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Author’s Note: Thanks, as always go xyellowroset for the kick in the butt to keep writing. She’s also one hell of a beta!

Chapter Two – Seldom is Heard a Discouraging Word

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"What did you do?" Her words tore through the air and rose above the clap of thunder. Both were quickly followed by the flash of distant lightening.

"Me? What did I do?" Spike didn't resist as Buffy pulled herself from his grasp, struggling with the sodden weight of her long skirt.

"Yes, you. What. Did. You. Do?" She repeated, pushing the soggy strands of hair from her face. "Where are we?"

Spike's mouth snapped shut, his lips forming a tight, angry line. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to contain his anger. When he felt that he could speak without bashing her upside the head, his voice was a snarl. "How the hell would I know where we are? Was on the same bloody teacup ride as you, wasn't I?"

Buffy shoved him hard in the chest, pushing him back into the horse who snorted in annoyance. "Tell me what you did, Spike, or so help me—"

"You two better get back to the wagons before you're washed away." The soft, gravely voice cut through the darkness, and both the vampire and slayer turned toward it.

They both stared at the man, jaws gaping. He was tall. Very tall. He towered over Spike. His shoulders were broad and they tapered down to a narrow waist. The man was dressed similar to Spike, in dark jeans and a long duster, a cowboy hat pulled down low over his forehead. The rain was still coming down hard, pooling in the crown of the hat and trickling down like a small waterfall over the brim.

“Come on, you two.” The man pulled his hat off, running a large hand through his dark, hair. “We’re getting the wagons moving at the crack of dawn and I’m going to need you ready and able to do a day’s work behind the reigns.” He slung an arm across Spike’s shoulders and looked down into the vampire’s incredulous face.

Spike chanced a look over at Buffy and found her now peering at him, looking like a drowned rat, her hair plastered to her skull, the soaked cotton of her dress clinging to her skin. It was obvious that neither one of them knew quite what to make of this turn of events. The man seemed to know them—thought they belonged here. Where ever here was.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, and Spike narrowed his eyes her, silently pleading the slayer to follow his lead. “Right, wasn’t good of us to slip away. Sorry 'bout that.” Spike slid out from under the burly man’s arm and moved to stand next to Buffy, who was now looking at him like he’d grown two heads.

Unfortunately Spike was all too familiar with that look. They slayer didn’t know what was going on, and skating on the knife edge of her temper, she was going to blunder them both trouble by working her jaw before putting her brain in gear. It was clear that someone or something had sent them on a little spin through time and space. Better they find out exactly where and, more importantly, when they were before letting everyone in on the game.

Spike caught Buffy’s hand in his before she could speak, pulling her close to him. “Bu—She’s soaked through. Best get her back. We’ll be right along.”

The large man nodded and turned to leave. “Don’t straggle now, Wil.”

“Wil? Who—“ Buffy began.

Spike’s hand over her mouth cut off her retort. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders, bringing her flush to his chest and looked down into her flashing green eyes.

Buffy struggled against the vampire. She tried to say something, but it was muffled under Spike’s calloused palm. Finally, glaring up at him, her eyebrows drawn together in an angry line over her eyes, she stood still.

Spike wasn’t sure how he managed to keep hold of her, what with the slippery clothes and ankle deep mud they were standing in. He didn’t waste time worrying about it, however. The vampire wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Looking an angry slayer in the eye was bad enough.

Buffy grumbled again against his hand again and Spike could feel her muscles tensing for another tussle.

“Shush, now, Slayer. Be a good girl.”

His choice of words earned him a swift kick to the shins and another flurry and twisting of limbs as Buffy tried to break free of his iron grip. As her body brushed against his, he became aware of the thinness of her cotton dress and the pressure of her breasts smashed against his chest. His duster was open, flapping in the gusts of wind that carried the rain around them, and the soaked fabric of their shirts clung together.

A tingle started somewhere in the base of Spike’s spine and snaked its way up to his neck and shoulders. He could feel Buffy’s warm breath on his hand, but also the softness of her lips, the smooth curve of her cheek. He was overcome with the completely insane urge to pull his hand free and replace it with his lips. Where the thought had come from, he didn’t know. The sensation was as much of a mystery as what happened to them. It was also just as real. He knew lust when he felt it, and the sudden sensation that seemed to seep into his pores dumfounded him.

Looking down into her eyes, Spike realized Buffy had stopped struggling. “Promise to keep your mouth shut, and I’ll take my hand away,” he said, his voice husky. He’d aimed for gruff, hoping his words wouldn’t betray his body’s traitorous reaction.

