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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is in no way meant to be confused with the "Bittersweet" series by Herself. I don't own that, nor do I own any of the Jossverse charaters. Joss and ME do. Please review
Spike looked so angelic when he slept. The only things that gave a hint of his true age were the small scars on his face. Those scars were his badges of honor, but they just reminded her of all the pain he'd been through. Some of the scars were visible, but some were not.

She had years of hurt to make up for.

Spike prided himself on the assumption that he was nothing like Angel. He gloated about it in fact. But, the truth was, the two of them were so much alike it was scary. The only difference that she could see was in how they dealt with things. Angel was the type that would hold things in and let them build up to a slow burn, which, if he weren't careful, would end in an explosion that might take out half a city block, and anyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Buffy had been burned in a few of those explosions. So had Spike.

Spike was the type that wore his heart on his sleeve, almost daring anyone to just come along and tear it right off of that sleeve and stomp on it. She knew he'd dared her to, more than once. Spike would tell you when something hurt. And he would tell you loudly.

But even Spike had a breaking point. Even he could be hurt once too often. Even he could become numb and shut down if he'd just seen too much, hurt too much.

Buffy saw the look in Spike's eyes. He tried to hide it, for her sake, she supposed. But, it was there when he looked at her. She knew that look. She'd seen it when she looked in the mirror, before her Mom died. He was looking at her like he knew she was going to die.

She was not stupid. She knew that one day it would happen. She would die, and she wouldn't be coming back. It was just a part of life.

But, she'd never really looked at that part of life from his perspective before, from the perspective of someone who could, quite possibly, go on forever.

What would it be like, to watch things be born, watch them grow and change, and know you never would? What would it be like to watch things die, knowing that you would stay the same?

It could make for a very lonely existence.

As Buffy watched him sleeping, she realized why Spike had clung so tight to the idea that she would, someday, love him. That hope was all that kept him connected to the world. It was all that kept him a part of it.

Buffy had to admit, even the idea of love was a better way of dealing with a world that didn't want you than trying to end it on a regular basis.
*****************************

Angel didn't know why he thought he could hide here. Holland belonged in the sewers anyway, so it wasn't a surprise to see him here. What did surprise him was the fact that the Brooks Brothers suit still seemed impeccably tailored even down here, "Isn't it bad enough you haunt me topside? Do you have to annoy me down here too?"

Holland took in his surroundings in disgust, taking his red linen handkerchief from its place in his vest pocket and guarding his mouth and nose against the stench of the sewage, "You'd think being incorporeal I'd be saved from having to smell things like this. But I suppose that there is a reason a 'dirty job' gets its name."

Angel winced. Holland's voice, his very presence, had always been like fingernails on a chalkboard to him, but it had never been this bad before, "What do you want, Holland?" Angel couldn't keep the whining tone out of his voice, "I've ruined their lives. They'll never forgive me," he shook his head, sadly, "They shouldn't. I've ruined an innocent life in order to save the life of someone who doesn't want me in his life."

Holland took his notebook from his pocket, and consulted it, giving a slight nod; "You're speaking of Stephen, now aren't you?"

"Yes."
******************

Buffy had to do something. She'd tried to go back to sleep, but something made her restless and she had no idea why. She just had a queasy feeling in her stomach and she wanted to hunt down whatever it was that put the feeling there. She wanted to find it, and kill it for making her feel useless. Perhaps it was that their daughter was in the hospital fighting for her life and there was nothing she could do to help.

But, since killing babies was definitely not in the Slayer code, she would just have to settle for beating the stuffing out of the tackling dummy that was down in the dojo.

She was the Slayer. It took actually running away from all that that meant, it took highjaking a bunch of teenage girls into a life they weren't prepared to deal with, to understand what being a Slayer really meant. It meant protecting the innocent. It meant protecting those who could not protect themselves. If she couldn't protect a tiny little girl, then what was she here for?

The more she pummeled the dummy the weaker she felt. She wasn't as strong as that little girl. And, she knew she never would be.

Buffy just hoped that she could be a good Mommy.
********************

Spike had fallen asleep amidst vanilla and roses and had dreams of home and hearth. He knew that in the waking world there were things he couldn't have. Things made up of sugar and spice were off limits to things like him.

He was never one for rules. He'd rather do what he wanted and ask permission later. That tended to be irksome to the Powers, whoever they were. So really it came as no surprise that the closer he got to having just those things, the things he wasn't supposed to have, the more those forces seemed to align against him.

But he knew Jonina was strong. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He would have her, and Buffy, and they would be a family. They would be all right. He would make sure of it.

Spike reached out in his sleep for Buffy but found the space beside him empty. He sat up and searched the room frantically with his eyes, but noticed that her space on the bed was still warm from her body heat so that meant she hadn't left that long ago.

Spike heard the muffled sounds of a scuffle beneath him. He felt the emotions surging through him: Confusion. Anger. Hurt. His mate, his wife was hurting and needed him.

The baby. Oh God.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself bounding out of bed and down the stairs, his demon rushing forward to protect her. He let out a territorial growl, his eyes sweeping the dojo for any concealed threat. Everything seemed in order.

That was when he noticed the dummy, its stuffing strewn all about. It looked like a cotton mill had exploded beneath his feet. And there stood his Slayer, his love, in the center of all the fluffy carnage, with tufts of the cotton tangled in her hair, pouting like a lost child, her eyes brimming with tears.

