Author: Uisge Beatha

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: Early 5th season, before Out of My Mind.

Synopsis: Turns out that an ancient coin, a pissed off vampire, and a Slayer with an attitude are not mixy things.

Disclaimer: Buffy and Spike belong Joss, and I thank him for their creation. I merely take them out and play with them occasionally.

Author's Note: Thanks to xyellowroset for the beta and always challenging me!

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It had looked rather innocuous—but then didn’t all time-altering, life-buggering talismans? A coin. Gold, roughly hewn, and etched with a symbol; an intricate knot. Spike had recognized it as Chinese, most likely Ming or Oing Dynasty. It had arrived in a shipment of fertility statues ordered from a antiquities dealer in Beijing. Oddly enough, all the statues turned out to be of pigs. Who knew that in China the pig was a symbol of virility? But that didn’t explain the coin found in the bottom of the shipping crate. It appeared to have been wrapped hastily in some stained linens and shoved in among the other items.

No one wanted to look a gift horse, or pig, as the case may be, in the mouth, but before adding the coin to the Magic Box’s inventory they all thought it best to figure out what it was and where it had come from. The dealer was called—over much protest from Anya who was sure they were going to have to end up paying for it—and Willow was doing research on the knot symbol.

That was about the time all Hell began to break loose.

Who would have thought plans for a simple night out at the movies could go so wrong? Spike wandered into the Magic Box just as the discussion began to heat up. The Scoobies were all gathered around the table in the rear of the store, Willow on her computer, the rest lounging about pretending to peruse various dusty ancient texts. Xander was demanding no chick-flicks and pushing for Meet the Parents. The look of horror on Willow’s face nixed that idea immediately. Then, she suggested something sci-fi. Dawn was adamant about it being PG-13, figuring that would at least put Charlie’s Angels in the running. Buffy didn’t seem to care at all, as usual.

The vampire tromped over and jumped up to sit on the glass counter, his duster fanning out around him. He watched the foursome for a while, his feet swinging and hitting the front of the counter just loud enough to be a disturbance, wondering how long it would take for them to notice him. As a thought occurred, his eyes shifted slowly to the right. Nonchalantly, he leaned back and reached over to try something he’d seen the vengeance demon do dozens of times before. As the drawer to the cash register slid open, the vampire smirked, then glanced back to make sure the entertainment debate was still raging. Nimble fingers freed several bills of various denominations before the drawer was stealthily shut. Spike quickly pocketed the money and moved to pull his cigarettes from the pocket of his duster. His lighter flared briefly, and he inhaled deeply—the nicotine immediately infusing his tissues with the nice little buzz he so enjoyed.

Vampiric hearing being what it is, it didn’t take long for their continued bickering to crawl up Spike’s last nerve and take a knife to it. His shrill, two fingered whistle finally drew their attention.

“Do a bloke a favor, eh? Take it down a decibel or two?” He jumped from the counter, and sauntered over to the table.

Xander scowled in his direction but continued. “I’m just saying that if I have to sit through another When Harry Met Sally wannabe, my brain is going to turn to mush.”

“To late to mind that,” the vampire grinned impishly, pulling a chair out from beside Willow and sprawling into it, legs extended, cigarette hanging from between his lips.

Willow grabbed the cigarette and extinguished it into a half-empty plastic soda bottle before Spike could object.

“Hey,” Dawn grabbed at the now fizzing Mountain Dew. “I wasn’t finished with that yet!”

Willow ignored her whining. “No smoking,” the witch said, never looking up from the computer. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything showing that we can all agree on. Guess that does it for tonight’s plans.”

At the group grumbling that ensued, Spike shook his head in disgust. “You gits ever hear of videos? This new fangled thing, lets you watch movies at home. Heard it’s quite the rage.”

Buffy looked up from her cuticles, noticing Spike for what appeared to be the first time. “He’s right—”

The vampire’s sharp intake of breath cut off her words. “Did I hear that right? Be still my poundin’ heart—oh, wait,” he smirked over at the Slayer, who sat directly across from him. “Nevermind.”

Narrowing her eyes him, Buffy glowered. “Shut up, Spike.”

“Play me a new tune, Slayer,” he snarked back.

Buffy pointedly ignored the vampire, turning to look at Willow. “Why don’t we just rent a video? I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind if we used the living room. Sodas, popcorn, and other salty goodness supplied on the house.”

Willow glanced up at her friend. “I don’t know, Buffy. Maybe it’s for the best. I really need to get some research done on this.” Her fingers left the keyboard of her iBook to pick up the coin.

