Destiny

Part One

The room lay in darkness, the heavy drapes drawn across the windows, blocking out the rising sun. There was a stillness to the atmosphere - a watchful, waiting - as if the place were holding its breath, expecting something momentous to happen at any minute. Then, the sound of giggling cut through the air, coming from the other side of the doors - a man and a woman were arriving - in high spirits.

The doors pushed open and Drusilla and her new pet, William, fell through the doors - still giggling, kissing and fumbling. William pushed his sire; this new, delightful, intoxicating, effulgent woman; against the wall and began to nibble on her ear. She moaned. 'Oh such a hungry kitty,' she playfully pushed him away from herself. 'Meow.' She pulled him further into the room. 'You've been a starved one, haven't you?'

'I've got you to feast on now,' he told her. He looked around the room - taking in its opulence, its high ceilings, grand furnishings and fine chandelier. 'Is this your home?'

'Their home,' she nodded her head over to a pair of corpses slumped on the velvet couch - they were portly and middle aged and had been drained completely of their blood. 'Ambassador to … something and his plump, lovely wife. Until their spirits flew away on fairy wings.' She lowered her voice and whispered in William's ear, 'psst when Angelus took them for dinner.'

'Angelus? Who the bloody hell is ...' He turned - and saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows. A man. Taller than William - by quite a bit, and broader too. He had long brown hair and a prominent brow, which hung over dark, piercing eyes. William had never seen eyes like those before - the hunger, the danger - the quiet, stealthy sense of menace.

Drusilla's beautiful face broke into a wide smile when she saw the other man standing there. 'Look what I've made,' she said to him, proudly. 'It's called Willy.'

'William,' William corrected her at once, his voice was sharp. He hadn't minded when this black goddess had called him by a diminutive - but in front of this lurking, brooding man, with his air of watchful danger, he did not want to be made to sound small. Ludicrous.

The man - Angelus - took a step out of the shadows, closer to the happy couple. He looked William up and down, slowly - a slight, teasing smile playing on his face. Though there was no friendliness in that smile - it was a wolf's grin. William pulled himself straight, standing as tall as he could - trying to stare down this Angelus. But that only seemed to amuse the other man. 'So instead of just feeding off this William … you went and turned him into one of us. Another rooster in the henhouse.' His voice was slow - and had a lilt to it.

'You're not cross with me are you?' Drusilla asked.

'Cross?' Angelus grabbed hold of William and pulled him towards the window. The early morning light shone through the barest crack in the curtains - and Angelus held William's hand up - letting the direct rays of sunlight fall upon it. Immediately, William felt his hand began to burn. He snatched it away from the light, letting it fall safely back into the darkness - and stared angrily into the eyes of this other man. 'Touch me again -' he started to say. His voice was trembling with anger - and a little fear - but he would give into neither. He was a creature of the night, now, he would no longer be pushed around - as William the bloody awful poet had been by his cruel peers. William had already killed some of those who had mocked him in life - and would kill more of them yet. But damned if he was going to trade his human tormentors for an immortal one. He stood his ground.

But Angelus only laughed. 'Do you know what it's like?' he asked in his slow, lilting voice, 'to only have women as travelling companions.' He leaned forward, leering into William's face. 'Now don't get me wrong - I love the ladies. It's just lately … I've been wondering.' He raised his own fist and held it up into the sunlight. 'What it would be like…' both men watched his fist as it began to sizzle. 'To share the slaughter of innocents with another man.' He turned his hand over, opening up his fist so his palm lay exposed in the sunlight - and watched it smoke. 'Don't think that makes me some kind of deviant,' he pulled his hand back down into the shade and grinned his wolf's grin at William, 'do you?'

William stared him down - accepting the challenge. He was a new person - a whole new being - and this new form he took would not be pushed around by bigger men. People would learn his name and tremble. Learn respect. Learn fear - and he would start right here, right now. He stuck his own fist back out into the sunlight and then - just as Angelus had done - slowly opened it up, exposing his palm. He held it out until it began to smoke, ignoring the pain - forcing himself to hold it there just a moment longer than Angelus had managed.

Angelus began to laugh and slapped William on the shoulder. 'Ah - I like this one,' he told Drusilla. He pulled William closer to him, so their brows were almost touching. 'You and me - we are going to be the best of friends.' He laughed again - and this time William joined in.

...

