Upon returning to the Hyperion – wet, stinking and defeated, they found a disaster area.

It wouldn't have exactly ranked five stars in the brochure when they left, true. Tools and parts Fred had found unnecessary while building her impromptu tracking device had remained on the floor, and the staircase would require extensive reconstruction before it could ever again be returned to the condition it was in before the demon's first, wood-splintering blast.

But now the destruction was complete. Broken glass littered the carpeted floor, and as they tentatively stepped into the lobby it crunched beneath their feet. Light glinted off of Wesley's glasses as his head turned this way and that, surveying the damage. "The glass is all inside," he noted apprehensively. "Someone broke in. Many someones."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, however, Angel was running past him, taking the stairs three at a time. Wesley and Fred quickly scampered after him, rounding the corner at the top of the stairs just in time to catch a glimpse of Angel's coattails as he disappeared into Darla's room. Even from where they stopped, hearts pounding, they could see the splintered door….the blood soaked carpet. Could smell the death. Fear gnawing at them, they went down the hall and looked into a nightmare.

The room had undergone a gruesome transformation. It looked as if Stephen King, John Carpenter and George Romero had gotten together to redecorate, and each had left behind a distinct, macabre imprint of their most bloodthirsty conjurings. Thick, ropy strands of coagulating blood had been flung upon nearly every surface…the walls…the bed…the ceiling. Even as Fred watched, one such gravity-defying pool or gore coalesced into a mass heavy enough to drop, and it splashed with a wet PLOP! into another puddle of blood on the bedside table.

Fred scarcely noticed Wesley push past her as she took in the carnage of the room. There were bodies…dead men strewn on the floor like the discarded dolls of a sadistic child. Some had obvious wounds; most had had their throats ripped out. All had bled, all had died. No stranger to death, Fred still couldn't control the wave of sickened nausea that churned in her gut. There was a gleeful ferocity evident in these killings, and she remembered a demon on a hillside dismembering the soldiers that had been sent after them. Controlling herself, Fred moved forward into the room, and that was when she noticed the fallen figure that Angel and Wesley knelt over. It was Gunn.

The state of the room forgotten, Fred rushed forward and fell to her knees beside the others. "Is he dead?" she cried.

"No," Wesley replied tersely, inspecting his friend for injuries. "But it appears he fell rather hard on his face when they took him down. He's bleeding."

In response to the voices, Gunn twitched beneath their hands, and the eye not currently pressed against the floor shot open, roving wildly. He jerked, trying spasmodically to rise, and Angel fought to hold him down. "Gunn," Wesley said loudly, "don't try to move. You've been injured."

Gunn shut his eyes hard, trying to gain control over his body's sudden trembling, as he remembered. I'm not hurt," he gritted out, "but they zapped me."

Wesley's expression grew more concerned as Gunn flopped over on his back, revealing the twin holes from the prongs of the taser in the shirt over his heart. "Then it's even more imperative that we get you medical attention. You could have internal burns."

"Listen to him, Charles," Fred chimed in. "The most damaging route of electricity is through the chest cavity or brain. Ventricular fibrillation of the heart can be initiated by a current flow of seventy five milliamps or greater for five seconds or more through the chest cavity of a hundred and fifty pound person. Obviously this didn't happen to you, because you'd be dead if it had, but even if the current doesn't pass through the vital organs or nerve center, deep internal burns can still occur."

"Thank you, Bill Nye." Gunn said, finally calming enough so that he trusted himself to stand. He got to his knees and Angel worriedly helped haul him to his feet. "I think I'm okay," he said. "If they wanted me dead, they woulda killed me." At this he turned to Angel. "But they got Darla, man."

Angel's voice was low and dangerous. "We found evidence in the demon's lair that connects it to Wolfram and Hart. This was all planned. They sent it to get me out of the way so they could get to her."

"But what do they want with Darla?" Fred asked.

"Not Darla," Wesley said, looking grim. "They want whatever it is that's growing inside her."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel looked over the new mountain of books they'd brought back with them from their excursion. "So how did it know you'd be there?"

"It had to have followed us," Cordelia said. From the coffee machine behind her, Doyle bobbed his head in silent agreement. "Doyle said it showed right after I went through the portal thingy."

Angel looked up at Doyle. "And you think it's trying to kill her."

