I have never felt so guilty for anything in my entire life. I feel ill thinking about it, and I know it’s not really my fault. There was nothing I or anyone else could have really done. If there is anyone to blame, it’s Ethan Rayne, but even he’s not really at fault, strangely enough. He’s the one who escaped Area 51 and the Initiative with a time portal attached to the energy field surrounding his body. It’s his fault that he decided to come to us for help. It’s not his fault that I got a little bit too close to him and was drawn into the portal.

It sent me a good two hundred years into the past, I’d say, and now a woman is dead because of it.

Apparently the horses were startled by the flash of light and my sudden appearance. They veered away from me and instead of trampling me, they killed this poor woman coming out of the church on the other side of the street. Her own children, a boy and a girl, watched their mother die there in the street. In my mind, I can only think, If only, if only…but I realize now that there’s nothing I could have done or can do now to rectify the situation.

I sit here now, in that very church that that poor woman had been in, and I write. It’s strange how time travel works - I have everything that I had with me when Ethan’s portal drew me in and it all works fine. My watch claims it is February 10, 2000, just after three o’clock in the morning, but I know that’s not true. I still don’t know what the date is, or where exactly I am, so I’ve left that spot empty for now, Diary. My only thankful thought is that today I wore fairly drab clothing, long skirt and long-sleeved shirt, so although I know I stick out like a sore thumb or Spike in sunshine, at least I’m decent by the standards of my new environment.

The priest is coming now and he looks like he wants to speak with me, so I’ll close up now.
-Willow Rosenberg

I have a date and location now, thanks to the priest: June 21, 1740, Galway, Ireland. This is very strange to me, because I know that somewhere on this island there is a young man who is still alive as I write these words and will someday become Angel. This concept boggles my mind. I don’t know where he is, or what his real - human - name is, or when Darla turned him, but even if I could change the course of those events, change history, I wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be proper, ethical. If, someday, I somehow run into him, I would try to avoid him as much as possible. I don’t want to change history. I only want to go home - to Buffy and Xander and Giles. Go back to waiting for Oz to come back to me. I’m even starting to miss Anya and Riley and - strange - Spike. My first order of business, once things have settled, is to figure out where the current Slayer and her Watcher are, and to get in contact with them, or any Watcher for that matter. Once I find myself a Watcher, I have a greater chance of getting home - even if I still hate their guts for what they made Giles do to Buffy last winter. I wonder if there is any significance that I have arrived on the summer solstice, Midsummer’s Day.

The priest, Father Thomas, has invited me to stay here in the convent until I have the means with which to leave. He bought my story of being orphaned on the road from Dublin, of being robbed by my father’s murderers. He was very much surprised by my literacy, and was astounded, nearly falling to the ground, when I was able to read something of his Latin and French texts, some of which had been open on his desk, and a blessing in Gaelic which hung over his door. He had thought me some sort of English noblewoman until I, my quick wit and spontaneously formed story, and my red hair set him straight. He thinks that I might stay as one of the more learned sisters, now that my parents are dead and I have no place in the world. He doesn’t know me, though, a twenty-first century girl - er, woman. I’m not going to stay in this convent forever. I’ll look into hiring myself out as a governess once I let it "slip" to someone that I’m knowledgeable not only in "womanly" subject like Latin and French, but also mathematics, physical science, and history. Too bad computers won’t be invented for several lifetimes. I’m waiting for people to have heart attacks, quite frankly. I’m not Queen Elizabeth or some intellectual noblewoman, you know - I’m just Mary Calahan - the name that entered my mind in that blinding panic-, recently come from a colony in the Americas, and my Irish-born merchant father is dead, my mother dying on the voyage. I am simply a girl, taken into a convent for a bed and a hot meal. To them, I am not and never entirely will be Willow Rosenberg, college student, witch and hacker, best friend of a Slayer. I am not an accidental time traveler.

Sister Margaret Anne has just come to fetch me for evening Mass. I guess that’s part of the trade-off - they take me in and I go to Mass in an attempt for them to save my soul. She’s brought me some clothes to change into and she looks at me with a faint trace of jealousy on her face. She cannot write, I have just realized, and I’m willing to bet that she can’t read, either.

