Chapter 56:

Willow was horrified by what she was witnessing. Buffy was unleashing a rage on a weakened man that she usually reserved for demons. She was watching as Angel’s ashen skin was quickly colored in the unnatural hues of purple, black, and yellow.

Willow waited for the wave of grief and anger that she knew Buffy was feeling to crest and break, but it didn’t. Her anger was only growing, and that was what was fueling the power behind her fist.

If she didn’t stop soon, Buffy would kill him, “Buffy stop!” Willow screeched, “Stop! He’s human, you can’t! You’ll kill him!” Willow tried to pull her away before she could do any further damage, rushing up to grasp her shoulders from behind, but Buffy stepped back to center herself, grabbed Willow’s wrist with both hands locked in an overhand grip and sent her sailing over her head and across the bar. Willow landed on her back, staring up at the stucco ceiling gasping for air.

Well, Willow thought, at least she’s not hurting him now.

Willow could hear the nearly animalistic, and primal rage surging through her friend, as she heard Buffy say, “I know. I don’t care. He deserves to die, Willow! He’s here, and Spike’s not. If Spike’s not here, it seems only right that Angel shouldn’t be either, don’t you think?”

She had formed it like a question, but it really wasn’t one. It was a justification.

Willow’s position on the floor of a ruined club suddenly brought the clarity of perspective. She remembered a night, years ago, which was similar to this. A night when she’d crossed a line, and Buffy had been the only thing standing between her and the last strand of her humanity. Willow knew that, if it hadn’t been for her friends, she would have died, and not just physically.

Karma really did have a way of kicking you in the ass.

Willow knew what she was feeling. She’d been there. She very nearly didn’t come back.

“I know,” Willow said, slowly getting up from the floor, her eyes riveted on Buffy’s all the while. She kept her voice as soft and non-threatening as she could, “I know how that feels, what you want to do,” Willow shook her head as the feelings she had after Tara’s death washed over her again, “But Buffy, you can’t do it,” she looked at the mass of bruises that Angel’s face had become, then looked at the sadness of her friend’s eyes, and felt her pain, “Buffy, you’re not a killer. You’re not like me.”

Something reached Buffy through the pain. Her gaze drifted to Angel’s crumpled body. Slowly, she took in the discolored and swollen face and realized what she had done. Knew what she could have done had she not been stopped.

Buffy saw her friend Willow standing in front of her, with Angel lying there, broken. Broken, because she’d broken him, and tossed him into the corner without a thought. There was no thinking. There was only hurt, and loss, and betrayal.

Buffy knew she was drowning. She saw Willow as her only chance to survive the hurt and emptiness. She had to grasp this chance, and hold on tight.

Buffy let the sobs take over, as she held on to her friend for her life, “Oh Willow,” Buffy sobbed, “Willow, what did I do? What do I do?”
*******************************

IN THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE

Joyce watched her daughter walk away. She knew that this would be hard for her to watch. Being separated from him, even for this laudable reason, for her, it made this place anything but what it was. It was painful to watch her go through this, “Buffy,” Joyce said softly, seeing her stop and turn her head to hear her, her back to her. Seeing that she had Buffy’s attention, Joyce continued, “Is there anything you want me to tell her, when I see her? Anything…” she hated to dredge up pain for her, but this was the proverbial elephant in the room. How could they not talk about it, “that you want to tell…him?”

Buffy turned and walked slowly back to her mother, reaching around her neck, she unclasped the chain that suspended the ring at her throat. She held it in her palm, weighing it. It could say things to him, important things, even if she could not.

Looking into her mother’s patient and understanding eyes, she placed the ring in her hand and closed her fingers around it, “Yes,” she said, “Give her this. She may not know what it means, not with her head, but her heart will know. She’ll know what to say,” Buffy sighed, “I only hope he can still understand.”

Joyce gave a little nod, “He’ll understand, Sweetie. He’s always understood you.”
*********************************************

Buffy could feel herself falling into the warmth of his kisses. She could feel her skin slowly break out in gooseflesh at the slight touch of his trembling lips. His kisses were so feather-soft that she had to open her passion heavy eyes to be sure he even existed.

She looked down into his darkened, disbelieving eyes as he knelt on the floor of the cabin in front of her. Buffy could see his eyes in the flickering candlelight. They were brimming with tears. He looked so vulnerable, and she felt so unworthy.

She felt that she should be the one to kneel at his feet. She knew that she didn’t deserve the adoration that shone in his worshipful kisses and gaze.

“Spike,” her voice was trembling with her own tears, “Say something, please. I need you to talk to me.”

Spike’s eyes widened at the beautiful sound that had issued from her lips. He knew that had been his name, once, but that was so long ago.

He shook his head quickly, putting a hand up to silence her, “Please, Love. Don’t talk, please,” he whispered as he reverently placed his head on her chest, leaning his ear to her heart and placing his hands at the small of her back, holding her to him. He sighed with relief when he heard the beat he’d almost left to the winds of madness. It was just as he remembered it.

He let the sound take him away with it. Closing his eyes as her rhythms sounded through him, he murmured quickly, as if his own voice had been his only companion for far too long, “Oh God, I’ve missed this. There is nothing here, you know, nothing like this. There’s no sound,” his voice failed him, and he took a shuddering breath, “Nothing but me, and I am nothing. Please Love,” he repeated softly and beseechingly, “Don’t talk.”

She could see that this was important to him, that he needed her to do as he asked. She tried to comply, but there was so much she needed to know that she couldn’t, “I don’t understand.”

“Buffy,” he whispered, the years of isolation breaking his voice into an unfinished sob, “I don’t understand either. But, I know you don’t belong here. If this is a mistake…if you fell somehow, and they found out where you were, they could take you away,” he reached for her, his fingers gently tracing her lips, “I couldn’t take that,” his lashes met, shielding her from his sight. He did not want to lose her again, and he knew he would, if they found her, “If they took you from me,” his voice trailed off, “I…I think…”

Buffy’s heart broke watching a deep pain settle in his eyes, “Spike?” she could see tears flowing down his face. She found it difficult not to be mesmerized by the sheer magnitude of the agony she saw etched on him, “Fell from where?” she asked gently.

He looked away, trying to gather the strength to tell her his deepest fear. When he looked into her eyes again, Buffy saw a sad confidence in them. As if he knew that, once he confessed his heartfelt fear, it would come to pass, “I think I’d die, Buffy,” he finished the thought, too lost in his own mind to hear her. His tone told her that he expected her to be taken away at any moment, “I know, Buffy. I’d die. Really die. The seraphim wouldn’t be that cruel; to give you back to me only to take you away again. Would they?” his eyes were wide with fear, “They did it once,” he was sobbing against her, completely distraught, “They can’t do it again. Don’t let them do it again! Please?”

She hated to see him in this kind of pain, but something he’d said drew her attention. And, she couldn’t let it go, “Spike,” she asked again as she sank to her knees with him, her eyes level with his, “fell from where?”

“Heaven,” Spike breathed.

His soft, shining eyes left no doubt in Buffy’s heart. If she did not give him something, some kind of hope, he would die without it, without her, “Oh Spike,” she wept, kissing his tears away, “I’m no angel.”

His eyes were bright with conviction, “But, you are,” he insisted, “You’re my angel.”

Buffy’s throat tightened and her hands trembled as she fumbled with the chain her mother had given her, “Oh Spike,” she sobbed, “I don’t know how I got here, or how long I’ll stay,” with shaking hands she fastened the silver chain around his bent neck, “But, someone told me to give this to you, as a reminder.”

“Of what?” Spike whispered, his eyes wide with dread at the thought of losing her again.

“That we’re never going to be apart, not really, ever again,” she gave a small wet smile, “It’s my gift to you.”
**********************

NOVEMBER 4, 2005

At the time Buffy had argued against it. It didn’t seem right that Angel had any sort of comfort, even the cold type a hospital could give, when no one knew if Spike or her daughter had any warmth or comfort, why should he have any.

But Willow had convinced her to let him have this small mercy. She didn’t want to be the king of monster he had been, even if those around her would have understood. She wanted to be human for him. She wanted to be better than he was, for Spike.

Buffy made sure that the blinds covering the windows of the room were opened, flooding the room with light. When he woke up, she wanted Angel to know just what he’d been given, and who it was that had given it to him.

The warmth of the morning sun, shining through the glass, stirred Angel to consciousness. He moaned, instinctively screwing his eyes shut against the light.

Buffy stood with her back to the window, crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited.

Angel opened his eyes slowly. His vision was blurred; ill-defined shapes crowded him as his eyes searched for something familiar to latch on to.

He blinked and for the first time began to realize something was wrong here. Something was very wrong.

His eyes darted around to room; he was drawn to the shadow near the window. A shadow that took on a strangely comforting shape, “Spike?” Angel croaked.

“No,” Buffy bit out, stuffing down the wave of anger she felt at hearing Angel speak his name, “not Spike. But, you might wish it were when I get done with you.”

“Buffy?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her face still obscured by the light flowing in the hospital window, “Buffy.”

Angel brought his hand to his face, gliding his fingers over his now tender flesh. He winced in pain and immediately stopped his tentative exploration of his injuries, “Buffy,” his eyes looked at her, grief-stricken, “what year is it?”

“Year?” Buffy asked.

Angel nodded.

“Two thousand and five. Why?”

Angel looked surprised by this. He closed his eyes as he relived his own private Hell, “Oh God,” he gasped, “Spike,” his eyes snapped open, and they held urgency in them. The urgency of life and death, “Where is the baby? Buffy, where’s Jonina?”

Buffy stepped up and stared into Angel’s frightened and pleading eyes. She wanted to kill him for daring to ask the question, for even speaking his name so casually, “That’s what I want to know, Angel,” her voice was tight with rage and a comforting menace, “You tell me. Where is she? Where are they, Angel?”

Twenty-five years. That is how long he’d been there. Yet here, almost no time had gone by at all. Angel wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious in this hospital room. Days? Hours? Months? Who knew how little time had past here or how many years had flown by in that place.

Either way, Angel knew, they were both dead.

Angel hung his head in shame, “Dead,” he whispered, “Buffy, they’re both dead.”
*******************************
 

Chapter 57:

**********************************
Buffy closed her eyes. Angel had made some kind of mistake; that had to be it. He didn’t just say that her new baby and slightly less new, oh inappropriate humor in the face of tragedy, way to deal Buffy, husband was dead? No, it couldn’t be true. No, it wasn’t true. It just couldn’t be.

“No,” she said flatly, “You’re wrong.”

Angel’s voice cracked with emotion, “Oh, Buffy, I wish I was,” his hands shielded his eyes from the light he’d been so long without, “Maybe the Powers gave me another chance to prove myself. I only know I saw it. I watched him die,” Angel’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Buffy, it was horrible. He never recovered after you…”

“After I what?” Buffy hissed.

“Died,” he said simply.

