~*[+]*~

EPISODE TWO
Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe

There was a deafening roar. There was screaming, too, even if each of them would subsequently deny responsibility for it. A brilliant mirror image of the portal flashed open, light buckling and warping, and the convertible careened through it into a sunlit field of green grass.

Angel jammed on the brakes, kicking up an enormous spray of dirt, and instantly scrambled to pull his jacket over his head.

"The sun! Quick, cover me up, I'm gonna catch on fire!" He twisted about, trying to find shelter. "I'm gonna..." He trailed off and looked up at the sky. What the hell -? "Why am I not on fire?"

Spike let out one of his patented snorts.

"'I'm gonna catch on fire'," he sing-songed mockingly, ignoring the backhanded slap Buffy gave his chest. "What a Nancy boy pillock! I never..." He glanced down at where the Slayer had hit him, realizing something. "Hang on, that didn't hurt."

Buffy scowled. "Of course it hurt. It always hurts."

Spike shook his head. "Hit me again," he urged, hoping he was wrong. "Give it me good."

Buffy shied away from that. "I don't think I can." She hadn't given him a good solid Slayer punch for a long time now. She loved him too much to really injure him.

"I'll do it," Angel volunteered offhand, not taking his eyes from the pristine blue of the sky. He seemed mesmerized.

"Buffy will do it," Spike stressed, locking eyes with her. Do it, Slayer.

She nibbled uncertainly at her lip, her hands clenching into fists. Then she hauled off and whacked him with a hard right hook.

Spike barely flinched. "Ow?" he offered unconvincingly.

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "Oh God, I'm not Slayery here! I haven't got any power." She looked at her hand. Her knuckles had started to redden. "And, can I just say, aargh?"

Spike lifted her hand to kiss the injury, the tender gesture echoing her own ministrations at the Hyperion earlier. "I'm sorry, baby."

Wesley shifted in his seat. "Perhaps the sun here has..."

"Back up, Copernicus," Lorne drawled. "That's suns. Plural."

He directed their attention into the sky, to a point slightly behind the car. They all followed his direction and gaped at the twin spheres.

"Suns," Wesley iterated, a contemplative expression on his face. "Yes, well, perhaps they don't have the same effect on Slayers." He leant over and gingerly prodded Angel's cheek. "Or vampires."

"Hey, watch it!" Angel protested, slapping him away and childishly poking him back.

"I'm no good to you now," Buffy said in a small voice. "I can't help. You should have left me at home."

Spike pulled her into his arms. That she went without protest was an indication of how upset she was. "I hate this sodding place already," he muttered, resting his chin against her hair. She sniffled in agreement against his shirt.

Angel turned toward the Host. "So we made it then?" he asked. "This is your world?"

"Ah, yes," Lorne sighed, gazing at his surroundings. He did not sound happy. "Home sweet hell."

"And I'm not on fire." Angel was just now realizing the full implications of that fact. He was in the sun! Maybe he could get a tan. Or maybe he would freckle. Freckles weren't so good, but hey, there was always a down side to these things.

"We're all together too." Wesley was extremely pleased with himself. "We didn't even merge into a freakish five-person Siamese twin."

Spike glowered at him over Buffy's head. "That wasn't mentioned in the bloody travel brochure," he grouched.

Angel stood up, casting his arms outward in a crucifix pose. He grinned delightedly. "Can everybody just notice how much fire I'm not on?"

Lorne climbed out to stand in the field. "Yes, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, all right. Now, may I suggest we find some way to hide the car? It'll be a little conspicuous, seeing as how we don't have convertibles in this world. Or, you know, cars."

They all clambered out, taking a good look around.

"I wonder if this is where Cordy came through," Angel slouched against the side of the car, the enormity of what was happening hitting him anew. Where were they even supposed to start?

"Could be," Wesley acknowledged. He gestured to a nearby clump of trees, taking charge of the situation. "We should gather some branches, brush, anything that'll cover the car."

Angel snapped to attention then. "Hey look," he said. "There's some over in that patch of sun. I'll get 'em." He dashed away like a big kid.

"Daft git," Spike muttered, ambling after him at a more sedate pace. Despite the derogatory remark, his tone was indulgent. He knew damn well how good it felt to be in the sun after years of living in the dark. He couldn't deny his Sire that pleasure.

