Summary: It's the end of the world, yet again (don't Apocalypses just seem to follow these guys?). It's a Buffy/Angel crossover extravaganza with all characters and some we haven't seen in a while.

Author's Note: Story takes place sometime slightly after season six Buffy and season three Angel.

Spoilers: None really, other than the fact that Connor's alive which could be possibly taken as a spoiler.

Disclaimer: You know, I wish I had created these characters and could take some credit for it... but I'm not. You all know that they actually belong to and created by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN and all those other rich companies that have something to do with the show that I just can't remember.

The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California

Oh, another day at Angel Investigations. Instead of being out there in the city, helping the helpless, they lounge about the hotel lobby, eating Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"Hey! Who ate the last chicken wing?" Gunn cried out. As he frantically searched all the boxes on the counter, he went on to say, "I had dibs on that!" A faint whistling sound could be heard coming from the general direction of Lorne.

Once every set of eyes in the room was on the chartreuse demon leaning on the elevator doors, the Pylean went on the defensive.

"Wha- Y-you th-think I would have committed such a heinous crime as to eat Charles Gunn's wing? It-it was. . . was. . ." When the staring begin to feel like the burning of an interrogation lamp, Lorne went over his mental list of scapegoats and finally decided on-

"-Angel."

"Angel?!" The whole room repeated.

It was then that the vampire looked up from his newspaper, completely oblivious to the whole conversation that had been going on about the chicken. "What?"

"Man, Angel wouldn't eat my stuff," Gunn snapped back. "He's a vamp."

"And besides," added Cordelia, "vampires don't eat Kentucky Fried Chicken. This vampire only eats jelly-filled donuts and coffee with blood."

Wesley looked down at his coffee mug in a horrified slow-motion double take. Without saying anything (or, if one listened hard enough, they could faintly hear him choke out: blood?) he slowly turned around and headed to the nearest bathroom, still clutching the tainted coffee.

At this point, Gunn was cracking his knuckles and looming menacingly towards the cowering demon in the corner. "I never realized how much black 'n blue go with green these days." Lorne was trapped between the counter and a very angry Gunn and knew that there was no way out. "They say it's the new fall color."

Just as Lorne squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for a new horn-ripping, a voice, small, female, and Texan, came from the stairs over by the front door of the Hyperion Hotel.

"Well, paint the barn a new shade of red, Gunn, if chicken wings mean that much to ya, y'all can have the lasta mine." Suddenly, as if she was a manifesting apparition, Fred appeared from behind the staircase railing holding a plate of barely-picked at food in one hand and a pretty beat-up copy of "Paradise Lost" in the other. "I wasn't that hungry anyway."

Gunn looked from the girl, to Lorne (who had his hands over his horns in a protective gesture), back to the girl again and smiled.

"Nah. That's okay, Fred," Gunn replied to the offer while rolling his sleeves back down over his arms. "I just love seeing the look on Green Boy's face." And, with that, he left Lorne cradling his head and shivering and went to sit on the couch, picking up another part of Angel's newspaper.

When the demon realized there was no danger to him or his horns he uncovered his face, looked around the room, dusted off his orange lounge singer suit and casually announced that he needed a Seabreeze. He then walked off to his hotel room saying nothing more than "take a chill pill."

After a few moments of silence left by Lorne's departure, Cordelia broke it with a rather poignant comment. "Anybody seen Wesley?"

The room remained dead silent. Off in the distance, the phone broke the uncomfortable pause.

"I'll get it!" Cordelia announced in a sing-song voice. But by the time she got three feet near the phone, Wesley had already entered and answered.

"Angel Investigations. Your problems are our problems." Wesley recited the company motto and went silent as he listened to the caller.

"Angel." Wesley gravely called out. "It's for you."

Angel set down his newspaper and walked in Wesley's direction, half wanting to know, half wanting to take the phone and hang it up and never know. He took the phone from Wesley and pressed the receiver to his unwilling ear.

"Angel speaking." Angel said in a shaky voice he tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise. The caller didn't have to speak a word past "Hello." He knew who that was. Angel would know that voice from anywhere at anytime.

Buffy.