Use the chapter menu in the upper right to navigate between multiple chapters in the same episode. Visit my page for a link to the first episode.

Author's Note:

This is my version of the post-Whedon Buffyverse. It should be rated Mature for some dialogue, sexual themes (non-graphic), and violence.

Character death may occur.

I assume you've seen or read all five seasons of Angel and all seven seasons of Buffy. I don't consider anything except aired episodes as canon.

Let's pretend HBO (or whoever) picked up the rights on both shows but decided to combine them into a single series with a decent budget. My presentation is as follows: Chapters will comprise several scenes. Episodes are made of multiple chapters. I'll try to post a new chapter every few days.

I welcome and request ANY AND ALL comments, without reservation If you are unwilling (or unable) to post a public comment please contact me at my private email to say hi or ask for a gmail invite.

I need to give a very special thanks to my loving wife of seventeen years and dedicated research assistant who made this project possible.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

jayman.

Season Six/Eight

Episode I – Love is Love

Part I

The rush from Hamilton's blood had just about worn off, but no pain remained in its wake. All of the injuries Angel sustained before the infusion had healed while its power yet coursed through his body. His sword arm was fresh and limber, the blade hanging loose but ready as he turned the corner.

Angel couldn't count the number of times he'd been in this alley. Spike and the others were supposed to be there. The pouring rain collected in a huge puddle directly over the spot where Connor was born. Where Darla had died.

Though the alley was devoid of other people it was far from empty. The aging fire escape that rose up on Angel's left looked like it was barely clinging to the building. He broke into a loping run as he glanced up into the storm to be sure nothing was waiting in ambush. Several dumpsters lined up together along one side. Boxes and bags were piled everywhere. Litter from fast food and smokers covered most of what remained visible of the cracked and dirty asphalt.

Angel reached the other end of the alley and grabbed the chain link fence that crossed it. "They'd better be ok," he said to himself.

"Boo."

The voice came from nowhere, and Angel had to draw on years of self-confidence to keep from jumping. He turned around and looked into William the Bloody's soggy, rain soaked face. It poured down along his cheeks like tears.

"Anyone else?" Angel asked.

"Not so far," Spike said. But his senses were on fire. Not quite as bad as when he was a ghost, nothing like when he was being sent to Hell by Pavayne, but still worse than most days. "You feel the heat?" he asked.

"It's coming." Angel said. He thought he heard uneven footsteps in the distance, but it was hard to be sure over the din and the rain.

"Looks like we've finally got ourselves a decent brawl," Spike said, watching Angel's attention shift. He spun around to see what Angel was looking at.

Gunn limped towards them, barely on his feet. One hand was stuffed inside his shirt to staunch the blood, which was streaming over his rapidly whitening knuckles anyway. The other weakly maintained a grip on his axe.

"Damn! How'd I know the fang boys would pull through?" Gunn said. He stumbled a bit, but continued towards them unfazed.

"You're lucky we're on the same side, dogs," he said. "Because I was on fire tonight."

He continued towards the vampires, who were still standing just a couple of feet away from the fence.

"My game was tight..." Gunn tried to smile and it seemed too much, as his strength finally gave out and he fell suddenly limp.

Angel and Spike reacted at the same time, to their mutual consternation. Each stepped forward with supernatural speed to catch Gunn before he hit the soaking pavement.

They lowered him down to a box against the hotel's wall as Gunn's axe fell to the ground. Neither would ever consider drinking Gunn, but Angel and Spike were still overwhelmed by the smell of blood, enticed yet horrified.

"You're supposed to wear that red stuff on the inside, Charlie Boy," Spike said. He pulled open Gunn's shirt to see how bad it really was. Gunn followed his gaze, but seemed unconcerned.

"Any word on Wes?" Gunn asked.

Illyria suddenly jumped over the fence to land beside them silently. The rain had completely soaked her bluish hair, which was now plastered around her similar face. Although she couldn't explain why, she felt it was better that the rain made it easier to hide her tears.

"Wesley's dead," she said, trying to do so with her usual bluntness.

Angel felt like he was back on Holland's elevator and the entire world was falling away. Gunn couldn't stop the tears from wracking his body, sending occasional spurts from around his fist as his chest shook. Even Spike, who could always at least pretend to be aloof, couldn't help feeling like this was truly the end of the world.

