Time Quake by DarkWiccan

Disclaimers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters associated with the show are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and their affiliates. If they belonged to me, none of the horrors of season six would ever have happened, and Willow and Tara would be on their honeymoon by now. But they don't, so for now I borrow and kindly ask the big, scary corporate lawyer-guy to look the other way. Also, even though W/T don't belong to me, this story does. Please don't plagiarize.

Feedback: Yes, please. But I have a Fire Extinguisher to put out all flames.

Summary: 25 years ago something went horribly wrong. Now she's going to put things right.

A Small Government Science Facility Just Outside of Los Angeles. The Year: 2027.

You'd like to think, for the sake of comfort and your own sanity, that the universe, or at least your own little corner of it, is for the most part a stable unit and therefore a safe and predictable place to live. This is, of course, not the case. Things happen. Unexpected things like temporal rifts and space/time anomalies. Shifts in the fabric separating dimensions and small portals into other worlds that suddenly appear, and then just as suddenly are gone, these things happen. Most of the time nothing comes of these little "hiccups" as I like to call them. They come and go and ebb and flow just as the tide and equally as natural. But sometimes things go wrong, things are affected and timelines change, and when that happens, it's my job to fix whatever damage has been caused.

I knew it had happened before I even got the call. When you've been jumping for as long as I have, you start to develop a sixth sense for these things. But this time, it was bad, really bad, and the feeling of it shuddered down my spine and settled like a lead weight on my stomach.

I leapt from my bed, momentarily feeling as though I'd left my stomach behind me, but it quickly rejoined my body as I dressed into my jumpsuit, tucking my lucky charm, a silver locket on a chain around my neck, inside and raced to the lab.

"When did it happen?" I asked as I entered the blinding white light of the pristine facility.

"I know what time it registered on our equipment," I said tersely, "When did the anomaly occur spatially?"

"127.002-21.2746 clicks." A young man dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants. His attire kept mostly hidden by his knee-length white lab coat.

"David," I said, slightly surprised by his presence. He seemed to be equally taken with my appearance as well.

"Bridge…" He said, using my nickname, short for Brighid. I always hated being called my nick by anyone other than my mother. Mom always had a way of saying it that made it sound like something other than a structure built over water. David knew this, but I forgave him the slip, just this once. I was too preoccupied with the present situation to allow any room for pet peeves.

"Brighid, I'm sorry," David continued, adjusting his wire-frame glasses and nervously running his fingers through his short-cut blonde-brown hair. "You shouldn't be here."

"But this is my jump," I say, my anger starting to flair a little. I always did have Mama's temper.

"No it's not," David countered firmly, his eyebrows coming together. "We're sending Margie."

"I'm the best," I stated. Yes, stated. It's a fact. And he knew it. I started to move toward the jump cylinder.

"You're too close to this one, Bridge," David snapped in a hushed tone, stepping in front of me.

We stood staring at each other for a long moment. Nostrils flaring, jaws clenching, we looked intently at one another, locked in a wordless battle of will.

"Think if it was you," I said finally. "Put yourself in my shoes." I interrupt him before he can counter, "I don't have much time. Now get the hell out of my way before I make you."

David met my gaze evenly. He broadened his stance a little and centered his balance.

"Fine," I replied, before elbowing him square in the nose and leaping into the cylinder. I sealed the sliding portal door shut and locked it. Quickly I began to enter my coordinates.

X, Y, and Z are already entered, they must have had this preset for Margie, I thought. I punched in the time code. 125.002-14.2416. Two days in advance of the anomaly. Should be enough time, I tried to reassure myself as I pressed the button marked "Go."

I looked up to see bloody-nosed David and a confused Margie staring back at me. And then the world went black.

Darkness. All around me. Surrounding me. Engulfing me. And smelling funny. That was the part that threw me the most. The darkness I was used to. Darkness always accompanied the initial jump. But the smell was a new experience, and not exactly a pleasant one.

And then I realized. I was in a custodial closet with a mop that hadn't been cleaned in a very long time. I had to get out. I fumbled for a doorknob and found it, quickly turning it and falling out of the small space and into a rush of humanity.

"Hey, watch it," a young man snapped as he barreled into me, knocking me against the stucco-coated wall.

I looked up and took in the world around me. I was in a hallway. A big one. Filled with young nomads racing from point A to point B. The archways were accented with red brickwork and the floors were red tile. I recognized it immediately. UC Sunnydale, circa 2002.

I made another casual glance down the hall, and that's when I saw them. My heart swelled in my chest and my throat went dry as suddenly I found myself clutching at the wall behind me for support. It was them, it was really them. I blinked my eyes once, twice, to try and make sure that what I was seeing wasn't an illusion. Wasn't a dream.

Satisfied that what I was seeing was, in fact, real, I quickly brought myself out of my reverie and made my way down the hall and towards them. I ducked inside a small archway, keeping myself hidden but able to listen in on their conversation as they moved down the hall.

"It's between a hitch and a kink, with a side of a twinge," the redhead said, her voice smiling. "It's okay."

"And Buffy's okay too," asked the dark blonde, "enjoying the refreshing sanity and so forth?"

Suddenly my chronometer beeped. I looked down to see the display flashing, "Voice Transmission." Shit. As discreetly as I could, I raised my wrist to my mouth.

"Yes, Dave, I know the rules," I bit back, "I helped to formulate them, remember?"

"Copy," I cut him off. "Over and out." I shut the communicator off and once again tuned my ears to the hall, picking up the two girls conversation.

"With us who are… just friends," answered the redhead. "So, um… after class…"

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. I stood perfectly still as the familiar blonde walked past me down the hall. Assuming that the other girl had gone the other direction, I quickly turned the corner… and crashed right into her.

"I am so sorry," I said, trying to avoid eye contact. "I can't believe I did that."

"It's okay," the girl said, crawling over to join me in my frantic clean up. "At least you stopped to help, most people would have just kept walking, let alone even apologize."

"Again, really sorry," I answered, finally looking up to her eyes as I handed her the last of the loose pages.

"Again," she smiled back, "It's okay." She held my gaze a moment before speaking again, her brow knitting slightly, "Do I know you?"

"Nope," I replied with false cheer, "Can't say that we've ever met before today."

"Weird," said the redhead, "Your face is just so…. Like I've seen it before…"

I tried to control the nervous fidget that I was about to break into. "Um, guess I have that kind of face?" I offered, somewhat pathetically.

