If There Never Was

by Ignited

One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind… C/A Angst/Drama

4. Chapter 10

Title: If There Never Was
Author: Ignited
Posted: 03-11-2002
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Email: Ignited
Content: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!
Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of Vanilla Sky, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on Vanilla Sky. Open minds are required, please…
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!
Feedback: I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.

---

Chapter Ten - You Shall Not Commit Adultery

"If I could only see her face.. feel her again. Then I could die."

"Why do you want to die?"

"Because I'll never have her."

*

Opening his eyes, he saw the sleeping face of Cordelia next to him. She was tranquil, perfect. He touched her cheek softly, getting a sleepy smile in response.

–Angel kissed her forehead, leaning back down to smile at the infant resting between him and Cordelia–

His hand froze, poised over her cheek. She could feel his proximity, a warm smile coming to her lips. Snuggling closer to him, Cordelia absentmindedly kissed his chest, bangs covering her closed eyes. He put an arm around her shoulder, letting her move closer to him. Angel kissed her head softly, relaxing with the scent of her floral shampoo.

The realization that indeed, he formed his own liaison slowly rose into mind. And with Cordelia Chase, someone he barely knew… Had done things for her he normally wouldn't do. Heck, he even sang for her. But that was due to being slightly drunk.

Okay, stone cold sober. But it must've meant something.

Shaking his head to ward off his inner musings– that…baby… whoever it was– Angel sat up, gently slipping away from his position near her. Pulling the cover off abruptly, he made his way into the bathroom, idly scratching his chest.

He lifted the toilet lid, proceeding to do his business before taking a brief glance at the mirror. Once finished, Angel passed by the mirror again, seeing nothing, going back to his bed.

Wait a minute.

Angel backpedaled, looking at the mirror. His reflection was gone, but he saw the bathroom wall behind him, looking cleaner, brighter. His eyes strayed to view the inside of his room in the glass…far off. The room was straightened from what he could see with his limited vision, unlike the messy setting of his post-sex room.

Cordelia was there, her hair shorter, blanket on her, he could tell. He saw it, even though he couldn't. A mental image, a picture clear as day. Tanned arms flopped on the bed, surface sunken in next to her. She was wearing clothing.

He looked to his own Cordelia, leaning out of the bathroom doorway. Her back to him, covers pulled over her like an Eskimo. Legs bare, hinting at the intense nakedness of her lithe body. Her hair was wild on the pillow, dark and long rivulets spilling onto both his and her pillows.

Closing his eyes, Angel swallowed, splashing some water onto his face. His eyes opened, horrible reflection coming back into place.

"I'm losing my mind…"

*

In his dreams it was nighttime. It was always night. Probably a subconscious thing. He didn't know.

Angel walked down the promenade, confused as to why it was empty. He stopped, hands in trenchcoat pockets, looking to the carousel. The festive music seemed totally out of place. The single rider did not. It looked like she belonged in that mythical world, a creature of pure beauty and light.

Cordelia was laughing, head titled back, hair down. She gripped on to the multicolored pole, glancing left. Then stopped laughing. The carousel came to a slow stop. Jumping off, she slowly went over to Angel.

"I knew I'd find you here," Angel told her.

The girl looked at him in awe. She leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly, kissing every inch of his face.

His perfect face.

Cordelia pulled away, moving those rebellious strands of hair out of his eyes. "You have to know what to see."

"What?" His voice was low, forehead now pressed against hers.

"This isn't your life, Angel. Not the real one."

She turned him around, letting him see the young black man a few feet away. There was another handsome one with glasses, and a skinny girl too. She had a cooing baby in her arms, swaddled in white cloth.

"Like me."

Angel turned, but Cordelia was gone.

"Cor…delia?" He turned again. The others were gone. "Cordelia!"

"You have to know what to see." An echo of a phrase used once before… somewhere.

"CORDELIA!"

*

Fingers trailing over the top of the dresser, Cordelia looked at the layout of his room. The bed, covered in dark mauve sheets, the dresser near it. It was much different from the room she had stayed in when she first came to the hotel. There were one or two articles of clothing lying about… that wasn't theirs. In their frenzy, they'd nearly ripped each other's clothing off before they had sex.

They actually had sex. Weird, when she thought about it. And why?

The dresser had the regular items on it: toiletries, a book or two, compact mirror. Buffy's hair stuff and bottles were set on one side, brushes mismatched near them. Her area was a little untidy, various makeup items thrown about on the vanity tray. Angel's side was nearly spotless: a brush, three books, what looked like an old CD, some stakes, lighter, sunglasses, a prescription orange canister of pills. They were labeled 'ANGEL SUMMERS'.

Hazel eyes roamed the curve of the antique mirror, seeing photos tucked into the edges of the wooden frame. One of Buffy by herself, a young teenager. Another of Buffy and two others, a young guy with dark hair and a red headed girl. The three of them were close to each other, laughing. Another picture of Buffy, ice-skating. One of Buffy and Faith, arm in arm. Spike, Faith, Buffy and Angel at some club. That picture was old and worn out, but she could guess that was Angel. His edge of the photo was tucked beneath the frame. She delicately pulled the photo away, seeing his image scratched and worn, but there. Almost unrecognizable. He was smiling there, laughing at something.

Interesting, that.

Jerking awake, Angel shouted something incoherently. He was shaking when Cordelia woke him up. Her face was bright and scrubbed clean, hair was loose, wispy bangs in her eyes.

"Angel! Jeez, are you all right?"

"What…" His voice faded. He opened his eyes a fraction more than before. She was sitting next to him on the bed, looking intently at him. Fingers clawing the cover off, he touched his forehead gingerly. Feeling the scarred skin. Of course it was just a dream.

"I'm okay…I think."

"Get dressed." She threw a thin gray sweatshirt at him. "We're going out."

"You and - I?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I'm playing baby-sitter, so the least we can do is have fun."

Angel looked at her, scrutinizing. "Did Buffy tell you to baby-sit me?"

She stood up, rubbing her arms. And regretting her choice of words. "I'll meet you in the lobby."

*

The actual reason as to why Cordelia mentioned baby-sitting was that Angel had things to do. More importantly, he had an appointment. At least, that's what the day-planner, or whatever those things were called, said on Angel's desk. Written neatly in Buffy's trendy script, it declared that today was his appointment.

He had acted like a teenager, bemoaning the notion of getting up early. She mentioned what he had to do, and he muttered something about that it had "been a week". Indeed, it had been…or so. She was too caught up in the moment to remember.

So they left early, more or less awake. He drove, though Cordelia wanted to, but he did it anyway. Men with their cars. Pffft.

As long as he didn't start yammering if they gave him a shot and a lollypop, they'd be fine.

*

The sun's rays cast an irregular patch of light on the bed, leaving one firm, feminine leg warm while the other remained cold in the shadow. The body turned, moving, and dark raven tresses spilled over the side of the bed, an equally careless face resting on the edge. Faith's dark red lipstick was smudged all over her mouth and chin, evidence that she didn't bother to take it off BEFORE Wes started with the mouth-to-mouth.

"Shit."

A thunk was heard as Faith fully woke with a start, her hair disheveled, eyes wide open. She made the bed, rickety as it was, squeak, enough to make Wesley open an eye cast in her direction.

"Faith?"

Now he made the bed squeak by sitting up too. Only, he had nothing covering his chest, but it was normal. However, Faith quickly snatched the bed sheet to cover her breasts.

Running a hand through unkempt hair, the precise two-day stubble making him look older, Wesley unwillingly yawned. "Faith, I–"

"Shit. Shit," Faith repeated, dangling over the edge of the bed. She leaned down, trying to scoop up her bra from the messy room floor.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Was it that bad that you have to respond by using such innovative expletives?" Sarcastic and with a swift wit, Faith really adored that in a man.

"Oh no, baby, it was good," Faith told him, reaching over to caress his cheek. After giving up with finding her bra, the Slayer merely pulled her tanktop back on. "It was really good."

"Are you sure you're comfortable with this?" Wesley asked, a stolid tone.

Her eyes rolled in that way of hers, taking both hands to caress his chin. "Fuck yeah."

They kissed again, slowly and enjoying every minute of it.

Wesley fell back onto the bed with a sigh, resting his head on crossed arms behind him. "You'd think I'd come up with a solution to my problems in the romance area. But no, of course not."

Disregarding his comment, Faith stood up, relocating some personal articles of clothing. "I don't care about Spike. Not after what he did. Stupid little ass."

Wes leaned a bit, turning to lean on his side, elbow supporting him.

"Are you sure?"

Faith stood up from her crouched position, pushing a lock of dark brown wavy hair behind her ear. "Would I lie to you?"

Before he could respond, and before she left his room, the girl shouted, "Don't answer that!"

*

He should have died. He didn't.

He remembered the sight of two tons of Japanese manufactured metal fly through the air, bearing down on him. He'd been too slow with his decision to get out of the car, to follow her. Those precious few seconds cost him his appearance. There wasn't any time to get out of the convertible, once the hulking car flew at eighty miles per hour. It slammed down, fender forward, right onto the engine and dashboard of his own car.

Metal squealed and broke like plastic, glass flying everywhere. He could recall his head lashing forward, and he woke almost three weeks later.

The smell of sterilization and roses greeted his nose.

Angel heard Buffy in the hallway, talking to a doctor. An eye opening, he could see her cross her arms, pouting. Spike came up behind her, talking to her. They both came into the white tiled room, leading Angel to snap his eyes shut.

"…It's too expensive," Buffy was saying, frowning.

"Expensive?" Spike snorted. "Well, y'can't just leave the poor bastard the way he is. Man's got to get another surgery."

"We'll just tell him we can't for the time being, okay?" Buffy responded, looking from him to her boyfriend. "It's not like we have insurance."

She sat on the edge of the bed, Angel feeling her light weight. Her delicate fingers stroked his hair…he could feel her chest heave soon, with crying.

–"Angel…" a brunette said, looking at him with such sorrow in her eyes, a hand on his arm–

Angel jerked upright, pulling the IV with him. Both Buffy and Spike jumped in surprise, the Slayer fumbling forward to keep him down.

"Angel!"

"It's.." He winced, jaw hurting immensely. He touched it…stopping. Then his pale fingers touched his jaw tenderly, cheeks, forehead… Only a minor strain on his side, feeling bandages move out of place, rub against his white hospital grown, and he turned. They weren't prepared for his sudden awakening; the doctors said it'd be a few hours more when he'd wake up from post-op.

