Chapter 47:

What Willow said kept ringing through her head. Say her goodbyes. Oh, God, how? How, when just looking at the closed wooden door, and knowing he was behind it, made her dizzy. So dizzy it almost made her sick to her stomach.

Buffy did not want to go through that door. Did not want her eyes to confirm what her heart already knew.

She resisted it at first. The pull. The pull he always had, ever since she’d seen him behind the Bronze. But eventually, she would give in. She always did.

She gave in to the horrible, wonderful, irresistible pull of her mate, even as her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Slowly, the door crept closer and closer. She tried to stop it. Tried to dig her heels in and stop her compulsive need to be at his side. Her mind and heart were screaming at her to stop.

Even as she found her hand lingering above the brass doorknob, the little girl in her was sobbing, don’t go in. Don’t go in. Stop. Stop. Stop!

But, a part of her didn’t want to stop because it knew what Willow said was true. If he was leaving, if he was truly dying, then she felt she needed to be by his side. She couldn’t leave him to face death alone. Not this time.

With a trembling hand, she opened the door. Just a crack, but it was enough. That sliver of space was enough to let it out. It hit her in the solar plexus, and it hit her hard. So hard that she staggered back a step. If she hadn’t been grasping the doorknob, she would have sank, like a stone, to the floor.

Being the Slayer, before there was a sea of Slayers that had gone to the edge of extinction and back, she knew that smell. It was the smell that weighed heavily in the air surrounding countless cemeteries. That smell became part of a Slayer’s life. It was in the air she breathed. It had been part of life. Inevitable. But not for him. Not this. Please, she silently begged as she held her breath to keep the invader out, not this. Not him. Please. Take anyone else. Anyone! Me! Please, you can’t have him. You mustn’t touch him. He wouldn’t let you in. He won’t!

Even as her heart screamed, her brain understood.

This was decay. This was death.

In the dim room, she could see her daughter hovering over the head of his bed. The light of her tears went straight to Buffy’s heart, “I think he’s asleep, Mom.” In this light, Jonina’s hawk-like features were more pronounced. That alone called an image to Buffy’s mind. An image of the one Joni called her father, before the virus had left nothing but a shell.

The way she carried herself spoke well of the pet name her father had for her. Jonina reminded her of a china doll, a china doll that was now on the verge of breaking because her world was slowly falling apart.

Buffy went to the bedside and put a hand on Joni’s shoulder. She felt a shudder of relief when Joni leaned into the touch, seeking comfort, “Honey,” she said softly, “why don’t you get some sleep?” Buffy could see that Joni did not want to leave, and she held her shoulder firmly, “For your Dad’s sake,” Buffy gave her daughter a sidelong glance, wincing in sympathy, “I know how you feel, Joni. But, do you really want to explain to him,” her head tilted toward the sleeping vampire, “when he wakes up why his ‘Best Girl’ is sick?” Buffy hissed at even the thought of his reaction, “’Cause I sure don’t. You’re not putting that one on me, Sweetie,” she smiled wryly, “ I’ve faced many an apocalypse but I don’t want to face that.”

Jonina nodded slightly, “You’re right Mom,” she placed a gentle kiss on the back of her Daddy’s hand, “Good night, Daddy. I love you,” she straightened, gave her mother a weary hug and quietly left the room.

Part of Spike had to be aware of what was happening around him, because as soon as the soft echo of the door latch died in the room, his eyes shot open. And, even though his voice barely registered above a whisper to her ears, his words were very clear, though his thoughts were not, “Love, please.”

“Yes Spike,” she leaned in close, hanging on his every word as if they were more precious than her own life. To her, at that moment they were, “What do you want?” She could feel her eyes swimming with tears, “Is there something you want?”

“Y-y-ess,” Buffy could see his chest rising in an effort to gain the air he needed for speech, if not for life, “Leave me…please. Take...” Buffy could see that his mouth was forming the words he meant to say but could not because the pain would not let him. Our girl. “Away.”

In that moment she knew what he was talking about. Knew where he thought he was. “No Spike,” she sobbed as her fingers quavered over his face as if to memorize it. Buffy completely ignored the blue lace-like mottling that covered his face. A mottling that would have been red if he’d have had circulating blood in his body. She didn’t see any of that. She only saw the face she once knew. The face she still loved, “I couldn’t leave you there. I just couldn’t!”

“Can!” he hissed, “Can,” the effort was sapping his strength. I believe “…In you.”

The fevered look of determination in his eye reminded her of that time. And that remembrance sent her body into painful full body sobs. Sobs that made it difficult to speak as she felt them take he over. But, she had to tell him she knew. So, she spoke, when all she really wanted to do, all she could do was curl up in a corner somewhere and die, “I know Spike,” she wailed, “I know you do. And, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

As she watched the last of his strength leave him, as his eyes drifted closed, Buffy bowed her head and cursed herself for not believing in herself they way that he had. The way he did, and always would. She cursed herself for not being able to survive without him.

If she had been able to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe the Slayers wouldn’t have been on the endangered species list. Maybe they all wouldn’t be here, like this, now.

Maybe.
*************************************************

Brown eyes met steel-grey in an eternal stand off. Which would blink first? Well, that Holland already knew. He grinned maliciously as the brown eyes faltered and looked away, “Too much for you?” he asked, in what seemed to be genuine concern, “It can be a bit overwhelming at times. I know.”

“What do you know about it?” Angel moaned.

Hurt flashed in his cold eyes, “I know plenty,” he said, as he leaned against the tombstone that haunted Angel, “Why are you here?” It was a pointed question.

Angel laughed. There was no humor in it, “I’m here because Spike finally did me, and the world, a favor and killed me.”

Holland crossed his arms, “Well, there is that,” he conceded, “But why are you,” he pointed at the tombstone in front of Angel and at the sod beneath their feet, “here? Why that stone? Care to read the name aloud?”

Angel felt his throat tighten, “I’d rather not.”

Holland nodded, “I know. Can’t always get what we want, as Mick once said. Read it.”

“William Alistair Dustin. Gone, but not forgotten. December 2, 2027.”

Holland stepped away from the stone and took his place beside Angel to ponder it, “It was a nice stone she gave him wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Angel nodded in agreement, “she…how did you know?”

Holland sighed, “Because, we’ve done this before, you and I. Everyone chooses their own private Hell. And, for some reason you’ve chosen this.”

“Then why are you here?”

Holland threw his head back in laughter, “You see, that’s the funny part of this job. I’m here,” suddenly the little baby appeared on his shoulder again, seemingly unharmed and cooing happily in his care, “to make sure that this little Dove fulfils the plan that’s been laid out for her,” Holland began patting the child’s back, in slow gentle rhythm, “In order to do that, ‘Daddy’ must follow. And now,” he beamed down into the girl’s face, “he will.”

As the light of understanding dawned on him, Angel hid his face in his hands and sunk, once again, to his knees, “Oh no. It wasn’t the baby you wanted at all, was it?” Angel’s eyes bore into Holland heatedly, “It was Spike you wanted all along. Am I right?”

“You were always the quick learner, Angelus. That’s why we like you.”

Angel felt something cold rise up within him and fill him, “I’ll stop you.”

“And how would you do that?” Holland asked, looking around at the vast grey that surrounded them, “Even if you could somehow get out of here, and warn them, who’d believe you? Buffy certainly wouldn’t. Not after what you pulled,” Holland’s eyes gleamed with a perverse pleasure as he stared back at Angel, “As I recall, someone told you you’d get eaten, didn’t they? You’ve been swallowed. And you didn’t even notice. Too busy fighting the battle to see the bigger picture. How are you at history, Angelus? Have you ever heard of a little thing called a ‘Trojan Horse’?”
*******************************

 

Chapter 48:

IN THE INTERREGNUM-

He held her face into his chest, trying to protect her, “Love,” he whispered, “ you don’t have to watch this. In fact I’d prefer that you didn’t,” his eyes met hers and he tried to bury the fear under a need to protect her, “Please Love, leave me now. I can do this on my own.”

Buffy’s eyes glistened up at him, “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to, not now.”

Spike shook his head angrily, “But Love, it didn’t need to be this way! All Angelus had to do was stay away from Jonina. That’s all that had to happen. Just a few more months and Rupert and he would have sussed this out. And the body count,” Spike sighed in frustration. Not even the gentle press of her lips on his could pull him from his dark mood. He abruptly pulled away from her comfort, “I was just starting to believe that we could find a way to minimize the damage. Now, with Joni in danger again, he won’t be able to see. Love he can’t even think straight,” he ran his hands over her soft skin and lovingly cupped her face so that he could see her eyes, “He was just starting to put the pieces together. Now the Home Office found a way to throw him off the track…”

“Throw him off the track?” Buffy whined, “Spike, this is our girl! Not just some nameless, faceless…”

“I know,” he said softly, trying to soothe her, “I know. And he does too, on some level. I’m getting him so bothered he’s calling me ‘Jiminy Cricket.’ I’m part of the reason he can’t think. That’s how the Home Office was able to step this up,” he rolled his eyes up, “ I can’t help but think that part of this is my fault. And, that thing with Angelus? Yeah, part of me enjoyed it. You know that. But I know it didn’t help. In fact, it may have made things worse. I still can’t understand how Holland Manners’s word weighs more with that Ponce than…”

Buffy noticed his voice trail off, and looked up to see his mouth pulling into a smirk, “Spike?”

“…That’s it Love. That’s it.”

“Spike, what?” Buffy asked, afraid to know the answer.

“I told the Higher Ups I’d protect Joni. But, they left me to my own devices as to how I did the protecting.”
**************************

All the way back to Los Angeles, the rage kept building. The boy had told him the odds he was up against. A part of him knew it was hopeless. But, his mind kept flashing on Buffy’s eyes and the way they looked when he found her in that empty nursery. That was all he needed to drive him onward. He would have their daughter back.

The only problem he saw was this, would she be their daughter, still, when she came back, if she came back? The boy told him that when he was in the Hell dimension he called home, there, sixteen years had passed and he had come to call Holtz, Angelus’s nemesis and his captor and only human contact, Father.

Sixteen years had passed for him, while on the outside a scant two weeks had gone by. Jonina was less then a month old, and had only been missing for three days. Three days had never felt more like a century than they did now. At least the boy had Holtz. Who did Jonina have to cling to? What would fill the empty space? Was there anything that could? Would she remember, once he had her back in his arms, would she remember them? Would she be theirs, or would she be changed forever? Would she still be his?

What would fill the empty space, the part of him that she took with her when she left?
*************************************************

Homer barely remembered her as he looked at this young lady sipping her cocoa, thoughtfully. Had she always been this beautiful?

He ducked his head, hiding behind his lashes; afraid he would reveal something of his loneliness to her in his eyes, “What do you remember of your Da, Sweetheart?”

She put her cup down and licked her lips taking away the sweet chocolate taste, “So many things,” she said dreamily, “Mostly, what I remember is his strength. And, his stillness.”

Homer’s eyes widened in wonder and he had to hide the grin that was threatening, “Stillness?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I know,” Jonina felt the need to defend him, “I know he didn’t seem like he could sit still for three seconds at a stretch. But, I was a very colicky baby. The only way I would go to sleep, nights, was lain out on my stomach, across my Daddy’s chest. It was still,” Joni could feel the heat flushing her face, “I know it’s silly. But, it was soothing.”

The memory ran across his mind and his breath caught, “That’s a very vivid memory. But, you were so small, surely you don’t really remember, do you?”

She nodded, “A part of me does,” she touched her heart, “It’s here. Even if I don’t consciously remember it, a part of me always will.”

