Spike strode into the Jennings Street dojo that had become the makeshift research station for the "Scoobies" of late. He was starting to feel like his old self again. Buffy had been right, being back in the world-saving business was just what the doctor ordered.

And the possibility that throttling Angelus might actually help to save the world? Well, that was an unexpected bonus.

"Well Watcher, what have you got for us?"

"Us?" Giles asked.

"Yeah," Buffy said, as she came in behind Spike, "with a name like Dustin," she shrugged, "I figured this was a we thing and not just a he thing."

"Oh," he nodded, "Quite right," he noticed Buffy's slight limp, "Demon fighting, I presume?"

She shook her head, " Nope, just good old- fashioned gravity."

"Well, that does happen to the best of us." Giles said.

Buffy leaned into Spike's side, lovingly patting him on the shoulder, "That's what I've been trying to tell this guy."

Giles's face changed as if a cloud had passed over it. He picked up the plastic bag that held Jonina Dustin's belongings and felt the weight of it. These meager belongings weighed more than they should have. Perhaps that was because her life carried within it the life or death of the Slayers.

He turned the bag over in his hands as he approached Spike. Suddenly his head felt heavy on his neck. Spike seemed to notice, "The weight of the world on your shoulders there, Watcher?" he asked gently as he took the bag from him, "Let me take it," Spike shrugged as he saw from Giles's eyes how important this little life was, "It's what I'm good at."

Giles's voice was gruff, "Yes. Well, the two of you may want to go somewhere private to go through the girl's effects," he turned to retrieve the coroner's report from the table behind him. "Along with this," he held up the report, "Those few things are all that remain of Miss Jonina Irene Dustin."

"What happened to the body?" Spike asked.

"Cremated. Her father identified her and had her cremated, almost immediately."

Buffy was confused, "Then shouldn't we be talking to him?" she turned her attention to Spike, "Maybe he's a distant relative of yours?"

Giles burst forth in an awkward fit of laughter, "If I hadn't lived on a Hellmouth, that would almost be funny," at their quizzical looks he added, "The answers are in the girl's effects. And, the reason that report and those personal items are all that's left of that young woman," he said, his gaze and jaw hardening, "Is because of Angelus."
**************

The girl's life was so small that Spike knew he had to protect it. And it wasn't just because of the dreams. He could take the dreams, because they weren't substantial. He could dismiss them. But, he couldn't dismiss this. This was real. So real, it made his knees weak. And what made it real was the ring that he was holding in his hand.

It just seemed so small. It was so small that the edges of his entire world seemed to implode in on themselves, taking him in their wake.
**********************

He looked at Buffy and saw the pain and sadness that he was sure she could see in his eyes, "Buffy, this little girl seems to be very important to us, not just the Slayers, but us."

Before she could respond, Buffy could feel the tears building up behind her eyes as she looked at the Zippo lighter and the wedding band as they were arrayed on the small table in the small locker room in the back of the dojo, "Yep," she said. She took a deep breath, and tried to be strong. He needed her to be strong.

She stared at the small notebook that had her name on it, "Have you looked at her book, yet?"

He shook his head, "No. I'd rather face a herd of fire-breathing dragons, and Mathias Pavaine, in one night."

"Know what you mean," she admitted, "It is kind of creepy. Feels kind of like we're spying. Sort of like 'Back To The Future.' But still, if it's that important, enough that Giles makes that face," she winced as the look on the man's face flashed through her head, "maybe we should. Do you want me to do it?"

Spike held the volume in his hand and gently turned it over. He'd faced the fires of Hell, looked into the face of death and spit in its eye, won and lost his soul and went a few rounds with a Hellgod, and he was still standing. So why did something so small make his hands shake so badly?

In an effort to hide his trembling hands, he thumbed through the pages, stopping to pull out some loose papers that were pressed in between the pages, "These seem to be addressed to her Mum," he looked at her and tilted his head in sympathy as he handed them to her, "I guess that would be you."

She nodded and bit her lip, taking in a cleansing breath, "Okay. Jumping in, now," she said as the papers passed from his hand to hers, "I'll go first. You want to take the diary, somewhere else?" she asked.

He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers, "No way, Love. I'm not going anywhere," he gave her a knowing smirk, "I'm not leaving, until you toss me out. And, that's final."
******************************

Dear Mommy,

I'm eight now, but you know that. I'm writing this because Daddy says that you miss taking me on bike rides and you want me to tell you everything that I do at school.

