Angelus' Offspring

by Rowynne Crowley

Joss didn't tell us everything. Starting with Liam's one-nighter with his family's servant, Anna, and the resulting several generations of supernaturally endowed twins. This is the story of their lives, and how they intersected with Angel/us.

25. Morrigan Kalderash

Chapter Twenty-Four

Morrigan Gantry (née Kalderash)

No Eyewitness

Piecing together Morrigan's life after leaving Ileana, and before meeting Angel, is nearly impossible as there are no witnesses left to tell her tale. All that remains are a few sporadic journal entries, some telegrams, and a few letters to Ileana. The Council refuses to release any correspondence Morrigan may have exchanged with them. They claim it's "Official Council Business", even though I am family and have every right to it. Apparently, I have "unsavory associations", and can't be trusted with such "sensitive information". Of course, I could have just gone in and taken it, but there are way more of them than there are of me, and I really don't want to make an enemy out of the entire Watchers' Council. I'd have to kill them all, and I just don't have that kind of time or energy. Besides, then I'd have to deal with Buffy. Not that I couldn't take her, but I really don't want to have to deal with her whining and her holier-than-thou "Oh my god what have you done?" attitude. I save that for when it's really worth it. Like the time I went nightclubbing with Dru shortly before they raised The Judge (that one actually made the papers), or when Kes and I took a post-chipped Spike to Rome and partied like it was 1899. Totally worth it. Though I think Kes might disagree. I understand Angel wasn't too thrilled with her when she came home.

But I digress. My Slayer-pissing-off indiscretions are not the point. The point is, getting a few 80 year-old letters and telegrams does not fall under the "worth it" category, so I'll have to make do with what I have. Ileana has graciously given me access to the correspondence she received from Morrigan after their separation in 1916. The telegrams, unfortunately, often read like a word salad. Though more expedient than regular letters, they were by their very nature far less private. Although Morrigan and Ileana had grown up with The Council, and had both decided to continue working closely with them, they didn't completely trust the organization. They had seen through their own interactions with both Watchers and Slayers that The Council served its own agenda, which was not necessarily for the good and betterment of all. Even their own ancestors, who had also worked closely with The Council on numerous occasions wrote that The Council as a whole was not to be blindly trusted. Before her death, Annie had been explicit in her writings that The Council did not know of Angel's transformation or his continued existence. She felt that this knowledge must be kept from them at all costs. Ileana and Morrigan agreed that any communication between them regarding Angel, or anything else that was not strictly council business, should be handled with the utmost care. At a bookshop in London, before finally going their separate ways, Ileana and Morrigan came across a code book, written for the express purpose of exchanging sensitive information through the wire service. Of course, The Council had the same access to these codes as they did, but as you can see from the following example, it would take more than a cursory glance to decipher a telegram using this code.

**********WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY**********

FEB 13, 1916

SAGA SPRINGER FICTOR ASP FINEST LG LENGTHEN

LOVE MORRIGAN

On its own, this telegram makes no sense whatsoever. Even when placed in context with the letter sent just a few days later, it continues to make no sense unless you have a copy of the "Anglo-American Telegraphic Code" sitting next to you. Using that code, in conjunction with the following letter, the meaning becomes quite clear.

16th February, 1916

Dear Ileana,

How is your training coming along so far? I hope you are learning as much as you can, and are finding it helpful. As I told you in my telegram, I have arrived in New York, for the most part, safely. Although traveling such a long distance over water leaves something to be desired. I have never in my life been happier to see dry land, even though the land in question was covered with debris and God knows what else. In fact, just a short while after disembarking, I saw a man relieving himself on the pavement. Right there in front of everybody! Disgusting! America, I am quickly learning, is not the land of milk and honey everyone would have us believe. More like the land of filth and urine.

As I said in my telegram, I've decided to stay awhile instead of going straight on to Chicago. I'm still having the dreams, and it seems they've only become clearer and more frequent since we parted ways, and even more so since arriving in New York. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something in the air here, besides the stench of urine, and I think it bears investigating. Already, I've seen familiar landmarks that I could only have seen in my dreams. I don't know if it has anything to do with HIM, but I feel something wants me to be here, and if Miss Singer is in Chicago, then I can think of no other reason. HE has to be here, or perhaps will be soon. I can't move on until I've made every effort to find out for sure.

I've rented myself a room at place called The Guardian, right across from Washington Square Park, in Manhattan. It's on the corner of West 4th Street, and Washington Square East. I'm not sure how that's possible, but that's what the signs tell me. The outside is unassuming, and the inside is unimpressive. The furnishings look second-hand. The floors are, for the most part, bare. The paint is faded and peeling in some places and the walls have cracks in them, but it's otherwise clean and quiet. And so far, my fellow residents have kept to themselves, and the proprietor hasn't asked any questions. It seemed as fitting a place as any. Time will tell.

Signing out for now. Will write again soon.

Love,

Morrigan

From reading this letter, we can see that Morrigan's telegram to Ileana can be translated as follows: "I have arrived safely and well. Am staying until about the end of the month. Going to try to find Angel. Will write soon with more details." Or maybe it isn't so obvious. After all, I do have the code book at my disposal. Though no code book would ever tell you what "LG" means, and Morrigan never mentions "HIM" by name. It was Ileana that informed me that "LG" was simply Angel's initials from when he was human. It seemed the most logical way to refer to him covertly, without tipping off eyesdroppers that there was a person (or vampire) involved. And boy, did I feel dumb when she told me that. In hindsight, it rather seems like a no-brainer, doesn't it?

**********WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY**********

FEB 21, 1916

SEGNO LG SOBERNESS FLORIFORM HEART INVISED WET

LOVE MORRIGAN

Roughly translated: "I have not yet seen Angel, but something is following me. Will look into it this week."

23rd February, 1916

Dear Ileana,

I still have seen no sign of HIM, but something is definitely here. I feel like I'm being watched constantly. It's like that tickle you feel at the back of your neck when there's someone there. But when I turn to look, there's nobody there. It might be HIM, but I fear it may just as likely be something else. People at The Guardian have been acting strange. Paranoid. And I can see no obvious reason for it. I'll look into it some, but my main priority here is finding HIM, if HE is indeed here. I've decided that the best way to find a duck is to behave like a duck, so I've adjusted my schedule accordingly. Sleeping during the day, awake at night. That's why the last telegram was so late. I hope it reached you all right. I'm going to spend this week really looking for HIM. I have no idea where HE might go if HE were here, but I'm going to find out, and then start my search there. If I still turn up nothing, I will move on to Chicago like we originally planned. I hope I'm not too late.

Until then, stay safe.

Love,

Morrigan

As I perused Morrigan's writings, I found myself wondering if Angel was in fact in New York at the same time she was, or if the presence she felt was something else entirely, and she only thought it was Angel because of her dreams. It had been several weeks since I had confronted Angel with regards to Annie's accusations, and reinvited him to my home. Kestryl stopped me as I turned to leave, in a panic over a vision she had just had. I had had some pretty disturbing dreams myself the night before, and none of them made any sense in context with current events at that time. Since I didn't know what to make of any of it, and was still reeling from the Christmas fiasco, I did what any sane person would do. I avoided all of it. Angel, the Scoobies, the Family. Anything that wasn't strictly a matter of cosmic order. Truthfully, I wanted to avoid that too, but my conscience wouldn't let me. Angel respectfully stayed away, and we didn't speak except in passing when accompanying Buffy on some Slayer related business, or when I was visiting Kestryl. I finally went to see him on his birthday (his actual birthday, not his rebirthday), and between drinks and tokes, we talked about Morrigan.

It turns out he and Morrigan were not only living in New York at the same time, but were actually in the same neighborhood. He was right across the park from Morrigan in a little place called The Earle, now known as The Washington Square Hotel. He too, admitted to noticing a presence in the area, though he cannot say for certain that it was related to Morrigan in any way. At the time, he had no reason to believe she would have come to New York, or that she would be trying to find him. Every day he hoped she (or Ileana, or both) might one day turn up, but he never really believed it would happen. He expected to be alone for a very long time, possibly forever. He assumed the tingling he felt at the back of his neck when he took his nightly strolls was due the demon he was sure lived among the residents of The Guardian. It was there, on the far side of the park from his own temporary home, that he noticed it the most. Sometimes he felt it around town, at the local bar he liked to frequent, or wandering through the park, or out on the street in front of his building, but it was always strongest as he passed The Guardian. At times, it was as if he were being pulled along by an invisible wire, which drew him to the place. More than once, he says, he actually caught himself on the steps, about to go inside.

It was like I blacked out. I'd be walking along, not really going anywhere, not really thinking about anything. Just walking. And then, the next thing I knew, I'd be at the front door. I didn't know why I was there, never even remembered going there. Just all of a sudden, there I was.

Again, I ask Angel if looking back, he thinks that maybe it was Morrigan he was sensing as he passed by those doors. He pauses for a moment, thinking. It is less like he is trying to recall a memory, and more as if he were trying to recreate it in front of him. Like a 3D movie. Or a Holodeck program, for you Star Trek nerds. Several seconds pass before he crinkles his nose, and shakes his head, then once more turns to make eye contact.

That might have been part of it, but I don't think that was all. Whatever I felt there, the most I felt was… not good. It made me sick, and it made me terrified. It scared me, Rowynne. And there's not a lot that scares me. Especially back then. If I sensed Morrigan under any of that, it was overshadowed by whatever else was in that building… God, the thought of her in that place, with whatever the hell was in there. I can't believe she was right under my nose, and I didn't know. If I had known, I could've gotten her out of there…

Angel begins to imply he could have saved Morrigan's life. I remind him that Morrigan's death occurred years later, and that there was nothing he could have done about it, but he won't hear it. After all he'd been through recently, starting with losing his soul, his subsequent stint in Hell, being tormented by The First Evil, and finally culminating in Kestryl's death, and Annie's post-Christmas shenantics, I think he's just grown accustomed to blaming himself. Even for things that he knows, deep down, are not his fault. Though I have plenty to blame him for myself, and a very large part of me dances with glee to see him suffer so, my heart goes out to him. No one should feel this much guilt over something they didn't cause, and couldn't have prevented. I wonder if he had read Morrigan's entries in the Family Diary, and if the prose contained therein would ease his pain, or add to it.

24th February, 1916

I know I must be in the right place. There's been a tightness in my chest, of late, just like in my dreams. My throat is raw and I can't catch my breath. I think there must be a draft in my room, while I sleep, though I can find none when I awaken. I used to feel this way back home, when I first started having the dreams, but it would never last. By mid-morning, I would feel fine again. But it seems to be lasting longer and longer, now. I think whatever Force has been sending me these dreams is responsible for this also. It's trying to tell me that I'm on the right track. That HE's close.

