The Task

By Esmeralda

Part Nine

Angel kept his gaze fixed upon the elegantly attired woman standing in front of him, but his other senses were attuned to what was going on around him. He could hear the rapidly pounding heartbeats of the five 'bodyguards' that accompanied the woman: the faint, distant hum of an elevator that told him that they weren't the buildings only occupants. He could feel the underlining prickle of magic - powerful magic - scratching at his skin. And Spike. His Childe commanded his attention. He could feel Spike's barely contained rage, his agitated energy. The overwhelming need to act, to fight…to kill. Angel knew that only his presence held Spike in check.

They had entered the building via the underground car park. Their progress was unhindered until they reached the first floor. At which point, the woman now before them had appeared with her entourage. She had forestalled an immediate attack by judiciously waving a cross and asking that they grant her an audience, as she had some information for them regarding 'Mr. Doyle's current condition'. Angel had restrained the urge to simply reach out and snap her pretty neck, directing Spike to show the same restraint, and instead followed the woman - who called herself Lilah - into a nearby office.

The guards had taken up positions around the room: one either side of Lilah, two at the door, the fifth behind Spike and Angel. By unspoken agreement, Spike kept and eye on them, while Angel maintained eye contact with the woman. She had already revealed a fairly detailed knowledge of them both; though her use of Spike's given name had been met with a flat hard stare, a cold smirk, and a: 'That's Mr. Bloody to you, luv.' Angel had to give the woman some credit for her composure. There weren't many who could have withstood that particular expression from Spike without flinching. However, the sudden racing of her heart betrayed her fear.

She'd skillfully hedged around the issue of Wolfram & Hart's involvement, and instead put forward a proposal. The firm would resolve Doyle's 'difficulties' in return for Angel's co-operation in a little matter. Angel had refused point blank.

Spike had added his voice to the rebuff. "We ain't your lackeys, lady."

Lilah had seemed untroubled by their unwillingness to co-operate. And merely expressed mild regrets for their response. She then calmly asked that they indulge her for a few moments longer, saying that she might be able to come up with something that would reverse their decision.

Spike's look clearly said: 'Is she fuckin' kiddin'?'

Angel silently told his Childe to wait. Lilah's calmness unsettled him. She was afraid, true, but something about her also implied confidence. She was certain that she could secure their co-operation. And Angel wanted to know why.

There followed a period of highly uncomfortable silence, which ended when the mobile phone in Lilah's hand began to ring. She answered it promptly. "Yes?" Lips pursed, Lilah listened to the caller, nodding and smiling. Eventually, she turned back to Spike and Angel. "Gentleman, perhaps you would like to reconsider your decision. I believe that we are in a position to renegotiate." She spoke into the phone. "Put him on." She held the phone out toward Spike and Angel, pressing the speaker button.

The voice that came through was slightly hesitant - caught between anger and apparent self-disgust at his predicament. "Hey, Angel? It's me. Sorry, man-"

Doyle was abruptly cut off as Lilah snapped her phone shut. "Shall we talk business?"

"You're lying," said Angel coldly. She had to be.

Lilah shook her head, a smug smile playing around her perfectly painted lips. "No. We have the pleasure of Mr. Doyle's company. And in addition we also have a Mr. Harris. Another associate of yours I believe?"

There was an incoherent howl of rage as Spike launched himself forward. His speed took Lilah by surprise, and her hasty step back was far too slow to put her out of death's reach. But another force interceded. Angel stood between his enraged Childe, and the now petrified woman. Angel spoke softly, but loud enough that his voice would carry to the room's other occupants. "Not yet." The threat was inherent in his tone. 'Not Yet' meant that the time would come later. These people now lived by his grace alone. This was a temporary reprieve.

Angel grasped Spike's arms, applying enough force to break the bones of a mortal man. "Will." One word meant for Spike's ears only. Angel's voice was low and urgent, carrying an undercurrent of warning. He succeeded in drawing Spike's gaze, golden eyes gleaming with homicidal fury. But Angel could read other emotions there too; namely desperation and fear. Spike was afraid for Xander. And Angel knew he had to bring his Childe under control quickly, because a frightened Spike was capable of anything. If Spike got free now the room would become a bloodbath, and Doyle and Xander might be lost to them forever.

