Part Four

The wind was whirling and whipping through the apartment now - and anything small enough: mail and coasters, photographs, ornaments and discarded socks were flying through the air. Doyle was still shouting over the howling, his throat was sore but he yelled on - trying to make himself heard - trying to summon the soul of the Roishnik demon.

But there was more than just an internal hurricane to fight. The growling had got louder and louder and now Cordelia had her axe gripped her in her hand and was battling against an 8 foot horned demon with purple skin and vicious looking fangs. It swiped out at her with one of its claws and she yelped and jumped backwards. It swiped out again and this time she hit the deck and rolled across the floor, springing to her feet behind it and slashing her axe at its exposed neck. But it turned too quickly and grabbed hold of the blade midair.

There was a tussle as both the slayer and the demon held onto the axe handle and tried to wrench it away from their opponent. But they were too equally matched and - losing patience - Cordy snapped her leg upwards and booted the demon right between his legs. It groaned and doubled over and she slammed her fist down on the back of its neck. It dropped to the floor. But, as it did, it reached out and grabbed her around the knees - bringing her crashing down as well. The axe flew from her hand and slid across the room. She lashed out with her foot to kick the demon in the face and then tried to frantically scrabble across the floor to regain her weapon.

Keeping a wary eye on Cordelia - not wanting to break the spell but equally unwilling to leave her to it, if it looked like she might lose - Doyle continued his chant. 'Osiris, Keeper of the gate…'

The portal continued to shriek and swirl, it's oily black tendrils reaching out - almost touching Spike's bare skin, now. The Reaper still had his fingers twisted into Spike's hair - and was holding his head up, forcing him to stare down the gateway to hell. 'Yes, squirm, boy,' the Reaper said to him, in his hollow whisper of a voice, right in Spike's ear. 'It won't make a difference. Getting what you deserve.'

Spike struggled underneath his grasp. 'You're right,' he choked out, 'I do deserve to go to hell,' he knocked the Reaper away from himself and got to his feet, staring him down. 'But not today.'

'You dare!' the Reaper stared up at him in anger.

'Quite a bit, mate,' he glared down at his tormentor - and behind him the whirling portal closed shut, the air knitting back together. 'Reality bends desire,' Spike repeated from earlier - it suddenly all making sense to him, suddenly understanding where the Reaper's power came from. 'That was it, right? That's why I could touch Fred. Write your name in the glass. All I had to do was want it bad enough.' He looked down at his naked body and concentrated - focusing his will - and sure enough, his clothes reappeared - covering him once more. He looked back up at the Reaper in angry triumph. 'And guess what I want to do now you prissy son of a bitch?'

He grabbed the Reaper by his shirt front, yanking him back up to his feet, and then swung his spare fist backward - before burying it in his tormentor's face - sending him flying through the wall. He followed him through and now they were out of the basement and back upstairs. Spike's will had moved them out of the Reaper's domain and taken them back up to friendlier ground.

'Keen little racket you've got carved out for yourself,' Spike said, striding over to where the Reaper was sprawled out on the floor. 'Prying off spirits and sucking them down the chute. Kept your own toasties out of the fire, didn't it? Until now!' He reached down and grabbed at the Reaper's shirt front again, hauling him upwards and then hitting him once more.

The Reaper tried to fight back - but he was not used to this - and his movements were uncoordinated, he had no skill at hand to hand combat and he struggled against the delighted, enthusiastic beating that William the Bloody, slayer of slayers, was meting out. 'Not so much fun when we hit back, is it?' Spike crowed - knocking the Reaper back again.

But by now the dark soul had had time to adjust. Reality bent to his will - so if he wanted to beat this vampire soul, then all he needed to do was want it. He hit back, much stronger and more powerfully than before, and this time it was Spike who was knocked to the ground. 'Starting to be,' the Reaper smiled, showing his broken and yellowing teeth.

Cordy had managed to wriggle loose from the grip of the demon. She turned back and kicked out again - her foot connected squarely with the demon's face - and then she scrambled back to her feet, and pulled a sword from a bracket on the wall. She shifted her balance and took point, ready for the next attack.

