Is anyone reading? Does anyone care?

Anyway, here you go!

~oOo~

Chapter Three

Tom waited for Sophie to leave the room. It seemed like she was stalling. Like maybe she had something else to say. But at the door all she did was turn and grin at him—then she waggled her fingers and said, "Night Tommy." And then she closed the door.

But she only closed it just to—not completely, he realized. Maybe so that they could check on the girl throughout the night without waking him, but more likely to be sure he wasn't doing anything he shouldn't.

Sighing, he went to the small pile that Vin had left him and pulled out a set of men's pajamas and eyed them curiously. They weren't so different from what he had at Wools, but they were quite a bit nicer. Better material, for sure, very soft, a little more color. Red striped though, Tom noticed. He could do without the red, but it was nice to have something decent. Most everything that he had at the orphanage was older than dirt, being passed down from child to child if they were still wearable. It wasn't unusual that orphanages were short on funds, but in these times, anything new had to be purchased with ration coupons, in addition to cash, because there was even less money and materials to go around. Even at the best of times, Mrs Cole thought they could go without.

Though, he'd definitely grown some over the school year, so she would probably make an exception and give him at least one new outfit for the summer. He wasn't overly pleased by this. It wasn't like it would truly be his property. He would just be allowed to wear it for a time.

But why did these women have men's pajamas here in the first place? They weren't new items. Not at all. Clearly, though, this was a woman's house. Everything looked all soft and feminine—and nice and tidy. The rooms he'd been in smelled fresh and clean. There were even flowers in vases set out. And there were no men's belongings about. Not anywhere that he could see—not that he'd seen much as of yet. All of this was seriously perplexing.

Shrugging off his many thoughts and questions, Tom went to use the restroom to change. It was small, but serviceable. Also very clean. He would have liked to have a shower, but there wasn't one in this room. At least there aren't a whole gaggle of children needing to use it too, he thought, thankful that he was getting just one more night away from the orphanage—even if he'd have to deal with Mrs Cole's ire the next day. Maybe she'd forgotten the date he was to return and wouldn't even be concerned, though he thought it unlikely.

After changing, Tom went back out into the room and put his shoes on the floor under the round nesting tables in front of the fireplace, then cleared the tables off and carefully laid his clothing out on them, hoping they'd be dry come morning. He had a few other articles of clothing in his trunk, but it was mostly his House clothing—not that anyone would notice or care if he wore them. He often did—especially if he were going out—and no one ever said anything. They were definitely nicer than his orphanage attire.

Yes, he would have to put them on if his Muggle wear was not dry when he needed them the next day. He wished his trunk wasn't downstairs, but he was grateful that Sophie had at least carried his satchel upstairs.

Quckly he went to his small bag—to make sure it hadn't been tampered with—then sighed his relief. Opening the bag, he took his wand out and looked it over, then sighed—September first would not come fast enough—and put it back, stuffing it down further under his scarf so that it was not easily discovered if someone were to peek inside.

Shouldering his bag, he took another look at the sleeping girl. She really was incredibly pretty, he thought as he stared down at her just lying there so peacefully, wondering where she'd come from and how she'd come to be in that fountain. He would swear that she'd just appeared there, but...how could that be?

He was tempted to get closer to the girl, but decided against it. If he were caught, Lavinia would probably think him a pervert. Instead, he turned off the light on her side of the room, then turned and went over to the other sofa. It was tan with a yellow and red floral design—and some hideous red fringe on the bottom. He almost laughed—then looked up and saw his refection in the mirror above the sofa and scowled instead. He knew he was a good-looking young man—if the simpering females at Hogwarts were anything to go by—but the long day and bizarre evening had left him looking completely unkempt. Putting his bag down, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, then started to make up a bed on the sofa. When he finished, he stared at it for a few moments, then sat down. Behind him was a lamp that he considered leaving on, but instead switched it off, lay down and covered himself, then closed his eyes. He was exhausted!

From the other side of the room, a loud intake of breath could be heard. "I am not the lamb!" the girl called out on exhale. "I am the Slayer!" The girl continued mumbling to herself, mostly unintelligible words.

Tom's eyes immediately flew open at the sound, but he'd remained lying there, just listening. Across the room he could hear rustling and more mumbling. The girl was moving—getting up—and Tom thinks that he should too, but he's concerned about the women upstairs. He can't see too much. The fire has died down quite a bit, but there is still a slight glow. It is when he sees the silhouette of the girl that he scrambles off the sofa and to his feet.

"Show yourself buster," the girl demanded in the dark.

Tom can see that she's grabbed something, but he can't tell what it is, only that the girl means to use it as a weapon. At this point he doesn't care who sees his wand, he reaches for his satchel, fumbling to get it open—but the girl is faster. Merlin, is she fast! It's like she can see perfectly fine in the dark, striking him before he can extract his wand, sending his bag flying across the room. On the floor now, they are struggling—and she's winning! She's incredibly strong.

And then the room lights up!

"What is happening in here?"

Tom knows that it's Lavinia's voice, but he can also hear Sophie chuckling. And he's embarrassed to find himself on his back, with the no longer unconscious girl sitting right on top of him, leaning over him, her hands holding his wrists pinned to the floor, and her face too close for comfort—her blonde hair dangling in his face. He blinks a few times, still shocked by the speed at which the girl flattened him—and by her strength. Her grip—both her hands and her thighs—is like a vice. They're both breathing hard and his head is spinning from being thumped on the ground.

When he looks up at her though, he realizes she's hardly wearing anything. She's sitting on top of him in a revealing nightgown, the hem pushed up—her thighs bare—because she's straddling him, the lacy bodice of her gown loose and her chest heaving. And she doesn't seem all that upset by it. But he's upset by it—her lack of attire and the fact that she's sitting on a most sensitive area.

