promised…me…not…you.” Buffy bit her lip in worry. The disorientation really had him in its grip, “What did you promise?” “I die,” he rasped out, “Not you.” “When did you promise this?” “Before,” he whispered, “And…after. I love you…love…always,” with that, his body gave out, and he fell into unconsciousness. ************************* He’d brought them here so that she could see the colors. When she had her sight back, the first thing he wanted her to see was the color of the change of seasons. And she did. She saw brilliant oranges, fiery reds, blazing gold, cool greens and soothing white. She saw everything with new eyes. Maybe that was because of the joy he took in watching her live again. Everything he did made her feel more alive, like she couldn’t breathe without him. And now the light was dimming. Slowly, slowly down to dark. Now her world was greying out. The grey light of morning was slipping through the window, but Buffy didn’t notice. She knew that these were her final hours with him. She didn’t know how she knew but she did. She also knew that the Slayers owed their very lives to him. Again. In the history books, the name William Alistair Dustin would go down with the likes of Jonas Salk. “Lace” had been eradicated due to the vaccine he’d developed. William the Bloody had, in the end, saved more Slayers than he ever killed. Buffy cursed herself a thousand times for not listening to the Shadow Men all those years ago. If she had, then maybe Spike wouldn’t be lying in that room now, in so much pain it physically hurt her to watch him struggle. And he wouldn’t be struggling now, if it hadn’t been for her brilliant stratagem. An army of Slayers; what a brilliant idea that was. If only she’d known. She would have saved him so much pain. Spike always told her that she had a bit of a demon in her. He said that was what made her a good Slayer. And now thanks to him it was true. Thanks to Spike, all of the Slayers had a bit of a demon in them. The demon was the key to the virus. It was what kept her alive. And in return, she was killing him. He once told her she was a little bit in love with death. He’d recognized it before she did because he was too. Joni watched her mother shiver in the grey light that seeped through the haze of death that hung over the house. Daddy and she had tried so hard to make this a place of life and color. And they had. As she went through the photographs of her mind’s eye, everything was saturated with such vibrant color. The life and laughter that she grew up with was so bright that the world outside paled in comparison. Her Daddy had done his best to make a world for her. A world full of the things he couldn’t have. And now she wondered what would happen to that world once he left. Would it be dimmer, somehow? This house already was. Joni slipped silently in beside her mother, and took her hand. Joni wasn’t even sure she had noticed. Her eyes never left the grey mist of fog that seemed to hang over the house now. She just stared out into space, her voice was stilted and raw, “He wanted you to have everything, Joni. He wanted you to have the best.” “I did Mom,” she said in a hushed tone, “I had the best. I still do. I have the best, Mom. I have you,” her eyes bobbed on a sea of unshed tears, her Daddy wouldn’t want her tears, “And I still have Daddy.” Joni could see the pain in her eyes as Buffy looked at her, “He was right, Joni. They all go by so fast, and it’s really not enough.” “What isn’t, Mom?” “The years. It’s not enough. We’ve been married a little longer than you’ve been alive Joni,” Buffy heaved a heavy sigh as tears rolled down her face, “Nearly twenty-three years, and it still isn’t enough. “Twenty-three years,” she shook her head in a wash of memories, “and in love much longer than that,” she slowly wiped the tears away, “Although you’d never know it from the way I treated him,” her eyes sparkled with a far away light, “I think I loved him the minute I s-saw him.” “Daddy’s still here, Mom. You can still tell him,” she nodded toward his sickroom, “Daddy still loves you,” she choked back a sob, “Tell him, Mommy. Give him a reason. Please, he needs it!” Her eyes widened with fright, “No Joni, I can’t go in there!” Buffy’s breath came in strangled gasps, “I can’t watch. Oh, God,” she gulped, “I can feel it. But, I can’t watch.” ********************** Buffy approached the gravesite with an ache in her heart. Spike had always been her rock. When she’d first gotten sick, and her world became a haze of pain and needles and antiseptic, he’d stayed with her, even though his eyes told her how frightened he really was, he still stayed with her. The only thing that gave him any focus outside of her was taking care of Jonina. Willow had told her that their daughter had been the only thing that kept him from sinking into madness when she’d taken ill. They had seen what the virus could do to a Slayer, and how quickly it took hold. She and Spike had been working on isolating it almost from the moment Jonina was born. She remembered that Spike took it hard each time a Slayer was stricken with the virus they called “Cassandra’s Lace.” He seemed to take the virus’s appearance as a personal affront to him. And when Joni started showing signs of being a Slayer, nothing else seemed to matter to him more than finding the answer to the puzzle. He seemed driven; haunted by something he wouldn’t share. Then, despite her best efforts to conceal them, she started showing symptoms. She shrugged them off at first, but there came a time when even she could no longer deny what was happening to her. She was dying, and they both knew it. They’d both seen it happen to other Slayers, and now, it was happening to her. She had accepted it. But, Spike had not. Because of his stubborn refusal to accept their world the way it was, she was the one standing in a graveyard, putting flowers on a grave she never really thought she would ever see. Because of him, Joni was living in a world that once again contained an army of Slayers, albeit a small one, who were now beginning to forget what peril they had been in just a few short years ago. And she was standing here. That fact alone should have brought her happiness, but it didn’t. And the reason it didn’t is because, once again, he’d sacrificed himself to save her. Buffy looked at the stone that bore his name, and tried it out on her tongue. It had been so long since she had been able to stand here. Being here, looking at his name, hurt her in a place she couldn’t name. It evoked a pain that she couldn’t give voice to. So when she heard her voice sounding like a thimble, small and tin-like in her ear, saying his name aloud, it didn’t seem real at all. She read the stone aloud. It was the eulogy she knew he deserved, but never received, at least not from her. It hurt too much to believe that he was gone, “William Alistair Dustin, beloved husband, father, friend, and champion. Departed, but not forgotten, December 2, 2027,” Buffy kissed her fingers and pressed them to the letters of his name, “Who is it that takes care of you now? Where are you? I tried to find you, you know,” Buffy felt her lip tremble and tasted the salt water as it slid down her face to her lips, “Just to know where you are. Joni and I miss you so much,” her face twisted in sadness and anger. She knew her thoughts were disjointed, but she had so much loss in her right now, that she had to give it an outlet, “Willow said you weren’t in Hell, and that’s good,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes, “But she said you weren’t in Heaven either. It didn’t make sense. I mean vampires don’t die of viruses! They just don’t. Okay, there was that time that Angel got sick because of that poison, but I saved him. But when you got sick, you wouldn’t let me save you. Why?” she sobbed, “When you were feverish and delirious,” she bowed her head, reliving the pain of her loss, “while you could still talk, you kept talking about a trade, some kind of bargain. I know you were in pain. I know it. But you never complained, not once. And then Angel tells me about some kind of prophecy. I tell you, Spike, I was so angry, I could have staked him. Joni nearly did. And now, I come here, every day, just in the hope that, some way you’d find me,” Buffy left her bouquet for him, “I know it’s silly. But, I wish you were here,” she said as she left the graveyard. ************************ Buffy sobbed into her mother’s arms. What she felt now was so sad there were no words to describe it. If this is just a tiny fraction of what that spirit felt, of what it would feel, without her, then she had to help. She couldn’t let him suffer like that. She knew she had to go. “I’ll go Mommy,” she said, “I don’t want him to be alone. I don’t want our little girl to be alone in that place. If he has to go, then I go too.” Her mother smiled and nodded again, as she watched her disappear. ********************************** Buffy strolled through the cemetery. It still hurt, but at least now she could walk through this cemetery, even in late December, and not feel cold inside. Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone here. The snowstorm that was driving stinging snowflakes into her skin and whipping the wind until it became a comforting familiar growl didn’t scare her. Joni had said that she’d met a friend, an old gardener named Homer, and she wanted to thank him for befriending Joni, and helping her grieve, when she was not able to see beyond her own sorrow. There was a comforting light, coming from a cabin in the distance, which drew her close. She was close enough to see the person that stood behind the glass windows. She smiled. It looked warm and inviting in that place. It was a little oasis. Then, the howling wind became a voice, and the voice became a name. Her name. *************************** He’d forgotten the cold, forgotten the pain. Forgotten everything but her. The snow didn’t matter. The wind that stung his eyes was nothing. He wasn’t alone. Dear God in Heaven, he wasn’t alone. He could see her far ahead. She was just as he remembered her, her golden hair streaking the dark sky with light. He raced toward her, afraid to believe that it was true. His madness was truly complete now, first his daughter, his little Jonina, now his sunshine. His soul. His Buffy. Just as he was about to let go and let the madness take him in its swell, the howling wind carried something with it that galvanized him, and his feet carried him faster. The scent of vanilla and roses was carried to him, and he knew. He knew it was Buffy. It really was her. He hadn’t gone mad. She was here. Just how and why didn’t matter. Not now. She was here. The cold air shocked his lungs as he drew it in. To speak her name, a name that had become something sacred in his loneliness, would take all the mental fortitude he could muster. It would take courage. He knew that. If she didn’t react, if she was indeed part of his madness, he would be utterly crushed under the weight of emptiness he felt. But, if he didn’t try, and by some undeserved miracle, she was real, the ache would kill him. He needed her. In order to continue here, in order to deal with her loss, he’d convinced himself that he did not need her. That she was gone, never to return. And, he didn’t need her. Not only that, but he’d convinced himself that he couldn’t have her, didn’t deserve her. And that added to the pain he felt in this place. He didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d somehow managed to make himself believe that she was dead. He could remember the smell of it. He could remember straining to hear her as she breathed her last. Desperately, he clung to the echo of her final heartbeat. Desperately, he clung to his last hope. His self-deception had been so complete, that even the one he thought of as his daughter had believed it. He remembered it all so vividly. Yet, here she was just a few feet away. Almost close enough to touch. He watched as the snow battered her skin and he laughed. As the snowflakes dove toward her on their kamikaze mission, melting into her as they made contact, he was reminded of himself. He knew, even as he hurled toward her blindly, that she meant death to him. But, he didn’t care. He had to have her. The sacred name escaped and floated above the roaring wind. In all his fondest dreams, in his waking nightmares, it had never happened just as it was now. His heart formed in his throat as he watched her turn. She had heard him. He nearly fell to his knees for that alone. But, as he heard a name he’d all but forgotten, a name he’d buried under years of misery, whispered on the wind, he rushed into her embrace. “Buffy,” Spike sobbed, wondering just what he had done to deserve this ray of light in his world of darkness, “Oh Buffy, is it really you?” Spike saw her warm eyes glitter in astonished wonderment. Her beautiful, lyrical voice held a wariness that told him that she doubted her own sanity as she asked him, “Are you real, Spike? Please tell me you are,” she wept for his loss, and for his return, as she held him tighter. She felt a shimmer of joy and disbelief shoot through her as he smiled at her. Oh, how she missed that smile, those eyes. As he smiled down at her, Spike was grateful she was there. If she wasn’t there to bear him up, he felt certain he would collapse from the tremors of exhaustion, grief and happiness that rocked his body now. In a voice that hadn’t been used outside of his dream state, he told her, “I was never real, Love. Until just this moment, I never existed at all.” Inside the cabin, a little girl smiled. She had her parents back. Now they could take her home. ********************************* NOVEMBER 1, 2005 -8:00 A.M. Just as the rumble under Willow’s feet had begun to die down, another deafening roar ripped through the air. A light flashed, and where only moments ago Spike had kissed Buffy goodbye, instead there was Angel, lying on the floor of the club, gasping for air. Wait. That wasn’t right. Was Angel really breathing? Just as Willow was about to question her own senses, Buffy’s tear- ravaged voice spoke for the second time that day, “Human. Oh, God. Angel,” she lunged toward him before Willow could stop her and pulled his rubber limbs to bear, “What did you do?” she hissed, “What did you do to my child! Where’s Spike?” she demanded, “What happened? What did you do to him!” ******************************

Chapter #35 - Fifty-Five

IN THE INTERREGNUM-HIGHER PLANE Joyce Summers knew that there would be a price to pay later, for what they did. But, she, and Buffy, and Jonina knew that if they left him alone, he literally would not survive. Joyce was barely able to restrain herself during the last days of Sunnydale. She wasn’t about to let this go on without some type of intervention. It had been done before, and this was being done on a much smaller scale, and for a grander, and less self-serving purpose. Surely they would take that into account when meting out her punishment. This seemed the only way to give him what he needed. And Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave him there. They both knew that she would leave him, eventually. The thought of leaving him again had caused Buffy unimaginable grief, but the alternative was equally frightening. They both knew that it had to happen, or there would be no future for either of them to come back to. She looked into the bright, apple-cheeked, freckled face of her Granddaughter, and asked again, “Joni, are you sure you want to do this?” “You know, Daddy asked me that too. And, do you know what? I still say yes.” Joyce shook her head a little. She could almost predict what his reaction would be, “If your Daddy found out, I’m not sure he would like the thought of you there with him.” Joni’s brown eyes twinkled in thought, “Well,” she smiled, “he wouldn’t have to know it’s me, not at first. I can be whoever he needs me to be. But Mommy can’t leave him there. And, neither can I. He’s been so sad already. Daddy went to that place to protect me, to keep me safe from the boogiemen. If he hadn’t been there with me, that place would have been nothing like what I thought it was. I know that. I thought it was a game. That was because he was with me. He made it that way. Only he saw how things truly were. He protected me from that. Someone has to be with him when she leaves again, to protect him. I owe him so much. I couldn’t thank him then, because I didn’t know, but I can do that now, Momma. He has to survive. Right now,” she looked down at the goings on around her, “Oh Momma, I look so little. He has to come find me. It’s the only way.” “He will. Okay, Dove,” Joyce smiled as Joni’s eyes widened when she used his special name for her, “we’ll do this thing. But, you do realize that once your Daddy finds you, he won’t need the guide anymore,” her forehead crinkled in thought, “As a matter of fact, if he knew who you were, and where, and when, you’d come from, things could get really messy. Wolfram and Hart tried to control your Daddy before because they knew that if they let it play out, like it should have, they would have lost. The Home Office would have had to look elsewhere. In order for the Higher Ups to clean up the mess the Los Angeles branch caused, under its ‘new leadership,’ your Daddy can’t know who you are. Understand?’ Joni nodded, “Yes, Mamma. I understand. When she comes, he’ll barely remember me, and that’s okay with me.” “You’re sure?” Joni rolled her eyes lovingly at her Grandmother, “I wish people would stop asking me that! This is my mess. I have to help clean it up. Now,” she said as she prepared to leave the plane again, taking one last look at what was happening there, “let’s do this already!” Joyce smiled and sighed, “Do you know how much you’re like your Daddy?” “People keep telling me that too,” Joni said, “I love you Mamma.” Joyce waved her hand again, and watched Joni leave on her rescue mission, “Love you too,” she said. Buffy was in place. If Spike found out, she knew that he would rage and snarl at her. She expected that. After all, that was par for the course when the one your daughter chooses to marry and build a life with is a vampire. She laughed at how fanciful, and strangely logical that seemed. Only in Sunnydale would that make any kind of sense. Only in Sunnydale would a vampire with a soul be the key to the universe’s balance. One hundred and forty-seven days was a small price to pay for that balance. They all knew that, and still they did it willingly. Here, a lifetime could be lived in one hundred and forty-seven days. ******************************** NOVEMBER 1, 2005 Buffy couldn’t believe it. There he was, lying on the floor of this old karaoke bar, and he was gasping for breath. How? What? This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. That was when she noticed it. He was pale, that was true, but there was a slight tinge of redness to his skin. He looked pink. He looked almost… “Human.” Something in her head clicked then. Buffy remembered the look of loss in his eyes after Drusilla’s attack. At the time she had just assumed that it was the shock of seeing his sire turn to ash before his eyes, but maybe it was more than that. As she recovered in the hospital, Dawn told her what Spike had given up to save her, and it nearly broke her heart. He’d given up his soul. For her, he’d given up the one thing he’d fought so hard for. At the time, the depth of his sacrifice made her weep. She wept, and questioned her definition of a human being once again. Listening to Angel breathing in and out with such ease, as if he’d always done it, she wondered if Spike had known this was a possibility. Could it be possible for a vampire to be made human somehow? Had Angel known? Is that why he’d roamed about Los Angeles all those years, behaving like the Dark Avenger? Did he know there was a prize waiting for him? Of course he’d known. How could he not? Buffy’s mind swam as she tried to put it all together. The fact that a human lay where a vampire stood just moments ago was connected in some way, some way that was important to all of this. But, what was it that made this important? What did they have in common, Spike and Angel? There was something that made this miracle, this travesty possible for Angel, but not for Spike. It all connected. The look of lost hope that had lived in Spike’s eyes ever since he’d found out the extent of physical damage Drusilla’s insanity had caused her body. Buffy remembered that he’d tried to hide the devastation from her. The pain in his eyes was about more than her loss. It was about more than the loss of his soul. This was about lost hope. Lost chances. Buffy had failed to realize that the loss he was grieving had transformed the translucent color of his eyes, eyes she could always gage his emotions by, from a clear azure into an opaque cyan. What could cause such a transformation? What could shake him down to his core? Her mind spun, and she understood. His core. His soul. In saving her, he’d lost his hope, “Oh, God.” Of course Spike knew. If Angel knew there was some sort of reward for him at the end, a reward for having a soul, then it made perfect sense that Spike would know as well. Angel would tell him, if only for the purpose of rubbing his nose in it later, Angel would tell him. He was that smug. The soul. That was what had made them the same. It was what made them different now. And the soul was the reason Angel was lying there instead of Spike. Spike had given up his humanity, something she thought she prized, to save her. Would Angel have done that? No. She knew he wouldn’t. He never loved her that much, if he loved her at all. Who was the monster here? The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She didn’t want to stop it, “Angel,” she rasped. She felt a rage building inside of her. It was a fire she couldn’t control. She let it consume her. She was dimly aware that Willow was begging her to stop. She felt strong arms pulling on her, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. Angel had taken her baby, and her hope, away from her. He was going to pay for that. **************************************** Holding her, he was warm again. Just how she’d gotten here, wasn’t his concern now. After years of cold and lonely sleep, he was awake, and alive again. She felt real, but everything was real here. Too real, and too cold, it was torture, being here. He knew he could have made her up. The mind had a way of doing that, when it needed to. He had to be sure, “Are you real, Buffy?” he choked, not caring that they were standing in the middle of a driving snowstorm. He had to know, “Tell me you’re real.” Buffy couldn’t stand seeing the loss and emptiness in his eyes. She knew what he’d done for her. She understood now what her mother had shown her, and just why he was in the pain he was in. He was in this Hell to protect her, because he loved her. And she had to thank him for that. Buffy stood on her toes, and asked sweetly, pulling his neck gently down for a kiss, “If I was a dream, could I do this?” The kiss was searing and it melted the years of ice that had been around his heart, instantly. He never wanted it to end. Never. Buffy had forgotten this. She wasn’t even sure she should have remembered it. But here it was. His taste and his smell, the surprising softness of his touch, it was all here. It was real. So real that she was dizzy from it. She pulled away slowly, and smiled a little at the dazed look in his eyes and the small whimper that escaped his lips, “Well?” Spike’s brain seized. Logical thought wasn’t possible, “What?” he was needlessly breathless. There was so much emotion in his eyes. There was so much she needed to say, to tell him, and yet she couldn’t. There were no words. Buffy found herself panting, needing to touch him again, to have him close to her again. In a desperate whisper, her voice ghosted over his lips, “Spike…love you, so much. Can we do this inside?” her lips trailed over his closed eyelids, “I need to…” He nodded quickly, as the need rose in him as well. The warmth of her was driving him beyond reason. He swept her up and carried her to the tiny cabin that had been his only source of warmth for so long. When he’d seen her it had nearly been forgotten. As he carried her through the door, he took no notice of the small piece of paper, folded neatly and left in the center of the table. The missive, addressed to him, using the only name he’d known for years, said this: ‘ Homer, don’t worry about me. I’ve gone home, and now, so have you. Thank you for your help. Love always. Joni.’ ********************************************

