full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Time after Time by BuffyMeetsSpike
 
Out of Time
 
Author's Note: This story goes AU in the middle of Not Fade Away. Reviews are most definitely appreciated. 

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

Time After Time, by Buffy Meets Spike

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

Chapter 1 – Out of time

***************************************************************
 
If he had to go out, this was the way to go. Fists and fangs and fighting, whirling and ducking, ripping and tearing. His hard won soul had tormented him with the memories of those whose lives he had snuffed out prematurely, but had never once regretted a good old fashioned brawl. Given that he was currently in the battle of his life, his love of fighting shielded him from the hopelessness of the whole situation.
 
Going up against the Circle of the Black Thorn had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. When he had raised his hand and agreed to join Angel in his quest to take out this ring of evil, it had seemed like a long shot. Now as he fought, surrounded by demons of every imaginable shape and size and a motherfucking dragon! to boot, he was starting to think that they had bitten off more than they could chew. Wesley was gone. Lorne had taken off, disgusted with the whole business. Out of the corner of his eye Spike could see Gunn lying where he fell, eyes open and staring, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Ilyria was somewhere in the fray – he saw flashes of blue skin from time to time. Angel had gone after the dragon, sword in hand, like some kind of medieval knight. Spike had no idea where he was now. All he could do is keep fighting, keep punching, snap a neck here, land a kick there, wield his axe again and again as the onslaught kept coming. Some small corner of his brain wanted to just drop his arms and get this over with quickly. What’s the fucking use? There’s too many of them, and three of us. But his demon was in almost complete control now and wouldn’t let him quit.
 
As he struggled out of the grasp of something large and scaly he heard a noise like sudden pop somewhere off to his right. He flipped the demon over his head and turned to see the last thing he expected. Out of nowhere rushed a crowd of girls, wielding a variety of weapons. Spike blinked for a moment, then his head rocked as something knocked him upside his skull and his attention was diverted. As he defended himself it dawned on him. The Slayers. The Slayers are here. Shit, we might just have half a chance. Then he found he couldn’t give them a second thought as the demon he was up against aimed a series of razor sharp talons at his midsection.
 
Buffy gasped as she landed at the head of the Slayer army. “Shit! Watch your backs!” she shouted as they all tumbled out into the fray. The coven’s spell should have put them down slightly outside the battle, but apparently there had been a miscalculation, because they were right in the thick of things. Buffy hefted the Scythe and took out the first demon that came for her, as the other girls dealt with their foes. Buffy found herself fighting harder than she had in months, and it felt good on some level. Here was something she knew. She didn’t know how to be a mentor to all these teenagers, or raise Dawn, or navigate the dating scene in Italy, but by God she knew how to kill demons. As she dispatched another with a bone crushing kick she heard a scream and turned to see Vi fall to the ground. “Vi!” she called, but there was no way to get to her. Another monster reared up in front of her and it was all she could do to keep cutting a path through the horde.
 
A sound from above caught her attention and her eyes widened as she saw the dragon, wheeling around with a figure clinging to its back. With a shock she realized the figure was Angel. He was struggling to hang on while simultaneously trying to pierce the dragon’s thick scales with his sword. The dragon writhed, trying to bite this annoying creature like a dog biting at a flea. The dragon circled and spun, and as Buffy watched in horror Angel lost his grip and fell. The dragon turned and blasted the ground with fire. Several Slayers got caught up in the dragon’s scorching breath and fell, screaming in flames, while Angel simply vanished. “No!” Buffy screamed at the sight. There was no time to mourn the loss of the Slayers and her former love, however. Another creature loomed and fell under her scythe, and another. She fought like some out of control machine, adrenaline and Slayer instinct fueled by fury and desperation. Another head rolled, and her senses prickled with the telltale feeling that said vampire behind her. She whirled, Scythe at the ready to face the new threat.
 
With a roar Spike tore the throat out of another demon, trying to ignore the constant tingle in the back of his neck that screamed Slayer. Pipe down mate, he willed his demon. Slayers are not the biggest problem here. But the urge to fight his ancient enemy grew stronger, and a familiar scent filled his nostrils. He turned to follow it, and there she was, staring at him open mouthed in the midst of the chaos. Buffy. She was sweaty, bruised, battered, and utterly beautiful. The battle stood still around him as he drank her in.
 
“Spike?” Buffy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It can’t be… But there was no mistaking those eyes, that coat, those cheekbones. Spike was here, in front of her, and damned if she could figure out how or why.
 
“Buffy! Behind you!” Spike cried suddenly, breaking the spell. Buffy ducked and the demon’s sword went wide. She rolled out of the way while Spike dispatched it, leaping to her feet as soon as she was clear. She nodded her thanks and they wordlessly joined forces, fighting back to back, calling out instructions to each other. They fell instantly into their old dance, working as a team in what looked to be an effortless choreographed ballet. But there was nothing effortless about this fight. The demons kept coming in an endless stream and Buffy saw fewer Slayers on their feet every time she looked around. She fought the urge to cry in frustration, taking comfort in the familiar figure by her side. If she survived this, there would be time to figure out how her dead lover had returned to her. Right now, she was prepared to accept the fact and fight on.
 
They continued dropping demons left and right, but even their supernatural strength was starting to wane a bit. The battle had forced them into an alleyway, and they were fighting with their backs to a wall. Spike was to Buffy’s left, his axe and fangs flashing nonstop while her Scythe dripped with gore as it rose and fell over and over. From their vantage point they could see no one else. Ilyria, Faith, and the rest of the Slayers were either gone or hidden in the throng, and they felt a collective sense of futility as they struggled on. They were so preoccupied that they failed to notice that something odd was happening behind them. A thin line like a silver thread had appeared out of nowhere. The line grew, getting wider and brighter, then parting in the middle and opening slowly, like the slit of an enormous eye. The brightness finally registered on Buffy and Spike but before Spike could finish saying, “What the fuck…?” they felt a tremendous tug. Buffy cried out in surprise and Spike called her name as the unknown force pulled them into darkness.
 
TBC
 
New Year's Day
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon. If they belonged to me I would be writing in my limousine on the way to work instead of the commuter rail. Thank you to my amazing beta SanityFair for whacking my commas into shape. And thanks for all the lovely reviews! Keep them coming!
********************************************
 
Chapter 2 –New Year’s Day
 
Spike’s consciousness returned slowly after an untold amount of time spinning in blackness. He gradually became aware that he was lying on something soft and faintly fragrant. What the hell happened? His eyelids felt like lead as he finally succeeded in opening his eyes. He was in a dimly lit close space. Struggling up onto his elbows he realized that the soft, fragrant stuff he was lying on was apparently hay, and the small space a cramped little hayloft. The hell? Where am I? His body was sore and bruised, and he winced as he got into a sitting position, his head almost touching the roof above him. Across the loft, sunlight filtered in around the cracks of a door, which presumably was meant for hauling hay up from below. He was shaking his head to clear it when he noticed Buffy lying a couple feet away from him.
 
Buffy was also struggling to rejoin the land of the conscious. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming, or dead, or what. As she gradually became more awake, she rather wished she were dead. Her head was pounding, and her legs ached. In fact, she generally felt as though she had been hit by a truck. Groaning, she rolled over and opened her eyes then sat up with a gasp and another groan as the sudden movement pulled at a healing cut on her side. “Spike? Is that really you?”
 
“It’s me, pet,” he responded gently. “Are you hurt?”
 
“No, I mean, yeah, but…” she babbled, staring at him while her mouth tried to form coherent words. “You’re… alive.”
 
“Well, undead still but, yeah.” He braced himself for the inevitable questions, wondering how exactly he was going to explain this to her. Even after she’d been through a war she was still so gorgeous, and he wished he had about a week straight to just drink in the sight of her.
 
Buffy just kept shaking her head again and again. Her senses were telling her that this man, whom she had loved and lost was there, really there, whole and in the flesh, but her brain just couldn’t process the information. She had watched him burn, had suffered months of nightmares about it. He couldn’t be here, looking at her, inquiring about her well-being. But he was, and she found herself asking, “How?”
 
Spike rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Bit of a long story, that,” he replied.
 
From his manner, Buffy wasn’t sure she was going to like what he had to say. She hesitated then as usual clamped down on her brewing, conflicted emotions in favor of action. “I think we’ll have to delay that story until we figure out what the hell just happened to us.”
 
Relieved to be off the hook for the moment, Spike ventured, “Well, we’re in a hayloft.”
 
“Yeah, and I’m trying to figure out why. How did we get here? Do you remember anything?”
 
“I just remember some sort of light behind us.” Spike frowned, trying to remember.
 
“It felt like something was pulling me,” Buffy said, her brow also wrinkled in concentration. “Like I was being sucked into a black hole or something. It all went dark, and then I woke up here.”
 
“That’s about all I remember as well.” He cocked his head and looked at her. “Where did you lot spring from anyway? I didn’t know Angel had called in the cavalry.”
 
“He didn’t.” Buffy’s voice was tinged with irritation as she began explaining. “Willow’s in this really powerful coven now. One of the witches in the coven is a seer – she gets visions all the time. She had this vision of a horrible battle, and she kept having it again and again, but she didn’t know what it meant. Willow finally did some mind meld thing with her and realized that she was seeing Angel fighting a whole bunch of demons. We tried to get in touch with him, but we just got the run around from Evil Lawyers Inc. Finally they did some spell so that we could see what was going on in LA, and we saw that the battle had started. We scrambled as many of the trained Slayers as we could, and the coven teleported us all over. The only problem was we landed right in the middle instead of on the outside. I don’t… I don’t know if anyone’s going to make it.” Buffy’s voice faltered on the last sentence as she realized that she had most likely led the other girls to their deaths.
 
Spike stared open mouthed. “So you all just dropped everything and came running because Angel was in trouble?” He tried hard to keep the slight note of hurt out of his voice. It’s still all about Angel. Even after all we went through together.
 
Buffy shook her head, looking down, away from those searching blue eyes. “No. It had nothing to do with Angel. Siobhan’s vision seemed to indicate that the world would be completely overrun with demons. If the battle was lost, it could mean the end of the world. We didn’t know what the hell Angel had done to bring all this about, but we couldn’t stand by and let it happen.”
 
Spike nodded, believing her and feeling a palpable sense of relief. “Well, I guess I can answer some of the question about what the hell Angel was doing. He decided to take out the Circle of the Black Thorn – group of evil types behind a lot of Wolfram and Hart’s schemes. Problem was he pissed off a lot of powerful people and demons in the process. We were screwed before the battle even started. Wesley was dead, Gunn was wounded – he lasted about ten minutes. Ilyria – she’s this goddess from another dimension, blue skin, bad temper. She was fighting, and so were Angel and I, but what could the three of us do against that lot? Don’t know what happened to Ilyria. I guess there might be a chance if she and Angel keep fighting and rally the Slayers…”
 
“Angel’s dead,” Buffy cut in. Spike jumped and Buffy continued in a quiet voice, “I saw him fall off that dragon thing. It roasted him and a bunch of Slayers. I never saw him again after that.”
 
“Shit.” Spike closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had never really liked Angel, but he had grown to understand what drove him in the past few months. Good or ill, Angel had been a huge part of making him what he was. The line of Aurelius was disappearing, and it felt like a chapter had been ripped out of his personal history. Then he realized that Buffy was probably upset about it too and he looked at her with pained eyes. “I’m sorry. I know… I know he meant a lot to you.”
 
“Seems like he meant something to you too,” Buffy observed.
 
“Yeah. Was my sire in all but the blood. Hard to imagine he’s gone.”
 
“I don’t know what happened to him since Sunnydale,” Buffy mused. “We all thought he made a big mistake joining Wolfram and Hart.”
 
Spike laughed bitterly. “Yeah, not sure I’d disagree with you there. Bunch of times I thought he lost the thread entirely. But I think in the end he was still a White Hat in his fucked up way.”
 
“Yeah.” They fell into silence, Spike leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, Buffy wrapping her arms around her knees and resting cheek on her arms, watching him. After a few minutes she said, “So I guess we still don’t know where we are. Other than a hayloft.”
 
“Well that’s a start,” Spike began, opening his eyes and looking around. Something struck him about the roof. “The roof’s thatched.”
 
Buffy looked up and sure enough the roof was made of what looked like bundles of straws. “And…?”
 
“Not exactly common any more, are they? Not in the US at least. So I’m thinking we’ve got to be somewhere else.”
 
“Where else would you see thatched roofs?” Buffy wondered.
 
Spike shrugged. “No clue. They used to be common out in the country when I was a lad.”
 
Buffy tried to stand up, but even she was too tall to stand fully erect in the dim narrow space. She started exploring over to the door in the wall, but then noticed a square hole in the floor with a ladder extending downward. “There’s a trapdoor or whatever here. I’ll go take a look.”
 
“Maybe we should go together,” Spike said doubtfully. “No telling if something going to yank us around somewhere else without warning.”
 
Buffy looked down the ladder. “The bottom is standing in a patch of sunlight. I think you’d better let me take this one.” Spike grumbled in frustration, but realized she had a point. “I’ll be right back,” she reassured him. Checking to see if the coast was clear, she climbed down the ladder. She found herself in a small barn, with a wide open door looking out onto fields fenced with stone walls. Green hills rolled off into the distance, and a flock of sheep cropped the grass in one of the near fields. Looking around, she found two stalls on each side. One contained a placid looking cow that looked at her curiously. The two stalls across the way held larger cow like beasts that she guessed must be oxen. They had small curved horns and wet, slimy noses, and Buffy wrinkled her own nose at the smell of animal manure. She poked her head into the last stall and saw a collection of farm implements that all looked handmade somehow – buckets, a plow, and a wooden yoke for the oxen, and more piled hay.
 
Suddenly she heard a voice singing as its owner approached the barn. Not wanting to announce her presence until she had more information, Buffy dashed into the empty stall and hid under the hay, next to the wall between the two stalls. She found that a large crack between two boards afforded her an excellent view of the door beyond the cow stall, and she waited to see who would walk through.
 
The young woman who walked into the barn looked to be about her own age and height, but there, any resemblance ended. This girl carried a yoke on her shoulders with two buckets swinging from it, singing in an unfamiliar language. Most of her dark hair was tucked up under a white coif, almost like something an Amish person would wear. Her dress was long and brown, with a muslin apron and a plaid shawl over her shoulders. She was like something out of a history book, and for reasons she couldn’t explain Buffy felt a cold chill down her back. The girl put down the buckets and yoke, grabbed a small stool and one of the buckets and made her way in next to the cow. “Get over now, Sukey,” she said, giving the cow a shove until the beast shifted enough to allow her to settle in next to it. She bent over on her low stool and started milking, singing again in the odd but musical tongue.
 
Buffy jumped a bit when a man’s voice called, “Kathleen?”
 
“Aye?” she responded, pausing in her milking to eye the man who was entering the barn.
 
He wore a long sleeved shirt with a buttoned tan vest over it, with pants that fastened at the knee and stockings leading down to decidedly old fashioned looking shoes. His hat was of the tri-cornered colonial type, and he pushed it up with his arm to wipe his sweaty brow. “Have ye seen me pitchfork?”
 
In an exasperated tone Kathleen answered, “It’s in the oxen’s byre where ye left it, Sean O’Malley. And if ye don’t find it and feed the beasts they’ll be worrying themselves into anemia.”
 
With a grin Sean sauntered over to the oxen and squeezed between them, retrieving his pitchfork. “Ah, sweet Kathleen. I’d be lost without ye.”
 
“Ye’d be lost in your own sleepin’ chamber, you layabout. Now leave me to finish, or the Mistress will be cross.” She turned back to the cow.
 
Dramatically sweeping his hat off his head he bowed low saying, “Farewell, sweet Kathleen, until we meet again.” Kathleen waved her hand at him in irritation and he smirked, shouldered his pitchfork, and headed outside. Buffy watched as she finished her milking, hooked the buckets onto the yoke, and hefted her burden, heading out into the fading afternoon.
 
As soon as the milkmaid was out of sight Buffy crept back up the ladder. “What do you think?” Spike asked. “From the accents I’d guess Ireland. Girl had a brogue thicker than molasses.”
 
“Yeah, but I think the question isn’t just where we are but when we are,” Buffy said.
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“All I’m saying is that those two were wearing the latest fashions from like, the 1700’s,” Buffy replied. “Unless we died and went to Colonial Williamsburg or something, I’m guessing we traveled in time.”
 
“How the hell did we manage that?” Spike sputtered. And more importantly, how are we supposed to get back and save the world? The implications caused Spike an involuntary shiver, and they both looked at each other, completely perplexed as to what to do next.
 
TBC
 
Time for a Chat
 
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, alas. Thanks so much to SanityFair for once more beating my punctuation into submission.
 
**************************************
 
Chapter 3 – Time for a Chat
 
After a long stunned silence, Spike finally spoke. “I suppose we should verify where and when we ended up somehow.”
 
“I think if we go out there looking like this, people are going to freak,” Buffy pointed out.
 
Spike had to concede that she had a point. She was wearing black leather boots, jeans, and a sleeveless black top, in addition to being disheveled and bleached blonde. His own standard uniform was hardly going to blend in either. “Guess we’ll have to either sneak around or find some clothes to um, borrow.”
 
“You mean steal,” Buffy said pointedly.
 
“Well, yeah. Still a vampire, love.”
 
A look of resignation crossed Buffy’s face. “Can’t really say that’s a bad idea, given that we’re sort of stuck here. But we’re going to have to wait until nightfall. Better stealing opportunities, less dusting.”
 
“I do appreciate the consideration,” Spike replied. He looked her over again. Her pragmatic attitude toward theft was new, as was the world weary look in her eyes. Despite that, she was still a knockout. “You’re… looking well Slayer,” he said, unable to disguise the affection in his voice.
 
“Not looking too bad yourself.” Buffy looked down, chewed her lip then finally said, “How did you get back?”
 
With a rueful look Spike said, “Guess it’s time for that long story, huh?”
 
“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Buffy leaned against the wall and fixed him with her green eyes. “I’d like to hear this one, if you don’t mind.”
 
Taking a deep unnecessary breath, Spike began his tale. “A couple of weeks after Sunnydale I showed up in Angel’s office. Someone sent him that bloody amulet, he opened it, and I popped out. Only problem was that I was a ghost.”
 
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been back that long? And nobody thought to say, tell me?”
 
“You gotta understand, pet, I was a bit preoccupied at first,” Spike began to explain. “I mean I showed up, and the first thing I saw was Angel. I went for his throat, found myself standing in the middle of his desk. Couldn’t touch anything, kept disappearing. And every time I disappeared I found myself being dragged down toward hell fire and torment.” He paused in his tale and looked at her. “Want you to know, the first thing I asked about was you.”
 
Buffy still looked hurt and confused. “So why didn’t Angel call me?”
 
Spike shook his head. “I don’t know. He said you were fine, that you were in Europe, but he didn’t really say much else.”
 
“I guess I wasn’t particularly friendly toward him when we last met,” Buffy admitted. “I was… upset. I may have called him a few names. And I punched him in the nose. I can sort of see why he wasn’t ready to call me right away.”
 
Spike’s eyebrows shot upward. “Why did you punch him? Not that I mind or anything.”
 
“Because he got you killed,” Buffy answered quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I was… I mourned you.” She fought against the urge to cry, or fling herself at him, or hit him, or all of the above. Instead she said, “So you were a ghost. What happened next?”
 
She mourned me? Spike had imagined that Buffy had been proud of him, but he also had firmly believed she had moved on and hadn’t looked back. You may have royally fucked up here, he admonished himself. In answer to her last question he said, “Well, at some point a box arrived. Not sure who it was from. Opened it up, there was a flash of light, and I was all corporeal again. Got in a huge argument with Angel over some fake prophesy, we pounded the shit out of each other, then managed to come to some kind of truce, and I started working on his team.”
 
“But why didn’t you let me know you were back?” Buffy hated the whiny, desperate tone creeping into her voice, but she had to know.
 
The blonde vampire struggled with how to explain. “I wanted you to remember me as a hero. Wasn’t exactly sure what my purpose was supposed to be, but I thought I should work that out on my own rather than show up on your doorstep. ‘Sides, I thought you’d moved on, made a new life for yourself with all the new Slayers. Didn’t think you needed me anymore.”
 
“Oh.” Buffy wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, studying every little bit of hay on the floor in front of her as she tried to understand. Her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes were clouded with inner turmoil.
 
The silence stretched out until Spike couldn’t stand it anymore. “Talk to me, Slayer.”
 
Unable to meet his eyes Buffy addressed her remarks to the hay. “I meant what I said. In the Hellmouth. I mean I know you didn’t believe me, but I did. I was really messed up for a while after Sunnydale. I kept having nightmares about you. It… it would have helped to know you were okay.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away quickly.
 
“I… oh, Christ, Buffy I didn’t know.” The regret crashed on Spike like a wave. She wasn’t just throwing you a bone, you idiot. And you didn’t have the balls to go find out what she was thinking. Fucking coward.
 
“Doesn’t matter now.” Another tear formed and was quickly dispatched.
 
Spike hesitated, then said carefully, “I found out that you were dating the Immortal. I guess that made me feel like I was right to stay away.”
 
Buffy looked up sharply. “How did you..?”
 
“Angel and I had a task to do in Rome. Saw you dancing in a club, but ended up getting the crap kicked out of me, so I didn’t have time to talk. We stopped by your apartment, but Andrew said that you’d outgrown both of us.”
 
“Andrew knew?” Buffy cried furiously. “I’ll kick his ass!”
 
“I asked him not to tell you. Figured you didn’t need the hassle.”
 
All of a sudden Buffy sat up, cocked her arm back, and punched him square in the jaw. She had gone from zero to pissed in about two seconds, and Spike found himself suddenly hoping she didn’t have a stake on her as she glowered at him. “You son of a bitch! You of all people! I was used to Angel deciding what was best for Buffy, and Giles and all the rest. But you used to respect me. You always treated me as an equal, as an adult capable of deciding what I wanted! Now I hear you’re doing the same thing as them. Let’s just decide what Buffy would want, or what Buffy should do, or what Buffy would consider a hassle instead of fucking asking me!”
 
“What about what I want then?” Spike exploded back at her. “Maybe I didn’t want to be tolerated by the Scoobies anymore! Maybe I didn’t want to come back to find that I had meant nothing to you in the end since you clearly moved on pretty damn quick!”
 
“I hadn’t moved on!” Buffy sat back, still angry, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. “I was seeing the Immortal to get Giles and the rest off my back, okay? They kept at me, all the damn time. ‘You need to let go, Buffy’, ‘Spike’s gone, Buffy’, ‘There’s still evil, and we need to train the new Slayers, so there’s no time for you to grieve, Buffy,’ and ‘You can’t sit in your room every night it’s not good for you,’ and on and on until I was ready to scream or kill someone! So fine, I’ll go out and pretend to be interested in what the Immortal says. At least he knew what a Slayer, was so I didn’t have to explain all that. But I never liked him, and I never slept with him, so stop running your mouth about what you don’t understand!”
 
Spike’s jaw was in imminent danger of hitting the ground as he took in Buffy’s outburst. For the second time in ten minutes he said, “I didn’t know. I swear. I didn’t know. Never meant to hurt you. Never really dared to hope that I really meant that much to you.”
 
“Well you did, you big jerk,” Buffy sobbed, rubbing her eyes. After a few moment’s hesitation, Spike shifted over next to her and tentatively put his arm around her shoulder, not sure if this was going to get him another punch in the face or not. But instead Buffy turned and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shirt. “I love you, you stupid vampire,” she muttered into his chest.
 
“Love you too, Slayer,” he whispered, folding her close to him and reveling in her heat, her scent. “Never stopped. Never will.”
 
“Don’t you ever leave me again,” Buffy said, squeezing him even tighter.
 
“Never,” Spike agreed. He held on to her, hoping he would be able to keep that promise.
 
 TBC
 
Nighttime
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon et .al. Thanks to SanityFair for her excellent beta work, yet again.
 
********************************************
 
Chapter 4 – Nighttime
 
********************************************
 
Spike held Buffy while she cried out all her stress and pent up loneliness until she quieted. She started to drowse against his chest and he laid them both down side by side in the hay. He kissed her then, and it was a slower, sweeter kiss than they had ever shared, full of wonder. Then the exhaustion of the battle and the emotions caught up with them and they curled up together and slept, Buffy’s head resting on Spike’s black covered chest, her arms wrapped possessively around him.
 
When they woke it was pitch black in the loft, and Spike managed to whack his head on the thatched roof as he sat up. He swore silently and then noticed Buffy stirring in the darkness. “How are you then, love?” he inquired.
 
“Seems like the Slayer healing has kicked in a bit, which is of the good. And you?”
 
“Slightly less battered than I was this morning,” Spike replied. “Think we should go exploring?”
 
“Probably,” Buffy agreed, picking hay out of her hair. “Um, can you use those vampire eyes to help me not fall down the trapdoor? I can’t see a thing.”
 
Spike chuckled, but doubling over, he led her carefully to the hole in the floor. Hearing nothing below, he climbed down the ladder, reaching up to guide her down. The stable door was closed, and the only sounds were the animals moving in the darkness. Spike took her hand and found the door. Cautiously they peered out then made their way into the barnyard. The earth was packed down in front of the stable. The sheep had been corralled nearer the barn for the night, and they bleated nervously as the two strangers walked by. A low farmhouse came into view with candlelight flickering in one of the windows. The two dark figures crept to the window and peered in. A middle aged woman sat on a rocker near the fireplace knitting while the maid, Kathleen seemed to be busying herself around the fire. The older woman was dressed in slightly finer stuff than the maid but definitely still of a bygone era.
 
They made a circuit of the house. It seemed that a lean-to sort of addition had been put on at some point, and Spike could hear a heartbeat inside. From the scent he guessed that the male servant probably bedded down out here. Owner’s probably a widow, Spike guessed. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the house. Buffy elbowed Spike and pointed across the yard. There on a clothesline were several dresses, aprons, trousers, and shirts. Nodding, Spike led the way. They each had grabbed sufficient clothes to be able to blend in when they heard a growl. Turning they saw a mean-looking farm dog on a long rope that clearly saw they were up to no good. Gathering the clothes Spike and Buffy backed away slowly as the dog advanced on them, snarling. They made their way around the corner of the house and then broke into a sprint as the dog started barking behind him. They managed to vault over a stone wall and duck by the time the dog reached the end of his tether and the servant Sean came dashing out to see what was happening. “Shit,” said Buffy.
 
Spike looked around. Some ways away was a small wooded area. “Come on,” he urged. They bent low, keeping below the stone wall as they headed for the woods. They reached the end of the field and waited for a moment while a cloud covered the moon. There was a small stream coming out of the wood, and they ran along it for a while, hoping to throw off any scent if Sean and the dog gave chase. Finally, they were deep enough in the woods that they felt they could take a breather. The dog was still barking, but it seemed very far off. “Didn’t notice the dog,” he said a little guiltily.
 
“Well, neither did I,” panted Buffy. “Maybe we should find a way to leave them some money or something. I feel guilty taking clothes from the servants.”
 
“Nothing we have is going to be legal tender here I’m thinking,” Spike said, and Buffy had to concede that he was right.
 
“Well, we should probably change and stash our clothes here somewhere. At least then we won’t be so conspicuous.” Buffy started pulling off her jeans, and Spike grinned. “What?”
 
“Here we’ve been back together for five hours and I’ve already gotten you to take your clothes off. Haven’t lost my touch after all.” In reply he got a pair of jeans tossed at his face. “I deserved that,” he joked. Then he started changing as well.
 
“Is this what you used to wear?” Buffy asked as she struggled to figure out which side of the dress was the front.
 
“This stuff seems from before my time. Haven’t wore knee britches since I was a little lad.” He realized he had grabbed stockings, but no shoes. “I may have to go barefoot for a while though. The Doc Martens are going to clash.”
 
“Well I guess my black boots will work well enough under this. The thing is pretty much dragging on the ground anyway.” She fiddled with the strings, which laced up the front then tried to figure out what to do with her hair. She had grabbed a shawl and decided that for now she would have to throw that over her bleached hair. “How do I look?”
 
“Like a California girl playing dress up,” Spike quipped. “How about me?”
 
“Like a vampire playing dress up,” she shot back. On looking him over again she said, “Actually, it looks better than that tweed suit you wore that one time, Randy.”
 
“Let us never speak of that again, all right?” The memory of having been Randy Giles was one he would just as soon repress.
 
“Well, now where do we go?” Buffy asked as she gathered up her modern clothes. Spike wrapped her clothes and his well in his leather coat, which he tucked under his arm.
 
Spike sniffed the air for a moment. “Seems like there’s a fair amount of wood smoke in that direction. Maybe there’s a town. With lots of people around we might be able to find me some shoes, and we’d be less conspicuous.”
 
“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy agreed. They picked their way through the woods. At the edge of the woods was another stone wall, and they concealed the clothes on the forest side of it. On the other side of the wall was a dirt road, and they headed toward the source of the wood smoke. They passed a number of small farms and stone walled fields, which seemed to get denser as they went on. The night was cool but not cold, and it seemed to be still relatively early in the evening. When the moon peeped out from behind the scattered clouds it gleamed in Spike’s white hair, which looked a bit incongruous in contrast to the homespun shirt and vest he had acquired. “You look like Billy Idol and Sam Adams had a bastard son.”
 
“Quiet, you,” Spike growled playfully. Their hands found their way to each other and they walked along like old lovers on a date. Despite their emotional reunion, they still felt somehow shy and unsure in each other’s presence, and they weren’t sure precisely what should happen next. They were content to just amble on together for a while until they reached a small rise. As they reached the top of the hill they saw that the road was coming to a large city with a medieval looking stone wall around much of it. There seemed to still be a number of people out and about, and suddenly Spike felt conscious of his bare feet and out of place hairstyle. With the shawl over her head, Buffy was less conspicuous, but he realized something else. “You’d better let me do most of the talking.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Your accent might lead to some uncomfortable questions. If we’re right and we’re back in the 1700’s or something then California doesn’t exist yet.”
 
“Good point,” Buffy agreed. They made their way down the hill, keeping to the shadows and side streets as much as possible. Spike put his arm around her, not only to attempt to look casual but also to camouflage his bare legs behind her skirts somewhat. The first person who passed them was hauling a heavy cart full of wood and barely gave them a glance, which reassured them somewhat. They made their way into a dark, poky little alley behind a row of houses and shops. Buffy wrinkled her nose at a pile of horse manure and commented, “I will never complain about Roman alleys again.”
 
“Ever wonder why I like cars and motorcycles so much?” Despite the stench, Spike found that the dark alley held a faint nostalgia for him. It was an alley not too different from this one where he encountered Drusilla and changed his fate from pathetic poet to master vampire. As they picked their way down the alley, they came across a drunk passed out in a doorway with an empty bottle of whiskey near to hand. Spike stopped and regarded the snoring man for a moment before saying, “Sorry about this, mate,” and relieving him of his hat and shoes. The drunk didn’t even pause in his stupor. Spike jammed the hat on his head and found a clean spot to sit and don hose and shoes. “There. I look a little less like a vagabond now.”
 
“Wait a minute.” Buffy went back down the alley to the drunk, hesitated a minute, then carefully pulled a small purse off of a string at his waist. The man stirred and mumbled, but then sunk back into oblivion. Buffy extracted half the coins and left them in a small pile next to him. Spike raised both eyebrows as Buffy returned and said, “Let’s go before he wakes up.” They headed out of the alley and into the street. Buffy was aware that Spike was staring at her still and said, “Okay, I know that was a bad thing. But it occurred to me that we’re likely to need a bit of cash, and as you said, we don’t have anything that’s legal tender around here.”
 
“Not saying a word, Slayer,” Spike said, holding his hands up as his eyes mocked her. She gave him a dirty look but softened it with a smile after a moment. As they walked on they looked at stores and other buildings trying to figure out where they were. Finally they noticed a sign in a shop proclaiming “The Finest Hats in Galway.” Spike frowned. “Galway. That’s odd.”
 
“Why would we end up Galway, Ireland?” Buffy wondered. “Wonder what year it is?”
 
“Hand me that coin purse you pilfered, thief,” he said. Buffy elbowed him in annoyance and passed it over and Spike tipped the contents into his hand. A number of gold sovereigns fell out, and he started to look at the dates.  “The newest looking ones say 1753.”
 
“Okay, so we’re almost 300 years before my time. Why?”
 
“No idea.” Something was bugging Spike. This time and place were significant, but he couldn’t remember why exactly. Galway. 1753. What the hell happened in Galway in 1753? Troubled, he said, “Come on. Maybe we can find somewhere to get some food for you and some information.” They walked on until they came to an inn called The Rose and Thorn. It seemed relatively quiet, with the large common room about half full of people sitting around tables eating and drinking. A fire was roaring in the fireplace at the end of the dimly lit room, and a harried yet friendly looking woman made her way from the fireside to greet them.
 
“Good evening! What can I do for ye?”
 
“Good evening, madam. My wife and I have traveled far today, and we are in need of some supper and lodgings for a few nights. Would you be able to accommodate us?” It was all Buffy could do to keep from goggling at him in astonishment. Spike had dropped the street brawler accent for cultured, softer, gentlemanly tones that Buffy wasn’t aware he was capable of. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being his ‘wife’ all of a sudden either, but it was probably less suspicious that way.
 
The proprietor frowned slightly. “A meal is no trouble at all, but our only available lodging is in the garret. There’s no fire there, and I fear your good lady will suffer from the cold.”
 
Buffy smiled at her and said softly, trying to hide her accent a bit, “I won’t mind.”
 
Spike put an arm around her shoulder and beamed down at her. “My good lady is strong. If you have some good warm coverlets we’ll be quite all right. Isn’t that right, my love?”
 
“Of course,” Buffy said, smiling back at him, playing the devoted wife.
 
“Well, then, let me get the register and then get ye something to fill your stomachs.” They followed her over to a counter along one wall, where she pulled a large book down from a shelf. She produced pen and ink, and Spike took it signing “Mr. and Mrs. William Pratt” in a flowing old fashioned script. The innkeeper looked over what he had written, gave a satisfied nod then said, “Follow me, Mr. Pratt. The cook has some wonderful sav’ry stew tonight, if that will suit.”
 
“That will do nicely, thank you.” They followed her through the room, noticing several sets of eyes following them curiously. A small table in the corner near the hearth was hastily cleared of empty mugs of ale and they sat down. The innkeeper bustled off to get their meal as the two of them surveyed the room. The few people near them were in deep conversation and paying them little mind, which reassured them that they were safe for a moment. An elderly woman sat in a rocking chair next to the fire opposite them, and she looked up from the knitting in her lap and smiled before going back to her work.
 
“Mr. and Mrs. Pratt?” Buffy asked with an amused smile. “That’s our alias?”
 
“It’s not an alias, it’s the name my father gave me,” Spike replied, slightly chagrined. “Never was keen for you lot to find out about it.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Didn’t need you digging up my past and finding out what a git I was as a human,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. “Besides, it has to be one of the worst last names on earth. ‘S a bloody insult.”
 
“It could be worse,” Buffy reassured him. “I won’t tell anyone my married name, I promise.”
 
Spike raised his eyebrow at her and she giggled. “Look, missy. In this time and place, an unattached woman wandering around at night by herself was more likely than not a lady of the evening. I was making you respectable. Show a little gratitude.”
 
“Yes, dear,” Buffy said, grinning. They kept their voices low, but Buffy noticed that the old woman was staring at them. It made her feel a bit nervous, but the next time their eyes met the woman smiled again encouragingly which allayed Buffy’s fears somewhat. The innkeeper came soon with two bowls of steaming stew, bread and butter, and two mugs of ale.
 
“Not sure I should be drinking,” Buffy said after the woman had left. “It hasn’t gone well the last few times.”
 
Spike took a sip of the ale. “You might as well. Doesn’t seem to be all that potent, and sometimes water quality was a bit questionable in ye olde days. At least the alcohol kills the bacteria.” Buffy thought about it, shrugged, and drank. The stew was filling and Buffy finished all of hers and half of Spike’s.
 
“So are we really going to stay here tonight?” Buffy asked.
 
“Might be good to have a base closer to town,” Spike said. “More sources of information, more possibilities for finding out what the hell we’re doing here. Besides, we don’t want to end up getting chased out of a barn in the middle of the day or something. Well, at least I don’t want that.”
 
“Neither do I.” Buffy’s tone was serious, and it made Spike look up at her curiously. “I just got you back. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about it, but I don’t want to lose you again.” Her voice choked up a bit at the end, and Spike clasped her hand reassuringly.
 
“All finished then?” The landlady had reappeared to clear the table.
 
“Yes, thank you. Quite refreshing,” Spike answered. “Would you please show us to our quarters now?”
 
“Of course. I’ll have Lucy show you up. Lucy!” A young serving girl popped around a corner in response. “Did ye take those extra quilts up to the garret?”
 
“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy replied.
 
“Then please show Mr. and Mrs. Pratt to their room. Good night to ye,” she said, bustling back into the kitchen.
 
Spike and Buffy rose to follow Lucy. As they passed by the old woman’s hand shot out and grabbed Buffy’s wrist, startling her. “Ye’ve come a long way, dear girl.”
 
