2012
O'Ciorovane Castle Ruins
Catching his disoriented footing, Angelus crouched down into the grass and caught his panting breath.
The world had stopped spinning. He stared up at the sun that was high in the cloudless sky.
Angelus swallowed and pushed back the strands of his long hair and opened his eyes to see the butterfly that had been on his shoulder fly away.
A rumbling roar of a machine echoing in the clear sky startled Angelus. He squinted his eyes, blinded by the sunrays. An aeroplane flew overhead. He blinked in disbelief, never having seen anything like it before in his life.
Standing tall on shaky legs, Angelus looked around himself and noticed the town he had known all of his life down the hill.
Pinching his brows together, Angelus crossed the ruins to the entryway and headed down the hill.
Fascinated and spellbound, Angelus walked down the asphalt street staring up at the buildings he passed. He hardly noticed the questioning stares from people he passed wondering about his strange and centuries-old attire.
Much of the town he knew had been remodelled and modernised. To his surprise, there were many buildings he recognised but were no longer homes or places of business he once knew.
Honk! Honk!
Startled, Angelus drew out the sword from his belt holster and stared wide-eyed at the car passing down the street. His mouth fell open. "Ifreann fuilteacha (Bloody hell)."
Without realising it, Angelus walked down the flat dirt pathway which led to Ronan Castle.
Frowning, Angelus walked further down the driveway pathway to the front entrance and stared at his home he had loved.
His eyes went to the broken and rusted glass windows. Many of the windows were missing glass altogether. A slight pang of anger twisted in his chest, no one had tended to his fine home for what looks to be a very long time.
The roof had been caved in and birds circled the gaping hole.
Walking up the steps to the changed and blocked the front door, Angelus tilted his head to the side for a moment.
"It's not quite t'a way I t'ink ye'd remember it, is it?"
Angelus whirled around the sound to a woman's voice. He paused with interest and eyed the middle-aged woman. Her once dark but greying hair was tied up into a bun. She wore a pair of jeans, a plain dark green shirt with a half-buttoned flannel over it.
"T'is 'ere castle is a tourist attraction, I'll 'ave ye know." She continued to say with an easy smile. "Visitors love comin' 'ere and learning about t'a way t'a world once was in t'a time of clans and kings."
Eying her carefully, Angelus rested a hand over the hilt of the sword on his hip, ready for anything.
"Did ye want to go in?" She asked, much to Angelus' surprise. "Typically, we do not allow visitors inside the castle. It's quite unstable but for ye…" she smiled, "… I'll make an exception." The woman stepped in front of him and took out a ring of keys.
Angelus watched the woman carefully. His guard was up and his dark eyes were narrow on the woman. Watching her every move.
The woman unlocked the padlock on the chains and removed them.
Glancing over her shoulder at Angelus, she opened the creaking wooden door letting him inside first.
Angelus entered the castle and was immediately met by a wave of dust and the smell of rotting wood. He grimaced at his home's deterioration.
"I told Allen Francis t'at I would open up t'a attractions t'is morning." The woman explained as she followed Angelus into the castle. She stood by the front door watching Angelus slowly move around the castle. She continued on to say, "He driving to t'a airport to pick up his wife. She's comin' from Los Angeles. Oh, yes, I said, it was no problem at all."
Angelus didn't hear a word that the strange woman had said. He looked around the sitting room. The broken furniture was covered in bird droppings from the gaping hole right above.
"We'll 'ave to be going soon. Visitors like to get out early." The woman called out to Angelus as he carefully walked up the rotting staircase.
Walking down the hallway, Angelus poked his head into each of the rooms and paused at the closed door to the library. The library was his favourite room in the house. It was the place he felt most connected to Buffy, because of her love of books.
Twisting the doorknob, Angelus pushed open the door.
His heart in his chest nearly stopped at the sight of the deteriorated room. Many of the books that decorated the shelves have long since vanished or were too rotted for repair. The fireplace was left cold, dirty, and filled with loose bricks.
