****************** 
Title: Cherub
Author: evan como (evancomo@hotmail.com)
URL: 
Summary: Where Angel's safety is concerned, Cordy uses her 
all to rescue him.

Disclaimer:  the author does not claim ownership to the characters or plot 
development mentioned from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or "Angel".  
These properties expressly belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 
Greenwolf Corporation, 20th Century Fox Television, WB Network, etc.  
Any other characters contained in the original story are the author's. 
  
Historical Note: The action in this story takes place after "Prodigal". 

Author's Note: One day at work, it hit me that I created a story arc 
somewhere along the road and every single one of my stories kinda tie 
together.  That was wild!  So, they're all in here including a couple on the 
storyboard. 

This is the 2nd story in the deliberate trilogy I began with 'Starlet'.  There 
is reference to the Necromonger of my prior story.  If you have not read 
that one, or won't because of its NC-17 rating (it was suggested I rate it 
R, but I'm overly censor-ive), feel free to E me before reading and I'll 
bring you up to speed with the referenced condition playing a major role 
in this story.  This puppy is overly long, I know, so I sliced it almost in half 
for easier reading.  I apologize; but, like 'Starlet', it just ran away with my 
keyboard.  Finally, trust me when I say the kitchen sink does not appear-
I've saved it for the finale.  One 'f' word is included because I think it fits 
the context of the dialogue.  Again, apologies. 

Last but not least, there are two songs that fit this piece, although I never 
wrote with music in mind.  "Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel is the essence of 
Part One and "Take My Hand" by Dido, Part Two.     e.c. 10 March 00  
evancomo@netscape.net 

Dedicated to Charisma with hopes I've channeled her Cordy 'tiger' spirit. 
  
******************  

PROLOGUE:

Date:  Tuesday 21 March 00 

From:  Harriet Doyle <HDoyle@demonseek.org> 

To:    Angel <AngelInvestigations@freeE.com> 

Re:    Notes From Abroad 

Angel- 

Hi!  I know it's been forever since my last check in.  Time is blowing past 
like you wouldn't believe.  Although, after reading the news from your last 
e...  :-( 

I almost died.  Again.  Not food poisoning this go round.  Put my trust in 
the wrong guides.  No time or need to go into it.  I'm OK.  Made it through 
in one piece.  Someone watches over me. 

The necromonger you slayed?  Wasn't the only one left, Angel.  I'm on 
the train from just outside Moravia where I was led on yet another wild-
goose-chase in my search for this "Visioner".  Anyway, there were 
reports of the deformed bite you mentioned.  The Mobrinicz-a quiet, 
gentle breed-claim they've slain no less than 4 since the New Year. 

Over a century, Angel, and suddenly in the course of a few months 
reports of 5?  Where are they coming from all of a sudden?  I dread 
disembarking in Wroclaw for fear of what horror awaits my arrival.  It's 
almost like my search for this illusive prophecy-keeper is more of an 
attempt to open my eyes to what's really happening in both of our worlds.  
You didn't go into detail about the demon disappearances you've been 
hearing about.  Very odd that I should be traveling in this part of the 
world when such news should appear in my box.  Ominous, eh? 

I'd much rather think of Spring than the end of days.  How can we 
possibly hope to prepare ourselves against such an ungracious end?  My 
prayers at night are often the only reason I can make it through the day. 

I doubt I'll be in contact before returning to Paris for my trip home in a 
few weeks.  It'll be good to see you and Cordy again.  This old 
acquaintance you hired sounds wounded, Angel.  Please, be wary of 
him.  Call it farm girl intuition, but a wounded animal is an unpredictable 
one.  Daily world events only serve to remind me how we are all just 
predators beneath the surface. 

Save a plate for me that first Wednesday I'm back.  Putting in my request 
now for short ribs and mashed potatoes since no one in all of Europe 
understands what beef is supposed to taste like and if I eat another frite, 
I'll explode!  All my love to you and sweet C- 

Harry 
  
* * *  

Angel tried to clear his thoughts by concentrating on the roaring wind 
surrounding him.  Contrition and regret weighed heavily on his mind as 
he attempted to separate the definition of either, knowing he'd become 
too familiar with the latter during the previous 6 months. There were too 
many wrong choices for any one lifetime, let alone three; and the most 
obvious one refused to unleash his attention. 

Listening to the rustling leaves of the pepper trees encircling the base of 
the knoll he stood upon, Angel lifted his face to the cloudless sky and 
began to count the stars.  But, their timelessness did little to soothe him 
and he dropped his focus, instead, to the flickering lights of the San 
Gabriel Valley basin. 

Time was so different when there wasn't enough of it--when there was 
mortality to consider.  Especially when it was his own. 

He thought of returning to his car to put his coat back on if, for no other 
reason, to buffer his thoughts against the unseasonably mild evening air-
-a result of the Santa Ana weather condition. The fabric of his shirt 
flapped violently as the dry wind tore at it and Angel stretched his arms 
apart to welcome it, to accept the new possibilities his warming body 
offered instead of lamenting over his increased internal temperature as 
the disease within him took deeper root. 

The faux exhilaration didn't last, rapidly diminished by thoughts he could 
no longer keep at bay.  The vampire was already in the beginning throes 
of his decline, two decades too early. 

And he wasn't prepared for defeat. 

Being productive every waking moment helped to keep him preoccupied, 
but moments spent idle--like waiting for an informant already a half-hour 
late--caused Angel to start thinking about the inevitable again.  And he 
knew he would obsess on the subject until something else could be 
found to divert his concentration. 

A nearby brush fire's scent, carried on the gust, led him to consider the 
earth's ability to renew itself and how, once, it could do nothing to confine 
him.  Now, every aspect of nature served to remind him how soon he 
would return to its grasp.  The trees, the wind, the stars above made him 
prematurely mourn for his existence. 

There was already the silence of his form to remind Angel of what lay in 
wait.  The only sound that proved he had substance at all was the wind's 
resistance as it whipped around him.  "If a tree falls..." he spoke, his 
voice heavily cynical; and he wondered if anyone would notice when he 
was gone or what great feat he had managed to accomplish to prove he 
was even worthy of fond remembrance. 

Another wasted half-hour later, a familiar figure approached Angel from 
the west.  The being crept up the incline at a steady pace, leaning into 
the wind until he stopped just outside the vampire's reach. 

"You're late, Lao." 

Lao considered the comment.  "You're not lying, that's sure.  I have 
things.  Tending to countless needs tonight.  You are only one of many 
before and next.  Shall we do business or did you only stay to scold me, 
Angel?" 

Forcing himself to focus and steer clear of the antagonistic manner of 
Lao, a Fowr'Cedcoruder demon, Angel realized he should have 
anticipated the being was going to be late.  It was one type of 
manipulation their kind had turned into an art form, another type being 
the use of their appearance.  Angel hoped the meeting would be brief, 
preferring to be on his way home to tend to his depressing thoughts 
rather than to regard such a hideous creature any longer than necessary. 

"You have as requested?" 

Angel reached into his barely buttoned shirt and displayed the pendant 
around his neck.  When the snitch reached out for it, Angel leaned away.  
"Do you have my information?" he asked. 

Lao nodded his head, unable to contain his excitement, and held his 
sweaty palm open as he watched Angel undrape the item.  "Hard to 
believe you would give gem away so easy.  How did you get it?" he 
asked. 

Angel teased the demon with the prize, swinging the necklace on its 
patina chain just out of reach.  "Why does it matter how I got it as long as 
we strike our deal?" 

Lao jumped up for possession, smoothing its pearly stone against his 
cheek ecstatically. 

"Now where's my information?" Angel asked impatiently. 

"Sometimes a search requires a journey." 

Angel reached forward to snatch back the necklace, but Lao, anticipating 
the reaction, dropped under his swipe.  Irritated with the rolling creature, 
Angel complained, "I didn't pay you for a riddle, demon!  We had-" 

"A deal.  Angel, just like this one." 

Intuition cautioned Angel as he pivoted around to Lao's new position, but 
before he could maneuver defensively, he found himself facing a trio of 
camouflaged beings.  When all of them discharged their tazer weapons 
into Angel at point-blank range, the metal clips tore through his clothing, 
attaching to his flesh. 

Without an opportunity to protest, fear jolted Angel a mere split-second 
before the searing electricity did. 

Lao watched the legendary vampire's tall frame collapse, then shuffled 
aside to allow the figures to work on binding the capture.  After they 
finished, one shoved a pencil-marked paper at the Fowr'Cedcoruder.  It 
made no sense to him and he said as much. 


The voice, human by sound, was condescending.  "Take what you can 
get, demon.  If it's not enough perhaps you'd like to go on a trip with your 
friend, here.  Otherwise, don't you have other deceptions to attend to?" 

Stepping further away while bobbing his head, Lao pressed, "what will 
you do with him?"  Although wary, his curiosity was piqued.  But that 
curiosity remained unappeased as the hunters ignored his question while 
hoisting their prey between them to disappear into the hissing thicket of 
trees. 

-0- 

"Well, we've got his car back," Wesley stated as he walked into the 
offices of Angel Investigations.  He waited for his co-worker, who was 
staring at her computer screen, to acknowledge the information.  "Did 
you hear me, Cordelia?" 

Cordelia reread the topics of Angel's e-mail.  Most of the senders were 
unfamiliar to her, but she stared at 'HDoyle's' name in earnest.  She 
wanted to open the file in hopes that Harry knew something of Angel's 
whereabouts.  But, the letter was sent the day before Angel's 
disappearance eight days before and Cordy respected his privacy.  
Besides, she always enjoyed when Angel read Harry's mail to her; she 
liked to listen to him read. 

"Go on." 

Wesley, disheartened by Cordelia's unenthusiastic response, continued.  
"Like I said we have his car back.  It was in Alta Dena next to an empty 
field.  No signs of anything out of the ordinary.  Just as if Angel drove it 
there, parked, left his coat and walked away." 

"His coat?" 

"I don't know what else to tell you but it seems as though Angel has 
vanished into thin air." 

A shiver traveled the length of Cordy's spine as she listened to news that 
even Wesley's British accent couldn't make less dismal-sounding.  
"Vanished into thin air' was not a good euphemism to describe the 
disappearance of vampire.  The news visibly disturbed her.  Angel's 
safety, rather than his role as her sole means of financial security, 
seemed at stake. 

"I've got to find him." 

"If I've already checked every resource at our disposal, Cordelia, and, 
you haven't had a Vision since before Angel left, maybe-" 

Cordelia cut Wesley's comment off with a cutting glance.  "Why was his 
coat in the car?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Angel's coat.  Why was it in the car?  Isn't that a clue?  He always wears 
his coat.  You know, it's his crime-fighting fashion statement-the vampire 
in his menacing black coat.  Oooooh, he's big, he's bad, he'll kick your 
ass...  Why are you looking at me like I'm not speaking English?" 

"Oh, my God.  You don't know." 

"Know what, Wesley?"  Agitated she asked, "what did Angel tell YOU?  I 
had a pact with Doyle that maybe I forgot to clue you in on.  NO secrets." 

"I thought because you two were so close he had already discussed it 
with you.  I never figured he'd talk to me, seeing as I actually have the 
background to deduce the one plus one-" 

"WESLEY!" 

Wesley bowed his head against her regard.  He took a deep breath and 
exhaled slowly.  "Did I mention that I got us part time jobs?  You know, to 
help out until Angel returns?  Actually, I got you a full-time position since 
you don't really need to be here-" 

Cordelia rose and walked to Wesley, raising his chin to stare down into 
his clear grey eyes as if the answer was streaming across his irises.  
"What are you not telling me?  And why would we need jobs when we 
have jobs already?" 

With her hand on his face and her own so close to his, Wesley 
considered his best option out of two-to steal a kiss or break Cordy's 
heart.  He fantasized she would throw her arms around him to let him 
console her.  But, experience had taught him Cordelia's behaviour was 
unpredictable, at best.  She didn't see the world the way everyone else 
did and he envied her that ability. 

"Angel's decline.  It started.  Maybe a couple of weeks ago from what I've 
been noticing."  He thought, for a moment, he would have to explain the 
situation completely but the crushed look on her face told him 'no'.  
"That's why his coat was in the car and why I believe he may have gone 
into that field to meet the sunrise, Cordelia," he added softly. 

"Nuh-uh!  You're wrong, Wesley. Angel just wouldn't have dusted himself 
without a note or something.  That's not what happened.  He's still gotta 
be his version of alive, somewhere."  She walked back to her desk and 
plopped into her chair, shaking her head deliberately.  "I knew I shouldn't 
have been so mean.  I was really trying to do right by Angel because he's 
been THE BEST!  Trying to curb my ugly ways; REALLY trying to be, 
like, nice and sympathetic and listen to my fellow man wannabe.  But, I 
blew it again and this is payback if he's not OK.  You would think I could 
learn my lesson and the whole cycle would stop, but it just keeps going 
and going.  I wish they would just take it out on me instead of the guys.  
First my Dad, then Doyle and now Angel.  I'm like a curse-a nasty 
attitude curse, like the Scourge in fake Anna Sui." 

Cordelia pushed the file folders from the center of her desk and crossed 
her arms in front of her.  "I'm sorry already!" she called out to the ceiling.  
"Stop taking it out on everyone else!  It's MY fault, not theirs!"  She 
sighed heavily before lowering her head.  "He's just gotta be OK." 

Wesley was confused.  "Cordelia, I hope you're not inferring that you 
think you're personally responsible for whatever has happened to Angel.  
Who do you think is holding you accountable?  And, for what possible 
reason?" 

Cordy peered up at Wesley through a lock of her dark curly mane and 
sighed again.  "I'm mean, right?" 

"You can be argumentative, but you're not deliberately mean.  It's your 
personality trait and I've come to accept it, just like Angel has.  In fact, I 
think that he rather adores your personality.  You're just a high-spirited 
young lady who is used to a certain level of-" 

"Put the edit on, Wesley.  Basically I'm a bitch who wants everything her 
way." 

"That's not what I was trying to explain." 

Cordy sat up and rolled her chair against the window, squinting out of the 
blind at the bright midday sun.  "What if something happened where he 
got hurt and I wasn't there to get him to safety?  What if he burned up 
because of that?  Or if some goony demon staked him in a fight cause I 
wasn't there to warn him to watch his back?  Or he was driving-when I 
could have been driving-and a semi cut in front of him and he got his 
head lopped off on impact?  There's all kinds of dangerous things out 
there I could be protecting him from instead of going out with my friends 
or shopping or going to have yet another cup of coffee.  Does anyone 
need to drink THAT much coffee?  Maybe I'd have a sweeter disposition 
with less caffeine in my system." 