Doyle half shrugged. "Either that're it wanted to compare notes on high heels versus sensible flats in the workplace, but I'm bettin' on the killin', myself."

Returning the pot to its warmer, he ambled back to the desk and perched on the edge. He took a sip of the bitter coffee, winced at the taste, and decided he'd be safer dying from dehydration. He put the cup down. "Bottom line is, it started ta' go right past me like I wasn't even there. It was fixed on Cordelia."

"Yeah, and what's that all about? I mean, I wasn't even the original target. Why's it trying to kill me?"

"Maybe it's mad you got in the way," Doyle suggested.

Cordelia blinked. "Well that hardly seems fair."

Doyle fought and lost the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause evil, bloodthirsty demons are always so concerned with doing the right thing."

"But that's just it," Angel said, flipping through yet another book before tossing it back on the pile. "Every reference to Time Keepers I've found says they don't really even care about right and wrong. They try to stay out of it."

"So they're like, the Switzerland in the battle between good and evil." Cordelia surmised.

"They're pretty much known for being neutral," Angel agreed. "All they seem to care about is the natural order of the timeline. It's unclear whether they've always had this job, or they just appointed themselves to it somewhere along the line, but they're dead serious about it."

"All in all, though," he continued, steepling his fingers under his chin thoughtfully, "I'd say in the big picture they come down more on the side of good than evil. Which is why I can't figure out why it would have even tried to disrupt time in the first place."

He narrowed a look at Cordelia, who watched him cautiously. "I know we have to be careful," he said, "but I need to know a little more about what happened in your time, just to give me some kind of idea what the demon wants."

Cordelia's expression grew wary. "Like what?"

"Like…"Angel spread his hands, "who was it after?"

Cordelia bit her lip, glancing up at Doyle before looking uncertainly again at Angel as she deliberated. "It was you," she finally blurted to the vampire. "The demon was after you."

Unnoticed, Doyle looked down and swallowed. He was surprised at his own disappointment, and realized that up until now, he'd had it half in his head that Cordelia had jumped in front of him. After all, it was a somewhat romantic – if desperate – maneuver. Above all else, it shows you care about the person you're trying to save. And on top of the things she'd said earlier, he'd come to believe that maybe…

But no. It was Angel she'd faced death for. And that…bothered him.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Doyle didn't realize he'd zoned out of the conversation until what Angel was saying finally cut through his mental clamoring.

"…I mean, I must have really done something to piss it off in order for it to come after me like that."

Cordelia shook her head, adamant. "No, you didn't do anything. None of us did. He just came in and went postal on you."

"Maybe he was contracted," Doyle offered. When Cordelia and Angel looked up at him in surprise, he went on. "I mean, just because the demon itself didn't have a beef with Angel, doesn't mean someone else doesn't. Maybe someone wanted him dead and hired or leaned on this demon to do their dirty work for 'em."

Angel looked genuinely at a loss. "But who'd want me dead that badly?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was an old saying: If you want to make an omelet, you're going to have to break a few eggs.

As she walked into the state-of-the-art, specially designed birthing chamber, Lilah Morgan smiled at the adage. She watched the laborers – all under her direct control – busy themselves with last minute details, and reveled in her power.

The seemingly eclectic assortment of scientists, doctors, technical engineers and specialists in the realm of the supernatural had actually been hand-picked by her specifically, and the slight twinge of fear she felt at the prospect of failure was by far outweighed by confidence in her own abilities. This is what the team had been selected to do. Everything had come together. She'd come too far…stepped on too many people…and she'd be damned if anything was going to come between her and the goals she'd set for herself now.

Yes…she'd broken quite a few eggs to get where she was now. And if all went well – and it'd better, or else there'd be hell to pay, literally – there'd be something in the range of six billion more eggs broken…which would make one hell of an omelet to serve the senior partners.

She watched as one of the technicians performed a final stress test on the titanium–threaded restraints that hung heavily from the sides of the flat table in the middle of the room. A bright beam shone down on the birthing table like a spotlight, and from among the circle of machines and various apparatuses rose the silver stirrups – gleaming now – that would soon be awash in blood.

