Chapter Four

"Breathe, Slayer! Breathe!"

He was right. She did feel like she wanted to throw up. She tried to close her eyes, but that just made it worse. She reached out, trying to take hold of something for leverage—something to hold on to. A shoulder fell under her grip and she inhaled slowly, counting, and then exhaled. This process was repeated several times until her vision righted itself and her body quit feeling like it'd been wound through a blender at the speed of light.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth?" said a voice in a light though strong English accent. "Ah... Or perhaps you would prefer Miss Summers?"

"Buffy," she mumbled as she blinked her eyes open again and looked up, straightening herself. Her eyes locked with green ones… and a very young looking Giles? Hazel depths narrowed. "Giles?"

"This is Christopher, Buffy," Whistler said next to her. "Come on, let's sit you down. Just drop the bag."

She didn't argue and dropped it where she stood, opting to let the PTB rep lead her to a small table in the center the room—which appeared a very mint green. Was that wallpaper? She sighed as she sat down and rubbed her temples, leaning forward on the table with her elbows pressed there.

"You ok?" Whistler asked.

"Fine, yes. Just getting my bearings back."

"Care if I light up in here, Kit?"

"Go on ahead."

She could smell cigar smoke filling the air not long after. As the pain left her head she looked across the table at the Watcher. "He looks like Giles…" she said aloud. It was uncanny. But this Giles was younger. The age lines weren't quite in his face. And his hair was long… tied back.

"That would be because he's related to your Watcher."

"How?"

"Can't tell you. Breaks the timeline rules… or something."

She narrowed her eyes on him, almost glaring. He had to be full of shit; the runt reeked of it. But, there was no point in calling him out on it, not in front of Christopher. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Victorian man. "How old are you?"

"Four and twenty."

"Twenty-four," Whistler provided.

Weird. "Well… this is going to be… different. What do I call you? Christopher?"

"Kit." He smiled at her.

No beard. Didn't most Victorian men have beards? Did Spike? Or rather, William. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. "So, what do I need to do?" This was half directed at Whistler and half at Kit.

"Are you still feeling off? I was waiting for that," Whistler provided.

She shook her head. "I'm alright now. Just took a minute. I don't think my body liked that very much."

He snorted. "Be glad you're not just a regular human being. Trip woulda killed you."

She didn't respond to that. There were so many negative ways to.

He took a seat adjacent to her and Kit. There was a little ashtray on the center on the table where he flicked some of his ash off the cigar. "So, here's the rundown. Kit here is connected to the council in this time. But, he's not letting them know about you. They're fairly wrapped up in the current Slayer anyway. So, it doesn't matter. And since you're not going to be running around killing vamps or demons… it doesn't really matter."

Buffy looked over at him. "Why would you agree to that?"

"He owes me a favor," Whistler responded on his behalf. "At any rate, kid, here's the deal. You're going to pose as his niece from America. Your parents agreed to have him put you out in society to find you a husband. Obviously, it's just a cover story. Your real goal is to figure out this Spike situation and how to get William separated from Spike."

"First off," she drawled, looking at Kit. "No offense to you or your… era. But, I'm not dressing up like some hoity toity society lady. Can't move around in those skirts. Did it once, won't do it again. Now, hear me out," she went on as Whistler started to interrupt her; she was looking at him, "How do you expect me to get close to him if I'm a girl looking for a husband? For one. And for two, I may not be a genius when it comes to history, but I've read romance novels—historical ones. There are so many rules I don't know that are involved with my sex. So many. I'd blow my cover and piss someone off in five minutes. No one would let me step five feet into their house. I know that much."

Whistler sighed.

Kit frowned. "She has a point."

He looked at her. "What are you suggesting then? Outfit you like a Victorian gentleman?"

"I could go more places that way. Men aren't restricted like women. And it would be a good cover for my strength. Regardless of how my voice sounds, once I demonstrated my prowess no one would question my gender."

"Ah… man." He rubbed his chin before taking a puff off his cigar.

"You want me to get this done quickly? Let me do it my way."

"The rules are far less for men," Kit offered.

"We'd probably have to cut your hair."

She really didn't like the sound of that. "Couldn't I tie it back?"

"You could. But… it's so uncommon for men to have long hair around this time anyway. You'd stand out too much. Kit's odd, but he's not a woman parading as a man either."

"Thank you so much," the Brit bit off.

"Fine, I'll get the hair cut. Hair grows back."

"We'll have to call someone over you trust to fit her out in a wardrobe. And something to bind her breasts comfortably," Whistler said to Kit. "You got anyone you trust with that?"

He smirked. "Who would I be if I didn't?"

"Good. Then you can explain the rest of the details to her. I need to take a leak, old man." Without much else he sauntered off to the door on the far end of the room and left for a while.

