Chapter 1: The Wooden Spoon

“Yeah? You and what army?” Spike taunted.

Suddenly, the slayer was behind him, whipping him around and slamming his back onto the kitchen island. She pulled a wooden spoon from the utensil canister as she came down with him, aiming it toward his heart.

“That would be me.”

The instant the handle of the spoon was pressed against him, it emitted a bright flash of golden light, momentarily stunning Buffy, Spike, Joyce, and even Angel, who was still standing on the back porch.

As the light faded, Joyce stumbled back, grabbing the door of the refrigerator for support. “What was that?”

“Magic,” Angel answered in an ominous tone. “He's done something...” He noticed the shocked look on the slayer's face as she slowly backed away from the kitchen island. “Buffy? Are you alright?”

The wooden spoon dropped to the floor as she stared at Spike. “What...?”

Spike pulled himself upright and rapidly glanced around the room with a look of panic in his eyes. One hand went to the center of his chest, grabbing as if he were searching for something that wasn't there. As his hand withdrew, he studied it, and then -locking his eyes on Buffy's- he slowly brought it up to shoulder height, palm facing out.

Her eyes widened and she stepped forward again, raising her own hand in a mirroring gesture.

They continued to stare at each other as their fingers interlinked, seemingly completely unaware of Angel's sputtering attempts to tell Buffy to back away and Joyce's quiet gasp of realization when she saw the look on her daughter's face.

“How...?” Buffy whispered.

“No idea,” Spike whispered back. “But I saw you run for the stairs.”

“I did... Months ago.” She released his hand with a flash of anger in her eyes. “Right after you called me a liar.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “The point, love, was to get you the hell out of there. Worked, didn't it?”

She turned away, visibly dissatisfied with his logic. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

“So maybe I just hate it when you're ri--” The reply was cut off in a choked sob at the realization of who was standing in the room with them. “Mom?”

As a startled Joyce was tackled in a slayer hug with enough force to knock her back against the front of the refrigerator, Angel's voice regained its strength. The side of his closed fist slammed against the door frame as he shouted, “What the hell did you do, Spike?”

“Nothing I know of,” Spike murmured through a soft smile as he watched mother and daughter embrace. “But whatever it was, it was worth it for this.”

Angel fell silent as he studied him through the invisible barrier. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure? Something's different about you.”

“A few things.” Spike furrowed his brow. “And I think I'm drunk.”

“You certainly were a few minutes ago.”

Spike's eyes drifted to the two mugs of hot chocolate on the counter and back to Joyce as Buffy broke the hug to grab a paper napkin for use as a tissue. “...I know when this is.” He waited for the nose blowing noise to stop before addressing Buffy. “Love, your friends are at the factory.”

“Huh?” She tossed the napkin in the trash and surveyed the room, slowly piecing together the situation in which they'd found themselves. “Oh... We should get there before Cordelia stomps on the stairs.”

“Yeah,” he murmured distractedly. He was watching Joyce as she looked back and forth between them, deeply confused by the entire situation.

Buffy waved him on. “Just give in and hug her, already. We can explain later. You know, if we can actually come up with some kind of explanation for this.”

The hug he offered was much less ardent and forceful than Buffy's.“We've missed you round here, Joyce,” he said as he pulled away. “Especially your girls.”

“Girls?” she asked.

Buffy and Spike turned to each other with wide eyes. “Dawn!” they exclaimed in unison before rushing out of the room and up the stairs.

Joyce turned to face Angel. “Do you have any idea what's just happened?”

“A better question might be if I know who just possessed them. Because they aren't acting like themselves. You should invite me in.”

In the dark upstairs hall, Buffy and Spike stared into a room that would have been a guest room, if the furnishings weren't completely obstructed by storage boxes.

“She's not here,” Buffy whispered. “This isn't a dream or an altered memory, is it?”

“I think we're really here, love. Then.”

“Then,” she echoed. “In our old lives. Before... Well, before almost everything.”

“Wonder why.”

“And how.”

“Or how long we'll be here.”

“Or if this is even our reality.”

They stood in silence for what felt like a long time, both still facing into the room that wasn't Dawn's.

“So what're we gonna do about it?” he finally asked.

“Get it right this time.”

For the second time in ten minutes, the slayer grabbed him and whipped him around, this time slamming him up against the hallway wall.