Entering the room, Angelus carefully stepped over the creaking wood panels when he noticed something on the fireplace mantel. He moved closer to it.
Picking the object up, Angelus stared at it in disbelief. The red cover hue had long since turned brown but Angelus recognised the burnt edges. He opened the book and carefully thumbed through the crisp, delicate pages when another object slipped from the pages and to the floor.
Bending down, Angelus picked up the object and lost his breath. It was an old playing card, a nine of spades that Buffy had used as a bookmark.
Stepping down the stairs, Angelus saw the woman still standing at the door.
"Great, we really must be going. Visitors are expected to arrive in ten minutes."
Angelus walked down the steps when his foot fell through a rotted wood panel. He dropped the book down the stairs and cursed at his luck.
The woman ran to his aide and picked up the book as Angelus freed himself.
"Are ye okay?"
"Aye," Angelus grunted. "I'm fine." His dark eyes went to the book in the woman's hand.
Intimidated by his glaring eyes, the woman handed the book back to him and offered a small smile. "Why don't I make ye some breakfast. I reckon, ye 'aven't eaten yet. And after a long journey, ye must be hungry." She led the way towards the door. "We'll 'ave breakfast and wait for Allen Francis. He said he'd stop by after picking up his wife at the airport. Come, come," she gestured for Angelus to follow her outside.
Angelus hopped down the few steps and turned to see the woman lock the chain of the door.
She faced him and softly smiled, "We'll 'ave much to discuss. I 'ave a bed and breakfast up t'a road."
Angelus hadn't moved, weary on the woman and her intentions. "Who are ye?"
The woman paused and faced him. She held her hands together and replied, "Everyone calls me, Mrs Wyndam-Pryce." She watched Angelus' dark eyes grow large with surprise. "And I know for certain t'at ye're Angelus O'Connor. And I know t'at ye are lookin' for yer wife." Mrs Wyndam-Pryce released a small breath, "Welcome to t'a year two thousand and twelve, Angelus O'Connor." With a tugging smile, she laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Ye're in t'a twenty-first century."
Flabbergasted, Angelus stood frozen and stared blankly at Mrs Wyndam-Pryce.
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce's Bed & Breakfast
"Come in, come in," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce said as she brazenly walked down the entryway of her bed and breakfast.
Cautiously, Angelus stepped into the building. He frowned in thought for a moment, wondering what was once in this building's place.
"T'is used to be a horse stable!" She said from another room then poked her head out from around the corner with a smile, "But ye probably already knew t'at."
Angelus turned into a sitting room and examined the lamp on the end table in total fascination. With his index finger, Angelus reached out and touched the lightbulb. He hissed and bit back his hand, burnt by the head of the bulb.
"Electricity," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce said.
Turning his chin, Angelus eyed the middle-aged woman.
"It was invented eighteen seventy-nine by an American named, Thomas Edison." She explained. "Changed the world t'at man. Gave us light in the night."
Blinking, Angelus stood tall and moved around the sitting room. It was quaint but more modern than he's ever seen. He noticed a clock on the wall and stood in front of it. The machinery fascinated him as he watched the thin second's arm tick around the clock face.
"Are ye hungry, Angelus?"
He heard Mrs Wyndam-Pryce ask. Releasing a deep breath, Angelus faced the woman. His eyes rolled over her for a moment. "Ye said ye knew of Buffy?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce smiled. "How about I make us some tea and I'll tell ye about her."
Angelus nodded in agreement.
Kitchen
Watching Mrs Wyndam-Pryce place the tea kettle down on the table between them, she sat down on the other side of the table. She reached out for the tea kettle and poured its steaming brown liquid in the cups in front of them.
"Ye know Buffy?" Angelus urged the conversation, not at all interested in the tea in front of him.
