A/N: See previous spoilers and disclaimers

Chapter Three – During

Sunnydale, CA - February 9, 2001

Willow's brow wrinkled in confusion. She closed her eyes again and tried opening them one at a time. The left one first, followed by the right. No joy. So then she tried the right eye first, then the left. The view that met her gaze stubbornly refused to change.

Nothing!

Frustrated, the witch ran the spell through her mind again. Every word spoken perfectly. Every ingredient used correctly. She stood, thinking a little pacing might help, when a thought struck her. Maybe… maybe they materialized somewhere else, like the training room, or outside even. Yeah. Outside! With a slightly optimistic little hop, Willow started toward the door.

Before she could prance more than two paces, the door swung open, sending the bell above into a happy little song and dance number. When Buffy and Giles walked through, the redhead couldn't help the gleeful exclamation. "Oh, wow! I did it! And you're here… and I'm here… and we're all here! Which means I really did it. I -- " She broke off her exclamation as she noticed the guilty look pass between the Vampire Slayer and her Watcher. "You did it?"

"Wil," Buffy began, looking for something meaningful to say. She then sighed, and simply said, "We walked."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I really thought it'd work. I mean… it felt right at least." She sat, disheartened. "There's another spell in the cosmic circular file."

Giles cast the young woman a supportive smile as he walked behind the counter of his shop. "Don't give up all hope completely," he said in his usual precise British clip. "I'm sure with time, practice, and research, something will come of this."

"Yeah. Something," Willow echoed.

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The bright flash faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Max and Logan blinking in the harsh sunlight.

Sunlight.

The pair stilled as the realization came that they were no longer surrounded by the comforts of a slick apartment with plush furnishings, but instead by some kind of town with colorful buildings and clean streets. As Logan took a cursory glance around, Max sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "What is that smell?"

Logan slowly glanced at Max. They didn't know where the hell they were and she was concerned by the odor? Priorities… Logan slowly inhaled. "What smell?"

Max sniffed again and cast him an annoyed look. "That smell."

He rolled his eyes. "Clean air," he replied sharply. "Can we please focus on the bigger issue here? As in… where are we?"

"My POINT to this is how many places near civilization do you know that are fairly low on pollution? Overseas maybe?"

Logan looked at the stores along the street. "Well, the signs on those businesses – Sun Cinema, B8 and Tackle, Magic Box, Jill's Toys and Gifts – not very foreign. England?"

"How 'bout California?" Max asked, pointing at the license plate on the front of a car parked nearby.

The euphoric feeling that Logan had felt building only minutes before dissipated sharply into a headache that was threatening to burn everywhere at once. "California. Okay. That's a start. That's only, what? 10 hours to the border? Maybe more the further down the state we get. It'd be workable, if we could get an airplane flight, a little longer if we rent a car. But you might be a little more noticeable through airline security, so we should probably go the car route."

"Might get a little expensive," Max pointed out. "Aside from rental, there's fuel, lodging, and food depending on how far to go, plus there's the fact that neither of us have interstate passes. Out of California, in and out of Oregon, in Washington, and we both know how fun it is to get past the borders in Seattle itself. We'd need more bribe money than it'd cost to fund Eyes Only for a year." Standing in one spot was really beginning bother her. Max picked a direction, turned, and started walking.

"Where are you going?" Logan had no choice but to turn and begin following her quickly retreating form.

"I'd like to get a look at where we are, to see if we can find out where here is. Maybe find someplace with a map or phone book." She turned, and slowly walked backwards until Logan wheeled up next to her.

"Got a plan?" he asked. Max looked at him and made a sound of derision. He sighed. "That answered that question. Of course not. 'I make it up as I go along,' " he quipped. He wasn't quite sure, but that may have been a tiny smile he saw before she turned away.

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The misplaced pair spent several hours looking around the unusual place. Everywhere they went, they saw clean, healthy, well-fed people walking around like they had nothing better to do with their time, and nothing important to worry about. They saw shops that were well kept, devoid of the city sludge and barred windows that often graced the Seattle businesses. Cars were not dingy and didn't cough out dark clouds of gray fumes. Instead, they sparkled and hummed along.

Nothing was familiar.

