Author's Note: Some old friends are popping in. Don't be too surprised. But, if you've kept track of the clues, maybe you won't be? ;-)
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IN THE INTERREGNUM-HIGHER PLANE

Spike still couldn’t believe it. The seraphim had actually called upon him. He looked up at Joyce in awe, “Joyce, they can’t mean that. Can they?”

Joyce was pleased with his reaction. He was like a child who’d just been given the one gift he’d always wanted. She smiled at him again, “Oh they’re serious. Deception is the Home Office’s territory. Here, we’re honest, almost to a fault, if such a thing exists.”

Spike shook his head, “But there has to be some kind of mistake. Nothing I did… No good I did, can justify this!” he gaped. He had expected, at the most a pat on the back before being sent to his own little corner of Hell. But he definitely had never even dreamed this, “How?”

“Remember those legions of angels?”

“Uh huh,” he stuttered, still disbelieving.

“Well,” Joyce smiled, “let’s just say this. Some of them owe you big. And, one of them can be pretty persuasive. Although, to be fair, someone,” she had to smile at his bemused expression, “ wouldn’t really have to do all that much persuading in order to give this to you. You’ve earned this. They thought they’d return the favor,” her eyes twinkled brightly.

“But how? Who? I couldn’t have…There aren’t enough people…”

Joyce grunted in frustration, “Spike! Don’t cloud the issue with numbers,” she looked around their surroundings and asked, incredulously, “Do you see any scales here, any weights or measures?”

He shook his head, not comprehending her meaning.

“Counting is for others,” she said slowly, “It’s not for you. All the people in the world wouldn’t bring some to where you are.”

“That’s just it. Why…”

“Spike, trust me. For once, don’t question it. Not this. Just take it.”

Something in her voice stopped him. He lowered his head in submission, “You’re right, Joyce. I’m sorry. I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Joyce sighed.

“And Buffy will be spared it? ‘Lace’ dies with me,” he looked away from Joyce, not wishing to show her how bereft he felt.

“Yes. To a point.”

Spike squinted, “What do you mean, ‘To a point?’ The point where I watch her die again?” his voice grated in his throat. Even to his own ears he sounded like an over pampered child, his wants taxing a parent’s patience. But he couldn’t stop himself, “Joyce, you know I can’t do that! I won’t…”

Joyce rolled her eyes, “Spike, I realize you’re upset. But, think about it. This is Buffy we’re talking about. Do you really think she can leave you in that Hell?”

“But she has to. It’s the only way.”

“She loves you, Spike,” Joyce chided.

“I know. I love her too,” he said softly, “But sometimes my love…it hurts her,” his voice hardened, “She doesn’t need me now.”

Joyce looked at him sadly. He had obviously forgotten. It was easy to do, being here. She hated to remind him at all, “How did you feel when she was here, that summer?”

“Like the walking dead,” he muttered, the memory stabbing at his heart. “If it hadn’t been for Dawn, and a haze of alcohol… I don’t know how I made it from moment to moment.”

“And how do you think Buffy survived, while you were gone? Sure, you were only gone nineteen days. But, I was with her that day on the Hellmouth. I saw her heart break, just like yours did. It felt like forever to her. But what hurt her more than your being gone was the fact that, when you weren’t…gone you didn’t tell her. You let her grieve you when she didn’t have to.”

Spike hung his head in shame, “I didn’t know she had, grieved I mean. I would have done different had I known. Had I believed.”

Joyce gave him a commiserating look, “I know. I don’t even have to ask how long it was for you. If I hadn’t meddled, and given you her, even for that little bit of time, do you think you could have held on?”

“No,” he admitted grimly.

“How do you think she will take it, being without you? Again. Especially now?”

Spike knew exactly what Buffy would do. He lowered his eyes fatalistically, “Joyce, there has to be a way to stop it.”

“Maybe there is,” Joyce murmured, “We have a lot of work to do.”
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DECEMBER 2, 2005- ROME

Dawn put down the telephone receiver in shock. She’d called to make sure that Kennedy was well enough to make the trip to Rome for the vaccinations; Kennedy had been sick for a month.

