“Okay, so they meant immersion.” Buffy stood, wiping sand from her knees. She’d hit the beach with a thud, and the churning spiral that delivered her from the land of white tile to the land of sun and surf? Serious turbulence. She was queasy, but since her stomach was empty, she just held still for a minute and waited for it to pass.

The beach was deserted, but then it was about the same time it’d been in Sunnydale. The sun was rising, the sky growing streaky with color.

Birds cried, and the surf lapped on to the shore. Was this the California coast? She waded forward, still wearing her tank top and pajama bottoms, and stuck a cautious toe in the water.

Bathtub warm.

“Okay, not the Pacific, then.”

There were no lights in the distance, either, from ships and lighthouses. And as far as the eye could see, she couldn’t spot a pier or a condominium. Definitely not Southern California.

Then where?

She turned slowly.

Funny little crooked trees stood farther from the water’s edge, bending like something out of Dr. Seuss. Farther back sat huge rock formations, rugged and rough.

And then, just visible at the edge of the sands, a beige house with dark red roof tiles.

“Wherever I am, they must have a phone.” She set off to trudge across the beach to civilization.

***

Buffy would kill her if she knew that she’d left the bathroom light on all night. Dawn breathed a sigh of relief, seeing no sign of her sister. Buffy’s bed had been slept in, though, so she must be around somewhere.

Dawn slipped into the shower and steeled herself for another exciting day of junior high.

***

“Hey. Did you see Buffy?”

“Morning, Dawnie.” Willow looked up from her cornflakes and chemistry textbook. “No. Maybe she went running?”

“That would be good. I mean … she hasn’t done that since …”

“See? Everything’s getting all better and back to normal. By Sunnydale standards.”

“Yeah.” Dawn tried to smile, but couldn’t quite force her mouth into shape.

Tara rushed into the kitchen, fastening her sash as she walked. “Hey, Dawnie. You want a ride to sch-school?”

“Thanks, yeah.”

Dawn grabbed her backpack and followed the girls out of the house. “Should we lock up?”

“Wh-where’s Buffy?”

“She went for an early morning run,” Willow explained.

“Oh – do you think she remembered her k-key?”

“Let’s leave the kitchen door open, just in case.”

The girls hurried to Tara’s Camry without another thought for the Slayer.

***

The gate to the little house was unlatched.

“Hello?”

She stepped onto the terra cotta tiles of the patio, admiring the swimming pool and covered dining area. “A good place for a cup of tea,” she murmured, before she went back to calling out. “Hello? I’m … um … I’m lost and hoped that you might have a telephone? Umm … Hola, maybe? Hi?”

Nothing.

She knocked on the glass doors. “Hello?”

Feeling just a little desperate, Buffy backed up and stood on one of the short walls surrounding the patio. More trees. More rocks. But not another house as far as she could see.

She returned to knocking, and after a minute, tried the door.

It slid open.

*As if it had been waiting for her* Despite the warmth, Buffy shivered.

“Hi? I’m lost – my name is Buffy. Buffy Summers. And I’m not sure where I am, so I just wanted to maybe get some directions or use a telephone. Hello?”

Crossing the tile floor into the kitchen, she listened carefully. No doubt about it, she was alone in the house.

There wasn’t a telephone in sight.

Feeling like Goldilocks, Buffy started opening cabinets. Maybe there would be a phone tucked on a shelf, or at least a telephone book or a take-out menu, anything to tell her where she was.

Nothing in the first cabinet, but lots of Oreos. Her favorite. And some of those Odwalla bars, one of the few get-your-nutrition-in-bar-form snacks that Buffy didn’t mind. Special K, she liked that, too … as she glanced through the cabinets, she couldn’t help notice that everything was her favorite. Even somewhat unusual things, like whole wheat fusilli and ginger soy salad dressing.

“That’s strange,” she murmured, opening the refrigerator and finding her favorite brand of yogurt, Horizon skim and an assortment of greens and interesting fruit, plus a container of Juicy Juice apple juice, her secret vice when paired with Oreos, but not the kind of thing that usually went with the rest of the provisions.