Chapter #36 - Fifty-six

Willow was horrified by what she was witnessing. Buffy was unleashing a rage on a weakened man that she usually reserved for demons. She was watching as Angel’s ashen skin was quickly colored in the unnatural hues of purple, black, and yellow. Willow waited for the wave of grief and anger that she knew Buffy was feeling to crest and break, but it didn’t. Her anger was only growing, and that was what was fueling the power behind her fist. If she didn’t stop soon, Buffy would kill him, “Buffy stop!” Willow screeched, “Stop! He’s human, you can’t! You’ll kill him!” Willow tried to pull her away before she could do any further damage, rushing up to grasp her shoulders from behind, but Buffy stepped back to center herself, grabbed Willow’s wrist with both hands locked in an overhand grip and sent her sailing over her head and across the bar. Willow landed on her back, staring up at the stucco ceiling gasping for air. Well, Willow thought, at least she’s not hurting him now. Willow could hear the nearly animalistic, and primal rage surging through her friend, as she heard Buffy say, “I know. I don’t care. He deserves to die, Willow! He’s here, and Spike’s not. If Spike’s not here, it seems only right that Angel shouldn’t be either, don’t you think?” She had formed it like a question, but it really wasn’t one. It was a justification. Willow’s position on the floor of a ruined club suddenly brought the clarity of perspective. She remembered a night, years ago, which was similar to this. A night when she’d crossed a line, and Buffy had been the only thing standing between her and the last strand of her humanity. Willow knew that, if it hadn’t been for her friends, she would have died, and not just physically. Karma really did have a way of kicking you in the ass. Willow knew what she was feeling. She’d been there. She very nearly didn’t come back. “I know,” Willow said, slowly getting up from the floor, her eyes riveted on Buffy’s all the while. She kept her voice as soft and non-threatening as she could, “I know how that feels, what you want to do,” Willow shook her head as the feelings she had after Tara’s death washed over her again, “But Buffy, you can’t do it,” she looked at the mass of bruises that Angel’s face had become, then looked at the sadness of her friend’s eyes, and felt her pain, “Buffy, you’re not a killer. You’re not like me.” Something reached Buffy through the pain. Her gaze drifted to Angel’s crumpled body. Slowly, she took in the discolored and swollen face and realized what she had done. Knew what she could have done had she not been stopped. Buffy saw her friend Willow standing in front of her, with Angel lying there, broken. Broken, because she’d broken him, and tossed him into the corner without a thought. There was no thinking. There was only hurt, and loss, and betrayal. Buffy knew she was drowning. She saw Willow as her only chance to survive the hurt and emptiness. She had to grasp this chance, and hold on tight. Buffy let the sobs take over, as she held on to her friend for her life, “Oh Willow,” Buffy sobbed, “Willow, what did I do? What do I do?” ******************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE Joyce watched her daughter walk away. She knew that this would be hard for her to watch. Being separated from him, even for this laudable reason, for her, it made this place anything but what it was. It was painful to watch her go through this, “Buffy,” Joyce said softly, seeing her stop and turn her head to hear her, her back to her. Seeing that she had Buffy’s attention, Joyce continued, “Is there anything you want me to tell her, when I see her? Anything…” she hated to dredge up pain for her, but this was the proverbial elephant in the room. How could they not talk about it, “that you want to tell…him?” Buffy turned and walked slowly back to her mother, reaching around her neck, she unclasped the chain that suspended the ring at her throat. She held it in her palm, weighing it. It could say things to him, important things, even if she could not. Looking into her mother’s patient and understanding eyes, she placed the ring in her hand and closed her fingers around it, “Yes,” she said, “Give her this. She may not know what it means, not with her head, but her heart will know. She’ll know what to say,” Buffy sighed, “I only hope he can still understand.” Joyce gave a little nod, “He’ll understand, Sweetie. He’s always understood you.” ********************************************* Buffy could feel herself falling into the warmth of his kisses. She could feel her skin slowly break out in gooseflesh at the slight touch of his trembling lips. His kisses were so feather-soft that she had to open her passion heavy eyes to be sure he even existed. She looked down into his darkened, disbelieving eyes as he knelt on the floor of the cabin in front of her. Buffy could see his eyes in the flickering candlelight. They were brimming with tears. He looked so vulnerable, and she felt so unworthy. She felt that she should be the one to kneel at his feet. She knew that she didn’t deserve the adoration that shone in his worshipful kisses and gaze. “Spike,” her voice was trembling with her own tears, “Say something, please. I need you to talk to me.” Spike’s eyes widened at the beautiful sound that had issued from her lips. He knew that had been his name, once, but that was so long ago. He shook his head quickly, putting a hand up to silence her, “Please, Love. Don’t talk, please,” he whispered as he reverently placed his head on her chest, leaning his ear to her heart and placing his hands at the small of her back, holding her to him. He sighed with relief when he heard the beat he’d almost left to the winds of madness. It was just as he remembered it. He let the sound take him away with it. Closing his eyes as her rhythms sounded through him, he murmured quickly, as if his own voice had been his only companion for far too long, “Oh God, I’ve missed this. There is nothing here, you know, nothing like this. There’s no sound,” his voice failed him, and he took a shuddering breath, “Nothing but me, and I am nothing. Please Love,” he repeated softly and beseechingly, “Don’t talk.” She could see that this was important to him, that he needed her to do as he asked. She tried to comply, but there was so much she needed to know that she couldn’t, “I don’t understand.” “Buffy,” he whispered, the years of isolation breaking his voice into an unfinished sob, “I don’t understand either. But, I know you don’t belong here. If this is a mistake…if you fell somehow, and they found out where you were, they could take you away,” he reached for her, his fingers gently tracing her lips, “I couldn’t take that,” his lashes met, shielding her from his sight. He did not want to lose her again, and he knew he would, if they found her, “If they took you from me,” his voice trailed off, “I…I think…” Buffy’s heart broke watching a deep pain settle in his eyes, “Spike?” she could see tears flowing down his face. She found it difficult not to be mesmerized by the sheer magnitude of the agony she saw etched on him, “Fell from where?” she asked gently. He looked away, trying to gather the strength to tell her his deepest fear. When he looked into her eyes again, Buffy saw a sad confidence in them. As if he knew that, once he confessed his heartfelt fear, it would come to pass, “I think I’d die, Buffy,” he finished the thought, too lost in his own mind to hear her. His tone told her that he expected her to be taken away at any moment, “I know, Buffy. I’d die. Really die. The seraphim wouldn’t be that cruel; to give you back to me only to take you away again. Would they?” his eyes were wide with fear, “They did it once,” he was sobbing against her, completely distraught, “They can’t do it again. Don’t let them do it again! Please?” She hated to see him in this kind of pain, but something he’d said drew her attention. And, she couldn’t let it go, “Spike,” she asked again as she sank to her knees with him, her eyes level with his, “fell from where?” “Heaven,” Spike breathed. His soft, shining eyes left no doubt in Buffy’s heart. If she did not give him something, some kind of hope, he would die without it, without her, “Oh Spike,” she wept, kissing his tears away, “I’m no angel.” His eyes were bright with conviction, “But, you are,” he insisted, “You’re my angel.” Buffy’s throat tightened and her hands trembled as she fumbled with the chain her mother had given her, “Oh Spike,” she sobbed, “I don’t know how I got here, or how long I’ll stay,” with shaking hands she fastened the silver chain around his bent neck, “But, someone told me to give this to you, as a reminder.” “Of what?” Spike whispered, his eyes wide with dread at the thought of losing her again. “That we’re never going to be apart, not really, ever again,” she gave a small wet smile, “It’s my gift to you.” ********************** NOVEMBER 4, 2005 At the time Buffy had argued against it. It didn’t seem right that Angel had any sort of comfort, even the cold type a hospital could give, when no one knew if Spike or her daughter had any warmth or comfort, why should he have any. But Willow had convinced her to let him have this small mercy. She didn’t want to be the king of monster he had been, even if those around her would have understood. She wanted to be human for him. She wanted to be better than he was, for Spike. Buffy made sure that the blinds covering the windows of the room were opened, flooding the room with light. When he woke up, she wanted Angel to know just what he’d been given, and who it was that had given it to him. The warmth of the morning sun, shining through the glass, stirred Angel to consciousness. He moaned, instinctively screwing his eyes shut against the light. Buffy stood with her back to the window, crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited. Angel opened his eyes slowly. His vision was blurred; ill-defined shapes crowded him as his eyes searched for something familiar to latch on to. He blinked and for the first time began to realize something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. His eyes darted around to room; he was drawn to the shadow near the window. A shadow that took on a strangely comforting shape, “Spike?” Angel croaked. “No,” Buffy bit out, stuffing down the wave of anger she felt at hearing Angel speak his name, “not Spike. But, you might wish it were when I get done with you.” “Buffy?” “Yeah,” she nodded, her face still obscured by the light flowing in the hospital window, “Buffy.” Angel brought his hand to his face, gliding his fingers over his now tender flesh. He winced in pain and immediately stopped his tentative exploration of his injuries, “Buffy,” his eyes looked at her, grief-stricken, “what year is it?” “Year?” Buffy asked. Angel nodded. “Two thousand and five. Why?” Angel looked surprised by this. He closed his eyes as he relived his own private Hell, “Oh God,” he gasped, “Spike,” his eyes snapped open, and they held urgency in them. The urgency of life and death, “Where is the baby? Buffy, where’s Jonina?” Buffy stepped up and stared into Angel’s frightened and pleading eyes. She wanted to kill him for daring to ask the question, for even speaking his name so casually, “That’s what I want to know, Angel,” her voice was tight with rage and a comforting menace, “You tell me. Where is she? Where are they, Angel?” Twenty-five years. That is how long he’d been there. Yet here, almost no time had gone by at all. Angel wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious in this hospital room. Days? Hours? Months? Who knew how little time had past here or how many years had flown by in that place. Either way, Angel knew, they were both dead. Angel hung his head in shame, “Dead,” he whispered, “Buffy, they’re both dead.” *******************************

Chapter #37 - Fifty-Seven

Author's Note: Some dialog taken from "After Life." Also, I wanted to give anyone who wants regular updates of this fic, and any futre ones the chance to contact me through the "Authors" page. Don't worry, I will continue to post here. In the event something unforseen happens here, as it did on another site on which I post, I didn't want anyone to be without their story fix. If you want updates directly to your e-mail, contact me, and be sure to put "Fic Update" in the subject line. **************************** Buffy closed her eyes. Angel had made some kind of mistake; that had to be it. He didn’t just say that her new baby and slightly less new, oh inappropriate humor in the face of tragedy, way to deal Buffy, husband was dead? No, it couldn’t be true. No, it wasn’t true. It just couldn’t be. “No,” she said flatly, “You’re wrong.” Angel’s voice cracked with emotion, “Oh, Buffy, I wish I was,” his hands shielded his eyes from the light he’d been so long without, “Maybe the Powers gave me another chance to prove myself. I only know I saw it. I watched him die,” Angel’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Buffy, it was horrible. He never recovered after you…” “After I what?” Buffy hissed. “Died,” he said simply. Buffy huffed, pronouncing every word clearly and moving closer, so that he could see her more clearly, “Angel, you may have noticed. I. Am. Not. Dead. And neither is he. I would know it if he were.” **************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- After years of living with him, Buffy’d learned her share of British slang. She came down to check on his progress. She knew he would have rather been left alone; after all, being omnipresent was bad enough, but to be subjected to Angel’s special brand of self-flagellation, well that took him to a whole new level of Hell. She couldn’t leave him here to face that alone. She had expected to hear some salty talk from him. Buffy was secretly glad that that was a habit not even this place could break. He just wouldn’t be him without it. Still, if he wanted to stay on the Higher Plane, it had to be curbed somewhat. So, imagine her surprise when instead of vulgarity, she heard endearments mixed with a little smugness, “You tell him, Love. Your Mums didn’t mix it up for nothing. It’s just like him to make assumptions. So many choices, so many ways it could turn out, and he thinks his is the only way,” Spike sighed, “Oh, what a berk!” If she had known about her own personal cheering section back on the Hellmouth, she might not have felt so alone. But, thinking about it now, she had known. If only she had believed it. Things might have gone differently. And now because of Joni, they still could. Buffy took a special kind of delight in watching this. She herself still wasn’t used to watching different points in her life as if she were watching a movie. It still kind of gave her the creeps, sort of a strange sense of déjà vu. But he took to it like a duck to water. All that would be needed to make him more comfortable would be a box of popcorn. The only thing that let Buffy know that Spike was the slightest bit perplexed by the goings on was his incessant pacing, “Spike,” Buffy said, giggling a little when he started at the sound of her voice, “Sorry. Did I scare you?” Seeing the smile on her face, he chuckled at his own reaction, a little embarrassed. His eyebrow rose, “Believe it or not, yeah. His emotions are all over the place,” he sighed, “How was it that I wasn’t impaled on a Slayer’s stake a hundred years ago?” he walked over to Buffy, taking comfort in her warm embrace. He kissed her lightly, slowly running his fingers through her hair. He looked deep into her emerald eyes, “He’s all one, giant nerve ending. Everything is hard, and loud and bright. He’s like a skittish colt,” his eyes dropped, as emotions he’d forgotten flowed through him and his voice wavered, “The only thing that gives him focus is you,” his gaze rose to hers again, “I didn’t have that before. Thank you, Love.” “You’re very welcome. I remember what that felt like,” she held his hand gently in hers, calmed and comforted by his presence, “It was the least I could do. You did it for me, I figured I’d return the favor,” Buffy was awestruck by the softness in his eyes. So much so that she nearly couldn’t speak, “Is he ready?” she whispered. “No, but with your help, he will be,” he nodded, breathing in the scent of her hair and enjoying the blissful warmth her closeness gave him, “This is just a…well deserved rest. It’s something he needs, something I needed. I told you that. I remember. Just a little more time, give him a breather, yeah?” Spike shuddered as a feeling of peace spread through him and he drew Buffy closer to him. He knew it made no sense, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming vertigo. He closed his eyes and let the rush of feeling encircle him, “Oh, thank you, Love. You don’t know how much this means to me. I thought you couldn’t hear me. I was screaming, and you couldn’t hear me.” Buffy was ashamed of how she’d behaved then, “I heard you,” she assured him, “ My heart heard you, but my head just didn’t want to believe what it was hearing,” she sniffed back tears as she nuzzled her head in his neck, “I’m so sorry. Maybe this will make it right?” “Oh, it has, Love,” he whispered, “It has. Well,” Spike sighed as he reluctantly pulled away from her, “I’m off to talk to myself,” his eyes rolled, “Where’s Rod Serling when you need him?” “Who?” Buffy asked. Spike sighed again and shook his head. Smiling, he kissed her forehead, “Oh, never mind. Wish me luck?” She grinned and nodded and patted his shoulder, “Luck.” ************************************ OCTOBER 9, 2001- SUNNYDALE Buffy leaned against the brick wall outside the Magic Box. He was so close, yet she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. If her friends knew where she’d been, if he knew where she’d been. She couldn’t tell them. They couldn’t know. How could she tell him whom she’d been with? She forced her eyes up to his face. He looked so concerned. If only he knew. No, she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand. “…Or, if I can do anything for you.” “I’m fine.” He didn’t believe her. She knew he wouldn’t. He turned to lean on the wall next to her, “Well, I haven’t been to a Hell dimension just of late but I do know a thing or two about torment.” If only he knew. “Time didn’t mean anything there. Nothing had form, but I was still me, you know?” He nodded his understanding. Of course he understood. She could see it in his eyes; in they way he stayed near to her. But he didn’t really know. “…I was warm. And, I was loved. I think I was in Heaven. Now I’m not. I was pulled out of there, by my friends.” ********************************

Chapter #38 - Fifty-eight

NOVEMBER 5, 2005 Lorne had told him what had happened, but as Stephen Riley strode through the hospital’s parking lot he realized something. He realized that he needed to see for himself that it was true. He couldn’t just take this kind of news at face value. No, this he had to see for himself. On the drive from Stanford, he secretly wished for a bight and sunny day. A hot day would have been nice too. The kind where the atmosphere gets distorted and you can almost see the heat rising from the pavement. He wanted that kind of day, so that, if it were true, he wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, not now, and not ever again. And looking up at the bright colors around him, and the big orange ball of gas that stood in the sky, Stephen knew he’d gotten what he’d wished for. Now all that was left was the congratulations. The puppet had finally become a real boy. There were still strings on this boy though, in the form of a grieving Slayer. Stephen wasn’t really sure whose side he should take. But, he was going to get a good seat. He wasn’t going to miss this show, not for all the world. As he exited the elevator on the seventh floor, Stephen didn’t even have to inquire which room belonged to his erstwhile father. He recognized the solemn tone of his voice from down the hall. As he walked down the corridor, Stephen noticed, with some irony, that the room that this once, and present member of the human race currently occupied faced east and exposed him to the bright morning sun. Stephen could feel his lips pulling up in a sly smirk, of their own accord. There was some sort of justice in that. As he came to stand in the doorway of the room, a long shadow was cast on the tile floor. It stretched the breadth of the room, coming to a point just below the window. The room was darkened, save for the natural illumination of sunlight, so Stephen knew that Angel’s new, dimmer vision could not see him. “Hi Dad,” he said menacingly. Angel’s eyes narrowed as he shot a glance toward the open door, “Connor?” “Yeah, it’s me. The makeover take this time?” Angel looked fervently at Buffy hoping she hadn’t heard, which was of course ridiculous, she had heard. And what’s more, now she had that look on her face. The look that told him that he had better fess up, or human or not, he was going to hurt, and hurt bad, if he didn’t. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. Stephen seemed genuinely surprised as he stepped further into the room, “You mean he didn’t tell you?” he moved closer to inspect Angel’s bruised and swollen face, “The reflexes aren’t as swift I see,” he clucked his tongue, “You should’ve ducked. I figured he told you and that’s why his face ended up like that,” he reached out to lightly touch Angel’s face and was rewarded with a hiss of breath, “Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark.” “Tell me what?” Buffy asked, impatiently. “That he was human for a day,” he quickly covered his mouth, his eyes widening mockingly, “Oops,” he shrugged, “I wasn’t supposed to know that, no one was. But then,” Stephen said slowly, “no one was supposed to know about me, either. I guess the cat’s out of the bag. So, what’s a few more secrets?” “Who are you?” Buffy asked. “Oh, didn’t you hear me?” he pointed to Angel, “I’m his son. Though not in the sense that he raised me, because he didn’t, more in the sense that, he contributed to my genetic makeup. But then, technically I shouldn’t even exist. I mean, both my parents were dead when they made me.” Buffy’s face began to grey at the implications, “Dead?” she breathed. He nodded, “Yeah. In the sense that, both my biological parents were vampires,” he shrugged again, “I guess that’s why Uncle Spike came to me with the file Wolfram and Hart had on Dad here. He asked me to try and track cousin Jonina. He figured I knew the terrain,” Stephen said nonchalantly. “Spike? But why would he come to you?” “Because I was raised in a Hell dimension just like the one he thinks Jonina’s trapped in.” “Hell dimension?” Buffy scanned his face and it told her that he was telling her the truth. He believed what he was saying. “Yes,” Stephen said, “For fifteen years and eleven months, I lived in a Hell dimension called Quartoth. It had it’s own monsters…and other nasty things that tried to kill me every day.” “Eleven months? What happened to the twelfth?” A mumble came from the bed, “He was kidnapped when he was a month old, and taken there.” Buffy saw the shame in Angel’s eyes, but she couldn’t keep the fury from shaking her voice as she addressed him. She nodded, suddenly understanding that she had somehow fallen into a parallel universe, “Taken by who, Angel?” “A vampire hunter named Holtz.” The sound that came from Buffy’s throat was caught between a laugh and a sob, “Did you try and take him back?” Angel’s voice was gruff as he confessed something that he’d atoned for by giving his son a normal life. He looked at the pain in Buffy’s eyes and felt the weight of the shame pressed on his chest, squeezing his heart in its tight fist. It was then that he realized just how wide the cavern was between them. He would never have her back in any way, shape or form. She was his now, and always would be, “No Buffy, I didn’t. I left him there. I gave him up to the hate. I let it swallow him,” he was cut as well as oddly pleased by the look of hate that flamed in Buffy’s eyes. Now there was no doubt who she truly belonged with. Angel had seen that flame before, in Spike’s eyes, “I’m not like him, Buffy. I’ not strong.” Buffy tried to stem the tide of fury she was feeling. She couldn’t look at Angel anymore. She took a deep breath and focused on Angel’s visitor, “Could he be there now? Could my little girl be in that place, that you were?” “They could be,” he said. ********************************* The last thing he remembered was kissing Buffy goodbye and rushing into the light. Now, everything hurt. He was sure he’d broken some ribs. He took in air, and was rewarded with a stab of pain. Somewhere in the fog, he knew he’d punctured a lung. Just like he did on the night that Buffy jumped from the tower. He knew he needed help, but the pain didn’t allow him to cry out. The more rational part of his brain told him that calling for help might not be a good idea anyway. One never knew what kind of nasty lurked in the dark. It was better not to attract attention. He didn’t even know if there was anyone, or anything, else here. As the fog overtook him, and his consciousness faded, the thought came that he’d failed her. His little girl was alone out here, and he didn’t find her. The loss of consciousness was a blessing he knew he didn’t deserve. As the blackness approached, he knew he was alone. *************** As the caretaker approached the place where the body had landed he looked around him. He had forgotten how austere Angelus had made his environment. It was certainly a far cry from the world Jonina had built. True, it was cold there and at times it even snowed. But there was warmth too. There were pockets of it, one of which she held him in when he didn’t know his own name. At times, her world took on the shape and sounds of their time in New England. She didn’t consciously remember the time before, but he did. And he was so proud of her. Even as tiny as she was, she knew, somewhere deep down, that she was a Slayer. She was strong, his little Joni. She was strong enough to know what she needed. She peopled her prison with the people and things she couldn’t remember. She even brought her mother back to life because she needed her. His girl’s world was a little oasis of life in a place of death, and he loved being there. But that place was not this. This place had no warmth. This was Angelus’s oubliette. This was his prison. As the caretaker knelt near the body and saw his own reflection, he wondered what those eyes would see when they opened once again. ****************************** Buffy sank into the chair near the hospital bed, staring at Angel in disbelief. She felt the terror grip her, “Oh, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, “You’re telling me that Spike pushed you through? He was there?” Angel nodded mutely. “And you left him there? You left him behind?” “Buffy, there wasn’t time. The aperture was closing. The both of us wouldn’t have made it. He wanted me to get back to you so that I could tell you…” “Tell me what?” “That he loves you. And that he’ll find Joni somehow, and bring her back to you. He made me promise to come back, to take care of you…in case he doesn’t make it.” Buffy tore her gaze from Angel’s. If she didn’t focus on something else, anything else, she knew she would kill him, human or not. Her eyes drifted back to the boy who called himself Stephen Riley, “Tell me again?” Stephen nodded, “I know, it’s a heady thing. I had the same reaction when my physics professor tried to explain it to me, but it’s the only way I know how to explain it.” Buffy nodded as her brain sifted through the information, “So, you’re telling me time is like a string?” “Uh huh. If you stretch it out, it’s a straight line. No one point touches the other. That’s how time is here. It’s a one-way street and there’s no way you can go in reverse. You just have to keep going straight ahead.” “But not all dimensions are like that, a straight line?” “Nope,” Stephen shook his head, hoping she would understand, “If you take that string in your hand and ball it up, it’s still a string, but any point along the line can touch another point. Spike and Jonina could be anywhere along that line,” Stephen stopped, looking at his father, he continued speaking to Buffy, “Time doesn’t flow there like it does here. It goes faster, apparently. According to what Dad here, has said, it goes much faster. And if Dad is right and Spike has been drawn to a point in Angelus’s life, we could be looking at finding a needle in a haystack here,” Stephen sighed, “I mean, Dad has had a long life.” Buffy’s brain was having trouble keeping up. This was almost too big for her to handle. Her voice seemed small and frightened, “How much faster?” she asked. Angels voice was muffled by shame, “Buffy, I was there for a quarter of a century. Here, only five days have past.” Oh God. He could be dead. I might never see him again. Buffy felt something quake inside of her, “I have to get him back. I have to know where they are,” her voice was raw but strong, “I have to get them back.” ************************************* Spike moaned and opened his eyes. Black. He blinked. Yes, his eyes were open, but everything was still black. He was blind. The terror rose in him as he groped for a hold on his surroundings. Cold. Damp. Where he was, was hard and unyielding as stone. Stone. This was familiar. A crypt. He was in a crypt. He was blind, and alone, and in a crypt. He would never find her, not like this. A sob ripped at his throat and fear assailed him as he lay on the cold slab floor of the crypt, “Joni.” The sob became a rasping cough as pain pierced his lungs, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. In order to mend, he had to remain still. But he couldn’t remain still, not when he had to find Joni. He’d made a promise. His promise was what staggered him to his feet. Even as his body swayed and he fought to stay on his feet as blessed unconsciousness beckoned to him, he pushed it down. He didn’t have time to be afraid. That would come later. Right now, all he knew was finding Joni. He stumbled forward until he found himself pressed against a wall of stone. His fingers slowly slid along the wall. If this was a crypt, there had to be an exit. If there weren’t one, then he would make one. He’d claw through a wall or the ceiling if he had to. He was going to get out. Joni needed him. He was going to get out. Suddenly he became aware of a presence. It wasn’t physical, but the knowledge came to him, he wasn’t alone in this place. His heart was filled with a warring combination of gratefulness and fear. He stared out into the darkness around him. He coughed as his lungs burned with the effort of speech, “Who are you?” Spike heard the rustle of movement and he felt rather than heard the response. Relax. I know you’re scared. That’s a nasty head injury. The blindness will go away. Even if you didn’t have the head injury though, you wouldn’t be able to see anything as long as you were here. The voice seemed familiar, like something lost in sleep, “Who are you?” I’m a friend. I want to help you find Jonina. “How do you know Joni? Where is she?” Spike hissed, “What have you done to her?” He hurled his body forward again, desperate to find an exit, a way out. Jonina isn’t here. I haven’t done anything to her. I protect her. I have for years now. If you don’t stop using your body as a battering ram it won’t heal properly. Stop it, now The voice was strangely calming. All the strength was quickly leaving him, so he complied. His hand fumbled for the floor of the crypt, and he slowly sat on down, “Years?” even as he said the word Spike felt his broken ribs stab him again. Time flows differently here. “Why can’t I see you?” Spike asked, ignoring the pain. Because this place isn’t for you, it’s for Angelus. *******************************************

