Chapter Text
Tuesday, Afternoon, 14th November 2006, Infirmary/Medical Unit, Pendragon House, London
The infirmary lights buzzed soft and cold overhead, the air sterile and full of the sting of antiseptic. Faith sat hunched on the edge of a narrow cot, trembling under the thermal blanket someone had thrown around her shoulders. Her hair was damp with sweat, her skin too pale, pupils blown and glassy. She didn’t seem to notice the blood dried along the cut on her temple or the fact that her knuckles were raw from where she’d hit the floor, or maybe the wall.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered, over and over, barely louder than breath. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know...”
Willow sat beside her, both hands curled gently around Faith’s right one, grounding her. Every time Giles got closer, Faith flinched or recoiled like his presence burned. So he stood further back, Kai in his arms, his head tucked under Giles’s chin as the child watched everything with wide, wary eyes.
Monroe moved briskly but carefully, her med kit open on the rolling tray beside her. “Faith, look at me.” She shone a small penlight into each of Faith’s eyes, watching the pupils sluggishly contract.
Faith didn’t even blink. Her lips moved, mouthing something silent now. Her body had stopped shaking violently, but the tremors were constant. Her nervous system refusing to come down from whatever hell it had just relived.
Monroe pressed two fingers to Faith’s wrist, then to the artery at her neck, her expression tightening. “Pulse is erratic,” she murmured. “She’s in shock.”
Giles took a cautious step forward, careful to jostle Kai as little as possible. “Is she...?”
“She’s stable. But barely.” Monroe’s voice was low, clinical, but not unkind. “Her system’s been overloaded. Magical strain, neurological feedback, sensory flood. She needs rest. Her body’s trying to shut her down.”
Willow rubbed Faith’s hand gently, thumb circling over her skin. “Hey. We’ve got you. You’re safe now, okay?”
Faith’s eyes flicked toward her, just for a moment. “I didn’t mean to...” she rasped. “I didn’t mean...”
“I know,” Willow said softly.
Monroe hesitated, then pulled a small vial from her coat. “I can give her something. Low-grade sedative. Just enough to help her sleep.”
She looked to Giles, who was already watching. His jaw tensed as he shifted Kai slightly, the boy murmuring in his arms.
He gave a quiet nod. “Do it.”
Monroe readied the injection and pressed it gently into Faith’s upper arm. Faith barely reacted.... just a soft exhale, like she was deflating. Willow squeezed her hand a little tighter. Giles stayed still. And slowly, Faith’s eyes closed, her breath starting to even out as the sedative took hold. Willow kept holding her hand, even as her grip loosened in sleep.
Monroe drew the blanket up over her shoulders and packed up her kit. Giles exhaled shakily and kissed Kai’s hair.
“I don’t know what she saw,” Monroe said softly, “but it broke something.”
“I know,” Giles said. “I saw her face when she looked at me.”
**********
Wednesday, Late Afternoon, 15th November 2006, Master Bedroom, Giles's Townhouse, London
The world returned to her in fragments.
A heavy fog behind her eyes. The dull ache in her chest. The weight of her limbs... foreign, too heavy, too still. Her skin felt clammy against the sheets, and her throat was dry as ash. She blinked slowly, lashes fluttering like they were glued together. The ceiling above her wasn’t Pendragon’s med bay... this was her bedroom. Home. Dim afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting soft amber lines across the duvet.
She shifted, just barely, and that tiny movement stirred the only other body in the room.
Willow jerked awake with a start, her cheek still creased from where it had rested against the edge of the mattress. Her eyes found Faith instantly, red-rimmed but alert.
“Faith?” she whispered, as if too loud a sound might shatter something delicate between them.
Faith blinked again, trying to sit up, but her body protested. Her muscles trembled with the effort. “What...?” Her voice rasped, the word barely formed.
Willow moved instantly, hand reaching for her water glass and pressing it gently to Faith’s lips. “Hey, hey... take it slow. You’ve been out. Fourteen hours.”
Faith drank, just a sip, grimacing. Her brow furrowed. “Where...?”
“Home,” Willow said softly. “Giles brought you back. He... he wouldn’t leave you there.”
Faith’s eyes flickered toward the door, almost expecting him to appear. But it stayed closed. Her gaze returned to Willow, bleary and uncertain.
“You were in shock,” Willow added, brushing a piece of tangled hair from Faith’s forehead.
