Doyle swallowed the last mouthful of his sandwich and turned the next page of the book before him, taking care not to get crumbs on it. His eyes sought out the next paragraph, but it suddenly occurred to him then that he'd been the only one talking for awhile, and he looked up. Across the picnic table from him, Cordelia sat picking listlessly at her food, silent.
It'd seemed as if her mind was elsewhere the whole drive over, and when he'd suggested they get some carry out – to be eaten in the park where there'd be less likelihood of being overheard as they continued their research – she'd responded in a distracted affirmative. More than once he'd caught her staring at him, but each time she'd quickly dropped her gaze with a curiously culpable look.
When he read through the whole next page of information aloud and she still didn't seem to be paying attention, he finally snapped the book shut and spoke up. "Somethin' on yer mind?"
Cordelia blinked, and the 'elsewhere' look in her eyes snapped away suddenly as she focused on him. She straightened guiltily. "No," she started to deny it, but then switched gears upon seeing the obvious disbelief on his face as he opened his mouth to press the issue. "All right yes," she admitted. "It's just…" She trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain without saying anything too revealing. "It's just…odd. Being here, at this time again. Being right here, in the not-quite-right-now."
She wanted to tell him more. She wanted to tell him how amazing and wonderful it was to see him again. But along with that, how much dread and despair she felt at knowing what was going to happen to him, all soon, and not being able to tell him. Doyle had no way of knowing it, but he had little over 24 hours to live.
Sometime during the drive over, it had finally all hit her. Where she was, who she was with…and the sudden disturbing but exhilarating possibility that had presented itself. She wasn't quite sure exactly when it had occurred to her, but suddenly she was all too aware that she was in the amazing position of being able to try and change the past.
It hadn't even occurred to her before…at first she'd been too shocked after what happened to think about the possibilities. And then she'd been focused on figuring out just what had happened, and how to get back. She knew she should still be focused on it. But somewhere along the line she'd quite abruptly realized that she might be able to save him.
There were two problems. Angel had pointed out the first; if she changed her own past, what would happen to her? What would happen to the Angel, Wesley, Gunn and Fred back in her own time? Would they just disappear? Would the new future just snap into place? With all of the new memories, what would happen to the old ones? What happened to the people that they were right now? Or did it matter at all what she did here? Had that future changed the moment she came back in time, and everything as she knew it there was already obliterated? Did she have the right to even be thinking what she was thinking, not knowing the answers?
She really needed Wesley and Fred, she knew. This sort of mental exercise was far better suited to them. But at this point in time Wesley was off playing Rogue Dork Hunter somewhere, and Fred was spending her third year in Pylea. The only two people she could go to for advice here were the very same two people she was supposed to be keeping in the dark about the future. She felt woefully inadequate as the only person who could make this decision.
Decision? she thought, startled. Am I really thinking about this?
Doyle continued to observe her. Something was obviously on her mind, and he wondered again at what she was hiding. Sure, he understood the whole "I can't tell you anything about the future" deal, but it seemed to him she was keeping something in particular from them. She hadn't seemed to mind making small, oblique references to her life two years from now, but Doyle found it disconcerting that she never mentioned any names. He didn't think it would hurt the future any if he and Angel were led to believe that two years from now Cordelia was still working with them. It was, after all, what they thought already. Yet he hadn't failed to notice that Cordelia herself had said no such thing. Added to her unusually contemplative mood, her evasiveness was beginning to gnaw at him suspiciously. Doyle frowned. "Sure yer not just still angry with me fer not tellin' ya about the whole half-demon thing?" he asked.
"Doyle," Cordelia said earnestly, "I so don't have a problem with it. I promise."
Doyle chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, mulling that over. "See, it's just that I've seen ya have a problem with it…" he replied. "With demons in general, that is."