Chapter #39 - Fifty-Nine

Author's Note: Lyrics from Johnny Cash's "The Man In Black" used here. Also, remember that the name Homer means "Promise." ;-) Happy reading! **************************** The claustrophobia was suffocating him. He’d been claustrophobic ever sense he’d awakened as a vampire. No one really expects to die and then wake up in a coffin. Spike remembered having to claw his way out through the wood and earth. At the time the splinters cut at his skin like knives and he hadn’t understood why. All he knew was that he had to get out. It was the same way now. Spike could feel the cold blood as it oozed down the side of his forehead and into his eyes, not that that mattered. He couldn’t see anyway. But he knew if he could just stay calm, he would find a way out. The problem was, he couldn’t stay calm, not with Joni out there somewhere. Still, if he wanted out of here to find Joni, he had to stay calm. To stay calm he had to distract himself. To do that, he had to talk. The only one that was offering any conversation was his jailer. If he played his cards right he just might get a handle on this situation, find Joni and get back to Buffy. Well, any port in a storm, “Who are you?” Well, that depends. You see, in this dimension I have form, I’m a physical being. Jonina gave me that. But in your dimension I have no form at all. I’m just an idea, an abstract. Spike’s raspy laughter resounded in the tomb of stone, “Great, I’m talking to a ghost.” No, I’m more than that. You made me. I’m a part of you. Deep inside of you, you already know what it is that I am. You remember the exact moment of my birth. You remember the moment I nearly ceased to exist. I know you do, because I remember it as well. As a matter of fact, without those forces that have gathered around you to protect you, I would have withered to nothing. Spike’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, “Are you my soul?” apprehension crawled up his spine, “Is this Hell?” Spike scrambled to his knees, his hands groping slowly along the cold floor, searching vainly for a way out, “It is, isn’t it? And, you’ve trapped me here because of the things I made you do when the First had me in its thrall. Is that right?” No. I am not your soul. That’s been set free. It’s an innocent, just like Edith. But, I’m very nearly like unto it. So much so in fact that you could say that, for you, the soul and what I am are indistinguishable. And, you haven’t been trapped here; you’ve been placed here. I’m here to be sure that you make it through to Jonina, that you send her back where she belongs, in her mother’s arms. Given time, I’ll be strong enough to help you. As it is now though, I am not much stronger then you are. All I can do now is help you to survive. Do you hear me? We have to survive, for Elisabeth. For Jonina. Spike’s limbs felt like stone, and the heaviness was making it difficult to stave off the fear that threatened him, “If you didn’t put me here…who did?” The Senior Partners put you here, to keep you out of the way. They are your jailers. But Angelus holds the key. Blackness was pulling at the edges of his consciousness, “Why?’ the word was a voiceless cry. To keep you detained. To keep Jonina from doing what the Senior Partners know she must. “Angel…won’t…help,” Spike felt his body being pushed down by the hopelessness of this prison, “Help…please. Got to…get…out.” Everything was heavy. Spike could barely move his arms and legs. He most certainly couldn’t move his limbs with the kind of precision needed for forward progress, or progress of any kind. The claustrophobia was closing in on him again. He could feel himself slipping. He was losing ground in this battle to stay aware, and alert. Spike could feel his knees giving way, forcing him to shift all his body weight to his arms to keep himself upright. But his arms trembled with the strain. Even as he felt himself collapse to the floor of his prison cell, he remembered his promise to Buffy. He would get Jonina back. He had to, because, failing that he would cease to be. ********************************* NOVEMBER 6, 2005 Georgina Whitby watched over her with a cautious eye. The hospital was driving Buffy bonkers. She had suggested a change of scene and maybe a night’s sleep, or a bite to eat. Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave. She insisted on being somewhere that reminded her of him, so it was either the site of his disappearance, “Caritas,” or the Jennings Street dojo. So George chose the dojo. But the empty dojo wasn’t any better. There were too many reminders of him here. Spike’s presence was so thick here that all being here did was remind Buffy if what she didn’t have. Spike might as well have been a ghost here. Georgina lingered in the locker room doorway. She was saddened by what she saw. Poor Buffy. Georgina could only see Buffy from the back. She was standing in the far left corner of the locker room, in front of an open locker; his open locker. She was staring at the contents inside. Georgina could see that she’d been crying. If Buffy’s slumped shoulders and fierce grip on the edge of the little metal door weren’t a clue, then the loud shaky sobs that echoed through the nearly empty room certainly were. As George approached, she tried to do so reverently. The news from Council headquarters in Rome had served as the one-two punch Buffy did not need right now. The sickness had claimed another Slayer. Faith was dead. Three Slayers cut down by some unseen, unknown killer. George knew that Faith Wood had been taken out of rotation by an illness back in June. Now the news came down from Rupert Giles. The mysterious illness still didn’t have a name. It didn’t need a name kill her. Faith was the first infected, but the last to fall. There was no way to know how many more would be stricken before they had the answer. It was this urgency, which, in part, had driven Spike from his place at Buffy’s side. Georgina cleared her throat politely, “Buffy, is there anything you need?” George slowly wheeled her chair up closer to her and shrugged her shoulders, sighing, “Maybe some coffee? I can do that for you.” Buffy shook her head, “No, thank you, Georgie.” Buffy kept her eyes staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to hear Georgie’s well-meaning, sweetly grating voice. Angel’s revelations had left her raw and numb. She looked straight ahead. She didn’t want to see what he’d left behind, didn’t want to see his empty things. That would mean admitting that he wasn’t here and that he might not be coming back. Buffy slowly reached into the tiny metal wardrobe and brushed her hand lightly against the heavy fabric of his karate uniform. Traditionally, the uniforms came in two colors, black and white, just like the symbol that adorned the floor of the main workout room. As she brushed the black fabric with her fingers, she smiled. Of course he’d chosen black. She had tried to get him to change his ways. She had liked how he looked in the robin’s egg shade that he’d worn during his recuperation. She had thought that the white might be a change for him. He’d just quirked his eyebrow and said, in a sly voice, “It has to be black, Love. The white makes me look dead,” his tongue rested against his teeth as he chuckled when she’d rolled her eyes, “You know that,” he nuzzled contentedly at the nape of her neck and murmured in her ear, “Besides, I’m back in fighting form now. I know who I am, where I belong. So, ‘until things are better, I’m the man in black.’” She turned to look at him, “Huh?” Buffy felt the rumbling laughter buzz through her as he held her tight against him and kissed her neck, “Have to broaden your musical horizons, Love. That’s all there is to it. It just has to be done.” Buffy blinked, feeling the unshed tears, as the memory washed over her. She blinked and he was gone. “How long?” she asked, hating the weakness in her voice. Georgina knew, “Five days now. Do you…” she almost couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat. She swallowed the ache and tried again, “want me to do this for you? You should try to sleep,” Georgina could barely finish the thought without her own voice giving out on her, “It’s what he would want you to do.” Buffy tried to breathe, but the breath was cut off by a sob, “Do you think he’s warm?” she choked, “He just detests the cold. That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Georgina sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, “I don’t know, Buffy.” “Do you think he’ll know me, when he gets back? Angel recognized me, but he was…” Buffy’s whole body began to shake. The more she tried to control the anguish inside her, the more violent the tremors became, until she couldn’t stand anymore. Instinctively, Georgina pulled herself out of her wheelchair and curled herself protectively around Buffy. They held each other as their sobs filled the empty space of the small room, “I don’t know Buffy,” she said wiping at her tears, “I don’t know.” ********************************** COUNTY HOSPITAL- SEVENTH FLOOR Holland Manners was, admittedly, rusty at shining bedside decorum, but to keep his own feet out of the fire, he was not above trying. He wouldn’t have had to resort to this if Angel had just upheld his portion of the contact. Holland shook his head in disgust. The smell of disinfectant was too heavy for his comfort. Well, no matter. It didn’t deter him from his mission. He opened the door and slid, effortlessly, in. Angel noticed the shadowy figure approach his bed. He wished he was dreaming, but he knew he wasn’t, “Holland,” he gasped as he fumbled for the call button, “Don’t hurt me. Please?” he coward. “Now, now,” Holland jeered oilily, “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to harm the Home Office’s best operative on this plane. It could be bad for me.” Angel’s heart battered the inside of its cage as he whispered, “Wh-what do you want?” “To make you an offer,” Holland sank down into the bedside chair, “You’ve been there, Angel,” he sighed, “You know how it all ends. We can change it for you,” his eyes swept coolly over the vulnerable human form, “We can make this permanent. It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Angel closed his eyes, clearly shamed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Holland said, “We can make it happen for you. Just don’t tell them what you know.” ****************************************************************** The fog was beginning to lift. Spike could make out shapes of grey amid a sea of black. This was good. A little longer and he’d be able to see his way out. His jaw was leaden and it was painful to speak, but he had bigger concerns. He had Joni to think about. “You still here?” he slurred through the haze. One of the grey shapes shimmered slightly, “Yes, I’m here.” Spike tried to bring the shape into focus, but the pain in his head made that impossible, “Oh, bloody Hell, I’m already dead. How can my head hurt this much?” “Well, a fractured skull will do that to you.” Spike nodded slightly and immediately regretted it as pain blazed along his spine, “The pain would explain you. Hallucinations…” “I am not a hallucination.” Spike wheezed, “Sure you’re not. You’re not in my head anymore. So unless I got a cell mate, you’re a hallucination.” The shadow shifted again, “Okay. I can see I’m not getting anywhere. I’m a hallucination.” “Good,” Spike coughed, “You have a name?” “Yes. It’s Homer.” “Is Jonina still safe?” Spike tried to fight the apprehension that hung over him. “Yes, I’ve taken care of her since she was a little thing.” “Since…” the specter of lost years going by while he was off taking revenge on Angelus loomed over him, “Right. Time flow’s different. Does she…remember me?” Homer sounded incredulous, “Her ‘Daddy?’ Yes, of course she does.” “How do I get to her?” “As soon as I know you’re up to making the journey, I’ll take you to her. You have my word. But, there’s something you should know about Jonina.” “What?” “Jonina is the Home Office’s Trojan horse,” Homer sighed, “When Angelus allowed her to be abducted to this place she was changed when she crossed the dimensional barrier.” The repercussions caused a wave of nausea to sweep over Spike, “Changed how?” he gasped. “A virus was introduced into her system. When she crosses the barrier again, the virus that’s been haunting your nightmares will be unleashed on your reality.” “But it’s already there!” his growl resonated in his tomb, “Two Slayers have already died. I’m trying to fight it. But it’s like trying to catch smoke,” the growl of frustration transformed into a sob of despair. “I know,” Homer said, “It’s there because Joni has already been there. Angelus,” the voice dripped with venom, “in his zeal to ‘protect’ humanity, and the Slayers and you, unleashed it. Made the virus airborne.” The puzzle pieces began to fit in Spike’s mind, “The girl, on our wedding night. Angelus had her cremated. Oh, God!” *************************************************

Chapter #40 - Sixty

Author's Note: Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado", as well as the "Buffy" episode "Selfless" referred to herein. It seemed a shame to let Mr. Marsters's allusion go to waste. ********************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE Joyce could feel her sadness, even here, “I know Honey. But you know it has to be done this way,” she looked down and frowned at the hurt on Buffy’s face, “I know that doesn’t make it any better for you.” “No it doesn’t,” Buffy whispered. She was already feeling the pain of being apart from him, and it hadn’t even happened yet. How was she going to feel when it did happen? She knew her eyes were brimming with tears. She could feel them as they left hot trails down her face. “I know,” Joyce soothed, “But he won’t be alone for long. I promise.” “How do you know that?” Buffy sniffed, “I think I’ve used up all my chances. Especially after that spell; I thumbed my noses at them with all my, ‘I don’t wanna be the one,’ talk. If I ask for it back…” she looked down and sighed, “They could take it out on him. Oh Mommy, if it hadn’t been for him I never would have had Joni in my life.” “I know, Buffy,” Joyce smiled as she took her daughter into her arms, “Don’t you know by now that mothers know everything? I’ve pulled a few strings. Don’t worry, things will be fine.” *********************************************************** Georgina had suggested that she try to sleep. Georgina had no clue what she was asking. She didn’t know what kind of torture sleeping was for her now. Even now as Buffy woke, she could still hear him screaming. Even now she fought the blackness and the fear. She tried to shake it off. She didn’t want to go back there. Back to the crushing fear that made her shatter through her own casket to escape, she’d been there so many nights before. Every night in fact, every night she thought him lost to the Hellmouth, she was with him. Every night, she listened to his silent screams. She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she’d been warned that this was coming. She knew that Spike was paying for her arrogance. Thinking back, she had been warned. He’d warned her. When he’d been nearly driven mad by the things he’d seen on the Hellmouth, in his own way, he’d tried to warn her. Although, at the time she’d discovered the warning she thought it was too late to save him. After all, he was dust, or she’d thought so at the time. No. She didn’t want to go back there. But she knew she had to, to save him. Seeing the sliver of daylight that peeked around the edge of the draperies, Buffy drew a shaky breath. She walked blindly over to his cherished bookcase, lovingly fingered the old bindings, and took down the volume of poetry. She let out a bitter laugh. It figured that the clue to all this lay in the writings of the only poet who might have been scary enough to survive the Hellmouth. Edgar Allan Poe. She remembered Spike’s rantings so clearly now. Why had she not paid attention? She wanted to go back to sleep. Go to sleep and never wake again. She wanted it all back. It was all a dream and she wanted it back. But, like everything else in her life, the dream had somehow metamorphosed into a nightmare. Buffy smiled in spite of herself. Metamorphosed. Now there was a ten-point word. And she was fairly sure she’d used it correctly. Spike would be proud. Spike. Her ears still rang with his voice, colored with delusion, crying, “Scream ‘Montresor’ all you like, Pet. Can’t hear you.” It was only now, as she stared at the poem on the page, that she realized what he had been trying to tell her. In this poem, The Cask of Armadillo, or something like that; Buffy never really did understand poetry, except for the little Japanese ones that sounded like a sneeze. In the poem, Montresor is, “accentually” bricked up in the walls of a tomb, by his friend. Buffy shivered at the thought. She wanted to go back to sleep, to the part of the dream she’d liked. The part where Spike was holding her and kissing her, the part before he’d started screaming her name. She wanted to hold the dream for as long as she could and she hated the light for bringing that to an end. It had been a long time since she’d had that dream. So long in fact that she’d forgotten it, almost made herself believe that it wasn’t true. How could it be true? It was just wishful thinking. Buffy knew that. He wasn’t here and that’s why she’d dreamt of him, that’s all. How could it be true? She’d never seen snow in her life. She’d always been a California girl. She’d never lived anywhere else that she could recall. Still, it seemed so real. And, she’d had the dream before, when Willow first brought her back. It seemed so real, being in his arms. How could it not be real? As Buffy roamed the apartment she shared with him, it was hard not to want to cling to the warmth she remembered. She could still feel it now. And that made waking up without him all the more cruel. If she closed her eyes, the fragments of her dreams coalesced into the microcosm that she’d tried to get back to after her resurrection. A world in which she was loved; a world where he still existed. She had loved him there. With everything she was, she loved him. A world she knew he sensed somehow. She knew it because of the way he was with her. His eyes were softer, as if he remembered too. She asked him how long, and he told her. Without blinking an eye, he’d told her. Twenty-one weeks. She’d only been there twenty-one weeks. It had seemed so much longer. It was a lifetime to her. A lifetime she would have given anything to have again. Yet, when she’d returned, she found herself doing and saying things to him that were unthinkable and inexcusable. Seeing the love in his eyes, a love she had left behind, and knowing he would never understand what he had given her, and in the end would never know that kind of peace because of what he was, no matter how much good he would ever do, hurt her. And, because of that hurt, she lashed out. She had known, even as it was happening, that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. But, she’d been too numb to care, too numb to stop it. But she wasn’t numb now. Now, as she looked at a father’s gift to his infant daughter and absorbed the little spectrum of light and air on the nursery wall, she felt it all and felt it with a ferocity that took her breath away. It was as though a part of her was still there, in that place. When she closed her eyes, she felt as though Spike had taken a part of her away with him. That thought was all that sustained her in the lonely days. The thought that some part of him still knew he was loved was all she had to cling to. Until he came home it was all she had. So, she closed her eyes and fell back into Heaven. ***************************************** He’d been alone. He’d gone on because he knew he had to. But there was no spark. There was nothing to warm him, not even her dying embers. But now he could be warm again. Now he didn’t have to be alone. She’d been given back to him. Somehow, the universe had taken pity on him. As he wondered down at the small laurel of silver she had seen fit to bestow upon him, he wept at the unworthiness he felt. It was at times like this that he was glad he had her near. She would laugh at him if she knew he still felt this way. How many years had it been now? Hundreds? He’d stopped counting. And still she stayed the same, just as beautiful as the first time he saw her. He noticed a briskness in the air surrounding him. That wouldn’t do, not for his girl. If he felt the cold he could only imagine what it was like for her. As he looked out the window he was grateful for the bright colors. That was something he missed. There was no autumn there. But here, he saw colors the likes of which the world had no words to describe. Through the haze of condensation on the window, he could see her coming over the horizon. It was her custom to take long walks. Sometimes he went with her. But, more often than not she would take this constitutional on her own. Often, when she returned from these jaunts, she would be quiet and aloof. It seemed to him that she was searching for something. She seemed to yearn for the life she had shunned so long ago. That made a strange kind of sense to him. It was, after all, who she was. There was no escaping that. Even here, what you truly were shone through. That was how things worked here. It had been this way before, and, he supposed it would always be so. At times a pall would overtake her. When she could fight it no longer, she would let him hold her, and that was enough. He crossed the tiny cottage and knelt near the wood-burning stove to stoke the fire, he felt the warm glow on his face and again counted himself blessed to have her. He was warm, and that was enough. ******************************** Lying on the floor of the crypt, the cold brought him back to reality. The sob that eked out of his throat begged that he be allowed to go back to sleep. Reality was not a place he wanted to be just now. He’d have rather spent a century with Buffy then one more second in this tomb. “Anyone here?” his voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. He knew that if he had needed to breathe to sustain his being, then he would not be at all. A patient voice rumbled through him, “Yes, I’m here.” Homer’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness and as he sat on his haunches next to the still form, he looked with a strange fondness into the eyes that still darted about trying to find him. It was funny. Until now, he hadn’t realized how single-minded he really was. Rod Serling never had a life like his, “And if you want to keep it from becoming Bedlam in that skull of yours, maybe you’d better let me do the yarn spinning from here on out. It’s less work for you. And don’t worry; I won’t be offended if you’re not the world’s most gripping conversationalist. I’m kind of used to the quiet. Besides, It’ll help you heal. That way, you can get back to Joni faster.” Spike’s eyes drifted shut slowly. Before his brain took him again into the mercy of sleep, he mumbled, “Never get out. Angelus won’t let me go. He tried to,” his eyelids were too heavy. He was slipping again, “…kill Joni.” Homer felt his jaw tighten. The flame within him grew as he growled, “I know. Angelus knows why he put you here, and so do I. Joni needs you, and so does she. I’m going to make him let you out,” Homer sighed, amazed at the rancorous hatred he still held for that beast. Years of witnessing what was done to countless universes because of that one act of “kindness” had changed him, made him bitter. Only Jonina had eased the sting of it for him. For that, he was grateful. And, he would repay her, “Don’t worry about Jonina. I’ve got her. She’s right here. I’m holding her tight, and I won’t let anything hurt her. You know that,” Homer straightened as he watched him fall asleep, “Right now though, I have to pay a little visit to Angelus. Make him give up that skeleton key.” ********************************************************* NOVEMBER 6, 2005- COUNTY HOSPITAL-SEVENTH FLOOR Angel woke with a start. His heart was pounding and he was sweating. He had to gulp air just to chase the terror away. God, the screams, he could still hear them in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever forget them as long as he lived. A menacing voice spoke from the corner of the room, “No, I don’t imagine you will.” Angel’s head snapped toward the sound, and a shiver ran through him. Even though he could still see only shadows, this particular shadow took a familiar shape, a familiar stance. It was leaning against the doorframe, watching him. Angel squinted, trying to make his vision clear, “Holland?” he asked, hoping his voice did not betray his terror. The form moved closer to his bed and in recognized cadence said, “No, not Holland. At least, not this time.” Horror gripped Angel as the shadow came to full view. Somehow, Spike was staring back at him, smiling with deadly intent, “You should be so lucky, Angelus.” *******************************************

