Freinds, an angel fanfic

Prolog:

Friends.

They mean different things to different people. Some hold them close to their heart, some hold them at arms length. There are precious treasure, or instruments, to be used and then discarded. Sometimes you make friends that last you a life time, sometimes a night at a bar. sometimes you stumble upon them, or they stumble upon you; or you stumble into each other. It doesn't matter. There is that short time were you are friends. there are moments where if feels like you could never be separate, and moments where you are a second away from killing each other. And no matter if the friendship grow closer or grow apart, or are severed by one, tragic, act, there is always the memory. That is the one part of friendship that can never be lost.

Friends

Angel sat in his underground apartment and watched, very amused, as Cordelia gave him and Doyle a fashion show.

"You know Doyle," she called from the bathroom "I never thought you would have a good idea, but those vintage clothing stores you took me to were great! And really cheep."

"Vintage clothing?" Angel asked softly.

"I took her to good will," Doyle whispered. "I figure as long as she didn't see the sign she'd go wild."

"I guess you were right," Angel muttered back, with a wise smile on his face.

Cordelia burst out of the door and spun around. She was wearing a short, tight red dress, that is to say the top was tight and the skirt was short.

"So," She said smiling a smile that made Doyle's heart skip a beat. "Angel, Doyle, How do I look?"

"Angelus, Spike," Drucila purred as she entered their cozy attic-flat in the newvous rich section of London. She was wearing a red dress that clung to her bust and flowed from her hips like water. "Do I look pretty?"

"You look Lovely, Princess," Doyle said, almost dreamily.

"You look like a Princess, Love," Spike said approaching Drucila seductively.

"You know, I saw a dress almost exactly like this in the window of Pret-a-porter, that hot clothing store downtown, and just had to have it but it was like three-hundred dollars."

"I saw it on a French woman who was going to the opera and I just had to have it."

Doyle tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows, "Then I'd say you got quite the bargain."

"I suppose one could say it was a steal," Spike chuckled.

"Angel man," Doyle asked, looking at his friend, concerned. The Vampire seemed distracted, and almost upset by the conversation. "What's wrong?"

"Angelus," Dru said in a frightened, sing-songy, voice. "Something's wrong, There whispering to me, singing!" She reached out to her sire and nearly collapsed into his arms.

"Listen to them, Dru," Angelus said, wicked smile on his face. "Then tell me what they say."

"Ahhhgg!" Doyle said, his hand flying to his head as visions shot through his brain and overloaded his mind. He started to convulse mildly and he gasped for breath. When the vision sub sided, he slowly looked up, the shadows of torment still over his eyes.

"What did you see?" Angel asked softly.

Doyle licked his lower lip "Bugs," he said shakily. "I saw bugs, millions of 'em."

"There crawling over my skin!" Dru screamed. "I can feel them!"

"Drucila," Angelus coxed. "What is crawling all over your skin?"

"There so little, I could crush them, but they're so many they could eat me!"

"What are they Dru?" Spike asked, he was beginning to get annoyed.

"Insects, with little feet, and they crawl over me, they crawl over us all!"

"Bugs?" Cordy asked, her face contorting into a grimace at the very thought. "Ew."

"Anything else?" Angel asked. Bugs were a faint clue. Hardly one that he could follow up on.

"No," Doyle shook his head, almost repentantly. "That's all. There was a whole swarm of 'em too. Like I was watching the Discovery Channel or something, only with the added bonus of head crushing pain."

"Great!" Cordelia said with mock chipperness. "Ickiness, boredom and pain all rolled into one. The Powers that Be sure know how to give gifts."

"Insects?" Spike asked, mildly discussed. "What kind of bloody vision is that any ways?"

"Angelus," Dru whispered. "They're hurting me." She was trembling slightly and her body, which should have been room temperature, or even cold, suddenly started to feel warm even hot.

"She's running a fever," Angelus said, picking her up and carrying her to her room, where he laid her on a beautiful canopied bed.

"A wha'?" Spike demanded, as he followed his companions.

"A fever, her body heat is rising."

"Can it?" Spike asked uncertainly. "I don't know that much about it, but I thought we were beyond all that. Impervious to illness and whatnot."

"This is a vision sickness," Angelus concluded, "Those insects she saw were so powerful they made her sick."

"Nasty little buggers," Spike mussed, with a casual air he did not feel.

"More than we know, I would think."

"Are you all right?" Angel asked. Usually the half-demon was paralyzed by the vision for a moment, but then shook it off and was able to go on with his business. But this time Doyle remained flushed, and his breathing didn't slow down, and the pain in his eyes never fully retreated.

"Sure," he slurred. "Fine, that last one was just," he sat up straighter and moved to lift himself out of his chair, "A little . . ." he never managed to reach an upright position, as soon as he shifted his weight forward he lost his balance and collapsed on the ground. Cordelia and Angel were instantly at his side. He tried to push himself back onto his feet, but the room was spinning too fast.

"Doyle, are you ok?" Cordy asked, falling to her own knees to help him.

"Fine," he grunted. "I just seem to have . . . ah . . ." His explanation was interrupted by a fit of violent coughing. His face was a grimace of pain, and virtually a glowing red. Almost instinctively, Cordelia reached out to cradle his head in her lap. But before she could offer that small amount of comfort, dark blood erupted from his mouth.

Cor pulled her hands away, momentarily frightened. "Oh, god," she breathed, less discussed than horrified.

"Cordelia," Angel said, in his most authoritative, and fatherly tone, "Help Doyle onto the bed."

"What's wrong with him?" Her voice was frightened.

"He's sick."

"I was fine a moment ago," Doyle groaned, not contradicting Angel's assertion.

"That was before the vision," Angel glanced from his sick friend to his healthy one. "Cordelia?"

"Right, tuck him in." She said as she slipped her arm under Doyle and started to haul him to his feet. "What are you going to do?"