"Guess so," she stated matter-of-factly, "I'm Willow, by the way." She extended her hand in greeting.

"Brighid," I took her hand in mine to shake it. A small jolt of electricity ran through us. I knew it would. I anxiously watched her face, and noted the sudden confusion there. She quickly reclaimed her fist. I couldn't help but blush a little. I absent-mindedly clutched my locket through my jumpsuit with the hand Willow had just let go of.

"Are you sure I don't know you?" She asked, speaking again after I hesitated to answer. "That jumpsuit looks military. Are you with the…Initiative?" She had lowered her voice when she spoke the last word.

"At this point in time, the Initiative has been shut down," I answered honestly, continuing, "besides… not my branch. I'm Air Force."

"Oh," Willow muttered, looking even more confused, "How do you know about it, then?"

"Everyone heard about the fiasco of it," I said, trying very hard not to reveal too much, as if I hadn't said enough already. "I'm not sure what it was they were doing. Just that it failed miserably and that a lot of good men were lost." This seemed to appease her slightly; I decided to add a little more spin to calm her nerves. "I'm just in town to… visit my mother."

"Um… yeah," I smiled, "but, I really must get going, I promised her I'd be home in time for dinner."

"Sorry again about the collision." I said as I took off down the corridor and out of sight. I ducked around a corner and peered back into the hallway in time to see Willow turn around and head the other way. Maybe two days is too much time, I thought to myself glancing down at my chronometer. They're so young. I quickly regrouped my thoughts as I tried to maintain focus. I looked down to my chronometer again, just in time to see my hand flicker in and out of existence like a dying bulb. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I clamped my eyes tightly shut for a moment before opening them again and seeing my hand returned to normal. I flexed it a few times, feeling the muscles work, ensuring it was real. I'm running out of time, I realized.

"I've got to stop it," I said aloud, if only to myself, "And I've got to stop it now."

I was tired. Exhausted even. After wandering the streets of Sunnydale all yesterday afternoon, I suddenly found myself with an interesting problem. What to do once the sun went down. I was intimately familiar with the nightlife of Sunnydale and didn't want to be caught with my proverbial shorts down around my ankles.

At the same time, I was on a limited time schedule to locate and correct the problem that would ultimately be caused by the spatial anomaly set to occur in less than two days time. That was the tricky part about jumping. You can't stop the anomaly, you can only do "preventative maintenance" to ensure that whatever effects the anomaly has on its environment would be minimal and undamaging.

So it would be quite counterproductive to spend the night hiding out from the creatures of the night rather than staying on my quest. After finding a good, sturdy piece of wood and fashioning it into a stake, I continued to make my way up and down the dark and abandoned streets of Sunnydale. All night long I walked, waited and watched.

And now that the sun was up, I was very, very tired. Coffee was the order of the day. Most definitely.

I made my way back into the center of town and towards the Espresso Pump. I knew where it was based on stories alone… Well, that and the fact that I had walked passed it about six times during my night of reconnaissance. But it was the stories that had led me here first. The Espresso Pump, the only remotely hip place in town next to the Bronze, I remembered them saying, recounting all the fun times that they had here before it closed fifteen years ago. Well, fifteen years ago, my time.

The place was already bustling, and the scent of fresh brewed coffee drew me in like a siren's song. I made my way to toward the expansive entrance of the shop and suddenly hesitated, the sound of familiar laughter filling my ears. I'd know it anywhere. They did say that they were going to have coffee, I reminded myself of the previous day's conversation. I stood back a moment and allowed my ears to tune in again.

"It was this thing, and it came out from inside her head," Willow explained, her voice beaming with glee.

The girls again broke into laughter. I couldn't help but smile at the comforting sound. I carefully glanced around the wall of the shop to see the blonde mock-flinch at the imagery.

I smiled peacefully, warmed by their voices. The sudden relaxation caused my tired brain to drift off for a moment into a sweet reverie. I was snapped out of it by a sharp beep from my chronometer. I glanced down, another transmission from David.

"What have you got for me," I said, speaking into my wrist as nonchalantly and as quietly as possible.

"We think we've located the perps whereabouts at this point in the timeline," Dave responded quickly.

"They rented a small, one-story tract house on the corner of Emerson and Higgins," Dave continued, "They're holed up in the basement."

"Emerson and Higgins," I murmured, strangely unable to process the information, "Not familiar with them…"

"What do you mean," asked David, "I thought you knew Sunnydale like the back of your hand. Didn't you grow up there?"

I could tell by the way that Dave's voice drifted off that he instantly knew he had really stuck his foot in it.

"Well, that's the question now, isn't it?" I responded, my tone biting. "Let me know when you have more information. Over and…"

"Bridge, wait," Dave interrupted. "Brighid, are you experiencing memory loss? Is that why you don't know the streets?"

"You're fading," he stated. Not a question. A fact. I was running out of time and he knew it. We both did.

"Copy. Over and out." I turned off the communicator and adjusted my hearing again to the two girls. Only now there weren't two. There were three.

"You're lesbians," said the new member of the table, a smaller blonde woman with wild curly hair, "so the hating of men will come in handy."

If I had been drinking something that statement would have inspired a spit-take. I collected myself and sighed, making my way to the coffee bar and ordering a double-espresso. Praising the coffee gods for their bounty, I took a small sip of the piping hot liquid and headed back over toward the table where the three girls were sitting. This time I stood closer to the front of the shop, near the corner, and watched their interaction from afar.

"Well, Xander is a man, so it's kind of not the surprise that he likes to watch... Girls... Why are we talking about this?" Asked Willow, seeming to want nothing more than to change subjects.

The other girl made an attempt at reassuring, "Well, I guess it's natural for guys to be interested in…"

"God! What kind of lesbians are you?!" The smaller woman protested, rising quickly from her seat. "If you love men so much, go love men!"

She collected her things and started to leave. Started to leave in my direction. I hastily turned my back to them, and went to casually take a sip of my drink, when I suddenly felt myself being rammed into from behind, the force causing me to dump my blazing hot coffee down the front of my jumpsuit.

"Ah," I cried out in sudden pain at the burning liquid, "Hot! Hot!" I looked up to see the small blonde marching deliberately down the street and away from the Espresso Pump. I was tempted to shout after her, but the painful burning on my chest forced me to subside.

"Yeah, just a little scalded." I turned to face her. "Oh, hi," I said, pretending to appear surprised by her presence. "I'm fine. First, second degree burns at the worst." I smiled sheepishly, what else could I do?

