By: Rachel

Disclaimer: None of these are mine - darn!

Summary: Buffy/William AU: In 1882 William Stafford purchased a new desk for himself. In 2004, Buffy Summers, fresh from an abusive relationship, buys an antique desk at a garage sale. Suddenly, the two discover a way to communicate through time, falling in love with each other in the process. Is Buffy willing to risk her heart for a relationship that can never be with another man - a man who lived more than 100 years ago?

Rating: PG-13 so far.

Distribution: My sites - Sinister and Poetic Attraction, and to anyone who already has permission to my fics, go right ahead! All others, please e-mail me beforehand just so I know where it's going.

Author’s Notes: Sections in bold signify flashbacks. Thoughts will be in italics. And a BIG thank you to my beta, Enigmaticblue - I couldn't get through this without your assistance!

Feedback: Sure! SpiffyArtGirl@comcast.net

Chapter 1:

September 18, 2004

Elizabeth Summers, better known as Buffy to her close friends and family, woke up that early Saturday morning with a strong and unexplainable feeling that she was going to return home with something good - something that was one-of-a-kind and couldn't be found anywhere else.

Ever since escaping from her so-called relationship with Warren Mears, she and her best friend of seven years, Willow Rosenberg, had begun a tradition of going shopping at the garage and yard sales in the nearby neighborhoods. Willow came up with the idea in order to keep Buffy's mind away from her abusive relationship of eleven months with Warren.

The two quickly began to enjoy the added time they spent together, however, and finding cheap, unique knick-knacks became just an added bonus. Since her mother's death a little over two years ago, money was much scarcer in the Summers’ household, especially now that Dawn, Buffy’s sister, was attending college. Although Buffy had a steady job and a decent amount of money from what was originally her mother’s saving funds, she had discovered that garage sales were a great way to find the things that she needed for much less than she could afford to pay in a store.

The two friends developed a fool-proof schedule in no time - shop from 8:00 until it was almost 11:00, go back to their apartments to shower and clean up, and then arrive at Buffy's workplace, a small gallery and art studio, by noon, which is when they opened on the weekends. Buffy was the artist and Willow was the businesswoman, helping to keep track of clients, money, Buffy’s projects, and other information. Without Willow’s help, Buffy wouldn’t have a clue what to do.

That morning at the end of September, when there was a slight chill in the air, but it was still warm enough to walk around without a heavy jacket, Buffy had high hopes of finding something exceptional. I still need a new lamp for the living room actually, she thought as she walked around a table with various odds-and-ends scattered around on top. The original lamp that was set on the coffee table had gotten knocked over when Warren was upset and shoved her back...

Nope, not gonna think about that today, Buffy told herself, shaking her head and trying to think of something happier. That's the whole point of these little expeditions. To keep my mind off of that.

"Hey Buffy, you find anything?" Willow asked as she approached Buffy.

Willow and Buffy had become immediate best friends on the first day of tenth grade. Along with Xander Harris, Willow's best friend since kindergarten, the three of them were inseparable. They were there for each other in both the good times and the bad, witnessing the hook ups and the eventual break ups. They hung out with each other for movies, award shows, study sessions, and above all else, they always supported one another.

Willow was a small red head, barely coming in at 5'4", but what she lacked for in height, she made up in personality. She was always thinking positively, tried to see the best in people, and would always take plenty of time to listen to a friend. Those were just a few of the qualities that Buffy loved about Willow so much.

"Not so much," Buffy said regrettably. "I was thinking about trying to find a new lamp for the living room..." her voice died off when her mind inevitably flashed back to the reason for said lamp.

Willow "tsk tsked" and shook her head. "Think happy thoughts, Buffy," she said. "Today is our happy, fun day!" She held up her findings, which already consisted of two books, three DVDs, and a vibrant, multi-colored blanket.

"Sorry, can't help it," Buffy said, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, I know it's almost been two months, and I should be over it and have moved on, but-"

"These things take time, Buff," Willow said, consoling her friend. She gave a supportive smile before continuing, "you just can't expect to wake up one day and be entirely over something like that so quickly. Like I've said before, Everyone moves on at different paces, just give it some time, you'll see."

"Thanks," Buffy responded, reaching out and giving Willow and quick squeeze on the arm.

"And hey, how is my favorite little sister?" Willow asked, eager to change the subject to something lighter and less angst-filled. “Didn’t you tell me she was going to call you sometime this weekend about how school is going?”

"Dawnie? She's doing great. She’s making her older sister very proud," Buffy boasted, a smile lighting up her features at the thought of her sister.

