NOVEMBER 5, 2005

Lorne had told him what had happened, but as Stephen Riley strode through the hospital’s parking lot he realized something. He realized that he needed to see for himself that it was true. He couldn’t just take this kind of news at face value. No, this he had to see for himself.

On the drive from Stanford, he secretly wished for a bight and sunny day. A hot day would have been nice too. The kind where the atmosphere gets distorted and you can almost see the heat rising from the pavement. He wanted that kind of day, so that, if it were true, he wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, not now, and not ever again.

And looking up at the bright colors around him, and the big orange ball of gas that stood in the sky, Stephen knew he’d gotten what he’d wished for.

Now all that was left was the congratulations. The puppet had finally become a real boy. There were still strings on this boy though, in the form of a grieving Slayer.

Stephen wasn’t really sure whose side he should take. But, he was going to get a good seat. He wasn’t going to miss this show, not for all the world.

As he exited the elevator on the seventh floor, Stephen didn’t even have to inquire which room belonged to his erstwhile father. He recognized the solemn tone of his voice from down the hall. As he walked down the corridor, Stephen noticed, with some irony, that the room that this once, and present member of the human race currently occupied faced east and exposed him to the bright morning sun.

Stephen could feel his lips pulling up in a sly smirk, of their own accord. There was some sort of justice in that.

As he came to stand in the doorway of the room, a long shadow was cast on the tile floor. It stretched the breadth of the room, coming to a point just below the window. The room was darkened, save for the natural illumination of sunlight, so Stephen knew that Angel’s new, dimmer vision could not see him.

“Hi Dad,” he said menacingly.

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he shot a glance toward the open door, “Connor?”

“Yeah, it’s me. The makeover take this time?”

Angel looked fervently at Buffy hoping she hadn’t heard, which was of course ridiculous, she had heard. And what’s more, now she had that look on her face. The look that told him that he had better fess up, or human or not, he was going to hurt, and hurt bad, if he didn’t.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Stephen seemed genuinely surprised as he stepped further into the room, “You mean he didn’t tell you?” he moved closer to inspect Angel’s bruised and swollen face, “The reflexes aren’t as swift I see,” he clucked his tongue, “You should’ve ducked. I figured he told you and that’s why his face ended up like that,” he reached out to lightly touch Angel’s face and was rewarded with a hiss of breath, “Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Tell me what?” Buffy asked, impatiently.

“That he was human for a day,” he quickly covered his mouth, his eyes widening mockingly, “Oops,” he shrugged, “I wasn’t supposed to know that, no one was. But then,” Stephen said slowly, “no one was supposed to know about me, either. I guess the cat’s out of the bag. So, what’s a few more secrets?”

“Who are you?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, didn’t you hear me?” he pointed to Angel, “I’m his son. Though not in the sense that he raised me, because he didn’t, more in the sense that, he contributed to my genetic makeup. But then, technically I shouldn’t even exist. I mean, both my parents were dead when they made me.”

Buffy’s face began to grey at the implications, “Dead?” she breathed.

He nodded, “Yeah. In the sense that, both my biological parents were vampires,” he shrugged again, “I guess that’s why Uncle Spike came to me with the file Wolfram and Hart had on Dad here. He asked me to try and track cousin Jonina. He figured I knew the terrain,” Stephen said nonchalantly.

“Spike? But why would he come to you?”

“Because I was raised in a Hell dimension just like the one he thinks Jonina’s trapped in.”

“Hell dimension?” Buffy scanned his face and it told her that he was telling her the truth. He believed what he was saying.

“Yes,” Stephen said, “For fifteen years and eleven months, I lived in a Hell dimension called Quartoth. It had it’s own monsters…and other nasty things that tried to kill me every day.”

“Eleven months? What happened to the twelfth?”

A mumble came from the bed, “He was kidnapped when he was a month old, and taken there.”

Buffy saw the shame in Angel’s eyes, but she couldn’t keep the fury from shaking her voice as she addressed him. She nodded, suddenly understanding that she had somehow fallen into a parallel universe, “Taken by who, Angel?”

“A vampire hunter named Holtz.”

The sound that came from Buffy’s throat was caught between a laugh and a sob, “Did you try and take him back?”

Angel’s voice was gruff as he confessed something that he’d atoned for by giving his son a normal life. He looked at the pain in Buffy’s eyes and felt the weight of the shame pressed on his chest, squeezing his heart in its tight fist. It was then that he realized just how wide the cavern was between them. He would never have her back in any way, shape or form. She was his now, and always would be, “No Buffy, I didn’t. I left him there. I gave him up to the hate. I let it swallow him,” he was cut as well as oddly pleased by the look of hate that flamed in Buffy’s eyes. Now there was no doubt who she truly belonged with. Angel had seen that flame before, in Spike’s eyes, “I’m not like him, Buffy. I’ not strong.”

Buffy tried to stem the tide of fury she was feeling. She couldn’t look at Angel anymore. She took a deep breath and focused on Angel’s visitor, “Could he be there now? Could my little girl be in that place, that you were?”

“They could be,” he said.
*********************************

The last thing he remembered was kissing Buffy goodbye and rushing into the light. Now, everything hurt. He was sure he’d broken some ribs. He took in air, and was rewarded with a stab of pain. Somewhere in the fog, he knew he’d punctured a lung. Just like he did on the night that Buffy jumped from the tower. He knew he needed help, but the pain didn’t allow him to cry out.

The more rational part of his brain told him that calling for help might not be a good idea anyway. One never knew what kind of nasty lurked in the dark. It was better not to attract attention.

He didn’t even know if there was anyone, or anything, else here. As the fog overtook him, and his consciousness faded, the thought came that he’d failed her. His little girl was alone out here, and he didn’t find her.

