Part Three

'Doyle!' Cordelia was shouting his name before she was even through the office. The lights were switched off upstairs, and she headed straight to the staircase, clattering down them. 'Doyle! What's up? You didn't answer your phone - did something go wrong?'

She arrived in the apartment, took her bag off and dumped it on the table. Then she frowned. The apartment was dark as well. 'Doyle? Are you here?' She began to walk her way through the few rooms that made up their home. Her heart was banging against her ribcage and her stomach was flip flopping over all the place. Something was wrong, she knew it. But she forced her voice to remain calm as she called out for her boyfriend. 'Doyle? What gives?'

But he wasn't in the bathroom, the bedroom, or in any dark corner of the living spaces. The whole place was empty. He hadn't been answering his phone all day - and from the looks of things he hadn't been home in hours. The place had that quiet, cold feeling to it - empty rooms left alone for too long without the heat and warmth of the people who lived there. The washing up was still on the draining board - not yet put away, the floor hadn't been hoovered and the bed hadn't been made properly. Doyle hadn't been back. Not since he left this morning. That much was obvious.

She felt all the breath leave her body, as the realisation hit her. Doyle was gone. Something had happened to him - she felt the gorge rise in her throat and had to fight down the urge to vomit. Now was not the time to panic. Though her legs felt weak and watery beneath her and she could feel her blood thrumming through her veins and ringing in her ears, making her tremble.

This was … she'd never had to deal with someone she loved going missing all by herself before. No matter how desperate the situation - and despite the fact her heart had moved on, she would never forget that heart stopping realisation up on the bluffs - there had always been someone to turn to, someone to help her out. There was no one now. Doyle was missing. She couldn't do this - any of this - without him. She needed to find him. And there was no one to help her.

She felt dizzy - and staggered her way over to the sofa, where she collapsed in a heap. 'OK, Cordy, think,' she muttered to herself, massaging her temples. 'He was going to city hall and then you never heard from him… hospitals.' She got to her feet and stumbled her way across to the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and taking out the phonebook. Then she staggered back to the couch, flipped through the book until she got the numbers for all the hospitals in L.A and took out her cell phone.

As she listened to the dial tone, waiting for her first call to connect, she was suddenly reminded of a previous time Doyle had gone missing. Years ago now, when they'd only just first got together - back when Angel was nuts over Darla. Cordy had rung every hospital in desperation then too … only he hadn't been there. He'd been arrested and was being held by the police - and unable to contact her. She made a mental note to add police stations to her call list.

She worked her way through every hospital in the phone book - but no one had been brought in matching Doyle's description. And it didn't make sense anyway, she realised, he'd had more than enough ID on him - plus her details - so that he could collect their marriage license. The doctors would have found all that and contacted her already. She thanked the last receptionist at the last hospital and then dialled the non emergency contact number for the police station. Her heart was beating faster, again, but she couldn't see how he could have been arrested again - he'd moved on from all that, long ago, he wouldn't get into more trouble with the law. And there couldn't be more to his past that he hadn't told her, that could still get him into trouble. She trusted absolutely that, now - after all they'd been through, all the mistakes and lies, memory loss and actual possessions - she knew all the secrets of his past. And that there would never be any more secrets between them.

She spoke to the desk sergeant at the local precinct but - just like at the hospitals - there was no record of a Francis Doyle being brought in. And the cop, hearing the panic in her voice and taking pity on her, checked the system for her - there was no record of Doyle being brought into any of the other nearby stations either. She thanked him and hung up, dropping her phone down on the seat beside herself. She wished that - if nothing else - she still had Dennis, to be a source of silent support. But she really was all alone.

She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears which threatened to fall, and steepled her fingers, forcing herself to think. He had been going to get their marriage license - he had been going to city hall. Maybe he had never made it - but the lack of hospital admissions made that seem unlikely - in which case that was the last place he was known to have been. Whether he had ever left or not - and where he might have gone if he had - remained to be seen. But if she had any hope of tracking him down at all then the best place to start was the last place he had been supposed to go to.

It was late. City hall was probably closed for the night, but she wasn't going to wait until the next morning to go down there and speak to someone. She was going there right now - and she'd break in if she had to. She nodded to herself, feeling better now she had determined a course of action, grabbed her phone - shoved it back in her purse, grabbed the keys to the Plymouth, and headed out through the underground garage.

