Spoiler: "Tabula Rasa." Spike didn't come to the Magic Box, vampires never attacked, and Willow's crystal was never broken. There is also a slight spoiler for "Quickening" – the Angel episode contemporary with TR — though this doesn't follow the episode exactly.

Part Three

They didn't awaken again until after ten, though it was closer to noon before they were ready to get dressed. And it was then that the day began to become difficult.

"Rupert, where are my clothes?"

"Hmm?" Anya had done amazing things to him in their shower, and he wasn't feeling up to coherent speech yet.

"My clothes," she asked snappishly. "If we're engaged, then I'm sure that we must live together. It would be a waste of money to maintain two apartments. But I don't see any of my clothes here. Where are they?"

"Well, that's rather odd," Rupert admitted.

Anya wasn't finished, however. "And what about my birth control pills? You didn't have any condoms in your dresser, so I assumed that I was on birth control pills, but there aren't any in the bathroom."

For a moment, Rupert was annoyed. He had no more memories than she did; how the hell was he supposed to know? But then, the nature of the missing item struck him: birth control pills were somewhat important. No, try very important. In fact, birth control pills were critically important to condomless couples. Fighting down an incipient panic, Rupert thought quickly. To his amazement, he was able to pull up information that he would have sworn that he did not possess. "There are other methods for preventing pregnancies, are there not? Such as, uh, Norplant capsules? And, um, Depo Provera shots? Perhaps you use something like that."

"I hope you're right," Anya muttered darkly.

"Of course I am," Rupert insisted with a confidence that he did not feel. "Considering how healthy our sex life is, condoms would not be the most cost efficient means for preventing pregnancy."

This last observation elicited a happy smile from his fiancée, but she still sounded uncertain when she asked, "What about my clothes...?"

"Well," he opined, "maybe this is a new engagement. Perhaps we haven't had time to combine our households yet. You're welcome to borrow some sweat pants and a shirt in the meantime." He went to his dresser and pulled out some clothes without looking at them. He hoped they matched. "Here, why don't you wear these, while I go and make breakfast?"

Anya scowled, but accepted the proffered clothing. He went downstairs to the small kitchen he had noticed the night before, and began opening cupboards at random. He quickly found a frying pan and a spatula, and then opened his refrigerator to pull out some eggs and hopefully some sausages as well. It was completely empty and immaculately clean. Rupert stared at the refrigerator in confusion before suddenly remembering the ticket he had found last night. He slammed the door closed, and began to think.

His flat was fully furnished, and his clothes were still here. (Though, looking down at his dark sweater disdainfully, Rupert had to wonder whether these were the nicest items in his wardrobe.) What did that mean, that all perishable items were gone but his personal belongings were still here? And why were all of Anya's things missing? Was he planning on making a lengthy visit in England, with a return sometime in the unscheduled future? Or had he intended to send for his things after he reached London? And what had he intended to do about Anya?

Anya... Rupert decided that he needed to stop wondering about his pre-amnesia plans, and instead concentrate upon the here and now. What should he do about Anya? Should he tell his fiancée that their relationship apparently wasn't working out? Didn't she have enough to worry about as it was, without fretting that he was going to leave her as soon as he got his memory back? And was he still going to leave now, given their unusual circumstances? They had been given another chance, a blank slate,' as it were. All of their problems (whatever they were) had just been erased; shouldn't he take advantage of that? Coming to a sudden decision, Rupert called up the stairs. "Darling, I'm afraid that there is nothing edible down here." Which wasn't a lie... exactly. "I suggest that we go out for breakfast."

"We can't go anywhere," floated down the anxious voice of his intended. "I look ridiculous in these clothes; I can't be seen in public!"

"Perhaps I have a phone number for one of the others. If so, I'll call and ask if you can borrow some clothes; if not, we'll stop at a department store before we go anywhere else." An incomprehensible mutter–which he chose to take as agreement–met this suggestion, so Rupert sat down at the desk and began looking for an address book. The neatly typed list of phone numbers taped to his telephone made this search unnecessary.

Rupert stared at the list of names and numbers, and wondered who those people were and what they meant to him. There were five names, two of which he recognized. Buffy, the skinny blonde girl who originally called herself Joan, was the first name on the list. Below her was Willow, Alexander's redheaded girlfriend. Willow's name and number had been crossed out. Were they no longer friends? But if that was the case, then why had she been at his magic store last night? Below Willow was the oddest name he had ever heard, Xander, and then Wesley. After Wesley there was an overseas number which was labeled, "Travers, pillock." The last brought a smile to his face, even as Rupert wondered why he would keep the name and number of a person he obviously disliked.

