The Task

By Esmeralda

Part Seventeen

"Ow! Gerroff. Leave go of me."

"Keep still."

"Fuck off an' leave me alone."

"Spike." Angel's voice held a note of strained patience. "You're pinned to a door."

Spike's answer was a low growl, as he squirmed ineffectively.

"Stop it," Angel ordered. "Spike, keep still. You're losing blood."

Spike knew that. He could feel himself grower colder and weaker. "So get me down," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"I will," Angel promised. "But this thing's barbed, and it goes right through the door. If I just pull it out…" He let his voice trail off.

Spike shut his eyes and made an effort to keep still, while he tried to imagine that he wasn't impaled like a butterfly on a pin. The constant shuddering pain made the illusion hard to maintain. He was balanced on his toes to keep from dragging on the wound, as the force of the weapon's impact had lifted him several inches off the floor. The weapon itself looked like an old whaling harpoon - nearly seven feet long and maybe two inches in diameter. He'd had no chance of avoiding it.

Standing at the end of a corridor they'd been faced with a choice of two doors. Both crafted from plain, simple wood, and situated directly opposite to one another. Spike had picked one at random, opened it, and received a harpoon in the chest for his trouble. It had taken him in the high left quadrant, close to his heart, but not quite touching it. For which he was admittedly, pretty fucking grateful, since it would have led to him being a spray of dust all over the floor, as opposed to a variant on a door handle. However, it hurt. Quite a lot in fact.

And whatever the mechanism used, the harpoon had been fired with considerable force. Not only had it gone right through Spike, throwing him backwards, it had also gone straight through the door opposite. The door was a good four inches thick, but the harpoon's barbed metal end protruded from it by nearly a foot. Angel had very carefully opened this door, and was now examining the end of the harpoon with a worried expression. It was stained with Spike's blood, which was also trickling down the door and pooling on the floor in a sticky, and rapidly growing puddle.

"Just pull it out," said Spike. Trying to keep the pained whine out of his voice…and not completely succeeding.

Angel came back around to the other side of the door. "I can't. The barbs will tear you apart."

"So? I'll heal." Spike bit his lip to withhold a groan and shut his eyes as another spasm of pain hit. When he reopened them Angel was regarding him with a strange expression that Spike finally recognized as fear. Why would Angel be afraid? Oh, right. The barbs. Close to his heart. One wrong twist and he'd be dust after all. He fixed Angel with a hard, flat stare. "Do it."

Angel hesitated.

"Look. I can't hang about 'ere for the rest of fuckin' eternity. Just pull the fuckin' thing out and stop nancying about." Spike shut his eyes and waited. A cold hand touched his cheek. A faint, familiar caress.

"Will, I…"

"Don't," Spike choked out. Anger, hurt, and a flurry of other emotions constricting his throat. "Just do it. Do it now." The hand fell away and he heard Angel move around….to the other side of the door. "What?"

"Sssh. Keep still."

His Sire's voice. And Spike obeyed out of some distant, ingrained instinct. He froze and then let out a howl as the harpoon ripped through him, wrenched free by an inhuman strength. Spike dropped to the floor, landing in an untidy crumple of limbs that were suddenly too weak to hold him. "Ang-Angel?" His eyes tried to focus but everything was fading to whiteout. Then there was cold skin and copper warmth against his lips. Spike clutched Angel's forearm and pressed his mouth against the crimson flow, feeling the power of his Sire's blood as he drank. A large hand cradled his head, holding him as gently as a child.

Then after a time: "Enough."

At first Spike resisted the softly spoken command. The hand slid from the back of his skull to his neck, squeezing in silent warning. Spike reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn away. Once more fully aware of his surroundings, Spike noticed that Angel's hand was dripping blood. It didn't come from the neat incision that Spike had drunk from; which was already a smear of rapidly drying red. Angel was trying to bind his hand with a strip of torn shirt, but his bloody fingers were making slippery work of it. Spike reached across and took over without a word.

Instead of tearing the barbed hooks out through Spike's body, Angel had seized the razor edged end and had somehow pulled it through both the door and Spike.

Spike finished tying off the makeshift bandage.

"Thanks," Angel mumbled. He rummaged around in his pockets and withdrew a clean hanky. "Lift up. I'll help." The latter spoken in a tone that brook no argument.

Suppressing a wince, Spike tugged up his t-shirt. The hole was a ragged, gaping wound, oozing scarlet down his chest. "Messy," he commented.

Angel's habitual frown deepened. "We'll need more than this. I don't suppose you have-?"

Spike snorted. "Do I look like a hanky carrying toss to you?"

Angel sighed and tore another strip from his shirt. He used that and the hanky to plug the bloody holes - front and back.

"Great," said Spike, his voice dripping sarcasm. "I feel better already." He flinched automatically when Angel's hand moved suddenly toward his head, then froze in bewilderment when his Sire gently ruffled his hair.

Angel looked away as the gesture hung awkwardly between them.

Spike blinked in confusion. He wasn't used to these odd displays of affection from his Sire. And he wasn't sure how to respond to them. Angelus had never been one for tender gestures. But then, this wasn't Angelus. Spike reached for Angel's injured hand. Raising it slowly to his lips, he lapped at the bits of skin showing. Cleaning up the sticky blood trails with a cold and clever tongue. He felt the shudder that passed through his Sire's body, and his gaze was automatically drawn upwards. Blue-gold eyes met burning obsidian, desire and need smouldering in their depths.

Spike finished licking up the blood and made a show of examining Angel's hand for more. But there were only the occasional darkened patches of cloth where it had seeped through. Angel was still staring at him. Spike smiled slyly. Xander had teased him about the 'whole cute bonding thing' that he and Angel supposedly had going on. At the time Spike had vehemently denied it. Insisting that there was too much crappy past history for them to get all pally now. But he was beginning to realise that the whole 'forgive and forget' thing really wasn't an issue here. The ties that bound them were stronger than all the years of cruelty and hate.

Angel drew his hand back and cleared his throat. "We should get going." He stood and helped Spike to his feet. "You okay?"