'Get the hell away from me Spike!' Angel snapped as he came down the stairs into the Wolfram and Hart lobby. Spike was trailing behind him, refusing to go away. 'Would that I could, you big ape,' he walked through a column and continued dogging Angel's heels. 'Til then, why don't you make us both happy and give me what I want?'

They came to a stop in front of the front desk. 'You're not getting an office,' Angel said to him, as Harmony handed her boss some mail. He ripped open the envelope and looked at it. Captain Peroxide was still arguing. 'You selfish sod! The rest of your lot get to go home to their nice and cosies. Me? I gotta nest in somebody else's roost. It's not bleeding right.'

'You don't work here, Spike,' Angel told him, through gritted teeth. You haunt this place and annoy me. That's all!' he turned away from the ghost and headed to his office.

'At least give me Wesley's office!' Spike called after him, 'I mean since he's gone.'

'He's not gone - he's just on a leave of absence,' Angel replied over his shoulder, without even looking back.

'Oh boo hoo, he thought he killed his father,' Spike yelled as the office door slammed in his face. 'Try having to stake your mother whilst she's coming on to you!'

Harmony looked up from her computer, 'that explains so much,' she muttered.

...

Inside his office, Angel found Lilah waiting for him. He took a sip of his blood and glared at her, 'and what are you doing here?'

She raised a sardonic eyebrow, 'just - checking in,' she shrugged, elegantly. 'Wondering how things were going now Wesley has - ah - what did you just call it? Taken a leave of absence?'

'He'll only be gone for a couple of days,' it was Angel's turn to shrug. 'He'll be back before we know it - we just need to hold down the fort, hope nothing too bad happens, until he gets back.'

'Right,' she grinned, wickedly, 'nothing too bad happens. Here. Um - aren't you worried what Wesley might be getting up to?'

He stared at her blankly. 'What do you mean?'

'You gave him Connor,' she said bluntly.

'He's taken Connor away for a few days, to go to the beach, the park, play in the sunshine - all the things I can't do with him. Connor's lucky to have Wesley to do that stuff with him.'

'A second father,' she smiled, slyly. A slight tremor passed across Angel's face, but he tried to suppress it. 'If that's how you want to put it,' he said, evenly.

'Not me,' she shrugged again, 'but Wesley? … aren't you worried he might steal Connor again?'

'Nope.'

'Just like that?'

'Yeah, Lilah - just like that. And if he does ever take Connor away again, I know it's for a damn good reason - to keep me and my son safe. I trust Wesley - with my life, with my son. So what is this about?'

She laughed. 'Just making conversation,' she told him, 'finding out where your head space is.'

'So you can report back to the Senior Partners?'

'Well - it is my job.'

'Well you can tell them that I'm fine. And Wesley's fine. And Connor's fine. And they'll be back before you know it. And nothing is going to happen between now and then.'

...

Spike shook his head at the closed door and started to walk away. 'Spike!' Harmony called after him. He turned back to her, thinking she wanted to talk about his whole Oedipus revelation. 'Look - it was a long time ago - she wasn't herself.'

'You got mail,' Harmony told him - uninterested in his mother. She placed a package on the desk. He looked surprised. 'Who'd be sending post to a …'

'Ghost?' she finished for him - and shrugged. 'Don't know. It's addressed to you care of here. It's kind of heavy.' He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers, indicating his inability to open it. 'Oh,' she realised, 'do you want me to -?' He nodded, and she took out a letter opener and sliced the package open.

Spike leaned over expectantly, as she lifted the cardboard flaps. There was a sudden flash of light - and then … nothing. The box was empty. Behind the front desk, the phone began to ring. Harmony and Spike peered into the empty parcel. 'Well, that was a slap and a tickle,' Spike said. Another phone began to ring. Harmony picked it up - and then dropped it as a screeching noise sounded in her ear from the other end of the line.

Spike wandered away, 'any more fireworks for me,' he said over his shoulder, headed for Angel's door, 'I'll be in here telling your boss what a miserable bastard he -' BAM. Instead of walking through the door, he banged right into it and fell on the ground. He stared up at it, blinking, his nose stinging. 'Bugger, that hurt!'

