Track B in Track A

Giles wasn’t blind.

Okay once or twice he had been, but that was actually literally being blind, as in ‘the can’t see’ sense. In this instance he saw what others often thought he didn’t; saw what they wished him not to see. And right now he saw a woman who was and was not his charge becoming closer to the vampire who loved her.

Whether or not he loved Buffy or Elizabeth was difficult to say. Oh, it was obvious he loved Buffy, accepting of that or not, everyone here knew it. But Elizabeth wasn’t his Buffy. She was her own person who had her own demons – real and metaphorical – and while she may have fought the same basic fight as Buffy, in too many ways she was different.

That didn’t seem to matter to the vampire next to her, as they looked through history books, comparing and contrasting their world’s historical events, world leaders, music, culture. And they were laughing. Upon occasion Giles had witnessed Angel laugh; he had seen his face crack with happiness and joy, his eyes shine just by looking at Buffy. It was the same look he was giving Elizabeth now.

The one that said how much she meant to him.

Elizabeth had only been here in this world and awake, for five days. Five days of avoiding Willow and Xander, of scowling at Riley though none of them had ever caused her harm. She had totally disregarded Wesley, having never met him and distrustful of the Watcher’s Council in her world, and tried to understand the Cordelia Chase of this world.

The fact that Cordelia and Elizabeth were apparently best friends disturbed most of them.

And she hadn’t been to visit her mother since awaking. Joyce and Hank Summers had died when Buffy was just a child; Giles couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her to see a living version of her mother now. So they had invented a semi-elaborate story about training and fasting and rituals to tell Joyce, insisting that since Buffy was approaching her twentieth birthday that she needed to be ready for anything.

Joyce had bought it, never having really understood much about the Slayer or what she did. Elizabeth had been a little upset at that, having this vision of her parents in her mind that sat them on a pedestal. When Joyce so easily bought the story, and when she learned that her father hadn’t contacted her in over a year, something of Elizabeth’s vision cracked.

“No, really? France was a major player in the Second Great War, without their final line Germany and Prussia would have walked clear through to Spain, Portugal and across the sea to England.”

“Prussia and Germany weren’t the same?” The difference in their histories was fascinating. And while Angel realized that they needed to concentrate on finding a way to send her home, he was enjoying spending time with her so much that he forced himself to forget that. Besides, Willow and everyone else seemed to have the market cornered on that. They wanted Buffy back so desperately, they were virtually ignoring Elizabeth to do that; they hadn’t bothered to get to know this Slayer once it became clear that she didn’t know them.

“Same?” Elizabeth shook her head no. “Culturally there were similarities, much like Russia and Poland are Slavic in nature. But they were two separate countries who united with Greece to try and conquer the world.”

They huddled over the historical atlas, following the Nazi’s route, under a united Germany, through Europe and North Africa. Elizabeth felt a tingle race through her whenever their hands, hips, thighs, accidentally touched; whenever they were in the same room, the same breathing space. She couldn’t control herself when she saw him; the smile that lighted her face, the way her heart sped when she sensed he was near.

She was beginning to worry about herself, this fascination and attraction to a vampire was disturbing.

Or would have been had she not wanted it so. But want it she did; she wanted to know what his cool lips felt against her own heated ones, if his cool body would heat where it touched hers. How his hands, so long and slender, would feel grasped in her own, over her body…in her body. His tongue along her breasts, her nipples enclosed in his mouth.

Swallowing a gasp at the spear of lust that shot through her, Elizabeth tried to focus on the conversation. But it was no use, once the images were in her mind, they were there to stay and nothing was going to kick them out. Unless the reality of Angel in bed sucked and she very much doubted that it would.

Reality? What was she thinking? There would be no reality. There would be no kissing Angel, no feeling those full lips as they tasted her breast, the blunt teeth as they closed over her nipple. No, no, no! Bad thoughts, bad lusty, thoughts, which were only going to get her into trouble. 

