Phoenix Ascendant

by MegK1978

Takes place during and immediately after "Reunion". Who else thinks the trio's reaction to being fired was out of character? Read and review, if you please!!!!!

"Phoenix Ascendant" by MK

Notes: Takes place immediately after "Reunion". Who else thinks their reaction to being fired was out of character? Read and review, pretty please!

Rating: PG-13

Wesley, Gunn, and Cordelia sat there in shock as the words "You're all fired" fell from Angel's lips, not turning as he stalked out of the office.

"Wait a minute!" Cordelia exploded, the first to snap out of the trance. She vaulted from her straight-back chair and chased the souled vampire into the lobby of the Hyperion, Gunn and Wesley on her heels. Angel already had his duster on, ready to go out the door. "You can't fire us!"

"I just did," Angel replied. His tone was dead, like ice.

"Let me refresh your memory." She pointed at him. "Warrior for the Powers That Be in search of redemption." She tapped her temple. "Connection to the PTB. If any of the Angel we know is still in there, this should be ringing an entire bell choir."

"She's right, Angel," Wesley added. "Until Darla, everything you've done has put you on the road to atonement. Are you really willing to jeopardize that now? Simply forget everything you need to finish?"

"Some souls aren't worth saving. Maybe they shouldn't be."

"That ain't your choice," Gunn put in. "And this ain't you talkin'."

"Funny, I think it is me. Get out." He turned his back on them, striding purposefully toward the door.

Cordelia wasn't about to let him walk away, not like this. She ran forward, grabbing his arm. He reacted, throwing her back, making her stumble and almost fall. Wesley caught her at the last moment, setting her on her feet. All she could do was look at Angel in even greater shock, feeling tears begin to rise at his hardened mask. "Angel?"

Despite the mask, he was shocked at himself. He had seen another friend almost hurt because of him. Images tumbled in his mind: Judith, Buffy, Doyle, Darla; all of them tore at his heart, paining him. This was right, but all he could think was What have I done?

"I'm going out on patrol," he ground out coldly. "Do not follow me." His coat flapping behind him, he disappeared into the night. Darla and Drusilla will have their day, he thought darkly. In the meantime, I'll take as many vampires as I can.

Cordelia sat heavily on the circular seat, still staring at the door through which he had disappeared. "Angel," she whispered. In over a year, since she had first come to LA, this had become more than a job for her; it had become her mission to see his atonement. To see him give up, allow the lawyers from Wolfram and Hart to be killed, made her sick inside. She never wanted this to happen; she wanted to see him become human again. If he gave up now . . . Her thoughts dissolved as tears seeped from her eyes to run rivers down her face.

Wesley saw her shake with tears, sitting beside her and pulling her to him gently. She moved her head to hide her face in shoulder, refusing to sob loudly.

Wesley's thoughts were not unlike hers. Angel had allowed him to stay, given him a purpose that the Watchers' Council would never have allowed. He had his own atonement to make for his own mistakes; with a vampire, he'd found another way to combat the dark forces. Now it was as if Angel rejoined the darkness's ranks, and Wesley felt as if he had been cast adrift.

Gunn, however, felt nothing but anger and rage. What was with him, acting like this? Acting like more reckless members of his posse; he was definitely not himself, not the vampire he had begun to reluctantly call a friend. He'd have to alert his people, warn them not to approach him. He shot a glance at Wesley and Cordelia, feeling a momentary pang of guilt, feeling unable to comfort them.

Gunn left, leaving the ex-Watcher and the actress to wonder what would become of their employer.

Their friend.

January 1, 2001, a few hours before sunrise

That had been a few weeks ago.

In those weeks, Angel had staked and exposed to daylight more vampire nests than ever before, breaking his personal record. He hadn't slept anymore, only catching a few hours every two days. Even those hours of rest had been plagued by nightmares, half of them featuring Darla.

Soon, with so many vampire nests out of commission, he began to target the "lone wolves", vampires who preyed on humans in bars and other singles' establishments. Angel had very easily reverted to his post-Sunnydale pattern, before the Powers That Be had sent a wise guy, Irish half-demon to him. This night, the night after New Year's Eve, was much the same: stake out a bar, pretend to be stinking drunk, then take out the vampires.

Tonight, however, would turn out to be very different.

He followed the male vampire that walked out, his arm slung around a blonde's shoulder. From the smell of her, Angel guessed the vampire meant to enjoy her body before drinking from her. He watched as he backed her to a wall of the alley beside the bar, kissing her violently. From her closed eyes and moans of pleasure, she seemed to enjoy the domination.

The vampire slid his mouth to her throat, the demon emerging in his face. Angel was about to strike, about to stop the seductive sham, when someone else beat him to it.

A hand shot of the darkness and grabbed the vamp by the scruff of his neck, yanking him from the blonde's throat and throwing him into the opposite wall. The action provoked a growl. The blonde screamed as she saw the other, darker side of her potential one-night stand. She wisely backed away, beginning to babble in panic.

Metal sang as a light broadsword flashed in the faint lamplight. "Away, creature of the night!" The figure's voice was distinctly female, a tone of command. The hood of the cloak she wore was pulled over her head, hiding her face from view (at least from where Angel stood). She held the sword easily, as if it were a part of her.

"'Creature of the night'? Please," he said, baring teeth. "That kind of talk went out with the Crusades."

"Well, I'm guessing you were never in the Crusades to begin with, so that makes us even," the mysterious woman snapped.

He lunged at her with a snarl, ready to tear her throat out. Her cloak whirled around her as she dodged, cutting him as he passed. He clutched his upper arm, where the blade had pierced his skin. "You're gonna pay for that," he growled.

"Really?" she taunted. "I'm a bit short on cash. Do you take credit?"

He didn't appreciate her jibes, lashing a kick at her head, snarling again when it didn't connect. She was agile, almost catlike in grace.

"Say hello to Lucifer," were her last words as she decapitated him, turning him to dust.

The cloaked woman stood still as she caught her breath, pushing back the hood. The single long, red braid fell on her shoulder. Her face was beautiful, full lipped, nose like a button, punctuated by hardened emeralds that served as eyes.

The emeralds softened to spring grass as she turned to the blonde, sheathing the sword in its scabbard. The blonde had her eyes closed, still babbling incoherently, completely terrified.

"Hey," she said softly, taking the blonde by her shaking shoulders. She waited until the eyes opened, locking onto her. "What's your name?"

"T-Tracy," she stammered out.

"Where do you live, Tracy?"

"A few blocks from here." Tracy began to cry. "This was my favorite bar."

"Hey, it's okay, he's gone," the redhead soothed her. Seeing the spots of blood on her throat, where the vampire had managed to sink his fang-tips, the redhead reached into a hidden pocket. A small square of gauze was placed on them, sticking with its own adhesive. "He won't be around anymore," she promised. "I can walk you home, if you like."

"I'd appreciate it." Tracy's fingers came up to gingerly touch her neck, the gauze.

The redhead gently took her fingers away. "Leave it be. Keep it on for a day or so. Let's get you home."

Tracy nodded mutely, still in shock.

"Hey, just think of tonight as a very bad nightmare, and you'll be okay," the redhead said in her soothing tone.

Tracy smiled slightly. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Knowing you'll be home and safe will be enough."

Angel watched to the two women walk away, impressed by the redhead's ability to handle herself. She's not another Slayer, he thought. Giles would've called if something had happened to Buffy. Did Faith—? He shook away the thought. Despite the mask of dispassion he had worn, he didn't want to think of anything happening to the darker Slayer.

Angel had the feeling he should make the redhead's acquaintance—when he could catch her alone.

The redhead, Katerina Connor, entered the studio apartment, ready for Tai Chi, a shower, then crashing into bed.

Her plans changed for a moment when a knock came upon the door. She cast her tired eyes to the ceiling. "Gimme a break," she muttered. She took off her cloak and sword, getting an atomizer of clear liquid out, then put a green eye to the peephole. Standing there was a pale, handsome man with dark hair and eyes, wearing all black.

She opened the door, the atomizer behind her back, seeing him lean against the frame casually.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but I'm tired and I don't have the energy, 'kay?" She was trying to be as rude possible so he wouldn't think of sticking around.

She hadn't expected the plan not to work.

"I have a proposition for you," the handsome man replied.

