A/N: Finally, we come to the end of this story. In a word, it's been fun! Just wanted to thank everyone involved in the writing of it, including our beta readers Greywizard and Bill Haden. We also wish to thank everyone who sent in reviews and feedback, in reverse order of appearance:

Guest, Mike3207, Chi Vayne, Rake1810, Quathis, Red Jacobson, David, bwburke94, Twilight Warrior 627, David Fishwick, kurotenshi-08, garfan, Alkeni, Snorpenbass, Wes George, agnar, Cloongarvin, Worldmaker, Chunk127, eyann85, DonR, trongod, CharlesLWalker, Wonderbee31, FE, xavierp, fullhans1, Bobboky, taran63, ShaiGar, guyverexcel1, TieDyeJackson, DaBillmann, Fayari, and anyone else we might have missed!

Well, that's enough from us; time to get on with what you all came here for. We hope you enjoy the final chapter of Memory, and as always, please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of the chapter and the story overall!


Epilogue II

Friday, November 15, 2002 – Sunnydale High School basement, Sunnydale; late afternoon:

Oz made his way towards the seal of Danzalthar, a frown on his features as he walked across the dirt floor to the circular metal object in question.

Being back on the Hellmouth after the peace and tranquility of Nepal over the past two years, that felt... odd, to be perfectly honest. Oh, sure, his mother had been pleased to see him again – ditto, Aunt Maureen and Uncle Ken and his cousin Jordy, who was almost a teenager now – but the feelings of alienation and displacement that seemed to dog his feet just wouldn't go away. Especially where his ex-girlfriend was concerned.

{ Willow. } He hadn't known exactly what to expect after he, Faith and Groo had shown up at Buffy's place last night – but the redhead instantly hurling herself into his arms, and profusely welcoming him back that way, certainly hadn't been it. Especially since Buffy had looked at him like she almost couldn't believe he'd willingly returned to the mouth of Hell.

{ Really strange how Cordelia acted like I never even left town, though. Sure, that magical amnesia and all, but still – almost bizarre. Just as weird as Xander giving me a big hug and saying he was glad Groo and I showed up in town, in order to help balance out the group's testosterone and estrogen levels. }

Shrugging, Oz put such thoughts aside as he examined the seal. Yes, he could understand now why Jonathan had called it evil –

"Hello, Oz."

That somewhat familiar female voice caused him to straighten up and turn around. He stared at the image of Veruca – the female werewolf he'd killed all those years ago, who'd wanted to kill Willow – before he said serenely, "You're the First Evil."

"And you're an evil killer, albeit in werewolf form. So that works out well," Veruca/the First smiled, coming closer towards him. "I mean, you killed me – remember?"

Oz shook his head. "You're not Veruca. I can tell."

"Oh, right, the whole werewolf nose thing. Well, why don't we see what we can do about that?" the eldritch horror smiled, and a few moments later, Oz almost staggered as his former lover's scent quickly filled his nostrils – along with the pheromones that had bewitched him to 'notice' Veruca, in a purely physical way.

Calling on all the self-control he had developed in Bhaktapur and elsewhere, Oz quickly shook his head as he stared at the enemy. "Nice try, but that's not gonna get you anywhere."

'Veruca' silently snarled, but then morphed into the image of the Willow vampire he'd encountered during his second senior year of high school. "Well, I'm just getting started, lover. Wanna engage in a quick game of 'Mistress of Pain'? Because trust me, it's a lot more fun when you don't have to breathe!"

"That's not gonna work, either," Oz shook his head again. "Heard a theory that everyone has a soul mate in this world. And if it's true, that Tara girl was Willow's one true love, not me – even though she's dead now."

'Vamp Willow' morphed into the image of Tara, who sneered at him. "And doesn't that make you angry, Oz? The fact that when you two were together, deep down, Willow liked girls just as much as you do? Doesn't it piss you off that you could have had a future with Veruca – someone who wanted you, and no one else – if you'd made a different choice back then? But instead... you were so afraid of losing your precious Willow, of hurting her, you ran away after killing that rabid bitch, and then when you came back – "

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering," Oz interrupted, the calm tone of voice visibly aggravating the original evil. "It's kind of like the concept of karma, you know? Whatever you sow, so shall ye reap."

"Karma? Seriously, Oz? I thought you knew who you were talking to," Tara/the First sneered at him again. "You're just like that Cordelia girl, did you know that? Blundering in where you're not wanted, or needed – "

"Not true," he interrupted the First Evil's monologue. "Question. After we put a stop to your evil plans, you're not gonna say something like, 'and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids' – are you? Xander did come up with that whole Scooby Gang nickname for the group, after all."

The look on the First Evil's face literally had to be seen to be believed. "You annoying piece of – "

"Tara?"

