Angel knew it was a trap from the moment they entered Lilah's office. He'd detected suspiciously few humans besides his own makeshift ops team as it made its winding way through the building and had hoped that – for once – luck was simply on their side. Now, the combined presence of those lying in wait for him was ridiculously blatant. He became aware of them suddenly, as if they had just appeared out of thin air. When he saw the man in the turban by the window – a man who could have been the twin of the channeler Wolfram and Hart used to control Cordelia's visions a few weeks ago – he realized what had happened. Somehow his own senses had been muffled. He had, after all, been one of Wolfram and Hart's major areas of interest. They'd known about Darla; it stood to reason that with all of the darkly sinister, magically-inclined people on payroll, at least one of them would have known how to blind his supernatural perception. Their abrupt appearance was a blip that hadn't been on his radar a moment ago. Now the blinders were off, and he could see. He could hear their heartbeats; he could even smell them.

With a sinking heart Angel watched as his people – the people who'd trusted him to lead them – were surrounded by men decked out in black SWAT team uniforms. Each of the black-clad aggressors carried a silence-modified assault rifle; each sported a riot vest and utility belt that boasted a small arsenal, including tasers and sharpened stakes. The men were silent and well-trained, and they would have ensnared their captors without a sound, had one of Gunn's old crew not been doing reconnaissance down the hall. He'd come back around the corner to report an all-clear when he saw the commando team moving into the room his friends had just entered. His warning shout and burst of gunfire came too late to stop the ambush, and too late to save his life. Before Cordelia and the others even knew what was going on they were surrounded, and their man in the hallway was dead.

Gunn reacted immediately to the entrapment, slamming an elbow into the windpipe of the masked man nearest to him. The commando flew back, choking, into the waiting arms of Rondell, Gunn's one-time partner and unofficial leader since his departure. Before the man could follow up on Gunn's initiative he was hit over the back of the head by another commando, and he fell to his knees. Another brutal blow knocked him completely to the floor. A short fistfight broke out as the gang rallied to their fallen leader's defense, but it was no match. Fists and fury just weren't enough to fight back with, and they were quickly subdued.

Angel kept a steadying hand on Cordelia's arm, which he had instinctively clutched when the lightning-quick fight had broken out. Even knowing that none of them were likely to get out of here alive, even past the biting guilt that these people would probably all die for having followed him, he felt a sudden surge of protectiveness toward Cordelia. Of all of them, he felt the most responsible for her. She wasn't even from this time; she'd had no part in the circumstances that had brought them to this end. He wanted to protect her, to make sure she survived. He wanted to be ready to somehow save her, if he could.

It was no surprise when Lilah stepped out of the room adjoining the office, a wide smile on her face. The smile was pleased, and its smug confidence chilled Angel. If Lilah Morgan was happy, that meant things were going to be even worse for them than he'd thought.

Looking like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, Lilah sauntered up to the vampire. "Angel, how nice of you to drop by. You're right on time."

Which begged the question, on time for what? But Angel wasn't playing this game. "Where's Fred?"

Lilah tilted her head, amused. "Look at you. You still think there's a way out. You still think you can win, somehow." She stepped closer, cockily leaning in toward him as if to impart a secret. "I've got news for you, Angel…you can't. This is it; this is the end. The culmination of nearly two hundred and fifty years worth of watching and waiting and scheming. It was all for tonight."

Disturbed by the ominous statement, Angel finally succumbed to the inevitable and asked the question the businesswoman obviously wanted to answer. "What have you done, Lilah?"

She grinned broadly in response, and again her confident expression unnerved him. "Settled the biggest project in the history of this company. In the history of this world, even. But first things first," she answered, nodding to one of the lethal commandos. Without a word he turned and left the room, returning a moment later carrying Fred. The girl was limp, clinging only tenuously to a delirious consciousness. When the man unceremoniously dumped her on the floor near the captives, she made a small mewling sound and then curled up on her side.

Wesley rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside her, ignoring the half dozen guns that swung his way at the movement. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"Done?" Lilah asked, adopting an innocent expression. "Well, all we did was kidnap her, lock her in a dark, stifling room with no windows and wait for you, but she went completely batty. By the time we went to get her out she'd written all over the walls. That is one serious loony you've got on your hands."

"You pushed her too hard," Wesley said bitterly. He turned to Angel and he could see the vampire also realized the significance of Fred's writing. "She's regressed," he said needlessly.

