Buffy: The Space-Time Anomaly Slayer

by Catlorde

Names can carry a lot of meaning. They can shape your future and make you brave. So when she chose her name after finding herself in another reality, she named herself after one fictional character to deal with another. Because when you find yourself in the Doctor's Universe, you need all the courage you can get.

31. Misadventures in Purgatory Part Four

Author's Notes: I'm back! Been stuck on this chapter in particular for ages and ages. But it's a long chapter, so hopefully worth it. Thankfully, the next chapter is already like 60% written, so *in theory* you shouldn't have to wait long. Also! Aliens of London is DEFINITELY happening in chapter 33. Chapter 32 is a bridge chapter, and then we get the Doctor back. No one is more ready for him to be back than me. I am literally so freaking sick of the Misadventures in Purgatory arc that it's embarrassing.

This chapter is of questionable quality. Again, really kind of tired of this arc and don't have it in me to rewrite the bits that could use it. Whatever. An update is an update. Any forward motion at this point is a good thing.

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Chapter Warnings: Language, violence.

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Chapter Thirty One:

Misadventures in Purgatory

Part Four

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~. Buffy .~

No matter how many times you watch the show, you're never ready.

After everything I'd seen and done with the Doctor, I had stupidly believed that the advantage of foreknowledge would make those particular instances less terrifying than the ones you know nothing about.

In reality, it was the other way around. No foreknowledge means no expectations, and expectations are pointless because they're always wrong.

Weeping Angels turn to stone, and yeah, that much is true, but what the show failed to capture was just how wrong that stone was. Unlike the usual concrete or granite or whatever the hell normal statues are made of, this definitely was NOT that.

Normal rocks just sort of exist, but the one in front of me seethed. It was motionless, as any stone should be, but in the way that clouds are when they're moving too slow for humans to notice; static, but with intent.

More than that, the air had gone cold, like the Angel was absorbing all the energy around it. Maybe it was; if I would think about it, it would probably make sense.

But at that particular moment, all I was really aware of was how much I wished the Doctor was there.

Not because I wanted him to save me or anything. I just really, really wanted to cuss him out, because there I was, staring into the face of - or at the collarbones of - one of the most dangerous species in the universe, and I was desperately fighting the urge to reach out and touch it.

The Doctor had rubbed off on me more than I'd realized, and I was exceptionally mad about it.

"What is that?" Clive demanded, voice unusually high pitched.

"Keep staring at it. Don't blink," I ordered. "And don't look at it's eyes."

"Why?" Mickey squawked. "What's it gonna do to us?"

My mind buzzed with random Weeping Angel facts, all of which were distracting and not actively worth explaining. "Too much to explain. Just don't blink. It can't move when you're looking at it. Just don't look it in the - "

"Eyes, yeah, got that. But what do we do now?"

My eyes were watering. Between the three of us, we should have it pinned, but I still didn't dare blink. All the while, my mind was spinning, struggling to put together everything I knew and find a solution that didn't end with us trapped in the 1700s or whatever or with our necks snapped.

It clicked.

"The mirrors," I realized. "That's what those are for. And why the computers don't save the security footage. The image of an Angel becomes an Angel. He was afraid of it all along!"

"What?"

"Mickey, Clive," I said, more confident now that things were starting to make sense. "In Ainsley's back room, in the closet, there are these big mirror things. We need them."

Without taking my eyes off the assassin in front of me, I felt around in my bag for my sonic pen, which I passed back over my shoulder and into shaky hands.

"Point and think. It'll unlock the door." Vague, but hopefully they were too scared to question instructions. "Go together, the mirrors are heavy, but you should be able to get one between you, and hurry."

I heard them scramble to obey, then Mickey's horrified yelp and subsequent apology when he tripped over Mr. Ainsley's corpse. They squabbled, trying to figure out the sonic, and that's when I realized that sending them hadn't been my brightest idea.

"Point. Push the button. Think OPEN," I shouted, impatient. I edged backwards, away from the Angel. They were in the back room. I could hear the bumping and scraping of a mirror as they fought to maneuver it out of the dead man's bedroom. Just a few more seconds.

Still edging backwards, hoping to give them enough room to get the mirror in place right where the Angel could see itself, I made a mistake.

I tripped.

Within the span of what had to have been less than a second, I was aware of three things: falling backwards, the indignant outrage of having tripped over my own feet, and the dread of knowing what came next.

I hit the ground and was instantly overcome by pain that bleached my vision white and an insistent ringing that swallowed me whole.

Then nothing.

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~. Clive & Mickey .~

The mirror was heavier than it looked.

With them each gripping either side of the heavy metal base, they could carry it easily enough, but Mickey and Clive still found themselves struggling to maneuver it.

And the body in the way and the fact that they were both clumsy with fear didn't exactly help.

Clive set down his end to move the body. There was no way they could get the mirror out with it laying in the door. He tried not to think too much about what he was doing when he grabbed it under the arms and pulled, muttering apologies as he went.

"Come on," Mickey snapped, bracing himself on his side of the load and already starting to lift. The mirror tilted threateningly towards Clive, who scrambled away from the body in order to take up his end. "Lift. Come o-ARGGH!"

The Angel was in the room.

The mirror rattled in its base when they both dropped it and leapt away. It stayed standing as they raced back to the door to Ainsley's safe room. Mickey grabbed the handle and rattled it fruitlessly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that the door locked itself automatically.

"It's locked!" He cried, voice high with panic. "Use the… use the thing!"

"I'm trying!" Buffy's sonic pen buzzed in Clive's hand, but he was too scared to focus on what he wanted it to do.

Point and think! Buffy had said. But what if he couldn't think?

They couldn't get the door open. Mickey closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, though he wasn't sure what that meant just now.

A moment passed.

Then two.

When the inevitable didn't come, Mickey opened his eyes and chanced a look back. He grabbed Clive's arm and shook him away from where he was still fighting with the pen to get the door open.

"Why hasn't it got us?" He pointed to the scene in front of them, trying to make sense of it. "Hang on… look! Look…"

The Angel was about a third of the way across the room. It loomed beside Mr. Ainsley's corpse, a terrible, ferocious snarl on its face and hands curled into claws that were reaching in their direction. It was terrifying, except it was frozen. Between the two men and the monster, the mirror stood steady.

"It can't get us," Mickey realized. "It can't get us. It's like it's stuck!"

Clive lowered the pen slowly, like he wanted to keep trying the door anyway. He swallowed hard and tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. "Buffy said that's what the mirrors were for," he reasoned slowly. "Seems she knew what she was talking about."

"So what happened?"

Clive was quickly discovering that it was harder to think when you're not safely tucked away in your shed with files and a cup of tea. He was managing, though. "She said we just had to keep looking at it, yeah? it… I don't know... freezes it or something. And in the mirror, it's looking at itself. It can't move."

Mickey shivered with dread. "That's what she was doing. Holding it off by looking at it. And if it's here, does that mean…?"

Clive understood. "Buffy!" He called out, making Mickey wince. "Buffy! Are you there?"

There was no reply.

Mickey took a steadying breath. "I think we're on our own, mate. You think that it'll hold it? What're you doing?"

Clive had taken one cautious step towards the statue. Then another. He started to edge around it, careful not to so much as breathe on it. "Dunno. We can't stay here, though. Buffy's out there. She might need help."

It was the last thing Mickey wanted to do, but he didn't argue. He followed, taking tiny, shuffling steps and trying his hardest not to make any sudden moves.

Clive had made it to the other side and was peering back at him through the open doorway. "Just keep looking at it," he said encouragingly. "It can't move, then. But not the eyes! I think Buffy said something about not looking it in the eye."

Mickey was far too scared to manage looking it in the face, let alone the eyes. "No problem."

As soon as they were both out, Mickey slammed the door closed and Clive wedged the chair from behind the desk under the handle. If the Angel were to break free from the mirror, it wouldn't do anything to protect them, but it served to make them feel better, at least. That was about all you could ask from a chair, anyway.

Worryingly, the room was empty. A few papers blew around the room, pushed around by the wind coming through the still open front door. Buffy was gone.

"Is she dead?" Mickey croaked, his throat tight. "Did it kill her?"

Clive wandered out farther into the room, gazing around and into the dark corners. "There isn't a body. Maybe she went off on her own again."

"She wouldn't just leave us," Mickey said sternly, but was mostly talking to himself. "Something must've happened."

In all honesty, Clive didn't know Buffy well enough to know either way, so he didn't argue. At the same time, he remembered how she'd left them in that musty old office for hours while she went off to do who knew what without explanation. "So what now?"

A foreboding silence fell between them, heavy and thick like a blanket. There was a monster in the closet, held at bay by its own reflection; a dead body, which was all that was left of the only person who could answer their questions; the most qualified person was missing. And to top it all off, the other hotel patrons would be waking up in a few hours. Neither of them had a clue what to do next.

Then the phone on Mr. Ainsley's desk started ringing.

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~. Buffy .~

Someone had driven a spike through my skull.

A railway spike or an ice pick. Something long and metal and sharp. Hammering it through the crown of my head in time with the erratic beating of my heart. Trying to crack the bone apart to get at my brain, which was already soup.