"You sure do have a knack for bumping into people," Willow commented lightheartedly.

"I prefer to think of it as a form of artistic expression." I answered faux serious.

The gentle blonde approached with a dampened towel. "Here," she said handing it to me, "This should cool things down."

"I was about to say the same thing," she replied, her eyebrows knitting together curiously.

"Tara, this is Brighid," Willow introduced, "She's the girl I told you about. The one I ran into yesterday."

Tara's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, r-right… Go Air Force," she said after a pause.

"No, really," I replied, "It's obvious that you two are trying to have a… some alone time. Don't let me interrupt."

"But you're not," Willow answered, resolve face firmly in place. It always worked on me before, why should it stop now? I used to fear that face.

The three of us moved back over to the table and sat down, with me taking the third seat the other girl had vacated.

"Oh, okay… Bridge," she smiled, my heart skipped a beat, and she continued, "Will tells me you're in town to see your mom?"

"I was just thinking that if you unzipped your jumpsuit a little it would dry faster."

I nodded in compliance and unzipped my jumpsuit down to my navel, revealing the blue t-shirt beneath. "Much better," I noted congenially.

"Oh, uh…" I glanced at the girls briefly before continuing, "They're, um, looking good."

"That's a pretty necklace," Tara said, referring to my locket, which had fallen into view between the opened zipper of my suit. "It looks like the one my grandmother gave me when I was little."

I clutched my fingers around it quickly, nervously fiddling with the chain between my fingers.

"Thanks." I finally managed to say. "My mom gave it to me… also when I was little."

We sat in awkward silence for a moment. I shifted on my stool, causing it to creek a little. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear a band of cartoon crickets suddenly fill the silent void, if only to comment on how silent it was.

"Well, I, uh…" I paused to clear my throat. "I think I'm pretty much dried off. I'm gonna get going." I rose from my stool in an attempt to make a hasty exit.

"Yeah, I've got some stuff I should be doing." I explained, "Important stuff." Crucial. Life and Death. I started to move away from the table. "Thanks for the towel and everything…"

"Are you sure we haven't met?" Willow queried again, her eyes giving away her suspicion.

"If we hadn't met before yesterday, I'm certain we would have met… eventually," I offered, smiling knowingly. "Thanks again for your help."

I nodded to Tara warmly and quickly left. It seemed that was all I was doing lately. Leaving quickly. But how I kept managing to get myself into these situations was starting to boggle my mind. I checked my chronometer: 126.002-09.3604.

In a little less than 36 hours, things were going to get interesting. And I really wished that they wouldn't.

For those of us who shouldn't exist in the first place, continuing to exist becomes that much more important. I should not be here right now. That is the thought that kept running through my mind even at that moment as I stood across the street from the Espresso Pump, hidden by a lamp post, a small tree and a newspaper box, and stared at the two people who I hold dearest to me in all the world as they chatted over coffee. They were completely unaware of anything but each other. That made me smile. They had no idea of the potential tragedy that could befall them in less than two days time. That made me frown.

If I were to describe to you in detail, in true detail mind you, of the circumstances surrounding my origin onto this planet, you would look at me as though I had lobsters crawling out of my ears and a pack of flying green monkeys coming out of my ass. Forgive my vulgarity, but it's true. But how I initially came to be no longer matters, regardless of how or why. All that matters is that I am here. And not only here in that I am alive, but here in the past after coming from a world forever altered by here-seeming future events. Coming from a world where now my existence is…not.

Now the question came: Why? Or, more to the point, how? My only answer is the "Miracle of Modern Science." The same technology that allowed me to travel back in time was shielding me from the effects of the temporal rift. The government facility where I live and work is protected by a sophisticated defense system that, when activated, causes the entire unit to shift temporarily out of phase with the space-time continuum. After all, how can we correct damaging shifts in temporal space if we never even knew they happened to begin with, or if we never even existed as a result? The system's effects are temporary of course, and sometimes fluctuating, hence the occasional "fade-out".

I stole myself from my thoughts and focused my eyes again to the small coffee shop across from me, but the table was empty and they were gone. I sighed and turned to go, off to find and destroy the cause of my future loss, bent on protecting that which was mine, when she stepped into my path.

"I thought you had important things to do," she said, her eyebrows rose in amusement, her blue eyes twinkling with wisdom.

"And spying on my friend and I would be one of these things?" Tara continued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Watching," she replied, seeming to roll this over in her head, "For what reason?"

"You," I began, searching desperately for the words, "remind me of someone I know back home. The… resemblance… is so amazing I…couldn't help but… stare. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'll just be going."

"Wait," she said, stopping me, "You look familiar too. Really, really familiar. So familiar that I'm kind of glad you didn't just disappear."

"Yes, well, I k-kind of thought… maybe we do know each other…like from school or something. It's going to really bug me until I can figure it out." Tara finally admitted, "Throw me a bone here?"

"Well, it's over by the college," Tara offered, "I'm headed that way anyway, I could tag along."

Now I was faced with an interesting dilemma. On the one hand I could accept and she would unknowingly lead me to the house on Emerson and Higgins. On the other, I could politely decline and then shadow her, and still find my way to the house of my enemy. But given that she had already caught me "spying" on her once, it was an unlikely event that I would get away with it again. The last thing I needed was her spying on me.

We walked on in relative silence for a few moments. I, because I was unsure of what to say for fear of saying too much, and she because she was no doubt running through her mind the faces of everyone she had ever had a passing acquaintance with from her younger school days.

"So," I began, unable to take the silence any longer, "Where are you from?" Knowing full well the answer.

"You do?" For someone who thought I was an old school chum, she sounded awfully surprised.

"Yeah," I explained, "my mom's dad died when I was seven. Her brother had drank away most of the inheritance, but what was left was hers. We moved into the old house and took care of it for a couple of years, but it was so run down. My mom and… m-my parents decided it was best to sell, and we came back here."

"Well, maybe we were in second grade together," Tara said, her voice sounded as though she was victoriously connecting the dots.

"Well, Tonopah is a really small town," Tara offered up again, "What was your mom's name? Maybe I knew the family."

My heart caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say. I racked my brain trying to remember someone, anyone from that time so long ago. I decided again to dodge.

"Um, I dunno. My family was kind of reclusive… All of them." I added with emphasis.

"Funny that." I commented, also smiling. "So, that girl Willow," I said, taking a breath and changing the subject, "You guys are together?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Both," she finally replied. "I know you… somehow… and I'm gonna figure it out." I stood silently. I believed her, and it scared me. "I mean, c'mon, Tonopah… small town… maybe you and I are related."