Buffy huffed, pronouncing every word clearly and moving closer, so that he could see her more clearly, “Angel, you may have noticed. I. Am. Not. Dead. And neither is he. I would know it if he were.”
****************************

IN THE INTERREGNUM-

After years of living with him, Buffy’d learned her share of British slang. She came down to check on his progress. She knew he would have rather been left alone; after all, being omnipresent was bad enough, but to be subjected to Angel’s special brand of self-flagellation, well that took him to a whole new level of Hell. She couldn’t leave him here to face that alone.

She had expected to hear some salty talk from him. Buffy was secretly glad that that was a habit not even this place could break. He just wouldn’t be him without it.

Still, if he wanted to stay on the Higher Plane, it had to be curbed somewhat.

So, imagine her surprise when instead of vulgarity, she heard endearments mixed with a little smugness, “You tell him, Love. Your Mums didn’t mix it up for nothing. It’s just like him to make assumptions. So many choices, so many ways it could turn out, and he thinks his is the only way,” Spike sighed, “Oh, what a berk!”

If she had known about her own personal cheering section back on the Hellmouth, she might not have felt so alone. But, thinking about it now, she had known. If only she had believed it. Things might have gone differently.

And now because of Joni, they still could.

Buffy took a special kind of delight in watching this. She herself still wasn’t used to watching different points in her life as if she were watching a movie. It still kind of gave her the creeps, sort of a strange sense of déjà vu. But he took to it like a duck to water. All that would be needed to make him more comfortable would be a box of popcorn.

The only thing that let Buffy know that Spike was the slightest bit perplexed by the goings on was his incessant pacing, “Spike,” Buffy said, giggling a little when he started at the sound of her voice, “Sorry. Did I scare you?”

Seeing the smile on her face, he chuckled at his own reaction, a little embarrassed. His eyebrow rose, “Believe it or not, yeah. His emotions are all over the place,” he sighed, “How was it that I wasn’t impaled on a Slayer’s stake a hundred years ago?” he walked over to Buffy, taking comfort in her warm embrace. He kissed her lightly, slowly running his fingers through her hair. He looked deep into her emerald eyes, “He’s all one, giant nerve ending. Everything is hard, and loud and bright. He’s like a skittish colt,” his eyes dropped, as emotions he’d forgotten flowed through him and his voice wavered, “The only thing that gives him focus is you,” his gaze rose to hers again, “I didn’t have that before. Thank you, Love.”

“You’re very welcome. I remember what that felt like,” she held his hand gently in hers, calmed and comforted by his presence, “It was the least I could do. You did it for me, I figured I’d return the favor,” Buffy was awestruck by the softness in his eyes. So much so that she nearly couldn’t speak, “Is he ready?” she whispered.

“No, but with your help, he will be,” he nodded, breathing in the scent of her hair and enjoying the blissful warmth her closeness gave him, “This is just a…well deserved rest. It’s something he needs, something I needed. I told you that. I remember. Just a little more time, give him a breather, yeah?” Spike shuddered as a feeling of peace spread through him and he drew Buffy closer to him. He knew it made no sense, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming vertigo. He closed his eyes and let the rush of feeling encircle him, “Oh, thank you, Love. You don’t know how much this means to me. I thought you couldn’t hear me. I was screaming, and you couldn’t hear me.”

Buffy was ashamed of how she’d behaved then, “I heard you,” she assured him, “ My heart heard you, but my head just didn’t want to believe what it was hearing,” she sniffed back tears as she nuzzled her head in his neck, “I’m so sorry. Maybe this will make it right?”

“Oh, it has, Love,” he whispered, “It has. Well,” Spike sighed as he reluctantly pulled away from her, “I’m off to talk to myself,” his eyes rolled, “Where’s Rod Serling when you need him?”

“Who?” Buffy asked.

Spike sighed again and shook his head. Smiling, he kissed her forehead, “Oh, never mind. Wish me luck?”

She grinned and nodded and patted his shoulder, “Luck.”
************************************

OCTOBER 9, 2001- SUNNYDALE

Buffy leaned against the brick wall outside the Magic Box. He was so close, yet she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. If her friends knew where she’d been, if he knew where she’d been. She couldn’t tell them. They couldn’t know.

How could she tell him whom she’d been with?

She forced her eyes up to his face. He looked so concerned. If only he knew. No, she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand.

“…Or, if I can do anything for you.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her. She knew he wouldn’t. He turned to lean on the wall next to her, “Well, I haven’t been to a Hell dimension just of late but I do know a thing or two about torment.”

If only he knew.

“Time didn’t mean anything there. Nothing had form, but I was still me, you know?”

He nodded his understanding. Of course he understood. She could see it in his eyes; in they way he stayed near to her. But he didn’t really know.

“…I was warm. And, I was loved. I think I was in Heaven. Now I’m not. I was pulled out of there, by my friends.”
********************************
 

Chapter 58:

NOVEMBER 5, 2005

Lorne had told him what had happened, but as Stephen Riley strode through the hospital’s parking lot he realized something. He realized that he needed to see for himself that it was true. He couldn’t just take this kind of news at face value. No, this he had to see for himself.

On the drive from Stanford, he secretly wished for a bight and sunny day. A hot day would have been nice too. The kind where the atmosphere gets distorted and you can almost see the heat rising from the pavement. He wanted that kind of day, so that, if it were true, he wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, not now, and not ever again.

And looking up at the bright colors around him, and the big orange ball of gas that stood in the sky, Stephen knew he’d gotten what he’d wished for.

Now all that was left was the congratulations. The puppet had finally become a real boy. There were still strings on this boy though, in the form of a grieving Slayer.

Stephen wasn’t really sure whose side he should take. But, he was going to get a good seat. He wasn’t going to miss this show, not for all the world.

As he exited the elevator on the seventh floor, Stephen didn’t even have to inquire which room belonged to his erstwhile father. He recognized the solemn tone of his voice from down the hall. As he walked down the corridor, Stephen noticed, with some irony, that the room that this once, and present member of the human race currently occupied faced east and exposed him to the bright morning sun.

Stephen could feel his lips pulling up in a sly smirk, of their own accord. There was some sort of justice in that.

As he came to stand in the doorway of the room, a long shadow was cast on the tile floor. It stretched the breadth of the room, coming to a point just below the window. The room was darkened, save for the natural illumination of sunlight, so Stephen knew that Angel’s new, dimmer vision could not see him.

“Hi Dad,” he said menacingly.

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he shot a glance toward the open door, “Connor?”

“Yeah, it’s me. The makeover take this time?”

Angel looked fervently at Buffy hoping she hadn’t heard, which was of course ridiculous, she had heard. And what’s more, now she had that look on her face. The look that told him that he had better fess up, or human or not, he was going to hurt, and hurt bad, if he didn’t.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Stephen seemed genuinely surprised as he stepped further into the room, “You mean he didn’t tell you?” he moved closer to inspect Angel’s bruised and swollen face, “The reflexes aren’t as swift I see,” he clucked his tongue, “You should’ve ducked. I figured he told you and that’s why his face ended up like that,” he reached out to lightly touch Angel’s face and was rewarded with a hiss of breath, “Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Tell me what?” Buffy asked, impatiently.

“That he was human for a day,” he quickly covered his mouth, his eyes widening mockingly, “Oops,” he shrugged, “I wasn’t supposed to know that, no one was. But then,” Stephen said slowly, “no one was supposed to know about me, either. I guess the cat’s out of the bag. So, what’s a few more secrets?”

“Who are you?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, didn’t you hear me?” he pointed to Angel, “I’m his son. Though not in the sense that he raised me, because he didn’t, more in the sense that, he contributed to my genetic makeup. But then, technically I shouldn’t even exist. I mean, both my parents were dead when they made me.”

Buffy’s face began to grey at the implications, “Dead?” she breathed.

He nodded, “Yeah. In the sense that, both my biological parents were vampires,” he shrugged again, “I guess that’s why Uncle Spike came to me with the file Wolfram and Hart had on Dad here. He asked me to try and track cousin Jonina. He figured I knew the terrain,” Stephen said nonchalantly.

“Spike? But why would he come to you?”

“Because I was raised in a Hell dimension just like the one he thinks Jonina’s trapped in.”

“Hell dimension?” Buffy scanned his face and it told her that he was telling her the truth. He believed what he was saying.

“Yes,” Stephen said, “For fifteen years and eleven months, I lived in a Hell dimension called Quartoth. It had it’s own monsters…and other nasty things that tried to kill me every day.”

“Eleven months? What happened to the twelfth?”

A mumble came from the bed, “He was kidnapped when he was a month old, and taken there.”

Buffy saw the shame in Angel’s eyes, but she couldn’t keep the fury from shaking her voice as she addressed him. She nodded, suddenly understanding that she had somehow fallen into a parallel universe, “Taken by who, Angel?”

“A vampire hunter named Holtz.”

The sound that came from Buffy’s throat was caught between a laugh and a sob, “Did you try and take him back?”

Angel’s voice was gruff as he confessed something that he’d atoned for by giving his son a normal life. He looked at the pain in Buffy’s eyes and felt the weight of the shame pressed on his chest, squeezing his heart in its tight fist. It was then that he realized just how wide the cavern was between them. He would never have her back in any way, shape or form. She was his now, and always would be, “No Buffy, I didn’t. I left him there. I gave him up to the hate. I let it swallow him,” he was cut as well as oddly pleased by the look of hate that flamed in Buffy’s eyes. Now there was no doubt who she truly belonged with. Angel had seen that flame before, in Spike’s eyes, “I’m not like him, Buffy. I’ not strong.”

Buffy tried to stem the tide of fury she was feeling. She couldn’t look at Angel anymore. She took a deep breath and focused on Angel’s visitor, “Could he be there now? Could my little girl be in that place, that you were?”

“They could be,” he said.
*********************************

The last thing he remembered was kissing Buffy goodbye and rushing into the light. Now, everything hurt. He was sure he’d broken some ribs. He took in air, and was rewarded with a stab of pain. Somewhere in the fog, he knew he’d punctured a lung. Just like he did on the night that Buffy jumped from the tower. He knew he needed help, but the pain didn’t allow him to cry out.

The more rational part of his brain told him that calling for help might not be a good idea anyway. One never knew what kind of nasty lurked in the dark. It was better not to attract attention.

He didn’t even know if there was anyone, or anything, else here. As the fog overtook him, and his consciousness faded, the thought came that he’d failed her. His little girl was alone out here, and he didn’t find her.

The loss of consciousness was a blessing he knew he didn’t deserve. As the blackness approached, he knew he was alone.
***************

As the caretaker approached the place where the body had landed he looked around him. He had forgotten how austere Angelus had made his environment. It was certainly a far cry from the world Jonina had built.

True, it was cold there and at times it even snowed. But there was warmth too. There were pockets of it, one of which she held him in when he didn’t know his own name.

At times, her world took on the shape and sounds of their time in New England. She didn’t consciously remember the time before, but he did. And he was so proud of her. Even as tiny as she was, she knew, somewhere deep down, that she was a Slayer.

She was strong, his little Joni. She was strong enough to know what she needed. She peopled her prison with the people and things she couldn’t remember.

She even brought her mother back to life because she needed her.

His girl’s world was a little oasis of life in a place of death, and he loved being there.