Buffy was at a loss as to what she was supposed to do. At her current normal-girl strength she wasn't up to lugging big-ass branches and stuff. "I just wanna find Cordelia," she said, hoisting her shapeless bag from the rear seat with some effort. Even that was too heavy now. "And quick."

"Me too!" Lorne insisted vehemently. He hesitated when she reacted to his tone with suspicion. "I mean, for her sake, of course. If I know Pylea, she could probably use a friend right about now."

"Friends not big in this dimension?" Buffy decided she should find out a little more about where they were.

"It more of an each-to-his-own sort of place," Lorne said. "And to his own kind be true. Slavery? Kinda the watchword of the day."

They stood to one side as Wesley, Angel and Spike set about covering the convertible, putting the top up before tossing branches over its conspicuous bulk.

"Uh-huh," Buffy dumped the bag and folded her arms, rubbing them nervously. What the hell were they doing here? What had Angel gotten them into?

"Slavery?" Spike echoed, coming up behind his Slayer and wrapping his arms around her waist. He'd sensed her distress and had instinctively moved to comfort her. "You got torture to go with that? 'Cause Mr. Handy-With-Sharp-Pointy-Things over there would fit right in."

Buffy gasped. Spike and casual insults went hand in hand, and it was a given that he would offend everybody present at some point, but still... "Liam James Grey!" she admonished. "Take that back!"

He gave her an incredulous look, not seeing the wrong and upset that she'd blurted that particular name.

Everybody else stopped dead and stared at Spike.

He stared back then, defensive. "What? Needed a bleedin' human name, didn't I? For legal stuff. All good 'n proper, nothin' wrong with it."

"Liam?" Angel managed to repeat. His throat felt closed, as though he was being choked by his own emotions.

"Like William," Buffy cheerfully confirmed. "Only not. It seemed to fit. Like the 'Grey' for that whole 'shades of' thing."

"My name was Liam," Angel confessed tightly. "My real name."

Spike did a classic double take. It couldn't have been executed more perfectly. "Bugger me..."

They all took a moment to digest the coincidence.

"Like father, like son," Wesley commented. His smile was almost devious in nature.

"Bollocks to that, mate," Spike stated firmly. "It'll have to be changed now."

"Why?" Buffy tipped her head. This should be interesting.

"Why? Because it's ... it's him!" Spike sputtered, pointing at his Sire. "Because it's me. I'll not have my twisted heritage shoved in my sodding face for the rest of my..." He tailed off when he saw Angel's expression.

He looked hurt, pained even. Like he'd just been kicked when he was down. He turned away and resumed throwing branches over the convertible. Unsurprisingly, he did the guilt-trip thing really well.

"Apologize," Buffy prodded in Spike's head.

Spike set his jaw, a muscle ticking agitatedly in his cheek. Well, if this didn't beat all.

"Sorry," he ground out, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I'll keep Brood-boy's poofy name if it makes him feel better."

Angel kept his eyes averted, but his backbone straightened just the slightest bit. Pride?

Spike glanced down at Buffy. "Happy now?" he transmitted.

"Not even close." She laid her hands over his, partially entwining their fingers. He could more than likely snap hers in two now, if he felt so inclined. "I wanna go home."

"This was your idea, pet," he reminded her. "I was all for stayin' indoors for a bit of..."

"Are we ready?" Angel cut in on their linked conversation almost as though he had known what they were talking about. He heaved a final tree branch onto the car. "'Cause this should do it."

"I think we're only a couple of miles from town," Lorne posited, arms akimbo as he squinted off into the distance. "We'll have to hoof it."

"No problem here," Angel returned. "Walkin' in the sun? Do it all the time." He removed his leather coat and tossed it casually over his shoulder. Part-time male model, my ass, half-witted jerk director.

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. We're all heartily aware that you're not on fire." He was beginning to tire of the subject, even if Angel seemed prepared to beat it into the ground.

"Right. We're off then." Spike took Buffy's hand in his left, grabbed their omnipresent bag of goodies in his right, and headed after the Host, who was already waiting for them at the tree line.

