Angel wasn’t shocked. He’d expected it. His shoulders sank in resignation, “So this is Hell,” it was a statement. It was an established fact. He already knew the answer.

Holland touched the baby’s cheek and something inside Angel lurched as he listened to an innocent react with delight to a touch she didn’t know to shun. Holland smirked, “No.”

That did surprise him, “But you said…”

“I lied. It’s not the first time,” he looked around at the grey of the sky and granite that he’d chosen to surround himself with. It looked like it was biting cold as well. And he could almost feel it, that is, if he could feel anything at all. He nodded in admiration, “This isn’t Hell. But, considering the décor you’ve chosen, it’s pretty close. This is sort of a…” his eyes rose to the sky, searching for the words that fit, “way station for souls that are in question.”

“Is the child’s soul in question?” Angel’s voice shook from the cold he felt inside.

“No,” Holland said, holding the child a little closer, “But you see, Jonina is a Daddy’s girl. And she wanted to wait for her Daddy to come for her. This is a place where he can go. Where she belongs, he cannot follow. So she waits here for him, with us.”

“How does she know he’ll follow?”

“That’s the faith of a child. The Home Office has never found an antidote for it. And probably never will,” Holland gave a questioning glance and his brow furrowed as he asked, “Wouldn’t you follow? To protect an innocent, wouldn’t you follow, even into a place that didn’t want you?”

Angel said nothing.

“Oh, that’s right,” Holland smirked, “You didn’t,” he looked inquisitively at Angel, “Do you think he will?”

“I don’t know.”

Holland smiled down at the infant in his arms, “Time goes by so quickly here. She’s already much older than she was the last time he saw her. She may have all but forgotten him by the time he finds her,” he studied her intently for a moment, “I wonder, what will she fill the void with? It’s instinctive, you know. The need for connection, it’s a basic human need. Do you think she’ll be as creative as her parents were?”

“Were?” Angel asked.

“Oh, that’s right,” Holland rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, “I keep forgetting. You don’t remember.”

*************************

The Cleveland offices of Wolfram and Hart were used to chaos. It was their business. The lawyers at this firm drank it up like it was mocha latte. They were on a Hellmouth. A certain amount of chaos came with the job. Anyone agreeing to work for the firm could expect the occasional vampire or demon, even the odd temporal distortion or two.

But Pia Johansen was scared witless, and it was her first day on the job. She just wanted to hide away under her desk until the next ice age. Which, judging from the firm’s timetable, wasn’t due for at least another million years. And that was fine by her. She would just stay crouched under her desk, thank you, until the dust settled. They didn’t pay her enough for this.

She knew she was just a poor paralegal. Not much more than a peon really, but the mêlée she was witnessing made her want to march right up to the Senior Partners and demand a raise in salary. And she would get it.

Two of their best vampire security detail had already been dusted in a blur of black and white, and he wasn’t even three feet inside the door. He was death in motion, and she did not want to be caught in the crossfire.

From her vantage point under the desk, all Pia could see was a fairly new pair of Doc Martens. She guessed they were new, because of the absence of scuff mark on them.

The strange things that went through a person’s head when they were about to die, she’d heard stories about it, but never thought she’d actually experience it for herself. Yet here she was about to die, and she was thinking about shoes, and not her shoes, the shoes of her would- be murderer. It was surreal. It made absolutely no sense.

Yes it did. It was the only thing that did, and maybe that’s why she was so fixated on the shoes. They made sense, when the things he was saying did not.

“…How’s that for realism, mate? Anyone else care to dance? Because, you’re not stopping me, that’s just how it is. I’ll go anywhere I bloody well need to,” the voice lowered to a growl and dripped with menace, “I’ll go through anyone I need to, including you,” he chuckled, “My fangs are itching. It’s been a long time,” the backs of his boots stepped away from her desk. He’d turned around at the rustle of movement behind him. His sights were set on someone else.

