Chapter One

Sunday, November 10, 2002 – garden of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:

Angel and Cordelia were sitting on the edge of the ornamental garden pool, but not too close together. The souled vampire turned slightly, half-facing her as Cordelia said, "We were friends. I know that. Not just from the pictures, but... and I know that's why you lied before – to protect me. Well, I-I staked a vampire today – "

Angel looked at her, startled. "Connor took you-?"

Cordelia looked at him, and he immediately shut up. Then she said, "And what I realized is whoever I was before, I'm still her. She didn't need protecting, and neither do I. So no more lies."

Angel nodded slowly. "All right. No more lies."

"OK. Because there's something I need to know." Cordelia looked at him searchingly, and asked, "Were we in love?"

Angel looked away. "Hrmm."

"Wow. That's an overwhelmingly decisive response," Cordelia said in sudden annoyance. "Were we?"

Looking back at her, Angel said, "What?"

"Were we in love?" Cordelia asked again, sounding exasperated. "Jeez. Is that such a hard question?"

"With each other?"

"Grrf!" Cordelia glared at him. "Mister, if you start giving me the run-around – "

Angel spread his hands and said fervently, "I'm not!" He stood up, repeating himself, "I'm not."

"Then tell me the truth!"

"I don't know the truth!"

"You don't know?" Cordelia looked at him incredulously.

"Well, I'm not sure," Angel replied somewhat uncertainly.

"Now, I think that's the sort of thing I'd remember. Hey, maybe you wrote it down somewhere – a note on the fridge, maybe?" she snarked.

"It's not that simple, Cordy! I had feelings for you, and thought that maybe you – but you never told me. You asked me to meet you... to talk, and... I never saw you again."

"And you think I wanted to meet you to tell you I was in love with you?" Cordelia said, looking at him searchingly.

"I really don't think you're ready to be dealing with – " Angel began to say, but she cut through the vampire's half-formed objections ruthlessly.

"Or maybe I was gonna tell you to back off, buddy!" Cordelia stood and walked toward him, now looking suspicious. "Maybeyou were coming on too strong – harassing me in the workplace. Maybe I had a red-hot restraining order in my mitts." She moved up all the way into his face. "You ever think of that?"

Angel jerked back as if slapped. "Hey! I never – not in the workplace, I – well, there was that one time with the, the ballet and the stripping and the roundness, but that was a spell. And, and we were meeting in Malibu on the bluffs at night. That's a pretty romantic restraining order!"

"Don't yell at me. You're yelling at me," Cordelia said, turning her back to him.

"I'm not. See, this is why I don't want to answer questions I don't have the answers for," Angel semi-babbled. Cordelia rolled her eyes at him, and he winced. "All I know is that you are my dearest friend. And I hope that – I just – I want that back. That much, at least."

Cordelia sighed. "You have no idea how much this is killing me." She sat back down by the pond. "I know my ABC's, my history, I know who's President, and that I sorta wish I didn't. I know the name of every shoe store in the Beverly Center, but I don't – " Sighing again, she started to weep, a single tear running down her right cheek. "I don't even recognize the sound of my own name."

"We'll get you back. No matter what." He sat back down beside her. "I promise you, we will get you back," Angel said, his expression determined.

The anagogic demon named Lorne walked into the garden, holding an opaque ceramic bottle with a cork in the top. "Huh. What's all this 'we' stuff, pale face? I'm the one out there doing all the legwork – well, it's really more lapwork – 'cause guess what just fell into it."

Earlier that day – Stockton, California; early afternoon:

Xander knew for a fact that he was nothaving the best weekend of his life. Actually, that was kind of an understatement. Up until now, kinda like back in May – he'd been having the weekend from hell.

First of all, his alarm hadn't gone off yesterday morning as he'd forgotten about having to work on Saturday; which had been merely the first of several major annoyances. Already running late, Xander had then been forced to take a cold shower because Spike (his unwanted undead roommate) had used up all the hot water. Yelling at the peroxide-blond British vampire for it hadn't accomplished anything, as Spike had simply retreated into his room, and he'd had to run out the front door while still buttoning his shirt rather than pursue the discussion.