Angel licked his lips nervously. "Think," he finally responded, before walking upstairs.

***

Cordelia walked quietly into Angel's office. She fully intended to be the first to speak, to demand why he had been so weird downstairs with not paying attention to her modeling and then just leaving right as Doyle got really sick. Not that Cordelia begrudge helping Doyle, but it would have been nice to have someone there who's body weight actually exceeded the poor sick Doyle's as he was hauled across the room and helped into bed. But instead, big strong, Angel was up here, brooding. It wasn't like he had anything in his life that was particularly brood worthy, at least not in the last day or so. He actually seemed not-quite-depressed as she showed him her vintage go-go boots and hand bag, but as soon as he saw that red dress he had wigged out. Cordy didn't know why, She liked the dress, Doyle seemed to like the dress, why didn't Angel like the dress?

On the other hand, maybe it was just the bugs. She had some nasty experiences with bugs, most notably that bug man from the Order of Torrat, but there was a nasty experience where she ate an ant at a picnic accidentally when she was five, and the time when she was thirteen and she woke up to see a spider on her wall. Those were both incredibly traumatic. Angel, having lived longer, might have even nastier experiences, although Cordy was hard pressed to think of anything more nasty than eating an ant.

"How's Doyle?" Angel asked as she approached the doorway to his office.

"Sleeping," Cor said as she walked in and sat down in the chair across from him. Her voice betrayed her worry, and in turn, her affections. "I think. He keeps muttering stuff, but it doesn't make any sense. I don't even think it's English."

Angel nodded. "He might be speaking in tongues, or Gaelic, or some form of demon."

"I don't think he hears me, when I try to talk to him," she said quietly.

"Don't worry," Angel said, with a false bravado. "He's gonna be all right."

"How do you know that?"

"Because this has happened before."

"Did I miss something?" she asked, looking around the room, as if the event she did not remember was floating in the air somewhere. "'Cause this is a first for me."

"You did miss something," Angel said softly. "It's not your fault, though; it happened in London about a hundred years before you were born."

"Ok, I'm lost," Cor said, losing some of her accusativeness in confusion.

"I don't know how, but this whole situation has happened before."

Cordelia sat quietly, staring at him intently and waited for him to continue.

Eventually he did: "Spike, Dru, and I were in London, in the late eighteen hundreds." He sighed, "I guess it started when you showed us the red dress, Dru had one just like it . . . only longer."

Cordelia was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of following a mad vampire in fashion, even if they were a hundred years separate. But she didn't say anything.

"At first I just thought it was the dress, and the hair, but then the conversation . . . it was almost like an echo."

"An echo?" Cordelia asked, confused.

Angel nodded and proceeded with vigor. "Everything that you and Doyle said, it mirrored things that Spike and Drucila had said."

"Mirrored?"

"For example, Doyle told you that you looked lovely, then he called you princess."

"Right,"

"Spike told Dru that she looked like a princess, then called her love."

The room was quiet for a moment before Cordy finally managed to blink, "Ok, yeah, creepy, but that could just be a coincidence."

"No," Angel said. "I might be able to believe that, to a point. But when Doyle had a vision . . . Dru had the same vision, or a similar vision. I don't know."

"A bug vision?"

"Yeah, and then she got sick."

"Just like Doyle."

Angel nodded.

"So," Cordy said, taking a brave breath. "What comes next?"

***

"Hey!" Spike yelled. "She's making noise!"

Angelus ran from the other room and stood over Drucila's bead watching and listening as she sang a willowy melody that drunken men slurred as they stumbled out of bars.

"Sad news, sad news, to fair London Fair/Sad news to fair London Town/There's been a rich vessel and she's passed away/past away past away/and all of her marry men drowned."

"Wonderful," Spike grumbled. "She's delirious."

"Not delirious," Angelus muttered. "Prophetic."

"It's a drinking song," Spike said slowly, hoping Angelus would get it eventually if he were patient enough. "Not a prophecy."

"It's both."

"You're both," Spike said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Bloody nuts!"

"Isn't that a lovely song, Angelus?" she asked, smiling weekly. The poor girl was too mad to realize that she was sick. Blood seeped out of the corners of her mouth, nose and eyes, and trickled down her white face. She was beauty and horror perfectly married. "It's singing in my head, over and over and over and over."

"It's a lovely song Dru."

"Spike?" Dru called out. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Sure," Spike grumbled. "Wonderful, especially if your rummy."

"Oh!" Dru cried, not out of pain, but out of surprise.

"What is it?" Angelus asked.

"The singing it stopped," Drucila seemed to morn the melody like a dear friend.

"It stopped?"

"Oh," she purred. "It has come back, been reborn, like a butter fly, or a moth."

"Can you sing it now? The new song?"

"I saw three ships on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day/On Christmas Day/ I saw three ships on Christmas Day/ On Christmas Day in the morning."

"Oh, good," Spike muttered, taking out his flask. "Christmas Carols, why don't you sing 'Be Thou My Vision' while you're at it?"

"It's a lovely song, isn't it Angelus, now that it's new."

"Yes Dru, very lovely."

"Humm," she gigged. "It dances in my mind, like the bodies of the dead. Their horribly frightened!"

"Close your eyes and watch them, my sweet." Angelus said, brushing his hand over her eyes sliding them shut for her.

She smiled again, a horrible, bloodied smile, and then let herself drift of into the vast world inside of her head. Angelus often wished he could visit that world of his creating. See what paradise had sprung from his inflicted hell. The place fascinated him, and, at the same time frightened him beyond words.

***

Cordelia and Angel got out of the elevator and, as soon as the motor switched off they could hear the soft moaning, sort of. It wasn't a random or painful moaning; rather it was like a drunken moaning, loosely melodic with slight variances that could be words.

"Are you sure he's not just drunk?" Cordelia asked as the walked into Angel's bedroom.