Homer stifled his need to tell her, “Tell me more,” he said.
****************************************************

NOVEMBER 1, 2005- ROME

The phone rang. One. Two. Three. The machine picked up. Giles hated leaving something like this on a machine. Still, there was nothing to be done for it, “William, this is Rupert. I’m calling to inform you that the tests have been done. And, I regret to inform you that your child had…” he winced at his own insensitivity. So far as he knew, the child was still among the living, “…Has an extremely rare, ‘birth defect.’ I’m sending you the particulars, via fax, right now. Get back to me as soon as you can.”
***************************************


Spike stood outside the brick building on Jennings Street. Now the place looked dark and foreboding, when only days ago it had been filled with light. It was ready to become his little oasis of life in this maelstrom of death that had consumed him for so long.

As he put the key in the lock and turned on the lights, illuminating the small dojo around him, he chastised himself. Brooding like my Ponce of a Grandsire isn’t going to help me get my daughter back. He could hear the phone machine chattering away in Giles’s voice. Something to do with Jonina. Please, don’t remind me, not now. There’s no place for the hurt. Angelus. I can’t believe I actually dusted him. Yes, I can. I couldn’t see past the rage. It’s still in me.

Spike made his way to the locker rooms at the back of the dojo. There he carefully shed his duster and boots, and came out into the dojo proper.

The demon in him was itching for a bit of violence. Needed it, in fact, if he was going to center himself again. There was one person on this whole planet, aside from Buffy, who understood that need, and could give him a good fight.

He went up to the secretary’s desk, dialed the number and punched the button for the speakerphone. One ring. Two. Three. Spike closed his eyes. It was clear that no one was home.

Just as he was about to resign himself to the dim fate of having to abuse old Ray once again, he heard a voice question the air, “Hello?”

Spike let out a sigh of relief, “Georgie, did I wake you?”

“Nope,” she said quickly.

“You up for a round then?” he asked, “Usual weapons?”

“Sure. I’m on my way.”

Good. If he was going to sublimate his baser instincts, he could think of no one better to be with. He knew his demon would not be satiated until blood was flowing. He also knew that if he let it take him over, if he truly gave himself over, the part of him that loved humanity and Buffy and Jonina in particular, would be snuffed out. He would become the thing he hated most.

He would become Angelus.

So, until Georgie arrived, a brutal round with the heavy bag would have to suffice.
************************

On her way to Jennings Street, Georgie couldn’t help but be concerned for him. She’d never heard that edge in his voice before. This was an obvious emergency.

She pulled up, slowly got out and retrieved the supplies from the trunk. Carefully going up to the door, she gave a timid knock. Rustling could be heard from behind the door. It opened and it was apparent that he’d been working out.

She tried, she really did, to hide the appreciative look she gave him. But, it wasn’t working, not if the smile he was giving her was any indication, “Sorry,” she said, clearly embarrassed by her girlish reaction.

“Not at all, Love. I always knew you were a woman. And,” he winked at her, and she felt the blush burn deeper, “Seeing that,” his eyes flashed on her face, “Makes me know it’s all worth it. Did you bring the equipment?”

“Uh,” Georgie stuttered, “Yeah,” she said holding up the chess set, “White or black?” she asked as she followed him into the dojo.

“Black, Love. Always black.”
*****************************

“VERITAS” NIGHTCLUB

Lorne chanced a worried look over at Buffy, and turned his back, hoping she wouldn’t overhear, “Yeah, there was a hot spot where my old club was. I think it’s still hot. Why?” Lorne couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “The little sugar lump is there? In that place, oh no. Of course I’ll tell her,” he looked at Buffy again. He hoped she was together enough to understand, “We’ll be ready,” Lone said as he hung up the phone.

Lorne knelt in front of Buffy, “Well Moon Pie, Spike’s coming. He’s gonna get your baby back to you, that’s a promise. But he’s gonna need your help.”
*****************************

Homer noticed the tiny glint of metal as it shone in the light. He had to ask her about it, “What’s that around your neck, Sweetheart?”

“Oh, this?” she asked as she fished the ring from under her sweater, “This is my Daddy’s wedding ring,” she said as she touched the metal with loving fingers, lost in memories, “Mommy gave it to me when he…” her voice trailed off, the memories too painful to relive.

Lost in memories himself, Homer touched, absently, the place where that ring had rested for so many years. His voice was weighed down with emotion as he said, “He must have loved you very much.”

Joni nodded, her eyes shining with tears, “He did,” she agreed, looking up into an old man’s tearful gaze, “I know he did.”
 

Chapter 49:

******************************

What Rupert was telling him quickly dampened the small victory Spike had felt over winning yet another chess match with Georgie. He didn’t win often, but when he did, he relished them, usually.

Not today though. Today, he felt as though he’d won the battle but lost the war. He still couldn’t believe it, “Tell me again, Watcher,” he must have been sleep deprived. That was the only logical explanation for what he’d heard. Spike knew his worries for his child could do a number on his brain. But, how could it get this bad and he never noticed? “I think I misheard you. It sounded like you said…” he shook his head in disbelief, “What?”

The air inside the little brick building on Jennings Street crackled with the sound of Giles’s tired, but understanding tone, “As I’ve said, Willow…and I think that what happened in Sunnydale did more than just awaken potential Slayers. It may have…done something to you as well.”

“Well yeah,” Spike said derisively, “it turned me to ash, sucked me inside an amulet, which then spit me back out again, as a bloody ghost! That about the size of it?”

“Quite,” Giles sighed, “Do you remember anything of the interim? The time between the Hellmouth and Wolfram and Hart?”

“No,” the answer came firmly and quickly. Because, he was lying.

He did remember. He remembered all too well.

First, there was the odd sensation of being free. To finally be free, finished at long last had filled, was that his soul, with a joy he had never before felt. But that was short lived. Then came the numbness, and the terror. For what seemed to stretch into eternity, his limbs were torn asunder and his eyes, oh, God, his eyes. He’d wished for so long that he’d had the means to pluck his eyes from their sockets.

He knew he didn’t deserve Heaven, but what, what had he done to be tortured like that?

To see the one bright spot in his world of darkness fade slowly from his grasp was just too cruel.

But then, that’s what Hell was, wasn’t it? He expected nothing less. He screamed for someone to save him, to sweep him up and keep him from dying, again and again, and again. But no one heard. No one was there to hold him. And, would never be, again.

Buffy was dead. And, he was alone. He was numb again. Dead. He’d been alive, through them. He’d been warm. Living, breathing and alive. Now he was not.

A primal rage boiled up in his veins, and he howled as he felt his heart tearing away from his body.

He died, night after night. Day after day and year after year, blinded and silenced by pain, he died. And Buffy was still dead. He screamed until his lungs were raw, and no one heard.

Until that blessed day his voice was heard, and on angels’ wings he flew. Flew to strangers’ faces, all except one, Angelus, who told him that she still lived. Oh, bright Angel, speak again! Tell me she yet lives!

But then, that was torn from him too. He was plunged again into the depths of Hell. He kept vigil over first her stone, then his own. He went on like this, year after year, until he’d forgotten his own name. Then she came, and she brought with her the hope that he might yet escape this fate. If he could only keep her safe, then all would be well, and nothing could be ill.

She was his one bright hope of escaping this fate, and he’d do what needed to be done to preserve that hope.

Spike pulled away from the pain and tried to focus on what he was being told, “Did you hear me?” Giles was asking.

“Yeah, just went elsewhere for a bit. You tend to get a bit dry, Watcher,” he lied. What the man was saying was utterly devastating, “So…Willow’s spell made things go wonky, did it? And Joni got drawn into that. Just one question, Watcher, how do I get her out?”

“We…don’t know.”

“Well,” Spike hissed, “since this is Red’s mess, first things first. She gets here. Now!” Spike growled, “Before I get really testy. And don’t lecture me about Council ‘procedures’ again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, extremely,” Giles replied, tersely.

**********************

Inside the cabin, Homer and Joni heard the wind howling outside. Homer had been here for years, ever since his sweet Elisabeth had been taken from him, and he’d never seen a winter, or a storm for that matter, come on so strong.

Homer’s heart clenched with dread. His time with her was growing short. Some part of him knew that, and was glad. She should be with the living, not here among dead things. Yet, he would miss her when she left. He’d been so lonely without his dear Elisabeth. Having someone so young here lessoned the sting of her absence.

Still, he knew this was how it was to be. He remembered that much.

He watched as the wind swirled the white snow against an angry black sky. He looked over at his guest. She had come to stand with him by the window and was squinting, stretching her gaze out the window, her hands resting on the sill. She looked worried. “Storm’s coming,” he said, “and it looks like a big one, too. Never seen one brew up this fast,” he put his hand on her shoulder, “Maybe you should get home,” Homer tried to keep his voice steady, “Back to your Mum?”

“You’re right. She’ll be worried,” Joni looked out the window of this tiny cabin. It was awful outside. Dark. And, even though she couldn’t feel it, she knew it was cold outside of this little oasis. It had to be. A night this dark couldn’t be anything else, “Maybe I should wait until the storm lets up a bit. Do you have a telephone?”

“No,” Homer said, “I’m a bit behind the times here, “ he shrugged, grinning sheepishly, “Besides, I’m old and the neighbors aren’t very lively. Who would call me?”

Something inside of Joni’s heart jumped, “Mom would know if I was in danger, or hurt,” looking into Homer’s eyes, she saw the glow of something familiar. It was so close, just out of her reach. If she could just know what it was that made her want to stay here, “She’d rather I was safe,” she shook her head as she saw the blur of snow outside the window, “It’s looking nasty out there. And, at least I’m warm and safe here. Right?”

Homer nodded quickly in agreement, “Yes, as safe as can be.”

Joni sighed with relief, “Well then I’ll stay. At least until dawn.”

Jonina noticed the wave of gratefulness that came over the old man. It made his limbs loosen and pulled his spine straighter. He seemed instantly lighter, younger somehow.

His face looked different. His eyes. Grey was suddenly overcome by blue. A deep and very familiar blue from someplace barely forgotten, stood instead of the grey. She blinked, hoping it would go away, yet wanting it to stay. Yes. Please stay. Tell me I’m not dreaming, please.

In an instant, the old man was gone. Her friend was gone and her heart swelled with an aching joy at the one who stood in this tiny little cabin with her now.

He watched her sway on her feet. That’s when he knew. She’d seen him. She’d seen through the veil of her grief, “Joni?” he smiled, trying to control the torrent of joy that threatened to take him under, “Joni, are you all right?”

She knocked the breath out of him, taking him in her arms in the embrace of the lost. As if he could speak now even if he wanted to. His ears were full of her voice. Brimming with her joyful sobs, “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy! Oh, I am now. I am now!”
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Chapter 50:

The gloating session was short-lived. One minute Georgie was breathing a sigh of relief, pleased that she’d been able to put that sparkle back in his eyes and help him forget about the cares of the world, if only for a moment; she knew better then to expect him to forget that sweet little baby, but if he didn’t take care of himself and remember who he was, he’d never be able to help her. She had never been so happy to see that evil glint in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him shine like that since he’d given her a blow-by-blow rundown of how he’d beaten the tar out of her ex-boss, Mr. Angel, in that old opera house. Her heart soared seeing it. But now, that was gone. It had been replaced, in a flash, by something far more sinister.

The pace and look of a trapped, wounded wild animal was what he stared at her now. Watching him move like that as he spoke to the Watcher, really made her wonder if this age of instant communication and gratification was such a good thing. There was something to be said for ages past and for the charm of distance. At least back when Spike had been a boy, bad news could be delayed. That wasn’t a luxury these days, not in the age of the computer, the television and the fax machine.