When Joyce came up the stairs in response to the noise, she only got as far as the landing before she stopped at the sight of her daughter and Spike holding each other tightly as they kissed in the dark beside the guest room door. She withdrew as quietly as she could, thankful she hadn't issued the requested invitation.

Elsewhere, in a place outside of time, a short man in a fedora shook his head as he approached the late Joyce Summers. “That wasn't what I was expecting.”

“What do you mean? You said you could provide her a chance to prevent some past mistakes if I gave your people a time and place. This is exactly what you asked for.”

“A freakin' wooden spoon,” he muttered as he took off his hat to rub his forehead. “The timing is all wrong, Summers. It's too late to change first impressions, but long before they've established an almost friendly loose confederation. In other words, they're clearly enemies already, but nowhere close to allies yet.”

“Nonsense. They became allies the first time she brought him into the house.”

“That was just for the night. It wasn't meant to last longer than that. Also, he was literally holding her friends hostage at the moment you hit them. ...With a freakin' wooden spoon!”

She frowned at him. “Why do I get the impression the spoon is what's really bothering you, more than the timing?”

“It's weird.”

“You said I could choose anytime I knew they'd be in the same place, didn't you? And you wanted an object I knew they both came in contact with at that time?”

“Yeah. As in, it could be just about anything. A chair, a door, a piece of clothing, a weapon, anything. Choosing a kitchen utensil is just... odd.”

She shrugged off the criticism. “I didn't have all that many memories to pick over. And what I do recall didn't have a lot of absolute certainty about things like who sat where or who closed the door, or anything like that.” She smiled. “But the wooden spoon? That was memorable. And certain. I was two, maybe three feet away when it happened.”

“There had to have been something else you remember that could've worked, and maybe at a better time?”

“I never saw them together all that much.” Joyce chuckled. “But isn't that at the heart of the problem you're trying to correct?”

Chapter 2: The Third Wheel

“It's amazing,” Buffy whispered as she surveyed the street they were walking down. “It's all still standing.”

“Exactly how much came down?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?”

“The whole town, the last thing being the welcome sign. Like you were signing your work.”

Spike fell quiet for a few steps. “How many...?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thirteen. Including you and Anya.”

“Damn.”

“I'm supposed to say it could've been a lot worse. That's what everyone tells me when they realize I'm thinking about it. But honestly? I want to punch anyone who says that.”

“Willing to bet Xander doesn't say it.”

“Never.” She sighed. “It feels like we have a lot more in common these days. More than we've had in years. At least I have someone to drink with.”

“Sorry, love.” He cautiously reached out to take her hand.

She grasped the offered hand firmly. “If this is real, if it's not a dream or something...”

“Feels pretty real to me.”

“Then we need to understand it... And find out if it's permanent.” She pulled him to a stop and turned to face him on the sidewalk. “Because if I have to go back to that... Spike, I don't want to.”

He shrugged. “So we fix things so it can't happen. Likely that's why we're here, anyway.”

“Assuming us being here is intentional, and not some magical screw up.”

“Who cares? We're still here, either way. I say we take advantage.”

“And assuming we're actually messing with our own timeline.”

“Let's assume.” He gave her a brief kiss. “You won't be going back to that. Alright?”

“You can't promise me that.”

“I just did. What happened to the slayer who was always convinced she'd find a way to win the day?”

Buffy looked him in the eye for a long moment before replying, “She found out exactly how much she had to lose by winning.”

The conversation was interrupted by approaching footsteps on the sidewalk behind them. They pulled away from each other as they turned to face Angel, who looked angry as he marched toward them.

“Seriously, Angel?” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you I'd stop by the mansion to talk to you later. We can handle this.”

“The problem is that there's a 'we.' I don't know what he's done to you, Buffy, but nothing about this makes any sense.”

“Well, no, it doesn't. But it will. ...In about five years.”

Angel's steps came to a sudden halt. “Wha-- What are you saying? That spoon gave you a premonition? Or... You're... No...”

Spike laughed at the sight of understanding dawning on Angel's face. “This is better than Back to the Future.”

“I don't know,” Buffy hedged. “A DeLorean would've been cooler than a spoon.”

“Actually, I liked the train.”

“Weirdo.”

Angel looked annoyed. “You really think trying to convince me you're time travelers is funny?” He pulled a stake from his coat pocket. “Who are you? Really?”

