ACT THREE

"Wakey wakey Jack."

Gibson was lying on the ground, surrounded by small chunks of stone and sprinkled liberally with dust. The explosion had done massive damage to the storage building though the walls were still, just, standing. The roof however had been almost completely blown off. The force of the blast had thrown Gibson violently against the wall that he had been taking cover behind; knocking him unconscious.

The assassin was now standing over him. Quickly the assassin took his P90 and tossed it aside and then gave the downed man a kick in the stomach. "Come on, come on, get up," the assassin demanded. Jack Gibson stirred with a groan. "There you are, come on, sit up," the assassin took a few steps back, gun aimed at him. "Don't try anything stupid."

Gibson was confused and disorientated. He slowly sat himself up against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his head of the murkiness clouding his thoughts. He looked around and his eyes focused on the barrel of the gun that was pointed directly at his head. He followed the gun to the figure holding it: the masked assassin. He briefly considered attempting something, but he knew that right this second his reactions would still be a bit slow, and the assassin had taken the precaution of being just out of reach of a speedy attack. He glanced over to the smoking storage building, realizing what had happened.

He looked back at the assassin. He wondered why the assassin hadn't killed him yet, the guy had already proven himself to be a cold-blooded, ruthless individual. "If you're going to kill me get it over with," he said finally. He didn't want this to be prolonged, if he was going to die now that it was best to get it over with and not dwell on the event.

Slowly the assassin, without looking away from Gibson or turning away the weapon, took off the mask.

Gibson just stared for a few seconds, not believing what he was seeing.

The assassin it turned out was not male, but female.

It wasn't the assassin's gender though that shocked him; it was her identity. She was someone he knew well, very well.

"Mel?" Gibson just could not believe it. This couldn't be right, he was seeing things, or this was a trick, or he was still unconscious. Gibson shook his head and closed his eyes tight. But when he opened them she was still there looking down at him.

"It's me Jack, I know this is a real shock to you."

"A shock?! A shock?!"

"Breathe Jack, take a moment, accept it." The woman had black hair tied back in a ponytail, she looked calm, confident, just as always. Here hazel eyes looked at him warmly. To him she still looked as beautiful as the first time he had seen her.

Gibson tried to process it all. She was the one responsible for the destructive attack at Dodgers Stadium, the merciless murder of the Nem'Cyle villagers and for the killing of Tol'el.

"It has been a while hasn't it?"

"Five years," Gibson replied he wasn't looking at her, he was staring off into the forest. "Almost six actually."

"Not since we made it final."

Gibson looked up at the woman. Melanie Marshall. He still couldn't quite bring himself to believe that she had done all those things. Just under six years ago Jack Gibson had divorced this woman.

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Cordelia Chase was standing on the balcony of a far from inexpensive hotel room. Paris was a city she had long planned on visiting. Back when her family were still mega-rich she'd been in France skiing a couple of times but had never been to the French capital. It was a trip that she and Harmony had spent many hours planning on doing after high school graduation. Harm's death and the suddenly disappearance of all her father's cash had ruined those plans.

She smiled as she remembered her high school days, before Buffy had arrived in particular. Before her life had taken a turn to the crazy. She had been such a royal bitch back then, and at the time had relished in the power and popularity. Mostly. Her life plan back then had been nothing more than finding an unbelievably gorgeous very rich man, marrying him and living a life of luxury. Even now that didn't sound bad, she mused with a grin.

She looked out at the beautiful city, the Eiffel Tower, brightly lit up a couple of blocks away, was spectacular. Once again she found herself trying to sort everything out in her head. Living with a monster inside her had been a truly awful experience. Everything she did last year under that creature's control made her sick to think about. She had had to just watch as the creature carried out her evil acts.

Cordelia wondered how the guys back in Los Angeles were doing. She had resisted getting in contact with them. Since leaving Angel's office, after Jake Reynolds' death, she had resolved that she needed to take time alone and away from them. Still that didn't stop her worrying about them. Their lives were dangerous.

