AUTHOR'S NOTE:
The episode "The Gift" as well as the feature film "The Matrix" are mentioned here. Please review.
*************************

Willow watched as the orange light seemed to grow around her. The energy crackled and hissed. The air around her moved like it was a living thing. Willow could see the light brighten and fade around Buffy as she sat, calm and serene, in the center of the circle. The calmer Buffy seemed, the closer and brighter the glow around her became.

“Keep focusing on them, Buffy. I’m not sure I did this right,” Willow’s brow creased as she tried to make the vapor come together in some kind of cohesive form, “I don’t think the spell was supposed to do that,” Willow did not like what the spell was doing to Buffy. It seemed to be encircling her. This was only meant to conjure a guide, a sort of “white rabbit,” for Buffy to follow. Willow never thought that a simple guiding spell would do this. The aura that surrounded Buffy now was too bright, too unfocused to be a simple guide or guardian. No, this was something more, much more. It was strong. Willow knew that much, she could feel it.

Willow knew that she wasn’t in control of this thing anymore, and that scared her.

Sensing her friend’s apprehension, Buffy calmly said, “Don’t worry, Willow. It doesn’t hurt,” Buffy smiled a little, enjoying the warm sensation she was feeling. This, whatever it was, wasn’t threatening. It didn’t feel malevolent or hateful. This was warm and loving and very, very old. Buffy hadn’t felt anything like this since she’d been pulled out of Heaven. Not wanting to lose the connection, she kept her eyes closed and said, “It kind of tickles.”

Willow still wasn’t convinced, “I don’t know,” Willow concentrated harder, “The last time I did something like this was way back…” she didn’t want to voice her negative thoughts, “I just don’t know, Buffy.”

Buffy could feel the warmth that was surrounding her start to pull away and she moaned at the loss, “Willow,” Buffy spoke slowly and deliberately, her mind groping for the lost connection, “something changed,” her nerves screamed out for contact, but found emptiness, “It’s gone! Willow, where did it go?”

“Oh, my…” Willow was speechless.

“What?” Buffy demanded. She was literally about ready to jump out of her skin. She couldn’t stand the suspense, and Spike and Joni didn’t have the time for silences, so she opened her eyes.

What she saw in front of her now made her as speechless as Willow, “Who are you?” she breathed.

No one spoke for an eternity of seconds. Buffy was staring at what she could only assume was the physical embodiment of what she had felt only moments ago. The spell was designed, at least Willow hoped, to provide a kind of compass for them to use as a guide through the dimensions that would point them toward where Spike and Jonina were. And, here it was.

What stood before her now looked like something out of her dreams. The form was familiar. She’d seen it before, although she couldn’t remember why she knew it, she did.

Buffy was looking into blue-grey eyes that gazed warily, from behind wire spectacles, around the room. Buffy saw the glow of recognition shine in them as they took in everything. When the eyes briefly settled on Willow, Buffy noticed the flare of something else. A deep-seeded hatred burned there.

It nearly took Buffy’s breath away, seeing the strength of it. The sight of it unsettled her.

Willow noticed it as well, and broke the silence, “Um…” she looked over at Lorne, trying to read what his eyes were telling her.

Lorne shrugged, “Search me, Dumpling. He looks like the real deal. Human I mean,” Lorne looked the old man up and down, “Four limbs, one head, and one heartbeat, as far as I can tell. But, I’ve been fooled before.”

Buffy stared at the two of them, so afraid of making a mistake that they were both frozen by inaction. Then she looked at the man in front of her. True, he looked human. As a matter of fact, he reminded her of her Grandpa. But there was more to it. For one thing, even though his clothing looked loose on him, there was something comforting and familiar about the way he looked. It wasn’t shocking. It was how she’d always thought he might look, if he’d avoided the fate that brought them together. There was something in the way he looked at her and in the way he stood, even with age pulling at his frame, that rose the hairs on the back of her neck.

Fear was not going to get her to Spike, only action would do that. She stared at the kindly looking face, a face that reminded her of her time in Heaven, and smiled, slowly getting up from the floor and moving toward him, “I’m sorry. My friends are rude,” she looked disapprovingly at the ceiling then glared back at her companions, “I know this may seem silly and I’m not even sure you can understand English, or any other langue for that matter. But,” her eyes and voice softened looking at that face. She took his hand and watched his eyes melt as he looked at her, “you look…well kind of old to me. I know it’s not much,” she said as she led him gently toward an old bar stool and quickly dusted it off, “but would you like to sit down? I know you came a long way.”