He shook Spike lightly, dropping his voice to a low hiss. "We need them. Until we get Doyle and Xander back, we need them." Seeing some of the sanity creeping back into Spike's gaze, Angel leaned in close and let his lips brush Spike's ear. "Later, Will. I promise you. Later they'll pay."

Spike jerked back slightly and searched Angel's face, apparently trying to discern the truth behind Angel's words. Whatever he saw there evidently satisfied him, as he gave a terse nod, and some of the tension left his frame.

Angel decided it was safe to let Spike go. He turned back to face Lilah, who was pale but keeping a tight rein on her fear, again managing to appear relatively cool and composed. Angel made no attempt to hide his feelings. His response to Lilah's disclosure was less dramatic than Spike's, but no less terrifying. Angel had the ability to fade into the shadows, or his presence could fill a room, and right now he was choking the air out of this one. Eyes as cold and hard as obsidian regarded Lilah as though she was something that had just crawled out from under a rock. She might hold the winning hand at the moment, but Angel's expression said that he could, and would, tear that hand off at the wrist if circumstances warranted it.

Spike stood at his shoulder, fully vamped-out. A less than subtle reminder of just who and what Wolfram & Hart were dealing with. The firm might have succeeded in bringing Spike and Angel to the table. They might have gained the necessary leverage to force their capitulation. But sooner or later they would to have to ready themselves for the aftermath, because this wasn't a corporate deal. They were brokering terms with the undead - the very powerful, and the very unhappy undead.

Angel had to wonder at their arrogance. They claimed to know his detailed past history, and the history of his Childe. What did they think then? That his soul had somehow neutered him? That he had been rendered impotent by its encumbrance, and Spike was now his lap dog. If so, they were in for a very rude awakening. Wolfram & Hart had already gone to far when they'd brought Darla back. However, revenge was a luxury Angel rarely indulged in any more. It was a dangerous pleasure. And the events of the past few weeks had forestalled any action he might have chosen to take.

If Wolfram & Hart had chosen to withdraw from the field, it was entirely possible that Angel might eventually have overlooked their little 'mistake'. His immediate need for blood and retribution had been sated by the deaths of Darla and the lawyer Lindsey. But this had changed matters. It was clear to him now that unless he took some action, the firm would continue to pose a threat to those he held dear. It was undoubtedly because of them that Doyle was suffering, and Angel's thirst for vengeance returned ten-fold. So he would listen to their proposal. He would jump through every hoop they held up. He would obey their directions and fulfill their allotted tasks. He would do all this until he found a way to secure the safety of Doyle and Xander.

Then he would unleash Hell.

Angel glanced at his Childe, and knew from the evil glint in Spike's eye, that Spike had followed his train of thought. Angel suppressed an equally evil smile. So they had discovered that he was once the 'Scourge of Europe', and that Spike was also known as 'William the Bloody'. Well soon they would learn at first hand why.

Part Ten

Spike was barely holding on. Everything in him cried out to unleash the fury surging through his veins. The demon inside him howled in rage, demanding release. Only the presence of his Sire held him back. For now, Angel was the voice of reason, bringing clarity to the heady blur of his anger. Spike didn't follow easily; it went against his nature. Truculent and rebellious, he gave his trust to very few. But Angel was his Sire, and Spike would follow him anywhere if the ties of blood decreed it. With a firestorm of hate and fear burning his insides, Spike was relying upon his Sire's self-control, needing it to bolster his own. However, he knew Angel's restraint was currently a very fine, and tenuous thread.

When the vision had struck, only moments after leaving the office, Angel had nearly written them both off when he'd swerved into the path of an oncoming truck. Spike had seized the wheel - juggling his cigarette so as not to set them both alight in the process. After pulling them over, he'd sworn fluently for several minutes before shoving Angel into the passenger seat. Announcing that, until this matter was cleared up, he was the designated driver. It was testimony to how terrible Angel was feeling that he offered no protest. Though by the time they'd arrived at Wolfram & Hart's, Angel had recovered sufficiently to harangue Spike's parking. Spike simply gave him the finger, and very purposefully slammed the door, knowing how much Angel hated that.