"I wouldn't go there, hon," a voice behind him said. He moved to reveal a plump, amiable-looking woman, her skin and eyes the color of dark chocolate. "The last guy to 'proposition' her got his butt kicked across the room."

"Gina," the redhead called, grinning, "thanks, but I can take care of myself."

"Just warning him off for you, sweetie."

"Again, thank you. Now please go away."

Gina shrugged and disappeared into her apartment.

"Nice," the handsome man commented.

"Thanks."

"I caught your performance outside the bar tonight." He pitched his voice low. "The vampire."

Her eyes darkened. "You followed me?"

"How else could I've found you?"

She whipped out the atomizer, pumped twice, spraying the clear liquid in his face, and quickly slammed the door. Through the peephole, she caught a glimpse of the vampiric countenance before he could change back to human. "I knew it!"

"Look, it's not what you think," he called through the door.

"Yeah, right! There's not one of your kind that I've liked or haven't dusted the floor with. Now get out before the cops get called in!"

She watched the vampire stalk away, then drew back and kissed the atomizer of holy water. "Aunt Jo, you've saved my life again."

"Kat?" A tall young man with red hair and brown eyes came out in his pajamas, his eyelids still drooping slightly with sleep. He raked a hand through the disheveled mop. He was Giovanni Connor, her younger brother. "What's going on?"

Kat cringed. "Sorry, Gio. Did I wake you?"

He shrugged. "Kinda, but I was gonna get up anyway."

"Gio, would you believe me if I said a vamp followed me home?"

Gio cocked an eyebrow. "You're not gonna ask me if we can keep it, are you?"

"No. Drove it off with this." She held up the atomizer.

"Ah, Aunt Jo's gift strikes again," Gio replied with a grin.

"You bet. Plans today?"

"Yeah. Something you were once familiar with, called going to class at UCLA?"

"But I graduated, while you are a lowly, second-year undergrad."

"Enough, Kat. I'm going to get ready." He turned back to head for the shower.

"Leave some hot water for me," she called after him. She placed the sword and scabbard in the corner of the room, the cloak on its hook in the closet. She then stripped to her underwear and began the slow, graceful movements she'd spent several years perfecting.

Gio found her an hour later in the lotus position, her eyes closed in meditation. "Left some hot, like you asked."

"Thanks," she said, smiling.

He moved to grab his briefcase of schoolbooks, then he He paused. "Kat?"

Green eyes opened and locked on him. "Yes?"

"Do you ever ask yourself why you do this every night?"

She stretched her legs out and her arms above her head. "Sometimes." Kat's mind flashed back to Tracy, the fight to keep her alive and with a soul. Not bad for my last kill of the night. She smiled. "Then I remember why."

Gio shrugged. He was used to his older sister's cryptic attitude, but he'd never seen it like this before. "'Kay. See you when I get back?"

"Sure. How does Chinese strike you for tonight?"

He grinned. "Hey, TV and Chinese with my sis. Perfect."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Gio, I've got to get you a girlfriend."

"Later." Gio disappeared through the door.

Katerina watched the sun come up, unraveling her braid until her hair cascaded over her shoulder blades in a fire-fall. She stripped completely as she stepped into the shower.

Hot water rained down on her, letting her lather up with her favorite vanilla body scrub and shampoo. She frowned at the various healing bruises and abrasions on her body, then smiled at the red firebird tattooed on her arm; the same mark that had earned her her street name.

Angel charged into the Hyperion's lobby just minutes before sunrise, startling Cordelia and Wesley.

"Look who decided to come back," she bit off angrily. She ran up and gave him a quick hug. "You know how worried we were about you?!" She pulled back and slugged him in the ribs. "You're so lucky I didn't have any visions that we couldn't handle."

Angel winced under her words, her angry glare, even the (relatively) gentle strike on his person. "Can you call Gunn, ask him to come here, please?"

Wesley and Cordelia glanced at each other, eyebrows raised questioningly. Despite their "unemployed" status, they had stayed at the hotel, both hoping for and dreading Angel's return. While Cordelia had dealt with the few clients they'd had, Wesley had gone over the Scroll of Aberjian, looking for anything about Angel, and a way for him to come back from the darkness he had immersed himself in.

To both their dismay, he had found it.

Angel's almost-contrite and guilty tone surprised them, a turnaround in behavior from a few weeks previously.

"Why would you need to speak to Gunn?" Wesley asked.

"I—found someone who might be an ally," he explained. "I need to know more about her before I try approaching her again."

"Her?" Cordelia asked.

"Again?" Wesley added. "You attempted to speak with her?"

"And got holy water sprayed in my face," Angel replied. "She knew what I was."

"Another Slayer?" Wesley's eyes brightened, his mind tapping into his Watcher training.

Angel shook his head. "I thought of that, too. There's only Buffy and Faith; the Watchers' Council wouldn't send another until one of them died, would they?"

Wesley's eyes dulled as he processed the logical conclusion. "You're right."

"I'll call Gunn," Cordelia volunteered, racing to the phone.

"Angel," Wesley put in, "There's something else. We've discovered why you came back."

Angel looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I came back to find out about this woman."

Wesley held up the rolled, slightly singed parchment. "The Scroll says otherwise."

Angel described the young woman's physical appearance, what happened during their exchange. "Have you ever seen or heard of her?"

Gunn looked at him, lost in thought as he mentally processed the request. Despite having Angel seemingly back completely, he was still a little wary of what he might do with what he knew. "Talks like she came outta the Middle Ages? Wears a cloak with a hood? Carries a broadsword?"

Angel nodded. "That's her."

Gunn pushed up from his seat, beginning to pace. "Can't tell ya much."

"Whatever you have could help."

Gunn turned to him. "Heard about her from people who've seen her fight. Her street name's Phoenix."

"The firebird, reborn from its own ashes?" Wesley asked. He went over to his collection of tomes and started leafing through one of them.

"She ain't called that 'cause o' her hair, neither," Gunn continued, trying very hard to ignore the British ex-Watcher. The young vampire hunter idly wondered how Angel and Cordelia put up with him on a daily basis. "There's a tattoo of a red flame-bird on her arm." He pointed at his own forearm, just below the crook of the elbow. "Right here."

Angel hadn't noticed the mark, but it was the same woman. "Any idea what her real name is? Where she came from?"

Gunn shook his head. "No go. What we do know is, she's fast, furious, and strong. She's been around for a little over a year, but kept a pretty low profile. She only just stepped up her kills, dusted at least a dozen vamps since last week. The lady is seriously hurting my rep." He cracked a small smile even as he said the words.

Cordelia handed Gunn the cup of coffee he'd asked for. "Come on, spraying holy water from a perfume atomizer? That's just too kitschy by half."

"She wasn't alone in the apartment," Angel added. "I smelled someone else, a guy."

"Only one way to find out anything for sure," Cordelia said. "Angel, I think I'd come off as less threatening than you. Where does she live?"

Katerina, her hair braided again, finished the last of the Chinese dinner she had shared with her brother. Gio had already collapsed into bed, full and happy. As soon as the fried rice settled in her stomach, she was going to go out, protect some people, and seriously trounce some otherworldly backside.

She looped and fastened her cloak around her neck. Her sword and scabbard hooked onto the waistband of her black jeans; with the cloak pulled over it, it was virtually undetectable to the eye.

She pulled the hood over her red hair, ready to do damage. She gave herself one last glance in the hall mirror, knowing she was transformed, like her namesake when being reborn. She wasn't Katerina now; she was Phoenix.

Cordelia had had to fight Angel over the idea of going alone. She had finally convinced him to let her; and she now waited outside Phoenix's building. It was just before sundown, making the clouds turn pink and yellow. All she had to do was approach her.

That's when she saw the cloaked figure walk by, the hood pulled up and low over the head and face. Just like Angel said. The figure passed by without even a glance in her direction, so Cordelia acted on what she saw as her only choice.

She stepped out into the open and called the figure by her street name.

"Hey, Phoenix!"

Before her brain could even register the action, her reflexes took over. She whirled around, her sword sliding out, virtually leaping into her hand. "Hold!" she cried out, sword at the ready.

The dark-haired young woman, smartly dressed, jumped back, her hands up. "Hey, just wanna talk!"

"Do not make me cut you down where you stand." Phoenix approached the tanned girl cautiously. Tanned, she thought. Non-vampiric. "Who are you, how did you find me, and why did you want to find me?"

"You sprayed my boss with holy water last night. Tall, dark, broody, vampire-y?"