Cordelia looked at him. He sat across from her, trying not to fidget while waiting for her answer, his troubled blue eyes not quite meeting hers. At that moment he looked so boyishly innocent, half expecting to get his feelings trampled on again, that she felt a mixed wave of tenderness, compassion, and remorse at the way she'd once treated him. She was in the unique position of knowing just how good a person Allan Francis Doyle really was, and it shamed her to have him sit across from her and expect her – rightfully, within his experience – to crush him. She surprised him by taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I…I don't think I can really apologize for the way I was. All I can really say is that I've…changed. A lot. Over the past two years I've seen and done a lot of things that would've totally freaked me out earlier. I'm not the person I was."
She looked at him intently, speaking almost as much to herself as to him. "That person, that girl. She was lost, and afraid to let anyone in. She wouldn't…couldn't…give you a chance because she'd been hurt before."
Cordelia's voice turned soft and reflective as her gaze dropped to their entwined hands, "And she was so wrapped up in herself…that she couldn't even see what was right in front of her."
On the last, she looked up at him again and Doyle swallowed, both touched by her sincerity, and unnerved again by the reason behind it. All of the pretty words were nice, but he found it curious that she should get so teary about it. Unless, of course, the behavior she'd noted went on for the next two years and she never gave him a chance, or…
Or if I'm not around for her ta' be givin' a chance to… he thought.
Cordelia watched the pleased blush that had crept across Doyle's face fade quickly into contemplation, and she worried that she'd said too much. But I had to, she thought. I had to tell him that much. When else would I have ever gotten to tell him? There are just some things that need to be said. There are some things that just…need to be done.
She was pretty sure she knew what Wesley would say in this situation, anyway. He'd assume one of the stuffier expressions left over from his Watcher days, and cite all of the reasons why the timeline should be allowed to go on as it was meant to, and would no doubt seriously disapprove of any thoughts about changing the original course of events.
But he doesn't know about the extenuating circumstances, she rationalized. He never knew Doyle; he wouldn't care that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity! He wouldn't see how it's worth the risk to at least try…
Cordelia's train of thought abruptly derailed and crashed. It's worth it, she thought again. It is worth it to try. I've got to at least try to change things. She took a deep breath and focused again on Doyle. "I need to see the Oracles," she said firmly.
He started at the sudden change in topic. "The Oracles? "What d'ya need to see them fer?"
"I need guidance," Cordelia responded, standing up. "And I know you know where they are. You're going to take me to them."
Doyle shifted uncomfortably. "Well, see, they don't really accept audiences from lower bein's and all…"
"And if I were a lower being, that would be a problem." Cordelia said brightly. She looked at him expectantly until, with a sigh, he rose and joined her.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The rat scuttled along the narrow ledge at the base of the grimy wall, his little clawed feet sure of their footing even on the sewer slime. With each step he paused briefly to test the currents in the air, which he knew from experience could bring a wealth of information. Food near enough to find. Other rats. Danger.
Sitting back on his haunches for a moment, his whiskers twitched furiously as he sniffed this way and that. Down the left tunnel. Water…cardboard…sludge…excrement. Middle tunnel. Water…more waste…scraps…food…food…wait. Behind. Danger. Bloodsmell. Run. Hide.
From the tunnel the rat had just come from he smelled blood. Blood sometimes meant food, and food was good…yes. But sometimes bloodsmell meant other things. Things not so good. Dangerthings that could catch and eat. Quickly, quickly, he doubled back and scampered to the small niche in the wall he'd passed a moment before. Sounds now. Peoplenoise. Quick, inside. Hide. Quiet.
As the three humanoid forms rounded the corner a soft blue glow preceded them. It shone dimly into the niche, illuminating the rat. With a faint squeak he turned and delved deeper to escape the light, blue flashing dully across his long, pencil-thick tail before he disappeared from view.
Wesley's eyes flicked toward the sound. "Fred, shine the torch over there," he said, indicating the direction with a slight gesture of the device he held.
