Author's Note: Lyrics from Johnny Cash's "The Man In Black" used here. Also, remember that the name Homer means "Promise." ;-) Happy reading!
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The claustrophobia was suffocating him. He’d been claustrophobic ever sense he’d awakened as a vampire. No one really expects to die and then wake up in a coffin. Spike remembered having to claw his way out through the wood and earth. At the time the splinters cut at his skin like knives and he hadn’t understood why. All he knew was that he had to get out.

It was the same way now.

Spike could feel the cold blood as it oozed down the side of his forehead and into his eyes, not that that mattered. He couldn’t see anyway. But he knew if he could just stay calm, he would find a way out. The problem was, he couldn’t stay calm, not with Joni out there somewhere.

Still, if he wanted out of here to find Joni, he had to stay calm. To stay calm he had to distract himself. To do that, he had to talk. The only one that was offering any conversation was his jailer.

If he played his cards right he just might get a handle on this situation, find Joni and get back to Buffy.

Well, any port in a storm, “Who are you?”

Well, that depends. You see, in this dimension I have form, I’m a physical being. Jonina gave me that. But in your dimension I have no form at all. I’m just an idea, an abstract.

Spike’s raspy laughter resounded in the tomb of stone, “Great, I’m talking to a ghost.”

No, I’m more than that. You made me. I’m a part of you. Deep inside of you, you already know what it is that I am. You remember the exact moment of my birth. You remember the moment I nearly ceased to exist. I know you do, because I remember it as well.

As a matter of fact, without those forces that have gathered around you to protect you, I would have withered to nothing.

Spike’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, “Are you my soul?” apprehension crawled up his spine, “Is this Hell?” Spike scrambled to his knees, his hands groping slowly along the cold floor, searching vainly for a way out, “It is, isn’t it? And, you’ve trapped me here because of the things I made you do when the First had me in its thrall. Is that right?”

No. I am not your soul. That’s been set free. It’s an innocent, just like Edith. But, I’m very nearly like unto it. So much so in fact that you could say that, for you, the soul and what I am are indistinguishable. And, you haven’t been trapped here; you’ve been placed here. I’m here to be sure that you make it through to Jonina, that you send her back where she belongs, in her mother’s arms.

Given time, I’ll be strong enough to help you. As it is now though, I am not much stronger then you are. All I can do now is help you to survive. Do you hear me? We have to survive, for Elisabeth. For Jonina.

Spike’s limbs felt like stone, and the heaviness was making it difficult to stave off the fear that threatened him, “If you didn’t put me here…who did?”

The Senior Partners put you here, to keep you out of the way. They are your jailers. But Angelus holds the key.

Blackness was pulling at the edges of his consciousness, “Why?’ the word was a voiceless cry.

To keep you detained. To keep Jonina from doing what the Senior Partners know she must.

“Angel…won’t…help,” Spike felt his body being pushed down by the hopelessness of this prison, “Help…please. Got to…get…out.”

Everything was heavy. Spike could barely move his arms and legs. He most certainly couldn’t move his limbs with the kind of precision needed for forward progress, or progress of any kind. The claustrophobia was closing in on him again. He could feel himself slipping. He was losing ground in this battle to stay aware, and alert. Spike could feel his knees giving way, forcing him to shift all his body weight to his arms to keep himself upright. But his arms trembled with the strain. Even as he felt himself collapse to the floor of his prison cell, he remembered his promise to Buffy.

He would get Jonina back. He had to, because, failing that he would cease to be.
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NOVEMBER 6, 2005

Georgina Whitby watched over her with a cautious eye. The hospital was driving Buffy bonkers. She had suggested a change of scene and maybe a night’s sleep, or a bite to eat. Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave. She insisted on being somewhere that reminded her of him, so it was either the site of his disappearance, “Caritas,” or the Jennings Street dojo.

So George chose the dojo. But the empty dojo wasn’t any better. There were too many reminders of him here. Spike’s presence was so thick here that all being here did was remind Buffy if what she didn’t have.

Spike might as well have been a ghost here.

Georgina lingered in the locker room doorway. She was saddened by what she saw. Poor Buffy.

Georgina could only see Buffy from the back. She was standing in the far left corner of the locker room, in front of an open locker; his open locker. She was staring at the contents inside. Georgina could see that she’d been crying. If Buffy’s slumped shoulders and fierce grip on the edge of the little metal door weren’t a clue, then the loud shaky sobs that echoed through the nearly empty room certainly were.

As George approached, she tried to do so reverently. The news from Council headquarters in Rome had served as the one-two punch Buffy did not need right now.

The sickness had claimed another Slayer. Faith was dead. Three Slayers cut down by some unseen, unknown killer. George knew that Faith Wood had been taken out of rotation by an illness back in June. Now the news came down from Rupert Giles. The mysterious illness still didn’t have a name. It didn’t need a name kill her. Faith was the first infected, but the last to fall.

There was no way to know how many more would be stricken before they had the answer. It was this urgency, which, in part, had driven Spike from his place at Buffy’s side.

Georgina cleared her throat politely, “Buffy, is there anything you need?” George slowly wheeled her chair up closer to her and shrugged her shoulders, sighing, “Maybe some coffee? I can do that for you.”

Buffy shook her head, “No, thank you, Georgie.”

Buffy kept her eyes staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to hear Georgie’s well-meaning, sweetly grating voice. Angel’s revelations had left her raw and numb.

She looked straight ahead. She didn’t want to see what he’d left behind, didn’t want to see his empty things. That would mean admitting that he wasn’t here and that he might not be coming back.

