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Chapter 2

Spike gaped, slack jawed, as several hacks wheeled up and down the lane. Sailors lurched drunkenly towards their destinations, some aided by the help of their equally drunken companions.

He slipped back into the cover of darkness that the alley provided before he caught the eye of any passersby. It wouldn’t do for him to be noticed by someone in what he was wearing. They would take one look at him and mark him for an evil demon.

Well... they would be right on that score, but that was beside the point.

Twirling around with a swish of his leather duster, the vampire strode back to where the Slayer was slowly coming to. Before he reached the moaning girl, as she valiantly struggled to pull herself upright, Spike caught a whiff of someone…or, something.

“Come out of the shadows, mate. I know you’re there.” His eyes briefly flashed yellow in annoyance. He didn’t know how the creature had managed to get past him at the entrance to the alley, but he was damn sure aware of his presence now. Pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his duster, he took one out and lit it, the tip glowing red as he took a long pull.

After a few moments of waiting, he watched as a man stepped away from his hiding place against the wall. About the same height and build as Spike, the dark-haired man was dressed in a similar fashion…well, twenty-first century clothing, anyway. No one could pull off Spike’s choice of attire. Garbed in a brown leather bomber jacket, red button-down shirt, jeans, and boots, the man was as much out of place as both Spike and the Slayer appeared to be.

“Who are you and what the bloody hell are you doing here? For that matter, what are we doing here?” Spike asked the newcomer. He sniffed the air and added, “And, what are you…from the smell, you’re not entirely human.”

“Doyle’s the name,” he said with a decidedly Irish brogue. “And, I’m only half human. Other half’s Bracken demon.” Spike watched as Doyle’s human face slid away to reveal that of a beast with red eyes and a green-tinged face that had spikes protruding from every available facial surface.

“I’m here because the PTB’s sent me,” he added as his human mask slid back into place.

“Huh? Wanna run that by me again…PTB? What the fuck is that?”

“PTB…Powers That Be…” he started to explain.

“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” Spike cut him off. Hearing about the so-called “higher” powers caused him to start pacing up and down the alley, his agitation clearly evident. “What the hell do these ‘Powers’ want with me? All I was doing was draining the bitch. And, hey, vampire here…’s what were supposed to do!”

“Yeah, about that. If you ever want to get back to your time, I suggest you might want to refrain from ‘draining the bitch’ as you so eloquently put it. You’re gonna need her. You see, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, mate!”

“You’re here because Ethan Rayne called upon Janus to cast a spell that temporarily changed people into the costumes they wore. But, somehow, before the spell was reversed, Ethan cast a different spell sending the Slayer back to the time period of her costume.”

“Damn well figured out that part, what with the bloody carriages and all…” Spike muttered. Doyle ignored the vampire’s sarcasm and continued with his explanation.

“Well, you’re here along with the Slayer because at the moment the spell was cast, you were taking a bite out of her…remember? So, not only was the Slayer transported…you went along for the ride too.”

“That’s just bloody great!” he yelled sarcastically. Lowering his voice so as not to draw attention to them why they argued in the alley, he hissed, “So, how the hell do I get out of this place?”

“That’s just it…we, that is, they…the PTBs, aren’t sure yet. Right now they’re leaving it up to the Slayer’s watcher to find the solution. The ‘Powers’ don’t want to mess with fate anymore than they already have by sending me here.”

“So, just what the hell am I supposed to do while those wankers back home try to come up with a plan? And just when the hell are we?”

“When, is England circa 1775. What you’re supposed to do…well,” Doyle began pointing down to Buffy as she finally managed to sit up, a dazed expression on her face. “Meet your new best friend.”

Spike stopped his pacing to stare at the man/demon standing before him. He flicked his cigarette away and advanced on Doyle.

Grabbing him by the lapels of his leather bomber, he pulled him forward so that their faces were within a hairsbreadth of each other. “You’re saying I’ve got to keep her with me? I’m not the bloody bint’s babysitter. ‘Sides, when she gets herself together she’s gonna be coming after me, and not because she wants to invite me to tea either. She’s gonna have a bloody stake in her hand aimed straight at my chest.”

“Well…” he began, but was cut off by the Slayer’s next words. Both men turned to look at her.

Sitting on the ground, her smudged red skirts fanned out about her, the Slayer put her hand to her head. The two watched her face as she slowly realized she was sitting in some dank alley, the smell of rotten food and such assaulting her nostrils. She looked about ready to swoon.

Releasing Doyle, Spike walked over to her, crouching down beside her.

“Slayer, you’re not going to faint on me, are ya?”

She lifted wide, luminous hazel eyes to him. A gasp escaped her lips as she realized that this was the monster that had been about to kill her. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth with his hand before she was able to make a sound.

The fear in her eyes surprised Spike, and his demon momentarily reveled in the emotion before Spike was able to tamp it down.

If anything, the Slayer should be spitting mad. The thought had him slightly worried. He glanced back at Doyle to see if the half-demon could enlighten him as to what was going on. A confused shrug was his only answer.

Turning back to the Slayer, he said more softly than he intended, “I’ll take my hand away if you promise not to scream, ok?”

She nodded behind his hand, eyes wide as her gaze darted between him and Doyle.

“Now, Slayer, what’s the last thing you remember,” Spike asked.

“Slayer?” she asked. “Why do you persist on calling me ‘Slayer’?”

Spike stared at her in astonishment. Surely she couldn’t still be—

“Oh, that’s just bloody great!” he roared, his gaze turning to Doyle. “Not only do I have to tie myself to the Slayer for God knows how long. But, she has no fucking idea who she is?” He stood up from his crouch to once more resume his pacing.

