Chapter 36:

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 37:

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 38:

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 39:

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 40:

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 41:
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 42:

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 43:

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 44:

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 45:

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 46:

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.”
**************************

 

Next