Part one

Los Angeles

Monday afternoon, 3 pm

            Angel slept. 

'At least', Cordelia thought, 'I guess he's sleeping; this whole being-dead-and-not-breathing thing gets really creepy sometimes.'

She stood leaning in the doorway to her employer's office and regarded the ensouled vampire, who sat with his legs stretched out under his desk, chin on his chest and his eyes closed, hands loosely clasped across his waist.  It was three in the afternoon and by rights he should be safely tucked upstairs in his room, but things were bad and she knew he dare not venture too far from the phone or their offices, the hub of the organisation known as Angel Investigations.

Cordelia sighed. 'Things' always got bad when Buffy made an appearance.  Or … disappearance, as was the case at present.  Normally, 'things' went along quite well, thank you, with Angel and his team battling demons and their lawyers and generally putting the world to rights. As long as no-one mentioned the 'B' word, everything was fine, but as soon as Angel heard that name he became prone to serious contemplative over-drive and industrial-strength brooding, especially when something like this happened.  He tried to brush it aside and get on with life, especially after their meeting a few weeks ago following her latest resurrection, but he was fooling no-one. They all knew he loved her, and missed her, and longed for the life together that they could never have, and now that she was missing he was more broody than ever. They tried to be supportive …

Cordelia sighed again. Who was she kidding? They were supportive, but life had to go on.  Wesley's idea of being supportive was making lots of tea and trying to avoid the subject, when he wasn't buried in research.  Fred sighed winsomely, caught up in the romance of it all, but wouldn't know where to begin when it came to voicing advice or sympathy.  Gunn commiserated silently, and made the most of Fred's company, not wanting to waste a moment in this no-guarantees world.  Lorne fretted, and made the occasional wise comment in Angel's hearing, but generally felt as useless as the rest of them did. Cordelia occasionally patted Angel's shoulder, letting him know she was there if he wanted to talk, knowing full well that he wouldn't.  And she watched him sleep when and where he could, on the rare occasions that he gave in to the fatigue that had already begun to tell on each of them, all the while knowing that Buffy was no longer in this dimension and all attempts to find her or figure out what had happened three days ago had failed.

She knew he was dreaming about her.  Sometimes the whisper of a smile turned up the corner of his mouth, and sometimes he frowned and kind of growled, but mostly he wore that 'gods I love her so much' expression that he'd worn permanently in Sunnydale but rarely got to use after Graduation Day and his move to LA.  Random Sunnydale memories flashed through Cordelia's mind – mostly bad ones – and she frowned, pushing herself off the doorframe to return to her desk.  She hadn't made a sound, she was certain, but obviously the air movement reached Angel's hypersensitive senses because in an instant he was sitting bolt upright, gripping the edge of his desk, his face asking a huge horrible unspoken question as his dark eyes searched Cordelia's with an intensity that made the hairs on her neck stand up.

"It's okay," she smiled, apologetically, flapping a hand at him to calm down, "everything's quiet.  Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you."

Angel blinked, looking at her as if he wasn't ready to believe her, and let go of the desk but didn't relax.  He sighed – completely unnecessarily, since he didn't actually breathe – and twiddled with the claddagh ring that adorned his ring finger.

"Angel, she'll be okay," Cordelia said softly, moving towards the desk, "we'll …"

His eyes bore into her again, cutting off her words, and she smiled that big-eyed 'okay-so-you-know-I'm-lying' smile at him and shrugged.

"Well," she said, head on one side as she met his gaze defiantly, "what do you want me to do?  Spend my days howling and sobbing and ruining this silk shirt with my tears?  You know that's not going to happen.  For starters, the store would never take it back. And also," she added hastily, kicking herself for the materialistic lapse, "excuse me? This is Buffy we're talking about.  She always wins through. Heck, she can't even stay dead, she's not about to settle down in some other dimension without a fight!"

Angel looked at her, almost expressionless for once.

"How long was I …?" he asked quietly.

"About ten minutes," Cordelia supplied. "Big whoop! Let's hope the quiet continues a while, cos if you keep this up, you're not going to be much use if something happens."

She looked at him meaningfully, concern out-weighing her sarcasm.

Angel shook his head.

"I can't go to bed, Cordelia," he said, "I need to be here."

"Angel you know we'll call you as soon as anything …"

"I know that," he said softly.  "I just need to be here."

 "I know," Cordelia said quietly, after a beat, "me too."

