Through a Glass Darkly
Season 8, Episode 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Everywhere she moved, Buffy remained aware of the mirror. It was like there was a thread running from the back of her head to its place on the wall of the library. She knew she wouldn’t like what she saw but she still wanted to look. She wanted to know what Spike and Angel had been like. Secretly she wanted to catch one of them letting some small child go, or some evidence that they had at least made their kills quick. She knew it wasn’t true, that looking would only bring her pain, but she still felt the tug of the mirror.

“Anya?” Dawn said as she put her soup down and pulled her chair in.

“Yes.”

Dawn placed her forearms on the table and cocked her head to the side. “Why are you reading Green Eggs and Ham?”

“Because I like them Sam I am.”

“Ok,” Dawn replied and turned her attention to her lunch.

“Hey kids, what’s up?” Xander asked as he strode into the kitchen.

“Anya’s being weirder than usual,” Dawn replied.

“Always raising the bar,” Xander said affectionately.

“I’m trying to catch up,” Anya explained.

“To the kindergarteners?” Dawn asked.

“To everyone. I didn’t read any of this stuff as a kid. We didn’t even have the printing press when I was a kid. I’m going to catch up- then I’ll get all your little jokes.”

“I always thought it was cute when you didn’t get our jokes,” Xander said.

“And I never thought it was cute when you were patronizing,” Anya replied. “I think I see where our relationship went wrong.”

Xander and Dawn exchanged a glance. No matter how much she grew, Anya never quite got rid of that blunt edge.

“Well I think it’s a great idea,” Xander said. “I’d love to help.”

“I still have some young adult books,” Dawn offered.

“Oh, excellent,” Anya said. “Get them.”

Buffy stood at the library table with the mirror laid out before her and the Watcher diaries on her right. The table was a mess. It looked like Willow was in the middle of an elaborate spell, probably something to help against Cemtaur. Buffy was more than a little nervous about the mirror so she paused for a minute and sorted the herbs by color. She still wasn’t ready so she made a little arrangement out of the candles, then she made another arrangement. Then she tried stacking them, but she couldn’t quite get the balance right and they kept toppling over. After ten minutes she gave up and put them back the way she had them originally.

“Ok, this is ridiculous,” she muttered. Buffy steeled herself, took a deep breath and opened the book beside her. The text had faded a bit with time so she lit a few of the candles and started to thumb through, looking for a good starting place.

She’d been surreptitiously tagging entries related to Spike and Angel for a week. Not that she was obsessed. It was work related. Vampires and all. And it wasn’t like there was a lot of action on the Cemtaur front. He’d cleared out of the cave he’d taken Dawn and Spike to and the locator spells weren’t so much locating as crispifying map after map. She knew Faith was safe. Giles had taken her to the coven to have some mystical tests done. Perfect time for a little reading… and viewing. No harm in it.

Justification firmly in place, Buffy flipped to an early entry from before Spike was turned, and read the date and the address of William’s house into the mirror. In the glass a finely dressed figure appeared. She watched as he put on his jacket and hat and stepped outside. He was so refined, his steps so even as he walked quietly down the street. And there was so much hair. But the cheek bones gave him away. She continued to gaze at him. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“Why do so many young adult novels deal with time travel?” Xander asked as he read the back of The Devil’s Arithmetic.

“It’s an easy way to teach us history?” Dawn offered as she pulled a stack of V.C. Andrews books off her shelf. “Um, on second thought, Anya’a understanding of humanity is plenty whacked out,” said, putting the books back.

Xander was still engrossed in his growing collection of time travel books. “But they’re all the same,” he said. “They always go back and change things for the worse. Don’t people catch on?” he said.

Dawn shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. It’s just human nature to want to go back and fix things.”

Xander added a copy of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court to the pile. “But you can’t. It’s pointless to want to. The past is what it is. You have to move forward,” he said, all the while thinking of how much he wished he could go back and stop Warren or warn Jessie.

“Thank you Dr. Phil,” Dawn replied. “Let’s bring these to her highness.”

When she hit the ground Buffy found herself sprawled next to a wall in a historical recreation town. People walked by in suits and dresses made from more fabric than she had in her entire wardrobe and the stench was - historical. “Very real,” she muttered, trying not to breath through her nose.

