Sam was having the nightmare again. Same field of corpses, same blond vampire, same unnerving feeling that it was real…it was going to happen. And if this really was a prophetic dream, then it was important that he pay attention. Because maybe, just maybe, if he knew enough about what was going to happen he couldprevent it from happening.

He took a closer look at his surroundings. They weren't in a field as he'd thought at first, they were in a city that had been flattened, devastated. Buildingshad been levelled, lampposts and traffic lights, furniture and cars, all of it had been reduced to nothing more than scraps and rubble.

The vampire was coming, kicking his way through bodies and debris with equal indifference, his cold eyes fixed on Sam. Sam backed away, but tripped and found himself face to face with a dead body. He recognised her—it was the girl Willow had been with…Tara. Sam's heart began racing. Lying a few feet away from Tara was Willow, her red hair matted against her crushed skull.

"No," Sam groaned. "No, no."

Xander lay to his right, his arms wrapped protectively around a beautiful young blonde woman. It hadn't done her much good—whatever had killed the others had got to them as well.

"No!" Sam repeated, anger, fear and frustration building up inside of him. Then he saw what it was he'd tripped over and he scrambled to his feet. He felt a cold, numbing dread come over him, and he stood staring mutely down at Giles' dead green eyes as the vampire drew closer and closer.

"What's the matter?" asked the vampire in a rough, British accent. "Cat got your tongue, Sam?"

Sam's eyes snapped up to meet the vampire's in shock. The smirk said it all—the vampire knew who he was. But how?

Sam awoke with a start, covered in a cold sweat, his heart still hammering in his chest. "Giles!" he called out at the top of his lungs. Before he knew it he had the entire household jammed into his doorway—all of them looking very much alive and well…and worried.

Sam smiled sheepishly at them. "Sorry guys, didn't mean to wake everyone up."

Giles arrived at the back of the pack, looking rumpled and sleepy. "Buffy, are you all right?" he asked.

The others let him through, and one by one they headed back to their beds. Giles came up to Sam and sat down on the side of the bed, next to him.

"I had the dream again, Giles," said Sam. "But this time it lasted longer. I saw more." Sam proceeded to tell Giles every detail of the dream except one—he kept the part where the vampire called him by his real name to himself. When he finished, Giles frowned, and for a while he was silent.

"So…what do you think it means?" asked Sam.

"It means that Spike's not as housebroken as we thought," said Giles. "Buffy, I know you'd like to think he's changed, and maybe he has to some degree, but we should never forget what he really is—a soulless vampire. And without that chip the Initiative put in his head, he'd have tried to kill us long ago."

"Of course," said Sam. "How could I forget that?"

Giles looked at him askance. "You don't remember Spike, do you?"

"Not…as such."

Giles sighed a little and hung his head. Then he looked at Buffy's alarm clock. It was coming up on five o'clock in the morning. With an even deeper sigh, he turned back to Sam and fixed him with a look of heavy resignation, like he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight.

"Okay, here it goes… You are the Chosen One," he said. "The one girl…"

"…in all the world with the powers to fight vampires—yeah, I got that part," said Sam. And to his amazement, he got a laugh out of Giles. "What?"

"In all our years together, you've never once let me finish that speech," said Giles with a remnant chuckle and a look of fond nostalgia.

"Sorry," said Sam.

"No, it's quite alright. Boring speech anyway. Where should I start, then? The Hellmouth?"

Sam nodded, and for the next two and a half hours he sat in wrapt attention as Giles brought him up to speed. Then, just as his narrative was building towards the end of their battle with Glory, Giles stopped.

"What happened then?" Sam asked, completely caught up in the story. "The barrier between dimensions was opening, and I was up on the scaffolding with Dawn…"

Giles' eyes shone with unshed tears and he looked down at his clasped hands. "You jumped," he said quietly. "You knew it was the only way to save Dawn, so you jumped. You gave your life to save her…to save the world."

When their eyes met again, Sam saw the raw pain in his expression and realized, perhaps for the first time, that this wasn't just some elaborate tale—this was his life. And as crazy as it all sounded, it was real. Sam couldn't help himself, in his need to take away some of his pain, he reached his hand up to Giles' face and stroked his cheek.