Her sister had grown into a strong, beautiful, young woman who was currently in her freshman year at UCLA. Dawn still wasn't sure what she was going to ultimately major in, but was excelling in her general education classes and well on her way to becoming a student in the top of her class. Buffy didn’t have the words to explain how proud she was of her sister for doing so well, and she was forever thankful that Dawn had this chance to attend a well-known, respected college, unlike herself.

Although Buffy missed having someone at home to keep her company and do things with, she knew that this was a great opportunity for her sister. Besides, it was only a two hour drive away to UCLA, and there were always seasonal breaks. In fact, fall break was coming up in about a month. Buffy knew this because she was already counting down the days until she would get to see her sister for a few days.

"She do okay on that English research paper?" Willow asked. "I know you told me that she was having a bit of trouble finding enough research to complete it."

Buffy nodded, "Yep, she did great. Found some research at the last minute, pulled through, and got an A minus on the paper." Buffy's smile clearly showed how proud she was of Dawn.

“That’s great, Buffy,” Willow agreed. “Tell I say ‘hi’ the next time you two talk, okay?”

Buffy nodded her head before saying, "I'm not finding too much here.” She wanted to change the subject before she got weepy-eyed over missing her sister. "You ready to try that place further down the road?"

Willow agreed. "Sure thing, just let me go pay for these," and with that she headed off towards the entrance of the garage, a bright smile on her face.

Buffy turned around, pushing several loose strands of blonde hair out of her eyes as she quickly gazed around the garage one more time to see if she had missed anything important. Suddenly, her eyes stopped on a dark, rectangular object in the back of the garage.

Wanting to get a better look, Buffy excused herself past a couple people standing in the aisles, approaching what she discovered was a desk. There were three drawers on the left side, each one getting a slightly bit bigger as they went down. Then, to the right of those drawers, was one longer drawer above an open area for the user’s knees. She gave it a long look, noticing how the wood had chipped off in several areas, especially on the legs of the desk, which had obviously been nicked and run into several times in the past. The handles appeared to be the original ones, however - they were clearly an elegant and expensive design, with embellished and intricate loops, swirls, and patterns. Buffy could easily tell just by looking at it that the top of the desk had been worn smooth by time.

Taking another step closer, Buffy ran her hand across the surface of the wood, gasping when she felt a warm, prickling sensation across her fingertips. "What the...?" she muttered, bending her knees to look at the desk even closer.

"Do you like this desk?" a voice behind her asked. “You’re the first person who has looked at it all day.”

Buffy stood and quickly turned around. "Uh...well, it looks like it's in uh, somewhat fairly good condition," she half-lied.

The woman nodded before approaching the desk and standing next to Buffy. "Yes, it has been in my family for ages. Since the late 1800s."

"Wow," Buffy said, taking a closer look at the desk. If that's really true, then this is definitely an antique, she thought. Buffy glanced at the price tag and saw it was marked at $200. Well, if I can get her to talk the price down some, I could always try and sell it to an actual antique store and make a small profit off of it. Xander could clean it up for me and fix those nicks, which would raise the price if I sold it.

"I'll give you $170 for it," Buffy offered, turning to look at her seller.

The woman shook her head, "No, that is too low for an antique such as this, something with so much meaning."

Then why are you selling it? Buffy thought, and came close to asking that aloud. "Hmm, okay. How about $180?"

Once again, the woman shook her head. "How about this? I will sell it to you for $182, and no lower."

Buffy quickly and faintly frowned, her brows tightening together for a second. What an odd number to ask for, she thought with curiosity. "Sure, that sounds like a deal to me," she answered, beginning to pull out her checkbook. “You will take a check for this, right?”

The woman nodded her head in affirmation, and Buffy began writing out her check.

At the time, Buffy thought nothing of it - after all, it was just an ordinary, old, and beat up desk. She decided it would be best if she kept it in her bedroom until she got a chance to clean it up a bit and add a new coat of varnish with Xander’s help, then resell it to an antiques dealer.

