IN THE INTERREGNUM-HOME OFFICE

They’d been extremely patient, even to the point of indulging the whims of Holland Manners, but no more. Contrary to Holland Manners’s assertions, “Project Sisyphus” had been lost. Webster Drake could admire Manners’s tenacity. That was not the problem; in fact it was one of the firm’s greatest assets. The problem was in their inability to control the anomaly. All of Holland Manner’s assurances, all of his manipulations, were to no avail.

Even the tacit threat of universal disequilibrium had failed to produce a clear victor. Or, perhaps it had, and therein lay the conundrum. Even the promise of his heart’s desire had failed to taint him. That made him the most dangerous weapon the Home Office had ever been faced with.

And, that weapon gave the Higher Ups the advantage.

As Webster Drake shook his head in disappointment, he muttered to himself, “Trojan Horse, indeed.”

The Senior Partners felt it was time to cut their losses. It was Webster Drake who had the extreme displeasure of informing Manners that support for his pet project was being terminated, and he was being demoted.

As he sat behind his desk, Webster Drake took a deep breath. He hated this part of the job, but even he had people to answer to.

He closed the manila folder that detailed “Project Sisyphus” in all its spectacular failure, and touched the intercom, “Darcy, send for Holland Manners.”

“Yes, Mister Drake,” she said.
***********************

She looked like an angel, like something out of a dream. He’d followed Joni in an attempt to placate her. Flights of whimsy were few and far between here, and he did not want to crush his little one’s hopes, so he’d followed her. He knew that the stories that Homer told were fantasy, but she didn’t. He had to be there for Jonina when the reality of their world came crashing down on her like the bite of a Zazlak.

He’d followed her to protect her. But then, he felt it. Something pulled at him. Something that felt old and primal. Necessary. Something beyond blood, beyond the beast, something that he feared was lost.

Staring at this spark of flame, this angel, lying in the snow, he knew that that part of him was no longer lost. It was found. He knew now that what Homer had told him was true, and not just the ramblings of an old man. The truth of what he said was lying here at his feet, sleeping in the snow like an edelweiss blossom.

And, like that delicate blossom Homer told him of, he knew she did not belong in his world. Yet, here she was. Spike knew he had to protect her, as he did Jonina, with his life, if need be.

Just like the knight in one of Homer’s tales. Only now they were no longer tales, they were real.

There was no sound save for the crunch of his knees hitting the soft snow beside her. There was a thought that Jonina had somehow pulled him into her whimsies. But, how could that be true, if she were real?

Of its own accord, his fingers brushed her skin lightly, skirting over the purple bruise that scarred her right temple. He hissed in empathy, drawing his fingers quickly away, not wishing to cause her further harm.

Jonina’s little voice broke the precious silence, “Daddy, is she…?

“No,” he breathed out before she could voice the unthinkable, “but she will be, if she doesn’t move,” he narrowed his eyes, scanning for dangers. He instinctively moved closer to her still form, crouching over her, placing himself between her and the biting elements and the other dangers of this world. His speech was disjointed and distracted, as if he were trying to comfort himself with things familiar to him, “The Bejeasiahn are scavengers. If she’s immobile too long, they’ll peck at her. We have to get her back to the cabin.”

“Can you carry her Daddy?” Joni asked innocently, “Don’t worry about me. I can run really fast. Don’t worry about me, Daddy.”

He loved that his youngling was so confident, but there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight, especially when he could hear the tremor of fright coloring her voice and the Bejeasiahn were so near. To say nothing of all the other predators looking to use any sign of weakness on his part as a way to jump ahead in the wilderness hierarchy, “No, Dove. We’ll take her back together, all right?” Spike picked the unconscious woman up gently, and felt a strange sensation of warmth suffuse him as her head rested against his chest. He motioned slightly with his head, to the space beside him, “You stand right beside me,” he said authoritatively and his little girl fell in, at his side, “Stay right beside me, and we’ll get her back home,” he looked down into her large adoring eyes as they beamed up at him, “Together,” he said softly, trying to mask his own fear under his little one’s need for routine, “like always.”

Joni nodded as her eyes sparkled with determination, “Like always,” she said as the set off on the journey home.
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NOVEMBER 30, 2005- ROME

“Stephen, we’ve isolated this thing. But your blood isn’t enough,” Giles said, his voice rough with exhaustion, “There has to be something we’re not seeing. And, if we don’t find it soon, it may be too late. Reports of the contagion are coming in faster now. There may be no Slayer at all soon enough,” he hung his head in defeat.

Xander tried to put the young man at ease. He looked at his slightly frazzled companions and said, with a slight smirk, “G-man is that any way to talk? Where’s the man who used to have nitrogen running in his veins, when it came to the apocalypse?”

Rupert’s face remained hard and unchanged, “That man is dying,” he said bitterly, “along with the Slayers.”

Xander looked at him sympathetically, “Been there,” he said as he looked over the file again, “It’s a good thing Dawn called in the reinforcements. Maybe all you need is new eyes,” he shrugged, smiling sheepishly, “Or, in my case, a new eye, on the case,” he said, as he scanned the pages and equations, “Don’t worry, we’ll come through. By the skin of our teeth maybe, but, we’ll come through this. We always do,” Xander worried his lip, unsure of how, or even if, to speak what he really wanted to know, “Any word on the amulet that started this whole thing?”

“No. Georgina Whitby-Roberts is doing what she can. She did work at Wolfram and Hart for a time. She may know more than she thinks she does.”

Xander looked down at the floor, then back up into the tortured eyes of Buffy’s would-be father, “And…Willow? Has she located Buffy?”

“No. She cannot tell me anything definitive. She will only say that her essence, along with Spike’s and Jonina’s, is somehow trapped between dimensions now.”

