Spike refused to have anything to do with the rest of the group. He promptly went on a three day bender at a bar downtown after Angel left. Faith and Connor had the hotel to themselves without Angel, Illyria and Spike around. The vampire Slayer hid in her room the first day, knowing that Connor was bound to come looking for her. Around noon of the second day, he knocked on her door.

"Faith, are you alright?" His voice was low, but she heard the concern in his tone. "Let me in, please." Quietly, the Slayer turned the lock on the hotel door and opened it. "Well, it lives." He quipped, his crystalline eyes scanning the small room. A punching bag hung in one corner, while a pair of black, leather boots laid in another. It was a neat, but lived in room.

"I've just been..um.." Faith sat in the middle of the bed, her knees pulled up against her chest.

"Avoiding me." Connor leaned against the low, blonde dresser sitting beside the door.

"Yea, that." She toyed with one of her toes as she looked up at him. A dim lamp and the television provided the only light to see by. Shadows made the muted walls seem smaller.

"Did Angel talk to you?" Connor pushed himself to his full height and stepped across the room. Gently he sat down on the corner of the full size bed.

"Yea, me and Angel talked, he gave me his blessing I guess." Faith wanted to scoot back against the head board as much as she wanted to close the gap between her and Connor to give him an awe inspiring kiss.

"Then what's the hold up?" The son of two vampires looked into Faith's dark eyes with such an intensity, such a steadiness that she felt compelled to answer.

"Connor, I don't want to jump into this thing at full throttle, I don't wanna go hittin the sack first thing off the bat." She did, but didn't want to admit it. The kid was something of an enigma to the Slayer. She wanted to get lost in his eerie, Atlantic blue eyes. When he looked at her the air was sucked out of the room. Fighting with him was like riding a motorcycle at a hundred miles an hour, the vibration of the motor reverberating through her bones as she strained to keep a hold of the controls. Connor was that kind of high, that kind of adrenalin rush.

"Is there any other way for us?" He asked looking into the wall ahead of him, but not really seeing it.

"Every time I jump in and every time I get burnt, get people burnt. All there is is carnage after I touch something." She felt tears well up in her brown eyes as she thought of her time in Sunnydale. She'd heard about Connor through the grapevine, but hadn't been there to witness the dark relationship he'd had with Cordelia. He'd had a short, happy relationship with a girl before he'd regained his memories. Now some of his old loneliness had returned. He just wanted to see solace in someone who know the weirdness; the view from the outside of normal.

"We can compare stories all night if you want to, Faith, but it won't make me like you less or go away." Connor pulled her hand away from picking off the black polish off of her big toe. She didn't scare him, not something she was used to. Faith let him take her hand in both of his and pull her close enough to press his lips to hers. She let herself smile as he kissed her, his free hand caressing her cheek.

Scene Break

"Where will we go, Wesley?" Rebecca's voice sounded soft and trusting to the ex-Watcher's ears. Duncan had new identities forged for them while Amanda had made the travel arrangements.

"South America." He answered, trying to sound reassuring. It was the most off the wall place that he could think of.

"Won't two Europeans stand out in South America?" Rebecca walked up to the scruffy man looking out at Paris. He had grown distant since their deaths. Rebecca wondered at his silence. He stood looking out the window at the city street below. Wes hadn't spoken in hours. Rebecca spoke just to hear the sound of a voice in the spacious apartment.

"I suppose we can always find something to keep us busy, exploring ancient Mayan ruins, studying the pictographs." She stepped up behind Wes and laid her head against his shoulder. Gently, Rebecca put her arms around his waist. Warming up to her, Wes turned and put his arm around her shoulder and enjoyed the fresh smell of her hair.

"That sounds quite lovely, doesn't it." Wes felt her hair against his cheek. Rebecca was so warm and close.

"Do you regret becoming an Immortal, Wesley?" The young woman asked, her green eyes looking up at him in their reflection in the window.

"Sometimes." He regretted a lot of things.

"Is that why you've been so distant lately?" Rebecca saw the shade of a ghost in Wes' eyes.

"Oh, have I? I'm sorry." He smiled, a distant look in his eyes as he looked away. Rebecca walked around to face him pulling his chin down to look her in the eye.

"Something is holding you back, Wesley, I've seen it ever since I came to see you here." The newest Immortal pulled out of his embrace and leaned against the window sill. Her long legs were covered by a pair of black leggings. She looked cozy in one of Wesley's baggy, white sweaters.

"It's quite an adjustment, becoming an Immortal, especially when I'm separated from everything remotely familiar to me." He tried to cover the pain in his voice with a smile. Rebecca didn't buy it for a second.