Buffy’s eyes rounded, and she slowly nodded. Spike relaxed his fingers and cautiously removed his hand from over Buffy’s mouth. It hovered there, waiting to descend again if she failed to keep the bargain. She remained quiet, though, and he dropped his hand to her shoulder.

“Didn’ want Roy Rogers to figure out we don’t belong here. Thought it best if we worked this little mystery out ourselves, first, before confidin’ in any of the natives.” He still had her pulled tight to his chest, his arm wrapped about her back, the fingers of his hand curled against the curve of her waist. He told himself he should let go of her now. His body refused to cooperate. It was too busy appreciating hers.

“May I speak?” Buffy’s voice was a low, but there was a backbone of steel behind the words.

He nodded. “Keep it down. Don’t know how far we are from those wagons.”

“Right. Now, get your hands off me.” She hissed quietly.

Spike released his hold on her, sliding his arm away from her waist, dropping his hand from where it had been clutching her bicep. Buffy pulled away from him instantly, her wet bodice peeling away from his shirt with a slurping sound. Spike’s eyes flashed to her chest and found the thin material molded to her skin, clinging to the curves of her breasts. Her nipples showed clearly through the fabric and he watched as they tightened into hard peaks. His mouth grew dry and despite the rain still falling on his face, his tongue darted out, tracing the contour of his bottom lip.

Buffy followed Spike’s gaze and quickly whirled away from him, her arms coming up to cross over her breasts. After a long moment of silence she looked back at the vampire over her shoulder. “Where are we? What’s happened to us?” Her voice trembled a bit and he wasn’t sure if she was cold or scared. Probably a bit of both. He knew he was.

“Far as I can figure, we got ourselves transported.” His eyes caressed the long line of her back when she turned from him again. She looked so tiny. Buffy had always been petite – a tiny bundle of fists and foul temper – but now she just looked small and scared and he had another insane urge—to go to the slayer and comfort her. Take her in his arms and tell her that everything would be fine. That they’d find their way out of this place. Must have been some residual hocus pocus, some left over magic throwing his natural instincts for a loop. Had to have been. This was the slayer after all. She didn’t want his protection. Didn’t need it. Fact was, he was the one that would be needing protection if she got it into her hard little head that he was the cause of their current predicament.

She turned back to face him, her arms still sheltering her from his view. “Where?” She glanced to her right, then her left. “Nothing looks familiar – and these clothes—” She looked down at her dress then back to him. “We’re not just in a different place. We’re in a different time.” It wasn’t a question, but the tone seemed to beg for him to disagree with her. Prove her wrong.

“Most likely. Haven’t seen duds like these, well, not ever. At least not in person. Maybe in some old photographs. Maybe. That dress you’re wearing is hand sewn, seen enough to tell you that.” He pulled the lapels of his coat open further and looked down at his own clothes. “This isn’ my duster, not my boots either. Whatever sent us here, fixed us up to fit in, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I don’t want to fit in. I want to go home. We’ve got to find out what happened… what did this to us, and find a way back.”

“First thing we need to find is a way back to, are those wagons that fella mentioned. Don’t want a search party out lookin’ for us and havin’ to explain something we haven’ even got a clue about.” Spike turned, looking in the direction where the other man had walked off. “Best get somewhere dry, where we can sit and work this through. Not gonna find the answer out here in the dark.” The rain had finally broken and a hazy moon was beginning to show through the fast moving night clouds.

“Right,” Buffy gave a heavy sigh.

“There now, Slayer, we’ll find our way outta this.”

She shrugged, then shivered. “There’s bound to be more people back at these wagons. What do we say to them? What do we do?”

He tilted his head, watching the wind ruffle the wet strands of her hair. “We act like we belong.” He looked up and caught her eye. “‘Cause, to them, we do. Seems they know us well enough. Jus’ got to keep our mouths shut and our ears open until we suss things out.”

With a quick movement, Spike shrugged out of his duster and tossed the garment to Buffy. She caught the canvas just before it landed at her feet and hugged stiff material to her chest. Before she could say anything, Spike turned and walked towards the trail the tall man had used.

His shoulders relaxed a bit when he felt Buffy step up beside him. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw her slip the coat around her, holding the hem up to keep it from dragging on the ground.

He eased the smile that had begun to form to a more neutral expression. “Let’s just stick close for now, eh? ’Til we know what’s what. At least it seems that to be natural for us to be together. One thing workin’ in our favor.”

“Yeah,” Buffy huffed. “Just about the only thing. And with my luck you’ll turn out to be my brother or something.”

Spike glanced over at her. “Could always be worse.”

“I doubt it, Spike.” Buffy looked up at the stars that were now starting to break through the clearing night sky. “I think I can safely say, it can’t get worse than this.”

To Be Continued

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