Spin The Bottle

Part One

...

Ah - youth. Is there anything more magical? A time of first loves and great discoveries. Let's face it: youth is it. It's a national obsession, crazy cats. But, somewhere, people all forget what a mess youth is. It's a time of magic, alright, and there's nothing more unreliable or annoying than magic. Lemme tell ya a story. It starts - as so many stories do - with a boy … and a girl.

...

'So, tonight was pretty hectic, huh?' Kali said, as she and Doyle walked up the external staircase towards their motel rooms. Doyle was still limping and was clutching his side, where Fred had shot him with a crossbow bolt. 'Actually,' he said, 'it was pretty much par for the course, in my life. Wasn't as bad as the night I rescued you.'

Kali blushed - staining her lilac skin a pretty pink - and looked down at her feet, 'you know, you've never let me thank you for that.'

Doyle slowed his pace, 'I don't need thankin',' he told her - his voice awkward, 'it's what I do.'

'You're a hero,' her voice was warm - and she stated this as a fact. It was Doyle's turn to blush. 'I'm a sidekick,' he told her, 'but my champion kicked me off the team and so now I do the best I can.'

'Well - it's more than enough, or at least - it was for me.' They reached her door and came to a stop. She fished in her pocket for her room key. Doyle winced, as the wound in his side gave a twinge of pain. Immediately, Kali was all concern. 'Are you OK?' she checked, 'is there anything I can do?' But he shook his head - he just needed to rest, that was all. 'It was lucky you had those first aid supplies on you,' the demon woman said, 'otherwise you might have bled out.'

'It's just a scratch!' Doyle protested, 'I was never in any danger. Anyway - I wasn't lucky. I always carry 'em, lately.'

'How come?' she stared deep into his eyes. He shuffled his feet and then stared at the floor. He cleared his throat. 'Because … back when I was part of Angel's team there was somebody to take care o' all that. Someone I care about very much. Now … she isn't here to help me and … carryin' that stuff makes me feel close to her.'

'Her,' Kali muttered, biting her lip, 'figures.' Then she stretched her hand out and put it under Doyle's chin, raising his head so he was looking at her again. 'Are you sure you're OK?' she asked softly, 'you know - you could come inside - I could get you something to drink … I could take care of you.'

But Doyle backed away, shaking his head, 'no - no,' he stuttered, stumbling backward. 'Thanks - but no. I gotta...' he indicated his own door with his head, 'I better get in and rest. I don't want … I don't need … I just wanna go to sleep. See y' in the morning?' He reached the door to his motel room - shoved the key in the lock and fell through the door, slamming it behind him - all without a backward glance at Kali.

...

So things were getting complicated for poor Doyle. He'd rescued Kalimania from being held prisoner in a brothel and now she was falling for him. And can you blame her? Just look at those eyes! Dreamy - am I right? But our little Irish prince was still hung up on our one and only Cordelia - who couldn't even remember who he was, and who would hate him again, once she got her memory back. Phew - you keeping all that straight? So Doyle is having to be the perfect gentleman and keep Kali at arms length, without hurting her feelings, whilst she pursues him like he's Sir Lancelot to her Guinevere. Meanwhile - over at the Hyperion…

...

'Are we in love?' Cordelia asked. Angel took a step back and looked confused, 'hmm,' he said. 'Are we?' she asked again.

'What?'

'In love!'

'With each other?'

Cordelia became impatient. 'Mister - if you start giving me the run around... ' But Angel began to protest. He didn't know the answer, he told her. He wasn't sure. She raised a sceptical eyebrow - her tone, when she spoke, betrayed her irritation. 'Now, I think that's the sort of thing I'd remember,' she told him, 'hey, maybe you wrote it down somewhere - a note on the fridge, maybe?'

'I had feelings for you,' he told her, 'and I think - I hoped you had feelings for me. But…' he shook his head. 'It was all early days,' he explained, 'we were supposed to meet - out on the bluffs - to talk … except I got sunk to the bottom of the ocean, instead. When Doyle and Wesley rescued me…'

'Doyle rescued you?' She smiled, as she thought of the little Irishman who always seemed to come through.

'And Wesley,' he reiterated, quickly, 'we were - I guess we were moving towards something. But … then you lost your memory - and now here we are.'