The door opened and Angel came out, mug of blood in hand, and stared down at the vampire on the floor. Spike stared back up at him - realisation starting to form. 'Hold on…'

Wesley walked down the pier, pushing Connor in his stroller. There was a balloon tied to its frame and the little boy had an ice cream, and was smearing it all over himself, leaving his face and fingers sticky. They reached an empty bench, which had a view of the beach and the ocean beyond, and Wesley sat down and pulled Connor's stroller round so he was facing the little boy. He took a cloth out of his bag and began to clean up the sticky mess the toddler had made. 'Did you like that?' he asked. Connor nodded. 'More!' the boy asked. 'Wesy - more iceceam.'

But Wesley shook his head, smiling. 'Not yet - you'll spoil your lunch. What would you like to do next? We could build sandcastles, or go paddling in the ocean, or walk along to the fairground - go on the carousel.'

'Pad'lin,' the little boy told him. Wesley nodded and helped him off with his shoes and then took off his own and rolled his trousers up. 'Careful,' he said, as he led the little boy onto the beach, 'the sand is hot.'

'Ow ow ow,' Connor danced from tiny foot to tiny foot - almost losing his balance as he felt the sand burn his feet. Wesley swooped down and picked the little boy up - he swung him high in the air - and Connor laughed with delight - and then he ran down the beach towards the ocean, Connor tucked under his arm - so he didn't burn his feet. The little boy laughed the whole way - and the sound of his laughter soothed Wesley's aching heart.

He put him down once they reached the cooler, wet sand - and together they squelched their way towards the breaking waves - leaving two sets of footprints behind them. They stood in the shallow water, hand in hand, and jumped over the waves as they rolled in, getting thoroughly splashed in the process. Connor laughed and laughed the whole time.

Wesley smiled down at him. His own father had never done anything like this for him. Had never had the time or inclination or patience to play with his son. And Angel's had never done anything like this, either. Angel, himself, couldn't. He would miss out on so many golden moments in Connor's childhood, because he could not go out in the sunlight. But that did not mean Connor had to miss out as well, the way Wesley had, the way Angel had.

They could be better than their father's. Learn from their mistakes - give Connor a better start in life than the ones they had been given. Both men had been so irrevocably shaped by their fathers, by their expectations - their disappointment. Everything they had become, the dark paths they had both followed, stemmed directly from their treatment at the hands of the men who were supposed to shape and guide them. But history was not destiny. Connor would not have to follow a dark path - because Angel - and Wesley - would ensure that that darkness never entered his soul.

Working to protect this little boy gave Wesley a purpose. And seeing him happy gave him some peace. They clutched hands even tighter - and jumped the next wave that crashed to shore.

The stream of people disembarked the plane at Manta, shuffling their way towards passport control. Doyle and Cordelia shuffled along amongst them. They had been travelling for over 14 hours - the flight had included two layovers. They were sticky and tired and irritable - but this was really only the beginning of their journey.

Cordelia was travelling incognito - wearing a floppy sun hat, a sundress and a big pair of shades - trying to look like a regular tourist. Doyle had travelled as … Doyle. He had on a red bowling shirt and his brown, leather jacket - though that was now slung over his shoulder. He could feel the heat from the outside radiating in, even inside the little tunnel which connected the plane to the gate. It was hotter here than it was in L.A - and, to an Irishman, L.A always felt pretty damn hot, no matter how long he lived there. But here they were on the equator - and Doyle felt like he was melting. The heat was only making them more fractious as they stumbled along in the line of people.

They stood in line, waiting their turn to pass through immigration. When it was their turn, they went through together - Cordy handing over her dark, blue passport and Doyle handing over his burgundy one - with the writing in English and Irish. He held his breath whilst the official looked over them - waiting to see if any comment would be made about how far he had travelled, or how come two people from different countries were travelling together. But the guy on the desk seemed supremely uninterested in where they'd come from or why they were here. He just glanced at their photos - checked them against their faces - stamped their passports and then waved them through.

Doyle let out his breath, relieved. The immigration process was far friendlier here than it was getting into America, far more relaxed.

They had nothing to declare and no luggage to pick up - the few changes of clothes they had brought being stuffed in their hand luggage - and so they headed straight on through to the arrivals gate and then out of the terminal.

The scorched air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, like the blast of a furnace. Doyle felt the sweat begin to pour down his back. He wiped his face with his hand, trying to stop the perspiration dripping into his eyes. 'Jesus, we need to find some shade,' he said.

Cordelia frowned. 'We need to get moving.' She was still too irritable from her long flight to be amused by how badly her Northern European boyfriend did in the heat - though normally it would delight her.

