Author's Note: Thanks so much for being patient with me for this story! I have definitely not abandoned it, and I hope it continues to please and entertain youall :) Please let me know what you think of it by reviewing?

Tempus Fidgets, chapter 3
by CinnamonGrrl

Two days later, the familiar, sickening feeling slammed into Buffy suddenly, without warning. One moment she was bent over a washbasin, cleaning her face, and the next she was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tightly round her waist in an effort not to throw up all over. Her head throbbed from the loud clang made by the metal basin on the floor, and there was soapy water everywhere.

Buffy called weakly for James, but she needn't have bothered; he was already on his way, his footsteps sounding in the hallway before she'd finished saying his name. And he wouldn't have been able to hear her, anyway: the thunder and lightning that began to crash outside drowned out any feeble sound she might have been able to make.

"What happened?" he called as he ran to her. "What was that noise?" He stopped short in the doorway of the commode, hands braced on the jamb, at the sight of her sprawled across the wet tiles. "Buffy, are you hurt?"

"It's happening," she gasped, then listed sideways until she started to teeter over. "James, it's happening. Where's Joyce?"

"In the other room," he replied, his tone very calm-cool-and-collected, as one might effect in the midst of a crisis. James was on his knees and wrapping his arms around her before she could fall over completely, at a distinct loss for what to do. Just then, Joyce announced her location with a piercing cry.

Buffy lurched to her feet with his help, then pulled away and started to run back toward the lounge, James behind her demanding to know what was wrong.

"It's happening," she repeated. "The time... shift... thingy." Collapsing onto the settee, she pulled Joyce from the protective nest of blankets in which James had placed her into her arms. "Dawn," she rasped. "Where is she?"

"She said only that she was going to go torture Gillette for a while," James replied, kneeling at her feet and taking up her limp hand between his own. "Buffy, don't leave again." He swallowed hard, and she forced open her eyes to see him there, his eyes pleading with her.

The room was lit up by lightning, and thunder roared in their ears. Settling Joyce against her chest and smoothing her hand over the tiny back, trying to comfort her crying child, Buffy placed her hand against the beloved face before her.

"I have no way to stop it," she said at last. "I'm so sorry, James. At least we had these few days, at least you could meet Joyce..."

Another wave of nausea roiled over Buffy, and she breathed deeply and evenly to keep her lunch where it was. "James, I love you. Never forget that, okay?"

"I won't," he promised, gripping her hand hard. "I... I love you too." His face was so bleak, the skin stretched tightly across the bones, and Buffy knew he'd never said those words to another soul his entire life. Likely would never say them again, either.

"I know," she shouted over the loudest thunder yet, and the sound of Joyce screaming. Then all that sound stopped dead, and all that was left was lightning so bright she couldn't keep her eyes open. Her eyelids clamped tightly shut against the fierce glare. "James, James," she sobbed, arms clutching her daughter tightly.

She wasn't a bit surprised, when she opened her eyes again, to find herself sitting on the floor of a modern-day office, being stared at by a man in a suit as he hovered anxiously over her, his tall frame blocking out the sunlight streaming in the windows behind him.

"You're... you're one of the women who disappeared from the barracks two days ago!" he exclaimed, eyes perfectly round in his dark face.

Buffy bounced Joyce in her leaden-feeling arms, allowing him to hook a hand under her elbow and hoist her to her feet. "Yes," she said dully over her daughter's whimpering. "That would be me." She around. "What's this room used for now?"

"Now?" he repeated, looking puzzled. "It is my office. I'm the head curator of the museum." He led her to a chair and she gratefully sank into it, stroking Joyce's curls with shaking fingers. The baby had calmed down considerably and now only only gave little whimpers interspersed with hiccups. "Dr. Frederick Horace."

"Hi," Buffy said, and dropped her head heavily against the soft upholstery. "Buffy Norrington. Do you think I can call my husband at the resort?"

Not ten minutes later, Dr. Horace's office was overflowing with people as James, Giles, and the Scoobies arrived.

