One Good Lay | Refection of Love by Pattyanne

Reflection Of Love
Parts 1-4

Summary: AU. Buffy discovers a mirror in her attic. The same mirror that was owned by William Cathcart over a hundred years ago. But who is the young man she sees in the mirror, and why are they able to communicate?
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
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Part one...

The house she had once been so happy in was unbearably lonely now.

Buffy had lived in this house for almost fifteen years. She'd come to live with her grandmother when the small plane her father had been piloting crashed into the ocean, killing him, her mother, and her younger sister.

Nana was the only family she had left. At the age of almost seventy-six, she'd been in wonderful health. Ac- tive in her church and highly opinionated about certain social issues, almost to the point of militancy, the old lady had been referred to as 'feisty' by the people who knew and loved her, and 'slightly off her rocker' by those who only saw her eccentricities.

Now, she was alone. Her grandmother was resting in peace at Roseland Memorial Park, the victim of a sudden and massive coronary that had shocked her physician of almost twenty-five years.

Wandering around the house, decked out in a black dress she would never wear again, Buffy puttered. Putting things that had been moved around during the reception back into their proper places, carrying plates out to the kitchen and scraping uneaten food into the trash, erasing messages of sympathy from the answering machine...and stopping every now and then to sit down and cry.

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It was her house now, Nana's attorney had informed her solemnly. Even though she'd moved out of it almost two years ago, and she should never have done that, should never have left Nana alone. Had she been here, maybe she could have prevented the heart attack.

She should have been the one keeping the garden in check...doing the grocery shopping...walking the elderly terrier that was now lying on Nana's bed, whimpering softly in an agony of grief that all of Buffy's gentle attentions couldn't assuage...and climbing those damned three flights of stairs to fetch the spectacles Nana had left in the attic.

The last letter she had received from her grandmother had been mainly about that very attic. The old lady hadn't stepped one small slippered foot across it's threshold in more years than she could remember, but she'd been searching for a box filled with cards and letters she'd received from her dear Maxwell during the war. Once she had begun looking, the attic and all it's treasures from the past had drawn her back time and time again.

The attic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her heels clicked hollowly on the wooden floor as she climbed that endless staircase.

The door squealed when it was nudged open, sounding as though it was in pain.

The only natural lighilybelle drifted off into an afternoon nap.

The peace in the attic was broken when the dog suddenly lifted her head and growled softly.

Buffy had never heard a sound like that come out of her grandmother's friendly little terrier. "What's the matter?" she asked.

Thinking she'd scented a rat, Buffy watched as Lilybelle jumped to her feet and started nosing around the boxes stacked by the antique mirror.

"Come here, baby," she said, snapping her fingers. "I don't want you to get bitten. I'll get some traps at the...stop that!" The dog placed her front paws on the mirror, pulling the blanket off, and yelping when it covered her with a soft "thwump".

Buffy's laughter at the animal's predicament was cut off abruptly at the sound of a voice calling out someone's name.

"William? Are you home, dear?" It was a woman's voice, soft in timber, with a definite English accent.

And....it was emanating from the mirror!

"Coming, Mother." Another unseen voice answered the first one, and when Buffy heard it, she felt a strange shiver of awareness chase up and down her spine. Goose- bumps prickled her skin.

The second voice was male, clearly young, with the same cultured English accent.

Buffy rose to her feet and slowly approached the mirror.

Lilybelle was wriggling her way out from under the blanket, and Buffy picked it up and tossed it to one side. The dog looked into the mirror and yipped.

"Did you hear it, too?" Buffy asked, staring at the reflection they made in the glass. Raising one hand, she lightly touched the cold surface....then jumped in surprise when the music she had heard before began to play once again.

Logically, she knew she should be terrified. She'd seen enough horror movies to know that having inanimate objects speak and play music was not a good thing.

She considered herself to be a sensible person. Had the voice whispered "Get out", she'd have taken it's advice and would have already been out the door and down the stairs.

But the young man's voice was quiet and gentle, and there was nothing either frightening or threatening in his tone.

