"Dru." he tried to speak out loud but his voice was but a whisper. She was walking in front of him, dancing almost, the long skirt of her white dress flowing around her legs. His princess, his love.

"Did you hear them, my Spike?" she was saying. He was having a hard time keeping up with her. For some reason his legs wouldn't move fast enough. "What, love?" he yelled after her. She was almost out of sight now. "Wait!" he yelled, trying to run.

He turned around a corner and there she was again, sitting in a puddle of rain on the street. She was soaked, and he reached out to help her up. "You're all wet." he muttered.

His lover put a finger to her lips. "Shhh." she whispered. "Listen. The birds. Don't you hear what they are singing? They're singing, 'go home, go home, go home." Drusilla was imitating a sad squeaking bird sound. "Go home, go home, go home, go---"

It was driving him crazy. Go home. He was quickly losing his patience. "Dru!" he said irritated. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Suddenly a strange wisdom seemed to come in her voice. She put her arms up to the sky. "Go home, my Spike. To go home you must follow the stars beyond enemy lines, to where the sun and moon merge and burn a hole into time. It's the only way, my wicked Spike!" Her words seemed to echo in his mind, louder and louder until he could hardly bear it anymore.

Spike woke up with a start. He looked around him slightly bewildered while the dream quickly faded away and he was back into reality. Reality looked rather grim. Outside the cave the sky was darkening quickly. Next to him Buffy was still sleeping under his coat. She must have been very tired to sleep through the entire day, he thought. He was glad it was winter. The long nights would make it possible for him to stay outside for longer. A vampire's favorite time of year, for sure. With any luck, the gates of Rome might still be open, too, so they wouldn't have to go over the wall to get into the city. They'd have to get there fast though, because he suspected they'd close the gates soon after dusk set in. He waited another moment and then turned to the Slayer. "Buffy." Her name again. Well, if someone calling her 'Slayer' woke her up, he figured she might instinctively stake him before realizing the situation they were in. "Buffy," he said again, a little louder now. No reaction. He poked her softly in her side and she jumped a little in her sleep. She opened her eyes and looked up at Spike. "Spike!" she yelled. "What-" Then reality hit her. "Oh."

Buffy sighed. She was pissed at Spike for waking her up, but didn't feel like a big argument just yet. She was sure they'd have plenty of those during the rest of the night. Still, why did he have to wake her up? She was having a strange but most lovely dream. Angel was in it, and they were cuddling and he was whispering stuff in her ear. It felt like it had been important, what he was whispering. Something about going home and the sun and moon. The more she thought about it, the more she hated Spike for waking her. She was just about to make a nasty comment when she noticed the leather duster that covered her. "Oh," she said again, more than a little surprised. He had put the coat over her to keep her warm. How sweet, she thought, and then frowned because Spike and sweet didn't match.

Buffy got up and handed Spike his duster, which he put back on. "Thanks," she said, not looking at him. She'd never really thanked him before. It was a little awkward.

"'Welcome. You sleep well?" Spike figured they might as well try to keep the peace. It would make things a lot easier.

What was it with him, Buffy wondered. Why was he being all nice? "Yeah," she said. "I dreamt."

"'Bout what?"

"None of your business." She was sure as hell not going to tell him she'd dreamt of Angel! After a split second she decided to tell him part of it, after all. "It was just a strange dream. Someone was whispering stuff in my ear. Something about home, and then the sun and moon."

Spike's eyes widened. "What?" he said sharply.

Buffy looked up, surprised. "Hey, it's no big," she said. "It was just weird dream stuff." Then a thought hit her. "Although this going home stuff. You think it might be a prophetic dream or something?"

Spike nodded. "Not think. Know. I dreamt the same thing."

Now it was Buffy's turn to be astonished. "What? You had the same dream?" The thought of Spike and Angel in each other's arms blocked out all her other thoughts. She gasped.

"Well, yeah. I don't think it was exactly the same dream, but the words. In my dream Dru was saying them. She was saying." he struggled to remember exactly. "To go home we have to…"

"Cross enemy lines."

"Yeah, yeah, that's it." Spike said. "Follow the stars beyond enemy lines, till the sun and the moon meet-"

"Merge." Buffy stated.

"Merge. And burn a hole into time."

The both stared at each other. Silence hung like a heavy cloud in the room. Finally Spike cut right through it. "Seems like this is a time travel thing after all."