Fruitlessly, I curled in on myself to get away. My hands curled tightly into my hair, and I was certain that the wetness they found was my own blood and brains. The wet was cold, though. Blood wasn't cold.

I tried to open my eyes, but the light was so agonizingly bright that I shut them again. I groaned incoherently to prove that I was alive and, if not conscious, at least on my way to being so. Just in case anyone happened to be listening.

The ground beneath me was squishy and wet. I rooted my fingers into it and realized it was mud. A lot of mud.

Gathering my wits enough to finally open my eyes was a lengthy process. When I managed it, I found myself looking up at a rough circle of light high above my head. Mud beneath, miserable grey sky above, dark walls of slightly less muddy earth between.

I.

Was down.

A hole.

I gave up, curled back into the me-shaped indentation in the mud, and went back to sleep.

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~. Clive & Mickey .~

There was some fuss and confusion about whether or not they should answer a dead man's phone, but they ultimately did, realizing that A). The timing was extremely convenient, if not suspicious, and B). It was half past one in the morning, which further legitimized realization A.

Clive picked up the yellowed old landline, holding the receiver at an angle so that Mickey could crowd over and listen in, and hesitantly said, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end belonged to a woman. Lightly accented and impossible to identify, like it was seamlessly evolving from one dialect to another between one word and the next.

"Hello, Clive. Mickey," the woman greeted brightly. "What's up?"

"Who is this?" Clive demanded. "How do you know our names?"

"It's a long story. Don't worry about it too much," she said dismissively. "Is the Angel contained?"

"How do you know about that? Are you watching us?"

She laughed. "Nah. I've got better things to do. Just tying up some loose ends." She became more serious. "But you got the mirror up, right? You're not in any immediate danger?"

Clive glanced at Mickey, who shrugged helplessly. What else could they do but go along with it?

"Yeah, it's looking at itself in the mirror. It can't move now, right?"

"No, it can't move. You should be fine for now." A smile crept into her voice. "Nice job, guys. You did good."

Clive, who had recovered from the initial shock of this rather bizarre call, put on his best no-nonsense tone and demanded, "What is that thing? And what have you done with Buffy?"

The woman laughed again; at one of the questions or his attempt at posturing, Clive wasn't sure. He was already uneasy, so he tried not to be offended on top of it.

"It's called a Weeping Angel," the woman explained. "The Lonely Assassins. They're aliens. Super dangerous and superduper scary. But the thing that makes them so terrifying is also their greatest weakness. They're quantum locked, which means that they can only move when they're not being observed. When they're being looked at, they literally stop existing and turn to stone. The mirror is kind of a cheat, but it works.

"Buffy's fine, by the way," she went on. "She's been sent backwards in time. That's what Weeping Angels do. They feed on Time Energy, specifically Potential Temporal Energy. They zap a person backwards in time, so they live out the rest of their life and die in the past. All of the days you would have lived in the proper time zone are suddenly used up instantly, and the Angel feeds on the what-would-have-been energy. Does that make sense?

Not really. "I think so," Clive said hesitantly while Mickey shook his head. Too much had happened in too short a period of time; he would go back and think it through later. "But does that mean Buffy's dead? You said she was fine. If she was sent into the past to live out her life in the past, that means she's dead by now. Maybe long dead."

"She's a time traveler, remember? Don't worry about her. She knows what to do."

"How do you know all this?" Mickey finally cut in. "You just call out of nowhere, knowing everything. For all we know, you're the one behind it."

"Experience." Again, she seemed to have found something funny in what was a decidedly unfunny question. Clive could picture her shaking her head in amusement before moving on. "A squad from UNIT is already on its way. They've been briefed, but I'm sure they'll want to ask you questions. Just try and help out as much as you can. Oh, and remember, because it's important. An image of an Angel BECOMES an Angel. Got it? Okay. You'll do great. Bye bye."

Before they could protest or sort out any of the questions buzzing around in their heads, there was a click and the line went dead. Clive listened to the dial tone for a few moments before he realized that the woman had hung up on them. He replaced the receiver back on the hook and turned to share a confused look with Mickey.

Mickey shrugged helplessly. "I guess that means we wait."

They waited.

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~. Buffy .~

When I woke up again, simply existing was less painful, but I was still stuck down a hole.

It was roughly round, about six feet wide, and maybe fifteen feet deep. At a guess, it was an abandoned and long forgotten well that had dried up and/or filled with sediment as the years went by. 'Dried up' was relative, of course, because while you couldn't collect a bucket of water from it if your life depended on it, I was absolutely smothered with sodden clay.

As annoying, icky, and cold as it was, the mud was the least of my concerns. In an attempt to keep my head on straight, I made a mental list of them, ordered from 'least concern' to 'holy shit, I'm fucked'.

6). Mickey and Clive were dealing with a Weeping Angel by themselves. (It currently ranked the lowest, not because I didn't care, but because there wasn't anything I could do about it from here.)

5). I was reasonably sure I had a concussion. (Again, ranking low because there wasn't anything I could do about it).

4). I had no idea when/where I was, besides 'in the past' and 'down a hole'.

3). I was pretty sure that the Angel hadn't sent me here naturally, meaning someone had put me down here intentionally while I was unconscious.

2). The sides of the hole were sheer and made of soft dirt that wouldn't hold my weight, so I couldn't climb out.

Pretty bad so far, right?

1). SOMEONE HAD TAKEN ALL MY STUFF.

That's right. I had been mugged. My bigger-on-the-inside bag was gone, along with everything in it. Including (but not limited to) my phone, psychic paper, knife, vortex manipulator, and all the other things a space-time traveler might need.

AND THAT WASN'T EVEN THE WORST PART.

The WORST thing - and the reason I was absolutely losing my shit - is that they took the medallion.

I had lost the Extradimensional Manipulator.

It was easily the most valuable thing I had ever owned. It was Time Lord technology. It was an invaluable tool. It was literally my lifeline. I never took it off. I slept with it. Showered with it. Protected it with my life.

And now it was gone.

This was bad. If I still had it, getting out of the hole would have been easy, and then I would have been free to go find all my other stuff. Simply put, the fact the medallion was gone meant I was in a lot of trouble.

To add insult to injury, despite knowing how I was in legit, potentially life threatening danger, the most upsetting thing about my predicament was knowing how disappointed/angry/upset the Doctor would be if he found out I'd lost one of the only pieces of his home he had left in the universe.

I was upset because on some deep, visceral level, I knew that I had let him down.

How fucking stupid was that?

Standing, I paced around the edge of the well, tramping down the mud even though it had already soaked into my shoes and was squishing in between my toes. I pressed my hands into the soil walls and scooped out a few test handholds. As I suspected, the ground was too soft. Even though I was small and didn't weigh much of anything, it crumbled beneath me. I was more likely to collapse the well in on myself than I was to climb out.

I was eyeing the contours of the wall critically, looking for any sign of roots or rocks, when I heard the telltale crunching of leaves and grass underfoot from somewhere above my head.

"Hello?" I called out, craning my neck back in an attempt to see over the rim of the well. "Is anyone up there? Can you hear me? Hello!"

The footsteps stopped. Started again. A shape framed itself at the mouth of the well, silhouetted against the watery sunlight. Before my eyes could adjust, something splatted into the mud at my feet. I groped around after it. It was a leather skin. I uncorked it and sniffed the contents. Water. I drank it greedily.

"You are to be taken before the good Reverend Mother and be tried for your crimes against man and God." The voice was loud and commanding. Sunlight glinted on steel. "Do not resist, sorceress."

For fuck's sake.

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~. Clive & Mickey .~

Mickey stood awkwardly amid the militaristic hustle and bustle, feeling very much out of place. He was leaning back against a section of crumbling brick fence, just trying to keep out of the way while still being able to see everything.

The overgrown gardens surrounding the Ainsley House had changed drastically in the last hour or so. The courtyard had been trampled down and covered with massive white tarps, so all the tables, chairs, and equipment that had been set up wouldn't get lost in the tall grass. Even though it was still dark out, and would be for at least another four or so hours, there were enough spotlights in the area that it might as well have been midday.

UNIT had come prepared. They had brought all kinds of equipment - computer boards, generators, and a load of science-y stuff that Mickey was starting to believe did nothing except blink and look cool - all arranged in a massive circle.

At the center of this circle was a dias, a raised platform of metal and wood, and at the center of that stood the Weeping Angel. It was dormant, of course, held still as it was by not only the several dozen eyes that were on it at all times, but also by the six large mirrors that had been spaced around it at even intervals.

And if that wasn't enough, there were also four security cameras trained on it and the feed was being monitored at all times. Mickey wasn't sure if it worked that way or not, and he didn't think the UNIT scientists were entirely sure about it, either.

But in the end, all that really mattered was that the Angel wasn't going anywhere any time soon. It was well lit and visible from every angle. That should have been good enough for Mickey.

Except it wasn't. There was this niggling sensation in the back of his head. Like there was something that he had missed. Something important.

Maybe it didn't matter, anyway.

