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Author's Chapter Notes:
time travel, witches, boxes and Buffy plus three Spikes, yes, this story is a wee bit complicated.
Chapter IV - Boxes

Do nothing till you hear from me,
Pay no attention to what's said
Why people tear the seam
Of anyone's dream
Is over my head

Duke Ellington


London England, Buffy and Spike’s Apartment –2085AD

Spike had been standing in their bedroom in front of the closet holding the door open and staring, for how long, he couldn’t rightly recall. He'd been counting her shoes, hanging up her shirts and pants, and wondering how a woman could own so much clothing in a decade when fashion magazines didn’t exist. Everyone wore the same colorless, coarsely woven layers to ward off Mother Nature, except for Buffy. She made embroidered scarves and knitted gloves with brightly colored yarn she dyed herself, and wore jewelry she’d created from broken rods and bullet casings. Made it bloody hard to explain why a slayer cared so much about her wardrobe. But Buffy told him a slayer should never forget couture. No matter how many decades she'd been twenty something.

Spike suddenly pumped his fist in the air. “Eureka!” He’d finally remembered what he’d been looking for in the closet. He dropped to his knees flinging clothes and pairs of high-heeled boots out of his way. The throw rug was covering a panel on the floor. He tossed it aside and broke the latch with his hands.

From its hiding place, he pulled out a brown bag and tore it open. “Willow’s box,” he announced, clutching it to his chest.

It was no longer perfectly square, or white. Now dented with dark stains marring its once lustrous sheen, it also had a lingering foul scent. He wiped off the dust with one of Buffy’s shirts and noticed the latch was unlocked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that it had happened, but when or why not exactly. Had he opened the box? Had Buffy? The memory wouldn’t stay put in his brain.

He walked to the bed and sat down, holding the box carefully in his hands. It had too much power, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Time didn’t matter here. Then another flash of memory came to him. A portal was brewing. He rushed to the spot where the old window had been, now covered by iron bars and reduced to décor against the steel wall. He touched the bars. There used to be a garden outside this window when it was glass, and wind blew tree leaves and flowers blossomed. That’s where the portal had come. He sat down on the bed again, wishing Buffy were there. She had enjoyed time travel, but got sad after a few decades and he’d hidden the box in the closet beneath the floorboards.

A sudden loud pop and a flash of light and the portal appeared in the closet. Oh yes, he thought. That’s where it comes now.

“Hi Buffy,” he said, smiling as she stumbled out of the portal.

Her eyes flashed wide and her head spun sharply as she appeared to be searching for someone who should have been at her side, not sitting on a bed in a room with steal walls.

“Spike?” She stepped forward, but then moved back into the closet.

“Yes, I’m Spike,” he answered. "But don't worry about your Spike. It's just that if I'm here, he can’t be at your side.”

“Oh, didn’t know that," said Buffy, her hand disappearing behind her back.

“I forgot this is your first trip.”

“What do you mean by that?” She wiped the hair from her face with her free hand.

“That this is your first trip.” Spike couldn’t stop staring at her hair. It was that glowing shade of blonde he loved the best and she had bangs, perfect little wisps of pretty hair, touching her forehead, getting into her eyes. “Please have a seat, Love.” He gestured to a chair near the window.

“I’m good.” Buffy inched out of the closet, but not too far out. “What’s that in your hand?”

Spike raised his eyebrow. “What’s that behind your back?”

“I asked you first.”

“As you can see, it’s a box.”

“Did Willow give you the box?”

He jumped to his feet. “Willow?”

Swinging the bag from her shoulder, Buffy pulled a stake from a side pocket.

"So now, you’re afraid of me?” Spike said.

“You’re a vampire,” Buffy said. “Again.”

Spike eyed her steadily. She was bouncing on her toes, her weight distributed perfectly. “No need to worry Slayer. Wherever or whenever you run into old Spike remember that I’m always in love with you.”

Her chin quivered and the arm with the stake relaxed, but not completely. Still, it was enough for him to know he wasn’t in immediate danger. Besides, he bet he could take her. After all, he’d been around two hundred years. Then again, so had she in a way. He backed up to the edge of the bed and sat down.