"You work for the vamp who followed me?" Since when do the pale ones hire humans and not eat them?

"His name is Angel. Mine's Cordelia. He got his soul back over a century ago."

The words sparked something in her memory, the name. "A gypsy curse?"

"Yeah. Before the curse, he was—"

"Angelus." Phoenix lowered the sword completely. "The Scourge of Europe, the demon with the face of an angel."

Cordelia's eyes widened. "You know?"

Phoenix allowed herself a small smirk. "I wrote an entire paper on Angelus." The smirk disappeared, her hand tightening on the hilt of the sword. "What do you have to do with him now?"

"I'm a seer, a messenger from the Powers That Be. I get images, tell Angel about them, and he helps people."

"I'm not in need of help. In fact, I help others, too."

"I know. But we were thinking maybe you'd want to work with us?"

Despite herself, Phoenix let out a body-shaking laugh.

"Hey! I'm serious here!" Cordelia said, her tone insulted, bordering on temper blowing.

"Sorry, Messenger." Phoenix shook her head, trying to get under control again. "But to work with a vampire . . . I'm sorry, that strikes me so ironic, I have to get a blow torch."

"At least let me talk to you about this." It was obvious Cordelia was not about to give up.

"Not now." Phoenix closed her green eyes for a moment, opened them. "Do you know the Starbucks on 5^th and Main?"

Cordelia nodded.

"Meet me there tomorrow afternoon at three. We'll talk then. My treat for coffee."

"Deal."

With a swirl of cape, Phoenix disappeared into the night.

As soon as Cordelia walked into the hotel lobby, she screamed, the pain lancing through her mind. Angel and Wesley leapt forward to catch her.

"I think," she gasped out as the pain receded, "we'll need her soon."

January 2

Cordelia tapped her foot as she waited in front of the Starbucks. She glanced at her watch: 3:00. She wondered briefly if she had the wrong place.

"Cordelia the Messenger?"

She jumped at the voice, turning a fast one-eighty. She faced a sunglasses-wearing face framed by tightly waved red hair. The woman quickly pulled up her right sleeve and nodded down. Cordelia obediently looked to see a red-and-gold bird that seemed to be made of pure fire.

A phoenix.

Cordelia looked up again as the sleeve was pulled down, then the shades pulled to the tip of her nose to reveal catlike green eyes. It was her!

A slender finger came up to her lips. "Don't call me that here," she murmured. "Walls having ears and all that."

"Oh. Right, no problem," Cordelia replied in understanding. "So, what do I call you?"

The lips gave a genuine smile as the shades came off completely, the eyes echoing it. "Kat," she replied. "It's my given name, anyway. Shall we? I did say I'd treat." She motioned to the door.

Cordelia smiled and nodded.

The place wasn't full to overflowing yet, and the staff behind the counter was quick with the short line of customers. "What'll you have?" Phoenix—no, Kat, Cordelia corrected herself—asked.

The brunette looked up for a moment, made her decision. "Chocolate Brownie Mochaccino."

The redhead grinned again. "Girl after my own heart." She turned to the cashier, a guy who looked no older than Cordelia. "Grande Chocolate Brownie Mochaccino times two." She turned back to a surprised Cordelia. "Large is okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure. I didn't realize you were going for the most expensive size."

"Hey, everyone needs a big caffeine charge one in a while. Besides, I'm usually asleep by now." Kat reached in her pocket, dropping the leather wallet to the floor. "Crud."

"I've got it." Cordelia bent over to retrieve it, her eyes falling on a picture in the plastic insert. She found herself frozen, lost in thought, until Kat's voice called her back.

Kat was holding her hand out, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I kinda need my wallet back, to pay for the coffee."

"Oh, right." Cordelia handed the billfold.

Kat handed the money to the cashier, smiling graciously at him. "There you go."

"And there you go," he replied with equal graciousness, pushing the drinks across the countertop. "Enjoy, ladies."

"Thanks." Kat handed Cordelia one of the drinks and led her away from the growing line. "You said we should talk. There's a table in the corner."

Cordelia nodded, pushing away her shock, trying to focus on her task. Get her on our side, then grill her about the photo.

Kat put a small black discus on the table, depressing a button on the side. Cordelia looked at it curiously as they sat. Kat smiled. "My brother's one of the worst of two worlds: paranoid, and a James Bond fan," she offered as explanation. "This'll keep us from being overheard by electrical equipment." She glanced around quickly to make sure no one else could hear them, either.

"Now, why exactly is everyone so hot to get me?" Kat asked at last. "First the vampires, then Angelus, now you. What is it about me? My personality's been known to shatter glass and other breakables in close proximity."

Cordelia smiled, ignoring for the moment the use of Angel's other name. "I've heard the same said about me." She sighed; she had to tell her, now. "Look, Kat, I had a vision about you after we met last night."

Kat blinked, caught off guard. "About me? Are you sure?"

The brunette nodded. "You're pretty distinct." She leaned forward, her face intent. "There is a very big bad coming. You're a big part of the fight ahead. You're the swing vote; either side that recruits you will win. We need you on our side."

"Okay, whoa, back up." The redhead waved a hand before her, trying to take this all in. She was supposed to fight for the light? She'd always thought the lives she saved every night was enough; apparently someone Higher decided it wasn't. From what she'd only just heard about Angelus'—no, Angel's—activities in the last year or so, he was working towards his own atonement. Kat, however, didn't need redemption; she could do good, and playing the hero didn't hurt, either.

"So," Kat said at last, "you're saying that the end of the world is coming and I'm a part of the good guys or bad guys winning?"

"In so many words, yes."

Kat's breath left her body in a rush, seeming to deflate her before Cordelia's eyes. Kat needed to get out tonight and dust a lot of vampires. "Look, Cordelia, would it be all right if I met you, Angel, and whoever just after sunrise tomorrow? I think I'll need more time than I have now to think this over."

Cordelia nodded, taking out one of the newly minted business cards and pushing it across the table. "You can meet us here. Can I tell—?"

"You can tell Angel I'll come, but nothing else." Kat sat up straight again. "Not even my name." She picked up the card, tucking it into her pocket. "I trust you, for some odd reason, but I don't trust him. Not yet."

January 3

As promised, just after sunrise, Angel, Gunn, Wesley, and Cordelia saw a cloaked figure just inside the main entrance of the Hyperion Hotel, as if it had materialized there. The figure put out its right arm, the sleeve cut above the elbow. "I seek the one called Angel."

Angel got up from his seat and approached, staying a safe distance away. His eyes caught the red-and-gold birdlike shape on the arm. "Hello, Phoenix. Good of you to come."

The hand pulled low-drawn hood away. Phoenix's mouth quirked slightly in an ironic smile. "Angel," she greeted.

"If you'll come in?"

The redhead took the invitation, locking eyes with Cordelia. You promised, she thought to her, raising her eyebrows.

Cordelia's eyes came back with understanding, I didn't tell him your name.

"You've already met Cordelia," Angel began. "This is Wesley Wyndham-Price."

Wesley came forward and took her hand, ever the gentleman. "A pleasure, Miss Phoenix."

Phoenix smiled. "The same for me, good sir. And it's simply Phoenix." She tilted her head, her red braid listing to one side, her eyes thoughtful. "Oxford. You're from the Watchers' Council."

Wesley's dark brows shot up to his hairline. "How—"

"I have a talent for accents. You're British, obviously, and you work for a vampire with a soul." Her mouth split into a grin. "The Watchers' Council was a guess."

Wesley ducked his head, flushing to his roots.

Angel cleared his throat to save the ex-Watcher from further embarrassment. "And this is—"

"Charles Gunn," she interrupted as she turned to the dark young man, her eyes lighting up.

Gunn looked at her quizzically. "Don't think we've ever met, firebird."

"No, but I'm not unaware of who you are. You and your posse have a pretty solid reputation." She put her hand out. "Nice to finally meet another vampire-duster."

Fighting the urge to grin, Gunn took the hand. "Same here."

"May I?" Angel asked, looking at her dark cloak.

Phoenix smiled; she really did have gentlemen her proximity. "Thank you." She undid the clasp at her throat and allowed the vampire to take it.

Underneath, she had put on a blue T-shirt, dark cargo pants, socks and sneakers, and, of course, the broadsword and scabbard that hung from her belt.