I hope I don’t screw up anything too badly during the church service. A hundred years ago I most certainly could have been hung, or even burned, as a witch, for being so terribly literate - and alone. However, I’m sure they won’t take too kindly to me floating a hymnal in the middle of a prayer even in this "modern age".

July 15, 1740 - Father Thomas has found me out.

He has been giving me lessons in Latin these last few weeks. He left in the middle of the lesson today to hear a confession and when he came back he saw me floating a couple of books and knickknacks around the room. He saw it all, heard me invoking a Celtic goddess to aid me. I hadn’t done anything like this, anything magical, since I’d arrived in Galway and so I was testing myself, to see if I’d lost anything. I looked up suddenly, never losing control of the floating objects, and saw him standing there in the doorway.

The strange part of it was that he was actually smiling. He wasn’t frowning or praying or even fainting; he was really smiling. I sat there with a confused look on my face as he said, "I wasn’t aware of any Watchers being assigned to the colonies yet."

I stared at him for a few moments, uncertain as to what I should do or say. Finally, I began to tell him, "I’m not a Watcher-"

"No, I’m certain of that, Miss Calahan. But you’ve been trained by one, haven’t you?" He walked back into the room and took his seat opposite me. I slowly let the books return to their places on the desk.

"It’s true, I can’t deny that," I told him calmly. "How did you know?"

"I could feel something about you the whole time, Miss Calahan, something that was quite different. It wasn’t until now that I was entirely certain, though. Every once in a while I do come across someone with talents like yours, who simply hasn’t been trained to use them, but you obviously have been trained, and quite well, I might add."

"Thank you," I replied. "But I’m sure that there’s more to it than just my magical talent." As I spoke I searched my memory for anything else that could have tipped him off, but failed. I consigned myself to wait for his answer.

He sat still, his hands folded together, gathering his thoughts. "There have, indeed, been a few other noteworthy instances that you yourself might not be aware of that have lent themselves to my deduction. There have been several instances in which I gave you snippets of Latin to translate that were, in fact, not the classical Latin that I have been teaching you, and yet you were able to read it. Here, allow me to show you," he said, reaching for one of the books I had been floating. He opened it and showed me a particular passage. "There is a sort of code-Latin that we Watchers use to communicate and to hide information, and it became clear to me that this is indeed the type of Latin that you had learned prior to your arrival here. It is a very fine line that is drawn between the classical Latin that is studied by most and the Latin used by the Watchers’ Council. There have been a few other little things that also caught my interest, but it was the Latin that convinced me that you had known a Watcher."

"Oh," I said, honestly not knowing that Giles had been teaching me anything special. "I didn’t know about the Latin, honestly I didn’t."

"I thought not. But I am interested in knowing how you knew a Watcher. Was he your father, perhaps?" Father Thomas asked. He closed the book and set it back down.

"No," I told him. "It’s hard to explain in terms you’d understand."

"Miss Calahan, I’m a Watcher, born and trained; there is rather little in the world, supernatural or natural, that can surprise me."

"I knew this Watcher because my best friend is a Slayer."

He stared at me. The room was silent for several moments. Then he said: "The current Slayer lives in southern Italy. That’s a far cry from Virginia or Massachusetts, Miss Calahan. Also, Slayers are not allowed to come into contact with outsiders."

I smiled. "I wasn’t talking about your current Slayer; I was talking about my current Slayer."

Silence. "I see. And by that you mean?"

"I’m from the future."

Once again, silence. And then he replied, "I must admit, that is something I certainly never imagined you saying, Miss Calahan. How far in the future, might I ask? You needn’t give me details, I am certain that such revelations could cause serious ramifications, but surely there is something that you can tell me."

I thought for a moment. "I am from the year 2000. How about that?"

"A good two hundred and fifty years. Quite impressive. I take it, then, that Armageddon did not come with the new millennium." It was more of a statement than a question, as if he did not believe in such inaccurate superstition.