"You put him to bed," Angel said, looking down at his friend. "You tell me."

Cordelia looked down at Doyle and the bark red blood stains on Angel's sheets. "So what do we do?"

"What is he mumbling?" Angel asked as he noticed a pattern in the rising and falling in Doyle's groans.

"Does it matter?" Cordelia said. "I mean he usually doesn't make much sense when he's healthy."

Angel's only response was to lean closer to the delirious seer and listen.

"Cordelia," He said after a moment, his brow wrinkled with confusion or concern. "You're breaking my heart."

"What?"

"You're shaking my confidence, daily."

Cor took a slow step backwards, things were getting too spooky, even considering her high tolerance for it.

"Oh, Cordelia," Angel continued, slow and steady, "I'm down on my knees, I'm begging you pleas, won't you . . ."

"Come on home?" Cordy finished with a sigh.

Angel blinked and looked up at her, "How do you know?"

"It's Simon and Garfunkel," She explained, taking a step closer now that she understood that neither Angel nor Doyle were going all mushy on her. "My Father loved those guys, he was like a groupie in the sixties or something."

"What are the verses?" Angel asked eagerly.

"I don't know, something about a guy catching Cecilia in bed with another guy."

"Don't you mean Cordelia?"

"What?"

"The song said Cordelia."

"No, Doyle said Cordelia," She explained, "Simon and Garfunkel said Cecilia."

"Cecilia," Angel muttered, "Why would Doyle change it?"

Cor was about to comment that, while she was clueless to Doyle's motives, she did not appreciate her name being superimposed onto a mediocre song by a pair of hippies, but before she could say anything Doyle's voice cracked through the room, louder and with more force than either of his friends expected.

"It's very important, man," Doyle said, looking Angel Directly in the eyes. Angel was slightly frightened by the intensity of Doyle's swollen gazes as well as the blood that was a few shades two dark running out of his nose the side of his mouth. "Songs say a lot more than they say."

"Did that make any sense to you?" Cor asked Angel "'Cause I don't think it made any sense."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked softly.

"They're really, really, important," Doyle muttered, his brief moment of lucidness was slipping away. "You have to listen, you have to hear."

"Listen," Angel nodded. "I'm listening."

"That's good man," his eye lids were drooping and Angel found himself praying that his friend would slip into the void of sleep. "Be sure you do that."

Angel nodded but didn't say anything. What he knew of the song mulled in his mind, he thought he had an idea what the clue might be, but it was a key for the door and Doyle hadn't seen, or at least hadn't been able to communicate, the location of the door yet.

Doyle almost drifted into his much needed oblivion but before the fates allowed it he was thrown into another fit of coughing up blood. Behind him, Angel could hear Cordelia whimper in pity.

His coughing eventually subsided and flowing, almost naturally from that was another slur of Simon and Garfunkel lyrics, "Out in the Indian Ocean somewhere/There's a former army post/Abandoned now just like the war/And there's no doubt about it/It was the myth of fingerprints/That's what that old army post was for."

"It's official," Cordy said as Angel turned around. "He's lost it."

"Yeah, but I've found it." Angel muttered. He turned around quickly and started heading towards the stairs.

Cordy looked at Doyle and then at Angel and then at Doyle again. With the Irishman venerable and the vampire distracted, there was no one to see Cordelia bear her heart. "Sleep sweet," she whispered to the unconscious form, before taking a step closer and kissing him softly on the forehead. "Get better."

***

"Are you saying what I think your saying?" Spike asked, "Cause if you are I think you're bloody nuts."

"I'm not bloody nuts," Angel said slightly annoyed at his creation. "Have you ever feed on a sick human?"

"Nope," Spike clipped. "Never had the pleasure. I find if they're throwing up over my boots they aren't quite as fun."

"My point exactly," Angel said.

"You know, Angel, there is a much simpler answer to our little dilemma. One that would, hypothetically, let us watch all of London town fall down to this infection or whatever it is: It's called leaving, or partir, if you're French."

"And where else could we go, in this bonny land, where there would be so many people who could be there one day and be gone the next and no one would notice, or give a damn?"

"Edinburgh, Oxford, Cambridge, York."

"And how far do you think we'll get before the sun comes up and we burst into flames?"

"You know, mate, they have these wonderful things called Carriages now days," Spike said as he pulled a flask out of his coat pocket and took a swig. "They have been known to get a body from one end of this bonny land to the other without it bursting into flames."

"No carriage would take Drucila like this," Angelus said, nodding towards Dru's less-than-peacefully sleeping form.

"So your saying we're stuck here? In a town full of sick humans?"

"Unless we can stop the coming plague."

"Ah," Spike grumbled. "Well then, by all means, let's be the hero's and save the city."

"Don't get all righteous yet." Angelus said, "We'll take as many lives as we save before we leave this city."

"Right-oh mate," Spike said as he pulled out his flask and handed the room-temperature whisky to his friend. Angelus took it and thoroughly enjoyed the burn it left in his throat.

"The only question now is, where are these killer insects?"

***

Cordelia expected to find Angel brooding in his office again, for a blood sucking demon he really had a low tolerance for seeing his friends in pain. Not that Cordy blamed him for that, but she was continually surprised. Instead, she found him typing feverishly, almost as feverish as Doyle, at the computer.

"He's really sick," she said.

Angel looked up, then turned his attention back to the computer screen.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the 'get the killer bugs' thing. But don't you think he'd be better off at a hospital or something?"

"No." Angel clipped.

"No!" Cor stormed over to him and grabbed the arms of his chair, swiveling it so that he had to look at her. Angel was too surprised by her forthrightness to be angry. "He's coughing up blood! Now, I may have failed first aid because I refused to give mouth to mouth to Erik Cepper, but I've seen enough movies to know that when you caught up blood it's really, really bad! Plus I've seen enough blood to know that his is way too dark."

