EPISODE TEN
Magic Words

Silas had dragged Cordelia through a twisting network of tunnels and secret passages, those cobwebby ones that all creepy castles apparently came outfitted with, and had somehow arrived back in the throne room. He shoved her roughly to the ground and paced in front of the royal seat.

"Jeez, what's with all the princess shoving? " Cordy complained, standing up and awkwardly brushing off her skirts with her still-bound hands. "You evil guys are the worst. And you should tell people about those tunnels, okay? 'Cause the whole sewer escape deal could have turned out so much better."

"Shut your mouth!"

The priest was panicking. He had severely underestimated the Gemel's strength. They should not have gotten this far. They shouldn't be here at all. Mythical beings had no business manifesting in real life. Especially when it interfered with his plan for total power.

Cordy gave him a haughty 'how-dare-you?' look. "Angel is so gonna to kick your robed butt," she informed him. "And I'm so gonna help."

"The Belial will be powerless against me." He pulled his sleeve back to reveal an over-sized dial strapped watch-like to his forearm. "And the Gemel will never have their Golden Age." He twisted the raised knob clockwise, and then flipped a toggle switch on its side. A little red light flickered to life, emitting a subtle pulsating glow.

"Oh, so it's the old 'trick up the sleeve' trick is it?" Cordelia stared at the gadget, trying to figure out what it was for exactly. The glowing thing was eerily reminiscent of the crimson-tipped instruments they'd tested her with before making her the princess. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

Silas gave her what apparently passed for a smile in his limited emotional range. The effect was sickening. "Bad feelings aside, Majesty, you should be pleased that your slave collar is no longer around your neck."

"Oh." Her hand went to her throat of its own accord, a quick succession of memories flashing through her head. The silver collar that zapped her whenever she tried to escape, similar to the other slaves in the village. That girl who'd tried to help her had one too, even if it was defective. She swallowed in sudden understanding. "That's a remote control destructo thingy isn't it? For exploding the heads off cows."

Silas' smile widened. A gruesome twisting of his thin lips that vaguely reminded her of skin splitting open on a rotten piece of fruit. She shuddered, grossed out by her own comparison.

"It works in tandem with a hidden base unit," he informed her, quite happy to gloat. "It can send a signal strong enough to eradicate every slave within this province." He took a step toward her, intrigued in spite of himself. "You're smart for a cow. In other circumstances, I would have you properly trained."

"To do what?" she asked sarcastically. "Sit at your feet and worship your robey goodness? Spare me."

A muscle ticked at the corner of one eye and he let go a vicious backhand across her face. Cordelia didn't give him the satisfaction of crying out.

~*[+]*~

Angel slammed on the brakes mid-tunnel, coming to an abrupt halt and raising tentative fingers to his cheek.

Spike and Buffy almost ran into him.

"Your vision chippie's that way, you great lumbering git," Spike said, pointing ahead into the darkness. "All set to be rescued. What're you standin' about here for?"

"It's weird, but I just..." The older vampire set bewildered eyes on his Childe. "He's hurting her. I can feel it."

Buffy squinted up into his face, trying to make out his dimly lit features. "Like a link?"

"No. Not like yours at least. I can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. I can't explain it. It's..." He frowned, mouth twisting in an indecisive grimace. "It's just different."

Spike made a dramatic show of exhaling and stared at his Sire impatiently. "Reckon you can track her that way?"

"I don't have to track her," Angel replied.

He set off again and the Gemel watched him disappear into the shadows.

"I don't want them to have a link," Buffy hissed at her partner. "That's our thing."

"Yeah." Spike looked disgusted. "Sort of cheapens all that ordained business, dunnit?"

Buffy sulked for a second, then nudged him with her elbow and grinned wickedly. "It's okay," she said. "We're still one up. You can't get Nipper-fied when one of you is happy-proof."

Spike ducked his head, amused by her creative wording, then frowned and peered into a side tunnel. "What's that noise?"

Buffy frowned right along with him, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she tapped into his superior auditory capabilities. "That whiny-whistley EEEEEP noise?"

"Hmm." The blonde vamp took a few steps into the partially hidden opening. "'S bloody annoying. Bloke can't hear himself think."

Buffy gaped in disbelief. "Hello? Badly distracted boy? Shouldn't we be following Angel?"

"Give us half a mo'. I just wanna shut this thing up before it shatters our eardrums."

He wandered off into the underground passage and vanished from sight. Buffy reluctantly followed, mumbling curses at him under her breath.

An odd reddish luminescence led them to a cavern with a laughably huge machine installed along one wall. It was crudely constructed, like one of those room-sized computer prototypes, and had an impressive array of egg-shaped bulbs decorating its cumbersome frame. They were gradually lighting up, one by one, generating the colorful radiance and offensive subsonic whistle.

"Why do I have the sudden urge to wave my arms and shout 'Danger, Will Robinson, danger'?" Buffy asked. She shook her head. "Talk about your lack of high-techiness."

Spike narrowed his eyes at the outlandish contraption as though he was trying to see its insides. "Haven't seen anythin' this kitsch since Harris forced me to watch Star Trek that one time."

"Oh sure, like Xander could force you to do anything."

"Well, okay. You've got me there. I'm a closet Trekkie."

They stared at the machine for a moment, silently watching the display, until the vampire spotted something odd. He ambled across to a dust-covered control panel.

"Seems some wanker's just activated this behemoth," he said, running his fingers along the surface. He tapped a domed button. "There's a signal comin' in. Got to be what's causin' the advance of the light parade over there. Can't be a good thing."

He thumped an experimental fist against the smooth metal. When it dented impressively under the impact, he shot a Big Bad grin at Buffy, teeth flashing whitely in the alcove's comparative gloom. "What d'ya say, sunshine? Wanna make all the pretty lights go smash?"

~*[+]*~

Ten fun-filled minutes later they finally reached the antechamber of the throne room.

Angel was still outside the immense wooden doors. He stood rigidly, muscles straining against some invisible barrier. It looked like he was poised between holding himself back and pounding the doors into splinters.

Spike took stock of the situation and exchanged a pointed look with the Slayer.

His Sire hadn't been all that discerning about his victims as he had made his way through the castle. Several guards lay scattered around him, all in various states of impairment, and one of the rebel soldiers was attempting to crawl away down the far corridor. It was the small redhead that Wesley had been calling Doubting Thomas. One of his arms hung limply by his side, either broken or dislocated. Angel had obviously realized his mistake too late to stop.

"Did you do that?" Buffy demanded.

Angel didn't even acknowledge the question. He kept his eyes on the door, almost as though he was trying to bore through using the strength of his gaze alone.

Spike was quite amused about the state of affairs. "Been on a rampage have you, Dad?"

The older vampire sent him a withering glance over his shoulder. "Shut up, Spike."

"Ooh, that's nasty. Haven't heard that one before."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy snapped. He quirked an eyebrow at her but complied without any further protest. "What's the hold up?" she inquired, approaching Angel tentatively. "She's right behind those doors. All you have to do is break them down and kill the bad guy."

Angel thrust his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "That's not going to happen."

"Oh, let yourself go, for God's sake!" Spike exclaimed. "Unload some Belial on his Unholy Trembliness."

"I can't." Angel shook his head. "You don't get it, Spike. The thing that comes out here is ten times worse than back home. If I change again, I don't think..." He paused, struggling with himself. "I won't come back from it."

The younger vampire snorted. "Yeah, you will." He stuck out his chin and regarded his Sire with casual acuity. "Way I see it, you're the same as me - a man with a demon inside. It's not the other way around. You've got a strong soul, you're all goody-good and righteous, and what's more, you're in love. Concentrate on that and you'll pop right back, no worries."

Angel stared at his Childe with some astonishment, his jaw dropping slightly. "I really don't know you at all, do I?" he asked after a moment.

Spike smirked. "Your loss," he said. "Serves you right for prancing off on your own for ninety odd years." He pointed at the throne room doors. "Now get in there and do your 'Prince Charming to the rescue' bit so we can go home already."

"And once more, with tact," Buffy interjected.

Her partner gave her a lewd grin, tongue held between his front teeth. "Ah, but you don't love me for my tact, do you?"

Angel gave him a disgusted look. "Okay, I'm going in," he said, moving up to one of the doors and resting his hands flat against its surface. "If only to get away from Perverted Boy."