Exactly twenty minutes after the woman ended the phone call, a swarm of big black vans, trucks, and military jeeps descended on the Ainsley House, guns blazing. Mickey hadn't had much in the way of expectations but found himself to be both overwhelmed and disappointed; being shouted at and having guns pointed at you by the people that were supposedly on your side tended to have that effect.

Everything after that happened quickly. After assessing the situation, Captain Syder, a decidedly generic military man who gave Mickey the impression that he had an uncontrollable drive to overcompensate for his lack of a chin, decided that the office wasn't strategically optimal and that the Angel needed to be moved.

Mickey thought that that was a terrible idea, and so did Clive. But after their initial report, no one cared much about what either of them thought.

Thankfully, the UNIT squadron seemed to at least have a general idea of what a Weeping Angel was and what they needed to do to contain it. In short order, the wall separating the main foyer and the office was knocked down and cleared to the side, as was the outer wall leading out into the front porch.

They brought in a heavy duty metal ramp to cover the stairs leading into the building so they could roll a forklift retrofitted with a massive claw right into the front room.

Even as it was being lifted and moved just like any statue or hunk of something heavy would be, Mickey couldn't shake the uneasiness prickling up and down his spine. He knew that the Angel was frozen, that it really was just a lump of stone, and that even if he looked away or closed his eyes there were several dozen more on it to make sure it stayed that way. Even so, he didn't dare take his eyes off of it and flinched when the forklift rattled as it lumbered back down the ramp and out into the grounds.

While about half of the UNIT squad had been focused on relocating the threat, the others had divided themselves into two more teams, one of which was dedicated to managing the other hotel patrons, who by now were all awake, confused, and frightened by the sudden takeover.

The other group, which seemed to be mostly engineers and technicians, were in charge of setting up a temporary base and building a structure that would ensure that the Angel remained harmless while their superiors decided what to do with it.

Mickey straightened up when he spotted Clive, who had stepped away for a while so he could call his wife. Since their adventure with Buffy had been taken over by UNIT, Clive had been strangely quiet. Mickey motioned him over.

"Everything alright?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah. She was just asking when I plan on getting home." Clive frowned and leaned up beside him. "Is it…" He stopped himself and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"Is it what?"

Clive pursed his lips. Looked uncomfortable. Then, "Is it what you expected?" He gestured to the organized chaos around them. "All this, I mean. The aliens and adventures."

Mickey shrugged. "Haven't thought about it that much. I was just giving Buffy a lift."

"Oh." Clive pondered a moment. "I didn't ask before. Are you two…?"

It took Mickey a moment to register what Clive was inferring. He blinked owlishly a few times, blushed, then puffed out his chest and scoffed with just a tad bit too much derision in an attempt to save face. "Nah, I've got a girlfriend. Rose, remember? You met her."

"Rose?" Clive echoed incredulously. "The blonde girl who came by asking about the Doctor?" He lit up when Mickey nodded. "Yeah, that's right! You were her boyfriend waiting in the car. I didn't realize we all knew each other already. Small world, eh?" He paused, wondering at the interconnectedness of it all and if it was really a coincidence or just some chain of causality that he wasn't privy to. "Rose. She was nice." He nudged Mickey with his elbow. "And pretty. I mean, she thought I was a nutter, but still…" A morose look flickered across his face, but he quickly replaced it with a genuine smile. "How is she, by the way? What does she think of all this, Buffy an' all?"

"Well, she went missing last March," Mickey commented offhandedly, then at Clive's horrified expression, quickly added, "She went travelling with the Doctor, actually, just after that whole thing with the mannequins. She's been gone for months and for a while everyone thought I murdered her, but Buffy says she's fine, so there's that."

Clive stared at him for a moment. "She… she's with the Doctor? Really?"

Mickey looked uncertain. "I saw her off into that weird box thing of his. I didn't realize that she was leaving, though. I didn't even say goodbye."

"You must miss her," Cive said kindly. He wanted to jump on the opportunity to learn more about the Doctor's strange box, bigger on the inside, Buffy had said, but he sensed that now was not the time. "I'm sure she's okay, especially if Buffy says she will be."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed, not sounding particularly enthused.

A dark look had crossed Mickey's face. Clive saw it, and gave him a nudge. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Mickey shrugged. Shook his head. Shrugged again. "Oh. I dunno, mate. It's just…" He paused, trying to sort out what he wanted to say. "I knew Buffy before she met the Doctor. She was nice, y'know. Normal. Real quiet. Shy, even. And now?" He looked at his feet. Watched them shuffle in the damp grass. "Not that that's a bad thing. Buffy's tough. She's grown a lot. Been through a lot. And that's probably good. But the thing is — " He looked up to stare Clive in the eye. "Rose is with that Doctor bloke now. And if traveling with him changed Buffy so much, who's to say that it won't change Rose, too? What if… when she comes back… what if a human isn't enough for her anymore?"

Clive looked to the Angel on its stage of lights and tried to think of something to say. He wasn't the best with this sort of talk, but realized that maybe his new friend didn't need him to talk. Maybe he just needed someone to listen. So he asked, "Is that why Buffy's not traveling with the Doctor anymore? Because Rose is?"

"I don't know," Mickey admitted. "Maybe. I don't think she's sure, either. She won't talk about it much." A different kind of sadness crept across his features. "She was doing pretty good today, but you haven't seen her these last few months. It tore her apart, when the Doctor left. I was surprised when she said she was investigating alien stuff."

"So that's why you're here," Clive decided. "You want to be ready when Rose comes back."

"Suppose so." The lights surrounding the Angel seemed to flicker. But the UNIT scientists didn't seem to notice, so neither Mickey nor Clive gave it much thought. "Buffy said that Rose would be back almost exactly one year after she left. I guess I just figured, I could prepare, you know? Maybe if when she comes back, and I have my own stories to tell, she won't just think I'm some bloke, you know?" The lights flickered again, more obviously this time. "But, between you an' me, I'm not sure I'm cut out for it."

A murmur had gone up between the scientists and technicians. Everything was still in control, of course, so no panic yet. But they were realizing that maybe, just maybe, there was a fault in their design.

"Don't say that!" Clive chided. Mickey looked down at his feet, a little ashamed at having revealed so much. Clive realized that it was his turn to share, and heaved a sigh. "I wanted this my whole life," he admitted. "The aliens. The adventures. The Doctor. You know, I've dedicated my whole life to researching the Doctor. I've got files and pictures and classified documents. I'd do anything to just glimpse him on the street, let alone meet him.

"All that work, and then one of his real, actual traveling companions shows up, asking to see my archive, and then warns me not to go shopping at night and probably saved my life. Then your girlfriend visits and now she's traveling with him too. And I think, I've done it now, haven't I? I've gotten closer to the Doctor than I ever thought I would. And now that I'm here, having an adventure with aliens and everything."

Clive glared around at the UNIT setup with actual spite in his eyes. "And it's not what I wanted. I get put on the sidelines, like I'm nothing. The only reason they haven't carted us out with the hotel guests is because Buffy brought us along. SHE's the Doctor's proper companion. We're companions of a companion. And I thought it would be enough, but it's not."

It was Mickey's turn to look sympathetic. "It's still early, mate. Buffy's not even back from wherever yet. There's still time for everything to go horribly wrong."

And, all at once, everything did.

Every single light in the makeshift compound went out at once. Darkness fell. Chaos reigned.

The air was full of shouts and gunfire. Mickey and Clive threw themselves on the ground and huddled there, trying to make sense of it all. The lights were flickering, struggling to come back on as the technicians fought with the power supply generators and the backups and the backup backups. The Angel was everywhere and nowhere. There was no way to tell if it was attacking, or just escaping.

Suddenly, Mickey realized what he had missed. The thought clicked in his head so abruptly that he actually felt something pop. He turned to Clive and had to shout in his ear to be heard over the commotion. "What was that thing that the woman said?" He asked. "That thing about images."

Clive's brain stuttered over the request, then, "The image of an Angel becomes an Angel."

"I've got it!" Mickey shouted excitedly. "It's the cameras!"

Before Clive could ask what he meant or even register what his younger friend intended to do, Mickey was on his feet and streaking across the grass, headed to the tables where the computers had been.

Clive scrambled to his feet to follow, but the lights flickered on just long enough for him to make out the silhouette of something massive looming over him.

The lights went out again, and Clive had the unique experience of being dragged from one point in time and thrown into another.

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~. Buffy .~

The monastery wasn't particularly large, consisting of a few wooden buildings surrounding a larger stonework one, all of which was encased with a high stone wall. It was a double monastery, home to both monks and nuns, all of which had apparently decided that they didn't have anything better to do than gawk at my muddy, sodden form while I squelched through the gates at sword point. The chains on my wrists were heavy, but I was grateful for the sunshine and fresh air.

It was nice to be out of the well, even if it did mean I was about to go on trial for witchcraft. Again. The incident under the Arch on Tamial wasn't the first time people had tried to execute me for 'crimes against (the) god(s)/ess(es)' or whatever, but it was the one on my mind when I stood before the crowd. Which was understandable; it had been the execution that had actually killed me, and unlike the others, I hadn't had my medallion aka easy escape route. I don't have it now, either. Nor the Doctor. I was completely on my own.

