OCTOBER 15, 2003

Joni giggled as she hid her eyes, “Can I look now?”

“Not yet,” Spike said as he concentrated on how his spectral body felt as his demon came upon him. It was strange to think that his body, such as it was now, could feel anything at all. But with this little girl, all things seemed possible. He felt the particles in the air he inhabited now, buzz around his phantom limbs and shift into place, “All right, Sweetling, you can open your eyes now.”

She opened her eyes, and smiled at his face. But the smile faded to a frown when he shook his head. Her face became sullen, as she was learning a difficult lesson.

Spike hated to see her look harden, but she had to learn this lesson, “You see this face?” he asked her seriously.

Joni nodded, her face pulled down into a frown and her eyes wet with unshed tears, “Yes.”

“If you see it, or any other like it, you run. And, you run fast. You get away. Understand?”

“But you…”

Spike shook his head again, “No Sweetheart, not even me. You run. You understand?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Spike pondered. How to tell her this next bit? He looked at her and smiled, feeling the air around him shift again, “Have you ever had an ice cream, or a snow cone?”

She nodded vigorously, “Uh huh. I like ice cream.”

“Well,” he looked down in thought, and then back up into her soft brown eyes, “Do you remember how the ice cream feels on your tongue?”

She nodded again.

“If anyone’s skin feels like the ice cream does, and it’s not snowing? You run then, too.”

“You feel like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Joni smiled again, “That’s okay Daddy. I’ll make you warm.”

It shouldn’t have been possible, but Spike felt warmth rush through him just then, “Oh, Sweetling, you already do.”

Her eyes held a question in them, “Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What’s snow?”
********************

OCTOBER 27, 2005

Spike thought about that moment as he held his little girl in his arms. He would go to the ends of the earth for her. If she asked him to see snow, he’d move Heaven and earth to bring it to her.

Just then, a knock on the glass made him look up. There, he saw Buffy with a wide grin on her face, beckoning him to join her, outside their daughter’s little chrysalis.

After making sure Jonina was safe in her bassinet, he joined her on the other side of the glass.

“What is it, Love?” he asked as she pulled him into a crushing embrace.

Buffy was crying and grinning at once, “Oh Spike, I don’t know what you said to her, but you’d better keep saying it. The nurses tell me that Joni can go home by the end of the week!”

The boyish hope Buffy saw in his eyes made her even more joyous, “Truly?” he asked searching her eyes for confirmation, and gripping her shoulders in exuberance.

She nodded slightly, her eyes dancing.

Before she knew it, Buffy was being pulled lightning fast through the corridors and to the car that waited in the parking garage. It all happened so fast that Buffy was nearly breathless, “Spike, where are we going?”

There was an impish glint in his eyes as he sat behind the wheel, “To celebrate! But we’ve got a few stops to make first!” he smirked as he started the engine.
**********************

Spike closed his umbrella as he entered the car again. The umbrella was less protection from the sun than his old duster had been, but it was much less conspicuous.

Buffy looked at the bouquet that landed in her lap as the sped off again. Purple, white and gold flowers stared up at her, “What’s this, Spike?”

“Those are magic flowers, Love,” he said with laughter in his voice, “Did you know flowers can talk? Or, at least they used to.”

“Are you drunk?”

Spike threw his head back and laughed, “Not yet, but I plan to be. When I was a boy, one couldn’t talk to the opposite sex. Not like you can now, it wasn’t considered proper. So we let the flowers talk for us. Each one had a special meaning.”

Buffy took in the flowers’ delicate scent, “And what do these say?”

“Just that wishes can come true. I know mine did.”
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SEPTEMBER 28, 2028-NEW HOPE CEMETERY

He visited the grave just after dusk, and sure enough they were there again. Whoever this mourner was, Angel was certain that he had no clue what kind of significance his choice of blooms had. At least he hoped that was true. Because, if this plot were being watched and the flowers that adorned this particular spot were chosen because of what they had once meant, then Angel would have to think twice about leaving them in the vase in Buffy’s hospital room. Not that she would have noticed them. It had been a long time since she noticed anything. She’d shut down. And he didn’t blame her. The change had certainly been a shock to him. But it had been an even harsher shock to her.