The dreams are a regular occurrence, now. Every time I close my eyes, I see HIM and the things HE's done. The images are becoming more vivid each time. I know what you're thinking. That I'm dreaming about HIM because I've been reading about HIM. If you're reading this, then I'm sure you've read HIS confession just before. But I haven't. I tried, but I couldn't read more than a couple pages in. It was just too much. So, no. It's not my imagination, my mind's interpretation of what I read in a book. These aren't just dreams I'm having, but memories. I'm sure of it. There are things in these dreams that I couldn't possibly know. Things I'm sure HE would've left out of HIS written account (though I can't say for sure, as I still can't bring myself to look). I don't think words could even adequately describe it.

Previously, I was merely an observer, like I was watching a play, or a motion picture. But last night, or today, rather, I was an active participant. One of his victims. It was so intense. I felt every touch, every attack, every caress, as if it were really happening. Yes, I said caress. It was part of his modus operandi. In the dream, HE caressed me with a lover's touch, even as he was causing more pain than I'd ever felt in my life. And I was powerless to do anything about it, or even wake up. No matter how much my mind rebelled (in my dream), my treacherous body responded in kind, even as I instinctively struggled against my bonds. HIS eyes somehow managed to gleam with delight while simultaneously darkening with hunger, with longing, with- dare I say it?- lust, as HE watched the tiny droplets of blood appear on my skin, manifesting themselves in places that have never seen the light of day. I can sense HIS internal struggle as HE fights the impulse to devour me whole, take HIS fill of me, and end the game. And deep within, I want that too. Not to end my suffering, but to prolong it. I know that if I go with HIM now, if HE takes me down into the abyss, here in this moment, I will stay for all eternity, dangling in the precipice between life and death, pain and ecstasy. I crave it. The way birds crave the sky, or fish crave the sea. I ache to feel HIS fangs piercing into me as HE drinks deeply, draining me of all I have to offer. HE commanded me (not only with HIS actions, but with words) to respond this way. And I couldn't help but obey. HE touched me, and my body reached out to HIM. Against my will, I cried out, begging for more, despite the unbearable agony. It wasn't only fear of a harsher punishment that made me react this way. I honestly felt it. Somehow, HE made me feel it.

Even now, just thinking about it, I can feel it. I can feel HIS tongue against my flesh as HE gently, almost too gently, licks away the blood that HE himself brought forth from beneath my skin. I can feel the bruises HE left behind as HE had his way with me. And while I am relieved to find it was only a dream, there is an emptiness inside me. A part of me yearns to return to the place where the dreams live, to feel HIS touch once more, until there is no more feeling. But I still can't breathe, and that keeps me here, in this place.

I couldn't help but wonder, reading this, if Angel had similar dreams during this time. Were they just your average run-of-the-mill psychic dreams, or nightmares put in her head by whatever entity haunted The Guardian? Was it his nearness that made the dreams so vivid? So personal? My own dreams, before meeting him, were never like this. Rarely so detailed, and always in the third person. Like watching a movie. But then, at that time, we weren't right around the corner from each other. If we had been, then maybe they would've been different.

In any case, I decided to sit on this particular journal entry for a while, assuming he hadn't already read it. Things had finally seemed to calm down for a while and I didn't want to burden him with any more depressing family talk. Not on the first birthday he had celebrated in nearly three hundred years. Besides, I knew it wouldn't be long before things in Sunnydale heated up again, and I thought we could all use a bit of a break. Kes and I were still trying to sort out our visions about Angelus' impending return, and whether anything could, or should be done about it. It just wasn't a good time for discussions of the past. So I held off discussing any more family related issues with him, or even visiting much at all, until just before things got heavy again, right around Spring Break.

For some reason, even though I hadn't been feeling well and magic and malady never mix, I teleported instead of driving. I misjudged my destination and ran straight into the fountain with my bum knee. Not that both knees aren't messed up, but the right one is significantly worse. I went down hard, and only avoided completely immersing myself in the water because the fountain's bench was in my way. The Book, on the other hand, as well as my cane, decided a swim sounded nice, and they hit the water with a loud splash, floating just out of my reach. I thought about using my telekinesis, but with the luck I'd been having, I feared I would only make matters worse. Trying to ignore the pain in my knee, I sat on the bench and leaned over as far as I could, to get ahold of the cane. I failed, and landed face first in the drink, bashing my other knee in the process.

Angel peaked his head out (carefully, due to the daytime hour) just in time to see me flailing in the fountain trying to rescue The Book and the cane. Buffy and Kestryl were right behind him (apparently they had all been watching old movies on TV) and after some good natured ribbing from all three of them, Buffy came out to help me retrieve my items and get out of the water. She awkwardly helped me into the house, then Angel carried me into living room, which was decidedly more awkward. About halfway across the floor, I heard him gasp and for just a split second I thought he was going to drop me. He quickly regained his composure before anyone else noticed, but I knew he had discovered the one thing I was desperately trying to keep secret (damn him and his super sensitive hearing picking up the two extra heartbeats tagging along with me). Wisely, he kept this information to himself, until my sister decided open her big fat trap later on.

Angel settled me on the couch, then Kestryl whammied me up some dry clothes, and did her best to magic the moisture out of The Book and reverse the damage. If I had tried to do it, I probably would've set the thing on fire. She managed to salvage it, mostly. A few blurry spots remained, but nothing major. While she went to work trying to repair my leg, or at least make it not hurt, Angel and I got down to the business of discussing the reason for my visit (while silently trying to grill me on my condition). He insisted he had never read Morrigan's journal entries, even though he had had plenty of time with The Book after she died. He considered it an invasion of privacy. I reminded him that there is no expectation of privacy in death, and showed him the entry in question, asking if he had had dreams like those when they were in New York together.

Before answering, he glanced briefly at Buffy, unsure how much he should reveal in front of her. Realizing this may be a family matter, and hence none of her business, Buffy inquired as to whether she should go. As he opened his mouth to answer, I knew he was about to agree that she should, and I silenced him with a raise of my eyebrow. I pointed out, not for the first time, that if they were going to pursue a relationship with each other, then they needed to stop keeping secrets from one another. Mostly, I meant that Angel should stop keeping secrets, and Buffy needed to stop letting him. She needed to know the truth of him, and accept it, not run from it. I all but insisted she stay. Angel balked for a moment, then answered my question.

I always have dreams like these. [gestures to the page] Every time I close my eyes. [sits]

A part of me will always revel in Angel's misery, after everything he put me (and my family) through as Angelus. I wanted to cheer and laugh in triumph. I didn't. Because another part of me remembers when we used to be friends. He was always there when I needed to talk. Or when I didn't. He didn't judge, only told me what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it. That part of me wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay. But it wasn't okay, and I didn't do that either. Instead I explained that I thought this particular dream was rather specific, and not like a normal nightmare. I thought he ought to be able to remember if he shared the dream with her. Like the dreams he and Buffy had shared over Christmas.

[shakes his head] Sorry, but this actually describes a lot of… things. [looks at me] You know. [looks away, shamed] Maybe, if I had something more to go on. If I knew what else was happening at the time. I remember… things. I'm not so good with exact dates.

I took The Book from him, and began looking for something more specific to show him. I don't know why it was so important to me, but somehow it was. That's when I realized the entry continued on the next page. I hadn't even thought to look, as it seemed like I had reached the end.

Something terrible has happened. As I was about to leave on my nightly hunt for HIM, I heard a horrible scream from outside my room. It was Millie Davis, the girl who lives directly across the hall from me. Millie is about 22 years old, blond hair, blue eyes, and very pretty. Smart too. She's a student at Barnard College just a few miles from here. She's determined to be a doctor, though I told her such a thing is highly unlikely. There are no women doctors, that I know of. She just laughed when I told her that and said, "Well, I'll be the first then." And I had no doubt that she would be. As I said, she was determined.

I don't suppose she'll be much of anything, now. When I heard the scream, I pounded on her door, but there was no answer. Not that I waited very long. I tried the knob and found it unlocked. The woman I found lying on the floor looked to be 80 years old! Millie was nowhere to be found. All of her belongings were in their proper place. I know I should have sent for a doctor right away, but I couldn't resist investigating a bit. Besides, the woman on the floor was stone dead. There was no helping her.

At first I thought perhaps her grandmother had been visiting and had merely fallen dead while Millie was out. At the market, perhaps. Although I couldn't recall her ever having mentioned a grandmother coming to visit. It seems like that would be something she would have mentioned, even if only in passing. And I can't imagine Millie leaving the poor woman unattended, especially if she were in such ill health that she would drop dead like that. I took a closer look at the body, and finally noticed the necklace. It was a simple silver chain, with a plain gold band dangling from it. The inscription on the inside read, "Yours Always, Luke". Luke was Millie's boyfriend. He had joined the army to do his duty for "God and country", and had promised to marry her once his required enlistment was over. He had given her the ring just before he left. Millie never took it off. I don't know how it's possible, but I believe, after seeing that ring, that the old woman in Millie's room is none other than Millie, herself.

As he read, Angel's eyes grew as large as silver dollars, and I could see him clenching his jaw as he sometimes does when he's angry. I knew that something had clicked in his memory. Angel tells me he did in fact have a dream very similar to the one Morrigan describes. He remembers it because he had awakened early that night. As he often did, he went for a walk around the park, and as before, he found himself on the steps of The Guardian, unaware of where he was going or what he was doing.

I had turned to go and was halfway down the steps when I heard the scream. I went back to go in- obviously someone needed help- but I couldn't get through… [shrugs] I wasn't invited. I could hear people shouting upstairs… I'm guessing one of them was probably Morrigan. I knocked and called up until someone finally came down. A man. Mid-fifties, if I had to guess. Said a woman was dead. I asked if I could help, but he said no, just to send for the authorities. So that's what I did. I never made it inside, and never heard what happened.

**********WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY**********

FEB 29, 1916

ALLOW SEGNO LG SPLURGE DARNER 5 DECEITFUL DECAMPED FERRIAGE WHISKING NERITITE

LOVE MORRIGAN

Roughly translated: "Still have not seen Angel, but I can't stay. There is great danger here. Five dead in five days. I fear I will be next."