Something about this woman’s tone startled them, and her aged blue eyes seemed to look right through Buffy. “That… that’s true,” Buffy stammered.
 
“Ye’ve power to put things to rights.” The old woman’s voice was shaky but insistent. “But the cost ye will pay is high.” She smiled a sad smile, released Buffy’s hand and returned to her knitting. Buffy stared at her, stunned until Spike led her gently away to follow the servant who was waiting for them at the foot of the stair. They climbed up two narrow flights of stairs to a small landing.
 
“Here ye are. There’s plenty o’ warm clothes on the bed, and the night is fair, so ye should be fine.”
 
“Thank you,” Spike began, but Buffy interrupted. “Who was that woman? By the fire I mean.”
 
Lucy wrinkled her brow a bit at Buffy’s strange accent but answered, “That be old mother O’Riordan. My mistress is her son’s widow. She has the sight.”
 
“The sight?” Buffy asked.
 
“Aye,” Lucy said, nodding emphatically. “She can see what’s to come. Runs in her family, it does, from mother to daughter. All the women of that clan have the sight, her more than most. Did she say something to ye?” Buffy nodded. “Well, whatever it was, ye can be sure it will be so.”
 
“Lucy!” came a voice from the lower floors. “Ach, it’s the mistress. If ye be needing anything more just let me know. Good night.” Lucy dropped a quick curtsey before hurrying down to answer her mistress’ summons.
 
The door off the landing opened into a small, low ceilinged room with a double bed and a small table with a pitcher and bowl and a candle burning. It was a bit chilly, as promised, but the bed was covered in thick quilts. A small window at the end of the garret was covered by shutters, which made it a perfect room for a vampire. “It’s not the Ritz-Carlton, but it’s better than a hayloft,” Spike commented.
 
Buffy didn’t answer but sat down on the bed, biting her lip. “What do you think she meant?”
 
“Who? Mother O’ Riordan? Probably says similar things to all the strangers in town,” Spike said, trying to sound unconcerned.
 
Buffy wasn’t buying it though. “She knew I didn’t belong. These sort of things don’t just happen to me.”
 
Spike sighed and sat down next to her. “I know, pet. I know. Guess we’re meant to save the world again, for something new and different.”
 
“And I get to pay a price. Again.” All of a sudden Buffy turned and buried her face in Spike’s chest, distressed and once more on the verge of tears. “What’s going to happen this time? Am I going to die again? Are you? Are we stuck here? Why do we have to keep doing this?”
 
“Shh, shh,” Spike soothed her, rocking her gently back and forth. After a moment he lifted her face to meet his gaze. “Look at me, Buffy. Remember what I said back in Sunnydale? Still true. You’re still a hell of a woman. You’re still the one.”
 
In reply Buffy pulled his head down into a desperate kiss, her hands tangling in his hair, knocking the stolen hat to the floor. In what seemed at first like a throwback to their violent couplings after Buffy’s return from heaven she pulled him down on the bed with her, hands flying over his body, needing to know he was solid, he was here and for the moment at least nothing was going to change that. Spike returned the kiss but his hands moved slowly, exploring each inch of this body he had always loved and desired. He willed her to slow down, murmuring soothing nothings to her until at last she came up for air, gasping. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, and I don’t ever want to lose you again.”
 
“Love you, Buffy,” he whispered back, stroking her cheek with his thumb while he kissed her eyes, her forehead.
 
“Make love to me, Spike. Please,” she begged, and Spike needed no further urging. He slowly, tenderly untied the lacings on her dress, sliding it down her shoulders and kissing each newly exposed inch of white skin. He freed her breasts, sucking gently on her nipples as she moaned softly. He rose and slid the dress off of her before removing his own clothes, keeping his eyes focused on hers as he stripped naked, presenting himself to her. She pulled back the covers and climbed under them, stretching out her hand to him. He slid in beside her and they spent a long moment drinking each other in. Then their lips met again and they came together, hands roving and limbs tangling. When he entered her it was like fire and ice, and they both shuddered and groaned in ecstasy. They moved together, taking the time to explore every inch, to revel in the sensations they had taken for granted before. The fever built and built until at last Buffy pleaded, “Drink. Please, Spike, take all of me. Please.” Spike searched her face for a long moment, then vamped and met her green eyes with the golden eyes of his demon. “Yes, Spike. I love you. Take it. Please.” She closed her eyes and he bent to her neck, never slowing his thrusts. He pierced her skin as gently as he could and drank. The sudden pain gave way to a climax like none Buffy had ever experienced, and she arched her back and writhed under him. He drank and the taste of Slayer rushed through his body like a drug, heightening his arousal even further. Crying out her name he came and came, and he had to force himself to stop drinking as he emptied himself into her.
 
Demon ridges melting back into his human form, Spike put his forehead against hers, shuddering with the aftershocks. “Buffy… love… oh, my God…” They were unable to speak for a long moment, until finally Spike moved off of her, drawing her close to his side and covering her warmly. She nestled against him, clinging to him as he said her name over and over.
 
TBC
 
A Moment to Herself
 
Disclaimer: All the characters are Joss Whedon’s. Thanks to SanityFair for the extremely fast beta work!
 
Chapter 5 - A Moment to Herself
 
The sun had been up for a couple hours by the time they awoke the next morning. They had made love again and again, as if each was a drug the other craved. Now Buffy found she was hungry and in need of a bathroom. “Morning,” she said to a sleepy Spike as he stirred next to her.
 
“That it is,” he agreed with a contented smile. He opened one blue eye to look admiringly at her tousled hair before shutting it again and snuggling back into the pillow.
 
“Wonder where the facilities are around here?” Buffy said, sitting up and looking around.
 
Spike grinned at her. “I expect there’s a chamber pot under the bed or the privy out back. That was pretty much standard procedure even in my day.”
 
“Ew.” Buffy looked over the side and noticed that there was indeed a chamber pot under the bed, but she was unable to overcome her twentieth century squeamishness enough to use it in the same room as Spike. “I guess I’ll go scout out the privy then.”
 
“I’ll be here,” Spike murmured, closing his eyes again. Buffy got up and got dressed, doing her best to tame her hair with her fingers into a bun at the back of her head. Throwing her shawl over her head once more she made her way down the stairs. The inn was reasonably quiet, with a few people in the common room and the maid and innkeeper talking in the kitchen. A narrow corridor past the kitchen led to a back door. The sky was gray and overcast as she made her way past a few pecking hens and a small herb garden to the privy. It was dark, but not as terrible as Buffy had imagined, and soon she was back in the hallway, making her way toward the stairs.
 
“Good day, Mistress Pratt,” the landlady called gaily as she came from the kitchen. “Did ye sleep well?”
 
“Yes, thank you,” Buffy responded.
 
“I’ve some tea and porridge prepared if ye’d like.”
 
Suddenly, Buffy realized that she was hungry. “I’d love some. Sp… um, Mr. Pratt is still in bed. I can take something to him later.”
 
“Go on and take a seat, and I’ll be right with ye.” Buffy took her advice and went into the common room. There were a few men having breakfast near the one window that looked out onto the street. The only other occupant was Mother O’ Riordan, who sat at a table near the fire. When Buffy came in, the old woman smiled and beckoned to her. “Sit down with me, child.” Buffy couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse so she sat but not without a feeling of apprehension.
 
The landlady came in with the promised breakfast. “Now then, here we are.”
 
“Thanks so much,” Buffy said with a smile.
 
The innkeeper looked at Buffy curiously. “Forgive me for asking, Mistress, but where do ye hail from? Your manner of speech is strange to me, begging your pardon.”
 
Oh crap, Buffy thought. Trying to think how best to explain she went with, “I’m from America. William – Mr. Pratt – and I met there. He’s from London originally, but he has traveled quite a bit.” Which is not a complete lie.
 
“Aye, that would explain it,” the landlady said, evidently satisfied. “We don’t get many from the colonies to Galway.”
 
“It is a long way,” Buffy answered, hoping that she had gotten away with it.
 
It seemed that was the case, for the innkeeper smiled and said, “Well ye are kindly welcome. Let me know if ye need something else. Mother here will look after you as well, won’t you Mother?”
 
“Of course, Maggie dear.” Turning to Buffy the old woman said, “Maggie looks after me well since my husband and my son Jack died, God rest their souls. My daughter and her husband are off in Dublin town now, and without Maggie I’d be alone on this earth.”
 
“It’s good to have family,” Buffy ventured, tasting the porridge and finding it plain, but tasty.
 
“What are you called, my dear?” asked Mother O’Riordan.
 
“My name is Buffy.” She figured that she’d probably do better with as much truth as possible, given that her breakfast companion had the Sight.
 
“Now that is a name I’ve not heard before,” the old woman commented. “Is it common in America?”
 
Buffy smiled and shook her head. “No, I can’t say it is. My mother said it was a nickname for Elizabeth.”
 
Mother O’Riordan nodded in understanding. “Aye, that’s the way of it. Margaret becomes Maggie or Peg and Patrick becomes Pat or Paddy and so it goes. We Irish seem to never call anyone by the name the priest pronounced at their Christening.” She sipped some tea as Buffy ate more of her breakfast.
 
Stirring her porridge thoughtfully with a spoon Buffy asked slowly, “Why did you say what you said last night? What did you see?” Buffy looked up, nervously but wanting to know all the same.
 
The old lady sighed. “Ahh, ‘tis the curse of the Sight. I see things and I speak what I must, and sometimes the tidings are ill.” She reached across and patted Buffy’s hand gently. “Ye have a power. Fairly glows about you, it does. Your William as well – he’s not quite of this earth somehow. But I had a vision when I saw ye. I saw dark, and shadow, and death. But I saw the shadow pass away as well. And in the midst of all this dark and shadow there ye stood, brokenhearted. I feel ye’ve come here to do a great and terrible thing, you and your William. Ye must destroy something ye love for the sake of the many, and I do not envy ye child.” She rose then, and put her hand on Buffy’s forehead and closed her eyes, murmuring in what had to be Gaelic.
 
“What did you just say?” Buffy asked when the old woman had finished.
 
“’Tis a blessing for you, child. May God go with ye. Now I must go see if my Maggie needs me in the kitchen. She’s a good girl, but she still needs some guidance in the kitchen now and again.” With that Mother O’Riordan moved slowly off to the other room. Buffy stared after her for a moment then pushed the half finished porridge away, her appetite suddenly gone.
 
She asked Maggie for a pot of tea and some bread, ostensibly for her husband, but mostly to keep the landlady from being suspicious of this man who didn’t eat. Lucy followed Buffy up the stairs with the tray, but Buffy took the tray from her at the top, thanked her warmly, and went into the room alone. Spike was still asleep. Buffy quietly put the tray down and took off her shawl, hanging it on a nail on the door. There was a small stool in the corner, and she perched on it, wrapped her arms around herself, and thought about what the old woman had said.
 
Darkness and shadow and death. Well, that pretty much sums up the whole apocalyptic battle thing. What the hell was Angel trying to do? That question in one form or another had come up again and again during this whole last year. When she had showed up after Sunnydale with a gaggle of exhausted, injured Slayers he had let them have the run of the Hyperion but had otherwise been preoccupied with the transition to CEO of Wolfram and Hart. She had tried to talk to him about Spike, but he had spouted some bullshit about how it was good that Spike had finally done something worthwhile, which earned him a bloody nose. After they left they kept hearing through the grapevine about Angel’s seeming descent into, if not outright evil then at least some severely gray areas. Now it seemed like all those gray areas had coalesced into one black mess and the world was in peril, again. Just once could it stay saved for like, a whole two years?
 
She looked over at Spike, his pale skin showing against the dark covers. The previous night had been like being rescued from a desert island. All those months of loneliness, anger and longing were washed away by those hands and lips. But now she felt a dread creeping into her heart. And me in the middle, heartbroken. That’s the way it always is, isn’t it. Well screw that. I’m not leaving him. If he has to go, I’m going with, wherever that is. Fuck these prophesies with a chainsaw. She got up, took a deep breath, and forced back the despair that the old woman’s words had unleashed in her heart. Whatever they were here to do, they were going to figure it out together.
 
TBC
 
The Hour of Revelation
 
Disclaimer: Not my characters, someone else’s characters, but they let me play. Thanks to Sanity Fair for the lightning fast beta work!

***************************************
 
Chapter 6 The Hour of Revelation

**************************************
 
In the end she drank the pot of tea while watching Spike sleep and mulled over the situation until early afternoon. Finally, the vampire stirred and sat up. “Must’ve been really shagged out, I guess. Sorry about that, love.”
 
“It’s okay. I had some breakfast, got some more prophesy thrown at me by the friendly neighborhood seer.”
 
Spike caught the undercurrent of worry in her voice. “What did she say?”
 
Buffy came and sat down on the bed. “More of the same. Darkness, death, the usual suspects. She said there was peace on the other side of it, but I would be in the middle. ‘Heartbroken’ was the way she put it.”
 
Spike moved over next to her and put an arm around her. “It’s all right, love. We’ll figure it out.”
 
“It’s fine, Spike. Really. I get these stupid prophecies tossed at me all the time. I’m not going down without a fight and neither are you. I don’t care what we need to do, but we’re doing it together. You’re stuck with me,” Buffy finished defiantly.
 
“That’s my girl,” Spike said proudly. Her strength and determination were something he had admired even when they were enemies, and it made him love her all the more. “I suppose we should go downstairs for a while, try to see what we can see about how we’re supposed to save the world and all that.”
 
“It’s dark enough in these old buildings, don’t think you’ll have any dusting issues.”
 
“True enough. Those California houses with all the windows were a royal pain for us sunlight sensitive types. Nice to be back in the old country for a change.” Spike got up and located all his clothes, retrieving his hat from under the bed. “Right then. Shall I go be the squire who won the wild colonial girl?”
 
“Watch it, vam-squire,” Buffy quipped. They made their way downstairs to the large room once more, which was much more crowded than it had been previously. A group was singing over their ale in one corner, and everywhere people were talking and drinking. There were a few women in the crowd, and many of those seemed to be of the bawdy tavern wench ilk. Spike and Buffy found a corner near the back where they could observe the goings on in relative peace. Lucy saw them and brought them some ale but had no time to talk as the group of singing men paused to shout for service.
 
“Quite the hubbub around here,” Spike commented.
 
“It’s like the Bronze but with less rock music,” Buffy observed. They sipped their ale for a while, watching the crowd. “What are we going to do if we get stuck in this time? We can’t really make our living stealing.”
 
“Speak for yourself,” Spike said. Buffy gave him a dirty look. “I know, I know. On the side of good and all that. Not entirely sure what we could do.”
 
“What did you do for a living when you were alive?” Buffy wondered.
 
To her surprise, Spike scoffed. “Nothing particularly useful. I fancied myself a poet and supported me and my mum by a combination of clerking and inheritance from my father.”
 
“Clerking?”
 
“I was a bank clerk. Kept accounts, things of that nature.”
 
“You? An accountant?” Buffy laughed. “Now that I find hard to believe.”
 
“And you were wondering why I never wanted you to know about William Pratt? Becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Spike toasted the idea with another drink of ale.
 
“Might want to keep your voice down. I’m guessing these folks were probably pretty intolerant of the supernatural crowd in these times,” Buffy pointed out.
 
“Good point,” Spike replied. They talked quietly together, catching up about the past year of their lives. Spike learned about Dawn’s boarding school, Willow and her coven, and the other Slayers. He had been dismayed to hear about Anya’s death. “She was quite a character. World’s a little poorer without her in it,” was his comment. Spike in turn told stories of Angel and his crew, Fred’s transformation into Ilyria, the battle over the Cup of Perpetual Torment, and all sorts of assorted odds and ends. The thought of Harmony Kendall as a secretary boggled Buffy’s mind as she remembered how airheaded Harmony had been in high school. “It’s amazing that the whole office didn’t come crashing down with Harmony saying ‘Oopsie’ in the middle of it all.”
 
“She was never big on the brains department,” Spike admitted. “But she turned out all right in the end, for a vampire that is.”
 
They kept talking until nightfall, when Spike said, “Well, we really should be out and about if we’re going to figure out what this long strange trip is for.” He stood up and offered her his arm. “Shall we, Mrs. Pratt?”
 
“What if I wanted to keep my own name?” she said with a mock frown.
 
“Nope, can’t be done. I’m the husband, and your duty is to honor and obey me, remember?” Spike said sternly, trying to keep a straight face.
 
“Yeah, right. Let me know how that works out for you.” They grinned at each other and headed out arm in arm, waving to Maggie on their way out. There were many people out strolling and bustling around in the early evening air, and they made their way aimlessly around the streets of Galway, trying to determine what to do next.
 
They came to a narrow street that seemed to have a number of inns and taverns along it, and they worked their way down it. Men called to each other and argued, barmaids bawled to the customers and each other; it seemed that every doorway held a noisy crowd. As they reached the next corner, it seemed that an all out bar brawl was happening in the tavern called “The Bell and Candle”.
 
“Rough spot,” Buffy commented as the sound of breaking glass reached her ears.
 
“My kind of place,” Spike said, his eyes bright with interest. At that point the brawl spilled out into the street, with half a dozen men throwing punches at each other, cursing and yelling. A barmaid with a broom was beating one large man across the back shouting, “Get out, ye drunken sot! I’m a good girl, I am, and I’ll not be handled by the likes of ye!” The man stumbled into the rest of the fray and was set upon by another drunk. Stumbling and rolling in the dirt they tussled until the large man finally subdued his opponent. As he sat there pounding his victim in the face, another brawler grabbed him by the shoulder.
 
“Liam, ye fool, ye’ll kill ‘im if you keep on like that. Leave off!”
 
Landing one more blow, the large man stood up. “Aye, not worth bein’ hung over the likes of ‘im.” He retrieved his hat, brushed it off, put it on his head and said to his friend, “The ale here’s like piss anyway. Time to move on.”
 
“Spike? What is it?” Spike had stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open, shaking his head. “Spike?” Buffy shook his arm, trying to get his attention.
 
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I think I know why we’re here, pet.” Buffy followed his gaze until she saw the large brawler turn their way slowly. With a sinking heart she stared into the face of the man Liam, who would someday become Angel.
 

TBC
 
Forever Now
 
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon and all that lot, not me. Thanks as always to my amazing beta, SanityFair.
 
Chapter 7 - Forever Now
 
“What are ye all looking at?” Liam roared at the crowd which had gathered to watch the fracas. With an arrogant air he glared at the spectators then turned and stalked off, trailed by his comrade in ale. Spike still stood rigid, eyes narrowed. Finally he swallowed, took Buffy’s arm and steered her into a nearby alley.
 
“That… that was Angel!” Buffy gasped.
 
“Not yet,” Spike said grimly, sitting down on a barrel. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “Right now he’s just Liam the fucking drunken wastrel. I should have remembered.”
 
“Remembered what?”
 
Spike looked up at her, his eyes angry and sad all at once. “It’s 1753. That’s the year he was turned.”
 
Buffy shook her head over and over, trying to make sense of it all. “But what… why bring us here?” But even as she said it she knew the answer.
 
It was Spike who spoke the words aloud. “I think we’re meant to stop him from becoming a vampire. Liam dies pissing in his bed of cirrhosis or gonorrhea or fuck knows what all, and never brings about the end of the world by trying to take on the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
 
“But that would mean…” Her heart constricted in her chest and the words died in her throat.
 
“That I never become a vampire either.” The words fell like stones from his lips. With his elbows on his knees he fisted both hands in his hair. “No Angelus means no Drusilla. No Drusilla means William Pratt dies a miserable, useless sack of shite.”
 
“No. No, it can’t be. No!” Buffy turned and drove her fist into a nearby doorframe, splintering it. She whirled back to face Spike. “I won’t do it! I don’t care! Fuck the world! We’ve done enough. I’m not doing this again!” She turned and stormed out of the alley, half walking, half running down the street. She had no idea where she was going, and people on the street shied away from the obvious fury she exuded. As she stumbled blindly through the streets of Galway her brain ran in circles. What do we do? Kill Darla? What happens to us then? What happens if we don’t stop this? What about all the people Angel saved? What happens to them? Fucking Powers screwing with my life again and again and God can’t I just stop or die or something already? She wanted desperately to just run, leave all of this crap behind and let someone else avert this apocalypse. Sorry everyone. But the world’s just going to have to end because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch the person I love die again. I can’t.
 
She suddenly became aware of two figures looming up in front of her. They were filthy, foul looking men, and Buffy realized that the street she was in was dark, run down, and had a sinister air. “Where are ye off to, pretty thing?” one of the men asked in a raspy voice.
 
“I think she might be looking for a bit o’ sport, don’t ye think?” said the other.
 
“Right,” Buffy said, throwing off her scarf. “Bring it on.” The men looked at each other, puzzled, clearly not expecting anything remotely like this reaction. After a moment Buffy said, “Fine then, I’ll start the party.” She broke the first man’s nose before he even saw her move. Grabbing his arm, she threw him into his friend, tumbling them both to the pavement.
 
“A fair bitch ye are, aren’t ye?” said the second man as he scrambled to his feet. She sidestepped his charge and took out his knee with a side kick as he passed by. He fell screaming to the ground as his companion rushed her from behind. She flipped him and he landed square on his friend, knocking them both into a half senseless heap. Buffy became aware of another presence behind her and whirled to face the new threat.
 
“Got that out of your system then, love?” One of the men tried to rise, but a swift kick in the head from Spike and he was out cold.
 
The fight drained out of Buffy, leaving behind resignation and despair. She let Spike fold her into his arms and rested her head on his chest. “I can’t do this, Spike.”
 
Spike snagged her shawl from the ground and wrapped it around her head again. “Come on, pet. Let’s get back to the inn, yeah?” Buffy nodded forlornly and allowed herself to be led from the alley. They walked in silence back to the inn, like they were walking in a funeral procession. When she had taken off, Spike had remained stunned in the alley for long minutes before he went after her. He knew with perfect clarity what had to be done. If Liam never became Angel, a lot of bad things would fail to happen, including the end of the world. Problem was a couple of good things wouldn’t happen either. Like William being rescued from a lifetime of mediocrity to become the Slayer of Slayers. Thinking through all the potential permutations of what might not happen without Angel or himself made his brain spin. Will I just vanish from this time? What happens in the future? He had no answers.
 
When they returned to the inn the evening’s festivities were in full swing, but they made their way quietly through the throng and up to their room in the garret. Spike closed the door behind him and turned to face Buffy. They stood there, facing each other across the room, and Spike was reminded of that last night before he closed the hellmouth. She had come downstairs and they had faced each other just this way, each wondering what the other wanted, not sure how to proceed. But then as now they drifted together and their arms went around each other, fitting perfectly, neither one too tall or too short. Then as now their lips met and they kissed, softly at first but with rapidly growing intensity. They worked each other’s clothing off slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. This time there was something more, however. This time Spike had no doubts about where he stood. She loved him, wanted him and only him, and it made every touch and caress sweeter somehow.
 
When they were finally divested of their clothing Buffy took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down gently and climbing on top of him. She worked her way down his body, her tongue tracing every muscle as he hissed and closed his eyes. She took him in her mouth, teasing and pleasuring him until he could barely stand it before she climbed up and mounted him. Their hands met and inclined and Spike’s blue eyes smoldered as he watched her move. “I missed this,” she said, nearly moaning the words. “Missed you. Missed us. This is… oh, God this is so good, Spike.”
 
“Yeah, baby. It’s like fucking heaven. The way you move.” Buffy’s muscles squeezed him again and again until at last he rolled them over and thrust into her, making her cry out in a sudden unexpected orgasm. He kept moving, smiling as he watched her face flush with pleasure. “That’s it love. Come for me.” Her pleasure built again, and again until at last he groaned and fell over the edge with her. They lay together for a long time, gasping and clinging to each other, Buffy’s hands stroking Spike’s curls as she buried her face in his neck.
 
It was Buffy who spoke first. “Spike?”
 
“Yeah?” He pushed himself up on his elbows to look into her eyes.
 
“I want you to claim me.”
 
That was probably the last thing that Spike had expected her to say, and he looked at her, startled. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? It’s permanent.”
 
“I know. Slayer, remember? Even I do my homework sometimes. I know it forms a permanent bond, and if one of the pair dies usually the other one does too.”
 
“But you… you know that if we do what we have to do, I’m gone.” Spike choked a bit on the last words. The idea wasn’t getting more appealing with repetition.
 
“Then if you go, I want to go too.” Spike looked troubled and Buffy cupped his face and said seriously, “I can’t… end your existence and just, go on with my life. Besides, when we… when we do this, we’ll probably just get sent back to our own times. It will be like none of this happened. But until that happens, I want to be yours, totally yours. Even if… even if this is all we’ll have, and it will all be erased tomorrow, I want this. For now, if we can’t have it forever. Please.” Her green eyes were watery but determined.
 
Spike’s heart all but started beating again. Here was a woman, the strongest, most amazing woman he had ever known, and she wanted to be his, irrevocably his, regardless of the consequences. He knew she was right – they probably wouldn’t die per se, but this intense, overpowering bond they had would vanish and be lost forever. And yet, he understood her point, and the thought of joining his mind to hers was the fulfillment of years of desire. With a voice shaky with emotion he asked, “Will you be mine, Buffy Summers? My mate and my wife, for as long as the fates allow?”
 
“Yes, William. Yes.” Then they were kissing again, and Buffy felt Spike stiffening against her thigh. She opened to him and he slid inside – slid home. Ever since she had captured his heart the only place he had ever wanted to be was here, between these thighs, looking down at this tanned and golden goddess. Their eyes locked as they moved together and their bodies fused into one. Buffy watched as Spike’s demon came forth, but the ridges and fangs held no horror for her, nor ever would again. Bending down he sank his fangs as gently as he could into her vein, drinking deep before licking the wounds closed and whispering, “You’re mine, Buffy. Mine and none other’s.”
 
“Yours, oh God, I’m yours,” she whispered back. Then she tilted his head to get a better vantage point and bit hard at the place where his neck joined his shoulder, tasting his blood and feeling the power it contained coursing through her. “Mine. Please say you’re mine.”
 
“You know I’m yours. Always yours.” Then they both climaxed and it was like nothing they had ever experienced. Their minds swirled with color and emotion and a deep, indescribable connection. All of Spike’s fears and insecurities were laid bare before her but he knew it was okay, because all of her pain and loss were there as well, and neither of them cared. The love was there; it was real, almost palpable, and in that moment they felt that nothing could ever conquer it.
 
 TBC
 
A Night on the Town
 
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters. Just borrowing them! Thanks again to Sanity Fair for correcting my stupid mistakes.
 
*************************
 
Chapter 8 – A Night on the Town
 
The rest of the night and all of the morning was spent making love, resting, marveling at their ability to read each other’s thoughts, and making love again. Lucy, the maid had wanted to go up to see if they needed anything, but Mother O’Riordan had stopped her saying, “They’re young and in love. Let them be. They’ll call ye if they need something.” Lucy had flushed with the idea of what they could be doing up there for so long but obeyed the old woman’s bidding.
 
Buffy overcame her squeamishness about the chamber pot to avoid having to get dressed and leave Spike for any length of time. It felt like every second she wasn’t touching him, being with him, loving him was a second lost and wasted. As the morning wore on they realized that they were going to have to face the elephant in the room.
 
Buffy.
 
Mm hm. She found she liked being able to communicate telepathically. After many hours of sexual aerobics, she barely had the strength for talking.
 
We need to think about this whole situation.
 
Buffy sighed and buried her face more firmly into his chest. I know. So what do we do?
 
Spike kissed her hair as he pondered that question. We need to find Captain Forehead and shadow him then when Darla shows up, I guess we have to dust her.
 
You make it sound so simple. She even gave Angel a run for his money, Buffy recalled.
 
Well, it’s the best I can come up with. You got any better ideas, Mrs. Pratt?
 
How about we just stay in this bed forever? Buffy’s thoughts were tinged with bitterness and regret. How about we just let the world end and call it done?
 
Could you really do that? To Dawn, and Giles, and the others? He pulled back to look her in the eyes.
 
“You know I couldn’t,” Buffy whispered. “It’s not who I am.”
 
“And that’s why I love you,” he whispered back. “But I hear what you’re saying. I don’t relish this either. If I manage to get to heaven this time around, the Powers that Be and I are going to have words about all the crap they’ve put me through all these years.”
 
“What do you think will happen when we take out Darla?” Buffy wondered.
 
“I expect we’ll be back in our own time. I’ll be back in Victorian England having a miserable time being abused by high society, and you’ll be back in sunny California slaying things.”
 
“But will I still be the Slayer?” Buffy said, propping her head up on her hand. “I mean if you don’t kill those two other slayers, what happens to the succession?”
 
“No idea. No way to know I guess.” They lay back down, their thoughts drifting, merging. They explored the avenues of the other’s mind, pulling up memories and asking about them, and remembering shared experiences. An outside observer would have marveled at this silent couple, which lay content for hours with their heads together and their hands clasped.
 
Finally, with resignation on both sides, they got up; cleaned up the best they could with the basin of water, and dressed. They went downstairs to find it was nearly three in the afternoon, and Buffy blushed as she realized that Maggie the innkeeper was winking at her. Maggie fed them a hearty meal of chicken pies and ale as the inn slowly came to life around them. At one point while Maggie was refilling his ale Spike asked her, “Do you know of a fellow named Liam? Tall, brown hair, big forehead, prone to brawling?”
 
Maggie frowned. “Aye, that’ll be Liam O’Connor. Ill-mannered lout. Broke a good table and chair brawling the one time he was in here, and I told him I’d have the law on him if he came in here again.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Ye’re not a friend of his are ye?”
 
“No, I’ve no time for his sort. But he does owe me five guineas, and I would like to settle that debt while we are here in Galway.”
 
“Well, if ye’re looking for Liam, just scour the taverns. Hard to believe that Seamus O’Connor, good upright church going man that he is, sired such an uncouth drunkard, but ah well, these things happen.” She cleared up their dishes and added, “He spends most of his time in the streets near the marketplace. ‘Tis as far as he can get from his father’s eye and still be in Galway.” Maggie bustled off, leaving them to process this information.
 
“So it looks like we’re up for a bar crawl tonight,” Buffy mused. “Somehow, that doesn’t sound as appealing as it did in Rome.”
 
“Not something I’m particularly looking forward to either,” grumbled Spike. He frowned, shook his head, and drank more ale. He had a desire to get drunk and do some brawling himself just to relieve some of his frustration at the whole situation.
 
Buffy laid her hand on his in sympathy, his unhappiness radiating across their mental link. “At least we won’t know what we lost when all this is done.”
 
“I suppose that should be some consolation,” he sighed. “But the prospect of going back to being William Pratt doesn’t appeal.”
 
“Tell me about him,” Buffy said. “I mean I’ve seen some of the memories, but I want to know more. When were you born and all that?”
 
She reminded Spike of a little girl asking for a bedtime story, and he found it charming, despite his bitter mood. “Up for a tale then are we?” Buffy smiled, sipped her ale, and leaned her head on her hand, listening. “Fine,” Spike relented. “I was born in 1852, or I guess I will be born in 1852 at this rate. My father was a banker, died of a coronary when I was eighteen. We were reasonably well off – decent house in Mayfair, two servants, and the lot. We were never quite the cream of society, but we got on well enough. Had a little sister who died when we were both young; I barely remember her. Childhood diseases were much nastier back then before all the vaccines and what all you have now. Consequently, my mum tended to hover over me a bit. After I graduated from Cambridge…”
 
“You went to Cambridge?” Buffy interrupted, astonished. “Giles graduated from there too.”
 
“We probably had the same professors,” Spike remarked dryly. “Some of those old farts had been there since Cain and Abel went to school.” Buffy chuckled a bit and he went on. “Anyhow, I graduated, went home to care for my mum, and tried to get interested in banking. Can’t say my heart was ever in it. All I wanted to do was write.”
 
“What did you write?”
 
Spike squirmed a bit, and Buffy could tell he was struggling to hide his thoughts while he debated. Finally he gave up. “I wrote mostly awful, sappy poetry. The fellows all called me William the Bloody because I was such a bloody awful poet. You have no idea how glad I was to become a vampire and drain a few of their miserable necks.”
 
With a bemused smile Buffy said, “Oh come on, the poems couldn’t have been that terrible.”
 
“Believe me, they were enough to kill a diabetic outright. Sentimental foolishness all designed to impress one Cecily Underwood. She was this society bitch who thought I was beneath her, rejected me soundly, and sent me out into the streets a miserable wreck of a brokenhearted man. At which point I ran into Drusilla, and you know the tale from there.”
 
“She didn’t know what she was missing,” Buffy reassured him. “Whatever happened to her? Did you…?”
 
“Never harmed a head on her conceited little head. Did meet her again though. You know that vengeance demon friend of Anya’s, Halfrek? That was none other than the former Ms. Underwood.”
 
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “I always wondered how you two knew each other. How weird is that?”
 
“Very,” Spike replied. He took another drink of ale and pondered for a minute. “Bloody shame it is.”
 
Buffy knew instantly what he meant. All their shared history, good and bad, would be wiped away like someone shaking an etch-a-sketch. Buffy would lose her virginity to someone less likely to turn murderous but probably less fascinating and mysterious as well. Spike would never charm Joyce or serenade her in a cemetery. These thoughts bounced between them as they drank in silence, becoming depressed by the whole idea. “Wonder what would happen if we let him become a vampire but took out Darla or something?”
 
“Who knows?” Spike answered. “I mean Darla definitely helped mold him. But you got to understand; that brute we saw scuffling in the street is who he is. Being a vampire just stripped away the veneer of social acceptability that he had to maintain to keep from getting run out of town on a rail. Once you’re a vampire, you don’t have to give two shits about what your father thinks – You can just rip his throat out. If your neighbor clucks her tongue at you for being a useless waste, you can eat her. Darla was like a doting mother with a gifted child – She didn’t need to do much but encourage him.”
 
“And I guess without his encouragement we’re still back to no Drusilla and no Spike.” A tear worked its way down Buffy’s cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. “This just sucks.” She took a huge gulp of ale in an attempt to dull the pain.
 
“Might want to ease up on that,” Spike advised, trying to ease her back from the edge of despair. “Don’t need you tripping over your own feet fighting with Darla. Unless your alcohol tolerance has increased since we last drank together.” He smirked a little and brought up the memory of her getting wasted in his crypt.
 
“Ugh, don’t remind me of that night,” Buffy groaned. “I think I just about puked out all my internal organs after that one.” But she had to concede that he had a point, so she pushed the ale away regretfully.
 
Buffy excused herself to the privy. On the way out she noticed a rubbish heap that contained a broken barrel. After checking to make sure no one was around she gave it a sound kick, breaking off a couple of pointed pieces of wood as makeshift stakes, hers having somehow vanished between LA and Galway. She slipped them into her boots for safekeeping and went back inside to Spike.
 
“Thought it would be a good idea to arm myself,” she explained when she returned.
 
“Not a bad plan.” After another forty-five minutes of talking about nothing in particular it was dark enough for Spike to move freely, so they gathered themselves together and hit the streets. They asked a passerby for directions to the marketplace and made their way through the cobblestoned streets. They walked slowly past any taverns they passed, with Spike listening and sniffing the air in search of Liam.
 
“That vampire smelling thing is still pretty weird,” Buffy remarked.
 
Spike shrugged. “Whatever works, pet. Has to be some compensation for being unable to move around in the day time.” The marketplace was mostly empty of carts at this time of day, but a few merchants were still plying their wares, and there were several public houses with doors opening onto the square. Spike stood and closed his eyes for a minute, concentrating. Then he nodded in one direction. “That one. Pretty sure he’s in there. Why don’t I go in, and you lurk in that alley next door. If Darla’s around, she’ll want to get him alone. Besides, doesn’t look like any place for a lady in there.”
 
“Yes, because I’m so delicate,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.
 
“That’s right. Fragile little flower you are,” Spike teased. I’ll keep in touch this way, he added telepathically.
 
Ditto, Buffy replied. She kissed him briefly as they went to their separate stations.
 
Spike walked into the tavern, which seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of tables around a couple of barrels behind a small counter. The barman was surly, and the place was dark and noisy. He bought a mug of ale and found a corner to lurk in. Liam was there, with several friends, at a table crowded with tankards of ale. He had a barmaid on his lap who was clearly not particularly comfortable but trying to be a good sport. He whispered something into her ear, which caused her to blush and slap him, and all his cronies roared with laughter as the girl stormed off, affronted. Spike found it rather fascinating, watching this man. Angelus had held the power of life and death over him when he was a fledgling. He had tormented Spike physically, mentally, and even sexually at times, trying at every turn to shame him and make sure he understood how worthless he was. But here he was, not the mighty Angelus but just another drunken mick. If he doesn’t get vamped he’ll probably get stabbed in a bar fight within a year, Spike thought.
 
That bad? Buffy replied. She was listening in on Spike’s impressions of the scene. It was hard to accept that Angel or even Angelus had started out here. Angelus was evil but had a certain grace about him that Liam seemed to lack completely. She remembered Angel doing tai chi, the things he used to read, all the brooding and introspection that marked his days. Liam seemed to not give a rat’s ass about anything other than drinking and having a good time. It boggled her mind to try to reconcile the man she knew and the man Spike was watching.
 
