Buffy: The Space-Time Anomaly Slayer

by Catlorde

Names can carry a lot of meaning. They can shape your future and make you brave. So when she chose her name after finding herself in another reality, she named herself after one fictional character to deal with another. Because when you find yourself in the Doctor's Universe, you need all the courage you can get.

30. Misadventures in Purgatory Part Three

Author's Notes:

Guess who's not dead! Yikes, seven months. I could make excuses, but there really aren't any that you guys haven't heard before. No, I haven't dropped this fic. In fact, even though I haven't been actively writing, I've actually been doing a lot of planning for Buffy. I think I may have gone a a bit overboard for Buffy's future ngl. My dumbass has actually planned a whole other fic that will be parallel to Buffy: the Space-Time Anomaly Slayer, called The Grace Filament. It won't come into play until mid-season 3, but fyi y'all are NOT ready.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Warnings: Nothing you haven't seen before

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~0~0~0~

Chapter Thirty:

Misadventures in Purgatory

Part Three

~0~0~0~

.

The current Mr. Ainsley - the direct, and last, descendent of the original - had probably been having what could be considered a normal, peaceful day. A glance at the tour sign up sheet said that there were no tours for him to mumble his way through. The limited staff were finishing up for the afternoon and would soon be heading home. There were only a handful of guests to be wary of, and they were fairly quiet, droning in and out of the house like the flies that bumbled aimlessly from one room to another and back again.

I, of course, didn't care. Fresh from my own mental breakdown, I didn't mind upsetting someone else's equilibrium. Brimming with the confidence brought by overcompensation, I strode smartly up to the front desk with my two companions in tow and leaned my elbows on the age-worn wood with a smug grin.

Mr. John Ainsley was an old man. His grizzled, wild eyebrows and drooping, sallow face gave him the look of a furious cat that had been locked out of the dining room during super because he'd been sticking his grubby little paws into someone else's soup.

His watery brown eyes lifted to glare up at me only when my shadow crossed his face.

"Can I help you?" He groused, sounding like the offer was the exact opposite of what he actually wanted.

"Yes, actually." I flipped open the black billfold holding my psychic paper and held it up for him to see. It was a little odd to use it for real credentials. Definitely a first. "Buffy Reid. UNIT Tactical Advisor. And these are my assistants."

He squinted at the paper dubiously. "UNIT. Never heard of it."

Mickey shifted nervously, certain we were caught out.

Clive scoffed. "You've never 'eard of UNIT? What rock have you been living under, mate?"

"Doesn't matter," I said smoothly, flipping the wallet closed with a practiced flip of the wrist. "We'll need to have a look at your records. Guest lists, financial records, everything you've got as far back as it goes."

"Do you, now?" Ainsley grunted. "Shouldn't you need a warrant for that sort of thing?"

I didn't bat an eye. "Do I need to get one? Cause we can do that, too."

Silence sat heavily over us for a moment. Finally, Ainsley heaved a long suffering sigh and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door behind him.

"Help yourself," he grumbled. "Don't know what you mean to find, though."

I dipped my head politely and stepped around the desk. Clive followed without question, bumping his way past Ainsley with a semi-apologetic smile. Mickey hesitated, looking between us and the old man uncertainly for a few seconds before shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and shuffling in behind us.

Once Mickey was in, Clive closed the door. The room was medium sized, a cross between a filing room and a dinky security office. A haphazard set of old computer monitors sat at a metal desk to one side, while the other wall was lined with shelves overflowing with dusty old cardboard boxes. Apart from the door we'd just come through, there was one more - a heavy looking steel door that I would wager was reinforced, if I was a betting woman.

The first thing I did was test the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. I turned away, deciding that it was a problem for later. As I surveyed the room, I wrinkled my nose in distaste, not liking our chances of finding anything valuable in here.

Clive sneezed.

"Creepy old bloke," Mickey groused, mindful to keep his voice down in case the man in question decided to listen in. "He didn't even ask us what we were looking for. It's like he just knew."

I paused in front of the security monitors, turning the statement over in my head. "Huh. Yeah, maybe."

"Of course he knows!" Clive scoffed. "Bit clumsy though, mind. If you're up to no good, you should at least pretend you're not."

"Or he could just not care," I pointed out. I tapped at the computer keyboard, testing the abilities of the cameras. "Don't make assumptions. He might not have anything to do with it at all."

Clive shrugged, but didn't look entirely convinced. He turned to look at the wall of filing boxes in favor of arguing.

"So…" He held his arms wide to indicate the dusty files. "How do we do this?"

"We don't."

Both men looked over at me in surprise. "What?"

I glanced back over my shoulder and quirked my eyebrows. "You really want to go through all that? What do you think our chances of finding something useful in that trash heap are?"

Clive frowned. "Then what?"

"Here, take a look at this." I gestured to the screens. "What do you notice?"

They crowded over to look. It took them a moment to start piecing it together.

"Well…" Clive pointed. "That's the front door, there. And then the front desk." He leaned closer, squinting at the screens. "None of these are the main parts of the house. The rooms, I mean, where the guests stay."

"And why's that weird?"

He shrugged. "I mean, it's not really. But… why would he have a load of cameras right around the office, but none anywhere else?"

Mickey caught on. "There's other doors besides the front. If you're trying to catch people from stealing, all these are worthless cos you could take stuff right out the back."