"Take care," she continued as she started to walk away, "it's not safe here at night."

Tell her. Tell her. Tell and she will be safe. Just tell her about the gun. Screw protocol. Screw the rules. Tell her.

I watched her go. I watched her disappear down the street and around the corner. Then I turned and faced the small house before me, my jaw set in a determined line.

I contemplated my next move. Should I go in "guns a blazing" or try a more subtle approach. Well in all truth, I couldn't go in "guns a blazing," as I didn't have a gun. On top of which I technically wasn't allowed to hurt anyone. Let me stress the word "technically".

Still, I was confident that I could handle this situation without invoking the use of violence. However, if worse came to worse…

I raised my chronometer to my eyes, making it look as though I was just checking the time, and radioed home.

"David," I said in a stage whisper. Code names were generally unnecessary, and I tried to use them as little as possible. They always made me feel kind of silly. I mean, how would you feel calling someone, in all seriousness, Gerbil One? I always felt David deserved better than that. And I swear to God, the next person who has the audacity to use my code name to my face is getting a sock in the jaw. I did not spend three years in special ops training for this assignment to be called… well, it's really not important.

I shut off my communicator once again and paused, collecting my thoughts. I stared up the street a ways and felt my mind wander back, recalling long-forgotten memories and it was as if I was looking into the past. As if I could see it again.

Two women, one blonde, one redhead, walking hand in hand through the neighborhood street, a small, four year-old girl in faded blue corduroys and a superman t-shirt, running playful circles around them. Her strawberry blonde hair drawn up in a ponytail bobbed around her neck as she giggled gleefully as the small propeller on her toy plane spun in the wind she created for it. She started to run ahead of the two women but was stopped by the blonde's soothing voice.

"I don't know," the blonde continued, turning to her companion, "There's something about this area I don't like."

"But, baby," the redhead replied, "It's closer to the college, and the preschool. You've had to keep putting off your degree for so long…"

"I know," the blonde conceded, "But I can still get my degree even if we… I just don't see what's wrong with staying where we are."

"Sweetie, we talked about this. Things are starting to get crowded at the house. Brighid needs her own room. It was fine when she was just a baby, but… She needs her privacy just as much as we need ours."

Again the other girl nodded her concession. "Alright," she said, "But not this neighborhood. I just… I have a bad feeling here."

"Okay," the redhead agreed, "We'll look someplace else. But, they're my chalupas."

What?! , I thought to myself at the same time snapping out of my thoughts. I blinked my eyes to refocus them in the direction I had been staring, and saw the reason for the misspoken dialogue in my mind.

Two men, boys really, were walking in my direction arguing over the two bags of Taco Bell the taller dark haired one carried in his hand. The skinny blonde boy was speaking emphatically.

"I was the one with the… money... and I called dibs… MY CHALUPAS," he whined. Though I doubt his voice would have been capable of any other manner of speech.

"Warren," I called out to him, getting his attention almost instantly, "Warren, is that you?" I started toward the two of them. "Oh my God, it is! Wow, I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?"

"Oh, you know, same old," he replied, clearly trying to search his memory of how and if he knew me. "Yourself?"

"Busy," I answered, playing his game. Knowing he was going to try to act like he knew me, which of course he couldn't possibly, I decided to call his bluff. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Warren blanched only slightly. No doubt surprised that I wasn't interested in being politically correct. "Uh, no."

"Well, I'm crushed, Warren," I said, melodramatizing my reaction just enough so that he knew I was kidding. "After all those hours we spent together in first semester advanced robotics…"

"Well, yeah," I replied, trying my best to sound piffled at what should have been a ridiculous question. At least from his point of view. "Only for one semester though. Then I kind of got a call from Uncle Sam…" I tugged at my jumpsuit.

"So what are you up to these days? Last time I saw you, you were talking about building some sort of a sex bot or something. How'd that work out?"

"Warren, c'mon, we're all adults here," I glanced at the blonde guy, "more or less. Who is this guy, anyway?"

"I'm Andrew," he sniveled. I stared at him blankly. "I summoned the flying monkeys that attacked the school play."

"He played the wicked witch of the west in the Wizard of Oz," Warren quickly covered.

"No I d…" Andrew started, but was quickly silenced by Warren's glare. "Traumatic event in my life… I try not to think about it."

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," I said jokingly. I should just tell him, I thought wickedly, give me even more of a reason…

"Tippy-top top," I smiled. "So what are you guys doing tonight? We should hang out. Reminisce. Like, remember the time Ick invented a new virus and released it into Kent's room?"

"Oh, Kent was your dorm mate, wasn't he," I noted. "Well, glad to see the rash cleared up."

"We're really busy tonight," Warren bit out, "but thanks for the invitation. Besides, our chalupas are getting cold."

"I don't care whose chalupas are getting cold," I interrupted, "That's definitely not something I want to get into. Well, you guys have fun on your… thing... tonight."

"You know… your thing… your date or whatever," I said, grinning inwardly. The best way to get a misogynist's goat was to question their sexuality. Plus it was fun.

"Date?!" Warren yelped. "No date, there is no date. Where did you get that idea from?"

"C'mon, Warren. 'Synthetic Domestic Companion'? Companion? Code word for 'gay lover'. I mean, it's totally cool. I always kind of wondered…"

"I am not gay!" Desperation is the only word that could adequately describe the tone of Warren's voice. Though I couldn't help but notice that Andrew looked a little disappointed, and hurt. "You want a date, I'll show you a date. You and me tonight, baby."

"The plan can wait," Warren silenced him, "my manhood is in question." He turned his attention to me. "What do you say? Is it a date, baby?"

"Only if you stop calling me baby," I grinned, trying very, very hard not to projectile vomit at the prospect. But, a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "Great, meet me at the Espresso Pump. Eight o'clock."

I smiled coyly, or at least tried to, and turned and walked away, giving my hips just a little extra sway. My God, I thought as I increased the distance between myself and them, I am using my flirtatious ass to stop a criminal…

It was thanks to this moment, this exact moment in time, that I thoroughly came to understand the necessity of a good muffin. Mind you, I had always felt that the breakfast pastry was good for, well, breakfast, but now I suddenly had a keen understanding of the many effective uses of the muffin.

For example, they are good for putting in your mouth when you don't want anything else to come out. Like words, or an inappropriate laugh or guffaw, even.

