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There was silence, and Willow suddenly noticed how small the place really was, and how good Spike’s hearing was. She looked over at the two of them, and although Spike was doing what he could to distract Joni, and it was something she would never forget- seeing him play peek-a-boo, morphing in and out of his demon face- she could tell by the way he moved, slowly and deliberately, that he could hear, and very possibly understand, every word that was being said.

Buffy wasn’t saying anything, and Willow didn’t blame her. It was a big thing to take in, and if she hadn’t seen it for herself and confirmed it by asking Buffy what she remembered about that day, and what Angel had said the amulet would do, she would have had a hard time believing that it could happen, too.

What Buffy had said just proved Giles’s theory. Willow shook her head and smiled a crooked smile at the irony of Angel being the catalyst for this.

Without the amulet, and those purifying, “scrubbing bubbles,” this might never have happened.

It had to be true because she could still feel the cold shiver running down her spine, from the look in the old man’s eye. She’d seen it before. Spike never looked at her the same after she brought Buffy back from the dead. He knew that she’d taken the Slayer from her reward, and as much as he loved Buffy and wanted to be near her, he hated her even more for taking that from her.

She would never forget that look, or forgive herself for putting that kind of hate in his heart.

Yes, the old man, Homer, was something made of magic, but that didn’t mean it was a lie. There was something true in him, something pure.

There was only one thing, that Willow knew of, that could put that much hate in an otherwise kindly old man’s soul. And, that is what “Homer” was, she had no doubt now, he was the manifestation of a vampire’s soul; of Spike’s soul.

Could he have been pulled from Heaven? It was the only thing that made any sense.

Willow nodded. He made it. He did. He’s the “Energizer Bunny,” of course he made it! No wonder Angel didn’t want the fact that vampires have souls to be common knowledge! That would mean that he would be accountable- for everything he ever did!

Of course he made it. But there was still Buffy, and her grief. It was still a theory, a fairytale, unless Buffy believed.

And, Willow could tell…that she didn’t.

“I can’t let this happen, Willow. I just can’t,” Buffy said.

Willow held her breath and hoped. This time she wasn’t going to let grief sway her. This was something bigger than that, and it could be wonderful, if Buffy would only believe.

She knew what could happen now, the lives she could destroy, and so did Buffy. That wasn’t going to happen again.

There was no way to know what had happened to Spike, not after what she’d seen on the Hellmouth. After that, she knew that anything was possible. After all, they were connected, now more than ever.

If she could just convince Buffy…but that was going to be hard to do. Buffy loved him. And, even though Buffy had seen the change he’d made, she knew he’d struggled with it.

After all, he was a vampire, and sometimes there were things that even love couldn’t change.

Still…if this had been Tara…

“Buffy,” she tried again, speaking slowly, “did you hear me? What Spike is, I can’t find it in any demon dimension. But, that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still exist, somehow. Giles thinks, and Stephen Riley, he seems to think that that’s why Angel came to Sunnydale, and why he hasn’t said much about it, about what happened that day, since he…”

The words meant nothing, they buzzed in her ear until they weren’t words anymore, just noise that she couldn’t understand. “The demon is gone, Buffy. It’s not here. It’s not in any plane, any dimension, that I know of, and I’ve checked every one that I know exists. Every one I dare, and some that I don’t. And, it’s…He’s nowhere, Buffy. Gone.” There was no way she could have done this to him. Not now…not after everything…and yet, she had.

She’d torn it apart. His world and his existence, she’d torn it apart. Torn him apart, and he’d let her.

But, why?

The answer was simple, and staring her in the face.

Buffy looked at Spike and Joni. He was trying so hard to hide it, but she wasn’t blind. His eyes were full of terror and loss, and hurt. Joni’s weren’t much better, in fact, they were worse. Joni was smart. She understood what was going on around her. Her daughter’s eyes were not only filled with the same pain she saw in Spike’s eyes, but there was betrayal there as well, the same betrayal she had felt in her own heart when her father left.

Joni’s “Papa” was gone, and her Mommy had taken him away. The look in her little girl’s eyes hurt her more than she had words for. She would do whatever she had to do take the knife from her heart.

Maybe she could keep it from her. Keep her sweet and untouched by the darkness just a little longer. Maybe she could keep her in the bubble a little longer.

It was a fleeting thought, one that was burst by a swell of little-girl rage.

“Papa said he wouldn’t leave!” Joni was angry, her eyes were blazing and her voice held a hurt bigger than her eight years. She climbed out of her Daddy’s embrace and walked up to her Mommy. Looking up at her with moist eyes, and a confident voice, a voice that held all her love within it, she asked, “Mommy, Papa said he wouldn’t leave. Why did he lie, Mommy?”

