Part Two
Giles had stepped out of the office, leaving Cordelia and Doyle sitting in there alone - waiting rather uncomfortably. Doyle craned his neck around to take in their surroundings in more detail. 'They got a lot o' books, here' he said, 'way more than us.'
Cordelia twisted to look as well. 'Well, yeah - if you think Wesley is bookman then you need to understand that Giles is like Wesley the Original Generation. The school library back in Sunnydale was packed full of books like these … the actual school books were squashed into the corner of the very back of the stacks.' She wrinkled her nose. 'I'm kinda surprised more people didn't work out what was going on, now I think about it.'
'Still - must come in useful, looking up demons and … prophecies and what not.'
'Prophecies,' she repeated quietly, and frowned. 'Hey! Do you think maybe Giles might have some stuff on you? You know - Promised One stuff?'
Doyle shrugged. 'Maybe.'
'Well - it couldn't hurt to ask. And it would be safer than asking the guys to check the archives at Wolfram and Hart, that's for sure.'
'Yeah…' he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, 'you think Giles'll be back...' he didn't even get to finish his sentence, as the door opened and Giles reappeared. He smiled at the young couple from the doorway. 'I've just got off the phone with Buffy,' he told them. 'She's currently living in Italy, Rome to be exact. But it's only a 3 hour flight. Once Dawn is done with school today, they'll be able to get a plane to London. She can be here by tomorrow. In the meantime - why don't I show you around the headquarters, so you can get an idea of what it is we do here.'
...
The tour started off on the same floor as Giles' office - he led them into an even larger room filled, once more, with books from floor to ceiling. There was a large reading table in the middle of the room and a few women - of all ages- were sat around it, piles of books at their elbows and even more spread open in front of them. Giles began to talk - but Cordelia felt her eyes being drawn to the other women in the room - wondering about them.
'We were lucky enough to be able to acquire three buildings adjoined to each other,' Giles was telling them, 'and in some parts we've knocked right through to open up the space - particularly useful higher up, as you'll see … though obtaining the planning permission took quite a look of mind control from Willow, we have to rather hope that no officious council worker ever looks into the paperwork too closely.'
'Must be handy - havin' an all powerful witch on the team,' Doyle said - as Cordy didn't seem to be really listening.
Giles nodded, 'she has her uses.'
'Tell us about it - we'd still have Angelus locked in a cage in the basement if it wasn't for her!'
Cordelia was still gazing around the room. 'How come you have all these books?' she asked, 'there were so many just in your office - but now there's more …'
'Yes - those in my office are my private collection,' Giles told her, 'the more potent and dangerous of the books - the ones I used to keep locked in my office at Sunnydale. Some of these … ' he gestured to the ones in the library, 'are from my own personal library. A few are from the old council - though much of their collection was destroyed along with the building. However, happily, I had managed to … acquire a few before that happened.'
Cordelia glanced at him, 'You stole them, didn't you?'
'Yes.'
'Good.'
'Right,' he coughed, 'well - we have also been fortunate enough to be donated the personal collections of many of the retired watchers, those who were not in the building at the time of the blast - and of course the personal collections of those that did die … we took them from their homes. Quentin Travers had a collection almost as large as the official one at the council.'
'Did Wesley's dad donate anythin'?' Doyle asked.
Giles shook his head. 'The Wyndham Pryce collection remains with Roger.'
'Sounds about right.'
The watcher chuckled. 'Well, thanks to the generosity of my former colleagues we have been able to create a not informidable library, where the adult slayers can spend time studying demons and lore. This was, of course, always traditionally part of a slayer's required training however - on meeting Buffy, I quickly realised that such a thing would have little benefit in her case.'
''Cause she's such an amazin' slayer?'
'Because Buffy wouldn't study if her life depended on it,' Cordelia corrected her boyfriend.
Giles laughed again. 'She did develop a focus and maturity that surpassed quite anything I'd ever seen before. And her prowess as a slayer is unprecedented - such was obvious from very early on. It is only fair to point that out. But - yes - meeting the 16 year old Buffy was something of a rude awakening for me.'
