Angel: She has the ego of a god.

Wes: She was ruler of the world, after all. Sort of thing goes to one’s head.

Angel: Apparently.

Wes: I am making progress. There’s distance, of course. She would never accept any of us as peers. I afford her some amusement at the very least. It may be why she’s still here.

Angel: She’s still here because this place reeks of influence. She had everything, Wes. Everything. Do you think she’s not looking to get that back?

Wes: I wouldn’t presume to know what she wants. But I understand the resource, the power she represents. If we could just find some way to integrate her, to convince her.

Angel: To what? Join the team?

Angel: Go team.

Gunn: Hey.

Wes: Gunn. First day back?

Gunn: Yeah.

Wes: I stabbed you. I should apologize for that but I’m honestly not sure how. I think it’ll just be awkward.

Gunn: Good call.

Wes: Ok.

Gunn: I ain’t looking for a sorry. Don’t know if I’d accept it. Besides I just got my heart cut out of my chest every day for two weeks straight. Compared to what - a little jab in the gut? - kinda over it.

Wes: So, what are you looking for?

Gunn: I don’t know. A compass maybe? The thing that killed my friend just saved my life. No one knows why. This place just went ‘Poseidon’ on my ass. I don’t know which way is up.

Wes: No. [laughs] No. She is monumentally self-possessed. She still thinks she’s the god-king of the universe.

Gunn: So she’s like a TV star.

Wes: No, nothing that bad. Bit more violent, though.

Spike: All right, Grandma. Give you that. Good one.

Illyria: This shell. You had affection for it. For Fred.

Spike: Uh huh. Tons. Loved the bird.

Illyria: Yet you strike at her form without sentiment.

Spike: You ain’t her. I can see it. Lord knows I can smell it. And I got no problem hitting it.

Illyria: You are adapting.

Spike: We do that.

Illyria: Adaptation is compromise.

Spike: It’s called learning. But then I guess you know everything there is to know.

Illyria: When the world met me it shuddered. Groaned. Knelt at my feet.

Spike: ‘Dear Penthouse. . . I don’t normally write letters like this. .’

Spike: That time-stop thing’s a royal bitch. But I’m starting to suss out her million-year old moves. Cheeky mix. Little tae kwon do. Little Brazillian ninjitsu, ancestrally speaking.

Angel: We have to stop these sessions.

Spike: Now hang on. Just now getting into it. Testing her has sharpened technique I didn’t even know was rusty.

Angel: We’re not testing her, Spike. She’s testing us.

Spike: Got her winded at least, didn’t I? That’s right Little Shiva. Reckon’ you’ll think twice next time.

Gunn: Have you talked to Wes?

Lorne: We’ve exchanged words, I wouldn’t exactly call it talking. He’s still reeling since Our Lady of the Blue Bummer arrived.

Gunn: Yeah, I was just in his office--

Lorne: Oh, God, don’t go in there! It’s where he keeps his full-strength crazy.

Gunn: Yeah, caught a whiff of that.

Lorne: It’s like he’s two different people. One is almost catatonic, he’s the guy you see doing the inpatient-shuffle around the hallways. And the other is just cooped up in there all day jittering like a bug on a hot plate obsessing over every single tidbit he can find on Illyria.

Spike: ‘K. I’m sure it is you don’t like Babe the Blue Ox in your house and you want to get rid of her.

Angel: Yeah.

Spike: So, you talking pasture. . . or slaughterhouse?

Angel: Didn’t have a problem killing Fred, did she?

Wes: Illyria •infected• Fred with no more malice than a viral phage.

Angel: Look, Wes, I know you’re bonding with her but--

Wes: But she’s unpredictable. Dangerous. Too powerful a being. Too close to being an enemy. Yes, Angel, it’s self-evident

Angel: Which means we have to find some kind of weakness. Some point of vulnerability.

Wes: You want me to find a way to kill her.

Angel: You got a problem with that?

Wes: No.

Angel: Good. Cause we’ve got more than enough problems to worry about.

Gunn: Yeah. For example, what about the apocalypse. Still trying to get my head around that. Lindsey said we’re in the middle of it?

Wes: Ah, yes. The thousand year war between good and evil is well under way.

Angel: Evil just hasn’t told anyone about it yet, which is probably why they’re winning.

Spike: Oh, by the way. We’re apparently on the wrong side. Or the right side if you like winning.

Gunn: Sounds like you guys are buying it.

Angel: Next time you go out there take a good look around. Cause it’s true, Gunn.

Gunn: Works for me. So what’s that mean for us?

Angel: Tell us how we fight an invisible war. I don’t even know who we’re fighting. All the evil we stop, so far, and we’re still the Partners’ number one earner.

Marcus: Not any more. Let me ask you something, Angel. You ever heard the term ‘surgical strike?’

Angel: Ever heard the term ‘appointment?’