Spike hung his head, suddenly realizing what Buffy had gone through when her friends had pulled her back from the happiness of nothingness, the bliss one earns with the final release of a good death.

"I'm feeling grief for him," Illyria said. The distaste she had for this unpleasant human emotion was evident, yet she was almost glad that she was able to feel it now. It seemed Wesley had given her one final lesson to survive in this new place. She didn't know if it was her memories of Fred's determination, the utter willpower that had kept Fred alive on Pylea for five years, or if it was memories of the god-king's determination to learn the rules and to learn how to use them that now bound this new composite Illyria to this struggle of strangers. Maybe it was simply the beating that Hamilton had given her. No matter what, the battle was coming and she was determined to unleash this disgusting rancor that overcame her.

"I can't seem to control it," she said. "I wish to do more violence."

As she spoke, echoes of voices and bellows and howls came in upon the wind. The armies summoned by Wolfram & Hart and the Circle had finally reached them.

"Well," Spike said. "Wishes just happen to be horses today, Blue."

"Among other things," Angel added. He took a step so he was immediately between his allies and the enemy, appraising the approaching hordes. Dozens of creatures of every possible description were beginning to crowd in. Behind them, ready to fill their places were thousands more, and if nothing else they would bury Angel and the others with their sheer numbers.

Above them flew an unbelievably huge dragon that belched flames into the night sky. It had been freed in Sunnydale on the night the Slayer died. Buffy had chosen to sacrifice herself in order to close a portal that her little sister, Dawn, had been made to summon. Buffy's selflessness saved her artificial sister and also all of Sunnydale and the rest of the world. Evidently the Circle of the Black Thorn had determined the dragon's presence and found a way to hide it until now.

"Ok," Gunn said. "You take the thirty-thousand on the left…"

"You're fading," Illyria said. "You'll last ten minutes at best."

Gunn retrieved his axe and stood up. "Then let's make them memorable."

Spike knew that Angel needed this moment, so he waited until Angel had taken several steps before he started forward himself. Illyria flanked Angel on the other side and Gunn managed to stand just behind them. He ignored the bleeding now, and put both hands on his weapon.

"In terms of a plan?" Spike asked.

"We fight," Angel said. What sort of plan could he come up with against this many creatures? Even if they fought all night and all day they wouldn't put a dent in this force. It was the end of the world.

"Be a bit more specific?" Spike finally asked.

Angel took another step forward, almost as if he was putting space between himself and the impossible decision. "Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon."

The horde had finally sighted its quarry. They raised weapons, fists, tentacles, and mind shields. Armed with whatever their hellish arsenal could muster, they charged.

"Let's go to work," Angel said, readying his sword.

"That's it?" Gunn asked. "That's the plan? We stand here and die?"

"You knew we were all most likely going to die tonight." Angel snapped, annoyed that anyone would challenge his lead on the verge of combat. "You got a better idea?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll hold them off while you guys get in the hotel and start sealing exits. You can hold out there."

"They're just going to smash their way in and kill us while we're sleeping," Spike said.

The first of the creatures reached them, the fodder. It was easy enough to hold them at bay. Angel's sword took great sweeps, throwing two or more aside each time. Spike's fists did nearly the same.

Illyria was creating the worst mess, using all of her strength to cause each punch to turn the recipient's parts into splatter. Gunn stood near her, occasionally hacking at ones too stupid to stay down.

"You can go and get my people," Gunn said. "Bring them here. Keep them safe. Someone has to hold out. Someone has to save humanity."

"He's right," Illyria said, holding one of the monsters overhead without effort. She threw it with her usual perfect accuracy. The beast's torso wedged in between the first and second rungs of the fire escape and began to bring it down within reach.

Gunn stood to his full height and took a mighty swing at one that had been trying to take advantage of Illyria's distraction. He caught it just between the shoulder and neck, and the slice went down into the ribs.

As he pulled his axe free, Gunn said, "You guys get out of here, I'll hold them off until you can pull the ladder back up."

"I'm not leaving anyone here to die alone," Angel said, glaring at Gunn.