"It's infected blood," Angel explained. "That's why he's coughing it up."

"He's really sick," she said softer, but with no less conviction. "And he's not getting any better down in you dark dank basement cave. He needs to go to a hospital."

"That's not an option."

"Why not?" She demanded. "It's not like he's somehow in-human."

"Cordelia . . ."

"Doctor could help him more than we could."

"Cordelia," Angel said, straightening up and taking her arms. She was frightened, he could feel it, and this was the only way she knew how to fight it. Unfortunately, her method was useless. "Doctors can't help him. This is a vision sickness. His sickness is supernatural. Human doctors can't help him."

"Then how do we . . ."

"The only way I know is to stop the thing that triggered the vision."

"The bugs? But we don't even know where they are."

"Yes, we do."

"We do?"

"The S.G. Cecilia sailed in from Bangladesh last week with a cargo of rare fruits, it's docked in the harbor right now," his voice slowed down a tad as he remembered. "Going to unload tomorrow."

"So you think the bugs are on this boat?"

"It fits all the clues."

"So does a "the best of Simon and Garfunkel" album!"

"Trust me, I know."

Cordy nodded, "Right, because you've lived this before."

Angel let go of her arms and walked around the desk to get his black trench coat. Cordelia followed him, "Where do you think your going?"

"I'm going to try and stop that boat before it docks."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

Angel hesitated. "I'm sure that when I get there . . ."

"What? You'll have a vision?"

Angel was silent.

"You need a plan."

"I have a plan, go to the harbor to try and stop the boat from docking."

Cordy sighed, "Fine, if you're gonna be that way, wait for me."

"You're not going." Angel said solidly, and he expected the conversation to end there.

"Oh yes I am," Cordy said, laughing.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am,"

"Cordelia,"

"I am."

"Someone has to look after Doyle."

Her bravado was not even dented. "No problem, Denis isn't doing anything."

"Denis?"

"Denis."

"The ghost, Denis."

"Phantom Denis."

"You want him to take care of Doyle?"

"He's really great about that kind of thing," Cor assured the Vampire. "The other week when I had a hang over, he made me coffee, shut the blinds, he even brought me a blanket."

"Doyle is suffering from a little more than a hang over."

"And I'm going with you, so Denis is going to have to do."

"No," Angel insisted, "absolutely not. If on of those bugs bite you, you could die."

"And if you trip and fall on a wood chip you could die!" Cordy pointed out. "Dangers part of the game and I'm playing weather you like it or not."

"Cordelia."

"Angel."

The Vampire sighted, there were times he doubted all the minions of hell could stop her if she was determined. "All right," he finally relented. "But you're going to have to do exactly what I tell you to."

Cordy smiled that smile which seemed to prove she was smarter than he, "Don't I always," Before Angel could point out the obvious; She had her coat on and was heading to the stairs.

***

The body hit the dock with a hollow thud. The unfortunate boy had been left to watch the Harbor Master's office while the Harbor master went to take his dinner, and some other things. The lad hadn't expected anyone to find out about his masters negligence, and he was terrified for his job when the two dark men, whom he assumed to be the Harbor patrol, bust down the door. He was almost relived when he learned they were Vampires. The relief hadn't lasted long.

"I don't like Frenchmen," Spike mused as he looked down at his supper, "they cry like babies as you eat them and then they leave a nasty after taste in your mouth, like bad wine."

Angelus ignored him as he shuffled through the papers in the French man's office.

"Tell me again why this lout was dinner instead of one of those lovely Madams down there."

"If you want to go wash the taste out of your mouth . . ."

"No, no," Spike sighed, Angelus could be such a downer, so serious all the time. "What are we looking for again?"

"Records for a ship coming from Christmas Island, in the Indian Ocean. They'd probably be carrying something like silk or . . ."

"Spices," Spike said, holding a peace of paper up. "Here's our ship, the 'Martin Henry' carrying a lode of precious spices, including saffron and tea leaves, form china, stopping in Christmas Island for fresh food and water, they stopped at cape point in south Africa, and then another stop along the Ivy cost,"

"Both places have had serious outbreaks of an unknown disease in the last three months."

Spike glared at Angelus over the peace of paper, "And how do you know that, mate?"

"I read the paper," Angel said, somewhat discussed.

"The bonny ship is docked on harbor thirty-two. It's set to unload its cargo first thing tomorrow morning."

"We have to get aboard that boat."

"Oh yes," Spike said patronizingly. "I can just see that, we walk up and say 'we're a pair of vampires set out to save the population of the good township of London, won't you let us onto your boat so we can examine you're cargo?'"

Angelus ignored Spikes's mockery. He was to busy writing something on a clean leaf of paper with an elegant hand. "Find the harbor master's seal, and some sealing wax."

Spike was not much for plans, but he could recognize one when he saw one. "So what are we going to be?" He asked, "Constables, members of Scotland Yard, or the Harbor patrol as my poor dinner feared so much?"

"We're inspectors," Angel said, blowing on the fresh ink to dry it. "There to check the cargo for contaminants potentially harmful to the population of London."

"Well, that's more or less accurate," Spike mused, folding the letter and handing it back to Angelus

"Wax?"

Spike handed Angelus a stick of hard dark sealing wax, very carefully, Angelus held it over the candle and melted the wax, dripping it on the letters folds. "Seal?" Spike handed him the Harbor Master's seal and Angelus made the document official.

Less than an hour later they were being lead through the ships cargo hold by a very gullible sailor who had the misfortune of being charged to watch the ship while the rest of the crew enjoyed the dandier life in London.

"We don't come down here much," The sailor explained. "This here is the companies room, we knows that if we were to touch the stuff, Cap'n as soon cut off our hand as anything else."

"Sounds like a lovely chap," Spike mumbled. "Makes me wonder why I never considered a career in sailing."