'What were we moving towards?' she asked.

'I don't know!' he exclaimed, 'we were kissing - on the sofa, in the hotel room - it was nice…'

'Was it?' she asked, 'aren't you my boss? How do I know you weren't harassing me - and I couldn't say no because you'd fire me? Maybe that's what I wanted to talk about that night on the bluffs - you thought of that? Maybe I had a red hot restraining order in my mitts.'

Angel looked confused, 'harassing? … in the workplace ... I would never… well, there was that time at the ballet and the stripping and the groping - but that was a spell! And you wanted to meet in Malibu on the bluffs at night - that's a pretty romantic restraining order!'

'Don't yell at me,' she turned away from him, 'you're yelling at me.'

'I'm not!' he shuffled uncomfortably, 'see, this is why I didn't want to answer questions that I don't have the answers to.' That made Cordelia roll her eyes. 'Look,' Angel said to her, 'all I know - is that you are my dearest friend. And I just hope that - I just - I want that back. That much at least.'

Cordelia sighed and pushed her short hair away from her face, in frustration. This was killing her. He didn't understand just how much the not knowing was eating away at her. She knew all sorts of life stuff: her alphabet, American history, the name of the President - though she wouldn't be sorry if that tidbit of info had gone AWOL along with the rest of her mind. But … no matter how many times she said it - how she tried to connect - she didn't recognise the sound of her own name. She turned to look back at Angel - and he saw that there were tears standing out in her eyes, as she confessed how lonely she felt.

He took a step towards her. 'We'll get you back, no matter what. I promise you - we'll get you back.'

'What's all this 'we' pale face?' Lorne walked into the lobby - a large grin spread across his face. He carried a ceramic bottle in his hand. 'I'm the one out there doing all the leg work - well, technically lap work - 'cause look what just fell into it!' He waved the bottle at them; it was opaque and patterned, with a cork sticking out of the top. 'A memory spell,' he said, in response to his friends' questioning faces. 'Provided by one of my clients that is guaranteed to bring our Cordy back the way she was.'

'Guaranteed?' Angel asked, he sounded sceptical.

'No pain. No side effects. I'm telling you, swingers - there's no way this can fail.'

...

So - I'm an idiot. What are you - perfect? Well, the fact is, I had every reason to believe the spell would work. And it did … after a fashion. Well, what happened during and what came after … let's just say I'm gonna need a bigger SeaBreeze. But, now, the spell was legit - straight up. I had it off this wraith. Sweet girl - not overly tangible…

...

'But she deals in memory spells, professionally. Now - she swears that, with the right mix, we can stop this talking and cut straight to the Cordelia Chase in two ticks of a … ticking thing.'

But Angel remained wary. Spells - he been involved with spells before. They were always tricky. There was always a price with magic. He didn't trust it.

But Cordelia did. She was ready to try anything to get her memory back - to look in a mirror and recognise her face, to hear her name called and know it was her being spoken to. To remember her friends - and what they meant to her - and who she was in love with, and who she was mad at. Pain, side effects - being turned into a moussaka - she was willing to risk it all. Just as long as she remembered she was a moussaka, she would be happy.

'Don't even worry about it, Cara Mia,' Lorne said to her, leading her into the office, 'I've got all the ingredients lined up. Just as soon as we gather the seven, then we're good to go.'

Angel stared after the retreating demon. 'The seven what?' he called.

Wesley stood in his apartment and tested the new weapon the delivery man had brought him. It was concealed - strapped to his wrist - that shot out stakes and had a collapsible sword. He liked it. 'Tell Emil that, if this tests right in the field, he'll be hearing from me again.' He gave the man a wad of cash and the man left. The phone began to ring. 'Pryce,' Wesley said into the receiver, tersely. He listened for a moment as Lorne spoke to him. 'Yes,' he agreed. Lorne continued to speak and Wesley smiled, 'Lorne,' he interrupted the chatty demon, 'I said yes. I'll be there, right away. If it works - it's worth doing. Alright is everything - uh - is everyone there?...No. No. I was just wondering if everything was alright with Fred?'

