#coming soon to a Sunnydale after dark or elysian fields near you

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"Yeah...." Joan sighed, blowing out smoke from a second procured cigarette and stifling a cough. "Town was weird with um," she waved her hand in front of her, frowning. Even with Althanea's guidance and her, the keeper of the time watch, provided Buffy without an exact date. Technomagic and indeed magic itself was not her strong suit.

Luckily, Spike provided. "Everyone all hush-hush quiet like, thanks to the poncy boys in suits? Couldn't scare a proper scream from anyone with that going on. Takes all the fun right out."

Oh, she thought. She'd scream for him again, any day. But faced with everything now, the longing remained an acrid burn in the bottom of her gut. Steadying herself, she finally pulled her purple hood back. Remembering the time she and the others had faced The Gentlemen. She'd never really known back then what Spike had been up to during that time (getting chipped came to mind), but pretty soon Willow'd be saving him from staking himself. "Any other Vampire'd get a sick kick from the added novelty of their prey not being able to voice themselves, I bet." she told the trees in front of her, not quite seeing.

"Well, 's not my style." Spike defended slowly, swiping his nose before leaning back and looking the strange woman up and down. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out in the cemetery all alone?"

Any way the wind blows. When your body aches to lay it down

Joan smiled. It was just as tight as her Buffy smiles had become near the end, but it wouldn't give her away. Finally she faced the ghost of her past fully. Lost in the blue of his eyes, even shadowed as they were. A waning something-whatever moon just glancing off his platinum hair. But in her mind she could see the light pouring out of him, the martyr, the sun, "No you don't but-" NO. She wouldn't let his memory repeat that line. In the end you're better off alone

"Looking for you, looking at the stars." She mumbled, taking a sip from the now nearly-empty flask. "They don't shine like this when I come from."

Spike was leering now, intrigued. "'When' is that, luv?"

"2012. Not too far. Heard stories. Figured I could come back and.. change things" (fix everything). "I'm not as helpful as B-uh, Buffy. The slayer." It was a struggle, saying her lost name. She couldn't say I want to save you, I want to screw the me of the past over and keep you to myself.

The vampire hummed, unaware of the thoughts going through her head as she finished her flask. "Some kind of time travelling witch then? Got a name?"

"Joan."

He nodded sarcastically. No doubt already cooking up a way to turn this unexpected visitor into an asset towards his own gain. Wiping his hands on his jeans and grinning, he offered her his hand. "Spike."

Your name is like a melody. She didn't say, as she smiled sadly back at him and shook. Letting go quickly, lest she never let go, and willing her heart to stay dead despite the jolt of electricity which was briefly caressing it.

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1999. The brunette pulled her hood lower on her head, absentmindedly checking that her watch was still on her wrist as she looked blankly around Restfield cemetery. It was a quiet, clear-sky night.

"See, someone's got to tell the tale. Whether or not it turns out well. maybe it will turn out this time. On the road to Hell, on the railroad line..."

Joan couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so many stars. There certainly hadn't been many on the Cleveland Hellmouth in 2012, not after all the pollution and fires. And being here was like wading through a dream - surreal and sluggish as molasses - as she let her feet carry her via memory. Hopping up to sit on a headstone, before fishing a flask out from her coat's pocket and taking a hasty swig. To counteract the time-travel dizzy spell.

That was another thing. The name, the clothes, the years, all changed her from 1999's version of "Buffy". So did the... she took a half-empty pack of King Mountain Reds out of a different pocket, slid a slender cigarette out before swapping the pack for a lighter and lighting it. A habit she'd picked up specifically because the scent helped her cope... after. She still coughed, every time.

At least the autumn air wasn't freezing, it might even have been warm. But Buffy hadn't felt warm in almost a decade.

"Weather ain't the way it was before. Ain't no spring or fall at all anymore."

And even despite her apathy, she winced when his presence slid against her senses. Before he sauntered over, game face on. All punk bravado facade. Without raising her head, staring at his boots in the grass before her, she silently held out her flask. After a beat, and with a bemused scoff, she felt him take it. Step out of her view, and then plop down on the headstone next to hers. Only then did she dare to look up. Look at the profile of his face, which was back to that of a man, without seeing. She was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating. But then, she'd sworn it had done that a lifetime ago.