It was bad enough that she refused to let Angel sleep on the floor as kind of a guardian, that Elizabeth invited him into her bed, desperately needing the comfort of someone with her as she tried to navigate through this world. His arms always closed tightly around her, holding her to his hard chest, his lips always found their way to her neck as they fell into sleep only a few hours before dawn.

Angel probably already knew how aroused she was; vamps had a keen sense of smell and they were sitting so close to each other that all Elizabeth had to do was turn her body just a little to feel his against hers. Considering that there was only Giles’ presence preventing her from doing that, from throwing the book onto the floor and knocking Angel’s wonderfully muscled body backwards onto the couch, Elizabeth had to get herself under control.

It was no use. Control and Angel didn’t seem to mix. What was wrong with her? Other than the fact that he was a vampire and her sworn enemy – though she had had vampire allies before, they usually pissed her off or tried to kill her and were soon dust – this was just different. Different as in she had never wanted to jump one’s bones before. Then again, she had rarely wanted to jump a human’s bones with such intensity before either.

It was growing dark; soon the rest of the ‘gang’ would arrive and begin the research all over again. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to help during the day, but they had lives, too. Or, at lest Elizabeth assumed they did. Maybe they just felt too uncomfortable around her and wanted to spend as much time away from the Slayer who was not their Slayer as they could. Well, too, they were in kind of a holding pattern, waiting for someone to locate this Blue Ox Horn for whatever purpose it served. 

When Tara had approached her about this spell, Elizabeth hadn’t immediately consented. It wasn’t until she realized that Angel probably wanted his Buffy back that she reluctantly agreed. Her reasons were kept silent, though she thought that perhaps Spike knew her reasoning. But she couldn’t not return if it meant that Angel’s Buffy would return to him; Elizabeth wanted him, she would give up anything to have him, but…. But. But she didn’t want to have him settle for her if it was Buffy he truly wanted.

So they searched for this Blue Ox Horn, and they researched other possibilities to switch she and Buffy. 

And she and Angel patrolled. And talked. And kissed, or nearly so; the denial between them was unbelievable and Elizabeth wasn’t sure she could last much longer. They touched, held hands, acted like teenagers; Elizabeth was never a normal one, and Angel hadn’t been on in centuries. But Angel never let it go further than that. She didn’t know why, he hadn’t told her, merely kept her at length; it was cutting into her heart, though Elizabeth didn’t want to tell him that. 

Tonight Elizabeth hoped she had the courage to ask the question that had plagued her for days. She knew that Angel had a soul and Spike a chip, though the circumstances of the soul were a mystery the chip was not; Spike was more than willing to blame Riley to his face for neutering him. How had the so-called ‘Scourge of Europe,’ what her world called ‘King of Vampires’ gotten his soul back?

And why was everyone so concerned with their spending too much time together? One of the few times that Xander had bothered to talk to her, he scathingly said something to the effect of “You think you know Angel, but you don’t; he’s a vicious killer who won’t hesitate to kill you once he gets his happy on.” What his happy on meant, Elizabeth didn’t know, the slang unfamiliar; she could guess but didn’t know what Xander had meant by it. 

Why would making love to Angel cause him to turn into a vicious killer? Elizabeth hadn’t asked Xander, hadn’t asked Willow even when she, too, ventured to tell the Slayer the same thing. Oh, the redhead said it more tactically, but the words were basically the same. Cordelia hadn’t said anything, and Elizabeth had asked her what it meant. All her dark-haired friend would say was that Angel with a soul was better than without one, and that if she wanted them all to live, though Xander could go, then she better not make him perfectly happy. 

There was something they weren’t telling her, something big enough for everyone to have the same fear. Actually Elizabeth was kind of surprised that Cordelia hadn’t just blurted the entire truth out already; one of the many similarities she’d noticed between her Cordy and this one was a lack of patience with tack. Her cryptic warning wasn’t Cordelia-like and worried Elizabeth more than any warning so far. 

