Title: Gift of a Future 4/?
Author: Gileswench
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.

Data, Worf, and Geordie had been sitting waiting for Buffy to get home for some time. They had yet to decide what precisely they were going to say to explain their presence.

"Do we tell her we're here from the future to save her life? Somehow I don't think she'll believe that," Geordie mused.

"We are dressed in the style of the period she lives in," Data pointed out. "Perhaps we need not say anything about the future. Perhaps she will not notice."

"Data, she's going to notice that you and Worf aren't human and I don't see how she's gonna miss my visor. There's no way she's not going to notice three strange men in her bedroom when she gets home. I say we tell her the truth."

"What about the Prime Directive?"

"I don't think there's a whole lot we can do about that."

"I'm hungry," Worf complained, "and there is no replicator in this room."

"Maybe there's one downstairs," Geordie suggested.

The Klingon decided to investigate Geordie's theory. He headed down and wandered through the living room. While he found an interesting electrical appliance in the room, he decided it must not be food related. Perhaps some form of primitive computer judging from the screen.

He moved on to a room with a table and chairs. Nothing electrical in there. It appeared to be something like the Ready Room of the Enterprise, but wooden. Next to that, there was another room that seemed more like what he had in mind. The room hummed gently with electricity and there were several items that looked as though they might have some function in food preparation.

When he found a small, white, rectangular object with a door on it, he decided he'd found the replicator. He stood before it and made his request.

"Rokeg blood pie and prune juice."

Nothing happened.

He repeated his request.

Still no response from the machine.

Worf growled in frustration.

*****

Giles opened the door to his flat and gestured to Picard to enter.

"It's not really designed for entertaining, but I call it home."

"Very nice," Picard said politely.

"Can I get you anything? Tea?"

"Earl Grey. Hot."

"Um...Earl Grey, you say? I think I have some of that. If not, would Darjeeling do?"

"Of course, Mr. Giles."

"Oh no, please, it's just Giles."

"Giles. Of course."

Picard sat a bit stiffly on the sofa as Giles made tea. He looked about himself. When he'd first entered, Picard had said the flat was nice out of mere politeness, but now that he had a chance to really look, he decided it was a very comfortable spot, if a little quirky. The Captain felt sure he'd be awkward living in a place where the bedroom was so entirely exposed to public view, but otherwise it would have suited him perfectly.

The place was compact without being too crowded, welcoming without being fussy. Despite the initial impression of Spartan simplicity, there was considerable detail to draw the eye and please the senses. Spanish tiles decorated the stairs and the mantlepiece, and the walls were painted a soothing shade of green. From the personal touches Giles himself had added, it was clear that he was a man of learning and taste. It was equally clear that nothing had been chosen or displayed simply in order to make that obvious to the casual visitor.

Picard stood and inspected the collection in one of the bookshelves. Mixed in with volumes of mythology and demonology, he found many of the classic authors he himself loved and admired. He pulled the fine volume of Shakespeare from the shelf and turned a few pages with reverence.

"That belonged to my father," came a quiet voice behind him.

Picard turned, startled. He hadn't heard Giles come out of the kitchen, and yet here stood the man not two feet from him.

"Tea, Captain?"

"Please, it's Jean-Luc."

"Do you care for Shakespeare, Jean-Luc?"

"Very much. I believe that if one wishes to understand the human condition, one should study Shakespeare's writings above all others."

Giles set down the tea tray on the coffee table.

"I once played Ophelia," he told the Captain. "At school. I must have been the tallest Ophelia on record. I'd very nearly reached my full height, but my voice hadn't changed then. It chose closing night to begin doing so. A bit embarrassing, I must say. Do you take sugar or milk?"

"Neither, thank you."

Giles handed Picard a teacup and took the other himself. The Captain smiled when he realized how intently the other man was looking at him.

Giles shook his head and looked down at his tea, a self-deprecating smile forming on his lips.

"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just...well, it's not every day one meets one's future, is it?"

"Or one's past, either," Picard replied with a similar smile.