They looked at each other for a few moments, understanding passing unspoken between them.  Then Cordelia turned on her heels and went back to her desk behind the hotel's reception area.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Across town, in the Conference Room on the executive's floor at Wolfram & Hart, seven smug faces listened with satisfaction to Lilah Morgan's latest update.  Lilah practically glowed with pride as she reminded them of her intricate planning which had culminated with dazzling success in the Slayer's removal to Kravlar, a particularly unpleasant demon dimension whose portals were almost impossible to locate and even more difficult to activate.

"My contact on the other side," she inflected dramatically, much to the amusement of her audience, "informs me that our subject is not-too-comfortably detained in the Pit of Drath, which is heavily fortified and lies some distance from the portal which took her there.  So, even if her friends should locate a portal – which," she continued hastily as the faces around the table grew grim – "is extremely unlikely, if not impossible – they would have no idea where to look for her.  Even if they found out about the Pit, which again is so unlikely it isn't worth worrying about, they would then have to battle their way in any number of directions in order to …."

" 'Any number of directions'?"  one of the directors repeated.

"Kravlar's dimensions are not like ours," Lilah explained, trying to mask the feeling of superiority that her extensive research had given her. "Locations shift, as does time, and pinpointing a particular map reference doesn't guarantee it will be there when you reach it."  She smiled triumphantly. "That was why I chose Kravlar: it's inhospitable, impenetrable, and damned hard to find!"

"So how do we keep tabs on her?"  Gavin Park smirked.

Lilah glared at him, knowing he was looking for any chink in her perfectly masterminded plan which would inch him ahead of her in the kudos stakes.

"My contact," Lilah stated simply.

"And if your contact should … disappear?" Gavin pressed, not without menace.

"He won't," she countered bluntly, meeting his challenge.  She saw the others shift restlessly, obviously unsettled by this possible flaw.  She smiled mirthlessly at Gavin.  "Obviously, there's a back-up – I don't have just the one contact in Kravlar, there are several working in conjunction with each other. In the highly unlikely event that something should happen to one of them – in their own home world, where they are exalted warriors – then one of the others would pick up the reins.  There is nothing to worry about.  Everything is tightly controlled."

Gavin snorted softly, and Lilah resisted the urge to punch him in the mouth.

"And the portal is permanently sealed?" Leverett Simkins asked.  Lilah hadn't had many dealings with him, but his snake-like features filled her with both dread and respect.

Lilah nodded, smiling proudly.

"We know that her friends are concentrating on the area where the portal disappeared," she reported, "thinking they can somehow reactivate it.  What they don't realise is that if it was still active, it would no longer be there anyway: it would have shifted to another location, because of the dimensional differences in Kravlar. However, as extra insurance, I had the portal destroyed."

"How do you know?" Simkins asked, his small dark eyes narrowing. "If it had moved from its location, how do you know it was destroyed?"

"As soon as the slayer arrived in Kravlar, my contact destroyed the portal before it closed," Lilah answered smoothly, her skin crawling under Simkins' serpent-like stare. "It won't open again."

Simkins nodded, satisfied, but held her in his gaze until she almost squirmed.

"And the Book of Lar is safe?" Nathan Reid asked, knowing the answer but enjoying the spectacle of Lilah Morgan's discomfort.

Lilah nodded, glad to be under someone else's scrutiny.

"The only thing in existence," she explained for the benefit of the others, "which holds the key to entering and travelling though Kravlar's dimensions, is very safe."

She was not about to divulge its whereabouts, even if some of them already knew – no-one was considered an absolute ally in this war.  Especially not Gavin, who, she noticed with satisfaction, frowned with annoyance at her lack of information.

"And the vampire?" Reid asked, his distaste apparent without naming names.

"We're throwing everything else at him," Lilah reported, "draining his resources and wasting his time at every given moment.  Apparently he's getting pretty close to breaking point."

Gavin snorted again, and Lilah turned on him.

"He's using up his strength at a phenomenal pace," she informed him through gritted teeth, "not eating, not sleeping, and therefore not recuperating as quickly as normal. If you can call anything he does 'normal'. His associates are also run ragged, and collectively they are very weak. Add to that the obvious worry and tension over the missing Slayer and their efforts to help her friends find her ….."

"Very well," Nathan Reid interrupted with a nod. "It seems that our plans are moving along as anticipated." He either ignored or missed Lilah's jaw-clench at his sudden ownership of her plan. "We'll reconvene on Friday.  Perhaps by then we will have news on our other project."