In her journal, following her account of the mysterious apparent death of Millie Davis on February 24, 1916, Morrigan writes of four more unexplained fatalities in as many days. As with Millie, the discovery of each was preceded by a blood curdling scream, and each of the victims appeared to be in their mid-80's or above, although the residents assigned to the apartments each were found in were far younger. None of the occupants in question ever returned to The Guardian, lending credence to Morrigan's theory that the deceased were in fact the tenants, themselves. Apart from their chosen lodgings, Morrigan could find nothing to connect the victims. The two women (including Millie), and three men, were all from different walks of life and held different occupations. While Millie, a student, had come from Boston, the second victim, Fred Andrus, was a 43 year-old postal worker originally from Westerville, Ohio. The third victim, Harold Vanderzee, 28, was a factory worker from Red Bay, Alabama, while 36 year-old Gertrude Idelson, a New York native, was a seamstress. The latest victim, Joseph Dansbury, 52, was a police officer originally from Surprise, Arizona.

The only similarity she could find between the victims, other than the circumstances of their deaths, was their behavior just prior. Morrigan writes that just before their supposed deaths, she had observed each of them acting "shifty", talking to themselves, and looking over their shoulders as if they thought someone was watching them. Millie had accused the proprietor, Nathan Hart, of snooping through her belongings. Fred said Harold had stolen a pair of gloves. Harold thought Dansbury was spying on him through his phonograph. Ms. Idelson was certain Mr. Andrus had withheld some of her mail, although his route had been on the other side of town. Officer Dansbury, she said, had completely overreacted when she accidentally bumped into him on her way in after one of her fruitless searches for Angel. He had demanded to know what she had been doing out at that hour and had gone so far as to accuse her of solicitation, threatening to arrest her if he saw her out again.

Just before deciding to leave New York, with or without finding Angel, Morrigan wrote of hearing "whisperings". She couldn't make out any words, nor could she quite pinpoint their source, but she feared it was a sign that the next mysterious death would be her own. She made one last attempt to find Angel, spending the entire night and even some of the day, scouring the city, somehow still managing to miss him, despite his ridiculous proximity to her. She returned home empty handed, according her writings, intending catch a few hours' sleep before boarding a train to Chicago, but was kept awake by the unbearable draft she was sure permeated her apartment, and the persistent whispers that only seemed to be growing louder by the minute. She decided she couldn't afford to wait, and immediately gathered her belongings, leaving The Guardian without a second glance.

Dorothy "Dot" Singer

2nd March, 1916

I have arrived in Chicago, and rented myself a room at the YWCA, some kind of women's shelter. They seem intent on educating me and making me into "a productive member of society." I told them I wasn't interested in any of that, and just wanted a place to rest my head for a day or two. They didn't seem to like the idea, but they liked my money just the same. We'll be out of each other's hair soon enough. I don't want to stay here anymore than they seem to want me here. I'm just not ready to see Miss Singer and her Watcher just yet. I just need to sleep.

I didn't sleep very well on the train. Too much movement, too much noise, too much light. The whispers have stopped, though, and I can breathe again. This only confirms in my mind that there was something not right in that building. I can't help but think about poor Mr. Hart and the other residents. I should've done something to get them out of there, but what would I say? That I think there's a demon there attacking people? They'd put me away before I can blink. And I have to take care of myself, don't I? I have a job to do. I was never supposed to stop in New York, anyway.

The dreams have also stopped. Not that I've been able to get much sleep, like I said, but what little I did manage was dreamless. I fear HE may have been in New York, after all, and for whatever reason I just missed HIM. It's a big city, easy to get lost. Then again, it may have been the demon sending me the dreams all along. Now I shall never know.

I'll look up Miss Singer tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Right now, I'm just so tired.

Morrigan introduced herself to Dorothy Singer, the Vampire Slayer (a.k.a. "Dot"), and her Watcher, Reginald Hill, three days later on March 5. What she did during those three days is anybody's guess. Ileana received no word from her aside from her telegram, and Morrigan wrote nothing personal in her subsequent journal entries. She describes her initial meeting with the Slayer and her Watcher as "tense". Neither was particular receptive to Morrigan's offer of assistance. They perceived her as a threat, mistakenly believing The Council had sent her either as a replacement to Mr. Hill, or as a Council spy eager to find any reason to relieve the shell-shocked former soldier of his duties as Watcher. Morrigan assured them that this was not the case, and confessed that she had only accepted the made-up position of Council Liaison because they were paying her expenses. She told them she had no intention of painting either of them in a negative light when she made her required reports to The Council and honestly only wanted to help both of them, in whatever capacity they needed her.

They were both highly distrustful of The Council and only accepted Morrigan's offer after insisting she take an apartment in the building Reginald and Dot called home on the North Shore, so they could keep a constant eye on her, lest she run to The Council with their secrets. Morrigan didn't mind so much. She hated the YWCA, thought they were running some kind of cult, trying to brainwash her. As for these secrets, Morrigan had no idea what it was they were trying to hide, if anything. It may have simply been a case of inherent mistrust of The Council and its representatives.

As Morrigan became better acquainted with her Slayer, she came to learn that these paranoia-induced decrees were primarily coming from Mr. Hill. He had been gassed during the war and as a result, sometimes suffered from paranoid delusions and hallucinations. According to Dot, he had not been the same since his return. She confessed that she often felt alone, watcherless, under the tutelage of the post-war Reginald Hill, but he had become like a father to her, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him to another Watcher. When Reginald had left her to go fight in the Great War, The Council had sent another Watcher to replace him. He was a stuffy, pompous, beast of a man named Trevor Yulin, and he treated her less like a human being and more like a beast of burden, there to do his bidding. She didn't want to risk having another Watcher sent who was possibly even worse than the last one. She would rather have Reginald, weakened though he was, or no Watcher at all. She thought Morrigan was there to take him from her again, so she initially went along with his demands regarding Morrigan's continued involvement in their affairs.

10th July, 1916

Dot is having what you might call a crisis of faith. She doesn't want to be the Slayer anymore. Not that anyone wants to be the Slayer, I suppose. But Dot has decided to resign from her duties. She flatly refuses to train, or patrol, or have anything to do with slaying whatsoever. She stays in her room and refuses to come out for anything. She is under the impression that as a Slayer, she does more harm than good, and that no Slayer at all is better than wearing the mantle herself. Reginald and I have both tried to reason with her, explain that no Slayer at all is exactly what she's leaving the world with if she won't do her duty, but she doesn't listen. She pretends not to care, but I know she does. She's just afraid of making another mistake like the one she made last week. But in refusing to fight, she is making the biggest mistake she could ever make. I just wish there was some way to make her see that.

What happened last week was probably one of the worst things that could possibly happen during a Slayer's tenure, and I can't fault her at all for feeling the way she does. It started just before her birthday, a week ago Wednesday. Some little boy had gone missing. It was in all the papers. Matthew Robert Andrews, age 10, they said. Posters were up all over town. Half of Chicago's finest were out looking for this kid, but none seemed to be having any luck. Until Dot and I were out on a routine patrol, and there he was, right in the middle of Grant Park, as if he hadn't a care in the world. A normal kid playing in the park. We took him home to his parents. What else could we do? What would you do? Two days later (on Dot's birthday), his parents were found savagely murdered in their living room. They had been drained of their blood. The kid was missing. Again. It wasn't hard for Dot and I to put 2 and 2 together. Someone, depraved even for a demon, had turned this little boy into a vampire. Unknowingly, Dot and I had then delivered the monster wearing his face to his parents' waiting arms, only to have those arms torn clean off by the tiny demon posing as their son.

That night, she went out with a vengeance, determined to find Matthew and stop him before the tragedy could escalate. He wasn't hard to find. He may have been a demon, but he still thought like a child. We found him in his own backyard, in his very own tree house. It should have been an easy kill. He was a child, inexperienced in both life and death, surrounded by wood. But he wasn't alone. He and 8 year old Sarah Shaw were playing together just like a couple of regular kids. They even asked us to come up and play with them. Dot went up, thinking it would be easier to take them if they had nowhere to go. I stayed below, saying I was afraid of heights. I thought if one of them got past her somehow I would be able to catch them before they got away. Dot spoke to them for a moment before pulling out her stake, then in a blink Dot fell backwards out the opening of the tree house, Sarah on top of her. Dot hit the ground and rolled over the little girl, driving her stake right through the child's heart. She died instantly, as her pretty pink dress turned to dark crimson. We could only stare in shock as Matthew ran away, laughing.

I tried to spur the Slayer to action. It was too late for Sarah, but we could still make it right if we found Matthew. There would be plenty of time to grieve later. But the poor dear was paralyzed by the realization of her mistake. She wouldn't move. Couldn't even speak. I buried the girl myself in that very yard. I couldn't bring myself to just leave her there. Then I half carried, half dragged the Slayer back to her room. She recovered her mental faculties soon enough, but declared she was done with slaying. She wouldn't risk having another accident on her hands as with little Sarah Shaw.

Over the next 7 days, 12 more kids turned up missing. All of them were former classmates and friends of Matthew's. One by one, the beast formerly known as Matthew, went out and collected his friends. Whether he sired them himself, or brought them to his master, I have no way of knowing, and don't especially want to. But one thing is clear. 13 dead children are running around Chicago unchecked while the Slayer sits in her room feeling sorry for herself.

By October of that year, the number of missing Chicagoans had reached staggering proportions, and was no longer limited to children. Police, firemen, teachers and businessmen had also vanished without a trace. The Slayer still refused to do her duty, terrified of making another fatal mistake. Morrigan and Reginald did their best to take up the slack, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. They needed the Slayer. Morrigan was ready to resort to desperate measures to lure Dot from her self-imposed prison. After weeks of hunting, she had finally managed to track one of the newly sired mini-vamps to the basement of a local school, where they had apparently made their nest. There were far too many of them to take them on herself (and it wasn't her place anyway), so she concocted a plan of which the Watcher's Council would be proud.