There was a zebra crossing outside the terminal doors - and a taxi rank just across the road. She led the way and climbed into the back of the first taxi in the line. Doyle scrambled in after her.

'̣¿á donde?' The taxi driver asked them, leaning back to look at them. Where to? Cordy and Doyle glanced at each other. Their Spanish was … not great. Doyle had never learned any - what with Ireland not sharing a thousand mile border with a Spanish speaking country and all, and Cordy, despite her good grade point average and finishing in the top 90% of her class, had been put in remedial Spanish in middle school and opted for French once she was at Sunnydale High.

'Um …' she stuttered. 'Quiero ir a … the docks?' she said. I want to go to. She had forgotten how to say 'we'. 'El puerto?' she tried hopefully. The cab driver seemed to understand - because he nodded, turned the key in the ignition and drove them away.

'Well - that didn't go so badly,' Doyle said.

Spike lay on the floor, still feeling the stinging in his nose from the impact. Behind him the phones were ringing off the hook. Slowly, he got back to his feet - feeling Angel's staring eyes on him the whole time. 'Hey I'm…' he touched his chest. His hand made contact. 'I can feel.' He reached out and touched Angel's chest, prodding him and poking him - a delighted grin lighting up his face as he felt the solidity of Angel beneath the tips of his own solid fingers.

Angel took a step back and slapped his hand away. 'Hey! Stop touching me,' he snapped.

Spike ran his tongue across his lips - and made contact with the trickle of blood running down his nose - from where he had slammed face first into the door. His eyes lit up even brighter. 'I can...' he grabbed the mug of blood from Angel's hand and began to drink lustily.

'Hey!' Angel protested again. But Spike wasn't listening. He gulped away at the viscous liquid, revelling in the sensation of its warmth filling his mouth and sliding down his throat. 'Mmm mmm mmm, oh god it's bloody ambrosia.' He looked up, once the mug was empty. 'Is this otter?'

'What's going on?' Gunn asked, walking up to the pair of them. He meant the phones - every single one in the building, it seemed, was ringing off the hook. But for an answer he got Spike throwing his arms around him. 'I'm back Charlie boy!' Spike cried, 'that's what's going on.'

'He's corporeal,' Gunn said - once the sudden hug was broken. He frowned at Angel, 'when did this … I mean, how?'

'I don't know he just…'

But Spike was starting to work it out - it must have been the flash he got in the mail, it must have worked some kind of mojo. He didn't know where it came from - or who sent it, nor did he care. 'But if you see him, give him a bloody kiss on the mouth from me,' he told Angel.

Angel was less delighted by this turn of events. This was ... a worry. On top of all the other things he already had to worry about. Though it wasn't actually the most pressing - the constant ringing of the phones were more of an immediate problem. They were actually more irritating than Spike - and that shouldn't be possible. 'Harmony, what is going on with the phones?' he demanded.

She came out from behind the desk and joined the small group - Spike raked his eyes over her and began to smile. 'Nobody knows,' she told her boss. 'It's, like, all over the office. And all there is is "eee" on the other end,' she imitated the screeching that had nearly pierced her eardrum. 'Plus now my computer is freaking,' she finished up.

Spike was still watching her, still smiling. He grabbed hold of her arm, 'Harm'. She turned towards him and he grabbed hold of her, pulling her in for a kiss. 'Get off!' She shoved him away from herself and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 'Ew.'

'I need to borrow your Girl Friday for a bit,' he said to Angel.

'Permission denied.'

'I wasn't asking.' He took hold of Harmony's wrist and began to pull her away - but once again Harmony put up a fight, wrenching her arm back and refusing to be pulled along. 'Oh my god! What? You think that just 'cause you're all ...solid now, I'm gonna go -'

'That's a very pretty skirt you're wearing.'

She couldn't maintain the anger - not with her Blondie Bear looking at her like that. It made her head go all tingly. Though she tried to bite it back, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. Spike was looking very pleased, still looking at her with those eyes that made her… 'taking a long lunch break, boss,' she said - and ran off with Spike.

They paid the taxi driver and got out at the docks - it was busy; noisy and chaotic. Gulls flew overhead, screeching. Cargo was being loaded onto boats. Fishing boats were docking and unloading their haul onto the little piers. Doyle and Cordy pushed their way through the crowds. 'Now what?' he asked her.

'We look for someone going where we wanna go,' she replied. She took hold of his wrist, so they wouldn't get separated in the bustle, and pulled him through the throng.