Panicking. Just a little. But I couldn't afford to panic. If I lost control of the situation, there was no backup. Just me. I was working hard not to get lost in the memories that had plagued my every moment since the Arch and was more or less succeeding, not because I actually had the slightest modicum of control over my emotions, but because I was dissociating really, really hard. I was great at that, if nothing else.

On a lighter note, now that I was out of the well I was slowly piecing together some theories on where and when I might be. I was 90% sure that this was still England, and the bright, loose-fitting clothes the people wore screamed Medieval times. The men that were holding me under guard also screamed low-budget knights, in that they were knights, but didn't have enough credit between them to buy more than a few rusted bits of armor. None of this information was particularly helpful, but it felt nice to know something.

The Abbess was a beautiful woman with a serene face and haughty eyes. Although a nun, there was something about her that made me suspect that she hadn't always been one, and her previous life had been spent in a noble family. There was the aristocratic symmetry of her features and the air of self-importance that lifted and squared her shoulders. Although she was dressed in the simple style of the other nuns, the cloth itself was of a much higher quality.

The discount-knight in charge of the chain attached to my wrists tugged me to a halt. I lowered my eyes respectfully as the Abbess glowered at me down her nose, as if I were beneath contempt.

"You have been accused of sorcery and crimes against the one true God." Her voice sounded like it was naturally high, but she was straining to make it lower. "What say you?"

Understanding the power of drama, I fell to my knees and lifted my eyes to meet hers. I was banking on the fact that humans are gullible creatures, easily flattered with shitty memories, so I played honest. "I say that the claim is false, Reverend Mother. There has been a misunderstanding."

She raised her eyebrows. She believed me. Just a bit. She was practical, I could tell. A sorceress, ridiculous. A mistake, reasonable. "It has been said that you appeared at the center of the courtyard in a flash of light. Four Sisters have sworn to what they saw. You think them dishonest?"

"Of course not, Reverend Mother," I said earnestly. "But I think the eye is easily fooled. A trick of the light. I am but a simple lady's maid." I had decided on my story on the way over here. I didn't know enough about where I was to try and claim to be a noble, but I also had to explain why I was carrying all the weird, potentially valuable stuff I had. "My lady loves to travel. But a bag containing some of the curiosities she had collected was lost, and I was sent back to fetch it. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost my way, and have been wandering for some time. I saw the Abbey, and hoped for aid." I lowered my head, as if in shame. "I'm sorry for the distress my arrival has caused."

"I see." I could see that I had won her over. Her eyes had softened, but mostly now she just looked bored. Show's over. Back to business. "Perhaps we've been…"

Then, because the universe suddenly remembered that it hated me, a shot of blinding white pain pierced my head. I gasped, staggered, dug my fingers into my scalp to try and claw the pain out, but didn't lose consciousness.

I was surrounded by gasps and shouts of terror when reality convulsed and someone tumbled into the grass at my feet. My audience saw everything. It was no trick of the light.

With one hand still pressing against my forehead, I gazed wearily down at the very confused man laying at my feet.

I sighed. Rubbed my left eye. Said, "Hey, Clive."

~0~0~0~

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~0~0~0~

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~. Buffy .~

I was down a hole.

Again.

This time, I had company.

I wanted to punch my company in the face.

It wasn't that I was mad that his arrival had fucked up my chances of getting my stuff back (not to say that I wasn't mad about it, but it wasn't exactly his fault), but that he was being really, inconsolably annoying.

First, he was confused. Understandable. Then, he was scared. Again, understandable. Then he thought he was dead. Still understandable, but my evidently Weeping Angel influenced migraine was back in full force and I really didn't have it in me to convince him that he was still very much alive. Then he realized that we were being arrested and thrown down a witch pit, and decided to be angry about it. He tried (and failed) to fight the Walmart-knights. Then, once we were at the bottom of the pit, he thought it was a good idea to shout for help, and proceeded to tell me I was being a pessimist when I told him it was no use.

Finally, when I convinced him to sit down and shut up for five minutes, came the questions.

And it wasn't even that I minded questions. Questions were good. There was a reason that the Doctor liked it when his companions asked questions. They could be helpful. But once Clive exhausted the obvious questions and the others I had answers to, he started asking about weird shit like if this was actually all in our heads or some kind of Star Trek hologram and stuff, which was when I finally realized that he was in shock and starting to get hysterical.

"Clive."

He was properly babbling, now. Complete nonsense. I'd given up listening the moment the word 'Sasquatch' came out of his mouth. His eyes had a far away look that I recognized.

"Clive. Take a breath. We'll be okay."

I know I said that I wanted to punch him earlier, but if he didn't calm down I might actually have to in order to bring him back to his senses.

"Clive!"

I slapped him.

Clive let out a startled yelp and stumbled backwards into the mud, which had been thoroughly churned up by his frantic pacing. A bit overdramatic, but whatever. I squatted back down where I had been sitting and waited patiently for him to collect himself.

"Better?" I asked, trying not to seem too irritated and wishing I was in a better mood.

Still nursing his reddening cheek, he gave a sullen nod. "Sorry."

"Culture shock," I said, borrowing a line from the Doctor. "It happens. Now, tell me what happened after I got zapped, again. You weren't making much sense the first time."

Clive dutifully recounted retrieving the mirror from the closet, being cornered by the Angel, and my apparent disappearance. After describing the phone call with the mysterious woman, he paused for a moment, then asked, "Who do you think she was?"

"At a guess?" I shrugged. "Probably me."

"You?" Clive chuffed. "How could it have been you?"

"Dude, we're literally in like, the Middle Ages. Down a Witches Well. You were literally threatened by a knight in shitty armor. What do you think?"

His eyes widened. "Time travel?"

I managed not to roll my eyes, but still must've looked incredibly unimpressed. "There's a future version of me hanging around 2005." I frowned. "I don't know why she's so interested in what I'm doing now. It's not a good idea to meddle with your own timeline too much, you know. It creates paradoxes. When we get out of here, I'm going to have to write down everything she's done so far, so I don't forget anything when it's my turn."

Clive was staring at me like I'd grown a second head, and yet it was the most beautiful head he'd ever seen. The utter fascination made me shift uncomfortably.

"Yeah. Time travel. It's a trip," I said briskly, straightening my soiled shirt. "Keep talking. What happened after she hung up?"

As the sun drifted low in the sky, Clive filled me in on everything I'd missed.

"Mickey was right about the cameras," I mused when he had finished. "Video footage, even digital, is essentially just thousands of images stitched together. Ainsley knew that, that's why his security cameras weren't saving anything. And I'd be willing to bet that the data from the UNIT cameras was being stored on the same computers that were in charge of everything else, like the lights and communication."

My legs were falling asleep. I leaned back against the wall of the well and stretched them out in front of me before continuing. "That's why you shouldn't ever look an Angel in the eye, by the way. It's the same principle as cameras and computers. The image from your eyes is sent to your visual cortex, and if you're not careful, an Angel could literally grow inside your brain."

Clive absorbed the new information like a sponge. "Have you seen that happen before?"

"Not personally, but I have heard of it."

"From the Doctor?"

I liked Clive well enough. He was earnest and only kind of annoying. I was not, however, about to explain Doctor Who to him. "Sort of."

"Oh." By this point, it was really starting to get dark. Clive's face was obscured by a blueish twilight shadow. Did I imagine it, or did he look disappointed? He went on before I could decide. "Will they be alright?"

"I hope so." I had also hoped that UNIT would know more about containing Weeping Angels. Look how that turned out. "Mickey already figured out the bit about the cameras, so hopefully he got them to turn them off."

"Would that do it? Just by turning them off?"

I didn't actually know, it was just guesswork at this point. "Maybe. When you have an Angel in your visual cortex, you starve it by closing your eyes." I considered it for a moment. "Hopefully they went ahead and destroyed the computers, too. Just to be on the safe side. I don't know if it works the same way for computers."

Clive hummed thoughtfully and we lapsed back into silence.

I closed my eyes, privately relishing the loss of daylight, because even if it meant that the air was getting cooler, the darkness was soothing my still aching head.

The knights would undoubtedly be back in the morning to drag us back before the Abbess and probably the rest of the village I had glimpsed on the walk to the monastery. Whether they executed us or asked us to repent, I needed to be on my game if I was going to get us out of this. In theory, I would be, as long as the Angel didn't zap anyone else back here between now and us leaving.

Maybe it was my unique relationship with dimensions, but it was becoming clear that the Angel was the cause of the migraines. The first one had been while snooping through Mr. Ainsley's bunker. I didn't know of anyone that had been zapped back at the same time, but that didn't mean that someone hadn't. The second, and worst, occasion was, of course, when it had sent me back. Which made sense. The third, and least intense, had been Clive. My theory was that being in the same time zone the victim was being mailed to wasn't as bad as being from when they're mailed from.

That made sense. At least something did. I still hadn't figured out who had killed Mr. Ainsley. Weeping Angels don't use plasma weapons. They don't need them. That meant someone else was involved, and I didn't have the slightest clue as to who or why.