Her breath caught at that, and her gaze found Spike. There was so much hurt and loneliness there, in his eyes. So much that she couldn’t take it all in, and she had to look away, but Joni seemed so lost, in a different way. She was too small.

Too small to understand whom she was, and what she could be.

Too small to know that she was a Slayer.

“Oh, Joni,” Buffy whispered, “Papa didn’t lie.”

“But…” Joni interrupted.

Suddenly, Buffy began to panic, and she wasn’t sure if she was more panicked for herself or Spike. All she was sure of was the need to reassure her, to tell Joni that everything would be all right, because she needed to believe it too. She didn’t want to believe Willow. He wasn’t gone. She wasn’t going to lose him, not after all they had been through together, “ I’m sure he didn’t want to leave you. Not if he could help it,” she told her.

“Is it my fault?” Jonina asked, her voice a soft, horrible aching squeak, “Did he leave because of me? Did I hurt him? Did I do something bad?” there were no tears, just the awful desire to know the truth.

No, Buffy thought, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I did this.

“No, Sweetheart,” Buffy said earnestly, “You’re a good girl. You can’t be anything bad. Ever. This isn’t your fault.”

The mother in her felt her heart break within her as Joni asked the question she wished she had the power to answer, and the strength to ask, herself. It was something she needed to know, “He glowed for you, Mommy,” Joni said, “For us. Where did he go, Mommy?”

Buffy felt her stomach sink. The room was spinning, and it was all she could do to keep Jonina’s face in focus. Her little face became a splotch of peach and purple. It was pretty. Like a sunset, and the purple flew away on the wings of a bird.

There’s something about that…what is it…?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that, when she opened her eyes again the room would not be spinning.

She opened her eyes. The room had stopped spinning, but her little girl was still looking up at her. Still trusting her, and waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,” she admitted quietly, “But, I’ll find out. I promise.”

DECEMBER 2, 2027-NEW ENGLAND-

Buffy hadn’t run this fast in years, but tonight…tonight it didn’t seem fast enough. Had Georgie really said what she thought she had? Was he really awake? Was it really over?

New Hope Cemetery was on Third Street, and that was five and a half blocks from Myrrh Road. She and Joni had walked the distance many times. Buffy could do it in her sleep, it wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk, and at a run it was less than three.

But tonight it seemed like a hundred-mile trek. She couldn’t get there fast enough.

She rushed through the door, and noticed Georgie sitting at the kitchen table, her head bowed. Xander sat across from her and looked up at her when she came through the door. His face was pale and grim, “Buffy,” he said gruffly, “you’d better get in there. He’s…” He wasn’t looking at her now, and there was something strange about his voice.

If she didn’t know him better, Buffy would almost say that Xander was relieved.

*Oh, God! How could I have forgotten? That spell…something about last words or last rites. If Xander hadn’t… Oh, thank you, Xander!*

She eyed him carefully. He was so still and quiet. Too quiet. Maybe the spell had more of an effect on him than he had let on, “Xander,” Buffy whispered, “what is it?”

He didn’t answer, just sat there, looking down. She could see that he was struggling to keep hold of his emotions. Xander had grown to respect Spike. It had taken some time, but now, they were almost what would be called friends, to see him like this, it was frightening, “Xander…?” was all she could manage to say.

“Buffy,” he whispered, “just go.”

There was something in the way he said the words that struck her, and she gulped for breath, because somehow, she knew she was going to need it, and went to the small room down the hall.

She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer into the air, “Spike,” she spoke the thought wordlessly, willing him to answer.

And he did. She could hear his words, in the same way someone can hear the hum of a tuning fork when it is pressed against the skin. There were no words spoken, his body had been through too much for that, but she did hear him.

His voice, and his precious words strummed through her body, willing her to push open the door, “Oh, Buffy,” the warmth made her skin vibrate, it pulled at her, “let me see you. I need to see you. Please?”
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Buffy remembered her time in Heaven, before Willow pulled her out, and how she felt loved and warm.

She had touched him. That day, on the Hellmouth, he looked so warm, so much like Heaven, that she had to touch him.

She touched him. She’d destroyed him.

“Willow,” Buffy asked in a hushed voice, “Spike is a demon. A vampire. If he was…where I was…how would he survive?”

“I…” Willow started, stopping when she noticed Spike coming up behind Buffy.

“I can tell you, Buffy. That I do remember, very well,” his voice was heavy with painful experience and memory so sharp that Buffy felt herself turning to see him, to be sure he hadn’t stepped into the sunlight and let himself burn, as he had one time before, just to be rid of the pain that was eating at his soul, “Without you, and Joni,” he said, “that place was Hell.”