Georgie knew there was no way to escape that tone in his voice. Even if she left, which was unthinkable at this point, his plight would give her sleepless nights. It already gave her nightmares. She tried to busy herself with tidying up the workout rooms. Yes, they had a cleaning service that came once a week, but a girl had to do something to keep from going insane.

Even taking careful inventory of the towels didn’t keep her from hearing snippets of the conversation. Something to do with how he’d come to be at Wolfram and Hart; all this talk of amulets and magic spells made her feel as though she’d been dropped into the middle of some science fiction novel.

She’d learned that, as an employee of Wolfram and Hart, it was better not to ask questions. But she knew better than to think that “Mr. Angel” and his circle of cohorts were normal. That’s why she had liked it down in the motor pool; at least there she knew what things were. A car was a car. There were no weird surprises.

Spike wasn’t normal. She knew that. He was a vampire, like Angel. She knew that, too. But, with him, what you saw was what you got. There was no pretense. She loved him for that.

No, it was more than that. She loved him. And, she loved him because he’d accepted her, imperfection and all, limitations and all, when the world did not.

She loved him, and she wasn’t the only one who did. She knew that too. Because of that, she would follow him on whatever crazy adventures came along. It was the only thing she could do. She couldn’t help it. She loved him. Somehow, Georgie suspected that whomever he came into contact with loved him, whether they wanted to or not.

Georgie was so engrossed in trying to keep her mind off of the details of the conversation she wasn’t supposed to be hearing, that when he stood in front of her she was startled. But, not as startled as he seemed to be, “Spike?” he looked stricken and lost, as if he didn’t know who she was. Her heart skipped a beat, “Oh my…God. What’s happened?”

He tilted his head and squinted at her. Taking a step forward, he asked, “Who are you?”

“What do you mean who…” that’s when she noticed it. The noise she was trying so desperately to tune out hadn’t stopped. Spike was still arguing with the Watcher.

But how could that be, when he was standing right in front of her?

Spike must have noticed as well, because he turned and moved in the direction of the voice, obviously wanting to hear more.

Georgie closed her eyes. This wasn’t happening. She was just tired. That must have been it, because when she opened her eyes Spike was still on the telephone with the Watcher, arguing at the top of his lungs, “Changed…me…how?”

“The spell,” Giles was saying, “…The amulet,” the man’s voice was ragged, “I’m sorry. There’s no other way to say this.”

“Just say it, Rupert!” Spike growled.

“It left a fragment of your soul…in the place where you were. Are you certain you don’t remember?”

Georgie could hear the icy terror envelop the whole place as she heard him say, “ And Joni?”

“I believe so. I don’t know how it’s possible, but that child is yours…by blood. I believe she may have been drawn to you. If she’s not here…then it follows that she is most probably…”

“…There,” Spike finished, “Oh, God. No.”

He did remember. It was torture, watching the one woman he loved even more than his own existence die over and over again. There were bright spots. When he had forgotten his own name. When he’d been driven nearly mad with loneliness, she came. But those were few. So few that, he’d begun to believe that the world he’d dreamed of at night was just that, a dream.
******************************
Joni didn’t want to let him go. If she was dreaming, she didn’t want to wake up. If she was dead, Aunt Willow should let her stay that way, “Oh, Daddy,” she sobbed, “Oh Daddy, I missed you!” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Oh, God. It was him. He was real.

She was here. She was in his arms and she was real. He’d almost forgotten. Almost made himself believe he’d made her out of his own need, so that he could be rid of the awful loneliness that had followed him here. Almost.

But he did remember her. Somewhere, he remembered his little girl and how she’d smelled of sunlight and soap. It all came back to him, and she was real. He started to sob, big wracking sobs, and he held her tightly to him, almost crushing her, because she was the one true thing.

She was his proof, his one true north. The proof that he hadn’t gone insane in this prison he’d been banished to. And, as much as he loved her, as much as he needed her, he knew she didn’t belong here.

“Joni,” he sobbed, hating to tear himself away from her sweet scent. The scent that meant home to him. Home, and her, “where’s your Mother?”

He could feel the wetness of her tears and the pressure of her head against him as she shook her head, “I don’t know, Daddy. And, I don’t care. I want to stay here, with you.”

“I know,” he whispered, letting his own tears fall, “I know you do. But you can’t. You don’t belong here,” he held her back, to stare into her large, beautiful, loving eyes. Eyes he’d only dreamed of, for so long, and shook his head in astonishment, “However did you get here, Dove? Will you at least tell me that?”

She shook her head, still sobbing, “I don’t care! I don’t care. I’m here. That’s all I care about. That’s all I wanted!”

As much as he wanted to drown in her, to take solace in his sweet little girl, one thought crowded out the joy he felt, “Where is your Mother?”

Joni held him tighter, not wanting to tell him. She brought her eyes to meet his gaze, and then she knew. His eyes were so innocent, so trusting and open. He didn’t know. He didn’t remember.

And she hated herself, once again, for being the means of taking that peace from him, “Oh Daddy,” she said as the tears welled up again, threatening to spill, and this time not from the joy of seeing him again, “don’t you remember?”

He shook his head slightly, in disbelief and whispered, “No,” he staggered back away from her, in shock, “No,” he begged, his head still shaking in disbelief and denial, “She’s not…?” he beseeched her.

“Oh, Daddy,” she cried, coming toward him with her arms up in a gesture of surrender and sorrow, wanting to hold him again, “I’m sorry. She died. Years ago.”
********************************
Giles was afraid that the subject may have brought on some type of shell shock, “Spike, are you still with me? Or, have we lost the connection?”

Spike’s voice was chocked from stress, “No. I’m still here. I’m still here.”

Though there was a time when he wished he wasn’t. A time when he had to lash out at someone. He needed someone to blame.

He dimly remembered it now, but it seemed so clear at the time.

*******************************
OCTOBER 3, 2003

A wall. No, this wasn’t right. Where was that little sprite that seemed to know him? Where did she go?

“Where did you go?”

He turned. There was that green fellow with the horns again, “What…what?”

“You took the whats right out of our mouths. Where’d you go?”

Why in Hell were they asking him? The last thing he remembered before waking up here was burning in the Hellmouth. Then he winks out and hears bits of a conversation about an amulet and someone named Joni. Something about that sent him reeling.

Nothing made sense. He looked around for something to anchor him, a familiar face to pin to the wall. They said something about the amulet. Angelus brought the amulet to Sunnydale. This was his fault.

Spike turned and pointed a finger of accusation at his tormenter, “You,” he croaked, “This is your fault. You brought that bloody amulet to Sunnydale. You would have been the one to use it, until you chickened out!”

“What did you say?” Angel fumed. How dare Spike question his motives.

“You heard me!” Spike shot back, “Abandoned the woman you claimed to love.”
*********************************

Spike couldn’t take it anymore. Talking about this was bringing things up that he’d wanted to keep buried. Bringing up a time of pain that felt like years. He was here now, not in that place anymore. He didn’t have to be without her. He was here. And, so was she. And he would prove it, “Enough talk,” he said gruffly, “We have work to do, and I need to see her.”
*****************************

Spike opened the door of “Veritas” feeling the desperation swell in him. He needed to see her. He needed to know that she was real, that she was alive.

He scanned the dim atmosphere of the club for her. In the sea of demons, vampires and humans that mingled peacefully here, he saw her, sitting on a bar stool at the bar. She looked so lost that he thought perhaps she was a mirage.

He moved swiftly to her, longing to hold her in his arms again, “Love,” he said as he knelt in front of her, “I think I know where she is,” he looked intently into her shining eyes. He didn’t want to see the tears that stood there fall.

He kissed her lightly, savoring the softness of her lips and the sweetness of her taste. He had to remember it. He had to, because it was all he would be taking with him. And he knew, it could be the last, “I’ll find her and bring her back to you,” he whispered as he held her tight, inhaling the scent of her, “I promise.”
**************************

 

Chapter 51:

IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE

Holland Manners knew that entropy engagement was a tricky thing, and with this new development he had to scramble to salvage this operation. The Champion had help from an unexpected quarter. This was not foreseen, although, it should have been.

As Holland paced his lushly carpeted office he surveyed the fine mahogany furnishings. Nothing but the best of everything was offered here. It was their best recruiting tool. Appeal to a being’s vanity, his baser instincts, and nothing can pull them from your grasp. Not even a Higher calling can sway them, once they’ve been led down the garden path.

This kind of manipulation was what the Home office was known for. And it would have worked, if not for the anomaly that called itself a vampire.

Holland Manners had grown accustomed to the perks that came with this office. And now because the Champion had somehow convinced the Higher Ups to make an exception, this could all disappear. In the blink of an eye, he could be down with the dregs, with the rest of the rabble.

This was unthinkable. The Higher Ups had never, never granted this request before. The only way to stop this now was to take the child and keep her until her presence would no longer be of any effect.

Holland hated to think of the kind of damage that would be inflicted by this agreement.

The effects could be devastating. No Slayer had ever come back from the dead.

This could be disastrous.
****************************

THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE

Joyce Summers knew better than to try to talk her daughter out of this. There was no talking a Slayer, or a Summers woman, out of anything once their minds were set. Still, she had tried. For hours she tried, but nothing had worked.

There was still one thing she could pull out of her bag of tricks that might, just might, stop Buffy.

“You know, Sweetie,” Joyce knew it was futile, even before she said it, but it was all she had. Why not go for broke? My God, she thought as she drew up the courage to say it, I really do take after my son-in-law, “Spike won’t really like this idea very much.”

“I know,” Buffy acknowledged grimly, “That’s why he can’t know.” She shook her head, the images still swimming in her mind, “It was bad enough the first time around, for both of us. If he knew this?” her eyes gleamed back at her mother, “It would destroy him. I know it would.”

Joyce tried to put herself in that position, to try to understand why Buffy felt she needed to do this, “But Buffy, that doesn’t excuse…”

“No,” she agreed, “it doesn’t. But, in the end, he might be able to understand, and forgive me,” she sighed, “I can’t leave him alone. I have to do this. Even if it all ends up the same, even if he never knows, or understands why I did this, it still has to be done.”

Joyce held Buffy’s shoulders lightly, trying to give comfort. She remembered watching, wishing she could do something, as his wounded soul agonized over the very same thing. It agonized so much that it nearly drove him mad, “He’s already forgiven you. He told you that.”

“Then maybe I need to do this to be able to forgive myself,” Buffy looked down in shame, unable to meet her mother’s eyes, “Someday maybe I will.”

Joyce gave a nod of sad acceptance, “All right then. She’ll be coming soon,” Joyce turned to leave, “You’re sure?” she called back over her shoulder, giving Buffy one last opportunity to back out.

Buffy nodded.

“I’ll go meet her then,” Joyce said as she disappeared into the mist, “She’s expecting me.”
**********************************
MAY 22, 2001-

The last thing Buffy remembered was jumping off that tower. Then, there was nothing. She saw all her friends standing still, in shock. They were looking at something on the ground.

It was her they were looking at. She was lying on the ground. And, she was dead.

Strangely, it should have hurt. She knew she was dead because her friends were all around her, and they were crying. She knew they were crying because she heard the sound. A sound unlike any she’d heard before. It sounded like an echo, like something empty would sound. Her body should have hurt, but it didn’t. The body was just temporary. She could get over the hurt of the body. It was nothing.

