Track A meets Track B
London, England
1885

 “Ooh, the moon and the stars are singing to me, my William.” It was the same every time she had a vision. She didn’t see the future, no, the moon and the stars told her. How they told her this was all a mystery to everyone save her, but they went along with it just the same. 

Drusilla twirled around the foggy street, loving the way the air flowed over her skin; much like the wonderful clothes she wore. Her daddy and her William always made sure that she was dressed in the finest silks and muslins and the feel of the soft material against her skin was almost as good as her lover’s caress. 

“What are they saying, love?” He had only been a vampire for five years, it was true, but already he liked to think he had the hang of it. Or maybe it was just being with his dark beauty that made him feel this way. A way he had never felt before, strong and wanted and vital in every way imaginable. 

“She’s coming, she’s coming. And no one can stop her. She’ll be the one…” Drusilla trailed off into a giggle and twirled herself right into William’s arms, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that would have left him breathless had he still needed that involuntary function. 

“Who, pet?” He asked once the kiss ended. And while he’d like nothing more than to pound his lover into the nearest wall, losing himself in her cold flesh, he wanted to know her latest vision. Her sight had saved them more than once and he’d hate to ignore something that might do so again.

“She is, my William, Angelus’ love.” 

Well, those were possibly the last words he had ever expected to hear come out of her mouth. 

That, plus the whole concept of Angelus and love in the same sentence seemed incongruent at best…and who was this mysterious love interest? Still, even if she were all wrong, the image of Darla being tossed – metaphorically or not – out on her fat rump pleased William to no end. Yes, it was a pleasant image, but he had no real hopes for it coming to pass. 

More the pity that. 

That was, until they met up with the fat rump herself and Angelus. Okay, okay, William could admit that while Darla was a bitch, she wasn’t fat. She was thin, mean, and hateful, but not fat. Did that matter to William? Certainly not. Angelus, however, Angelus was most certainly not. He was everything William wanted to be and more. He admired his Sire (Grand Sire though Angelus taught William more than Drusilla about his newfound existence) and listened attentively to everything the older vampire had to teach him. William was Angelus’ best pupil and couldn’t imagine anything other that what they had now, the four of them. But if Darla was going to be tossed out…

A smile crossed William’s face and he looked at Angelus, his mentor in this new life of his. In all manner of things undead. Maybe then, he’d have more time with the elder. 

It was as they walked down the street, laughing at the humans who ran from what they did not know and into the arms of the waiting and hungry foursome that they found the object of Drusilla’s vision. 

Or, more accurately, Darla tripped over a prone body that suddenly fell directly in her path and fell into a rather muddy puddle, cursing fluently and loudly though no one listened to her.

No, they wanted to know the cause of her fall. Drusilla sang softly about the Coming Star, about the Change in Worlds. And really, it wasn’t Darla’s fault that she had fallen into the puddle; the prone body simply appeared right in front of her. 