But the demon did not lunge towards her. It was not here to fight a slayer - it was here as a guardian of the underworld, its target was not the girl - but the man trying to pierce through Osiris' veil. Instead of the attack she was waiting for - the demon turned from her and lumbered towards where Doyle was still sat, in the middle of a whirlwind, trying to summon a dead soul. It reached its arms towards the half demon and growled.

'Oh sh-' Cordelia threw her sword to the side and chased after it. Doyle's eyes grew wide as he watched the monster come charging straight at him. He had no weapons, and was not even on his feet. He was completely vulnerable to attack and - even if he managed to crawl to safety - the charging demon would smash through the sacred circle and destroy the spell. He stayed where he was - continuing his chant, but as the demon got closer, he screwed up his eyes and turned his head, slightly, bracing for the impact of the attack.

It never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Cordy had caught up with the demon, grabbed it round the middle and rugby tackled it to the side. They rolled over and over - a mad blur of whirling fists and feet and fangs, and then Cordy landed on top and, straddling the demon's torso, started to punch it repeatedly in the face with all her might. It roared out, as blow after blow rained down on its face - each one with the force as if she were wearing a glove made of iron. 'Don't you dare,' she yelled at the demon as she smacked him over and over again. 'You fight me, you hear? Me!'

Doyle's eyes lingered on the sight of his girlfriend beating the gigantic demon to a bloody pulp, as he took great gasping lungfuls of air - getting his breath back after his near toast experience. But then he dragged his gaze away and concentrated back on the sacred circle and the light of the candles, still miraculously burning - even in the whirlwind, and doubled down on his chanting.

The floor of the lab had been cleared to make space - and now there was an elaborate machine, half mechanical, half mystical, laid out. It took the form of a circle - and there were strange symbols carved into the metal, speaking to the magic that this device was designed for. But at the same time, wires snaked from it, plugging it into the electrical outlets - belying the fact that this ritual was as deeply rooted in science as it was in the realm of the otherworldly.

Fred and Wesley were working to put all the pieces together. They worked quietly, Fred overseeing the placement of all the different segments. Nothing like this had ever been built before. Nothing like this had ever been attempted - as far as they knew. But as long as her math held - and it always did, math never let her down - she was reasonably confident this would work.

Gunn and Angel walked in, returning from the whiteroom. Gunn was carrying the glass flask. 'Make sure it's calibrated to .058,' Fred was saying to Wesley, she turned to look at the newly entered men. 'Did you get it?'

Gunn handed the flask over. It was half filled with what looked like a thick, dark liquid. 'Make it count,' he told her. 'Told me we aint getting any more.'

Angel frowned. 'It talked?' he asked 'I didn't hear it talk.' But Gunn only shrugged, 'maybe you weren't listening right.'

Fred, meanwhile, was placing the flask into position in the machine. This was the catalyst that would create the energy surge needed to recorporealise Spike - and she handled it with care, making sure it was properly positioned. 'All right,' she looked around at her friends, 'I think we're almost ready.'

'How do we let Spike know?' Angel asked.

'Won't need to,' Wesley said. He was stood at the controls and was just waiting for the nod from Fred to fire up this thing.

Fred pulled down a lever and then connected the final wire to the energy supply. 'This baby puts out enough juice to light up ghost city. Anything remotely spectral round here is about to get the tinglies.'

They were in the lobby now - the fight still ongoing. The Reaper had learned - too quickly - how to beat Spike. His own will was so ironclad, so strong, after so many centuries ruling this shadow land, that it had taken but mere moments for him to adjust to the fact that another dark soul had learned the rules. He kicked Spike across the wide open space, and the vampire landed heavily on the floor, groaning.

'Learned a few of my tricks,' he said, in his dark, rasping voice. 'Means nothing does it? I've cheated hell for hundreds of years. Fed it other dirty little souls. Left me alone.' He strode over to where Spike was lying on his back. 'Let me get stronger. Now, this realm … I am God. And you,' he reached down and pulled Spike up by his collar - so that the vampire was dangling mid air. 'Wood for the fire.'

As they stared face to face, each waiting for the next blow - both sure it would come from the Reaper, they were suddenly hit by a sudden burst of energy. It was like a blue wave, rippling through the air and then bursting over them like a storm cloud. They both felt it - and the Reaper turned away, his dark ringed eyes concerned and angry.