"You think?" Buffy couldn't keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice. It was hard being nice when the person you had to be nice to was Spike.

"Well at least we have some sort of a clue as to how to get out of here. We'll have to figure out what it means, 'course. And I'm starving."

"Huh?" Buffy looked up. Now that he mentioned it, she could feel her own stomach ache too. It cried to be filled with food.

"I could eat a horse," Spike continued.

"Don't you dare!" Buffy warned him.

"Don't worry Slayer. I think the concept 'couldn't harm a fly' sort of applies to me." Spike said dejectedly. "Sounds like you could use a snack yerself."

"What do you mean?"

"I can hear your tummy rumbling."

Buffy turned slightly red. She hadn't heard anything. But he had vampiric hearing.

Spike grinned. "At any rate, if we want to get a bite we should get into the city. The gates might still be open and I have to find a butcher's shop." Buffy wrinkled her nose and made an 'eeuw' face. "Oh c'mon," the vampire continued. "You've been with Angel. Don't act as if you've never-"

"Yeah, yeah, let's just go visit this Rome of yours OK?" Buffy cut him off. The last thing she wanted to think about now was Angel. It would only make her feel more miserable.

Spike, uncharacteristically, shut up and they headed out into the night.

*
One of the gatekeepers looked Buffy and Spike over wearily, the other seemed downright hostile. Buffy stamped her foot. She was getting pissed off. They were lucky enough to find the gates still open, but now those two bastards wouldn't let them in. The weary looking one had barked some things at them in an Italian that Spike didn't understand much of, let alone Buffy. Old Italian, Spike figured. When the man saw they didn't understand them, and heard the English they spoke, he seemed to grow suspicious.

"Slayer," Spike hissed. "They're not going to let us in. We're going to have to use a little violence." He smiled, his dark eyes sparkling.

Buffy sighed. "I'd rather not, but seems like they don't leave us another choice."

"That's my Slayer." Spike said before he rushed forward at the hostile gatekeeper.

"What?!" Buffy blurted out at his words. His Slayer? Had he gone insane? But then she shrugged and went for the other gatekeeper. They didn't put up much of a struggle, and after a few hits, both men were out and Spike was rubbing his head once again. Strangely though, the chip going off hadn't hurt as much as it usually did. Better not mention that to the Slayer though, he thought. She might take it as a sign to stake him.

Lucky for them, they had been the only ones at the gate, as well as in the narrow cobblestone street behind it. The two men had probably been about to close the gate. "Quick," Spike told her. "Search their pockets."

"You want me to mug him?" Buffy said incredulously.

"We're going to need some money." Spike replied. "Food, place to stay. Clothes. We can't bloody well keep walking around in these. We'd be arrested in no time, I'm sure."

He had a good point, Buffy thought. She quickly searched the man's Robin Hoody clothes, while Spike did the same with the other guy. No pockets of any kind, Buffy noted, but then her hands found a small leather pouch hanging from the man's belt. She ripped it off the belt and opened it. A few pieces of gold were staring at her. Yes, this was money all right. Spike looked up, holding a similar looking bag in his hand. He smiled. Noticing Buffy's somewhat troubled expression, the vampire said: "It's probably money they made off the record anyway. Y'know, charging the innocent." To his surprise, this made the Slayer chuckle. "With any luck they won't even report it," he added. "Now let's go."

Fifteen minutes later they had mingled in the crowd on what looked like one of the main streets of the city. It was hard to determine because they didn't see any street signs anywhere. Cobblestones paved the narrow road here too. The houses were two and sometimes even three stories high, and part of their upper levels were built over part of the street, blocking almost all view of the sky above them. Despite nightfall there were still quite a few people out. Another advantage of winter and its short periods of daylight, Spike thought. Meanwhile Buffy had started to feel a little uncomfortable. They were getting stared at and pointed at, and even laughed at by some people. Their dress definitely stood out, she knew, but did they have to be so rude? Also, everything smelled bad here. Like it all had a sort of faint sewery smell to it. Buffy wished she was patrolling the clean streets of Sunnydale, California, instead of walking around in this mess with Spike, of all people.

Spike was taking in the scene around them. It looked sort of like how he had pictured the Middle Ages. The street, covered with dirt, the people and the way they were dressed, the wooden shops with hemp awnings and the gold pieces in his pocket all pointed to that, too. Well that narrowed it down considerably, he thought. They could be roughly said in any period between 800 and 1500. Or something like that. Spike hadn't been particularly interested in history in his unlife. He was more into living for the moment. One thing he did know was that they desperately needed to change clothes.