Max and Logan resisted talking to anyone or going in any of the shops. Not knowing who they could trust, they silently agreed to do a full recon before making any decisions. The silence was broken when they reached a park in a more residential area of town. "Welcome to Sunnydale," Logan read off the sign. He looked at Max. "I think we now officially know where we are."

Max went from zero to half-pissed in 0.2 seconds. "Oh, that's just great. You know where we are. Good ol' Sunnydale, California. Population: every single damn happy person on the planet!" She started a small irritated pace, then walked over to the sign and gave it a good sharp kick. "I, personally, am just so thrilled that you know where we are, because I'd honestly began to think we'd managed to fall off the face of the planet!" She kicked the sign again.

Logan had wondered when she was going to snap. Max had simply been taking their predicament too much in stride. But now, he had the unfortunate experience of seeing an X5 looking for an outlet to vent her frustrations. And although he was glad that he wasn't said outlet, he was starting to take pity on the defenseless sign. "Max, you might want to stop kicking the sign. For one thing, I'm not sure the city would appreciate it too much. For another, you may hurt yourself."

Max tossed him a deadly look, and kicked the sign again.

The sign, for its part, let out a sharp crack and fell straight to the ground, mortally wounded.

They looked at the sign. They looked at each other. They looked at the sign again. "I didn't do it," Max finally said.

Logan looked at her in disbelief. "Max, I just watched you-"

"That's not what I meant," she interrupted. "It's been broken before. Several times, actually. Whoever repaired it used glue." Max bent down and touched the broken ends of the posts. "Glue," she repeated. She looked up to Logan, calm again. "Shoddy craftsmanship. Maybe this place isn't so perfect after all."

Logan could only shake his head at her. The emotional roller coaster that was Max had come full circle and slid sedately back into the station. He just hoped she wasn't going to line-jump and do the whole ride again.. "Maybe we should head back to town. Preferably before the Sunnydale P.D. or the local Sector Police get a hold of you for vandalism."

"I'd probably get three square and a soft bed here," she felt compelled to point out.

"Max…"

"Fine, fine." She stepped to his side and held out one arm, gesturing in a direction. "Lead the way, oh Sunnydale Expert."

"I want that on a certificate when we get back to Seattle. You never know when a new skill will come in handy." Logan could only grin at the glare he received.

But within the next hour, the grin was gone. Both of their facades were drained of blood in shock and disbelief as they stared at their harbinger of the real bigger issue. There was a lovely scrolling marquee on the front of Sunnydale City Bank. They watched as "Support your local high school baseball team and area businesses – buy coupon books!" scrolled by. They watched as "Lower your interest rates – inquire inside" scrolled by. They were still okay when "12:42 p.m., 67º " scrolled by.

They were horrified when "February 9, 2001" scrolled by.

They barely managed to get themselves inside a cheery little coffee shop called "The Espresso Pump" and to a table before they collapsed. Several long quiet minutes went by before Max whispered, "Tell me I didn't see that. Tell me I'm imagining all of this."

"I wish I could, Max." He reached for her hand for support, only to grasp air as she quickly jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fine." He told himself she was simply frightened, that her withdrawal didn't mean anything. Even though it did, a little. "What do you think we should do?"

Max reached into the pockets of her leather jacket and started pulling out the contents: a set of keys, a small tube of cherry lip balm, a couple lock picks, and a small wad of cash all clattered to the table top. She quickly fanned the money and said, "I've got $327. That should get us…" She looked up at Logan. "What'll that get us? It's 2001. I've never been any… anytime outside of the pulse. Not really. Just a few months. Then everything changed and what wasn't much to me in the first place became something totally different."

Logan took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Well, I'm apparently only 12 now and only got a small allowance. Get a small allowance. Whatever." He put his glasses back on and pulled out his own wallet. "I don't have much myself," he told her. "A bunch of credit cards that are worthless here. Hell, they were well on their way to becoming worthless there, too. I've got a little cash, about $50. Not much help. Sorry." He paused a second and asked. "Why all the money?"

She just shook her head and ignored the question. "Don't apologize. Not your fault." A thought occurred to her, "It isn't, is it? Never mind," she quickly shook off the question at the flash of disbelief that crossed Logan's face. She pulled out a twenty from her money and stood up.

"Where are you going?" he called after her quickly moving figure.

"For coffee," she called to him over her shoulder. She came back with not only coffee, but a phone book as well. "Well, I can say one thing about '01. Coffee's cheap. Two cups of your everyday generic motor oil brand is only $1.84." Max carefully set two large cups in front of them.