Willow told her that she’d pulled Buffy out, back to this plane, and Jonina was with her. But apparently, there was one problem. Joni was, at least outwardly, now an eight-year-old girl.

That news had her spun. But, no one could tell as she calmly entered the conference room, “Giles, I’ve got good news, bad news and weird news,” Dawn took a sighing breath, “Which do you want first?”
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NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY

As Joni walked through the graveyard she tried to focus on something else. Anything would be better than the blank space in her memories. The space that was rapidly filling with her Daddy’s declining health.

She hated it. And the weird part was she didn’t even realize anything was missing until her little sister Mabel came into the picture.

She could remember watching her parents gushing over Mabel’s first steps. Her Daddy talked for hours about her first tricycle ride. She could remember laughing as his chest puffed out with fatherly pride when Mabel played a star in her nursery school pageant.

But what really stuck in her head was the look on her Mom’s face as they all helped Mabel build her first snowman.

The four of them were out in the snow, with Mabel bundled up and watching from the warmth of her Mommy’s arms, as she and Daddy began pushing and pulling at the snow and packing it down until the snowballs were large enough to stack on top of one another.

Slowly the snowman took shape. Twigs became arms. He had a carrot nose and blue buttons for eyes. When the eyes went on, Joni heard little squeals of delight from the baby. Joni looked over at the bouncing child. She and her Mom looked so happy. Her Mom had an inner glow. A glow that was less bright now, than it was then.

Joni walked over to her babbling sister and cooed, “Looks like Daddy, doesn’t he?”

“Not quite, Dove,” he tilted his head, squinting in thought, “Something’s missing,” he turned back toward the house, speaking as he went, “Wait a tick. Be right back.”

He disappeared into the house and reappeared a few minutes later, carrying an old leather coat.

Joni heard her Mom sniffle a little as the three of them watched as he draped the old leather duster across the back of the snowman. He stepped back and nodded, “There. Now he’s finished.”

That was when Mabel was two.

There have been five snowmen since that night. It became a tradition. No snowman was truly complete until the leather was brought out. After the snowman was finished, they’d all go inside for a cup of hot cocoa. Daddy would have his with the miniature marshmallows. They’d all watch the snow blowing outside while they were safe and warm inside.

Joni loved that memory. She was afraid that, this year, there would be no snowman. Because, her Daddy would be gone.

Joni really envied her little sister. She had clear memories. Her sister had memories, instead of the fog and emptiness that she had.

Joni couldn’t remember anything before the age of eight. Nothing. Not one giggle, not one story or event. Nothing. And she wondered why.

Last night, as she was helping her Mom calm Mabel down after she’d witnessed her father’s true face, a plan began to form in her mind. After Mabel had fallen asleep and her mother was sure that Daddy had been properly sedated and comfortable, and had gone to bed herself; Joni slipped into her Daddy’s room.

As Joni looked down at the blue, bloodless strands that disfigured her father’s face and hands, his entire body really, her heart screamed in agony. She was in pain just seeing him. Her mind could barely fathom what he was feeling.

In his rare moments of consciousness, he was denied the blessing of lucidity. His world was inhabited by hallucinations and delusions. Most of them were of horrors she wouldn’t have wished on anyone. He hadn’t made cogent sense in months. And he looked so peaceful now, which was so rare, that she hated to disturb him.

It was clear though, that her Uncle Angel knew something to do with her childhood and her lost memories. When she’d tried to talk to her Mom about it, she became evasive.

It seemed as if her Mom was trying to hide something from her.

Well no more. Aunt Willow’s books had been a great help. Joni kissed her Daddy on the cheek, “Daddy, I love you,” she whispered. She didn’t know if her words were reaching him anymore. But it didn’t matter. She needed to say them.

Once again she stared into her Daddy’s face and wondered. Did he know what it was she was about to do?