Phoenix caught the look on Wesley's face as he openly admired her sword. "Like what you see?" she teased.

He blushed again momentarily, coughing lightly. "That is an impressive-looking weapon. May I take a closer look?"

Almost as if moving on its own, the sword leapt into her hand, turned a one-eighty, and lay on her upturned palms. Phoenix offered the weapon hilt-first. "I want it back," she warned in her most ominous tone.

Wesley took her meaning with a nod, gingerly handling the sword. He examined the ornately decorated hilt and guard with interest. "Celtic knots and twists—" Then he came upon the two hands holding a crowned heart. "And a claddaugh?"

Phoenix nodded. "When it comes to my heritage, I'm very much a mixed breed. Two of my ancestors created this sword as a symbol of their marriage. William was a British sword-maker; he fashioned the blade. Maeve was Irish, a metalworker; she made the hilt and guard with the decorations. You know the meaning of the Claddaugh?"

All but one of them nodded. "Someone mind educating me?" Gunn asked.

She motioned him closer to the sword. "The hands stand for friendship, the crown for loyalty, the heart for love. It's given in ring form at weddings, a promise in the old Irish sense." She laid her hand next to the decoration, the heart pointing towards her palm. "When it's worn like this, it means the person wearing it belongs to someone."

Angel unconsciously rubbed his ring finger, thinking of the silver ring in his drawer. Although they came unbidden, memories of Buffy flooded his mind.

Cordelia caught the movement of Angel's hand, the familiar, haunted look in his eyes, and knew he was thinking of the petite blonde left behind in Sunnydale. She felt a pang of grief for him, then for herself as she thought of a certain Irishman she'd never see again.

Phoenix broke the spell of silence by sliding the blade back into the scabbard, the metal singing as it settled into its home. "Cordelia told me she had a vision of a battle, and that I'm an integral part of either side winning. Do you know anything more about this?"

"Well," Wesley began, "from what we could tell, there is a powerful demon. According to legend, in the thirteenth month of each millennium, he attempts to destroy whatever city he deems appropriate and take over the world from there.

"However, before he can begin the destruction, he recruits an army of dark beings; creatures of the night, if you will. This army is invariably met by an opposing army, one fighting for the world, led by one being of incredible power."

"Cordelia's under the impression that I'm supposed to be the swing vote in this fight," Phoenix commented.

"When the powerful one is located," Angel took up, "both sides try its own hand at recruiting him or her. So far, every time, the powerful one's always sided with the light rather than the dark."

"You could have more power than you ever dreamed of," the green, slime-covered demon purred. "The world would be at your feet."

Phoenix, her sword before her, shuddered, fought back the urge to gag and retch. "I don't ally myself with demons," she grated. "I destroy them." She cut it down without a second thought.

"They already tried to recruit me last week, tried to get me to join their side," Phoenix told them. A smile curled her lips. "They made the mistake of sending an ugly slime of a demon to do the recruiting." She saw Cordelia cringe at the word "slime". "I wasn't inclined to listen."

Angel sighed. "You may already be marked for death. The books all say the dark army's minions have tried to kill the powerful one before the battle ever takes place."

"Tried," Phoenix echoed. "I assume that means the minions've failed each time."

"Yup." This came from Cordelia. "Does this mean you're with us?"

Phoenix held up a hand. "Just a few questions first, please. Has the powerful one ever been neutral in the battle, not taken either side?"

Cordelia, Angel, and Wesley looked at each other. Phoenix got her answer in that glance. "Okay, that's a no, then. How much time do we have before the fight?"

"The next full moon," Wesley replied, "six days from now."

The redhead closed her eyes in thought. If she did nothing, the dark would win, and a lot of people would die; if she fought, she would likely wind up dead herself.

No contest.

She opened her eyes, nodded. "I'm in."

The quartet let out the breath they collectively held, making the powerful one smile.

"I'll need information, and lots of it." Phoenix fell almost instantly, easily, into the leader role. "How large is the dark army, how powerful? Where does the battle usually take place? Who can we recruit?"

"The numbers of the dark army vary each time," Wesley answered. "They are either small armies whose members have immense power, or large armies with only one or two truly powerful members, usually the general and a lieutenant."

"A godfather and his consigliere." Phoenix blushed as they all gave her funny looks. "Hey, is it my fault my mother's Italian? Gunn, how many of your people can we count on?"

"All of them," Gunn said confidently. "We've faced down a lot of scary stuff before; this shouldn't be very different."

"It may be different. Make sure they know the risks involved. Angel, any chance you can recruit any demons, ones who'd rather not see LA go up in flames?"

Angel nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Could witches help?" Cordelia asked.

"Just for protective spells," Wesley replied. "Other than that, only the powerful one can do anything else."

"I can call Willow, see if she can't send some protection our way." Cordelia made a beeline for the phone for the second time in as many days.

"The location?"

Wesley froze, and all Phoenix could think was Deer trapped in headlights. "You don't know," she stated simply.

Wesley sighed, shaking his head.

"Okay, we just need to add reconnaissance. Angel, please ask any and all demons if they've heard about a gathering of forces, loud, quiet, or otherwise."

Angel nodded, adding it to his own mental list.

Cordelia came back moments later. "Willow can put together a half-dozen protective medallions and send them to us in overnight mail. With Tara's help, they can probably get it up to twelve."

"Willow and Tara?" Phoenix asked.

"Willow's an old classmate from high school. She and Tara are witches. They could have them here in few days."

"Great job, Cordelia." Her hand came up to her mouth as she let out a huge yawn. "Sorry," she said, recovering. "Past my bedtime."

"You can take one of the rooms, if you want," Angel offered.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Point the way?"

"I'll take you." Cordelia took the cloak from the chair where Angel had put it. "Right upstairs."

"Thanks." She slowly followed her up the main staircase. She would later accept Angel's invitation to stay at the hotel for the duration.

When night fell again, Phoenix had a request. "Angel, could I use your phone? I need to pull an ET."

"An ET?"

"She wants to call home," Cordelia translated, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, sure." Angel gestured towards his office, watching as the redhead closed the door, wordlessly asking for privacy.

She dialed the number by heart, the line picking up on the first ring. "Hello!"

The voice startled her. Gio was calm and collected, not nearly hysterical and nervous like the man on the line that had barked at her. "Gio? It's me."

"Kat! God, sis, are you okay? I was ready to call LAPD when you did come back this morning."

"I'm okay, kid, really. Look," she sighed, "something came up last night, and I'm gonna hafta stay away for a while."

"How long is 'a while'?"

"About a week."

"Why? What in God's name is so important that you can't come home?"

"Gio, I can't really explain right now, it's too complicated. But it's something I can't involve you in."

"Kat—" She heard his voice catch before saying, "It's one thing to let you go every night and praying you come home in one piece in the morning. I don't like you being outta my sight for a week. How will I know—?"

"You'll know when I'm on our doorstep at the end of seven days. Any later than that and I'll call you."

Gio was silent for a long minute, making her think he'd hung up. "Be careful, sis," he said quietly.

She smiled, knowing it was as close to a blessing as he was going to get. "Always," she promised.

"Buona fortuna, Katerina."

"Grazie, Giovanni. Buona notte."

"Buona notte."

Brother and sister hung up, and she never heard him cry himself to sleep, offering up every prayer he knew, begging that she be safe.

January 6

"Kat, I don't know about this," Cordelia said. The medallions had arrived the day before and most of their own army of light had been assembled. The battle was three days away.

Now, dressed in a Lycra leotard and blue sweatpants, Cordelia held a four-foot wooden staff, each end tapering to a sharpened point. "I mean I've never been very good at the 'fight and weaponry' part of this."

"It's about time you learned," Kat replied, also dressed in workout clothes, hefting a staff of her own. "You can't just be the messenger all the time, and frankly, if you and Wesley are interpreting the vision accurately, we'll need everyone who can fight. Or, at the very least, willing to learn. Ready?"

"I guess."

"Okay, attack me."

"What?!"

Kat sighed; this was going to be harder that she had thought. "Cordelia, you're an actress. I need you to visualize for me."

The brunette nodded, beginning to relax.

"Now, imagine me with a ridged brow and fangs, ready and eager to have you as a midnight snack."

Cordelia swallowed, nodded again. In her mind, she drew the vampiric features on her friend's face.

"You have to get me before I get you." Kat's voice took on a snarling quality; Cordelia half-expected her to really vamp out. "Attack me!"

