Suspicions
Giles continued to look grim as the library fell silent. He was trying to think of anyone who might want to send Buffy to the past. Willow watched his face as it contorted in an effort to force his mind to work.
"Giles…are you ok?"
He blinked and cleared his throat. "I…I believe you should go home. It's getting late. We'll uh continue researching tomorrow."
"What? Giles we can't!" Willow protested.
"Willow's right. We have to find a way to bring her back…there's got to be a way," Xander agreed.
Angel looked up to see the very edges of dawn beginning to break. "I think Giles is right. It's almost daylight. You all have school in a few hours." Without a word, he disappeared from the library.
"Does anyone else get weirded out when he does that?" Faith asked.
"Can we focus please?"
"Sorry watcher man."
"You have to act as if nothing is wrong. It's imperative that no one suspect anything has gone amiss."
"But Giles we have no idea what's happening to her in the past. What if…what if something horrible happened? What if she's dead?"
"Willow, I understand your concerns. Believe me, I share them. However, acting overtly anxious and worried isn't going to help."
Willow closed the book she'd been reading and set it aside. Oz stood up and pulled on his jacket. Willow watched him from the corner of her eye as he slowly headed for the doors.
"We'll be back," Xander said, failing to stifle a yawn.
Giles simply nodded and the he and Willow left the library as well. All that remained was Faith. She and Giles stood in silence for a moment.
"You should go and get some sleep as well. We're going to need you at your best with Buffy missing."
"Got it. I'll be around. You know where to find me."
Moments later, Giles found himself alone surrounded by the one thing that usually gave him comfort; books. But in the present situation, they seemed to be providing him little comfort or illumination. His Slayer had been sent back in time and he had absolutely no idea where to begin looking.
By the time Willow and Xander arrived home, it was nearly five o'clock. The sun was thoroughly peaking over the edge of the skyline and that meant only a few hours of sleep before they would need to get back to school. Both collapsed atop their beds, exhaustion finally catching up to their adrenaline-induced panic.
Two and a half hours later, Willow, Xander and Giles found themselves greetings one another with tired and weary looks and half hearted smiles.
"Did you talk to Buffy's mom? Tell her what we found out?" Willow asked as they headed for the library.
Giles shook his head. "I…I haven't, no. I suppose I should. I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep after you left."
"We didn't get much either,' Xander muttered.
They had reached the doors to library and were about to enter when Willow let out a noise that sounded like a mixture of a yelp and a groan.
"What was that?" Xander asked.
"Snyder. Coming this way…looking…Snyder-ish."
The Principal reached the doors to the library and glared at Willow and Xander. They both took a step back.
"Good morning, Principal Snyder," Giles greeted wearily.
"Nothing good about it. Where's Miss Summers?"
"Buffy? I haven't seen her this morning."
"Us either. I think she's home sick," Willow interjected.
"Yeah she wasn't feeling well yesterday. There's something going around…you know…flu or something."
Snyder didn't look impressed. "Home sick. We'll see about that." With one last disapproving glare, Snyder skulked off down the hallway.
Giles ushered the two students into the safety of the library. They all let out a gasp of relief to be within the confines of the library.
"I need to call Joyce and warn her. No doubt Principal Snyder will be calling to check the validity of Buffy's alibi."
"We'll start researching," Xander said.
Giles raised an eyebrow. Xander was never excited to do research. Of course, these were extraordinary circumstance they were dealing with.
"No. You two need to go to class. Come by during your free periods. We mustn't arouse any more suspicion than we already have."
With disappointed looks, Willow and Xander walked back out the way they'd come. Once he was certain there was no one around, Giles stepped into his office and shut the door. He picked up the phone and dialed the Summers' number. It rang several times before someone answered.
"Buffy?"
"Joyce, it's Rupert Giles."
"Did you find her?"
"No…not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm afraid I don't have much time to explain right now. I'm calling to tell you to expect a call from Principal Snyder. We told him Buffy was home sick today. We need you to verify that story if he calls."
There was a pause on the other end. "Oh…alright."
Giles cleared his throat. "Joyce…we believe we may have an idea where she's gone."
"Where?"
"We believe somehow, someone sent her to the past."
"The…what?"
"I know it sounds…well rather far-fetched but it's the best lead we have at the moment. We'll keep you informed."
