DECEMBER 2, 2028- LOS ANGELES

Joni watched her mother’s fingertips brush across the faded paint that had been left on the wall, and she was horrified and grateful. She wasn’t sure if the tears that blurred her vision now were from happiness or grief.

This trip had done what she hoped it would. It brought her mother back into the world. She spoke her first word in months, and it was her Daddy that broke her silence. She missed him. Joni had been witness to just how much her parents cared about each other. When no one else was able to reach her, somehow her Daddy was able to reach up and pull her Mom back into the world of the living, even from beyond the grave.

To her, it was like a miracle.

The miracle quickly melted into a nightmare as her mother’s tears seemed to overwhelm her. They became sobs when she touched a large divot in the plaster that marred the paint. Joni was afraid that she had ruined the painting while trying to uncover it so that she would have her mother back.

Joni moved swiftly and quietly to hold her as she cried. She didn’t want to jar her Mom any more than she had to. Joni knew that her Mom’s nerves were still raw because hers were as well. Only her friendship with Homer eased her pain at all. But her Mom didn’t have a shoulder to cry on, or anyone to talk to. Her grief had nearly drowned her in its undertow. Joni hated to bring her more pain, “I’m sorry, Mommy,” her throat ached, “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just,” Jonina swallowed painfully, “can you stop crying?” she didn’t want to hurt her, not at all. This was meant to help. That’s all she meant to do. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her more, “Please?”

Buffy shook her head sadly, awash in grief and memories. Her fingers trembled as they ran over the rough edged break in the plaster, “A year,” she croaked, her voice weak from months of silence, “A year…so fast,” Buffy looked at her daughter, almost in awe that she was standing there with her. Buffy was swimming in memories now. Memories that spun out of time with where she seemed to be, and it confused her.

Spike understood that. But now, he was gone.

“…That’s right Mommy. It’s been a year. A year today,” Joni whispered as she tried to stop her own tears from flowing.

“No…” Buffy whispered, as the memories of that awful day, and the weeks that followed it pulled her under.

Buffy could still remember the roar of anguish. It was the only thing that cut through the wall of shock that was around her. What happened after…that was too awful to think of, so she didn’t think at all. She couldn’t. It hurt too much.
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Time slowed down. He sat there, watching the tears tearing horrible liquid gashes in her face and eyes, and he did nothing. Her arms reached for him and held tight to him. Yet, he felt nothing. The ghastly light streaming from her eyes held him fast. In each silver droplet he saw waves of blue and yellow.

It was beautiful, and it was horrible. It was the perfect torture. As he watched the agonizingly slow cascade of sorrow, he saw each droplet form the perfect rainbow and then break as it plummeted from her eye on its slow march, tearing him to shreds as he watched the little rainbows burst, one by one.

The rainbows were gone, and he could do nothing. His rainbow was gone, and he’d done nothing.

His little girl was gone. Everything was broken. His life was broken, and he wasn’t there to catch the pieces as they fell. Looking at the pain on her face and knowing that Angelus had put her in that place of grief was nothing to the rage he directed at himself for letting that pain be there.

He should have known. He shouldn’t have left them alone. He shouldn’t have let Angelus win.

As he looked at that bit of light and air that was frozen in place on the wall, the rage began to bubble up inside of him. The pressure from it hurt his eyes and he felt the demon gnawing slowly away at the base of his skull. The pain at the back of his head was competing with the odd crushing sensation he felt in the center of his chest. The thought that that tiny little girl was not in her Mother’s arms, but was out there somewhere, cold and hurt, or worse, made his vision redden and blur.

The pain swirled in his stomach and burned in his throat. The edges of his vision went gray as he struggled to his feet. The rage ripped at his throat and grew to fill his mouth and nose. It was so large that it forced his jaw open and exploded. He roared with such force that the inertia of it made him dizzy. The room was spinning at an alarming pitch. The nauseating rolling pitch and yaw made it difficult to stand. He threw his body at the wall in an effort to stop the spinning, and came away with blood and plaster dust.

It wasn’t any help, but he had to do something.

The murderous rage would not be satisfied. There was nothing to ease the pain.

Yes. Yes, there was, and he would do it.

He focused again on Buffy, who seemed so incredibly small amidst the ruins of their lives. He knelt down again and spoke softly in her eat as he pulled her to her feet, “Love, I’m taking you to ‘Veritas.’ I have a friend there. You’ll be safe there,” he murmured, “Among friends. I’ll come for you when it’s safe. Stay there until I come for you. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he whispered as he led her to the car, “I’ll find Joni. I swear to you, I will find our girl.”
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DECEMBER 15, 2028-

When her Daddy’s stone was placed in this cemetery over a year ago, she noticed the cottage. She noticed the small plumes of smoke that wafted from the chimney every now and then and she wondered, fleetingly, who lived there. Who would choose to live in a place that signified death?

Many times over the long nights she would feel something familiar in the air. Maybe it would be the way the wind would tickle the tiny hairs on her face as it blew softly against her cheek when she thought of him. There were so many things that brought him to mind. But his presence seemed stronger here.

Each time she came here, she felt drawn to the warm light glowing from the old stone cabin’s windows. She would feel a warmth that went down to her bones and comforted her. Watching the golden light as it poured out to her. Calling to her. Opening its arms to her. Waiting to embrace her. Drawing her close.

And, ever since she’d met Homer, the pull grew stronger all the more. Talking to him was so easy. It was as if her Daddy never left.

Joni felt comfortable with him. She had given her tears to him, the ones that were for her Daddy alone. At first it felt like a betrayal. But Homer seemed like an old friend. He seemed to understand. Crying in front of him didn’t seem like weakness. It felt like strength.

If she was strong, why did her knees go weak at the thought of knocking on that little cabin’s door? Why is it she had so many questions? Why was she afraid to find the answers?

Her mouth went dry as she knocked on the door. She saw the mild shock in his eyes, and a familiar glint that went right down to her core, as he opened the door, “Joni,” he balked, “What are you doing here?”

She was overcome with emotions and could feel her chin quivering as she said, “I just wanted to thank you,” her throat closed in around the words, making them painful to say.

The old man touched his heart in a show of the feelings that flooded him, “Thank me? Whatever for?”

Homer’s body stiffed slightly as she fell into his arms. As he gently folded his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her soap and shampoo, he had to remind himself that this would all go away if he broke his promise. He nearly swooned as he listened to her, “…For helping my Mom. How did you know?” she pulled back to search his face, “How is it that you seem to know where it hurts?”
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Angel saw a blur of movement and heard the roar a split second before he felt the sting of the metal of the axe against the flesh of his neck. In the millisecond before he turned to ash, Angel saw the chasm of grief in Spike’s golden, rage-filled gaze. In the forever of that moment Angel knew he’d finally seen his own reflection. He knew he was going to Hell.
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Holland found Angel in his usual spot. He was crouched in front of her tombstone. In a sea of tombstones he’d helped to erect, this one was the worst.

The name Jonina Irene Dustin screamed out at him from the stone. She was his greatest sin.

Angel looked at Holland and was shocked to find him gently rocking the infant he’d torn from Buffy’s arms just as sure as if he’d kidnapped her himself. Holland was cooing to her with a tone that made him sickened to hear, “Well, Joni, say hello to Uncle Angel,” he cooed to her with a voice that held the threat of menace, “Hi Uncle Angel,” he grinned, “Welcome to Hell.”
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