Faith swallowed hard, throat working around memory and shame. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, breath hitching. Faith’s eyes clouded again... haunted. She turned her face into the pillow for a moment, hiding.
Then: “Giles...? He okay?”
Willow hesitated. “He’s... worried. He wanted to stay, but I said I’d sit with you so he could rest for a while. Kai’s with Andrew.”
Faith lay still, curled slightly on her side, face turned half into the pillow. Her fingers stayed laced in Willow’s, but her grip had changed... no longer for comfort, but like she was holding on against being pulled under again. Willow didn’t say anything more. She just sat with her, thumb moving in slow circles over Faith’s damaged knuckles. Watching. Waiting.
After a long stretch of silence, Faith’s voice came... quiet, wrecked.
“It wasn’t just a vision.”
Willow glanced up, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
Faith’s lips parted, but no words came. Her brow furrowed like she was searching for the right thread in a nest of broken memories. Her eyes flicked around the room, like she wasn’t sure if she was back in her body or still trapped in some echo of what she’d seen.
“What happened... before?” she asked instead. “Did I hurt anyone?”
Willow hesitated. “No. You... you warned everyone... then kinda... erm... you were just on the floor, really freaked out, after the containment sealed. You didn’t hurt anyone, Faith.”
Faith gave a small nod, but it wasn’t relief. It was worse... like the answer just confirmed what she already feared. That it had happened somewhere else. Somewhere real. And only she remembered.
Willow leaned forward. “Do you want to tell me what you saw?”
Faith’s jaw locked. Her eyes were rimmed red, lashes clumped from dried tears. She looked at Willow like someone who’d drowned and hadn’t decided if they wanted to be pulled up yet. Faith sat up slowly, one arm bracing her weight. She dropped her legs over the edge of the bed, someone had got her changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt... probably Giles.
“Is... is he downstairs?” she asked. Willow nodded.
**********
Living Room, Giles's Townhouse
The room was quiet, save for the tick of the old clock on the mantel.
Willow finally spoke, voice unsure. “Was it the orb, do you think?"
Faith didn’t answer right away but shook her head.
Giles leaned forward. “Are you certain it wasn’t another vision from the orb?”
She shook her head again.
“They’re very real, Faith,” he pressed. “They don’t just show... they immerse. When you access the records, you embody it. As if it’s...”
Her fist slammed through the coffee table, splinters flying.
“No!” she shouted, too loud for the room. Willow flinched. Giles froze.
“No,” she said again, softer now, already backing up, shaking her head. “I’m... I'm sorry.”
She took a step away from the shattered table, arms rising up to her head like she couldn’t bear the noise inside it.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, voice breaking. “I didn’t...”
Giles stood slowly and moved to her, arms opening. She didn’t reach for him, but he wrapped around her anyway, solid and warm.
She didn’t lower her arms. Just pressed her face into his neck, hands knotted in her own hair as if still trying to hold something in.
“I felt the metal slice through you,” she whispered, shaking now. “Felt it hit bone. I was soaked in your blood, I could taste it...”
Giles held her tighter.
“I watched time stagger backwards.”
Her voice was smaller, frayed, like it had been pulled through a storm. Willow sat frozen across the room, tears on her cheeks she hadn’t noticed until just now.
Faith had told them everything already... every beat, every move, laid out clean and cold just minutes before.
Willow sat frozen. Then something caught her eye... her watch.
14:23 a.m.
Her gaze flicked to the mantel clock.
15:08 p.m.
She frowned, sat up straighter. “That’s not right...”
She looked again. Her watch was 45 minutes behind the living room clock.
Heart thudding, she jumped to her feet and grabbed Giles’s wrist. “What time is your watch showing?”
He glanced. “Twenty past two...”
Willow blinked. “Same as mine. But the house clock says 15:08. Wait...wait a sec.” She dug her phone out and hit call.
“Monroe? Hey, quick question. What time does your clock say at HQ?”
A pause crackled over the line.
“15:08,” Monroe said. “Why?”
Willow’s brow furrowed. “Is that on your computer?”
“Yes, I’m at my desk...why?”
“Can you see any analogue clocks? Like, wall clocks?”
Monroe sighed but got up. “Hold on, heading to the lobby.”
Faith hadn’t moved. Still wrapped in Giles, her face hidden. But she was listening.
Monroe came back on the line. “Okay. Big clock in the lobby says... two twenty.”