Marcus: Illyria destroyed 11 torture units before she found your man. Two troop carriers. Ice cream truck. Eight beautifully maintained lawns. Not to mention dozens of employees made useless to the company.

Angel: Bill me.

Marcus: Oh, we will. The damages are coming directly out of this division’s profits. Congratulations. In one swift stroke you’ve gone from leader of the pack to staggering at the rear.

Angel: And?

Marcus: You’re a motivated go-getter at the top of the corporate ladder. Why don’t you figure out what happens after ‘and’?

Angel: We’re working on that.

Marcus: Yes, I’m sure you are. In the meantime the Partners have a small task they’d like you to oversee. I’m sending Gunn the file. Good to see you again, by the way. It’s a simple matter but with some very big players.

Angel: If this is our chance to get into good grace with the Head Office I’ve got to say, it’s not my priority.

Marcus: Don’t think about us, Angel. Think about profits. Profits that let you keep this plucky little boat load of good above water. It’s business, boys. Not a batcave.

Lorne: Ah I’ll tell you what. I still like him better than Eve.

Illyria: You are my betrayer. When you shattered the window of orlon you meant to change the past. To rewrite your history and the history of this body.

Wes: And instead I brought back more painful memories.

Illyria: It was a failure.

Wes: I’ve come to understand how irreversible the works of time are.

Illyria: But you intended to alter them.

Wes: I wanted to bring back Fred.

Illyria: And destroy me.

Wes: As an unavoidable consequence. Does it sting you? My betrayal?

Illyria: Betrayal was a neutral word in my day. As unjudged a word as ‘water’ or ‘breeze.’ No. Perhaps not. I am only bothered because I am bothered.

Wes: That sounds very close to human.

Illyria: Motes of dust! Mayflies who die so soon after they’re born they might as well not live at all.

Wes: Now, now. Manners.

 Illyria: Your opinion of me weighs less than sunlight.

Harmony: Ok. Angel just needs another few minutes. Can I go ahead and grab you anything to drink? Coffee. Tea. Got blood.

Fell leader: What’s he doing in there with the holy vessel?

Harmony: And a variety of organic colas.

Fell leader: The Brethren have a delicate relationship with the vessel. If she’s presenting any problems we should be the ones to--

Harmony: Believe me, Angel will take care of everything. That’s what he does. Yup. I’m sure he’s in there, you know, getting into her head. . . sowing the seeds of fear. Don’t you worry. He will snap her like a pregnant twig.

Fell leader: We’ll try an organic cola.

Gunn: Amanda, the Fell Brethren leader makes Jim Jones look like a Sunday school teacher.

Amanda: Who’s Jim Jones?

Gunn: I’m not feeling so good.

Angel: First day back from a vacation in hell. I’m not surprised.

Gunn: You know what the worst part of that place was? It wasn’t in the basement. At least there you knew where you stood. Demon was going to cut your heart out and show it to you. Nah. It was the fake life they gave you upstairs. Wife, kids, all the icing on the family cake. But somewhere underneath there was the nagging certainty it was all lies. That all the smiles, and the birthday candles and the homework were there to hide the horror. Is that all we’re doing here? Just hiding the horror?

Angel: No.

Gunn: Cause I don’t think I can stomach it anymore, not after all that’s happened.

Angel: You have to. Listen to me, Gunn. I need you to get through this, get through all of it so we can figure out the big picture and plot our next move.

Gunn: Angel, she is our next move.

Marcus: Curing cancer, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce?

Wes: Wouldn’t be cost effective. I’m sure we’ll make a lot from cancer.

Marcus: Yes. The patent holder is a client. So. . . . how’s the science game? I realize you’re just filling in but, ah. . .

Wes: Do you have a specific need, Mr. Hamilton.

Marcus: Just wondering if anything turned up on Illyria. We have our concerns about her, too, you know.

Wes: Common ground. Mystifying.

Marcus: She’s a walking nightmare, isn’t she?

Wes: Well put.

Marcus: And yet you seem to be the closest thing she has to a friend.

Wes: [laughs] If you knew her, you’d realize the absurdity of that statement.

Marcus: Well the partners know her, Wesley. Yes. They go way back. They don’t want her here. They don’t want her anywhere, at all. But they consider this to be your problem so, have a nice fight. Oh, you might want to try taking a look at the low-emanation scanner readouts. Just a thought.

Lorne: I repeat, “Bluebird got wise.” Secret demon’s cover’s blown. Over. Hello? Is this on? Ohhhh. Hey, Liri, when did you catch on to me, in the elevator? That was a tough one.

Illyria: The vampire plays children’s games.

Lorne: Tag, you’re it, honey.

Fell leader: Amanda, you look wonderful. Huh? Huh? So full of life. So how’s our little oven bun? Still kicking up a storm, I hope.

Fell demon #2: Second trimester!

Fell leader: Any more pressure, shortness of breath? Well, that’s normal. Are you taking the black kahosh we sent?