Neither of them was overly surprised by the ease with which they entered the building. After all, if this was Wolfram & Hart's 'calling card', they were expected. This didn't mean that they were incautious however, and they fell into the familiar pattern of watching one another's backs as they patrolled the deserted corridors. The woman's arrival was heralded by the sound of human heartbeats, the scent of living flesh and blood. The cross she clutched was hardly a deterrent; they were both old and powerful enough to overcome such icons. But they permitted her the false security of her talisman, and quietly followed when she directed them into a nearby office.

Spike was irritated by her manner and attitude. Didn't she realize who the fuck she was dealing with here? She might have done her homework, but he and Angel were more than pages in a history book. He might have awarded himself the moniker of Spike, but it - like the title of 'William the Bloody' - had been well earned. Oh, she was afraid, he knew that. He could hear the frantic pounding of her heart. But she wasn't afraid enough. She seemed to find their names amusing, and their past exploits were, to her, just that - the distant and discarded past. Spike was almost as much bemused, as he was annoyed. Did she really think that because they chose to drink blood out of mugs on occasion, that they were somehow humanized?

Like Angel, he'd picked up on her confident demeanor. And also like Angel, it unsettled him. But he'd put it down to her ego - until Doyle's voice had come out of the phone. That had rattled his cage, and the mention of Xander's name had him hurling himself at the bars. He'd barely been conscious of Angel's intervention. He had registered his Sire's presence only on some instinctual level: his anger blinding him like a bloody mist. Gradually, the sound of Angel's voice had broken through to reach him. But he was unwilling to curb his need to strike out. Only the promise had swayed his bloodlust: the promise that these people would pay in pain.

Still, Spike made no attempt to shift back into his human visage. His eyes glowed a baleful yellow, and he ran his tongue over his teeth as he stared them down. Let them see in his face that they were marked for death, and let their imaginations supply the many ways they could meet that death. He would have them. His Sire had sworn it. And for Spike, that meant it was a done deal. Angel hadn't been given his moniker simply because of his pretty face: Angel had been a harbinger of death for over two centuries. He was good at it. And Spike was no slouch in that department either. So let these guys call the tune for now. When the time came the only music would be their tortured cries.

She was talking now: the bitch with the designer suit and the pricey perfume. Drusilla had never worn perfume. She'd smelt of blood and earth, and the faint warm scent of flowers. Xander smelt even better - the rich tang of fresh blood and the salt of sweat and skin; underlined with the more muted scents of shampoo and the sweet, sugary smell of the cheap chocolate bars he liked to snack upon. Spike fought against the urge to reach out to his lover, to touch him through the Bond. As much as he craved it, he knew it would be unwise. Xander was alive and unhurt, he knew that much at least. To seek out anything further would unravel his fragile control. Instead, he forced himself to listen to the bitch.

"What we want from you is a key. We can supply the location, and a few details regarding the protection surrounding it. We can also provide you with the means of getting to the location." She smiled thinly. "And, of course, the means of returning once you have the key in your possession."

"What's the key for?" Angel asked.

Lilah shook her head. "That isn't your concern." Spike growled. Lilah ignored him, her attention on Angel. "Originally we only had your skills in mind for this task. The additional expertise of Mr. William Bloody is an unexpected windfall. And since two might more easily succeed than one-" She shrugged lightly. Her voice cooled as she continued. "Mr. Doyle and Mr. Harris will of course, remain as our guests until such time as the key is in our hands."

She moved away, positioning herself behind the imposing desk. "Mr. Harris is quite an unusual young man. Living in close proximity to a soulless vampire; without suffering any visible side effects." Lilah stared directly at Spike, as though responding to some inner challenge. "I am certain that our people will be delighted to have him available for…ah…discussion."