It should have hurt. It did hurt. The empty sound tore at her. She had to make it stop. She had to find out what was making that sound and do whatever she could to offer comfort. Because she knew what that kind of sound came from. She’d made that sound herself, in her heart, when her Mom died.

She looked around for the source of the sound. Maybe it was one of her friends. Xander, or maybe it was Willow who was making that sound. Or maybe it was Dawn.

No. Dawn would survive. She was strong, and that was a good thing.

Buffy heard a voice behind her. A voice that was dead and gone. Did people have voices after they were dead? Buffy didn’t think they did. But she knew now that she was wrong because her Mom said, “Hello, Sweetheart. How are you?”

“Mommy?” she asked, putting her hands over her ears to block out the painful sound, “Is that you? Do you hear that?” she pressed her hands hard against her ears trying to block the sound. It hurt. It really hurt. It hurt so much that she was starting to cry, “What is that?” she yelled, trying to be heard over the aching wail, “Do you know?” Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. It had to stop.

Buffy saw her Mom give a sad smile, “Yes. I do know. That’s what it sounds like when a soul breaks,” Joyce said, walking up to her daughter and hugging her, “It’s the saddest sound the angels can hear. They hear it every time a loved one dies.”

Buffy couldn’t bear it anymore. She shook her head to try and force the terrible sound out, “Oh Mommy, it hurts! I didn’t know. I thought Dawn would be all right. I didn’t know…”

“Not Dawn,” Joyce whispered, as the sound she had grown accustomed to grated against her nerves as well.

Buffy’s eyes went wide, looking at her silent friends. She had no idea that he cared this much. She moved in closer to him, to watch his face, “Xander?”

“No Buffy, not Xander.”

“Then who?” she asked.

Her mother turned around, stepping out of the way so that Buffy could see what she didn’t see before, “Look.”

She did. What she saw stunned her. He was separate, away from the others. The strong vampire, the one she counted on to protect Dawn, was gone. Buffy didn’t even recognize him. No. It wasn’t possible.

“And, why not?” Joyce asked gently, “Why isn’t it possible? He told you he loved you,” Joyce hated watching his pain and tried to keep the emotion out of her tone as she continued, “And unlike some of his kind, he has a hard time with untruths. But then, he’s always been a puzzle.”

“But, he doesn’t have a soul,” Buffy wondered at him. She knelt down to see him better; grateful she was invisible because the pain in his eyes made her ache. She could see his hand trembling as he stared, disbelievingly, at the body that lie on the ground broken and battered.

The body was nothing. It meant nothing. But somehow she still hurt. She hurt for him.

As she watched him collapse as if something had been ripped from him, she heard the roar. And suddenly, she understood, “That awful sound. It’s deafening,” she gasped, as she knew it hadn’t abated, but grew in its intensity, crushing him under its weight. She turned her wondering eyes toward her mother, “It’s him, isn’t it?” she blinked back tears, “It’s him that’s making that sound?”

Joyce nodded, “It is.”

“I didn’t know,” she sobbed for him, “I swear…I didn’t know.”

“There’s so much that this world doesn’t understand. So much that you don’t.”

Buffy slowly drew herself away from him, and his pain, “But I want to,” she said as she came to her Mother’s side, “I want to. Show me.”
**********************

In the blink of an eye she was transported through space and time. She found herself in an underground cavern. She had to squint because of a bright light. Weren’t caves supposed to be dark? She squinted harder, trying to find the source of the light.

What she found amazed her. Spike was the source of the ethereal light that bathed the cavern. He was pinned against a wall of stone and sand. The emotions she felt flowing from him were seismic, yet he remained still and serene.

He knew he was dying and that he wouldn’t have her light to guide him anymore. Time to fly. His chin lifted in defiance. Come on then. Let’s do this. Give it me good. Buffy. Goodbye, Love. Live for me. Live Love. And, be happy. Please.

Was that a laugh she heard emitting from his disintegrating throat? Yes, it was. With that, the vampire she thought was indestructible scattered and disappeared. No, it wasn’t possible.

Buffy was bereft, “How Mom?” Buffy had forgotten that she no longer needed to breathe, and choked on the hurt she felt putting pressure on her chest, “It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Why does it hurt so much to watch that?”

“It hurts because of this,” Joyce said, as she waved her hand.

The scene changed. Buffy saw two clasped hands, joined in flame, and in death. This was his last. She knew that. She couldn’t wait anymore. Couldn’t put it off. She had to say it, before it was too late.

Buffy’s soul screamed out the words. I love you!

Joyce watched as the tears cascaded down Buffy’s cheeks. She tenderly wiped them away with her thumbs as she comforted her grieving daughter, “It hurts because you’ve just been shown a thing that you’ve been taught cannot be. It hurts because, whether you know it or not, you’ve just been torn from your other half,” at Buffy’s puzzled look she said, “Without you he cannot fulfill his destiny. Without you, the First will win. Without him, you will die.”

“What?”
*******************

The scene before her changed once again:

Dawn was suddenly grateful that Georgina had agreed to take care of Jonina for the night because she didn’t think she would be able to explain this to her. The wail was as inhuman as anything on the Hellmouth.

They were all huddled outside the small bedroom of the idyllic New England home. He had brought the tiny family here when she had taken ill, to take care of her.

It was as far from the Hellmouth as he could get her.

The look in Willow’s eyes as she reacted to the sounds of grief emanating from the room were nothing compared to the void that Dawn knew awaited her when, and if, she was brave enough to go into that room. Willow wanted to do what she could to comfort him, and started to make her way to the doorway when Dawn stepped in her way, “Willow, I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” she said, as she listened to the slowly rising tide of grief, “You never know what he could say or do,” she nodded begging her to understand, “He may still blame you.”

“I know,” Willow sobbed, “And, I don’t care. I deserve it.”

The sound that Dawn heard coming from the room now was a sound she hadn’t heard in twenty years, and it chilled her to the bone. That sound meant only one thing. It was over. Her sister was dead.

Dawn tried to close her ears to the sound and focus on Willow. It wasn’t much, but she would take any port in the storm of grief that she was sure awaited her once she went into that room.

She didn’t want to go into that room. She would have done anything to stay out of the Hell that was in that room. She couldn’t bear seeing that vacant look in his eyes again. He had put all his hopes in her and now with her gone she wondered if he would be able to pull himself out, or if he would let himself drown again.

Dawn walked slowly into the darkened room. The haze of sorrow that hung in the air made it difficult to see, though she could make out the outline of Spike as he hovered near the head of the bed, “Spike, is there anything I can do?”

His voice was a strangled whisper, “Nothing to be done, Bit,” the vortex of pain and grief that rose up to meet her nearly made her gasp, “She’s dead. There’s nothing left.”

The pain she felt riveted her to the spot. It took all her effort to make the muscles of her throat work so that her voice could be heard over the lump of sadness that had settled in the pit of her stomach, “Yes, there is, Spike,” her voice wavered, “There’s you. There’s me, and there’s Joni.”

His eyes narrowed, as if her name was painful to him, “Joni?” his eyes widened in recognition, “Joni? Where is she, Bit?” he stood up abruptly, his voice shaken, “Bit, tell me she didn’t hear that. I didn’t…oh God,” his head was shaking in disbelief, his eyes beseeching her to understand, “Bit, I didn’t mean for her to hear,” Spike had crossed the little room with surprising speed, grasping Dawn’s shoulders in a desperate embrace, “Tell me she didn’t hear that. I couldn’t do that to her.”

Dawn could see that the idea of keeping Jonina insulated from her mother’s death was the only thing that was keeping him tethered to this reality, “No, Spike, she didn’t hear that,” she said softly, “Joni’s safe,” at his questioning, frenzied look she finished with, “She’s with George,” she nodded, “Understand? She’ll be back in the morning.”

He looked back at the window, his voice seeming to come from very far away, “It’s dark. She hates the dark. She needs a night light.”

Dawn couldn’t be sure he was talking about Joni, “She’ll be all right,” Dawn cooed, as she led Spike slowly out of the room, “She’s your daughter. She’ll be all right.”

For the first time since she knew him, Spike truly felt like dead weight in her arms as she guided him out into the small hallway. Buffy really did seem to be his life force. And now that she was gone, Dawn didn’t know if he’d ever be the same again.

As they reached the threshold Willow stepped into their path. Dawn silently prayed that she would just keep her mouth shut and leave him alone. She hoped that Willow would know enough about Spike by now to just let him pick up the pieces at his own pace. Once he could put the pieces back, in some kind of order, then he’d approach her. Willow just needed to give Spike time to lick his wounds. She just needed to back off. But, Dawn knew, in her heart, that this was something Willow still needed to learn.

“Spike, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I never, never thought that this would happen,” the tears were flowing down her face, “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do…”

Dawn winced as the demon he seldom let come to the fore revealed itself, as if it were protecting the injured part of itself from a threat, “Why is the witch weeping?” he growled, “Your job is finally done. She finally succumbed,” his head tilted in grim contemplation of the instrument of his destruction. Amber eyes swam as they stared at her, “I admire your prowess, witch,” he spat, “I’ve known the lifeblood of two Slayers,” his throat and lips quivered. It was a thing that Dawn didn’t think she’d ever see. A demon in the throws of sorrow, “And shared the life of one. But you,” he pointed a shaking finger at her, “you’ve taken the lives of hundreds! How does it feel, witch, to have your hands drenched in their blood?”

Willow shrank under his fiery glare, “Spike, please. I want to help.”

His jaw twitched, “You wish to help me, do you, witch?”

She nodded.

Spike placed his hand in the center of his chest and nodded, “You want to help me, Red?” his face fixed itself into a mask of agony, “Find a stake and do it, Red. It’s hollow.”

Willow shook her head in horror at what he was asking, “No!” she gasped, “What about Joni?”

“Please, Red, I’m empty without her. You’ve already killed me. Just finish the job,” he choked down a sob as he begged for release from torment, “Please?”

Willow was stunned into silence as Dawn gently guided him past her, “Come on, Spike,” she whispered, “You don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s get some rest.”
*******************

Buffy’s heart clenched in fear and her mind reeled, “Mom, what was he talking about? There’s only one Slayer, always has been. Who’s Joni? Mom, who died? What would make him prefer a stake in the heart to being here? He’s always been so strong.”

Joyce nodded grimly, “Yes. He’s always been strong. But, even the strongest of us have a breaking point,” her eyes went down in a gesture of love and respect for the loss they’d just been witness to, “His wife just died. And, Joni is their little girl. She’s only ten, and she’s just lost her Mother. Spike’s just lost his life.”

Buffy was taken aback by this news, “Wife? Spike’s married?”

“Yes. To the Slayer.”

That made Buffy a little jealous. She grinned in spite of it, more than a little happy for the news. Though she was at a loss to explain why, “He married a Slayer?”

“Not just a Slayer. He married * the * Slayer. Buffy, he married you.”

Buffy began to understand. “Something happened, didn’t it? Because of this?”

Joyce nodded again.

Spike pleaded with the spirits, “I understand, I do. I know what’s at stake,” he looked, sadly, over at Buffy and Joni as the stood huddled together, trying not to look as devastated as he felt.

“Child, you understand that if this is done the other will receive the thing that should rightfully be yours.”

“What?” Spike gasped.

“It is done, and it will not be undone. We have done as you requested, child. We can do nothing more,” the angel he had pinned his daughter’s future to, and Buffy’s as well, disappeared from sight.

For an instant, nothing moved. Nothing could. Even here, Angelus had managed to best him. He just couldn’t fathom it.