They forgot to take out the floor length mirror.

Someone else was in the room, Angel thought at the time. Someone with a horrible face, bruised and beaten, jaw crooked, brow discolored and irregular on the right side. Features uneven, and scarred, disfigured and horrible. It took a while, but soon Angel figured it was himself.

Spike had to spend an extra fifteen minutes clearing the glass away from the mirror that Angel broke viciously with a vase.

*

The British vampire leaned back in his chair, stark naked, smoking, and looking at the equally naked body of Buffy there on his bed. Her lovely little fingers curled around the sheet material, and he found himself jealous of the inanimate object.

The office was empty he imagined, and it was so damn boring here. Faith would be there soon, and he'd never hear the end of it. These women knew about wrong doings, somehow. It wasn't necessarily a Slayer thing. More like women in general. And a fine old choice for the boy to pick, another Slayer for his sexual interests.

He figured he could sell tickets to the showdown. Then again, it'd probably turn into an all-out brawl with him in the middle. Faith would take one look at him, smell him for Christ's sake, and she'd just KNOW. That's the way her mind worked, and why he loved her.

But he loved Angel's Slayer, too.

It was all very confusing when you thought about it.

*

"As of this time, it's too early to make a decision on your case," the doctor repeated in more or less the same context.

Angel leaned forward, eyes narrowing, right one even farther to the point of almost shut. "It's been two years. Find a way."

He felt Cordelia's hand on his stiff shoulder, muscles immediately relaxing. He hated hospitals. They were places of death…besides cemeteries. People died, people lived, people were born…it was all went full circle here. Angel had spent too many days in the hospital, whether it was right after the accident, or the other times he had come in for his friends and people he saved.

"According to your files…" The doctor trailed off, nodding at the manila folder. "Ah. It seems that you've definitely reached the point for a new operation, but apparently your medical coverage– what there is, anyway– will not cover it."

"Cosmetic surgery. Always from the pocket," Cordelia supplied, looking up at Angel. He looked down at the floor, considering that. She could feel a pang of sadness for him, wondering about how he was before it all happened. From riches to rags, but…different. From yum to…not so yum?

"We could help you with the other results from the accident," The doctor suggested, taking a glance at the papers in Angel's folder. "Such as the torn ligaments in your shoulder or your damaged leg."

Angel looked embarrassed, hands going into brown leather pockets. Cordelia knew he didn't want her to be there with him, listening to the numerous problems he now had. She didn't care though, because for once in her life, everything was easy street in comparison. All the shit Angel went through, being evil, working for good. And what happened? The champion's glory was cut short, restricting him to the sidelines.

Cordelia got the impression that he wasn't even half the man he used to be. Yes, that was harsh. But true. She didn't go around and press his friends for information, but even they seemed to be distant to him. Even Spike his 'best friend'… Spike was oddly defensive of Angel, ridiculing him but all in good jest. He felt a responsibility for Angel. Faith and Buffy, however, they didn't actively talk about him. Which was extremely weird, considering that Buffy was Angel's girlfriend.

"Maybe they could check up on those, then?" Cordelia suggested, looking up at Angel. She then looked to the doctor. "Or are the check ups not covered EITHER?"

Ignoring her sarcastic and sneaky tone of voice, the doctor pulled Angel aside to the hallway counter. Cordelia stood in her place firmly, hands on her hips. If she was still five years old, her tongue would've been sticking out.

"As of now, we simply do not have the technology for an exceptional case such as yours. All I can do for you right now is give you some medication. It can help with the headaches. That's all," the doctor told him. Angel nodded in response, strands of dark brown hair getting into his eyes. He waited patiently as the doctor scribbled something on a notepad, handing the torn paper to Angel. After giving the elderly gentleman a handshake, Angel watched the man go down the hallway.

"That's it?" Cordelia sounded incredulous. "A slap on the shoulder and yeah, you're free to go?"

Angel turned to look over at her, wincing a bit. He glanced down at the paper, smacking it against his hand idly before looking up at her. "What do you expect me to do? The medical insurance doesn't cover …that, and things are already tight enough as it is."

"I'd suggest pulling a John Q., but you being the culturally retarded person you are, it would be a waste of breath," Cordelia responded dryly.

"Denzel. Very thrilling performance in Training Day."

"Touché. Pop savvy, are we?" Cordelia slipped an arm around his own, pulling him playfully along with her down the hallway. "Seriously though, what are you going to do?"

Angel sighed, remembering the forbidden snippet he caught from Buffy's conversation with Spike right before waking from the coma. "I don't know."

"Angel." They stopped near the elevator. She looked up at him, trying to read the emotions in his expressive eyes. "You can't just let this sit. I see you're hesitating to fix this, and I can't figure out why. Isn't that what you want? To be completely well again?"

"What I want left me a long time ago," he answered, silently entering the elevator when the doors opened.

*

The hotel lobby was vast before them, cavernous and echoing. It was not properly maintained, but not messy either. Dust bunnies were in abundance, mostly because neither Buffy nor Faith found the idea of cleaning to be… worthwhile.

"… That doesn't make any sense," Angel was saying when they walked through the hotel front door. Cordelia offered him a sly smile over her shoulder, walking backwards in that way of hers. He was grinning almost, a nice gesture on an otherwise not so nice face.

"It does!" Cordelia quipped, glancing to him, and then to the lobby. She stopped, as did he, for they saw Spike and Buffy kissing near the office counter.

It was slow, enjoyable. Great, until they noticed they had visitors. Buffy pulled away slowly, turning her head to view Angel, her boyfriend, and Cordelia, his new friend.

Angel slouched a little, forlorn in his duster. "Buffy."

"Angel," Buffy began, her fingertips lingering on Spike's arm. The vampire wore a dark green, tight fitting shirt and black pants, a subtle contrast to Buffy's light pink tee shirt and jeans. "You're…Back."

"Went to the doctor's appointment, you know, the one scheduled a week or so ago," Angel clipped, his dark eyes roaming their close position and stance. "Glad to see that you reminded me," he added sarcastically.

Buffy blushed slightly. "I figured Cordelia would remind you. How did it go?"

"Fine," he responded.

Both Cordelia and Spike were fidgeting. Anticipating, they thought, for the big explosion. It didn't come.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Cordelia…"

Eyes lifting, the girl listened.

"… Try to get Wes on the phone. We need him and Faith back here. Spike can do that, while you try searching for some info on Wolfram and Hart on the Internet," Angel told her.

"I don't know how to use a computer," Cordelia admitted.

"Yes you do–" He almost growled, correcting himself. "You should. Try and see."

Both Cordelia and Spike slipped into the office, trying to conceal their presence.

Angel turned to look at Buffy, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Let's go upstairs," he said simply, and she complied.

*

Taking their positions on the battlefield– his room…well, their room– both Angel and Buffy could only stare at each other, trying to think of how to begin.

How COULD you begin at a time like this?

The lights were off, and he lifted his head, faint light from the adjacent bedroom area casting harsh shadows on his twisted countenance. The darkness giving him courage, Angel cleared his throat, straightening to the once imposing six foot one height.

"You slept with Spike."

To the point, he learned from Cordelia.

Buffy's mouth opened, trying to find some air, to work. "Angel, I didn't mean to–"

"–Betray me? Sleep with my friend?" He paced restlessly, like a bull pawing at the ground. They were jumping into this, head first, no games or beating around the bush. It needed to be addressed, to be settled and done. So that he would not fear such a void, such a yearning and aching in his embittered heart. He ran his fingers through his longish, dark brown hair, hand lingering on his forehead. "It's this, isn't it? It bothers you."

"It's not that." She looked at the floor from her perch on the bed, one leg tucked under.

"Then how come you won't look at me?"

How had she fallen for him? Those conversations with Willow, how her friend gossiped, how Xander rolled his eyes. She thought Angel was hot, despite the sheer mysteriousness that surrounded him. And boy, had she been surprised when she found out he was a vampire.

Physical attraction could lead to dire consequences.

He wondered if she had that for him anymore.

Buffy swallowed, trying to force down the lump in her throat. Her eyes moved upward, looking into his own hard, gaze unwavering.

"You've change ever since the accident. Even before that."

"Buffy–"

"When I'm with you, I just don't feel the connection we had, you know? When Doyle died, I tried to save you. You could've gone insane. You didn't, thank God. And we were happy for a while," Buffy reminisced, a twinge of pain and sorrow in her voice.

"It didn't last," Angel said simply. What he was referring to, was unclear. The happiness, or their relationship as a whole?

"You're not the same, Angel. I could deal with the depressed version for a while but… It's like you never gave up. You never wanted to hang up the old Batman suit, retire. You kept on going, and you made me more worried. You aren't a vampire anymore Angel, and in your condition you can't fight anymore either."

He took this in, raising an eyebrow. "In other words, I'm even more useless to you than your friends are– were?"

"Don't talk about them like that." There was steel in her tone.

"Oh! Well, all right then. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there for you when I was in a fucking CAR ACCIDENT that messed up MY DAMN LIFE!"

Buffy stood up at this point, moving ominously close to him. "You're twisting my words around."

"It's too wrong for me to deal with my own problems for once?" Angel asked, a more or less rhetorical question.

She changed the subject.

"Where are those things a 'normal' girl like me should have?" Buffy asked, fingers clenching into fists. "You're HUMAN now. It's not like we can't do anything!"

"That doesn't mean you had to go FUCK Spike!" Angel shouted through clenched teeth, jaw hurting again.

"I needed someone - Someone to be THERE for me."

"…And I'm not?"

*

Two Years Ago

Angel drove a hard right, sending Buffy slamming against the side door. Boot planted firmly on the gas pedal, he shouted a quick apology. They were going to be late, and people would die. It was too soon for him to be near death again…he didn't want anymore of it.

Doyle died nearly four months before. He could have saved him, but did not. Every night Angel blamed himself for his friend's death. If only he'd have been a VAMPIRE, he could have stopped it. No….just a mortal now, weak and dying faster, and GOD, when was the sedan ahead ever going to freaking MOVE?!

"Come on, COME ON!" Angel shouted, slamming the car horn. Buffy visibly flinched, her small hand briefly touching the leather of his trenchcoat before he pulled away. He turned the wheel, barely sideswiping the car in front of him in his sudden flare of anger.