"Let's start looking." Angelus said, not amused by Spike's editorializing.

"Now, the Cap'n didn't say nothing 'bout no inspectors sos I'm just gonna be stayin' here to keep an eye on you."

"Reasonable," Spike said. "You wouldn't want all these dark dank non-descrip barrels to be damaged now would you?"

Angelus slowly looked passed the room not opening any of the barrels, but trying to sense the life of the bugs, and the death inside of them.

"That there is a barrel a saffron, Cap'n told me 's more valuable than a barrel a us men. An' to smell it I'm inclined to believe him."

"It's not saffron," Angelus said under his breath. "Ah, Inspector Spike, there in these barrels, all of them."

"Oh well then," Spike said, smacking his hands together. "I guess there's nothing to do but confiscate them all. Bug off man and we'll get to it."

"Confiscate?"

"Yeah," Spike clipped. "That means we take them all, and then eat you."

***

Cordelia was very cold, so cold she had goose bumps. Of cores, then that might be just because she was bait.

"Hey sugar," someone whistled. "I'd like to lick some of that."

"As if," she muttered as she walked past the drunken sailors. It really wasn't his fault, she had no right to be warning her red dress and high heals and long brown hair. She would never have dreamed of walking in that area at night if it were not for the protective shadow that she knew was near buy.

She continued to walk down the pier, listening to the sailors demeaning whistles and catcalls until she finally reached the S.G. Cecilia. "HEY!!!"she called up the docking ramp nervously. "HEY!!!"

An old, dirty, man glared over the railing at her. The ship was a big cargo ship, and he was easily three stories higher then her, but it's not often that a beautiful young woman in a red dress is in that part of town, he had every intension of taking the opportunity, just like Angel knew he would.

"HEY!" She called again.

"What are you doing here little lady?" He called down.

"Little lady," Cor muttered under her breath "I thought he was a sailor, not a cowboy." then she yelled up to him. "I'm looking from my . . . ah . . . brother."

"Yer Brother?"

"Yes, he . . . ah . . . he said he'd be coming home, from Bangladesh, on a freighter. Is this one?"

"Freighter, yes."

"Is my brother on it?"

"Now why would you be meeting your brother dressed as you are?"

Cor laughed, "Did I say brother? I meant boyfriend."

"Did ya now?"

"Yeah," she said tilting her head and laughing nerviously. "I did."

"Why don't you come up little lady," The sailor rumbled. "And I'll try to help you out."

Every cell in Cordelia's body screamed "STAY AWAY!" but she knew better than her instincts and barded the boat.

"So, what's your boyfriends name?"

"Does it matter?" Cor asked looking around. "Where's the cargo hold."

"Why do you want to see the Cargo bay?" The Sailor asked eyeing her suspiciously. Not everyday did beautiful young women ask favors of him and, while he had every intention of taking advantage of the situation, he was still suspicious.

Cordy's mind flew to excuses that she had heard used in the past, excuses that had worked. "I heard somewhere that empty spaces make guys horny."

The sailor took a step forward, invading Cor's personal space in a big way. "And you like your guys horny?"

She laughed nervously, "Do you know my boyfriend?"

"I know that, whoever he may be, he's not on this ship."

Cor's little reconnaissance mission was not anywhere near over, but the look in the sailor's eyes frightened her. "ANGEL!"

In less than a heart beat her protective shadow took from behind the sailor. He pivoted, startled by the sudden appearance of a body behind him and as soon as he saw the attractive man, with an odd, one word, name, he realized that the beautiful young woman had been playing him. It wasn't a surprise, but it was a disappointment.

"Thief!" He yelled, throwing a vicious punch at Angel. The Vampire was quick, however, he grabbed the mans fist as it flew past his face and used it as leverage to pull the sailor's body close enough to give him a vicious head but. The sailor crumbled to the floor.

"I hate dirty old men," Cordy muttered, taking a step closer to Angel.

"We don't know where the cargo hold is." He sighed, frustrated.

"It's a ship," she pointed out. "It should be in the middle, right?"

He looked down at her, to see if she were joking. As soon as he realized that she hadn't been, he stepped over the body of the sailor, "we'd better start looking." he said softly, concentrating very hard, trying to use his otherworldly senses to feel the abundance of life that those bugs would produce.

His senses lead him into the bowls of the ship, and Cordelia followed. After about thirty minuets of wandering silently if not aimlessly, Angel stopped in front of a door that appeared to be exactly the same as every other door on the enter ship.

"Here," Angel said softly, "their in here."

"Ok," Cor whispered back nervously. She waited for a moment as Angel stared at the door, then she got impatient. "Well go in!" she insisted "We'll never stop the evil bug disease and cure Doyle if we wait out here all night." She scooted him with her hands, "go!"

Angel glared at her, not feeling any real contempt. He reached out, opened the door, moved to enter, and couldn't.

"What?" Cordy asked. "What is it?"

"Someone's quarters," Angel said, taking a step back so that Cordelia could look into the room. "I'm not invited."

"Oh," she said, stepping into the room. "Come on in."

Angel shook his head, "It doesn't work that way."

***

Drucila opened her eyes and laughed. "Mrs. Cobbler," she purred. "Did Angelus send you to feed me."

"Eye deary," the plump widow who roomed two floors down and who often brought the trio in the attic loft freshly baked crumb cakes. Spike had been begging Angelus for permission to eat her since the first day she had popped her rose face and sing-songy voice into their doorway, but Angelus had insisted, no eating neighbors, that tended to make people suspicious. But apparently, in this situation he had made an exception.