Spike - still dangling mid air - took this opportunity to get a hit in. He punched the Reaper hard in the face and dropped to the floor - before running off in the direction of the lab. The Reaper stared after him. 'This won't do,' he rasped. 'This won't do at all.'

The machine was now lit up and flashing and beeping. The team gathered around it, waiting expectantly. Fred read from her scanner and saw the reading change as a spectral presence entered the lab. 'He's here,' she called out to the others over the noise of the machine. But to the naked eye there was still no sign of him - she just had to trust that he could hear her. 'Spike, step into the circle!' she cried, 'Hurry! We've only got one chance at making you corporeal agai-'

She was suddenly cut off and began to choke. She brought her hand up to her throat, where she could feel the tight grip of a fist wrapped around her windpipe. Her face began to turn red and then purple as her oxygen supply was cut off. But there was still no visible sign of anything ghostly.

Safely hidden in his shadow realm, Pavayne had his hand wrapped around her throat. 'Now whyever would I want to do that?' he asked her.

Although the men could not see what was choking Fred - they could guess well enough. 'It's Pavayne!' Wesley yelled. 'He's killing her!' they all rushed forward to try and save her - but the Reaper lashed out with his spare hand and knocked them all flying across the room.

Spike materialised in the lab - still invisible to the team, he alone could see the full extent of the situation. The Reaper choking Fred slowly to death and the men unable to save her. He stared down at that machine, as it whirred and flashed and built its way towards full power. Then he looked back at Fred.

The Reaper smiled his broken toothed grin. 'Decisions,' he said to Spike. 'The girl…' he squeezed her throat tighter, 'or the flesh…' he glanced down at the machine. 'There's no time for both.'

Spike followed his gaze and stared at the mystical circle - it was ramping up, clearly ready to discharge its magic. There was only this one moment - and then he would have missed his chance for good. The Reaper watched him hesitate and grinned more broadly. 'There's hope for you yet, boy.'

'Not really.' Spike had disappeared from the side of the machine and then rematerialised right beside the Reaper. He punched him with all his might, knocking him away from Fred - who took great gasping lungfuls of air, in relief - and then straight into the mystical circle.

As Pavayne fell inside the ring, it activated - a blue force field snapping over the top, encasing him inside and then hitting him with the full blast of the energy charge.

The team watched on as a shape appeared inside the circle, becoming visible. But after a moment, it was clear this dark figure was not Spike. Pavayne got to his feet snarling and snapping like a cornered cur. 'No. No!' he stared down at his corporeal body. 'Defilers! I'll … cut you into nothing. I'll feast on your brains. I'll swim in lakes of your blood.'

Angel punched him - and he hit the floor. 'You'll shut the hell up,' the vampire said.

Reality bent to his will - Spike willed himself to become visible for the team again. 'Don't kill him!' he said, urgently. They all looked surprised as he materialised from thin air. 'If he becomes a spirit again, we'll never stop him,' he warned.

'Fine,' Angel punched Pavayne again. 'No killing. Just a whole lot of bruisin'.'

The demon roared under the onslaught of Cordelia's punches and brought up its arms, grabbing her around the midsection and then using its far greater weight to roll her off him and then land on top of her - so it was now her pinned beneath its bulk - and at the mercy of its fists.

'Cordelia!' Doyle yelled from over by the sacred circle.

'Keep chanting!' she yelled back, catching the demon's fist as it swung towards her and forcing it backwards, digging her nails in as hard as she could. 'Nghh,' she threw its arm away from her and then shoved her hands into its face, trying to push it away from herself - grunting and squirming underneath it.

It roared out again and pulled back to strike another blow - but she took that moment to roll out from beneath it. Before it could react she had jumped to her feet, somersaulted through the air, landing behind it - and grabbed it by the neck with both hands. She twisted - and heard the bones snap. The demon went loose in her grasp, it's whole body collapsing like jelly now its spinal cord was snapped. She dropped it to the floor - and it melted away, running into a purple puddle and then seeping into the floor.

At the same moment the shrieking, deafening whirlwind dropped - and all the sundry items caught up in its path fell to the ground, the breakable ones smashing on the floor. Doyle finished his chant for what seemed like the hundredth time - and this time the sacred circle was suddenly filled with a dazzling column of white light.