Spike pulled a stake from his own pocket with an eye roll. “As if you're the only one who's carrying.”

“And we are time travelers,” Buffy added, carefully shifting her position so she could quickly get between them if the need arose. “As in time traveling us. Go home, Angel. I promise to come talk to you later.”

“And leave you alone together?”

She sighed and caught Spike's eye.

He replied by putting his stake back in his pocket with a sigh of his own.

“Come on, Angel.” She waved for him to cover the remaining distance between them. “But if you tag along, try not to bombard us with questions. We don't have all the answers yet.”

“And probably won't give all the ones we have,” Spike added. “And no 'saying hello.'”

She clenched her teeth as she sucked in a breath. “Don't start.”

“Just sayin', love. You got a few bad habits, and he's one of the worst.”

“What? I have bad habits? This from the man who never remembers to cover his mugs before putting them in the microwave?”

Angel gulped. “You live together?”

Spike gave him a smirk. “Uh-huh,” he said in a tone that dripped with smugness.

“But not... I mean, only sharing a kitchen, right?”

“Nope.”

Buffy shook her head and turned to continue their walk toward the factory. “I can't believe I wasted months of my life mourning you.”

“She means you.” Spike rushed to fall into step with her.

“No, I don't,” she corrected as Angel came up on her other side. “Well, maybe both.”

“If it tips the scales, love, he's the one set me up with Elizabeth Taylor's nightmare.”

She avoided eye contact, focusing on the sidewalk. “But he's not the one who handed it to you.”

Angel opened his mouth to question this line of conversation, but Spike reached back to grab his shoulder, stopping them both.

“Leave it be, Liam.”

Angel looked him in the eye, and finally identified what was different about him. “You...? Your soul,” he whispered in shock. “How? Why?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” As soon as Buffy had gotten a few yards ahead of them, he dropped his hand and they resumed their walk behind her.

“You chose it?”

“I did. Turned out to be a mistake. At least, she probably thinks so.”

With that revelation, they fell silent, each deep in their own thoughts.

When they had reached the charred remains of the factory both vampires had briefly called home, Spike made eye contact with Buffy and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Not knowing how long we'll be here, maybe we should play it cool,” she answered. “Just Mom and the three of us. So you should probably keep being seen as the bad guy. At least for now.”

“Right, then. You go in, be their hero. I'll pick up the car and meet you at home.”

“Stay close until you hear us coming out, just in case something else goes wrong. And, uh, tell Mom I'll be pretty late.” She nodded toward Angel in explanation. “You might want to fill her in on a few things. Just the basics. At least enough for her to get why you just called her house 'home.'”

He winced, realizing. “She's not expecting us both back tonight.”

“Safe bet.” She turned to Angel. “The stairs took some structural damage in the fire. Don't walk on the middle of the treads, and we'll need to keep a good grip on Willow and Xander on the way up. Especially Xander.” She jerked a thumb toward Spike. “This moron gave him a concussion.”

“Five years ago,” he reminded her.

“Which would be tonight,” she shot back before continuing to address Angel. “While we're with them, keep your mouth shut about anything related to time travel or Spike. We'll figure out what -if anything- to tell them later. And let me go down ahead of you. I need to take care of a personal issue with my friends.”

“Gonna have to talk the boy into confessing,” Spike said quietly. “Can't just make it go away.”

She frowned at him, confused.

“Anya.”

“Shit. You know he's not going to 'fess up on his own.”

Spike shrugged. “Get her to do it, then. Let word get round to the cheerleader.”

“The Willow guilt train is not one I want to ride again, thanks.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Just plant the seed with 'em, Slayer. Either they'll let it come out and things will fall into place, or--”

“Or Anyanka lives a hell of a lot longer than another four and a half years,” Buffy finished, suddenly realizing the opportunity before her. She turned to head inside. “If they want to spill their guts, it'll be their choice. I'm staying out of it. Angel, give me two minutes.”

When they were alone outside, Angel asked, “Anyanka? As in the patron saint of scorned women? You know her?”

“We did. Good bird, for the most part. Best not to cross her, though.” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and started toward a well-shadowed corner of the building to wait for the sounds of Buffy's return. “Best not to shag her, either, unless you mean to make a habit of it.” He grinned to himself as he strolled away, imagining the wide-eyed stare behind him.

