Soul Purpose

Part One

In the underground throne room, a small, rough hewn statue was placed in the middle of a pentagram. The flames of a hundred candles shot upwards - growing taller and casting flickering shadows onto the rock of the walls, taking on the shapes of the demons performing the ritual. Their curved horns, sharp claws and snapping jaws were elongated, made massive in shadow form. The group began to chant - an undulating wail in a strange tongue and, as their mantra reached its crescendo - the eyes of the statue began to glow red.


Angel lay on the floor of the stage, he was bruised and aching - coughing and spitting up blood. He rolled over and tried to sit up - and that was when he saw him. Spike was stood by the pedestal, holding the golden cup of perpetual torment. Just seeing that felt like a punch to the gut, like all the air had left his body. 'Spike wait!' Angel cried out to him, 'that's not a prize you're holding. It's not a trophy. It's a burden. It's a cr-'

'Blah blah blah,' Spike's bored voice cut him off. 'Give it a rest, hero. I win - you lose. And talking's not gonna change that.'

'It's not your destiny - it's mine,' Angel said weakly. Even to his own ears he sounded desperate, pathetic. And Spike must have heard it too, because he turned to look at his old grand sire, cup still in hand, and sneered in his face. 'Still can't accept it can you?' he asked. 'Pathetic really. All your life's been a lie. Everything you've done - the lives you've saved - dreams of redemption - all that pain … all of it for nothing. 'Cause this…' he looked at the cup, 'was never about you. Cheers.' He raised the goblet to his lips and began to drink.

'No!' Angel felt the crushing weight of failure, of aching terrible loss - as he watched his hope, his destiny and his redemption be snatched away from him, and by a monster of his own making.

Spike drank deeply from the cup and, as he did, a light began to shine on him from above, suffusing his entire being with a warm and golden glow. Trapped down in the dark and the cold, Angel stared up at Spike, basking in the light - being anointed with this mark of destiny. And then Spike let go of the cup and let it drop to the floor. It hit the ground with a mighty clang and rolled away and the beam of heavenly light began to fade.

But then that was when Angel began to hurt - from the inside. He felt his whole body be gripped by the flames and he groaned and screamed in pain as it burned his bones to ash and tore through his flesh - until he disintegrated into a fiery nothingness, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his agonised scream.

...

Angel jerked away with a start, and gazed around him in alarm. A cold sweat had broken out on his brow … but slowly he came to realise that he was in his office - alone - and that everything he had seen had been nothing but a dream.


Cordelia and Doyle walked through the streets of Downtown, hand in hand. They each carried a weapon in their spare hand but were holding onto them very loosely. This was just a routine patrol - and nothing exciting had happened yet - so they were simply enjoying being out for a stroll. 'I really need to start thinking about getting a dress, you know,' Cordelia said.

'A dress?'

'For our wedding! I need to have something new and beautiful to wear … OK, so I want something new and beautiful to wear. But it has to be in a realistic budget - so I need to get looking.'

'Do I get to wear somethin' new and beautiful too?'

She laughed, 'well, I think we can probably stretch to a new pair of pants for you … but not if it's gonna take away from my dress budget.' She suddenly frowned and twisted round to look over her shoulder. 'What's wrong?' Doyle asked her, coming to a stop.

'I…' she twisted again - but couldn't see anything. 'Nothing, I guess I just … I thought I sensed something.'

Doyle twisted around as well and peered curiously down the street. 'I don't feel anythin'.'

'No …' they began to walk again, 'guess it's just my mind playing tric…' she came to a stop. This time she had definitely heard something. Doyle looked like he was about to open his mouth and ask her what was wrong again - so she shushed him and strained her ears. She heard it. In the distance - a creepy little chuckle. 'You hear that?' But Doyle only shook his head.

She dropped her hand from his and listened once more. There it was again - it seemed to be coming from down the block - she headed towards the sound. But as she moved towards it, it always moved further away. She began to run - chasing after it. She was aware that she was leaving Doyle behind, he couldn't move as fast as she could - and he couldn't hear the unearthly laughter to follow it - but she didn't care. She just wanted to find it and stop it. Doyle would catch up.

It sounded again, and she followed it round a corner into a dark alleyway - but then it just vanished and she was left alone in the dark. She shook her head and tutted and turned to leave - and that was when the demon loomed out of the shadows, roaring and snarling. It was a greenish yellow, with massive shoulders and a wide open mouth. She swung her sword at it - but it's skin was so hard that the blade just bounced off and she staggered away with the force of the rebound. She regained her balance, gripped her weapon more tightly - and launched forward for her next attack.