"That's lovely, William," she heard the woman's voice say. "You play so beautifully. I could listen to you for hours."

"Me, too," Buffy added, examining every inch of the mirror, both glass and frame.

She noticed it looked a little cloudy around the very edges. Yesterday, she had attributed this to the mirror's obvious age.

Now, of course, things were different.

As she ran her fingers along the top of the frame, the music began to fade.

"No," she said urgently, tapping the glass sharply. "Come back."

Nothing happened, and she felt a little foolish. This wasn't a television set that you could bang on for better reception.

The music slowly dissipated completely. Buffy slapped her hand against the wall. "Damn it!" she swore softly.

Disappointed, she sighed and turned to leave. She hadn't gotten more than a couple of feet when she heard the young man speak again.

"Is there someone in here?"

Buffy whipped around and stared at the mirror, her eyes growing huge when she saw that it was no longer just an auditory conduit.

Gradually...a picture was beginning to form in the center of the glass.

Oh, my. This had to be William.

And, judging from the look of the furnishings she could pick out....his bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy smiled as she watched the young man glance around his room, a puzzled expression on his face.

He was adorable. A bit over average height, and slenderly built, he had a mop of light brown hair that looked as though it wanted badly to curl if he didn't tame it with some pretty vigorous brushing.

Wire rt came from a small, stained glass window at the far end of the room, the side facing the street. Dust motes danced in the crimson and sapphire rainbows the sun produced as it penetrated the window.

It was surprisingly neat up here. Nana had made it sound as though the room was a cluttered minefield that she had to wade through cautiously. She must have been making some serious headway, because there were nicely stacked boxes against the walls, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the hardwood floor. Various odds and ends of furniture were draped with dropcloths. There were old dressmakers dummies, a Victrola, a broken crystal radio set up, and racks of vintage clothing.

Behind one of those stacks of boxes, there was a large object covered by a heavy moving blanket. Curious, Buffy pulled it away from the wall and lifted one edge of the blanket.

It was a mirror. One of the old fashioned, free standing kind that was taller than she was. Oval in shape, with an intricately carved dark walnut frame surrounding the glass, it swung around on a hinge, and there was another piece of mirrored glass backing it.

She dropped the blanket onto the floor and examined the mirror more closely. She was by no means an expert when it came to such things, but she could tell just by looking at it that it was very old. The quality of it's craftsmanship was something rarely found in the present world of snap together particle board furniture and futons.

Plus, the thing weighed a ton.

As she stared at her face in the mirror, appalled at how tired and pale she looked, a sudden ripple of the reflective surface caught her eye.

She blinked hard, and the glass smoothed out again.

Curious. She was obviously in need of a full nights sleep.

Draping the blanket back over the mirror, she left the attic.

Part two.....

She was sitting in the middle of the attic floor, sorting through a box of old photographs when she heard the music start.

It sounded almost like a piano, but not a modern one. More like the old fashioned kind she'd heard played in so many movies.

"What were they called?" she murmured absently, having recently fallen into the habit of talking to herself to banish the quiet. "Spinets or something?"

More to the point though....where the heck was the music coming from? Lovely though it was, it wasn't originating from the house. There was no musical instrument of any kind on the premises, and she knew that she hadn't left a radio playing.

Although it sounded close, she trotted downstairs anyway and looked outside. The neighbors houses didn't have the kind of proximity that would allow you to hear music being played inside, and there were no cars parked on the street with their radios blasting.

By the time she went back up to the attic, the music had stopped.

"Huh. Weird."

Actually, it was kind of disappointing. The music had really been beautiful. Something classical, she was quite certain of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilybelle was whimpering at the door.

Buffy looked up and smiled, patting the floor next to her. "Come on in, baby. Keep me company for a while."

The little white terrier trotted over to her side and settled for a nice long belly scratch. She gazed up at Buffy with melting brown eyes, wanting to give all the love and loyalty to her that she had given to Nana.

