Body

16

Angel's pager went off. He found a vizuphone and dialed in to check his message. It was from Christina.

"Hey love. I just found out my evening class is canceled. Your still working on that case right? Anyway," at that point her hair whipped in her face, "bloody hair, um, what was I saying? Oh, since your probably going to be home after me why don't I cook dinner. Now don't make a face, cause I know you are, it'll be something simple. 'Kay? See you when you come home." She smiled then, as he watched, hung up the vizuphone.

He was indeed on a case. Angel had never quite given up the detective business, though he tended to stay away from demon cases now that he was only human. Somehow he doubted Christi would be happy if he looked more like bruised fruit than himself. However, for the moment it was on the back burner, as the saying went. Right now he was in search of someone who could open the Door between worlds so that he might speak with The Powers That Be. Well, speak with their representatives.

There was the matter of the gift, of course. But that could wait till he knew he could actually talk to them. This was becoming mildly nerve wracking. It was coming to the point where Angel nearly dreaded sleep. It wasn't that he couldn't handle his share of nightmares -- he had been one -- but who wants to watch himself kill his wife? Who wants to feel it as if it were real, not just some weird dream or memory, but an actual living experience? But sooner or later Christina would notice. Angel was trying to protect her which was why he'd purposely not mentioned his dreams of late. Why worry her?

Angel's pager went off again. No vizuphone nearby, he'd have to wait till later to view the message. It must not be too important or else the person would have left a numeric page. Christi was trying to get him to buy portable viz, but he was almost stubborn in his refusal. It was too bad because he was beginning to realize that he'd not be home till much later than usual.

As the night wore on he realized it would be extremely late. Christina was probably becoming annoyed with him. Whatever dinner she'd prepared was cold now. Back in his office Angel phoned the apartment.

"Angel where are you?!" she asked, worried. This wasn't like her. Or at least, she hadn't acted like this since becoming the Slayer. Fighting vampires, demons and outer ghoulies had made worrying over his being late-- as he often was -- minutiae.

"I'm at the office," he replied slowly, trying to calm her. "I'll don't know if I'll be home tonight." He paused a moment, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm just glad you called. I was starting to freak out."

He gave her an odd look, but she didn't seem to notice. "Well, as long as your okay. So I might not be home till morning."

"That's fine," she answered. Christina had visibly calmed and seemed more like herself. "So, how 'bout I have breakfast ready for you?"

"Sounds great."

She smiled. " 'Till the morning," and blew him a kiss.

"Hey, what exactly are you wearing?" Angel'd barely noticed past her behavior although the vizuphone allowed him to see her from the waist up.

Christina laughed. "Just got out of the shower. Too bad your not home." She smiled somewhat devilishly and broke connection.

It was, as he suspected, some time before Angel came home. It wasn't, as he feared, after breakfast. Actually Christina was just finishing the toast when he walked in, exhausted. "This was easier when I was a vampire."

She turned then, walking to her husband. "Aw, poor baby. Look at it this way love," she wrapped her arms around him, "as a vamp, would we do this?" She kissed him with a hungriness that surprised as much as it aroused him.

Angel drew her closer, but she pulled away, keeping him at arms length. "Nuh-uh, breakfast is getting cold and now that I know I'm going to eat it with you I want to enjoy it while it's edible. That and your company," her smile was full of promise.

He groaned.

She laughed.

Breakfast went better than either expect. The sexual tension took a temporary back seat to animated discussion about Angel's current case, which eventually made it's way to Christi's doctor visit.

"Turned out it's just fatigue. Nothing that can be cured with a drug, nothing that can't be cured with better sleeping habits, or so says Doc. Medora. Actually, she suggested that I do more exercise." She laughed, "Isn't that ironic, I'm a Slayer and my doctor tells me to do more exercise." Getting up, she took their plates and dropped them -- carefully -- into the sink.

Angel was nursing his coffee -- caffeine was the only thing keeping him awake. "Christina, your a Slayer, an ex-Slayer. You don't do much real slaying anymore. Your more busy with school and writing, things that have you sitting a lot. You're used to being more active. I think your doctor has a point. And your not eating," he made reference to the food she had been toying with.

She looked back at him somewhat crossly.

"Don't get mad at me," he said defensively.