There was a small boat docked against pier number four - and a youngish man finishing packing something onto the deck. Cordy approached him, Doyle hanging behind her awkwardly. '¿Habla Inglés?' she asked the man. He shook his head - but pointed towards an older man, sitting on the dockside, on a crate - seemingly just watching all the activity. 'El habla Ingles,' the young man told her. 'El jefe.'

'Thanks - uh - gracias.' She headed back down the pier, back towards the dock. 'Maybe this guy can help us,' she said to her boyfriend - as he followed on behind.

'I hope so.'

They fought their way through the crush, towards the boss, dodging fishing nets and packing crates as they went. The man saw them approaching, he raised an eyebrow and took a long drag on his cigarette.

'Hi,' Cordelia said to him, she fixed her biggest and brightest smile in place.

'Buenos dias senora,' he nodded at her. 'Senor,' he nodded at Doyle, who shuffled his feet and mumbled 'hello'.

'The - uh - senor over there told me you speak English?' Cordy asked, her voice raising up hopefully at the end. 'Habla ingles.'

'Si senora - I speak English.'

'Great,' her smile became even wider - as it became more natural. This was at least a little success. She began to explain what she and Doyle wanted - where they wanted to go. 'We can pay,' she said, 'if anyone's headed in that direction, we can pay for our passage.'

He took another long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke into their faces and staring at them, coolly. 'Why you wanna go there?' he asked. 'Not many Americanos go there.'

They glanced at each other. 'It's a long story, bud,' Doyle told him. 'But it's real important that we get there - is there anyone headed that way at all?' The man didn't answer right away, he was still scrutinising them from under his grey, beetling eyebrows - and pulling on his cigarette. Finally he dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground the butt under his heel, then he got to his feet. 'Si,' he nodded. And the young couple breathed a sigh of relief. 'Go to pier nueve,' he held up nine fingers and then pointed further down the docks. 'There's a boat - La Sirena De Manta - ask for Xavier. He get you where you're going.'

Doyle and Cordy nodded their understanding, thanked the man and then headed towards pier nine, and the little cargo boat docked there. The man watched them go, following them with his eyes as they disappeared amongst the crowds - and took out another cigarette.

The coach rattled down the unpaved road, bouncing over stones and down divets. Inside, William and Angelus lolled back on the upholstered seats and laughed. 'And then when you popped up in the middle of the ceremony,' William was saying, wheezing with laughter and wiping the tears from his eyes, 'grabbed the priest's head and squeezed it until it popped like a …'

'Rotted melon,' Angelus supplied his own simile. His tone was vicious and his smile was cruel. He pulled the woman - his victim - closer to his side. She was the bride, her white dress now stained with her own blood and the blood of her new husband. Her neck was torn and her eyes were glassy. She hadn't long left to live, was barely conscious from the blood loss, but she was still alive enough to be frightened as she felt herself gripped tightly in this monster's embrace.

William was laughing even harder, pleased with the comparator Angelus had found. 'Yes!' That was it exactly, rotting fruit - the mushed pulp bleeding its way through the wrinkled skin. 'Eyeballs dangling from their sockets - and then you call out "frankly father thine eyes offend me". Bloody priceless! And beating the groom to death with his own arm. I mean, honestly - you're a bloody killing marvel.'

'Yeah,' Angelus was not interested in the adulation. 'Have a drink.' He offered the bride to his companion, claiming he had already had his fill. But William declined, the bride was Angelus' spoils, he was thinking he might go and find Drusilla. She was hunting for street urchins in the East End - it would make her happy if her sweet boy joined her.

Angelus leaned back in his own seat, his expression became calculating - though William, still high from the kill and thinking of his dark love, did not notice. 'She's special, isn't she?' Angelus asked, his voice slow, 'our Drusilla.'

'She's more than that,' William's voice took on a tone of reverence as he spoke about all his sire had done for him. 'She brought me into this world. Where I was meant to be. It's like … she's my destiny.'

'Yeah - she is a sweet plum. I mean, a bit dotty and brain addled but…'

'She's not,' he frowned, wanting to defend her. She was special - different - saw things that others could not. But she wasn't … there was nothing wrong with her. 'It's like she's still got a bit of a child in her,' he explained.