"I know...I miss her, too," Buffy said, fondling the dogs floppy ears. "But, don't you worry. We'll stick together. I'm not leaving you alone here."

Lilybelle rolled onto her tummy and snuggled against Buffy's thigh.

They passed a few moments in companionable silence. Buffy began sorting the photographs into piles by date, while Limmed spectacles were perched on his well formed nose. They obscured the color of his eyes, but she was getting a fairly clear look at his face, and was completely fascinated by it.

He had features that could almost be referred to as pretty, with bone structure that a super model would kill for. His lips were full and sensual looking, making her wonder what it would feel like to kiss them.

His manner of dress was decidely odd. He was wearing some sort of suit that consisted of more pieces than she'd ever seen before. The shirt had a high starched collar, and there was a ascot tie knotted around his neck. His jacket was short waisted in the front, with a slightly longer back. A low cut, double breasted vest with four buttons at the bottom completed his ensemble.

His clothing looked like something out of a Merchant- Ivory film production.

Something really....old.

"What the hell....?"

Part three.... At the age of twenty-six, William James Cathcart felt as though he was more than ready to take the first steps towards making a proper future for himself.

He was a young man of property, and there had been a sizable fortune settled on him by both his paternal and maternal grandparents. His education was not lacking in any way, and he was well studied in classic literature, and poetry, as well as history and mathematics.

His mother, although she'd been heavily opposed by his late father, had also seen to it that the artistic side of his nature had been cultivated as well, and he had a marked talent for painting and music.

Now, he was at the point in his life where the next obvious progression would be towards courtship and an eventual marriage.

Unfortunately, his shy and tentative manner was proving to be somewhat of an impediment to a normal course of developments.

Money and property were all very fine, and intelligence had it's place, he thought, staring at himself in the mirror. But the young ladies in the circles he traveled in were not always satisfied by such things. They wanted more from a man, things that they'd only read about in the popular 'penny dreadfuls' of the day.

In public, of course, they all expressed nothing but contempt for the vulgar reading material, stating that they would never dream of lowering themselves to so much as place a hand upon them.

In private, they devoured them cover to cover, then spent a good deal of time at social engagements huddling in the corners and giggling over the more risque ones.

Consequently, their expectations as to what they wanted in a man were hardly realistic. From dashing highwaymen to swashbuckling pirates, each new novelette reinforced their girlish fantasies.

Very few men were able to match up to their romantic imaginings, William least of all. He considered himself the very opposite of their literary heroes, and since he DID have money and property, he could only conclude that it was his ordinary appearance and dull personality that caused them to turn up their noses.

If only he was not so...unprepossessing. A bit taller, perhaps, or wider in the shoulders. If his hair wasn't such an ordinary shade of brown, and his eyes not as myopic, forcing him to wear spectacles.

Were he not so plain, then surely Cecily might be willing to look beyond his foolish, dreamy nature...and the dreadful poetry it caused him to compose...and see him as more than just a social nuisance to be tolerated and made sport of.

But, since there was nothing to be done, dwelling upon it was utterly without purpose.

He was what he was...and would always be thus. It simply wasn't in him to change. Pretending to be something he was not would be futile and...even- tually...humiliating.

Sighing, he turned away from the mirror and went downstairs to join his mother for tea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he returned to his room, he was in a better state of mind.

Upon finishing tea, he and mother had retired to the main sitting room where he had entertained her on the harpsichord for a while.

Playing always soothed his intense emotions when they were caught up in a storm of uncertainty and self doubt. In fact, he had been feeling so much more at ease that he'd given in to his mother's request and read her several selections of his prose.

As always, Mother had praised him to the clouds and back, instilling a vigorous burst of self confidence into a heart still bruised by Cecily's rejection, and a soul still smarting from the taunting of his peers.

Intending to spend the rest of the afternoon answering mail and glancing over the monthly household accounts, he seated himself at his desk.

He was quite engrossed in his work when he heard the sound of a small dog barking. Startled, he lifted his head. Where on earth....?

There were no dogs living in this house. His allergies and his mother's health problems would not allow for it.

