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Author's Chapter Notes:
"White Buffy" is finally explained. Please review.
APRIL 21, 2005

As they put the Sands down for the night, Spike was comforted by the small flutter of the child's heartbeat. He loved hearing it, and judging by the way the little flutter sped up whenever he spoke, the tot had a fondness for him as well.

Will wonders never cease?

That wasn't what was rolling around in his brain right now. Right now, what was worrying him more was the nagging feeling that something was just...off. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he would find it.

Buffy managed to drift off to sleep about two hours ago. That was a mixed blessing, because her dreams seemed to be making her sleep restless at best. Her heart rate alone told him that at times, during the night she had been in the realm of nightmares. He did what he could to comfort her, whispering soothing words into her ear.

Lying there listening to her, he couldn't help but kick himself for ever believing Angelus and staying away from her for as long as he did. As he listened to the soft cries fill the room, even as he tried to comfort her, he was reminded of the pain he felt when he first realized that he didn't belong anywhere. Hell wouldn't have him, and he wasn't vain enough to think that Heaven would.

So, where did that leave him? It brought him here, awake in the wee hours of the morning, walking the floor, when he should be holding her. He was here, listening to a quartet of rhythms, trying to chase away the irrational fears that he'd been plagued by for more than six months now.

And, listening to Buffy's lonely cries at his absence, at the absence of what little peace he was able to provide in the midst of the storm that seemed to be raging in her, did nothing to quiet his own.
************************

MAY 30 2003

It was so dark in here that even her eyes were having trouble adjusting. There was no sound except for her heartbeat. This place was familiar, sickeningly so, in fact.

She'd been here every night since Sunnydale collapsed. Every night since he...

She closed her eyes, because she knew what was coming. It was the same every night. Her throat tightened in anticipation. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want to see it. Not again. It hurt to see the pain in his eyes.

"Buffy," his voice was tinged with pain, the sound bore straight to her heart and her nerves fired in sympathy, but Buffy still remained blind to the sight of him. The sight caused her too much pain, "Don't forget me. Please Buffy. You're all I have."

Buffy opened her eyes and saw him. The contrast of his alabaster skin against this pitch-black darkness was striking. So striking that the glare of it hurt her eyes. But, she could not look away. Spike, lying in the void, curled in on himself as if he were in the womb.

She knelt down, just as she did every night, and felt him tremble, "Where are you, Spike?"

The question brought a sob tearing from him. His words were halted and filled with agony, "Alone. It hurts. Nowhere. Angels don't want me. Can't forget. They claw at my eyes so that I can't see," he pulled his limbs in tighter, shielding himself from the tortures Buffy could only imagine, "I scream but there's no sound. Nothing here. Not even me. I learned it all. But I don't remember. Don't make me remember. But I need it," she could see his throat working to keep his pain inside of him, "Buffy, please find me?" he choked.

Buffy woke up, like she had every night since the Hellmouth closed, screaming for him, and covered in sweat.
********************
APRIL 21 2005

Even as he held her, Spike could feel the violent tremor of emotion as it tore through her, "Hush, Love," he soothed, tracing comforting patterns over her skin, "I'm here. I'm here now. And, I'll never let you go," he whispered as he held her close, "Never."

Her cries reminded him of his own when he'd first gotten his soul back. Nothing seemed real. Sometimes, not even Buffy seemed real. It was as if his existence had been placed overtop of something else, and at times, he would fall through the holes and see what was underneath. He would see the things that were hiding just under the surface.

There, his soul could rest. There, he was loved. There, he was at peace.

And now, the dreams of sickness and death, her sickness and death, threatened to send him hurling into madness again.

He would die, again, before he'd let the only peace he'd really had be disturbed.

Spike caught the scent of unshed tears as they welled up behind closed eyelids, and he held her tighter, "Love, it's all right now," he whispered.

Wet eyes looked up at him in astonishment, "Spike?" she asked, as the confusion of sleep slowly began to lift.

"Yeah, Love. It's me."

"Oh, thank God," she sobbed, as she held him tight, "I thought I lost you."

He kissed her lips, reassuring her that he was real, giving her something that she couldn't give him back in Sunnydale, "I'm real. And, I'm not going anywhere."
*******************************
IN THE INTERREGNUM

"But, Mommy you can't do that."

Her eyes flashed, "I know why he did what he did, Joni," her chin quivered at the emptiness and loss she was feeling, "But, you should know by now that your parents don't exactly follow the rules. I promised him once that I would follow him, no matter where he went. And, I'm keeping that promise. He needs me."

"But, what about..."

Buffy gritted her teeth and tilted her head in determination. For an instant, Joni was reminded of her Daddy, and how much she missed him, "Joni, I don't really care what happens. I have to be with him. I can't leave him alone, not when he needs me. What can happen," she asked the wide expanse, "I die again?" she smiled wryly, "Been there. Done that," she hugged her daughter close, "I have to keep my promise, Joni."
***************************
OCTOBER 22, 2002-SUNNYDALE

In the corners they couldn't find him. If he was still, they couldn't find him. If he didn't think or listen to the voices, things would stop spinning. If they stopped spinning, then he could help. He remembered that. And he would help. He did. If only he could make things stop spinning.

Down here, things spun in time with him. When he was here, they made sense. He understood things. The trouble lies in making them understand. Making her understand.

How could he make her understand, when sometimes she wasn't real?

The coolness of the concrete floor grounded him. He sensed her as she knelt beside him. He felt her touch the back of his neck. She always did that when he needed comforting. He missed it, and her, so much. He tried to speak above the pain. He hadn't seen her in so long, he was nearly undone by the nearness of her. He nearly swooned as her scent, the scent of someone barely remembered, touched the air surrounding him and clung to his skin, "I'm in trouble, Buffy."

Warm fingers soothed his brow, "Spike, it's me. It's you, and it's me. And, we'll get through this," she whispered.
********************

NOVEMBER 1, 2030

Holland knelt next to Angel and contemplated the tombstone, "That's the one drawback of being omnipotent, Angel," he sighed and shook his head, "Things are never really over. In fact, things are changing even as we speak," he tilted his head in contemplation, "That is, if we really are speaking. Some day, you may wake up and find you no longer exist. But then," he gestured to the sea of tombstones, "without them, you don't exist, do you? How many times did he try to tell you that, Angel?" he clicked his tongue in sympathy, "If only you had listened. He did understand, Angel. It was you who didn't."
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