Track A 

“Buffy, Willow, what brings you here?” Giles was still enjoying the life of leisure, though the truth was he was bored out of his mind and glad for any and all company – with the adamant exception of Spike’s. At least until he left for England…but that was for another time, right now his two daughters had come to visit. 

“Riley.” Buffy said as she collapsed on the couch, the dress discarded over one of the chair backs. 

Giles looked out the door but the boy in question was nowhere to be found. “What about him?” 

Willow looked at her friend and said, “There’s this frat party we’re all going to, a mid-summer bash type of thing. Apparently it’s a costume party and Riley decided-” 

“Costume?” Giles interrupted, concern written all over his face. His family and costumes just didn’t mesh. Still, it was the summer, not nearly Halloween. But then there was the Hellmouth to consider. 

“Er, ha, yeah so you see part of our concern. Well, so Riley decided that it would be…actually I’m not sure what he was thinking. But the point is that they have matching costumes. That’s Buffy’s.” 

Giles took the offending garment and carefully unzipped the bag as if something was going to jump out at him. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had. He snorted with laughter as he got a mental image of Riley in a matching mid-nineteenth century dress, hoops and all, but quickly banished it. Too disturbing, that. 

“Ah, I see.” 

What he didn’t see was why Buffy had gone along with it when she still held too many memories of her brief time as a eighteenth century noblewoman. The separate personality had violated her, and while she had never discussed it with him, Giles knew from Angel that she wasn’t as calm as she had appeared. No confidences were ever broken, but Giles had been worried about his charge and had asked. 

Angel had simply said that Buffy and he had talked about it and that she was okay with everything. Giles wished now he’d pried more, but that was not to be. 

“Do you still retain some of the memories from your time…?” 

“Yeah, some. They’ve more or less faded, but they’re still there. I know things like when to use the proper fork, or what kind of dress to wear at what time of day.” Buffy frowned and shook her head. “Nothing really useful; that’s so not a part of my life.” 

The words were delivered in a monotone voice that was reminiscent of the months immediately following Angel’s departure and that had Giles worried. He shared a glance with Willow to see the redhead’s equally worried reaction and sighed. It seemed there was nothing they could do to help Buffy and the more time that passed, the further apart they grew. 

And the more depressed they became. 

Giles had to admit he was glad Angel wasn’t around any more; he had no desire to face Angelus ever again. But it broke his heart to see the shell Buffy had become; he knew the reason, but didn’t want to say anything that might lead her back to her lover. It was selfish and mean, and Giles often berated himself over it, but he didn’t want them together; Buffy and Angel together meant that Angelus would soon make an appearance. 

“Buffy, I’m sure that nothing like that will happen this time, and it’s no where near Halloween.” Maybe they were all paranoid about this, but Giles didn’t think anything could really happen. He wouldn’t of course, say anything like that aloud. “I don’t believe anything’s coming up in the next few days, though I’ll double check that. Why don’t you just go and have a good time?” 

He was worried about his Slayer; she had been patrolling almost every night, working off whatever residual energy the binding with the Primal had given her. She seemed stronger now, much more so than ever before, and more focused on her duties. But Giles still worried about her emotional state. 

Maybe this party was just the thing she needed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Track A 

Buffy was not having fun. 

In fact, ‘fun’ was about as far from her mind as it could possibly get. She was hot and sticky despite her hair being all coifed and trying desperately to figure out how women sat in these dresses let alone breathed. She didn’t remember being so…corseted the last time she had worn a contraption like this. 

Even with having Willow and Tara check over the dress, searching for any hidden spells that might be attached to the garment she didn’t feel any better about wearing it. 

Plus, Willow and Xander were giving her strange looks all night, probably wondering if she was going to break under the weight of her memories. Or maybe they just wanted to know what was wrong with her that she wasn’t having fun with her boyfriend. Buffy refused to break, not because she didn’t want anyone to see her that way, though she didn’t, more because she couldn’t understand why she was feeling that way. 

She was spending more and more of her time, ever since tapping into the Primal Force of the Slayer, hunting the demon population, reading about the history of said population and the role of the previous Slayers. And all she felt was the intense need to hunt, to find her prey and destroy it before it could destroy her. The only time she felt alive was when she was hunting, the thrill of the race, the prey to her predator. 