He listened sharply, but when the sound did not repeat itself, he deduced that it simply hadn't happened.

Turning his attention back to his books and papers, he nearly catapulted himself from his chair when he heard a muffled voice say something he couldn't quite make out.

It sounded like a girl. A girl...in HIS room!

But that wasn't possible. The only girls who ever entered his room were his mother and the maids.

William stood up, searching with his eyes.

"Is there someone in here?" he called out.

The last thing in the world he expected was an answer to his question!

Part four....

The picture in the mirror was becoming sharper and more focused. Buffy could see the rest of the room with far more clarity, and it puzzled her as much as William's clothing had.

Heavy, ornate looking furniture dominated the bedroom. It was just the sort of antique pieces that her mother had liked so much. But they didn't look all that old.

The bed was massive. A fourposter behemoth with a brocade canopy, it had several fat looking pillows piled up against the dark walnut headboard, and there was a heavy down quilt spread over it's surface. There was a large roll top desk, covered with sheets of paper in total disarray, a dresser, an armoire, and a...a wash- stand with a china pitcher and bowl, and a cabinet underneath.

"Is there someone in here?"

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Yes, hi! I'm here. Sort of, I mean," she blurted out before thinking. "Gosh, this feels weird. Kind of spooky...don't you think? If I didn't know better, I'd think I was on Candid Camera. Or maybe that other show on MTV...the one with the practical jokes. Not that they're funny, but still..."

The man whirled around and stared straight ahead, almost as though he was looking into her eyes. His face was white with shock, and he whipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What...what sort of witchcraft is this?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

Buffy sighed. "I can't. I mean, I don't know how. And it's not witchcraft. I am NOT a witch."

William was walking slowly towards her. Could he somehow see her, as well?

"Hi!" she said again, raising one hand and wiggling her fingers in a friendly manner.

"I...uh..." he stammered, staring more intently. "Who is...is speaking?"

"That would be me," she said, trying to sound very non-threatening. He already looked a little nervous and she didn't want to scare him out of the room. "I'm Buffy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he heard the girl speak, William's heart began to race and his hands grew clammy. Not because there was anything frightening about it, but because it sounded familiar in some way.

She spoke with an odd accent, using words and phrases that he had no knowledge of. Her voice was soprano in register, almost child like in it's eager friend- liness, and for some strange reason...he wanted to speak with her.

He had already been able to deduce that her voice was emanating from his mirror, and when he decided to get closer, he noticed that the glass had gone a bit cloudy.

Then, it began to clear and he found himself looking into the face of the loveliest girl he'd ever seen...although she was dressed in the most scandalous fashion.

It appeared that she was garbed in a pair of mens trousers with the legs cut off. Her slender legs were completely bare from her mid-thighs down to her toes, and she wore no shoes or stockings.

His face felt warm and he was quite certain he was blushing.

Her upper body was in a piece of red fabric that seemed painted on her. It had no sleeves, and the midriff ended just above her...Good Lord...her navel! It was brazenly on display...a shallow little indentation in a waist that appeared to be so tiny that he could surely span it within his hands.

The girl was nearly naked! And she was quite undisconcerted by it!

Her hair was...oh, it was glorious. A thick, shiny mass of honey and golden brown, she wore it loose, contributing to her already unconventional appearance. It tumbled around her face in soft looking waves that made his fingers itch to touch it.

Shocking! Absolutely shocking!

But...lovely, as well.

As he moved closer, he was able to see her face more and more clearly. It was just as beautiful as he would have expected an angel to be. Her skin was fair and flawless, with a golden glow he'd never seen on any of the girls he associated with, as though it had been just lightly kissed by a summer sun.

She had large green eyes framed with lush, dark lashes that gave her a luminous gaze...and a rather forward stare.

When she smiled and waved her small hand, she displayed perfectly straight, white teeth. Not one of them was even the slightest bit out of place.

"I'm Buffy," he heard her say, and he automatically started to put out his hand, forgetting completely that she was on the other side of a mirror.

