When the elevator touched down Cordelia just stood there for a moment looking through the safety cage at Angel's subterranean apartment. It had been over two years for her since it – and the offices above – had been destroyed in the explosion that nearly killed Wesley…and yet here it was, untouched…just as she remembered it.

There was the kitchen where Angel used to make them breakfast after successful missions. In the bedroom, she knew, was the bed little Ryan had been tied to as they tried to perform an exorcism…only to find that the demon inside the boy was the lesser of the two evils. Oh and look, there was the grate that psycho stalker extraordinaire Dr. Meltzer's creepy, disconnected hand had crept up to in order to undo the screws and gain entry.

Cordelia shuddered at the memory, and the eerie knowledge that many of the things she remembered happening here hadn't really happened yet at all.

She was still standing there laden with her bags when Angel exited the kitchen, drying his hands. He stopped when he noticed her there. "Cordelia?"

She blinked, his voice plucking her from the tide of memories that pulled at her, and shook her head slightly to clear it. Shifting as he opened the cage door separating them, she answered, "Hi. I got my stuff."

Angel eyed the suitcases she bore with something akin to fear. "You're not…uh…moving in again, are you?"

Cordelia looked perplexed. "Huh?"

Relieved, he took a couple bags. "You've got to remember," he said over his shoulder as he led her down into the living area, "for me it was only a month or so ago that you barged in here shouting something about roaches with antlers, at your apartment in the projects."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia said, remembering. She had the grace to flush, slightly, and then noticed the vampire bearing her things toward the bedroom. "Angel, I'll take the couch. Just leave that stuff here."

He halted and turned slowly. "All right…who are you, and what have you done with the real Cordelia?"

She mock glared at him. "Very funny."

"Seriously," he said, placing her bags on the floor next to the lounge. "A month ago you held my bedroom hostage until Doyle found you a new apartment."

Cordelia smiled with a genuine look of affection. "What are friends for?"

Angel cocked her head, looking at her as if for the first time. "You've really changed," he observed.

Cordelia sat on the couch next to her overnight bag and unzipped the main compartment, buying herself time to try and figure out how to explain what she wanted to say. "Part of it," she said finally, "is due to the things I've gone though over time." She looked at him. "But a lot of it has to do with the connections to my friends…of which you are one."

She smiled again on the last, and Angel found himself suddenly moved. Before he could reply, however, she changed the subject. "So…I passed by Doyle on the way in. I think he was nesting, or something."

"He's going to sleep on the couch upstairs," he said, looking at the elevator but watching Cordelia from the corner of his eye for a reaction. "Said he wanted to keep an eye on the door."

Her gaze also turned to the elevator, and then shot to him to see if he was looking. He carefully avoided her scrutiny by quickly averting his eyes, and shot for a casual tone. "He's got his moments, doesn't he?"

Cordelia's gaze dropped to her hands as she pretended to examine a stray ink mark on one finger. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Yeah, he does."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They drove along in silence for awhile, everyone too stunned by the night's events to make ordinary conversation. Having one of their own replaced by an earlier version of herself was bizarre enough, but the abduction of Darla and her unborn baby was ominous, at best.

For awhile they'd tried to figure out where to go next. Where they could go and be safe, at least for a little while. The only possible ally Cordelia could think of was Kate, but Angel had shot that suggestion down with a terse look, saying it just wasn't possible. She mulled that over as Wesley suggested someone named Lorne, but Angel didn't like that idea either. Bottom line, she realized, was that wherever they went they'd be endangering anyone who helped them. Gunn had wondered what they were supposed to do about the Cordy situation, but it was agreed that there was nothing to be done until they were free of this threat from Wolfram and Hart. Unsure of their next move, everyone lapsed into silence, and Angel just drove.

Wesley contemplated their situation quietly in the back seat, and Fred – after a last ditch effort to tend to Gunn's injuries – had also retreated into herself.

Gunn himself sat with one arm hanging outside the confines of the car, looking more at ease than any of them, despite his earlier ordeal.

Angel drove wordlessly in front, shooting the occasional worried glance at the girl in the passenger seat.

Cordelia slumped against the door, her hair fluttering lightly in the breeze, listlessly watching the lights play across the windshield as they drove block after block. She'd been curiously despondent since they'd picked her up, but had said nothing at all once they explained the basics of why they had to run.

Angel kept his voice low, aimed for their ears. "You okay?"

Cordelia snorted, but even her derision was missing its usual fire. "Oh sure, everything's ducky."