"And what does that tell you?" I was being teacher-y on purpose, directing their trains of thought so they could figure out what I already knew for themselves. Under different circumstances, it might have been a bit patronizing, but this was Clive and Mickey. Clive had contacted me because he'd suspected that I had experience with this sort of thing. He wanted to learn how to properly investigate.

Clive's eyes sparked as he made the connection. "That they're not for stealing," he said.

"If they're not to catch robbers, then what?" Mickey demanded, looking uncertain about the whole situation.

"Dunno yet." I stepped away from the keyboard so Mickey could have a crack at it. "You're good with computers - see what you guys can figure out between the two of you."

While Mickey shuffled in to take my seat, Clive shifted expectantly. "And what are you doing?"

I glanced up, already at the closed door and digging my sonic pen out of my bag. "More poking around. This should only take a minute."

"But it's locked."

The sonic pen buzzed. The lock clicked and the door popped open a fraction, revealing a sliver of darkness.

"Not anymore," I said easily, already moving across the threshold and into the dark room behind.

Clive moved forward as if to follow me. "Are you sure you should be going in on your own?"

I fixed him with a deadpan stare.

He coughed awkwardly. "Right, stupid question. Sorry. But you just expect us to stay here," he indicated the piles of musty boxes, "while you go off to explore properly?"

I stifled a sigh. "Clive, only one of us can leave the room. That way if Mr. Ainsley comes looking for us, you two can run interference. For now I'd prefer it if he wasn't completely aware of how far we've gotten, at least until we know more."

Clive opened his mouth again to protest, but I cut him off.

"Look, it's probably just some extra storage space, but I promise that if I find a spooky corridor or skeleton or anything exciting, I'll let you know, okay?"

Clive obviously wasn't thrilled, but I was still in charge. "Right. Work on the computers. Run interference. Got it."

"Thank you. Be back in a minute." I breezed through the door and shut it carefully behind me. Instantly, the weak light from the other room was cut off completely, leaving me sealed away in the darkness like a mummy in a tomb.

I had been in a tomb before, once. Well, more than once, but the place I found myself in brought a specific one to mind. The Doctor had taken me to Egypt - the planet, not the county - although human explorers had named it that for a reason.

It was a desert planet, dotted with great pyramids that made the ones on Earth look like sandcastles. The civilization that built them was long gone and impossibly ancient, rumored to have risen sometime around the dawn of the universe and fallen several million years before Earth had even begun to form.

I had asked the Doctor if we might go there sometime and see the mighty civilization at its height. He'd said 'maybe someday' but in that voice he used when what he really meant to say was 'no', but didn't want to disappoint. I sensed there was a story there, but I left it alone.

Pretending to be structural engineers, we went on a tour of the pyramid and rode in on an elegant glass subway to the active dig sites deep at the heart of the pyramid, far beyond the 'Do Not Enter' signs put up for tourists. It was dark and creepy and super interesting, so everything was fine.

Except for the little fact that archaeologists were going missing, being lured away from the safety of the site by voices in the dark. There were myths to go with the disappearances. The souls of those who had gotten lost and perished in the Labyrinth of the Old Kings called out to the living, luring them into the depths to suffer the same fate.

I heard one, and me - being my usual dumbass self - followed it. What can I say? I was still pretty new at the whole companion thing and trying just a little too hard to overcompensate for the fact that I was afraid. We all have to learn somehow, I suppose.

Naturally, I got hopelessly lost. I had never experienced that kind of darkness before, not even in space - where you can at least imagine that you could make out the barest glimpse of a distant star to put your mind at ease. There, there was no pretending. The darkness was smothering. Oppressive. The kind of darkness that ate every morsel of light it touched so even the glow of my flashlight was choked out and near useless. The kind that sapped away your very soul.

I had tried everything I could think of to find my way out. Even my phone, juiced up as it was to work almost anywhere and anywhen, couldn't get a signal out from the literal miles and miles of rock overhead. Trying to get out via Otherside was also pointless, as the Pyramid rivaled Olympus Mons in size - way too far to just walk and find the outer edge before I starved to death - and was so ancient that the tunnel walls were nearly solid no matter how hard I tried to convince their Blank forms to be otherwise.

It was completely hopeless. I had given up; resigned myself to this pathetic way of blundering my way to the end of my sorry little life.

Then the Doctor found me.

I was only lost for a couple hours - three or four, tops - but I was so relieved to see my alien friend again that I'd shamelessly flung myself at him to cling to his neck and refused to let go even as I was being scolded for wandering off.

Since that day, I had been much more cautious about venturing into the dark on my own.

I found the light switch and with a quick flick, I wasn't in a tomb anymore; I was in someone's bedroom-slash-doomsday bunker.

The space was… unique. Judging from the half-empty mug of cold tea on the small round table and the pile of laundry at the foot of the bed, it was regularly used.

My hand shook slightly as I brought my sonic out to do a scan. I was upset, but not entirely sure why. I'd been in dark rooms before. I'd been in dark tombs alone before. But this time I knew that the Doctor wasn't there to find me if I got lost.

Suddenly, I wasn't upset anymore; I was angry.

But I needed to focus. By now, stuffing down my feelings was as easy as slipping on an old glove. I shook my head to clear it and returned my attention to the room.