Cordelia went and crouched by his side. 'You did it,' she said, 'you broke through the gateway, you actually did it.' She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. He laughed, 'we're not done yet,' he said - as the light began to shimmer and take on a humanoid form, 'that was just the pre show. Now for the main event.'

The light coalesced into the figure of what was unmistakably their Roishnik demon, though he was misty and transparent and a little blurry around the edges. Cordelia raised her hand to her eyes to try and shield them from the light. The dead demon stared down at the young couple on the floor. 'Why am I here?' he asked.

'M'hatmik, right? Of the Roishnik clan?' Doyle asked him, he took a deep breath, 'listen, bud…'

'I was in darkness - and now I am here,' the demon said.

'Yeah - well, we called you back to the land o' the livin'. We have a few questions about how y' died, y'see.'

'I have fallen beyond the veil.'

Cordelia sighed, impatiently, 'yes- we get it. You're dead. We already knew that. We just wanna find out how you got that way. So we can stop it from happening to anyone else.'

'Dead - yes… I remember now,' M'hatmik said vaguely. Cordelia frowned. 'Is it me or is he getting more see through?' she hissed at Doyle, who had to admit, the spirit of the dead Roishnik did appear to be fading already. 'The guy at the magic shop said we wouldn't have much time,' he told her. 'We don't have the power to keep him here.' He turned back to the spirit inside the circle, 'listen, bud - we're real sorry about you bein' dead and all - we wanted to save y'. But we gotta ask - who was it that did this to you?'

M'hatmik just stared down at them.

'Don't you remember?' Cordelia asked, sounding concerned.

'I remember,' the demon said, 'though I do not wish to do so.'

'You told our friend, the medium, you said you knew the people that did this to y',' Doyle said, 'you said you recognised 'em.'

'I knew them,' M'hatmik nodded - his outline was growing fainter the whole time, and his voice sounded hollow - like it was coming from the bottom of a very deep and distant well. 'I know the army they fight for.'

Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other, uncomfortably. 'Army?' Cordy asked, 'what army?'

'I was killed by one soldier, but one of thousands. And where he came from there are thousands more. Always more. And they will keep coming. Keep coming until there are no more left.'

'No more what left?' Doyle asked. 'What army are you talkin' about?'

M'hatmik opened his mouth to answer - but no sound came out. It was as if he were now too distant for his voice to be heard at all. He faded - becoming even more transparent, his outline blurring until his shape was barely defined. 'No - wait!' Cordelia cried, as she realised they were losing him, 'we need to know - what army? Come back!'

But it was no good - the Roishnik demon became more and more indistinct, until there was nothing left but the column of light again and then that too was gone.

'Thank you Osiris, take this soul back to your realm and may he dwell in peace there,' Doyle muttered the closing incantation and blew the candles out, leaving them in complete darkness.

...

They were too downcast to bother clearing away the mess their attempts at breaking through to the underworld had caused. Instead, they just stripped off their clothes and crawled under the bed covers. 'Why couldn't he just answer the question?' Cordelia asked, quietly.

'Roishnik demons,' Doyle said to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. 'They always talk in riddles. You never can get a straight answer from them.' She lay her head on his chest and sighed. He squinted down at her in the darkness, 'are you OK?' he asked her.

'I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?'

'I dunno - you got slammed around there pretty bad by that whirlwind. And then you had to fight off rats…' he felt her shudder in his arms, 'and that big, purple demon thing.'

'It's my job,' she shrugged, she tickled the skin of his chest with her index finger and tilted her head so she could look up at him, 'what about you? You just channelled big energy right through yourself. Are you OK?'

'Well - I can't say I wouldn't be better if we had got the answers we were lookin' for…'

She smiled, grimly. 'You and me both.'

'But I don't think I did any lastin' damage.'

'That's good … so what now?'

He held her tighter and began to gently brush through her hair with his fingers, he felt her body relax and the way she snuggled closer to him as he did it. He stared up at the dark ceiling, blankly. He didn't know what now. They were back to waiting for another murder - or hoping that this time The Powers would see fit to send him a vision before it was too late. 'Why d'ya think they bothered to send it when he was already dead?' he asked Cordelia, 'why not send it half an hour before - we couldda saved him.'