A soft sigh drew Angel's eyes to the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Fred looked lost. "The whole timeline is damaged beyond repair now," she murmured unhappily.

"Oh, the timeline, the timeline," Cordelia snapped. "You're like a broken record. Don't you think we've got enough to worry about right now without trying to play timecop?"

"Hey," Angel broke in, startled by her sudden vehemence. "What is this? What's wrong?"

At her incredulous look, he amended his question. "Besides the obvious," he clarified, concerned.

Already feeling a twinge of remorse at her outburst, Cordelia turned again to stare dully at the streets passing her by, robbed of her sudden anger.

"Cordelia?" he prompted, his voice low again…for them alone.

"I know about Doyle," she finally answered, just as quietly.

Angel started; of all the things he'd expected her to say, that might have quite possibly been the last. He drove in silence for a long moment, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he settled for asking the first thing that had popped into his mind. "How did you find out?"

Cordelia came back to herself, a little. "The other me…future me. She saved the obituary. I found it."

Angel sighed, regretting the circumstances that had necessitated her staying at the apartment instead of the hotel. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I was hoping to spare you from having to know. But I'd rather have told you myself than have you find out like that."

"Spare me from knowing?" Cordelia repeated, incredulous. "What, so I could go back totally clueless and not be able to stop it?"

"Cordelia," Angel said, clearly uncomfortable, "I realize that for you it's like it just happened. But the fact is it's been two years. You heard Fred earlier…if you were to go back and save him, there's no telling what could happen."

"Oh, there's telling," Cordelia replied hotly. "I'm telling you that I don't care. Because you know what? You're right. It has been two years. But not for me. And if I have a chance to go back and change things, you'd better believe I will. Because that's my time, and my place. And I don't see how saving Doyle could possibly make this future any worse."

Her tone had increased in volume over the course of her proclamation, capturing the attention of the passengers in the back seat. Wesley was alarmed. "Cordelia, if the situation presents itself you must not act on your compassion for a friend who has been dead for two years. His death is only a small step in a much larger course of events leading to this moment. Without ever having met us, his death has affected all of our lives. To interfere with that chain of events would not only change our present reality, it might wipe it out entirely in favor of the adjusted one. By saving one life, you could conceivably destroy millions."

Cordelia pondered that for a moment, unwilling to let go of the painful hope in her heart, but unable to deny the dismal possibility that Wesley could be right. "Okay, well this is all mooty anyway, because I'm not the me you need to worry about. Even if you could convince me me, the other me is back there right now, and she feels the same way I do. What choice do you think she's going to make?"

An uneasy hush settled over the car. "She doesn't necessarily share your views…" Wesley started to say.

"Please," Cordelia interrupted. "She's me. Of course she shares my views."

"Yeah but she's like, Cordy version two point oh," Gunn said. "She's got two years' more experience than you do. And I know for a fact she wouldn't want to give up the visions, 'cause even though Doyle could handle them better because of the whole half-demon thing, they're part of her now."

There was a full five seconds of silence, pregnant with strain, before Cordelia turned to Angel. "Because of the whole half what thing?!"

Gunn took a deep breath and looked up at the sky as if silently beseeching the VCR gods for a giant re-wind button. "Ah crap."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Upstairs, Cordelia stepped from the elevator; barely glanced at the thick, wide boards they'd affixed over the broken window earlier. There was something about the blackness outside and the quiet, abandoned feeling the building took on after business hours that made her step quietly. And so it was that Doyle didn't notice her when she paused in the doorway between the offices. The Irishman had somehow wrestled Cordelia's bulky desk up the three steps to rest on the landing in front of the door to the outside. He'd pulled the couch directly opposite, its back to Angel's office and the lift. Doyle himself sat upon the couch, muttering, a crossbow cradled in his arms.

Cordelia smiled and stopped to lean against the doorjamb. She wasn't sure why she continued to be surprised by the evidence that he cared about them…would try to protect them. She supposed that even knowing what he'd done in the original timeline to save them, she still had all these memories of Doyle preferring to avoid the fight, if possible. To run away, she'd always thought.

Looking at him now, sporting a shiner gained in her defense, and guarding the no-man's land between her and the demon that sought her, Cordelia realized just how far off she'd been.

She started to step forward to make her presence known, but then halted abruptly as what Doyle was muttering to himself became clearer to her.