I was jostled out of my thoughts by Clive, who chose this moment to ask, "Does the Doctor have a phone?"

For no reason in particular, my guard went up. "Huh?"

"I mean, he lives in a phone box. Wouldn't it be silly if he lives in a phone box but doesn't have a phone?"

Still weirdly suspicious, I said, "Yeah, I guess that would be silly."

"So he does have one."

"Yes, Clive. He has a phone." I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. "He has a space-time machine. Of course he has a phone."

Clive chuckled idly to himself, and I heard him squish around a little as he shifted positions. Then, "Have you got his number?"

"Yes," I said warily, silently adding, and I'm not giving it to you.

He audibly perked up. "So you can call him, then! Tell him to come and get us. Why haven't you yet?"

The thought actually had crossed my mind. Even after months, my first thought when I'm in any kind of trouble is 'can I contact the Doctor?'

"I could, in theory," I admitted tersely. "But I'm not going to."

Clive sounded scandalized. "Why not?" Then, like an ass, added, "Will he not pick up for you anymore?"

I bristled. Grinded my teeth together in a vain attempt at holding in my temper. When I felt I could speak without snapping, I asked, "What makes you say that?"

To be fair, it wasn't an inherently cruel question, and I think Clive actually did realize that he'd hit a nerve.

"Well… I mean…," he fumbled. "Mickey said he left you, and I didn't… I mean I don't… know what that means for your… I don't know… what kind of terms you parted on."

Fuck Mickey. Fuck Mickey in the ass with a chair. Mickey was the only person I had told anything even resembling the truth about what happened. He had no right to be spreading my personal business.

And no, I hadn't called the Doctor at all over the past nine months. Not once. Why not? I could have. Maybe I should have. Because God, I wanted to.

But I hadn't for the opposite reason Clive suggested; It wasn't that I wouldn't call because I didn't think he would answer, but because I knew he would.

Somehow I stamped down my anger and said, albeit stiffly, "He would answer."

"Oh, good," Clive said, both confused and relieved. "That's lovely, that. So… why… not? Wouldn't that be easier? I mean…" It was too dark to see him, but I could feel the air move as he gestured to presumably the well in its entirety. "How are we gonna get out of this without him?"

"Because we don't need him," I explained. "I'm not going to bother him unless it's an emergency. Not unless I really need him."

That was it. A watered down version of the truth, but the truth all the same. I wasn't going to bother the Doctor unless I really needed him. That was the promise I had made to myself, and repeated every time I found my finger hovering over the CALL button.

Did I need him now? Yeah, probably. But if I were to make a list of all the times I had needed the Doctor over the past few months, now was dismally low on said list.

There had been so many dark nights. So many moments when the only reason I could think of not to give in and end everything was my stupid fucking pet mouse. That was when I had needed him. I hadn't called him then. I wouldn't call him now.

"Don't we need him now?" Clive laughed humorlessly. "Have you seen where we are? Could you not just try?"

"No," I said coldly. "This isn't my first time stuck down a well. Definitely not my first time on trial for witchcraft." I slapped on a roguish smile that might've been helpful if Clive could actually see my face. He couldn't, though, so it must've just been for me. "And anyway, my phone is with my other stuff. Which the Abbess has."

"Okay, is that the plan, then? Get hold of your phone and call for help?"

"No!" I scoffed. "I mean, we do need to get my stuff. I'll need that all back, one way or another."

"How do we get back to 2005? I've got kids, you know. A wife." There was a hint of anger in his voice. It surprised me. "They need me. I know breakups can be rough, but I don't see how we can get back without the Doctor."

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you went looking for a Weeping Angel!" I fired back. "This shit's dangerous. What the hell were you expecting?"

I must've wanted a fight, because I was blindsided when Clive instantly went quiet. I realized I must've hit a nerve, and I was flooded with guilt. My anger had flared in response to his tone, and now in the silence I was able to actually register what he had said. Somehow, despite all the conversation, I hadn't expressly mentioned that I had a way back.

"Sorry," I admitted quietly. Now that my anger was gone, I felt hollow. "I thought I said earlier, my future self gave me a way back. It's not exactly a TARDIS, but it should do the trick."

A pause.

"Oh," Clive said, much more subdued than he had been. "Good."

Did I need to apologize again? I felt like I should, but was struggling to find the words. The conversation ran backwards and forwards through my head a dozen times.

And, despite it all, I still wanted to be offended that he had automatically assumed that I hadn't had a way back. That he thought I wouldn't be willing to swallow my pride and call for help. He'd also referred to my being abandoned as a 'breakup' but I didn't want to open that can of worms, either.

Fuck. Why was I so bad at this?

We fell silent for a while. The night was heavy. Despite the darkness of the well, I could just make out the ribbon of stars above. I'd forgotten how bright they could be outside of a city, and especially when light pollution was as minimal as it was now. I had been up there among them, but I would never get used to seeing the Milky Way like this.

And, as always, I looked at the stars and found myself thinking of the Doctor.

Where are you?

Are you safe?

Have you been to that star, right there? What about that one?

Do you miss me?

Do you know how much I miss you?

This would be a really good excuse to call him.

I hadn't tried to contact him yet because I didn't want to be that person. I'd been annoyed when Clive likened it to a breakup, but there was some semblance of truth there. When the Doctor left me behind, the intention was very clear. If he had wanted to explain his reasons for leaving, he would have. If he wanted me to contact him, he would have said so.

He left me behind because he wanted me to stay behind, and I wasn't going to beg and grovel for him to 'take me back' or whatever.

No, this was not a break up.

And anyway, what would I say? Oh, hey! I know you ditched me and all, but I was being stupid again and got stuck somewhere in the Middle Ages. Yeah, knights. I don't know when or where, exactly, but there's a nunnery nearby. Does that help?

I could imagine the eye roll. Of course you're stuck. The amused annoyance. I left you in the middle of London. The Middle Ages. How'd you even manage that?

God, I missed him.

"What's the Doctor like?"

Again, Clive's question jerked me out of my thoughts. "I dunno. Mostly these days I just think he's sort of an asshole, so I might not be the best person to ask."

"You're the perfect person to ask," Clive refuted. "I've spent my whole life looking for the Doctor. Studying him. I'd give anything to meet him. And you, you've lived with him."

The Doctor actually didn't really like his groupies, but I could tell Clive to tone it down later. "Yeah, well, if we're both still alive when he comes back, I'll introduce you."

"Right, Mickey said a year." Of course he did. "How do you know that?"

"I know things, sometimes."

"Like you knew I shouldn't go out shopping because of the shop window dummies?"

I internally groaned. "Yeah. Sorry, Clive, but I can't talk about it."

Thankfully, Clive took my word for it. "So, about the Doctor?"

"Ugh. I don't know. It's weird, because you talk about him like he's God's left asscheek, but I've spent literal hours unscrewing the gratings in the console room because he keeps getting stuck under the floor."

"God's left asscheek?"

It caught me by surprise, but suddenly I was laughing harder than I had in months. Clive was laughing too, and it felt really, really good.

Over the next few hours, I told Clive about the Doctor. The more I talked, the easier it got. I told him stories, the good and the bad, and I slowly felt a knot loosening in my chest.

Weirdest slumber party ever.

~0~0~0~

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~0~0~0~

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~. Buffy .~

I woke to sunlight streaming into the open mouth of the well. Grumbling, I sat up and scratched at the dried mud on my cheek, watching as it drifted down in flakes. From the angle of the sun, it was around mid morning. The sky overhead was crystal blue, and the breeze promised a very nice day.

Not that I appreciated it. Groggy, uncomfortable. The parts of me that had been touching the ground were still soggy and cold, and the rest was itchy and stiff from where the mud had dried. I hadn't eaten in over twenty four hours, and on top of it all, I had to pee.

A glance to my right told me that Clive was still asleep, no doubt worn out by the strain of yesterday. I would have to do better today. I'd forgotten how scary it is to be lost in time, especially without the Doctor. I decidedly wasn't the Doctor, but if I was going to get Clive through this, I would have to do a better job at pretending to be.

I turned my face up towards the sun and closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of it against my skin. Since there was still nothing to do but wait, I let Clive sleep. Birdsong filtered through the air, joined by the chatter of crickets and the rustle of leaves. It must've been about mid-spring, I thought, because the air was so fresh and sweet.

I wondered idly about the time zone. Knights were definitely a thing, which meant we could be anywhere between the 4th Century and like, the 16th. Somewhere within a twelve hundred year span. Yes, terribly specific, I know.

I still wasn't sure how to get us out of this. Bribery seemed to be the best option, only I didn't have much to trade. The key to bribery, especially when you don't have any money, is by really understanding what your captors want. The knights seemed the best option, but I hadn't been around them long enough to have much bearing on what made them tick. New armor, maybe? Or the promise of a much higher paying job? Maybe, maybe not.

The other option was even riskier. Cause a distraction and flee in the resulting chaos. Unfortunately, the key to a good distraction is using your environment and the people in it. Like good humor, it was situational. In both cases, I would have to play it by ear.