"I'm dead anyway," Gunn said. There was no denying it. The terrible wounds he'd received from fighting the Senator's vampires were too much to overcome. He'd need immediate medical attention and it didn't look like there was any way to call off the fight to get him to the hospital.

"I'll stay," Illyria said. "You two can go inside to begin preparations. I'll join you shortly."

"There's no other way," Gunn said, imploring Angel and Spike to understand. "You have to let me do this."

Cursing, Angel followed Spike over to the fire escape, but stopped to turn as if he was going back into the fray. Spike's hand on his shoulder stopped Angel cold.

"It's not all the fancy lawyer talking," Spike said. "This is how Gunn wants it, Angel. If we don't find some place to hole up, some way to save as many people as we can, then the world is as good as dead."

"I hate leaving them down here to die."

"It's not your decision," Spike said. He ripped the ladder free once Angel had reached the top with him. "It's for the greater good."

Looking down, Spike saw Gunn and Illyria stood side by side, destroying these early minions with such ease that for the moment it looked as though they might actually be winning. But the increasing size of the ones trying to pile in behind them proved that this fight was just beginning.

"I never liked the greater good," Angel said.

Gwen Raiden couldn't sit still, so she paced. All around her in the bus station, people were in a panic. Most humans were herd animals, and they fed one another into frenzy. Fighting to get to telephones to try to contact loved ones, pushing one another to get to ticket counters before they closed, and stealing to take what was left in the vending machines.

But Gwen was a wolf, immune to the chaos surrounding her. She looked radiant, as always, in her typical outfit of black leather with scarlet trim. It looked like it had to be painted on, but the insane demands that her electrical powers put on her metabolism gave her a figure that other women would turn to the dark arts to possess.

Her high-heeled boots clicked on the polished marble floor as she stomped back and forth in front of an empty bench. She had long since tucked her gloves into her belt, and anyone who came too close was getting a jolt. Long, flowing black hair whipped with every turn as she stormed back and forth.

In her pocket she had a pair of tickets, two seats on the 8:30am to Vegas. She'd won them in a dice game not long ago, but the bus didn't leave for another half hour. Waiting had never been something she was good at. And Gwen was pretty sure that if things were this crazy in L.A. then it was only a matter of time until it spread, unless somehow Angel and his crew managed to get it under control in time.

But she was still torn. The instinct to save her own ass was very strong. And who knows, there should be somewhere that Gwen could ride out the worst of this without too much trouble. But who knew where that place might be. But if she never went looking, she'd never know. It was definitely better to get out of here.

But as much as she wanted to run away, she just knew hiding wasn't the answer this time. And if she was going to stand and fight, she might as well do it beside Gunn and Angel. Angel had been one of the first people she'd met to actually treat her decent. And Charlie, well … that was a night she'd never forget. If she'd known what the fang gang was doing right now, she would have never left them behind.

Upset and frustrated, she gave a slight yell. She figured herself a fool to think anyone actually cared for her, or wanted her. She stuck her tongue out at several people who had turned to stare. There was nothing to do now but go back, to find Angel and the rest of them while there was still enough time to help. She walked over to a young woman holding a small child near the back of the line.

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked.

"I don't care," the woman said. "I just want to get Michaela out of here."

"How convenient," Gwen said, handing the woman her tickets. "The kid shouldn't need one so you can sell the other."

She ignored the woman's thanks as she walked away. Gwen didn't do it for her or her child. There just wasn't any sense in wasting them, since she worked so hard to win them. Gwen suddenly stopped and turned back.

"Hey, lady," Gwen called, stomping back across the lobby. "How'd you get here?"

"I drove." She started digging in the front of her diaper bag for the keys. "It's the yellow Civic in 6b."

"Thanks," Gwen said, letting the other woman drop the keys into her hand. "Good luck."

When Gwen stepped outside, she couldn't believe the weather. It was only a quarter till eight, but the sun still should have been up by now. Since these people had been through something like this before, they didn't wait for the reports of the armies of demons laying waste to anything in their path. They knew something was coming next, and then the screaming, the terror, the dying.

A lot of people weren't taking any chances this time, more people were arriving every minute. Some were walking, others getting out of friend's cars or off of bicycles. Any method they could manage to get out of town.