Amanda: Mhmmm.

Fell leader: Lovely. Gribmeht clipped some articles out of this month’s “Fit Pregnancy.” We’ll send those along--

Angel: We can get underway.

Fell leader: Ah. And there. And. . .done. There you are, Amanda.

Gunn: Wait a minute. “Gordibock?”

Fell leader: Yes. Gordibock. Just sign right there, Mom.

Gunn: No, hang on, I just want to get this clause straight. “The child will be pampered, worshipped and fed a holy diet of berries, panda meat, and urine.”

Fell leader: It’s consecrated urine.

Gunn: “And on the eve of his thirteenth year he will be prepared for the rites of Gordibock.”

Amanda: That’s what. . . like a bar mitzvah?

Fell leader: Well, there’ll be gifts.

Gunn: Amanda, it's a ritual sacrif--

Fell leader: •Who’s lawyer are you?!?!•

Illyria: Jealous! Plankton envying the ocean that holds them.

Lorne: You gotta keep your thingie on for this to work, ok? [Angel knocks his hat off.] Oh, that’s mature.

Angel: Illyria’s blown all her gaskets, man. She’s out of her mind.

Spike: How can you tell? Yesterday she spent two hours mind-melding with a potted fern.

Angel: She thinks I’m trying to kill her.

Wes: Aren’t you?

Angel: Tell me you have something, Wes. Just anything.

Wes: She is unstable. Overloading to be more accurate. The fusion between her demon essence and her host’s body seems to be deteriorating. It’s as if the human part of her can no longer contain the demonic power within.

Spike: We’re thinking she cracked her engine block and now she’s leaking petrol all over the building.

Wes: She’s going to self-destruct, violently and soon.

Angel: And you were going to tell me this when?

Wes: I wasn’t. Spike and I were dealing with it.

Spike: We’re motivated go-getters.

Wes: The good news is the crack in her engine block may give us a chance to get to her. This is a Mutari generator. It creates a pinhole to an infinite, extradimensional space. A negatively charged pocket universe that should draw her radiant essence, her power into itself by process of a--

Angel: Wes. Will it kill her?

Wes: Yes. Should we go?

Angel: We have to find out where she--

Spike: Oh, yeah. Training room looks like. Gushing petrol like a geyser.

Spike: So what sort of damage are we looking at if Illyria Chernobyl’s on us?

Wes: Conservative guess, several city blocks.

Angel: And what about unconservative?

Wes: Rand and McNally will have to redraw their maps.

Angel: Is she in there?

Lorne: Do you even know how to use this thing? Well that’s funny I didn’t see her leave.

Illyria: You followed me.

Angel: Gunn.

Illyria: You’ve been swept up in my wake.

Angel: This is the holding dimension.

Illyria: How did you worms accomplish this?

Angel: We didn’t. . . We. . . Accomplish what?

Illyria: You ripped me out of linear progression, tore my timeline into shreds and stitched it back together out of sequence!

Angel: Are you kidding?!

Illyria: You trapped me in this fractured time frame. In moments that repeat themselves over and over without deviation. But I don’t say these words.

Angel: Will you just shut up for once!

Illyria: What?

Angel: My god, this speechifying. Has it ever occurred to you that now might not be the best time for “when we were muck” stories?

Illyria: You dare to speak to me in this--

Angel: Yes, I dare! And yes, we are looking for a way to control you any way we can. I can’t have an x-factor like you •bouncing• around unchecked.

Illyria: Bouncing around?!?

Angel: We attacked you.

Illyria: I didn’t give you a chance. That you learn when you become a king. You learn to destroy everything that’s not utterly yours. All that matters is victory. That’s how your reign persists. You are a slave to an insane construct. You are moral. A true ruler is as moral as a hurricane. Empty but for the force of his gale. But you. . . trapped in the web of the Wolf, the Ram, the Hart. . . so much power here and you quibble at its price. If you want to win a war, you must serve no master but your ambition.

Illyria: Change is constant. Yet things remain the same.

Angel: I know what happens. I know you kill us all.

Spike: A bit pessimistic aren’t you?

Illyria: You ask me to allow you to murder me?

Spike: It’s not murder if you say “yes.”

Angel: Illyria. The future can change here. Choose a different path.

Illyria: And be nothing.

Angel: And be what you are. Hold on to what you were, it’s destroying you.

Illyria: You would do this to me?

Wes: I’d try anyway. Every time.

Wes: Illyria?

Illyria: Touch me and die, vermin.

Spike: Not a very dramatic difference, really.

Wes: Everything is different.

Angel: Wes, I don’t like where this is going. I don’t like where this has been.

Wes: I’m not alone in this thing, Angel. And for some reason I need it right now.

Angel: Yeah. That’s just weird.

Wes: I know.

Angel: Serve no master but your ambition.

Wes: What was that?

Angel: I think you were may have been right before. About Illyria being a resource. She just might make the team yet.