"Rough night?" She asked not unkindly, offering a drag off her cigarette when the vampire handed back her flask, now much lighter.

"Could say that." Spike sniffed beside her, tilting his head to eye her with curiosity.

It's a sad song. We're gonna sing it anyway.

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Joan woke up, a tousled disoriented mess. Her faux brown curls stuck in the half undone zipper of her jacket, her hoodie underneath wicking sweat as she had too many layers on - for wherever she was evidently lacked A/C. Her stomach lurched as if she'd eaten a pound of bad shrimp the night before and a sunbeam fell like a needle through her eyelids.

Her inner Buffy was nagging. 'Get up! Assess your surroundings! Remember anything from last night, God!'

She'd... she'd made it back to 1999, she giggled, hoisting herself onto her side. Almost missing a ratty blanket that fell from around her midsection. Patting herself down, she noticed that someone had unmistakably gone through her pockets. All that was missing though, were her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She growled, and though wincing searched the dingy... motel? room she was in.

It smelled like... well she always smelled of leather and whiskey and smoke these days. But the blanket she pushed from herself as she crouched smelled like more.

"Listen, I'll help ya and keep you secret for now. That's me, saving the damsel in distress. But I'm no sodding white hat - I'll have you know. So you" Spike had pointed at her. "And me, are gonna have a little chat about setting my head right."

Then she'd... said something girlish like his head always feeling right and had asked him to spar, before passing out the second she stood up. Buffy put a hand to her forehead and laughed. A desperate, manic laugh. "Bloody hell, the bint's gone barmy." Huffed a voice from the other side of the door.

Joan couldn't stop smiling as she opened the door before the second knock, though tears streamed down her face making her look like a deranged raccoon.

"Always crazy, Spike. Thought that was your type?" Joan stated candidly, pulling the door farther open so that her guest could skirt the room around the sunbeam. Joan shut her eyes tight and tried to focus. "Time sickness. Been sick for a long time. Not myself - not this year's self - not next year's- please tell me you brought something to drink?"

Spike crossed his arms, not hiding the bottle in his hand well as he tried to ascertain her sanity. She didn't like that look.

Joan pouted. Something that was less creased and a lot more cute when Buffy'd... well when Buffy would pout. "Don't you of all people judge me!" She pointed a finger in his direction, staggering a little. "I don't need a soulless de-fanged Vampire being judgy mc-judge. I should know! I took down-" No, Buffy had taken down The Judge. "a list of people who can judge me, and you're not on it!" What she needed was her Champion. He'd be top of that list.

Spike continued to look at her like he was stuck with a nutter. Before deciding, with an eyebrow raised, to hand over the bottle.

Joan took it with a look so dirty it felt like she blamed him for all the woes in the world, and so wounded it felt like she was trying to say 'sorry' for all of it. After a minute of drinking, the woman seemed to calm and took in a deep breath, her eyes starting to focus.

"Thank you." She grumbled out, a bit more subdued as she handed the bottle back over. Then without preamble, she turned to the unused bed and took off her jacket and hoodie, sucking at her teeth as her hair was shorn by the zipper. "So. I can certainly help you get the chip out faster than you otherwise would, but there are other things I need first. I can't completely meddle with the timeline...." she trailed off as she replaced the jacket and wadded up the hoodie.

"Should I be worried that you're more lucid drunk than sober, luv?" Spike asked wearily, not disliking watching the brunette adjust her wardrobe.

Layers fixed, Joan turned back to look at him. Properly seeing him for the first time that day. She could see his jaw and cheek bones better in this lighting, his slender body, the promise of lean muscles beneath his sleeves. "It won't stand in the way of my mission. And it won't matter when I succeed."

She took two measured steps closer to him in the dark room, as his eyes trailed her.

"And why's that?"

"Because when I succeed, 'I' won't exist anymore."