""Ere, who're you callin' perverted?" Spike demanded, offended by the suggestion. "You're the sodding king of torture..." He began to trail after his Sire but the cold-blooded mask of Angel's face stopped him in his tracks.

"No, you guys wait here," he told them, his eyes coal black and gleaming with deadly intent. "I'll right back, I promise."

Both Buffy and Spike shuddered at the insidiously smooth tone of his voice. Shades of Angelus there, and bad, bad memories. They instinctively moved closer together, vampire pulling Slayer into a protective embrace. They held a collective breath as with one seemingly effortless shove, Angel splintered the doors.

"Don't see why he didn't do that in the first place," Spike muttered. "I said it before, all hat no cattle."

Buffy sighed into his shirtfront. "Yeah, well I think his cattle just stampeded."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia managed to find some sort of shelter behind the throne and huddled there with her back pressed into the plush upholstery, working fitfully to untie her hands. The ropes had come loose and it was just a matter of manipulating them enough to slip out.

Silas had thrown a tantrum when the little red light on his Mickey Mouse watch had gone kaplooey. She guessed that meant that the heads of Pylea's cow population wouldn't be doing the same. At last, something positive.

Speaking of positive, there was a real strong certainty that Angel was nearby. She had that creepy, hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling that she got whenever he was in the room, but now there was a kind of comfort in it - a warmth. Which was totally inappropriate seeing as how he didn't generate any body heat of his own.

A loud cracking noise behind her, the throne room doors shattering inward, and suddenly, there he was. She didn't even have to look, she just knew.

"Took you long enough!" she called out, dumping what remained of her bonds onto the floor. Free at last! "What'd you do, take the scenic route?"

Her only answer was a frantic tug at her hair as Silas hauled her to her feet. She slapped at his hands. "Ow, ow ... Hey, get off!"

She attempted to turn around, but with her head held rigidly in the priest's grasp, she could only make out a dark blur from the corner of her eye. "Angel?" And then the room seemed to implode as an all too familiar vision onrush sent her reeling.

Cordy screamed as it hit - her cry of pain echoed by a deeper, animalistic roar as Angel lost his hard-won control.

Silas struggled to keep his grip as the cow princess crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, but he had no chance to run before the Belial was on him, claws tearing through his ceremonial robes to shred his flesh. The scream that was building in his throat died there, never to be released, as a flex of fiendish muscle liberated the priest's head from his body.

He carried it like a trophy to Cordelia's side and crouched down. He nudged her unconscious form with a surprisingly gentle finger and whimpered, distressed by her condition.

The Gemel hovered in the doorway, tense and wary, having witnessed the entire attack.

"Think he's gonna turn on us?" Buffy asked, using their link.

"Possible," Spike replied, edging further into the room. "He's workin' entirely on instinct right now. His mate is injured and we're poachin' on his territory."

"God, how caveman is that?"

"Not caveman, love. Demon. I'd likely be the same in his place. Be much better lookin' o' course, but still..." Spike crept around to one side, keeping an eye on the motionless couple. He only made it a few feet in when the Belial whirled, snarling.

"Whoa," Spike raised his hands, palms open. "Take it easy. Not after your woman. Got one of my own, you know." He diverted his gaze, not looking Angel directly in the eye. He needed to be the submissive one here. "Peaches? You still in there?"

Buffy came forward, her trepidation revealed only by the protective spread of her hands over her stomach. "Angel, come on. You've got to come back to us."

He howled, a positively inhuman sound that was pained but no less threatening for it, and threw Silas' severed head at her. An arc of viscous purplish liquid flew out and splattered down the front of her shirt.

"Oh, ewww..." Buffy backed away again, much to Spike's amusement.

"It's only demon sludge. You've done worse to yourself."

"Glad you think this is so funny."

"Don't much. Just nervous tension, I s'pose."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

Angel began prowling toward them, fangs bared.

Spike decided to try a different tack. "Liam, lad, where's that famed Irish backbone? I thought you were stronger than this."

"What are you doing?" Buffy hissed. Odd how she could do that inside his head.

"Speakin' to the soul," he sent back. "Shush up and let me work." He gestured at the splintered doors. "Better yet, go. Keep the Nip well outta the way."

She gnawed at her lower lip, her eyes riveted to the menacing beast that used to be Angel. It felt weird being scared of him. Even when he was Angelus, she'd never actually been scared. "I'm not leaving you here. Not when he's like this."

"Buff - " Spike dodged at the last minute as Angel swiped at him, claws whisking by in front of his chin. "Oi, watch the face!" He bobbed back, poised on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter.

Buffy figured that if he was being all vanity-conscious in the middle of a crisis, then there was no reason for her to be so concerned. She spotted a small movement in the corner of her eye and cued Spike in via the link. Cordelia was waking up.

He nodded. His own gaze was still trained on the mutated form of his Sire, but he'd received his partner's message loud and clear. Now, if he could just keep Angel occupied long enough...

Unfortunately, Buffy decided to go to Cordy's aid herself, drawing Angel's somewhat irrational focus. He grunted at Spike, dismissing him, and went after the Slayer.

She sensed the shift, as well as her partner's link-based warning, and spun to face him as he pounced, morphing into protective mode mid-turn. She grabbed him by the shirt, eyes flaring golden and her own fangs bared, and tossed him halfway across the room. He rebounded with amazing speed, only to be knocked back again as she unleashed a flurry of punches.

Spike barely glanced at them as the fight disintegrated into an equally matched scuffle, both of them snapping and snarling, and hurried to help Cordelia while he had the chance. "You right, love?"

She peered up at him, eyes narrowed against the residual pain from her vision, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings. "Huh?"

The blonde vampire grinned suddenly. "All cognitive powers up to proper speed I see," he wisecracked. "Loves you for your brain, does he?"

She scowled then. "Shut up, Spike."

His grin deepened, dimples creasing his lean cheeks. "Ought to have changed my name to that, eh? Rather than the other poncey bloody one."

She shook her head, bewildered. "What are you talking about, you Cockney freak? Where's -?" Cordelia's voice trailed off as she gaped at the demonic pair fighting nearby. "Oh my God."

"Pretty awe-inspirin' innit?" Spike cupped her elbow and hauled her upright, scrutinizing the contest with a critical eye. "You're dippin' your shoulder again, sunshine," he called. "Switch to the left."

Cordelia took a shuffling step forward, transfixed by the Belial. "He was so afraid of this happening," she murmured.

"Really?" Spike watched her face intently. Oh yeah, she was head over teakettle, this one. "Always was a bit of a nance..."

"Hey!" Cordelia defended, then paused. "Wait, what's a nance?"

"Short for Nancy boy. You know, someone who's a bit light in the loafers."

She was ignoring him again by now, staring at the ongoing battle across the room. "He's not gonna come back on his own this time. Is he?"

Spike sighed and was about to launch into a weighty exposition about love and the demon, but was distracted by Buffy's cry of pain and a stinging sensation across his midsection.

"Bloody hell," he wheezed, teeth clenched, already seeking the whereabouts of his partner.

The Belial had cornered the Slayer. She reverted back to human form and cowered away from him, her fragile hold on Spike's demon completely lost. There was a gaping slash along the front of her shirt, a dark crimson spill of blood staining its frayed edges.

"Buffy!"

Spike was across the room before Cordelia could even register the movement. He seized Angel by the shoulders and threw him backward, away from his partner. He didn't bother to watch where the beast landed and scooped her into his arms.

"Did he hurt you, baby?" he asked, cradling her against his chest and brushing her hair out of her eyes. The endearment brought him up short. "God, the baby?"

"He's okay," Buffy reassured him. "I'm okay, too. It's only a scratch really." She peered past the vampire and cringed. "Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?" Her meaning registered at the exact same moment as he uttered the question. "Oh." He pivoted slightly to peek at the looming figure of the Belial from the corner of his eye.

He lifted his chin in a defiant pose, but it dipped again when he saw that Cordelia was moving closer to their little stand off. He hugged Buffy tighter. This could get rather ... unpleasant.

"Hey Fang Boy, wanna take the princess back to your castle?" There was no hint of anxiety in Cordelia's voice, not even a quiver. And she was speaking as though they were the only two people in the room.

The Belial regarded her quizzically, then seemed to realize exactly who she was and that she was no longer incapacitated. He abandoned the dumbstruck Gemel and scampered over to kneel at her feet like some kind of bizarre pet.

