"Hi guys!"

"Cordelia?" Wesley sounded utterly bewildered. Angel knew how he felt.

She nodded, smiling. "Uh-huh."

"You're..." Angel's voice was oddly harsh, even to his own ears. "You're safe."

"L'il bit," Cordy straightened the golden tiara that was perched on her head. "They made me ruler."

"This is fantastic!" Wes gushed, finally regaining his equilibrium.

"Well," Cordy said. "It's not like my throne couldn't use a few extra cushions, but I'm not really gonna complain, because, well ... throne."

Angel gaped as she did a royal wave to an imaginary crowd. He hadn't seen her act this way since Sunnydale. Queen C had made a spectacular return to form.

"Cordelia?" Wesley was attempting to regain her attention. "Cordelia!" She finally looked at him. "You could order them to release us!"

"Yes, I really could."

For some inexplicable reason she seemed annoyed with them. Was she punishing them for something?

The overweight Constable spoke up. "Shall we gut the cows now, that you might dine on their ignoble flesh, oh Most High?"

Cordy pulled a disgusted face. "Ew! You're most high if you think that's gonna happen. Besides, shouldn't there really be some extended groveling first?"

Angel couldn't move. He couldn't feel his body. He felt like everything had been stripped away, leaving only his heart behind - raw and exposed and open. Open to Cordelia.

And she couldn't see it.

She was sitting there, on a throne of all things, dressed in the finest silks, looking more beautiful than anyone had a right to, and she was playing with them.

"Cordelia," he growled. He suddenly felt really impatient with her. Why can't you see it, Cordy?

She frowned at him, recognizing the clipped tone. "O-Kay..." She paused for a moment, then commanded "Off with their heads!"

The now-recovered guards moved forward threateningly.

"Kidding!" Cordelia's wide grin was impish. "Let 'em go."

The guards hesitated for a moment, confused, then did as she ordered.

The Constable fidgeted. "Your Majesty, I must protest. To allow dangerous prisoners to roam freely in your presence..."

Cordelia pinned him with a superior look. "You're going to make me use my important voice aren't you?" She cleared her throat. "Leave us!"

The Constable frowned, but obeyed, reluctantly taking his guards and exiting the throne room.

There was a lull during their exit, but when the doors closed behind them Cordy delightedly extended her arms in a more exuberant greeting. "Hey!"

Wesley and the Host ignored her, hurriedly moving past to attack a platter of fruit like starving men.

"Thank God we found you," Wesley mumbled around a mouthful of food. "We were so worried."

Angel slowly got to his feet, using the sword for leverage, and moved forward. He felt like he was in dream - a state of shock maybe?

Cordelia stared at him as he approached. Her dark eyes were wide and uncertain, flicking across his features as though she was trying to work out if he was real.

"What happened?" he asked. His fingers were twitching. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but couldn't allow himself that luxury.

"What's it look like?" she huffed, her royal persona dropping sharply back into place. "They jabbed me with hot pokers for a while, then made me a princess."

Wesley wandered back to join them, a half-eaten fruity-type thing in his hand. "But that doesn't make sense, does it? In a world where humans are slaves, why would they elevate one to monarch?"

The Host turned around from stuffing his pockets with tid-bits. "You had a vision, didn'tcha puddin'?"

Cordelia turned her back on Angel to arch her eyebrow at Lorne. "Yeah. And can I just say, visions? Not gettin' any easier. I'm still kinda vibrating." She did an enticing little shimmy that caught Angel's eye - How'd she do that? - Then turned back, almost catching him in mid-ogle. "That could be from the hot pokers, though."

Angel blinked at her. Was she deliberately being kinky?

"See there," Lorne piped up. "She had a vision. That explains it." When they looked at him uncomprehendingly, he shook his head. "Well, see, there's this prophecy..."

"A prophecy," Angel repeated. "Great. 'Cause those always go well." He rolled his eyes. Like he needed more prophecies to deal with.

"It's a local myth, not exactly kosher with the Priests that've been running this place for the last several millennia. The Covenant of the Trombli? Humorless bunch. Anyway there's talk of an impending Golden Age, the first sign of which is the Cursed One - a being with the Pure Sight who will one day claim the throne and set events in motion."

Wesley frowned. "When you say 'Pure Sight'-?"

"I mean a direct link to the Powers That Be." Lorne wagged his finger at Cordy. "I mean her."

"So these Trombli believe that Cordelia is this mythical Cursed One," Wesley mused. "And made her princess to bring about this Golden Age." He smiled. "And so long as they believe that, we might actually stand a chance of surviving this place until we can find a way out."

"Find a way out?" Cordelia dropped inelegantly onto her throne, casually throwing one leg over the arm. "How'd you get in?"

Angel stared at the exposed limb. It was long and tan and ... did he mention long? Cordy's legs went on forever. He shifted uneasily and then moved away. He shouldn't be thinking about this stuff, couldn't be thinking about this stuff.

"We got in the same way you did," Wesley explained. "By opening a portal with the book." He took another bit of his piece of fruit. "But we seem to have misplaced it."

"The portal or the book?" Cordy straightened up, suddenly realizing that she was giving the guys an eyeful. Angel had walked away from her - did that mean he thought she was disgusting?

"Both," Wesley answered.

"Oh. Well, I don't know about portals, but they've got books here. Those Trombone Priest guys used some when they swore me in."

"I'd like to see those." Wesley tossed the remaining fruit-core into a nearby ceremonial bowl.

"In kind of a hurry to get back to the Cordelia's-not-a-princess dimension aren'tcha?" Cordy wrinkled her nose at him like he was a horrid little bug.

"Even if we do find an appropriate book, we still need to locate another inter-dimensional hotspot." Wesley babbled, not paying her any mind. He glanced about, searching for something. "Angel-?"

They all turned to where the vampire was standing. He was in front of a full-length mirror, peering intently at his reflection. He put a hand up to touch his image in the glass and smiled. Not bad for a guy who'd had a bicentennial.

Cordy's eyes almost bugged from her head. "Oh my God! He's reflecting!" She bolted from the throne and dashed to his side, fascinated.

Wesley sighed. Not this again. "Yes, the metaphysical laws that govern our world don't seem to apply here. He can also walk in the sun."

She beamed. "Really?" Hey, that was great. Maybe he'd get a tan.

"It's not that big a deal," Angel murmured, he cast an almost shy glance over his shoulder at her. "Spike does it all the time."

"Spike?" Cordelia's face dropped. "Did you just say Spike? As in, have-a-boatload-of-torture-compliments-of-me Spike?"

"That would be he," Wesley confirmed. "Although there have apparently been several developments that Angel neglected to inform us of."

"They're not really..." Angel began. He was cut off when Cordelia grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the others. He cast a longing look at his reflection as he went, then got distracted by the fact that she was touching him.

"I thought you'd stopped with the hiding of the big secrety stuff," Cordy hissed in undertone. She looked almost apprehensive, like she was scared of him. "I thought we were past that."

"I never..." Angel blinked. "Secrety stuff?"

"What didn't you tell us about Spike?" Cordelia folded her arms. She wasn't going to take his broody silence for an answer this time.

Angel sighed. "Spike is with Buffy now. They're ordained."

"With Buffy? With with? As in, they're a couple with?" Now Cordelia was completely lost. "Why would Buffy-? I mean, I know she has this thing for vamps, but at least you had a soul. Spike's as evil as they come."

"He's not," Angel asserted, a bizarre urge to defend his absent Childe springing to life. "He never was."

"Okay, your explainy technique? Not so explainy." Cordelia began tapping her foot impatiently.

Angel smiled softly at the action. "It's really long and involved," he said. "But basically, Spike always had part of his soul. Then he got a chip in his head that stopped him hurting people. He got linked to Buffy. She completed him, and now he's almost human."

"Linked?" Cordelia licked her lips, thinking. Angel followed the movement avidly. "Is that connected to the whole 'ordained' bit."

"Uh-huh." Angel stared at her mouth, willing her to do that thing with her tongue again. "The Powers That Be matched them as equals."

"Nice," Cordelia grimaced. "So Spike's a good guy now? That's gonna take some getting used to."

"You'd be getting used to it already if he and Buffy hadn't bailed on us." Angel stuffed his hands into his pockets, the need to touch her was almost overwhelming him now. She was so close. He hunched his shoulders, trying to reel himself in.

"They're here? In Pylea?"

"Larger than life," Lorne declared, ambling over. "And twice the fun."

"If you say so," Cordelia didn't look convinced.

Wesley joined them, his mind still on the business side of things. "While we search here for the proper incantations, it might save us some time later if you hit the streets, see if you can document any portal activity..."

"Or locate Buffy and Spike." Angel didn't take his eyes off Cordelia. He was suddenly afraid that if he did, she'd disappear again.

"Yes, that too," Wesley nodded. "But more importantly, go with the Host. Track down his cousin Landok. Speak to his family, find out if..."

"Ho, ho, ho! Back up!" Lorne gaped at the former Watcher. "You want me to talk to my family? On purpose?"

"It's that, or face the possibility of never getting back to our dimension."

Lorne's mouth stayed open as he processed that statement, and then snapped shut with an audible click. "Fine. Whatever." He took Angel's arm and towed him away. "Come on, Lover-boy."

Cordelia frowned after them. Lover-boy? Angel? She was so not seeing the connection. Sometimes that Host guy was just plain weird.

~*[+]*~

Spike had no idea where they were going. He really didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Buffy was in charge of this little hike in the woods and he was just along for the ride.

"I think we're lost," she said suddenly, coming to a halt in a small clearing.

"Well, seein' as we had no bloody idea where we were goin' in the first place, I'd say that's pretty much an understatement, pet."

She sent him a withering glance. "We need to find somewhere secluded, away from the village of rampagy demons, while we try and figure out a rescue plan."

"Logic," Spike muttered. And feminine logic at that. What ever happened to working on good old gut instinct?

"I heard that, honey," Buffy said distractedly. She stared at a rock formation, her head tipped slightly to one side. "What does that look like to you?"

"Looks like a couple o' big rocks," Spike observed. He grinned. "What do I win? Are we gonna play I-spy next? 'Cause that's my favorite."

Buffy ignored him and moved away. "I think it's a cave."

"Really? Hey, neat!" Spike trotted after her. "Are we on for a spot of spelunking?"

"Huh?" Buffy scowled at him searchingly. After a moment she tapped into the appropriate thought channel. "Oh, cave exploration." She shook her head. "Who invents ridiculous words like that?"

Spike shrugged. "Some twisted nonce with nothin' better to do, I expect."

"Hmm." Buffy reached the rock formation and peered into an opening. It was definitely a cave. "And we have a winner," she announced.

"So what? We just gonna hole up here for a bit?"

She nodded. "That's the plan."

They moved inside. It was fairly spacious - a large, well-lit grotto with a high, domed ceiling. There was a pool of water at the center with a makeshift bed nearby. Odds and ends were scattered about in a homey way.

Spike squinted around at the walls. "Looks like it's already occupied by the local graffiti artist," he remarked.

Buffy moved closer to the stone perimeter and narrowed her eyes. "Krvl sqrn," she recited slowly. "Brzl flvnstz svnplt."

Spike's lips curled with distaste. "That's portal mumbo-jumbo," he said. "No mistakin' those dulcet tones."

Buffy slapped a hand over her mouth. "You don't think I just opened one and sucked some other poor shmo here?"

Spike quirked his eyebrow. "Shmo?"

"You know what I mean."

"That I do," he nodded, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I think you're safe. Reckon you need to be near one of those hot-spot deals."

"Oh. Right." Buffy put her hands on her hips and surveyed the cavern. "Whoever owns the place sure isn't here now."

"Probably in the village," Spike surmised, lounging against a nearby boulder. "Partakin' in a bit of mobbery."

Buffy smiled. "Mobbery?"

"You know what I mean."

~*[+]*~

Angel was riding in the back of a rickety wooden wagon, headed for Lorne knew where. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was still off balance from the whole Cordelia reunion debacle. He'd been so certain that he'd have to rescue her, just like he always rescued her. He'd planned on sweeping her off her feet.

It hadn't played that way at all. It wasn't fair.

Then there was the Host, who hadn't stopped blathering since they left the castle. He liked the guy and all, but enough was enough. He couldn't even hear himself brood anymore.

"Here goes nothing," Lorne suddenly declared, nimbly hopping off the wagon.

Angel blinked. He hadn't realized they'd stopped moving. He disembarked, fastidiously brushing off clothes, and trailed after Lorne.

They had arrived at a farm of some kind, composed of a few ramshackle buildings. Several Host-like demons were indulging in some kind of wrestling game on the grass out front, egged on by kid demons of the same species.

Lorne looked kinda pale, if green skin actually got pale. "Oh boy, I'd give my left horn not to have to do this." He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then waved enthusiastically, approaching the house. "Hi-de-ho! Guess whose back?"

The demons that were wrestling paused in their game and looked up. The largest of them dropped the one it had pinned and rose. It was big and muscular with a thick, grey beard.

"Krevlornswath?" it queried as it neared them.

"Close enough." Lorne was determined to keep his LA persona operative. There would be no lapsing into past character flaws today.

"Can it be true?" the large demon continued. "I have prayed that the day would come when I might look again on your face..."

"You're in luck, then..." Lorne began. He was cut off as the demon spat at him.

"You have shamed our clan and betrayed your kind!" It said in disgust.

Lorne calmly pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his spit-covered face. "Thanks, Mom."

Mom? Angel gawked at the demon towering over them, utterly stupefied. This was the Host's mother? Poor guy!

"Each morning before I feed," Mom went on. "I go out into the hills where the ground is thorny and parched, beat my breast and curse the loins that gave birth to such a cretinous boy-child!"

Lorne rolled his eyes and cast his arms wide. "Ladies and gentlemen! My mother!"

"Why are you here, Krevlornswath?"

"Oh, you know, I was in the dimension, thought I'd swing by. Place looks great by the way. You have another Dark Ages while I was gone?"

"Your father was right," Mom concluded in disgust. "We ate the wrong son."

"Well," Lorne decided cut short the Host-bashing and get on with business. His ego didn't need another round of this. "Enough of this sentimental reminiscing. Just a coupla quick questions and then I'll skedaddle ... hopefully forever this time." He tried a smile. "So remember back around five years ago when I first disappeared? Didya notice anything ... odd?"

"We noticed feasting and celebration!" Mom seemed determined to twist the knife. "Your brother Numfar did the Dance of Joy for three moons. Numfar, do the dance of joy!"

Angel unabashedly stared as a green-skinned demon launched into an unorthodox jig behind the Host's mother. The guy had no rhythm at all. And Angel should know - he couldn't dance either.

"Actually, what I meant was more along the lines of strange flashing, kind of a weird pulsating..." Lorne was trying to ignore the dancing demon and not succeeding very well, he turned to Angel. "You know how I said there was no music in my world? Wish I could say the same about the dancing."

Angel only managed a curt nod in response, preoccupied with Numfar's utter lack of coordination. It was kinda hypnotic.

Lorne turned back to his mother, picking up where he'd left off. "...Lights, really. You couldn't have missed it. Big, bendy, swirly..."

"No longer do the Dance of Joy, Numfar!" Mom ordered.

Numfar stopped mid-jig. Angel was a little disappointed.

"So nothing like that at all then?" Lorne was still on about portal activity.

Mom folded her arms across her brawny chest. "Now take your cow and get off my lawn."

"That is no cow!"

Everyone turned to look as the Host's cousin Landok emerged from the farmhouse, pushing his way through the gathering of curious spectators. He brushed past Lorne and descended on Angel, clasping him by the shoulders.

"My friend," he hailed effusively. "It is good to see you again. I would have perished in your strange world had it not been for your bravery."

Angel shifted a little - enjoying the attention, but also feeling a bit embarrassed by it. "Yeah. Uh, glad to see you got back in one piece."

"You know Krevlornswath's cow?" Mom's heavily lined brow shot up in disbelief.

Landok got defensive on his new friend's behalf. "He is Angel, the brave and noble Drokken killer!"

There was a collective cry of approval from the peanut gallery.

Angel wriggled his shoulders, trying to dislodge Landok's arm. The guy was pretty touchy-feely for a hero-type. "Just 'Angel' is really..."

"This cow defeated a Drokken?" Lorne's Mom remained skeptical.

"And without the aid of Thromite," Landok boasted. "He is as valiant and courageous a warrior as I have ever known."

High praise indeed. "Then he shall be welcome in our home," Mom relented. "We will do him honor. Numfar, do the dance of Honor."

Numfar launched into another idiosyncratic routine and Angel grinned approvingly. Now this was entertainment!

"Landok. Hi," Lorne greeted, then made an attempt to get the conversation back on topic. "Say, the Drokken killer and I just have a few itty-bitty portal queries, then we'll..."

Landok ignored him completely. "Come," he said, leading Angel away. "You will be the guest of honor at the village feast. There you will tell the tale of your bravery and courage against the vicious Drokken."

The Host remained where he was, watching them head off in the direction of the township. "Why, it's the homecoming I've always dreamed of," he quipped.

He had no choice but to follow his family.

~*[+]*~

Wesley was in his element, ensconced in a modest candle-lit room, seated at a table with an ancient book open before him. Two more with similar bindings were opened at his elbow.

He sighed suddenly. "I can't concentrate with you pacing like that."

There was a jaded exhalation and then Cordelia hopped onto the table, across from him. She picked up one of the compiled books and flipped the pages. "Can you actually read this stuff?"

Wesley turned a yellowed page. "It resembles certain demonic languages with which I have some familiarity," he acknowledged. "However, whole passages appear to be missing..." He glanced up and noticed the cover of the book she held. "Fascinating. A hart."

Cordy flipped her book over and looked at the cover. "That's not a heart. It's a Bambi."

"No, no, not H-E-A-R-T. H-A-R-T." Wesley rolled his eyes and captured the book from her hand. "The male red deer. It's often associated with rural mysticism."

"Uh-huh." Cordy made a disinterested face and scrutinized the remaining book. "They've all got animals on them."

Wesley put the Hart book onto the tabletop, and then scanned the trio of opened volumes. "Oh," he breathed, realizing. "Of course. The holy books are written in trionic."

"Tri-what-ic?"

"Trionic. No book is complete without the other two," Wesley explained. "It's really one volume broken up into three pieces."

"Like a trilogy." Cordy hopped off the table. She was just bored now. Holy guys obviously didn't have a life. Wesley either.

"Much more complex than that. A passage begins here," he tapped his finger on one book before following on to the others. "Continues in this volume, and then concludes in this one." He was nodding to himself. "The rhythm of the sentence structure lets one know when to jump from book to book."

"Anything about portals?" Cordy prodded. Isn't that why they were reading the stupid books in the first place?

"Impossible to say," Wesley continued to squint at the miniscule writing, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Though I do seem to be finding references to the Cursed One."

"There's stuff about me?" Cordelia bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. "Lemme see!"

"Belial," Wes annunciated carefully.

"Huh?" Cordelia crinkled her nose.

"It's a biblical word, meaning the personification of wickedness as an evil force - a demon or beast."

"Well that ... doesn't sound good."

"I agree, especially as the Cursed One is somehow linked to its arrival."

"What? How?" Cordelia moved around to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at the obscure script.

"I have no idea," Wesley's concern was evident as he gazed up at her.

"Well, get one!" Cordelia huffed anxiously. "You're the big thinky egghead guy." She paused for a moment. "Or ... or I could get those priest guys to tell us what's the what. I mean, I am the princess, right?"

Wesley nodded, closing the nearest book. He frowned at the cover, noticing the illustration of a ram. He then closed the second book, the one with the hart, lining up the two volumes as Cordelia paced in agitation behind him.

"You're not listening," she accused, then realized what he was doing. She stood still for a moment before reaching out and slamming the third book closed. It had a wolf etched on its cover.

"Oh God," she swallowed. "Wolf, Ram..."

"And Hart," Wesley finished. "I don't think these priests can be trusted."

~*[+]*~

EPISODE FOUR

"Holy Swinging Crebbils, Beastman!"

Lorne couldn't believe how badly things were going. He looked over to where Angel was narrating his adventures to a rapt audience and then grimaced into his mug of ale. Despite what that irritating blonde vampire had assumed, there was beer in Pylea. It just wasn't good beer.

There was a round of appreciative applause as Angel concluded his bloodthirsty tale, and then Lorne finally managed to get his attention.

"Well, aren't you a regular Hans Christian Tarantino," he quipped as the vampire reached him. "But we should probably be getting back to the palace."

"Oh," Angel deflated a fraction. He didn't know if he was up to another round of Cordelia's blithe indifference just yet. "I hate to disappoint the kids," he hedged. "They really seem to be enjoying this."

"They're not the only ones," Lorne observed perceptively. "Nice to be seen as a hero without all those pesky little moral ambiguities you get back home, isn't it?"

"Yeah, maybe." Angel shrugged. It was nice to be accepted full stop. He didn't get that often.

"They see you a certain way," Lorne continued. "You start to see yourself that way. You become that image." He nodded emphatically. "I get it. I do. Because I know how they see me. Can we go?"

Angel tipped his head slightly, self-consciously thrusting his hands into his pockets. He got what the Host meant. He got it because he knew how Cordelia saw him. He wondered what it would take to shift that perception - to get her to see him in a different light.

"Angel!" Landok approached them from the Square. "It is time for the Bach-nal. You must swing the crebbil."

"Yeah? Okay." Angel grinned at the green-skinned warrior. Anything to avoid the princess.

Lorne had been in the process of downing the last of his ale, but at Landok's invitation he began to choke.

"The crebbil?" he spluttered. "Angel, wait..."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia stormed into the throne room with Wesley at her heels.

"Cordy, please," he implored. "You must listen to me."

"No. I've heard enough." She sat down firmly on her throne, as if she were never leaving it again. "You want me to go back out where we'd be slaves? Sorry, not seeing the up side to that."

"There are forces at work here," Wesley insisted. "You don't know who these priests are or what it is they serve."

"Me!" she all but shouted. "They serve me, okay?" She sighed at his wounded expression. "Look, if you wanna go, then go. I have to stay here and ... make proclamations and wear a crown and be a princess."

"And bring about the coming of the Belial!"

"Okay, well, whatever that is, it's gotta be better than shoveling demon horse poop!" She glanced up at the entryway, her breath catching in her throat. Damn, it was Silas.

"Majesty," he droned. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." Cordy was having hot poker flashbacks.

"No," Wesley contradicted. He was going to get to the bottom of this prophecy now. "What is the Belial?"

Silas stared at him for a moment, assessing, then turned to Cordelia. "Have you had a vision, your Majesty?"

"Yes," Wesley interjected quickly. It was the perfect excuse. "Yes, she's had a vision. So you may as well be candid with her, or she'll know." He could feel Cordy's eyes boring into the back of his head.

"The Belial is the second sign," Silas mechanically explained. "A ravenous beast that personifies the evil in all men. It is drawn to the Cursed One in readiness for the coming of the Gemel."

"Of course," Cordelia said, as if she'd known all along. "Now, see, Wes here didn't even know what the Gemel was. You tell him."

Silas blinked slowly. "The Gemel are the embodiment of the twin suns," he intoned. "Two beings of such power that they will end the world as we know it and bring forth the Golden Age."

"Good," Cordelia managed around her closed throat. "That's good. Thanks. You can go now." She waved Silas away.

He hesitated for a moment, almost glaring at them, then reluctantly bowed and departed.

"The Gemel," Wesley mused at the now-closed doors. "If I recall correctly, Gemel is an archaic word meaning paired or joined. It also refers to either one of a set of twins."

"I don't care what it means," Cordy interrupted, leaping from her throne. "I just wanna get the hell out of here before the world ends."

"It's them," Wesley murmured. "It has to be."

"Them who?" Cordelia looked up from where she was gathering together a load of treasure.

"Buffy and Spike," Wesley said. "They are the Gemel. It stands to reason, doesn't it? Ordained by the Powers, linked psychically, and they do look quite similar these days. Even their dress sense is alike."

"It is?" Cordelia pulled her trademark disgusted face. "That's just crass."

Wesley's lips twisted as he attempted to hide a smile. "Be that as it may," he said. "I'm sure the Covenant are less than pleased with the Gemel's imminent arrival. Buffy and Spike are in grave danger. We must warn them."

~*[+]*~

Angel stared at the slave girl on the chopping block and wondered how in the hell he'd ended up in this situation - how he always ended up in these situations.

"Swing the crebbil!" the crowd chanted encouragingly.

Angel grimaced at the blade in his hands. Obviously 'crebbil' meant 'really sharp axe' in Pylea. "You expect me to..."

"Sever the cow's head from its body," Lorne's Mom urged eagerly. "Then we can eat."

The vampire's eyes widened at that. Eat? This was way worse than he originally thought.

The girl began muttering. "Make it quick," she repeated over and over in an anxious litany. "Make it quick, make it quick."

Landok scowled at the hesitant Drokken killer. "It is a great honor to swing the crebbil at the Bach-nal." Surely Angel would not refuse.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Angel reassured him. "And it's a nice crebbil, too. Sharp." He lowered it to his side. Play peacemaker guy, play for time. "Look, how about we tell some more stories? That was fun..."

"Swing the crebbil!" Mom insisted. She sounded annoyed now.

"But you want me to kill her," Angel protested. He was beginning to see that there would be no easy way to back out of this.

"The cow is a runaway," Mom told him peevishly. "A scavenger. It sneaks down from the hills and plunders our food stores."

"She was probably hungry," Angel defended.

He glanced down at the prone girl - on her knees with her hands bound. She looked really fragile like that, defenseless, her long dark hair parted to reveal the nape of her neck. It reminded him a little of how Cordy's hair used to be before she'd had it hacked off. He missed those gorgeous mahogany waves sometimes...

Okay, there was no way he was killing this girl.

"Will you not swing the crebbil?" Landok demanded.

Angel reached down and pulled the girl upright, tucking her protectively behind him with one arm and bringing the crebbil up into a defensive posture with the other.

"Only if you force me to."

The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves, rumblings of mob activity starting anew. Angel sighed. Was mass violence like a pastime or something with these guys?

"Oh boy." Lorne picked up an abandoned mug of ale and quickly knocked it back. "Here we go..."

"Angel, why do you insult us?" Landok was flabbergasted at the turn of events.