Lilah leaned back to rest against the desk and the overall effect was a study in leisure; she reminded Angel of a lioness on the plains of Africa, appearing to be at ease but with her sharp eyes always on the prey. "She served her purpose," Lilah said, pinning Angel with a glance. "Namely, getting you here. If that damned demon had done what I told him to, we wouldn't have had to bother."

Angel was quiet, watching her. Playing along and giving the responses expected of him until he knew what was going on. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Lilah was amused. " 'Disappointed' is putting it lightly. Because in one fell swoop the Time Keeper failed to kill you and managed to displace my best option for bait. Remembering how keen you were to save Cordelia when we were…well, let's just say 'directing' her visions…I figured she'd be the best bet. But you roll with the punches, right Angel? You take what you can get. And in this case, what I took was defective. But hey, she got you here."

"So why all the trouble?" Angel was getting tired of having to guess. He didn't see any easy way out of this, but he couldn't see any advantage in playing Lilah's game, either. "Why, after all this time, do you suddenly want me dead?"

"Because we finally have what we need from you," Lilah gloated, and she practically shone with radiance. "Wolfram and Hart has had its eye on you for a long time, Angel. A long time. Since the beginning, in fact, though it took a while for you to emerge as the one in the prophecy."

Wesley looked up. "What prophecy?"

"Oh don't worry, Wesley, you didn't miss anything," Lilah assured him condescendingly. "It's not of this world. Though you've been there recently." She winked.

Gunn made the connection. "Pylea."

Lilah nodded, enjoying the spotlight and her advantage. "Our original home office, you might say. Back before the creatures of this world ever crawled out of the primordial ooze, primitive and brainless." She paused, raking Gunn's friends with her eyes. She smirked. "Looks like some of us got stuck there."

She watched them expectantly, but no one surged forward in indignation. Their faces were angry, but no one was stupid enough to risk a physical confrontation under the circumstances. Reveling in her power, Lilah went on. "But then came the prophecy. The vampire with a soul that would provide the way to total domination of this dimension. So we did the big corporate move, set up shop here, and have been bringing misery and death to the world ever since. All just to find you. Don't you feel special? Doesn't it just make you feel all warm and tingly inside?"

It made him feel sick. He remembered Holland's politely disinterested smile as they road the elevator down to the "home office"…only to arrive at their starting point: Earth. This dimension. As long as there had been evil, the dead lawyer said, Wolfram and Hart had been there. And no amount of fighting would ever be able to vanquish it, because you couldn't change people. The futility of it all had struck Angel then, leaving him desolate and cold, just wanting to give up and give in. And so he had, that night. He'd known perfect despair. He had been willing to throw away everything he was and everything he'd fought for, losing himself in Darla's familiar embrace with an abandon that stunned him now, in hindsight. He'd been precariously sliding down a slippery slope, and that night he'd reached the bottom. Only there had he found the truth he needed. The purpose, the reason to go on. He'd managed to pull himself out again, but now here was Lilah, telling him that not only was Wolfram and Hart responsible for pushing him to the breaking point, he was the reason they had even come here to begin with. It nauseated him, threatening to send him back down the spiral. Just how much was one person expected to overcome? Fighting for control, Angel bit out through clenched teeth, "Spit it out, Lilah. We're all tired of your games. What prophecy? What the hell do you want from me?"

"Well I want to kill you," she said, her tone warming. "And now I finally can…now that we've gotten what we need from you."

Finally, it clicked, and Wesley spoke the words they all were thinking. "The child."

Lilah smiled, speaking to Angel as if he was the only one in the room. "You were destined to be its father. We waited patiently for centuries to find you. If there's one thing the senior partners are, it's patient." She paused, re-thought. "Well, if there's one thing they are, it's evil. But they're patient, too. Evil and patient. They kept their ears to the ground and their eyes on all vampire activity. Your siring didn't cause much of a stir, though your demon did quickly catch their attention." She smirked knowingly as she ran her fingertips across one of his shoulders, down his arm. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were dangerous. Lilah was amused by his lethal, but impotent anger. "But it wasn't until you were cursed that they finally knew it was you. You can imagine their breathless anticipation – well, if they breathed, that is – as they waited for you to fulfill the prophecy. They waited a hundred years for you to get over your lame-ass guilt. When you shacked up with the slayer they thought surely she'd be the one to bear the child. And what a kid that would've been, huh?"