Doyle poured himself a scotch - just a small one, before bed. His side was sore and he hoped the alcohol would numb the pain a little. And he hoped it would make him feel less anxious and awkward about Kali. She wasn't moving on - wasn't getting over him, even though it was over a week since he'd rescued her. She needed to move on - he needed to let her down gently, but he wasn't sure how to do that. He'd never had to turn a girl down before.

The phone began to ring. He drained the last drop of his drink before he answered. 'Hello? Oh - hey Lorne… y' can do what?' He tumbled off his bed and began to pull his pants back on, 'yeah, yeah I'll be there right away - that's great news. Hey -' he suddenly paused, with one leg down his trousers, and balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder, 'is Fred back at the hotel? Is she OK?'

...

I know, I know - I should be asking why everyone has a sudden interest in the well being and whereabouts of Freddikins. What can I say - hindsight's 2020. Tell me something I don't know.

...

Fred and Gunn lay side by side in their bed. They weren't touching. Or talking. But both of them lay staring at the ceiling - wide awake. There was a knock on the door and Fred went to answer it. It was Angel. 'What do you want?' Fred asked.

Gunn came down the stairs, Lorne had daubed a symbol in white paint on the floor: a circle with seven spokes coming out of it - like a wheel. In the middle sat the opaque, ceramic bottle and he was laying out various spooky looking paraphernalia along the painted lines. 'Oh goody,' the street fighter said, 'symbols on the floor - this always ends well for us.'

'Check your sarcasm at the door,' Lorne replied, absentmindedly, still setting up, 'this is for Cordelia.'

'And you really think it'll work?' Fred sounded doubtful.

'Guaranteed - jumping Judas on a unicycle, but you guys are all the most distrustful sourpusses I've come across, today.'

'Sorry Lorne,' Fred said, 'it's been a … long day.' Gunn didn't say anything in reply. He just looked away, glowering.

'Well, luckily - my parade is rainproof,' Lorne told them, 'this spell is gonna bring our Cordy right back to us. Lo-lath ch-owrng ne bruun.'

'Kaya - no -m'tek,' Fred said back to him.

...

The door opened and Wesley hurried in. He looked confused at the strange noises Fred was speaking. 'Did I miss the spell?' he asked, 'did English go away?'

Lorne chuckled and straightened up - having finally finished preparing - 'no, strudel, it was Pylean. I said 'I may be prepared to shout a joyful chant'.'

'And I said 'may your words please the gods',' Fred told him. She looked surprised to see him there. Gunn looked angry.

'Are you alright?' Wes asked Fred, 'did you...?' She glanced down and bit her lip. Gunn snorted with disgust and looked away from the pair of them. 'He's gone,' Fred told Wes, 'it … got taken care of.'

...

OK, first of all, she didn't say 'may your words please the gods' she said 'may you orally please the gods' which is a slight … inflection's very crucial in our … Oh, God bless her. It's always nice to hear the mother tongue - as long as it's not coming from my mother.

And secondly - I didn't know that, a couple of hours ago, Fred had tried to kill her evil professor, by opening up a portal and sending him to hell. She didn't know that Gunn knew she had asked Wesley for help. And Wesley didn't know that Doyle had intervened and stopped Fred from becoming a killer - sending the professor to Pylea, instead. Glad I wasn't there for that … this Dorothy aint never going back to Kansas, if you know what I'm saying.

So - you see - I wasn't in full possession of all the facts, when I started this. It's my job to read people - but nobody in this clan was exactly singing. And me? Hey! I was thinking about Cordelia … and I wasn't the only one...

...

The door opened, again, and this time it was Doyle who hurried through. 'Am I late? Did we start already? Am I late?' He drew up short, as he saw the small group of people in the lobby, most of whom looked intense and serious. He made eye contact with Fred - and nodded. She looked away.

'Not late at all - we're just about ready to start!' Lorne greeted him, enthusiastically, 'now you're here, we'll have Cordy back in no time. Thanks for coming.'

'Yeah,' Gunn approached the Irishman and shook his hand, clapping him on the back, 'thanks,' he said. He hadn't been this friendly towards Doyle since before he found out that Doyle had helped Wesley kidnap Connor - and the Irishman realised that his sudden change in attitude towards him must be because Fred had told him what had gone down at Caritas. 'No problem,' he muttered. He looked back across at Fred - and found she was now glowering at him, darkly. He swallowed. He may have won back Gunn's friendship, but he had made an enemy of Fred.