Gavin smiled, giving nothing away, and nodded once.  Lilah looked from one to the other, but her exclusion from that particular subject was obvious.  Eyes glaring at her junior colleague, she smiled dutifully at her boss and closed her briefcase.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunnydale

Rupert Giles wearily rubbed his spectacles with a hanky, and looked across at the table opposite the counter in the Magic Box.  Willow had dozed off, her face resting at an uncomfortable-looking angle on the open page of the huge book she'd been reading.  In the seat next to her, Xander, catching Giles' gaze at her, smiled with tight lips, guarding his friend's exhaustion with fierce protectiveness, as if Giles would even consider disturbing her.  The former librarian gave him a tiny nod, reassuring him that Willow's slumber was well deserved.  Opposite Xander, her back to Giles, Tara quietly turned a page in another tome, glancing at her lover to assure herself she hadn't woken her, then continued reading, stifling a yawn with her free hand.

Giles looked at his watch.  Three-thirty.  Anya would arrive soon with Dawn, and then the peace and quiet would be shattered for another twelve hours or so until sleep claimed them all, if they allowed it.  He replaced his glasses and moved noiselessly around the counter, selecting an ancient journal from the top of the pile in the centre of the table, and was about to sit down between Tara and Xander when the phone rang.  Willow jerked upright, wincing and confused, quickly looking to each of them as if checking there were still there.

Giles lifted the telephone receiver before its third ring.

"Yes?" he said, tension knotting his face.  The other three held their breath as they watched, straining to hear the caller even though they knew it was impossible.  "Hello, Wesley, how..?  Right. No, nothing here, either. Yet," he amended with determination, aware that a defeatist attitude was no good to anyone.

His young companions watched as his expression changed from weary resignation to curious deliberation as he listened to his former Watcher's Council colleague.  Wesley was obviously saying something to give Giles hope.  Xander was itching to interrupt, but Anya and Dawn, who burst into the shop talking loudly about some boy band, stole that chalice from him.

"Shhhhhhhhh!" stopped the two in their tracks, delivered by three annoyed scoobies at the table as back up to Giles who held up his hand, palm facing the intruders, as a signal to shut up.

Obediently, if slightly miffed, Anya halted and closed her mouth.  Dawn, however, almost fell over herself to join Giles, pressing her ear to the receiver to try and hear who was calling.  Her face fell when she realised it wasn't Buffy, and she slouched into a vacant chair, close to tears.

"Yes, yes," Giles said thoughtfully, nodding with enthusiasm, "I think you're right, Wesley, I seem to remember reading something about it, years ago.  Good job.  I'll see what we can turn up here, and I know someone on the Council who may have more information.  I'll call you back.  Thank you."

Slowly replacing the receiver, Giles remained motionless for several seconds, obviously deep in thought, until Xander could stand it no longer.

"Care to share, G-man?" he prompted with half-hearted sarcasm, knowing the nickname alone would attract enough attention.

Giles shot him a look, half out of habit, to show his irritation, but it was quickly replaced by a very business-like nod.

"That was Wesley," he said unnecessarily, cutting off Xander's rejoinder with a raised hand. "He's discovered some ancient texts which refer to a demon dimension that seems to fit the scenario that …"

He glanced carefully at Dawn, mindful of her emotional state.  She looked at him with huge eyes, still on the verge of tears, but smiling hopefully.  Giles' heart ached for her, and he longed to give her a comforting hug and reassure her that they would find her sister. Instead he smiled as encouragingly as he could.

"It seems this dimension may be the one that … Buffy has been transported to," he revealed, reluctant to reiterate the unthinkable.

"Yay! A lead!" Willow cheered, ever the trouper.

Giles hesitated.

"No 'yay'?" Willow asked, disappointed.

"It's a step in the right direction," Giles conceded, "but …"

"Can I move now?" Anya interrupted huffily, fidgeting from one foot to the other on the spot she'd halted a few minutes before.

"An," Xander said quickly, holding out his hand to her, "yes, of course, come join us."

Huffing, Anya all but stomped down the three steps and sat beside him, folding her arms and pouting.  Before she could say anything more, Xander took her hand in his and squeezed it, smiling, and nodded at Giles to continue.

"It seems that Wesley … may have identified the dimension," Giles told them, careful not to build up their hopes too soon, "but there's little else to go on.  The texts he's translated tell of a key …"

He stopped, aware that that word alone triggered other painful memories for all present, particularly Dawn, who had enough to cope with at the moment.