Meanwhile, in the factory's lower level, Buffy cleared her throat to draw the attention of the very distracted hostages.

Willow scrambled to her feet while Xander struggled to sit up, both wiping their lips as if they could erase the make-out session their friend had just interrupted.

“Buffy! Hi! How did you find us?”

“You were kidnapped by a drunken vampire who didn't actually plan this thing out, and Angel's living at the other of the two places he knows best in this town. Process of elimination.”

“That's one good thing to come out of all this, at least,” Xander said as he struggled to his feet. “You found Spike, so you probably dusted him, right?”

She abruptly turned away, masking her reaction by poking her head into the stairwell to look for Angel.

He was midway down the flight, taking his time to determine the stability of each step. “I think this section is the worst of it. Bring them to me, and I'll lift them over.”

She nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to her friends. “If you two are finished being assholes to people who love you, it's time I took you home.”

Shocked at the harshness of her words, Willow and Xander meekly followed her to the stairs.

Chapter 3: The Ex Girlfriend

Spike dropped his car keys on the foyer table, tossed his duster onto a coat hook, and made it as far as the living room before he was forced to pause to take in the scene. The picture window's frame was filled with glass, not plywood. The furniture was arranged for conversation, not for maximizing floor space. And there wasn't a single bedroll, gym bag, or wounded teen-aged girl in sight. In fact, there was only one heartbeat in the whole place, and it was approaching him from behind.

“You came back. Alone?”

“She'll be home later,” he replied without turning around. “Had some business to talk through with Angel. If it's alright with you, I'm gonna set up one of your camp cots downstairs.”

“How do you know I--?” Joyce glanced toward the foyer, noticing his coat and keys had been dropped off in the casual way of a long time resident. “You've lived here.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask... Spike, how old is my daughter?”

He slowly turned around to stare at her. “How'd you know?”

“I saw the way she looked at you after that flash of light. My Buffy is a teenager, prone to teen-aged infatuations and teen-aged depths of grief. That woman who appeared in her place...” She shook her head, declining to finish her thought. “My Buffy also doesn't like you enough to push you up against a wall to kiss you in my upstairs hallway.”

“Saw that, did you?”

“It's mutual, I hope.”

“Very.”

She waved toward the basement stairs. “I assume you know where the cots are stored. And that you'll both tell me more about what's going on tomorrow?”

“As much as we can.” He started out of the room, bound for the basement, but stopped beside her. “Coming up on twenty-three. And earned every bit of those looks of grief and world weariness getting there.”

She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “I was hoping her SAT scores were her ticket out of this life. I guess she didn't get to go away to college.”

Across town, Buffy and Angel stood in silence in the walled garden of the old mansion, staring up at the night sky together to avoid the awkwardness of looking at each other.

He finally broke the ice. “You didn't get to go to Northwestern, did you?”

“It wasn't an option. Long story.”

“And Spike?”

“He's been dodging questions about where he went to college for years. You probably have a better idea than I do.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“His soul... Did he do that for you?”

“Less than he'd probably be willing to admit. I think it was more for himself than he's ready to say.”

“He thinks you see it as a mistake.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn't have been able to hand him the mystical equivalent of a suicide vest if he didn't have it, among other reasons.” She finally looked from the sky to him. “It would've been you or me, otherwise. Possibly Faith, but not as likely as us.”

Angel studied her in the moonlight for a long time, taking in the mismatch of youthful appearance and eyes that had seen enough to feel old. “How long since...?”

“He's been dead six months.” She forced a thin smile. “Until tonight, apparently. And until whatever dumped us here gets undone.”

“Do you wish it was you?”

“Most nights, at least for a little while.” She moved to sit at the base of the stairs. “But these aren't the questions you really want to ask.”

He sighed and leaned up against the garden wall opposite. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“Try the beginning. Which is now, I guess, from your perspective.”

“When did Spike and Drusilla break up?”

“About a week ago. Why did you think he rolled into town drunk and stupid?”

“Is she...? I mean, will she...?”

“She's fine.”

“Are you sure? When did you last see her?”

Buffy leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You don't want the answer to that question.”

“Why wouldn't I? What has she done?”

She hesitated.

“Just tell me, Buffy. Whatever she's done... Trust me, I can take it.”