He turned when he heard his daughter and wife sobbing. He saw the pain on their faces, and tried to smile, “You be good now, Joni. Take care of your Mum. She’s gonna need you,” he looked at Buffy longingly as he wiped away her tears, “No tears now, Love. Please? I couldn’t take it. We know I don’t belong here now. Maybe I never did.”

“That’s not true, Spike!” she sobbed, “You…”

He shook his head, resigned to his fate, “That may have been true once, Love,” he shrugged, “But I never really belonged anywhere. I’m used to it,” the next words came out quickly, for fear that they would be taken from him before he could say them, “I love you,” he was desperate, “Remember that, please!”

In the blink of an eye, they disappeared.

Buffy watched as he disappeared from sight. Spike was condemning himself to Hell, and he was doing it to protect the people he loved. This wasn’t right.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. The decision was an easy one to make, “I’m going to follow him,” she said.

“But, Mommy you can’t do that.”

Her eyes flashed, “I know why he did what he did, Joni,” her chin quivered at the emptiness and loss she was feeling, “But, you should know by now that your parents don’t exactly follow the rules. I promised him once that I would follow him, no matter where he went. And, I’m keeping that promise. He needs me.”

“But, what about…”

Buffy gritted her teeth and tilted her head in determination. For an instant, Joni was reminded of her Daddy, and how much she missed him, “Joni, I don’t really care what happens. I have to be with him. I can’t leave him alone, not when he needs me. What can happen,” she asked the wide expanse, “I die again?” she smiled wryly, “Been there. Done that,” she hugged her daughter close, “I have to keep my promise, Joni.”
*************************

Buffy was dizzy with the impact of what her Mom was showing her, “His destiny is tied to me, isn’t it?” She understood what her mother was silently asking her, “I have to go there, don’t I? I have to give him hope. Keep the promise, so that he can save me.”

“Yes.”

Fine,” Buffy nodded, “I’ll go Mommy. I love you,” Buffy said as she melted into the mist.


 

Chapter 52:

Spike turned his anguished blue eyes to Lorne, who was looking at Buffy with an expression that mirrored what he felt inside. Spike looked back at her blank face and asked, “How long has she been like this?”

Lorne had busied himself with tiding up the bar after it had closed. He didn’t want to see the emptiness in her eyes, and he thought the chores would help to distract him. They didn’t. With a tone that revealed just how weary he was, he loved them both but this kind of emotional upheaval was pure Hell on an empath demon’s nerves, he told him, “She’s been like that since the little sugar lump went missing. She hasn’t slept since you left her here,” the cutting glance that was shot his way made Lorne draw back from its heat and put his hands up as if to ward off a blow, “I tried to make her eat. I did,” he shook his head in resignation, “But, she hasn’t done that either. At first I thought it was just shock. But, it may be something more than that.”

As Spike looked deep into her eyes, he felt something in him drop. He’d seen that look before. Her eyes were hollow, like they were the night Glory took Dawn. He had sworn to himself that night that he would do whatever he had to, to keep that look of loss out of her eyes.

But, here it was again. He’d failed her. Again.

He needed her to be his center, his anchor, in more ways than one.

Giles had told him that Hans Kraus had returned to Council headquarters. His Slayer, Astrid Hoffmann, was dead. And, it wasn’t a demon attack. It wasn’t an accidental or natural death, if the death of a nineteen-year-old girl could be called natural.

No, her death wasn’t natural. Her death seemed to have been caused by the same virus that, apparently, caused the death of Jonina Dustin on his wedding night, with one glaring exception. According to Giles, when Astrid died her body looked like it was covered in red lace because her body had, essentially, exploded.

His nightmares were coming true. He needed Buffy. He needed her as a sounding board. His little girl was gone. Slayers were dying. He needed her to stop the world from spinning long enough for him to keep his world from ending. He needed her. God curse him for being so weak, but he needed her. And now she was gone. Just like on that horrible night.

He looked into her eyes and he realized they were empty. Not insane empty, like Drusilla’s had been. With Dru, if you looked hard enough, you could see something to hold on to. It didn’t always make sense, but there was something there.

Buffy’s gaze held none of that hope. And that made him angry. So angry that he’d placed his hope in her, and been disappointed. Again.

How dare she be this selfish, to leave him alone again, “Damn,” he breathed, his voice a strangled, weary mix of hurt and anger, “Buffy I need you here,” he shook her shoulders a little, trying to elicit a response. Any response would do, even if she punched him in the nose for his trouble, “Don’t you dare cut and run on me now!” he could feel the despair spiraling quickly out of his conscious control, “Don’t do that,” he begged her, “Not again! Don’t you dare leave me alone again!” Spike could feel the anger welling up inside him. He wasn’t going to fall apart. He couldn’t. She had seen to that.

The anger kept building. It built to such a fury that he had to strike out. Some part of him understood that he shouldn’t, but that didn’t matter. That didn’t matter when his whole world, a world he’d fought, and died, to protect, and might well again, was falling apart and she had gone missing and yet hadn’t moved at all.

It was selfish, and it hurt. How many times had she called him a monster? He’d stopped counting long ago. Yet, was he the real monster here, or was she? Was his beautiful sunbeam, his Goddess, the real monster?

It just wasn’t fair. It hurt so much. He had to strike out against the pain. So, he did strike.

The crack of fist against jaw jarred Lorne. But not as much as the sight of Buffy recoiling from Spike’s fist. His eyes widened in horror, not just at the violence he had resorted to, but at her lack of response. Aside from her head moving to one side, from physically being forced to by Spike’s blow, she gave no response. It was as if he’d never touched her.

Lorne saw Spike’s fist pull back, like the hammer on a gun, to render another blow. He let out a shout as he rushed to the end of the bar, “Spike no! Don’t do it!”

Spike teetered on the edge, ready to let the hammer fall where it may, when something stopped him. Something in the distance was telling him to stop. Don’t they understand that I can’t? If I stop the world ends. And, she dies. I can’t stop. Help me. I can’t stop.

A powerful green hand covered the fist that was ready to deliver another blow. Spike blinked, not comprehending why Lorne felt it necessary to touch him.

His gaze followed the green arm that was still straining under the effort of staying the fist still waiting to strike, down to the beautifully placid face that stood in front of it.

Her face.

His eyes widened as the blur in his vision began to take the shape of her face. His vision cleared then blurred again as her swelling, reddened lip became his sole focus point.

It all became clear. The horror of what he’d nearly done made him a jumble of limbs in his haste to put distance between him and the object of his unbridled fury. Stopping only when he felt the cool plaster that made up the opposite wall of the club.

Clear, horror darkened eyes begged Lorne to tell him it was all just a brilliantly sharp nightmare. In a voiceless whisper, he pleaded with his friend, “ Oh God, what have I done?”

Lorne looked at him with sympathetic eyes even as he shook his head, “Not saying it’s right. But, I do understand it. Everyone has their breaking point. Come on,” Lorne sighed as he moved to extend his hand to help his visibly shaken friend to his feet, “we’ve got work to do before Willow gets here,” he said as the two friends walked back over to Buffy.

Spike was still fighting the wave of adrenaline that nearly swept him away with it as he sat on his haunches, once again, in front of Buffy. The adrenaline that was still surging through his borrowed blood made his hands shake slightly as he touched her broken lip. He hissed in empathy for the pain she did not react to, wincing at the power he’d unleashed on her. He looked imploringly at Lorne, who produced a towel for him to wipe the seeping blood from her torn lip, “I know that hurt, Love. I’m sorry,” he turned his head to question Lorne, “Do you have somewhere she can rest?”

“Yeah,” Lorne nodded, “Made her a cozy little niche in the Fallout Shelter in the back room.”

“There’s a fallout shelter here?” Spike asked, clearly surprised.

“It’s not the atom bomb type,” Lorne sighed, “Although given my past associations, that might be a wise investment. It’s for sleeping it off.”

“Oh. Could you take her there and make sure she’s safe?”

“Sure,” Lorne said as he led Buffy away, “ But,” he warned, “if you do that again, I may have to throw down. You remember what happened when I let my emotions take control, don’t you?”

“Understood,” he nodded, “If that happened again, I’d welcome the beating,” he looked shamefully at Buffy’s small form as she slowly shuffled away from him, “Believe me.”
******************

He stared at the girl he’d thought was his daughter. He’d been fooled again. She looked so real. But, it was all a lie, “No,” he’d been here so long that even to him, his voice sounded thin and brass-like, “You’re lying. I sent her back!”

The look of pure hatred that shone in her Daddy’s eyes made her breath catch in her throat, “Daddy, what are you talking about?”

His voice became a low growl, “You’re not her! I…” blue eyes closed and his fingers shot to his temple. He winced, as if he were in pain. His teeth clenched and his throat made a guttural sound as he spoke with an almost deadly growl, “I…had a girl, once. I thought I did,” his eyes glistened at her, “But no. It was a lie. No one’s Daddy,” he looked confused, as if he were trying to hold on to water and was angry at the water for slipping through his fingers, “I wanted to…I…No! Can’t be here. No,” he shook his head, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, “I’m here. So…you’re not. Joni?”

She nodded, even as the tears streamed down her face.

“Why?”

“Because Mommy couldn’t leave you alone,” Joni said simply.

He looked with horror at the door that held out the howling wind and snow, and suddenly he knew. She was out there somewhere. She was out there somewhere, and he had to find her. He had to find her. And send her back because she didn’t belong here.

He forgot everything but her. The cold didn’t matter. The years of isolation and loneliness no longer mattered. All that mattered as he rushed out the cabin door, forgetting to protect himself from the elements that whipped around the cold night sky, was her.

He went out into the night air, screaming her name.
**************************

Buffy strolled through the New England cemetery. She was grateful to Jonina for helping her through her grief. It still hurt, but at least now she could walk through this cemetery, even in late December, and not feel cold inside.

Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone here.

The snowstorm that was driving stinging snowflakes into her skin and whipping the wind until it became a comforting familiar growl didn’t scare her. Joni had said that she’d met a friend, an old gardener named Homer, and she wanted to thank him for befriending Joni, and helping her grieve, when she was not able to see beyond her own sorrow.

There was a comforting light, coming from a cabin in the distance, which drew her close. She was close enough to see the person that stood behind the glass windows. She smiled. It looked warm and inviting in that place. It was a little oasis.

Then, the howling wind became a voice, and the voice became a name. Her name.

His voice, calling to her, “Buffy!”

“Spike?” she whispered against the wind, not believing it was real until she felt his lips against hers.
*******************************

All that was left was to kiss her goodbye. Willow had opened a portal, assuring him that he would be drawn to Jonina. There was no need for a guide. She was his blood, so he would end up where she was, wherever, and whenever, that happened to be.

As he watched the vortex of light swirl to a point in the ruins of the old club, he looked at Willow with a skeptic’s eye, “You’re sure this will work, Red?”

Willow nodded. Too quickly for his liking, “Uh huh. Pretty sure.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Pretty sure?”

“Sure,” she said.

Spike sighed. He was too committed to stop now. Or maybe I should be committed, he thought. He took the ring and chain from his duster pocket and walked over to Buffy, who stared on, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. He knelt before her as he tenderly placed the silver chain around her neck, “Take care of this for me. Tell her I love her. Don’t let her forget me, all right?” he asked, as he gently kissed her, trying to take her essence with him, “Remember that I love you,” he stood and slowly turned away, not wanting her last sight of him to be his tears.

“What kind of timetable are we looking at here, Red? Tell me.”

“It’s hard to tell. Every dimension is different. You could be gone minutes, or hours…or years,” she said quietly, “There really is no way to tell.”

“Make sure Jonina comes back,” he growled, “I don’t matter. She does,” he turned to look at Buffy and realized that he was leaving his heart behind, “So does she.”