But that place was not this. This place had no warmth. This was Angelus’s oubliette. This was his prison.

As the caretaker knelt near the body and saw his own reflection, he wondered what those eyes would see when they opened once again.
******************************

Buffy sank into the chair near the hospital bed, staring at Angel in disbelief. She felt the terror grip her, “Oh, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, “You’re telling me that Spike pushed you through? He was there?”

Angel nodded mutely.

“And you left him there? You left him behind?”

“Buffy, there wasn’t time. The aperture was closing. The both of us wouldn’t have made it. He wanted me to get back to you so that I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“That he loves you. And that he’ll find Joni somehow, and bring her back to you. He made me promise to come back, to take care of you…in case he doesn’t make it.”

Buffy tore her gaze from Angel’s. If she didn’t focus on something else, anything else, she knew she would kill him, human or not.

Her eyes drifted back to the boy who called himself Stephen Riley, “Tell me again?”

Stephen nodded, “I know, it’s a heady thing. I had the same reaction when my physics professor tried to explain it to me, but it’s the only way I know how to explain it.”

Buffy nodded as her brain sifted through the information, “So, you’re telling me time is like a string?”

“Uh huh. If you stretch it out, it’s a straight line. No one point touches the other. That’s how time is here. It’s a one-way street and there’s no way you can go in reverse. You just have to keep going straight ahead.”

“But not all dimensions are like that, a straight line?”

“Nope,” Stephen shook his head, hoping she would understand, “If you take that string in your hand and ball it up, it’s still a string, but any point along the line can touch another point. Spike and Jonina could be anywhere along that line,” Stephen stopped, looking at his father, he continued speaking to Buffy, “Time doesn’t flow there like it does here. It goes faster, apparently. According to what Dad here, has said, it goes much faster. And if Dad is right and Spike has been drawn to a point in Angelus’s life, we could be looking at finding a needle in a haystack here,” Stephen sighed, “I mean, Dad has had a long life.”

Buffy’s brain was having trouble keeping up. This was almost too big for her to handle. Her voice seemed small and frightened, “How much faster?” she asked.

Angels voice was muffled by shame, “Buffy, I was there for a quarter of a century. Here, only five days have past.”

Oh God. He could be dead. I might never see him again.

Buffy felt something quake inside of her, “I have to get him back. I have to know where they are,” her voice was raw but strong, “I have to get them back.”
*************************************

Spike moaned and opened his eyes. Black. He blinked. Yes, his eyes were open, but everything was still black. He was blind.

The terror rose in him as he groped for a hold on his surroundings. Cold. Damp. Where he was, was hard and unyielding as stone.

Stone. This was familiar. A crypt. He was in a crypt.

He was blind, and alone, and in a crypt. He would never find her, not like this.

A sob ripped at his throat and fear assailed him as he lay on the cold slab floor of the crypt, “Joni.”

The sob became a rasping cough as pain pierced his lungs, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. In order to mend, he had to remain still. But he couldn’t remain still, not when he had to find Joni. He’d made a promise. His promise was what staggered him to his feet.

Even as his body swayed and he fought to stay on his feet as blessed unconsciousness beckoned to him, he pushed it down. He didn’t have time to be afraid. That would come later. Right now, all he knew was finding Joni.

He stumbled forward until he found himself pressed against a wall of stone. His fingers slowly slid along the wall. If this was a crypt, there had to be an exit. If there weren’t one, then he would make one. He’d claw through a wall or the ceiling if he had to. He was going to get out. Joni needed him. He was going to get out.

Suddenly he became aware of a presence. It wasn’t physical, but the knowledge came to him, he wasn’t alone in this place. His heart was filled with a warring combination of gratefulness and fear.

He stared out into the darkness around him. He coughed as his lungs burned with the effort of speech, “Who are you?”

Spike heard the rustle of movement and he felt rather than heard the response. Relax. I know you’re scared. That’s a nasty head injury. The blindness will go away. Even if you didn’t have the head injury though, you wouldn’t be able to see anything as long as you were here.

The voice seemed familiar, like something lost in sleep, “Who are you?”

I’m a friend. I want to help you find Jonina.

“How do you know Joni? Where is she?” Spike hissed, “What have you done to her?” He hurled his body forward again, desperate to find an exit, a way out.

Jonina isn’t here. I haven’t done anything to her. I protect her. I have for years now. If you don’t stop using your body as a battering ram it won’t heal properly. Stop it, now

The voice was strangely calming. All the strength was quickly leaving him, so he complied. His hand fumbled for the floor of the crypt, and he slowly sat on down, “Years?” even as he said the word Spike felt his broken ribs stab him again.

Time flows differently here.

“Why can’t I see you?” Spike asked, ignoring the pain.

Because this place isn’t for you, it’s for Angelus.
*******************************************

 

Chapter 59:

The claustrophobia was suffocating him. He’d been claustrophobic ever sense he’d awakened as a vampire. No one really expects to die and then wake up in a coffin. Spike remembered having to claw his way out through the wood and earth. At the time the splinters cut at his skin like knives and he hadn’t understood why. All he knew was that he had to get out.

It was the same way now.

Spike could feel the cold blood as it oozed down the side of his forehead and into his eyes, not that that mattered. He couldn’t see anyway. But he knew if he could just stay calm, he would find a way out. The problem was, he couldn’t stay calm, not with Joni out there somewhere.

Still, if he wanted out of here to find Joni, he had to stay calm. To stay calm he had to distract himself. To do that, he had to talk. The only one that was offering any conversation was his jailer.

If he played his cards right he just might get a handle on this situation, find Joni and get back to Buffy.

Well, any port in a storm, “Who are you?”

Well, that depends. You see, in this dimension I have form, I’m a physical being. Jonina gave me that. But in your dimension I have no form at all. I’m just an idea, an abstract.

Spike’s raspy laughter resounded in the tomb of stone, “Great, I’m talking to a ghost.”

No, I’m more than that. You made me. I’m a part of you. Deep inside of you, you already know what it is that I am. You remember the exact moment of my birth. You remember the moment I nearly ceased to exist. I know you do, because I remember it as well.

As a matter of fact, without those forces that have gathered around you to protect you, I would have withered to nothing.

Spike’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, “Are you my soul?” apprehension crawled up his spine, “Is this Hell?” Spike scrambled to his knees, his hands groping slowly along the cold floor, searching vainly for a way out, “It is, isn’t it? And, you’ve trapped me here because of the things I made you do when the First had me in its thrall. Is that right?”

No. I am not your soul. That’s been set free. It’s an innocent, just like Edith. But, I’m very nearly like unto it. So much so in fact that you could say that, for you, the soul and what I am are indistinguishable. And, you haven’t been trapped here; you’ve been placed here. I’m here to be sure that you make it through to Jonina, that you send her back where she belongs, in her mother’s arms.

Given time, I’ll be strong enough to help you. As it is now though, I am not much stronger then you are. All I can do now is help you to survive. Do you hear me? We have to survive, for Elisabeth. For Jonina.

Spike’s limbs felt like stone, and the heaviness was making it difficult to stave off the fear that threatened him, “If you didn’t put me here…who did?”

The Senior Partners put you here, to keep you out of the way. They are your jailers. But Angelus holds the key.

Blackness was pulling at the edges of his consciousness, “Why?’ the word was a voiceless cry.

To keep you detained. To keep Jonina from doing what the Senior Partners know she must.

“Angel…won’t…help,” Spike felt his body being pushed down by the hopelessness of this prison, “Help…please. Got to…get…out.”

Everything was heavy. Spike could barely move his arms and legs. He most certainly couldn’t move his limbs with the kind of precision needed for forward progress, or progress of any kind. The claustrophobia was closing in on him again. He could feel himself slipping. He was losing ground in this battle to stay aware, and alert. Spike could feel his knees giving way, forcing him to shift all his body weight to his arms to keep himself upright. But his arms trembled with the strain. Even as he felt himself collapse to the floor of his prison cell, he remembered his promise to Buffy.

He would get Jonina back. He had to, because, failing that he would cease to be.
*********************************

NOVEMBER 6, 2005

Georgina Whitby watched over her with a cautious eye. The hospital was driving Buffy bonkers. She had suggested a change of scene and maybe a night’s sleep, or a bite to eat. Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave. She insisted on being somewhere that reminded her of him, so it was either the site of his disappearance, “Caritas,” or the Jennings Street dojo.

So George chose the dojo. But the empty dojo wasn’t any better. There were too many reminders of him here. Spike’s presence was so thick here that all being here did was remind Buffy if what she didn’t have.

Spike might as well have been a ghost here.

Georgina lingered in the locker room doorway. She was saddened by what she saw. Poor Buffy.

Georgina could only see Buffy from the back. She was standing in the far left corner of the locker room, in front of an open locker; his open locker. She was staring at the contents inside. Georgina could see that she’d been crying. If Buffy’s slumped shoulders and fierce grip on the edge of the little metal door weren’t a clue, then the loud shaky sobs that echoed through the nearly empty room certainly were.

As George approached, she tried to do so reverently. The news from Council headquarters in Rome had served as the one-two punch Buffy did not need right now.

The sickness had claimed another Slayer. Faith was dead. Three Slayers cut down by some unseen, unknown killer. George knew that Faith Wood had been taken out of rotation by an illness back in June. Now the news came down from Rupert Giles. The mysterious illness still didn’t have a name. It didn’t need a name kill her. Faith was the first infected, but the last to fall.

There was no way to know how many more would be stricken before they had the answer. It was this urgency, which, in part, had driven Spike from his place at Buffy’s side.

Georgina cleared her throat politely, “Buffy, is there anything you need?” George slowly wheeled her chair up closer to her and shrugged her shoulders, sighing, “Maybe some coffee? I can do that for you.”

Buffy shook her head, “No, thank you, Georgie.”

Buffy kept her eyes staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to hear Georgie’s well-meaning, sweetly grating voice. Angel’s revelations had left her raw and numb.

She looked straight ahead. She didn’t want to see what he’d left behind, didn’t want to see his empty things. That would mean admitting that he wasn’t here and that he might not be coming back.

Buffy slowly reached into the tiny metal wardrobe and brushed her hand lightly against the heavy fabric of his karate uniform. Traditionally, the uniforms came in two colors, black and white, just like the symbol that adorned the floor of the main workout room.

As she brushed the black fabric with her fingers, she smiled. Of course he’d chosen black. She had tried to get him to change his ways. She had liked how he looked in the robin’s egg shade that he’d worn during his recuperation. She had thought that the white might be a change for him.

He’d just quirked his eyebrow and said, in a sly voice, “It has to be black, Love. The white makes me look dead,” his tongue rested against his teeth as he chuckled when she’d rolled her eyes, “You know that,” he nuzzled contentedly at the nape of her neck and murmured in her ear, “Besides, I’m back in fighting form now. I know who I am, where I belong. So, ‘until things are better, I’m the man in black.’”

She turned to look at him, “Huh?”

Buffy felt the rumbling laughter buzz through her as he held her tight against him and kissed her neck, “Have to broaden your musical horizons, Love. That’s all there is to it. It just has to be done.”