“A couple of months ago. She showed up at my apartment with two bottles of bourbon. I invited her in, and we drank until it was gone. It was nearly morning by the time I passed out. So she stayed for the day, and left at dusk.”

“You invited her into your home?!” he shouted. “And then let your guard down?!”

“I told you you didn't want to know.”

“I've never known you to be so reckless. But especially after Kendra...”

“There was nothing she could do to hurt me, and we both knew it.”

Angel sat with the implications of those words for a long time. When he spoke again, his volume was much lower. “Did she at least warn you this was coming? What did you talk about? ...Besides the obvious.”

“Nothing. We drank in silence all night. There was nothing to say.” She looked down at the garden steps between her feet. “You have to understand her point of view, Angel. To her mind, she lost him as soon as he met me. By the time she dumped him last week, she'd made some level of peace with it, although she's still going to swing by in a couple of years, to test the waters. But by the time she knocked on my front door, she'd had enough time and distance to get me drunk and let me cry on her shoulder.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to imagine what that looked like.

“That visit wasn't a threat, Angel.” She looked up at him. “It was a gift. A gift from the only other person who had done what I did, who understood better than anyone else could. We didn't need to talk.”

“Done what you did?”

“Killed him.” Buffy abruptly stood up. “I should get home. We can talk about something else tomorrow, if you want.”

He straightened his stance and fought the urge to approach her for a goodbye hug. “Uh, yeah. That sounds like a good idea. But before you go... What happened to us?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Angel, there hasn't been an 'us' since the morning I woke up alone in your bed. We wasted a lot of time pretending really hard that wasn't the case, but it was. It is. The sooner we stop lying to ourselves -and each other- the better off we'll both be.”

She was halfway up the garden stairs before he was able to give voice to the thought he'd been trying to ignore for hours. “You don't love me anymore.”

She paused and turned just far enough to say, “A part of me always will. But it isn't enough. It never really was.”

She was almost out of earshot when he gave her a parting gift. “Don't tell him I told you this, but... Oxford.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

Chapter 4: The Other Champion

As soon as Buffy entered her mother's backyard, she was hit with feelings of ease and peace she barely recognized. Everything was still and quiet. There was no longer the raw earth of hastily dug graves behind the house. And the smell of cigarette smoke was drifting down from the porch steps. He was back where he belonged, and waiting for her.

“Earlier than I thought you'd be,” was Spike's greeting as she approached. “Short talk?”

“As much as I could deal with for one night, at least.”

“Dare I ask if you have Angel breath again?”

She shook her head. “I don't. But at least he was polite enough not to mention that I have Spike breath.”

He grinned. “But no doubt he noticed it.”

She climbed the steps to sit beside him. “You're the worst.”

“And yet you missed me.”

“Probably a lot more than you deserved.” She scooted closer to lean against him as soon as he tossed away his cigarette butt. “I know we should be planning things out, figuring out how we're going to deal with this time travel craziness, but right now... I just want this.”

They sat in silence for a while, each reveling in the casual intimacy of her leaning on his shoulder and the feelings brought up by her willingness to do so.

When Spike finally spoke, his voice was hesitant. “Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“How long before you tell all of them...?”

“That we're from the future? I have no idea. That's going to need to be part of the planning.”

“I meant about us.”

“Oh.” She sat upright. “Um, I guess as soon as that planning stuff is done, so we know how we should phrase things.”

He nodded slowly. “Figure out a plausible explanation.”

“I think an 'explanation' might be a bit more than I'm willing to offer. They just need to know enough to know neither of us has lost our mind.”

“Lately.”

“Lately,” she agreed. The smile forming on her face turned into a grimace as a thought occurred to her. “Ugh. You know The First is going to pop up in a few weeks, right?”

“You're joking.”

“Nuh-uh. A few Bringers. No Turok Hans. It mostly just wants to screw with Angel's head until he's ready to kill himself.”

“No idea what that's like,” he grumbled. He noticed the familiar tight lipped expression as she ran scenarios through her head. “You expect me to try to help the wanker, don't you?”

“With me, of course.” She shrugged. “You have Champion credentials now, Spike. I think you kinda have to.”

“Ah. So I get immolated by that bastard's little present, and I owe him a favor?”

“That's not what I--” She stood up and offered her hand to pull him to his feet. “We'll argue about this tomorrow, ok? I have to pretend to be Teen Buffy at school in the morning, so I should get some sleep.”