Rupert was tempted to call Xander first, to see if he (or she) could tell him anything about himself, but decided that he needed to acquire some clothes for Anya first. He dialed Buffy's number, nervously doodling while waiting for someone to pick up. He didn't need to wait for long. "Hello?"

"Um, hello. This is Rupert Giles. Am I speaking to Buffy, or to Dawn?"

"Tara, actually," came the shy, quiet response. "I, I can get Bu- Buffy, if you like."

"I'm not sure that is necessary," Rupert responded kindly. "I, er, need a small favor. Anya doesn't keep any clothes at my flat, and I was wondering, uh, that is, I was hoping–"

"That you could borrow some of mine?" Rupert could hear the smile in her voice, and decided that he should make an effort to get to know her. She sounded extraordinarily nice. "I think Dawn's clothes might fit her better, but we'll bring something in any case. Should we meet you at the magic store?"

"Yes. That would be, um, that would be very kind of you. We'll see you soon." Rupert went over to the stairs. "Tara promised to bring an outfit to the store. Are you ready to go, darling?"

"Just a minute, Rupie." Rupert shuddered at the moniker; somehow, he doubted that he had ever or would ever welcome that saccharine nickname. To distract himself from saying something harsh, he began jotting down the names and numbers on his telephone. He had just finished "Wesley's" number when he felt familiar arms wrap around his chest. "I'm ready to go, Rupert."

"Splendid!" Rupert turned around, and blinked in surprise. Anya looked like a child playing dress-up; his clothes were far too big for her. Something in his fiancée's face told him, however, that laughter would be unwise at this point at time, so he manfully fought it down. He cleared his throat, and prayed that he could speak without chuckling. "Let's be off then, shall we?" Anya gave him a sweet smile, and Rupert felt rewarded for his forbearance. She grabbed his hand, and they headed out the door.

~*~*~

Rupert was quite proud of himself. He had been in the Magic Box for almost half an hour, and had yet to scream at any of his companions. It was a small group, but they did seem capable of making an extraordinary amount of noise. Rupert wondered what he would normally do in order to make them shut the hell up.

Part of his irritation came from the fact that he felt eyes upon him, observing him with detached amusement. He looked around, and found himself staring into the beautiful hazel eyes of the skinny blonde, Joan. No, not Joan, Buffy. The blonde caught him looking back at her, and she gave him a quirky smile, as if to say that she found all this wrangling as intolerable as he did. Rupert couldn't help but grin back at her. A hand digging into his thigh told him that Anya had noticed this silent communication, and was not pleased by it. He jerked his attention back to Alexander with a start of shame.

"–that's all I'm saying," the young man finished huffily. Willow was shaking her head in disagreement, and Dawn was scowling. Rupert wondered what the boy had said to garner these reactions, but mostly he hoped no one would ask him for his opinion. He had no desire to admit that he had been zoning out for an indeterminate amount of time.

Oddly enough, it was Tara who spoke up. "I, I, I think th- that it could work. We, um, I mean Rupert and Anya, could, could, uh–" Tara abruptly stopped, looking very much like a wary animal searching for an escape.

"Tara and Alex are right," Willow said firmly. Dawn glared at Willow, clearly angry to have lost her ally. Rupert was amused to note that Willow was willing to stand against her boyfriend, but would change her stance without hesitation to support the shy blonde girl. He wondered whether either girl was aware of the chemistry he sensed between them. "Rupert and Anya can do magic to fix this, but we'll need to help them."

"What," he yelped. This is what he got for not paying attention; he was now expected to pull a bloody rabbit out of his hat–literally–and solve matters single-handedly. "Shouldn't we be looking for other solutions first?"

"Like what," Alexander demanded hotly. "Doctors can't help us. There isn't a scientific explanation for what happened to us, so we're not going to get a scientific solution. Magic is our only option."

"As loathe as I am to admit it, you might be correct. It is possible that magic is our only option. But," Rupert hardened his voice here, in response to Alexander's glee, "not magic as performed by us. We have no idea what we are doing, and could easily make things worse. We should try to learn about our other selves and see if we can find anything to guide us. If nothing else, we should try to contact people known to us to see if any of them know enough magic to perform the requisite spell."

"What are you suggesting," Alexander asked. "That we should all go home and dig through whatever personal files we can find? I don't feel good about doing that. I mean, I know the guy who owns that apartment is really me, but he feels like a total stranger. Going through his stuff... I don't know. Wouldn't that make me a sociopath?"

Rupert hadn't thought about it in those terms before, but he could see Alexander's point. Still, he wasn't about to give up. The idea of experimenting with magic at random filled him with a vague terror. "How about this? I copied down two phone numbers from my flat; perhaps we could call them and see if one of them might be able to help us."