Fred obediently played the flashlight over the wall on their left, bringing the bright focus down to the base where there was nothing more to be seen than a small crack at the bottom. That, and other things Wesley really didn't want to contemplate while trudging through the muck and slime of L.A.'s sewers.
"It was just a rat," Angel said dismissively, not looking. His eyes were still trained keenly on the passage before them, tense and alert for any sensory input.
Wesley glanced back down at the instrument he held. Despite its unfortunate acronym, the Temporal Anomaly Registration Device had worked perfectly thus far. Following the wake of the Time Keeper's displacement, the three had left Gunn watching over Darla and headed out of the Hyperion. The trail had led them almost immediately to sewer access via a manhole, and they'd descended into the dregs of L.A. For the past two and a half hours they'd tracked the demon through what felt like kilometers of winding, twisting, endless tunnels. Angel was at his right, ever ready, ever alert for any sign of the Time Keeper. Fred, to his left, was in charge of illumination, while also being on hand to help interpret the machine's results. Between them, Wesley bore the weight of the detector, relentlessly trudging through the scum that lapped at the back of his calves as he kept his eyes on the monitor. "I think we're getting closer," he said.
"You said that an hour and a half ago," Angel commented.
"Well, no doubt we are closer to the demon than we were an hour and a half ago, yes?" he replied crossly.
"I'll have to take your word for it," Angel answered snidely. Wesley took a breath, preparing to launch into a retort, but then stopped short of following through and calmed himself. The conditions of their search were getting to all of them, he knew. They'd been on the trail for quite awhile, and so far they'd found nothing more than miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam, murky rain water of disturbing viscosity, and garbage. All debris from the world above. They were all on edge after hours of searching the darkness for any movement, any sound, and snapping at each other wouldn't help keep their senses honed. He said as much to Angel.
The vampire beside him half-shrugged. "I'm still not sure why you're so worried. I mean, you said this thing used up a lot of its energy when it fired off that gauntlet, right? And it can't create any new disturbances."
Wesley frowned. "Yes, that's true, but…"
"So our priority is to just find him," Angel interjected. "We have to find him, and make him reverse what he did to Cordy."
"And we will," Fred said, her voice a calming influence in the dark. "But we can't assume he's defenseless."
"Yes," Wesley agreed. "He did use the gauntlet as a weapon before he triggered the disturbance, and we don't know whether or not that function has been disabled as well."
"And," Fred continued, "just because he can't create any new disturbances, doesn't mean he can't…"
She cut off abruptly as the steady beeping from the mechanism suddenly sped up and became a solid tone. On the monitor Wesley could see a higher concentration of the temporal anomalies swirling all around them. "Angel. Fred." he said.
Instantly they both tightened ranks, flanking him on either side. Fred was still a little too far away for his liking, however, and he was about to call out for her to move in closer, but then he caught movement on the monitor.
Eyes riveted, he watched as what looked like a pure burst of anomaly edged onto the screen. It hesitated, and then moved forward again, toward them. "Fred," he whispered. "What's the range on this device again?"
To his left, and a little behind, Fred warily scanned the tunnel behind them, white-knuckled hands clutching at her flashlight. "Three meters," she said.
Wesley's head jerked up, just as Angel breathed, "Nine feet."
Suddenly there was an explosion of water, and the Time Keeper rose up behind them, right in front of Fred. She didn't even have time to scream before it was lifting her, shoving her back against the wall. Wesley didn't stop to think. With a yell he charged the demon, swinging the device in his hands upward like a golf club. Its arc was perfect, and all of his strength was behind it. It landed with a satisfying CRACK under the demon's jaw, and he reeled backward, reflexively letting go of Fred as he flew back several feet before crashing to the floor of the passage with a splash.
Fred fell to one knee in the slime and muck, gasping for air and clutching at her neck. Wesley rushed forward to her even as Angel flew past him in his game face, pouncing on the Time Keeper with a low-throated growl.
Wesley dropped the now-useless tracking device and hooked his hands under her arms, hauling her up. "Are you all right?"