It was exhilarating, it was stimulating. It was the only thing that got her mind off her life and the sad, sad state of it. 

And, too, she had taken a sudden interest in all things literature. It was odd, but she found herself reading the Brontë’s and Dickinson and even studying her history more closely. Buffy had no idea if that was part of her new Primal self, wanting to learn everything that may help her in the future. Or her past self, trying to hold onto some small piece of the only thing she had ever wanted…Angel. 

Banishing those thoughts, she turned to search for Riley, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. Thinking of Angel did her no good and only made her depressed and miserable; and it usually rubbed off on everyone around her, causing them to berate her over her feelings for Angel.

That same Primal Force, the one that screamed at her to destroy all things Demon, also screamed for her to find her Mate. To find him and reinforce their bond through whatever means necessary, no matter that it would mean the ruination of the only thing she loved in this world by destroying his soul. 

Breathing deeply, Buffy banished the maudlin memories as well as the arousal just his name provoked, taking in the scents of the night, instead. She turned back to her view and wondered for the millionth time what she was doing here, in a place she obviously didn’t belong, with a…man she didn’t love, in town miles away from the man she did. 

The stars shone brightly down upon her, mocking her with their distant brightness. She was alone; she knew that. Only with Angel had she felt loved and safe, comforted by the fact that she was not alone. His cool arms would slip around her, pulling her tightly against his hard body. His lips would caress her neck, over the scar that marked her as his and he’d whisper to her, tell her how he loved her, how he wanted her. 

Buffy could vividly remember the night they made love, how he filled her so she’d thought she’d burst. His hands had caressed her, his mouth had tasted her, his scent had filled her as surely as his body had. She’d never felt anything like it and knew she never would again, not with anyone but Angel. 

“I don’t belong here,” She said to the empty sky, wondering what possessed her to say those words aloud. “I belong with him. Only with him, always with him.” 

And as soon as those words left her mouth she felt it. 

Or more precisely, she felt nothing. A nothingness that screamed through her and around her and over her in never ending waves of a soundless scream of agony and fear and everything and nothing, crashing over and over again until she wasn’t sure where Buffy began and the screaming ended. 

Nothing could have made the sounds that forced her to her knees, should her body still have any substance left, and her hands found their way over her ears though she wasn’t sure that actually happened as the screaming still continued on and on and on until she thought she’d go mad from the noise and lack of noise and all of it and none of it. Not living nor dead nor undead, nothing in her vast experience in all matters demonic sounded like the ceaseless noise and lack of noise that surrounded her. 

Suddenly there were other noises, noises and scents and sounds. And the feeling that something there was as familiar to her as her own name. She knew that voice; that scent, the feeling running along her nerve endings, shrieking through her blood making her heart pound and her soul cry out in joy and love and oneness. 

“Angel?” Had she said that aloud or was it all in her head along with the howling of a thousand million voices waiting to be unleashed. And already unleashed and not yet unleashed and never to be unleashed. 

Slowly she drifted towards it, though whether she walked or floated or was simply there she never knew. Her vision was blurry, and everything hurt. But she knew that presence and was drawn to it as she had always been. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t ignore it, all she could do was find it; like an imperative that told her now, now, nownownownownow. 

The last thing she remembered, though did she really remember it or was it just more imaginings, was falling to the ground, clutching her body in a vain attempt to keep everything inside from exploding outwards. And everything outwards from imploding in and all of it was too much and her body shut down and her mind went blank. 

