Spike stared at Homer in silence as what he had said, as his very presence, began to sink in. As the silence grew larger, and louder, the tiny smirk grew on the old man’s face, and his eyes sparkled with a sad but impish light, “Spike,” Homer’s voice was kindly, if a bit impatient even as his heart took note of the shining blue eyes lowered in reverence; he had to admit, if only to himself, that it was strange to hear himself utter that name, now, “you remember now, don’t you?”

Seeing the odd mix of joy and terror playing in his eyes, Homer knew he did.

“Yes,” Spike said, his voice shaking with unexpressed emotion, “but once you…” the sadness overtook him, and he was unable to finish the thought. It was just as well. It was unthinkable.

The air in the room was thick with possibilities and lost opportunities, so thick that Buffy could almost see the immense weight that hung between them, seemingly poised to drop at any moment. And, no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

She could feel the weight settling on her own chest. She wanted to scream out. But, more important than that- so much more important- she wanted someone to do something.

The pressure of the weight was starting to make her teeth ache. She took a deep breath, and burst through the tyrannical wall of screaming, respectful silence, “So Homer,” Buffy stepped up, and crossed her arms over her chest, her soft voice sounding too loud in the fearful room, “How do we fix this?”

Homer’s blue-grey eyes looked at her, and Buffy couldn’t help but feel a chill at the glint of disappointment in them, “A Slayer,” he sighed, his eyes glinting a little behind his spectacles, “even now? Even after…?” his eyes lowered in resignation and he sighed again, his breath shuddering, “Of course…it’s just the way…” he raised his gaze to hers once more, “I’d forgotten. Well, to answer your question,” his voice became hardened and cold, his countenance stern as his jaw twitched slightly, “We don’t,” he looked again at Spike, and asked, wistfully, “Now, may I spend time with Jonina? It might help…ease the pain…somewhat.”

Spike’s eyes widened in shock, “You’re in pain?” his voice was barely audible as he once more knelt at the old man’s feet, a wave of kinship sweeping over him, he took hold of his hand and held it, much as he remembered holding Buffy’s so long ago.

Homer nodded, his head cocked a little at the small gesture of affection that had been bestowed so easily upon him, even though he winced with the pain he felt, “It is less than it was,” his eyes closed, “And more than it should be, because I know what I’ll miss…”

“All right, Homer,” Buffy bit out, her throat aching as her gaze bored into him, “You say that Angel-or Liam- or whatever he’s calling himself, knows what this is, and how to stop it?”

“He does. But, I do not wish it.”

“You don’t wish it?” Buffy’s voice was incredulous, but it was the pain that he saw in Spike’s eyes that gave him pause, “What gives you the right to…?”

A slow fire began to burn in Homer’s eyes as he stood and regarded Buffy, “Elisabeth, I have already told you…some things belong…some do not,” his gaze danced as he searched for the strength to continue without lowering his eyes; he sighed and whispered, “I do not. I’m only here by happenstance. The witch said it herself. I should not be…here. I am as fleeting as the light.”

“Then…where do you belong?” the words were like knives in Spike’s throat.

The look Spike saw in those dim and powerful eyes, spoke of a deep- set pain. A pain he knew, but would not voice. The man’s eyes locked with his, and Spike felt his knees begin to weaken at the sight of the devastation that was held within them.

“May I see Jonina,” Homer breathed, “Please?”

Spike nodded, fighting the tears that wanted to fall, and he gently placed his hand on Homer’s elbow; as he did so, Spike half expected his hand to pass through him as though he were air, and sighed with relief when he found that he could indeed hold him. He was substantial, “…Of course,” he said as he led the frail gentleman up the staircase.
*********************************************************************************

Oscar was no fool. He knew that Spike would not have the strength to mount a search, if he even really realized that Liam was what he needed. So he decided to make sure Liam was found.

He made sure of it by dropping Liam’s broken and battered- but certainly not dead- body on the doorstep of 80 Jennings Street.

And, as Liam groaned when his body hit the pavement, made cold both from his lack of clothing, and the cool winter night, his brain registered a whispered threat from the shadows, “It’s true.” Oscar said, “You may die before the morning comes. But, if you leave…it’s a sure bet that you will. And then, you’ll be back in the shadows where you belong,” the words held a laughing tone, “Care to take a chance?”
*****************************************************************

Homer knelt next to her, and his hand shook as he caressed her hair, running his fingers through her cinnamon and maple tresses.

It was like coming home.

Joni stirred, leaning into his touch, she sighed, “Papa?”

He nodded, “Yes, Jonina,” Homer said softly, “It’s me.”

“Can you stay, Papa?”

His throat was tight with emotion as he spoke, “I’ll stay as long as I can,” Homer looked back at Spike, who stood in the doorway, and motioned him forward with a wave of his hand, “Your Daddy and I came up to say goodnight. But,” his words smiled, “it seems that you’ve gone off to dreamland on your own, like the young lady you are. Still, Daddy wants to say it…”

“You already said it. That’s good too,” she mumbled, already half asleep.

“That’s sweet. But, Daddy needs to say it too,” Homer said as he straightened up and took a step back, letting Spike take his place at her side.

“Goodnight, Dove,” Spike whispered as he placed a light kiss at her temple.

“’Night Daddy,” Joni murmured as she fell to sleep.
***********************************************************

Buffy paced. She didn’t like how she felt now. Part of her wanted so much to trust Homer, could see the pain in his eyes, and didn’t want to add to it. But, the other part hated the way she felt when he looked at her. Hated what he represented; he made her stomach hurt.

And he was upstairs now…touching Joni as if he knew her.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

The soft peal of the doorbell brought her out of her thoughts, and she wondered who it could be, as she made her way to the main entrance to answer it.

The sight that greeted her when she opened the door took her breath away, and made her want to scream, from both hatred and fright,”Liam,” she growled his name low in her throat.
***************************************************************

Just as the door closed softly behind them, Spike found himself trying to catch Homer as he started to collapse, “Please stay,” Spike hissed desperately into his ear as his knees folded to try and hold the old man upright.

The dead weight of Homer’s unconscious form was too much for Spike’s own weakened and overwhelmed body to support, and as he crashed to the floor, holding Homer in his arms, he cried out for help, “Buffy…!”

Hearing the terror in his voice, she left Liam, broken and bleeding, just inside the door as she slammed it shut before racing up the stairs to a terror she had yet to find.