Angel felt the urge to growl. Until now he'd tried to remain silent, find out what was going on, and figure some way to get his people out of here alive. But now tendrils of rage coiled within him, creeping up and forcing their way to the surface through the cracks in the lid he'd clamped firmly down over his temper. Lilah turned, walked back to the desk, enjoying watching him fight for self control. "But those gypsies," she emitted a short, rueful little amused laugh, "they certainly fooled all of us with that 'one moment of true happiness' clause, didn't they? The senior partners never saw that coming…a fact which ensured the torturous, agonized death of at least a dozen seers working for the company. And then when you got your soul back again, you felt all guilty - again - and wouldn't even go near another woman so - "

She cut off abruptly as Angel launched himself at her, shoving her up against the desk. He moved so quickly that his hands were around her throat, his fangs inches from her neck, before she could do more than gasp a startled breath. Belatedly, several of the commandos moved to come to her aid but she waved them off, for the moment. "Now boys," she said breathlessly, feeling excitement, attraction and fear war within her at the vampire's proximity, "Angel won't hurt me. Because he knows if he does, all of his little friends here are dead before he even drinks his fill."

Angel snarled, fighting his own roiling emotions. He needed to get his people out, but something told him that they'd never be safe again if he didn't find out what was going on here. He felt fresh fear and anxiety threatening to add to the heavy burden of guilt he always bore, and he felt the absolutely overwhelming desire to snap Lilah Morgan's neck. He wanted to watch her eyes go wide as he squeezed the life out of her. But right now those eyes were already huge, pupils wide, as she stared raptly up at him. With disgust, he realized he was probably fulfilling one of her little fantasies and he threw her roughly aside. "Story time's over," he said harshly, "You're telling me that Wolfram and Heart have been watching me from the beginning, that they've been directing my life. You brought back Darla and played with my mind to get me to lose control. Congratulations, I did. Mission accomplished. Now tell me what it was all for."

Lilah straightened, breathing heavily after being flung halfway across the room. Gone was the playful gleam she'd had in her eye while taunting him. Now her look was purely sinister. "You still think this is all about you? You think your pathetic life has anything to do with this? Pay attention, Angel. You're nothing. You were means to an end."

Close to his breaking point, Angel grabbed her by her shirt front, lifting her toward him. "The child. What is it?" he demanded.

Unafraid, hateful, Lilah's smile was chilling. "A sacrifice. The sacrifice…the one the senior partners have been seeking for thousands of years." She grinned triumphantly as Angel released her, fear and foreboding on his face. She lowered her voice, dangerous now. "It all ends tonight. Do you want to know what the sacrifice is for, Angel?"

She didn't give him time to answer. Suddenly there was a stake in her hand, and she lunged for him. He evaded her easily. She'd had surprise on her side, but he was still a vampire and his reflexes were – as a rule – supernatural. As he twisted out of the way he grabbed her wrist, not holding back when he applied pressure. Lilah cried out as her wrist was crushed, and she dropped the stake reflexively, pained. It happened quickly, in the blink of an eye, and then he propelled her forward into the wall, taking a small measure of satisfaction in hearing bone crack on wood. Before she'd even had time to fall Angel had snap-kicked the gun out of the arms of the nearest commando, snatched it from mid air, and used it to bash in the face of the surprised man. He whirled as gunfire broke out behind him, between him and the door. With dismay he saw two of Gunn's friends cut down, even as the others sprang into action. "Out!" he shouted, "Get everyone out!"

Gunn heard him and started cutting a path to the door. His axe swung with lethal accuracy, causing heavy damage to all who got in his way. He grinned nastily as an arm – just an arm – fell into his path and he kicked it away. He snagged a woozy Rondell and ducked out of the room amid the screams of mortally wounded men. The others followed in his bloody wake while Angel brought up the rear. He grabbed Cordelia, kept her near as he fought his way toward the door. In front of him, Angel could see Wesley carrying Fred. And then they were all out and running down the hall.

In the office, Lilah pushed her way to her feet, stepping over a man with no legs on her way to the door. The man reached out to her, sobbing incoherently. Ignoring him, Lilah wiped at the blood streaming into her eyes from where her head had cracked into the wall. "After them!" she snapped to the few uninjured commandos. They ran out, but she grabbed the last one before he could join his fellows. She shoved him toward the man on the floor who had finally seen what had happened to the lower half of his body and was now screaming. "You. Finish him off, first. That screaming is giving me a headache."