Though come to think of it, Angel and Giles didn’t worry about whatever everyone else did.

Why was that? What was the big secret?

Angel shifted away from the woman next to him, trying to put a subtle but reluctant distance between them. He was unbearably aroused and could only hope that neither occupant of the room noticed. Unfortunately, he could smell Elizabeth’s arousal, the spicy scent, hear her heart speed up, all but feel her blood cry out to his. It wasn’t helping his own situation. With Buffy he had always been in a constant state of arousal, her smile, her presence, her scent, hell even the thought of seeing her sometime during the day was enough to have him hard and aching for her.

It didn’t help to know that they could never be together.

He knew that Elizabeth wanted to ask him about his past, both before and after the history of his exploits diverged. Most importantly, she wanted to ask him about his soul. And how was he to answer her? Truthfully, of course, but that wasn’t the whole answer. No, the entire answer involved telling her how he had lost his soul two years ago and terrorized her (not her, it was Buffy not Elizabeth) and her friends (who weren’t her friends, they were – are – Buffy’s) for several months before Buffy had to kill him to…

Yeah, it was a long and convoluted story that he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell. And he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know, anyway. Not because he wanted to keep things from her, but because if she didn’t know, then she’d still retain that innocence about him. About the darkness within him, within his soul and his demon.

But with the way things were shaping up…she’d have to know. She’d have to know why they couldn’t have sex; why they couldn’t sate this wild attraction between them, quench the need and lust.