The light in her eyes was almost manically charged, as she deliberately baited Spike. He had seen her fear; she had flinched from his aborted attack. Now she was trying to take back the ground she had lost. But Spike was an old hand at this game. He gritted his teeth and stamped on the urge to tear out her throat and suck on her eyeballs, summoning a cold smile as he spoke. "You be sure to take real good care of him, luv. Cos later on, you and me are gonna spend some time together." Spike ended with an evil smirk, and a flick of his tongue. He continued to hold her gaze: his carrying the promise of future retribution.

And Lilah quickly learnt that it took more than she possessed to outstare one hundred and twenty seven years of hate. As her gaze fell away, she tried to disguise her defeat by quickly turning to one of the guards and holding her hand out for the folder he carried. But for a few moments her fingers shook as she sorted through the papers. She had collected herself by the time she continued. "This is a drawing of the key." She held out a black and white print. "Please note that it's only an approximate reproduction. All we have to go on are the descriptions recorded in some scrolls. In addition, we've included some of the wording taken from the scrolls, but for security reasons we obviously can't provide complete transcriptions. I'm sure that you can understand our position."

Neither Spike nor Angel bothered to answer her.

Lilah went on. "The key is being held in one of the demon dimensions. We have made arrangements for a portal spell to take you to the place where the key is reportedly located."

"Reportedly?"

"You have to understand, we are working from very ancient sources. They have proven very difficult to translate. You are looking at the combined work of some of our leading people, all experts in their fields. Years of effort have gone into bringing us this close to our goal."

Spike snorted and snatched the print from her hand. He eyed it the right way up, and upside down. Then he turned a cold gaze upon Lilah and held the picture out for Angel's perusal. "Well looky what they want us to go fetch and carry."

Angel frowned and took the picture. He stared at it, then at Spike - who nodded - then at Lilah. "The key of Antruian?"

Spike took a fair amount of satisfaction from seeing the surprise register on Lilah's face. "Oh, oh, " he whispered in a mock aside to Angel. "I don't think we were supposed to know that." He glared scornfully at Lilah. "You say you know all about us? Well you've been reading the wrong books, lady." Moving quicker than the eye could follow, Spike leapt up onto the desk, sending papers scattering as he crouched upon it. "We've been around a long time. An' we've learnt a thing or two. That key-" he jerked his hand back toward the picture "-is bad news."

Angel lay the picture down on the desk by Spike's Doc Martin. "He's right. This key was never meant to be found. Your people don't know what they're dealing with here."

Lilah had stumbled back when Spike jumped up in front of her. But now she smiled mockingly. "Well, gentlemen. We appreciate your concerns. But the wheres and wherefores of this key really don't need to trouble you. Your only detail in this matter is the keys safe retrieval. After that, we return your 'friends' and our business dealings are closed."

Angel slammed his hands down on the desk. Six hearts beat in rapid staccato. "Our chief concern is that after the close of business, the world will continue to turn with all the life currently existing on it. This" -Angel picked up the sketch and screwed it into a ball- "is the key to a demon dimension. One secured by magics put into place before the dawn of mankind. It was designated a no go area for a reason. Now you want to open up Pandora's box. Why? Because you can't bear not to know what's inside?" He'd meant the latter as sarcasm, but the flush that stole across Lilah's cheeks told Angel he was closer to the truth than he'd realized, and his expression rapidly changed to one of incredulous disgust. "That's it? You just want to know what's behind the bolted door?"

"You people are fuckin' crazy," Spike rejoined. He shook his head and jumped down from the desk. "You know, I reckon it's a pretty sure bet there ain't gonna be no mythical Hope prancing about in the bottom of this casket, to save you from the nasties you're gonna find."

"I would have thought that the destruction of mankind wouldn't be high on your list of concerns," Lilah snapped back. "I thought you enjoyed suffering."

Spike leaned in close, lowering his voice to a sibilant whisper. "Oh, I do. But everything in moderation, luv. Where's the fun if you're all turned to ashes and dust? Who am I gonna slake my thirst on." He gave her a toothy grin and smacked his lips.