Wesley, baffled, stared at Cordy before responding.  "You've seem to 
have given Angel's safety a great deal of consideration." 

"Yeah, well, Wesley. He's not The Amazing Indestructo, you know." 

Silently agreeing with her assessment, Wesley realized that not of those 
thoughts had crossed his mind since reconnecting with Angel, falsely 
assuming his employer's immortality was inclusive.  "All that aside, 
Cordelia, listen to yourself.  You accepted all this responsibility for Angel 
that wasn't yours to take.  I certainly don't believe he expected you to 
give up your entire life to be his nursemaid because, frankly, he didn't 
need one.  Just because you were his Messenger for The Powers That 
Be didn't mean that every aspect of your life had to revolve around him." 

Cordelia, puzzled, looked at Wesley. "Is that what I said?" 

Wesley nodded and walked over to her, taking a seat on the edge of her 
desk before crossing his arms.  "I think it would be in your best interests 
to take this other job-" When Cordelia began to protest, Wesley put up 
his hand and finished speaking.  "Just to distance yourself from this.  If 
Angel is back tomorrow morning, GREAT!  But, if he doesn't return for a 
couple weeks or...  Ever.  You need to occupy yourself with something 
else.  Maybe you could begin to lead a normal life.  You know, demon-
free." 


"But..." Cordelia reached under her desk and lifted her bag from the floor, 
begrudgingly taking the paper from Wesley's hand.  "So, what about A.I. 
in the meantime?  What happens to the business?" 

"Well, I'll keep the doors open part-time and handle the cases I can. The 
two of us can meet once or twice a week to go over how the business is 
running.  Let's just consider this a partial shutdown until Angel returns.  
And, in the meantime, we should both start considering our options in 
case he doesn't.  Deal?" 

-0- 

Angel tried to concentrate, but his mind was reeling.  If he had to guess 
how long he had been in captivity, his body led him to believe it was over 
a week.  Curled in a fetal position on the linoleum floor of his cell, his left 
arm cuffed to a chain bolted into the concrete wall, he shook 
uncontrollably.  Any number of toxins had been introduced to his system 
throughout the duration of his imprisonment, the most recent ones 
charging up to be expelled. 

Having been close to death any number of times over his two-plus 
century existence, Angel knew he wasn't dying.  Yet.  He couldn't recall 
ever having been so miserable, though. 

He was vaguely aware of the form in the cell with him--human by scent--
who tossed a bucket of water over his filthy body.  The sudden dowsing 
caused Angel to convulse and he vomited again.  Trying to lean away 
into a less uncomfortable position, the length of his tether left him little 
option other than to edge closer to the wall as the attendant swabbed the 
floor. 

"You'll have to feed," the orderly stated.  "Do you want it now?" 

Angel drew his knees to his chest.  When he looked into the face of his 
captor, the man laughed at him disdainfully.  Trying to speak, Angel 
found himself unable to. 

"I don't know what you're trying to say, demon, but all I need is a 'yes' or 
'no' and you can do that with a nod of your head.  Feed?" 

Angel struggled against another wave of nausea, only to fall back into 
the deep black of unconsciousness that had become his sanctuary. 

"He's out again?" a female voice called from the doorway. 

The attendant stepped over to Angel and nudged at him with his Vibram-
soled boot, causing the vampire to slump over with his neck cradled by 
the chain's canopy.  "Out like a light," he replied, unimpressed with 
another vampire, before returning his cleaning. 

The woman tentatively stepped into the room.  Her warm cocoa coloring 
contrasted against the crisp white of her shirt collar and the severity of 
her navy skirted suit.  Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she 
regarded the facilities with a great amount of displeasure, her attitude 
less guarded as her dismay increased and she arched her shoulders 
before striding towards the prisoner. 

Discreetly crouching to study him more closely, she fingered Angel's wet 
dark hair back from his forehead.  The brief contact left an unpleasant 
residue on her fingertips and she rubbed them together while she spoke.  
"I want him cleaned up and as of this minute, he's off of The Agenda.  
The next time he wakes, inform me!" she demanded. 

Carefully, she propped Angel into the corner.  She rubbed the location on 
his neck where the chain left its mark--similar to a bruise-intrigued with 
the slight charge from contacting his bare skin.  Unsure of what of make 
of seeing him a shell of the being witnessed in dynamic fighting form only 
months prior, even in this deteriorated state she could still detect 
whatever it was that made him different.  That 'something' had yet to 
diminish. 

Deep in thought, she ignored the attendant and the video camera above 
the door as they watched her leave.  She knew she was not above 
scrutiny, no matter what her demeanor was trying to convey; but, she 
also knew if negotiations were to be successful, she was well within her 
rights to have Prisoner Angel treated as she saw fit. 

-0- 

"You know, Dennis, you'd think Angel would at least drop a postcard if he 
was going to leave for almost 2 weeks, wouldn't you?  I called Sunnydale 
again last night and no one's seen or heard from him-as if he'd bother 
going back THERE.  I mean there's no reason to, right?" 

Cordelia finished her mascara and looked into the bathroom mirror's 
background.  She waited a couple of beats because, after all, it was only 
polite after asking a question.  The ghost, as expected, didn't reply. 

"It's like his life is here now.  And, I figured he was happy.  But, then, 
that's the whole problem, isn't it?  Having to guess what he thinks about."  
She sighed and capped her eyeliner.  "He started going through this 
without telling me anything, Phantom Dennis.  Nothing.  You know, he's 
always been the silent type-you and he have really got the market share 
on that disorder.  But, he's been way more chatless than usual this 
month.  And he knew I knew he's been avoiding me.  Even on Dinner 
Night.  Nothing.  Like, how do you get more silent than non-
communicative?  And then, Wesley--the stupid-head, wouldn't shut up 
long enough to listen to what Angel's wasn't saying.  Why wouldn't Angel 
say anything?" 

Cordelia placed her cranberry juice drink box in the kitchen trash and her 
cereal bowl in the sink.  Checking her makeup one last time in the 
chrome of her toaster, she listened while Dennis ran water in the bowl, 
appreciative of her tidy poltergeist-just one more 'otherworldly' in her life 
with a penchant for housekeeping. 

She stood by the door waiting as Dennis brought her bag and keys.  "I 
was catching him, you know.  He would be writing and I could just tell 
that something was disturbing him cause he never used to write so 
much.  He was writing and writing.  But he just wouldn't share.  I could 
used to send Doyle in to talk to him, at least.  You know, cuz Doyle was 
such a good listener?  And Angel would open up to him.  Well, kinda 
sometimes.  Writing, he just looked so sad, Dennis.  If you saw him you 
would have seen it in a second and he tried to pass off that dufe grin of 
his like he was just having a snappy time, but I saw it.  I saw he was sad.  
And I should have cornered him and made him tell me why but now he's 
gone and I don't know why he just left me like that.  You know, 
wondering?  He knows how much I hate to think about stuff." 

Wrapping the pashmina consolingly around Cordy's shoulders, Dennis 
tied it in front, just the way she liked it loosely knotted.  She pouted as he 
opened the door. 

"Do you think Angel got tired of me?  That I made him leave?  But it's his 
place, so why would he do that.  Unless maybe he just didn't want to 
listen to me complain-like maybe I would get the message on my own 
and just go away."  Feeling the light nudge as Dennis shuffled her out 
into the hallway didn't help her shake the notion everyone in her life 
seemed to feel that way about her. 

Cordelia didn't like her new job.  There was zero responsibility and she 
was was stuck in a windowless street-level office all day except when 
she went out to lunch.  From what she could tell, the doctor she worked 
for didn't have patients.  He spent a great deal of time with calls on his 
personal line or in the laboratory with his projects. 

Occasionally Cordelia got the chance to exchange an envelope with a 
delivery person but, otherwise, her job duties merely consisted of caring 
for the doctor's pampered cat, Claudia.  The boredom level was 
extremely high, even by Cordy standards, in no way lessened by the 
activities of playing with or feeding the cat and scooping its litter box. 

After two days with Claudia, Cordelia realized the feline could give her 
lessons on a bitchy disposition, leading her to decide ghosts were much 
easier to live with, especially when they picked up after themselves.  
Even demons had better social skills, she mused. 

Even Angel, she noted sadly. 

When Cordy tried to engage the doctor in conversation, he was polite but 
uninterested in what she had to say.  His eyes wandered up and down 
her frame before they glazed over.  He made her feel stupid and 
uninteresting, so she stopped trying to talk to him and buried her head in 
the health magazines stacked in piles all over the office. 

She missed Angel, whose eyes would glaze over because he never 
knew what she was talking about (because his mind was always 
someplace else); and who never seemed to notice she was female 
(because his mind was always on something else).  "Oh, well," she 
sighed, "this is the normal world now, Cordy, so you just better get used 
to it."  After the cat jumped up on the desk and spread out over her 
magazine, she asked, "it's been so long, I've forgotten--why is normal 
supposed to be so great?" 

-0- 

Wesley closed his folder and took another from his pile before glancing 
around at his coworkers, feeling more than a little self-conscious he was 
the only one who actually looked like he belonged in a library.  He 
groaned. 

Still, the freelance job helped pass the extra days.  Angel Investigations 
was a lonely place without its namesake and Cordelia.  The light 
workload kept Wesley busy there, but not busy enough to disregard their 
absences.  In such a short span of time, he had grown overly fond of the 
pair, berating himself for becoming so attached and losing the direction 
in his life.  Again. 

As he categorized the work in front of him, Wesley sought to put his life 
into perspective.  Since leaving for Southern California from the safety of 
The Watcher's Council chambers, his previously sheltered life had taken 
turns he was never prepared for.  He struggled on a daily basis to exact 
some degree of order in his life, but everyday there was some new 
obstacle to overcome or another failure to contend with.  It was tiring to 
try to move forward when all he wanted was for things to be the way they 
used to be.  Not that the past was so great, he remembered, but at least 
it was consistent. 

The year's events had taught him two important things.  He learned that 
continuity was now an elusive creature--almost as elusive as home, and 
he wasn't cut out for the hunt. 

-0- 

Paula 'Mac' McNeal retrieved a pad from her embossed brief case and 
eased it across the table to Angel.  She could feel the defiance just 
beneath his quiet demeanor and took a moment to wonder about the 
thoughts running through his mind, hoping the pad and pen would help 
convey them. 

HOW LONG? 

After underscoring the Wolfram & Hart Law Office's logo, he heaved his 
feelings of contempt and twisted the pad so his perfect lettering could be 
read even though the simple phrase was legible upside-down. 

"Twelve days."  She watched him count back as if he was trying to 
assemble an activity log that would make each day of his captivity more 
real to him.  It made her wonder why vampires were so acutely aware of 
time-as if to lose any of it would invalidate their immortality. 

WOLFRAM & HART IN CHARGE OF THIS PLACE? 

Again, he twisted the pad.  She came around the table and took a seat 
down from him.  Although obviously weak and with his left arm secured 
to the metal chair he sat in, she was trying to remain cautious after 
having read too many reports about careless facility workers that had 
been injured or worse by other vampires who were quick, even when 
seemingly disabled.  Confinement was abhorrent to the species and they 
used any opportunity to provoke their captors into rendering a sudden 
death once escape was determined impossible. 

"No, Angel.  We're a law firm and only a law firm.  Unfortunately, we can 
be accused of conflict of interests, though.  I'm here on behalf of a client 
who wants to negotiate acquisition of an item you have.  Unfortunately, 
another client got to you first for whatever reasons I'm not at liberty to 
discuss.  I'm hoping you can overlook one in favor of the other; although, 
the firm is in the process of creating a dialogue between the two parties 
in order to facilitate a positive outcome for both in relation to you. 

WHY? 

"Rathrachemae."  She watched his features twist in confusion as he tried 
to make sense of her answer.  When he shrugged his shoulders she 
prompted, "prophecy?" 

DON'T KNOW PROPHECY. 

"Then that probably works to your benefit.  You're supposed to be in 
possession of an object with some mythological relevance, so if you 
have it I'd like to make arrangements for my client to purchase it." 

Mac waited for his written response, but he merely stared at her. 

"Well, maybe something to feed on will help with negotiations.  I'll have it 
brought in for you-any type of human you'd like, any way you'd like."  She 
picked up the receiver of the phone on the table and waited. 

JUST COFFEE, THANKS.  BLACK, NO SWEETNER. 

"You realize starving yourself isn't going to change anyone's mind 
around here."  She tried to control her rising temper.  "I would suggest 
you accept what you've been offered." 

He slid the pad to her, accompanied by his brown-eyed glare. 

Mac walked across the room to pour the coffee for him.  She returned, 
offering the cup with a glare of her own, silently chiding him to think twice 
before throwing the steaming liquid at her.  His crossed brows made her 
realize the thought hadn't occurred to him and she placed her hand on 
his shoulder as he began to sip. 

Whispering near his ear, she threatened, "you can't survive on coffee, 
Angel.  The clients aren't in agreement on you yet, so it's in your best 
interests to placate both."  As she leaned across him to retrieve the pad, 
her neck slid against his jaw.  "There.  I trusted you.  Now it's your turn to 
exercise a bit of faith in my client." 

She replaced the writing implements in front of him with her face still 
close to his.  "Let me know what the asking price is for the item in 
question and we'll start negotiations.  Once we complete our trade, you'll 
probably be free to go." 

Angel jerked his head away from her mouth.  Placing the cup on the 
table, he picked up the pen and wrote: 

BURNT COFFEE DOESN'T INSPIRE CONFIDENCE. 

The rage within Paula McNeal exploded as she backhanded Angel so 
swiftly seconds passed before the pain in her hand brought to bear the 
reality of what she had done.  Her nails cut deeply into her palm and her 
throat hurt, informing her the guttural sound she heard had been her 
own.  She stepped back to examine Angel's bewilderment-either from the 
blow he didn't expect or the blood seeping from the cut across his lip; 
she couldn't tell which. 

When he recovered, his sign language was perfectly understandable and 
Mac left the room to avoid his further provocation. 

"Ms. McNeal.  A word before you go." 

Mac tensed.  Incensed she hadn't thought to be aware of someone in the 
anteroom watching her meeting through the one-way glass, she tried to 
regain her composure.  His knowing smile only increased her rage. 

"I realize how versed you are in acquisitions, Mac, but I fail to understand 
how either technique you used was at all helpful.  When, exactly, were 
you expecting the vampire to offer his information-after teasing or 
clobbering him?  Oh, and don't bother trying to find an answer for my 
query.  Just think about your efforts to avoid such mistakes--to improve 
your skills for the future." 

"Yes, Mr. Mercer." 