The wind was whipping like there was a storm coming, but the sky still remained perfectly black. Gwen looked around, but there weren't any monsters attacking the area just yet. There was no missing the carnage they were causing just a few miles away. Not one single star was visible, which made the glow from the burning city stand out that much more.

And Gwen was willingly driving herself back into that mess.

She quickly made her way down the rows, because B was the second one and that was pretty far from the door she'd come out. There was no guarantee the roads would be drivable, or for how long, but it was definitely better to try than to walk, subjecting herself to who knows what along the way.

Finally finding the car, she pulled her gloves back on before opening the door.

She tried finding some news on the radio, but there was static on all the stations. She had to play with the seat and the mirrors because the other woman had been much shorter. But after getting situated, she sat there for a moment taking stock.

She was really going to do this. Really and truly, for the first time in her life, heading back into a mess that she'd already made a clean escape from. Was it because it was the right thing to do, or because she wanted another chance to spend the night with Gunn? Either way, it felt strangely proper and grown-up. Feelings Gwen had never grown accustomed to.

Half a world away, Italy was experiencing a beautiful, cloudless late afternoon. The Immortal's compound was a vast, Roman-style estate. Gardens and walls on three sides surrounded a large pool of crystal blue water. Birds and butterflies flitted between the flowers.

To the west, a series of open archways formed the rest of the enclosure but left a magnificent view of the sunset. Barely noticeable now, a hole was set in the stone of the walkway that looked just large enough to hold up a crucifix, and the burnt-in ash of a thousand vampires left a residue that no amount of scrubbing could remove.

Buffy sat with her feet in the pool, a scarf tied around her head and sunglasses tucked on. She was reading a trashy romance novel, and occasionally looking up to watch the owner of this compound swimming laps in the background.

There was a stone table set up nearby, and a mixture of chairs allowed for a variety of positions, any sort of comfort immediately available. Around these spaces sat those fresh Slayers who had made it out of the collapse of Sunnydale as well as the ones who had been found, welcomed, or rescued since.

Giles was the only one who sat at the table, with books spread all around him. He was chewing on one end of his glasses. In front of him was a document that had taken several lives to deliver. And if what it said was true it meant that the First had simply been distracting them, all of them, while its real ambitions were well underway elsewhere. Caleb and the Bringers were all pawns on a chessboard, sacrificed to cover a classic feint. And now it was apparently endgame and the good guys were millennia behind.

"Reports from Los Angeles are not good," Giles said, looking over the assembled group of barely dressed girls in front of him before he turned his attention to Buffy. "We should have sent help when he asked."

"Easy for you to say now," Buffy said, ripping off her sunglasses. "You were the one who insisted Angel handle it on his own. You said it was best if we just stayed out of it."

Dawn stood in one of the archways, the closest thing possible to her normal position whenever there was a discussion like this going on. Not quite a part of the group, not quite willing to exclude herself.

"But Angel is the one who took over Wolfram & Hart," Renee said.

"Yeah," Xander said. "But he did say he was working from the inside out. If we'd have just trusted him maybe we could stopped this already."

"Pondering the possible alternatives does nothing to help alleviate the situation now," Giles said. "And it seems I may have misunderstood the situation. All of us have."

"You just want us to stop talking about your mistake," Dawn snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "And you've been making a lot of those lately."

"Dawn," Buffy snapped, silencing her younger sister. "You're not helping."

"None of this is helping," Rona said. "The only thing that would help is going back in time and sending people to Angel, or seeing if we can deal with this now."

"Are you volunteering?" Vi asked.

"I will," Dawn said.

'No." Buffy put her foot down, and Dawn knew it was pointless to try to continue a discussion now.

"Laying around the pool all day, partying and having sex all night, those hardly qualify as time well spent," Giles snapped. "What we need to do is figure out what's happening in Log Angeles. And, more importantly, how to stop it from happening here."

No one noticed the Immortal had stopped his laps, watching intently.

Illyria and Gunn were in the thick of battle. Although the Old One had been greatly weakened by the Mutari generator she still remained nigh invincible. Her thick, hardened shell took one blow after another without showing the slightest sign of wear. Gunn was much worse for the wear, however. His body finally gave out and he collapsed to the ground.

"This is it," Gunn said. "I've got nothing left."

