FOLLOW YOUR HEART
by Debbie Nockels
(April 2000)
CATEGORY: Crossover with "Beauty & The Beast"
RATING: R
SPOILERS: Season 4, somewhere after Parker and before IWRY.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, the WB, Fox, etc. Neither do I own BATB or its characters, which belong to Ron Koslow Productions and maybe others, I don't know anymore. The characters of Fleur and Lee are mine. Also, the relationship between Lee and Zach is my invention, introduced in my BATB fanzine Crystalfire III.
SUMMARY: Buffy watches tapes of an old favorite TV show and has an extraordinary adventure.
NOTES: The Fievel song referred to is "Somewhere Out There," by Steve Hall, from the movie An American Tale, sung by Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville.
NOTES2: The poem excerpt that Vincent quotes is from "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" by Dylan Thomas.
________________________________________________________________________
Somewhere out there
Beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me
And wanting me tonight
PROLOGUE
Imagine a man's voice, husky and slow. If velvet could speak this is how it would sound. "This is where the wealthy and the powerful rule. It is her world, a world apart from mine. Her name . . . is Catherine. From the moment I saw her, she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, and her courage. I knew then, as I know now, she would change my life - forever."
Now hear a young woman, her voice soft and warm and tender: "He comes from a secret place far below the city streets, hiding his face from strangers, safe from hate and harm. He brought me there to save my life, and now, wherever I go, he is with me in spirit. For we share a bond stronger than friendship or love . . . and though we cannot be together, we will never, ever be apart."
In the fall of 1987, those words introduced a most unusual television series, Beauty And The Beast. It featured Vincent, wonderfully portrayed by Ron Perlman, a being part man, part lion in appearance, but wholly human in his empathy with, and caring for, others. Abandoned in infancy, he was discovered and taken to a community of social outcasts, discarded children, and others whom the world had hurt and overlooked, who had created a world for themselves in the tunnels beneath the city of Manhattan. It was a community rich in love and laughter and caring, a world where music and classic literature abounded, a world where people could heal. The founder, indeed, the foundation, of this Tunnel World was Jacob Wells, lovingly called Father by the Tunnel dwellers.
One autumn night during his nocturnal wandering in Central Park, Vincent rescued a rich society girl who'd been attacked and left to die. Of course he fell in love with her. She also fell in love with him, but because of Vincent's differences they couldn't share a life together. (Sound familiar?) Their relationship was unique because of the empathic bond Vincent had with Catherine, a bond that enabled him to know what she was feeling. But the bond had an unexpected and chilling consequence. Catherine worked as an investigator for the District Attorney's office, and many times her job placed her in dangerous situations. Because of their bond Vincent knew when she was in danger, and would come to the rescue. But what this meant was that for the first time in his life, this gentle being was forced to kill.
Two and a half years after its premiere, in early 1990, the show was canceled, largely because Linda Hamilton, who portrayed Catherine, left to have a baby and the writers stupidly decided to kill off her character and continue the show without her. BATB was my first TV obsession, the first show I wrote fanfic for, and I love it to this day. I always knew that someday I would bring my two obsessions together, and this is it.
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The flickering television screen provided the only light in the room. "Oh, I remember this part," said Buffy. "I think." The discarded cassette covers beside her displayed the title "Beauty And The Beast." There were three of them; two had already been viewed.
"Cathy? Are you okay?" Nancy cast a swift glance at the shattered pieces of the table lamp lying on the floor, then hurried over to the bed and sat down. The young woman huddled there turned to her.
"No." Tears began falling as she leaned into the bewildered but comforting arms of her best friend. "No!"
Time passed; the two women sat facing each other. " It just tears me apart that we can never share a life together," Catherine said.
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do?" Nancy asked.
Catherine regarded her sadly. "I'm sure."
Nancy looked down at their joined hands. "Maybe it's enough."
Catherine sighed. "But I want a house, like this, and kids. It makes me sad to know that may never be."
The other woman smiled, her eyes warm and sympathetic. "When it comes down to it, Cathy, you have to follow your heart. It's the only thing you can ever really count on."
