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Part V

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It's a strange day No colours or shapes No sound in my head I forget who I am Utopia ~ Goldfrapp

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Only their hushed exchange at the top of the stairs alerted Wesley to their return. That, and the soft slapping of Fred's sandals on the hardwood floor when she moves. The image moving towards him is one of composure. Almost as if nothing unusual happened.

Fred walks ahead of Gunn - whose steps are measured - and takes a seat at the table, straightening her glasses. Gunn sits after her. Looks at his hands, stretching them out on the varnished wood amidst the books and objets. His voice is hesitant at first, slowly smoothing out:

"I have an a-"

"Allergy," Wes picks up for him. "Makes the eyes water; I know."

There is an uneasy beat.

"Let's just pretend that didn't happen." Gunn says.

Wesley looks back to his book for a moment before reaching for one of the scrolls that has fallen to the floor:

"Pretend what happened?"

They suddenly make eye contact and smile like old friends. The magic is back.

Fred rolls her eyes happily, as if to say: "Men."

"No word from upstairs?" Gunn asks.

"No not yet- Angel!?"

The words trip off Wesley's tongue easily, ending abruptly and all eyes follow his stare to the vampire that has appeared behind them, moodily descending the stairs. They all stand instinctively. Wes takes the lead, lifting one of Fred's gadgets from the table when there is no immediate answer from Angel. Gunn grabs a stake and steps in front of Fred, who in silent understanding acknowledges the sentiment but chooses to stand beside him with a crossbow.

"Angel?" she asks, glancing to Wes.

This time he replies: "It's okay, it's me."

Nobody moves.

"She told me to tell you: The sky is red in Bermuda."

Everybody relaxes.

"Glad to know we can only use that password once. I take it you two haven't..." Wes still cannot bring himself to say it.

"No...we haven't. She's kind of upset."

"About?"

"The obvious."

"Oh..."

Angel looks pushed for a moment, scratches his head. Fred thinks it makes him look like a puppy but she's keeping such thoughts to herself. He continues:

"I just wanted to check if there could possibly be another way."

Wesley adds what Fred and Gunn can only think: "That doesn't sound like you."

"She made me. Okay." Which made sense.

"Understandably." Gunn puts in unexpectedly, making Fred look at him. He explains: "Given the circumstances. She cares about you, bro."

Fred runs damage control: "We all do."

Angel misses it completely.

"Wes?"

Wesley answers rather peevishly, "Yes, Angel, I think it's been established that we all love you."

"I meant, are you sure there isn't another way to...lift her visions? She mentioned...spells?"

"Well..."

They continue. Fred looks at Gunn, who is still watching Angel - now at the table talking to Wes in particular but all of them in general; he puts down the stake.

"Man, we're all out of spells natch one." Gunn's raised eyebrows suggest the orb on the table.

Fred explains: "The ward spells are too dangerous, anything that could interfere could...is she going to be able to hear that?"

"She's...pretty strong." Angel's eyes are so dark and knowing they are in danger of devouring everyone and everything. "It's still hard to come to terms with."

"I know." says Gunn, which makes everyone else look at him. "She'll stay angry for a while, but she trusts...your friendship. It's strong enough to take it."

"You think she knows that?"

"I think she knows you." Gunn finishes.

Wes steps in now, handling the safety aspect.

"The chains are there as a precaution. It might be better if she comes out first next time."

"I get that." Angel looks at the contraption Wes holds at his side. "New weapon?"

Wes lifts it so Angel can see it properly.

"Fred made it."

"It's a stake-catapult-crossbow-thingy." she announces.

"Thingy?" Gunn questions. "That's your physics breakdown?"

"It's a prototype." Fred returns. "You name it if you want."

"How 'bout 'Norman'?"

"Works for me."

Wesley intercedes: "Getting back to what I was saying. We're out of options. I don't know how many more visions she can-"

"She just had one."

"Cordelia had a vision?"

"Yes."

"While you were up there? Is she-"

"She's...it blinded her."

Almost under his breath Wes snaps, "Bloody marvellous! She kept that from us."

"We all have our secrets, Wes, guess this is a night for them."

Wesley glances at Gunn and Fred, then back at Angel.

"I suppose. Her blindness, is it permanent?"

"Apparently it's happened before, it just takes a while for her to recover."

"Then we don't have any time. Her next vision could do irreversible damage."

None of them liked the idea of Cordelia in pain or blind, much less suffering permanently.

