Buffy could see that he was scared. She’d only seen that look on his face twice before, it was there, for a fraction of a second, in the Hellmouth, and she saw it again when she awoke in the hospital, when he was afraid he would lose her; when she realized what he had lost-to save her.

And it made her stomach sink. She didn’t understand how it could be possible. She thought that maybe she was looking at one of Willow’s mistakes- this wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d even said that he shouldn’t have been here.

So, how did he get here? And, why did Spike look as though he was being slowly and silently ripped apart every time the old man coughed and shuddered?

She ignored the hot tears that wetted her face, and, almost against her will, Buffy found herself being pulled to them again, and as Homer fell forward into Spike’s arms as another fit of coughs tore through his body, she knew it was real.

She didn’t know how, but this was real.

“Homer…?” her voice was shaking as her finger’s reached for him as Spike held him, his own face frozen in horror; this isn’t real…I’m dreaming… but, when she touched his pale, time-worn face and felt the heat and the moisture of his sweat, she knew, “…Oh no. It can’t be,” she was shaking with denial, her eyes closed tight, “It just can’t be…”

Homer sat up slowly as the coughing subsided and smiled sadly at her, grateful for Spike’s support as he climbed to his feet again, borrowing his strength, as Spike had once borrowed his, “Wishes can come true. Didn’t an old gardener tell you that, once?”

Buffy gasped. It was all true, all of it. Spike might not remember. Who knew how many years had gone by since that night? But for her, the celebration of Jonina’s aborted homecoming was still fresh in her mind.

Seeing the brightness in her eyes, he knew Homer had touched a truth he couldn’t reach. But he had his own memories, and something in him told him that this was wrong. Homer had always made him feel more whole somehow, in that place.

He had eased the numbing cold and kept his hope alive when he thought he would die. His words were like a mantra, a whispered prayer, when there was no one.

“Love her and Buffy will find you, and bring you home. Remember that.” He did. At times that whispered prayer- that hope- was his only light in the darkness. And now, that hope was dimming before his eyes, “What can we do?” Spike asked, his voice a ragged croak, that left his chest aching in despair.

Buffy felt the room spin again, the colors swirled and she had to fight the blackness that threatened. She swallowed the nausea she felt, and moved quickly, turning her back to retrieve a chair from the adjacent reception area, and placed it near the old man, who looked at her with grimly thankful eyes as he took the refuge she offered, “We seem to be making a habit of this, don’t we?” she asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood as he sat, with a weary sigh.

He nodded, his grey eyes locking with Spike’s as his jaw set in a familiar way, “Nothing you can do that you haven’t already done, William.”

Spike’s jaw twitched too, mirroring the old man’s, and something clicked in Buffy’s mind as she watched them, “No,” Spike said, firmly, “I don’t accept that. I can’t.”

His grey eyes glinted, “Some things cannot be changed, no matter how much you rail against it. And you’ve already changed so much…”

The rest of his words were cut short by Joni’s soft voice, sounding even smaller than she was, and full of fear, “Papa,” she whispered, holding her precious toy out in front of her, offering it up as a sacrifice, “I found Spike…” she gave the old man the rabbit, placing it in his lap, with confidence, she stepped back and smiled, “…maybe he can help?” she nodded, “He always helps me when I’m scared or sick. He’ll help you too, Papa. I know he will.”

The truth of the child’s statement, her belief in her father, it amazed him, and Homer could almost believe.

He looked at Joni’s toy, felt its softness and remembered. He loved her so, and would- until the end of the world. He ran his trembling fingers over the rabbit’s smooth stone eyes, stones he’d smoothed down and rounded with his own hands during that first lonely year, and murmured, “To see myself,” he said softly, “in the eyes of a child,” Homer sighed and brought his eyes to meet Jonina’s; his voice was struggling to remain even and strong, “How long have you had this, Princess?”

Joni’s eyes widened, “Since I can remember.”

Homer’s eyes softened, almost to the point of weeping, the light of tears shone brightly, but he wouldn’t let them fall, “Joni, I can’t take this…” he said as he tried to put her cherished security back in her arms.

Joni frowned and shook her head, “Yes you can,” she insisted, “You can have him. You don’t have to give him back. He wants to stay with you,” she said, her little lip quivering with loss even as the words spilled out of her, “He told me so,” she turned to Buffy and told her, “Spike’s an angel you know…”

Buffy knelt, “An angel, Joni?” her eyes flashed briefly at Spike, and then Homer, before settling on her daughter again, “Who told you this?”

“Spike,” Joni said, as though her mother had asked her if she liked cocoa.

“What exactly did he say, Sweet?” her father asked in a measured tone, as he picked her up and put her on his hip, images long forgotten, of his time at Wolfram and Hart beginning to come back to him in brief flashes.

Joni chewed her lip in thought, and her eyes beamed brightly at her Daddy as she remembered, “He said…” she bit her lip again and looked briefly at Homer, who gave an almost imperceptible nod before she looked back at her father’s expectant, patient gaze, “He said, ‘Angel would know how it happened, and how to help.’ So,” she smiled, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose, “that should be easy, right Daddy? Angels don’t hide…they glow.”

Holding his daughter tight, Spike saw the dim resignation in Homer’s eyes, and the sad, crooked smile. He saw the awe building in Buffy’s gaze and knew.

He knew that his fate rested with Liam, “Not this one,” Spike muttered, kissing Joni’s cheek before setting her down, “He likes to hide. Joni,” he said brightly, “can you tuck yourself into bed? I’ll be up in a moment,” he winked, “With one of Homer’s stories, all right?”

She pouted sadly at Homer, “Will you come up and tell me?”

His voice shook slightly as he answered her, “I’m a little tired, Princess,” he sighed, truly weary and worn, “but I’ll try,” he gave her another nod, “Off to bed, now,” Homer said softly.

“All right, Papa,” Joni said as she turned for the stairs, “I love you.”

As Joni disappeared up the stairs, Spike turned his eyes to Homer. He carefully studied the old man who had been his friend and confidant, and his voice broke in a nearly worshipful sigh, “But Angelus…” he shook his head in disbelief, “He…the legends…” Spike swallowed nervously as he looked the truth on the eye, “…They’re true?”

Homer nodded and smiled sadly, “Very, very true…”