Illyria picked up the ladder that had been removed from the fire escape. Spinning it over her head, with the dead Aberjian still crumpled upon it, she blasted a huge group of enemies away. Dropping to her knees, she cradled Gunn into her lap.

For the second time Illyria found herself holding a dying man who had previously loved her shell. No, Gunn had loved Fred. Illyria kept a careful eye on the creatures, who were forming a circle around them. Their fear of Illyria's terrible strength was enough to hold them off for now. They seemed to have decided that waiting for the weakened one to die was better than being destroyed for interrupting.

"Do you also wish me to become her?" Illyria asked, her head cocked to one side as if the answer were a mere triviality.

"No," Gunn said. "I want you to promise me that you'll get my people and bring them somewhere safe." Gunn stopped speaking a moment, coughing and spewing blood over his lips. He reached out to grab Illyria's hand. "Swear to me, tell me that you'll get them to the hotel."

Illyria didn't know how to respond. There was no guarantee that anyone from Gunn's gang had even survived the initial assault. So did Gunn wish to be lied to now? Was it common for humans to accept deception in their moments of death? Illyria knew that it was a custom to acquiesce to someone's dying request. Wesley had instilled in her the importance of learning these rules if she was going to stay.

"Very well," Illyria said. "You may die now, if it suits you. I will honor your last request."

"That's…" Gunn broke out into another fit of coughing, before continuing much more quietly. "That's all I needed to hear." Gunn shoved his axe into Illyria's hands. "This will prove to them that you can be trusted. Take it, and get out of here."

"Goodbye, Charles Gunn," Illyria said.

"Go." Gunn forced himself to stand. His body was nearly empty of blood now, but it seemed as though sheer willpower were enough. His muscles, devoid of oxygen, were burning their own tissues as fuel. It wasn't like he'd ever need them again.

Illyria jumped easily to the rooftop, Gunn's axe in her hand. She watched him head back into the fray for his final fight, until mere moments later it was done. Fred's memories of this good and kind man were enough to cause Illyria to feel more emotions she didn't want.

"In my time, the Wolf, Ram, and Hart would never dare such an attack." She surveyed the burning cityscape, covered from one end to the other with nightmares and flames. "They shall know Illyria. And my name shall be wrath."

Miles away, Bethany Chalke was using every ounce of power at her disposal to keep the door closed. She had hidden in a deserted cineplex but the offices she had run into were now surrounded by God only knew what and the double doors that led in were being ripped and shredded, threatening to buckle under the assault.

Bethany had ducked in here before they were hot on her trail. During the time she was hiding, she'd managed to try the phone, but the lines were dead. There wasn't anything on the television or the radio, either. And it had been a long time since she'd seen anyone besides the creatures. It wasn't long before they had sniffed her out again.

Presently, she was on her ass, one hand raised to her forehead and the other stretched out behind her to help keep her balance. Her skirt rode precariously high on her thigh, but Bethany was never the type to be concerned about such otherwise scandalous deportment. She lowered her hand and furrowed her brow and the door suddenly exploded outwards under the force of her will.

She stood up and ran, throwing anything and anyone out of her way. Maybe one of the actual theaters would be easier to block off. Maybe it was just time to get the hell out of here. She continued to run, but to her credit not screaming.

She had never put herself to such a test. Yet she felt almost no ill effects, despite having expelled dozens of demons. She hopped for a moment, pulling off her shoes, before hauling ass around a corner to get somewhere safer.

The door to the theater opened before she reached it. Now that she had accepted her power certain things had become automatic. As she ducked inside, she noticed that it was playing Saw. She couldn't help laughing at the irony, hiding from these things in a horror show.

She ran down to the front exits, mentally ripping the steel locks, making the door useless. It wouldn't hold against them for long, but the sound would let her know soon enough to reinforce it. She went back and did the same thing to the main entrances, peering out the windows to make sure nothing was in the hallways.

With a sigh, she collapsed down into a seat. It was obvious that this wasn't a temporary thing. Hiding in here would do for a little while longer, perhaps, but it was definitely time to come up with some kind of long term plan.

Angel and Spike had climbed in through a window. They now stood inside one of the many empty rooms that the hotel had once made its bread and butter on. This one had no furniture, no decorations of any kind. The wallpaper was torn; large swaths were missing to reveal the plaster and wood slats beneath. A single, bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting constantly shifting shadows as it swayed back and forth.

