IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT

TITLE: In A Different Light
AUTHOR: Dee Bradfield
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Angel travels to the Pylean dimension to save Cordelia, as per the series, but it's all twisted to suit my purposes - evil me! This time Buffy and Spike are along for the ride.
TIMELINE: AU (Alternate Universe). Picks up during the Angel episode "Over the Rainbow", and follows my Buffy/Spike fic "Shades of Grey". If you haven't read it or seen the show then you'll be kinda lost.
DISCLAIMER: They aren't mine, blah blah blah, Mutant Enemy, yada yada yada... You know the drill. Special mention to Shawn Ryan, Mere Smith, Tim Minear and David Greenwalt for the Pylean story-arc. I've borrowed quite heavily from the shooting scripts in places (see Psyche's site) - but remember imitation is a form of flattery.
DEDICATION: To David Patrick Boreanaz for giving new meaning to the word 'soulful'.

~*[+]*~

EPISODE ONE
To the Angel-mobile, away...

"Oh sod off."

Spike rolled onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head.

Ignoring his irritated request, the phone continued to ring. And ring.

"What time is it?" Buffy groaned at his side.

Spike lifted his head and peered at the illuminated digits on the bedside table clock. "Four in the bloody AM. We got in from patrol not one hour ago." He tossed the pillow at the phone, knocking the handset onto the floor. The ringing stopped. "Thank you," he sighed, slumping back against the mattress.

Buffy giggled and threw an arm across his back. She nibbled at his shoulder. "So," she coaxed, running a finger down his spine, "Now that we're awake..."

Spike shivered at her touch, an animalistic purr rumbling in his throat, but then reluctantly shrugged her off and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He stared fixedly at the phone, his brows drawing together in a frown.

Buffy knew immediately that he could hear who was on the other end of the line. They hadn't been disconnected in the fall. She reached around her distracted other half to snap on a shaded lamp, a subtle yellow-tinted light filtering through the room.

"Angel," she said.

It wasn't a question. She and Spike had been linked for a month now, and picking up each other's perceptions was becoming old hat. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost hear it herself.

Spike just growled before moving to pick up the receiver.

"What?" he snapped impatiently. The last thing he wanted was to hear from his Sire, especially at this hour.

"Spike, I need you and Buffy to come to LA." There was a meaningful pause, then, "It's important."

The bleached blonde vampire let out a disbelieving snort. "It had want to be bleedin' important. Missin' valuable kip-time here, mate." His tongue curled behind his teeth as he leered at Buffy. "Among other things..."

There was a broody silence for almost a minute before Angel spoke again. There was no mistaking the fear in his voice.

"Its Cordy."

"Cheerleader?" Spike was instantly serious. Buffy sat up, wrapping the sheet demurely around her body.

"She's been... " Angel seemed to be searching for the right words. "She was sucked into another dimension."

"She what?" Spike held the phone away and shook his head at it as though the device itself was causing the problem. He rapped it against the dresser a couple of times before speaking again. "Hello? Earth to Peach-fuzz? Have you completely flipped your lid?"

Buffy snatched it from his hand. "Angel, it's me." She listened intently, scowling at Spike all the while.

He tipped his head and quirked his scarred eyebrow at her. She could never stay mad at him when he did that. Unless, of course, she was mad at him because he was doing that.

In response to the familiar action, Buffy's eyes softened and she sent him a gentle smile.

Well, there you go then, all forgiven. Spike puffed out his chest in a self-satisfied manner and dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little. He could pick up some of what was being said, and that his Slayer was becoming increasingly worried. He rested his hand on her knee in a supportive gesture.

Typical of Angel to deliver bad news, Though he suspected midnight calls and happy tidings were seldom compatible.

When Buffy hung up, she continued to stare at the phone.

"Pack a bag," she said.

Spike waited for an explanation. After another moment, she turned to look at him.

"We're going to LA."

~*[+]*~

Angel paced.

He stopped to glance up at the clock on the wall, frowned, and then paced again. It was the afternoon already. This was taking too long. He needed to be doing something - anything.

"You're going to wear a groove in the carpet," Wesley Wyndham-Pryce commented softly, not looking up from the text he was currently engrossed in. He sat on the stairs, various volumes piled randomly around him.

Angel inspected the floor. "We don't have carpet."

"I was speaking figuratively."

"Oh." Angel folded his arms, the fabric of the tan-colored shirt he wore stretching taut against his muscular shoulders. "It's been twelve hours, Wes," he said after a moment. "Anything could've happened to her."

"I know." Wesley picked up another book, a bulkier one that he had set aside earlier, cross-referencing. "But I believe I'm getting close to a solution now." He tapped a finger on the page. "This is the third reference I've found to metal or steel... I wonder if..."

He stood, depositing the books on his lap in a heap and scurrying across to the reception desk. More books and more cross-referencing.

"Color me ecstatic." The new voice was anything but.

Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, known to all at Angel Investigations as the Host - or preferably to him, Lorne - sashayed into the lobby of the Hyperion clad in a nifty red suit that matched his eyes and brought out the green of his skin. "I've found your little supernatural hot-spot," he announced. "We're good to go, if we're still going. Are we still going?" He wrung his hands nervously, hoping against hope for a negative answer.

"Yeah." Angel closed his eyes for a beat. Finally, something was going right. "As soon as Wes has that 'Eureka' moment."

"Eureka!" Wesley shouted, on cue. He almost dropped the weighty book in his hand as he waved it at them triumphantly. "I know how to get us through!"