The “monster’s” sudden rage caused Elizabeth to shrink away from him, cowering amongst the garbage that littered the alley. She was trying to bring as little attention to herself as possible, even if the thought of cowering in an alley – let alone, without a proper chaperone – was offending her tender sensibilities.

“Well, that’s something we hadn’t planned on,” Doyle announced, somewhat ruefully.

“Hadn’t planned on? Hadn’t planned on?!”

Spike stared at Doyle in disbelief.

“Well, that is to say, the ‘Powers’ didn’t realize that the Slayer would still be without her memories. Maybe they’ll come back with time?”

“With time? Maybe? Bloody hell! Even as the Slayer, it would be difficult to keep her alive in this time period. Her advanced notions wouldn’t exactly go over too well here.”

“Which could be a good thing,” Doyle pointed out, hurriedly. Before Spike had a chance to interrupt him again, he went on, “Look at it this way: for all she knows, she’s an English gentle-born lady from 1775. Her being true to character will go a long way towards making this situation bearable for the two of you.”

Spike just stared at Doyle like he had lost his mind.

“Just where the hell am I supposed to take her? I’m a vampire. I can adapt well enough. But her? She’s human, and the Slayer to boot! They’d take one look at her and see their next meal. Then, I’d be stuck here.”

“So, claim her,” Doyle reasoned.

“Are you off your bloody rocker?” Spike roared, horrified at the notion. “Claim the Slayer?”

“Claiming her would ensure that the other vampires wouldn’t touch her. She’d be under your protection. Besides, we have no idea how long you two are going to be, er…stuck here.”

“Huh… wanna run that by me again, mate?”

“We, uh, aren’t sure how long you’re gonna be stuck here. So, claiming the Slayer is a win-win situation. It affords her protection and it keeps her alive, which in turn gives you your ticket back to your own time.”

Spike turned to look at the cowering woman before him. He glanced back at Doyle and narrowed his eyes.

Resigned, but still resisting till the bitter end, he mumbled, “Claiming is a personal thing. It shouldn’t be forced on a bloke.”

At that, Doyle snorted. “Don’t tell me you don’t find her attractive.” With a wave of his hand, he showed an image of her dancing at the Bronze. Spike remembered the scene; he had gotten hard just looking at the bint as she'd swayed wantonly to the music, arms above her head while she closed her eyes and allowed the beat to wrap itself around her body.

“Ok, ok…you can turn off the bloody movie.” Another wave of Doyle’s hand and the picture disappeared. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes once more, Spike lit another and watched Doyle cross to the Slayer and kneel down beside her.

“Good evening, miss,” Doyle said in his most proper voice. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Surely I mustn’t. We’ve not been properly introduced,” she replied, her tone frightened, but still trying to maintain some type of proper decorum.

“Right,” he said, coming to his feet. Affecting a formal bow he announced, “Lord Allen Francis Doyle, Viscount Tellidyne, at your service, Miss. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

From his spot of leaning up against the wall, Spike just rolled his eyes. But, if the half-demon could get the Slayer a little less gun-shy around him – all the better. Although, after the claiming it wouldn’t really matter. She’d cling to him like her life depended on it. Just the thought of it had him adjusting himself inside his jeans.

He watched as Doyle held out his hand to the Slayer, who graciously took it. Rising to her feet as if it were a common everyday occurrence to find herself in an alley with two men she did not know, she released his hand and attempted to brush the dirt and grime from her skirts as best she could.

As satisfied as she could be with the state of her dress, she addressed the man that had just introduced himself. With a quick grab of her skirts, she affected a slight curtsey replying, “Lady Elizabeth Anne Summers. And, the honor is all mine.”

“Lady Summers,” Doyle began gesturing to Spike, “My friend, Lord William Thornton, the Earl of Arundel.” Elizabeth looked briefly at the monster being introduced to her, her hand unconsciously drifting over the closed bite marks on her neck. Her eyes shut briefly as a feeling she couldn’t describe suddenly overwhelmed her. Biting back a moan, she opened her eyes and tried to concentrate on what Lord Doyle was saying.

“…stay with him until your family can be located.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Doyle. What did you just say?” She blushed profusely at being caught daydreaming, and over such a shamefully sinful sensation. She was going to hell; she just knew it. And, it was entirely that blue-eyed monster’s fault.

“I said that you would be under his protection, as his ward, until your family can be located. It will all be quite proper.”

“But, uh…” She trailed off abruptly, refusing to sound like an unschooled chit before the Viscount. ‘Lord Thornton’s ward? Were they crazy?’ Brushing those thoughts aside, Elizabeth concentrated once more on what Lord Doyle was saying.

“For tonight, we will have to tuck you away in one of the rooms here. This will allow us to obtain suitable attire for your person and find a temporary lady’s maid. As long as you remain behind your locked door and don’t answer it except for myself or Lord Thornton, you should be perfectly safe.”

The thought of a bed to lie on was music to Elizabeth’s ears, and she nodded eagerly. Turning away from the Slayer, Doyle addressed the blond vampire.

“Stay here with her while I secure you a room. When I whistle, meet me at the back entrance and you two can slip up to your room without any notice. Then, once she’s locked in for the night, we can see about getting you both some proper clothes.”

Spike looked down at the clothes he had become attached to the last several years. His mind drifted back over what he used to wear in his human days.

“Bloody hell…”

Traveling back in time had just turned into his own version of hell.

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