Chapter #41 - sixty-one

IN THE INTERREGNUM- Joni tried to apologize for what she’d done. All she wanted to do was see them again. She wanted her parents to love her the way her Uncle couldn’t, or wouldn’t. And now because of her mistake she would have to cause her mother and Daddy more pain. Hadn’t they been through enough? She couldn’t look her mother in the eye, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I know it hurts to go through this all again, because of me.” Buffy looked at Joni’s soft eyes and her open face and knew that Joni felt her pain, “Oh, I know Sweetie. But you remember how Slayer dreams work, don’t you? They can be brutal. They can feel so real, and that’s what she needs right now. She needs to know what’s coming. She needs to know how Angel is involved in this now. And, as much as I hate to admit it, subtlety never worked on me, or Angel, for that matter,” Buffy shook her head in thought, “No,” she sighed, “It needs to be this way. She needs to know what you and your Dad went through. This is the only way to do it.” “But Mom, you went through it too.” “Not like you did. Once I let go, it was over for me. But you, and your Dad had to go on. She has to know what it was like for you. It’s the only way to prepare her to fight this thing.” Joni kissed her mother lightly on the cheek, “Okay Mom. If that’s what you think will help. I’m off to play sandman again,” Joni winced visibly, “How is Daddy doing with Uncle Angel?” Buffy sighed, “Well you know the two of them. There could be a whole lot of yelling and some cowering and glaring, but your Dad will get through to him. He always has before.” *********************** Angel blinked. He hadn’t gone away. How was this even possible? A look of pain crossed Spike’s face and he took on a petulant look, “No Angel,” he shook his head, “you’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he leaned in closer and reveled in how heady it was to be doing this again. It had been so long, but as he told someone once, it’s not like you forget how. Spike could almost taste the fear as it tumbled off of him. He smirked, “Oh come on, Angel. It’s not like I haven’t been a ghost before. Don’t look so terror-stricken,” an eyebrow went up and Spike’s head tilted in thought. His eyes gleamed with glee as he said, “On second thought, keep it up. That look on your face is one of the few pleasures I have now. So, keep at it.” Angel swallowed the lump in his throat, “What do you want?” he whispered. “To congratulate Buffy on her right hook,” Spike shook his head and chuckled, “Black and blue really is a good look for you,” his face pulled into a grimace, “But all kidding aside, I’m here to make sure you tell Buffy what you know.” “I don’t know anything.” Blue eyes glinted back at him, sharp as knives, “We both know that’s a lie. You know what you know, and so do I. You saw it, Angel. You know what I went through. You know what Buffy went through. And, you can stop it! Be the hero you always claimed to be…and tell her.” “No, I can’t. It wasn’t real!” Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Of course it was real,” he bit out, “I remember every moment of it. I remember watching them all die, one by one. And so do you. I remember how brave she was. She tried to brush it off. Tried to…” he hated seeming weak in front of Angel, but he had to understand what he’d done, before it really was too late. Spike wrapped his arms around himself. Even in this ethereal state, he felt himself starting to quake uncontrollably at the memories Angel denied. The last thing Spike needed right now was to have Angel see just how much his Grandsire could still affect him, “She tried to be brave…for me. She knew what it would do to me when she…died. She knew what it would do to Jonina.” Angel watched as the doppelganger of William Dustin, his victim, his ally and, of late, his tormenter, glided toward the window. Angel knew something ominous was happening here. The specter looked too much like what he’d seen in the Hell dimension. But he wasn’t in that Hell anymore. He was here. So why did the sight of this ghost freeze his heart? Could it all have been real, somehow? Did it all happen? The specter’s hand seemed to touch the windowpane, as if to absorb the early morning light that still hung in the sky. He turned his head again, looking back at him with eyes that seemed older than he ever was, “Do you know that you were right?” blue eyes shimmered with rage, “And, don’t you dare be smug!” Spike tried to control the tremor in his voice. A tremor of loss, and rage, “My little girl was the key. But, she was the key to saving the Slayers. Saving her. But like everything else, you jumped in, without the full picture, and you mucked it up! You made a bad situation, a situation that wasn’t even due to hit for seven more years mind you, even worse! Buffy and I had it contained. Even after Joni…we had it contained. We did. But, you had to go and play ‘hero. You had to ‘save’ me from the pain of losing her. But guess what Angelus, you can’t save anyone from life. Pain is a part of that. So, whether she’s forty or four hundred when it happens, it’s still going to hurt! There’s nothing you can do to stop it. In trying to control everything in your world,” a sadness came over him as he relived all the death and destruction, “you blew it to bits, Angel.” Angel listened. And, he knew, deep down that what he was saying was true. Still, he didn’t want to believe it, “No,” he had to deny it; it couldn’t be true, “You’re lying! I didn’t…” Spike whirled on him, and despite himself Angel’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the wrath that those eyes rained down on him. Before Angel knew what was happening, blue fire swamped his vision and Spike’s voice boomed in the small space, “Oh, but you did. Don’t tell me you don’t remember! I know you do.” Angel tried to stand his ground. It had all been a dream, a side effect of being human. Humans had nightmares all the time. That was all this doppelganger was, right? Angel didn’t want to think of his time in Hell. It was just too painful. But there was something in Spike’s eyes that transported him there and made him relive the pain he’d caused them. The pain he couldn’t stop. ****************************************** NOVEMBER 11, 2027- The house was dark, as it always was now. He remembered when she was smaller how hard he’d tried to bring light into the house. Spike had spent thousands of dollars to refit the house with necro-tempered glass just so that she could be a normal young lady. So she wouldn’t have to worry about her father. So she would be able to live in the light. Together, they’d raised her to be a happy, healthy, and well-adjusted child. This house had been a house of laughter and joy. On the rare occasions that he would pull himself out of his self-imposed exile long enough to speak to his niece, Angel grew to hate the beatific look of love her eyes held as she told him about her life. Her eyes would shine, as if she lived in a fairy tale. She would tell him about love and laughing, and dancing. She would tell him, in a breathless voice, how safe she felt when she heard her father sing her to sleep at night and how warm she felt in her parents’ arms. She was happy. And, he hated her for it. What’s more, he hated Spike for falling so effortlessly into the role of father. A role he felt so inadequate in. A role he’d abdicated in favor of a lonely, solitary existence. Then two years ago, the Shanshu was fulfilled. William was the one who came out on top. Ever since then, Spike had nearly begged Angel to be there for her, to take care of her. It was as if he knew his time was short. Angel didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t know if he could do it. But all that was useless now. Walking into this house, Angel could feel the grip of death here. His gaze roamed around the house. Everything seemed heavy. The house that was usually lively was slowing down, becoming colder, just as he was. He still had a vampire’s hearing, but Angel didn’t need it now. The sorrow in this house was so loud that it was unavoidable. Angel wandered into the dining room and saw Willow, Georgina, Dawn and Xander huddled close to one another around the table. They all sensed his presence and looked up at him. Willow quietly left her place at the table and walked up to him. The look on her face told him all he needed to know, even without the soft sobbing coming from the sickroom. Angel kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to see the pain he’d caused them, “How is he, Willow?” Willow’s voice was icy, “He’s dying Angel. You remember what it was like for Buffy. How do you think he’s doing?” Angel suddenly felt humbled, “I know. I wish there was something I could do for him, and for her.” “Really?” Willow seemed genuinely surprised, “Because I remember how desperate he was, we all were, when the Slayers first started getting ill. He would have done anything,” her voice was rising unnaturally, “anything to keep from leaving Joni without a mother! I know because he even came to me and begged me to rescind the spell. Believe me, I wanted to, but once something that pernicious is released on the fabric of the universe, you can’t take it back. I’m betting Wolfram and Hart knew that. And, I’m sure they knew how desperate we were, back in Sunnydale. That’s why they made that deal with you. They knew if they gave you a little power, you wouldn’t ask questions. They were right. You didn’t, and we were foolish not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I know Spike would have made a deal with Satin himself if he knew it would save his family pain,” her eyes hardened, accusing him, “I’m sure he even came to you for help.” “He did,” Angel stated grimly, “But I couldn’t subject Connor to that. I love him too much.” “Angel, if we all defined love the way you do, we’d all be dead.” He was shamed by her words, “I know, Willow. Can I see him?” Willow’s voice was hollow and without feeling, “You can try, Angel. But, I don’t know if he’s aware anymore, or even if she’ll let you in the room.” “I still have to try,” he said. ********************************** Angel remembered, and he remembered well. His body had been weak and frail. But his will, oh God, his will was so strong. He was still trying to set things right. Still trying to correct a mistake that wasn’t his. The rest of his body had begun to still. As if it were trying to prepare itself for his final death. But William’s eyes still flashed, defiant as ever. It seemed to Angel, at the time, as if something remained of the vampire he had been. If it were at all possible, and even if it wasn’t possible, Spike wasn’t going to go down, for the final time, without one Hell of a brawl. Suddenly Angel found himself flung back into the present, with ghostly azure eyes boring into him, “It was all true, wasn’t it?” he was clearly shaken by what he’d seen. The fire that accused him was ebbed by sorrow, “Yes it was all true. Joni saved me. But, I couldn’t save her. I had everything you have now,” Spike’s voice drifted, lost in time, “but I gave it all up to spare her. You see,” mournful blue eyes glistened at him, “she couldn’t take one more drop of loss. She was broken. She was just doing what she could to be whole again. I don’t blame her for that. To make her whole again, I’d split myself into a thousand pieces and scatter them on the wind, if it would help. And, I did that. I took back her mistake. But now, because of you, everything I’ve done is for naught.” “What are you talking about?” “You let Wolfram and Hart pour their poison in your ear. You let them take Joni. You hold the key to my, and Joni’s, prison. You know what to do. All you have to do is tell Buffy. Tell Buffy, and this all goes away, and I leave you to sleep in peace. Take the offer, Angel, it’s more than you’ve ever given me.” ****************************************************** The Slayer dreams had shaken her to the core. They were bad before he left, but now they were so much worse. Spike must have known he would need some kind of connection to her, because before he left and before Joni had been kidnapped, on their night of celebration, he’d asked her to drink from him: Buffy stared at the blood as it oozed slowly out of the vein in his wrist. She was mildly alarmed, “Spike, are you all right? This isn’t like you. Are you sure you’re not drunk?” she looked back up at his glistening eyes, and knew he was not drunk. He was deadly serious. “No Love, I’m not drunk. And don’t ask me how I know because I don’t…know. I need you to do this for me. Please, Love?” She nodded, gently pressing her lips to his wrist. This made her feel so close to him, “I love you, Spike,” she murmured as she fell to sleep again. She vaguely remembered hearing him whisper to her, “I love you too, Buffy. Don’t want to lose you. Not when I just found you.” Now the Slayer dreams were back, and they all pointed to Angel. So, now she was back where she didn’t want to be, in the hospital, visiting Angel. No, she wasn’t visiting. She was here to demand answers, answers she knew he alone could supply. ***************************** Spike had only intended to shake him up a little, make him confess what he knew and so that he could be free to help Joni. But, this was almost delicious. Here he was, the “Champion of the People,” prostrate on the floor at his feet. Begging him, “…Please Spike! That’s just it. I know I should tell her. I know that Connor’s DNA could help. But, I’m not as strong as you. I can’t give this up. If I tell Buffy what I know, they’ll take this all away from me. This way I can be in Connor’s life,” Angel looked down at his swollen and bruised flesh and he suddenly knew the price he’d paid for it, “I know you hate me. But if I tell Buffy what I know, they’ll take this all away from me. I’ll be a vampire again,” Angel was sobbing; his speech was almost unintelligible, “I can’t do it again, Spike. I’m so sorry, but I can’t. If that means that you’ll haunt me for the rest of forever, then I’ll take that,” he shook violently, never taking his gaze off of Spike’s ethereal feet, “I can’t go back to that, Spike. I can’t go back to the shadows.” Spike’s tone was bitter, “But you would send me there, back to the shadows? So I see they’ve found your price and I’ve been sold out for thirty pieces of silver.” “But you’ll survive, Spike. I know you will. You always have. You’re better than me. I know that now.” As Buffy walked down the hall toward the room, she could hear Angel sobbing, talking feverishly to Spike. Buffy quickened her pace. Had Spike come back to her? Not wanting to startle Angel into silence she stayed in the doorway, watching the pathetic display. She could see Angel, lying face down on the floor of his hospital room, sobbing uncontrollably and taking to thin air. Talking to Spike as if he were in the room with him. But it wasn’t the sight that made Buffy break her silence; it was the things he was saying. Spike became aware that Buffy was near and took his eyes off of the disgusting scene of the fallen champion at his feet. His eyes were drawn to the doorway, “Hello, Love.” “What does your son have to do with the Slayer illness, Angel?” Angel gulped air and looked blindly toward the door. How much had she heard, “What?” She stepped into the room and scooped Angel up off the floor, “You heard me. What does your son have to do with the illness? And, what do you know about where my husband and child are?” ******************************************************** Speed limits had no meaning as Buffy raced back to the old nightclub, “Giles, you heard me,” she snapped at the air as she sped down the highway, “Check into demon DNA. It might be the cure for this thing. Stephen Riley’s flying over there right now. He’s agreed to be you guinea pig. He should be there by morning.” Cars were a blur in her windows as she raced to save him, “I’ll find you Spike,” she promised, “I swear, I’ll find you, and Joni. Just hang on.” ***************************************** Homer knelt next to the still form in the darkened crypt, “I got that skeleton key for you,” he whispered, his voice seemed loud in the silent crypt, “All we need now is…” “Buffy,” Spike moaned. “Yes, Buffy,” Homer agreed, “She’s on her way. I promise.”

Chapter #42 - Sixty-two

NOVEMBER 7, 2005 The string of curses issuing from Buffy’s lips, she was sure would make even Spike blush. She should have known better than to get caught in L.A. gridlock. After nine in the morning nothing moved in Los Angeles. “Rush Hour” was anything but. But the Hell that came pouring out from Angel’s mouth held her in its grip. She hadn’t meant to stay as long as she did, especially after what Angel had revealed about Connor. But, the horror of what he described was irresistible. It drew her in. The look of shame he carried in his eyes took it from the realm of what-if to hard, cold reality. Angel had a way of doing that. Tender delusions had no place where he was. They could not exist. He obliterated all of them. But then he’d always done that. For as long as she’d known him, Angel had taken her carefully constructed dreams and twisted then into nightmares. She now understood the fear that had stalked Spike for months. Now she understood his nightmare, because now it was hers too. Even before Angel’s revelation, the dreams often had her waking up in a cold sweat, but until now that’s all she thought they were. Dreams. But they were more than that, she knew now that they were real. At times she would wake up sobbing, reaching out for him and hoping he was there. The ache was so tangible. Sometimes she would hold him so tight that she’d leave crimson marks on his skin, just to prove to herself that he was real and he hadn’t left her. He never said a word. He just held her and comforted her, as if he understood. She knew now that he had indeed understood because it was real for him too. As Buffy sat staring at the taillights of the car in front of her she pounded her fists on the steering wheel again, “Damn, what’s the holdup here?” she gritted her teeth and put her palm down heavily in the center of the big DeSoto’s steering wheel, blaring the horn, “I don’t suppose it would help to tell you guys that I’m trying to avoid an apocalypse, would it?” she shook her head in answer to her own question, “No, of course not! Why should this time be any different than all the others? After all, it’s just my heart we’re talking about here!” she yelled until her throat was raw, “That’s all! Not important, or anything,” the red in front of her wavered as her voice gave out and her head rested against the cool leather of the wheel, “He’s only my…heart.” She closed her eyes. She knew she was wasting precious time. Time was something she wasn’t sure they had anymore. Angel told her that twenty-five years had passed where he was, while out here, just two days. Spike left six days ago, if what Angel said was true, seventy-five years have already gone by, with still more flying as she sat in this traffic jam. Would he know her? Could she find him? Yes. She would find him. That was a promise. No matter how long it took, she would find him. Buffy just hoped that he could hold on until she did. ******************************* Spike moaned as consciousness came back to him. The edges of his sight were still fuzzy and his head still stung like it did after Buffy’d dropped that church organ on him, but he was still in one piece. And the rest of his world was no longer a grey blob. Now maybe he could get a fix on where he was and get out of here. He groped around him to try and discern where he was. He remembered being on a cold concrete slab, but that was about all he remembered. Now he felt something soft, and reasonably pliant, beneath his fingers. There was something disquieting about this. He was certain he’d been on the floor of a crypt of some kind, and he was fairly sure he didn’t yet have the strength to move. So, how did he end up here, on what felt, to his expert sense of touch, like a bed? The voice that had been his only comfort provided his answer for him, “That would be because of me.” Pain and sluggishness swiftly left him as his body went into autonomic response in order to put as much distance as possible between him and the threat. He felt himself scurrying like a spider in the light, mindlessly, to the furthest corner of the bed. His chest ached, as he took in ragged, unneeded breaths in his sudden exertions. His eyes flew up, instantly sharp and focused, to assess his situation, and the purported threat to his safety. For an instant, he thought that his instincts had been dulled somewhat, because what faced him now looked nothing like the kind of threat his body and demon were reacting to. The face that looked back at him was deeply furrowed with age. It was made up of angles that were blunted a bit by the slight pull of small jowls around his cheeks. The man looked to be about sixty. But Spike knew that looks could be deceiving. His hair was thin and grey and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles that stood in front of eyes that would have been a piercing blue had the grey of cataracts not been encroaching upon them. The man was sitting three feet from him on a straight-backed chair. Spike thought that, if the man stood up, he would be just under six feet tall, discounting the roll of his shoulders due to age. The man’s eye held a dim glint. A glint that, as Spike watched a small smirk form on his face, he found at once comforting and unnerving. The old man must have noticed the juxtaposition of emotions, because he nodded slightly and almost giggled, “Can I just tell you that, right now, I’d love to be looking through your eyes.” Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Why is that?” His head tilted as if he were looking at an old friend, “Vanity, I suppose. I’m old and I’ve forgotten what I look like. It would be nice to know.” Spike took a slow, scrutinizing inventory of his surroundings. He saw a table, a bookcase with an assortment of classic volumes displayed, an icebox and a small stove with cupboards above it. There was also a bed, and a window for light. Somehow though, the light in this space seemed to be coming from a source other than the window. The amount of light was disproportionate to the size of the opening. As he took it all in, Spike noticed one glaring omission, “No mirrors,” he said slowly as his eyes drifted back to his companion, “Vampire?” There was a slight look of shock in the old man’s eyes, “What? No,” he shook his head, “I’m not a vampire,” his chin jutted out slightly, “But I have seen my share of them,” his eyes twinkled again as he leaned forward in his chair, resting his knotted hands on his knees, “I know who you are.” Spike didn’t know why, but that assertion comforted him, and made him feel less threatened. He relaxed a little, loosening his taught limbs, “That right?” He nodded. “Homer?” Spike questioned again. “Yes.” Spike averted his eyes in trepidation, “Are you a victim of mine? Is that how you know me? I don’t remember…but then I never did stop to look at the victims. Not until I met…” “Buffy,” Homer finished. “Buffy,” Spike whispered. His eyes settled again on the old man, “Well, are you?” “A victim?” Homer shook his head and tilted it upward in thought, “No. Not of yours. Angelus though…” “Oh,” Spike nodded, solemnly. “…By way of Drusilla.” “We do have something in common, then.” “More than you know.” Spike’s heart ached at the mention of her name. Hearing Drusilla’s name spoken again made him remember what he’d given up. It made him remember that Buffy was alone now. She was alone and probably grieving. He remembered that the boy had told him that time flowed differently in other dimensions, “How long have I been here?” “Well, that really depends on your point of view,” Homer said. ****************************************** After four hours in gridlock, Buffy was finally standing again in the old karaoke club. Willow was looking at her anxiously, “I can do it. But honestly Buffy, I wouldn’t know where to start looking. Or even…” “He’s not dead, Willow,” Buffy said sternly, “You don’t understand. I would know.” Willow nodded, “Because you love him.” “Yes, I do. But there’s more to it. And you know that. Ever since Sunnydale.” “Something to do with what happened with the amulet, you think?” Buffy’s eyes widened in realization, “I don’t know,” she gasped, “I’ll alert Giles. Stephen Riley is on his way to Rome, and Wolfram and Hart has an office there. It was their property. I’m sure that they wouldn’t let something that valuable, or that deadly, just lay at the bottom of a pile of debris in Los Angeles. They must have gotten it back somehow. If it still exists, maybe there could be tests done on it?” Willow nodded as she took her friend’s hands and helped her into the sacred circle, “Until then, let’s do what we can here. Try and focus on him, and Joni. Then I can maybe pinpoint where they are, and try to pull them back.” “Okay,” Buffy sighed as she closed her eyes. ********************************* Spike’s eyes went to the window. He could hear the wind howling outside, “The weather changes quickly here, does it?” Homer carefully got up from his chair and went to the window, “It sometimes does that.” From his place on the bed, Spike squinted out the window, “Is that…snow? Now I’ve seen everything,” he shook his head in disbelief, “Snow in Hell.” “She likes snow,” Homer said, “and this isn’t Hell. I told Angelus that too,” he sighed, “Apparently, he didn’t believe me because that’s where he told Buffy you were.” “Angelus told her…that’s where she thinks I am?” Spike was off of the bed and pacing before he knew he was doing it, “ And if I’m not in Hell, then where am I? Who’s in charge here? You said that, ‘she likes snow.’ Who is she?” Homer looked strangely happy watching the vampire pace, as if he were expecting this from him, “Okay, in order of importance, she is Joni. And no, this isn’t Hell. Joni would never put her ‘Daddy’ there. Not if she wanted to be with him,” Homer’s eyes fell to the floor, “Jonina is an innocent. She doesn’t belong in Hell, ever,” Spike stopped his pacing and Homer raised his eyes to meet his, “Somewhere inside of you, you know that. She’s going to need you to take care of her now,” old eyes appraised Spike, “You’re well enough now. I’ve told you what you need to know. The key is in the vampire genome. You’re the only one here now. You have to protect her. Nurse her. Until she can fly on her own, and take care of her Mum,” Homer looked toward the door, “She’s out there. And she’s waiting for her Daddy,” Homer smiled and nodded slightly, “That’s you,” Homer walked slowly to the middle of the cabin, “As for me, I’m going home, to my Elisabeth,” he winked at Spike, “Take care of her. I know you will. Teach her to fly, and she’ll take care of you. Love her and Buffy will find you, and bring you home. Remember that.” Spike looked at the old man taken aback by what he was saying, “You’re leaving? Joni’s out there, in that storm, and you’re leaving!” “Jonina isn’t far. She wouldn’t leave her Daddy alone. You’ll find her. And, yes I am leaving. This isn’t my place now. It’s yours,” Homer looked down absently at the silver on his finger and slipped it off, holding it toward Spike, “Oh, and before I go, this belongs to you now, too.” Their fingers met and Spike held the metal in his hand, “Remember what I told you. Always remember Buffy. She’ll bring you both home.” With that, the old man who called himself Homer disappeared. Spike took a look at the ring in his hand and recognized the faded inscription, “W.E. are one,” it read. Before he was able to process that shock, he heard a tiny mewling from the threshold outside the cabin. Spike sprang to the door and opened it. He looked down, and to his astonishment, he saw a small Moses basket with a baby inside it. He gasped and knelt down. The baby was snuggly wrapped in tiny blankets and wriggled a bit, annoyed at the tiny snowflakes that hit the baby’s cheeks and eyelashes. Spike quickly brought the basket inside, away from the elements. That was when he noticed the small purple stain on the child’s cheek. It was shaped like a bird. “Oh my God,” Spike gasped, “Joni. My God. It’s you!” he swooped her up, and cradled her in his arms, “Don’t you worry. Daddy’s got you now,” he murmured in her ear, “Daddy’s got you. And I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise.” **************************************************************