"Oh," Angel burst out, his relief palpable. "Thank God."

Lorne focused on the non-vital part of the sentence. He didn't want to hear about the other bit. "You actually say 'Eureka'?"

Wesley started a reply, but then decided to disregard the comment.

Angel shifted on the balls of his feet, fighting the urge to start pacing again. "Now, if Buffy and Spike would just get here, everything'd be set."

"I fail to see why you wanted them here at all," Wesley began stacking a pile of books in readiness to be put away. "This sort of problem doesn't exactly require the presence of a Vampire Slayer. Or her, uh..." He faltered, trying to come up with a suitable description. Spouse? Accomplice? "Partner."

"Hey, I don't get it either," Angel claimed, motioning helplessly. "I just felt... No, it's more than that. I know they're supposed to be here."

"Gotta love the Powers," Lorne remarked. "They give those vague feelings the big push."

Despite his utter reluctance in this whole adventure, he was delighted at the chance to finally meet the renowned Slayer and her equally fascinating vampiric counterpart.

Angel ignored him, tipping his head and narrowing his eyes at the courtyard doors. He growled low in the back of his throat, his teeth grinding together. "About damn time," he groused.

"That's them?" Lorne brushed some invisible lint from the shoulder of his suit. "Do I look okay? It's not everyday you meet the ordained ones."

"Ordained ones?" Wesley was almost struck dumb by the revelation, but not quite. "They're ordained? By the Powers That Be?" He looked at Angel reproachfully. "You never mentioned that."

Angel shrugged. "I didn't want to talk about it."

"There's conversation, and then there's vital information," the former Watcher admonished, tapping the back of one hand against the open palm of the other. "This could be connected to your own destiny..."

"It is." The vampire thrust his own hands into the pockets of his tailored pants. He didn't offer any further explanation, and was saved from what would have been an interrogation by the door bursting open.

"What's all this bloody crap about portals then?"

Spike posed in the doorway, a mocking smirk on his handsome face. His arms were balanced against the frame, his long leather duster billowing artistically around his lean body. He wore combat boots and black denim, looking for all the world like the Big Bad he had once been.

Lorne stared, stunned firstly by seeing a vampire in direct sunlight, secondly by the vamp's severely peroxided hair, and lastly, by it's crude English accent.

"Slap me," he exclaimed. "He's a Brit."

The blonde vampire snorted inelegantly. "Slap me," he mimicked. "I'm a fruit."

Wesley unwittingly duplicated Lorne's gaping expression when Spike lurched to one side with a hand pressed to his forehead, cursing.

"Ow! Son-of-a-"

Angel actually grinned, startling his companions. "Buffy still meting out chip-whippings I see." In his opinion, it was the best thing to come out of their whole relationship.

Spike scowled at his Sire, then peered back over his shoulder, wincing a little at the movement. "You comin' in or what?" he asked. "You gotta check out the poof's funky friend."

"Funky?" Buffy strolled in toting a nondescript bag that could easily have contained either a change of clothing, or a demon-unfriendly arsenal.

She was dressed almost identically to her partner. Black pants, leather coat and duplicate red T-shirt. Her hair was a much lighter shade than normal, streaked almost as white a blonde as Spike's. It was shorter, too, and pulled up in a messy twist. She studied Lorne with curious green eyes.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Way funky. Hey, Wes. Still being all Watchery?" She gave Wesley a cursory once-over and then dismissed him, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Lorne beheld the couple with something akin to reverence. Their auras were practically overflowing with love, and that connection between them? Wow! They were perfect, right down to their matching outfits.

"Aren't they the cutest?" he gushed. "I could just eat them up. If I ate carbon-based life forms, that is. I don't, by the way, so you can lay off with the death-ray eyes, Billy-boy."

"Ha!" Buffy chortled. "I love that! Billy-boy!"

"You start calling me that," Spike warned, "And I'll..." His voice trailed off, but he raised his brows suggestively and the Slayer's grin vanished.

"You wouldn't..." she began, then reconsidered. "Yeah, you would."

"Count on it, pet." Spike gave her a wink and then turned back to their astounded audience. "So, back to the original question then... No, hang on, more important, who's the prancing lightweight in the cherry-red wrapper?"

"Is he always so-?" Lorne flapped his hands at Spike, words escaping him.

"Irritating?" Angel supplied. "Pain-in-the-ass annoying?"

"Phenomenally gorgeous?" Spike grinned wickedly. "All the above, mate, all the time."

Buffy gave him a shove as she passed by and he staggered sideways. "Shut up, honey," she said, though it was uttered more out of habit than in actual reprimand.

Spike did the snorting thing again and lit a cigarette.

Buffy walked up to Angel and gave him a comforting hug. "How are you holding up?"

Angel let out a deep, unnecessary breath at the contact, his shoulders slumping. The wall he'd built up over the past few hours crumbled, his dark eyes misting over with telltale moisture. God, he was so scared.

"I can't lose her, Buffy," he murmured quietly, his voice choking up just the slightest bit. It was almost a whimper of pain. "I can't. Not again."

His emotional reaction exposed for the first time just how very upset he was, how deep his feelings went. There was much more to his attachment to Cordelia than any of them had suspected.

Buffy began to tear up in sympathy. "You won't."

"Here, no chance of that," Spike quickly declared around the end of his cigarette. He didn't want his Slayer crying. That'd start him off and weeping like a baby-man was not good for the image. "Buck up, Hairboy. This rescue party's just about to bloody start."

