Part Four

As the minutes ticked by - and Doyle had nothing to do but wait anxiously for rescue or death - he began to try forcing his hands through the cuffs again, screwing his eyes up against the pain as he tried to squeeze his hand through a far too small space.

'Stop that,' Evan said to him, noticing what he was doing. Doyle glanced round at him - and then, ignoring him, turned back to the handcuffs. He stopped when he heard the sound of a pistol being cocked. 'I said stop that.' He turned round again - and sure enough, Evan was now pointing a gun straight at his head.

Doyle shook his head, 'you're not gonna kill me,' he said to the registrar. 'Whatever I do - you're not gonna pull that trigger.'

'You think I couldn't?'

'You ever killed anyone before, Evan?' Doyle asked him. 'Ever killed anythin' - at all? I have. Lots o' times. The blood, the gore, the brain squish - takes a lot o' gettin' used to.'

'You're not human - you don't count,' the registrar said to him. Doyle only chuckled. 'Is that what you're tellin' yourself, right now, bud? Well lemme tell y' - I've thought that too, before. Thought demon lives didn't matter … until I saw the bodies. Bodies that your friends The Scourge left massacred on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, by the way. I've had … a long, long time to try and come to terms with the fact that those lives did matter - and their blood was on my hands. A long time. And I haven't come to terms with it - I won't ever. And the only thing that's gonna stop you livin' a long life o' regret and guilt and shame, like me, is the fact that The Scourge are gonna kill you too, as soon as they get here. But anyway,' he shrugged, 'that's not why you won't pull the trigger.' He started trying to force his hand back through the cuff - ignoring the increasingly irate man and his gun.

'You really think I won't use this?'

'I think you believe you've driven a hard bargain with The Scourge - that handin' me over to them will get y' a lot of money. So you won't be killin' me before they get here.'

'They'll take you dead or alive,' Evan said, his hand was trembling as he still pointed the gun.

'Sure they will - but they won't pay for me dead or alive. And then you've killed someone - at work - for nothin'. There'll be evidence you held me here, evidence you killed me here. DNA, cotton fibres - all that CSI stuff. I might be a half breed, but I'm human enough to warrant the police turnin' up to ask a few questions - and you know it. You're not killin' me, Evan. So now it's just a waitin' game.'

'Waiting for The Scourge to get here.'

Doyle nodded his head, slowly, as if considering the man's words. 'Maybe, maybe,' he conceded. 'But - y'see - I've been missin' for hours now. Long enough for my girlfriend to have realised somethin's wrong and come lookin' for me. She's gonna find me. The only question is, whether or not she'll get here before The Scourge, and honestly,' he whistled as he weighed up his chances, 'my money's on Cordy.'

Evan began to laugh - a sneering, snide chuckle. 'You think your girlfriend is going to turn up and rescue you?' he asked. 'Burst in here and pull you out from under the nose of The Scourge?'

Doyle just gave Evan a hard stare. 'You don't know my girlfriend,' he replied.

'Don't fight,' Roger said, to the groaning, struggling vampire at his feet, 'It'll be easier for you.' Then he put his hand to his earpiece and spoke through it once more. 'Ready for extraction. We're finished.'

The wooden staff was suddenly lifted from his hand. 'Not quite.' Roger's head whipped around at the sound of the voice - and saw Wesley standing beside him, the staff now in one hand, pointing a gun with the other. 'Hello father.'

Roger pulled a gun of his own out from his inside pocket and aimed it back at his son. 'Walk away from this, Wesley,' he warned. 'You'll never understand what we're trying to do here.'

'You're using the staff of Devosynn to take Angel's will, make him your slave.' He saw the look of surprise on his father's face. 'Your cyborgs panic a bit too easily,' he explained.

'This creature is more dangerous to mankind than you realise,' Roger said, gesturing down at Angel, who was still trapped on the ground, unable to move as his will had been taken from him.

Wesley shook his head, his gun was still aimed directly at his father - who pointed his own gun straight back at Wesley. They kept their distance, circling around Angel. 'You're wrong about him,' Wesley said. 'He's not what you think.'

He had always known the council's view on Angel, knew what they thought of him working with the vampire - ever since the three hitmen they had sent to kill Faith had tried to kill the both of them for good measure. The council was too black and white, humans vs demons. They kept to the old ways, with their musty libraries filled with dusty books, with their tea and crumpets and observing Queensbury Rules even when fighting for their lives. They had so little idea of how complicated the world was, the demon world in particular. They had no care to know. They served their own power, guarded the mystical and arcane knowledge of the universe - hoarding it for themselves and seeking to destroy anything that threatened that.