"Oh yes," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce smiled remembering the beautiful young blonde that once occupied the room up the stairs with her rock star husband. "She came 'ere on holiday about… nine or ten years ago. She was so young. I remember her long blonde hair, she had a radiant smile t'at lit up an entire room." Mrs Wyndam-Pryce smiled to herself, "She was absolutely breathtaking."
Angelus smirked, thoroughly agreeing with Mrs Wyndam-Pryce's assessment of his wife. "T'at sounds like my Buffy. Was she 'ere wi' someone else?"
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce's smile faded, unable to lie to him, "Yes, she was. His name was…" she thought back for a moment, "escapes me... Oh yes, I remember he had bright platinum blonde slicked back hair. He wore a lot of black and a long trench coat. He had t'a bluest eyes and cheekbones t'at would make any woman swoon." She noticed the dark glare in Angelus' eyes as she described the man his wife married in this century. "She was also 'ere when she came back. And… she wouldn't eat or sleep. For hours, she would stare out t'a window in despair. Yer Buffy slipped into a deep depression."
"Where is she now?"
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce shrugged regretfully, "I don't know. But fear not, I t'ink Allen Francis will help us. He knows how to use t'at contraption," she pointed to the desktop computer in the corner of the room.
Angelus raised his brows with uncertainty.
Two Hours Later
"I'm a fashion designer, a student of the human-animal." Cordelia Chase entered into the bed and breakfast first. She wore large black square sunglasses and a mini black romper that tied at her waist. Her long curled auburn hair hung neatly over one shoulder. "I don't need to talk to people to know their story."
"What's t'at say about me, darlin'?" Cordelia's husband followed her into the bed and breakfast.
Cordelia spun around on the heel of her stylish pump shoe and stood nose to nose with her husband, "You? You're a mama's boy with a Peter Pan complex and a self-absorbed con artist, with a big 'the world owes me' chip on his shoulder." She said, touching the buttons of his bright red open-collared shirt. She draped her arms around his neck. "And who needs a serious fashion makeover," she brushed the tip of her nose against his and kissed him soundly.
"Mmm," he smiled into their kiss and softly broke it, "ye don't like t'is shirt?"
Cordelia snorted into a giggle.
"Oh, I thought I heard ye," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce stood outside the kitchen. "Allen Francis come and meet someone. He needs our help."
Before either of them could cross the way to the kitchen, Angelus stepped out and stood behind Mrs Wyndam-Pryce.
His eyes widened in disbelief. It was as if he's seen a ghost. "Doyle?"
"You know him?" Cordelia eyed her husband with a raised brow. "Did you join some weird reenacting thing since I've been gone? Doyle, it's been a week."
Snakily, Doyle rolled his eyes at his wife and said, "No, I didn't join some weird reenacting thing while ye were gone. I have no idea who t'is man is."
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce stepped closer to Doyle and whispered, "T'is is him." She told him carefully.
With a deepening frown, Doyle's expression twisted into one of surprise. His blue eyes lifted to the strange time-travelling visitor. "Oh, yer him?"
"Him who?" Cordelia frowned, hating being kept out of the loop. "Who is he? Hey, what's going on here?" Her dark brown eyes snapped over to Angelus, "And why does he look like a colonial from Williamsburg?" She moved her eyes over Angelus then turned her attentions to her husband and Mrs Wyndam-Pryce.
"I should make another pot of tea," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce suggested and headed back to the kitchen.
"Doyle," Cordelia's patience wore thin.
Taking her hand, Doyle kissed her knuckles. He looked up at Angelus and tossed him a smirk. "Ahem," Doyle cleared his throat. "Uh, well, Angelus," he began nervously, unsure how to explain the situation in a clear and precise manner. "T'is is my wife, Cordelia and I'm Allen Francis Doyle, but everyone just calls me Doyle. It's a tradition in t'a family t'at every firstborn male is named after my ancestor, Allen Francis Doyle. Ye know him."
Slowly, Cordelia's eyes widened in realisation, "Oh my god, you're him?" She looked at Doyle then back to Angelus.