She had to figure out what she was going to do. There were two options: The first was simple; walk away. She could avoid ever returning to Los Angeles, and never go back to the fight. With the demons, monsters and apocalypses behind her she could live a normal life. That option appealed in a lot of ways. A normal life free from constant danger would be incredible. In truth staying in the fight would mean that she would likely die one day at the hands of some evil enemy, a normal life probably meant a longer life. But she wandered if she could really do it, if she could forget it all and move on. Walking away from Angel and the others wasn't a happy prospect. She cared about them a lot, their time together had forged incredibly strong bonds of friendship. The fight too was important. People needed to fight against the evil that desperately wanted to consume the world.

Her second option then was to go back, join them at Wolfram and Hart and throw herself back into that world of violence and horror. Something about the idea of working at Wolfram and Hart felt primevally wrong to her. They were the enemy, they were cruel and vicious. From what she had seen already it was already starting to have negative effects on the team. But rejoining the fight would allow her to do incredible good, and maybe she could keep Angel on the straight path. But what if she too fell into the trap?

Cordy had set off on her travels around Europe in hope of coming up with an answer. She had been to some of the most amazing places on earth over the past few weeks. It was this wonder and beauty in the world that she, Angel, Buffy and the others all fought for.

She's gone over all the arguments in her head hundreds of times and still she had no idea which was the right decision, which was the right choice.

She yawned and glance at her watch. It was well into the small hours. Cordelia turned away from the view and went back inside her room, and got ready for bed.

Cordelia was still unsure what she was going to do, what path her life was going to take.

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"You...you murdered all these people, families" Gibson finally said out loud to his ex-wife, unable to control his horror any more. "How could you?"

Mel shook her head. "Not people Jack, demons, soulless creatures, worthless. Don't tell me you're going soft."

"Men, women and children Mel, you killed them."

"Demons. In their sleep," she nodded, "couldn't have them mess up my plans. They had to die." Melanie's tone was utterly devoid of emotion.

Jack Gibson had no idea what to say next. He had plenty of questions for her, but he had no idea where to begin. Worst of all...she could kill him at any moment. He had never imagined that she could do anything like this, but it seemed possible now that she could pull the trigger and end his life. Back when they had been married she had worked for a private security company, mostly doing background research, observation, and providing logistical support to operatives in the field, protecting the assets of the wealthy around the world. Jack had been in the military, special-ops, their busy, highly secretive, careers meant that they'd been unable to see each other much as they progressed and were promoted. The time apart eventually tore the relationship apart, they grew to hate the fact that they never seemed to see each other, which spilled into arguments, and finally they had agreed that it wasn't working and they should get divorced.

"Hurt like hell to do that to the Dodgers though," she said shaking her head with a wry smile. Gibson didn't return the smile. Early in their relationship they had regularly gone to Dodgers games together. Compared to what she'd done to the villagers damaging the stadium was nothing, but Gibson was worried about his men, he had no idea if any of them had been caught up in the explosions. "Okay Jack, let's get down to business." Mel said. "I had a mic in there," she motioned to the smoking storage building, "so I heard everything. I want the compass."

Jack didn't move. There was no way he could let her have the compass, with it she would be able to chase the others down no matter what route they took to the Hall of Justice. "For old times sake I would really rather not have to kill you, but believe me, if your force my hand..."

She meant it, he knew her well, he could tell she was being deadly serious. "Why are you doing this?" Gibson asked. He was stalling for time, trying to give the others the best possible chance. Maybe, if he was very lucky, Mel would slip up and give him the opportunity to turn the tables. Maybe.

"For the money of course," she smiled. "I'm getting three million for this job, got my eye on a little, well huge, place in Tuscany, remember how we always talked about getting a holiday home there?"

"Why the hell are the defense so desperate to win this?" He deliberately ignored her attempt to bait him.

"I never asked. I wish we'd met up again under different circumstances. The only reason I didn't detonate while you were all in there," she indicated the storage building, "was because of you." Her words were warm. Gibson felt a mix of sadness and a strange flutter of the love he'd felt for her.

"What happened to you Mel? How'd you end up a mercenary?"

