DISCLAIMER: Whedon's characters, any recognizable dialogue, and the canon events of their storyline are not mine.

A/N:

Here's "The End" of the story - well, the resolution, but not the end of the fic.

CHAPTER 8

back in time

Meanwhile, in the new version of June 2004 ...

It seemed like just a moment ago, Buffy was sitting on the stairs with Spike, in his embrace. Now, she was standing in the entryway of a beautiful (and probably pricey) restaurant, looking into the face of a maître d' who was saying to her, "Right this way. Your dinner companion arrived a few minutes ago and has already been seated."

As they approached the table, she saw him – apparently her date – as he stood up to pull out a chair for her. "Darling, you look positively stunning. Though I'm sure I don't need to say it, since you know how much I love that dress on you," he said hungrily, then whispered, "However, I'd prefer it on the floor." He paused, tilting his head as he asked, "Are you feeling alright?"

Buffy shook the fog from her brain as she replied, "Sure, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm standing here holding the chair out for you like the gentleman that I am – and you're just staring at me."

She mumbled an apology as she sat down and nervously took the napkin from the table to place it in her lap. He took his seat across from her.

The waiter immediately came to take her drink order. She decided that since there was already a bottle of wine at the table, she would have that to start. After she insisted that she would need a few minutes to look at the menu, the waiter left them alone at the table.

Breaking the silence, he said, "Thank you for meeting me here. Apologies again that I was not able to pick you up." Staring into Buffy's eyes, he reached across the table and took her hand. "The reason for having to meet here … I had to make a stop … to pick something up … it was supposed to be ready, but wasn't ... quite."

"You know that you're babbling, right?"

"In a moment, I'll show you what I'm talking about, but first, I need to say a few things. I am not sure precisely when it happened, but at some point, you became like breath and life to me – enough to cause my heart – in truth, my entire being – to pulsate. I cannot fathom spending my days – my future – without you by my side. Honestly, I cannot imagine those days at all – not unless you will agree to spend them as my partner in the truest sense of the word." After pausing for effect and courage, "Allow me the honor of being your husband. Marry me?"

He placed two boxes on table, opening one and then, the other. As he opened the second box, he explained, "This was the cause of my delay. It is a custom-made tungsten carbide ring with three rows of stones pave set, more than three total carats of diamonds covering half of the band, the back half of the band smooth metal, and the inside of the band is rounded – so it can comfortably be worn while working … or playing … and it is incredibly durable. The first ring should clearly show the world how I feel about you – an exquisitely beautiful solitaire of un-ignorable size. The second one should show you that not only do I love you, but that I know you and understand your daily life."

She was uncharacteristically silent while trying to get her bearings.

"You're awfully quiet. Makes a guy a little nervous. Especially at a moment like this."

"I need to ask you to do something before I answer your question."

"Anything."

Since she did not know what happened to get her to this moment – the past three years as they occurred in this timeline – she needed to get some information from him. There was no way she would give an answer – yes or no – without understanding the context and ramifications. "Pretend you're talking to someone else, someone who knows nothing about us. Tell me about our relationship. Tell me about my life and how you fit into it."

"You can't be serious. Do you want me to start all the way at the beginning … when we met?"

"You can skip ahead to… I don't know, sometime around when you told me you had fallen for me."

"There are some things in your life I only have second-hand knowledge of, things I wasn't there to actually witness."

"Tell me anyway. Tell me what you do know. What you think. What you feel." She closed both boxes and placed them in her evening bag which was sitting on the table within arm's reach. "You have until I order dessert."

"What happens then?"

"Then, I eat chocolate torte. And when I have finished it, I'll give you my answer."

Apprehensively, he said, "Well, then. I guess while you decide what you would like to order for dinner, I should gather my thoughts."

"No need to be nervous. This is not a test. It's not a trick question. I swear. Call it … an opportunity for me to reminisce – and as an added bonus, I get to listen to the sound of your voice … and hopefully, see your face light up when you talk about me." She winked at him and then, batted her eyelashes playfully.

He seemed to become more comfortable as he took a sip of water and began, "Some time ago, I had the great fortune to meet a true lady …"

Fanning herself and using a slight Southern accent, "Oh, I do declare! You certainly do know how to sweet talk a girl!"

"… whose name was Joyce."

Buffy eyes simultaneously filled with both sadness and love. "She was amazing. Wasn't she?"

Taking her hand and kissing the back of it, "Her daughter reminds me very much of her. Sadly, the world lost her much too soon, leaving her family and friends to discover that they were as strong and resilient as she was."

Throughout dinner, he played the role of storyteller. He used beautifully poetic language to paint pictures of memories she did not possess. She found herself wishing she could have been there the past three years. If his words were true and that is how these years had occurred, then she had lost something remarkable by missing out on that time with him.

As Buffy finished her entrée, the waiter approached, took the empty plates, and inquired, "Are either of you interested in dessert?"

"Chocolate torte, please," Buffy said, her mouth watering in anticipation.

"Very good. And for you, sir?"

"Just coffee for me, thanks." He nervously played with a spoon for a moment. Then, looking up at Buffy, he asked, "So, is there anything else you'd like me to recount? Any further questions you'd like me to answer?"

"Do you remember the first time you made love to me?" She held his gaze as she continued, "When time quite literally stood still?"

His eyes widened. After taking a few seconds to process the implication of what she had just said, a smile spread across his face. "That's why you made me tell you about the past three years."

"Well, you must admit that from my perspective, your proposal is a bit sudden."

He shook his head and laughed. "So, am I to assume that you made the leap straight from that moment on the stairs to here?"

She swallowed the last bite of her dessert and then, responded, "One minute, I'm in your arms watching the clock count down. The next, the maître d' is asking me to follow him back to this table."

Tilting his head, he raised one eyebrow and gave her that signature crooked grin of his. "I believe you said I'd get my answer when you had finished your chocolate torte, luv."

She removed the ring boxes from her evening bag and placed them on the table near his right hand. "Ask me now."

His expression softened and his blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "Buffy Anne Summers, I love you with all of my unbeating heart and my hard-earned soul. It would be an honor and a privilege to be your husband. If you will have me, I will dedicate my unlife to trying to be the man you deserve, the man you somehow see when you look at me, the man you thought was worth the effort of time travel in order for us have a second chance – well, it feels like the first time for me. But I am grateful to have had even one chance." Kneeling next to her chair and holding the diamond solitaire before her. "Will you marry me?"

She raised her right hand and stroked the side of his face as she looked into his eyes. "Yes."

He slid the ring onto her left hand. "I love you so much than words can say."

"I love you too, William." She leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. "Now, what was it you were saying about preferring this dress on the floor?"

He quickly stood and grabbed the arm of a passing waiter. "Check, please." Then, he pulled out several bills and handed them to the waiter. "Never mind the check. Here. Keep the change."

A/N:

This story will continue – highlighting certain episodes/events (through Buffy #6 & 7, Angel #5), connecting the dots right up to the moment he walked into the restaurant in this chapter (i.e. the long and winding tale that he tells her during their dinner). The three years are outlined – some things will change, some things will remain (primarily) the same. Chapters that follow will be longer than the first eight.

I invite you to pester me if I go too long between updates. It won't bother me. It will likely motivate and inspire me.

Thanks so much for all your kind words in reviews and PMs - you have no idea how much it means to me.

~Jen

5 Sept 2015