Cordelia struck an overhead, which was blocked effortlessly. The ribcage blows that followed were also blocked.

"C'mon, Cordelia, you're not concentrating."

"I am!" she insisted.

"Okay, stop," Kat ordered. She closed her eyes wearily, racking her mind for another way. Her eyes came open again. "You have a fire in your heart, Cordelia, in your soul. You just have to find a way to tap into it and use it. Try this: look on me as someone or something you hate with a passion." The redhead stood ready. "Attack."

Cordelia struck out with her staff. Wood struck wood as the two women sparred, dancing around each other. Kat could see her trying to access the fire in her, really trying to learn; she decided to encourage (read: tease) her. "C'mon, Cordy, you can do better than this."

The use of her Sunnydale nickname was like a slap in the face, a crack in her dam. She fought harder, seeing Xander kissing Willow, her father losing his money, everyone falling over themselves over Buffy.

Kat saw the improvement, seeing a brighter spark in the chocolate eyes. It's working! "Is this your best?" she taunted. "If you can't do this, you might as well stay home. We need warriors, not a princess."

As she said the word, Cordelia heard, not Kat's American accent, but a warm Irish brogue. She saw him disintegrate before her eyes, his kiss still warm on her lips, the feeling of dread and horror in the pit of her stomach.

"Don't call me that!" The almost inhuman scream ripped through her throat, her staff becoming a blur.

Kat was surprised at the viciousness of the attack. The spark hadn't turned into a flame; it had grown into an inferno.

"Don't ever call me that!" Cordelia continued to scream as she fought, Kat just barely able to hold her own. "He's the only one who called me princess! He loved me and I never told him!"

"Cordelia—"

"I never told him!"

Kat found the hole in her defense and used it, quickly knocking the staff out of Cordelia's hands. For a moment, they stood still, staring at each other. Kat saw the fire in her eyes die down, doused by the tears welling up. "I never told him," she said again, her voice a whisper. Tears ran rivers down her face, her body beginning to crumple.

Kat dropped her own staff and cushioned the other woman's fall, allowing her herself to be pulled down. "Whoa, easy, Cordelia, easy."

Cordelia shuddered as she sobbed. "I—didn't tell you—how I—got the visions," she said, fighting for air.

"No."

"There was a messenger before me. He—he threw himself in front of Angel, saved his life, my life. He passed the visions to me." She smiled sadly through her tears. "He kissed me. He was halfway through asking me out to dinner when . . . oh God, he loved me and I just pushed him away. I was starting to love him and I never told him."

"Cordelia, I'm sorry. I—didn't know." Kat felt sympathetic tears begin to clog her throat.

"He was half-demon, but that didn't matter to me. I could've loved his other face. I could've. Oh God, I still miss him."

Kat held Cordelia, the same way she'd held her brother when he had been much smaller than she. She rocked the other woman slowly until she had no more tears to shed.

January 9

Phoenix stood on some crates, looking out on the sea of faces, so radically different from each other. The night of the battle had arrived, the location found. She felt overwhelmed; she was going to lead humans, half-demons, and full demons against an army of who-knew-how many. She felt many things, but being Joan of Arc wasn't one of them.

"Listen up!" she screamed, waiting until they faced her direction. She sighed; public speaking wasn't her strong suit. She locked eyes with Angel, who nodded encouragingly.

"We're about to go in. I won't lie to you; some of us won't come out alive. If you're here with a death wish, two things will happen: you will die and cause someone else to follow you; or you'll actually not get your wish, and you'll still be alive, but others won't be.

"Look around you. This is probably the most diverse army to fight this battle in the last millennium. And not long ago, you would've been at each other's throats. We found a calling for this army that's bigger than any one of us. We fight tonight, together, not just for our own lives, but also for the lives of all of LA, human and demon alike. Consequently, we'll save the world, too."

Phoenix allowed herself a smile. "This is the battle from which legends are drawn and songs are written. Every battle for the last 10,000 years has been won, the darkness driven back. Let's make sure tonight is no different." She unsheathed her sword, holding it high.

"This is our moment! Let's make the most of it! FOR THE FUTURE!"

A roar of approval answered her as Wesley handed her off the crates. She motioned the vampire and mortals together.

"Look, I wanted to talk to you. Just in case—"

"Oh no!" Cordelia interrupted. "Do not go there."

"Cordelia's right," Angel added. "The second you finish a 'just-in-case', you'll wind up dead."

Phoenix nodded, smiling in surrender. "Okay, okay. But Angel, Wesley, when we come through this, I think you'll both be able to call me Kat."

"Kat?" Wesley asked.

"It's short for Katerina, my real name." She grinned, for a reason she couldn't identify.

Cordelia came forward and pulled the redhead into a one-armed hug, holding her staff out of the way. Phoenix returned the embrace. "Remember the fire in you. Use it."

The brunette nodded as they broke away.

They were ready.

A few hours later, when the flare of supernatural light had faded, the good guys were still standing and the bad guys had either turned to dust or simply gone.

Cordelia looked around, her staff still held in a defensive position. "What the hell just happened?" she asked, puzzled.

Angel's eyes also roamed, taking it all in. "I don't know. But from the look of things, I'd say we just won."

Phoenix was standing in the center of the former melee, frozen, the sword held over her head, her hair a tangle.

Wesley slowly approached the redhead, who, he thought, looked very much like an ancient Celtic warrior. "Phoenix?" he asked tentatively.

The sword slowly lowered to her side

"Phoenix? Can you hear me?"

She slowly turned, her green eyes locking on his.

"Are you all right?"

The long red hair swayed as she shook her head. "I—I don't . . ." she whispered. The sword fell with a clatter from her numb fingers, her body collapsing into his arms, her hair falling across her face like a fiery curtain.

"Angel! Cordelia!"

The vampire and the seer ran to their side. Angel cleared the face that had been so infused with rage only moments before.

"Is she—?" Cordelia began.

"No." Angel heard her heart, beating slow but steady. "She's all right. Just exhausted."

"Well, if that light show came from her, I don't blame her."

Angel gathered her in his arms, lifting her as if she were a rag doll. "I'll take her back to the hotel. Help Gunn and the others."

Wesley nodded, and went to help one of Gunn's people to his feet. Cordelia, meanwhile, helped the benign demons and half-demons, watching some simply drift away from the battlefield.

The darkness had been driven away for the last time. The Higher Powers had finally intervened, locking the darkness into the pit from where it had come. The Millennium Battles had finally ended.

January 10, a few hours before dawn

She dragged her eyes open, her vision clearing slowly. She saw a familiar face watching over her. "Hey," Angel greeted her.

She drew in a breath. "Did we win?"

Her gave her a half-smile. "Yeah, we won."

As Kat—not Phoenix, not now—combed her tangled hair and pulled it back into a simple ponytail, Angel's thoughts turned back to the battle they had fought.

The battle had begun well. With protective amulets around their necks, Gunn's people held their own with their homemade weaponry. Even Cordelia managed to dust a vampire or two. Unlike many leaders before her, Phoenix was in the middle of the fight, not holding herself in reserve. Hanging back was never her way.

Before long, though, the battle had turned against them, the dark forces coming in waves. Phoenix looked around, seeing everyone who had trusted her to lead falling around her. They were wounded, bleeding, dying.

Her vision became tinged with red, her blood beginning to boil. They will not win! I won't let them!

She made her way to the center of the battle, cutting through any evilness in her way, drawing the hood of her cloak away. She held her sword held high, hilt first. She screamed something in Gaelic. It had been a long time, but Angel knew the words.

The hilt and blade glowed brighter as the words were chanted repeatedly. As she chanted one last time, waves of light, otherworldly fire, radiated and erupted from her hands, as she stood transfixed. Her hair lifted from her head, sheer power unraveling the intricate braid.

The fire sought out the thoughts of those who would do any living thing harm, had thoughts of world domination. The fire also sought out those with good hearts and souls. The latter, the fire restored; the former, the fire destroyed.

"I just—" Kat's voice brought him back to the present. With her cloak and sword removed, she was curled into a ball, her arms resting on her knees, making her seem much smaller and younger than she really was. Angel marveled at her transformation from warrior to young woman. "I've never experienced that much power before." She let out a breath of air, shaking her head. "Incredible."

Angel looked at her. "Are you sure? I mean, never?"