"Sure, Cordelia," he said in a low, mocking voice. "You can sleep down here…with me…again. Nothin' wrong with two beautiful people like us sharin' an apartment. Purely platonic."

Cordelia stifled a snicker as she realized he was trying to mimic Angel's occasionally monotonous tones. The snicker then turned into a choke as Doyle's voice went into a high falsetto. "Oh, thanks Angel. Ta' return the favor, why don't I save yer life by jumpin' in front a' you again in an overly dramatic an' romantic gesture?"

"Romantic?!" Cordelia exclaimed, all amusement having fled before the ridiculous notion. "Romantic? What in the world gave you that idea?"

Startled, Doyle fumbled the crossbow and accidentally jerked his finger on the trigger, causing the bolt to leap free with a twang! and embed itself in the floor. He gaped, and Cordelia shook her head clear of all the noble, altruistic virtues she'd just been attributing to him.

"Cordelia," he said, shifting on the couch, "Ya know it's rude ta' eavesdrop."

"And if that had been an actual conversation, instead of the Doyle's Paranoid Puppet Theater version of my life, I might agree with you.

He shifted again, looked uncomfortable. "Well what'm I supposed ta' think?" he asked, wincing inwardly at the defensive tone in his voice. "The whole reason yer back here is because you took a hit fer Angel. An' you won't answer any questions about you an' me in the future, an'…."

He stuttered to a stop as he realized what he'd just said…just implied. And what it would tell her about him, and how he felt. Carefully, he didn't meet her eyes.

Cordelia had come to the foot of the couch at her astounded exclamation, and now something inside her melted at his mortified look. She sighed and moved to sit beside him, and for a moment they quietly contemplated the bolt jutting out of the floor. Finally, she spoke. "I can't tell you about the future, Doyle. I can't tell you what happens because it might make you do things differently than you did the first time. And I just don't know what that would mean for the future." She grew contemplative. "I'm afraid too much has been changed already. And more will be before this is over. I…I don't know what I'll be going back to if we even can get me switched."

Doyle had turned to watch Cordelia's face as she spoke, relieved that she seemed to be – at least for the moment – pretending not to have heard him basically confess his feelings for her, and now he saw the worried anticipation in her face. The self doubt cleared from her eyes then, however, and she seemed to be looking only at him again. "But I will tell you this. I jumped in front of Angel to protect him, yes…but not because I'm in love with him." At his skeptical look, she clarified. "There is no thing, there has never been a thing, and there will never be a thing between Angel and me."

"Hm," Doyle said.

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Doyle looked away, adopting his patented "I'm obviously emotionally involved, but I'm going to play like it doesn't bother me either way" expression. "So ya don't love 'im."

"Well," Cordelia stopped. "I mean yeah, I love him…" She stifled a laugh at the immediate confusion on Doyle's face, and hastened to explain. "I love him, but I don't love him, you know?" She placed heavy emphasis on the second "love", drawing it out in a cheesy, melodramatic way that brought a slight curve to Doyle's lips. Finally, she sobered. "When I knocked him out of the way, all I could think of was that I didn't want my friend Angel to die."

Doyle mustered up the courage to look at her again. "An' if it had been me? Would you 'a jumped fer me?"

"Without a second thought."

Her response was immediate, and serious, and calm. And it blew him away.

With the possible exception of Harry – and he couldn't even be sure of her anymore…despite their history they had grown apart, gone on with their separate lives – and of Angel himself, he couldn't think of anyone else on the planet who'd take a hit for him. Cordelia's revelation left him feeling floored, moved, and…God help him…falling even harder for her.

And so it was that even through the anticipation and wonder, it seemed perfectly natural for them to be leaning in toward each other. Nothing short of magic when her slightly parted lips met his softly. His heart tripped in his chest, sped up. And for a long, endless moment, time stopped all together.

Though the kiss was gentle, when he pulled back he wasn't surprised to find his breathing was labored. He watched in delighted disbelief as Cordelia took a long, steadying breath of her own. She smiled at him, a brilliant, wide, thousand-watt smile, and he lost nearly all remaining thought. She started to lean in again, and – helpless – he followed suit until he surprised them both by pulling back.

Confusion marred her lovely features. "Doyle?"

"Uh," he said. He wasn't exactly sure himself what he was thinking…but there was a vague thought swimming through the ecstatic haze in his brain that he suddenly felt he should pay attention to. "Uh…not that I don't…this is…I mean you know how I…"

"Doyle, speak," Cordelia commanded.