"Angel, take it easy!" Buffy's eyes were wide, her hand reaching down between her legs to open the canvas bag there. She pushed the small mace aside, pulling the bag onto her lap. It was stuffed with useless things, a small makeup set, some Tylenol, an open wallet. A picture of them at the pier showed the couple on a much more uplifting day, smiling, arms around each other's waists.

He gave a glance to her, a shrill ringing hit mortal ears. Digging in his trenchcoat pocket, his fingers hurriedly flipped the cell phone open and on. "Speak to me."

"The place's gone mad. These things are– bollocks!– They're tearing it apart, Angel!" came Spike's strong, harsh voice on the other end. The grandsire would find out later on that Spike was bleeding profusely as he made that statement. Holding his side to put pressure on the wounds there, Spike leaned against the phone booth's see-through wall. There was a bad cut near his eye, not too far from the old scar on his eyebrow.

"We'll BE there. Just try to hold your end down."

"This is not a time for messing around," Spike joked wearily, wincing.

"Don't worry. Everything's gonna be okay."

– "Everything's gonna be okay.." –

"Angel, there it is!" Buffy pointed, tapping him on the shoulder. The warehouse loomed, dark and silent except for random crashing sounds. He pulled the car to an abrupt stop near the curb. Saying a quick apologetic good-bye, Angel turned his cell off, glancing to Buffy. She was casually dressed in her hooded sweatshirt and jeans, adjusting the canvas bag strap on her shoulder. Buffy ran her fingers through her hair, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

Angel looked over to her, unlocking his door.

"No." Her fingers gripped his forearm. "You're not going in there."

Brow furrowing, Angel took in a deep breath. "I have to, Buffy. People will get hurt if I don't."

"You'll get hurt if you DO." She caressed his jaw with a sweaty, cold hand. "Don't make it more harder than it already is."

"Buffy–" Angel leaned to his right, just as the Slayer unlocked her door and got out of the car. "This isn't fair. You've fought side by side with humans before! Eventually, you'll find out that I'm well aware of how to take care of myself."

"Angel…" Buffy leaned against the car door's window. She didn't want to hurt his feelings by pointing out the mistakes in his defense. Indeed, Angel was human, and in good physical condition but… After Doyle died, he retreated into himself. She tried to open him up, to talk about his feelings. Even then, he couldn't appreciate her help, and she grew more frustrated every time. This wasn't how it used to be.

Memories of Spike's haunting words seeped into her consciousness. "You'll never be friends" he had told her and Angel once. They just loved each other too much. Yes, it was lust at first…and the feeling became mutual and grew beyond bounds. They'd been so wrapped up in their physical attraction and desire, and damn well…HUNGER for each other, they'd left things out.

Sure, they had conversations, but in all the years Buffy knew Angel, he'd hardly talked about his past. What were his favorite things…Places. Anything. It was like an interrogation when she asked for his interests.

So wrapped up in passion, they couldn't stay with each other. They wanted to go all the way, to pour the lust and frustration out. …And he left because of that.

"You're gonna stay here in the car, unless you want me to chain you up in there," Buffy said pointedly. She flashed a bright smile. "Please Angel. For once, listen to me?"

Crap. She was giving him the look again. The same one that made his knees buckle, and made him always agree to do whatever she wanted. He had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him to go with her. He didn't listen to it. His decision.

"…All right. But just get Spike after you're done, and get out. …In fact, why don't you leave Spike there, and we'll just head on home afterwards?"

If she were closer to him, she'd give him a playful smack. "Ha ha. I wish," Buffy replied dryly, pulling away from the car window. "Later!"

Angel kept leaning, seeing her sneak off and slip into the warehouse. He hated waiting for her like this, sitting alone when she could be in serious trouble in there. But Buffy told him not to go, and that…was that.

After all, how could he say 'no' to her?

Nearly twenty minutes passed. Something was wrong. Sure, he knew that vanquishing evil wasn't easy, and would take long periods of time. But this… They weren't exactly sure of what they were up against. Both he and Buffy sucked at researching, and Spike wasn't much of a big help either. They couldn't count on Faith, since she came and went, and had no patience for computers or books.

Supposedly, it was just some Crytharic demons wrecking the place, and setting up shop. The demons had no history of violence. They were like partygoers, sometimes wild but in a fun loving way. The petite, small demons didn't mean to hurt anyone. They didn't attract much attention before, but now a body had turned up. Angel Investigations was on the case.

Angel didn't like the idea of waiting anymore, now that he was human. As a vampire, he spent hours, even days just waiting in silence for his prey, or for his enemies to leave or arrive. But now, waiting as a human meant that his life kept ticking by. Seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours, and that meant he was getting older. Less vitality, less…

He could fight, yes, but he wasn't used to fighting without the extra skills that vampires had. It felt like starting all over again. And the only experiences he had when he was human before, were drunken brawls. Most of the time he got his ass kicked. So, no help there. He couldn't even contend with Buffy. She'd kick his ass in less than an instant. At least before, they were somewhat equal.

"Forget this," he murmured, reaching down under Buffy's seat to pull out the axe they'd left there, just in case. I'm not letting her do this alone.

He didn't see the warehouse start to burn in raging bursts of fire. He did hear it though, and that made him sit up immediately. A car's headlights briefly flashed across Angel's face, bathing him in a white brilliance. The light faded and shadow overcame it, just as everything…came falling down.

Skidding and sliding, Buffy ran around the corner of the warehouse building, shirt torn and bloody. She halted, hands going up to cover her mouth as the Mitsubishi was thrown and crashed down onto Angel's convertible. Fender slamming into the windshield, the silver car bounced off and rolled on its side nearby, smoke rising up off of it, car alarm blaring.

"ANGEL!" Buffy screamed, feeling Spike's cold hand on her shoulder. He had rushed up behind her, nearly panting and holding his stomach wounds. She took off like a bullet, Spike following behind her.

"Buffy, be careful! The thing might explode," Spike warned her, coming up slow. He stared in disbelief, as Buffy moved to the Plymouth GTX, windshield and hood smashed in and demolished. Alarms sounded from far off, as the warehouse flames rose high into the air, black smoke lifting across a midnight blue sky.

The monstrous being that had lifted the two-ton car collapsed into a panting heap nearby, skin leathery and bleeding. Buffy had torn the crap out of it, but it still managed to throw the car. And ruin someone's life.

It was all a matter of chance, Spike could hear in his mind.

He could smell the new, fresh scent of blood creep into the air, and by experience, he knew it wasn't his or Buffy's.

*

They somehow managed to return to the lobby, appearing to be unscathed physically or mentally. Angel was hurting, Buffy was hurting, but neither would let their… close friends in on what was happening. At the thought of close friend, Angel thought of Cordelia… her pretty face coming to mind, filled with a concern for him that he had only dreamed about before. She was so beautiful, wild and sexy… Dangerous, too dangerous for him.

Great. The One with the 'Formerly' Angelic Face was getting a bit scared.

He saw Faith and Wesley sitting down, just as he went down the staircase. Faith was drawing imaginary lines and letters on Wesley's thigh, his laugh startling and very rare.

Shit. Don't tell me they're together too.

And could he even call Cordelia a girlfriend? Angel thought about the situation some more. Or were they just 'fuck buddies'?

This was getting extremely complicated.

One look in Buffy's direction showed her gazing intently in Spike's direction, his bent form hovering over Cordelia's shoulder, her fingers typing erratically on the keyboard. He inevitably followed Buffy into the office, pausing in the doorway.

"Find anything?"

Cordelia looked up, startled. "No, but I did find a lot of porn e-mails. Well…offers anyway… That's called 'spam', right?"

Ignoring her question, Angel leaned back and gestured for Wesley and Faith to come over. The six were now in and around the office, looking weary, post-battle-ish. Even though there had been nothing of the sort, they were all tired. Lying and cheating took a lot out of a person.

"The signing is tonight," Angel began, his duster slowly moving side to side as he paced. "Cordelia mentioned it on the way over. To reiterate, a group of vampires are teaming up with Wolfram and Hart. They were different, trained. They knew what they were doing. So this affiliation probably won't turn out to be something good."

She was arching her back a little, a slight yawn from her position at the computer desk. The line of flesh showing at the bottom of her tanktop–

Angel still had to talk to Cordelia, about … Buffy, amongst other things, but it would have to wait.

Angel nodded to the weapon's cabinet. "Faith and Wesley, you're both on guard duty. Grab some weapons for backup. … Buffy, Spike, you both go in as infiltration. Cordelia and I will follow, but you'll–"

Ouch. Another slight pain.

Pausing from his pacing, Angel held a hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them to look upon serious, yet eager faces.

Shaking his head to think clearly, Angel started again, more focused than ever.

"We don't have much time left to go over this, but it'll have to do. We can't botch this one up, guys. Cordelia–"

She would have to wait for his answer.

Because that's when Angel jerked violently, mental visions slamming him into unconsciousness.

---

Chapter Eleven

"Angel?"

He tried speaking to her, but he couldn't. His mind and soul screamed in frustration, but his body would not compromise. He could only hear his name being repeated over and over again, unable to respond. Those two syllables, spoken by her, were all that it took to keep him holding on. His memory, and body however, now they had other plans.

"Angel. Angel, listen to me. You can't knock out, all right? Stay with me. Tell me if you can hear me… Please?"

"Boy's lighter than he was before."

"Of course, Spike. He lost a lot of weight, if it isn't already obvious."

"Thanks for the comments, wanker."

"Be careful when you lift him!"

"Bloody…. Damn it, what do you take me for? An idiot?"

"I'll refrain from answering that one."

"Angel…"

Cordelia, he tried saying, but his mouth wouldn't work. His eyes wouldn't open. He was still, lost in his own dark world. And as he waited, listening, he saw them.

Saw them together.

It had all gone so wrong.

– He felt the neck start to break, under his pressure. The demon was a tough one, he had to admit, but just as he -

"ANGEL!," Wesley had shouted. So much confusion. Turning, moving to keep balance in the sewer tunnel. Should he keep twisting, confused - why didn't the demon die already? - or go and help her…

The pretty girl, lost and adjusting to her born world again… She had a funny name, contrary to that of his old girlfriend, of whom she thought had an even more peculiar name.

And that handsome young man had called out, "Fred!"

Angel dropped the demon, not bothering to care whether it was dead or not. He had to save her. He was attacked, but he threw his sword, and he saved her.

They had left, bruised and weary, jubilant all the while.