And it was for this reason that I was so intently focused on the blueberry mound of sugary carbohydrates in front of me. Tearing off bits and pieces and shoving them into my mouth in an effort to contain within me the hilarity of the situation as I perceived it.

The man, no, let me come up with a better way to describe him… The jerk-wad (that's better), sitting across from me was dressed in a green shark-skin suit with a silk burgundy dress shirt underneath on which he had left the top few buttons undone so that the fur (not hair, but fur) of his chest tufted out.

But the worst part, the absolute worst was his… whatever it was that he was under the delusion was cologne.

Good muffin. Oh wonderful muffin who has never tried to use such horrible lines as, "I love a girl in uniform." I glanced up from my wonderfully taciturn sweet bread and momentarily tuned into the words coming from fuzz boy's mouth.

"And it really caused me to wonder," he was saying, "Why not? Why not try for world domination? I mean, call me mad scientist guy, but there's something so sexy about ruling the world. Don't you think?"

"Oh, sure, of course," I said goading him on. Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man…

"But, then I realized that I was getting ahead of myself," Warren continued, "Small steps. You know? Small steps are important. Too many guys try to take everything at once, and it always ends up blowing up in their face. Example, Lex Luther…"

"Right," I said absent-mindedly as something bright and shiny caught the corner of my eye. I glanced over Warren's shoulder to the outside of the café and saw a tall, slightly heavy young man making his way deliberately down the street with a large ax in his hand. Now that's interesting, I thought. But as soon as he had appeared, he was gone, around the corner and out of my life… for the moment anyway. I had bigger fish to fry. Namely the trout sitting across from me. He certainly smelled fishy. What was he wearing?

"…and of course, Dr. Octopus," the trout droned on. "They all suffered from the flaw of vanity. But you know what I have done with my flaws?"

"I've embraced them. Made them my own," he said proudly, knocking his knuckles on the table as if to say, 'ta-da'.

Warren blinked and shifted a little. "Uh, yes, well… of course. But you see, unlike most, I have accepted mine as part of who I am."

"By accepting them, I negate them because they are no longer flaws, they are assets."

"Oh, well that makes perfect sense," I countered, "If you're a complete narcissist."

"Hang on," I said, interrupting him and pointing over his shoulder. "Who's that?"

Warren looked around to see a small blonde girl whiz around the corner at lightening speed, sprinting toward destination unknown.

"Whoa!" I called out and jumped up from my sitting place to stand beside the chair Warren had just vacated. "Just what gave you the idea that we were at that point in our relationship?"

"What?," Warren asked, his voice hushed, "No, no… the slayer.. if she sees me…"

"She'll point and laugh like everyone else here?" I finished for him. "you know, if you wanted to hide effectively you might have tried a table lower to the ground. These cocktail tables are really not in style when it comes to undercover ops."

Warren stood up from his hiding place to see all of the other shop patrons staring at him with bemused grins on their faces. "What are you looking at," he growled, "Never seen a man drop his keys under the table before?"

This seemed to appease most the crowd as they went back to their business of eating, chatting and drinking coffee.

"Shall we continue," he said after a moment, trying to preserve his oily panache.

We both looked toward the sound and saw Andrew fast approaching. He arrived quickly at the table, nearly knocking it over in his clumsiness.

"Warren," Andrew said, trying to catch his breath, "You're got to come see this! It is cooler than Yoda kicking Christopher Lee's ass. Jonathon got it on tape."

"No… the thing… I can't say here," he whispered ineffectively. "You have to come."

Warren looked to me, then to Andrew, then back again at me. "I'm terribly sorry, but it seems I'm needed at home."

"Shame," I sighed. Guess I'll have to do a little spy work. I'll take that over this debacle any day.

"See you around," he said, standing up from his stool and winking at me before disappearing into the night.

I waited a few moments and then got up to follow him. I stepped out the Espresso Pump and then looked both ways before crossing the street. Though it seemed to do little good.

"Oof!" I grunted as I hit the asphalt. "Alright," I said aloud as I stood up, "This is getting stupid." I brought my gaze to focus on the reason for my dishevelment. It was the same small blonde I had seen sprinting the other direction earlier. "Running laps are we?"

I shrugged and brushed myself off and started toward Warren's house again when I was stopped by a much more welcome distraction.

I looked up the street to see Tara walking toward me dressed in the same clothes as earlier that day, only now she wore over them a dark leather jacket.

"Oh, hey, Tara," I replied, smiling a little. "What are you doing out this late? I thought it was dangerous after dark."

We walked in silence for a while. Tara seemed particularly focused on something. Perhaps she merely invited me along just so as not to be alone. One thing my parents taught me, which I am grateful for to this day, is the beauty of shared silence. Of comfortable silence. And no where in the world did I feel more comfortably silenced then when I was with my mother.

I felt the color drain from my face. Nothing could ever have hurt me more than hearing those words from her mouth. "I scare you? W-Why?" I stammered.

"Because I feel like I can trust you," Tara explained. "Like I can tell you anything and I know it will be safe. And that scares me because I hardly know you. I've only ever trusted one other person that quickly and completely…" She trailed off.

"It was Willow," I surmised, though I didn't really know the details. After all, it was before my time.

She nodded mutely. "I left my dorm tonight, not knowing why," she began, "my feet just started k-kind of heading in this direction. Like I was wearing the red shoes and not my boots." She shuffled the heavy boot soles on the ground.

"I know it," I smiled, "My mama used to read it to me. Completely put me off the idea of ballet."

Tara chuckled and smiled her beautiful half-smile. I smiled my half-smile in return and we just stood there smiling. Half and half.

"Anyway," Tara continued as we began to walk again, "Things with Willow and I used to be so good and then one day they just…"

"Yeah," she sighed, slumping her shoulders and tucking her hands in her jacket pockets.

"Things fall apart," I explained, "They fall apart so hard. You can't ever put them back the way they were."

"I don't know what I thought," she said more to the air than to me, "You can't just have coffee and expect…"

"I know," I replied, "She knows that too and it terrifies her. Her fear was palpable even today… even to me. I'm sure there's so much to work through. Trust has to build again on both sides. You have to learn if you're even the same people that you were, before…."

My heart palpitated in my chest. One wrong move here and I alone would be the cause of my own destruction.

"How long?" She interrupted me, "Because I don't think I can wait. I love her so much."

"I know," I soothed, "And she loves you with all of her being. All that she is and ever will be is yours."