Dawn dropped her head to Willow’s shoulder, peering over like a puppy looking for a scratch behind the ear. “It can’t wait one night?”

Xander joined Team Cajole. “Yeah, come on Wils, a night of cinematic action and adventure, surrounded by your nearest and dearest. Bondage. Of the friendly, non-sexual variety. Innocent. Innocent, friendly bondage.”

With a sigh, the red-head placed the coin back on the table and then closed the lid of her laptop. “Fine. You win. I give. Research tomorrow, for tonight we bond. But—” she leveled a finger at Xander. “No action and adventure. We see enough of that in good old Sunnydale.”

“How 'bout a Western?” Spike was flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed and didn’t look up as he spoke.

“A Western?” Dawn scrunched her forehead. “You mean like City Slickers?”

“No, Bit,” Spike dropped the lighter back into the pocket of his duster and reached over to pluck the coin from the table, his fingers working over its rough surface. “I mean a real Western. With gunslingers and cowboys and—” He stopped, watching as Buffy leaned over and whispered something into Willow’s ear and the women burst out laughing. “You got somethin’ you want to share with the class, Slayer?”

“Nothing, Spike,” she snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. “I was just wondering what you knew about Westerns. The only thing I’ve ever seen you watch was that stupid soap.”

“Ain’t stupid. In fact, award winnin’, but beside that fact, I happen to be a fan of Westerns.” He glared over at Buffy, tossing the coin back and forth from hand to hand. “Of history in general, actually, and the American Old West in particular.”

“Oh, please,” she snorted, standing up to gather her purse and coat from the chair back. “What do you know about the Old West?”

“More than you, I venture to say,” Spike stepped toward her. He fisted the coin, then pointed his index finger at the Slayer, poking her sharply in the shoulder to make his point. “Nothing you couldn’ get from any history book, Slayer. But then, don’t expect you to understand that. Would require you readin’.”

Buffy slapped his finger aside, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I read! Stupid vampire.” she mumbled, moving to walk around him. “You love it so much, why don’t you go live there? Get the hell away from me. How about Texas or, or … Oklahoma? That Old West enough for you?”

As she pushed past him, he caught her lightly by the arm, treading carefully lest he make his chip fire, and turned her towards him. “That would be the thing, Slayer. Nothin’ more I’d love than to be rid of this town. And back in the Old West, when things were a hell of a lot more simple. Yeah, I’d love that. Could show you a thing or two if we lived back then. Put you in your place good 'n solid. Back when men were men and women . . . weren’t. Wish we was back there this very instant, then I’d—”

And suddenly there was no more. No more floor to stand upon. No more Magic Box. No more light. Just darkness so deep it felt like being smothered in velvet. Spike could still feel his fingers wrapped around Buffy’s arm, but he couldn’t see her or any of the others. There was just a feeling of twirling and spinning and then, in an instant, lightening pain that streaked from where his fingertips touched her skin, up his arm, radiating throughout his body. Pain that made the chip seem like a tickle.

There was a sharp crack, like the sound of a bull whip, and Spike was once again on solid ground. Only outside. He had to be outside. It was raining. Hard. Beating down on him, plastering his hair to his head, and sluicing down his face.

He opened his eyes to find Buffy still standing before him, his hand clutching her arm, and her eyes wide as saucers as they stared up into his.

She reached out a tentative finger and ran it along the sleeve of his duster. It was coarse and rough. Gone was the butter soft, well worn leather. In its place was stiff denim, covered with some oily substance that made the rain bead on it, rather than soak in. It was still worn, old, and beaten, but now looked to have been hastily patched and darned in areas around the cuffs and hem.

“Your coat…” “Your dress…” They spoke simultaneously.

Buffy looked down, her eyebrows rising to disappear into her limp, water-logged bangs as she took in her own altered appearance. Her fashionable, and more than a tad bit expensive, leather pants had been replaced by a gown, sewn from some rough, homespun cotton.

Her hand fell from the vampire’s sleeve to pluck at the faded fabric of the dress. What in the hell was going on?

Before she could voice the question, Spike stumbled into her, almost knocking her to the mud-soaked ground. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to him, trying to keep them both on their feet. A shrill whinny and twin plumes of steamed air drew her attention to the large horse that stood behind Spike, as the creature butted his head into the vampire’s shoulder.

“Slayer,” The vampire spoke slowly. “I don’t think we’re in Sunnydale anymore.”

To Be Continued

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