She looked around and tried to orientate herself. She remembered being in the library, then- nothing. “Um, hey, is this a museum?” she called out to the passersby. “Like one of those ‘make learning fun’ things? Please?” she said and glanced up at a very real looking sky. No one stopped to answer her question. A few glanced her way and muttered something about degeneracy, but no one bothered to help her off the ground.

“Buffy do you think dad kept any of our Baby Sitters Club books?” Dawn called as she poked her head into the library. “Huh,” she said, looking around the empty room. “Are you stuck in the annex again?” she asked and walked back into the stacks and threw the door open. Nothing. Odd, Buffy was supposed to be studying the lives of past slayers or something.

Other people would have hoped for the best. Maybe she got hungry. Maybe she was in the bathroom. But Dawn knew better. There was something off about the room. Something had happened. Something not good. Dawn turned around and surveyed the library the way Buffy and CSI had taught her. Strange demony smells? No. Signs of a struggle? Just a mess on the table. Dawn walked over to inspect further. “Newt eye, red candles, lavender...”

She sunk into her chair as she recognized the ingredients for the ‘My will be done’ spell. “Willow!”

“Giles!” Buffy called as she walked through the street. “Anybody here named Giles?” No one responded, unless annoyed stares counted as responses and Buffy didn’t think that they should. She gave up on the street, ducked into a shop and walked up to the counter.

“I need a phone book,” she announced.

The clerk looked at her blank eyed.

“Phones have been invented, right?”

“You, um, what exactly?” the man stuttered more than said.

“Right. So, know anyone named Giles or, hey, I’ll take Windham-Price?”

“Well, no, not-“ the man said, looking around the shop for help.

“You know at this point I’ll take a Travers.”

The man looked back at her. “We sell hats.”

“Ok. Ever had a run in with a guy named Angelus?”

“A ‘run in’? I should think not,” the man replied, slightly indignant.

“Of course not, you’d be dead,” Buffy said. “Crap. What the hell is Spike’s last name?”

“Spike?”

Buffy searched her memory but nothing came up. She was totally alone.

Willow looked down at the spell and the mirror and immediately put two and two together and got, “Holy Fuck.”

The rest of the group exchanged a nervous glance. If Willow was swearing, things were bad.

“What is it?” Xander asked.

“She’s transported herself back in time.”

“What? Why?” Dawn exclaimed.

“I don’t know. I mean, she probably didn’t even know what she was doing. And I have no idea how she managed the spell without the incantation. I guess in theory the incantation was always superfluous? I mean- I can’t imagine that she did it on purpose. God, I never should have left this stuff out,” Willow babbled.

“Ok, pity party and theoretical magic later. How do we get her back?” Spike said.

Willow looked around helplessly. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Smash the mirror?” Spike asked and held his fist out over it.

“No, no,” Willow exclaimed. “The mirror is the portal. Without the mirror she’s trapped.”

Spike moved his fist away. “See, now we’ve got a starting point. Don’t smash the mirror.”

“What if Buffy just wills herself back? She could do that right?” Dawn said.

Willow shook her head. “The spell ingredients exist in another place and time from her. It’s never been tested, but I doubt the spell still holds.”

“Ok,” Xander said. “You do the spell, go back, get her, do the spell again and will yourself back.”

“But I’d need the mirror to do the spell on the other side and I can’t take the mirror through the mirror.”

“So we need another spell,” Dawn said. “Which spell book do we try first?”

“There are no time travel spells,” Willow said, then added sheepishly. “I’ve looked.”

“So we need to write a new spell,” Spike said.

“Right,” Willow replied. “No problem. Cause this is definitely something we can afford to do several trial versions of.”

Spike nodded. “Well I guess you’ll just have to get it right the first time.”

Buffy had spent five hours searching the town for a place to sleep. There were a few places that offered to take her in but she got the feeling she’d be “working” for her keep, so she continued to wander till she found a stable and made herself a bed.

“I wish I’d worn a jacket,” Buffy thought as she wrapped her arms around herself and stabbed her cheek on her pillow of hay. “I want my Willow.”

There had been a revolving door of slayers over the past fourteen hours, but the core group stayed the same. Xander was coordinating the slayers, sending them for info and any special ingredients Willow requested. Anya was contacting every demon she knew who had any knowledge of time travel. Fred was working on a highly theoretical and impossible to build time machine. Willow sat in the middle of a pile of crumpled up paper, furiously scribbling combinations of herbs and words and Dawn was curled up on the stairs, reading a treatise on the impossibility of time travel. Spike sat on the other side of the room, watching her more than reading his own book. When he caught a slight quiver in her lip he tossed his book aside and went to sit beside her.