Oz turned to see Willow staring at the First Evil in horror. { Darn. She must have followed me here. Betcha that's gonna complicate things. }

The redhead then said chokingly, "No... "

"Oh, yes! Here she is, folks, it's our favorite killer witch! Y'know, Oz, I'm thinking that Kennedy girl won't stand a chance now – because you and Willow? You two crazy kids might actually make it work this time around, despite the whole lesbian phase Willow's currently stuck in," Tara/the First said sarcastically.

"It's NOT a-!" Willow started to scream, before Oz placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't let it get to you," he told her calmly. "It's OK, Will. The First can't do anything but get inside your head if you let it, remember?"

"Which would be a good thing, in this case," Tara/the First smirked. "Seriously, Rosenberg, this world would be much better off if you simply took a razor blade to your wrists! It would be so easy, too – I can see it now, candle light in your bedroom... the Indigo Girls playing... a picture of your dead girlfriend on your bloody lap – "

"STOP LOOKING LIKE HER!" Willow screamed, her eyes going black. "I'm warning you – you stop using Tara's face that way, or I'll – "

"You'll what?" the ghostly nightmare interrupted her. "Skin me alive? Send a fireball after me? Raise a demon temple and – "

"That's enough," Oz interrupted, moving in between his ex-girlfriend and the First Evil. "We're done here."

Tara/the First sent him an evil smile. "So you say. But I think my Harbingers might have something to say about that, you know?"

The First smiled... and its smile stretched wider and wider around its stolen face until it became grotesque, like a macabre horror mask. The next moment, the rest of Tara's body was somehow sucked into the gaping hole. Then the First Evil was gone.

Less than five seconds later, six Bringers showed up, and Oz immediately unleashed his werewolf aspect to rip their throats open – before the black-eyed Willow shouted, "OBRUO!"

Immediately, the heads of all six Bringers were ripped away from their necks, while they were literally leaping forward. Oz initially assumed that even in death, they were trying to attack him and Willow, but then he realized – the bad guys were aiming for the seal, instead...

With his enhanced lupine reflexes, he managed to stop two of the bodies mid-leap. Willow telekinetically stopped two of the others. One of the two remaining corpses missed its target and landed off to the side of the seal, the Bringer's head rolling away along the earthen floor – but the last Bringer's remains landed on the metal surface, some blood spilling into the etched grooves –

"Oh, no," Willow said in alarm, as her eyes went back to normal. "I can feel it, I – no, no, no..."

Oz watched the seal briefly glow with white light, before he resumed his human form and escorted his worried ex-girlfriend back to 1630 Revello Drive. { Gonna need to talk to Wesley about this, no doubt about it. }


Saturday, November 16, 2002 – alley behind a strip mall, Sunnydale; early morning:

"Forget it," Wesley vaguely heard the demon say to Miss Jenkins, as it emptied a garbage can into a nearby dumpster. And the term 'vaguely' applied because right now, Wes wasn't entirely focused on the conversation – given he had so many other things to think about.

Like what was going to happen with that blasted seal, now that blood had been shed upon it. Purchasing a house big enough for Kennedy and the other incoming Potentials to live in, thanks to Mr. Greene sending him all the money he needed to keep the man's daughter safe. And cutting loose his operatives in Los Angeles; what with his new mission nowadays, he couldn't be part of that group's activities any longer. Even his recent encounter with Faith –

Hrmm. It was odd how quickly he'd managed to put the past behind him where that girl was concerned, actually. Young Mr. Harris was right, the dark-haired Chosen One had changed for the better. Not that he'd ever be friends with her, of course, but Faith's attitude and sincere apology for what she'd done to him made Wes think that they could actually work together against the First Evil.

Well, hopefully, anyway. Otherwise, he could always use Mr. Levinson as a buffer of sorts, given how that former criminal had apparently developed something of a schoolboy crush on his former charge.

Luckily, Wesley knew that there would be no problem establishing a good working relationship with Miss Summers. Not to mention Mr. Osbourne. Well, assuming that Miss Rosenberg didn't distract the werewolf too much, what with the way they'd been acting yesterday –

"Why not?" the former Anyanka demanded, bringing Wes back to the here and now.

"I don't believe this. You actually have the nerve to ask me that, after what you did to me?" the horribly disfigured-looking demon demanded.

"Oh, come on, Torg; that was like a lifetime ago!" Miss Jenkins exploded in disbelief.

Wesley tried his best to resist the sudden impulse to bring out his pistol to shoot one or possibly even both of them, as the demon – Torg – replied, "Three, but who's counting? The point is you broke my heart, Anyanka."

"Uch, please – don't be so dramatic, Torg. You don't even have a heart!" She chuckled briefly, "Six spleens, two stomachs, half a brain maybe, but no heart!"

"Don't mock my pain. That night we spent together was... important to me," Torg replied, causing Wesley to roll his eyes in disbelief.

"Is there any chance we could possibly skip the rest of this maudlin display, and simply get on with why Miss Jenkins and I are actually here?" he demanded, unable to keep a lid on his temper any longer.

"Gimme one good reason why I should help you," Torg demanded, lowering his garbage can to the ground.