"Not mad, just...I don't know," she shifted out of the sun coming in through the kitchen window, "I suppose your right. I've even been feeling more alive at night. Symptoms of Slayer withdrawal?"

He smiled. "Just Slayer withdrawal, I'm sure." He came around the table then. "So, no baby," he asked, arms around her

She looked up and back at him, shook her head and said, "No baby. Thought you'd forgotten for a moment."

"Something that important? Nah. Besides, your not eating for two." He indicated the food in the garbage and kissed her head.

Turning around, Christina sniffed at her husband, ignoring the second comment. "Hmm, smells like someone could use a shower."

Angel grinned, "Care to join me?"

"Tonight, darling," she grinned back. "My graduate advisor wants to see me and," she paused, "what I have in mind needs more patience andtime than I have." She nipped his chin. "Go, get clean," she said changing the subject. (How do women do that? Angel wondered.) "I should be ready to go by the time you're done.

"Oh, and Hermione called just before you got in, said to call back anytime this morning."

Angel's "thanks" was muffled beneath his shirt. "I'll call her back after the shower."

Christina barely heard him though. Instead she was busy picking up dropped clothing and mulling over a dream she had. It was interesting in a weird way. Course her dreams were always weird, but this one was weird and memorable. That made it worth telling Angel about, if he cared to listen. If she had time. Well, she could always tell him later when she got home.

A cloud of steam announced Angel was finished. "So," he said drying his hair with a towel, "you're leaving now?"

"No. Actually, you finished earlier than I thought you would. I don't have to leave for a while still. Going to bed then?" she asked, putting away things here and there.

"Why?"

She shrugged, "Oh, well, I had this dream las-"

"Oh," Angel buried his head in his hands "not," fell flat onto his back, on their bed, melodramatically, "another dream."

Christina laughed at his dramatics and bounded onto the bed with him. "It's not so bad, silly. Anyhow, I thought your dream/nightmares stopped."

He mumbled something incoherent into her shoulder.

"Uh huh. Whatever." She leaned up on her elbow, "So, do you want to hear it or not?"

Something else incoherent.

"I'll take that as a yes.

"Okay. So it started here in the house. We were apparently throwing a party for some pretty snooty people. Anywho, I was sitting, crosslegged, on the couch next to some guy who thought he was all that. He was trying to talk to me, you know, get my attention. Like I should know him. Like he was special or some-

"Are you listening to me?"

"Mmf-hmm," Angel nodded mumbling into the bedcovers.

He was listening she was sure. Otherwise he'd be snoring. "So, he apparently thought he was Mr. All That and that I should be worshipping the couch space he sat on. So, you know me, I couldn't let him think he was Mr. Wonderful, especially when you were standing right across from us.

"Okay, here's where it gets interesting. To show the little prick up I decided to let him see just how little he was. I reached over my crossed legs as if I was trying to stretch or something, you know, down to the floor. In the process my body rippled or something," she paused, her stomach grumbling.

"Shoulda finished breakfast."

Christina ignored him and her stomach and continued, "All I know is I made it to the floor without unfolding myself, walked over to you and stood up. Yeah, I know, but for some reason I wasn't standing fully. Anyhow, I stood up and kissed you smack on the lips. It drove the girls who were hanging around you away, which was a plus. So, mind dissolving kiss finished I turned around and Stupidly Gawking Guy and smiled evily, lashing my tail."

"Your what?!" Angel sat up.

"My tail." She grinned. "Told you it was weird. Apparently I'd changed or morphed into a cat on my way to you and didn't totally go back human when I reached you. Guess that means I want a cat?"

He groaned.

"But that's not all," Christi said, ignoring her husband.

Who took the opportunity to groan again.

"The scene shifted to a wooded area behind town--" she didn't notice, but Angel had started to pay attention, "--and there we were, well, you, me, Sonji and Rachel. Anyway, apparently I had fallen into the stream and you guys were looking for me. You thought I would freeze to death. Wonder why. Maybe we weren't in California? Anyway, I did die of hypothermia. I was wearing this crimson muslin dress, almost the color of blood--" Christi didn't notice but when she mentioned the dress she licked her lips as if hungry.

Angel noticed.