Mac remained in the doorway as her supervisor swept past her, keeping 
her eyes on Angel.  Her anger gave way to concern as she watched him 
adjust his posture, his movements unsteady and asymmetrical.  His 
attempt to disguise his pain was failing and she moved to the window to 
stare at him, captivated.  The cut she had given him reopened when he 
grimaced before losing control of his body to rapid convulsions. 

Negotiations would have to proceed quickly, she mentally noted, as his 
consciousness slipped away again.  Cursing under her breath about The 
Agenda, she picked up the phone and dialed for Angel's return to his cell. 
  

-0- 

It seemed odd to walk through the corridor of their office building, as if 
she had never been there before even though its musty odor and poor 
lighting were so familiar.  Her footfall pattered against the linoleum as 
she traveled.  She used to close her eyes sometimes and walk the short 
distance from the entrance.  It was easy to do once she focused on 
Angel.  Even before Doyle's kiss... 

Cordy was excited to be back.  Even though it wouldn't be the same, she 
figured she and Wesley could still do Dinner Night.  After all, it was 
Wednesday and she decided Angel would be flattered if they carried on 
his custom in his absence.  As she thought through her list of 
neighborhood delivery services, her taste buds watered for Thai. 

The door was unlocked, but she wasn't alarmed.  Wesley was obviously 
early.  Cordy let her curiosity about their office meeting lighten her mood 
until she walked in and saw him- 

Sitting behind Angel's desk. 

Wesley finished speaking to a man, rose from Angel's chair and shook 
the guest's hand politely before waving his palm towards the door as if to 
invisibly usher him out.  When Wesley returned to the chair, his fingertips 
danced briskly across the polished desktop before he clasped his hands 
in front of him.  A couple seconds later, he noticed Cordelia charging at 
him from the outer office. 

"Cor---"  Her glance cut him off. 

"What are you doing in HERE?" she screamed.  Her blood was boiling; 
she could feel it percolating between her ears.  "You couldn't wait, could 
you!" 

Wesley rose offensively.  He had never personally witnessed Cordelia's 
temper although he knew enough about it from the legendary tales he'd 
heard back in their Sunnydale days.  "I beg your pardon?" 

"Yeah, you're going to beg, alright!  When I get through with you..."  His 
evasive sidestepping as she approached him made her even angrier.  
"You just couldn't wait for Angel to disappear so you could take over his 
life, you worthless--  What'd you do to him, Wesley?  Did you finally stake 
him?  From behind, I bet, so he never saw it coming." 

Wesley's confusion over the accusation was apparent.  "I didn't stake 
Angel, Cordelia.  He... He's my friend.  You know that.  Why would you 
think such a thing?" 

She swept her hand across the desktop, returning it to rest on her hip, 
peering at Wesley condescendingly over her nose. 

"That was a potential client.  Remember how we agreed that this is still a 
legitimate business and..." 

"In case you haven't noticed, HIS name is still on the door."  She leaned 
back to look through the louvre window divider just to verify her 
statement.  "Yep, still there.  Guess you didn't have time to scratch it off 
yet." 

Wesley shook his head vehemently.  "Cordelia, you've got this all 
wrong!" 

"You're soooooooooo jealous!  That little green EnvyGuy just has you by 
the shorties.   You couldn't wait for Angel to be out of the picture.  So, 
when are you moving in downstairs?" 

"I'm not moving..." 

"DON'T YOU LIE TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" 

Wesley, attempting to avoid Cordelia's lunge, lost his footing and caught 
the full brunt of her take-down.  He swatted at her as she straddled him 
and began pummeling him with her fists. 

"I'll have...  Ooooof...  You know....  Ooooof...  That...  Ow!  That hurts!...  
I am a martial art--...  Hey, no fair!  Not my ear!... And I...  Ow!  Watch the 
glasses..." 

Cordelia, disgusted with her adversary, jumped up and balled her fists at 
him.  "Get up and fight like a girl, you weasle!"  Her contempt for him was 
obvious and he cowered against the floor, pinned there by her scowl. 

"What am I missing?" 

Wesley swallowed loudly and looked behind Cordelia to the source of the 
question.  The little man, wearing a scuffed pleather jacket and a 
sportsman's hat considered the situation with arrogant amusement.  
When the man chuckled, Cordelia stood down long enough for Wesley to 
bob off the floor and out of her reach. 

"Whisper!" she exclaimed.  Cordelia's face brightened and she skipped 
past the him, leaning out into the front room.  Her expectation slowly 
dwindled and she returned her attention to Angel's office, her pretty face 
creased by grave disappointment. 

"He's not here?"  Fighting to keep from revealing his own discontent 
when Cordelia shook her head sadly, he wasn't sure he succeeded. 

"Wesley Wyndham-Price!  And you would be..." 

The unexpected visitor suspiciously glanced at Wesley's offered hand as 
he replied, "the guy who just watched her kick your ass." 

Cordelia pulled Wesley by his extended arm and hurled him out.  She 
slammed the door behind him and yelled, "STAY OUT!  THIS ISN'T 
YOUR OFFICE!" 

"Good job," the scruffy male replied calmly, admiration in his voice.  He 
did a double take when he caught a glimpse of the tattoo across the 
small of Cordy's back and forced a rising thought away.  "Angel teach 
you that?" 

Cordelia turned around, a complete one-eighty of the persona who had 
just existed, smoothing her hair and shrugging her top down as she 
replied, "nope.  Hellmouth Basics, One Oh One."  Refusing to be 
distracted, she asked, "Where's Angel, Whisper?" 

He leered.  "Whistler." 

"Whatever." 

"Corky, was it?" 

They began the rematch of their stink-eye contest in earnest, holding it 
for almost a minute before Whistler jerked away.  "Hey, you're much 
better at this than the last time we met.  Getting some?" 

"Got some.  Wrong kind.  By the way, you smell much better than I 
remember.  Keeping up with the personal hygiene actually makes you 
semi-acceptable."  Cordelia was serious as she stepped forward.  
"Angel?" 

Whistler backed up a bit, laughing under his breath, "I LIKE you now," 
but his face was solemn when he finally answered, "we were wondering 
the same thing.  You know, where Angel is." 

"Because you can't feel him either?" 

"Something like that."  Whistler pointed to her head.  "The beacon went 
out?" 

Cordelia stepped into his personal space, but he was too close to the 
desk to back away from her advance.  She lowered her voice 
menacingly, "that's not where WE feel him, PeeWee." 

Whistler backed away from the look she was boring into him.  She was 
scary, this one, as if those hazel eyes really could see everything.  "I...  I 
don't know what you're talking about." 

Placing her palms on his chest, she pushed him back.  "It was Sharpie'd 
all over your face when you found out Angel wasn't here.  Don't lie to 
me..." 

"Then he's dead."  Whistler stated. 

Cordelia shook her head in slow motion.  "Is that what YOU feel?" 

Whistler, uncomfortable with her proximity and the accusatory tone 
bowed his head and shook it in quick strokes. 

"Take me to the Oracles," she demanded.  "I don't know where they are, 
but I bet you do.  If they can speak to me, there should be some way I 
can speak to them." 

"You're just a receiver, Cordy, and The Gift doesn't work like a two-way 
communication device.  Besides, you can't get in the chamber-you're just 
a Messenger.  You're unworthy."  When she moved back, he 
sidestepped the desk and straightened his coat.  He could still feel the 
heat from her touch over the cavity of his chest, trying to fight the 
emotion threatening to erupt to the surface upon realizing how much he 
found her and Angel to be so alike.  The thought scared him, but not half 
as much as the look on Cordelia's face after he told her she wasn't 
worthy. 

"Hey, that guy.  Who's he?" 

Cordelia followed where Whistler nodded the top of his head.  Disgusted, 
she tch'd and replied, "Wesley.  Old acquaintance.  Ex-WatcherGuy." 

Whistler watched over his shoulder as the dejected-looking human exited 
through the front door.  "No such thing as an ex-Watcher, you should 
know that.  You just don't toss off a birthright like that.  Once one, always 
one.  You know, like a demon.  Once a demon, always-" he paused to 
remember how many ex-demons he personally knew and conceded his 
poor choice of words, frowning.  "Bad metaphor, I guess." 

"Big word for such a small fella.  Angel teach you that?" 

When the corner of Whistler's mouth twisted in a half-smile of 
confirmation, Cordy mirrored his expression.  Uncomfortable with the 
moment of remembrance passing between them, they shifted their 
attention to the floor until Cordy again demanded to be taken to the 
Oracles. 

"I don't think they're going to let you in," he reminded her calmly, "but, I 
guess you're going to tell me that you still have to try..." 

-0- 

Wesley waited in the stairwell until Cordelia and the stranger left.  
Surveillance was an option, but he didn't want to do that unprepared.  
Instead, he waited a few minutes just to make sure she was really gone 
before re-entering the office.  Locking the door behind him, Wesley 
pulled down the shade and stopped to take a bottle from the refrigerator. 

Sitting down behind Angel's desk, Wesley leaned back in the chair.  He 
studied the menacing shadows created through the blinds by the street 
lamps as he consumed his beverage in the eerie quiet.  Cordelia's attack 
had come as a complete surprise and he didn't appreciate her sudden 
suspicion of him or her sudden allegiance to a stranger he knew nothing 
about and he struggled to put himself at ease while mulling over his best 
options to remedy the situation. 

-0- 
  

The Oracle antechamber was bright enough to see in, but offered little in 
the way of ambience as the pair's approach reverberated harshly on the 
stone side walls of the room.  Cordelia walked up to the portal door 
instinctively and waited for Whistler to make the requisite offering. 

"It's not going to work, Cordy," Whistler said, his voice filled with regret.  
"That, and we didn't bring a token."  When she glanced back at him 
impatiently, despite his beliefs, he poured a powder into the sacrificial 
basin and torched it. 

Cordelia heard the muted explosion and waited. 

Nothing happened.  She waited longer. 

Still nothing happened and she abandoned all hope. 

Suddenly she screamed before falling as the cacophony of thoughts, 
concepts, and pieces of visions converged on her mind all at once.  
Grasping for understanding of something in the midst of the mayhem, 
she only managed to decipher a whisper. 

Whistler ran to her aid and raised her from the concrete pavement, his 
own anguish matching hers as she grabbed hold of him to bury her face 
in his jacket.  She sobbed uncontrollably and he felt the incalculable 
depth of her agony as if they were one person.  A tear burned the corner 
of his eye and he fought against it and her, trying to break the empathic 
connection. 

Whistler then felt a flutter within his heart--the ember their immortal one 
had placed there blazed for a second and almost extinguished itself--and 
he gasped.  When he looked into Cordy's face, he knew she had felt it, 
too; and that terrified him more than anything he had known in his entire 
ancient life. 

"Don't let him go, Princess," he whispered to her as if the voice he used 
was not his own.  "We can NOT let him go." 

-0- 
  

Cordelia struggled with the office door key, cursing at the lock.  When 
she finally got it open, the door crashed against the wall before swinging 
shut behind her as she ran to the second desk in the front room.  She 
opened every drawer and rummaged around, breathless and near 
hysteria.  Slamming the final one shut angrily, her search unfulfilled, 
Cordy ran into Angel's office to rifle through his drawers. 

"C'mon.  It's got to be here, somewhere.  Find it Cordy.  Where would he 
keep it?  Try to think!" 

She tried the combination to the safe, unable to recall the last number 
and left the dial spinning as she exited into the stairwell leading down 
into Angel's apartment. When the entire descent was made before she 
realized she'd done it without the lights on, she flicked a switch at the 
bottom landing before continuing her search. 

Taking Angel's coat from the leather chair it was draped across, Cordelia 
put it on without thinking.  She put her hands in the pockets and stood 
looking around, fighting her worst fears when her thumb slid into his ring 
resting in the corner of one of the linings.  "I know you didn't," she 
whispered to the apartment, twisting for some direction on where to 
search first. 

The silence disturbed her, as if the apartment had been deserted. 
Angel's record player caught her attention and she lifted its lid, unsure of 
how exactly to make it work; but when she picked up the arm cautiously 
the turntable began to revolve.  Touching the needle to vinyl with 
extreme care, she waited for the crackle to give way to music before 
moving on with her search. 

Disappointed after ransacking the library alcove, Cordy turned her 
attention to the kitchen.  She pulled the boxes and cans from the 
shelves, opened each drawer and even checked the refrigerator.  Her 
search slowed to a snail's pace as she attempted to keep herself 
encouraged.  "You kept it, you had to.  You're too sentimental, Angel.  
Think like Angel, Cordy: you can't let stuff go." 

Cordelia fought tears as she turned on the light in Angel's bedroom and 
stood for a moment before advancing, staring at the bed he hadn't 
crawled into for two weeks, wondering why anyone would want to leave 
such a really nice bed behind.  He had such great taste in linens and 
really knew how to appreciate a high thread count... 

"Focus, Cordy!"  She closed her eyes to clear her anxiety, allowing 
herself to be swept into a song.  Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly 
to the armoire, exhaling as she parted the doors to draw them back.  The 
warm smell of cedar greeted her entry and she smiled, knowing that 
somewhere in the cabinet was the object of her quest. 

Her search slowed as she methodically touched every item in the closet.  
These were Angel's things, special to him.  His favorite sweaters were 
neatly stacked, with tissue protecting their folds.  There were a couple of 
books in the same language Doyle knew bundled in a piece of antique 
lace, tied with a faded red ribbon.  Cordelia had been in the armoire 
dozens of times, but she had never taken the time to actually notice what 
was there or that the essence of Angel was in everything he possessed. 

She dropped crosslegged to the floor to open the bottom drawer.  There, 
nestled between his socks was a mahogany box, it's ornate lid 
comprised of pieces of semi-precious stone held in place by copper 
solder.  Lifting it gently from position, she ran her hand over the cover 
before opening it. 

"Ohmigod," she gasped. 

In there, along with the item she had been searching for, were the 
keepsakes of Angel's life. 

Cordelia took inventory of the items displayed before her.  The odd 
pieces of jewelry, a lock of dark brown hair tied with another piece of 
faded red ribbon, old correspondence.  A pair of glasses, a 
Daguerreotype of a beautiful woman-her hair threaded with silvery 
strands, a genuine E ticket, tokens from around the world.  And under 
the book Cordelia lifted, were single ticket stubs from cultural events 
throughout the century and The Sunnydale High School 1999 Senior 
Class Prom bid entwined with a badly-oxidized silver rosary, a corner of 
its attached crucifix seemingly torn off. 

"OK, Cordy, enough with the walk down Angel's memory lane.  Onto 
what you came for." 