The next thing she remembered was looking into the human faces of several people she thought never to see again.
~~~~~~~~~
Track B 

Elizabeth Summers wasn’t your average teenager. She had few friends and was happier that way. She knew most kids at school had looked at her oddly for spending so much time in the library despite her stellar grades, but she didn’t care about that, either. 

She was the Slayer and that was all she cared about. 

She had gone to class because it was required of her under California state law. She did well because she was deathly afraid that if she didn't then that same California state law would take her away from her guardian no matter who she was. She didn't socialize because that wasn't in the contract. She had studied and she had trained, for that was necessary to keep the War at bay.  

A War that consumed the world and had lasted a hundred years already. Elizabeth wasn’t under any illusions that she could win this War; the balance was already shattered and she could do nothing to regain it. The best and only thing she could do was fight so that others may survive. So that the remainder of her family could. 

Despite all this, what she knew had to be, Elizabeth always felt there was something missing from her life. 

The one person who knew her ‘secret identity’ had learned through no fault of either girl. Elizabeth had simply saved Cordelia Chase from a vampire – twice, not the same vampire – and Cordelia had decided that being friends with the one person who seemed to fight the freaky things that went bump in the night in their bizarre little town might be advantageous. 

It surprised both girls when they actually found they had a lot in common. It surprised Elizabeth’s watcher and guardian, Rupert Giles, even more when Cordelia began helping with the more mundane research aspects he so often found himself saddled with. And it surprised all three when Cordelia began helping with the slaying. 

They graduated high school and Elizabeth was the first Slayer to actually attend college. Actually, she was also the first to finish high school without being removed by the scattered remains of the Watcher’s Council as they tried to reassert their once grand authority. She attended classes, learned everything she could, again keeping her secret identity a secret, even though her dates, what few she had, were certainly not in the ‘know.’ 

She had dated only four boys in her life, and had slept with only one of them. It was nice, the feelings he evoked, but it wasn’t anything else. She and Forest had a lot in common, fighting the same creatures, believing in the same things, but it was over even before he’d died…. And once he died, Elizabeth closed herself off from any involvement certain that knowing her caused his death. 

Sure, she had read romance novels and seen movies and read poems and plays that spoke of a grand passion and a great sweeping love that either conquered all or was all. But she felt none of that. Sometimes wondering if it was because of who and what she was, Elizabeth decided that it was just something else that being the Slayer forced her to endure. 

All her Passions were focused on her Hunt, not on her lover. 

She thrilled at the hunt, pushing herself harder and faster until even Giles admitted he had nothing left to teach her. Her allies bowed to her superior strength and leadership, following her wherever and whenever she wished. They knew she was truly a Slayer and they needed that. 

Tonight, however, the Slayer was feeling morose. 

Elizabeth looked out into the night, wondering why she felt the need to do so all too often. She was seeing a fairly nice boy, though she thought they both knew it couldn’t be more than superficial, friendship at best; she’d never again put anyone in danger like she had Forest. She had Cordelia and Giles, and she was content again if not happy in her life. She’d endured death and betrayal, she’d endured abandonment and unhappiness, and she had, she admitted, snatches of happiness and joy and friendship and love. 

But each night she patrolled she found herself looking into the bright California sky and wondering what it was she was missing from life. 

She saw him once, just an image in a dream that she wasn’t even sure she actually had. He was tall and dark, with a brooding quality she had never seen on another living being; it screamed pain at her and she found herself wanting only to comfort him, to ease that pain, take that burden and make it hers because to cause him another moment’s anguish was too much for her to bear. 

It was his eyes, though, that pulled her in, the eyes that said how much he needed her and how much he loved her. 

He was dressed all in black, an air of menace and sorrow swirling simultaneously around him. And still he called to her. Elizabeth looked for him everywhere she went; in her dreams, she searched for him, hoping, praying for another glance. In her life, she pursued him though she had never met him, never heard or seen or touched him except in that one glorious dream. When she was finally desperate enough to search there, she even checked in the hated Watcher Journals. She never found him but she yearned for him in a way that would have scared her had she not wanted him so desperately. 

Elizabeth could clearly remember what he felt like, his hands on her body, how he filled her with his hardness. The way he cradled her gently to him afterwards, how he refused to let her go. It was a feeling she’d never experienced, being taken care of even though this mystery man knew she was more powerful than he.

One night, for no reason she was able to accurately identify, she said, “I miss you, my love, I’m just not the same without you.” 

And that was the last Sunnydale, California and the world ever saw of Elizabeth Summers. 