"All right – in case you haven't realized, there are two Vampire Slayers now stationed in Sunnydale. You open the gateway to Beljoxa's Eye for us, and the Chosen Two won't kill you and burn your establishment down to the ground," Wesley said in a clipped, calm tone.

"He's kidding," Miss Jenkins said hurriedly, before sending him a fierce glare.

"No, I'm not," he replied, maintaining eye contact with the demon.

The soulless creature glared at the former demoness, and then at him. Torg then put his fist in front of Wesley's face, before he pulled on a claw sticking out of the back of his hand until a loud crunching sound was heard. Torg squeezed his fist and then flung the blood from his wounded hand toward the back of the alley. A moment later, a portal appeared, glowing white.

"Ek'vola mokt Beljoxa do'kar," Torg chanted, before he said, "There's your stinking gateway, Anyanka." The demon then picked up his garbage can and added, "Don't let it hit you and your new boyfriend on the way out." Torg then walked back inside the strip mall.

"He really thinks I'd actually settle for you? Ugh! I can't believe I ever had intoxicated sex with him," Miss Jenkins growled. Then she frowned. "Do you think that Groo person would be upset, if he learned about all this? Because I am willing to settle for him, you know. He's so handsome and strong, and what's more, his kill count is just totally – "

"Come on," Wesley interrupted her, grabbing the woman by the wrist.

"Wait, I mean – do you really need me for this part?" Miss Jenkins asked in annoyance, as he dragged her towards the portal. "I'm sure you'll be able to manage just fine on your owwwwwwwn!"


A few moments later – dark dimension; night:

Wesley was somewhat surprised; even though Miss Jenkins – Anya – had warned him that this realm would be like an 'infernal vortex', he hadn't expected it to be quite so dark and windy as they stepped through the portal. { Well, that'll teach me not to make assumptions based on my experiences in Pylea. }

"God, I hate this place," Anya complained, looked around.

"Where's Beljoxa's Eye?" Wesley demanded brusquely, as he was in no mood to tolerate her whining.

"Over here," a deep, echoing voice answered him.

Still holding Anya by the wrist, Wesley walked slowly towards the source of the voice, doing his best to stand against the fierce winds buffeting them. They soon arrived in the presence of the most outlandish creature he'd ever seen – it was basically a huge, multi-ocular eye, with a number of nerve endings streaming out behind it. It also had a body of sorts – but there were eyes covering its pink flesh in varied shapes, sizes, and colors. The main part of the Oracle-like creature was in a spherical metal cage, suspended from the ceiling in by chains, so he decided to focus on that. "Beljoxa's Eye, I presume?"

"Ah! Oh, hi," Anya said to the creature, waving with her free hand.

"Why are you here, Anyanka?" Beljoxa's Eye demanded, ignoring him.

"Wasn't exactly my idea," the former demoness complained, before yanking her arm out of his grasp. "I mean, I just so happened to mention to Groo that I'd met you, not to mention who and what you are – and the next thing I know, I get drafted into bringing you the ex-Watcher here, cutting into my time to make a profit at the Magic Box –"

"We need information on the First Evil," Wesley cut her off, getting down to business. "How to destroy it."

"It cannot be killed. It cannot even be fought effectively. The First Evil has been and always will be. Since before the universe was born, and long after there is nothing else, it will go on," the Eye replied pompously.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wesley was quickly reminded of Whistler's cryptic comment of not believing everything he heard about the First. So he said, "I refuse to accept that. There must be some way to kill it. Or at least cripple it, somehow."

"What, am I talking to myself here? There's no way to... oh, cripple it? Yeah, that's possible," Beljoxa's Eye suddenly sounded a lot more conversational.

"What? How?" Anya demanded incredulously.

"Hope's Dagger," the Eye replied cryptically.

"Meaning?" Wesley demanded.

Beljoxa's Eye quickly explained how that particular weapon had been forged from the very first ray of light to shine upon the Earth by Cassandra Rayne – twelfth century ancestor of Ethan Rayne, and that era's Champion of the Powers That Be. The oracle then explained how the First Evil had hidden the dagger in its own personal hell dimension, after the Champion who'd forged it had been slain there. Apparently, the dagger wasn't enough to kill the First; but stabbing the original evil with the weapon would disperse its consciousness throughout all the countless dimensions out there. Something that would take the First centuries to recover from.

"And how exactly do we access the First Evil's hell dimension to recover this dagger?" Wesley demanded, feeling a brief surge of hope that the world-wide slaughter of the Potential Slayers could soon be brought to an end.

"The Eye sees not the future, only the truth of the now and before," their host said pompously.

Wesley immediately pulled out his pistol, and aimed it at Beljoxa's Eye – that part of it within the spherical cage. "Well, unless you want to see nothing except the before from this moment onwards? I suggest you drop the cryptic act, and answer the bloody question!"

"WESLEY!" Anya yelped, backing away from him in horror.

"You won't pull the trigger. You'd be trapped in here forever if you did," Beljoxa's Eye told him calmly, even though Wes could detect a slight trace of fear in its voice.