"I'm tryin' to," he defended. "Give a fella a chance ta' recover, will ya?"

Despite her anxiety, Cordelia grinned and Doyle continued. "The thing is…as amazin' as that just was, an' everything, you uh…if an' when we get you switched back…"

"Oh," Cordelia realized. "Ah."

"Yeah," he answered, relieved. "An' plus, what's my Cordy gonna think when she comes back here an' finds out I was makin' out with a future version of herself?"

Cordelia tilted her head, thought about it. Imagined herself in that position. "She'd probably be annoyed," she admitted.

"Yeah," Doyle agreed. He was hesitant again when he looked at her. "So uh…are you…"

"Okay with it?" she finished for him. When he nodded, she nodded back, smiling a little. "Yeah."

He smiled back, glad that they agreed. Ecstatic that he suddenly had a chance. And even though he'd just reconciled himself to waiting until his Cordelia came back, he couldn't stop the automatic quickening of his pulse when she leaned in, cupping a hand to the side of his face and kissing his cheek. She stayed there for a tender moment against him, and he sighed, breathing her in. She smiled and pulled back, and he was heartened to see that there was nothing broken between them. With a final squeeze of his hand, she bid him goodnight and went off to bed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At the twenty four hour Denny's off exit 41, it was business as usual. Truckers taking a break from their overnight hauls rolled in for a meal, coffee to help them stay awake, and conversation that didn't include a CB radio.

They were joined by the third shifters just getting off work and the "get an early start" tourists staying at the hotel next door, lining up at the bar and filling the booths. And while the diner was by no means filled to capacity, there was enough business to keep the three sleepy-looking waitresses busy and the noise level constant. The white noise provided a welcome substitute for conversation at the booth in the far corner, where the Angel Investigations team had finally settled after their hurried retreat from the city. Though no one was really felt hungry, they'd all felt a strong desire to be around other people, and lights, and to be part of a world that knew nothing of apocalypse. No one had wanted to surrender to the little death of sleep just yet, despite the horrendously long night they'd all suffered through. So Angel had proposed that they go in for a bite to eat while he checked the perimeter for any sign of a tail, though only Gunn had been able to do more than aimlessly shift the food around on his plate.

Using the final piece of soggy toast as a crude sort of plow, he transferred the last bite of eggs onto the fork and shoveled it in. The toast quickly followed after sopping up the remaining traces of yolk. It wasn't until his plate was sparkling that Gunn looked up to see all eyes on him. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Wesley blinked, still processing that truly outstanding display of consumption. "I thought you weren't hungry?" he asked mildly.

Gunn neatly stacked his bowl and silverware in a ceramic pyramid on the main plate and nudged it away. "Still got to have fuel, man. We're on the run like this, who knows when the next meal is, right?"

"Well, I'm glad one of us isn't too depressed to eat," Cordelia said listlessly. She stirred the oatmeal that had – so far untouched – slowly thickened into a congealed paste. For once she wasn't forgoing nutrition on behalf of the newest fad diet; rather, she couldn't get out of her mind the last time she'd seen Doyle. His worry over Angel going to face the Mohra demon – as a human – without Buffy's help had been made evident by the strain in his voice. Still, he'd found lightness enough within him to toss off a flip, amusing proposition before leaving, which she'd shot down more out of habit than for having actually thought it through.

Remembering now the date on his obituary, she wished that she'd surprised them both by saying yes.

"So," she said, wanting to change the direction of her thoughts before she became mired again in the what-might-have-beens. "I'm guessing the headaches Doyle used to get from the visions are worse for me, huh? I mean the other me. Like…beyond the help of two little, yellow, different pills?"

At Wesley's inquiring expression she explained, "I saw all the prescriptions in my medicine cabinet. Two-thousand-and-one me is quite the pill popper. God, who knew my mother would be right?"

"Doyle was better equipped to handle the intensity of the visions," Wesley verified, "due to the strength derived from his demon half."

"So what happens to me?" she asked. "When Doyle gets them, he…" she broke off. Visibly corrected herself. "When he got them, they gave him like, these migraines. What do I get?"

"Searing pain?" Gunn offered. "Incapacitating, blinding agony? Oh, and sometimes big old scratches and sores on your face. You looked like Freddy Krueger for awhile, there." He paused thoughtfully. "And you sounded kinda like Kathleen Turner."

Cordelia shifted her alarmed gaze to Wesley, who was quick to clarify. "There was an incident where the visions began resulting in physical manifestations, but it was…ah…a fluke."