Down the hall, Angel and the others were running blind. There was no scheme, no Plan B to fall back on. He towed a panting Cordelia behind him as he followed Wesley's familiar form. As he ran, his mind raced. It all ended tonight, Lilah had said. What did that mean? What was going to happen? She'd said the child was a sacrifice…a sacrifice for what? Angel stopped, torn. "What?" Cordelia asked, looking around wildly, "What is it?"

"Whatever it is they're doing," Angel said, "I've got to try and stop it." He pushed her toward the others. "Follow Wesley. Get out of the building."

"What about you?" Cordelia shouted, but the vampire was already gone. Hot tears threatened at all she'd just seen, and all that she might still see, but this was no time for it. She raced down the hallway after the others.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The Time Keeper watched Cordelia warily, trying to anticipate her next move. After issuing her challenge, the human had quickly and efficiently blocked his first attack, and he finally realized that she had to have had some training in weaponry. Perversely, that made him feel a little better. At least it was skill and not just blind luck that was defeating him at every turn. He decided to try reason one more time. "Surrender now, and no harm will come to you," he said.

Cordelia arched one eyebrow wryly. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing. Except it would have sounded more like 'Give up now, and I won't shove this gauntlet up your ass'. "

"This is pointless," the demon replied. "You've shown me that you possess intelligence. Why can't you see that what you are doing must not be done? Time must remain unaltered."

Cordelia's eyes went wide in righteous indignation. She picked up an imaginary phone, held it to her ear. "Hello Kettle? This is Pot. You're black. What do you think you were doing? You were going to change time by killing Angel. How is this any different…just because I'm the one doing the changing?"

The Time Keeper tried to check his temper. "That was different," he attempted to explain again, "I was trying to save the life of my successor."

"Oh," Cordelia exclaimed, "You were trying to save a life. Right. You know, that's a novel idea…I wish I'd thought of it. 'Cause gee, if I were trying to save a life like you were, you wouldn't really have any room to talk now, would you? Oh wait. That's right, I am trying to save Doyle's life." She glared at him and the demon squirmed self-consciously. She went on, "You know, I just don't get you. You're willing to kill a complete stranger – one of the good guys, I might add – and change time to keep Wolfram and Hart from offing your replacement. But you won't use the same power to just go back and stop them from taking him in the first place? How stupid is that? "

There was a pause. The Time Keeper blinked. "I…never thought of it that way," he admitted.

"You never thought of it that way?!" Cordelia squawked, hitting him on the arm with the broadside of her sword. "You were going to kill Angel because you never thought of it that way?"

The Time Keeper flinched more from embarrassment than pain as she whacked him again. The blow didn't hurt, but the flaw that she'd pointed out in his thinking was mortifying. "You don't understand," he said urgently, "we're programmed to protect the timeline at all costs. It never even occurred to me to change things until they ordered me to kill your friend. By then I was thinking ahead to what I could do to save him, not backward."

"Well that's very linear of you; you should be ashamed of yourself," Cordelia rebuked him. "And what's with letting them call the shots, anyway? Stand up and grab yourself a spine, already!"

"You're right," the Time Keeper admitted.

"And besides…what did you just say?"

"You're right," he repeated. "It is what I should have done from the beginning." The Time Keeper felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The solution was as close to perfect as he could hope for. He would simply return things to the way they had been for Cordelia and her friends, and go directly to the source to solve his problem. Now all he had to do was get his gauntlet back.

He looked at Cordelia, who was beaming at this happy turn of events. "Well that's great!" she said. "I'll just finish my thing here, then you can go get your friend out, and…" she broke off, something in his gaze alerting her. With dismay, she stepped right into the hole she'd dug for herself. "I just convinced you to fight even harder to stop me, didn't I?" The Time Keeper nodded, and Cordelia sighed. "Well, crap." She lunged.

Below, Doyle hurried to the next hatch, trying to walk and see what was happening up on the catwalk at the same time. He couldn't see very well due to the angle, but it looked like they had resumed fighting. Focus, he reminded himself. He had to focus and get the Listers out; the sooner they were safe, the sooner he could go help Cordelia. But the pressure he'd felt earlier continued to build. With every step he took he grew more certain that whatever was supposed to happen here would be unavoidable. It was as if there was some obscure destiny waiting for him that became more sharply defined as he neared it. As if he, instead of moving through his life toward this fated moment, was being drawn to the inevitability of his death. He swallowed thickly, trying to fight past the stifling weight bearing down on him, but it just got heavier and more persistent. He could feel it inside, now. He was going to die. He was sick with fear and regret, but Cordelia had given him a job to do, and he was by God going to get the Listers out. But every hatch he'd tried so far had been locked from the outside, and it was with a sinking heart that he led the half-demons to the last one. Grasping the wheel tightly in his hands, he threw everything into trying to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. "Locked, like the others," he gritted, releasing the wheel as his palms burned in protest. "Damn it!"