Lilah had told Wesley that he had embraced the grey on joining Wolfram and Hart, but he realised that, compared to the days at the council, he had been embracing the grey ever since he joined AI. Accepting that there was nuance to the demon underworld was a compromise the watcher's council could never countenance. They were so hopelessly monochrome - and so hopelessly wrong.

'He's a puppet,' Roger said, gesturing to Angel but keeping his gun steady the whole time. 'Always has been. To The Powers that Be, to Wolfram and Hart. Now he belongs to us.'

'You went to a lot of trouble to get this staff,' Wesley said. The cyborg had explained it all to him. The attack on the arms deal the night before had simply been a way to smuggle a gun inside the law firm. The dead cyborg had the gun inside it and, once it was opened up and the self destruct device detonated, Roger had used the moment, whilst everyone was looking the other way, to stash the pistol in his pocket. Then the later attack gave him the opportunity to enter the vault, grab the staff and make his escape. 'But did you ever once consider that might be another way?' Wesley asked. 'Did you ever once consider talking to me about it?'

There was a long moment of silence, whilst father and son pointed their guns at each other - and then, 'no,' Roger said. 'You've failed me enough for one lifetime.'

Cordelia made her way down the fifth floor landing - she wasn't creeping - she didn't have time for stealth or subterfuge. She was resting her hand on the handle of each door, breaking the lock and then shoving her way into the offices; glad that she didn't have to stop and take the time to pick each individual lock, now that she had her slayer strength. She didn't give a damn what the government workers would think when they got into work the next morning - or if they called the police. This was too important to worry about being cautious or sneaky.

She broke through the next door and burst her way into the room behind - but this was empty and dark like all the rest. As she was leaving, however, she noticed a strip of light gleaming from under one of the doors further down the hall. The rest of the building was deserted. This one room still had the lights on - so that was where she was headed next.

...

Standing in the doorway to his supply cupboard, gun still trained on Doyle, Evan heard the sound of the doors being kicked in. 'hear that,' he said to his hostage, with a gloating grin. 'That's them - right now, The Scourge are here. It's time. They'll find us any minute. You've cheated death long enough, half breed.'

Doyle stared back at him, 'you better pray for your own sake that that's not The Scourge, bud,' he said heavily.

The sinking feeling was so intense that, at first, Wesley did not register the sound of the access door banging open once again. If he heard it at all then he mistook it for the pounding of his own heart - the thrumming of his blood in his ears, thundering through his veins at a deafening rate, as he digested his father's words, his disdain, his contempt.

But then he heard her voice. 'Wesley!' It was Fred who had flung open the door, she was out on the roof - with them both, in danger.

'Fred… get out of here!' he commanded. But she didn't listen. She glanced between the two pointed guns and the matching angry expressions on father and son's faces. Then she saw Angel, down on the ground, writhing in pain and unable to get up - helpless. She dropped to her knees and knelt at his side, looking equally confused and concerned. 'What the hell is going on?'

Roger ignored her, instead he maintained complete focus on his son. His face was hard and disapproving and his voice - it was the voice from Wesley's childhood, the voice that yelled at him through the cupboard door and still came to him as he slept, sometimes. 'You know what that vampire is and what he's done, and yet you follow him anyway.'

'Maybe I know what I'm doing,' Wesley yelled back. 'Why can't you trust that?'

'You disgrace yourself with the council, you join forces with him,' he gestured towards the stricken vampire, 'and you have the nerve to ask me why I can't trust you?'

Wesley stiffened his spine - and stared his father dead in the eye. They had put iron in him - the watcher's council - trained him to be hard, unflinching, unyielding. That was perhaps why his father had never shown him any affection - those that swore to protect this sorry world had no place for softness, for weakness - so the council beat it out of them, or locked them in cupboards until they had learned their lessons. And it had worked - out from under the constant critical gaze of his father, Wesley had found that iron deep inside himself. Had used it to send men into a battle they could not win, to steal Angel's child, to take Angel's soul and to stay near Jasmine once he knew what she truly was. Being around his father made him forget, made him fumble and stumble and doubt his own worth. But he had learned, through long years of bitter mistakes and hard choices, exactly what kind of man he was. And if he could stare a diseased God in the face and lie to her - then he could look at his own father, the nightmare of his childhood, and face him down as well.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and cold and clipped. 'I've done everything you've ever asked,' he told him, 'and I've done it well.'