Still choking, stumbling to her feet, she gasped out a warning to Angel. "The gauntlet…cough…look out for the gauntlet!"
Whether Angel heard her cry or was led by blind luck, Wesley wasn't sure. But at just that moment the vampire ducked to sweep the demon's legs out from under him, and the blast from the gauntlet pulverized the wall of the tunnel, instead of flesh and bone. Through the rain of rubble and dust Angel rose and snapped a leg out, kicking the gauntleted arm away from him. He followed through with a right cross, and the demon stumbled back from the force of his blow.
Wesley darted from Fred's side, sludging through the knee-high water as quickly as he could to join the fight. He leaped onto the Time Keeper's back and then immediately regretted the maneuver when Angel's next punch sent them both crashing into the opposite wall. "Oomph!" Wesley huffed, but continued to cling like a limpet to the demon as it rebounded and landed a swift uppercut to the vampire's jaw. Angel flew back past Fred, impacting against the tunnel junction and then falling down into the rank water. Enraged, the demon bent over and flung Wesley from his back with a flip, and the former Watcher found himself briefly airborne. The next thing he knew he was aching and wet, and lying in a tangle with Angel, who had just been getting to his feet when Wesley slammed into him.
Fred had no time to spare a thought for her fallen friends; she was pretty sure she knew what the demon was going to do, and if he wasn't stopped, all was lost. So for lack of any other option, with no weapons or hope of besting him physically, she rushed him anyway.
The demon actually looked up in surprise at the thin girl who suddenly came at him, beating ineffectual fists against his chest. With a slight movement he shoved her away, and she fell down. She looked up to see him making an adjustment to the gauntlet, and her heart thudded. "Stop him!" she shouted.
From the junction, Wesley and Angel struggled to separate from each other.
"Wesley, that's my leg!"
"Get up! Get off…bloody wanker!"
Fred watched helplessly as the demon finished, triggering the device. There was a small charge, making the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up as a flash of light blazed around the Time Keeper, and then he vanished. All that remained was the strong, pungent smell of burnt ozone.
Angel finally managed to get to his feet – and stay there – and looked at Fred, then Wesley. "What just happened?" he demanded.
Wesley sighed. "I was rather hoping he wouldn't have enough energy left, still. Or that there wouldn't have been enough time to store enough up again."
"What does that mean?" Angel asked, annoyed now that he'd been denied possibly vital information.
Despite the slime that coated the wall, Fred leaned her suddenly aching body against it and tried to calm down. "He used his gauntlet," she said.
"I thought he couldn't create any more disturbances?"
"No new disturbances," Fred clarified. "That's what I was trying to tell you before he showed up. He used a lot of his energy earlier. Almost all he had. There wouldn't have been enough left inside him to create another tunnel in time. All he can do until he stores enough energy back up, is travel down the most recent one."
"Straight to Cordelia," Angel realized.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Doyle led Cordelia down the rickety stairs, and she took note of where he'd stepped, following exactly. The old post office upstairs wasn't in much better shape than the dilapidated staircase they now descended, and she had no desire to fall through the weakened wood to the floor below. Because I have both been there, and done that, and impalement is just as painful as it looks, she thought.
Pushing the unpleasant memory to the back of her mind, she carefully followed Doyle to the bottom, relieved when they were on solid ground again. So closely was she following him that she nearly collided with his back when he stopped abruptly before a white, bricked-up archway. Its curving arc nearly met the ceiling at its peak, and she could see an engraved script across the top. It looked ancient. Latin probably, she thought, though she was clueless as to what it might say. The thought made her suddenly realize just how much she and Gunn had always relied upon Angel and Wesley to translate everything for them, and she made a mental note to ask Angel to add Latin to their daily training sessions. In the next moment, however, her spirits sank as she remembered what she was here to find out. If she could change things here, she and Angel might not even exist in the same capacity in the new future. In that adjusted timeline, would she even have ever asked him to teach her to fight?