With one last look into the abyss before him, he took a cleansing breath and ran into the portal, disappearing from sight as the light swallowed him whole.

As the light dissipated, leaving once again in its wake the ruins of a nightclub, a name could be heard. Sobbed by the one he’d left, “Spike,” Buffy sobbed, “Come back, please.”
*********************
 

Chapter 53:

This was getting tedious. Being here he’d been forced into a kind of holding pattern. He had to learn to be patient and that was just not who he was, dead or not. In his other life he’d been the same as he was now the only difference being that his kind of anger had been socially unacceptable, so he’d had to stifle his blacker impulses with the guise of befuddlement. But he was tired of keeping the façade in place. It was what Angel expected, but it was very taxing to keep up. He wondered how long it would take for Angel to notice the strain.

Once he’d become what he had been all bets were off. He could do, say, and have whatever he wanted. He loved it. He relished it.

Then things changed again, and he found himself changing, wanting to be better, for her. When that had exactly happened, he didn’t know, nor did he care all that much. He had to get back to her.

To do that, he had to keep Jonina safe. To keep Jonina safe, he had to be here. So, he stayed here and stood watch over him. Ever the fallen king’s loyal opposition.

Tedious or not, it must be done. This had to be done, he reminded himself, for Jonina and Buffy. He would do this if it meant that they would be safe. He would endure whatever vicarious torture Angel could concoct for him.

The specter that stood at Angel’s side had been willingly consigned to this vampire’s particular flames of woe to walk him through to the other side, kicking and screaming, if need be. Sighing, Holland took in the sorry tableau he presented, “Hello Humpty Dumpty,” he said as he leaned against the side of a neighboring tombstone.

Angel didn’t move a muscle in acknowledgement of his visitor, preferring instead to focus on his chosen instrument of torture. That was of no consequence to Holland. He was here for one reason. A reason that Angelus had yet to understand; he was tired of dropping breadcrumbs.

Angel had chosen to torture himself. That was no surprise, really. That was who he was. There was no changing that. For Angel, physical torture just wasn’t enough, there had to be a twisted psychological component or it just wasn’t worth doing.

Although, even as he stared at the stone with the familiar name inscribed upon it, Angel’s keeper had to admit that this was veering into the theatre of the bizarre.

The only thing that made him stay here was the insanely delicious notion that, if Angel truly understood whom he was speaking with in this graveyard, he might just squirm a little more.

He would have rather stayed with Buffy. Still, if being here meant keeping Joni safe in his arms, so be it. Let the Heavens fall. He’d take it, and gladly.

Angel noticed Holland’s casual air, watched the way his eyes seemed to wander as if he’d rather have been anywhere but where he was, and he fumed, “Have another appointment?” he asked flatly, “I thought there was no such thing as time here.”

Holland took his pocket watch from its pocket and opened it to stare down at the delicate face. It was a fine piece, really. Victorian. Holland was sure the luster of the gold made his eyes shine, as they once did. He was quite surprised that Angel hadn’t noticed, given his fondness for antiques. But then, Angelus was, at the moment, fixated on other matters.

He closed the timepiece with a soft click, and replaced it in his pocket, “Time exists everywhere, Angel,” he assured him as he looked at the self-imposed sadism that marred the vampire’s face, “It’s just not linear here. Another is due to arrive soon,” he shrugged, “It’s true. I’d like to be there to see his arrival. But, I’ve got all the time in the world,” he smirked a smirk that should have been known to Angel, had he been paying even a scant of attention, “I can stay. If you need me.”

Angel’s eyes burned him with a cold fire, “Why would I need you?” he bit out, “You’re part of the reason I’m here.”

Holland’s head gave a slow nod, “I am that. Yet, you keep bringing me here,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “To that stone,” he said, pointing where he could not look, “Why?”

Angel kept his eyes riveted to the stone as he answered in a tone that carried centuries of shame, “Because I killed him.”

Holland blinked. This was new. In all the years, years his charge was unaware of; that they’d been here, that admission had never crossed his lips. At least, not in that way, “You did,” Holland conceded, “You had given me the impression that you had gotten passed that,” Holland felt what could only be described as concern, “Apparently, you haven’t?”

“No,” Angel said, “I haven’t. I took his child from him,” Angel’s voice was strained with the memory of an old pain, “and I did it to keep him from losing Buffy. The loss of a child, it may not kill him physically. In fact, it may take years for the body to finally catch up to his spirit, but he’ll still die. Believe me,” he sighed, as his hooded eyes looked at marker that had become his nightmare, “I know. Buffy may live but, without the child, they’ll both die,” he looked at Holland with eyes that seemed to be a thousand years old, “So you see, Spike may have taken me out of the equation and I may or may not have prevented a plague. Either way,” Angel pointed to the tombstone, “he’s dead. And because of that, I have killed hundreds of people that I’ve never laid a hand on,” Angel’s voice shook with the weight of his unseen penance, “That is why I haven’t gotten past this. And, I hope I never do,” Angel looked up at his tormenter, and was disgusted when he noticed the child, once again, in his arms. A child he helped to put there, “I’ve become the one thing I hoped the soul would keep me from becoming. I’ve become a monster,” his eyes cut back to the stone, “I’ve become what you wanted. If this is the reward for not being strong enough to stop you, or the Senior Partners’ plans, then so be it. I’ll take it.”

The façade nearly slipped when Angel’s guide began to take in the quite real possibility that he might have been telling the truth, and he held Jonina tighter to him.

This is what he thought he wanted. But now that it was here, he realized that this pitiful sight wasn’t what he wanted. Buffy needed help.

Saving her from a living Hell, saving the Slayers, would take him away from her and he couldn’t live with himself if Buffy died of a broken heart while he was gone. She needed hope to carry on. And, as much as he hated the idea, Angel had the means to provide that hope. He grimaced inwardly, trying to keep the Holland mask in place. For this to work, Angel had to believe whom he was speaking to was who he purported to be, “I believe you’re right. That means that a vampire with a soul has indeed played a pivotal role in the apocalypse,” Holland sighed, “You deserve your reward. But, we must hurry, if we want to make it there in time.”

Angel looked at him in shock, “What are you talking about? I tore up the contract. I gave up on the prophecy. I signed it away!”

Holland shook his head in pity, “You know that contracts with the Home Office are iron clad. They cannot be made void. Ever,” Holland sighed again “And, a deal is a deal. You fulfilled your end. We will give you what we promised you. Things may not have gone the way the Senior Partners had planned, but the end result seems to have been satisfactory.”

Even as Holland was speaking, a hole opened in the fabric of the sky above them. Angel looked and was amazed to see what was beyond the tear in the sky that extended to the horizon. Somehow, he could see a heartbroken Buffy staring at him from the abyss.

Angel barely heard Holland’s voice over the howling wind. Didn’t hear the pain that he could no longer hide because he was too tired, “Well, Angel. It looks like your ship’s come in,” he looked up and nearly choked on the sorrow of his departure that was written on her face, “You’d best take it, before it’s too late. Go.”

At Angel’s shocked look, he insisted, his voice hissing, “Go. Now! Take care of her. Please? Don’t let her forget.”

The pleading tone cut through the shock of what was being said, and Angel saw, at last, what was just beneath the surface, “Spike?” Angel asked, too shaken to say anything else.

“Yes!” Spike yelled over the roaring gale, “Now run. Quick, you ponce, before it closes again. If it does we’ll both be trapped here. That can’t happen! As much as I hate you, I hate the idea of Buffy being lost even worse that that. She needs you. Take care of her until I get back. And, I will be back! Remember that, and make sure she remembers that too. No matter how long it takes, I will be back!”

Angel nodded, before turning and dashing toward the horizon, Buffy, and the unknown.

As the tear repaired itself, leaving it eerily quiet once more in this graveyard, the keeper wiped his eyes of wetness, and made his way toward the crumpled figure that lay in a broken heap just on the horizon.
*************************************************


 

Chapter 54:

IN THE INTERREGNUM-

The roar of anguish that came shattered the calm of the place, and Joyce winced. Even without the need of a body, she felt the shock down to her bones. She’d felt it for years now, and it never ceased, never wavered. The poor thing was in agony, and Joyce suspected would always be so.

She’d told her that.

But, since when did Buffy ever listen to her? Joyce knew that things were going to get rough. Things weren’t going to be easy.

But then, things with those two never did go smoothly. It was all about the consuming heat of emotions. The fire of love burned so bright in the both of them that sometimes it was hard to control. Each loved the other so much that it was hard to see past it, to be at peace with it. And they were both so stubborn. Both bound and determined to paint the world with their brush, their colors.

She loved them both so much, but a love that big could cause fires. So now, Joyce was a firefighter.

Joyce didn’t love the role she’d been cast into, the role of firefighter, but she accepted it. As far as the two of them were concerned, whoever got the job as their guardian angel would have to be a firefighter. And, it seemed that she was uniquely qualified.

She felt it was necessary to show Buffy what her death had really done to his spirit. She needed to know. Joyce knew it would be harsh and cruel, but Buffy needed to see it.

She needed to know that there was more to a being than a body and soul. If that were all there was to it, then there would be no evil in the world at all. There would be no murder, no crime, no inhumanity to man. She had to see that there was more to being human than just the label.

Joyce knew now that she did see, and understood, because she saw his pain reflected in Buffy’s eyes as she tried to offer her daughter’s soul comfort, “Oh, Mommy it’s so painful!” she sobbed against her mother’s chest, “How long has he been like that?”

Joyce held Buffy in a comforting embrace, gently rocking her as she whispered, “That spirit has been in pain since before even I knew it existed. When I came here, I was in as much shock as you are. I didn’t know that that was even possible. I’d been taught differently,” Joyce looked into Buffy’s pain-filled eyes and nodded sympathetically, “just like you had. And, he taught you what he knew. I’m sorry Honey, but Rupert Giles is wrong on this one.”

“But what is it that’s torturing him? I’ve never…” the words for that kind of pain didn’t exist, in any language, “Oh Mommy.”

“I know, Sweetie. I know. Are you sure you want to know what he does? In order for you to know what that spirit’s been through, you’ll have to experience something very close to it. It’ll be real to you, just like it was for him. Are you sure you want that? ”Joyce listened as the cry of grief grew louder, “I know he wouldn’t want you to go through that. He would do whatever he had to, to keep that kind of pain from you.”

“I know. That’s why I have to help, Mommy,” Buffy sniffed, “I have to understand. If what you say is true, then I have to help. How can I? Will you tell me, please Mommy?”

Joyce nodded.
******************************
Buffy woke to a darkened house. She looked at the bedside clock; it told her it was three in the morning. Of course it would be quiet. She really hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she was so tired.

For an instant, Buffy’s heart seized. She looked over at the place where he had been, and it was empty. She stared at the spot where he should have been, and wanted to blink the image away. She was tired, but that was no excuse. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. She shouldn’t have let him down.

Panic surged through her. Then came the terror. The most unreasonable, unrelenting terror she’d ever felt ripped through her. She had to find a place to hide. “Get low,” it told her, “Be small, then it won’t find you.” She’d felt this before, somewhere in her brain she knew that this was a part of the sickness she’d gone through, and that now it was passed. For her, the time to fear the unknown was passed and was replaced by the gaping fear that her present had become. Spike was in the worst fight he’d ever been in. His brain didn’t enter into this. She welcomed the fear. It meant that he wasn’t dust.

He was going by instinct. And now, so was she. Her instincts told her she’d find him where he thought he’d be safe. For him, safety meant darkness. That meant the basement. So, down she went.