"I'd forgotten how good this show was," Willow said softly. Buffy nodded. "Me too," she said, then both girls were silent, watching events unfold. The third occupant of the room frowned.
Catherine borrowed Nancy's car, too impatient to wait until morning to return to the city - and Vincent. As she neared the city, her smile grew wider with eager anticipation. In his labyrinthine world far below the streets of Manhattan, Vincent raised his head, sensing her emotions through their empathic bond. He started running through the tunnels. Catherine appeared from out of the mist floating over the ground in Central Park just as he breathlessly emerged from the culvert housing the secret entry to the Tunnel world. She pelted down the hill and flung herself into Vincent's waiting arms, almost knocking him over.
"Forgive me!" she gasped. "Forgive me for doubting. What we have is all that matters - it's worth everything!"
"Everything," he echoed fervently. They embraced, then drew apart, gazing into each other's eyes. Behind them, through the magic of technology, appeared their images in silhouette. Vincent's leonine shadow bent down as Catherine's raised her face. In slow motion the shadows merged in a lovers' kiss, then just as slowly drew apart as the "real" characters once more embraced.
Willow sniffled. Glancing over at her friend, Buffy pushed the box of tissues in her direction. "Thanks." The redhead wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. "That was beautiful - so romantic and sad."
"Yes." Buffy's voice was soft, but something in it caught Willow's attention. She looked at her curiously.
"That was stupid." Anya munched on another handful of popcorn. The other two looked at her. "Well, it was," she defended herself. "I mean, why can't they be together? Just because Vincent's part lion or extraterrestrial or something? She loves him and he loves her - and they've obviously got the hots for each other. I'll bet he's got all the right body parts, so even if Catherine doesn't want to give up her comfortable lifestyle to go live in those musty old Tunnels, why don't they at least have sex together? It's dumb."
"Well, for one thing there's the problem of Vincent getting all ferocious and deadly at times, and maybe not being able to control himself and maybe hurting her," Willow reminded the former demon. "Kind of like Oz when he's a wolf."
Anya rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't hurt her. The writers would never let that happen."
"I don't know," Buffy demurred. "You never can tell with these TV people; they're capable of doing something like that just for the dramatic tension, as they call it."
"Well, did they?" Anya challenged.
Buffy blinked. "Uh - well, no. But they killed Catherine off."
Anya shrugged. "Whatever." She rose from the couch where they'd all been sitting and set her popcorn bowl on the side table. "Xander gets off work in ten minutes. I'm going to meet him at his place so we can have pizza and sex." She walked toward the door, then stopped with her hand on the door knob.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Buffy, thank you for inviting me to watch videos with you and Willow." Her voice was that of a child dutifully reciting a memorized speech, then it changed back to her normal trenchant tone. "But I still think it's a stupid story." She left.
After a moment, Buffy remarked, "Well, no one can say she isn't honest about her feelings."
"Nope," Willow agreed, leaning back. "Kind of reminds me of Cordy." Buffy made a vague sound of agreement. Willow studied her face. "Is something wrong? You seem . . . I don't know. Sad, or, or kind of far off, or something."
Buffy gave her a wry smile. "I was just thinking that maybe this show wasn't the best choice for our girls' night out video marathon. Those episodes we watched aren't exactly helping us forget about our screwed-up love lives."
"Well, no," mused Willow. "I guess not. But on the other hand, it is an escape of sorts - I mean, 'Beauty & the Beast' is fantasy, not real life."
"True," Buffy concurred. "But this particular fantasy is a little too close to my life."
Willow looked surprised, then nodded sympathetically. "Oh. I hadn't thought about that. You're right, though. Two star-crossed lovers who can't be together because the guy isn't human."
"Right. Vincent is - well, whatever he is - and Angel's a vampire. Angel can't walk in direct sunlight without frying. The sun won't harm Vincent, but if anyone sees him he's in danger of being captured and tested like a laboratory rat - so he only ventures outside at night too. Even though they're completely different beings, there are so many things about them that are similar."