"Such colorful language," Lorne said aside to Wesley. "From a Childe of Angel's no less." He made an appreciative noise. "And those cheekbones!"

"Astonishing," Wesley agreed. "That last part not inclusive."

He was rather mistrustful of this so-called Childe, having read of his exploits during his time as a Watcher, but was intrigued nonetheless. Vampires were not supposed to act as this one did.

"How are you able to walk in the sun?" he blurted, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Spike blew out a cloud of smoke and frowned. "What?"

"You are a vampire, yes? Yet you came inside from direct sunlight and show no signs of skin damage. There are no burns or, or..."

The vampire pinned him with intense blue eyes and Wesley stuttered to a halt, finding himself somewhat startled by the sharpness he saw there, the intelligence. He had the feeling he was being sized-up and suddenly wished that he'd had the foresight to research this infamous demon more thoroughly.

"Uh-huh. And taciturn guy strikes again," Spike said finally, his lips twisting with a wry humor. He wandered further into the lobby to plop down onto the round ottoman-seat. He searched briefly for an ashtray, then stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette on the sole of his boot and tucked the butt into his pocket. He indicated Angel with a jerk of his head. "Has tall, dark and silent explained anythin' about what went on last month?"

"Nary a word," Wesley was taken aback by Spike's openness. "Would you be willing to-?"

"Wes, we've got more important things to worry about right now," Angel interrupted. He was frowning with much more severity than usual, his walls firmly back in place. He hated himself for breaking down like that.

"Of course." Wesley backed off, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be the one in charge.

Spike rolled his eyes at Buffy. "Got Giles Junior under his sodding thumb," he noted through the link.

"I think Wes has Daddy issues," she sent back.

Spike looked back and forth between his Sire and the former Watcher and then broke into a fit of laughter.

"Buffy..." Angel protested. He didn't need this.

She blinked at him, the very picture of innocence. "Yeah?"

"What did you say?"

"None of your business," she told him pertly, flashing a beatific smile that made Spike laugh even harder.

The Slayer moved to sit by him, dropping the mysterious bag at their identically booted feet. It settled with a distinctly metallic thud. She took the vampire's hand and lifted it to brush a kiss across his knuckles. Their eyes met and held, Spike's laughter dying as he dipped in to rest his forehead against hers. They immediately became lost in each other, ignoring the others entirely.

Wesley was fascinated. "They're telepathically linked!"

"Ah, hello? Ordained?" Lorne huffed. "Don't you know anything? I thought you were supposed to be the brains of this outfit."

Angel grimaced. Did he really have to explain this?

"Okay, they're linked," he admitted, completely fed up with the whole thing. "They're ordained by the PTB. And yeah, they're really annoying. Well, Spike is, " he amended. "Although Buffy does have her moments..."

Buffy and Spike turned to glare at him.

"Hey!" they protested in unison.

Wesley grinned, utterly captivated by the striking pair. It was going to be an interesting trip indeed.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia didn't want to be doing the panicky chick thing, but words just kept on blabbering unchecked from her mouth. She wished she could shut the hell up. She shouldn't be apologizing to these guys - they were the freaks who thought she was cursed. And, man, she didn't like the look of this place - it was all dungeony.

She bit off the twentieth "sorry" that was about to erupt. "Hey, you know what? I'm not sorry. I would rather have the visions and be helping people than be out there..." She gestured vaguely toward a window-like hole in the wall, not caring that it didn't even lead outdoors. "All sackcloth slave-girl with the stupid collar and shoveling demon-horse poop. And let me tell you..."

The head robed-guy turned around and her tirade tangled in her throat. It was that Silas guy. He was the worst. He gave her the major wiggins.

"Okay, you know I didn't mean that, right?" she backtracked. "'Cause, I mean, all that curse-talk goes right to your head ... and, and I really didn't mind the shoveling so much..."

"Silence," Silas commanded. He turned to address the other robey priest-types nearby. "We must discover beyond all doubt if the girl is cursed. She will be tested for the sight." He indicated a tabletop laden with rusty-looking utensils.

He was being all commandery now. Not a good sign. And what kind of tests needed those pointy things?

Silas grabbed one of the crude instruments and held it up. It burned crimson at the tip. He leaned in close and she could feel the heat of it.

Cordelia swallowed hard, her blabbery-chick voice re-engaging. "Oh no. I'm sorry! I-I won't do it again! No more visions, I promise. Please, please don't, please..."

~*[+]*~

They had waited for the sun to go down before heading out to the location of Lorne's hotspot, the five of them crammed into Angel's dinosaur of a convertible.

Angel flexed his hands against the steering wheel to physically restrain him from strangling his Childe. He knew that Buffy was doing her best to keep him in line, but still...

"Is it just me, or has Spike's aggravation factor risen a notch since his demon returned?" he asked.

"It's not you," Buffy said. She shifted forward and rested her arms on the back of his seat. "Everyone at home threatens to stake him at least once a day."

"I'll bet. What does he have to say about that?"

"I say 'bring it on'," Spike reported. He sniffed in disgust. "Wankers don't even realize I can't be staked anymore."

Wesley pivoted in the passenger seat to stare at him questioningly.

"Got a pulse, mate," Spike revealed conspiratorially. "Buffy's pulse. Big Bad's a warm-blooded bloke these days."