She saw it all unraveling in front of her, and she’d done nothing to help him. Buffy cursed herself for being so blind.

Buffy had never known it was this bad before. No. That was wrong. She had known it. Knew it was happening. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it was happening. Not to him. Not like this.

She saw it all in slow motion. The walking stick she had passed off as nostalgia. As a bit of whimsy, and he didn’t tell her otherwise. He just smirked at her and winked. It was the same with the eyeglasses, the ones he shouldn’t have needed, that sat perched on the end of his nose.

She’d seen it. But she’d run from it. She ran from it. And now, as she stared into the darkened basement, it was all catching up with her.

She had to choke back a sob at the shock he presented, as his white skin glowed against the dark.

Buffy remembered the heat. The virus closed off all sensation but one. Slowly, the burning of the nerve fibers was all that was felt. It was all the virus allowed. That made movement, eventually, impossible. The virus slowly and mercilessly robbed its victim of any refuge from the pain. It robbed its victims of the ability to cry out for comfort. It isolated them from any solace that could be had from contact. First through pain, then by cutting off all other outside stimuli, painful or otherwise, due to blindness and deafness.

It was a horrible way to die.

Right now, Spike was being engulfed in a fire that consumed everything, yet touched nothing. Buffy knew that pain. And his was a thousand times that.

When the pain had started for Buffy, her first instinct had been to rend herself free of her clothing in an effort to cool her emblazoned nerve endings. Joni had been small then, so in order to keep little eyes from seeing what they should not, Spike would spend hours, perhaps days, just holding her. He used his body’s unnatural coolness to calm her, and keep her safe.

Buffy had no such mercy to give him. So here he was, lying nude on the concrete floor of the basement, unmoving.

She rushed over to him, and he stared at her with pain-blinded eyes, “Help,” he panted, “Angel…he has…to help. Joni…too small…can’t save…Buffy…Angel can…but…won’t.”

Buffy didn’t want to see what the virus was doing to him. She didn’t even understand how he was able to talk. She had been saved. The Slayers still were, thanks to him. A part of him knew that, she felt sure. The vaccine he’d developed could not be synthesized. Each time a Slayer was stricken, it meant that Spike had to expose himself to the virus again and again. He knew that eventually even his body would become saturated with it, to the point where his body could not repair itself. But, he didn’t care.

Time disorientation was a symptom of the virus. Buffy knew he had no idea where he was, or when. She closed her eyes and tried to draw in a calming breath, “No Love,” she said, “that was years ago,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, and cooed, “You saved us. You saved me.”

His eyes fluttered shut, “B…uffy? Saved you…did?”

“Yes,” she told him reverently, “you did.”

“Now…promised…me…not…you.”

Buffy bit her lip in worry. The disorientation really had him in its grip, “What did you promise?”

“I die,” he rasped out, “Not you.”

“When did you promise this?”

“Before,” he whispered, “And…after. I love you…love…always,” with that, his body gave out, and he fell into unconsciousness.
*************************

He’d brought them here so that she could see the colors. When she had her sight back, the first thing he wanted her to see was the color of the change of seasons. And she did. She saw brilliant oranges, fiery reds, blazing gold, cool greens and soothing white. She saw everything with new eyes.

Maybe that was because of the joy he took in watching her live again. Everything he did made her feel more alive, like she couldn’t breathe without him.

And now the light was dimming. Slowly, slowly down to dark. Now her world was greying out.

The grey light of morning was slipping through the window, but Buffy didn’t notice. She knew that these were her final hours with him. She didn’t know how she knew but she did.

She also knew that the Slayers owed their very lives to him. Again.

In the history books, the name William Alistair Dustin would go down with the likes of Jonas Salk. “Lace” had been eradicated due to the vaccine he’d developed. William the Bloody had, in the end, saved more Slayers than he ever killed.

Buffy cursed herself a thousand times for not listening to the Shadow Men all those years ago. If she had, then maybe Spike wouldn’t be lying in that room now, in so much pain it physically hurt her to watch him struggle. And he wouldn’t be struggling now, if it hadn’t been for her brilliant stratagem.

An army of Slayers; what a brilliant idea that was. If only she’d known. She would have saved him so much pain.

Spike always told her that she had a bit of a demon in her. He said that was what made her a good Slayer. And now thanks to him it was true.

Thanks to Spike, all of the Slayers had a bit of a demon in them. The demon was the key to the virus. It was what kept her alive.

And in return, she was killing him.

He once told her she was a little bit in love with death. He’d recognized it before she did because he was too.

Joni watched her mother shiver in the grey light that seeped through the haze of death that hung over the house. Daddy and she had tried so hard to make this a place of life and color. And they had.

As she went through the photographs of her mind’s eye, everything was saturated with such vibrant color. The life and laughter that she grew up with was so bright that the world outside paled in comparison. Her Daddy had done his best to make a world for her. A world full of the things he couldn’t have.

And now she wondered what would happen to that world once he left. Would it be dimmer, somehow? This house already was.

Joni slipped silently in beside her mother, and took her hand. Joni wasn’t even sure she had noticed. Her eyes never left the grey mist of fog that seemed to hang over the house now. She just stared out into space, her voice was stilted and raw, “He wanted you to have everything, Joni. He wanted you to have the best.”

“I did Mom,” she said in a hushed tone, “I had the best. I still do. I have the best, Mom. I have you,” her eyes bobbed on a sea of unshed tears, her Daddy wouldn’t want her tears, “And I still have Daddy.”

Joni could see the pain in her eyes as Buffy looked at her, “He was right, Joni. They all go by so fast, and it’s really not enough.”

“What isn’t, Mom?”

“The years. It’s not enough. We’ve been married a little longer than you’ve been alive Joni,” Buffy heaved a heavy sigh as tears rolled down her face, “Nearly twenty-three years, and it still isn’t enough. “Twenty-three years,” she shook her head in a wash of memories, “and in love much longer than that,” she slowly wiped the tears away, “Although you’d never know it from the way I treated him,” her eyes sparkled with a far away light, “I think I loved him the minute I s-saw him.”

“Daddy’s still here, Mom. You can still tell him,” she nodded toward his sickroom, “Daddy still loves you,” she choked back a sob, “Tell him, Mommy. Give him a reason. Please, he needs it!”

Her eyes widened with fright, “No Joni, I can’t go in there!” Buffy’s breath came in strangled gasps, “I can’t watch. Oh, God,” she gulped, “I can feel it. But, I can’t watch.”
**********************

Buffy approached the gravesite with an ache in her heart. Spike had always been her rock. When she’d first gotten sick, and her world became a haze of pain and needles and antiseptic, he’d stayed with her, even though his eyes told her how frightened he really was, he still stayed with her.

The only thing that gave him any focus outside of her was taking care of Jonina. Willow had told her that their daughter had been the only thing that kept him from sinking into madness when she’d taken ill.

They had seen what the virus could do to a Slayer, and how quickly it took hold. She and Spike had been working on isolating it almost from the moment Jonina was born.

She remembered that Spike took it hard each time a Slayer was stricken with the virus they called “Cassandra’s Lace.” He seemed to take the virus’s appearance as a personal affront to him. And when Joni started showing signs of being a Slayer, nothing else seemed to matter to him more than finding the answer to the puzzle. He seemed driven; haunted by something he wouldn’t share.

Then, despite her best efforts to conceal them, she started showing symptoms. She shrugged them off at first, but there came a time when even she could no longer deny what was happening to her. She was dying, and they both knew it. They’d both seen it happen to other Slayers, and now, it was happening to her.

She had accepted it. But, Spike had not. Because of his stubborn refusal to accept their world the way it was, she was the one standing in a graveyard, putting flowers on a grave she never really thought she would ever see. Because of him, Joni was living in a world that once again contained an army of Slayers, albeit a small one, who were now beginning to forget what peril they had been in just a few short years ago.

And she was standing here. That fact alone should have brought her happiness, but it didn’t. And the reason it didn’t is because, once again, he’d sacrificed himself to save her.

Buffy looked at the stone that bore his name, and tried it out on her tongue. It had been so long since she had been able to stand here. Being here, looking at his name, hurt her in a place she couldn’t name. It evoked a pain that she couldn’t give voice to. So when she heard her voice sounding like a thimble, small and tin-like in her ear, saying his name aloud, it didn’t seem real at all.

She read the stone aloud. It was the eulogy she knew he deserved, but never received, at least not from her. It hurt too much to believe that he was gone, “William Alistair Dustin, beloved husband, father, friend, and champion. Departed, but not forgotten, December 2, 2027,” Buffy kissed her fingers and pressed them to the letters of his name, “Who is it that takes care of you now? Where are you? I tried to find you, you know,” Buffy felt her lip tremble and tasted the salt water as it slid down her face to her lips, “Just to know where you are. Joni and I miss you so much,” her face twisted in sadness and anger. She knew her thoughts were disjointed, but she had so much loss in her right now, that she had to give it an outlet, “Willow said you weren’t in Hell, and that’s good,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes, “But she said you weren’t in Heaven either. It didn’t make sense. I mean vampires don’t die of viruses! They just don’t. Okay, there was that time that Angel got sick because of that poison, but I saved him. But when you got sick, you wouldn’t let me save you. Why?” she sobbed, “When you were feverish and delirious,” she bowed her head, reliving the pain of her loss, “while you could still talk, you kept talking about a trade, some kind of bargain. I know you were in pain. I know it. But you never complained, not once. And then Angel tells me about some kind of prophecy. I tell you, Spike, I was so angry, I could have staked him. Joni nearly did. And now, I come here, every day, just in the hope that, some way you’d find me,” Buffy left her bouquet for him, “I know it’s silly. But, I wish you were here,” she said as she left the graveyard.
************************
Buffy sobbed into her mother’s arms. What she felt now was so sad there were no words to describe it. If this is just a tiny fraction of what that spirit felt, of what it would feel, without her, then she had to help. She couldn’t let him suffer like that.

She knew she had to go.

“I’ll go Mommy,” she said, “I don’t want him to be alone. I don’t want our little girl to be alone in that place. If he has to go, then I go too.”

Her mother smiled and nodded again, as she watched her disappear.
**********************************

Buffy strolled through the cemetery. It still hurt, but at least now she could walk through this cemetery, even in late December, and not feel cold inside.

Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone here.

The snowstorm that was driving stinging snowflakes into her skin and whipping the wind until it became a comforting familiar growl didn’t scare her. Joni had said that she’d met a friend, an old gardener named Homer, and she wanted to thank him for befriending Joni, and helping her grieve, when she was not able to see beyond her own sorrow.

There was a comforting light, coming from a cabin in the distance, which drew her close. She was close enough to see the person that stood behind the glass windows. She smiled. It looked warm and inviting in that place. It was a little oasis.

Then, the howling wind became a voice, and the voice became a name. Her name.
***************************

He’d forgotten the cold, forgotten the pain. Forgotten everything but her. The snow didn’t matter. The wind that stung his eyes was nothing. He wasn’t alone.

Dear God in Heaven, he wasn’t alone.

He could see her far ahead. She was just as he remembered her, her golden hair streaking the dark sky with light. He raced toward her, afraid to believe that it was true. His madness was truly complete now, first his daughter, his little Jonina, now his sunshine. His soul. His Buffy.

Just as he was about to let go and let the madness take him in its swell, the howling wind carried something with it that galvanized him, and his feet carried him faster. The scent of vanilla and roses was carried to him, and he knew. He knew it was Buffy. It really was her. He hadn’t gone mad. She was here. Just how and why didn’t matter. Not now. She was here.