Talk about your stupid bloody questions. "Fine," Spike snarled, his temper flaring with the pain. "Let's find this fuckin' thing and go home." He attempted to stomp off in his usual manner. And almost doubled over when waves of raw agony spasmed outwards from his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He screwed his eyes up, tasting blood in his mouth that wasn't his Sire's. He didn't have the strength or the inclination to shake Angel off when strong arms embraced him. Besides, it felt too good. But did he manage to resist leaning into it. William the Bloody stood on his own two fucking feet. Even when he was in imminent danger of falling on his face.

Suddenly his head snapped up, as a surge of longing hit him, weighted with desperation and fear. "Xander?"

"What?"

Spike ignored Angel, his whole being focused on the call of his Consort. He was confused. Xander felt close, but….? Spike abruptly pulled away from his Sire and staggered the few steps across the corridor. Heading back toward the 'harpoon room'.

"Spike!" Angel caught hold of Spike before he could step through the doorway. Spike snarled and twisted in his arms. Angel looked at his Childe, familiar golden eyes held an odd feral light. He could make out one word amidst all the snarls and growls. Xander? He shook Spike, mindful of his wound, but trying to bring his Childe out of it. "Spike. Spike, listen to me. Xander isn't here. We have to get the key. Then we can go back to Xander. The key, remember? That's what we're here for."

Spike growled something that sounded like: "Lerggo." He squirmed violently, finally slipping free of Angel's grasp, and dove for the open doorway, disappearing inside.

Muttering curses, Angel followed. Just what he needed: a postal Spike. Fortunately, there were no more nasty surprises inside the room. Just the device the harpoon had been fired from - a sort of gigantic crossbow, with a firing mechanism triggered by the door. Spike was already opening another door to left of the room. With visions of more harpoons, Angel reached him in three angry strides, hauling Spike back by the collar. Spike snapped and snarled in his grip like a rabid dog. Angel was so surprised he almost dropped him. But concern for his unruly Childe made him tighten his grip.

Confused as to the cause of this psychotic episode. Angel vainly tried to calm his Childe. "Spike. All right. We'll go, we'll go. But carefully. The traps. Remember?"

Spike seemed indifferent to the possible dangers. He was being summoned by something far more powerful than his sense of self-preservation. Angel had to fight to hold onto him as he cautiously opened the door - standing to the side of it. Spike mewled and whimpered in his grip, the rage turning to desperation. Angel relaxed his hold and they were off.

It was like being led by a hound on the scent. Angel kept a hold of Spike's coat. When they came to doors and archways he tugged a struggling Spike into his arms while he looked to see if it was safe. Fortunately, though Spike seemed to have forgotten the hole in his chest, the wound had weakened him. And Angel was able to hang onto his Childe without engaging in a full strength fight. Eventually, they came to a closed door that was locked. Spike growled and tried to throw himself at it, seemingly intent on knocking it down.

Angel had felt strange since they'd entered the room. Approaching the door only increased his sense of 'oddness'. But concern for Spike made it hard to hold onto. Nevertheless, he shared Spike's compulsion for getting past the locked door. And that alarmed him. What was summoning them? He gave himself a mental shake, trying to rid himself of the peculiar feeling, but it remained like an ache inside his soul. His soul? He shot a startled glance at Spike who was howling and fighting to break free of his hold to get to the door. Tentatively, Angel loosened his grip on Spike and reached out with his hand. Something--something was beyond that door.
Something he had to get to.

Releasing Spike, Angel kicked at the door. The whole doorway splintered into pieces, the door itself swinging open, held to the shattered frame by a single twisted hinge. Angel stood; Spike crouched at his side, as they both stared at the room before them. Taking in the broken, floating flagstones and the great, black emptiness beyond. But what made them both start in shock was the figure balancing on a narrow strip of floor against the right wall.

"Doyle?!"

Doyle had a faint smile etched into his pale face. "Boy. Am I glad to see you." It was heartfelt.

Angel turned a bewildered gaze away from his lover to survey the rest of the room, just as Spike surged forward. Only Angel's quick reflexes stopped his Childe from plummeting downward. He quickly spotted what Spike had sensed - Xander, hanging by his fingertips from a floating flagstone near the centre of the room. Spike was fighting Angel's hold, labouring to break free. "Spike-" Angel stopped. The Consort Bond was controlling his Childe; made unstable by the intolerable strain of forced separation. His words weren't reaching him.

Calling upon his own desperation, and several lifetimes of buried anger, Angel shook Spike like a terrier might shake a rat. He kept it up until Spike growled and drew his fist back. Angel stopped, with Spike's knuckles poised inches from his face. "Back with us?" Angel asked. But he already knew the answer. The strange feral light had faded from his Childe's eyes.

Spike's features shifted back into his human guise, as he turned an anguished gaze toward the room. "Xander."

"What's going on?" Xander's voice rose upward, breathy and tired. "Doyle?"

"It's okay. The cavalry's arrived."

Silence. Then: "Spike?"

"Shut up, pet. Save your breath for hanging on, yeah."

"Hurry," said Xander. "I think…I can't feel my arms."

Angel was already in action. He yanked the door free of its remaining hinge and lay it down like a bridge. It didn't quite reach Xander, but it was close. As Angel applied all his strength to holding it steady, Spike ran out and grabbed his lover by the wrists, lifting him up and rolling him back across the door. He ran a worried gaze over the youth.

"I'm fine. Get Doyle."

The door wouldn't reach Doyle. "You're gonna hafta jump, mate. Think you can make it to this flagstone?" Spike indicated the one Xander had been holding onto.

Doyle shook his head. "It'll fall to bits as soon as I put a foot on it."

"Doesn't matter. I'll nab you," Spike assured him.

Doyle looked worriedly at Angel, who nodded. Doyle drew in a deep breath and made eye contact with Spike. "On three, yeah? One, two, three-" He jumped. Pushing off from the wall. His foot connected with the stone flag. As he predicted it crumbled away beneath him. But before he could fall with the pieces of stone, fingers like steel bands closed around his wrist and he was yanked against a hard chest. Then he was drawn stumbling across the door, into the other room.

Angel let the door go, and it slid away into the blackness. He reached for Doyle wordlessly, gathering the younger man against him.

Spike turned to Xander. "What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"Nice to see you too, Spike," said Xander wearily; rubbing at his arms in an attempt to kick-start his circulation.