...

Doyle ran towards the mouth of the alleyway. He had seen Cordy disappear down it and now he could hear her yells and grunts - and the sounds of a sword, and fists and feet striking metal. He rounded the corner and came to a dead halt - not understanding what he was seeing, but knowing something was dead wrong. His heart already pounded in his chest, battering against his rib cage, and his breathing was shallow and ragged from trying to keep up with a slayer; but it felt like his breath was stolen and his insides turned to ice when he saw what was going on. He didn't understand it - though clearly something was badly wrong, and that thought filled him with dread. 'Cordelia!' He launched forwards and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her backwards. Her sword was raised high in the air and she dropped it in surprise as she felt him pull her away from the fight. She heard it fall to the ground, and heard the demon roar out.

'What are you doing?' she cried, fighting her way free from her boyfriend's grip. 'I need to fight the demon.' She dived back for her sword, keeping out of the reach of the demon's arms.

'Cordelia!' Doyle looked desperately between her and her opponent. 'Cordelia that's not a demon!'

She stopped still and turned to stare at him. 'Look at it,' he said to her gently, 'look.' She turned back around to peer into the shadows, looking at where Doyle was pointing and knowing she was going to see the monster that had just attacked her. But it wasn't there. The only thing standing in the alleyway, besides themselves, was a large, empty, greenish yellow dumpster.


Spike sat alone at a table near the stage of the Peppermint Stick strip club. A young, bottle blonde woman in not much at all gyrated up on the podium. He wasn't really interested in watching her - but a bloke had to do something with his eternal unlife. He drained his glass of the last of its whisky and put it down on the table before reaching into his jeans pocket to get more cash for the next one. But before he had even moved, a new whisky had been placed on his table.

He looked up to see who had put it there. It was a bloke. 'Uh, yeah, thanks … but not really my type, Mary - so why don't you just push off.' He pushed the man's drink away - and put his own money down on the table. But the man hadn't moved - was still staring at him, and that was pissing him off. 'What are you gawking at?' he demanded.

The man shrugged. 'A guy like you, whiling his time away in some cheesy downtown strip dive. Look like somebody who's feeling kinda lost.'

That pissed Spike off even more - not least because there was a grain of truth in it. 'Is that right? Funny, I thought I knew exactly where I was. Place called the Peppermint Stick. Prima Ballerina up there is Sunshine - though I'm fairly certain that's not her real name.'

'You know, we should really talk.'

Spike sighed, 'you know? Really not.' He got to his feet and took a step forward, getting in the man's face ready to let loose a diatribe … but then he pulled back and squinted at the man. Now he was closer… 'hang on a mo' - do I know you?'

The man shrugged again, 'do you?'

Spike began to nod, remembering. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'You were at the Wolfram and Hart Halloween party…' he finally placed him - remembering him dancing and getting drinks, remembering Harmony asking Spike to dance with her so she wasn't left with just this guy. 'Fair Cordelia's boyfriend, right? What she say your name was?... Doyle.'

The man - Doyle - nodded. 'That's me.'

'So … what you doing here then?'

Doyle sat down at the table. 'I'm looking for you - of course. Tell me - have you got any interesting mail lately?'


Meanwhile, the real Doyle had taken Cordelia back to the office - luckily they had not been too far away, and he had kept his arm tightly around her waist the whole time, not letting go of her. She was annoyed - and more than a little embarrassed. 'I don't get it,' she complained flopping down on the sofa and dropping her sword to the floor. 'It was definitely a demon - I saw it - it had a big wide mouth and these shoulders that were really wide and…'

Doyle rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 'I mean - it kinda sounds like you're describing a dumpster, there - you know - big opening at the top - broad.'

She glared up at him from her prone position on the couch. 'I know what I saw, Doyle. It's hardly my first demon. I know what I'm doing, you know.'

'I know…' he looked worried. 'Uh - what happened exactly?'

She sighed. 'I told you - I followed the sound of the creepy laughter into the alley. And then the demon attacked me. I was fighting back and then you grabbed me from behind and the demon was gone and there was only a dumpster. Maybe it vanished or…'

'I saw y' fightin' the dumpster, darlin',' he told her.

'Well … maybe it can shapeshift. Maybe it appears differently to different people.'

'Maybe…' he gave her a worried look. 'I'll … I'll get researchin'.' He sat down behind the computer, switched it on and logged onto the demons demons demons database, wondering if it could be that simple. A shapeshifter. But … the demon hadn't changed shape. He'd seen her - fighting the dumpster, as if it were a demon. But it was a dumpster.