Just then a figure caught Buffy’s eye. Down at the far end of the street a well-dressed woman was walking, looking curiously at the people she passed. As she got nearer, Buffy’s heart sank. Darla. She’s here.
 
Spike stiffened at the thought. Shit. I’ll be right there. He drained his ale, set the mug down on a nearby table, and started making his way to the door. As he passed the table with Liam and his friends, Liam reached out and grabbed at a young barmaid, encircling her tiny waist with his great arm.
 
“Here, now, lassie,” he drawled lecherously. “A fresh pretty thing like you would be wonderful company of an evening.”
 
“Let me go!” cried the girl. She clearly wanted none of this, and she struggled to free herself as Liam and his friends laughed uproariously at her futile efforts.
 
Spike found he couldn’t let it go. “The lady doesn’t want the pleasure of your company,” Spike growled, yanking Liam’s arm and allowing the girl to squirm free. She scurried off to a back room somewhere, shooting Spike a grateful look before she disappeared.
 
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I be taking the advice of an Englishman?” He stood up, towering over Spike and was soon joined by his friends. “Don’t recall giving ye leave to be helping yourself to our good Irish ale.”
 
“I don’t recall asking your leave,” Spike replied.
 
“Well, fellows, it seems the little English lord here has forgotten his manners. Perhaps we should remind him?”
 
Spike scoffed. “Are all Irishmen such cowards, or are you a unique specimen?”
 
“Are ye calling me a coward?” thundered Liam.
 
“Well, any man who’ll molest a girl half his size and then gang up on someone with three of his friends in tow must be afraid of something.”
 
Buffy was listening in on this exchange and rolling her eyes. Spike this is not the time for a bar fight! From her vantage point in the alley she could see Darla approaching. She sauntered unhurriedly down the street and gazed in the window of the tavern, apparently keen to see the fight.
 
Spike ignored Buffy’s intruding thoughts, standing toe to toe with Liam, who looked about ready to pop. Other patrons either scooted their chairs back or paid up quietly and left, as it appeared that the slender young Englishman had a death wish. Liam gestured his friends back. “Ye’ll soon be eating those words, laddie.” He set his hat down on the table and squared off against Spike.
 
You have no idea how long you’ve had this coming, mate. Spike stood before the Irishman, his arms loose and his legs coiled to spring. “Are you finished? Or is there more nonsense coming out of your mouth tonight?” The men who had stayed to watch were intrigued, as it was clear that this stranger was no physical match for Liam O’Connor.
 
“English bastard,” Liam growled and he swung a wild haymaker toward Spike’s head. Spike ducked under it and followed with an uppercut to Liam’s solar plexus that dropped him to his knees, gasping for breath.
 
“Any more comments?” Spike said. Liam roared and tackled Spike, knocking him to the ground where they rolled and punched each other.
 
Spike… Buffy could see Darla there, looking through the window with a bemused air. She didn’t seem to be aware of the Slayer’s presence. Buffy realized that if she was quiet and quick, she could probably sprint across the street and put a stake in Darla’s back before she even knew what was coming. The noise from the bar was spilling out onto the street, and the wind was at Buffy’s back. But as she crouched there, with Spike’s thoughts running through her head over their link, she couldn’t do it. If I kill her now, we’ll never see each other again. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes and she gripped her stake so hard that her nails were white. In the end, she found herself frozen in place, unable to move, unable to set the events in motion that would separate her from Spike forever.
 
As Spike rolled on the floor with Liam he became aware of Buffy’s distress. Take her out!
 
I can’t… Spike I can’t…
 
Hang on. With a mighty shove Spike got on top and landed a blow to Liam’s nose that broke it with a satisfying crunch. He leaped to his feet and kicked him hard in the ass, wiping his mouth where Liam had split his lip. “I’ve a previous engagement, so I will have to leave you now. But if you ever come to London, look me up and we can finish this.” Liam struggled to sit up and come up with some sort of rejoinder, but Spike was already out the door, the crowd parting to let through the man who had taken down the mighty Liam O’Connor. Spike wasn’t sure how long the shock and awe would last, but he didn’t want to have to find out. He expected Buffy would be upset with a body count.
 
Outside, the street seemed deserted. Buffy?
 
I’m in the alley, she answered, and Spike could hear the misery in her thoughts. Spike entered the alley and saw her sitting on the ground, her back against the wall. “I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed. “She was there, and I let her go because I just couldn’t do it. I don’t want to lose you.” She covered her face with her hands and broke down, sobbing as if her heart was breaking.
 
Oh love, don’t take on so, he soothed. He guided her to her feet and held her close. Looking over her head he saw Liam and his mates stagger out of the tavern, Liam looking much worse for wear. They made their way off together, and Spike figured that if Liam was in a crowd he was probably safe from Darla for the night. Darla had never been one for fighting, more for tricking and seducing her victims and fighting four men would have mussed her frock. Come, sweetheart. Let’s call it a night, okay?
 
Buffy didn’t respond at first but just held him tighter. Who did this to us? Why are they torturing us like this?
 
No idea, Spike replied. But if I ever find out who it was who sent us here, I will be hard pressed not to drain their neck. After a little while longer Buffy released him, and they walked slowly toward the Rose and Thorn.
 
Is it possible that we’ve got this all wrong? Buffy wondered. I mean what if… What if some evil force did this to us and stopping Liam from becoming Angel is going to make things worse?
 
Spike’s heart broke for the girl. She was grasping at straws, trying to find any way possible not to do this task. Do you really think that, Slayer? I mean, we got sent to the exact place and time necessary to stop the person who set all this in motion. Seems like an evil force would have done something worse. Besides, the old lady at the inn seems convinced that we’ve got a job to do, and that it will lead to putting things right. As much as I don’t want to, I believe her.
 
I know. Buffy looked sadly up at them as they walked. I’m just… I don’t want to let this go.
 
I shouldn’t have claimed you, Spike thought regretfully. Should’ve known it would make this worse.
 
“No!” Buffy said, stopping him. “Don’t ever say that! This feeling, finally knowing someone, really knowing them and not having to worry about them or what our relationship is about or whether they’re going to leave me? I’ve never felt that. Ever. To feel this even for a few days – I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She kissed him passionately, right there in the street. “I love you, William Pratt. I don’t regret anything we’ve ever done together.”
 
Spike kissed her back, feeling her love and passion in his mind like a living thing. He broke off the kiss and led her as quickly as possible back to the inn. They slipped quietly in the door and flew up the stairs. In their little dark room their clothes went flying as they tackled one another. This time they were wild and furious, barely able to keep their voices down. They took each other every way imaginable, and Spike drank from her again, prolonging her orgasm until she nearly passed out from the pleasure. Throughout all of it the refrain echoed through their heads: I love you… you’re mine… always mine… I love you. And they loved each other like it was the last night of the world.
 
TBC
 
Time to Go
 
Disclaimer: All the characters and recognizable dialog are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I’m just borrowing them. Thank you so much to all my encouraging reviewers, and also to my wonderful beta, SanityFair.
 
**********************************
 
Chapter 9 Time to Go
 
They finally fell asleep about mid-morning, worn out from hours of lovemaking. Spike was nestled up behind her, one arm protectively wrapped around her waist as they slept. At some point he became aware of a strange feeling of distress that came from outside his own mind. It took him a few sleepy minutes to realize that Buffy was having a nightmare.
 
Rome was in flames. Michelangelo’s Pieta lay in fragments in a square as demons stomped and roared, chasing the terrified populace. Dawn lay in a bloody heap, with Slayers fighting around her, falling one by one. Willow was producing spell after spell, getting weaker and weaker but nothing could slow the onslaught…
 
The images were so vivid and terrifying that even Spike paled at what was being shown on the screen of Buffy’s mind. He shook her awake. “Buffy, wake up! Buffy!”
 
Buffy startled awake and sat bolt upright, fighting back a terrified shriek. “Oh God, Spike,” she gasped, clinging to him. “I dreamed…”
 
“I know. Heard it loud and clear.” He lay them back down, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her back.
 
“That’s the future, isn’t it,” she said in a shaky voice. “That’s what will happen if we don’t do this.”
 
“Probably a good guess,” Spike agreed reluctantly. After a moment he asked, “Is that what those Slayer dreams are always like?”
 
“The prophetic type ones, yeah. One of the many perks of being the chosen one,” Buffy answered with a touch of bitterness.
 
“Don’t envy you those.” Spike suppressed a shudder as the vision replayed briefly in his own mind.
 
Do you think this is some sort of punishment? Buffy mused, lapsing back into telepathy. Did we do something wrong to piss off the Powers that Be or something?
 
Spike thought about that for a second. I guess in some weird way it’s more of a reward. I mean the world gets a reset, and we hopefully end up back in our own times with no knowledge of the previous timeline. Sort of a crappy reward, in my humble opinion. I certainly have no great desire to be what I once was.
 
I just can’t imagine what my world will be like without you.
 
Probably entirely uninteresting, Spike answered, trying to lighten the mood. You know you’d be bored stiff without me around.
 
Yeah, whatever would I do without a smartass vampire always popping up on patrol? Buffy teased back. I should have been more grateful for the help, now that I think about it. All I ever did was give you a hard time.
 
I probably deserved it, love. No sense worrying about it now though. He tightened his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. We should try to get some more sleep. Need our strength for what’s to come.
 
You’re probably right, Buffy agreed. Clinging to each other in quiet desperation, they eventually dozed off again.
 
Spike awoke at dusk and just lay there watching Buffy sleep. She was so beautiful and so vulnerable, despite her supernatural strength. As he watched her, he thought about all she had been through. Getting killed by the Master. Losing her virginity to Angel and bringing out Angelus for her pains. Having to kill Angel. Now that he had spent time in her thoughts and memories, he understood exactly how hard it had been for her. She had lost her mother, her boyfriend, and her life all in one year, only to be dragged back to do it all again. She had watched him die, and it humbled him to know how much that had affected her. Now she had to once more put her own life and happiness on the line because some roll of the cosmic dice had made her the Slayer. Maybe she won’t be this time. Maybe this time she’ll get to be a normal girl, go to college, and spend her nights dancing with friends rather than killing things. It was hard to imagine her as anything but the Slayer, but he knew how much this life had worn her down. Gotta give her the chance to be happy.
 
He got out of bed carefully and got dressed as quietly as he could. He had his hand on the doorknob when the voice in his mind said, Where do you think you’re going? He turned to see Buffy sitting up in bed, arms folded. You were going to leave me and go after Darla yourself.
 
Well, yeah, he admitted sheepishly. Thought it would be easier that way.
 
She got out of bed and stalked over to him, slightly less intimidating than usual for being naked. “Get it through your fat head that we are doing this together, okay? This is hard enough without you sneaking out behind my back, understand?” She stood with her hands on her hips, giving him the most fearsome resolve face ever produced.
 
Spike knew he was defeated. “Don’t want you to suffer any more than necessary that’s all. Not trying to sneak out on you, pet.” He pulled her close and kissed her until she relented.
 
“All right,” she said, mollified after the kiss. “But don’t you leave me. I want every moment I have coming to me.” Her voice broke a little as she realized what she had said and what it meant, but she forced herself to get dressed and follow Spike down the stairs.
 
“Good evening,” Maggie said as she saw them enter the room. “I was wonderin’ when the newlyweds were going to make an appearance.” Buffy blushed slightly, but Maggie put her at ease. “Now don’t be feeling ashamed. When my Jack and I were wed not a soul saw hide nor hair of us for a week, and that’s the truth. Now, will ye be needing some dinner?”
 
“Yes, thank you,” Spike said. She brought them roast chicken and bread and cheese. Spike handed her the gold sovereigns from the purse they had stolen. “Lest I forget, here’s the money for your hospitality.”
 
“Will ye be leaving us then?”
 
“It is likely I will conclude my business in Galway tonight, although we won’t leave until tomorrow,” Spike explained. “We have truly appreciated all you’ve done for us while we’ve been here. We shall recommend the Rose and Thorn to anyone we know traveling this way.”
 
“Thank ye kindly, sir. Such custom as yours I would welcome any day.” She left them to their dinner with a smile.
 
Buffy wasn’t particularly hungry, but she forced herself to eat something to avoid offending the kindly innkeeper. “So I guess we go out trolling for drunks again tonight?”
 
“That’s the plan. Darla was looking him over, so if I remember her M.O., she’ll try to get him alone tonight.”
 
Buffy picked at her dinner a little more then looked outside. It was dark, their time, time for Slayers and vampires to do their ancient dance. But tonight she felt that she didn’t care if she ever did that dance again. She pushed aside her plate and stood up. “We should go.” She felt she needed to get out there and get this over with before she lost her nerve.
 
Spike shared her feeling. He downed his ale, looked at the empty glass regretfully, and stood up with a sigh. “Let’s do this then.” He took her hand, kissed it tenderly, and led her out the door.
 
They headed for the market square, keeping their eyes peeled for either Liam or Darla. The streets seemed emptier tonight, probably because the weather had turned cooler. It was a clear night, with quite the array of bright stars overhead. They walked with their arms around each other, savoring every moment. There were no words they could say. All they could do was feel each other’s love and sadness. Buffy wished deep down that they wouldn’t find either of them or that something else would take this choice out of her hands.
 
But then they passed a tavern on the corner of the square and Spike caught Liam’s scent. Looking in the corner of the window they saw him and one of his cronies at a table in the back. They were laughing and slapping one another on the back as they drank. Buffy found herself feeling a deep contempt for this useless waste of a human. He was going to get to go on to live his life while she and Spike were going to get thrown about through time at the mercy of whatever powers were messing with them this time. Maybe we should just let you eat him, Buffy thought bitterly.
 
I’d probably get a stomachache, he replied. He looked around, and saw a dark doorway to a shop across the square. Come on, we can go lurk over there. He led her over to the doorway and pulled her against him, kissing her deeply.
 
Aren’t we supposed to be on stake out? Buffy asked, although she didn’t stop the kiss either.
 
I’ve got one eye open, Spike answered, which was true. But he was relying much more on vampire hearing as he reveled in her scent and the touch of her lips on his. Love you so much.
 
Love you, Spike. She reached up and ran her hands through the curls at the back of his head, memorizing the soft feel of them, loose and wild after a few days with no gel. His hands at the small of her back felt so solid, so right, and she felt that she could go on kissing him like this forever.
 
It was too good to last, and it didn’t. They heard a noise behind them and turned to see the tavern door opening and Liam and a friend staggering out. “We’ll be back when we’ve found a bit more cash money. Keep the girls warm for us, will ye?”
 
“Get out o’ here until ye can pay for all ye drink!” cried the proprietor, who slammed the door in his face.
 
Liam pounded on the door once or twice as his friend groaned, “Let’s go, Liam.”
 
Liam draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders as they staggered off. “Come one. We’ll take some of me father’s silver. He’ll never miss it.” But his companion was clearly much the worse for drink and proceeded to pass out face first in the street. Liam regarded him a bit blearily then said, “Why don’t you just rest right here then?” to his unconscious friend.
 
As Spike and Buffy watched from their hiding spot Liam staggered off down the street. Then he paused and watched as a young woman approached. Darla was dressed in fine silks and ribbons, looking beautiful and delicate with her pale neck stretching up to her finely coiffed hair. Liam’s outlook seemed to brighten. She gave Liam an over the shoulder, come-hither look and strolled off toward an alley with Liam following as if in a trance. Darla rounded the corner and Liam followed. Let’s go, Spike urged. Buffy bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but she pulled out her stake nonetheless.
 
Keeping close to the buildings they crept through the shadows to the opening to the alley. Spike could hear Liam say, “I ask myself, what’s a lady of your station doing alone in an alley with the reputation that this one has?”
 
“Maybe she’s lonely,” came Darla’s coy response. Her playful tone seemed to indicate that she wasn’t aware that they were being watched.
 
Liam flirted right back. “In that case, I’d offer myself as escort to protect you from harm and to while away the dull hours.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. Oh please. Was he always this bad?
 
No, sometimes he was worse. Cautiously Spike peered around the corner. The two figures were concentrating on each other, and Liam was clearly falling under Darla’s spell. I’m going to go round to the other end of the alley, make sure that she doesn’t get away. He looked down at her, hesitating then pulled her into another kiss before stroking her face and taking off into the night. Buffy suppressed a sob as he left – it had been a kiss goodbye.
 
Wiping away tears, Buffy turned back to the task at hand. Darla was teasing Liam saying, “Are you certain you’re up to the challenge?”
 
“Milady,” Liam said with a smirk as he approached her. “You’ll find that with the exception of an honest day’s work, there’s no challenge I’m not prepared to face.”
 
Buffy started creeping down the alley, using barrels and trash heaps as cover. Liam was clearly entranced by this vision in this dark Galway alley, and Buffy could see Darla working her way closer to him. Buffy paused, gripping the stake. She knew she couldn’t get much closer without Darla becoming aware of her. She had to act. But once again she found that she couldn’t force herself to move.
 
Darla was saying, “Close your eyes.” Liam obeyed, his lips parting in anticipation, and for a moment looking like the angel he was named for. But a vision of the darkness and destruction of the battle flashed across her mind and she steeled herself to move.
 
Before she could act a blur of movement erupted from the other end of the alley. Then she found her feet moving as well and everything seemed to stretch out into slow motion. Spike flew down the alley with vampire speed toward Darla’s back. Darla had vamped and was about to latch onto Liam’s neck. Without thinking Buffy slammed into Liam, knocking him on his ass with a shout. Darla hissed and lunged for her but at that moment Spike leaped to close the distance and buried a stake in her back. Darla gasped and crumbled to dust.
 
“Spike!” Buffy cried. She ran to him but when they tried to touch each other they found they were fading into an incorporeal state.
 
Spike’s blue eyes locked onto hers, and as they faded from sight he said, “We’ll meet again. I can feel it.” Then both of them disappeared in front of the astonished eyes of Liam O’Connor.
 
TBC
 
Time to Wake Up
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon, not me. Thank you to SanityFair for the beta work, and for all the readers who waited patiently while my laptop got its life in order. It promises to behave from now on.
************************************************
 
Chapter 10 – Time to Wake Up
 
************************************************
 
Mmm. Comfy. Buffy felt like she was waking from a very long, deep sleep. She was dimly aware that she was lying on something soft and that someone was there with her. Spike? Where are we? But no returning thought answered, and she was confused. She stirred and fought her way out of her dream state. “Are you awake?” she murmured, turning toward her bedmate.
 
“I am now,” answered a completely American voice.
 
Buffy opened one eye still confused and found that she was looking into the face of Riley Finn. With a shriek her eyes flew open and she leaped out of the bed. “Riley? What are you doing here?”
 
Riley, on his part, seemed startled by her response. “Well, I live here. Did you have a nightmare or something? What’s wrong?”
 
“You live here? Since when?” She then looked around and noticed that she was in her old room in Sunnydale. It had been remodeled somewhat, and there was definitely a man living there given the men’s clothes and toiletries scattered about. Her colonial era clothing was gone, and she was wearing a tank top and lounge pants. She spun around in confusion. “Where’s here? Are we in Sunnydale?”
 
Riley got up and approached her with a confused look on his face “Buffy, are you okay? You’re sort of freaking me out here.”
 
Still wide eyed she tried to get a grip on the situation. I’m in Sunnydale, and Riley is living in my house. What the hell is going on? Then she had a thought that chilled her. “The date. What’s the date?”
 
“Buffy, just calm down. Something must have happened on patrol…” He moved to stroke her arms, to comfort her in some way.
 
Buffy, however, jumped away and demanded, “Would you just answer my questions? Where are we? What’s the date, damn it?”
 
Looking hurt by the rejection, Riley said slowly, “We’re in our house. In Sunnydale. It’s May the fifth.”
 
“Year! What’s the year?” she demanded.
 
“It’s 2004,” Riley answered with a perplexed frown.
 
May 5, 2004? Oh my God. It was the date of the battle in LA. But Sunnydale was gone. It had been gone for almost a year before that battle. What the hell..? Then like a shock of electricity the answer popped into her head. I’ve been returned to my own time. We succeeded. Only for whatever reason I remember the previous timeline. Oh God. Spike… She fisted both hands in her hair, looking like a madwoman as she spun around again to take in her surroundings. “Oh God, no. No. This isn’t right…” she said, her voice breaking with the stress of it all.
 
Riley was still trying to calm her down and reason with her. “Buffy, maybe we should call Giles. Something must have happened to you last night. Weren’t you up against some new demons? Maybe they…”
 
But Buffy wasn’t even listening. Her head was reeling with the implications of everything. Spike is gone. No, he never was. And somehow I ended up living with Riley, and Giles is still here, and Sunnydale is still here. “Dawn!” she exclaimed, grabbing a startled Riley by the shoulders and shaking him. “Where’s Dawn?”
 
Riley looked troubled. “Buffy?”
 
“Where is she?” she screamed, shaking him so his teeth rattled.
 
“Buffy, she’s dead. She died two years ago. When Glory…”
 
“No!” Buffy turned and ran from the room, pulling open Dawn’s door to see a home office, but no sign of her sister. Shaking her head she yanked open another door. Her mom’s room was clearly a guest room. She stumbled down the stairs to find the downstairs similar to what she remembered, but with subtle differences. The living room had a new TV, a different coffee table, and on the side table, a wedding picture. She grabbed it and stared at it. It was hers. She was standing next to Riley in a simple white gown with a bouquet of roses. She dropped it in shock, barely hearing the shattering glass. She noticed for the first time a simple gold wedding band on her shaking left hand. There was a sound behind her and she turned as Riley came downstairs, having pulled a t-shirt over his bare chest.
 
“It’s okay, honey,” he said, approaching her like she was a wounded animal. “It’s going to be okay. Why don’t you just sit down, alright? Sit down and we’ll get the others over here to help figure this out.”
 
“You don’t understand!” Buffy cried. “I’m not supposed to remember.”
 
“I don’t know what happened last night, but you need some help. I’m going to call Giles, okay?”
 
Buffy just stood there shaking her head in disbelief. She sat down on the couch heavily, burying her face in her hands as the situation completely overwhelmed her. She could hear Riley speaking in hushed whispers on the kitchen phone. They’re going to think I’m crazy, she despaired quietly. How did this happen? Why do I remember Spike and not how I ended up married to Riley? How could that have happened? Then she remembered anew that Dawn was gone in this world, and she lost control completely. When Riley returned to the living room she was sobbing uncontrollably, mourning for Dawn, for Spike, and for herself. Riley tried to sit next to her and comfort her, but she shied away from him, curling up in a ball in the corner of the couch, lost in her own private hell.
 
The doorbell rang and Riley got up to answer it, but Buffy went on weeping hysterically. “Thanks for coming, Giles, Jenny. I just don’t know what happened,” Riley was saying.
 
Jenny? The name broke through Buffy’s distress and caused her to look up. There was Giles and next to him was Jenny Calendar. “You’re…” she had started to say “You’re alive” but quickly realized that such a statement was going to lead to an insane number of questions that she wasn’t yet prepared to answer.
 
Jenny came over to her and sat down on the sofa beside her. “Buffy? What happened? What’s got you so upset?”
 
How do I answer that? Buffy wondered as she stared at Jenny. How do I say that you’re supposed to be dead? “I don’t… I don’t know what happened,” she stammered, not prepared to go into details yet.
 
“Did something happen on patrol last night?” Giles asked, sitting down on a chair across from her, looking at her with great concern.
 
“I… I don’t remember.” Because last night I didn’t patrol. I watched the man I love vanish before my eyes. The thought brought another sob forth and she covered her mouth, trying to get under control.
 
Turning to Riley, Giles asked, “Did you notice anything odd last night?”
 
Riley shook his head. “I came home from work late. Buffy came home from patrol, and we went to bed. This morning she woke up wondering why I was there.”
 
“What’s the last thing you remember, Buffy?” Jenny asked gently.
 
“Um…” Buffy hesitated not sure how much to tell them. She covered her face again, trying to come up with some way to buy some time while she figured out what was going on in this timeline. “I… um… I remember you being my TA in psych class,” she said finally, hoping fervently that they had met the same way in this world.
 
“But that was four years ago,” Riley sputtered. “You mean you don’t remember anything since then?” Buffy shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself.
 
The others looked at each other in dismay. Finally, Jenny wrapped her arm around Buffy’s shoulder and, said, “Just take it easy, okay? We’ll figure out what happened and, get you back to normal.”
 
Buffy laughed and sobbed at the same time. Normal. Oh, lady, you don’t know from normal. She went on laughing and crying hysterically with Jenny’s arm awkwardly around her.
 
“I’ll get the others together at the Magic Box and we’ll do some research,” Giles said. “I’ll send Willow over to do a healing spell right away so you can calm down.”
 
“No!” Buffy said. “No magic!” She was gripped with the thought that a spell might somehow interact with whatever magic or power had put her here. God, no. What if I lose all the memories? What if I lose Spike? “I don’t want her doing any spells on me. Do you hear me? No spells!”
 
Giles was startled by her intensity. “But Buffy, you know Willow won’t hurt you. She’s done spells like this for you before with no ill effects.”
 
Buffy leaped to her feet. “No way. If I even think she’s putting a spell on me I am out of here.” It seemed like this Giles was a lot more relaxed about Willow’s magic, but Buffy’s memories made her want nothing to do with it.
 
“Buffy, it’s all right,” Riley soothed. “No one’s going to do anything to hurt you. We just want to help you.”
 
“Fine. Help me without magic then,” she insisted. She stood there, face streaked with tears, looking like a trapped animal and none of the others knew what to do. Riley looked hurt and concerned and bewildered, and Giles and Jenny exchanged apprehensive glances.
 
Finally, Giles said, “We’re going to leave you for a moment. We’ll call when we can get the others together. Just try to stay calm until we straighten this out.”
 
Jenny gave her a quick hug that she was too upset to return and said, “You relax, and take it easy. We’ll handle this.”
 
Buffy felt like they were humoring her or like she was a mental patient or something. Riley went to let them out and she sat back down on the couch, not sure what to do next, still trying to get her breathing under control.
 
Riley came back, looking completely mystified as to what to do. “Are… are you hungry?” he asked finally.
 
Buffy shook her head, biting her lip and not looking at him. “How long… how long have we been married?”
 
A pained expression crossed Riley’s face. “About 6 months. We got married right after you graduated.”
 
“Graduated?”
 
“From UC Sunnydale.” Riley looked at her carefully. “You don’t remember, do you?”
 
“No.” Ok, so I actually got to finish college in this world. And apparently I got the normal guy and all that. This must be someone’s idea of happily ever after for me or something. Another thought occurred to her. “I’m… I’m still the Slayer, then?”
 
“Of course you are,” Riley replied. “We patrol together just about every night, unless I have to work late.”
 
“What do you do? For work, I mean.” She took refuge in the banal questions while her mind screamed over and over, Dawn’s gone. Spike’s gone. No. Oh nonono…
 
“I, um, I work at a consulting firm. We do corporate leadership training.” He paced around a little and said, “This is sort of weird, introducing myself to my wife.”
 
“Sorry, I just… it’s all too much right now.” She got up and moved toward the stairs.
 
“Where are you going?” Riley asked, as if he was afraid to let her out of sight.
 
“I’m going to the bathroom, and I’m going to change. I just… I need to be left alone for a while.” She dashed up the stairs to the bathroom and shut and locked the door. Inside she leaned on the vanity heavily, gripping the counter and trying to steady herself. She looked in the mirror and saw that she was much the same as before, although a little the worse for all the crying. She rinsed her face, used the toilet, and went to her room, noticing that Riley was pacing at the base of the stairs. Christ, that’s annoying. She knew she had to try to see things from his perspective. It had to be pretty unnerving to have your wife wake up and freak out and not be able to remember anything of your marriage. But she instantly felt smothered, like she had before in Riley’s company, and she wondered how this marriage had ever come to pass.
 
In the bedroom, she changed clothes then sat down on the bed to think. She closed her eyes and pictured Spike, imagined his lips and his hands, heard his voice telling her over and over that he loved her, that she was his and that he wouldn’t leave her. But I guess that didn’t happen did it? I wonder if he remembers? Is he in Victorian England, wondering why he’s there? Or do only I remember?
 
It appeared she had two options. On the one hand, she could tell them the truth. That she had gone back in time and altered things to save the world. The only downside was that she wasn’t sure they would believe her. There seemed to be some worried undercurrent in their exchange, like they were waiting for her to snap completely or something. The other alternative was to try to figure out how to live in this timeline. She could figure out what had gone on in the past four or five years and, try to adjust to this life. How is that going to work? She got up and paced back and forth, trying to choose the lesser of the two evils.
 
On the dresser she noticed two bottles of medicine. She picked them up and saw that they were for her. One indicated it was to be taken for anxiety. The other seemed to be some kind of antidepressant. Suddenly their excessive concern made a little sense. Seems like I’m less stable in this world somehow. She wondered how that had come to be. She was taken with an intense urge to know what had happened in this world with no Angel and no Spike. A thought occurred to her and she rummaged through the drawers until she came across a pile of her diaries. Dumping them on her bed, she started leafing through them.
 
As she read she was struck by how subtle some of the changes were between the timelines. She had come to Sunnydale under the same circumstances, had met Willow, Xander, and Giles in about the same way. The Master had arisen, as before. There was a big gap in entries that seemed to correspond to that summer after sophomore year, but there was no indication if she had died at the hands of the Master or not. I didn’t really write all that down in the original either. She made a mental note to get a hold of Giles’ Watcher diaries. Other vampire and demon enemies had come and gone. The Initiative had built Adam, and they had vanquished him in almost the same way. It seemed like she and Riley had some rough times during her sophomore year in college as before, but he hadn’t resorted to vampire whores this time. I guess without Angel and Spike to be jealous of it never happened. She felt a pang as she read about her mom getting sick and, her worries about that. But then the diaries petered out and stopped after that. Apparently she had been too busy fighting Glory to write anything down, and she could guess that Dawn’s death had probably messed her up pretty thoroughly. She closed the book and tossed it aside, feeling like she had more questions than answers.
 
The phone rang, making her jump. Quickly she gathered up the diaries and stuffed them back in the drawer before heading out into the hall. Riley had picked up the phone and was talking in a low voice. Buffy crept cautiously down the stairs, listening. “…and she’s been in her room ever since. Could she be having another breakdown? After all this time?” Buffy leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair. Clearly she had had some major mental break at some point. How bad could it have been? I mean even when I came back from the dead I didn’t end up on heavy-duty tranquilizers. Riley hung up the phone, and she decided to venture downstairs to find out what was going on.
 
Riley was in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter and looking worried. He straightened up when she came in the room. “Who was on the phone?”
 
“That was Giles. The gang is getting together at the Magic Box in about a half hour or so. Do you want to come?” He seemed unsure what to say to her.
 
“I’ll come,” Buffy replied. She felt overwhelmed, and wanted nothing more than to bolt out the door and flee to parts unknown, but she wasn’t going to be able to decide what to do about this situation without more information. In a daze she slipped on some shoes and, followed Riley out to the car.
 
 
 
High School Reunion
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon. Thanks again to Sanity Fair for the beta work, and to the readers for their infinite patience while I get my act together.
 
********************************************
 
Chapter 11 – High School Reunion
 
********************************************
 
She didn’t speak as they drove to the Magic Box. She stared out the window, noticing that things were mostly the same but with a different sign here and a different business there. The Magic Box looked much the same as before, and she followed Riley apprehensively into the store. Anya was behind the counter ringing up a sale, and as soon as she finished with the customer she saw them and exclaimed, “Buffy! Giles says you’ve lost your mind again. I wouldn’t worry about it though. We fixed you the last time.” She came out from behind the counter and Buffy’s eyes popped out when she saw that Anya was obviously pregnant.
 
“Anya, you’re… you’re pregnant?” Buffy gasped in astonishment. You’re alive, and you’re pregnant? What other news have I missed here?
 
“Well, yeah, I’m due in two months. But I guess if your memories are all gone then you don’t know that. I’ll remind you when the baby shower is though. It’s the…”
 
“Anya, for God’s sake!” Xander came in from the back room, followed by Willow and…
 
“Tara?” Buffy couldn’t contain her gasp of astonishment. They’re all alive. Anya, Jenny, Tara – they’re all alive. Xander had both eyes still, and she noticed a wedding ring on Xander’s hand and on Anya’s. And they actually went through with the wedding this time.
 
Tara looked at her with a puzzled face. “Giles said you had lost your memory. I’m surprised you remember me.”
 
“I did. Lose my memory, that is,” Buffy said, feeling like she was a bug under a microscope. “I remember people though.”
 
“Well that’s something,” Willow said brightly. “I can just do a quick spell and we’ll…”
 
“No!” They all turned to stare at her. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want you doing magic on me. Not until I have all the facts about what happened. Please, no magic. Okay?”
 
Willow looked hurt but said, “Okay. But you know you’ve got nothing to worry about, right? We’re you’re friends. We won’t hurt you.”
 
“Just… just give me some time. I feel a bit shell-shocked right now.” Changing the subject she said, “Where’s Giles?”
 
“Oh, he and Jenny wanted to grab some books from their house before they came over,” Willow explained. Turning to Riley she asked, “Could it have something to do with the medication she’s on?”
 
“Um, hello? Standing right here!” Buffy exclaimed. “What the hell? You’re all acting like I’m some mental case or something! What’s the deal?”
 
They all looked at each other, as if they didn’t know how much to tell her. Finally Riley said slowly, “You, um, you had a lot of trouble after… after Dawn died. We’re just worried that you’re having a relapse.”
 
“What sort of trouble?” Buffy demanded. Again they looked away and shifted their feet nervously. “Tell me, damn it!”
 
Their eyes all widened at her outburst, but again it was Riley who spoke. “You… you lost all touch with reality. You spent five months in a mental institution under suicide watch. Until Willow did her spell to cure you, we thought we had lost you forever.”
 
Buffy shook her head. So instead of being dead, I was nuts. Great. “So after that I was just what, magically all better?”
 
“Well, sort of,” Willow hedged. “It still took you a lot of time to get back to your old self. The meds helped, and I did a few more spells as well.” Willow bit her lip, then said, “I really wish you’d let me fix things.”
 
“How do you know it wasn’t all your spells that did this?” Buffy cried. “I mean maybe you just tweaked my brain once too many times, so I just forgot everything.” Rounding on Riley she said, “And you! You’re my husband so you say. So how can you let them just use me as a magical guinea pig?”
 
Xander stepped up and tried to diffuse the situation. “Buffy, we’re all here because we care about you. I know you’re pretty freaked out right now, but if you just give us a chance, we’ll sort this out. So just give us a chance, okay?”
 
His plaintive plea sounded so much like the old Xander before he became bitter and battle scarred. She willed herself to calm down. They don’t know what’s going on, remember? They think you’ve lost your memory. She sat down at the table and stared at the surface. How many hours had they spent researching this, that, and the other at this table? Was the wood the same? Was the fate of the tree it was made from somehow altered because a vampire hadn’t been created? No cocky, bleached blonde, exasperating Englishman had ever sat at this table saying, “Of course it has to be blood.” He hadn’t ever come dashing in here, smoking, wearing a ridiculous suit because he owed a shark headed demon a bunch of Siamese cats. The incongruity of that memory struck her all of a sudden and she burst out with a sad little laugh.
 
“What’s so funny?” Tara asked. Tara squinted at Buffy, trying to figure out what was going on. Buffy’s aura was all manner of strange and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was different.
 
Buffy shook her head. “You had to have been there,” she answered. Then she laughed again. Well actually you were, all of us were, and it was stupid and funny and sad, and if you and I had the same memories then you wouldn’t trust Willow either. Then her mind replayed the tape of sitting in the Bronze, dejected, feeling empty and lost, and of Spike asking if she was alright with his concerned blue eyes. She had turned away then chased him, and if she closed her eyes she could taste the smoke on his lips and feel the worn leather of his coat. Spike… Her laughter died a sudden death and her face fell again. Unable to face the others she stood up. “I’ll be in the back. I just want to be alone.” She left the others staring in her wake as she escaped to the training room and shut the door.
 
The training room had a nicer couch, and more bookshelves to hold library overflow but was essentially the same. She walked up to the punching bag and squared off, hitting it lightly at first, then with increasing intensity. All her rage at the hand she’d been dealt flowed out from her fists as she struck the bag again and again. It’s not fair! I did what I was supposed to do! We took out Darla! How come I remember then? She kept pounding the bag in a blind fury, not even noticing when the door opened behind her and Giles stepped into the room.
 
Giles watched Buffy with a growing sense of alarm. The intensity of her anger was like a physical presence in the room, a dangerous presence. He loved this girl like a daughter, and he had trained her and worried about her for years. Her mental troubles had always led her to withdraw or to seek oblivion, and time and again he and the others had pulled her back from the brink. But this rage was something different, and he wasn’t sure what its origin or target was. It frightened him in some undefinable way, and he wanted nothing more than to slip quietly back out of the room. However, his Watcher’s training wouldn’t allow that so he screwed up his courage and cleared his throat. “Buffy? We’d like to speak to you in the next room if we could.”
 