"That he did deary, that he did." She chortled as she got up and moved to the usually dead fire place where a pot of soup was boiling. "I saw him as he and your brother, Spike is his name, I believe, as they were going out. And I asked after you, as I always do, you see, and they told me you were so very sick, and I said I hoped it wasn't the small pox, because it would be a tragedy for your perfect complexion to be scared so. I real tragedy. And he assured me that it was not the pox. And he asked me to come up here, in case you felt better and got hungry. And at first I was afraid that you might be contagious, but the good lord says do unto others. And I know, if I were to ever come down you would be by my bedside nursing me, saint that you are."

Drucila giggled as the woman muttered on. She pushed herself slowly out of her bed coverings and prepared to feed, but before she could transform into her demonic form, the future started to whisper horrible thing into her ear. It whispered about barrels, barrels full of bugs, barrels that Spike and Angelus threw into the sea. The barrels hit the water and then floated to the shore, where they were found and opened. And all the humans became sick. But that did no concern her. What concerned her was the future she heard for Spike and Angelus. Once the Captain discovered the body, he and his crew hunted Angel and Spike down, and made sure they were dust.

"Ahhhhhh!" Dru screamed, pushing herself up and stumbling out of her bed. "They'll die, they'll die unless it burns!"

"Deary," Mrs. Cobbler cooed, as she caught the faint Drucila. "You have to get back in bed."

"They'll be killed unless they burn."

"Deary, you must rest."

"They'll die . . ." she moaned.

"You're delirious, deary," she said. "Eat something, you'll feel better."

Drucila cast her somewhat raving eye at Mrs. Cobbler's neck. "Yes," she purred. "Eat."

When she was done Mrs. Cobbler watched with lifeless eyes as the ill vampire vomited up most of her lifeblood. Then Drucila stumbled out of the apartment to save the two men who loved her and Mrs. Cobbler was in no condition to stop her.

***

Doyle tried to opened his eyes. It wasn't that easy, there was crusted blood keeping them shut. He did finally manage to open them and then what he saw he was convinced was a hallucination.

There was a bowl floating in front of him, which seemed to drift to a table top, where it rested. A rag floated out of the bowl, and apparently wrung some excess water out of itself before it floated towards him and Doyle felt a comforting cool on his forehead.

He took a deep breath and suddenly understood. The air smelt good, fresh and a little sweet, like a hayfield after the rain, and the room was dark, with the only light coming from a street lamp through a set of large windows. He wasn't in Angel's basement and there seemed to be an invisible person helping him out, he could only be one place.

"Hey Denis," He croaked. "How's it going?"

Not surprisingly, the ghost didn't respond. The silence didn't bother Doyle. His forehead was cool, and his body was warm and for the first time since his vision, he didn't know how long ago, he could breathe without coughing up his lungs. He kept his eyes open a sliver, for fear that if he closed them they would not be able to open again. He laid in an almost oblivious contentment for a while; he had no idea how long. But before he was ready to slip out of that oblivion, he was pulled out by the comforting smell of Chicken and Stars soup.

He saw another floating bowl, only this one was steaming. Suddenly, Doyle felt very hungry.

"I must be very delirious," He said, speaking as much to himself as to the ghost. "'Cause that smell's very good." He managed to push himself into a sitting position, which brought up another bought of coughing. Almost immediately, Denis had a towel under the half-demon's chin and caught the dark blood. "T'anks," he groaned. Denis was even kind enough to wipe, from his upper lip, the blood that his nose had been consistently bleeding. Then, with a patients that was perfected by being trapped in a wall for thirty years, he fed Doyle the soup.

"You know," Doyle muttered when the bowl was about half gone. "For being dead you have a wonderful bedside manner." Denis's only response was to spoon up some more chicken and stars soup. However, the spoon never got to his mouth, Doyle was suddenly ceased by a particularly disturbing vision.

Cordelia had a box, and Angel was trying to set it on fire. But someone came up, surprised them. Cordelia dropped the box and the little bugs he had seen in his first vision flew out. They spread across the city, he could see that, but it didn't matter, what did matter is that one of them bit Cordelia, he saw her collapse as blood spurted from her mouth. Angel did not fair much better, the man who had startled Cordelia and unleashed a plague on Los Angelus knew, somehow, who or what Angel was. Doyle watched his friend turn to dust as his vision faded away, and that hurt ten times more than the crushing headache or the stomach acid that burned his throat. When he regained his senses, at least the majority of them, he realized that Denis was wiping blood and scarcely digested soup off of his now long ruined shirt. "I gotta go," he slurred, pushing himself out of the bed. He felt a presents, or a force, similar to a very strong wind, trying to push him back in, but he couldn't let Denis get in the way. "No," he insisted, "You don't understand, they'll die!" Again, Denis tried to push him back into bed, but it was to no avail. Doyle stumbled out of the apartment to find the two people who loved him and Denis was in no condition to stop him.

***

"Alright," Spike said, setting the last of the infected barrels down. "Their on the bloody deck, now what?"

"We throw them over bard," Angelus said simply.

"Ah," Spike said. "I'm glad to see you were here with a plan, I was afraid we would just flounder in indecision with these man killing critters."

"Shut up and start tossing," Angel ordered. As usual, Spike was about to comply when a very familiar voice screeched "No!"

Both men set down their barrels and ran to the other end of the boat, where the horribly familiar voice had come from.

"Drucila!" Spike yelled over the edge of the boat. She was standing on the dock and she looked about as mad as she was, with dark blood flowing from her mouth, nose, and eyes, staining her beautiful red dress.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Angelus muttered. "She's sick."

"Angelus," she creamed, obviously not knowing which boat she was screaming to, "Spike, they will kill you! Burn it ! Burn It!"

"Do you think she had another vision?" Spike asked, nervously.

"I think that's a reasonably safe assumption."

"I don't like burning things, especially things that I'm on."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you," Angelus said. "But you know Drucila. I'm willing to make an exception in this case."

Spike nodded, "Right, fire it is. The only question now is where do we get it. I don't have a book of matches on me, how bout you mate?"

Angelus glared at his creation, annoyed that Spike was right. "Go," he finally said.

