December 19, 2027-New England-

Spike was in pain. Oscar knew this kind of pain, and he knew it well. It was the kind of pain- the kind of grief that was capable of reaching across time and space- the kind that he had promised to keep from her heart. And, as he looked out at the silently falling snow, and he listened to the sounds of grief in this tiny house, Oscar was transported back through time, to another yuletide season, and another lost child. He knew why he could no longer deny the blood’s call, though he had tried.

Spike’s pain had been his. It was his now. They were brothers, with more than a sire’s blood to connect them to one another.

Oscar tried to pull himself from the gentle serenity of the snow, and be present, be in this moment, painful though it was, and listen, and see the pain.

“Where is my daughter?” the room rang with his feral growl, “What have you done with her?” his eyes narrowed dangerously, and Joni was afraid she might have to stake him if she couldn’t get through the fever, and make him see reason. He shook her shoulders hard enough to make her hit her head on the wall behind her. She winced at the pain, both in her head, where it had hit the wall, and at the searing heat she felt on her flesh where he was touching her. She tried not to pull away. The heat was almost too much for her, but it was nothing to the pain in her heart at hearing that growl directed at her, “…Did you take her from me?”

How she had let him corner her like this, Joni didn’t know. And, if he were lucid, her Daddy would be furious with her, “I’m right here, Daddy,” she said softly, “I haven’t left, and neither has Mom. Not since you’ve been sick. We won’t go anywhere, I promise.”

Spike shook his head, “No…” his voice was empty and desperate, “She’s not here. Where’s my beautiful girl? Tell me,” he snarled, “What happened to her?” he shook her again, this time with less force, and Joni knew that his delirium had gotten the better of him. She took some comfort in that, “…Tell me,” he roared, “Where is she? What happened!”

“Joni,” Buffy’s voice was tense, “Baby, maybe you shouldn’t…”

“It’s all right, Mom. We’re all right,” she paused for breath, her eyes stinging with tears of sadness,“ Aren’t we, Daddy?” she kept her voice calm, “But Daddy,” she whispered, trying to calm him, “you’re hurting me.”

He seemed confused for a moment, then his grip on her shoulders relaxed. Inwardly, Joni breathed a sigh of relief, and her heart clenched for him as she noticed beads of sweat breaking out on his face. Angry yellow melted into hazy, bright blue, and the horror of recognition came, causing him to blink, as if to bring her into focus. His hands trembled as they left her shoulders and slowly traveled upward, caressing her face. His breath came short, and he fought a sob, as he cradled her face in his hands, “Joni…Dove…?” he whispered, his eyes widened in disbelief.

She nodded, finally letting herself breathe again when he pulled her into a tearful, thankful, trembling embrace, “Oh Joni, did I hurt you?”

“No, Daddy,” she assured him, “you didn’t hurt me.”

Joni could tell, as her Daddy’s fearful gaze fell on her mother’s, that he didn’t believe her, “Do you have them?” he asked her, his voice shaking.

Buffy shook her head, “I-I don’t think we need to…”

“Do you have them?” he asked again, his intense gaze made brighter by the unexplainable fever that was coursing through him now, and Jonina wondered if he really * could* burn up from the inside.

Joni swallowed her fear, and touched his face, drawing his eyes back to her, “We have them Daddy,” she nodded, searching his eyes, “Do you want them?”

He closed his eyes and sighed, “Yes. I…need to rest,” he whispered, “Just…need to rest.”
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Homer was leaning so heavily on her, that Buffy could feel herself start to lose her balance, “It’s okay, Homer, we’re almost there,” she said as she gently shifted her weight again, trying to keep him upright, “It’s not far. Just hold on a little longer, then you can rest,” she whispered as they slowly and haltingly made their way to the back of the dojo, “I never realized this place was this big,” she mused, ruefully, as the frail old man seemed to grow heaver with every step.

“I need to rest,” Homer mumbled, his words slurred by exhaustion.

“I know,” Buffy said as the tiny cot came closer, “and you will. Just a little more…”

“So tired…” he whispered.

“I know,” Buffy sighed as she gently sat him on the cot, picking his feet up, and allowing him to lie back. He seemed so small to her. She carefully removed his shoes, her hands trembling, and was surprised to find that they were remarkably similar to the boots he’d worn in all the time she’d known him, and that made her smile, “There, is that better?”

“No,” he whispered, “it’s all wrong. So broken…Where is she…?”

He’s so tired, he’s not making sense, “Jonina’s upstairs…”

“Hmmmm…” he nodded, content, even as sleep began to claim him, “She’s so beautiful, my girl. So bright and shining…”

“Yes,” Buffy agreed, “she is. And, you helped her become that,” she said, pulling one of the spare woolen blankets over him. She took great care removing his eyeglasses, and placed them on the top shelf of the nearest locker, she shut the door as quietly as she could; she looked at his face, and wondered.

Could this really be him? she smiled to herself, as out of nowhere, something from the legend of King Arthur came to her mind. That happened more often now, a side- effect of their experience on the Hellmouth, she supposed:

So, this is the once and future king?
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Fear was a heady thing, very easy to overindulge. And, as the scent grew heavier, if Spike didn’t have another goal, something more important to accomplish, he might have let Liam’s fright distract him, “Well now Liam,” he chuckled, “there’s no reason to be skittish, is there?” his eyes glinted with delight, “After all, we are old mates, aren’t we?”

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking in his fear, “Please…don’t hurt me.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, “Tell me, why on earth would I do that?”

“I-I I’ll tell you whatever you want…” he stuttered.

“And, you know what that is, do you?” Spike smirked.

Liam shook his head, gasping for breath.

Spike clicked his tongue, “Oh,” he pouted mockingly, “and I was so hoping you could tell me a little story…Something about a Shanshu, perhaps?”

Liam lowered his eyes in shame, “You remember. I was hoping you wouldn’t. There’s nothing I can do about that, now. But, I can help keep you from dying…”

Spike nearly roared, his amber eyes rolling toward the ceiling, “God, are you a bloody broken record! Change the tune!”

“I’m serious…” he murmured.

“So am I!”

Liam tried not to flinch as the vampire’s fangs flashed. He had never felt this frightened before, but he knew that he had information no one else had. He knew something, and that made him valuable. It allowed him to stay alive, “Please…please…” he stuttered again, a cold fear striking him as he stared into murderous eyes; eyes that he used to see his victims with, ones he had seen William with, “William,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I am,” he struggled to keep from shaking, he knew he had to appeal to the part of the vampire that hadn’t yet died, “I don’t know how…but you made it back. But, haven’t you noticed it? Something’s wrong? A little off?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, regarding the man cowering in front of him with a time-honored suspicion, “This could be very amusing. Do tell.”

Liam’s breath shuddered, and he pushed the fear down, allowing him to speak, though weakly, “I know what it is you’re losing.”

Spike said nothing, only raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“You wanted a story? I could tell you one. You might have even heard it before, it’s made the rounds, especially in…” his eyes were downcast as he whispered, “the demon community. It’s about…a demon’s soul.”