This was why the Doctor never bothered much with plans. I could plot and plan and scheme down here in my hole all I wanted, but I could never plan for everything, and anything I came up with could be invalidated at a moment's notice. Better to make an educated guess, and then wing it.

Speaking of winging it…

The ambient peace from the world overhead was shattered by the sound of hoofbeats. People were coming. Coming fast.

I leapt to my feet and kicked Clive lightly in the leg to wake him. He grunted and rubbed his eyes, smearing fresh muck all over his face. I held up a finger to indicate he should be quiet, then pointed up.

Two people. Men. They were arguing. They were afraid. Something had happened. I scrambled backwards as the wooden ladder our captors had been using to get us in and out of the pit clattered down in front of me.

A silhouette loomed over the pit. One of the discount knights, going by the familiar metallic glint.

"Up the ladder, sorceress!" He called down. "Bring your assistant, if necessary. Make haste!"

Clive looked scared, so I shrugged nonchalantly and started climbing. When I made it to the top, I stepped as far away from the ladder as the knight's sword would allow. A shift in the ladder told me that Clive was following. I faced the knights unflinchingly.

As anticipated, there were two of them. I recognized them; both had been part of the party that had escorted me to the monastery and back the day before. It looked a little like they had pooled their money together to buy one full set of armor, then split it between them. One was particularly tall, a beanstalk dressed in an old tunic under a secondhand breastplate and mismatched pauldrons. The other was made memorable by the wart on his cheek, who had a helmet and gauntlets instead of pauldrons.

I raised my chin. "What do you want?"

Their eyes flickered as they looked at each other. The swords quaked in their hands. They were scared. Of me and of something else. The shorter one with the wart, whose sword was nearest to my throat, tightened his grip on his weapon.

"You will remove the curse you have placed on the village," he demanded. "You will call off the monster you have conjured, or I will cut you down where you stand."

I frowned. "What monster?"

"Don't play daft, woman," he said angrily. "You know full well. The monster that shoots lightning like arrows and can shatter a sword with its bare hands."

My mind was racing, putting the pieces together. The mysterious plasma weapon. The Weeping Angel. The way I reacted to temporal displacement. That unaccounted for episode I had in Ainsley's bunker.

Someone else had been sent back.

"I didn't cast, or conjure, or curse anything," I urged. "I don't know what the monster is, but I can help."

"This is pointless," the taller knight snapped. "Kill her. Her magic will fade when she's dead."

The shorter one's eyes never left mine. "Unless it doesn't, and we are cursed for all eternity."

"Take me to the village," I went on. "Take me there, and I swear I will do everything I can to help."

The indecision flickered across his face. The sword wavered. "Your friend stays."

Clive flinched. I shook my head. "He goes where I go."

The tall knight stepped forward, sword raised. "We don't have time for this! Submit, or die!" When I didn't immediately cower, he moved to strike.

The sword sliced through the air in a shining arc. It was aimed at my neck, but even without the aid of the medallion, I was too quick for it. Within the span of a single second, I had ducked beneath the tall knight's arm and drove the top of my head straight into his jaw. He crumpled, unconscious.

The shorter one, too startled to react, had his own sword wrested from his grip a moment later. Unbalanced, he stumbled forward, and a single shove sent him tumbling over the lip of the well.

To Clive, I said, "The ladder. Pull it up. Quick."

Clive hurriedly grabbed the ladder by the top rung and heaved it out of the well. I took a second to peer down at the shorter knight, who was sprawled out in the mud below, groaning miserably.

Content that the fall hadn't broken his neck, I looked over the sword in my hand, trying to get a feel for its weight. It was a bit too heavy for me, but it would have to do. I missed my knife.

Clive stared at me, slightly breathless. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" He asked.

"Oh, here and there." I twirled the sword thoughtfully. "China, 1809, mostly. On a pirate ship commanded by Ching Shih. God, she was amazing. By the way, have you ever ridden a horse before?"

The knights' horses were standing nearby, tied to the roots of a fallen oak tree. They munched absently on the tall grass that filled the clearing that surrounded the well, utterly indifferent to the plight of their riders.

Clive stared at them doubtfully. "Once, when I was twelve. I liked it well enough, but I fell off twice."

"Better than nothing." I relieved the unconscious tall knight of his scabbard and belted it around my waist. I picked up his sword as well, but decided that I liked the first one better and dropped it. I sheathed the sword and led Clive to the horse I hoped was the calmest. "Look, see, put your left foot there…"

Once Clive was in the saddle, I untied his horse and handed him the reigns, then easily vaulted into the other saddle. The horse beneath me wickered and tossed its head. I patted its neck reassuringly.

"We need to hurry," I explained. "Just hang on tight and follow me. Okay?"

Clive nodded. He looked a little unstable in his saddle, but there was a glint in his eye that stopped me from worrying too much. The promise of adventure. He was ready.

I grinned and nudged my horse forward, and we were off.

~0~0~0~

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~0~0~0~

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~. Buffy .~

I had glimpsed the village on the way to the monastery the day before. It wasn't much, just a cluster of buildings nestled in a valley, woodland to one side, and farms to the other.

It wasn't far, but the roads triangulating between the well and the monastery and the monastery to the village weren't incredibly direct, so I decided to cut the corner and take us through the woods. It took a bit of guesswork on my part to get us there, but I did. Clive did his part and stayed in the saddle.

When we crested the rise overlooking the village, it was clear that something was wrong. There was smoke rising from the buildings. Screams and shouts of fear and outrage drifted to us on the breeze. One of those voices was distinctly not human.

I urged my horse faster, confident Clive would follow. As soon as we were on the streets of this small, medieval town, the problem was obvious, as was the carnage left in its wake.

Debris littered the streets. Huge chunks of buildings, both stone and wood alike, had been literally ripped apart and scattered. Fresh produce, dried meats, and other goods that had been on display in the central market now lay trampled and ruined in the dirt. Small fires licked at the remains of wooden buildings. Most of the townsfolk were hiding in the least damaged buildings, peering out around doorways and corners. There were a few wounded in the streets. A handful of others had taken up swords, clubs, and tools and were valiantly trying to drive what they must've thought to be a monster from hell out of their village.

I had stopped my horse to survey the scene. Clive came up beside me.

"What is that?" He gasped. "Is it alien?"

I wasn't familiar with the species, but it was about eight feet tall, had leathery olive green skin, and was vaguely humanoid. Its face was not unlike that of a wild boar; hairy, wrinkled, and with a pair of tusks jutting out from either side of a wide, flat mouth. A dark, militaristic uniform stretched taut over broad muscles and a paunchy belly. Large, meaty hands tipped with bear-like claws grasped at the door of a stable. The alien roared with frustration when it wouldn't immediately come away.

"Yep." The alien gave up trying to prize off the stable door and raised a blaster-type weapon that was attached to their belt. The door blasted away in a flash of plasma that made my teeth itch. "I'll bet that's the same type of plasma weapon that killed Mr. Ainsley."

Clive blinked. "So he's the one that did it?"

"No, of course not," I scoffed. "He got sent here before that."

"I don't understand."

I watched the alien stomp on the pieces of the door that were now piled at their stumpy feet, and made an assessment. The damage was random. People were hurt, but I had yet to see anyone dead.

I growled under my breath. I knew exactly what was happening, and it really pissed me off.

Only one thing for it.

I slid out of the saddle and passed the reins to Clive.

Clive gawked at me. "What're you going to do?"

I drew my pilfered sword, and over my shoulder, said, "Stay here."

"Buffy! You can't fight that thing! Come back!"

But I was already stalking down the center of the street. Four or five townsfolk were still attacking, but the alien's hide was too thick for them to do any damage. They were swatted away like flies, like the annoyances they were.

"You, men! Away!" I shouted. I must've sounded commanding, or at least looked like I meant business, because they took one look at me and scattered. The alien either didn't notice, or didn't care. When they were clear, I addressed the alien. "Hey, Pumba! Stop what you're doing right now, and hear me out!"

Like them, I went ignored. Which only made me even more angry. Being registered as someone that needed to be taken seriously was something that the Doctor had down to a science. Maybe it was because he knew how to be physically intimidating. Maybe it was his voice. But whatever it was, I didn't have it. Not that that was surprising; at five foot nothing and maybe 90 pounds soaking wet, most humans could look down at me and laugh, let alone aliens.

Acting bigger than you are is easy when you're small, but the problem is getting big enough. Over time, I found a way: sheer, unbridled anger.

My temper flared. I stepped right up to that hulking beast of an alien, raised my sword, and smacked it right across the face with the flat of the blade, shouting, "Hey, motherfucker! I'm talking to you!"

That got his attention.

The alien looked down at me and roared.

I leveled my blade with its ugly green snout and shouted right back. "Listen here, you fugly son of a bitch. And I know you can fucking understand me, cunt, so don't pretend you can't. You're stuck in the past on some stupid little backwater planet with no way to get back. So you can either shut the fuck up and we can talk this through like civilized people, or I can leave your sorry ass here in this time zone to rot. Savvy?"

The alien stared at me. Shock. Confusion. Or maybe it was actually listening to what I had to say.