Alexander grunted noncommittally, but Rupert took that for acquiescence. He quickly dialed the first number, the one labeled Xander,' as the others grouped around him. He held the phone out for all of them to hear. After four rings, the answering machine picked up. Everyone stared at Alexander in surprise, because the voice on the machine was clearly his.

Hi. I'm sorry, but we're out at the moment. There was the muffled sound of a woman's voice, and then a high-pitched squeak. Or we're having sex right now. In either case, we can't talk to you, so just leave a message. Bye.

Alexander, who apparently went by the rather odd name of Xander,' was grinning from ear to ear; though he had enough delicacy to keep quiet. His girlfriend was less amused by the graphic message that they had just heard. As soon as the feminine voice had wafted through the telephone, Willow had blushed a deep crimson. Indeed, she was still red enough to clash with her hair. Tara was turned away from the group, but the rigid way she held herself suggested that she was even unhappier about the message than Willow was.

Once again, it was Buffy who cut through the awkwardness and brought people back to the matter at hand. "Well, the only thing we learned there was that Alex likes to be called Xander. That's a cool name, by the way," she added as an aside to the young man. "Maybe we'll have better luck with your other lead. What was it again? Walter?"

"Wesley. It's worth a try. At least we know that he can't be one of us." Rupert dialed the number, which was long distance, and tried to figure out how he would initiate the conversation. He hoped that this Wesley knew him well, and would forgive him if he sounded like an idiot.

A woman answered the phone, speaking in a dizzying rush. "Angel Investigations: we help the hopeless. Make it quick; this is a bad time."

Rupert blinked in surprise, and then took a deep breath. "Um, yes, hello. Could I please speak to, to Wesley? It's, uh, rather important."

"Jeez, Giles," came the annoyed response. "Nice to talk to you too! Yeah, I'm doing well. No callbacks recently, but the work here keeps me busy. Thanks so much for asking!" Rupert cringed at the brutal sarcasm, and offered up a silent prayer that his other self didn't have too many dealings with this woman. He noticed Buffy looking at him with a mixture of amusement and compassion, and he gave her a grateful smile. Meanwhile, the anonymous woman was yelling, "Wes! It's Giles. Says it's important."

Within seconds, a clipped male voice came on the line. The man was British, like him, and sounded like he was from a similar background. "Hello, Mr. Giles. I'm afraid that you've called at an extremely inopportune time. Darla is in the middle of giving birth at the moment, and it looks like it is up to me to help her." As if on cue, a woman's voice cried out in the background. She was clearly in pain. "Unless this is very urgent, I would prefer to call you back."

Although he was anxious for answers, Rupert found himself caving. "Yes, yes, of course. Whenever it's convenient for you." Five pairs of eyes glared at him for his cowardice, while one pair of hazel eyes nodded approvingly. Rupert was grateful to Buffy for her understanding, but felt that he should go with the majority. "Howev-"

"Excellent. Unfortunately, it may be a week or two before I am able to call you back." Wesley's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Rupert was forced to bring the phone to his ear to hear anything at all. "That matter we discussed? The Nyazian Prophesy? I'm afraid that it is still very much an issue. I may be out of touch while I attempt to find a solution."

"Yes, but–" Rupert was again interrupted, this time by a click and a dial tone. "The berk hung up on me," he muttered incredulously.

"So, I guess we're all out of leads," Alexander -- no, Xander -- cowed. "Time to start playing with the magic."

"Well, there is that guy from this morning," Anya said in a bored voice.

Dawn, Xander, and Willow all demanded to know "what guy," while Rupert fought the urge to smack himself. He should have thought of his sunrise caller himself. The older man held up his hands until the others quieted down, and then gave them an abbreviated summary of his early morning conversation. He blushed when he admitted that he hadn't thought to get the name of his non-friend, but was quick to point out that the man was still waiting for them at the police station.

As Rupert would have guessed, Buffy was the first to react. "It does sound like this guy can help, though I'm not sure if he will. Still, it wouldn't hurt to find out. I found a car in the employee parking lot, but it doesn't look like it will hold more than two people. I would suggest that Rupert and Anya go down to the police station while the rest of us start looking into spells."

"I don't like that plan," Anya frowned. "I want to stay here and watch the store, and take people's money." She flashed a sudden smile in Rupert's direction, and he knew that he would agree to whatever she asked. "Can I stay here, Rupie?"

Rupert cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, Darling. Um, Buffy, would you show me where our car is? And, perhaps you might, uh, like to accompany me?"

Anya obviously hadn't expected that she reaction. She scowled and started to protest, but Xander grabbed her arm and led her over to the books. Rupert could feel her glare boring into his back as he took Buffy by the arm and headed out of the shop.