Reclining on Angel's bed, she opened Doyle's phone book.  Taped on 
the inside cover was a photograph of Harry, peeking out from under a 
photo of Cordelia as 'The All-American Girl' clipped from her Zed card.  
She leafed slowly through the pages, impressed with Doyle's meticulous 
printing and his perfect alphabetical categorizations.  Finally, she found 
the number she was looking for, next to a doodle of the company logo-
actually a much better drawing than the professional one she had used. 

Wesley observed Cordelia's phone call.  When she finished, he then 
watched her reposition the phone before replacing everything else the 
way she first found them.  He tried to determine what she removed by 
reaching between Angel's mattresses, but he couldn't make it out from 
his vantage, remaining hidden from her view as she closed the turntable 
and made her rounds to extinguish every light. 

He crouched in the darkening apartment, as he listened to Cordy ascend 
the staircase.  Counting her steps across the office floor overhead, he 
knew when she exited the front door and waited a little while longer to 
make sure she didn't return.  Confident he was secure, Wesley turned on 
a light by the sofa before walking back into Angel's room for the phone.  
The 'redial' option connected him to Cordelia's call and he found out, 
exactly, what she was up to. 

-0- 

"Have you discovered yet if he knows where the object is?" 

Mac studied her subject from the entrance of his cell as he writhed, 
visibly in abdominal pain.  "I don't think he knows what I'm even asking 
about.  As intelligent as he is, he's miserably ignorant about demon lore.  
He'll mumble something about 'The Promised One' on occasion, but 
otherwise..." 

"And now you are, what?  Feeling sorry for him?" 

Mac turned sharply around, her features clearly indicating her insult.  
"Are you mistaking my compassion for something else, Mr. Mercer?  I'm 
not at all pleased with the dismal treatment Angel has received since 
arriving here.  In fact, I still don't understand what he's doing HERE at all.  
This was supposed to be negotiation, not capture.  And, nothing was to 
occur until I returned from Ly˘n, anyway.  Besides that, knowing his 
condition beforehand, why he was even placed in The Agenda is a 
mystery to me.  If you had hoped for him to come around, the torturous 
treatment he has been subjected to has done little to change his 
allegiance.  He is not our ally." 

"Nor was he ever going to be, Ms. McNeal."  The layers of his roman-
style haircut did little to soften Lee Mercer's severe features and his dark 
eyes were cruel when they regarded the topic of their conversation.  "He 
is quite severely progressed," he finally finished, more a comment than 
question, an unfeeling observation. 

"He's already into the second stage of his decline, if that's what you 
mean."  Her dissatisfaction was undisguised.  "What you wanted?" 

Mercer's thin lips curled into a sinister smile as he stared at the back of 
Mac's head.  "You seem to keep forgetting I act in the best interests of 
our client, Mac.  I follow their demands, not my own." 

"And, so now what?  Does the client want him destroyed?" 

He noticed when she began to hold her breath.  "Actually, both clients 
have decided to allow Wolfram & Hart to determine Angel's fate from 
here.  He's unusable to one in his present condition and since 
negotiations have staled for the other...  Set him free, if you wish.  It's 
your decision now.  Since I have a contract negotiation with a potential 
consultant to tend to, I trust you can follow through with this?" 

"Mr. Mercer, a moment before you leave?"  Knowing his impatient 
nature, Mac paused for effect.  "This was a test, wasn't it?  If Angel could 
be captured, held and tortured, it was known he didn't have possession 
of his prophecy protection.  Both clients knew exactly what they were 
doing." 

Her astuteness impressed him and he let it show in his voice.  "Very well 
done, Mac.  But, his capture and abuse actually mean very little."  When 
she turned to him, he saw something flash in her eyes, but the emotion 
was too fleeting to distinguish.  "Do I believe he has possession of the 
object?  No.  I don't believe he does and the fate that lays in wait for him 
no matter what you decide to do proves THAT beyond a reasonable 
doubt." 

She watched Mercer leave and even though she despised him-as did 
most of her co-workers, his approval usually meant the approval of The 
Senior Partners as well.  Mac considered the options for Angel as she 
approached the delirious being and knelt to study him.  When she placed 
the back of her hand on his forehead, he softly moaned against the 
contrast of her cool touch to his fevered brow.  The contractions of his 
agonized muscles were almost audible. 

"Angel," she whispered.  When she wasn't sure if he was cognizant, she 
said his name again.  Calling his name one final time, she smoothed her 
hand across his cheek affectionately.  Soundly unconscious, he finally 
began to calm and she found herself unable to retract her hand.  His 
unrestrained arm reached up and he pulled her hand to his neck 
affectionately, holding it there with his until she was finally able to 
disconnect herself. 

Mac stood quickly and sympathetically looked down upon him, 
fascinated by Angel's vulnerability, as she seriously wondered just what 
to do with him next. 


-0- 

Cordelia inhaled deeply and shifted farther into her covers, trying to 
ignore the sunrise breaking through the sheer panels of her curtains.  As 
she took another breath, her body eased into a long, sinuous stretch 
both invigorating and relaxing.  Not wanting the last few moments of 
sleep to disappear completely, she pulled the blanket beneath her chin, 
readjusting the pockets of warmth within its folds before she sighed. 

A deep, long sigh.  And then she opened her eyes. 

To him. 

She held her breath and stared for what seemed like hours until she 
needed to exhale.  He was there, the most beautiful person she knew.  
Almost sculptured, his profile refined, his complexion smooth and 
flushed.  With his eyes closed in slumber he seemed almost human. 

"Angel!" she whispered, barely containing her excitement. 

When he didn't move, Cordy resisted the urge to check for his breath, 
knowing there wouldn't be one.  Tentatively, she moved her hand out to 
touch the edge of his brow, dismayed with his temperature as her 
fingertips lightly traced his hairline until he finally stirred and sleepily 
regarded her. 

She found it impossible to retract her hand from him, afraid to lose the 
connection. 

"Morning," he whispered so softly it seemed he placed the word directly 
in her mind. 

"When did you get back?  I'm so happy to see you, Angel!  You had me 
so worried!"  She stumbled through the words.  When he didn't reply 
immediately, she scrunched her face in anticipation of the worst case 
scenario.  "Did we, you know?  Are you?  Grrrrrrrrr?" 

Angel shifted his gaze and focused into the distance of the room, a 
melancholy smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he shook his 
head negatively in reply. 

"I was lonely."  Again, that whisper-a thought. 

"Oh." 

Angel returned his eyes to Cordy's, his smile betraying his affection.  
"You don't have to say anything.  I just wanted to see you," pausing to 
appreciate her delight before he finished, "I'm usually gone before you 
wake up, but..." Then he trailed off and imperceptibly shrugged. 

"You've been so lonely." 

The words caught Cordy's breath, making her feel as if she would burst.  
His solitude traveled so deeply within her it was as if he had projected it; 
a sensation so desolate it couldn't be expressed with words.  She 
imagined he had examined the feelings his absence had created within 
her as well as she had studied the remnants of his life.  Only he was 
doing a clumsy job of returning hers to her heart. 

She moved her hand to his chest and rested it there. 

"Mine doesn't work, Cordelia." 

Angel related the truth of his existence as if it was a common state that 
he should be a vampire without breath or pulse, lying on Cordelia's early 
morning bed.  But now she knew him far too well to accept his 
appearance as something that simple.  His despair was evident by the 
too-still manner of his body; his need for her to understand what needed 
to be said without the ability to express himself. 

Her palm was warm through the thin knit of his pullover and he closed 
his eyes to concentrate on her touch.  "It just doesn't exist,' he finished 
ruefully. 

When she answered, "it does, too, Angel," as barely a whisper, more like 
a thought, he let the words curl through his mind while her fingertips 
drummed lightly against his ribs.  They filled him with their sound and he 
believed her, for that moment, his heart was active--that she had willed 
him life. 

He gathered her hand and placed it to his lips.  "I miss you," he spoke 
across her fingertips. 

Cordelia's smile betrayed her own affection.  She knew that as well as 
she knew their time apart was the least of his concern.  Keeping her 
voice as soft as his, she started the game.  "So, Angel.  Shouldn't I be 
really creeped out by this?" 

He pulled her hand to his throat and held it there with his, blinking to 
focus on her features as the light grew brighter behind her.  "Yeah, 
probably.  It's weird.  Definitely obsessive of me.  I shouldn't do-" 

"Obsessive." 

"Right." 

His eyes never left hers.  He studied Cordelia as if he would never see 
her again and she fought the urge to cry, continuing, "and Dennis let you 
do it?" 

He blinked.  Two times.  And nodded. 

"Just like you dead GUYS to stick together."  It hurt her to watch him fail 
at  forcing a laugh; his eyes were so sad.  "So, Angel, when did you start 
sleeping with me?  I think that's grounds for a sexual harassment suit, 
right?  I could sue you for everything you're worth but it's not like you 
have anything I want and I'd rather drive a much better car.  Have you 
seen that Audi TT?  Sweet!  Although, I guess I'm used to that 
convertible of yours-" 

"Yeah, the Audi's strictly hardtop but you can get it all wheel drive..." 

Watching him struggle with his thoughts, Cordelia bit her lip to repress 
her fear until her hand began to slide away as he rose from the bed, 
apologizing for his intrusion. 

"ANGEL, don't leave me!" she pleaded, lunging forward to hold onto him, 
dragging his body back to the mattress.  She imagined the effort would 
have been so much more difficult had he actually tried to resist her. 

Angel turned into her, returning the depth of her attachment.  He nuzzled 
her neck and she clutched him tightly, trying to still his trembling body, 
smoothing his hair with her jaw, wiping the perspiration from his brow.  
He clung to her as she cradled him, squeezing his eyes tightly to focus 
on her embrace, trying to block the thoughts that threatened to leap from 
his mouth. 

"Talk to me, Angel. Let me in." 

He shook his head, pivoting it against her chin.  "I can't.  Not this.  Not 
any of this--what I am."  The words escaped on a low, mournful sigh and 
he shook his head again brusquely to avoid saying anything else. 

"You can.  To me.  You can talk to me, Angel.  You can write it down all 
you want, but it's not the same as sharing.  I won't tell your secrets.  I'll 
keep them all safe."  She bore her cheek onto the top of his head, 
enveloping him with her slender arms.  "I'll keep you safe in me." 

"Nooooooooo.  Horrible."  Gasping, he fought to control his emotions, but 
his resolve weakened considerably more each minute she held onto him.  
"...So not normal--none of this--and you should have a normal life." 

"That's for damn sure.  I'm not going to say you're not right about that 
little point of fact.  I do deserve a normal life.  But you know what, Angel?  
What's normal to some people just doesn't seem so normal to me 
anymore.  I live with a ghost and I see all kinds of weird stuff--so much 
weirder than anything going on in Sunnydale.  And, like you sneaking 
onto my bed at night...  That's normal?  Hell and no.  Not to someone 
else.  But in my world it is.  OUR world, Angel, because you're part of MY 
world. You've been this for, like, ever and you're just now starting to wig?  
Talk about repression, much!" 

She continued, making a conversational note to herself, "I'll have to 
make sure the new medical plan has psychiatric benefits.  Maybe we can 
get you some under 'midlife crisis', although, you might want to consider 
talking to me instead to make sure your drama doesn't end up on the 
cover of Weekly World News." 

Angel pushed up to look into Cordelia's face.  He studied it, unsure of 
what he actually saw there, knowing he'd only seen such affection once 
before.  It was an unconditional acceptance of him, no matter who--or 
what--he was.  The recognition of it was frightening and he stared at her, 
disbelieving. 

Undeserving. 

Cordelia, beaming, spread her arms wide and he lowered slowly to relay 
his head above her breasts, listening to her heartbeat, allowing the up-
and-down motion of the ordinary reflex to comfort him.  "Cordelia?" 

She finger-combed the fringe of hair on his nape as she rocked him.  
"Talk to me, Angel." She whispered the thought in his mind and hugged 
him closer as if he was her most cherished possession, a treasure. 

"I didn't want to die alone," he finally confessed sometime later, unsure if 
he actually vocalized the words until she replied, "who said I'm going to 
let you die?" 

The darkness in her room was oppressive as Cordelia stared across her 
empty bed at the clock radio's time: 2:17AM.  Trying not to 
hyperventilate, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her 
hand only made the sadness worse--theirs, the separation of their 
belonging as the ultimate consequence of her negligence--and Cordelia 
gave into the sorrow and hopelessness that had torn her from her sleep. 

Phantom Dennis hovered with the box of tissues, but she waved him 
away as another minute clicked past.  Placing the box on the bedside 
table, he flicked the lamp off and on to capture Cordelia's attention but 
she continued ignoring him.  With all of his apparitional might, Dennis 
brought her oversized bag and Angel's coat in from the living room.  After 
dropping the coat at the foot of her bed, he reached into the bag and 
withdrew the ledger from inside. 

He waved it in front of her, but Cordelia refused.  "I can't, Dennis.  It's 
private.  I can't read his journal." 

Undeterred, Dennis placed the journal face down on her lap and leafed 
through the pages from the back until he reached the first blank one then 
picked out a pen from her bag to insert between her fingers.  Lifting her 
hand to the book, he nudged the end of the pen to tell her, toggling it 
continuously until Cordy understood. 

"So if he won't do it my way, I have to do it his?" she asked her persistent 
roommate, taking a tissue before Phantom Dennis redeposited the box 
by her side.  Giving in, Cordy began to write as she sobbed and 
eventually, over the course of a few pages, her sorrow gave way to 
exhaustion. 

The ghost closed Angel's journal respectfully, withdrawing the pen from 
its spine, putting them both back into Cordy's bag.  He draped Angel's 
jacket across her shoulders after she rolled into a deep, restful sleep.  
Before smoothing a tendril of hair from her serene pretty face, the top of 
the comforter shifted ever so imperceptibly.  Then Dennis turned off the 
light. 

-0- 

His senses returned slowly as he woke.  Angel fought through his pain, 
the nagging nausea and the unsettling feeling of being in a room with too 
many other beings, their collective hatred oppressive.  Every segment of 
his being took its time coming to until the familiar taste in his mouth 
brought him into full consciousness. 

Angel wiped the spit from the side of his face, touching the pool of it 
underneath his cheek.  He sat bolt upright and opened his eyes to his 
hand, covered in blood.  There was nothing he could to mask his panic 
and the population's emotional state changed to that of confusion. 

"He's dying," the many-lingual whispered. 

"Here, let me get that." 

Angel tried to do too many things at once: recognize who had spoken to 
him, prepare himself defensively, remove his hand from the towel that 
was cleaning it, fixating on the caring gesture as the towel moved on to 
his face. 

"Straley?"  He swallowed hard and realized he'd probably been talking in 
his sleep.  His throat was too parched to utter the name less hoarsely. 

