As if a crashing wave from the vast ocean of uncertainty had struck her, Buffy stumbled back, her expression a tumultuous mix of confusion and worry. The chaos swirled within her for the briefest of moments, but the weight of concern etched itself onto her features like a permanent mark. It was only with the next inhalation that she realized she had ceased breathing altogether. Her hand instinctively flew to her forehead, her jaw clenched in determination.

"Spike, by all that's holy, next time you decide to drop a bombshell from the time-traveling brigade, could you at least give me a heads-up before shattering my universe?" Tears brimmed in her eyes, but remained steadfastly unshed. Crying visible tears felt too vulnerable, too exposed. "Dawn?" Her voice trembled with the weight of fear. If anything had happened to her sister while she was whisked away, she would never forgive herself. "Willow? Giles? Xander? Anya??" The names tumbled from her lips like a litany, each one a prayer for their safety. "And the Potentials..." The thought of their fate threatened to overwhelm her, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. It wasn't fair, she mused bitterly, that she alone survived while they were reduced to ashes.

Perhaps, in the annals of time, they would look back on this mix-up with wry laughter, but for now, Buffy found solace in the familiar. She latched onto Spike with a desperation born of anguish, her hands fisting in his leather coat as she pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace that spoke volumes of her need for connection amidst the chaos.