"The past is something I'm well acquainted with. In fact, to hear Buffy and the others speak, I still live there. Perhaps they're right."

Picard didn't know what to say to that, so he took another sip of tea and looked around for another subject. He noticed an intriguing object sitting on the mantlepiece and went to inspect it. Giles followed him and took it down, his eyes shining with excitement, his large hands astonishingly gentle with his prize.

"I found this on a dig in Egypt. Nobody else knew what it was, but I did. It's -"

"A symbol of worship among the followers of an ancient religion devoted to the idea that aliens had come from beyond the stars to lead mankind to eternal peace and prosperity. I'm afraid I've forgotten the name of the sect."

Giles grinned like a small boy.

"You know something of archeology, then?"

"It's a hobby of mine. I'm afraid I'm not as well versed in Terran archeology as that of some other planets."

With that, the barriers were down completely. Giles eagerly shared his finds from digs he'd gone on twenty years before, and Picard told tales of his own adventures in archeology. Soon they were sharing a bottle of good red wine Giles had been saving and discussing their favorite novels. Shortly after that, they moved on to whiskey and music.

Neither paid the least bit of attention to the clock.

*****

Xander ushered his guests into his apartment.

"Here we go, but you might want to keep quiet; I've got another couple people here tonight."

Tara came out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Willow, honey is that...oh. No Willow."

Xander made the introductions and explained what the newcomers were doing there. Tara accepted his story without a comment.

"I guess I should go home, then, if you're here. Dawn's asleep. I think it's been a long day for her."

"Yeah, we'll let her sleep. Do you have a cross?" Xander asked.

"And a stake and a couple spells up my sleeve just in case. I'll be fine. That is if...?"

Xander shook his head.

"Spike didn't talk. I don't know why. And Buffy and Giles said the bot goes."

"Good. That was...um...sorta creepy. And it takes a lot more to creep me these days than it used to."

With that, the witch headed out the door. Xander rubbed his hands as he looked at his guests.

"So. Let's find you someplace to sleep for the night," he said.

He looked around. He frowned. He suddenly realized that he had a one bedroom apartment and three houseguests, one of whom was already sleeping in the bedroom.

"Why don't you take the couch, Beverly. Wes and I can sack out on the floor. I've got sleeping bags."

*****

As Buffy entered the front door, she heard an odd sound from the kitchen. She gestured silently for Riker and Troi to stay where they were and handed them a cross, just in case. She silently made her way to the source of the noise.

There stood a huge creature, his forehead ridged like a vampire's, and his teeth just as sharp. His eyes, however, weren't yellow and Buffy knew for a fact she'd never invited anything that looked like this into her house.

To add to the confusion, the creature was making strange, gutteral noises and appeared to be beating up her microwave.

"Hey! Big and fangy! What's your trauma?"

Worf turned, still growling. Buffy lunged for the creature, fists and feet flying. In a matter of a few seconds, the Klingon was splayed on the kitchen floor. Buffy straddled his midsection and raised her stake on high.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not nice to fool with a pissed off Slayer?"

As she began to plunge her weapon downward, a surprisingly strong grip stopped her. She looked up to see a pair of yellow eyes without a ridged forehead.

"Huh?"

Data calmly disarmed the confused girl and helped her unceremoniously to her feet.

"I am sorry, but I cannot permit you to harm Lt. Worf."

"That's a Lieutenant? And what are you?"

"I am Lt. Commander Data of Starfleet. I am an android."

"Another bot? What? Did Warren sell his plans to Radio Shack? Are they putting out a kit now? Whose not so inflatable love doll are you?"

"While I do not understand many of the questions you have asked, I can assure you that I am involved in no sexual relationship at the present time. I am, however, programmed to please the human female with a wide variety of techniques, should you so desire."

Buffy took a step back and raised her hands before herself.

"Oh, I am so not looking for love in all the metal places. And what the hell are you and woofyboy doing here anyway?"

"The same thing we are, I imagine," Riker said from the doorway. "it's good to see you, Data."

"Likewise, I am sure, Commander."

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