"I know because of how she looks at you. How she glowed today just by being near you. I may not," I paused, keeping that lie in check, "You may not know me very well yet but someday when you do, you'll find that I've always been very good at reading people. She loves you, and if you love her too then… skip it. Just skip the process because it isn't… because it doesn't matter."

Again our walking feet came to a stop, this time in front of a familiar house. Familiar to both of us, but she didn't need to know that.

"I think so," she replied, her gaze turning up to the second story, "The bedroom light is on."

She nodded her head and stepped into me, wrapping her arms around me in wonderful warmth. I returned the embrace, my heart swelling to the point I felt it was about to burst. It felt so good to feel her. To smell her smell that I had grown to know as home. After a moment I reluctantly pulled away as I felt her grip loosen. I nodded my final assurance to her, afraid to speak lest my voice give away the intense emotion I was feeling.

She started up the walk and turned at the last moment before the door to send me a little wave before disappearing inside.

I crossed to the other side of the street to get a better view of the bedroom window. Even with the shades drawn I could see the moving shapes inside. One, most likely Tara, stood while the other sat on the bed. After a moment, the one on the bed stood and the two figures met in a breathtaking shadow puppet embrace.

I wiped the tears now cascading down my face and felt my nostrils flare with anger. As if I didn't have enough before, I felt my mission consumed with a new more deadly purpose.

"David," I said to my wrist as I quickened my pace down the moonlit street and back toward the center of town.

"The original scenario before the anomaly," I stated, "I need to know what happened."

"You don't remember?" David asked worriedly. "Bridge, how are your motor skills? Have you had any instances of visual fade out?"

"I'm fine," I bit back to him, "I don't remember because they never talked about it. I need you to tell me what happened according to our data file."

Agonizingly slow minutes followed, I continued toward my destination, my jaw set in an even line.

"Got it," David said triumphantly, "Police Report dated May 23, 2002. Warren Mears taken into custody outside of Laughlin, Nevada under the charge of murder of Katrina Silber and attempted murder of one Buffy Anne Summers. Individual is also suspect in the attempted armed robbery of Sunnydale Themepark on the evening of May 20, 2002.

"On May 21, 2002 at approximately 9:37am, Mr. Mears was seen entering the neighborhood of Revello Drive in Sunnydale, California. He then proceeded to trespass onto the property of 1630 Revello Drive and fired five shots from a hand pistol. One of which struck the homeowner Ms. Buffy Summers in the left upper chest near the shoulder. The other shots went wild into the side of the house imbedding in the wood paneling near the upstairs master suite. No other injuries were reported. Warren Mears will remain in the custody of the Sunnydale Police Department until the date of his indictment, at which point he will be transferred to a more secure facility."

He let out a long sigh before responding, "The anomaly affected the trajectory of one of the stray bullets causing it to fly through the window rather than imbedding in the wood frame. It struck your… it struck Tara Maclay through the left posterior chest wall, penetrating her heart and killing her instantly."

I allowed the information to seep into my skin, my bones, and my heart before answering, "Is 17 still in the area at this time?"

"Copy. Out." Finishing the conversation I paused to look up and take in my new surroundings. The cemetery was dark and crowded, as all Sunnydale cemeteries were.

I made my way past the gravestones and mausoleums allowing my slowly fading memories to guide my way. Suddenly the sound of singing, or something only slightly resembling what singing should be, filtered into my ears.

"All BY MYSELF," came the strained voice across the tombstones. "Don't wanna be… ALL BY MYSELF…"

I followed the sound and found the source of it in a pale, lanky bleach blonde fellow leaning up against the side of a crypt, bottle of Jack Daniels in hand. His long, black leather trench coat swayed at his sides as he emoted to the night sky. By now he had changed songs.

"I can't live," he warbled, "If living is without you! I can't LIVE! I can't live ANYMORE!"

"Of course, the fact that you're already dead to begin with adds a sort of dramatic irony to the lyric, don't you think?" I asked as I approached his drunken form.

This caused him to flinch visibly. He took a step back as if to run and only managed to get himself tangled in his own coat, hitting the ground with a hard thud and shattering his bottle of liquor.

"Bloody Hell," he swore, "I stole that fair and square." He returned his attention to me, "Whatever it is you want it had better include the words 'chip' and 'removal' otherwise I'll nothing to do with it."

"I need a gun," I stated simply, "I know you have at least one or two lying around."

"You?" He questioned sardonically, "Little Miss GI Jane Commando? Coming to me looking for a gun? Why don't you go requisition one, my tax dollars are going to your weapons, use 'em!"

"Yeah, well if I did," he said pushing himself up onto his elbows, "I'd be very upset about some unknown soldier type just barging in taking things willy-nilly. I have a right to bear arms! Your bloody constitution says so! So, off with you now, prance on back to your barracks or what have you."

Enough was enough. I pounced, landing with my legs on either side of him, straddling his abdomen and pinning him to the ground. Drawing the stake I had fashioned the night previous from one of my side pockets, I held it threateningly to his chest.

"They always told me you talked too much," I spit at him through gritted teeth. "Mother always sort of defended you, but Mama, not so much. I don't have time for these stupid games. Either you get me what I need and fast or I drive this stake through your undead heart and ransack through your pilfered mess myself. I don't much care either way so long as I get a gun. Look into my eyes, this is the look of desperation and it has never been conducive to patience. Your answer?"

After a moment of allowing everything I had just said to sink in he weakly replied, "Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever you say. I'm pretty sure I've got what you need."

I eyed him carefully before slowly rising up and off him. Pausing to collect himself, he likewise rose and wordlessly started to lead me on. He stepped inside his crypt and emerged a few moments later with a decent looking .45. He handed it to me and I weighed it in my hand, glancing down the barrel to make sure it was true, opening the clip to see that it was loaded.

"You must be joking,"17 cried out, "That is a fine piece of artillery, there. One-fifty at least. C'mon."

I met him with my most steely gaze, assessing him, knowing he knew that I knew that he couldn't hurt me. I could just walk away with the gun, after all, it was already in my hand. But I decided to be generous.

"Done." He smiled his evil smile as I dug into my pocket and removed the exact amount, which was also the very last of my petty cash, not that I'd need it anymore.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, counting his money. "Now, about this here chip."

"Oh, right well, whenever you get around to it then." He was obviously still very intoxicated. "Say, what kind of mission are you on anyway, Jane-y?"