“Come on, not like she’s in any danger,” he said. “The food’s terrible and the smell… Doesn’t bear thinking on. But she’s seen worse.”

“I’m not afraid of her dying,” Dawn protested.

“Course not,” Spike said.

“I’m afraid-“ Dawn began. “I just wonder if she’s lonely. She doesn’t have anyone there. And-”

“And what?” Spike said. “She can take a little loneliness.”

“And Angel’s there with Darla and Drusilla and you and she can’t do anything or risk creating some bizarre paradox,” Dawn said getting more and more agitated. “All she can do is run and hide and-“

“Hey, hey,” Spike said. “Not gonna come to that. We’ll get her back in no time.” He hoped his words were comforting her, cause they sure as hell weren’t comforting him. He hadn’t thought about Angel and the ways he’d be able to torment a slayer who couldn’t fight back.

“Excuse me,” Buffy yelled from her perch on the fountain. “Hey, everyone. I want to tell you about a secret society called the Watchers,” she said, trying to make it sound salacious. “Tomorrow I’ll be here to reveal all of their secrets.” No one seemed to be listening. “I know stuff. Stuff about skeezy old men and impressionable young girls. Tune in.”

After a restless night’s sleep in her favorite barn, Buffy walked stiffly back toward the square to deliver her Watcher expose. All the way she chose the darkest alleys and most empty streets. She was beginning to think her brilliant plan had been a complete bust when a group of well dressed men stepped out of the shadows in front of her. She knew without looking that there were two more behind her with weapons pointed at her back.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

The man in the center took a step closer. “We understand you’ve been making certain allegations.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I needed to get your attention. I need help. What’s your name?”

“Edmund,” he answered, concern showing on his face. “Are you in some sort of danger?”

Buffy thought for a moment. “Well, not really. But I might start lashing out violently if I don’t get a bath soon.”

“Are you threatening me?” Edmund asked and she heard the men behind her tighten their grips on a crossbow and - a staff? Yeah, a staff, she was pretty sure.

“Joke,” Buffy said and put her hands up. “I just want some help getting home.”

Edmund looked around at his compatriots. He knew they wouldn’t approve of his desire to help this wayward girl, but he wasn’t head of the Watcher’s council for nothing.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll do what we can, but you have to answer one question.”

“Why do I talk so funny?” Buffy asked.

“Well, I was rather curious about that as well.”

“Why am I dressed like a trollop?”

“I don’t really think that’s any of my business,” Edmund replied, visibly flustered.

“How do I know about you?”

“Yes, yes that’s the one.”

“Well, they’re all the same answer. I’m the slayer.”

The men looked at each other. Some scoffed, others laughed. Edmund grew grave.

“How do you know about the slayer?”

“I Am The Slayer,” Buffy repeated slowly.

“The slayer is in India, unless…” Edmund said, turning to look at the other watchers. Had something happened to her?

“No, she’s fine,” Buffy said, reading the concern on their faces. “As least I think. I’m the slayer in the future. 1997 on.”

“The future.”

“Right.”

“She’s mad,” whispered one of the watchers.

“It’s not like I can’t prove it. Watch,” Buffy said. She spun around, disarmed both men in a blink, turned back around and hoisted the crossbow to take aim. “Graze the wall, through the laundry line, nothing but drainpipe.” She checked the angle and tension in the string and let the arrow fly. The Watchers turned to follow the arrow as it ricocheted down the alley just as she’d said.

When the arrow rattled through and spat out the drain pipe she said, “You gonna help me or not?”

The Watchers turned slowly to face her, fear growing on their faces.

“I suppose we have to,” Edmund replied. “It’s our job to help the slayer.”

Buffy just barely stopped herself from laughing. “Uhuh. Betcha say that to all the girls.”

“Ok,” Willow said. “Everyone, let’s get some rest. We’ll-”

“We’re not giving up, we’re not leaving her there,” Spike said.

“Of course not,” Willow replied. “But we need to sleep.”

“No sleep till she’s back,” Spike said.

“Spike.”

“No.”

“Yes. We are tired, everyone is tired. She’s in no immediate danger-“

“That we know of,” Spike clarified.

“Running everyone into exhaustion helps no one. I’ve decided.”