Angel and Gunn fought with the cyborgs, in the semi light of the lobby. The other lawyers trapped in there were joining in but they weren't fighters - and the cybernetic men were programmed as well trained, lethal warriors. Despite their lack of numbers, the robots were more than holding their own.

Gunn threw a punch and managed to knock one cyborg out, but he was immediately set upon by a second. This robot thumped the young man hard in the stomach and, when he doubled over, wrapped its chain around Gunn's neck. Gunn's hands flew to the chain around his throat, trying to prise it off - but it was wrapped too tightly and he was choking. Suddenly, the cyborg used the chain to flip Gunn through the air, he crashed down heavily on the staircase.

Angel could see the trouble Gunn was in - and was trying to get to him, but he had too many cyborgs of his own to fend off. He slammed his fist into the robot['s face and kicked out at another, fighting his way towards Gunn the whole time.

Wesley groaned as he came to and found himself lying on the concrete floor of his vault. What had his father done? Why? He struggled to sit up, fighting off the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him - and then forced himself back to his feet. He needed to get to Angel, needed to find out what was happening, needed to warn his boss that his father was up to something.

He made his way up the stairs and came out through the hidden door back into his office. The cyborg he and his father had fought together, the one his father had said he had handled so readily, was still lying on the floor. But it wasn't dead. The sword was sticking out of it - and crackles of blue electricity were still emanating from where the blade had shortcircuited it - but it wasn't dead.

This was good. It couldn't be a coincidence, Wesley realised, that his father had shown up out of the blue - for what turned out to be nefarious purposes - and on that very same day the building was attacked by these warrior cyborgs hellbent on killing the team. He was very sensitive to coincidence - had been trained to be so - and all his learning, all his instincts - everything his father, and men like him, had ever taught him - was telling him that this was no coincidence.

The rigorous training he had received courtesy of the watchers' academy taught him to analyse all available information, think critically, take into consideration all possible perspectives, missing data - known unknowns and unknown unknowns, find links, and sift through all the evidence until a theory could be formed and the truth found. And then the truth must be faced. Watchers placed a great deal of emphasis on the truth - on recognising reality from a lie - and accepting it, no matter how hard or uncomfortable. Power came from being able to look the hard truths full in the face and accept them unflinchingly, whilst other people - weaker people - looked away, sought comfort in the make believe, the white lie.

The truth, as it stood, was that his father had turned up unexpectedly on the same day as the cyborgs. He was here to betray Wesley in some way - as proven by the swollen lump growing ever bigger on the back of Wesley's head. It was not known if the whole watcher's council was in on this, if this was a full scale war of the watcher's council against the perceived evil of Wolfram and Hart - but everything in its turn. He would find that out in due course.

And, whoever his father was working for, he had prior and extensive knowledge of these cyborgs - Wesley realised. He had managed to deactivate that bomb in a matter of seconds. He had recognised the origin of the symbols, translated, read and then followed their instructions in a matter of seconds. All under the pressure of the beeping and flashing and the anticipation of imminent, explosive death. That was ridiculous. No one could achieve that. Wesley should have seen as much before … but he hadn't enough data then. The lump on the back of his head and the injured cyborg in his office were the data he needed to get a fuller understanding of the picture.

As he stared down at the cyborg, he realised his father had even manipulated him into showing him the vault. Kept questioning - subtle but persistent - until Wesley had revealed its existence and then led him straight to it. He had probably taken something from the secure boxes. Something powerful and dangerous - and rare - as all the artefacts kept locked down there were. But what was taken would be classed as a known unknown. He still needed to fill in the final gaps.

Roger walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the chaos going on around him. That wasn't his concern, in fact it was of his making. He had a job to do. Unfortunately, he was interrupted in his task by Fred literally running into him, as she made her way towards the lobby and the source of the commotion. 'Mr. Wyndam Pryce!' she gasped, 'what are you…? We need to get you to safety.'

'Now listen to me,' he said to her. He had his cover story ready, it wasn't meant for her but it would work on her just as well. They were all so delightfully trusting - helpful - here. Not what the Wolfram and Hart of old prided itself on at all. 'Wesley's department has monitored some sort of spatial disturbance on the roof. He's gone to investigate. He asked me to tell Angel immediately.'

Fred looked troubled, 'he sent you by yourself?'

Roger bristled and drew himself up to his full height, which was not considerable - but he stood with a great deal of dignity. 'I'm quite capable of taking care of myself … I just happen to be a bit lost.'