Buffy blinked, feeling the unshed tears, as the memory washed over her. She blinked and he was gone.

“How long?” she asked, hating the weakness in her voice.

Georgina knew, “Five days now. Do you…” she almost couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat. She swallowed the ache and tried again, “want me to do this for you? You should try to sleep,” Georgina could barely finish the thought without her own voice giving out on her, “It’s what he would want you to do.”

Buffy tried to breathe, but the breath was cut off by a sob, “Do you think he’s warm?” she choked, “He just detests the cold. That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

Georgina sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, “I don’t know, Buffy.”

“Do you think he’ll know me, when he gets back? Angel recognized me, but he was…” Buffy’s whole body began to shake. The more she tried to control the anguish inside her, the more violent the tremors became, until she couldn’t stand anymore.

Instinctively, Georgina pulled herself out of her wheelchair and curled herself protectively around Buffy. They held each other as their sobs filled the empty space of the small room, “I don’t know Buffy,” she said wiping at her tears, “I don’t know.”
**********************************

COUNTY HOSPITAL- SEVENTH FLOOR

Holland Manners was, admittedly, rusty at shining bedside decorum, but to keep his own feet out of the fire, he was not above trying. He wouldn’t have had to resort to this if Angel had just upheld his portion of the contact.

Holland shook his head in disgust. The smell of disinfectant was too heavy for his comfort. Well, no matter. It didn’t deter him from his mission.

He opened the door and slid, effortlessly, in.

Angel noticed the shadowy figure approach his bed. He wished he was dreaming, but he knew he wasn’t, “Holland,” he gasped as he fumbled for the call button, “Don’t hurt me. Please?” he coward.

“Now, now,” Holland jeered oilily, “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to harm the Home Office’s best operative on this plane. It could be bad for me.”

Angel’s heart battered the inside of its cage as he whispered, “Wh-what do you want?”

“To make you an offer,” Holland sank down into the bedside chair, “You’ve been there, Angel,” he sighed, “You know how it all ends. We can change it for you,” his eyes swept coolly over the vulnerable human form, “We can make this permanent. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Angel closed his eyes, clearly shamed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Holland said, “We can make it happen for you. Just don’t tell them what you know.”
******************************************************************

The fog was beginning to lift. Spike could make out shapes of grey amid a sea of black. This was good. A little longer and he’d be able to see his way out.

His jaw was leaden and it was painful to speak, but he had bigger concerns. He had Joni to think about.

“You still here?” he slurred through the haze.

One of the grey shapes shimmered slightly, “Yes, I’m here.”

Spike tried to bring the shape into focus, but the pain in his head made that impossible, “Oh, bloody Hell, I’m already dead. How can my head hurt this much?”

“Well, a fractured skull will do that to you.”

Spike nodded slightly and immediately regretted it as pain blazed along his spine, “The pain would explain you. Hallucinations…”

“I am not a hallucination.”

Spike wheezed, “Sure you’re not. You’re not in my head anymore. So unless I got a cell mate, you’re a hallucination.”

The shadow shifted again, “Okay. I can see I’m not getting anywhere. I’m a hallucination.”

“Good,” Spike coughed, “You have a name?”

“Yes. It’s Homer.”

“Is Jonina still safe?” Spike tried to fight the apprehension that hung over him.

“Yes, I’ve taken care of her since she was a little thing.”

“Since…” the specter of lost years going by while he was off taking revenge on Angelus loomed over him, “Right. Time flow’s different. Does she…remember me?”

Homer sounded incredulous, “Her ‘Daddy?’ Yes, of course she does.”

“How do I get to her?”

“As soon as I know you’re up to making the journey, I’ll take you to her. You have my word. But, there’s something you should know about Jonina.”

“What?”

“Jonina is the Home Office’s Trojan horse,” Homer sighed, “When Angelus allowed her to be abducted to this place she was changed when she crossed the dimensional barrier.”

The repercussions caused a wave of nausea to sweep over Spike, “Changed how?” he gasped.

“A virus was introduced into her system. When she crosses the barrier again, the virus that’s been haunting your nightmares will be unleashed on your reality.”

“But it’s already there!” his growl resonated in his tomb, “Two Slayers have already died. I’m trying to fight it. But it’s like trying to catch smoke,” the growl of frustration transformed into a sob of despair.

“I know,” Homer said, “It’s there because Joni has already been there. Angelus,” the voice dripped with venom, “in his zeal to ‘protect’ humanity, and the Slayers and you, unleashed it. Made the virus airborne.”

The puzzle pieces began to fit in Spike’s mind, “The girl, on our wedding night. Angelus had her cremated. Oh, God!”
*************************************************

 

Chapter 60:

*********************************
IN THE INTERREGNUM- HIGHER PLANE

Joyce could feel her sadness, even here, “I know Honey. But you know it has to be done this way,” she looked down and frowned at the hurt on Buffy’s face, “I know that doesn’t make it any better for you.”

“No it doesn’t,” Buffy whispered. She was already feeling the pain of being apart from him, and it hadn’t even happened yet. How was she going to feel when it did happen? She knew her eyes were brimming with tears. She could feel them as they left hot trails down her face.

“I know,” Joyce soothed, “But he won’t be alone for long. I promise.”

“How do you know that?” Buffy sniffed, “I think I’ve used up all my chances. Especially after that spell; I thumbed my noses at them with all my, ‘I don’t wanna be the one,’ talk. If I ask for it back…” she looked down and sighed, “They could take it out on him. Oh Mommy, if it hadn’t been for him I never would have had Joni in my life.”

“I know, Buffy,” Joyce smiled as she took her daughter into her arms, “Don’t you know by now that mothers know everything? I’ve pulled a few strings. Don’t worry, things will be fine.”
***********************************************************

Georgina had suggested that she try to sleep. Georgina had no clue what she was asking. She didn’t know what kind of torture sleeping was for her now.

Even now as Buffy woke, she could still hear him screaming. Even now she fought the blackness and the fear. She tried to shake it off. She didn’t want to go back there. Back to the crushing fear that made her shatter through her own casket to escape, she’d been there so many nights before. Every night in fact, every night she thought him lost to the Hellmouth, she was with him. Every night, she listened to his silent screams.

She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she’d been warned that this was coming. She knew that Spike was paying for her arrogance.

Thinking back, she had been warned. He’d warned her. When he’d been nearly driven mad by the things he’d seen on the Hellmouth, in his own way, he’d tried to warn her. Although, at the time she’d discovered the warning she thought it was too late to save him. After all, he was dust, or she’d thought so at the time.

No. She didn’t want to go back there. But she knew she had to, to save him.

Seeing the sliver of daylight that peeked around the edge of the draperies, Buffy drew a shaky breath. She walked blindly over to his cherished bookcase, lovingly fingered the old bindings, and took down the volume of poetry.

She let out a bitter laugh. It figured that the clue to all this lay in the writings of the only poet who might have been scary enough to survive the Hellmouth.

Edgar Allan Poe.

She remembered Spike’s rantings so clearly now. Why had she not paid attention?

She wanted to go back to sleep. Go to sleep and never wake again. She wanted it all back. It was all a dream and she wanted it back.

But, like everything else in her life, the dream had somehow metamorphosed into a nightmare.

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. Metamorphosed. Now there was a ten-point word. And she was fairly sure she’d used it correctly. Spike would be proud.

Spike. Her ears still rang with his voice, colored with delusion, crying, “Scream ‘Montresor’ all you like, Pet. Can’t hear you.”

It was only now, as she stared at the poem on the page, that she realized what he had been trying to tell her. In this poem, The Cask of Armadillo, or something like that; Buffy never really did understand poetry, except for the little Japanese ones that sounded like a sneeze. In the poem, Montresor is, “accentually” bricked up in the walls of a tomb, by his friend.

Buffy shivered at the thought. She wanted to go back to sleep, to the part of the dream she’d liked. The part where Spike was holding her and kissing her, the part before he’d started screaming her name.

She wanted to hold the dream for as long as she could and she hated the light for bringing that to an end.

It had been a long time since she’d had that dream. So long in fact that she’d forgotten it, almost made herself believe that it wasn’t true.

How could it be true? It was just wishful thinking. Buffy knew that. He wasn’t here and that’s why she’d dreamt of him, that’s all.

How could it be true? She’d never seen snow in her life. She’d always been a California girl. She’d never lived anywhere else that she could recall.

Still, it seemed so real. And, she’d had the dream before, when Willow first brought her back. It seemed so real, being in his arms.

How could it not be real?

As Buffy roamed the apartment she shared with him, it was hard not to want to cling to the warmth she remembered. She could still feel it now. And that made waking up without him all the more cruel. If she closed her eyes, the fragments of her dreams coalesced into the microcosm that she’d tried to get back to after her resurrection.

A world in which she was loved; a world where he still existed. She had loved him there. With everything she was, she loved him.

A world she knew he sensed somehow. She knew it because of the way he was with her. His eyes were softer, as if he remembered too.

She asked him how long, and he told her. Without blinking an eye, he’d told her. Twenty-one weeks. She’d only been there twenty-one weeks. It had seemed so much longer. It was a lifetime to her. A lifetime she would have given anything to have again.

Yet, when she’d returned, she found herself doing and saying things to him that were unthinkable and inexcusable. Seeing the love in his eyes, a love she had left behind, and knowing he would never understand what he had given her, and in the end would never know that kind of peace because of what he was, no matter how much good he would ever do, hurt her. And, because of that hurt, she lashed out. She had known, even as it was happening, that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. But, she’d been too numb to care, too numb to stop it.

But she wasn’t numb now. Now, as she looked at a father’s gift to his infant daughter and absorbed the little spectrum of light and air on the nursery wall, she felt it all and felt it with a ferocity that took her breath away.

It was as though a part of her was still there, in that place. When she closed her eyes, she felt as though Spike had taken a part of her away with him.

That thought was all that sustained her in the lonely days. The thought that some part of him still knew he was loved was all she had to cling to.

Until he came home it was all she had.

So, she closed her eyes and fell back into Heaven.
*****************************************

He’d been alone. He’d gone on because he knew he had to. But there was no spark. There was nothing to warm him, not even her dying embers.

But now he could be warm again. Now he didn’t have to be alone. She’d been given back to him. Somehow, the universe had taken pity on him. As he wondered down at the small laurel of silver she had seen fit to bestow upon him, he wept at the unworthiness he felt.

It was at times like this that he was glad he had her near. She would laugh at him if she knew he still felt this way. How many years had it been now? Hundreds? He’d stopped counting. And still she stayed the same, just as beautiful as the first time he saw her.

He noticed a briskness in the air surrounding him. That wouldn’t do, not for his girl. If he felt the cold he could only imagine what it was like for her.

As he looked out the window he was grateful for the bright colors. That was something he missed. There was no autumn there. But here, he saw colors the likes of which the world had no words to describe.

Through the haze of condensation on the window, he could see her coming over the horizon. It was her custom to take long walks. Sometimes he went with her. But, more often than not she would take this constitutional on her own. Often, when she returned from these jaunts, she would be quiet and aloof. It seemed to him that she was searching for something. She seemed to yearn for the life she had shunned so long ago.