The scientifically-minded half of me objected. "In all actuality, mathematically speaking, the millennium has yet to come. That will of course be in the year 2001-"

"Did this Watcher also teach you mathematics?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, no," I replied. "This is the sort of stuff you supposedly learn in high school. And now that I’m in college I certainly should-"

"College? I’m not familiar with that term."

"It’s the same thing as a university. That’s what I do by the way. I’m a student."

His eyes grew wide. "You, Miss Calahan? A student at university? Is it a common occurrence for women to study in your time?"

"Of course. Why wouldn’t it be-Oh. Yeah, that’s right. Sometimes I forget that I’m stuck here in the eighteenth century, even before the United States-"

"The united what, Miss Calahan?"

I frowned, suddenly realizing what I had been about to say. Even before the United States became a separate country from England. "I don’t think that’s something I should talk about. It might change history, and I like it the way it is. Yeah, sure, I’d change some things, who wouldn’t? But I know better. I don’t have the right, and it’s not like I was sent back in time for a specific reason. It was an accident."

"An accident, Miss Calahan? Pray, tell me how a journey back through time could be done accidentally," Father Thomas asked.

I shuddered, thinking of all the mischief Ethan Rayne had gotten himself into over the years, including this misadventure of mine. "An…acquaintance of the Watcher I know had been arrested by the military a few weeks before I came here. He is a…magic worker of sorts, delving mostly into the darker arts," I said. "He’s caused us quite a bit of trouble over the last several years, and suffice it to say that he and Watcher were not on terribly good terms this whole time."

"They were friends once?"

"Yes, when they were young. They haven’t been friends in a long, long time, and are now more like enemies. This man was, like I said, taken by the military and he was experimented upon. They somehow created a portal through time and space and attached it to the…energy field which surrounds the human body, and in this case it was the body of this man I’ve been telling you about. I haven’t the faintest idea how they managed to do this, and we’ve been told that he wasn’t the only one it was done to. He managed to escape and came to us for help. Unfortunately, the day I came here I got too close to him and was drawn into the portal. It seems to have a magnetic draw to magic, and more specifically, people ho use magic rather than those who are the victims or subjects of magical workings. A friend of mine had gotten much closer to him and wasn’t drawn into the portal," I added, thinking of Xander. "Obviously, I was."

Father Thomas frowned. "I see. And you are, in deed, from the colonies in America?" He was obviously curious, watching me with the same curiosity that I had often seen in Giles’s face when presented with a new book or evidence to prove a common myth true or false. I thought back with a little sadness to just before we found out Oz was a werewolf and the excitement I had seen in my ex-Watcher mentor.

"Yes, what those colonies will be in two hundred years." I had seen Back to the Future II, among other movies; I honestly didn’t want to change the past - my new present and future.

He smiled. "But, somehow, I do not think that ‘Mary Calahan’ is your real name, is it?"

"No," I replied, and then added, "It’s Willow Rosenberg." I didn’t think it could hurt any for him to know my real name.

"’Willow Rosenberg’," he said to himself. "Rather unusual for this part of the world, and I suppose for this point in time as well." He was quiet for a few moments. "Well, I am assuming that you’d like to be able to return home?"

"Yes, very much so," I replied. "I could use all the help I can get."

"Well, then," he said, for a moment suddenly reminding me of Wesley. "The first thing we should do is contact the Council."

I must have paled because the next moment he was beside me, asking if I was all right. "Yes," I told him, trying to reassure him that I wasn’t about to faint. "I’d just rather keep my contact with the Watchers’ Council down to a minimum."

He frowned. "Why is that? They would be our best source of information on a way to get you home."

I stood and began pacing. "I understand that, and I know that it’s our - my - best option, but my experiences with the Council, aside from the two Watchers I’ve known-"

"Two?"

"It’s a long story, and one I shouldn’t tell if we want to maintain history. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Those two Watchers are the only good or positive products of the Council I’ve ever known." There was a window on the eastern side of the room and I looked out into the morning sunshine.

"What, pray tell," asked Father Thomas, "if you may, has the Council done that has resulted so terribly?"