Chapter #43 - Sixty-Three

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The episode "The Gift" as well as the feature film "The Matrix" are mentioned here. Please review. ************************* Willow watched as the orange light seemed to grow around her. The energy crackled and hissed. The air around her moved like it was a living thing. Willow could see the light brighten and fade around Buffy as she sat, calm and serene, in the center of the circle. The calmer Buffy seemed, the closer and brighter the glow around her became. “Keep focusing on them, Buffy. I’m not sure I did this right,” Willow’s brow creased as she tried to make the vapor come together in some kind of cohesive form, “I don’t think the spell was supposed to do that,” Willow did not like what the spell was doing to Buffy. It seemed to be encircling her. This was only meant to conjure a guide, a sort of “white rabbit,” for Buffy to follow. Willow never thought that a simple guiding spell would do this. The aura that surrounded Buffy now was too bright, too unfocused to be a simple guide or guardian. No, this was something more, much more. It was strong. Willow knew that much, she could feel it. Willow knew that she wasn’t in control of this thing anymore, and that scared her. Sensing her friend’s apprehension, Buffy calmly said, “Don’t worry, Willow. It doesn’t hurt,” Buffy smiled a little, enjoying the warm sensation she was feeling. This, whatever it was, wasn’t threatening. It didn’t feel malevolent or hateful. This was warm and loving and very, very old. Buffy hadn’t felt anything like this since she’d been pulled out of Heaven. Not wanting to lose the connection, she kept her eyes closed and said, “It kind of tickles.” Willow still wasn’t convinced, “I don’t know,” Willow concentrated harder, “The last time I did something like this was way back…” she didn’t want to voice her negative thoughts, “I just don’t know, Buffy.” Buffy could feel the warmth that was surrounding her start to pull away and she moaned at the loss, “Willow,” Buffy spoke slowly and deliberately, her mind groping for the lost connection, “something changed,” her nerves screamed out for contact, but found emptiness, “It’s gone! Willow, where did it go?” “Oh, my…” Willow was speechless. “What?” Buffy demanded. She was literally about ready to jump out of her skin. She couldn’t stand the suspense, and Spike and Joni didn’t have the time for silences, so she opened her eyes. What she saw in front of her now made her as speechless as Willow, “Who are you?” she breathed. No one spoke for an eternity of seconds. Buffy was staring at what she could only assume was the physical embodiment of what she had felt only moments ago. The spell was designed, at least Willow hoped, to provide a kind of compass for them to use as a guide through the dimensions that would point them toward where Spike and Jonina were. And, here it was. What stood before her now looked like something out of her dreams. The form was familiar. She’d seen it before, although she couldn’t remember why she knew it, she did. Buffy was looking into blue-grey eyes that gazed warily, from behind wire spectacles, around the room. Buffy saw the glow of recognition shine in them as they took in everything. When the eyes briefly settled on Willow, Buffy noticed the flare of something else. A deep-seeded hatred burned there. It nearly took Buffy’s breath away, seeing the strength of it. The sight of it unsettled her. Willow noticed it as well, and broke the silence, “Um…” she looked over at Lorne, trying to read what his eyes were telling her. Lorne shrugged, “Search me, Dumpling. He looks like the real deal. Human I mean,” Lorne looked the old man up and down, “Four limbs, one head, and one heartbeat, as far as I can tell. But, I’ve been fooled before.” Buffy stared at the two of them, so afraid of making a mistake that they were both frozen by inaction. Then she looked at the man in front of her. True, he looked human. As a matter of fact, he reminded her of her Grandpa. But there was more to it. For one thing, even though his clothing looked loose on him, there was something comforting and familiar about the way he looked. It wasn’t shocking. It was how she’d always thought he might look, if he’d avoided the fate that brought them together. There was something in the way he looked at her and in the way he stood, even with age pulling at his frame, that rose the hairs on the back of her neck. Fear was not going to get her to Spike, only action would do that. She stared at the kindly looking face, a face that reminded her of her time in Heaven, and smiled, slowly getting up from the floor and moving toward him, “I’m sorry. My friends are rude,” she looked disapprovingly at the ceiling then glared back at her companions, “I know this may seem silly and I’m not even sure you can understand English, or any other langue for that matter. But,” her eyes and voice softened looking at that face. She took his hand and watched his eyes melt as he looked at her, “you look…well kind of old to me. I know it’s not much,” she said as she led him gently toward an old bar stool and quickly dusted it off, “but would you like to sit down? I know you came a long way.” The old man nodded mutely and sat, gingerly, on the stool. As he sat, a look of joy came over him and he murmured, “Real. It’s all real. You’re here. Please tell me you’re here,” he closed his eyes for a moment, swaying a little; seemingly teetering on the edge of consciousness, “Home. I’m home.” The sound of the old man’s voice made Buffy’s heart start to race. The tone was worn by age and weighed down by loneliness, but it was his. There was no mistaking it. Buffy’s hands went out to catch him before he could fall off the stool, “Whoa there. You okay?” Dazed eyes looked back at her, “Yes. Oh, yes.” Her eyes shone back at him. She gave him a little coaxing smile, “See, I’m all real,” her breath hitched slightly, “Are you…who I think you are?” He nodded quickly, and then averted his eyes, “In part.” Buffy shot a glance at Willow, “Willow, how did this happen?” Willow stuttered, “I-I don’t know, Buffy.” Had something gone wrong again? If this elderly man in front of her really was Spike, then she was pretty certain something did go wrong. She was finding it difficult to breathe suddenly, “Could this be some kind of side effect?” “I don’t know, Buffy,” Willow said again, “I didn’t see it in any of my books. I don’t think this was supposed to happen.” Turning her attention back to the old man, Buffy mumbled, “You should read the fine print, Willow,” at that, Buffy thought she heard the old man chuckle, but she couldn’t be sure, “Which part?” she asked him. “The part that shouldn’t exist.” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” he looked down in awe at his hands and whispered, “I shouldn’t have hands, or feet,” he looked back up at her blazing green eyes, “Or eyes. Oh God! You look so young.” Buffy saw the same look in these aged eyes that she’d seen in Spike’s on their wedding night. It was as if these eyes were seeing her again after a long absence, and she fought the urge to kiss his cheek. Understanding began to dawn, “You’ve been there a long time?” Buffy whispered. “Yes,” he sobbed as he nodded, unable to keep the tears at bay. Buffy seized on one thought, “But you are a part of him?” He nodded again. Her voice quivered, “Which part?” His voice shook with emotion as he sighed, “The part that hopes and dreams, and remembers. The part that swore to take care of you and made you kindred.” Her mind was racing. She tried to put all the pieces together and when they all fit, it all became clear. The tears began coursing down her face when she understood, “And…your name?” “The only one I can have,” he said quietly, “The only one I can remember ever having. Homer.” Buffy gasped, both in shock and in reverence for his strength of will. To be able to possess the kind of psyche that was solid enough to segment itself and compartmentalize so completely in order to survive, and not go insane, was a true miracle, “Of course,” she nodded, “Dawn told me…about that night. ‘A promise to a lady.’ That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” He didn’t have to say anything. She already knew, “Homer means ‘promise,’ doesn’t it?” He nodded again. “He sent you, didn’t he? To tell me not to give up, right?” “No. Elisabeth, he doesn’t remember. He’s been there; in that place so long that he doesn’t remember his own name. He protects Jonina. He keeps her insulated from the horrors of it. He protects her. She’s small, but he protects her. She’s his bright spot, his light in the dark. He keeps her close. She’s precious. He keeps her safe,” he lowered his chin and murmured, “So, now I protect him. I’m the part that keeps him sane. He needs you. Help us please?” “Then how did you get here?” “I’m his scream, Elisabeth. I came because I am his only means of escape, his only means of communication, now. You have to hear him.” Buffy couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, “They’re in Hell, aren’t they?” His eyes blazed in anger, “No,” he breathed, “Jonina doesn’t belong there. So, it’s not Hell. But, for a …creature such as we are, there are dangers, even in a place of beauty and peace.” Buffy was only now realizing how thorough her abuse of him had been. She really had broken his spirit, and here was the proof, sitting in front of her. She grasped him firmly by the shoulders and shook him lightly, “You listen to me. You are not a creature!” He was visibly startled by her outburst, and shrank away from her touch. His eyes were widened in fear, and Buffy thought she could feel him trembling. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, her tone softened again, “What kind of dangers?” Homer gave a shuddering sigh, “Things that don’t have form here, are all too real there. Things like despair and loneliness, anger, and grief as well as joy and happiness, can take any number of physical forms. Anything from monsters with claws, to a graveyard, or a childhood home,” he gave Willow a baleful look, “To a winter storm whose winds were so fierce,” he looked mournfully back into Buffy’s eyes, “ that it tore you right out of my arms,” agony permeated his face, “ It is the inhabitant’s world entire. Some worlds are ruled by fear, and some by joy. Without the child, fear is his ruler. For him, there is only fear.” “You were there when I was…in Heaven.” “Yes,” Homer confessed. Buffy felt the wetness on her face as she choked, “Tell me.” Homer nodded slightly, “I’ll tell you what I remember.” ******************************************** NOVEMBER 12, 2005-ROME Stephen looked at the purple bruise that was forming under the skin of his arm, and looked up into Dawn’s unrepentant eyes, “Okay, ow!” he rubbed the tender skin vigorously, “I am human you know, no fangs here. I’m not a vampire. Although I’m starting to think that you might be. How much blood do you really need to test? I’ve only got so much!” Dawn’s eyes softened a little, “Sorry,” she said as she carefully set the vials aside and removed her latex gloves with a loud snap, “it’s not you. It’s just a seething, unreasonable hatred for your father, and the predicament he put us in.” “Oh,” he said flatly, “Unreasonable hatred seems pretty reasonable to me,” he gave her a wry smile, “Believe me, I’ve been there. Go with your gut,” he pouted at her, “Just don’t make the son pay for the sins of the father. Please?” Dawn gave him an apologetic smile, “I’ll try not to. I just hope this thing doesn’t kill anyone else before we figure it out.” “I’m with you there,” Stephen smiled, “Now where is this hamster wheel you want me to run?” ********************************************************** Buffy looked anxiously out the window of the apartment above the dojo. She was glad that she’d decided to come back here. If this truly was the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, then she had to be comfortable. And comfortable did not mean the wreckage of a karaoke bar. But her comfort wasn’t what mattered here. Homer knew things, remembered things that she needed to know. She knew she couldn’t push him, but she was beginning to think that maybe this had been a mistake. They’d been here for days, and she knew that the virus was out there, waiting to strike. They were running out of time. This was her third attempt to reach him. Homer had been nearly catatonic the on the ride to the apartment. To Buffy, it seemed a little like leading a sleepwalker by the hand. He seemed to be in a dream world, and she was afraid of waking him. As she watched him walk slowly up the stairs, Buffy was reminded of a dream she’d had. Her breath caught in her throat as the emotions flooded her. She knew what he was feeling because, in the dream, she’d felt it too. Only, she was in his place and was led lovingly by the hand by her little girl, all grown up. Following him slowly up the stairs, she knew without thought where he was headed. He went straight for Joni’s room. He looked over the tiny room. His eyes were drawn to the rainbow, then his body followed suit, like a moth to flame. He touched the paint, as if he wasn’t sure it was there. Buffy could hear the pain, the years of torture and fatigue; the years she couldn’t reach came through in his voice, as he said, “Seventeen years, she and I, we had seventeen years.” Buffy was confused. Was he talking about her? Is that how much time had passed for him, there in that place? “But, Homer,” she gulped, “we haven’t been married a year.” She wanted to be close to him but she was afraid of frightening him. She took a tentative step forward, but then stopped when she heard him muttering to himself. Was he singing? Yes, and it was something she recognized. “…Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine,” he didn’t notice her, just kept staring at the wall. Buffy searched her brain. She’d heard that somewhere once. She gritted her teeth. If she could just remember the words, just one phrase, maybe she could reach him. She knew this. She would reach him. She took a deep breath and sang what she could remember, “…From your head to your toes, you’re not much, goodness knows.” His voice stopped and he turned to her, his eyes shining with awe. Inside she jumped for joy. She’d reached something deep inside of him. Her voice wavered with relief as she heard his voice join hers to finish the chorus, “But you’re so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine.” For a long moment, no one spoke. He took an anxious step toward her, his face full of hope, “Elisabeth, you remember?” Buffy could not take her eyes off his face, “No,” she admitted softly, “But I know you do. Tell me. Please?” ************************************************ The darkness came again. The fear drove him toward the danger. Jonina was so small, and there was so much out there that she was unaware of. He’d tried to teach her, but younglings never mind their elders. And that was the danger. He peered out into the darkness, using the animal inside to see her. He scanned the edge of the wood. As an infant, it had been easy to protect her. He carried her close to him, and her diet consisted of the native fruits, which he ground into a paste and fed to her. His own nourishment did not matter. He only hunted when it was needed and then only the small vermin-like creatures. He tried to keep her safe. His youngling never witnessed the beast within. But as she grew, she became restless and discontent, wanting to spread her wings and fly. Now he had to catch her before the darkness devoured her. His feet raced toward the edge of the wood. She was in danger. The darkness was coming, and the beast would take her from him. He had to find her. He had to save her. The beast roared within his breast, as he spotted her in the distance. And, his eyes opened. He felt a tiny hand on his cheek. Little brown eyes peered down at him in confusion, her brow scrunched with worry, “Daddy, did you have a bad dream?” The terror of sleep fled and he held her close to him and kissed her, murmuring, “Jonina, don’t leave me. Never leave me. Please?” “Never Daddy,” she said as she hugged his neck, “I’m yours, for always.” ************************************************* Buffy hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but as she watched the tears fall down his face, she knew she had. His eyes were glazed over and tormented by memory. “Homer, can you hear me?” “Yes.” “Do you know who I am?” He nodded, “Elisabeth.” “I have another name,” Buffy said gently, “Do you know it?” He nodded again. “Can you say it, please?” Buffy could see the storm of emotions warring in his eyes. He wanted to tell her, but for some reason he could not. “No, I cannot. That is his to speak, not mine. Your name is precious, sacred to him, just as Jonina is. He keeps it close, guarded.” Buffy inched closer to him. When they were standing side by side, she took a chance, and reached for his hand. The fingers of his hand closed involuntarily around hers, “I’m here,” she murmured, “Tell me what happened.” He took a cleansing breath. Buffy could hear the fatigue in his ragged voice as he spoke and felt the weight of his burden as he looked to her for strength, “This has happened before, Elisabeth. The Senior Partners released the contagion, and it took you. It took them all, before I could stop it. Jonina showed signs of being a Slayer. I worked day and night, to save you, and our little girl,” his voice ebbed under the strain, “Oh, Elisabeth. Angelus knew, before I did, that Jonina held the key. He tried to kill her. When I realized that she was your only hope, I couldn’t hurt her. I loved her too much to have her flesh poked and prodded like some rodent in a laboratory. I watched the beast rob you of your strength, then your sight. I couldn’t let it take you, as it had the others,” Buffy felt his hand press into hers. “I understand. Go on.” “I wrote everything down, all my research. I decided that I could not risk Jonina’s health. I began doing experiments on myself. I felt that I was strong enough. The key is in the beast inside.” “The vampire?” He nodded, “Angelus knew this as well. But he would not aid me in finding the cure. He wanted to protect his family, or so he said,” he paused, “I began dosing myself with the virus, and then withdrawing my blood again, giving the demon antibody to the stricken Slayers. Over time, this worked as I’d hoped it would,” his eyes drooped in sorrow, “But not before the virus took you from me. It was too strong in you. I buried you, and I mourned you. I raised Jonina to be the Slayer she was meant to be; the one and only Slayer. The virus died with you, Elisabeth.” “Then how did it come to be here?” The answer was bitter, “My reward. I became human, and because of our connection, I contracted the deadly virus. In her grief, our daughter stepped out of her time when she discovered my writings, and brought the virus here. She was the girl you saw on your wedding night. Angelus incinerated the body, thereby exposing all the Slayers to the virus in an untimely manner. Now the baby carries the key, because her essence is still out of time with this plane, this time. But the Senior Partners knew this, and had her taken to a place where she could not foil their apocalypse.” As the gravity of what he was saying began to take hold, Buffy sank along the wall to the floor, “Oh, my God,” she gasped, I think I’ve just swallowed the ‘Red Pill.’” Slowly she shook herself out of her stupor, and raced to the phone, completely forgetting that Homer was in the room at all. As Homer listened to her telephone conversation with the witch, he smiled and whispered, “We’re going home, Dove. Mum’s on her way.” A familiar laughter could be heard in the empty nursery. *******************************

Chapter #44 - Sixty-Four

IN THE INTERREGNUM- Spike understood the impulse, completely. She wanted to atone and make all that she knew would come after mean something. That was the only thing she was thinking, anything else didn’t matter. He knew how that felt, and that tempered his ire as he looked into the anxious eyes of his wife, “How did it go?” Buffy asked. “Red wasn’t expecting me. She was expecting something entirely different. Called me the ‘White rabbit.’ It’s a good wager she wasn’t ready for me. But then she never did learn to harness her powers. I did find out something interesting.” “Oh, really?” Buffy could see from the look in his eyes that Spike had somehow stumbled onto what she had done, “What did you find out?” Spike knew he should have been angry. He should have been livid, in fact. But he just couldn’t do it, not when it was the sort of thing he would have done. How could he be angry when he was doing the same thing himself? He sighed and kissed her, moaning a little at the trepidation he tasted on her lips, “I wanted to keep you and Joni away from that. I remember what it was like before that amulet found its way to Wolfram and Hart. It was enough that I had that burden. I didn’t want you to know that pain, too. But I should have known better than to try and keep that from you.” Buffy bit her lip as she watched the miasma of emotions swirl in his gaze, “Did you tell her, Spike?” He lowered his head like an injured pup, “Yes. But something in the way she looked at me told me she already knew,” he looked at her with a soft, knowing eye, “You and I both know there’s only one way that could have happened,” the look on Buffy’s face told him what he needed to know. Her face told him she carried enough guilt. He didn’t need to add more. What she needed from him was mercy, not wrath, “Your Mum and I aren’t the only ones who’ve been giving previews of coming apocalypses, are we?” he asked gently. “Spike,” Buffy breathed, “ it’s the only way she can help him. She had to know. I…had to know. I couldn’t let you go through that alone. Not again. If we want a chance of beating this, then she had to know. Maybe not first-hand…” Spike tightened his grip on Buffy, hoping to shield her from even having to speak the words, “Thank God for that!” he breathed. “…But she had to know. It was the only way I knew…to help you.” “I understand,” he said softly, “There’s no way I like the idea of putting her, or you through that, but I understand,” he smirked as he patted her shoulder lovingly, “And, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” Buffy eyed him suspiciously, “Spike, what…?” “Buffy, the first time Angelus tried to take her, she and I were in that place for a year,” he hated the look of fright in her eyes, “ Out where you were, Love, our baby was only gone a few hours. And now, because of Angelus’s guilty conscience, we’ve gone way beyond that benchmark.” “The first time? This has happened before?” she saw the look of contrition that pulled his eyes downward, “Are you telling me, that after all we’ve done…all you’ve been through, we’re still not changing anything?” she was clearly devastated. Spike tried to soothe Buffy’s nerves in light of this new knowledge, “We are changing things, Love,” he said tenderly, “But all the possibilities have to be in play, as they were before. If it’s not this way, he could bring Joni back and lose you.” “I thought this was a new wrinkle, Spike,” Buffy gasped, “It’s not. I should know this, even here. I should know. How could you not tell me that he kidnapped our daughter? How could you not tell me what you’d been through?” “I know you were very ill by then. I didn’t tell you. You had enough of a burden. I couldn’t do that to you.” “But how could you not tell me, Spike?” he hated seeing the flash of tears in her eyes, “How could I not know?” “Love, you were feverish. Telling you would have put your body under undue stress, and ‘Lace’ would have taken you from me faster. I wanted to have you as long as I could,” he averted her blazing stare, “I know it was selfish of me. You have no idea how much I want the fog of ignorance now. That place was a terror. I don’t even want to remember it.” “But, someone should have told me after…when I came here. Why didn’t I know?” A sad smirk played on his lips, “Habit? Those people who thought they were doing the right thing by keeping certain things from you before, because they loved you, did it here because they love you. You know people don’t change here, neither does their love for you. For better or worse, it was done because they love you, Buffy.” Buffy shook her head, “That doesn’t make it right, Spike!” “You’re right,” he nodded, “It doesn’t make it right,” he brushed his lips lightly over hers. It was an apology as well as an affirmation of his love for her, “But Buffy, if you had known, would you have been able to change anything? Would it have helped you, in any way, to know that, and not be able to change it?” “No,” Buffy admitted, “But I could have helped you. Does Jonina remember?” “Now?” he saw her nod and continued, softly, “Only bits and pieces from before. Not the pain though. And she won’t remember it now. That was part of the deal.” “What deal, Spike?” “Don’t worry, Love, I’ll take care of her, and him too. She will have everything she needs. Nothing too extravagant, I promise. But she will have enough to eat, shelter, clothes to wear and someone to protect her. I’ll even make sure she has that floppy-eared bunny she loved so much.” The conviction in his voice made Buffy proud and dampened her anger. He was only doing what he was best at, protecting the people he loved. She pondered how alike they really were, and was in awe. But, there was one flaw in his plan, “Um, Spike,” she asked his back as he walked away, “just how are you going to explain a cabin, let alone a stuffed toy, in the middle of…well…nowhere?” Spike turned to face her, and shrugged as his feet still glided away from her, “Love,” he smirked, “there are many mysteries in the universe. Believe me when I tell you, what he’s imagining is worse than the small paradox of a stuffed toy,” he shook his head sadly, “Love, there are worse things than some creature comforts. I’m a bit of a paradox myself. And we both know how much you love a paradox. Tell you what though,” he smiled again, “ when you can get someone in charge to explain the platypus to me, then I’ll explain a cabin in the middle of that place. Until then,” he winked, his eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugged, “divine intervention good for you?” Buffy laughed as he walked away, “Oh, Spike, I love you.” ***************************************** NOVEMBER 17, 2005-ROME Dawn was confused by the results of this test. Stephen Riley’s blood did have the antibodies that her niece’s had, but when she tested it against the isolated virus from Talitha Sands’s blood sample, it weakened the virus but didn’t kill it. It was the same with the sample from Faith and Astrid. She took the slide out of the stage clips of her microscope. True, the Council had access to the most state-of-the-art equipment. But no computer could sense the nuances that the human eye could detect. Dawn pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to clear her vision. She was exhausted. She knew the answers were here. She was just too tired to see them, “Fred,” she called wearily, “run that serum test again on Jonina’s sample, would you? The answer’s got to be there somewhere.” Illyria took the last vial of the child’s blood from the cold storage unit, “ As you wish. But the sample is greatly depleted. There may not be enough quantity for another test.” “I know,” Dawn sighed, “Just, whatever you do, don’t spill any of it. It’s all we’ve got.” ************************************************** In the beginning, his existence was full of darkness. This was a wilderness that he had to tame, for her sake. His world was a constant state of alert. The oasis of the old man’s cabin gave them shelter, but there were still the things on the outside that threatened her. Things like the Zazlak had ignored his warning growls. The thing was a predator that had caught the scent of something new in its environment. Something it saw as small and weak, an easy meal. That was its first, and last, mistake. It came one night, when the snows first began to fly. He’d sensed it before he’d seen it. He woke when the beast inside warned him of danger. He scanned the floor at the foot of his sleeping place, and found her safe in her basket, sleeping like the angel she was. When he was sure that his youngling was safe and hidden from the threat, he left to pursue it. He had to leave his youngling behind, so that he would have a reason to return. He wouldn’t leave her for long, but he had to take out the things that were a danger. That was what he existed for. In the third hour of his search, he came upon its nest. It wasn’t difficult to find. This beast was not discrete about its kills. Left them out in the open as a warning to the other beasts to stay away. The Zazlak was the largest of the predators. It was at least twice his size, and very strong. It commanded respect from all the other beasts. If it were possible for him to kill this beast, his status among the animals would be elevated, and nothing else would dare to threaten his youngling. As he crept into the lair, he could hear the roar of the thing’s breath. The urge to flee was nearly overwhelming. To quell his fear, he held his javelin tighter in his grip. If his aim were true, there would be no question what was ruler here. The beast was asleep. Its black and green scales wound lazily around the fire pit of its cave. The snowfall forced the poisonous reptile to seek warmth. This was to his advantage. If he stayed near the mouth of the lair, the Zazlak would be forced into the raw elements. Although the cold did not affect the beast inside of him, his foe was quite different. The cold made it slow and dim-witted. It was his only advantage. And he would use it, to protect his youngling. He stood at the mouth of the lair and let his beast howl. The Zazlak turned its red eyes to the intruder. The warmth of the cave enabled it to move swiftly, expanding to its full height of twelve feet. It straightened its wings, preparing to take flight. In order to take to the sky, it would need to leave its lair. When it got to the mouth of the lair, it felt the sting of the javelin that had found its mark. The Zazlak was felled. Now, there was a new king of beasts. With a victorious growl, he took a portion of its hide as a trophy, and went back to care for his youngling. He rushed home to her. He stood watch over her, purred at her and was comforted by the strange rumbling that echoed through him as she slept on his quiet chest. He was calmed. As the little one slept, he sang the song from his dreams and when he did, he fell into memory and slept secure. They would always be secure now. He knew that. His own rumblings comforted him; they made no sense to him. But making the rumblings from his dreams was the only thing he had to comfort his youngling with in this harsh reality. Gently placing his hands at the crown of her head as she slept, he sang, “…Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.” ************************* NOVEMBER 17, 2005- LOS ANGELES Willow had never seen Buffy this distraught, “But Buffy, Homer was a fluke. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You knew it was just temporary,” Willow placed a soothing hand on Buffy’s back, tracing gentle circles, “We’re not even sure it was really Spike you talked to,” Buffy looked at her with tormented eyes, “At least we have something to go on now. We’ve got a lead on finding him.” “He’s gone Willow!” Buffy snapped, “What about that don’t you understand? You were here. You know what Homer said. He said that he was Spike’s scream,” she sobbed, “What if that was all he had? What if he can’t do it again, and I didn’t take it? What if I can’t find them?” Willow’s eyes twinkled, “Buffy, we’re talking about your husband, remember? The ‘Energizer Bunny’ of vampires?” she relaxed a little seeing her friend chuckle, “If anyone can reach out to you again, it would be him. But, you’ll never find him if you collapse from stress. I’m sure he would tell you to get some rest. Get some focus, and then start again. Be the Slayer he knows you are.” Buffy let out a cleansing breath, “Thank you, Willow. I was freaked out there for a minute.” “No problem,” Willow said, giving Buffy a gentle hug. **************************************** The snowy season had come to mean change for them. It was during the snowfall that the old man who sheltered him returned. He had returned from hunting, as was his custom when his youngling slept, to find him hovering over her basket. He took a fighting stance, and growled a warning. The old man looked, unhurriedly, in his direction. Protective instincts were lulled by the flash of something known in the old one’s eyes; the growl was soft and unthreatening, “Easy there,” Homer cooed, “I know it’s been a long time,” he placed the baby’s rabbit in her basket with her and smiled at her excited squealing, “I’m here to help you. Jonina is old enough to have her ‘Daddy,’ not just her protector. To be her ‘Daddy’ you need to talk to me. I need to get you ready for her. For Buffy.” The name from his dreams, “Buffy?” he intoned gruffly. The old man nodded, “That’s right, Spike. I know Buffy.” ***************************** He knew his name now, and his purpose. Over the years, Homer had told him what to expect. He hated doing it, but if Jonina was to survive on the outside. A little pain now would save her, and Buffy’s world later. That is, if Homer was to be believed. And somehow, Spike believed him. Spike sat softly on the edge of her bed and gently kissed her forehead as he watched her deep sienna eyes grow wide with fear. She knew what was coming. It had become a bleak routine for them. He knew it hurt, and the thought of causing her more pain was unthinkable. But, what was even more unthinkable was being without her. So kissed her and tried to assuage her fears. He smiled as she brought her bunny close to her as a shield, “That’s right, Dove,” he whispered trying to distract her from the sight of the syringe, “You hold tight to old Spike Rabbit. And if it pinches the least little bit, you squeeze the stuffing out of him. That’s what he’s there for,” he winked at her as he slid the needle into her skin, “That’s his job, to protect you. He and I, we kind of love you. We don’t want to see you ill,” he placed the syringe in the medical waste container, “See? All done,” Spike said as he tucked her into bed, “Now where were we?” he asked as he settled into the seat next to her bed. The brief pain of the needle seemed to wash away on a tide of youthful excitement as she reminded him just where he’d left off in the fairytale, “The evil Glory monster had the Prince in her dungeon and was going to make him tell her where the Magic Key was,” she said in a breathless voice. She looked, and sounded, as if she were the happiest child on earth. And Spike wanted to keep her that way, “That’s right,” he smiled, “I remember now.” *************************************** After Buffy had rested, she woke with a new verve. She knew where to go, what to do. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. It must have been that dream she had. From what she could remember, she was standing in the park that she married Spike in, watching a young girl walk into the center of a chasm of light. Buffy didn’t know what it meant, but she understood that that was where she needed to go. She needed to go back to where this all started. With Willow’s spell book at her side, Buffy left the DeSoto near the gazebo, and walked slowly toward the point where he was. She lit the candles, said the incantation, and watched as the light grew in front of her. She closed her eyes and thought of Spike. **************************** Jonina ran to the spot where the star fell. The light was really bright, and her Daddy said she could make wishes on stars that fell on the ground. She wished she was bigger. Her legs weren’t fast enough. If she got there and the star had faded, she wouldn’t get her wish. The star was just over the hill, only when she got to where the star had fallen, it wasn’t a star anymore. It was a lady. Joni looked closer. The lady was sleeping. And, this wasn’t just a lady. Joni knew who this sleeping lady was. This was someone special. This was the Princess. Joni didn’t know what to do. But her Daddy would. As fast as her little legs could go, she ran home to her Daddy. ***************************** Spike could hear her little heart hammering in her chest as she ran to the door. Her little hand beat against the wood, as if the loud tapping in her chest weren’t jarring enough. He opened the door and was horrified at her flushed face. “Daddy, Daddy,” she gasped, trying to pull air quickly. He knelt, his beast ready to fight for her, “Dove, what is it?” he searched the darkness but felt no threat. He did feel something old though. Something out of his dreams, “Is something after you?” “No,” Joni huffed, grasping her Daddy’s hand and pulling him out into the dark, “I found the Princess, Daddy! You have to come. I think she’s sleeping. You have to wake her up,” she tugged harder at his hand, “Come on, Daddy!” Something connected with his heart, and Spike felt his feet rapidly speeding him to her side. ****************************************************