With an incoherent snarl she spun and kicked the bag clear out of the ceiling, sending it flying across the room to land on the couch. She looked after it, panting for a moment, trying to regain control. It’s not their fault. They don’t know. They didn’t do this to you. She repeated this mantra a few more times until her fists finally unclenched and her breathing returned to normal. She turned to face Giles. “Sorry. I just needed to let out some frustration.”
 
“Yes, I see,” Giles said gravely. “When you’re ready, we’d like to explore some possible explanations for your memory loss.”
 
“Fine,” Buffy said shortly. She followed Giles out to the store proper, where a pile of books had appeared on the table and the others were drawing up chairs. Jenny and Willow were talking in low tones, but broke off when they saw Buffy, which did nothing whatsoever for her confidence in their promise not to use magic. With a herculean effort she held her tongue and sat down.
 
“Can you tell us a little more about what you do remember, or whatever you can think of that can shed some light on this?” Jenny asked when Buffy was seated.
 
Buffy took a deep breath. “I know that I met Riley in psychology class freshman year. I… I remember most of what happened before that, although it seems like some details are missing. But I don’t remember anything after that.”
 
Tara frowned and exchanged a concerned glance with Willow and Jenny. “Buffy, are you sure that’s all? It just seems like you’re holding something back from us.”
 
Damn. Tara sees auras. Forgot about that. Tara had once explained how someone’s aura got a little darker when they were lying. Chewing her lip, Buffy said, “I’m just really, really pissed off about this, okay?”
 
“Understood,” Giles replied. “I believe the best thing to do would be for Willow to do a spell to reveal whether you are under the influence of any magical threats. That would eliminate certain possibilities.”
 
Buffy hesitated. What’s the worst that can happen? Okay, the worst that could happen is that I forget everything.
 
The others seemed truly perplexed by her hesitation. “Buffy, what’s the problem?” Anya asked, blunt as usual. “Willow does spells on you all the time. I’d like to get this cleared up so we can get back to planning the baby shower and other birth rituals.”
 
“Anya!” Xander cried, exasperated. Anya shrugged her shoulders in a “what did I do?” gesture that had the others shaking their heads slightly.
 
“It really won’t do anything, I promise,” Willow said. “If someone cast a spell on you, we’ll see some residual energy. If not, nothing will happen.”
 
Buffy still didn’t answer. Riley came over and took her hand. “Please. For me. Just let her try, okay?”
 
Buffy sighed in defeat. It seemed like it was either listen to this pleading all day until they did something without her consent, knock them all out and bolt, or let them do the blasted spell. “Fine,” she muttered. “Just get it over with.” It doesn’t matter anyway. Spike’s gone, Dawn’s gone, and I’m stuck here.
 
Frowning a bit at her less than enthusiastic assent, Willow stood up and pulled a crystal out of her pocket. “Okay, can you just stand here?” Buffy rose and stood where she was told, crossing her arms and staring at the floor. Willow dangled the crystal in front of her and chanted in some strange tongue. The crystal started to glow blue, and the glow reached out to envelop Buffy. The glow grew brighter and brighter as Willow chanted, then winked suddenly out of existence when she stopped.
 
Buffy looked up, having noticed no change of any kind. “So? What’s the verdict?”
 
“Well, it’s not magic,” Willow said, sounding flummoxed. “That’s really weird. It must be something demonic or…” She broke off suddenly, looking like she had said too much.
 
“Or what?” Buffy demanded. When they didn’t immediately answer her she continued, “Or Buffy’s crazy, is that it? Buffy’s just gone off the deep end again, better lock her up.”
 
“That’s not what any of us are thinking,” Jenny began.
 
“Save it,” Buffy broke in. “Look, I just want some time to think, okay? I need to do some investigating on my own.” She turned and strode toward the door.
 
Riley moved to block her exit. “Buffy, please, I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”
 
She firmly stopped him with a hand to his chest. Turning to address the others she said, “I appreciate everyone’s concern. I do. But I don’t want to deal with this right now, got it?” She turned and bolted out the door. Outside, she broke into a run and soon left the Magic Box far behind. She slowed to a fast walk after several blocks, making sure she wasn’t being followed. Her feet seemed to carry her automatically to Restfield Cemetery. She walked through the tombstones, some familiar, some not. After about five minutes she saw it. Spike’s crypt.
 
The name was the same over the door. She put her hand against the cold stone and closed her eyes. Her mind called out for that presence that she had sensed on the other side of this door so many times, but there was no returning tingle that meant vampire. She pushed on the door but it was stuck fast and the cords of all her muscles were standing out by the time she got it to budge. Squeezing through the small opening she stood in the empty crypt. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs draped every corner and surface. No one, or nothing, lived here. As she walked around her footsteps echoed and she shivered in the sudden chill. It had never seemed so cold when Spike had been here. They had had sex on that coffin there, and on the floor over there, and down in the lower room, the trapdoor of which seemed not to exist in this version. Had Spike made the trapdoor? She didn’t know. After blowing the dust off of a coffin she climbed up on it, lying down and running her hand over the stone. Tears fell slowly onto the marble as she remembered his hands, his eyes—his voice. This cold room wasn’t the same, had never sheltered the man she loved, but it was as close as she was going to get at present. She closed her eyes and despaired in silence.
 
TBC
 
An Afternoon Off
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon and all those folks. Just playing in their sandbox. Thanks again to Sanity Fair, the Punctuation Slayer (cue theme music).
 
Chapter 12 An Afternoon Off
 
“Buffy? Buffy!” The loud voice shattered the quiet of the tomb, and Buffy clenched her eyes shut even tighter. Go away. Please, go away. I just can’t face you right now. But she heard footsteps approaching, and then Willow’s voice called, “She’s in here! Buffy, are you okay?”
 
With a sigh Buffy replied, “Yes, I’m fine. What is it?” She sat up, wiping away the remaining tears as she did.
 
Willow had squeezed in the open doorway and was looking around. “What are you doing here?”
 
“Nothing much,” Buffy answered. “What’s the crisis?” She climbed down off the coffin, brushing off the dust.
 
“We didn’t know where you were. Riley was worried, so we did a locator spell,” Willow explained.
 
“So I’m not allowed to go anywhere without an escort?” Buffy snapped. “You trust me to slay vampires and demons all night, don’t you?”
 
“Of course,” Willow said in a conciliatory tone. “It’s just that you’re… having trouble, and the last time you had this type of trouble it was really bad.”
 
Buffy stared into space, shaking her head for a moment. Fuck it. Not worth the battle right now. “Whatever. I’m going home for a shower. Is that okay with everyone?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed past Willow and made her way blinking into the sunlight.
 
Riley, Giles, and Xander were there looking relieved, irritated, and confused respectively. Riley hurried up to her and put his arms around her. “When you didn’t come back I was worried,” he exclaimed, pulling her close. Buffy stood stiffly, not returning the embrace. She knew it wasn’t fair, but she felt no connection to this man. She had known the other Riley, but she had no way of really knowing this one and neither one was the man she wanted right now. After a moment, Riley released her awkwardly, his eyes troubled. “Let’s get you home, all right? The others can work on the problem.”
 
“Fine.” She felt empty and wrung out from all the crying, and she was dusty from the crypt. Right now a hot shower was about the only thing she really wanted. She followed Riley and the others out of the cemetery to what was apparently their car. Riley opened the door for her and she got in, saying nothing to anyone. Riley closed the door, asked Giles to call if he knew anything new, then got in and drove toward Revello Drive.
 
The silence was thick between them, and Riley was the first to break it. “What were you doing in that crypt?” he asked, apparently for lack of anything else to say.
 
“I just needed a quiet place to think,” she muttered, staring out the window. “Not sure why you had to call out the cavalry to find me.”
 
“I’m not allowed to be worried about my wife?” he said, trying to keep his tone light.
 
Biting her lip she looked down at her lap. “Riley, I know you say I’m your wife, but I don’t remember you being anything but my TA. It’s just… you’re kind of a stranger to me. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you need to understand that.”
 
Riley tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I understand. I’ll try to… take things slow. I guess I hoped you’d somehow remember I loved you.”
 
“Just give me time, okay?” she replied. Guilt welled up inside her. He was trying to be a decent guy and a responsible husband, at least in this world. Maybe this is what he would have turned out to be in the other world without all the vampire weirdness. Or maybe I actually loved him back because I didn’t have anything to compare him to. Whatever the reason, she found she was unable to let go of the memory of Spike’s love for her, the connection they had, all they had gone through together. Riley hadn’t died for her in either world, and that was hard to top.
 
The rest of the ride took place in silence. When they pulled into the driveway Buffy got out slowly, feeling like she was drowning in an unfamiliar sea. She walked over to the tree in front of the house. The grass grew all the way up to the trunk, with no bare spot littered with cigarette butts. No one had ever stood here half the night watching over her and Dawn, worrying about her when she returned from the grave. These little reminders were like paper cuts on her soul, each one making her bleed just a little, adding up to a huge wound. Riley was waiting for her on the porch and she reluctantly followed him inside.
 
“I’ll be upstairs,” she said. She left Riley with his concerned face permanently stitched in place as she made her way upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She turned the water to as hot as she could stand and stood under it for a long time, leaning against the wall and letting the water run in little rivulets down her body. What do I do, Spike? How do I live here without you? She washed her hair mechanically, her mind going over the same tracks again and again. Everything’s changed but me. We clearly saved the world, but my brain doesn’t seem to know that. She toyed again with the idea of just telling them the truth. That seems like a one-way ticket to the loony bin with this crowd. Plus there’s just no way to tell them that some of them should be dead. But the alternative was to stay here and pretend. I guess I did that before. I pretended I was glad to be alive. She frowned as she recalled how well that went. The water turned cold and she turned it off with a sigh, no closer to solving her dilemma.
 
After she got dressed she went downstairs to where Riley sat in the living room, flipping through channels in a desultory manner. He turned the TV off when she came in and sat up, looking like a nervous high school kid on his first date. “Are you hungry? I could order a pizza or something.”
 
“I’m not really hungry,” Buffy replied. “But if you are, feel free.”
 
“I’ll, um—I’ll order some in case you get hungry later.” Riley got up and made the call to the pizza place while Buffy walked around the room, looking at things. There was a picture of her with her mom and Dawn, a picture of what she assumed was Riley and his family at some graduation or another, a picture of the Scoobies at the beach. She saw that there was a carved chest in the corner, and opening it she found it was a weapons chest, of a slightly different design. Riley came back in the room as she was closing it. “Xander made that for you as a birthday present one year.”
 
“Yeah,” she said, her voice was flat, disconnected. She went and sat down in one of the armchairs and Riley sat down across from her, studying her carefully, wondering what to say. Buffy finally broke the awkward silence by asking the first mundane question that popped into her head. “What was my degree in?”
 
“History,” Riley answered. “After you got back into school you had sort of lost interest in psychology.”
 
Buffy chewed on that thought for a moment. “What do I do for a living then?”
 
“Well most of our money comes from my job. The army helped me find a pretty good deal in return for not suing them over all the Initiative stuff. Mostly you help out at the Magic Box. The plan was for you, Willow, and Tara to take over the day to day running of things once Anya and Xander have their baby.” Riley explained.
 
“Oh.” So I guess I ended up a shop girl around here. I guess it’s better than Doublemeat Palace but not much. Another question rose up in her mind. “Are Giles and Jenny married?”
 
Riley gave her a strange look. “They’ve been married since you were in high school. I thought you remembered that far back.”
 
Crap. “There seems to be some holes in the memory bank,” she replied. She supposed she needed to do a bit of homework on the sly if she was going to pull this off. On the other hand, she was finding it increasingly hard to care. Spike and Dawn didn’t exist here. What purpose did she have?
 
Riley broke into her roaming thoughts. “What could have done this to you? We know it’s not a spell, so what could it be? Poison? Did you get hit on the head?” The concern was evident in Riley’s voice, and Buffy once more felt a twinge of guilt.
 
“I don’t know what happened,” Buffy said slowly. “But if this doesn’t get better, are you going to be able to live with me this way? I mean, I understand if this is too much, and you can’t deal.”
 
“What do you mean?” Riley was completely astonished at what she was implying. “What kind of guy would leave his girl when she needed him most?”
 
I dunno, before you left me when I was in the middle of fighting a freaking hell god because you couldn’t face not being stronger than your girl, she thought with irritation. And if you took off now, it would probably be easier on both of us. “I’m just saying I’d understand, all right? I mean living with a wife who doesn’t remember anything could be pretty stressful.”
 
Riley came over and knelt down in front of her. “Buffy, when I married you I did it for better or for worse. We’re going to fix this and get back to normal, you hear?” Not trusting herself to say the right thing, Buffy nodded. The doorbell rang at that point to her relief and Riley got up to get the pizza. Buffy followed him into the kitchen and took a slice but found she had no appetite.
 
“You really haven’t eaten today,” he fretted, “and did you take your meds earlier?”
 
“No,” Buffy replied shortly.
 
“Maybe I should get them for you,” Riley said, getting up.
 
“No, that’s fine. I don’t want them.”
 
“But the doctor said…”
 
“Look, I’m fine, okay?” she snapped. “I’m a freaking adult, and I can decide what to do with my own health.” She stood up, tossed the half eaten pizza in the trash, and stormed back upstairs. She went into the home office and started rifling through things. In a file drawer she found a bunch of her medical records. She flipped through the various notes from doctors, diagnoses of anxiety, major depression, suicidal tendencies, all the stuff she had heard or surmised from the others. Angrily slammed the folder back into the drawer and looked through other things. Bills, copies of their marriage certificate, the car insurance – it was all so mundane and ordinary, and none of it seemed like it had anything to do with her. She was kept, and watched over, but there seemed to be no trace of her in any of this. She shut the drawers and sat down at the desk, resting her head on her arms. She called out desperately with her mind. Spike… oh, God! I miss you. But nothing came back to her mind but silence, and tears started running down her face once more.

TBC
 
 
In the Watches of the Night
 
Dislaimer: I don't own any of the characters, just borrowing them. Thanks again to my lovely beta, Sanity Fair.

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

Chapter 13 In the Watches of the Night

************************************************
 
She spent the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom reading through her diaries again slowly, looking for any clues about who she was in this world, but nothing sank in. It finally grew dark, and she grabbed a couple of stakes and made her way downstairs. Riley was sitting in front of the TV with a beer, staring into space. He looked up when he saw her.
 
“I’m going on patrol,” she said quietly, passing into the front hall to get her shoes.
 
“Wait, I’ll come with,” Riley said, jumping to his feet and following her.
 
Buffy stopped him with a hand to his chest. “I really want to go alone, okay?”
 
“But we still don’t know what happened to you! What if it gets worse?”
 
Turning away, she bent to tie her sneakers. “I know you’re worried, but I’m not. I’m patrolling alone.” She stood up, grabbed her jacket and had slammed the door behind her before he could say another word. She took off swiftly down the street, wanting to get out of sight before he could get shoes on to follow her. Finally she reached the first cemetery where she slowed to a walk and pulled out a stake. A certain sense of nostalgia came over her as she walked through the gravestones, listening for vampires and demons. It used to be so simple – go out, slay things, go home. Before hell gods and resurrections, and mystical siblings and vampire boyfriends it was easier. She knew who the bad guys were, no ambiguity. But as she recalled, that state lasted a ridiculously short time. If she was honest, it was the vampire boyfriends and the hell gods that had made her such a powerful Slayer. Was she as deadly a fighter in this world as she had been before? She heard the unmistakable sounds of a fledgling rising from their grave and figured it was time to find out.
 
About fifty yards away she saw a figure stagger to its feet, shaking off dirt. The newly risen vamp was a tall, muscular man. As she went to meet him she found herself wondering about who he was, what he would be like if he had a hundred years of experience. Guess we’ll never know. He turned to attack her, but he was still bewildered by the transformation, and she took him out with little struggle.
 
Brushing the dust off her hands she continued on patrol. She found a nest of six vamps in one tomb which gave her a bit of a workout, but in the end she dusted them all. Working her way methodically through the cemeteries of Sunnydale her final total was twelve dusted vampires and one Fyaral demon. She had planned her route carefully and ended her patrol in front of her mother and sister’s graves. Her mother’s grave was as remembered, but next to it was a tombstone that hadn’t existed in the other timeline. She read the lines carved there over and over, the pit of her stomach growing cold as she did:
 
                                            Dawn Marie Summers
                                                   Beloved Sister
 
She sat down and pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the two gray stones. I did all this for her. I helped stop Liam from becoming a vampire so she would have a future. Buffy wanted to scream at the cruelty of the fates. She had given up the man she loved for the greater good only to find that the greater good wasn’t greater for her. Oh sure, various people were alive, but the one person who she had died to save, who she would have sacrificed everything for, was gone.
 
“Buffy? Are you okay?” Startled, she turned, realizing she hadn’t even heard anyone approaching. Xander was coming up to her, gingerly, as if she was going to bolt at any moment. She found she was rapidly getting very, very tired of being approached like she was about to break.
 
“Xander? Why are you here?” she spat out, the irritation evident in her voice.
 
“Riley called the store and said you went off on patrol alone. He was worried, so Willow did a locator spell, and since I was closest I came over to check on you.” He seemed truly confused at her anger. “Are you mad at me or something? Because if I did something to make a supernaturally strong friend angry, I’d sort of like to apologize right away.” His tone was light, but he was still clearly observing her as if he expected her to do something wrong.
 
She turned away, addressing her answer to the tombstones. “Is this the way everyone acts all the time? Checking up on me? Stalking me with magic? Because if that’s the case, I can see why I’m anxious and depressed.”
 
Xander was taken aback. “I guess… you never complained before,” he answered lamely. It was clear that the subject hadn’t really come up before. “Um, can I sit down?”
 
“If you must,” she answered in a rather uninviting tone.
 
“Uh, thanks,” Xander muttered. He sat down next to her and joined her in contemplating the tombstones before them.
 
After a moment in silence Buffy said quietly, “Tell me how my sister died.”
 
Xander hesitated. “Are you sure you want to hear about all that now? I mean, maybe it would be better…”
 
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “I’m upset, but I’m not a fucking basket case, okay? I asked a simple goddamned question. If I didn’t think I could handle the answer, I wouldn’t have asked. Just tell me what the hell happened!”
 
Xander’s eyes got wide at her outburst. “Calm down, okay? I’ll tell you. Just sit down, all right?” Buffy sat back down but the irritation didn’t leave her eyes. Xander cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much you remember about the whole Glory incident.”
 
“I remember she was a hell god or something, wasn’t she? I read some of my diaries from the time.” Buffy hoped that would explain any slips from the previous timeline.
 
“Yeah,” Xander said, still sounding reluctant. “Anyhow she kidnapped Dawn because she needed Dawn’s blood to open some portal and bring about hell and destruction and all that. You, um, you sort of checked out for a day or two after Dawn was taken. But then you came back and rallied us all to go after her. We all tried to get to Dawn, you hardest of all. But there was some demon on Glory’s side that cut Dawn and started the whole portal going. We suddenly had more demons to fight. Dawn must have gotten away from the demon and jumped while you were taking Glory down. All we knew was that Glory was gone, and Dawn was…” his voice broke. “We found her at the base of the tower,” he finished quietly.
 
Buffy stood up suddenly, turning away from Xander with her hand over her mouth to contain the sobs. She couldn’t say that this was because Spike hadn’t been there. He hadn’t defeated Doc either. But he might have somehow bought them time they didn’t have the second time around or given her that added support she needed. Dawnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.
 
“Buffy, I’m so sorry,” Xander said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
 
“Don’t,” she said. “I… I need to go.” She turned and walked, stumbling toward the cemetery gates.
 
“Wait, where are you going?” Xander’s voice registered his alarm.
 
“Home. Just… I’m going home, all right? If you need to follow me and take notes, go right ahead.” She continued on her way with Xander trailing uncertainly in her wake.
 
She didn’t look back the whole way home, not caring if Xander was following her or not. When she got home she slammed the door behind her. “I’m home. You can call off the search party,” she snapped.
 
Riley came sheepishly out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but when you stormed out I thought…”
 
“Whatever. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” She headed upstairs then added, “In the guest room. I want to be alone, understand? Alone. As in by myself, without a fucking surveillance team.” Leaving Riley stunned behind her she went up to the bedroom, grabbed a pair of pajamas out of her drawer, then went to the guest bedroom and locked the door behind her. Finally alone, she changed her clothes, turned off the light, and got into the bed that had been her mother’s. She found herself missing her mother’s presence more than she had in ages as she huddled miserably under the quilt.
 
Once more she tried to think through everything methodically. We killed Darla. So no Angelus, and no Spike. I’m back on the same day I left. The world didn’t end, and Sunnydale didn’t get destroyed. Mom’s dead, Dawn’s dead, but Tara, Jenny, and Anya are alive. Everyone’s paired off and living happily ever after, including me, although I’m apparently a recovering mental patient. The only thing missing is the fact that I remember Buffy’s life 1.0. And Spike.
 
She closed her eyes and clutched a pillow close. Those few days in Galway had been something deep and rich. The claim they had shared had connected them in a way Buffy didn’t know was possible. To feel someone else’s love so completely and so perfectly was an experience she had never had, and likely never would again. Her fingers ran over her neck, but there were no scars there where vampires had left their marks. The marks on her soul were still there, though, and they burned and stung worse than any fangs could. Spike had loved her. For a brief moment she had been Mrs. William Pratt, and she would give up anything to be her again.
 
So what do you do now, Summers? She tried to imagine what the reaction would be if she told them the truth. They seemed completely unafraid of letting Willow use magic on her indiscriminately. This bunch of Scoobies would probably have Willow knock her out so they could bundle her back to the nut house. She found she honestly couldn’t conceive of how they would react. Alternatively, she learned to live in this world. But the thought of letting Riley touch her, knowing that all the while she’d want Spike, was unbearable. I don’t think I could fake that. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. In the end she fell asleep without resolving anything.
 
 TBC
 
Long Day at Work
 
Disclaimer: All the characters are someone else’s, not mine. Thanks as ever to Sanity Fair, queen of the betas, and to all my readers, who keep me encouraged.
 
Chapter 14 – Long Day at Work
 
The next morning she woke up and opened the door of the guest room slowly. Her bedroom door was still closed, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief before heading downstairs. She made a pot of coffee and found some cereal to call breakfast. Her appetite returned suddenly with a vengeance, and she was on her third bowl when Riley came downstairs.
 
“Morning,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?” He looked like he hadn’t slept particularly well at all, with slight circles under his eyes and tousled hair.
 
“Good enough,” she replied between bites. “There’s coffee.”
 
“Thanks,” he muttered. He poured two cups and passed one over to her. She accepted it gratefully and continued with her breakfast. He grabbed a bowl and joined her, raising his eyebrows at how little cereal was left, but otherwise saying nothing. After they were both done eating Riley asked, “Did you… has anything changed?”
 
Buffy shook her head. “No. No worse, just the same.” She took another sip of coffee. “Any plans for today?”
 
“I guess I need to go to work,” Riley answered, clearly reluctant to leave her.
 
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him.
 
“When I talked to Giles last night he said there were some other things that we could try. It would probably be a good idea if you went over to the Magic Box later,” Riley ventured, unsure how she would react.
 
Buffy shrugged. “I’ve got no other plans.”
 
“I’ll drop you off on my way to work if you want,” he offered.
 
Yeah, you don’t want to risk me doing something independent now. On the heels of that thought she admonished herself. Could you be more of a bitch? It’s not his fault you remember things differently! To Riley she said, “That would be fine. When do we need to leave?”
 
“I forget, you don’t remember the schedule. If you could be ready in forty five minutes, that’s fine.”
 
“No problem.” They finished their breakfast and cleared up the dishes in silence. Buffy went upstairs and grabbed clothes and a two minute shower, then went to the guest room to get dressed while Riley did the same. She looked at herself in the mirror, still trying to figure out how the same shell could have something so different going on inside. Could the world just cut it out already? I died for you, I killed my man for you, twice on both accounts, just fucking stop! She wanted to scream, but she thought better of it. A scream would probably bring Riley running, and she didn’t feel like dealing with him right now.
 
Taking a few deep breaths to regain control she went downstairs. Riley joined her a few minutes later. “Ready to go?” he asked. She nodded and followed him out to the car. Once again the silence between them was heavy and awkward, but she had nothing she wanted to say, and he seemed afraid of her somehow. Buffy resolved that if she was going to be stuck in this version of her life that she was going to have a long talk with the others very soon about this kid gloves treatment, because it was driving her nuts. She had gotten used to being treated as the leader and the strong one, and this relegation to fragile basket case was exasperating.
 
At the Magic Box Riley stopped the car. “Do you want me to pick you up after work?” he asked.
 
“If you want. Doesn’t make a difference.” She got out and closed the door, giving him a half smile and a wave before walking to the shop. She was aware of his eyes on her until the door closed behind her, making sure she got there okay. Rolling her eyes she took her jacket off and looked around. “Hello? Anyone here?”
 
“Be right there!” Tara emerged from the basement door with an armful of enchanted candles. “Good morning.” She put the candles down on the counter and brushed off her hands. “I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”
 
Buffy shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do. Besides, I guess there’s probably research to be done or something. Might as well help.”
 
Tara looked her over for a moment. She hesitated, then said, “Buffy, I don’t want to alarm you or anything but it seems like something about your aura is… funky.”
 
“I’m suffering from funky aura? That’s my issue?” Buffy drifted to the shelves and started idly straightening things. She was interested in what Tara had to say, but worried about giving away too much.
 
“It just seems like… like you’re wearing an aura that’s not quite right. Like you borrowed someone else’s something. It’s hard to explain.”
 
You’re more right than you know, Buffy thought. “So what’s the cure for funky aura syndrome?”
 
“I’m not sure. I don’t know what could make someone’s aura do that. But it’s something to pursue in the research, I guess.”
 
Buffy was reminded with a bit of a pang how much she had missed Tara. The blonde witch had been a calm voice of wisdom in so many situations, and it had been devastating to lose her to Warren’s bullet. Would you really want to undo this? Would you really be rather living in Rome and dealing with the Slayer army and all that? She didn’t know if she could answer that question. She turned and sat down at the table. Looking at her hands for a moment, she asked Tara, “How bad was my breakdown? Everyone seems terrified to talk to me or something.”
 
Tara bit her lip, but then sat down at the table and took a deep breath. “After D… Dawn died you were catatonic. They had to feed you in… intravenously. W… Willow had to go into your mind three times before you even w… woke up.” Tara’s stutter increased with her nervousness, but to her credit she continued. “When you woke up you were still a m… mess. You would cry and scream, or b… break things. They had to sedate you a lot. When you calmed down a bit you t… tried to slash your wrists. You had to be in r... restraints. It took months for you to be functional again. “
 
Buffy absorbed Tara’s tale in stunned silence. After a minute she said, “Aren’t you worried about Willow doing so much magic on me? How do we know that it didn’t make things worse?”
 
“I did get worried after a while,” Tara admitted, looking down at her hands. “At one point she accidentally erased all of our m..memories. After that she b..backed off a lot, and you started taking meds to control your symptoms instead. That seemed to help.”
 
“I see,” Buffy answered. It seemed that there was some basis to their fears, but it was still extremely irritating. Changing the subject, Buffy asked, “Is there anything I should be doing around here? Riley told me I worked here or something.”
 
“Right now, we’re pretty good to go,” Tara answered.
 
“I think I’ll do some research then.” It occurred to Buffy that some of the local resources might give her some clues as to what was going on with her memories. Moving over to the bookshelves she started perusing the titles. A small volume entitled “Demon Mating Rituals and Customs” caught her eye. Curious, she pulled it down and started leafing through it. It told more than she ever wanted to know about the romantic lives of all manner of demons, some details of which she had been fine not knowing.
 
Then she came to a chapter on vampires and vampire claims. As she read she learned that the entire power of the claim was dependent on the power of the demon. “Vampires cannot claim non-demonic mates. An attempt at a claim between a vampire and a human will result in failure unless the human is either demonically possessed or a demon half breed.” For a moment she wrinkled her brow in utter confusion. So then how did we… As the revelation hit her mouth dropped open. Slayers have a demonic nature. That’s what the First Slayer was – a girl with a demon in her. That’s why we could mate. As she thought about it more, it actually started to make some logical sense. Her mate hadn’t died, but he had ceased to be a vampire. Even though she couldn’t communicate with him anymore, some residue or half-claim had remained. That’s why I can’t forget. She bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from sobbing out loud. If we hadn’t claimed each other, I wouldn’t remember. I’d be content and happy, and have no memory of Spike at all. Oh God…
 
“Buffy are you okay?” Tara asked. She had looked up from what she was doing and had noticed that Buffy was pale.
 
Buffy shook herself and shut the book. “Yeah, I’m fine. The whole thing about Dawn just keeps hitting me, you know?”
 
Tara came over and drew her into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said simply, and Buffy hugged her back, grateful for the human contact. After a minute or two, Tara pulled back. “Do you want some tea?”
 
“Yeah, thanks,” Buffy answered. She rubbed her face and went and sat down, putting her head on the table while she processed her thoughts. She had done this to herself, and yet she still didn’t regret having claimed Spike. If she hadn’t he would be completely lost. The amazing, infuriating, beautiful creature that was William the Bloody wouldn’t even exist as a memory, which struck Buffy as the saddest thought she had ever had. Tara brought the tea and she sat up and sipped it absentmindedly, lost in a world of paradox.
 
The shop door rang and Buffy looked up as Willow came in with coffee and donuts. “Hey gorgeous I’ve brought breakfast!” she called to Tara. She stopped short as she noticed Buffy. “Buffy? What are you doing here?”
 
“Um, working? Researching? Didn’t know I needed permission,” she grumbled.
 
Willow frowned a bit at Buffy’s annoyed tone. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you here so early.”
 
“I was awake, I have nothing else to do, so I’m here.”
 
Willow put the coffee and donuts on the counter. “If I had known I would have gotten more,” she apologized.
 
“I had breakfast, it’s fine.” Standing up, she gestured to the table. “You sit. I’m going to go work out in the back.” She entered the back room, closed the door behind her, and wandered around looking at weaponry for a while until she chose some throwing knives. For three quarters of an hour she threw them again and again with deadly accuracy, clearing her mind and focusing only on the satisfying thunk of the blades into the wooden target. Her concentration was finally broken when she realized that someone else had entered the shop. Embedding the last knife in the target she went to go see who it was. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob when she heard her name.
 
“Are you sure we should be letting Buffy be in there with the weapons alone?” It was Anya’s voice, and although she was obviously trying to keep it low it carried nonetheless. “What if she gets all violent or something? I have to think of the baby.”
 
All right, enough of this shit. She slammed the door open suddenly, and Tara, Willow, Xander and Anya all jumped guiltily. “Let’s get something straight, right the fuck now,” she said with steel and menace in her voice. “We’re going to have some new rules around here. Number one, we’re going to stop talking behind Buffy’s back. If you have something to say to me, you say it to my face.”
 
“Buffy, we were just…” Willow protested.
 
“Number two,” Buffy barked, cutting Willow off. “We are going to stop stalking me twenty four hours a day. No locator spells, no checking up on me every time I go to the fucking bathroom, no stalking me on patrol.” Xander at least had the decency to blush slightly as she continued. “Number three, there will be absolutely no entering my mind, memory spells, or any other magic done on my person without my express permission. I’m not suicidal, and I’m not homicidal, yet. But I swear to God if you don’t stop treating me like a freaking mental case I may very well become homicidal!” The assembled Scoobies looked at her wide eyed and slightly frightened by her intensity, and no one responded at first. “Any questions? Anybody got anything to say? Because this is the way it’s going to be, period, end of sentence.”
 
Ever the peacemaker, Tara spoke first. “Buffy, if we were being too overbearing, we’re sorry. I think we all let our concern for you make us forget who you are. We promise to lay off.”
 
“Thanks, Tara.” Turning to the rest she crossed her arms. “Well?”
 
“Buff, we’re sorry if we came on too strong. We just have… pretty strong memories of the last time,” Xander explained. “When you said you couldn’t remember that, well, that Dawn was dead, we thought you’d snapped again.”
 
“Look, I don’t know exactly why I’m in the current state I’m in.” Which is no lie, actually. “But I need you guys to trust me and deal with me, not tiptoe around me, alright?”
 
Willow looked unconvinced. “I guess I still don’t understand why you won’t let me help you. This is obviously something mystical. Why not fix it with mystical tools?”
 
“All I’m asking is for you to do a little more research before trying anything, okay? Can you just… wait?”
 
“All right,” Willow conceded. “But we should probably get going on the research thing then.”
 
“Fine. Tara, tell them what you told me about my aura.” Buffy knew that wasn’t the problem, but at least it would occupy the Scoobies and keep them out of her hair for a while.
 
The day was spent poring over the books, with notes being taken and ideas being batted back and forth, but Buffy barely listened to most of it. She leafed through books, trying to find something about time spells, time charms, anything that could explain how she had gotten sent through time in the first place, but there was precious little information of that type. In Giles’ office she found two shelves packed with Watcher’s diaries, and she sat down to start going through them. It seemed as if the fates had somehow conspired to make sure she was the Slayer in this timeline. The Chinese Slayer had died, killed by an errant explosion in the Boxer Rebellion rather than Spike. Nikki Wood had been taken out by a demon of some sort. She read how she had been killed by the Master, found by Xander and Giles and a locator spell and revived. Curiously, Kendra was still alive, out somewhere in Africa. Faith seemed not to have been called in this world. She wondered if Faith was out there still getting in trouble or if she had lived fast and died young. The Initiative had been up to its tricks, but the Scoobies had learned about it by capturing, interrogating, and then dusting some vampire named Laslow who had been chipped like Spike. She read about her own breakdown, about Giles’ misgivings, about threats from the Council to do away with her rather than deal with a psychotic Slayer. All of it seemed so mundane without the added wrinkle of vampire lovers to deal with.
 
“Buffy?” called Willow from the next room.
 
“Coming,” she replied. She stood up and stretched. The clock on Giles’ desk told her she’d been reading diaries for about three hours without realizing it, and her neck was stiff and her head ached. She went back into the main room to find that Riley and Giles had both joined the party. “I thought you were at work,” she said to Riley.
 
“I was able to get out of work a little early today,” Riley explained. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
 
“Same as before. I filled in some of the gaps with the Watchers’ diaries though.”
 
Giles looked a trifle disturbed by this. “I do wish you wouldn’t go poking about in my papers without my leave.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I read your personal diary, Giles. I read the history of me and the past Slayers. I think I’m entitled to know my own story.” Giles had no immediate answer to this and had to content himself with a vague frown.
 
Willow spoke up again. “I think we may have a cure for this problem.”
 
Apprehensively, Buffy asked, “What do you propose to do?”
 
“It’s basically a healing spell for your aura,” Tara explained. “It’s meant to sort of… realign your body and your mind so they’re in sync with one another.”
 
“But what will it do to me?”
 
“Either it will do nothing, or it will make your aura ‘fit’ again, so you will be in tune with your own memories. We think the memories are there, but you just can’t access them for some reason.”
 
Yeah, but which memories are you talking about? Buffy folded her arms and walked away from the others for a moment. If she let them do this spell, most likely nothing would happen. But there was also the possibility that she could lose the memories of the other timeline entirely. Spike… what do I do? She bit her lip until it bled, trying to make a decision. Finally, with a quiet voice she said, “Just do it then.”
 
“I’m sorry?” Willow said.
 
“Do it,” she repeated, without looking at them. “Do the spell.” I’m sorry Spike. I know I might lose you, but I don’t know if I can do this without you. I’d rather have the oblivion, thanks.
 
To Riley it sounded like she was agreeing to go to the gallows or something. “Buffy, what’s wrong? Are you worried about the effects?”
 
She turned around, blinking back tears. “I can’t explain, okay? Just do it. Get it over with.”
 
Equally confused, Willow said, “Okay, if you’re sure.”
 
“Yes,” she snapped, sounding anything but sure. “Just make it happen already.”
 
Still concerned about Buffy’s attitude, Willow gestured to a chair. Buffy sat down, staring straight in front of her. “Close your eyes and try to clear your mind,” Willow instructed. Buffy closed her eyes, but her mind was filled with Spike. If she concentrated she could hear his smooth, liquid accent, whispering the words of their claim. She pictured his bright blue eyes, his smile, even his demon features were a precious memory to her. Spike I love you. I know I’m being weak, but I don’t want to live here without you. I just can’t. Willow was chanting something, and Buffy smelled incense of some sort, but she paid no attention. She just pictured her lover, her husband, remembered and cherished every moment they had had together. Willow’s chanting rose in volume and a warmth started to spread through Buffy’s body. The heat swelled and enveloped her and she once more cried out with her mind Spike! Then everything went black and she slumped to the floor.
 
 
Times Gone By
 
Disclaimer: Not my characters, Joss Whedon’s characters. I’m just borrowing. My wonderful beta Sanity Fair has slapped my commas into shape once more, and I thank her greatly.
 
Chapter 15 Times Gone By
 
“Buffy! Are you all right?” Someone was shaking her. She had been having the most marvelous dream. She and Spike were in a church, walking down the aisle together. An organ swelled in the background, and people laughed and clapped. He was looking down at her with such pride and devotion, and she was floating on a wave of utter contentment. Then suddenly the church and Spike faded, and she was blinking as her eyes opened to see Riley looking down at her alarmed.
 