It took a bit of cajoling on her part, but Morrigan convinced Reginald to go into hiding for a few days without telling the Slayer. Around the third day, she went to tell Dot her Watcher was missing. Naturally, the girl was skeptical and went straight to his apartment to verify his well-being. There, they found the door slightly ajar, and the interior showed signs of a hasty getaway. A full cup of tea sat on his desk, long cold, a half-eaten slice of toast beside it. His weapons chest stood open, its contents strewn about haphazardly, as if Reginald had been searching for something specific, unconcerned about the remainder. On the floor beside the chest, was a crumpled note, written in crayon. The authors, who called themselves The Children of the Night, claimed to have captured the Slayer, and directed Reginald to the basement of the William G. Hibbard Elementary School, if he wanted to see her alive. Too young and inexperienced to question why her Watcher would fall for such an obvious ruse (for why would a group of vampires abduct a Slayer to get to the Watcher?), or to even consider the notion that the trap was for her, Dot grabbed up some weapons of her own and made for the school straight away, Morrigan in tow. Morrigan accompanied her charge as far as the door to the basement, made certain the young Slayer had everything she needed to dispatch a band of fledging vampires, and sent the girl down into the dark, alone. She waited while Dot descended the steps, and when she had reached the bottom, Morrigan locked the door and turned her back, letting the chips fall where they may. Either the Slayer would prevail, and take up the Mantle once more, or she wouldn't. In either case, Morrigan considered it a win for the home team. As callous as it may seem, a Slayer who wouldn't slay was as bad as having no Slayer at all. If the current Slayer (in this case, Dot) refused to do her Duty, then it was time to find someone who would.

Morrigan didn't wait to see whether the Slayer came out on top, but instead returned to the safe house where Reginald was hiding, bringing him up to date on the situation. Together, they went back to his apartment, where they waited "several unbearable hours" for Dot's return. Just when they had both given up hope, and had geared up to investigate the school basement on their own, Morrigan pulled open the door to leave, only to be greeted by a sharp right hook to the jaw, which sent her flying across the room.

As I struggled to fight off the pain and dizziness, and bring myself to my feet, Dot stalked across the room to where I lay, her eyes blazing with murderous intent. For just a moment, in my disoriented state, I could have sworn her eyes flashed bright red, just for an instant. Of course, it must have been my imagination. Or a trick of the light, perhaps. As she glared down at me, her hands clenched into tight fists, her nostrils flaring like those of a Brahma Bull, I felt certain that my betrayal of her would be the end of me. After all the vampires, monsters, and the like that I'd faced, both alone, and at Dot's side, it was to be the Slayer herself who became my undoing. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Ultimately, I did neither, as the Slayer turned and advanced on her Watcher, instead. "Did you know about this?" She demanded of the stunned war hero. "Were you a part of it?" Before he could respond, I managed to raise myself onto my elbows and assured her that he did not. I told her that I convinced him his own home was unsafe. After my treachery, I didn't expect her believe, or even listen to a word I had to say. I could only pray, for the sake of everyone, for the sake of the world, that he would back up my lie. He did. From my position on the floor, I watched her eye her mentor warily, searching for any sign that he did not speak the truth. After a few painful seconds, she nodded, apparently satisfied, before turning her attention back to me. She offered her hand, which I gratefully accepted, and hauled me to my feet. She waited, while the wave of dizziness passed, then demanded I leave Reginald's apartment at once.

Dot went on to tell my second great grandaunt, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted nothing more to do with her, for as long as the both of them lived. Morrigan was heartbroken, but understood, and reluctantly respected the young woman's wishes. What else could she do? Of course, this didn't mean she turned her back on the young warrior. She still patrolled on a nightly basis, maintaining a discreet between herself and Miss Singer, ready to jump into battle or provide emergency medical care if necessary. While Dot may have been justified in severing her ties with Morrigan after her (perceived) betrayal of the girl, that didn't mean that Morrigan no longer felt responsible. If anything, she felt more responsible, as she was no longer able to provide any direct assistance as a result of the rather harsh wake-up call she had arranged for the teen. The least she could do, Morrigan reasoned, was to make herself available if and when the Slayer needed her.

Morrigan needn't have worried, however, as Dot's stint in the basement seemed to have greatly increased her effectiveness as the Slayer. She displayed a renewed sense of focus and determination, the likes of which Morrigan had not before seen in her former friend. Every punch, every kick, every thrust with the stake was delivered with deadly force and precision.

1st August, 1916

...She now moves with a predatory grace, her feet scarcely leaving a mark upon the ground on which she walks. The air of confidence surrounding her is almost palpable, and her speed is such that I find I can barely keep up. It's just as well, though, as she is now so keenly aware of her surroundings, that it's a constant challenge to avoid being discovered. There are times when I'm certain she knows I'm there, and simply chooses not to acknowledge me. If I didn't know better, I might mistake her for a vampire, but as I've seen her in daylight, I know that is not the case.

A Series of Random Events

Derailed by Chaos

Morrigan continued to be haunted by her guilt over trapping her friend in a vampire nest, but she was able to take solace in the fact that it was her scheme that helped make Dot the Slayer she now was. After a few weeks of surreptitiously following the Slayer on her nightly patrols, Morrigan felt comfortable enough to let the girl walk alone, as it was meant to be. While she continued to keep a peripheral eye on Miss Singer's activities, regularly touching base with Mr. Hill, as per her agreement with the Council, she began focusing the bulk of her attention elsewhere.

In this case, "elsewhere" primarily involved renewing her search for Angel. This was no easy task, considering she hadn't had a vision or a relevant dream since leaving New York. With no leads, and the internet still decades away from being invented, Morrigan definitely had her work cut out for her. Nonetheless, given her family's history with Angelus, she felt confident that sooner or later Angel would find her. She just had to be there when he finally showed up. In the meantime she took a job at an all-night diner, reasoning that if there was a new player in town, that would be the most likely place she would hear about it. And should Angel come to town looking for her, that would probably be the first place he'd go. It would only be a matter of time, she thought, she just had to be patient.

A matter of time turned out to be about three years. During that time, Reginald met the love his life, married her, then lost her to the flu, all in the span of a year. Already mentally weakened due to being gassed during World War I, the loss of his beloved nearly pushed him over the edge. Morrigan stayed on at the diner, spending her nights schlepping greasy burgers and fries and pouring infinite cups of barely potable sludge passing for coffee to Chicago's after hours workforce, waiting with growing hopelessness for some sign (a vision, a whisper, anything) that Angel was near. There was none. By June 26, 1919, just four days before Dot's Cruciamentum, she was ready to give up. She had, in fact already packed, and purchased her train ticket, intending to return to New York to start her search from the last place she'd felt his presence. She was two hours into what was to be her last shift at the diner, when she received a surprise visitor.

With the Wartime Prohibition Act due to go into effect in a matter of days, Chicago's streets were becoming more crowded than ever, as the city's alcohol-lovers strove to get as much drinking in while they still could. Besides the drunks, the city's sober (and less well-off) citizens were also out in force, looking to escape the sweltering heat of their air-conditioning deprived apartments. Naturally, wherever there was an abundance of people, there was also an increase in vampire activity, as the undead were always ready to capitalize on an opportunity. In short, Dot was getting overwhelmed. Reginald's mental health had been deteriorating by the day; he suffered from frequent bouts of depression and hallucinations. Dot was finding she could no longer rely on him as a Watcher. She spent more time taking care of him than learning from him. She didn't dare contact The Council, for fear of losing him altogether, and although they had hired a caretaker (in the guise of a butler), he was unaware of the secret world in which Dot and Reginald lived. Dot needed someone who understood the real nature of the things that went bump in the night, someone who could hold their own in battle. She still harbored some animosity towards Morrigan over the incident at the school, but Morrigan was her only hope. Since she had nowhere else to turn, she was willing to let bygones be bygones. Dot's plea for help was all Morrigan needed to hear. With barely a word to her supervisor, she threw her apron on the counter, and followed the Slayer into the night.

Foolish Angel

Meanwhile, Angel had left New York, and was currently residing in Euclid, Ohio, a small township about twelve miles northeast of Cleveland. He had been out on one of his nightly walks, and had returned to find his apartment building ablaze. There was no chance that it might be habitable again before sunrise. He turned from the inferno, and began walking in a random direction, while he determined what his next move would be. Lost in thought, he had managed to cover almost the entire distance to Cleveland without noticing. When he finally came out of his thoughts, he found himself on a deserted stretch of road with no shelter in sight. In the east, the sky was already beginning to lighten to the bluish-black hue of pre-dawn. Panic set in as he realized he may have just walked to his death, and he looked around frantically, wondering if the soil was soft enough, and if he had enough time to dig himself underground before the sun completed her ascent.

Deciding he didn't have time to stand around thinking about it, Angel moved off into the field lining the road, got down on all fours, and began to dig as if his life depended on it. In his haste, he failed to notice the tiny farmhouse on the other side of the field, or the stocky woman with the shotgun approaching him from behind, until the muzzle of said shotgun was pressed firmly against his skull. She demanded to know just what it was he thought he was doing, but Angel was so caught off guard, unaccustomed to being snuck up on, that he could only sit there sputtering with his hands above his head, and offer a feeble "I mean you no harm." When Angel failed to come up with a rational explanation for digging a hole in this woman's property, like a dog digging up a bone, the woman made a noise of disgust and withdrew her weapon. Surprising him yet again, she told him, "Come on, then. Let's get you inside before the sun comes up. It's gonna be a scorcher."

Angel felt like a fool not having noticed the farmhouse before he started digging. He could have saved himself a lot of time and stress (not to mention dirty broken fingernails) if he'd simply used his infamous charms to gain access to the house. Then again, he thought, maybe he was better off digging. He couldn't help but notice the way the woman kept her firearm trained on him the entire way to the house. Of course, a bullet wouldn't kill him. Unless it was fired from close range and blew his head off. He became more confused and apprehensive when they veered off about ten yards from the house. When they reached the trapdoor, however, he understood. The woman, who never offered her name (nor did she ask for his), had led him to a storm cellar. She slid open the latch, pulled the door open, then motioned him inside. As he descended the steps, she told him, "It ain't much, but I reckon it'll service your needs." Angel turned to thank her, only to be greeted by the trapdoor slamming down and the latch bolt sliding back into place, effectively locking him in.

Feeling a bit like a rat in a trap, Angel moved farther into the room and took in his surroundings. There was a twin bed adorned with a handmade quilt, a small nightstand with a kerosene lamp and a box of matches, a workbench on which sat an old phonograph, and a shelf lined with various non-perishable food items. He sat on the bed, removed the glass cover from the lamp, lit it with one of the matches, then replaced the cover and looked around some more. Hanging over the bed, right where is head would be if he decided to lie down, was a wooden crucifix. It didn't appear to be hung very securely, so he wrapped his hand in the pillow case, and carefully slid the icon from between the nails holding it in place. He opened the drawer to the nightstand, and was not the least bit surprised to find a Bible in there. He quickly threw the cross inside, and closed the drawer, then merely sat staring towards the steps and the trapdoor beyond.