Who would have thought that an old, $182 desk would completely change her life forever?

~~~

September 18, 1882

That morning, William Stafford stepped out of his carriage with plans to purchase a couple books and a new journal for both himself and his sister, Emily-Grace. The two Stafford siblings had an intense desire of both reading and writing. However, William's writing was usually somewhat lacking...well, everything.

It was almost two years ago to the day that he had been ridiculed in front of the woman whom he secretly admired and loved. His poetry had been taken out of his unwilling hands and read aloud at one of the many trite parties that he was forced to attend because of his rank in society. Ever since then, William wrote in bound journals, something he could keep close to him when he wanted and keep hidden when he was not inspired to write.

William approached the entrance to the bookshop, pausing a second to push his glasses further up his nose, before entering.

"Good afternoon Mr. Stafford," the bookkeeper said as William entered. “It is a pleasure to see you back so soon.”

"Thank you sir, and you as well," William responded, smiling politely to the stout man. "I was wondering if you had any new books or journals in since I was here last?"

The salesman laughed and shook his head. "Not since you were in last. That was only five days ago, sir." He then took a second to think before tapping his head with his hand. "Oh, forgetful me! I was mistaken, we got in these new journals the other day."

He led William over to the other side of the store, revealing a set of black leather-bound journals with a thin red ribbon wrapped around it from front the back to keep it closed. William picked one up, taking a second to ponder why the book felt the way it did. Why...it almost feels warm, William thought to himself. He decided to keep that thought to himself, as he didn't want to bring any more unwanted attention to him and his family.

William picked up another one for his sister, noticing that he did not feel any sensations like he did just seconds before, and slowly nodded his head. "Yes, I believe these two will do just fine."

A few quick minutes later, William exited the shop, the two journals tightly held in his left hand. He began to call out for the carriage when something caught his eye. Across the street, in the window of a furniture store, was a gleaming writing desk in the display.

He crossed the street to take a closer look at the desk. It was obviously a new piece of furniture since the intricate, adorned handles and desk legs were of a design he and never seen before. The wood shone brightly in the sun, and the golden handles gleamed. The three drawers to the left were designed well, the bottom one being much larger than the top two.

Oh, it's just a desk, William told himself.

But Emily-Grace could use a desk in her room; she has been making hints towards that for quite some time now, another part of William whispered. I could give her mine and then purchase this one for myself.

The salesman inside the store noticed William standing outside and beckoned him in with a wave of his hand. Before he could stop himself and think, he entered the store, intent on finding out how much this elegant desk would cost him and if he should make the purchase.

Less than ten minutes later, the desk was his.

~~~

TBC...I would love to know what you all thought about this - subtle changes, but I feel that this chapter alone is so much better than the first time around. Please leave any and all comments!

Chapter 2:

"I cannot believe you bought a desk," Willow stated flatly as she placed her purchased items in the backseat of Buffy's Jeep. "And it's not even in good condition."

"Well, that's what having a best friend who is also a full-time carpenter comes in handy for," Buffy replied, taking another look at her jeep, trying to gauge the room in the back.

Nope, Buffy thought, shaking her head. There is no way that desk is going to be able to fit into my car.

"And speaking of Xander...," Buffy began, thinking that he might be the best person to help the two girls get back to Buffy's apartment.

Buffy pulled out her cell phone and keyed down several times until she came to Xander's number in her phone book. Buffy checked the time on her watch and hoped that both he and his fiancée, Anya, would be awake by now before she pressed "send."

Ten minutes later, Buffy and Willow waved as their friend drove up the driveway in his black GMC truck.

"Here I am, to save the day," Xander Harris announced, as he hopped out of the truck. "How can I assist you two lovely ladies on this way-too-early-to-be-up-and-shopping morning?"

Buffy's other best friend had been a construction worker going on four years now. The high school student with no goals in life other than to get out of his drunken parents’ basement, had become a hard-working man who had a fancy apartment in Sunnydale and a beautiful fiancée. All in all, it turned out that Xander's life wasn't too bad.

Xander had obviously just rolled out of bed. If hearing his groggy voice on her cell phone wasn't evidence enough, Buffy could tell by looking at his mismatched, wrinkled outfit that he’d grabbed the first clothing he could find. His dark brown hair was ruffled and sticking up in several sections, making Buffy wonder if he’d looked in the mirror yet.

"We need help getting something back to my place," Buffy announced.

"Buffy just bought a beat up, rickety old desk," Willow explained at the same time.

"Woah, woah," Xander calmly spoke, trying to process the fast flying words coming in his direction. "Let's take things nice and slow. I'm still waking up here."

"I just bought a desk," Buffy began. "But it won't fit into my Jeep, and-"

"Say no more," he interrupted. "So, you called in the Xan-man to help you out. It's not a problem, Buff. I'm always willing to lend a hand."

Just another reason why Xander was one of her best friends - he would do anything for the two women standing in front of him, and they all knew it.

Buffy smiled before saying, "Thank you Xander, I appreciate it."

"Sure, now where is this new piece of craftsmanship?" Xander rubbed his hands together jokingly. "I love getting my hands on some wood."