I remember, last Trick-Or-Treat Night. I went as a Princess. And you and Daddy went as a vampire and a Slayer. I thought Daddy's scrunchy face was very funny. I kind of like it when he does that. I think you do too, because you got that special look on your face, the one you don't think I see. The one you only get when I'm in bed. But, I'm not in bed. Sometimes I sneak out. I'm really quiet so you don't see me.

I got so much candy. Daddy said I'd get a tummy ache. I did. Do you remember that? Daddy says you get sad now, because sometimes you forget things.

Don't worry Mommy. I'll tell you things if you forget them. I can do that. I'm a big girl. You know that. I love you, Mommy. I hope you never go away. I love you a lot. And Daddy does too. I hope you don't forget that, but if you do, I can tell you again. That's okay. Mommy, I love you. Remember, okay?

Love,

Joni


The little girl scribble brought a tear to Buffy's eye. She didn't think she could do this, not alone. But she wasn't alone. Spike was with her, "Oh God, Spike," she whimpered, "I don't think I can do this."

"You can, Love," he said as he gently kissed her tears away, as they drifted down her cheeks, "You can. You're strong. You're the Slayer."

Buffy looked at the aged bits of paper that sat on her lap. Some of them were covered in a rainbow of crayon markings and whimsical drawings. They looked like homemade greeting cards. Cards made with love, by little hands. Hands that she might never get a chance to know, because of Angel.

Buffy opened one of the cards. But it wasn't a card. It was a drawing. The drawing was of a blonde stick figure, obviously meant to be her, wearing big, fluffy angel wings on her back. At the bottom of the paper was the line, "I Miss You Mommy."

"Spike," Buffy turned the drawing so that he could see it, "look at this."

His jaw twitched and his eyes widened as he looked at the scene on the paper. It depicted a moment in time that only someone who'd actually known them, could possibly put pen to paper and draw. It must have been a Slayer dream. Poor little thing, to be saddled with that, at so tender an age, it was a hard thing for him to go through and he could only imagine what it must have been like for her to see her Mummy, die.

On the page was a crayon-colored nightmare. Buffy, lying on the rubble of a construction site, while a stick drawing with a black body and a shock of yellow on his head, was in the corner crying blue teardrops. Above that was a figure with white angel wings, racing to heaven.

"I think it's my turn now, Love," he said as he opened the journal.
****************

The diary spanned from the year 2022 to 2029. Just seven years, but seven years was a long time for someone so young. It was long enough for him to fall out of love with Dru, and in love with Buffy. Worlds were won and lost in less time. This was obviously a time of great turmoil in this young person's life. The pages fairly screamed it out to him.

July 8th 2022

My Aunt Willow gave me this diary because she thought I would be needing to talk to someone. My Mommy is really sick now, and all my Daddy does is cry. I know that all the Slayers are getting sick, but I thought my Mommy wouldn't. I don't know why she's sick, but I think it's my fault.

Daddy says it's not. But then, he gets this funny look on his face, and he hugs me so tight I can't talk. He says he loves me, but he's so sad.

Still, he gives us our medicine every day, Mommy and me. I don't know why he gives it to me. It hurts when the needle pokes me, but I don't cry. I'm a big girl.

Mommy can have my medicine, too. I know if Mommy has enough, she won't be sick anymore. That's what Daddy says, so Mommy can have mine.

I told my Daddy that today. He started crying again and hugged me, too tight. I know I make him sad, but I don't know why.

It was obvious that some sort of illness had struck the Slayers. Poor little sprite, no child should have the world on their shoulders when they should be mucking about in their Mummy's makeup and playing with tiny teacups.

But, the entry that really gave him pause was one of the last ones. It told of a daughter's discovery of a secret that spurred her to hurtle herself into his life.

February 26th 2028

I found your research today, Daddy. I wish you would have told me. But, I guess you didn't want to hurt me anymore. It's too late for that now. I understand why I'm the last Slayer now. And, I know why you got sick. God Daddy, why didn't you tell me?

I lost Mom, and you told me it wasn't my fault, but it was. I understand why you lied. But that doesn't bring you back, or Mommy. And you're who I need now. I wish I was still a little girl, and you were here to hold me and kiss and hug me, and put me to bed at night. But you're not, neither of you.

Maybe Angelus should have killed me. Maybe then you'd still be here, singing like you used to.

I loved watching you and Mommy dance. It was like magic. I miss you both so much.

I'll have you back, I promise.
**********************

Spike placed the precious things back into the plastic bag, and tucked it into his pocket. He left the small locker room in a state of shock. He had to know if Angelus had access to this journal, his daughter's life. He had to know if he had taken it upon himself to make a grief-stricken wish come true.