"There's no sense in trying to board up every window in the building," Spike said.

"What else are we going to do?" Angel asked, kicking apart a closet door to get kindling. "Gunn died so we could get in here."

"No, Gunn died so we could get away. We wait for Little Shiva and then we hit the sewers," Spike said. He ducked as Angel swung the piece of the broken door around, holding it up against the now broken window they'd come through.

"There's got to be someplace more secure than this," Spike said. "A bank vault, a prison, a military base."

"Hand me the hammer." Angel continued on with the task with blind stubbornness.

"What?" Spike asked. "I don't have a bloody hammer."

Dropping the wood, Angel left the room, heading downstairs towards the lobby. There wasn't much they'd left behind since the move to Wolfram & Hart, but Angel had figured a day like this would come so he knew where to get some supplies and weapons that they might have left behind.

Spike stood there, staring after Angel. "Right," he said to himself.

Dawn had to share a room with Ana-Marie and Demetra. They were both nice enough, although Demetra's thick Eastern European accent made understanding her a challenge, and Ana-Marie wasn't the neatest of individuals to live with.

Three beds were lined up one wall, but there were no windows to allow in any light. Instead sconces were set into the wall, now rigged with electricity but originally designed to hold torches instead. Heavy drapes, of some kind of cloth Dawn couldn't identify, covered all four walls. A pull-string opened part of it to reveal the door into the main building, another pull-string opened the door to their balcony.

She had pulled open almost every drawer and closet in the room, looking through everyone's stuff to reclaim her favorite and most useful pieces of clothing. A group of girls living in the same room meant that ownership took on a very loose meaning.

Dawn had several outfits laid out on the bed. Set near it, making a deep indentation in the thick comforter was a pile of coins and cash. A couple of weapons and some other items completed her kit, and she had several pairs of shoes and another good, solid pair of boots ready.

There was never any chance that she'd be a part of this team. No one here would ever think of her as anything besides Buffy's little sister. But in Los Angeles she could get a new start. That's what Angel did, he accepted people. Even when Faith showed up there to murder him, he took her in and helped her become the woman she was today.

Dawn was stuffing a duffel bag full of her things, adding what was small enough into a fanny pack she was wearing, when Xander walked in.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

"What?" Dawn exclaimed. She hadn't told anyone what she was planning to do.

"I saw your face at the meeting, and now I see…" Xander waved a hand around the room.

"You don't see anything."

"Well, maybe not half as much as I used to. But this is hardly the kind of situation that requires two eyes."

"You wouldn't understand, Xander." Dawn sat down on the bed, pulling a sock through her hands. "You fit in here."

"So do you, Dawnie."

"No I don't. And I never will." Dawn sighed. "I'm going to help Angel. And I'm going alone."

"And that's the end of it?" Xander asked.

"Yes."

"Ok. I guess I'll wait until after you're gone to tell anyone what happened."

"Thank you, Xander." Dawn stood up to give him a hug. "I'll miss you."

"Nah, you'll be fine," Xander said. "You'll be a big hit in L.A."

But Dawn wasn't so sure. No one knew her like Xander. But the again, were these feelings even real? Or were they nothing but shadows left behind by the monks who had created her?

The strangely patterned art deco tiles of the main lobby floor were still mostly intact. Scars and burns and other remains of the dozens of spells cast here recently still littered the area. Angel rested his hands on the banister. The very same one which he had leapt over, Connor at his side, to go after Wesley and Fred when they had been trying to free him from Jasmine's control.

He turned and started down the steps, looking around as he did so. Years of memories were welling up inside him. Friends and enemies that he'd never see again were dancing just out of sight. The desk where Cordelia had spent so many years working looked so achingly empty that Angel had to pause a moment. Directly behind Cordelia's desk was the one that Wesley had used.

By the time Angel came down the final three stairs to reach the lobby proper, he sensed someone or something was in there with him. He didn't smell, or see, or even hear anything. But he knew it was more than paranoia.

"Come on out, Connor," Angel said, finally realizing who was in the room with him.