“Oh, you’ve decided. Who put you in charge?”

“Buffy did. I’m her big gun. I’m her right hand. In the absence of Buffy and Faith, it’s me.”

“What about the council?”

Willow surveyed the tired faces of Xander, Dawn, Fred, Anya, Rona and Caridad and said, “Well, not everyone’s here, but I think we can have an informal vote. Everyone for sleep.”

They all cast wary glances at Spike and raised their hands.

“See?” Willow said.

Spike nodded, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the office. “I seem to recall the last time you were in charge,” he hissed. “Were you Buffy’s big gun when you were ripping her out of heaven?”

“Would you have me undo it?” Willow replied. “I did what needed to be done. Buffy understood that.”

“Buffy wanted to die. She was alone and miserable, just like now.”

“She’s Buffy, she’s not scared. And Willow’s in charge,” Dawn said from the doorway.

Spike looked at her, then back at Willow. “Fine,” he said, “Leader may I go back in time?”

“What? That’s not even an option,” Willow replied.

“We need to let her know we’re working on it, she needs someone who knows the place.”

“She’s still the slayer.”

“And I still love her,” Spike said before he could stop himself.

Willow eyed him for a moment. “We all love her.”

“Then let me help her.”

“I get that you want to help, ok, but if anyone goes back, it can’t be you, you existed in 1890, who knows what could happen. We could destroy the very fabric of the universe.”

“In theory.”

“Well, yes, but it’s not a risk-“

“Fred!” Spike called and walked back to the main room.

“Yeah?” Fred said wearily.

“If I go back in time will the world blow up?”

“That depends,” Fred answered. “How much dynamite are you taking with you?”

“None.”

“Then it should be fine, as long as you don’t run into yourself.”

“What happens if he runs into himself?” Willow asked.

“Well, it’s all very theoretical, but the paradox of your earlier self becoming aware of your later self could set off a chain of reactions that could destabilize the fabric of time. Metaphorically of course, time isn’t actually a fabric,” she clarified. “Not like cotton.”

“Uhuh, see, perfectly safe,” Spike said.

“Perfectly safe?! That’s what you took away from that?! No way. Go, get to sleep, all of you. We’re back here at eight.”

Cruciamentum

Cruciamentum

Cruciamentum

Buffy couldn’t keep the word from running through her mind. She must have heard it whispered twenty times since arriving at the Watcher’s council headquarters. It had taken her a minute to figure out why. She was well over eighteen. They couldn’t expect her to go through it twice. Then she realized, it wasn’t the test they whispered about, it was the drug. On the surface they were all, “Really? How interesting.” and “Well of course it’s our duty to help.” But below that, as always, was the desire for control.

A slayer who didn’t care what they thought, who used that awesome power as she saw fit, she was their worst fear made flesh.

“It must be hard – life of the slayer. All those people to protect. All those expectations,” Edmund said as he walked into the drawing room and set the tea tray in front of her.

Buffy shrugged. “You protect them – they protect you.”

“Against vampires?” Edmund scoffed.

“Against the dark,” Buffy replied.

Edmund didn’t know how to respond so he switched topics. “So you say you don’t have a Watcher?” he said as he handed her a cup of tea that she wasn’t nearly stupid enough to drink.

“Well, we still hang, but he doesn’t act as my Watcher.”

“But how do you know where to go? What to fight?”

“I pretty much just follow the screams,” Buffy replied.

“And the rest if the council. Surely they must object to this arrangement.”

Buffy pictured Faith and the rest of the girls. “They actually like the arrangement.”

“Amazing. What else has changed?”

“Um, you know, it occurs to me I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff.”

“What stuff? Why?”

“I just don’t want to alter things, you know. It’s a whole ‘making it so my mother was never born’ can of worms that I just don’t want to open.”

Edmund had no idea what she was saying so he nodded and changed topics again. “Well, while you’re here perhaps you could get some slaying in.”

Buffy nodded. Was he listening at all? “Or, I could try to not change things at all and just concentrate on getting home.”

“But slaying can only change things for the better. Think of all the lives you could save if you killed-“

Buffy knew what he was going to say before he spoke.

“-Angelus.”

She smiled weakly and said, “I can’t.”

“It’s your duty.”

“No my duty is in the 21^{st century. Angelus is your problem.”}

“If he’s not your responsibility, clearly he doesn’t exist in your time; therefore someone must kill this monster before now and your time. Might as well be you,” Edmund said, rather pleased with his logic.