Willow’s stomach dropped.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, and hung up.
She turned back to the room, eyes wide. “Time at HQ... on the building’s clocks... is 45 minutes behind our watches. But the computers show our time.”
Giles went very still.
Willow looked at Faith. “It wasn’t a vision. It happened. The whole house... HQ... it was dragged back. Forty-five minutes. You-you did that.”
Faith lifted her head slowly, eyes rimmed red but burning with something like confirmation. Something like fear.
Giles’s voice came quiet, full of weight. “You reversed the timeline.”
**********
Early Evening, Living Room, Giles's Townhouse
The phone on the side table buzzed. Willow glanced at the screen: Xander. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and picked up.
“Hey. What’s up?”
His voice came through, crackling faintly. “Uh. Okay, not to sound like I’ve gone full Mulder, but... we’re getting weird time jumps over here.”
Willow straightened. Giles looked up from the armchair. Faith was half-asleep on the couch, curled in a blanket, still pale.
“Weird how?” Willow asked, already grabbing a notepad.
“Well,” Xander said, “I made coffee. Swear I just boiled the kettle. Poured it, turned to get a spoon, came back... it was cold. Like... barely lukewarm. Whole mug.”
Willow frowned. “That’s not...okay, what else?”
“Conversation glitches. I was talking to Mia, mid-sentence, and suddenly she was halfway through answering a question I hadn’t asked yet. We both stopped and just stared at each other like someone hit fast-forward.”
Willow sat down slowly. “How often?”
“Couple times an hour, all day. Little blips. Like missing a few seconds here and there. It’s not just me, either...Mia, Andrew, two of the junior Slayers noticed it. One of them swears the hallway clock jumped twenty minutes.”
She exhaled. “Xander... I don’t think it’s a bleed.”
A pause. “It’s not?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I think Faith rewound time yesterday.”
There was silence on the line. She could almost hear Xander blinking.
“She...what now?”
“She saw the containment breach. She saw Giles die. And she pulled us back. All of us. Forty-five minutes.” Willow’s voice caught, but she pushed on. “Pendragon... it's... catching up. Realigning.”
Xander let out a low whistle. “So the tepid coffee, the glitched convos…”
“Little accelerations,” Willow said. “Tiny leaps forward, nudging Pendragon House back into sync with the timeline the rest of us are in.”
“Will,” Xander said after a moment, “you’re saying Faith turned back time. Like... for real.”
“I am,” she whispered.
More silence. Then: “Okay. I’m going to go sit very still and not make coffee again.”
Willow gave a half-laugh, raw and frayed.
“Thanks for calling,” she said.
“Yeah. I figured you’d want to know.” A pause. “Is she okay?”
Willow looked over at Faith, still curled up under the blanket, eyes shut but not asleep. Giles sat beside her in the armchair, hand loosely holding hers.
“No,” Willow said softly. “But she’s here.”
***********
Before Midnight, Garden, Giles's Townhouse
The night had gone still, the sort of hush that follows snowfall even when there’s none. Upstairs, Faith was asleep, wrapped in layered quilts and post-nightmare exhaustion. Down the hall, the old pipes creaked and settled.
Outside, Giles lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, the match flaring against the wind. He stood just beyond the side door in slippers, a cardigan too thin for the cold. The ember glowed briefly before a gust nearly stole it from his lips.
“You know those’ll kill you,” came Willow’s voice behind him, soft but amused.
He exhaled and didn’t turn. “I made peace with that particular consequence several decades ago.”
She stepped out beside him and wordlessly held out his coat. He hesitated, then took it with a murmured “thank you,” slipping it on as she leaned against the stone wall. Her nose was already pink from the cold. “You didn’t quit, huh?”
“Not entirely.”
“Yeah. It looks like it.” Her smile was crooked, fond. “No judgment. You’ve earned the right to be a little self-destructive.”
He chuckled, a dry, hoarse sound, and then lapsed into silence. The wind moved through the trees like breath.
“I appreciate you staying,” he said finally.
She glanced at him. “Of course.”
He hesitated again, then turned his gaze to the trees. “I’m worried. About Winter Solace.”
Willow didn’t answer right away.
“I’m worried that I’ll go into that ritual,” Giles continued, voice quieter now, “and I won’t come back... and I’ll just… disappear.” He swallowed. “Or worse. That I’ll come back and be changed. Fundamentally.”