Spike grunted and without asking took over, rubbing Xander's arms briskly, but gently. He noticed the bandage covering Xander's forearm and his eyes narrowed. He grabbed the arm in question and drew up the sweater sleeve. Dots of blood spotted the bandage. "What happened?" he asked in a cold voice.

"Oh, I spent some time in the company of a Wolfram & Hart employee. No biggie."

Spike's snarled. "What did he do?"

Xander tried to sound blasé. "Nothing major. He just took a little hair, some blood." He smiled weakly. "Maybe the odd patch of skin or two. Your usual crazed scientist fare-"

Spike barely let Xander finish. Pulling the youth close he kissed him with desperate passion. Relinquishing his mouth finally, Spike touched his forehead to Xander's. "I will tear his beating heart out," he promised softly.

Xander stroked a finger down the pale column of his lover's throat. "Okay." They shared a small, humourless smile. Xander's faded to a frown when he noticed Spike's injury. He wasn't comforted by Spike's efforts to reassure him that he was 'fine'. In Xander's book, a hole in the chest equated to a major owie. Terror seized him when he realised how close the wound had come to Spike's heart: images from his nightmares returning to haunt him. And it was an unusually subdued Xander who stayed at Spike's side.

Angel was still holding onto Doyle, head bowed, face buried in Doyle's unruly hair. Doyle was mumbling something over and over. The others could faintly make out the words: "I'm okay. I'm okay…" Eventually, Doyle squirmed and Angel loosened his grip. Drawing back, Doyle looked up into Angel's face. Searching the sombre countenance. It was his turn to ask: "Are you okay?"

Angel nodded. "I'm good." He kissed Doyle's mouth softly. "I'm good," he repeated.

"Great," said Doyle. One dark eyebrow arched in question. "So, where are we?"

"Hell," said Spike getting to his feet and carefully assisting Xander to his.

"Again?" Xander exclaimed unhappily. "Oh, man. This has to be some freaky bad karmic thing."

Doyle looked at him. "Just how many Barbies did you pilfer?"

"Huh?"

Xander patted Spike's arm. "Don't worry about it. Doyle's thinking this is all down to me pissing off a mini-witch."

"Huh?" Spike repeated.

"Getting back to why we're here, fellas," Doyle cut in. "Why are we here?"

"The key of Antruian," said Angel flatly.

"Right," said Doyle. "Sorry I asked."

"Does someone want to fill me in?" said Xander. "The key of Aunt who?"

"Antruian," said Doyle. "It's some kind of a fabled Hell Dimension, a sort of 'lost world'. Legend says the place was locked up years ago, secured with some pretty serious magic. The key is supposed to be in the only way in. But no-one knows where it is, or what it looks like." He glanced at Angel and Spike. "Or that was supposed to be how it goes. Lemme guess, you guys know?"

"We know what it looks like," said Angel. "Wolfram & Hart supplied the rest."

"So, let me get this straight," said Xander. "We're in a Hell Dimension, looking for the key to another Hell Dimension? Just how many of these Dimension thingies are there?" He got three shrugs by way of an answer.

Doyle suddenly pulled away from Angel and sat up straight, as an unearthly wail rang out from the surrounding stonework. "What was that?"

"Nothing good, mate. Come on, Peaches. Get your arse in gear." Spike was already in motion, heading back the way they'd come with Xander in tow. Angel and Doyle followed quickly. Outside the room they paused briefly to get their bearings. "This place is a fucking maze," Spike groused.

"There was another door," said Angel. "Back in the harpoon room. We didn't try that."

They retraced their footsteps back to the point where Spike had suffered his little episode. Xander stared at the hole in the door and the discarded harpoon in wide-eyed horror.

"Fuck," said Doyle succinctly.

Spike didn't allow his lover to linger over the scene. He tugged the dazed youth inside the room, trying unsuccessfully to block Xander's view of the giant crossbow.

They all stood to one side as Spike carefully opened the second door. He slowly stepped through…and hastily ducked back. Barely avoiding the pendulum blade.

Xander peered over Spike's shoulder. Watching the blade swing to a stop. "This is going to be another fun trip, isn't it?"

Part Eighteen

As the four progressed cautiously through countless rooms and corridors, Doyle and Xander gave a brief recap of their escape and arrival. Their description of the strange girl was met with thoughtful frowns.

"Little bit must have had some major mojo working for her."

"Why work for Wolfram & Hart?" Angel mused aloud. "If she's so powerful, why would she need their patronage?"

"Maybe she don't," said Spike.

Doyle agreed. "I got the impression she was just crashing there. I don't think she was into doin' them any favours."

"Don't matter none," said Spike. Focusing them back on the matter-in-hand. "Natterin' about her ain't helping us find this poncy flamin' key."

"Then mebbe this will," said Doyle. He pointed to a tiny motif, etched into the stone flag by the door facing them. "That's the second one. That's gotta be more than coincidence. Don't you think?"

Angel crouched down to examine it, rubbing the stone dust away with his fingers.

"What do you think it means?" Xander asked.

"It's Eroschan," said Angel. "A demonic glyph; a very old demonic glyph. I can't decipher it."

"So it could mean, 'this way'," said Xander hopefully.

"Or it could mean, 'fuck off'," said Spike less optimistically.

"There isn't one by this door," said Doyle, checking out their other option. "I glimpsed the last one by a door back there."

"And you're just tellin' us now?"

"I didn't know it was a glyph," Doyle defended. "I thought it was a scratch or something, 'til I saw this one the same."

"If we can assume the traps are to protect the key," said Angel. "Then the glyphs could be a guide if it ever needed to be found."

"Or they could just be saying, 'fuck off'."

Despite Spike's cynicism, they decided to follow the glyphs. Since the only other option was to wander around blindly in the hope that they would stumble across it.
The traps they faced usually came in the form of pendulum blades or projectiles. They were therefore taken somewhat by surprise when they entered one room and a heavy stone rolled into place, instantly blocked the exit. They glanced at one warily, and then looked upward, listening to a grinding, mechanical noise - the sound of levers and pulleys operating something. What, quickly became apparent when the ceiling began to descend. They raced for the only remaining way out - another door - only to discover that it was locked.