Angelus looked down at the blonde in the middle of the London street and couldn’t help but feel as if he knew her.
~~~~~~~~~~
It hurt, from her brain to her toes and everything in between, she just hurt. Buffy tired to open her eyes but they hurt, too. So she settled for slipping back into unconsciousness, willing the falling and spinning and whirling like an out of control merry go round to stop, and hoped that the next time she awoke things would be better.

They weren’t. 

Sure, the next time she tried to open her eyes it worked and they opened, and Thank God she was stationary, but her situation had not improved. As a matter of fact, judging by her surroundings, she had somehow found herself plopped smack dab in the middle of…a street? 

And one that looked not at all familiar. 

There was a stench that screamed ‘big city’ and the usual people wandering to and fro, but there were also…horses? And carriages? And…cobblestones? 

“What the hell…?” 

“Not hell, my pretty, London.” 

Buffy looked around her to see who had said that, trying to remember how to move, how to breathe, how to…her eyes finally focused on the wielder of the voice and she would have gasped had her lungs had any air in them. Slowly, she went with the screaming in her blood, the throbbing around the mark she bore and looked behind the crouching, grinning vampiress. 

Her eyes locked with his, dark and brown and still able to draw her in all too effortlessly. This really was too much and her overtaxed nervous system shut down, slipping her back into the welcomed peace of oblivion. 

But not before she uttered, “Angel…?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus heard her, his hearing was, after all, superb. 

He didn’t know this woman, however, even though he was sure they’d met before, and Angelus was more than a little confused as to how she knew his name. He was almost, almost, ready (just another minute now) to pull himself together and dismiss her, perhaps feed off her when Drusilla’s voice interrupted his scattered thoughts. 

“We need to take her home, Angelus.” She said, all crazy child-like behavior gone from her demeanor. Whenever she did that, he wondered just how mad he’d actually driven her; she certainly knew when clarity was needed. But then, whenever she did that, he wondered just how important the situation was. 

Whipping his head to face his Childe he asked in a calm voice that just held a trace of his Irish accent. A calm voice that belied his racing thoughts and his blood screaming, screaming for…something; something that had a lot more to do with the girl on the ground than he was willing to admit. Something that had everything to do with her. 

Because Angelus had a suspicion that the girl before him was the same as the one from his dreams. 

“Why is that, Drusilla?”

His hand petted down her hair, as he knew she liked, earning a smiling purr from her. William said nothing, knowing his place and accepting it. He was intensely jealous of Angelus’ place in Drusilla’s life and the elder knew that; still, he had no desire to take William’s place. Angelus made Drusilla for what she could provide – her visions. He kept her because he didn’t abandon his Childer even after he tired of them, which he always did. 

“She’s the one, daddy,” Drusilla whispered, “We need to take her with us.” 

Not having any idea what she meant, though it looked like William had a faint clue, Angelus shrugged and picked her up. She weighed next to nothing, but he carried her gently all the same, cradling her to his chest as if protecting her from the world he moved through. It would have angered him had he realized it. But he didn’t and no one said a word. 

Darla, soggy and forgotten in the street, angrily sat up and followed, muttering dire threats to the blonde, as yet unidentified girl, in her lover’s arms.
~~~~~~~~~~
The final time Buffy regained consciousness that evening she was laying in a huge bed atop soft, soft blankets and surrounded by more pillows than she had ever seen in her life. With a faint groan of fading pain she sat up and looked around. The first thing she noticed was not the fact that she was all but naked atop the bed, clad in nothing but undergarments she didn’t remember wearing – ever – but that guarding over her, if that was the right word, was Spike.

Whom she was positive had bleached blonde hair not the soft light brown locks that currently fell about his shoulders, making his handsome face look softer than the slicked back locks did. Who also, if memory served, was not in her room, which this didn’t seem to be anyway, and… 

“Where am I?” 

Her voice startled the vampire, who was listening with half an ear to the argument going on two rooms away and not paying all that much attention to his charge. Turning to look at the prize that sat in the bed, he couldn’t repress a smirk. It was a gesture he’d seen Angelus do countless times and one he hoped he emulated perfectly. It was hard to tell with no reflection to practice on in a mirror. 

“Ah, awake I see,” he sauntered over to the bed, eyeing the blonde with an appreciative eye. “Good, good, we have some questions for you, I’m sure you understand, Slayer.” 

Not even bothering to ask how he knew she was the Slayer, Buffy was fairly sure that there was a connection between The Chosen Ones and their prey that announced each other’s presence without words, she just nodded. Very slowly as her head still throbbed unmercifully. 

She still ached and she was more than a little disoriented. Plus she could have sworn that she heard Darla shouting in the background but as Buffy had only really heard her voice once she wasn’t sure. Still, Buffy had had nightmares for a week after Angel had dusted his Sire; nightmares that Darla won, that the vampiress killed her mom, herself…her Angel. Nightmares in which Angel had held her tightly and soothed her fears. 

It was their first step towards a more intimate relationship and Buffy missed that. She missed a lot of things about her Angel. 

Moments later Spike returned; Drusilla, Darla, and…Angel in tow. Swallowing, Buffy tried to make sense out of the scene before her. It wasn’t working and she felt her mouth drop open slightly, her vocal cords trying desperately to remember how to vocalize. 

The four vampires looked on, clearly sensing her confusion but a disturbing lack of fear. Slayer or no, they were feared across the continent; surely she had heard of them. Especially if she knew Angelus by name. 

But all she did was open and close her mouth in a faintly amusing display, her eyebrows rising every so often as if by moving them she could make her voice work. Finally she slipped out of bed. 

This wasn’t happening. Whatever it was, it wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be, because, well, because…because it couldn’t be. Darla could not be before her, Spike should not be with Drusilla, and Angel, her Angel should not be…oh, God. 