“Ok, see, I don’t think you’re getting the problem here. I can’t do anything. See, ok,” Buffy said, gathering her thoughts. “Ok, there’s this guy, Marty McFly…”

“She absolutely refuses?”

Edmund turned up his hands. “She kept going on about a Delorain.”

“Can she be mad?” another watcher asked.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Edmund replied.

“She is a rather old to be a slayer,” one added.

“Is she dangerous?”

Edmund looked up at the ceiling as if he could see through it into Buffy’s room. “I don’t know.”

Upstairs Buffy had barricaded her door and curled up on the bed. It was much softer than the hay she had slept in the night before but she missed the relative safety of the barn. Still, she was exhausted and despite her fear she drifted into a fitful sleep.

An hour later Buffy awoke to the sounds of steps creaking under several pairs of feet. She sat up and looked at the door, but the sound was coming from behind her.

“Crap,” she whispered. “Damn old houses and their servant’s passages.” She hadn’t even thought to look for another door, much less barricade it. She quickly got out of bed, pulled on her clothes, and ran to the window. She had just slid out of sight when Edmund and a bunch of the watchers burst into the room and began shooting at the bed.

Buffy cowered at the wall and winced at the sound of arrows piercing the bed she’d just laid in.

It didn’t take them long to realize she wasn’t there and take off down the stairs.

Buffy stayed on the roof, back pressed against the wall, for an hour after they’d gone.

“Bastards. Those fucking…”she muttered over and over again. “Couldn’t just drug me? Fucking Bastards.”

She’d thought that the council’s attempts on Faith’s life were an extreme measure used only when they felt the slayer was a danger to others. But Buffy wasn’t a threat, just a little odd. The power of their fear unnerved her. How many slayers had met their end not at the hand of some demon, but the council?

Spike went back to the Summers’ apartment with Dawn and made a show of falling asleep on the couch, but as soon as he heard Dawn’s breathing even out he found himself walking toward Buffy’s room.

It had been a long time since he’d spent any time in her room. The last time he was tied to a chair. It seemed like a violation, being there without her permission, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her smell. Suddenly, he was transported back to the summer of her death. How many nights had he snuck into her room or fallen asleep in the hallway outside Dawn’s door? But this wasn’t like that summer. It was like the battle before her death. They could still save her. There was still time to get her back before she sustained the millionth trauma of her young life.

Spike sensed her before he opened the door to the library.

“Willow,” he said as he entered. “So, what happened to needing rest?”

Willow looked up, blurry eyed. “They need sleep, I’m fine.”

“Well, so am I,” Spike replied. “Where are we?”

Willow took a deep breath and surveyed the books. “No place good.”

“But we’re not ready to give up. Right?”

The slightly desperate edge to his voice threw Willow for a moment. “No, I’ve got it, I just-“

“You’ve got it? What ‘it’?” Spike said. “Why didn’t you wake us?”

“It’s just the spell part. But I do think I deserve props for being the first witch in recorded history to write a spell that can transport people through time.”

“Yeah, good job,” Spike said tersely. “You’re very smart. What’s the catch?”

“There are two parts to the spell. Someone on the other end has to do the second part. The object of the spell has to-”

Spike clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Great. I’ll go tell Buffy about the other part.”

“Spike-“

“Who else knows nineteenth century London like he lived there?”

“Just you,” Willow said wearily.

“Who else has super strength and is therefore unlikely to get killed by Angel or Dru before he can deliver the message?”

“Who else can tear the fabric of time if he isn’t careful?”

“Me, not careful? Willow I’m hurt.”

“This is serious.”

“I know,” Spike replied, suddenly solemn. “This is Buffy’s life and I’m not going to let her down, alright?”

Willow eyed him for a minute, then started lighting the candles.

The trip was a little disorientating and it had been a good long while since he’d traipses around 1890’s London, still it didn’t take long to find Buffy. She was crouched next to a mausoleum in the third cemetery he tried. She looked up when she heard him approach. Her eyes were red and swollen, a sight that never failed to break his heart.

She didn’t throw her arms around him. She didn’t jump up and down and grin like a crack fiend at Christmas. Truth be told, he was a little disappointed at her quiet recognition and the calm way she stood up and walked toward him – until he felt her arms around his shoulders and her body pressed against his.

Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relieved. She sank against him and let her skin drink in the feel of him. She didn’t know if he had a way of getting them out and she didn’t care. It was enough that she wasn’t alone. After a long while she pulled back to look at him “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Well, I thought, ‘She’s scared and alone. Where would she go for comfort?’ and shopping malls haven’t been invented so - cemeteries.”

“You’re very smart. Can we go home now?”

“In a bit. We’ve got this whole rendezvous place and time worked out. Very Mission Impossible. You ok?”

Buffy shook her head, no.

“I know it’s not the most fun era ever and you must be dying without your hair dryer – but you’ve fared worse,” he said. “Angelus didn’t-“

“No. I haven’t seen him. I’m just tired,” she said quietly. “There’s no place to sleep.”

“I know a place.”

The house was empty. William and his mother were visiting a sick aunt. As far as Spike could remember they’d be back in two days. In three he’d be born.

Buffy almost laughed when she saw the room. “Is this your mother’s room?”

“No.”

“You’ve got a sister?” she said, looking around at the frills and lace.

“They were different times.”

“Clearly.”

“It’s a very manly room.”

“Yes. The doilies just scream testosterone.”

“Well I didn’t decorate the place, mum did.”

Buffy eyed him.

“I may have made some of the decisions.”

“I like it.”

“Really?”

“No way in hell I’m redecorating my apartment like this, but it’s not filled with hay or people trying to kill me so-“

“Well, you sleep here; I’ll be in the guest room.”

“Why don’t you sleep in your bed and I’ll sleep in the guest room?”

Spike’s face clouded over.

“Memories?”

“Misty blood-colored memories,” he replied.

Buffy waited for Spike’s foot steps to disappear down the hall and began looking around the room. Not snooping. Certainly not snooping - investigating.

She was gathering information about the transformation from man to monster. It was research, it was her duty. It only took a few minutes to find his diary.

She held it in her hands, weighing it. She wanted to know. She wanted to find out that he spent his free time working at an orphanage, but then there was the whole ‘gross violation of privacy’ thing. So she put it back and contented herself with rifling through his closet.

Down the hall Spike tried to sleep. He told himself it was just a place, and it was - then. But within days it would become a slaughter house and in a month it would be so infamous the city would send a team to demolish it and he and Dru would meet up with Angel and Darla and they would start the most talked about killing spree in history.

By the end of the year they would be legends. And it all started in a quiet house on Church Street.

Buffy woke to the sound of horses outside. It took her a while to place it, having only heard it in movies. Spike was considerably quicker on the uptake.

“Up, we’ve got to go,” he said as he burst into the room.

“What?” Buffy said sleepily. The bed was so soft and warm and it smelled like Spike did underneath the alcohol and smoke.

“They’re here.”

“Who’s here? Oh, is Willow here? I miss Willow. She does spells.”

“Yes that she does,” Spike said as he gathered Buffy’s shoes and pants. He looked down at the clothes in his hands and over at Buffy.

“You’re naked under there.”

Buffy shrugged. “My clothes are gross.”

“Right,” Spike said, trying not to dwell on the wonder of a naked girl in William’s bed.

“So – here,” he said and walked over to his closet to pull out the oldest clothes he had. “These might fit you,” he said as he turned around and saw the sheet slide off Buffy’s naked back as she pushed off the bed and stood up. He knew a good man, a gentleman, would turn away. But soul or no soul, he just wasn’t that good.

“Could you turn around?” Buffy said over her shoulder.

“Right,” Spike replied and spun around to face the closet. He held the clothes out behind him and listened to her footsteps as she padded closer.

For the first time in his life he regretted vampire hearing. The sound of the shirt being pulled over her skin, her fingers fumbling to button the pants, it was deafening.

“Ok, decent,” Buffy announced. “Who’s here?”

“Me and my mother.”

“Freaky.”

“Yeah, let’s go so we don’t meet up and combust the universe.”

“What?” Buffy yelled, suddenly very much awake. “That’s a possibility?!”

“Fred says it’s unlikely.”

“Unlikely! Fred says?! Have you met Fred? I don’t think she could set the clock on a VCR.”

“She’s a physicist.”

“Who never finished her degree. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Someone had to tell you about the spell.”

“So send one of the girls.”

It was an obvious solution, and a much better one. Spike didn’t have a reply so he looked down and mumbled, “I was worried about you.”

