The vampire tried to scurry away from the light, but he could not. The light seemed to follow him. It seemed to flood the place he was in and there was no escape.

No escape.

The light burned him through, and he wanted to atone, but he knew he could not.

Nothing would make this right. There would never be enough. Never…

The creature quivered at the memories. Were they memories? Why did the earth hate him so much? What had he done?

The newly born creature cried for mercy, but found little of it in the voice of its companion; he coward away, its light still tormenting him.

The voice was soft, but there was no comfort in it. It was cold, and sharp, “I’m sorry it hurts,” Homer said, “Does that surprise you, that I would say that?”

The vampire blinked, astonished. “Why?” he asked.

The light moved closer still, yet would not burn him, and the voice was offering an echo of warmth, as though it knew the words to say, but had forgotten the meaning, or the feeling the words held within them. The voice was brittle, “I went through it. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it on you.”

A memory flashed across the vampire’s brain, and suddenly the creature that had been, but now was somehow, not Angel, called the light by its name, “Spike?” he whispered.

The vampire didn’t know how, but he saw something he held dear, in the light, something he knew.

The light grew brighter somehow, and the vampire had to shield his eyes if he was going to endure the light’s presence. The cadence within the light was familiar, “I haven’t used that name…in a long time,” it seemed to sigh, affectionately, “But yes, that was my name. It is now…”

“How?” The vampire wouldn’t have believed it was possible, for he could not feel a soul within his breast, but it was true, he felt tears sting his eyes, and wet his face.

He was weeping in the presence of a marvelous thing. He might even dare to call it a miracle.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Homer said, “And right now, it’s unfinished. There is a piece or two that still has to fall into place. Sacrifices have yet to be made. And you have promises to keep…”

“I don’t understand.”

The light smiled. “And neither did Joni. You have to help her understand. And now you have years to do it. Don’t worry. I’ve got the time. I can wait.”

APRIL 30, 2030- LOS ANGELES-

Oscar couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking at, but it was starting to add up, and it was adding up to something incredible. He’d done extensive research into what Wolfram and Hart had intended to do with Angelus, and the magic that was used to power the amulet that William had worn that faithful, wondrous day.

He didn’t think it was possible but… maybe, just maybe, he’d found her.

Now, maybe there was hope. For the first time in five months, longer than that, really, he thought that he might be able to convince her that his death wasn’t useless. It wasn’t in vain. There was a reason for all the suffering and sacrifice he had endured.

Now maybe he could keep the promise he’d made William on the night he died.

Oscar was hopeful. He hadn’t felt this hopeful since before William died, and the bond was severed. He hadn’t felt this hopeful since he learned what the amulet had done to him all those years ago.

There had always been legends, and from what Elisabeth and Willow had said about him before he’d taken ill, Spike- it still felt odd referring to William like that, but that was how they knew him and he didn’t know them well enough to take such liberties as to call the vampire they knew by any other name- seemed to confirm them.

Perhaps they were true, and if the energy that was Jonina still existed, if he was able to pinpoint where she was, then perhaps this could come to pass.

He hadn’t dared to hope. Hadn’t told her, for fear that he might fail her, give her false hope. But, he was positive now.

Her husband still had a chance.

Now, if he could only convince Elisabeth.

As soon as his hands stopped shaking he would call Willow. The witch seemed to be close to William’s widow, and he knew that she knew more about what happened to him than she was revealing. It is possible that Elisabeth would see the urgency he felt if the witch could explain what the amulet seems to have done to Spike.

Yes. Even if Elisabeth thought him mad, driven to flights of fancy, due to grief and loneliness, if not a stranger, she would believe someone with whom she had shared the heat of battle.

Yes. She would believe Willow.

He hoped it wasn’t already too late…
*********************************************************************
Oscar quickly shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and hoped that the Slayer didn’t notice that they were shaking. Spike had asked him a question, and he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He could only stare; stare and feel the sire’s bond sing again within him, something he’d only known once it was gone.

Something he’d missed, very much once it was gone.

What was he doing here, indeed?

Spike’s voice was rough, and cold with a hatred Oscar understood, but had hoped wouldn’t be there. Doesn’t he feel it too…? “You worked for them, didn’t you? Wolfram and Hart?” he asked, as he slowly approached the open doorway.

“I do,” Oscar spoke slowly, deliberately, and even though it was a struggle, he maintained eye contact with Spike. There was too much at stake here, too much to lose, to falter now. To lie now, even to himself, could endanger so much more than just his standing, or his existence.

“Wait,” Buffy interrupted, her green eyes blazing with anger and confusion, looking between the two vampires, “You work for them, and you come here asking for help?” Her venom, and the heat of her words, was anticipated, but Oscar was still hurt by her reaction. He had to remind himself that this was not the Elisabeth he had grieved with, the one he’d come to know, and he hoped that that person would never come into being.

If all went well, and he had an ounce of hope left…Please, Rabbit, don’t give up. Don’t give up hope.

The fire in her eyes died as she looked back at Spike, replaced by the softness of pain and understanding, or the desire to understand what he’d gone through, “You know him?” she asked softly.

Spike nodded. His eyes darted nervously from her to him and back, and as they widened a little, Oscar knew that he was trying to put the fragments of memory together.

Does he remember Mary, and little Diana?

“You know what they did to me?” Spike asked, his gaze locked to his suddenly, “You know what happened there…? What I saw…?”

It wasn’t the answer Oscar had expected, and the fire in his eyes was almost too intense for him, but he would take it.

He couldn’t lie to him.

“Yes,” Oscar admitted, “I know. And, I hope I can help. I hope I can keep my promise to you,” Oscar lowered his eyes and whispered, “And to you, Elisabeth…”

Buffy’s breath caught. Homer called me that. Could it be…? Buffy was suspicious, but Spike wasn’t sounding the alarm, and she trusted him, “Spike,” she said cautiously, her eyes turning back to his, “it’s up to you. What do you think?”

Oscar saw the confusion flash across Spike’s face, and the trepidation in his eyes, and he was pained, but sighed, “You don’t have to trust me,” he said, putting up his hand in a gesture of weariness and surrender, “Just do what you can to learn about the amulet that your husband wore that day on the Hellmouth, Elisabeth. It was even more volatile than Angelus knew,” Oscar could feel the dawn approaching. He had to get back to his fledgling. He turned to leave, smiling sadly over his shoulder at the two who still held the future in their hands, “He knows that, now,” Oscar said, “and so should you.”

Oscar knew he had to get back before the sun came up and a new day began.