She took a step back and straightened her shoulders. "Well, as I said. The details are not your concern. Your only task is to retrieve the key. That is, if you wish to secure the safe return of your friends."

"Oh, we'll get your key, bitch," Spike sneered. "I don't want to miss gettin' a ringside seat at this grand opening." He smiled viciously. "Should be a fuckin' blast."

Lilah inclined her head, and one of her ensemble hurried forward to gather the papers that were scattered on and around the desk. He shuffled them together and handed them to her. She replaced them in the folder and held out the completed document to Angel. As he took it, he seized her wrist, jerking her toward him. The bodyguards tensed, and made to move in. But a nervous looking Lilah ordered them back.

Angel drew the trembling woman close. His faint smile held no humour. He turned her against his chest, and pressed his mouth into her hair, letting his words brush against her ear. "I'll get your key. But if I were you, I'd stock up on some stronger talismans." He released her wrist and his hand snaked inside her suit, finding and withdrawing the cross. He held it without flinching despite the sound of sizzling flesh, and the smoke rising from his clenched fist. "Because this won't save you." He spun her again, until they were face to face. "You made a mistake, bringing Darla back, but I was willing to overlook it. But now you've endangered my family and assaulted my lover." Angel shoved the cross back down the front of Lilah's blouse. "So start praying. Because when the time comes to exact payment, your name's at the top of my list."

With a less than gentle shove, Angel pushed Lilah away from him. He nodded to Spike, and then turned on his heel, marching out of the room. Effectively dismissing its occupants. Spike lingered only long enough to smile nastily at the bodyguards, and to blow a sarcastic kiss to Lilah. Then he followed his Sire. Coattails flapping around his legs as he strode down the corridor.

He caught up to Angel at the first exit. "So how do we get to this place? I thought they were doin' us a portal spell."

"They have," said Angel simply, withdrawing a scroll from the folder.

Spike peered at it. And his features slipped back into their human visage. "So where are we goin' now?"

"Home. There are a few things I want to take with us."

"What about…" Spike didn't finish. It hurt too much to even say his name right now.

Angel looked at him, and some of the anger in his gaze faded into sympathy. An understanding that this was as hard on Spike as it was on him. "I didn't see any point in demanding to see them. Did you? We know they're all right for now. We get the key. We get them back."

"And then what?"

Angel's expression shifted into something darker. "And then we exact payment."

Spike recognized the look, and if he'd possessed a soul he might have dredged up some small amount of pity for the poor unfortunates who had engaged Angel's wrath. But as it was he simply exalted in the disturbing prospect of 'payment'. His own expression was far easier to read. His demon bayed for blood, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Part Eleven

There was, Xander decided, something humiliating about being caught with barely a foot inside the door, so-to-speak. Even hanging with Buffy, he couldn't recall his capture record ever being this pitiful. And forget all that business about this being a 'bad idea'. This operation screamed set-up, in six foot, blazing neon. Less than half a dozen paces inside the underground car park, he and Doyle had been surrounded by square-shouldered creeps in well-pressed suits. They were armed with handguns and tasers. Xander decided that, in this case, surrender was the better part of valour. He wasn't going to find out what was going on with his lover if he went out in a blaze of glory. Under their direction, and feeling slightly foolish, he'd set down his axe. Doyle had followed suit, his expression angry and rueful.

Xander knew how Doyle felt. It was pretty clear that they'd been tricked into coming here, and then they'd been taken down like a couple of green kids. Neither of them wanted to think about what this would mean for Spike and Angel. Xander had identified the chief creep as being the thin, sallow-skinned guy with watery blue eyes, and wispy, pale red hair. No.1 Creep had fairly hummed with excitement as he'd ushered them politely, but firmly into an elevator. No doubt already seeing their capture as a feather in his cap. Certainly, he wasted little time in passing on the news. They'd barely been seated, in a featureless room at the end of a narrow corridor, when No.1 Creep was pulling out his cell phone and speaking to someone he deferentially referred to as Ms. Morgan.

Still talking, No.1 Creep waved a hand to one of the other suits. A man who could have doubled for Steven Seagel stepped forward, seizing Doyle by his right arm and the scruff of his neck, hustling him forward. "Watch it," Doyle snarled, struggling uselessly.

