The bell over the door of the Magic Box jangled as Buffy entered. Giles, Anya, Tara and Willow all glanced up from what they were doing.

“Buffy!” Anya greeted her enthusiastically. “It’s great to have you back. When were you?”

“That’s subtle,” Tara said.

“Did you bring us back a memento of your travels in time?” Anya continued. The others ignored her.

“Hey, Buffy.” Willow hurried over and hugged her tightly. “We were really worried. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Buffy hugged her back and looked around the shop. There were books piled on every surface. “Wow, someone’s deep in Research Mode.”

“Where’s Spike?” Giles asked. Buffy, thumbing through the nearest book, was only half-listening and responded with a vague “Hm?”

“Buffy.”

“Huh? Sorry,” she said. “What’s all this stuff on Hellmouths for?”

Giles sighed and polished his glasses. “It seems we have a very big problem.”

“Understatement of the century,” Anya muttered.

“Well,” Willow said, “the basic upshot is there’s a nineteenth-century sorcerer running around with the entire power of a Hellmouth controlling him.”

Buffy blinked at her. “Come again?”

“Look, he’s in here.” Willow turned to a bookmarked page of the tome she was holding and handed it to Buffy. “There.”

“English Hellmouth … 1867 …” Buffy murmured key words under her breath as she read the passage. “Is this connected to where Spike and I went?”

“According to Angel,” Giles said carefully, “you two were sent through the portal to prepare you for what’s coming.”

“He couldn’t have been a little more cryptic about it?” Buffy quipped. “Wait – nineteenth-century sorcerer?”

“Yes,” Tara said, “Why?”

“Just … Spike and I were in the nineteenth century. Although we didn’t see any likely candidates.” Buffy paused. “Hang on – this guy was buried in 1867; Spike and I were in 1880, so he’d have already been dormant. How does that relate?”

“Don’t ask us, Buffy.” Giles fixed her with a penetrating stare. “You were there, not us. What happened when you went back in time?”

Buffy looked around at her friends, who were all staring at her expectantly.

“It was Spike’s past,” she said shortly. “He was sent back into his old body and I was incorporeal. I don’t understand what that has to do with a human Hellmouth.”

“Well, maybe there’s something Spike knows that could be useful,” Giles said. “Where is he, Buffy?”

“On a boat on his way over to England,” Buffy replied.

“What!” Giles exclaimed. “Spike’s gone? Now?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, confused. “Why’s it matter?”

“Because we need him here, is why,” Tara spoke up. “Some Seers have said that you and Spike are supposed to face this thing together.”

Buffy groaned. “Well then, Hellmouth Man is gonna have to wait a while to be … What exactly is the plan of action? I mean, he’s human, right?”

Giles nodded gravely. “Yes, unfortunately, there does not seem to be a way to remove the Hellmouth from him. In order to save innocents’ lives -”

“We have to kill an innocent man.” Willow sounded justifiably bitter.

“And for some reason, Spike needs to be here for it,” Giles said. “We can’t wait until it’s convenient for Spike to come back. You have to contact him and tell him to come -”

“I will not tell Spike to come back,” Buffy snapped, surprising even herself. “He needs this time alone and has been waiting for it for decades. It’s not a question of convenience.”

“What exactly is he doing in England?” Willow asked.

Buffy shook her head. “It’s his business.” She could tell everyone was annoyed now. It was not a pleasant feeling. “Look, forget Spike for a moment. Talk me through this human Hellmouth thing again.”

“This man was dormant for over a century,” Giles explained. “He absorbed the English Hellmouth’s power – Hellmouths are portals, but they’re made up of an immense amount of power. The power somehow ended up inside the sorcerer when he tried to close the Hellmouth. The power’s in him, but the portal itself is gone. I imagine the old location was filled in years ago.”

Buffy considered. “Where in England?”

“Pardon?” Giles said.

“You only said it was in England. You didn’t say which part.”

“London,” said Tara. “Why?”

“Another coincidence,” Buffy murmured, staring blankly at the book in front of her. After a moment, she frowned and leaned in closer to the book to read the smaller print. “Wait a minute, I know that name …”

“William Eric Pratt? Yeah, that’s his name,” Willow said.

“The name of the guy who absorbed the Hellmouth?” Buffy asked to confirm.

