Author's Notes: Please bear in mind that this takes place in the Buffyverse, and any recognizable people are in fact their alternate versions -- no slurs or aspersions or speculations of any kind are intended upon any denizens of *this* timeline!
As the black convertible sped through the glittering city, Elizabeth Lochley could no longer doubt that *something* very peculiar had happened to her. The antique vehicles, the streetlights, the shopwindows and their contents -- even the skyline was straight out of an old 20th Century vid, and the wind whipping the rest of her hair loose gave her no respite from the literally in-her-face reality of it all.
Briefly she wondered if this were some kind of *virtual* reality -- maybe she'd gotten caught in another Soul Hunter's globe or some such -- but no amount of 'willing' things to change made any difference, and she finally decided that whether it was a matter of virtual or objective time travel, the overall weirdness level was pretty much the same. Riding through the Southern California night, with its myriad smells and intricately folded horizon, she had to admit that it was an improvement over *most* of the weird situations she had found herself in lately (not excluding the recent conference and the week with her family).
Somewhere in the nebulous borderland between the city proper and its fabled suburbs, they pulled into a convenience store for gas and a restroom stop. Moments later, a dark sedan cruised past, turning into the fast-food place on the next lot. It parked just in sight of the adjoining gas pumps, and the passengers seized the opportunity to continue their ongoing argument.
"Shut up, Joey!" said the driver, his vampire-fangs now retracted into his Human form. "If it weren't for your f**kin' dyslexia, that busybody detective would be enjoyin' the hospitality of her Pilgrim ancestors in 1740's New England right now, but noooo....instead we got this warrior-bitch from the future to deal with!"
"I think she broke a rib," complained one of the demons (also re-disguised) in the back seat.
"I don't like it that she's hooked up with that goody-goody vamp and his pet half-breed," put in another. "What if they *all* get together and figure it out?"
"That's why the boss wants us to pick up Ms. Star Trek toot sweet," the vampire explained, for the third or fourth time. "...and if the others get dead, too, well...*I* haven't had dinner yet, and it's getting late..."
"I wouldn't mind a taste of that little twinkie they've got with them," a third demon said.
"Yeah, but I call the cream filling," joked the vampire, to general laughter.
Meanwhile, at the *next* fast-food place, the single occupant of a nondescript blue Taurus kept a sharp eye on both vehicles.
* * *
When Lochley emerged from the back of the store, her hair once more under control but with a rather wild-eyed look about her, she went straight to where Cordelia was leafing through a fashion magazine.
"NOW I believe it," she said shortly, without elaborating.
"Mmmm," mm'd Cordy sympathetically. "Wow, do you believe THIS?" she added, pointing to a glossy photograph.
"No," deadpanned the Captain.
"All right, here's your *proof*!" Doyle said, coming up to the women with a newspaper and pointing triumphantly to the date. Lochley's attention was drawn to an article farther down the page, however.
"The Y2K bug! I remember that. People were afraid that all their computers would fail because of the way their primitive date logic had been set up..."
"*Were* afraid?" said Doyle quickly. "You mean they *didn't*? I mean, *won't*?" While he figured there was a 99% probability this lady was more or less completely 'round the twist, he wasn't about to discount that last percent.
"Of course not," the Captain replied dismissively. "Of course, that was mainly because people had been working on the problem for months, even years in advance. That's why it's still taught in elementary school history classes -- it was the first time Humans successfully worked together to prevent a global catastrophe. It was a sign of hope and optimism for the challenges ahead -- and God knows they needed that," she ended soberly.
"I don't want to know!" said Doyle quickly.
"Me neither," agreed Cordelia.
When they got back to the car, they found that Angel had put up the top of the convertible, out of respect for the women's hairstyles. It also made it possible to have an actual conversation during the rest of the trip.
Cordelia asked about this mysterious cousin of Doyle's that they were going to see, which got him started reminiscing about the family reunions he had attended as a child. Although Doyle's stepfather had moved to Ireland when he married, he still made frequent business trips to the States, and on a few occasions he'd brought his new family over to visit.
"Sometimes the other kids would get a bit nasty, what with the accent and me bein' born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say..."
"Not in *this* century," commented Cordelia. Beside her, Lochley covered a smile.
"But if Jerry was around," continued the young man, "he always put a stop to it right quick. Oh, sure, he gave me my share of grief, but no *more* than my share, if you know what I mean."
"Sounds like a good guy," said Lochley.
"Oh, yeah," Doyle replied, "Jerry's the best. You'll like him. That is, if you don't already...ah...never mind."
"And *why* are we going to see him, again -- aside from him being such a great guy?" Lochley asked, more curious than worried.
During the drive she had realized that there were two approaches she could take: she could fret herself to flinders worrying about what had happened and what she could do about it -- wind herself up until she got as paranoid as Mr. Garibaldi, her predecessor's chief of Security (now married into one of the biggest corporations on Mars) -- or she could relax and go with it, and be ready to jump the second she got an idea which direction to jump in. Three years ago she would have chosen the first route automatically...but it had been a *long* three years. Now she was just curious as to what these rather engaging young people were up to.
"Um...he has a...special expertise with this kind of situation," replied Doyle.
"Time travel?" asked Cordelia, disbelieving.
"Cordy, just trust us," said Angel, a rare note of irritation in his voice.
"'You know what you're doing'?" Cordy taunted, singsong.
"NO!" came the stereo response.
Cordelia turned to Lochley in high dudgeon, to find the older woman stifling a grin as she peered out the window at the passing mansions.