'I asked for this? Hmmm?' Roger once more gestured at Angel, and then around the roof - taking in the building of Wolfram and Hart, 'I wanted to be humiliated.'

'No, I don't suppose I know what you want.' He took a few steps towards his father, keeping his gun trained on him the whole time. 'You had no use for me as a child and you can't bear the thought of me as an adult. Tell me father, what is it that galls you so? That I was never as good at the job as you were … or that I might just be better at it?'

'Oh yes. This is Los Angeles,' Roger sneered, 'we have to talk about our feelings. Maybe we'll hug.'

'It's doubtful.'

The door handle turned. Chained inside his cupboard, Doyle waited with bated breath to see if salvation or destruction was on the other side. There was a loud crack, the lock broke and the door was shoved open. Cordelia came barrelling inside.

Doyle let out his breath and slumped with relief against the radiator. Evan looked startled. He tried to raise his gun against this newcomer, but before he had time to aim she had crossed the room and grabbed his arm. There was a brief tussle for the gun, he pulled the trigger and shot the ceiling by accident. Plaster rained down on them from above - and he coughed and choked, blinking it out of his eyes. And then he felt a sudden pain in his wrist - excruciating - like it had been broken - and he dropped the gun from his grip. He looked up and his eyes met the furious, brown eyes of Cordelia. He only just had time to register that this young woman had broken down a door and broken his own wrist with her bare hands, before she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He fell to the floor, crying out in agony and she kicked him in the face. Everything went black.

'Doyle!' she stepped over the unconscious body and hurried into the supply cupboard, seeing her boyfriend chained up there. 'What on earth…'

'Explain later - just get the keys, Cordy.' He held up his chained wrist, indicating that she needed to unlock his handcuffs before he could make his escape. 'They should be in his pocket.'

She crossed back to the downed registrar and began to root through his pockets, searching for the keys. Doyle pulled himself as far away from the radiator, trying to see her - waiting anxiously. 'Hurry darlin' - we gotta hurry.'

'Did you see me kick him in the goolies?' she snickered, as she hunted. She hadn't picked up on her boyfriend's anxiety. 'That'll show him - taking you prisoner - he won't walk for a month.'

'I never doubted for a minute you'd get to me first, princess,' Doyle told her, 'but that's 'first' as in there's a second on the way. We gotta get outta here before they get here. Fast.'

She looked up, suddenly realising that he was practically squirming in his desperation to get away. 'What's wrong?' she asked him. But he only shook his head. 'Later,' he told her. 'Escape now.' She nodded and continued patting down the still and lifeless body of Evan, finally locating his keys in his trouser pockets. She dug them out and hurried back across to Doyle, crouching down in front of him and selecting the smallest, silver key and fitting it into the lock.

The cuffs fell open and Doyle snatched his hand away, rubbing his wrist for a moment - there was a red mark around his arm where the metal had bitten into it all afternoon. Then he sprung back to his feet - ignoring his now overwhelming need to pee - and grabbed Cordy's hand. 'C'mon,' he said, tugging her back through the office.

They stepped over the unconscious registrar - and Doyle's eye fell on their file still on Evan's desk. He dropped Cordelia's hand and went to grab it. He'd gone through all this for his marriage license - he wasn't leaving here without it, and he wasn't leaving a paper trail for The Scourge to follow either. Then he took hold of Cordelia once more and pulled her from the office.

All the way along the corridor and down the stairs, Doyle felt his heart hammering in his chest - which was strange as it had also seemed to have lurched into his mouth. His blood was pounding in his ears and his legs were shaking beneath him, trembling so hard that he could barely force them to move one foot in front of the other. But force them he did, his every sense, his every sinew straining for any sign of the encroaching Scourge.

Finally, he stumbled down the last step, his breathing now hard and ragged with panic, and they arrived back in the lobby of city hall. They ran across the foyer - past the still knocked out security guard. Their footsteps echoed against the hard floor and reverberated round the vast space of the grand government building - reminding Doyle of the thunderous footsteps headed their way, even now, and making his heart beat even faster in his chest.

