Part Four

Gunn elbowed his assailant in the face - but then staggered, as he began to feel the pain of his wound. Another theatre minion was facing down Wesley. The British man leapt back to avoid it's sword, 'Fred, stay between us,' he commanded. But there was no 'us'... Gunn had collapsed, and was now slumped on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. Fred picked up a heavy prop, wielded it like a blunt instrument, and walloped the tragedy minion who had stabbed Gunn. it dropped his sword, and she threw it to Wes. He caught it and turned back to fence with his own comedy opponent.

'Can you handle the other?' he called back to her. But, as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the tiny woman repeatedly thumping the minion about the head with her heavy, improvised weapon. It fell to the floor - and she continued to beat it, savagely. 'Never mind then,' Wes said - and faced his own foe, once more. 'Just us,' he said and launched into an offensive, driving his opponent backwards, and out of sight of the others.


Doyle had gone demon face and launched himself at the laughing comedy minion. They traded blows, but when the creature drew out a sharp stiletto - the half demon hastily backed away, turning around to search for a weapon. Cordelia, who had been lurking uneasily on the edge, picked up one of the pillows from the sofa.

'Oh that'll work,' Doyle said, sounding exasperated, 'kill him with a cushion!' But she threw it hard - and succeeded in knocking the sharp blade out of the theatre demon's hand. 'Scratch that, princess - thank you!' Doyle said, and he launched himself back at the grey faced figure. He head butted it - gouging it with his spikes - and then followed up by a hard blow to the face. Cordelia picked up the fallen stiletto.

Meanwhile, Angel was wrestling with a tragedy minion. The demon pulled out a stiletto of its own and rammed it into the vampire's heart. Angel glanced down at where it stuck out from him. 'Thanks,' he said, ripping it out and plunging it right back into the heart of the demon. The creature screamed and died.

He then turned, and saw Doyle still fighting his own minion. 'Move,' he yelled. Doyle backed away, at once. Cordelia threw the blade she had picked up from the floor towards the vampire. He caught it and buried it in the second demon's neck. It fell to the floor, and the three team members looked at each other. The two living members were breathing heavily after their exertions. 'Are you guys OK?' Angel asked.

'Yeah,' Cordelia nodded, 'but we need to get out of here.'

'Why? Do you think they're not dead?'

'No - you just looked really hot whilst you did that.'

'Oh.'

Doyle rolled his eyes, 'seriously?' he asked. He morphed back into his human face, 'well, let's get out of here, then - 'cause next time I have to separate you two, I'm gonna borrow one of these guys' swords to do it.'

'You can't kill me by stabbing me with a sword,' Angel said, pointing to the stab wound in his heart to make his point.

'No,' Doyle agreed - nodding his head, slowly, 'but I can hurt you like hell when I jab it up your arse.'

Angel was quiet for a moment - and then, 'OK, let's go.' The three of them scurried from the room.


Wesley fenced with his comedy minion. It chuckled the whole time but, with a bit of fancy footwork, the watcher was able to parry its blows and then run it through. 'Who's laughing now?' he asked. The minion chuckled, weakly. 'Well, I suppose you are - but I still win.' He turned to go and find the others.


Fred had dispatched her own minion, abandoned her blunt weapon, and rushed back to Gunn's side. She used her stole to wrap around his wound and stem the bleeding. 'That's OK,' Gunn said to her, 'that should hold.' She released a shaky breath, and looked away from him. Her whole tiny frame was quivering. 'Are you OK?' he checked, 'are you hurt?'

'I'm fine,' she said, turning back to him, 'I just thought …' she took a deep breath, and looked away again. Tears began to blur in her eyes, and her lip trembled. 'I'm sorry - I shouldn't fall apart like this.' She sniffed. 'Cordy has to do this sort of thing for Doyle all the time - it's just…' she took another deep, raggedy breath.

The injured man began to smile, 'you're not worried I'm gonna die are you?' he asked.

'Charles, don't even…' she couldn't even bear to look at him, as she spoke. He leaned his head back against the wall - and rolled his eyes heavenward. 'And all I ask - as the light is dimming - is for one. Last. Kiss.' He declaimed, and then began to chuckle. Fred did not join in. 'You think that's funny?' she asked. There was still a trace of a wobble in her voice.

'It's just a scratch!' he assured her.