He'd read, with horror, the details that surrounded his own deathbed. His only hope was that Angelus didn't have the patience to read, and comb through, every single detail of her life. He hoped that he hadn't read every tear-stained word, and didn't know his daughter's every joy and sorrow. Because if he did, it might come down to a battle between them, for the life of a true innocent.

Spike was glad that Buffy wasn't the one who read all the gory details. He didn't know if she could handle it. Honestly, he didn't know if he could. But, he had to.

The look in Buffy's eyes told Spike that she was asking the same question.

He walked slowly up to the Watcher and asked the question they both needed the answer to, "Rupert," he rasped out, "tell me Angelus did not find that journal."

"I wish I could. He's the one that pointed it out to me."
*******************

APRIL, 20 2005- SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES

Talitha Sands opened the door. She and David had been inundated with flowers and congratulations lately, because they were expecting. The baby was due to arrive some time early next year.

The house was so full of flowers now, that she didn't know if there was enough room for more.

When the doorbell rang, she went to the door and signed for the flowers that the deliveryman was holding, "Thank you," she said, taking the box and closing the door.

Everyone was being so nice, she thought as she looked around for a space that wasn't crowded with blooms. That was going to be hard to find, the house was starting to look like a botanical garden.

She opened the box and saw what was inside. She dropped the box, and the blooms it held inside it, and screamed for her husband.

David Sands rushed to his wife's side and saw the black roses lying on the floor.
*****************



David Sands rushed to calm his wife. The way she screamed, he thought something had happened to the baby. When he looked her over and found nothing amiss, he widened his search to include the floor. Seeing the fallen florist's box and the flowers that were strewn on the dining room floor, he tried to soothe her as best he could, "Maybe it was just a mix up at the florist, Sweetheart," he said, looking around the room at the veritable jungle his house had been transformed into, "It looks like all the flora from miles around is in our house at the moment. How many people did you tell, anyhow?" David rubbed Talitha's shoulders, gently kissing the nape of her neck, "Maybe they ran out of all the other colors? What does the card say?"

"I don't know," she sniffed, looking at the piece of white cardboard that was in amongst the black petals, "I didn't look."

David knelt to pick it up, "Well, let's find out, okay?" he flipped the card over and read aloud, " 'Congratulations on your bundle of joy.' See?" he assured her, "Just a mix up. Hey I know, to take your mind off of things, why don't we go out? Nothing too strenuous, and we won't be gone long, just to get you out of here, for a while. How about that new place, 'Veritas'?"
**********************

THREE NIGHTS AGO-"VERITAS" NIGHTCLUB

He strode past the inviting neon sign that declared this new club open for business. The interior was familiar. So familiar that his stomach lurched at the sight of the stage. There had been many a night when he'd been forced to sing like a canary for little or no information. Or information he could have gotten faster, in his old stomping grounds, just by introducing the right, or the wrong depending on which side of the fence you were on, kind of people to his fangs and fists.

But this was another town, and another place and another time. Or so it seemed.

The bartender hadn't noticed him. No matter. He wasn't looking to be intimidating, at least not tonight. Tonight he wanted information. Information only the bartender knew how to give.

He slid silently up to the bar and leaned into it. Without looking up from his inventory of whiskey and rum, the green-skinned gentleman said icily, "I thought I told you never to look for me. Although, I don't know why I'm surprised. Cockroaches can survive a nuclear blast. Why should you be any different?"

Angel knew coming in here that he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, despite what the sign in the foyer said, but he needed information that only he could provide, "I know," Angel said, as he looked around at the club's rather garish décor, "But to be fair, this isn't exactly hiding."

Red eyes narrowed at him, "You aren't supposed to be looking. What do you want, here? I'm busy."

"I need to know if a woman's been in here."

Lorne huffed, "Women come in here all the time. That doesn't mean I'm gonna pick up the 'Bat Phone' and tell you."

"You'd notice her. She most likely is expecting a child."

Lorne shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at the door, "Then you've got the wrong place. Pea-In-The-Pod types don't come in here. This just isn't their speed."

Angel took a napkin from the bar and fished a pen from his pocket. He scribbled something on the napkin, "I'll take the risk. If she comes in here, call me," he said as he slid the napkin across the bar.

Lorne nodded, "Sure. Now get out."