“Who… what?” she muttered. Then her heart sank as she realized that she was back in the Magic Box, and the situation was unchanged. The ache she felt for Spike was still there, intensified somehow by the experience. She sat up, shaking her head slowly.
 
“How do you feel?” Willow asked, and hands reached to help her up to her feet.
 
“I’m… uh… I guess I’m the same,” she answered vaguely.
 
Faces fell all around. “You don’t remember anything new?” Tara asked.
 
Buffy shook her head. “It’s the same as it was before.” She moved shakily to a chair and sat down. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths. Her memories of Spike were intact, and she was grateful. A deep sense of shame washed over her for her moment of weakness. Forgive me, William, I panicked. But she found that the spell had worked, after a fashion. She wasn’t confused about what she wanted anymore. She wanted the memories of Spike, and she wouldn’t risk losing them. This world wasn’t hers. She was just passing through, but she was going to hold on to Spike in whatever way she could while she did.
 
All these thoughts did nothing for the Scoobies though. “That is most unfortunate,” Giles said.
 
“I don’t know what happened,” Willow cried.
 
“Doesn’t matter,” Buffy said. Standing up, she exuded a sudden power and confidence that surprised the others. “I’ll be fine. What I don’t know, I’ll figure out.” She grabbed her coat and made her way to the door.
 
“Wait, where are you going?” Riley grabbed her arm as she passed by.
 
“Home.” She headed out the door with Riley on her heels.
 
“Wait, please!” he pleaded. With a sigh she turned to him. “At least… let me drive you, okay?”
 
“Fine.” She followed him to the car and climbed in, her mind turning down various possible pathways.
 
Riley soon interrupted her thoughts. “Can I just ask why you’re, so… I don’t know… mad at me or something?”
 
She pondered for a moment how best to answer that question. “Look, I don’t really know what sort of relationship we had. But in the short time I’ve been aware that I’m married to you, all you’ve done is hover over me like I’m two years old.”
 
“Buffy, I’m just worried about you!”
 
“But worried doesn’t mean that you need to shadow me twenty-four hours a day!” she snapped. “I can’t live like that. You need to trust that I’m not going to run off and shoot myself every time I’m out of your sight.”
 
Riley tightened his grip on the steering wheel. When he spoke it was in a low, distant voice. “I don’t want to lose you again. Watching you go through that was…” He shook his head, trying to find the words. “It was hell. Not knowing if you were going to ever come back to us. Not knowing if this was going to be the day I got the call saying you were dead. So yeah, I get worried.”
 
Staring at her lap, Buffy chewed her lip. “I didn’t choose to put you through that. And I guess I understand why you’re worried. But this isn’t the same thing. I don’t know what it is, but something is different this time, all right?” This time I’m not the Buffy you knew, and I’m sorry but this Buffy doesn’t love you.
 
“But how do you know if you don’t even remember the last time?” Riley cried, exasperated.
 
Buffy ground her teeth and clenched her hands. “I don’t know, instinct or something. But if you keep wringing your hands around me all day I’m going to kick your ass, literally. Got it?”
 
“Whatever,” Riley muttered. The rest of the ride was conducted in an angry silence.
 
Back at home, Buffy hung up her coat and turned to Riley. “You say I was a history major, right?”
 
“Um, yeah,” Riley answered sullenly, still hurt from the argument in the car.
 
Ignoring his grumbling she continued, “What sort of history? Did I specialize in anything?”
 
Riley looked puzzled by the strange question. “You did your senior thesis on daily life in Victorian England. Got the highest grade in the class.”
 
The answer made Buffy raise her eyebrows slightly at the coincidence. “Did I keep all my notes and stuff after I graduated?”
 
“They’re in the attic. Why do you suddenly want to know about college though?” He truly couldn’t see where she was going with this.
 
Buffy on the other hand turned and made her way toward the attic. “Just an idea,” she said vaguely over her shoulder. She pulled down the attic stairs, climbed up, and pulled the chain on the dangling light bulb. She searched among the boxes until she found several marked “Buffy, College Notes.” She dragged them close to the light and started rifling through them. As she started reading through notes in her own girlish handwriting and leafing through textbooks and old assignments, it somehow made sense. There was always some sort of connection. Maybe it was vague, but it was there. Even though time got all screwed up. She packed up the boxes and hauled them down to the spare bedroom. Her hands shook slightly as she unpacked the boxes. I could have lost him. In that stupid moment I could have lost him. But it hadn’t happened – she was still here, but so was Spike, and it seemed that nothing was going to change that.
 
She proceeded to spend the rest of the day reading about what things were like when Spike was William. The clothes and the social customs, food and drink, rituals around marriage and birth and death – it was all there. She became completely absorbed in the world Spike grew up in and lost all track of time. At six o’clock there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said, without looking up from her notes.
 
Riley opened the door. “I was going to make some hamburgers for dinner. Are you hungry?”
 
She realized she was in fact famished, having somehow forgotten lunch in the process. “Yes, actually. Do you want some help?” She felt vaguely guilty about him waiting on her.
 
“Sure, if you’re not busy,” he said in a tightly controlled voice. He looked tense and miserable, and Buffy found herself feeling a bit sorry for him. She followed him downstairs and watched as he rummaged in the fridge. “You want to make a salad?”
 
“Sure.” She started cutting up vegetables and washing lettuce while he went out on the back porch and fired up a grill that she hadn’t noticed before. While the burgers cooked she set the table, wondering idly if she had repeated this domestic scene before. It gave her a pang to think that she would never have this sort of domestic life with Spike. Nothing she had read or experienced had prepared her for the deep, all-encompassing oneness of the claim, and she didn’t think she would ever be able to find anything like that again in her life. Maybe the soul made it stronger. Do all demons that claim each other feel this way? She had no answer to that, but as Riley came in bearing the steaming burgers she realized anew that there was no way she was going to find that feeling with Riley Finn. And hell if I know what I’m going to do about that. “That smells really good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
 
Riley gave a slight smile. “I don’t have much of a cooking repertoire, but I can do slabs of meat as well as the next cave guy.” They sat down and dug in, silence falling once more between them.
 
Buffy wolfed down her burger and started in on her salad. “Who… who usually does what around here?” she inquired. It occurred to her that at least for now she couldn’t exactly kick the man out of what he thought was his house on his ear, so she had at least learn the ground rules.
 
Riley swallowed. “Well, I tend to be the lawn work, auto maintenance, and trash guy. You tend to deal with laundry and the floors. We both tend to straighten up, and whoever gets hungry first tends to cook.”
 
“Sounds fair,” she said. It actually sounded stultifying and frighteningly traditional. Gender roles clearly defined, with the slightest hint of sensitive modern man who would cook from time to time. Was she really this dutiful little wife who tended to the house, worked her little shop job, and just happened to slay things for a few hours every night? She had often longed for a ‘normal’ life, but now that one was laid out before her it felt like she was wearing someone else’s clothes. Was this really what she had wanted all those years? Her life in Rome, dealing with the new Slayers and drifting through unsatisfying relationships still seemed more real than this cardboard cutout life she seemed to inhabit this time around. The thought occurred to her again that it seemed as if someone had devised a sort of reward for her, but with her memories of what had been the reward was hollow and unsatisfying.
 
Riley’s voice broke into her reverie. “Did you find what you were looking for in all your old notes? You were up there for a long time.”
 
Buffy shrugged noncommittally. “I was trying to jog some memories. I ended up just being really interested in Victorian England.”
 
“Well, that’s something,” Riley said, brightening a bit. “I mean, you really threw yourself into that research when you were doing your thesis. You lived and breathed Victorian times for months.”
 
“I guess I haven’t lost everything,” Buffy replied.
 
“Maybe Willow will come up with something different that can nudge you the rest of the way,” Riley continued, clearly feeling encouraged by the apparent slight improvement.
 
Buffy put her fork down resolutely and fixed him with a piercing look. “Riley. I know you want to help. I get that. But I really just want to see if things come back gradually on their own, okay? I don’t want Willow trying one spell after another on me to see what sticks. It might take a little longer, but it makes me feel more in control, and I need that. Do you understand?”
 
The hopeful look receded somewhat from Riley’s face. “I guess I understand. It’s just, well, it’s pretty difficult going from having a wife to having a roommate. I just want my wife back.”
 
“Just give it time, all right?” Buffy got up and cleared her place, so she didn’t have to face those plaintive eyes. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she just didn’t see herself being his wife either. Riley had never understood her like Spike had. Even when she and Spike were still enemies he had understood who and what she was better than anyone. This Riley didn’t seem any more likely to have that deep insight into her character. Then there was the idea of other domestic ‘duties’. Sex with Riley had been okay, not terrible but not mind blowing either. Sex with Spike had been a revelation as he had once put it, and after they had claimed each other it was indescribably intense. How could she ever fake her way through sex with an ordinary man again after that? She glanced over at Riley, bent over his plate to gather up the last few bits of salad. No, she would never be able to fake it convincingly. Something would have to be done.
 
By the time dinner was done, the sun had gone down. “I guess I’ll go patrol,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. The need to go out and kill things was very strong.
 
“Can I come with?” Riley said, getting up to clear his plate.
 
“Not tonight,” she said firmly. “If I don’t get to kill things, alone, right now, I am going to lose it.”
 
“So I’m just supposed to sit here alone every night?” he asked, frustrated.
 
Buffy took a deep breath, praying silently for patience. “Riley. If you woke up tomorrow in an apartment with Tara and she told you she was your wife, how would you react?” Riley opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, unable to think of a comeback to that. “Exactly. That’s how I feel right now. You need to absorb that message if we’re going to share living space until I get my memories back, all right?” She turned and fled outside, leaving him stunned in her wake.
 
The night welcomed her like a lover, and she was grateful for the darkness, the cool breeze, and the lack of company. She took her time walking through the cemeteries, keeping half an ear out for any prey but mostly thinking about Spike. She had spent all afternoon reading about his era. In some ways it seemed so stuffy and repressed, and the descriptions of women’s clothing with its corsets and bustles gave her inner fashionista the shivers. But she could also picture him, in a dark suit perhaps, his natural hair color showing through, reading, or walking through London’s fog. She wondered if he had ever gotten married, how long he had lived, what had happened to William Pratt. Maybe I could do some research on him.
 
A fledgling erupting from a nearby grave interrupted her thoughts. The woman barely had time to stagger upright before she was dust again, filtering quietly down onto her open grave. Buffy continued on, her mind wandering to London, in between the graves. At Restfield she automatically went to Spike’s crypt, knowing it would be empty. However, when she got there, she found that there were in fact three vampires inside, discussing setting up house there.
 
“This place is big enough for all of us,” One of the vampires was saying. “We just need to shove these coffins out of the way.”
 
“Or we could just sweep you into one,” Buffy quipped, stepping into the room.
 
The three vampires, all male, turned with surprise. The tallest, a black haired guy, turned and said, “Look, boys. This place even has dinner delivery.”
 
“Sorry, you’re on a strict diet,” she replied. She waited while the three of them closed in then leaped into action. A spinning kick took out one, and she grabbed an iron candlestick from the corner, sweeping the legs out from under the other two. She dusted them in quick succession, but the first grabbed her from behind. She flipped him and jumped on top of him. His eyes were wide and yellow, and for half an instant they reminded her so much of Spike that she hesitated. But then he swore, and his voice wasn’t her vampire and she cried out incoherently as she dusted him. She fell forward as he disappeared and she found herself crying again. Oh, God, this is so hard. She stretched her mind, calling over the broken link for her mate, but there was no answer.
 
 TBC
 
Dreamtime
 
Disclaimer: The characters and all that belong to Joss Whedon, not me. Thanks again to Sanity Fair for the lightning fast beta work.
 
*******************************
Chapter 16 – Dreamtime
******************************
 
The next two weeks went by with the others hardly seeing Buffy. Riley saw her at breakfast, sometimes at dinner. She moved into the spare bedroom with little discussion and proceeded to bury herself in books. While he was at work she made endless trips to the library to borrow more books and to use the computers. She knew it was hopeless and pointless, but it was a way to escape this reality for hours at a time.
 
She read everything there was to read about bank clerks in England in the 1800’s. She read all about Mayfair, what sort of people lived there, anything she could find. When she filled one notebook with notes on her research, she bought another. In a separate notebook, carefully hidden, she kept a journal of sorts where she wrote down everything she knew about Spike and William. Every memory she had, every memory they had shared during their brief time as claimed mates; all of it went down in page after page of scrawled notes.
 
Then came the day when she found him. After three solid days at the library looking through genealogical websites she finally found William Henry Pratt, born 1852 to George and Anne Pratt of Marsten Terrace, Mayfair. He had been christened in the Anglican Church and had graduated from Cambridge University. His mother had died in 1885, his father in 1870. It was curious to her how some things, such as his father’s date of death, were the same in both timelines. His sister had been named Emmeline, but other than her birth date, 1853, nothing more was known about her. What she failed to find was any record of him after 1885. She hunted for ages trying to find out what had happened after his mother had died. She searched for extended family, only to find that his father had been an only son and his mother’s siblings had predeceased her. He apparently had no one other than his mother in the world. Where did you go, Spike? Did you sell the house? Leave London and travel the world? Find a girl and get married? What happened? She finally closed the browser with a sigh and gathered her things to walk home.
 
The warm California sun did little to improve her mood as she walked. She barely remembered what Spike had looked like in the sunlight, during that fight over the Gem of Amara. She had been far too busy defending herself and trying to wrestle the ring off his hand to notice what the sun had looked like shining in his white-blonde hair and his cobalt eyes. Try as she might the details of that day escaped her and it saddened her. What had he looked like as a boy? As a young college student? These questions were unanswerable. Maybe Cambridge had yearbooks. I should try that angle next time.
 
She was still pondering the best way to get a hold of Cambridge yearbooks from the 1800’s when she walked in the house, so it took her a moment to notice the voices coming from the living room. Riley stepped into the hall, and she said, “Riley? What are you doing home so early?” Then she looked beyond him and saw Giles, Willow, Tara, Jenny, Xander, and Anya arranged around the living room. With a sigh and an eye roll she said, “Oh. Intervention time is it? And here I thought you had all gotten the message about leaving me in peace.” She started toward the stairs.
 
Riley got in front of her. “Buffy, please, just hear us out, okay? We’re just…”
 
“Worried about me. You guys are a broken record. But I don’t particularly feel like I need to be worried about right now.”
 
“We would be most obliged if you would just give us fifteen minutes of your time,” Giles said, with a tone that brooked no argument.
 
Buffy gave in with another sigh. Let them have their say and then they’ll go away, she told herself. Sitting down on the only empty chair she said, “All right. What do you want?”
 
The others glanced around at each other briefly before Giles took charge. “You have been avoiding all of us for nearly two weeks now. We would like to know what your status is.”
 
“Pretty much the same. I don’t really remember much since freshman year in college. There are bits and pieces here and there, but that’s it.”
 
“But why are you avoiding us?” Willow asked plaintively. “I mean don’t you want to fix this?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “You’ve checked me for magic residues and tried to realign my aura or whatever. Doesn’t seem to have worked. Maybe it will just get better over time.”
 
“But what if it doesn’t?” Riley asked. “Are you really going to want to live with holes in your memory forever?”
 
“We miss you,” Tara put in. “It’s like you don’t want any of us around anymore.”
 
“If you couldn’t exactly remember what your relationship was with people, you’d probably want to be alone too, don’t you think?” The others had no answer. “Look, I don’t hate you, and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. But I’m fine on my own right now. If I’m not suffering, why are you so upset?”
 
“But you are suffering,” Riley insisted. “You think I don’t notice, but I do. You always look like you’ve been crying when you get up in the morning, or when you come back from patrol. You won’t let me patrol with you. You won’t talk to me about what you’re going through…”
 
Buffy interrupted him. “It sounds like you’re more concerned about your feelings than mine,” she said, a bit coldly. “If I wanted or needed to tell you my feelings, I would.”
 
“Perhaps you don’t think you need to, but keeping everything inside is unwise,” Giles intoned. “Solving this problem is going to take a group effort.”
 
“Right now, the Slayer job is being taken care of, and I’m not asking anything from you. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
 
“Buffy, you’re not just the Slayer. You’re our friend,” Xander said.
 
Buffy shook her head, looking down at the floor. Nothing she said was going to sink into the heads of these well meaning but nosy friends of hers. “What do you want from me?” she said finally. The sooner the intervention of the day is over, the sooner I can get back to my research. She realized that the research was well on its way to being an obsession, but it was an obsession that was keeping her sane and she had no plans to give it up any time soon.
 
Giles and Jenny exchanged glances. “Jenny would like to try a spell from her family’s ancient traditions. It is meant to allow a person to journey deeply into his or her own mind. We think the clues to your… condition are there. If you can somehow remember how this happened, then we can find a remedy.”
 
And it probably won’t do anything more than the other spells did, because the problem isn’t what you think it is. “What are the consequences if this goes wrong?”
 
“Consequences?” Jenny asked, puzzled.
 
“There’s always consequences,” she said, feeling a pang as she remembered Spike shouting those words at her friends after she returned from the dead. Then as now she wasn’t being honest with them, but she truly didn’t think explaining the real situation would help.
 
Still a little taken aback at the blunt response, Jenny answered slowly, “Well, I suppose you could pass out, if the feelings got too intense or have a difficult time awakening. Other than that, I’m not aware of any consequences.”
 
Buffy pondered that for a few moments. Then she fixed Giles and Jenny with a determined gaze. “I’ll let you try whatever you have in mind. But if this doesn’t work, I want your word that you’re going to back off. No more interventions and no more spells unless I ask.”
 
Riley jumped back into the conversation. “I don’t get it! It’s like you don’t want to remember! What the hell?”
 
“I just don’t want to be poked and prodded and treated like I’m helpless, all right?” she shouted. “I’m sorry you feel cheated out of a wife, and I’m sorry I’m not doing everything everyone wants all the time. But last time I checked none of you actually own me!”
 
“Riley, calm down and be quiet,” Giles rapped out. He took a deep breath and polished his glasses as he addressed Buffy. “I won’t promise to stop researching the source of this problem. But I will give you my word that we will give you some space if you let us try this. Will that satisfy you?”
 
“Fine.” Buffy was far from satisfied. She knew that there was no way on God’s green earth that Giles was going to let this go, but she grew very tired of fighting these people. “What do you want me to do now?”
 
“We’ll need to prepare a few things,” Jenny explained. “Will you come to the Magic Box in about an hour?”
 
“Whatever,” Buffy muttered, stalking off to the back porch without another word.
 
The others looked around awkwardly before gathering themselves to leave. Riley closed the door behind them, turning to lean heavily against it. He ran both hands through his hair in a gesture of utter frustration before standing up, taking a deep breath, and heading after Buffy. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
 
“Suit yourself,” Buffy replied. She was sitting with her arms folded on her knees, staring out into the yard. She barely registered the creak of the steps as Riley sat down. Her mind was far away, remembering a night when she had been sitting here, scared for her mom, and her mortal enemy had comforted her. He had every right to want to kill her after she had pumped him for information then treated him like dirt, throwing money at him with contempt. Instead he had patted her back and sat with her in silent support. Why didn’t I see what he was then? Why didn’t I give him a chance? Maybe things would have gone so much differently if we had been together instead of me spending all my time trying to avoid him.
 
Riley watched her intently. The sadness radiated off her in waves, but she would accept no comfort from him or anyone. It made no sense to him. Even if she didn’t remember their marriage, surely she should recognize him as an ally of sorts. “Buffy?” he said, as the silence threatened to stretch out until the next day.
 
“Huh? What?” Buffy sat up, startled. She had truly nearly forgotten he was there.
 
“Why won’t you let me in?” he asked plaintively. “I mean I know you don’t remember the details of our relationship. But I’d think you’d recognize that I’m your friend at the very least.”
 
Buffy stared out into the yard, trying to formulate an answer. “I know you mean well, Riley. I do,” she began. “I just feel a lot stronger than you seem to think I am. I’m more afraid that you guys are going to call out the men in the white coats than I am of not regaining my memory.”
 
Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Do you really think we’d… lock you up somehow? Because we thought you were crazy?”
 
“Well don’t you?” Buffy retorted, turning to look at him. “You’re constantly on the phone whispering with the others. Slayer hearing, remember? Every time I look the slightest bit down you’re pushing my meds at me, you’re all determined to try any spell that might have a fragment of a hope of helping, even though I’ve asked you slow down again and again – is it any wonder I’m not jumping up and down to share my innermost thoughts with you?”
 
“So what am I supposed to do then?” Riley roared, getting up to pace the yard. “Just relegate myself to roommate and occasional cook and watch my wife retreat into her own world?”
 
“Yes, for now!” Buffy replied. “If we’ve been together for all this time, why are you freaking out over two weeks of me not being myself?” Riley opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn’t have a good answer. With a voice tinged with pity Buffy continued, “Look, I know how hard this is for you. I know this must be awkward and… annoying and all that stuff. Just don’t take it personally, okay?”
 
Riley seemed slightly mollified by her answer and sat back down. “I’m sorry. You’re having troubles and I’m… I’m imposing mine on yours. I’m sorry.”
 
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Please, just relax. I don’t hate you or anything. I just… I need to work through this in my own time and in my own way. Can you please, please accept that?”
 
“I guess so,” Riley replied grudgingly. “I just feel helpless, you know?”
 
“So do I,” Buffy answered truthfully. She was at the mercy of whatever forces were shoving her around, and she felt it keenly. But all she needed was to bide her time until a solution presented itself to her. Consoling Riley seemed to be a necessary act at the time. She patted his arm once more sympathetically before getting up herself. “Come on. We should get ready to go to the Magic Box and see what they’ve whipped up there.” She went inside to get her jacket with Riley trailing behind her.
 
The drive was silent as most of their drives had been since this whole mess had started. Buffy stared out the window, her mind automatically picking out places she had shared with her sister, her mother, Spike, Angel – all those people who were gone, or had never existed in this time. She bit her lip hard to keep from crying again. Why did you have to sacrifice Dawn for all this? What did she ever do to anyone? She wondered for the thousandth time whether this was someone’s sick idea of a reward. Here you are Slayer. You’ve got the normal guy, a degree, a job, no responsibility for a teenage sister, no complicating vampire relationships, and all your friends are alive around you. She had to admit that without all the other baggage it wouldn’t be a terrible life. But it seemed so hollow, like a stage setting, compared to the messy highs and lows of her first life.
 
They pulled up in front of the Magic Box and went inside, despite the “Closed for Inventory” sign on the front door – the usual sign that they didn’t want to be interrupted. The rest of the gang was there, sitting around the table or leaning against the counter. Jenny stood up and greeted them when they came in. “Hello, Buffy. Are you ready?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Just tell me what I need to do.”
 
“We’ve got it all set up in the training room. Come with me.” Buffy followed Jenny, with Willow and Tara trailing behind. A ring of candles had been set up, with an earthenware pot in the center. “Sit in the center, all right?” Buffy complied, looking around her doubtfully. Jenny bent and started some spicy sweet incense burning in the pot, while the witches lit the candles one after another. Tara handed Jenny a small bag full of what seemed to be some sort of spices, and Jenny proceeded to make a ring of the strong scented powder around the ring of candles, chanting in an unknown tongue the entire time. When she finished she called the others in and they stood in a circle outside the rest of the set-up, holding hands. “Close your eyes,” Jenny instructed and Buffy did, breathing deeply. “Good spirits, guide our sister. May our wills strengthen hers to look into her mind and find what she seeks.” She then started humming a single low tone, and the others joined in, matching her tone and making a continuous low tone.
 
Wonder how long they’ll keep this up, Buffy thought. Then suddenly she found herself feeling heavy. As more of the incense and the humming sunk deeper and deeper into her senses she found that she was no longer aware of the room, the floor beneath her, the heat of the candles. She felt like she was floating down a dark corridor, and there seemed to be a door at the end of it. Her dream-self hesitated for a moment then opened the door.
 
She stepped through into a stone floored space, flooded with colored light. She looked around and realized she was in the same church she had dreamed about when she dreamed about…
 
“Hello, love.”
 
She spun around and there he was. “Spike?” She walked toward him sure he would vanish like the figment of her imagination she knew him to be. But he grew nearer and nearer without disappearing, and suddenly she was in his arms. His lips crashed down on hers and the smell of incense turned to the smell of cigarettes and leather as he pulled her close. She clutched at him desperately, one hand tangled in his hair, the other fanned out over his leather-clad back, feeling his muscles move under his old duster. She had no idea why this felt so real but she didn’t care. If this was a hallucination she was going to stay here and hallucinate until she died of starvation or something.
 
After a long, long time they broke the kiss and looked at each other, gasping. “You’ve been crying, love,” Spike commented as he stroked her cheek.
 
“How do you know?” she asked, running her hands over his face, memorizing every feature again. It was like being at the last oasis in a desert, not knowing when or if she would ever find water again.
 
“I live in here,” he answered, leaning into her touch. “Well, that’s not quite correct. There’s this… imprint of my soul, my essence, which became part of you when we claimed each other.”
 
“How is it you feel so real?” She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, sighing in utter contentment as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
 
“Guess we’re both in your mind.” He rested his head on hers, nuzzling her golden hair. “We’re as real as anything can be here.”
 
That explanation made as much sense as could be had, at least in Buffy’s opinion. “I miss you so much.”
 
“I know.”
 
“I almost…” She burned with shame as she thought of how she had nearly thrown all this away rather than face the days without him.
 
His arms tightened around her. “Now, now. Don’t worry about all that. I believe I remember a few times where I begged you to dust me so I could be done with all the First’s bullshit. We all have dark times, pet.”
 
Buffy pulled away to look at him. “Where are you? I mean, what happened after we dusted Darla?”
 
Spike sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I went back to merry ol’ Victorian England. Got to be William H. Pratt all over again.”
 
“At least you were alive somewhere, sometime,” Buffy said, kissing him gently. “I don’t think I could bear it if you were gone for good.”
 
Spike kissed her again, slow and sweet. When they pulled back again he continued, “It’s different for William this time.”
 
“How so?”
 
Spike searched for words. “You’re there, inside him, like I’m inside you. And you remember Spike. Gives him a little more confidence than he had. Still a hopeless dreamer, our William, but he dreams about you. Not that his conscious mind knows who you are, or all that happened. But you’re in there, and it helps.” He looked at her searchingly. “How is it for you here, my love?”
 
“Awful.” She rested her head on him once more. “Dawn’s dead.”
 
“I’m so sorry, love. God, I’m so sorry.”
 
“No one could save her this time.” She buried her face in his shirt, taking comfort in the contours of his chest. “At least I didn’t die this time though.”
 
“That’s something, I guess.”
 
“Not really,” she continued sadly. “I guess I had a nervous breakdown. Everyone treats me like I’m nuts. Plus I seem to be married to Riley.”
 
“That wanker?” Spike scoffed. “If I existed in this world I’d kick his ass to the curb for you.”
 
“See that’s the problem. I’m the only one who knows it used to be different. Anya’s alive, Tara’s alive, and Jenny’s alive and married to Giles. How do you tell them, ‘Hey, I know you’re happy and all, but I wish you were all dead so that I could have my sister and my man back’?” Her voice broke a bit, and Spike kissed her hair and comforted her.
 
“I know, love. I know.” They held each other in the darkness of Buffy’s mind with nothing more to say.
 
*************************************
 
In the training room of the Magic Box, the Scoobies were getting worried.
 
Once Buffy had slumped into her trance they had been able to release each other’s hands and Giles had gently eased her onto the ground. “What happens now?” Xander had asked.
 
“Hopefully, she will find the root cause of her trouble,” Jenny answered. “When she finds what she’s looking for, she’ll wake up.” They were now three hours into it however, and Buffy showed no sign of waking. She looked peaceful, and a smile played faintly around her lips, as if she was experiencing something pleasant.
 
Riley on the other hand was pacing with increasing vigor. “What is taking her so long? What could be the matter? Is it supposed to take this long?”
 
“This ritual hasn’t been performed in hundreds of years, Riley,” Giles explained patiently. “We just have to give her time.”
 
“But what if she doesn’t wake up?” Riley cried. “What if you made a mistake?”
 
Tara spoke up. “If it makes you feel any better, her aura is very calm and content right now. She seems happier than she has been since she woke up with no memories. I think we should give it some more time.”
 
“Well, I need to go home,” Anya said, hauling her pregnant self off the couch. “Xander, I need you to take me home and do some of that ‘special’ prenatal massage.”
 
“Anya!” Xander turned purple at her suggestive tone, said goodbye to the others, and hustled Anya out the door.
 
“Is anyone else hungry?” Willow asked. “I could order a pizza while we wait.”
 
Riley didn’t answer, but Giles and Jenny agreed, and it was done. Riley just kept staring at Buffy, wondering what was going on in her mind.
 
************************************************
 
At that moment, Buffy was still holding what felt very much like Spike in this strange country of her mind. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this life,” she said, nestling into his shoulder. “It seems so wrong. Is this really what I wanted? Because normal? Ends up being really, really…”
 
“Dull? Stultifying? Unsatisfying?” Spike supplied as she struggled for words.
 
“All of the above,” she answered. “You always tried to tell me that, and I never listened.”
 
“Hindsight’s always 20/20, pet.”
 
“Yeah.” After a few more moments, a thought occurred to her. “What happened to William? In the end?”
 
Spike hesitated. “It’s a difficult question to answer. In one reality he became me. We messed with things, and he died in obscurity alone in rural England. But who knows if that’s the final story or not?”
 
*********************************************************
 
“That’s it! We’ve got to wake her up. This is going nowhere!” Pizza had arrived and been consumed, and still Buffy was unconscious, and Riley was pulling his hair out in frustration.
 
“Perhaps we should consider bringing her out of the trance,” Giles said to Jenny. “She may be having difficulty in extracting herself from particularly painful memories.”
 
“You may be right,” sighed Jenny. “But we can’t just shake her awake. We need to bring her out gradually.” Jenny and Willow started gathering supplies for the wakening spell while the others watched anxiously.
 
*********************************************************
 
“They’re going to be coming for you in a minute, pet,” Spike said, breaking another long, searching kiss. “Time’s almost up.”
 
“No!” Buffy cried, clutching him close. “No! I won’t go. I can’t leave here to go back to that.”
 
Spike pulled back and cupped her face, wiping away her tears gently with his thumbs. “Now you listen to me. Time’s a lot like a river, yeah? It flows on, it branches, rejoins itself, but the riverbed is always there. If you just wade back upstream, you can find what you’re looking for, no matter how far you’ve traveled. Remember that.” He kissed her again, but Buffy could feel him start to feel less and less substantial.
 
“No, please, stay,” she pleaded. “Please, I love you!”
 
“Love you too, Buffy Summers,” he replied. He released her and backed slowly away. “I’ll always be waiting for you.”
 
There was a sensation of being pulled backward, like flashing lights passing her in a dark tunnel. “Spike!” she screamed. Then she was sitting up, wide-eyed on the mat in the training room at the Magic Box, surrounded by anxious eyes.
 
“Buffy, are you all right?” Riley asked, kneeling at her side. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her and reached out to stroke her face.
 
“Get away!” she shrieked, leaping to her feet. She looked wildly around at all of them and at the charm that Jenny had used to bring her out of the trance. “Why? Why did you bring me back?”
 
The others looked puzzled and hurt. “We were worried that you were somehow trapped in your own mind,” Jenny explained. “You were out for hours and hours.”
 
“I was happy where I was! Why can’t you people just leave me alone?” Tears of desperation and rage welled in her eyes as she clenched her fists. She had been holding Spike. His voice and his presence had seemed so real, so perfect and soothing and it was almost physically painful to be pulled back to deal with Riley and the others.
 
“Buffy, who or what is Spike?” Giles asked.
 
“What do you mean?” Buffy answered cautiously, her heart racing a bit. What did I say while I was out?
 
“You called out ‘Spike’ when you were waking up.”
 
“I don’t… I don’t know,” she stammered.
 
“What did you see? Did you remember anything?” Willow asked.
 
Thinking quickly, Buffy said, “My mom was alive, and Dawn was alive, and we were happy. That’s what I remember. Now I’m back here and they’re gone again.” And so is Spike. But as this thought arose, his words echoed in her head. I’ll always be waiting for you.
 
“But you don’t remember anything else?” Jenny asked. “You didn’t see anything about how this happened?”
 
Buffy wasn’t listening. Her mind was fixating on what Spike had said. He’s in his own time. He’ll always be in his own time. I can find him there. I just have to go back upstream. The others stared at her as she knit her brows, wondering how she could accomplish that. “Buffy? Are you all right?” Tara asked.
 
“What? Huh?” Buffy shook herself. “Never mind. It didn’t work. But I’m okay with it. I’ll figure it out as I go.” She headed toward the door.
 
“Stop!” Riley cried, grabbing her arm. “You’re doing it again! You keep just walking out, not talking to us, not telling us what’s going on! You’re not telling us everything. Why?”
 
Buffy closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. “I have some ideas. I don’t want to share them, on the grounds that you’re all going to think I’m nuts.”
 
“But we’re not…” Riley protested.
 
“Trust me. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re going to think I’ve gone off the deep end again.”
 
“Do you trust us so little?” Giles asked quietly, but with evident hurt in his voice.
 
“Have you given me a lot of reason to trust you?” Buffy asked in return. When they didn’t answer she continued, “I’m not trying to hurt any of you. I want to pursue my ideas, just like you have, and I don’t want anyone interfering until I see if they’re going to pan out. If they don’t, no harm done.”
 
“But you can’t just walk around with no memories of the last few years!” Riley exclaimed, exasperated.
 
“I can, and I will. I’m sorry if this bothers you, but it’s what needs to happen. If you can’t deal, I’ll move out or something.”
 
“Move out?” Riley was incredulous. “You want to move out?”
 
“I know you didn’t ask for this. It’s not fair to kick you out of what you think is your house. If this is going to be a problem, I’ll find an apartment.” Buffy meant every word. The house had been her home, but with no Dawn, no Joyce, and no Spike, it felt empty and foreign.
 
Giles stepped in to defuse the situation. “I don’t think either of you should do anything rash right now. We will leave things as they stand for the moment, but I would like to hear more about your ideas soon.”
 
“I’ll give you a report when I know something definite,” Buffy lied. She headed once more for the door with Riley following her, fuming. His presence barely registered. She knew what she had to do, and the problem was now how to do it.
 
TBC
 
A Week in the Library
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and all those folks, not me. Beta work as always by Sanity Fair. Awesome reviews kindly given by my awesome readers.
 
Chapter 17 – A Week in the Library
 
It was a complete understatement to say that things were tense at Revello Drive during the week following Jenny’s spell. Riley got up, went for long morning runs, and tried in general to be out of the house before Buffy woke. When they were at the breakfast table together the atmosphere was chilly. He worked long hours and retreated with a beer in front of the TV at night.
 
For her part, Buffy was on a mission. She got up every day and went to the Magic Box, helping out when the store was busy, but every spare moment was spent poring over books. The others seemed surprised. Apparently she wasn’t known to be any more of a scholar of magic in this world than she had been before – but thankfully left her to her own devices for the most part. Once or twice Tara or Willow asked if they could help, but after being politely rebuffed enough times they got the hint.
 
There has to be a way. Having experienced time travel, Buffy knew it to be possible. There had to be a means to travel to Spike’s time. There were numerous ways to contact the past, through trances and spells, or by being a medium. But physically traveling to the past seemed to be another matter altogether. After a few days she paid a visit to Giles and Jenny, asking to use some of their books.
 
“What exactly are you looking for?” Giles asked curiously after ushering Buffy into his apartment. Jenny was still a teacher at the new Sunnydale High, but Giles seemed to spend most of his time in scholarly pursuits and consulting with the Watcher’s council in England. His home library was small but contained many obscure texts that the Magic Box lacked.
 
“Well…:” Buffy thought for a moment on how to spin this. Finally, she decided some form of the truth would be useful. “I was wondering about parallel realities. Is it possible to travel to another time or place that’s a lot like ours, only different?”
 
Giles was clearly surprised by the question. “Is that what you think happened? You’re somehow in the wrong reality?”
 
“I know it’s far-fetched,” Buffy backpedaled. Giles’ tone held a hint of that concern for her mental state that she was becoming quite familiar with from this crowd. “It was just an idea that occurred to me while I was researching, and I got curious. There’s nothing much in the Magic Box collection about that sort of thing.”
 
“That’s because that sort of thing is very serious and difficult to achieve,” Giles replied in a sober tone. “Moving between worlds and realities requires an intense amount of magical power to open a portal between where you are and where you wish to be. Moreover, these things are notoriously difficult to control. There have been only a few cases in recorded history where people attempted it and managed to actually return to their starting point in one piece. For most it was a one way trip or a terrible tragedy.”
 
“Oh,” Buffy said. But although her exterior betrayed no particular emotion, inside her heart beat faster. It’s possible. It’s actually possible. And one way trip? No problem! Exactly what I want! She knew that she was going to have to find someone to help her with the portals and all that, but it was possible, and for the first time since this whole adventure started she felt a glimmer of real hope.
 