Buffy slowly reached into the tiny metal wardrobe and brushed her hand lightly against the heavy fabric of his karate uniform. Traditionally, the uniforms came in two colors, black and white, just like the symbol that adorned the floor of the main workout room.

As she brushed the black fabric with her fingers, she smiled. Of course he’d chosen black. She had tried to get him to change his ways. She had liked how he looked in the robin’s egg shade that he’d worn during his recuperation. She had thought that the white might be a change for him.

He’d just quirked his eyebrow and said, in a sly voice, “It has to be black, Love. The white makes me look dead,” his tongue rested against his teeth as he chuckled when she’d rolled her eyes, “You know that,” he nuzzled contentedly at the nape of her neck and murmured in her ear, “Besides, I’m back in fighting form now. I know who I am, where I belong. So, ‘until things are better, I’m the man in black.’”

She turned to look at him, “Huh?”

Buffy felt the rumbling laughter buzz through her as he held her tight against him and kissed her neck, “Have to broaden your musical horizons, Love. That’s all there is to it. It just has to be done.”

Buffy blinked, feeling the unshed tears, as the memory washed over her. She blinked and he was gone.

“How long?” she asked, hating the weakness in her voice.

Georgina knew, “Five days now. Do you…” she almost couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat. She swallowed the ache and tried again, “want me to do this for you? You should try to sleep,” Georgina could barely finish the thought without her own voice giving out on her, “It’s what he would want you to do.”

Buffy tried to breathe, but the breath was cut off by a sob, “Do you think he’s warm?” she choked, “He just detests the cold. That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

Georgina sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, “I don’t know, Buffy.”

“Do you think he’ll know me, when he gets back? Angel recognized me, but he was…” Buffy’s whole body began to shake. The more she tried to control the anguish inside her, the more violent the tremors became, until she couldn’t stand anymore.

Instinctively, Georgina pulled herself out of her wheelchair and curled herself protectively around Buffy. They held each other as their sobs filled the empty space of the small room, “I don’t know Buffy,” she said wiping at her tears, “I don’t know.”
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COUNTY HOSPITAL- SEVENTH FLOOR

Holland Manners was, admittedly, rusty at shining bedside decorum, but to keep his own feet out of the fire, he was not above trying. He wouldn’t have had to resort to this if Angel had just upheld his portion of the contact.

Holland shook his head in disgust. The smell of disinfectant was too heavy for his comfort. Well, no matter. It didn’t deter him from his mission.

He opened the door and slid, effortlessly, in.

Angel noticed the shadowy figure approach his bed. He wished he was dreaming, but he knew he wasn’t, “Holland,” he gasped as he fumbled for the call button, “Don’t hurt me. Please?” he coward.

“Now, now,” Holland jeered oilily, “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to harm the Home Office’s best operative on this plane. It could be bad for me.”

Angel’s heart battered the inside of its cage as he whispered, “Wh-what do you want?”

“To make you an offer,” Holland sank down into the bedside chair, “You’ve been there, Angel,” he sighed, “You know how it all ends. We can change it for you,” his eyes swept coolly over the vulnerable human form, “We can make this permanent. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Angel closed his eyes, clearly shamed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Holland said, “We can make it happen for you. Just don’t tell them what you know.”
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The fog was beginning to lift. Spike could make out shapes of grey amid a sea of black. This was good. A little longer and he’d be able to see his way out.

His jaw was leaden and it was painful to speak, but he had bigger concerns. He had Joni to think about.

“You still here?” he slurred through the haze.

One of the grey shapes shimmered slightly, “Yes, I’m here.”

Spike tried to bring the shape into focus, but the pain in his head made that impossible, “Oh, bloody Hell, I’m already dead. How can my head hurt this much?”

“Well, a fractured skull will do that to you.”

Spike nodded slightly and immediately regretted it as pain blazed along his spine, “The pain would explain you. Hallucinations…”

“I am not a hallucination.”

Spike wheezed, “Sure you’re not. You’re not in my head anymore. So unless I got a cell mate, you’re a hallucination.”

The shadow shifted again, “Okay. I can see I’m not getting anywhere. I’m a hallucination.”

“Good,” Spike coughed, “You have a name?”

“Yes. It’s Homer.”

“Is Jonina still safe?” Spike tried to fight the apprehension that hung over him.

“Yes, I’ve taken care of her since she was a little thing.”

“Since…” the specter of lost years going by while he was off taking revenge on Angelus loomed over him, “Right. Time flow’s different. Does she…remember me?”

Homer sounded incredulous, “Her ‘Daddy?’ Yes, of course she does.”

“How do I get to her?”

“As soon as I know you’re up to making the journey, I’ll take you to her. You have my word. But, there’s something you should know about Jonina.”

“What?”

“Jonina is the Home Office’s Trojan horse,” Homer sighed, “When Angelus allowed her to be abducted to this place she was changed when she crossed the dimensional barrier.”

The repercussions caused a wave of nausea to sweep over Spike, “Changed how?” he gasped.

“A virus was introduced into her system. When she crosses the barrier again, the virus that’s been haunting your nightmares will be unleashed on your reality.”

“But it’s already there!” his growl resonated in his tomb, “Two Slayers have already died. I’m trying to fight it. But it’s like trying to catch smoke,” the growl of frustration transformed into a sob of despair.

“I know,” Homer said, “It’s there because Joni has already been there. Angelus,” the voice dripped with venom, “in his zeal to ‘protect’ humanity, and the Slayers and you, unleashed it. Made the virus airborne.”

The puzzle pieces began to fit in Spike’s mind, “The girl, on our wedding night. Angelus had her cremated. Oh, God!”
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