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Joyce quietly closed the door to the bedroom and made her way through the cozy living room of the cottage into the kitchen where she planned to take away the night's chill with a cup of tea. As she began preparing it at the stove a voice from behind startled her.
"I've already made you a cup. I knew you'd want one."
She turned to see the elder version of Giles seated at the kitchen table.
"Oh! I thought you were gone."
"Soon. The girls await me in the barn. First, however, there is much you must know and little time to waste."
He indicated that she should sit. She crossed the room and did so, all the while feeling uncomfortable. It was all so bizarre; this man was Giles, yet twenty years older. He looked, sounded, acted like Giles but ... something about him, the look in his eyes perhaps, was different. He was more reserved, brusque even and his eyes had a dull, resigned quality to them. She sat. He studied her face. He had not expected to be in this position. Sitting with her, talking to her, looking at her.
Still as lovely as he remembered, down to the last detail. Alive and well. He had succeeded. But at what price? He had fully expected that when he saved Joyce's life, he would vanish. Snuffed out of existence by preventing the turn of events that created him in the first place. A trade he was more than willing to make. But it did not happen. He never could fathom the paradoxical intricacies of time travel and now was no different. He resolved to simply press on as best he could.
"Beware of Ramsay, he is more than what he appears." Giles said.
"Yes, I know, he's a Watcher. But beware....?"
"It is due to his interference that everything went wrong the first time. He intends to steal the mirror and go back in time to save his Slayer from her death. Even as we speak, he is most likely in possession of it."
Joyce was confused. She was being asked to process too much, too fast. She wasn't sure what to say but managed to come up with something.
"But, if you know all this, couldn't you have stopped him?"
"It was either stop him or save you. No choice at all in my mind."
"Umm, I'm flattered, I guess but.....oh, this is all just too much! What exactly are you trying to tell me?"
"Only this: I intend to find Ramsay and the mirror and stop him and send you and...." he gestured to the bedroom where Giles slept, "him, back home as soon as he is strong enough -- maybe another two or three days -- then destroy the mirror and end all this trouble. I tell you this now because he is too weak and drugged to take it all in. And....." The elder Giles reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol, "I know you'll use this if necessary."
"Against whom?"
"Wolf, Philan, even Ramsay. Or any of the many locals in their employ. Things will happen quickly and I can't be sure who or when any of the leading players will strike. Or what they might do."
"But Wolf and Philan are out of the picture. We stopped them."
"Only temporarily. This is a very fluid and volatile situation we are in. We've already caused many ripples in the timeline. There's no telling how things could play out differently than before. You must exercise extreme caution. Be on your guard. Neither Ramsay or Wolf can use the mirror until the eclipse, so I have a few days to find it."
"Wait, if things are so dangerous, then why go running off to find Ramsay? Let him go and concentrate on stopping Wolf."
Giles shook his head, "Ramsay's improper use of the mirror renders it inoperative, you would be unable to return to the future. I can't afford to simply wait until we all converge again during the eclipse. Too many things could go wrong. Besides, there's a bigger issue at stake: Ramsay's actions set off a chain of events that may have dire consequences further down the timeline. By saving his Slayer's life he interferes with the natural sequence of subsequent Slayers. If the chosen one is not called between her fifteenth and seventeenth birthday, then the gift passes to the next in line."
Joyce was not slow to realize the implications of that statement, "You mean Buffy might not become the Slayer?"
"Possibly. Now, I know how tempting it must be for you to hope for that potentiality, but, consider even further: Buffy is unique and exceptional, even among Slayers. She is, in my professional estimation, the best of the best. A particular person sent to a specific place at a specific time to accomplish what only she is capable of. But if the line is altered, the Slayer who finds herself in Sunnydale -- be she the well intentioned but naive Kendra or the unstable Faith or another girl altogether-- will be ill prepared for what awaits her. Only Buffy Summers can handle the responsibility. A Sunnydale without Buffy Summers is a grim prospect to consider. I believe we've already gotten a glimpse of what that might be like."