Images flashed through my mind, words, half-remembered conversations. "Have you ever heard of the Cruciamentum?" I asked, turning around.

"The Cruciamentum? Of course, the test they used to give Slayers had they reached their eighteenth birthday-"

"Used to give?" I suddenly found myself in front of him and I’m sure there was a dangerous glint in my eye equal to that of my evil vampire twin’s.

"Yes, it was forbidden by Queen Elizabeth in 1601, when she brought the Council under royal charter. She said it was akin to asking our Lord Jesus Christ to ignore His heritage and godhood and the next moment to raise Lazarus from the dead. The Slayer needs her powers, and cannot be forced to neglect her divine duty for even a single night due to artificial incapacitation. Also, it is a cruel punishment and there are easier and less painful methods of dispatching renegade Slayers, who turn to the side of evil, should it be needed. And in the last three hundred years, only one Slayer has lived long enough to reach her eighteenth birthday, and she died during the test."

"So you’re saying that it hasn’t been done in about 150 years?"

He nodded. "Exactly." He paused. "Oh, I see. For some reason it’s been revived and your friend, this future Slayer, was forced into the test?"

"Yes," I replied curtly, sitting down again. "And she survived. But the Cruciamentum was just one in a long string of bad experiences with the Council." I decided not to mention Buffy and Giles’ quitting the Council - or rather, Giles being fired - and the Angel and Faith situations. "I don’t like the Council."

"I’m sorry to hear that," Father Thomas told me. "Through time some corruption develops in all institutions, but I’m sorry to hear how poorly the Council has developed in your time."

There was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Father Thomas called.

It was Sister Margaret Anne. Father Thomas went to her and she whispered something to him. She had a worried look on her face. When she was finished, he looked at her with wide, startled eyes. "Yes, yes, of course," he said, "I’ll be there in a moment." She hurried off.

He turned back to me. "I’m terribly sorry about this, but there’s a matter to which I must immediately attend. Please forgive the sudden nature of this interruption."

I smiled - but only just barely - as he left the room, and I sat alone in the little study with my thoughts.

-Los Angeles - February 2000 -

"So, like I was say-"

Angel was not surprised to see Cordelia suddenly clutch her head in pain. She fell back onto Wesley, who had just walked in. "Oh, dear, Cordelia!" Wes said as he supported her.

After a moment, Cordy let out a long sigh. "I am so going to kill Doyle if I ever see him again," she told them weakly.

They were in Angel’s subterranean apartment, in the kitchen. Angel grabbed a glass and filled it with cold tap water before setting it down in front of Cordy along with a bottle of pain pills. "Thanks," she said, taking two of the white pills and washing them down with a swallow of water.

"Are you quite all right, Cordelia?" Wes asked with concern.

"Yeah, I’m fine, Wes," she replied. "Don’t worry, a cool rogue demon hunter like yourself will soon get used to me and my anvil-dropped-on-head visions from the Powers that Be." Turning towards Angel, she said, "I swear, They must hate me or something. I mean, okay, visions - fine, that means we’re doing our whole super-hero thing, but does it have to be so painful?"

Angel didn’t say anything to that and instead went back to tending to the eggs, which were now done. Wesley set the table and then sat down himself. Finally, as Angel began dishing out the scrambled eggs, Cordelia broke the silence and said, "Isn’t anyone interested in my vision?"

- Sunnydale -

"Giles!" Buffy and Xander came charging into the former Watcher’s apartment. "Giles," Buffy said a second time, "something’s happened to Willow-"

"Yes, I already know," Giles said calmly.

"You do?" Xander said.

Giles moved as to speak but then the front door opened again and Anya came through. "Xander! I’ve been looking for you, you know. Should have known you were here. Come on, you owe me sex." She grabbed his hand and tried pulling him but he wouldn’t move. Puzzled, she looked at him. "Why aren’t you coming with me?"

"Anya, Willow’s missing," he told her.

"Well, if there’s a burned patch of carpet, then it’s D’Hoffryn like last time. There. I helped. Now come with me," she demanded.