He considered the demons careless, but he didn't bother checking whether the beaten ones still had a pulse or not –

"I think he's gone brain dead, man."

"Faith, don't say that!"

"He ain't moving! What the fuck's wrong with him?"

"Shut up, both of you. We need to get him to a hospital."

"We can't, Cordelia. It's not like we can just go up and say he's… I don't know WHAT he's doing."

"He's having a vision! God, wouldn't you take someone knowing there's a risk they might die without help?"

"… Of. Course. I. Would."

– She whispered to him in the falling rain, that girl, Fred, nearby, jacket raised over her head. And the blond woman, pregnant, hair stringy and wet, told him her last thoughts, wishes. She turned the newly acquired shaft of wood in her hands, and dusted herself.

As the dust slipped from his fingers, the infant's wail broke the steady pattern of rain falling down. –

"Angel. Angel, Can you hear me? Angel!"

– They kissed slowly, tenderly. She pulled away from him, a hand on his cheek, fingertips on his brow. Smoldering brown eyes looked up into hers, a small yet distinct grin appearing on his face. She seemed interested in the spiked brown hair, cut short, watching her fingers slide through it.

Her hand falling down to her lap with a light smack, head canted. Her arms went up again, slipping around his neck.

"Do you love me?" she asked him, a hushed tone, but also in amusement.

Angel's mouth opened slightly, eyes closing before he kissed her once more.

After he pulled away, she angled her face so that her forehead met his. Again in a whisper, she continued, "Because if not, I'll have to kill you."

And he did. Love her. –

Eyes snapping open, a hurried intake of air. It rushed into his lungs, gasping like he'd recovered from a near drowning experience. He tried sitting up, couldn't, his eyes glancing about wildly. Wide eyes focusing, the hotel ceiling snapped back into place, five conflicted faces peering down at him. He was still gasping for breath when Cordelia held him tightly, trying to pour some courage into his shaken being.

"Cor–" Angel pulled away from her, resisting the urge to keep his head in his hands. God… the pain was excruciating. His body wracked with pain, he could only sit forward weakly, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts. Courtesy poured in from all sides, telling him to lie down, what did he want, need, feel. What did he see.

Huh. What DID he see.

She made him face her, shushing everyone and making them move back, to give Angel some air. Both Spike and Wesley glared at each other, Faith and Buffy off, half-concerned with their quarreling, half-paying attention to Angel.

Buffy considered approaching Cordelia and Angel, but then noticed their proximity and decided to gently pull back Spike instead.

They were so close, like she and Angel use to be.

Brushing a strand from his eyes, Cordelia looked at him, communicating without words. She felt those pairs of eyes on her, how they all looked at her. Spike, Faith, Buffy and Wesley. Acknowledging the fact that at this crucial moment, when Angel's life was teetering, she was there for him. Not them. It was her. And she barely knew Angel, but strangely felt connected to him.

They noticed the closeness, the nearness that instilled a spark of rage in her.

How dare she give into a man, a vampire? After all the times she'd been burned… Living on the streets was not easy, Cordelia Chase knew. It wasn't like she grew up in a posh estate in California. Her mother worked hard to make sure that she grew up right, all the way up to her untimely death.

As for her father… well, she never had one. Not really.

She never met him. A man who couldn't care for the mother of his child, his own flesh and blood...

He was the reason she grew to distrust men.

It took all she could to survive, to be raised by her grandparents. To join up with others for the same cause. Superiors, older people who had lived in this squalor and heartbreak for decades. Those who hated vampires, tried to save people, learned how to live the hard way.

They sent her to meet a man. No. To save him.

It was vague though, this mission of hers. She originally intended to stop the gang; it was her plan. She met up with Angel though, and it looks like her purpose took a different route. Fate, she knew. Her mother always let her know that she was special, but that's what mothers did. They said those things to you, because you were more precious to them than anything in the world.

She made her feel special.

But now, Cordelia felt weak.

Cordelia saw Angel's shoulders slump, the tense feeling in his muscles appear as he tried to stand. He was weak, she knew, and the vision had taken a lot out of him. More so than she could guess. It looked horrible and painful to experience.

Good thing that never happened to me, Cordelia thought.

Her anger burned within her again, and it was misdirected, reaching those focused eyes. It seeped into her vision, she knew, delivering a look of disgust, hatred within herself for giving in.

Angel looked at Cordelia.

And he saw it.

Pushing up, away from her finally, Angel stood up. He staggered a few feet, turning. In a mock drunken stupor, Angel closed his eyes for a moment. Everyone else hesitated, nearly speaking, taking steps forward.

"I'm okay," Angel stated, avoiding Cordelia's gaze. "We… we need to go– to the signing. Yeah. Let's go."

Buffy nodded, then looked to Spike. Breaking his mode of constant harsh gazing at Wesley, he did a double take in her direction.

Spike straightened a little, moving towards Angel. "Right, let's take a look a you, why don't we?"

Before Angel could say anything in protest, he was gently escorted into the office area, and into the adjacent private office, far from the concerned voices of his friends.

"He's not going anywhere."

Cordelia turned to look at Buffy, the speaker. The blonde girl's hands were on her hips, a firmness in her voice that she only knew to belong to a loved one. Even if she and Angel didn't agree on their relationship, Buffy was still concerned for him.

But right now, it seriously ticked her off.

"What did you say?" asked Cordelia, her voice strong enough to make Faith and Wesley's heads turn.

Buffy seemed vexed. "Angel can't go with us. If he does, he'll just slow us down."

"She's right. He can't," affirmed Wesley. "The vision took a lot out of him. If he goes along with us, there's a high possibility that we will not be able to succeed with this mission."

Faith, behind Wesley, offered a shrug to Cordelia.

Majority won.

And Cordelia did not want to disagree any longer, because in that tired, stone heart of hers, she knew they were right.

*

"But you went."

"I did. Things didn't turn out the way they intended."

*

Angel pulled up outside the bar where the party was to take place. Located in the better part of town, it was more like a dance club, than a bar. A converted warehouse, like the bronze. A strange symbol blazed in bright blue neon on the front, a small crowd of people filing in. They were all dressed very well, and the burly security guards politely nodded to them when they walked in. The neighborhood was very quiet at this time of night, but even from across the street, Angel could hear the pounding of techno music coming from within.

He glanced over to Cordelia. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the dark black convertible, flexing her fingers. Her manicured nails lightly traced the dashboard, as she made a few stabbing motions with her fingers, as if striking an imaginary spider crawling there. It reminded Angel of Drusilla and one of her little habits.

"This is the place?" Angel asked, feeling a trifle uncomfortable. It wasn't the first time that he went to a place like this. He just didn't like being around so many people since it made him nervous. Angelus would've taken the opportunity to have a large massacre, but Angel didn't think that was a good idea. Of course, he had frequented the Bronze, a club in Sunnydale, many times before. But that was only because he was either waiting for, looking for, or being with Buffy. And he'd been to places like these, back in his dark days. So the club brought mixed feelings to mind.

"Yeah. This is it," Cordelia responded. She leaned over to him, gesturing towards the neon sign. "That means 'luck' in Japanese. Odd random tidbit that I read somewhere."

"Interesting. Am I dressed appropriately?"

Cordelia glanced at Angel. He wore a loose dark gray shirt, and black cargo pants. On top of that, a medium gray duster. Must you even ask? You have this killer sense of style, Angel, Cordelia thought silently.

"You look great," she answered, lightly patting his thigh. She pulled away and slumped against her door, hazel eyes darting left and right. Her own outfit was what she'd call modest: black leather pants and boots. Her cobalt blue, long sleeved shirt remained unseen as her waist length black leather jacket was zipped up. It wasn't cold out, but she couldn't help but feel weird. Mostly because of that scary vision… Yeah, the one Angel had earlier.

No. The one that happened while we were kissing, she thought.

Angel took in the way she fidgeted, figuring she was nervous again. Something important is going down tonight, Angel guessed. He looked across the street, thinking that four security guards stationed outside would be a little much.

Getting out of his car, and slamming the door shut, he waited while Cordelia followed suit. She looked up at him with big, dark eyes, looking afraid. His muscles relaxing from her scared stare, an overwhelming feeling of concern hit him. Angel wanted to protect this girl. So he offered Cordelia his arm, which she took, and they walked across the street, towards the club.

"Wait," Cordelia mumbled, as they reached the sidewalk. She had a weird feeling. Her eyes widened.

Angel was just about to ask her what was wrong, but Cordelia grabbed his collar, pulling him close to her and near to a cleaners storefront. They leaned against the glass, hearing a group of footsteps.

Cordelia's eyes widened once more, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming vehicle. Still holding Angel's collar, she pulled him close to her, kissing him forcefully on the mouth, her hand reaching into his trenchcoat. Her cool eyes darted in the group of people's direction, hinting for him to act.

Angel's response was a slight nod of his head, as he was still kissing her. His left hand caressed her face as his right hand braced himself against the glass storefront. Leaning into her, he had a smirk on his face. From a distance, the two looked more like ordinary lovers showing their affection in the quietness that was night. The group of young people walked by them, and into the club.

Cordelia pulled away from Angel, nodding in the group's direction. "She looked… familiar," she whispered.

"Oh. So you really weren't trying to get some?" Angel leered. This wasn't like him, but he wanted to make sure that she wasn't afraid of him.

"You know what they say. I like to have my cake and eat it too," Cordelia quipped, sneaking a quick kiss on the cheek. She tugged on his arm, dragging him along with her to the front door.

Angel looked up, the main bouncer towering over him. The former vampire was usually taller than his companions, so a big guy like that made him feel weird. And short.

"You got ID, man?" The heavyset black man asked, his shaved white friend looking like he'd pounce at any second.

"Of course we do, silly," Cordelia said, a protective hand splaying across Angel's chest. Sliding over Angel like a snake, she took out her card from her jacket with her other hand, showing it to the bodyguard.

The guard took a glance at the card, then handed the IDs back to Cordelia.

"And what about that dude?" The white security guard asked, glaring hard at Angel.

Angel had a fake smile on his face, but he was unprepared for this interrogation. Quickly, he figured how he might fight these guys, sizing up the odds. Four security guys all together, he thought. A bit hard, but I can–

"ID? What does he need an ID for? He looks well over 21, if you ask me," Cordelia started.

"Just takin' security measures, Miss. There's a few people we don't like comin' round here."