Wesley moved to follow. "Don't forget the book," he called over his shoulder.

Angel stopped dead in his tracks. Book?

Wesley sensed that something was up. He pivoted slowly, not really wanting to know. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't think that's funny," Angel growled.

"I wasn't trying to be..." Wesley took in the vampire's irritated countenance and frowned. "What?"

"Wes, I don't have the book."

Lorne whirled sharply. "What?!"

Angel continued to glower at Wesley accusingly. "You had the book."

The former Watcher held out both hands, palms up. Hey, I'm innocent here. "I don't have the book."

Spike snarled in frustration. "Who had the sodding book?"

There was a gabble of simultaneous outbursts.

"Angel!"

"Wesley!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"I can't believe you tossers actually investigate stuff," Spike put in. "Bloody clueless, each of you."

Lorne took a few steps back toward them, flapping his hands in a soothing motion. "Whoa, whoa, slow down." He took on a patronizing tone, like he was talking to two particularly troublesome children. "Did we look in the car?"

Angel barely glanced at him, preoccupied with trying to incinerate Wesley with his eyes. "There's nothing in there," he gritted. "I checked before we started hiding it, to make sure we didn't leave anything."

"Oh, like, say ... the book?" Lorne's eyes bugged comically with his incredulity.

"Hold on," Wesley had his Watcher face on as he sorted through the facts of the situation in his head. "The book was in the car, we know that much... Perhaps, perhaps its only function was to open portals to Pylea, in which case it would be useless in Pylea, and therefore..." His eyes brightened as it came together "...it most likely exists only in our own dimension."

Lorne threw up his hands, defeated. "You know, ordinarily I take bad news really well. I'd just drown my sorrows in an ice-cold gin and tonic with a little squeeze of lime. Except they don't have them here!"

Spike stared. "Do they have beer?" He jumped when Buffy kicked him in the shin. "What? I like beer. What sort of crap dimension doesn't have beer?"

"You guys," Angel rubbed at his forehead. He couldn't deal with this now. "We'll work out a way to get it back. We will." They had to focus on their purpose. "Right now, we gotta find Cordy. She needs us."

And he needed her.

~*[+]*~

Lorne led the group through town via a series of back alleys. Angel and Wesley were directly behind him, intent on their mission. Buffy and Spike lagged several feet behind them, beginning to feel a bit put out by the whole thing.

"Looks like one of those cheap-ass villages on that warrior princess show, don't it?" Spike remarked as they passed a particularly dilapidated hut.

"You're not wrong."

Buffy took in their immediate surroundings and wrinkled her nose. Why couldn't they have ended up somewhere more high tech? She glanced down as her boot hit something squishy. Or more sanitary?

"Right over there is Blix's house," the Host prattled. "A boyhood chum of mine. We were best buds, always playing games, watching out for each other, as close as a Torto demon and its parasite..." He saw that his companions were gaping at him and cut his commentary. "I'll make the approach. You guys stay here. We gotta keep a low profile."

Angel shifted, wanting to be where the action was. "Why?"

"Because otherwise they might beat us to death with sticks." Lorne was deadly serious and as nervous as all get out. "I'll be back." He minced across the street and disappeared into the house.

Buffy began retreating almost immediately, dragging Spike along with her. He looked down at his feet when he realized he was moving backwards, then quirked his eyebrow at her.

"Green bloke's in the other direction, love." Spike's heartbeat picked up as he got a secondhand burst of adrenaline. The Slayer was getting worked up about something. The need to run was real strong. He frowned. "You gettin' somethin' I'm not?"

"We have to go," she insisted, her eyes imploring him to hurry.

Spike shrugged. Okay.

They had almost reached the end of the alley when Lorne came barreling out of Blix's house. He was closely followed by a slightly shorter demon of the same species that was wielding a nasty-looking axe.

"Traitor!" he shouted. "Deserter! Betrayer!"

Ha! Some friend! Spike took a quick look around. The shouts were drawing a crowd of villagers. Having been the cause of quite a few angry mobs in his time, he could recognize the pattern forming.

He tightened his hold of Buffy's hand and they simultaneously picked up their pace, automatically retracing their steps back in the direction from which they had come. Back out of town and into the woods.