Unsettled by the possible ramifications of what she was thinking of doing, it took a moment to register what Doyle was saying to her.
"Sure ya wanna do this?" he asked, sprinkling the herbs he'd told her he'd need in order to summon the Oracles.
Cordelia quashed her worries and felt her resolve washing back up to support her. She nodded resolutely. "I have questions only they can answer."
Doyle finished and glanced at her, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. "I'm still not sure this is gonna work," he confessed. "I mean, I don't know if they'll be willin' ta' see you. I'm not even permitted ta go in, an' I'm a messenger."
"Oh, they'll see me." Cordelia said confidently. She stood in front of the archway nervously, however, not quite as certain as her words would imply. After all, she was 'just' a messenger too. Doyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap kitchen butane lighter. Igniting it, he dipped it quickly into a bowl that sat atop an altar before the archway. Though there'd been nothing in the bowl that she could see, it burst into immediate flame, as Doyle said "We beseech access to the knowing ones."
A bright white light blazoned from the suddenly open archway, so bright it made them squint. "They'll see you," Doyle shouted above the wind that had sprung up out of nowhere, "go in!"
Taking a deep breath, Cordelia stepped through.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Uh oh," Fred said.
Angel didn't turn around. "What is it?"
Fred looked down at the small, rectangular piece of paper she'd found and swallowed. This was bad. "I really think you should see this."
Angel did turn at that, and joined her in the corner of what could only be called the Time Keeper's lair. After its disappearance, the three had searched the tunnels a bit further and found where the demon had been holed up before attacking them. Even though he couldn't have lived there for very long, he'd accumulated a surprising amount of material possessions, and they'd been there sifting through them for quite awhile now, searching for clues as to why the demon would have wanted to come after Angel. Wesley joined them from his own side of the dank, water-logged room, and looked down at the small slip of paper Fred held. It was a business card, and when he read the name on it the room suddenly seemed colder.
"Lilah," Angel snarled, snatching the card violently as if he could inflict pain upon its owner through the paper. "You were right. Wolfram and Hart is behind this."
Wesley frowned. "I'm still uncertain as to why they suddenly seem to want you dead, though," he mused, "when up until now you've been the focus of so much interest."
"They're done with me," Angel said flatly, flicking the card back into the dietrus of the room.
Fred's brow furrowed. "But if they're done with you," she asked, "what's their new focus?"
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Though he was tired, and bored, and annoyed that he'd drawn the short straw in being left behind to deal with the pregnant undead, the crossbow Gunn held never wavered in its aim. From the tip of the bolt across to Darla's heart was exactly thirteen feet, four inches, and he would make sure it flew straight and true should she try anything. "Anything" included, but was not strictly limited to: biting, fighting, trying to get away, or giving birth to some psycho, evil, demonic baby thing. And if she doesn't watch it, he thought, I'm gonna add bitchin' and moanin' to that list, and then she's gonna be in for a world of hurt.
All posing aside, he was actually kind of uneasy being there alone. Sure, he'd babysat Darla before, but never when there was no backup in the building. Not that he couldn't take care of her himself, but there was still an indefinable something that nagged at him. Her pained, inhuman whimpering made his blood run like ice water, and he wished again that none of this had happened. That he hadn't been left here tonight, that Cordelia hadn't been sent back in time, that Wolfram and Hart had just left Angel alone and not pushed him to do what he'd done. Hell, there were a lot of things he'd wish for if anyone up there were listening. But the Powers That Be don't take requests, apparently. Otherwise he'd have been able to save his sister. Almost two years ago now, and that one still hurt. Would always hurt, he knew. Intellectually he knew what happened to Alonna hadn't been his fault, but deep down inside he just felt he should have done something more to protect her. But he couldn't go back; he couldn't change the past. Nothing he could ever do now would give him another chance to save her. Nothing would bring his sister back to him. And it was all because of vampires. Vampires just like the one lying on the bed across from him. And though this one was crying in agony, assailed by a pain none of them could truly grasp, Gunn knew better than to let his guard down, even for a second. And so, the crossbow remained steady as a rock.
