Buffy heard the train whistle break the eerie silence of the night, and she shuddered. She wanted to be out there, searching for her. She’d lived on the Hellmouth much too long. She knew that quiet like what seemed to be lurking outside now was never good.

This was Los Angeles. There should be a barrage of noise, but there wasn’t. On nights like this, on the Hellmouth, bad things were never far behind.

She wanted to be out there, looking for Jonina, but she didn’t know if Joni would come to her if she were frightened. If she would go to anyone, if anyone could find her, it would be Spike.

Yes, she wanted to be out there, but she had other things to worry about.

Liam knew something. And, she was going to find out what that was.

Buffy knelt to check his pulse. Her fingers trembled as they moved over his neck, skirting lightly over the wounds that were still jagged and red. They stood out on his pale skin, a callous reminder of what Spike was, and that he had been through Hell; A Hell that this man had created for him, by his own inaction.

Jealousy and revolution warred inside of her, with an irrational sense of relief, as she felt the small answering pressure against her questioning fingers.

Strong. Regular. Spike hadn’t taken much. Would he have, if Joni hadn’t been here? If her voice hadn’t stopped him… It didn’t matter. He would live.

For an instant, she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted.

Buffy slapped his cheeks lightly, trying to rouse him, “Liam,” she said, a sharp edge to her voice, “time to wake up.”

The unconscious man groaned, and Buffy had to swallow the rancor she felt rising within her as she watched him rise to blurry wakefulness. His eyes slowly opened. They were clouded and unfocused at first, then he blinked, and seemed to recognize the face in front of him, “Buffy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she bit out, more than a little disgusted at the sound of the frightened breaths that were coming in and out of his body, keeping his heart beating when Spike’s was not.

He seemed to be coming to himself now. He was trying to sit up, and Buffy could see that he was scared. That was good. If he were scared, maybe he would remember why he was still here. “How’re you feeling?” she asked.

Liam swallowed, hissing breath through his teeth. His hand went to his throat, and the wound that was there, still bleeding a little. He drew his hand back, and his eyes widened when he saw that his fingers had blood on them.

He looked up at her, the shock he was feeling evident in his eyes and in his voice, as the word shook itself loose from him and tumbled into the air between them, “Spike…?”

Buffy closed her eyes and nodded.

Liam gasped. Clearly, he had not expected this. Whether he had expected to die or not, no one knew, “Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted, shrugging, “I think you might have our daughter to thank for that. Just to be sure though,” she smiled at him, her voice strangely sweet, as well as deadly, “why don’t you tell me what you told him, and then I can tell you whether or not I think he made a mistake.”
*****************************************************************************

Oscar had to make a conscious effort to defend himself against the protective blows that Jonina’s father was pelting him with because he was too happy to see him healthy to even care that he might very well be in danger.

William swooped down upon him, taking him roughly by the collar, and still, all he could do was laugh at the deadly intent in his gaze. His eyes were powerful, and that was something Oscar hadn’t seen before, having only discovered his kinsman just days before his death.

He laughed. The fire was so good to see.

“Well,” Spike said, his voice deepened by simmering rage, “I’m not sure I would be laughing if I were you. You see, you’re not going to be here much longer…” Spike placed his hand on the other vampire’s neck, his fingers resting against the collarbone, and leaned in to whisper, “You know…all I’d have to do is move my hand, just so. And, you’d be dead. Dust. Do you want that?”

Oscar felt William’s fingers tighten slightly against his neck, preparing to move, to do what he threatened to do. Decapitate him. And he wondered if he was already too late. Had the part of William he’d sworn to protect already died?

That thought, and the small whimpering sound made by a frightened and wounded child, a sound that still haunted him, vexed him. The fact that William seemed too focused on him gave him his answer.

“You want to kill me?” Oscar asked, his blue eyes staring into William’s yellowed ones, searching for the boy he once knew, beneath the powerful killer.

“That was the general idea, yeah.”

“In front of a child? In front of…Joni?”

Briefly, Oscar saw a flash of bright, royal blue. The color he’d seen in the boy’s eyes on that horrible winter morning. He was completely grief-stricken. And, as he felt the grip around his throat fall away, he knew he still had a chance to save him.

“Joni…” Spike gasped, his eyes softening as the mask of a killer gave way to the face of a concerned father and darting to the little girl who was cowered in the grime and dust not far from him.