Lorne reached Angel and Wesley. "We should run now," he advised, hurtling past them.

As they turned to follow, Angel noticed that Buffy and Spike were no longer behind them. He didn't have time to process that fact, though, as the villagers hit full-on mob-mode and attacked.

He sprinted after Wes and The Host, who led them out of the maze of alleys and into the Village Square. Lorne skidded to a halt and looked around, his scarlet eyes wide and panicked.

"What now?" Angel demanded. Lorne was distracted and didn't answer. "Hey! Where do we go now?"

"To the nearest dungeon," Lorne sounded defeated. "We're surrounded."

They were, Angel realized. Villagers were closing in from all sides, armed with axes and pitchforks and other bludgeony tools. He eyed a particularly large club-like instrument with spines. That would be painful. He wondered where he could get one.

"We've been through a lot together," Wesley dramatized. "We've fought a lot of battles, faces some pretty steep odds..."

"This isn't Henry the Fifth, Wes," Angel said dryly. The guy could be so stuffy. "How about I take the fifty on the right and you guys take the twenty on the left?"

Wesley blinked. "Alright."

Then all hell broke loose as Angel went after the villager with the spiny club.

~*[+]*~

Buffy was getting short of breath.

By virtue of linkdom, Spike's breathing was also on the shallow side. "Hold up, love," he wheezed, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. "I think we're pretty well clear."

They were part way up grassy hillside, overlooking the township.

Buffy stared down at it and sighed. "I feel like a big fat coward."

"No shame in runnin' from odds like that," Spike told her. He sprawled out on his back, spread-eagled. "Not doin' anymore of it for a piece, though. I'm knackered."

"I hate having no powers," Buffy complained. She plopped down next to him dejectedly. "And its not even my birthday."

"No powers?" Spike frowned, struggling into a sitting position. "What d'you call that nifty early warnin' system you've got goin'?"

Her mouth twitched in a slight smile. "Early warning system?"

"Trouble radar," he said. "We had a good head start on that idiot mob 'cause you sensed something was up."

"I didn't..."

"Adrenaline rush, pet," Spike massaged the back of her neck with one hand, easing some of her tension. "I could feel it too, but not until after you'd already started moving."

Buffy contemplated that. "Spider sense," she said after a moment. Then she grinned. "Spider sense on steroids."

Spike snorted and pointed up. "Double bloody solar power more like." He fished his cigarettes out and lit one. He eyed the pack. "Gettin' short," he said. "We bring any spare?"

Buffy shrugged. "Check the bag."

He scrounged for a moment, triumphantly holding up the new pack before tucking it into his pocket.

"You think they're okay?" Buffy's attention remained on the village.

"They're big lads," Spike said, nonchalantly blowing a stream of smoke. "Sure they can handle themselves."

Buffy squinted, certain she could see a scuffle in the middle of town. "You see that?"

Spike grunted in affirmation. He zeroed in on the skirmish, his heightened vampire senses still in full working order.

"Best use my eyes, pet," he prompted.

Buffy bit her lip and concentrated. They had been working on this - using each other's strengths to boost their own. She had a disorientating flash, like somebody was moving a camera too fast to focus, and then she could make out the individual figures, still on the small side but discernible.

It wasn't a good sight, though.

"Bunch of incompetent ninnies!" Spike yelled. He stood up and threw his cigarette at the distant fight like it was a boxing match playing on television. "You're gonna get nicked!"

He was right. They watched from afar as their companions were rounded up and taken away.

~*[+]*~

"Any luck?"

Angel glanced back over his shoulder at Wesley. They had been shackled in wrist and leg restraints after their capture and tossed into a cell together. He'd been examining the door for a possible way out.

Right. Like things were suddenly gonna start going their way. He'd even lost his favorite jacket - the one that made him look really cool.

"It's sealed up tight. Gotta be six, seven inches thick at least. You?"

"No. These impenetrable stone walls are proving to be rather..."

"Impenetrable?"

"Hmm." Wesley shifted, his chains rattling overloud in the small room. He cast his eyes over the whole cell. "You know, I was always horrified by those stories about the Tower of London."

"Wasn't that bad," Angel leant back against the stone wall, remembering. The look on his face was almost wistful. He'd always loved London.