"And you'd be blind for the rest of your life. Can't help wondering if that would be worth it," he riposted.

"Yeah, you would, too. Alright fine, check out the appropriate chapter in Rhinehardt's Compendium – the version not available in your dimension, I mean," Beljoxa's Eye replied, sounding annoyed.

"And where do we find one of those?" Anya asked, slowly returning to his side.

"Closest source would be the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart, and the evil lawyer who's now pregnant with his kid," the Eye responded glibly.

Wesley almost shot Beljoxa's Eye at once for that one; but luckily, Anya grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away before he did something foolish – and trapped both of them in that windy, accursed dimension forever.


A while later – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late morning:

Xander pulled over his F-250 truck (the Taurus was finally getting repaired, back in Sunnydale) outside Angel's hotel, and glanced at Cordelia. His girlfriend didn't look happy, sitting rigidly in the passenger seat and staring at the building. He couldn't blame her; the only memories she had of this place weren't exactly happy ones, by her own admission. "You OK?"

"No, but I will be. C'mon, let's just get this over with," Cordy said roughly, unbuckling her seat belt.

"You don't have to go in there, ya know," Xander reached out for her left hand, and grasped it tightly. "I can easily go in by myself, and grab all your stuff – "

"No. I have to do this. It's like, closure or something," Cordelia insisted, looking him right in the eye. "Besides, it's not as if Angel's gonna try to force me to stay here. Try to talk me into it, maybe, but nothing else."

"Yeah, I guess," Xander replied dubiously, before he nodded more firmly. "And if he does try anything funny, I'll – "

"Panic like a wuss, run around like a headless chicken, and not much else?" Cordelia interjected, raising one eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Xander admitted sheepishly.

Cordelia grinned at him. "Don't try that one on me, Doofus. I know you'd hurl yourself at that vampire with a stake in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other, and try to dust him with everything you've got! In fact, you'd try so hard to kill him that Angel would be forced to kill you to stop you. And then he'd have to deal with Buffy, and probably that Faith girl as well... "

Xander didn't miss the brief, wary expression on Cordelia's face that vanished almost immediately. He knew that the newly-arrived Chosen One was a source of some tension between them, just like the Groosalugg. Hopefully, though, the presence of their former lovers in Sunnydale wouldn't be too much of an issue, in the weeks and months to come...

"Hey. You know that Faith and I are just friends now, right?" Xander asked carefully, as Cordelia stared at him curiously. "Just like I know there's nothing going on between you and that Groo guy."

"Well, duh!" the brunette replied scornfully. "What? You were worried I'd dump you for him? Even if Groo does have that drool-worthy body, and the whole superhero -slash- Champion thing going for him, not to mention I've apparently had sex with him and it was fantastic – "

"OK, now I'm not totally sure that you two are completely splitsville," Xander interrupted.

"Oooohhh-!" Cordelia growled at him. "You jerk... God, you'd almost think the Dumbass I've given my heart to doesn't believe he deserves me, or something!"

"Huh." Xander carefully put his expression into neutral. "Completely ridiculous. What makes you even say such a thing?"

Her eyes narrowing, Cordelia studied him suspiciously. She rolled her eyes, tossing her (still way too short) hair to one side before saying, "Oh, yeah. That sounded convincing."

"I should work on my delivery, huh?"

"Only if you want me to keep believing how that Faith girl was just joking about the whole conjugal visit in prison, Dweeb!"

"Come on, sweetheart," Xander said with a brief smirk, briefly squeezing her hand as they both got out of the car. "Let's get this over with, already."


A few moments later – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late morning:

If he'd been human, Angel's heart might actually have stopped beating when he saw Cordelia enter through the front doors of the detective agency. It was almost perfect timing, actually; Drusilla was upstairs asleep in her room, Lorne was meeting with one of his clients in El Segundo, Gunn was likewise elsewhere meeting with his friend Rondell, plus Kate wasn't scheduled to come over until later this afternoon. Oh, sure, Fred wasn't far away, but –

Hope momentarily surged in Angel's heart that Cordelia had figured out where she truly belonged nowadays and she'd arrived home of her own free will, that everything was going to go back to the way it was – but then he saw the disgusted look on the Seer's face, and that hope died a quick and nasty death. The next moment, his nose started telling him something that he really didn't want to acknowledge –

Namely, that she reeked of Xander Harris.

That damn punk's scent had mingled with hers so much it was impossible to tell where Cordelia's ended, and Xander's began. And since there was only one way that horny little bastard could have accomplished that –

"Hello, Angel," Cordelia said stiffly. It sounded like she was bending over backwards in terms of forcing herself to be civil to him, which tore at his mind and soul like nothing else could. "Sorry to bother you, but I've come for my stuff. Can you show me where it is?"