"Where's Dawn?" Giles demanded as James pulled his wife and daughter into his arms, holding them so tightly Joyce let out a startled squeak as she was squashed between her parents.

"If you ever do that again," James murmured in Buffy's ear, "I'm going to kill you."

She sagged against him. "Okay," she agreed, kissing his chin before answering Giles. "I don't know, she's probably somewhere around the fort... she wasn't with me when the storm started up and sent me back."

"We'll find her," said Willow, glancing up at Xander.

"I'm on it," he announced, and spun from the room to begin the search.

But they didn't find her, not anywhere in the fort, not anywhere in all of the surrounding area of Kingston. In 2005, a group of people searched fruitlessly for one of their number, and in 1697, a young woman smiled up at the handsome officer escorting her, unaware that she'd been stranded three hundred years in the past.

Dawn had indeed left that morning intent on torturing Lieutenant Gillette with her presence. If he disliked her so greatly, it stood to reason that pestering him would be the best punishment available for his imprudent words of the night before. She found him at the tail end of drilling a small company on their formations, and amused herself (and the men) by providing a running commentary on his performance.

It was only when she began to fear that Gillette might actually make good on his threats to eviscerate her with the blunt end of a bayonette that Dawn decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour and left him to it, his final muttering of 'insolent trollop" echoing in her highly amused ears. Murtogg gave her a lesson on how to clean and load a rifle, and then she wandered to the kitchen for a snack. Two plums later, she wandered back and wished to God she had something to do, because she was really, really bored.

Thus it was with great relief that she spied Lieutenant Groves' handsome face as she turned a corner on the way back to James' apartments. "Hi!" she chirped, about to ask him if he wanted to go for another walk, when he gently but firmly took her elbow and steered her away from James' door.

"Still busy, hm?" she asked dryly, and to his credit he only blushed a tiny bit, high up on his cheekbones.

"Shall we take another constitutional to the docks?" he asked, and she laughed.

"What an original idea," she teased, and allowed him to lead the way. He guided her around the many parcels and barrels and crates, then took her for a tour of the town area itself. Still quite small because of its tender age, Kingston was nonetheless well-equipped with a goodly number of shops and merchants, not the least was a considerably-sized smithy toward the east end of town.

At one point, Dawn thought she heard a rumble of thunder in the distance and frowned.

"Heat lightning," Lieutenant Groves commented, and passed the cuff of his woollen coat discreetly over his damp forehead. "It's ruddy hot today."

The rest of the Caribbean sky was a clear, cloudless blue and Dawn thought nothing more of it.

Finally Dawn's stomach alerted them to the impending need for dinner, and they headed back to the fort. She was enjoying Lieutenant Groves' company immensely; he was quiet, but possessed a wry and even sometimes wicked sense of humour. He was smart, too, and handsome. Really really handsome, she amended when the sun lit up his dark eyes as he smiled down at her. Suddenly, she was very sorry she'd have to return to her own time soon—there was a distinct and regrettable lack of uniform-wearing hotties in her century, it would seem. Dawn made a mental note to hang out around military bases more often.

The moment she pushed open the door to James' apartments, Dawn knew something was wrong. He was sitting in the big leather wing chair she'd already become accustomed to seeing him in, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. His hands lightly gripped the armrests, one finger tapping idly as he stared at the empty fireplace. None of that was unusual in the least, until you looked at his face: his expression was that which most people reserved for when they'd heard the worst news of their lives. He looked like he'd aged ten years, the planes of his features deeply carved and lined in a way they had not been that morning.

"What?" Dawn demanded, running to him. "Is it Buffy? Joyce? Are they hurt?"

"Hurt?" James murmured, not turning his gaze from the cold grate. "No, not hurt."

"Then what?" Dawn was aware of Lieutenant Groves coming silently to stand behind her. She grabbed James' hand, forcing him to pay attention to her. "Where are they?"

He looked at her then, stared at her a long time with eyes that were shockingly empty. "They have gone back." He seemed unaffected by her quick, indrawn breath. "As should you have." The tiniest of smiles graced his lips, then. "Ironic, is it not? She has returned to her time when she would have preferred to stay, and you are here when you wish, I am sure, to be there."