"Oh. I see." She paused, considering that. "Come on, baby. They're like the other places."

Confused at her pushing, Angel could only raise an eyebrow. "Other places?"

"You know. Discrimination! Based on looks, fame, money… Oh, honey, if they only knew…!" She took a step back, one arm gripping his, the other hand splaying across her forehead dramatically. "WHAT a strong, fine, and talented man you are! And oh, such a wildfire in bed! Ohhhh."

"Miss, miss, you can go in. Both of you," the fierce looking guard quipped hastily, not wanting her to cause too much commotion. He nodded enthusiastically, opening the door so they could go in.

"Thanks," Cordelia piped up, an arm around Angel's waist. She hurried him inside.

*

"Buffy, I don't see how this will– Hey! HEY! Watch the hands!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Spike," Buffy replied drolly, removing her hand from his belt, a gun shaped object in her fist. She straightened, glancing at Spike, then at herself. They were both wearing dark clothing, his dark trench and her black jean jacket. Both were cold, pale, and damn well meaning to get into the club.

Thing was, the sneaking-in idea grew kinda complicated.

There were guards all over the place. Buffy figured she could try a back or side entrance with Spike. The guards would definitely recognize her, since she was the Slayer after all. Same with Spike, Faith, and Wesley. All were connected to her, all had come across Wolfram and Hart in the past.

Angel and Cordelia, now they could get away with it.

He was careful, meticulous when it came to detective and investigating stuff, these past months. Angel made sure the hotel wasn't bugged, tripped, or wired when he came back from the hospital. No wait, even before that. He had grown more productive and determined after Doyle's death, at least, when it came to that kind of stuff. More like singled-minded.

They wouldn't recognize him now, not with how he looked. Cordelia was new to the fold, so she got off easy too.

At least, that's what they hoped.

It didn't matter though. Angel would never get to the meeting in the first place.

"Stand back or you might get your eye poked out," Buffy quipped, raising the device that resembled a gun, aiming towards the darkened night sky.

"What? You're feeling cold already?" Spike leered.

"Shut it."

"Yes ma'am."

"This is soooo Batman," Buffy said as she pulled the trigger. The mechanism went off, metallic chain and hook shooting up into the air, disappearing. Soon, a clank was heard, the hook connecting with some object on the roof. It was a three-story building, so not much of a distance. Buffy tugged on the chain, making sure it was taught.

Spike lifted the Slayer handbag Buffy carried with her, taking the gun from her and putting it in the bag. "Where'd you get a little bauble like this?"

"Angel had it. Don't ask me where he got it from," she replied, an almost sarcastic tone. Giving him a look, Buffy pulled her dark ski-cap down over her ears, blonde hair stark against dark shoulders.

"I don't see why we're put up to this."

"We're doing this because Faith can't handle the stealthy route, and Wesley has to calm her down on back-up."

"Fine. Go knock yourself out. Literally."

Then, she began to climb.

*

"How do you do that?" Angel asked, suddenly hit by the pounding beat of techno music. The deafening music never seemed to pause, and the colors and lights hitting Angel's senses made him almost reel back in shock. People were dancing on a packed dance floor while others sat by at tables, sipping drinks or just talking. The lighting was blue, reflecting off a row of mirrors almost level with the high ceiling.

"What?!" Cordelia blinked, a bit surprised by the atmosphere. She was used to this kind of scene, but it'd been a while since she went to a place like this.

"What you did… back there!" Angel shouted to be heard over the music as Cordelia pulled him through the crowd.

"It's the Chase charm," Cordelia yelled back. She slipped into an empty dark red booth, Angel sitting across from her. A waiter, dressed in black came by, tilting his head as he waited for an order.

"He'll have a beer. I'll have a Bloody Mary," Cordelia said, leaning forward on the table. Angel just nodded politely, having no intention of actually drinking. Sure, he could get drunk. But something might happen, and Angel wanted his senses at their highest ability.

"Would you like some blood in it?" The waiter asked.

"Eww." She shook her head. "No."

Cordelia smiled as the waiter walked away. "All I had to do," she whispered, Angel straining to hear her voice. "Was crank up the allure mode. Works every time." She noticed his nodding to her jacket. Fingers reaching in, Cordelia handed her ID to Angel.

"Handy if you're underage and want to drink," Angel said after inspecting her card. "And you're supposedly twenty two?"

"Twenty one, twenty two, who cares?" She shrugged. "It's just a number. And anyway, you're lucky we didn't have time to go get you a decent ID."

Angel glanced at the card, then smiled, remembering old times. "Angelus Galway? I like the sound of that."

"That's where you're from, right?"

"Yeah."

"Born Ireland. Died… Ireland, at twenty eight. Weird."

"Twenty eight? I feel old," Angel smirked in light of the age. He was not two hundred and forty odd years now… Not in the physical, human sense. Twenty nine years old. He never lived to see the day in his human life.

"Well, weren't you around that age?"

"I was twenty seven."

"Oh brother," Cordelia sighed. "No need for exact details."

They were nervous, the two of them. Each response was barked, zinging and loud over the thrilling drum of the dance beat, the swaying crowds around them. Yelling to be heard, Angel could feel his temples throb, the vision aftermath amplified from the loud environment. So, to cover their pain, the doubts, the meandering, they talked.

The waiter came by with their drinks, and Cordelia thanked him for his services. She handed him a tip from her back pocket and he disappeared into the crowd.

"I think this expired," Cordelia muttered, swishing the drink around in its tall glass. The liquid looked thick. "Eww. I said 'no blood'. What part of that couldn't he understand?"

"We didn't come here to drink. The party, remember?" Angel seemed impatient as he pushed his mug of beer away. "When are we going to stop the meeting?"

"We're going, we're going. We can't just rush in there, show our fists and they'll back down," Cordelia replied calmly. She ran her finger over the tabletop, eyes fixed upon the surface.

"That's true." Angel backed down, figuring she had a point. "I hope they'll hurry up," he growled as he starting tapping his foot, leaning forward slightly in the booth.

A moment of silence passed between the two, as they listened to the lively crowd and music around them.

"Bloody Mary?" Cordelia asked, pushing the glass in front of Angel, the blood swishing slowly in it. She smiled at him, raising an eyebrow.

Angel wrinkled his nose in disgust, then rubbed his eyes.

This is going to be a long night

He took a long drink, figuring he'd need it.

*

Ryuuza Fujiwara, up and coming associate for the hanzaisha soshiki- criminal organization- known as the Chintsuzai, leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled together in front of him. Dark black hair slicked back, handsome features, and almond shaped eyes, the asian man wore a gray armani suit, which looked good on his lean form.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he muttered. Zora had him stationed at the security post, located in an office upstairs, overlooking the club. Zora being Zorania, that witch or whatever she was. Contrary to popular belief, the Chintsuzai contained non-vampire members… demons, witches, even humans. She was his boss, sadly. Or at least, higher ranking official in the organization. But that would change. Once this whole thing with Wolfram & Hart was finished, he'd be the boss.

Ryuuza took another glance at the small black and white TV. The screen flickered every five seconds to show a different view from the cameras set up within the night club. He had no idea as to why they had to go through so much security regulations tonight, but he heard Zora mention something about 'distractions'.

As if to confirm his thought, Zora slinked into the office. With golden blonde hair piled upon her head, dark green eyes, a heart shaped face and small, pouty mouth, Zora looked like any model on a catwalk. She leaned close to Ryuuza's chair, her small body clothed in a shimmering light pink gown. Naturally, she had to look her best. And she just damn well knew she always looked her best.

"Anything of importance?" Zora sneared, getting only a curt nod from Ryuuza in response. Dark green eyes flicked to the screen. The camera showed a high angled view of the dance floor. Then a view of the front door. Another view of the corridor where the back rooms were. A view of the secluded booths. Then, of the bar-

"Wait a second!" Zora snapped, flicking Ryuuza's shoulder.

"What?" Ryuuza muttered, already half asleep.

"Can you get that view of the booths? I wanna see something," Zora responded, thinking she saw someone familiar.

"Sure." Ryuuza pressed a couple of buttons on the control board, the screen flickering to show the booths. Couples were sitting, talking and drinking, some occasionally laughing at a joke. They were all dressed very well, and some looked very drunk. Zora squinted.

Is that who I think it is?

"Think you can get a zoom view on this thing?" Zora asked.

Ryuuza pressed a couple of more buttons, the camera zooming. Zora pointed towards the lower left corner of the screen, and Ryuuza panned the camera view so that it pointed towards one particular booth.

Zora leaned close, seeing the back of a man's thin shoulders which were hunched forward. She couldn't see his face, but she could clearly see the beautiful brunette sitting across from him. That face, those eyes, that hair. No mistake.

"It's her," Zora breathed, a smidgen of anger in her tone. "It's the girl from the factory. The ones the seers talked about."

"And the vampire?"

"Angel?" a voice asked quietly.

Zora and Ryuuza turned, seeing a young man in the doorway to the office. His dark blue suit and light blue shirt were nicely pressed. Light green eyes glanced to Ryuuza, then Zora. The man with short brown hair, Lindsey McDonald, leaned against the doorframe with his hand. An attorney for Wolfram & Hart, he had overhead the conversation. And he knew only one vampire that could cause potential trouble. The vampire with a soul. Or at least, former one, as the firm had tracked.

"Is it Angel?" Lindsey repeated, brusquely walking up to them.

"Uh, no sir. It's um, another one," Zora said meekly.

"What do you mean, 'another one'?" Lindsey's tone dripped sarcasm. Don't tell me he has more little friends.

"It's a girl. I know her. I've seen her."

"A girl?"

"God, she can't even dress right. Look at-"

"What?!" Lindsey grabbed Zora's shoulder, turning her to face him. "Another vampire with a soul?" Interesting. Another problem for us to face.

"No, sir. Just a normal person. Her name is Cordelia, like the seers you have working at your firm said," Zora added, blinking rapidly like a little child caught doing something wrong.

"Get some extra security. I don't want her to mess up our plans," Lindsey said, starting to walk out of the office.

"Don't worry, sir. There's already a large team located on the ground floor. If anything happens, I'll let you know," Zora assured him, getting a wave of his hand as he walked out.

"Make sure that bitch doesn't pull out stakes and dusts the whole place down or something!" Zora barked at Ryuuza, making him sit straight in the chair. He picked up the cell phone from the control panel in front of him, ready to call the security team leader.