'Oh. OK. come on.' She took hold of his arm and led him towards the lobby and towards the vampire. Delightful girl. Really very helpful. Really very sweet. Such a shame …

'Listen, bud,' Doyle pulled himself as far away from the radiator as the cuffs would allow him to stretch and stared up at the registrar. 'This isn't a good idea. The Scourge - they hate humans just as much as they hate half breeds. They think all humans are fair game. They'll accept your tip offs - but they won't pay y', they'll kill y' - same as me, I swear.'

Evan laughed and shook his head. 'I'm giving them what they want. The last Brachen demon in North America, we've already agreed a price - I cancelled all my other appointments once I'd taken you, I've been negotiating all afternoon.'

It was Doyle's turn to shake his head, 'they don't negotiate,' he told his captor. 'They're fanatics - they don't strike deals. They don't accept compromise.'

'They tried to strike a hard bargain,' Evan argued, as if this were proof that the agreement was bona fide. 'But I haggled with them - I know what you're worth, you see - they agreed to pay it.'

'You really are mad,' Doyle sighed and rested his head back against the radiator. When he looked up this time, his eyes were weary. 'They would have agreed anything. Any price at all. That bargaining - it was all for show. They aren't gonna pay y'! They will come here. They will kill you - and then they will kill me. You're as much vermin to them as I am. Y' don't pay vermin - you exterminate it.'

But Evan wasn't listening. He checked the hands on his watch, 'they should be here soon - they were setting out after sundown. They are gonna be so happy to see you, after all this time. How did you get away back then?'

Doyle remembered the terrified demon in his apartment, asking him to help them hide. He remembered turning him away - the shame of that still stung as much as it had on that night, when he had chain smoked incessantly and failed to sleep. 'They weren't lookin' for me,' he said shortly, not wanting to get into it. 'That's the only thing that saved my life.'

He pulled himself forward again in one last ditch attempt to reason with the man who had taken him prisoner. 'Look, they get here - and that's it for you. No payment. No bargaining. Death. Your only hope, bud, is to get outta here - before they get here. But please - let me go too.'

'You're lying,' Evan said coldly. 'Your sort always lie. You're nothing. You're not human, you're not demon - you don't belong in this world - your whole life is a lie. You think you have a right to marry a human girl? To force your demon children on her without her knowledge? To live in this world and pretend to all the normal people that you're just like them? You're disgusting. You need to be taken out - you're not fit to live. The Scourge understand that - they understand the importance of purity.'

Doyle shook his head, again. 'You're mad,' he said, softly. 'You're mad and you're wrong - and you're gonna find that out the hard way.'

Wesley crouched down in front of the injured cyborg and ran his eyes over it, wondering what the best approach was. He pulled back the black hood, revealing the chrome face plate beneath - and then inserted his nails around the edges and pulled the metal away. The cyborg had a humanoid face, beneath - but it was skinless and the muscles were visible; red and sticky. It grunted, as it felt its protective mask being prised away from its flesh.

'Good,' Wesley said to it, he kept his voice soft and low, 'you can feel pain.' For that must have been what that grunt was. 'Can you speak?'

The cyborg just stared up at him - keeping its lipless mouth sealed shut. It was going to need … encouragement, if it was going to be made to talk. 'Let me help you with that,' Wesley said to it, he placed his hand around the hilt of the sword - still sticking out of the cyborg's gut - and shoved it deeper into its abdomen.

'Stop. stop.' the cyborg pleaded. Its voice was tinny and metallic. It held a reedy quality which made it sound as if its voice was coming from far away.

Wesley nodded. 'Excellent, we're making progress.' He gripped the hilt once more and then pulled the sword out of the cyborg's gut. The cyborg grunted with the pain again - but said nothing more. 'Let's see if you have a sense of self preservation,' Wesley suggested. He reached up through the stab wound until he found the self destruct device. Then he activated it. 'What is my father doing?' he asked - his voice urgent and commanding now, 'what did he take?' He tilted his head to one side - as the cyborg stayed quiet. 'Tell me - or you'll be destroyed.'

The cyborg grunted in pain again. 'You're bluffing,' the tinny voice said, sounding as if it took a lot of effort to speak. 'The explosion will kill you as well.'

Wesley frowned, looking like he was considering this for a moment. 'Yes, I suppose it will,' he said thoughtfully. 'In fact, I'm guessing it will destroy this entire building, killing everyone, my father included, which would be one way to stop your plan.'