Giles took her silence for something else, however. “Buffy, I know you are tempted to return to a time when things were simpler, in your mind at least. Many of us would like to go back to when we were younger or when… when someone we loved was still alive. But returning to when Dawn and your Mother were alive would carry no guarantees. You could very well lose them again or lose someone else you cared about. Altering the past can bring very serious consequences.”
 
Tell me something I don’t know. Aloud she said, “I know. You can’t go back. I just… I just wanted to learn more about it. Maybe someone else tried something like that with me, and that’s why I can’t remember.” She prayed silently that Giles would buy it.
 
He stared at her for a moment, hesitating. “It is highly improbable. But I suppose we should leave no stone unturned.” He turned to his bookshelves and started scanning titles. He pulled down a stack of likely tomes onto the dining table, passed a few over to Buffy, and they got to work. Some of the texts were in Latin or ancient Greek, which didn’t help Buffy at all, but Giles translated bits and pieces for her. The parts that she did understand didn’t give Buffy a lot of hope. If she was going to do this she would need Willow, Tara, Jenny, and Giles to help in all probability – the magic was extremely powerful and risky for the practitioner. Moreover, she would have to explain exactly where and when she wanted to travel, which would lead to the whole unopened can of worms dealing with who should and shouldn’t really be alive right now. At some point, Jenny called to ask Giles a question, and the soft, happy tone of his voice as he exchanged pleasantries with her spoke volumes. Giles had never been so relaxed and contented in her world. How could she explain that the original version was a version in which Jenny had had her neck snapped by a vicious vampire whom Buffy had been dating? Could she really explain what she wanted to do in a way that didn’t sound incredibly irresponsible and selfish?
 
As Giles returned to the table, a thought occurred to Buffy. “Does Wesley Wyndham-Price still live in the U.S.? Isn’t he an expert in a lot of this demonic dimensional stuff?” She had seen his name mentioned in Giles’ diaries, but his fate had been unrecorded.
 
Giles looked surprised. “He quit the Council of Watchers when he didn’t approve of their tactics. He lives somewhere in Los Angeles and calls himself a free-lance demon hunter now, but I don’t think we want his help.”
 
“Why not?” Buffy wondered. There seemed to be a touch of animosity in Giles’ voice.
 
“He parted ways from the Council because he insisted that some demons and possibly even some vampires might be capable of fighting on the side of good. The official Council teachings deny this.”
 
“And what do you think?” Buffy asked. His answer would tell her a lot about what she could expect if she explained the real situation.
 
Giles polished his glasses thoughtfully. “If there are benevolent vampires out there, I have never met one. Some demons are probably harmless enough, but it seems foolhardy to discuss their motives in the heat of battle.”
 
“So it’s better to slay a harmless creature than to risk letting a harmful creature go free?” Buffy asked incredulously.
 
“Well, yes, of course.” Giles’ tone of voice seemed to imply that this should be obvious to her.
 
“But…if we applied that to humans, you’d call it barbaric, wouldn’t you? I mean, I can’t go around killing people because some might be murderers!”
 
“Well, of course not. But demons lack souls. It is not the same thing,” Giles insisted.
 
Buffy shook her head. “What do souls have to do with it? Plenty of murderers and rapists and dictators have souls. How could a harmless demon be worse?”
 
Giles replaced his glasses and fixed her with a stern look. “We cannot risk seeing our quarry as anything other than a force for chaos and evil. If you hesitate, you will fall, like other Slayers before you.”
 
“I can’t believe this!” Buffy said, getting up. “Is this the way I’ve always worked? Everything black and white, no shades of gray, no what-if’s? A blind, dutiful little killing machine?”
 
“I don’t understand where these notions are coming from,” Giles interjected. “But I can assure you, you have never been simply a mindless killing machine. You are a weapons expert, an excellent tactician, and...”
 
“And I’ve done whatever you say without question,” Buffy finished quietly.
 
“I wouldn’t say without question,” Giles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But we’ve always managed to come to an agreement on what needed to be done.”
 
Translation: You’ve always managed to wear me down until I do what you want. She could completely see how that would be possible. She remembered that horrible year after she came back from the dead, when it was easier to go along with almost anything rather than argue. True, some of the experiences she had had due to her associations with Angel and Spike had been harrowing, but she had emerged stronger, more assertive in the end. Clearly, that hadn’t happened this time around. She looked at Giles as if seeing him for the first time. He was stuffy, British, steeped in Slayer tradition, and seemed utterly hidebound. The same experiences that had broadened her mind before had affected him in the previous reality as well. Without them, he lacked some of the nuanced perspective of the Giles she remembered, and it saddened her in an undefinable way. “Look, I’m sorry I brought it all up. I’ll get out of your hair now.” She turned to go, gathering her bag from the chair as she went.
 
“Buffy,” Giles said in a gentler tone. She turned to face him. “I don’t want you to see me as an ogre or a dictator. I want you to be able to ask questions freely. My opinions on demons and their motives come ultimately from a desire to keep you safe. You’ve always been like the daughter Jenny and I never had, and the idea of you getting hurt or killed because you hesitated in battle is extremely disturbing to me. I’m sorry I came across so harshly.”
 
“I understand, Giles.” The thing was that she did on some level. But Giles had used the excuse of Watcher’s Council tradition to put her through the Cruciamentum, and Giles had tried to kill Spike behind her back in the interest of keeping her safe. This Giles seemed just as likely to go against her wishes in the interest of what he thought of as her well-being. “I’ll see you later,” she said, giving him a half-hearted smile as she turned and walked out. As she made her way home the thought was crystal clear: if she was going to get back to Spike, it would have to be on her own.
 
 
A Trip to the City
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon and all those folks. Thanks to Sanity Fair for catching a number of it’s-late-and-I’m-tired errors. Thanks to the reviewers for all the encouragement!
**************************
 
Chapter 18 A Trip to the City
**************************
 
“I’m making pasta for dinner. Do you want some?” It was the longest sentence Riley had spoken to her all week. She was sitting in the living room, looking over some of her latest notes. Riley had come home from work, said a quick hello, and gone out for a run. Now, he was showered and apparently in a cooking mood.
 
“That would be great. Thanks,” she replied politely. Turning back to her notes she read them over with a frown. She needed more information. Despite Giles’ disapproval, she had searched online and found that Wesley Wyndam-Price had an address listed in Los Angeles, but she couldn’t find the phone number. I wonder if that girl who worked for Angel, what was her name, Fred? Is she in this world? But Buffy couldn’t recall her real name, and anyhow she probably hadn’t gotten rescued or whatever with Angel being all nonexistent.
 
“Dinner’s ready,” Riley called after a while. Buffy set aside her notes and got up, stretching the kinks out of her neck as she did. In the kitchen, Riley was putting a bowl of spaghetti with bottled pasta sauce on the table.
 
“Thanks, that looks good,” Buffy said. She meant it – it seemed that she kept forgetting to eat while she was engrossed in the literature of time travel. She mounded her plate and reached for the parmesan cheese before digging in.
 
“I found out I need to go away next week,” Riley said.
 
“Where?”
 
“L.A. It’s a company retreat. I’ll be gone for 3 nights.”
 
Buffy hesitated a minute, then asked, “Can I tag along?”
 
Riley looked surprised. “I would have thought you’d welcome the chance to be away from me for a few days,” he remarked bitterly.
 
“Riley, I told you, I’m not mad at you. It’s just… awkward, all right?” For God’s sake, get over it already!
 
“Why do you want to go with anyway?” Riley asked, slightly suspiciously.
 
“There’s a guy in L.A., Wesley Wyndham-Price. He used to work for the Watcher’s Council. Anyhow, he might have some books that Giles doesn’t that might help.” She felt a bit guilty for shading the truth, but what Riley didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
 
Riley chewed silently, mulling it over. “Are we going to share a hotel room? Or am I just the chauffeur?”
 
Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I admit I’d feel more comfortable in my own bed. But with two beds, we can share a room. Maybe we can start to… get to know each other again.” The guilty feeling intensified, but she needed to get to L.A. She would even pretend to play nice with Riley, if it meant a chance of getting back to Spike somehow.
 
“I think I could live with that,” Riley said, brightening visibly.
 
What did you get yourself into now, Summers? Forcing a smile Buffy said, “Thanks. When do we leave?”
 
“Sunday.”
 
“Sounds good,” she replied, returning to her dinner. For the rest of the meal Riley chatted about work, telling stories about various coworkers whose names were unfamiliar to Buffy. She made encouraging noises at the right times and generally faked interest. Her mind was wandering down a list of possible avenues to pursue. Maybe I can convince Wesley that there is a demon that I have to go after that is hiding in London in the 1800’s or something. There has to be a way.
 
On the appointed day, Buffy tossed her suitcase into the back of the car and got into the passenger seat. “Do you mind driving?” she asked.
 
“Not at all,” Riley said, sounding more cheerful than he had in weeks.
 
“That’s right,” Buffy remembered. “Didn’t you once go on about how much you enjoyed driving? At a picnic or something?”
 
“You remember!” Riley exclaimed, starting the car. “You told me you were an avid pedestrian. You never have let me teach you to enjoy driving.”
 
“Well, no need to start now,” she replied.
 
As they headed out to the highway Riley asked, “Did you remember any more? That seems like something new.”
 
“Not really. But little things keep coming back. I’m pretty sure it will all come back in time if people just stay patient and wait.” Or I’ll get out of here, and it won’t be your problem anymore. She fiddled with the radio and found a classic rock station. When Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” came on she found herself biting her lip and trying not to cry. Billy Idol got the look from Spike. So what does Billy Idol look like in this world?
 
Not noticing her distress, Riley went on, “I’d like to apologize for being so, I don’t know, pushy about all this. I don’t do well when I feel helpless.”
 
No, really? “I read in my diaries that we had some… issues with our relationship the year when Glory came. Was that what it was about?”
 
Riley focused hard on the road for a moment before answering. “I guess I never really thought about it. I suppose that was a lot of it. It really felt like you didn’t need me.”
 
“Because I was stronger than you?”
 
“Well, that and you and your friends are just so tight, you know? It seemed like I was always on the outside.”
 
Buffy chewed on that for a moment. She and the other Riley had never really gotten a chance to calmly talk things out. It was true that she and Willow and Xander had been a trio for so long that it would be hard to take for an outsider. But the circle had expanded to accommodate Tara and Anya with little trouble. She thought that Riley’s macho bullshit probably had a lot to do with the friction but didn’t think it polite to mention it. “What made you stay then?” she asked finally.
 
“When everything started going down with Glory, and with, um, with Dawn, it seemed wrong to leave.” He still seemed reluctant to bring up Dawn, as if the mere mention of her name was going to send Buffy off the rails.
 
“Were you there in that final battle?” Buffy asked.
 
“Yeah,” Riley said, clearly not relishing the memory. “I was dealing with minions while you went after Glory. Another day when I felt pretty helpless.”
 
“I’ve got supernatural powers, Riley. If I couldn’t change the outcome, how could you?”
 
“I guess I used to have something close to that. Sometimes I wish I still did.” His voice held the faintest touch of bitterness.
 
“That’s right, all the Initiative stuff,” Buffy commented. “But that stuff was killing you, according to the diaries.”
 
“I know. The whole experience really threw me though. There was no one I could trust it seemed.”
 
“Been there.” Trust is for old marrieds. She closed her eyes for a moment at the memory of Spike in her bathroom. She had been crushed by his attack, but the claim and the memories they shared had blunted the sharp edges of the memory. He had felt driven to the edge. She had spent months saying no and then jumping him. The two of them had hurt each other badly all those months but had managed to forgive each other in the end, in Ireland, in a little garret bedroom. She turned her face to the window so that Riley couldn’t see the pain in her eyes. Unable to continue this conversation she said, “Tell me about what it was like for you growing up. How did you end up in the Initiative anyway?”
 
Relieved at the change of subject, Riley launched into the story of his life. Buffy pretended to listen, making appropriate comments as necessary. It was easier to let him talk than to have to come up with something to converse about. In her mind, she went over her plan of attack. Get to the hotel. Lose Riley. Find Wesley. Try to convince him that I need to get to Victorian England. Get the hell out of here and back to Spike. She knew there were details to work out, but this start seemed as good as any. Eventually the conversation lagged and Buffy pretended to doze off. Riley watched her with a smile, unaware of the unbridgeable gulf between them.
 
When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Riley stroked her cheek gently until she awoke. “We’re here.”
 
“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” Buffy replied. She had managed to actually fall asleep after a while and had been dreaming about Spike singing the Ramones in his beat up old DeSoto. Now, she regretfully stretched and got out of the car. They were at a good-sized hotel and conference center near downtown L.A. Riley checked them in, and they made their way to the sixth floor. The room had two beds and was simple but comfortable looking. “What time is it anyway?” she asked as she put her bag down on the bed nearest the door.
 
Riley checked his watch. “It’s four o’clock. We’re all meeting for a dinner at five thirty if you want to join us.”
 
“I think it would be pretty awkward,” Buffy said. “I think I’ll go hit the pool for a while, then catch some dinner and a movie later.”
 
“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
 
Buffy fixed him with a slightly exasperated look. “Riley. I grew up here, and I’m the Slayer. Plus, I’m a girl, and there’s a lot of places to shop around here that I am eager to reacquaint myself with.”
 
“Well that’s good,” Riley said. “I’m going to be in meetings all day for the next two days. I guess we can have breakfast together,” he said hopefully.
 
“That would be great,” Buffy said, forcing a smile. She grabbed a small bag with a towel and her swim suit and headed out to the elevator. She changed in the locker room next to the pool and dived in, skimming though the water like a seal. It had actually been a long time since she had gone swimming. Slaying, fighting, training the other Slayers and all that didn’t leave a whole lot of time for recreation. She reveled in the warm water, doing one lap after another. I wonder if Spike could swim? She found herself unable to prevent her thoughts from running to him at any unguarded moments.
 
After an uncounted number of laps she got out, a little breathless. She went back to the room to change then down to the small pub in the hotel. She ordered a sandwich and asked the waitress if there was a local phone book she could borrow. The waitress obliged, and she ran her fingers down the columns of names and numbers until she found and confirmed the address for W. Wyndham-Price. She jotted the address and phone number down and turned to her dinner. She wondered what she was going to say to him. Hi. Do you remember me? Well, I need to take a trip into the past to find my vampire mate. Can you help? She hoped by the time she got to his doorstep she would have a more convincing pitch.
 
She finished her dinner, paid the check with the joint credit card that she and Riley apparently had, and left in search of Wesley. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were starting to stretch long across the streets. The address she had was in a rather questionable part of town, and she endured a few catcalls from local sleazebags as she made her way past dirty alleys and low rent housing. Despite the surroundings, she felt more hopeful than she had recently. The Wesley in her world had known a lot of obscure things, and had gone deep into less orthodox research after parting company with the council and joining Angel’s merry band. Maybe something similar happened. He at least would be less likely to look at her like she had antlers or something if she explained what she needed.
 
At last she arrived at the address she had jotted down. It was a four story run-down apartment building with a dirty glass door which opened into a small dirty lobby. She looked at the names on the bells, but didn’t see Wyndham-Price or anything like that. Is he living here under an assumed name or something?
 
“Who are you?” came a harsh voice from behind her. “If you’re another one of those escort girls, you take yourself right back out of here. Don’t need no trouble of that kind.” The voice belonged to an elderly black woman, who was standing with a hand on her hip giving Buffy the evil eye.
 
“Um, no, sorry,” Buffy mumbled. “I’m actually looking for someone who supposedly lived here. Wesley Wyndham-Price?”
 
“You mean that British guy?”
 
“Yeah. Does he still live here?”
 
The woman shook her head. “He moved out a month ago. Didn’t even give notice. Good riddance if you ask me. Always had shady looking folks coming around to see him.”
 
Buffy’s heart sank, “So you don’t know where he went? No forwarding address?”
 
“No. Just left the rent money in my box and took off in the night. Does immigration come after British guys? Maybe it was trouble of that kind.” The landlady looked hard at Buffy. “He a boyfriend or something?”
 
“No. I was hoping he could help me. That’s all. Thanks anyway.” She turned to go, leaving the landlady shaking her head behind her. Out on the street she looked around, wondering where to go next. In all her life’s journeys she had never felt more lost.
 
*******************************
 
The three vampires that were hanging out in the abandoned building ten blocks from the last known residence of Wesley Wyndham-Price didn’t know what hit them. One minute they were lounging, drinking beer, planning their evening hunt while they waited for sunset, and the next minute the door slammed open and a small blonde woman strolled in. She had a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and one of them breathed, “Slayer…” as she pulled out her twin stakes and twirled them.
 
“Got it in one,” she quipped. Then she unleashed her fury on them. Normally she was all ‘dust and go’, but today she was pissed beyond all telling and needed the fight. She punched and kicked and tossed them, but didn’t stake them until she had beaten them to the point that they could barely stand. Their yellow demon eyes were wide with fear, and one of them broke off the attack and tried to run at one point. She whipped the stake at him and caught him in the back of the knee, taking him down while she dusted one of his companions. Then she strolled over almost casually, pulled out the stake, and sat on his back, pounding his kidneys over and over until she decided he had had enough and dusted him. She stood up, panting hard and pocketed her stakes. That’s better. She was still upset, but she felt in control again.
 
She left the building and continued on her aimless tour of L.A.’s seedier streets. She had been wandering with no particular destination since she left the apartment house. She had knocked out a wannabe human mugger then continued stalking around until she sensed the vampire nest. Now she turned down another street, her Slayer senses picking up a faint demonic tingle that grew stronger as she continued. At the end of the block she saw a neon sign above the entrance to a bar. As she approached she read the name: Caritas. Why does that sound familiar? She stood in the shadows and puzzled about it for a moment. When she saw a furtive misshapen figure with obvious horns slip in the door it hit her. It’s that demon bar. That demon that worked with Angel… Lorne? Spike had talked about him while they had been catching up on their lost time. Empath demon, Spike had said. Came from some other dimension. Got Angel to sing once or twice, which is once or twice too many times, if you’ve ever heard Angel’s singing voice. Out of curiosity and a desire to see if this Lorne existed in this world she headed down the street and went in.
 
The interior was all glass and blue neon, with a motley collection of demons of every stripe, a few vampires, and a smattering of odd looking humans. When she stepped out of the shadows by the doorway conversation died near her, and all eyes turned toward her with fear and loathing. The bartender noticed the disturbance and came out to meet her. “What’s the problem here? There’s no fighting happening here, you understand? Whole place is under a protective spell. You start throwing stakes around, Slayer, and you’re going to find yourself in a world of hurt, got it?”
 
Nervously Buffy said, “I’m just… looking for a drink. I’m off duty. No slayage, promise.”
 
The bartender looked her over closely then nodded; apparently satisfied that she meant what she said. “Then what’ll it be?” he asked as he moved back around behind the bar.
 
“I’ll have a Long Island iced tea,” she answered, taking a seat at the bar. The bluish demon next to her edged away slightly and turned back to his slightly furry date. She thanked the bartender when her drink came and observed the lay of the land while she sipped. Up on stage a pair of demons that reminded her a lot of Clem were howling through a karaoke version of “We Are Family” that sounded like a pack of wolves gargling. The noise was not to be believed, but they seemed to be having a grand old time of it, and Buffy couldn’t help smiling faintly. When they finished, the assembled guests clapped and hooted, and the two demons made their way over to a table in the corner where a tall, green skinned demon in a bright blue blazer was sitting. He talked with them for a few minutes, and they were apparently satisfied with whatever he said because they high-fived each other and headed over to the bar for another round. The green demon took a long drink of something that looked like mist was rising from it, and as he did so he noticed Buffy’s interested gaze. He put the drink down, cocked his head for a moment then rose to cross the room and take the seat next to her.
 
“Freshen this up for me, will you Ramone?” he said to the bartender. Turning to Buffy he said, “We don’t get a lot of Slayers in here.”
 
“Well, I suppose there’s only one of us in the whole world and all that, so the chances are pretty low.”
 
The demon smiled. “So what’s a nice Slayer like you doing in a demon bar like this, bearing in mind our no-Slaying policy?” Buffy looked into her drink for a moment, trying to think of how to put things. “Honey, you’ve been radiating sad and confused and lost since you walked in here. I don’t know what happened to make the Chosen One such a wreck, but seems to me you need to tell someone about it,” said the demon encouragingly.
 
“You’re right,” Buffy said, nodding without looking at him. She took another drink and said, “What would you say if I told you that the world as you know it is wrong?”
 
“Wrong in a general sense, or something specific? By the way, my name is...”
 
“Lorne. I know. I’ve heard about you from someone who was once a friend of yours. I’m Buffy.”
 
Lorne looked totally confused. “What friend of mine have you met that you didn’t slay?”
 
“A vampire named Spike.” Her voice wavered a little on his name.
 
“I don’t recall ever meeting a vampire named Spike. Not a name I’d forget.”
 
“The thing is, you met him in a different time,” Buffy explained. “And then time changed, so you never met.”
 
“You’re not making any sense right now sweetheart. I think you’ll need to start the whole story from the top. First, though, you need to sing for me.”
 
“Sing?” Buffy’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise and confusion.
 
“I can read your destiny and help tell you what path to take, but it only works when you’re singing,” Lorne explained. “Those two guys butchering Sister Sledge earlier were trying to figure out if they had found good mates. I was pleased to tell them that the girls they had in mind would be great matches.”
 
Buffy had to admit that a little advice on the future would be most welcome about now. She took another big gulp of her drink and stood up, slightly unsteadily. “Okay, what do I do?”
 
Ten minutes later she was standing nervously on the stage in front of the karaoke prompter, with Lorne announcing, “Give it up for our friendly neighborhood Slayer, who has agreed to a truce in exchange for your polite attention.” Buffy could swear she could hear crickets after his statements and felt even more nervous about performing in front of a hostile audience. But as the guitar chords swelled she screwed up her courage and started singing.
 
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

In looking through the list of songs, the one that had stuck in her mind was “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. Her voice was shaky at first, but when she got to the chorus she found it was expressing exactly what she felt.
 
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
 
When she finished there was a small smattering of applause, and the overall audience seemed less completely hostile. Lorne, however, was sitting at his corner table with tears running down his face. Buffy went to join him. “Was it really that bad?” she asked.
 
“Girl, I haven’t felt so much pain in… in forever. You really love somebody, and you’ve lost him.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Sit down right here. You’re going to tell me the whole tale, end to end, and you’re going to tell me the truth.” He motioned for more drinks, handed Buffy hers, and leaned forward, ready to listen.
 
Buffy took a deep breath and launched into her tale. She explained her history as the Slayer, how she met Spike and Angel, the destruction of Sunnydale, the final battle in L.A. Words poured out of her in a torrent as she talked about her mom, her sister, her failed relationships. Glory and the First, and the Circle of the Black Thorn – all her battles and triumphs were laid out in front of the sympathetic demon. Finally after an hour of talking she came to the most recent events. “I don’t know who sent us back in time. But we went, and we stopped Angel from becoming a vampire, and apparently that saved the world. My friends are alive and happy, I’m in a stable, normal relationship, and everything is peachy, except…”
 
“Except your mate isn’t here,” Lorne put in.
 
“Yeah,” said Buffy sadly, looking down into her drink. She was so grateful to have finally told someone the whole story. There was something inherently trustworthy about this demon. But at the same time, laying the whole history out on the table was like pulling a bandage off a wound. She felt no closer to solving her problem.
 
Lorne reached out and patted her hand. “Hey, none of those black thoughts now. I know what you’re going through. I’m an empath and a demon, remember? I know what claims are like. You’ve got a big knife wound in your soul, and you’re never going to have peace until you find your man again.”
 
“But how?” Buffy’s voice was full of despair. “I don’t know how the whole time travel thing happened in the first place, and I don’t know how to make it happen again! Everything I read says that it takes massive amounts of magical power, which I don’t have, and I can’t ask my friends to do. If we reverse what happened, the world’s going to end and my friends are going to suffer. There’s no way out of this!”
 
“Now you listen to me, sugar,” Lorne said sternly. “Your future is pretty complicated. I’m not exactly sure what your ultimate fate is going to be. But when I heard you sing, I knew one thing. You’re someone special. The Powers That Be have had a big hand in your life. You’re going to have to get in contact with them to resolve this.”
 
Buffy sighed. “What, do they have a phone number or a website or something?”
 
“Cute,” Lorne said, one corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “Nothing so simple as that. But you can talk to the Oracles. I can tell you how. If anyone can help you, it will be them.”
 
Buffy’s mouth opened in astonishment. “You mean there’s really a way?” She looked like she hardly dared to hope.
 
“There’s a way to find out what happened to you,” Lorne said. “The Oracles are a go-between. They’re sort of hidden in plain sight – you need to do a ritual to get to speak to them, and only warriors on the side of good get in. No guarantee that they will do what you want, but I have the feeling they’ll listen to you. It’s pretty clear that the resolution of all this will need to come from the Oracles and the Powers.”
 
“Tell me what I have to do. I don’t care what it is. Just tell me where to go.” Buffy’s heart raced at the prospect of actual progress.
 
“Will you still be around tomorrow evening?”
 
“Yes. I’m here for three nights at least.” More if it will get me to Spike.
 
“Then come by around six o’clock or so. If I’m not out here, ask Ramone to come find me. I’ll get you what you need.”
 
“Thank you,” Buffy breathed. “I don’t know why you’re involving yourself in all my problems, but I’m really, really grateful.”
 
Lorne smiled and squeezed her hand. “You’re a force for good, cookie. You saved the world and got royally screwed over because of it. Seems like the world owes you one.”
 
“Thanks,” Buffy repeated. “Tomorrow then?”
 
“I’ll be here.” They stood up, and Buffy shook Lorne’s hand once more before turning to leave. Lorne watched her go with a thoughtful expression on his green face. “Hope it all works out for you,” he murmured to himself before returning to the bar and his other clients.
 
TBC
 
Masters of Time
 
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just borrowing them. Thanks for the quickest turnaround in history, Ms. SanityFair!
 
*****************************
Chapter 19 – Masters of Time
*****************************
 
Riley was asleep when Buffy got back to the hotel room. She got dressed and crept into bed without waking him, grateful that she wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of getting ready for bed under the eyes of someone who considered himself her spouse. She lay there for a while too excited to sleep, wondering what these Oracles could be like and whether they could help her. After a long period of tossing and turning she finally fell asleep, only to be wakened four hours later by the alarm clock.
 
“Argh. Turn that off!” she muttered with irritation.
 
“Sorry,” Riley said, sounding slightly bleary. He hit the alarm clock, which read seven a.m. and sat up, swinging his legs over the side and rubbing his face. “When did you get in last night?”
 
“Late,” Buffy mumbled, pulling the blankets over her head.
 
“Where were you? I was concerned.”
 
Buffy sighed, realizing her sleep was going to continue to be disturbed until Riley got his answers. “I was patrolling. I couldn’t find Wesley, and I was pissed, so I worked it out on the local vampire population, all right?”
 
“Oh,” Riley said. “So no advice from the rogue demon hunter?”
 
“Not yet. I’ll go hunt him down some more tonight. But I need some more sleep first.” She hoped and prayed that he would get the hint.
 
“Well, I have to get dressed. The retreat starts at eight with breakfast. Do you want me to bring you something?”
 
“I’m good but thanks,” she said. Riley looked at her for another moment then shook his head and shuffled off to the bathroom. The sound of the running water lulled Buffy back to sleep, and she was completely out again when Riley left.
 
She slept on until nearly three o’clock, lost in dreams. Since Jenny’s spell her dreams of Spike had been more vivid, much more like concrete conversations with the man she loved than disjointed scenes.
 
How are things for you, love?
 
About the same. Met your friend Lorne today though. I think he might be able to help.
 
A chuckle echoed through her sleeping mind. Guy gives new meaning to the word flamboyant, but yeah, he’s got some useful talents.
 
He had me sing for him. I’m supposed to go see the Oracles.
 
That might help. I avoided the singing bit while I knew him.
 
Why? You’ve got a nice voice.
 
Yeah, but I’d had it up to here with prophesies and mystical shit. Didn’t want to know my fate so much. Just wanted to spin it out for myself for a change.
 
How are you doing? What’s up in England?
 
Well, it’s all either happened or still happening, depending on when you’re talking about. Time’s funny.
 
So what happened today in say, 1879?
 
Let’s see… It was a Sunday, so long dull church service, followed by tea with Mother at the Underwood’s. A chance for William to study Miss Cecily in close quarters. Looking for something to match the woman of his dreams, but he’ll find out that Cecily’s just a cold hearted bitch soon enough.
 
Poor you. Wish I could be there.
 
You will. I can feel it.
 
A clatter from the hallway woke her. A knock on the door followed. “Housekeeping!”
 
“Can you come back in ten minutes?” Buffy called.
 
“Fine.” Buffy could detect a bit of irritation in the voice, which was understandable, it being mid-afternoon. With a deep regret at having lost her dream she got up, took a fast five minute shower, dressed, and was out the door. The maid was on her way back toward the room, and Buffy muttered an apology as she passed her and headed for the elevator. After a meal in the café she headed out into the L.A. sun. She wandered through a few shops aimlessly, browsing without any particular aim. As she strolled she saw a costume shop and wandered in cautiously – she well remembered the Sunnydale Halloween incident. The proprietor was a friendly artistic sort, rather than a creep like Ethan Rayne, and clearly catered to the local theater crowd.
 
“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” The woman looked to be in her late thirties, with spikey hair and a large number of earrings.
 
“I’m just browsing thanks,” Buffy said. Then as she started looking around a thought occurred to her. “Actually, do you have anything that looks Victorian? Like 1800’s British?”
 
“We do in fact,” the proprietor said. She led Buffy through the racks to a section that had both men’s and women’s period clothing. “We have pretty reasonable rental rates if you need stuff for a play.”
 
Buffy tried to imagine Spike in one of the black suits with the odd collars, but it was hard picturing him in anything other than black leather. She looked through the dresses, which seemed incredibly complicated. “I think I’d need an instruction manual just to figure out how these work,” she laughed.
 
The shop lady laughed as well. “You’re not kidding. I admire those women for being able to function in all those layers and corsets and stuff. But it’s actually not that hard once you figure out the system. Would you like to try one on?”
 
“Why not?” She chose a pale yellow gown and followed the woman into the dressing room. The woman patiently explained how everything worked, and with a little assistance Buffy managed to get herself into the gown.
 
“This actually looks really good on you. Hey, wait just one second. Don’t move.” The woman ran out and came back with an old-fashioned looking hair comb. She deftly pinned up Buffy’s long hair then stood back to admire her handiwork. “Take a look now.”
 
Buffy turned around and gasped a little. She looked like she had stepped out of one of those history books. The bodice had a scooped neck, and white ruffles trailed down to the waist. The bustle on the back had cascades of cloth flowing behind it in a pale shade of lemon yellow. “Wow. That’s really amazing.”
 
“You’d fit right in,” the shop woman agreed.
 
“How much does it cost to rent this?” Buffy asked suddenly.
 
“It’s $150 per week.”
 
“Can I think about it and get back to you in a day or two?” Buffy said impulsively. It occurred to her that if this time travel thing worked out she might need some camouflage this time.
 
“Sure! Not a ton of demand for this right now. Is it for a play?”
 
“More of for a costume party. But I’ll have to see if this will fit with my date’s costume ideas.” Buffy realized she was becoming an accomplished and compulsive liar through all this, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of alternatives.
 
“Well, come back any time. I think this dress would be a hit on you. You wear it well.”
 
“Thanks for all your help.” Buffy left and continued her browsing, killing time until it was nearly six o’clock. At the appointed time she walked through the door of Caritas, a little nervous but determined to get some answers. The crowd was much lighter at this hour although again her entrance was greeted by nervous hostility. She walked up to the bar and said, “Is Lorne around? He told me to come see him.”
 
Ramone the bartender was drying some glassware but jerked his head toward a door to the side of the bar. “He’s in his office. He’s expecting you.”
 
Buffy knocked on the door and opened it when she heard Lorne’s cheery, “Come in!” She entered to find Lorne, in a red blazer this time, talking on the phone. He motioned her to sit down while he finished up his discussion. “Look, just make sure that this time your private party doesn’t involve five thousand dollars in new furniture, okay? Thanks.” He hung up and shook his head. “Glorbek demons. Harmless to humans but rough on the chairs when they’ve had a few. Anyhow, are you ready to meet the Oracles?”
 
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Buffy’s nerves were all singing with anticipation. What would they say? Could they help? What form would their help take? There were so many questions bubbling through her mind that she had to make a conscious effort to focus on what Lorne was saying.
 
“All right, sugarplum, here’s how it works.” He pulled a small satin bag out of a drawer in his desk. “This is sacred dust. Took me all day to hunt it down, so for the love of God don’t spill it. You need to go to the main post office…”
 
“The post office?” Buffy asked incredulously. “The Oracles to the Powers that Be are at the post office?”
 
“Under it actually. They live in another dimension. The gateway happens to be under the post office. Maybe someone’s idea of a cosmic joke. Anyhow, you go through the gateway and you, being a warrior on the side of good, will see a small pyre burning. Throw some of this sacred dust on it and say, ‘I come before the Oracles for guidance and direction. I beseech access to the knowing ones.’”
 
“And then what?” Buffy wondered.
 
Lorne shrugged. “Then they either grant you an audience, or they don’t. They’re cryptic little buggers sometimes, but their purpose is to nudge things toward the side of good. But if you tell them what you want, they’ll grant it if it suits their purpose.”
 
Buffy mulled this over. “Anything else I should know about them?”
 
“Not too much more I can tell you. They’re said to be arrogant, but who knows? I only know so much about them through an ex-watcher who used to come in here.”
 
Buffy’s ears pricked up. “Wesley Wyndham-Price?”
 
“You know him?” Lorne said wonderingly.
 
“Well, I knew him before. I actually came here looking for him.”
 
“Well, he went to the Oracles for advice. He was in here talking to me and a bunch of other folks trying to find them. Don’t know what they told him, but he took off for parts unknown soon afterward. Said he had a mission to perform – someone to rescue in another dimension. He wouldn’t get more specific than that.”
 
“I guess that’s why I couldn’t find him.” Buffy reached out and picked up the satin bag. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
 
Lorne smiled, his white teeth gleaming against his emerald skin. “You just go find a happier song to sing, you hear me? And if you need any more help, just ask. Don’t know why, but I feel like I need to help you. Call it fate or whatever you like.” He stood up and walked with Buffy to the door, explaining where the entrance was, and reminding her of the required words. She repeated them flawlessly then impulsively gave him a hug before heading out.
 
She forced herself not to sprint for the post office but walked so fast that people turned their heads in her wake. Her mind raced through what she was going to say, but everything sounded stupid to her. Finally, she decided that she needed to relax, and whatever came out of her mouth would have to be good enough.
 
In an alley next to the post office she encountered a small door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ where Lorne had said it would be. She checked for any witnesses before turning the knob and slipping through. A dark staircase lit only by a single dim bulb stretched down in front of her. At the bottom there was a short corridor ending in a massive stone doorway. She walked through into a round stone chamber in the middle of which was a small fire burning in a metal bowl on a curiously wrought stand. With shaking fingers she brought out a small pinch of the precious dust and sprinkled it on the flames. “I come before the Oracles for guidance and direction. I beseech access to the knowing ones.” She put the bag of dust back in her pocket and waited.
 
One of the walls seemed to shimmer and disappear, opening onto what looked like the courtyard of a Greek temple. Two figures approached, one male and one female. Their skin was patterned with blue and gold markings, and their eyes were piercing and stern. “Come before us, lower being. What have you brought us?”
 
“Brought you?” Buffy wondered what they wanted.
 
“We demand a tribute,” said the male Oracle, looking at her as if she were an insect.
 
“We will take that ring you wear,” the female put in.
 
“Ring? Oh, yeah.” Buffy was still wearing the wedding ring. She had barely noticed it during this whole thing. Knowing that she was going to have some explaining to do later, she pulled it off without hesitation and handed it over to the woman.
 
The Oracles examined the ring for a moment. “We are satisfied. What do you ask of us, Chosen One?”
 
Buffy took a deep breath. “I wish to be sent back in time to be with the man I love.” It sounded like such a simple request, when put that way.
 
The female oracle cocked her head curiously at Buffy. “You were sent through time to prevent the man Liam from becoming the vampire Angel. We are aware of the pain this would cause you. Hence you were rewarded.” The woman’s tone seemed to indicate that she saw Buffy’s request as a sign of sheer ingratitude.
 
Treading carefully, Buffy replied, “I truly am grateful that my friends are alive and well. And if I didn’t remember what had come before, I would have nothing to complain about. But Spike and I claimed each other, and I can’t forget him.”
 
“You, the Chosen One, chose to bind yourself forever to a vampire?” The male oracle’s voice was a mixture of incredulous and angry. “Did you not think of the consequences of that act?”
 
Buffy found herself getting irritated at his tone. “He saved the world. He saved me, and brought me out of the darkest times of my life. He loved me when I was a total bitch to him. He went out and fought to regain his soul for me. What more could I ask for in a mate?”
 