"Well, I've felt adrenaline rushing through my blood; but adrenaline's never scared me. This, what happened to me tonight, this scares me."

"Kat, you know what you chanted tonight, don't you?"

She looked at him, fright in her eyes. "No. I have no idea where it came from."

"It was Gaelic," he explained. "You said, 'Fire in my heart, fire in my soul, ignite!'"

A knock came on the door of the room. "Angel, may I come in?" Wesley's voice called.

Angel pulled the door open to see the tall, lank Englishman standing there, holding one of his many leather-bound books. "What is it, Wesley?"

"Something's been niggling me the last day or so," Wesley began, coming into the room. He glanced in Kat's direction. "Actually, your sword."

"My sword?" Kat looked to where the hilt glinted in the lamplight from its place on the floor. Her gaze leveled at Wesley. "What about it?"

"It appears that your ancestor was more than a simple metalworker." He opened the volume to a marked page, holding it out for her to see.

What she saw wasn't what she expected, and she felt another pang of fright shiver through her. A hand-drawn sketch met her eyes: the hilt of a sword, ornately decorated with Celtic knots and twists, topped by a hands holding a crowned heart.

Kat's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, her face paling. She uncurled herself and gently took the book from Wesley, resting it flat on her palms. She silently read the passage written next to the illustration:

"The sword is said to have great power, imbued especially in the intricate designs on the hilt and guard. Maeve, a fey and talented metalworker, blessed these and the blade in the ancient Celtic tradition. It is also said that Maeve knew a member of her family would be the Powerful One, the one person to lead an army in a millennium battle for the world. This member of the family would be born with a fire in their soul which would incinerate any against them, or restore any who were with them."

She was in shock, her mind reeling. Her eyes finally broke from the page, locking on the men. "Maeve was an Irish witch? Why didn't my father tell me? Maeve was on his side of the family."

"There's the possibility that he didn't know," Wesley replied. "Just that the sword was a great, priceless heirloom, and it could only be used and kept by family."

"And she knew. She knew about me. But, the power in the metalwork; there wasn't anything in the family stories about it being used before."

"Did anyone actually use the sword before you?" Angel asked. "Especially against the darker forces?"

Kat was silent again, this time lost in thought. Her father had never told her anything about using the sword himself, let alone against vampires and demons. She told them as much.

"Maybe it has something to do with you killing vampires?" Angel guessed. "When did you kill your first?"

She searched her memory. "It was between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'm sure of that," she insisted. "Ah . . . yeah, it had to be within the week after Thanksgiving in '99. I graduated about six months later."

"Why did you feel the need to go out and protect people from vampires?" Wesley asked. "After all, for every generation—"

"There is one girl born," Kat took up the narrative, "Chosen, destined to stand alone to protect the world from the demons and vampires; the Slayer." Her lips split into a grin as she took in their incredulous faces. "FYI, England is not the only country where a girl can get Watcher training. Here in America, it's called 'Occult and Societal Studies'; I minored in it. The Vampire Slayer was just part of the studies. How do you think I knew about Angelus? Besides, I always thought if I used what I know to help people, even one a night, I'd make a difference."

Angel and Wesley exchanged a glance. When had Wesley walked back into Angel and Cordelia's lives? When had—?

"You don't have anything in your past that requires atonement, do you?" Wesley asked reluctantly.

"No," Kat replied, her face serious again. "I'm a practicing Roman Catholic. I'm a regular at confession. Granted, I don't have a hundred and fifty years of murder and mayhem to make up for." She glanced an apology at Angel, who nodded a concession. "Other than that, there's really nothing that would involve the Powers That Be. Why? What're you two thinking?"

"Kat, the night you killed you first vampire was the same week of—" Angel's voice hitched, and he had to pause a moment. "—of our previous messenger's death."

"Cordelia's friend? The one who passed the visions on to her?"

"She told you?" Wesley asked.

Kat shrugged. "Just the bare bones of what happened."

"Now, this is just a theory," Angel warned. "Wesley, stop me if you think I'm out of line."

Wesley nodded.

"What if the Powers counted your kills as our messenger's continuing atonement? What if they've made you a warrior without you knowing it?"

"Wait, you're saying I'm your old messenger's champion? Like someone chosen to fight in the place of another who was challenged?" Kat stood and began to pace the room. "But I shouldn't I actually know the person the atonement is for? It doesn't make sense if it's for a total stranger. Shouldn't I have some kind of connection with him?"

"Have any of your family or friends needed atonement this badly?" Wesley asked.

"No, not in my family, nothing too serious. If any of my friends needed atonement, I don't think they'd tell me, anyway." She stopped dead in the middle of the room, a thought coming back. "Wait a minute. Cordelia." She turned to the two men. "When we met at Starbucks, I dropped my wallet. She picked it up for me. Then she froze, staring at it. Didn't last very long, but I caught it. I pushed it away later, before and during the battle, but—" she tapped her temple with a finger. "—my mind's like a trap for little details like that."

"What was she staring at?" Angel asked.

"It had to be the picture insert. There's not really anything else of interest."

"May I see?" Kat reached into her pocket and handed the leather billfold to Angel, who opened it to the first two pictures. "Who are they?"

Kat leaned over to see, then smiled, pointing. "That's me, my brother Giovanni, and my parents. That was taken at Gio's first communion. Wait." She took the wallet back, leafing through the pictures, and came upon the only photo of her with her friend. The sight of the picture, the memory of him, made her smile. "This was taken during my time in Ireland. It's really the only one Cordelia could've reacted to; she doesn't know my family." She handed the wallet back, showing it to Angel.

His eyes widened as he looked at it. Blue eyes twinkled from a pale face with dark hair, a mischievous grin curling the mouth. He felt an unnecessary breath catch in his throat.

Kat sat on the bed again, lost in memory. Her mind's eye saw the green fields outside Dublin, the little pubs where they'd met for drinks, his comical attempts to sing. "His name is—"

"Doyle."

She did a double take. "That's right, Allen Francis Doyle. Granted, it took a little wheedling on my part until he told me his full name. How did you know—?" She stopped as she saw the look in the vampire's eyes, the implication striking her heart. "My God," she whispered. "Doyle was your messenger, wasn't he. He died the hero." Her body curled into an even tighter ball, as if to protect herself from the awful truth she had stumbled upon. Silent tears welled in her eyes, then streamed down her face.

"What—what does that mean for him?" she asked, her voice breaking. She sensed Wesley sit beside her, putting a tender hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know," Angel admitted. He was finding it hard to keep back his own tears. "I tried to get him back after—after it happened, but the Oracles wouldn't do anything. They said to turn back time like I wanted would be to undo his atonement, to negate the heroism of his death."

"If his atonement was done, why did they need me?" Kat clamped all her control over her urge to whimper. "I mean, were they keeping track all this time? Kept an eye on me to see if I became a proper warrior?" She wanted her hair loose right now, just so she could hide her face in the cascade of fire. "Why couldn't they've just asked me instead of being so goddamned mysterious?"

"Who knows why or how the Powers That Be do anything?" Wesley tightened his grip slightly, squeezing her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. "Perhaps they didn't want to take a chance on you saying 'no' if they had asked."

"Doyle's still dead," Kat said, trying to keep her sobs quiet. "If anything I did in the last year meant anything to them, he'd be here now."

Daylight stretched out to envelope the city. Someone retched in an alleyway near the remains of a building, a building that had once housed Angel Investigations. His eyes burned with pain and tears. "God, I swear, lemme get through this, I'll never touch another drop o' the creature fer the rest o' my days."

His answer was another vomiting fit, nearly toppling him headfirst into darkness. His senses regained purchase, and he dragged up the courage to go into the remains of the building; that place where he had worked, made friends, and fallen in love.

The figure picked through rubble and ashes, looked for some kind of sign of his friends. He felt tears begin to gather behind his eyes. "C'mon, man, don't lose it now," he berated himself.

He found no sign of them, either of them. Not even the remains of the basement apartment yielded any clues. He stood in the middle of what was the inner office, still imagining his boss, his friend, brooding in the dark, reading yet another book of dark forces. Looking to the anteroom, he could see her not answering the phone herself, making a mess of the files, complaining that typing ruined her nails.

"Angel, Cordelia, I'm sorry," he whispered. He collapsed to the crispy linoleum, sending up more bits of dust and ash.

For the first time in a long time, Allen Francis Doyle cried from the depths of his broken heart and shattered soul.