The vampire ignored the question and spoke reassuringly over his shoulder to the girl. He hoped she wasn't the panicky, hysterical type. "Okay, we're just gonna back up, nice and slow ... and these folks are gonna..." At his first actual step back, the crowd launched itself forward. "...Try to kill us!"

Angel kicked out, his boot connecting solidly with the chest of the nearest demon and sending him back into the group behind. They toppled like dominoes, giving him enough leeway to wield the crebbil in a sweeping motion and keep the remainder at bay.

Lorne made an exaggerated expression of disgust - violence was so cliche - then opened his mouth and started singing. When he hit a particularly strident note the mob fell into chaos, clamping their hands over their ears.

"What is this sorcery?" Landok moaned.

"It burns!" Mom fell to her knees, sobbing.

He caught Angel's eye and nodded. The vampire shook his head a little at Lorne's methods, amused, but then dashed away, dragging the slave girl behind him. They mounted a horse and rode out into the woods.

Lorne smiled and began strolling through the distressed crowd. He kicked into a hearty rendition of 'Stop In the Name of Love'.

Ah, the fabulous Miss Ross, always a crowd-pleaser.

He was just reaching the second verse when a chariot roared into the Square, the helmeted passenger brandishing a club-like weapon. Two seconds later, that club had connected with the Host's chin and he toppled to the ground suffering from a severe case of unconsciousness.

~*[+]*~

Wesley poked his head around the corner, checking for guards.

"All clear," he whispered, rounding the bend and gesturing for Cordy to follow him. She didn't appear. "Hurry up!"

Cordelia waddled into sight, laden down with booty - silverware, jewelry, anything she could carry.

"Are you ever gonna find a way to get us out of here?" she complained. "This stuff is heavy you know."

"There," Wesley indicated a wooden trapdoor in the floor of the passageway, then began to struggle with the latch. When he finally managed to get it open, the stench erupting from it made Cordy gag.

"Okay," she said. "Looks like I'll be staying to be beast-bait."

Wesley cringed at her flippancy. "Cordelia, you can do this," he assured her. "The sewage system empties out past the castle. It's our only sure bet. Just ... hold your breath."

She peered haughtily into the opening, trying hard not to inhale. She shouldn't have to wade in icky castle waste - there had to be like a princess rule or something. "Fine. But you go first."

Wesley scowled at her, but then lowered himself into the hole. There was a muted splash and a muffled "Good Lord."

Cordy smirked. Ha! Serves you right, pushy Watcher guy!

Her smirk soon evaporated as she realized that she was next. She shuffled toward the trapdoor, accidentally dropping a couple of baubles from her pile of goodies.

Oh perfect. She scurried to gather the fallen treasure, several more trinkets falling as she bent down. One rolled away to rest against a booted foot.

Cordelia gasped and looked up. Silas again!

She straightened - belatedly noticing that some other priests and several guards had also come into the passageway.

"We've been looking for you, Majesty," Silas said, making the appellation sound like an insult. He nodded to the open trapdoor and one of the assembled guards hurried to slam it shut. "Someone must speak to the servants about leaving that door open."

Don't panic! "Yeah," Cordy agreed breezily. "It is kinda whiffy in here." Silas eyed her haul of treasure and she smiled nervously. "I just thought I'd ... have this stuff appraised."

He just looked at her unblinkingly. "She has served her purpose," he droned. "Take her to the dungeons to await the Belial."

~*[+]*~

Wesley stumbled out of the sewer tunnel with great relief, the fabric of his trousers dripping with sludge and clinging to his legs below the knees, his expensive leather loafers beyond repair. He brushed off his T-shirt and adjusted his hand-knitted sweater around his neck. That, at least, was reasonably clean.

Wes took one last look back at the tunnel opening and sighed. Cordy hadn't made it, so it was up to him to locate the others - to try and find a way out of the place before Buffy and Spike caused an apocalypse or some similar catastrophic event.

He headed off into the woods. Well, at least he would be harder to catch on his own. If they didn't track by smell, that was.

~*[+]*~

Angel had been riding for a while, trying to put plenty of space between himself and the township. Those demons were nuts. Drusilla-grade nuts. Before she'd regained her sanity that was.

He wondered momentarily how she was doing. He'd sent her out to a temple that he knew of, a place where they'd keep on with the demon-restraint lessons that he'd been teaching her. She had come a long way in the last month, further that he'd thought possible, but he'd sent Gunn to keep watch over her - just in case. The two of them had developed an odd sort of friendship - really, really odd, considering the way Gunn felt about vampires.

Angel glanced about at his surroundings. They'd reached a grassy slope adorned with several rock formations and a sparse edging of trees.

He sighed. They. He'd rescued a damsel in distress - again.

Sadly, it wasn't Cordy. On the up side, though, this girl hadn't said two words since he'd pulled her from the mob's clutches - Cordy would have been chattering away until his ears were bleeding.

He reined the horse in. "I don't think we've been followed," he said, trying to curb his introspection. He dismounted and helped his companion climb down. "We should probably stay on foot now, in case they try and track us."

Angel slapped the horse on the rump and it dutifully trotted off down the slope. He turned back to the girl.

She was staring at him. Really staring. He felt like a bug under a microscope.

"You okay?" Maybe she was in shock or something. He hadn't considered that.

She continued with the staring, this time reaching up a shaking hand to touch the side of her head, almost as if she were checking to see if it was still attached.

"Handsome man," she breathed softly. "Saved me from the monsters."

Angel took a second to absorb the handsome man part and then grinned at her. She was cute. Sort of dippy, but cute.

The girl gaped at his smiling countenance, her eyes widening even further, then blushed furiously. "Bye." She turned and bolted into the tree line.

"Hey, wait!" Angel scowled. Well, so much for gratitude. Maybe she was a bit more like Cordy than he'd thought. He ran after her.

She led him a merry chase, too. It was almost like old times for a while - stalking prey, hunting down a meal.

She reached a small clearing and ducked into a gap in some rocks.

Some kind of cave?

A minute later, she came tearing back out, only to collide with Angel. He caught her by the arms to steady her.

"Oh my, oh my" she babbled. "Trespassers ... Not real, not real."

"Oi!" chirped a familiar voice. "Watch your gob, missy. Who're you to say what ain't real?"

Angel stared at the cave opening, stunned. "Spike?"

"'Hello Peaches." The blonde vampire smirked, tucking his thumbs into his belt. "Got a tan yet?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same," Spike tipped his head appraisingly. "Notion was we were here to save that vision chippie of yours, 'n here you are all hooked up with a new bit o' fluff." He eyed the girl, then took a second, harder look. "I know you," he said. "Saw your ID card inside. You're that Winifred bird. This is your place."

She gazed at him in awe. "I dreamed a name like that. Dreamed it was my own."

"Winifred?" Angel repeated. He squinted at his rescued ward. He could see it now, remember the picture from the flyer - the missing girl from the library in LA. "Winifred Burkle. They called you Fred."

She started to struggle against his hold, trying to run. "Stop it," she whimpered. "You're not real. None of this is real."

"Got a problem with that, does she?" Spike asked. "I can relate. Reality can be a bloody pain in the..."

"Spike," Angel ground out. "You're not helping."

The blonde grimaced. "Right. Sorry. You'd best bring her in then. Familiar surrounds and all that, might calm her some." He smiled. "Besides, Buffy's better at this stuff." He nodded sagely. "It's a chick thing."

Angel was still trying to come up with a good reason why he'd wanted his Childe along on this trip and getting nothing but a big blank.

Spike gave him a sly smile, like he knew exactly what his Sire was thinking, then pivoted on his heel and went back into the cave. There was nothing left to do but follow.

"Who's that?" Fred asked urgently. "Who're you? Who am I?"

Angel shook his head. And he thought he was confused...

He trailed after Spike, dragging Fred behind him.

Buffy was waiting for them next to the rock pool. "Are you okay?" she demanded on seeing him. "You didn't get beat up by the fuzz or anything?"

Angel's mouth ticked up at the corners. "Fuzz?"

"Small town police," Spike supplied, resting indolently against a boulder and lighting one of his omnipresent cigarettes. "Interrogation tactics and all that."

"I'm fine," Angel said. "Wesley's fine. Cordy's fine."

"Cordy's fine?" Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "You've seen her?"

"Hmm." Angel realized that he still had Fred by the upper arm and let her go. She dashed away to an alcove beyond the rock pool and began to scribble on the wall with a piece of chalk. He frowned. "What's she doing?"

"Scrawlin' portal nonsense," Spike related. He indicated the other walls. "Seems to be a hobby of hers."

Angel peered around. Almost every available space was covered.

"She's been here five years," he commented. "Must have been hard going."

"You gonna stick to the subject or not?" Spike inquired bluntly. "'Cause you're skippin' over cheerleader-girl details."

"He's got a point," Buffy took Angel's hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Angel pulled away from her, disgusted with himself all over again. "Nothing happened. That's the problem."

Buffy shot a brief glance at Spike, both blondes reacting with twin looks of awareness. So that was the way of things...

"I was all set to rescue her, you know," Angel went on. "Charge in there and kill the demons and carry her off somewhere safe. I thought she was in danger." He rammed his hands into his pockets. "She just ... didn't need to be rescued." The smile he gave them was almost sheepish. "They made her a princess."

"They what?" Buffy tried to be strong, she really did, but Spike had already started with that adorable little giggle of his and she couldn't hold it. She broke down laughing. "God, I wish I'd been there!" she bubbled. "Did she have a crown?"

Angel glowered. "It's not funny."

"Oh, it so is!" Buffy sniggered, but then quieted at his sour look. "Angel, not every girl wants to be rescued. Some of us can look after ourselves. And it's not like Cordelia doesn't know what you're capable of - she sees you doing heroic stuff all the time. You've gotta try something different."

"Different?" Angel frowned.

"Have you tried talking to the chit?" Spike asked, then answered his own question. "No, of course you haven't. You've got all the conversation skills of a wet rag."

"Shut up, Spike."

"No, he's right," Buffy seconded. "Wet rag notwithstanding."

"I can't," Angel leant back against the stone wall. "Every time I try I just start stammering like an idiot."

"Well, idiotic stammering is better than nothing right?" Buffy encouraged. "She might even think it's sweet."

"I don't want her to see me as sweet," Angel complained. "Sweet means soft and fluffy and ... safe." He sighed. "Sweet means platonic."

"Aha," Buffy nodded. "So you figure bold and dashing and dangerous will work? You want to be seen as romantic hero guy - a bit of swash with your buckle."

"It worked with you," Angel said, earning a growl from Spike.

"I was sixteen," Buffy stressed, exasperated. "And I am so over that whole knight in shining armor thing."

"Hey!" Spike protested. He got a vague feeling that he'd just been insulted.

"Hang on," Buffy held up a hand. "I'm having a thought. Back when we first started dating, Cordelia was interested in you. She used to practically throw herself at you - more emphasis on the literal than the practical."

"She did?" Angel was surprised. "I don't remember..."

"Most likely you were all wrapped up in forbidden Slayer fruit, mate," Spike suggested. He leered at his partner. "Buffy tends to grab a blokes attention and keep it."

The Slayer smiled at him, a knowing Mona Lisa type smile. Angel had to look away from the affection in their eyes.

"But that doesn't mean..." he began, then straightened up, squinting at Fred. She had stopped defacing the wall and was watching them intently. "Hey."

She smiled shyly. "Hiya."

Buffy turned to look at her. "Are you ready to talk to us yet?"

"Yeah, maybe, if you're real. You're all really real, aren'tcha?"

Spike snorted. "Don't get any realer, pet." He pursed his lips. "Is 'realer' a word or did I just make that up?"

"Do I still have my head on?" Fred asked.

Spike gave Angel an incredulous look. "You sure know how to send 'em potty, don't you?" he asked. "First Dru and now this poor bint."

Angel returned the growl that Spike had given him earlier. "I didn't send her anywhere. She sent herself here. With the book, with those weird words."

"They're not words," Fred declared, completely rational all of a sudden. "They're consonant representations of a mathematical transfiguration formula."

Spike blinked. "Oh, obviously," he deadpanned. Flippin' loony. Buffy glared at him and he scowled back. "What?" he demanded via the link. "She can't hear me."

"Yeah, but I can, and I don't want you making fun of her."

"Why not?"

Angel folded his arms and regarded Fred. He could sense that Buffy and Spike were involved in some kind of link-based argument and decided that he really didn't want to know what it was about. This portal thing was a whole other ball game, though.

"We have to get her back to Wesley," Angel announced.

Buffy and Spike stared at him but it was obvious that they hadn't followed his logic, their minds still in argument-mode.

"She's the portal expert, right?" he put forward. "And Wes is our portal expert. I'm thinking we get them together for a big old portal summit."

Spike nodded. "Reckon Cave-boy is on to somethin' there." He smirked at the Slayer. "Two heads bein' better than one 'n all."

She barely spared him a glance and moved toward the timid girl. "Hi, I'm Buffy," she greeted. "Fred, right?"

"I guess," Fred blinked at her, gnawing at her lower lip. She looked like she was trying to hold herself back from doing a runner.

"Okay, Fred, here's the deal," Buffy continued, all business. "We take you to our friends and you help us get back home."

"Back?" The girl was trembling now. "Can't get back. There's no back."

"There is," Angel insisted. "And you're coming with us."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia was cold.

The least they could have done was give her back her real clothes 'cause flimsy regal robes weren't suited to dungeon dwelling with it's windowless, clammy...

"Hey!" she shouted. "Can I get some room service here? The princess won't be any good for Belial-bait if she freezes to death!"

The door clanged loudly and she jumped back as it opened, almost tripping on the straw-covered floor. One of the guards casually threw something at her. As she caught the garment, the door slammed shut once more.

Cordelia looked down at the supple leather in her hands then held it out for inspection. It looked familiar.

It was Angel's jacket! His favorite jacket. The one he wouldn't part with even if...

Oh God what if something had happened to him?

~*[+]*~

EPISODE FIVE

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch..."

As he exited the cave, Angel took a moment to once again revel in the suns rays. He closed his eyes and sighed at the blissful warmth on his skin.

When he opened his eyes, it was to Spike's disquieted face.

"What?" he asked. "I can't enjoy myself?"

"Yeah, I've heard that," the blonde vampire cracked, taking the question as a statement. He slung the goodie-bag over his shoulder. "I was just, I don't know, empathizing or somethin'." He shuddered. "It was horrible," he declared. "I didn't like it."

Angel's eyes crinkled a little at the corners with his amusement, but he didn't allow it to show any more than that.

"Me either," he replied. "Don't do it again."

"No fear, mate." Spike turned and headed up the grassy slope to where Buffy and Fred were waiting.

Angel had just taken a few steps to follow when Buffy began running back down, dragging Fred behind her. Spike's mirror-image reaction was only a heartbeat behind hers.

"Get down!" he snapped as he reached his Sire.

Angel allowed only enough time to frown before complying. It was only once he was on the ground that he felt the vibrations. A second later, he could hear a thundering noise.

"Horses?" he hissed urgently.

Spike ignored him. He was focused on a spot just past a row of enormous boulders. Buffy was huddled against a rock face, shielding Fred. She kept her eyes fixed on the same area that held Spike's attention, her gaze wide and frightened, afraid of not being able to protect herself or her charge. As Angel watched, she took a deep steadying breath and set her jaw, fighting past the feeling. Next to him, Spike echoed the action.

"She okay?" Angel asked.

"Just peachy," Spike grunted. He tensed, getting ready to spring. "Here they come..."

A group of palace guards on horseback burst over the ridge.

Spike pounced as they neared him, dragging one of the guards from his mount and dispatching him with a single punch. Angel hopped up to join the fray. He reached out for the next rider, but got a boot in the face instead. He snarled and harnessed the pain, trying to shift into game face.

Nothing happened.

Spike worked his way further up the hill, closer to where Buffy and Fred were. His main aim in this little fracas was to protect the women and nothing more. He flattened yet another hapless guard, then turned to see why Angel was taking so long to join him.

The older vampire was just standing there with a confused expression on his face.

"What's up with him?" Buffy asked in Spike's head.

Spike squinted. "He's not gettin' vampy," he surmised, then winced as his Sire took a blow to the back of his head.

Angel slumped to his knees, but merely put his hands to his face and tried morphing again. Another guard was bearing down on him. Spike was about to head out and intercept when Angel screamed.

It was a gut-wrenching howl of pain and there was nothing remotely human about it. The horse that was heading for him reared back in panic, depositing its rider on the grass. The unseated guard stared at Angel, then scrambled away in terror.

The planes of Angel's face had shifted, but not into their normal vampire characteristics. This was something completely different.

His entire face was ridged. Not just his forehead, but his cheekbones and chin as well. His fangs had elongated so far that he could no longer close his mouth properly, his jaw hanging loose. Vicious horn-like protrusions sprouted from his brow in bony peaks. The only feature that even resembled a regular vamp was the familiar yellow glow of his eyes.

"Holy bloody Christ," Spike whispered hoarsely. "What is that?"

Buffy couldn't even get that far. She squeaked in shock. Fred just stared, her eyes impossibly wide.

The Angel-beast roared - a terrifyingly primal sound that sent shivers up Spike's spine. This was a call to arms, a primitive cry that echoed in the very foundation of his being and instilled in him an urge to unleash his own demon.

He managed to stifle the insistent urge, a task that proved more difficult than he expected, and then backed up toward his Slayer, putting himself in front of her and the Fred girl. If Angel tried to harm them...

Spike breathed a sigh of relief as the beast turned its attention instead to the remaining palace guards. He attacked them with an intimidating zeal - effortlessly breaking bones and tearing away limbs before feeding from the fallen bodies.

Suddenly another band of guards topped the ridge. This second group seemed better prepared and was heavily armed. They filed down on foot and surrounded the beast with military precision before they began to drive it up the hill.

"They're herding him," Spike observed aloud. "They're gonna try and take him alive."

Buffy found enough equilibrium to speak to him via the link. "They've got a cage," she said. The knowledge made her uneasy. It was almost like they had been expecting this to happen.

Spike realized that these secondary guards were paying them no mind and stood to follow their progression more closely. Sure enough, there was a wagon up there, topped with a crudely constructed metal enclosure. As he watched, they shoved one of their own companions into the cage and stood back to let the Angel-beast attack the helpless man. Once he was inside, they slammed the door shut and carted him away.

"Crap," the blonde vamp muttered. "Great piles of sodding crap!"

"What are they gonna do to him?" Buffy stood up and seized her partner's arm. "What are we gonna do?" She'd never felt this useless. It was awful.

Spike huffed in frustration. "Looks like we'll be going to the castle on our own, pet." He trudged back down the hill a way and picked up the bag that he'd discarded earlier. Fat lot of good it had done. "Giles Junior and the cheerleader are already there, right? And odds are that's where they're takin' Peaches anyhow."

"Peaches," Buffy repeated. She cast an absent glance at Fred, just to make sure the girl was still with them. "So, you think that... that thing is still Angel?"

"No doubt, love," Spike reported. He tossed an arm over her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "No doubt at all."

~*[+]*~

Wesley turned around in a circle, trying to get his bearings. Had he been past that clump of trees before?

He wasn't lost, he really wasn't. The very thought was absurd. He was following the sun - headed due west, back toward the village.

He nodded to himself and started walking again. Yes, that was it. Due west.

Then he stopped and stared up at the sky. Which sun was he following again? The smaller yellow orb, or the one with the red ring around the rim?

He paused for a moment to contemplate the fiery spheres. One of the globes was slightly more petite, with a mellower glow. The larger of the two was tainted with a dark edge and its light was harsher, almost painful on the eyes.

Silas had called the Gemel the embodiment of the suns. The more Wesley thought about it the more he was convinced that the description applied to Buffy and Spike.

It was ironic that he was relying on them to find his way. But not entirely unexpected that they had led him completely off course.

There. He'd admitted it. He was lost.

Just as he'd allowed himself to admit defeat, a rag-tag band of humans descended on him from the woods - not unlike a scene from an old Robin Hood movie. Wesley doubted that these were merry men, though, as they were armed and dangerous-looking. Possibly thieves.

He held up hands in surrender. "Please don't kill me."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia curled up in the corner of her cell, Angel's leather jacket wrapped around her body. She sniffled a little and rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of the shoulder, finding comfort in its familiar texture. It was almost as if he was there with her, enfolding her in one of his smothery big-brother type hugs.

She was more concerned about him than she would like and it was wigging her out. Since when did she worry about Angel? He was like two hundred and fifty years old or something, it wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself.

But the jacket thing was major fret factor material.

It wasn't like him to leave it somewhere unattended. He was so paranoid when it came to his clothes, so finicky. It was one of his more endearing traits.

Endearing?

Jeez, Cor, how long have you been in this hole? It's scrambling your brains. Angel wasn't endearing. He was ...

All right, so he was endearing. He was also shy and sweet and incredibly good-looking. Better than good - great-looking, fantastic-looking. Beautiful, really, for a guy.

Now her brain was definitely scrambled. She hadn't allowed herself to think about Angel as a guy since way back in high school, before she'd found out about the vampire thing.

Then he'd gone nuts and tried to kill them all. Definitely an unthinky subject. She was not going there.

She picked up a piece of straw and absently started shredding it with her fingers, deep in thought.

So, what was Angel to her now?

Ex-boss come co-worker, sure. But he was also a friend, a confidant, someone that she could rely on to always be there for her. She'd never had that before. And it was scary how much she'd taken it for granted that he would come and save her. He had, though, and he'd probably done it without a second thought.

She hadn't even said thanks. How selfish was that?

Cordy snorted and threw the piece of straw away, disgusted with herself. She didn't deserve him, even as a princess. Besides, he was way too important in the PTB's scheme of things, and she was only around because of Doyle's misguided vision gifty-ness.

She took a deep breath and straightened up.

Okay, that wasn't true. And this was so not the time to be wallowing in self-pity. She needed to Miss Resolve here.

There was a rumbling sound outside in the corridor, and she shot to her feet. The door swung open and she made brief eye contact with the guard before he backed away.

He looked absolutely terrified.

The rumbling got closer and she finally recognized that they were dragging something toward her cell. A big cagey thing with a beast...The Belial!

They weren't gonna let it loose in here with her were they?

Her worst fears were confirmed when the cage was wheeled to the doorway and unlocked, the barred gate swung open and the Belial leapt out onto the straw with a feral snarl.

He was big, she realized. He was also sort of vamp-like - only uglier.

"Nice Belial," she soothed, pressing herself into the corner.

The beast didn't even seem to notice her. He was more intent on trying to get past the cage and into the corridor. The guards beat him back inside and slammed the door shut.

That was when he turned on her.

Cordelia could feel the coarse stone of the wall digging into her back, even through the leather coat, and wished she had the power to pass through damn thing and get somewhere safe.

The Belial rocked from side to side as it regarded her, its body hunched over in a semi-crouch. It smelled the air in a testing sort of way and then suddenly took a huge leap forward, closing the distance between them.

Cordy squealed, her hands coming up to protect her face. She could feel it sniffing at her hair, at her throat, feel it's breath panting against her skin. She shuddered, gooseflesh rippling up her arms.

Please don't let me die in this stupid dimension.

But then the sniffing stopped and it backed off.

She tentatively peered through her fingers to see it staring at the polished gold of her tiara, its head cocked slightly to one side.

"What?" she croaked, then gasped as the Belial reached up and, in an unusually gentle motion, dragged a long talon-like nail across the surface. The friction made a harsh screeching sound and he jumped at the noise, but then edged closer staring intently at what had to be its reflection.

Oh great, now it's got all Narcissus-beast on me.

The Belial let out a plaintive cry, an inexplicably heartrending sound that brought tears to Cordy's eyes. He staggered away, only to collapse on the other side of the cell and curl into a ball with his back to her, trembling.

"Hey," Cordelia took a hesitant step toward it, instinctively reaching out to help. "Hey, are you okay?"

He moaned and Cordy moved even closer.

Okay, that was definitely a humany type moan - not a big-ugly-ass beastie moan. And from this angle the rest of him was pretty damn human too.

She crouched at his side and carefully touched his shoulder. He jerked away and scuttled into the corner, the abrupt movement revealing his identity.

"Oh God," Cordy breathed, her hand covering her mouth in horror. "Angel?"

~*[+]*~

Wesley was tied to a pole, crudely constructed from a branch that had been hacked from one of the trees nearby. The prickly bark of it dug into his hands as tested his bonds, his furtive movements drawing the attention of his captors.

"Hey," one of them shouted, "Don't even think about it."

Wesley sighed and went back to his previous activity of watching them.

They were holding some kind of meeting around a small campfire. He'd deduced from their conversation that this rag-tag assembly was the advance guard of a much larger group - a rebellion of sorts against the Covenant of the Trombli. The rough-hewn man who had shouted at him was apparently their leader - though one would be hard pressed to tell if it weren't for the way the others all looked to him for guidance. They were all poorly dressed and ill equipped, their weapons consisting mainly of farm tools.

"I know how we can send the princess a message," one of them piped up. He was a small man with a cap of reddish hair. "We storm the palace."

The leader looked at him. "It'd be suicide. Our entire number would be wiped out in minutes."

The other man blinked back, assessing the verdict, then shrugged. "Yeah, but it would be a message."

"Excuse me," Wesley tried to gain their attention. "I couldn't help overhearing..."

"Quiet, reconnaissance cow, or I'll slice out your tongue!"

Wesley grimaced at that. Such an absurd title. "I've told you already, I am not a reconnaissance cow!"

"We tracked you coming from the castle," the small red-haired rebel said, pointing accusingly with a dagger. "So don't lie."

"I'm not lying," Wesley huffed. This was utter ridiculousness. "If you want to send a message to the princess, then I know I can help. I happen to be a close personal friend of hers."

The rebels stared at him, then fell about laughing.

"I can prove it," Wesley promised, feeling strangely defensive. He had nothing to prove to these men.

The leader walked over, eyeing him with curiosity. He took in the cow's unusual clothes and unfamiliar eye-coverings and folded his arms. "How?"

"In my wallet," Wes was anxious now, he needed to get away from these people and find the others. The rebel leader just continued to stare at him, his expression now blank. Wes suddenly realized that they would have no clue as to what a wallet was. "Oh, ah, in the leather holder in the back of my trousers."

The leader yanked the wallet out - with rather more force than was necessary in Wesley's opinion - and flipped it open to reveal a photograph. A snapshot of the former Watcher, Angel, and, most importantly, a merrily grinning Cordelia. He huffed in an impressed manner and held it up to show the others. "It's true. He knows the princess."