The three of them all laughed together, drawing an irritated glance from one of the women studying. 'Well,' the watcher coughed again and lowered his voice, 'perhaps we should be moving along.'
He took them back out to the landing and then up another set of narrow stairs. 'This floor makes up our schoolrooms.' He came to a stop outside a door - and nodded his head at the window pane. Doyle and Cordy peered in - inside the room was a group of girls aged about 8 or 9, their heads bowed low over their desks as they worked away. 'These little girls are all slayers?' Cordelia asked, not able to keep the note of surprise out of her voice.
Giles nodded. 'Willow's spell called all potential slayers, giving them their power in one go. A girl is born as a potential - and though she may never be chosen, she never loses that potential. The side effect of this, well…' he took off his glasses and rubbed them clean, 'I believe you are familiar with the slayer who was institutionalised after suffering severe trauma in her youth?'
They both nodded.
'The slayer is normally chosen from a set of potentials in their teenage years - usually between the ages of 15 and 18, though there have been exceptions. Willow's spell meant that all slayers - from newborn to 80, and above, were called and, as with the case of Dana, some special provisions have had to be made for those that fall far outside the normal slayer range.'
'So - all those little girls have super strength?' Doyle asked.
'Them - and more besides, we have girls here from as young as 5. They're not quite as strong as they will be but - at their age they are not in control of their power. They can't hide it or contain it reliably. It would be too dangerous to allow them to attend normal school - and not fair on them, or their peers. We bring what young slayers we find here - give them a normal education, in a safe environment, alongside teaching them to control and use their power.'
Cordelia scrunched her face up, 'and their parents are OK with just sending their daughters off to slayer Hogwarts?'
Giles looked troubled. 'Some parents have taken it in their stride, yes. Some have moved to London to live close by and allow their daughter to train and still have a normal home life. Others have sent them here and take them back for holidays, those girls board. We hope, in time, to be able to create more headquarters across the world. As more and more slayers grow up we will be able to staff organisations, like this one, in various locations, and hopefully our younger slayers will not have to travel so far from home in order to begin their training.'
'Huh - you know it's so weird. All these parents just sending their little girls half way around the globe on the say so of you or - or Xander - turning up at their house and telling them to. I don't get how they're so cool with it all. Remember how freaked out Mrs. Summers was when she found out about Buffy?'
The troubled look on Giles' face intensified, and he took his glasses off to clean them again. 'I believe some of the parents were rather pleased to send their daughters away. The sudden explosion of their strength … well, they didn't know how to cope. It came as something of a relief to them to be given an explanation and a solution - if not a cure - but some parents have not been to visit, or sent for their daughters to come home, since they got here.'
'You mean some girls have been abandoned here?' Doyle asked.
The watcher nodded, gravely. 'I fear so, yes. And - as more and more slayers are born - I fear the number of abandoned girls will only grow higher with time.'
'I guess Willow didn't really think that one through when she cast the spell, huh?' Cordelia said.
'We did what needed to be done, at the time, to save the world.'
'But these girls have to pay the price of that,' Doyle said.
Giles looked sad. 'Being the slayer has always meant sacrifice, paying a price that no one else would be asked to pay. But what we are doing here - what Buffy is hoping to achieve - is a slayer community where no girl will ever have to feel the weight of the world on her shoulders, the way she did. These girls will learn together, train together, be each other's family … and once they have finished training they will have a choice - a choice never given to Buffy or any slayer before her - they can stay in the community and help save the world as part of a team, or they can leave and enter the normal world - with an education behind them and in full control of their power. From now on, any slayer that chooses can lead a normal life and that is something that Buffy is very keen to encourage.' There was a moment's silence, as Doyle and Cordelia thought about all this. '...Well, why don't I take you on up to the next level and show you our training rooms?'
Back in L.A, the sky was turning from black to grey, as dawn began to bleed its way through the night skies. Angel still hadn't slept, though he was up in his penthouse now - sitting in Connor's room as the little boy slept, peacefully. For once, he wasn't watching his son sleep though. Tonight he held onto a photograph and was staring intently at that.