Cordelia lay on the sofa, with one arm flung over her eyes - and Doyle kept casting worried glances in her direction, as he waited to see if he got any hits. 'I can feel you looking at me,' she said, at length, though she still hadn't moved her arm. 'I'm not lookin',' he mumbled. 'I'm workin'.' He tore his eyes away from her and looked back at his screen.

'You find anything yet?' she asked.

'Not yet. I've only just started.'

She sighed, sat back up, and rubbed her face. 'I guess I'll make us some coffee,' she said - and crossed the room to the coffeemaker. As she switched it on and waited for it to heat up, she heard it again: that creepy, otherworldly, little chuckle. 'You gotta hear that!' she said to Doyle.

He looked up from his computer, surprised, 'hear what?'

'You're kidding!' There it was again. How could he not hear that? It was so close! It sounded like it was coming from out in the hall. She abandoned the coffee and followed it out, determined that she would discover what the hell was going on. The memory of Doyle finding her beating on a massive garbage can was still making her burn with embarrassment - and she knew there had to be more to this. He might not believe her - but she had seen a demon. Something was going on.

She walked down the hallway, towards the front door of the building. It was dark and shadowy, as it was late at night and the rest of the building was deserted. 'Hello?' she called out, straining her ears for any sign of the demonic chuckler.

A sudden shape loomed out of the shadow - and she punched first and thought later, her slayer instincts kicking straight in. She pulled whatever it was out of its corner and - from the light thrown inside by the streetlamps - she saw her attacker. It was a different demon to the last one - but still green. It was taller though - and more slender - but it had too many limbs, which snaked around her, trying to choke her. And it had massive, brown feet. She pulled down on one of the snaking limbs and heard the demon scream out in agony as she broke it. Then she swung her fist - and followed up with a roundhouse kick.

...

Back in the office, Doyle looked up frowning as he heard the sounds of muffled thumps and thuds coming from out in the hallway. He got to his feet and walked towards the door, in trepidation of what he was about to see. Sure enough - when he found her - Cordelia was out in the hallway, all alone, beating the ever living hell out of a Yucca plant.


Spike stared down at this man in disbelief. 'You?' he asked, 'you're responsible for me being back? You sent that package with the deghosting mojo?'

Doyle smirked, 'and?'

'The amulet,' Spike realised. Doyle pointed his finger at him, as if to say 'bingo'. 'You mailed that thing to Wolfram and Hart,' Spike said.

'Couldn't just leave you trapped in a bauble at the bottom of the hellmouth, could I?'

'why?'

'Come on Spike,' hepicked up his whisky and began to drink it, 'you must know there are people out there who are interested in you … powerfully interested in you - you might say.'

But Spike had had enough of this mystic mumbojumbo crap. He grabbed hold of the man's arm and glowered down at him. 'Enough with the cryptic - I wanna know what it is you want. And how fast I can snap your arm before you answer.'

'It's not what I want- it's what you want.' He yanked his arm out of Spike's grip. 'You've got your life back - so what are you gonna do with it?'


Wesley and Gunn marched down the corridor together, locked in a heated discussion. 'I say we make a pre-emptive strike,' Wesley was arguing. 'Remove him before he and his followers go underground.'

'Assassination?' Gunn sounded surprised at the line of thinking. But Wesley defended it - they were talking about an evil warlock, here. The longer they waited the more powerful he would become.

'I don't plan on waiting,' Gunn retorted, as they reached the front desk. Harmony was still at work there.

'Really? Then what's your plan?' Wesley asked him.

'We open a can of Machiavelli on his ass.'

Harmony stared up at him. 'It's Matchabelli, Einstein,' she said witheringly. 'And it doesn't come in cans.'

Gunn ignored her, 'is he in?' he asked instead.

'Is who in?'

Both men rolled their eyes - and walked off towards Angel's office without bothering to answer her.

...

They were still arguing as they walked through the office door. Angel was sat in his swivel chair, well - more slumped in his chair - and his brow was lowered and he didn't seem to be following what was going on. 'What you're proposing could take weeks,' Wes was protesting, 'and we can't afford the delay.'

'48 hours, maximum,' Gunn corrected him. 'There's at least two initiates in his inner circle who'd just jump at the chance to overthrow him.'

'You're overlooking the tactical merits of my assassination attempt.'