"And the phone book?"

"Thought we could page through and see what's up with this place." She randomly opened the book and began to scan pages quickly. The ten digit phone numbers gave her a small jolt at first, but she kept going.

"Do you expect to find 'Need to return to your time? Call us!' in there?" Logan asked sarcastically. Max calmly flipped him the finger. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is that an invitation?"

Max just ignored him as she turned more pages. "Stop being a smart-ass. I'm just…" she trailed off. "Wow. There are 34 entries for funeral homes in here." She quickly turned to another section. "3 full pages for funerary monuments. What's up with that?"

Logan shrugged. "Maybe they've got a large retirement community here." As she started to turn to yet another section, Logan put his hand over hers to stop her. This time, she didn't pull away. He waited until her large brown eyes met his. "Max, I don't think we're going to find anything in there. Not unless you want to start looking for a motel for us to stay in."

She snapped the book shut. "Do you have any better ideas?"

Patiently, Logan took a sip of his coffee. Then another. For generic, it tasted pretty damn good. Or maybe he was just getting desperate for the caffeine. After all, it was starting to get late where they used to be. When they used to be. Just ignore grammar for a bit, Cale, he told himself. "What I think we should do is go back to where this started."

"And do what? Wait? See if we just spontaneously poof back?" Max sullenly grabbed her own coffee and downed most of the contents.

Ignoring the attitude, he said, "No. There was a shop there, The Magic Box, I believe. I'm thinking that we may want to check it out."

Max gave him another look. "Why? I'm really not seeing as how smoke and mirrors can help us much."

"What I think is that it's the best idea we've got. More importantly, it's the only idea we've got." At her slight eye roll and then grudging nod, Logan picked up the phone book and gave a smug smile. "Don't forget to return this."

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A kick. A punch. Another punch. A block. A swift turn. All beautifully, precisely executed. But no passion, no energy. Giles lowered his sparring pads just as Buffy stepped back to execute another series of movements. "That's not like you," he said in his quiet voice.

Buffy's eyes registered confusion for a split second. "Huh?"

He took a small step closer to her, to get a better look at her. "You were sluggish."

"Sluggish?" she repeated.

"Sluggish. I know that training is not among your favorite activities, but you usually display at least a modicum of enthusiasm during these sessions. You seem rather distracted." Giles cocked his head slightly to one side, and eyed Buffy with his usual British incisiveness. "Everything well at home I hope? Your mother is well? Not feeling ill again."

Buffy moved her head from side to side, as if to stretch the muscles in her neck, but really just trying to clear her thoughts a bit. "Mom's fine. Better than she has been in a while, really."

"Dawn, then?"

"Dawn's fine, too. I think she's still not so solid around the edges since she's found out about… well, you know. The Key stuff. The Glory stuff. But she's hanging in there." Buffy turned her back to Giles and began to aimlessly pace around the room, trying to put her thoughts in order. At first she thought she was walking in a straight line... but that soon became a half-hearted circle... and before she knew it, she had wandered a Snoopy-shaped path around the room, only to end up back where she'd started. With the same disordered thoughts. "Everyone's fine. Which in our little corner of the Hellmouth usually means something's wrong, but I'm going to take it as a good sign and run with it for a moment."

A swift evasion, nicely executed. But Giles was not one to give up easily. "Well, all that's well and good then." He paused. "It still doesn't explain why your mind is somewhere aside from your training."

Buffy shrugged, and began a mental debate whether to tell him anything or… she sighed. There was no point. He'd get it out of her eventually. "Well, I've kind of been having some dreams lately…. strange dreams."

Giles' eyebrows began a swift ascent up his forehead. "You've been having strange dreams? You should have informed me sooner, considering your record with dreams. Were you going to wait for them to appear in reality before you told me?"

Buffy gave a him look of exasperation. "You just live from apocalypse to apocalypse, don't you?" She shook her head slowly. "Get a grip, Giles--you've told me yourself, not everything that goes on in my head when my eyes are closed is necessarily some big, important prophecy-thing. I mean strange as in... strange. Kooky even."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"I've been dreaming of snow, Giles." She hopped up on a pommel horse and gave her trainer an expectant look.

"Snow? And?" he asked.