As he listened to the typical farm sounds above, he contemplated his predicament. He felt certain that the woman, whoever she was, knew what he was and intended to kill him. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why, though. Left to his own devices, he would've been dust soon enough. Why lock him up down here? Was it some new kind of torture? Did she intend to keep him there indefinitely? Would she starve him until he could no longer defend himself, then hand him over to somebody? Could she be in league with the Slayer? Perhaps it was more personal than that. Could he have killed one of her ancestors? It was certainly possible. Whatever her motives, there wasn't much he could do about it, short of killing her, and he wasn't sure he had it in him anymore to kill a human, even to save his life, despite his promise to Annie. He might be able to escape, but that would only get him killed sooner, given the daylight. And that being the case, why had she bothered locking him in at all? Maybe he was just being paranoid. The uncertainty was making his head hurt. Resigned to his presumed fate, he lay down on the bed and awaited the inevitable.

He lay there for what could have been a few minutes or a few hours. He really had no idea, as there was nothing to mark the passage of time. Finally, he heard the "snick" of the latch bolt sliding open. He quickly sat up, and looked to the staircase just as the door opened, letting the sunlight pour down the stairs, coincidentally stopping just shy of where he sat. (Was it a coincidence? He wondered.) His hostess made her way down the steps, pulling the door closed behind her as she went. She had something tucked under arm, but at first Angel couldn't tell what it was. As she reached the bottom, and took whatever it was out from under her arm, Angel realized what she held. In one hand, she held a cross, in the other, a mason jar filled with what he could only assume was blood (as it was sealed he couldn't get a whiff of what was inside). So that answered one question. She definitely knew what he was. But the blood looked off, somehow. Was it poisoned, tainted with Holy Water, perhaps?

She saluted him with the jar by way of greeting, but instead of handing it to him directly, she moved to the workbench and set it there. "It's chicken," she told him apologetically, "but it'll have to do." She glanced up at the wall, where the crucifix had been, pursing her lips in displeasure, but said nothing, and merely turned to head back up the steps. Before she reached the top, Angel couldn't resist asking her why she was helping him. She responded simply, "Because God loves all His children," then turned and exited the cellar, again locking the door behind her.

That was a new one. I'd never heard that one before… Or since, actually. But it seemed a bit naïve to me. I worried that kind of thinking would get her killed one day. [shrugs] Maybe it did. I never saw her again. And I never found out who she was.

Satisfied that he wasn't on his death bed, Angel drank his chicken dinner (different, sort of a tangy aftertaste), then lay down for some much needed rest. He was suddenly exhausted. He awoke, bathed in moonlight, to the sound of crickets, a light breeze ruffling his hair. He had apparently been sleeping so soundly that he hadn't heard his mystery woman open the cellar door, or come in to collect his empty jar, extinguish the lamp and replace the crucifix.

The Affairs of Men

Back in Chicago, Reginald had begun the preparations for Dot's Cruciamentum, and while Angel was sleeping the day away in his mystery woman's storm cellar, Dot was receiving the first of three injections she would receive before her eighteenth birthday. The timing could not have been worse. Tensions were on the rise as the beginning of the dry years loomed ever closer, and it seemed inevitable that a war would break out between Prohibition's supporters and opponents. The divide between the "wets" (those against prohibition) and the "drys" (prohibition advocates) had clearly become a racial one. The majority supporting the Act were so-called "natives", those whose ancestry in the United States went back several generations, while most anti-prohibitionists were either immigrants themselves, or were the children of immigrants. Public figures supporting the movement compounded this divide by the use of phrases such as "race degeneracy", and openly suggesting that recent immigrants were a "menace to our institutions". For her part, Dot was determined to do whatever she could to prevent as much bloodshed as possible as the battle over prohibition escalated. Both Morrigan and Reginald tried to impress upon her that this was "man's war", and that the Slayer had no place in it, but Dot argued that it was the Slayer's duty to protect the human race, even if that meant protecting it from itself. She was also quick to point that Reginald had abandoned her to fight in "man's war". At any other time, Morrigan would have fully supported the Slayer's decision, but with the Cruciamentum looming overhead, and Dot already showing signs of weakening, getting involved in the affairs of humans could prove problematic at best. However, once the Slayer made up her mind, there was little anyone could do to change it, so Morrigan had no choice but to go along.

Meanwhile, organized crime was already carving out a niche for itself, smuggling liquor in from Canada, getting set to make a killing when the alcohol ban went into effect. Speaking of killing, crime bosses weren't the only ones making lemonade out of Prohibition's lemons. Vampires were getting into the act, too. While making their rounds the night Angel was released from his earthen prison, Morrigan and Dot came across some suspicious looking characters at the Navy Pier, engaging in some even more suspicious looking activities. At first glance it looked like nothing more than your average everyday smuggling operation, but closer inspection revealed that it was something far more sinister.

28th June, 1919

There were two groups of men, there, about half a dozen in each. The first were dressed in casual business attire and were quite well-armed. And well-muscled! The second were smaller and unarmed, and were dressed like boat workers. Sat at their feet were two crates of what was probably liquor of some sort. One of the first group was on his knees inspecting the crates, and when he was finished, he nodded to his associates as he stood, dusting himself off. The leader of the group said something to one of the other men, who then walked back to their car and pulled someone out of the back seat. A woman. She was about my age, or a little older, tall, thin. And terrified. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she had been gagged and blindfolded. Her dress had been torn slightly, probably during a struggle, and the heel of one of her shoes had broken off. I will never understand the women that wear those things. They seem dangerous to me. Not to mention uncomfortable! But I digress. Another man got out of the car and the two men grabbed the girl by each of her arms and led her (or dragged is more like it) back to where the other men waited. One of the boatmen stepped forward and started examining her like you would livestock at the fair. Poking and prodding and such.

Dot and I had seen enough. It was clear these men were vampires. Or at least the boatmen were. The gun-toting men were probably human. Vampires don't usually have much use for guns. Dot was ready to rush right in, stakes and fists flying, and it was all I could do to hold her back. Extra caution was needed when guns were involved, even when the Slayer was at her full strength. Which she wasn't. But of course she didn't know that. I convinced her that the wiser course of action was to wait until the men parted ways, then go after the vampires when guns were no longer an issue.

Careful to stay out of sight (which wasn't too difficult under the New Moon) Dot and Morrigan crept quickly and cautiously around the buildings near the entrance to the pier, taking the back way to the vampires' boat. Though there were several private vessels moored at the dock, the girls were able to deduce which was the correct one based on its relative position to the rumrunners. They stole onto the rear of the ship, then made their way forward to where the driver waited for his friends to return. He heard their approach and turned, but Dot made quick work of him anyway, and the pair just managed to hide themselves away as the rest of the vampires boarded the ship. While the rest of the crew went below to stash their prize and celebrate their success, one of them came forward to inform the driver that their business was concluded. Upon realizing his cohort was not at his post, the vampire called out to him and received a stake to the heart from Morrigan in reply.

...The first two went down so easily, Dot got it in her head to jump right down the hatch to the lower compartment where the rest of the vampires were doing God knows what. "They'll be trapped!" she told me. I pointed out that we'd be trapped also, and that they might hurt the girl, which is what we were trying to avoid. But we had maybe a minute at most to come up with a plan. It wouldn't take them long to realize something was wrong when the boat didn't move. We went to the hatch, and I stood on one side of it, where I would be hidden when it opened. Dot stood on the other side, ducking just out of sight of whoever might come through. I pounded on the hatch and waited for it to open. Our plan had been to wait until he was out, then stake him away from his friends so we didn't draw their attention, but Dot just couldn't resist the easy kill. The second the vampire was halfway out, Dot charged forward with the stake and the dust rained down into the compartment.

Then all hell broke loose. Two of them came rushing up the ladder and Dot launched herself at them and all three crashed to the floor. I jumped down after her and landed right on a vamp trying to escape with the girl, who was still tied up, and blindfolded. I thought I heard something pop, probably the girl, as she was flattened by both me and the vampire. It would've been the perfect time to stake the son of a bitch, but I must have lost it in the crash. He bucked me off and I flew right into Dot, who was already giving it her all against two of them. She had apparently already dispatched the remaining one, because he was nowhere to be found. As we struggled to our feet, the one I had first landed on tried again to make off with the girl, and the other two were right behind him. Apparently we didn't warrant the attention.

By the time we righted ourselves, they had already reached the ladder. One of them was already at the top and was pushing the girl through, one was halfway up, the last vampire behind him. We rushed the ladder and jerked off the two in the rear. Though I could tell she was getting winded, I let Dot have her way with them, since she seemed to be holding her own just fine, and I wanted to stop the guy with the girl from getting away. He wasn't paying attention to the rest of us, so I climbed up behind and waited until the girl was relatively safe on deck. I hoped she wouldn't try to wander off while she still had the blindfold on. She probably didn't even realize she was on a boat.

When only her feet dangled into the compartment, I reached between the vampire's legs and squeezed with all my might. He was still a man, after all, and I figured even the undead would still have certain sensitivities. I was right. He let out a howl the likes of which I'd never heard and lost both his grip and his footing and we both went down. Hard. I was getting tired of this falling down business. This time, when I heard something pop, I knew it was me. I'm definitely going to feel this in the morning! Already am! But on the bright side, I found my stake! Not that I could reach it with it pressed into my back. And it wouldn't do me any good if he got away again. So I wrapped my arms tightly around his middle, which wasn't too hard. He was pretty scrawny for a vampire. Then I rolled us both over, grabbed my stake and drove it home while he was still recovering from having his lemons squeezed.

I dusted myself off and looked over to find Dot pinned to the floor by what I assumed was the last of the rum running vampires. The bloodsucker in question was straddling Dot much the same way I had straddled his friend, except that he had both of Dot's legs well immobilized under his, and both of her hands pinned over her head with one of his. The other had a vice-grip around her throat and was choking the life out of her. Fortunately, he didn't notice me coming up behind him, which made it easy for me to stake him in the back. Except that I missed. But it was just the distraction Dot needed to retrieve her stake and hit the mark. That was when she informed me that the last vampire had gotten away. I thought for sure that meant he had taken the girl, but when we reached topside, we heard her crying. She had somehow made it to the railing, but then had either gotten scared, more than she was already, or had simply lost hope. The vampire was nowhere to seen, and we decided it was more important to see to it that she was taken care of than to try to go after him. And neither one of us had anymore fight left in us anyway.