"Yes, indeed," Wesley twisted slightly to keep the man in sight as he headed back toward the fireside. "Now, if your organization would just draw up some sort of list of demands, I'll be more than happy to present it directly to her Majesty."

The rebel leader sighed, still staring at the photograph. "Let's do it," he said finally. "Let's draw up a list of demands..." Wesley's tentative smile evaporated as the man tossed his wallet onto the fire. "...Shove it in his mouth, put his severed head on a stick and display it outside the princesses window."

~*[+]*~

Spike was hot.

Well, he was always hot, in the figurative sense, but now he was in great danger of actually bursting into flames. Heavy black leather was not exactly comfortable in a world that had two suns but he was buggered if he was parting with his duster.

He wiped the film of sweat from his brow and squinted at the horizon. The castle still seemed pretty far off. Maybe they could hijack a horse. Hell, maybe even get hold of one of those wagon deals.

"I don't think the locals would take grand theft auto well," Buffy said, halting at his side and leaning her head wearily against his shoulder. "Not that they take things well as a whole."

"Yeah. Not the friendliest of sorts are they?" Spike gave her an absent peck on the forehead, his eyes still searching the tree line. He didn't want to be ambushed again. He frowned suddenly and then spun around to glare at Fred. "Bloody what?" he demanded. The girl had been staring at them for a good while now. "You're startin' to give a bloke the heebies."

Fred was unconcerned by his combative tone of voice. "Are you the Gemel?" she inquired seriously.

Spike just shook his head at her and turned back around. "An' I thought Dru was bad," he muttered.

"What's a Gemel?" Buffy asked. "It sounds creepy."

"How the bleedin' hell am I supposed to know?"

The entire situation was frustrating Spike. He adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

"Hey, back off, Mr. Snarky-pants," Buffy scolded. She thumped her chest like a caveman. "Me Buffy. Me good guy. Ugh."

Spike gave her an amused glance, his mouth kicking up at the corners. "Nice bit of comic relief, sunshine."

Buffy grinned. She loved it when he called her that.

"Are you the Gemel?" Fred reiterated. "I mean, really?"

"When we find out what that is, love, you'll be the first to know." Spike took his Slayer's hand and resumed walking.

~*[+]*~

The vampire cowered against the hard stone - stunned, devastated, and half-mad. His beautiful dark eyes were unfocused, not registering her presence or his surroundings.

"Angel, its me." She shuffled closer, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. "Its Cordy. Can you hear me?"

He let out a kind of whimper then and lowered his head onto his knees, refusing to look at her. "You saw it."

"Saw what?" He wasn't making sense, but at least he was talking to her. That had to be a good sign.

"The monster," Angel's voice was almost inaudible, catching painfully in his throat. Lord knew what all that snarling and growling had been doing to his vocal cords. "You saw what I really am."

Cordelia bit her lip. Oh man, this had really screwed him up. She rested her hand comfortingly against his forearm, only to have him yank it away.

"Don't," he rasped. "Don't touch me. You shouldn't have to..."

Cordy sat back on her heels. "Shouldn't have to what? Fondle the disgusting beast?" She snorted. "Apparently that's the whole purpose of my being here."

Angel blinked at her, not following her attempt at humor. "It - it is?"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Ha! You wish!" She gave him her brightest starlet smile, trying to pull him out of the severely neurotic state he was in.

He just blinked again, the slow quizzical motion followed by his familiar brooding frown. "You're ... not freaked."

"Hardly." Cordelia waved a hand dismissively. "But hey, if you'd turned into one of those D'vrontrak demons we ran into a couple of weeks ago then we might've had a problem."

"D'vron-?"

"-Trak. Remember? With the claws and the scabby complexion and the grossly offensive yellow-green goo?" She squirmed. "Yeesh! Gives me a wiggins just thinking about it."

Angel was completely bewildered, still reeling from the effects of being taken over by demon inside him. It had been disturbingly different from what he'd experienced before. It wasn't the same as being Angelus, vampire with no soul, although there were similarities in that he had no control over his bloodlust, and no regrets about the lives he had taken. Defending the helpless was one thing, but to tear someone apart like that, one piece at a time...

Now that he was Angel again, he could feel what he had done weighing him down. He was guilty of killing those guards, of slaughter, and he had done it with his soul intact. What did that mean? That the demon was stronger than his soul? Stronger than him?

"Hello?" Cordelia had leant in close and brought a hand up to his cheek in an almost maternal gesture. "Are you in there?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to be, but he was.

At least Cordy was with him.

~*[+]*~

Silas sat on the throne that had recently been vacated by the cow princess and allowed himself a moment to gloat. All was going as planned. The cow had been made princess because he had decreed it. He was the true power in Pylea, but the ruse was necessary to bring the Belial. And so it had. Though it was particularly ironic that he bore the name Angel.

Even so, the Gemel were to come next, lured by the Cursed One and her beast, but they would not live to see their Golden Age. They would die so that he may be ruler.

~*[+]*~

Wesley was beginning to despair that he would have an opportunity to escape before he lost his head. He had been moved from the staff to a makeshift set of stocks that were digging a roughly circular pattern of splinters into his neck. His hands were tied behind his back in a decidedly uncomfortable position and the rebel leader was even now sharpening his sword.

He was just clearing his throat to make one final verbal attempt at freedom when a group of men on horseback rode into the clearing.

Palace guards. Lovely. Could this get any worse?

An arrow thumped into the wood beside his head and he realized that the answer to that was a resounding 'yes'.

He lurched to his feet, bringing the stocks upright with him. They hung like a bizarre set of epaulets across his shoulders.

"Look," he said, pleased that he managed to maintain some semblance of calm, "I have no quarrel with you fine people..."

He was proven wrong when a guard came directly at him and he was forced to swing the stocks and knock him down. Another charged from behind and was given the same treatment. The rebel leader caught Wesley's eye and gave him an appreciative nod.

Now Wesley was actively fighting beside them.

~*[+]*~

Angel lay on his side in the straw. He had lapsed into a heavy exhausted slumber and Cordelia sat by his side, facing him, taking the opportunity to study him. It wasn't like she had anything else to do. It was either stare at the walls or stare at Angel. He proved to be the more interesting option.

A lot of people looked younger when they were asleep. And, to her surprise, Angel wasn't any different.

When he was awake, the two hundred odd years that he'd been around showed in his eyes, but like this he seemed vulnerable, almost fragile. The furrows lifted from his brow and the lines around his mouth softened, restoring some semblance of his perpetual youth. She wondered just how old he had been when Darla turned him.

She sighed and rested her chin on her hand, content to watch. It used to freak her out, seeing him sleep. He didn't move or breathe. He looked like an incredibly well preserved corpse. And hey, literal description!

Angel snorted softly, coming out of his death-like state for a moment to shift his position, one hand reaching out to search blindly amid the straw. He mumbled, drowsily incoherent, and Cordy grabbed hold of the questing hand.

The vampire stilled, his lips curving into a dreamy smile. He brought the hand to his face and nuzzled it, then pressed a kiss against the knuckles.

Cordy froze. Maybe he thought she was Buffy?

He murmured again, and this time she could make out what he said.

"Cordy."

Cordelia's mouth dropped open in shock. He said her name. He'd kissed her hand and he knew who she was! She continued to gape at him, stunned. He still had her hand, holding it pressed against his cheek as he drifted back into deep sleep, her golden skin contrasting with his paler complexion.

Jeez, Cor, get a grip! He's just connecting to someone familiar. It's not like he meant anything by it... Except what if he did?

This was Angel, the big goofy doofus. The big, gorgeous, loveable...

She extricated her hand, feeling strangely panicked. When had she started thinking of him as loveable? The last time that she'd let herself think of anyone as loveable she'd ended up in that doomed relationship with Xander Harris. She hadn't let anyone close since. It hurt too much.

And Angel? That would only lead to pain on a level that would eclipse the Xander days. She'd seen what he did to Buffy. Can we say 'perfect happiness' clause? That way lay creepy-stalker vamp Angel, de-invite spells and quite possibly the end of the world. Again.

There was no way that anything was going to happen here.

She wouldn't let it.

~*[+]*~

EPISODE SIX

The long and the short of it.

When he would look back on it later, Wesley couldn't say that the timing of Buffy and Spike's arrival was at all coincidental.

The twin suns of Pylea were poised to slip below the horizon, one slightly above the other. By some twist of fate, at precisely that moment the linked couple crossed the top of the ridge and their solar counterparts aligned so as to cast golden halos around their matching blonde heads.

The rebels gasped in unison and knelt in reverence, whispering "Gemel" over and over, the word rippled wave-like through the twilight air.

Spike took a step back in surprise but quickly recovered. "Hey!" he chortled, surveying the genuflecting group. "A crop of Spike worshippers. 'Bout time we came across someone with a lick o' sense."

The Slayer rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it again. She blinked. "Are they saying what I think they're saying?"

Spike nodded. "Uh huh."

"See, I told ya," Fred piped up. "You're the Gemel. No doubt about it."

"Yeah," the blonde vampire drawled. "Well, that would be just brilliant ... If we knew what the bleeding hell you're all prattling on about!"

The last part came out in a frustrated explosion, causing the rebels to gawk at him in shock.

Their leader hesitantly got to his feet, and gave a deferential bow. "Has the journey from the heavens tired you, oh Luminous One?"

Journey from the heavens?

Spike glared at him. "Look mate, you've got your sodding wires crossed. If there were any place I'm not from that'd be the one. The Slayer maybe, but not me."

Wesley had been observing them with growing amusement. The way this vampire reacted to certain situations was downright fascinating. "They're referring to the prophecy," he announced, attempting to draw the pair's attention.

Buffy jumped and her partner, sensing her fright, tensed noticeably, ready to spring into action. He would defend her with his life if he had to - and probably even if he didn't.

"Jeez, Wesley," she exclaimed in a rush. "How'd you get here?"

"Long story." The former Watcher smiled and gestured to an empty place at the fireside. "Take a seat and I'll explain."

"Oh goody," Spike droned unenthusiastically. "Story time. And me without my marshmallows." He ambled toward the fire, deftly sidestepping a couple of prostrate rebels as he went. Buffy trailed after him, pulling a timid Fred behind her.

Wesley took in the newcomer and was surprised to find that her face was familiar to him. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

The girl froze, giving the impression of a startled deer. "I don't know no one," she mumbled, plopping down at the fireside and finding a sudden fascination with her feet. She stared at them with a fixed expression, her hair falling down to curtain her face.

Wesley raised his brows at Buffy.

"That's Fred," she said. "Angel found her."

"Aha," Wesley nodded. "Say no more. Case closed. Where is Angel?"

The question was followed by an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the fervent mumbling of the rebels, who had recovered from their initial shock and now huddled en masse outside the campfire's circle, and the crackle of the fire itself.

Buffy and Spike exchanged a pained look.

Wesley was filled with a sudden sense of dread. "He's not dead is he?"

"Well, if you wanna get technical..." Spike began.

"He was captured," Buffy said quickly, cutting him off.

"Captured?" Wesley sighed. "So the rescue number is now up to a total of three. Angel, The Host and Cordelia."

Buffy frowned. "Okay, confused now. Why does Cordelia need rescuing? She's the princess isn't she? I bet she's living it up."

"Actually, she was only made princess in order to lure the Belial."

Spike's shoulders slumped at the news. He knew the origins of that word. He'd even had it aimed his way a couple of times. Buffy shot him a glance.

"Oh," she whispered, reading him. "Really?"

The vampire nodded, then abruptly stood and started pacing, his duster billowing cape-like behind him.

Wesley followed the agitated motion, that sense of dread becoming a hard knot in his throat. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Angel is the Belial," Fred noted calmly. She glanced up, realized that she had everyone's attention, and swiveled back to focus on her feet again.

"Yeah. He, ah, turned into a big beast thingy and they took him back to the castle," Buffy confirmed. She pinned Wesley with her eyes. "He won't hurt her."

"Of course not." Wesley's reply was instinctive. "It's Angel."

Spike stopped pacing and threw him an exasperated look.

"Bloody hell, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Wesley blinked at him, but remained silent.

Spike huffed in annoyance. "Look, the whole time we've been in this daft dimension he's been flauntin' all his humany traits, right? Walkin' in the sun. Probably even reflects now too. Know I do."

Wesley nodded. Where was he was going with this?

"So, when he tried on the fangy what he did was release the demon in its purest form. Fully-fledged vamp - wasn't anything human about him. Sodding place split him in two."

"But you said he was still Angel." Buffy was teary-eyed, clearly distressed by the state of affairs. "You said there was no doubt."

"There isn't, pet. Because deep down that's what we really are - the both of us." Spike dropped to sit next to the Slayer, keeping his back toward the fire this time. He bowed his head. "Wanted me to join him, he did," he continued softly. "I could feel him calling me. But you're part of me as much as the demon." He dipped in and placed a kiss on Buffy's forehead. "And we're stronger than it is."

She smiled, reaching up to trace one finger along the familiar curve of his cheekbone. "I know."

"But is Angel?" Wesley asked. "Is he strong enough to control it?"

"Time will tell." Spike didn't take his eyes off his Slayer. "And maybe love."

"Love?"

"It's the greatest power in the known universe, Watcher boy," Spike eyed him over his shoulder with blatant disdain. "Love is everything good and right. That's what'll pull him out of it."

Wesley fell silent, confused. Wasn't Angel in love with Buffy?

Spike snorted, almost as though he'd read Wesley's thoughts. Perhaps he had, he still knew how after all. "Not Buffy, you stupid pillock. Vision girl."

Wesley's mouth dropped open.

"Hey, now he does look like Giles Junior!" Buffy giggled. "You sure you guys aren't related?"

"Reckon all those Watchers are interbred," Spike drawled. Buffy whacked him in absent admonition but the backhanded blow hardly registered.

"Angel and ... and Cordelia?" Wesley finally managed to sputter. "Are you certain?"

"Christ mate, you work with 'em every day. Don't tell me you haven't noticed anythin'."

"Well I..." Wesley trailed off, remembering back over the past few weeks. Angel had been more attentive to his seer of late. There had been a number times when he'd been caught staring at her when he thought no one else was looking. And then there was his urgency in coming after her to Pylea. "Oh my, it's true isn't it? I knew he cared about her, of course, but I never once imagined..."

"I'll bet," Spike scoffed, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. "So, what's all this prophecy nonsense then?"

Wesley shook his head, struggling to find his focus. That last revelation was a little hard to come to terms with. "The Host only mentioned it in passing, but it seems that Cordelia's arrival was the first of a series of events prophesized in times past. The Cursed One lures the Belial and both in turn bring the coming of the Gemel."

"And that's supposed to be us?" Buffy's brow furrowed in confusion.

Spike's expression matched his partner's. "How d'you figure?"

"'Gemel' means joined or linked. Either one of a set of twins..."

"The Gemel are the embodiment of the twin suns," Fred chimed in, reciting the legend by rote. She'd heard it so many times. "Two beings of such power that they end the world as we know it and bring about the Golden Age when all cows will be free."

They all turned to stare at her.

"Cows?" Buffy grimaced. "Ew."

"Bloody marvelous," Spike agreed. "Ground beef and dairy products all 'round then is it?"

"The humans here are known as cows," Wesley said. "They are the lowest class of slaves. Beasts of burden." He continued to stare at Fred. "I hadn't heard that last part before though. Silas must have deliberately left it out."

"Silas?" Buffy didn't like not knowing all the players.

"Head Priest of the Covenant of the Trombli," Wesley explained. "They've apparently ruled the dimension for the past few millennia."

"They won't be well pleased having it brought to an end then," Spike eased one leg across to straddle the log that he sat on and tossed his spent cigarette into the fire. "Freein' slaves tends to do that."

"Ah, yes. 'An end to the world as we know it'," Wesley breathed, pieces were slotting into place. "They're not referring to an apocalyptic event at all."

"Well, that brings a big 'yay' from the Slayer camp," Buffy declared. "Cause I so don't need one of those right now."

Spike grinned, edging forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. She shot him a wary glance from the corner of her eye and he batted his lashes at her. Buffy gave a soft snort of laughter and pushed him away.

Wesley watched the exchange with an almost overwhelming sense of curiosity. He'd love to know just how this link of theirs came about, but unfortunately this was not the time. There were more pressing matters at hand. He gestured to the assembled group of rebels. "This is the rebellion against the Covenant."

Spike gave them a scathing once over. "What? All of it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is merely a select group of the most capable..."

"Oh, that makes all the difference then. Now I am impressed."

Buffy jabbed a finger into the vampire's ribs and he gave her a hard look, narrowed eyes glinting in the firelight.

They held a silent debate for a moment before Spike sighed and shook his head. "Don't know why I bother," he said ruefully. "You always get me in the end."

"Damn straight." Buffy leant over and planted a kiss on his pouty lower lip.

"I'm really starting to doubt this whole Gemel thing," the small redheaded rebel suddenly declared, moving into view. He pointed at the golden couple. "I mean, Falchion and Annulet here don't look all that powerful to me."

"What'd you call us?" Spike shifted his weight, about to launch himself forward and strangle the impudent git. It would be well worth the headache.

Wesley flapped his hands in a soothing motion. "No. It's okay. It wasn't an insult." He sighed and dug a thumb into his brow, trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent.

"Right," he said, finally. "The references are all askew, jumping around in several different centuries and the Latin's a bit off ... but essentially definitions of the word 'Gemel' also include mechanics. Two separate units working together, like a hinge, are also called 'Gemel'. In most cases that is a hook and loop. Here in Pylea, that apparently translates to 'Falchion' and 'Annulet'."

He indicated a modest span with his hands. "A falchion is a short, curved sword - it's name derived from the Latin word 'falx' for sickle or hook. Annulet literally means 'a little ring' or loop."

Buffy nudged Spike's knee with her own. "Short sword," she whispered gleefully.

The vampire looked offended. "I'm not short."

"Oh honey, of course you're not," Buffy's tone was indulgent. "You're a huge monster of a man. Really."

Wesley's lips twisted. He wanted to laugh outright, but the warning glare he got from Spike subdued the urge. There was murder implicit in those pale blue eyes. "Ahem, yes. Well, I'm guessing that those are the formal astrological names for the suns here, also." He sent a questioning look to the rebel leader and received an affirmative nod.

Buffy frowned. "I don't like it."

"Don't like what?" Spike asked. "What's to like? We got our very own solar system. Neat innit?"

"Not so much." The Slayer stared down at her hands for a moment. "These Covenant guys ... they'll want to kill us won't they?"

Wesley nodded. "I'm assuming as much. The Gemel myth gives hope to the humans. Eliminating you would both crush that hope and reinforce their power base."

"Thought so." Buffy huddled into herself, folding her arms. She looked very small and fragile. "And since the whole lack of Slayery-ness pretty much makes me useless..." Her head suddenly snapped back like she'd been struck. She glared accusingly at Spike.

He glared right back, his expression formidably irate. Wesley could see the master vampire asserting dominance now and the effect was frightening.

The rebels, most notably the skeptical redhead that Wes had secretly dubbed 'Doubting Thomas', moved back out of the way, awed by the authority Spike was radiating. Even the fire seemed to flare up.

Undaunted, Buffy shot to her feet. Spike did the same.

She made to stalk away and he clamped a restraining hand around her wrist. Each move was anticipated before it occurred and effectively blocked. Their eyes remained locked in battle the entire time.

"Stop it," Spike's voice was low and abrasive, a growl bordering on inhuman. "You're not useless. Not to me."

Buffy sniffed, fighting tears, then whimpered and collapsed against Spike's chest. The vampire held her as she wept, stoically supportive, oblivious to all around him. When she eventually stilled, he simply cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, tenderly brushing the dampness from her cheeks with his thumbs.

Wesley felt like he was intruding on something incredibly private. He looked away and found himself face to face with Fred.

She blinked rapidly and then gave him a giddy smile. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" She gestured to the linked couple. "All lovey 'n romantic. Like a fairytale."

"Hmm," Wes mumbled noncommittally, not following the gesture, but continuing to study her. He was intrigued by this young woman and wondered how she had managed to survive so long in such a harsh environment. She had to be much stronger than she seemed.

Buffy and Spike were talking again and he was pulled away from his musings as their conversation escalated, manifesting in bizarre semi-vocal spurts.

"You could..." This from Spike.

"Wouldn't work." Buffy - digging her heels in.

"Bloody would too! What about the -?"

"That's different. It's only..."

Wesley cleared his throat. "What are you arguing about now?"

"Power sharing." Spike only glanced over for a second before returning his gaze to his partner's. "I'm tellin' you Summers..."

Buffy scowled. "Don't call me 'Summers'! You know I hate when you do that!"

"Temper, temper." Spike's lip curled cruelly. He moved in close, menace all but oozing from his skin. He gripped her shoulders and whispered harshly in her ear. "Bloody use it!"

Buffy lashed out, pushing him back and landing a viciously accurate punch on his nose. There was a loud crack and Spike fell backward onto the ground, clutching his face. Blood gushed out between his fingers.

There was a second's silence and then a hesitant round of applause from the rebels.

Buffy looked horrified. "Oh God. Are you okay?"

Spike propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a quizzical look. "What're you feelin' all sorry for?" he asked. "It's not like you haven't busted my nose before."

"Yeah, but that was..." She trailed off, freezing as she realized something. "We did it, didn't we?"

The vampire grinned widely, teeth flashing. "You bet your sweet buns, sunshine!"

She was at his side in an instant, launching herself into his arms. They tumbled backward in the dirt. "I love you, bleach-for-brains!"

Spike returned the embrace, making no attempt to wipe away the trickle of blood running down his face. In fact, they both ignored it, lips fusing together in an enthusiastic kiss.

Fred grimaced. "Okay, that's not so beautiful. That's 'blech'. A gag reflex sort of 'blech'. You know, like what happens sometimes when y'all get somethin' real stink-icky on your shoes."

"I agree," Wesley replied absently. He was more interested in finding out what had just happened. He swore Buffy's eyes had glinted yellow for a second there. Unfortunately, the twosome didn't appear like they would be coming up for air anytime soon. "Uh, Buffy? Spike? Spike!"

"What?" The vampire finally heard him and pulled away from his beloved Slayer. He blinked as though he'd only just noticed their audience. "Oh."

He sat upright, bringing Buffy with him. She smiled, afloat in blissfully euphoric haze, and nuzzled his neck.

Wesley squinted at her. "Is she alright?"

"Bit o' blood rush is all," Spike said. He wiped at his nose, making a sticky red smear across his cheek, and peered distractedly at the residue on his fingers. "Happens with new vamps on occasion. Appears to be a side effect."

"From what? What did you do?"

"Told you already," Spike said. "Power sharing."

Wesley just looked at him.

Was everyone trained by the Council of Wankers this bloody incompetent, or did he just get stuck with the rejects? The vampire shook his head and snuggled the now lethargic Buffy tighter against his chest.

"Slayer's been all frantic about havin' no powers since we've been here, right?" He suddenly realized that the Slayer in question had fallen asleep and the scornful expression on his face dissolved into a soppy grin. He tucked a stray lock of platinum-streaked hair behind her ear before continuing his explanation.

"We've been workin' on this thing where we tap into each other's strengths. Just small-time stuff. Me using her spider sense when I'm patrolling, or her borrowing my vamp-vision." He shrugged. "Figured we could expand on that. Try 'n make more of it."

Wesley's eyes bugged behind his glasses. "You're saying that Buffy used the link to draw physical strength from your demon?"

"Seems to take some pretty strong emotions to do it too. Gettin' her all pissed at me. Kinda like usin' the dark side of the Force, I reckon."

Wesley stared. "Do you realize how dangerous that is? Especially in light of what happened to Angel."

"Worked didn't it? No worries, Junior. We know what we're about." Spike brightened then, making yet another mercurial mood-swing. "Thing is, it'll most likely go both ways when we get back to Sunnyhell." He let out a remarkably childlike giggle. "Spikey the Vampire Slayer," he burbled. "Who'd've thought that?"

Who indeed? Wesley could feel a headache coming on. He wearily massaged his temples.

Spike's merriment eased off as he stifled a yawn. When one of them nodded off like this, the other usually wasn't that far behind. Something to do with brainwaves or breathing patterns or some such rot. Who knew? He didn't much care about the ins-and-outs of all their linky quirks. Simply put: Buffy asleep, Spike really tired.

"Hang on," he regarded Wes with heavy-lidded suspicion as his drowsy brain snagged on a stray thought. "How'd you get out here in the backwoods? Figured you'd be under lock 'n key with the rest of the Peaches Brigade."

"I'm not exactly certain of how it came about myself," Wesley disclosed. "I gave some assistance in a scuffle with a group of palace guards, mostly in defense of my own safety I might add, and suddenly I'm an active member of their rebellion." He gave the vampire a weak, watery smile. "They even promoted me to strategist. Sort of a Master-of-Arms, if you will."

The announcement sent Spike off into another bout of childish giggling, the lighthearted sound so infectious that Wesley found himself joining in.

"I know, I know. I simply don't understand why people keep putting me in charge of things."

"Death wish?" Spike suggested, wiping a tear away from his eye.

"I hope not." Wesley was serious once more. "Because I'm planning on getting us all home in one piece."

~*[+]*~

Buffy woke to the unfamiliar sound of horses and the unpalatable smells of something gross roasting on the fire.

"Guessin' that breakfast'll only make me barf," she muttered, sitting up. She glanced at Spike. He was snoring softly, his head lolling back against the log they'd been resting on. There were some strange dark streaks on his face and it took her a moment to equate them with the breaking-his-nose incident of the night before. She winced at the memory, but then shrugged. He looked all healed now.

She peered around the camp.

Fred was curled in a foetal ball to her left and Wesley sat across from her, wide-awake and watchful, eyeing them through the pungent haze of smoke. She smiled at him. "Morning."

"It is." He held up a misshapen clay mug. "You should try the kallaberry tea. It's surprisingly good."

"Gotta be better than," she squinted at the unrecognizable blob on the spit, "Whatever the hell that is."

"Drasbit," the former Watcher supplied.

"Gesundheit," Spike offered dryly before snapping into a sitting position. When he was awake, he was awake - no snuggling under the covers for this vamp.

Unfortunately, the abrupt movement made him feel strangely light-headed. He blinked dizzily.