“Okay, I’m a…little…con…fused.” She was staring at the four that crowded into the room with something approaching wide-eyed fear. But she was the Slayer, if not the one from wherever she was currently supposed to be if these four were together – and alive in Darla’s case – and well, dressed like that. Buffy refused to feel the fear that threatened to claw at her, let alone show it. 

She’d faced worse and won; she was the Slayer, she had the powers of All the Slayers running through her and wasn’t going to let a little thing like her haunted past get to her. The First Slayer had said that she was strong, that she was powerful. Buffy believed that and wasn’t going to let a little thing like this, throw her. 

It was throwing her. 

“You’re,” She pointed to Spike…William? “Neutered and bleached, you’re” Then at Drusilla, “In Brazil with a chaos demon or slime or something, you’re,” Her finger trembled when it fell on Angel…Angelus?…and her voice cracked but she went on. What the hell? “In LA and unless I miss my guess or you’ve been screwing someone else, are not you, and you,” Then to Darla, “Are, thankfully, dead.” 

William snickered slightly at that but Drusilla shushed him. 

Needless to say, Angelus was confused. He had never seen this woman before in his life; he certainly would have remembered someone as captivating as she, Slayer or not, yet she claimed to know him…and the rest of his traveling party. Still, there was something familiar about her… 

She had to be the one from his dream; there was no other explanation for it. She was the one and now that he’d found her, Angelus wasn’t about to let her go. No matter that she was the Slayer, no matter how she got here, why, any of that. She was his, and he intended to keep her. 

“Right,” Buffy mumbled when no one said a word. “And the only thing that would make this day 100% better would be the entrance of the Master.” Then, because she said the words aloud and had probably just jinxed herself, she looked into the eyes of the only man she had ever truly loved. “Um, he’s not here, is he?”

“Who?” Though he had heard her perfectly, he didn’t understand most of what was going on himself. And she had a strange way of speaking that he understood, mostly, but not entirely. Angelus didn’t think it was him. 

“The Master, Nest, whatever, he’s not here, is he?” She really couldn’t handle that right now, not with all of the rest of…this. 

“No,” Angelus answered with something very much like a smirk on his face, “He’s in New York now.” 

“Oh, well, good then.” Though Buffy had no idea what was ‘good’ about this situation. Or, for that matter, where they were in relation to New York. 

Angelus walked forward, looking intently at her. A faint sneer graced his face, indicating that no matter how captivating he found her to be, she was still the sworn enemy of he and his race. Sworn enemy or no, his body responded to her like no other and Angelus wanted to bury himself in her heated core. 

“And you are? Or should we refer to you as ‘Slayer’ until we kill you.” 

Oh, right. These people didn’t know who she was despite the fact that she knew them. Her life was entirely too weird, even for her. And at Angel’s – Angelus’ – words she was suddenly and forcefully reminded of her duty. And the last time she had had to choose that duty over the life of her lover. But this wasn’t the same man. 

This wasn’t the same man; Buffy just had to keep repeating that to herself. It probably wouldn’t work, but it was good to keep the hysteria at bay. And the fear. The last time they’d met, Angelus had tried to kill her, had nearly succeeded. Had tried to open Acathla and bring hell to earth; had nearly succeeded at that, too. 

Buffy couldn’t let that overwhelm her, it would cripple her and she had to be strong. She was surrounded by four of her greatest enemies with no backup, no plan, no idea where she was, and no way to summon help. She couldn’t let her fear of Angelus get to her. And she couldn’t let her love of Angel – the being he was to become – immobilize her, either. 

“Oh, right, Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer,” Buffy answered cockily, letting her Slayer senses take over and her well-honed quips take flight. “And you really don’t want to kill me.” 

“Why not?” An eyebrow winged upwards and he looked so much like her Angel that Buffy physically had to hold herself back from running into his arms and holding him until her world made sense again. 

“Because I really don’t belong here.” 

Just then, Drusilla giggled and everyone’s attention focused on her. “She’s right, she’s the one…can’t kill her, she’s the one, can’t kill her, can’t kill her.” 

Darla, though, didn’t care. She wanted the Slayer dead, no matter what anyone else said. She was extremely possessive towards Angelus and didn’t care at all for the way Buffy had thrown herself into his arms despite the fact that she had been unconscious at the time…nor for the way he kept looking at her. 

He never looked at Darla, like that.

And what did the loony bitch Drusilla know? The moon and the stars, ha! William only went along with his lover and he worshipped Angelus, so he would be of no help. No, it seemed that killing the bitch – Buffy, not Drusilla – was up to her. So be it, then. 