"It just happened, better pay, bigger jobs. Plus it's pretty fun most of the time." Her eyes were sparkling with passion; she really loved her work. She used to look at him like that. "The Wolfram and Hart gig must be entertaining, I did a job for them in Sydney a couple of years ago." She was talking like they weren't enemies, like they hadn't been shooting at each other. "I couldn't believe it when I saw it was you. You've made things a lot more complicated than it needed to be."

"Sorry I messed up your diabolical scheme," Gibson said, the sarcasm in his voice as thick as Scanavarn Beast blood.

"Oh don't worry about it, you know me, I always have a plan B and a plan C," Mel replied confidently.

Gibson nodded. She had always been a very prepared and organized person, always having back-up plans in place. "Don't suppose you wanna fill me in?"

"And ruin the fun? Nah."

"The portal diversion was a nice play, that teleporting trick was...something special." Gibson resolved to keep her talking, keep her here, keep her from going after the others.

"Both were very expensive, my employer actually covered all the expenses once I came up with the idea."

"On top of the three million?" Gibson raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah. This guy really wants that Tribunal to fail," Mel confirmed.

"Maybe we could work something out. I could probably hook you up with one of the Wolfram and Hart offices somewhere, anywhere."

Mel laughed, "Oh I very much doubt they'd be willing to pay my rates, and I like being my own boss too much."

"How did you get here so quick? After we went through portal I mean."

"The motel I was based at was right beside a psychic hotspot. Came through to one of the other portal sites here and then used the last of my teleport-crystals," she replied. "Now, Jack, come on, the compass. Please."

"You know I can't do that Melanie," he shook his head.

"You can give me it or I can put a bullet in your head and take it. Your choice," the friendliness was dialed down a few notches, but she her tone remained fairly convivial. "Jack I'd love nothing better than to catch up some time, please don't make me destroy that possibility." Her gun was aimed at his head.

Their eyes locked. She was serious, her threat was genuine. If Gibson gave her the compass and she let him live then perhaps he'd be able to go after her and stop her.

"Okay Mel, okay," he finally submitted.

"Take it out, slowly, try anything, I'll kill you."

Gibson nodded and very slowly he slid the device out of the pocket he had put it in.

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"Okay." Gunn and the other two had stopped running and were now sitting on a fallen tree trunk.

Orsa had the compass. He turned it and when the crystal lit up he nodded, "That way."

"Right," Gunn looked around their surroundings. The forest was actually quite beautiful when you just sat and looked at it, and weren't running though it with a deadly assassin hot on your heals. Having grown up deep in urban Los Angeles greenery was something he greatly appreciated.

"We should press on," Orsa urged, reminding that the assassin could well be hunting them right now.

"Just another minute," Calvin said. The three of them had sprinted hard through the forest. The two humans were understandably tired by the exertion, particularly Calvin. Orsa on the other hand seemed fine, Calvin figured that the Nem'Cyle were a rather athletic bunch. "This is so crazy!" Calvin exclaimed with a nervous laugh. "A year ago I'd never heard of demons and portals and Tribunals...we are on another world." Gunn smiled at the young man.

"Never in all my years representing the Tribunal has one gone as badly as this," Orsa said quietly. "Over the centuries many have tried to disrupt the noble course of justice. In all the six thousand years of the Tribunal only eighty-nine have been forfeit. Eighty-nine. This is the first time one has gone wrong for me," Orsa sat up straight, an expression of resolve on his feline face. "We will make it. I will not allow the ninetieth to occur today. It is my duty to ensure justice is served."

"We'll make it," Gunn said. After a short, quiet time, he stood. "Let's go." He looked back the way they had come for a moment. He wondered who would be coming after them: Gibson or the assassin?

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"Put it on the ground in front of you," Melanie Marshall ordered. Gibson did as instructed, putting the compass down. He considered smashing the device, stomping on it, preventing Mel from ever getting hold of it whether he was alive or dead.

"Don't even think about it Jack. I only just found out about the compass so you know I can live without it. Crawl away, move slowly," she indicated to the right with a nod of her head.

Gibson looked at the device one last time. He figured that she probably had arranged some kind of trap like the village at the bridge, since it was a required point on the route to the Hall of Justice. Finally he did as she told him, stopping about five meters away from the device.