The three friends thought about that sentence for a second, wondering if anyone should say something in response to one of the many Freudian slips Xander always seemed to come up with.

"I'm sorry...it's too early for me to be having intelligent conversations," Xander remarked.

"It's 10:30," Willow retorted.

"Exactly, and before noon is still considered prime sleeping time. You should try it some time, Will."

Buffy rolled her eyes, wondering if they would ever grow out of their bantering and teasing. I hope not.

"C'mon, guys, the desk is over here."

Buffy led them back to where she had stood not fifteen minutes ago and looked back at Xander to see his reaction.

"Woah, you weren't joking there when you said beat up, were you Will?" Xander asked, his eyes scanning the nicks in the legs and corners of the desk.

Buffy bit her lip, hoping her plans weren't destroyed and she wasn't out $182. "Do you think you can fix it?"

Xander slowly nodded, bending down to get a closer look. "Sure, just use some sanding and wood glue, and this puppy should be looking like new in a matter of no time."

"Great! Maybe we can do that some afternoon when we're both pretty free work-wise," she suggested.

"Sure, sounds fine to me...just gotta let the missus know when."

"She already got you on a ball and chain, huh?" Willow joked, knowing that Anya always liked to know what Xander was doing when and, more importantly, who with.

"We're not married yet," Xander defended, "so I'm still a free man. I do what I want."

"Sure, sure...a free man who has to call home every twenty minutes to give an update on what you're doing," Willow teased, grinning before playfully slapping his arm.

"Alright you two." Buffy stepped in, breaking the playful moment. "Let's get this back to my place so Willow and I can get ready for work."

~~~

After an exhausting fight to get the desk into the back of Xander's truck and then up the flight of stairs outside of her apartment complex, Buffy decided to leave it sitting right outside her bedroom door until she came home from work, giving her more time to figure out where she wanted to put it. She thanked Xander for helping her and sent him home to catch up on his sleep. Buffy still needed to get ready for work.

When she came home, after quickly making some dinner for herself, she walked to the end of the hallway to figure out where to move the desk.

Okay, she told herself. I've got plenty of room here, let me think. I could just move the desk over there to the other side of my bed if I move my bookcase to the left a few feet. She walked around her room with a measuring tape, trying to decide what would take up the least amount of space and still look pleasing to the eye.

Finally, Buffy decided to follow her first instinct and place the desk at the foot of her bed. She walked back out to the kitchen to grab a chair that would serve as a temporary seat for her new purchase.

"Well, this is nice," Buffy told herself as she sat down in front of the desk. "All this baby needs is a new coat of varnish, definitely some sanding here and there...nothing that Xander can't do."

Buffy gazed at the desk, noticing, for the first time, faint carvings in the bottom left hand corner of the surface. "That's weird. I didn't see that before," she said to herself, as she scooted closer to the desk to see what was carved into it.

"Must be the previous owner," Buffy muttered. "Well, I bet that Xander can just sand that down easily. It's barely there now as it is, anyway."

Sitting in her somewhat uncomfortable chair, Buffy looked around her bedroom, noticing, not for the first time, how bare the room looked. Her thoughts began to drift, inevitably thinking back to her failed relationship with Warren. She wondered for the hundredth time if there was anything she could have done to prevent their relationship from completely falling apart.

~~~

Warren Mears was everything a girl dreamed about having. Dark, handsome looks, funny, and incredibly successful. The Mears family had established one of the nation's most powerful and wealthy industries in technology; more specifically, robotics. Warren's father had single-handedly caused great strides to be made in the area of artificial intelligence. His dream was to create human-like robots to serve as maids, babysitters, and other helpful positions in the future

Warren and Buffy first ran into each other at one of her gallery openings. She had been introducing a new series that evening, and Buffy was so nervous it would have appeared as if it were her first opening. It was, however, her first adventure into painting landscapes of the nearby area, but judging from the turnout and paintings purchased that evening, it would not be her last.

Warren had come after both reading and hearing about this petite woman whose paintings were compared to the likes of Monet. After introducing himself that evening, they were instantly captivated by each other. Warren left that night with a waterside landscape and a promise to call Buffy later that week, which he did.

However, as their relationship progressed, Buffy began noticing small things that she must have been oblivious to on their first few dates. When things didn't go his way, Warren got angry - very angry. In fact, it seemed like the smaller and less important problems made him even more upset than the larger ones.