Across from the bed, there was an old laptop on a desk. I poked at it, but didn't learn anything new, except that it seemed to be receiving alerts from the monitors in the adjacent room. No video files, just 'Movement detected by camera B-3' and so on.

I left the computer and started digging around to see what else I could find. The space under the bed was occupied by big boxes of food - things that kept forever, like canned goods, energy bars, peanut butter, and uncooked beans. Again, this discovery didn't tell me anything new except that Mr. Ainsley was extremely worried that he might have to be holed up in here for a long time.

I felt kind of sorry for him; the lock that he expected to keep him safe had been broken in five seconds flat by a twenty-something human woman. The chances of it protecting him against whatever he was afraid of - unless this actually was just a regular doomsday bunker - were exceedingly low.

The first genuinely helpful clue I found was in the closet, even if it did scare the living shit out of me. Opening the door to see a face looking back out at you when you were expecting clothes is enough to give anyone a fright, even if that face turned out to be your own.

Mirrors. Six total. Big, human sized mirrors set into weighted metal bases so they'd stand on their own. They were heavy.

Grunting with effort, I managed to drag one out to get a better look. From what I could tell, there wasn't anything special about it. Just a mirror. Except now my brain was ticking away, trying to piece this new oddity into what I already knew.

Mirrors. What did I know about mirrors?

Unfortunately, I didn't get to think about it for more than a few seconds.

Something hit me. Hard. I couldn't tell if it was physical or not, but it built like a wave and crashed over me. For a split second, I was tumbling, though I was 90% sure my feet stayed firmly planted to the ground.

Instinctively, I threw myself to the Otherside to escape. But it was there, too. Stronger. The weight on my mind was crushing. The current washed my consciousness away, and I drifted with it into the dizzying blackness.

.

~0~0~0~

When I got the text, it was well after midnight. Not that I was asleep, being the night owl that I was, but it still caught me by surprise.

From Jackie:

'Could you stop by the flat please? I'm home alone, and I think I hear someone outside.'

Within seconds, I had my shoes on and my bag strapped to my leg, the flap open with the knife hilt just sticking out. Geronimo twittered until I let him ride along in my jacket pocket, and less than two minutes later, I was mounting the stairs of Jackie's building.

There are plenty of people who tell you that a woman shouldn't be living alone; that it's dangerous, no matter where you live. Sometimes they have a point, but they never take it into account that a vast number of women are willing and able to castrate, should the occasion arise. Or at least know someone that could.

After two years of fighting Chronomites, aliens, and the things that go bump in the night, some estate-dwelling human thugs were nothing. I was in a better mental state than I had been in months, and the depression that had numbed my emotions had parted. In its place was a whole lot of anger that was begging to be vented.

Pity the fool.

When I reached Jackie's flat, I was almost disappointed to find the outside walkway empty. I flipped the bag flap back over the knife and knocked.

"Jackie? It's me," I called. "Everything's fine. Open up."

I heard her footsteps as she came to answer the door. Judging by the path she took, she'd been hiding in the bathroom. The lock clicked. Then the deadbolt. Then the chain.

The door finally opened, and Jackie's face, strained and lined with worry, came into view.

"Sorry 'bout this,' she said, relieved but sheepish. "I know it's late, but I didn't know who else to ask."

"It's alright," I reassured. "Don't ever worry about waking me up. I don't mind at all."

She stood to the side to let me in, then closed the door back and redid all the locks. More for her peace of mind than mine, I did a quick sweep of all the rooms and closets while she made the tea.

"It's so shaming," she explained ruefully when I joined her in the kitchen. "I was asleep. I know I was, because I was dreaming."

"A bad dream?" I inquired gently, fetching the biscuits out of the cupboard.

She kept her gaze on the tea she was pouring so she didn't have to look me in the face. "Yeah."

"The same one?"

Off and on over the past few weeks, Jackie had been having horrible nightmares. The same one, over and over. More than anything, it was a feeling. In the dream, someone had taken Rose. Rose was never actually in the dream, but Jackie had described it as not knowing where her daughter was or what had happened to her, only that something had. And whoever had hurt Rose was still in the flat. Just out of sight. Waiting to pounce.

Jackie finished stirring in the milk and sugar and brought them to the table. "Guess when I woke up, someone was walking past my window." She shrugged. "Couldn't think of it being anything but bad. Sorry."

I shook my head. "Hey, it's fine. I'd rather you call me to come make sure everything's okay than you sitting here alone and scared."

Geronimo squealed in my pocket, squirming in a bid to be released. I took him out and sat him on the table, where he used his little paws to straighten out his rumpled whiskers. I half expected Jackie to protest, but to my surprise, she smiled softly and offered him a few crumbs of her biscuit.

"Guess I'm just not used to it," she admitted after a while.

"To what?"

"Being alone." She finally looked me in the eye. "I haven't lived alone in almost twenty years. Well, there was that time where Rose ran off to live with Jimmy Stone in a bedsit, but it's not the same. At least then, I knew where she was."

"She'll come home, Jackie," I said earnestly. "Wherever she is, whatever she's doing, she'll come back."

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

Except I did. I knew where her daughter was. I could put her fears, her pain, to rest. Right here, right now. She'd never believe the truth, of course. That her daughter had run away with a time traveling alien in a blue box.