Dawn fell back from her crouch beside him to land hard on her backside as strength left her legs. "They're gone?" she whispered, feeling dizzy. "They went back, and left me here?"

"It was not by choice, Miss Summers," James said, and went back to looking at the fireplace. "She was under the impression that you would return as well. I imagine she is... distraught, at this moment, knowing you have remained here."

"She's not the only distraught one," Dawn said dazedly, studying her hands as if they were the only things in the universe that made any sense at that moment.

"You do not appear entirely well either, sir," Groves ventured, and both Dawn and James jolted to hear his voice. She'd forgotten he was even there.

"I thank you for your concern, Lieutenant," James said absently. "I believe I will retire for the evening." He stood, extending a hand down to Dawn to assist her to her feet. "Miss Summers, if you have need of anything, please avail yourself to anything in my apartments, ask Lieutenant Groves, or failing that, come to me."

As he swept away to what she assumed was his bedroom, Dawn felt like wailing, "No, don't go! Don't leave me!" But she knew, also, that he was devastated and not up to helping her feel better. His would be cold comfort, indeed.

A light touch on her shoulder made her turn around and find Groves watching her, his eyes curious but concerned. "I do not pretend to know what has happened," he said softly, "but come, you will feel better after you have rested."

He meant to bring her back to her little room, the room she'd shared with Buffy, and Dawn fought the tide of panic that rose within her at being alone.

"No, please," she said, "stay with me, here?" She closed her eyes as the first tears fell. "I'm so scared," she whispered. Fighting demons was one thing; being separated from her family and friends and home and everything she knew was quite another.

Slowly, hesitantly, his arms came around her, and his gentle hand pressed her head to his shoulder. She clung to him, holding on tightly as she soaked his uniform with her tears. When she'd cried herself out, he led her to the settee and had her sit, then left her briefly to murmur a command to a passing Marine.

A few minutes later, a trolley bearing a light meal was rolled in. Groves dismissed the young man who brought it, and dished it up himself, coaxing her to eat. She did feel better after eating, as he'd said she would, and even agreed to lay down when he suggested it. Just before she'd have fallen asleep, her salt-swollen eyes falling blessedly shut as she snuggled her head onto the tasselled velvet cushion, there was a sharp rap on the door.

Groves answered it, revealing Gillette in all his irate glory. "Where have you been?" he demanded of his colleague. "Still a-wooing Summers the Younger?" He craned his head to see over Groves' shoulder into the darkened room beyond, and frowned. "Something feels... wrong," he declared. "Has something happened?"

"Mrs. Summers and Miss Joyce have gone," Groves told him carefully. "Miss Summers remains, however."

Gillette drew his own inferences. "The Commodore is well?" he asked.

Groves sighed. "As can be expected."

"And Miss Summers?"

"She is... distraught."

"I would say!" Gillette exclaimed. "Being deserted by your sister, after all!"

Dawn shot up from the settee and over to him, suprising Groves into retreating a step. "She didn't desert me," she said. "It wasn't her choice to go so soon, or so suddenly. She couldn't help it."

Gillette's gaze flicked past her to Groves, and she knew they were communicating silently, Groves likely warning Gillette to not upset her further. "As you say," he said at last, nodding.

"Don't humour me," she growled. "I know my sister. She would never leave me here voluntarily. She's risked her life to protect me. She died to protect me. She wouldn't just abandon me here. It wasn't her fault."

"She... died?" Gillette's eyes travelled once more to Groves, ruddy eyebrows lifting almost to his wig's hairline.

"I mean, she almost died," Dawn amended hastily. "Don't mind me, I'm distraught."

Great, she thought. Stuck here, and giving away all our secrets to a guy who already thinks I'm a trollop. Now he'll think I'm an insane trollop.

He only nodded slowly. "Yes, I think you are. Perhaps some rest would be just the thing. Shall we escort you to your room?"