The demon in human appearance nodded his head, impressed with the 
speed of recognition.  Dressed in janitorial attire, accompanied by a 
spray bottle and a bucket of towels, John Straley wiped the drool puddle 
from the floor.  With his duties done, he took a seat next to the vampire. 

"You need to feed," he stated frankly.  "Can I have them bring you 
something?" 

Angel shook his head slowly, trying not to make himself any dizzier than 
he already felt.  The gallery's murmuring washed over him, their hatred 
morphing into some other feeling, but he was too disoriented to 
concentrate on them.  He silently endured a spasm before trying to 
speak again. 

"Why... nice... me?" 

The Animovic demon snorted in amusement.  "Maybe I miss being a 
restaurateur.  Trust me, vampire, this isn't kindness.  They don't care if 
you feed or not.  It's all just part of the experiment." 

Angel noticed the shackles on his ankles and frowned.  He hated 
confinement and the sudden urge to drive somewhere--like to Oxnard 
with Cordelia for strawberries--crossed his mind.  He realized how often 
he thought about getting her something special without ever acting on his 
impulses. 

"What's so amusing?"  As John studied Angel's strange countenance, he 
reached into one of his uniform's pockets for a bottle of water.  When 
Angel didn't reply, he continued, "well, here.  At least get some water.  
You look dehydrated-if nothing else." 

Angel concentrated on keeping his hand steady as he took the offered 
bottle, Cordy's favorite brand, and he dropped it between his crossed 
legs.  Knowing he didn't have the strength to twist off its cap he decided 
to consume it later--half-hoping it was Holy. 

"How long?"  He pointed at Straley. 

Straley pulled out a thin, brown stick and began to light the end of it until 
he noticed the vampire's change in complexion, returning it to his breast 
pocket.  "They came about a week after Richard's wedding date, early 
one morning.  I was the only one there waiting for a 'special' delivery. 
They got me and torched the restaurant, started the experiments the 
second I got here--" 

"They?"  Angel pointed at the ceiling, for lack of another direction. 

"Oh, I couldn't really tell you.  I see human.  I smell human, but who 
knows who's really in charge.  But whoever they are they do tests; they 
take samples.  Tests and samples.  Sometimes just samples." 

He reached over and lifted Angel's arm, pushing up the sleeve to bare 
his forearm, revealing a divot.  "Look, they only sampled you once."  
Pushing up his own sleeve to expose his pockmarked flesh, Straley 
finished, "they can't seem to get enough of me." 


Angel grimaced before nodding his head to the other inmates who 
huddled in mass, still murmuring amongst themselves.  "Them?" 

"No one lasts much beyond a month, if that long.  The Agenda, they call 
it, is pretty accelerated.  I guess it keeps down the need for extra space.  
I've seen a lot of us come and go but, I'm a survivor.  Must be my 
species.  No matter what they do, I just won't die."  He leaned into Angel 
conspiratorially, "it's making me stronger, if you get my drift." 

Trying not to focus on the missing portion of his body, Angel returned to 
thoughts of driving.  He'd take Cordelia to Santa Barbara where he knew 
of a jazz club with a pleasant college atmosphere and he would watch 
Cordelia mingle. Her people skills amazed him--how everyone was 
attracted to her, her ease of being in a crowded room full of strangers, 
how pretty her smile was when she was the center of attention.  He 
regretted never going out of his way to make Cordelia feel special, 
knowing he took her for granted even though her company was one of 
the reasons his quality of life had improved so much--and the only 
reason he was able to manage after Doyle's death. 

John nudged him.  "Hey, it's a sad tale, Angel, but you just move on."  He 
laughed. 

Angel self-consciously batted the water bottle in-between his hands.  
"Funny?" 

"No, this is really tragic.  I was laughing because it struck me funny that if 
we had never tried to eat Harriet's ex's brains then our family would have 
been doubly  blessed by the fact he was 'The Promised One'.  Wow, 
what if we had actually gone through with the ritual?  Do you think he 
would have killed Richard from the inside out?" 

Angel, appalled, scooted away from the still-musing demon.  "Morb' 
sense... humor." 

John Straley stopped laughing and looked into Angel's face deliberately, 
snorting loudly.  "Prophecy, huh.  You just never know when prophecy is 
going to strike."  He shook his head solemnly.  "Who knew?  Just like 
you--The Warrior.  Who knew you'd be a doggone vampire?" 

"Don't know proph'cy.  Don't trust," Angel replied, barely audible. 

Ignoring the comment, Straley continued, "but, maybe it's not all truth.  
Maybe some of it really is myth.  Like this t'magne you're supposed to 
have.  You certainly wouldn't be HERE in this condition if you had 
anything like that." 

"Tamagna?" 

"Yeah, you know-  Oh, prophecy alert!  It's some THING that's supposed 
to keep The Warrior safe from harm.  Some kind of magical object, I'm 
guessing." 

Angel shook his head in ignorance. 

"Yeah, it's supposed to make you invincible." 

"Tal'sman?" 

John thought for a moment.  "T'magne. Right.  A talisman." 

Angel's crossed his brows in sudden recognition and laughed bitterly.  
"Gave it 'way.  Didn't know what... was." 

The demon leaned forward into Angel, concerned.  "You actually HAD it 
in your possession?"  As Angel continued to shake his head in self-
reproach, Straley asked, "who'd you give it to?  The Seer?" 

Angel's intuition cautioned him before his thoughts returned to the 
conversation.  His eyes opened wide in shock as he realized what had 
been asked.  He tried to rise in an attempt to flee, but Straley yanked his 
shackle's chain and laid him flat on his back before he could get to his 
knees.  Angel cried out sharply when his head smacked the floor, a 
convulsion twisting his stomach. 

As Straley bent over Angel on all four, his demon appearance 
accentuated the true evil of his personality.  "They're so used to working 
on us normal demons they don't get your kind, Angel."  He spit out the 
words, his voice hushed, but the contempt was more than apparent.  
"Every vampire they've ever had--just a waste of time because they just 
don't get it--no matter how evil, you keep those damn human thought 
processes.  I guess the keepers don't want to think about working on 
'their own kind'." 

He stroked the center of Angel's chest.  "A little kindness goes a long 
way, doesn't it?  I thought you'd be much more difficult, especially after 
the way you beat my family down to save your precious half-breed 
counterpart.  But, you're not so tough, are you?  A little confinement, a 
chain or two and you're ready to call it quits.  You know what pisses me 
off more than your gutlessness?  The fact that there's NOTHING to do 
around here all day long and I figured the fun of extracting information 
from you would entertain me for a couple DAYS, not minutes." 

"She doesn't have it," Angel pleaded. 

"Trying to save her life?  Pitiful, Angel.  You are so pathetic." 

"Gave... demon... set.. up.  Not... Mess'ger.  Don't tell!  Don't get her 
'volved!" 

It was the way Angel kept repeating 'please' that annoyed Straley more 
than anything else.  He hated vampires, hated the way they assimilated 
into human society, the way his own family had assimilated and what 
they had lost, more than gained, in the process.  They were weak as 
humans, all of them, and he studied the group of demons watching the 
proceedings and their 'human' reaction to his place within their captive 
society.  When he stood and looked down at Angel, he did so self-
righteously.  No simpering vampire was going to do what The Agenda 
hadn't been able to--break his demonic spirit. 

Straley placed his foot on Angel's shoulder and shoved hard, amused by 
how quickly the body slid to stop half way between him and the others 
while they all glared at each other vindictively.  But Straley was unfazed 
as he merely sprayed the bloody smear that marked where Angel had 
traveled, then bent down and wiped it away. 

Angel fought against the overwhelming sense of helplessness that 
overcame him as he watched the general confinement population close 
in.  He wanted to meet his fate bravely--with full awareness, with some 
sense of dignity--but his body began to shut down.  Anguished, he 
swallowed once more before the darkness reclaimed him, recognizing 
before it did someone had given him water and the beings around him 
were taking him in for safekeeping. 

-0- 

Cataloguing was decidedly boring, Wesley agreed as he prepared for his 
new duties.  He liked the feel of his uniform with the embroidered 
nametag across its chest.  Going 'up' on the elevator helped his self-
esteem as much as riding with the group, although he tried not to focus 
on how their more military-styled garb made him seem as though he 
should still be shuffling information. 

The elevator eased to the fifth floor and paused briefly before lightly 
bouncing into place.  Wesley held his breath in anticipation, reminding 
himself to stay calm so he wouldn't do anything embarrassingly 
awkward.  With so much concentration directed internally, it took him a 
few seconds--and jostling from his co-workers exiting from behind--
before he realized what the elevator door had opened him to. 

Wesley heard it first.  Then he felt the collective torment.  An acrid taste 
appeared in his mouth the second he gasped in horror.  After his eyes 
focused, his knees buckled slightly. 

"Yeah, the first time takes some getting used to," the supervisor said 
while helping Wesley evade being crushed by the closing lift doors.  "Go 
ahead and take a minute.  I'd suggest a mask for the smell, but ya're 
going to have to get used to it sooner or later, so ya might as well just 
dive in." 

Something began a long, plaintive wail before the voice was severed.  
Wesley gasped again.  "I had no idea..." he muttered. 

"Ya think ya can do this?  It's no problem if ya can't.  They wanted ya up 
here because ya're so quick at identification and categorization.  
Sometimes we get 'em here and we don't know what to do with 'em for a 
coupla of days.  If we start the wrong Agenda, it screws up R & D."  The 
supervisor's tone was understanding, "take a couple of minutes and I'll 
be back." 

Wesley cleared his throat to catch the young woman's attention.  "You do 
all kinds of demons up here?" he asked weakly, fascinated by how 
quickly he was becoming acclimated to the odor. 

"Sure, all kinds.  Whatever we can find.  Does that make a difference for 
what ya decide?" 

"Actually, now that you mention it..." Wesley straightened his posture and 
moved into the lobby as the exiting shift waited for the next elevator.  "I 
was wondering if you ever do vampires?" 

The supervisor snorted in amusement.  "Yeah.  We get 'em up here, but 
they don't last long.  If ya could actually help out on that aspect, I'm sure 
they'd put ya in charge of the vamp program.  How's that sound?  I'm not 
the one in charge, but we have a few that are still hanging on if ya wanna 
give it a go." 

Wesley considered the supervisor's offer and nodded approvingly.  "Yes.  
I'd like to work with the vampires," he said, a pleased smile 
accompanying his agreement.  "I've got a particular penchant for dealing 
with their kind that I just can't seem to abandon." 

-0- 

Before Cordelia knocked on the door of the little stucco tract home, she 
glanced over at Whistler.  His nervousness did little to offset hers, but 
she ignored him and rapped sharply, forging ahead with her plan. 

They were late for the appointment and Cordelia was still annoyed with 
the doctor, who decided he finally wanted to have a conversation with 
her 5 minutes before it was quitting time.  She had watched the clock 
behind him tick with each overtime minute until a delivery finally arrived 
and he cut off their discussion.  Running outside the building, she caught 
Whistler before he left. 

Whistler was nervous for any number of reasons he explained on the 
way to their destination.  He didn't like her plan, her driving, or the fact 
that he had almost been accosted after leaving the Oracle.  (He 
especially hated to admit the fact his new personal hygiene had probably 
saved him from that fate.)  Still, he wanted to return to hiding as quickly 
as possible.  There were too many disappearances and the rumors were 
growing uglier.  Even his Benefactors were at a loss to explain what was 
going on--Their lack of knowledge worried him considerably. 

"You have the personal item of the person you wish to contact?" the 
Gypsy woman asked after they joined her at the table. 

Cordelia reached into her bag and presented Angel's journal.  Before 
releasing it, she looked deeply into the old woman's eyes.  "You don't 
need to read this, right?  Cause if you do, then I've got other stuff-a coat, 
a car outside on the street..." 

The Gypsy considered the young woman's request in earnest.  She 
touched Cordy's hand lightly to ease her discomfort and smiled warmly.  
"This isn't to read." 

"It's just for his presence, Cordy.  You know, something to represent 
him," Whistler explained.  "You've never done a s‚ance before?" 

"Oh... THIS is a s‚ance.  OK.  I get it.  Yeah, no problem.  I guess using 
the car would be a little difficult, although we could all sit inside of it.  It's 
a little stuffy in here don't you think?  If that incense you're burning is 
supposed to be aromatherapeutic, I think you got gypped.  Ow, Whistler!  
You seriously don't want to start a kicking contest!" 

The Medium laughed under her breath and held out her hands to form 
their circle.  She eyed Whistler cautiously.  "You don't want to be here," 
she stated to him. 

"Is he going to mess it up?" Cordy asked anxiously.  "Because I can 
have him go outside and wait in the car.  We don't need your negative 
energy here, Woopster--I mean, WHISTLER."  She tried to loosen his 
grasp, but he held on tight. 

"Don't be afraid, I know what you are," the Gypsy said to him, ignoring 
the disappointment that crossed his face after the girl called him 
something else.  "I deal often with those like you because I'm very 
strong.  The one you want to contact is demon, too?"  When the pair 
nodded affirmatively, she smiled again.  "Alright then, we'll see what we 
see." 

Angel's journal lay in the center of their circle as the woman began her 
trance.  The lights in the room dimmed on their own as the strength of 
her mantra increased, the atmosphere cooling degree by degree until the 
room was extinguished of all light except for the candelabra hanging 
above the table.  The ledger eventually began to rotate from left to right, 
right to left as the Gypsy chanted louder. 

Instead of closing his eyes, Whistler watched the proceedings intently by 
focusing on Cordelia.  She was the most beautiful female he had ever 
seen in his life with her dark hair glistening by candleglow, the golden 
light kissing the apples of her cheeks and catching the sparkle within the 
shadow on her eyelids.  Her moist lips were held in a pleasant smile.  
The intensity of her grip made him recall the design on her back and he 
imagined touching her waist, how soft she probably was... 

Until the old woman abruptly broke the spell she was under and the room 
seemed to shudder from the disconnection. 

"Cordelia!"  Whistler rose too quickly from his chair and it crashed 
backwards against a pedestal, sending its vase against the wall.  He 
rushed to the young woman and shook her violently.  "CORDY!" he 
shouted, shaking her again. 

The Gypsy pushed him away from the girl, picking up the journal and 
shaking it at him disapprovingly.  "HOW DARE YOU!" she growled, "LET 
ME REACH FOR THE UNDEAD!"  She tossed the book in Cordy's lap 
and stepped away.  "What manner of demon is SHE?" she demanded to 
know,  "that she would want to touch such a wretched aberration of 
nature?  This one you dare to reach is vile, filthy with doom."  She 
squirmed from disgust. 