Lilah heard the reinforced door hiss open behind her, and turned to meet the messenger that strode forward bearing a cell phone. With a scant nod to the man she brought the phone to her ear. "The final arrangements are being made," she started, but her carefully prepared report of success was abruptly halted by the voice on the other end. Listening stiffly, the glimmer of fear within her threatened to grow and she squashed it, forcing her voice to remain confident. "Yes, he's still alive…for the moment. The second squad has already been deployed; it's only a matter of time."

She listened again, and handed the phone back to the messenger when the call was concluded. Lips tightening imperceptibly, she whirled on her heel and stalked out of the room.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In the office behind the lobby counter, Gunn impatiently jerked his head away from Fred's tending. "I'm fine," he said again. "As fine as I'm gonna get. An' I'll be a whole lot better the sooner we get outta here."

He appealed to Angel as the vampire brushed past them carrying several duffel bags. "Look, we already know they sent that demon to kill you. Now they've got Darla, and who knows what they're gonna throw at us next? We gotta vacate, man."

"I know," Angel said, kneeling down to transfer the weapons from the cabinet into one of the bags.

Fred nodded, encouraging him. "You have to hide."

Angel looked up at her. "Not just me. They know all of you, and don't think for a second they won't use you to get to me."

Wesley looked at Angel meaningfully. "Cordelia," he said.

"It can't be helped," Angel answered. "Whatever it is they're planning, I'm pretty sure they're not concerned with keeping the timeline intact. We'll have to pick her up on the way."

With that, Angel tossed one of the duffel bags to Gunn, who caught it easily and jumped off the counter he'd been sitting on. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about," he said, and started loading up.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sun had started its descent in the sky behind the blinds, and though there were hours yet until sunset, the office had dimmed slightly. Angel had lapsed into silence behind the desk, contemplating the new – if sketchy – information from Cordelia, and Doyle had gone curiously quiet as well. Finally, the half-demon spoke. "So what'd the Oracles have to say?"

Cordelia snorted. "Nothing clear and concise, that's for sure. Which is why," she said, holding up her wrist and admiring the bracelet there fondly, "they didn't get this."

Doyle's eyes widened. "You didn't give them a token?"

Cordelia adopted a righteous expression. "I warned them!" she defended. "Nothing cryptic!"

He couldn't help it, a grin slipped out at her audacity. Clearing his throat, he banished the grin and aimed for a more serious expression. "But did you find out what you wanted to know?" he pressed.

Her gaze shifted, became a bit unfocused as she didn't quite look at him. "I think I already knew," she said instead. "I just had to be sure."

"Yeah? An' now who's bein' cryptic?"

"I have my reasons," she said.

"Oh, women always do," Doyle returned.

"Whatever." Cordelia said. "At least I'm speaking." She gestured toward Angel. "What's with Helen Keller over there?" She looked at the vampire. "Do I have to drag you outside to the water pump?"

"I'm thinking," Angel replied.

"And what has your spontaneous, self-induced meditation led you to conclude, oh Stoic One?"

"We need the gauntlet," he said. "It's the key. It's how you got here, it's how you'll get back."

"Now wait a minute," Doyle interrupted. "They…we…whoever. They gotta know she's missin' back in her own time, too. Whaddya think they're doin' ta get her back?"

"We can't depend on anyone in her time to help with this," Angel said. "We don't even know if there's any other way to get her back without using the gauntlet. And the demon followed her here…so they have no access to it."

"I hope they're okay," Cordelia looked worried. "When I…left, things were pretty tense."

There was a moment of silence as neither man knew what to say to this, and then she brightened. "The up side is that the demon's honed in on me. It's tracking me, and wants to kill me. So…at least we shouldn't have to look very hard."

She stopped and noted the stares she was getting. "Well…it's less of an up side from the 'I don't want to be hunted and killed like a rabid dog' perspective, but you know what I mean."

Doyle crossed his arms. "Y'know I'm thinkin', it might be smart if we all stayed here tonight. Safety in numbers, an' all."

Cordelia shot him a look…half annoyed, and half touched because she knew he was trying in his own way to keep her safe. "I can take care of myself," she admonished, but there was no bite in her tone.

"He's right," Angel chimed in. "The demon's fixated on you. It's best if we all stick together until we figure this out."

Cordelia sighed. "All right…but I've got to run home first, at least. I'll need clothes and stuff."

"Me too," Doyle said. "I'll drop ya'."