Buffy frowned at him. His wooziness was making her all queasy - though that could also have been because of the Drasbit stinkage. "When did you last feed?"

Spike thought back. "Before we left home."

"Home home? Or the dimension home?"

He just looked at her.

Buffy tutted disapprovingly. "There's a supply in the bag," she said. "We could heat it up on the fire."

Spike sighed. "No supply in the bag, love. Noticed when I was on my little smoke-search yesterday."

"Oh," Buffy grimaced. "How did that happen?"

The blonde smirked, leaning back and tucking his hands behind his head. He looked very pleased with himself. "Figure someone got a bit sidetracked during the packing," he said, tongue curling behind his teeth.

The Slayer blushed. "But what are we gonna -?" Her eyes locked with his, widening significantly. "You could..."

"No!" Spike recoiled, all signs of smugness evaporating.

"You don't want to?" Buffy was clearly dismayed by his reaction.

Wesley suddenly realized that they were discussing whether or not the vampire should feed from her. "Here now, I must object!"

They ignored the feeble protest.

"Not a matter of wanting, pet. Biting you would involve making faces of the 'Grr' variety. We can't risk that here."

"Oh for God's sake!" Buffy reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger. Before anyone could protest she ran it across her inner forearm and thrust the wound at her partner. "Suck on that."

Spike stared at her, startled, his blue eyes impossibly pale in the morning light. He took her hand and pressed a soft kiss into her palm before latching onto her arm.

Wesley shuddered. "I can't look."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia became aware of her surroundings slowly, registering the dry itchiness of the straw first. Then she realized that she was curled up on the floor with someone - a male someone who was spooned at her back with one arm tossed possessively over her body, hand resting on the bared skin of her stomach.

She glanced down at the proprietary arm. The brown shirt it wore had been rolled up to the elbow and she noted the dusting of fine dark hair on the powerful forearm, the unblemished skin, prominent veins and the longest fingers she'd ever seen - long, artistic, manly fingers.

Angel.

Cordy shifted, slightly disconcerted by the fact that he was holding her this closely, this intimately. It occurred to her that he was warmer than she'd thought he'd be. Maybe he'd absorbed her body temperature - like a lizard sunning itself on a rock.

Then he did the sleep-mumble thing and pulled her back against him - hard. Jeez! And she thought he was being intimate before!

Angel's touch was affecting her in ways that she'd never expected. There was the physical attraction thing, sure, but that was always there. She'd learned to deal with that. What was disturbing her was the contentment thing. She felt like she belonged right where she was - like the haven of Angel's arms was the only safe place in the world.

Wig alert! Hadn't she already been through the reasons why this wouldn't work?

Cordy edged onto her back, trying to distance herself. Bad move. Now she could see him, and it looked like her movement had jolted him awake.

Angel's eyelids fluttered open, his gaze instantly colliding with hers. He blinked in surprise, then glanced down along her body, taking in the strip of exposed flesh where the borrowed jacket fell open. He paused for a moment, realizing that his hand was curved around her hip. The hand tightened for a beat, but then he pulled it away.

"Sorry," he said. His voice was nothing more than a soft rasp.

"Why?" She was playing with fire now, she knew, but what a way to go...

Angel stared at her then, his eyes impossibly dark. He leant in until his face was a whisper away from hers. His hand returned to rest against her naked midsection, fingers splayed out along her ribs.

"I can feel your heart," he breathed, the huskiness of his voice tugging at her, like callused hands on silk. "It's beating pretty fast. Are you scared of me, Cordy?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "No."

Angel gave her a sly smile and lowered his head to gently nuzzle her cheek, taking in the scent of her hair, her skin. Then he pressed a light, chaste kiss against her brow and withdrew to simply look at her, delighting in her flushed cheeks and fever-bright eyes. He felt insanely proud of himself. She was finally reacting to him as a man, not just as a friend.

Cordelia was completely under his spell. Good God, if this was how he'd been with Buffy, then no wonder she'd been ruined for anyone else.

Angel sighed and shook his head, reality returning like a splash of cold water. He was taking advantage of the situation, and she would definitely be pissed at him when she came back to herself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have..." He moved away, abandoning her to sit with his back against the stone wall of their cell. He held his head in his hands, fingers fisting in the hair at his temples. "I can't do this."

Cordelia lay still for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium. "It's okay," she said, though it really wasn't. "I understand. You don't want me. You want Buffy."

Angel gaped. She couldn't be serious. "Don't want -? You think I don't want you?" He let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Cordy, I want you so bad I can taste it."

She sat upright at the revelation, stunned. "You can? You do?"

He ducked his head. "Always."

"But, but... Buffy -?"

"Buffy is with Spike. I told you that already."

"And you're okay with that?" Cordelia's eyebrows arched.

"What Buffy and I had was over a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't even come close to what she has with Spike. They were made for each other. Literally made for each other."

Cordy snorted. "You do realize what is coming out of your mouth?"

"Believe it," Angel said. "You'll understand what I mean when you see them together."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're jealous."

"Not the way you're thinking," he told her. "I don't hate Spike for being with Buffy." He conceded to her skeptical stare. "Okay, I did at first. But I got over it. This is more... What they have is so special, Cordy. It's amazing." He paused, mulling that over. "Up to a point ... then it just gets nauseating."

"So, this is relationship envy?"

"No. Well, sort of, I guess."

Cordelia studied him for a moment, then came over to crouch in front of him. "So what was that all about?" She waved a hand behind her at the pile of straw.

Angel avoided her eyes. "I don't..."

"Don't you even think about giving me the stuttering avoidy-guy speech 'cause that is so old." She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Tell me, Angel, straight up. What the hell was that?"

"Cordy..." Angel pleaded softly, begging her not to keep at him like this. Their eyes met and held - locked together in a mutual, magnetic attraction and he groaned, giving in.

She wanted honest? He could do honest.

He reached up to grasp her forearms, pulling her toward him. She lost her balance and sprawled against his chest, her face millimeters from his.

"Are you gonna-?"

Her question was cut off as Angel took her mouth in an openly passionate kiss.

~[*]~

EPISODE SEVEN

Unexpected Developments

Cordelia felt like she was drowning.

It was one thing to have all kinds of fantastical daydreams about Angel, to speculate and ponder in a semi-detached co-workery way, but actually being in his arms was something else. It was incredible. She felt so connected to him, and not just in the lip department. There was an emotional connection too - a great seething mass of emotion. The intensity of it scared her.

She pulled back and stared into his eyes. They're liquid, she thought inanely, like the blackest ink.

He returned her gaze, unblinking. "Cordy..." Her name was a whisper this time, uttered with prayer-like reverence.

"No," she withdrew from his embrace. "No, don't."

"I..."

"I said don't." She retreated to the other side of the cell, one hand pressed to her mouth in something akin to shock. She stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm herself. When she turned back, though, she was still shaking.

"Explain yourself," she commanded.

Oh ho, behold the princess-voice. Angel looked up at her, cocking his head to one side. When he'd turned into the beast she hadn't batted an eyelid, and yet this was freaking her out. Interesting.

"Explain what? I thought it was pretty self-explanatory."

"You kissed me."

"I noticed." One corner of his mouth ticked up the tiniest bit. "I also noticed that there was some kissing back."

"Well it was..." She frowned. Was he flirting? "Stop doing that."

He flicked her an amused glance from under his lashes. "Doing what?"

"Making with the cutie-patootie. It's wrong."

"Is it?"

"See!" She pointed accusingly. "There! That's just not normal. All the friskiness and schmoozability and ... and graargh!" She threw her hands up in the air. "You're being such a guy! I so want to strangle you right now."

Angel smiled then. "Go ahead. I don't breathe, you know, so strangling would be..."

Cordelia stared at him. "Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice sounded brittle. She was right on the verge of cracking up on him. "Is this some kind of game to you?"

"No!" He scrambled to his feet, his attempts at playfulness forgotten. "Not a game. Never." He reached for her but she ducked away. "Cordy..."

"And just so you know, I never gave you permission to call me that. There I was, minding my own business, and then WHAM! Suddenly its all 'Cordy' this and 'Cordy' that. My name is Cordelia, you big blockhead! Use it once in a while."

"Why are you acting like this?" Angel was getting concerned now. She was starting to rant. Ranting wasn't a good sign.

"Like what? Like one of my best friends suddenly decided to get lip-locky with me?" She huffed, fisted hands planted firmly on her hips. "Well, excuse me for being just a little bit wigged. I mean, left field much?"

"Left-?" Angel scowled. "I thought I was being really obvious."

"Obvious. Yeah, 'cause you're all out-in-the-open guy." Cordelia paused, replaying the last few minutes in her head. "Hey, back up Mr. Clamshell, I don't think we're on the same page. What the hell are you talking about?"

Angel sighed. "You still can't see it can you?"

"See what? Would you stop with the cryptic already?"

Time for the direct approach. Angel seized her upper arms, almost like he was going to try and shake some sense into her. The thought crossed his mind. He ignored it.

"When are you going to wake up and realize that I love you?"

Damn. That came out angrier than he would have liked.

She stopped struggling and stared at him, mouth agape. Then she shook her head. "No you don't."

He hadn't really known what to expect, but he knew that wasn't it. She sounded like she was humoring him or something. Like he was delusional. He willed his hands not to tighten their grasp on her arms. "I'm not playing here. Cordelia, I'm in love with you."

"You can say it as much as you want, but it doesn't make it true." Her voice had gone oddly flat now, lifeless. "You're in love with Buffy. You'll always be in love with Buffy. You guys had the big forever love, remember? The eternal soul-mate, death-do-us-part thing, all moony-eyed and star-crossed... Well, not so much with the crosses, I guess, but..."

Angel shoved her away from him. "God, you can be so stubborn," he gritted, running an impatient hand through his hair. "What part of 'over' did you not understand?"

"Hey, you're the emotionally stunted one," she returned hotly. "You are so totally clueless when it comes to stuff like this. You don't love me, Angel. You're projecting. I'm just the projectee - the convenient little Slayer substitute."

Angel snorted and then blinked at the noise, startled. Great, now he was starting to sound like Spike. The thought annoyed him just that much further.

"I'm two and a half centuries old," he growled. "I'm a big boy now. I think I'm up with the feelings. And the convenient thing? Spare me. There is nothing convenient about this."

He folded his arms and stared her down, positive that he'd just seen the slightest flicker of uncertainty. "I - Love - You." He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, determined to get through to her. "And I'm just gonna keep saying it until you believe me. Or..." An impish light flared in his eyes. "I could keep kissing you. That was fun."

"Fun? Did you just say fun?" The uncertainty exploded into full-blown skepticism. "Okay, it's official. The big beast-morph melted your brain."

"Nah." Angel grinned crookedly. "I think it was the kissing."

"Would you stop with the flirting!" she cried. "There's enough freakage here already without the extra helping of weird."

"I know." The vampire grew serious again. He rammed his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. "I'm sorry. It's just... It's a relief, I guess, to finally have it out in the open. You need time to adjust and I'm..." He trailed off and frowned, his brows knitting together in concentration.

"What?" Cordelia demanded. "What's wrong now?"

"Shh!" Angel waved a hand at her, listening intently. He wandered over to the wall and rested an ear against the stone. "Someone's in the next cell."

Cordy grimaced. "It's not Wesley is it? 'Cause if it is, we are so screwed."

"No, it's..." he straightened and shook his head in amusement. "It's Lorne. He's singing."

"Oh please! Dungeon karaoke?"

"I'm not kidding."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Now there's a huge surprise."

Angel glowered for a moment, offended. He could have been kidding. He was a great kidder - he could kid her ass off. He rapped his knuckles against the dense stone. "If the walls weren't so thick you could probably..." He stopped and let out a chuckle. "Andy Williams?"

Cordelia's nose crinkled in utter disgust. "Ugh. And you think you know someone..."

Angel looked at her. "What's wrong with Andy Williams? Especially 'Can't Take My Eyes off You' - it's a classic."

"Yeah, a classic pile of schmaltzy crap."

Angel sighed. There she was - Queen C. Her defenses were back up. Now there would be no getting through to her.

~*[+]*~

Spike was beginning to worry. He shouldn't be so nauseous and lightheaded. The sampling of blood he'd taken from Buffy should have been enough to sustain him for days, but even that tiny amount was making his stomach churn.

Way back when he'd first gotten the chip he had gone a few weeks without feeding and he still hadn't been this bad. It didn't make sense. He speculated momentarily that Buffy's current weakness was somehow sapping him via the link, but deep down he knew that wasn't the right reason. And it had been going on longer than just this little cross-dimensional jaunt.

One of them was ill.

Buffy looked up from her mug of kallaberry tea and raised an inquiring brow. Her bright "What's wrong with you?" reverberated in his head and he winced. The slight headache he was nurturing apparently didn't appreciate link-speak.

"Not a thing." He sent the reply in a whisper, even his own voice was echoing too loudly now. He felt the wave of her concern rush over him and gave her a weak smile. "It's nothing, pet. I'll be right as rain 'fore you know it."

"And strangely? Not comforted," she drawled. "Might be that great big knot of anxiety I'm picking up."

Spike stared at her, absently chewing the inner wall of his cheek, and Buffy was suddenly struck by how drawn he looked. He hadn't been this pale since the pre-heartbeat days and there were bruise-dark shadows under his eyes. He looked bad. Real bad. Post-Initiative bad.

Why hadn't she noticed sooner?

She was kneeling at his feet before she even realized she was moving, abandoning her tea to take both his hands in hers. "Spike?"

He didn't respond. He just tilted his head to one side and went on staring at her. His eyes were a little glassy and a muscle ticked rhythmically in his jaw as he continued to gnaw at his cheek. Buffy could taste the coppery tang of blood and knew that he'd broken the skin.

"Spike, stop it." She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. He wasn't overly warm, but she could sense that he wasn't quite himself. "You're scaring me."

He blinked at the light touch, coming back from wherever he'd zoned off to. "Oh, sorry love. Didn't realize."

Buffy frowned. They normally didn't do this without asking - tried to maintain a small slice of privacy - but his behavior was giving her the wiggins. And besides, the link didn't go as deep as it did for no reason.

Spike noticed the cute concentration wrinkle between her brows right before he felt her delving into the shielded recesses of his psyche. Jig was up, then. He knew he'd been made when she pursed her lips and gave him her patented Buffy 'look of death'.

"How long?" she ground out.

"'Bout a week. Ten days at most."

Buffy stood and planted her fists on her hips, glaring down at the top of his head. She wished she had her Slayer strength back so she could hit him without injuring himself in the process. "How dare you try and hide this from me!"

Spike actually cringed, ducking his head. "I was just..."

"You've been sick all this time?"

"Been worse the last couple of days," he admitted with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He sounded miserable. "Mornings mostly. Can't keep anything down..."

It was only as the words were leaving his mouth that the implications hit. His head shot up and his gaze collided with Buffy's. She'd obviously reached the same conclusion, gaping at him in open-mouthed shock.

Morning sickness?

Spike's eyes dropped to stare at her midsection in disbelief. He reached out a tentative hand, the palm hovering over her stomach. He didn't touch her. He didn't have to. "Bloody hell, sunshine..."

"No," she whispered, backing away.

He looked back up, a superior smirk spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he purred, "Spike gets it right first pop."

Buffy's lips curled. "That is so... Ugh! You're such a pig."

He nodded. "Maybe so. But I'm a Daddy pig."

"What?" She shook her head, retreating even further and folding her arms protectively. "No! Big no! Move it along mister, there's nothing to see - nothing. Zip, zilch, nada..."

Spike's smirk didn't falter in the slightest. He was absolutely certain now, even if she wanted to stay in Denial-land. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, happier than he'd ever been in his entire existence.

"So," he chirped blithely. "What're we gonna name the Little Nipper?"

The Slayer stared at him, stricken, not dealing at all. Tears welled in the deep green pools of her eyes. "Spike..."

He relented then, getting to his feet and pulling her into his arms. "Hey, come on. Thought this was supposed to be a happy occasion. Time to make with the merry, break out the sodding Champagne and all that celebratory crap."

"I don't understand how this happened," Buffy lamented. He chuckled and she kicked him in the shin. "Not that part, you idiot. The conceptiony part." She butted her forehead against his shoulder. "We've been so careful."

"Oh, that's complete rot and you know it," he snorted. "'Sides, neither've us has ever been the most responsible of sorts, have we?"

Buffy gave him a rueful half-smile. "That's gonna have to change, huh?"

"Just one item in a long list, pet." The vampire lowered himself onto his knees, keeping one arm slung around her hips, and pressed his cheek against her abdomen. "Hey there, Spikelet," he greeted softly. "Alright, yeah?"

Wesley chose that moment to rejoin them at the fire. He took in their unusual positions and frowned. "What on earth are you doing now?"

Spike gave him huge, deliriously happy grin. "Congratulate me!" he ordered, eyes sparkling. "I'm gonna be a Dad!"

The former Watcher seemed to shut down completely. He stopped dead, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two as he tried to process the announcement.

"Good Lord," he finally managed to squeak and collapsed onto a nearby tree stump like his legs could no longer hold him.

"That about sums it up," Buffy commented, playing with the tousled white curls of Spike's hair. He traced indecipherable patterns on her belly with his fingertips, emitting a contented vibe that made her feel all warm and cozy.

"Congratulations!" Fred blurted. She was standing next to Wesley, though none of them had noticed her arrival.

Spike twitched, shoulder muscles rippling beneath his duster. He'd been so engrossed that Fred had actually managed to scare him. "Make some noise when you approach a bloke," he grumbled, eyeing the girl with annoyance. "The old ticker's a tad past warranty. I could have a heart attack or what all, and it wouldn't do to leave the bloody tot an orphan, now, would it?"

Fred was instantly contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to holler at you. 'Specially with you bein' delicate 'n all."

Buffy burst out laughing. "Delicate!" she guffawed. "She thinks you're delicate. Poor delicate widdle Spikey!"

Spike sat back on his heels and scowled. "Sod off."

"Hey, watch the language in front of the baby!" Buffy went to cuff his ear, but the enormity of her words finally registered and she froze. "Baby?" Her hands fluttered and clutched at her stomach, an overflow of panicky awe rippling through the link. "Oh God, there's a baby in here! Spike's baby, baby of Spike!"

The vampire was unable to keep the joy from showing on his expressive face. "Hello? Where were you five minutes ago? Always knew you were a bit on the slow side, Slayer. Hope Nipper gets the brains from my branch of the family tree."

"You're going to keep calling it that, aren't you?" Buffy asked resignedly.

Spike ruminated on that for a moment, then shrugged. "Fits, dunnit?"

She rolled her eyes. If there was a nickname to be had, Spike invariably used it. It was a sign of affection thing. If Spike used your actual name, he was either being very serious, or he didn't like you. That was just how it was.

He quirked an eyebrow and effected an exaggerated eye-roll of his own. When she giggled at his antics, he sprang to his feet and threw his arms around her, enveloping them in their own private bubble of happy.

Then he thought of something horrifying, something that made him nauseous all over again. "Hey, Slayer?" he inquired uneasily. "Does this mean Peaches is the Nip's granddad?"

She frowned, processing the logistics. The vamp family connections were sort of convoluted. It made her brain hurt thinking about it. "Um, yeah. I suppose." She grimaced. "Weird much?"

Spike sighed. "Bloody PTB," he muttered. "Just when you think you're gettin' someplace, the wankers set about knockin' you back a peg."

"But, hey, on the bright side," Buffy said, patting her stomach. "Baby of us."

"Oh yeah."

Spike made the simple confirmation sound obscenely intimate. His hands slid down to catch hold of her hips and draw her tighter against him. They kissed softly, lingeringly, retracing well-known and oft-visited territory. When they finally pulled back, it was to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes and drift off into a pleasant sensual fog. Everyone outside their link-sphere was excluded from their perception.

Wesley was in such a stunned funk that it took him a few minutes to remember his original purpose in approaching the couple. "Oh," he said, straightening up. "In light of recent developments, I'd almost..." He cleared his throat. "It seems that in order to lure the Gemel there's to be a tournament in the village."

The Slayer stirred as he spoke. She dragged her attention away from her partner and gave the former Watcher a distracted heavy-lidded look.

"Tournament?" she asked. "What, with like, jousting 'n stuff?"

Wes nodded. "So I'm led to believe." He waved a sheet of papyrus-like parchment in one hand. "According to their advertising material, there are to be several public executions and, uh..." He adjusted his glasses and read aloud from the flyer. "'A match predestined by ancient Pylean lore - the Mighty Groosalugg against the most fearsome Belial'."

"Ooh, now there's name to strike fear in a bloke's heart," Spike scoffed. "Groosalugg. Real boot-shaker that. I'm all a-flutter." He cast a wide-eyed look at Buffy. "Can you feel me tremblin', pet?"

The Slayer ignored him, contemplating instead the fit of her clingy red T-shirt. No sign of a bump yet, just a little bloaty-type swelling. She shrugged and focused back on what Wes was saying. She'd worry about turning into Little Miss Swallowed-a-Basketball later.

Wesley pointed back toward the rebel leader. "Jonah tells me that the Groosalugg is Pylea's undefeated champion. A mythic warrior, if you will. Angel will be fighting for his life."

Spike's lips twisted into a sneer. "'Mythic warrior' my shiny white bum," he said. "Wager the newly parental Chosen Ones could knock him cold." He winked at Buffy.

She grinned up at him, confident that together they could take on the world.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia had come to the conclusion that at some point in the Belial mutating process Angel had lost his mind. There was no other explanation. The way he was acting was so un-Angel.

First of all there was the singing. Well, not so much singing as a kind of groany drone. The guy had serious tune issues, in that he couldn't carry one to save himself. He was apparently taking part in the 'Let's mangle every lovesick ballad in history' sing-along that Lorne was conducting in the adjacent cell. She couldn't hear the green-skinned demon herself of course, not having ears of the super-vamp variety, so she was taking his word at face value.

On top of the singing badness, there was the touching. Any chance he got. He'd brush against her or fool around with her hair. When she called him on it, he'd just smile at her.

That was something else, too, the damn smiling. Slow melty grins that lit up something insidiously wicked in his eyes and made a big puddle of warm pool in her belly. That was on the plus side, though, 'cause at least the warm poolyness drowned the crazed mass of butterflies stirred up by the touching part.

Crazy Angel was getting on her nerves.

"Would you knock it off?" she pleaded. "There is only so much of this I can take. And my taking level is at an all time low."

Crazy Angel did the slow grin thing again, nicely paired with a mock innocent lifting of brow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I bothering you?"

"Bother, schmother. Right now I'm all for hating you." Cordelia turned her back on him and curled into a ball in the corner of the cell, shutting him out completely. "Stupid vampire."

Angel's face dropped. He'd pushed it too far. He was such an idiot.

"Cordy?" he called softly, tentatively. "Please, I didn't want to..." His voice cracked a little and he winced. He sounded like a complete wuss. Spike would be laughing his ass off. He sighed and slumped to one side, staring at the tense line of her back. He banged his head against the wall.

"Trying to knock some sense into yourself?"

He blinked. "What?"

Cordelia peered at him over her shoulder, then angled her back against the wall. "You're serious about this love thing, aren't you?"

Angel met her eyes determinedly. "Deadly."

"Uh huh." She looked down at her hands, nervously twisting one of the gaudy rings decorating her fingers. She shot him a glance that was uncharacteristically shy, almost coy. "I didn't mean it. I don't hate you."

"You don't?"

"Nah. Hate's too strong a word. I'm finding you sort of disagreeable at the moment, but you're too nice a guy for an all-encompassing hate."

"Nice?" Angel grimaced. Was this the start of a 'just want to be friends' speech? He didn't think he could deal with one of those right now, especially not from Cordy. He set his jaw. "I'm not nice."

She smiled. "You so are."

"Well, I don't wanna be." He scowled. "I told Buffy and Spike this was gonna happen."

Cordelia arched an artful brow. "You talked to them about me?"

"'Talk to her', they said. 'Do something different', they said." He folded his arms. "What the hell do they know?"

She suppressed a grin at his petulant tone, then tensed as a familiar roar echoed in her head. "Angel..." Her voice was weak, plaintive.

He was across the cell in a heartbeat, one of the stuttering irregular heartbeats that always heralded one of her visions. He managed to slip a hand behind her head just as she was flung backward, saving her from cracking her skull against the stone, and pulled her tight against his chest. He held her as the vision tore it's way through her body, leaving her shuddering in its wake.

As it eased, she clutched at him, sobbing from pain and shock.

"Easy baby," the vampire soothed. "It's okay. I've got you." He stroked her hair, tears shimmering in his own eyes. He hated that she went through this for him - because of him. "I've got you."

Cordelia stared up at him, her hands curled around his biceps. "Promise me you won't fight," she implored, tearstains glistening like quicksilver on her cheeks. Angel stared at her blankly and she became more insistent, her fingers digging into his flesh. "Promise me!"

"I can't do that, Cordy. Not until you tell me what you saw."

"Their champion guy," she whispered. "He's going to kill you."

~[*]~

EPISODE EIGHT

A Break in the Regularly Scheduled Game Plan

Spike's dark brows were knitted together in fierce concentration as he prowled along the camp perimeter. He came to a sudden stop and pointed an accusing finger at his partner. "You're not trying hard enough," he stated.

Buffy glared at him, fisted hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm trying," she gritted, teeth clenched. "I'm severely tried. I am so mad at you right now."

"Yeah, I know." The blonde vampire sucked in his cheeks, thinking. He'd been pushing her buttons for at least fifteen minutes now and nothing had happened - not a single sodding thing. He shook his head. "Can't fathom this bloody link. It's all ... wiggy."

The Slayer let go most of her pent-up anger in favor of a snort of laughter. "You said 'wiggy'."

"Sod off," he snarled. "Gormless bint. Wouldn't have a clue if your bony little ass was afire..."

Buffy waved a weary hand at him. "Give it up. The insults just don't work anymore." She blinked. "Hey, do you think the excitement has gone out of our relationship?"

Spike's scowled deepened for a second before his eyes lit with a lascivious glint. "How about if I told you I did the nasty with Red?"

Buffy raised a skeptical brow. "Uh huh."

"It could have happened. Me n' Red, and her little Tinkerbell - all three of us together. Had a grand old time of it, too."

She just looked at him until his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It's not fair," he complained. "The rollicking temper bit worked a treat yesterday. What changed?"