He never noticed the honey-haired, amber-eyed woman who heard his sobs. He never heard her pick her way across the floor towards him.

"Are you all right?" a voice like music asked.

His dark head came up, his blue eyes, still blurred with tears, locking onto the feminine shape. "'Delia?" For a moment he allowed himself a shred of hope, that she at least had escaped his horrible nightmare unharmed.

"No, sorry."

Doyle ran a hand across his eyes, trying to clear away the tears. He saw the young woman for the first time as she knelt before him, put a hand on his shoulder. She was beautiful, true, but she still couldn't hold a candle to his Cordelia. He felt his heart sink even lower, his hope completely dashed.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, concerned.

"No," he replied, his accent thickened with tears and grief. "I won't be all right again. Oh, God, they're gone. I come back at last, an' I'll never see 'em again." Doyle was ready to break down into sobs again.

"You're looking for Cordelia, and her boss?"

Doyle nodded silently.

"Oh, God," she said in a tone of comprehension. "You don't know what happened."

"Don't think I wanna know." He curled into a ball as if to bury himself in grief.

"Hey!" Her other hand came to his other shoulder, trying to pry him out. "Get something straight right now: Cordelia and her boss aren't dead."

The words ran through his head like so many bells. His head snapped up, his body uncoiling as he leapt to his feet. "Not dead!" he almost roared.

Startled, the woman fell on her backside, looking up at the man who had been grieving the loss of his friends only a moment before. "No, not dead," she confirmed.

Doyle looked down at her, wincing at his lack of manners. "Sorry." He offered a hand to her. "Bein' away so long, kinda froze out my brain a little."

She took the hand, pulling herself to her feet. "It's okay. So, do I tell you what happened?"

He nodded. "Please."

"Okay, they weren't here when this happened." She gestured to their burnt surroundings. "They had something pretty valuable stashed here, stolen from the baddies, in all likelihood. The baddies sent someone to get it back, plant some explosives, and—" she snapped her fingers, "—whoosh! Whole place went up like a fireball."

"Cordelia, an' Angel?"

"Cordelia was in the hospital at the time; Angel was just coming back from visiting her."

"'Delia was in hospital?" He felt a stab of panic. What had the monsters done to her?

"She went into some kind of hysteria in the middle of a street market, but she recovered soon after." She smiled. "She—changed a bit."

"Changed how?"

"She seemed—softer, more aware somehow." She shook her head to get her thoughts back on track. "Anyway, they decided not to come back here, for obvious reasons."

"Y' know where they are now?" Doyle felt an edge of desperation creep into him, showing in his voice.

"Yeah." She began to search her pockets as she spoke. "They relocated to an old hotel across town, the Hyperion. Cordelia gave me the address not too long ago. Ah ha!" She pulled a small card from her pocket, smiling in triumph. "Find the hotel, you find them."

Doyle took the card and smiled, seeing the lines and curves Cordelia had tried to shape into an angel. He looked up at the woman again. "Thanks."

"Thank me by telling me your name," she returned. "I don't want to accidentally send a total creep to see Cordelia."

He shrugged. "Fair enough. The name's Doyle."

The woman offered a hand. "I'm Michelle. Nice to meet you." They shook hands, then her head tilted to the side as she regarded him thoughtfully. "Wait a minute. Cordelia told me about you. She doesn't talk about it much, but she gave me the impression that you died, a little over year ago."

Doyle managed to keep his shock buried, covering it with his most charming grin. "The reports o' me death've been greatly exaggerated." He'd been gone for over a year?

Michelle returned the smile. "Okay, then. Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll take all I c'n get." He ran off, never turning back.

The amber-eyed woman watched his retreating form, looking up at the sky. "It's done," she said aloud, seeming to address the clouds themselves. "He's on the way."

The random vagrant witnessed her disappear in a flash of supernatural light. He immediately wrote it off as yet another alcohol-induced hallucination. "Get yerself off this stuff," he muttered to himself, pouring the last of his bottle down a storm drain.

Doyle looked up at the Hyperion, shaking his head. "Old friend, y're movin' up the in the world." He took a steadying breath, pushing away the doubts swirling in his mind. He had been dead; what if they'd already moved on, and now there was no room for him?

"No guts, no glory," he murmured. He crossed the street and, taking another breath, pushed through the main entrance.

What met his eyes were a dozen street kids of various ages, colors, and sizes, dressed in different states of disrepair, almost all sound asleep. The most distinctive, and awake, of the lot was stretched in a sofa corner. His bald, dark-skinned head was bent over what looked like one of Cordelia's society magazines. Doyle cleared his throat softly, trying not to wake anyone.

The lank young man looked up with tired, world-weary eyes, like they should not belong in a face so young. "Sorry. The agency's closed for the day. Could ya leave your armageddon for tomorrow?"

Doyle couldn't help but crack a grin at his attitude; it almost reminded him of himself at that age. Almost. "Sorry, no Armageddon; least, none that I know of. I'm just here t' see Angel an' Cordelia."

"They're both resting up, so're Phoenix and Wesley. We just went through something major and we all need time t' recupe."

"No problem. I was just through somethin' major meself. If y' don't mind?" Doyle gestured to the other corner of the sofa.

"Nah, go on. This a social call?"

Doyle allowed himself to collapse and fall into the cushions. "In a way, considerin' I worked wi' Angel an' 'Delia."

"''Delia'?" The younger man's tone was incredulous. "No one calls her that."

"I do. Oh, by the way, I'm Doyle." He put out his hand, which was accepted.

"Charles Gunn."

"So, how come y're the only one awake amongst the sleepin' warriors?"

Gunn shrugged. "Someone's gotta stay awake and tell people t' go away. 'Sides, Angel let us crash here 'til we recover."

Doyle nodded. That's Angel, he thought. "Y' prevent the end o' the world?" he asked, teasing only a little.

"No, just LA turning into one big crater, then the big bad takin' over the world."

"Sounds like yer basic, run-o'-the-mill stuff."

Gunn shot him a look, the one he reserved for glaring down the vampires in his part of town. "'Run of the mill'?" he echoed.

Doyle returned the look with a casual one of his own and nodded. Gunn made a disgusted noise and sank back into the cushions.

The sun set on an intact LA skyline; Kat had never thought she'd be so thankful to see it. She smiled at the cloud coloring, stretching out her tired muscles in a short Tai Chi exercise, then a handstand. Dressed in clean clothes again, she exited the hotel room Angel had allowed her to use into the hallway.

Speak of the demon with a soul. "Hi, Angel."

He nodded in greeting, concern still etched on his features. She knew he was thinking of her crying herself to sleep only hours before. "Sleep well?"

"Like a rock. Actually, I think it's the best I've had in a while."

Angel nodded again, relieved. "Good. Breakfast?"

"As long as you let me help. You're not the only one who can fight and cook." She grinned, then grew somber as they walked to the main staircase. "Cordelia and Wesley?"

"Still sleeping. Forgot how low you can crash after an adrenaline high."

"Fighting for your life can do that," Kat replied. She looked down on the lobby from their perch above. "Looks like Gunn and his people took off," she observed. Her eyes fell on a figure stretched out on a sofa. "And it looks like you've got a client."

Angel joined her, looking down. "I guess the sight of Gunn didn't scare him off. I'll wake him."

"No, you will get the coffee started," Kat insisted. "I will wake him."

"That leads me to a question I've wanted to ask: Would like to work with us? On a regular basis?"

Kat could only freeze momentarily, fixed by his gaze. She'd worked alone for so long . . . she needed someone to confide in besides Gio. And her independent instinct was kicking into gear at that moment.

"We'll see," she replied, and that was all she would say until she had a chance to think it over. "Just make the coffee, please? I could use a jolt myself."

Angel nodded, understanding that she needed to be certain.

They separated at the foot of the staircase. Kat approached the figure. His back was to her, snores erupting like a car motor. She gripped his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Sir? Sir, please wake up."

A sleepy groan floated up as he rolled over. "Why'd y' have t' wake me?" he asked in his brogue. "I was havin' a gorgeous dream 'bout . . ." His voice trailed off as the blue eyes opened, locking onto her. "Kat?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "Is 'at you?"

She felt her throat and chest constrict. The face, the eyes, the voice; everything was the same. Kat did the only thing she could do.

She screamed. "ANGEL!"