He accepted the offered hand and let her lead him into the house, expecting her to release him as she passed the basement door. Instead she held onto his hand as they went downstairs together.

Elsewhere, Whistler nodded in satisfaction as the last images were projected on the wall before them. “Not bad for a night's work. Guess it's time to pull the plug.”

Beside him, Joyce raised her voice in objection. “What?! You can't! They've only just arrived!”

“And met a bunch of big picture objectives. In record time, I might add. Your timing was better than I thought, even if the spoon was a weird choice.”

“It's only been a few hours, Whistler. They haven't had time to do much of anything.”

“They've discouraged Angel from keeping her in his future plans and daydreams, so he'll be more focused on his own path. They've prevented Anyanka dying in the Hellmouth, so she'll be available for greater things later. And they even managed to convince you that your daughter's life was never meant to fit into a cookie cutter shape of traditional expectations. Like I said, not a bad night's work.”

She scrambled for an argument. “What about Faith? Things are going to go very badly for her, and rather soon. If they stay, they might be able to help, or even prevent it.”

He chuckled. “They drew your attention to both your cluttered guest room and the fact that the basement is a possible living space, before you started thinking about issuing Faith an invitation to Christmas. Don't you think that might have some impact on exactly what kind of invitation you issue? And how much do you think could change in her life if she accepts it?”

“Oh. ...That could be a big deal for her.”

“Very. Not to mention the fact that when I dump these two--” He jerked a thumb at the final image, of Spike and Buffy curled up together on the cot in the basement. “--back in their own timeline, the minds they've been occupying will remember what happened while they were pushed aside, making them very open to the idea of working together in the future. And let me tell you, the bosses love any timeline that makes that particular team up more likely, even when they don't couple up. They're a formidable pair, and anytime they're fighting on the same side, the odds of success go up.”

“But when you send them back...” Joyce's gaze landed where his thumb had been pointing. “She can't go back to that life, especially after this. It's just too cruel. You can't use them and 'dump' them like they're old garden tools, Whistler. They're people. And they've been through awful things, with no rewards for their suffering.”

“They've done some good work in their own timeline, plus the work they've just put in building up this new branch line.” He shrugged. “But not every story gets a happy ending, Summers.”

She stared him down. “This one should. Need I remind you that's my little girl you're tossing away?”

He sighed, relenting. “Alright, fine. I'll see what I can do. But they're still going back tonight. I can't leave them loitering around too long, or they'll start changing too much. Trust me, I know what those two are capable of if they have a long leash on a timeline alteration job, and it ain't pretty.”

“You make them sound dangerous.”

“That 'little girl' you're so worried about? In one timeline, she held me hostage for two solid weeks. During which, she made me work as her scullery maid and regularly threatened to remove my head.”

Joyce winced. “I'm sure she had a good reason.”

“She did it for him. Just because the bosses like those two on the same team, doesn't mean I do.”

“There's no talking you out of letting them stay a while, then?”

“Not a snowball's chance in hell. But I'll put out some feelers, see what options are available for them when they're back in their own timeline. Will that be good enough to get you off my back?”

She nodded. “Good enough.”

Chapter 5: The Morning After

Buffy opened her eyes, finding herself on a camp cot in a dimly lit room, with a man's arm draped over her.

“Oh my god. What the--?!”

She jumped to her feet and backed away from the cot, looking frantically around in an effort to orient herself. She soon recognized the basement, as well as the vampire her sudden noise and movements had startled awake. She glanced down, relieved to find herself fully clothed.

“Spike...What the hell happened last night?”

As soon as the words were out, things started coming back to her. She interrupted him before he could reply. “Wait. I remember...” She pointed at him. “I thought you were dead, and it was a huge deal for me... For her.” She returned to the cot to sit on the edge of it beside him. “Who were those people?”

He took a minute to sort through his thoughts before answering. “Us, I think,” he whispered. “Who we're gonna be. Or maybe who we could be.”

“I'm not sure it's who we should be. Not me, at least. She was carrying around enough guilt, regret, and misery for at least three people.” She turned to look at him, studying his eyes in the dim light. “Except when she looked at you. I mean, there was still some guilt and regret, but...”

Spike nodded, understanding. “Same.”