Buffy looked up at the ceiling. This was exactly the problem with Spike. The obsessive love was flattering but he couldn’t keep putting her ahead of everything including himself and the world.

“I would have been fine,” Buffy said. “I’m the slayer.”

“Listen, we can argue later. Out the window.”

Buffy and Spike crouched outside the first floor window and watched William and his mother return.

“Your hair,” Buffy whispered.

“Not mine – his. His hair. His room.”

“Well, kinda.”

“Can we go?”

Buffy didn’t want to go. There was something so appealing about a completely innocent Spike. The sight of Spike helping his mother into a chair – it was mesmerizing. Beside her Spike was itching to go for the same reasons. William was so innocent, an untainted, loved, stupid hair having, innocent, dolt.

“We have to go. Spike and William meet – world go boom, right?”

“Fine, where are we going?” Buffy asked.

“To a party,” Spike replied.

“You’re beneath me.”

“Bitch,” Buffy whispered. “He’s so far above your worthless ass that he’s in another … stratosphere or something.”

Buffy glared at Cecily as she walked haughtily by, then turned her attention back to William’s desolate face. William and Spike couldn’t meet, but Buffy and William could, right?

“Don’t even think it pet.”

“Think what?”

“Think of comforting him.”

“But he looks so sad.”

“Nothing you can do about that.”

“I could compliment his poetry.”

“Look at the way you’re dressed. He’ll take you for a madwoman at best, a pauper at worst,” Spike said. It had seemed like such a good idea. Hang out at the house while they prepared for the party, nick some free food, keep warm. He hadn’t planned on staying long enough for Buffy to see his humiliation.

“Fine,” Buffy replied. “Now what? It’s still hours till spell time.”

“We take in a show?”

“Boring.”

Another woman passed by, a serving girl, and went to stand next to William. It was too presumptuous of her to sit next to him so she stood and pretended to arrange the flowers.

“Let’s go,” Spike said suddenly.

“Why? It’s cold outside,” Buffy replied.

“I don’t – I’m-,” Spike said haltingly and walked away. Buffy thought about following him but decided to continue to watch instead.

“I like your poetry,” the girl whispered. William recoiled and stared at her like she’d just announced she had lice.

“I’ve seen you around, you probably never noticed me. I just wanted you to know your words are real beautiful,” she continued, unaware of his revulsion. “Maybe – we could talk sometime,” she offered hesitantly.

“I-I think not,” William replied.

It was only then that she turned to look at him and saw the distain in his eyes. She flushed crimson and hurried away.

Buffy watched William look around anxiously to see if anyone had witnessed his embarrassment, then turned away.

She caught up with Spike on the sidewalk outside.

“It was different times,” he said as she came up to stand next to him.

“I know,” Buffy replied. “Let’s go, ok? This has kinda stopped being fun.”

“No, there’s one more thing I need to see,” Spike said and turned to watch William run out of the house.

Buffy and Spike stood behind a pile of crates outside the alley and waited. It was close, in just a few minutes William would die and Spike would be born.

Spike looked down, obviously turning some idea over in his mind. Buffy peered at him. “Why are we here?” she whispered.

Spike knew what she’d say but he had to tell her. “I want to save him.”

“From what?” Buffy asked, and as she asked, she knew.

Spike turned to look at her. “Think of all the people-“

“No, but, but Fred said you can’t meet. Fred’s a physicist,” Buffy said triumphantly.

“But I can kill Dru.”

“No,” Buffy said, searching for a counter argument. “The people you saved-the world-in the hell mouth. That’s-“

“You’d have come up with something.”

“No, no,” Buffy said. “You can’t do this. It’s insane. You can’t change the past. It never ends well.”

“They did it on Quantum Leap all the time.”

“That was a T.V. show.”

“And you have a counter example from real life?”

Buffy looked down. “No.”

“Buffy, I’m doing this. I have to.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say. Short of knocking him unconscious, she didn’t have a lot of options. She decided to pull out her trump card. “What about me? All last year – what would I have done without you?” Buffy said, hating the desperation edging her voice.

“No,” Spike said, surprising even himself. “The world would be better if I’d never been born. I’m being given a second chance, don’t you see? I can make it all right,” he said, grasping her hand in his. “Please, let me do this.”

“You don’t know what you could be affecting,” Buffy said.

“And you don’t know the world wouldn’t be better off. Look, this is my decision. It’s my life, right?”

Tears pooled in Buffy’s eyes as she nodded.