Wesley's eyes flicked toward Buffy for confirmation. She just gave him a smile and a nonchalant shrug. "A vampire with a heartbeat," he breathed. "Truly amazing."

"Oh yeah, it's the best thing since water torture," Angel muttered.

Buffy slapped his shoulder. "Can it," she scolded lightly, obviously trying to keep his spirits up. "And that means you too." She didn't bother to turn around but it was clear that her words were directed at her partner.

Spike tried to look innocent. He wasn't very successful.

Lorne was thoroughly entertained by this lively couple. They were even drawing Angel out of his self-imposed shell, something that only Cordelia had previously achieved. He wondered if they'd be willing to sing for him.

"I wonder if you two would..."

"No!" Angel and Wesley cut him off simultaneously.

This time Buffy did glance back at Spike, one brow arched inquiringly. He arched both of his in return and shook his head, as lost as she was.

"Are you guys linked too?" she asked in all seriousness.

"God, no." Angel recoiled at the suggestion.

"The Host is an anagogic demon," Wesley clarified. "He has the ability to read a person's destiny. The catch, though, is that you must sing for him."

"Bloody hell."

Buffy's choice of expletive caused all eyes but Spike's to turn in her direction. He kept his gaze fixed on the green-skinned being sitting nearby, blatantly distrustful.

Lorne smiled at him encouragingly. "You'll have to pop into the club when this is over," he offered. "Try out a tune or two."

Spike just continued to stare at him like he'd sprouted another head.

"Had some bad experiences with horned, green psychic demons," he said after an uncomfortably silent minute.

"Haven't we all?" Lorne commiserated. He leant forward a little, taking in his surroundings. "Hold up right here, Angelcakes. This is it."

Angel pulled over to the sidewalk and peered ahead at the T-junction. The crossroad passed right by a well-known television studio. The same one where Cordy had shot that horrible commercial.

Angel had a sudden flash of her in that skimpy little strip-of-nothing swimsuit and his hands involuntarily tightened, so hard that his knuckles turned white and the steering wheel dented in under his fingers. He wondered briefly if they had time for him to go and kill that director-type guy, then shook himself out of it. Not now, you putz. "Isn't this-?"

Lorne shrugged, unconcerned. "Makes a certain kind of sense if you think about it, no? Actors, directors, creatures from other dimensions - same cloth of adorable little cut-outs."

"Don't see why we have to take the sodding Angel-mobile on this jaunt," Spike grumbled. He'd been sulking about it for a while now.

"'Cause the DeSoto still reeks of that disgusting exorcism potion?" Buffy suggested, shuffling back to take her place between Spike and Lorne. "I had to hold our breath most of the way here."

Wesley caught Angel's eye. "'Our breath'?" he mouthed.

Angel just shook his head, not wanting to explain. "Should I, you know, put the top up?"

"It shouldn't be necessary. As long as we're enclosed by metal on all four sides we should pass through the portal intact. I'm almost positive."

"Almost?" Buffy frowned. She didn't like the sound of that. The Wesley she remembered hadn't exactly been on the ball.

"Ninety-six percent," Wesley nodded. It was as confident as he was willing to get under the circumstances.

"Alright." Angel didn't care how sure Wesley was. He had to get Cordy back and at this point he was going with or without them. "Buckle up."

All but Spike fastened their safety belts. The white-headed vampire merely slouched lower in his seat and lit one of his cigarettes, acting as though inter-dimensional travel were an everyday occurrence, like riding a bus or getting a taxi.

"Quit with the Mr. Cool routine, you moron," Buffy chided, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and expertly flicking it onto the street. Something she had evidently done many times before. "Do you wanna come out the other side with that thing permanently attached to your face?"

Spike blinked at her, his protest dying before he could voice it. He hadn't thought of that. Buffy had saved him from becoming Smokey the Fag-lipped Boy. He leaned in to give her a grateful kiss but was distracted when Wesley began reading a series of consonant-heavy words from the book he carried. He stared at the former Watcher, appalled by the noises coming from his mouth. This was the portally mojo they were so bloody fussed about? He sounded like there was a hairball the size of a poodle caught in his throat.

A bright blue light washed over them, and then there was a loud cracking sound as the portal opened, looking uncannily like an immense wall of water. It shimmered and pulsated, lightning flashing at its core.

"It's like that bloody Stargate thing, innit?" Spike observed.

Angel frowned, finding that the analogy was completely lost on him.

But then, most of what came out of Spike's mouth was lost on him. The younger vamp had always managed to keep up with current trends, fitting into each generation as though he was born to it. Angel knew that kind of adaptation tended to get old after a century or so, and then you kinda settled into your own style. He guessed that was why Spike hadn't really changed his look since the late 70s - it would have been around his hundred-year mark.

He dismissed the inane and pointless direction his thoughts were taking and set his jaw. This was it. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Hang on, Cordy, I'm coming!

He floored the gas pedal and the convertible shot forward into the swirling portal. Light bent around the car as though tasting it, and then swallowed it whole with a great whooshing gulp.

The portal vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Wesley's book smoldering in the street where it had been.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia curled into a ball.

She hurt. She hurt so much she couldn't specifically pinpoint where the pain was coming from. It was the all-over, been-slammed-by-a-semi kinda pain that she associated with real bad stuff. Like that time she'd caught Xander and Willow together and ended up impaled...

Okay, not wanting to think about that now. She needed to think about finding a way out of here. She still had some brains left - if the parts they didn't get all vision-hacker with were still intact that was. She wondered suddenly if her head would explode if she opened her eyes.