'Maybe the PTB didn't want you to save this one,' she suggested. 'Maybe they just wanted you to know - make sure you were paying attention.'

'I've been payin' attention for weeks now. I'm beyond the discovery stage - it's time to actually know what's goin' on.'

'I guess maybe it isn't,' she told him. 'Maybe it's not time yet, they just wanna make sure we're both prepared - for when it is time.'

'Well… that doesn't bode well.'

'Nope.' she pulled herself up and leaned up to kiss him. 'But we've been through the end of the world a gazillion times already. Whatever this is - we'll be ready for it. And we'll take it down.'

She snuggled back down, so her head was resting against his shoulder and, a few minutes later, the sound of her heavy, regular breathing told Doyle that she had drifted off to sleep.

But slumber was to prove more elusive for him - as he stared wide awake into the darkness. When The Powers sent him visions of terrible things that had already happened - it was invariably because they were using the pure sight to punish him, because what had happened was his fault in some way - and they wanted him to know, to see and to feel the damage he had done. He couldn't work this out. He couldn't see how these deaths were about him - how The Powers were laying them at his door - but it seemed that they were. And so he couldn't sleep for worrying.

The next morning, Cordelia tidied away the mess from the night before; sweeping up the sand and the debris of the broken ornaments and shattered mirrors, collecting in the candles and putting all the furniture right. It was a good job she had keen eyesight and the help of a couple of table lamps - as all the light fittings had blown during the ritual - and there was no natural light down in the bat cave.

She heard footsteps on the stairs - Doyle returning from the hardware store, where he had gone to buy replacement light bulbs. He came into the apartment, bulbs in one hand and his pile of mail in the other. He was looking troubled.

'What's wrong?' Cordy asked him, seeing his expression. He dumped most of the stuff on the dining table and then held up one, very official looking, envelope. 'It's from the department of immigration,' he told her.

She felt her stomach plummet inside of her, like she'd just fallen down an elevator shaft. Doyle had been in her life for so long now that she normally barely remembered he was foreign. She didn't even hear his accent any more. It always just felt so right him being here - he completely belonged here just as much as she did … and now here was a reminder that this just wasn't true. Cordelia had had her run ins with branches of government before - she would never forget the day the IRS came - but she would never, ever get a letter from the immigration department. But Doyle would - he just had - because apparently, no matter how much he belonged in her life, by her side - the U.S government did not necessarily think he belonged in the country. 'What's it say?' she asked, trying to keep the note of fear from creeping into her voice.

He sat down on the sofa and ripped the envelope open, shaking out the letter and then reading it. His lips moved as his mind read and digested the various long and official sounding words.

She stared down at him, anxiously - holding her breath as she waited. He got to the end and then looked back up at her. 'My green card,' he told her, 'it's gonna expire in a little over six months.'

'So … you just apply for a new one.'

He sighed, 'it's not as easy as that, darlin'. I got my green card when I was married to Harri. I had a proper job - an employer. A steady income. Now … I'm divorced, I'm self employed - and completely broke and…' he sighed again. 'I've been in trouble with the police.' He closed his eyes and remembered that terrifying weekend in jail, then the months of waiting on bail, followed by his trial.

'You were found Not Guilty,' Cordelia insisted.

'Doesn't matter - I can hardly claim to be o' good character when I've been arrested for grand theft auto … and bank robbery, can I?' he looked back at the letter. 'They're not gonna renew it. I know it.'

'Do they say that?'

'No … this is just a … friendly reminder that I need to sort the paperwork, if I don't wanna get deported at the end o' May.'

'Right - so … you can at least try.'

He smiled - though it didn't reach his eyes and Cordy knew he was only smiling to try not to worry her. 'Yeah - I can try. I'll speak to an immigration lawyer, see what they say - look at what my options are… or…' His expression lightened and his brow unfurrowed a little as another thought struck him. 'Maybe I can get Gunn to look at this? He's a legal whizz now - maybe he can just cut right through the red tape for me.'

'No,' Cordelia shook her head.

'No? Just like that?'

'Yes - just like that. He works for Wolfram and Hart. If you ask him to do this favour for you then … Wolfram and Hart owns you. They've tried - and failed - to buy you enough times over the years without you just handing yourself over to them when the paperwork gets too tough. We'll find another way.'