"Hello, Father," Connor said, stepping out of the shadows. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, sturdy boots, and a leather jacket not entirely dissimilar to Angel's. "I knew you'd come here."

"Why aren't you protecting your family?" Angel asked.

"Can't you feel the spell unraveling?" Connor asked. "Can't you feel the memories fading?" Connor paced, uneasy. "My family was just actors hired by Wolfram & Hart to play mind games with me."

"Oi! What's going on down there?" Spike yelled, running into view on the upper hallway. "Who's there?"

"It's ok, Spike," Angel said.

"Who the hell is that?" Spike asked, standing near the banister with the best view of the room below.

"He's my son," Angel said.

"Your…"

Angel cut him off. "Spike." He practically spit the name. "Not now. Leave it."

"Ok," Spike said, holding his hands up innocently and backing up a step. "Alright." He started down the staircase.

"You're my family," Connor said.

"I wanted more for you," Angel said.

"So did I."

"How long do we wait for Bluebird?" Spike asked when he finally joined the others in the middle of the lobby.

"You mean…" Connor started to say.

"Illyria," Angel finished. He turned and walked back into his old office. There were dusty outlines everywhere, reminders of the furniture and the lives that used to fill this room. He started punching the floor, ripping up pieces until he was able to drag out a large surplus crate. He carried it back out to the lobby and dropped it near Spike's feet.

"This should help a bit," Angel said, opening the crate and revealing several MP5 submachine guns, along with dozens of clips.

"Just in the nick of time," Spike said, as a crash resounded from somewhere upstairs.

Connor took a pair of the weapons and hooked them to his belt loops, then took another pair for immediate use. Angel and Spike each took a couple of guns, too. Spike held his sideways, like in the gangster movies, which prompted a slight grimace out of Angel, who simply slipped one over his shoulder and began filling his pockets with clips.

"Let's go see if that's our lady," Spike said.

Angel and Connor followed him up the stairs and through several hallways. They passed the door to Bethany's old room before finally coming the stairs to the roof. Illyria was in the process of twisting the doorknob off with her free hand.

"That's not a good sign," Spike said, noticing Gunn's axe.

"Gunn wants us to bring his followers into ours," Illyria said without preamble. "He made me swear an oath."

"We'll see what we can do," Angel said.

"That's not good enough," Illyria replied. "Wesley taught me the importance of custom."

"Ok," Angel said, turning to head back.

"That's it?" Illyria asked, thrown off by Angel's sudden change of mind.

"He's been doing a lot of that lately," Spike said. "We're going to the sewers. Find somewhere safer to hole up."

Illyria followed Spike and Connor down the stairs. Although she had several opportunities, she ignored any chance to clean off Gunn's axe. The blood would remain until the promise was fulfilled, simple as that.

Connor couldn't help sneaking a sideway glance at Illyria. He'd always had a thing for older women, and the weakening spell had done absolutely nothing to alleviate such cravings. Fred had always been a little bit too young for his taste, but Illyria was older than the entire world. That was hot, in Connor's book.

Illyria gave him a returning look, but said nothing. Below the main offices, in Angel's apartment, was an entrance into the sewers beneath the city. They were a long way from the aqueducts but it was possible to reach almost anywhere nearby through these ancient tunnels.

Nobody needed to worry about seeing in the dark, so the flashlights attached to the muzzles of the MP5s were ignored. Connor was in the lead, using his hard-won scouting skills to lead the group through the sewers to Gunn's old hideout.

Illyria walked beside him, her supernatural sense of direction almost as infallible. Gunn's final words had been very clear and she intended to make sure that they were followed to the letter.

"So are we going to take his people, or what?" Spike asked. He was walking beside Angel, a few steps behind Connor and Illyria.

"Where are we supposed to take them to?" Angel asked. He has his sword tucked into a sheath beneath his jacket, the gun still slung on the strap over his shoulder.

"Where ever it is that we're headed," Spike replied.

"We don't even know where that is yet," Angel said.

"I shall tell Gunn's people that I am their new leader. This axe shall prove my claim. Once they agree, I shall take them to Vahla ha'nesh," Illyria said all of this without pausing or looking back.

"Wait a minute," Angel said. "Do you even have the power to open those portals anymore?"

"No matter what your machine may have done to me, I shall always be able to return to my home."