The second Angelus wasn't darkening his doorstep, Lorne crumpled the napkin into a tight wad of paper, and tossed it, from the three-point range, into the wastepaper basket, "Ice water's chance in Hell that'll ever happen. I do know whom I will call though, and it sure isn't you."
*******************

For Spike, the past month had been a blur. First, he'd been blissfully happy. There was no way to describe how happy he'd been in that penguin suit, twirling Buffy up and down that dance floor until they were both giddy from the weightlessness of it all.

Then, his little oasis of life came crashing into the reality of death, and everything changed.

Now, with this little book in his hands, the two forces of his existence seemed to come together, here. It seemed that the Chinese philosophers, and dear little Georgina, had been right. In order to be whole, one did indeed need both.

He needed Jonina as much as her writings seemed to tell him that she needed him. He loved her already, and she wasn't even a twinkle in someone's eye.

He couldn't give that up. Not for the world. Not even for her. Somehow, he just couldn't let go of her, of the idea of her. He needed it. He needed her. And no one was going to take her from him.

Just reading her words, she painted the pictures with such meticulous skill that he could hear the sounds she heard and see the things she saw.

As he read the words now, he could almost hear the cant of her voice and her cadences as they whispered to him.

DECEMBER 6, 2027

We buried you today, Daddy. Right next to Mom, like you wanted. George and aunt Willow sang that old lullaby you and Mommy used to sing me to sleep with, even after I'd grown out of it. I heard it on the television just yesterday. That film has got to be almost a century old. But then again, it kind of makes sense. It was like you and Mommy were trying to tell me everything was going to be all right and that you were still out there somewhere, watching out for me.

I stopped to listen, and I cried a little. I miss you both so much. I can still hear it in my head, as if you were right here. It helps me get to sleep at night. I asked George to write the words down for me, for me to look at when I need you:

"Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine. Little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say; Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine. If they knew sweet little you they'd end up loving you, too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you. From your head to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows. But, you're so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine."

I know it's not you, Daddy. But, it's close enough.

Spike blinked away the tear he felt in his eye as he closed her book, "Don't you worry, Sweetling," he sighed as he made his vow to her, "I'll find you."
***********

IN THE INTERREGNUM

Joni was so excited she couldn't stand still. She and Buffy were locked in a hug so tight that not even a crowbar could pry them loose, "I told you it would work, Daddy! See, I told you!"

Buffy smiled at Joni, "Yeah, you sure did. But I think your Daddy forgot just how sentimental he really was…make that is, deep down," she said as she kissed his face and watched his eyes roll up in surrender to the feminine influences of his world. Buffy even thought she heard him sigh, "Oh, you love it," she teased, "I bet you used to cry at Garbo pictures, right?"

Spike's back went rigid, "I bloody well did not!" he hissed. But Buffy could tell that he was covering. Being the "Big Bad" for Jonina's benefit. But she knew she was right. Wives just knew that kind of thing, "Uh huh," she nodded.
*******************

APRIL 20, 2005

George answered the telephone quickly. No one who wanted a schedule of martial arts classes usually called this late at night. Still, just to be on the safe side, "Synergy Dojo, may I help you?"

"Is the heir apparent, about, Georgie Girl? I need to talk to him."

"Lorne! How are you? Is this important?"

"Only in a Messianic sort of way. Listen, don't bother him if he's busy saving damsels in distress. Just let him know that I'm sending a very important couple, apocalyptically important, to rest at his inn for the night. Tootles, Georgie."

Lorne gave the couple the address on Jennings Street, "Go to this address, nowhere else. The couple that run the place, they're friends of mine. And, they're yours, too. Believe me," he motioned to the cabdriver, "I'll have Bernie, here, take you there. I trust him. He'll get you there, without a scratch."

"Thank you." David said, as he took the address from him.
***************************



George took the message, picked up the phone to dial the extension but then thought better of it. Lorne had said that he would be sending the couple over, so no need to disturb them.

Bad news was like the night that followed the day; it came whether you wanted it to or not. This could wait a few hours.
*****************

"Spike, there's nothing you can do," Buffy tried to smooth the worry lines away with her fingers, "I'm here. And, I'm alive. Right here," she pulled his gaze to her, "I'm here," she saw the far away look in his eye. Usually when they were together, in the quiet moments, he was with her. But tonight, he was elsewhere. She bit back the unreasonable jealousy that she felt for a phantom girl, and asked, "Where are you?"

The timber of her voice brought him back to the present. It reminded him of how his own voice sounded to his ears on those nights that she had used his presence to fill the void of her life. Back then, he would talk to her just to fill the silences so that he wasn't alone, even when he was with her.