"Hello, Cordelia. Xander," Angel said equally stiffly, acknowledging the guy only because the woman he loved was doubtless expecting him not to do it. "And yeah, I can do that – "

"I'll do it, if you like," Fred said, appearing in the lobby. Angel was easily able to tell which option Cordelia would prefer, and so he didn't say anything as the Texan woman added, "Uh, Cordy, could we – I mean, if you have time – can we talk?"

"Yeah, I guess. Xander and I have to visit the local LAPD stationhouse to get all my stuff there after we leave here, but we don't have any major plans after that. OK, I was going to go shopping afterwards, buy some stuff to redecorate our apartment into something a little more to my tastes – but that can wait for a little while, I suppose... " Cordelia's voice trailed off as she and Fred left, walking up the stairs.

Angel riveted his gaze upon Xander, and scowled when he just calmly stared back. "Well. Here we are."

"Yup. We are here. Just the two of us. You and me. A duo of twosomeness," Harris nodded. "So. Shall we get started?"

Angel blinked. "Get started on what?"

"You know, the talk. It's kinda traditional in these situations."

"What? What talk, what do you mean?"

"Well, y'know, you start off by saying something like, "You think you've won, haven't you?" and I reply with a "Huh?" and then you say, "You don't deserve her, you never have and you never will!" and then I hit back with something like, "Oh, and you do?" and then it just gets all kinds of nasty between us – "

"Xander!" Angel snapped, before somehow forcing himself to calm down. Damn it, but this guy could still bug him like no one else on Earth – or even that hell dimension he'd been sent to by Buffy, all those years ago. "We both know that Cordelia made it real clear in Sunnydale; it's none of my business any longer who she associates with, or gets... " The words stuck in his throat, but he still managed to say them, "...involved with."

"Which is of the good," Xander said, nodding. "But I figured I'd give you the opportunity."

"Wait, what? You want me to give you the shovel speech?" he asked in surprise.

"Eh, sort of. It shows you care, if nothing else," Xander shrugged.

"It's Cordelia. She's been with me for the past three years! Of course I care," Angel growled, he simply couldn't help it.

"Well, sure you do," Xander said, nodding again. "Considering you've developed a major thing for her and all."

"That's got nothing to do with you," Angel growled again, cursing his inability to keep a tight rein on his emotions.

"Beg to differ. Nowadays, anything to do with Cordelia affects me. Just like it would you, if she was still the same woman who chose to become your Vision Girl," Xander said reflectively. "So I'm asking you, man to vampire. What are your intentions towards my girlfriend?"

Angel almost winced at the 'girlfriend' thing, and then said, "Intentions? I don't... "

"Have any? Not buying that one, sorry. 'Cause like it or not, I've been where you're at. When Cordy left me all those years ago, I mean. Plus, let's face it, Angel – I know you pretty well, even though it's been a few years since you were last lurking in Sunnydale."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, the odds are that sooner or later – you'll do something stupid, and try to get your Cordelia back. Break that memory spell, and let whatever's infected my girlfriend take over her mind and body – just like that Whistler guy said would happen."

"I would not!" Angel shouted, glaring at the useless prick with white-hot fury.

"Never, ever? Not under any circumstances? Not even if one of that rogue Power's agents – whoever the hell they may be – engineered something to make ya believe that it was all nothing but a trick? Or a lie, or whatever. You seriously expect me to believe that you'd keep in mind everything you heard in Sunnyhell, if you became convinced that your Cordelia needed you to step up and 'free' her from that spell?" Xander shook his head. "I know a little something about self-deception, y'see. It's real easy to talk yourself into doing what you think is right – when deep down... it's all about what you want to happen, instead. One of the reasons I walked out on my wedding to Anya last year, actually; I didn't want to hurt her by eventually turning into my father."

Angel frowned. "I never knew that."

Harris shrugged slightly. "Not like you and I have talked much since high school. We were never friends, either. But we do have us a Cordy in common, now, so I'm hoping you could answer me a personal question. Namely, do you love her?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Love. Her." Xander's eyes bored into his. "Cordelia Chase."

"There are many different kinds of love – human love, that is. But if you're referring to what I think you are, I thought I could," Angel bit out, annoyed. "Kind of pointless now, though, right?"

Again, those dark brown eyes stared into his, remorseless, searching for something. So Angel elaborated, despite himself. "Do I love Cordelia as a friend? Of course. As something more? I... well, I guess so, yeah. After everything that's happened this week, I'm pretty sure I do. Love her that way, I mean."

"Then question, part two. What can you offer Cordy now that you couldn't offer Buffy, back in the day?"

He growled yet again, he simply couldn't help it. "That's hitting below the belt, Xander, even for you!"

"Maybe. But when you love someone, it's not about you. It's about what's best for the woman you love, Angel, and what makes her happiest. So, again. What can you – immortal, soul-cursed vampire – offer any mortal human woman?"

"I won't be immortal forever," Angel said, before cursing his malfunctioning brain to mouth filter. Still, he had already gone this far, so he decided to keep going and answer the unspoken question on the annoying asshole's face. "There's a prophecy called the Shanshu, it foretells how the vampire with a soul eventually becomes human – "

"You? It mentions you by name? 'Cause not necessarily the only one with a soul nowadays. I mean, Spike had one before Cordelia killed the guy, for all the good it did him," Harris shook his head.