"I don't think that's the worst." Fred adds. "If there's stress on the blood vessels. That mean anything - cerebral haemorraging, an aneurysm, a stroke. We don't know. It could have already-"

"Happened." Angel finishes for her. "I have to go."

They step aside to let him go, equally concerned. Angel makes the first three steps up the stairs in one bound and then disappears entirely. They watch again an empty space. Fred rouses them from their collective thoughts.

"We had better be ready."

"Ready." Gunn's statement of fact.

Wes says it as he realises: "He loves her."

***

When he returns to the room she is lying still on the bed, curled into a small ball, her back to him. The shadows there are a part of her. The light from outside is almost royal blue and a burnt waxiness haunts the air inside. The candle at her bedside has gone out. He registers the small, stifled sounds rising faintly from her almost immediately. No less sooner is he at her side. How can doing something as simple as touching her bring him back to equilibrium?

"Cordy, it's okay. I'm back"

She turns on her side to face him, masked again in shadow.

"I'm not crying dumbass, I'm laughing."

And she makes dumbass sound like a compliment.

"Laughing?"

She sits up, coming into the light her eyes suddenly sparkling with fire. With life.

"The radio. They did that Dr Pepper commercial."

They say it simultaneously: "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh." She squints at his sudden sheepish turn, "You know it. Weird." She swings her legs off the side of the bed. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"About the hissy fit?"

"The hissy?"

"The Joan Collins 'tude. You know this would work better if you didn't echo my every last word."

"I guess."

She realises: "God, I *am* sorry. I keep doing that."

"Apology accepted." He says, eager to move her past this.

She holds up her hand to get him to stop. "No. I'm not finished yet."

"Okay..."

"I just realised that you...and I...well, when I'm threatened...I- Okay, let me start again. Well, when I was a little girl, five or six? Somewhere there. I had a crush on this boy and, well he didn't..have one on me, I mean - and...he told me so in no uncertain terms. In lots of little, quite frankly for a boy, bitchy ways. His daddy was into oil or stocks and bonds or something. And I always thought I didn't want that to ever happen - ever - again. So..."

"You returned the compliment."

"Exactly! It was my trademark and I was good at it! Actually I was the best...and then I really didn't know how to be anything other than that and it didn't matter anyway because it was what people expected and...I kind of enjoyed it. But, I never got out of the habit of doing it even when I didn't have to. So I'm sorry. I was afraid and..."

"I understand..." He pauses taking it in. "You made that up that first part didn't you?"

"I really can't lie to you can I?"

A few beats of silence.

"My guess is that they didn't tell you what you wanted to hear down stairs."

He nods.

"I didn't expect them to. Come here."

"Come there?"

She pats space on the bed directly beside her. He sits by her. She radiates warmth and when she looks at him she draws him in. She hugs him. She does not let go as she says:

"Another thing I realised-"

"With the Dr Pepper thing?"

"Yes, that. I realised that it didn't matter if I was afraid or not I was still pretty lucky."

"Lucky? To have me?"

She releases him a little so they can see each other. Same dark eyes again.

"No. Not that I'm not but that wasn't what I was thinking (and you know I am). I actually *know* what could or could not happen. On one side: psycho killer. On the other side: no visions. I have nothing to complain about. I'm not going into this blindly, if you'll just excuse the fact that a few minutes ago I actually was. I know most of the possible outcomes of us, doing this. We *both* know. I was just angry because..."

"I lied to you."

"No." She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Because I wanted you...to kiss...You."

His world reels for a moment. How can her saying that actually induce him to such acuteness of feeling? Such acuteness of fear? Stunning him in all senses of the word. He tries to take it in because she is not trying to take it back. He gets up shuffling, pensive.

"So do I."

She watches him move across the darkness of the room, and realises the simplicity. To want. To take. To have.

"Okay now I should be afraid."

He sits beside her again. Close. Stares right into her. She adds: "I'm not, though."

He leans in to kiss her but hesitates:

"But you still want to kiss me right?"

She kisses him deeply:

"Does that answer your question?"

He kisses her and as their kisses escalate, their embrace becomes more.

*

His mouth is deceptively soft against her lips, his hands soon losing their innocence in their manouvres down, down her spine. And it was nothing, just nothing for him to lift her like he just did, so that now she was quite clearly in his lap. Dark, long kisses. Dark. To the shoulder now exposed and the eyes now, not searching for redemption or retribution but her. She can smile in the dark. Her hands can play. His interest never leaves her.