"It's okay," she said in a tiny voice, "I'm dealing."

Giles gently squeezed her shoulder, and noticed the teenager's struggle against nuzzling into the touch, obviously needing to maintain some level of 'cool'.  He gave an almost imperceptible second squeeze, and then removed his hand.

"Apparently there's some kind of … code, or guide, to this dimension," Giles continued, choosing his words carefully, "without which it can neither be found nor traversed."

"Travers?" Xander asked, confused. "Where'd he come from?"

"Traversed," Giles repeated patiently. "Travelled through."

"With ya!" Xander gave the thumbs up, grinning sheepishly. "Just went to a scary visual place for a moment there. Go on."

"Thank you," the Watcher said, witheringly, and then stopped.

"Giles?" Willow prompted, full of expectation.

"That … that's about it," Giles admitted with a sigh.

The others visibly deflated, shoulders sagging and all of them uttering disappointed sighs.  Giles felt more responsible than ever for them, and wondered not for the first time, how he was going to lead them out of this.

"So," Willow said, recovering first and putting on her resolved face, "more research, right? Cos, we have a name to go on, right?"

Amazed again by her enthusiasm and determination, Giles could have kissed her.

"We do, we do," he affirmed. "Wesley said the dimension he's identified is called Kravlar.  We need to find out all that we can about it, and try and trace the guide that will take us there."

Animated by this ray of hope, everyone grabbed a new book and began searching for the information that would bring Buffy home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rain water dripped down the glistening wall of the cell, briefly pooling in mercurial puddles before seeping into the sand-like texture of the floor.  Outside, thunder crashed and lightning flashed almost incessantly, illuminating the deep purple sky and roiling clouds, and creating a strobe-light effect through the high barred window of the cell.

Out of sight, presumably in other cells on either side of this one, voices howled and screamed and groaned.  None of them were identifiably human; most of them most definitely weren't.  They uttered words that were meaningless gibberish, but in tones that expressed terror and pleading most eloquently.

A long way away, something heavy hit a floor – or maybe it was an explosion, it was difficult to tell amid all the different noises – and the sand in the bottom of the cell rippled unnervingly.  Occupants of the other cells screamed, almost in unison, as if this new sound heralded another horror on its way to visit them.

Sitting on the sand in the centre of the cell, Buffy sniffed, pulled her knees up tighter to her chest, and stared out at the storm.  She had her back to the cell door – or where it was last time she looked – and her spidey senses were in overdrive, but beyond that she had no idea … well, of anything really. She couldn't tell if it was day or night, as the sky outside was permanently dark purple, and she'd lost her watch soon after arrival. She had no idea how long she'd been in the cell, but it felt like years, especially since sleep was practically impossible.  On the few occasions she'd managed to doze off, she'd been woken by new noises, and the confusion on waking to find the window and door in new places gave her a headache.  So she sat in the centre, and looked at whatever presented itself to her between naps – window, wall, or door – and tried not to think of home.

Thoughts of escape wandered into her mind at times, but she had had begun to resign herself to the fact that she had no hope of doing that alone.  She had climbed up to look out through the barred window enough times to see that nothing here was permanent: either this prison kept moving, or the landscape outside did. This world was unlike anything she'd experienced before, but she knew enough about demon dimensions to understand that the portal which had transported her here was probably her only hope of getting out again. And the way the cell itself shifted around, Buffy was almost certain that finding said portal would be challenging, assuming she knew where to begin and didn't get killed on the way.  She had no weapons, and she'd learned very quickly that the locals were huge, strong, and extremely unfriendly.  She comforted herself with the certainty that her friends would be doing everything they could to find her, and she forced herself to sit back and wait.

'Which is so not easy' she grumbled silently to herself, feeling useless. 'I should at least be helping with the research.'

A smile smoothed her face momentarily as her thoughts reminded her of Dawn – that was exactly the kind of thing she would say.  The smile vanished almost instantly, however, and worry took over again.  Was her sister alright?  Had she too been dragged into this dimension, or had she escaped?  Had Spike managed to grab her in time, and kept her safe?  These and a million other questions plagued her constantly, and were far more effective torture than whatever her fellow prisoners were suffering.

A tear slid down the Slayer's cheeks, and she bowed her head so that her face touched her knees, clenching her legs tighter to her chest as she sat in the sand.

Behind her, the cell door creaked open ….

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part two

Coming soon …