Up in the lobby, the fight was not going the team's way. The cyborgs had managed to neutralise most of the humans, who now lay injured and bleeding - unable to fight back. Angel was still pinned down by his own cyborg. These things were fierce - programmed to do real damage - they had moves and skill that were taxing even for the dark avenger himself to match. He took a swing at his opponent, but the cyborg ducked it and then kicked him, square in the chest, sending him flying across the room. They were strong too - superhuman in their strength, speed and reflexes. Whoever had put this unit together - they knew what they were doing, and Angel couldn't take them down alone.

Across the lobby, Gunn had lost all control in his own fight. He had been yanked back to his feet by the chain, which was still wrapped around his neck, and was pressed back against the wall. He was turning purple from lack of oxygen, his finger gripped around the metal links, trying to prise them away, but it was no good.

'Gunn!' Spike spotted him through the carnage and ran over to help. He came to a stop just short of the fighting pair and raised a fist, but didn't do anything with it.

'Spike … what are you…?' Gunn choked out.

Spike maintained his right hand balled in a fist, held up ready to strike - but not striking. But he held out his left hand in a stop motion, shushing the choking lawyer. 'Sorry, I have to concentrate.'

Beneath the chain, Gunn choked some more.

'Shh - don't talk,' Spike said to him, his face taking on a look of the deepest, most focused attention. He waited a moment longer - the concentration building, Gunn fighting back the chokes as he waited - his whole life in the balance - and then Spike suddenly lashed out with his fist, striking the cyborg in the face. The robot fell back and let go of the chain, freeing Gunn - who took great gasps of breath in relief. Spike smiled to himself, pleased with his accomplishment. It felt good to hit a bloke after all this time. Even a robot bloke. He grinned at Gunn - Gunn just stared back at him like he was mad.

Meanwhile, Fred led Roger out of the corridor and into the main lobby, just as Angel was knocked to the ground once more by his own cyborg. The dark figure stood above him, ready to strike a killer blow … but the killer blow never came. When Angel finally looked up, wondering what had happened, he saw the cyborg on the ground and Roger standing over him - holding a chair. He had smashed the metal fighter over the head with the chair and the cyborg was now out for the count. The watcher had chosen to rescue Angel. The vampire blinked in surprise - and was even more surprised when Mr. Wyndam Pryce held his hand out and helped him to his feet. 'Thanks.'

'Angel,' Fred said to him, her voice worried and urgent. 'Wesley's on the roof. He needs your help.'

Angel nodded - taking this in. He looked around the lobby, seeing the carnage - but noticing that the immediate danger was passed. The cyborgs in here had been neutralised for now - apparently the danger was elsewhere. 'Gunn,' he said, 'go find out what's happening with security. Then go down to child care - check on Connor, And if there's any of these metal sons of bitches so much as on the same floor as him - kill them. A lot.' Then he turned to Fred. 'There are people down,' he told her, 'go see who's injured. Get medical down here, if it's bad. I'll go find Wes.' He walked away headed for the roof access.

'I'm coming with you,' Roger declared, hurrying along after him.

Angel sighed - and kept on walking. 'Look, I don't have time…'

'He's my son,' Roger pointed out. And Angel knew there was no point arguing with that. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer if it was Connor. Maybe the old bastard did care for Wes after all. He thought his own father had cared for him, in his own, curmudgeonly - unable to articulate it - way - deep beneath it all. He recognised that now - though he hadn't been able to see it when he was alive. Liam was too drunk, too arrogant and too ignorant to understand the plea in those final words, the heartbreak of missed opportunity. I was never in your way boy. But, all these years later, Angel understood it. Those were the words that had led him to naming his own son for his father, a promise to do better than he had managed before. Maybe Roger could prove he was a real father to Wesley before it was too late, after all. Angel couldn't deny him that chance. Couldn't deny Wesley that chance. So he let the old man tag along and didn't say anything more.

Spike stood in the middle of the lobby - watching everyone leave to complete their own assigned tasks, leaving him at a loose end once more. Then he remembered. 'Oh - Lilah's stuck in the elevator,' he told their retreating backs.

'So tell maintenance,' Gunn said to him, without even looking back.

Spike nodded and looked around the lobby, uncertainly. 'Right - well where the bloody hell is maint…' he cut himself off, rolled his eyes to heaven and sighed. 'Oh to be honest I don't even care,' he said, and wandered off, leaving Lilah to fend for herself.

With a screech of tyres and a squeal of brakes, Cordelia pulled the Plymouth up to the kerbside outside city hall and then leapt over the door. She didn't even take the time to switch the engine off. She dashed across the sidewalk and up to the steps to the imposing front entrance - though she had no time to be impressed or intimidated by the grandeur of local government today. Doyle was missing - and nothing was slowing her down in looking for him.