Abruptly the vampire's high-pitched keening halted, and Gunn's hackles rose at the sudden, pressing silence. "Did you hear that?" she whispered fiercely.
On edge, alert for any kind of trick, he asked "Hear what?"
"That sound…downstairs. Someone's here. Not Angel."
"How do you know?"
"Vampire, remember? Acute senses? I can hear noises downstairs. It's not Angel. You have to go see who it is."
Suddenly suspicious of a trap, Gunn backed away from the bed until he felt the wall behind him pressed firmly against his shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Get back on the planet! No way am I leavin' you alone in here."
Darla struggled to sit up, her swollen belly impeding her. "You idiot!" she hissed. "It's not me you should be afraid of!"
She'd only managed to get one leg off the bed by the time Gunn heard it, too. The sound of many feet running up the main stairs. Voices shouting their position and progress to others in the building. And all of it was getting closer.
He swung the crossbow toward the door and mentally damned himself for not having more weapons at his disposal, though from the sound of the sheer numbers that approached the room he surmised that no amount of weaponry would help him win now.
Darla stumbled the rest of the way off the bed and shared a terse glance with him, then prepared to fight. Gunn barely had time to marvel over the fact that he was about to go into a battle with a soulless vampire on his side before the door was kicked open, and several men in black ops outfits swarmed in.
The first was felled by a fatal bolt from Gunn's crossbow; the second fell just as quickly when Darla launched herself at him. The mere human stood no chance against her enhanced vampiric strength, and he scarcely had time to register the blonde fury that attacked him before he was beyond registering anything, his head landing with a solid thud on the floor.
She spared him no more thought, and quickly sank her teeth into the next masked human, as Gunn sent another bolt into the fourth man to enter the room. It wasn't quite on target, and he only recoiled from the hit briefly before advancing again, closing the distance between them. Backed into the corner, Gunn had no option but to engage the intruder point blank. He struck the man across the face with the crossbow, hard, and he went down. Gunn looked up, shaking perspiration from his brow with an angry nod. Darla was on her fourth attacker now, and losing no steam. But the intruders just kept coming; the room was filling with them now, more than they could possibly hope to fight.
Gunn tried anyway, cursing when he realized the crossbow was jammed from the blow he'd administered to the masked intruder. With no other choice, he swung it wildly at the next one that came at him. The man fell, but there was another behind him. And another, and another. Overwhelmed by the masses, he continued to fight until suddenly blind agony arced through him. His body jerked rigid, held painfully taut. Through the haze of pain he saw another attacker before him holding the taser that currently had its dual prongs embedded in the skin of his chest, though his shirt. After seemingly endless torment, the man finally released the button on the device and Gunn fell bonelessly to the floor.
As if through a fog, he was still dimly aware of the events going on around him. People stepped carelessly over his body, moving all around the room. Darla struggled in the corner, killing half a dozen more men before she was finally subdued.
With his cheek pressed against the floor, head turned toward the door, all Gunn could see were Darla's bare feet as she was dragged kicking and snarling from the room. And there were boots, many boots, running to and fro. And there…at the door…that pair of feet was wearing….high heels?
The heels paused at the door, then stepped in confidently toward him. Stopped.
Gunn struggled to turn his head, to look up and see the face of the woman he already knew would be standing in those shoes. But he couldn't raise his head from the floor, however, and instead sank into oblivion.
As the man on the floor before her lost his grip on consciousness, Lilah Morgan pulled out her cell phone and dialed the first number in the address list. There was one ring, then the line was picked up. "We've got her," she said. "We're on our way back now. Make sure everything's ready."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
There was a flash, and Cordelia suddenly found herself in another room, with another archway. Only this one was unblocked and flanked by pillars; it led off to some unidentifiable place bathed in white. Overall, the whole effect was classic Greco-Roman, and Cordelia's nose wrinkled.. Hello to the Clash of the Titans décor, she thought. And I thought I was stuck in the past.