“Did you lose your soul?”

“There are worst things.” He crossed his legs and flipped the box up and down in his hand. “Now show me what you have behind your back?” He pointed with his other hand.

She took a deep breath and slowly held out the box.

“You’ll have to step out of the closet to give it to me.”

"I don't know if I want to do that?" She responded.

“Well, I can't come to you. I’ll be too close to that portal spinning behind you." He nodded and Buffy glanced over her shoulder, as if she’d forgotten all about it.

“The other Spike is still in that portal, “ Spike said. “If I get too close to it, the portal will sweep me up and that Spike and this one…” He placed a finger on his chest. “…will go whoosh! And that would be a very bad thing.”

Buffy walked halfway into the bedroom. “You seem to know a lot about portal etiquette.”

“I am Spike," he said. "Been there, done that."

“Do you know that the Spike traveling with me is human?”

“That’s the main reason why we can’t be in the same time together…”

Buffy blinked and bit her lower lip. “Oh, that’s right, I’m long dead by now.” She half-smiled, scanning the apartment. "What year is this?"

"Two thousand eighty-five," he replied.

"God, this is crazy," Buffy said. "I didn't think of time travel in terms of years, you know?"

“It’s not years, its space and light,” Spike stood up cautiously. “I’d feel better if you put the stake away.”

“Okay.” She did.

“Now remind me why you’re here.”

“Willow created the portal so Spike and I could bring this box to this time and then take it to her in the past.”

“Sounds bloody twisted.” Spike narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. "We should exchange boxes."

“I’ve got to take Willow this box.” Buffy wiggled the box in her hand.

“This is that box.”

“Really getting hard for me to keep up here,” she sighed. "Even if I agree, we still have a problem.”

“Please illuminate it for me then.”

She pointed. “Your box is open.”

“Do you want to know what’s inside?”

She retreated. “No. That will screw up everything.”

“Whatever is going to happen has already happened, Buffy.”

“So, there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“No matter what you do, Dawn has been dead a long time.”

“Long to you, or long to me?” She snapped. “For me, she’s been gone forever.”

“No, Buffy,” Spike said. “I’m the only one who understands forever.”

“I’m not going to stand here and philosophize with you about space, time and light. Okay? Let’s just do this so that we, or me and the other Spike, can get out of here.”

"I agree," Spike said. "Trust me, it's not a big deal that it’s open. Just don't look inside. Okay. Now, take it.”

She stared at the box in her hand and then the one he was holding. "I should trust you since you've been through this before, right?"

"Yes, you should trust me." He handed her the box in his hand, and waited for her to place her box in his. “Do me a favor and don't forget that time is not a straight line. It folds and has a reflection.”

“You’ve become quite the intellect.”

“I'm old." Spike stood in the doorway of the closet as she backed toward the portal. "It doesn’t take much if you’ve been around as long as I have."

She stopped. “Tell me what’s in the box.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

She caressed the old, tattered box in her hand. “We’ve put a lot of trust in Willow, and I don’t know….what if we’re wrong?”

He tilted his head at Buffy. “This entire situation is about you and Willow. Dawn, Giles and me, even Angel, we’re just pieces in the puzzle.”

Buffy adjusted the knapsack on her shoulder. “That was kind of cryptic. I’d think if you love me, you'd answer my question.”

Spike squared his shoulders. “You can ask me one question, and I will answer it honestly and directly. No space time continuum talk, just a straight answer.”

Buffy moistened her lips and swept the bangs from her forehead. “Oh god, I don’t know what to ask. Should I ask about trusting Willow or if we’ll be able to save Dawn?” She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “You’re not going to give me a clue?”

“Just ask the bloody question.”

“Will we save Dawn?”

“Yes.”

She backed into the portal. “Thank you.”

Spike stood in the archway staring into the closet long after Buffy had disappeared. After a while, he looked at the box in his hand and then threw it against the steel wall. Why did she always ask the same goddamned question?


to be continued...





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