There was a brief silence and then their eyes met in startled realization. "The Little Nipper," they chimed in perfect unison.

Spike threw his hands up in the air, starting off on one of his hyperactive bouts of pacing. "Bloody brilliant that is," he griped. "Not parents for one day and the tyke's throwin' spanners in where they're not wanted."

Buffy shielded her stomach with her hands as though covering a child's sensitive ears. "Shh!" she scolded. "He'll hear!"

"He?" Spike pulled up short and cocked his head, eyes flicking from her face to her stomach and back again. "It's a he? That definite?"

She contemplated her belly for a moment. "I don't know." She peered back up at him, a picture of uncertainty. "It feels definite. In a totally vague kinda way."

"Yeah, I get that." Spike was able to sense the truth himself, even though it was still rather out of focus. He let out a heavy sigh, sounding both pleased and frustrated at the same time. "So, we're to have a li'l boy then. Doesn't change the fact that he's put a big hole in the power sharin' formula."

"It's only because I'm happy," Buffy assured him. "Because we're happy. It's a whole big happy deal. I just can't tap into that level of angry now - it's too dark." She gave him an anguished look. "Plus, I don't want the baby exposed to that stuff. Not yet."

Spike sauntered over, looped his arms around her waist and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. "'S okay, love, no need to get all fraught. We won't use the dark side quite that way." His fingers began tracing patterns in the small of her back, only to pause as inspiration hit. "Alright then, what if..." He lapsed into silence, lips puckered in a speculative moue.

"What if what?" The Slayer squinted up at him. "You've lost me." She pouted, a little bit piqued. "I can't follow your thought patterns sometimes. Your mind works funny."

Spike peered down his nose at her. "I love you too."

Her eyes narrowed in a way that could have been considered ominous if you didn't notice the playful twinkle. She raised herself up on tiptoe to bite at his chin. "Grr," she said, nibbling her way along his jawbone. "Aargh."

He snorted. "Very convincing."

"Come on," she urged, bouncing a little. "Tell Sunshine the plan."

"Think of the Nipper," he said.

"Huh?" She wrinkled her nose at him. "That completely came out of nowhere. Way to get me un-lost, cryptic boy."

"Knock off the sarcasm, pet, I'm making sense here. Remember on patrol the other week, when that fledgling got fresh?" Spike arched his brows, waiting for her to catch up.

"You went into protective mode and flashed the fangs. You hadn't done that for a while..." She batted her lashes. "Did it make you feel all manly?"

"Slayer..."

"Oh, lighten up." Buffy giggled, sliding her hands up under his T-shirt to tickle his spine. The muscles of his back quivered intriguingly at her touch, but he didn't give in to the distraction. "Alright, I get it," she relented, yielding to his seriousness. "Really. You want me to plug into the protective instinct. Only you want me to use the paternal side, not the maternal."

"Clever girl."

Buffy closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of Spike's arms around her body, on the smooth texture of his flesh beneath her fingertips. He was her anchor, her tower of strength. He was the one who supported her, protected her and kept her balanced. She imagined someone tearing that all apart, some unseen enemy taking her lover and her unborn child away from her.

Spike's voice insinuated itself into her head, reinforcing her mental picture. "Got to look out for what's yours, Slayer," he murmured. "Protect it with all that's in you, with all that's in me."

Buffy felt the surge of demonic power entering her system, but this time it hit on a much deeper level. Their earlier connection had been mostly surface emotion, a flash-in-the-pan reaction to an outside stimulus. This was a more elemental kind of sensation - basic, primal. This was the instinctive desire to defend one's own. This was Ripley in 'Aliens' shouting, "Get away from her you bitch!"

"Wow," she whispered, opening her eyes again. "That's really intense." Spike's jolt of surprise filtered in over her other emotions and she was instantly wary. "What?"

He offered a smile that tried to be reassuring, but wasn't. There was too much concern in his eyes for that.

"Well, on the bright side, your forehead's bump-free," he told her. "But the yellow peepers have made a comeback and you've gone a bit fangy."

"Fangy?" She probed at her teeth and accidentally sliced one of her fingers on a finely honed edge. "Ow!"

"Yeah, best watch yourself there," Spike advised. "Takes some gettin' used to. Try not to bite your lip."

"This is more fun than a barrel of vamped-out monkeys," Buffy muttered, inspecting her wounded digit. "The eyeball thing I could deal with. That happened before, right? But this tooth thing is ... icky."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Gettin' awfully close to insultin' the father of your kid there, pet." He pulled at his lower lip, taking in the new look. "I like it," he declared after a minute or two, nodding his approval. "It's got ... what's the word? Style."

"I just hope it's not permanent."

"'Course its bloody not!" Spike made a disgusted noise. "Don't see me waltzin' about in a constant state of Grr, do you? Bit o' practice and you'll be able to slip in and out whenever you want." A wicked grin curved his lips. "Hey, wanna scare the ex-Watcher?"

Buffy grinned back, the new set of extra-pointy incisors giving her a diabolical air of her own. "Okay."

~*[+]*~

Angel continued to hold Cordelia against his chest, unwilling to let go, even though she had passed out from the pain more than ten minutes earlier. She was not coping particularly well without the massive dose of medication she usually took and drifting off to sleep had been a tender mercy.

He sighed and cupped her cheek in his hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across her brow. It amazed him how much strength she had. She was stronger than anyone he'd ever met - stronger than he was most of the time.

She whimpered and pressed her face into his palm, reliving the vision in her dreams. The aftermath got worse and worse over time until they managed to do something about the foretold circumstances.

Angel scowled, detecting movement out in the dungeon's main tunnel. He waited for a moment, listening as they came closer, then brushed the softest of kisses against Cordy's lips. "I love you," he murmured. "Remember that. No matter what." He glanced up as the cell door flew open to reveal several guards and the dreaded Belial-wagon. "No matter what."

~*[+]*~

Wesley barely looked up when Fred materialized at his side. He would have loved to drop everything in order to spend some time with the young physicist, but at that moment organizing the rebellion had a much greater priority. He did have a brief moment of panic, though, when Spike popped up unexpectedly on his opposite side.

"Boo," Spike intoned mildly, having sensed his fright.

"Hmm," Wes bent his head, embarrassed at having his fidgety disposition exposed in front of Fred. Having the vampire lurking about certainly kept him on his toes. "Shouldn't you be off making yourself useful?"

"Done." Spike reached over the former Watcher's shoulder and flipped through some of the battle plans. "All primed and ready to go when you are."

Wesley glanced at Fred. She shrugged, not getting the problem, and began scribbling on a stray sheet of parchment.

"What do you mean 'done'?" he inquired carefully. Spike was acting way too nonchalant for his liking. "You've managed to perfect your sharing technique this quickly?"

The vampire's bright head dropped for a second. He took a deep breath and raised laughing blue eyes. "May I present," he announced over-dramatically. "Buffy the Vampire!"

He swung back out of the way to expose the Slayer hovering behind him. Buffy leered at them, her eyes shining a pure golden yellow, fangs gleaming.

Wesley stared, unwilling to admit just how shocked he was by this latest development. After the proclamation about the baby, nothing about their relationship should have shocked him at all, but they kept springing these things on him unawares.

Fred clapped her hands, delighted. "That's so great," she enthused. "You can hold that for a while, right?"

"As long as it takes," Buffy told her. "It just takes a tiny shift in concentration."

Wesley continued staring. "You're not mad," he blurted after a moment.

"Mad cranky or mad insane?" Buffy put her hands on her hips and tipped her head at him. "'Cause, depending on what's about to come out of your mouth, I could go either way."

Spike chuckled. "He's just noticed the distinct lack of temper in the transition," he explained. "No reason for twisted knickers."

Fred blinked at him. "You're funny," she said, deadly serious.

Spike nodded, equally straight-faced. "Thanks, love." He moved in back of his Slayer and rested his hands on her shoulders. Buffy's head lolled back against his chest, her human features back in place. "You two mega-brains figured a way home yet?"

Wesley adjusted his glasses. "What's that?"

Buffy sighed. "I knew we were forgetting something." She waved a hand toward the ex-slave girl. "Fred knows all about the portals."

"Not a lot," Fred disagreed. She tapped her quill against the parchment she'd been working on. It was covered in the same consonant patterns that decorated her cave. "The Trionic speechcraft formulation modification has to alter the dynamic reality sphere ... Lutzbalm predicted it at Zurich in '89 ... laughed him off the stage ... Although the slavery and degradation's no laughing matter..." She let out a distracted giggle. "It's no crug-grain and kallaberry breakfast all right."

Buffy and Spike gaped at her, rendered speechless for the time being.

Wesley just nodded thoughtfully. "The Trionic Ledgers are still in the possession of the Covenant," he said. "We will have to succeed in order to get hold of them."

He set his shoulders. Bloody fantastic. Now he had another reason to worry.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia couldn't believe how much the sunlight was aggravating her headache. She couldn't believe she'd slept through Angel being taken away from her. She also couldn't believe she was being so disbelieving. She should be used to the bizarre twist-of-fatey stuff by now, especially whenever Sir Brood-a-lot was involved.

She pouted and squirmed on the throne she had been ... well, tied to, her surreptitious movements earning a scathing glare from Silas.

Wouldn't do to let on to the masses that the princess wasn't exactly a willing participant, would it?

She gave him a death-glare of her own and wriggled a little. See? I'll move if I want to, not-the-boss-of-me evil robed-type from another dimension.

The priest was seated to her left, still keeping up appearances as the stable guide guy looking out for his empty-headed cow princess. He'd informed her that she was more or less the prize for this tournament. After this Groosaluggy thing killed Angel, she'd be going home with it.

Either that or she'd be killed too - not a great range of choices. The bargain basement of choices, any and all choices subject to availability.

She cast a worried gaze around the area. Part of the Village Square had been cordoned off into an uneven hemispherical arena. The space beyond the makeshift barrier was teeming with demony sorts, all braying for blood.

Some of them were also chanting for the Gemel, so Cordy figured that this whole gig was set up to bring them out in the open. Knowing Buffy, it would. And if Spike was as devoted as Angel said he was, then the vampire would be right there with her.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, she caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye. When she turned her head fully, it was gone.

"Is something wrong, Majesty?"

Cordy glanced at Silas. "Nope. I'm just fine. Thanks. You?"

He frowned at her, not at all certain how to take the inquiry, and then turned back to survey the adoring crowd.

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly nervous. That flash had looked an awful lot like sunlight on blonde hair. Was Spike here?

Her gaze flicked back in the direction the flash had come from and she almost gasped when she made direct eye contact with Buffy.

Not Spike - Buffy.

It was obvious how she'd mistaken the two, though. This was a leaner, meaner Buffy with a crop of streaky white-blonde hair, a long leather coat and ... yellow eyes? The Slayer smirked - since when did she smirk? - and disappeared into the crowd.

Cordelia blinked. Jeez, that was freaky.

She cast a wary gaze back toward Silas and had to bite her lip when she spotted Spike in the myriad faces beyond the robed priest, standing right next to a palace guard.

Cordy's not-so-fond memories of the blonde hadn't done him justice. She did not recall his being so amazingly handsome - the sort of handsome male models would cheerfully commit murder for. And in spite of his raw-boned frame and angular face, he looked way healthier than a vampire ought to. He had a sort of glow to his skin that didn't used to be there, like he'd had too much sun. The darker complexion looked great on him, radiant even.

He winked at her then, and she noticed that his eyes were still a soft shade of winter blue, their human color.

Human. Right. Angel had said that Spike was almost human now, that he and Buffy were linked, and that they had been made for each other - the PTB's very own version of Ken and Barbie, complete with built-in super-strength and demon-killing ability, no extra cost. She hadn't really believed what he was telling her, despite his customary soul-guy guilelessness, and yet here was the proof.

She could see both of them now, stalking along either side of the arena with a distinct predator vibe. Matching blonde heads, matching leather coats, matching smirks, and moving in a dynamic synchrony. Mirror images, they were, two seasoned hunters in their prime - sleek and stealthy and dangerous.

And how was it that she was the only one who could see them?

Cordelia sought the familiar face of the Host among the Sentenced-to-Deathees. He nodded, beaming with enthusiasm, and gave her a jaunty little wave.

Okay, so she wasn't the only one. They were about to get rescued. She gnawed at her lower lip, fretting. Where was Angel? And where, for that matter, was Wesley?

A cheer from the crowd brought her out of her wondering funk. The Groosalugg had arrived. He strode into the arena like a conquering hero.

Cordelia glowered at him. He was the guy from her vision all right - the big beefy guy with muscles on top of his muscles and beady little eyes and the sort of he-man hair that belonged in a B-grade barbarian movie.

Oh yeah, if you're such a hero, just you try conquering my Angel and see where that gets you.

'My Angel'? Where did that come from? When had she started thinking of him as being hers? Her mind seemed to shut down as realization hit. Time came to a standstill.

I'm in love with him.

"I love him." She sat blinking into space for a moment. "I'm in love with Angel." Nope, still sounded weird, even when she said it out loud.

"Did you say something, Majesty?" Silas didn't sound remotely interested in an answer. He was too distracted by the Groosalugg's sycophantic bowing in front of the royal booth.

Cordelia didn't acknowledge the Pylean champion at all - Hey! In the middle of an epiphany here buddy, don't interrupt. As epiphanies went this was at the top end of the scale and now that she knew how she truly felt about Angel she wanted to see him. She wanted him to be there with her, all dark and broody and solid and safe. She wanted him to get out here and rescue her, damn it!

The crowd did that unified cheering thing again, rousing her from her preoccupation. She glanced around and noticed that they were all staring expectantly at the entrance on the far side of the arena.

The now-familiar cage trundled into view, drawn by one of those poop-producing demon horses. Angel sat forlorn in the back, refusing to acknowledge anything around him - until the cage rattled to a halt and he immediately swung around to meet her eyes.

She sent him an adoring smile and he responded with an almost comedic double take, shooting to his feet and clutching the bars so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His obsidian gaze skimmed over her, checking that she was unharmed, then his brows lowered in that quirky worried expression he sometimes got, with the knot of lines that formed between his eyes and made his forehead crease up in an accordion of furrows. She had always found it incredibly endearing, but seeing it now distressed her.

He was about to fight for his life and he was worrying about her. He always worried about her - about Wesley, about Gunn, about all their helpless clients...

She glared at his broad-shouldered back as he climbed out of the cage. Why don't you think about yourself for once, you enormous lug? Maybe she was being selfish. She needed him stay alive, in an undead kind of way, for her. She had to tell him how she really felt. She owed him that much.

One of the guards that had accompanied the cage into the ring to the opportunity to wallop him in the back of the head with a truncheon thing and Cordelia let out an involuntary cry.

Angel whirled around at the sound, panicking for a second before he realized that she wasn't in any danger. He grinned then. One of those big, slow melty grins that he'd been torturing her with back in their cell. It immediately settled her nerves. Which was probably what he'd intended it to do all along.

Silas was staring at him. There was the smallest trace of fear lurking in the depths of those creepy eyes. "Why is he in cow form?" he asked. "He cannot fight like this."

Cordelia shot him a suspicious look. "Why not? He does it all the time back home." She smiled smugly. "Angel doesn't need that Belial thingy to win. He's a champion too."

"We'll see, won't we?" Silas called over one of his attendants and then got to his feet. "There is to be a change in the schedule," he announced. "The Groosalugg and the Belial will do battle now!"

Cordy shot a distraught glance toward the Host.

Lorne had an odd mixture of joy and concern on his watchful green face. He was extraordinarily pleased that he wasn't about to face the executioner, but apprehensive about his friend's fate.

"Oh boy," he whispered. "Here we go again."

~*[+]*~

Buffy heard the chief priest guy's lordly announcement and scowled, nibbling uncertainly at her lip. She wasn't finished with the scoping part yet and suddenly it was a toss-up for priority - surveillance for Wesley or rescue for Angel?

"Best to go on with Watcher boy's plan, love." Spike's link-voice traversed the gap between their bodies. He was still on the other side of the arena.

"Yeah, I know. You're right," she returned. "Angel can look after himself. For a little while at least."

She met her partner's gaze across the way. Even at this distance the connection made her heart skip a beat. He smirked at her, picking up the aberration, but she continued on as though nothing had happened. She couldn't afford to let him distract her now, she needed to stay in Protect-the-Nipper mode or she would be completely useless to all of them. "Okay. We'll report in, and then on with the show."

~*[+]*~

Angel eyed his opponent, trying to be objective. He had nothing personal against the guy so the whole grudge-match scenario was out. The worrying thing was that he was so ... pro-wrestler-y. He really looked like he could hold his own. On the plus side, he looked human.

Except for his eyes. Damn. Part-demon then. That meant he was probably about equal in the strength department - if not a tad stronger. Not good.

He let his gaze drift back to Cordelia. What was with that smile she'd sent him? There had been true emotion in that smile, a heartfelt message. It was almost like she ...

No! Don't look at her. Concentrate on the task at hand or you're gonna get deader than you already are.

He cased out the rest of the arena. It was a rough semi-circle in shape, doming away from the flat side where the royal booth was. Where Cordy was... Stop it, you moron, you're doing it again!

There weren't any weapons around, unless you counted the ones carried by the guards, so that mean hand-to-hand - thankfully a genre that he was well versed in.

He began to circle the defensively postured Pylean champion, and tried a tentative smile. Maybe he could negotiate with the guy.

"So," he said. "You do this tournament thing a lot?"

The Groosalugg narrowed enigmatic cobalt eyes. "Do not speak to me, Beast," he spat.

Angel raised his hands placatingly. "Hey, no need to get personal there, pal. I was just being polite. A little civilized conversation before an ass-kicking is not unheard of."

The other man glared at him, his hands flexing into meaty fists. "You are going to die."

Angel shrugged, unimpressed with the threats. He'd heard worse and the whole 'death' thing was pretty redundant as far as he was concerned. "I'll file that for future reference. Thanks."

The Groosalugg moved methodically forward and Angel shifted back, balancing lightly on his feet, his attention straying back toward the royal booth without any conscious thought.

The Pylean noticed the direction of his gaze and gritted his teeth. "Do not defile the princess with your foul stare," he said piously. "You are unworthy of her."

Angel perceived something in his tone, a hint of possessiveness. He tipped his chin cautiously. "And you are?"

"She is promised to me," Groosalugg said. "She is the reward for my loyalty to the Covenant."

Angel shook as a powerful flood of pure demonic rage flushed his system, drawing with it rumblings of the Belial. "No." His voice was tight in his throat, a savage growl of denial. "She isn't. Cordelia isn't anybody's trophy."

He launched himself toward the Pylean champion, relieved that he finally had a reason to fight the guy - and someone to fight for.

~*[+]*~

EPISODE NINE

Showdown at the Village Corral

Wesley felt like his heart was going to smack right through his ribs. Logically, he knew that the possibility of that occurring was virtually nonexistent, but his nervous system didn't seem to heed logic.

He blew out a long breath and eyed the man to his right - his right-hand man. Wes, old man, you're a babbling fool. "Are you certain your people are ready for this?" he asked.

Jonah didn't even blink. "We've been ready for this all our lives," he said. "But it was you and your friends, strangers to our world, that made it happen. For that we are grateful."

Wesley swallowed. Good Lord, as if he wasn't under enough pressure already. He turned to his left then and found himself staring straight into Fred's wide brown eyes.

"Are ya havin' doubts?" she asked.

"By the dozen," Wes sighed. "Cordelia is alone with Silas, and I'm not sure if Angel can control his demon side, or if this plan is going to work ... I may have doomed us all."

"It's okay," she told him earnestly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "You're a smart man. Brave, too. I'm sure y'all will do just fine."

He bowed his head, humbled by her praise. He was in no way worthy of it. "I'll do my best."

Fred nodded as if he'd just revealed one of the secrets of the universe. "Well, that's all any of us can do, right?" Her forehead crinkled as she thought over what he'd just said. "Though you might wanna keep that whole 'doomed' part to yourself."

~*[+]*~

The Groosalugg was winning, Cordelia could tell.

Angel was bruised and battered and beginning to tire. He wouldn't be able to keep up the block-and-dodge routine forever and being the stubborn vamp that he was, he was refusing to transform even though the Belial's extra strength would probably save him.

"Change," she whispered. "Please change."

The vampire's head shot up and his eyes met hers, zeroing in with phenomenal accuracy.

Had he heard -? Of course not, that was a stupid idea.

"No," he growled, right before the Groosalugg's cudgel, unfairly appropriated from one of the palace guards, swung up under his jaw.

It connected with a sickening crack and sent him sprawling backward in the dust. He rolled over and spat out a mouthful of blood, one hand cautiously checking for broken teeth.

Cordy blinked, her breath catching in her throat. But it was Angel's response to her plea that shocked her rather than his injury.

Despite being over twenty feet away, and despite the incessant roar of the crowd, he had heard her. More astonishing was the fact that she'd heard him. How was that even possible?

Plus he was ignoring her. That just wouldn't cut it.

"Change, damn it!" It was an order this time.

Once again Angel's gaze unerringly met hers. He raised himself up into a crouch and shook his head, either in defiance or to clear his vision, it was difficult to tell. He pivoted slightly, keeping an eye on the Pylean champion as he paid a visit to the weapon-dispensing guard and swapped the cudgel for a sword. Apparently the guy was getting bored with the bludgeoning and was ready for some slice and dice.

The Groosalugg bared his teeth in a silent snarl and then rushed the vampire with the sword raised above his head, prepared to strike, a battle cry tearing from his throat. "Rraaagh!"

Angel was trying to gather enough strength to surge up and intercept the blade when a shrill whistle pierced the air, bringing the proceedings to an abrupt halt. The crowd fell silent, all heads turning towards the source of the interruption.

There, at the very same entranceway where Angel had been released into combat, were Buffy and Spike. They stood hand in hand, uncompromisingly beautiful, the very definition of unity in red cotton and black leather.

In the royal booth, Cordelia slumped back in her seat, giddy with relief. That had been the exact same moment where her vision had cut off. Angel wasn't going to die. Not right now anyway.

Silas' murky eyes widened as though he could believe what he was seeing. "The Gemel!"

Angel had to admit they looked pretty impressive - the sunlight making them sparkle like living jewels, all vibrant and golden in a dimension where darkness seemed to be the predominating theme. Come to think of it, he hadn't noticed a single person with blonde hair in Pylea, especially with their striking ivory shades. He wondered if that was significant.

Around the arena, demons and cows alike dropped to their knees in reverence. Even the Groosalugg knelt, his head bowed over the sword in his hands. Perversely, Angel used the distraction to get to his feet. He swayed a little, blood trickling down his face from a cut on his brow.

The couple strolled nonchalantly into the playing field, stopping only as they reached the beaten vampire.

Spike tipped his head, taking in Angel's wounds. He tapped a finger against his own disfigured eyebrow. "You'll have to watch that doesn't scar," he said. "Can't have you ripping off my look."

Angel's lips twitched. "Buffy's already taken care of that." He glanced down at the Slayer and was startled to see her gazing back with eyes of demon yellow. "God!"

"Not quite." She laughed, flashing pointed teeth. "It's close but no cigar for the broody guy with the bloody face. Want a shot at the consolation prize?"

Spike let out a soft sigh of adoration. "Tugs at the heartstrings, dunnit?" he asked dreamily. "Seein' her like that?"

"No, can't say that it does." Something akin to disappointment flitted across Angel's face and he turned his back on the pair, searching for Cordelia. Was she still okay?

"Suit yourself." The younger vampire snorted, but stepped up to flank his Sire anyway.

Buffy immediately positioned herself on Angel's opposite side and Spike had an odd flashback to the last time they'd been in this kind of situation, the three of them pitted against a common foe. Of course, the dynamics of their little trio had been slightly different at the time.

He chanced a peek at Buffy. She had caught the thread of his thoughts and wagged her brows at him, her tongue playfully testing the razor-sharp tip of one of her fangs.

God, she was amazing. He loved her so much it was a wonder he didn't burst from it, particularly at times like this when she was a fiery mix of sass and class. He had loved her back then, too. Even if he'd been, not completely unaware, but unwilling to deal with it. Love was a funny thing indeed...

Angel's possessive snarl snapped him back into the present.

Sod it all, that Silas bloke had Cordelia. Angel's Girl Friday was held tightly against the priest's side in the classic 'I've-got-a-hostage' position. She was none too happy about it either, dark eyes flashing indignantly.

Spike found himself placing a restraining hand on his Sire's shoulder. "Easy, Peaches," he murmured. "We've a method to our madness."

The coiled tension beneath his palm eased, just barely, and Spike stepped forward. He tucked his thumbs in his belt and stared at the priest, belligerence personified.

"Think you might've heard of me," he announced, his voice ringing with authority. "Name's Falchion."

There was a ripple of stunned chatter from the crowd, but Spike chose to ignore them, figuring that's what leader-types did. He felt Buffy's arrival at his side and he threw an arm across her shoulders.

"This is Annulet," he went on. "We're the Gemel and we've come to claim what's ours."

He vaguely recalled making a similar speech when he and Dru had first arrived in a little Hellmouth of a town called Sunnydale. It appeared that karma was a funny thing, too.

He raised his brows at the priest, waiting for a reply.

Silas' mouth opened and closed a few times. "I represent the Covenant of the Trombli," he said finally, recovering some of his scattered dignity.

"Covenant of the bloody Trembly more like," Spike jeered. The crystalline blue of his eyes gleamed with sinister delight. He so enjoyed bringing down arrogant prats like this. "Look at you. Shakin' in your fancy robes. Been up to no good I'd wager."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully and cast an eye around the innumerable demonic faces surrounding them. "I'd also wager he's not been the only one."

On cue, the Groosalugg rose to his feet in front of them. His head remained bent in a submissive manner and he held out his sword as an offering. "I throw myself upon your mercy, noble Gemel," he said.

Buffy stared up at him, astonished. She hadn't realized how tall he was. He was kinda cute too.

Spike shot her a suspicious look, then ran an assessing eye over the giant. Cute, eh? There was a passing resemblance to his Sire, the way he'd been back before that unfortunate gypsy fiasco. Bulky frame, long dark hair, mono-brow - the git practically screamed Neanderthal. Spike decided that he hated him.

"Yeah," he drawled, tongue held firmly in cheek. "Well, don't think my mercy could take the weight, mate. It's not all it used to be. How about you just hit the road?"