Pretty soon, he turned his anger on Buffy. It started small - banging on tables, walls, or doors, throwing things in her direction, or shoving her away from him when she tried to comfort and support him - things like that. But eventually it escalated to the point where Buffy showed up at work one morning with the entire right side of her face swollen and bruised.

It was on that morning that Willow decided she couldn't take seeing her friend hurt anymore. She didn't understand why Buffy put up with Warren’s behavior. After all, Willow had known Buffy since the beginning of high school, and she knew that her friend was a strong, independent woman. However, it seemed that over time that the strong side of Buffy had slipped away, leaving a docile, submissive woman who was terrified of her boyfriend.

"I just don't get it," Buffy sobbed, once Willow confronted her. Buffy rested her head against Willow's shoulder. "How can I let him do these things to me? Why can't I just tell him it's over...just leave him?"

"Buffy, sometimes things like this happen to women," Willow began in a soothing tone. "They try to get out, but he won't let them. They try to break it off, but then...he's normal again, all smiles and jokes, and he tries to make the woman forget she was beaten just the other night. And oftentimes? He succeeds."

"And that's just it," Buffy whispered. "He shoves me, slaps me, hits me...and then he'll come back later that evening or early the following day, and he's...he's Warren again. He's the carefree, joking man that I met nine months ago. He apologizes and...and I just can't help but let it go."

Willow nodded and tightened her embrace. She had read books and researched cases like this happening to women all around the world. She knew that Buffy needed to get out of this relationship as soon as possible, or risk being emotionally damaged for the rest of her life.

And sometimes Willow wondered if it was already too late to hope that Buffy would come out of this without being damaged.

"Buffy, you need to end things with him," Willow advised.

"But if I do...if I do that, he’ll just get even more upset," Buffy said, worriedly shaking her head at the thought of Warren's probable anger. "He...he won't let me, I just know it."

"But, Buffy.." Willow started.

"What should I do, Will?" Buffy asked. "Please, tell me what I need to do."

"Buffy, honey, you need to break up with him," Willow reiterated. "The sooner the better. This man needs to be out of your life for good."

Buffy shook her head, "But he's...no, I love him..."

"Do you really, Buffy?" Willow responded. She brushed the tears away from Buffy's face. "How can you love a man that beats you? That takes his anger out on you. The Buffy I know wouldn't have put up with that for one second."

"He loves me," Buffy whispered.

"No man who loves you would beat you," Willow stated, hoping that she was putting some sense into her friend's head.

"Oh Willow..." Fresh tears sprang up in Buffy's eyes and she lowered her head and wept.

Warren, you bastard, Willow thought. What the hell have you done to her?

~~~

After finally gathering enough courage to break up with Warren almost two months ago, Buffy felt that she had learned a valuable lesson. No matter how the person may look, talk, or act at first glance, he wasn't necessarily the real deal. Men like Warren were out there, and it was impossible to know until the relationship became more than casual. Buffy realized that there was always a chance that she could wind up hurt.

And I won't let that ever happen again, Buffy silently swore, moving from the seat at her desk and lying down on the bed.

Because she would rather be alone than be hurt again.

I'm not some stupid, naive girl anymore, she thought. I know that love isn't blind and that love won't conquer all - I mean, how can I think anything else?

Although Buffy managed to get out of the relationship before things could get much worse, her friends could tell that she wasn't the same woman she had been nine months ago, before Warren. She had set emotional walls around her heart, refusing to trust another man, fearing he would break her already fragile heart.

~~~

After arriving back home with his new belongings later that afternoon, William first moved his older desk into Emily-Grace's room. He then brought the new one inside his along with his sister's assistance, who was only too happy to help move the desk into her bedroom. William's new desk fit in with the rest of his room perfectly, somehow seeming to make his room appear brighter and more inviting.

William sat down in front of the desk, his eyes looking from one end to the other. Suddenly he felt an urge to carve his initials in the desk, something that would make it his forever. He stood and picked up the penknife from his dresser and went to work, carefully carving each initial clearly and elegantly.

After carving his last initial, William looked at his handiwork and smiled. He was still unsure about what had caused this spur-of-the-moment action, but he did not regret it one bit.

William then set his mind on moving his belongings from the old desk into the new one, which would be quite simple since the desk drawers were much larger than his old one. After placing several objects on the top of the desk, he pulled open the bottom drawer and frowned when he gazed down into the bottom of the drawer.

"That's odd," he muttered to himself.

The panel of wood on the bottom was an entirely different color than the rest of the desk. It was a brown several shades lighter and the grain of the wood went against the rest of the uniform look.

One would think that a customer would be informed of this, William thought. Perhaps it is just an error in this one desk.

