When they get sucked, yet again, into a portal in the middle of their date, he curses, and growls, and generally swears up and down to destroy that damn book. It’s the first anniversary of their first date, and damn it, he’s getting ready to propose. Unfortunately, like every other aspect of their relationship, he won’t be able to do anything the normal way, the way he’d planned, because the supernatural crap that plagues them both has reared its ugly head. It’s in the middle of their dinner, as he fiddles with the ring he’d shoved deep into one pocket that it happens. The rest of the restaurant patrons scream, running towards the nearest door as fast as they can, and the employees join them. He and his date, of course, just share a long suffering look before turning to face the forming energy that looks far too much like the one he’d faced in a cabin in Tennessee a year and a half ago. Then, before either Chosen or Promised One can decide how to handle the thing, they’re engulfed.
When they hit a familiar dirty and dusty ground, and he realizes, amidst her complaints that the fall had ruined her top (which, in his opinion, looks better ripped like that, because it gives him a very nice view of her, um, chest), that he recognizes the crest that flies on a flag nearby, he curses even more. He’s going to burn the damn thing. Again. And then maybe go back in time to burn it one more time, just to be sure. It just had to bring them here, didn’t it? He throws a side glance at the blonde (who’s still pouting over her torn top), brushing over how damn sexy she looks all dolled up for their date and instead frantically trying to decide what to tell her. She’s going to flip when he tells her where, and when they are. But, eventually, he fesses up, because he doesn’t really have any other choice. If they’re going to get home, there’s only one thing to do.
When they reach the walls of Kandar to find them standing as strong and powerful as he remembers them to be, he’s nervous. It’s clear the castle has fared well since he left; people are bustling every which way, busy with god only knows what, and there isn’t a single face he recognizes. It’s as nerve wracking as it is calming. Where are the soldiers he’d fought with against the Deadites? Who are all the new guys he sees wandering around in armor that looks different than what he remembers? What’s the deal with the weird looks they’re getting- doesn’t anybody remember him? But at the same time, he’s kind of glad not to see anyone he knows, because if anyone sees him, then word will get back to one particular someone, and he’s not sure how he’ll face that someone. Beside him, the blond holds his hand, as if she knows something’s wrong, and full of pride, he puffs up and yanks the hand away, and she lets him, despite the fact that she could have kept it if she’d wanted.
When they’re greeted with open arms in the throne room, he’s shocked by the sight before them. There, finally, are all those familiar faces he’s been looking for, and afraid to see at the same time, but… Time has, apparently, moved faster here, or they’ve been sent back later, because the lord sitting in the big chair is no longer the young man he’d fought along side, and the oh so familiar woman who comes to greet him… Her aged features are softened with pleasant memory as she looks upon him, and then, when her gaze shifts to fall on his date, in her modern clothing, looking so small beside his towering form, and yet so confident and sure of herself, those wrinkled eyes tighten with a smile, and she leads her away with soothing promises of non-torn clothing. He’s almost afraid, watching them go away together, his past and his future colliding, but before he can really begin to worry, the now old lord of Kandar is pulling him aside to discuss the reason it seems they’ve been brought back here, an impending battle with the Deadites.
When they return, he’s forced to do a double take, because while he’s seen his girlfriend dressed up before- that night, for example, she’d dressed to kill in such a way that he’d been tempted to skip the whole date and just take her straight to bed- but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so- he doesn’t even what to call her, because he’s never been a big fan of words. She’s wearing a dress obviously borrowed from the older brunette, because it trails on the stone ground, too long for her small size, and it’s a little baggy across her chest, but he wisely doesn’t mention it. Or, maybe not so wisely, because it’s more like he’s enchanted with the way she looks, than actually being smart and keeping his trap shut. Instead of trying to tell her how she looks, he does what he does best- he gathers her petite frame in his arms and he shows her how he feels.
When they’re interrupted by the supernatural, as usual, he’s not surprised this time. He takes it in stride, and they pull apart and the fight begins. Adrenaline courses through him as his chainsaw is pulled from his back- thank god he’d had it tucked under the table at dinner- and he revs it to hack into the first Deadite. Behind him, she grabs a sword from the nearby wall, rips off the bottom of her new dress, and darts after the nearest enemy with ease. And to one side, despite her age, the older of the two women pulls a blade as well, to defend her home.
When they win, the small group of Deadites an easily defeated skirmish, he can only stare as the two woman grin at each other, in their own ways, and move off to celebrate without him. Stare, and think to himself that, regardless of time apart, and choices, they’re both his girls.