Angel opened his mouth, and suddenly shut it again. He decided not to mention Drusilla and her newly ensouled status, that led somewhere he didn't want to go – at least, not with this guy. That Valentine's Day debacle, and all. "No. The prophecy didn't specifically mention me by name. But I was mystically drawn to the scrolls it was written upon, when I first came across it – "

"And so, you assumed it was about you. Hrmm, well, I guess you could be right. But when exactly is it supposed to happen?" Xander interrupted, staring at him curiously. "Next week? Next month? Next year?"

"I don't know. Wes could never figure it out," Angel admitted reluctantly.

"So – you could become human in, say, a decade from now? Or a century? Maybe even longer?" Harris asked neutrally.

"Yes," he admitted, even more reluctantly.

Xander shrugged again. "In other words, you're perfectly OK with asking a woman to spend the best years of her life waiting for you to become a real boy, knowing beforehand how it might never happen in her lifetime?"

"You know what? I'm starting to have a major problem with you," Angel scowled.

"Gee. Behind the curve, much? Angel, I started having a major problem with you years ago. And that was before Angelus showed up."

"What do you want from me?" Angel demanded, suddenly sick of this whole thing. "I mean, why the hell are we having this conversation? Are you just here to gloat about how you won the girl, or what?"

"Gloating thing, not so much. I'm just here for Cordelia. And to talk to you about Connor."

Angel blinked. "You lost me on the curve. What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's your son," Xander looked at him as if it was obvious. "So I thought you'd want to know how he's doing. You are his father, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah – "

"He's doing OK, according to Dawn," Xander interrupted. "See, I've noticed how those two have started hanging out together, since the other night. And sure, Connor's totally focusing on Cordelia right now, romantically speaking; but he's eighteen, and he has half your genes. And if you could move on from Buffy to Cordy, I figure it's not impossible for your son to likewise move on from my girlfriend to Dawnie. So, have you given him the Talk yet? You know, that good old birds and the bees speech – and how it relates to younger women?"

Angel gaped at his unwelcome companion. He eventually stuttered, "I, uh, n-no, I-I-I haven't – "

"Then you definitely should, and sooner rather than later. Definitely not a good idea for me to do it, y'know, since I suck at making speeches – and your son probably sees me as the competition, anyway. And even if I'm wrong about that, not a good idea for a case of wild monkey love happening between Connor and Buffy's little sister anytime soon; on account of Slay-gal might rip it off afterwards with her bare hands. And that's not a worst case scenario, with her current stress levels."

"What are you talking about?" Angel demanded. "Buffy has a stress problem? Why? What's wrong with her?"

"Well, she is kinda wigging out after all the First Evil's mind games, lately. Hey, I'm sure you haven't forgotten everything you heard on Thursday night about what all we've had to deal with; plus, you still remember that particular Christmas in Technicolor detail, don't you?"

He repressed an involuntary shudder at those bad memories. "Yeah."

"Well, in Buffy's case, it's been going on for ages now, instead of the few days the First tormented you for. Plus she's got to deal with Faith being back, and all the issues there. Not to mention her day job, counseling those kids – who have all kinds of trauma, simply by attending Hellmouth High. Oh, and let's not forget the Buffster knocking me out cold the other night, it's definitely affected her relationships with everyone in our little social circle. Put it all together, and Buffy might actually start coming apart at the seams – if Connor decides he likes what he's seeing, where the Dawnster's concerned. So next time you call him, Angel? You might want to ask your kid something in that direction."

He suddenly realized something. "You keep using my name – there's been no 'Dead Boy' or whatever, since the moment you came into my house. No stupid nicknames like 'Captain Hair Gel', or 'Lord of the Brood', or anything like that. Not even once. What gives?"

"Finally noticed that, huh? Nothing important, really, more an experiment than anything else. See, I know you have a problem with me right now because of Cordelia – a big one. I thought maybe if I lay off the wisecracks, you'd see how I'm not that dumb kid who used to chase after Buffy any longer, and who always hated your guts because she chose you instead of me. Heh. Guess I was also hoping it might make you trust me that I'd take good care of Cordelia from now on."

"Right, 'cause that worked out so well the last time," Angel replied snippily.

"'Bout as well you treating Buffy right, yup," Xander nodded, apparently ignoring the seething expression that Angel was sure had momentarily appeared on his face. The annoying mortal then added, "So, is it working? The lack of name-calling thing?"

"Haven't decided yet," he replied, staring at the punk frostily.

"Well, you think about it, then," Xander said, as he turned towards the staircase. Angel did likewise, just in time to see Cordelia and Fred returning from upstairs with quite a number of bags and boxes in their arms. Harris then added, "I'll be interested in hearing what kind of answer you come up with."