"Hey—I'm here now, aren't I?" said Sam, trying for a bit of light humour.

Giles smiled; "Yes, you are."

"And it sounds like we've been in worse situations than this. I may not remember everything, but I do remember you, and I feel safe knowing you'll be here to help me through this."

Giles' mouth twisted into a sad half-smile. "That's what I'm here for," he said, avoiding Sam's eyes. Then he quickly got up from the bed and went to the door. "I'm just going to go back to the hotel and get freshened up. I'll meet you at The Magic Box at ten o'clock, all right?"

"Sounds good," said Sam. And as Giles left the room, Sam played back their conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he'd said or done to push Giles away.

Sam arrived at The Magic Box early and stood outside staring in through the front window. The store wouldn't be open for another ten minutes, and he had no key. Inside, the blonde woman, Anya, was busy setting things up for the day.

Giles had mentioned, almost in passing, that Xander's fiancée was an ex-demon. Sam watched as she puttered around the store, trying to spot any indication of her unusual history, but she looked pretty human to him. That's when it hit him that he'd seen her before…in his dream, lying dead in Xander's arms. Sam's mouth went dry as images from the nightmare invaded his mind.

Inside, Anya looked up from her work and spotted Sam standing outside. Sam waved to her and she walked around the counter towards him. With a soft jangling of bells, the door opened and she let him in.

"You're early," said Anya by way of greeting. "You're never early. And why did you come in through the front? Giles is waiting for you in the back."

"Oh, yeah, the back," said Sam. "Which is…?"

"In the back," said Anya, looking at him like he was sporting the latest fashion in dunce caps.

"Right. Of course," said Sam, and he hesitantly made his way through the curious little shop. Thankfully it was as simple as she made it sound. At the back of the store there was a short hallway ending in a fire exit. On the left was a washroom, and on the right there was an open door. Sam peeked inside, and saw that it was a storage room that had been converted into a personal gym, complete with punching bags and floor mats.

Giles stood up from the couch as Sam entered. He looked relaxed and comfortable, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt—he was obviously used to these training sessions. Sam, on the other hand, was anything but relaxed and comfortable. He'd raided Buffy's wardrobe in search of some appropriate attire, but he couldn't find anything that wasn't skin tight and low cut.

"Are you ready?" asked Giles.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," said Sam. He reluctantly removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the door. He felt exposed and ridiculous wearing Buffy's skimpy, spandex aerobics outfit. So naturally that's when Al decided to make an appearance. Sam spun around at the sound of the imaging chamber door opening.

"Oh, God, Sam! What are you trying to do to me, wearing that tiny little outfit? Boy, if you weren't my best friend…"

"Al!" Sam hissed.

"What was that, Buffy?" asked Giles.

"Nothing," said Sam. He headed over to the mats where Giles was waiting, studiously ignoring his drooling holographic companion.

"I'm serious, Sam. You keep dressing like that and we're gonna have the same problem we had when you leaped into Samantha Stormer. We're talkin' weeks on the couch with Dr. Beeks, here." Sam chanced a sideways glare at Al before returning his attention to Giles.

"You should start out with a few stretches," said Giles. "I've already warmed up, but so should you, especially if your powers are low. How's the knee, by the way?"

"Much better, thanks," Sam answered. It still hurt a little, but the swelling had gone, and he had no trouble bending or putting weight on it. Sam began with some leg stretches, putting as much pressure on the weak joint as he could bear. And that meant bending in ways that were clearly provoking his friend.

"Sa-a-a-a-m… Oh, if you could see what I'm seeing," Al groaned.

There were times when Sam wondered if his friend was incapable of thinking about anything other than sex. The man was obsessed. Maybe some time on Verbeena Beeks' couch was exactly what Al needed. With an evil glint in his eye, Sam decided to torture his friend…just a little. As he stretched, he deliberately showed off as much of Buffy's lithe, young form as he could, eliciting numerous moans and complaints from his old friend.

"Ahem," Giles cleared his throat. Sam had almost forgotten that Al wasn't his only audience. He stood up straight and faced Giles, who was as visibly flustered as Al at his provocative display of aerobics.

"Warmed up enough?" asked Giles, a hint of strain in his voice.

"Ready when you are," said Sam.

