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What Rupert was telling him quickly dampened the small victory Spike had felt over winning yet another chess match with Georgie. He didn’t win often, but when he did, he relished them, usually.

Not today though. Today, he felt as though he’d won the battle but lost the war. He still couldn’t believe it, “Tell me again, Watcher,” he must have been sleep deprived. That was the only logical explanation for what he’d heard. Spike knew his worries for his child could do a number on his brain. But, how could it get this bad and he never noticed? “I think I misheard you. It sounded like you said…” he shook his head in disbelief, “What?”

The air inside the little brick building on Jennings Street crackled with the sound of Giles’s tired, but understanding tone, “As I’ve said, Willow…and I think that what happened in Sunnydale did more than just awaken potential Slayers. It may have…done something to you as well.”

“Well yeah,” Spike said derisively, “it turned me to ash, sucked me inside an amulet, which then spit me back out again, as a bloody ghost! That about the size of it?”

“Quite,” Giles sighed, “Do you remember anything of the interim? The time between the Hellmouth and Wolfram and Hart?”

“No,” the answer came firmly and quickly. Because, he was lying.

He did remember. He remembered all too well.

First, there was the odd sensation of being free. To finally be free, finished at long last had filled, was that his soul, with a joy he had never before felt. But that was short lived. Then came the numbness, and the terror. For what seemed to stretch into eternity, his limbs were torn asunder and his eyes, oh, God, his eyes. He’d wished for so long that he’d had the means to pluck his eyes from their sockets.

He knew he didn’t deserve Heaven, but what, what had he done to be tortured like that?

To see the one bright spot in his world of darkness fade slowly from his grasp was just too cruel.

But then, that’s what Hell was, wasn’t it? He expected nothing less. He screamed for someone to save him, to sweep him up and keep him from dying, again and again, and again. But no one heard. No one was there to hold him. And, would never be, again.

Buffy was dead. And, he was alone. He was numb again. Dead. He’d been alive, through them. He’d been warm. Living, breathing and alive. Now he was not.

A primal rage boiled up in his veins, and he howled as he felt his heart tearing away from his body.

He died, night after night. Day after day and year after year, blinded and silenced by pain, he died. And Buffy was still dead. He screamed until his lungs were raw, and no one heard.

Until that blessed day his voice was heard, and on angels’ wings he flew. Flew to strangers’ faces, all except one, Angelus, who told him that she still lived. Oh, bright Angel, speak again! Tell me she yet lives!

But then, that was torn from him too. He was plunged again into the depths of Hell. He kept vigil over first her stone, then his own. He went on like this, year after year, until he’d forgotten his own name. Then she came, and she brought with her the hope that he might yet escape this fate. If he could only keep her safe, then all would be well, and nothing could be ill.

She was his one bright hope of escaping this fate, and he’d do what needed to be done to preserve that hope.

Spike pulled away from the pain and tried to focus on what he was being told, “Did you hear me?” Giles was asking.

“Yeah, just went elsewhere for a bit. You tend to get a bit dry, Watcher,” he lied. What the man was saying was utterly devastating, “So…Willow’s spell made things go wonky, did it? And Joni got drawn into that. Just one question, Watcher, how do I get her out?”

“We…don’t know.”

“Well,” Spike hissed, “since this is Red’s mess, first things first. She gets here. Now!” Spike growled, “Before I get really testy. And don’t lecture me about Council ‘procedures’ again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, extremely,” Giles replied, tersely.

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Inside the cabin, Homer and Joni heard the wind howling outside. Homer had been here for years, ever since his sweet Elisabeth had been taken from him, and he’d never seen a winter, or a storm for that matter, come on so strong.

Homer’s heart clenched with dread. His time with her was growing short. Some part of him knew that, and was glad. She should be with the living, not here among dead things. Yet, he would miss her when she left. He’d been so lonely without his dear Elisabeth. Having someone so young here lessoned the sting of her absence.

Still, he knew this was how it was to be. He remembered that much.

He watched as the wind swirled the white snow against an angry black sky. He looked over at his guest. She had come to stand with him by the window and was squinting, stretching her gaze out the window, her hands resting on the sill. She looked worried. “Storm’s coming,” he said, “and it looks like a big one, too. Never seen one brew up this fast,” he put his hand on her shoulder, “Maybe you should get home,” Homer tried to keep his voice steady, “Back to your Mum?”

“You’re right. She’ll be worried,” Joni looked out the window of this tiny cabin. It was awful outside. Dark. And, even though she couldn’t feel it, she knew it was cold outside of this little oasis. It had to be. A night this dark couldn’t be anything else, “Maybe I should wait until the storm lets up a bit. Do you have a telephone?”

“No,” Homer said, “I’m a bit behind the times here, “ he shrugged, grinning sheepishly, “Besides, I’m old and the neighbors aren’t very lively. Who would call me?”

Something inside of Joni’s heart jumped, “Mom would know if I was in danger, or hurt,” looking into Homer’s eyes, she saw the glow of something familiar. It was so close, just out of her reach. If she could just know what it was that made her want to stay here, “She’d rather I was safe,” she shook her head as she saw the blur of snow outside the window, “It’s looking nasty out there. And, at least I’m warm and safe here. Right?”

Homer nodded quickly in agreement, “Yes, as safe as can be.”

Joni sighed with relief, “Well then I’ll stay. At least until dawn.”

Jonina noticed the wave of gratefulness that came over the old man. It made his limbs loosen and pulled his spine straighter. He seemed instantly lighter, younger somehow.

His face looked different. His eyes. Grey was suddenly overcome by blue. A deep and very familiar blue from someplace barely forgotten, stood instead of the grey. She blinked, hoping it would go away, yet wanting it to stay. Yes. Please stay. Tell me I’m not dreaming, please.

In an instant, the old man was gone. Her friend was gone and her heart swelled with an aching joy at the one who stood in this tiny little cabin with her now.

He watched her sway on her feet. That’s when he knew. She’d seen him. She’d seen through the veil of her grief, “Joni?” he smiled, trying to control the torrent of joy that threatened to take him under, “Joni, are you all right?”

She knocked the breath out of him, taking him in her arms in the embrace of the lost. As if he could speak now even if he wanted to. His ears were full of her voice. Brimming with her joyful sobs, “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy! Oh, I am now. I am now!”
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