"--and it weighed me down. But I wasn't dead. I could hear you all above me, argueing, looking for me, thinking I was dead. I fought the water and surfaced. You guys barely noticed when I came out," her voice had taken on a far away sound, "half frozen, slightly blue. My dress was covered in little icicles."

Angel had gotten up when he first noted her strange behavior, she hadn't noticed. He'd sat back on the bed, wondering if her dream related to his.

"Then you turned around and saw me. You all stopped talking and stared at me." She paused, running her tongue over her teeth.

"I was so hungry. Angel," she looked at him, something feral in her eyes, "I'm so hungry."

Christina lunged for him.

17

"So you're saying she's a vampire," Hermoine asked incredously.

"Yes," Angel replied a second time, "and a strong one at that. How do you think I got these marks?" He raised his bruised arms to the tele-cam and exposed his clawed neck.

Hermoine grimaced. "Yes, those are rather nasty. But are you sure? I mean," she hastily interjected when she saw Angel's look, "if Christina's a vampire what did you do with her?"

"I locked her in the sun room."

"You did what?!" Hermoine asked, outraged. "But, but," she sputtered, "she'll combust! Angel you've killed her!"

"No she won't," Angel replied calmly, "considering she's been in there for over an hour and hasn't so much as gotten a tan."

She was thoroughly confused. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Angel said, shaking his head, "but that's not the only weird thing. Christina doesn't look like a vampire."

"What do you mean 'doesn't look like a vampire?'"

"Well, she's got the fangs, but they're more delicate. But her face is the major difference. Christi doesn't look demonic at all. There are no obvious changes at all, although she does look more feral. And I'm not sure but I think her irises open wider than a humans. I think whatever changes occur are simply less visible than her fangs, which aren't obvious either unless you're close up. But I guess by then it's too late," he added with a grim humor

Hermoine looked awed. "That's amazing. Perhaps she's a new breed of vampire, or maybe she hasn't been fully transformed. Perhaps--"

"Hermoine!"

"What?"

"Hermoine, she's my wife, not some specimen to examine."

She looked slightly abashed. "Right. Quite sorry, Angel. Now we have to figure out why she's not frying to a crisp." Hermoine thought for a moment. "Angel, does Christi still have that carved silver cuff set with lapis lazuli?"

"Yes, but--"

"And does she wear it often?"

"Christina's been known to fall asleep with it on. It's her everyday piece. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Hermoine seemingly ignored his question, "Would you know its design if you saw it?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with her being a vampire?" Angel asked, exasperated.

"Give me a moment and we'll find out." She moved out of range of the telecam.

Angel was frustrated. He was certain Hermoine had gone of to search for something she thought was helpful, but she wouldn't say what or how. Well, at least he could see how Christina was doing trapped in what he'd told Hermoine was the sun room. It was actually a greenhouse added by the previous owners wrapped around the two blind sides of the apartment. For most of the day it was extremely sunny and hot.

And that's where Angel'd put his wife turn vampire. She was still there, sitting wanly it what little shade she could find. The light kept her too weak to to break the greenhouse's heavy door. He wasn't sure when he realized their fight had moved into full sunlight. The realization had nearly finished him. When his guard was down Christina took the opportunity and went for the throat. That's where the claw marks came from.

Christi felt his eyes on her. Slowly she turned to look at him. Her gaze was full of abject hunger. He'd called Hermoine right after locking her in the sun room. Maybe he should feed her now.

"Angel? Angel, where are you? I'm back," he heard Hermoine call through the viz.

He dashed back to his office. "Yeah, I'm right here. Just checking on Christi."

"Oh good, I think I've--" Angel held up his hand.

"I'll be right back Hermoine. I have to feed her."

She wrinkled her brows, perplexed.

"Christina." He paused. Face stony, he said, "She's hungry."

"Oh," Hermoine looked abashed.

"So, you were saying, about the arm cuff Christina wears?"

Hermoine perked up. "Oh, yes." She held up the picture from an ancient tome. "Does this look familiar?"

Angel studied it. "That's the design on the arms of Christi's cuff."

"And it's what's keeping her from frying out in your greenhouse."

"What?"

Hermoine explained. Apparently the symbols were more than decoration, but a simple spell.

"But I've seen vampires with similiar cuffs die of immolation."