He looked up again, searching for Angel. The vampire was currently being flung over the rail of the catwalk by the Scourge Leader. The fanatical demon's legion was gone - burned, beaten and scattered - but he fought on. Angel grabbed the rail as he fell, avoiding the plummet to the lower level and he hung on grimly as the Leader advanced. Doyle started to race for the stairs to the catwalk, but a low-pitched hum distracted him. It sounded almost like the gauntlet had right before Cordelia fired it, only…bigger. He looked up, gaping. The beacon was glowing.

Up on the catwalk, the Leader looked up with a grin of triumph just as Cordelia looked up with horror on her face. The distraction allowed the Time Keeper to land a heavy blow to her head, knocking her down. Dazed, struggling not to vomit from the brutal combination of pain and terror, Cordelia pushed herself up again. "Don't you get it, horn-brain?" she shouted at the suddenly confused Time Keeper, "That thing will kill us all!"

She used his moment of indecision to her advantage, desperation lending her a strength she'd never before possessed. She swung, the gauntlet adding weight and momentum to her ordinary fist clenched deep down inside. The impact was staggering, and Cordelia was just as surprised as the Time Keeper when the demon stumbled back and fell down. Sparing him no more thought, Cordelia ran up the catwalk…leaving his unconscious form lying there.

Angel also utilized the distraction of the beacon, swinging up to land back on the catwalk, one hand scooping quickly at the metal beneath his feet. The Scourge Leader stared at him, hate gleaming in his eyes. "You will never triumph," he swore, "the beacon will burn you all!"

"Yeah?" Angel asked, revealing the discarded knife that he'd just retrieved from the floor. "At least you won't be here to see it." The Leader didn't even have time to dodge before the knife was buried inside him, shredding his insides. His mouth dropped open in a silent scream and he fell to the catwalk, immobile. Angel left him where he lay and rushed toward Cordelia, who was approaching him quickly. Behind her, Doyle reached the top of the stairs and raced toward them.

They all met directly in front of the suspended beacon, on level with it though it hung well away from the catwalk. Angel looked down to see the terrified faces of the Lister demons staring back at him. He turned to Cordelia. "The Leader said…"

"Its light will kill anything with human blood," Cordelia confirmed. "Which would, naturally, leave us all very dead."

Doyle was alarmed. "Well, it's getting brighter and that doohickey…it's fully armed, isn't it?"

Cordelia felt tingles of apprehension and dread trying to numb her. She backed away a step as Angel peered through the brightening glow at the beacon. "Almost," he said. "If I pull the cable, I think I can still shut it off."

"How're you gonna do that without touchin' the light?" Doyle asked.

"Angel, it's suicide," Cordelia said weakly. She stopped retreating, feeling as though she were watching this scene from far away…too far away to change events that – for her – had already happened.

"There's gotta be another way," Doyle said, frustrated.

Angel looked down at the helpless Listers below, then at Cordelia. "It's all right," he said, and Cordelia realized then that he thought he was the one who was going to die. That she'd been trying to save him… had led him to believe that he was alive in the future because that was the way she wanted it to be.

"No," she whispered, echoing herself helplessly, hearing words in her head.

The good fight, ya? You never know until you've been tested. I get that, now."

Doyle didn't say it this time; of course he didn't. Her arrival in this time had changed things, and he and Angel had never had that conversation. But the sentiment was still there as Angel clasped the Irishman's shoulder. Their eyes met in silent communication, a wordless moment of understanding between friends. Doyle felt Angel's hand squeeze his shoulder once, in goodbye.

And then he swung, swung hard, and hit the vampire. Angel spun completely around, falling out and down almost in slow motion. He hit a string of chains hanging from the upper regions of the hold and sent them swinging on his way down. He landed hard, momentarily knocked out. Cordelia watched as if from a distance as Doyle looked up, came to her, his intent clear in his eyes. When he grabbed hold of her waist and drew her to him, she found that her hands were already reaching for him, pulling his head down to hers. Though she knew there was no mystical transference this time, he fused his lips to hers with a heat of passion and sorrow and regret and tenderness that took her breath away. She kissed him back with all of the urgency and desperation inside her, and then – too soon – he pulled away. Cordelia's heart broke at his expression. She'd seen it before, knew what was coming. I can't see this again, I can't, I can't…

Doyle touched her face lightly, knowing he was out of time but wanting to take one final caress with him as if to hold it, to cling to what might have been. "I guess there are some things ya just can't change," he said.