"A fluke?"

"A one time occurrence that won't be repeated," he said firmly. He sounded sure enough of himself that Cordelia found herself relaxing. "Still," she said, finally shoving the bowl of oatmeal away from her, "it sounds like I've got the one of the worst jobs in the history of mankind. So why wouldn't I want to get rid of them?"

"They've changed you," Wesley said quietly. "Being able to experience the pain and suffering of those we would seek to aid has helped to develop your sense of compassion."

She was slightly horrified. "So I'm what, Saint Cordelia now?"

"Nah, it's not like that," Gunn said. "You just care a lot, you know? It's a good thing. It's like Fred said not too long ago…you're the heart of the team."

Cordelia blinked. The heart of the team? That was…well, obviously this Gunn person must not know her very well, because Cordelia Chase had never been the vital member of anything more important than the Sunnydale High cheerleading squad.

She was surprised at the pleasant warmth that diffused through her. Because really, here she was finding out that in two years she still hadn't been discovered as an actress, she suffered from excruciating visions that left her pained and weak, and she was still working for Angel – The Most Moody Vamp in the Universe. She should be pretty pissed right now. But for some reason the esteem in which her new – albeit even more bizarre than usual – circle of friends held her was pleasing. It meant something to her, she realized. Before now the whole of her life had been worrying about wearing the right clothes, hanging out with only the coolest (and therefore acceptable) people, and struggling to be the most popular girl at Sunnydale High…all for the superficial approval of the people she'd surrounded herself with. And now, here she was miles away sitting in a booth at a run-down Denny's with a motley crew of people fighting the good fight…who thought that she was the heart of their team.

Sure, there had been moments in the past when she'd felt that potential within her…that tug of conscience that seemed to want to pull her ever-so-slightly toward a different way of thinking. More often than not she'd been able to quash, cover, or ignore it, but then there'd been that whole bout of temporary insanity where she was dating Xander Harris. Though that exercise in obviously bad judgment had ultimately ended in impalement, a hospital stay, and a heart that she'd never known could be so bruised, he'd left some kind of undefinable imprint on her. Him and his whole merry band of freaks. Loser freaks, even. She still didn't know what she'd been thinking, but…

But while she'd been one of them, they hadn't seemed so bad. Sure, there were undeniable facets of each of them that just screamed "lame"… Xander's lack of taste in clothes, for instance. Buffy's weird fetish for bra straps back in junior year. And Willow's…

Oh, don't even get me started on Willow, she thought.

But despite all of the things wrong with them…there'd been an inner closeness that Cordelia had always envied. An annoying nobility to Buffy's high-handedness. A thoroughly galling naiveté to Xander's dogged devotion to his friends. And somehow, by letting them in for a little while, they'd changed her. Left her susceptible and more self aware than she'd been before. Apparently enough so that the woman Gunn, Wesley and Fred knew now was a wanted – even needed – part of them.

The woman they knew was the end product, she realized. The evolved version of who she was now. They cared about her.

And all of the sudden…not being an actress didn't seem to matter at all.

"Yeah," Gunn went on, "you even had the chance to lose the visions not too long ago, in Pylea. But you wanted to keep 'em."

A soft sound drew Cordelia's attention to the waifish brunette huddled in the corner of the booth. Fred had momentarily come out of her self-induced fugue when they'd discussed alternate realities; wondered whether or not they were technically in one right now. She'd spoken with animation about the scientific and theoretic possibilities of paradoxes, about how even small, insignificant decisions can have huge impacts on a timeline, and how each of those decisions could be the source point for another alternate reality. While she allowed that it was possible the Time Keeper's gauntlet possessed some unknown quality that kept time fixed, no matter what was done to it, she believed that the grandmother factor made that impossible. When no one but Wesley had any clue what the grandmother factor was, she explained.

"Say that our Cordelia went back a hundred years instead of two. Back there she ran into her grandmother, and for whatever reason she ended up causing her grandmother's death. So if her grandmother never went on to have Cordelia's mother, how could Cordelia ever be born? And if she were never born, how could she go back in time and kill her grandmother? It's a paradox. This is the same kind of situation. If she changes something back there that directly influences the evolution of herself, it might lead to her never having been sent back in the first place. Which, naturally, would then render any changes null and void. Paradox."

