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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to my betas, eman and holly. Love you, both, and couldn't do this without ya!
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“Wanna talk with you a bit, if you don’ mind.” Spike watched as Shay dropped the burlap sack into the back of Katie’s wagon and turned to face him.

Katie had retreated to the wagon when Shay arrived, wishing Spike a good day with a smile that continued the flirtation she'd begun earlier.

At Spike’s words, Shay nodded his head and moved away from the wagon toward the two harnessed horses. “You want to know more about the dream,” he said without prompting.

“Yes. Spike said, following behind the older man. “The dream you mentioned to Bu—Elizabeth.”

The old shaman smiled at Spike’s slight slip. “You don’t need to hide from me, young man.”

Spike narrowed his eyes.

“I know what I know,” the old man murmured in return to the suspicious look. Turning from Spike, he scratched behind the ear of the large while draft horse. “I know you and your woman do not belong here.”

“From the dream? You know this from the dream?” Spike couldn’t quite keep the eagerness from his voice.

“Yes. A dream. The truth comes to me that way, sometimes, in dreams.”

“The truth?”

Spike watched as Shay ran his hand over the rump of the large draft horse, stroking the sleek hide of the animal before tugging at the tracings and girth strap to make sure they were secure.

“You haven’t forgotten.” He didn’t look at Spike, continuing his appraisal of the horse and tack.

Spike’s eyes darted to the horse, then back to Shay. “I haven’t forgotten what?”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, but you haven’t forgotten.”

Spike’s mouth fell open. “You know—”

“The way things were, the way things are, the way things will be.” The old man turned from the animal to look at Spike. “You will walk all three roads before you find what is lost.”

“The only thing lost is us. None of this makes any sense.” Spike huffed, turning away from the man and kicking at the ground, a small cloud of dust rising about his boots. “Nothing’s lost.”

Shay frowned, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he watched Spike pace back and forth. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps that is the truth you need to find.”

Spike looked up, his blue eyes dark with frustration. The shaman caught his gaze and held it for several long seconds, before the younger man looked away, once again digging the toe of his boot into the soft dirt. “This is a bloody ridiculous. Nothing but mystical mumbo-jumbo that I haven’t got time for.”

Shay smiled patiently, tilting his head to watch the younger man. “To find your way, your destiny? I would think time a small price to pay. Especially for one who has an abundance of such currency.”

Blue and brown eyes once again caught and held.

“Maybe once, old man.” Spike let out a breath, then lowered his eyes. “Not so much now.”

“You speak of the ticking of a clock, the turning of a calendar’s pages,” Shay said, shaking his head.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, well, time is somethin’ we’re runnin’ out of. Buffy and I, we can’t stay here. We need to get back . . . back to our time. How the bloody hell are we supposed to do that?”

“Using your gift, what you hold inside yourself. The tools you need to get home are with you, they always have been.” The shaman turned to walk away.

Spike stalked over and grabbed the old man by the arm, swinging him around to face him. “Who are you? Fucking Glinda, the good witch? Right. Let me just find that yellow brick road and Buffy and I will skip on out of here.”

Shay gazed down at where Spike’s fingers wrapped around his upper arm. “I know of no witch. I know only what my dreams have spoken to me – only what I have seen for you and your woman. No yellow road, only a path you seem destined to walk together, each finding your own way. Your own truth. When you have accomplished that, only then, will you be home.”

The older man never took his eyes off Spike’s hand, until at last, his fingers relaxed and he released his grip. Spike sighed, pushing the Stetson back and looked up into the fierce sunlight.

“There is one thing more.”

Spike took a deep breath and, still squinting from the sun, looked back at Shay. When the man remained silent, he shrugged. “You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?”

The shaman smiled. “A coin. The beginning, the middle, and the end of your journey is tied to this coin. Follow it, and find your destiny.”

Spike blinked, then, his eyes narrowing, he shoved his hand deep into the pocket of his duster, pulling out an old, gold coin. Placing the coin in the calloused palm of his hand, he turned it over, studying the symbol, a knot that was deeply etched into the metal.

“I was holdin’ this when everything fell away … when we ended up here.”

Shay nodded. “Perhaps this is the yellow road of which you spoke.” He picked up his rifle and cradled it in the crook of his arm.

Spike looked up at the man, his hand still open, the coin in his palm, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “Yeah,” he sighed, wetting his lips, then looking back down at the coin. “There’s a symbol on it.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“No.” Spike plucked the coin from his palm, taking a closer look. “Just a knot, on one side. Some markings on the other. Chinese. Never learned the bloody language, now I wish I’d taken the time. Doesn’t look familiar to me. Maybe with some research . . .” He snorted then, closing his fist around the coin. “Never a Watcher around when you really need one.”

“I know of someone who might be able to help,” Shay offered. “There is man, in a town we will be passing through a few days journey from here. He is the banker, but I know that he collects coins. Perhaps he could help you with the history of that one.”

Spike raised a brow. “Know this man well, do you?”

“Well enough. I have played poker with him from time to time.”

Frowning, Spike stepped closer to the old man, the coin still held tight in his fist. “How’d you come to know about this hobby of his?”

Shay shrugged. “Mr. Grogan is a fine man. He is also a fine banker. He is not so fine a poker player. I have accepted, in payment for wagers lost, some of these coins that he collects.”

Spike gave a rueful smile and slipped the fist holding the coin into back into his duster pocket. “I see. And you’ll introduce me to this banker friend of yours?”

Shay nodded, his weathered face, showing no emotion.

“Well,” Spike sighed. “Guess that’s a start, innit?”

Shay smiled softly then, and turned and walked away. “Yes,” he murmured, the words drifting back over his shoulder to Spike. “It is a start.”

To Be Continued





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