It was from the early days - the really early days. Wesley had taken it, he was brand new to the group at the time - maybe he hadn't even been on the payroll yet. The photo showed himself, Doyle and - squashed between the two of them and looking so impossibly young - Cordelia.
They were all smiling - even him, though his smile was awkward. He had only left Sunnydale 6 months before, had lived a day as a human man - with Buffy - and given it all up not a full month before this photo was taken. He wasn't used to being happy at this point. He hadn't grown comfortable around his friends, he hadn't built himself a life and a business and a family. He didn't have Connor. He was still just a brooding block of wood trying to fake human emotions, back when this picture was taken.
But he had been on his own path. The path to redemption. And he had purpose, his life had meaning. He was the champion of the PTB, with his own messenger making sure he did their bidding. Now the only higher powers in his corner were The Senior Partners. Somewhere along the way - between this photo being taken and tonight - he had badly lost his way, let down everybody - most of all himself - and was now trapped in a web of his own bad decisions and failures. No wonder the Powers had decided to make Spike their champion instead.
He was lost. He didn't know who he was anymore and there was no one around here to remind him. He didn't know how to get back on track - get back to being the person he wanted to be. The champion. This place … it had got inside of him, got under his skin. He wanted out. God - how he wanted out. But, when he looked at the photo of his younger self, he realised that he no longer knew what it was he would be escaping to; who he would be when all this was done.
He was no longer the champion. And The Powers were done with him. If he ever found his way out of Wolfram and Hart, he would be headed on out into a world that no longer had a place for him. He would no longer have a purpose - and his chance for redemption may have slipped beyond his grasp for good.
He was faced with nothing but the promise of the interminable grind here at the law firm, the impossibility of his much needed escape and a terrifying blankness as he contemplated a future outside of Wolfram and Hart. The feelings of despondency, of hopelessness and depression, weighed down on his shoulders and on his heart - crushing him. He was blank and numb and empty - and the younger Angel stared up at him from the picture, awkward and uncomfortable, but burning with that sense of rightness, that clarity of purpose he had once had. What a disappointment he had turned out to be.
There was barely an hour left before his alarm went off, when he finally dragged himself from his chair and crawled under the covers. When it did go off, he reached out a hand and switched it off and pulled the covers high over his head, blocking out the sunshine which now streamed through the necro tempered glass.
It was mid morning before he finally emerged - and even then, he only sat in his office, quiet and brooding - almost catatonic - and let the workings of the law firm just flow around him. He couldn't care enough to make himself take part, so he just let the day happen without speaking to anyone or doing anything.
After their tour of the new watcher's council, Cordelia and Doyle had gone for a walk around London. It was cold, and already getting dark, and they held hands and hurried along the pavements towards the centre of town. After staring up at Nelson's Column, and Doyle tutting disapprovingly at the teenage tourists clambering all over the bronze lions ('What would Wesley say?'), they scurried across the busy road and headed down Whitehall.
They stopped to get their pictures taken at Horseguards, Cordelia stood next to the soldier and his horse at their sentry post and beamed for the camera. 'This horse reminds me of my Palomino, Keanu,' she said, rubbing its nose. She looked up at the soldier, 'what's his name?' she asked. The soldier ignored her and stared straight ahead.
'They're not allowed to talk or move,' Doyle told her, 'the soldiers, I mean - though the horses aren't supposed to move either.'
'Huh - that sounds like the crappiest job in the world.' They began to walk away.
'I dunno, if I was gonna be in the army, I think I'd prefer sittin' on a horse duty to being sent to an active warzone, yeah?'
Cordelia snorted with laughter. 'They're not real soldiers, Doyle! They're not really in the army.'
It was Doyle's turn to laugh. 'Yes they are! I think they're just one o' the snooty regiments that exist to protect the Queen.'
'No! Really?' she twisted back to look at the motionless soldier on horseback, wearing his plumed helmet and red jacket, 'he's a real soldier? In that get up?'
'Yep - welcome to England.'
'That's insane!'