It was going to be a long night.
~~~~~~~~~~
Spike watched the poof and the Slayer.

When Elizabeth excused herself right before they left for patrolling, the younger vampire took that as his sign to make his move. He followed Angel out into the courtyard and watched as his GrandSire did his best to calm and center himself. He could’ve told Angel that it wouldn’t work, but it was obvious that the elder figured that out for himself.

“What do you want, Spike?” Angel asked in a weary and frustration filled voice.

“I don’t like you,” Spike said, pulling out his cigarette and lighting it. “But you’re family and that’s never going to change. We both know what’s happening here between you and the Slayer. Do you want that?”

“She’s not Buffy,” Angel said and turned to face Spike. “I know that…William.” Spike stiffened at the name; it was the second time in a matter of days that Angel had used his given name. Then he relaxed, relaxed more than he had in Angel’s presence since the other vampire left in 1898.

“But…” But I want her, I love her, this her, Elizabeth.

“You want her, yeah, I got that,” Spike smirked, then held up a hand to forestall whatever Angel was about to say. “You know it’s not Buffy,” Spike said again.

“I know. I know that,” Angel said, frustrated. “But she’s so similar. And so different and, and I find myself wanting to get to know this woman, too.”

“You gonna tell her that?” A stream of smoke came from his lips and they both watched it drift away. “You gonna tell her the truth? The truth of what’s between you and Fluffy and you and this one?”

“I want to,” Angel confessed slowly, “I want to tell her about everything. I should tell her about…about the curse, too.”

“Think that’ll be a problem? Between you and this one?” Spike couldn’t care about it, soul or demon, neither of them got on with him, not anymore. Once upon a time, yes, but not anymore…and it was something that Spike mourned.

“I don’t know,” Angel said, eyes focused on the door they both knew Elizabeth was right behind, was coming out of any second now. “I-”

Spike snorted at him. “Right. I see the way you look at her, Angelus,” he told him, deliberately using his demon’s preferred name. “You’re not fooling anyone. Well, maybe those bunch of losers inside, but not me. You can’t fool me. You love the bint, just as much as you ever had Fluffy.”

“William,” Angel warned, eyes flashing golden, fangs lengthening in threat. He walked towards his GrandChilde and pulled the smaller man up by his leather duster. “You better watch what you say, Childe,” he threatened.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike mumbled, “I gotcha. Just remember, she’s still the Slayer. And I know, and you do too, that she wants you. Must be in the blood.” Spike looked confused for a second; Buffy and Elizabeth didn’t share blood, not in the heredity sense, so he amended with, “Or whatever, you know what I mean.”

Angel released Spike, letting the other vampire drop to the ground and stumble a step back at the surprise release. “Then I’ll trust you to stop me.”

Spike choked on his cigarette smoke. Huh? “You want me to stake you?” He almost yelled and then lowered his voice when the door opened and Elizabeth walked out. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! I-”

Angel cut him off with a look, eyes already seeking Elizabeth’s. God, but she was beautiful; strong, bright, a warrior goddess. As much as Buffy ever had and yet more; she’d seen more, done more, endured more and yet still, to him, retained a little of that innocent light that was intrinsically her.

He loved her. Her, Elizabeth. He wanted her, loved her, needed her as much as he ever had Buffy. Angelus was still holding back, still waiting to judge, but agreed; Elizabeth was theirs, if they turned her now, then they could take all the time in the world to break her, train her, make her theirs. 

Paling at the thoughts, and not the first time he – they – had these thoughts, Angel returned his attention to Elizabeth. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t say how they were different and the same, but they were and he wanted the both of them. He wanted Buffy, loved Buffy, needed Buffy…always. Elizabeth was her, was his Buffy, and yet was his Elizabeth, too.

“You ready?” She asked as she twirled the stake in her hands as he’d seen Buffy do numerous times before. The look she shot between he and Spike wasn’t lost on either of them. Spike’s smirk widened and he flung his cigarette away, enjoying the drama between Angel and Elizabeth.

Dru would love this, he thought, she’d love the Slayer Switching and how her ‘daddy’ loved both Buffy and Elizabeth. Oh, she’d be jealous, but then she’d always have him… Maybe Spike should track her down, see what she was up to, entice her back somehow. See if she wanted to watch the fireworks with him. Because these two together? Better than the V-Day celebrations they watched in Paris after the end of World War II.

There was no way they’d be able to keep their hands off each other.

“Yeah,” Angel nodded, that half smile back. “Let’s go.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Patrol was slow, giving them plenty of time to talk.

Unfortunately, they both had too much on their minds to do so and ended up walking the cemeteries and streets of Sunnydale in silence. It was a comfortable silence, settling over them with a peace that was foreign to Elizabeth and forbidden to Angel. But it was silence nonetheless and not what either of them wanted.