She bit her lip and concentrated, prying the lids apart slowly. Nope, no explosions, but ouch much?

It was then that she heard that evil Silas dude.

"The tests are compete," he announced to the gathered priests. "It is the unanimous decision of the Covenant that the girl is afflicted. She carries the curse of the sight."

Cordelia whimpered at the news and they all turned at the tiny sound. Silas stepped forward to peer down at her.

"You screamed a name during the tests," he informed her in his creepy robotic voice. "Do you remember it?"

Cordelia didn't want to remember anything. She stared blankly ahead, refusing to look at him.

"You called for one named Angel," Silas continued. "Your cries echoed incessantly. Who is this person that you believed would rescue you?"

She'd called for Angel? What was up with that?

Silas sighed. "She is unresponsive, but it is of no matter." He straightened and waved a hand. Two other priests grabbed her arms, hauling her upright and moving to drag her from the room. "We will discover his identity soon enough."

EPISODE TWO
Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe

There was a deafening roar. There was screaming, too, even if each of them would subsequently deny responsibility for it. A brilliant mirror image of the portal flashed open, light buckling and warping, and the convertible careened through it into a sunlit field of green grass.

Angel jammed on the brakes, kicking up an enormous spray of dirt, and instantly scrambled to pull his jacket over his head.

"The sun! Quick, cover me up, I'm gonna catch on fire!" He twisted about, trying to find shelter. "I'm gonna..." He trailed off and looked up at the sky. What the hell -? "Why am I not on fire?"

Spike let out one of his patented snorts.

"'I'm gonna catch on fire'," he sing-songed mockingly, ignoring the backhanded slap Buffy gave his chest. "What a Nancy boy pillock! I never..." He glanced down at where the Slayer had hit him, realizing something. "Hang on, that didn't hurt."

Buffy scowled. "Of course it hurt. It always hurts."

Spike shook his head. "Hit me again," he urged, hoping he was wrong. "Give it me good."

Buffy shied away from that. "I don't think I can." She hadn't given him a good solid Slayer punch for a long time now. She loved him too much to really injure him.

"I'll do it," Angel volunteered offhand, not taking his eyes from the pristine blue of the sky. He seemed mesmerized.

"Buffy will do it," Spike stressed, locking eyes with her. Do it, Slayer.

She nibbled uncertainly at her lip, her hands clenching into fists. Then she hauled off and whacked him with a hard right hook.

Spike barely flinched. "Ow?" he offered unconvincingly.

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "Oh God, I'm not Slayery here! I haven't got any power." She looked at her hand. Her knuckles had started to redden. "And, can I just say, aargh?"

Spike lifted her hand to kiss the injury, the tender gesture echoing her own ministrations at the Hyperion earlier. "I'm sorry, baby."

Wesley shifted in his seat. "Perhaps the sun here has..."

"Back up, Copernicus," Lorne drawled. "That's suns. Plural."

He directed their attention into the sky, to a point slightly behind the car. They all followed his direction and gaped at the twin spheres.

"Suns," Wesley iterated, a contemplative expression on his face. "Yes, well, perhaps they don't have the same effect on Slayers." He leant over and gingerly prodded Angel's cheek. "Or vampires."

"Hey, watch it!" Angel protested, slapping him away and childishly poking him back.

"I'm no good to you now," Buffy said in a small voice. "I can't help. You should have left me at home."

Spike pulled her into his arms. That she went without protest was an indication of how upset she was. "I hate this sodding place already," he muttered, resting his chin against her hair. She sniffled in agreement against his shirt.

Angel turned toward the Host. "So we made it then?" he asked. "This is your world?"

"Ah, yes," Lorne sighed, gazing at his surroundings. He did not sound happy. "Home sweet hell."

"And I'm not on fire." Angel was just now realizing the full implications of that fact. He was in the sun! Maybe he could get a tan. Or maybe he would freckle. Freckles weren't so good, but hey, there was always a down side to these things.

"We're all together too." Wesley was extremely pleased with himself. "We didn't even merge into a freakish five-person Siamese twin."

Spike glowered at him over Buffy's head. "That wasn't mentioned in the bloody travel brochure," he grouched.

Angel stood up, casting his arms outward in a crucifix pose. He grinned delightedly. "Can everybody just notice how much fire I'm not on?"

Lorne climbed out to stand in the field. "Yes, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, all right. Now, may I suggest we find some way to hide the car? It'll be a little conspicuous, seeing as how we don't have convertibles in this world. Or, you know, cars."

They all clambered out, taking a good look around.

"I wonder if this is where Cordy came through," Angel slouched against the side of the car, the enormity of what was happening hitting him anew. Where were they even supposed to start?

"Could be," Wesley acknowledged. He gestured to a nearby clump of trees, taking charge of the situation. "We should gather some branches, brush, anything that'll cover the car."

Angel snapped to attention then. "Hey look," he said. "There's some over in that patch of sun. I'll get 'em." He dashed away like a big kid.

"Daft git," Spike muttered, ambling after him at a more sedate pace. Despite the derogatory remark, his tone was indulgent. He knew damn well how good it felt to be in the sun after years of living in the dark. He couldn't deny his Sire that pleasure.

Buffy was at a loss as to what she was supposed to do. At her current normal-girl strength she wasn't up to lugging big-ass branches and stuff. "I just wanna find Cordelia," she said, hoisting her shapeless bag from the rear seat with some effort. Even that was too heavy now. "And quick."