The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, wetting her cheeks anew. She clutched at his jacket where she still held onto him, took a deep, shaky breath. She was drowning in his eyes, remembering. Living it again. She heard his voice, heard him too in her head when he said, "Too bad we'll never know…"

If this is a face you could learn ta' love, he'd said. But he wouldn't say it this time. His features changed, morphed, but when it was finished it was still him. It was still Doyle, and for the second time in her life Cordelia found him behind his now red eyes, behind the spikes. Saw him for who he really was. When he started to open his mouth again she pressed her fingertips over his lips. Made him forget about everything else but her for just a moment. "I know," she said, and watched as the meaning of her words registered. Watched both the love and the pain intensify in his eyes, and she was glad he understood, because she wanted him to take that knowledge with him.

Then she pushed him.

Doyle's plunge from the catwalk was less spectacular than Angel's. It had none of the spinning grace that had defined the vampire's descent. There was no violent energy forcing him out over the hold; he simply fell down, arms waving, until he hit the deck. Luckily, he was stronger in his demon form and was not injured when he landed in an ungainly heap several feet in front of Angel, who was just coming to. Angel cast a brief, uncomprehending glance at Doyle before both men looked up to the catwalk, where Cordelia remained alone.

And she'd never felt more alone in her life. Distinctly aware of the pressure on her, Cordelia nonetheless remained firm in her resolve. She would not let Doyle die. She would not let anyone die this time, not when she could stop it. The gauntlet had turned most of the Scourge army into barbecue…she couldn't wait to see what it did to the beacon. Determinedly, she raised the gauntlet and aimed at the lethal weapon, pressing the first button on the handle inside. The ancient device responded by powering up, and Cordelia prepared to be drained of energy to fuel the blast.

But the blast never came.

Cordelia looked down in astonishment. The gauntlet looked all right, all lights were green and…okay, well there were some red ones too, but they'd been there before, hadn't they? Did she not have enough power left, or something? Had she broken it, somehow? Cursing violently, she remembered hitting the Time Keeper; the blow must have somehow damaged the weapon function on the gauntlet. And in the wake of her anger came the fear and awful realization of what she'd just done. All of her options were gone. Angel had been removed by Doyle, following the original course of events. In her desperate quest to save Doyle, she'd gotten him as far away from the beacon as possible. And now the weapon she'd counted on to stop it wasn't working, and there was nothing and no one left but her.

Panic rose up inside, threatening to immobilize her. She grappled with it, fought for control and tried to think of what to do. As the beacon kicked itself up to the highest level before detonation, and the glow began to become too bright to look at, Cordelia realized there was only one thing left to do. It didn't matter that she hadn't planned this, it didn't matter that she was only human, or even that she had more experience in waving pompoms around than in saving the day. The panic intensified, combined with despair and the fear every mortal has for death, but suddenly she realized it didn't matter. She finally knew how Doyle must have felt when he'd stood here…knowing that he was going to die no matter what he did. But at least his way, he could save everyone else. And now she stood in his place. Now it was up to her. There was no real choice.

Cordelia took a steadying breath, centering herself. The beacon swayed a considerable distance from the catwalk, and she remembered Doyle's jump in the original timeline. It had been magnificent, possible only due to strength and agility derived from his demon half. Cordelia didn't have the luxury of super powers…all she had was three years of throwing her body around on the Sunnydale High Cheerleading squad. She shut out the sound of the humming beacon, the sound of Angel's voice calling her name in growing alarm. She shut out the image of the steep drop beneath her, the heavy, frantic sound of her heartbeat, and raised her arms in the classic "High V" stance.

Jumping was relatively simple as long as it was understood that there was a certain amount of distance a human being could reasonably cover from a set standing point. That distance could be increased when momentum was harnessed in a running start, but she had no room to gather momentum. Distance could be also be lengthened by directing one's energy in the most efficient manner. The action of "winding up" with one's arms achieved the same effect as coiling a spring. When released, the maximum amount of energy funneled exactly where it was desired: into the leap. The "V" posture was simply an aesthetically pleasing final touch, but Cordelia took comfort in its familiarity now. She was going to need every edge she could get. She closed her eyes, remembering the uncertain hope in Doyle's voice…

An' if it had been me? Would you 'a jumped fer me?