Finally Elizabeth could take it no longer and all but blurted out, “How’d you get your soul back?” Wincing at that question she revised, “Oh, that just came out…bad, sorry. What I mean is, once a vamp is made, the soul leaves the body and, presumably, goes into the aether. The human becomes a reanimated demon with the thoughts, memories, even feelings of the human, but not the human’s soul.”

They had stopped by this time near a large headstone. “But I’m sure you already knew that. So,” she asked, blushing at her gaucheness, “How do you manage to have a soul?” 

Leaning against the granite marker, Angel tried to put into words everything that had happened to him. Gypsies, soul, curse, Darla, fleeing in shame and guilt and panic, trying to find his place with Darla again and failing; a hundred years of isolation and yet more guilt. Finally meeting Buffy, falling in love, helping her, making a difference.

And the so-called loophole. Experiencing that one moment of true happiness in the arms of his love and losing the soul that loved her. Angelus, terror, pain from a love he refused to acknowledge, hatred and disgust for the one woman in all the world who had made him feel so much, more than he ever had in all his years and any incarnation. The demon loving her back and hating every moment of it because she couldn’t accept him for him, not him as Angel.

Hell. A hundred, hundred years of hell where he was tortured by the very denizens whom he was supposed to rule. The shame and guilt from that.

Coming back, helping, slowly healing, Faith, poison. Drinking from her. Marking her. Leaving Sunnydale and the last year spent apart.

Elizabeth sat there through the hours as Angel poured his soul out to her, telling her of his life, his responsibility to those whom he had killed, to Buffy even though he had left her. Letting it all sink in, the demon that was so very different from the man, the man who had changed over the years into a bright and shinning soul, though he didn’t see it. The vampire with a soul who didn’t think he deserved anything in life save heartache, burdens and crosses to bear, with, possibly, the small light at the end.

His Shanshu. His reward should he redeem himself, his ultimate redemption. And the hope, no matter how slim, that once he had redeemed himself in the eyes of The Powers That Be, then maybe, just maybe he’d be worthy of her, of Buffy.

“You really think you aren’t worthy of her?” It was the first sentence she had said in hours, the only question she had asked that wasn’t a few words for clarification over a point in his life.

“I don’t deserve someone who walks in the sun like you…she does.” Angel paused, tried to collect his thoughts. It was getting harder and harder to separate the two in his mind. In his heart. Logically he knew that he loved Buffy, the Slayer who currently wasn’t here. But everything else in him told him that he was wrong and that the woman he loved was indeed sitting next to him, walking with him, laughing at something, arguing a small point in history with him.

He couldn’t keep anything straight and hoped that they’d find a way – and soon – to get his Buffy back. Not because he wanted Elizabeth to leave, but quite the contrary. He wanted her to stay and that was just as wrong as trying to force Buffy into staying with someone who couldn’t make love to her.

“You’re wrong,” Elizabeth said and for a moment, Angel thought that she was referring to his belief that Buffy deserved someone who didn’t fear what the touch of intimacy would do to everything and everyone.

“You are worthy. You try and that’s really all anyone can ask. Trying and not succeeding, if the effort is valid, true, real, sincere is almost the same as trying and succeeding. Sure, succeeding, in this case, redeeming for past sins, is great, that feeling, the knowledge that you accomplished something wonderful, but in the end, it’s not about the deeds, it’s about the attempt.”

For long minutes, Angel just sat there, leaning against the headstone, contemplating Elizabeth’s words. Was she right? Could she be? He didn’t know, and it really wasn’t up to him to decide; that little task was for the Powers. They were the ultimate judges in his case; all Angel could do was present a valid defense.

So they sat there, once again in silence, as the moon slowly made her way across the darkened sky, shining her meager light upon them. They sat there, inches apart, enjoying each other’s company. Elizabeth’s head found its way to his shoulder, her hand into his larger cooler one. Still neither said anything, each with their own thoughts.

Finally Angel stood, pulling her with him. She laughed as she stood and, on impulse, touched his lips with hers.

It was just a slight contact, flesh on flesh, eyes locked together, boring into each other. He was as cool as she knew him to be, but it was pleasant, a wonderful contrast to her own heated body. Their hands still held the other’s and the grasp tightened the longer the touch lasted. Eventually Angel moved his mouth slowly over hers, opening to feel her breath and take that into himself, letting his tongue trace the fullness of her mouth.

Soft, slow where he wanted to take, devour, claim. Tasting in little sips where he wanted to gulp. They had walked backwards a few steps until Elizabeth’s back made contact with the headstone, Angel still controlling the kiss, deepening it, tongue moving across tongue, over palate, across teeth.

And still he wanted more, he wanted all, wanted to swallow her whole, taste everything that had been too long denied, touch, feel, sense, experience everything that was her that was his woman, that was Elizabeth.