Whistler motioned to return to Cordy, but the Gypsy held him back with a 
stern glance.  "What's wrong with her?" he asked, trying to move 
forward, but the Gypsy was too strong.  When he felt his heart flutter, he 
groaned, "what's happening?" 

The Gypsy stepped into his face and met him eye to eye.  "She is 
connected to UNDEATH, little demon.  By trying to connect to evil at its 
most sincere, I've been shown that the divide between my world and 
yours is torn.  That chasm acted as a buffer so that neither of us could 
cross into the other's realm.  We were separate for a reason and, 
perhaps, my own foolish thinking led me to believe it was safe to connect 
in between; but, our worlds now have direct access to each other 
through another, more perilous one.  Do you understand what I'm saying 
to you?" 

Whistler nodded his head in understanding, unsure if he was more afraid 
of the importance of the Gypsy's revelation, how unaware They were, or 
that Cordelia was still someplace else. 

-0- 

As Wesley pulled up on his motorbike, he noticed the black SUV parked 
discreetly by the oleander hedges.  Cutting off his motor, he coasted to a 
stop.  After parking the bike, he edged along the automobile on its blind 
side, keeping its occupant in his view. 

"Observation going well?" he asked, impressed he had pulled off the 
stealthy approach. 

The man in the vehicle jumped, caught unaware, and struggled to regain 
his composure until he made the recognition.  "Wyndham-Price!  Oh, my.  
I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays!  How the hell have you 
been?" he exclaimed in his matching British accent.  Exiting quickly, he 
extended his hands immediately and clasped Wesley's enthusiastically 
before finally calming. 

Wesley waited until Cordelia stepped into the house before responding.  
"Paul?" 

"Oh, right!  Sorry about the false familiarity.  Calvin Paulson!"  He held 
out his hand again, then removed it when Wesley crossed his brows.  
"It's so odd that one day I'm hearing rumours The Council was getting 
you back and the next thing, here you are!  In the flesh.  Bloody great to 
see you!  You're here to supervise?" 

Wesley returned his attention to the house, noticing as the lights in the 
side room began to dim until only a flickering glow remained.  "S‚ance," 
he commented. 

Paulson reached inside the car's open window and extracted his 
umbilicalled laptop.  He spoke as quickly as he typed.  "This particular 
Gypsy's specialty.  And let me tell you how busy she's been lately.  
Couldn't tell you why.  You know, I'm just an Observer, sitting and 
collecting the pieces.  Still you can't help but hope one day someone will 
bother to show you what the finished puzzle looks like." 

He finished typing and looked up.  "You know, Wyndham-Price, even 
though your Slayers went wrought on you, it's great they let you back on 
the inside.  You know, close to the center.  I can only imagine what it's 
like to work near Augustine.  You've seen him, I presume?" 

When Wesley ignored him in favor of watching the house, Paulson 
sighed.  Although approximately the same age, the Observer was a 
victim of male-pattern baldness with fine laugh lines around his eyes, 
incongruous with a face that looked as if it had never expressed 
happiness.  "I'm talking too much.  It's the boredom.  Since my co-
workers went back to Council, I've been on my own.  Makes a man stir 
crazy.  You know, being alone." 

"I wouldn't know," Wesley remarked.  He heard the cruelty in his voice 
and caught, in his peripheral vision, its consequence--the wounded 
expression on Paulson's face.  "You're linked with Council now?  Mobile 
modem access?" 

Paulson flipped the portable computer's top and eased it across the hood 
of the car towards Wesley before pressing a hot key.  "All ready to go.  
Anything you need--within reason, of course--since I don't have total 
access.  You don't have yours yet?" 

Wesley signaled in the direction of his bike, waiting until Paulson nodded 
in acknowledgement, before using the computer.  He navigated through 
the familiar database, impressed with the upgraded Watcher's Council 
browser.  Finding the files he wanted, he downloaded them to Paulson's 
hard drive before closing the link.  "You have a different server, Paulson, 
or do you expressly use The Council for your personal e-mail?" 

Paulson, eager to please, opened his account and twisted the laptop 
back to Wesley, studying the dark-haired man as he worked.  His initial 
excitement over having a new companion faded as he watched the 
mirrored information scroll across The Watcher's glasses.  Realizing he 
had been wrong to assume their castes could cross, he examined the 
'something' that made Wyndham-Price different, still hoping for a glimpse 
into the inner sanctum and at least one story of what, exactly, went on in 
there. 

-0- 

"Am I dreaming?" she asked aloud, surveying the room.  The 
surroundings weren't to her liking, being too neo-something or other.  
The pillars were in an odd place and the lighting was just all wrong.  The 
aura was more wax museum than cathedral and she scrunched her face, 
trying to decide if the problem was the room's Feng Shui. 

"Dreaming?" a female voice responded, disturbed.  "What type of 
creature are you to breach the portal in this manner? 

Cordelia twisted around to the two beings emerging from the void 
beyond an archway, staring at them intensely as she tried to figure out 
what, exactly, they were wearing and in what world would those outfits 
be considered haute couture. 

As the female drew her hand to strike the intruder, the male called for her 
patience.  "The Gift.  She possesses The Gift.  A Messenger."  He 
returned the fervor of Cordelia's examination.  Stepping into her personal 
space, he felt her anxious breath as she exhaled.  "Human?"  He leaned 
away in surprise. 

His reaction aroused the female's curiosity and she leaned closer to 
Cordy, ignoring the male's cautiously outstretched arm. 

"Oracles?"  Cordelia asked.  She swatted the intruding hand away and 
squinted at the man and woman.  "I'm trying to find Angel.  Do you know 
where he is?" 

The female's eyes grew wide and she turned to the male.  They 
exchanged a silent discussion before returning their attention to Cordy.  
"You are his human," she stated, shaking her head in astonishment. 

"Hey!  I'm no ONE'S human, people."  Cordy stepped to the male and 
poked his chest with her index finger.  It surprised her he was solid, his 
flesh tender beneath her prod. 

The male glared at her, disapprovingly.  "It would only make sense she 
belongs to him.  She obviously didn't bring a token." 

The female smiled at his remark, lifting her palms to the ceiling as she 
spoke.  "Every circumstance proves how little control we have over that 
one's destiny."  After the male nodded in agreement, they began to walk 
away. 

"Wait!" 

Turning in unison, the Oracle pair watched as Cordelia came at them, 
taking turns to speak.  "What is it you dare to inquire of us, Human?  Our 
world is not yours, and you have no control over us.  No more than 
Warrior Angel." 

Cordelia stomped her foot to punctuate her rising anger.  "Don't you tell 
me what you can and can't control!  He's dying.  I feel it." 

Insulted, the female responded to Cordelia arrogantly.  "You summon us 
only to speak of that which is already known.  We have no means to 
rescue him.  He will either continue or cease to exist by sheer force of his 
own will and whether he dies now or in your future, he determined his 
fate by a selfish decision and now he must endure the consequence of 
his action." 

The male continued, "What is done cannot be undone.  The Auguries-" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  The Auguries-WHATEVER!  He's dying eventually.  I 
get that.  But, he's not dying now because of that stupid disease he's 
got."  She stopped and listened to the silence.  "You don't understand 
what's going on, where he is or what's happening to him. I thought I was 
out of ideas, but--  And, I thought you were supposed to be all-knowing 
or some crap like that," she finished, unable to mask the disappointment 
in her voice. 

"You hear the Auguries?" the male asked, sharing his concern with the 
female. 

"YOU!"  Cordy pointed at him.  "Shhhhhh!"  She closed her eyes to listen 
again, shaking her head as she did so.  "Angel's not the only one 
missing.  There are others--you're losing The Cause?" 

The female touched Cordelia's temple.  "Your Gift is remarkable.  How 
are you able to manage such a feat?" 

Cordelia shrugged her shoulders, honestly mystified. 

And then the Vision hit. 

She wailed before falling to the floor the second the misery assaulted the 
inside of her head.  Gasping to breathe, Cordy struggled to pull her 
concentration from the multitude of images pouring into her mind too 
quickly for her understanding and, upon doing so, realized the Vision she 
was guesting was not for her interpretation.  A myriad of Voices, of 
Presences, other than The Auguries and the two Oracle Beings, began 
to siphon the information directly, leaving her with the presence of her 
own thoughts to recognize the passion of the communication--the 
desperation to relate its message. 

Cordelia accepted the experience as extremely different, but overall 
probably normal, and tried not to focus on any one image or concept as 
they streamed past.  That wasn't especially difficult to do since the 
presentation was similar to remote controlling a cable-equipped TV set, 
one on which only the smart channels were installed.  As she huffed her 
impatience, the message dwindled, its urgency less severe until it finally 
ended. 

The female Oracle nodded appreciatively after helping Cordy to her feet.  
"Your token," she whispered, "was well-received.  Perhaps you will be 
welcome again," she added before sending the young woman, gently, on 
her way. 

Cordelia felt the scenery shift as her return journey began.  The Voices 
followed her a portion of the way and she listened to their comments.  
She was anxious to return to write Angel about the experience.  But, 
before she got to that, she wanted to ask Whistler for his opinion on what 
the Voices meant in their discussion about who--or what--had sent the 
Messenger and her Message. 

-0- 

Cordelia tried to be nonchalant about sneaking into the office almost two 
hours late but, as usual, there was no one there to notice.  She felt as 
bad as she knew she looked with her curly hair tossled into a half-
ponytail and a swipe of gloss across her lips.  Her outfit was slightly 
wrinkled--Dennis didn't have enough time to press it for her, and it 
brought an image of being attired like Wesley into her mind. 

She called for the cat after placing its filled bowl on the feeding mat, in no 
mood for the finicky feline this morning, especially after realizing that the 
stray thought of Wesley kept him in her mind, his betrayal making her 
angrier by the second. 

"Claudia!" she hissed. 

The research office door was ajar--just slightly enough for a cat--and 
Cordy pushed it open gingerly.  She saw the animal before she saw the 
body it was sitting on as it groomed itself contentedly, purring at the top 
of its lungs.  Her resentment for the creature increased as she 
approached it and snatched it off the body from behind. 

Then, three things occurred to her in order: that she didn't think twice 
about a body being in the room; that she had never heard the cat purr 
before; and that the body on the table looked a lot like Angel. 

EXACTLY like Angel. 

"Angel!"  Cordy curled the wriggling cat in the crook of her arm and 
leaned over to examine him.  "What did they do to you?   Ohmigod, 
Angel!"  She placed her hand on his chest and shook him roughly.  When 
he flopped instead of rousing, she fought the urge to cry. 

"Angel," she called as less like a whisper, more like a thought.  She 
heard him moan ever so softly and bent her ear closer to listen while he 
spoke in a voice that didn't sound like his own about strawberries going 
with peanut butter, accepting it as delirium when he referred to her as 
Kathy. 

"What's going on here?" a familiar voice called from the doorway. 

Cordelia jumped back and spun around, holding the wriggling cat in front 
of her.  "The cat!  The cat was in here.  I came to get the cat...  Wesley?" 

The other man with Wesley walked into the room and took the animal 
from Cordy's grasp.  "I HATE this cat.  I don't know why they don't 
experiment on it."  He hooded its head as he walked to toss it into an 
adjoining room.  "What are YOU doing in here?" he asked Cordelia. 

"Yes," Wesley added, pulling her to the side.  "It's not safe for you, 
Cordelia.   I can do this on my own," he finished, his voice discreetly 
lowered. 

"I knew it, Wesley.  You are so evil.  You're wickedness incorporated!  
Did the Watcher's Council put you up to this?  Is that what this facility is?  
I should have known there was something fishy going on that they pay 
me in cash, you liar.  And you thought you could make me a part of your 
scheme.  Look what you've done to Angel.  I HATE you!" 

"What's going on here?" a familiar voice called from the doorway.  
"Cordy, what are you doing in here?" 

Cordelia broke her arm from Wesley's grasp dramatically.  "He was trying 
to hurt me," she cried, forcing a tear down her cheek as she pointed at 
Wesley.  "He said...  things to me.  Horrible things to me."  Sauntering to 
the doctor, she wound her arms around his, silently scolding herself for 
not having any makeup on to ruin.  "He's such an awful person.  I only 
came to get the cat." 

Wesley watched in disbelief as the doctor wrapped his arm around 
Cordelia protectively.  He glared at Wesley before asking for the other 
man's explanation.  After Cordelia's story was confirmed, he promptly 
fired Wesley and pushed him out of the door, still holding onto Cordy's 
clinging torso. 

"Now, now," the doctor said to Cordy, trying to calm her down.  "Are you 
sure there wasn't something else that would make you so upset?" 

Cordelia took an offered tissue and shook her head while blowing her 
nose.  "You mean the dead body?"  The doctor's shock led her to add, 
"you do research, right?  What do I care if you've got a dead body in your 
lab?  For an autopsy, right?" 

"Yeah.  Autopsy.  Bright girl, but you don't look well, Cordy, are you 
feeling alright?  Maybe you'd like to take the rest of the day?" 

Cordy blinked her big teary hazel eyes at him, achieving the desired 
effect.  "It's just that, you know.  I've been in Los Angeles for almost a 
year and haven't met a decent guy yet.  My date last night and now 
this..."  She waited for him to nod before continuing.  "A young woman 
has needs that only a gentle man can tend to.  I mean, ALMOST a year--
" 

The doctor lifted a strand of hair from Cordy's shoulder as if was the key 
to winning The Nobel Prize.  Making eye contact, her smiled at her, 
melting when she parted her glossy lips before returning the gesture.  
"Maybe dinner tonight would help.  I'd love to show you there are 
gentlemen left in this city." 

"Excuse me, Doctor Nichols.  I need you to authorize someone else to 
come down here to help me?" 

"Dinner tonight would be fine.  I'll meet you here, say, eight?"  Cordy 
whispered against Nichols' cheek.  She smiled to herself when she heard 
the orderly comment on the doctor's prowess with women, wondering if 
all men were so easily handled as the doctor mentioned to just leave the 
body where it was. 

As she exited the office, Cordelia was too busy having a conversation 
with herself to notice the doctor's predatory grin. 

-0- 

"I knew I'd find you here!"  Wesley bounded down the staircase into 
Angel's apartment, missing the last step and stumbling half-way across 
the living room area before regaining his balance.  "Who do you think 
you are to get me fired?  You LIED, Cordelia.  Frankly, I don't know who 
you are anymore." 

Cordelia ignored Wesley as she reached into Angel's refrigerator for 
another bag of blood, pouring the contents into a pitcher and stirring 
vigorously with a wooden spoon.  After she pulled the spoon out and 
examined it, she felt a wave of happiness about Angel's anticipated 
reaction. 