The loss of consciousness was a blessing he knew he didn’t deserve. As the blackness approached, he knew he was alone.
***************

As the caretaker approached the place where the body had landed he looked around him. He had forgotten how austere Angelus had made his environment. It was certainly a far cry from the world Jonina had built.

True, it was cold there and at times it even snowed. But there was warmth too. There were pockets of it, one of which she held him in when he didn’t know his own name.

At times, her world took on the shape and sounds of their time in New England. She didn’t consciously remember the time before, but he did. And he was so proud of her. Even as tiny as she was, she knew, somewhere deep down, that she was a Slayer.

She was strong, his little Joni. She was strong enough to know what she needed. She peopled her prison with the people and things she couldn’t remember.

She even brought her mother back to life because she needed her.

His girl’s world was a little oasis of life in a place of death, and he loved being there.

But that place was not this. This place had no warmth. This was Angelus’s oubliette. This was his prison.

As the caretaker knelt near the body and saw his own reflection, he wondered what those eyes would see when they opened once again.
******************************

Buffy sank into the chair near the hospital bed, staring at Angel in disbelief. She felt the terror grip her, “Oh, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, “You’re telling me that Spike pushed you through? He was there?”

Angel nodded mutely.

“And you left him there? You left him behind?”

“Buffy, there wasn’t time. The aperture was closing. The both of us wouldn’t have made it. He wanted me to get back to you so that I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“That he loves you. And that he’ll find Joni somehow, and bring her back to you. He made me promise to come back, to take care of you…in case he doesn’t make it.”

Buffy tore her gaze from Angel’s. If she didn’t focus on something else, anything else, she knew she would kill him, human or not.

Her eyes drifted back to the boy who called himself Stephen Riley, “Tell me again?”

Stephen nodded, “I know, it’s a heady thing. I had the same reaction when my physics professor tried to explain it to me, but it’s the only way I know how to explain it.”

Buffy nodded as her brain sifted through the information, “So, you’re telling me time is like a string?”

“Uh huh. If you stretch it out, it’s a straight line. No one point touches the other. That’s how time is here. It’s a one-way street and there’s no way you can go in reverse. You just have to keep going straight ahead.”

“But not all dimensions are like that, a straight line?”

“Nope,” Stephen shook his head, hoping she would understand, “If you take that string in your hand and ball it up, it’s still a string, but any point along the line can touch another point. Spike and Jonina could be anywhere along that line,” Stephen stopped, looking at his father, he continued speaking to Buffy, “Time doesn’t flow there like it does here. It goes faster, apparently. According to what Dad here, has said, it goes much faster. And if Dad is right and Spike has been drawn to a point in Angelus’s life, we could be looking at finding a needle in a haystack here,” Stephen sighed, “I mean, Dad has had a long life.”

Buffy’s brain was having trouble keeping up. This was almost too big for her to handle. Her voice seemed small and frightened, “How much faster?” she asked.

Angels voice was muffled by shame, “Buffy, I was there for a quarter of a century. Here, only five days have past.”

Oh God. He could be dead. I might never see him again.

Buffy felt something quake inside of her, “I have to get him back. I have to know where they are,” her voice was raw but strong, “I have to get them back.”
*************************************

Spike moaned and opened his eyes. Black. He blinked. Yes, his eyes were open, but everything was still black. He was blind.

The terror rose in him as he groped for a hold on his surroundings. Cold. Damp. Where he was, was hard and unyielding as stone.

Stone. This was familiar. A crypt. He was in a crypt.

He was blind, and alone, and in a crypt. He would never find her, not like this.

A sob ripped at his throat and fear assailed him as he lay on the cold slab floor of the crypt, “Joni.”

The sob became a rasping cough as pain pierced his lungs, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. In order to mend, he had to remain still. But he couldn’t remain still, not when he had to find Joni. He’d made a promise. His promise was what staggered him to his feet.

Even as his body swayed and he fought to stay on his feet as blessed unconsciousness beckoned to him, he pushed it down. He didn’t have time to be afraid. That would come later. Right now, all he knew was finding Joni.

He stumbled forward until he found himself pressed against a wall of stone. His fingers slowly slid along the wall. If this was a crypt, there had to be an exit. If there weren’t one, then he would make one. He’d claw through a wall or the ceiling if he had to. He was going to get out. Joni needed him. He was going to get out.

Suddenly he became aware of a presence. It wasn’t physical, but the knowledge came to him, he wasn’t alone in this place. His heart was filled with a warring combination of gratefulness and fear.

He stared out into the darkness around him. He coughed as his lungs burned with the effort of speech, “Who are you?”

Spike heard the rustle of movement and he felt rather than heard the response. Relax. I know you’re scared. That’s a nasty head injury. The blindness will go away. Even if you didn’t have the head injury though, you wouldn’t be able to see anything as long as you were here.

The voice seemed familiar, like something lost in sleep, “Who are you?”

I’m a friend. I want to help you find Jonina.

“How do you know Joni? Where is she?” Spike hissed, “What have you done to her?” He hurled his body forward again, desperate to find an exit, a way out.

Jonina isn’t here. I haven’t done anything to her. I protect her. I have for years now. If you don’t stop using your body as a battering ram it won’t heal properly. Stop it, now

The voice was strangely calming. All the strength was quickly leaving him, so he complied. His hand fumbled for the floor of the crypt, and he slowly sat on down, “Years?” even as he said the word Spike felt his broken ribs stab him again.

Time flows differently here.

“Why can’t I see you?” Spike asked, ignoring the pain.

Because this place isn’t for you, it’s for Angelus.
*******************************************