Doyle nodded in confirmation. "We knew ye were comin'—if it's not clear by now. Doyle—err, ye're Doyle and Wesley had written it down and we've—t'a Doyles and Wyndam-Pryce's 'ave been waiting in anticipation ever since. We just weren't sure when it was goin' to happen."
"Do ye know where my wife is?" Angelus asked.
"I don't," Doyle said regretfully.
Cordelia looked between the two men and asked, "What's her name?"
"Her name is Buffy. Buffy O'Connor."
Silent for a moment in thought, Cordelia opened the handbag on her arm and searched its contents. Angelus' brow pinched together when Cordelia took out a small rectangular device.
He watched in fascination as she turned it on and searched her cellphone.
"What is t'at?" Angelus examined the device.
"It's called an iPhone. It's a phone. Have you never heard of a phone?" Cordelia frowned at Angelus' perplexed expression and Doyle's eye roll. "Ugh," she scoffed, "whatever... It's a wonderful piece of technology."
Angelus took the iPhone from her hand and eyed it carefully, "What's a phone?"
Cordelia pried the cellphone from Angelus' hand and rolled her eyes.
Placing a hand on Angelus' back, Doyle led him into the kitchen while Cordelia stood out in the main area locked with her phone.
"Ye 'ave a lot to learn about t'is time, boyo," Doyle patted Angelus' back. "I know it's overwhelming."
Angelus stopped walking and faced Doyle, "How can I find Buffy?"
"We're lookin' into it. For now, let me tell ye everythin' I know t'at's been passed down through t'a generations between two families, eh?"
Angelus nodded and followed Doyle into the kitchen.
London, England
Pratt's Residence
The house seemed bigger and much quieter now that Spike had moved out most of the things for the last four days since their separation. Buffy wasted no time and immediately found a lawyer per-Giles' recommendation named, Lilah Morgan. She an attorney which specialises in divorces from the prestigious Wolfram & Hart law firm. Buffy wanted to end this marriage that had been suffocating her and Spike for the last ten years.
Despite his entire life being uprooted and changed around, Liam took the impending divorce as well as could be expected. Buffy expressed her concerns to Spike that the seven-year-old didn't ask questions as they thought he would. Spike reassured his soon-to-be ex-wife and said that he will in his own time.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Buffy opened the blue folder and skimmed over the settlement documents. She wanted the process to be as quick and clean as possible. She hoped with Giles' pull, Buffy wouldn't have to wait four to six months for the divorce to be finalised.
Hearing the pretty melody of fingerpicked guitar strings, Buffy stuffed the documents back into the folder. She sat back in her hair and listened to the soothing guitar music being played from the other room. A small smile tugged at her lips.
Buffy walked down the hallway and rounded into the living room where Liam sat on the edge of the couch holding an acoustic guitar.
All those hours of guitar lessons with Spike were very much paying off. Liam was quite a talented guitar player, which had blown Spike back in surprise.
Crossing the short distance to the couch, Buffy sat down beside him. She slipped off the ankle boots on her feet and brought her knees to her chest. She pulled the cuffs of the grey knit cardigan over her hands and rested the side of her head down on the back pillow and listened to her son play.
Liam shifted his gaze over to his mother as he finished the song he had been practising for weeks. "Dad says I should play more rock and roll, but I like this classical stuff." He told her.
"You play it beautifully, honey," Buffy smiled at the seven-year-old.
"Mom?" Liam began as he leaned the guitar against the couch and faced his mother. "Can I ask you something?"
Buffy raised her brows waiting for him to ask whatever was on his mind.
Liam bit the bottom of his lip, it was a nervous tick Buffy did herself whenever she internally worked up the courage to say what was on her mind. "Where are dad's things?" He asked. "Is… is he coming back?"
Buffy heart broke in that moment. She straightened up where she sat and reached across the small space between them taking his hand. "Your dad… he doesn't live here anymore." She told him gently.
Quietly, Liam nodded then asked, "Where does he live now?"