When she swung open the freezer and found it stocked with Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food and veggie sausages, she knew that something was off.

With an impatient whirl, she left the kitchen, heading up a small staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom she found her favorite beauty products, plus tons that she couldn’t possibly afford but had been sampling at make-up counters for years.

And in the bedroom’s huge walk-in closet, she found herself confronted with a wardrobe that was doubtless designed expressly for her, from workout gear to strappy little sandals.

“How totally weird,” she said, then broke into a huge smile.

***

An hour later, Buffy was lounging on the couch in the living room, eating her way through a container of Phish food and watching a re-run of Pretty in Pink. The television didn’t seem to get any actual channels, just endless loops of movies that Buffy adored and didn’t mind watching over and over.

She knew that it was time for the Slayer to rise up, to start hatching a plan of escape, or at least of discovery. But the sun told her it wasn’t much more than noon in Sunnydale, meaning that everyone was at school or work and otherwise occupied, including the demons that wouldn’t stir for hours.

As Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy kissed and the credits rolled, Buffy briefly considered going into hero mode.

Maybe in another hour.

No reason she shouldn’t experience that delicious swimming pool while she had some down time.

***

Spike just had this feeling.

Usually he’d be fast asleep and dreaming of Buffy by now. But instead, he dreamt of dark blue vans and girly potions and endless white sand beaches. It was a mixed-up mess of images, but he had the feeling that it meant something.

Danger.

And not for him so much, no. But danger for Buffy.

With a sigh, he swung his legs out of bed and reached for his jeans.

There was no helping it. He’d have to dash through the sewers to Revello, and risk finding a locked door and becoming vampire flambé.

***

He was in luck.

As he slammed the kitchen door behind him, Spike extended his senses.

Empty.

“Hello?”

A few dirty dishes in the sink, a stray folder that Bit was probably missing right about now … but nothing suspicious.

He folded his army blanket and tucked it on a barstool before edging into the rest of the house. “Uh … ‘lo? It’s me … Spike. Came by to … well, had a feeling …”

Nothing.

And then he spotted Buffy’s house keys, hanging from a hook in the corridor, along with her favorite handbag of the moment. She didn’t carry that kind of thing too often, true, leastways not after dark when she’d need her mitts free for fighting. But where would she be in the daylight without a wallet and lipstick?

As he bounded upstairs, something drew him into the bathroom. She had too many clothes for him to guess if anything was missing, and he’d be staked for sure if he got caught nosing through her lacy underthings again.

The bottle called to him, struck him as out-of-place immediately. The girls had their counter space neatly divided; Buffy’s to the left and Dawn’s to the right. Dawn’s gear was tossed about, caps missing and products drying out. But the Slayer kept her bottles lined up like neat little soldiers.

And so he reached out for the one left out on the counter, top missing and out of place. All of a sudden it hit him – this was the last place he’d watched Buffy’s silhouette. He’d thought that he hadn’t noticed her leave the bathroom, but what if … his brain couldn’t quite touch the thought.

“Instant Sun,” he read. Idly, he pressed down on the bottle top and the product dusted his hand.

And with a pop, he felt himself carried from Revello Drive all the way to an entirely different place.

***

He hit the sand with a thud and found himself gasping for breath, lungs burning.

Burning.

“Ahhhhhhieieeeiiieeeeee,” he screamed, before realizing that, despite having landed smack in the middle of a barren beach in the heat of day, he was perfectly intact. Not a char mark anywhere.

“Ohhhhkaaaaay then. What is this place?” His mind worked feverishly. An alternate dimension? Spike had little patience for all the talk of other worlds and times – couldn’t stand to listen to the Watcher blather on about such possibilities. ‘Course he knew the Hellmouth was pretty much the front door out of their world to all sorts of other places, but that wasn’t really important, as long as whatever wormed its way out could be put down swiftly and with much prejudice by his fists and fangs.

But more importantly, he had a pretty good idea that Buffy was stuck here somewhere.