The old man nodded mutely and sat, gingerly, on the stool. As he sat, a look of joy came over him and he murmured, “Real. It’s all real. You’re here. Please tell me you’re here,” he closed his eyes for a moment, swaying a little; seemingly teetering on the edge of consciousness, “Home. I’m home.”

The sound of the old man’s voice made Buffy’s heart start to race. The tone was worn by age and weighed down by loneliness, but it was his. There was no mistaking it.

Buffy’s hands went out to catch him before he could fall off the stool, “Whoa there. You okay?”

Dazed eyes looked back at her, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Her eyes shone back at him. She gave him a little coaxing smile, “See, I’m all real,” her breath hitched slightly, “Are you…who I think you are?”

He nodded quickly, and then averted his eyes, “In part.”

Buffy shot a glance at Willow, “Willow, how did this happen?”

Willow stuttered, “I-I don’t know, Buffy.”

Had something gone wrong again? If this elderly man in front of her really was Spike, then she was pretty certain something did go wrong. She was finding it difficult to breathe suddenly, “Could this be some kind of side effect?”

“I don’t know, Buffy,” Willow said again, “I didn’t see it in any of my books. I don’t think this was supposed to happen.”

Turning her attention back to the old man, Buffy mumbled, “You should read the fine print, Willow,” at that, Buffy thought she heard the old man chuckle, but she couldn’t be sure, “Which part?” she asked him.

“The part that shouldn’t exist.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he looked down in awe at his hands and whispered, “I shouldn’t have hands, or feet,” he looked back up at her blazing green eyes, “Or eyes. Oh God! You look so young.”

Buffy saw the same look in these aged eyes that she’d seen in Spike’s on their wedding night. It was as if these eyes were seeing her again after a long absence, and she fought the urge to kiss his cheek. Understanding began to dawn, “You’ve been there a long time?” Buffy whispered.

“Yes,” he sobbed as he nodded, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Buffy seized on one thought, “But you are a part of him?”

He nodded again.

Her voice quivered, “Which part?”

His voice shook with emotion as he sighed, “The part that hopes and dreams, and remembers. The part that swore to take care of you and made you kindred.”

Her mind was racing. She tried to put all the pieces together and when they all fit, it all became clear. The tears began coursing down her face when she understood, “And…your name?”

“The only one I can have,” he said quietly, “The only one I can remember ever having. Homer.”

Buffy gasped, both in shock and in reverence for his strength of will. To be able to possess the kind of psyche that was solid enough to segment itself and compartmentalize so completely in order to survive, and not go insane, was a true miracle, “Of course,” she nodded, “Dawn told me…about that night. ‘A promise to a lady.’ That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t have to say anything. She already knew, “Homer means ‘promise,’ doesn’t it?”

He nodded again.

“He sent you, didn’t he? To tell me not to give up, right?”

“No. Elisabeth, he doesn’t remember. He’s been there; in that place so long that he doesn’t remember his own name. He protects Jonina. He keeps her insulated from the horrors of it. He protects her. She’s small, but he protects her. She’s his bright spot, his light in the dark. He keeps her close. She’s precious. He keeps her safe,” he lowered his chin and murmured, “So, now I protect him. I’m the part that keeps him sane. He needs you. Help us please?”

“Then how did you get here?”

“I’m his scream, Elisabeth. I came because I am his only means of escape, his only means of communication, now. You have to hear him.”

Buffy couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, “They’re in Hell, aren’t they?”

His eyes blazed in anger, “No,” he breathed, “Jonina doesn’t belong there. So, it’s not Hell. But, for a …creature such as we are, there are dangers, even in a place of beauty and peace.”

Buffy was only now realizing how thorough her abuse of him had been. She really had broken his spirit, and here was the proof, sitting in front of her. She grasped him firmly by the shoulders and shook him lightly, “You listen to me. You are not a creature!”

He was visibly startled by her outburst, and shrank away from her touch. His eyes were widened in fear, and Buffy thought she could feel him trembling.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, her tone softened again, “What kind of dangers?”

