The air was nearly as cold here as it had been on the morning William had died. Oscar felt the chill go through him, and he knew Spike had made his decision. The air buzzed with electricity and terror. His blood boiled with sorrow, and he wondered how he could have missed it.

How could he have missed the call of the Sire’s blood? All the years of loneliness that didn’t have to be; the years he could have known him but didn’t, because he couldn’t see past his own hurt.

But then, he had always been a selfish bastard. And, he supposed he always would be.

If it hadn’t been for William…

He knew the kind of hurt that Spike was feeling; he knew the impulse to turn inward, and he hoped that he would be able to comfort Spike, and the remnant of the boy that had helped his Mary so much, when he was unable.

6 APRIL 1873-

This was not his life. That died with her, months ago. So, why on earth was he here? This was dead to him. And yet, he could not look away.

Their life, and all it contained, the brightness, and her sweet sorrow, was so very alluring. He could not resist it.

What he saw both repulsed him and filled him with awe.

He peered into the window as the murmur of her voice caught him. She was weeping. But, he could not comfort her, not as he was now. Not when he was empty. He missed her, still.

“…Her death,” Mary sobbed, wringing his handkerchief in her worried fingers, “It must have driven him mad. There is no other explanation for his disappearence…”

Oscar could see the boy trying to comfort her, but he could also see the heat of anger boiling just under the surface of his skin. That alone told Oscar that William suspected the truth, “Have you thought that perhaps the monster that took …” the boy’s voice faltered, his eyes lowering. The boy was obviously distraught, himself, and did not want to add to Mary’s pain, “I do not know what could have driven him from your side,” he murmured, his whispered tones barely concealing his own grief; he was a good boy, William. He felt things very deeply. And that meant that, if he had chosen to take Mary into his heart, and into his family, then she was in safe keeping, indeed.

He could leave her. She would be safe. It was the boy that worried him. There was a fragile quality to him. A brittleness, and a light that made him too good for this world.

Was he strong enough to protect her at all, when he seemed so frail?

“…But, I will look after you,” his voice was wavering; no doubt he was reliving the grizzly sight.

He himself would never be able to pass a livery without catching the scent of death.

The only way Oscar knew to drown the scent of his little girl was to overwhelm his senses. And, become an agent of death.

As Oscar made his way back to the Jennings Street dojo, a place he’d only heard of in stories, he hoped that Spike would let him repay the debt he owed.
******************************************************************

His blank stare was horrific. But what was worse was the sight of Joni, lying limp in his arms. She looked so pale, and Buffy noticed smears of red on her yellow nightgown, and on her face.

There were traces of something that seemed to glow against the dark clothing that Spike wore. She didn’t have to ask what it was that gave off that sticky glow.

She knew.

It was blood.

“Spike? Spike…what happened?” she asked, her voice quiet with fright as she followed them up the stairs, “Is she…? Is she all right?” Buffy noticed his body slightly trembling as he carried her into the room that he had painted for her, and fleetingly, she wondered if he remembered doing that; wondered if he remembered being happy- at all.

Biting her lip, Buffy found the courage she needed to walk faster, and step in front of him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, and felt him quiver with the emotions that were coursing through him, but he would not, or could not, let show on his face. But, she knew he felt them, on a deep level, because his eyes weren’t a sharp, painful blue. They were a dull, and lifeless amber.

“Spike, let me take her,” Buffy said, trying to soothe him.

Buffy moved her hand down his arm, to take Jonina from him, and was surprised by the low growl that came from him. It was a warning. And, for the first time since he’d come home, Spike truly reminded her of Angel, when he’d been brought back from Hell.

He seemed so lost. And that made her grieve Homer, and what Angel had done- to her husband- even more than she had before.

“Spike,” she said, her eyes locking with his, searching for something she knew. She tried to keep her voice strong, even though she felt weak, “I’ll take care of her. I promise…” she could barely speak. All she saw was pain.

It bled from every pore. He was so raw. Her heart screamed out for him.

“I-I tried,” Spike stammered. His voice seemed incredibly small and child like.

“I know,” Buffy whispered reverently, nodding.

“I tried…to keep it from her,” Spike choked, looking down at Jonina, as she lain, bleeding, in his arms. He looked back at Buffy, and she could see tears streaming down his face, his eyes still dull and lifeless, “The monsters. I tried to keep them from her. There were so many. How? How is she so…” his voice trailed off; lost in his own pain, he sank to the floor. Crashing to his knees, with Joni cradled tightly to him, he asked, “How? How is she still so soft? There were so many. And when he came…I thought…maybe…But, now he’s gone. She brought him here, you know?” he murmured, the words came as softly as a sob; his eyes focused once again on the broken child in his arms, “To help. So sweet,” he whispered, brushing her hair aside with a trembling hand, and kissing her lightly on the temple, “But, there’s no help for me. Good things don’t belong in this world. I brought the monster here. And now…” his eyes darted to hers again, full of pain, and begging her, “Why didn’t he tell me? I’ve never been this empty. Never. And I…I have to go…She’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” he choked, “And, I brought the dark here, to her…and you. I can’t be here…”

Buffy shook her head. She was crying now, too, “No,” she said, “You’re not going anywhere. Tell me. Tell me what it was like for you there,” she whispered, her heart breaking at the desolate look in his eye, even as he shook his head in fierce denial.

“Yes. It’s the only way I can help. And he’s here, too. He’ll help. He owes us that. This is his mess,” she bit out, “He can clean it up, for once.”