"That's because it's the lapis lazuli that makes it work," she said, smiling self satisfied. "It hasn't been a popular or well researched stone for many years. The symbols are better known. Most simply wear them out of superstition, keeping the usual precautions in mind."

Angel nodded, "So if she takes it off --"

"Poof."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Now what can we do about it?"

Hermoine shook her head. "I'm sorry Angel, I haven't figured that part out yet. Give me a little time."

"In the meantime I have an idea," he said more to himself than Hermoine.

"What was that?" she asked.

He waved her off, "Nothing, yet. Just an idea." He took a deep breath before saying, "You keep searching and get back to me."

He was about to disconnect when Hermoine said, "Do you think this has anything to do with what Bishop told me?"

Grimly Angel said, "That's what I'm about to find out."

18

She was older, but either time, or magick, had been kind to Willow. After her retirement she'd taken over The Magick Shoppe in Sunnydale. Being there reminded her of the days with the "scooby gang," as Cordelia had maliciously dubbed Buffy and her friends/teammates. The name had stuck. Now she was the source of magical ingredients for the town's small population of witches.

Oz was somewhere doing something. There's had been an interesting marriage. Oz was simply...well Oz. Except for turning into a werewolf ever full moon it was as much a mystery as ever. He was an icon around town to young rockers starting their craft.

And they were happy. They'd been around the world and seen things most people only had nightmares about. One such nightmare, or former nightmare, walked in her store.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Angel!"

He turned, "Willow? You look wonderful," he said as she stepped into his arms for a hug. "It's been so long."

She smiled up at him, "Oh, not so long. I can still keep an eye on you with a scrying glass."

Angel quirked an eyebrow at her, "You haven't have you?"

"Well," she said cryptically, "not all the time."

"I've missed you," he said smiling.

"Me too. Although it's not like you've been keeping in touch. Look at you, you don't look a day over 25 or 26. Or should I say 250 or 260 years old?" she asked teasingly.

He grinned at her, "Well, except the occasional scry, I haven't heard from you either, and I must say, time has been even better to you." Angel glanced quickly around. "So where's Oz?"

Willow shrugged. "He's somewhere. If not at the back of the shop then maybe at the Bronze."

"Is that still standing?" he asked as she took him around to the back.

She laughed, "It's the best place in Sunnydale to hang out. Or more to the point, it's the only place." They sat down. "So, what can I do for you?"

"How'd you know?"

She smiled in a sad way, "You've got that look."

Angel frowned, "What look?"

"The one Buffy had when you first went bad, like you don't know what to do because the world as you know it is falling apart and somehow you're sure it's your fault." She shrugged in a noncommittal way, "I kind of know the look."

All Angel could say was, "Oh."

"So I'm guessing it has something to do with Christina?" He nodded. "I thought so. What's the problem? What do you need from the shop?"

"Not from the shop, from you."

Willow blinked. "Oh? You need me to work a spell? I thought you were pretty good at that."

"I am," he paused, trying to figure out how to put it to her, "but I don't know how to open the Door."

"You want an audience with The Gaurdians?"

Angel nodded.

"But -- why?"

Shaking his head he said, "I can't tell you that Willow." Before she could protest he said, "Just trust me. I'm trying to help Christina--"

"What's wrong?"

"But I can't get into details. Not yet at least. Not until I know what The Guardians have to say."

Willow had begun to pace, she stopped for and turned to him. "Haven't you been there before already?" Angel nodded. "If I remember correctly, they're a little picky about who they receive and especially how many times they receive them. Are you sure they won't just dismiss you out of hand?"
"I'm not," he shrugged, "but I have to try."

"I understand. Well, actually I don't but--"

Angel interrupted her saying, "I promise to fill you in after I see them Will, but I need to know what they say. I have a theory but -- I don't know." He shook his head. "I just don't know."

"Um, hello?"

In the empty "space" between one time/dimension and another was, well, no one. This wasn't what Angel had been expecting. His first visit came to mind: he'd forgotten to bring a gift, of course Doyle failed to mention he should bring one. 'What, you didn't know?' he'd said and shook his head in a pityingly. There had been two of them, a man and women of indeterminate age. Their skin was gold, blue leaf patterns adorning their bodies instead of jewelry. Most interesting was their choice of clothing. They wored Roman toga's and their "space" reminded him of that time, although it was before him.