That made a strange kind of sense to him. It was, after all, who she was. There was no escaping that. Even here, what you truly were shone through. That was how things worked here. It had been this way before, and, he supposed it would always be so.

At times a pall would overtake her. When she could fight it no longer, she would let him hold her, and that was enough.

He crossed the tiny cottage and knelt near the wood-burning stove to stoke the fire, he felt the warm glow on his face and again counted himself blessed to have her.

He was warm, and that was enough.
********************************

Lying on the floor of the crypt, the cold brought him back to reality. The sob that eked out of his throat begged that he be allowed to go back to sleep. Reality was not a place he wanted to be just now. He’d have rather spent a century with Buffy then one more second in this tomb.

“Anyone here?” his voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. He knew that if he had needed to breathe to sustain his being, then he would not be at all.

A patient voice rumbled through him, “Yes, I’m here.”

Homer’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness and as he sat on his haunches next to the still form, he looked with a strange fondness into the eyes that still darted about trying to find him.

It was funny. Until now, he hadn’t realized how single-minded he really was. Rod Serling never had a life like his, “And if you want to keep it from becoming Bedlam in that skull of yours, maybe you’d better let me do the yarn spinning from here on out. It’s less work for you. And don’t worry; I won’t be offended if you’re not the world’s most gripping conversationalist. I’m kind of used to the quiet. Besides, It’ll help you heal. That way, you can get back to Joni faster.”

Spike’s eyes drifted shut slowly. Before his brain took him again into the mercy of sleep, he mumbled, “Never get out. Angelus won’t let me go. He tried to,” his eyelids were too heavy. He was slipping again, “…kill Joni.”

Homer felt his jaw tighten. The flame within him grew as he growled, “I know. Angelus knows why he put you here, and so do I. Joni needs you, and so does she. I’m going to make him let you out,” Homer sighed, amazed at the rancorous hatred he still held for that beast.

Years of witnessing what was done to countless universes because of that one act of “kindness” had changed him, made him bitter. Only Jonina had eased the sting of it for him. For that, he was grateful. And, he would repay her, “Don’t worry about Jonina. I’ve got her. She’s right here. I’m holding her tight, and I won’t let anything hurt her. You know that,” Homer straightened as he watched him fall asleep, “Right now though, I have to pay a little visit to Angelus. Make him give up that skeleton key.”
*********************************************************

NOVEMBER 6, 2005- COUNTY HOSPITAL-SEVENTH FLOOR

Angel woke with a start. His heart was pounding and he was sweating. He had to gulp air just to chase the terror away.

God, the screams, he could still hear them in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever forget them as long as he lived.

A menacing voice spoke from the corner of the room, “No, I don’t imagine you will.”

Angel’s head snapped toward the sound, and a shiver ran through him. Even though he could still see only shadows, this particular shadow took a familiar shape, a familiar stance. It was leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

Angel squinted, trying to make his vision clear, “Holland?” he asked, hoping his voice did not betray his terror.

The form moved closer to his bed and in recognized cadence said, “No, not Holland. At least, not this time.”

Horror gripped Angel as the shadow came to full view. Somehow, Spike was staring back at him, smiling with deadly intent, “You should be so lucky, Angelus.”
*******************************************
 

Chapter 61:

IN THE INTERREGNUM-

Joni tried to apologize for what she’d done. All she wanted to do was see them again. She wanted her parents to love her the way her Uncle couldn’t, or wouldn’t. And now because of her mistake she would have to cause her mother and Daddy more pain. Hadn’t they been through enough?

She couldn’t look her mother in the eye, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I know it hurts to go through this all again, because of me.”

Buffy looked at Joni’s soft eyes and her open face and knew that Joni felt her pain, “Oh, I know Sweetie. But you remember how Slayer dreams work, don’t you? They can be brutal. They can feel so real, and that’s what she needs right now. She needs to know what’s coming. She needs to know how Angel is involved in this now. And, as much as I hate to admit it, subtlety never worked on me, or Angel, for that matter,” Buffy shook her head in thought, “No,” she sighed, “It needs to be this way. She needs to know what you and your Dad went through. This is the only way to do it.”

“But Mom, you went through it too.”

“Not like you did. Once I let go, it was over for me. But you, and your Dad had to go on. She has to know what it was like for you. It’s the only way to prepare her to fight this thing.”

Joni kissed her mother lightly on the cheek, “Okay Mom. If that’s what you think will help. I’m off to play sandman again,” Joni winced visibly, “How is Daddy doing with Uncle Angel?”

Buffy sighed, “Well you know the two of them. There could be a whole lot of yelling and some cowering and glaring, but your Dad will get through to him. He always has before.”
***********************

Angel blinked. He hadn’t gone away. How was this even possible?

A look of pain crossed Spike’s face and he took on a petulant look, “No Angel,” he shook his head, “you’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he leaned in closer and reveled in how heady it was to be doing this again. It had been so long, but as he told someone once, it’s not like you forget how. Spike could almost taste the fear as it tumbled off of him.

He smirked, “Oh come on, Angel. It’s not like I haven’t been a ghost before. Don’t look so terror-stricken,” an eyebrow went up and Spike’s head tilted in thought. His eyes gleamed with glee as he said, “On second thought, keep it up. That look on your face is one of the few pleasures I have now. So, keep at it.”

Angel swallowed the lump in his throat, “What do you want?” he whispered.

“To congratulate Buffy on her right hook,” Spike shook his head and chuckled, “Black and blue really is a good look for you,” his face pulled into a grimace, “But all kidding aside, I’m here to make sure you tell Buffy what you know.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Blue eyes glinted back at him, sharp as knives, “We both know that’s a lie. You know what you know, and so do I. You saw it, Angel. You know what I went through. You know what Buffy went through. And, you can stop it! Be the hero you always claimed to be…and tell her.”

“No, I can’t. It wasn’t real!”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Of course it was real,” he bit out, “I remember every moment of it. I remember watching them all die, one by one. And so do you. I remember how brave she was. She tried to brush it off. Tried to…” he hated seeming weak in front of Angel, but he had to understand what he’d done, before it really was too late. Spike wrapped his arms around himself. Even in this ethereal state, he felt himself starting to quake uncontrollably at the memories Angel denied. The last thing Spike needed right now was to have Angel see just how much his Grandsire could still affect him, “She tried to be brave…for me. She knew what it would do to me when she…died. She knew what it would do to Jonina.”

Angel watched as the doppelganger of William Dustin, his victim, his ally and, of late, his tormenter, glided toward the window. Angel knew something ominous was happening here. The specter looked too much like what he’d seen in the Hell dimension. But he wasn’t in that Hell anymore. He was here. So why did the sight of this ghost freeze his heart? Could it all have been real, somehow? Did it all happen?

The specter’s hand seemed to touch the windowpane, as if to absorb the early morning light that still hung in the sky. He turned his head again, looking back at him with eyes that seemed older than he ever was, “Do you know that you were right?” blue eyes shimmered with rage, “And, don’t you dare be smug!” Spike tried to control the tremor in his voice. A tremor of loss, and rage, “My little girl was the key. But, she was the key to saving the Slayers. Saving her. But like everything else, you jumped in, without the full picture, and you mucked it up! You made a bad situation, a situation that wasn’t even due to hit for seven more years mind you, even worse! Buffy and I had it contained. Even after Joni…we had it contained. We did. But, you had to go and play ‘hero. You had to ‘save’ me from the pain of losing her. But guess what Angelus, you can’t save anyone from life. Pain is a part of that. So, whether she’s forty or four hundred when it happens, it’s still going to hurt! There’s nothing you can do to stop it. In trying to control everything in your world,” a sadness came over him as he relived all the death and destruction, “you blew it to bits, Angel.”

Angel listened. And, he knew, deep down that what he was saying was true. Still, he didn’t want to believe it, “No,” he had to deny it; it couldn’t be true, “You’re lying! I didn’t…”

Spike whirled on him, and despite himself Angel’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the wrath that those eyes rained down on him. Before Angel knew what was happening, blue fire swamped his vision and Spike’s voice boomed in the small space, “Oh, but you did. Don’t tell me you don’t remember! I know you do.”

Angel tried to stand his ground. It had all been a dream, a side effect of being human. Humans had nightmares all the time. That was all this doppelganger was, right?

Angel didn’t want to think of his time in Hell. It was just too painful. But there was something in Spike’s eyes that transported him there and made him relive the pain he’d caused them. The pain he couldn’t stop.
******************************************
NOVEMBER 11, 2027-

The house was dark, as it always was now. He remembered when she was smaller how hard he’d tried to bring light into the house. Spike had spent thousands of dollars to refit the house with necro-tempered glass just so that she could be a normal young lady. So she wouldn’t have to worry about her father. So she would be able to live in the light.

Together, they’d raised her to be a happy, healthy, and well-adjusted child. This house had been a house of laughter and joy.

On the rare occasions that he would pull himself out of his self-imposed exile long enough to speak to his niece, Angel grew to hate the beatific look of love her eyes held as she told him about her life. Her eyes would shine, as if she lived in a fairy tale. She would tell him about love and laughing, and dancing. She would tell him, in a breathless voice, how safe she felt when she heard her father sing her to sleep at night and how warm she felt in her parents’ arms.

She was happy. And, he hated her for it. What’s more, he hated Spike for falling so effortlessly into the role of father. A role he felt so inadequate in. A role he’d abdicated in favor of a lonely, solitary existence.

Then two years ago, the Shanshu was fulfilled. William was the one who came out on top.

Ever since then, Spike had nearly begged Angel to be there for her, to take care of her. It was as if he knew his time was short.

Angel didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t know if he could do it.

But all that was useless now. Walking into this house, Angel could feel the grip of death here.

His gaze roamed around the house. Everything seemed heavy. The house that was usually lively was slowing down, becoming colder, just as he was.

He still had a vampire’s hearing, but Angel didn’t need it now. The sorrow in this house was so loud that it was unavoidable.

Angel wandered into the dining room and saw Willow, Georgina, Dawn and Xander huddled close to one another around the table. They all sensed his presence and looked up at him.

Willow quietly left her place at the table and walked up to him. The look on her face told him all he needed to know, even without the soft sobbing coming from the sickroom.

Angel kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to see the pain he’d caused them, “How is he, Willow?”

Willow’s voice was icy, “He’s dying Angel. You remember what it was like for Buffy. How do you think he’s doing?”

Angel suddenly felt humbled, “I know. I wish there was something I could do for him, and for her.”

“Really?” Willow seemed genuinely surprised, “Because I remember how desperate he was, we all were, when the Slayers first started getting ill. He would have done anything,” her voice was rising unnaturally, “anything to keep from leaving Joni without a mother! I know because he even came to me and begged me to rescind the spell. Believe me, I wanted to, but once something that pernicious is released on the fabric of the universe, you can’t take it back. I’m betting Wolfram and Hart knew that. And, I’m sure they knew how desperate we were, back in Sunnydale. That’s why they made that deal with you. They knew if they gave you a little power, you wouldn’t ask questions. They were right. You didn’t, and we were foolish not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I know Spike would have made a deal with Satin himself if he knew it would save his family pain,” her eyes hardened, accusing him, “I’m sure he even came to you for help.”