Then his truck wouldn't start. Xander had been meaning to take a look at the alternator on his Ford F-250 – but he'd been so busy between handling issues that the subcontractors had left behind on the new Sunnydale High School, the new building contract for the new Sunnydale sports arena, and setting up the new job site for the Montecito Convention Center, that he'd kept putting it off.

End result: he'd been forced to make an emergency call to Willow (who had arrived home from England not long after the summer had ended) and repossess his Ford Taurus so he could get to work, and be able to do the rest of the running around he had lined up for Saturday and Sunday. Said act had irritated Willow no end, as she'd had plans that had evidently required a car.

Willow had not been amused by Xander's observation that she should just use Buffy's Jeep Cherokee, as the Slayer's lack of anything resembling a driving skill meant the Buffster wasn't gonna use it. Cue the "That's just mean!" comment, the five-minute argument that he absolutely couldn't afford, followed by Willow hanging up and dropping off the car and practically throwing the keys at him – when the infamous Resolve Face had failed to budge him.

One of these days, Xander had reflected, he was going to have to tell his best friend that the Resolve Face hadn't worked on him since the early sixth grade – he'd just humored her all these years.

One of these days, like after Willow was well past the fuming stage from having a cheerfully inept Buffy and a terrified Dawn follow her to his apartment building in the Cherokee so that she could drop the Summers sisters off somewhere or other, before heading on her way. And then needing to interrupt whatever plans she'd had to pick them both up again later. Which meant that he could see forgiveness coming from that direction, probably around New Year's or later... maybe.

Somehow he'd managed to arrive at work only ten minutes late, but then his immediate superior at the construction firm of Turner and Peterson had called him up to bitch about his tardiness for like fifteen minutes, before he could finally get off the phone and shove himself out the office door and get to work. Only to find that his chief foreman, Tony, had called in sick with a case of the flu – leaving him to oversee the ground crews. Which more or less meant doing the job of a site supervisor,instead of the Junior Assistant VP that he'd recently been promoted to.

He'd then spent the early afternoon yesterday – working through lunch – dealing with various supply problems. Like a shipment of bolts that couldn't be used on the half-constructed building's steel girders – they were aluminum, and wouldn't even hold up to the stress of being screwed in. He'd subsequently ordered the right hardware – after cursing viciously, once he'd found out that the supply company had shipped the wrong ones – but nonetheless, work on that part of the Sunnydale sports arena project had had to be halted until they arrived. Xander's immediate boss had blamed him for not catching the error earlier, even if it wasn't his fault the wrong screws had been shipped. And that had subsequently left him heading out later that afternoon to perform the more-than-aggravating task of straightening out the inventory of the company's heavy equipment for the new construction site.

By the end of the day he'd been tired, sweaty, extremely aggravated and every muscle in his body ached from sheer weariness. Despite a soothing immersion in his country and western CDs, the drive home through the Saturday evening traffic had added additional aggravation. And by the time he'd gotten home, the plan had been to collapse into bed and sleep until morning...

At least he had the satisfaction of suspecting that the Junior VP above him probably wasn't long for his position in the company. Neither Mr. Peterson nor Mr. Turner had much patience with executives who bitched at and blamed their underlings to cover their own management shortcomings. Both of the construction firm's partners liked, respected, and appreciated people who worked hard, built things, used their initiative, and solved problems. Neither of them cared much for people who attempted to solve issues by placing blame over just getting the damned job done.

Anyway, whatever plans he'd had in mind for Saturday night – Dawn had been waiting in his apartment needing help with her trigonometry homework, once he got home. Because Buffy didn't have time (thanks to her nightly patrol, and her new job at the rebuilt Sunnydale High), Willow wasn't available, and Spike had been pretty much useless at providing the female teen with any sort of scholastic assistance.

(Well, he was over a century old, and there was that whole 'creature of the night' thing as well. So, just for once, Xander couldn't really blame the guy for being unable to help out.)

After a fast shower and a quick meal consisting of a few Pop-Tarts, Xander (who had never been too strong on math himself) had spent the next two hours trying to explain to the younger Summers sister about complementary angles and tangent functions and sine waves, which had sent him from very weary to utterly exhausted.