The oracles looked at each other, communicating somehow. “Look at me,” demanded the woman. Buffy shivered a bit as the oracle’s eyes bore into hers, and her mind prickled, as if someone was rifling through it but she stood her ground and stared back. “The love you feel for him is deep.”
 
“Yes,” Buffy replied simply.
 
“We cannot undo what we have done,” the male said. “To bring back the vampire Angel would be to destroy ourselves and your world.”
 
“I don’t want to go back to the old timeline,” Buffy pleaded. “I just want to go to where he is. I want to go to England, in the 1800’s, and try to find him.”
 
“There will be no guarantee that you will find him, or that he will accept you or be the person you remember. He may reject you due to the circumstances of his time. You could end up alone and lost, in a time that is not your own,” warned the man, a frown crossing his golden face.
 
“I would take that risk,” Buffy declared. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just asking for a chance, that’s all.”
 
“You would turn your back on your friends and all you know for William the Bloody?”
 
“Yes.”
 
A period of silence followed, with the Oracles once more communicating telepathically. Buffy shifted nervously, wrapping her arms around herself. Please. Oh God, please get me out of this life. Please.
 
The two figures looked up as if they had heard her thoughts. “We sense your unhappiness. It was not our intention to cause you further pain after all you have suffered on our behalf. However, what you ask is a delicate and difficult thing, involving the tangling of many threads of fate. Return to us in a week of your time, and we will give you our judgment then.” The oracles turned as one and departed, the wall shimmering once more before becoming solid stone again.
 
“Wait! What are you…?” But even as she called out Buffy realized there was no more she could do tonight. She turned to go, hope and fear fighting for first place in her heart.
 
TBC
 
Give me time to think
 
All the characters are someone else's, not mine. Thanks to Sanity Fair for her heroic beta work. Sorry the update took so long, but I am back from traveling and ready to write!

*************************************************
Chapter 20 – Give me time to think
************************************************** 

It was ten o’clock when she got back to the hotel room. She changed into pajamas, flipped on the TV to some classic movie channel, and let a John Wayne western play in the background as she thought over her visit to the Oracles. Come back in a week? What’s that supposed to mean? And when I do come back, are they going to send me there right then? And if not what the hell do I do?
 
These musings were interrupted by Riley’s return. “Hey, you’re home early!” he said by way of greeting.
 
“I had a couple of good slays, decided to call it a night,” she lied. “How was the management… leadership thingy?”
 
“It was really good,” Riley responded with enthusiasm. He went on to discuss one of the “innovative new training techniques” at length while he ditched his tie and suit coat and rummaged around for the t-shirt and lounge pants he planned to call pajamas. Buffy had to fight to stay looking interested – it all sounded, to coin a phrase, as boring as shit. “Anyhow, I can’t wait to try this with some of my corporate clients. I think it will really help some of the more timid speakers.”
 
“That’s great, Riley,” Buffy said with a little smile. “So you have one more day of this?”
 
“Yeah. There are workshops tomorrow and then a final dinner…” he trailed off, looking at her closely. “Where is your ring?”
 
Crap. “I took it off before patrol. It’s… it’s been a little loose lately. I guess I haven’t been eating as much as I used to.”
 
“Oh.” Riley looked as if he desperately wanted to ask her to put the ring back on, but instead he grabbed his night attire and went into the bathroom to change.
 
Shit, now what? She decided to say nothing unless Riley brought it up again. She got under the covers and attempted to focus on the movie. Riley came out and threw himself down on his bed. “I didn’t think you liked John Wayne,” he commented.
 
“It was the only thing on,” Buffy replied.
 
After a few more minutes of Mr. Wayne delivering his slightly wooden lines, Riley said, “Any plans for tomorrow?”
 
“Not really,” Buffy replied. “Probably do some more swimming and browsing.”
 
“Did you remember that Anya and Xander’s baby shower is Friday?”
 
“No, I forgot.” The invitation had arrived in the middle of her research binge and had scarcely been noted. “I’ll have to go get them something tomorrow.”
 
“Good, because I haven’t the slightest clue about baby stuff,” Riley said with obvious relief.
 
“Well, I have only slightly more clue, but I’ll figure something out.” Buffy felt a little pang of regret. If everything went the way she hoped, she would never get to meet Xander’s child. The Oracles’ words of warning echoed in her head: You could end up alone and lost, in a time that is not your own. She lay quietly watching the movie until she drifted off to sleep pondering that thought.
 
******************************
 
Riley was gone again the next morning before she woke up. She had a leisurely brunch in a local diner before heading out to the stores. She went into a likely looking purveyor of baby things and asked for help. After explaining that no, she didn’t know if it was a boy or girl and no, she didn’t know if they were registered, the woman helped her pick out a selection of baby clothes in neutral colors. She added a stuffed Count from Sesame Street – living in Sunnydale the kid should probably learn about vampires early. Besides, what else would the slayer give as a gift? She paid what she thought was an extraordinary amount of money for such tiny clothes, got them gift wrapped, and called it done.
 
Outside she walked until she found a park and sat down on a bench to think. Now that the possibility of getting sent back in time to Spike was dangled in front of her, she found herself hesitating. She silently cursed the Oracles for planting the seeds of doubt in her head. She knew a lot about Victorian times and customs, but would it be enough to blend in? Would she even be able to find William Pratt in the London sprawl? If she found him, what would she say? Would he believe her? Was he the kind of man who would take a chance on someone like her, or was he too caught up in the strictures of his time? She had no way of knowing any of this, and it was unnerving.
 
Then there was the idea of having to actually live in Victorian London. No television, no radio, no electricity. Gas lamps, candles, and oil lamps. Possibly no flush toilets. No wearing shorts or jeans, or strappy heels. Corsets, high button shoes, and bustles. No sunbathing, no drinking and partying at the Bronze. Music of the stuffy chamber variety. These things definitely gave her pause. Could she really live the rest of her days without malls? Without cars? In a city full of coal smoke and horse manure?
 
The personal cost was high as well. Riley she wouldn’t miss particularly, but having to say goodbye to Tara and Jenny and Anya again would be painful. To never see Xander or Giles again would be tough. Although she didn’t see them all the time after Sunnydale had fallen, she knew they were there at the end of the telephone. No telephones! And Willow. They had reconnected a lot over the past year, especially after Willow had broken up with Kennedy. They talked on the phone or via email nearly every day. Even now, with Willow in Magic Mode, she still took comfort from the familiar face of her longtime friend. In London she would be alone, unless she found Spike.
 
The implications of what she was planning to do spun endlessly in her brain as she watched people move through the park. Joggers went by, sweating and panting. A homeless man searched in nearby trash cans for returnable bottles and cans. A group of boys went by kicking a soccer ball between them casually, laughing and joking. Someone was practicing juggling on a patch of grass some ways away. All these people living their lives – how much was the same? How much had changed because of what she and Spike had done? They were all unaware of how close they had been to being snuffed out forever. And what will change again if I go back in time again?
 
It was then that a young couple with their little boy came walking down the path in front of her. The parents were holding his hands and swinging him into the air with every step while the boy laughed joyously. He stopped to look at a caterpillar crossing his path, his parents stealing a kiss behind him while he knelt down to pick up his new friend. “Look, Mommy! It likes me!” he cried happily as he let the caterpillar crawl up his arm. His parents bent down to admire his discovery, and the man’s arm wrapped affectionately around his wife’s waist in an unconscious gesture of love. Buffy’s heart constricted in her chest as she watched the little scene. That little gesture of love, so simple and profound, moved her deeply. An image, clear and bright, appeared in her mind of walking with Spike in the sunlight, holding hands. She suddenly could picture exactly what a son of theirs would look like, with Spike’s eyes and her hair. All the worries about what she would lose seemed pale compared to the visions of what she could gain. That perfect connection. I will never have that here. This world had many wonders, but that deep, perfect communion with another soul was not available here and she couldn’t live long without it. The last little bits of reluctance vanished. I am coming for you, Spike. I’ll find you or die trying. With that she rose to return to the hotel.
 
TBC
 
Last Dance
 
Disclaimer: All the mistakes that SanityFair didn't catch are mine, all the characters are Joss Whedon's. Sorry for the delay - thanks for your patience readers!

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

Chapter 21 – Last Dance

******************************************
 
Buffy and Riley got back to Sunnydale early Wednesday afternoon. The car ride had been reasonably pleasant, having been spent discussing movies and television, a safe subject that avoided the awkward topic of their status as a couple. In the middle of the unpacking and the resultant laundry the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Buffy called as she headed for the kitchen. “Hello?”
 
“Hey, it’s Willow. How was the trip to L.A.?”
 
“Great from the shopping perspective. Otherwise, nothing much to write home about,” Buffy replied.
 
Willow sounded a bit disappointed when she spoke again. “So, no luck finding Wesley or anything else that could help?”
 
“No. But it’s cool. I’m learning to adjust to the holes in the database, and they’re filling in a little at a time.” Buffy hoped her casual and confident tone would somehow sink into Willow’s ‘fix it with magic’ mindset.
 
“Well, if you’re okay with it…” Willow sounded highly doubtful.
 
“Why did you call anyway?” Buffy asked before Willow could go too far down the intervention path.
 
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot! Tara and I were going to go to the Bronze tonight – there’s a good band playing. Do you guys want to join us?”
 
“Sure. What time?”
 
“Show starts at eight so… seven thirty?”
 
“Sounds good. I’ll tell Riley.” Buffy hung up, her hand lingering a moment on the receiver. She hadn’t had time to notice when she had last gone to the Bronze, before Sunnydale all went to hell. This time she knew it would be the last time, and the thought was bittersweet.
 
“Who was that?”
 
Buffy turned to see that Riley had come up from doing the laundry. “That was Willow. Do you want to go to the Bronze tonight?”
 
Riley seemed surprised. “Sure. You, um, you haven’t wanted to do anything social since all this went down.”
 
“Well, I suppose I should stop being a hermit I guess,” Buffy replied with a smile. She hoped she would be able to keep up the mask of enjoyment all night. She went to the kitchen and pulled out a bag of tortilla chips and some guacamole. She sat down and started munching, savoring every bite. They probably don’t have these in London. These thoughts of what she was giving up kept popping up at random times, but she kept her mind firmly fixed on Spike whenever they did. Would you choose guacamole over Spike? I didn’t think so.
 
“Are you going to call those dinner?” Riley asked.
 
“No. I’m going to call Chinese dinner. Can you order it for me?”
 
“Sure, um, what do you want?”
 
“Anything. Surprise me.” She went back to munching while Riley shrugged and found the take out menu. Forty-five minutes later a selection of Chinese dishes had arrived and Buffy dug in with relish.
 
“You seem really hungry,” Riley commented.
 
Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know. Just enjoying food today.”
 
“That’s good! You haven’t been eating much lately,” Riley noted.
 
Buffy chafed a bit at the constant monitoring that his comment implied, but she bit back on any caustic comment. “Well, I’m hungry today. So pass the kung pao chicken please.”
 
After the meal was cleared away, Buffy went up to the room she was using and methodically went through her notes again. Riley left her alone, having been told off enough times over the past few weeks to know better than to disturb her. At seven o’clock she closed the notebook, rubbed her eyes, and went to find clothes. She found her favorite leather skirt and paired it with a bright blue sleeveless top and heels. She took extra time with her hair and makeup, drinking in every moment of modern day fashion. She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering what William Pratt would think of her if he saw her. He would probably think I was a prostitute or a circus performer or something. I’ll have to resign myself to…
 
She stopped, her mouth dropping open as a thought occurred to her. They might say no. They might not send me back. She had been so caught up with her own personal choice that she had forgotten there were other players in this game. What will I do if they say no? How will I live here? In the same instant she realized the answer: she wouldn’t. If they didn’t send her back to Spike, she would hit the road and keep going, away from Sunnydale and Riley and Slaying and all of it. They’ll find you, said a treacherous voice in her head. They’ll chase you down with locator spells no matter where you go. With a sinking sensation she realized that this was a distinct possibility. Fine. If all else fails, a vampire has a good day. I’m done.
 
A knock on the bedroom door shook her out of her morbid thoughts. “Are you coming?”
 
“Yeah, just a sec,” she said. She took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. You don’t know what’s going to happen and you can’t know. Until you do, just be in the now, all right? Having given herself the necessary pep talk, she opened the door and joined Riley downstairs.
 
Riley’s eyes widened appreciatively. “You look amazing,” he said.
 
“Thanks. I guess we’d better go.” Buffy blushed a little under his gaze, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She had dressed to enjoy her clothing, not for him, but she had no good way to tell him that.
 
The Bronze was already crowded, but they spotted Willow waving from a table near the edge of the dance floor. After weaving their way through the throng they plopped gratefully into their chairs. “Hey guys,” Buffy said.
 
“Glad you could join us,” Willow said.
 
“Can I get drinks for people?” Riley asked.
 
“I’ll have a Cosmo,” Buffy declared. Willow looked a little surprised, but recovered and gave Riley her order as well. Tara asked for a soda and Riley went off in search of beverages. Buffy asked Willow, “What? Do I develop horns when I drink or something?”
 
Willow blushed a little. “No, it’s just, with your meds you’re not supposed to drink, I thought.”
 
“Well, since I haven’t taken them in three weeks, I think I’ll be safe,” Buffy said firmly.
 
Willow still looked concerned, but Tara said, “That’s great! I mean, apart from the memory thing, you seem to be doing pretty well even without them.”
 
“I keep telling everyone that I’m doing fine,” Buffy said with a touch of frustration. “I don’t know what to do to convince you guys that it’s true.” Tara and Willow exchanged uncomfortable glances and all three were glad when Riley came back with the drinks and relieved the awkwardness.
 
Buffy sipped her drink slowly, savoring the sweet taste. Tara asked about the trip to L.A., and the conversation ran for a while in that vein. Buffy contributed bits and pieces here and there, but was mostly content to listen and watch. She smiled at the sight of Willow and Tara, casually holding hands, or nudging each other, occasionally stealing a quick kiss. The horror of losing Tara and what it had done to Willow was a memory Buffy would sooner forget, and it was gratifying to see them together and content. She sent up a silent prayer to whatever beings were listening that her friends wouldn’t be penalized somehow by what she hoped to do.
 
At some point the girls got up to dance, but Riley begged off, content to hold the table for them. Buffy was perfectly fine with that – dancing with Riley wasn’t something she wanted to explore. She threw herself into it, enjoying herself immensely, getting flirtatious looks from every single man in a ten foot radius. She idly wondered if she would have to learn to waltz or something in Spike’s world. Well, until that happens, I plan to rock. She was out of breath by the time they decided to take a break, her skin glowing and her green eyes bright. “That was more fun than I’ve had in ages,” she commented. It was true – the club scene in Rome had never been as appealing.
 
“It was fun to watch,” Riley commented. “You looked amazing out there.”
 
“Thanks,” Buffy said, avoiding his glance. His statement was more of a plea, and she could see things getting very uncomfortable very soon.
 
At that moment the band was finally announced, and everyone settled in to listen. The band sounded vaguely familiar to Buffy, but she couldn’t remember exactly why. Riley refreshed everyone’s drinks at some point as they band worked their way through their set.
 
“So what did you get Xander and Anya for this shower?” Tara asked at one point. “We got a whole bunch of educational toys, so the baby has something intellectual to drool on.”
 
“I went for clothes. Seriously, how come these things cost so much? I mean…” Buffy stopped mid-sentence, as if switched off.
 
“Buffy? What’s wrong?” Riley asked.
 
The band had switched to a slower song and the words had just permeated Buffy’s brain:
 
Goodbye to you, goodbye to everything that I knew, you were the one I loved….
 
She had heard this song before. That terrible night after her memory had been erased and then snapped back, when she had gone from feeling powerful to crushed in seconds. She had retreated here, to the Bronze, seeking to hide from this hell she had woken to. As she had sat there, alone, this song in the background, Spike had shown up. His eyes had been full of pity and understanding, but she had turned away, unable at first to handle his tenderness. Then she had chased after him and caught him, there by that stairwell, and lost herself in his touch and his scent and the strength in his limbs. Spike. I wasted so much time before. Oh God, let me feel that again. Please.
 
Her friends looked at each other with alarm. “Buffy?” Willow said.
 
“I… I’m sorry. I just… I’ll be right back.” She fled to the ladies room, locked herself in a stall and sat down on the toilet seat, covering her face with her hands. If she didn’t get back to him, she was going to go crazy. These little reminders of him and their shared experiences were getting harder and harder to bear. The Oracles had dangled hope in front of her, but it had only served to sharpen the knowledge of the pain she would suffer if they said no. Get it together, Summers, she told herself. With a deep breath she wiped her eyes, left the stall, and checked her face in the mirror. Other than a faint redness around her eyes, she looked basically all right. A few more deep breaths and she was back out the door, making her way back to the table. “I’m sorry, we were talking about baby presents, right?” she said as she got back to the table.
 
But her friends weren’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “Buffy, you need to tell us what’s wrong!” Riley insisted. “You just zoned out in the middle of a sentence!”
 
“The song just reminded me of my sister, okay? I just lost it for a minute. I’m fine now.”
 
“Are you sure that’s all?” Willow probed. “You looked like you had seen a ghost or something.”
 
The ghosts of kisses past, she thought. “I’m fine,” she insisted. But it seemed as if the steam had gone out of the evening. They ended up listening to the band with little discussion, and when the band finished its set, they all got up to go as if by a prearranged signal.
 
“We should get home. We promised we’d open the shop tomorrow,” Tara explained.
 
“Thanks for the invite,” Buffy said. “Sorry I’m such a drag lately.”
 
“Oh, don’t say that!” Willow exclaimed, giving Buffy a hug. “We’re really glad to see you getting out and about.”
 
“Thanks. See you at the shop tomorrow?” The witches concurred and they all departed.
 
“You’re awfully quiet,” Riley noted in the car.
 
“Just got a lot on my mind,” Buffy replied. Actually, I’ve only got one thing on my mind, but it’s a pretty heavy thing, so just back off, all right? “You don’t need to worry about me.” I can worry about myself plenty. She did just that as they drove home through the darkness.

 
TBC
 
The Long Goodbye
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon. All the beta work done by the lovely Sanity Fair – Happy Birthday Sanity!
 
***************************
Chapter 22 The Long Goodbye
***************************
 
Riley and the others marveled at the changes in Buffy over the next few days. She had gone from hiding in her room to being outgoing to a fault. She spent half a day at the beach, went to lunch with Xander, and chatted with Anya at length, listening to all Anya’s reasons for and against various baby names. In between she watched movies, painted her nails, and generally seemed to be on a quest to enjoy things thoroughly. Riley was puzzled but relieved that she was coming out of her hermit-like existence somewhat. Tara was the only one who noticed the sad faraway look that came into her eyes from time to time. She and Willow had been at Buffy’s house for a movie night the night after they went to the Bronze, something they hadn’t done in ages. They had laughed their way through a romantic comedy while they gave themselves manicures and gorged on popcorn. But Tara had a sense that some of Buffy’s laughter was forced, and when Willow proposed a trip to the movies for a week hence Buffy had answered, “We’ll have to see. I might be busy.” That queer look had come into her eyes at that point, and Tara found herself wondering exactly what it meant.
 
Friday arrived and everyone gathered for the baby shower. The training room in the Magic Box had been transformed for the party, and a number of Anya’s vengeance demon colleagues were there as well as the Scoobies and some of Xander’s work friends’ wives. The wives were a little confused by gifts such as “crystals to ward off the evil eye” and “protection charm bracelets” for Anya to wear during childbirth, but most of the gifts were practical and greeted with gushing from Anya. Xander looked a bit frightened at all the baby gear. “How come they need all this stuff? They eat and poop, right?”
 
“Xander,” Anya said as if he were completely stupid. “They’re not just slugs you know. They need to have their brains enriched, and they need to be clothed and bathed and all that stuff takes gear to do it properly! Haven’t you read any of the books I gave you?”
 
“I… I skimmed one or two,” Xander admitted nervously.
 
Anya rolled her eyes to the heavens. “You’d better start studying. I’m going to have to give you a test before this baby comes.” Xander gulped – she clearly meant it. Anya turned to the next present, from Buffy and Riley. She pulled out the little clothes, which the girls squealed over, but everyone laughed when Anya pulled out the Count.
 
“Only you would give us a vampire,” Xander laughed. The work friends looked at each other, aware they were missing some inside joke.
 
Buffy smiled. “I guess they’ll have to learn that some vampires are cuddly.”
 
“Cuddly isn’t exactly a word I’d apply to vampires,” Giles said with an indulgent smile.
 
“I guess you just haven’t met the right vampire,” Buffy replied.
 
“Is there any such thing as a ‘right vampire?’” Xander laughed.
 
Buffy’s eyes looked into some unseen distance for a second. “There’s more variation among them than you’d think,” she said cryptically. Then, realizing that people were looking at her strangely she said, “I mean, look at Tom Cruise versus Bela Lugosi. Which of those vampires would you rather have at your throat?”
 
“Tom Cruise, all the way,” laughed one of Xander’s friends. The strange mood was broken and the gift opening proceeded, but both Giles and Tara glanced at Buffy searchingly from time to time, wondering if there was some hidden meaning behind her words.
 
Saturday morning Riley woke up at nine and meandered out in search of coffee. He noticed the attic stairs were pulled down, and he went up them curiously. “Buffy? What are you doing up so early?”
 
Buffy started at the sound of his voice. She had a very old looking bag next to her, and was rifling through an equally old trunk in a far corner. “Oh, hey. I was curious about some of the old things my mom had packed away up here.”
 
“What’s in that trunk, anyhow? It’s been kicking around here since I got here, but I’ve never seen you open it.”
 
She showed him a knife next to her. “Mom lost the keys ages ago. I forced the lock. It was my great-grandmother’s trunk. I was up here looking for other things and decided to finally open it.”
 
Riley came over and sat down next to her. “What did you find?”
 
“Old letters. Some jewelry. Nothing earthshattering.” In truth Buffy had found a string of pearls, a gold man’s wedding ring, and a couple of beautiful cameo pins. The few bits of clothing were too old to handle much, but there was also a lovely old-fashioned tortoiseshell comb and brush set as well as some hair combs. She had also found the old carpetbag at her side. It had occurred to her that if this trip to the past happened, it might be good to be prepared, and a Nike duffle bag was going to look decidedly odd for walking around London. Her great-grandmother’s accessories would probably come in handy as well.
 
“How are you doing?” Riley asked gently. “You seem more, I don’t know, outgoing since we got back from L.A.”
 
“I’m good,” Buffy said. “I’m adjusting to the world as it is.”
 
Riley looked at her and ran a hand down her arm. “Do you think… do you think you can give me a chance to be your husband again?”
 
Buffy reached out and took her hand in his. “You’ve been really great through all of this. Just give me a little more time. It’s hard. It’s really hard. But I just need a little more time to get my bearings. Please.”
 
Riley deflated a little with disappointment. “I understand.” He dropped his hand and got up. “I’ll be downstairs making coffee if you need me.”
 
“I’ll be down in a minute.” She truly felt sorry for the guy sometimes, and she knew she was misleading him. Three more days. Then I’ll be gone, one way or another. She put the things she wanted into the carpetbag and closed up the trunk, bringing the bag down and stashing it in her room. When she joined Riley in the kitchen he was munching his way morosely through a bowl of cereal. She grabbed her own bowl and joined him at the table. “I was thinking it would be nice to have Giles and Jenny over tonight,” she said after a few minutes.
 
“Sure. Anything else on the docket for today?”
 
“Well, I suppose I should plan a meal and shop for food and all that. And probably straighten up around here a bit. You have any plans?”
 
“I think I’ll go for a run this morning, maybe do the lawn.”
 
“Sounds good.” Buffy continued eating, wondering if it was always this dull. Maybe the conversations were better when I actually wanted to be his wife. She studied him surreptitiously trying to remember what it was like the first time she dated him. But even then he was very solid and very dependable and very plain vanilla. No unorthodox thoughts unless they were forced down his throat. Romantic but in a very run of the mill, almost scripted way. Why did I ever date him? She had no good answer. He wasn’t an evil person, but he didn’t inflame the soul either. Maybe in this world I was so messed up and passive that we were perfect for each other. That was certainly possible, but she would never know exactly.
 
After she finished she called Giles. “Hi Jenny,” she said as soon as Jenny answered. “Are you and Giles free tonight? We’d like to have you over for dinner.”
 
“As far as I know we’re free. Thanks so much for having us! What time?”
 
“How about… six thirty?”
 
“That will be fine,” Jenny agreed. “Can I bring dessert?”
 
“Thanks! That would be great. See you then.” Buffy hung up and started looking through cookbooks for ideas. She heard the front door slam and saw Riley run by outside. With a sigh she realized the next couple of days were going to be very long.
 
The day was spent in little domestic chores. Buffy was never going to be crazy about housekeeping, but she felt very nostalgic as she cleaned and dusted. She had never hoped to see this familiar place again after Sunnydale collapsed into the Hellmouth. She took her time, running her hands lovingly over her mother’s artwork, some the same as before, some different, but all with Joyce’s personality stamped on it. She found a small photo of herself with her mom and sister. Making a small slit in the lining of the carpetbag she hid the photo in the bottom, where casual Victorian eyes wouldn’t see it and wonder. She gathered up every bit of her mom’s old gold jewelry, as well as a couple of pairs of diamond studs, and put those in the bag as well, figuring she could sell them for ready cash if needed. In her room she took her time, looking over all her favorite clothes wistfully, smiling at Mr. Gordo, wishing she could take him with. She finally finished tidying at about the same time Riley came in from doing lawn work.
 
“Take your shoes off! I just vacuumed!” she called as he came in the kitchen door.
 
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He came upstairs sweaty and scruffy looking. “Permission to shower, ma’am?” he asked with a salute.
 
“Granted. Just clean up after yourself.” She smiled and went downstairs. Grabbing a glass of water she headed out to the back porch to rest for a moment. She let her thoughts run for long minutes as she remembered. So many things had happened on this porch: conversations and quiet moments stolen from the throngs of potentials, meltdowns and heart to heart talks with Dawn. Her fingers ran lovingly over the wood of the steps, trying to imprint it on her mind. A small tear escaped her eye and she wiped it away quickly, taking a deep breath to force back the sadness.
 
Riley had come down the stairs and was watching her through the window, noticing her wiping away the tears. With his hair still damp from his shower he came out and joined her. After a moment of sitting with her in silence he said, “Why are you crying?”
 
“I’m not crying,” she denied, a little too strongly.
 
“I saw you. What’s wrong?”
 
“It’s… I can’t explain,” she said. “It’s okay though.”
 
“You’ve seemed sad off and on since we got back from L.A.”
 
“Really, it’s nothing I can explain,” she insisted. She wanted nothing more than to scream the truth at the top of her lungs, but she also knew that nothing good would come of that.
 
Riley hesitated a minute before saying, “Do you think it was such a good idea, going off your meds like that? You’ve been crying a lot these last few weeks. The last couple of days you seem to keep drifting off in the middle of conversations. I really think you need to see your doctor or something.”
 
Buffy sighed and shook her head. “Look, if I make an appointment for Monday or Tuesday, will you back off? I’ll call him right now and leave a message, okay?”
 
“Really? You will?” Riley seemed surprised at her acquiescence.
 
“I promise. Where’s the number?” She got up to make good on her promise. He followed her into the kitchen and handed her a business card from the fridge. She called and happened to get the answering service. They promised to get her message through as soon as possible. She hung up and turned back to Riley. “Okay? Happy?”
 
“Relieved. Thank you. I really think that a check in with the doctor will help a lot.” After a slightly awkward pause he said, “Do you need help with dinner?”
 
Buffy accepted his help and put him on peeling potatoes. She was going to roast a whole chicken, with stuffing and various vegetables. As the pots started accumulating on the stove she had flashbacks to that Thanksgiving at Giles’ house. She had to suppress a giggle at one point as she remembered Spike ranting about being the conquerors, and sitting there stuck full of arrows like a pincushion. This time the meal was cooked without intervening angry spirits or ex-boyfriends, and by the time Jenny and Giles arrived she was setting the table with her mother’s good china while the chicken finished in the oven.
 
“I’ll get it,” Riley said as the bell rang. He opened the door to Jenny and Giles, relieving Jenny of a cheesecake on the way.
 
“Anything I can do to help?” Jenny asked, her brown eyes looking appreciatively over the beautiful table.
 
“Can you mash the potatoes while I get a few odds and ends finished?” Buffy replied. In the kitchen she reached into the fridge and got a bottle of chardonnay. Handing it and the corkscrew to Riley, and glasses to Giles, she ordered, “Menfolk, go cause the table to have wine. Thanks.”
 
“Right,” said Giles. “Mr. Finn, I believe we have our orders.” They left the kitchen while the ladies bustled about, mashing potatoes and putting things in serving dishes. Jenny started carrying some things out to the kitchen until at last Buffy came bearing the chicken.
 
“All right everyone, time to eat,” she said as she walked into the dining room. Giles and Riley jumped apart a little bit, and Buffy narrowed her eyes. Now what are they plotting? Determined to keep the evening sociable, she forced a smile and pretended not to notice their little tête-á-tête.
 
“This is marvelous,” Giles said. “You have truly outdone yourself.”
 
“Thanks, Giles.” They passed around various plates and dug in.
 
“How are things at the high school, Jenny?” Buffy asked conversationally.
 
“The usual crop of kids. Some too smart for their own good, but generally a decent bunch.” She went on to tell a few stories about some pranks that a group of students had played, culminating in filling all the sinks with huge amounts of soap. “They turned on the faucets and left them. There were suds coming out from under the door everywhere. I thought the principal was going to have a coronary.”
 
Buffy laughed with the others, but her smile was wistful. I’m glad they got to be together in this world. Giles deserves someone like Jenny. “Do you guys ever plan to have kids?” she asked out of the blue.
 
Giles and Jenny looked at each other. “We feel like we’re too old,” Giles said sheepishly.
 
“What? Of course not! People have kids in their fifties now,” Buffy said.
 
“Well, we’ll just have to spoil your kids and Xander’s kids instead,” Jenny replied. Buffy and Riley both looked uncomfortable, and Jenny quickly tried to recover. “I mean, if you guys ever have any. I know right now it’s tough.”
 
Changing the subject, Riley said, “Have there been any more research breakthroughs? Any ideas on how to get Buffy’s memories back?”
 
“Really? Do we have to talk about that now?” Buffy desperately wanted to just hear Giles and Jenny talk, and enjoy their company for the last time. The last thing she wanted to hear was another round of ‘how to fix Buffy’ talk.
 
“I agree, we can wait until later to discuss that,” Giles said firmly, with a warning glance at Riley. He changed the subject to some new ideas he had for the Magic Box while Anya was on maternity leave. The meal carried on with everyone talking about various light topics, studiously avoiding the elephant in the room. After the meal was cleared and the cheesecake eaten and praised, they rose from the table. “Buffy, may I speak to you in private for a moment?”
 
“Sure, I guess,” Buffy replied reluctantly. Jenny and Riley retired to the kitchen to deal with the dishes while Buffy followed Giles into the living room. “What’s up?”
 
“You have been rather, well, depressed for lack of a better word.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I spent two weeks by myself, and I got an intervention. I spent the last few days trying to be more social, and I’m not happy enough or something. What do you want?”
 
“What we want is for you to be honest with us,” Giles said firmly. “Riley is very concerned, and thinks you are slipping backward into your dark moods again.”
 
“Look, I told Riley I would go see my doctor early next week. I called and left a message even. Can you please just trust me when I say that I’m good for now?”
 
Giles looked at her closely then took off his glasses and polished them. As he did he said, “I do wonder at your reluctance to put sustained effort into solving this problem. You seem to regard even the discussion of a solution as anathema, and I would like to understand why.”
 
Buffy stood with her arms folded, looking out the window into the darkness, her usual habitat. She spoke in a rather far-off voice that Giles barely recognized. “In the last few weeks I’ve discovered a few things. I’ve discovered that I used to be very dependent. I was coddled and protected. Loved, yeah, I get that. I know you all love me. But you all need me to be needy.”
 
“That’s not—” Giles sputtered.
 
“I understand why, you know,” Buffy said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “When you’ve nearly lost someone, you think you would never survive losing them.” She had had that feeling herself with Dawn. She had wanted to shelter her, protect her, hide her from the world, and in the end she had realized the futility of such a mindset. “I don’t know all the details of what’s happened since I lost Dawn, but I’m guessing that you probably haven’t let me go after anything big on my own. You can’t stand the thought of losing me, so you keep me close, and keep me safe.” Giles said nothing, listening slightly open mouthed. “The thing is I feel strong right now. Very strong. I’m afraid that if I go back to being weak and dependent that I’m going to die.”
 
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?” Giles protested. “You have always been a strong and effective Slayer. Your skills were never diminished even when you were in the depths of your depression.”
 
Buffy turned to face him, her eyes full of painful knowledge that Giles had never noticed before. “I’ll be dead here,” she said with emphasis, putting her hand on her chest. “Oh I’ll be walking around, and slaying, and pretending to be alright. I’ll be going through the motions to keep from hurting anyone’s feelings. Who knows, maybe I was doing that before I lost my memories. But eventually I’m going to just stop caring. And that’s the day some vampire is going to have his one good day.”
 
Giles’s mouth kept hanging open as he took in all she was saying. She sounded so old, like she had seen much more than he realized somehow. “Buffy, what has happened to you?”
 
“Maybe I’ve grown up. I’m not your student anymore. I’ve graduated, and now I need to move on.”
 
“Move on? Whatever do you mean?”
 
“I mean that I have to make my own calls from now on. That includes what treatments, medical or magical, that I choose to pursue for my condition, if I choose to pursue them.” She spoke with quiet steel in her voice, clearly brooking no arguments.
 
Giles was still unsure. “You are not a qualified doctor. You cannot know if your anxiety and depression are cured, or if you are risking a worse breakdown later.”
 
“And I am going to see the doctor on Monday, to make Riley and you and everyone else happy, okay?” She walked over, knelt down, and took Giles’s hand. “You’ve been like a father to me, and I am grateful for that. Always remember that.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, before getting up to go help in the kitchen, leaving him blinking in shock behind her.
 
The next day was Sunday, her last day before returning to L.A. to face the Oracles. She woke up early, before Riley, left a note saying she would be back later, and went out. She went to the Espresso Pump and ordered a cappuccino and a maple walnut scone, taking her time and savoring the sweet taste. Next she walked to a local florist and bought two bouquets of pink roses. Fifteen minutes later she was in the cemetery, standing over her mother and sister’s graves. She swept a few pine needles off the headstones then knelt down to tend the little plot. She pulled up a few stray dandelions, and swept away leaves and sticks, leaving the grass pure and manicured. With moist eyes she arranged one bouquet before each headstone, then stood back. I miss you both so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you this time Dawnie. Please forgive me. Please. She stood there for a long time, imprinting the image on her mind, vowing never to forget.
 
She went on a long, meandering walk through town, visiting various spots that held some nostalgia for her. That had been the worst thing about the battle with the First Evil. She had been so busy surviving and protecting the potentials that by the time she caught her breath it was all gone. Now she could walk behind the Magic Box, where she had told Spike about heaven. There was the street corner where the Trio had made her invisible. I wonder where they are now? There was the high school, and the campus of UC Sunnydale. She quietly said goodbye to her town, which despite its Hellmouth had been more like home than anyplace else she had ever lived.
 
After wandering and taking it all in for hours she found that it was lunchtime. Throwing caution for her figure to the wind she went to McDonalds and savored what would probably be the last Big Mac of her life. She walked home slowly afterwards, not wanting to let go of the warm California sun and the clear sky above her.
 
“Where have you been?” Riley asked as she entered the kitchen door. “I was getting…”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Worried, I know. I did leave a note, didn’t I?”
 
“Um, yeah,” Riley said sheepishly, aware that he was hovering again. “The doctor’s office called – they can take you at ten tomorrow morning.”
 
“Can I drive you to work and use the car tomorrow?” Buffy asked. “I wanted to go get my hair done before the doctor, and I don’t want to have to worry about walking across town in time.” Okay, I’m hoping to go to London to get my hair done, but you don’t need to know that.
 
“I could probably take a vacation day if you want me to drive you,” Riley offered.
 
She folded her arms and gave him a piercing look. “Riley. Hovering again. I can drive across town. I promise your car will be unscathed.”
 
Again Riley looked a bit ashamed, to his credit. “Sorry. I know that bothers you. I’ll try to rein that in.”
 
“Thanks.”
 
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” Riley asked.
 
“Right now, I plan to take a long bubble bath, then do a little research,” Buffy responded.
 
“I’ve got some work to do for a few hours, so I’ll be in the office.” They parted and Buffy went upstairs. She chose the softest towels in her possession and made sure all the necessary ingredients were in place. Soon lavender scented the air and she was luxuriating in a cloud of bubbles. She closed her eyes and soaked, running over the details of her plan. Get to L.A., get any remaining supplies, go to the Oracles. Need to remember the sacred dust. The preparations were by and large set. The only variable was the Oracles. Would they do as she asked? Or would they turn her down? It all hinged on the whims of two highly powerful supernatural beings, and that chilled her to the bone, despite the steaming water.
 