She feels their bodies crashing to earth, but the descent is slow. It almost defies time.

His hands descend her back for a second time. (Yes, he bought her a dress that was backless, he finds her bare back seductive). And though she cannot resist him, can be moved by him, she shudders. He can tell. Breaks their millionth kiss - or was it the first that never ended?

"What is it?"

"Your hands are...cold."

"Cold?"

"What do you do to...? Oh. Right."

"Blood."

"You can't just put a tub in the microwave and...?" His gaze is downward, she can see his lashes. Was that shame? "No. I didn't think so."

Distracted fingers find their way to the scars on her neck - Darla-shaped. Stay there only a second.

"I'm not going to bite you." he announces.

"Well you're not going to do anything but freak me out with hands that cold."

She shifts off him, sliding beside. Hesitates for only a moment before lifting the hem of her dress, pulling it higher until it is bunched at her waist, exposing the lithe strength of her legs, her panties of lace and string. He has seen her in a bikini, right?

He feels like a voyeur but it still takes him a good two seconds to look elsewhere. Her voice again.

"Now, I'm going to give you ten seconds and then you can bite me here." She draws an imaginary circle around the area above her left hip, and he stares at her. He wonders if she realises that her rebar scar is at the circle's centre. The red light reflected ambiently across the surfaces in the room, glows now over her smooth belly. He knows he wants it because his mouth is no longer dry.

Cordelia leans back against the pillows, raises the small wooden crucifix in her right hand, no bigger really than her palm. And her eyes full of calm where the cross has already made the statement: Not going out like that. Follow his eyes as they go down, follow the movent of his hands up over her legs, lightly over her thighs, catching her at the waist on the left - pinning the gown in folds - and the right at the hip to balance. Feels his features slide into the carnivores like there is really no change at all; and the shifting of his yellow eyes as she catches the descent of that brutal mouth before the fangs meet her flesh. Because she wants to see him this way for a moment - touch the lines there - face the visible demon. Her hand rests under his chin for a second, then brushes the lobe of his ear as it escapes over his neck to his shoulder. Her glance climbs towards the ceiling.

He is gentle with her for a moment before breaking the skin. Feels the muscles tense at his invasion then relax, then tense. Does she gasp? He misses that. He eases the fangs out of her to allow the blood to collect. Takes in her every taste and the amplification of her scent with it - gives an unheard hum of pleasure. Feels the grip of his left hand slide under her dress. Presses his tongue to the wound and lets the blood flow under his lips. She relaxes again.

He can hear the dull thump of her heart - it sparks with each beat at a dark corner of his consciousness - and the buzz of her pulse is in his mouth, working its way to his throat in a warm, divine line. He swallows; tastes. The hand on his shoulder has absently started to caress - she might be sublimating her own need for comfort - his bite must sting. He purses his lips some, releases again the pressure of his tongue, and the blood floods his mouth.

She arches a little now, her body trembles against him. Her hand is closed against the cross, squeezing, clasping, releasing, as he sucks and then abandons. Suddenly grabbing her hard and pressing her down before she registers how far in his fangs really are, how deep he is biting her - a little cruelty there - sucking her suddenly harder. Pulling her to an edge that only her heart records, pounding louder, faster. Her hand is now a claw upon his shoulder, arousing him a little. But the cross - as he draws one last draught onto his tongue with more strength than is strictly necessary - the cross - where her hand closes around it to form a fist - breaks in two with a clear wooden snap. Her breaths are finally heard above him, coming forth raggedly. Her heart is gone on a not so startling pattern of madness that makes him dizzy and fat with satisfaction.

He knows what he just did to her. And now he licks around the wound; her fingers in his hair clearly fascinated - clearly not so tame - as he waits for the steep rise of her pulse, of her breathing to fall. His mouth against her fluttering belly leaving a fine line of kisses.

He shifts on the bed, losing his canines - and she sits up in her own time, dark hair falling over her shoulders. Drops the broken cross absently but looks at the pieces on the bed, disorientated. He reaches for her arm and she turns his way allowing him to hold her. She puts her arms around him completing the gesture but not quite registering it until she feels his presence there and holds him tighter. Leans back.

"You're...hot now."

"I know."

"And I'm statement-of-the-obvious girl."

"I know."