"And… what else? Just snow, Giles. Little fluffy white stuff that appears on this side of never around here. And unless you plan to run me to Target to start stockpiling bottled water and toilet paper, I'm not going to concern myself. As you've pointed out earlier, I've got a lot other more important-type stuff to worry my fashionable little self over." She shrugged again. "Doesn't mean that I won't wonder a bit, though."

Giles nodded and raised the sparring pads again. "That's good then. You can wonder while trying to improve those instep kicks of yours." Buffy hopped off her seat and kicked at him. A searing pain radiated through his hand. "Much better," he told her through gritted teeth.

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Anya enjoyed the general quietness of the small shop. She'd run into Willow leaving the place that morning, hearing her mutter something about finding Tara, her girlfriend. But for now, the place was all hers. Okay, so not quite all hers since it was Giles' place, but since he and Buffy were in the training room of the store doing training stuff… it was all hers.

"You, my bestest friends, and I have spent so much time together lately," she told three of her dear friends Ben, George, and Abe. "And I feel like I've really gotten to know you well. What you look like. What you sound like." She raised the cash close to her face and breathed deeply. "What you smell like." She sighed wistfully. "This'll be the closest we ever get to each other. And as much as that pains me, I do have Xander to bounce around with, and he's pretty good. I mean just last night he did this thing with his right ear that--" When the shop door tinkled merrily, she quickly shoved the money in its compartments and slammed the register drawer shut.

The two customers that entered the store sent her internal money-o-meter on a little buzz. But it was buzzing in such a weird way that she thought it must have been damaged by Act of Troll a few weeks ago. There was a young woman, semi-punked out, who looked like she would most likely be swiping the merchandise, but instead was giving off the "wealth" vibes of the pair. As for the young man in the wheelchair, he was dressed quite well, but was giving off the vibes of being next to bro--

A terrifying thought struck Anya. Wheelchair! Stairs! How could he spend money if he couldn't see all the merchandise? He needed to spend money! Anya needed him to spend money! She scurried out from behind the counter, to greet the customers. "Welcome to the Magic Box! You are both freely welcome to look at all of the many, many items we have in stock." At her greeting the young woman broke off her examination of the bell over the door and offered a quick, strained smile. Anya eyed the wheelchair again, then looked up at the man in it. "We do have an accessible side entrance so that you will be able to see – and purchase – some of our many, many items."

The man and woman gave each other slightly amused looks before the man turned back and said with a charming smile, "That'd be nice, thank you."

While the shopkeeper was outside guiding Logan to the other entrance, Max took the opportunity to give the place the once over. It was an… interesting shop, she'd give it that. Stocked full of candles, books, herbs, glass bottles, and odd statues, it looked like it did a pretty brisk business. To an evil pagan voodoo cult maybe. By the time Logan and the shopkeeper came in through the side door, they were already doing the standard "how's the weather" conversation. She swore that normal people had some type of small-talk gene that just allowed them to be able to talk to absolutely complete strangers like they were distant family. Which in their case, may actually have been a possibility. Or Logan's case at least. Max crossed her arms and took a few steps towards the chatters. "You've got a lot of stuff here. But I don't see where you keep the rabbits. Or do they come with the hats?"

Anya's left eye immediately began to twitch. An absolutely revolted look came over her face before she managed to tone it down to mere consternation. "I don't know what you've heard about us," she ground out between clenched teeth, "but we run a clean establishment here." She took a quick glance out of the corners of her eyes to make sure none of the offending creatures had mysteriously appeared and were hopping around on their wicked furry legs. Satisfied that her shop was untainted, she turned back to the customers, who were looking mildly shocked at the outburst. "Is there anything I can assist you in finding today?" she said with a cheery smile.

Logan chose his words very carefully before answering, "No. I think we're just going to take a look at some of your books, if that's okay."

Anya gave a tight, disappointed smile. Obviously, these people were not the kind of impulse-shoppers she loved.....but if she couldn't get immediate spendage, then the delayed kind was an acceptable substitute. As long as it wasn't TOO delayed, that is. "That's fine. If you need any assistance, let me know."

Max and Logan watched the woman resume her place behind the counter. They moved to a set of shelves as far away from her as they could find. Max couldn't help but turn back and give a final glance at the bell over the door. A simple device--cleverly positioned to shrilly announce the comings and goings of the local crowds who patronized the shop.