It blinked once. Twice. Then, "You possess time travel?"

It's voice was so low and gravelly that it wasn't easy to understand, but I heard the hope in it loud and clear. My anger melted, my heart soared. Even after the better part of a year, the TARDIS translation matrix hadn't failed me.

The sword really was too heavy, My arms were getting tired. I lowered the point to the ground before my arms started shaking with strain.

"Yes. I'm a time traveller, sent back by the Weeping Angel, like you. My name's Buffy. Who are you? What planet are you from?"

"I am Creat Seven-Five-Nine," he said. "I am a member of the Collector's Guild from Creatillisto Nan."

I wasn't familiar with any of that, but I nodded all the same. "Nice to meet you. So now that we're on speaking terms, would it be too terribly forward of me to ask what the ever-loving fuck you were trying to accomplish," I gestured at everything, "by fucking up this poor town?"

Creat Seven-Five-Nine had the decency to look sheepish. "I thought I was trapped here," he grumbled. "I got angry."

"I mean, it's not really my business," I said seriously, "but you like, really need to work on that, man. These people don't know what's going on. They didn't deserve any of this."

The alien shrugged helplessly and shuffled his feet. I blew out a sigh.

"Buffy?" A familiar voice came from behind me. Creat Seven-Five-Nine tensed and growled, but I waved him down.

"It's okay. This is my friend, Clive." I took Clive by the hand and guided him forward to stand beside me. "This is Creat Seven-Five-Nine. He has a bit of a temper problem, but don't we all? It's okay, say hello."

"Hello," Clive said quietly, looking equal parts fascinated and terrified. Creat Seven-Five-Nine gave a sort of awkward wave of his claws.

Good enough. "Alright, well. So long as we're under a 'help each other get home' truce, can I ask what the. . . Collector's Guild wants on Earth?"

"We collect things."

I huffed a laugh. "I mean, I figured that. You collect things, but what? For who?" I frowned up at him. "I'm asking now because I want to get this sorted out as cleanly as possible. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"The Guild collects items of high value for the Collector," Creat Seven-Five-Nine elaborated. "Humanity is primitive and weak. We have no quarrel with them. We want the Stone Angel."

"Oh," I breathed. Finally, everything was coming together. "If it's the Weeping Angel you want, why didn't you just take it?"

"I was sent to collect it. But I failed, and was sent here," he added. "A second reconnaissance team will have been sent to investigate."

"They must've been the ones that killed Mr. Ainsley," I said, mostly to myself.

"I apologize for any seemingly unnecessary deaths." Creat Seven-Five-Nine did actually look sorry. "This mission was supposed to be a simple one."

"I believe you," I said, but my mind was somewhere else. "This second team, how far will they go to get the Angel?"

"The target will be collected at any cost. It is our way. We cannot fail."

A cold wave of dread washed over me. It must've shown on my face, because Clive caught on almost instantly.

"But UNIT has the Angel now," he said. "They won't understand. They'll think they're the ones being attacked. It'll be — "

"A bloodbath," I finished. "There's still time. We can stop it. But we need to get back now."

Creat Seven-Five-Nine nodded seriously. "Take us back. I will tell the Commander that negotiations are possible."

"Awesome," I agreed, enthused. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and was starting to feel giddy. "There's just one last thing we need to do before we can go."

Creat Seven-Five-Nine frowned. "What?"

I looked up and gave him my sunniest smile. "Ever broken into a monastery?"

~0~0~0~

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~0~0~0~

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~. Mickey .~

It had been a long night for Mickey Smith.

First, he'd been woken up after only an hour of sleep to go traipsing around a creepy old hotel for monsters. Then he saw a murdered body. Then there was the freaky statue thing. Then his friend, the most capable one, got zapped and was missing. Then the monster statue escaped, and his other friend also got zapped.

And now he was in the middle of a war zone.

There had been a few high points, of course. He'd gotten the thing about the cameras right. The UNIT Captain hadn't been pleased about destroying all the cameras and computers, but it had been deemed necessary, and for a whole hour and a half, Mickey had been a hero.

Soon after, he was forgotten again, but he found that he didn't really mind. The Weeping Angel was back on its stage, transfixed by lights plugged directly into the backup generators and safely immobilized.

For a while, everything had quieted down. Mickey was even starting to think that maybe he was starting to see the appeal of this sort of thing. Maybe Buffy, Clive, and Rose weren't so crazy after all. Mickey had solved something, he'd helped, maybe even saved lives. And it felt good,

Then the aliens came.

They'd stormed out of the fields surrounding Ainsley House. A dozen of them headed straight for the Weeping Angel at the center of the UNIT base. They were big and ugly and alien and terrifying.

But it was the humans that started shooting first.

Mickey had sought shelter behind the crumbling brick fence, along with a handful of other UNIT people, two of which had guns, but the rest were just scientists.

Lines had been drawn, and were holding. UNIT still had control of the courtyard, but barely. Bullets and blasts of green and blue light streaked overhead. The noise was terrific. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that no one had died yet. None that he could see.

He felt sick. It meant that the aliens were still firing warning shots, trying to scare them away. How long before they got tired of that, and decided to fight for real?

In the middle of it all, the Weeping Angel stood aloof.

A shout went out, and, as suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped. Silence fell heavy over Ainsley Manor, louder than any noise.

Plucking up his curiosity and dressing it up as courage, Mickey peeked over the top of the old brick fence.

As the universe would have it, Mickey Smith was destined to see many phenomenal and wonderful things in his life. Of course, he didn't know that now, but he did know that this moment would be one that stuck with him forever, because somewhere in his mind, he recognized it as a beginning.

Buffy stood on the dias. Her back was to the Weeping Angel, and her eyes fixed unblinkingly on where she knew the aliens to be. She was covered head to toe in mud. Her clothes, her skin, her hair, everything. She carried a sword in hand, almost as long as she was tall. Buffy kept the tip pointed at the ground, relaxed, but at the ready.

There was no fear or hesitation in her posture, only calm self-assurance. Mickey didn't know that someone could look so bedraggled and noble at the same time.

One of the aliens stepped out from behind the overturned UNIT van they had been using for cover.

"In accordance with Article 15 of the Shadow Proclamation, I invoke the right to parley." Buffy's voice rang out clearly across the courtyard. "Do you recognize this claim?"

There was a rumble from the aliens, which ended when one of them stepped forward. It met her on the dias, and Buffy greeted it warmly, then beckoned the UNIT Captain Syder forward to join them.

Mickey flinched when someone suddenly seemed to materialize at his side. Although it shouldn't have surprised him, seeing as Buffy had made it back in one piece.

"Clive!" He exclaimed, astounded. "What happened to you, mate?"

Clive was every bit as muddy as Buffy, but otherwise seemed perfectly fine. He was smiling and his eyes were bright.

"Everything," the older man all but gushed. "I went back in time. Me! Can you believe it? I saw knights. I met an alien."

"Shhh!" Hissed one of the other people sheltering behind the brick wall with them.

Mickey smiled apologetically and returned his attention to the negotiation. Buffy's voice, by design, was light and airy, and therefore carried well. As for the other two, it wasn't easy to make out what was being said. But from what he could tell, Captain Syder wasn't too happy about what was happening.

"Do you truly believe that UNIT is capable of safely containing a Weeping Angel?" Buffy asked pointedly. Her moment of nobility seemed to have passed, because now she just looked tired and bored. "Because from what I've heard, I don't think we can. Not really, at least not indefinitely. It'll be safer for everyone if it's off-world."

The alien leader said something that Mickey either didn't understand or was too far away to make out. But whatever it was, Captain Syder nodded slowly and looked resigned.

"That's the spirit!" Buffy said brightly, flashing a brilliant smile. "See? Cooperation. No one else has to get hurt. Isn't that nice?"

The negotiations ended when Buffy wrapped a consoling arm around Captain Syder's shoulders and steered him away from the dias. The alien leader stepped closer to the Weeping Angel and removed a round, blinking device from its belt. The alien pressed a button on it, and both it and the Weeping Angel vanished in a flash of light. When Mickey looked over to where the other aliens had been standing, he saw that they were gone as well.

Buffy met them halfway across the courtyard. Mickey laughed and pulled her into a hug, which she returned.

"Is that it, then?" Clive inquired. "It's over? Have they gone?"

Buffy nodded and picked a clump of mud out of her hair with a grimace. "Yeah, that's it. God, that's nice. It's almost never this easy."

Mickey scoffed in disbelief and even Clive looked slightly mortified.

"You call that easy?" Clive protested. "We were trapped down a well all night long!"

"Down a well?" Mickey echoed, looking between them.

"Don't worry, we'll get you caught up," Buffy said first to Mickey. Then added to Clive, "I told you earlier, that wasn't my first time being stuck in a well. That was the…" She counted on her fingers. "Sixth time. Trust me. That was easy."

She suddenly turned and strode away, still talking. Mickey and Clive found themselves hurrying to keep up.

"I got to use a vortex manipulator for the first time, though!" She added, which made Clive's eyes widen.

"The first time?" Clive sputtered, looking horrified. Mickey huffed a laugh.