"Me too!" Lorne insisted vehemently. He hesitated when she reacted to his tone with suspicion. "I mean, for her sake, of course. If I know Pylea, she could probably use a friend right about now."

"Friends not big in this dimension?" Buffy decided she should find out a little more about where they were.

"It more of an each-to-his-own sort of place," Lorne said. "And to his own kind be true. Slavery? Kinda the watchword of the day."

They stood to one side as Wesley, Angel and Spike set about covering the convertible, putting the top up before tossing branches over its conspicuous bulk.

"Uh-huh," Buffy dumped the bag and folded her arms, rubbing them nervously. What the hell were they doing here? What had Angel gotten them into?

"Slavery?" Spike echoed, coming up behind his Slayer and wrapping his arms around her waist. He'd sensed her distress and had instinctively moved to comfort her. "You got torture to go with that? 'Cause Mr. Handy-With-Sharp-Pointy-Things over there would fit right in."

Buffy gasped. Spike and casual insults went hand in hand, and it was a given that he would offend everybody present at some point, but still... "Liam James Grey!" she admonished. "Take that back!"

He gave her an incredulous look, not seeing the wrong and upset that she'd blurted that particular name.

Everybody else stopped dead and stared at Spike.

He stared back then, defensive. "What? Needed a bleedin' human name, didn't I? For legal stuff. All good 'n proper, nothin' wrong with it."

"Liam?" Angel managed to repeat. His throat felt closed, as though he was being choked by his own emotions.

"Like William," Buffy cheerfully confirmed. "Only not. It seemed to fit. Like the 'Grey' for that whole 'shades of' thing."

"My name was Liam," Angel confessed tightly. "My real name."

Spike did a classic double take. It couldn't have been executed more perfectly. "Bugger me..."

They all took a moment to digest the coincidence.

"Like father, like son," Wesley commented. His smile was almost devious in nature.

"Bollocks to that, mate," Spike stated firmly. "It'll have to be changed now."

"Why?" Buffy tipped her head. This should be interesting.

"Why? Because it's ... it's him!" Spike sputtered, pointing at his Sire. "Because it's me. I'll not have my twisted heritage shoved in my sodding face for the rest of my..." He tailed off when he saw Angel's expression.

He looked hurt, pained even. Like he'd just been kicked when he was down. He turned away and resumed throwing branches over the convertible. Unsurprisingly, he did the guilt-trip thing really well.

"Apologize," Buffy prodded in Spike's head.

Spike set his jaw, a muscle ticking agitatedly in his cheek. Well, if this didn't beat all.

"Sorry," he ground out, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I'll keep Brood-boy's poofy name if it makes him feel better."

Angel kept his eyes averted, but his backbone straightened just the slightest bit. Pride?

Spike glanced down at Buffy. "Happy now?" he transmitted.

"Not even close." She laid her hands over his, partially entwining their fingers. He could more than likely snap hers in two now, if he felt so inclined. "I wanna go home."

"This was your idea, pet," he reminded her. "I was all for stayin' indoors for a bit of..."

"Are we ready?" Angel cut in on their linked conversation almost as though he had known what they were talking about. He heaved a final tree branch onto the car. "'Cause this should do it."

"I think we're only a couple of miles from town," Lorne posited, arms akimbo as he squinted off into the distance. "We'll have to hoof it."

"No problem here," Angel returned. "Walkin' in the sun? Do it all the time." He removed his leather coat and tossed it casually over his shoulder. Part-time male model, my ass, half-witted jerk director.

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. We're all heartily aware that you're not on fire." He was beginning to tire of the subject, even if Angel seemed prepared to beat it into the ground.

"Right. We're off then." Spike took Buffy's hand in his left, grabbed their omnipresent bag of goodies in his right, and headed after the Host, who was already waiting for them at the tree line.

Wesley moved to follow. "Don't forget the book," he called over his shoulder.

Angel stopped dead in his tracks. Book?

Wesley sensed that something was up. He pivoted slowly, not really wanting to know. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't think that's funny," Angel growled.

"I wasn't trying to be..." Wesley took in the vampire's irritated countenance and frowned. "What?"

"Wes, I don't have the book."

Lorne whirled sharply. "What?!"

Angel continued to glower at Wesley accusingly. "You had the book."

The former Watcher held out both hands, palms up. Hey, I'm innocent here. "I don't have the book."

Spike snarled in frustration. "Who had the sodding book?"

There was a gabble of simultaneous outbursts.

"Angel!"

"Wesley!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"I can't believe you tossers actually investigate stuff," Spike put in. "Bloody clueless, each of you."

Lorne took a few steps back toward them, flapping his hands in a soothing motion. "Whoa, whoa, slow down." He took on a patronizing tone, like he was talking to two particularly troublesome children. "Did we look in the car?"

Angel barely glanced at him, preoccupied with trying to incinerate Wesley with his eyes. "There's nothing in there," he gritted. "I checked before we started hiding it, to make sure we didn't leave anything."

"Oh, like, say ... the book?" Lorne's eyes bugged comically with his incredulity.

"Hold on," Wesley had his Watcher face on as he sorted through the facts of the situation in his head. "The book was in the car, we know that much... Perhaps, perhaps its only function was to open portals to Pylea, in which case it would be useless in Pylea, and therefore..." His eyes brightened as it came together "...it most likely exists only in our own dimension."