Buffy had a good idea where Spike has been living since the separation but she wouldn't dare say aloud, especially to a confused seven-year-old. "I don't know, honey."
"Why doesn't he live here anymore? Did he want my room?"
Buffy tossed him a tender smile and brought their clasped hands to her mouth. She brushed her lips against the back of his hand. "No, he didn't want your room."
"Then why doesn't he live here anymore?"
"Because…" she swallowed, "um, well, honey, your dad and I couldn't make each other happy anymore," Buffy told him carefully. "And we love each other enough to recognise this and let go."
Liam's blue eyes brightened, "But you love each other? You just said that."
Shifting closer to him on the couch, Buffy nodded in agreement, "Yes, I know what I said. Your dad and I will always love each other but we're just not in love with each other. There's a big difference. You understand that?" Liam stared at her in total confusion. Buffy sighed and tried again, "We don't make each other happy."
Lowering his gaze, Buffy watched his dark brows pinch together in thought. He tilted his chin upwards and the look in his blue eyes felt like a stake to her heart. His eyes were filled with sadness and fear. "Do I make you happy, Mom?"
Threading her fingers through his shaggy dark coloured hair, Buffy pulled him close. She kissed the top of his head and hugged him tightly. "Yes, of course, you do." She held Liam's chin between her thumb and forefinger, "You make me so happy, Liam. You are the absolute greatest thing to ever happen to me. Just because your dad and I won't be married anymore that will never ever change how much we love you. The problems between your father and I have nothing to do with you."
Liam buried himself in the comforting arms of his mother. He wrapped his small arms around her waist and tightened his hug. For a few minutes, Liam listened to the gentle steady beat of her heart when a thought popped in his head.
Lifting his head from her breast, Liam looked at her and asked, "Are you gonna get married again?"
Buffy released a heavy breath suddenly very exhausted. She shrugged with a tugging smile, "Maybe… one day… Right now, all I want to be is your mom." She leaned over and pressed her mouth to his head before standing from the couch. "You hungry? You want pizza?"
"Pepperoni?"
"You got it," Buffy headed back towards the kitchen where she had left the cellphone on the table near the divorce documents she had been looking over.
"Mom?" Liam called out as he picked up the guitar again.
Buffy poked her head back around the bend and into the living room, "What's up?"
"It's okay, you know." He began to say with a nonchalant shrug, "I mean… if you wanna get married again… I'm okay with it—if-if that'll make you happy."
Touched by his understanding and big heart that seemed beyond his years, Buffy smiled lovingly at her son. "Thank you, honey." She turned away from the living room and headed back to the kitchen.
Liam positioned his fingers over the fretboard of the guitar neck and eyed his fingers at the strings over the soundhole. Slowly, he began to pick the first chord of the classical song he had been teaching himself from a book Spike had gotten him the last time they went to the music store together. Sticking out the tip of the tongue, Liam hastened his fingers at they plucked each string.
Galway, Ireland
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce's Bed & Breakfast
"So," Cordelia walked into the kitchen interrupting the conversation at the kitchen table between Mrs Wyndam-Pryce and Doyle, as Angelus sat quietly listening. His thoughts had wandered sometime ago as he stared out the window.
"Ye found somethin'?" Doyle asked, sitting back in the chair crossing a leg over his knee. "Didn't I tell ye my 'Delia was a sleuth? Aren't ye honey?"
Rolling her eyes, Cordelia extended her hand showing off the cellphone in her hand.
Taking the phone from her hand, Doyle eyed the black and white photo and raised a highbrow, "Is t'is her? Wow," he whistled, "she is somethin'."
Angelus peered his eyes over Doyle's shoulder then took the iPhone from his hand to examine the photograph. His expression softened with surprise. "Buffy," he felt his heart skip a beat. "Aye, t'is is she."
Taking the cellphone from his hands, Cordelia scrolled through the records from Sunnydale Township. "Buffy Summers… Yeah, I remember her…" she thought back to high school days, "What are the odds that I went to high school with your time travelling wifey?" Cordelia smirked.