Squinting against the unfamiliar sun, he spotted the house and, more importantly, the faintest trail of smaller footprints heading that way.

“Right then.” He pointed his feet towards the bungalow.

***

Willow got back first, and didn’t think much of Buffy’s absence.

Dawn came back thirty minutes later and ignored Buffy’s absence and Willow’s presence.

Then Tara returned, went into the kitchen to start dinner and wondered aloud why there was still no sign of Buffy, but Spike’s army blanket was here?

With a wide-eyed glance at her girlfriend, Willow reached for her cell phone and hit 2-talk. “Xander? Hey, it’s Willow. Have you talked to Buffy at all today? Me neither. Um … yeah, I do live with her. I’m in the house right now. Look, it might be nothing, but could you come over? Sure, sure … bring Anya. Okay. And pizza? That would be great. See you in fifteen minutes.”

***

He was still flinching against the light, but it was pretty clear the rays weren’t going to dust him. Spike decided that if the sun hadn’t fried him by the time he’d made it all the way to the gate, the rules must say that vampires weren’t tiki torches in this dimension.

Forcing himself to square his shoulders and put on a brave front, he stole up to the wall surrounding the courtyard and peered in.

Sure enough, there was Buffy, floating on a chaise lounge with a diet coke and a magazine, wearing nothing but a tiny red bikini, sunglasses and nail polish and looking like she’d never had a care in the world.

***

“So you didn’t see her this morning?”

“No Xan,” Willow repeated, “but like I said, that’s not that unusual. If she’s had a late slay night, y’know, she sometimes sleeps in ‘til ten. And then, before she died, remember how she used to get up early and run?”

“She did?”

“Yeah. Tried to go with her once, freshman year. Big mistake. Huge.”

“Oh.”

“So, anyhow, this morning we figured she was jogging. And then she wasn’t home when we all got back and then …”

“I f-found this.” Tara handed over the blanket. “It belongs to Sp-Spike.”

“Damn it. He took her. I know he took her. We should’ve dusted him when we had the chance.”

“I d-don’t know, Xander.”

“Spike wouldn’t do that,” Dawn insisted.

“Yeah, well, not without a fight,” Anya added. “And nothing’s out of place here.”

“You don’t think she ran away again?”

“No, Dawnie. Buffy would never … I mean, she wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But she did.”

“Well, yeah, but …”

“That summer was awful. Mom was so angry. And worried. And she’d cry at night, when she thought I couldn’t hear.”

“I d-don’t think she ran away,” Tara interrupted. “She wasn’t … she was getting better. At least a little. I could tell.”

“So then where is she?” Xander demanded. “Come on. We’ve got evidence of Spike who, speaking of past histories, has clobbered Buffy and chained her up before. Which, of course, she escaped just fine,” he added hastily after Dawn gasped.

“Well, let’s see if any of her stuff is gone, then. Buffy wouldn’t go off without mascara and a few cute tops.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Anya, that’s a great idea.”

“Thank you, Willow.”

They headed upstairs, Dawn and the witches checking her closet, Xander and Anya in the bathroom.

“Ummm … everybody? I think I have an answer.”

***

“What do you mean cursed beauty products?”

Anya looked at her fiancé impatiently. “This is Sunnydale. You’ve had cursed lots of other things, right?”

The group shrugged and nodded.

“Okay, look at this.” Anya flipped the bottle over. “Manufactured by Unfug Industries. Would any company voluntarily name themselves Unfug? Doesn’t it violate every rule of branding?”

“Well, okay, but I don’t see how that means that a little bottle of self-tanner is responsible for Buffy going missing.”

“Look it up on the internet, Willow.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Xander nodded as Willow reached for her iBook.

“Okay … Instant Sun Unfug Industries.” Willow paused. “Nothing. That doesn’t make any sense. Spell Unfug.”

“U-N-F-U-G,” Anya read.

“It’s a German word. It means mischief. Wait … I’ll look it up in the Council’s demon directory … oh boy-o. Anya, I think you might be right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now what can we do about it?”