Lorne threw up his hands, defeated. "You know, ordinarily I take bad news really well. I'd just drown my sorrows in an ice-cold gin and tonic with a little squeeze of lime. Except they don't have them here!"

Spike stared. "Do they have beer?" He jumped when Buffy kicked him in the shin. "What? I like beer. What sort of crap dimension doesn't have beer?"

"You guys," Angel rubbed at his forehead. He couldn't deal with this now. "We'll work out a way to get it back. We will." They had to focus on their purpose. "Right now, we gotta find Cordy. She needs us."

And he needed her.

~*[+]*~

Lorne led the group through town via a series of back alleys. Angel and Wesley were directly behind him, intent on their mission. Buffy and Spike lagged several feet behind them, beginning to feel a bit put out by the whole thing.

"Looks like one of those cheap-ass villages on that warrior princess show, don't it?" Spike remarked as they passed a particularly dilapidated hut.

"You're not wrong."

Buffy took in their immediate surroundings and wrinkled her nose. Why couldn't they have ended up somewhere more high tech? She glanced down as her boot hit something squishy. Or more sanitary?

"Right over there is Blix's house," the Host prattled. "A boyhood chum of mine. We were best buds, always playing games, watching out for each other, as close as a Torto demon and its parasite..." He saw that his companions were gaping at him and cut his commentary. "I'll make the approach. You guys stay here. We gotta keep a low profile."

Angel shifted, wanting to be where the action was. "Why?"

"Because otherwise they might beat us to death with sticks." Lorne was deadly serious and as nervous as all get out. "I'll be back." He minced across the street and disappeared into the house.

Buffy began retreating almost immediately, dragging Spike along with her. He looked down at his feet when he realized he was moving backwards, then quirked his eyebrow at her.

"Green bloke's in the other direction, love." Spike's heartbeat picked up as he got a secondhand burst of adrenaline. The Slayer was getting worked up about something. The need to run was real strong. He frowned. "You gettin' somethin' I'm not?"

"We have to go," she insisted, her eyes imploring him to hurry.

Spike shrugged. Okay.

They had almost reached the end of the alley when Lorne came barreling out of Blix's house. He was closely followed by a slightly shorter demon of the same species that was wielding a nasty-looking axe.

"Traitor!" he shouted. "Deserter! Betrayer!"

Ha! Some friend! Spike took a quick look around. The shouts were drawing a crowd of villagers. Having been the cause of quite a few angry mobs in his time, he could recognize the pattern forming.

He tightened his hold of Buffy's hand and they simultaneously picked up their pace, automatically retracing their steps back in the direction from which they had come. Back out of town and into the woods.

Lorne reached Angel and Wesley. "We should run now," he advised, hurtling past them.

As they turned to follow, Angel noticed that Buffy and Spike were no longer behind them. He didn't have time to process that fact, though, as the villagers hit full-on mob-mode and attacked.

He sprinted after Wes and The Host, who led them out of the maze of alleys and into the Village Square. Lorne skidded to a halt and looked around, his scarlet eyes wide and panicked.

"What now?" Angel demanded. Lorne was distracted and didn't answer. "Hey! Where do we go now?"

"To the nearest dungeon," Lorne sounded defeated. "We're surrounded."

They were, Angel realized. Villagers were closing in from all sides, armed with axes and pitchforks and other bludgeony tools. He eyed a particularly large club-like instrument with spines. That would be painful. He wondered where he could get one.

"We've been through a lot together," Wesley dramatized. "We've fought a lot of battles, faces some pretty steep odds..."

"This isn't Henry the Fifth, Wes," Angel said dryly. The guy could be so stuffy. "How about I take the fifty on the right and you guys take the twenty on the left?"

Wesley blinked. "Alright."

Then all hell broke loose as Angel went after the villager with the spiny club.

~*[+]*~

Buffy was getting short of breath.

By virtue of linkdom, Spike's breathing was also on the shallow side. "Hold up, love," he wheezed, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. "I think we're pretty well clear."

They were part way up grassy hillside, overlooking the township.

Buffy stared down at it and sighed. "I feel like a big fat coward."

"No shame in runnin' from odds like that," Spike told her. He sprawled out on his back, spread-eagled. "Not doin' anymore of it for a piece, though. I'm knackered."

"I hate having no powers," Buffy complained. She plopped down next to him dejectedly. "And its not even my birthday."

"No powers?" Spike frowned, struggling into a sitting position. "What d'you call that nifty early warnin' system you've got goin'?"

Her mouth twitched in a slight smile. "Early warning system?"

"Trouble radar," he said. "We had a good head start on that idiot mob 'cause you sensed something was up."

"I didn't..."

"Adrenaline rush, pet," Spike massaged the back of her neck with one hand, easing some of her tension. "I could feel it too, but not until after you'd already started moving."

Buffy contemplated that. "Spider sense," she said after a moment. Then she grinned. "Spider sense on steroids."

Spike snorted and pointed up. "Double bloody solar power more like." He fished his cigarettes out and lit one. He eyed the pack. "Gettin' short," he said. "We bring any spare?"

Buffy shrugged. "Check the bag."

He scrounged for a moment, triumphantly holding up the new pack before tucking it into his pocket.

"You think they're okay?" Buffy's attention remained on the village.

"They're big lads," Spike said, nonchalantly blowing a stream of smoke. "Sure they can handle themselves."

Buffy squinted, certain she could see a scuffle in the middle of town. "You see that?"