The cold air shocked his lungs as he drew it in. To speak her name, a name that had become something sacred in his loneliness, would take all the mental fortitude he could muster. It would take courage. He knew that. If she didn’t react, if she was indeed part of his madness, he would be utterly crushed under the weight of emptiness he felt.

But, if he didn’t try, and by some undeserved miracle, she was real, the ache would kill him. He needed her. In order to continue here, in order to deal with her loss, he’d convinced himself that he did not need her. That she was gone, never to return. And, he didn’t need her.

Not only that, but he’d convinced himself that he couldn’t have her, didn’t deserve her. And that added to the pain he felt in this place.

He didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d somehow managed to make himself believe that she was dead. He could remember the smell of it. He could remember straining to hear her as she breathed her last. Desperately, he clung to the echo of her final heartbeat. Desperately, he clung to his last hope.

His self-deception had been so complete, that even the one he thought of as his daughter had believed it.

He remembered it all so vividly. Yet, here she was just a few feet away. Almost close enough to touch. He watched as the snow battered her skin and he laughed. As the snowflakes dove toward her on their kamikaze mission, melting into her as they made contact, he was reminded of himself.

He knew, even as he hurled toward her blindly, that she meant death to him. But, he didn’t care. He had to have her.

The sacred name escaped and floated above the roaring wind.

In all his fondest dreams, in his waking nightmares, it had never happened just as it was now. His heart formed in his throat as he watched her turn. She had heard him.

He nearly fell to his knees for that alone. But, as he heard a name he’d all but forgotten, a name he’d buried under years of misery, whispered on the wind, he rushed into her embrace.

“Buffy,” Spike sobbed, wondering just what he had done to deserve this ray of light in his world of darkness, “Oh Buffy, is it really you?”

Spike saw her warm eyes glitter in astonished wonderment. Her beautiful, lyrical voice held a wariness that told him that she doubted her own sanity as she asked him, “Are you real, Spike? Please tell me you are,” she wept for his loss, and for his return, as she held him tighter. She felt a shimmer of joy and disbelief shoot through her as he smiled at her. Oh, how she missed that smile, those eyes.

As he smiled down at her, Spike was grateful she was there. If she wasn’t there to bear him up, he felt certain he would collapse from the tremors of exhaustion, grief and happiness that rocked his body now. In a voice that hadn’t been used outside of his dream state, he told her, “I was never real, Love. Until just this moment, I never existed at all.”

Inside the cabin, a little girl smiled. She had her parents back. Now they could take her home.
*********************************

NOVEMBER 1, 2005 -8:00 A.M.

Just as the rumble under Willow’s feet had begun to die down, another deafening roar ripped through the air. A light flashed, and where only moments ago Spike had kissed Buffy goodbye, instead there was Angel, lying on the floor of the club, gasping for air.

Wait. That wasn’t right. Was Angel really breathing?

Just as Willow was about to question her own senses, Buffy’s tear- ravaged voice spoke for the second time that day, “Human. Oh, God. Angel,” she lunged toward him before Willow could stop her and pulled his rubber limbs to bear, “What did you do?” she hissed, “What did you do to my child! Where’s Spike?” she demanded, “What happened? What did you do to him!”
******************************

 

Chapter 55:

IN THE INTERREGNUM-HIGHER PLANE

Joyce Summers knew that there would be a price to pay later, for what they did. But, she, and Buffy, and Jonina knew that if they left him alone, he literally would not survive. Joyce was barely able to restrain herself during the last days of Sunnydale. She wasn’t about to let this go on without some type of intervention.

It had been done before, and this was being done on a much smaller scale, and for a grander, and less self-serving purpose. Surely they would take that into account when meting out her punishment.

This seemed the only way to give him what he needed. And Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave him there. They both knew that she would leave him, eventually. The thought of leaving him again had caused Buffy unimaginable grief, but the alternative was equally frightening. They both knew that it had to happen, or there would be no future for either of them to come back to.

She looked into the bright, apple-cheeked, freckled face of her Granddaughter, and asked again, “Joni, are you sure you want to do this?”

“You know, Daddy asked me that too. And, do you know what? I still say yes.”

Joyce shook her head a little. She could almost predict what his reaction would be, “If your Daddy found out, I’m not sure he would like the thought of you there with him.”

Joni’s brown eyes twinkled in thought, “Well,” she smiled, “he wouldn’t have to know it’s me, not at first. I can be whoever he needs me to be. But Mommy can’t leave him there. And, neither can I. He’s been so sad already. Daddy went to that place to protect me, to keep me safe from the boogiemen. If he hadn’t been there with me, that place would have been nothing like what I thought it was. I know that. I thought it was a game. That was because he was with me. He made it that way. Only he saw how things truly were. He protected me from that. Someone has to be with him when she leaves again, to protect him. I owe him so much. I couldn’t thank him then, because I didn’t know, but I can do that now, Momma. He has to survive. Right now,” she looked down at the goings on around her, “Oh Momma, I look so little. He has to come find me. It’s the only way.”

“He will. Okay, Dove,” Joyce smiled as Joni’s eyes widened when she used his special name for her, “we’ll do this thing. But, you do realize that once your Daddy finds you, he won’t need the guide anymore,” her forehead crinkled in thought, “As a matter of fact, if he knew who you were, and where, and when, you’d come from, things could get really messy. Wolfram and Hart tried to control your Daddy before because they knew that if they let it play out, like it should have, they would have lost. The Home Office would have had to look elsewhere. In order for the Higher Ups to clean up the mess the Los Angeles branch caused, under its ‘new leadership,’ your Daddy can’t know who you are. Understand?’

Joni nodded, “Yes, Mamma. I understand. When she comes, he’ll barely remember me, and that’s okay with me.”

“You’re sure?”

Joni rolled her eyes lovingly at her Grandmother, “I wish people would stop asking me that! This is my mess. I have to help clean it up. Now,” she said as she prepared to leave the plane again, taking one last look at what was happening there, “let’s do this already!”

Joyce smiled and sighed, “Do you know how much you’re like your Daddy?”

“People keep telling me that too,” Joni said, “I love you Mamma.”

Joyce waved her hand again, and watched Joni leave on her rescue mission, “Love you too,” she said.

Buffy was in place. If Spike found out, she knew that he would rage and snarl at her. She expected that. After all, that was par for the course when the one your daughter chooses to marry and build a life with is a vampire.

She laughed at how fanciful, and strangely logical that seemed. Only in Sunnydale would that make any kind of sense.

Only in Sunnydale would a vampire with a soul be the key to the universe’s balance.

One hundred and forty-seven days was a small price to pay for that balance. They all knew that, and still they did it willingly.

Here, a lifetime could be lived in one hundred and forty-seven days.
********************************
NOVEMBER 1, 2005

Buffy couldn’t believe it. There he was, lying on the floor of this old karaoke bar, and he was gasping for breath. How? What? This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be.

That was when she noticed it. He was pale, that was true, but there was a slight tinge of redness to his skin. He looked pink. He looked almost… “Human.”

Something in her head clicked then. Buffy remembered the look of loss in his eyes after Drusilla’s attack. At the time she had just assumed that it was the shock of seeing his sire turn to ash before his eyes, but maybe it was more than that.

As she recovered in the hospital, Dawn told her what Spike had given up to save her, and it nearly broke her heart.

He’d given up his soul. For her, he’d given up the one thing he’d fought so hard for. At the time, the depth of his sacrifice made her weep. She wept, and questioned her definition of a human being once again.

Listening to Angel breathing in and out with such ease, as if he’d always done it, she wondered if Spike had known this was a possibility. Could it be possible for a vampire to be made human somehow? Had Angel known? Is that why he’d roamed about Los Angeles all those years, behaving like the Dark Avenger? Did he know there was a prize waiting for him?

Of course he’d known. How could he not?

Buffy’s mind swam as she tried to put it all together. The fact that a human lay where a vampire stood just moments ago was connected in some way, some way that was important to all of this. But, what was it that made this important? What did they have in common, Spike and Angel? There was something that made this miracle, this travesty possible for Angel, but not for Spike.

It all connected. The look of lost hope that had lived in Spike’s eyes ever since he’d found out the extent of physical damage Drusilla’s insanity had caused her body.

Buffy remembered that he’d tried to hide the devastation from her. The pain in his eyes was about more than her loss. It was about more than the loss of his soul. This was about lost hope. Lost chances. Buffy had failed to realize that the loss he was grieving had transformed the translucent color of his eyes, eyes she could always gage his emotions by, from a clear azure into an opaque cyan.

What could cause such a transformation? What could shake him down to his core?

Her mind spun, and she understood. His core. His soul. In saving her, he’d lost his hope, “Oh, God.”

Of course Spike knew. If Angel knew there was some sort of reward for him at the end, a reward for having a soul, then it made perfect sense that Spike would know as well. Angel would tell him, if only for the purpose of rubbing his nose in it later, Angel would tell him. He was that smug.

The soul. That was what had made them the same. It was what made them different now.

And the soul was the reason Angel was lying there instead of Spike. Spike had given up his humanity, something she thought she prized, to save her.

Would Angel have done that? No. She knew he wouldn’t. He never loved her that much, if he loved her at all.

Who was the monster here? The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She didn’t want to stop it, “Angel,” she rasped.

She felt a rage building inside of her. It was a fire she couldn’t control. She let it consume her. She was dimly aware that Willow was begging her to stop. She felt strong arms pulling on her, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop.

Angel had taken her baby, and her hope, away from her. He was going to pay for that.
****************************************

Holding her, he was warm again. Just how she’d gotten here, wasn’t his concern now. After years of cold and lonely sleep, he was awake, and alive again. She felt real, but everything was real here. Too real, and too cold, it was torture, being here. He knew he could have made her up. The mind had a way of doing that, when it needed to. He had to be sure, “Are you real, Buffy?” he choked, not caring that they were standing in the middle of a driving snowstorm. He had to know, “Tell me you’re real.”

Buffy couldn’t stand seeing the loss and emptiness in his eyes. She knew what he’d done for her. She understood now what her mother had shown her, and just why he was in the pain he was in.

He was in this Hell to protect her, because he loved her. And she had to thank him for that.

Buffy stood on her toes, and asked sweetly, pulling his neck gently down for a kiss, “If I was a dream, could I do this?”

The kiss was searing and it melted the years of ice that had been around his heart, instantly. He never wanted it to end. Never.

Buffy had forgotten this. She wasn’t even sure she should have remembered it. But here it was. His taste and his smell, the surprising softness of his touch, it was all here. It was real. So real that she was dizzy from it.

She pulled away slowly, and smiled a little at the dazed look in his eyes and the small whimper that escaped his lips, “Well?”

Spike’s brain seized. Logical thought wasn’t possible, “What?” he was needlessly breathless.

There was so much emotion in his eyes. There was so much she needed to say, to tell him, and yet she couldn’t. There were no words.

Buffy found herself panting, needing to touch him again, to have him close to her again. In a desperate whisper, her voice ghosted over his lips, “Spike…love you, so much. Can we do this inside?” her lips trailed over his closed eyelids, “I need to…”

He nodded quickly, as the need rose in him as well. The warmth of her was driving him beyond reason. He swept her up and carried her to the tiny cabin that had been his only source of warmth for so long.

When he’d seen her it had nearly been forgotten.

As he carried her through the door, he took no notice of the small piece of paper, folded neatly and left in the center of the table. The missive, addressed to him, using the only name he’d known for years, said this:

‘ Homer, don’t worry about me. I’ve gone home, and now, so have you. Thank you for your help. Love always. Joni.’
********************************************


TBC

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