“Well, can she pull them back?”

Rupert sighed, feeling a weight pull at him, “In theory. If she knew where they were.”
***************************

DECEMBER 1, 2027-

Buffy stared in amazement down at his deceptively serene form. He looked like he was sleeping. He hadn’t moved or spoken in weeks. He wasn’t able to tell her what he needed from her. That was why she’d asked Willow to do that spell, so that she would be able to help him, if she could.

Now she wished she hadn’t asked.

He was immersed in his memories, not just immersed, but consumed by them. It seemed to her that, “Cassandra’s Lace” had been conquered. But at what cost, her husband’s sanity?

His mind was a jumble of the past and his deepest fears. It was sometimes hard for Buffy to discern between the two.

She looked out the window at the blanket of snow that covered the ground, and remembered the countless snowmen they’d built with Joni and Mabel.

Buffy smiled at the memory. She couldn’t count all the Thanksgivings and Christmases they’d been through. How many yards of birthday paper and ribbons had gone by? How many anniversaries? She didn’t know. But, as she looked at his motionless form and realized how much the “Lace” had robbed him of, he didn’t even remember their youngest daughter, she knew that there would be more. There had to be. She was going to help him, whether he liked it or not.

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes as she sat in the antique rocking chair. She ran her hands lovingly over the smooth cherry wood. How many times had she woke in the middle of the night searching for him, only to find him sitting here, in this chair, singing to one of his daughters.

She would stand in the doorway, marveling at how tender he could be. Then she'd make a polite noise to alert him of her presence. She knew he never needed it. He always knew she was there. It had always been like that, but even more so since she’d rescued Joni and him from the X’yxeth dimension.

Spike would look at her with soft, slightly embarrassed eyes, “Sorry Love, didn’t mean to wake you. It seems the youngling is a bit on the nocturnal side,” he would smirk, “Takes after her Da that way.”

Buffy shook herself out of her reverie. X’yxeth, now that was one place that was a blessing and a curse. If she’d never heard of the place, her husband wouldn’t be in pain right now, but she wouldn’t have Joni, the cure for “Lace” and she might not have Mabel because she might have died twenty-five years ago.

Willow’s spell let her know that Spike feared that too, because a part of him believed she had died all those years ago.

Buffy leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Spike, I know this was some sort of trade you made,” she smiled ruefully, “It’s the kind of thing you would do. You told me. But, the girls and I, we need you. So, I’m making sure we have you.”
***********************************************************

Homer had told him that when the woman came, he would have to let Jonina go. He had hoped that she would never appear. He didn’t want to let her go. But, here she was.

The snows were a season of change here. In order to save his angel’s world, he would have to give up something precious to him. He would have to give up his soul. He would have to let his youngling go, let her fly away.

He wasn’t sure he could do that. But he knew he would have to, if he wanted her to live.

A moan came from the bed in the far corner of the room. She was awake.

He stood up and carefully, cautiously made his way to her, “Hello,” he smiled sadly at her as he saw her eyes focus and felt the sting of tears when he saw the fire of recognition in them, “I’m glad you’re here. I am,” he chuckled a little to hide the sorrow in his voice, “I was starting to believe you were a myth. Joni can’t wait to go. It’s a big adventure to her; like a fairytale.”

“Spike?” Buffy asked groggily.

He nodded, his eyes glistening, “I don’t know how you know my name. But, he said you would come. And, when you did, Joni would have to fly,” he struggled against the sorrow he felt at the prospect of being alone again, “away and leave me here.”

There was a squeal of shock from behind Spike, “Daddy, you mean you’re not going to come with us?”

Spike hadn’t intended Joni to hear that. He closed his eyes as he slowly turned and knelt to comfort his little girl. He’d taught her much in the eight years he’d been here with her, but he never wanted her to learn about loss. There were some things though, that younglings had to learn, in order to live. And, Joni had to live. That’s what he wanted for her, “No Dove. I’m not coming. You and your Mummy have to go now.”

Hearing her name spoken maternally was jarring to Buffy. She sat up on the bed and strained to see the little girl with the tiny voice. This couldn’t be her little baby, could it?

“Joni?” Buffy gasped.

With the skill that only the young have, she dodged away from her father’s protective embrace, and ran to stand in front of her. The little girl Buffy feared she’d never see again regarded her thoughtfully, tilting her head in a way that almost made Buffy laugh, “I’ve seen you before. You’re the Princess,” she came slowly closer to the bed and to Buffy, “Mommy?”

“Joni,” Buffy sobbed as little hands held her neck, “Oh, baby,” she sniffed, holding her back from her to look her over, “you’ve gotten so big,” she brushed a strand of her long hair away from her eyes, “Your Daddy’s taken such good care of you. I love you so much!” she said as she held the young lady tightly to her.

Unnoticed, Spike had carefully stepped across the cabin, looking out the window, to give them a moment of privacy.

His stomach lurched a little at the scene. He had a sense that they would be leaving him soon. And, as he watched the snow start to fall harder, and the sky darkened, he knew it.

And, it tore him apart.
**********************

IN THE INTERREGNUM- HOME OFFICE

Holland was nervous. Around the firm it was known that those who had the dubious pleasure of meeting Webster Drake were seldom heard from again.

He hated to think of the kind of punishment he was in for.

The phone at the secretary’s desk rang. The woman in the tailored suit picked up the handset and listened. She nodded, making eye contact with him as she rose from her desk and opened Webster Drake’s office door without a word.

Holland Manners thought he had known fear that night in his very own wine cellar. He had been wrong. He’d never truly known fear until he stepped into Webster Drake’s office and looked into his calm, grinning face.

“Hello Holland,” Drake said, gracefully indicating the seat in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat.”
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