Suddenly Buffy gave a short laugh. "Do you know, there's even an episode where Vincent talks to Catherine about all the things he can't do for her - like walking in the daylight with her, or giving her children, or being together. A normal life." She smiled bitterly. "Sound familiar?" Her eyes were shiny with tears.
Willow put an arm around her shoulders. "Buffy, don't do this to yourself. How long do you think you and Angel would have been happy if he had stayed here? I've seen the longing in both your eyes - "
She stopped, frowning. "Or do I mean all four of your eyes?" She thought for a second, then shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, every time you were together it was like a fire blazing. How long would it take before your need for each other became unbearable, to both of you?"
"I don't know, Will." The look in Buffy's eyes caused Willow's heart to twist. "But I'm beginning to think that anything would be better than this . . . emptiness inside me. What was it that Catherine's friend told her? ‘You have to follow your heart; it's the only thing you can ever really count on.' "
Willow got a pained look on her face. "Yes, but if you follow your heart, Angel will turn all evil again. I can't follow you two around calling his soul back every time you make love. He'd begin to feel like a yo-yo."
Buffy couldn't help but laugh at the image this presented: Willow, hovering in the shadows with her magicks bag, burning her incense or herbs or whatever, and chanting as rapidly as she could in order to keep Angel's soul safe. She gave her friend an affectionate hug and rose from the couch. "Okay, the night's still young, but I think we better watch something mindless and silly now. How about a Leslie Nielsen movie?"
"Yeah!" Willow brightened. "Do you have 'Dracula: Dead And Loving It'? That's my favorite. And then maybe one of the Monty Python's?"
"You got it." Buffy found the correct tape and for the next ninety minutes they laughed themselves silly over the Mel Brooks spoof.
THREE HOURS LATER
Out on the doorstep Willow turned, burrowing in her bag for her car keys. "Are you sure you don't want me to sleep over? I mean, with your mom being out of town and all. You don't mind being alone? Or you could come to my house and stay the night, or we could go back to the dorm, although actually my parents wouldn't be very happy if I did that, but you can still sleep over at my house." She paused for breath.
"I'll be fine, Will," Buffy reassured her, grinning. "I promise not to invite any vampires in." Willow didn't seem convinced, but she gave up, probably because she knew the futility of trying to persuade Buffy to change her mind. They said goodnight, and Buffy watched as Willow got into her car and drove away.
She stood in the doorway awhile, breathing in the night air and listening to the leaves rustling in the breeze. The night was clear and warm. Only a few clouds drifted across the twinkling stars. Buffy smiled, remembering how fascinated she'd been when they first moved to Sunnydale. Living amid the obscuring bright lights of the Los Angeles area, not to mention the smog, she'd almost forgotten what stars looked like. Tonight they sparkled and burned like millions of tiny penlights in the midnight sky.
Angel loved the stars too. Buffy's smile faded as a certain memory rose: She and Angel lying on a blanket in Sunnydale's oldest cemetery, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. The stars overhead were blazing brightly, and Angel was attempting to show her some of the constellations. The Big Dipper was easy, as was Orion's Belt; but for the life of her she couldn't make out Orion himself, or either one of the Bears. She'd jokingly accused him of inventing them all just to make her feel stupid, and couldn't he think of anything more interesting to do? He could, and proved it until they broke apart gasping from their rising passion. That night was the first time she'd felt his erection harden against her body. The first time, but not the last.
Buffy blinked back tears. That had been only a couple of months before her seventeenth birthday had proven beyond doubt that Hell on earth did exist. She whispered Angel's name into the night, and wondered if by any chance he was thinking of her that minute and missing her as much as she missed him. Maybe he was even looking at the same stars . . .
Okay, Buffy, this is beyond pathetic. Snap out of it before you start crooning that maudlin Fievel song to yourself! Catherine Chandler wouldn't act like this, would she? No, she'd stiffen her upper lip and go do something positive instead, like hunting down a bad guy. Hey, that's a great idea. I'll go patrol again, and work off some of this angst by killing vampires.