'But I thought it was …I..' she looked away again, her breathing still deep and shaky. She desperately tried to blink away the tears, which threatened to fall. 'Hey,' Gunn reached out and touched her face, gently. She turned back to face him - and he saw the tears shining in her eyes. He pulled her closer to him, and held her; stroking her back soothingly, whilst she fought to compose herself. When he felt her stop shaking, he pulled back and tried to look her in the eye. 'You were really that worried for me?'

But she refused to make eye contact. 'You must think I'm such an idiot. Cordy...'

'Has the hide of a rhino. Nothing gets to that girl. But if you care this much…' his voice became quieter, 'then the wound is definitely deep.'

'The light is dimming?' she replied, leaning in towards him.

'And all I ask,' he reached out and cupped her face with his hand. She didn't pull away, 'is one last…' he closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips against her own. She wrapped her arms around him - and returned the embrace.

...

Behind them - alone and unnoticed - Wesley watched them kiss. His face was a mask of heartbreak. He turned and walked away.

...

He stumbled down the corridor, dragging the tip of the sword across the floor. His legs felt like lead, his heart felt like ice, but the tears in his eyes burned like fire … and he felt the waves of despair and sadness crash over him - followed closely by the hot wave of jealousy. The envy intensified - burning - and he dropped to his knees, feeling the heat of the emotions pass over him. He stared off into the distance - but his eyes were curiously blank.


Up in his box, Kurskov watched Giselle dance. She danced for him alone - now. He had made it so, and now she was his - forever.


Fred helped Gunn get to his feet. They remained with their arms wrapped around each other, smiling, as Angel, Cordelia, and Doyle came around the corner. 'Are you guys alright?' Angel asked.

'Charles got stabbed,' Fred told them. Cordy hurried over to Gunn, and lifted his shirt to take a look. 'A couple of stitches worth,' he said to her. She smiled, 'I'll patch you back up properly when we manage to get the hell out of this place.'

'Cordy - your tag is showing,' Fred said to her, tucking her tag back inside her dress. Cordy blushed and glanced at her boyfriend, who just rolled his eyes. 'It's been a weird sorta night,' he said.

She blushed deeper. 'But we managed to find some stuff out,' she said. She filled the other two in on the secrets they had learned in the dressing room - about the prima ballerina, her secret lover, and the jealous Count Kurskov.

'He has some kind of power,' Angel supplied.

'He was a wizard,' another voice cut in. They all turned and saw Wesley standing at the end of the next corridor. He still held his sword and his face was … there were so many conflicting emotions - and none of them good. His voice was as heavy and as strained as his expression. 'He was obsessed with the girl. When he found her with the other man - he went insane with jealous rage - pulled her out of time.' He began to walk towards them, slowly, 'out of any reality beyond his theatre, his company. He swore she would dance for him forever.'

Fred watched him uncertainly, she had never seen Wesley like this - apart from… but she didn't really want to think about that incident. She spent a lot of time carefully not thinking about that incident. 'How did you…?'

'I - ah - I hit a hotspot too,' he confessed.

Doyle whistled, 'so it really is just me that doesn't get possessed then?' he said. He looked at Cordelia, 'why d'ya think that is? Is there something wrong with me?' He suddenly looked offended, 'd'y' think it's 'cause I'm short?'

'I think the reasons might run a little deeper than that, sweetie,' Cordelia said - staring at the strange expression on the watcher's face - and glancing back to note how close Gunn and Fred were standing to each other. She thought she was beginning to understand what was going on.

'So - are we trapped here?' Gunn asked. He looked around, worried. But Wesley thought perhaps not. A temporal shift, such as the one they were experiencing, could not simply exist. It needed to be maintained. It took power and energy. Concentration.

'So, what? We break Kurskov's concentration and no more labyrinth?' Doyle asked.

'How do we do that?' Angel glanced between the watcher and their new puzzle solving expert. 'How do we distract him, or overload him, or…'

'Well, I imagine that requires a lot of energy,' Wesley replied, nodding down at the floor, where the tragedy minion Fred had killed lay. It was beginning to sit up and - as it did so - it began to shake and vibrate - and then it split into two. There was now a comedy and a tragedy demon - where there had only been one before - and the strange mixture of laughter and crying started up, again.

Angel pounced on them both, before they were properly back on their feet, grabbed the pair of them in a headlock and snapped their necks. They dropped to the floor - dead. And then, once more, they began to shake and split in two. Now there were four.

'The more we kill, the more he makes,' Fred breathed.

'Yeah - but look!' Cordelia pointed down the corridor, where the heavy carpets, flocked wallpaper and gas lamps seemed to shimmer and dissolve; revealing, only for a moment, the cinder-blocks of the modern day backstage area.