Chapter #45 - Sixty-Five

IN THE INTERREGNUM-HOME OFFICE They’d been extremely patient, even to the point of indulging the whims of Holland Manners, but no more. Contrary to Holland Manners’s assertions, “Project Sisyphus” had been lost. Webster Drake could admire Manners’s tenacity. That was not the problem; in fact it was one of the firm’s greatest assets. The problem was in their inability to control the anomaly. All of Holland Manner’s assurances, all of his manipulations, were to no avail. Even the tacit threat of universal disequilibrium had failed to produce a clear victor. Or, perhaps it had, and therein lay the conundrum. Even the promise of his heart’s desire had failed to taint him. That made him the most dangerous weapon the Home Office had ever been faced with. And, that weapon gave the Higher Ups the advantage. As Webster Drake shook his head in disappointment, he muttered to himself, “Trojan Horse, indeed.” The Senior Partners felt it was time to cut their losses. It was Webster Drake who had the extreme displeasure of informing Manners that support for his pet project was being terminated, and he was being demoted. As he sat behind his desk, Webster Drake took a deep breath. He hated this part of the job, but even he had people to answer to. He closed the manila folder that detailed “Project Sisyphus” in all its spectacular failure, and touched the intercom, “Darcy, send for Holland Manners.” “Yes, Mister Drake,” she said. *********************** She looked like an angel, like something out of a dream. He’d followed Joni in an attempt to placate her. Flights of whimsy were few and far between here, and he did not want to crush his little one’s hopes, so he’d followed her. He knew that the stories that Homer told were fantasy, but she didn’t. He had to be there for Jonina when the reality of their world came crashing down on her like the bite of a Zazlak. He’d followed her to protect her. But then, he felt it. Something pulled at him. Something that felt old and primal. Necessary. Something beyond blood, beyond the beast, something that he feared was lost. Staring at this spark of flame, this angel, lying in the snow, he knew that that part of him was no longer lost. It was found. He knew now that what Homer had told him was true, and not just the ramblings of an old man. The truth of what he said was lying here at his feet, sleeping in the snow like an edelweiss blossom. And, like that delicate blossom Homer told him of, he knew she did not belong in his world. Yet, here she was. Spike knew he had to protect her, as he did Jonina, with his life, if need be. Just like the knight in one of Homer’s tales. Only now they were no longer tales, they were real. There was no sound save for the crunch of his knees hitting the soft snow beside her. There was a thought that Jonina had somehow pulled him into her whimsies. But, how could that be true, if she were real? Of its own accord, his fingers brushed her skin lightly, skirting over the purple bruise that scarred her right temple. He hissed in empathy, drawing his fingers quickly away, not wishing to cause her further harm. Jonina’s little voice broke the precious silence, “Daddy, is she…? “No,” he breathed out before she could voice the unthinkable, “but she will be, if she doesn’t move,” he narrowed his eyes, scanning for dangers. He instinctively moved closer to her still form, crouching over her, placing himself between her and the biting elements and the other dangers of this world. His speech was disjointed and distracted, as if he were trying to comfort himself with things familiar to him, “The Bejeasiahn are scavengers. If she’s immobile too long, they’ll peck at her. We have to get her back to the cabin.” “Can you carry her Daddy?” Joni asked innocently, “Don’t worry about me. I can run really fast. Don’t worry about me, Daddy.” He loved that his youngling was so confident, but there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight, especially when he could hear the tremor of fright coloring her voice and the Bejeasiahn were so near. To say nothing of all the other predators looking to use any sign of weakness on his part as a way to jump ahead in the wilderness hierarchy, “No, Dove. We’ll take her back together, all right?” Spike picked the unconscious woman up gently, and felt a strange sensation of warmth suffuse him as her head rested against his chest. He motioned slightly with his head, to the space beside him, “You stand right beside me,” he said authoritatively and his little girl fell in, at his side, “Stay right beside me, and we’ll get her back home,” he looked down into her large adoring eyes as they beamed up at him, “Together,” he said softly, trying to mask his own fear under his little one’s need for routine, “like always.” Joni nodded as her eyes sparkled with determination, “Like always,” she said as the set off on the journey home. ************************************************************************ NOVEMBER 30, 2005- ROME “Stephen, we’ve isolated this thing. But your blood isn’t enough,” Giles said, his voice rough with exhaustion, “There has to be something we’re not seeing. And, if we don’t find it soon, it may be too late. Reports of the contagion are coming in faster now. There may be no Slayer at all soon enough,” he hung his head in defeat. Xander tried to put the young man at ease. He looked at his slightly frazzled companions and said, with a slight smirk, “G-man is that any way to talk? Where’s the man who used to have nitrogen running in his veins, when it came to the apocalypse?” Rupert’s face remained hard and unchanged, “That man is dying,” he said bitterly, “along with the Slayers.” Xander looked at him sympathetically, “Been there,” he said as he looked over the file again, “It’s a good thing Dawn called in the reinforcements. Maybe all you need is new eyes,” he shrugged, smiling sheepishly, “Or, in my case, a new eye, on the case,” he said, as he scanned the pages and equations, “Don’t worry, we’ll come through. By the skin of our teeth maybe, but, we’ll come through this. We always do,” Xander worried his lip, unsure of how, or even if, to speak what he really wanted to know, “Any word on the amulet that started this whole thing?” “No. Georgina Whitby-Roberts is doing what she can. She did work at Wolfram and Hart for a time. She may know more than she thinks she does.” Xander looked down at the floor, then back up into the tortured eyes of Buffy’s would-be father, “And…Willow? Has she located Buffy?” “No. She cannot tell me anything definitive. She will only say that her essence, along with Spike’s and Jonina’s, is somehow trapped between dimensions now.” “Well, can she pull them back?” Rupert sighed, feeling a weight pull at him, “In theory. If she knew where they were.” *************************** DECEMBER 1, 2027- Buffy stared in amazement down at his deceptively serene form. He looked like he was sleeping. He hadn’t moved or spoken in weeks. He wasn’t able to tell her what he needed from her. That was why she’d asked Willow to do that spell, so that she would be able to help him, if she could. Now she wished she hadn’t asked. He was immersed in his memories, not just immersed, but consumed by them. It seemed to her that, “Cassandra’s Lace” had been conquered. But at what cost, her husband’s sanity? His mind was a jumble of the past and his deepest fears. It was sometimes hard for Buffy to discern between the two. She looked out the window at the blanket of snow that covered the ground, and remembered the countless snowmen they’d built with Joni and Mabel. Buffy smiled at the memory. She couldn’t count all the Thanksgivings and Christmases they’d been through. How many yards of birthday paper and ribbons had gone by? How many anniversaries? She didn’t know. But, as she looked at his motionless form and realized how much the “Lace” had robbed him of, he didn’t even remember their youngest daughter, she knew that there would be more. There had to be. She was going to help him, whether he liked it or not. Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes as she sat in the antique rocking chair. She ran her hands lovingly over the smooth cherry wood. How many times had she woke in the middle of the night searching for him, only to find him sitting here, in this chair, singing to one of his daughters. She would stand in the doorway, marveling at how tender he could be. Then she'd make a polite noise to alert him of her presence. She knew he never needed it. He always knew she was there. It had always been like that, but even more so since she’d rescued Joni and him from the X’yxeth dimension. Spike would look at her with soft, slightly embarrassed eyes, “Sorry Love, didn’t mean to wake you. It seems the youngling is a bit on the nocturnal side,” he would smirk, “Takes after her Da that way.” Buffy shook herself out of her reverie. X’yxeth, now that was one place that was a blessing and a curse. If she’d never heard of the place, her husband wouldn’t be in pain right now, but she wouldn’t have Joni, the cure for “Lace” and she might not have Mabel because she might have died twenty-five years ago. Willow’s spell let her know that Spike feared that too, because a part of him believed she had died all those years ago. Buffy leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Spike, I know this was some sort of trade you made,” she smiled ruefully, “It’s the kind of thing you would do. You told me. But, the girls and I, we need you. So, I’m making sure we have you.” *********************************************************** Homer had told him that when the woman came, he would have to let Jonina go. He had hoped that she would never appear. He didn’t want to let her go. But, here she was. The snows were a season of change here. In order to save his angel’s world, he would have to give up something precious to him. He would have to give up his soul. He would have to let his youngling go, let her fly away. He wasn’t sure he could do that. But he knew he would have to, if he wanted her to live. A moan came from the bed in the far corner of the room. She was awake. He stood up and carefully, cautiously made his way to her, “Hello,” he smiled sadly at her as he saw her eyes focus and felt the sting of tears when he saw the fire of recognition in them, “I’m glad you’re here. I am,” he chuckled a little to hide the sorrow in his voice, “I was starting to believe you were a myth. Joni can’t wait to go. It’s a big adventure to her; like a fairytale.” “Spike?” Buffy asked groggily. He nodded, his eyes glistening, “I don’t know how you know my name. But, he said you would come. And, when you did, Joni would have to fly,” he struggled against the sorrow he felt at the prospect of being alone again, “away and leave me here.” There was a squeal of shock from behind Spike, “Daddy, you mean you’re not going to come with us?” Spike hadn’t intended Joni to hear that. He closed his eyes as he slowly turned and knelt to comfort his little girl. He’d taught her much in the eight years he’d been here with her, but he never wanted her to learn about loss. There were some things though, that younglings had to learn, in order to live. And, Joni had to live. That’s what he wanted for her, “No Dove. I’m not coming. You and your Mummy have to go now.” Hearing her name spoken maternally was jarring to Buffy. She sat up on the bed and strained to see the little girl with the tiny voice. This couldn’t be her little baby, could it? “Joni?” Buffy gasped. With the skill that only the young have, she dodged away from her father’s protective embrace, and ran to stand in front of her. The little girl Buffy feared she’d never see again regarded her thoughtfully, tilting her head in a way that almost made Buffy laugh, “I’ve seen you before. You’re the Princess,” she came slowly closer to the bed and to Buffy, “Mommy?” “Joni,” Buffy sobbed as little hands held her neck, “Oh, baby,” she sniffed, holding her back from her to look her over, “you’ve gotten so big,” she brushed a strand of her long hair away from her eyes, “Your Daddy’s taken such good care of you. I love you so much!” she said as she held the young lady tightly to her. Unnoticed, Spike had carefully stepped across the cabin, looking out the window, to give them a moment of privacy. His stomach lurched a little at the scene. He had a sense that they would be leaving him soon. And, as he watched the snow start to fall harder, and the sky darkened, he knew it. And, it tore him apart. ********************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE Holland was nervous. Around the firm it was known that those who had the dubious pleasure of meeting Webster Drake were seldom heard from again. He hated to think of the kind of punishment he was in for. The phone at the secretary’s desk rang. The woman in the tailored suit picked up the handset and listened. She nodded, making eye contact with him as she rose from her desk and opened Webster Drake’s office door without a word. Holland Manners thought he had known fear that night in his very own wine cellar. He had been wrong. He’d never truly known fear until he stepped into Webster Drake’s office and looked into his calm, grinning face. “Hello Holland,” Drake said, gracefully indicating the seat in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat.” *****************************************************************

Chapter #46 - Sixty-Six

DECEMBER 2, 2027- NEW ENGLAND Buffy saw the sliver of light from the doorway cut through the darkness of the room. Her body stiffened at the interruption. She was about to snap at whoever had dared to take what little time she had with him now when she heard the little voice, “Mommy, is Daddy still asleep?” She was exhausted and worried, but there was no reason Mabel needed to know that. Being eight was hard enough. And being the younger sister of the Slayer, as well as the daughter of a former Slayer and a vampire was even harder. Buffy slowly got up from her seat near the bed and went over to the slightly open door. She put her hand on the edge of the door and knelt, looking into her anxious face. Buffy swept a rebellious strand of flaxen hair away from her large indigo eyes as she nodded, “Yeah, Honey. Daddy’s still asleep,” Buffy’s eyes searched for any sign of Joni but found none, “Your sister was supposed to be watching you. Where did she go?” Mabel’s chin quivered just a little as she tried to keep her tears inside, “It’s dark. You know where she is, Mommy.” Buffy looked over her shoulder at the window, and winced. The sun had indeed set and she was too preoccupied to notice. Joni would be out on patrol. She looked back at her little girl’s timorous eyes and tried to soothe her nerves, “You know Daddy didn’t mean to scare you, don’t you Honey?” Mabel nodded, her eyes wide and shining with tears, “Uh huh,” she said. Buffy knew Mabel was just telling her what she thought her mommy wanted to hear. Mabel was the peacemaker of the family. The poor thing had her work cut out for her in this family. Buffy sighed. She looked down at her daughter’s little red tennis shoes, and smiled sadly. There they were, her favorite laces, the white ones with the cartoon honeybees on them. She liked them because her Daddy called her “Bee.” It was a play on her middle name, Deborah. Looking back up at her face, Buffy said, “Bee, you’re still scared aren’t you?” She shook her head vigorously, “No, Mommy,” she insisted, “I’m not scared.” Buffy sighed again and regarded her daughter with sadness, “It’s okay to be scared, Honey. Mommy’s scared too.” Mabel’s eyes widened in surprise, “You’re scared Mommy?” “Uh huh. And, Daddy’s sorry Sweetheart, he really is. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Daddy is sick, you know that.” Mabel nodded as a mewling sound came from her throat. “…And sometimes Daddy forgets things,” Buffy said, remembering what the illness was like for her, years ago, “When Daddy forgets things, sometimes the boogieman comes out. He didn’t mean it.” There was a little gasp, “You mean, Daddy forgot me?” Buffy wanted to bite through her tongue when she heard the terror in Mabel’s voice, “No of course not! It’s just that you scared Daddy.” “I scared Daddy?” “A little,” Buffy said softly, “You didn’t know you could do that, did you?” She shook her head, clearly unaware that she had. “That’s why Daddy’s asleep now. Because he was scared and he doesn’t know what happens when he’s scared. And he doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” Buffy put a hand to Mabel’s cheek noticing the jagged outline of the fading bruise, “Daddy’s really sorry, Bee. Does it still hurt?” “That was two weeks ago. Why would it still hurt?” Buffy saw her tears shining, and she knew that it did hurt. Maybe not physically, but it did hurt, “I don’t know, Bee.” Mabel bit her lip in thought, “Daddy has to be awake for my birthday.” She pouted and for an instant Buffy knew why Spike had never been able to resist it, or herself for that matter, when she’d resorted to the protruding lip. It was absolutely adorable, “You promise, Mommy? You promise he’ll be better soon? Daddy can’t miss my birthday.” “I promise, Sweetie,” Buffy said, tugging on the ends of Mabel’s ponytails lightly, to put her at ease. She was rewarded with a tiny smile, “Your birthday’s three weeks away. Remember, we marked it on the calendar?” She nodded again. “That’s plenty of time for Daddy to wake up,” Buffy gave her a kiss on the cheek as she stood up, “Now, why don’t you go play ‘Chutes and Ladders’ with Aunt Willow and Georgie.” Mabel pouted, “But Mommy, that’s a baby’s game!” “Yeah,” Buffy said sympathetically, “but Aunt Georgie doesn’t know how to play. Why don’t you show her?” “Okay Mommy,” Mabel said as she turned to go, “Tell Daddy…” her voice trailed off. Uncertain. “Tell him what, Bee?” Mabel looked back over her shoulder and Buffy was sure that the eyes that looked at her were older than eight years, “That, if he wakes up he doesn’t have to get me a birthday gift.” Buffy almost suffocated on the large sob that stuck in her throat, “I will, Bee,” she choked, “I’ll tell Daddy that.” As Buffy quietly shut the door, she looked back at Spike’s peaceful form. Sitting in the old rocker, she took his hand in hers again. Focusing her attention on the silver band that seemed to be the only thing that tied him to her now, she gave a weary sigh and said, “You heard her. You’ve got three weeks to pull this out ‘Big Bad.’ And, I’m going to help you.” **************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE Holland’s scream still echoed in the office and the smell of brimstone still hung in the air as Webster Drake paged his girl Friday, “Darcy, see if you can arrange a meeting.” She was clearly perplexed by the request, “Sir?” she squeaked. “Now Darcy, we’re all professionals here. He won. There’s no reason not to congratulate him.” ******************************************** DECEMBER 2, 2005- ROME Dawn’s shoes squeaked as they pounded the linoleum. She never realized before how big the halls of Council Headquarters were. But then, she’d never had information this precious before. It already felt like she’d run a mile, and she knew she would run ten more to get them back. She was running so fast that she nearly ran past the open conference room door. She had to catch the doorframe to keep from falling down as she abruptly stopped, “Giles,” she huffed, “I got it!” All eyes fell on her as she stood in the doorway trying to catch her breath. But she only saw Giles’s wide eyes. They were so wide, it looked as if he didn’t believe her, “W-what?” “I got it! Fred…well, Illyria actually, she told me that there was more of Spike’s blood in the Wolfram and Hart archives. She used her Fred persona to gain access to the samples,” Dawn smirked, knowing that there was more to it. There was no way that Winifred Burkle could get past the guards. Illyria however did not have that problem, “I think Illyria had herself a ‘spot of violence.’ Spike would be proud. The reason Stephen’s blood only slowed it down is because he’s not a vampire. I mixed the samples from the archives with the last of Jonina’s blood and tested that on the virus. Guess what?” Dawn took a breath and looked around her. It was then that she noticed that she was the only being in the room that was breathing. Her friends were on the edge of their seats waiting for her to say something. “Out with it, girl!” Giles snapped, “We don’t have time for games, and neither do the Slayers!” Dawn didn’t care what Giles said. Nothing could ruin her mood, not now that she had the answer. She smirked, “It ate the virus quicker than Spike can go through a box of Wheatabix. I’ve sent out an urgent e-mail to all the Watchers and instituted a vaccination program. They all should be reporting here soon.” Suddenly Dawn felt it difficult to breathe. She didn’t care though, all she felt was the warm embrace of her friends as they all cried with relief. ****************************** DECEMBER 2, 2005- LOS ANGELES Willow sat in the middle of the sacred circle trying to focus on her goal. If she could make a flower from Paraguay come up through the earth and appear in England, she could find three essences that, she had no doubt were huddled somewhere together. She let her mind go blank so that their essences could make themselves known. At first there was nothing but a black and terrible void. Willow thought she could hear someone screaming. She’d heard that voice before, that night at the tower. It was Spike’s. He was in agony. Willow opened her mouth to give voice to the pain she felt, but no sound came out. Then her mind became a blur of white. Willow could see nothing through the blinding snow. *********************************** Spike ignored the snow that stung his eyes. He watched as the orange light sat low in the night sky. It grew larger and more dreadful the longer they stood in front of it. It was about to take his only peace, his only refuge in this place, away from him. And he was about to let it. As he felt her strong grip slice into him he cursed his enhanced sense of hearing as he tried to focus on the howling wind rather than her pleading voice as he descended from Purgatory into Hell, “…Please! Come back with us! Please, Spike!” she was begging. The snow was sticking to her face that was wet with her tears, “Joni needs you,” Buffy pleaded as she set Jonina higher on her hip and Spike reluctantly tried to pry his child’s hands from about his neck. Spike would have gladly blinded his own eyes not to have to look upon his youngling’s face as she cried, “No Daddy, please! I love you! I’ll be good, I promise.” Spike tried to be strong, tried to do what had to be done. He tried to push down the pain as he focused on her warm, dark eyes, “I know you will, Dove. I love you, too. Like always, you remember that.” Joni sniffed back tears, as she held tighter to her toy rabbit. He looked up into Buffy’s face, still speaking to his little girl. His voice was raw and squeezed his throat, “Mummy has Daddy’s ring. You have Spike Rabbit. That’s all you need, Dove.” Buffy tried again, “But Spike, she needs her Daddy.” “I know,” he choked, “But she needs her Mum more. The world, that world, needs you more. Take her,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “Take our little girl and go! Leave me here. Go!” Buffy knew this was something he had to do. He had the look in his eyes that he wore on that day in the Hellmouth. He needed this. And because she loved him, Buffy would let him have his moment. She placed Joni gently in the snow, and turned her to face the glowing vortex. She didn’t want her to see the pain that she knew would be on his face. Taking a deep breath, she clasped Joni’s hand, and together they ran into the orange light. With a blinding flash, they both disappeared. Suddenly, there was no one like him here. Now he was alone. It was quiet. Fearfully quiet. The only sounds here now, were the sound of his still heart and his empty tears. ********************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- The seraphim with the flaxen hair and twinkling indigo eyes nodded, “There is no mistake. I’m here for you. You’ve been called up.” Spike was nearly overcome by this news. He squinted at the glowing countenance in disbelief. He looked to Joyce for confirmation. All she did was smile and nod excitedly. Spike looked back at the girl, “Who did you say you were again?” Her eyes glinted with glee, “My name isn’t important. But, if you must call me something, you can call me…Mabel.” Spike averted her gaze, shyly, “You are that. Beautiful, I mean.” The seraphim deigned to touch his face, and he felt a shock of warmth, “You are beautiful too, William.” “I’m beautiful?” the question contained no air of arrogance. It came from boyish insecurity. “Yes you are,” she smiled brilliantly, “All Upper beings are.” ********************************************* DECEMBER 2, 2005- LOS ANGELES The blinding flash hurt her eyes. Willow had to look away. What she saw when she looked back shocked her. Buffy was lying in the center of the sacred circle with her arms curled protectively around a little girl. The only sound was the sound of Buffy weeping. ******************************

