Joyce came out of the light.

"I want you to come with me, Buffy." She was almost angelic when she spoke. And this was really her! Buffy knew it. Not some hallucination or evil entity wearing her mask - this was really her mother from the beyond.

"Wh- where?" she uttered without even thinking what she was saying.

"I want to show you something. Please, come with me."

Buffy walked towards her.

"Is it really you?" Tears glistened in her eyes, wishing to dry Buffy's throat as she said the words.

"It's me, sweetie. You must come now, before it's too late."

Her arm outstretched, she clasped her mother's hand and gasped as she felt her stomach whirl.

Blackness. "Where are we?" Buffy had no idea whether she had actually spoken or not. She was nowhere in an atemporal space, blind and in-between two worlds. Then she wasn't. She was home again. Not in the Academy, but in the familiar streets of Sunnydale: the coastal California town of whitewashed houses and Abercrombie and Fisch pedestrians, known for its killer chilli dogs and high mortality rate. And, oh yeah, the fact that it caved in on itself eighteen months ago! Now there it was again. Identical. Buffy appeared in the High Street, confused and bewildered. People dressed in coats, scarves and woolly hats busily rushed along the sidewalks and aimed to retrieve those final Christmas presents they had left till the last minute. It was chilly and Buffy wasn't dressed for the weather. She looked out of place as she sauntered down the middle of the road and took in the experience. Was this really her hometown? There was the Magic Box! And it was intact! What on earth is going on?

"How is this possible?" Buffy asked, sensing her mother right behind her.

"Anything's possible," was the misty reply. They looked at each other and shared a mutual understanding of where to go next.

After a short walk from the center of town, they came and stood outside 1630 Revello Drive. Nothing had changed, but now she didn't feel like belonged there.

"This is another reality," Buffy whispered, the cold biting at her teeth as she spoke.
"It is," said Joyce. A flash of a smile, and Joyce suddenly looked at her daughter with concern. "Honey, you should get inside before you freeze."

Buffy obeyed and walked up the same steps to the same front door. She felt like she should knock, as if someone else lived there, as if she were revisiting her childhood home. She lifted her hand to open the door, but it quickly swung open. At the threshold stood Robin, her former boss and current confidant. This made it even more awkward when his greeting was the last thing she had anticipated: a kiss on the lips. She pulled back as soon as she could.

"Hey," he muttered lovingly, "what are you doing outside?"

"Uh…"

"Did you finally close the Magic Box?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at how spacey she seemed.
Silence. "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. You? A-are you okay?" He nodded and she stepped back inside her house. It was the same, but different, like she had stepped into an old photo album. This reality wasn't in the past, however.

As Wood smiled off his "girlfriend's" strangeness, Buffy slowly inched to the dining room where she bumped into a rushing Xander. Again, she was filled with shock: his hair was shorter, he looked healthier, but the thing that surprised Buffy the most was his lack of eye patch. Those two big brown eyes were there again and made her feel whole, secure and safe.

"Hey there, Buff. Er, try not to run into Will and An. Things are getting messy with the food-preparing."

"Yeah. O-okay." He departed to the living room. Before Buffy could get another step, Willow immediately strolled out from the kitchen.

"You're back! We were getting worried."

"I'm fine," she replied.

"Really? You look frazzled," soothed the witch's voice, full of concern. Just like the Willow she knew.

"It's cold out," said Buffy.

"Maybe it'll snow later," came familiar words as Willow ran up the stairs. Joyce observed Buffy carefully and noted how intense she was.

"You haven't seen anything yet," she warned.

At that moment, there was a clatter of pans in the kitchen. Muffled voices sprang from the noise.

"Okay, frankly, I think it's preposterous that you'd even think of putting those there. This is all your fault!"

"Um, I wasn't even helping you…"

"Exactly. Layabout woman. Now shoo! This chicken is starting to resemble a caricature of a real chicken."

"I-I could help you with that if you just -"

"If I just what?!"

"Maybe you should lie down and let someone else do it."

"Oh, well, missy! I believe that's your job!"

Buffy entered the kitchen. Her heart raced to her throat; her stomach dipped, just as it did before. There, standing behind an array of vegetables on the counters (and saucepans on the floor), were Anya and Tara.

"Oh, hi, Buffy," exclaimed a cheery Anya. "Are you here to not help too?"