Buffy stepped back into the house, making sure the door locked behind her. She and Willow had cleaned up their mess, so that was all taken care of. Running up to her bedroom, she changed into patrol garb, gathered up her bag of tricks, and exited via her usual route - through the window. Once her mother had found out about her being the Slayer there really was no reason to keep using it, but it had become habit. Also, the neighbors were less likely to see her leaving and to wonder where she was headed at that hour. Assuming that any of the neighbors were still up, that is, which was pretty unlikely. This neighborhood hit the sack pretty early, for the most part.
Habit must have guided her feet also, for her mind certainly wasn't in charge of them. Some time later Buffy stopped, blinked, and looked around her. It was only then that she realized she was standing in front of the door to Angel's mansion. Automatically her hand reached for the knob. The door swung open and she stepped inside, pulling it shut behind her.
Inside it was dark, of course. Dark and very, very quiet. Buffy shivered, as much from cold as anything. The air was chilly, strangely so considering how warm the days and nights still were. California's "winter" wouldn't arrive until around Thanksgiving, if then. Slowly she moved to the fireplace. Only a scattering of ashes remained in the hearth. She remembered Angel standing in front of it, head averted, telling her he never meant things to go that far with Faith.
Was that when it began to go wrong, she wondered now, when they'd tricked Faith into revealing herself as a renegade? Even though Angel had only done what she and Giles asked him to do, the knowledge of what it had taken for him to convince the rogue Slayer that he'd once again turned evil, however unwillingly he'd done it, had lain in her stomach like cold lead. She'd desperately needed a little time apart from him. He'd agreed without argument, with only one small, quiet, despairing question:
"Are you still my girl?"
Turning, she'd gazed at him, her heart aching. "Always," she'd said, simply and truthfully.
Buffy turned her back on the fireplace. Her gaze swept around the room. Everywhere she looked she saw reminders of their relationship. Through those french doors lay the terrace where she'd fought Angelus in a duel to save the world; over here was the spot where she'd stabbed Angel and sent him to Hell. Over on that wall heavy manacles dangled from equally heavy chains; manacles she'd imprisoned him with to keep him from hurting himself or others in his half-crazed state, after his return. Angel had used those same manacles on her during their masquerade to entrap Faith.
Her eyes went to the entrance of Angel's bedroom, remembering the two of them falling asleep on his bed after an exhausting night of slaying. After a short, refreshing nap she'd awakened to find him watching her tenderly. They'd cuddled awhile longer, and she'd chattered about bringing some of her clothes over and other little plans regarding their relationship, never noticing Angel's lack of positive response, or his increasing restlessness. The next night he'd told her he was leaving Sunnydale. Leaving her.
And then he was gone, and she was left behind with an empty hole in her heart that she tried to fill with the first good-looking guy to feed her a plausible line. Parker Abrams. Poophead Parker, as Willow referred to him, who'd dumped her once he wooed her into his bed. Buffy cringed. God, how pathetic she'd been, letting herself be hurt over that jerk.
"Well, this was a great idea," she said aloud. "Depressing much? What in the hell was my subconscious or unconscious or whatever thinking of when it brought me here? It's way past time for this Slayer to leave and go on patrol."
Decisively Buffy turned on her heel, intending to head for the front door. An unfamiliar dark shape caught the corner of her eye, and she stopped before it. It was the entrance into a hallway, one she couldn't remember ever noticing before - an extremely dark hallway. Maybe there was a bend in the passage, she speculated, and that was why she couldn't see very far into it.
Curious, she stepped into the hall and felt for a light switch. After a moment's fruitless search she swung her bag around and retrieved the flashlight she always carried with her. The round light swept the wall in vain; no switch appeared. The other side yielded the same result; furthermore, there wasn't a single light fixture to be seen. Buffy aimed the light into the passageway, but the thick gloom seemed to swallow it up after a few feet.
She frowned. This was extremely odd, and in Sunnydale oddities needed to be investigated. Besides, something about it called to her, irresistibly. She didn't think to wonder about that, just began walking. Sure enough, after a bit the passage did take a sharp turn to the right. A few feet later she encountered a second bend, this time to the left. Then it veered left again, and after that once more to the right. Then came another right turn.