Still showing no outward signs of fear, Cordy embraced him lightly, resting her arms on his shoulders, and began to stroke his hair with soothing fingers. He butted his head against her abdomen, the bony protrusions of his brow leaving tiny scratches on her bare skin. She didn't even flinch.

"I had a vision," she informed him. "It was good. Still unbelievably head-splittingly painful, but good." A rueful smile curved her lips. "Those are kind of on the rare side, huh?"

Angel let out a crackling semi-growl in reply, almost a purr, and his muscles lost some of their cramped-up tension. Cordy's touch was clearly calming him. Buffy and Spike exchanged relieved glances.

The blonde vampire got to his feet, still holding the Slayer in his arms. "Blah, blah, blah," he muttered under his breath. "Scrap the witless repartee and get to the bleedin' point."

Buffy let out a strangled giggle. It hurt when she laughed.

"The powers have given us a future, Angel," Cordelia continued softly, either not hearing or ignoring them completely. "A future together. I saw it." She drew one finger down his cheek and nudged it under his chin until he was looking up at her. "Come back," she whispered. "Please. You have to come back."

Angel's arms came up to loop around her waist but he still didn't revert back to human form. Cordelia nibbled worriedly at her lip. Why wasn't this working?

"Tell him, you dozy bint," Spike burst out, losing his patience altogether. "Say the magic words."

"Magic -?" Cordy frowned, replaying her speech over in her head. "God, how dumb am I?"

"I'm not even gonna try to answer that," Buffy sniped. This time Spike stifled a laugh.

Cordelia gave them a censuring look, channeling her inner bitch, but it only made them glare back. She sighed. She'd lost her touch since Sunnydale. Not that the Queen C routine had ever been that effective on either of them.

She slowly sank to her knees so that she and Angel were eye to eye, then brought both hands up to cradle his face and pressed a soft kiss to his ridged forehead. "I love you, Angel. All of you - man and demon."

She hesitated for a second, indecisive, but then gave him a hearty whack in the chest - hard enough to set him off balance. "But get over this stupid beast thing already!"

There was a tense moment as the Belial rumbled ominously, but then his eyes shifted, returning to their familiar dark brown shade. A second later, the demonic ridges flattened under his skin and he was Angel again. He crumpled against her shoulder, exhausted and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice thick and tearful. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay." Cordy smiled cheerfully and patted his back. "Can we get up?" she asked. "You're kinda heavy. Plus, you know, stone floors? Not great on the knees."

Angel laughed. Just the reaction she'd been hoping for.

He raised his head to stare into her eyes. "I love you."

"Right back at'cha, big guy."

"How sweet," Spike broke in. "So bloody sweet I may throw up. And that's no idle threat in our current condition." He indicated Buffy with a jerk of his chin. She burrowed into his shoulder, tired and pale. "Can we go? Got a Slayer needs mending."

EPISODE ELEVEN
Jumping to the Conclusion

Wesley charged into the throne room with Fred at his heels, and was immediately confronted by Spike, still toting the lethargic and bloodied Slayer in his arms.

"Cavalry's here," the blonde vamp announced to his companions. He pursed his lips as he noticed that Wes was clutching an armful of books. "Make that 'librarians here'." He snorted. "Nice to see you've got your priorities straight. 'Oh quick, save the books!'"

"These books are the key to getting home, you ignorant nit," Wes retorted. "I'd much rather they were in my hands than the Covenant's."

"Not their hands they needed to worry about."

Spike peered down at the floor and calmly booted Silas' disembodied head across the room. It thudded into the wall and rolled into a side alcove.

"He shoots, he scores!" Buffy chirped, the comment escaping almost against her will. She groaned and butted her head against her partner's shoulder. "Ow. God, don't make me laugh."

"That wasn't me," Spike said. He bestowed an indulgent smile on his precious cargo, hitching her up a little higher and adjusting his grip. "You really have the strangest sense of humor, love."

Buffy snaked her arm around his neck, in exceptionally high spirits for someone with a stomach wound.

"Living on a Hellmouth leads to the warping of young minds," she informed him pertly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Just ask Giles."

Fred peeked out from behind Wesley's shoulder. "I thought it was funny," she said. "Y'know, I always wanted to do that."

Wes looked at her in askance. "You harbor an aspiration toward head-kicking?"

Fred recoiled, almost colt-like in her skittishness. "Is that wrong?"

"Hell no," Spike reassured her. "'S a favored pastime in some circles of my acquaintance. Didn't get that good at it by chance."

Wesley blinked at him, not sure whether or not he should delve further into that particular topic, and then turned his attention beyond them into the room. Angel and Cordelia were huddled together on the small dais that held the throne. They were engaged in a whispered conversation and had eyes only for each other. "Ahh," he breathed. "Things seemed to have worked out for them."

"So far so good," Buffy reported, twining her fingers in the silvery curls at the nape of Spike's neck. "Seeing that he's only been back to normal for a couple of minutes."

Wesley stared at her. "He transformed into the Belial? And was able to maintain control in that state?"

Spike muttered something under his breath and Buffy casually slapped the head she'd previously been petting. He glared at her and they lapsed into one of their silent arguments.

She left off by raising her eyebrows pointedly. His scarred one twitched in reply and then she was back, indicating her crimson and purple splattered shirt with the easy aplomb of a game show hostess.

"May I present for your perusal, physical evidence of said metamorphosis and subsequent lack of controlly-ness."

"Ooh, words of more than one syllable from the Slayer," Spike snarked. "She's channeling my vocabulary. Injury must be worse than I thought."

She scowled at him. "Do you want me to slap you again?"

"Only if you do it in game face," he replied. "Make it hurt real good."

Buffy snickered at that. "Angel was right, you are a pervert."

"You know it, baby."

"Yes, but do the rest of us really have to hear it?" Wesley asked, his focus still trained on the couple by the throne. They had yet to acknowledge his presence and it was beginning to annoy him.

His eyes narrowed as Cordelia leaned in to trace her fingers along Angel's jaw. Oh now, that didn't bode well. Such physical closeness at so early a stage in their relationship could lead fairly quickly to other... intimacies, those of a soul-depriving sort. He cleared his throat. "Here now, I must object..."

"He says that a lot, huh?" Buffy murmured into Spike's ear.

"Stuck in a rut," he returned. "Needs a spot of romance in his life." He glanced speculatively at Fred. "Seems a likely candidate. Reckon she's got it in 'er to loosen him up?"

Buffy nipped at his lobe before answering. "She's stronger than she looks. I think she could give him a run for his money."

"Hidden depths," Spike mused. "I admire that in a girl."

"I am still here, you know." Wesley was flustered and red-faced, the unadulterated look of interest he was getting from Fred embarrassing him beyond reason.

Cordelia sashayed toward them, almost floating in her euphoria, the biggest, brightest smile they'd ever seen plastered on her face. Angel trailed behind her, but he had no real choice in the approach with his hand caught firmly in her grasp. He stubbornly refused to meet anyone else's eyes.

"Hey guys!" Cordy bubbled. "Is it time to get gone? I mean, you got what you came for, namely me, and I'm guessing that the big fight is, you know, over."

"We whupped their asses!" Fred blurted.

"Yes, we certainly did," Wes seconded mildly, which earned him one of the physicist's dazzling grins.

"See, they're all flirty and stuff," Buffy asserted, pointing a finger back and forth between the pair and nodding sagely. "Definite sparkage." She did a little celebratory jiggle. "Go me! I rock at this matchmaking thing."

Spike winced. "Let's get you seen to, pet. That neat little impairment of yours is givin' me twinges, and not the good sort that I..." He trailed off, his angular face draining of color. "Here." He turned and thrust Buffy at his flabbergasted Sire and dashed out of the room in a flurry of black leather.

There was a lull after he disappeared from view, and then everyone looked inquiringly at the Slayer.

She shrugged. "What? I think it's cool he gets the vomity part."

Amusement tugged at the corner of Angel's mouth, the first normal reaction he'd shown them.

Cordelia stared at the petite blonde sitting in Angel's arms like she belonged there and her expression hardened.

"So what's that about?"

Angel looked at her blankly. Then his eyes widened as he recognized her fear, shaking his head a little in denial of it. He wondered fleetingly if Buffy would mind if he dropped her, because she really wasn't the person he wanted to be holding right now.

"Cor, no. It's not what... It's - it's a side effect of their link," he sputtered, hurrying to clear up any misunderstanding. His voice sounded scratchy, like he hadn't used it in a while. "Spike's getting her morning sickness." He deliberately stressed the last part, trying to get across that he had no part in Buffy's life now.