Joyce sighed and rubbed her eyes. "My head's spinning, all this time travel stuff is so overwhelming." She got up, walked to the stove, thought for a bit, then turned back. "Okay, let's say, for the moment that what you say is true. That Ramsay poses a serious threat. I return to my original question, why did you save me? Your priority should have been to stop him. 'The good of the many....' and all that."
"I tried. When I finally figured out the key to the mirror, my first attempt was, in fact, to return to a point prior to when we even arrived here and destroy the mirror before any of this could happen. But....the use of the mirror is an inexact science at best. I failed. When I returned here, I reasoned that after I saved you, I....or rather, he, would figure out what was going to happen and then the two of you, working together, would be better equipped to stop Ramsay and Wolf than I was, working alone and....distraught."
Giles' voice cracked. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes from Joyce. It was the first time since seeing her alive again that he had thought about what it had been like to lose her, to watch her die. For an instant, just before he turned away, his eyes reflected that pain and Joyce saw it. For the first time since she'd met the elder Giles, she thought about what it must have been like for him watching her die. Imagined what it might be like if their places had been reversed. She now understood the dull, haunted quality of the man's eyes. For several seconds, neither of them said anything, then, at last, Giles stood.
"I must go. When he is strong enough, return to the manor and wait there, I will send word when I've secured the mirror. Then we can finally end all this madness."
He had returned to his gruff, distant demeanor. Joyce hesitated, she wanted to say something to comfort him or take away some of his pain. She felt awkward, inept, nervous. He was leaving and she could think of nothing to say except practical, sensible things.
"How can you be sure you'll find the mirror? What...what if you don't?"
He reached into his coat again, this time pulling out a small leather bag tied with a pull string. From the bag, he took a bright blue stone. Shiny, almost crystalline in appearance. Joyce recognized it as being the same "healing stone" that Morag had held hours - it seemed like years, now - ago.
"The stone is the key. It is linked to the mirror. When one uses it properly, it opens all of the mirrors vast possibilities. The stone will tell me where to go. It will lead me to the mirror." With that, he turned and left in a flourish, his long overcoat billowing like a cape.
Joyce leaned back wearily against the stove and cast her eyes skyward. She took a moment to consider the absurd situation she found herself in: Stuck some one hundred or so years in the past, cavorting with two versions of the same man to try and prevent God-only-knew what sort of calamity from occurring in the future and expected to know how - and be able to - use an antique firearm in the process. She sighed loudly and shook her head.
"I'm going to be in therapy for a long time."
****** "Well, we're practically re-defining the word 'ineffectual' here, aren't we?"
That declaration had come from Oz as he thumped another dusty tome down onto the library table. The others were hard pressed to disagree. An hour or so of further research had yielded nothing useful.
"Don't be discouraged, now," Wesley offered, stifling a yawn, "I've yet to see the twin towers of perseverance and research fail."
"And with those stirring words of encouragement ringing in their ears," Xander said, "Team Wes carried the day."
"Oh lay off Wesley, will you?" Cordelia snapped, "Don't you think he's doing the best he can?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," Xander retorted.
At that point, exhaustion and stress got the better of the group and frayed tempers took over again. But this time, before another fight could break out, Buffy shouted it to a halt.
"Hey! Chill! We don't want Angel getting all fangy again, do we?"
A grudging silence took over for a few seconds until Willow spoke up, "Right, we're toast. I think a C and D run is in order. Xander, maybe you and Oz could......" Willow stopped, her mouth agape in astonishment. Puzzled, the others followed her gaze to the cause of her expression: Buffy, who was, for all intents and purposes, disappearing. Parts of her body were fading in and out, becoming invisible for seconds at a time, then reappearing. Buffy looked at her right hand in horror as it slowly became transparent before her eyes. "Wha....what's happ....." she began to say before her knees buckled and she started to topple over. Angel leaped forward to catch her before she hit the floor only to find his hand pass completely through one of her shoulders. He managed to hold her up by one arm until Xander rushed over to help and they guided her awkwardly to a chair. She swayed slightly in the chair, her expression shaken, her face pale, ghostlike.
Somebody voiced the obvious, "What's happening to Buffy?"
"She's turning invisible," Oz answered.
"Not merely invisible," Wesley corrected, taking off his glasses to peer closely at his Slayer, "but insubstantial."
"She's disappearing?" asked Cordelia.
