A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!!! *hugs*



Buffy stumbled to her feet, still gasping for breath from the lingering feeling of suffocation, one hand clutching her throat. She looked up gratefully at the blond vampire who was now standing silently in front of her, watching as she regained her composure. She had only been aware of his return for a matter of seconds, but already her instincts were flashing a warning in her mind.

*Something’s not right…*

“Spike?” she began in a raspy voice barely over a whisper. “What…are you okay?”

The vampire’s lips twisted slightly in a joyless smile, as he replied, “Right as ever, Slayer. Should be asking you. You’re the one what just about kicked it.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, taking in the subtle changes in his demeanor, his mannerisms, his…clothing. She frowned as she realized that Spike was wearing his trademark duster again, even though he had taken it off in Giles’ apartment, not long before Willow had taken him.

“How did you…when did you…have time to…to go back…?” She shook her head, looking up at him with bewildered eyes as she still fought to catch her breath.

Spike’s brow furrowed in confusion as he replied flatly, “Make sense, Slayer. Can’t make heads or tails of what it is you’re asking.”

“Willow…she took you,” Buffy clarified, shaking her head, perplexed. “How did you escape?” As she spoke, she moved quickly toward the vampire, reaching out a hand toward his arm in a gesture of mingled relief and concern. “Are you all right?”

Her heart dropped when Spike flinched back away from her, his eyes going wide with alarm as he pulled away from her touch.

“Spike?” Her voice was very soft, uncertain. “What…what’s wrong?”

He peered at her through incredulous, mistrustful eyes. “That’s what I’m wondering. What’s the matter with you, Slayer?”

“Stop calling me that!” Buffy snapped in frustration.

“I *always* call you that!”

“My *name* is Buffy!”

“Yeah,” Spike replied slowly, in the sort of voice he usually reserved for someone profoundly stupid, his head tilted in confusion as he studied her closely. “And you’re the Slayer.”

“Okay…this is getting ridiculous,” Buffy sighed, raising a hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy again. She drew in a deep breath before looking up at Spike again. “How did you get away from Willow?”

Spike gave her a strange look, shrugging slightly as he replied, “’S not like she requires my presence every moment of every day. You know that, Slayer…”

That strange answer did little to assuage Buffy’s confusion.

But her thoughts were beginning to clear from the muddled fog brought about by the shock and horror and violence of the last half hour, and the pieces gradually began to come together in her mind. Suddenly, the answer occurred to her, and she was surprised and ashamed that she hadn’t thought of it sooner, it was so very obvious.

“Wait…Willow did a spell! She did something, just a little while ago, at Giles’ house. There was…was a storm…”

“Not today, there wasn’t,” Spike argued. “She’s been in a bloody good mood all day, and I for one am wantin’ to make sure she stays that way!”

“Not…not today?” Buffy echoed, ignoring the more cryptic part of Spike’s comment. “But…wait…what day is it?” The last question came out in a faint voice, barely over a whisper. “Wednesday…Wednesday the first of December, right?”

Spike’s frown deepened. “You hit your head or something, Slayer? It’s Friday the fourteenth of March.”

“What year?”

“2003. You know this. What…?”

“2…2003?” Buffy whispered in disbelief, shaking her head. “That’s…that’s not…how…?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he took a backward step away from her, demanding, “What exactly are you playin’ at, love?”

“I…I’m not,” Buffy whispered, feeling sick to her stomach as she sank down on the park bench behind her, one hand rising to her head again as she struggled to regain her bearings. “It’s just…something’s happened. It’s not…it’s not supposed to be this way. She…changed something.” She let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she amended, “*Everything*.”

“Who? Willow?” Spike questioned, cautiously sitting down beside her on the bench, though his eyes warily moved between her face and her deadly hands, as if still suspecting some trick. “What’s changed? What are you talking about? Everything’s just the way it’s been for…well, for-soddin’-ever, now.”

Buffy took a deep breath, fighting back a sob, her head lowered for a long moment, before raising her eyes to lock onto his intently. “Spike,” she began in a hoarse, defeated voice, “you’re not going to believe this…but…but less than an hour ago I was in Giles’ apartment across town, with Giles and Jenny Calendar, and…and Willow had just taken you away, and we were trying to find a way to save you, but it wasn’t working very well, and it was…was cold and December and…and 1999.”