The Groosalugg raised a questioning gaze, shocked that they would just let him leave when he had betrayed them so horrendously. "Lord Falchion?"

"What, are you deaf as well as ugly?" The blonde waved an absent hand toward the gate. "Bloody piss off. We've got bigger fish need frying."

Buffy gave him a mental nudge. "Don't aggravate the man, honey," she chastised. "He's a bigger than you."

Spike sucked on his lower lip, irked by her apparent lack of faith. "Believe there's a common saying 'bout that. The bigger they are..."

"...The harder they can hit." Angel rubbed his swollen jaw, ostensibly joining the conversation, even though his attention was still focused unwaveringly on Cordelia. "You don't wanna take him on. Trust me."

"'Bout as far as I could kick you," Spike grumbled. They were ruining his big moment, the both of them. Sodding spoilsports. He contemplated the Pylean champ, who had not yet made any attempt to leave, and huffed as though he were being forced to make some great sacrifice. "Right, how's this? You join our band of merry roustabouts and I don't bite you."

"Bite?" The Groosalugg was startled. He peered back and forth between them, then stared wide-eyed as Buffy bared her fangs at him in not-so-subtle intimidation. "Yes, uh, that is agreeable." He bowed again and moved back.

"On second thought..." Spike thrust out a hand to stall his progress, catching him around a chunky arm. "Give over the sword, Conan. Could use some decent weaponry in the coming rumpus."

Angel narrowed his eyes at his Childe, baffled by all the cryptic references. "Roustabouts?" he asked. "Coming rumpus?"

Buffy peered at the older vampire, suspicion in her eyes. "Were you always this slow on the uptake? I mean, I was kinda young and everything but I don't remember you being slow."

Spike pointedly ignored them, swiping the broadsword from Groo's grasp and turning it over in his hands as he wandered toward the royal booth, the blade's presence underscoring the impression of total command over the situation. He swung it in a couple of arcs for good measure, rolling his wrists and testing its weight.

"So," he said finally, planting the sword's tip in the ground between his feet and folding his hands on its hilt. "What's it to be? Gonna surrender all peaceable like, or you gonna make me come get you?"

Silas swallowed, visibly shaken, but he did not release Cordelia from his panicked hold. She glared at the priest with her lips pressed in a mutinous line, then defiantly stomped on his foot. Silas retaliated by shoving her away. She fell backward out of sight, yelling curses, unable to break her fall because of her bound hands.

"Son of a bitch," Angel growled, low and angry. Buffy grabbed his wrist as he started forward and held him firmly in place. He shot her a scalding glance, resenting her interference, and wrenched himself out of her grasp. He was trembling with the intensity of his rage, but refused to morph into the Belial - he couldn't afford to go on a mindless rampage now, he had to be strong for Cordy's sake.

Spike's mouth curved in a cruel smile. "Guess that means option number two is a go. I was hopin' that'd be the case."

He hefted the sword and flung it spear-like at the priest's head, missing by the narrowest of margins. It slammed into the rear wall, the blade burying itself almost entirely in the paneled wood.

There was an eerie stunned silence and then pandemonium erupted as Wesley and the rebels stormed the arena from all sides, engaging the unprepared crowd of demons in battle.

A surprise attack. This, obviously, was the coming rumpus that Spike had been alluding to.

Grateful for the distraction, Angel charged the royal booth, a burst of preternatural agility propelling him from the playing field to the platform in the blink of an eye.

He landed catlike on the ledge, then used it as a springboard to push forward into a row of guards that were blocking a rear exit. Silas, slippery weasel that he was, had managed to grab Cordy and get out quicker than Angel would have imagined. He took his frustration out on the hapless sentries, dispatching them with brutal efficiency, and then turned back to face the arena. He was torn between the need to aid the rebellion - they were hopelessly outnumbered and the element of surprise would only continue to work in their favor for a short time - and going off to rescue his princess.

Spike forced the decision by leaving his flank open and getting jumped from behind by a green-skinned demon the same species as Lorne. Angel caught the faint sound of Buffy's warning shout beneath the sounds of the battle and leapt back into the conflict to save his Childe.

Spike, as usual, was less than appreciative of his efforts.

"I'd've taken care of the blighter soon enough," he grouched, sullenly prodding the inanimate body of his assailant with the toe of his boot. "Go get your own."

Buffy sprinted by in the pursuit of a runaway opponent. She was a tiny nimble streak of white gold amid the much larger opposition and the two vampires paused to watch as she took the fugitive down - no mess, no fuss. Angel was awed by her prowess. She was on top form, better than he could ever remember her being. If she'd been this proficient when Angelus was on the loose, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Nice work, love," Spike applauded, a wry smirk creasing his face. He was so relaxed Angel half-expected him to pull out a cigarette and light up. Buffy acknowledged her partner's praise with a saucy little salute and returned once again to the melee.

Wesley was visible in the near distance, Fred at his back, doing quite well for himself. He and his sidekick had evidently gotten their lethal-looking axes from Buffy and Spike's portable arsenal - the couple themselves boldly going without.

The Groosalugg was true to his word, joining in on the side of the rebellion and making great progress on their behalf. Angel was about to comment on the guy's fickleness when he was hit in the lower back with a crossbow bolt. He awkwardly ripped the skewer free and spun on the offending demon, catching him as he tried to reload and pummeling him repeatedly, jaw locked with grim determination.

"Sid," Spike said suddenly, breaking his concentration.

Angel gave his adversary one final punch before turning to his Childe in confusion. "What?" The ill-fated crossbower crumpled in a discarded heap of demon goop.

"Sid," the younger vamp repeated. He tested the name, turning it over in his head. "Sid Grey. Got a ring to it, yeah? It's perfect. Don't know why I didn't think of it before."

Buffy emerged from behind the barricade where she had been disposing of a guard. "No," she ordered, pointing an adamant finger. "No way."

Angel peered back and forth between the duo. He had that 'missed-the-establishing-scene' feeling. Something significant must have taken place during his incarceration 'cause now there was a whole other level of what-in-the-hell?

"What is going on with you two?" he asked.

They ignored both him and the battle going on around them.

Buffy stalked up to poke her partner in the chest. "You are not naming him after some psychotic punk from a crusty old group..."

"Crusty?!" Spike was horrified by the description.

"Plus," Buffy continued. "It sounds like something you'd call a dog. An incredibly ugly stray dog."

The bleached vampire actually pouted, reminding Angel of a sulky three-year-old. "I like it."

Buffy was unmoved. "I don't."

"Oh, right. S'pose you wanna christen him Rupert or Xander. Or, God forbid, Riley."

The Slayer ducked her head. "That was a low blow."

Spike winced as a combination of his guilt and her muted pain twigged inside his chest. He nudged a finger under her chin until she looked up at him. "I need to have some input, love," he said softly. "You can't take the full load on your own. Not with this."

"Well, how much more input do you want?" Buffy sounded oddly put out. "You're the one with all the symptoms. I got squat. Or I will. Get squat, I mean."

Symptoms? Angel frowned. Was Buffy sick?

He studied her more closely. She was holding her hands flat against her belly, rubbing in tiny circles. It was a completely unconscious action and he was transfixed by it, so startled by the implications that he almost forgot to listen to what she was talking about.

"All I'm saying is that apart from being able to sense him on some bizarro level, I don't even know that he's here..."

"Believe me, you don't want the alternative." Spike grimaced. "Mums the world over have my bleedin' sympathies."

Angel shifted his intense scrutiny to the other vampire. Under the newly humanized tone of his skin he was pale and sort of gaunt, like he hadn't been feeding properly. Then he realized what Spike had just said.

"I ... Did you just -? Mum?" he croaked.

They looked at him, finally remembering his presence.

"It's British for Mom," Buffy said absently before comprehending his amazement. "Oh. Um, we didn't tell you?"

"Got a Nipper on the boil, we do." Spike puffed up like the proud papa he was apparently about to become. "You gonna congratulate us or stand there and brood, Granddad?"

Angel didn't rise to the bait. "Is that why -?" He indicated the Slayer's eyes and teeth with a terse gesture.

Buffy's hand shot defensively to her mouth. She'd forgotten that she was in protect-mode. "No. No, this is ... Well, its sort of related but its not..." She stopped babbling and glared at him. "You know what? It's none of your business."

Her attention flitted distractedly to a point past his shoulder and Spike executed a textbook spin-kick, duster whirling, to take out the demon that had been rushing them from behind. He turned back to the conversation without a second glance, not even breathing heavily. "That's right. You tell him, sunshine."

"But a baby?" Angel prodded.

"Don't see why you're so shocked all of a sudden." Spike eyed him with disdain. "You're the one who brought it up in the first place. Or don't you remember?"

He did. It had been the day after their link had been made permanent. Buffy had been mortified by the subject matter at the time. Though, seeing as how that had only been a month ago and she was already expectant, then she must have gotten over it pretty damn quick.

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And again?" she gritted. "None of your business."

Spike graced him with one of his self-satisfied smirks, shoulders hitching as he tucked his thumbs in his belt. "She couldn't resist my sinister attraction," he boasted, only to reel back in pain as Buffy set off his chip. "Bloody hell, woman!"

She scowled at him, hands on hips. "Shut. Up." She gave Angel a well-used and slightly worn smile of apology. "He still needs to work on some of his blabbermouth issues."

Angel understood then that she probably had to make excuses for Spike on a regular basis. He felt sorry for her. Spike would never fit easily into 'proper' society. He was too rough around the edges, too insolent, and way too insightful. Combine that with his blatant lack of tact and delight in mayhem, and you were asking for trouble.

Talk about a dysfunctional family. They really had no idea what they were getting into with this baby.

"No need for the invective, you know. I was just bein' honest," Spike defended, one hand pressed to his forehead. He ignored the battered freedom fighter that suddenly landed at his feet.

Buffy grabbed the fallen man and tossed him back out of the way, but Spike still had her full attention. "You were being a pig."

"And now the pig bit gets another airing. When you gonna try out a new one, Slayer? That's gone into re-runs." His eyes glinted, the point of his chin jutting out in an unspoken challenge.

They were standing toe to toe and Angel balked at the tension in the air. Spike wasn't playing now, he was genuinely angry and if Buffy weren't using his demon at the moment, he probably would have vamped out.

Inconvenient for him - really amusing too.

"What're you so bleedin' happy about?" Spike snarled, noticing the smile on his Sire's face.

"Has the fact that we're in the middle of a revolution slipped your minds?" Angel asked, disregarding his Childe's fury.

Buffy pulled a repentant face, an expression somewhat restricted by her fangs. "Oops. Sorry," she lisped. "Our bad."

Spike gave her the glare to end all glares and charged once more into the fray, taking out any non-human he could get his hands on.

"I pissed him off," Buffy mumbled, her gaze following the destructive path of Spike's hit and hit-some-more strategy. "I hate when I do it by accident. It's much more fun with some purpose behind it."

Angel peered down at the top of her very-blonde head. "He was only doing what came natural. For the demon side of him especially. Hell, if I'd managed to knock up the Slayer, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops..." He took a pensive breath and quickly derailed that train of thought. "Oh, um... Okay, that was a little too Angelus-y wasn't it?"

"Uh huh," she folded her arms at her middle, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

They continued to watch Spike work on his solo demon-eradication scheme, Buffy wincing a little when he took a particularly bad blow and rubbing at the corresponding part of her own anatomy.

Angel bit his lip. There was an awkward silence now, a new experience between Buffy and himself. And he'd never been comfortable with new experiences.

"So, a baby?" he said again, trying desperately to sound positive about it.

"Yeah." Buffy shot him a piercing glance that was way too Spike-like, daring him so say anything further. "Happy news."

"Happy," Angel nodded. "I get that."

Spike bounced back to them then, hyped up on adrenaline. His eyes were wild, the hem of his T-shirt was torn and hanging in a ragged strip, and there was a trail of blood seeping from a split in his bottom lip.

"You side-line sissies are lettin' the festivities pass you by," he reported, wiping at the gore on his chin with the back of his hand. "While you've been standin' here having a right old natter, us more enterprising types've got the bads on the run."

He swiveled around and gave a cheery double thumbs-up to Wesley, who had started rounding the remaining demons into smaller groups, each with their own rebel guard.

Fred was still by the ex-Watcher's side, following his every move with wide-eyed admiration, and the Host had joined them. He looked relatively unharmed, his spiffy ensemble rumpled and dusty, but intact.

Wes himself waved to the vampiricly inclined threesome, urging them to proceed in their rescue of Cordelia.

"Everything seems under control here," Angel said. "I'll leave you guys to it. There's a princess that finally needs to be rescued." His eyes took on a deeply ominous gleam. "And a priest that really needs to be killed."

The worried faces of his companions didn't seem to register, or if they did he chose to disregard them. He sped off toward the castle, not sparing them a backward glance.

Buffy locked eyes with Spike, letting her features morph back to normal. In the split second it took for green to meet blue the animosity between them evaporated.

"Still got your back, Slayer," he offered. He tried the irresistible tilted-head quirked-eyebrow combo, and then added the pouty-lip for good measure. Forgive me?

"You'd better," she retorted. Always.

A beat, and then they grinned at each other, joined hands and sprinted after Angel.

~*[+]*~

EPISODE TEN

Magic Words

Silas had dragged Cordelia through a twisting network of tunnels and secret passages, those cobwebby ones that all creepy castles apparently came outfitted with, and had somehow arrived back in the throne room. He shoved her roughly to the ground and paced in front of the royal seat.

"Jeez, what's with all the princess shoving? " Cordy complained, standing up and awkwardly brushing off her skirts with her still-bound hands. "You evil guys are the worst. And you should tell people about those tunnels, okay? 'Cause the whole sewer escape deal could have turned out so much better."

"Shut your mouth!"

The priest was panicking. He had severely underestimated the Gemel's strength. They should not have gotten this far. They shouldn't be here at all. Mythical beings had no business manifesting in real life. Especially when it interfered with his plan for total power.

Cordy gave him a haughty 'how-dare-you?' look. "Angel is so gonna to kick your robed butt," she informed him. "And I'm so gonna help."

"The Belial will be powerless against me." He pulled his sleeve back to reveal an over-sized dial strapped watch-like to his forearm. "And the Gemel will never have their Golden Age." He twisted the raised knob clockwise, and then flipped a toggle switch on its side. A little red light flickered to life, emitting a subtle pulsating glow.

"Oh, so it's the old 'trick up the sleeve' trick is it?" Cordelia stared at the gadget, trying to figure out what it was for exactly. The glowing thing was eerily reminiscent of the crimson-tipped instruments they'd tested her with before making her the princess. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

Silas gave her what apparently passed for a smile in his limited emotional range. The effect was sickening. "Bad feelings aside, Majesty, you should be pleased that your slave collar is no longer around your neck."

"Oh." Her hand went to her throat of its own accord, a quick succession of memories flashing through her head. The silver collar that zapped her whenever she tried to escape, similar to the other slaves in the village. That girl who'd tried to help her had one too, even if it was defective. She swallowed in sudden understanding. "That's a remote control destructo thingy isn't it? For exploding the heads off cows."

Silas' smile widened. A gruesome twisting of his thin lips that vaguely reminded her of skin splitting open on a rotten piece of fruit. She shuddered, grossed out by her own comparison.

"It works in tandem with a hidden base unit," he informed her, quite happy to gloat. "It can send a signal strong enough to eradicate every slave within this province." He took a step toward her, intrigued in spite of himself. "You're smart for a cow. In other circumstances, I would have you properly trained."

"To do what?" she asked sarcastically. "Sit at your feet and worship your robey goodness? Spare me."

A muscle ticked at the corner of one eye and he let go a vicious backhand across her face. Cordelia didn't give him the satisfaction of crying out.

~*[+]*~

Angel slammed on the brakes mid-tunnel, coming to an abrupt halt and raising tentative fingers to his cheek.

Spike and Buffy almost ran into him.

"Your vision chippie's that way, you great lumbering git," Spike said, pointing ahead into the darkness. "All set to be rescued. What're you standin' about here for?"

"It's weird, but I just..." The older vampire set bewildered eyes on his Childe. "He's hurting her. I can feel it."

Buffy squinted up into his face, trying to make out his dimly lit features. "Like a link?"

"No. Not like yours at least. I can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. I can't explain it. It's..." He frowned, mouth twisting in an indecisive grimace. "It's just different."

Spike made a dramatic show of exhaling and stared at his Sire impatiently. "Reckon you can track her that way?"

"I don't have to track her," Angel replied.

He set off again and the Gemel watched him disappear into the shadows.

"I don't want them to have a link," Buffy hissed at her partner. "That's our thing."

"Yeah." Spike looked disgusted. "Sort of cheapens all that ordained business, dunnit?"

Buffy sulked for a second, then nudged him with her elbow and grinned wickedly. "It's okay," she said. "We're still one up. You can't get Nipper-fied when one of you is happy-proof."

Spike ducked his head, amused by her creative wording, then frowned and peered into a side tunnel. "What's that noise?"

Buffy frowned right along with him, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she tapped into his superior auditory capabilities. "That whiny-whistley EEEEEP noise?"

"Hmm." The blonde vamp took a few steps into the partially hidden opening. "'S bloody annoying. Bloke can't hear himself think."

Buffy gaped in disbelief. "Hello? Badly distracted boy? Shouldn't we be following Angel?"

"Give us half a mo'. I just wanna shut this thing up before it shatters our eardrums."

He wandered off into the underground passage and vanished from sight. Buffy reluctantly followed, mumbling curses at him under her breath.

An odd reddish luminescence led them to a cavern with a laughably huge machine installed along one wall. It was crudely constructed, like one of those room-sized computer prototypes, and had an impressive array of egg-shaped bulbs decorating its cumbersome frame. They were gradually lighting up, one by one, generating the colorful radiance and offensive subsonic whistle.

"Why do I have the sudden urge to wave my arms and shout 'Danger, Will Robinson, danger'?" Buffy asked. She shook her head. "Talk about your lack of high-techiness."

Spike narrowed his eyes at the outlandish contraption as though he was trying to see its insides. "Haven't seen anythin' this kitsch since Harris forced me to watch Star Trek that one time."

"Oh sure, like Xander could force you to do anything."

"Well, okay. You've got me there. I'm a closet Trekkie."

They stared at the machine for a moment, silently watching the display, until the vampire spotted something odd. He ambled across to a dust-covered control panel.

"Seems some wanker's just activated this behemoth," he said, running his fingers along the surface. He tapped a domed button. "There's a signal comin' in. Got to be what's causin' the advance of the light parade over there. Can't be a good thing."

He thumped an experimental fist against the smooth metal. When it dented impressively under the impact, he shot a Big Bad grin at Buffy, teeth flashing whitely in the alcove's comparative gloom. "What d'ya say, sunshine? Wanna make all the pretty lights go smash?"

~*[+]*~

Ten fun-filled minutes later they finally reached the antechamber of the throne room.

Angel was still outside the immense wooden doors. He stood rigidly, muscles straining against some invisible barrier. It looked like he was poised between holding himself back and pounding the doors into splinters.

Spike took stock of the situation and exchanged a pointed look with the Slayer.

His Sire hadn't been all that discerning about his victims as he had made his way through the castle. Several guards lay scattered around him, all in various states of impairment, and one of the rebel soldiers was attempting to crawl away down the far corridor. It was the small redhead that Wesley had been calling Doubting Thomas. One of his arms hung limply by his side, either broken or dislocated. Angel had obviously realized his mistake too late to stop.

"Did you do that?" Buffy demanded.

Angel didn't even acknowledge the question. He kept his eyes on the door, almost as though he was trying to bore through using the strength of his gaze alone.

Spike was quite amused about the state of affairs. "Been on a rampage have you, Dad?"

The older vampire sent him a withering glance over his shoulder. "Shut up, Spike."

"Ooh, that's nasty. Haven't heard that one before."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy snapped. He quirked an eyebrow at her but complied without any further protest. "What's the hold up?" she inquired, approaching Angel tentatively. "She's right behind those doors. All you have to do is break them down and kill the bad guy."

Angel thrust his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "That's not going to happen."

"Oh, let yourself go, for God's sake!" Spike exclaimed. "Unload some Belial on his Unholy Trembliness."

"I can't." Angel shook his head. "You don't get it, Spike. The thing that comes out here is ten times worse than back home. If I change again, I don't think..." He paused, struggling with himself. "I won't come back from it."

The younger vampire snorted. "Yeah, you will." He stuck out his chin and regarded his Sire with casual acuity. "Way I see it, you're the same as me - a man with a demon inside. It's not the other way around. You've got a strong soul, you're all goody-good and righteous, and what's more, you're in love. Concentrate on that and you'll pop right back, no worries."

Angel stared at his Childe with some astonishment, his jaw dropping slightly. "I really don't know you at all, do I?" he asked after a moment.

Spike smirked. "Your loss," he said. "Serves you right for prancing off on your own for ninety odd years." He pointed at the throne room doors. "Now get in there and do your 'Prince Charming to the rescue' bit so we can go home already."

"And once more, with tact," Buffy interjected.

Her partner gave her a lewd grin, tongue held between his front teeth. "Ah, but you don't love me for my tact, do you?"

Angel gave him a disgusted look. "Okay, I'm going in," he said, moving up to one of the doors and resting his hands flat against its surface. "If only to get away from Perverted Boy."

""Ere, who're you callin' perverted?" Spike demanded, offended by the suggestion. "You're the sodding king of torture..." He began to trail after his Sire but the cold-blooded mask of Angel's face stopped him in his tracks.

"No, you guys wait here," he told them, his eyes coal black and gleaming with deadly intent. "I'll right back, I promise."

Both Buffy and Spike shuddered at the insidiously smooth tone of his voice. Shades of Angelus there, and bad, bad memories. They instinctively moved closer together, vampire pulling Slayer into a protective embrace. They held a collective breath as with one seemingly effortless shove, Angel splintered the doors.

"Don't see why he didn't do that in the first place," Spike muttered. "I said it before, all hat no cattle."

Buffy sighed into his shirtfront. "Yeah, well I think his cattle just stampeded."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia managed to find some sort of shelter behind the throne and huddled there with her back pressed into the plush upholstery, working fitfully to untie her hands. The ropes had come loose and it was just a matter of manipulating them enough to slip out.

Silas had thrown a tantrum when the little red light on his Mickey Mouse watch had gone kaplooey. She guessed that meant that the heads of Pylea's cow population wouldn't be doing the same. At last, something positive.

Speaking of positive, there was a real strong certainty that Angel was nearby. She had that creepy, hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling that she got whenever he was in the room, but now there was a kind of comfort in it - a warmth. Which was totally inappropriate seeing as how he didn't generate any body heat of his own.

A loud cracking noise behind her, the throne room doors shattering inward, and suddenly, there he was. She didn't even have to look, she just knew.

"Took you long enough!" she called out, dumping what remained of her bonds onto the floor. Free at last! "What'd you do, take the scenic route?"

Her only answer was a frantic tug at her hair as Silas hauled her to her feet. She slapped at his hands. "Ow, ow ... Hey, get off!"

She attempted to turn around, but with her head held rigidly in the priest's grasp, she could only make out a dark blur from the corner of her eye. "Angel?" And then the room seemed to implode as an all too familiar vision onrush sent her reeling.

Cordy screamed as it hit - her cry of pain echoed by a deeper, animalistic roar as Angel lost his hard-won control.

Silas struggled to keep his grip as the cow princess crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, but he had no chance to run before the Belial was on him, claws tearing through his ceremonial robes to shred his flesh. The scream that was building in his throat died there, never to be released, as a flex of fiendish muscle liberated the priest's head from his body.

He carried it like a trophy to Cordelia's side and crouched down. He nudged her unconscious form with a surprisingly gentle finger and whimpered, distressed by her condition.

The Gemel hovered in the doorway, tense and wary, having witnessed the entire attack.

"Think he's gonna turn on us?" Buffy asked, using their link.

"Possible," Spike replied, edging further into the room. "He's workin' entirely on instinct right now. His mate is injured and we're poachin' on his territory."

"God, how caveman is that?"

"Not caveman, love. Demon. I'd likely be the same in his place. Be much better lookin' o' course, but still..." Spike crept around to one side, keeping an eye on the motionless couple. He only made it a few feet in when the Belial whirled, snarling.

"Whoa," Spike raised his hands, palms open. "Take it easy. Not after your woman. Got one of my own, you know." He diverted his gaze, not looking Angel directly in the eye. He needed to be the submissive one here. "Peaches? You still in there?"

Buffy came forward, her trepidation revealed only by the protective spread of her hands over her stomach. "Angel, come on. You've got to come back to us."

He howled, a positively inhuman sound that was pained but no less threatening for it, and threw Silas' severed head at her. An arc of viscous purplish liquid flew out and splattered down the front of her shirt.

"Oh, ewww..." Buffy backed away again, much to Spike's amusement.

"It's only demon sludge. You've done worse to yourself."

"Glad you think this is so funny."

"Don't much. Just nervous tension, I s'pose."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

Angel began prowling toward them, fangs bared.

Spike decided to try a different tack. "Liam, lad, where's that famed Irish backbone? I thought you were stronger than this."

"What are you doing?" Buffy hissed. Odd how she could do that inside his head.

"Speakin' to the soul," he sent back. "Shush up and let me work." He gestured at the splintered doors. "Better yet, go. Keep the Nip well outta the way."

She gnawed at her lower lip, her eyes riveted to the menacing beast that used to be Angel. It felt weird being scared of him. Even when he was Angelus, she'd never actually been scared. "I'm not leaving you here. Not when he's like this."

"Buff - " Spike dodged at the last minute as Angel swiped at him, claws whisking by in front of his chin. "Oi, watch the face!" He bobbed back, poised on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter.

Buffy figured that if he was being all vanity-conscious in the middle of a crisis, then there was no reason for her to be so concerned. She spotted a small movement in the corner of her eye and cued Spike in via the link. Cordelia was waking up.

He nodded. His own gaze was still trained on the mutated form of his Sire, but he'd received his partner's message loud and clear. Now, if he could just keep Angel occupied long enough...

Unfortunately, Buffy decided to go to Cordy's aid herself, drawing Angel's somewhat irrational focus. He grunted at Spike, dismissing him, and went after the Slayer.

She sensed the shift, as well as her partner's link-based warning, and spun to face him as he pounced, morphing into protective mode mid-turn. She grabbed him by the shirt, eyes flaring golden and her own fangs bared, and tossed him halfway across the room. He rebounded with amazing speed, only to be knocked back again as she unleashed a flurry of punches.