But what I could tell her was that her daughter had gone traveling. I could tell her that I knew who she was with, because I had traveled with him too. I could tell her that her daughter was safe, and that she'd be home exactly twelve months after she left.

I could, couldn't I?

But I was a coward.

"I just do. It's a feeling. She'll be okay, Jackie."

She didn't argue, but I could tell that she didn't believe me. We lapsed back into silence. Geronimo finished Jackie's crumbs and scuttled over to my plate to see if I had anything for him.

Eventually, Jackie asked, "Do you ever get used to it?"

"Used to what?"

"Them being gone."

She meant my family. I'd told her the same story I told everyone else; My family died just after I turned eighteen. My mother was from London, and my father was from the US - which explained why I sometimes used American terminology, like TV instead of telly, cell instead of mobile, fries instead of chips, and so on. They'd all gone on a trip to visit my dad's family while I stayed in London. They died in a car accident on the way to my aunt's house. I didn't have any immediate family in Europe, but they'd left me a pretty handsome inheritance. Since then, I've been on my own.

"Sometimes I think I'm used to it," I said finally. "Some days I can get through without thinking about them at all, but then I'll see something in the shops or on TV that makes me remember, and suddenly they're all I can think about."

I realized that I meant the Doctor just as much as I meant my family. Hell, the Doctor WAS my family. It wasn't my fault that he hadn't felt the same.

Jackie let out a sad little laugh. "It's just so quiet, these days. I'm not used to an empty flat. I've started talking to myself just to fill in the quiet."

"That's why my TV is always on," I agreed. "But during those first few months after I lost them, I… started talking to myself in the mirror. Like, a lot."

"Really?"

I'd never told anyone that before, not even the Doctor. But at some point during the fourteen months before I met the Time Lord, I started talking to my own reflection.

It was extremely pathetic to think back on, but there were times when I was so lonely and desperate for someone to talk to - who I could REALLY talk to about being in a different universe and Doctor Who and stuff - that I would pretend that my own reflection was actually Mirror Girl. It hadn't been hard to seperate my reflection from myself, especially since I hadn't yet acclimated to having a new face - Mirror Girl's face - so I turned her into a kind of imaginary friend.

Again, I knew it was pathetic, but I hadn't had anyone else.

Geronimo decided that he was cold. He ran over to my hand and squirmed between my fingers. I turned my palm up and curled my fingers around him.

At least now, I had him to talk to. People talked to their pets, so it wasn't as weird as talking to a mirror.

"Yeah," I said. I didn't want to tell Jackie about it, but I felt like she needed to know that - no matter what - she wasn't the most pathetic person in the room. "I don't do it anymore. I was… I was kind of in a weird place after they died. I was so used to my brothers being loud - arguing and gossiping and everything with them… I guess I just… couldn't imagine talking like that to anyone else. So I didn't."

Jackie looked thoughtful for a few moments, then reached over to cover the hand that didn't house Geronimo with her own.

"Well, you've got me now," she promised. "You don't have to talk to that mirror anymore."

I turned my hand up to lace my fingers through hers. I appreciated it, I really did. It wasn't that I didn't believe her - I knew she meant it - but I also knew things that she didn't.

Her daughter would come back, one day, and I couldn't be sure if she'd ever be able to forgive me.

~0~0~0~

.

Buffy had been gone a long time.

She had said a few minutes, but it had been hours.

Five hours and seven minutes, to be exact. And Clive was exact. It was his first proper investigation, of course he'd been keeping an eye on the time.

At first, keeping busy had been easy. Like Buffy said, Mickey really was quite good with computers, and once he'd settled down and stopped being so nervous, Clive was pleased to discover that the younger man liked a mystery just as much as he did. Despite their somewhat rocky start, when they started bouncing ideas off of each other, they started getting along rather well.

But after the first hour had come and gone, the pair had gotten restless. And worried.

Had something happened to her? What if she was hurt? Trapped? Or had she simply found another adventure on the other side of the door and left them none the wiser?

They tried the lock, of course, but got nowhere. Unable to follow, they waited. Having done as much as they could with the computer and security cameras, they started picking through the musty old boxes. It wasn't particularly interesting work, a far cry from the aliens the pair had been expecting, but it kept them occupied.

After another hour, Clive started telling Mickey about some of the mysteries he'd found online, and Mickey in turn supplied some of the stories Buffy had told him about her travels.

Two hours turned into three, and three into four. Their discussions turned from UFO forums to debating on exactly how long they should wait before going to look for their missing friend.

Except she'd told them to stay; she'd given them a job. They were covering for her in case Mr. Ainsley came knocking.

Clive reasoned that her instructions hadn't applied to her being gone for more than an hour. Mickey didn't want to risk having to face whatever had been taking people without Buffy. But he didn't want to stay locked in this dusty old room forever, either. It was starting to make his eyes water.

They had just come to the decision to give her another half hour, and then they'd go to Mr. Ainsley and ask — no, insist — that he unlock the door for them. Nothing too bad could come from that, right? Buffy was UNIT, so she had authority. And even if the old man caused trouble, what could he do about it? Call the cops, maybe, but he couldn't exactly stop them if —

The door separating them from the foyer opened, causing both men to flinch. It was only Mr. Ainsley; not nearly as frightening as the monster their combined imaginations had cooked up over the last few hours, but the irritation showing on his withered features was enough to make them nervous.