It was evidently constructed with the idea of keeping the unfortunate victim in, as it took the combined strength of Spike and Angel to break it down. And even then it took several minutes. By which time, the ceiling was less than three feet from the floor. Xander and Doyle went out first. Spike next. Angel last - hauled out by the others. Just in time: the ceiling and the floor met with a resounding thump. They were left in a narrow, dark passageway. Proceeding along it, the passage eventually opened out into a huge chamber. In the centre was a raised dais. Floating above it, bathed in a faint white light, was a dull coppery sphere, about the size of a large grapefruit.

"That's it," said Angel.

"That's it?" Xander echoed in amazement.

"What were you expectin'?" Spike asked in an amused tone.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe something that looked like a key."

"You're thinking like a human, pet."

"Well, duh."

As they got closer, Xander could see that the sphere was covered in rune-like symbols, and it looked like it had been constructed from connecting panels. Nothing like the kind of key he had imagined. "So what now?" he asked. "Do we destroy it?"

"It can't be destroyed, according to legend," said Angel. "That's why it was hidden."

"Why make a key at all?" Xander mused. "I mean, if you're gonna lock something up with the idea of nothing ever getting in or out, why make a key?" No one had an answer to that. And there was still the problem of what to do next.

"Wolfram & Hart won't rest until they've got this," said Angel grimly.

Doyle studied the floating sphere. "Why do they want it?"

"'Cos they're fuckin' stupid."

Angel offered a less colourful explanation. "They're curious. They've heard about it and they want to know what's behind the locked door."

Xander agreed with Spike. "That's dumb."

Angel shrugged. He wasn't arguing with their assessment. "We'll have to hide it again."

Spike rolled his eyes. "And how are we supposed to do that."

"We give it to the Oracle," said Angel. "They can deal with it."

"And how do we go about getting' it back t'them?" Doyle asked.

Angel took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "The same way we got here. A portal spell."

"Cool," said Xander. He hadn't been looking forward to the return trip, but portal travel beat free-falling any day.

"There's a small problem with that plan, mate. That portal is to take us back to those lawyer-gits. How do we get it to take us to the Oracle?"

"We don't," said Angel. "We'll have to go back to Wolfram & Hart first." This announcement was greeted with dismay all round. Spike in particular made it pretty clear what he thought of Angel's idea. But Angel explained there was little choice. The only way home was via the portal. And the portal had been very specifically drawn up. It would only take them back to the offices of Wolfram & Hart, and then only if they had the key of Antruian in their possession.

Doyle pointed out another problem. "We go back with you, using that-" he indicated the portal scroll. "And Xander and me are gonna be out for the count."

"Maybe not," said Angel. "These are mentiumi portal spells."

"So?" said Xander.

"Quality merchandise," Spike explained. "Not like the ones we lifted from that other wanker."

"I think," Angel continued. "You should both be okay."

It was going to be a gamble. There would no doubt be a welcoming party waiting for them. They were armed, but it was four of them against an unknown number. Doyle and Xander were not at full strength, and Spike was wounded. However, there was no alternative. They readied themselves as best they could. Angel's bag held what looked like a pair of miniature crossbows. They fired pencil-sized bolts - the mechanism built to fire two shots before requiring reloading. "These will kill," said Angel. "But you'll need to be specific about what you're aiming for."

Spike tapped the key points with his finger. "The throat and eyes. The first'll stop 'em. The second should kill 'em. Don't try for the heart. It might bounce off a rib."

Doyle and Xander took the crossbows. Spike retained a knife and kept his game face. Angel strapped his sword to his back. He wanted his hands free. They discussed the plan, and any possible revisions, making certain they each knew their role. Then Angel reached for the sphere.

Xander and Doyle held their breath. Spike's fingers twitched. The sphere went into Angel's hands without incident. He stowed it carefully in the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He unfurled the scroll. It was time to go.

Part Nineteen

Xander mentally reviewed his role in the upcoming action. He was key-guy. Or guy with a key role, at least. And he was scared. No, scratch that, he was terrified. If this didn't work, chances were good that he and Doyle would be back playing lab rats, while Angel and Spike would be dust. He'd been terrified before; it was hardly a new feeling. Living on a Hellmouth, and being best buds with a Slayer, made for a lot of mind-gibbering fear induced moments. But back in Sunnydale there had been a certain fatalistic inescapability to all the monster mayhem, and he'd more-or-less just gone with the flow. Never giving much thought as to whether or not his involvement required, or demonstrated courage on his part. He'd simply been a Scooby: loyal friend, and Slayer devotee.

Now he was more than a faithful camp follower. While the overall plan might have been Angel's, they had all listened to and accepted his input - which he'd given without his usual wisecracking commentary. It suddenly struck him that he was no longer loveable, but slightly goofy Xander Harris, who had to be protected from all the really dangerous stuff. And he wasn't the Xander Harris who'd dwelt in a damp basement, out of sight and out of mind. He was Consort and kin to two of the most powerful vampires that had ever walked the earth. He had abilities and power in his own right. Wolfram & Hart weren't going to know what had hit them.

Xander glanced at Spike, who, despite the worried edge in his eyes, had a cocky smile playing around his lips. Spike might be suffering anxiety for his lover, but even that couldn't quell his thirst for a good fight. Xander felt a grin tug his own mouth. He didn't know if what he was feeling now came from him, or if he was channelling Spike again. He didn't care. He felt scared and strong, and eager for the action to unfold. He was riding a natural high, or maybe an unnatural one. The specifics didn't matter any more. He was still tackling evil. He'd just fallen hopelessly, madly and dangerously in love with it somewhere along the way.

It was time. Xander wondered briefly if this was how Buffy felt when she went into battle. Then he stepped through the portal.

*************

Angel's guesswork proved accurate. Xander emerged on the other side feeling like he'd just stepped off a roller coaster, but conscious and vertical. Going by the greeting party's expressions, he and Doyle had not been expected. The greeting party was made up of ten individuals. A tall, elegantly attired woman, wearing scent that made Xander's nose tickle. A non-descript middle-aged man, whose expression somehow put him in mind of principal Snyder. Plus, seven armed creeps of the variety he and Doyle had already encountered. Dolph Lundgren Jnr was present, but Mr. Seagal's look-alike was evidently off nursing his ruined nose somewhere else. Four of them stood in pairs, flanking Ms. and Mr. Wolfram & Hart. The others formed a neat row behind them, barricading the door.