"Can you stay with me if I do?" She gave him a watery smile. "I don't want to be alone, just yet."

He blinked. "I'm afraid not."

Dawn nodded. "I didn't think so." She returned to the settee and lay down, tugging on her long skirts until they weren't wadded under her hips too uncomfortably. "I'll stay here, then."

Gillette turned his wide-eyed face to Groves, then. "Right," he said at last. "I'll just... get a quilt for you then, shall I?" And he left.

"Why's he being so nice all of a sudden?" Dawn mumbled into the gaudy cushion. "I thought I was a trollop."

Groves laughed softly as he came to sit on the settee by her feet. "Trevor can be a terrible prat most of the time," he said, "but at heart, he is decent. It is not in his nature to kick a fellow when he's down." He paused. "Nor a trollop."

Dawn smiled in spite of herself. "Good to know," she replied. Then, "Lieutenant?" At his hmm of acknowledgment, she nudged him with her leg. "Thanks."

He nudged her leg back with his elbow. "You are quite welcome, Miss Summers."

Dawn woke the next morning in her little bed in her little room, and dimly recalled being carried there by Lieutenant Groves, with Gillette helping maneuver her extended legs through doorways. They'd tucked her into bed as well as any doting mother, and Dawn mumbled, "What, no kiss goodnight?" as they smoothed the covers over her. Gillette gave a snort, and Groves laughed, a low sound that even in her state of sleepiness sent a shiver through her before she rolled over and passed out.

Her situation didn't seem any better in the cool light of the following morning. The fact remained that she was stranded in a century not her own, without money or friends or medieval-era job skills. Dawn knew that James would help her, for Buffy's sake, but she didn't want to be a burden to him or anyone else. She also knew that things were relatively grim for women in this time, their fates controlled by men: fathers, brothers, husbands. Lacking all three, she fervently hoped that she'd get some measure of freedom in choosing what was to become of her.

Buffy was trying frantically to get her home; Dawn knew this perfectly well. She'd have Giles, Willow, absolutely everyone possible working 24 hours a day until a way was found to bring her back to the 21st century. Dawn just hoped it would happen sooner rather than later, preferably before her legs and underarms needed shaving again—she strongly doubted there was any great supply of little pink disposable razors in 1697.

Dawn went to James' apartments after washing and dressing, but found he'd already gone for the day, as had the Lieutenants. Wandering, she found Mr. Mullroy and Mr. Murtogg in a spirited discussion over a game of dice and cajoled them into teaching her how to play, then proceeded to spend the rest of the day beating the pants off them. Figuratively, thank god.

It was Gillette who found her there on the parapet with them flanking her around the little table and most of their last month's salaries safely tucked away in her bodice. "The Commodore bids you join him for supper," he said, and whisked her away. She promised over her shoulder to grant them a rematch the next day, and Gillette responded by walking faster, until he was almost running.

"Still insist you're not a trollop?" he asked, smirking. "First, your odd speech; now, I find you sharping the men at dice. What will be next, drunken carousing in a pub?"

"After the past few days, I think I've earned myself a little carousing," Dawn muttered, earning herself an eyeroll from the lieutenant. "Bring it on."

James and Groves were waiting for them when they arrived. James bowed over her hand, his face still somber as if carved from stone, while Groves merely nodded and smiled a little. The meal was quiet, and between the four of them exhausted the topics of the weather, Kingston's growth, deployment of His Majesty's troops to various other islands, and—

"Jack Sparrow," James said flatly. "The man's always been a menace, even before regaining his beloved Black Pearl, but ever since they took that Dutch sloop and he's named himself Commodore—" the curl of a thin lip said volumes about what he though of this affectation—"he's been insufferable."

"They say he named a woman the captain of the Erfzonde, sir, is that true?" aked Groves. Dawn, already fascinated by the conversation once it turned to pirates, perked up further.

"Yes," James confirmed. "Anamaria, last name unknown. It was in pursuit of her that I went earlier this week, Miss Summers, so that I was not here when you arrived." His long fingers danced restlessly over the slender stem of his wine glass before he picked it up. "She is… crafty, much like Mr. Sparrow himself, and managed to elude me as I captained the Dauntless."

