An airport in England
She hated her passport photo. It made her hair look sepia colored. And when your hair looks the color of the blackish green secretions of a cuttlefish and you're running for your life, it just makes your day that much worse. She stood by the magazines in the duty free shop, trying to look innoccent and inconspicous. The airport was crowded with holiday traffic, and one 17 year old girl in a dark blue Hereford School For Young Ladies blazer; with a blue and white plaid skirt and one small leather carry on was not going to be noticed.
Don't forget the kneesocks and the loafers.
One day she vowed to get revenge on whoever had designed the penny loafer. These shoes were not good for running at all. She would have much rather had some sneakers, or even a pair of Docs. But she had left directly from her last class of the day, on the bus, and the only possessions she had now were in that small leather carry on. A pair of pants and a shirt, a change of underwear, her toothbrush, hairbrush, washcloth and cleanser. Socks, her wallet (just cash, no credit cards) her diary, lipgloss. Stakes, a bottle of holy water, and a cross considerably larger than the one she wore around her neck.
She could do this. She would do this. They were not going to find her. They were not going to drag her back. She shuddered at the memories that rose up unbidden from some dark corner of her self. No more. No more locked closet doors. No more training. No more not being good enough for him.
No more wasting her youth and beauty for dumb stupid sodding destiny.
She had a place to go. She had someone who would take her in, protect her. He had done it for others, surely he would help her as well. After all, they were family.
Her intuition told her to turn around. She did, and saw them coming. Three big men, dressed in leather, advancing towards her with sick grins on their faces. She ran. They gave chase. She tried to lose herself in the crowd, fighting her way towards the starting gate. She put on a sudden burst of speed as she neared the entrance, slamming on the brakes just long enough to show her ticket to the stewardess before climbing the stairs.
A male voice boomed over the tannoy.
"Flight 215 to Los Angeles is now boarding at gate 10. Flight 215 to Los Angeles, California is now boarding at gate 10."
She slid into her window seat and leaned her head against the cushions.
Her heart was pounding in her chest.
*Oh god. She had done it. She had really done it.*
The young girl clutched at the delicate gold cross around her neck and wished on it.
"Please, God. Help me find Wesley."
******
Los Angeles, Califorina
Darla found Angel in his office later that evening. He had expected her to show up at some point. The ususal routine. One of them would start a fight, scream, throw things, stomp off, and then come back later with a present of some sort and everything would be all right again. Never appologizing. They didn't do appologies.
"How long has it been since you were in Ireland?" She asked.
"A hundred and 30 years at least. Why?"
"I spoke with a travel agent, he said they've got some good fares to Galway, hotels included. I thought, maybe you'd like to go with me."
"That would be nice." Angel said, a faraway look in his eyes.
"Good. I'll start packing." She touched his arm awkwardly. "Angel?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry."
******
"David Nabbit wants to lend us one of his planes." said Angel, putting down the phone. "He's having it specially outfitted with dark curtains."
"That's incredibly generous of him." said Wesley.
"You mean, we're actually going to be loaded into a small metal tube and shot across the sky using only the power of highly explosive gas?" Darla asked nervously.
"It was your idea to go with them." Angel reminded her.
"It won't be that bad. "Cordelia said. "They have Valium now."
"Oh goody. So when we crash, I'll feel really relaxed about ceasing to exist."
"Actually, we probably shouldn't take any drugs." said Angel. "Remember what happened last time?"
Wesley and Cordelia grimaced.
"What happened last time?" Darla asked.
"Angel um - had a date with this actress, who slipped him a mickey that turned him back into Angelus."
"Wish I'd been there." Darla joked.
"Wes knocked him down the elevator shaft at our old office. Then we chained him to the bed until he turned back."
******
Sunnydale, California, same day
She got off the bus and stood looking around at the town.
So this was the famous "Hellmouth".
She knew her brother wasn't here, obviously. But perhaps she might find someone who could tell her where he had gone. Better start with the best source. She pulled the address out of her blazer pocket and marched off down the street.
Emma Wyndham-Pryce hoped that Mr. Rupert Giles was home. After all, it was growing dark, and nightime on the Hellmouth could hardly be safe for a young lady like herself.
"Hey little girl, need a ride somewhere?" A north London accent asked.
Suprised to hear a familiar sound so far from home, she stopped walking and turned to look at the speaker.
He was young, about 20-24, and thin, bone thin but muscular. Bleached blonde hair and wide blue eyes. His head was hanging out of the blacked out window of a junky brown Desoto.
"I'm not supposed to ride with strangers." She said, knowing it sounded babyish.
"Awww. Int'that cute. Really, babe. I don't bite." He laughed at what appeared to be a private joke. "And you'll be safer in this car that you would be on the street."
Emma hesitated.
*Daddy would certainly not approve.*
*Who cares what Daddy thinks. He's the one who siced those goons on you. To Hell with Daddy.*
"Okay." She said, and ran around to the passenger side.
Go to Part 3