Spike nodded too and turned away.

“Wait,” Buffy called.

“I raped them, do you understand that?” Spike shot back.

Buffy steeled herself and nodded. “I understand but I have to tell you – You’ll disappear and I have to tell you – You weren’t just a monster and you weren’t just a stuck up priss. You were the man who killed that monster and-. That’s how I’ll remember you,” she said, then laughed sadly. “’Cept I won’t will I? I won’t even remember you.”

Spike’s face softened and he took a step toward her but she backed away. “No. I-I have to go now. Goodbye,” she said and turned to run out of the alley.

“This is gonna work, right?” Dawn said.

“Well,” Willow replied, then looked at Dawn’s anxious face. “Yes, definitely. Just have to be patient.”

“I wonder how many people have been stuck back in time cause they did the will spell and had this mirror,” Fred mused.

Willow shrugged. “Maybe none.”

“It would explain DaVinci,” Fred said. “Being all ahead of his time, you know. Maybe Buffy’s pushing technology forward as we speak.”

“I doubt that,” Willow said. “I don’t think she could draw a working diagram of an airplane.”

“I guess you’re right. Not like we’d notice anyway. It would just be like airplanes had been invented in 1890. We wouldn’t even question it.”

Buffy still couldn’t get over how cold London was. Cold and smelly. And dark. She concentrated on the cold, opened her coat to let it seep into her skin and cataloged the various odors, all in a desperate effort to keep her mind off Spike. A feat that would have been easier if he hadn’t been walking toward her at that moment.

“What?” was all Buffy managed to say.

Spike shrugged and looked down at his feet.

“Couldn’t do it?” she said.

Spike shrugged again. “And deprive the world of these gorgeous cheek bones?”

Buffy smiled in response. “And those eyes, be a crime to rid the world of those eyes,” she said. “Seriously, why didn’t you do it?”

Spike shrugged yet again and shuffled his feet. “You know – paradoxes – ripping apart the fabric of reality – all that rot.”

“Uhuh.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“I didn’t do it for you if that’s what her supremely self involvedness is thinking.”

“I don’t think you did it for me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why?”

“Because,” Spike muttered. “I’m not just a monster. I’m a – you know.”

Buffy smiled. “Yeah.”

Spike smiled shyly back at her, then wiped the sappy look off his face and replaced it with serious and determined look number twelve. “Uh, right. We should do our bit of the spell.”

A flash of light filled the room, blinding everyone. When the light dissipated and their vision cleared they found Buffy and Spike sitting on the floor. Dawn reached them first, but Xander was right on her heels and it soon became a dog heap with Buffy thoroughly squished at the bottom. Dawn was hugging her so hard she was sure it would leave a mark. Xander’s knee was jabbing into her thigh, and Anya stabbed her in the eye as she reached out to hug her. Still, Buffy couldn’t have been happier.

Later in the library Buffy carefully wrapped up the mirror and put it in a box.

“Hey,” Willow said from the doorway.

“Hey,” Buffy replied.

“You sure we want to keep that around?”

Buffy shrugged. “Might come in handy.”

“Or whisk us all away to medieval times.”

“Oh, and can we wear pretty dresses and pet the horsies?” Buffy said excitedly.

“Yes and contract tuberculosis and cough blood till we die,” Willow replied, mocking her tone.

“So let’s lock up the mirror,” Buffy said.

“Let’s.”

Buffy carefully put the box in the cabinet in Giles’ office and walked back to the main room.

“Thanks,” she said.

“For what?” Willow asked.

“For bringing me back.”

Willow shrugged and looked away. “Hey, it’s what I do – even when you don’t want me to.”

“I’m saying for both times – thanks.”

“For the misery?”

“And the joy and the all of it. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

“Not even heaven?” Willow said in mock awe. “You must really like us.”

“Well that and I missed my outfits.”

“Ah, the truth comes out.”

They started to walk toward the door, but Willow stopped and turned to Buffy. “I know it’s none of my business and the reasons against are numerous and good, but-”

“You think I should ask him out.”

“I – All I’m saying is – he really loves you and it’s a second chance for both of you. It’s a gift.”

Buffy couldn’t help but think about Tara. How overjoyed would Willow have been to have this chance?

“So are you,” Buffy said and reached out to hug her. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Willow hugged her back and said, “You’re just trying to change the subject – but I’ll allow it because I like this new topic. What else do you like about me?”