The only thing that offset the authentic classic ambiance of the room was the blue cast on everything. Cordelia didn't see a light source anywhere, but nonetheless everything in the room was clad in blue tones…including the two forms before her. A moment later she realized she was wrong; they weren't blue because of the lighting…they were just blue. As they stepped toward her, she could see shimmering gold swirling through the blue of their skin like the dark veins in the marbled walls all around her. The flowing dark material sliding back around their legs with each step revealed that the pigmentation covered their whole bodies.
The male strode forward. "We do not accept audiences from lower beings."
The female, however, sounded less strident when she spoke, looking almost as if Cordelia's presence there intrigued her. "You are out of your time," she noted.
Cordelia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a 'duh'," she answered, before turning on the male. "And you. Listen, Buster, that 'lower being' crap might work on Angel – 'cause let's face it, the boy lives to punish himself, so why shouldn't everyone else? – but I haven't got anything to atone for. The only thing in my past I'm guilty of is being a bitch, so would it really kill you to grow some manners?"
"The affairs of mortals are none of our concern." he replied hotly.
"Oh I think they are, Sheet Boy. In case you've forgotten, we mortals are the ones running around putting our lives on the line, fighting your battles. And while I'm on the subject, what is up with the toga? You're like a frat boy with body paint. And way too much hair gel."
The blonde oracle blinked, momentarily at a loss for words following her diatribe, and Cordelia went on. "The point is, I may not be your Champion, but I am the messenger. And I think I'm entitled to a little respect."
The female Oracle spoke up again. "Have you brought a token?"
Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, Angel told me about the little scam you've got going on down here." She held up her wrist, indicating the bracelet she wore on it. "This is yours, if – and only if – you actually answer my questions clearly. No riddles, no vague prophecies, warnings, or disclaimers, and absolutely no cryptic remarks. Got it?"
"Ask your question then, and be gone," the male said. His annoyance was clear, and it was only compounded by the fact that his sister seemed willing to grant the mortal an audience despite her ridiculous demands.
"Again with the rudeness!" Cordelia exclaimed, before she shut him out completely and focused on the dark haired oracle.
She, too, was clad in a toga, and her hair was swept up in classic Roman fashion, interwoven with golden leaves and decorations; only spiraled ringlets hung down, framing her face. She gazed at Cordelia calmly. "You said I'm not supposed to be here," Cordelia said, "and you could not be any righter. And I know that I could really screw things up just by being here; I need your help."
The oracle remained still, her face expressionless. "In this, we cannot help you."
Cordelia frowned. "Why not?"
The male oracle chimed in again. "We played no part in bringing you here…ours is not to put right your dilemma."
"What, my dilemma's not good enough for you? What's wrong with my dilemma?" Cordelia demanded. "And…hey! You didn't turn Angel human to begin with, but you fixed his problem!"
"We did not alter his humanity, nor did we again immortalize him. That choice was his own." he replied.
"But you altered time for him," Cordelia countered. "If you can take a day away, why can't you send me back to my own time?"
The female oracle tilted her head slightly, her eyes unfocused as she appeared to be looking at something far beyond the confines of the room. Something Cordelia could not see. "That option is beyond us." she answered finally. "Time has already been shifted by someone who possesses more skill in it than we."
Cordelia sighed. "Why am I not surprised? Nothing can ever just be easy." She straightened, looking at the female oracle again. "All right, well…that brings me to my next question…"
"This grows tiresome!" the male snapped. "You try our patience, Messenger."
"And you try my fashion sense, Grouchy Smurf!" Cordelia snapped back, matching his tone. "I was talking to your less cranky counterpart, here. Jeez, what side of Mount Olympus did you wake up on this morning?"
Dismissing him, she addressed the female again. "Look, I think you already know what I want. What I need to know is if it'll hurt him. The first time around he atoned. He died a hero's death. If I change things…will that count against him? The last thing I want to do is hurt his chances, or his karmic standing, or whatever."