Buffy heard the growl and looked up to see Spike staring at her, his azure eyes smiling as he took in the damage she'd done. She didn't want to wake him, but she had. She'd made too much noise. In his rush, he'd come downstairs in just his dungarees. Those only made him look even more vulnerable to her. He'd even forgotten his boots; he stood there, as the innards of the tackling dummy lay around him, with nothing protecting his feet. His feet looked so small. She looked down at the clouds of white around her, and sniffed, "Sorry. I think I broke him."

Spike nodded, "Yeah, looks that way," he knelt down to pick up a mangled mound of rags and fluff that had once been an arm, and said, "What have you got against old Scarecrow anyway, Pet?"

Buffy let out a frustrated sigh, "I don't know, all right?" she yelled, "I just needed to hit something, and you were asleep so I just..." she shrugged, bringing her eyes up to his, "I don't know how to help," she whimpered.

Spike looked at her eyes. They were so open, for once, and giving. He saw how much she wanted to protect him. How much she truly loved him, and he felt a warmth, the likes of which he hadn't felt before, shoot through him.

He stepped gingerly over the remains of Ray the scarecrow, and took her in his arms. As she fell into his arms, he whispered, "It'll be all right, Love. Joni will be fine."

The question was soft against his chest, "Joni?"

He swallowed the nervous tickle in his throat as he fished the cotton out of her hair, "It's her name. I gave her a name. Figured it would help her to fight, if she knew she was important enough to have a name," Spike looked down at her teary eyes, "You know, show her that someone in this world believes in her."

"Oh, Spike," she choked, "Joni what?"

"Jonina actually. Jonina Irene," he said shakily, "Is that all right with you, Love?"

"It's beautiful, Spike. How do you do it?" Buffy asked, her eyes swimming.

Spike looked down into those shimmering pools of jade and drowned for the thousandth time that day, "Do what, Love?" he asked tenderly, brushing his lips against hers.

"Stay so hopeful in a world that rejects you?"

Spike put his chin up in thought and sighed, searching for the right words to help her understand. He chuckled to himself, "Funny you should ask that, Love," he kissed her again, tasting the salt and bitterness of her tears, "If I didn't have hope I wouldn't be here."

Buffy looked down in shame, "You mean with me?"

"No. I mean at all. I would have died over a hundred years ago," he smirked at the irony, "I mean, I did die and all, but I wouldn't be talking to you. I'd just be some footnote in history. Not worth anything. I had hope that there was something beyond my death. And, I was right," Spike put his fingers under her chin, and brought her gaze up to his, "There was my life," he caught a tear as it cascaded down her face, "There was you. And now there's Jonina."
***********************

IN THE INTERREGNUM

"I don't know about this, Joyce. It seems so unfair to them both. Can't they know? Why can't I tell them?"

Joyce was still surprised at how young he could be, "Now Spike, you knew this was how it would be when you went in Joni's place, remember. You said you understood then. Are you backing out now?"

His eyes went wide with the possibility that this small chance could be taken from him, "No! It's just," his eyes swept downward, "being so close, seeing how they're suffering, and not be near them, not tell them? I don't think I could do that."

Joyce smiled at him, "I know you've never been good with waiting, but, those angels I told you about? They broke so many rules to give you, Buffy and Joni this small chance at happiness," she took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly, "Don't squander it because of your nervous energy. Good things are worth waiting for."
*********************

DECEMBER 6, 2027

The caretaker strode slowly through the grounds. There was a new resident today. He'd observed other interments from his vantage point in the cottage. He'd seen other family members grieve for loved ones lost, and it hurt him, every time. That was why he took his job here so seriously, it was his way of trying to do what little he could to ease the suffering he saw. Every goodbye hurt him just a little.

But for some reason, seeing this widow, and her beautiful daughter saying their final goodbyes, cut him, and it cut him deep.

They were both so young, but they looked so old. The widow couldn't have reached her fiftieth year, but her eyes looked ten times older.

He wondered how someone that young, could look that old. He felt old, working here. But someone that beautiful shouldn't feel old.

He wondered what those eyes could have seen.

The daughter was no different, barely into her second decade and already wise beyond her years. It made his heart hurt. But sometimes when someone is taken away through illness, or unexpectedly, the ones left behind haven't fully let go, and so some part of them leaves with the departed, leaving a ghost where the heart should be.

Because he knew what it was to feel that, he decided to take special care of that little family. He would do what he could to make the hurt less.

He'd waited until well after hours to appear, making sure that she had left the cemetery. And although he felt a weight on his heart, for some reason he felt the need to sing, as he attended to this particular gravesite. It was a song that was an odd one to be singing in a graveyard, if this was a place where gaiety belonged at all, but he sang it just the same, to comfort something that pulled deep inside his bones.

"Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine. Little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say; Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine. If they knew sweet little you they'd end up loving you, too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you. From your head to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows. But, you're so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine."

Joni froze. Just as she was about to leave the cemetery, she heard it. Maybe it was because she missed him. Maybe it was because she was so tired she couldn't think straight. But, she'd heard it. Their song; the song that washed over broken hearts and bumped knees, the song that was the last clear thing he'd ever said to her. The song she carried with her in her heart when he could no longer speak. It was there. She'd heard it.

Joni closed her eyes, as a cool wind blew against her cheek, "I love you, Daddy," she whispered as she left the cemetery, "Always and forever."
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