"What?"

"Jump off the boat and take care of Dru," Angelus ordered, "I'll get the fire."

"You're as crazy as she is," Spike accused, not unlovingly, "Good luck mate," he said, right before he threw himself over the side of the boat into the harbor below and started swimming towards Drucila.

Angelus turned around, assuming that Spike and Dru would be alright, and started desperately looking for something to set the barrels on fire with. The main problem seemed to be that ships tended to keep flammable things far away from flames, because noting is so frightening as a wild fire in the open water, where there was nowhere to hide. Angelus finally concluded that his best bet would be looking for the galley, there had to be kindling and cooking oil and matches there.

By the time he reached the galley he could hear commotion on the upper decks. Commotion that sounded like a drunken mob. Angelus had faced drunken mobs before, frightened people who knew, or at least had a pretty good ideal of, who and what he was and were determined to kill him. There were some advantages to their being drunk; they were usually slower both on foot and in thought. But on the other hand they were not quickly deterred, and they did not comprehend how truly they were taking their lives into their hands. Ordinarily Angelus would have been concerned about the drunken mob, but not overly so, he just had to be careful. But this time, he was on a boat and the mob presented the same problem as the fire. There was no place to run.

He grabbed a handful of lard and a book of matches before running out of galley and weaving his way through the bowels of the ship. He could hear the mob of sailors getting closer. It accrued to him they must have seen Drucila, and then Spike diving off of the ship. They must have found the body and put two and two together. Of course being drunk, five was probably the answer to there little equation. As he ran through the ship he made a point to knock down every lantern and candle along the hallway. He was determined to burn something, even if it couldn't be the bugs.

If Angel had a working heart it would have been beating so hard it bust and if he had needed to breathe he would have run out of breath a long time ago. Those things gave him the advantage he needed to reach the deck, and even break the neck of both men guarding the infected barrels before they realized that they should be afraid. He smeared as much lard as he had managed to hold onto on the outside of the barrels before throwing a lighted match at it. It hit the wood, and flickered out. He heard the mob getting closer, and he also saw the tell tail glow from the hatch. Even if he didn't get these barrels to burn, the ship would go down. He lit another match. and threw it at the barrels, it seemed to catch for a second, but then the flame got smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a poof of smoke. Angelus felt like screaming, "HEY you!" he yelled to the night sky. "You that are good and wish for the preservation of humanity," he spit out the words. "That's what I'm doing! I'm saving them, despite how much it disgusts me. The least you could do is make it easy!"

Believing he made his point, Angelus lit another match and, quite daringly, set it on one of the barrels. With supernatural force, the barrel burst into flames, catching the second barrel and Angelus in its intensity. The vampire staggered backwards, terrified by the flames that were crawling up his arm. He instinctively fumbled backwards to try and escape. And he did, after falling over the edge of the boat and into the water.

By the time he pulled himself onto the dock, the boat was up in flames. He looked at it for a moment, basking in the warmth that he could feel but posed no threat, and he laughed.

***

Cordelia looked around the room quickly, not really seeing anything. "There's nothing here," she said. "I think you're supper vampire sense is wrong."

"No, there in there," he said closing his eyes and trying very hard to focus on the life and death the bugs possessed. But the focus was vague, there weren't many of them and they were small.

Cordelia was sweeping the room again with her less than x-ray vision, and Angel was concentrating very hard on the faint evil presents that neither of them heard the footsteps approaching.

"There in a hidden compartment in the footlocker," Doyle's usually soft, now rough Irish dialect said.

Angel looked up with a start, if he had a heart he would have had an attack. There was a clatter and a yelp inside the quarters before Cordy stuck her head out of the door way. "Oh My god," she whispered as she tried to sort out how to react.

Doyle was standing in front of them a character of death itself. He seemed to be using a majority of his energy merely standing in front of them. His skin was gray with the exception of the red puffiness around his eyes and the blood, a few shades to dark that flowed out of his nose and the corners of his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Angel demanded, terrified for his friend.

Doyle closed his eyes but didn't respond.

"I brought him," a clear voice said as a sailor stepped out of one of the thousands of hallways and alcoves on the ship. He had a gun and it was pointed directly at Doyle's head, causing Angel and Cor to shift their stunned attention from one demon to another.

He was a pinkish gray with no hair and slight ridges at the base of his neck, other than those things he could have been human.

"Who the hell are you?" Angel asked.

"You know, I think I'll step into my quarters before I get into all that. Sick Boy!" he chortled as he hit Doyle violently on the back, forcing him to stubble forward.

"Doyle," Angel said, it was as much comfort to his friend as a warning to his enemy.

"You try anything Vamp, and he gets a bullet in the brain." The demon smiled a wicked, self satisfied smile. "You think you'd be able to forgive yourself if you let him get killed?"

"Here's a scenario for you," Angel said angrily as he watched Doyle being hurled into the demon's quarters. "I disarm you and break your neck before you have time to realize you don't have a trigger to pull."

"You willing to bet their lives on it?" The demon, or mostly, or half, or at least partially demon chortled as he stepped into the doorway and made himself impervious, to Angels attacks at least. "Now I think we're ready to talk," he said boastfully, "And just so you know, that is not an invitation."

"Angel," Cordelia whimpered. "Come in! He's a demon!"

"Not quite sweet cheeks," He said, quite enjoying the situation.

"He's half human," Doyle explained.

"And that makes a difference?" Cor asked sarcastically.

For a split second, Angel saw pain flicker across Doyle's eyes. At first he thought it was from Cordelia callus, though largely ignorant, assumption that no matter how human they were, demons were demons and therefore evil. But on the other hand, at that moment Doyle erupted into a bought of violent coughing.

Cordelia rushed to his side, catching him as his knees gave way, and lowering him gently to a sitting position. If she noticed the blood that spattered on her new dress she didn't care. Angel felt slightly better about their situation. Doyle and Cordelia would take care of each other, leaving only the villain for Angel to take care of.