The Other Hellmouth

Meanwhile, Angel had uncovered a similar operation in Cleveland, but with no Slayer, it was largely left unchecked. Violent crime had been a part of Cleveland's history almost since the town's inception. Every year the police had to come up with newer and better ways to combat it, and every year the (human) criminal element became smarter, better armed, and more prolific. There were simply far more criminals (especially of the violent variety) than there were officers to arrest them, and that was assuming they could even catch them. The number of cold cases in Cleveland had already reached staggering proportions, even in 1919, and the addition of prominent mob families such as the Porellos, Fazios and the Lonardos, to name but a few, only further ensured that demon element could go about its nightly business without fear of discovery.

As Angel approached what would become known as the "Rock 'N' Roll Capital", he tells me the first thing that struck him was the smell. It was the smell of death, decay, blood, and most prominently, fear. Of course, such odors are bound to permeate any major city, but in Angel's experience, it had never been more palpable than in Cleveland, surpassed only by Beijing during the Boxer Rebellion.

It was like walking into a thick fog, and you know it'll swallow you if you keep going. Dru would've called it "intoxicating". And it was. The key word here being "toxic". It would have been easy to let myself get lost in it. A part of me wanted to. I didn't really have a lot going for me in those days. For the most part, I was just… surviving. To just let go and let darkness take me would have been… a relief. But between Annie and Darla, and… everything else. There was just no way I could go back to that. No matter how tempting it was.

So Angel pushed on into the city of "progress and prosperity", and stopped at the first hotel he came to. As he approached the front doors, he had to step aside for two officers escorting out a young girl.

Mid 20's, brunette, about 5'10". Well, in heels, she was 5'10". She was probably more like 5'8". Pretty… she looked like… well, she looked like exactly the type of girl you'd expect to be escorted by a couple of cops. I didn't really think anything of it, at first. But as they went past me, I knew something was off. Those guys weren't cops any more than I was a priest. And they weren't taking her to no jail cell. At least not one run by the city.

He turned and followed them out to their car, which was definitely not a police car. As they loaded their captive into it, she looked up at him, terror-filled eyes pleading for him to help her. Of course, Angel planned on doing just that. There were only a few possible fates they could have had in store for her, and none of them would end with her living happily ever after. Despite the odds, Angel had every confidence that he could put away the two "officers", but first, he had some questions he wanted answered. Why were they posing as cops and pretending to arrest her, instead of just killing her outright? What did they really want her for? Were they acting alone, or did their orders come from a higher authority? The panic wafting off the girl told him she might have some idea. She at least seemed to know they didn't work for the police department, but did she know enough that he could safely kill them without questioning them?

He didn't have time to think about it, or even formulate a plan. They were too busy laughing and joking about what they were going to do her to notice him, so he snuck up close behind them, and the second they had shut the girl safely inside, he gripped each of them firmly about the neck and slammed them against the car. One of them cried out as his shin collided with the running board, while the other one reached for his gun (his GUN, for crying out loud! I was insulted). Angel smashed gun-boy's head into the window, splintering the glass and stunning him, as he capitalized on Shin-boy with a good solid kick. He was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of bones shattering as leg connected with chrome for the second time. Without a leg to stand on, he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Angel stamped on his neck, effectively immobilizing him, while he jerked gun-boy back and down by his hair, ramming a knee into his lower back. Meanwhile, Angel's full weight was on potato-boy's neck, crushing it with a loud popping sound. Instead of screaming about his leg hurting, he was now wailing because his leg didn't hurt, nor did anything else, for that matter. There's just no pleasing some people, it seems.

Amazingly, as Angel turned his full attention to gun-boy (who, by this point, had forgotten all about his gun) still tried to maintain the illusion that he was a Cleveland Police Officer, saying that Angel was going to be in "big trouble", and claiming that the girl was "wanted for murder". Angel had to give him points for honesty, for he had no doubt that murder was exactly what they wanted her for, except that in this case, the murder in question was her own. Still gripping him tightly by the scalp, Angel ignored his pathetic ramblings, and dragged him over his buddy to the front door of the car. He pulled open the door with his free hand, then forced the wannabe cop to his knees until his neck rested on the bottom of the door frame. He jammed his foot squarely into the bibbling idiot's back, holding him in place, then began his interrogation, starting with "Who do you work for?" To show he meant business, he then slammed the door on the hapless vampire, decapitating him before he had a chance to answer. Oops.

So he turned to Mr. Dusty's partner. Angel didn't figure the talking head would be overly chatty, but it was worth a shot. There was something going on in this town beyond the ordinary vampire hijinks, and one way or another, Angel was going to find out what. He reopened the car door, then dragged the un-deadhead through his brother's ashes, and arranged him face up in the door frame. Before Angel could get a word in, the immortal quadriplegic taunted him with your typical, "What're ya gonna do, kill me?" Angel assured him that would not be the case. If he failed to answer Angel's questions, Angel would simply leave him to burn when the sun came up. Or better still, leave him in to rot in some abandoned building. Either way, it would be a miserable way to go. On the other hand, if he cooperated, he could die quickly and painlessly.

The head case claimed that he and his partner were just two of a cadre of vampires working for a man known as "Big Joe" Lonardo, who was the current Boss of the Cleveland Mafia, and also a vampire. In anticipation of the Prohibition Act, Big Joe and his brothers had begun supplying corn sugar (a key ingredient in liquor production)to local bootleggers, who in turn shared a portion of their product with the Lonardos with the stipulation that they would not compete in local markets. Hence, half of Big Joe's share of the illegal hooch was stockpiled for the underground nightclub Big Joe planned to open when Prohibition became official. The other half was sold to The Chicago Outfit, which at the time, was run by "Diamond Jim" Colosimo (it would eventually be run by Al Capone).

In lieu of cash, which was of very little use to vampires, Diamond Jim was to pay his debts another way. For every two crates of liquor, The Outfit was to send back one human, between the ages of 18 and 26 (male or female, though it was usually girls), with no friends or family, and no ties to the community- someone that wouldn't be missed. As with the bootlegged liquor, some of the smuggled humans would be kept for Big Joe's private stash, the rest would be put to use either as entertainment or as cuisine when he opened his club. When Angel inquired as to why Big Joe couldn't hunt is own quarry, Headcheese explained that Joe was still trying to keep up the appearance of being a legitimate human businessman. Having his meals delivered from out of state lessened the chance that their disappearances would be traced back to him, should anyone bother to look. Regarding the girl they had "arrested", Angel was told she had arrived with the previous week's shipment, and had somehow managed to escape. Dust Man and Head Boy had been sent to retrieve her and had dressed as cops so as not to arouse suspicion.

Angel kept his promise to the head and sent him off to meet his friend via the car door guillotine, then joined the "fugitive" in the car. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with her, but one thing was certain. She couldn't stay in Cleveland. If she did, then Angel might as well take her to Big Joe, himself. Taking her back to Chicago didn't seem like such a hot idea either. She would probably just get sent right back, and then punished for escaping. That was how Angelus would've dealt with her. He didn't figure a vampire mobster dealing in human trafficking would be any different. On the other hand, if he was to have any hope of stopping this blood-for-booze operation (and he had to try), then he had to go to the source. That meant Chicago. But sunrise was only five hours away, and Chicago was a bit farther than that. How would he explain to the girl that the man who had just rescued her from vampires had to take cover before sunrise because he was a vampire, too? If she had any sense, she'd probably just run away again, and end up right back with Big Joe. No, his only choice was to bring her with, and figure out the rest later. He slid into the driver's seat, and with surprisingly little effort for his first time in a car(and help from Molly the Rescuee), started the engine and set them on the road to the Windy City.

Road Trip

Full Disclosure

Upon realizing that Angel had never been in a car before, much less driven one, Molly offered to take the wheel to avoid a potential wreck. Needing the distraction, Angel refused. It had been quite a while since Angel had been in close proximity to humans for any length of time, and he hadn't exactly been taking proper care of himself since Annie left him to be with her father. He worried that without something else to focus on, he might lose control all over Molly. After all, she would've been dead anyway if Angel hadn't come along. It wasn't as if anyone would miss her. That's what Angelus tried to tell him, anyway, but Angel knew better. He would miss her. He'd never be able to live with himself if he gave in to Angelus' prodding.

They drove in silence, and Angel tried to forget Molly was there, while at the same time trying to decide what he was going to do with her. Of course, Angelus had a few ideas he was all too willing to share with his soulful alter ego, but Angel did his best to ignore them while he focused on his driving. After a few miles, Molly tried to make small talk, but Angel was so busy with the focusing, forgetting and ignoring, as well as the internal monologue, that he didn't really hear her until she overheard him telling Angelus to shut up. He wasn't even aware of having spoken aloud until she responded hurt, and slumped down in her seat. While Angelus rejoiced at having been able to inflict even the smallest bit of damage, Angel quickly apologized and prepared to lay all his cards on the table. It was the first time he'd discussed his past with someone who didn't already know it.

I didn't even know what I was going to say until I said it. It was like… it had been so long since I talked to anybody, that when I opened my mouth, it just all came pouring out. I told her everything, Rowynne. What I was, what I used to be, the things I'd done- Well, some of the things I'd done. And I told her about the curse, and how the demon was still in there trying to get me to do things… I even told her how just having her there in the car was driving me insane and that I wasn't sure if she was any better off with me than she would've been with Big Joe and that that was why I didn't want her drive. So I wouldn't have to think about it… And she just sat there… Just took it all in and didn't say a word… I wanted to stop the car and grab her by the shoulders and shake her. [demonstrates] "PLEASE! Say something! Anything!" But I didn't, because I knew what would happen if I did, and it wouldn't be anything good. Instead, I told her that I didn't think it was safe for her on the streets, but that if she didn't want to ride with me anymore, I'd understand, and I'd drop her off anywhere she wanted to go. And she still didn't say anything for the longest time, but I could see her looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Trying to decide whether she should trust me, I guess. Finally, she turns and stares out the window and it was almost like she was talking to herself. She said, "Well, I had wanted to see Chicago."

They drove the rest of the night only stopping twice: once for fuel, and once for food. Molly offered to help Angel out in that regard, but as tempting as it was, he politely but firmly refused. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he started, and he knew how addictive it could be, for both of them. Instead, they kept the conversation on more neutral topics. She told him about her life, and the circumstances that had led to her being kidnapped in Chicago (she was a farm girl from Northern Idaho that wanted to see the world). He told her about the things he'd seen and done during his very long life, sans the rape and the murder, of course. She was fascinated by the notion that even when he was evil, he liked Shakespeare and cried at the ballet. He teased her that she had obviously never read Shakespeare, or she wouldn't be so surprised.