'His energy is draining,' Wesley said. The corridor remade itself in the image of the 19th century version. 'Angel - try to find the way to the stage - the Count will be watching.'

'I bet he has a box,' the vampire muttered, as he walked away from the group. Wesley put an arm out to stop him. 'Find his power source and destroy it. We'll try to loosen his hold.' Angel nodded and walked away. As he did, another minion came haring towards them. The vampire kicked out at it, breaking its neck, and then continued on his way.

Cordelia scanned the terrain - looking for something … 'over here,' she said pointing to an alcove, 'they can't surround us.' The team hurried over to the strategic spot. She robbed the dead minion of his sword and stiletto - passing the smaller blade to Gunn. Doyle morphed back into his spikes.

'You two,' Wesley looked from Fred, to Gunn, and then back to Fred… there was a long pause. 'Stay close together, I'll take point.' He turned his back on them and raised his sword. Cordelia joined him, her own sword raised just as Angel had trained her. Doyle stood beside her - weaponless, except for his demon abilities. 'I hope you're in the killing mood,' she said to them.

'I should do alright,' Wesley replied.

The first regenerated minion launched their attack.


Angel walked quietly through the labyrinthine passageways. He turned this way and that - but could find no way through the maze.


Cordelia swung her sword and felled the minion. It dropped to the ground. Doyle took its sword from it, but a moment later, it split in two. They rushed at the team. And this time it was Wesley and Doyle that knocked the theatre demons back. Again they split…


The corridor around Angel began to flicker and fade. He looked around. It righted itself… but he knew that the gang were doing as promised, they were draining Kurskov's energy - overloading him by forcing him to create more minions.


The whole team were armed now, and were working as a finely honed unit - slashing at one theatre demon and then falling back to allow another team member room for their own attack. The number of minions was ever increasing, but - blocked into the small space that Cordelia had chosen - there was not enough room for them to attack at once and overwhelm the team. The gang kept on fighting, and then stepping back, and then fighting again - taking each attack as it came.


The wall right beside Angel flickered. He reached out to touch it, his hand passed through. After a moment's hesitation, he leapt through the wall and found himself in the wings of the stage. A ballerina exited the stage and, as she danced into the wings - out of sight of the audience, she melted into nothingness.

Further upstage - waiting in the wings - just behind the curtain, stood Giselle. She was all alone - staring out onto the stage whilst the women of the corps de ballet danced around Albrecht. Quietly, Angel approached her. 'Hello,' he said. She turned to look at him - startled. He had never been there before, he was new.

'Actually - I'm pretty old,' he told her. 'I've seen you dance.'

She looked away from him, back out to the stage. 'Everyone sees me.'

'It was 'Giselle' then, as well.'

'Always.'

The vampire stood beside the ballerina and looked out with her. Across the stage he could see Kurskov in his box. 'I know what's happening,' he told her, 'Kurskov is punishing you.'

'He made me. He owns me. And now I dance only for him.'

Beside Angel, the air shivered, as a line of ballerinas materialised and danced out onto the stage. 'Do you really believe that?' he asked her.

'It doesn't matter. I dance. I wait here, and then I dance again. That's all.'

He watched the ballerinas on the stage for a moment. It was just as it had been when he had seen it with Darla and his old family - over a hundred years ago. 'Is this enough?' he asked her - a hundred years, night after night, performing the same piece? 'What about Stefan?'

She tore her gaze away from the stage, and looked up at him. Her eyes were large, and luminous with tears. She took a deep breath. 'I waited too long.' She had had a hundred years of regret - an entire century to dwell - and then to try and forget. She knew where she had made her mistake.

She should have left with him when he had offered. Lived a life of freedom - of love. But it meant turning her back on everything she had ever wanted, everything she had worked so hard for. She could not dance if she were hiding. If she fled, then Kurskov would look for her. And if she danced - he would find her. To disappear would mean to leave her world behind. And she had hesitated. Because all she had ever wanted was to dance. She shook her head, sorrowfully, 'I lost everything that mattered,' she told the vampire, 'and now all I do is wait.'

'You dance,' he replied. But once more, she shook her head. There was a section - she told him - in the first act, during the courtship dance - where she lost her footing. Her ankle would turn, her foot would slip. Albrecht would hold her up. Every single time. She glanced up at the Count's box. 'He doesn't even notice - he doesn't know ballet that well. But always, at the same moment - I slip. It isn't just the same ballet,' she turned and looked at Angel, 'it's the same performance.' He stared at her. 'I don't dance,' she told him, turning back to the stage, 'I echo.'