"My ass is on the line. If you mess anything up, you'll wish you were never born!" Zora screeched, stomping out of the office.

Ryuuza rolled his eyes, and dialed.

*

Stretching, as if to ward off tired muscles from scaling the wall, Buffy stood up from her crouched position. She did feel all sneaky doing this, up on the roof. There were two guards, she could see them. Running a short distance, the Slayer ducked behind a boxy looking structure on the roof. Knowing Spike would soon arrive– even though he was silent, vampires did that– Buffy relaxed.

Only for a second, though. Soon, there would be two unconscious guards on the roof, and one knocked out young man inside the club.

Buffy had to take down Angel. Because he would thwart the signing.

And she couldn't have that.

*

"I still don't see why we gotta be crouchin' here… I'm in the mood for some serious ass kicking. Not this stealthy Mission: Impossible crap," Faith groaned, sounding bored.

"I'd liken it to James Bond," came Wesley's hushed reply.

"Hmm." She paused, considering that. "Who would win?"

"Pardon?"

Flashing before his eyes, the brightness settled so that Wesley could see the match clenched in Faith's fingers. They were both on back up, while Angel and Cordelia went in as infiltration, Buffy and Spike were the second team in. Nothing was occuring outside, at least, not from their vantage point crouched on a fire escape. Sure, not exactly hidden, but it was dark and they were in the shadow. The outside walls were stained with rain, garbage in the small alley…

It was spooky, and cold. She nestled closer to Wesley, longing for the warmth of his dark leather jacket, her own denim jacket giving her little warmth.

"Who would win?" Faith repeated, her head canted. "Ethan Hunt, or James Bond?"

"James Bond, by a far margin," Wesley answered, his chin lifting in defense of all things British.

"But he doesn't have the appeal," Faith countered.

"What do you mean by that?!"

"Sure, alluring, tuxedo, shaken not stirred and all that. But it's just not the same as good old, leather wearing Tom Cruise."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "I suppose it depends on the person. Besides, we're supposed to be quiet," he added, looking down the alley.

"Yeah, yeah," Faith admitted, casting a dark look down the alley. "Boredom absolute."

"Indeed."

*

"Okay. I'm tired of sitting here," Cordelia muttered, standing up in her seat. "The meeting should start any minute."

"Fine," Angel said, standing up. He felt tired, yet somewhat caffeinated. Sitting around all night, watching other people dance wouldn't be good. They had to stop this alliance from happening. Or they could watch the bodies start to pile up.

"Where are the back rooms you were talking about?" he asked, his hand clutching around her arm. He needed to be as close to her as possible. Mostly because it was easy to get lost in this crowd of trendoids, and because he didn't want to shout their plans so everyone could hear them.

"They're over there. Near the bathrooms," Cordelia said, grabbing his duster sleeve. She started to pull him along behind her, trying to get her bearings in this loud and busy environment. The lights assaulted her eyes, making her feel a little light-headed. After years of living in the dark streets, she had good night vision, but she wasn't used to the many colored lights that flashed and pulsed in rhythm to the techno beat.

Cordelia slipped through the crowd, pulling Angel behind her. She looked up at the walls near the bathrooms and along the sides of the dance club, seeing more security guys. The muscular men were talking amongst themselves, more filing out of side rooms as the minutes wore on. Every now and then, they stole a glance to the crowd, as if looking for someone.

The pulsating beat throbbed to match the pounding of her nervous heart.

And up through the skylight, she saw a flash of blonde and black.

Buffy. She's gonna… I can't. She can't.

"Crap."

"What is it?" Angel looked concerned, just as Cordelia lead him to a side corridor, a few scattering of people here and there, talking. The walls were dark gray, the doors black. The modern style faintly matched with the rest of the club, one or two mirrors along the walls. Cordelia glanced at the doors, figuring that there were extra side rooms and offices behind them. Just perfect

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," Cordelia assured him, tugging him towards the direction of the rooms, the memory of Buffy moving past the skylight fresh in her memory.

Buffy was going to do it.

"He's not going anywhere."

A swallow, molten lead dripping down her throat.

She can't do it. She just CAN'T.

"I think this is it," she whispered, letting go of his sleeve and turning to him. The two stopped outside of a dark black door, a red sign marked 'PRIVATE' on its surface. "They might've kept some vamps inside, just to guard."

Angel glanced to the mirror on the wall near the doorframe. Her lovely, determined face, a slight sheen of sweat. His, dark, foreboding and horrible. Disgracing her presence.

Angel nodded, loosening his secret weapon. A wooden stake, attached to a wrist harness, racheted into his hand. He held the stake out for Cordelia, which she took while his other stake snapped out of his wrist gauntlet and into his hand. Taking a step foward, Angel wrenched the doorknob open easily, moving inside while Cordelia moved behind him.

The lights in the room were off, and Angel blinked a couple of times, trying to get used to the darkness. Quietly, he listened with normal senses, searching for any sound of life, a heart beating, someone breathing. He heard none of the above in this dark, empty room.

"There's no one here. Wrong room, I guess," Angel said.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his head and neck. He faintly wondered what was going on, before he fell face forward to the ground, unconscious. The dark, brooding man didn't notice as Cordelia stood over him, the stake's sharp end in her fist, blunt end facing out.

"I didn't want it to be this way," Cordelia murmured, closing the door behind them. The stake was still in her hand as she bent down close to him, looking at his troubled face, troubled eyes closed. The girl was intent on finishing the mission, no matter what the cost. There were too many lives at stake...

No matter if she had to break his heart in order to do it.

---

Part 12: Do or Die

(Notes: Argh. Writer's block sucks. Anyway, it all goes smoothly from here. Smooth as in easier for me to write. Not smooth for the characters. Pfft. You think I won't continue to submit them to my own brand of torture? All righty then. This part is a bit dark and has some disturbing imagery folks, so be warned. I don't write really dark stuff much, so we'll see.)

There was much planning to be done, more so in the area of how Cordelia Chase would handle the unconscious body of Angel.

"I'm - sorry, Angel," came Cordelia's voice, muffled slightly. She held fast to the strip of duct tape hanging from her mouth, the roll dangling over Angel's slumped form. Cordelia dragged his body over to the closet, kicking the posh leather chair into place. It was the kind that reclined and wheeled about, comfortable and sleek. Cordelia kicked it again with her boot, just enough so that it moved into the closet, a small little room.

She hefted Angel up into the seat, surprised at how light he was, trying to make him comfortable. Apparently, he was hurting more than she thought; what with all that rustling, he still hadn't woken up. He was alive though, and that was all that mattered.

Going to work swiftly, Cordelia bound Angel's wrists and ankles firmly with the duct tape, tying him to the 'twisty chair', as she thought of it. Double-checking to make sure he couldn't move, she applied a last strip of tape over his mouth.

Watch enough murder movies, and you get the procedure.

"Sweet dreams."

A stray caress of her fingers ran along his cheek, checking his temples, remembering the bruise she'd made on the back of his head and neck from hitting him from behind. Her fingers trailed the curve of his jaw, so slow, his forehead.

She closed the door and locked him inside.

'Cause I sure as hell won't have any.

Her fingertips lingered on the closet door surface. It was an office, she could see, plain and industrial. The regular desk, immaculate filing cabinets, dark tiled floor. Her sad reflection looked up at her; Cordelia leaned against the door. She turned, pressing her body against it. Feeling him through it. She pressed harder, ignoring the pain of her breasts meeting the wood, just trying to feel him.

It was an almost sexual movement for her, feeling invisible palms caressing her flesh like… like that horrible and sensual other night… She just tried to imagine him, feel him against her. Because it transcended all the pain and cold inside.

God, she hated this. Leaving him alone and vulnerable like this.

She had touched him, liked him dearly. She didn't care for the monster he once was, the monster he looked like now.

And that, she could tell, was because she–

The door to the office opened abruptly.

Buffy's question was followed by the door slamming shut behind her.

"Where is he?"

Cordelia's eyes snapped open, hair whipping to bother her pained expression. One, two steps away from the door, chest and heart screaming in protest. "He's – He's in the closet."

The Slayer moved to the desk, leaning her boot against its edge. She pulled up her dark pants, tenderly touching a fresh bruise. "Good. I was going to do it, but hey, you got dibs."

Knowing Buffy's casual demeanor meant that she wasn't followed, Cordelia's chin jutted out in defense, furious steps taking her over to the petite blonde. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, stretching, glancing to the door. She looked a little weary, but wired, having just beaten up some guards on the roof. "You know there wasn't any other choice."

"There could've been," Cordelia snapped, wishing to turn and just apologize to Angel.

"We agreed to this before we left the hotel, Cordelia," Buffy responded. "Remember? You saw that Angel wasn't up to it. He'd only get in the way."

The brunette seemed snarky, pissed. Arrogant at this. "Thank God I got to him first before you did. Who KNOWS what the hell you could've done to him."

Buffy's expression grew cold. "What do you mean by that?"

The tension between them could choke a horse.

"Let's just finish this." Cordelia sidled up to the office door, eyes half closed. She didn't want to go on with this. Yes, she had to, but… not without him…

Buffy followed her, jaw set. "All right. But if you get in my way…"

"Same here," Cordelia snapped, her eyes narrowing.

Opening her mouth to respond, Buffy stopped, gesturing to the door. She nodded to it, and Cordelia followed her over, slowly, trying not to make any noise.

"You think this is gonna work?"

A voice, outside. Brunette and blonde angled their heads against the door to listen.

"It better. If it doesn't, McDonald will have someone's head for this. Literally. He doesn't want anyone to make him look bad," came a separate voice.

"You think they're still gonna join up, though? The group of vampires with the firm?"

"I don't know how that's gonna work out. But hey, it's to our advantage. We get a rough seventy five percent of the cut, they work for us. They don't like it, they get staked, killed, man. It's that simple."

"Dude, this better work. 'Cause if it doesn't, I ain't got no insurance to cover me."

"Whatever."

Smelling cigarette smoke, Cordelia could tell the two men had stepped into the hallway for a break. They were probably guards. And had unwittingly gave the Angel Investigations team an advantage.

Buffy nodded, an amused smile. "Bingo."

"Better be," Cordelia agreed.

And somehow… they made it through the door without clawing each other's eyes out.

*

He could almost anticipate the slaughter.