Her monologue had served to remind her of the reality of the situation, and she'd sunk quickly back into her own personal melancholy. Now, at the mention of Pylea, her pretty face was sadder than ever. Mumbling an apology, she slipped quietly from the booth and headed for the entrance. By the time she reached them she was at a barely in control, and when she pushed through the wooden door swung back with a crack against the wall. Fred jumped and all but ran out.

"Skittish much?" Cordelia asked. "Jeez, she just bolted like a rabbit."

Wesley stared in the direction Fred had gone, clearly troubled by her apparent distress. "She's…had a hard time of it," he said absently. Without another word of explanation he stood and went after her. Brushing past Angel, who was just coming in, Wesley disappeared after the girl.

Distracted by Wesley's hasty departure, Angel glanced over his shoulder toward the door as he stopped at the booth. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Fred's uh…well, being Fred," Gunn said. "Wesley went to see if she's okay." He looked up at the vampire, who met his eyes and then glanced at Cordelia. Getting the hint, Gunn stood, reaching into his pocket. "I'll just uh…go get the check. See y'all back at the room."

Angel waited until Gunn had headed off toward the cash register before sliding into the seat across from Cordelia. He watched as she reached out a nervous hand and played with the straw in her water glass. "So you didn't see anything?" she asked.

A tail, he realized. She was asking if they'd been followed. "Nothing," he said. "But that doesn't mean there's not someone out there. They could just be waiting for the right opportunity. We've got to stick together tonight."

Cordelia almost laughed, relieving her tension with a sharp exhalation. "Two years and you still haven't got the comforting thing down, have you?"

Angel smiled. Here, at least, was familiar ground. Since all of this had started he'd been unsure of his footing around her; he hadn't realized just how much she really had changed over two years. But some things never would. And having been so close to her for the past two years, he was aware of how quickly the levity left her, replaced again by the contemplative mood she'd been in for the better part of the night. He even knew what she was going to ask before she'd opened her mouth. "To save us," he said. "It was to save us. And a whole cargo hold full of refugees. They were about to be wiped out by this demon army called the Scourge, who'd developed this weapon…"

He trailed off, and Cordelia was grateful. Whatever the weapon had been, it was almost surely the device that had killed Doyle, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to know the details yet. Angel looked down, gathered himself, and went on. "He knew what he was doing. And everyone walked out of there alive because of him."

"And I never even gave him a chance," Cordelia said miserably.

This time he knew what to do, even if it wasn't enough. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. "You would have," he assured her. "You would have."

Later, Cordelia stepped outside while she waited for Angel and Gunn. A large group of people headed toward her, intent on entering the diner, and she moved aside. Stepping away from the door, her attention was caught by the sound of voices around the corner. They sounded upset.

Wary, she quietly made her way to the corner of the building and peeked around. Fred was there, crying, and Wesley stood near her, his hand on her arm, steadying her and lending comfort. "Even if we do find a way," she was saying, "you heard her. She'll go back there and change things. Even one minor fluctuation could change the entire timeline; you know that. It's impossible to predict what could happen. People could die."

"I know," Wesley started, but Fred was beyond hearing.

"People could die," she repeated. "And what about the slaves in Pylea? What if she never gets there and changes things? They'll just go on being enslaved and used as pack animals and tortured and I'll still be there in that cave and I'll never get out, never get home again, and I can't do it, Wesley, I can't go back there, I can't have never been here, I just can't, I can't."

Her voice rose in pitch as she tried to fight off the rising hysteria, and Wesley finally pulled her into his arms, running a hand gently over her hair and murmuring low, soothing words. Gasping for breath, Fred tried to calm herself. "I can't go back there," she said a final time.

"You won't," Wesley reassured her. "It won't happen. Cordelia would never do anything to hurt you, you know that. She cares about you." He pulled back and looked at her, wanting to know that she believed that. "We all do."

With a finger under her chin he tilted her head up so that she looked at him. Her eyes were liquid brown through the tears, and the fear and uncertainty in them made his chest tighten. He wanted very much to smooth the jagged edges of her distress, and so he acted purely on instinct, lowering his lips to hers for a feather-soft kiss.

A few moments later, neither of them would have noticed Cordelia had she stepped clearly into view from around the corner. As it was, she retreated silently, lost in thought. For perhaps the first time she was able to look past the immediacy of a life that existed two years in the past. For the first time she could see the tenuous bonds that held this fragile community together, and how easily they could be dashed. And knowing that…if she could find a way to go back…could she really dare to change things?

I guess the real question, Cordelia thought, is will the other Cordelia dare?