Spike’s eyes clouded over, and the image before him shimmered. He had so hoped that it wouldn’t happen this way.

He knew Joni wouldn’t understand.

His voice croaked from disuse and emotion, “You did it,” he was astonished, “Why?”

The pain in his voice made Buffy tear her eyes from the old man in front of her to look at the one she called her husband and friend. And the look on his face was one she had seen in her dreams. She didn’t know how it was possible, but now she was staring at the face of grief.

It was her they were looking at. She was lying on the ground. And, she was dead.

Strangely, it should have hurt. She knew she was dead because her friends were all around her, and they were crying. She knew they were crying because she heard the sound. A sound unlike any she’d heard before. It sounded like an echo, like something empty would sound.

Buffy heard a voice behind her. A voice that was dead and gone. Did people have voices after they were dead? Buffy didn’t think they did. But she knew now that she was wrong because her Mom said, “Hello, Sweetheart. How are you?”

“Mommy?” she asked, putting her hands over her ears to block out the painful sound, “Is that you? Do you hear that?” she pressed her hands hard against her ears trying to block the sound. It hurt. It really hurt. It hurt so much that she was starting to cry, “What is that?” she yelled, trying to be heard over the aching wail, “Do you know?” Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. It had to stop.

Buffy saw her Mom give a sad smile, “Yes. I do know. That’s what it sounds like when a soul breaks,” Joyce said, walking up to her daughter and hugging her, “It’s the saddest sound the angels can hear. They hear it every time a loved one dies.”

Buffy couldn’t bear it anymore. She shook her head to try and force the terrible sound out, “Oh Mommy, it hurts! I didn’t know. I thought Dawn would be all right. I didn’t know…”

“Not Dawn,” Joyce whispered, as the sound she had grown accustomed to grated against her nerves as well.

Buffy’s eyes went wide, looking at her silent friends. She had no idea that he cared this much. She moved in closer to him, to watch his face, “Xander?”

“No Buffy, not Xander.”

“Then who?” she asked.

Her mother turned around, stepping out of the way so that Buffy could see what she didn’t see before, “Look.”

She did. What she saw stunned her. He was separate, away from the others. The strong vampire, the one she counted on to protect Dawn, was gone. Buffy didn’t even recognize him. No. It wasn’t possible.

“And, why not?” Joyce asked gently, “Why isn’t it possible? He told you he loved you,” Joyce hated watching his pain and tried to keep the emotion out of her tone as she continued, “And unlike some of his kind, he has a hard time with untruths. But then, he’s always been a puzzle.”

“But, he doesn’t have a soul,” Buffy wondered at him. She knelt down to see him better; grateful she was invisible because the pain in his eyes made her ache. She could see his hand trembling as he stared, disbelievingly, at the body that lie on the ground broken and battered.

As she watched him collapse as if something had been ripped from him, she heard the roar. And suddenly, she understood, “That awful sound. It’s deafening,” she gasped, as she knew it hadn’t abated, but grew in its intensity, crushing him under its weight. She turned her wondering eyes toward her mother, “It’s him, isn’t it?” she blinked back tears, “It’s him that’s making that sound?”

Joyce nodded, “It is.”

“I didn’t know,” she sobbed for him, “I swear…I didn’t know.”

“There’s so much that this world doesn’t understand. So much that you don’t.”

He was crushed. Just like he had been on the morning she jumped from the tower. She saw the tears as they glistened in his eyes, “Spike, what is it?” she breathed.

Homer answered, looking at Joni’s frightened eyes with the love of a father, “I was needed. That’s all I needed to know.”

Tears of loss fell down Spike’s face as he slowly met his avatar in the center of the room. A look of awe came over him, and he bent to kneel at Homer’s feet, giving the seeming old man and Jonina what comfort he could.

Buffy gasped at the sight of it.

“How long?” Spike asked the old man.

“If I hadn’t come?” as she looked on, Buffy saw in Spike’s eyes the same disbelieving mix of sorrow and wonder that she’d seen when Willow had resurrected her, and she fought to make sense of it as Homer continued to speak, “Years,” he looked lovingly at Joni again, and stroked her hair with a shaking hand, “But, I couldn’t put Joni through that…”

“Papa?” Joni squeaked, horrified, “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry…”

“Oh Sweetheart,” Homer choked, “No. Don’t ever be sorry…I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Is there a way to stop this?” Spike asked.

The old man shook his head, “No,” his eyes were steel, “The alternative…” he shook his head again, and sighed, “I don’t have long.”

“You’re leaving, Papa? Why?” Joni cried, “Where are you going?” her large eyes begged, “Can I go with you?”

“No,” Homer breathed, “Your Daddy needs you,” he smiled at her, “You have to grow up and be the Slayer.”

Joni shook her head in fierce denial, tears squeezing from her closed eyes, “I don’t wanna be the Slayer! I want you!”

Buffy couldn’t help but feel sickened by what she was hearing. It was an echo of what she’d told herself, for years. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was a punishment for that spell she’d done.

“What are you?” Buffy whispered as she tried to resist the pull she felt, but somehow Homer had some kind of thrall that she couldn’t seem to fight.

Sad, aged eyes looked up at her, “Does it matter?”

Anxiety rose as Buffy continued to watch tears fall silently down Spike’s face, his jaw twitching as though he were in physical pain, “Yes, it matters!” she shrieked.

Once again Homer cowered, and looked away from her, as he had once before and Spike turned to her, his eyes a window on a barely contained fury, “Love…” he hissed as the tears continued to flow, “please…don’t ask!”

“I have to ask,” she said coldly, “What if he’s evil?” her tone was strident and desperate, bordering on anger.

“Papa’s not bad!” Joni yelped.

Spike was too stunned to comfort Jonina’s hurt. He could only stare at Buffy, his mouth agape. After he had taken a moment to absorb the shock and hurt of that statement, “Slayer…”

Buffy’s body went cold. Oh, God…What…?

“Dove,” Spike said sweetly, turning his attention to Joni, “Why don’t you go find Spike Rabbit? I think I saw him in the…uh the…” he looked up at Buffy, hoping she would supply the right word, a word he’d obviously lost to that place and had yet to claim as his own again.

Buffy lowered her eyes in shame and whispered, “He’s in the kitchen, Sweetie.”

Joni bit her lip, “Okay Daddy,” she said as she slowly got up and followed the maze back to the staircase and out of earshot.

As Buffy heard the small shuffle of her little girl’s feet, she looked at Homer, who had seemed to, somehow, weaken before her eyes. His body was visibly shuddering now, as though he’d caught a chill, and the light that surrounded him was dimmer still.

She was ashamed, “Spike, I…”

Spike’s physical closeness seemed to be the only comfort he could offer the old man, “Slayer, I don’t know how,” he turned his wide, moistened azure eyes to her, in shock himself, “I didn’t know. How could I? But, I can feel it. He’s dying. And, when he does,” he swallowed, “I’ll be the animal you always thought I was. I won’t know you, or Joni…I’ll be worse than Angelus was when he came back from Hell.”

Buffy’s heart jumped into her throat, “But what…?”

Homer gave a rasping cough, and she watched as worry took over Spike’s features, “Just sand…” Homer whispered, his words disjointed, “…That’s all I am. All I…”

“Buffy…” Spike said, his gaze still fixed on the old man, as his eyes closed in exhaustion, “I think he’s the little bit of good that’s left in me,” he looked back at her in awe, eyes wide, “The part that didn’t die…when I did.”