"It's afternoon," Cordy said automatically, his meaning not quite registering for a moment. "Oh." She gaped at her former homecoming nemesis, unabashedly searching for visual evidence. "Oh! You're pregnant?"

The Slayer, who despite her declarations of health was looking slightly green around the gills, gave her a tiny affirmative nod. "Uh huh."

"Really pregnant? Like, having a baby pregnant?"

Buffy continued nodding. "Uh huh."

"With Spike."

"No, with Giles. Of course with Spike, you moron. And don't say his name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like he's beneath you. Talk about him like that again and I'll kick your sanctimonious ass, bloody gut wound notwithstanding."

Cordelia pulled a face. "When did you start talking like Wesley?"

"Yes, by all means, everyone continue to speak about me as though I'm not here, I enjoy it immensely." The former Watcher strolled past and placed the books on a side-table that was still relatively unscathed. He hauled a chair upright to sit in front of them. "Now that everyone is updated on the situation, I'd like to begin some research. Fred, I could use some of your expertise."

"Sure!" Fred gushed breathlessly. "I'd be real honored. Not that I wasn't before, but that wasn't actual helpin' per se, that was more like workin' out a few anti-this-dimension issues that I'd..." She tapered off into a pensive silence as she realized that they were all gaping at her. She ducked her head and shuffled her feet shyly. "Well, anyway, I'd be glad to help."

Spike had reappeared in the doorway just in time to catch the end of Wesley's announcement. A long white tablecloth was draped toga-like over one shoulder, making him look like he was acting out some queer Julius Caesar impersonation. He also looked very much like he wanted to throw up again.

"Oh, bloody hell," he lamented. "Did Junior just say the 'R' word?"

Cordy shook her head. "I take it back," she said to Buffy. "You don't talk like Wesley, you talk like him."

Buffy gave her a look that hinted at many grievous levels of bodily harm, then promptly ignored her. She reached for Spike like a fractious child, both arms outstretched, lower lip stuck out in a 'poor me' pout. "Honey, save me from the idiot people?"

"Save yourself," he shot back, but he was moving to do as she asked even as he spoke.

Angel returned her to the other vampire's care, a pleased smile casting rare light across his dark features as Cordelia instantly seized his arm and held him tightly at her side. Possessiveness, thy name is Cordy.

"Actually, the truly weird part is that he sometimes talks like Buffy," he told her.

"I so do not!" Spike protested, only to realize that he had inadvertently proved Angel's point. He frowned. "Bugger."

"Well, well, if it isn't the victorious wonder kittens," a new voice warbled. Everyone swung around to see Lorne waltzing in like he owned the place. "And wow, gotta tell ya, some major woo-hooiness goin' on in this room. Could feel the love vibes all the way outside." He beamed at them, delighted with the world in general.

"Is it just me, or is he way too happy?" Buffy asked. Not receiving an answer, she eyed Lorne with displeasure. "You're too happy," she informed him. "You're all loud and bright and stuff. It's giving me a headache."

"No, that would be me," Spike murmured against her hairline. "Post-regurgitation migraine. Try tuning out my pain reception for a bit."

Lorne came to an abrupt halt in the center of the room and gawked at the blonde duo, his mouth hanging open, ruby eyes wide and shocked. "Oh my hairy-legged Aunt!"

"And now you're wigging me out," Buffy accused.

Spike rolled his eyes, carried her to the throne and deposited her on it, unceremoniously yanking her shirt up to inspect her wound.

She batted his hands away, vainly trying to pull the hem back down. "Hey, stop showing everybody the merchandise!"

He snorted. "Oh right, because the sight of your shredded flesh is so alluring."

"All my parts have allure," she said. "I'm allure girl."

Spike tore the cloth he'd found into strips and set about dressing her injury with an easy proficiency acquired from years and years of improvised first aid. Any further Buffy witticisms and complaints were disregarded, along with the linked threats and chip-twinges she directed his way.

Lorne still hadn't budged. His mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

Angel fixed him with a sidelong glance. "Is he alright?"

Cordelia waved a hand in front of the normally animated demon's vacant face. Then she tweaked one of his horns. "I'm gettin' a big nothing here," she announced. "A whole lotta zip."

Buffy gave Lorne a dubious once over. "Are we being all vibey or something?"

Spike chuckled. "I think his Nip-o-meter just hit eleven."

"Huh." She blinked. "So, is eleven of the good, or...?"

Lorne suddenly snapped out of his precognizant daze. He whistled, impressed. "Judas in a trench coat, didn't you get the pocket power pack?"

Spike whipped around and pinned him with a gaze that was almost glacial - his earlier cheer banished behind deathly composure. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing, Blue Eyes, you'll hear all about it later. Or even sooner if we're lucky."

With that cryptic remark, the Host minced away to hover at Wesley's shoulder like a large, garishly dressed gnat.

"Long John Silver and his bloody parrot," Spike observed wryly, securing the final knot on Buffy's makeshift bandage with a sharp tug.

"So, what does that make Fred?" Buffy asked, straightening her shirt. She waggled her fingers through one of the slash holes and sighed.

"Beside nuttier than a fruitsack? You got me, sunshine."

"Maybe she could be his peg-leg."

They both dissolved into giggles at the corresponding image she sent him.

Cordelia had been watching their exchange with tight-lipped intensity. "You really are together, aren't you?" she asked. "You're all Mr. and Mrs. Inseparable Finish-Each-Other's-Sentences, big with the meaningful gazes and mushy pet-names and everything."

Angel gnawed at his lip, worry lines crimping his forehead. "Cor, I already said..."

"Yeah, I know what you said, I just didn't... God, it's true. You really were made for each other."

"Sickening isn't it?" Wes interjected, not even bothering to look up from the text he was engrossed in.

"It's... something." She folded her arms across her chest, feeling a bizarre kind of chill despite the room's moderate temperature.

Angel stood behind her and placed both hands reassuringly on her shoulders. "They're meant to be together," he said softly. "Just like we are."

She snorted inelegantly. "Yeah, well, you didn't see the extra special guest-starring roles they had in my vision."

Wesley's head shot up at that. "What? You had a vision?" His slate-colored gaze was unwavering behind his glasses, flinty. "When was this?"

Fred, who had been working doggedly through a puzzle of incomprehensible equations suddenly reached out and grabbed his forearm, excitedly directing his attention to something she'd discovered.

Lorne leant against the wall, crossed one ankle over the other and cocked an anticipative eyebrow at the quartet. He was expecting some fireworks here.

"We were in your vision?" Buffy demanded. "Spike and me?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" Cordelia snapped back.

"What exactly did you see?" Angel spoke very calmly, making a concerted effort to diffuse the weird tension in the air. It was buzzing around them like static. He almost expected his hair to start standing on end... more.

"It was fuzzy," Cordy explained. "Well, fuzzy-er. They're never big with the plasma screen clarity, but this was so far out of focus it was almost art-house. I did get a heap of happy 'me and my Angel' scenes..."

"Not too happy, I hope," Buffy ruminated sourly.

Spike was resting his head on her lap, having succumbed to the 'washed-out and hung-up-to-dry' feeling that accompanied these fabulous stomach-churning episodes. As he intercepted the thought, he choked on a laugh and winked up at her.

"...And I don't know how I know this," Cordy continued. "But it was in the future. Maybe a only year or so." She sent a puzzled glance over her shoulder at Angel, placing one of her hands over his. "Why would I be getting that now? Are we supposed to prevent it or something?" Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, maybe you turn into Angelus!"

"And maybe I don't," he defended. His brows twitched. "Wait, you don't... stake me, do you?"

"No, but from what I saw, Buffy was looking pretty damn powerful and super-Slayery. She probably gets all stake-first-ask-questions-later."

Spike lifted his head to study Cordelia, eyes scrunched up like he was looking into bright sunlight. He could feel Buffy's tension thrumming through his body and it was making him jittery. Which wasn't helping his nausea in the slightest.

"I wouldn't do that," Buffy objected. "Not to Angel."

"Oh right, I forgot. You have to wait until there are piles of dead people before springing into action."

The green of Buffy's eyes suddenly shot through with shards of yellow. She shifted on the throne, fingers digging into the padded armrests, visibly restraining herself from striking out. "You don't get to play mega-bitch with me, Cordelia. Ever."

"Who's playing?"

