Monday March 19th, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

Rupert Giles ended the final in an uncounted number of circuits of the room in which he was trapped by halting at the main feature of the otherwise unadorned cell - a low, highly polished table of a shape and size that would allow it to be used as a resting platform. The reflection in the mirror-smooth surface of the table was that of a man in his mid-thirties with a strong chin, friendly, open features, a shock of white at the front of his golden-brown head of hair and keen, hazel eyes. The sight of a completely unfamiliar reflection staring back at him wasn't his only, or even primary, concern.

Giles sighed in frustration. He was beginning to regret his precipitous attack on the only person who had attempted to speak to him, or even appear in the room. At the time, he had reacted on the assumption that Glory had used a spell to abduct and imprison him. After more sober reflection and investigation he found he could detect no evidence of an aftereffect of magic use. And the man he had accosted had appeared human; for all that his ludicrous costume suggested a demon of some kind.

Giles sank onto the table, rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands. He was tired; exhausted in a bone-deep sort of way that he failed, every night, to alleviate with the few hours of sleep he allowed himself. There was always another book to read, manuscript to decipher, progressively more distant contacts to call for any scrap of information - no matter how small or questionably relevant.

And where had it left him? He had been separated from his friends and his duty by an unknown element. Although it had been against his will and out of his control he felt a familiar welling of unwarranted guilt that he was not at Buffy's side, working with their companions to, once again, fend off the agents of the Dark forces.

Giles now had serious doubts about the idea that Glory had somehow brought about this state of affairs. From what they had learned about the hell-god, it was clear she was severely lacking in impulse control. It was highly unlikely that she would have delayed the opportunity to gloat over her small victory, taunt him and, of course, begin her campaign to wrest whatever information she could from him.

He turned his considerable intellect to the task of identifying what other entity might have the ability and inclination to interfere in the affairs of the Slayer and her Watcher. Something in the feel of the featureless room struck a slight chord of familiarity in him and he latched onto the thread of an idea.

At that moment, the doorway through which the garishly dressed man had earlier entered slid open and Giles rose and turned to see a lovely black woman step across the threshold and stop, maintaining as much distance from him as possible while remaining in the same room. The juxtaposition of the figure of the woman, who wore a white lab coat, and the scowling, armed, fatigue-dressed young man who stood behind her leant credence to the suspicion that had begun to blossom in the Watcher's mind.

"So, I presume you are Maggie Walsh's successor?" he challenged the woman.

"Who?" Dr. Verbena Beeks inquired with a curious tilt of her head.

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam tried, with marginal success, not to stagger as he followed the three young women through the door into a shop at the end of a street lined with quaint storefront businesses. He sincerely hoped his heart rate would slow soon or there was the distinct possibility he would faint. He now understood the reason for the concerned glances the redhead and the shy girl - whose names he had learned were Willow and Tara - had shared when he suggested the blonde they called Buffy drive them to the Magic Box. Since he hadn't known what the Magic Box was, much less where it was located, it had seemed a good idea at the time. He hoped that he could remember enough of the landmarks he had glimpsed to find his way 'home', as he certainly wasn't planning to ask Buffy to chauffeur him again.

"Wow," Al exclaimed. "I'm glad I'm not here in the flesh. That girl has got to be the worst driver in the entire world. I thought you guys were goners when she ran that stop sign."

Sam, unable to speak to his companion - who was invisible and inaudible to the others - settled for a weak grin and a heavy swallow.

"Hey, Xander!" Buffy shouted, approaching a dark-haired young man who was seated at a table a fair distance across the room. "Giles let me drive his car!"

Xander rose from the table and turned quickly, passing Buffy on his way to confront Sam. He reached out and grasped the older man by the elbow. "Are you okay, G-man?" he asked, raking a concerned glance from Sam's face to his toes and back. "I didn't think anything short of a life-threatening injury would compel you to ride in a car Buffy was driving - and you let her drive your Beemer?"

"I... I had a headache and my vision was a little blurry," Sam explained, repeating the excuse he had used earlier. "I thought it would be better if someone else drove."

Xander considered this statement with obvious skepticism. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked.

"Ah, no - actually," Sam admitted. In fact he was dizzy, nauseous and extremely jumpy from the residual adrenaline in his system.

"There's a big surprise," Xander said, leading him over to a seat at the table. "You didn't even yell at me for calling you G-man," he added, shaking his head in sympathy. "I'll get you some tea."

"Th... thank you," Sam said, making a mental note to take exception to the appellation in the future.

"We're alive, too," Willow informed Xander shakily, as she and Tara slid gratefully into wonderfully solid and unmoving chairs on the other side of the table. "Thanks for your concern."

"I'm making cups for you guys, too," Xander replied. "But he had to worry about his car as well as his skin - and I'll bet you made him sit up front."

"It was his idea," Willow shot back.

Sam accepted the cup of tea Xander offered him. The young man was correct. Willow and Tara had all but dived into the back of the car, leaving the shotgun seat for him. It had taken every shred of self-control he could muster to prevent himself from grabbing the steering wheel on any number of occasions and his right ankle and knee were throbbing from the amount of pressure with which he had applied his right foot to the floor board in front of him - for all the good it had done him.

"It wasn't that bad. I think I'm getting the hang of this driving thing," Buffy said breezily, then sent her frown around the table when no one spoke up in her defense.

"Yeah, well anyway," Xander interrupted before things could devolve further. "I guess we should get back into Research Mode."

"Where are Dawn and Anya?" Willow asked, glancing around the shop.

"Dawn was feeling a little cooped up so she went with Anya to the bank to deposit the day's receipts," Xander told them. "They're going to pick up dinner on the way back." He turned to Sam. "Anya was on cloud nine. You really ought to let her handle the money stuff more often."

"I'll see what I can do," Sam replied absentmindedly. The warm, soothing tea had begun to relax him when his gaze fell on the pile of books lying open on the table. As the content of several images on the pages became impressed on his brain he straightened slightly and bit back an exclamation.

Al, ever vigilant when visiting his friend in the past, noticed the change in Sam's demeanor. "What's wrong, Sam?" He moved behind Sam's chair to see what had caught his attention. "Holy crow!" he announced, snatching his unlit cigar out of his mouth. "What the hell are these people into?"

Sam shivered in unspoken agreement. The books varied widely in size, shape, age and language but there was one constant: every illustration told its own little horror story.

"So, Giles," Buffy said, as the four young people regarded him with mild interest and no visible reaction to the panoply of the macabre scattered across the tabletop. "What should we concentrate on next?"

"Uh, maybe we should just pick up where we left off last time?" Sam offered. They all shrugged and picked up books, settling into their chairs to begin reading. Just as Sam was about to move away from the table to attempt a private conversation with Al, the annoying chirp-warble of Al's hand-link cut through the silence.

Al squinted at the tiny screen and tapped the display a few times. Finally, he looked up. "Ziggy says this Giles guy is talking to Verbena without getting physical." Al glanced back to the table for a moment before fixing Sam with a serious look. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he reassured his friend.

Sam inclined his head in a slight nod of acknowledgment before heaving a deep sigh and lifting a book with the least offensive picture he could find. The sound of the Imaging Chamber door sliding shut behind him only deepened his gloom.

End Part 2