She would stay with him there in his world down below

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“Times being what they are - Dark, and getting darker all the time.” 2012. Another one of those years where the world stood prophesied to end. It wouldn’t, despite the fractures in the spiderweb lines of those who fought against the darkness. Though most people didn’t know that. Couldn’t fathom time marching forward, again. For them, it was almost a foregone conclusion that the world would end.. Craters and hellmouths and illness and war opening up like pock-marks against the skin of every continent. Still, the heat of a California summer afternoon hit her naked shoulders much the same as it did back-when. The sun which continued to rise and sink, rise and sink, days and years passing in a blur. Not for him, though. Only for her. Those mistakes she’d made, those times she had gotten lost in spectacular ways, could all stay in old watcher diaries long forgotten. In pages quickly fading. As she hiked her bag’s strap higher on the slender slope of her shoulder, and headed away from the sun’s zenith, towards the catalyst town that had started it all. Sunnyhell. It felt like deja vu. In a sense, it was some sort of Groundhog’s Day, both that last fateful moment before the blinding flame replaying in her memory, and how she’d planned this next step meticulously. Over and over and over and over. In her waking thoughts, in dreams. “I’ve lived for sodding ever.” Only just over 30. Half of it living as the ‘chosen one’, standing between good and the forces of evil. Except… the lines got crossed. Somewhere, somehow. And back then she wasn’t ‘one’. Not really. It’s what had made her exceptional. She’d had family, friends. Now…. Willow, greyscale. Watchers and slayers, scattered. Xander, MIA, Giles in London regrouping with what little battlement they had left, Dawn in Rome. The dead, too many. Leaving the world broken, broken, broken as her. Not done, though. Never done. Never left alone. Never allowed to die. Just as Buffy. She was just… empty. Instead. Inside. Outside, a General, strong, resilient, apathetic. Today had to be the day to change all that.

The witch-seer Althenea had said so. Not to be confused with the slayer Athena Jamison-Smith. No, after Willow'd gone rogue (again) and Giles had grown distant (again- again), Althenea had coached Buffy on a lot - helped her while she'd done her best to march on, helped her train Violet as both a Slayer and witch who could stand in Buffy's absence. Told Buffy when the planets and energies would converge in order to deliver her alone, to split the flow of time. To save the world. Buffy just couldn’t be ‘Buffy’ to accomplish that.

That was fine with Buffy. Buffy hadn’t been “Buffy” in such a long time. “Times being what they are…. Hard, and getting harder all the time.”

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The mysterious time traveler had disappeared after one more night. She'd expressed longing for the Bronze, for malls, for cheap newspapers and vices in her short time there. Confounding and irritating Spike. The witch steadfastly refused to make contact with the slayer, the Scoobies, or the watcher, and only leaned on Spike. Taunting him with his own go-to methods. Asking him if he'd use chains or if he'd wise up. Equally seeming disgusted with then besotted by him.

At least he could breathe with her gone. Not that he needed to, just force of habit and, metaphor. Shaking his head as he ditched the spot she'd vanished from and trudged back towards his crypt. He couldn't help it when he nearly choked as he tripped when a teenage blonde blipped into existence in front of him. "Oh, cool!" The girl cried, totally oblivious to the centuries old vampire stumbling near the tree she'd appeared leaning against. "Please let me have gotten the time right on this thing..." She hit her palm against the side of the watch on her wrist. It was an odd square thing, like Joan's had been, but it flashed a few extra colors.

"Bloody hell." Spike groaned, before he could think twice and try to sneak away.

The girl, around 16, sucked in a breath as she spotted him. "William Pratt?" She said in awe. Spike swore and thumped his sternum lest he choke again.

"Spike."

The girl beamed. "Right! The Spike. I'm Lizzie-Anne." She tried to stand up in a really cool way and flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder. "I'm here to save you and- the slayer. I heard a lot about you. I'm from-"

Spike cleared his throat finally, straightening with a wince. "2012?"

She frowned. "2024.... Things have been real bad. Really bad."

"You weren't even alive in this year, right kid? 1999 a little before you?" Spike questioned, trying and failing to mask his irritation.

The girl, Lizzie-Anne, just squinted as if to see him better in the dark. "Yeah... but like I said, it's real bad. And I heard stories.... You could fix my future. Make it better."

"And let-me-guess, if I help you 'fix it', you won't exist anymore?" Spike drawled, putting his hands in his pockets and fixing the girl with an unamused stare.

She tried to hide the way she swallowed with trepidation. "Yeah?"

He lunged, but the flash of light as she hit the button on her watch and the timelines converging left him falling into dirt.

A moment later, Joan stumbled into existence again. "Yeah... the PTB don't like trying to bring more of us into your life to meddle. But it seems like we're at a fixed point."