By Heather Martin

Rated- R

Genre- action/drama/romance

Disclaimer- BTVS, Angel, and The Terminator do not belong to me. I am only borrowing them for entertainment and will rightly return them when through

Summary- (Idea from James Cameron's The Terminator) Post Chosen. Buffy's life was all most normal. She was in her second year of college and had just about recovered from the battle with The First. But then the super vamp came from the future to eliminate her. B/S

Note- Forget what happened on Angel S4. Spike never returned as a ghost in LA.

Before anyone asks Spike is not a vampire, but he isn't a human either. Don't worry, it'll be explained.

2059- From the Watcher's Chronicles

The slayers banded together and joined forces to eliminate the vampires. This went on until their efforts were rewarded. Almost all of the undead were annihilated. Until nature stroke back as it tends to do. From the ashes arose a new species. Their war raged for decades, but the final battle would not be fought in the future. It would be fought here, in our present.

Starting tonight . . .

Chapter 1

The champion zoomed through the portal, fell, and landed on the hard pavement. He lay still for a moment before stirring with a moan. He lifted his head, coughing. His head felt like it was splitting in two. In the distance a dog barked, and the sound of a car filtered into his ears. His senses had never seemed this potent before.

The light-brown headed male slowly sat up. The chill of the night air hit him and he shivered. He looked down on himself, taking note of his nude body. He rolled his eyes heavenward. It wasn't that he was modest, but it was damn cold out.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled. "Could have been sent back without my bits and pieces hanging out for show."

Spike rose on shaky legs. He leaned against a nearby dumpster for a moment to gather himself. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs. The stench of rotting garbage overwhelmed him and he almost gagged. He glanced around, using his acute vision to take in every detail of the alley.

He began to walk. His muscles had recovered from the shock of his journey. Suddenly he caught movement to his right. In the shadows was a homeless man. The old, decrepit fellow huddled, hoping to disappear. He was dirty, smelling, and in great need of a haircut. Spike wished he could overlook the man but he knew that wasn't possible. He crept closer, kneeling in front of the poor thing.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Spike said.

The man's eyes widened as Spike reached out. He struggled as his pants were removed.

"Sorry, mate. Can't run round stark naked, can I?"

Now halfway clothed, Spike stood. The leggings felt grimy, making him wince. He was one for cleanliness. He'd have to make a stop at the nearest store. He really shouldn't waste any time, but he wasn't going to stay in these rags longer than necessary.

He moved through town, trying to remain unnoticed. People were out, going about their lives. They seemed so oblivious and happy. It amazed him. He had forgotten what the world used to be like.

A logo came into view: The Fad. Good as anywhere. Spike headed in its direction.

He stepped in front of the store. It was dark inside and a closed sign hung in the window. He turned his head left, followed by right. Then he fisted his left hand, drawing it back. With inhuman speed he smashed the fist into the window. The glass shattered. A piercing alarm set off. Better make this quick, he thought.

Spike jumped through the window and into the store. He surveyed the selection and grabbed a black t-shirt and jeans. He tugged them on.

Suddenly sirens grew closer. Spike took flight. Just before he leapt through the window he spotted a leather coat. It called to him. He snatched it, a smirk forming on his lips.

He fled the scene. He could hear the police chasing after him but he didn't worry. They didn't have a chance. He could run faster than a racecar.

When he was sure he had lost them, Spike slowed. He grinned from his accomplishment. He wasn't one bit tired either. He donned the black coat as if it were a second skin. It wasn't as long as the duster had been but it would do.

He strolled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. Everyone was so free here. Just walking down the street was a remarkable privilege.

He came upon a phone booth. He ran to it, going for the phonebook inside. He thrust it open, scanning the names. S. St. Su. . . Summers. His heart sped up. Buffy lived in an apartment building here in town.

Spike took hold of the page and ripped it out.


"Sorry I'm late," Buffy apologized.

She wrapped a white apron around her slim form and tied it. Then she put up her hair in a ponytail.

"I covered for you. It's all right, but I'd appreciate it if you return the favor sometime," Linda said.

Buffy forced a smile. "Got it."

Linda thrust a plate of chicken fingers and French fries at her. "This goes to the bald guy by the window."