Buffy reached out to take his right hand in her left, and slowly interlinked their fingers. “...There was trust, and friendship, and...”

“Yeah.” He looked at their joined hands. “They had a lot of history.”

“That started like ours. Which is kinda wild. I mean, how do you get from 'I want to stake you with a spoon' to that in less than five years?”

“I haven't a bloody clue.”

She started to withdraw her hand, but lingered on his ring. “I remember her looking at this, and thinking of it as hers.”

He frowned at the silver skull on his finger. “He thought so, too, for some reason.”

“Well, I guess we'll find out.” Buffy stood up and started to back away, toward the stairs. “But, you know... Later.” She shifted her weight awkwardly. “I need to go. School and all. You'll be leaving at sunset?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I'll get out of your hair.”

“Good.” She started up the stairs, but his voice stopped her.

“Slayer?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I'm gonna stay in town for a bit.”

“Ok.” She fought back a smile as she resumed her climb. “Just don't start any trouble.”

In another place, in another timeline, Buffy slowly stirred awake, still smiling from a highly detailed dream that had ended with her falling asleep in Spike's arms on the old camp cot in the basement of a house that no longer existed. When she opened her eyes, she was in her own bed in her apartment, thousands of miles away, and completely alone.

She ran through everything that had happened in her dream, remembering it all in such precise detail that she found herself doubting it had actually been a dream by the time she'd showered and dressed. “It had to be a dream,” she told herself as she started a pot of coffee. “If we'd actually traveled back in time, things would be different now. ...I hope.”

The lock turned in the front door, and Dawn's voice called out as it opened. “Buffy? Are you up? I could use a hand!”

She hurried to the door to take one of the grocery bags from her sister's arms. “Why exactly are you grocery shopping at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning?”

“Thanks. Because I'm in dire need of an omelet, and we forgot to buy eggs.” She bent to pick up a small package from beside the door with the hand Buffy had just freed. “The other stuff just kinda appeared in the cart. ...by magic.”

“Uh-huh,” was Buffy's skeptical reply as she led the way to the kitchen. She peeked into the bag she carried. “Do you really want to blame frozen pizzas, Doritos, and Kit-Kats on magic?”

“That's better than blaming me, right? Also, Kit-Kats are clearly magical. Nothing tastes that good without mystical help.” Dawn gave her a sly grin. “Especially dipped in your morning coffee.”

Buffy's attempt at chastisement instantly crumbled. “You win. Coffee, Kit-Kats, and omelets for breakfast.”

This proclamation was met with a cheer of victory as Dawn tossed the package on the counter and began unloading groceries. “You're such an easy mark when you're hung over.”

“I'm not hung over. I just like coffee flavored Kit-Kats.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. You were up talking on the phone with Xander half the night again because you were sober.”

She frowned. “Dawn, I didn't call Xan last night, and I wasn't drinking. I actually crashed early.”

“Great. Then you've taken up talking in your sleep.” She opened the refrigerator to start putting away the groceries. “So are you going to open that, or what? It's addressed to you.”

Buffy picked up the package to inspect it. It was a narrow, shallow box, maybe a foot long, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no address on it, only her name. “This was hand delivered,” she murmured. “Did you see who put it by the door?”

“Nope,” came the reply from behind the refrigerator door. “It wasn't there when I left, though. And I was gone less than an hour.”

“Creepy.”

“If it's a mail bomb, don't open it.”

“How am I supposed to know--? Never mind.” She tore off the paper, opened the box, and gasped. “Oh my god... Maybe it wasn't a dream.”

Dawn poked her head over the refrigerator door. “Huh?”

With a shaking hand Buffy tilted the box to show the contents to her sister. Inside was a wooden spoon with a very familiar looking stone mounted to the inside of the bowl.

“Whoa! I know that rock.” Dawn closed the door and moved to get a closer look. “It looks like the amulet that--”

As she spoke, Buffy tilted the box further to offer a better look, and the spoon began to fall out. Instinctively, she grabbed for it. But the second she touched it, the force of the magic she triggered caused her to drop it again. A bright, golden flash of light filled the small apartment kitchen, sending Dawn stumbling back against the refrigerator.

When the light faded, Spike was standing in the kitchen with them, staring down at the wooden spoon on the floor in confusion. He slowly raised his eyes to the woman standing on the other side of it.

“Buffy... What the hell happened last night?”