Or punishment, what have you. His kind did not like failure, and would gladly find retribution. Zora had failed, at least, that was what he could guess, given the hushed murmurs and whisperings. She had seen that Angel and his friend outside, and had order guards. There was no doubt he could be a problem. More so because then Angel had disappeared. She had not captured him. She had failed.

The Chintsuzai did not tolerate failure.

Only a few knew about it. It had no leaked out to Mr. McDonald, nor Ms. Morgan, two of the lawyers handling the signing. They would soon find out. Morgan slower because she was still at the main firm building, but she took part in the deal.

Running his fingers through jet-black hair, he moved aside to let some burly looking men past him. Demons, he could smell, wearing guises of humans. This was not an all human club, but it was easier to transport demons from place to place using disguises.

As long as they'd find Angel, they would be all right.

In the meantime, he prepared himself to hear Zora's neck crack after their next meeting.

*

He stirred, head snapping up. Nearly knocking a long, thin object, Angel opened his eyes slowly. Peering in the darkness, he could make out a string. A string hanging from a light… Shelves, dust, a bucket. The object.. a mop.

It was a closet.

He was stuck in a closet.

Damn it.

This was not a good thing.

Resisting the urge to curse, Angel took in his surroundings again. Thinking. Rationalizing. Looking. Just plain out holding his breath to keep the smell of detergents away. At least human senses did not bring them out in full force. Because, hoo boy, that would suck big time.

Cordelia? He tried to inch forward. Are you there?

Sure, like she'd answer. She's the one who put you in the closet in the first place, you idiot.

Again, more shifting, inching. A shaft of light angled in from the door edge, though locked. Not large enough to fully light the closet, but just enough to show his chair. It was one of those executive chairs, large, leather and comfy, his wrists and ankles duct taped to it. Cordelia had left him there, and his thoughts faded to hours before. How they gave him looks, not wanting him to go along on the mission.

So, this is it.

He was more dedicated to his purpose now, in certain ways. Angel would see that the job is finished, that everyone would be all right. He didn't mingle, or talk to those he'd save, though. He let Buffy and Faith do that. They were good with people. Not like he was. But anyway, the thought of him botching the mission did cross his mind.

Once or twice. Nothing to full on, nothing to worry about.

Still, being confined in such a small space, tied… It freaked him out. And seemed almost like a premonition. Of a slow death.

"Mrrrrmph." She got his mouth, too.

Taking a deep breath– steady nerves, man– he shook the chair violently to his left, the armrest hitting the tall shelves. A small shudder ran through the metal, but nothing else. Again, another hit. Again. And again. Now, an old mug nearly took his eye out, falling down. Office supplies littered the shelves, stray staple boxes and paper clips raining down. But that mug, which fell onto his lap after being quickly directed by his shoulder… Now that was the key.

In what little light there was, Angel examined its contents. Pens, paper clips, pencils. Stuff you would see on a teacher's desk.

Now, a letter opener, this was something good.

Angel lifted his thigh a little, letting the baubles move, the smooth letter opener brush against his jeans. Before it fell to the floor, he angled his wrist to catch it.

A weapon, and his key.

*

"Faith. Faith!"

Calling out her name in the dark of night was risky for the young Brit. The amount of guards was impossible to calculate, save for the two, three that Buffy pummeled on the roof. He could only tell by the quick smacking sounds, the sounds of hands and boots meeting flesh, her short grunting.

However, his more virulent and dark-haired Slayer leaped with an aesthetic grace down to the pavement, casting her wild gaze briefly on Wesley. She then turned and took off quickly, fluid like a cat, down the alley. She'd grown tired of waiting, he knew, and the real 'partying' as she liked to call it, was happening inside. They were all in, he thought, trying to tally up.

Spike. Where was he?

And before she could turn the corner, she shouted with an air of excitement to Wesley, "It's starting! Get your ass over here!"

"Oh dear," Wesley cursed under his breath, in a tone not unlike Rupert Giles.

Things were growing more complicated by the minute.

*

Chase, they called her sometimes, did not like this plan… whatever the fuck it was, well, she hated it now. They all agreed Angel could not participate in the mission: He'd mess it up. Although she knew they were right, she kept telling herself, she didn't like it one bit. Buffy was right behind her, she knew, and she could hear more scuffling, some muttering from Buffy. Long corridors of metal hung from the ceiling, the air conditioning. Sure, it was better than getting caught by foot, but in this way, espionage was the key.

Faith wasn't supposed to take this part though, as she was backup, so she'd be coming around later. At least, that's what Cordelia hoped. Knowing the girl's rambunctious nature, she might tire of waiting.

"Cordelia, think you're gonna move anytime soon?" Buffy asked, frustration creeping into her voice. Blonde hair aggravating her further, she waited. Cordelia had paused, inching a little to move to see Buffy behind her. The cramped air ducts and tunnels were annoying, but the only means of transportation. However, it did not help that no matter how fast Cordelia crawled along, Mission: Impossible style, she still felt worried about Angel.

"Shh. Listen."

"…And in doing so, we can reach an amicable form of an agreement," Lindsey McDonald stated, sounding quite pleased. Buffy and Cordelia shuffled to angle themselves to see the hotshot young lawyer through the air conditioning vent. He was in some kind of office, the big furnished ones with long, polished wooden desks and comfortable leather chairs. A body was on the floor, near the door. Blonde hair, a tight fitting dress. The girl Cordelia saw earlier. Dead, her neck broken.

There were other people in the room, sitting down. Exquisite clothing, well groomed. Some looked like executive types, others looked like those who were rich but well traveled, able to fight for themselves. Some were vampires, she could tell, and there were vampire and demon guards lining the walls.

Buffy poked Cordelia gently, gesturing towards the room.

Now, to reveal the little plan. If they listen to us, that is.

"We use some of our resources, contracted to your firm, but it is still sixty forty in our joint ventures, in the Chintsuzai's favor. No other option," said another man, wearing an immaculate gray suit, Asian features smiling cruelly. "You understand I'm merely a spokesperson for the organization, as my superior was just… unceremoniously discharged."

"I do understand that Mr. Fujiwara, and as a representative of Wolfram and Hart, I am sorry for your loss," responded Lindsey good naturedly, but not truly meaning it. "We at the firm feel that is the best option that will suit your needs."

Blah, blah, blah. Bullshit, all of it.

Fujiwara nodded, casually wiping the stray flecks of blood from his hands with a handkerchief. "Right then. And where is the dotted line I have to sign?"

Lindsey, his smile fading ever so slightly, nodded to an assistant. The young woman came over to Fujiwara's place at the table, a portfolio in her hands.

Make your move.

The door slammed open.

Two guards fell through, down on the office floor, unconscious.

The room, everyone, suddenly rose in an uproar.

And Angel stood there, face twisted into a human mask of fury, lip cut, wounds fresh, and blood flowing.

So naturally, the vampires were ecstatic.

Fresh meat.

*

In her mind, Cordelia had two reactions.

One, Angel was hurt. Two, Angel was dead, either by those in the room, or by her hand. He wasn't supposed to… Damn it. Buffy only fidgeted, anger clear on her face. They couldn't speak for fear of alerting someone to their presence.

"All right, who started this without me?" Angel asked, anger in this voice. Anger infused in a general question. His friends had betrayed him, gone along with this little mission, and ignored him. Keeping him in a damn closet. It pissed him off.

He really didn't like tight spaces.

"Hold it!" Lindsey called, gesturing to the Wolfram and Hart guards who were readying their batons and moving closer to pummel Angel into submission. Fujiwara followed suit, ordering his own guards to cut it. The vampires were uneasy, mouths open, feral faces constricted. No vampire liked reigning in his demon when the blood was flowing.

Angel nodded in Lindsey's direction, looking calm amidst the guns and stun guns pointed at him. "Lindsey."

"Angel."

"So that's the famous Angel everyone's chattering about," Fujiwara realized, gaze scrutinizing. "You looked taller in the video tape."

Pausing to consider that, Angel shrugged it off. He glared at Lindsey. "Been a long time comin'."

"That's Angel all right. He's just gotten uglier," Lindsey agreed.

"You can't sign that contract," Angel went on, ignoring Lindsey's comment. "Don't."

Fujiwara, amused at this advice, cocked his head. "And why not?"

A clamor was heard, something hitting metal, and then–

Some plaster rained down, broken, a part of the ceiling fell. The air conditioner vent had burst open, two forms falling with it. They straightened, and Angel could fully see Cordelia and Buffy stand up amongst the broken metal and plaster. Right on top of the strong oak table, the girls blinked rapidly, falling into fighting stances.

"You could've done that a bit more extravagantly," Cordelia drawled, looking over to Buffy.

"My arm was starting to cramp. I needed to flex it." Buffy looked around at the startled faces from her elevated perch. "And why is it that I feel like stripper now?"

An eye roll, and Cordelia blurted, "The contract is uneven. Wolfram and Hart will use you guys to their advantage and give you squat in return. That's how they are, isn't that right Mickey D guy?"

Lindsey, startled, could only back up a little, pointing at the two girls. "Take them out!"

Snapping his harsh gaze in Lindsey's direction, Fujiwara growled, "Is this true?!"

Lindsey hesitated. A fraction of a second, and Fujiwara's eyes narrowed at this.

In response, the lawyer backed up a pace, continuing, "Take them all out!"

The guards of Wolfram and Hart merely shrugged, wanting to please the lawyer. The stakes extended from batons, demons puffed their chests to look bigger. And soon, the room, filled with over twenty beings, turned into a melee. Wolfram and Hart versus Chintsuzai, versus Angel Investigations. No questions asked.

Hard and brutal, the anger erupted, bodies flying, vampires decapitated, dust swooshing in spirals. Stakes ratcheted, bullets ricocheted off walls, sending chunks of metal and plaster down to the floor. Buffy and Cordelia held their own, while Angel tried his best.

More guards filed in, more Chintsuzai operatives. It was a fairly large room, and despite the numbers, the amount of people remained the same. Vampires were dusted, allotting more space. Bodies piled up. The fight crashed into the hallway.

"Bloody hell, I miss all the fun!"

The thin blonde vampire, Spike, downed his gin and tonic, threw the glass, then jumped eagerly to pummel a Chintsuzai guard. He had infiltrated the club, right after Buffy, but stayed near the dance floor and bar, not only because he was order to, but of his own preference. He'd like a drink to calm him down, and he could keep an eye out on things.

So that's how Spike ended up flying, thrown by a particularly nasty looking demon. No matter. The vampire was up again, vamped out and snarling.