They worked further down the road and stopped to take a picture of Cordelia standing at the door to the Cabinet Office. A few steps further, and they joined the crowd milling around at the end of Downing Street. Cordy went on tiptoes to peer down the short road at the Prime Minister's house. 'I can't believe how low key everything is here,' she giggled. 'There's just a house down the road and the boss of England lives in it - and then his office is just there,' she pointed back to the Cabinet Office, 'and anyone can get their picture taken outside of it. I mean - what if the door opened and Tony Blair just walked out as you took my picture?'
'Then it would be one helluva picture.' Doyle eyed the policemen standing beside the railings, which blocked Downing Street from the main road. They both clutched huge machine guns. 'Do you really think 'low key'? … 'Cause that's not the word springin' to my mind.'
But Cordelia blew a raspberry. 'They're just standing there,' she said, 'letting us all snoop away - we could be anybody! School took us to D.C in our freshman year for an air quote "educational" trip … you cannot get this close to the Whitehouse from the street, and with so little security.'
'Well - I guess this is one o' the benefits of a gun free society…' he eyed up the machine guns again, 'almost gun free society,' he corrected. They began to walk on again, hand in hand once more. 'So, is Ireland gun free too?' she asked him, 'or is it more like the U.S?'
'No - it's gun free - at least the south is. The north is … more complicated.'
'Oh - the troubles, right?'
'Right.'
'But that's not where you're from?'
'No, Princess, Dublin is safe. Well… I mean technically I'm from Finglas and 'safe' might be pushin' it. But we're not at war, if that's what you mean.'
Cordelia laughed, 'well, it must have been a heck of a lot safer than growing up in Sunnydale anyway.'
'That's true. Different kind o' danger, though. Less vampires, more knife crime. I'm glad to say I managed to graduate high school without once being taken hostage - which I believe is an accolade you can't claim for yourself.'
'No - the kidnappings were pretty much a weekly occurrence once Buffy arrived in town.'
'Makes you wonder what will happen here when she gets here tomorrow.'
'I've said it before and I'll say it again, where she goes dark forces follow.'
...
They passed by the cenotaph, the poppy wreaths from November still laid around its base, and then arrived in Parliament Square. The Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey were all illuminated in the gloom of the evening. 'I wish I had a guide book,' Cordelia said, 'I wanna know how old everything is.'
'We can buy one tomorrow - just don't get it out in public.'
She dug him in the ribs with her elbow and then dragged him down to the river. Standing on the Embankment, she dropped his hand and clamped her own about her ears. 'It's freezing!' She gasped. The cold wind coming from the Thames blew her curls around her face and chapped her lips. 'This is… how can people live like this?'
'They wrap up warm - come on, let's go over there.' He pointed to the bright lights of the South Bank. The Millennium Wheel had come to a stop, as darkness had fallen, but it was still lit up - a giant circle of lights standing out against the night sky. They hurried across Westminster Bridge, stopping to take another photo with the giant ferris wheel in the background, and then went down the stairs onto the river bank.
It was busy, on the South Bank, bustling and exciting. There were street performers and living statues with crowds of people watching them, and music - performed live and coming out of boom boxes, so the tune changed every couple of steps. The two of them stopped off at a van and bought fish and chips and walked down the road eating them straight out of the newspaper. 'OK this - this is pure stereotype right here,' Cordelia said, biting into a vinegar soaked chip and feeling the sting it left behind on her lips. 'I can't believe I'm actually eating Fish and Chips in London. I can't believe they really sell them. I can't believe they're real.'
'They're pretty good,' Doyle said, through a mouthful, 'not great - but OK. I've had better but ... I mean .. for somethin' made in a van, not bad at all.'
Once they'd finished and thrown the empty newspapers into the nearest bin, Doyle dragged Cordy into a bar. It was a temporary, pop up bar - the bar itself under canvas and then picnic tables for seating under the open air. A couple of patio heaters stopped the patrons from freezing to death.
Cordelia sat down as close to a heater as she could get, and Doyle went to the bar - coming back with two pints in plastic glasses. 'You got me a beer?' she asked disbelievingly.