"I'm in a quandary here," Mel sighed. "I should kill you now. I know that if I let you live you'll come after me. Maybe you'll get me, maybe you'll prevent me from completing my mission." She looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "I could offer to cut you in but...it's not your style."

"Then let me come after you then," Gibson said with a sly smile. "I know you enjoyed a good chase."

Mel returned his smile. She stepped forward, picked up the compass and tucked it away in a pocket. From a smaller pocket she took out a set of PlastiCuffs (two cable-ties with interlocking straps that were often used as a cheaper, less cumbersome alternative to handcuffs). "Here," she said and tossed them to him. "Put them on, tighten them with your teeth. Very tight."

Gibson again complied with her instructions, putting his hands through the two loops and then gripping the plastic between his teeth, pulling hard to securely bind his hands. He held his hands up and made a motion to jerk them apart, showing her that they were tight.

She picked up the compass, keeping her gun aimed at him. "Stand up." With his hands bound in front of him it wasn't easy but he managed to struggle to his feet.

Bang!

She shot him, a single bullet to the abdomen.

Gibson cried out, the sharp sting of pain flooded out from the impact point. He doubled over.

Mel rushed forward and lashed out, kicking him on the side of the head. Gibson went down. Mel ran, stooping to grab his P90 and then sprinted off in the direction Calvin, Gunn and Orsa had gone.

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There was a loud pounding on the door.

Daniel Forest looked over from the cupboards in the kitchen to the front door. He had just got back to his small apartment going to the grocery store. He was in the middle of unpacking.

He glanced at his watch. He wasn't expecting anyone for at least another hour. Daniel put the jar of pasta sauce in his hand in the cupboard and then went to the door and opened it.

There was a bald, tall, muscular man with more than a few scars on his pale face. He was carrying a black leather briefcase. He was wearing a grubby white t-shirt and heavily stained, ripped jeans.

"You're early," Daniel gathered up the courage to say to the intimidating man.

The man shrugged. "You know the time and place?" His voice was extremely deep.

"Sure," Daniel nodded. The man handed him the briefcase.

"For the glory of Mal'Klan," the muscular man said and then turned and walked away.

Daniel closed the door. He set the briefcase on the kitchen counter next to the brown paper bag of groceries.

He started at the case. He wondered what was inside it. There was a combination lock on the latch under the case's handle. Inside there could be anything, though it was pretty much guaranteed to be something that would advance the evil schemes of the Followers of Mal'Klan.

Daniel had been running little errands; deliveries, pick-ups, for the past few weeks. He had also been attending martial arts classes, a shooting range and regular rituals of worship to the demon had had sworn to serve. All of it, including this apartment and a car, had been paid for by the Followers.

He continued to stare at the case. If only he could get a look inside it he might learn something. So far he had no idea what any of the things he had been doing were form or how much they were helping the forces of evil. Finding out what was in the case might allow him to help the fight against evil, against Mal'Klan.

Daniel ran his hands round the edges of the case. Some great secret of Mal'Klan could be inside, so close. But he couldn't get to it. He didn't know the combination and even if he did there could be additional mystical protection. He couldn't take the risk of blowing his cover for something that might not be of any use at all.

Tonight he would make the delivery and continue waiting for the chance to do some good.

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Malanie Marshall was sprinting through the forest, zig-zagging, taking random twists and turns in her route, ensuring that if Jack tried to follow he would not be able to.

She stopped for a moment, crouching on the ground. She stripped down the P90, braking it apart. She tossed the magazine away, picked up the rest of the parts and resumed her sprint. Every few minutes she threw away one of the weapon's components. There was no way that Jack would be able to reassemble it.

Once she had thrown it all she stopped again, took out the compass and turned in a circle until the crystal in the middle of the device glowed green. Mel smiled. "Here Calvie, Calvie, Calvie," she said quietly.

--------------------------

Jack Gibson sat up, catching his breath. His abdomen just below his right row of ribs stung terribly. That was where the bullet had hit, prevented from entering his body by his tactical vest.

It still hurt though. A lot.

Mel. He had to stop her. He had to go after her. His mind was racing. Mel! Mel was a cold-blooded assassin! The more he thought about it the more he struggled to believe. She had always been calm and professional when working; he had admired that quality in her. She was a woman of focus, always striving forward. Her drive too had been something that he had appreciated in her.