Elizabeth…

Yes, Elizabeth, not Buffy. Oh, she was Buffy, that was true, but she was her own person and he understood that, realized that on a fundamental level that suddenly became crystal clear. He wanted Elizabeth Summers as much as, maybe more so, he had ever wanted Buffy.

The realization shocked him to the core but instead of stopping him, spurned him on.

Lifting her so that she sat on the flat top of the marker, Angel’s hands began to caress, to feel those forbidden places, touch soft skin and tangle in long hair. Eyes drifted closed, the better to savor so many feelings. Through the thin cotton of her shirt (cotton was for peasants, silks were much better suited for a goddess such as she) Angel molded her breasts, tweaking the nipple that longed for his touch.

She moaned his name, arching into his hands, breath panting in gasps for what she never thought to experience. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him. She wanted to feel his body glide across hers, his skin under her fingertips, wanted to taste him and wanted to make him feel like she did.

Out of control, wanton, wild in need and lust and consuming passion. Elizabeth had the very distinct feeling that together, they could burn the world around them in their passion.

Over hard muscle and smooth back, gripping, grasping, holding, anchoring, Elizabeth let her hands float. She wanted so much more, wanted to feel his cool chest pressed to her heated skin, wanted to taste that skin, wanted to feel him moving inside of her, but knew, in some small dim part of her mind that was the only thing holding her back, that to do so, to release her passions, would be to destroy all she wanted.

So she settled for holding his head as their mouths tasted, for feeling the short spikes of his hair shift under her fingers. For wrapping her legs (how did that happen?) around his waist, both still fully clothed though they pressed together as intimately as they could manage. Rocking against him, mewling in necessity, needing him against her, in her.

How could something that felt so right be so utterly wrong?

That small rational part of Elizabeth was rapidly disappearing, overcome with want and selfishness and greed and need and just once, couldn’t she just once know what it felt like? Know what he felt like? Before that voice – annoying as it was – disappeared forever, Elizabeth drew back, broke apart.

Growling low in his throat, though he knew why she had stopped, Angel reluctantly released her, watching her as she watched him, both trying to control their reactions. He could feel his fangs elongate, knew his eyes were golden and wondered if she’d be frightened, or if she’d accepted him as his Buffy had.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, slowly letting herself be drawn out of their bubble, letting the lust – forcing that lust – to recede, to ignore. She looked into his face, the vampire’s face, and touched his lips again, eyes locking with his golden ones. Her tongue traced his fangs, slipping into his mouth once more, tasting the man/demon/soul/love before her as he struggled with the demon that wanted her as well.

Yes, Elizabeth knew Angelus wanted her, could sense it in the things Angel said and what he refused to reveal to her. No, she didn’t care. She wanted, she felt, she needed. And she didn’t care that it was for a demon, a vampire. He was different. He was her Angel.

“We should head back to Giles’ place.” Angel said, eventually, still holding her close, still scenting her unabated arousal, trying to calm his need to bury himself in her. but he could, just as he couldn’t release his hold on her.

He knew that, unlike the last few nights where he had spent the sleeping hours in her arms, tonight would be spent elsewhere. Separate, away from the other and the temptation found there. Sacrifice the comfort of their embrace for the safety of the world, for to do otherwise would be to invite danger and temptation.

A temptation he wasn’t at all sure he could withstand. A temptation he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to resist. A temptation he wasn’t at all sure he cared to resist any longer.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Elizabeth was reluctant to head back there, knowing as Angel did, that this night would be spent alone. She had just discovered the dangers of loving him, could she live with that knowledge now?

More importantly, could they, together, live with that?
~~~~~~~~~~
Spike watched them enter Giles’ condo, watched as they kept a careful distance between the other, as they glanced at the other when they thought no one was looking.

If they truly believed they wouldn’t succumb to temptation, if they actually thought that they could ignore whatever it was between them, then they were stupider than he thought. Spike knew – didn’t agree with but knew – why Angel had left in the first place. The reason was clearly before him now. Temptation was too great an indulgence to ignore.

The younger vampire had a feeling that they weren’t going to ignore it much longer.

Now his question was, should he help them along, get his family back as much as he could? Or should he do the White Hat thing and separate them?

Smirking as he drank from his novelty mug, sipping at the blood he still kept at Giles, Spike already knew the answer to that one. The letter he sent to Dru was already on its way to his Dark Princess.

Part 10        Part 12

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