They were in a fairly normal looking office, albeit a large and expensively furnished one. A combination of light, warm wood and illuminated glass covered one wall, creating shelves and cabinets. Situated incongruously amongst the folders and legal tomes were items that were clearly of supernatural origin. Not quite your normal, run-of-the-mill law office then. Xander assumed the woman was one Spike had referred to as 'that Bitch', aka Ms. Lilah Morgan. Something in her stance implied the man to her right had seniority, but this was evidently Lilah's show.

"Well done, boys. I had every faith in your abilities." Lilah waved her hand and the bodyguard beside her held up a small case: opening it to reveal a lavishly lined interior, with a hollow for the sphere to sit in. "You may put the key in here."

Angel withdrew the key from the bag. Lilah's eyes lit up, shining with avarice. The man was all arrogant satisfaction. Angel held the key out toward them, and then with a smile he threw it to Xander, who caught it neatly. Xander had to bite the inside of his own mouth to contain a smirk. The look on Lilah's face was a comical combination of dismay and disbelief.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I believe our old agreement is no longer valid." Angel's gaze rested briefly on Doyle and Xander. "So here's the new deal. We're keeping the key."

Lilah sputtered in a very un-lawyer like fashion. But quickly regained command of herself; addressing them in a cool, measured tone. "On what exactly do you base this capacity to make a new deal?" She folded her arms across her chest, lips curling upward in a bemused smile. "So you've recovered your friends. But as you're all still in our custody, I believe that could be considered something of a moot point."

Angel nodded slowly. "You could be right." Then he threw something concealed in his left hand. The resulting white flash temporarily blinded everybody who hadn't been prepared for it, and the room erupted into violence.

Doyle's crossbow took out the bodyguards to the right and left of Lilah. Xander shot two behind her. Another died with Spike's knife protruding from his eye socket. Angel picked one up and threw him across the room; he landed hard, either unconscious or dead. Doyle reloaded and shot the goon remaining at the back, and another who had dropped to his knees and was blindly trying to crawl behind the desk. The last goon had his neck snapped. Leaving only Lilah and her boss; both blinking and rubbing their eyes as their vision returned.

With a snarl Spike seized the man, wrenching his head back and fastening his teeth into the exposed throat, tearing and sucking. Xander felt light-headed. The dizzying rush of Spike's pleasure hitting him as Spike fed. The man was drained in seconds and Spike carelessly dropped the corpse to the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Angel contained a visibly trembling Lilah. His arms enfolding her in a dreadful parody of a lovers embrace. "Or you could be wrong," he whispered. "I think maybe the balance has shifted in our favour. Don't you?"

Xander thought Ms. Morgan looked like she was about to hyperventilate.

Angel gently tilted her head to the side, exposing her throat, and Lilah moaned dully. Still in human guise, Angel grazed her skin with blunted teeth. He moved down, tugging her blouse aside as he reached the junction of neck and collarbone. Features rippled and changed, sharp fangs resting for a moment, drawing a few spots of blood before Angel drew back, spinning Lilah around to face him. "Here's the new deal. You take your phone and you call whoever's responsible for tampering with Doyle's visions. And have him sent up here. Alone."

"Oi," Spike interrupted. He pointed at Xander. "I want the bastard who touched him."

"Spi-" Xander began.

"Shut up," said Spike, not unkindly.

Angel seemed to consider it. He nodded. "And the man who put Xander through the tests." He had promised his Childe retribution.

Lilah could barely hold her phone steady. Standing amidst the carnage of the room, she took several deep breaths before keying in a number. However, when she spoke, her voice was admirably calm. "I want Jaiar Sinduan and Dr. Hedy sent to my office immediately." She snapped the phone shut. "Listen to me. You can't hope to get out of here. I'm the only one who can help you. There aren't just the guards to contend with. We have wards and protection spells"

Spike smirked. "Yeah, to keep us out. Not in."

Lilah paled even further. Recognizing that she had nothing tenable to bargain with.

While they waited Spike roamed the room, picking up items and tossing them aside. Only Angel and Xander were aware of his weakened state. The fresh infusion of blood had helped to speed up the healing process, but Spike needed more, and a few hours to crash out in. Doyle sat in a chair with his crossbow aimed at the door, looking tired and ill. Xander followed Spike around the room with his eyes, fighting the desire to go to his lover.

They all needed to stay focused until this was over.

********

Angel was fighting an internal battle. The cloying scent of blood and fear hung about the room, tormenting him with urges he could barely suppress. Though his soul was in no danger his demon was a part of him, and right now that part wanted to rip Lilah's head from her body and drink the blood as it gushed over her slender shoulders. Angel shuddered and hoped that this would all be over soon. Before he lost the battle and let go.

There was a knock on the door. Angel walked Lilah over to it, allowing her to open it and address whoever was on the other side. "Jaiar, Dr. Hedy. Please, won't you come in." Her next comment was clearly directed to whoever had accompanied them. "That will be all." Two men entered. Angel quietly shut the door behind them. Their eyes widened as they took in the bodies, almost stumbling into the ones that had been dragged just clear of the doorway.

"Wh-what?"

Dr. Hedy took a step back, but Angel was blocking the door. "Please, Doctor. Don't make a fuss. Go over to the other side of the room."

The Doctor and his smaller companion shuffled around the body of their erstwhile employer, and stood together on the far side of the room. Lilah was encouraged to join them. Spike and Angel were both in their human guise. Spike, body humming with tension, was growling softly in the back of his throat.

Angel stepped forward. He spared a glance for the man in the white coat. "Dr. Hedy?" The man nodded nervously, and Angel's focus shifted to the second man. The smaller individual was of indeterminate age, with slightly protuberant eyes. Dressed in an unfashionable fez and a white suit. He seemed unfazed as he stared Angel down, his expression scornful. Supremely confident it seemed, of his power, and its usefulness to the powerful.