Chapter #47 - Sixty-Seven

Author's Note: The condition mentioned is indeed real. It's called Porphyria, and has many forms. Please Review. ********************** NOVEMBER 20, 2027-NEW HOPE CEMETERY- Joni kicked the leaves as she walked through the rows of stone, keeping her eye out for freshly turned earth and hoping that her father wouldn’t soon be, once again, amongst the dust that lingers here. She, like her parents, had begun to really believe that they’d beaten the virus back. There hadn’t been any new cases in years. Her parents had been so jubilant that they’d adopted a toddler that the county agencies had had difficulty placing because of a “sunlight allergy.” Someone at the county home had heard of the Dustins and their interests in cases like hers. Apparently, the woman at the home thought there was something “unnatural” about the little girl. As it turned out, the girl wasn’t “unnatural” at all. She wasn’t a vampire. Although, she did have a rare genetic enzyme deficiency, that caused her to break out in blisters if she was exposed to the sun for any length of time. It is this condition that contributed to the “legend” of the vampire. And, who better to care for someone like Mabel than a vampire and a Slayer? All seemed right with the world. The four of them had started to have a somewhat normal life. A life full of Christmases and birthdays, and parent teacher conferences. It was nice. But then, two years ago, the “Lace” had mutated drastically from its original strain. Joni wasn’t sure why that had happened. She found out later that the new strain had had something to do with what had happened to her, and her Daddy, when she was a baby. The new, and more virulent form of Lace was slow and insidious. And, it seemed to zero in on her Daddy. At times, her Daddy was too weak to even lift his own head without help. At other times though, he was able to walk with the aid of a walking stick. It was painful to watch what was happening to him, and to think about what could happen. It was painful to think that something could be strong enough to bring him down. Joni had wanted to help. She tried to find out the specifics of her time as a child, thinking that, perhaps the answers lie in there somewhere. But her mother wouldn’t discuss it. During the bad times, she rarely, if ever, left his sickroom. She would stay there for weeks on end. She wouldn’t eat, or let anyone near her. At one point, it got so bad, she had to be hospitalized and fed intravenously. Joni could still remember, and quite vividly, a night when the virus first began its assault. Her Aunt Dawn had insisted that she spend some time with her Aunt Georgie. She had resisted at first. After all, she wasn’t a child. If her father was dying, she had a right to be there when it happened. Joni could still hear her own voice as it blurted out that thoughtless demand. At the time, she didn’t care if her mother heard, or was hurt. But, she had forgotten about her Daddy. He heard every word. The door to the sickroom opened then. Joni was not prepared for what staggered out. Joni had known from childhood that her Daddy was different. She knew he was a vampire. She’d even had an imaginary friend that was one, so the idea of the undead walking never bothered her. But, her Daddy had never looked more cadaverous than he did when he stepped out of that tiny room. He was skeletal. It made her insides churn just seeing him like that. The jerky movements as he stepped toward her made her heart sink further. But it was the bone-on-bone grinding of his voice that removed all doubt. This was a walking, talking, corpse standing in front of her. His barren, desolate stare caused her throat to tighten in fear and sympathy. Bloodless lips parted and the icy plea came slowly, as if filtered through a pain-addled brain that was pushed to its limits and was barely cognizant, “Dove…please. I don’t want to leave you now,” Joni could see that the possibility really did frighten him, as his eyes widened in realization. He closed his eyes, shielding himself from the stark reality of what was happening, “But I’m not good…to be around…right now. Sometimes I don’t know…where I am. Or even if… I don’t know. I need you…safe. Not…here. Take Bee. Please go,” he lowered his eyes, “Someone will tell you…when I’m …safe again. Please…go.” Joni was unaware of her Mom’s presence until she saw her Daddy start to fall and she rushed to catch him. His body hit the floor before she could. As her Mom’s eyes looked up at her, Joni never realized how bright they were when she was angry, “You heard him,” she said, her voice quaking with rage and grief, “Do this! If not for me, then do it for him. Honor this!” All she could do was nod. The sight of her Daddy, unconscious on the floor, filling her vision. The idea that she could be responsible for putting her Daddy in that much agony was enough to make her run screaming from the house and never look back. That was a bad time. But last night was the worst. Daddy hadn’t even recognized Mabel, not that that mattered because last night it was Uncle Angel her Daddy saw as a threat. Uncle Angel had come to see what he could do for her Mom and Mabel. As soon as he came through the door of the sickroom, he had playfully tussled Mabel’s hair. That was a mistake. Her Daddy had somehow found the strength to bolt out of bed and charge him, throwing Mabel aside in his delirium. She hit the bedside table and fell to the floor. Daddy rarely showed his demon to his family. And last night was the first time Mabel had seen it. It scared her. After Uncle Angel left, it took her and her Mom hours to calm Mabel down so that she would go to sleep. Last night had scared her too, but not for the same reason. What scared her was what her Daddy had said to Uncle Angel before her Mom was able to pull him off of him. In full demon visage, his eyes shining with rage, her Daddy’s voice roared, “Angelus, never touch my girl again! You come here again, and I’ll kill you!” It was at that moment that she realized that her Uncle knew something. And she was going to make him tell her what that something was. ********************** DECEMBER 2, 2005- LOS ANGELES Willow stood there staring at Buffy as she lay in the circle. She blinked in amazement. She’d done it. She’d found them and pulled them back. She knelt next to Buffy, listening to her sob, “Buffy, you’re home. Are you all right?” She held the little girl tighter to her, looking anxiously at her unconscious face, “Joni. Joni, please wake up,” hot tears were streaking down her face but she didn’t care. She only saw Joni’s face, “You came all this way, you can’t sleep now.” The girl in Buffy’s arms moaned and her eyelids fluttered. She was on the edge of wakefulness, “Daddy,” she muttered. Willow gasped. Was this little girl really Joni? She looked much older than Willow thought she would. Willow swallowed, “Joni? My name is Willow. I’m a friend of your Mommy’s. Can you understand me?” she put her hand on the girl’s soiled cheek. At the slight touch, her eyes opened and focused on her face. Her pupils dilated in fear, “It’s okay,” Willow said softly, “You’re safe now. I won’t hurt you.” The only response from Joni was a guttural sound from deep in her chest. It was primal. The shock of hearing that sound made Willow pull her hand back. She looked up at the glistening eyes of her friend, “Buffy, can you tell me what happened?” Vacant eyes looked back at her. Buffy’s eyes were drowning in sorrow and her voice was hushed by the weight of it, “Oh, Willow. We have to find him. I can’t leave him there.” ******************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- He knew the hunt. He was a beast. To survive, he had to kill. This world was hard and cold, but it was his. And, he had to survive in it. The marks on the wall of his shelter had been important once. He knew that. They meant something, had a sound to them. But what did they mean now? He used to know. The meaning was his. But the beast took the words from him. What did it care for noise, and softness? Just kill. Fight. Survive the cold. Forget about the small one gone up into the sky, leaving him down on the earth, alone. He did make the sounds, when he remembered. When they meant something. But no more. Nothing was here, nothing but the animal within. It came and promised to protect him, keep him warm. And it did that. He gave the beast his warmth, and his words. He let the beast take her, and them. He had to. To survive in this place, he had to. For a time he wept. And then, he forgot. And the beast remained. ************************************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE Mother and daughter wept together, “Oh Mom,” Buffy cried, “I can’t watch this!” “You have to Honey. This was his world. This is his world now, without you and Joni. And it will be this way, until she decides what to do.” Buffy looked at the scene unfolding before her, and her heart ached, “But how can she… How can I leave him there?” Joyce looked at her daughter’s haggard expression and said sadly, “You know she won’t. And that’s the problem,” Joyce’s lip jutted out in thought, “He does have a choice here, you know.” “No Mom. You can’t mean…” Buffy gasped, forcing the horror to stay inside by clasping a hand over her mouth. Joyce shrugged, resigned, “If she makes that choice, what do you think he’s going to do, Honey?” she sighed at the knowledge that flared in Buffy’s eyes, “He loves you all too much. Remember, ‘Manchester United, dog racing, happy meals with legs?’” ********************************************* NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY The caretaker watched the young lady as she walked through the stones. His heart ached for her. She seemed to have a purpose but there was something in her eyes that bothered him. There was a loss there that did not come from her surroundings. This girl was out for blood. He knew it in his very being. Something here was very wrong. He knew he had to make it right somehow.

Chapter #48 - Sixty-Eight

Author's Note: Some old friends are popping in. Don't be too surprised. But, if you've kept track of the clues, maybe you won't be? ;-) ******************* IN THE INTERREGNUM-HIGHER PLANE Spike still couldn’t believe it. The seraphim had actually called upon him. He looked up at Joyce in awe, “Joyce, they can’t mean that. Can they?” Joyce was pleased with his reaction. He was like a child who’d just been given the one gift he’d always wanted. She smiled at him again, “Oh they’re serious. Deception is the Home Office’s territory. Here, we’re honest, almost to a fault, if such a thing exists.” Spike shook his head, “But there has to be some kind of mistake. Nothing I did… No good I did, can justify this!” he gaped. He had expected, at the most a pat on the back before being sent to his own little corner of Hell. But he definitely had never even dreamed this, “How?” “Remember those legions of angels?” “Uh huh,” he stuttered, still disbelieving. “Well,” Joyce smiled, “let’s just say this. Some of them owe you big. And, one of them can be pretty persuasive. Although, to be fair, someone,” she had to smile at his bemused expression, “ wouldn’t really have to do all that much persuading in order to give this to you. You’ve earned this. They thought they’d return the favor,” her eyes twinkled brightly. “But how? Who? I couldn’t have…There aren’t enough people…” Joyce grunted in frustration, “Spike! Don’t cloud the issue with numbers,” she looked around their surroundings and asked, incredulously, “Do you see any scales here, any weights or measures?” He shook his head, not comprehending her meaning. “Counting is for others,” she said slowly, “It’s not for you. All the people in the world wouldn’t bring some to where you are.” “That’s just it. Why…” “Spike, trust me. For once, don’t question it. Not this. Just take it.” Something in her voice stopped him. He lowered his head in submission, “You’re right, Joyce. I’m sorry. I’ll take it.” “Good,” Joyce sighed. “And Buffy will be spared it? ‘Lace’ dies with me,” he looked away from Joyce, not wishing to show her how bereft he felt. “Yes. To a point.” Spike squinted, “What do you mean, ‘To a point?’ The point where I watch her die again?” his voice grated in his throat. Even to his own ears he sounded like an over pampered child, his wants taxing a parent’s patience. But he couldn’t stop himself, “Joyce, you know I can’t do that! I won’t…” Joyce rolled her eyes, “Spike, I realize you’re upset. But, think about it. This is Buffy we’re talking about. Do you really think she can leave you in that Hell?” “But she has to. It’s the only way.” “She loves you, Spike,” Joyce chided. “I know. I love her too,” he said softly, “But sometimes my love…it hurts her,” his voice hardened, “She doesn’t need me now.” Joyce looked at him sadly. He had obviously forgotten. It was easy to do, being here. She hated to remind him at all, “How did you feel when she was here, that summer?” “Like the walking dead,” he muttered, the memory stabbing at his heart. “If it hadn’t been for Dawn, and a haze of alcohol… I don’t know how I made it from moment to moment.” “And how do you think Buffy survived, while you were gone? Sure, you were only gone nineteen days. But, I was with her that day on the Hellmouth. I saw her heart break, just like yours did. It felt like forever to her. But what hurt her more than your being gone was the fact that, when you weren’t…gone you didn’t tell her. You let her grieve you when she didn’t have to.” Spike hung his head in shame, “I didn’t know she had, grieved I mean. I would have done different had I known. Had I believed.” Joyce gave him a commiserating look, “I know. I don’t even have to ask how long it was for you. If I hadn’t meddled, and given you her, even for that little bit of time, do you think you could have held on?” “No,” he admitted grimly. “How do you think she will take it, being without you? Again. Especially now?” Spike knew exactly what Buffy would do. He lowered his eyes fatalistically, “Joyce, there has to be a way to stop it.” “Maybe there is,” Joyce murmured, “We have a lot of work to do.” **************** DECEMBER 2, 2005- ROME Dawn put down the telephone receiver in shock. She’d called to make sure that Kennedy was well enough to make the trip to Rome for the vaccinations; Kennedy had been sick for a month. Willow told her that she’d pulled Buffy out, back to this plane, and Jonina was with her. But apparently, there was one problem. Joni was, at least outwardly, now an eight-year-old girl. That news had her spun. But, no one could tell as she calmly entered the conference room, “Giles, I’ve got good news, bad news and weird news,” Dawn took a sighing breath, “Which do you want first?” ******************************************************* NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY As Joni walked through the graveyard she tried to focus on something else. Anything would be better than the blank space in her memories. The space that was rapidly filling with her Daddy’s declining health. She hated it. And the weird part was she didn’t even realize anything was missing until her little sister Mabel came into the picture. She could remember watching her parents gushing over Mabel’s first steps. Her Daddy talked for hours about her first tricycle ride. She could remember laughing as his chest puffed out with fatherly pride when Mabel played a star in her nursery school pageant. But what really stuck in her head was the look on her Mom’s face as they all helped Mabel build her first snowman. The four of them were out in the snow, with Mabel bundled up and watching from the warmth of her Mommy’s arms, as she and Daddy began pushing and pulling at the snow and packing it down until the snowballs were large enough to stack on top of one another. Slowly the snowman took shape. Twigs became arms. He had a carrot nose and blue buttons for eyes. When the eyes went on, Joni heard little squeals of delight from the baby. Joni looked over at the bouncing child. She and her Mom looked so happy. Her Mom had an inner glow. A glow that was less bright now, than it was then. Joni walked over to her babbling sister and cooed, “Looks like Daddy, doesn’t he?” “Not quite, Dove,” he tilted his head, squinting in thought, “Something’s missing,” he turned back toward the house, speaking as he went, “Wait a tick. Be right back.” He disappeared into the house and reappeared a few minutes later, carrying an old leather coat. Joni heard her Mom sniffle a little as the three of them watched as he draped the old leather duster across the back of the snowman. He stepped back and nodded, “There. Now he’s finished.” That was when Mabel was two. There have been five snowmen since that night. It became a tradition. No snowman was truly complete until the leather was brought out. After the snowman was finished, they’d all go inside for a cup of hot cocoa. Daddy would have his with the miniature marshmallows. They’d all watch the snow blowing outside while they were safe and warm inside. Joni loved that memory. She was afraid that, this year, there would be no snowman. Because, her Daddy would be gone. Joni really envied her little sister. She had clear memories. Her sister had memories, instead of the fog and emptiness that she had. Joni couldn’t remember anything before the age of eight. Nothing. Not one giggle, not one story or event. Nothing. And she wondered why. Last night, as she was helping her Mom calm Mabel down after she’d witnessed her father’s true face, a plan began to form in her mind. After Mabel had fallen asleep and her mother was sure that Daddy had been properly sedated and comfortable, and had gone to bed herself; Joni slipped into her Daddy’s room. As Joni looked down at the blue, bloodless strands that disfigured her father’s face and hands, his entire body really, her heart screamed in agony. She was in pain just seeing him. Her mind could barely fathom what he was feeling. In his rare moments of consciousness, he was denied the blessing of lucidity. His world was inhabited by hallucinations and delusions. Most of them were of horrors she wouldn’t have wished on anyone. He hadn’t made cogent sense in months. And he looked so peaceful now, which was so rare, that she hated to disturb him. It was clear though, that her Uncle Angel knew something to do with her childhood and her lost memories. When she’d tried to talk to her Mom about it, she became evasive. It seemed as if her Mom was trying to hide something from her. Well no more. Aunt Willow’s books had been a great help. Joni kissed her Daddy on the cheek, “Daddy, I love you,” she whispered. She didn’t know if her words were reaching him anymore. But it didn’t matter. She needed to say them. Once again she stared into her Daddy’s face and wondered. Did he know what it was she was about to do? She took a deep breath and softly said the words she hoped would let her see what had been veiled, “Erebus, spirit of darkness, flee my mind. Let me see beyond the river Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, to the other shore. Let me know what must be known. Let me see what I cannot.” ****************************************************** DECEMBER 9, 2005- LOS ANGELES The room was full of bright, round colors. No sharp edges here. This was a room just waiting for a little girl to make it hers. What little girl wouldn’t flutter with happiness at the sight of that rainbow on the wall, and that bright blue sky? Stephen was almost a man, and even he was impressed at the care and thought that had gone into this room. There was even a cradle sitting silently in the center of the room. It looked forlorn. As if it knew it would never fulfill its purpose. This was meant to be a place of comfort and warmth. It wasn’t now though. Now it was unfamiliar and sharp to the one person it was supposed to protect. That wasn’t the girl’s fault. No, that fault lay squarely on his father’s shoulders. As Stephen looked at the eyes staring wide-eyed at him from the corner of the room, he wondered, had his father seen the same look in his eyes when he’d returned from the only world he’d known? He’d wondered too, if he’d be able to reach her. He himself was sixteen when he’d come back. His mind could understand, could survive the shock this world was to him. But could she? He crouched, making sure his head was a little lower than hers. Until he knew different, the submissive posture was best. He looked up at her and spoke slowly and distinctly, “Hello Jonina. My name is Stephen. It’s nice to meet you. Can you understand me?” She nodded. And Stephen noticed that she pulled the tattered plush rabbit she carried closer to her, as if to protect herself from him. “Easy. I won’t hurt you. Can you talk?” She pouted and tilted her head, sizing him up. Her eyes flashed with indignant flame. The sound was feral, and just barely qualified as human, but he understood it perfectly as it rose from deep within her, “Yes!” she growled. Stephen could tell that she was fighting the fear and exhaustion she felt. He knew he would get no more from her tonight, “That’s good,” he said softly as he backed out of the room, “We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” Stephen closed the door with a heavy sigh. Turning his eyes to Buffy’s anxious face, he tried to tune out the keening that was rising beyond the door, “We’re not getting anywhere tonight. She’s too frightened. She’s just too traumatized.” “I did that to her,” Buffy cried, “I took her from the only home she’s ever known. I tore her from his arms! We have to get him back. We just have to.” *********************************** NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY The girl was bloodthirsty. He could feel it. In a place that had to accept death, she sought to cheat it. It gave his old bones a rush watching her prowl these grounds. But there was something reckless about her tonight. Tonight she didn’t care, and that was what chilled him most. It was usually a careful stroll. But, not tonight, tonight she had to be stopped. Leaving his post at the window, Homer sighed and put his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave this shelter to do his duty. And that was, to watch over her. ************************************************* IN THE INTERRUGNUM-HIGHER PLANE- Spike was nearly prostrate with gratitude and awe. And he could see, from the look on Buffy’s face, that she was as well. He felt his whole body tighten, waiting for the catch. She seemed to sense this, “Spike,” she said, with a trace of the sweetness he knew very well, “that was our wedding present for you,” she held her companion closer to her, grinning in a way he’d never seen before, “You’ve done so much for us. Don’t you want it?” “Oh very much,” he sighed. He looked over at the man next to her and nodded, “I think you know just how much.” The man nodded, knowingly. “But, it can’t be at her expense. I’m sure you understand.” “We do,” she said, “And the very fact that you were willing to give it up, shows us so much. I think this gift will keep. But, in return for this delay, would you do something for us?” Buffy couldn’t speak. So, Spike spoke for the both of them, “Anything!” he breathed, “Anything Edith!” William had to smile at the being Spike had become, and he voiced the concern they both felt, “Keep Jonina out of trouble. I love her. You know I do. But, I don’t want to have to keep prowling around graveyards for eternity. Make sure she stays away from trouble.” “You mean all we have to do is…” “Yes,” William assured him, “You’ve already shown them how to beat, ‘Lace,” and done enough penance. Don’t you think?” They both nodded, emphatically and said in unison, “Yes!” **************************************************