She was quiet for a moment, and then she turned back to the vampire - longing in her eyes, 'please - can you make it stop?'

He looked at her for a moment - and then reached his hand out to the stage. It vanished, as it passed the edge of the wings. Just like the other dancers did when they exited the stage. He could not enter that stage - not yet. 'I can help you,' he said to her, 'but you have to do something.'

'What?'

'Change the ending - dance something new.'

She shook her head. She couldn't do that. But Angel insisted she could. Kurskov was losing control. For a moment, the backstage area dissolved revealing the modern surroundings - the gang were clearly still putting up a good fight: draining his energy; damaging his concentration. 'You have to take to the stage,' Angel said, 'it's not too late - you can change things.'

The prima ballerina looked at Angel, and then went en pointe and entered the stage. She crossed over to where Albrecht lay, prone on the floor, in a pas de bourree couru - her steps even and graceful. But she glanced back at the vampire waiting in the wings, even as she danced into position. She circled Albrecht, and moved towards him but then - with one final glance at Angel - straightened up and backed away - striking a brand new pose.

'No!' Up in his box, Kurskov jumped to his feet and glared down at her. She began to dance again - making up the steps, as she went along. The body of Albrecht shimmered and dissolved. She stopped, and stared defiantly at Kurskov, taking up a new position.

And that was enough to allow Angel to access the stage. He ran out from behind the curtain, dashed across the stage and then leapt into Kurskov's box in two almighty bounds. He grabbed hold of the Count. 'Where's your power centre?'

'How dare you!'

'I'll guess,' the vampire said, and used his fist to smash the red jewel in the Russian cross.

A wave of blue light rushed out from the destroyed ruby, washing over the auditorium and onto the stage. Washing over the prima ballerina.


Backstage, it washed over the minions and they disappeared. The gang stumbled, as they swung their swords at nothingness … and then stared around at the cinder blocks and electric lights of the modern backstage area.


On the stage, the ballerina stared up at Angel. He nodded to her - and she sank to the floor elegantly, folding herself over her outstretched leg into a graceful bow. Then she shimmered - and like Albrecht and the minions - disappeared.

'You have no right!' Kurskov cried - staring at the now empty stage in horror.

'Save it,' Angel said.

'She was my love. She danced only for me!'

'Yeah. You love her that much?' he hauled back and punched Kurskov in the chin, dropping him to the ground, 'start a website.' He turned and walked out of the box.


Back at the hotel, Cordelia was patching up Gunn. 'Is the pain bad?' she asked him. He smiled at Fred, who sat beside him, 'what pain?' he asked. Wesley watched them from a distance … before turning and leaving without saying goodnight.

...

Angel and Doyle were in the lobby - their conversation was an awkward one. 'I'm sorry,' Angel was saying, 'I don't know why the spirits chose me … but you have to know….'

'I know,' Doyle said folding his arms, and holding eye contact with the vampire - making it perfectly plain what he knew.

Angel dropped eye contact and stared at his feet, which he shuffled. 'What I mean is … I would never… as far as I'm concerned - we just need to forget the whole thing ever happened.'

'If that works for Cordy, then that works for me,' Doyle replied, 'but the real question, bud - is does that work for you? And what happens if it doesn't?'

'I - uh…'

'What's going on?' First aid duties complete, Cordelia approached the two men and slid her arm through Doyle's. He glanced at her. 'We were just talking about … earlier.'

'Oh,' she looked down and blushed. 'You know I'd rather not - whatever was seen, whatever was …' she laughed an embarrassed laugh, 'well, I think it might just be one of those experiences we're all better off repressing.'

'Exactly,' Angel said in a hurry, 'that's just what I was saying. I wanna wipe the whole thing from my mind.'

'Why?' Cordelia looked taken aback, 'was it - like - disgusting?'

'Kinda was from where I was standin',' Doyle muttered. She nudged him.

'No - of course not,' Angel said - he was getting flustered. 'It's just - my feelings for you are…' Doyle raised an eyebrow at him, '...friendship feelings,' he finished, lamely, 'and I don't want anything we went through tonight getting in the way of our relationship - current … or future.'

Doyle gave him another hard look. But Cordelia was nodding along, 'wise words, indeed,' she said, 'some relationships are just too important to over-complicate - or let petty little things get in the way.'