Spike grunted in affirmation. He zeroed in on the skirmish, his heightened vampire senses still in full working order.

"Best use my eyes, pet," he prompted.

Buffy bit her lip and concentrated. They had been working on this - using each other's strengths to boost their own. She had a disorientating flash, like somebody was moving a camera too fast to focus, and then she could make out the individual figures, still on the small side but discernible.

It wasn't a good sight, though.

"Bunch of incompetent ninnies!" Spike yelled. He stood up and threw his cigarette at the distant fight like it was a boxing match playing on television. "You're gonna get nicked!"

He was right. They watched from afar as their companions were rounded up and taken away.

~*[+]*~

"Any luck?"

Angel glanced back over his shoulder at Wesley. They had been shackled in wrist and leg restraints after their capture and tossed into a cell together. He'd been examining the door for a possible way out.

"It's sealed up tight. Gotta be six, seven inches thick at least. You?"

"No. These impenetrable stone walls are proving to be rather..."

"Impenetrable?"

"Hmm." Wesley shifted, his chains rattling overloud in the small room. He cast his eyes over the whole cell. "You know, I was always horrified by those stories about the Tower of London."

"Wasn't that bad," Angel leant back against the stone wall, remembering. The look on his face was almost wistful. He'd always loved London.

Wesley frowned. "Yes, well, compared to this place, I'm sure the Tower takes on a certain nostalgic glow." He leant against the adjacent wall, mirroring Angel's pose. "I wonder if they're treating the Host any better."

"Oh yeah, I bet he's getting the red carpet treatment," Angel quipped in a rare moment of levity. Then his face darkened. "What do you think happened to Buffy and Spike?"

Wesley shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He took on a disapproving tone. "They are rather proving to be more trouble than they're worth."

"Shut up," Angel chastised, tipping his head a little to one side.

"I'm not saying that they're not worth..."

"No. Shut up." Angel pressed his ear to the door, listening intently. "I can hear two men in the hall."

Wesley shuffled up behind him. "What are they saying?"

"They're talking about a girl with visions..." Cordelia. Thank God. "A Covenant ... a curse ... something about testing the girl for the sight..." He swallowed hard, and lifted his eyes to Wesley's. There was a desperate, heartfelt pain in their depths. "They," his voiced cracked. "They say she screamed."

"Those bastards!" Wesley was appalled. He cared for the girl, certainly, and was sorry for her ordeal, but he could only guess at how this was effecting Angel. Still waters ran deep, as the saying went, and they didn't come any deeper than this.

"They're gonna take us to be sentenced," Angel continued tightly, his jaw clenched. "Now."

He moved away from the door just as it opened to reveal an armored guard. "Out," the guard ordered.

"Be ready," Angel growled as they were led away.

Wesley moved forward with some trepidation. In all his time at Angel Investigations he had never seen the vampire so determined. It was frightening in its intensity. This wasn't going to be pretty.

~*[+]*~

Angel had counted each one separately on their journey up from the dungeons, using the technique to keep him in check. He felt the long suppressed urge to indulge in a bit of mass slaughter.

They had hurt Cordy. His Cordy. He wanted to rip their throats out. After he'd beaten her location from them that was.

They reached an antechamber of sorts, leading up to a pair of enormous ornate doors. The Host stood at the entryway. His nifty red suit was a little wrinkled, but other than that he looked none the worse for wear. He, too, was shackled.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he gushed. "And you're so much less dead than I expected."

Angel didn't bother to acknowledge the greeting. "I think we might have a lead on Cordy," he said without preamble, casting a furtive glance at their guards.

Lorne brightened. "You found her?" he asked hopefully.

I wish. "No. But I overheard two guys talking about a girl with visions. Said she was cursed."

"Yikes." Lorne pulled a horrified face. "I don't like the sound of that."

"They mentioned something about a Covenant, that they performed some kind of test on her."

"Angel, I hate to state the obvious," Wesley broke in, "But we've got to get out of here."

The overweight Constable who had arrested them came into the antechamber. He murmured inaudibly to the guards flanking the doors.

Angel pinned the Host with his eyes. "Will they take us in separately or together?"

"What?" Lorne was flummoxed. He'd never had Angel look at him like that before. He was being so hostile - even his aura was rippling.

"Separately or together?" Angel repeated urgently. "We don't have much time."

"I don't know," Lorne prevaricated, "I've never been sentenced to death before ... together?"

Angel rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up. He needed to be prepared here. "Right. Listen up." He had a plan...

The Constable finished with the guards and turned to address them.

"Prisoners! The day of your judgment has arrived. The venerable monarch of Pylea is prepared to pass sentence upon you."

Angel took a deep breath. This was it. "One..."

The doors began to swing open, creaking as only big wooden doors can.

"Two..." He exhaled the useless breath, focusing intently on the opening. Almost there... "Three!"

Angel launched himself at the nearest guard, catching him completely unawares and knocking him unconscious with a brutal double-fisted punch. The guy went down hard, taking another sentry with him. Wesley deftly stole the fallen guard's keys, while Lorne managed to kick the Constable in the privates, delighting in his subsequent collapse.

Angel swung his shackled wrists up into the next guard's face, then grabbed his discarded sword. He whirled around to face the next wave, but stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. He shuffled forward a few steps, the sword hanging forgotten in his hand.

He sank to his knees, staring. "Cordy?"

EPISODE THREE
Of Portals and Prophecies

"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.

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'.

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.

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...