But now, it seemed, his luck was finally turning better. Nothing, not even Spike's television habits, had prevented him from sleeping to a decent hour. By the time he'd woken up, the hot water heater had managed to replenish the supply enough for a decent shower. The Sunday morning traffic had been relatively light once he'd reached Solvang, and he had been able to make decent time heading north, following the coast to San Jose and Pleasanton; before heading east through Tracy, Lathrop and French Camp to his final destination.

Managing to find a parking spot in front of one of Stockton's coffee shops, Xander pulled the burgundy Ford Taurus into the lot and exited the car. Clicking the lock button on his key-chain fob, he worked his stiff shoulders, sighing heavily, before heading inside for a much-needed late lunch.

For a brief moment, the red hair, quirky grin, and cheerful expression of the young waitress who greeted him almost sent his mood plummeting again. She reminded him so much of the younger, much more innocent, and still well-adjusted Willow of his high school years that it hurt.

Still, the cute eighteen-year-old girl who served him a cup of coffee – her name tag read 'Marilyn' – gave him a smile full of dimples before leaving to attend to the rest of the coffee shop's patrons, brightening his mood again. Xander then drank his sugar-laden beverage gratefully, before taking a moment to enjoy his peaceful meal.

Naturally, the moment didn't last long.

{ It's times like this that I really miss Anya, } Xander thought to himself sadly, looking around at all the various couples cuddling and chattering within the shop's various booths. { I know it's totally over between us – hey, Ahn made that pretty damn clear, after those frat boys were brought back to life by D'Hoffryn – but I still miss her. Damn it, how pathetic is it that out of all the women I've ever been romantically involved with... one was a Preying Mantis Lady, one was an Inca Mummy Girl, one's an ex-demon, one's in jail for killing people, and the last one hasn't even spoken to me for the past three years? }

At that moment, Xander idly wondered where Cordelia was, and what she was up to...

If he'd been on the Hellmouth, he'd have slapped himself for possibly jinxing himself that way. Since he was in Stockton instead, Xander figured he was safe enough. Or as safe as you ever got, anyway.

{ No, } he then thought to himself. { It's times like this that I really miss Cordy. } The former cheerleader's self-absorption aside, it was nearly impossible to mope around her: between her sarcasm, her biting sense of humor, and her gorgeousness, she could always make him forget about himself like no one before or since. And it was impossible to be really depressed in the face of that million-dollar smile, or those sharp, hazel eyes.

If nothing else, his ex-girlfriend would have just have dope-slapped him and told him to quit whining and concentrate on her problems. Xander found himself oddly grinning at the memory.

{ What's really pathetic, }he then mused, { is that Cordy's made more effort to keep in touch with Willow than she has me, and she hated Will after the fluke. Even if I did manage to catch the bulk of the hatred fallout. }

Oh well.

Finishing off his lunch, Xander took a big gulp of his Coke before taking his time with his chocolate milkshake dessert. Waving off the waitress's offer of a refill, he tossed some bills down for her tip and stood up.

Ten minutes later, he had made a quick trip to the restroom, gotten back into the car and driven off toward his next destination.

Many hours later – garden of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:

"What?" Cordelia said, examining the ceramic bottle Lorne had just given her curiously.

Smiling, the anagogic demon replied, "A memory spell – provided by one of my clients – that is guaranteed to bring our Cordy back to the way she was. That would be you, chickadee."

"Well, duh! Unless you have some other amnesiac Cordy around here somewhere," she said flippantly.

Angel gave Lorne a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. "Guaranteed?"

"Hey," Lorne said, spreading his hands. "No pain, no side-effects. I'm telling you, swingers, there's no way this can fail."

A few hours later – Hacienda Residencial Casa Blanca, Mexico; night:

Andrew Wells tossed and turned in his bed, caught in the middle of a nightmare.