Chapter #49 - Sixty-Nine

NOVEMBER 19, 2027-NEW ENGLAND- Joni felt the atmosphere around her shimmer and shift, as if the air itself were sliding into a place it didn’t belong. She opened her eyes and found herself, once again, in her Daddy’s room. Aunt Willow never told her spells could be that rough. She sniffed and put a hand under her nose, feeling wetness there. Her hand came away with a red smear. Damn, now her nose was bleeding. She quickly looked at her father. He hadn’t stirred. If the scent of blood couldn’t wake him, she was almost certain nothing would. The images flashed in her mind so quickly that they nearly made her vomit. Some of these things had to be part of her Daddy’s illness. Connecting with him must have made her susceptible to his confusion. The things she’d seen, they just couldn’t be true. Not all the Slayers had died. She wasn’t alone. Her Uncle was never a vampire. True, he’d never really talked about the past. But, her Mom would have told her if something like that had happened. It was the kind of thing that a Slayer would know about. And most of all, her mother hadn’t died. She was still alive. Yet Joni could still hear the echoes of her Daddy’s sobs. She could still remember, in her little girl way, wanting desperately to hear her Daddy’s voice and see him smile again, if only for a moment. Her heart still ached with need. Joni could remember wanting to make it all go away so that her Daddy wouldn’t be angry with her. But she didn’t know how to make it better. She could still see the empty look in his eyes as they stared out into the darkness. He would cry for hours on end, mindlessly rocking his body in a gentle motion, which reminded her of the way he used to rock her when she’d awakened from a nightmare. There were times that he didn’t even know her. He would stare right through her, like she wasn’t even there. He wouldn’t eat or sleep. He was just waiting to die. She could remember promising to be good. She’d promised to eat all those yucky beets he said were so good for her, if he would just look at her. When her Aunt Willow took him to Rome, to the hospital, she cried. And, she cried hard. Why was he leaving her? What had she done? Whatever it was, she swore she wouldn’t ever do it again. If only he would stay and look at her like he used to. But, before she knew it, he was gone, and it was because of her. She’d taken Mommy away, and now her Daddy was leaving too. She just wanted him back. But, he stayed away for a whole year, and she knew it was because of her. He said it wasn’t, but she knew. She knew that she had taken Mommy away from him. And she wanted to make it right. She remembered. She knew it could not have happened. Yet she still remembered it all, in painful clarity. Could it be true, somehow? No, it couldn’t be true. Her mother was a Slayer, and so was she. Maybe that would explain it. Still, no Slayer dream felt this way. None of the other dreams were this detailed. And, that old man, who was he to her? He was the only thing that made sense. He looked so familiar, like she should know him. His name was on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be spoken. But she couldn’t seem to say it. She knew he was important. But how could that be, when she’d never seen him before? Joni left her father’s room in a daze. There were just so many pieces to fit together that she didn’t know where to begin. Walking softly down the hall, she thought about asking her mother. But, then she thought better of it. It was obvious to her that her mother was trying to hide something from her. No. Her only option now was her Uncle Angel. She didn’t want to leave the house now. She could feel the pallor of death hanging in the air, more now than it ever had before. She wasn’t sure her Daddy could hold on much longer. But, she needed answers. To find them she needed to leave. Taking a breath, and silently sending her Daddy all her strength in the hope that he would still be when she returned, she walked out the door. Her Daddy wasn’t leaving her again. ************************************************ IN THE INTERREGNUM-HIGHER PLANE Spike felt fear creeping up his limbs as he stared at Buffy. Shock he’d expected. He’d even shocked himself a little, but once the words were out of his mouth they just seemed right. This was more than shock. Buffy looked as though she’d been hit by a two-by-four. It was more than just unnerving, this was bordering on terrifying. He looked into her face and said slowly, “Buffy, are you all right?” She blinked and swallowed hard. The vague ache that she felt suddenly became unbearable to her. Now she understood. And she couldn’t believe what he was willing to give up, for his family and the world. It was amazing. If she could find a way to show him what this meant to her, if there was any way she could ease the pain she knew his choice would cause, she would take it, “Spike, I… I didn’t know.” He smirked, “Neither did I, Love. But, that’s not important now. It’s Joni that matters,” he swore he could still get lost in her eyes. Even here, he was amazed, and more than a bit humbled by the pride she seemed to have in him, “The rest will keep. It will wait. Now’s not the time.” “But, what you’re giving up,” her eyes welled up with tears at the thought of what he’d just been given, and what he’d just handed back; all for her sake, “Why would you do that?” Spike was still amazed at her. This was the woman who somehow, just with her very presence in his world, had changed his nature and made this a possibility, and she was asking him why. He held her face gently in his hands and said simply, “I meant what I said, Buffy. He can have his prophecy. He may seem to have everything, but appearances can be deceiving. Having you, and the girls, that means I have everything. My reward just comes a little later now, is all,” he said as his eyes twinkled a bit. Buffy sighed into Spike’s chest, “You sound like a Watcher.” “I suppose I do,” he agreed, “I’ve been watching over my girls long enough.” Buffy gasped as realization hit her and she looked at Spike with fright in her eyes, “Wait, Spike. Would that mean that you would have to…?” “Not everything is as it seems, Pet,” his lips curled into the familiar smirk that told Buffy he was up to something, “You know I’m certainly not.” Buffy couldn’t help but admire the passion he had. She’d never seen anything so intense in any being, living or dead. And, it astounded her. Amazement colored her tone as she held him tight, “Now there’s the understatement of…ever.” ******************************* DECEMBER 4, 2005- ROME Giles scribbled furiously, trying to transcribe what he heard, “That’s l-o-t-e-r? Yes, I’ve got it,” he shook his head, “ Yes, we do have people who can help us to locate him. Stephen Riley will be taking the next flight to the States, and Los Angeles. He may be of assistance in that. Can you gain access to the object in question? I see. Well, I will put you in touch with an associate of ours. She is acquainted with Spike, as well as the former C.E.O. of the Los Angeles branch. She will tell you where your search may be most fruitful. Once you find it, please make sure it gets to Mrs. Buffy Summers-Dustin-number 80 Jennings Street- Los Angeles. No, I will tell her to expect it. Thank you for your help, Miss Johansen. Pia,” he smiled, “Yes, thank God for the computer age. Everything still has a paper trail. Thank you again,” he said as he hung up the phone. “Well,” Xander pressed, “What did she say? Did Wolfram and Hart have a file on Spike or not?” “Yes they did. They opened the file when it was discovered that he wore the amulet, rather than Angel. It seems that the firm had intended to coerce Angel to do their bidding first by giving him power, then by tying him to their firm through the amulet,” Giles sighed, “It was hoped, apparently, that he would be grateful for his ‘rescue,’ and overlook some of the firm’s more shady dealings.” “ ‘Rescue?’ From where?” Dawn asked. “From a dimension called X’yxeth. It’s a Loterminenthalogcial dimension.” “A who?” Xander questioned. “A dimension where one’s most hidden thoughts are collected, and made real.” “You mean, like the time the kid in the coma made all of our nightmares come true?” “Yes Xander, I suppose I do. Except, rather than a localized disturbance, as was the case in Sunnydale, essentially, an entire world could be populated with terrors such as we experienced.” “Oh,” Xander groaned, “That could be bad.” “Indeed.” “But, Angel didn’t wear the amulet. Spike did. What does that mean for him?” Dawn bit her lip and her eyes widened with worry, “What was the amulet supposed to do?” “The amulet was designed to hold Angel prisoner. Until he agreed to Wolfram and Hart’s terms of release,” Giles said grimly. “What terms?” Dawn asked. “Allow the apocalypse to proceed, unchallenged. Angel only discovered the true nature of the talisman when he became C.E.O. of Wolfram and Hart. By then, it was too late to help Spike.” Dawn was horrified, “You mean, that Angel let Fred die, and possibly the Slayers, because he was trying to get Spike out of there?” “Yes,” Giles lowered his eyes and his voice was barely a whisper, “I’m afraid so.” “And, did they come through with their end of the deal.” “No.” “Which just proves that lawyers are evil personified,” Xander commented, “Angel should have seen that one coming.” “So,” Dawn asked, “ Spike is still trapped there?” Giles nodded, “There is a portion of his soul that was not released into the ether when he rescued Buffy from Drusilla. So yes. A part of him is still trapped there.” Dawn could feel her throat tightening, “And, what happens to Spike, or us, if we try to get him back?” “There’s no way to know.” ********************************* HOURS EARLIER- LOS ANGELES His transient turn as a member of the human race had done nothing to prepare him for how much his body hurt. As a vampire, Angel had never wanted to run into the Slayer, for obvious reasons. Now, as a human, he was sure he didn’t. He was released from the hospital ten days ago, and his body was still bruised. He was just about to try to sleep, try to put his surreal existence to rest and start to forget the look of emptiness in William’s eyes, a look that not even his daughters could remove after Buffy died. Except, she hadn’t died. That had all been a lie cooked up by the Senior Partners to make him feel guilty. But maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe it was a type of Hell. Maybe watching Buffy die, and seeing what it had done to Spike, was his punishment for leaving Spike in that place. Perhaps it was his conscience, feeble as it was, that made him persist in that place for thirty years. Or maybe it was Spike. Perhaps he was exacting vengeance somehow by making him watch the last of his family weaken and die, and then make him unable to fulfill his last family member’s dying wish; to take care of his children. And then there was the ghostly visitation in the hospital. Were those just figments of a fevered brain? Was what he’d seen just the consequence of his new state of being? He wasn’t sure. But, whichever, or whatever, was behind it, it meant one thing to him. Somehow, Spike still existed. And, if he still existed, Angel knew that this type of torment was the least he deserved for consigning Spike to that horror. Just as he was about to drift off into his nightmares, the phone rang. He thought about ignoring it, but then realized he couldn’t, and slowly rose from his bed and stumbled in the dark to answer the insistent bell, “Liam Donovan,” he was surprised at how quickly the name came to him; it had been so long since he’d had occasion to use his human name, “Who is this, and why are you calling me at this hour?” The tone on the other end of the line was terse and familiar, “So sorry,” Giles snipped, “but as you are the only being who has even had a glimpse of William Dustin in weeks, sadly, you are our first stop, as it were. It may also interest you to know that Willow was able to retrieve Buffy and Joni from inter-dimensional space, but was unable to ascertain where, or even if, Spike still exists. And, it seems that, the child, who only weeks ago was an infant, is now an apparently feral, and understandably frightened, young girl who is eight years of age,” his tone was sarcastic and biting, “ Forgive my rudeness, but we thought perhaps you could enlighten us.” Angel sank heavily into the chair that was part of the dinette set near the wall-mounted telephone as he ran his hands nervously through his hair, “Oh the amulet. I was hoping that wasn’t true. That, it was just another of Wolfram and Hart’s lies.” “Sadly, that does not seem to be the case.” Angel took a deep breath, “Okay, Giles. You know that modern philosophy holds that there are four elements to existence. Earth, air, fire, and water, right?” “Yes.” “Well, medieval philosophy held that there was a fifth. It permeated all existence, all beings. Not just human beings. It was called quintessence. It was believed to be a being in its purest form. It was what celestial beings were composed of. It’s what the seraphim are made of, if you believe that kind of thing. Wolfram and Hart sought to trap that, and use it to their advantage. Hold it for ransom, until I did what they wanted me to do.” “But, you didn’t behave as they had hoped.” “No, I didn’t,” Angel sighed, “Or, maybe I did. I don’t know. In any case, Spike played the hero, and paid the price.” ****************************************** DECEMBER 6, 2005- SYNERGY DOJO A few days ago Rupert Giles called her at her home and told her about what Wolfram and Hart had expected from “Mr. Angel” when they transferred control of the Los Angeles branch to him. Georgina knew now what the amulet had done. And, she knew what it had done to Spike. Rupert Giles did not have to enlist her help in aiding a paralegal from the Cleveland office in her quest to find the amulet. She would have volunteered. So, when a call from Rupert Giles came through, Georgina transferred it quickly to Buffy in the apartment above and busied herself trying to get lost in the minutia of organizing the files on her computer. It was easy to forget about where Spike could be when she had the much smaller chaos of time management to deal with. She looked up from her work when she felt a cold shadow fall over her. She looked up and was amazed by who it was that was standing in front of her. Georgina could not believe he’d dared to even show his face, “What are you doing here?” she nearly spat out the words. Angel gave a slight smile and took a deep breath, “Hello George. It’s good to see you.” Sea-grey eyes looked back at him, “Can’t say I can say the same,” she said calmly, “And it’s Georgina to you.” Angel swallowed hard, “Fine. I’m here to see Buffy…and Joni. I heard. Is she all right?” “We don’t know. No one’s been able to reach her. And, I’m fairly certain that Buffy wouldn’t want you anywhere near her,” Georgina placed her hand just below the burglar alarm button that was mounted under her desk, more than ready to press it if she needed to, “So, why don’t you just turn around now, and I might forget I saw you here.” “Sorry George. I can’t do that. If Buffy wants to throw me out, I’ll let her tell me.” Georgina Whitby-Robert had been taught the finer things of etiquette. It was part of her upbringing. After all, she did come from old money. But all of that refinement and breeding went by the wayside as she stared at this unapologetic man. His transformation had taught him nothing that she could see, about being human. She could feel the rage building as she slowly made her way around the desk. Positioning herself squarely in front of him, she refused to let his size deter her. Her chest burned with a smoldering fire as she confronted him. She advanced as she spoke, slowly causing him to retreat, “Why you arrogant son of a…” she reached up and shoved him, low in his chest, catching him by surprise and making him stagger back a step, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she advanced still more, “Now get out before I forget that I’m a lady!” The menacing voice of the Slayer spoke from behind her, “Don’t get your hands dirty, Georgie. Let me take care of this.” Georgina looked over her shoulder at Buffy’s tired face, “You’re sure? Because I’d be more than happy to…” Buffy smiled sadly, “I know. But this is my fight.” George eyed Angel warily, “If you’re sure.” Buffy nodded, “I’m sure,” her eyes glinted dangerously at Angel, “Why don’t you pick Stephen up from the airport?” Buffy suggested, “It’ll give Angel and I a chance to catch up on things.” “Okay,” Georgina said, as she headed for the entrance, “But if he’s here when I get back, I can’t be held responsible for what happens.” After being sure that Georgina was out of earshot, Buffy turned to Angel and said, in a low, menacing voice, a voice that told Angel that she had no compunction about carrying through on her promise, “Now, Angel. You tell me where my husband is, and how I get him back where he should be, or I will kill you. Do you understand me?” ******************************* IN THE INTERREGNUM- Things were worse when he remembered. The other beasts here could sense when he was weak and would attack him. To survive here, he had to forget the sounds from his dreams. Because, when he remembered, he was weak. He had tried to forget, but he could not. He knew it was better to forget, that forgetting would make him strong. But the strange other world was all he had. In the other world there were sounds that held meaning, but here there was no sound, no meaning. So, he held on even though he knew he should not, to the things from that world he still understood. He held on to the Promise. And he held on to Love. Without them, he was numb. The other world was full of things he had forgotten. Sometimes he would try to reach out and grasp the edges and try to pull them close. He should have been able to catch these things. The hunt was what he knew. He was patient. But when he came close to knowing what these strange things were, they would skitter away faster than the small things he fed upon. And he would weep at the loss. In that world there were things like him. Things were soft. The softness was pleasing. And he knew Love. When he woke, they were gone, his warm, soft things. And he didn’t know how to get them back. Eventually, he grew to accept that he would never be warm again. This was his world now. There was no going back. Here, there was no sound, nothing like him. There was only him. There was only now. The other world was a foolish thing. Still he had hope that soon he would remember. To keep that light in the distance, he began to practice making the sounds. First, from his dreams and then he began giving the things around him sounds and meaning. He did all this in the hope that She would come for him now, as She had in his dreams. ****************************************************** NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY There was more than just sadness here tonight. It had been years since Homer had felt anything like it, but he knew it well. He knew the smell of it, and could practically taste it in the air. And as he slowly rounded the Morris plot, he saw her. She was vengeance personified. Her eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. He remembered that feeling. For years it was all that sustained him. But it wasn’t right for her. Someone that delicate, that beautiful, should never feel that. It would destroy her. And, he knew that if he didn’t stop her, she would be trapped in its snare. She would be cold and alone, much as he had been before she came. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not this time. ************************************ Her Uncle Angel was going to explain this. As she stalked through the cemetery, she tried to clear her vision of the angry tears that kept flowing down her cheeks. He was going to explain the blank spots in her memory. And, he would explain why her Daddy had nearly killed him last night. And, why her Daddy was leaving her. After he explained all of that, she was going to kill him. A voice, sounding from near her feet, stopped her cold, “No you won’t, Joni. Slayers aren’t killers. You’re not a killer.” Joni looked indignantly at the little old man who had the audacity to speak as if he knew her. Her mouth opened and she was going to put him in his place. She was going to tell him that he should mind his own business, when he brushed the earth from the plot he’d been tending to from his hands, slowly stood, and turned to look at her. It was then that the rebuke died in her throat. The air seemed to shimmer and slide again, and she blinked. For just an instant, he looked like her Daddy. But, that couldn’t be. The grief must be doing things to my head, she thought. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling dizzy, “Who are you?” The trace of a smirk pulled at his mouth, “No one important. But, will you stop and listen to an old man, before you do something rash?” Joni could only nod. “Good,” Homer said. ************************************** DECEMBER 9, 2005-LOS ANGELES “But, Buffy, there had to be a reason Spike told you to leave him there,” Willow knew that she was the wrong person to make this argument, considering her actions in the recent past. She bit her lip, unsure she should even breathe the words, “Maybe we should…do as he asked?” Buffy whirled on her in fury, “Willow, How can you say that? Stephen has tried for days to reach her. She’s only said one word since we came back,” Buffy sniffed back her tears, “She is wild, Will. And, she’s scared. Nothing here is familiar to her. Nothing makes sense,” a sob shook through her, “I remember what that’s like. She needs the one person she knows. She needs her Daddy, Will. And, so do I.” “I’ll try,” Willow gave in, even though she knew there would be consequences, “But in order to attempt this kind of retrieval, I will need the catalyst for the original spell. In other words, I will need the amulet.” “It’s on its way, Willow. A paralegal from the Cleveland office found it. But she has to send it on the sly. She has to do this under the Senior Partners’ radar. So, it should be here in three days.” “Until then,” Willow said, “why don’t you and Stephen try again to reach Joni?” *********************************************** The room was full of bright, round colors. No sharp edges here. This was a room just waiting for a little girl to make it hers. What little girl wouldn’t flutter with happiness at the sight of that rainbow on the wall, and that bright blue sky? Stephen was almost a man, and even he was impressed at the care and thought that had gone into this room. There was even a cradle sitting silently in the center of the room. It looked forlorn. As if it knew it would never fulfill its purpose. This was meant to be a place of comfort and warmth. It wasn’t now though. Now it was unfamiliar and sharp to the one person it was supposed to protect. That wasn’t the girl’s fault. No, that fault lay squarely on his father’s shoulders. As Stephen looked at the eyes staring wide-eyed at him from the corner of the room, he wondered. Had his father seen the same look in his eyes when he’d returned from the only world he’d known? He’d wondered too, if he’d be able to reach her. He himself was sixteen when he’d come back. His mind could understand, could survive the shock this world was to him. But could she? He crouched, making sure his head was a little lower than hers. Until he knew different, the submissive posture was best. He looked up at her and spoke slowly and distinctly, “Hello Jonina. My name is Stephen. It’s nice to meet you. Can you understand me?” She nodded. And Stephen noticed that she pulled the tattered plush rabbit she carried closer to her, as if to protect herself from him. “Easy. I won’t hurt you. Can you talk?” She pouted and tilted her head, sizing him up. Her eyes flashed with indignant flame. The sound was feral, and just barely qualified as human, but he understood it perfectly as it rose from deep within her, “Yes!” she growled. Stephen could tell that she was fighting the fear and exhaustion she felt. He knew he would get no more from her tonight, “That’s good,” he said softly as he backed out of the room, “We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” Stephen closed the door with a heavy sigh. Turning his eyes to Buffy’s anxious face, he tried to tune out the keening that was rising beyond the door, “We’re not getting anywhere tonight. She’s too frightened. She’s just too traumatized.” “I did that to her,” Buffy cried, “I took her from the only home she’s ever known. I tore her from his arms! We have to get him back. We just have to.” *********************************** IN THE INTERREGNUM- He’d nearly forgotten it had been so long. Night after night he’d wept and howled, looking up at the sky. He’d become reckless, wanting the other beasts to attack him, hoping that, one day he would finally be swept up, and found worthy, to be with them. But, something within him knew it was not to be. He was a beast. A lowly creature. A creature that did not deserve their warmth. Then one blessed night, it happened. He was on a hunt when he felt the wind bite at his skin and the sky began to rumble. A loud, pounding rhythm filled his whole being. It was hypnotic and compelling. He followed it blindly, knowing within himself that it would somehow lead to Her. In the blackness of night, he saw the sky open up. There She stood, floating in the air, just beyond the rise. And, She looked so warm and good. He had to be a part of it. Even if She shunned him. He forgot everything. Saw her alone, and ran. He ran to their warmth. He ran to things remembered. He ran to Her. ******************************************** DECEMBER 12, 2005- Buffy couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she opened the envelope, and took out what was inside. She hadn’t had this in her hands in over two years. If she had understood what it had done to him, she never would have given it back to Angel. The paper fluttered silently to the ground as she ran out of the room, calling out, “Willow, it’s here! We have to do this. I can’t leave him there any longer.” ************************************ With Joni calmed enough to sit quietly on her lap, and Stephen flanking her just in case he came back as feral as Joni did, she tried to listen to what Willow was saying, “…Now remember, Buffy. This is just like the guidance spell. All you have to do is focus on him and I, and the amulet, will do the rest. Just try to breathe normally.” Buffy tried to focus on just breathing in and out. Her mind was racing and her heart was pounding. She could feel the heat and electricity in the air. Then she felt the familiar warmth that she had before, when Homer appeared. Her breath hitched as she saw the flash of light bloom behind her closed eyelids, and her ribcage vibrated with the impending sonic blast. Buffy reached down to cover her daughter’s ears, and sighed with relief when she did not flinch at her touch. The silence that followed was suffocating, and was broken by the sob of a little girl as she was reunited with the only other being she knew in the entire world, “Daddy!” Joni cried as she flew from her mother’s lap and sought the only comfort she knew; the comfort of her father’s arms. Buffy had never seen anything as beautiful as his shocked, frightened, golden gaze as he instinctively held her. The golden shock turned to blue disbelief as his gaze fell to her. The sound that came was more animal than human, but she would have understood it in any language. “Buffy,” he growled as he ran toward her and took her in his arms. Passion nearly overtook her as he nuzzled her neck and growled possessively, gently laving the closed puncture marks with his tongue. A shiver ran through her when he sighed against her and his fangs brushed her skin with a feather-light touch. It was as if he were asking her permission to take in the elixir that she knew he’d been denied. Sighing his name, her fingers tenderly held him in place. She was blissfully ignorant of the tears that fell from both their eyes when she felt the brief sting of his fangs as they broke the tender flesh there. ******************************************** DECEMBER 2, 2027- NEW ENGLAND- Her vision blurred again as she looked at his sleeping form. It had been nearly two weeks since she had even seen Joni. Maybe she sensed her father was dying. Maybe she blamed her. Heaven knew she blamed herself. Her voice shook as she pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, as it entwined with hers, “Spike, it was a long, slow road back, then. But you made it. We had…so much. We have so much,” she swallowed the knife that was slicing her throat and making it difficult to speak, “Oh, God, if I had known what that spell would do to you, maybe I would’ve…no,” she shook her head, “I would have done it, even if I had known. I’m selfish that way. You knew I would do it, didn’t you?” Buffy tentatively brushed her fingers across the amulet she held in the pocket of her dungarees, “Willow says it’s the only way to stop this. But, I don’t know if I can do it. What if,” she stopped, as sobs once again took her speech. She rested her head against his chest and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.” ************************************************************************ Joni hadn’t meant to stay away so long, and as the sound of her footsteps rang in her ears, she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to put it together. Everything the old man said suddenly made sense. As she ran toward the house she wondered how many times, and how many different ways her Daddy had to hurt, before now. Before she finally understood. How long had that old man been waiting for her, in that cemetery? How long had he been there, and she hadn’t noticed him? How long had her Daddy been waiting? The tears ran down her face as she ran, “Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” *********************************************** Buffy’s sorrow was broken by the loud crash of the sickroom’s door opening. She looked over at the intrusion to see her daughter grinning with tears sliding down her face, “I get it now Daddy!” she said triumphantly, “I finally get it. It all fits!” Buffy was sure the stress of her father’s illness had broken her, “Joni, please,” she breathed, “Calm down.” Joni’s intense brown eyes held her mother’s gaze, “Mom, you trusted me when you rescinded the Slayer awakening spell, didn’t you?” Buffy nodded, wordlessly. “Then trust me now. Aunt Georgie can watch after Daddy,” Joni grabbed at her mother’s hand and gently pulled her along, “You still have the amulet?” Buffy gave another stunned nod. “Come with me,” Joni said, as she led her mother out of the house. ************************************ The caretaker in the cemetery watched their approach, safely hidden behind a stone. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. He could see her trembling with emotion, even from this distance as she slowly took the amulet out of her pocket and set it on the nearest stone, “That’s it, Love,” he whispered, “You can do this. Help me. Let me be with you, when the time comes. Love me enough to let me go. Trust that I’ll be with you. There’s no other place I’d rather be.” Through her tears, Buffy brought the amulet back and just as she was about to smash it against the stone, she caught sight of the caretaker’s eyes, peering at her from behind a stone. A warmth of recognition shot through her, “Homer,” she whispered as the crystal shattered against the stone. A warm breeze, unusual for December in New England, brushed softly by her cheek. Buffy could swear that she heard a voice in that breeze that said, “Thank you.” Buffy wiped tears from her eyes as her cell phone chirped, “Hello?” Georgie’s ecstatic voice sounded in her ears, “Buffy! I don’t know what you did, but…it’s gone! Like someone flipped a light switch or something. He woke up and he recognized everyone! Little Mabel,” Georgie laughed, “Even Xander! It’s like a miracle, Buffy. You have got to see this for yourself.” Buffy closed her phone in a daze and looked up at Joni, “Joni your Daddy…he’s awake! I have to get back to him,” she said as she started running in the direction of the house. Joni smiled as she watched her Mom running toward their house, “Okay Mom. I’m right behind you,” as she ran she whispered to the sky, “I love you Daddy.” THE END