Xander started forward at once, intent on coming to his friend's aid. He was stopped in his tracks by a solid wall of suit and muscle. "Er, hi." He grinned inanely. He had learned long ago that it never hurt to play the fool when dealing with guys like this. You could gain a lot of ground by pretending to be less than you were. Trick a bully into relaxing his guard, and you could usually get away with your lunch money and all your bones intact. This wasn't exactly Sunnydale High, but the principle was pretty much the same. He didn't want to be viewed as a threat. Of course, since he was unarmed and stood eye-level with the guy's chest, Xander was fairly confident the guy didn't see him as one. Whatever his current standing, he was ignored as No.1 Creep placed the phone close to Doyle.

"Please say 'hello' to Mr. Angel."

Xander stiffened at the confirmation that, in all likelihood, Angel and Spike were being similarly detained. He watched as grief and anger flooded Doyle's eyes. Mr. Seagel's double jerked Doyle roughly.

"And please." No.1 Creep jabbed the phone into Doyle's jaw. "Just inform him of your presence. Nothing more."

Doyle's answering glare could have melted lead. However, he followed instructions. "Hey, Angel? It's me. Sorry, man-"

No.1 Creep clicked off his phone and snapped it shut. "That is sufficient."

"You fuckin' bastard." Doyle tried, unsuccessfully, to kick out at his tormenter. Mr. Seagel simply hauled him out of reach. Pinning Doyle's arms until his struggles lessened. Xander's attempt to intervene was met with a similar approach, as Mr. Lundgren's baby brother wrapped him in a full body lock.

No.1 Creep tutted and shook his head. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Please. I would ask that you restrain yourselves. You are our guests. I would hate for one of you to accidentally hurt yourselves during any altercations you might instigate. Might I suggest that you offer your full co-operation until this matter is resolved? It would be mutually beneficent for both parties."

"I'll give you mutually fuckin' beneficent," Doyle growled. And he somehow pushed himself upwards, slamming the back of his head into Seagel's face with a highly satisfying crunch of bone and gristle. Seagel was obliged to let go when it became apparent that he was in danger of choking on his own blood. However, as Seagel stepped aside to nurse his ruined nose, he was instantly replaced by two of his compatriots. They were less than gentle in their manner of restraint, and looked to be near to yanking Doyle's arms from his sockets as they held onto the struggling man.

"I had hoped that this wouldn't be necessary," said No.1 Creep in a pained voice. He stepped forward, and before Xander could cry out a warning, he'd raised the taser to Doyle's chest. Twin arcs of blue shot out. Doyle stiffened and arched back as the current tore through his body; a strangled whimper escaping his tightly clenched jaw.

Xander forgot about playing it harmless. He'd held his own against demons, he was pretty confident of flooring Lundgren Jr. But as he yelled and struggled, one of the other creeps took out his gun, pressing the cold muzzle against Xander's temple. Helpless, Xander continued to shout threats, screaming at them to stop. When finally No.1 Creep did, his friend hung limply from the thugs' hands. Xander saw that Doyle was still conscious, but his pallor had gone from white to grey. And his eyes were glazed with pain.

"Take them through to the holding room," No.1 Creep instructed.

Xander shot the guy a hate-filled glare as they were bundled through a door into an adjoining room. It had a toilet, a sink and two cots. There were no windows. The only light came from a single bulb, hanging high from the ceiling. Doyle was dropped unceremoniously onto the closest cot. Xander was simply released and pushed forward. He stumbled briefly before regaining his footing. And by the time he had, they had left. The click of the lock followed their departure.

Xander went straight over to Doyle. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Sure. Great," Doyle croaked. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and then slowly sat up, wincing. He rolled his shoulders. They popped and cracked.

Xander grimaced. "You don't sound great."

Doyle waved off his friend's concern. "A handy Bracchen birth-right. Joints that pop out." He rubbed his right shoulder. "And then just slide right on in again."

"Neat trick."