Cold Sweats and Hunger Pangs

After driving through miles and miles of nothing, just when Angel had resigned himself to hiding in the trunk, they finally came to a modest hotel in Westville, Indiana, about thirty minutes before sunrise, and two hours from Chicago. After some discussion about who would sleep in the bed, and who would take the floor, Molly insisted that Angel take the bed. He was the one who had been driving all night and he deserved it. Molly had dozed in the car, and didn't expect to sleep much anyway. Angel thanked her as he lay down, and was fast asleep before he could finish his final attempt at chivalry.

Meanwhile, just as Angel was losing consciousness, Morrigan awoke suddenly, bathed in a cold sweat, but with no idea why. Her heart was pounding, but she didn't feel particularly frightened, as she would if she had awakened from a nightmare. She sat up in bed and listened carefully for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Birds sang in the tree outside her window, tweeting about their day's plans. Her clock ticked away the seconds the same as it always did. Out on the street, a car passed by in no particular hurry. She got up, and did a cursory sweep of her apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. She went next door to Dot's apartment, thinking perhaps it was a Slayer-related issue that had awakened her. Dot came to the door, rumpled from sleep, and worn out from the previous night's activities, but otherwise well, apart from feeling under the weather(due to the Cruciamentum drugs). Morrigan apologized for disturbing the poor girl, and returned to her apartment. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was that had pulled her from such a sound sleep, so after logging the episode in her journal, she crawled into bed and went back to sleep.

Around noon that day, Angel experienced a sudden wakefulness of his own, but unlike Morrigan, he knew exactly what it was that had awakened him. He had a bad dream, or as Angel describes it, it was a good dream gone bad, or a bad dream that felt good at the time. It left him feeling panic-stricken and confused, and most of all hungry.

Thank goodness I woke up alone. Molly was in the bathroom. Otherwise… I don't know. I could still taste the blood. But it wasn't my usual killing dream, like the ones I have every night. [looks at me] Yeah. Every night. Or, almost every night. I hate having them… [off my look] Ok, no. I don't. Not at the time, at least. But I hate that I have them, and I wish I didn't, but I do. I think it's because, when I'm asleep, that's when Angelus takes over. They're his dreams, not mine. But this was different… I still felt like myself, but… free-er, somehow.

He stops for a moment, gauging my reaction. He knows how I can get when he talks about the liberating nature of soullessness, or the oppression that comes with having a soul. In 2004, however, since I had no soul of my own, I could better understand where he was coming from. I let him continue without interruption.

The soul was there, but it wasn't weighing me down like it does when I'm awake. I wasn't thinking about the what-if's and the if-only's. I wasn't burdened with regrets. It was just me, and her. And it was so vivid…

He leans back against the black leather of his sofa, in the apartment adjoining his office, and closes his eyes. It's as if he were reliving an actual event, rather than recalling a dream. He inhales deeply and continues.

And her skin was so soft, and warm… and I could feel her breath on my cheek… Her heartbeat… If I didn't know better, I would've thought it was mine. And she smelled so…

Angel trails off, lost in the memory, as he lightly runs his tongue along his top teeth, likely unaware that he's doing it. He doesn't change, but I can see his true face bubbling just below the surface. Since he'd agreed to take over Wolfram & Hart, we had all had concerns as to whether he could mentally handle not only the day-to-day stress of running such a large corporation, but also the ever expanding grey areas he found himself confronting. He'd had such high hopes in the beginning. He was going to turn the company on its head, destroy it from the inside out. But as time wore on, it seemed he was having to make pacts with more devils, of increasing degrees of evilness, just to do the tiniest bit of good.

In the past weeks, he had had to concede to the possibility that it was Spike, and not himself, who was destined to one day become human. He had been told that Buffy and company no longer trusted him because of his associations with the evil law firm. Cordelia had appeared to miraculously awaken from a mystical coma, only to be taken from him again almost immediately. Then, as if his outlook wasn't already bleak enough, he lost two of his lieutenants (Fred and Gunn)in short succession. The only highlight had been recently reconnecting with his son, and finding him to be happy, healthy and well-adjusted, but even that had been bittersweet. Every day we wondered if that would be the day he threw in the towel. Even Kes and I, who knew and understood the true motives behind some of his questionable actions, worried if he might be headed towards a full psychotic break.

As he sat there, absorbed in the past, seemingly no longer aware that I was even there, I wondered if this was the moment we had all been dreading. I was about to say something to bring him back to the present, when he finally opened his eyes and spoke.

It was one of the few times I can remember really being at peace… [looks at me] Not 'perfect happiness' [makes air quotes], mind you, but I just felt… like I was home…[looks away at some distant point only he can see] But then it all changed, and… [frowns] I bit her. [looks at me, briefly] I don't know if I killed her, because I woke up. But it felt like I might have. And I was so hungry… I guess I must've called out- though I don't remember it- because then Molly came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I guess she'd been taking a bath. She was all wet, and drippy, and she looked really… [looks at me, regaining focus]… She said I called her Morrigan. Not that I was really listening to her. I was sort of preoccupied.

Angel decided it wasn't safe for Molly to stay there while he slept. His dream had left him feeling out of sorts, and not fully in control of himself. He feared that had she been closer to him, perhaps in the bed with him, when he awoke, he might have done something she wouldn't live to regret, in the few seconds it took him to adjust to reality. He was unwilling to take that risk, so he sent her out for the rest of the day. He knew none of Big Joe's men would be looking for her in the day, even if they had managed to somehow track them to Westville, which he didn't think was very likely. He gave her some money to eat with, or grab a drink, telling her to return at sunset.

Meanwhile, 65 miles away, Morrigan sat bolt upright in bed for the second time that day. This time, however, she knew exactly what it was that had awakened her.

29th June, 1919

… He's here. I can feel it. Or, if he's not yet, he soon will be. I know I've said that before, but it's different this time. This isn't just some vague feeling or a hunch, or even wishful thinking. It's like a physical presence. Like how you know someone's watching you from behind. If I didn't know better, I might think he was here in my apartment. I'm almost tempted to check my closet, or under the bed. That's how strongly I feel his presence. Of course that's silly. He's not here. But he's close. And he needs me. I can hear him calling me. I will find him this time. Whatever it takes, I will be there for him.

Temptation Waits

Angel didn't remember having any other dreams like the doozy he had had earlier that day, but he was still reeling from its effects, as he and Molly drove the two-hour trek into Chicago. He wouldn't have thought it possible before, but he was now even more sensitive to Molly's proximity to him, than he was when he'd first picked her up. The steady thud of her heartbeat, and the roar of her blood rushing through her veins like a mighty river were enough by themselves to drive him to the brink of madness. And although Molly apparently still trusted him enough to have returned just a few minutes before sunset, she had been eyeing him apprehensively the entire trip. The scent of her fear, though faint, teased his demon the way the aromas from a bakery tease passersby. It didn't help matters any that he had not drunk so much as a drop of blood since the chicken blood two days prior. He inwardly cursed himself for ignoring his needs this long, even though he knew his options had been limited since he left the farm. Angelus, of course, was all too happy to point out that he had had an option, but had stubbornly refused to take it. Angel acknowledged that that was true, as he stole a glance at Molly in the passenger seat. She caught him looking, and opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to renew her offer, but he didn't give her the chance, and quickly returned his attention to the road, angry that he had been tempted even for a second. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, telling himself he just had to hold out a little longer. Everything would be fine once they reached Chicago. He didn't know how he knew this, or why Chicago should be any different. He just knew it would be.

I had no reason to hope [Morrigan] would be waiting for me in Chicago. I mean, America was a big place, even then, and as far as I knew, she was still somewhere in Europe. Hell, I wasn't even sure she knew about me, and even if she did, after everything I've done, I didn't expect she'd want anything to do with me.

That said, Angel admits that he had no plan as to what he would do once he and Molly arrived in Chicago. He certainly didn't expect Molly would be any safer there, than in Cleveland, and he knew it was unlikely he'd be able to anything, on his own, to slow the booze-for-blood trade. He says it was as if some force greater than himself had put the thought in his head that Chicago was the place to be. He denies drawing any connection between his dream and his proximity to Chicago, until after the fact, but says that upon their arrival in the city just after midnight, an overwhelming sensation forced him to pull to the side of the road lest he crash the car. He compared it to being wrapped in a warm blanket and getting carried away. This may seem like a pleasant enough sensation on its own, quite comforting in fact. But it brought with it flashbacks of his dream and all the feelings that went along with it. It left him almost completely unable to cope.

He took a moment or two to collect himself, ignoring Molly's concerned inquiries, then got out of the car. He was so distracted by whatever it was that impelled him forward, that he neither noticed nor cared whether Molly followed, having temporarily forgotten his original purpose for coming. It wasn't until she caught up with him a few yards from the car that he realized his oversight, and silently cursed his negligence. He grabbed her by the arm to prevent a similar mistake, and continued along the path destiny seemed to want him to take. He still refused to answer any of Molly's questions, mostly because he didn't know the answers, himself. He had no idea where they were going, or what they were going to do once they got there. He wasn't even certain he could stave off his hunger, which was growing stronger by the minute, long enough to reach their destination, wherever that happened to be.

As it was, it was taking all of my concentration not to take her up on her offer, whether or not it was still good, and her incessant yapping wasn't helping any.

He looked at me apologetically, as shocked as I was at his choice of words. The stress of the coming battle against the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, and the events leading up to it, were clearly taking their toll on him. I didn't know whether I wanted to hug him, or smack him and snap him out of it somehow.

[sighs] I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But at the time… you gotta understand where I was back then. It was like being a fledgling all over again. I'm sure you can relate…

I could, to an extent. I was fresh out of the grave (Figuratively speaking. I was never actually buried.) when I went on the run with Buffy and The Scoobies when Glory was after Dawn. Even though they were my friends, and I knew the end of any of them would mean the end of the world, I wanted nothing more than to rip their throats out and bathe in their blood. It was like being trapped in a McDonald's and not allowed to have even a single french fry. But as soon as I was able to dine elsewhere, I had no qualms about doing so, and still don't. I don't have moral quandaries that come with having a soul. If I'm hungry, I eat. Simple as that. So in that sense, I couldn't relate at all. But yes, I understood what Angel had gone through back then.

I kept thinking that Molly had been chosen because she wouldn't be missed. Nobody would ever know. And if I somehow managed to stop the blood trade… then it would all balance out. Or… that's what Angelus wanted me to think. I knew better, but still… It was hard, y'know… I must've grabbed her pretty hard. I noticed marks, after. She might have said something, too. I'm not really sure. I don't really remember much before we got to the diner. I was basically running on autopilot.