It didn't take them long to find the tailors' district. The neighborhoods of the city were arranged according to profession, and they just had to wander for a short while before they happened upon the broad square where the tailors resided. They walked down the unpaved street checking out the shops and then just picked one randomly. Spike had to bend down to fit through the low door opening. A small bell rang when they entered and a shopkeeper came hurrying towards them. The place was all wood, with various fabrics lying about the place, and three sets of clothing hanging on one of the walls. The only light came from a set of candles on the counter. The tailor welcomed them into his store and, Spike translated for Buffy, asked if they were strangers. He was goggling at their clothes, too, and openly admired the soft leather of Spike's duster. Well, thankfully he wasn't rude, Buffy thought.

Spike managed to explain to the man that they wanted new clothes, and the tailor immediately began to take Buffy sizes. "Non, non." Spike said shaking his head. He looked around and saw the clothes on the wall. There was a beige woman's dress, rather pretty although made of the same crude- looking material most people seemed to wear in these times, with a wide skirt with an apron and a tight long-sleeved bodice. The other clothes were two pairs of pants, or more like tights, two shirts and a burgundy velvet jacket. Spike estimated the measurements of the clothes and figured they would probably fit, if the stuff stretched a little, although the jacket seemed a bit small for him. He pointed at the clothes. "Those, we want those," he said in his broken Italian.

The tailor shook his head firmly. "They're for customers, already paid for. I can't give you those."

Spike took the money pouch out of his pocket and took out the largest piece of gold that was in it. He laid it on the counter and looked the tailor straight in the eyes. "Well?" he asked.

Buffy felt a little sorry for the man. He was obviously torn about this. After a few moments though, he took the piece and pocketed it. He went over to the wall, took the clothes off and handed them to Spike. "Can we change here?" Spike asked. He didn't wait for the answer and started to take off his coat. The tailor picked up a candlestick and motioned them over to a very small room behind the counter. There were no windows in this room and the candle was the only form of light. If you had claustrophobia, this definitely wasn't your place, Buffy thought. The tailor set the candle on the floor and went back to the other room, leaving them alone to.

"Shit," Buffy thought. "I have to change with Spike here?" Spike didn't seem to be bothered in the least and immediately started stripping off his clothes. "Oh. My. God." Buffy thought. "This is bad." Spike had his shirt off now and she couldn't help but stare at him. He looked fine. More than fine. She blushed and focused on the floor.

Spike looked up. She wasn't changing clothes. He rolled his eyes. "C'mon Slayer, this is hardly the time to get all prudish."

Buffy blushed even more. "I'm not prudish!" Damn he had nice muscles. "Stop it!" she told herself silently. "Just don't look." she told Spike.

Buffy turned away from him and took off her top. Then she pulled down the zipper of her skirt and let it drop to the floor. She looked back shyly, only to catch his burning eyes fixed on her. "Spike!" she blurted out, turning even redder now. She grabbed the dress and held it up in front of her.

He grinned. "Sorry luv." Did she really think he was going to let this opportunity go by without looking? He returned his attention to his own clothing. The tights were going to be a disaster, he thought, although he had worn worse things in his unlife. He tried to block the memory of a certain pair of shorts and Hawaiian shirt. Meanwhile, he was still shooting glances at the Slayer, who was busy pulling the long dress over her head. She was gorgeous. Her slim body, golden locks falling on her back and well- formed butt were really quite perfect. Looking at her, standing there all shy and almost naked aroused him quite a bit. He tried not to think of it, but he couldn't help it. She was turning him on.

Buffy finally had managed to put the dress on. The material was kind of prickly and not nearly as comfortable as the clothes she had just taken off. When she reached up to fasten the lace on her back, she found she couldn't reach up high enough. "Damn," she muttered, trying again. Still no luck. She turned around to face a whole new Spike. He was wearing a velvet jacket that was just a little too tight for him, showing his broad shoulders only more. Under that he had on a cream white hemp shirt with puffy sleeves with lace cuffs. The customer who had ordered Spike's clothes was obviously a little wealthier than the woman whose dress she was wearing, Buffy thought. On top of it all Spike was wearing a pair of pants that were like thick-tights. Kind of like the leggings that had been fashionable when she'd been in elementary school, Buffy thought. She couldn't help but giggle at the sight of the Big Bad in tights, but then she noticed the huge bulge in them and stopped giggling. Once again her cheeks flushed and she hastened to look away from him.