“He did,” Angel stated grimly, “But I couldn’t subject Connor to that. I love him too much.”

“Angel, if we all defined love the way you do, we’d all be dead.”

He was shamed by her words, “I know, Willow. Can I see him?”

Willow’s voice was hollow and without feeling, “You can try, Angel. But, I don’t know if he’s aware anymore, or even if she’ll let you in the room.”

“I still have to try,” he said.
**********************************

Angel remembered, and he remembered well. His body had been weak and frail. But his will, oh God, his will was so strong. He was still trying to set things right. Still trying to correct a mistake that wasn’t his.

The rest of his body had begun to still. As if it were trying to prepare itself for his final death. But William’s eyes still flashed, defiant as ever. It seemed to Angel, at the time, as if something remained of the vampire he had been. If it were at all possible, and even if it wasn’t possible, Spike wasn’t going to go down, for the final time, without one Hell of a brawl.

Suddenly Angel found himself flung back into the present, with ghostly azure eyes boring into him, “It was all true, wasn’t it?” he was clearly shaken by what he’d seen.

The fire that accused him was ebbed by sorrow, “Yes it was all true. Joni saved me. But, I couldn’t save her. I had everything you have now,” Spike’s voice drifted, lost in time, “but I gave it all up to spare her. You see,” mournful blue eyes glistened at him, “she couldn’t take one more drop of loss. She was broken. She was just doing what she could to be whole again. I don’t blame her for that. To make her whole again, I’d split myself into a thousand pieces and scatter them on the wind, if it would help. And, I did that. I took back her mistake. But now, because of you, everything I’ve done is for naught.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You let Wolfram and Hart pour their poison in your ear. You let them take Joni. You hold the key to my, and Joni’s, prison. You know what to do. All you have to do is tell Buffy. Tell Buffy, and this all goes away, and I leave you to sleep in peace. Take the offer, Angel, it’s more than you’ve ever given me.”
******************************************************

The Slayer dreams had shaken her to the core. They were bad before he left, but now they were so much worse.

Spike must have known he would need some kind of connection to her, because before he left and before Joni had been kidnapped, on their night of celebration, he’d asked her to drink from him:

Buffy stared at the blood as it oozed slowly out of the vein in his wrist. She was mildly alarmed, “Spike, are you all right? This isn’t like you. Are you sure you’re not drunk?” she looked back up at his glistening eyes, and knew he was not drunk. He was deadly serious.

“No Love, I’m not drunk. And don’t ask me how I know because I don’t…know. I need you to do this for me. Please, Love?”

She nodded, gently pressing her lips to his wrist. This made her feel so close to him, “I love you, Spike,” she murmured as she fell to sleep again.

She vaguely remembered hearing him whisper to her, “I love you too, Buffy. Don’t want to lose you. Not when I just found you.”

Now the Slayer dreams were back, and they all pointed to Angel. So, now she was back where she didn’t want to be, in the hospital, visiting Angel. No, she wasn’t visiting. She was here to demand answers, answers she knew he alone could supply.
*****************************

Spike had only intended to shake him up a little, make him confess what he knew and so that he could be free to help Joni. But, this was almost delicious.

Here he was, the “Champion of the People,” prostrate on the floor at his feet. Begging him, “…Please Spike! That’s just it. I know I should tell her. I know that Connor’s DNA could help. But, I’m not as strong as you. I can’t give this up. If I tell Buffy what I know, they’ll take this all away from me. This way I can be in Connor’s life,” Angel looked down at his swollen and bruised flesh and he suddenly knew the price he’d paid for it, “I know you hate me. But if I tell Buffy what I know, they’ll take this all away from me. I’ll be a vampire again,” Angel was sobbing; his speech was almost unintelligible, “I can’t do it again, Spike. I’m so sorry, but I can’t. If that means that you’ll haunt me for the rest of forever, then I’ll take that,” he shook violently, never taking his gaze off of Spike’s ethereal feet, “I can’t go back to that, Spike. I can’t go back to the shadows.”

Spike’s tone was bitter, “But you would send me there, back to the shadows? So I see they’ve found your price and I’ve been sold out for thirty pieces of silver.”

“But you’ll survive, Spike. I know you will. You always have. You’re better than me. I know that now.”

As Buffy walked down the hall toward the room, she could hear Angel sobbing, talking feverishly to Spike.

Buffy quickened her pace. Had Spike come back to her? Not wanting to startle Angel into silence she stayed in the doorway, watching the pathetic display.

She could see Angel, lying face down on the floor of his hospital room, sobbing uncontrollably and taking to thin air. Talking to Spike as if he were in the room with him. But it wasn’t the sight that made Buffy break her silence; it was the things he was saying.


Spike became aware that Buffy was near and took his eyes off of the disgusting scene of the fallen champion at his feet. His eyes were drawn to the doorway, “Hello, Love.”

“What does your son have to do with the Slayer illness, Angel?”

Angel gulped air and looked blindly toward the door. How much had she heard, “What?”

She stepped into the room and scooped Angel up off the floor, “You heard me. What does your son have to do with the illness? And, what do you know about where my husband and child are?”
********************************************************

Speed limits had no meaning as Buffy raced back to the old nightclub, “Giles, you heard me,” she snapped at the air as she sped down the highway, “Check into demon DNA. It might be the cure for this thing. Stephen Riley’s flying over there right now. He’s agreed to be you guinea pig. He should be there by morning.”

Cars were a blur in her windows as she raced to save him, “I’ll find you Spike,” she promised, “I swear, I’ll find you, and Joni. Just hang on.”
*****************************************

Homer knelt next to the still form in the darkened crypt, “I got that skeleton key for you,” he whispered, his voice seemed loud in the silent crypt, “All we need now is…”

“Buffy,” Spike moaned.

“Yes, Buffy,” Homer agreed, “She’s on her way. I promise.”
 

Chapter 62:

NOVEMBER 7, 2005

The string of curses issuing from Buffy’s lips, she was sure would make even Spike blush. She should have known better than to get caught in L.A. gridlock. After nine in the morning nothing moved in Los Angeles. “Rush Hour” was anything but. But the Hell that came pouring out from Angel’s mouth held her in its grip.

She hadn’t meant to stay as long as she did, especially after what Angel had revealed about Connor. But, the horror of what he described was irresistible. It drew her in. The look of shame he carried in his eyes took it from the realm of what-if to hard, cold reality.

Angel had a way of doing that. Tender delusions had no place where he was. They could not exist. He obliterated all of them. But then he’d always done that. For as long as she’d known him, Angel had taken her carefully constructed dreams and twisted then into nightmares.

She now understood the fear that had stalked Spike for months. Now she understood his nightmare, because now it was hers too. Even before Angel’s revelation, the dreams often had her waking up in a cold sweat, but until now that’s all she thought they were. Dreams. But they were more than that, she knew now that they were real.

At times she would wake up sobbing, reaching out for him and hoping he was there. The ache was so tangible. Sometimes she would hold him so tight that she’d leave crimson marks on his skin, just to prove to herself that he was real and he hadn’t left her. He never said a word. He just held her and comforted her, as if he understood.

She knew now that he had indeed understood because it was real for him too.

As Buffy sat staring at the taillights of the car in front of her she pounded her fists on the steering wheel again, “Damn, what’s the holdup here?” she gritted her teeth and put her palm down heavily in the center of the big DeSoto’s steering wheel, blaring the horn, “I don’t suppose it would help to tell you guys that I’m trying to avoid an apocalypse, would it?” she shook her head in answer to her own question, “No, of course not! Why should this time be any different than all the others? After all, it’s just my heart we’re talking about here!” she yelled until her throat was raw, “That’s all! Not important, or anything,” the red in front of her wavered as her voice gave out and her head rested against the cool leather of the wheel, “He’s only my…heart.”

She closed her eyes. She knew she was wasting precious time. Time was something she wasn’t sure they had anymore. Angel told her that twenty-five years had passed where he was, while out here, just two days.

Spike left six days ago, if what Angel said was true, seventy-five years have already gone by, with still more flying as she sat in this traffic jam. Would he know her? Could she find him?

Yes. She would find him. That was a promise. No matter how long it took, she would find him. Buffy just hoped that he could hold on until she did.
*******************************

Spike moaned as consciousness came back to him. The edges of his sight were still fuzzy and his head still stung like it did after Buffy’d dropped that church organ on him, but he was still in one piece. And the rest of his world was no longer a grey blob. Now maybe he could get a fix on where he was and get out of here.

He groped around him to try and discern where he was. He remembered being on a cold concrete slab, but that was about all he remembered. Now he felt something soft, and reasonably pliant, beneath his fingers. There was something disquieting about this. He was certain he’d been on the floor of a crypt of some kind, and he was fairly sure he didn’t yet have the strength to move. So, how did he end up here, on what felt, to his expert sense of touch, like a bed?

The voice that had been his only comfort provided his answer for him, “That would be because of me.”

Pain and sluggishness swiftly left him as his body went into autonomic response in order to put as much distance as possible between him and the threat. He felt himself scurrying like a spider in the light, mindlessly, to the furthest corner of the bed. His chest ached, as he took in ragged, unneeded breaths in his sudden exertions.

His eyes flew up, instantly sharp and focused, to assess his situation, and the purported threat to his safety.

For an instant, he thought that his instincts had been dulled somewhat, because what faced him now looked nothing like the kind of threat his body and demon were reacting to.

The face that looked back at him was deeply furrowed with age. It was made up of angles that were blunted a bit by the slight pull of small jowls around his cheeks. The man looked to be about sixty. But Spike knew that looks could be deceiving. His hair was thin and grey and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles that stood in front of eyes that would have been a piercing blue had the grey of cataracts not been encroaching upon them.

The man was sitting three feet from him on a straight-backed chair. Spike thought that, if the man stood up, he would be just under six feet tall, discounting the roll of his shoulders due to age. The man’s eye held a dim glint. A glint that, as Spike watched a small smirk form on his face, he found at once comforting and unnerving.

The old man must have noticed the juxtaposition of emotions, because he nodded slightly and almost giggled, “Can I just tell you that, right now, I’d love to be looking through your eyes.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Why is that?”

His head tilted as if he were looking at an old friend, “Vanity, I suppose. I’m old and I’ve forgotten what I look like. It would be nice to know.”

Spike took a slow, scrutinizing inventory of his surroundings. He saw a table, a bookcase with an assortment of classic volumes displayed, an icebox and a small stove with cupboards above it. There was also a bed, and a window for light. Somehow though, the light in this space seemed to be coming from a source other than the window. The amount of light was disproportionate to the size of the opening.

As he took it all in, Spike noticed one glaring omission, “No mirrors,” he said slowly as his eyes drifted back to his companion, “Vampire?”

There was a slight look of shock in the old man’s eyes, “What? No,” he shook his head, “I’m not a vampire,” his chin jutted out slightly, “But I have seen my share of them,” his eyes twinkled again as he leaned forward in his chair, resting his knotted hands on his knees, “I know who you are.”