Under her desk, Pia was at once grateful and pitied the new target of his rage, “…You what to volunteer? No? Good choice. I don’t know if I could stop. Don’t know that I’d want to,” his voice was wavering between pleading sorrow and rage. It made Pia wonder what had brought him to such a state.

Well this was new. Was this sympathy she was feeling, for her murderer? Yes, it was, and now as her body slowly lifted itself from under her desk, she knew she was insane.

Pia’s voice was uncharacteristically small as she addressed the man’s leather- clad back, “Sir?”

The shoulders stiffened and his left index finger shot up, giving her warning, “Don’t move,” His voice held a lethal tenor in it, “If you want to live, please,” his voice was raw with rage, “don’t move. Just give me what I want,” as he turned, Pia was pinned down by the deepest blue despair she’d ever seen, “Please?”

Pia swallowed the lump in her throat, “Okay,” she nodded, hoping that he could see that she meant to help him, “I’ll take you there.”
***************************************

IN THE INTERREGNUM-

Joyce tried to explain it again. Even she was having trouble understanding it, “Now remember, Spike, she won’t remember, not really. She’ll have an inkling, but she really won’t remember being there with you.”

“That’s good,” he whispered, “No one should remember that place.”

Joyce took his hand in hers, “But you remember it,” she said softly.

The look in his eyes told her that he did. He remembered it all too well, “Yes,” he shook his head as his eyes brimmed with tears, “But she shouldn’t. It’s a blessing that she won’t.”

“Really? Do you think you can stomach being a dim memory for her? If you get her back…”

His eyes blazed at her, “If?” he hissed, swallowing the rage, “I’ve done things…” his voice lowered to a mournful whisper, “He has to,” the decision was made. Conviction colored his tone, “He will get her back. And, I have to be there until he does. I can’t leave Joni alone.”

“When he brings her back, Spike, everything will disappear. Things will go back to where they were before,” she lowered her gaze, not wanting to bring him any more pain, “And when he brings her back, he’ll bring the virus with her.”

“I know that. But, she can’t stay in that place. Not alone, I have to be with her. To make it better for her, somehow.”

Joyce bit her lip in worry as she watched him trying to control the swell of emotions he was feeling, “And you’re all right with just being a ghost in her memory, years later? You’re okay with being just some nice, old man that helped her through the hard times?”

“Yes,” he sobbed.
*******************

The voice that rang in the White Room cut through Spike’s memories, “Daddy, is that you?”

The little girl hid behind her toy rabbit, her brown eyes glowing with hope. Spike took the room in four large strides, and sank to one knee in front of her, “Yes. It’s me, Sweetheart. Remember, me,” he nodded, “Spike? We used to play hide and seek and I used to sing to you? I sat with you while your Daddy…helped your Mummy?”

She nodded, “Your hair is the same, but you look older.”

He sighed, “I am, Sweetling. But I wanted you to recognize me,” he wanted to hold her, but he knew she wasn’t really there. He’d chosen this form for her, to try to ease his pain, “Can you tell me where you are?”

Joni’s lip pouted in thought, “I don’t know. But I do miss you and Mommy. I wish he hasn’t taken you away from me.”

“I do too, Sweetling,” Spike said softly, not wanting to frighten her with the intense emotions he felt, “I do too.”

“I wanted to find you. Aunt Willow showed me how,” Joni nodded, proud of herself, “But,” her eyes lowered in shame, “I think I messed things up. I didn’t find you. I’m sorry Daddy.”

“No, Sweet, it’s not your fault.”

“I think it is. But don’t worry Daddy. Someone’s taking care of me.”

Spike’s throat closed in fear, “Who, Sweetheart? Who’s taking care of you?”

“Uncle Angel. And…Grandpa.”

The answer didn’t help the tight feeling in his throat. Images of Holland Manners flashed behind his vision. He shut his eyes to block them out, “Grandpa?” he questioned.

She nodded, “Yes. He’s really nice. He takes care of the stones…and me.”

*******************************************