"What's the matter Slayer, like what you see?" Spike teased her. He had seen the look on her face. This was fun. She looked cute too, in her beige dress with the white apron. It was good that she was so small, because the dress fitted her perfectly.

Buffy refused to answer him. Instead, she turned around and gestured at the lace hanging from the back of the dress. "Can you help me fasten this?"

"Sure." Spike said, pretending to be indifferent. He brushed her hair aside.

Buffy stood still, trying hard to slow down her heart beat. She felt his cool hands roam her back through the fabric, searching for the two lace- ends. It felt too good. What the hell was going on? Why was Spike, mean, evil and most of all very annoying Spike, getting to her this way?

Spike pulled the laces tight and fastened them with a knot. He could hear her heart beat fast and her blood course through her veins. God, how he wanted her now, how he wanted to drink from her and savor the taste of her. But that wasn't the only way he wanted her, he realized.

A few moments later they stood in the square again, their own clothes packed into two bundles. They decided to go to a butcher's shop first to get Spike's dinner, because butchers probably didn't stay open as long as restaurants. The butchers district was even easier to find. Spike's nose led them through a myriad of streets, alleys and squares straight into the heart of the district. As soon as they entered its main street Buffy let out a long 'eeuw'. There was blood on many of the shops' stoops, trickling into the reddened sand that the street was made of. Through the open windows of the few shops that were still open, you could see the bloody carcasses and leftovers of cows and pigs on hooks decorate the walls. The stench was horrible. In front of one of the shops, a butcher was slaughtering a screeching chicken right on the street. This was ten thousand times worse than the butchery where Buffy had once seen Angel get his blood.

Spike seemed in his element. He sniffed a few times, inhaling the scent of blood. This got him even more hungry. "Alright, let's go."

"Do we have to?" Buffy said.

"Yes. Unless you kill me something human." Spike smirked.

Buffy sighed exasperated. "Okaay. But we better get me some people food after. If I don't lose my appetite altogether here."

Spike chuckled and led the way by stepping into the nearest shop. The butcher who owned the place was naturally very suspicious of them when Spike requested a jug of sangue. But this time, too, a piece of gold send his scruples sailing. Spike got his blood and they were about to leave when his eyes fell on a bloodstained piece of parchment on the counter. "Buffy, look."

"No thanks," Buffy replied. She had been trying to keep her looking to an absolutely minimum since they entered the butchery.

"It's important," Spike said, picking up the parchment. Buffy looked at it. It seemed to be a letter or bill or something like that. Pretty amazing to find somebody who could write around here, she thought. Then she noticed what he was getting at. In the right top corner of the letter it said "MCCCLVI".

Buffy had learned enough in high school to know that those were numbers, and that it was most likely a date, or year. She didn't know what exactly the number was though. "Spike, what does it say?" she asked. Before Spike could reply, the butcher snatched the parchment out of his hands.

"Hey!" said Spike, but Buffy pulled him back and out of the shop. "Leave it," she said. "Did you get the number?"

"Yeah. It's 1356."

*
As soon as they got out of the smelly butchers' district, Buffy leaned against the wall of one of the houses and closed her eyes. 1356. It seemed as if it was all final, suddenly. Before they had seen that date, it had not been real yet. It could have all been a mind trick, a hallucination. Or something else inexplicable. But for some reason, seeing that date made her really believe it. They had gone back into time. The thought stifled her and she gasped for breath. 1356. Over 600 years before her life, before her friends, before everything. What if they couldn't find their way back? What if she never saw her mom again, and her friends, and had to spend the rest of her life in this dirty smelly world and-

"You OK?" Spike's calm voice broke through the upcoming panic inside her. Buffy opened her eyes. He was drinking the blood he'd gotten and was obviously enjoying the taste. Still he looked a little shaken himself, too. "Yeah," said Buffy.

"We will find a way out of here, you know," he said between sips. She wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to her. His words were spoken with confidence though and managed to reassure her a little. "Yeah, I know," she said. Feeling her stomach groan once again, she added, "let's go find something for me to eat now."

Spike looked about the empty street. It seemed most everybody had traded the winter night for their houses in the last fifteen minutes or so. He wondered what time it was. "Listen," he said. "We're gonna have to find a place to stay for the day. Unless you wanna sleep in the ruins again that is."