Spike stared at her. “You…dreamed this, yeah?” he guessed. “It was a dream, Slayer.”

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “No, it was real…”

“Slayer…”

“No, just listen to me!” Buffy insisted impatiently. “It was 1999, and Willow had just gotten vamped, and we were trying to find a way to stop her, and…and there was this big storm. She was doing magic, I know it – and whatever spell she did, it…it changed…*time*, I guess. Everything is…different. I – I have to find Giles! We have to change it back! It was bad enough then, but…but now…”

“Slayer…”

The hushed, sorrowful tone of the vampire’s voice drew Buffy’s attention, and she stared up at him through sobered, fearful eyes.

“What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

“Your Watcher…he’s…he’s…”

Spike’s hesitation set off screaming warning sirens in Buffy’s mind. She leapt up, seizing the collar of the vampire’s duster and slamming him back against the bench as her body reacted in the only way her mind knew to deal with such a blow as he was about to deliver – with a pre-emptive strike.

“He’s what?” she demanded, shaking Spike as she bent over where he sat on the bench. “What, Spike? What happened to Giles?”

***********************************

Spike was not afraid of taking on a Slayer; he had already killed two. But a Slayer disoriented, mad with grief, and…well, possibly just mad, period…was another matter entirely. And then, of course, there was his chip to consider as well. He couldn’t have hurt Buffy if he’d wanted to, not without suffering a massive migraine.

And Spike *didn’t* want to hurt her.

He loved her…never mind the fact that she despised him.

But then, what reason did she have not to? Her every experience with vampires – even souled ones such as him – had led to pain and heartache and bloodshed deep enough to bury her emotions under their weight, hardening her, turning her into an even more dangerous predator than she had been before all this had started.

In fact, this was the most emotion Spike had seen her show in…well, years.

It was as thrilling as it was frightening.

That was…until he considered the answer he had to give to her question, a question to which she should have known the answer already.

“Slayer,” he began softly, in a placating tone, not daring to move under her harsh hands, for fear of upsetting what little precarious control she still seemed to have. “You know this already. Your Watcher…she…she killed him, love. You know this!”

The violent reaction Spike had been hoping to avoid happened anyway, as Buffy drew back her fist and slammed it down across his face, snarling with mad desperation, “*No*! No, you’re lying! It’s not possible!”

Spike carefully raised one shaky hand to swipe at the blood she had drawn from his lip, watching her closely as he regained his composure from the blow. “Slayer,” he began cautiously. “Slayer, you’ve got to calm down…”

But she was not listening to him. She had already released him and was pacing frenetically before him, her eyes focused on the ground and her arms crossed protectively over her chest, talking to herself.

“No, she’s changed it…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’s changed it somehow. I’ve gotta find a way to change it back, because it was bad before, but this is so much worse…so much worse…we’ve gotta stop her, we’ve gotta stop her and bring them back…”

Spike just stared at her warily, not moving as his eyes followed her frantic movements.

*Yeah…Slayer’s finally lost her bleedin’ mind.*

Suddenly, she turned on him again, and he tensed in preparation for whatever violence she might throw his way, though he knew as well as she did that there was little he could do to defend himself should she attempt to harm him. He leaned instinctively backward against the bench as she came to stand directly in front of him again, staring down at him through solemn, determined eyes.

Then, to his surprise, she simply took a seat beside him with a heavy sigh, looking at the ground in front of her for a moment before meeting his questioning gaze again.

“Okay. I need to know what I’ve got to work with here.”

Spike frowned slightly, more confused than ever. “Not sure I’m following you, Slayer.”

“Okay,” Buffy repeated, hesitating before trying again. “Just humor me here. Say I don’t remember a thing about the last 5 years. I’ve somehow…lost my memory or something.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath as if to prepare herself for something that no amount of time or oxygen could ever make her ready for. “Why don’t you fill me in on what I’ve missed?”

The vampire gave her a dubious stare for a few long, tense moments, before answering in a slow, cautious tone of voice, “Not so sure I should do that, Slayer. What is it exactly that you’re after, here?”