Taking one-step forward, she suddenly stopped. She couldn’t very well kill her now, with everyone crowding around the Slayer like she was the sole salvation for the vampire race. Which was somewhat funny, considering she was the Slayer. No, Darla could wait. Shouldn’t have to wait too long, none of her little family had patience to last more than a day or two with the Slayer. 

Then she’d make her move.
~~~~~~~~~~
Track A in Track B
London, England
1885 

Angelus was confused. 

The petite woman before him obviously knew who he was and yet wasn’t afraid of him. Which in and of itself was a tad disconcerting, but certainly wasn’t going to stop him from killing her; she was the Slayer. She was Prey. Well, maybe it did give him pause, just a little mind, but enough to save her life for another day. 

He couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that he wanted, had dreamed of, a Slayer. Were the Powers toying with him? Was this a big cosmic joke of the Fates? The one woman he wanted more than anything happened to be the one he couldn’t really have. But why? Why couldn’t he? He wanted her; it was as simple as that. He wanted her and Angelus was going to get her. 

There’d be no killing until and unless he said so and the more he was around her, even in this limited capacity, the more he wanted her. 

Slayers were generally unafraid, it was true, they wanted the peaceful release from such a harsh life they were born to and only death offered that. They fought every day knowing this, accepting this. But the woman before him was different. She was unafraid even though she seemingly knew who he was, his reputation, his deeds and actions over the last century. And yet she was afraid, in fact, she seemed more afraid of the situation she now found herself in rather than the people surrounding her. 

Angelus had no idea how he knew this, but he did, just preferred to not dwell on that too much. 

Crossing his arms over his chest and looking as menacing as he possibly could, which was saying a lot, all things considered, he glared at the young woman glaring back at him. He found that amusing, too, as he couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with anything other than fear, hatred or lust. Or a combination of the three. 

There was something hidden just underneath all that hostility, all that calm confidence, the knowledge that she knew she as in no danger and that even if she was, she could more than handle herself. He just couldn’t place it what that other was. 

They had found four stakes on her, carefully hidden in every space available, and two more strapped to her legs with devices he had never seen before. They appeared to be snaps of some type, but he had never seen metal ones and never ones such as these. Prepared, to be sure. But what he, indeed they all, found the most interesting was her mode of dress. 

The contraption that fastened her clothing was again unlike anything he had ever seen; it looked like a miniature version of the hook and eye that adorned women’s clothing, but was metal and opened and closed in a vertical way much faster than anything he had ever seen. And the material was not like any fabric with which he was familiar, it was harsher, coarser; the corset was missing, the style was out of date by at least twenty years and her underclothes, if you could call them that, were…flimsy; there just wasn’t a lot there. 

And then there was the mark adorning the right side of her neck. 

“You have been bitten before.” It was a statement, harshly delivered but he took a step forward as if he could see the answer in her eyes. No vampire bit a Slayer and allowed her to live. No one, that is, unless she was the vampire’s mate. 

Indeed, he could see something in her eyes, but the flash of…recognition? Pain? Longing? But it was too quick for him to accurately identify; it made him want to know more, why, how. Who. 

Instinctively Buffy’s hand went to her neck, fingers lightly touching the scar that marked her there. “Yes, I have.” There was so much she didn’t understand here, but she was unwilling to give away too much detail about her life. Especially with Darla glaring at her like she wanted to pull her apart, limb from limb. 

Since Buffy felt the same way, she couldn’t exactly blame the vampiress. 

“And yet you live?” 

Swallowing, Buffy nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from him. “It was…different than…a kill.” Which would have made it not a kill, obviously, but her brain still wasn’t functioning on all neurons. 

“By whom?” Angelus was still looking at her, but the glare had softened into one of speculation. The question, however, was from a very much glaring Darla.  

Shooting an annoyed frown at the older vampire, Buffy spat, “My lover, grandma.” 

William grinned at that, loving this. He was standing behind Darla and she couldn’t see; probably just as well for him. Drusilla said nothing, merely continued to hum to herself. But Angelus…the faintest hint of a smile adorned his handsome face. Even when Darla growled at him he continued to smile that sexy little half smile, ignoring her reactions. 