Angel felt the hate rising in him. This was the man Wolfram & Hart had hired to torment his lover, and from the coldness of his eyes and cruel tilt to his mouth, Angel surmised that he had taken malicious pleasure in the task.

Despite the bloody carnage of the room, the man seemed clueless to the danger he was in. He stared past Angel to survey the others. His gaze settled on Doyle.
"I know you. You're the half-breed with the visions." Frowning he faced Lilah. "What's going on? I'm not supposed to meet these people. This isn't how I work."

Angel interrupted him. "Just what is it you do?"

The man pulled himself up to his full - and unimpressive - height. "I am Jaiar Sinduan. And I have many talents. My abilities are in great demand. Now I insist that you allow me to leave." He looked around the room. "I don't know what's been going on here. But this isn't my concern. I was hired to do a job. I've done it."

"You enjoy your work, don't you, Mr. Sinduan," said Angel softly. "You delight in the pain and suffering you cause. You see, I know." Angel looked hard into the man's eyes. "Because I once took my share of those same delights."

"Don't tell me," said Sinduan. "You saw the light." He managed to sound bored.

Angel smiled. "Not quite." His features shifted suddenly. "You see I have a little problem with the light."

Sinduan looked alarmed for the first time as he took in Angel's glittering yellow eyes and jagged teeth. "You're a…a…vampire." He tore his gaze away from Angel to stare accusingly at Lilah. "You never said. I-I don't do business with vampires. I have never done business with vampires." His voice rose in alarm.

"Why?" Angel asked. "Why not vampires? You don't strike me as the sort to have moral issues."

"Your kind can't be trusted," Sinduan hissed, taking a step back.

Angel's hand shot out and seized the man by the throat. He was about to end it when a soft whisper cut through the red haze.

"Wait."

Angel glanced back to his left.

Doyle had set down his crossbow. Green eyes shone, cold and hard as glass. "This fella put the bleeders on me. He's mine."

Angel hesitated, his fingers still wrapped around Sinduan's throat ready to squeeze. But he'd heard the unspoken plea in Doyle's words, and he knew deep down that this was Doyle's score to settle. Too much had happened to the younger man, too many things that Doyle had had no control over. He knew that Doyle was tired of feeling powerless, a pawn in the hands of others. Angel let go and moved away.

Sinduan rubbed his throat and gazed hatefully at Doyle. "I'm not afraid of you, half-breed," he sneered.

"I'm not goin' ta let you hurt any one else," said Doyle softly. He moved with startling speed. There was a flash of silver in his hand, darting across from left to right.

The arrogance in Sinduan's gaze faded. Changing to disbelief. "But you…you can't."

"Too late," said Doyle tiredly. "I already did." Weeks of fear and pain sapped his ability to feel anything for this miserable excuse for a man.

Sinduan's eyes glazed over as he sank to his knees, slumping sideways to collapse in a pool of blood and spilt intestines. Doyle felt vaguely ill as he looked upon the coiled loops, but he ruthlessly pushed any guilt or remorse aside. He would not regret killing this man. This creature had enjoyed his pain, and had no doubt gloried in the suffering of countless others. Now there could be no more. Doyle let the knife slip from his fingers. Hearing the dull thud as the blade hit the carpet. He turned toward his lover, half afraid of what he'd find. There was no condemnation in that beloved gaze, only concern and understanding.

He tried to smile, wanting to reassure Angel that he was okay. It came out as more of a grimace. Walking back to the others, Doyle saw Spike looked gleeful - no real surprise there. Xander seemed slightly shocked, but Doyle could read no obvious displeasure or disappointment in the teen's face.

Spike stepped forward and grabbed Dr. Hedy. "You're up next, mate."

"Wh-what? No…I…"

Spike drew the terrified man close. "You and me, we're gonna take a little trip down memory lane." He continued talking as he dragged the Doctor across the room toward the desk. "You lot thought you had it all figured out. Thought you'd have yourself a pair of tame vamps to do your dirty work. But me an Angel, we're not much for domesticating. Me, I'm nobody's lap dog. I go where I like. Do what I like. Always 'ave done." Spike cleared the desk of its clutter with a sweep of his arm. One handed, he lifted the Doctor up and threw the man down. Laying him out across the desk. "You thought we were a joke."

Dr. Hedy shook his head violently. "N-no. I…I…"

Spike put his hand over the man's mouth. "Yes. You. Did. But see, they didn't gimme the name Spike back then cos they thought it was funny." Spike paused and took his hand away from the Doctor's mouth. He looked about until he spotted the body with his knife sticking out of it. Walking over, Spike planted a boot on its chest and pulled the knife from the goon's eye socket. There was a disgusting squelching sound as it was drawn free.

Spike went back to the Doctor. "Right. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Back in the day I used proper railroad spikes. they're in bit of a short supply these days. Still, I move with the times. I can improvise with the best of 'em." Spike held up the knife. "This should work a treat."

"Please," the man begged, tears of self-pity running down his face.

Spike ignored him. "You," he addressed Lilah. "Take your top off."

Lilah stared at him.

"Now, bint."

Lilah struggled to make her shaking hands obey her as she took off her jacket and blouse. She was about to take off the pale grey camisole beneath, when Spike snarled out another order.

"Bring us that." Spike pointed to the blouse.

Lilah kept as far away from Spike as she possibly could. Holding out the blouse. He snatched it from her and shoved a good portion of the sleeve into the Doctor's mouth - effectively gagging him. "It's a shame," said Spike matter-of-factly. "I like the screams. They really add something. But we can't have every wanker in the building running up 'ere. So we'll have to do this nice and quiet like." He pinned the Doctor with one hand, bringing the knife up with the other. "Now, the real trick here is not to hit anything vital the first few goes." Spike smiled nastily. "This is a good place to start."

With sudden, violent savagery, Spike brought the knife down. It went straight through the Doctor's left shoulder into the desk beyond, pinning him to the wood. The man writhed and screamed into his makeshift gag. Spike leant in close, resting his arm across the man's chest. Enjoying his victim's agonized struggles. "See, this is why they call me Spike." He looked up at Lilah. Golden eyes alight with cruelty. "Are you getting it now, luv?"