"What is this, a maze?" muttered Buffy, halting. She shone her light around the walls and ceiling. They looked normal enough. No mysterious devices or sinister portraits with red eyes that followed her progress, no vents for poisonous gas to be released through, or water to flood the area and drown unwanted intruders. Laughing at herself, Buffy continued on. She turned another corner, and suddenly found herself surrounded by a clammy, drifting fog that absorbed the glow of her flashlight as if it didn't exist.
She stopped in her tracks. Carefully she backtracked, both hands outstretched behind her, feeling for the wall and the corner she'd just rounded. One step. Two steps. Three. Where was the wall? Four. Five . . . eight . . . ten. Buffy knew she hadn't gone more than a few steps once she turned the corner, so that meant she wasn't walking in a straight line now. She'd gotten disoriented, which was understandable in this thick fog. But if this was a corridor she should have bumped into the wall on the other side by now. So obviously the hallway she'd been exploring had led to someplace larger and more open. Like a dining room, or a library, or a ballroom.
Or an open pit. Buffy swung the flashlight around slowly, but all she could see was the thick, impenetrable mist. Stay calm, she ordered herself. The worst thing you can do is panic. She took a slow, deep breath and let it out just as slowly, then repeated the actions. Her racing pulse calmed. Using extreme caution she slid her right foot in front of her, testing the flooring for stability before trusting her weight to it. She found that shining the light a few inches beyond her feet allowed her to see a small patch of the floor around them. In this manner she inched forward for what seemed like an hour although it probably wasn't, every sense straining to penetrate the haze.
What was that? Buffy froze in place, listening with all her might. There it was again. Someone - or some thing - was banging on . . . something . . . not too far away. The sound had a ringing, metallic quality to it that reminded her of - of - a hammer banging on an anvil, only this sound was lighter. A small anvil, manned by a short blacksmith? A hobbit, maybe? Shaking her head at her nonsense - what had gotten into her tonight? - Buffy took another cautious step forward. Just as suddenly as the fog had appeared, it was gone. She gaped.
She was standing on a path wide enough for three to stand abreast. To her left there was a wall of stone. On her right - Buffy looked down, then up. She was in a cave. A huge cave; the ceiling was twice as far above her as the floor, and that was at least a hundred yards below, she estimated. The path she was on led down to it in a series of descending switchback turns.
The area below teemed with people - men, women and children. People wearing strange, obviously homemade, clothing, layers of it; people who were laughing and chatting and enjoying themselves. People attending a party. Long tables groaned with food and drink, and somewhere musicians were playing. Dozens of torches set into holders illuminated the scene, and in the background that strange clanging returned. Again, a sense of familiarity swept over Buffy. She knew this place; she'd seen it - when? For that matter, where? She advanced a little ways down the path, cautiously.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?"
The soft, husky voice came from behind her, startling Buffy. She spun around with a loud gasp, dropping both her bag and the flashlight. The flashlight hit the ground with an ominous tinkle of broken glass. At the same time her hands involuntarily raised in a defensive position and she backed nimbly away from whoever had sneaked up on her.
She saw a tall figure wearing a long, heavy cloak that reached down to the ankles. The cloak was made from vari-colored scraps, mostly shades of brown and tan, sewn together with thin leather thongs in a patchwork effect. Beneath the cloak were heavy homemade pants and a thick sweater. She couldn't see his face because it was concealed by a large hood drawn up over his head - for that this person was male she had no doubt. It wasn't just the height - many women these days reached six feet or more. No, there was an aura about the figure that was unmistakably masculine. From within the depths of the hood she caught the faint gleam of incredibly blue eyes. Buffy's hands fell limply to her sides. Her jaw dropped. She stared.
"You're Vincent." The words were more whispered than spoken.
The hood tilted to one side. "How do you know my name? Have we met before?" His voice was beautiful, soft and low with throaty undertones any woman would swoon over. And quite a few men.