"Yeah, well, it's saved me a few trips to the ER." Doyle glanced around the room. "Guess we're stuck here for the duration, huh."

Xander darted a frustrated glance toward the door. "Unless you can pick locks?" he asked hopefully.

Doyle nodded his head toward the ceiling. "Not with an audience."

Xander followed his gaze and noticed the tiny camera situated alongside the light. "We can't just sit around and do nothing," he protested.

"Hey, I'm open to suggestions," said Doyle, gingerly touching his chest. He felt like he'd been hit by a two-ton semi.

Xander sighed and sank down onto the cot next to Doyle's. "Nice move by the way. I think that guy's gonna need surgery before he can smell the roses again."

Doyle smiled faintly.

"Sorry I wasn't much help," Xander added, lowering his head. Looking apologetically at Doyle through the bangs of his fringe

Doyle set him right. "Hey. You did okay." He patted his chest. "This was me being stupid." He shrugged. "That guy just stuck in my craw."

"Yeah, like a hairball," Xander agreed. "When Spike gets around to rearranging his face, I'm kinda hoping he'll let me watch."

They shared a quick, evil grin. It faded as thoughts of their lovers overtook them both.

"What do you think they want?" Xander asked eventually.

"From us? Probably nothing. My guess is we're just security, to ensure that Spike and Angel play the game. Whatever the fuck that is."

"We have to do something."

"And we will," said Doyle. "But for now-"

"-We sit and wait," Xander finished despondently.

Part Twelve

Waiting, was not something Spike did well. Patience being an attribute he neither claimed nor coveted. Right now, he was threatening to wear a furrow into Angel's floor, as he clumped about, muttering continuously. Fiddling with his lighter and an unlit cigarette. Eventually, Spike paused. "So where's this portal packin' us off to then? He didn't wait for Angel to answer. "Lemme guess. Another Hell dimension?" Spike snorted in disgust. "Shit. They're gonna start givin' you fuckin' frequent flyer miles, mate."

Angel ignored him as he collected the items they'd returned for. He was accustomed to Spike's seemingly inexhaustive ability to run off at the mouth. He knew that it was something akin to a nervous habit. The more agitated Spike became, the more jibes and insults he tossed out. However, Angel's patience was wearing thin. The Consort Bond he shared with Doyle was still in its infancy, but back there - in the office with Lilah - he knew he'd felt something. Doyle was hurting. It didn't feel like a vision. Angel didn't want to consider what it might mean. He was confident that Wolfram & Hart intended to keep Doyle and Xander alive, since it would ensure his and Spike's co-operation for this, and any future ventures. However, beyond that, there were no guarantees.

And now here he was, gathering weapons and anything else he thought might come in handy. Working for Wolfram & Hart. When what he wanted to be doing was tearing the building apart, looking for his lover. Angelus would probably have done just that, and Angel was fairly certain it also featured in Spike's game plan. But his Childe was following his lead. Waiting with what, for Spike, passed for patience.

Angel placed the last item in the bag and returned to Spike's side. He studied his Childe briefly. Remembering the same desperate, feral gaze on a face long ago: a scruffy, vicious gutter-rat, who now stood before him in Doc Martins and leather. He made a silent vow that he would secure Xander and Doyle's safe return. No matter what the cost. He stroked a finger down Spike's cheek, earning a quizzical look. Angel grasped Spike's chin and drew his face up, kissing him briefly. Then he handed Spike the heavy bag. "Here, you can carry this."

Spike's quizzical look faded, replaced by an annoyed grimace. But he took the bag.

Angel unfolded the portal scroll and began to read. The lights flickered and a strange breeze blew up, chasing dust and scraps of paper around the room. As Angel finished reading, there was a sucking sound, and a circle of swirling shadows opened up in front of them. The wind increased, knocking over lamps and sliding items across the floor. Angel took hold of Spike's sleeve and they jumped together - charging forward into the churning black hole. It swallowed them instantly and then the portal vanished. The wind went with it. The lights stilled. The only sound came from a half empty mug, rocking on the floor, leaving a pool of cold milky coffee in its wake.

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