She put her hand on the large, ornate handle and tugged. It was locked. It was late - the offices had long since shut up for the night. She could just use her slayer strength to pull the entire door from the hinges, or at least break the lock, in her frantic state it was what she felt like doing. Instead she forced herself to take a deep breath and just knock on the door - there must be building security inside. Someone would hear her.

She raised her fist and banged as hard as she could. She hammered so violently that the door rattled in its frame - and she kept on banging, kicking it every now and again for good measure. 'Hello!' she yelled, as she knocked. 'Security? Can you hear me?'

Eventually, the door was opened and a gun was pointed in her face, though it was immediately lowered when the guard saw that it was a young woman as pretty as Cordelia standing on the other side. She ignored the gun completely, stuck her foot inside the door and forced her way over the threshold.

'Now see here, missy,' the security guard said to her sternly, putting his gun back into his holster. He was middle aged and a little overweight. 'I don't know what the meaning of all that hollering was.'

'I needed to get inside.'

'Were closed for the night, missy.'

'Duh! I know that! But I needed to get in here.' She took a deep breath and began to explain. 'My fiance is missing. He came to collect our marriage license hours ago and never came back. The hospitals don't have him, the police don't have him. He's disappeared. And he disappeared here. So I'm here to find him.'

'Look, missy,' he gave her a pitying look. 'Your man can't still be here - we closed hours ago, he would have had to have left the building. And I aint seen him to tell you what time he left - I work nights. If you want to speak to someone who saw him earlier, then come back tomorrow - go up to the fifth floor and speak to the receptionist there…'

'Fifth floor - right,' she turned, as if to make her way up the stairs. The guard grabbed hold of her elbow. 'Did you not hear me? You deaf? Tomorrow, missy,' he said to her, repeating his words. 'There's no one there to talk to right now.'

'I don't intend to do much talking,' she said - pulling her elbow free and walking away towards the staircases, her heels rang out on the hard floor of the lobby, echoing in the big, empty space.

The security guard grabbed her again. 'Nuh huh - little lady, this building is closed now. You have to wait until tomorrow.'

'You can't honestly expect me to wait until tomorrow to find out whether or not my fiance is dead or missing?' She said, incredulously, as he led her back towards the front entrance - steering her by her elbow.

He chuckled. 'You don't have a choice,' he said to her.

She sighed. 'Yeah - I do. Look, I didn't wanna have to do this but…' she hauled back her free arm and slammed her fist into his face. There was a moment where he looked dazed - and then he went cross eyed and keeled over, hitting the floor hard and not getting back up again.

Cordy looked down at the unconscious body lying slumped at her feet. 'Look,' she said to him. 'I'm really sorry - but I gotta find Doyle and nobody is getting in my way.' Then she headed for the stairs and ran up them two at a time, climbing all the way to the fifth floor.

The access door banged open and Angel came running out onto the roof, looking around. Roger followed him through - travelling at a much more leisurely pace. 'Wesley?' Angel yelled, trying to search out his friend. There was no sign of him, no scent of him, either. 'Wes!' But there was no answer. The roof was empty - apart from the vampire and the old watcher. He turned back to Roger, his face creased with confusion. He did not yet understand. 'Where's Wesley?' he asked.

'Well that's just the thing,' Roger said to him, stepping out onto the roof and keeping firm eye contact with the vampire. His voice was calm, stuffy even, as if they were discussing nothing more troubling than the weather. 'I'm sorry to have misled you, but this was never about Wesley.'

He reached into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket and brought out the small wooden staff he had stolen from his son's vault. He held it up. Angel eyed it nervously - not knowing what it was or what it did.

'Atistrata,' Roger said. The magic word activated the staff and instantly, Angel gasped in pain and fell to the floor, clutching his belly and moaning - as a strange sensation of something being ripped from him, dragged out from underneath his skin right through his flesh, took hold of him. And then he saw a hazy, white smoke begin to rise from himself, some essence being dragged out from deep within him - and this essence floated across the rooftop towards the old man - and the staff, and the tips of the staff began to glow a bright white.

But then there was too much pain for Angel to keep on concentrating, keep on watching, and he collapsed - grunting in agony.

Roger looked down at the stricken vampire, a smile of satisfaction on his face. 'It is, by the way, a pleasure to meet you too,' he said.