A moment later, they were through the unlocked door and out into the night air. The car was still idling by the sidewalk. Cordelia ran around to the driver's side and Doyle flung himself into the passenger seat. And that was when he heard them: the rumbling, thunderous pounding of jackboots running in step. For a moment, it was as if everything went still and silent - his senses shut down, leaving him blind and deaf in his fear of this worst nightmare come back to haunt him. And then it all came crashing back down on him - the sights, the sounds and the desperate need to escape. His heart was beating so fast now that it felt like it must surely explode inside of him, his whole body was trembling - every nerve end jangling and screaming and he could barely get the words out. 'Cordelia. Drive.'

Overhead, the sound of helicopter blades began to whirr through the air - creating a breeze that ruffled their hair and shirts. The two men still stared each other down, guns pointed. 'Hand me that staff,' Roger said. This was his escape, his extraction, he and the vampire needed to be leaving on that helicopter - but not without the staff.

'No.'

'Now don't make me shoot you!'

Wesley backed away, so he was standing at the very edge of the building's roof - and then held his hand out, dangling the rod over the side. 'Go ahead,' he offered. '

'Do you know how powerful that thing is?'

'I don't care.'

'I will kill you for it,' Roger said to him, 'please believe me.' But Wesley only shrugged and kept his hand held out over the edge of the building. It was a long way down to the floor. 'Oh I believe you,' he told his father, 'I was raised by you after all.'

The helicopter was directly overhead now, drowning out their words - meaning they had to shout. A bright searchlight was shining down on them, illuminating the scene. Wesley stared into the lined face of his father, saw the determination in his cold eyes. But his own eyes were no less determined. Like father, like son. 'If I drop this,' he raised the staff slightly to indicate it, 'then the crystal shatters, Angel is restored. So I reckon, whether I live or die, your plan has failed.'

Roger stared at Wesley. This was - unexpected. That the snivelling, younger Wyndam Pryce had turned into a man of such conviction. Willing to die for a friend - a vampire - because he believed it was right. That he would dare stand up to his father, and be able to outsmart him. This … this was not in the plan. He would have to improvise. 'I see. Well then…' he lurched downward and grabbed hold of Fred, who was still kneeling beside Angel, he pulled her to her feet and pointed the gun at her head, 'perhaps if it is someone you care about -'

BAM. Wesley pulled the trigger and the bullet hit his father straight in the chest. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM he kept on firing, walking towards his father, pulling the trigger until the clip was empty, his eyes unblinking. He shot his father nine times. Roger fell to the ground. The helicopter turned and flew away, leaving the roof in sudden darkness.

Fred stared at Wesley, her mouth open in shock. Wesley was looking down at his father, his head tilted to one side. His expression was appalled, unbelieving - Roger was not moving. Wesley had killed him. He turned away from the sight, dropping the staff - it slipped from his hand without him even noticing, and the crystal shattered as it hit the floor. He staggered away to the edge of the building and threw up.

There was a buzzing sound behind him - and he straightened up to turn around and look. Blue crackles of electricity were emanating from Roger's body. Wesley and Fred stared - not understanding - and then Roger's form melted away, as the glamour broke down, leaving behind only the body of another of the cyborgs.

They arrived back at the apartment, entering via the underground door. Cordelia went to get her first aid kit and Doyle sat at the dining room table. He placed their file on the table and looked through it. Their marriage license was inside, he closed his eyes - at least it hadn't all been for nothing, at least he didn't have to go back.

Cordy came back with her kit and began to fuss over his injuries, the bump on the back of his head and the markings round his wrist. He sat there quietly and let her get on with fixing him up, his heart feeling heavy the whole time.

When she was done and tidied away she came to sit beside him. 'So what happened today?' she asked, 'was that guy crazy or…?'

Doyle took a deep breath. 'I know who's been killin' all those demons, Cordy,' he said to her, 'who's responsible for all the deaths we've been investigating.'

Cordy frowned, 'that civil servant guy?' she asked, sounding surprised. But Doyle shook his head. 'No - he was just … I don't know how he knew about 'em, but he called 'em up to come and get me - to kill me like they killed the others.'

'Called who?'

He turned his head away from her, staring down at the table - at their paperwork inside the folder and his hand resting beside it. 'The Scourge.' His voice was barely above a whisper - but she heard. He felt her stiffen beside him. 'They're the ones been killin' all these innocent people - and they were comin' to city hall tonight. For me. He told 'em about me. They thought - they thought they killed all the Brachen demons the last time around. I'm the last one left - and they were coming to finish the job.'