"I'm sorry, but I do think you've had long enough," the old man snipped, trying and failing to keep his voice in check. "I think it's time to call it a day. Come back tomorrow, if you want, but I insist that you return to your rooms."

Clive rallied first. "Sorry, mate, but we're in the middle of an investigation."

"Yeah," Mickey said, more uncertain but doing his best to cover it. "Official UNIT business. We'll stay until we're good and done."

Mr. Ainsley's raisin features seemed to shrivel up even more, his sallow cheeks flushing with annoyance. "It was generous of me to allow you access to my records at all. If you want-"

He broke off as his eyes cut between the two men, finally realizing that he hadn't been addressing the highest ranking member of the team, only her two lackeys.

"Where is she?" Ainsley demanded, watery eyes flickering around the corners of the room as if he hoped to find her hiding in the shadows, but he only found the upturned boxes and the clouds of dust motes that had been stirred up over the past few hours. "I was at the desk. She can't have-"

His gaze settled on the locked door. He stared at it for a few moments, wizened face turning an ugly shade of puce. "My files," he sputtered, "I gave you access to my files. How dare you just - Have you no decency? You have no right to go rummaging through my personal space!"

Clive stepped forward, hand raised placatingly. "Easy there, mate. Let's not…"

Mr. Ainsley slapped him away. "I'll not tolerate this kind of… this disrespect! I want you all to leave. Leave now, please!"

"You can't do that," Mickey tried. "You can't just make us leave."

"No? But the police can." He whipped around and stalked to his desk, where a yellowed landline sat. "You can get a warrant if you want. But I'm not going to cooperate unless I have some assurances that my rights aren't being violated."

Clive was quick to follow, pressing down on the handset to keep the old man from picking it up and giving him his best disarming smile. "Settle down. No one's rights are being violated. Ms. Reid hasn't gone through your personal space, there's no need to get huffy. And no need for any coppers."

The old man's eyes blazed. "Oh? Where's she gone, then? In case you haven't noticed, there are only two doors in here." He gestured between them. "Can't you count? One. Two. And I've been just outside that one-" He pointed. "Since you three walked in. She hasn't walked out that way. And another thing: You three have been awfully set on me not calling the police. Why is that, exactly?"

Clive shrugged. "Well, they'd only get in the way, wouldn't they? We're following some cold case files. The police have long given up on those."

He threw off Clive's hand and started to dial. "Well, we'll have to see about that, won't we?"

The lobby door swung open, letting in a frigid breeze and the scent of rain. "Jesus. Did I miss something?"

The three men looked up to see Buffy standing in the doorway. Since they'd last seen her, she'd tied back her red hair to keep it out of her face, but otherwise, she seemed unchanged. Her eyebrows raised expectantly as she waited for an explanation, her face a picture of bemused concern.

When one didn't immediately come, she said, "I know you two are still pretty new to this, but harassing the host generally isn't the best way to investigate anything."

"We weren't harassing him!" Mickey protested. "He was being-"

Buffy waved his excuse away. "We can have a chat about professional interrelationships later. Mr. Ainsley, what seems to be the problem?"

"But I… you…" He looked over his shoulder into the office, then back at where Buffy was closing the door that led out to the front porch. "How did you get out there?"

Buffy blinked, her brow furrowing with confusion. She held up a yellow folder for them to see. "I left some stuff in the car."

"But I didn't see you leave. How did you get by me?"

She shrugged. "Well, you were nodding off. I did my best not to bother you."

"I don't remember falling asleep." Ainsley looked ready to argue, but something in his expression said that he wasn't really sure.

Buffy nodded her understanding, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder and offering the old man a kind smile. "That's okay. Happens to the best of us. Look, I think we've done all we can in here. I wanted to ask you some questions, but it can wait until tomorrow. Does that sound okay?"

"Well, I don't know if…"

"Why don't you take some time to think about it? I'm sorry for how my assistants have been acting. I'll see about getting you some compensation for any inconvenience you've experienced." Before he could respond, she fixed Clive and Mickey with a piercing glare. "Right, you two. Let's go."

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

I couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes. Even so, I woke up with a heaving stomach and a pounding headache. The Otherside mist swirled around my arms and legs as I rolled onto all fours, needing a few moments to fortify myself enough to push myself to my feet.

From what I could tell, nothing in Ainsley's room had changed. The mirrors were where I'd left them, which suggested that no one had been here.

When I crossed the dimensions into normal space, I took another minute to sit on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my head in my hands, willing the lingering pain to go away and failing miserably.

I didn't have the slightest clue as to what had happened. I'd never experienced anything like it - forces from normal space never really had effect across the dimensions, and vice versa. Besides the Chronomites, of course, but those were actual interdimensional creatures, not… whatever that had been.

I was pretty sure that the effect had been mental, not physical. So, what, some kind of psychic wave? Or maybe an attack? I didn't have the slightest clue what that felt like, so the theory was as good as any. But it could also have been something entirely different, and I'd be none the wiser.

My first instinct, as always, was to ask the Doctor. But, for obvious reasons, that was out of the question. A fresh wave of pain and frustration washed over me. I wasn't supposed to be doing this on my own. He was supposed to be here.

My mind went back to the conversation we'd had at the Mozart family's household.

You're not here to help me, he'd said. I'm here to help you.