And today there was no one here.

"Of course someone is here. We are always here. The question becomes, what are you doing here and have you brought me a gift?"

Angel was startled by a woman's voice behind him. Quickly he turned around and was shocked again. She was wearing his wife's face. The Guardian was dressed in pale yellow and skin held a faint sparkle to it. Her body was decorated with twining vines of gold along the sides of her face and down her arms. But the Guardian's face was his wife's. The only difference was the upswept curly hair.

"Ah, it's you. We've been expecting you and I'm still waiting."

Hastily Angel pulled a plastic case containing a microchip and reader and gave it to her. "Oo, what is it?"

"This chip can hold more information in it than in one human's, or even a vampire's, imagination," he explained. He really wanted to ask her why she was wearing his wife's face.

She smiled before tucking it into a "fold" of her costume. "Now, you have a question of me?

Angel wondered where the other one was.

"I like it, that's why. Does it throw you off balance?" she said answering his first, unspoken question, " and he doesn't like you very much and decided to let me be our voice," the Guardian said, reading his mind and answering his second unspoken question.

"Uh, okay," Angel answered. He cleared is throat before saying, "I'm here for my wife. Something's very wrong with her and I don't know what it is. She's been changed into some kind of vampire, but not." His hands moved futily trying to create out of the air something Angel couldn't explain himself.

The Guardian nodded. "We know what's wrong, but why should we help you? You are no longer our Chosen, we released you from that. Likewise, it is not our habit to simply help any mortal who comes to us foolishly thinking we can solve his problems. We are more than simple oracles, Angel."

He knew this was going to come up. They hadn't exactly been jumping to his aid fifty years ago when he'd asked to be turned back into a vampire. It had been the female Guardian who convinced the other. Now all his arguments seemed to fade into the void of Between.

Empty handed, Angel said, "I don't know why you should help me. All I know is she's my wife and even if you can't fix her you can help me. At least tell me what's going on." It was the only plea he could come up with.

"Hermoine know's what is wrong. Or at least she's close." The Guardian smiled at him. "We cannot 'fix' Christina, but we can help you. Come here."

She walked to window Angel hadn't noticed before, he followed. "Look out the window. What do you see?"

Angel looked. There was a woman who looked liked the Guardian version of his wife. She walked beside a man Angel didn't know. As he watched the man faded from view and Christina's hair straightened and grew longer. The sun set in moments. Christina was suddenly hunched over a man, different from the first, drinking his blood? Angel wasn't sure, but before he could decide their roles reversed and he could clearly see her being bitten and drunk from. "What is this?"

"You are looking at a simplified version of Time, specifically your wife's part in it. In another few seconds you'll see her carrying your baby in her arms and then she will fade from view entirely."

Angel looked back quickly, "What?!"

"Didn't you know?" The Guardian looked him over. "No, of course you don't. Mortals are such ignorant creatures. What you are seeing is Christina almost literally walking across timelines. In some she exists, in others she doesn't. Even in the ones she does exist there are various versions of her. In the first one you saw, she is dating that man, in the second she is a vampire and third she is being killed by her former victim, a vampire. In some you have never met in others you are bitterest enemies.

"You would call these alternate realities. They are both the same. There is even a, how would you put it, Romeo and Juliet like reality in which you are already married and she is not, but you have fallen in love. Some of us have been watching that one avidly.

"The woman you have locked in your greenhouse at home is not in fact your wife. Some time ago the a few realities moved close together through the act of a demoness, but that's moot. Because your wife is a channel for spirits and has had something like this happen to her before the boundaries between her Here self and her There self have become thin to non-existing. Your wife is There and this other woman is Here. In Christina Prime's world you are her sire. Of course the vampires There are radically different from what you recognize," she looked at him, "but you know that already."

Angel looked at her amazed. "And that's what's wrong." He wanted to sit down, and for a moment thought he was.

"But it's not her fault. Remember, there is another Angel and his world is falling apart. Christina Prime is a pawn and pawns have directors behind the scenes."

"My dreams," Angel exclaimed, but by then the Guardian had pushed him back into his own world.