In a heartbeat.

…and she jumped for him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel's hurried footsteps echoed hollowly in the stairwell as he descended another level into the depths of the Wolfram and Hart building. The meshed metal stairs thundered and hummed beneath his pounding feet, and to Angel it had the dead, empty sound of a tomb. Pretty apt, actually, since he was a walking dead man.

If they'd really muffled his senses to remain hidden from him until they were ready to spring their trap, then they doubtless had the ability to locate him at will, as well. Even now they were probably tracking him. For all he knew, a fresh squad of commandos was waiting at the stairwell access on each level. The instinct of self-preservation urged him to turn, go up, get out...but he had to know what was going on. Had to try to stop it, if he could, and so he went down.

He had no information to go on…there'd been no indication as to where this sacrifice was going to take place. It was simply instinct that drew him deeper. Whatever they were up to, it certainly wasn't going to bring peace and joy to the world, and such dark workings traditionally took place far away from the threat of light and open sky. Dawn wasn't far off, and Angel felt its approach acutely. Vampires were always keenly aware of just how much night they had left before being forced to retreat before the coming day…but something told Angel that if he failed to stop Wolfram and Hart there might not be a day to come.

And beneath all of that, another worry gnawed at him. The child was to be a sacrifice, Lilah had said, which implied that it was innocent. Evil things rarely got what they needed from sacrificing other evil things. Even Darla had been drawn to children, requiring ever more pure sources of blood to nourish the impossible life within her. The thing inside her that had a soul. The child that Wolfram and Hart wanted to kill…his child. He'd tried not to think of it that way – his – preferring instead to objectify it, designate it as quantity n, like an equation. Assume quantity A equals a vampire with a soul, and quantity D equals a vampire without a soul. Then A x D = n. The value of n had been a relatively safe unknown, up until about ten minutes ago. It was a comfortably fuzzy idea without any real substance. He'd accepted the reality that n was his offspring in concept, but it hadn't really hit him until just now that Darla was carrying his son or daughter. On the tails of that thought, he realized that from the beginning he had pretty much assumed it would be evil. He hadn't gotten attached to the idea of the child being his because he'd been sure, on some level, that it would be a monster. A demon. The sort of thing he killed every day. And so he'd kept his emotional distance from it (In his head he heard Cordelia, sarcastic as ever, "You? Emotionally distant? You're kidding!"), readying himself for the time when he would have to take responsibility for his actions. In light of this new information, however, the foundation of his preconception started to crumble and a truly awful sense of self-doubt seized him. What if he'd been wrong? What if the child…his child…was by some miracle innocent? A perfectly normal baby? Then through some action of his own this could be even more his fault. He suddenly felt that by trying not to care, he'd condemned his own child to death, and worse.

With this new, superstitious worry needling away at him, Angel flew past the door with the words "Ground Level" on it, continuing down into the sublevel section of the Wolfram and Hart building. The next landing was the last; it led to the parking garage. Angel knew there had to be another level, lower than this one, but there was no way to get to it from here. Stifling a curse, Angel decided not to go back up and find an elevator with access to the depths of the building. There was no time. The access door slammed back against the cement wall as he rushed through it, his eyes scouring the garage for the way down. It had to be here.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Blood thundered in Cordelia's ears as she raced down the corridor, still following Wesley's retreating form. She wasn't sure if the former Watcher knew where he was going, but his knowledge of the layout of the building had to be better than hers. Her brief conversation with Angel had cost her several seconds, and she'd fallen behind. She hastened to keep up, panic clutching at her each time she lost sight of Wesley around a corner. She was running two hallways behind when a black-clad arm suddenly jutted out in front of her. She couldn't stop fast enough to avoid the blow and went down, her head cracking hard against the floor before everything went black.

When next she opened her eyes, the black had been replaced by blinding white. Far away, she thought she could hear the sounds of fighting. It was dim, though. The shouts of warning and screams and things breaking were distant, like waking in the middle of the night to raised voices at your neighbor's house. Not that Cordelia had ever had neighbors who did such things…please. Domestic violence was for the sappy, spineless women on the Lifetime channel, telling their stories from the jail cell they'd been sent to after finally snapping and killing their abusive husbands. In the real world, Cordelia's world, when people got angry with each other, husbands had affairs and wives maxed out the credit cards.