However, upon closer inspection, he saw a slight gap between the panel of wood and the actual sides of the drawer. William picked up a letter opener from the top of the desk and slid it down the side, pushing it out and lifting up the board. The panel came up and William picked it up, a smile quickly appearing on his face.

"A false bottom, how marvelous," William said. "This is the perfect place to keep my journal." This way no one other than himself, and Emily-Grace if he wished to let her in on this secret, would be able to read his thoughts and writings.

He reached over and picked up the new journal from his bookcase, noticing how his fingertips still tingled with the mysterious warmth as he opened the cover and stared at the blank page in front of him. William had noticed earlier that the journal he gave to his sister did not make him feel like this, which led him to suspect that there must be something extraordinary about the journal he chose first.

Casting those thoughts aside, William picked up his pen, dipped it into the nearby inkwell, and began writing.

~~~

Buffy began opening the drawers, realizing that when she bought the desk she didn't even check to see what kind of condition they were in. For all she knew, the bottoms of the drawers could be completely rotted out, and Buffy would be stuck with a faulty desk. However, when she looked inside, she saw that all four desk drawers were in tip-top condition.

"This must be some desk to have lasted for over one hundred years," she told herself, as she peered into each drawer, wondering how it had managed to last this long.

The desk was made out of a dark wood, most likely either cherry or oak. She also thought that there was a stain of some type on the wood as well; however, since she had no idea what they did in 1882 to protect their furniture, she was only guessing. Surprisingly though, when she looked inside the bottom drawer, she noticed that the wood was a much lighter color.

"That's weird," she whispered to herself, wondering why a desk of this stature would have a screwed-up paint job in one drawer.

Buffy hit the bottom with her knuckles a couple of times, hearing what she assumed was the sound of something hollow. Oh, wouldn't it just be awesome if there were wads of cash hidden in this thing? That would definitely make this purchase worth it, Buffy thought to herself as she tried to pry up the plank of wood.

Using her fingernails, Buffy managed to pry up the piece of wood. She pulled it out of the desk drawer entirely, eager to see what was underneath.

"Well, this is interesting," she muttered, pulling out an old, black-leather journal.

Thinking back on it, what Buffy found most odd about this was after all that shoving, pushing, and moving the desk about, especially trying to get it up the stairs to her apartment earlier that morning, she should have heard something that small shifting about. The journal didn't take up the entire space below by any means, and Buffy should have heard it moving to and fro earlier that day.

Really weird, she thought as she sat back down in her chair, holding the journal between her hands. Opening the front page, Buffy was once again surprised to see actual writing. The script was elegant and very neat, the ink dark and surprisingly not faded out over the course of time.

September 18, 1882, the first entry began.

"Weird, that's today's date as well," Buffy mumbled to herself. "Well, obviously, except for the fact that it's just off by 122 years." While beginning to read the written entry, she stood up from the chair and lay down on her bed, her eyes scanning over the words written on the first page.

Buffy turned the page, expecting more from this mysterious person, who was obviously W.A.S. When she discovered that the following page was blank, she quickly leafed through the rest of the journal, looking for more entries. When she found none, Buffy sat back with a puzzled look on her face.

"Huh?"

TBC...

Chapter 3:

"Huh?"

Buffy lay frozen on the bed, amazed at what she just read. It seemed almost a bit unsettling and invasive to read a private entry from the person who originally owned her desk. She slowly thumbed through the next several pages one more time, wanting to be absolutely sure that she did not miss any other entries in the journal.

It shocked Buffy that this entry was written on today's month and day, but what surprised her even more was that this person had purchased the desk on the exact some say she had. It seemed to much of a coincidence.

The biggest question she now had was how had she not heard the journal shifting around in the drawer while she pushed the desk to her room?

"This is too unreal," Buffy muttered. "I mean, what are the odds?"

She turned back to her nightstand and grabbed an ink pen before flipping to the next page. After thinking about how to begin, Buffy slowly began to write about her day. She wrote several sentences explaining how her shopping with Willow went, and then moved on to quickly write about work, keeping things fairly simple.

Hey, this isn't that bad, Buffy thought, once she had finished writing down all of her thoughts.

Maybe writing in a journal would be a good way for her to work out her feelings. She would be able to say things that she couldn't say to any of her friends, even Willow. More importantly, maybe this would be a way to help her move past Warren and their failed relationship.

Buffy closed the journal and placed it back in the bottom of the desk, even thinking to place the false bottom back on top.

After changing for the evening and going through her nightly routine, she pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. As she lay there trying to fall asleep, an absurd thought entered her mind - I wonder if I'll get a response? After all, in romance novels, the girl always gets a response.

"Stupid Buffy," she whispered in the dark room. "That's impossible. It's just a stupid journal. Just goes to show me how little sleep I've gotten in the past few days." With the thought pushed out of her head, Buffy turned on her side, snuggled deeper into the sheets and shut her eyes.