“Yes,” Willow said. “I know it makes it more personal, knowing his name. Makes it harder to think about -” She broke off.

Buffy zoned out. It had to be one of Spike’s relatives; there was no other possibility. Things were falling into place – the reason she and Spike had been sent back to that particular night.

But which relative?

The dates meant Spike must have been around his teens when the Hellmouth opened. Something Spike had said came back to her. “Earthquake … No one was entirely sure what happened … Everyone else evacuated … And they never found his body …”

His father. It had to be. Spike’s father was the Hellmouth magician.

“He was a hero,” Buffy said to herself. “And they never knew it.”

Unable to sit any longer, she stood and began to pace. Everything fit. Buffy groaned and put her head in her hands.

Hey, Spike, guess what? Her own voice spoke inside her head. Yeah, the good news is, your dad’s alive. The bad news is, the Seers want you to kill him just like you killed your mom.

“Buffy, are you okay?” Willow’s voice sounded as if from afar.

“Screw it!” Buffy burst out suddenly, pushing a shelf over in anger. Spike had been through too much. She had watched him kill his own mother, and she would die before she let him go through that all over again.

“Buffy!” Giles exclaimed. “What is it?”

She took several deep breaths, attempting to get her temper under control. “I’m okay.” She turned to face her friends, all of whom were watching her in concern. “Giles, are you sure there is absolutely no way to remove the Hellmouth from him?”

“Well, Willow found a spell to transfer power,” Giles said, “but there are several problems with it -”

“Could you adapt it?” Buffy suggested, rounding on Willow. “Combine it with another spell or something?”

“We-ell, I could try.” Willow sounded doubtful.

“Make it happen,” Buffy commanded. “Where exactly is he now?”

“He’ll be in Sunnydale soon,” Anya spoke from the television. “Probably within the hour.”

“Then we’ll be ready for him.” Buffy paused. “But let me make one thing perfectly clear: we are not killing him. We just have to distract him enough to keep him from hurting any innocents.”

-----

The distraction technique was not working very well.

The gang had arrived at the scene armed, much against Buffy’s wishes. However, it did no good anyway. William Pratt Sr. was able to disarm them from twenty feet away with a bolt of energy.

Luckily, the area had mostly evacuated. After getting thrown back for the fifth time, Buffy decided a new tactic was needed.

“Stop looking so aggressive, guys,” she called to them. “Fall back a bit. Maybe I can talk to him.”

“Buffy, you’re mad.”

She ignored Anya’s statement and drew forward slowly. Pratt Sr. was busy sending a large building toppling to the ground, and ignored her. A couple of feet away, Buffy stopped.

“William?” she asked gently.

He whirled around. For a moment, she saw a flash of real humanity in his eyes. “William,” he whispered. “Anne. Where are they?”

He was asking for Spike and his wife. Buffy’s heart broke for him. “They’re not here right now,” she tried in a soothing tone. “But Sp – I mean, William won’t be gone for long, he’ll be back soon.”

Pratt’s eyes darkened to pure black, and the next moment Buffy found herself flying backwards ten feet again. Obviously, he hadn’t liked her answer. Buffy was getting to her feet again when there was the sound of a shot.

“Giles!” she yelled at her Watcher as Pratt crumpled to the ground. “I said, we’re not ki -”

“It was a tranquiliser dart.”

“Oh.”

She returned to the man’s side. Unconscious, he looked like any other human being. Buffy wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“He has no idea what’s happened to him,” she murmured. “He just wants to find his family.”

-----

Anne Geraldine Pratt
1825-1880

Spike knelt down by his mother’s grave. There was nothing special on it; nothing like “beloved mother” or ornate decorations that reflected her personality in life. Once Spike had gone, there was nobody who cared enough for that.

“I brought you some lilies, Mother,” he murmured, placing them reverently on the overgrown grass by the crooked headstone. “I know it’s over a century overdue, but do you think you could forgive me?”

His only reply was a slight gust of wind and a few drops of rain. He was grateful for the rain – it hid the tears on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you, Mum. I hope you know that.” He had to stop for a moment; the urge to start bawling like a baby again was almost overwhelming.

Before he could continue his outburst, a familiar voice behind him interrupted. “I do.”

TBC …