Both Oracles were silent for a few moments. They looked at each other, communing on some level Cordelia couldn't comprehend. Finally, the male spoke. "You should not meddle with the original course of events."
Cordelia's narrowed her eyes at his choice of words. "That's not what I asked."
Both oracles regarded her silently, unwilling to answer her. Unwilling…or unable. The moment the second thought hit her she somehow knew that was it. "You don't know, do you?" she said. It wasn't a question.
They both continued to watch her carefully, and she grew more excited. "You can't tell me because you don't know. You can't see it because it hasn't happened yet; not for me, not for you, or anyone!" Her voice lowered to a near whisper as she followed the logic. "That means there is a chance," she muttered to herself.
The female oracle's voice was a warning. "Things that were meant to be should not be changed."
"But what hasn't happened can be avoided," Cordelia countered. "Isn't that what you said to Angel? And, look…you guys know he atoned. The Powers know, right? They can see the past, and the future, and they know he died to save us. Sure, if I change things that'll never happen, but…but think of how many more people he can help alive!"
The male oracle scowled, clearly not happy at the thought that she might go against their wishes, but his sister looked less hostile. Her tone was a warning, however. "But consider if you are wrong. What the consequences might be."
Cordelia did, and sobered. "I know it's a risk. And I don't know that I even have the right to change things when he's the one it'll be affecting…but…"
She trailed off, remembering the catwalk on the Quintessa. Remembering their one and only, life-altering kiss. Remembering his features change. From her memory, his words came back to her: "Too bad we'll never know…if this is a face you could learn to love."
Resolve strengthening in her, she addressed the Oracles again. "When it came down to it," she said softly, "Doyle made the right choice. He did what he had to. Not because he knew he was being tested, but because it was just who he was. Given that choice again, he'd make the same one. It's who he is. By trying to save his life here, now…I won't be taking that away from him. And I think…I know, that Doyle wanted more."
She stopped, and faced them, her chin jerking up, defying them to contradict her. They said nothing.
"I've got to try and give him that chance."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
There was a flash, and she found herself in the outer room again, right in the middle of a fight.
When she'd gone in to meet the oracles, she'd left Doyle alone in the room, waiting for her. Now he grappled with a tall, horned demon. Well, "grappled with" was the nice way of putting it. "Getting beat up" might be more apt. Even as Cordelia realized what was going on, it pounded Doyle a good one, and the half-demon went down.
Immediately rushing to his defense, it wasn't until the tall, broad shouldered demon turned toward her that Cordelia realized just who and what it was that was beating up her friend. Its scales shimmered mutely in the low lighting, but she recognized the Time Keeper nonetheless. It followed me here, she thought with a chill.
The demon started to rush forward when it saw her, and Cordelia braced for an impact that never came. The demon was suddenly grabbed around the waist, and twisted. Doyle flung the Time Keeper toward the stairs, and it stumbled, landing against them heavily. It rose immediately, but by the time it was ready to attack again Cordelia had joined Doyle in a unified front. It studied them for a moment, and then appeared to reconsider its attack. Up close now, Cordelia could see bruises and abrasions on the demon's face. All over its body, in fact. It looked as if this were not the first altercation the demon had gotten into today, and it appeared to reconsider getting into another one when the odds were not in its favor. Watching them closely, the demon backed slowly to the staircase, then turned and ascended them quickly, escaping.
Cordelia exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding, feeling adrenaline still pumping through her body. She turned to Doyle and inspected the bruise that was already forming at his temple from the demon's blow. He didn't draw back from her touch, but flinched when she reached the swelling. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.
"I'll live," he said wryly. "But it's not me ya should be worried about."
Cordelia's hands dropped away from his face, confusion setting in on her own. "What do you mean?"
Doyle looked grim. "That demon, he wasn't tryin' ta hurt me. He was here fer you."