Of course, Max had never considered herself one of the crowd.

Max leaned over to Logan and whispered, "I think I figured out what the Magic is. It's Magic if the keeper doesn't go postal on the customers."

Logan couldn't help but agree as he took a leather-bound book off a shelf at random and opened it to see what he would find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who the hell writes this shit?" Max whispered. They had silently poked their way from one set of shelves to another and finally ended up in the back of the shop. New books, old. Skinny books, thick. English, Spanish, Yiddish, and also, apparently, Gibberish. "Egtubartium plesmidiae sprotateum," she fumbled out. "It doesn't mean a thing! How the hell are we supposed to figure out how to undo whatever's been done if we can't even read this junk?" Max clammed up a little as the salesperson went to some shelves nearby and began to rearrange the books.

Apparently, she'd heard Max's question, or part at least, because she perked up slightly and asked, "Can I offer you my assistance?"

"NO," Max said sharply and turned towards Logan.

Logan sighed. Even though the saleswoman was a little annoying, he refused to feed into the transgenic's frustration. He leaned past Max a bit and said to the woman, "Nothing right now, thanks." He looked back to Max and said, "You might want to try a little politeness sometime, Max. It does tend to help with interpersonal relations."

"The only interpersonal relation the two of us are going to have is my fist with her nose if she comes over here one more time. In the two hours we've been here, she's been over to us fourteen times. The last time it seems she desperately needed to do some alphabetizing next to us. 'Are you finding everything okay? Is there anything you need? Can I help you look for something?' " Max mimicked in a nasally voice, completely unlike the obscenely chirpy one of the other woman. Max growled, "She comes over here one more time, Logan, someone may have to die."

Since he wasn't sure he could put it past her in this case, he said forcefully, "Max!" She looked away guiltily. Logan waited until she looked back and continued, "Please, just try to stay calm a little longer. If you can behave yourself for a few more minutes we can leave, with everyone undamaged, and go somewhere else. Break for the night and take it up again tomorrow." Max half-heartedly nodded and Logan knew she'd be okay.

Or rather, she would have been if the vendor hadn't begun dusting. Dusting the books they were studying, that is.

Max blew. Completely and utterly lost it. She snapped her book shut and used it to slap away the feather duster. "What the hell are you doing!?!?" Max yelled.

Logan quickly grabbed her upraised arm, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to stop her if she took any action. "Max, calm down!" he shouted.

Anya, for her part, hadn't the sense to be scared. Or to back off. "What I'm trying to do is to get you to move from your particular patch of floor! You're using up valuable air that other customers could be using. Paying customers!"

At the sound of the skirmish taking place in the main part of the shop, Buffy and Giles rushed out of the training room. They stopped as soon as they saw Anya facing off against a pair of customers, a man who was reaching up from his seated position to tightly grip the arm of a young woman who was brandishing a book like a club And considering the size and heft of that particular book, it would probably make quite an effective club. I never considered using the Narmenoriti text in that particular way... Giles thought, .but now that I think about it, that might be more useful than trying to READ the blasted thing... "Anya!" Giles snapped out "What is going on here?"

"Max," Logan said again, vehemently. "Get a grip on yourself." To his relief, she had already started to back down a little when the man and the girl had come out of a door near the back of the shop.

"They're not buying anything, Giles!" Anya whined. She got a pouty look on her face as she continued, "They've been here for over two hours and have only taken up space and handled the merchandise. No spending!"

"One hour and fifty three minutes," Max muttered through gritted teeth.

"Max. Walk it off," Logan commanded. Her head whipped around in shock to look down at him. "Now!" He pointed in a direction away from Anya. Max narrowed her eyes, turned on one heel, and marched away with a slight stomp. "Don't touch anything!" he called after her. He would have no problem accepting any repercussions from ordering her around, but he refused to be responsible for any damage she would do while still in her little snit. He looked at Giles and offered a slightly sheepish smile. "I'm really sorry about that. It's been a long day, for both of us. We're just a little strained. We are willing to pay for our time, if that's a problem."

"That's quite all right," Giles offered back. He turned to Anya, "I am aware that your impassioned all-consuming mission in life is to acquire profits, but it is acceptable for customers to peruse for some time before coming to any decisions. We wouldn't want them to leave unhappy, would we? And return merchandise?"