"Is it being separated from everything familiar or being apart from someone familiar?" She came to the point, her arms crossed over her chest. Wesley looked as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"I know you're hurting, Wesley, I know you're haunted by something in your past that you haven't told me about. Tell me about it now, please." Rebecca reached out to him, her fingers raking down his jade green, button up shirt. Wesley sat down in an arm chair, feeling the weight of all his past sins, regrets, un-seized opportunities, and dashed hopes sitting on his chest like a mill stone round his neck. There wasn't enough time to outlive or out run them all. Slowly, he began telling Rebecca about the last six years of his life. From the time the Watcher's Council sent him to Sunnydale until he'd felt Fred's arms around him for the last time as he lay dying, Wesley told her everything. He let the tears come unbidden. In some way, he'd let down everyone who'd ever trusted him. Rebecca cried as he began telling her about the night at the ballet, when he'd first realized how deeply he loved Fred. For almost three years he'd watched her everyday; going on with her life as if he didn't exist. Sobs erupted as he told of the betrayal he felt as she turned to Gunn. With bitter tears Wesley tried to explain how heartsick and completely broken he'd been as he watched Fred die in his arms. Rebecca pulled him close, her comforting arms strong and steady as he let himself break down for the first time in over a year.

"I'm here for you, Wesley, always." Rebecca ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair as she comforted the tormented man in her arms. The pair sat for a long time in companionable silence. It was a side of Wes that Rebecca had never seen; a side of him that he kept pulled down, deep inside. It was a side of the Brit that wasn't likely to come out often.

Scene Break

"Finally, we are in French waters." Angel leaned against the railing of the freighter. A clear sky showed innumerable stars overhead. A light breeze pulled at the vampire's coat tails as he stood beside Illyria on the deck. Below decks the sailors were drinking and singing. What is it about being drunk that makes everyone think they're a rock star?

"It will not be long until we find Wesley." Illyria's voice sounded rough from disuse. Angel wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. The Old One looked at the distant horizon, as if she could see Wesley from aboard the ship.

"Yea, I hope so." Angel looked up at the stars. Their long dead light reminded him how old he was. The canvas of heavenly pin pricks seemed as distant and elusive as the sunshine to the dark avenger.

"I wish to be free of this time consuming conveyance. It is loathsome to me; the reek of it, the miniscule compartment we must share." The blue goddess snarled her nose at the rusting tub beneath her feet.

"No complaints from me." Angel fully intended to hop into the cargo hold of an airplane to get back to Los Angeles.

The next day, as the sun set, Angel led Illyria through the city of Caen, just west of Paris. The vampire hot wired a car and they drove into the City of Lights. Once in the bustling, urban city it was relatively easy to find MacLeod's antique shop. The place was well advertised around the city. Angel found a deserted loft across the street for him and Illyria to wait out the daylight. The blue goddess watched out the window as customers frequented the small shop. A black clad wreath hung on the door. For the most part Illyria was silent, much to Angel's thanks. He wasn't in the mood for her dissenting opinion of humanity. Just after sundown Illyria called Angel's attention to a man leaving the shop. His dark hair was short and combed back from his warm, brown eyes. He moved with the grace of a jungle cat as he walked toward a small, dark car parked beneath the window where Illyria stood.

"Do you feel the power he exudes?" Illyria asked as her eerie, blue eyes studied the man.

"No, but I can tell he's different." Angel pulled on his black trench coat and headed for the door. Illyria followed. The pair easily leaped from one roof top to another as they followed the car a few blocks. Angel's keen eyes watched the man pull on a long coat, a slim, curved sword hidden in it's folds. He descended to street level and followed silently behind.

Duncan felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He was being followed and he knew it. The Immortal waited until the dark figure on his trail entered Wesley's apartment building behind him. With his sword drawn Duncan waited behind a faux marble pillar. Angel felt cold steel on the back of his neck as he quickly scanned the dark lobby.

"I am Duncan MacLeod. Who are you?" He demanded, his thick, dark brows furrowed in a grim expression.

"Angel." The vampire held up his hands to show that they were empty. He saw Illyria come from the depths of the shadows. She seized Duncan by the throat from behind and pulled him backwards to her level.

"Do you wish me to extinguish him?" She asked, looking into Duncan's eyes as she cut his air off.

"Let him go, Illyria." Angel sighed, perturbed at letting her tag along.

"What's the meaning of this?" Duncan demanded, rubbing his throat to get the feel of her grip out of his skin.

"We are looking for Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Angel came out with it. Duncan looked at the two people before him. Neither of them were mortal, but they weren't Immortals either.

"Why?" The Highlander demanded, his sword still at the ready.

"Wesley is a compatriot of ours." Illyria answered, her eyes wide as she turned her head to one side. Her deep, feminine voice was chilling. Duncan backed away slowly when he caught sight of Illyria's unnatural, azure eyes.

"Prove it." With an inward groan, Angel pulled a picture of the Angel Investigations team out of the inside of his duster. Wesley's stiff smile was almost lost among the others.

"I'm afraid you're too late, Wesley is dead." Duncan watched as the news didn't cause any reaction. Angel looked from the Scot to Illyria.

"When has that ever stopped anyone." Angel shrugged, putting his hand on his hip. "Me, I've been dead over two hundred years." The vampire let his game face come out and play before taking a step toward Duncan.

"Wesley, if it is truly him, is in no danger of harm." Illyria joined in, her appearance changing to it's usual pale, blueness. Duncan didn't move a centimeter.