'But … what …' she shook her head, not knowing what to say, not being able to think of the words she wanted. He looked up at her again and saw that her eyes showed the same fright he felt. 'Do they know where to find you?' she asked at last, and her voice was as scared as her eyes, 'do they know where we are?'

Doyle shook his head. 'I dunno,' he admitted. 'I dunno what exactly that guy told 'em. I don't think he'd ever kidnapped anyone before, was in way over his head - didn't know what he was doin'. I don't know how much information he gave them over the phone but I doubt he thought to memorise our details.' He picked the folder up and showed it to Cordy, 'I brought his file on us with us. Our marriage license is inside. We can get married.' He stopped as she leaned forward and gave him a sudden kiss - it was hard and fierce, and betrayed her fright even more than her trembling voice had done.

'So … you don't think he'll be able to tell them anything - when they get there?'

'They arrived just as we left, I heard their boots.' He suppressed a shudder, remembering that terrifying pounding. 'They - they could be on their way already. I hope he didn't know anythin' - our address - but…' He sighed. 'And there's a chance that when they got there, found I'd escaped, they'd kill him without talking to him first. I tried to warn him they'd kill him - told him he had to get out of there. He didn't believe me.' He stared round the apartment - their first proper home together. The place they were supposed to be building a life together. It was no longer safe. 'But, whether they know where I am or not - they know I exist now. They'll try to track me.' He took a deep breath. 'I think maybe it might be a good idea if we get outta here for a couple of days. Lie low.'

Cordelia nodded, not arguing, not claiming they should stay and fight. Just silently accepting his wisdom on the matter. She must be frightened, he realised, to not be arguing. He smiled wryly.

'I'll go pack us a bag,' Cordy said quietly, getting to her feet. 'You just stay here and - recuperate. We can be ready to go in … ten minutes.'

He nodded, and sank lower in his chair as she walked away to start readying for their flight to safety. 'Thanks, princess,' he murmured, closing his eyes and giving into weariness.

Angel sat slumped on the couch in his office, his arm was wrapped across his belly - clutching it. Wesley walked in, 'how are you doing?' he asked.

'Well,' he struggled to right himself on the sofa and then gave in, slumping back down, 'you know what the worst part of losing your free will is?'

'Having no control over your body?' Wesley hazarded a guess.

'Well - there's that and … you get really nauseous.' He groaned as another wave of sickness flooded through him. Wesley sat down beside him, 'that side effect should wear off soon enough.'

'Any idea where those things came from?' Angel asked, 'any idea what they wanted with me?' But Wesley only shook his head - and Angel sighed. 'Great. Like we don't have enough to worry about. Now the good guys may be after us too.'

'We have to assume we crossed some powerful forces when we took over this company.'

'They're all trying to bring us down,' Angel nodded slowly. 'Perception is we're weak.'

Wesley shook his head, 'no,' he said - a little bitterly. 'Perception is I'm weak. That's why they went for me.'

'They're wrong,' Angel didn't miss a beat. It was his turn to shake his head, though the sudden rush of nausea made him wish he hadn't. 'You do what you have to to protect the people around you. To do what you know is right regardless of the cost. Maybe you think I don't realise that - for a long time I didn't get it, didn't understand. But I look at everything we've been through together- since the beginning, the price you've paid to keep us all safe. The things you've been willing to do, the measures you've taken - the places you've been. You're the strong one among us, Wes. The one that steps up and does the unthinkable when the others can't. You're the guy that makes all the hard decisions - even if he has to make 'em alone.'

'Right now I feel like the guy who shot his own father.'

'Ah - it was just a robot with a fancy glamour,' Angel waved a dismissive hand.

'That thing knew everything about me.'

But the vampire didn't think that was so very surprising. If the cyborgs had had access to the watcher's council's old files, then they'd have all his background information; his character assessments, his psychological profiles - everything they'd need to pull off a bluff this big. 'Like I said, don't beat yourself up.' His expression became thoughtful, 'you know… I killed my actual dad. It was one of the first things I did as a vampire.'

Wesley turned his head and gave his boss a hard stare. 'I hardly see how that's the same situation.'

'You're right,' Angel conceded, a little abashed, 'I didn't really think that one through. You should get some rest.'

'So should you,' he got to his feet and left the office.

...