"Why are you doing this?" The Vampire demanded.

"I hate them!"

"Them?"

"The humans, I despise them, there stench, their arrogance, there naivety. The world would be better without them."

"But your part human," Angel pointed out.

"They certainly don't see it that way. I don't know why I should."

Doyle looked up, furious at the half-demon for misunderstanding himself, and for bringing the bugs that made him sick, even for threatening Angel and frightening Cordelia. "You are what you are," he spit out. "You can hate humans, but the only result will be you hating yourself. Believe me I know."

That comment seemed to disquiet the Demon, he must have been able to sense that Doyle was half demon, just like he was able to sense that Angel was a vampire. "You can kill all the humans," Angel started, picking up were Doyle had cut off. "You have that power, but just because you are stronger doesn't mean that your better. If you kill them all you'll make it impossible for them to ever accept you. And I'm guessing that's what you really want, to be accepted."

"THEY'LL NEVER ACCEPT ME!" he yelled taking a step forward. He was so upset that he was forgetting the invisible barrier, one more step and Angel would have him.

"You underestimate them," Angel said taking a step backward. To the naked eye it looked like he was afraid, retreating, but in fact he was boosting his opponents confidence, edging him forward, leading him into a trap. "I've known my share and they accept me."

"YOU!" The demon said, throwing his hands in the air. "They accept you! Look at you, look at me. How dare you presume to compare us!" He was so furious that he took that fatal step forward. Before he realized what he had done, Angel had him helpless on the floor and stared down at him through yellow vampiric eyes. "You know, I tried to destroy all of humanity a few times, got damn close too. But then I woke up and realized that there existence validated mine."

"God, you're a crazy Vampire!"

"Glad you noticed," Angel smiled. "Now the way I see this there are two ways to play this game. You tell me how to destroy the bugs and you run as fast as you can while I'm distracted with the hope that I won't catch you, or you don't tell me what I want to know and I kill you here in the hallway. Your choice."

"Their magic," the demon said after a very short inner struggle. "I got some witchcraft guru in this little port town off Bangladesh to curse some house flies. I don't know how to un-curse them."

Angel stood up, pulling the demon to his feet by the neck in the process. "Go," He whispered as he pushed the demon away from him. "And if I ever see your bald head again I'm going to personally detach it from your body."

The demon looked at Angel, trying to see if there was any bravado in his eyes. There wasn't; he ran.

***

Spike sat on the bed and stroked Dru's hair. The thought that they were a very odd, mismatched couple flowed through Angelus's mind. He was tempted to displace Spike and look over the beautiful woman himself, but something inside of him told him that he had to move, that he had to leave.

Cordelia sat next to Doyle on Angel's bed. She was playing with his right hand absent mindedly as Doyle slept of the remnants of the vision sickness. He had stopped bleeding once they un-cursed the bugs with a simple de-hexing spell, but he had lost a lot of blood and he was exhausted.

"So?" spike asked looking away from Dru for a moment. "She's been like this her whole life, seeing the future or whatnot."

"So?" Cordy asked, tracing the lifeline on Doyle's palm with her index finger. "Do you know if he's always seen visions?"

Angelus blinked before answering, "Yes, that's why I chose her."

"And the Madness, you did that didn't you mate?"

"It's advantageous isn't it." Angelus said with a smile.

"I don't think so," Angel sighed. "I'm pretty sure he told me they started when he was twenty-one."

"Sort of a right of passage thing I guess," Cordy mused. "Well it's a good thing he found you, 'cause otherwise I'm sure these visions would drive him nuts."

Angel almost smiled, but the feeling of Deja vous was very strong. "It's a good thing."

"Mate," Spike asked. "What's wrong?"

"Angel," Cordy asked, "What's wrong?"

"I have this feeling."

"Feeling?"

"Like I have to go."

"Go? After you just saved all of bloody London, after you convinced me to risk my neck and you risk yours because going was too dangerous. Now you want to go!"

"Yes."

Spike through his hands in the air. "Fine, great, go leave. But I've invested in this fine city and I intend to collect!"

"Do whatever you like, I don't give a damn," Angelus said. "But I'm taking Dru."

"Like hell you are."

"I am."

"Look at her," spike said, holding his hand out to her sleeping form. The young Vampire had a love hate relationship with irony. He loved it when it was in his favor and hated it when it wasn't. Right now, he loved it with a passion. "She looks like hell." He chuckled, "What ship would take her?"

"Fine," Angelus said, putting on his coat. "She's yours, just take care of her."

"Where are you going?"

"To the docks, I'm gonna find someone with a lot of money and passage to France."

"All right then," Spike said, trying to keep the roughish exterior, the fact of the matter was he didn't want his sire to leave. "Good luck in France, I'll see you around."

Angelus waved to his friend, and then walked out the door.

"I've just got this feeling."

Cordy look at him with very perceptive eyes, "That creepy 'I've lived this before' feeling?"

"Ah, yeah."

"So what happens next?"

Angel blinked, "What?"

"If you've lived this before something has to happen next. So what is it?"

"I leave."

"You leave?"

"I go, leave Spike and Drucila and sail from London to mainland Europe." He blinked nervously and licked his lips, "I ended up visiting Hungry, among other places."

Cordy shrugged. "Stay."

"What?"

"Stay here," Cordy's voice betrayed her fear that history just might repeat itself. "There's no reason to leave. Is there?"

"No."

Cor took a deep breath, "Good," she sighed, before whapping him lovingly on the shoulder. "Now I seem to recall a night of evil fighting."

"Eggs."

Cor's response was a million dollar smile.

Angel managed to produce a fifty cent smile of his own before getting up and walking into the kitchen, not away from his new friends or the city he had just saved, but solidifying his place in them.

The End