The frustration turned back into anger. Loneliness. I'd trusted him to help me back then, trusted him completely and implicitly. That promise seemed empty. The problems I faced now, I faced alone.

Through the encroaching despair, I became aware of voices drifting through the still-locked door. Angry voices. I was suddenly reminded that, while I might not be entirely alone for this mission, I was in charge, which was somehow worse.

When I checked my phone, my confusion only deepened. Hours. It had been hours.

Sensing that I was running out of time, I quickly returned the room to as I'd found it, then went to investigate via the Otherside.

What I found was about what I had expected. Ainsley had gotten suspicious, and my assistants hadn't done a great job of putting the old man's fears to rest. I had to remind myself that, while projecting a calm, professional persona came easily to me now, there had been a time when it hadn't.

I had a lot of experience lying.

"Insulting them only makes it worse," I explained as I led Mickey and Clive up the stairs to our rooms. "And don't ever tell them what they can and can't do unless you have a good reason for it that they can understand. Otherwise they just get even more suspicious."

"Well, he wasn't exactly happy to come in and find you gone," Mickey huffed. "If you hadn't showed up when you did, he would've called the police. How did you get out, anyway?"

"Long story."

"Yeah, he had to have been hiding something," Clive agreed. "Did you find out what it was?"

"Sort of," I mused, blinking at the migraine splotches clouding my vision. "He's got a safe room back there. Like, food and supplies and stuff. No wonder he was upset. I wouldn't want a stranger in my safe space, either."

I told them about the mirrors and the motion detection system, but left out whatever had happened that caused me to lose consciousness. I thought that they would press, that they would demand an explanation for why I had been gone for hours and hours.

I was glad when they didn't, but also a little hurt at the apparent lack of concern. If the roles had been reversed and the Doctor had been MIA for that long without explanation, I was fairly sure that I would have asked.

Then again, I'd been reflecting on my trust of the Doctor, hadn't I? While travelling on the TARDIS, I generally trusted the Doctor to make decisions because he knew a lot more about the universe than I did, even though I was aware that he might occasionally lie.

Maybe that's what it was. Trust. Mickey and Clive trusted me to tell them what they needed to know.

How odd.

"We found something, too," Mickey explained. "There isn't any saved security footage. What we saw on the screens isn't being saved anywhere. Once it's up on the screen, it's gone."

"Huh," I mused, scrubbing at my eyes with a frustrated groan. All of this was almost coming together. I'd heard of something like this before, I was sure of it. But my head was still swimming from earlier and the tips of my fingers were tingling with the promise of a pretty bad migraine. I couldn't think.

"You alright?" Clive asked. I looked up to see a concerned frown marring his kind face.

"Yeah. Yeah. Headache."

"Need an advil?"

"I think I've got some ibuprofen." I straightened up and dug out the key to my room. "Look, I don't think there's any immediate danger. I need some time to clear my head and think. Let's just call it a night and start again in the morning."

"What about the old bloke?" Mickey demanded. I suddenly remembered how nervous he'd been earlier about being on his own. "What if he decides it's, you know, easier to get us out of the way?"

I shook my head, then instantly regretted it. "I don't think Ainsley's doing this. Whatever it is, it's got him scared. He knows more than he's saying, though, so we need to convince him that cooperating with us is in his best interest."

It was Clive's turn to protest. "But-"

"The way I see it, right now we have two clear courses of action." I held up two fingers. "One, we talk to Ainsley and find out what he knows. I don't think he'll be cooperative tonight, so if we storm back down there and pester him, we risk him shutting us out completely. Two, we comb through the grounds after dark for anything out of the ordinary. Which, under normal circumstances, I'd probably be up for. But I'm getting the mother of all migraines and I'm off my game. So, right now, the best thing to do is get some rest and start fresh tomorrow. But if there's something I'm missing that makes you think we're on some kind of time table, I'm all ears."

Clive still seemed disappointed, but nodded his acceptance. "No, you're right. We can wait till morning." He shrugged sheepishly. "Guess I'm just a bit overeager. Aliens and mysteries - I've waited my whole life to be a part of it, somehow. Sorry if I seem… a bit impatient."

I smiled despite myself, knowing the call of an adventure better than most. "Don't worry, you'll get your mystery." I paused, opening my door decisively. "In the morning. Night night."

I went inside and shut them out, reasonably confident that they'd be able to sort themselves out for the night.

.

~0~0~0~

"Rose, what d'you think about this one?"

Hangars clattered against each other as I turned away from the clothes rack I'd been elbows-deep in. Jackie stood a short distance away, holding a ruffled blue shirt out from the rack. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face when she realized her mistake, quickly followed by grief.

"The neckline looks itchy," I said, willing to ignore the slip up. "But if you're fine with that, it's cute."

It wasn't the first time she'd called me by the wrong name, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. Really, there was a small part of me that was starting to expect it. Back home, in my original universe, I got called all sorts of names - my brothers', my mom's, dad's, and aunt's. It was a side effect of having a big family, and you sort of expect to get called the wrong name every now and then. Growing up, I always knew that, if grandma or whoever at least SEEMED like they were talking to me, they probably were.

Back then, it never bothered me. So why did it now?

Jackie sadly thumbed the fabric around the neckline. "It's a bit scratchy, but it'll soften in the wash."