Buffy glared at him. She didn't hate Whistler, but he just had this bad habit of being so damned annoying.

"While you're in the house you can be yourself."

"Oh?" she said as she looked over at him.

He nodded. "Just do me a favor and try not to kill anyone."

She blinked at him.

He smiled. "Some of those in my employ are… well, demons. Peaceful, hardworking, but I don't want you surprised."

Her brows rose. "And the council doesn't see anything wrong with that?" God, they were always so up on their horse at her; at least they had been.

"We all have our secrets, dear. But, demons live longer. And, believe it or not, the good ones are far more loyal than your average human being. I give them sanctuary and they keep my life private."

"Not arguing with your methods; just curious. Thanks for the heads up." She waved a hand.

"Now, if we have anyone drop by I'll let you know."

"And if it's unexpected?"

He shrugged. "Then I'd say keep the guise on. But as far as my staff goes? You're fine being honest."

She nodded just as Whistler was coming in. "So, when do I get to see dear William?"

"Tonight," Kit answered her instead.

She blinked. "Don't I need more time than that?"

He shook his head. "I'll be with you. And I plan on giving you everything you need to know before then. Plus, you're an American. They'll forgive a lot of what you do wrong."

"Very true. Well, are you guys squared away?"

"I suppose," Buffy said.

"Then I'll see you later."

"Wait… will you know when to come back and take us home?"

"As you say: Duh." He winked and then flashed out of sight.

Somehow… she had a feeling this was going to be harder that it had been when she first became the Slayer.

#

"That should fit you until my tailor can come in tomorrow and do some proper measurements for your own wardrobe."

Buffy hastily caught the jacket that was thrown at her. She looked down at it for a brief moment—seeing tails—before he tossed more at her. Something that looked like a tie, but not. Socks were next and then pants.

He gave a glance at her after he shut his closet and then drawers. His eyes narrowed. "I'll have to get my valet to cut your hair. He's got some experience with it. Of course, we'll also have to get you something akin to a valet soon." He frowned. "I don't think you want a man dressing you."

She gave him a look. "I can dress myself."

He smirked. "But I doubt you can tie a cravat."

"A what?"

He indicated to his neck the tie that was wrapped around. "You'll need some type of valet to do that, my dear."

She sighed and sat down on the little bench at the end of his bed. "Why does dressing have to be made so complicated?"

He shrugged, assuming that was a question that didn't need much of an answer. "Well, be glad you aren't dressing as a woman. It would take at least an hour to dress you, and then another hour perhaps to do your hair—if one considers complications.

"That was a brilliant suggestion on your part, my dear."

"Thanks, I guess." She was looked up at him. "Are you sure there's nothing I need to really know for tonight?"

"Not much. Just don't dance with anyone until we can get you some proper lessons. But, generally speaking? Men ask woman. So, you've nothing to worry about there. And I'll be with you the whole time."

"What about eating? Don't you people have a fork for everything?"

"This isn't a dinner party, so no. But, we will get into that before we accept any dinner invitations."

"Good to know…" It seemed they wanted to throw her into this really quickly.

"There are a few things to know however…" he started as he looked down at her, hands on his hips. "For one, I should think it's obvious that you must refrain from foul language. Keep things delicate. Even mentioning body parts is considered indecent. It's best to follow the flow of the crowd. And try not to use words from your time period. But, if you do slip up… Might as well just say it was an inside expression from where you grew up."

"Got it." She nodded. "Anything else?"

"We've got a few hours before we have to go. I'll have a bath drawn for you in your room. Then my valet will take care of your hair."

"Sounds good." She stood up and followed him out and down the long hall with her pile of clothes. As she watched him, black material of his jacket stretching over his back, she realized his height and build wasn't too different from her own… hopefully the clothes would work.

"Here we are," he said as he opened a door and stepped aside for her to go in. "It overlooks the garden with a balcony. Not very large… but."

"No, it's perfect," she said, trying to be nice. He was doing a lot for her. She had to wonder what kind of favor he owed Whistler. Well, maybe not for her per say, but for Spike. For the world, if Whistler had it right.

The walls were creams with some faint design and the floors bare wood with several rugs. The bed was a double and covered in some sort of white lace cotton coverings. Four posters and all stained darkly. His home was a little uncongested from what she expected of traditional Victorian. Well, at least what she'd seen. And some of the furniture appeared to be good seventy to eighty years old.

She set the clothes down on the bed as she crossed the semi-large room. It wasn't huge, but it wasn't as small as she would have expected it to be.