Ah, such a thrilling ride.

*

Faith lurched to her left, letting the jagged edge of the beer bottle sail past her face and break on the bar counter. Her leg arched up, boot slamming into the face of the vampire that nearly gouged her eye out. She let him have it, kicking the shit out of him before her stake found his heart, clean and true. They kept coming at her, but more dust billowed into the air, a sure sign that they were winning. She couldn't make it to the back rooms where the real fight was going on, but as long as she covered what would hopefully be their escape route, everything was good.

Wesley, however, was struggling with some clawing demons, horns, tails and all. They were yucky all right, but the weathered Wesley still had a thing or two in store for him. He was amazing, she thought, so different from the Sunnydale years. No clumsiness, just a cold, calculated menace to him. Vampire staked, move on. Punch, throw, kick, demon died. Move on.

It was exhilarating to behold his violence.

Her personal preference. Interesting, that.

Pausing for one second two long, Faith felt her head get yanked backwards by another vampire. By now, about half of the club patrons had filed out, others continuing to sip their drinks or carry on their conversations. They were of the supernatural nature, those who lived amongst carnage and arguments, demons against demons. It was a rule of their lives, and no one could break it.

Tables overturned, glass, metal and plastic debris flew up, got kicked, littered the floor. It reminded her of the restaurant.

Fingers flexed, digging those claws, her nails into her oppressor's arms. He yelped, she spun him around, staked him. Faith moved to Wesley, back to back with him. Her arm snaked around to give him a little pinch on his behind, followed by a quick kiss.

"God, I love this!" Faith shouted, in her own brand of ecstasy.

Before Wesley could respond however, doors burst open in the hallway, making even the deafening music seem low. Gunshots that were once slightly muffled rang true to their ears. The pulsating beat of techno music was the backdrop for four bloodied warriors running and limping toward them.

Angel, Cordelia, Spike, and Buffy rushed at them, tiredness and mute pain on their faces, black and blue all over. Taking another look, Faith could see the near fleet of people after them, vampires, demons, all either dressed nicely or in uniforms of Wolfram and Hart.

"I take it this is our cue to leave," Wesley surmised, backpedaling and nearly tripping as the gang tore out of the club, pushing past still dancing patrons. They found themselves making a mad dash across the street to the parked convertible, all six piling in, limbs and arms poking each other in their rush. It didn't matter to them though, and the car went on.

The colored streetlights seemed to light the way home, and Angel took their guidance willingly, mind filled with endless thoughts. The lingering sense of depression and aloneness gave way to contentment, Cordelia at his side. Bruised and battered, she had lived, and touched him now, wanting to be close to him.

He couldn't argue with that.

*

"That's it. That's all I can remember."

"It can't be. There must be something."

"There – there... No I can't think of anything else. No more, all right? I'm just tired."

"I need more Angel. I need to know more. You can't leave this hanging."

"I don't– I don't remember. I can't, all right? I can't."

"Try to. Just try. Search for it, Angel. You know you can–"

"I DON'T' want to remember!"

"Search, Angel. Please? Search for it. Grab hold of it. Grasp it Angel. What your heart and soul won't allow you to forget. Say it. Say it!"

"…"

"Angel… Angel?"

"…I…"

Those dark eyes went up, a terrible coloring to them, a saddened shade of dark gray.

"I remember."

*

They had won.

The air carrying the scent of sweat, blood, and exhaustion, Angel ran into the room with Cordelia, her moves liquid and graceful. He could feel his clumsy fingers lift her top off, bad memories falling away. He didn't care about the closet, the signing, Buffy. He cared for …feeling this new girl, the taller, raven-haired beauty.

Clumsy fingers managed to pull her top up, and she was already done with yanking his. To their own different beat and unheard music, they twisted and turned. Mouths meeting, sucking, kissing, pulling away, again. Rinse and repeat. Furiously, they tried prying each other's clothes off; everything was happening so fast.

But slow. Falling to the surface, clamping on, turning down. It seemed like their little escapade to her bed, their bed, had taken minutes. It was only a few seconds.

The pain, anguish, and distrust all faded, and he could only feel her lips against his. Imagining those closed eyes, those spry fingers trying to grab on. Those closed eyes, not looking at him, not viewing the wreckage, but only anticipating the fall.

They found the bed somehow, and they were both naked, trying to forget about it all. Trying to feel. They were so damn needy these days, that it scared Angel. He never this sort of sexual hunger, not even in his Angelus days. The demon would take whatever he wanted, and be damn well happy with it. Angel, on the other hand, after a horrific experience had become… a sort of 'sexual comfort' addict. And it was bad, and wrong, so wrong for him. It was freaky, that he needed it…

No. It had to be something more.

The whole thing… them… it couldn't have been just that. Just sex.

Was it?

"Angel, I'm sorry," Cordelia breathed against his mouth, brow constricted. He maneuvered himself into a comfortable position on top of her, not wanting to crush her. Like that was even possible.

He kissed her again, another shattered piece of his being falling into place. "I don't care. It doesn't matter."

And they were soon at it after that. Again, and again, the panting, the breathing between two scarred souls. Over and over.

His own eyes were closing, continuing his rhythm of thrusts, his lips meeting hers.

He felt the world open up, a flower rising to the sun. How beautiful it looked, how happy he was to feel Cordelia with him, under him, beside him.

In him.

Angel pulled away from his nestled place at her neck, her hair soft and silky.

Feeling like he was on a roller coaster– the inevitable sense of falling combined with dangerous excitement, those dark and forever troubled eyes opened slowly.

"I love you," came the three small yet precious words from her lips.

Buffy's lips.

Buffy's smile, Buffy's face.

Confused at this, Angel could barely take in a hurried gulp of air before her mouth was on his. Not reciprocating, the young man– for he was one again– could only stare in shock… horror… befuddlement. This – it wasn't right.

It wasn't…

He was with her, in her, Buffy…

"And you can count on me, because I'm the Dark Avenger," Buffy said, her mouth poised, turning into a wide grin as a fit of giggles spilled from light pink lips.

How could this... It didn't make any sense…

He kept on with the thrusts and– and the pain and–

"I wish I wished you dead. I don't. I can't."

Buffy, how could she try to take him out, all for the mission–

"Get AWAY from me!"

"I don't need you doing this… Not here. Not like this."

The look, the sneer on Cordelia's face after his vision. The malice in Spike's eyes, his defensive posture. Faith, the pity rolling off her in waves. Wesley, faux concern but not caring anymore. Buffy, her voice firm, her patience wearing thin.

The contempt for him, the distrust, the eye rolling.

Mounting rising, he kept at it, again and again.

God, he didn't mean anything anymore.

You don't. You're worthless, he could hear someone saying, but he wasn't sure who.

"I needed someone. Someone to be THERE for me."

The sickening crack of his jaw being broken, the oily smell of gasoline pouring, the flames rising.

Over and over. Again and again.

Flames, flames everywhere. Twisting metal, digging wounds.

The thrusting of Spike, and his paramour, Buffy.

"I don't even know what you are anymore."

And as his strokes were growing faster, moving deeper; deeper, and frantic, he could feel that edge of reason sink into him like a knife. She was here, laughing, grinning at him. Taking this like a fresh breath of air, taunting him. Torturing him. It was her fault, damn it, all on her.

All Buffy did was keep on laughing.

At him.

Her fault.

She was the cause of all this. It was she who caused him to stay with her.

Laughing! She kept on laughing!

She means nothing to you anymore. She doesn't like you, came that voice, his conscience maybe… again.

So that was when his fingers furiously clenched on the pillow next to her, moving, arm bending, going down- The pillow went rather easily onto her mouth, pushing, sinking– A breathy growl passing twisted lips-

Stop her. Look at what she's done to you. What she made you become.

Her breathing faltered the short burst of genuine giggles turning into muffled yelling.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

Do you think she loves you?

Shouting at her, eyes wild and furious.

Arms, sliding about the air like snakes, shooting up. Angel's fist clenched the pillowcase firmly, pushing down, his jaw set. Smothering her, bliss. Trying to deflect him, not working, again, no avail.

Loves you enough to do all this?

It was so hard to remember. Fuzzy, flashes, sinking, crash, flames, cool, steel, feathers, sky, flying, diving, down, down, just DOWN…

The last caress, arms sinking down.

Slow, slow.

Slinky, smooth, arc waving…

Down, down the rabbit hole.

Fussing stopped.

As the cacophony of harsh words and images rose in Angel's mind, blinding and painful, the pillow moved by his trembling touch.

It moved, he could see her jawline, her cheek and–

That little sunspot, so familiar in these past few days.

His back arched, her breath failed, and all he could hear was the steady, slow beating of one heart.

*

The Present

The shaft of light angled up from the hardwood door's crack, snaking across the posh carpeted floor, done in ancient Persian designs. It slowly bent upward, gleaming over rusted manacles clamped on jean covered ankles. Black jeans, boots. Up and up again, the careless black blazer thrown over a white undershirt, sleeveless. Bruised, the chest was slouched, wounds and blood seeping through. Angled more, and you could see the highlighted trace of scarred features, only a quarter of it. Exactly diagonal, missing the muffled, longish dark hair. Not too long, not to the shoulders. Midway and… messy enough. Unkempt, reflecting the man, slouched in his leather chair.

Chains and shackles on his wrists and ankles.

He then leaned forward, rapt, his words coming low and eloquently. He described it all, and at this juncture his words lingered. Slowing, reflecting.

"…And that's what happened to me," Angel finished, almost thoughtful.

The recipient of his testimony, the young woman could only steeple her fingers in front of her. She sat across the big expanse of her polished desk, dark hair neatly combed and clipped. She'd been writing all the while, pencap in her mouth, when she dropped the pen, her eyes looking up.

The name on her desk read 'LILAH MORGAN'.

Hazy, his mind so unclear, images of silky hair and careless laughing fresh in his mind.

"That… That was it?"

Angel, looking far off, nodded. He might have been there physically, but his mind remained in much darker times.

Lilah Morgan looked flustered briefly, but not, no, she wouldn't let it break the front, the cold exterior. "There has to be something more. Isn't there?"

"I killed her," he said slowly, ignoring her question, realizing the impact of his statement.

"Killed…" She waited for it, delicate fingers grasping an item from the desk. Wanting to make sure of it all.

Angel could only shake his head in disbelief, trying to think clearly. "I killed Cordelia Chase."

Continue on...