Anya crossed her arms and looked down at the ground. She traced small bunnies with daggers through their furry chests with one toe. "No," she admitted.

Giles nodded, turned back to the amused customer and offered a hand. "I'm Rupert Giles, proprietor of The Magic Box. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"Pleased to meet you." Logan took the hand and gave it a firm shake. He debated briefly between sidestepping the offer and coming out with his and Max's problem. Deciding that Max had been entirely correct when she said the words in the books didn't mean a thing to them, he chose the latter. "Actually, I think we'd be better off if we took you up on your offer. Do you mind if we all sit down?"

"Not at all," Giles said, pointing out the table that sat in the middle of the store.

Logan gestured at Max, who was finishing up a slow lap. He moved a chair out of the way so he could maneuver himself up to the table, and waited until everyone had taken a seat before beginning the introductions. "My name is Logan, and this is Max," he added, indicating her. She nodded in acknowledgement, significantly calmer than a few minutes before. "Rupert?" he inquired.

"Most people around here prefer to call me Giles, for whatever inane reason. You've met Anya already," he said, nodding at the woman.

"And I'm Buffy," Buffy said, much preferring to introduce herself. "I'm… uh… I spend a lot of time around here. And help sometimes. With stuff. You need help? With stuff?" Geez. Smooth much? Should've let somebody else introduce me. 'Hi, strange new people, this is Buffy. She doesn't talk much, but if you need someone to poke undead things with pointy wooden sticks, she's your gal!' Yeah, that'd do it.

Max and Logan looked at each other. Logan's eyes asked how much he should say, and Max's answering shrug told him that it was his show, he got to run it. "We seem to have found ourselves in a bit of a predicament."

Max couldn't help but snort. "That's a mild term for mess."

Buffy smiled. "We tend to get a lot of those around here. I think you've come to the right place. What's happened?"

Logan chose his words very carefully. "Well, about six hours ago we were in my apartment. There was a bright flash, and then we found ourselves across the street in front of this shop." He saw the three nodding, and somehow felt Max begin to hide a smirk. He added, "My apartment in Seattle, Washington."

A silence came over the group. A trio of voices chorused, "Oh." Buffy and Anya both looked at Giles, who took off his glasses and began to clean them.

Max poked Logan. "Aren't you going to finish?" she asked snidely.

"Finish? There's more?" Buffy's eyes widened slightly with sympathetic disbelief.

Before either Logan or Max could elaborate, the door to the shop flung open, leaving the bell jittering about madly in its wake. Two women, one with red hair and the other with blonde, did a slight jog and skip down the stairs. "Giles! Buffy! We think we figured it out and want to try it again!" the redhead said happily. Both she and the other woman came to a quick halt, though, as they reached the table and noticed two people of the "not-them" type sitting there.

Giles took it upon himself to do another round of introductions. "Max, Logan, this is Willow and Tara. More frequent faces around The Magic Box."

"Figured what out?" Anya inquired.

"Oh, that remote transportation spell I tried this morning," Willow replied. Then gave a slight sigh and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Anya, I paid for the supplies."

Buffy and Giles missed her little side note because they were too busy recovering from the shock of the reminder of what they had been trying to accomplish that morning. About six hours ago to be exact. They looked at Max and Logan, whose features had darkened slightly at Willow's words. "Willow," Buffy began. "I think we've got a little problem."

"Problem?" she asked warily.

"Max and Logan are from Seattle. They kind of found themselves outside the Magic Box this morning after a big flash grabbed them," Buffy informed her.

"Seattle?" Willow repeated dumbly. "As in Washington, Seattle?"

"I think that's supposed to be Seattle, Washington, but yes," Giles answered.

"Hmm." Willow's brow furrowed in an effort to keep her general confusion in. "Well, Seattle is… what? 21 hours by car? A few by plane? That's not so bad." Noticing the quite unhappy looks being given, she added, "It's not, is it?"

"They were just about to finish," Anya told her helpfully.

"Finish?"

"Finish," Buffy and Giles chimed. They then looked at Logan, who by then had reached over and gripped Max's hand like a lifeline. Or maybe she had gripped his. It really didn't matter.

"When we were taken from Seattle," Logan began slowly. "It was about 4:00 in the afternoon. On April 8, 2020."

"Oh." Willow absorbed this new information. "Oops?"

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