Wesley hesitated, aware of the deep concern etched on the faces of the young people around him. "Yes," he stated flatly.
Accustomed as they were to looking to the Watcher for answers, or at least the appearance thereof, Buffy's friends turned expectantly to Wesley.
"How?"
"Why?"
"What's going on?"
A wave of panic washed over him. He silently prayed for something, anything sensible to come out of his mouth. As if to answer his prayers and the other's questions, the mirror began to glow and hum. A soft, golden light radiated from it, pulsing in rhythm with a quiet vibration.
"Saved by the bell," Oz muttered to Xander.
They all turned their attention to the mirror.
"First Buffy does a Casper routine and then the mirror just...turns on." Willow said.
"I'm with you," Angel said, "Too much of a coincidence."
"I agree," Wesley jumped in, only too glad to have the attention diverted from him. "There must be a connection."
Angel knelt beside the ashen faced Buffy. She looked at him curiously.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Weak, dizzy, um....do I know you?"
Angel frowned and exchanged anxious looks with the others. He looked at the mirror, glowing and humming invitingly, then looked back at Buffy.
"That's weird," he said, "It almost seems like the mirror is....I don't know, calling Buffy."
"Of course!", Wesley commented excitedly, as if something had just dawned on him, "It has been theorized that the mirror possesses a certain...sentience."
"You mean it can think?" Willow asked.
"For lack of a better term, yes."
"Let's see then," Xander walked over to it. "Speak, Lassie! Good girl. Tell us where Timmy is."
The mirror hummed louder and glowed even brighter, causing Xander to jump and move back. Angel turned back to Buffy."Do you feel well enough to walk?"
"Umm, I suppose so," she said dreamily, then looked at Angel strangely, adding, "Where am I? Who are all these people?"
"We're losing her," Angel commented to the others, then to Buffy, "I'll explain in a minute, let me help you stand up."
He did so and he and Wesley guided her toward the mirror. The closer they got, the brighter the mirror glowed and, more importantly to them, the more substantial Buffy became. By the time she was within three feet of it, she had reverted back to her normal, solid self.
"How do you feel now?" Wesley asked.
"Better. Good, even. Real good."
She examined her hands, arms and legs, squeezed her hands into fists, rubbed her face to assure herself that she was indeed, whole again. Bathed in the soft glow of the mirror, Buffy had no doubt that it was connected to her, that it was somehow nourishing, energizing, protecting her.
"Do you know me?" Xander asked.
"Much as there are times when I wish I could say I didn't know you, Xander, alas, I must admit that I do."
"Yup, she's back to normal."
"For now," Willow pointed out, "And as long as she stays near the mirror."
"Fine," Cordelia said, "But we still don't know what's causing it."
"Wait a minute...." Oz said from across the room, a faraway look in his eyes. He walked slowly toward them, squinting as if trying to remember some vital piece of information stuck just out of reach in the back of his mind. Then it came to him.
"Back to the Future!"
"Sorry?" Wesley said.
"The movie. Remember that part where the photograph started fading?"
"Right!" Willow jumped in, "As events transpired that would prevent his parents from ever getting together, the future that he knew became increasingly less likely."
"So...", Xander followed-up, "Something is happening in the past that's affecting Buffy?"
"Could be," Oz said, "We know the mirror is a portal to the past and that two people are there who aren't supposed to be."
"No, that's not it," Angel mused out loud, "It's not Giles and Joyce who are causing it." He turned to Wesley, "What was that you were reading about that Ramsay guy, that Watcher?"
"Of course!" Wesley understood immediately where Angel was headed, "He stole the mirror. And the most likely reason was to go back in time and save his Slayer. Good heavens, if he actually succeeds, the potential ramifications are staggering. If the line is altered, then it could result in....."
"Me not existing?" Buffy asked.
"Not necessarily," Wesley said, "It could result in your not becoming the Slayer, though. Or being called too late."
"Too late for what?" Cordelia asked.
"Sunnydale." Angel answered.
The others looked at the grim faced vampire, each one considering the various possibilities that his statement implied. Xander finally attempted to give voice to those concerns, "Okay, let me see if we're on the same page here: As we speak, events are taking place in the past that will change the course of Buffy's life and consequently, ours."