"I don't find that very comforting." Duncan took up a fighting stance, his sword held high as he bent his right leg to spring forward.

"Stop!" A familiar, British voice sounded in the gloom of the apartment building's lobby. Wesley walked up to Angel and held out a hand to shake. With his heightened senses even more finely tuned, his demon being barely leashed, the vampire could sense the difference in Wesley, but he still smelled like a human.

"It's been a while, Wes." Angel went back to normal features and shook Wes' extended hand. The ex-Watcher had put on a few pounds of muscle and looked better than Angel had seen him in a long time.

"Yes it has, I see you heard of my recent demise on the news." Wes turned to look at Duncan.

"Angel, this is Duncan MacLeod, I was fortunate enough to run into him in L.A after meeting my demise at Vale's hand." It was a long story that Wes was tired of telling. Illyria stood silent, watching the conversation. Wes hated seeing her. The Old One was better left as far away as possible.

"This is Illyria, an old acquaintance." Wes introduced her to his new mentor.

"I sense a difference in the two of you, there is a great power." The goddess looked both Wes and Duncan from head to toe.

"I am an Immortal." Wes explained in a low tone. Eventually Wes led Angel and Illyria to his third floor apartment, where he had to introduce them to Rebecca. The heiress smiled at them, asking if they wanted anything like a good hostess.

"Wesley hasn't told me much about you, Angel, I guess there hasn't been time to yet." Rebecca sat on the couch beside Wes, a hand on his knee as she looked at their guests. Illyria saw the possessive gesture and felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy rise in her breast. Wes laid his hand gently over Rebecca's as they talked. The odd party was ill at ease with each other. Duncan eyed the vampire and his eerie companion with suspicion while Angel tried to put all the pieces together.

"I found Gunn's battle axe at the hotel after the battle." Angel began. He dreaded delving into the matter, especially when everything was relatively quiet in LA.

"Ah, yes, I resurrected in Vale's mansion and made my way to the alley, where I found him." A tomb's silence filled the room. Wes remembered seeing his friend's ashy face beneath the street lights. He squeezed Rebecca's hand before continuing.

"We managed to win the battle; Buffy and the Sunnydale crew pitched in." The vampire looked at his scuffed shoes as he spoke. Even after nearly six years, Buffy was still a sore spot that Angel didn't like to talk about.

"Did everyone make it through?" Wes asked, fear creeping into his blue eyes.

"Yes, Everyone but Gunn." Angel looked around the apartment where Wes had spent the last several months. It was a simple set up, with the kitchen and bathroom on either side of the front door. The open living room and dining area allowed for free movement across the dark, hard wood floor. A large Impressionist painting was the focal point of the living area. Angel looked out the large windows that must have let warm, morning sun in to illuminate the cozy space. A sliding partition hid the bed room. Wesley even had a place for a floor to ceiling book case stuffed with leather encased tomes.

"After you left I decided to go back to Angel Investigations. Spike, Illyria, Faith, Connor and sometimes Gwen, keep an eye on things." A strange, torn expression crossed the ex-Watcher's face as he listened. Angel watched his reaction. Wes' jaw clenched as his eyes took on a faraway look, seeming as if he could see the gang gathered around the Hyperion Hotel's cavernous lobby. Rebecca too watched Wes' troubled face.

"Then you have a handle on things in LA?" Wesley looked up after a moment.

"For the most part, yes." Angel answered. He wanted to have Wesley back on the team, but he also saw that he had found a life for himself apart from vampires, demons and Wolfram and Hart. The very lovely, young woman sitting beside him was obviously someone whom he cared for and the look in her green eyes spoke of loving him in return.

"Why have you come so far to see me, Angel?" Wesley leaned forward, a dark look making his eyes the color of an Atlantic storm.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce died before my eyes of a stab wound. Whoever this is could not be Wesley." Illyria stood up to her full height. Her strange blue eyes blazed with a fire to know the truth.

"I am who I say I am, Illyria." Wes' authoritative voice rang out in the open apartment.

"Prove to me you are the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce who died of Vale's blade." She demanded.

"I have nothing to prove to you, Old One." Wes' voice lowered in pitch, taking on a menacing tone.

"Illyria has a point, Wes, it wouldn't be the first time one of our own has been taken over." Angel laced his fingers together in his lap as he spoke. He looked Wes directly in the eyes.

"What do your senses tell you, Angel?" The Immortal returned his steady stare.

"I can't sense a difference, but I've been fooled before." Both were thinking of Cordelia, after she came back from the Higher Plane. She'd smelled the same, and sounded the same as before. There hadn't been any reason to suspect she'd been possessed.

"Angel, you'll just have to take my word for it then." Wes stood up to let them out. A faint, pink light had begun to appear on the horizon. The vampire and the warrior-goddess followed him to the front door of the apartment. Confused, Illyria longed to find out if it were truly Wesley that stood before her. She sensed the same sadness and tormented aura around him as he'd had before the night he'd asked her to lie to him. Quietly the pair left the third floor apartment. Both had a lot to think about. Scene Break