'Guys - ' Angel tried to interrupt them. He didn't know what was going on, his head was swimming and their words were buzzing in his ears and not making any kind of sense. But the two men were still arguing. 'Hey! In my plan he still wakes up dead by Thursday,' Gunn said heatedly.

'Guys!' Angel yelled again. He felt clammy - and feverish. But vampires didn't get fevers, he hadn't felt this way in over 200 years - but he felt like he was burning up one minute and so cold the next. It made it hard to concentrate. But at least he had their attention. 'CEO, right here, in the dark.'

'Sorry Angel,' Wes apologised - and began to explain the predicament. Lucien Drake was a warlock of the evil variety. A cult leader with over a thousand followers. They'd sold their children down the Hades river in return for demonic mojo and were now stockpiling weapons. Only the weapons were black magick of the most dangerous variety.

Angel wiped the cold sweat from his brow. 'And you want Wolfram and Hart to stop them?' he asked.

The two men glanced at each other. 'Not so much stop as …'

'As redirect their energies,' Wesley finished up. See, the trouble was, a cult this big had alliances, connections, if they confronted them directly … it could be bad for business. However, if they covertly eliminated the leader, then the cult would spend the next billing cycle fighting amongst themselves as to who should replace him.

Angel screwed up his forehead, as he tried to get his mind round this. His brain was working slowly - all his energy felt like it was being sapped away and his body was shivering from the cold, but he still burned inside. 'Uh - so - are we doing this because it's right … or because it's cost effective?'

'A little of both, actually,' Gunn admitted.

'Yes, once again we find ourselves in a bit of a grey…'

'Don't,' Angel tried to interrupt him, before he said it. It didn't work.

'...area,' Wesley finished up. He glanced at his boss and his expression became concerned.

Angel slammed his hands down on the desk. The aching was making him short tempered. 'Don't say that! Can't we get through one damn day without saying that?' He felt his friends worried eyes on him, and immediately regretted his outburst. 'OK,' he rubbed his head. 'Explain it to me again.'


Doyle had managed to pull Cordelia away from the plant and - once again when he spoke to her, she was able to see it for what it really was. He took it back into the office and put it down in the corner - though it was looking very much the worse for wear after going a few rounds with a slayer. 'Tell me what happened,' he said quietly.

Cordy had sat down on the sofa, she pressed the tips of her fingers together and took a deep breath. 'I heard the laughter and I followed it outside. It led me down the hallway - and that's when the demon attacked.'

'But Cordy - it's not a demon. It's a Yucca plant.' He was looking even more worried now than he had when she'd attacked the dumpster.

'It was a demon!' she protested. 'It loomed out of the shadows - and it had all these arms … and then you turned up … and it turned into a plant.'

Doyle rubbed his face, and then pushed his hands upwards through his hair, leaving it all rumpled and stuck on end. 'That plant's been standing in that corner for months, love. Maybe years. We pass it by everyday. It can't be a shapeshiftin' demon.'

'It was!'

He inhaled - and nodded. 'OK - tell me again about what happened earlier. With the dum - with the first demon.'

'I told you - I went round the corner - and there it was. Until you came - and it changed into a dumpster.'

'I saw you fighting the dumpster,' he said to her. 'It didn't change shape afterwards. I was seein' a dumpster and you were seein' a demon at the exact same time.'

'Well maybe it's a slayer thing,' she said defensively. 'Maybe I'm the only one who can see it.'

'Maybe,' he nodded his head, slowly. 'But … the two demons you described looked different from each other. One looked, well … a bit like a dumpster. And the other looked like a Yucca plant. If a Yucca plant was a demon.'

'Well I can't explain it! It's my job to kill the thing - not research it.'

Doyle squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. 'OK - yeah - it's just … we gotta look at this carefully. Other than the demons turnin' into other stuff…' he sounded doubtful as he said that, 'what else do these two fights have in common?'

'The creepy laugh!' Cordelia said. 'I followed it both times. Both times I heard the disembodied laugh first and then got attacked moments later.'

'Right - so it's not the demons that you see that we need to be worried about, so much as the laugh, yeah?' he said. 'Listen, Cordy - next time you hear it - don't follow it by yourself, promise me? And don't run off faster than I catch y'. Next time you hear it- we go lookin' for it together.'


Over at the strip club, Spike was done listening. 'I've heard enough,' he said, getting to his feet and striding towards the exit. 'Don't you even wanna know why you came back to L.A?' Doyle called after him, getting to his own feet and following him across the bar. 'You hate this city, there's gotta be a reason, right?'

'You talk a lot for someone saying nothing at all.'