Doyle, startled at his friend's reaction, vaulted over the back of the sofa to duck for cover as Kat backpedaled away.

Angel ran in as soon as he heard the scream. "Kat, what—"

"There's something here! It's made itself look like Doyle!"

Right on cue, Doyle poked his head just high enough to look at them. "Angel, man? I hope y' realize the amadan banshee y've made friends wi'."

The familiar voice, the accent, hit Angel's ears. Then the scent hit his heightened sense of smell, that blend of human and demon. His scent. "Doyle?"

"It's not Doyle!" Kat insisted. "It can't be; he's dead!"

"I was dead," Doyle said. He got to his feet slowly. "Angel, I can't explain why, but 'tis me."

"It is him."

"Angel!" She looked at him in shock, incredulous.

"Kat, I can smell the demon and human blood in him. I know Doyle's scent, very unique." His face split into the widest grin either of them had ever seen, pleasantly surprised that his theory was actually right. "He's really back."

"It's 'bout time!" Doyle gave him a half-grin as he walked around the sofa. "I think sometimes yer skull's as thick as that broodin' shell y' put 'round yerself."

Angel threw his head back and laughed. "Now I know he's back. He's the only one who has the guts to ream me like that." The two of them embraced fondly. "Welcome home, old friend."

Kat silently watched them. Her eyes finally locked with his, green to blue, as he separated from the vampire. Slowly, she came closer to him, almost uncertain of her steps.

The roguish half-grin softened into a small smile. "I never greeted y' properly." He met her halfway, gently putting a hand to her cheek. "Hello, Katerina. Good t' see y' again."

She almost flinched at the contact, then turned into the touch. He was warm, alive. And very, very real.

Kat's arms wrapped around him, pulling him into her own tight embrace. Tears ran down her face as she held him, feeling his arms return the favor.

"I take it y' missed me, then?" he teased.

She pulled back enough to punch him lightly in the chest. "You are very lucky I don't knock you on your ass, little man."

"Y're right, I am lucky. Lucky t' be alive."

It took Cordelia much longer that she expected to crawl up from sleep. Whoo, she thought, taking a breath and filling her lungs, never knew fighting off anything could be this tiring. C'mon, Cordy, up, now!

She got dressed and did a few quick aerobic exercises; glad to feel the blood flow in her veins. Too bad Angel can't feel like this. She put a hand over her heart, smiling at the rhythm beating against it, remembering the translation of the Scroll. Not yet, at least.

She combed her hair with her fingers on the way to the main staircase. She faintly heard Angel and Kat's voices. Either she was too far away or they were talking too softly for her to hear what was being said.

What's going on? "Angel?" she called, descending the stairs.

The voices were suddenly silenced. Angel and Kat met her at the old check-in desk. "Sleep well, Cordelia?" the redhead asked, giving her a smile.

Cordelia nodded. "Glad to wake up, though. I kept having the weirdest dream, over and over."

"Wanna talk about it?"

The brunette gave her vampiric boss a "look" that spoke volumes. Should—could—she tell them? She had learned long ago that Angel cared, that he had really come back from the darkness that Darla and Drusilla had provoked. Kat had turned into a great ally and friend in a very short time.

She sighed dramatically. "Okay, but laugh and you're both dust," she warned, her smile undercutting the words.

"We promise, no laughing," Angel assured her.

"Not even a giggle," Kat added.

Cordelia sighed, her smile disappearing. "The dream was about Doyle. He was—calling to me, saying he wanted to come home." Cordelia swallowed around the lump forming in her throat, trying not to burst into tears. "He wanted to come back to me."

As Cordelia slapped at her eyes to keep the tears away, Kat and Angel passed a glance between them, then nodded minutely. "Cordelia, would you like some coffee?" Kat asked gently. "Angel got to the 'maker before either of us."

Cordelia tried not to sniffle, giving another smile, smaller than the last. "Please." Kat disappeared to get a cup, then Cordelia leaned against the desk, hiding her eyes in her hands and heaving a sigh. "I thought I was past this, Angel. My mind keeps telling me he's gone, but my heart's not cooperating."

She felt a cold hand squeeze her shoulder gently. "The heart and the head rarely cooperate. I mean, look at me and Buffy."

"That's not really making me feel any better." She heard a ceramic cup being put in front of her. A peek through her fingers revealed that it was her favorite mug. "Thanks, Kat."

"Anytime, Princess."

Cordelia froze, her heart skipping a beat, her breath holding in her lungs. Kat's voice is higher than that, and she doesn't speak with that accent.

Warm hands took hers, gently lowering them from her face. Dark hair. Blue eyes. A grin that could melt the heart of any ice princess. No! I'm dreaming again. It can't be him, it can't be! she thought fearfully. Everything around them fell away, Kat and Angel fading with it.

"Hey, Cordelia," he said gently.

"Doyle?" Her voice was so low and whispery, it was almost undetectable.

One hand came up, gently stroking her cheek. "'Tis me, 'Delia," he said reassuringly. "I'm real."

"You're back? For good?" She couldn't keep the absolute wonder out of her voice or the expression on her face.

He smiled at her; the same smile she'd replayed from that night on the Quintessa, hundreds of times before. It was tender, loving, but void of the sadness that had been there that night. He nodded. "For good, if y' want."

Her reaction was nothing like Kat's. She grabbed him by the lapels of his blue oxford shirt and drew him into a kiss that easily lasted two minutes. If this turned out to be a dream after all, she wanted it to be the sweetest it could be.

Reluctantly, Doyle pulled away, breaking lip-lock. "'Delia, I still hafta breathe," he reminded her playfully.

Cordelia shook his lapels, still clenched in her fists. "If you ever do something so heroically stupid like that again, I'll make you pay for it!" Her eyes blazed with only part of the fire she had used in the battle the night before. "Do you hear me? Don't you ever die on me again!"

"Easy, 'Delia, easy." Doyle closed his hands over hers again, pulling them from the shirt. "I don't wanna go anywhere if I'm away from you. But life won't lemme keep the promise I wanna make y'."

Cordelia closed her eyes, calming herself, then opened them. "Is your 'grr' face still part of the package?" she asked curiously.

Doyle cringed involuntarily. When he'd been told the Powers That Be were sending him back, he had asked that his demon half be "lost" somewhere in the transition. They had said no.

"Yeah," he finally replied. "Still part o' the package."

"Good."

His eyes widened at her response. "Cordelia, y' mean tha'?!"

"Yes," she said with certainty. "You wondered if it was a face I could learn to love."

Doyle nodded, the butterflies in his stomach suddenly evolving into 747s.

"I've memorized your other face, Allen," she said softly, her voice caressing his given name. "I already love it, and I want to know if I could love the rest of you as much."

He felt his pulse crank up a notch, cheering in his head, his face and eyes lighting up, making Cordelia smile. The light dimmed slightly as he remembered what he had passed on to her through their first kiss. "'Delia, I'm sorry 'bout the visions. I never meant t' give y' those migraines."

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry about. It just means I'm more than a secretary now." Cordelia's hand escaped his grip, her fingertips reaching to brush his face, the hairs that had fallen into it. "This place always has room for another hero."

Doyle knew an invitation when he heard it, but his face fell a little lower. "Dunno 'bout that, Princess. Heard 'bout the fight earlier. Y' all did great wi'out me."

"Maybe, but I don't think there's such a thing as too many heroes."

"Neither do we." With that sentence, Kat's voice called herself and Angel up from the background they had fallen into.

Angel came up to his friend. "Don't even think of going anywhere, Doyle," he said in "the tone", the one that brooked no argument.

"We may have moved on with our lives, but that doesn't mean we don't want you in them," Kat added.

"Demon half, drinking, gambling, bad fashion sense, and all," Cordelia finished, grinning.

"Ah, Cordelia, y' always know just the right thin' t' say," Doyle teased, leaning in for another kiss.

"Damn straight," she said against his mouth, before planting said kiss and effectively shutting them both up.

"C'mon," Kat whispered, "let's head Wesley off, before he makes an idiot of himself."

"Or interrupts them," Angel whispered back.

"That, too."

After the two came up for air again, they gazed at each other adoringly, not noticing that the other two had discreetly withdrawn. "Now," Doyle began, "the last time we were t'gethe', I was about t' ask y' out."

"Still want to?"

"Yeah, do you?"

"Absolutely."

Another night had begun, and it was looking beautiful indeed.