'It's all they're sellin'.'
She sniffed at it, 'what is it? Coors?'
'No way! This is a local craft beer. Brewed just round the corner, the guy said. It's one for the connoisseurs.'
'There are connoisseurs of beer?'
'O' course! What do y' think I am?'
'A drunk.'
He pulled a face at her. They snuggled up on the bench, as close to the patio heater as they could get - feeling it's warmth wash over their left hand side, though their right was still numb with the cold. Even once they had finished their drinks, they sat for a while, enjoying watching the world go by - and listening to the live music that floated on the air from further down the bank. Then - once the left side of their faces were burning and flushed red, their right side frozen and tingling, they got up and headed down the riverside.
They crossed back over when they reached Waterloo Bridge, headed towards the grand Savoy Hotel, and once they were back on firm land headed up the Strand and then towards Holborn, making their way back to King's Cross station and their hotel. 'This has been so amazing,' Cordelia said, skipping a couple of steps and squeezing Doyle's hand.
'Yeah? You had a good day?'
She nodded, and he squeezed her hand back. 'Well, we can have another one just like it tomorrow.'
Wesley had stopped by his office to speak with him about the possibility of narrowing down which dimension Greenway might have jumped to based on the ritual he had performed. Angel had barely listened … something about the deaths of holy women and the positioning of the candles. He just grunted and nodded. He didn't care.
Lorne and Gunn dropped in. Gunn was going to bring in some of Greenway's flunkies - get them to sing for Lorne. Maybe the anagogic demon would be able to pick up something in their auras about where their boss might have gone too. Angel couldn't even bring himself to raise his head to look at them and acknowledge what they were saying. He grunted again and stared at the wall, until the sound of footsteps told him they had left him alone, once more.
The phone rang. He ignored it. Ten minutes later it rang again. He couldn't even be bothered to lift his hand to pick it up. It rang again - shrill and irritating. He hoped if he just ignored it it would just go away.
About ten minutes later there was a tap on the door, he didn't look over - and only knew who it was from the scent of Chanel. 'I just got off the phone with Fred,' Harmony told him, 'she's been calling you like crazy. She says her and Knox are looking at the equipment and she's reasonably confident that she can upgrade it in a matter of weeks. You should have that Greenway sleaze back before you know it.'
He didn't answer.
'Hello! That's, like, good news right?'
He grunted again. 'Uh - right. Thanks, Harmony.' He heard her sigh, and the clip clop of her heels walk away, and then he sank further down in his chair and continued to stare at the wall.
The next morning, Cordy and Doyle got up very early; Cordelia allowed her boyfriend to stop off at the greasy spoon for another artery hardening fry up that tasted of home and then they hurried on over to the slayer headquarters. Giles was waiting for them, when they got there, and ushered them back into his study. 'Buffy arrived late last night,' he informed them, 'she'll be down shortly.'
'Good, that's great,' She didn't know why, but Cordelia suddenly felt very nervous about seeing her old ... friend, she'd go with that word for now. Now they were both slayers it forced a dynamic shift … and it was probably best to never mention that she had once dated Angel. She sat down in the chair facing Giles' desk, 'listen - whilst we're waiting for Buffy, Doyle and I have been thinking - well wondering … it's hard to explain. See, we have these demons that we're trying to fight back home - ancient demons from the dawn of time - old ones - and we're really struggling to find anything out about them.'
'I've looked through some prophecy books belongin' to different demon cultures,' Doyle added, taking a seat beside his girlfriend, 'and they're great for tellin' me when a slaughter might be goin' to happen, but they don't give much way in the of info of how to find The Scourge - or how to stop 'em.'
'But you have all these books,' Cordy picked up again, her voice sounding hopeful. 'Way more than us - and you have fancy watcher training and knowledge - we thought maybe you might be able to find something that would give us a little more to go on than the zero we currently have.'
Giles looked thoughtful, 'Well of course, I've heard of the old ones,' he said, frowning, 'their existence is an integral part to the beginnings of our world and the whole slayer mythology. The last old one was thrown from this world by the first slayer.'