Spike barely glanced at them as the fight disintegrated into an equally matched scuffle, both of them snapping and snarling, and hurried to help Cordelia while he had the chance. "You right, love?"

She peered up at him, eyes narrowed against the residual pain from her vision, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings. "Huh?"

The blonde vampire grinned suddenly. "All cognitive powers up to proper speed I see," he wisecracked. "Loves you for your brain, does he?"

She scowled then. "Shut up, Spike."

His grin deepened, dimples creasing his lean cheeks. "Ought to have changed my name to that, eh? Rather than the other poncey bloody one."

She shook her head, bewildered. "What are you talking about, you Cockney freak? Where's -?" Cordelia's voice trailed off as she gaped at the demonic pair fighting nearby. "Oh my God."

"Pretty awe-inspirin' innit?" Spike cupped her elbow and hauled her upright, scrutinizing the contest with a critical eye. "You're dippin' your shoulder again, sunshine," he called. "Switch to the left."

Cordelia took a shuffling step forward, transfixed by the Belial. "He was so afraid of this happening," she murmured.

"Really?" Spike watched her face intently. Oh yeah, she was head over teakettle, this one. "Always was a bit of a nance..."

"Hey!" Cordelia defended, then paused. "Wait, what's a nance?"

"Short for Nancy boy. You know, someone who's a bit light in the loafers."

She was ignoring him again by now, staring at the ongoing battle across the room. "He's not gonna come back on his own this time. Is he?"

Spike sighed and was about to launch into a weighty exposition about love and the demon, but was distracted by Buffy's cry of pain and a stinging sensation across his midsection.

"Bloody hell," he wheezed, teeth clenched, already seeking the whereabouts of his partner.

The Belial had cornered the Slayer. She reverted back to human form and cowered away from him, her fragile hold on Spike's demon completely lost. There was a gaping slash along the front of her shirt, a dark crimson spill of blood staining its frayed edges.

"Buffy!"

Spike was across the room before Cordelia could even register the movement. He seized Angel by the shoulders and threw him backward, away from his partner. He didn't bother to watch where the beast landed and scooped her into his arms.

"Did he hurt you, baby?" he asked, cradling her against his chest and brushing her hair out of her eyes. The endearment brought him up short. "God, the baby?"

"He's okay," Buffy reassured him. "I'm okay, too. It's only a scratch really." She peered past the vampire and cringed. "Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?" Her meaning registered at the exact same moment as he uttered the question. "Oh." He pivoted slightly to peek at the looming figure of the Belial from the corner of his eye.

He lifted his chin in a defiant pose, but it dipped again when he saw that Cordelia was moving closer to their little stand off. He hugged Buffy tighter. This could get rather ... unpleasant.

"Hey Fang Boy, wanna take the princess back to your castle?" There was no hint of anxiety in Cordelia's voice, not even a quiver. And she was speaking as though they were the only two people in the room.

The Belial regarded her quizzically, then seemed to realize exactly who she was and that she was no longer incapacitated. He abandoned the dumbstruck Gemel and scampered over to kneel at her feet like some kind of bizarre pet.

Still showing no outward signs of fear, Cordy embraced him lightly, resting her arms on his shoulders, and began to stroke his hair with soothing fingers. He butted his head against her abdomen, the bony protrusions of his brow leaving tiny scratches on her bare skin. She didn't even flinch.

"I had a vision," she informed him. "It was good. Still unbelievably head-splittingly painful, but good." A rueful smile curved her lips. "Those are kind of on the rare side, huh?"

Angel let out a crackling semi-growl in reply, almost a purr, and his muscles lost some of their cramped-up tension. Cordy's touch was clearly calming him. Buffy and Spike exchanged relieved glances.

The blonde vampire got to his feet, still holding the Slayer in his arms. "Blah, blah, blah," he muttered under his breath. "Scrap the witless repartee and get to the bleedin' point."

Buffy let out a strangled giggle. It hurt when she laughed.

"The powers have given us a future, Angel," Cordelia continued softly, either not hearing or ignoring them completely. "A future together. I saw it." She drew one finger down his cheek and nudged it under his chin until he was looking up at her. "Come back," she whispered. "Please. You have to come back."

Angel's arms came up to loop around her waist but he still didn't revert back to human form. Cordelia nibbled worriedly at her lip. Why wasn't this working?

"Tell him, you dozy bint," Spike burst out, losing his patience altogether. "Say the magic words."

"Magic -?" Cordy frowned, replaying her speech over in her head. "God, how dumb am I?"

"I'm not even gonna try to answer that," Buffy sniped. This time Spike stifled a laugh.

Cordelia gave them a censuring look, channeling her inner bitch, but it only made them glare back. She sighed. She'd lost her touch since Sunnydale. Not that the Queen C routine had ever been that effective on either of them.

She slowly sank to her knees so that she and Angel were eye to eye, then brought both hands up to cradle his face and pressed a soft kiss to his ridged forehead. "I love you, Angel. All of you - man and demon."

She hesitated for a second, indecisive, but then gave him a hearty whack in the chest - hard enough to set him off balance. "But get over this stupid beast thing already!"

There was a tense moment as the Belial rumbled ominously, but then his eyes shifted, returning to their familiar dark brown shade. A second later, the demonic ridges flattened under his skin and he was Angel again. He crumpled against her shoulder, exhausted and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice thick and tearful. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay." Cordy smiled cheerfully and patted his back. "Can we get up?" she asked. "You're kinda heavy. Plus, you know, stone floors? Not great on the knees."

Angel laughed. Just the reaction she'd been hoping for.

He raised his head to stare into her eyes. "I love you."

"Right back at'cha, big guy."

"How sweet," Spike broke in. "So bloody sweet I may throw up. And that's no idle threat in our current condition." He indicated Buffy with a jerk of his chin. She burrowed into his shoulder, tired and pale. "Can we go? Got a Slayer needs mending."

~*[+]*~

EPISODE ELEVEN

Jumping to the Conclusion

Wesley charged into the throne room with Fred at his heels, and was immediately confronted by Spike, still toting the lethargic and bloodied Slayer in his arms.

"Cavalry's here," the blonde vamp announced to his companions. He pursed his lips as he noticed that Wes was clutching an armful of books. "Make that 'librarians here'." He snorted. "Nice to see you've got your priorities straight. 'Oh quick, save the books!'"

"These books are the key to getting home, you ignorant nit," Wes retorted. "I'd much rather they were in my hands than the Covenant's."

"Not their hands they needed to worry about."

Spike peered down at the floor and calmly booted Silas' disembodied head across the room. It thudded into the wall and rolled into a side alcove.

"He shoots, he scores!" Buffy chirped, the comment escaping almost against her will. She groaned and butted her head against her partner's shoulder. "Ow. God, don't make me laugh."

"That wasn't me," Spike said. He bestowed an indulgent smile on his precious cargo, hitching her up a little higher and adjusting his grip. "You really have the strangest sense of humor, love."

Buffy snaked her arm around his neck, in exceptionally high spirits for someone with a stomach wound.

"Living on a Hellmouth leads to the warping of young minds," she informed him pertly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Just ask Giles."

Fred peeked out from behind Wesley's shoulder. "I thought it was funny," she said. "Y'know, I always wanted to do that."

Wes looked at her in askance. "You harbor an aspiration toward head-kicking?"

Fred recoiled, almost colt-like in her skittishness. "Is that wrong?"

"Hell no," Spike reassured her. "'S a favored pastime in some circles of my acquaintance. Didn't get that good at it by chance."

Wesley blinked at him, not sure whether or not he should delve further into that particular topic, and then turned his attention beyond them into the room. Angel and Cordelia were huddled together on the small dais that held the throne. They were engaged in a whispered conversation and had eyes only for each other. "Ahh," he breathed. "Things seemed to have worked out for them."

"So far so good," Buffy reported, twining her fingers in the silvery curls at the nape of Spike's neck. "Seeing that he's only been back to normal for a couple of minutes."

Wesley stared at her. "He transformed into the Belial? And was able to maintain control in that state?"

Spike muttered something under his breath and Buffy casually slapped the head she'd previously been petting. He glared at her and they lapsed into one of their silent arguments.

She left off by raising her eyebrows pointedly. His scarred one twitched in reply and then she was back, indicating her crimson and purple splattered shirt with the easy aplomb of a game show hostess.

"May I present for your perusal, physical evidence of said metamorphosis and subsequent lack of controlly-ness."

"Ooh, words of more than one syllable from the Slayer," Spike snarked. "She's channeling my vocabulary. Injury must be worse than I thought."

She scowled at him. "Do you want me to slap you again?"

"Only if you do it in game face," he replied. "Make it hurt real good."

Buffy snickered at that. "Angel was right, you are a pervert."

"You know it, baby."

"Yes, but do the rest of us really have to hear it?" Wesley asked, his focus still trained on the couple by the throne. They had yet to acknowledge his presence and it was beginning to annoy him.

His eyes narrowed as Cordelia leaned in to trace her fingers along Angel's jaw. Oh now, that didn't bode well. Such physical closeness at so early a stage in their relationship could lead fairly quickly to other... intimacies, those of a soul-depriving sort. He cleared his throat. "Here now, I must object..."

"He says that a lot, huh?" Buffy murmured into Spike's ear.

"Stuck in a rut," he returned. "Needs a spot of romance in his life." He glanced speculatively at Fred. "Seems a likely candidate. Reckon she's got it in 'er to loosen him up?"

Buffy nipped at his lobe before answering. "She's stronger than she looks. I think she could give him a run for his money."

"Hidden depths," Spike mused. "I admire that in a girl."

"I am still here, you know." Wesley was flustered and red-faced, the unadulterated look of interest he was getting from Fred embarrassing him beyond reason.

Cordelia sashayed toward them, almost floating in her euphoria, the biggest, brightest smile they'd ever seen plastered on her face. Angel trailed behind her, but he had no real choice in the approach with his hand caught firmly in her grasp. He stubbornly refused to meet anyone else's eyes.

"Hey guys!" Cordy bubbled. "Is it time to get gone? I mean, you got what you came for, namely me, and I'm guessing that the big fight is, you know, over."

"We whupped their asses!" Fred blurted.

"Yes, we certainly did," Wes seconded mildly, which earned him one of the physicist's dazzling grins.

"See, they're all flirty and stuff," Buffy asserted, pointing a finger back and forth between the pair and nodding sagely. "Definite sparkage." She did a little celebratory jiggle. "Go me! I rock at this matchmaking thing."

Spike winced. "Let's get you seen to, pet. That neat little impairment of yours is givin' me twinges, and not the good sort that I..." He trailed off, his angular face draining of color. "Here." He turned and thrust Buffy at his flabbergasted Sire and dashed out of the room in a flurry of black leather.

There was a lull after he disappeared from view, and then everyone looked inquiringly at the Slayer.

She shrugged. "What? I think it's cool he gets the vomity part."

Amusement tugged at the corner of Angel's mouth, the first normal reaction he'd shown them.

Cordelia stared at the petite blonde sitting in Angel's arms like she belonged there and her expression hardened.

"So what's that about?"

Angel looked at her blankly. Then his eyes widened as he recognized her fear, shaking his head a little in denial of it. He wondered fleetingly if Buffy would mind if he dropped her, because she really wasn't the person he wanted to be holding right now.

"Cor, no. It's not what... It's - it's a side effect of their link," he sputtered, hurrying to clear up any misunderstanding. His voice sounded scratchy, like he hadn't used it in a while. "Spike's getting her morning sickness." He deliberately stressed the last part, trying to get across that he had no part in Buffy's life now.

"It's afternoon," Cordy said automatically, his meaning not quite registering for a moment. "Oh." She gaped at her former homecoming nemesis, unabashedly searching for visual evidence. "Oh! You're pregnant?"

The Slayer, who despite her declarations of health was looking slightly green around the gills, gave her a tiny affirmative nod. "Uh huh."

"Really pregnant? Like, having a baby pregnant?"

Buffy continued nodding. "Uh huh."

"With Spike."

"No, with Giles. Of course with Spike, you moron. And don't say his name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like he's beneath you. Talk about him like that again and I'll kick your sanctimonious ass, bloody gut wound notwithstanding."

Cordelia pulled a face. "When did you start talking like Wesley?"

"Yes, by all means, everyone continue to speak about me as though I'm not here, I enjoy it immensely." The former Watcher strolled past and placed the books on a side-table that was still relatively unscathed. He hauled a chair upright to sit in front of them. "Now that everyone is updated on the situation, I'd like to begin some research. Fred, I could use some of your expertise."

"Sure!" Fred gushed breathlessly. "I'd be real honored. Not that I wasn't before, but that wasn't actual helpin' per se, that was more like workin' out a few anti-this-dimension issues that I'd..." She tapered off into a pensive silence as she realized that they were all gaping at her. She ducked her head and shuffled her feet shyly. "Well, anyway, I'd be glad to help."

Spike had reappeared in the doorway just in time to catch the end of Wesley's announcement. A long white tablecloth was draped toga-like over one shoulder, making him look like he was acting out some queer Julius Caesar impersonation. He also looked very much like he wanted to throw up again.

"Oh, bloody hell," he lamented. "Did Junior just say the 'R' word?"

Cordy shook her head. "I take it back," she said to Buffy. "You don't talk like Wesley, you talk like him."

Buffy gave her a look that hinted at many grievous levels of bodily harm, then promptly ignored her. She reached for Spike like a fractious child, both arms outstretched, lower lip stuck out in a 'poor me' pout. "Honey, save me from the idiot people?"

"Save yourself," he shot back, but he was moving to do as she asked even as he spoke.

Angel returned her to the other vampire's care, a pleased smile casting rare light across his dark features as Cordelia instantly seized his arm and held him tightly at her side. Possessiveness, thy name is Cordy.

"Actually, the truly weird part is that he sometimes talks like Buffy," he told her.

"I so do not!" Spike protested, only to realize that he had inadvertently proved Angel's point. He frowned. "Bugger."

"Well, well, if it isn't the victorious wonder kittens," a new voice warbled. Everyone swung around to see Lorne waltzing in like he owned the place. "And wow, gotta tell ya, some major woo-hooiness goin' on in this room. Could feel the love vibes all the way outside." He beamed at them, delighted with the world in general.

"Is it just me, or is he way too happy?" Buffy asked. Not receiving an answer, she eyed Lorne with displeasure. "You're too happy," she informed him. "You're all loud and bright and stuff. It's giving me a headache."

"No, that would be me," Spike murmured against her hairline. "Post-regurgitation migraine. Try tuning out my pain reception for a bit."

Lorne came to an abrupt halt in the center of the room and gawked at the blonde duo, his mouth hanging open, ruby eyes wide and shocked. "Oh my hairy-legged Aunt!"

"And now you're wigging me out," Buffy accused.

Spike rolled his eyes, carried her to the throne and deposited her on it, unceremoniously yanking her shirt up to inspect her wound.

She batted his hands away, vainly trying to pull the hem back down. "Hey, stop showing everybody the merchandise!"

He snorted. "Oh right, because the sight of your shredded flesh is so alluring."

"All my parts have allure," she said. "I'm allure girl."

Spike tore the cloth he'd found into strips and set about dressing her injury with an easy proficiency acquired from years and years of improvised first aid. Any further Buffy witticisms and complaints were disregarded, along with the linked threats and chip-twinges she directed his way.

Lorne still hadn't budged. His mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

Angel fixed him with a sidelong glance. "Is he alright?"

Cordelia waved a hand in front of the normally animated demon's vacant face. Then she tweaked one of his horns. "I'm gettin' a big nothing here," she announced. "A whole lotta zip."

Buffy gave Lorne a dubious once over. "Are we being all vibey or something?"

Spike chuckled. "I think his Nip-o-meter just hit eleven."

"Huh." She blinked. "So, is eleven of the good, or...?"

Lorne suddenly snapped out of his precognizant daze. He whistled, impressed. "Judas in a trench coat, didn't you get the pocket power pack?"

Spike whipped around and pinned him with a gaze that was almost glacial - his earlier cheer banished behind deathly composure. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing, Blue Eyes, you'll hear all about it later. Or even sooner if we're lucky."

With that cryptic remark, the Host minced away to hover at Wesley's shoulder like a large, garishly dressed gnat.

"Long John Silver and his bloody parrot," Spike observed wryly, securing the final knot on Buffy's makeshift bandage with a sharp tug.

"So, what does that make Fred?" Buffy asked, straightening her shirt. She waggled her fingers through one of the slash holes and sighed.

"Beside nuttier than a fruitsack? You got me, sunshine."

"Maybe she could be his peg-leg."

They both dissolved into giggles at the corresponding image she sent him.

Cordelia had been watching their exchange with tight-lipped intensity. "You really are together, aren't you?" she asked. "You're all Mr. and Mrs. Inseparable Finish-Each-Other's-Sentences, big with the meaningful gazes and mushy pet-names and everything."

Angel gnawed at his lip, worry lines crimping his forehead. "Cor, I already said..."

"Yeah, I know what you said, I just didn't... God, it's true. You really were made for each other."

"Sickening isn't it?" Wes interjected, not even bothering to look up from the text he was engrossed in.

"It's... something." She folded her arms across her chest, feeling a bizarre kind of chill despite the room's moderate temperature.

Angel stood behind her and placed both hands reassuringly on her shoulders. "They're meant to be together," he said softly. "Just like we are."

She snorted inelegantly. "Yeah, well, you didn't see the extra special guest-starring roles they had in my vision."

Wesley's head shot up at that. "What? You had a vision?" His slate-colored gaze was unwavering behind his glasses, flinty. "When was this?"

Fred, who had been working doggedly through a puzzle of incomprehensible equations suddenly reached out and grabbed his forearm, excitedly directing his attention to something she'd discovered.

Lorne leant against the wall, crossed one ankle over the other and cocked an anticipative eyebrow at the quartet. He was expecting some fireworks here.

"We were in your vision?" Buffy demanded. "Spike and me?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" Cordelia snapped back.

"What exactly did you see?" Angel spoke very calmly, making a concerted effort to diffuse the weird tension in the air. It was buzzing around them like static. He almost expected his hair to start standing on end... more.

"It was fuzzy," Cordy explained. "Well, fuzzy-er. They're never big with the plasma screen clarity, but this was so far out of focus it was almost art-house. I did get a heap of happy 'me and my Angel' scenes..."

"Not too happy, I hope," Buffy ruminated sourly.

Spike was resting his head on her lap, having succumbed to the 'washed-out and hung-up-to-dry' feeling that accompanied these fabulous stomach-churning episodes. As he intercepted the thought, he choked on a laugh and winked up at her.

"...And I don't know how I know this," Cordy continued. "But it was in the future. Maybe a only year or so." She sent a puzzled glance over her shoulder at Angel, placing one of her hands over his. "Why would I be getting that now? Are we supposed to prevent it or something?" Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, maybe you turn into Angelus!"

"And maybe I don't," he defended. His brows twitched. "Wait, you don't... stake me, do you?"

"No, but from what I saw, Buffy was looking pretty damn powerful and super-Slayery. She probably gets all stake-first-ask-questions-later."

Spike lifted his head to study Cordelia, eyes scrunched up like he was looking into bright sunlight. He could feel Buffy's tension thrumming through his body and it was making him jittery. Which wasn't helping his nausea in the slightest.

"I wouldn't do that," Buffy objected. "Not to Angel."

"Oh right, I forgot. You have to wait until there are piles of dead people before springing into action."

The green of Buffy's eyes suddenly shot through with shards of yellow. She shifted on the throne, fingers digging into the padded armrests, visibly restraining herself from striking out. "You don't get to play mega-bitch with me, Cordelia. Ever."

"Who's playing?"

"Watch it, girly," Spike growled, teeth clenched tightly against his own sparking temper. He stood up very slowly, hands flexing into fists.

"Oh look, a vampire," Cordy mocked. "I've never seen one of those before. How incredibly not scary. Word of advice, Spike? The chalky 'if-I-move-too-fast-I'll-hurl' expression doesn't quite cut it as threatening."

"This is stupid," Angel said. "Being all antagonistic with each other isn't gonna get us anywhere."

"So speaks the voice of reason." Spike regarded his Sire skeptically. "Didn't see that featuring too heavily earlier, oh Beastly One."

Angel glared so fiercely that any other person, any normal sane person, would have been frightened into silence. Spike's skin was thicker than that... or maybe his head was.

"Don't see what we've done to earn the cheerleader's wrath anyway," the younger vamp continued, moving toward his Sire with a deceptively calm, controlled gait. "We throw off her moral compass or something? Bit rich, considerin' who she's taken up with."

Angel's nostrils flared, the Belial rippling beneath the surface of his skin. He stepped out from behind Cordelia and met Spike head on. "Don't push me, boy."

"Boy?" Spike gave him the most malicious smile in his extensive repertoire, an ugly curling of his lips. "You really want be comparing manly-man credentials with me at this point, Angelus?" A brief flicker of pain crossed his face, and he turned a petulant lour on Buffy. "What was that for?"

"You can stop being obnoxious now, honey."

"I wasn't..." Spike began, then sighed. "Alright I was, but he was in need a spot of ego-pricking, love."

"That's not the point," Buffy chided. "We're over it, okay?"

"Over what?" Cordy asked. "I don't get what set you off in the first place. You're both pretty testy. Is that because of hormones or something?"

Buffy scowled at her, and the whole squabble was poised to begin anew.

"Eureka!"

The triumphant cry came simultaneously from Wesley and Fred, and they both paused for a moment and stared at each other. Everyone else stared as well.

"Wow, you say it, too!" The young physicist marveled. "That's very coincidental, don'tcha think?"

"Indeed," Wes murmured. "One could almost say kismet."

Fred snorted at that, amused. "Well, sure. If ya believed in that kinda hooey."

"Excuse me, kiddies," Lorne interjected smoothly. "In light of the incredibly lame 'Eureka' moment, I'd just like to ask, 'what in Tarkna'?"

"I think we did it," Wesley said, the slight pink flush he'd developed after Fred's statement already dissipating.

"Yeah," Fred seconded. "See, I was openin' portals, but I couldn't tell where. You need the priest's formulas to control that on this side."

"So, we can go home?" Cordelia asked eagerly.

Wes nodded. "We can go home."

~*[+]*~

The portal appeared with a thunderous crack, followed by the sound of ions and atoms and locked-up brakes, all screaming with equal abandon. The boat-like shape of Angel's convertible careened through the split the in dimensional wall, only to smash straight into a wall of a different kind.

A solid brick wall.

A brick wall with large wrought-iron gates. The same gates that led into the rear courtyard of the Hyperion Hotel.

"Door to door service," Buffy commented, impressed. "Remind me to tip the chauffeur..."

"...Over a bloody cliff." Spike finished. "Can we go find my stomach now? Think it came out through my nose back there."

Angel ignored them, peering ahead through the rubble to the lights of the foyer beyond. There was a thin stream of vapor coming from the front of the car, so he'd probably wrecked the radiator too. This was gonna cost him an arm and a leg, and most likely a few other appendages.

"But worth it, right?" Cordelia asked. She knew exactly what he was thinking - crotchety old miser that he was.

"Absolutely." He beamed at her, a huge ear to ear grin. It looked kind of forced, but at least he was trying. "You okay?"

"Peachy keen," she assured him.

He nodded and then directed a glare past her at the Host. "There was a hot spot here the whole time?"

"Well, pardon my investigative shortcomings," Lorne sniped. "Next time I'll consult my handy map of mystical LA hot spots." He chuckled suddenly. "LA, my fellow dimension hoppers. May we never leave it again." He broke into a chorus of 'Sweet Home Alabama'. Not the most pertinent of choices, but the best he could do under the circumstances.

Spike sighed into Buffy's shoulder, silently bemoaning the demon's musical tastes. The Slayer remained perched on his lap despite the fact that the rest of seat was now otherwise empty. Wesley and Fred had leapt from the vehicle almost as soon as it had stopped moving and were huddled by the trunk.

"Are they still there?" Fred asked anxiously.

Wesley slammed the trunk shut, plunked a metal chest on it and then hurried to get that open.

Inside was another, slightly smaller box. He liberated it from the larger one and peeked under the lid. His shoulders slumped in relief.

"They're here." He began pulling the Trionic Ledgers one by one from their makeshift enclosure. "It seems you were quite correct in your hypothesis, Fred. A triple metal encasing was sufficient to protect them through the portal."

"Yay Fred," Buffy cheered, somewhat less than enthusiastically, then yawned and slumped back against Spike. "Tired now."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. He tightened his arms around her waist, his own eyelids suddenly feeling like they had lead weights attached. He blinked slowly, trying to hold them open. "You got a spare room in this joint, Peaches?"

Angel looked at him like he was insane, then turned back to Cordelia. "You sure you're okay?"

She was staring straight ahead at the foyer. "Yeah, but..." She gestured forward. "The lights are on, right? So someone's gotta be home. Why haven't they come out to see what's with the not-so-subtle invasion?"

Angel narrowed his eyes. "Good point."

They climbed out of the car and headed cautiously for the entrance.

Wesley was the last inside. He had the Wolf, Ram and Hart volumes cradled in his arms like they were the crown jewels Cordelia had been loathe to leave behind, but the moment he crossed the threshold, his precious burden fell unheeded to the floor.

"Good Lord!"

Drusilla and Gunn were holed up behind the reception counter. Gunn kept the vampiress behind him with one hand and held a carefully trained crossbow in the other. He sent them a tight smile. "Hey."

Dru clapped her hands. "Welcome back!" she enthused. "It's a special day. Everyone's invited, come one and all."

"'S lovely, pet," Spike drawled. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the other unexpected visitor. "Mind tellin' us why there's a ruddy great Keratos demon in the lobby?"

~*[+]*~

EPISODE TWELVE

All's well

"S-s-spike!"

The gigantic green demon hissed the greeting, dual tongues vibrating in tandem. He sounded impossibly pleased to see his old friend.

The vampire just looked at him, poker-faced. "Apollyon."

"Oh great, one of Spike's cronies," Cordelia huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "He's got to be evil."

Buffy glowered at her. "I've got my Slayer strength back now," she said. "Want me to test it out on your face?"

Cordy snorted. "As if."

"S-s-slayer!" The Keratos lisped, this second greeting just as enthusiastic as the first. He lumbered toward them, tentacles outstretched.