"Watch it, girly," Spike growled, teeth clenched tightly against his own sparking temper. He stood up very slowly, hands flexing into fists.

"Oh look, a vampire," Cordy mocked. "I've never seen one of those before. How incredibly not scary. Word of advice, Spike? The chalky 'if-I-move-too-fast-I'll-hurl' expression doesn't quite cut it as threatening."

"This is stupid," Angel said. "Being all antagonistic with each other isn't gonna get us anywhere."

"So speaks the voice of reason." Spike regarded his Sire skeptically. "Didn't see that featuring too heavily earlier, oh Beastly One."

Angel glared so fiercely that any other person, any normal sane person, would have been frightened into silence. Spike's skin was thicker than that... or maybe his head was.

"Don't see what we've done to earn the cheerleader's wrath anyway," the younger vamp continued, moving toward his Sire with a deceptively calm, controlled gait. "We throw off her moral compass or something? Bit rich, considerin' who she's taken up with."

Angel's nostrils flared, the Belial rippling beneath the surface of his skin. He stepped out from behind Cordelia and met Spike head on. "Don't push me, boy."

"Boy?" Spike gave him the most malicious smile in his extensive repertoire, an ugly curling of his lips. "You really want be comparing manly-man credentials with me at this point, Angelus?" A brief flicker of pain crossed his face, and he turned a petulant lour on Buffy. "What was that for?"

"You can stop being obnoxious now, honey."

"I wasn't..." Spike began, then sighed. "Alright I was, but he was in need a spot of ego-pricking, love."

"That's not the point," Buffy chided. "We're over it, okay?"

"Over what?" Cordy asked. "I don't get what set you off in the first place. You're both pretty testy. Is that because of hormones or something?"

Buffy scowled at her, and the whole squabble was poised to begin anew.

"Eureka!"

The triumphant cry came simultaneously from Wesley and Fred, and they both paused for a moment and stared at each other. Everyone else stared as well.

"Wow, you say it, too!" The young physicist marveled. "That's very coincidental, don'tcha think?"

"Indeed," Wes murmured. "One could almost say kismet."

Fred snorted at that, amused. "Well, sure. If ya believed in that kinda hooey."

"Excuse me, kiddies," Lorne interjected smoothly. "In light of the incredibly lame 'Eureka' moment, I'd just like to ask, 'what in Tarkna'?"

"I think we did it," Wesley said, the slight pink flush he'd developed after Fred's statement already dissipating.

"Yeah," Fred seconded. "See, I was openin' portals, but I couldn't tell where. You need the priest's formulas to control that on this side."

"So, we can go home?" Cordelia asked eagerly.

Wes nodded. "We can go home."

~*[+]*~

The portal appeared with a thunderous crack, followed by the sound of ions and atoms and locked-up brakes, all screaming with equal abandon. The boat-like shape of Angel's convertible careened through the split the in dimensional wall, only to smash straight into a wall of a different kind.

A solid brick wall.

A brick wall with large wrought-iron gates. The same gates that led into the rear courtyard of the Hyperion Hotel.

"Door to door service," Buffy commented, impressed. "Remind me to tip the chauffeur..."

"...Over a bloody cliff." Spike finished. "Can we go find my stomach now? Think it came out through my nose back there."

Angel ignored them, peering ahead through the rubble to the lights of the foyer beyond. There was a thin stream of vapor coming from the front of the car, so he'd probably wrecked the radiator too. This was gonna cost him an arm and a leg, and most likely a few other appendages.

"But worth it, right?" Cordelia asked. She knew exactly what he was thinking - crotchety old miser that he was.

"Absolutely." He beamed at her, a huge ear to ear grin. It looked kind of forced, but at least he was trying. "You okay?"

"Peachy keen," she assured him.

He nodded and then directed a glare past her at the Host. "There was a hot spot here the whole time?"

"Well, pardon my investigative shortcomings," Lorne sniped. "Next time I'll consult my handy map of mystical LA hot spots." He chuckled suddenly. "LA, my fellow dimension hoppers. May we never leave it again." He broke into a chorus of 'Sweet Home Alabama'. Not the most pertinent of choices, but the best he could do under the circumstances.

Spike sighed into Buffy's shoulder, silently bemoaning the demon's musical tastes. The Slayer remained perched on his lap despite the fact that the rest of seat was now otherwise empty. Wesley and Fred had leapt from the vehicle almost as soon as it had stopped moving and were huddled by the trunk.

"Are they still there?" Fred asked anxiously.

Wesley slammed the trunk shut, plunked a metal chest on it and then hurried to get that open.

Inside was another, slightly smaller box. He liberated it from the larger one and peeked under the lid. His shoulders slumped in relief.

"They're here." He began pulling the Trionic Ledgers one by one from their makeshift enclosure. "It seems you were quite correct in your hypothesis, Fred. A triple metal encasing was sufficient to protect them through the portal."

"Yay Fred," Buffy cheered, somewhat less than enthusiastically, then yawned and slumped back against Spike. "Tired now."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. He tightened his arms around her waist, his own eyelids suddenly feeling like they had lead weights attached. He blinked slowly, trying to hold them open. "You got a spare room in this joint, Peaches?"

Angel looked at him like he was insane, then turned back to Cordelia. "You sure you're okay?"

She was staring straight ahead at the foyer. "Yeah, but..." She gestured forward. "The lights are on, right? So someone's gotta be home. Why haven't they come out to see what's with the not-so-subtle invasion?"

Angel narrowed his eyes. "Good point."

They climbed out of the car and headed cautiously for the entrance.

Wesley was the last inside. He had the Wolf, Ram and Hart volumes cradled in his arms like they were the crown jewels Cordelia had been loathe to leave behind, but the moment he crossed the threshold, his precious burden fell unheeded to the floor.

"Good Lord!"

Drusilla and Gunn were holed up behind the reception counter. Gunn kept the vampiress behind him with one hand and held a carefully trained crossbow in the other. He sent them a tight smile. "Hey."

Dru clapped her hands. "Welcome back!" she enthused. "It's a special day. Everyone's invited, come one and all."

"'S lovely, pet," Spike drawled. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the other unexpected visitor. "Mind tellin' us why there's a ruddy great Keratos demon in the lobby?"

EPISODE TWELVE
All's well

"S-s-spike!"

The gigantic green demon hissed the greeting, dual tongues vibrating in tandem. He sounded impossibly pleased to see his old friend.

The vampire just looked at him, poker-faced. "Apollyon."

"Oh great, one of Spike's cronies," Cordelia huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "He's got to be evil."

Buffy glowered at her. "I've got my Slayer strength back now," she said. "Want me to test it out on your face?"

Cordy snorted. "As if."

"S-s-slayer!" The Keratos lisped, this second greeting just as enthusiastic as the first. He lumbered toward them, tentacles outstretched.

Buffy and Spike grabbed each other's hands and took a synchronous step backward.

"Hey, back off," Buffy warned, leveling an adamant finger in his direction. "I don't want any more weirdness from you, you... freaky infecto guy."

"Yeah, you wanna probe somebody, try those two." Spike jabbed a thumb at Angel and Cordelia.

"That's a Keratos demon," Wesley blurted suddenly, earning a withering stare from the blonde duo.

"I don't care what it's called," Gunn put in. "All I know is it's one major league ugly and our Dru-girl here won't let me kill it."

"No." Drusilla reached out and pushed the end of his crossbow down, reinforcing her point. "He's got good stories to tell for everyone."

"Is that right?" Spike threw caution to the wind and headed toward the massive creature, Buffy instinctively backing him up. "Another visit from that Herald bint is in the offing, then?"

"Forthwith," Apollyon said. "First other business." He gave them an ingratiating smile, all yellow pointed teeth and lashing tongues. "Gemel are nesting, yes?"

"Nesting no," Spike disputed. "Having a single solitary baby yes. Human-type mammals here, you scaly pillock, we don't lay eggs or have great squirming litters like you do."

"Ugh!" Buffy made a ghastly choking noise. "Did you have to say 'squirming'? That's gross."

Cordelia raised a hand. "I second that grossness and raise you a 'who the hell is he and what is he doing here?'"

"And how did he know they were the Gemel," Angel asked. It was the first thing he'd said since entering the hotel.

"Yeah, how did he know?" Buffy repeated, making it sound as though she was aware of the discrepancy all along.

Spike smiled, impressed by the subterfuge. Maybe some of his skills were wearing off.