Wesley, who had no idea of the role that Doyle had played in the drama that evening, was now watching the way Gunn shook the Irishman's hand - the way he greeted him like he was a brother, once more. He compared it to the blows and kicks he, himself, had sustained at the hands of the street fighter earlier that night. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his brow - wondering why Doyle was now being accepted back into the fold. He felt a tug of jealousy, low down in his belly. He turned back to Fred…

Cordelia sat out in the courtyard, by herself. The moon was big and round in the sky and winking down at her. The fragrance from the jasmine bushes scented the air - almost overpowering this night - this was a lovely place to sit out. Maybe, in a couple of hours, she would remember all the times she had sat out here before. With Angel. With Doyle…

The door opened behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to look - and then smiled warmly when she saw who it was. 'Hey,' she said.

'Hey,' Doyle stepped down off the veranda and came and sat beside her. 'How are you doing?'

'Good - I'm good.' She turned to look at him, 'thanks for helping out with Fred today - I heard… I heard you stopped her killing somebody which is... probably for the good.'

'I hope so,' he said, 'though I don't think she'll be forgivin' me any time soon. Still - I'd rather have her hate me for getting in her way, than having her hate herself for what she'd done.'

Cordy's smile grew even wider, 'you're so selfless,' she said. That made him chuckle. 'Well - let's see if that's what you're callin' me once we're done with this spell, yeah?'

'God - I hope it works,' she told him, 'I can't wait - to be me again! To know who I am and what I like and where I keep my own coffee mugs. It's gonna be great!' He smiled at her words, but she noticed that his smile was sad. 'What?' she asked him.

'Nothin',' he said, 'I .. can't wait for you to be you again, either. I'll be really happy for y'.'

'So why do you look like the thought's giving you a stomach ache?'

He sighed, and smiled - trying to make it warm and reassuring. 'I'm just … not being as selfless as I should be,' he told her. 'I really will be happy for y', Cordy. I really want y' to get better…'

'But?'

'But … I'm gonna really miss y' not hatin' me,' he admitted. She bit her lip and then reached out to take his hand in her own, 'hey,' she said softly. He looked up at her, making eye contact, 'whatever I remember after this - whatever you did … I'm not gonna forget that you were here for me when I needed you. That you told me the truth when everyone else was lying. That you listened to me and helped me - when the others wouldn't. It's - it's been so… lonely - not knowing who I am. You made everything a little bit easier, made me feel safer, made me feel less alone. I won't forget that, Doyle.'

She squeezed his hand. Behind them, the door opened, again - and they both turned to see who it was - still holding hands. Angel stood in the doorway. He stared at their interlocked fingers for a moment and then looked up at their faces, 'uh - the spell - Lorne says it's nearly ready. We need to - uh …' he motioned inside with his head - and then looked down at their clasped hands, once more.

'Right,' Cordelia smiled brightly, disentangled her fingers from Doyle's and then headed inside, 'time to get this show on the road.'

Doyle stood up and followed her inside, more slowly. As he passed Angel, still standing in the doorway, the vampire spoke again. 'You think you got a shot with her, again?' he asked, 'now she doesn't remember what you did?'

Doyle stopped and looked him full in the face. 'No,' he said, simply.

'So why are you here, then?'

'Because I still care about her - even if she doesn't care about me.'

Wesley walked into the office. He found Gunn in there - alone - waiting for him. 'So - I guess I'm the muscle,' Gunn said to him.

'what?'

'Angel's the man on the card,' the street fighter shrugged, 'it's his world. I'm not a leader no more. Don't got that champion's heart like Cordy. Doyle - he was always our eyes and ears and you - you were the brain. So I guess that leaves the muscle.'

'What about Fred?' Wesley asked.

'Well - that's the question isn't it?' Gunn said, he folded his arms across his chest. 'Fred's pretty brainy too. Maybe you two are kindred souls. Maybe that's why she went to you for help getting revenge on that professor. Killing takes brains.'

Wesley stared up and him, 'I told you before - I only did what you weren't prepared to do.'

'Right…' Gunn nodded, 'and I'm meant to think it was really Fred you were thinking of, when you taught her how to send a man to hell. Her well being.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Don't think I can't smell this a mile off - you make a move on Fred, and I will put you down hard.'