She kisses him with little hesitation and his hands spider up her back again. Just likes her being there against him. With him. His. Wants to tell her how wonderful she is - cannot do it because her mouth is inside his. She pulls back - pupils wide, eyes wide. Dazzling and beautiful. And he is still stroking her back. She looks down at her state of undress and is customarily blunt as ever. It is all the more wonderful.

"Take off your clothes."

She does not need to say it again. She does not need to help him, just lets him do it. Her gaze remains upon him, does not flinch; not predatory or mortified, or even curious. It is just taking him in. All of him. When he sits beside her he is naked, bathed in the blue light from outside. She raises the dress over her chest but struggles:

"Help me." He does. "Only you would buy me a dress I have to be cut out of."

He is too transfixed with her own half-nudity to do anything other than echo her.

"Only me."

God, she's beautiful.

She shakes her hair back into place. Lets the dress fall off the end of her arm into clothy puddle at their feet.

"Over or under?" She indicates the sheets.

"Anywhere...with you."

She smiles, like diamonds in the dark.

"I love you." he says. And while she does not accept this as freely as he would have wanted, he appreciates the circumstances she is faced with. She speaks to him, a hoarse whisper:

"And I always will."

His hands in hers. Then his hands sliding over her body. To know her is to want her, you know? Likes the little things about her. The way her mouth will not close when she knows he wants her this way. The way that his hands make losing her underwear less of a problem and more of a solution. The way he can follow her pulse as clear as a clarion when he kisses her over and over and all over. And he treasures the places he takes her, the pieces of herself that she gives him in her moments of acute pleasure. He can give her that. She can take it. All her warmth and moisture and tenderness, mixed in with the musk and the heat. There is a fine bead of sweat now playing across her body. She is trying to form words but words do not form anymore.

He is pure predator in seeking her weaknesses and playing them, like she is some wonderful instrument. And then she is on top of him coming back to herself.

They have to do this now. Blue light once more playing across her face, as she looks down upon him and smiles. He is the perfect cat. Listen to him purr.

She has him pinned under her weight. He stretches his arms out far, so she can shackle him. She has a moment of resistence:

"No."

He smiles his charming smile: "Yes."

"Yes." she concedes.

Four points of a compass. He is a star in human form pointing in all directions. And she falls for him there like that. His absolute surrender. He would do this again and again. He is Atlas chained to the world, Ixion with his eternal wheel.

Her mouth is against his; for a moment they just lie full length against each other and he can feel her heartbeat eating into him, scoring into him like a molten thing. Like he could suddenly bleed her blood. Then she breathes and he 'breathes' with her. Rises up and positions herself over him, slowly descending.

He can feel her inside.

How many have there been? He does not want to think that way around her. He sees only a shadow of her sadness as she raises her head in the purple light - slowly changing to red.

She rides him far too well, and she is not afraid of breaking him.

He would like to guide her speed, rest his chained hands on her hips and watch her go. Not gonna happen.

But he can watch her - and her pulse is like a magnet - the raising red light bringing out the hidden dark curls in her hair. Raising every possible expression to his vampire scrutiny. The twitch of the mouth, the deep flush that rises over her breasts when she is starting to feel him, the closing of her eyes against it, the way her hands (on his chest) are scalding him. He loves that she is taking him where he is taking her. They are going there together. She is like a volcano. Her breathing is spiking. Yes, go there. There is no relief. Her thighs inextricably close around him. Tighter. She is feeling him. His wrists strain against the chains binding him wanting to touch. He is feeling her too.

His thoughts become rushed, giddy, greedy and pushed to some mysterious goal. The hushed moans escape her now - she is past helping it.

A tingling around his temple, and obviously his groin, she squeezes him so tight. Her entire body seems to contract and give and release. She speaks words of a language that mean everything, everything. And the stars in his belly explode. Gone.

She falls upon him in a tangled, sweaty mess and he can only feel her. 'Breathe' with her. She feels him as if he were in every atom in her body.

*

She must have fallen asleep over him. For she wakes there on top of him.

She manages to climb off of his sleeping body without waking him. If she had moaned any louder she would have embarrassed herself. Or would she? She would not have thought she had any of *that* in her. That capacity to feel, to want unto anihilation. That could only lead to badness. Now he knows it too.

Getting vertical is a problem for a moment, and dazed she has to rest on the bed beside him. He still has not woken. She has never seen him sleep before - not with the nakedness anyway. Doesn't look too bad on him. You could almost forget he could kick donkey demon ass without trying.