Wesley looked at the mess in the kitchen and the stained utensil 
Cordelia tossed into the sink.  "You might as well just throw that away 
along with all of these plastic cartons.  I can't believe you're going to 
leave the place in a mess like this.  Cordelia!  I'm speaking to you.  Don't 
pretend you don't hear me!" 

"Get away from me, you asshole.  I can't believe you're still going 
through with this.  But, I'm onto your game, Wesley Wyndham-Price.  
You can just let The Council know their plans have been discovered.  I 
bet it's eating you alive how I'm going to pull this off and show them, 
again, what a terrible Watcher you really are.  Wow, fired from two 
places on the same day--no, wait.  Make that THREE!  In case you didn't 
know, trying to kill the owner is grounds for dismissal and your services 
are no longer required at Angel Investigations!" 

"You can't fire me!  You don't have the authorization!"  When Cordelia 
turned around and glared at him, he leaned away offensively until he 
really examined her.  "You look beautiful, Cordelia.  Where are you going 
all dressed up with that thermos of blood?" 

"I TOLD you.  I'm going to go save Angel.  So, if you'll step off, I don't 
want to be late." 

"Then I'm going with you.  You can't do this on your own." 

Cordelia spun around on him and heaved heavily as she spoke, her 
voice filled with venom.  "What is it with you Wesley?  Do you think I'm 
stupid?  You've done nothing but try to get me out of the way since Angel 
disappeared and now you're going to pretend you want to help me 
rescue him?" 

"I was going to rescue him this morning, but you thwarted my plan!  
Cordelia, I've been trying to find him since day one.  I don't know why 
you've suddenly turned on me and started thinking I want Angel dead.  
My God, he's the only friend I've got in this city--probably the entire world 
at this point." 

He took Cordelia's shoulders, his grip tense, unrestrained.  "That Council 
you keep pledging my allegiance to--  My entire life, Cordelia, revolved 
around The Watcher's Council. And, for a fateful mistake--that may not 
even have even been my fault--I was denounced and disowned.  They 
were my family, Cordelia!  What family does that!  Angel is a fucking 
VAMPIRE and he knows more about forgiveness than an entire revered 
society." 

Wesley released her and pulled out a chair.  With his elbows on the table 
and his head between his palms, he was the picture of disconsolation.  
"You always want HIM to express what's on his mind.  Well, maybe he's 
not the only person around here who needs to speak." 

"I don't care about you, Wesley.  There.  I said it.  I don't trust you and I 
don't like you.  Angel is my ONE emotional investment so I'm on my way 
to get him back right now.  And, once he's back, you better not forget that 
no matter how nice I play with you in front of Angel, you are NOT my 
friend.  You're welcome to be his as long as he wants you, but when he 
says 'you go', you're an outie!" 

Wesley took deep breaths in an effort to regain his emotional control. 
"And you're not going to let me help you no matter what?" 

"Puh-leeze!  What is it with you?  You keep standing around waiting for 
an invitation to the fight.  Well, the SpunkyGirl Handbook says that 'when 
the invitation doesn't come in the mail, you go anyway and dazzle 
everyone so much they forget you weren't invited in the first place'.  Look 
at me!  I'm 19 years old, no self-defense training, no academic degree, 
self-centered as hell.  That goes to show you what spunk will do.  But, 
you.  You're going to sit there all mopey like if you fail at one more thing, 
you're just going to die.  Well, you don't die, Wesley--  OK, maybe 
sometimes there's death, but what can you do about that when it 
happens?  Nothing.  I'm not The Slayer, but somewhere along the way I 
started to care and Angel makes me want to keep on caring." 

Wesley considered her words and stood to face her.  "Then, I guess 
you'll be needing these," he said as he handed her a set of keys from his 
pocket.  Sitting back against the table as she swiped them from his hand, 
he bowed his head in shame after she called him 'spineless' beneath her 
breath and left him behind in the dark. 

-0- 

Cordelia cautiously stole into the examination room while Nichols 
finished his meeting, relieved Angel was still there.  His condition tore at 
her heart as she studied how his arms were chained down to the table 
rail, his ankles held in place by a wide steel band.  As she neared, never 
removing her eyes from him, she counted each tiny tremor of his body.  
A gentle rattle accompanied the movement, setting the rhythm for her 
approach. 

He panted raggedly, an occasional cry escaping his throat. 

"Oh, Angel," she whispered, uncertain if the pain she felt was actually his 
or her own from seeing him so distressed. 

The keys fit easily into their slots as she released his limbs from their 
restraints.  The metal cuffs had torn through his flesh--rips in his skin that 
couldn't be considered wounds because the areas were dry. 

"Angel, wake up!" she pleaded, fighting her worst fears while she 
struggled to make him coherent.  She constantly pushed against his 
chest until realizing his skin was being scoured beneath the burlap-
textured prison shirt.  Holding his head between her palms, she jostled 
him again but he wobbled as if stuffed with rags, limp and unresponsive. 

"Oh, God." 

She turned to the familiar voice and glared at him as he approached the 
table.  "What are you doing here?" she seethed.  Her frustration took 
control and she swung her arm at him. 

Wesley saw the strike coming and accepted it stoically, taking no 
offense.  His eyes welled nonetheless and he dabbed at the cut she 
created, the salt of his perspiration causing a sting.  Punishment 
rendered; punishment accepted.  As Nichols called in the foyer, Wesley 
signaled for Cordelia to leave. 

"I can't just leave him, Wesley." 

"Nor can I."  He met her eyes sincerely, then motioned with the top of his 
head, impressed with Cordelia's determination as she prepared herself 
for completion of her mission. 

"Make sure he drinks all of it or we'll never get him out of here."  She 
returned her hands to Angel's face and ran her fingers across his 
parched lips. 

His eyes fluttered and he opened them to her, his expression one of 
doubt.  Angel kissed her finger as she asked if he missed her and he 
wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not until she walked out of his range of 
vision. 

No dream could be so cruel.  "Cor-" he whimpered. 

Wesley felt helpless as he listened to Angel sob while mouthing 
Cordelia's name.  "Angel, here.  Drink this," he said, trying to keep his 
voice steady while reaching under Angel's back to raise him slowly, 
fighting panic when the vampire's lack of substance caught him off 
guard. 

"Wes?"  Angel searched Wesley's eyes, trying to fathom some 
explanation of what was happening.  "I thought Cordel-" 

"Yes, Angel.  She's here, too; in the other room attempting to stall the 
doctor so that you can get this down."  He returned quickly from reaching 
for the thermos to catch Angel before he toppled over.  Shouldering 
Angel's body into place, he managed to open the container and held it 
out, disturbed by Angel's reaction.  "I'm afraid you're going to--  There's 
no other way to get you out of here other than on your own volition." 

"Where's Cordel-?"  Angel grimaced at the thermos as his stomach 
turned from its aroma.  "Bring... back.  Have to say before I...  Bring her 
back?" 

Wesley kept his tone soft, in an attempt to soothe his friend.  "She's not 
going to leave unless you do, Angel.  Please.  Drink it."  He poofed the 
fingers of his free hand as he demanded, "TRANSFORM!" 

Angel ignored the command.  "Doct' will know...  He'll hurt her..." 

When Angel continued to glare at him, Wesley shook his head against 
his better moral standards.  Although he didn't want Cordelia to use her 
feminine wiles, he determined it preferable he stay in the room to die with 
Angel than to face Cordy's further wrath if he foiled her rescue attempt.  
"Whether or not the doctor figures out her motives..."  Wesley paused 
and shrugged.  "You were a man once, Angel.  Would it have mattered to 
you?" 

Angel closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find Cordelia 
somewhere beyond his suffering.  He caught hold of her determination 
and she pushed him away, unwilling to accept anything less than his 
safety.  No matter what.  His transformation came naturally and he felt 
the thermos touch his lips.  Each nourishing gulp soaked deeply into his 
thirsty tissues to invigorate him as he chanted Cordelia's name in his 
mind to take it all in despite his body's objections. 

He stood unsteadily and Wesley's arm was there to control him.  His 
demonic persona slid away as easily as it had appeared and he turned to 
Wesley, nodding appreciatively.  "She put something in the blood, didn't 
she?"  he asked.  The sound his of voice felt good to him, and he 
growled softly as an internal massage to quiet his stomach. 

"You don't think it will help?"  Wesley tentatively drew back to allow 
Angel to regain his equilibrium, pleased with the surprisingly quickening 
recovery. 

Angel stretched his chest, touching his shoulder blades together before 
removing his prison outfit, replacing it with a lab coat and pair of pants he 
recognized as his own.  Amused, he shook his head while putting on his 
socks and shoes.  "She thought of everything," he remarked, his voice 
betraying his amazement.  Running his fingers through his hair, he was 
disgusted with the sticky residue on his hand.  "Well, now I think we need 
to find Cordelia." 

"My pleasure, sir.  And, how would you like to go about that?"  Wesley 
asked, his admiration for their associate unrestrained in his voice. 

Angel smoothed the jacket and tweaked the nametag slightly.  "If you 
can find a white coat, too, I was thinking we could go do some doctoring.  
That sound good to you?" 

-0- 

Angel swung the door to Nichols' office open boldly and stepped inside, 
Wesley at flank.  The white-coated pair entered agressively in time to 
see Cordelia drop "Gray's Anatomy" to the floor where it thudded loudly 
next to the unconscious body of the doctor. 

"Hey, Angel.  You look a lot better," she commented as she patted her 
hands together, backing towards him.  "You know, I was thinking.  You've 
got that axe, Buffy's got her stake, but no one is as mean as me with a 
book.  I think I've found my weapon of choice.  'Knowledge is a 
dangerous thing.'  What d'ya think?" 

Angel reached out and rezipped her dress but a muffled voice caught his 
attention before he could answer.  He turned to the disturbance, finding 
Wesley holding onto one Paula 'Mac' McNeal, Esquire.  The woman 
struggled fiercely, but the Brit did an admirable job of restraining her. 

"YOU!  I remember you!" Cordy called out, striding purposefully to the 
woman.  "You wanted my eyes!  Hey, Angel.  This is the chick who 
wanted to take my eyes.  You nasty Wolfram & Hart evil bitch!" 

A shriek sounded in protest caught everyone's attention as Claudia, the 
cat, leapt from Nichols' desk at Angel, who froze.  Before the cat 
pounced on him, though, Cordelia managed to pluck it out of midair, 
strangling it by its abdomen. 

"I HATE this cat!" She turned back to Mac, holding the cat before her.  
"Who wants eyes?  Does the kitty want eyes?"  She started to lurch the 
pawing feline at the frightened woman until Angel pulled her arm. 

"C'mon, Cordelia.  Cruelty with animals?"  He chided her.  Accepting the 
cat from her begrudging release, he bundled its extremities as he walked 
it to a door, throwing it into what turned out to be a closet.  As the cat's 
paws swiped under the crack, Angel kicked at it, amazed at the animal's 
remarkably pronounced anger.  "Wow, I think I knew that cat in one of its 
past lives," he commented absently. 

"I was actually thinking of feeding it to you yesterday, Angel.  Would that 
have worked out as a snack?" Cordy asked. 

"I've never been fond of longhairs," he replied, "although, there's 
something about that one..."  He paused, wrinkling his mouth.  "OK.  That 
was a disgusting conversation to get into, Cordelia." 

"Yeah, Angel, it most certainly was.  But you shared and it wasn't SO 
horrible, was it?" 

Wesley cleared his throat as Cordelia and Angel exchanged their 
moment and, by losing his concentration, gave Mac enough leverage to 
lunge from his grasp.  He tried to regain control of the woman, but she 
elbowed him sharply in the ribs, disabling his attempt. 

"I'm so-" 

"Sorry.  Right.  C'mon, Wesley," Angel called as he chased after the 
woman. 

Wesley wasn't sure exactly what Cordelia said to him as she followed 
Angel out.  The explosion that rocked the building didn't give him any 
time to think about it. 

"Not much you can do to save these precious demons, now, Warrior 
Angel!" Mac taunted as she placed the telephone receiver back in its 
cradle.  "And, no vision from your Powers That Be is going to help any of 
them out."  She sighed mockingly as she glanced at her watch.  "Floor 
five, by the way, just lost Wing A and Wing B,"  she paused for effect as 
another explosion occurred, its sound much louder than the first. 

"Bye, bye, demons!"  As Angel moved towards her, she leered at him 
over the top of her glasses.  "Which one brought it to you?  
Rathrachemae?  At least show me what it looks like." 

"Rathrachemae?" Wesley echoed. 

"Fine, Angel.  At least now we know you're in possession of it--whatever 
IT is.  So now your choice is to have whatever done to me you think can 
be done to me or you can try to save some demonfolk.  Floor four won't 
go for another hour or so, after the partial burnout of 5.  Your choice.  
Your deal." 

"Which way?" 

"Angel, no!"  Cordelia ordered.  "I'm not going to go through this with you 
again!  Let's go!" 

"I believe this would be the way, Angel," Wesley cooly replied from the 
open door of a stairwell, sweeping his hand after Angel's entry.  As 
Cordelia followed, stopping to glare at him angrily, he sarcastically 
replied to her, "my SpinelessBoy handbook told me to refer to your 
SpunkyGirl one in this instance." 

He could have sworn she swallowed a smile before she rolled her eyes 
at him. 

-0- 

Cordelia had almost believed Wesley's good intentions until she caught 
him at a computer terminal on the 3rd floor instead of helping to unlock 
prisoners.  As she held the fire stairwell exit open, she glared at him 
unmercifully, pleased by Wesley's uncomfortable reaction as he helped 
shuffle the demon population downstairs.  As Angel called into the 
smoke-filled general confinement area for the escapees to follow the 
sound of his voice, she refused to buy into Wesley's coordinating efforts 
of having the stronger demons assist the weaker ones. 

"That's all of them, Angel.  At least as many as can be saved.  Let's go."  
Wesley studied Angel carefully, unsure if he and Cordelia could manage 
to get the vampire to safety after he noticed a dip in Angel's stamina. 

Two clapping hands appeared from the smoke and caused the last 
remaining demons to pause.  They mumbled something between 
themselves as they stood to stare. 

"Straley." Angel stated. 

"Good job, Warrior.  Saved the hopeless masses from their deaths and 
destruction.  Not bad for a day's work.  I could have used you at the 
restaurant." 

"We don't have time for this.  C'mon."  Angel's surprise was evident as 
Straley spit at his outstretched hand, missing.  "But, you'll die..." 

"Look at them," Straley pointed at the stragglers witnessing the show-
down.  "They think I'm stupid," he said only loud enough for Angel to 
hear.  "They think I should let you save my life.  You.  A vampire.  Should 
save me.  My culture was one of the originals." 