He rushed over to her, seeing the yellow of her nightgown before he saw her. Her face was turned away from him, and he could smell the tears lingering on the light breeze that was flying her pretty maple tresses around her head.

And her whimpering was like a stake in his heart. The smell of her blood sickened him.

How could I have forgotten her…?

“Joni, Dove…?” Spike placed his hand on her shoulder, and winced when she flinched at his touch, “It’s Daddy,” he said softly, hoping she didn’t notice the tremor in his voice, “Can you look at me?”

She shook her head vigorously, her face still turned away from him.

Spike felt the fear coming off of her. He could smell it. And, at that moment, he knew he was a monster.
******************************************************************************

Buffy did her best to be gentle as she tended to Liam’s neck wound. He didn’t deserve this kindness, being here, in her bathroom. He didn’t deserve to be looking in her mirror as though he were looking at a lost love. What he was telling her made her want to drench the wound in a generous amount of alcohol- without giving him time to brace himself for the sting. She placed the cotton gauze gingerly over the wound, and taped it down, “Now let me get this straight,” she grumbled, trying not to let him know that she was close to tears; she didn’t want to let him know how much Homer meant to her, and how much she worried for him and wondered where, and if, he was, “Vampires have souls, and you trapped Spike’s inside the amulet? Spike didn’t need to go to Africa, didn’t need to go through that Hell…because he already had one?”

“Not a soul, Buffy. Not really…and it’s just a legend…”

“Vampires are legends,” Buffy bit out, “but you and I both know they’re very real.”

Liam nodded, his eyes downcast.

“And you believe it?” Buffy asked, an accusatory tone in her voice.

“I didn’t. Not until I saw…”

“Not until Joni was kidnapped. Not until Spike went into Hell after her, and pushed you back through. Not until you became human. Is that right?”

Liam nodded again, “I don’t even know why I’m still alive. The soul…the essence…” he whispered, “It’s been damaged somehow. Diminished…”

“And that’s what Homer is? He’s Spike’s soul?”

“I think so,” Liam said, sounding contrite.

“Then it’s not just diminished. It’s gone. I watched him go,” Buffy said sternly, “And, somehow I know you had something to do with it. What did you do? Did you kill Homer?”
********************************************************************************************

Spike tried to keep the hurt from his voice, “Joni, please…”

Her little voice shook with emotion, “What did you do to my Daddy?” her breath heaved, shaking her entire body, “Where is my Daddy?” she sobbed as she shrank further away from him.

“I’m right here, Dove,” Spike tried to soothe her.

“No,” she cried, her eyes screwed tightly shut against the horror she’d been told about, by her best friend. She refused to look the monster in the face. She held her rabbit close to her. He was her protector, now that her Daddy was gone, “Spike told me about things like you,” she whimpered, “You’re a monster! You took my Daddy. My Daddy’s not here. He’s gone…”

Oscar stood by and watched the exchange with a saddened heart. The scene brought to mind an exchange he hoped he would not have to endure.

DECEMBER 21, 2027- NEW ENGLAND-

“William, can you hear me?” Oscar asked, distressed by the boy’s seeming delirium, and unwillingness to accept the little help he could offer. The help his blood could offer.

Spike’s head thrashed weakly, resisting the blood he needed desperately, and knew was near enough for him to take. But he would not take it. He could be strong. For her, he could do anything, “No…” he murmured, his voice weakened by fever, “not a monster. Take me back. Dove…please…Take me back.”

Oscar was sure he had missed something in his reverie. Because, when he came back from his past, to the scene in front of him, William was standing up, cradling the little rabbit against his chest.

He began the slow, long walk back to Jennings Street, completely transfixed by the girl he carried in his arms. Unaware of anything or anyone around him, other than his daughter, and that suited Oscar just fine. He wanted to fade back into the background. He didn’t want to break the miracle, do anything that might change it, before it had a chance to begin.

Still, the look of anguish that was on his face, and in his voice, as he passed him, wholly unaware of his presence, pained Oscar deeply. The sound of William’s voice, as he disappeared with Jonina, into the night, was reminiscent of his own heartbreak, if it had been able to speak, so long ago.

“I swear to you, Jonina,” Spike whispered, “The monster will never frighten you. You’ll never see it again…Ever.”