"Do ye know anythin' else about her?" Doyle asked.
Cordelia searched her memory for a minute, "She hung out with a redhead and her boyfriend—a musician, I think… Not quite the apart of the loser crowd but close to it." She snobbishly explained. "I remember she had a poor sense of style. A lot of leather coats and last seasons shoes." Cordelia looked up and felt Angelus' glaring gaze. Clearing her throat, Cordelia straightened up and said, "There's, uh, nothing in the records about her current location so that tells us that she isn't in Sunnydale."
"T'an where is she?" Frustrated, Angelus jumped to his feet and began to pace around the kitchen. "T'a world is a very big place. T'ere's only so many places t'at she can be."
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce sat back in her chair and asked, "Did she tell ye anythin'?"
"Like what?" Angelus' frown deepened.
"Like her hopes and dreams? When she told ye t'a truth about being from t'a future, did she at all happen to tell ye what she was doin' prior to travelling to yer time?"
Pushing the fallen dark strands of his hair back, Angelus pinched his brows together in thought. "School. She told me t'at she was followin' her… husband's band on tour for t'a summer before returnin' to London for school."
"London ye say?" Doyle's face brightened. He took Cordelia's cellphone from her hands and quickly searched the internet. "What's her last name again? Buffy…?"
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce stood from the chair and crossed the kitchen to the back office room where she had the register books on a shelf.
"Pratt," Angelus felt his stomach churn remembering the foul but important detail that she was married to a Pratt. "In t'is time, she's a Pratt." His eyes lowered to the floor remembering the other man in her life.
"Ah-ha!" Doyle grinned and showed the room his findings. "Buffy Summers-Pratt, curator of Anglo-Saxon, Norse, and Celtic collections at t'a… British Museum," he looked at Angelus with a tugging smile. "Well, we know where she is now. London, England."
Angelus smirked.
"Great!" Cordelia clapped her hands together. "Now that we tracked her down," she faced Angelus, "on to the next thing then…"
"And t'at is…?" Doyle raised his brows high up his forehead.
Angelus felt a bit nervous about what was going to come out of her mouth.
Cordelia rolled her dark eyes over Angelus for a moment. "You can't show up looking like that."
"What's wrong wi' what I'm wearin'?" Angelus frowned.
"In layman's terms, you stick out like a sore thumb. I mean look at you!" Slowly, Cordelia circled around him like a predator about to hunt her prey. "Everything about you says prerevolution fashion disaster! I can't in good conscience let you go to London to see the love of your life for the first time in years looking like that. Angelus, we're going shopping." She turned her gaze to Doyle, "Honey, you'll—"
"—Purchase three tickets to London. I'm already on it." He smiled dotingly at his wife.
Cordelia held out her hand, "Car keys, please."
Doyle rummaged a hand into his brown leather jacket and took out his keys. Cordelia was about to snatch them from his hand as the keys dangled out in front of him when Doyle drew them back. "Be careful. Not a scratch on my precious Lucinda," he warned her.
Rolling her eyes with a heavy sigh, Cordelia snatched the keys from Doyle's hand and spun away on the heel of her pump. She looked at Angelus and said, "Leave the sword here Lancelot."
Nervously, Angelus looked at Doyle then slowly unfastened the sword and pistol holster around his waist. He felt naked and exposed.
Catching up with her as they walked out of the bed and breakfast, Angelus paused mid-step. His eyes were wide with confusion. "What t'a bloody hell is t'at? A demon?" His hand immediately went to the missing place where his sword would've sat on his hip.
"It's a car. Get in!" Cordelia slipped into the silver Audi sedan.
Cautiously, Angelus opened the passenger side door of the car. He eyed the vehicle carefully for a minute before getting into the car.
Without warning, Cordelia spun the back wheels startling Angelus and sped off down the street and into the direction of the shopping mall.