He hated that he had brought her voice to such desperation, "Sorry Love," he said as he kissed her lips, "I know I should be here. I've wanted this for so long. My God," he sighed his apology into her skin, "I'm such a fool. You're here," his fingers began a slow and deliberate dance over her body, drinking her into his memory. Tracing every curve as if he'd been a blind man just granted his sight.

Buffy sighed as his loving adoration hummed over her skin, sending little tendrils of pleasure up her spine and radiating out to her fingers and toes. She felt herself slowly burning as his touch began spreading a pleasing rime throughout her body. The depth of what she was feeling had no words. She wanted to give back all the things he'd given her, and more.

She wept at the inadequacy of language.

Spike looked down and saw the tears well up in her eyes. He was drowning again, in the quicksilver of jade. He'd swam these depths a thousand times, and he would swim them a thousand more, "I know, Buffy," he breathed, "I feel it, too," his voice was deepened with the passion he felt for her, "God, I love you. So much," he shook his head and kissed her brow, feeling her eyelashes caress his lips as she closed her eyes, "You don't have to say it. I know."

She shook her head, hoping that he would understand her need. She kissed his neck and gently rocked him until he was beneath her, "No, I have to show you," she sighed as she placed small kisses of flame deep into his flesh. Buffy tried to press her body as close to his as she could. For Buffy, she could never, would never be close enough.

She knew the things he could not voice. Words were useless here, in this place. In this place that was no place at all, because there was no difference between them, here, when she took breath into her it was his heart that beat.

Here, when he bled, it was she who wept.

Spike tried to swim against the tide of ecstasy that was swamping him. She had to stop or her fire would consume him. And he didn't care. He wanted it.

The passion of her loving touch and the long, exquisite tortures that her kisses were, stoked the flames that lapped at his heart, "Buffy," he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to give her the world. The forces inside of him were struggling to surface, making words difficult.

She felt his body tremble under her slightest touch. "Buffy," he gasped, "if you don't stop," his head lulled and his eyes drifted shut, "Oh, for…please…don't stop."

Buffy looked down at Spike's face. The effect that she had on him was beautiful. She loved that she could make him look like this.

Amazingly, his face seemed flushed with the passion they both felt, cheeks reddened from it. His eyes were glazed with lust, his vision unfocused by the feelings she set loose inside of him as she touched and kissed him into a babbling, blissful idiot.

She loved it. Buffy smiled down at him, "Wasn't gonna," she giggled as she took his lips to hers.

"Oh, God," Spike moaned as his head flew back on to the pillows, "…Killing me," he rose up to meet her.

Buffy hummed with pleasure, "Hmm…Love you. Let it go, baby. Love you so much," she sighed, as they fell into the rhythm of the ages, "Want to see all of you. Every part. Show me all of you baby."

Spike swept her up in his arms, and his azure gaze swirled to amber as he gazed down at her, "That's it," she smiled, tilting her head to expose her neck. His lips whispered a tender, "I love you, Buffy," as he kissed her pulse point.

Buffy felt the fangs as they slowly kissed her neck. He never took more than a thimbleful during these moments, but in something that small, she discovered, over and over again, how vast and their love could be.
*****************

Angel didn't know why he thought the reception at 'Veritas' would go differently. How did he expect that Lorne would trust him when he wasn't being entirely trustworthy, himself?

He had regrets. He regretted not having Buffy with him. But, she was happy now, and that was because Spike did something that Angel could now admit, although not in the open, certainly, that he couldn't give her. Buffy was happy. And, so was Spike.

If it took getting rid of one dead girl to keep them that way, he would take it.

The journal with the familiar scrawl on its pages, stayed under lock and key. It would stay there. He held it back from them to let Buffy keep the life she had now. She loved Spike, and even though he'd rather take a noonday walk than tell him so, and watch that self-satisfied smirk grace his lips, Spike loved her.

This small journal, in William's elegant handwriting, detailed the full extent of his grief. He'd mourned for her, and for the fact that he'd tried to race vainly against the insidious predator that had brought her death with it.

He wanted to do what he could to save them both from that. So, he kept silent. For her happiness, and his.
**********************

The few hours of peace that they had had were inturrepted by a discrete knock at the door. Dawn's uncomfortable whispers broke it, "Um, guys? Sorry to interrupt, but, it seems we've got visitors. See you down in the dojo, proper, in… ten minutes?"

Spike kissed Buffy lightly as he sighed in response, "Make it fifteen, Bit, and you got a deal."

"Okay. But it is important. Lorne referred them."

"Got it," he looked at Buffy and smiled, "Ready for another apocalypse, Love?"

"Lead the way," she said.