Spike didn’t know why, but that assertion comforted him, and made him feel less threatened. He relaxed a little, loosening his taught limbs, “That right?”

He nodded.

“Homer?” Spike questioned again.

“Yes.”

Spike averted his eyes in trepidation, “Are you a victim of mine? Is that how you know me? I don’t remember…but then I never did stop to look at the victims. Not until I met…”

“Buffy,” Homer finished.

“Buffy,” Spike whispered. His eyes settled again on the old man, “Well, are you?”

“A victim?” Homer shook his head and tilted it upward in thought, “No. Not of yours. Angelus though…”

“Oh,” Spike nodded, solemnly.

“…By way of Drusilla.”

“We do have something in common, then.”

“More than you know.”

Spike’s heart ached at the mention of her name. Hearing Drusilla’s name spoken again made him remember what he’d given up. It made him remember that Buffy was alone now. She was alone and probably grieving. He remembered that the boy had told him that time flowed differently in other dimensions, “How long have I been here?”

“Well, that really depends on your point of view,” Homer said.
******************************************

After four hours in gridlock, Buffy was finally standing again in the old karaoke club. Willow was looking at her anxiously, “I can do it. But honestly Buffy, I wouldn’t know where to start looking. Or even…”

“He’s not dead, Willow,” Buffy said sternly, “You don’t understand. I would know.”

Willow nodded, “Because you love him.”

“Yes, I do. But there’s more to it. And you know that. Ever since Sunnydale.”

“Something to do with what happened with the amulet, you think?”

Buffy’s eyes widened in realization, “I don’t know,” she gasped, “I’ll alert Giles. Stephen Riley is on his way to Rome, and Wolfram and Hart has an office there. It was their property. I’m sure that they wouldn’t let something that valuable, or that deadly, just lay at the bottom of a pile of debris in Los Angeles. They must have gotten it back somehow. If it still exists, maybe there could be tests done on it?”

Willow nodded as she took her friend’s hands and helped her into the sacred circle, “Until then, let’s do what we can here. Try and focus on him, and Joni. Then I can maybe pinpoint where they are, and try to pull them back.”

“Okay,” Buffy sighed as she closed her eyes.
*********************************

Spike’s eyes went to the window. He could hear the wind howling outside, “The weather changes quickly here, does it?”

Homer carefully got up from his chair and went to the window, “It sometimes does that.”

From his place on the bed, Spike squinted out the window, “Is that…snow? Now I’ve seen everything,” he shook his head in disbelief, “Snow in Hell.”

“She likes snow,” Homer said, “and this isn’t Hell. I told Angelus that too,” he sighed, “Apparently, he didn’t believe me because that’s where he told Buffy you were.”

“Angelus told her…that’s where she thinks I am?” Spike was off of the bed and pacing before he knew he was doing it, “ And if I’m not in Hell, then where am I? Who’s in charge here? You said that, ‘she likes snow.’ Who is she?”

Homer looked strangely happy watching the vampire pace, as if he were expecting this from him, “Okay, in order of importance, she is Joni. And no, this isn’t Hell. Joni would never put her ‘Daddy’ there. Not if she wanted to be with him,” Homer’s eyes fell to the floor, “Jonina is an innocent. She doesn’t belong in Hell, ever,” Spike stopped his pacing and Homer raised his eyes to meet his, “Somewhere inside of you, you know that. She’s going to need you to take care of her now,” old eyes appraised Spike, “You’re well enough now. I’ve told you what you need to know. The key is in the vampire genome. You’re the only one here now. You have to protect her. Nurse her. Until she can fly on her own, and take care of her Mum,” Homer looked toward the door, “She’s out there. And she’s waiting for her Daddy,” Homer smiled and nodded slightly, “That’s you,” Homer walked slowly to the middle of the cabin, “As for me, I’m going home, to my Elisabeth,” he winked at Spike, “Take care of her. I know you will. Teach her to fly, and she’ll take care of you. Love her and Buffy will find you, and bring you home. Remember that.”

Spike looked at the old man taken aback by what he was saying, “You’re leaving? Joni’s out there, in that storm, and you’re leaving!”

“Jonina isn’t far. She wouldn’t leave her Daddy alone. You’ll find her. And, yes I am leaving. This isn’t my place now. It’s yours,” Homer looked down absently at the silver on his finger and slipped it off, holding it toward Spike, “Oh, and before I go, this belongs to you now, too.”

Their fingers met and Spike held the metal in his hand, “Remember what I told you. Always remember Buffy. She’ll bring you both home.”

With that, the old man who called himself Homer disappeared.

Spike took a look at the ring in his hand and recognized the faded inscription, “W.E. are one,” it read. Before he was able to process that shock, he heard a tiny mewling from the threshold outside the cabin. Spike sprang to the door and opened it. He looked down, and to his astonishment, he saw a small Moses basket with a baby inside it.

He gasped and knelt down. The baby was snuggly wrapped in tiny blankets and wriggled a bit, annoyed at the tiny snowflakes that hit the baby’s cheeks and eyelashes. Spike quickly brought the basket inside, away from the elements. That was when he noticed the small purple stain on the child’s cheek. It was shaped like a bird.

“Oh my God,” Spike gasped, “Joni. My God. It’s you!” he swooped her up, and cradled her in his arms, “Don’t you worry. Daddy’s got you now,” he murmured in her ear, “Daddy’s got you. And I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise.”
**************************************************************
 

Chapter 63:

Willow watched as the orange light seemed to grow around her. The energy crackled and hissed. The air around her moved like it was a living thing. Willow could see the light brighten and fade around Buffy as she sat, calm and serene, in the center of the circle. The calmer Buffy seemed, the closer and brighter the glow around her became.

“Keep focusing on them, Buffy. I’m not sure I did this right,” Willow’s brow creased as she tried to make the vapor come together in some kind of cohesive form, “I don’t think the spell was supposed to do that,” Willow did not like what the spell was doing to Buffy. It seemed to be encircling her. This was only meant to conjure a guide, a sort of “white rabbit,” for Buffy to follow. Willow never thought that a simple guiding spell would do this. The aura that surrounded Buffy now was too bright, too unfocused to be a simple guide or guardian. No, this was something more, much more. It was strong. Willow knew that much, she could feel it.

Willow knew that she wasn’t in control of this thing anymore, and that scared her.

Sensing her friend’s apprehension, Buffy calmly said, “Don’t worry, Willow. It doesn’t hurt,” Buffy smiled a little, enjoying the warm sensation she was feeling. This, whatever it was, wasn’t threatening. It didn’t feel malevolent or hateful. This was warm and loving and very, very old. Buffy hadn’t felt anything like this since she’d been pulled out of Heaven. Not wanting to lose the connection, she kept her eyes closed and said, “It kind of tickles.”

Willow still wasn’t convinced, “I don’t know,” Willow concentrated harder, “The last time I did something like this was way back…” she didn’t want to voice her negative thoughts, “I just don’t know, Buffy.”

Buffy could feel the warmth that was surrounding her start to pull away and she moaned at the loss, “Willow,” Buffy spoke slowly and deliberately, her mind groping for the lost connection, “something changed,” her nerves screamed out for contact, but found emptiness, “It’s gone! Willow, where did it go?”

“Oh, my…” Willow was speechless.

“What?” Buffy demanded. She was literally about ready to jump out of her skin. She couldn’t stand the suspense, and Spike and Joni didn’t have the time for silences, so she opened her eyes.

What she saw in front of her now made her as speechless as Willow, “Who are you?” she breathed.

No one spoke for an eternity of seconds. Buffy was staring at what she could only assume was the physical embodiment of what she had felt only moments ago. The spell was designed, at least Willow hoped, to provide a kind of compass for them to use as a guide through the dimensions that would point them toward where Spike and Jonina were. And, here it was.

What stood before her now looked like something out of her dreams. The form was familiar. She’d seen it before, although she couldn’t remember why she knew it, she did.

Buffy was looking into blue-grey eyes that gazed warily, from behind wire spectacles, around the room. Buffy saw the glow of recognition shine in them as they took in everything. When the eyes briefly settled on Willow, Buffy noticed the flare of something else. A deep-seeded hatred burned there.

It nearly took Buffy’s breath away, seeing the strength of it. The sight of it unsettled her.

Willow noticed it as well, and broke the silence, “Um…” she looked over at Lorne, trying to read what his eyes were telling her.

Lorne shrugged, “Search me, Dumpling. He looks like the real deal. Human I mean,” Lorne looked the old man up and down, “Four limbs, one head, and one heartbeat, as far as I can tell. But, I’ve been fooled before.”

Buffy stared at the two of them, so afraid of making a mistake that they were both frozen by inaction. Then she looked at the man in front of her. True, he looked human. As a matter of fact, he reminded her of her Grandpa. But there was more to it. For one thing, even though his clothing looked loose on him, there was something comforting and familiar about the way he looked. It wasn’t shocking. It was how she’d always thought he might look, if he’d avoided the fate that brought them together. There was something in the way he looked at her and in the way he stood, even with age pulling at his frame, that rose the hairs on the back of her neck.

Fear was not going to get her to Spike, only action would do that. She stared at the kindly looking face, a face that reminded her of her time in Heaven, and smiled, slowly getting up from the floor and moving toward him, “I’m sorry. My friends are rude,” she looked disapprovingly at the ceiling then glared back at her companions, “I know this may seem silly and I’m not even sure you can understand English, or any other langue for that matter. But,” her eyes and voice softened looking at that face. She took his hand and watched his eyes melt as he looked at her, “you look…well kind of old to me. I know it’s not much,” she said as she led him gently toward an old bar stool and quickly dusted it off, “but would you like to sit down? I know you came a long way.”

The old man nodded mutely and sat, gingerly, on the stool. As he sat, a look of joy came over him and he murmured, “Real. It’s all real. You’re here. Please tell me you’re here,” he closed his eyes for a moment, swaying a little; seemingly teetering on the edge of consciousness, “Home. I’m home.”

The sound of the old man’s voice made Buffy’s heart start to race. The tone was worn by age and weighed down by loneliness, but it was his. There was no mistaking it.

Buffy’s hands went out to catch him before he could fall off the stool, “Whoa there. You okay?”

Dazed eyes looked back at her, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Her eyes shone back at him. She gave him a little coaxing smile, “See, I’m all real,” her breath hitched slightly, “Are you…who I think you are?”

He nodded quickly, and then averted his eyes, “In part.”

Buffy shot a glance at Willow, “Willow, how did this happen?”

Willow stuttered, “I-I don’t know, Buffy.”

Had something gone wrong again? If this elderly man in front of her really was Spike, then she was pretty certain something did go wrong. She was finding it difficult to breathe suddenly, “Could this be some kind of side effect?”

“I don’t know, Buffy,” Willow said again, “I didn’t see it in any of my books. I don’t think this was supposed to happen.”

Turning her attention back to the old man, Buffy mumbled, “You should read the fine print, Willow,” at that, Buffy thought she heard the old man chuckle, but she couldn’t be sure, “Which part?” she asked him.