He raised an eyebrow, 'you got any other ideas?' he asked.

'Yep.' She sat down next to him on the sofa and put her hand on his knee, 'we'll just have to get married.'

He threw back his head and burst out laughing. 'What?' Cordelia demanded, looking offended.

'Nothin', darlin', it's just …' he broke off to chuckle some more, 'I didn't think it could ever be possible - but that was even less romantic than the last time we got engaged!'

Her offended expression twitched a little - and she too began to smile - and then laugh. 'But I'm right,' she said. 'They won't deport you if you're married to an American citizen. It makes sense. Legally - plus it makes financial sense.'

'I love it when you talk dirty,' he murmured to her, leaning in for a kiss, 'tell me again about that tax break we'll get.'

She shoved him away from her, laughing. 'I'm serious!'

'Me too - just whisper the words "power of attorney" - just once, Cordy. Say 'em.'

'You can joke all you like,' she told him, trying to pull her mouth into a serious expression of disapproval. 'But we just don't need all that sappy romance stuff. Make me yak! We have something much better.'

'Is it a 50/50 split of all our personal assets?' He was still laughing.

'No,' she giggled, and this time it was she who leaned in for the kiss. 'We have the real deal, once in a lifetime type, true love.'

Over at Wolfram and Hart, the team were tidying up the debris from their previous night's adventure, as well. The lab was a mess, and the whole machine needed to be dismantled. Fred looked around and sighed.

'You sure you're alright?' Wesley asked her. She sighed again. 'Yeah … it's just … you know.' She didn't know how to put it into words: the disappointment, the lost opportunity, the sense that she had failed - even though her machine had worked.

'Why don't you take a break?' Gunn said to her, softly, watching the emotions pass across her face. 'We can finish up here.'

'Thanks.' She left the pair of them to it, and headed up to her office.

...

Once inside, she leaned against her desk and looked through her notes. It had worked - her math had held, but still she had failed. She had failed Spike - and that made her heart hurt.

'Don't suppose you built a spare?'

She looked up - he had materialised beside her. She smiled sadly and shook her head. 'Most of the pieces I used on this one were practically non-existent to start with. Even if I could replace them, the chances of finding another power source are…' she shook her head once more. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' he said to her. She looked up at him in surprise. But he only shrugged and leaned against the desk, beside her. 'I made my choice,' he said. 'Wouldn't change it for the world.'

'There are other things we could try,' she suggested, 'they're a little riskier but…'

But he cut her off. He wasn't going to end up like Pavayne - cheating hell anyway he could, no matter who it hurt.

'Just proves what I've been telling everybody,' Fred said, smiling sadly.

'That I'm a handsome devil who brightens the place up?'

She looked at him, 'that you're worth saving.' He smiled back. He didn't have it so bad really. There was plenty of room, and good company - he gave Fred a nudge. Plus he'd picked up some nifty little tricks along the way. He concentrated his entire will onto her coffee mug and picked it up. She laughed - and he smiled at her. 'There are worse things than being a ghost,' he told her.

Lilah and Angel were down in the Wolfram and Hart basement. They had Pavayne locked in a holding cell. It was only a few feet wide and he was strapped inside with metal bars. 'Are you sure it'll hold him?' Angel asked.

Lilah smiled, devilishly. 'If there's one thing Wolfram and Hart excels at, it's keeping their unmentionables unmentioned.'

Angel smiled sourly at Pavayne, 'congratulations,' he said to the restrained serial killer, 'you get to live forever. Unable to move or to touch or to feel … or to affect anything in the world around you.'

Pavayne stared straight ahead unable to move his head, he could only look in one direction. His eyes were wide open - mad and staring, but who knew if he was actually seeing anything.

'Don't worry,' Angel said to him, 'I had them put in a window.' He slammed the metal door shut on the Reaper and then slid back the little window - a brick sized slit in the door, right at eye height. Pavayne's mad eyes stared straight back out, wide open, frozen and glistening - able to view nothing but the empty, dark corridor directly ahead of him.

Angel smiled through the window - and then he and Lilah turned to walk away, speaking one last time as he left Pavayne alone in the dark. 'Welcome to hell.'

A/N Next episode is 'Life of the Party'.