Eventually the bath cooled and she got out, dried off, and went to get dressed. She looked through the pile of books and notes she had accumulated in the previous weeks, trying to remind herself of important details. The notebook she had filled with remembrances of Spike and their previous life was carefully stashed in the bottom of the carpetbag, which was getting rather full of various odds and ends. She unpacked it, assessed the contents for the tenth time, and repacked it. In truth, she was quite nervous about the prospect of having to find Spike, or William in Victorian London. She felt like someone with four years of high school French about to embark on a solo trip to Paris, hoping and praying that what she knew would be enough to allow her to navigate this foreign land.
 
She organized the remainder of the materials neatly on the desk in the spare room and generally tidied up. The attic was her next destination, and she spent the rest of the afternoon up there looking through memorabilia. She fingered her figure skating trophies, examined her parents’ wedding photo. Seems like dad wasn’t around in this world either, I guess. Everything was touched, catalogued, and put away again with tender care. It was these little things she had missed in Rome, the bits and pieces of her life and her family. Would she really be able to survive without all these touchstones? With no Willow or Xander to remind her of past times? Without her scythe, her stakes, her sister? Once again the cold finger of doubt touched her heart, but she firmly shoved the thought into a corner of her mind and locked it up tight. I am leaving tomorrow. One way or the other, I’m gone.
 
She finally came down around dinner-time to find Riley in the home office, still working. “I feel like a pizza tonight. Want anything in particular?” she asked.
 
“As long as there’s meat of some kind, I’m good. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
 
She left him peering at his computer monitor and went to order the pizza. Pizza is going to be hard to live without. But then she thought about the fact that she would be in Europe so who knows, a trip to Italy might be in her future. She smiled at the thought of walking through Rome in the daytime with Spike. She could imagine taking in the sights and enjoying the whole European tour experience with Spike at her side. I would totally trade pizza and McDonalds for that. Hell, I would trade everything for that. It occurred to her that she was proposing to do exactly that, and she prayed it would all come to pass.
 
After dinner she went on a last patrol of Sunnydale, once more putting Riley off about joining her. She went through every cemetery slowly, cleaning out a couple of nests, dusting fledges, determined to leave as little work as possible for the others. She ended her patrol as she usually did, at Spike’s crypt. In a gesture reminiscent of another night where she needed him, she laid her hand on the cold stone door. I’m coming Spike. Wait for me.
 
Monday morning dawned sunny and warm. Buffy had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning as she went over her plans and strategies. In addition to planning what to take with her, she thought through how she would find William Pratt, what she would say to him, and how she would explain herself. She came up with a dozen different ideas, but in the end she fell asleep assuming she was going to have to play it more or less by ear.
 
She got up and took a hot shower, enjoying the unlimited hot water and her favorite shampoo. She dressed in a long sleeve white blouse and a long blue skirt; fashionable enough not to raise Riley’s suspicions, but covered enough so that she wouldn’t be immediately arrested if she popped into existence in 1880. After checking her carpetbag again for the eighty-first time, she stashed it in the trunk of the car while Riley showered and then had breakfast. She was almost too jumpy to eat, but she forced herself to have some frozen waffles and coffee. Riley came down adjusting his tie as he entered the kitchen. “You look nice today,” he said appreciatively.
 
“Thanks. Just felt like a skirt today I guess,” she answered.
 
“You’ll let me know later how the doctor’s visit went?”
 
“Of course,” she said, resisting the urge to grind her teeth at his need for oversight. They finished breakfast and got into the car, with Buffy behind the wheel for once. She was a cautious driver, but she had actually done a little more driving in and around Europe since Sunnydale fell, and so she was marginally better than she had been. After a short ride they pulled up in front of an office building.
 
“I’ll see you later then,” Riley began, but Buffy put a hand on his arm.
 
“Riley, I just want to say that I appreciate your patience through all this. You’re… you’re a good man.” It was true. He wasn’t a good man for her, but this time around he was genuinely trying to do right by her, and she felt she had to acknowledge it. She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
 
Riley’s eyes widened in happy surprise. “Thank you. I…” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but in the end he said, “I do unfortunately need to get to work.”
 
“That’s okay. Goodbye, Riley.”
 
“I’ll see you later then,” he replied with a smile. He got out of the car and closed the door, giving her a little wave and a smile. It was only later that he realized that she had said goodbye.
 
Ten minutes later Buffy was on the highway heading to L.A.
 
TBC
 
Judgment Day
 
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just borrowing them from Joss Wheadon. Thanks again to Sanity Fair, Beta Most Revered.

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

Chapter 23 – Judgment Day

********************************
 
Buffy pulled into a parking space on a side street near the main post office and slowly, deliberately turned off the car. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to center herself. After an uneventful drive she had arrived in L.A. and gone straight to the costume shop where she had rented the Victorian era dress. It lay in a plain cardboard box next to her, done up with string to make it easier to carry. She stared at it, chewing her lip thoughtfully. This is it then. She got out of the car and went around to the trunk, extracting the carpetbag. She pulled a single folded sheet of paper out of the notebook and left it on the passenger seat after she picked up the box. After another minute of thought she put the car keys under the sheet of paper where they would be concealed from casual passers-by and locked the door. She wasn’t coming back here.
 
Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the post office, ducking down the side alley where the small entrance to the gateway was. She maneuvered her burdens down the narrow stairs until she reached the doorway and the sacred pyre beyond. She removed the pouch of sacred dust and sprinkled it on the flames, once more chanting the incantation, “I come before the Oracles for guidance and direction. I beseech access to the knowing ones.” After a moment or two, the wall shimmered as before, and the luminous Oracles stood before her.
 
“Come before us, lower being. What have you brought us?”
 
Buffy removed a turquoise necklace from around her neck and offered it to the woman. “I bring you…”
 
“That is not what we desire,” the man interrupted, his voice stern as ever. “We will grant you your audience in exchange for what is most precious in that bag of yours.”
 
“Most precious?” Buffy crinkled her brows, wondering for a moment what he could be referring to. There were various bits of gold jewelry, but nothing spectacular. The diamond earrings? What could they want? But then perhaps due to a bit of mental nudging from the Oracles, the idea dawned on her. She bent down and opened the bag, and with slightly shaky hands she brought forth the picture of her mom and Dawn from its hiding place. She looked for a long moment at the faces of the two people most dear to her, faces she would never see again before reluctantly extending it to the black haired woman before her.
 
The female Oracle took it from her and tucked it into a fold of her robe. “It is acceptable. What do you want, lower being?”
 
With a swallow Buffy said, “I wish to be sent back in time, to find my mate. I would like to be sent to London in 1880.” Cold sweat ran down her back as her stomach flip-flopped with nervousness.
 
“You wish to leave all your friends and your life behind in order to attempt to pursue the man William Pratt?” The male Oracle’s voice dripped with contempt for this lower life form.
 
“Yes.” Buffy felt that elaborating probably wasn’t going to help her situation. Either they were going to do it or not – They held the power.
 
The female Oracle approached her, looking at her as if she was some sort of curious insect. “What if we offered you a different choice? What if we were to restore your mother and sister to you?” She held up the photo and Buffy was suddenly reminded of Adam and Eve and the serpent.
 
She shook her head. “They’re at rest. I am sure they are in Heaven. I know my mother was there. I can’t see how my sister would be anywhere else. I couldn’t do that to them – to pull them away from that like I was pulled away.” Her heart ached to say the words. To have her mother back would be indescribably wonderful, and if she had been asked that question in the months after her mother’s death she would have said yes unreservedly. But now that she had been to Heaven and back she knew better, and wouldn’t make them suffer to ease her pain.
 
The man now stepped closer, looking down his aquiline nose at her. “We can send you back in time to your mate. But you will need to understand the consequences.”
 
“Consequences?” Buffy’s heart leaped in her chest. They’re going to send me back! At the same time, she was wary of what the capricious duo was going to propose.
 
“If we send you back in time, your friends will most likely suffer. It is likely that some of them will be killed, and their relationships will suffer.”
 
Buffy’s heart sank again. “And if I stay?”
 
“If you stay in this timeline, it will be less likely that they suffer major cataclysms. They will all most likely live to old age in as much contentment as your race is capable of.” His piercing eyes widened as he looked straight through her. “Is your happiness more important than theirs?”
 
“No. No it isn’t,” Buffy whispered. She ached for Spike. To live with no hope of ever seeing him again was hell. But could she live with him knowing she had left suffering and death in her wake? Giles and Jenny were so happy, and Anya and Xander were about to become parents. Could she go on with her life, never knowing what had happened to them, never knowing what horrors they had suffered because of her? It wasn’t in her nature, and she couldn’t do it. Not even for Spike.
 
“Then I am afraid we cannot do that which you ask,” said the man coldly. “Leave our presence now.” He turned his back on her and strode away, his sister trailing behind him. Buffy stared after them, her eyes full of loss and utter, complete despair. Regardless of what differences she might have with her friends, she couldn’t bring herself to risk their lives for her benefit. I’m sorry Spike. I’m so sorry. I can’t do it. Please forgive me. If there’s a God out there please take care of him for me, please.
 
“You do not plan to live, do you?” Buffy looked up and found that the female Oracle had turned back, still looking at her as if she found her fascinating. “Your thoughts are for the others, and the one you love, but you do not want to live. You will die rather than live without your mate.”
 
“Yes,” she sobbed. “I don’t want my friends to suffer, I don’t. But I just… I just don’t belong here anymore. To have Spike in my memory but to have no hope that I’ll ever see him? It’s too much. Just too much.”
 
The female looked to her brother, who had turned back as well. They stared at each other in silence, but communication was obviously occurring. Finally the woman spoke to Buffy once more. “You would give up your own happiness and peace of mind so that others would live. You do not ask for us to manipulate the man William for you, but only to allow you the chance to find him. You are moved by love, not by greed or the need to control. Your motives are worthy. We shall grant your request.”
 
Buffy’s mouth dropped open as she shook her head slowly, not certain she had heard the Oracle. “What?”
 
The man made a tsk noise and looked at her as if she was very slow on the uptake. “We will send you to your William’s time and place. This timeline will remain as it is, your friends unaffected, unless it is by your absence.”
 
“But you said…” Buffy still couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
 
“We needed to know your reasons,” the female said. “We do not bend time lightly. But you have toiled to be a force for good. For this you are to be rewarded.”
 
Buffy’s face broke into a smile of utter joy. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
 
“You can’t,” said the man curtly. With a mix of excitement and fear, Buffy picked up her carpetbag and her dress box. “Are you prepared?” She nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself.
 
“Go and search for your mate, Chosen One,” said the woman, and Buffy felt that there was the slightest hint of benevolence in the stern voice. Then a wind came out of nowhere, her hair swirled around her face, and she was gone.
 
*************************************
 
“Buffy? I’m home!” Riley called. He put down his things and walked around the house. “Buffy?” There was no answer. It didn’t seem like she had been there all day. Figuring she must be at the Magic Box he picked up the phone to dial the store. “Willow? It’s Riley. Is Buffy there?”
 
Willow sounded confused at the other end of the line. “We haven’t seen her all day.”
 
“I wonder where she could be?” Riley then noticed a blinking light on the answering machine and pressed the button. It was a message from Buffy’s psychiatrist, wondering why she had missed her appointment. “Willow? Did you hear that?” he asked in a sudden panic.
 
“She skipped her appointment?” Willow was instantly on high alert. “Let me call the others. Sit tight, we’ll be over in a little bit.” She rang off and started calling Giles and Xander while Riley changed out of his work clothes and paced around the house fretfully. Everything was neat and tidy, nothing seemed out of place. None of Buffy’s clothes were gone either. He half expected her to walk in annoyed at being fussed over, but when the bell rang it was Xander, Willow, Tara, and Giles. “Did she come home yet?” Willow asked.
 
“No! She dropped me at work this morning and said she was going to get her hair done and go to the doctor, but it doesn’t seem like she’s been home all day.”
 
Giles hesitated a moment then said, “Willow, I think you should do a locator spell, just to be certain.” He couldn’t explain why, but a sudden sense of foreboding started creeping into his brain.
 
Riley got a map of Sunnydale and Willow performed the spell. But unlike previous spells, no small spark appeared to mark Buffy’s presence. “Could she have left town? Do you have a wider map?” Riley left the room and could be heard rummaging around upstairs. He came back with a map of California, and Willow performed the spell a second time. This time a brief glow flickered around L.A. then faded. “It looks like she went to L.A., but her presence there is faint for some reason.”
 
“Oh my God.” Tara’s sudden exclamation made the others turn to take in her wide eyes and look of dread. “She was saying goodbye.”
 
“What do you mean?” Xander put in, having observed the proceedings silently up until that point.
 
Tara explained. “This whole past week. She was doing all of her favorite things. The Bronze. Movie night. Going out for dinner with all of us.”
 
“Jesus,” breathed Riley, realization dawning on him suddenly as well. “This morning. She kissed me goodbye. She didn’t say ‘see you later’. She said goodbye.”
 
“We need to get to L.A. right now,” Giles said. A hasty call was made to Anya and to Jenny before the others climbed into Xander’s car and sped off toward L.A. Riley stared straight ahead the whole time, trying to keep his emotions in check. The others speculated from time to time on what could have happened. Willow performed the spell twice during the journey with the same result – a faint trace of a glow in L.A., growing slightly fainter each time. Was she injured? Dead? Was this a place she had been for a while then left? No one knew.
 
When they finally reached the city they switched to a city map for the locator spell, and soon found themselves in the neighborhood of the downtown post office. They drove around for a while, perplexed, wondering where to look. Then Xander cried out, “Look! It’s your car!”
 
They pulled over and scrambled out. The car was unoccupied, but they could see a piece of paper on the passenger seat. Riley fumbled for his keys and opened the door, snatching up the note. They all crowded around and read:
 
To my friends:
 
By the time you read this I will be gone. I can’t explain where I am going, I’m not sure I entirely know myself. I am going to find someone I love very much. This isn’t to say that I don’t love all of you – I do, and I am truly sorry for any pain I have caused you. But this place and time are not where I belong anymore, and I can’t pretend any longer. I just wanted you to know that I’m going to be happy where I am, and that I will always remember you.
 
Love, Buffy
 
The note fluttered from Riley’s fingers as he leaned heavily against the car, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

TBC
 
Out of Dreams
 
Disclaimer: The characters are Joss Whedon's, and any remaining mistakes are mine. Thanks so much to SanityFair for being my beta. Thanks to my readers for sticking with me. Just a couple more chapters!

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

Chapter 24 – Out of Dreams

*****************************************
 
“You’re beneath me.”
 
Cecily’s cold, haughty voice replayed over and over in William’s mind as he walked blindly through the streets of London. He tried his best to keep up his reserved exterior, but his distress was evident nonetheless, and when someone bumped into him his “Watch where you’re going!” came out strangled. He finally found a quiet alley to duck into and sat down on a bale of hay at the back of a stable to attempt to compose himself.
 
What did you expect, William? he admonished himself. You have been chasing a chimera for your entire life. He reflected bitterly that this was literally true. Ever since he was a boy he had dreamed of a girl, the same girl night after night. As a child she had appeared like the heroine of a fairy tale, a magical princess who wielded swords like a knight but looked like an angel. The dreams were sometimes terrifying; with blood sucking monsters and demons, but always the blonde haired girl saved the day.
 
As he got older, the dreams changed. Sometimes there was still fighting and monsters but not always. There were dreams in which he was kissing the golden girl, looking into her green eyes. “I love you, William,” she would say. The first time he had woken up with sticky sheets he had nearly died of embarrassment. However as he got older, and life became more difficult, he looked forward to the dreams of making love to this woman, holding her, kneeling before her. In some dreams he was wounded and she tended him, or he joined her in her battles. But always there was the deep feeling of love and connection, as if she knew his inmost secrets and loved him all the more for them. Every poem he wrote was for her, and every woman he met was measured next to his dream and found wanting.
 
Then his mother got sick, and everything changed. The little winter cough didn’t go away, but grew worse and worse until it was clear that she had the consumption. He realized that she would not live forever, and he knew she longed to see him settled down with a good wife before she died. So he tried to put aside his vision of the ideal woman and come down to earth to interact with the girls of his social set. He had thought that Cecily Underwood would come close to the woman of his dreams. She was witty, and beautiful, strong willed and vivacious. He had tried his best, but the poems he wrote for her were trite and laughable and did nothing to win her in the end. Her cold dismissal still made his cheeks burn as he sat, getting straw stuck to his good trousers, tearing up the poem that her cretin of a cousin had held up as an object of ridicule. Forget it, William, he told himself. You’re destined to live alone.
 
After wallowing in despair and self-pity for a long time he rubbed his face with a sigh. He had better be getting home to Mother. He stood up and brushed off his suit, took a deep breath and started for the end of the alley. Halfway to the street he heard a faint noise, coming from the other end of the alley. He turned and noticed that down at the other end, sitting on a packing crate of some sort was a young girl weeping her heart out with her hands over her face. He was moved with both concern and curiosity. What would a girl be doing here alone at this hour of the night? Had she been hurt? He walked slowly down the alley toward her, not wanting to startle the poor lass. He stopped about ten feet away and said, “Miss, are you all right? May I be of some assistance?”
 
The girl shook her head. “Thank you, you’re very kind but…” She had looked up, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands, but when she saw William’s face her words petered out as her eyes widened in astonishment.
 
William stepped forward unthinkingly, his mouth dropping open. “My God. It’s you,” he whispered in disbelief. For there, in front of him, in the flesh, was the girl of his dreams.
 
***********************
 
Buffy had come to the alley after another long day of searching. She had popped into existence in a large storehouse near the Thames. There had been crates and barrels to hide behind while she changed into her period dress and stashed her modern clothes in her bag. She had wandered around until she found a policeman and had told her story. She had spun a tale of how she and her mother had been traveling here from America, to allow her mother to see some relations. Her mother had been sick for a while, but it was thought that she would survive the trip. Sadly, she had died en route, and she, Elizabeth Summers, was now alone and adrift in London. Buffy had figured that calling herself Elizabeth would require fewer explanations than the diminutive she had been saddled with at birth. The policeman had kindly directed her to a simple but respectable boarding house run by a matron named Mrs. Oliver. Mrs. Oliver in turn had helped her to find the local pawnbroker, where she had been able to sell some of her jewelry for a tidy sum. She had used the proceeds to pay for a month’s rent on a small attic room, and had added a second dress to her wardrobe.
 
With a base of operations established, she hit the streets daily, ostensibly to seek the relations she had never met, whose contact information had been lost during the voyage. The other girls at the boarding house were either daily cleaning help or factory workers and were curious about the strange American. Buffy tried her best to be polite, but she lived in fear of being caught in her deception. She had thought that getting to London traveling through time would be the hard part, but she was unprepared for the morass that was London. Accurate maps seemed difficult to come by, and there were countless small byways and alleys with confusing names. There seemed to be no Victorian equivalent of the phone book either, so trying to find someone was no easy task. She also was aware of the fact that as a single woman with a foreign accent she was treated as a dreadful foreigner at best, and a probable prostitute at worst. The class of people who were most likely to have heard of the Pratts were the least likely to deign to speak to her.
 
On this particular day she had found a hansom cab driver who said he had heard of Marsten Terrace and she had decided to spend some of her limited funds on the fare. When she had gotten out and he had driven away, however, she found herself in Marsten Road, which was a street of shops clear across London from where she had started. Since then she had been trying to make her way back to the boarding house, but she was now hopelessly lost, tired, and depressed. She had sat down to rest her aching feet in their tight boots in this dark alley, wondering what she was doing here. The Oracles did warn you, she admonished herself bitterly. They told you it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.
 
Now in the depths of her despair she had heard a gentle male voice saying, “Miss, are you all right?” and her heart ached with the sound. So much like Spike. Everyone around here sounds just like him but they’re not him. But when she looked up everything else fell away. It was him. He was wearing little wire rimmed spectacles, and his hair was curling every which way and brown, not bleached. It didn’t matter – she would know those eyes anywhere. Her brain could scarcely compute what her eyes were seeing, but she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. It’s him. Oh my God, I found him. She was struck dumb with astonishment.
 
She might have sat there staring at him indefinitely but he stepped forward with a similar look of astonishment and said, “My God, it’s you,” in voice full of wonder.
 
“Do… do you know me?” she asked when she found her tongue.
 
“I feel as though I do, as though I always have,” he said as if in a dream. Then he shook himself and seemed embarrassed, pushing up his glasses nervously. “Forgive me, I have forgotten my manners. I heard your… your distress and wondered if I could render some aid?”
 
“I’m lost,” Buffy began explaining. “I was trying to find my way back to my boarding house.” Words were very difficult to come by as her speech centers were overwhelmed by the utter joy of seeing him again.
 
“Perhaps I could help set you on the right path then,” William answered. “My name is William Pratt, by the way.”
 
“I’m B… Elizabeth. Elizabeth Summers.”
 
“Then Miss Summers, perhaps you will permit me to guide you?” His proper exterior masked a frantically rushing heartbeat.
 
“Of course,” Buffy replied. Play it cool. Don’t frighten him off. But even as she followed him to the end of the alley she changed her mind and decided that cool wasn’t going to happen. “Wait,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “Can you tell me what you meant? You said ‘It’s you’ like you know me. How do you know me?”
 
William blushed to the roots of his hair. “I must have been mistaken,” he mumbled.
 
“No, really, you can tell me,” Buffy insisted.
 
William waged an internal battle then said, “You will think me mad as a hatter.”
 
“Trust me, I’ve heard and seen a lot,” she reassured him. When he hesitated again she put a hand on his arm gently. “Please,” she whispered.
 
There was something about the earnest look in the girl’s green eyes that gave William the courage to speak. “Ever since I was a young lad I’ve dreamed, nearly every night, of a girl exactly like you.”
 
He expected the girl to recoil, or cut him with some remark, or question his sanity. He was therefore amazed when she said, “I’ve dreamed of you too. Do you believe in fate?”
 
“I don’t know. I’d like to, but it doesn’t seem to have had much in mind for me as yet,” William admitted.
 
Still speaking carefully so as not to scare him off, Buffy said, “I believe we were meant to meet. I have traveled a very long way, and I never thought I would find what I was looking for. But I think I’ve found what I was meant to find somehow.”
 
Wondering when he was going to wake up from this particular dream, William pushed up his glasses once more and looked deep into Buffy’s face, marveling at the joy and relief he found there. He had no idea why meeting him was a source of such pleasure for Miss Summers, but he suddenly didn’t care. “Miss Summers, I don’t mean to be forward, but I find I would like to spend more time making your acquaintance.”
 
“I’d like that too, Mr. Pratt,” Buffy replied with a smile. “Perhaps you could accompany me back to my lodging?”
 
A smile broke over William’s face as well. “I would be most honored to do so.” He offered his arm, and she took it, following him out into the London night, which suddenly seemed a much more inviting place.
 
TBC
 
Days in a Life
 
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and those folks. Thanks once more to Sanity Fair for providing all the beta work on this story. Thank you to all the readers whose encouraging reviews spurred me on. Hope you enjoy how it turns out.

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

Chapter 25 – Days in a Life

**************************************
 
The walk back to the boarding house was over much too soon for either of their tastes although it took nearly an hour. Buffy told her story about how she had recently arrived from America, an orphan of good stock fallen on hard times. She hated to lie to him, but at the same time, she worried about freaking him out. The feel of his arm under her fingers was different than before. He was warm, for one thing, and not as completely ripped as Spike had been in her time. But those eyes and cheekbones were the same, and the refined accent still had that marvelous baritone that just melted her insides. She wanted nothing more than to knock him to the ground and jump him right there and then, but she counseled herself to patience.
 
William on his part was still waiting to wake up from what had to be another dream. There was no way he could have gone from being dejected and rejected in an alley to having the very woman he had dreamed of all these years on his arm. Her accent and manner of speech were strange at times, but she was a picture, this Elizabeth Summers, and her conversation was unaffected and straightforward. After a night of insults and putdowns, it was quite a revelation to be with a beautiful woman who actually seemed to want to talk to him, who acted as if she couldn’t get enough of his company.
 
When at last they reached her boarding house, Buffy turned to face him. “Thank you so much for helping me. I would have been wandering the streets forever.”
 
“You are quite welcome, Miss Summers.” He looked down for a moment, as if trying to decide something, then screwed up his courage and straightened up. “I would… I would like to see you again, if I may.” His blue eyes held a sort of desperate hope.
 
Buffy’s heart pounded in her chest. “I would really, really like that.”
 
“May I call for you tomorrow, at tea time perhaps?”
 
“That would be wonderful. The matron here is rather strict about male visitors, but I will meet you out here, if that’s all right.”
 
William all but breathed a sigh of relief. “That would do very well,” he said. On impulse he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Until tomorrow, Miss Summers.” Then they both made their way home, floating on a cloud of wonder and anticipation.
 
*****************************
 
Their relationship progressed steadily, and both of them felt the need to pinch themselves regularly to ensure that this was not in fact a dream. They took long walks together, talking for long hours, taking tea in cafés, and the rare days that they could not meet seemed interminable. After a few weeks William explained to his curious mother that he had met someone. He was vague about how, explaining instead that she was a distant American relation of a friend of a friend. He was not entirely certain that his mother believed him, but she did not seem to object. She had noticed the change in her son’s manner since he had met Elizabeth, and although she didn’t at first know why she was pleased to see him looking so happy all the time. Her illness was a constant source of worry to him, and she was often concerned that he was working too hard to please her and support her. Seeing him so obviously smitten with this girl did her heart good. When William finally brought Miss Summers home to meet her, Anne Pratt was impressed with the girl’s pleasant, intelligent manner. True, she was a bit of a mystery, and sometimes seemed queerly ignorant of certain things, but she clearly adored William and looked at him as if she would never tire of the sight. Soon it seemed that Miss Summers was calling nearly every day for a visit. Anne found she liked the companionship. On her part, Buffy enjoyed having a mother figure to talk to, as it helped ease the remembered loss of her own family.
 
On one beautiful summer day William took her rowing. She laughed under a borrowed parasol as William headed out to a small island in a country lake. The sky was a beautiful clear blue, and when they lighted on the shore they found a wooded grove that was cool and shaded. They found a rock on a little promontory and sat there, taking in the view, holding hands in contented silence. Finally after several sideways glances and a few nervous throat clearings William spoke. “Elizabeth?” Buffy turned to him, her eyes curious at the tone of his voice. “I… well you know that I…”
 
Buffy reached out and took his hands in hers. “You never have to be nervous around me, you know that.”
 
“Just because I know that doesn’t mean that I’m not,” William replied with a little bit of a smirk. “But I will endeavor to be brave.” He took a deep breath and fixed her eyes with his. “I love you, Elizabeth Summers. You would make me the happiest man on Earth if you would agree to be my wife.”
 
“I love you too, William.” She leaned over and kissed him gently. His eyebrows shot up momentarily, and then he closed his eyes and reveled in the kiss, bold and unexpected but wonderfully sweet.
 
“So does that mean…” William asked with rising excitement. Buffy bit her lip and hesitated for a moment. William’s chest felt tight, and he babbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume, I only thought…”
 
Buffy kissed him once more to quiet his nervous rambling. She looked down and addressed her remarks to their linked hands. “Before I say yes, I want to tell you something.”
 
It was William’s turn to hesitate. “What is it?” He wondered what this pronouncement could be that clearly worried her so much.
 
Still avoiding his eyes and studying his long, graceful fingers she said, “I haven’t told you my entire story. I want to tell you, because I always want to be honest with you. I don’t want to build our life on a lie. But I am afraid that by telling you the truth I’m going to frighten you away. The truth is… the truth sounds insane.”
 
“Elizabeth.” His voice was deep and sincere, and she looked up to see him focused completely on her, studying every inch of her face. “I cannot imagine anything you would tell me that would destroy my love for you.”
 
“I hope that is true. But I don’t think anyone could imagine what I’m going to tell you.”
 
“Why not let me be the judge?”
 
Making her decision, Buffy took a deep breath. No more secrets. “It is true that I was born in America, in California, to Joyce and Hank Summers. But my name is really Buffy, and I was born, rather I will be born, in the year 1981.”
 
“I beg your pardon?” Of all the things that William expected to hear her say, this was definitely not on the list.
 
“You wondered why you felt like you knew me? Why we seemed to be destined to be together? Part of it is because I have known you before. In a way, I was your wife already.”
 
William shook his head in confusion. “I don’t… I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
 
“Just listen, all right. This is a bit of a long story.” As the sun worked its way across the sky Buffy talked and talked, while William listened with wonder in his eyes. She told the story of her life as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, her calling, and their meeting. He looked slightly horrified as she described his career as Spike, the Slayer of Slayers. Other than the occasional clarification he listened in rapt silence as she talked herself hoarse, finally explaining how she had come to find him in his time. “When you found me in the alley, I was almost ready to give up hope of ever finding you. I have all I want, right here.” She squeezed his hands for emphasis. “But I don’t want to have to pretend. I want you to know the whole story before you take me as your wife. And… “ Her voice broke a little, but she spit out the rest of the words. “And if you feel you can’t marry me, after hearing all this, I won’t… I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you.” She looked up into his eyes, waiting for his reaction.
 
Dumbfounded, he released her hands and stood up. He walked to the edge of the hill and stood with his back to her looking out over the lake, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to make sense of all he had heard. Buffy watched him, trying to be patient as her stomach clenched in trepidation. She had to tell him. She knew that she couldn’t live a lie, not with him, not with this man that she loved every bit as much as she had loved Spike. There were differences, to be sure. The speech, and the mannerisms were slightly different. But his habit of telling the truth, his dry humor, and his love for her were the same. Please. Please don’t leave me. He stood there for a long time, seeking something within himself, wrestling with the notion of vampires and mystical deaths and traveling through time. Finally, Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. “Please, say something. Anything,” she begged, fighting tears.
 
When he spoke, it was Buffy’s turn to be stunned by what he said. “You came for me.” He turned to look at her with eyes both humbled and full of awe. “You left all you knew, everyone you loved, to come here to find me.”
 
“Yes, it’s true. I wasn’t… whole without you.”
 
“Why?” He was utterly bewildered by this amazing, strong, beautiful woman and the fact that she would travel through time and space for him, William Pratt, the useless poet son of a banker. “If what you say is true I should have been your enemy. Why come for me? I hardly think I am worth it.”
 
Buffy stood up and came over to him, putting her hands to his face and stroking his cheeks. “I love you. You sacrificed yourself for me again and again. You kept faith in me when even my family abandoned me. You died to save me and the world. We shared a bond like no two creatures ever had. It’s like we merged our souls somehow. No one in the world has ever done all that for me. How could I not come for you?”
 
William closed his eyes and leaned into her touch for a moment. Then he brought his hands up to her face, tracing her features tenderly. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your love,” he whispered. “And to find that one has lived an entire other life, full of fantastic things – it is difficult to conceive. But I tell you this: No man in all of England has a woman like you. A brave, strong woman, who would risk everything for him. And if you will have me, I would be quite honored to call you my wife.”
 
“Yes. Oh William, yes,” she cried, and they fell into a kiss that felt as if it would never end.
 
**************************************
 
They married on a splendid autumn day. The wedding was a small one, with only the matron of the boarding house as a guest of the bride. Buffy walked herself down the aisle, having no father to give her away, to where William stood, resplendent in a dove gray suit. Mrs. Pratt and a smattering of friends and cousins made up the rest of the party. As they walked from the church the bells rang out, and all the assembled guests remarked at how happy both bride and groom looked. In a world where love matches were rare and marriage was more of a business arrangement between families, their obvious devotion to each other was fresh and charming.
 
After the last guest had left they retired to the third floor of the Pratt household, which had been freshly repainted and arranged for the sole use of the newlyweds. William swept her into his arms and carried her gallantly up the stairs to their new bedroom where he kissed her breathless once again.
 
“Shall I call Rose to help you out of your gown?” William asked, moving to summon the maid.
 
Buffy stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I believe I have all the help I need here, Mr. Pratt.” They had been very proper, as expected, before their marriage, but Buffy found herself wanting him so badly that it was almost painful. She pulled him down into another kiss and guided his hands to her waist. He wrapped his hands around her slim hips before his hands drifted upward, feeling around and trying to figure out the hooks on the back of her wedding gown. Finally she laughed and broke away, spinning around. “Here, start at the top.”
 
“Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “How the devil did you get into this?” She giggled, but he persevered and soon was able to slide the dress from her shoulders with shaking hands. “Oh my darling,” he murmured, touching her bare shoulders for the first time. His dreams were nothing even remotely close to the reality of her warm soft skin.
 
Stepping neatly out of the dress she picked it up and draped it over a chair, coming to stand before him in her corset and underskirt. She helped him to doff his gray suit coat, which soon joined her gown, followed by his cravat and vest. Their desire grew as she got him out of his shirt and sighed with pleasure at the feel of his skin. It was unusual for his body to feel warm but otherwise it was pale and very much as she remembered. With fumbling fingers he unlaced her corset and bent his head to nuzzle her breasts. “Oh God. You’re so beautiful.”
 
“Come to bed, William.” She took his hand and led him to the bed. Slowly she stripped off the rest of her clothes as he watched, panting with desire. She slid beneath the covers and he followed suit, divesting himself quickly of the rest of his garments and sliding in beside her. “Hold me close, darling.”
 
William did not need to be asked twice. He pulled her to him and groaned at the feeling of her body touching his. They kissed and stroked until they were ready to burst. In a moment of shyness he whispered, “I’ve not done this before. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
 
“You won’t,” she reassured him with a smile. She took him in hand and guided him, and he entered her depths with a groan. “Oh yes. Oh God.” It was perfect, just as she remembered. All the months of searching and courting and waiting melted away and she was here, with her mate again.
 
Instinct took over and William moved inside her, babbling with pleasure. “So warm, my love. I’ve never… oh God. Love you. Love you, Buffy.”
 
Her eyes flew open and her face glowed with pleasure. Her true name was a lovers’ secret between them, and it came out in that same reverent tone that Spike had always used. “I love you, William. It feels so good. Please don’t stop.”
 
“Call me by my other name,” he murmured into her neck. “Let me live those dreams.”
 
“Spike,” she whispered. “Take me Spike. Yes!” She convulsed in an orgasm as he drove deep into her. I’m home. This is home. He’s William and he’s Spike and he’s mine, and we’re together. She cried aloud as the waves of ecstasy built and crested and built again.
 
William’s orgasm built until he too could stand no more. “Buffy!” Their eyes locked as they went over the edge together, but instead of fading the sensations grew stronger and stronger, and something locked between them. Mine, you’re mine. The same thought echoed in both their brains, and suddenly William found his mind expanding. He remembered. He remembered the old timeline, and the new, and Drusilla and Angel and Buffy and the First and dying and returning and this was his mate. They flew on and on together until at last they came down, panting and gasping.
 
When they came to their senses, William looked into her green eyes with amazement. “That was…” His poet’s tongue was for once lost for words.
 
“Yes, it was,” Buffy agreed. Are you with me again? she asked silently, sending her thoughts out, seeking his.
 
Yes my love. William’s blue eyes widened at the sensation of her thoughts in his head. Was it as you remembered? he asked, searching her face for her reaction.
 
No. It was even better. I love you, Spike.
 
Oh Buffy. And they pulled the blankets higher and shut out the world.
 
**********************************
 
“In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commit the body of Elizabeth to the ground…”
 
Anne hardly heard the minister’s words as she stood close by her husband, one hand holding the hand of her youngest son. It was so hard to believe that her mother was finally gone. Her father had been dead for five years, but until this last illness it had seemed her mother would go on forever. She had always been strong – small and delicate looking, but fierce and steely underneath. Anne looked across the grave to her brother William. Although he was doing his best stiff upper lip, as befitted a man of his station, she could see the tears welling in his eyes as well. Neither of them had ever wanted for love or affection. Their parents had worked hard to give them opportunities, insisting that Anne get every bit as much education as her brother, unusual as that was in their circles. They had both married for love, with their parents’ blessing, and the succession of grandchildren had been greeted with joy. Their love for each other was even more all-consuming than their love of their progeny. Anne had never known a couple more completely besotted with each other, even after so many years together. The world seemed emptier with them gone.
 
The minister finally finished, and with the last “Amen” the gathered friends and family began to take their leave. Anne received their sympathetic murmurings and embraces with as much control as she could muster, but her handkerchief was soaking by the time the last of them left. She stood beside her husband and her children with her brother and his family, and they all stared at the stones before them.
 
                                                          William Pratt
                                                           1852-1925
                                                      Elizabeth, his wife
                                                           1860-1930
                                                        Beloved of God
 
“Mama?”
 
Anne shook herself as a little hand tugged on hers. Henry, the youngest of her five children was only four, an unexpected late addition to their brood and the apple of her eye. He had his grandfather’s bright blue eyes, and he looked up at her with a furrowed brow. “What is it, dear?”
 
“Are Grandmother and Grandfather together again now?” he asked in his piping little voice. Although he had never met his grandfather, he had listened attentively to all of Grandmother’s stories and had looked intently on the pictures of the man whose middle name had become his.
 
Despite her grief, Anne smiled, and pulled her little son close. “You know, Henry. I think they are. And I think they’re probably very, very happy.” Somewhere in the depths of her heart, Anne felt absolutely certain that this was true.
 
The End