*****************

Xander watched his lover with an unsettled feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He'd wanted the Doctor to suffer. He'd hoped that Spike would teach the sadistic bastard a lesson before killing him. But wishing and wanting were very different to witnessing the act. He'd never seen this level of cruelty from Spike before. When his lover fed on the bad guys he rarely played with his food, simply draining and dumping them once he was done.

Xander knew that Spike was soulless, and he knew that his lover was evil; Spike reminded him of that fact often enough. But it was hard to reconcile his tender, funny lover with the monster at play here; and the worst part of all was - he wasn't nearly horrified enough. Yes, part of him wanted Spike to stop. But another part of him was enjoying this, and that was deeply scary. This wasn't simply Spike's brutal pleasure seeping through the Bond. Some of what he was feeling was originating from inside him.

His arm felt like it had been through a mangler. In addition to the puncture wounds from the needles, there were raw, weeping patches where the man had cut away his skin. He could still remember that the man had said. He'd implied that they were going to take Xander apart, piece-by-piece, for study. There'd been no use, or mention of sedatives. He'd suffered at this mad man's hands. It was payback time. And part of Xander was very okay with that.

The part of him that wasn't took a step forward, unsure what he intended to do. Did he want to stop this? A hand on his arm made him jump slightly. He turned to face unblinking cat-like eyes - Angel. Xander had become something of an expert at reading those unnatural yellow orbs. Angel was silently telling him to keep out of this. That this was something Spike had to do. Perhaps it was also something he had to see. Xander looked back at the desk.

The muted screams had stopped. The Doctor was close to death. His head lolled to one side. The violent writhing reduced to twitches and the occasional full-body shudder. Blood saturated the carpet, glistening in slick, dark pools that appeared black in the shadows. Xander could smell it - rich and oily, along with the pungent odour of bodily waste. The Doctor had been skewered with whatever handy implement Spike could get his hands on - a knife, a cross bolt or two, a letter opener, even a pen. They had been driven through hands, arms, ears, and even feet - after Spike had removed the man's shoes.

For the final act, Spike got up onto the desk and straddled the man's chest. He tugged out the gag - stained with blood and spittle - and from the Doctor's body he extracted a slender cross bolt. Gripping the man's jaw with one hand, Spike prised the Doctor's mouth open and pushed the bolt home. There was a wet gurgling sound and suddenly blood spluttered up like a miniature geyser, sending out a spray of scarlet. The man's chest heaved once. Then he was still. Spike gave the Doctor's cheek a couple of light pats. The man's head rocked back and forth lifelessly. Spike leapt down from the desk. "Well, that was fun. Who's next?"

Lilah was still on her feet. Just barely, Xander thought. Her eyes looked dark and sunken in a chalk white face. Rabbit-like, her gaze flickered around the room. She stopped at him.

"You… How can you? … You can't let them do this. You're…you're human."

Xander shook his head. "No. I'm the freak. Remember."

Angel approached her with deliberate slowness. Lilah stumbled backward, hands going to her throat as if she could somehow ward him off. Xander waited until Angel said his name, then he threw back the key. Angel caught it one-handed and held it out to Lilah. She stared, mouth hanging open in a very inelegant fashion.

"Take it," Angel told her. "You want it so badly. Take it."

Her gaze darting once more around the room, Lilah warily accepted the key. "Wh-" She swallowed hard. "Why?"

Angel smiled, his features shifting into their usual angelic countenance. The smile was no-less chilling for the transformation. "Why do you care? You wanted the key. It's yours." He leaned in close. Lilah barely checked a flinch, lowering her gaze. Angel dropped his voice to a sibilant whisper. "Don't you come at me through them ever again. You play that card a second time and I'll kill you." He stepped away.

Spike was not impressed. "Oi. If you ain't gonna kill her. I'm-"

"-Pick up the bag," said Angel, not bothering to turn toward his Childe. "We're leaving. Now."

For a moment Spike stood, his face full of anger and confusion.

Xander was equally confused. The plan had been to kill the bad guys and then hopefully make a run for it, with the key. It seemed Angel was doing some on the spot revision. Doyle had already picked up his crossbow and moved to the door. Xander waited to take his cue from Spike. He was relieved when Spike let loose with a string of curses, snatching up Angel's bag and stomping over to the door.

"Right then, kiddies. Let's go. I ain't hanging about here for the clean-up squad." Head cocked to one side, Spike listened briefly at the door. His features rippled into their human guise as he opened it, ushering Doyle and Xander out into the corridor. Spike paused and glanced back, favouring Lilah with an evil look before he followed them out.

*********

Angel went next. He stopped in the doorway. His voice was a soft murmur that carried across the room. "Assadir Antruian, Messanti quai-caluishum."

Lilah stared at him blankly, a tiny furrow forming between her brows. There was a soft whirring noise and she looked down. The sphere's plates were moving - the noise was the sound of parts lifting up and slotting into place. Lilah's confusion slowly turned to comprehension. She lifted wide, horror-filled eyes back to Angel.

"Goodbye, Lilah. " He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. There was a scream of fear and anger - which was abruptly cut short. The others stood waiting. "Run," said Angel urgently. They did.

Though Spike was apparently the only one who knew why. "You're fuckin' insane," he growled, seizing Xander's good arm and hurrying the youth along.

Xander could hear a strange moaning and creaking. It was ominously loud, making Xander think of a building in the grip of an earthquake. As they turned a corner, Xander cast a nervous look back, and suddenly he understood why the urgent haste. The whole corridor was rippling and blurring, like a shimmering heat-haze. At the end of the first corridor they took the stairwell in favour of the elevator. They raced down the steps, several at a time.

Xander risked looking back again. The office was disappearing. Almost like it was folding in on itself. Spike jerked his arm.

"Just run, eh, Pet."

Xander ran. However, it was becoming clear that they weren't going to make it.

"This way." Angel led them out of the stairwell and steered them toward the nearest office. "In here." Once they were all inside, he picked up a chair and threw it at the huge window, sending a spray of glass shattering outwards. Even as the fragments fell, Angel was taking hold of Xander's free arm and grabbing onto Doyle.