I left the cemetery and made my way back over to Emerson and Higgins, the large black van I had seen there earlier was gone, and the house seemed vacant. I decided to wait, to catch them as they came home. Situating myself amongst several tall bushes across the street I hunkered down and trained my vision on the house and waited…

The sound of buzz saws spinning wildly through wood roused me from my slumber. I blinked my eyes to adjust in the late-morning sunlight and looked up in time to see the same petite blonde I had bumped into the last night come diving out of the front door and onto the lawn, her arms full of papers. She stood up quickly taking a moment to examine the nasty gash her clothes had received, before taking off down the street.

That girl never stops running, I thought to myself as I got up and crossed the street. It would have done no good to waste time berating myself for falling asleep on the job. Was I upset? Sure. Was I angry? Yes. But the only thing I had time to think about right now was finding that bastard and putting him out of my misery.

I peered into the front door of the house and saw the reason for my wake up call.

"Those are some big saws," I said to no one but myself. Suddenly the creaking sound of wood giving way filled the air and I ducked out of the way just as the house's inner structure caved in on itself.

Tucking the gun inside my jump suit I started back toward town. Maybe I could finesse someone into buying me a cup of coffee. I glanced down at my chronometer: 127.002-03.3611. Eighteen hours left.

I knew that I could relax at least a little in the meantime. It was doubtful I was going to be able to find them during the day and thanks to David's police report, I already knew where they were going to be that night.

I walked past a glazed window and did a double take. I stopped and took in my own reflection. Or at least what was left of it. My image seemed to momentarily flicker in and out like a bad television reception before returning to solid.

"That's not good," I said to myself, pulling at the skin of my cheek to verify it was still there.

I looked up to see Willow and Tara walking hand-in-hand toward me, their faces beaming in the warm sunlight. I couldn't help but smile back. It felt so good to see them happy again. And it gave what I was going to do that much more meaning.

"It doesn't look that bad," Willow soothed, "You wanna borrow my scrunchie? Fix some of the messiness?"

"Thanks," I sighed, taking up her offer. She handed me the small clothes hairband off her wrist and I quickly pulled my hair up into a ponytail. "Much better." I looked down and noticed the rather full book satchels the both had strewn over their shoulders. "Heavy studying?" I asked.

"Yeah," Tara nodded, her eyes catching mine and communicating a silent 'Thank You.'

"Actually, we were gonna stop and get some mocha-y goodness first," Willow chirped brightly, "Wanna join?"

"Um," I shifted a little in my stance, shuffling my feet, "I'm kind of low on… money type things."

"Yes you did," the redhead replied, "Tara told me how you walked with her to the house last night. I want to thank you for keeping her safe. You and your macho-girl Air Force ways."

We sat at the same table we had occupied the day before, only this time Tara and Willow sat next to each other, unable to keep themselves from maintaining some sort of physical contact. A hand on the knee, the brushing of errant hairs away from the other's face, the holding of hands, the occasional quick kiss. It was all very romantic and mushy. And not a little embarrassing. To me anyway. Being who I was. I tapped my fingers on the table top nervously, fidgeting with my double shot of espresso mocha.

"I'm sorry, Bridge," Tara said melodically. "Here it is we invite you to join us and we all but ignore you."

"I guess we're a little wrapped up in each other today," Willow shrugged apologetically, taking Tara's hand once more into her own.

"Oh, don't mind me," I said gamely, "It's perfectly alright. I'm just glad to see you two so happy. You are happy?"

"Totally," Willow replied, her voice barely a whisper, gazing back into balmy blue eyes.

Absolutely, I thought, concluding the line of adverb-y goodness. I really did take after Mama sometimes, at least when it came to rambling thought processes. Like this one, for example.

"No," I stated firmly, "Whatever you do. Don't do that. Never stop loving each other. Promise me that."

I scratched my head trying to recall the memory, "Um, gosh, when I was six or seven, I think. It was along time ago. Why?"

"Just curious," she answered, and quickly turned her attention back to Willow who regarded her lover with a confused look.

I headed back out onto the street, trying to collect my thoughts. Does she know, my brain clamored loudly, has she figured it out? No time to worry. I have places to be. Bastards to kill. Besides, she and Ma… Willow… are completely preoccupied. Nothing in the world can touch them now.

After several dead ends, I finally managed to jog my memory strongly enough to find my way to Sunnydale Themepark. The sun had already started to set and the park security was in the process of closing up shop. I snuck inside through a hole in one of the side gates and scanned the area for a suitable hiding place. Spying a large stone walking bridge near the center of the park, I took up residence in the shadows underneath it and bided my time.

A large armored truck pulled into the square and backed up toward the depository office. After a moment two armed security guards hopped out and made their way up to the building. A park administrator emerged from the offices with a cart full of money bags. After several minutes of unloading, they finally finished their task. The guards exchanged a few words, inaudible from my vantage point, before heading back to the front of the truck and hopping in.

Suddenly Warren appeared behind the administrative guy, knocking him unconscious and lifting the rear wheels of the fully loaded truck off of the ground.

Warren easily tossed the truck onto its side, knocking the guards within the cab unconscious as well.

How is that possible? My mind frantically scrambled trying to wrap around what my eyes were seeing. But then I couldn't help but smile as a small figure leapt to the top of the overturned vehicle just as Warren was busy ripping the steel reinforced back door from its hinges. How did she get here so fast? Oh, that's right, she ran.

I rolled my eyes and hunkered back down into my original position, drawing my weapon and preparing to aim.

Suddenly, the fight was on. The petite woman descending onto fuzz boy in a flying leap, only to be deflected by Warren's sudden enhanced strength. She got back up. I knew she would. And the two began to exchange some real blows. He's fast, but she's faster, although even I can tell that she seems more than a little off. I could tell by her face that her back seemed to be paining her with each blow, and it didn't help that Warren didn't seem fatigued at all.

"Getting better," she replied coldly, suddenly hitting him with an impressive series of lightning fast blows.

C'mon, c'mon, I thought, get him closer, Just a little closer. I held my gun at arm's length, plotting his every move.

Dodging a wildly thrown blow, the blonde flipped over Warren's head, grabbing the steel door he had ripped off the armored truck earlier and striking him home run style, sending him flying.

He slammed full force into the archway, only to shake off the blow and laugh, "That all you got?"

I looked up in time to see the stone work above him start to give and I watched in slow motion as a large chunk aimed straight for my head, sending my world into blackness.

Through the dusty haze my chronometer blinked: 127.002-09.3754. Twelve hours left.