"Whatever, Straley.  Let's just go, now!  We can have another bar brawl if 
you want to decide semantics later on."  Angel left his hand extended, 
concentrating on keeping it still as a pain shot across his chest. 

"Hmmmmm.  Hero 'til' the bitter end.  Impressive."  He looked at the 
demons and back to Angel, nodding his approval when Angel dropped 
his hand.  "You see, Angel.  Nothing I did here was out of demonic 
behavior.  THIS isn't out of demonic behavior--refusing to let an 
abnormal human state of existence rescue me.  What they're doing--
THAT'S abnormal.  Did you know The Keepers had to kill 10 of them the 
other day before they could haul you out of here?  That's abnormal.  Why 
are those demons working together over there.  I can tell you for a fact I 
could never have seated them on the same night, let alone the same 
room together, in my restaurant.  Do you get it?" 

"Let's just go," Angel insisted as his mouth abruptly went dry. 

"Even me.  I didn't mention your Seer.  We're changing, Angel.  The evil 
in this place backfired and made all these demons challenge their 
beliefs.  If you let these dozen die here with you while you try to get me 
to change my mind, every lost life will have been wasted and everything 
will go back to the way it was." 

He watched Angel begin to lose grasp of the conversation, dismayed 
with the brevity of time.  "They will think I'm insane because I spit on your 
species, Angel.  I couldn't let go of my cherished beliefs handed down 
through the eons long enough to let you save my life.  They'll see how 
you didn't care what they were and how much you personally sacrificed 
to come back here to rescue them from this hellhole.  And they'll be alive 
to spread the word of what went on here and how 'The Promised One' 
saved their lives." 

"I'm not The Promised One'," Angel protested. 

As Cordy called Angel's name repeatedly, Straley let a knowing smile 
cross his unkind features.  "Prophecy, Angel.  No one knows.  Who's to 
say who The Promised One is and who is actually The Warrior?"  When 
Angel returned his attention after briefly glancing to quiet Cordelia, 
Straley studied the look on the vampire's face.  "She's right, now go.  
You are the proof of the lesson we've taken too long to learn, Angel.  And 
if you die here, now, the education ends completely." 

-0- 

"Wait, Angel!  You just can't go out there!" Wesley exclaimed.  "It's 
daybreak.   You'll combust."  Relieved with the stay of their exit, Wesley 
bent at his waist to reclaim his breath. 

"Give him your coat, Wesley!" 

Angel smiled at her affectionately and shook his head slowly.  "It's white, 
Cordelia.  If we step out into full sun..." 

"Oh."  She considered his comment.  "That's what's with all the black.  
Wow." 

"Besides, Cordelia, you don't have the right to tell me what to do.  
Remember, you fired me?" 

Angel examined the glaring pair quizzically.  "I'm gone for, what?  2 
weeks and my employees are at each other's throats?  You don't have 
the authorization to fire Wesley--" 

"But, he's been trying to kill you, Angel," Cordelia whined. 

"Even if that's true, he didn't succeed.  Just let it go."  He held his hand to 
Wesley's beginning protest.  "We've already gone through this before 
and it's not the last conversation I ever want to have." 

Wesley shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with Angel's conclusion.  "Well, 
Angel--here we stand on the threshold of your existence, no matter what 
led up to it.  This may be..." 

Angel, leaning on Cordelia for support, placed his hand on Wesley's 
shoulder.  "I either die out there or in here.  But, either way, I won't die 
alone and that's all I wanted." 

"I'm not going to let you die, Angel.  I ruined a $200.00 pair of shoes for 
this escapade and fine fashion footwear refuses to be trashed before its 
outdated." 

Angel was appalled.  "How can you afford a $200.00 pair of shoes on 
what I pay you, Cordelia?  Leave that movie nest egg alone.  You've 
really got to start budgeting your money; I don't care how cheap your 
apartment is." 

She tch'd.  "I got them on sale, Angel.  REALLY on sale, so cheap you 
wouldn't believe.  It's the principal they were ORIGINALLY $200.00, you 
know.  And you're one to talk, Mr. Designer Wardrobe.  Here I thought 
you were wearing knockoffs and those freaking sweaters of yours are the 
real deal.  'Splain me budgeting THEM." 

Wesley began to speak, but his thoughts were cut off by another 
explosion, extremely close in proximity.  "Anyone care to hazard a guess 
about how to resolve this situation?  I, for one, am up for Butch-and-
Sundancing it." 

Cordelia pushed him from under Angel's hand.  "Ew, Wesley!  Fine time 
to express how you REALLY feel about Angel.  I could have seriously 
done without that Hallmark moment." 

Angel laughed.  "It's a movie, Cordelia.  One of Wesley's suck rental 
picks of the week.  Think of his suggestion as Thelma and Louise'ing." 

"OK, I get that but why didn't you just say 'let's get the hell out of Dodge' 
in the first place?" 

As another incendiary device exploded, Wesley strained to listen to 
Cordelia as she spoke directly into Angel's face.  He realized when she 
told Angel, 'I'm not going to let you die,' he didn't actually hear the words, 
but literally felt her passionate belief Angel was going to safely greet the 
early morning.  A fireball raced at them as Wesley threw open their 
escape hatch and the three tumbled into the building's side lot. 

There was no time to consider whatever lay in wait for him as Angel was 
thrown clear of the building.  In the force of the expulsion, he lost his 
bearings, rolling forward back onto his feet. 

To panic. 

The deafening roar in his ears pulled Angel's focus inward to the flash of 
a burning sensation.  What little moisture was left in his body evaporated 
instantaneously and he opened his mouth to scream in torment, finding 
the effort wasted as the flavor of burning ash swelled in the back of his 
throat.  The odor was so overwhelming, he closed his eyes against his 
last thoughts, that his redemption should be so failed he would be fully 
cognizant of his own incineration, the awful singular emptiness of dying 
without hope, of being that unforgivable. 

He anticipated his soul's flight from the fiery consummation, one final 
escape from its fealty.  In that moment of pause, she came to him--in the 
form of her innocent joy, her laughter piercing the white noise.  She 
called out his name repeatedly until he looked away from his horror and 
saw her dancing in the rain, her wet hair swinging as she pirouetted.  
And on her face, that expression meant only for him, causing Angel to lift 
his own to follow her gaze... 

Wesley tapped his head to locate his balance and he rose, following the 
sound of Cordelia's voice.  She sang Angel's name as she twirled 
ecstatically under the canopy of black, pluming smoke and the over 
spray of a multitude of fire hoses.  The explosions were more constant 
as the building decayed from within to its foundation.  Sirens and a 
helicopter overhead added to the squall but Cordelia, it seemed, was 
oblivious to it all. 

Until she shrieked, causing Wesley's heart to skip a beat.  He stood 
motionless and watched her hurry to Angel, the vampire slowly falling 
knees-first with his arms outstretched and his terror-stricken face tilted 
upwards as he reached out for Cordelia who came to his aid. Holding 
him, she patted Angel gently on the back while his body was racked with 
harsh, sooty coughs until he finally collapsed from exhaustion at her feet. 

Even at a distance, through the auditory overload, Wesley heard Cordy's 
voice reminding Angel that she told him so.  And he removed his glasses 
to wipe them thoughtlessly against his vaguely-white coat, trying not to 
assign any emotion to having seen the reflection of their ardent embrace 
mirrored in his water-spotted lenses. 

"I'm guessing this probably doesn't have anything to do with the arson 
murder case I'm working on, right?" 

Cordelia looked up from her charge.  "I'm guessing probably not, either, 
Detective Lockley." 

Kate Lockley nodded her head in acceptance, not at all surprised by the 
young woman's response, as she attempted to put her feelings aside 
long enough to assess the situation in front of her.  She took off the dark 
nylon jacket emblazoned with its yellow LAPD lettering and shoved it at 
Wesley when he joined them. 

"Here, Bodyguard," she said, "the smoke is clearing and you'll probably 
want to get him out of here anyway before someone tries to haul his ass 
off to the morgue." 

Wesley inspected the blonde detective's walk away from them, her body 
language doing much to express the anger suppressed in her voice.  
"That was so kind of her, Cordelia.  Why do you think she did that?" he 
asked in complete ignorance. 

"Refer back to the handbook, Wes.  Where's the sport if Angel dies like 
this?" Cordy answered, her spirit undiminished despite the situation at 
hand as she looked beyond Kate, smiling in recognition. 

Kate Lockley maneuvered through the catastrophe expertly, too deeply 
entrenched in her thoughts to notice a smoking cat running amidst the 
scene's activity or its loss of life after being squashed by an emergency 
vehicle.   Nor did she notice the suspicious little man who jogged passed 
her, shielded from the overspray by his jaunty hat and pleather jacket, a 
man way too ecstatic for such a disaster. 

-0- 

Harriet Doyle took one of the teacups from Wesley as he stood in the 
doorway to Angel's bedroom.  "You've been standing here for a minute, 
Wes.  Why don't you just go in and join them?"  When he bowed his 
head in reply, she led him back to the kitchen table where she motioned 
for him to sit before she took a chair for herself. 

"Which one are you more jealous of?" 

Wesley took a sip from his cup.  It's tepid temperature spoke volumes on 
how long he had been spying on the pair.  "It's that obvious?" 

Understanding his embarrassment, Harry reached across and patted 
Wesley's hand consolingly.  "It was so nice of Angel to have me over.  
He looks so great, I had no idea that he's in such bad condition.  Isn't 
he?" 

"Very bad, yes.  Cordelia's been doing wonders, though. Coming up with 
clever concoctions to help Angel get his strength back.  But, I'm afraid all 
the elixirs in the world aren't going to stave off the inevitable for too much 
longer." 

Harry was visibly saddened by the news.  "I thought he had years before 
the necromongracy set on.  Was it what happened when he was in 
captivity?" 

Wesley folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair 
thoughtfully.  "From the information I gathered between the research 
facility and The Watcher's Council archives, Angel actually inadvertently 
accelerated this himself." 

Her puzzled look urged him to continue.  "He doesn't feed human.  At 
least we know that now for a fact.  So, his metabolism isn't what it's 
supposed to be.  The Agenda didn't even take into account his diet--so 
much of what they performed on him increased the condition's onset.   
But The Council's studies from the mid-1800's on a pair of captive 
necromongers is what actually proved that fact since there were no 
circumstances under which The Council was going to provide the 
mutated vampires with their normal diets.  Needless to say, with a 
substitution, it was a very short study, indeed." 

"Well, then, we'll just have to pray over it, won't we?" Harry wrinkled her 
nose optimistically.  "So, Wes, you were obviously in The Watcher's 
Council archives recently.  That must have been strange.  What was that 
like for you?" 

Wesley was mortified by her question.  "I'm sorry, Harriet, even though I 
was there without authorization, I still can't breach the secrecy.  No way!" 

"Oh, I don't care about The Council, Wesley.  No, I was asking about 
you.  What was it like for you to be back in the old playground?  How'd it 
make you feel?" 

Wesley fought an allergic attack, extremely touched by the pleasant 
woman's inquiry.  "Well, I think, rather like being home for the holidays 
without going inside--like watching the family's festivities through a 
window." 

His analogy amused her.  Harry laughed, her voice tinged with intrigue, 
"so, Wesley, did you rattle the window to let 'em know you were there 
before you ran off, leaving them guessing?"  But her amusement gave 
way to concern as she considered the puzzled look on his face, confused 
by his inquiry over which handbook her suggestion could be found in. 

With Cordelia's body curved against his spine and her heart beating 
against his shoulder, Angel clutched his pillow tightly, clasping his hands 
together underneath it as he half-buried his face into the satiny texture.  
Trying to repel the sensations, the misery of his desire caused his soul to 
wage war on the predator within as her bare arm slid under his.  He felt 
her pulse across his chest, as if she could will him health, and his hunger 
flared in aversion to the intimacy. 

The experience continued to overwhelm his senses and Angel struggled 
to restrain his very being, the soul vehemently cautioning him against 
repeating the same mistake.  But the torment of his craving only 
worsened the longer she held onto him and he challenged himself not to 
take her--that he would offer her nothing in return.  The void of his 
existence left him craving--so much--and he wanted to embrace her life 
as if it was his to own. 

"Ow!"  Angel blinked repeatedly, trying to focus after being smacked 
across the forehead.  He rolled onto his back and looked up into 
Cordelia's face for an explanation, swallowed by her affection. 

"You weren't listening to me.  Again.  If you could stop having an anxiety 
attack long enough, Angel, we could have a conversation.  What were 
you thinking about this time?  Trying to bite me or something?" 

"You... You can read my mind?"  Angel, ashamed, began to turn away 
from her, but she wouldn't let him go. 

"No, Angel.  I can't read your mind.  But, please, it's not like I haven't 
known you long enough to kinda guess these things." 

"And it doesn't scare you?" he barely whispered, terrified of himself. 

"Yeaaah, DUH!  But, I figure at some point your head has got to get in 
front of those fangs of yours and make you realize that if you bite me, 
you'd be putting yourself in a major world of hurt.  You've got the PTB to 
contend with--I'm sure they wouldn't be too thrilled you turned your 
Messenger, not only into a vamp, but into a corpse-aholic one.  And 
then, you have to consider that if you thought YOU were a badass, 
imagine ME without a soul.  Ooooooooh, boy!  They'd yank you into hell 
so fast for siring me your head would spin." 

She concerned him.  "You spend a lot of time thinking about this stuff, 
don't you?"  Angel was sure that wasn't healthy. 

"C'mon, Angel.  I wouldn't waste my time thinking.  Hey, so anyway.  
How about you get your mind off your teeth long enough to come up with 
a book for me?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You know, for my weapon.  I was saying I should have a signature book 
to wield.  Nothing too brainy, though--it'd be out of character.  Maybe 
something I could quote from before I actually swing it.  That'd be cool, 
huh?  Or maybe pretentious?  Hmmmmmm.  Could go either way.  'Here, 
you fiend!  Have a thought of the day!'  Kabonnnnnnnnnng!" 

Angel blinked.  Two times.  And then shrugged, utterly perplexed.  "I'll 
sleep on it, alright?" 

Cordelia, placated, swept her face near his and air-kissed his cheek.  
"Good enough.  See you in the morning!" 

Angel nestled under his sheet as Cordelia padded away, counting her 
steps to keep his mind occupied.  As her laughter drifted in from the front 
room after Harry said something amusing, he felt Cordelia's happiness 
as much as he heard it and placed it among his memories as something 
to refer to later on when he needed a nice normal thought to divert his 
concentration. 

 
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