Naturally, Darla didn’t appreciate that and stalked forward. “I’d watch that mouth of yours, little girl. I’ve been around for far longer than you ever will be and I shall live on longer than you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. But in your case I know this to be factually untrue.” She was too tired for this, yet knew that she’d never be able to sleep with these four in the same town, let alone in the same house as she. Her bravado was quickly turning into exhaustion and all she really wanted to do was curl into Angel’s arms and sleep. 

Of course, he was most definitely Angelus and that would just never work. 

“Look, I just have one question. Where am I?” 

Drusilla laughed again, floating forward. “London, my pet, you’re in London.” 

Refusing to ask how she came to be on almost the literally the other side of the world, she asked the other question that plagued her. “And what year is this?” 

Again, it was Drusilla who answered, seeming not finding anything wrong with these questions. “It’s May 25, 1885, deary.” 

Buffy refrained from a snarky comment and just looked at the faces surrounding her. Well, she did live on the Hellmouth and time travel certainly wasn’t the most surprising thing she had ever experienced, though it certainly was right on up there. It was all almost too much, yet she knew they wouldn’t let her rest until they wanted her to. And all things considered, that would probably be when she was too tired to even know when they attacked.

”Look, I don’t belong here. I mean I really don’t belong here.  Not in this town, not in this country, not even in this time, as crazy as I am sure that sounds.” Buffy wasn’t sure it was best to tell them all this, but if she had any hope of returning to her own time and place, she needed help. Even if it was from the beings before her. “So if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll just be on my way…back.” Even if she had no idea how to accomplish that. 

Under her breath, though she knew they could probably hear her, Buffy mumbled, her eyes still locked with Angelus’, “Stupid costume. I knew I should have listened to Willow. Stupid Riley and his stupid bright ideas. Doesn’t he know what happens in Sunnydale?” 

She had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, she couldn’t back up, the wall was there and the window several feet too far for her to jump out of, she couldn’t go left, the bed – the land mass of a bed – blocked her way. To the right was a chair and not far from that another wall, and in front of her were four vampires who really held no love for her. Though they didn’t know that and she wasn’t about to fill them in on such a tidbit, even if Darla still hated her on sight. 

Well, one of them used to love her, or would love her, or a different him would someday love her. But that wasn’t the point. 

Drusilla laughed; a tinkling sound that caused Buffy to stare at her in utter shock. This really wasn’t anything like the vamp she had briefly known in Sunnydale. Which may or may not be a good thing. 

“Oh, no, precious, you must stay here.” She danced forward, gliding past Darla without so much as a look. Leaning in closely, she whispered to Buffy, “You’re here for all of us, my little Slayer, you’re here for daddy.” 

A lance of pain shot through Buffy as her eyes automatically sought Angel’s once again. There was confusion there for a brief moment as he quickly hid it under his ever-handy stoic face. But she knew what he was thinking even if he wasn’t her Angel. And he was just as confused as she was. 

Darla growled and took a menacing step forward, but was stopped by Drusilla hugging Buffy close to her breast. Buffy, for her part, felt downright stupid being coddled by a loony vampire she despised almost as much as the one threatening her. 

Angelus moved to intercede, pulling Darla out the door the voice of reason. And wasn’t that just a laugh? Angelus, voice of reason…oh boy, Buffy thought, this day kept getting better and better!  

“Now Darla, it’s obvious she isn’t going to tell us anything more tonight, let’s just leave her be for the time. Drusilla will take care of her and we’ll start fresh later.” 

This was not the Angelus from her memories. He was rational and clam and…not trying to kill her. Maybe having to occupy the same space as his soul really did drive him mad. Buffy frowned, finding herself strangely sympathetic at the thought that the soul she loved so dearly had driven his demon half insane, causing the destruction of their love and almost the world. 

Too melodramatic, Summers, she thought as she watched Angelus lead Darla and Spike –William, he was still William in this time, wasn’t he? – out of the room. The younger vampire hadn’t said much, but Buffy wasn’t fooled. His silence covered a quick and dangerous mind. Not always smart with the planning, but Spike, no William, grr, whatever! He always knew what was going on around him. 

Drusilla watched her with wide dark eyes, which were clear and lucid, at the moment – maybe the loony vamp wasn’t as loony as everyone believed, Buffy thought – grinning as she led the exhausted Slayer back to the bed. 

“You just lay down, now, and I’ll watch over you. You are supposed to be here, precious, my Angel needs you, we need you.” 

Buffy’s last thought was that she was the one totally insane for trusting Drusilla to guard over her. But she was too tired, mentally and physically, to care. At least if Drusilla killed her then she wouldn’t have to wake up in this outlandish world.

Right?

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