Doyle reached out to grab him. 'You've got a destiny…' But Spike was too quick, and quite mightily irritated by this point, and he grabbed hold of the other man and threw him against the wall. 'Like the destiny that was supposed to be at the bottom of a cup of perpetual nothing?' he demanded. 'Know so much about me - then you must know I get really violent when I'm being played. It was you that sent me and Angel on the wild goose chase.'

'I don't know nothing about that,' Doyle pulled himself out from under Spike's grip. 'And I know better than to waste my time where Angel's concerned.'

Spike frowned, 'what do you mean?'

'Oh come on, Spike - you must know enough about the team to know I was once on it! Me and Cordy. We started the whole thing - the whole outfit. I get these visions - which is to say great, skull cracking headaches that come with pictures. Like when you eat ice cream too fast. Time was - I had the vision, and Angel slayed the beastie, or saved the damsel. He was the champion. Helping the hopeless - but now … now he's gone over to the enemy. To Wolfram and Hart. He now works for everything that he's supposed to stand against - and what am I meant to do? I'm still connected to the higher powers. And I do what they tell me. And right now - they're telling me this city is short of a champion … that's where you come in.'

'Look you're barking up the wrong vampire.'

'There's no one out there,' Doyle argued, 'no one helping all the people that need help. And I still gotta see 'em - in my head - see the danger they're in, the pain. And there's no one to put it right. Not unless you step up to the plate.'

'So why don't you save 'em?' Spike asked.

''Cause I'm just the messenger. You're the hero.'

'So what - I'm supposed to jump every time you get a vision of someone in dire peril?'

'Why do you think we're having this conversation?' Doyle asked him. 'I had one right before I came here. You don't have to believe me. But if a young girl gets murdered tonight, and you didn't lift a finger to stop it, ask yourself … can you live with that?'


The girl screamed as the vampire grabbed her and threw her against the wall, leaning in for the bite.

'Evening.' Spike walked down the alleyway towards them, moving slowly, casually - as if out for a pleasant stroll in the moonlight. The vampire leaned back from the girl and turned to look at this newcomer. 'Get lost.' he growled.

'Already am, according to some.'

'What?'

'Help me!' Cried the terrified girl, her eyes were wide with fright, imploring this man to do something - anything - to save her. Though he seemed in no hurry.

'I don't think you heard me,' the vampire said, 'get out of here.'

'Can't do it,' Spike shrugged.

The vampire grew impatient and pushed the girl away from himself before turning on Spike. 'You just made the biggest mistake of your life -'

Spike punched him in the face, knocking him into the little wooden stairway at the side of the alley. The force of the vampire hitting them caused the rails to splinter and Spike pushed the vampire back onto them, driving one through his heart via his back. The vampire exploded in a cloud of dust. Too easy. Barely a fight. But the girl was grateful. 'Thank you, thank you!' She cried, not quite believing her eyes, 'that thing was going to kill me.'

Terrified as she was, Spike fixed her with a hard stare - this was for her own good. 'Well what do you expect?' he asked her. 'Out alone in this neighbourhood - I got half a mind to kill you myself, you nitwit.'

The grateful look froze on her face and became confused, 'what?'

'I mean, honestly, what kind of idiot wears heels like that in a dark alley? Take two steps, break your bloody ankle.'

Now the girl was looking annoyed. 'I was just trying to get home!'

He grabbed her shoulder and ushered her down the alley and towards the brightly lit street. 'Well take a cab, you moron. And on the way, if a stranger offers you candy, don't get in the van!' The woman stalked off - highly offended - and Spike shook his head. 'Stupid cow,' he muttered.

'Believe me now?' he looked up. Doyle was perched on the fire escape of the nearest building, wearing a smug smile on his face.

'What? Your victim vision? Please! Can't throw a stone in this city without hitting some bimbo in trouble.'

'Tough guy, huh?' Doyle climbed down the fire escape and walked towards the vampire. 'Nice work by the way, taking out that vamp.'

Spike glanced scornfully around the alleyway, 'oh yeah. Epic battle. My finest hour.'

'You just saved a girl's life - that's nothing to laugh off. Though you could try being a little nicer next time - you almost made her cry.'

'Next time?' he said blankly.

Doyle shrugged, 'well that's up to you. A lot more people need saving.'

But Spike only snorted in derision. He didn't need this guy's help - even if Angel had used to use him. Spike had been saving people long before Captain Forehead's sidekick decided to switch allegiances.