I hummed in acknowledgment and turned back to the dresses and tops in front of me. I knew that I wasn't Rose. I never would be. I knew that Jackie wasn't my mother. She never would be, either. I knew I could never take Rose's place, not for the Doctor, not for Jackie.

I know.

I know.

I know.

~0~0~0~

.

I woke up again in the deepest part of the night. I wasn't sure why. I waited, letting the musty, chilled air of the room soak into my senses and wake me up the rest of the way. My migraine had gone, but something else weighed heavy on my mind. Foreboding. Something else had happened. Something bad.

The fine hairs on my arms tingled. The room was dark and silent, but the air seemed to buzz with unseen energy. When I breathed in, I could taste ozone on my tongue.

Cold dread washed over me. Throwing off the blanket, I shoved on my shoes and made for the door.

I wasn't actually sure what room Mickey was in, so I went straight to Clive's. Not wanting to waste time or risk drawing unwanted attention by knocking, I soniced the lock and barged straight in, keeping my fingers crossed that he was decent.

Thankfully, he was both dressed and awake. He looked up from where he was seated at the tiny coffee table as I bustled in.

"Buffy?" He said, looking surprised. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know yet." I grabbed up his discarded coat and tossed it to him. "Where's Mickey?"

Unlike Clive, Mickey had actually been asleep. He'd also placed a chair in front of his door, one that had done absolutely nothing to stop me from getting in. Mickey woke up with a gasp as the rickety wooden attempt at some peace of mind clattered to the floor.

"Hey, we've got-" I clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out. "Shut up. It's us. Something's up. We need to move."

"Whasup?" Mickey mumbled around my hand just as Clive said, "You gonna tell us what's going on now?"

I lifted a finger on my free hand to indicate the air. "You smell that?"

Clive sniffed, then frowned. "Yeah, I can. What is that?"

"Plasma discharge."

"Plasma? What, like lightning?"

Mickey moodily pushed my hand away and I wiped it off on my shirt. "How do you know what plasma smells like?"

"No, like a plasma weapon. And..." I shrugged sheepishly. "I... get shot at a lot."

"So someone's got a gun?"

I didn't bother answering, knowing full well that time was at the essence. Even as I led the way out the door, I was mentally kicking myself for drawing this to their attention at all. I strongly suspected that, not only did someone have a weapon, but was actively using it, and I was deliberately taking them towards it.

How stupid was that? I should've gone down there myself first, made sure they weren't going to be shot on sight. My time with the Doctor had made me impulsive, not just because I was used to danger and being with someone that knew their way around dangerous situations, but because it had made me forget that other people couldn't zip in and out of reality like I could. If something bad were to happen, I had a way out. Mickey and Clive didn't.

Despite my internal struggle, they both were hard on my heels.

I pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on what the Doctor had taught me about navigating a battlefield. Plasma weapons have a specific smell. The stronger the smell, the stronger the weapon. You can use that to estimate where and how close you are to the shooter.

Of course, he'd told me that so I could avoid active shooters in situations where visibility was low. My going towards the guns usually only ever served to get on the Time Lord's nerves. But he also wasn't here to tell me otherwise.

The smell got stronger as we went downstairs. I held up a hand to warn my companions to stay quiet as we crept down the hall towards the front desk. I went first, sticking to the shadows as I crept through the foyer.

The room was empty, as far as I could tell. Dark, too; the only light came from the lamp on Mr. Ainsley's desk. The door to the office was open. I motioned Clive and Mickey forward as I edged around the desk, only to freeze when I saw the motionless figure stretched out across the floor.

"Shit…"

It was Mr. Ainsley. He lay on his back with his arms held stiff to his sides, half-in-half-out of the room behind him, like he had stood up from his desk and done a trust fall with no one. There was a dark scorch-mark on his chest, like a cigar burn. Like some giant had used him to put out its cigarette.

"Is he…" Clive started as I went to kneel by the old man's side. His voice was hoarse, as if his mouth had gone dry.

"He's dead," I confirmed grimly, picking aside the smoldering, bloody hole in his musty waistcoat.

"Don't touch it!" Mickey protested. "Just leave him. We should… we should call the police. Let them sort it out."

"No," I said sharply. "Not yet."

He stared at me, uncomprehending. "Why not?"

I felt a little guilty, realizing that this was almost certainly the first freshly-murdered body he had seen. I stood up and went to pat his arm in a way I hoped was reassuring.

"I was right. This is from a plasma weapon," I explained, keeping my voice steady. "The killer either isn't human, or has something that they shouldn't. Either way, we don't want to get outsiders involved. They'll just get in the way."

"What about the people upstairs?" Clive asked. "They might be in danger. We could tell them what to look out for, at least."

"We don't know what to look out for!" Mickey snapped, face pale.

I quickly ran through a list of possible scenarios in my head, then shook my head. "No. It's late. They'll all still be in bed. It's better they're in their rooms and not wandering around. And anyway, this seems more like a specifically targeted murder than an accident. Whoever it was might leave them alone."

"So what now?"

"Now…" I returned to my list of possible scenarios. "Now we try to figure out who. Preferably before morning when everyone starts waking up."

Mickey scowled. "And how do you expect us to do that?"