"Good," said Giles. From a cupboard in the corner he pulled out some padding, which he then strapped onto his chest. "Now, I want you to hit me as hard as you can—we'll see what we're working with."

"Wow! This guy's got a big set of brass ones," said Al. "If you'd seen the way she kicked down that door, you definitely wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of her punches."

Even with the padding Sam didn't like the idea of hitting Giles with everything he had. But if he held back, then Giles would have a false reading, and the whole training exercise would be pointless. So Sam wound up and fired his best punch straight into Giles' chest, knocking the other man clean off his feet.

"Giles—are you okay?" asked Sam, kneeling over him.

"Fine. I'm fine," said Giles, but he took Sam's offered hand up just the same. "Are you sure that was your strongest shot?"

"I promise, I didn't hold anything back," said Sam.

"Well…it seems that your slayer strength is seriously depleted, then. But that was still a good, solid hit." Giles removed the padding, tossing it onto the couch. "We still need to test your speed and responses. Come at me again, and don't hold back."

Sam charged him, but Giles easily sidestepped the attack.

"Again," said Giles. "Concentrate this time."

Once again Sam attacked, dusting off punches and kicks he hadn't used since he'd first learned them, many years ago. As he and Giles sparred, Al kept up a running commentary, offering support and advice from the sidelines. For the most part, Giles was able to deflect most of the blows without breaking a sweat. If he was this good in training sessions, Sam could only imagine how formidable he'd be in a real fight. They kept at it for twenty minutes. The only reason they stopped was because Sam was starting to favour his injured knee. Giles looked like he could go on forever and never tire.

"How're you feeling?" Giles asked.

Sam was sweating up a storm and was well out of breath; he'd be feeling this workout for a week. Still, he couldn't let on that he was in worse shape than Giles. "I could use a hot shower," he said. "But otherwise I'm fine."

"It's odd," said Giles. "The strength isn't there, and your reflexes are just better than average…but if anything, your technical fighting skills have improved."

"That's 'cause he's got a black belt in karate, among other things," Al provided helpfully.

"Maybe some of your training stuck," said Sam.

"What a novel idea," said Giles with a quick grin. "Go on, then, wash up. I'll meet you out front when you're ready."

Sam wandered into the washroom across the hall and was relieved to see they'd installed a shower stall. He was about to strip off and get in when he realized Al had joined him in the cramped little room.

"Al, do you mind?"

"Not at all," he answered with a predatory leer.

"Why are you here?" asked Sam. "Have you figured out what I'm here to do?"

"Not yet, no," Al admitted.

"Then what are you doing here? And don't tell me you just popped in to say 'hi'."

"Can't a guy pay a visit to his best friend without having to face the firing squad?"

"Sorry, Al. I didn't mean to snap. It's just, well, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"That's one helluva shiner you got there, Sam. You got banged around pretty good. You must have been in a lot of pain--it'sno wonder you couldn't sleep."

For some reason, Sam couldn't bring himself to tell Al about the dream that had plagued his sleep. Maybe it was because if he said the words 'prophetic dream' aloud, he'd be admitting that he believed it was real. Or maybe it was because talking about the dream would only stir up all the disturbing images and emotions he'd been fighting to suppress all morning.

"So, you're telling me Ziggy's got nothing new to tell me?" asked Sam, moving into safer territory.

"Well…"

"Well what?"

"Ziggy's got this theory, but Gooshie and I think it's a bit far-fetched," said Al. "Ziggy's convinced that this leap is impossible—that you couldn't have leaped into 2001, unless…"

"Unless?"

"Unless your leap was hijacked by someone or something outside of Project Quantum Leap." Al chuckled unconvincingly, and Sam knew he put more stock in the theory than he was letting on.

"Al, if you haven't noticed, it's been a long time since the Project had any control over my leaps."

"True, but this time, Ziggy believes that someone on the other team took control of your leap."

"The other team?" asked Sam.

"You know… Him," said Al, gesturing towards the floor with his smoking cigar. "Ziggy thinks that You-Know-Who leaped you into the life of the slayer so he could do away with two heroes at once."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "You think the Devil leaped me here to kill me?"

"Stupid, huh?" said Al. But it was plain from the look on his face that he didn't think it was stupid at all.