The Slayer looked up at him and grinned. "Vice versa," she told him. "You never could lie worth a damn."

Cordelia was getting fed up with the whole situation. "Okay," she said. "Let's get this straight. One: everyone seems to know who Senor Lumpy is except me. And two: I don't really have a 'two' yet, but you guys..." She gestured disgustedly at Buffy and Spike "...Are just wigging me out. I feel like I lost half the conversation somewhere."

Angel couldn't understand why she was being so negative toward them. "Why the sudden hostility, Cor?"

"I don't like her and I don't trust him," she responded tersely. "What's the sudden?"

"Half a mo'," Spike fixed the Keratos with penetrating eyes. "How'd you twig about the Nipper?" He jerked his chin at Lorne. "First Pavarotti over there went all twilight zone and now you. Slayer's not really givin' off a vibe is she? Don't want her becomin' some kind of target."

"Foretold," Apollyon wheezed.

"Again?" Spike was not impressed. He stared belligerently at the Keratos, debating whether or not trying to beat that lizard-like face to a paste would be worth the broken knuckles. He could use a decent spot of violence after that tiresome cross-dimensional trip, it would loosen him up, help alleviate his portal lag.

"Bridge Guardians," the demon continued blithely, unaware of the potential danger he was in. "Gemel. All foretold."

Buffy slumped onto the rounded ottoman seat, defeated by her many repeated appearances as prophecy girl. She gave Spike a weary shake of her head, squelching his desire for amphibicide despite her own leanings in that direction. He sulked like a little boy, pacing back and forth in front of Apollyon and trying to look intimidating. He'd have done a much better job of it without the pouty lip.

"Well," Buffy said, overly bright. "Translation please. Anyone?"

Wesley sank down onto the stairs and began flipping through the Trionic Ledgers. "Some of that sounded oddly familiar. I'm sure I saw something..." Fred perched by his side, reading over his shoulder, and he took a moment to smile at her.

Angel ignored the proceedings and skirted around the edge of the foyer, coming to a halt at the reception desk. He eyed the pair behind it imperiously. "Why aren't you at that temple I sent you to? Dru needs to be working on her meditation exercises."

"She insisted we come back," Gunn said. He thrust his forearm toward Angel, displaying the deep gouges there. Claw marks. "And I do mean insisted."

Angel frowned at his troubled Childe. "Dru, what...?"

"Stories to tell," she repeated earnestly. "The voices were urgent. 'Go home, go home'. Ringing in my ears ... for whom the bell tolls..."

Buffy took this in with great skepticism. "I thought she wasn't crazy anymore."

"Oh, I'm not," Drusilla answered, perfectly calmly. "But I can see how you might think that."

Buffy blinked at her, perplexed, not used to this plain speaking version of Spike's ex. "Uh..."

"Slime Features here still hasn't answered any of us, you know," Spike pointed out, not the slightest bit interested in Drusilla's ramblings. He tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, then paused in the midst of searching for his lighter, struck by the realization that he was doing something wrong. He pulled the smoke back out, his bright blue gaze flitting from it to Buffy and back again.

She folded her arms and watched him, waiting for the backlash.

It didn't come. He just sighed resignedly and put the cigarettes back in his pocket, then ambled over to sit by her side, slinging one arm along the padded bolster behind her shoulders and splaying the fingers of the opposite hand across her flat stomach. The gesture was almost apologetic. She smiled and leant into him, fitting so perfectly it was like she was made to go there. Spike smirked and kissed the top of her head.

Cordelia had been observing their silent interaction and was all set to comment on it when she caught Angel's eye. He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head and the acid remark dissolved in her throat.

She scowled at him then. "How did you do that?"

"What? What did I do?" The vampire was honestly unaware of anything untoward.

"Bond," Apollyon supplied, almost shyly.

"They have a bond now?" Buffy was amazed. "Links. Bonds. What is it with you guys and joining stuff together?"

"There's no bond between us," Angel objected. "Not in any weird mystical way, I mean."

He wasn't quite convincing enough for Cordy's liking and she narrowed her eyes at him. "There was that thing," she said thoughtfully. "That thing where you could hear me telling you to change."

Angel looked bewildered. "Huh? When?"

"When you were getting pulped by the Groo-something."

"Gruesome thing," Spike chortled. "Wish I'd thought o' that one." They glared at him and he snorted. "Yeah, yeah. I know. 'Shut up, Spike'." He flicked a perfunctory glance back at Wesley. "You found what you're lookin' for yet, Junior?"

Wes shot him a cutting look. "You can stop calling me that anytime. I assure you I am not related to Mr. Giles in any definition of the word."

"How about by profession?" Buffy asked. "You're related by that."

Spike nodded his agreement.

Wesley sighed. Arguing with them really wasn't worth the effort. "I've discovered several entries regarding the Guardians of the Bridge. All I can ascertain, however, is that it is another title given to the Gemel."

"Apollyon just told us that!" Spike snapped. "You have got to be the most useless git..." He stopped abruptly as Buffy jabbed her elbow into his ribs and directed his attention toward the Keratos demon.

"He's off and running, honey."

The demon's eyes had gone milky white as paper-thin membranes closed over them, his tentacles fanning out from his shoulder-plates so that he began to resemble the satellite dish that Spike had once compared him to. All the while he continued to emit a low resonant hum.

Wesley gaped at him, fascinated. Fred giggled, then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the nervous sound. No one was sure whether she was laughing at Wes or the demon or both.

Lorne had the oddest expression on his face, a combination of amazement and horror. The psychic energy in the air, combined with the demon's incessant humming, was creating a kind of feedback. Presently he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"It's all too much!" Drusilla cried, sounding quite exhilarated about it. She clutched Gunn's biceps excitedly, her long fingernails making fresh scratches in his skin.

The former gang member shrugged her off and peered at the neat row of bloodied furrows in disgust. "Damn girl, watch them kitty claws." He leant over toward Angel, gesturing at Apollyon. "This ain't gonna get messy is it?"

"Depends on your definition of messy," Angel murmured. "He's got a direct link to the Powers That Be so we're probably going to hear a lot of stuff that we don't really want to know about."

"Ah." Gunn finally dispensed with the crossbow, placing it on the counter-top and settling in to enjoy the show.

Drusilla smiled and rested her head against the powerful muscles of his upper arm, one hand sliding sinuously along his shoulder to caress the nape of his neck.

"Tall tales and true," she proclaimed in a breathy voice. "I only wished it could be so."

Gunn shook his head. "I'm not even gonna ask."

Angel couldn't believe Gunn was letting a vampire touch him. Where had his anti-demon sentiments gone? When had they gotten so close? And why was he suddenly feeling like an over-protective father?

Apollyon's wide mouth opened and everyone unconsciously leant forward, waiting to hear what the Oracle had to say. The voice that emerged from the demon, however, was not the one they were expecting.

"Oh, for the love o' Pete," a light Irish brogue burst out, arguing with someone outside the Keratos' range. "I know how the damn thing works, alright?" There was a muffled tapping noise, like someone testing a microphone. "Is this thing on?"

Cordelia stared at the transformed demon in utter shock. "Doyle?" she whispered incredulously. She turned to Angel, blinking rapidly to hold back threatening tears. "It's not him, is it? It can't be."

The vampire was immediately at her side, pulling her into a supportive embrace. "I think it is. He's with them. Hopefully in a good place."

"I don't know that you'd call it good so much as all right for a 'no drinking in any shape or form' type of place," Doyle's voice responded. "Hey, lookin' swell for a dead man there, Angel. Is that a tan?" He laughed. "They've not worked out how to project both ways yet, so it's too bad ya can't see my handsome mug."

"It's that impertinent little Mick!" Spike exclaimed, finally placing the accent. "What's he doin' on the wire? Where the bleedin' hell's Herald?"

"Whoa there, William," the Irish half-demon interjected. "Not the most patient vamp in the world, are ya?" He began muttering to someone out of their earshot, curses mingling with insults. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Right. What was I talkin' about again?"

Spike folded his arms across his chest, the picture of self-righteousness. "Bit presumptuous of you, innit, callin' me William? Cautioned your lot about that before."

"Well, I'm not gonna use Spike if that's what you're bellyachin' about," Doyle retorted. "It don't fit with who you are now."

Spike didn't quite know how to take that. He just sat motionless, his mouth doing that flapping landed-fish thing and his forehead all furrowed. Buffy could sense his disconcertment and came to the rescue.