'But not before it fed off a human and created vampires,' Cordelia said, 'we heard.'
'Right - but according to the legend, all the old ones were either cast from this dimension or killed, their bodies are guarded at the Deeper Well… If there are old ones running around Los Angeles …'
'These ones were cast out too,' Doyle said, 'as far as God like monsters go, these guys are small fry. It's just when you come up against 'em and you're just an ordinary demon that things tend to go south. They got their very own hell dimension, but they found their way back to our plane o' existence and now they want it back.'
'Fascinating.' He looked like he meant it as well - but then that was Giles, he loved a cup of hot bovril and a research party. Cordelia remembered only too well how excited he had been by the prospect of spending an afternoon researching werewolves back when Oz was turned. Some things never changed. Giles was still tragically old and tragically in need of a life. Just like Wes. 'Well, I'll certainly look into it for you,' he was saying '… this should prove to be quite a treat. Demons of ancient lineage, alternate dimensions - I'll be in for a good afternoon with my …' he stopped talking when the door opened, 'ah - Buffy.'
Cordy and Doyle twisted in their seats to look. Buffy was standing in the doorway. They hadn't seen her in years - not since that time Faith had gone crazy and tried to kill Angel. In some ways she looked exactly the same: same long, blonde hair; same terrible taste in clothing, Cordelia noticed; she hadn't got any scars, or visibly aged - on the surface she was the same old Buffy.
And yet, there was... something about her that was different. Something Cordy couldn't quite define, it was like trying to grasp at moonbeams trying to work it out. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the set of her jaw, or just the way she held herself - but somehow, this woman was different to the heartbroken girl who had turned up unexpectedly, in what was now their apartment, and found a half naked Angel holding Faith and comforting her.
There was another young woman stood right behind her, and at first glance Cordelia assumed it was just another slayer - and then as she got a better look her jaw dropped open. 'Oh my god - Dawn?' she asked. 'You're all - you're a grown up. When did this happen?'
'It's kinda been an ongoing thing,' Dawn said.
'You're taller than Buffy now.'
'Yeah - she hates that.'
Buffy folded her arms across her chest and looked irritated, 'so,' she interrupted, 'Cordelia and … Doyle, right?' she squinted at the Irishman, her eyes narrowed as if she was thinking hard to pull his name out of the corner of her brain it was tucked away in. 'You guys wanted to see me?'
It was well past midnight, but the team were still at work - and for some reason they were all in Angel's office. He didn't want them there - he wanted to tell them to leave, but he also had a suspicion that the reason they were suddenly hanging out with him was because they had noticed something was wrong. And if he kicked them out of his office that would only confirm their suspicions. So he sighed and grit his teeth and tried to endure their company.
'We got a couple of Greenway's guys in holding downstairs,' Gunn was telling the others.
'They sang like canaries,' Lorne said, 'in the literal sense - one even had a pretty good voice. But what they know or don't know, it's gonna take me a while to crack.'
'You can't just see it?' Fred asked. But Lorne shook his head, 'I read people's destinies - their own intentions. I can see second hand knowledge, sure, but it's not always clear. One guy is thinking of proposing to his girlfriend - he's worried about where to do it, whether she'll like the ring … it kinda clouds what he knows about his bosses whereabouts.'
'We told 'em to focus on Greenway,' Gunn said, 'to give Lorne a clearer reading, but we can't make 'em do it. We can't get inside their heads and point them in what direction to think.'
'Unless we give them something,' Wesley suggested, looking up from his books. Everyone turned to look at him, except for Angel - who was barely listening. Wesley shrugged, 'we know there are mystical and botanical compounds that can relax a person, allow them to cheat a reading, like cheating a lie detector. It can't be outside the realms of possibility that we can find or create a substance that can focus a mind on a particular point, a mystical truth telling drug - as it were.'
'Fred, is there anything in the company's records that fits that bio?' Gunn asked her. The head of the science department scrunched up her face, thoughtfully. 'I guess I can get some of the lab technicians to run through what we have on our databases. Even if such a thing doesn't exist yet - we can use what we have to cook something up.'