Now though the bad aspects of those qualities were a powerful force for darkness in her. Back when he had known her she had been well-balanced; her strength balanced with a kindness and warmth. That warmth was still there, he'd seen it during their conversation, but...the balance was gone. Her ambition had taken her down a dark road.

He shook his head and took a few deep breaths. He knew that he couldn't allow himself to see her as his ex-wife, the woman he had loved so deeply. He had to see her as an assassin who was determined to kill the man that he had been charged to protect. She was just another enemy like any other.

Gibson asked himself if he would be able to kill her if it was the only way to stop her. No. No. He shook his head. There was no point in such distracting thoughts, he had to concentrate.

He brought his knees up to his chest. He rolled up his left pants leg, revealing the ankle holster for a knife. Carefully he used the tips of his fingers to slide the three-inch bladed knife out of the holster. He took it, gripping it between his palms and fingers. Gibson held it with the blade pointed towards him and with the extremely sharp edge of the blade he began to saw through the PlastiCuffs binding his wrists.

It took him a few minutes of patient work to free his hands. Once he accomplished the task he put the knife back in the holster and pushed himself up to his feet, grimacing at the sting from where Mel had shot him. He tried to picture Orsa's map in his mind's eye. His best bet would be to head through the forest until he reached the river. Once there he should turn right, following it to the bridge.

Jack Gibson readied himself. He would have to run the whole way. Even if he got there as quickly as he could there was little hope of beating Mel, and without his weapon there was little chance of him being able to take her down. To stop her he would have to use the element of surprise to maximum advantage.

He started running, pushing through the ache from his abdomen.

--------------------------

"How long to the bridge?" Gunn asked.

"Approximately an hour I believe," replied Orsa. The three of them were walking through the forest at a quick pace, there were times when they were practically jogging. The prospect of the pursing assassin was proving to be quite the motivator.

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Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had two of the large Template books and his laptop on the table in front of him. He was working away hard on his report on the A'Ter'a clan for Angel. As he was typing up the report he found his thoughts regularly drifting back to that moment at Fred's door. He regretted not taking the opportunity to just tell her. He couldn't go on like this much longer, stuck in a limbo, not knowing how she felt.

"Wes?"

Wesley looked up and saw Angel standing on the other side of the desk.

"You okay?" Angel asked.

"Yes...I...was just trying to figure out this passage," he indicated one of the books.

"How's that report going?" Angel was more than a little nervous about tomorrow's meeting. It had the potential to be very important for the firm. "I really don't want to make an ass of myself."

"This specific clan does have some of the strictest rules of etiquette," Wesley said.

"Great. Glad I didn't have anything better to do tonight," Angel sighed, learning demon social skills was far from the top of his list of 'things that are fun'.

"Generally they will be a little lenient in casual conversation, as long as you don't do anything seriously offensive like look at their ears."

"Their ears?"

"Oh yes, they're very protective of their ears. Your greeting and farewell must be absolutely perfect too. Be very careful not to blow it at the end. Get the goodbye wrong and any dealings will be ruined."

"I'll try and keep that in mind."

"If this clan makes a deal with as many other A'ter'a clans will follow."

"It'll be good to have human-friendly demons making a show of working with us." Angel was very aware that this deal could be a real signal to the supernatural community that Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles had truly changed into a force for good.

"About the Canary..." Angel said using the codeword for discussing Imogen.

"Maybe, hoping for developments later."

"Fine. I'll let you get finished with the report," Angel motioned to the laptop.

"Should be done in couple of hours or so."

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After forty minutes of solid running Jack Gibson reached the bank of the river. He bent forward, hands on his thighs, taking deep breaths. He knew that despite his aching legs he had to keep pushing on. He looked to the right, along the stony river bank. He started walking. He looked out at the running water; it was flowing in the direction that he was going. The river was about twenty-five meters across. From the looks of things the river got pretty deep a couple of meters from the bank.