"I had it prepared when I was expecting you to dress as a woman. You'd need space for that, trust me." He stepped over to the door a few feet from the bed and pushed it open. "I'll send a maid in to prepare your bath. Until then… well, if you need me I'll be in my study. It's on the other side of the hall, just at the end."

She nodded and smiled. "I'll be fine. Thanks."

He looked at her a moment longer before leaving and for the first time since her little jump… Buffy found herself alone with her thoughts. Which, in her book, was almost always a bad thing.

#

"My Lord, you must come. Lady Regina is having a fit about what she's going to wear tonight. She says it's imperative she have your opinion."

William blinked, looking up from what he'd been working on at his desk as a maid peaked into his open door. "Surely, it can't be all that bad."

"Oh, but it is, My Lord."

He sighed. "Alright. I'll be up then." He stood and rubbed his eyes; the bridge of his nose was pinched before he followed after the made and gave a sigh. As he reached Reggie's door he heard her muttering. Several maids were loitering just outside. As he looked in he could see her dressing maid was holding up two gowns; one was pale green and the other pale pink. Currently, she had on a pale blue one with darker blue ribbons.

"You must pick, My Lady," the young woman said—Margret. "We've only got so much time left."

Without making himself know he glanced between the three gowns. Why on earth would she want his opinion? Surely she knew Lilith was home. He voiced this. "Why don't you ask Lilly?" That was her nickname for their middle sister.

She smiled at him, but then frowned. "I would, but she's taken a nap with Victor. She said she'll come to the party a bit after us."

Ah, yes, his nephew—their nephew. He shook his head and once again looked between the three gowns. He rubbed his chin, thinking. "The blue, Reggie."

"Why?"

"Matches your eyes."

"Good point!"

"Oh, thank heaven," Margret said. "Now we can get your hair done. Come on then, My Lord. Out with you until it's time to go. I'm sure you need to get ready as well. That valet of yours is probably pacing in your room waiting for you now. So don't go back to your study."

He smiled down at Margret just before she shut the door. He considered going back to his work… but, she was probably right. Fredrick hated it when he poured into it, often having to come get him right in the middle of another line.

He turned around and headed that way, maids dispersing back to work as he did so.

"I was just about to come get you," he said as William came in through the door. "I've got a few things pulled out for you to choose from there on the bed."

Fredrick was as tall as him, and built in much the same way. Unlike William however, his didn't keep a completely clean face; preferred to keep a moustache like a lot of other Englishmen. His hair was also dark, but not quite as dark as his sister's. Reggie's was almost black.

He stared down at the three suits and rubbed his chin. All brownish tweed… He always wore that; he was wearing it now. So then, why didn't it feel right? "Do I have anything black, Fredrick?"

His valet blinked at him. "Black?"

"Yes, it's an evening party. Black would be more appropriate, wouldn't it?"

He looked at him as though he's grown a third eye.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I'm just… surprised, My Lord…. That's all. I'd suggested it to you before, but—."

"Well, I'm taking your advice now. Do we have time for you to get that ready? Something with… tails, preferably."

Fredrick looked like he'd died and gone to heaven—whatever that meant for a valet. "Oh, yes of course! Plenty of time." And then he went about looking through his wardrobe and drawers, saying things Williams couldn't quite hear even if he were paying complete attention.

Why did he want to change his style so suddenly? Tweed was the clothing for scholars. He was a scholar. Had always wanted to be taken seriously as one…

It was a mystery. But, apparently one that made his valet act like a schoolboy in love. Even if he changed his mind he didn't have the heart to upset the man now. Perhaps Cicely would appreciate the change. No… perhaps she wouldn't. Yes, that was right, he remembered. The maid he'd sent out to ask about her had come back, telling him her mother had moved them out to the country. Her servants in their London home were saying Lady Warwick was just distraught over how unsafe the city was becoming. Which, was odd. The season was just starting… and as he knew Cicely still needed a husband. Perhaps she'd come back in a week or two when it really got into full swing.

He could only hope. Should he?

"My Lord, how does this work for you?"

William shook his head out of his own thoughts and looked down at what his valet had readied for him. He smiled, the expression crawling across his face.

"Perfect, Fredrick."

"My Lord?"

He looked over at him and a single brow rose.

"Do you mind if I speak a little freely?" There was a sense of nervousness about him.

"I suppose that's alright."

"Well, My Lord… if you don't mind me saying… well… that is… I wanted you to know whatever change has overcome you, My Lord… it's a good thing."

"What do you mean?"

"There's this confidence about you."

Was there? He didn't feel any different… did he? "Thank you, Fredrick."

"You're welcome, My Lord."

"Well, let's go ahead and get dressed. I'm not sure I could live down my sisters getting down before me. Although, at this rate it's looking that way."

His valet just smiled, saying nothing as he helped him pull off his jacket.