'Probably two or three by now,' Angelus banged on the roof of the coach to get the coachman to stop. The horses were reigned in and, with a jolt, the carriage ground to a standstill. 'Happy hunting,' Angelus wished his protege. 'Go on - just be home before sunrise.'

William grinned, nodded that he would be careful - and climbed out of the coach.

...

Spike dragged Harmony down the hallway, holding on to her hand, checking through offices as they went. Eventually he got bored looking and doubled back into the last office, where some little lawyer was doing .. whatever the hell he was doing. Spike didn't care. 'You we need your office. Get out,' he commanded, pulling Harmony inside with him.

'What?' the lawyer laughed in disbelief. 'I don't take orders from a gh- hey!' He was cut off by the now very corporeal Spike grabbing holding of him, frogmarching him across the office and bundling him out of the door. 'You can't - get your hands off -' the door was slammed angrily in his face. 'Hey!' he called again, beginning to bang on his own office door.

'Piss off!' Spike yelled.

The man stared at his closed door for a moment, and then shook his head and walked off down the hallway. 'You're not gonna believe this, Jerry,' he said, stopping off at the photocopier to talk to the man standing there. 'I just got thrown out of my own office. That ghost pal of Mr. Goodfang, I guess he's…' the lawyer trailed off as Jerry turned to look at him and he caught glimpse of the look on his face. It was … murderous. And his eyes were red rimmed - literally - smeared with tears of blood.

'Toner,' Jerry snarled.

'Jerry?'

Jerry grabbed the fire extinguisher and swung it at the lawyer - again and again and again. 'Nobody … replaces … the toner.' He punctuated each word with a vicious blow to the lawyer's head.

Doyle and Cordelia sat balanced on a rickety wooden bench at the stern of La Sirena de Manta. The little boat was skipping across the ocean, the wind blew their hair around, whipping the strands of Cordelia's curls into her face. It was colder, out on the waves, though the sun shone down onto the sea, making it sparkle the clearest blue - whilst each wave was crested with dazzling flecks of white foam. The gulls skimmed overhead - their large wings taking advantage of the slips in the airstream allowing them to glide.

One of the crew approached them, and offered them a bottle of water. They took it from him gratefully and passed it between them. The sailor watched them for a while, his eyes screwed up against the glare of the sun. 'Is strange place where you are going, no?' he asked, after a short time. 'People - they no go there.'

'We have to,' Cordy told him, passing the water bottle back to Doyle, 'we have to speak to the people who live there.'

'The people - they strange too,' the crewman said.

'What do you mean?' Doyle asked him.

The man shrugged. 'They keep to themselves. Never come ashore. We take over food, water, paper, clothes - anything they ask for. They pay - but they never leave. They …' he looked uncertain, biting his lip. 'Forgive me - perhaps I should not say … but they not look right either.'

'I bet they don't,' Doyle muttered.

'You two - you look right. You not fit there. So why you going?'

They glanced at each other, wondering what to say - what explanation to give. 'We need to find out what they know,' Cordelia said at last.

Angel strode through the lobby - firing orders at the people who worked at the front desk, telling them to kill all the phones, the computers - shut them down, find out if there was a bug in the system and then find out who put it there. 'Figure we're under some kind of attack again?' Gunn asked him, as the flunkies scurried away to do his bidding.

'I don't know what to figure yet,' he replied, grimly, as Fred came hurrying down the main stairs. 'Angel?' she called out to him. He turned to look at her. 'Let me guess, the lab computers are on the fritz?'

'Well - yeah - but that's just the tip of the fritzberg. The needles on our atmospheric gauges suddenly started spiking into red. Totally blew out the instruments.'

'Sounds like some electrical surge,' Angel frowned, the team headed into his office, 'like what's affecting the phones and the internal system.' He sat down in his swivel chair and sighed.

'Well that's what I thought at first,' Fred agreed, 'but now I think it might be something else.'

'It's never simple is it?' he picked up his number 1 boss mug and tried to take a sip, nothing happened - and he stared into the cup in surprise, before banging it down on the desk in annoyance. 'He drank all my blood! Harmony!' He called for his assistant - but there was no reply.

'She's off having a nooner with Blondie Bear, remember?' Gunn reminded him. Angel grimaced - but Fred looked dumbfounded. 'She's off - what - with Spike? How?'

'He's corporeal again,' Angel admitted. She looked even more staggered. 'How?'

'Got something in the mail,' Gunn told her, 'flash bam boom - he's a solid citizen again.'

