Time slowed, like it had on that horrible morning when he was sure his world had ended. He’d been wrong then, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

Admittedly, Spike knew that he had never truly noticed the death process in humans, or his victims, but now he couldn’t escape it.

The man who had been his only lifeline, his only contact over the long and dark years when he had no other contact, no one and nothing else that looked or sounded like he remembered she did, was dying in his arms. He could feel the vital force leaving him, as strongly, and as clearly as he could hear Joni’s heartbeat, or Buffy’s breath.

Homer’s pale and time-worn face looked lifeless as Spike gently placed him on the staircase landing, his hands shaking slightly as he held the old man’s head a moment longer, desperately trying to find something familiar in the old face.

It was in this moment, the moment that time stretched on forever, but was no time at all, just as it had been on that awful morning when he saw the light go out, that he knew, and recognized- and tried not to collapse right beside him as a chill of certainty shot along his spinal nerves. Oh, God…Why? His voice shook in blazing defiance, “No,” he growled in a low whisper, “Don’t do this to her! She’s too small…She won’t understand!” Spike found his chest burning as he drew in unneeded air in huge gulping breaths, “How do I explain it to her, when I don’t even understand it?” he hissed.

And, where the bloody Hell is Buffy?

The fear he felt only lost a bit of its sharp edge when dim, blue-grey eyes slowly opened and blinked at him, “There is nothing to explain. It had to be. The magic had to be paid for. It set her free, and I couldn’t let her go…Not when…I…just couldn’t…No one else could…It had to be,” he said softly, his mouth turning up into a sad little smirk, “And, I won’t leave her…ever, or any of the Slayers. I promised,” a small cough shook his body, making Homer shut his eyes as it passed. When he opened them again, Spike could feel something tighten in his chest. It felt as if someone had taken his still heart out of his chest, breathed life into it, and then crushed the life out again, with his cruel fist.

“How can this be?” Spike asked, his voice disbelieving, “And, how do I take care of them, without you?”

Spike saw a peace in his eyes. A peace he knew he’d never be able to find himself, as he gently cradled Homer’s head as he placed it on the floor.

This can’t be happening! It’s not…I’m not…

Homer’s eyes shone a little as he looked up at him, and he nodded slightly, his words seeming to echo his own thoughts, “Always beneath…never above, isn’t that right?” there was pity in his eyes now, but it was not for his fate, it was for unrealized potential, “You’re not worthy…? Too much darkness, so much that no one will ever love you?” his head rocked to and fro on the floor, “Too weighed down; it’s too much. You can’t see…I remember…” his words became a small, painful sob.

Spike shook his head, clearly perplexed, and a little worried, at the old man’s words, “I don’t…” he whispered.

“No, you don’t,” Homer sighed, struggling to rise above the tide of unconsciousness that was once again pulling at him,” But, she did, once. It was the only way…” he paused, his mind and eyes seemed unfocused, his head drifting to one side, as it rested on the staircase landing, away from Spike’s eyes. It was then that Spike noticed that Buffy had indeed arrived at the head of the stairs, and was kneeling beside Homer, directly opposite him, near the top of the stairs, and that he was now speaking to her, not him, in the same sad, desperately resigned whisper, “…she could have her ‘Daddy’…and her Mum. The Slayer needs her family. You know that…”

Buffy nodded, “I do,” her voice choked out her agreement as she looked across at the look of dread in Spike’s eyes; she could tell that he was very close to him, and that Spike’s existence, as well as Jonina’s, might, at one time, a time that may not be ended, have depended on him, “And, you were a part of that, for a long time. You helped her, when I couldn’t,” she whispered, as she reached for Homer’s hand to offer him comfort.

Homer grasped her hand tightly, and used her presence to ground himself, as he attempted to sit up, his voice shaking but sure, “I need…” his strength waned, and his eyes searched hers.

Buffy reached around to support Homer’s back, and briefly touched Spike’s fingers, as he too braced the man’s back. She couldn’t help but notice the tremor in them, “What do you need?” she asked.

As he climbed slowly to his feet, Homer said, through ragged breaths, caused by his effort, his eyes focused on Buffy, “I need for Jonina not to see this. I can’t let her see this,” he leaned heavily on Spike as all three of them stood at the top of the stairs, “It will hurt her. She would not understand, not now. And now,” he drew a shuddering breath, “everything is so broken…”

With Spike on one arm, and Buffy on the other, Homer slowly made his way down the stairs as Spike murmured in his ear, trying to guide his footsteps, “Careful with the step there…Easy,” they reached the bottom of the stair, and Spike breathed a sigh of relief; until his eyes drifted toward the body that lie just inside the doorway, “What the bleedin’ Hell…?” he gave Homer a knowing glance and nodded, his jaw working to hold his fury in, “He did this, didn’t he?” his mouth pulled into a grim line, “I don’t know when, or how, but, he did this. I remember…you told me. Buffy,” Spike turned his eyes to her, “do what you can for our guest…”

She nodded, ducking under the old man’s arm, preparing to take on his entire weight.

“Maybe the cot,” he said quietly, as he gently shifted the man’s weight on to Buffy’s shoulders, “in the locker room?”

Buffy’s eyes twinkled as she led Homer away, and she smiled; he remembers. That’s so good, “Okay,” she said.

Liam Donovan awoke to a sight that made him question his sanity, and the possibility of a concussion. What he was seeing was impossible.

Oscar must have hit me over the head. Is this what blood loss feels like? Oh, God…is that…Spike? But it can’t be. That’s an old man! And, I’ve seen him before… He was with me…when Oscar…

He watched carefully as Buffy led the old man out of his sight. He shook his head, trying to make the double image, the concussion had caused, go out of his head.

He knew, somewhere in his mind, that there could not be two Spikes. Certainly not two Spikes headed in two different directions; one was being kindly led away by Buffy, and the other, with eyes glowing golden with anger, was slowly advancing on him, malice emanating from him with every step as he drew closer.

And, he was weak, and defenseless. He shrank back as the vampire Spike knelt, his eyes glowing with wrath.

No…No please! his mind screamed, as his body shook in fear.

Spike’s head tilted reveling in a perverse kind of joy, “Well,” he drawled, “isn’t this…neat? Mind telling me what you’re doing…here?”