~~~

The next morning, Buffy woke up to the sound of U2's newest song blaring from her clock radio. She shut off the alarm, yawning as she sat up and stretched. For the first night in many weeks, Buffy had managed to get a full night's sleep. She was used to waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares, and then would be unable to get back to sleep for hours. The feeling of a deep, full-night's sleep was something almost foreign to her.

"That's a nice feeling," she told herself. "And hopefully that won't be the last decent night’s sleep either."

Buffy slowly climbed out of bed, running her fingers across the desk as she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, turning the water on so it would warm up for her shower.

As Buffy approached her wardrobe, she paused in front of the desk, wondering if she should check the journal.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," she grumbled, bending down to open the drawer and take out the journal. She flipped to the first page, rereading over the mysterious person's entry and turned the page to look at her own. She turned another page, and then two, noticing no changes or added entries.

See? Stupid, she thought to herself.

"I can't believe I actually thought that I might actually have a..." Buffy shook her head and chuckled to herself. She put the journal back in its usual spot and continued on to her dresser, picking out an outfit to wear to work and forgetting her childish hopes.

~~~

The following morning, William awoke feeling fully refreshed, as if he had just had the best night's sleep in his life. He turned to his right and looked towards the window, seeing the sun brightly shining outside.

Several minutes later, after dressing and preparing himself for a day's outing with his mother and sister, he sat down at his desk, feeling the urge to write in his journal.

However, before he could even reach down to open the drawer, he heard his name called from beyond his bedroom door. Before William could stand, the door opened and his younger sister, Emily-Grace, flew into his room. "William!"

Emily-Grace was sixteen years old, a beautiful young girl with curly honey-blonde” hair. Her eyes were a bright, vibrant blue, just like her brother’s. She was also distinguished by her very high cheekbones, another feature that she also shared with William. Although young, she was very intelligent and shared William’s interest in reading and writing with almost the same intensity, something that pleased him to no end.

"Good morning, Emmy," William greeted, opening his arms for a hug. William often called her "Emmy" when they were alone together, a nickname that had stuck when she was about ten; when she was even younger, he used to call her "nibblet."

"G'morning brother," Emily-Grace replied with a smile lighting up her beautiful features. "I wanted to thank you for the desk again. I am so pleased to finally have one of my own for my room."

William laughed at her dignified tone of voice. Only sixteen years of age and already sounding as if she is ready to attend parties and be courted.

"You are quite welcome," William answered, pleased that he could make his sister so happy with such a simple gesture. "Now, what has you running in here so early in the morning?"

"Mother has made a change in our plans. Since it is so beautiful outside, she has decided that we should go to the park for the morning instead of afternoon," Emily-Grace explained.

William nodded, understanding that his mother really wanted to go out earlier to get as much fresh air as she possibly could before the weather became too cold to do so. His mother had been feeling under the weather recently and the doctor told them that she should get plenty of rest and fresh air while she could. However, in order to prevent Emily-Grace from worrying, their mother always disguised these trips as a simple outings to the park.

"That sounds splendid," William agreed. "Tell Mother that I will be down shortly after I gather a few belongings."

After Emily-Grace left, William took a second to select a book of poems since Mother often requested to be read to, saying that hearing his voice always soothed her. He almost went to get his journal, but decided against it at the last minute.

After all, this is the whole point of keeping it in that drawer - so no one will be able to read what I have written, William thought.

He gathered his books, put on his glasses, and headed out the doorway, reminding himself to write later when he returned home.

~~~

William's promise to write in his journal slipped his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and he wasn't reminded until he retired for the evening. Loosening his tie slightly, William sat down in his chair and opened the drawer, taking out the journal and setting it on the top of the desk.

That sensation was still there; in fact, it was stronger than ever. As William held the journal he felt something there, something...dare he say, magical?

He opened the cover and flipped to the next blank page, the second page in the journal. However, when he expected to see nothing but a blank page, he instead saw...

"My word..."

The first page he recognized - it was his writing from last night, so of course he remembered it. However, what was written on the following page was most certainly not his.

The script was not elegant and refined such as those he knew used. The entry couldn't have been Emmy's, since her writing looked very similar to his. It was also not his mother's; the writing was loopy, unrefined, but clearly feminine.