Carefully, Buffy carried the meal out into the diner. She scanned the place for the owner. There he was. Yep, bald. He looked like a wrestler. She headed over to him, setting the plate down on the table.

"Thanks, sugar," the customer said.

Buffy gritted her teeth.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?"

A toothy grin was sent her way. "I can think of a few things."

Pressing her anger down, Buffy turned away from the booth. Ugh, it sucked working around food. For some reason she couldn't get away from it. Hopefully once she graduated college that would change.

As Buffy passed a table, a little boy reached out with a spoonful of vanilla ice-cream. The iced treat smeared against her apron.

Yep. Food joints sucked.


Buffy Nixon locked her front door. Then she tucked the keys into her leather purse. She was running late for her date.

She walked down the driveway to her convertible. She double-checked her makeup in her compact before she reached for the door handle.

"Is your name Buffy?"

Ms. Nixon jumped. She spun around to see a man. His pitch-black hair ran past his shoulders and was tied back with a rubber band. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, almost the color of silver. He fumbled in his trench coat, fingering something in the pocket.

"Uh. . . Yes," Buffy Nixon shakily replied.

The man nodded.

The man turned into a monster. His eyes really did turn silver, he bore sharp fangs, and his face scrunched up in a myriad of wrinkles. Throughout the whole thing his expression never changed. She only had time to back up and inhale before he acted. He sprung, grabbing hold of her head. He tilted it to the side, baring her neck. His teeth sunk into her vein like butter. Her arm went limp at the side, her purse slipped down to land on the pavement.

The vampire drank his fill and flung the body to the ground. His hand took out a small pad of paper and pencil. He marked off the first name on the list. Buffy Franklin was next.


Spike hadn't hotwired a car in years. The skill had the same rule as riding a bicycle. Once you learned it, it never left you.

He chose a nice one too. A black Ferrari with neon lights. Poor bugger, whoever had been the owner. But whoever he must have been was rich, so they could just go buy themselves another one.

Spike parked by the cemetery. It was weird seeing tombstones again. It no longer gave him the feeling of home.

Spike leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes. The darkness swallowed him in.


"She really wants to see you," Nina told him.

Spike nodded. He let the woman lead him down the dark steps. They came to the basement.

Nina reached out and squeezed Spike's hand. She smiled, turned, and left.


The voice was small, as if far away. In reality it came only a few feet ahead. Spike slowly stepped toward it.

"Where have you been? I've been asking for you."

He knelt by the bedside. "You look better, Willow?"

She gave him a small smile. "Liar."

The accusation was right. The once red-head was now full of gray hair. Her skin was dry and wrinkled. The zest she had in her youth had been diminished. She shouldn't have done that last spell, Spike thought. That's when she went downhill.

Willow's tired eyes looked off into the distance. "We have to do something."

"The vision. Right," Spike said.

Her gaze went back to him. "You heard?"

"Yeah. The whole lot knows. Something like that isn't kept a secret. It isn't our way."

"I know," Willow whispered. "So, you have been told what is happening?"

Spike solemnly nodded.

Willow struggled to sit up. Spike pushed her back down.

"Need to rest, Red." Habits died hard.

"He needs to be stopped," Willow said.

Spike didn't know what to say.

"I can send you back," the witch said.


"It is the only way."

"We'll find another one."

She grabbed a hold of his hand. Her own was icy to the touch. Once upon a time it would have been the other way around.

"No we won't. He's already left."

He knew she was right. And she knew he knew.

"It'll kill you. You're barely hangin on from the last one you did," Spike said.

"I know," Willow confessed.

Their eyes met. She gave him her resolve face, which she was still quite good at.


Spike jolted awake. The sun streamed in through the car window, bathing him in light. He shielded his eyes from the glare.

He put down the visor, and started the car. He pulled onto the road and drove off. . . toward Sunset Apartments, residence of Buffy Summers, former slayer.


If you can't tell I like time travel stories. I've already done 2 time travel Buffy stories before this. : )

I know I shouldn't be starting this, but I just couldn't help myself. I'm not giving up on my other fics. This idea just wouldn't be put down, though.