Morrigan and Angel

Angel acknowledged that he was probably rougher with Molly than he needed to be. Upon their arrival at the diner, Angel hurled her through the open door and shoved her towards the counter, ordering her to get some food. He barely noticed the look of hurt in her eyes, as if he'd just kicked her puppy.

All I saw was her. Morrigan, I mean. She'd been waiting for me. I don't know how I even knew it was her… But I knew. Same way I knew to go there in the first place, I guess. But it was like the whole world melted away. I forgot about everything… Molly, the bloodrunners, all of it. In that moment, as she walked towards me, it was like nothing else mattered. Just her.

The next thing Angel knew, they were locked in a tight embrace, devouring each other like it was the end of the world. It seemed as though they had always been together and existed only for the betterment and well-being of the other. Morrigan's heart beat against Angel's chest as if it were his own. Her breath flowed into him as if it might grant him new life. The sound of her pulse in his ears was like a great waterfall surrounding him, bathing him in warmth and peace. The multitude of emotions passing between them was overpowering, and Angel felt his features transform as his bloodlust reasserted itself. He broke off the kiss, afraid of adding one more death to his very long list of regrets, but Morrigan refused to let go. She was more concerned that Angel would blow his cover, than she was for her own welfare. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and turned their bodies so that his face was concealed from potential onlookers. He tried to tell her that he wasn't doing so well and didn't feel safe to be around, but she continued to hold him, stroking his hair and whispering soothingly like you would frightened puppy or small child.

When at last he brought himself under control, Morrigan finally released him. Introductions were made, and after making sure they wouldn't be overheard by the restaurant staff, Angel got to the meat of why they were there. Morrigan quickly realized that the two of them had already been working the same case. While Molly ate the food she had ordered, Angel and Morrigan exchanged the limited information each had on the booze-for-blood trade. Morrigan explained that while she understood the urgency of the situation, any action would have to be postponed for a later date. The Slayer would be out of commission for a few more days due to her Cruciamentum, assuming she survived, and Morrigan's top priority at the moment was Angel, who had clearly not been taking care of himself. Her mother would be pissed if she knew.

After Molly finished her meal, the threesome began the four-and-a-half block walk back to Angel's car. Molly walked between them, as they each kept a firm grasp on Molly's arm. She had been originally taken by The Outfit, so it was not out of the realm of possibility that she might be recognized, and that someone might try to reclaim her. If the three of them had to travel on foot, this was the safest way to do so, but Angel and Morrigan knew full well that Molly's safety was still not guaranteed as long as they were on the street. If they were attacked and forced to relinquish their hold on her, it would be quite easy for anyone, demon or human, to recapture her in the confusion. To prevent this from happening, Molly was instructed to keep her head down, her hair covering her face. They moved quickly, Molly allowing herself to be half dragged, half carried, as if she were drunk, and they soon reached the vehicle without incident. After loading Molly into the car, Morrigan immediately removed the license plates, chastising Angel for not having already thought to do it himself.

She thought we might've been followed. That Big Joe could've put the word out that Molly was missing, given a description of the car. She said I may as well have put a sign on the car saying, "HERE WE ARE!" I had to admit she was probably right. I should've thought of that. If it had happened today, I would have. I wasn't thinking too clearly back then. Especially that day.

Once the business of the license plates was taken care of, Morrigan hopped into the driver's seat, much to Angel's chagrin. As he voiced his dissent, Morrigan explained that it would be easier for her to drive to their destination than to try to direct him. He tried to argue with her, explaining once again that he needed something to focus on other than his bloodlust, but Morrigan responded with what Angel called "an epic eye roll", and scolded him for letting himself get to that point. She chided him for thinking he could literally drive away his troubles, and pointed out that he would eventually have to find another way to cope.

Again, Angel knew she was right, but as he reluctantly handed over the key, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the best time to test his resolve. He had never had much resolve to begin with, and it had been faltering by the minute. Angel sat rigidly in his seat as they pulled away from the curb, his fists clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. His nails dug into his palms, and as the scent of his own blood assaulted his nostrils, he thought for sure he wouldn't be able to last. It may have only been vampire blood, and his own at that, but it was still blood. It reminded him of what he'd been without for days, what he still needed and couldn't have. It was maddening. Had he been alone, he might have tried to stave off his hunger by licking his own hands (though it likely would have only compounded the problem), but his pride wouldn't let him be seen that way. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, and tried to focus on his self-inflicted pain, rather than the demon screaming in his head to feed, kill and be sated.

Despite her ribbing, and her scolding Morrigan knew that Angel was downplaying his distress, even while it seemed he was doing just the opposite. She felt it the instant he set foot in the diner, before she even looked up and saw him. To be honest, she had felt it before he had arrived in town, but whereas it had been just a feeling before, it was now almost palpable. The weight of his suffering pressed in on her as if it were her own, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and ease his pain any way she could. For the moment, however, that would have to wait. She had to concentrate on her driving, and while having a witness might be prudent, she didn't think Molly was the ideal candidate. While she may have known, and thought she understood what Angel was, knowing and seeing were two quite different things. Morrigan thought it best to wait until they had dropped Molly off with Reginald on the Gold Coast.

Meanwhile, she would try to soothe the savage beast in other ways. She waited until she had turned onto a straightaway, requiring less focus or active driving, then turned to Angel and beckoned him to slide closer to her across the seat. He eyed her quizzically, but obeyed without question, taking her hand in his when she offered it. At first, he thought she meant for him to feed. Annie had always given him her arm, so it seemed like a perfectly logical conclusion, especially while his logic was primarily being ruled by hunger. He started to dip his head to do just that, but before his face even began to change, she squeezed his hand firmly and forced both their hands down into his lap, surprising him with her strength. A low growl erupted, unbidden, within him but Morrigan either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. In French (for Molly's benefit, Angel assumed), she told him, "Not now" and instructed him to close his eyes, then to squeeze her hand. He did, and he was sure it was hard enough to crush her bones, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she maneuvered her hand through his until it was her forearm held within his vice-like grip. Her hand found its way to his thigh, giving him a gentle squeeze, her fingers softly kneading his flesh as they continued their journey upwards. As they tap-danced their way up his leg, teasing as they went, Angel wondered briefly if it wasn't his own hand, still firmly wrapped around her wrist, subconsciously guiding her against her will. That fear was quickly put to rest, however, as he reminded himself that it was her arm encased within his grasp, and not her hand, which sashayed about his lap quite freely, applying light pressure in all the right places.

Angel found it difficult to explain, in any cohesive manor, the chaos of his thoughts during those five minutes before Morrigan pulled into the driveway of Reginald's lavish estate. On the one hand, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the ride, so to speak. He could not remember that last time he had been touched that way, by a hand other than his own, that was. Annie certainly hadn't. She would've killed them both before even considering such a thing. And Darla, well Darla had always been about Darla, not likely do anything that didn't benefit her in some way. Anyone else there might have been would have either been paid or threatened. This was different, and wonderful, and he didn't want it to end. On the other hand, this was Morrigan. He had watched her being born. He had cradled her in his arms and sang to her before The Council had taken her away. He had named her, for crying out loud! These weren't exactly the sort of thoughts one wanted to have while getting a road-handy, especially when considering all the other thoughts they brought up, i.e., images of his past victims and what he did to them. None of these did a thing to impede his enjoyment, which only added to his inner turmoil. His heart, if it could beat, would have been pounding in his chest like a jackhammer.

Morrigan's heart, in the meantime, beat plenty for the both of them, thundering in his ears like a locomotive. His hunger rose proportionally to his, well, hunger, and he found himself wondering where and how Morrigan and learned to manipulate him so expertly. He was certain he was the only one she had ever done this for. She was so young, he didn't think it was even remotely possible that she had had prior experience in such matters. He would know, wouldn't he? Some things you can just smell. It's like a sixth sense. Could she be reading his mind? No, that was impossible. Just a minute ago, he had been thinking about the ripping of throats, not anything else, and certainly not this. Now, of course, he could think of nothing but this. Even his profound bloodlust, which had been all consuming for most the past twelve hours or so, had now taken a backseat to this new sensation. His grip on Morrigan's arm tightened, and the faint scent of her blood tickled his nose as his nails dug into her like they had dug into his own palms just moments ago. A ripping sound from his other side alerted him the fact that he had also torn through the car's upholstery, in his effort to maintain his composure, but at this point, he didn't care. One more minute and some torn upholstery would be the least of his worries, as he found himself with a very embarrassing situation on his hands. A part of him didn't care much about that, either. He was suddenly and crudely brought back down to earth by the sound of the car door slamming. Morrigan poked her head in through the window, a sly grin playing across her lips, and asked if he was going to be all right while she took Molly inside and briefed Reginald on the situation with the bloodrunners. Angel wasn't sure "all right" was the right term, but told her he would manage. She reached in and gave him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder before escorting Molly inside.

While she was gone, Angel pondered what had just happened. Did anything happen? Had it all been a figment of his imagination, an hallucination brought on a prolonged lack of sustenance? That didn't seem right. He gone without blood for much longer before, and had never experienced anything like that. Although, that certainly made more sense than a virgin having the power to send him to the moon with an over-the-pants hand-job. Then again, Annie had on occasion, done just that without ever touching him; after she had discovered her telekinesis, she had adored teasing him with it. But then, Annie was no virgin. All this mental back-and-forth was getting him nowhere. He had to find out for sure if it had really happened, or if he had just embarrassed himself in a really bad way. He supposed he could just wait for Morrigan to return, and ask her, but what would he say? And if it had all been in his head, wouldn't he just be humiliating himself more than he possibly already had? No, that wouldn't do at all. He had to find the answer for himself. He adjusted himself in his seat, painfully aware that his pants had become a bit tighter than normal, and tried to recreate the exact position he had been sitting in. He felt under the edge of the seat, where his right hand would have been, and sure enough, found finger-shaped gouges in the material. That told him nothing. He felt around where his left hand might have left the same marks, and found nothing. Still, this wasn't conclusive. It just meant his left hand was busy, which didn't exactly refute the theory that it was all a hallucination, except that Angel is right handed. He absentmindedly rubbed his hands along his thighs as he pondered how else he might find definitive answers, and discovered his right leg was moist with blood. Further investigation proved it to be hers, from when he had clawed her arm. A glance at his fingernails revealed bits of flesh and yet more blood. How had he missed that? He supposed it was just further evidence of his recent mental state. For the moment, though, he felt surprisingly calm, now that he knew he probably didn't just go into a trance and masturbate in front of two young girls.