"Thank you…I…is there anything I can do to help? I just feel so helpless."
"I think the best thing you can do now is go about your day as usual."
"Of course. Thank you again."
Giles hung up the phone and exhaled slowly. He needed to figure out who and what had sent Buffy back in time. What was the purpose? Why that year, that location? These questions and more whirred in his brain as he began to browse the back shelves of the stacks.
Morning classes were brutal for Willow and Xander. Neither could concentrate on the material. By the time their free period rolled around, they were ready to pull their out. They arrived in the library to find Giles seated behind a very tall stack of books.
"What can we do? Where do we start?" Willow asked.
"Those books over there. Start reading."
--
Nearly a month had passed since Buffy first arrived in London. She was slowly becoming accustomed to the Victorian era and the movements of the creatures of the night. As she'd predicted, the vampires had laid low for a while. That gave her time to get the lay of the land, familiarize herself with the cemeteries in the area. William had also begun to accept her destiny, although he refused to believe she was from another time. They'd finally let that argument go.
Presently, Buffy was patrolling the cemetery by one of the smaller parishes, twirling a stake between her fingers. She had been out patrolling every night that week and had yet to encounter anything with fangs wanting to suck her blood.
"This is getting boring. I know you're out there guys. Don't you want to come play?" She sounded desperate for some slaying.
She made another sweep through the edge of the plot that bordered the forest before deciding there was no action to be had tonight. Just as she walked by a tombstone, she felt something vibrate beneath her. She looked down to see the dirt was freshly dug.
"Now you decide to come out? Ok. Fine." She took a few steps back to allow whatever was coming out some space. Nothing said she had to be impolite while he or she was digging themselves out o their graves. It felt like half an hour before the vampire had finally clawed his way out of his grave.
"You get stuck?" she asked.
He looked confused for a moment before lunging for her. She evaded his grasp easily and knocked him down with a punch. She'd learned to give up trying to kick with all of these petticoats and skirts. It was just more hassle than it was worth.
"I'll kill you!" the vampire howled.
"That's what they all say."
He made another pass and this time he found her stake protruding firmly from his heart. She gave him a little wave before he turned to dust. She bent down, retrieving her stake and headed home. William got worried if she was out too late. From across the street, Angelus stood watching the exchange. He'd been studying the new Slayer for weeks now, trying to find a weakness.
"I'm back," she called as she walked through the front door. She quickly stowed the stake in the hat box by the door. She got no response and so Buffy moved into the parlor. It was empty, even the fire had died down to just a few struggling embers.
"William? Are you here?" She moved to the dining room and then the kitchens. Both were vacant.
"This isn't good," she muttered to herself as she began to climb the stairs to the second floor.
She could hear faint voices coming from the end of the hall. As she moved closer, Buffy could hear sniffling and crying sounds. She finally came into view to find William gripping a sconce, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"William!" she called, running the last few feet to his side.
He couldn't speak. She simply wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. The door at the end of the hall was partially open and Buffy could see two men bent over the figure lying in the bed.
"What happened?" she whispered.
William trying to calm down enough o speak. He cleared his throat several times before any sound aside from sobs came out.
"It's…mother. She…got worse."
"Oh William. I'm so sorry."
She squeezed his hand tightly and he took several deep breaths. Having Buffy with him seemed to provide him with a little comfort. The door to the bedroom opened to allow one of the men out. He looked grim and patted William on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do, son."
"Can…I see her before they take her?"
"Of course. But you best be quick. She was very sick."
William nodded and with Buffy at his side, moved into his mother's bedroom. The doctor's assistant left the room, giving them some privacy. There in the bed, Anne lay, her eyes closed, arms crossed over her chest. She looked peaceful, finally able to rest. William couldn't resist placing one his hands atop hers.
"She's…cold," he rasped.
Buffy just watched as he slid to a sitting position on the bed, fresh tears pricking at his eyes. His other hand was still firmly clasped in hers. She didn't know what to do, what to say. She couldn't imagine what he was going through. When he tried to lean over to give her a kiss Buffy had to pull him away.
"Come on. We should let them finish. We…we should go."
It took a little more prodding and tugging for her to get him to leave the room. They ended up in the parlor, just wrapped in each others arms. No words needed to be spoken. He was not alone and that's all that mattered.