Homer gave a shuddering sigh, “Things that don’t have form here, are all too real there. Things like despair and loneliness, anger, and grief as well as joy and happiness, can take any number of physical forms. Anything from monsters with claws, to a graveyard, or a childhood home,” he gave Willow a baleful look, “To a winter storm whose winds were so fierce,” he looked mournfully back into Buffy’s eyes, “ that it tore you right out of my arms,” agony permeated his face, “ It is the inhabitant’s world entire. Some worlds are ruled by fear, and some by joy. Without the child, fear is his ruler. For him, there is only fear.”

“You were there when I was…in Heaven.”

“Yes,” Homer confessed.

Buffy felt the wetness on her face as she choked, “Tell me.”

Homer nodded slightly, “I’ll tell you what I remember.”
********************************************

NOVEMBER 12, 2005-ROME

Stephen looked at the purple bruise that was forming under the skin of his arm, and looked up into Dawn’s unrepentant eyes, “Okay, ow!” he rubbed the tender skin vigorously, “I am human you know, no fangs here. I’m not a vampire. Although I’m starting to think that you might be. How much blood do you really need to test? I’ve only got so much!”

Dawn’s eyes softened a little, “Sorry,” she said as she carefully set the vials aside and removed her latex gloves with a loud snap, “it’s not you. It’s just a seething, unreasonable hatred for your father, and the predicament he put us in.”

“Oh,” he said flatly, “Unreasonable hatred seems pretty reasonable to me,” he gave her a wry smile, “Believe me, I’ve been there. Go with your gut,” he pouted at her, “Just don’t make the son pay for the sins of the father. Please?”

Dawn gave him an apologetic smile, “I’ll try not to. I just hope this thing doesn’t kill anyone else before we figure it out.”

“I’m with you there,” Stephen smiled, “Now where is this hamster wheel you want me to run?”
**********************************************************

Buffy looked anxiously out the window of the apartment above the dojo. She was glad that she’d decided to come back here. If this truly was the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, then she had to be comfortable. And comfortable did not mean the wreckage of a karaoke bar.

But her comfort wasn’t what mattered here. Homer knew things, remembered things that she needed to know.

She knew she couldn’t push him, but she was beginning to think that maybe this had been a mistake. They’d been here for days, and she knew that the virus was out there, waiting to strike. They were running out of time.

This was her third attempt to reach him. Homer had been nearly catatonic the on the ride to the apartment. To Buffy, it seemed a little like leading a sleepwalker by the hand. He seemed to be in a dream world, and she was afraid of waking him.

As she watched him walk slowly up the stairs, Buffy was reminded of a dream she’d had. Her breath caught in her throat as the emotions flooded her. She knew what he was feeling because, in the dream, she’d felt it too. Only, she was in his place and was led lovingly by the hand by her little girl, all grown up.

Following him slowly up the stairs, she knew without thought where he was headed. He went straight for Joni’s room.

He looked over the tiny room. His eyes were drawn to the rainbow, then his body followed suit, like a moth to flame. He touched the paint, as if he wasn’t sure it was there. Buffy could hear the pain, the years of torture and fatigue; the years she couldn’t reach came through in his voice, as he said, “Seventeen years, she and I, we had seventeen years.”

Buffy was confused. Was he talking about her? Is that how much time had passed for him, there in that place? “But, Homer,” she gulped, “we haven’t been married a year.”

She wanted to be close to him but she was afraid of frightening him. She took a tentative step forward, but then stopped when she heard him muttering to himself. Was he singing? Yes, and it was something she recognized.

“…Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine,” he didn’t notice her, just kept staring at the wall.

Buffy searched her brain. She’d heard that somewhere once. She gritted her teeth. If she could just remember the words, just one phrase, maybe she could reach him.

She knew this. She would reach him.

She took a deep breath and sang what she could remember, “…From your head to your toes, you’re not much, goodness knows.”

His voice stopped and he turned to her, his eyes shining with awe. Inside she jumped for joy. She’d reached something deep inside of him. Her voice wavered with relief as she heard his voice join hers to finish the chorus, “But you’re so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. He took an anxious step toward her, his face full of hope, “Elisabeth, you remember?”

Buffy could not take her eyes off his face, “No,” she admitted softly, “But I know you do. Tell me. Please?”
************************************************

The darkness came again. The fear drove him toward the danger. Jonina was so small, and there was so much out there that she was unaware of. He’d tried to teach her, but younglings never mind their elders. And that was the danger.