"Nobody here can think of him as anything other than Spike," she said solemnly. "He is Spike. 'Cause no matter what you say, he's always been the same person. And I mean always - whether he was linked to me or not." She shrugged. "I guess we could use 'Liam' as a compromise for now if it makes you Powery people feel more comfortable or something. It's his proper legal name, so he's gotta get used to using it anyhow."

"Ah, right. Liam." The grin was evident in Doyle's tone. "Can't begin to tell ya how sweet the irony that you chose that."

"Don't remind me," Spike muttered, scuffing his boot against the floor and shooting Angel an irritated look from under his lashes.

The older vampire glowered at him. "It's a fine Irish name," he defended. "After my great grand da'."

Spike snorted. "Don't see you usin' it."

"Because that's not who I am. Unlike you, I didn't have my soul for my entire life as a vampire." He shook his head in confusion. Why didn't they know this stuff? Weren't all vamps basically the same? "Its called being turned for a reason. I was turned into something other than I was. Liam died. Darla killed him. Angelus took over after that."

"You make it sound so very cut and dried," Drusilla observed. "It's not. We remain one and the same, but separate." She tipped her head at him appraisingly. "Some are simply more separate than others."

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," Buffy said dryly. "That was a big help."

Dru smiled at her, a genuine friendly smile. "You're welcome."

Buffy shifted to whisper in Spike's ear. She sometimes forgot that it wasn't necessary for her to do it. "How come she was with you for a hundred years and never grasped the concept of sarcasm? You're like, Professor Sarcasm. You should have some of those funny little letters after your name."

"Can't you two drop the Ex-bashing for five minutes and just listen?" Cordelia interrupted. "I wanna catch up with what's happening, and if you gave a flying fig about that kid of yours, you would too." She glanced up at Angel for support, avoiding the twin glares directed her way.

He gave her a half-hearted smile, still preoccupied with the issue of his soul. "I don't get it," he said.

Drusilla sighed, precisely aware of what he was thinking. "I can't put it any plainer than I already did."

"Oh, I can do all the explanations you like," Doyle volunteered cheerfully. "Kinda the raison d'être and all. Firstly, Angel's right. Liam's dead. And even he's got to admit that he wasn't a great loss to the world."

"He wasn't?" Buffy was wide-eyed with curiosity. Angel had never told her anything about himself pre-vamp, post-vamp even. Getting him to open up was like getting blood from a stone, no pun intended, and most of the stuff she did know came from Spike's memory. And she didn't like to look in there a whole lot, 'cause ... ick!

"A soul that belonged to a drunken wastrel wouldn't have been strong enough to combat Angelus," Doyle continued. "So when he was cursed, the Powers saw an opportunity and took it, balancing an agent of evil with an agent of light."

"So, you're saying the soul I have isn't the original model?" Angel was aghast at the idea.

"Shoddy secondhand goods," Spike commented gleefully.

"Not so shoddy," Doyle refuted. "The soul he has now belonged to one of the PTB's greatest Warriors. The soul of an actual angel, if you wanna look at it that way."

The younger vampire was disgusted. "No wonder he got so bloody high and mighty all of a sudden."

"A Warrior," Angel mused, disregarding his Childe entirely. "Herald mentioned something like that before."

"Yeah? Swell. Let's get over it and move on. You know, to me." Cordelia's foot tapped rhythmically with her impatience. "What's this bond deal all about?"

"Cordy me darlin'," Doyle gushed. "Nice outfit you've got there. Really shows off your assets, if ya catch my drift."

She looked down at the revealing Princess costume. She'd forgotten she was still wearing it. A quick peek at the rapt expression on Angel's face told her he hadn't. She resisted the urge to preen.

Doyle sighed wistfully, a completely incongruous sound, coming as it did from a gigantic scaly beast of a demon. "You know I'm damned sorry about lumpin' ya with the vision thing."

She sniffed disdainfully. "No you're not."

He chuckled. "Got that straight. Don't miss 'em in the slightest. Miss you, though."

"Now that part's mutual." She grinned. "So, little Irish man... Angel. Me. Bond. 'Fess up."

There was an uncomfortable pause and when Doyle spoke again, he was oddly hesitant. "There's no easy way to break this..."

Buffy was intrigued. "He's gonna break something," she enthused, edging forward on her seat. "I love when stuff breaks."

Spike rumbled contently low in his throat, one hand absently rubbing the small of her back under her shirt. "Me too."

Cordelia managed to be both indignant and wary simultaneously. "Break what, Doyle? Not exactly inspiring the confidence there."

"Sorry. Ah... Well, you've been ... promoted."

Cordy frowned. "Guessin' that doesn't come with a nifty rise in salary."

"Nah, but the perks are great."

"Perks? There are perks now?" Buffy pouted. "What kind of promotion is this, and why can't I get one?"

Cordelia shot her an incensed look, which was an absolute waste of time, and then focused back on the demon that was channeling her friend's spirit. "I don't wanna be seconding Miss Chirpy-pants over there, but I have to say... just spit it out! God! Build the tension much?"

Angel's hands came up to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing into her nape and the tips of his fingers stroking lightly along her collarbones. It was unclear which of them the contact was intended to pacify, but he didn't appear any happier than she did.

"Brilliant job, mate," Spike noted wryly. "Now they've both gone broody."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Doyle muttered.

"Really?" Spike was pleasantly surprised. Nothing he liked better than a spot of angst, so long as it wasn't his. "Neat."

"Cordelia's essence has also been merged with that of a Warrior," Doyle revealed. "So she could be equal to Angel. The thing is, Warrior's aren't human so, ah... she's semi-demon now. Kinda like I was, but without the annoying morphing part."

"I'm..." Cordy trailed off into stunned silence. "Huh?"

"What does that mean?" Angel didn't like where this was heading. He didn't mind that his own soul wasn't human, it actually clarified a few things, but Cordelia had already endured so much because of him. How much more could she take?

"No more mind-numbing, skull-cracking vision pain, for starters," Doyle reported. "She won't age, won't die of mortal causes. And she's quite a bit stronger than she used to be. Don't panic guys, this is a good thing. "

"That last vision," Cordy murmured, thinking back. "That's when you... they did this?"

"No, before that. During the Covenant's tests." Doyle's voice faded momentarily as a burst of static filtered in.

Lorne stirred briefly during the disturbance, and then rolled over onto his back, snoring softly.

"So, what's the bond?" Fred wanted to know, her natural curiosity getting the better of her. "It was the original question, right?"

"One Warrior can always sense the presence of another, their spirit or energy or whatever. It's a finely tuned thing, not psychic exactly, just kinda..." Another deep sigh emerged from the depths of Apollyon's cavernous mouth. "Sorry guys, I can't define it in terms you'd understand."

"Freak-Ass Demon bond?" Gunn suggested blandly. "FAD for short."

"That works." Spike gave him an appreciative grin. "Though, FAD lot of good it does us."

The Slayer peered at him from the corner of her eye, lips twitching with amusement. "You're so completely lame," she said indulgently.

Cordelia stared at them. "So glad you find my sudden demon-ness amusing."

Buffy saluted her. "We aim to please," she said. "And, hey, just getting back to something that's been bothering me for a while; the whole non-human-ness of Angel's soul? That's the reason he didn't get resurrected right? I mean, Giles still had a heartbeat and everything when he was possessed by Spike's demon, so my theory is it's because he stayed all soul-having."

"The Buffy Summers theory regarding the vagaries of souled demons," Wesley mused. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Risking body parts if you keep talkin' about her like that, Junior," Spike warned casually, not even bothering to look over in the former Watcher's direction.

Wesley scoffed. "You speak as though you could..."

"I could," the Slayer said shortly.

Both Brits quickly shut up, not wanting to get on the receiving end of her wrath. Wesley turned his attention back to the volume on his lap, and Spike took a moment to smile at her tone. She sounded like a Mum already. Natural born parent, she was. Made for the job. He, on the other hand...

Buffy didn't notice his sudden melancholy - she was too wrapped up in trying to get an answer to her question. "So? I'm right, right?"

"Not just a pretty face, is she?" Apollyon's reception was definitely cracking up now, and Doyle sounded like he was standing in the rain and yelling at them from the end of a very long tunnel. "The logic's all good, darlin'."

"See?" Buffy punched Spike's thigh. "I told you!" They had obviously argued about this previously.