Wesley smirked, 'I'm glad to see you have such faith in your relationship.' Gunn stepped up closer towards the watcher - going toe to toe, 'keep pushing, English.'

'Do you think you could get out of my way?' He put his hand up to push Gunn aside. Gunn grabbed it - and the blade from the hidden contraption came springing out, missing Gunn's face by an inch. 'We don't all have muscle to fall back on.'

'What happened to you, man?' Gunn asked him - sounding disbelieving at how far the man who had once been his brother, his best friend, had travelled down the path of darkness.

The group sat around the circle - each sitting at one of the seven spokes. They held hands. The bottle was in the middle of the symbol, lying down, uncorked. 'OK,' Lorne said, 'eyes on the bottle.' He began to chant. 'We come in supplication and hope - bring her back.'

The bottle began to spin, round and round, faster and faster. A misty, amber light began to stream from its open neck - seven streams, which each headed for one of the seven people. The light entered each person - and they dropped hands, breathing heavily as they felt the magic start to affect them.

'What's going on?' Cordelia breathed, she fell backwards so she was lying down.

'I feel a little …' Lorne crawled away from the circle. He dragged himself behind the counter - and then collapsed into unconsciousness. 'What's happening to us?' Gunn asked - his head felt heavy and his words were slurred. Angel stumbled to his feet and made his way outside, where he gazed, entranced, at the night sky and the plants that bloomed around him.

Fred had crawled over to a pot plant and was now examining its leaves very carefully, 'This is important,' she said, 'it's so beautiful…' she threw up, noisily, into the plant pot. Cordelia still lay on the floor - staring at the high ceiling. She was giggling - and she began to scissor her arms and legs, 'snow angels!' she cried out, 'woo - there isn't any snow...' she giggled again.

Gunn moved around the lobby, practising martial arts moves - kicking and punching the air. Wesley sat very still - right where he had started. 'We'll just see if there are any side effects,' he said and then he, like Cordelia, began to giggle, inanely.

Doyle had curled up in a ball, as he felt the light take hold of him. This wasn't … it didn't feel … there was … something - inside of him … trying to … he wasn't him anymore … he was forgetting... 'What's happening?' he groaned. He forced himself to his feet. He needed to … stop this … before… 'we can't just...' he said to the others, 'we have to …' but they weren't listening. 'No!' he stood on the bottle, with his full weight, and crunched it into a hundred pieces.

Cordelia sat up, with a gasp - and stared at the badly dressed older guy standing just above her. Her eyes widened with fear and she scooched backwards.

...

Francis gazed down at the beautiful girl on the floor - she was looking at him with dread - though, he didn't understand. He didn't have a clue who she was - though she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen … but she seemed to really dislike him.

...

Cordelia got to her feet - and stared around the room at all the strangers. Weirdos, freaks and losers the lot of them. What was she doing here? With these dorks? 'OK - what the hell is going on here?'

...

Wesley groaned and got to his feet. He didn't recognise either his surroundings or his companions - but this young miss seemed to be on the verge of hysteria - and it was incumbent upon him to make sure she not panic. Whatever their situation - only a calm head would prevail. 'What's your name?' he asked the panicking woman.

...

Cordelia raised one lone eyebrow at the socially inept creep who had just spoken to her. She didn't like the look of him. She didn't want anyone she knew to see her hanging around with these … people. 'Cordelia Chase, dumbass,' she snapped. 'And if this is some sort of Sophomore hazing prank, where I get doped up and left with a bunch of proto-losers, then my parents are going to be suing the whole of Sunnydale, comprendez?'

...

'What the hell are you talking about?' Gunn stared at the hysterical white chick. Just his luck - wake up surrounded by white folks making demands. He didn't know where he was - but he wanted out of here. Fast.

...

'It's called kidnapping a minor, hair club for men,' Cordelia retorted - not in the least cowed by the angry young man glowering at her. 'And if you think for a second I'm gonna be putting up with this, then you don't know Cordelia…' the door opened and another man walked through the door. This one was tall and broad. '...Cordelia…' he had good hair and a strong jawline and he looked like he worked out a lot. She forgot what she had been saying. 'Hello salty goodness,' she breathed.