Struck dumb by her beauty, he stammered out his own name, all thoughts of Cecily Underwood disappearing from his brain permanently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was even cuter close up, Buffy decided. She just loved that thick, tousled head of hair, and the boyishly bemused expression on his...startlingly attractive...face.

And his eyes were blue! A beautiful shade of blue that she suspected probably changed colors with his moods. He looked very intelligent, and a little whimsical, both at the same time.

Maybe it was the clothes. Where in the world did he live, that people still dressed that way?

Well...there was only one way to find out!

"So," she said brightly, "Where are you from?" It sounded like a pick-up line in a bar, but it was all she could come up with.

He looked surprised, as if he wasn't accustomed to being asked such questions by a woman.

"Uh...from London," he finally replied. "My home is in...in Belgrave Square."

Buffy grinned widely. "London, England?" she asked, then felt foolish. Of course it was London, England.

William nodded. "That's correct."

He ducked his head, shyly...and Buffy just wanted to hug him, it was so adorable. This was so much fun, that she was no longer wondering just how the hell it was happening. She honestly didn't care anymore.

"If...if I may be so bold as to ask..." he began uncertainly.

"Sure. Go ahead. Ask me anything!" **Like if I have a boyfriend...or if I might be available some evening.**

"Where are YOU from? I...I don't wish to seem vulgarly curious, but you're most oddly dressed and I wondered..."

"I'M oddly dressed?" The words were out before she could stop them. "Have you taken a look in a mirror lately?"

He frowned. "I happen to be looking in one at this exact moment," he replied. "And, for some reason, I'm seeing you and not my own reflection. However, I can assure you that my manner of dress is completely...."

"Wait a minute!" she yelped, holding up one hand. "You see me...in a mirror?"

"Well, I...yes. The mirror in my..." His cheeks reddened again, and he cleared his throat. "My bedroom."

Buffy felt a shiver run down her spine. "William...I'm looking in a mirror, too. I can see YOU in it, but not myself. It's like...like a television screen."

"A...I beg your pardon? What kind of screen?"

"Television," she enunciated clearly, thinking he had simply not heard correctly. "You know...TV."

He just looked at her, blankly, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What exactly is a...a TV?"

She snorted a laugh. "What...you don't have TV in England? I know that's not true. I've seen Master- piece Theater, and...and...."

His expression was sincerely bewildered. It was clear that he didn't have the slightest notion what she was referring to.

"You're serious, aren't you? You've never seen a television program?"

"Quite serious. What is it?"

Buffy shook her head. An idea of exactly what might be happening was beginning to form in her brain, but it was so ludicrous...so completely inconceivable...that she couldn't bring herself to take it seriously.

"I'll...I'll tell you later," she said absently. "Um...you had asked me something before..."

He thought for a moment. "Ah, yes! I had asked you where you're from, then we went off on a tangent about our clothing and...you didn't answer."

She took a deep breath. "I'm from California," she said briefly. "Sunnydale, California."

"California? In the United States?" He seemed excited by the information. "I've always wanted to see America, but my mother isn't up to traveling and I couldn't leave her alone here. Is it...very savage?"

Buffy shrugged. "Depends on where you go," she murmured. "William," she asked quietly, "this is probably going to sound like I'm insane, but could you tell me what year it is...where you are?"

He laughed. "Well, I should imagine it's the same year where you are, of course. Eighteen-hundred and eighty. Do you...are you all right?"

Buffy staggered backwards and sat down on the floor, her legs having given out.

"Miss Buffy?" He sounded frantic. "Are you well? Do you feel faint?"

When she finally gathered her wits about her, she stared at him, wide eyed. "William...it's not eighteen-hundred and eighty where I am," she said, her voice shaky.

"What do you mean? How could it not be?"

"I don't know how. All I know...for a fact...is that the year is...two-thousand and four. It's a hundred and twenty-four years later than you think."

Her heart was booming in her chest like a kettle drum.

The mirror. Somehow, it had connected them not only across the ocean...but across time as well!

CONTINUED...

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