Buffy and Spike grabbed each other's hands and took a synchronous step backward.

"Hey, back off," Buffy warned, leveling an adamant finger in his direction. "I don't want any more weirdness from you, you... freaky infecto guy."

"Yeah, you wanna probe somebody, try those two." Spike jabbed a thumb at Angel and Cordelia.

"That's a Keratos demon," Wesley blurted suddenly, earning a withering stare from the blonde duo.

"I don't care what it's called," Gunn put in. "All I know is it's one major league ugly and our Dru-girl here won't let me kill it."

"No." Drusilla reached out and pushed the end of his crossbow down, reinforcing her point. "He's got good stories to tell for everyone."

"Is that right?" Spike threw caution to the wind and headed toward the massive creature, Buffy instinctively backing him up. "Another visit from that Herald bint is in the offing, then?"

"Forthwith," Apollyon said. "First other business." He gave them an ingratiating smile, all yellow pointed teeth and lashing tongues. "Gemel are nesting, yes?"

"Nesting no," Spike disputed. "Having a single solitary baby yes. Human-type mammals here, you scaly pillock, we don't lay eggs or have great squirming litters like you do."

"Ugh!" Buffy made a ghastly choking noise. "Did you have to say 'squirming'? That's gross."

Cordelia raised a hand. "I second that grossness and raise you a 'who the hell is he and what is he doing here?'"

"And how did he know they were the Gemel," Angel asked. It was the first thing he'd said since entering the hotel.

"Yeah, how did he know?" Buffy repeated, making it sound as though she was aware of the discrepancy all along.

Spike smiled, impressed by the subterfuge. Maybe some of his skills were wearing off.

The Slayer looked up at him and grinned. "Vice versa," she told him. "You never could lie worth a damn."

Cordelia was getting fed up with the whole situation. "Okay," she said. "Let's get this straight. One: everyone seems to know who Senor Lumpy is except me. And two: I don't really have a 'two' yet, but you guys..." She gestured disgustedly at Buffy and Spike "...Are just wigging me out. I feel like I lost half the conversation somewhere."

Angel couldn't understand why she was being so negative toward them. "Why the sudden hostility, Cor?"

"I don't like her and I don't trust him," she responded tersely. "What's the sudden?"

"Half a mo'," Spike fixed the Keratos with penetrating eyes. "How'd you twig about the Nipper?" He jerked his chin at Lorne. "First Pavarotti over there went all twilight zone and now you. Slayer's not really givin' off a vibe is she? Don't want her becomin' some kind of target."

"Foretold," Apollyon wheezed.

"Again?" Spike was not impressed. He stared belligerently at the Keratos, debating whether or not trying to beat that lizard-like face to a paste would be worth the broken knuckles. He could use a decent spot of violence after that tiresome cross-dimensional trip, it would loosen him up, help alleviate his portal lag.

"Bridge Guardians," the demon continued blithely, unaware of the potential danger he was in. "Gemel. All foretold."

Buffy slumped onto the rounded ottoman seat, defeated by her many repeated appearances as prophecy girl. She gave Spike a weary shake of her head, squelching his desire for amphibicide despite her own leanings in that direction. He sulked like a little boy, pacing back and forth in front of Apollyon and trying to look intimidating. He'd have done a much better job of it without the pouty lip.

"Well," Buffy said, overly bright. "Translation please. Anyone?"

Wesley sank down onto the stairs and began flipping through the Trionic Ledgers. "Some of that sounded oddly familiar. I'm sure I saw something..." Fred perched by his side, reading over his shoulder, and he took a moment to smile at her.

Angel ignored the proceedings and skirted around the edge of the foyer, coming to a halt at the reception desk. He eyed the pair behind it imperiously. "Why aren't you at that temple I sent you to? Dru needs to be working on her meditation exercises."

"She insisted we come back," Gunn said. He thrust his forearm toward Angel, displaying the deep gouges there. Claw marks. "And I do mean insisted."

Angel frowned at his troubled Childe. "Dru, what...?"

"Stories to tell," she repeated earnestly. "The voices were urgent. 'Go home, go home'. Ringing in my ears ... for whom the bell tolls..."

Buffy took this in with great skepticism. "I thought she wasn't crazy anymore."

"Oh, I'm not," Drusilla answered, perfectly calmly. "But I can see how you might think that."

Buffy blinked at her, perplexed, not used to this plain speaking version of Spike's ex. "Uh..."

"Slime Features here still hasn't answered any of us, you know," Spike pointed out, not the slightest bit interested in Drusilla's ramblings. He tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, then paused in the midst of searching for his lighter, struck by the realization that he was doing something wrong. He pulled the smoke back out, his bright blue gaze flitting from it to Buffy and back again.

She folded her arms and watched him, waiting for the backlash.

It didn't come. He just sighed resignedly and put the cigarettes back in his pocket, then ambled over to sit by her side, slinging one arm along the padded bolster behind her shoulders and splaying the fingers of the opposite hand across her flat stomach. The gesture was almost apologetic. She smiled and leant into him, fitting so perfectly it was like she was made to go there. Spike smirked and kissed the top of her head.

Cordelia had been observing their silent interaction and was all set to comment on it when she caught Angel's eye. He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head and the acid remark dissolved in her throat.

She scowled at him then. "How did you do that?"

"What? What did I do?" The vampire was honestly unaware of anything untoward.

"Bond," Apollyon supplied, almost shyly.

"They have a bond now?" Buffy was amazed. "Links. Bonds. What is it with you guys and joining stuff together?"

"There's no bond between us," Angel objected. "Not in any weird mystical way, I mean."

He wasn't quite convincing enough for Cordy's liking and she narrowed her eyes at him. "There was that thing," she said thoughtfully. "That thing where you could hear me telling you to change."

Angel looked bewildered. "Huh? When?"

"When you were getting pulped by the Groo-something."

"Gruesome thing," Spike chortled. "Wish I'd thought o' that one." They glared at him and he snorted. "Yeah, yeah. I know. 'Shut up, Spike'." He flicked a perfunctory glance back at Wesley. "You found what you're lookin' for yet, Junior?"

Wes shot him a cutting look. "You can stop calling me that anytime. I assure you I am not related to Mr. Giles in any definition of the word."

"How about by profession?" Buffy asked. "You're related by that."

Spike nodded his agreement.

Wesley sighed. Arguing with them really wasn't worth the effort. "I've discovered several entries regarding the Guardians of the Bridge. All I can ascertain, however, is that it is another title given to the Gemel."

"Apollyon just told us that!" Spike snapped. "You have got to be the most useless git..." He stopped abruptly as Buffy jabbed her elbow into his ribs and directed his attention toward the Keratos demon.

"He's off and running, honey."

The demon's eyes had gone milky white as paper-thin membranes closed over them, his tentacles fanning out from his shoulder-plates so that he began to resemble the satellite dish that Spike had once compared him to. All the while he continued to emit a low resonant hum.

Wesley gaped at him, fascinated. Fred giggled, then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the nervous sound. No one was sure whether she was laughing at Wes or the demon or both.

Lorne had the oddest expression on his face, a combination of amazement and horror. The psychic energy in the air, combined with the demon's incessant humming, was creating a kind of feedback. Presently he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"It's all too much!" Drusilla cried, sounding quite exhilarated about it. She clutched Gunn's biceps excitedly, her long fingernails making fresh scratches in his skin.

The former gang member shrugged her off and peered at the neat row of bloodied furrows in disgust. "Damn girl, watch them kitty claws." He leant over toward Angel, gesturing at Apollyon. "This ain't gonna get messy is it?"

"Depends on your definition of messy," Angel murmured. "He's got a direct link to the Powers That Be so we're probably going to hear a lot of stuff that we don't really want to know about."

"Ah." Gunn finally dispensed with the crossbow, placing it on the counter-top and settling in to enjoy the show.

Drusilla smiled and rested her head against the powerful muscles of his upper arm, one hand sliding sinuously along his shoulder to caress the nape of his neck.

"Tall tales and true," she proclaimed in a breathy voice. "I only wished it could be so."

Gunn shook his head. "I'm not even gonna ask."

Angel couldn't believe Gunn was letting a vampire touch him. Where had his anti-demon sentiments gone? When had they gotten so close? And why was he suddenly feeling like an over-protective father?

Apollyon's wide mouth opened and everyone unconsciously leant forward, waiting to hear what the Oracle had to say. The voice that emerged from the demon, however, was not the one they were expecting.

"Oh, for the love o' Pete," a light Irish brogue burst out, arguing with someone outside the Keratos' range. "I know how the damn thing works, alright?" There was a muffled tapping noise, like someone testing a microphone. "Is this thing on?"

Cordelia stared at the transformed demon in utter shock. "Doyle?" she whispered incredulously. She turned to Angel, blinking rapidly to hold back threatening tears. "It's not him, is it? It can't be."

The vampire was immediately at her side, pulling her into a supportive embrace. "I think it is. He's with them. Hopefully in a good place."

"I don't know that you'd call it good so much as all right for a 'no drinking in any shape or form' type of place," Doyle's voice responded. "Hey, lookin' swell for a dead man there, Angel. Is that a tan?" He laughed. "They've not worked out how to project both ways yet, so it's too bad ya can't see my handsome mug."

"It's that impertinent little Mick!" Spike exclaimed, finally placing the accent. "What's he doin' on the wire? Where the bleedin' hell's Herald?"

"Whoa there, William," the Irish half-demon interjected. "Not the most patient vamp in the world, are ya?" He began muttering to someone out of their earshot, curses mingling with insults. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Right. What was I talkin' about again?"

Spike folded his arms across his chest, the picture of self-righteousness. "Bit presumptuous of you, innit, callin' me William? Cautioned your lot about that before."

"Well, I'm not gonna use Spike if that's what you're bellyachin' about," Doyle retorted. "It don't fit with who you are now."

Spike didn't quite know how to take that. He just sat motionless, his mouth doing that flapping landed-fish thing and his forehead all furrowed. Buffy could sense his disconcertment and came to the rescue.

"Nobody here can think of him as anything other than Spike," she said solemnly. "He is Spike. 'Cause no matter what you say, he's always been the same person. And I mean always - whether he was linked to me or not." She shrugged. "I guess we could use 'Liam' as a compromise for now if it makes you Powery people feel more comfortable or something. It's his proper legal name, so he's gotta get used to using it anyhow."

"Ah, right. Liam." The grin was evident in Doyle's tone. "Can't begin to tell ya how sweet the irony that you chose that."

"Don't remind me," Spike muttered, scuffing his boot against the floor and shooting Angel an irritated look from under his lashes.

The older vampire glowered at him. "It's a fine Irish name," he defended. "After my great grand da'."

Spike snorted. "Don't see you usin' it."

"Because that's not who I am. Unlike you, I didn't have my soul for my entire life as a vampire." He shook his head in confusion. Why didn't they know this stuff? Weren't all vamps basically the same? "Its called being turned for a reason. I was turned into something other than I was. Liam died. Darla killed him. Angelus took over after that."

"You make it sound so very cut and dried," Drusilla observed. "It's not. We remain one and the same, but separate." She tipped her head at him appraisingly. "Some are simply more separate than others."

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," Buffy said dryly. "That was a big help."

Dru smiled at her, a genuine friendly smile. "You're welcome."

Buffy shifted to whisper in Spike's ear. She sometimes forgot that it wasn't necessary for her to do it. "How come she was with you for a hundred years and never grasped the concept of sarcasm? You're like, Professor Sarcasm. You should have some of those funny little letters after your name."

"Can't you two drop the Ex-bashing for five minutes and just listen?" Cordelia interrupted. "I wanna catch up with what's happening, and if you gave a flying fig about that kid of yours, you would too." She glanced up at Angel for support, avoiding the twin glares directed her way.

He gave her a half-hearted smile, still preoccupied with the issue of his soul. "I don't get it," he said.

Drusilla sighed, precisely aware of what he was thinking. "I can't put it any plainer than I already did."

"Oh, I can do all the explanations you like," Doyle volunteered cheerfully. "Kinda the raison d'être and all. Firstly, Angel's right. Liam's dead. And even he's got to admit that he wasn't a great loss to the world."

"He wasn't?" Buffy was wide-eyed with curiosity. Angel had never told her anything about himself pre-vamp, post-vamp even. Getting him to open up was like getting blood from a stone, no pun intended, and most of the stuff she did know came from Spike's memory. And she didn't like to look in there a whole lot, 'cause ... ick!

"A soul that belonged to a drunken wastrel wouldn't have been strong enough to combat Angelus," Doyle continued. "So when he was cursed, the Powers saw an opportunity and took it, balancing an agent of evil with an agent of light."

"So, you're saying the soul I have isn't the original model?" Angel was aghast at the idea.

"Shoddy secondhand goods," Spike commented gleefully.

"Not so shoddy," Doyle refuted. "The soul he has now belonged to one of the PTB's greatest Warriors. The soul of an actual angel, if you wanna look at it that way."

The younger vampire was disgusted. "No wonder he got so bloody high and mighty all of a sudden."

"A Warrior," Angel mused, disregarding his Childe entirely. "Herald mentioned something like that before."

"Yeah? Swell. Let's get over it and move on. You know, to me." Cordelia's foot tapped rhythmically with her impatience. "What's this bond deal all about?"

"Cordy me darlin'," Doyle gushed. "Nice outfit you've got there. Really shows off your assets, if ya catch my drift."

She looked down at the revealing Princess costume. She'd forgotten she was still wearing it. A quick peek at the rapt expression on Angel's face told her he hadn't. She resisted the urge to preen.

Doyle sighed wistfully, a completely incongruous sound, coming as it did from a gigantic scaly beast of a demon. "You know I'm damned sorry about lumpin' ya with the vision thing."

She sniffed disdainfully. "No you're not."

He chuckled. "Got that straight. Don't miss 'em in the slightest. Miss you, though."

"Now that part's mutual." She grinned. "So, little Irish man... Angel. Me. Bond. 'Fess up."

There was an uncomfortable pause and when Doyle spoke again, he was oddly hesitant. "There's no easy way to break this..."

Buffy was intrigued. "He's gonna break something," she enthused, edging forward on her seat. "I love when stuff breaks."

Spike rumbled contently low in his throat, one hand absently rubbing the small of her back under her shirt. "Me too."

Cordelia managed to be both indignant and wary simultaneously. "Break what, Doyle? Not exactly inspiring the confidence there."

"Sorry. Ah... Well, you've been ... promoted."

Cordy frowned. "Guessin' that doesn't come with a nifty rise in salary."

"Nah, but the perks are great."

"Perks? There are perks now?" Buffy pouted. "What kind of promotion is this, and why can't I get one?"

Cordelia shot her an incensed look, which was an absolute waste of time, and then focused back on the demon that was channeling her friend's spirit. "I don't wanna be seconding Miss Chirpy-pants over there, but I have to say... just spit it out! God! Build the tension much?"

Angel's hands came up to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing into her nape and the tips of his fingers stroking lightly along her collarbones. It was unclear which of them the contact was intended to pacify, but he didn't appear any happier than she did.

"Brilliant job, mate," Spike noted wryly. "Now they've both gone broody."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Doyle muttered.

"Really?" Spike was pleasantly surprised. Nothing he liked better than a spot of angst, so long as it wasn't his. "Neat."

"Cordelia's essence has also been merged with that of a Warrior," Doyle revealed. "So she could be equal to Angel. The thing is, Warrior's aren't human so, ah... she's semi-demon now. Kinda like I was, but without the annoying morphing part."

"I'm..." Cordy trailed off into stunned silence. "Huh?"

"What does that mean?" Angel didn't like where this was heading. He didn't mind that his own soul wasn't human, it actually clarified a few things, but Cordelia had already endured so much because of him. How much more could she take?

"No more mind-numbing, skull-cracking vision pain, for starters," Doyle reported. "She won't age, won't die of mortal causes. And she's quite a bit stronger than she used to be. Don't panic guys, this is a good thing. "

"That last vision," Cordy murmured, thinking back. "That's when you... they did this?"

"No, before that. During the Covenant's tests." Doyle's voice faded momentarily as a burst of static filtered in.

Lorne stirred briefly during the disturbance, and then rolled over onto his back, snoring softly.

"So, what's the bond?" Fred wanted to know, her natural curiosity getting the better of her. "It was the original question, right?"

"One Warrior can always sense the presence of another, their spirit or energy or whatever. It's a finely tuned thing, not psychic exactly, just kinda..." Another deep sigh emerged from the depths of Apollyon's cavernous mouth. "Sorry guys, I can't define it in terms you'd understand."

"Freak-Ass Demon bond?" Gunn suggested blandly. "FAD for short."

"That works." Spike gave him an appreciative grin. "Though, FAD lot of good it does us."

The Slayer peered at him from the corner of her eye, lips twitching with amusement. "You're so completely lame," she said indulgently.

Cordelia stared at them. "So glad you find my sudden demon-ness amusing."

Buffy saluted her. "We aim to please," she said. "And, hey, just getting back to something that's been bothering me for a while; the whole non-human-ness of Angel's soul? That's the reason he didn't get resurrected right? I mean, Giles still had a heartbeat and everything when he was possessed by Spike's demon, so my theory is it's because he stayed all soul-having."

"The Buffy Summers theory regarding the vagaries of souled demons," Wesley mused. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Risking body parts if you keep talkin' about her like that, Junior," Spike warned casually, not even bothering to look over in the former Watcher's direction.

Wesley scoffed. "You speak as though you could..."

"I could," the Slayer said shortly.

Both Brits quickly shut up, not wanting to get on the receiving end of her wrath. Wesley turned his attention back to the volume on his lap, and Spike took a moment to smile at her tone. She sounded like a Mum already. Natural born parent, she was. Made for the job. He, on the other hand...

Buffy didn't notice his sudden melancholy - she was too wrapped up in trying to get an answer to her question. "So? I'm right, right?"

"Not just a pretty face, is she?" Apollyon's reception was definitely cracking up now, and Doyle sounded like he was standing in the rain and yelling at them from the end of a very long tunnel. "The logic's all good, darlin'."

"See?" Buffy punched Spike's thigh. "I told you!" They had obviously argued about this previously.

He lurched sideways, his angular face contorted in pain. "OW! Bloody hell!" he roared. "You been eating your Wheaties or what? You're ten-times stronger all of a sudden."

"I am?" She flexed her hand. "Weird. Maybe it's like extra charged 'cause I haven't used it in a while."

"Or maybe it's got something to do with the Nip."

They turned inquiringly toward Apollyon, but Doyle was otherwise occupied.

"I haven't got a whole heap of time left here, folks, so I'll just tell you about Angel's bonus deal. For bein' such a good boy, our beloved El Somber no longer has to worry about that pesky curse."

"What?" Angel and Cordelia blurted the question as one, then looked everywhere but at each other.

"Hence the happy," Buffy noted, her hand automatically moving to massage Spike's injured leg.

Cordelia made a peculiar gurgling sound, somewhere between rage and utter mortification, and her cheeks were flaming. No one had ever seen her this embarrassed before. "What happy? No one got a happy!"

"The vision," Angel reminded her bemusedly. "The one about our future." Who knew Cordy could get all flustered like that? It made him want to see what else would get under her skin.

"Duh!" Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes. "What did you think I meant?" She froze and whipped her head around to peer intently at Spike. "What's wrong? You're getting all bad moody." A worried expression flitted across her face. "You're not gonna barf again are you?"

He gnawed at his inner cheek, watching the transformed demon with a distracted air. "Nah. Just don't like that they keep skimming over stuff about the Nip," he said. "Supposed to be foretold, in' he? Apollyon was all excited about it. Why aren't the Powers all over us?"

At the mention of his name the Keratos' swayed slightly, his tentacles rippling and fluttering, and for a long agonizing moment the Gemel feared that Oracle had closed and they wouldn't get any answers. Finally Doyle spoke again.

"Yeah, about that," he said hurriedly, almost nervously. "I, uh, can't tell ya much. Bosses orders. All I can say is the babe's rather special and he'll need protectin'. You two are the only ones that can and you'll have to stay strong as a couple to do it. Buffy particularly, which is why she'll have a tad more power 'til he's born."

"Could've warned a bloke," Spike muttered, then remembered that Lorne had said something to the same effect before they'd even left Pylea. Pocket power pack.

He stared at Buffy's hand where it rested on his thigh. She was starting to squeeze harder, and not in a good way. He put his hand over hers, attempting to ease the pressure. "Love?"

She startled. "Oh! Sorry, I... my bad. I'm just..."

"Yeah, I know."

He could feel her fear for the Nip mingling with his own. They hadn't anticipated that this little addition to their family would be anything other than a good. He set his jaw determinedly. And if he had his way, it wouldn't be.

During the awkward pause that followed, they got the impression that Doyle was consulting with someone. The out-of-earshot someone who was making him nervous. "Ah... You'll need to keep a low profile, too," he babbled. "Not let on about the 'special' part of all that. Could lead to all kinds of trouble."

"Oh, not a problem," Spike deadpanned. "A pregnant Slayer on the Hellmouth. Happens all the time. No one'll be any the wiser."

"Right. Good luck." Doyle seemed satisfied, even if nobody else was. "I'll leave ya to sort through the mess, try to make some sense of it."

"You're leaving?" Cordelia took a step toward the swaying Keratos. "You can't leave."

"Not your decision, darlin', and not mine either." Doyle was very sincere in his regret. "All goes well and you'll be hearin' from me again. But, bye for now."

There was a sharp crackle, then a hiss as Apollyon returned to normal, his tongues flicking out directly at Cordelia. She backed away, giving him a revolted look.

"Could you be more repulsive?" Her lips curled down in distaste.

Apollyon tipped his head sideward and peered at her with one curious green eye. If he weren't so hugely reptilian, the movement would almost be bird-like. "S-s-eer!" he warbled. His tentacles flapped at her, reinforcing the whole bird thing.

"You know," Buffy said dryly. "He would be really lost if none of our names started with 'S'."

Spike's mouth tugged up at the corners but didn't make any comment.

"Hey! Lighten up, Brood Boy." Buffy punched him again, though holding back on her full strength this time.

His head shot up anyway, eyes flaring with indignation. "I do not brood!" he protested. "How many times do I -?"

"Gotcha!" She bounced on her seat and pumped a fist in the air. "Hoo-hah! I still got it!"

"Bitch," he said mildly, finally letting the full smile take hold.

Wesley slammed his book shut. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your ... ah, moment, but I must say that I cannot translate any more without further research." He cast a shy glance at Fred. "If you would be willing to stay on and aid me..."

"Sure!" Fred blurted, somewhat louder than was necessary. "Oh, sorry. That was a little... I mean, I've got nowhere else to... If it's okay?"

"Plenty of room at the inn," Cordelia stated. She was still distracted by Doyle's 'revelation and departure' routine and didn't realize that she'd automatically spoken on Angel's behalf. "Pylean refugee central here."

Angel grimaced at the reminder. Certain aspects about the other dimension continued to concern him. "Are you sure we did the right thing leaving that Groo guy in charge? He's so... fickle."

"We left Jonah in charge," Wesley corrected. "The Groosalugg is simply a figurehead. He's enough of a balance between human and demon to placate both sides, but I don't think he has the capacity for true leadership."

"Well, color me stunned," Lorne groaned. He rolled over and propped himself up against the newel of the banister leading upstairs. "Actually, color me concussed." He touched his forehead gingerly, then winced. "I think one of my horns is fractured. Didn't anyone catch me?"

His inquiry was met with a round of indifferent shrugs.

"Pardon us if we were otherwise occupied," Spike said sarcastically, gesturing at Apollyon. "With bigger things."

Lorne blinked at him, then over at Angel and Cordelia. Their auras were all over the place, rippling and bending and, in some places, merging together in a psychedelic blur. "It's like a bad acid trip," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was looking back at Spike. "Smaller things occupying you as well, sweetcheeks?" He tipped his head meaningfully at Buffy.

She scowled at him. "Don't get cryptic. I hate that."

"We hate that," Spike verified. "Best to get everything out in the open I reckon."

Lorne pursed his lips and shared an enigmatic look with Apollyon. "Lets hope you remember your own advice, shall we?" That earned him scowls from both of them. He merely smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to sing for me?"

"No." Angel was steadfastly adamant. "No singing."

Cordelia cackled gleefully. "Especially from you, Mister Butcher-That-Tune."

Angel looked hurt for a second, before a tentative smile started to creep across his lips. "I love you even when you're bad-mouthing my crooning abilities."

She shrugged. "Crooning, groaning. To-mato, to-mahto."

The vampires smile widened into one of those heart-rending butterfly-inducing grins. "So, we're okay?"

Cordelia moved to wrap her arms around his waist. "We're better than okay. We're all set for the big future happy." She stretched up to give him a quick kiss. "I love you."

Lorne was relieved to see that their disturbed auras had settled down. They were sending warm and gentle vibes now.

"All's well," Drusilla suddenly declared. "And the Oracle departs."

Her meaning came clear when they belatedly realized that Apollyon had disappeared without trace, his stealth remarkable for such a gigantic beast.

"Slippery for a big sucker," Gunn noted.

"I hate when he does that," Buffy lamented, then ruined her pout by yawning. "Still sleepy."

Spike got up and helped her to her feet in a surprisingly gentlemanly manner. "Let's find someplace to bed-down then. Head back to Sunnyhell on the morrow."

Buffy smiled dreamily. "You get all hoity-toity when you're tired, did you know that?" He didn't bother answering, but swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. "Oh Rhett," she simpered, batting her lashes at him coquettishly, then burst out laughing. "You are so not Rhett Butler. Did they even have peroxide back then?" She twisted, trying to locate Angel. He'd know.

Spike wagged his eyebrows at her then whirled in a fancy pirouette that made her squeal and clutch at him. He loved it when she was all little girl carefree like this. He didn't see it often enough.

They left the others behind, vanishing from sight as they retreated into the east wing of the hotel, even though their bickering continued to drift down the stairs...

"Don't get used to this, Slayer. 'M not gonna cart you around when you're the incredible Jumbo Mum." The sharply resonant slap of flesh hitting flesh then, "Ow!"

"No fat jokes. Not until I'm actually fat anyway." A thoughtful pause. "You do know that we're never gonna be able to call you Daddy, right? It'll have to be 'Mom' and 'Spike'."

The blonde vampire's irritated retort was punctuated by the sound of a slamming door.

"Oh sod off."

~*[THE END]*~
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