'Oh my god how come you didn't call me?'

'Well we were a bit distracted, dealing with the glitch in the office system,' Angel sighed and rolled his eyes, 'which just so happened to coincide with the moment Spike became corporeal again … and I can't believe I'm only just getting that.' He slumped down in his chair. Why him? Why did these things always have to happen to him? And why did they always have to include Spike? It wasn't fair. Had he not suffered enough? Paid enough for all he'd done? Did the PTB really think a giant, bleached blonde pain in the ass was really necessary for him to achieve atonement?

'Maybe when Spike's matter was reintegrated into physical form, it had some kind of ripple effect on the immediate environment,' Fred theorised. She wrinkled her brow and thought harder. 'Or if those gauge readings are correct, it could be the start of something bigger like -'

'The entire known universe being thrown into bloody, shrieking disarray?' They all turned to look. Lilah was leaning on the door frame, her arms folded, looking smug. 'Yeah - that's pretty much where we are Gidget - so buckle on up.'

'You knew about this?' Angel asked her, as she walked into the office and perched herself on the edge of her desk. But she shook her head. 'The seers alerted me to the situation. Though the incessant ringing of the phones had already tipped me off. All this bedlam - it's a harbinger of something terrible yet to come.'

'Can you say that in plain English?' Angel asked her, his tone was flat - unimpressed by her tales of destruction and woe. She grinned at him, wolfishly. 'Better than that,' she said, 'I can say it plain Proto-Bantu.'

'Come again?'

'Shanshu - wonderbread. The prophecy - embedded deep in the scrolls of Aberjian - the scrolls certain vampires, who shall remain nameless, cut my hand off for…'

'And I'll do it again if you don't get to the point.'

'Right at the bottom,' Lilah said, as if there had been no interruption, 'a footnote - an epilogue - is this one little word 'shanshu'. Live and die. And the prophecy attached to it "the vampire with a soul shall become human"…'

'Right - Angel's reward,' Gunn shrugged, 'what's that gotta do with…'

'Well there in lies the rub, bub.' She laughed. 'The prophecy never actually mentions our large foreheaded friend by name. It could be about - well - just about any vampire with a soul. Who acts as a champion. Say … closing a hellmouth and defeating the First Evil - thus saving the world.'

Fred looked troubled. 'Are you saying that the Shanshu prophecy is really about Spike?' she asked.

Lilah shook her head. 'Nobody knows. Could be. And it's the uncertainty that's causing the wackiness to ensue. See, before Spike died, he didn't have the champion creds - and once he was a ghost, well, he was dead. No competition for the dark avenger, here. But now he's back? All bets are off. Two champions, one prophecy - and a universe thrown into chaos.'

'I'm gonna go check something,' Gunn said to Angel, headed for the door - he looked perturbed and so Angel didn't stop him as he left the room and made for the elevators. Fred was frowning at Lilah. 'You knew this would happen,' she said, 'all those weeks I was working on corporealising Spike - you knew…'

'Hold up, Dorothy, it's my universe too - and I always look out for number one. If I had had so much as an inkling what would happen if you pulled off your little science project, I'd have been shouting it from every rooftop going. All I know is - things are about to implode, this situation is deeply dangerous.'

Spike had Harmony on top of the desk, her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was moaning - though she didn't sound to be in much pleasure. 'Spike,' she gasped.

'Lets not talk,' he said, 'let's not ruin the moment.' He wasn't even looking at her - so he didn't notice that her eyes were red - crying tears of blood. Her face vamped out, she leaned up - and bit Spike's neck. He yelled out in sudden, surprised pain.

The boat docked, Cordy and Doyle tried to stay out of the way as the crew moored the little vessel, tying it to a post with a rope. 'Here, we are Senor, Senora,' the man who spoke English said to them.

The young couple struggled their way off the boat and onto the dock, as the crew began to unload all the packages they had brought to the strange people who lived on the island. Cordy raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun - and noticed a man walking along the shore towards them, towards the boat and its cargo. She nudged Doyle and pointed and he turned to gaze in the direction she indicated.

The man approached them. They recognised him at once - though his was a face they hadn't seen in four years, almost to the day. They remembered well his greyish skin, ridged face and large, haunted eyes. 'I know you two,' the man - the elder of the Lister demons - said to them, as he came to a stop in front of them, recognising them in turn. 'The friends of The Promised One. Welcome to Briole.'