He peered out into the darkness, using the animal inside to see her. He scanned the edge of the wood. As an infant, it had been easy to protect her. He carried her close to him, and her diet consisted of the native fruits, which he ground into a paste and fed to her.

His own nourishment did not matter. He only hunted when it was needed and then only the small vermin-like creatures.

He tried to keep her safe. His youngling never witnessed the beast within.

But as she grew, she became restless and discontent, wanting to spread her wings and fly. Now he had to catch her before the darkness devoured her.

His feet raced toward the edge of the wood. She was in danger. The darkness was coming, and the beast would take her from him.

He had to find her. He had to save her.

The beast roared within his breast, as he spotted her in the distance.

And, his eyes opened.

He felt a tiny hand on his cheek. Little brown eyes peered down at him in confusion, her brow scrunched with worry, “Daddy, did you have a bad dream?”

The terror of sleep fled and he held her close to him and kissed her, murmuring, “Jonina, don’t leave me. Never leave me. Please?”

“Never Daddy,” she said as she hugged his neck, “I’m yours, for always.”
*************************************************

Buffy hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but as she watched the tears fall down his face, she knew she had. His eyes were glazed over and tormented by memory.

“Homer, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

He nodded, “Elisabeth.”

“I have another name,” Buffy said gently, “Do you know it?”

He nodded again.

“Can you say it, please?”

Buffy could see the storm of emotions warring in his eyes. He wanted to tell her, but for some reason he could not.

“No, I cannot. That is his to speak, not mine. Your name is precious, sacred to him, just as Jonina is. He keeps it close, guarded.”

Buffy inched closer to him. When they were standing side by side, she took a chance, and reached for his hand. The fingers of his hand closed involuntarily around hers, “I’m here,” she murmured, “Tell me what happened.”

He took a cleansing breath. Buffy could hear the fatigue in his ragged voice as he spoke and felt the weight of his burden as he looked to her for strength, “This has happened before, Elisabeth. The Senior Partners released the contagion, and it took you. It took them all, before I could stop it. Jonina showed signs of being a Slayer. I worked day and night, to save you, and our little girl,” his voice ebbed under the strain, “Oh, Elisabeth. Angelus knew, before I did, that Jonina held the key. He tried to kill her. When I realized that she was your only hope, I couldn’t hurt her. I loved her too much to have her flesh poked and prodded like some rodent in a laboratory. I watched the beast rob you of your strength, then your sight. I couldn’t let it take you, as it had the others,” Buffy felt his hand press into hers.

“I understand. Go on.”

“I wrote everything down, all my research. I decided that I could not risk Jonina’s health. I began doing experiments on myself. I felt that I was strong enough. The key is in the beast inside.”

“The vampire?”

He nodded, “Angelus knew this as well. But he would not aid me in finding the cure. He wanted to protect his family, or so he said,” he paused, “I began dosing myself with the virus, and then withdrawing my blood again, giving the demon antibody to the stricken Slayers. Over time, this worked as I’d hoped it would,” his eyes drooped in sorrow, “But not before the virus took you from me. It was too strong in you. I buried you, and I mourned you. I raised Jonina to be the Slayer she was meant to be; the one and only Slayer. The virus died with you, Elisabeth.”

“Then how did it come to be here?”

The answer was bitter, “My reward. I became human, and because of our connection, I contracted the deadly virus. In her grief, our daughter stepped out of her time when she discovered my writings, and brought the virus here. She was the girl you saw on your wedding night. Angelus incinerated the body, thereby exposing all the Slayers to the virus in an untimely manner. Now the baby carries the key, because her essence is still out of time with this plane, this time. But the Senior Partners knew this, and had her taken to a place where she could not foil their apocalypse.”

As the gravity of what he was saying began to take hold, Buffy sank along the wall to the floor, “Oh, my God,” she gasped, I think I’ve just swallowed the ‘Red Pill.’”

Slowly she shook herself out of her stupor, and raced to the phone, completely forgetting that Homer was in the room at all.

As Homer listened to her telephone conversation with the witch, he smiled and whispered, “We’re going home, Dove. Mum’s on her way.”

A familiar laughter could be heard in the empty nursery.
*******************************