"How on earth can this be possible?" William whispered to himself.

The writing had to be from someone else - someone who did not live in this house, yet had entered undetected while they were gone earlier that morning. That was the most logical explanation William could think of. Although, he was a bit surprised that he could form any assumptions to begin with.

But why would someone do that just to write in my journal? William asked himself. No, that scenario was out of the question as well.

But how else could he explain it?

William took a closer look at the entry and was shocked at what he read. This entry was dated September 18, 2004.

"Impossible!" William gasped. 2004? That was over 100 years in the future! Even more bizarre was the fact that it was yesterday's month and day. It was impossible that this was written 122 years in the future to the very day that William wrote his entry. Nevertheless, as William sat down and began to read what was written, he found himself second guessing his original thoughts.

William sat there, reading the entry over and over again in a state of complete disbelief.

This was impossible.

Not only was this written over 100 years in the future, but this person - William suspected a female person from the look of the handwriting - had bought the same desk, his desk that contained the journal, on the exact same day he had!

William was at a loss over what to do. A part of him wanted to ignore what he had seen - tear out the page, even throw away the journal and buy a new one, one that did not send tingles racing up and down his arm every time he touched it. A small part of him wanted to forget that he had ever read this.

However, another part - a much larger part of him - wanted to know more - he wanted to know everything about this mysterious person, about about the twenty-first century, if this was for real. And most importantly, he wanted to know why he felt such an overwhelming sensation of empathy as he read over the last thing she wrote - "Maybe this is something that could help me cope with...well..."

William turned to a fresh page and began to write. At first, he was unsure of what to say, but eventually the words began to flow from his hand with ease.

~~~

Buffy didn't arrive back at her apartment until very late that night. Even though it was the end of the weekend and they all had to be at work the following day, Willow, Xander, and Anya insisted on taking her out to the Bronze for a fun evening of dancing, music, and drinking. The four celebrated Buffy's increases in sales during the last few months at the gallery. Her popularity had increased dramatically over the last few months with her last few commissions, and Buffy now found herself constantly working on at least two major projects as well as a handful of smaller ones for her clients. Anya, especially, seemed very pleased that Buffy was so financially successful.

It was almost 2:00 in the morning when Buffy half-stumbled into her bedroom. After dropping her jacket and purse on the bed, Buffy sat down in the chair to pull off her high heels, massaging each foot for a few seconds.

"What we women do for beauty," Buffy mumbled, slurring her words slightly from the alcohol she had over the course of the evening. Although her tolerance for alcohol had definitely increased from her first fraternity party during her freshman year at UC Sunnydale - which had been a disaster!— Buffy still didn’t hold her liquor very well.

She considered taking a shower to wash off the sweat and relax, but then she decided to write a bit in her journal before calling it a night. Who knows? I bet it'll be funny to read what I wrote while being this tipsy, Buffy told herself, bending down to pick up the journal.

She opened up to the page she wrote on last night and, seeing that there was very little room at the bottom, turned to the next page, pen in hand and ready to write.

"Oh. My. God," Buffy gasped, dropping the pen to the floor.

Suddenly, she was very sober.

Staring back at her was...well, it was writing! And not hers! It was the exact same handwriting from the entry on the first page. Even more impossible - this new passage was dated September 19, 1882, the day after the first two entries.

"But...but I checked!" Buffy stuttered. "I looked through and there weren't any other entries! This is impossible!"

But Buffy was forced to realize that things weren't as impossible as she thought they were - all the signs pointed to this being very possible, indeed. As Buffy read what was written, her eyes grew bigger and the color drained from her face.

Buffy's eyes quickly darted up to the desk and the corner where the initials were engraved - W. A. S.

"Oh my god," she mumbled before going back to reading. "This can't be happening, it just can't be."

Buffy set the journal down on the desk and closed her eyes, massaging her temples with her fingertips. "This is unreal," she whispered. "I'm having a conversation, through a journal, with someone living in 1882. I am going insane."

Taking a deep breath, she read his entry over three more times. Each time she read it, the words sank in a bit more. After the third time Buffy read William's letter, it started becoming reality for her. "Maybe it's the alcohol talking here, but...I think I'm starting to believe it."

It was nearing three-o-clock in the morning, but Buffy bent down to pick up her pen from the floor and pulled off the cap. "Here's hoping I'm not going insane," Buffy told herself softly.

By the time she was finished, although still skeptical about what was going on, Buffy had written four pages front and back.

TBC...

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