My chest let out a rattling cough as I tried to expel the dirt I had inhaled into my lungs while being facedown unconscious in the rubble. My head throbbed in pain as I slowly moved to open my eyes, now bloodshot and dry. I pushed up on my forearms, trying to twist myself up into a sitting position, only to be stopped at a shooting pain that screamed at me from my left side. I looked down the length of my leg to see a horrid gash had been torn into the musculature of my thigh. I reached out to touch it, thought better of it, and instead felt about the wound on my forehead. The blood was dry, but the lump that remained was huge.

I looked up to see the morning sun in the sky, beaming down proudly at its accomplishment that it had indeed risen again.

I was battered, bloodied, and bruised. But I was still here. Which meant I still had time.

I glanced at my chronometer, thankful to see it was still working, only to stifle a shriek when I read the display. 127.002-19.5426. My heart caught in my throat.

Given the condition I was in, it wasn't going to be easy. First, I had to stand. Then, I had to walk, preferably run. But all of this wasn't any where near as difficult as the most important thing I had to do right now.

The fact that I had already begun to fade more rapidly wasn't helped by my being unconscious nearly ten hours. I was disoriented and lost. I knew who I was and I why I was where I was and what I was to do and how much time I had to do it in. But everything else was a jumble.

Think, I chanted to myself, Think, Brighid. Think. C'mon, where is it? Where's home? C'mon. What did Mom always say about getting lost? What did she say?

No. No, I will NOT cry. Just think. What did she say? Lost is… Lost is… Good. Lost is good. Because… Because why, Bridge? Because… we always know… how to find each other.

Painfully, carefully, I shifted myself into a sitting position, pulling my legs to cross themselves, letting out a small cry when I felt the skin of my left leg tear a little more. I took in several deep calming breaths before closing my eyes and speaking:

"Aradia, goddess of the lost. The path is murky. The woods are dense. Darkness pervades. I beseech thee… Bring the light."

Slowly, I opened my eyes. And there it was. "Tiny Tinker Bell light," I smiled, my voice a whisper.

Cautiously I stood, biting down on my lower lip in pain. "Don't just… glow there," I said after a moment, "Lead the way. Home. To Mom."

Slowly, as if sensing my crippled state, the small bead of light led me to the park entrance

I hobbled along behind it, occasionally stealing glances at my chronometer. I was losing time quickly, far too quickly. The pain in my leg increased as I sped up my pace.

My the time I reached the center of town, I only had thirty minutes left to spare. My body shook with each step, begging me to sit down. To rest, if only just for a moment. But I kept on moving.

Have to go faster, I thought desperately. I hesitantly began to shift into a sort of run, the gash on my thigh began to bleed again even as I did. My head pounded and for a second my vision crossed, causing me to lose my footing and fall to the ground, hard.

"Gah!" I cried out in agony, grasping at my leg. The tinker bell light paused, and flew down into my line of sight as if it were asking me if I was all right. I nodded after a moment, and pushed myself to stand again, indicating with a slight wave of my hand that it should continue on.

As I turned the corner onto Revello Drive my chronometer suddenly began to beep methodically.

I looked up…I could see the house and it seemed so far away. Too far. Too far to make it.

Bee lining for the front door I tripped on the top step, sending me careening into door frame.

Struggling to my feet, I frantically twisted the door knob, wrenching the door open, racing for the stairs.

Barreling toward Tara, grabbing her and shoving her out of the way, into Willow's arms.

I paused to look at them, smiling, just as I heard the soft "tink" of the glass behind me. The white hot pain of the bullet entering my back.

"No it's okay," I choked out, "You're okay… You're okay… I'm okay… If you're okay… I'm okay…"

"You're okay," I just kept saying, "I'm okay…" I weakly pulled my locket out of my shirt and opened it for her to see the picture of us inside. "See? You're okay… I'm…" I gasped as my vision seemingly began to funnel, growing fainter and fainter until there was only…

Darkness. Surrounding me. Engulfing me. And smelling… wonderful, familiar and safe. After the smells came the sounds. Soft, hushed whispers, seemingly so far away. Yet now they grew closer as I came slowly to full consciousness.

Then a sound startled me out of my reverie and sent a chill down my bones. A steady beeping noise.

60 seconds!, I thought wildly, my eyes springing open, I tried to leap forward. "Mom!"

An intense sting in my back and shoulder stilled my motion, along with a pair of warm hands tenderly pushing me back down.

"I'm right here," she said soothingly. Quickly, Mama was at her side, brushing her graying red hair out of her face, looking down on me with equal concern.

They were older, but no less beautiful, and certainly qualified as a sight for sore eyes.

"To know whether or not…y-you survived," Mom answered, tears in her eyes. "That day… you just… faded in my arms… we never knew…"

"I know," she interrupted me, shushing me affectionately, placing a finger on my lips. "Just try and rest, we'll talk more about it tomorrow."

I nodded mutely against her hand. She leaned down and kissed me on the center of my forehead, avoiding the gauze bandage that was there. Standing back up she smiled down on me sweetly and stepped aside so that Mama could kiss me as well.

"Mama," I whined, scrunching up my face in disgust, "I hate it when you use my code name… I should never have told it to you."

"Your own fault for being all free with the top secret information, Missy," she playfully chastised me.

"Like you wouldn't have just hacked into the system and found out anyway," I countered.

Mama let out a small 'eep' noise. "Ixnay on the ackhay in the overnmentgay acilityfay."

"Right, sorry," I replied, rolling my eyes for effect. I looked over to the side of my hospital bed and saw the reason for my earlier, nasty wake up call. A heart monitor. Sheesh, I thought to myself.

"Dead," said Mama. "He died in prison a few years ago trying to escape Shawshank style."

"Brighid, you hate seeing us kiss in front of you," Mama teased, "You're always saying 'Eew, stop… get a room'…"

"Please," I said plaintively, "Just this once. I promise I won't say 'Eew' this time. I just need to see you guys kiss. Please?"

"I think we can do that," Mom replied, taking Mama's hand and pulling their bodies together. My breath caught in my throat as their lips met. The beauty of the moment causing my eyes to tear up, knowing finally that they were good and safe and together.

After some time they broke apart, and gazed at each other lovingly. Mom turned her attention back to me.

"Get some rest, Bridge," Mom said, smiling cheerily despite herself. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Main What's New Fiction by Author Fiction by Pairing eBooks

Subject Index Submissions Gallery Forums Links Awards Contact Us

If you find problems on these pages please email your host.

Time Quake

By DarkWiccan

Darkwiccan23@yahoo.com