"Why is usually a good place to start." I pulled out my phone and my sonic. In a matter of moments, I had both Mickey and Clive in a group call. "Sweep the house. Start on the bottom floor and work your way up. Look for anything that looks out of place. Let me know if you find anything and stay on the phone at all times."

"What are you gonna do?"

I doubted the killer was still inside; whatever they'd been after, they would've moved on by now, especially now that three people were awake and investigating. We'd come down the main stairs, so it was unlikely that they had gone up. But the front door was right there, and it's where I would have gone to beat a hasty retreat.

It was the most dangerous task, and obviously I wasn't going to let anyone else do it.

"I'm gonna take a look around outside," I explained, already moving to the front door. "Keep me updated. Let me know i…"

I swung the door open to reveal a disturbingly familiar face of stone, the features twisted into an animalistic snarl. The creature stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the house, leaving only the porch as a cushion between me and it; but I knew damn well that such a short distance wouldn't protect us for long.

"Oh… hello!" I greeted, voice cheery with terror. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on its chest, I said over my shoulder, "Mickey. Clive. Try not to blink."

~0~0~0~

.

---

Responses to Comments:

C. S. Stars: I'm all about playing with making things happen differently! There's only a couple of chapters before we get to some of the episodes, so I hope you like the changes I make :)

CrystalAris: She's definitely beyond pissed, but like you said, that loss of trust is going to be a big issue for them. I can't say much about what's in store for their friendship without giving anything away. But I can promise that it'll be nice and angsty ;) Thanks for sticking with me!

sophiewhettingsteel: Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy!

bored411: Yeah, the Buffy he left isn't going to be the same Buffy he comes back to. Thanks for reading!

Saiyanprincess1511: I've been working myself around my fandoms, so it's taken me a while to really settle back on DW. Though even when I have been in a DW mood, I've been either playing around with some new fic ideas or mentally fleshing out some later parts of Buffy's story. I hope you enjoyed the mandalorian!

Spoonsinthesink: Thank you! I'd been wanting to do something with Clive for a while, and I felt that Mickey wouldn't be able to just stand by while Buffy throws herself into danger, no matter how much he hates it. Originally, there was supposed to be a whole other arc after this one before we get to Aliens of London, but I decided that that was overkill and moved the arc later down the line. As it stands now, there's one more chapter to this arc, and then a bridge chapter, then we get the Doctor back. I'm not the best judge of how many chapters something is going to take bc I'm pretty long winded, but unless something weird happens I'm pretty determined to make Aliens of London Ch 33. And no, it's not weird! Sometimes reading fanfiction is how I get into new fandoms. So I hope you've enjoyed those stories too!

TheGuestAlikai:I like flashbacks, so I use them a lot, maybe too much :D I've always felt that Mickey deserves a bigger role, so I thought it might be fun to write him in some more. And Buffy definitely bases her reactions on Nine, since thats who she's learned about dealing with space stuff from. It's kind of interesting to use Clive and Mickey as a way of comparing Buffy when she first started traveling to her now. Thanks for reading!

Sam2357: Clive is definitely going to be popping up now and then. I'm glad you like the flashbacks!

TheSoloPlayer339: Ahh I want to explain all the little plans about Buffy, her lifespan, and Otherside time so bad, but I can't without spoiling everything. But I will say: Yes, time is funny in the Otherside (I started to introduce it in this chapter, but I'll really explain it more later) and it will be important to later events (You're actually hitting pretty close to some plot points, but again, spoilers) - but it doesn't have to do with how she ages or anything. I'll also say, at the risk of spoilers, that I'm not doing the standard Time Lady in disguise thing. What I have planned is super complicated and really kind of weird, to be honest. I've spent a lot of time over the past few months fleshing out my original concepts, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that it WILL NOT be standard or boring :)

AsToldByNi: Yay, internalized anger! Glad you're enjoying it!

Na-Na-Nikki: Aww, thank you! Thank you for such a wonderful, thoughtful comment! Reading this really made me feel good about this story, and is one of the ones that I've come back to reread to help me get back to working on it. I 100% recommend writing your own adventures! It can be kind of exhausting, but when you've finished an arc it really feels 10x more satisfying. Again, thank you so much!

Desperate lurker: Glad I'm not the only one who loves Geronimo ;)

EmeraldGhost11: Thank you!

B. : Thank you! I can never leave Nine out of a fic because I never read enough of him in the stories I read. More fluff (and angst) headed your way soon.

FlyingHampsterOfDoom: Aw! Thanks for the shout out! The vote of confidence really made me smile.

13teen: I'm happy that you found this binge-worthy! And yeah, I had just started watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer when I was first starting this fic, and it just really felt like the kind of thing my Buffy would do. I'm both sorry and not sorry to make you cry over this story (I cry about it sometimes too, when I'm writing scene or even just working out future stuff in my head, so it's good to hear that it's effective!)

PurpleParticle: :D

happy-rea: I'm doing fine! Just been a mix of busy and unmotivated, but even when I seem to drop off the face of the earth for a while, I'll always be coming back to this story and even if I'm not actively writing it, I'm still working on it in my head :)

VoraciousReader: Sorry to hear that you're locked out - I hate when that happens. It's been almost seven months, so definitely the longest I've gone without updating this story, but hopefully I can get myself back in the swing of writing regularly. Thanks for that comment! I've been crunching through trying to get this chapter done for the last few days and reading that really gave me a boost!