"Aren't you *worried* about all this?" the girl demanded. "If I were in your position, I'd be positively postal by now!"
Lochley smiled reassuringly at her. "I'm sure you would, whatever that means -- any *normal* person would. But after the things I've seen -- and been through -- since I took over Babylon 5, this is actually..." she laughed suddenly, as the car took a swooping curve -- "not all that bad of a vacation!"
"What IS this 'Babylon 5' you two keep talking about, anyway?" Cordelia asked, irritation sounding in *her* voice now.
"I think that's another topic that should wait until we get where we're going," suggested Angel, which pretty much killed the conversation dead.
Eventually they pulled up to a sprawling house off the curve of a ridge-running road, and trooped up to the front door. After a few rings, it was opened by a tall, bald, solidly-built man in a polo shirt and loose slacks.
"Frankie!" the man cried in delight, spotting Doyle first. "Little Cousin Frankie! Man, I haven't seen you since you were a scrappy little brat at those family reunions upstate. I heard you were in L.A., but..." then he caught sight of Lochley, standing in a state of total shock in Angel's shadow.
"Tracy?" he said wonderingly.
"Garibaldi?" she echoed, her worldview turning inside out for the second time that evening.
"*What?!?*" they both chorused as each registered what the other had said.
"We need to talk," said Angel, taking command and steering everybody inside.
"'Frankie'?" murmured Cordelia snidely.
"Beats the hell out of 'Francis'," Doyle responded, but by then Cordy had stepped into the actor's elegant, high-tech living room and was no longer listening.
* * *
"I'm not sure where to start with this," Doyle admitted.
"How about the beginning?" suggested Cordelia. "That's always good."
"All right, then. In the beginning..."
"The *Prometheus* picked a fight with the Minbari and all hell broke loose...sorry, couldn't resist," Jerry put in.
"And just how do you know that, if you're *not* Garibaldi?" Lochley demanded.
"Come off it, Trace, a joke's a joke, but this is getting silly," the actor replied. "Did I mention I have a party to go to tonight?"
"Will you two just STOP a minute? I'm tryin' to do some exposition, here!" Doyle was starting to sound distinctly frazzled. Angel had perched on the back of the overstuffed chair Lochley was sitting in, and Cordelia was wandering around fingering things.
"Okay. Now, back around '93 or so, Cousin Jerry here got hired as an actor on a TV program about a space station in the 23rd Century, called 'Babylon 5'." Lochley opened her mouth, but Doyle held up a warning finger and forged ahead. "His character was a guy name of Michael Garibaldi, the station's Security Chief -- which is a bloody laugh, if you ask me. Anyway, in the show's last season, after a whole bunch of science-fiction-y goings on -- wars and revolutions and the end of the world and whatnot -- the station ended up with a new Captain, one Elizabeth Lochley, played by a lady named Tracy.... ah..."
"Scoggins," supplied the actor.
"*Scoggins?*" Lochley burst out, appalled. "What the hell kind of a name is *Scoggins*?"
"Yours," Jerry said easily.
"Oh, no! I don't know what's going on here, but I do know who *I* am, and I am most certainly NOT some two-bit actress named *Scoggins*!"
"Two bits? When did *you* get a raise?"
"WILL YOU TWO *SHUT UP*!!!" Doyle shouted. he thought disgustedly.
Lochley settled back, arms folded, glaring at the bald man. Jerry's arms were folded too, but on his part it seemed to be more of an attempt to hold in a fit of the chuckles.
"That's better," said Doyle. "Now, when we ran across you, Miss... Captain, I figured there were three alternatives: the most likely, if you'll pardon my saying so, was that you were a fan of the show who'd gotten kind of, shall we say, carried away with the whole thing. But since Jerry recognized you right off the bat, that leaves us either with option B -- that you really *are* Ms. Scoggins, and somethin' has happened to your memory...*or*..."
"Maybe this Tracy person has a twin sister," put in Cordelia, "and ...I don't know, maybe she got hit on the head, or did some bad drugs..."
"Not a chance," spat Lochley.
"Bad suggestion," said Jerry simultaneously.
"Well, excuse me for trying to come up with some options!" the girl retorted.
"Could there *be* a sister?" asked Angel, trying to get back on track.
Jerry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I seriously doubt it," he answered at last. "But..."
"I AM Elizabeth Lochley!" the woman insisted.
"Well, that *is* the third alternative," agreed Doyle.
"What?!? Frankie, are you *nuts*?"
"Probably, but let's face it, we -- that is, Angel and Cordy and I -- we've seen some pretty science-fiction-y things ourselves in the last few months, and I for one am not about to rule *anything* out."
"Doyle's right," said Angel. "You might not believe this, Mr...uh... Doyle -- you know, that's going to get really confusing -- but... well, let's just say that there are things that happen in this world that are far outside the scope of most people's imaginations."
"And you can definitely take *his* word on *that* one," added Cordelia.
"But, if this is the past -- my past," said Lochley thoughtfully, "then how could there be a vid -- I mean, a television show -- that actually *predicted* the future in so much detail? And if there was, how come nobody in *my* time has ever heard of it?"
Jerry sat forward eagerly. "You know, it's interesting you should say that -- just the other day I was talking to this writer I know, and..."
Whatever he was about to say was lost in the sound of shattering glass as two man-sized and roughly man-shaped figures hurtled through the living room window, closely followed by their three compatriots.
"Damn," said Angel
"It's the aliens!" cried Lochley.
"What the *hell*?" said Jerry.
"Basically, yeah," agreed Doyle.
Cordelia beaned a demon with a paperweight, and the fight was on.
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