"No thanks," Buffy said. "But what does that have to do with my food craving?"

"Well, I was thinking, it's still early and all, but seen as all the Romans will be inside tonight there's not much more we can do here anyway except get more suspicious by staying out all night."

"So?"

"So we could check into an inn, you can eat there and we've got a bed during the day. We can try to figure out this clue we've been handed and act upon it."

"Act upon it. I think that that sounds a lot more easier than it is. Could that clue be any more cryptic?" Buffy sighed. She was getting cranky. It was probably from the hunger.

"Well, 'enemy lines' seems pretty clear," Spike said optimistically.

Yeah, you've already eaten, Buffy thought.

"Now that we know the date," he continued, "we could try to find out which wars are going on and, well, move behind enemy lines. Might be a step on the way home."

Far too optimistic, Buffy thought. She replied incredulously: "You want us to what, purposely go into a middle age war zone?"

"Can't as be as bad as a 20th century one. And I've seen those. 'Sides, it's the only possibility I can think of. Got any better ideas, Slayer?"

She had to admit that she didn't. "Let's just go eat," she said dejectedly.

*
A huge plate of a sort of watery pasta was set before her. A few indefinable vegetables were scattered around it. The meal was accompanied by a large jug of red wine.

Buffy stared at the food. "I thought I ordered macaroni," she said.

"Yeah, well, maybe they call everything macaroni." Spike said while he picked up the wine jug and took a swing.

Buffy shrugged. She was too hungry to be bothered by the pitiful state of her meal. She fell to eating and didn't say another word until the plate was entirely empty.

Spike in the meantime had emptied half of the jug. Buffy took it from him and took a few sips of wine herself. It tasted sourer than the sweet stuff she had drunk at home sometimes. Still, it wasn't too bad. Buffy was starting to feel very comfortable. She had eaten, they had wine, the bar room was warm. She and Spike were sitting opposite each other at a long wooden table that had a bench on each side of it. The constant murmur of about two dozen tavern-guests talking filled the air and mixed with the crackling of the fire in the hearth at one end of the table. One gold piece had bought Buffy and Spike the last room available at the inn, a meal and the wine. Not too bad, Buffy thought, although they were probably majorly overpaying everyone.

The inn they were staying at was on a hillside, in yet another narrow, unpaved street. The cool thing about it was that they were staying just two blocks from the Coliseum. Usually not one for the historical thing, Buffy was impressed by the ancient Roman stadium nonetheless. Even Spike had seemed rather interested in the ruins. He'd said there was not as much left of it when he had seen it in the 20th century. They had paused for a minute or so, looking at the great building, so dark against the moonlit night sky, but then Buffy's tummy had groaned again. This time they had both heard it and after a grin from Spike and a look that said 'kill' from Buffy, they had hurried on. A few moments later they had come upon the two story wooden house that provided lodging and food. "Osteria" the sign out front said simply. No name, just 'inn' in Italian.

The inside of the place was as plain and simple as the outside, and, as Buffy had found out, so was the food. But it was enough. The next two hours Spike and she spent passing the wine jug between them. They were talking and aside from the inevitable sneer here and there, it was actually a nice conversation. They talked a lot about home, about their friends. Eventually they even got to talk about their lost loves. It was strange to find she had something in common with Spike, Buffy thought. Both had lost the love of their lives.

In the end they were the only two people left at the table. The owner of the place had started to put out the candles, leaving one, and now proceeded to put out the fire. The hint was clear. Spike drank the last bit of wine and said the empty jug back on the table. "Well Slayer," he said. "Seems like they want us to clear out. What do you say we check out our room?"

Buffy nodded drowsily. "That sounds like a plan." She was a little tipsy from the wine and the events and impressions of the night had left her rather tired again. They got up and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The tavern, too, was one of the houses whose second floor stuck out far over the street. Buffy wondered how the whole structure held up. It didn't seem very secure.

It turned out their room was in the back of the place. The hallway had a very low ceiling, forcing Spike to bend down slightly while crossing it. Buffy entered the room first. She was just over the threshold when she stopped dead in her tracks. An expression of horror clouded her face.

Spike wondered why she had frozen all of a sudden. He stepped in after the blonde, pushing her further into the room, eager to see what was up. At the view that greeted him, a grin slowly spread across his face.

There was only one bed. One small double bed.

Continued...