Cordelia and Giles mourned, and they weren’t the only ones to do so. Elizabeth’s Army mourned, too, her allies and her friends there. A new Slayer was called but neither showed any interest in her, finding the whole thing too painful to face. She was accepted into the Slayer’s Army only because of her heritage, but everyone knew that no one could replace Elizabeth; she was the only person who could truly win this fight. Without her, it was a holding pattern between good and evil. 

Cordelia eventually moved to Los Angeles to peruse an acting career and hit it bigger than even she could imagine. She married and true to herself, she shunned Hollywood stereotypes and didn’t engage in the normal Hollywood trauma of finding a new husband every other year. She and Allan Francis Doyle – a demon, of course, half-Bracchan – had three children; Shawn Rupert, Aidan Trevor, and Elizabeth Anne. 

Giles wanted to move back to England, but the Great War had destroyed the island so the Englishman was without a country. He thought about going back to whatever remained of the Watcher’s Council, even though he had shunned his duties as a Watcher when Elizabeth quit because she refused to follow orders from an organization that wasn’t even fighting with her. 

Truthfully, no one could figure out how Giles became a Watcher in the first place; he was known for his unorthodox measures and openly defied Council Law repeatedly even before Elizabeth broke with the Council. 

So he became a recluse in his Sunnydale home, spending all his time reading ancient texts and studying prophecies that might have explained the disappearance of his Slayer. Nothing did and he found himself in an increased state of depression. 

He and Cordelia kept in touch, of course, visiting one another over the years. Giles eventually moved to LA and lived with the Doyle’s as the favorite (okay, the only) uncle to their children. But, despite the fact that they both still tried to protect the innocent – in their world, it was impossible not to – and that they taught Cordelia’s children to do the same, the War had not abated in the least. 

And neither Rupert Giles, nor Cordelia Doyle ever discussed Elizabeth or Sunnydale again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Track B 

He woke with a start and looked at the sleeping woman next to him, noting, without surprise, that she hadn’t moved. 

Despite the predator aspect of their lives, Darla could sleep through an earthquake – and had. When she slept, she literally slept like the dead. Focusing on Darla’s sleeping habits, however, served only to distract the handsome vampire for a moment, just long enough to be grateful for those habits. His mind was full of his dream, the dream he’d had for the past year, on and off, the dream that served to drive his nights, and plague his sleeping days. 

Erotic was what he’d call them and to one who had experienced every form of pleasure, that was saying a lot. But the feeling, the heat, the way she wrapped herself around him made the vampire want to experience it again, want to experience it in more than his dreams. 

The woman in those dreams was always the same, though Angelus couldn’t ever really see her. There was sunlight, and that in itself was odd as he could distinctly remember the lat time he saw that glowing orb, and there wasn’t a blonde in sight. He could see the green of her eyes, the curve of her neck, the golden sunlight of her hair, and the sweet scent so intrinsically her. Even if he never quite saw her face in those dreams, Angelus knew that that scent belonged solely to her, belonged to the elusive woman in his dreams. 

He could admit, to himself, several things about this dream. One was that he knew things about her that no one else did, that she trusted only him with. Two was that he didn’t know her name despite all the other knowledge he seemed to possess about her, but that did nothing to quell the passion he felt for her. And three, that if he didn’t find this mysterious woman soon, he was going to tear apart the world looking for her. 

Angelus already spent every waking moment searching for her, every blonde he met, every glimpse of golden hair he was convinced belonged to her. While, in his dreams, her face remained indistinct, Angelus knew that none of the women he met was the woman  he sought. He had a feeling that he’d know her when the saw her. And that, much to his anger and frustration, hadn’t happened yet. 

Luckily, Darla hadn’t yet noticed his preoccupation, Angelus didn’t care if she did, but his Sire could be a jealous woman, and it was easier to keep her in the dark rather than deal with her jealously. 

Climbing out of the bed he shared with Darla, Angelus strode across the room, slipping into his pants as he did so. His shirt, vest, coat, socks and shoes were quickly bundled into his arms and Angelus quietly left the room, stopping only to dress before leaving the house as well. The sun had yet to fully set, but the vampire was confident in his ability to avoid the last rays of the sunlight along the Parisian streets. Stalking along the shadows, Angelus ignored the stares he received as he thought about his dreams. 

It wasn’t often a vampire did dream, and usually when they did, it was of death, blood, the kill. Dreaming about a mysterious woman whom Angelus knew without actually knowing was not on the approved list of vampire dreams. And not something he wanted. Well, he did, but he wanted the woman in his arms, not in his dreams. 

As he stood on the bridge over the River Seine, Angelus wondered if it was time for a change of scenery, maybe back to London. Drusilla wanted to head back to the city of her birth, so maybe it was time to indulge her. And maybe the change of scenery would help him get over these dreams.

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