'Not like this,' Doyle disagreed with him. 'You just saved somebody when there was nothing in it for you… that's not like the Spike I know.'

Spike took a step forward, menacing in the other man's face. 'Yeah? What Spike is that?'

But the other man did not seem bothered by the implied challenge. He only shrugged. 'The Spike that's only out for himself. The Spike that only does good deeds to impress… women.' There was a smirk on his face which suggested he knew exactly which woman was the only one who counted - the only one Spike wanted to impress. And that pissed Spike right off. That this guy knew about Buffy - would dare bring her into a conversation. 'You best watch your -'

But again, Doyle didn't care for the threat. 'I'm just saying - you did good. If I remember rightly, Angel didn't save the girl his first night out.'

'What's Angel got to do with this?' Spike asked suspiciously.

'Well ... nothing … not anymore.'


The guys were still arguing. Angel now had his head in his hands - they just wouldn't stop - and he felt so heavy and tired. Fred came in carrying some files, 'guys, I can hear you out in the lobby.' She handed the files to Angel - they were the weekly lab reports. He took her from them and dropped them on his desk without looking. His eyes were too tired, his vision too blurry, to look at them now. Maybe after some rest.

'Fred doesn't the Wolfram and Hart satellite have lethal capabilities?' Wesley asked her. She looked startled - but she started to explain how the micro-orbital canon worked. It would focus the communication signals into a pinpoint beam and then raise the temperature of the targeted area by 1000 degrees in less than five seconds. So, yes, in theory they could do that - if they did that sort of thing. She glanced at Angel, 'do we do that sort of thing?' But he didn't seem to be listening.

His head was still in his hands - and he wasn't really following. His friend's voices sounded distant and muffled, as they argued about whether or not anyone would notice them using a death ray from space. Angel felt like he was being targeted by focused beams - that his temperature was being raised by 1000 degrees, his mind was foggy, his head was swimming and his friends wouldn't quit arguing and he'd suddenly had enough.

'Kill them all,' he said loudly. The arguing stopped and everyone turned to look at him.

'What?' Fred asked him.

'Warlocks, minions - they're all evil. Sold their kids to the devil. Let's just wipe 'em all out. We got the power to do that, right?'

'Yes,' Wes agreed dubiously, 'but Angel...'

Angel got to his feet - he felt warm all over now. Enervated, charged up - fizzy, but the bone deep weariness was just beneath. It felt like a final rally before inevitable death, but he was going to use the energy whilst he had it. 'Why don't we? Let's just get back to the basics. Good vs evil. Offing the monsters where we find them.'

'We have to tread light, here, Angel,' Gunn told him. 'We can't afford to … are you alright?'

Angel was now rubbing his head. His brow was clammy and the sudden feverish energy had left him, leaving him feeling more drained than ever. He sank back into his chair. 'I'm just … tired. Gunn arrange a meeting with your best Judas. Feel him out but don't tip your hand. Any hint that he's carrying word back to Drake, we go with Wes' plan.'

But his friends were now more concerned about him. He didn't look well at all. He tried to assure them that he just needed rest.

'Go - get some rest,' Fred said to him, 'maybe sleep in tomorrow.' But he shook his head - there was too much to do. But Wesley assured him there was nothing the rest of them couldn't handle. 'I'll take Connor home with me tonight, if you like,' he offered. 'That way you can rest as long as you need.'

Angel nodded gratefully, and stumbled towards his private elevator.


He staggered out into his penthouse and began to limp towards the bed - but everything hurt. 'Angel-' he stopped. He hadn't realised there was someone here. Then he saw Wes, of course - he was getting Connor's things. 'Hey Wes.'

'You're barely on your feet,' he sounded concerned, and he took hold of Angel's arm guiding him towards the couch, supporting his steps.

'I -uh - I think I'm sick.'

'Vampires don't get sick.'

'I don't feel right.' He groaned as he sat down on the couch - everything hurt. The world was spinning.

'Well that's understandable,' Wesley said to him. 'You've got a lot on your mind. Must be hard adjusting to this new situation.'

'Situation?'

'Finally coming to grips with the truth … that you're irrelevant.'

'What?' Angel gasped, not really understanding what Wesley was saying.

'It's difficult to face I know, but things could have been much worse. Spike's arrival was actually quite fortuitous.' Wesley took a sharpened stake from out of his waistband. 'It makes this a lot easier.'

'What? - what are you…'

Wesley drove the stake deep into Angel's heart and Angel screamed out in pain. And then came to, sitting on the edge of his bed - alone in his apartment, and gasping in shock.