"Very good, Xander, I'd say that adequately sums it up." Wesley concurred.
"Then why aren't we all doing the ghostly thing, too?" Oz queried.
"Buffy's the key figure," Angel said, "She'll go first but eventually, we all will."
"Disappear?" said Cordelia.
"Change." Wesley clarified.
"Into what, though?" asked Willow.
"Into....." Wesley shrugged, "A world without Buffy, I suppose."
"You mean like the world where that lesbian, vampire version of Willow came from?" Cordelia said.
"I would not have put it quite so indelicately, but..."
"So," Xander reasoned, "We might all end up like...."
The grim realization set in over the group.
"Oh my God, this is horrible," Cordelia moaned, sinking heavily down into a chair, "We've got to do something. I don't want to end up a lesbian!"
"That's our Cord," Xander said, "Always keeping things in perspective."
Buffy sunk dejectedly to the floor and sat cross-legged, dropping her head into her hands, "I'll take 'From Bad to Worse" for one thousand dollars, Alex. Oh, look, the daily double!"
"What about the mirror?" Willow said, "It's protecting Buffy right now, so maybe we can, like...get it to tell us what to do or something."
"Sure," agreed Buffy with mock enthusiasm," Mirror, mirror on the wall, what the hell are we suppose to do next?"
Again, as if on cue, the mirror responded with a throbbing hum that sounded like an electrical transformer.
"Okay, this is officially creepy," Oz said.
Buffy stood and faced the glass. As they all watched, it clouded momentarily, giving the appearance of smoke obscuring a scene, then eventually cleared to reveal an image. Not a reflection of what was before it, but a different place altogether. With different people. At first, the faces were not clear but then the focus sharpened and closed in: A man and a woman dressed in antique clothing, sitting at a table. Buffy's eyes widened in recognition, "That's my mother!"
"And Giles," Willow added.
"But the older Giles, " Angel specified.
The two were speaking, but were not audible to the group. Even without sound, however, it soon became clear what the significance of the image was: Giles reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small leather bag tied with a drawstring. From it, he took a small, blue stone which he held out in the palm of his hand. The image changed focus again, as if a director had called for a zoom-in on the stone. They could see the shiny, almost crystalline stone in sharp detail.
"Hey, I have that stone!" Buffy exclaimed, "At home in a jewelry box. My grandmother gave it to me. Said it was some kind of family heirloom or something."
"Then that's the key!" Wesley chimed in, "That's what the mirror is trying to tell us. Get the stone."
"Well, I can't go anywhere," Buffy said, "Will, you go. You know where all my stuff is, right?"
"Yeah, the black jewelry box on your dresser with the oriental design. Oz, I need you to drive."
"Right, let's motorvate."
"I guess this means a coffee and donut run is off, huh?" Xander said.
"Excuse me, perspective boy." Cordelia sniped.
"Just hurry," Buffy implored.
"Yes, indeed," Wesley added, "We're literally racing against time."
"Right," Buffy agreed, "And...um, I have to pee."
****** Joyce went to the kitchen table and picked up the ancient revolver. She had very little idea how to use it. It most closely resembled one of those six guns she'd seen used in a million Westerns. She poked and prodded at it to try and determine how many - if any - bullets were in it and how it worked. She got a brief image of some character or another in the old cartoons looking down the barrel of a gun only to have it go off in his face. She placed it back on the table. From the living room, Philan listened very carefully for any sound that would indicate that either of the two men were still present. He heard nothing. He knew the younger one was wounded and would not pose a threat, but the older one was dangerous. The best that Philan was able to determine was that the older one had left with the girls and the younger one slept in the bedroom. That left only the woman.
Perfect.
He crept forward very carefully, the small blade held out in front of him. He hoped he would simply be able to take her by surprise and then bind and gag her, but he was prepared to use the knife to attack and kill her if necessary. He closed the distance to the kitchen door and leaned against the wall just to the right of it. From his vantage point, he could just make out the woman standing in front of the table with her back to him. Her attention was focused on something in front of her. She had no idea he was there. Philan took a deep breath, clenched the knife tighter and pushed the door inward.....
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