Out in the lobby he bumped into Spike, lurking. 'Heard what happened up top,' the vampire said to him, his voice and expression were surprisingly serious; gentle and concerned. 'Offing your dad and all. I don't know if you know this but - uh - I killed my mum.' He considered the turn of events so many years before and sought to clarify. 'Actually, I'd already killed her, but then she tried to shag me, so I had to…' he mimed staking a vampire.

'Thank you,' Wesley held his hand out, stopping Spike from continuing talking, his expression was horrified. 'I'm very comforted.'

Spike nodded to himself, at a job well done, and left Wesley to make his way back to his office.

...

Once inside, he crossed to his desk and switched on the lamp. Fred appeared in the doorway, he noticed her standing there. 'If you're here to tell me about how you killed your parents … perhaps it could wait for another time?'

She looked confused, 'What? No. They're fine.' She shook her head and walked into the room, reaching Wesley's side and peering up into his face, her eyes large and soft. 'It's not like you killed your dad either.'

'Right,' he didn't sound like he believed her.

'Part of you knew,' she insisted. 'Even if you can't admit that to yourself, part of you knew it wasn't him.'

'No. I was sure it was him.' Everything had been right: the suit, the cologne, the mannerisms, the tone of voice - god that tone of voice. Belittling and bewildering - making him feel like he was still a clumsy schoolboy in short trousers. That had been his father standing in front of him - all day - down to the way he stirred his tea. And Wesley had shot him. Nine times. 'You were there. I killed my father.'

'He was threatening your friends,' Fred said, still trying to give comfort - to let him know he could forgive himself.

'He was threatening you.' Wesley corrected, and his voice trembled as he said it. Because he had never had any inclination to shoot his father when it was Angel's life on the line. Die for him, yes - if that's what it took. But patricide? It hadn't crossed his mind. Until his father pointed a gun at Fred - and then he didn't even stop to think about it. Didn't even hesitate for a moment. It frightened him that he could feel so deeply - that he could be driven to … that, without having to think. All emotion. All rationality gone - lost. 'He pointed a gun at you, Fred … so I shot him.'

'Wesley … I…' she stared up into his face, searching his expression - seeing the pain and desperation in his eyes, the lines etched into his face by guilt and grief - and the raw vulnerability as he confessed that he would kill for her and her alone. She didn't know what to say - couldn't find the words to express …

'Hey,' Knox appeared in the doorway, killing the moment. She turned to look at him - not sure if she was relieved or annoyed. But something must have shown on her face, something of what was transpiring must have seeped into Knox's awareness - because he immediately apologised for interrupting. 'But … Fred - you're injured,' he smiled his rumpled smile. 'I know we're supposed to work ourselves to death and all, but I'm guessing the company isn't enforcing that policy as strictly as they used to. And I thought I was gonna take you home.'

'Oh…' she glanced between the two men, not sure what to say. She didn't want to leave Wesley like this - but she didn't know what she could do for him either. 'Well … I … Wesley and I were just…'

'Go,' Wesley said softly, 'you should go.'

She gave him one last, concerned look and then left the office with Knox. Wesley followed them with his eyes and then, once they were out of sight, sat down behind the desk and picked up the phone. He dialled the long number for an international call. 'Hello, mum, it's me,' he said when he heard his mother's voice answer, all the way over in England. 'No, everything's fine… I was hoping to speak to father, actually. Yes all right…' there was a pause as his mother handed the phone over to the real Roger Wyndam Pryce. 'Hello father how are you?' he asked, he listened to the reply - from the voice he had spent all day with. That exact same voice. The voice that had threatened to shoot Fred. So Wesley had shot him. 'Oh I didn't realise it was so early there,' he answered his father's complaint, checking his own watch, 'I've had a bit of a…' but his father did not want to hear about his day. 'Yes of course we have clocks in Los Angeles,' Wesley sighed. 'Listen I wanted to… nothing's wrong. I just wanted to call - and see how you were.'

They had checked into the same motel that Doyle had lived out of the previous year. Now they lay in the dark, on the hard, lumpy bed. Cordelia's body was curled around Doyle's and her arm was flung across his chest, her nose nuzzled into the nape of his neck. He traced his fingertips up and down her arm, tickling her skin softly. Neither of them slept.

'Are you afraid?' Cordelia asked after a long time.

'Yep. You?'

She nodded her head, and he felt her hair tickle against the back of his neck. 'The Scourge,' he said to her, 'they're … it's a lot for us to face up to, by ourselves.'