Angel said nothing as Xander took the box and the bags from Fred, and then said goodbye to both him and the former physicist. It hurt hearing more warmth and affection in that guy's voice than Cordelia's as she, too, said her farewells – but he managed to hide his emotions behind an expressionless mask until after they were gone, and Fred had wandered off somewhere.

Then Angel retreated into his private office, and began releasing all his pent-up rage and frustration on the helpless furniture.

All things considered, it was probably fortunate for him that Kate showed up early at the Hyperion later that day, before he did something completely stupid.


A while earlier – Skip's residence, demon dimension; late morning:

"Fix it."

The words hung in the air long after the amorphous, formless speaker had faded from view.

{ Fix it, } Skip thought, snorting derisively. { Holy crap – why don't you fix it, Boss? It's your stupid half-assed 'plan' that got us into this mess in the first place! }

Not that he'd said that, or even thought it, while the Beastmaster (good enough nickname for the boss as any, he couldn't help thinking) was present. His employer outweighed him in terms of Power, capital P, as he outweighed a friggin' ant on the mortal plane. And the boss would have crushed him like an ant, too, if he'd pissed it off in any way.

{ Well, crap. }

So, how to fix it? After he'd lost track of the Mother, once Lean and Green's memory spell went off-track – not to mention dealing with everything Whistler and his never-to-be-sufficiently-damned witch-bitch had set up, in order to keep him busy – it hadn't even occurred to him that the Seer may have fled back to the Hellmouth. To his way of thinking, given how hard he'd worked to isolate Angel's bimbo from Sunnydale and her old life there, all those people should have been out of the picture completely by this point –

But then, that dumb womb with a view never was all that cooperative, in terms of sticking to the game plan that had been laid out for her. Seriously – she should never have spread her legs open for that useless clown she'd been involved with even once, let alone three times!

Although – well, that Harris kid wasn't exactly descended from a monk or something, was he? On his paternal side, the Mother's high school boyfriend was related to William Doge – that seventeenth century asshole who'd spent his life privateering and romancing, wenching, and breaking hearts all through the Caribbean and the East Indies. And leaving by-blows wherever he went. Just like most of his descendants.

What better lineage than that to get the Mother hooked on someone who was considered an algae-sucking bottom feeder by his peers, and set her up for the Big Betrayal a year or so down the line?

It should have worked perfectly. Getting the Vision Girl away from Sunnydale, that is. Had to be done, too. Because after that idiot Ethan Rayne had invoked Janus's power for that moronic Halloween stunt of his? The God of Gates and Doorways had declared that all within the township who had been touched by that wave of chaos magic, were part of its own personal dominion.

It was only by having separated the annoying bitch from her cheater boyfriend, and getting her out of Janus's sphere of influence, that he'd been able to pull off his patron's machinations. Because, hell, if she'd stayed there and remained an item with someone under the Roman god's direct purview? Then for damn sure she'd have been off-limits to his employer. And the likes of him.

{ The consequences will be most dire for you, if my link to the Mother isn't awakened and she isn't brought to the proper place – so that both her and the Father's presence can summon the Beast. }

After hearing that, Skip had – just for a moment – wondered whether he was backing a losing horse. But he'd quashed such treacherous thoughts almost immediately, knowing it was way too late to back out of his contract now. Besides, the payoff was definitely worth the risks in proceeding with the plan.

Because once his patron was able to fully manifest and ascend to fully-fledged Higher Power status, it'd have power to burn.

Power enough to immediately outclass the so-called Powers That Be – not to mention the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart as well.

Power enough to challenge the Lesser Gods. Possibly enough to even challenge the Elder Gods, as well.

And power enough that a dollop of its new clout invested in its contract employee would instantly catapult him to the status of a full-blown Lord of the Underdark.

Oh, well. The odds were that sooner or later, both the Mother and her pet monkey would depart that pestilent little burg, and –

{ Crap! They're in Los Angeles, right now! } Skip suddenly realized, and vanished out of his lair with a puff of black smoke. Damn it, how could he have missed it before now? He probably wouldn't have much time, but if he could keep the annoying bitch in L.A. and summon the Father here as well, then maybe –

{ Oh, hell – no! }

Skip could smell it, even hovering above the Grandfather's lobby in his intangible form like this. Somehow, the dumb little slut had gotten herself knocked up! Conceptus had taken place less than forty-eight hours ago, he could smell it – the Mother was pregnant, no doubt about that. But by the wrong Father!

Skip only just managed to restrain himself from materializing inside that damned hotel, and killing every single one of the fucking white hats. He knew his employer wouldn't like it, if he did such a thing without permission. And after listening to the conversation, Skip quickly came to the conclusion that the Mother – better make that former, intended Mother – was now useless to his boss. Both the harlot and that over-evolved chimpanzee of hers would be going back to friggin' Sunnydale later today, and there just wasn't enough time to set her up to have a miscarriage – at least, not without drawing way too much unwelcome attention to himself...

Sighing in annoyance, Skip left the Hyperion and returned home. He needed time, alone, to think.