The neon lights must been switched off because the room is covered in the light of the setting moon. It makes him look so pale. She instinctively touches where he bit her. *That* had been such an intimate thing compared to the other on her neck. Not her best idea. She realises she is half-mindedly looking for the pieces of the cross she broke earlier. When she finds them by the foot of the bed, she remembers she is naked - her clothes must be on the other side. She looks affectionately at him on the bed - still asleep.

She wanders around the bed, drawing the drapes on her way. Puts on his clothes - she can bring him some more later - covers him with a sheet (in the name of modesty) and stares back at the bed when he shifts unconsciously making the chains rattle. Raises an eyebrow and says softly: "I wore you out, huh?"

Turns towards the door tightening his belt at her waist. Looks back at him once again before leaving. Mutters more to herself than anyone: "Not good."

***

They don't hear her bare feet on the stairs or the floor until she is right behind them. Only Wesley jumps. Gunn and Fred seem in their sneaky element.

"We didn't hear you come down." Wes says, excusing himself.

"Obviously."

Gunn takes in her new garb.

"So..." He notes her look. "We don't have to go there."

"We've been and gone from 'there'." She says. Tries not to smirk - that would be Angel's thing.

Fred, bless her, is smiling but it's kind of goofy on her because she is not sure if she is allowed to. Wes interupts the high times.

"So he doesn't seem..." His sensitivity makes him trail off.

She finds a chair and sits down, wincing briefly as her bite reminds her it is still there and still raw. She recovers easily.

"When I left him he seemed unconscious."

"Oh it's like that is it?" Gunn is a dog. A smart-assed, cute dog. But a dog.

"Charles!" Fred all but gasps, but really she's right there with him. All of them perhaps, except Wes, who's a little off.

"*You* will *never* know." she replies.

Fred pushes the glasses in danger of falling off the end of her nose back onto her face. and adds: "Don't mind him, his mind has a gutter rotation... which sometimes other minds like to visit."

Fred leans forward hopefully.

"I don't think so." She winks at Fred. "I'll tell you later."

Gunn raises a second skeptical eyebrow before she finishes: "And by 'later' I mean *never*."

Fred actually pouts - who would have thought?

"Oh." she says disappointedly. Then digging into her pocket hands Gunn some currency.

She erupts on principle: "Oh, that is just so..." Immature she means to say.

Wes surrepitously does the same, handing Gunn a similar amount.

"You made bets?! I'm on my deathbed and you guys made bets?" She wells up and says with real feeling. "I love you guys." Then putting her hand out in front of a nontheless amused Gunn: "Pay me."

Gunn coughs up the dough: "You drive a hard bargain."

"You wise asses deserve it. Next time say it with flowers."

"So you're safe now?" Gunn continues.

"All good, new and vision-free."

"Alright!" Gunn high-fives Fred, and to Cordelia's surprise, stands and hugs her. "Good to have you back."

They all crowd round her - group hug. Lacking for the words she simply repeats her earlier statement, "I love you guys!" and tries not to cry. Fails. She wipes her eyes and explains: "It's an-"

"Allergy." Gunn and Wes say it simultaneously.

"We know." Wes adds. "It seems to be..."

Cordelia hears steps behind her and turns around as Wes finishes. "...going around." His tone hardens and without taking a breath says: "What are you doing here?"

In the lobby just arriving through the front doors, Gavin Parks, four police officers and some other official-looking men in suits arrive. Expensive suits.

Wes is not intimidated.

"I've told you to get out once-"

Parks, smooth and reptilian counters:

"We have a warrant, Mr Pryce." Holding it out for Wes.

Wesley snatches the form, clearly irritated, but reads it. Gunn reads aloud over his shoulder.

"Violation of the Environmental Code? Hold up now-"

The suit to Park's right comments: "We have reason to believe that you are violating-"

Wesley's arch European vowels seem to cut like a knife.

"The only thing being violated is my patience."

"We are free to search the premises, Mr Pryce. If you attempt to stop us..." The police officer behind him steps forwards, "we have grounds to arrest you for resisting our investigation."

"Not to mention your other violations of the Buildings Reguations Code. The State Department doesn't take too kindly to forgery, Mr Pryce. And neither does immigrations. I hope there's nothing illegal about your stay in this country." Parks seems coated in oil.

Cordelia steps forwards, barefoot and peeved: "I shouldn't think so." And in her best sweetheart voice, to Wes: "Tell him when the date is, honey."