He breathed in a very controlled fashion, eying the river thoughtfully. The constant rhythm of the running had allowed his mind to wander. Naturally his thoughts were of his ex-wife. He thought of everything from their wedding day to their early dates. Mel had changed so much since those wonderful days of romance. They had been so happy, so in love back then...where had it all gone wrong? How had it come to this madness?

Gibson reminded himself that any good times with her were far in the past. In a very short time he could well be forced to kill her.

He stopped walking. The river. In his high school days he had been a state swimming champion. The flowing water would add some much needed speed to his race to the bridge...

--------------------------

Orsa had the compass held out in front of him, the crystal shining green. "We should be at the bridge any time now," he said.

"'Bout time," Gunn sighed, "feels like we've been walking around forever." The forest had become a seemingly endless expanse. Gunn and Calvin were tired and eager for this trek to finally be over. The bridge signaled significant progress in their journey.

"I can hear the water," said Calvin. Gunn listened and sure enough with every step the sound of running water got louder.

A few minutes later they emerged from the forest into a large area where the ground was covered in dark pebbles. The bridge, spanning the river, was directly in front of them. It was a simple wooden structure, wide enough for five, maybe six, people to go across it side by side. Four thick pillars, made of wood, were on both the left and right sides of the bridge's length, so that the bridge was effectively divided up into three even sections.

"Right, let's take a break. Hopefully Gibson will be catch up with us before we get going again," Gunn said. He sat himself down on a large rock that was halfway between the treeline and the bridge.

Orsa looked into the forest. "Perhaps it would be wise to keep going."

"He stayed behind to give us a chance, we owe it to him to wait," Calvin said.

"He can join us a the Hall of Justice, waiting is dangerous, the assassin could still be pursuing us."

"He's got a point," Gunn agreed. Then he nodded, "a couple of minutes rest and we'll keep going."

Orsa took out of of the think glass bottles of the purple fruit juice that he had brought along in his satchel. He pulled out the stopper, took a swig and then handed the bottle to Calvin.

Charles Gunn rested his hand on the gun in his waistband, hidden beneath his untucked shirt. He hoped Gibson had been victorious. He didn't know the firm's Head of Security well but having worked with him a few times he knew he was definitely was one of the good guys.

Gunn took the bottle when Calvin offered it. He sighed and slumped down on the rock. He took a drink, the liquid was cool and refreshing.

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Melanie Marshall followed the direction indicated by the compass. She had been running as hard as she could the whole time, only slowing now that she was sure that she was getting close.

She concentrated on controlling her breathing and regaining her cool; she wasn't going to show the enemy any sign of fatigue, or other weakness. Mel hoped that Jack would not attempt to interfere further. His presence had already forced her to bring her contingency plans into play. She had rarely found herself reluctant to kill an enemy. She prided herself on being a cool, calm professional. Killing was nothing big to her anymore. Demons were nothing, no more morally troubling to her than crushing a cockroach underfoot. Soldiers, bodyguards, security personnel, were all fair game; they knew the risks of their professions and took them willingly. The money definitely dulled an twitches of moral uncertainty when it came to targets. Their lives were hers to take. If she didn't do it some other mercenary would. They were dead either way, so she might as well be the one to profit from the event.

Jack though...the idea of killing him caused a hollow feeling in her stomach. She'd never imagined going up against him like this. Leaving him alive had been a tactically unwise move. If he tried to get in her way she still might be forced to kill him.

Mel could hear the river now. She was definitely getting close to her prey. She paused for a moment, breathing in deeply, the sweet scent of nearby blossoms bringing a smile to her face. She checked her weapons and other equipment. Then she resumed moving closer and closer to her target.

--------------------------

Gibson quickly stripped off his tactical-gear, dropping everything except his t-shirt and pants. He sat to take off his boots, leaving his knife holstered at his ankle.

He took a few deep breaths and then stepped into the water. He gasped at the sudden cold that sent a chill from the toes of his right foot to the top of his spine. Goosepimples quickly formed on his skin. He panted and moved forward, walking into the river. He was briefly surprised by the force of the current. Once at waist depth he pushed himself onto his front.

Jack Gibson swam toward the deeper water of the middle of the river and with powerful strokes began his journey. He fell into a strong rhythm, breathing steadily. He had no idea how far he had to go.