Buffy didn't dignify that with an answer. "And I was right, it is a lot easier than flying the TARDIS. Be glad of that. If it was the TARDIS, it could've been a while before we hit the right decade, let alone the right moment. Even with my future self being nice and giving me the coordinates."

"Your future self?" Mickey asked, fascinated. He realized that they were heading towards his car. "Are we leaving?"

"Yeah. Keep up." Buffy suddenly turned and shoved the sword into Clive's hands. "There you go. Souvenir. And Mickey," she pulled a few coins out of her pocket and gave them to him. "For you, too. 8th Century coins from Mercia. I stole them from a monastery."

Mickey studied them closely. She'd said 8th Century, but they didn't look old. He was pretty sure he'd seen some just like it before in a museum. They were silvery with a blocky engraving of a woman on the front surrounded by equally blocky letters.

"That's Queen Cynethryth," Buffy explained. "I read about her a while back. The Doctor gets cranky when he takes you to meet someone famous from Earth's past and you have no idea who they are, so I've done a lot of history research."

A shadow flickered across her features, made more prominent by the low light.

Then it was gone, and she asked, "Are there any restaurants around here? Like, burgers or something? I'm starving."

A big, cheesy grin crept across Clive's face. "Yeah. There's one not far from here. Brilliant sauce. Let me go get my things from upstairs, and I'll lead you guys there."

Buffy gave him a thumbs up, then opened the passenger side door of Mickey's yellow bug and shut herself inside. Mickey hadn't bothered to take his bags out of the car in the first place, so he got in the driver's side to sit and wait.

When Mickey looked over, the expression on Buffy's face was unreadable. She seemed distracted, toying with the gold chain of the medallion, which was the only part of her not coated in dirt. Mickey had never seen her without it, but still hadn't worked up the courage to ask what it was.

"You alright?" Mickey asked, genuinely concerned. She was sunny and energetic one moment, then blank and emotionless the next. He didn't like it. It made him uneasy.

Buffy blinked a few times, looking as if he'd jerked her out of deep thought.

She stayed quiet for a few long moments, so long that he thought that she might not answer.

"You know what's funny?" Buffy said finally. "I think I just might be. I really think this is the most me I've been in ages."

"That's good, then, yeah?" Mickey prompted, sensing that there was more to it.

"Maybe," Buffy mused. "Maybe."

~0~0~0~

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Responses to Comments:

Bored411, sophiewhettingsteel, Sam2357, wolfgirl232323, KittyBear98, LPWomer, Faery66, Eragon135790: Thank you all so much for your comments! I always go back through to reread the things you say while I'm working on Buffy. Thank you for keeping me motivated!

Saiyanprincess1511: Oh so you did end up watching the Mandalorian? That's great, if so! It's basically the only other fandom I've really written fanfiction for, so I'm kind of attached to it. Yeah, I pushed an arc further down the line, but I can't say much without spoilers, so you'll just have to wait and see ;) . Yes, there is some wonky stuff going on with time in the Otherside vs. regular plane time, but that'll be explained more later on. Ngl, I've been casually considering making Geronimo immortal just because I can, and because having to write a mousey death scene just sounds uber depressing and not fun at all. I might have to do some hand-wavey sci-fi explanation, but I really like the idea of just having smol mouse friend just… around forever… as a running gag.

CrystalAris: I don't disagree with you about Rose. I think her character issues in s2 and on have a lot to do with the fact that they were trying REALLY hard to make the Ten/Rose relationship tension the overarching B plot, because she's fine in season one (I don't really ship Rose with the Doctor in general, but I do think Nine/Rose is cuter than Ten/Rose (Because seeing Nine happy will always make me happy)), because in all honesty, Ten is much more of a jerk in s2 than he is in s3 and s4 (I mean, he really let Sarah Jane walk away still feeling replaced? OOC Doctor, especially if you've watched Classic Who). The next time you watch Doctor Who, I recommend paying attention to the character personality differences from season to season, because there's a noticeable difference between Rose's character in s1 and s2, to the point where s2 Rose almost feels OOC. I think it was just a writer thing (trying to hit enough emotional plot points in a short amount of time), but the relationship tension really took away from both of their characters in the show. I was talking about this with my brother a while back, and we came to the conclusion that Ten and Rose just… bring out the worst in each other. They both just become selfish when the other is involved (not in a good way (sometimes you need to be selfish to make the best decisions for yourself, and that's okay)). I guess the point I'm trying to make is that it isn't just Rose's problem, and her character got squished a bit because Davies and Moffat were trying to make a plot, so I don't plan on holding that against her (not to say that there WON'T be jealousy issues between Rose and Buffy, because I like drama and have PLANS (™).) Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing :)

Create-Sanctuary: I'm glad you asked about why Buffy refuses to tell Jackie, because it's one of those things that makes sense in my head, so I don't think to flesh it out and didn't realise that it might not be obvious to people reading the story. I think that there will probably be a moment where Buffy directly addresses why she can't tell her in the next chapter (bc not everyone reads the comment response section), so keep an eye out for that. But to answer your question: no, it isn't because she just doesn't want to talk about the Doctor. If that were the case, she wouldn't have told Mickey anything and probably wouldn't have engaged with Clive at all (bc obvs Clive wants to grill her for all Doctor info). Talking about the Doctor DOES hurt her, but she's made of sterner stuff than that. Buffy can't tell Jackie because, in all honesty, do you believe that Jackie would take such a vague explanation at face value and leave it at that? This is Jackie's DAUGHTER for goodness sake! ((Any emphasis and passion is added for connection to Jackie mentality, not because I'm mad at you or telling you off or whatever I swear)). I genuinely think that, if Buffy were to essentially say what you said in the comments, that Jackie would IMMEDIATELY go to the police and demand Buffy be taken in for questioning. Period. Sure, she probably wouldn't BLAME Buffy for Rose's disappearance, but she would definitely conclude that Buffy is a victim of brainwashing or Stockholm syndrome or something, and now the man (the Doctor) who hurt Buffy now has her daughter, and is doing God knows what to her (prostitution, sex ring, cult, basically any and all of the potential horror story scenarios of what can happen to impressionable young women). So yes, Buffy COULD tell Jackie the watered-down version of where Rose is, but she's afraid to because of the inevitable backlash. I mean, think about it, suddenly Buffy wouldn't be the depressed orphaned young woman that Jackie had bonded with, but that poor, strange girl who was preyed upon by some psycho who used her up and dumped her as soon as he found someone new, and now he's doing the same thing to her own daughter and Buffy won't give the police any useful information and it would be frustrating because they CAN'T FIND ROSE. Remember, Jackie doesn't know about aliens and time travel at this point in time, and wouldn't understand the experienced adventurer and apprentice/assistant relationship that the Doctor has with his companions. And Buffy feels like a coward for being too afraid to open up this whole can of worms. Anyway, I hope that answers your question! Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D

SayMeow: Thank you for this wonderful comment! It always brings me joy to read reviews like these, and I come back and read them when I need some writing encouragement. I agree that canon episodes can be really boring to read, so I'm going to do my best to keep the upcoming episodes as interesting as possible; The Aliens of London arc starts on chapter 33 and so far the only canon episode I've covered in this story is Rose, so let me know how I do. And I hope the resolution to the Weeping Angel mystery was satisfying! I changed the plot to it like five times (Buffy wasn't originally supposed to be sent back in time, but I was bored to death of the UNIT stuff). I also plan on milking the abandonment angst for all it's worth, but maybe not in the way you're expecting ;) And yeah the Doctor rooting through her bag was suspicious as hell, and I figured that it would be a red flag for readers, but Buffy might not think about it too much, because they often platonically share a bed and stuff, and she probably wouldn't think of him going through her stuff as a big deal. Also, NEVER apologize for a long comment! I LIVE for them! 3

RandomCitizen: Bro, you don't understand how awesome it is to get chapter-by-chapter comments while a reader is starting from the beginning and catching up with where you left off. I was legit checking my comments every few hours, looking to see what point you were at and wondering what you would think about xyz. I have had a few people do this over the last few months and it is magical. While writing this response, I'm like, scrolling through all your comments and seeing if there are any comments I should respond to. Yes, thank you for commenting on FF! I definitely prefer it to ao3 (when receiving comments) because I can see all the comments in one place and potential readers can scroll through them easily and decide if the story is worth reading or not. I'm taking notes on the typos you mention btw, I'm planning on doing a sort of 'house-keeping' thing on this story to get rid of the typos and errors (I wrote down the wrong century for Ching Shih, etc) and getting rid of the defunct author's notes where I made false promises and stuff lol. On the ch 22 comment you talked about artificial clothes and decomposition, and you're absolutely right. Real leather is much more environmentally friendly than fake leather, because fake leather is literally just plastic, and there was SUPPOSED to be a line about how TARDIS artificial clothes are biodegradable, but it got lost somewhere during writing. Oh well, something else to fix during 'housekeeping', I guess. Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come!

MandooftheValrindi: Third or fourth reread? It makes me so happy to know that you like this story enough to reread it once, not to mention several times! Thank you!