Parks almost applauds. His hands do come together as if they would. He should be so lucky he is out of her reach.

"Very nice. You get a gold star for creativity - no cigar, though. Where's Angel? We need to set our own little date."

Wes is silent, crosses his arms. Cor and Gunn do the same.

Parks crosses in front of them, catches sight of Fred slightly behind them.

"And you, Miss Burkle? What's a nice girl like you doing-"

"Pleading the fifth with a toad like you?" Fred closes. Cordelia glows with unexpected pride. Something's rubbing off there. "Breathing, oscillating a bit but mostly waiting for a paradigm shift that means you're no longer with us." If not entirely.

Parks barely loses his cool.

"Where is he?" They say nothing. The lawyer turns to the suits and cops: "Search the rooms, he must be in one of them." Then returning his full attention to the three of them again:"As for obstruction of justice-"

She cannot help herself: "I thought I was looking right at it."

"Very smart mouth you have there, Miss Chase. Maybe Angel could use it in court. Always knew you were more than a...face."

"Hey!"

Wesley's voice rejoins the exchange, heavy and calm: "Angel is not here. So why don't you and your associates leave."

"Too late, Mr Pryce, I'm not leaving until justice has been served."

Wes thinks hard, looks to the group behind him and starts again: "Now I'm sure we can sit down and discuss this like civilised beings. Perhaps we can even come to an agreement. We give you Angel, on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"This." And Wes just hauls off and hits him. She has to admire the sheer force of angle it snaps Parks' head to. Glad she was not on the receiving end. Gunn springs forwards to stop the melee. Trying to reign Wes in as he almost strikes Parks for a second time. Parks backs off feeling his jaw, spitting the words:

"Good, Mr Pryce. We find Angel, maybe I'll let you post bail."

Only Gunn stops his friend from charging at the lawyer - fists of fury. Cordelia winces. Boy are they in some deep shit now. Suddenly she doesn't feel so well. Not good at all. Her hands rise disbelievingly to her temples before she can stop them. She cannot even warn Wesley and Gunn - now surrounded by officers - before she can scream.

The third cop is forcibly restraining Wesley when they first hear her. Gunn spins in surprise, quite expecting her to be under attack of even launching a war cry. On her second scream, the second of the officers climbing the stairs hesitates, watching her collapse. The one on the landing simply carries on his duties, clearly suspecting some kind of ruse: "Check her." is all he says.

Her third scream is a kind of disaster. Fred is on her knees beside her. There is so much pain. Pain in and all around her. No. Not this again. She tries to hold on.

"I thought she wasn't having these anymore?" Gunn asks, trying to reach her. Her body starts to convulse. She screams again. Gunn and Fred lift her bodily, but Gunn holds her well into her convulsions, trying to preempt them. "Hold up girl, we got you."

She has one of those weird disembodied thoughts: Could Wes look more horrified? She can only hear Fred. ("What's happening?" To which Gunn replies: "I don't know, educated guess says this com-shuk deal ain't working.")

Her voices grates out of her: "Not...a...vision."

If she said there was not enough pain they would not believe her. There was something surreal to the quality of it. Like it was not coming directly to her. She hears the voice of the cop upstairs.

"Hey, Bishop! We've got something up here!"

"Don't...go...up...there." Oh God, something bad.

She hears screams again - this time not hers. A gun fires. The cops downstairs go into a panic. She hears Gunn.

"What the hell?"

Her words keep coming. "...Angel..."

She hears what seems like the loudest crash in the world roll like thunder down the stairs towards them. She is breathing hard. More crashing, and high above it what sounds like tearing metal. Gunshots - tearing in. Another shout. Another scream. Staccato steps up the stairs. Voices calling for back up.

Wes gets it. "Dear God." It shakes him to the very core.

Even Parks is lost for a moment.

"...too...late..." she groans.

Glass shatters to pieces, she flinches, feeling cut but not. "Aghragh!" Her feet bleed. But not. She feels Freds fingers clenching her elbow like a steel grip. For a moment she is weightless. Then she hits the ground running but knows she is holding onto Gunn for dear mercy, staring out at Wes. She can smell the gunsmoke. Two heartbeats, one thready. Alread at a distance. The cops are going nuts up there. The suits have gathered gravely around Parks; surely this is their confirmation. Wes is now beside her. He shakes his head. She knows. Her head is clear now.

"He's gone."

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TO BE CONTINUED IN AVE

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