Buffy still stared at him. "No," she answered mechanically. Then she nodded. "Okay, I get it now. I'm dreaming. This is a dream, right?" She turned her head in a wide arc, gazing at her surroundings again. "Right. Because this is the Tunnel World and that world doesn't really exist, so if I'm here in it I have to be dreaming. Right?"
She nodded again, then her eyes grew wide with realization. "Or drugged. Yes, that would explain it." Then Buffy frowned. "But when? And who? Willow wouldn't do that, and besides we were sharing the popcorn and soda so she couldn't have. Not that she would anyway. Anya? I know she's not particularly fond of me, but she doesn't really care about anybody except Xander, and she has no reason to do it, besides. I haven't had anything else to eat or drink since Willow left - "
Buffy gave a start. "The fog! Of course, that's the answer. There was something in the fog, some kind of gas or chemical or something that's causing this hallucination." The tall form she'd recognized as Vincent had listened silently up to this point. Now he grew alert.
"What fog?"
Buffy gestured behind him. "The fog I came through a few minutes ago, back there. I went around a corner and all of a sudden there was all this thick mist and I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of my nose. I sort of felt my way along until suddenly the fog just - went away, and I was - here." She touched the wall beside her, running her fingers over the rough stone. Wow, this was a way vivid dream. Or hallucination.
"The fog was this way? Show me." Vincent swung around and started walking away from her. Buffy hesitated, then followed. After a minute she began to get nervous. Shouldn't they be able to see it by now? Vincent stopped, so suddenly she almost ran into him. He moved to one side.
Before them was the fog, a thick, roiling, white wall of it. Vincent's hood turned toward Buffy. "You say that you came through this but you don't know what caused it?"
Buffy nodded, then shook her head. "I mean, no, I don't know where it came from, and yes, I came through it."
"Where were you coming from? How did you know about this place?"
Sensing something behind her, Buffy whirled around without answering. A small group of people had gathered, an elderly man leaning on a cane standing to the fore. "Father?" gasped Buffy, startling the man considerably. Before he could respond her eyes darted to the short, thin man behind him.
"Principal Snyder???" Her voice climbed to new heights of incredulity, then she caught herself. "No, of course you're not Snyder, thank God. Snyder's dead; the Mayor ate him. You're . . . uh . . . Pascal! You're in charge of the communication system - the pipe chamber. Of course! That's the noise I've been hearing - people tapping on the pipes! And you're Mary."
The sweet-faced, elderly woman exchanged perplexed glances with Pascal and Father, then stepped forward. "But who are you, dear? We don't any of us know you; how do you know who we are?"
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Because I used to watch your show on television when I was little. Of course that was years ago, but my mom has all the episodes on tape and I'd watch them with her sometimes, before the whole Slayer thing came along. Plus I just finished playing three of them on the VCR tonight, with a friend. Oh, and my name is Buffy and I'm the Slayer, not that I guess that will mean anything to you."
Her breezy explanation was greeted with looks of incomprehension, also with some wary ones. A low murmur began in the back. Among the undistinguishable sound one voice came clearly. "Did she say her school principal was eaten by the Mayor?"
She turned to Vincent. "You can take the hood off if you want to; I know what you look like. Frankly, I never understood why you were so worried about showing your face to people anyway. I always thought you were gorgeous."
The murmur abruptly died, save for a single gasp from someone. Silently people drew apart to let a woman pass between them. She came smiling up to Buffy. "I've been telling him that for years. Maybe someday he'll actually believe it. Did you say your name was Buffy?"
"Yes," Buffy nodded, studying the woman. Long, light-brown hair that fell straight over her shoulders; a friendly, warm demeanor, the way she tucked her arm through Vincent's . . . It had to be - but how? "Catherine?"
The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, nodded cheerfully. "That's me."
Buffy broke into a delighted smile. "You're not dead! I knew it; I knew you'd come back somehow. It was stupid of them to kill you off in the first place. How did it happen? Were you in a coma or the witness protection program?"
Catherine's green-hazel eyes studied Buffy; her friendly expression grew serious. ‘What do you mean, Buffy? Who tried to kill me?"
Click Here For Part Two