The major changes Willow’s magic had wrought in her world had been devastating to Buffy, but it was the little ones that were driving her crazy.

Spike seemed completely the same in so many ways, and yet so very different at the same time. His mannerisms were different. He didn’t seem quite so comfortable, so confident; and yet, there was a hardness to him that had not been present before Willow’s spell. He didn’t seem to remember any of what had happened before Willow’s magic had changed everything; in fact, he seemed to think she was quite insane.

Not that she could really blame him.

In his position, she would likely have felt the same way.

“Look, Spike…I can’t expect you to understand. Whatever magic she did, it made you believe that this is…the way it’s always been, I guess. But it’s not! She’s changed the entire world in the last thirty minutes! You have to believe me!”

Spike studied her speculatively for a few moments. “Not sure why I should. Could be some kind of trick, trying to get me to give something away – something that might help your side out a fair bit, and serve to get me on bad terms with my mistress.”

“Willow,” Buffy guessed, her voice flat and dubious. “She’s your…mistress?”

“None other, unfortunately. You know that.”

“But she wasn’t,” Buffy insisted, a tired note making its way into her voice. “Spike, you have to believe me! Things were bad, but we were fighting her – fighting on the same side – before she did this…whatever this spell is she just did. You have to see that I’m telling the truth.” She was quiet for a moment before adding in a desperate near-whisper, “*Please*.”

Spike seemed torn – which was at least something, Buffy thought. At least he was no longer looking at her like she was an escapee from Sunnydale Hospital’s psych ward. He was just looking at her like…well, like he wasn’t sure if she should be in that psych ward or not.

“Some proof would be nice, Slayer,” Spike pointed out with a slight shrug. “But I s’pose you’re fresh out of that, aren’t you?”

Buffy’s silence was answer enough.

“Right. What I thought, then.”

“No, it’s not!” Buffy protested, rising to her feet again. Irritation flooded her when Spike flinched, and without pausing for breath, she demanded, “And *why* do you keep doing that? My God, I hit you, like, one time and suddenly you’re all flinchy? What’s up with that?”

Spike’s eyes widened incredulously. “One time?” he echoed in disbelief. “What the bloody…Slayer, do you have any idea…? One bloody time?”

Buffy’s throat suddenly went dry at the implications of his words, and she sank back down on the bench again, her head in her hands. After a moment of silence that passed between them, she spoke without looking up.

“I’m guessing I wasn’t so nice to you in this version of things.”

“No,” Spike agreed softly. “You aren’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“*What*?”

Irritated once more, Buffy gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me it’s *that* hard to believe I might actually apologize…”

Her voice trailed off, as a strong sense of déjà vu hit her, and she remembered a similar conversation she had had with Spike, not that long ago. Her mind played over his description of what she had been like in the future he had seen…how she had treated him…

“Except,” she whispered in a stricken voice, “it is…isn’t it?”

“It is,” Spike insisted, still sounding stunned and confused by her strange words and erratic behavior. “It bloody well is, love.” He paused before adding thoughtfully, “Maybe you’re really not the Buffy I know after all.”

“I’m the same Buffy,” the Slayer insisted petulantly. “It’s everything else that’s changed.”

“Yeah,” Spike drawled slowly. “You keep saying that. Why do you s’pose that is, then?”

Buffy suddenly went very still, her eyes widening as it occurred to her to wonder about that for the first time. Why was it that while everything had changed, and to all appearances everyone with it, she alone was able to remember the way things had been before Willow had changed them? What was it that made her different from…?

“The spell!” she announced triumphantly, looking up, her eyes bright with fresh hope as the answer occurred to her.

“Come again?”

“The warding spell that Giles and Jenny just did at his apartment!” Buffy explained, turning toward the vampire with excitement in her eyes as she impulsively grabbed his arm and pulled him, protesting, to his feet. “I was inside, but they were outside. I was the only one in the house, so whenever Willow did her spell…I was the only one who wasn’t affected!”

Spike frowned, taking a moment to process what she was saying as he shook her hand off his arm.

“Come on,” Buffy urged him impatiently. “Come with me to Giles’ house. You want proof? Fine! You’ll get it!”