She took a deep breath and softly said the words she hoped would let her see what had been veiled, “Erebus, spirit of darkness, flee my mind. Let me see beyond the river Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, to the other shore. Let me know what must be known. Let me see what I cannot.”
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DECEMBER 9, 2005- LOS ANGELES

The room was full of bright, round colors. No sharp edges here. This was a room just waiting for a little girl to make it hers. What little girl wouldn’t flutter with happiness at the sight of that rainbow on the wall, and that bright blue sky? Stephen was almost a man, and even he was impressed at the care and thought that had gone into this room. There was even a cradle sitting silently in the center of the room.

It looked forlorn. As if it knew it would never fulfill its purpose.

This was meant to be a place of comfort and warmth.

It wasn’t now though. Now it was unfamiliar and sharp to the one person it was supposed to protect. That wasn’t the girl’s fault.

No, that fault lay squarely on his father’s shoulders.

As Stephen looked at the eyes staring wide-eyed at him from the corner of the room, he wondered, had his father seen the same look in his eyes when he’d returned from the only world he’d known? He’d wondered too, if he’d be able to reach her. He himself was sixteen when he’d come back. His mind could understand, could survive the shock this world was to him. But could she?

He crouched, making sure his head was a little lower than hers. Until he knew different, the submissive posture was best. He looked up at her and spoke slowly and distinctly, “Hello Jonina. My name is Stephen. It’s nice to meet you. Can you understand me?”

She nodded. And Stephen noticed that she pulled the tattered plush rabbit she carried closer to her, as if to protect herself from him.

“Easy. I won’t hurt you. Can you talk?”

She pouted and tilted her head, sizing him up. Her eyes flashed with indignant flame. The sound was feral, and just barely qualified as human, but he understood it perfectly as it rose from deep within her, “Yes!” she growled.

Stephen could tell that she was fighting the fear and exhaustion she felt. He knew he would get no more from her tonight, “That’s good,” he said softly as he backed out of the room, “We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

Stephen closed the door with a heavy sigh. Turning his eyes to Buffy’s anxious face, he tried to tune out the keening that was rising beyond the door, “We’re not getting anywhere tonight. She’s too frightened. She’s just too traumatized.”

“I did that to her,” Buffy cried, “I took her from the only home she’s ever known. I tore her from his arms! We have to get him back. We just have to.”
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NOVEMBER 20, 2027- NEW HOPE CEMETERY

The girl was bloodthirsty. He could feel it. In a place that had to accept death, she sought to cheat it. It gave his old bones a rush watching her prowl these grounds.

But there was something reckless about her tonight. Tonight she didn’t care, and that was what chilled him most.

It was usually a careful stroll. But, not tonight, tonight she had to be stopped.

Leaving his post at the window, Homer sighed and put his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave this shelter to do his duty. And that was, to watch over her.
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IN THE INTERRUGNUM-HIGHER PLANE-

Spike was nearly prostrate with gratitude and awe. And he could see, from the look on Buffy’s face, that she was as well.

He felt his whole body tighten, waiting for the catch.

She seemed to sense this, “Spike,” she said, with a trace of the sweetness he knew very well, “that was our wedding present for you,” she held her companion closer to her, grinning in a way he’d never seen before, “You’ve done so much for us. Don’t you want it?”

“Oh very much,” he sighed. He looked over at the man next to her and nodded, “I think you know just how much.”

The man nodded, knowingly.

“But, it can’t be at her expense. I’m sure you understand.”

“We do,” she said, “And the very fact that you were willing to give it up, shows us so much. I think this gift will keep. But, in return for this delay, would you do something for us?”

Buffy couldn’t speak. So, Spike spoke for the both of them, “Anything!” he breathed, “Anything Edith!”

William had to smile at the being Spike had become, and he voiced the concern they both felt, “Keep Jonina out of trouble. I love her. You know I do. But, I don’t want to have to keep prowling around graveyards for eternity. Make sure she stays away from trouble.”

“You mean all we have to do is…”

“Yes,” William assured him, “You’ve already shown them how to beat, ‘Lace,” and done enough penance. Don’t you think?”

They both nodded, emphatically and said in unison, “Yes!”
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