"I'd like an answer to that question myself," the girl quips as she flings her head to the side to look over at Vin and Sophie in the doorway—wiggling on top of Tom a little more and causing him to groan in discomfort.

"Maybe you could get off of Tom there and we could have a chat, hmm?" Vin suggests as she and Sophie come into the room.

The girl narrows her eyes, then glances down at the boy underneath her. "Oh. Um. Sorry," she says, slowly lossening her grip on his wrists and sitting upright—but not getting off him. "Sort of my thing. Attack first...just in case."

"In case of what?" he asks, unable to help himself.

The girl shrugs. "You know. Stuff. You never know when the baddies will be out, do you?"

Tom can't seem to respond.

"It's best to be prepared, I always say," she continues. "Well, a friend of mine does anyway. Are you okay?"

"Get. Off. Me," Tom growls through gritted teeth.

Frowning, the girl slowly backs away, her nightgown falling to cover her thighs as she moves to stand away from the three of them. As she goes, the picks up the candlestick holder she'd discarded when she tackled the stranger in the dark.

"Where am I?" she asks as Tom rolls over, scrambles to his feet, and storms out of the room.

"You are in our home," Sophie says. "Tom found you...floating in a fountain."

"Unconscious," Vin adds.

The girl blinks. "I was...um...in a fountain? Unconscious, but not drowned?" she says, her hand coming up to her neck and finding only a healed scar—the Master's bite mark. He'd taken a bite and then...let her fall into that mucky underground pond.

Sophie shrugged. "Apparently not."

"Lucky me!"

"You're American," Vin notes.

The girl cocks her head. "Very good. And you all are British."

Sophie grins. "Well, we are in London, so..."

The girl frowns. "London?!" she says, looking incredibly confused. "I...ahh...know one British guy. He's old, but...still a friend, I guess. Do you have a phone?" she asked, wondering at the cost of a call to home would be—and what Giles would say when she rang him up. Oh my God, her mother was going to murder her for disappearing.

Vin and Sophie shook their heads. Not a lot of people were on the phone. They'd been considering it, but...

"Let's start with names, shall we? I'm Sophronia Fairweather and this is my sister Lavinia. And the young man you were tormenting is Tom."

The girl just stared at her, still struggling with the fact that she was in London. What had happened in Sunnydale? Was the Master free and off on a killing spree? And where were her friends?! Was her mother okay?

"And you are?" Vin prompted when it looked like the girl wasn't going to reciprocate.

"Oh. Um. I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers. American girl in London, apparently."

"Buffy?" came a male voice. "That's an odd name."

"Tom," Vin said warningly.

Buffy shrugged. "I have odd parents," she said, her eyes going to the scowling, dark-eyed boy. He was cute, even if his disposition was lousy. "Sometimes I think they didn't want anyone to take me seriously."

Tom snorted. He was rubbing his wrists. "That's quite a grip you have there, Ms Summers."

Buffy smiled at him. "Thanks! I'm stronger than I look," she said. "And it's Buffy." She stared at Tom for a moment, then continued. "Come on, Tom, you can say it, can't you? Buh-fee," she teased.

Tom just glared at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay. Ixnay on the humor. So serious. Why am I not surprised?"

Then she seemed to notice her attire—or lack thereof—and frowned. "Where are my clothes?" she asked as she ran her hands over the thin material covering her.

"Your dress was drenched, due to the fountain, so we had to remove it. We hung it up to dry," Sophie told her.

Buffy glanced at Tom. "Without him in the room, I hope."

Tom glowered at her.

"Were you at a party?" Vin asked next, trying to get to the bottom of all this.

"Nope. No parties for me," Buffy said. "I don't even know how I got to London. There was a dance, but I didn't go. My mother bought the dress. Was there a jacket?"

Sophie nodded. "Yes, I pulled it from the fountain."

"Oh good. I love that jacket," Buffy said.

"You must have hit your head and have some sort of memory loss," Vin decided.

Buffy frowned. "Don't think so. I feel fine," she said, reaching up and feeling around her head. "Nope. No bumps. I even remember exactly what I was doing up until...well, now." She paused. How much could she tell these strangers? Certainly not that she was the teenage vampire Slayer. They'd probably lock her up and throw away the key. "What day is today?" she asked instead.

The sisters looked at each other, then back at Buffy. "Saturday," they said in unison.

"Well, very early Sunday morning now," Tom corrected after glancing up at the wall clock.

"Hmm. Interesting," Buffy said.

Tom frowned. "What is?"

"That it's now Sunday," Buffy responded. "It was Friday in Sunnydale."

"Sunnywhat?"

Buffy huffed. "I live in Sunnydale. California. In the United States."

"I need a drink!" Vin said, starting for the liquor cart—causing Buffy to move back some. And then some more.

"I need...some air," the American said, looking around frantically.

When it looked like she was going to push aside a curtain, everyone else said, "Don't open that!"

Stopping short, Buffy eyed them. "Why not?"

The three of them frowned. "Because of the war, of course," Vin said.

"Don't want the Germans to drop a bomb on us," Sophie added.

"Not that we've had much of that for a while," continued Vin.

"Wait. What?!" Buffy gasped. "What the hell year is it, anyway?"

"It's 1942," Tom said, frowning. "What year do you think it is?"

Buffy stared at them. They were all staring back. "I...um...where's...the bathroom? I think I'm going to be sick!"

Tom stared in horror as the American girl started breathing erratically. She'd lost all color. Going to her quickly, he grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her. "This way!" he said—and all but hauled her to the toilet in the hallway.

~oOo~

So, there you have it! Questions. COMMENTS. Review please! Give me reasons—MULTIPLE reasons—to keep going! =)