Willow rubbed her hands together, breath misting. “You know there’s risk. But if anyone’s capable of threading a needle between two collapsing timelines, it’s you.”
“I’m not sure that’s comforting,” he muttered.
They both laughed a little.
Another beat of silence.
Willow looked sideways at him, then clicked her tongue. “You know... when you and Faith started getting together, I thought it was weird.”
Giles turned toward her with raised eyebrows.
“No, like, really weird,” she went on, dragging out the word with theatrical emphasis. “Like did-the-universe-short-circuit weird.”
He gave a snort. “Charming.”
“But now...” Willow shrugged. “Now it seems like the most natural thing in the world.”
He looked at her again, more fully this time. Then, wordlessly, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. Her fingers curled around his for a moment.
“You should get away,” she said quietly. “You and Faith. Even just for a few days, or a week... Go somewhere, see some sights. Just... be together. It might be the last time you get.”
He let out a long breath, his hand slipping away. “There’s too much to do.”
“We can manage,” she said, gently firm.
He was quiet again, then cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “If it’s another one of those prophetic riddles that gives me nosebleeds, I’m going back inside.”
“No. Nothing quite so esoteric.” He gestured to the door. “Come in. Get warm. I won’t be a moment.”
**********
Thursday, After Midnight, 16th November 2006, Living Room, Giles's Townhouse, London
The fire in the grate was low but steady, casting an amber glow across the bookshelves and the worn rug. Willow curled up at one end of the couch, still wrapped in the quilt, warming her fingers around the edge of a tea mug he’d handed her. Giles returned after a moment with a small envelope.
He handed it to her, and she blinked at it, then opened it carefully.
Inside was a little golden key.
She looked up at him. “Okay. What’s this unlock, and how many curses are involved?”
“A safe upstairs, my study” he said, tone lighter than before. “Behind the false panel in the bookcase. No curses, I promise.”
Willow narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Not even a mild hex?”
“Not even a strongly worded enchantment.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Wow. You have mellowed.”
He didn’t answer. Just sat across from her and rested his elbows on his knees.
“There’s a will inside,” he said. “I want you to be executor of my estate.”
Willow blinked, mouth parting slightly.
“Not because I’m planning anything dramatic,” he added quickly. “But... if something goes wrong, I trust you. To handle it. To know what matters.”
She stared at the key. Then at him.
“I don’t want to be.”
“I know.”
She folded the envelope closed and tucked it into her pocket. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
The fire snapped softly behind them, shadows licking the walls. Willow leaned back, letting the quilt drape over her knees again.
She glanced at him after a moment. “Have you... talked to Buffy recently?”
Giles looked over, surprised, not at the question itself, but perhaps at the timing. He scratched lightly at the back of his neck.
“We have our monthly check-ins,” he said. “Last one was... brief.”
Willow nodded, not pressing.
“She asked how things were here. I told her we were still breathing.” He gave a small, humourless smile. “She didn’t linger.”
Willow blew on her tea, then sipped. “Yeah.”
He studied her face, the lines under her eyes. “You?”
“Couple of times,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Just general stuff. Not much about us. Dawn’s becoming quite the Watcher, though.”
That made him pause... his expression softening into something almost proud.
“She’s not you,” Willow added, gently. “But she’s good. Methodical. Curious. Fierce in that Summers way.”
“I’m glad,” Giles said. “Truly.”
They both let the silence breathe for a bit. It was the kind of silence old friends could share without needing to fill. Just the soft crackle of the fire, the wind occasionally brushing against the old townhouse windows, the knowledge of too much lost and too much still left to risk.
“She still doesn’t know?” Willow said eventually. “About you and Faith. About the ritual.”
“No,” he replied. “And I don’t intend to tell her.”
Willow didn’t argue. She just looked into the fire, brows faintly drawn. Giles’s gaze drifted to the staircase, to the room above where Faith lay asleep... his expression unreadable, caught between longing and dread.
“You should try and rest before she wakes up.”
He didn’t move for a moment. Then, finally, he stood with a slow exhale. “The guest room's made up for you”
Willow raised her mug. “Me and tea are having a very healthy relationship down here... I might go up soon.”
He smiled at that. A real one, small but honest.
Then he turned toward the stairs, the firelight brushing his shoulders as he went. Willow watched him go. Then she reached into her pocket, fingers brushing the envelop with the small gold key inside, and let the quiet settle once more.