Wesley frowned. "Yes, well, compared to this place, I'm sure the Tower takes on a certain nostalgic glow." He leant against the adjacent wall, mirroring Angel's pose. "I wonder if they're treating the Host any better."

"Oh yeah, I bet he's getting the red carpet treatment," Angel quipped in a rare moment of levity. Then his face darkened. "What do you think happened to Buffy and Spike?"

Wesley shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He took on a disapproving tone. "They are rather proving to be more trouble than they're worth."

"Shut up," Angel chastised, tipping his head a little to one side.

"I'm not saying that they're not worth..."

"No. Shut up." Angel pressed his ear to the door, listening intently. "I can hear two men in the hall."

Wesley shuffled up behind him. "What are they saying?"

"They're talking about a girl with visions..." Cordelia. Thank God. "A Covenant ... a curse ... something about testing the girl for the sight..." He swallowed hard, and lifted his eyes to Wesley's. There was a desperate, heartfelt pain in their depths. "They," his voiced cracked. "They say she screamed."

"Those bastards!" Wesley was appalled. He cared for the girl, certainly, and was sorry for her ordeal, but he could only guess at how this was effecting Angel. Still waters ran deep, as the saying went, and they didn't come any deeper than this.

"They're gonna take us to be sentenced," Angel continued tightly, his jaw clenched. "Now."

He moved away from the door just as it opened to reveal an armored guard. "Out," the guard ordered.

"Be ready," Angel growled as they were led away.

Wesley moved forward with some trepidation. In all his time at Angel Investigations he had never seen the vampire so determined. It was frightening in its intensity. This wasn't going to be pretty.

~*[+]*~

One hundred and seventy-six stairs.

Angel had counted each one separately on their journey up from the dungeons, using the technique to keep him in check. He felt the long suppressed urge to indulge in a bit of mass slaughter.

They had hurt Cordy. His Cordy. He wanted to rip their throats out. After he'd beaten her location from them that was.

They reached an antechamber of sorts, leading up to a pair of enormous ornate doors. The Host stood at the entryway. His nifty red suit was a little wrinkled, but other than that he looked none the worse for wear. He, too, was shackled.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he gushed. "And you're so much less dead than I expected."

Angel didn't bother to acknowledge the greeting. "I think we might have a lead on Cordy," he said without preamble, casting a furtive glance at their guards.

Lorne brightened. "You found her?" he asked hopefully.

I wish. "No. But I overheard two guys talking about a girl with visions. Said she was cursed."

"Yikes." Lorne pulled a horrified face. "I don't like the sound of that."

"They mentioned something about a Covenant, that they performed some kind of test on her."

"Angel, I hate to state the obvious," Wesley broke in, "But we've got to get out of here."

The overweight Constable who had arrested them came into the antechamber. He murmured inaudibly to the guards flanking the doors.

Angel pinned the Host with his eyes. "Will they take us in separately or together?"

"What?" Lorne was flummoxed. He'd never had Angel look at him like that before. He was being so hostile - even his aura was rippling.

"Separately or together?" Angel repeated urgently. "We don't have much time."

"I don't know," Lorne prevaricated, "I've never been sentenced to death before ... together?"

Angel rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up. He needed to be prepared here. "Right. Listen up." He had a plan...

The Constable finished with the guards and turned to address them.

"Prisoners! The day of your judgment has arrived. The venerable monarch of Pylea is prepared to pass sentence upon you."

Angel took a deep breath. This was it. "One..."

The doors began to swing open, creaking as only big wooden doors can.

"Two..." He exhaled the useless breath, focusing intently on the opening. Almost there... "Three!"

Angel launched himself at the nearest guard, catching him completely unawares and knocking him unconscious with a brutal double-fisted punch. The guy went down hard, taking another sentry with him. Wesley deftly stole the fallen guard's keys, while Lorne managed to kick the Constable in the privates, delighting in his subsequent collapse.

Angel swung his shackled wrists up into the next guard's face, then grabbed his discarded sword. He whirled around to face the next wave, but stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. He shuffled forward a few steps, the sword hanging forgotten in his hand.

He sank to his knees, staring. "Cordy?"