'It's not them I'm afraid of,' Cordelia said softly. Doyle frowned into the darkness. 'Then what?'

'You,' she said, squeezing him more tightly, 'losing you. That's what frightens me.'

He rolled over and turned to face her - so the tips of their noses were touching. 'What do you mean?' he asked, reaching up and stroking her hair, 'I'm not goin' anywhere.'

But she shook her head, on the pillow, and bit her lip to stop it trembling. 'You're The Promised One,' she told him. 'I might be a slayer, but this - this is your destiny. All yours. And it's bigger than anything we've faced. You were supposed to die - facing this - and you didn't. And now it's back… and I'm terrified of losing you. I'm frightened of what your role in all this is going to turn out to be. And I don't know that I'm strong enough to protect you from your own destiny, from what the universe has decided is your purpose on this earth. What if…' her lip trembled again and she sought to control it, 'what if all we've had these last years is stolen time? And now it's time to pay it back? I can't bear that…' her bottom lip twitched again.

He kissed her, softly, pressing his lips to hers to stop them from trembling. 'You're Cordelia Chase,' he said to her, forcing a smile for her, 'you can do anythin' you set your mind to - and I wouldn't wanna be the universe gettin' in the way of what you want. No power in the 'verse can stop you. You know that.'

'I can't rewrite destiny,' she said sadly. He shook his head. 'No - but someone did - once - for me. For us. We've beaten the odds every step of the way. What's one more battle? Huh? What's one more war?'

She sniffed, and brought her hand up to wipe away the stray tear tracking its solitary way down her cheek. 'So what do we do?' she asked. 'We can't hide here forever. We could skip town - but if this is your destiny they'll only track you down again. The Powers want you to fight. It's why they've been sending you visions.'

'I know it,' he nodded. 'I think we should get out of town. But not forever. If we're gonna fight The Scourge,' he closed his eyes and felt the wave of terror wash over him. He fought it down before he continued. 'Then we need to fight smart. We need to find out everything we can about them, their weapons, their goals, my destiny in all this … not just rumours and whispered stories passed on. We need to find experts, read prophecies and then - when we come back - we'll be ready for 'em.'

'You're still frightened,' she said.

He forced another smile, 'only in a too terrified to stand unaided sort o' way. I'll be fine.' He gave her another kiss. 'You should go to sleep,' he told her.

'So should you.'

'I'll try if you will.' He rolled back over, and felt Cordy curl round him once more, her arm holding him tightly. They lay there for a long while. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply - forcing his breaths to become even and regular - hoping to lull himself to sleep that way. 'Cordelia?' he murmured, after a few minutes failure, 'do you think what that guy said was true? Do you really think I'm the last o' my species?'

Wesley put the phone down and poured himself a whisky. He tossed it back and then stared into space - that thousand yard stare he wore whenever his troubles were too much, the weight of them too crushing to bear. 'You're still here?' he glanced up. Lilah was stood in the doorway, smiling at him - a soft, concerned smile - not her usual shark's grin. 'You should go home, get some sleep,' she said.

'I don't believe I could sleep.'

'Well - you should still go home, get out of here - out of this place. For a few days at least.'

He looked up at her, there was a slight question in his eyes, though his expression was still haunted. She returned his gaze, her own comforting and soft. 'I think you more than qualify for a sabbatical,' she said to him. 'You need … headspace. After what you've been through. If you don't take time to deal with this … well, it won't go away by itself, is all I'm saying - and it isn't healthy to hide from it.'

'And you really want me to believe that you care for my well being?'

'I really do. Care - I mean. I'll clear it with Angel. I'll clear it with The Senior Partners. Go. Deal with this, come to terms with everything it means and then come back, when you're ready.'

'You're right, I suppose,' he stood up and got his jacket. 'You'll let Angel know?'

She nodded, and he walked to the door, slow and stiff, his shoulders bent - as if carrying the physical weight of what he had done. 'Wesley-' he stopped and looked back at her. 'Would you have shot him … if he had been pointing that gun at me?' He stared at her for a moment - and then turned and walked away, without answering.

She watched him leave. Her eyes were hurt and her smile the same. Once the elevator door had closed behind him, she took out her cell phone and rang her contact. 'OK,' she said, once they'd picked up. 'I got him out of the building. He's going to take a few days sabbatical. If you want to implement the next phase of your plan, now's the time to do it.'

A/N Next episode is 'Destiny'.