"Desde abajo te devora. Desde abajo te devora!" a loud voice thundered inside his head, as he dreamed intensely:

The seal of Danzalthar.
A girl with dark hair fleeing her pursuers.
Creatures which kind of looked like Uruk-hai from Lord of The Rings climbing out of the ground.
Another girl with dark hair fleeing her pursuers.
Spike's ritualistically-cut body bleeding out, suspended from the ceiling.
Jonathan and himself fleeing Sunnydale back in May.
The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.
Another girl fleeing her pursuers.
A dark-haired girl being killed.
The seal of Danzalthar starting to open.
A group of hooded men murdering a teenage girl.
The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.
The seal of Danzalthar continuing to open.
A dark-haired girl wounded and dying.
A guy wearing glasses holding a platter of cheese.
The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.
Cheese slices laid out neatly in a row on a pedestal.
A group of hooded men murdering a girl with pink hair.
The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.
The seal of Danzalthar opening, the points of the pentagram folding in.
The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.
A group of hooded men murdering yet another girl.
The seal of Danzalthar opening, the pentagram folding inward, forming a pyramid that sank into the ground.

Andrew woke up at the same time Jonathan Levinson did, a slight sheen of sweat visible on both their foreheads. { Holy crap! }

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Jonathan wheezed. "Did you have the nightmare again? I had it again. That voice... "

"Desme abdo tay deborah. What does it mean? What does it mean?" he asked.

"Let's try looking it up again in the morning in the dictionario. Holy cats, that was terrifying," Jonathan said, before he got up out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Still upset, Andrew started singing to himself in bed. "La cucaracha. La cucaracha. La la la la la." Then he turned over, and saw the image of Warren Mears leaning over him. Even though his secret crush had been killed months ago, Andrew had no doubt that this was Warren returned as a ghost...

No other alternative was possible, at least not to his mind, after their recent conversation.

"Did you get the knife?" Warren demanded.

Andrew gasped, and got up out of bed. "Oh, gosh. I, I'm glad to see you!"

"Me, too," Warren replied. "Now did you, uh, did you get the knife?"

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't easy. I had to meet this demon guy who sells all kinds of weird weapons and stuff."

Warren nodded. "OK, show me."

"Well, I didn't buy them, but there were some cool-looking poison arrows, and this sort of collapsible sword – "

"Show me the knife!" Warren snapped impatiently.

"Oh, right." Andrew chuckled briefly, before he bent down to get a box from under the bed.

"Quick, before Short Round comes back," Warren said, even more impatiently.

Andrew opened the box and took out a long knife, which had tiny writing on the blade. "Oh, he'll be a while. Guy's got a shy bladder." He called out, "Jonathan, you OK in there?"

"Don't talk to me. I'm fine!" Jonathan shouted back from within the bathroom.

Andrew turned back to face Warren. "See? Told ya. Now look, uh, the stabbing part of the plan – I don't, I don't think I can do it. Jonathan has been a good friend to me here in Mehico. He said he'll buy me a burro."

Warren shook his head. "Oh, you can stab him. It's easy. And I told you, that boy's blood is a powerful tribute. It's a gift to something very big, very important, and ultimately, it won't even hurt him. Plus, we get a reward. You and me – and him, too."

"We live as gods," Andrew said dreamily.

Warren nodded. "That's right. The Trio, living as gods. Just remember, there's power in that knife. Drive the words deep into him. It's the only way for us to get our reward."

Andrew nodded. "Got it. If I kill him with this knife, we live as gods."

Warren vanished, and pretty soon, Jonathan came out of the bathroom. It didn't take long for Andrew to convince his friend that they needed to go back to Sunnydale, and put the wrong things right. He still didn't like the stabbing part of the plan, but –

Andrew eventually convinced himself it was the right thing to do – indulging in a daydream where he, Warren and Jonathan were dressed in togas, playing harps and frolicking in a meadow of daisies, dancing and singing. { We are as gods. Oh, we are as gods. We are as gods. We are as gods! }

TBC…

Wow, thanks for all the feedback and reviews so far; we really do appreciate it! OK, there's some stuff that needs to happen in this story, so we won't be seeing Jonathan and Andrew again for a while. There will be some world-building and character development. Oh, and in case you didn't spot it, the briefly-mentioned foreman 'Tony' isn't an OC; he was from the season 6 episode "Life Serial". Anyway, we hope you liked the chapter, and please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of it!