19

Christina looked around. She didn't know where she was and, had she not been full of opiates, she would have noticed her hands and feet were shackled to the floor. As it was, she could barely lift her head. Instead she laid her head down on the cold stone floor and slept.

The sun was setting and Christina was getting antsy. Soon she'd be able to break down that door this other Angel had used to bar her in her weakened state, but not for long. She and Angel, her Angel, had a lot of plans, but they hinged on her success. Christina looked at the bags of -- what were they? -- pigs blood and scowled at them in disgust. She figured at least in this world she wouldn't be reduced to animal bloodagain. It had been such a hard fight against her other self to switch over and he'd been right there! So close and she was so hungry! Why hadn't her other self eaten? Oh, right, she hadn't let her. Christina remembered watching her other self prepare breakfast and soon found herself sick. Maybe it was because she was so close this world's Christi had barely picked at her food. This thinking of oneself in two ways was becoming annoying. Ugh! Why hadn't she just let the girl eat! At least then she could have strung this Angel along till he was at least asleep. And now her canines ached. Christina gently ran her tongue over her lengthening fangs. All her senses were becoming heightened, more so than usual. Her nostrils flared, but the only smell they caught, other than that of green, was the little blood she had left in the bags Angel had thrown her. Now her fangs pinched her bottom lip. Angel, her Angel, thought they were sexy in their deadly delicate way. A growl rumbled from within and her fingernails seemed to ache. They too were slowly growing. Rocking back and forth on her heels Christina idly scratched ruts in the greenhouse floor.

Christi sat awkwardly on the hard floor.

Angel watched her from someplace above in the rafters. She couldn't see him from because of the chains holding her down, but he had an excellent view. How he longed to bite her. He wondered what it would be like. He'd gotten his Christina before she could realize her destiny, but this one was fully blossomed. She was self confident in a way his might never be yet she held that insufferable quality that he figured Slayers in all realities shared.

God, what must she taste like? he wondered. Angel hadn't had a Slayer in decades. Maybe he'd try her out when he finally gained purchase in her reality. Yes. He could save her for his victory party.

Angel grinned wolfishly to himself.

You look around. It is dark, but you can see. So there are benefits to being a Slayer, you think. Whatever has been numbing you're mind and body have worn off. You notice the chains holding you down. It is cold here, but you barely notice it. Like so many things, your body registers cold at a higher (or lower) level than most humans. But you aren't exactly human either. Oh, you are, but you aren't. You're parents are human. Their parents are human and their parents are human, but if you had the time to take your nose out of school books you would see in the line of women -- on your mother's side of course -- is another human/not human matriarch. It runs in your blood, but you don't know that.

Not that any of this matters at this moment.

You tentatively raise your hands. They are weighed down by heavy cuffs attached to heavy chains. You look at your feet, they too are bound. You sigh. How do I get into these things? you wonder to yourself.

This makes you pause. How did you get into this particular predicament? Weren't you telling your husband a story last time you were conscious? Yes. You were. You remember it vividly. You also remember an all encompassing hunger...it is here your memory fails you. What happened?

You raise a manacled hand to your temple and shake your head. It is now that your stomach decides to remind you of its presence. "Yes, I'm here!" it calls to you, loudly rumbling. Absently you scowl at it, trying to figure a way out of these fregged chains.

"Hungry?"

You know that voice. You look up with startled recognition.

"I could hear you from the rafters."

He walks with a swagger and wears a maliciously gleeful smile you have only read about. He grins at you. Are those his fangs?! you ask yourself, but you already know the answer.

What's wrong with his face? But you know that one, too.

"Too bad the only food I have here is only fit for a vampire--"

You stare at him incredously. This can't be him, you're sure. But a little voice niggles at you saying, "No, no, no. It's him all right, but not the one you know..."

"of course--"

your not really listening to him, but he thinks you are. It must be that petrified look that hasn't left your face. You don't notice. Instead you are listening to the little claxons going off in your head. Your mind has finally cleared enough of its pharmacuetical invasion to sound its warning bells. "You should not be here. You are Elsewhere. This is not home, you are Elsewhere," it sings to you in a lilting mantra. You look up at him

"I could always turn you into one."

but I already knew that, you tell your warning bells.