Angel looked around nervously. He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean that something wasn’t there. There was always something there. And, he should know, because he used to be one of those things.

As he listened to the wind whistling through the trees, rustling the leaves as it blustered through the cemetery, Angel wondered why he had chosen to visit this grave after dark. Doing this could be considered reckless, given what he knew, and whose grave this was he’d decided to walk past tonight.

It was habit, he supposed, and old habits, are hard to break.

It was especially reckless for him because, even though the thought defied reason, he had no doubt whom it was that had left the small bouquet of flowers that was silently mocking him now.

There they were, a mixture of bright, magenta zinnias, white azaleas and golden dandelion blossoms. They were all there, staring up at him from the green. Daring him. Screaming the message of hope. Hope that Buffy had lost.

Angel thought, for a moment, that whoever this was, he was just as sick and twisted as he had once been. But along with that thought came the hope that there was still someone lurking around this old bone yard that could translate the message that those beautiful cuttings conveyed to all who passed by, but especially to the one he’d most beloved.

Angel went slowly over the message in his mind. He had to get it right, if he wanted to tell Buffy. It all fell into place, and it was beautiful. It was in keeping with the poet in him that had refused to die so long ago. Magenta zinnias: “I still love you.” White azaleas: “Take care of yourself for me.” And of course, golden dandelion: “Wishes come true, Buffy.”

As he knelt down to pick up the flowers, he whispered to the stone, a part of him still believed that there would be someone there to hear him, “I’ll be sure to give these to her,” he shook his head, wondering at the slight tinge of fear he felt, “It’s silly. But, I wonder… these have been here every night for almost a month. They’ve been here ever since I…” he looked up at the sky, questioning, “You know she hasn’t spoken since that day? Giles even took her back to Rome, to try and care for her there. But she only got worse,” Angel hung his head, and sighed, “Wouldn’t eat for two weeks. They flew her back here and now she eats, but it’s just enough to survive. That’s all,” even though he fought against it, Angel felt the pressure of tears building up in his eyes, and the air was squeezing out of his chest, “I’ve tried to take care of them. But they need you,” he laughed softly at himself, “You know I wonder if you’re watching me?”

The wind picked up around him, sending cold air billowing under the edges of his coat that had been shut up to protect his sensitive skin from the elements.

Then the answer came from behind him. Angel spun, truly frightened to the bone by what he heard, “Alas, the man is dead. But, I am not.”

Angel saw the old face as it smiled at him, with wide eyes. It was then that Angel took in a shuddering breath, “I didn’t hear you there,” he said as he smiled to himself because he’d let an old man frighten him this much, “I thought I was alone.”

The old man seemed shy, his head inclined in a way that kept his eyes hidden, “I’m normally an unobtrusive sort, but I’ve noticed you here, and I wonder, could you tell me why the widow has stopped visiting?”

“What do you know of the widow?” Angel asked.

“Absolutely nothing. It’s just that, I take care of the grounds here and she is a regular fixture here. Rather like clockwork. She has been missing for quite some time. And her absence has been… noticed.”
******************************

It was kind of the old man to let Angel take the flowers to Buffy. He silently stepped into her room and placed the flowers in the plastic vase. These little flowers were the only brightness in the grey room.

Angel made sure the blooms were arranged perfectly and placed them in the center of the windowsill, so that she would be sure to notice them.

He turned toward her bed, trying to ignore the lifeless expression in her eyes, as she blinked at him, “Well Buffy, it seems as though you’ve made a new friend. The cemetery caretaker asked after you tonight.”

There was no response from her. Angel knew there wouldn’t be, “He let me bring this little bouquet of flowers back for you. I thought they would brighten the room up a little. What do you think?”

There was still no life in her eyes. He turned to leave, and as he did, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I can’t bring him back to you.”
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