He frowned. "Powerful it is, that ship, but sluggish. If we're to be taken seriously as a bulwark against piracy, we must have a something that can actually catch these faster ships the pirates have."

"It's been several years now, sir," Gillette said. "Perhaps they've forgiven you about the Interceptor and will send you a replacement?"

James levelled a cool and yet still cranky look on his second in command. "Indeed."

Gillette recognized he'd said something unwise and flushed a little, devoting his attentions to his plate instead of his superior. Then his face brightened, as if he'd remembered something cheery. "Miss Summers has taken to relieving the men of their wages at dice," he commented, smiling happily when James slowly swiveled his head in her direction.

"Is that so," he murmured, surveying her over the rim of his wine glass. "Would you care to test your mettle at gaming against their commanding officer, Miss Summers? Cards, perhaps? I think you'll find me somewhat more difficult to sharp out of my salary."

"Absolutely," she said with great relief. "I was afraid we were going to spend the evening discussing more of this fascinating ship stuff."

"Miss Summers," James said, a hint of a grin touching the corners of his mouth as he motioned for Groves to bring the cards, "you are aware, I hope, that we three are all Naval officers?"

Dawn took the cards and began expertly shuffling in the way Spike had taught her, years ago. "Yeah," she said absently. "Who knew sailors could be so boring?" With a lazy flick of her wrist, she began dealing, ignoring how two of the three exchanged amused glances.

They played for two hours, during which time James soundly beat the others each and every time. Dawn glared at him, distinctly out of sorts. "You could let a lady win at least once," she grumped.

"Were there a lady here, I would be more than delighted to do so," he replied smoothly, ignoring both her pout and Groves soft exclamation at the jibe. "But I fear the hour grows late, and there is yet some business that we must discuss."

Something in his tone put Dawn at full alert. "Oh?" she asked, putting her hands beneath the table so she could try to still their sudden trembling. "Would this business concern me?"

James inclined his head. "This fort is not equipped for visitors of the feminine variety," he told her, "nor is it considered acceptable for one to be here, surrounded by men, to none of whom she is related. Therefore, I have procured for you a position."

Dawn only just bit back her automatic response of "doggie-style?". "Oh?" was all she said.

"An… old friend is expecting her third child soon, and finds that she requires some assistance with her older children as well as the cooking and housework. She and her husband are quite happy to provide you with a home until your situation can be remedied, in return for your help."

Dawn felt her stomach sink, even as she was aware of how the lieutenants started in surprise at their commanding officer's words. Even though James was doing the best he could for her, she still felt like she was being pawned off on strangers.

"I don't want to leave here," she said softly. The idea of being away from him, even if he weren't the brother-in-law she remembered, made her feel distinctly panicky. "I don't know anyone else but you three, I'll be all alone."

"Mr. and Mrs. Turner are fine, hard-working people," James replied, his face carefully blank. "You shall get along famously with Elizabeth; there is something of the hooligan in her, as well. I am sure you shall miss them desperately when this… mistake is corrected and you return home."

Dawn stared at him a long moment, hoping her big puppy eyes would move him, but he simply stared back, and she sighed and slumped back into her chair, defeated. "Will you let me visit, at least?" she asked pitifully. "I have abandonment issues."

He nodded, then waved a hand to indicate the lieutenants. "And I am sure you shall have visitors galore, as well."

Groves smiled warmly at her. "Indeed, Miss Summers," he agreed. "I shall visit you, and I know Misters Murtogg and Mullroy shall both be eager to lose more of their wages to you."

"And I suppose I can find a few moments in my hectic workweek to bless you with some of my precious time," Gillette said airily. Dawn found herself helpless to keep from grinning in spite of her apprehension; he was a jerk, but he was a funny jerk.

She squared her shoulders in an unconsciously Buffylike way. "Ok," she said at last. "But I'm getting tired of taking care of kids without any of the fun of making them myself."