And eventually, he came to the conclusion that a little trip to the Hellmouth was in order.

Dangerous, sure. But doable. He needed to check up on the Father, and as long as he played by the rules, Janus wouldn't rub him out like a grease stain. Well, hopefully; you could never tell with the Elder Gods, sometimes. If he inadvertently crossed a line –

No, best not to think about that.

{ Hrmm, } Skip thought to himself after arriving in Sunnydale. Doing nothing but observing the sights, and taking in the current circumstances. Including the Father's interactions with the Key at that Sun Cinema place. Damn brats were actually doing the whole dinner and a movie thing. Heh, about the only thing missing was –

{ Whoa. I'm having a thought! Yeah, yeah, and now I'm having a plan! }

"Well, now, that could actually be a decent replacement plan. A new Mother. Sure, dumb teenager, and the boss would have to wait a bit longer to manifest – but it's better than never being born at all, right?" Skip mused to himself, before vanishing from the Hellmouth and returning home.

He had an employer to summon, and a new game plan to propose to her.

{ What's it matter if the blondie Slayer might actually castrate the Father, after he gets her pretend little sister pregnant at sixteen? If I can figure out how to make that girl ascend the way her predecessor did, and then let those two bump uglies together after she comes back – well, that's all that the boss will really care about! }


Many hours later – cliffs above Point Dume State Beach, Malibu; night:

Amy and Whistler were staring out at the dark ocean, when the witch turned to face her mentor. "So, is that it? I mean, far as I know, that rogue PTB has been blocked from ever coming downstairs and taking over the world. And with any luck, the First will have its consciousness totally distributed throughout all the different realities – probably sooner rather than later, too. Well, hopefully, anyway. So, like I said, are we done now?"

"Depends," Whistler chuckled briefly. "I mean, if you want – you can call it quits and head back to Sunnydale, start living your life again. Everything I recruited you for, kid, you've done it by this point."

"Heh. You know – I'm not sure if I actually want to do that," Amy mused. "Go back to the Hellmouth and live an ordinary life again, I mean. Odds are that without you around, I'd slip straight back into bad habits – especially if I run into that so-called Scooby Gang again!"

"Well, it's up to you," Whistler said, coming up close to the railing and taking a big whiff of that salty sea air. Amy joined him as the Messenger added, "Free will, it's the most precious commodity in existence. Heck, even the First knows that."

"And you? Where's your free will, Whistler? I mean, doesn't it ever get to you? The endless balancing act between good and evil?" Amy asked, shaking her head. "Spending your life making sure that neither side ever wins, one way or another?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Whistler admitted. "But hard as it may be for you to believe, far as I'm concerned? Kid, it's not about winning or losing. The Powers, they groomed me right from the start to make sure the pendulum never swung too far either way – and to help out whenever and wherever I was needed. Not personally, of course, that was never my style. I always operated behind the scenes – for example, if the Dark Ages got too gloomy, I helped the Champions let in some light. Sometimes I hadda go the other way as well, of course. Still, whichever side got the assist, I couldn't ever get sentimental about it. That's why I know all about making the hard choices, kiddo, believe me. And right from the start, I always chose the greater good."

Amy sighed. "Nice speech. But like it or not, not one but two Big Bads came swooping in under the radar, and almost screwed up everything. Which doesn't exactly fill me with confidence that the Powers really know what they're doing! And I haven't forgotten what you said to me in that Pismo Beach diner last week, either."

"What do ya mean?"

"Well, you told me that Xander was the focus point for a lot things we needed to do to restore the balance to what it should be," Amy said, somewhat hesitantly. "But I don't get how you're going to manipulate him and everyone else any further, in order to bring about the outcomes you want. Especially now that he's gonna become a father, in nine months' time."

Giving her a smug look, Whistler replied, "Who said anything about manipulating him? Or the Cheerleader? If anything, kid, that's your department. So, how'd you pull off those two conceiving a little bundle of joy so quickly, anyway?"

Amy grimaced. "I cast a spell to make Dennis blank out for a few seconds – and then I hexed Xander's box of condoms, while you were making your big speech at Buffy's place the other night. Made sure those particular rubbers would split open the moment they touched female flesh. Well, a certain part of the female anatomy, anyway."

"And no need for me to ask where you got that idea from, huh? Sheesh, the things nerds come up with... wondering what powers they'd have, if they ever became gods," Whistler smirked and shook his head.

"Well, I still don't get it. I mean, Cordelia was always a complete bitch during high school, so it kinda serves her right getting pregnant at seventeen – mentally seventeen, whatever – but what was the real reason for getting me to do that?" Amy wanted to know. "You're the precog, so you tell me – what role is a baby gonna play, apart from making Queen C useless to Skip and his employer?"

"You'll see," Whistler smirked all over again, knowledge of the future reflected in his eyes. "Seriously – if you're gonna stick with me for a while longer, kid? Then trust me when I say the next year or so is gonna be really educational, for all concerned!"

The End (for now)

(seriously, this time we mean it!)