“The part that shouldn’t exist.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he looked down in awe at his hands and whispered, “I shouldn’t have hands, or feet,” he looked back up at her blazing green eyes, “Or eyes. Oh God! You look so young.”

Buffy saw the same look in these aged eyes that she’d seen in Spike’s on their wedding night. It was as if these eyes were seeing her again after a long absence, and she fought the urge to kiss his cheek. Understanding began to dawn, “You’ve been there a long time?” Buffy whispered.

“Yes,” he sobbed as he nodded, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Buffy seized on one thought, “But you are a part of him?”

He nodded again.

Her voice quivered, “Which part?”

His voice shook with emotion as he sighed, “The part that hopes and dreams, and remembers. The part that swore to take care of you and made you kindred.”

Her mind was racing. She tried to put all the pieces together and when they all fit, it all became clear. The tears began coursing down her face when she understood, “And…your name?”

“The only one I can have,” he said quietly, “The only one I can remember ever having. Homer.”

Buffy gasped, both in shock and in reverence for his strength of will. To be able to possess the kind of psyche that was solid enough to segment itself and compartmentalize so completely in order to survive, and not go insane, was a true miracle, “Of course,” she nodded, “Dawn told me…about that night. ‘A promise to a lady.’ That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t have to say anything. She already knew, “Homer means ‘promise,’ doesn’t it?”

He nodded again.

“He sent you, didn’t he? To tell me not to give up, right?”

“No. Elisabeth, he doesn’t remember. He’s been there; in that place so long that he doesn’t remember his own name. He protects Jonina. He keeps her insulated from the horrors of it. He protects her. She’s small, but he protects her. She’s his bright spot, his light in the dark. He keeps her close. She’s precious. He keeps her safe,” he lowered his chin and murmured, “So, now I protect him. I’m the part that keeps him sane. He needs you. Help us please?”

“Then how did you get here?”

“I’m his scream, Elisabeth. I came because I am his only means of escape, his only means of communication, now. You have to hear him.”

Buffy couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, “They’re in Hell, aren’t they?”

His eyes blazed in anger, “No,” he breathed, “Jonina doesn’t belong there. So, it’s not Hell. But, for a …creature such as we are, there are dangers, even in a place of beauty and peace.”

Buffy was only now realizing how thorough her abuse of him had been. She really had broken his spirit, and here was the proof, sitting in front of her. She grasped him firmly by the shoulders and shook him lightly, “You listen to me. You are not a creature!”

He was visibly startled by her outburst, and shrank away from her touch. His eyes were widened in fear, and Buffy thought she could feel him trembling.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, her tone softened again, “What kind of dangers?”

Homer gave a shuddering sigh, “Things that don’t have form here, are all too real there. Things like despair and loneliness, anger, and grief as well as joy and happiness, can take any number of physical forms. Anything from monsters with claws, to a graveyard, or a childhood home,” he gave Willow a baleful look, “To a winter storm whose winds were so fierce,” he looked mournfully back into Buffy’s eyes, “ that it tore you right out of my arms,” agony permeated his face, “ It is the inhabitant’s world entire. Some worlds are ruled by fear, and some by joy. Without the child, fear is his ruler. For him, there is only fear.”

“You were there when I was…in Heaven.”

“Yes,” Homer confessed.

Buffy felt the wetness on her face as she choked, “Tell me.”

Homer nodded slightly, “I’ll tell you what I remember.”
********************************************

NOVEMBER 12, 2005-ROME

Stephen looked at the purple bruise that was forming under the skin of his arm, and looked up into Dawn’s unrepentant eyes, “Okay, ow!” he rubbed the tender skin vigorously, “I am human you know, no fangs here. I’m not a vampire. Although I’m starting to think that you might be. How much blood do you really need to test? I’ve only got so much!”

Dawn’s eyes softened a little, “Sorry,” she said as she carefully set the vials aside and removed her latex gloves with a loud snap, “it’s not you. It’s just a seething, unreasonable hatred for your father, and the predicament he put us in.”

“Oh,” he said flatly, “Unreasonable hatred seems pretty reasonable to me,” he gave her a wry smile, “Believe me, I’ve been there. Go with your gut,” he pouted at her, “Just don’t make the son pay for the sins of the father. Please?”

Dawn gave him an apologetic smile, “I’ll try not to. I just hope this thing doesn’t kill anyone else before we figure it out.”

“I’m with you there,” Stephen smiled, “Now where is this hamster wheel you want me to run?”
**********************************************************

Buffy looked anxiously out the window of the apartment above the dojo. She was glad that she’d decided to come back here. If this truly was the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, then she had to be comfortable. And comfortable did not mean the wreckage of a karaoke bar.

But her comfort wasn’t what mattered here. Homer knew things, remembered things that she needed to know.

She knew she couldn’t push him, but she was beginning to think that maybe this had been a mistake. They’d been here for days, and she knew that the virus was out there, waiting to strike. They were running out of time.

This was her third attempt to reach him. Homer had been nearly catatonic the on the ride to the apartment. To Buffy, it seemed a little like leading a sleepwalker by the hand. He seemed to be in a dream world, and she was afraid of waking him.

As she watched him walk slowly up the stairs, Buffy was reminded of a dream she’d had. Her breath caught in her throat as the emotions flooded her. She knew what he was feeling because, in the dream, she’d felt it too. Only, she was in his place and was led lovingly by the hand by her little girl, all grown up.

Following him slowly up the stairs, she knew without thought where he was headed. He went straight for Joni’s room.

He looked over the tiny room. His eyes were drawn to the rainbow, then his body followed suit, like a moth to flame. He touched the paint, as if he wasn’t sure it was there. Buffy could hear the pain, the years of torture and fatigue; the years she couldn’t reach came through in his voice, as he said, “Seventeen years, she and I, we had seventeen years.”

Buffy was confused. Was he talking about her? Is that how much time had passed for him, there in that place? “But, Homer,” she gulped, “we haven’t been married a year.”

She wanted to be close to him but she was afraid of frightening him. She took a tentative step forward, but then stopped when she heard him muttering to himself. Was he singing? Yes, and it was something she recognized.

“…Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine,” he didn’t notice her, just kept staring at the wall.

Buffy searched her brain. She’d heard that somewhere once. She gritted her teeth. If she could just remember the words, just one phrase, maybe she could reach him.

She knew this. She would reach him.

She took a deep breath and sang what she could remember, “…From your head to your toes, you’re not much, goodness knows.”

His voice stopped and he turned to her, his eyes shining with awe. Inside she jumped for joy. She’d reached something deep inside of him. Her voice wavered with relief as she heard his voice join hers to finish the chorus, “But you’re so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. He took an anxious step toward her, his face full of hope, “Elisabeth, you remember?”

Buffy could not take her eyes off his face, “No,” she admitted softly, “But I know you do. Tell me. Please?”
************************************************

The darkness came again. The fear drove him toward the danger. Jonina was so small, and there was so much out there that she was unaware of. He’d tried to teach her, but younglings never mind their elders. And that was the danger.

He peered out into the darkness, using the animal inside to see her. He scanned the edge of the wood. As an infant, it had been easy to protect her. He carried her close to him, and her diet consisted of the native fruits, which he ground into a paste and fed to her.

His own nourishment did not matter. He only hunted when it was needed and then only the small vermin-like creatures.

He tried to keep her safe. His youngling never witnessed the beast within.

But as she grew, she became restless and discontent, wanting to spread her wings and fly. Now he had to catch her before the darkness devoured her.

His feet raced toward the edge of the wood. She was in danger. The darkness was coming, and the beast would take her from him.

He had to find her. He had to save her.

The beast roared within his breast, as he spotted her in the distance.

And, his eyes opened.

He felt a tiny hand on his cheek. Little brown eyes peered down at him in confusion, her brow scrunched with worry, “Daddy, did you have a bad dream?”

The terror of sleep fled and he held her close to him and kissed her, murmuring, “Jonina, don’t leave me. Never leave me. Please?”

“Never Daddy,” she said as she hugged his neck, “I’m yours, for always.”
*************************************************

Buffy hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but as she watched the tears fall down his face, she knew she had. His eyes were glazed over and tormented by memory.

“Homer, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

He nodded, “Elisabeth.”

“I have another name,” Buffy said gently, “Do you know it?”

He nodded again.

“Can you say it, please?”

Buffy could see the storm of emotions warring in his eyes. He wanted to tell her, but for some reason he could not.

“No, I cannot. That is his to speak, not mine. Your name is precious, sacred to him, just as Jonina is. He keeps it close, guarded.”

Buffy inched closer to him. When they were standing side by side, she took a chance, and reached for his hand. The fingers of his hand closed involuntarily around hers, “I’m here,” she murmured, “Tell me what happened.”

He took a cleansing breath. Buffy could hear the fatigue in his ragged voice as he spoke and felt the weight of his burden as he looked to her for strength, “This has happened before, Elisabeth. The Senior Partners released the contagion, and it took you. It took them all, before I could stop it. Jonina showed signs of being a Slayer. I worked day and night, to save you, and our little girl,” his voice ebbed under the strain, “Oh, Elisabeth. Angelus knew, before I did, that Jonina held the key. He tried to kill her. When I realized that she was your only hope, I couldn’t hurt her. I loved her too much to have her flesh poked and prodded like some rodent in a laboratory. I watched the beast rob you of your strength, then your sight. I couldn’t let it take you, as it had the others,” Buffy felt his hand press into hers.

“I understand. Go on.”

“I wrote everything down, all my research. I decided that I could not risk Jonina’s health. I began doing experiments on myself. I felt that I was strong enough. The key is in the beast inside.”

“The vampire?”

He nodded, “Angelus knew this as well. But he would not aid me in finding the cure. He wanted to protect his family, or so he said,” he paused, “I began dosing myself with the virus, and then withdrawing my blood again, giving the demon antibody to the stricken Slayers. Over time, this worked as I’d hoped it would,” his eyes drooped in sorrow, “But not before the virus took you from me. It was too strong in you. I buried you, and I mourned you. I raised Jonina to be the Slayer she was meant to be; the one and only Slayer. The virus died with you, Elisabeth.”

“Then how did it come to be here?”

The answer was bitter, “My reward. I became human, and because of our connection, I contracted the deadly virus. In her grief, our daughter stepped out of her time when she discovered my writings, and brought the virus here. She was the girl you saw on your wedding night. Angelus incinerated the body, thereby exposing all the Slayers to the virus in an untimely manner. Now the baby carries the key, because her essence is still out of time with this plane, this time. But the Senior Partners knew this, and had her taken to a place where she could not foil their apocalypse.”

As the gravity of what he was saying began to take hold, Buffy sank along the wall to the floor, “Oh, my God,” she gasped, I think I’ve just swallowed the ‘Red Pill.’”

Slowly she shook herself out of her stupor, and raced to the phone, completely forgetting that Homer was in the room at all.

As Homer listened to her telephone conversation with the witch, he smiled and whispered, “We’re going home, Dove. Mum’s on her way.”

A familiar laughter could be heard in the empty nursery.
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