'And that won't slow you down on modifying your equipment to trace Greenway that way?' Wesley asked her. But she shook her head. She and Knox were working on that personally - she could spare some other guys to check down another avenue. Wesley nodded, clucking his tongue slightly disapprovingly. 'Knox … of course.'
Fred looked flustered.
Angel sighed and stared out of the window. 'Angel?' Wesley's voice had lost the cold tone of disapproval and now sounded concerned. 'Angel - is everything OK?' Angel decided not to answer. But his silence didn't deter his friends. 'Angel?'
'Oh everything's great!' he suddenly snapped. 'We're bringing back Greenway that's…' he turned round and saw his friends staring at him, the looks of worry and concern on their faces, '... that's what we're supposed to do. It's a good thing. A good thing.'
'And yet you don't sound very happy about it,' Gunn pointed out. 'Big dog - I aint criticising, but you don't seem to be doing anything - at all - to help work this case. Seems to me like you don't even wanna.'
'Greenway is a bad guy, he needs to come back here to be punished - and we're gonna make that happen,' Angel said, fighting to keep his voice even.
'Right - we're happy, The Senior Partners are happy - win win.'
'Win win,' the vampire repeated, under his breath. Wesley was still staring at him, his blue eyes were dark with concern. 'Angel - what is …'
'You think there's any such thing as win win?' Angel suddenly asked them all. His voice came out unnaturally loud - and he felt a moment's embarrassment at his friend's surprise. He lowered his voice before he carried on. 'We don't win, where the Senior Partners are involved. We do exactly what they tell us. We do what they want. And they're working for the opposite side. So if we're doing their bidding - where exactly is it that we win? Huh? Can anyone tell me?' He stared around at them all - his eyes accusatory.
'We all got something when we came here,' Gunn told him, 'and we all knew what we were signing up to.'
'Is that you talking? Or that fancy new brain upgrade they gave you?'
'I don't hide the fact I like it here. I believe in what we're doin'. I believe we can do some good. We are doing good. And that includes hunting down Greenway and dragging his ass back to stand trial. I get that you miss killing the monsters and saving the honeys - but we do more to protect the world here than we ever did out there.'
'Right - we're doing good, up here in our ivory tower. And out there people are still suffering and fighting and dying. But we don't save them - because we're looking out for our bottom line.'
'It's called the bigger picture,' Gunn said heatedly.
'It's called sitting on our asses and serving evil,' Angel yelled back.
The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably. Angel sighed and rubbed his head. 'Sorry guys,' he muttered. 'This place … it gets to me.'
'Maybe it's time to call it a night?' Wesley suggested. 'It's late,' he checked his watch, 'so late it's early - in fact. We should all get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.'
There was a murmur of agreement and the team collected up their things and headed for the door. Angel stayed sat behind his desk, still staring into nothing. Wesley stopped in the doorway and looked back at him. 'Gunn's not wrong,' he said, 'we are doing good here, Angel, we do save a great many lives … but if you don't believe in the work, if you're heart's not in the role, then this place will just suffocate you - crush you until you can't keep going. And maybe that was The Senior Partner's plan all along. You need to fight this, Angel. We need you - head and heart in the game.'
Angel nodded, though his eyes remained blank. 'Night, Wesley.'
'Night, Angel.'
It was a long while afterwards that Angel finally managed to stir himself, getting up out of his chair and heading for his private elevator. Everything seemed quiet and still. But appearances can be deceptive - deep beneath Wolfram and Hart, in the very lowest recesses of the building, a group of demons were chanting. The chamber they were in was lit by bright, fluorescent lights and in the middle of the room was a giant, submerged, circular holding tank. Above the tank was a platform with a control panel. One of the demons took a crystal from around its neck and inserted it into the control panel. It was a perfect fit. There was a whirring sound - and then a metal plate slid across, obscuring the crystal. The panel lit up - and then, with a rumbling noise that shook the whole room, the holding cell began to rise from the ground.