'Little?' Angel asked, looking hurt. Doyle snickered. Cordelia chose to ignore them both. 'I'm exhausted,' she said to her boyfriend, 'crash here tonight?'

'Suits me,' Doyle answered - and they said their goodnights, and went up to the half demon's room.

Angel watched them go. 'Nightcap?' Lorne asked, appearing beside him - offering a whisky.

'God yes.' He took the drink, and downed it.

'Rough night?' Lorne asked him, 'the magic of the ballet not do anything to resolve your feelings?'

'Not much.'

'So - what will you do about Cordelia?'

'I don't know,' Angel sighed. 'How's Connor?'


Cordelia and Doyle lay in their bed, wrapped in each others arms. 'Are you OK?' Cordelia asked him.

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Because I sort of cheated on you tonight.'

'That wasn't you,' he assured her, absentmindedly stroking her hair. She glanced up at him, from her position resting against his chest. 'I know - but you still saw what you saw.'

'And if I never have to see you mack on Angel again, I certainly won't be complainin',' he said to her, 'but - and I'll admit I didn't like it - I know it wasn't your fault. Anyway - you're an actress. Once you're a famous movie star you're gonna have to do loads of romantic scenes with men who aren't me - and then millions of people will watch 'em . It's just something I'm gonna have to get used to.'

She laughed. 'I think we both know that is never gonna happen,' she replied.

'Well - maybe, maybe not… but about tonight? It's you I'm worried about.'

'Why?' she frowned. 'You can't think I liked it?'

'No,' he chuckled, 'that's why I'm worried - that you're not comfortable with what went on.'

She sighed, 'I guess I'll just have to learn to live with it.'

'I guess,' he dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. 'There's somethin' I don't understand though.'

'Is it how I ended up half naked? 'Cause I swear I don't know, either.'

'No,' he chuckled again, 'there were three spirits in that place - at least - because Wesley got taken over, as well. How come I got left out? How come neither Stefan or Kurskov used me to play out their little history?'

Cordelia wriggled, so her head was back on the pillow and she was level with Doyle again. A frown was playing on her face. 'From what I know about spirits - they possess the person they identify with the most - not the person you might think is most likely. You know Angel talked about getting possessed by the spirits of dead lovers before? I told you that story, once, remember? A boy shot his teacher, who he was in love with… and when it came to it, the boy possessed Buffy - not Angel, because she felt she had destroyed Angel when she slept with him and he lost his soul. She felt like she'd destroyed the thing she loved in a moment of blind passion - like the boy.'

'So?'

'Kurskov couldn't possess you,' she kissed the end of his nose. 'His driving force was obsession - and jealousy. But you … you watched me make out with Angel and you didn't even get angry.'

'Well - not with you, anyway. It wasn't your fault.'

'Exactly - Kurskov, he was only interested in possessing her - he saw her as a literal object of his desire. But you love - and are very much loved in return. Possession and envy just are not factors that motivate you. His spirit could never take hold of your soul.' She frowned again, 'but that doesn't explain why Stefan wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole.'

'I think maybe it does,' the half demon replied, 'his love was secret - and forbidden - mine is wide out in the open. We got nothin' in common.'

'But Angel has a secret love?' She sounded disbelieving.

'That he does.'

'Is this about Buffy? Still?'

'No - not Buffy...' He decided to change the topic to a safer one. 'So how come the ballerina picked you to possess? What do you have in common with her?'

'Well - I was kinda the only other person there … unless you wanted her to possess you? Spirits can go cross sex.'

He pretended to think about it for a moment. 'No,' he finally concluded, 'Angel wasn't wearin' his long, billowy coat tonight.'

Cordelia giggled, 'he just isn't the same without it.' They fell quiet - and the only sound was their breathing. A long while later, Cordy spoke again. 'Doyle? If it isn't Buffy? Who is Angel's secret love?'

But Doyle pretended not to hear her, and feigned sleep - keeping his breathing even, his chest rising and falling steadily, until eventually he really got there. Cordelia, however, stayed awake for a long while - staring into the dark and trying to figure out the answer to this new mystery.


A couple of floors above her - Angel was also lying awake. He had promised to blank the evening from his mind: the memory of her kisses, her touch, her warm skin … and the heady feeling that she wanted him, desperately. But he had lived for over two centuries, and his memory was perfect; he had no idea how to go about forgetting this one evening...


A/N Happy 2019 everyone. Next episode will be 'Couplet'.