He lurched sideways, his angular face contorted in pain. "OW! Bloody hell!" he roared. "You been eating your Wheaties or what? You're ten-times stronger all of a sudden."

"I am?" She flexed her hand. "Weird. Maybe it's like extra charged 'cause I haven't used it in a while."

"Or maybe it's got something to do with the Nip."

They turned inquiringly toward Apollyon, but Doyle was otherwise occupied.

"I haven't got a whole heap of time left here, folks, so I'll just tell you about Angel's bonus deal. For bein' such a good boy, our beloved El Somber no longer has to worry about that pesky curse."

"What?" Angel and Cordelia blurted the question as one, then looked everywhere but at each other.

"Hence the happy," Buffy noted, her hand automatically moving to massage Spike's injured leg.

Cordelia made a peculiar gurgling sound, somewhere between rage and utter mortification, and her cheeks were flaming. No one had ever seen her this embarrassed before. "What happy? No one got a happy!"

"The vision," Angel reminded her bemusedly. "The one about our future." Who knew Cordy could get all flustered like that? It made him want to see what else would get under her skin.

"Duh!" Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes. "What did you think I meant?" She froze and whipped her head around to peer intently at Spike. "What's wrong? You're getting all bad moody." A worried expression flitted across her face. "You're not gonna barf again are you?"

He gnawed at his inner cheek, watching the transformed demon with a distracted air. "Nah. Just don't like that they keep skimming over stuff about the Nip," he said. "Supposed to be foretold, in' he? Apollyon was all excited about it. Why aren't the Powers all over us?"

At the mention of his name the Keratos' swayed slightly, his tentacles rippling and fluttering, and for a long agonizing moment the Gemel feared that Oracle had closed and they wouldn't get any answers. Finally Doyle spoke again.

"Yeah, about that," he said hurriedly, almost nervously. "I, uh, can't tell ya much. Bosses orders. All I can say is the babe's rather special and he'll need protectin'. You two are the only ones that can and you'll have to stay strong as a couple to do it. Buffy particularly, which is why she'll have a tad more power 'til he's born."

"Could've warned a bloke," Spike muttered, then remembered that Lorne had said something to the same effect before they'd even left Pylea. Pocket power pack.

He stared at Buffy's hand where it rested on his thigh. She was starting to squeeze harder, and not in a good way. He put his hand over hers, attempting to ease the pressure. "Love?"

She startled. "Oh! Sorry, I... my bad. I'm just..."

"Yeah, I know."

He could feel her fear for the Nip mingling with his own. They hadn't anticipated that this little addition to their family would be anything other than a good. He set his jaw determinedly. And if he had his way, it wouldn't be.

During the awkward pause that followed, they got the impression that Doyle was consulting with someone. The out-of-earshot someone who was making him nervous. "Ah... You'll need to keep a low profile, too," he babbled. "Not let on about the 'special' part of all that. Could lead to all kinds of trouble."

"Oh, not a problem," Spike deadpanned. "A pregnant Slayer on the Hellmouth. Happens all the time. No one'll be any the wiser."

"Right. Good luck." Doyle seemed satisfied, even if nobody else was. "I'll leave ya to sort through the mess, try to make some sense of it."

"You're leaving?" Cordelia took a step toward the swaying Keratos. "You can't leave."

"Not your decision, darlin', and not mine either." Doyle was very sincere in his regret. "All goes well and you'll be hearin' from me again. But, bye for now."

There was a sharp crackle, then a hiss as Apollyon returned to normal, his tongues flicking out directly at Cordelia. She backed away, giving him a revolted look.

"Could you be more repulsive?" Her lips curled down in distaste.

Apollyon tipped his head sideward and peered at her with one curious green eye. If he weren't so hugely reptilian, the movement would almost be bird-like. "S-s-eer!" he warbled. His tentacles flapped at her, reinforcing the whole bird thing.

"You know," Buffy said dryly. "He would be really lost if none of our names started with 'S'."

Spike's mouth tugged up at the corners but didn't make any comment.

"Hey! Lighten up, Brood Boy." Buffy punched him again, though holding back on her full strength this time.

His head shot up anyway, eyes flaring with indignation. "I do not brood!" he protested. "How many times do I -?"

"Gotcha!" She bounced on her seat and pumped a fist in the air. "Hoo-hah! I still got it!"

"Bitch," he said mildly, finally letting the full smile take hold.

Wesley slammed his book shut. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your ... ah, moment, but I must say that I cannot translate any more without further research." He cast a shy glance at Fred. "If you would be willing to stay on and aid me..."

"Sure!" Fred blurted, somewhat louder than was necessary. "Oh, sorry. That was a little... I mean, I've got nowhere else to... If it's okay?"

"Plenty of room at the inn," Cordelia stated. She was still distracted by Doyle's 'revelation and departure' routine and didn't realize that she'd automatically spoken on Angel's behalf. "Pylean refugee central here."

Angel grimaced at the reminder. Certain aspects about the other dimension continued to concern him. "Are you sure we did the right thing leaving that Groo guy in charge? He's so... fickle."

"We left Jonah in charge," Wesley corrected. "The Groosalugg is simply a figurehead. He's enough of a balance between human and demon to placate both sides, but I don't think he has the capacity for true leadership."

"Well, color me stunned," Lorne groaned. He rolled over and propped himself up against the newel of the banister leading upstairs. "Actually, color me concussed." He touched his forehead gingerly, then winced. "I think one of my horns is fractured. Didn't anyone catch me?"

His inquiry was met with a round of indifferent shrugs.

"Pardon us if we were otherwise occupied," Spike said sarcastically, gesturing at Apollyon. "With bigger things."

Lorne blinked at him, then over at Angel and Cordelia. Their auras were all over the place, rippling and bending and, in some places, merging together in a psychedelic blur. "It's like a bad acid trip," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was looking back at Spike. "Smaller things occupying you as well, sweetcheeks?" He tipped his head meaningfully at Buffy.

She scowled at him. "Don't get cryptic. I hate that."

"We hate that," Spike verified. "Best to get everything out in the open I reckon."

Lorne pursed his lips and shared an enigmatic look with Apollyon. "Lets hope you remember your own advice, shall we?" That earned him scowls from both of them. He merely smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to sing for me?"

"No." Angel was steadfastly adamant. "No singing."

Cordelia cackled gleefully. "Especially from you, Mister Butcher-That-Tune."

Angel looked hurt for a second, before a tentative smile started to creep across his lips. "I love you even when you're bad-mouthing my crooning abilities."

She shrugged. "Crooning, groaning. To-mato, to-mahto."

The vampires smile widened into one of those heart-rending butterfly-inducing grins. "So, we're okay?"

Cordelia moved to wrap her arms around his waist. "We're better than okay. We're all set for the big future happy." She stretched up to give him a quick kiss. "I love you."

Lorne was relieved to see that their disturbed auras had settled down. They were sending warm and gentle vibes now.

"All's well," Drusilla suddenly declared. "And the Oracle departs."

Her meaning came clear when they belatedly realized that Apollyon had disappeared without trace, his stealth remarkable for such a gigantic beast.

"Slippery for a big sucker," Gunn noted.

"I hate when he does that," Buffy lamented, then ruined her pout by yawning. "Still sleepy."

Spike got up and helped her to her feet in a surprisingly gentlemanly manner. "Let's find someplace to bed-down then. Head back to Sunnyhell on the morrow."

Buffy smiled dreamily. "You get all hoity-toity when you're tired, did you know that?" He didn't bother answering, but swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. "Oh Rhett," she simpered, batting her lashes at him coquettishly, then burst out laughing. "You are so not Rhett Butler. Did they even have peroxide back then?" She twisted, trying to locate Angel. He'd know.

Spike wagged his eyebrows at her then whirled in a fancy pirouette that made her squeal and clutch at him. He loved it when she was all little girl carefree like this. He didn't see it often enough.

They left the others behind, vanishing from sight as they retreated into the east wing of the hotel, even though their bickering continued to drift down the stairs...

"Don't get used to this, Slayer. 'M not gonna cart you around when you're the incredible Jumbo Mum." The sharply resonant slap of flesh hitting flesh then, "Ow!"

"No fat jokes. Not until I'm actually fat anyway." A thoughtful pause. "You do know that we're never gonna be able to call you Daddy, right? It'll have to be 'Mom' and 'Spike'."

The blonde vampire's irritated retort was punctuated by the sound of a slamming door.

"Oh sod off."

~*[THE END]*~