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Author's Chapter Notes:
Some nudity in this chapter.
Buffy awoke on Saturday morning with crusty eyes and tousled hair. The sun had fully risen, and everyone else in the house had as well. She shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, pajama clad, to find a note on the breakfast bar from Willow and Kennedy. It was a hastily scrawled ‘Gone to Scotland, see you later’ note. Buffy pushed past it to the box of Count Chocula. She poured herself and bowl and sullenly began to crunch.

A few minutes passed before Giles came downstairs, with Andrew in tow. They were in the middle of some discussion about official Watcher business, and when they paused in the entry hall, she could hear that Giles was nearing the end of his patience.

“Andrew,” he said, “I’ve been given the not-so-light task as rebuilding the entire Watcher Council. I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Please, Mr. Giles. Let me come. How will I ever become a Watcher if you don’t let me in?” Andrew whined.

“It’s not like the Masons or the Elk Lodge,” Giles said. “You don’t get in on personal recommendation. Watchers are Called.”

“I wanna be Called,” Andrew said.

“It isn’t up to just me, I’m afraid. Keep up with your training, and we’ll see,” Giles said.

There was a pause in the conversation as Giles slipped past Andrew and toward the kitchen.

But Andrew caught up to him again. “Is there a secret handshake?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” Giles said, sounding embarrassed. “Yes, there is.”

“I knew it!” Andrew said triumphantly.

Buffy laughed softly to herself as Giles came into the kitchen, Andrew still on his heels.

“Buffy,” Giles said, sounding unbelievably relieved. “You’re awake, thank heavens. Did Willow and Kennedy get off this morning?”

“Uck, yes,” she said. “You heard them too?”

Giles shot her a look of confusion, then went for his tea cup in the cabinet.

“Oh, you mean... Scotland.” Buffy said. “Yes, they did. They left a note. A non-sexy note.” She slid it toward him.

Andrew leaned on the bar in his very boyish manner, resting his chin in his hand. “Buffy,” he said. “Willow left a grocery list. We need eggs, bread, tea and um, sugar.”

“Groceries,” Buffy said. “Don’t you usually get those?”

“Grocery shopping is one of my normal Watcher-In-Training duties, yes. But I’m taking Dawn to Harker Glade this morning to practice conjuring and dispelling of Mushka Changelings, and we only have a few hour’s window this afternoon between the time when Mercury sets and Dawn’s soccer practice.”

Buffy looked distraught. “Oh... Giles?”

Giles was busy preparing a cup of tea. Over his shoulder he said, “I have Council business to attend to. I’m afraid I’ll be out all day.”

Andrew sat down on the barstool and pouted. “Some day, it will be my turn,” he grumbled.

“Yeah. Well, what about Xander?” she asked.

As if on cue, Xander breezed into the room, all spiffy in his charcoal gray suit and geometric-patterned necktie.

“What about Xander?” he asked “Did I miss something apocalyptic or interesting?”

“No,” Buffy said. “Just grocery shopping.”

“Hm. The dreaded produce aisle,” Xander said. He grabbed a croissant from the breadbox and headed for the door.

“You’re in a hurry...” Buffy said.

“Early day at the site,” Xander called as he left. “I’ll see you guys tonight. Good luck with the produce peril.”

Andrew scribbled away on the back of Willow’s note, sticking his tongue out over his lips as he wrote. Buffy watched him with a growing – almost stifling – sense of agitation. When he finished, he slid the note to her.

“Willow only likes the free range organic eggs and she can tell if you try to get the other kind, believe me. And Dawn doesn’t like regular white bread. Whole grain only. Oh yeah, and make sure the tuna fish is dolphin safe because those nets are really cruel to the gentlest creatures of the sea,” he said. He tapped the note twice with flourish, like an artist signing his masterpiece.

Buffy stared down at the list. “And where do I go for all of this stuff?”

Dawn burst into the room in a bright red vinyl raincoat, fidgeting with her cell phone.

“Hey guys,” she said, taking a banana from the fruit bowl. She began peeling it with her teeth while she checked her phone messages.

Andrew straightened. “Are you ready, Dawn?”

Dawn looked down at him as if awaking from a daydream. “Ready?”

“Conjuring and dispelling Mushka Changelings,” he said, sighing dramatically. “Mercury waits for no one, young lady.”

Dawn groaned. “I’m ready. Is it squishy outside? Cause I don’t want to ruin my boots.”

“Eighty-percent squishiness,” Buffy said, “but... isn’t it always?”

“The rain is part of the city’s charm,” Giles chimed in, in an almost obligatory tone.

“Yeah, well, the city’s charm spells doom for my footwear,” Dawn said. She ducked out of the kitchen, then bounded up to her room, taking the stairs by twos.

Giles glanced at his watch. “Better go now. Tonight?”