"Hey! Wait a minute, what-" Xander cried; the combined velocity of Spike and Angel careening him toward the broken window. He let out what was admittedly a fairly girly scream as they plunged through it, taking him with them. His last coherent thought before his brain shut down went along the lines of - 'Oh, God. What floor were we on?' Then he simply fell, legs scissoring automatically as the ground rushed up to greet him.

He landed, startled to discover that he wasn't dead, or splattered across the sidewalk. Feeling decidedly woolly-limbed, he stared upwards - at the broken window five floors above him. "Woah." Xander blinked and staggered sideways into Spike's arms.

"You all right, Pet?"

"Yeah," said Xander. "But I think maybe I just made official Superboy grade."

Nonplussed, Spike shook his head and followed Xander's gaze, as did Doyle and Angel. The offices of Wolfram & Hart resembled nothing more than a complex piece of origami. With each fold and ripple it grew smaller and smaller, turning in on itself. Within seconds the groaning stopped and all that remained was a hollow where the building's foundations had once stood. In the hollow nestled the sphere. It gave a last, soft 'pfft': the last panel sliding back into place.

The others waited while Angel scrambled down and retrieved the sphere. Xander stared at it, semi-aghast. "Great googlie-mooglie. Did it do that? " He looked around him in awe. "Where the Hell did everybody go?" Angel tapped the sphere. Xander grabbed his hand. "Don't do that. That is one deadly doo-hickey."

"S'all right, Pet," said Spike. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "You have to know the magic words to make it work."

Doyle peered at the sphere. "They're in there?"
.
"Sort of," said Spike blowing smoke rings at it.

Angel scowled at his Childe and moved the sphere further away. "It's more than just a key," he explained. "It's the lock and the door."

"Huh?" Xander tried to work his mind around what Angel was saying. "*That's* the Hell Dimension? In there?"

"Kind of a small place," said Doyle.

"You have to think dimensionally," said Spike. " Time and Space ain't the same everywhere. When Peaches here rolled out the magic words, Wolfram & Hart got themselves a one-way ticket to Hell."

"One-way?" said Xander hopefully.

Spike shrugged. "There's probably a way back. There usually is. But I reckon it'll be a while before they work it out." He glanced at the rapidly lightening sky. "We should get a move on. I don't fancy a tan to top off the evening."

With dawn already upon them, they decided to leave the Cadillac where it was parked and instead ducked into the sewers. They parted ways at the tunnel junction, heading off toward their respective homes. Too tired to do more than nod and mumble goodbyes.

Part Twenty

"Mebbe we should get rid of that thing first, yeah?" suggested Doyle. He was decidedly leery of the 'Hell in handy ball form'. "It kinda weirds me out. Thinkin' of them running around in there."

"There not in the sphere exactly," said Angel. "They're-"

Doyle cut short the explanation. "I know how it works. It's like a portal, yeah? I just don't wanna get sucked into it."

"It's safe."

Doyle looked at him.

"Pretty safe," Angel amended.

"How did you know it could do that? And how come you didn't think to mention the 'sending them to Hell' part of the plan when we were plottin'?"

"I hadn't thought of it. I'd recognized the runes on the sphere as Ntichian, but it's a seldom-used dialect. I was working on the translation while Spike was…um…"

Doyle winced. "Gotcha. So you just thought it'd be what, poetic justice?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I vote for passing the ball. Let the Oracle baby-sit sit that thing. I've had my fill of portal travel for this millennia."

"You need to rest."

"Yeah, I do." Doyle admitted. "But we both know you aren't gonna leave me ta nap while you return that thing. So let's drop it by the Oracle first, okay."

Angel nodded. "All right. If you're sure you're up to it?"

"I'm not really sure of anything right now," said Doyle wearily. "But I don't want that thing in our home. So let's get rid, yeah."

************

The Oracle appeared bemused by both their ragged appearance, and the reason behind their visit. However, they accepted the Antruian sphere without protest and disappeared with it through the archway. Doyle heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief.

"Home," said Angel, placing an arm around the younger man.

Doyle leaned into the embrace, grateful for the support. His legs felt numb and he was fighting the urge to simply crash where he stood. Angel steered him through the stretches of tunnel that led to their apartment. Doyle let himself be picked up as they ascended the ladder. He made no complaint when Angel continued to hold onto him, carrying him through to the bathroom. "Humh?" he queried sleepily.

"Shower," said Angel. "We need to clean up a bit." He sounded faintly apologetic.

Doyle sniffed his shirt. "I stink," he agreed. He caught sight of his hand, which was spattered with dried blood. His stomach lurched and he groaned aloud.

"Sssh. Easy," Angel soothed. "Come here."

Doyle gave himself over to strong, gentle hands. He was carefully stripped and led into the shower, cradled against Angel's smooth chest as the hot spray pounded down over them both. The water at his feet first ran rusty-coloured, and then gradually cleared. Doyle shivered when the water stopped, but almost immediately he was enveloped in an enormous bath sheet. He didn't need to open his eyes to register the moment when Angel saw the burn marks. He felt his lover's fingers skirt over them.

"What happened?" Ice was warmer than Angel's voice.

Doyle forced his eyes open. "They wanted some answers. I didn't have them." Angel continued to stare at the ring of scorch marks and broken blood vessels. "Can we do this later? Only I really need to sleep." As if to emphasis this last statement, Doyle swayed slightly. Angel carried him through to the bedroom, settled Doyle underneath the blankets and then crawled in beside him. However he didn't get too close. A half-asleep Doyle tried to cuddle. Angel resisted. Rattled, Doyle turned around to face his lover. "Okay. What gives?"

Angel looked sheepish. "I'm cold,"

Doyle's brain struggled through layers of sleep to decipher this cryptic comment. He failed. "And?"

"You need to keep warm."

A light clicked on somewhere; Doyle fought the urge to thump his head against his lover's. "I am warm. Now I want to be held. So get yerself over here and hold me." Angel obediently scooted close, folding his body around Doyle's. "Go to sleep," Doyle instructed. "An' keep it down with the guilt trip. I don't want it. None of this was your doin'. An' those bastards got what was comin' to 'em." He yawned, rapidly losing the battle to stay awake. He felt cold lips touch the back of his neck, and then nothing.

**********

Angel remained awake. He was tired and hungry, but the craving was controllable, and for now he just wanted to lie here and watch his lover sleep.

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