“Tonight,” Andrew said, saluting. He spun back to Buffy. “Dawn just ate the last banana. We now have a fruitless house. Better add that to your list.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Doesn’t anyone eat breakfast around here?” she asked. She stared down at her soggy Count Chocula. “Besides me,” she added.

“No time,” Giles said. “See you later?”

Buffy nodded, a little frowny. Giles left the kitchen, and Andrew, of course, followed. Seconds later, Dawn shouted a shrill goodbye from the door.

Then they were all gone.

Buffy took the shopping list in both hands.

“Shudder with terror. It’s Buffy the Grocery Shopper,” she said. For a moment, she just stood there in the kitchen, half-tempted to go back upstairs and climb into the oblivion of snuggly blankets. Or, there was a whole world of television to watch. Books to read. Correspondence to address and send. She had a whole day to herself, and how long had it been since she’d been able to say that?

“Whatever,” Buffy said. And she headed upstairs to change.



So grocery shopping was a snooze-fest. Stores in London weren’t like the ones in California. They were cramped, crowded and lacked the bounteous variety of the stateside Wal-Mart or Piggly Wiggly. They also smelled like damp paper and newsprint. Buffy found everything on the list, with the help of a bitty old shopkeeper who was like, blah blah blah petrol, blah blah blah Tory party, blah blah blah biscuits.

Shopkeeper politics, so not her thing. Politics in general, for that matter.

When she left the grocer’s, a brisk rain fell, but the sun was out too, turning all to soupy haze. Buffy cinched her raincoat and made her way across the street, carting her groceries in plastic mesh bags.

It was miserable. She felt all wilty and the whole-wheat baguettes were getting soaked. She figured that if she kept her head down and walked at a steady pace, the sooner the whole grocery/rainstorm extravaganza would end.

In keeping with keeping her head down, Buffy paid little attention to the roads as she went. Before long, she had crossed the wrong street at the wrong corner. Several blocks later, she realized her mistake, but rather than turning back, she just hung a left, figuring she would follow this road until she reached Meteor Street and double back.

Soon the rain let up. It was still sludgy and steamy, but with less rain to abate the smothery humidity. Then, sidewalk construction blocked the way ahead, plus lots of traffic – horns blaring, clouds of exhaust, mass confusion. Buffy crossed at the corner to avoid all of the above. When she did, she noticed the entrance to the park she had walked through the night before. There was something about that place, something inviting and calm. It wasn’t exactly a short cut, but pleasant enough to merit a change in course.

Buffy slowed her heel-grinding pace. The moment she stepped into the park, the mood changed. The lake spread out beneath the trees like a flat pane of opaque glass. Geese nestled in the reeds at the water’s edge. Not a breath of wind stirred the air.

Buffy stopped to stare across the water, despite the armloads of sodden groceries. There’s something about this place, she thought, something unusual. She made note to mention it to Willow when she and Kennedy returned from Scotland. Perhaps this place was once consecrated earth, like an Indian burial ground... except there weren’t any of their kind of Indians in England. Celtic burial ground, maybe?

Or, much more likely, just a picturesque little lake and meadow chock full of nature-y goodness.

Buffy decided to let it go. With a sigh, she returned to the path.

At that moment, the space in front of her filled with crackling, blinding white light. Buffy stumbled back, ready to use her groceries as weapons. A bubble of fire and energy erupted from the ground, like lightning in reverse. A single thunderous crack like gunfire split the air. Beams of light burst out, knocking her back. Sacks of groceries - everywhere. Buffy clambered to her knees. The energy orb thing was gone. In its place a man crouched, naked and trembling.

She knew who it was, of course. She knew before he turned his wild eyes toward her. It was impossible. Completely impossible. But it was him.

“Spike?” she said. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He looked at her. Then placed his hands, palms down onto the gravel path. Spike stared at the ground, but didn’t move.

“Spike,” she said, more forcefully.

“The world was ending,” he said.

“Isn’t it always?” she said. She took an unsure step in his direction.

He looked up at her again. “Buffy?”

“That’s right,” she said. She stripped off her raincoat and drew it around his shoulders. “It’s me. It’s okay. You’re naked and-and damp and trembly. But it’s okay.”

“It is?”

Buffy swallowed hard. She touched the line of his jaw, and he didn’t pull away. “You’re okay. Okay?”

He nodded. His brows furrowed.

“Here,” she said. She helped his get slowly to his feet. “Let’s just take it slow. One foot, then the other. I’ll get you home.”

“Home,” he said. Yeah, dazed didn’t cover his state of shock. Her own pulse had gone all rabbity, and she was just the eyewitness to... well, whatever it was that just happened.

Buffy pulled his arm around her shoulder. His body felt heavy against hers, and unmistakably warm. It took a full five steps before the truth of it dawned on her. She placed her palm over his heart. She looked up to find him staring intensely at her.

“That’s your heart beating,” she breathed. “You’re human.”





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