But I don't live there, anymore, she thought with a silly sense of regret. The thought was random, as disconnected from what was going on as she was. She thought the sounds of fighting seemed a bit louder, but she couldn't manage to get up and go find out what was happening. So for a moment she just lay there, concentrating on blinking. More than anything in the world right then she wanted to be able to close her eyes and shut out the piercing glare that seemed to go right through her eye sockets and burn directly into her brain. Finally, after a Herculean effort, she was able to blink, and with the relief from the glare came her memory. No, she didn't live in Sunnydale anymore. She lived in L.A. She worked for Angel. Doyle…Doyle was dead. She was in the future, and they'd come to rescue Fred. Then someone had hit her in the hallway. Ambushed. They'd tried to escape, but they'd been caught. Where was everyone else?

She tried to sit up, finally registering the fighting sounds. Her throbbing head reminded her that she'd been attacked, and dizziness clutched at her, trying to bring her back down again. She fought against it, managed to sit up and steady herself. She looked up. The glare that had pinned her to the floor was nothing more than office-strength fluorescent lighting. Cordelia shook her head to clear it and was rewarded instead with yet more dizziness. But she was coming out of it…her thoughts were clearer; sounds were becoming sharper. At last she realized that the sound of fighting wasn't far away, as she'd first been led to believe…it was right here. Right in this room.

And she was in a room. At some point, while she was unconscious, someone had moved her here. Her, and the surviving members of Gunn's gang. In grisly detail, everything finally came into focus. The dead and dying littered the floor all around her. White walls had been painted red with blood. Cordelia looked around wildly for Wesley and found him; he was fighting a commando, his back to her. Defending her, she realized. Her and Fred. The tormented girl was lying next to Cordelia, still locked in whatever nightmare it was that kept her from waking.

Mindful now of the ensuing war around her, Cordelia reached for Fred, grabbing hold of her arms and dragging her backward. There was nowhere to go, no safe place to hide, so she tried simply to pull her as far away from the carnage as possible. They fetched up against the wall, and Cordelia tried to shield her unconscious charge as much as she could from the horrors before them.

Away from the thick of it, Cordelia could finally see the big picture. They were in a large, white room. At the far end there had been sliding doors, but they were smashed in now. At the center of the room was a monstrous contraption, all stainless steel and tubing and restraints. It reminded Cordelia of alien abduction movies, in which some Joe Normal hunter-type captive inevitably finds himself strapped down to some examining table as he is vivisected. And she wasn't far off, she didn't think, for strapped down to the table was Darla.

The vampire was clad in what appeared to be a hospital gown, and her legs were locked in place into two gleaming stirrups that rose from the table in an outward "V" shape. The formation of the table was obvious to Cordelia…this was a birthing chamber. This is where Darla would play her final part in the destiny that Wolfram and Hart had orchestrated for her.

Cordelia could see her struggling against the bonds that held her to the table, but they were too strong. Helpless, Darla gritted her teeth but couldn't bite down on the strangled cry that broke from her at the pain of her latest contraction. Above her, behind her, there was a large, swirling vortex. It defied comprehension. It was too huge, too much nothing to be in a space so small. It presented a hellish backdrop to the vampire's pain. With horror, Cordelia realized that whatever it was Wolfram and Hart were trying to bring here was waiting at the other end of that portal.

Numbly, past her terror, Cordelia wondered why she was here. Wondered why their enemies would have brought them right into the very heart of their operation, exposing it to danger. Then she thought of the smashed-in doors, and thought she knew. She had been brought here. She was the one who'd been attacked in the hallway; they'd brought her here as a lure for Angel. The others must have followed, come after her. They were responsible for the destruction at the hallway entrance. They'd come for her.

Stinging needles pricked her eyes…the tears that formed there were actually painful. She didn't even know these people, but they'd refused to abandon her. And now half their number was dead, and more would follow. And they'd all bought front row seats to the apocalypse.

Angel arrived like a sword of fire, cutting a swath through the men who dared to charge him. Closer, a knot of fighting came dangerously near, and Cordelia ducked and huddled closer over Fred as one body was flung through the air, landing heavily against the wall next to them before it fell to the floor. When she looked up again, she was horrified to recognize Wesley's lifeless eyes staring back at her. The ex-Watcher was still wearing his glasses, which had been broken and bore a smear of blood. "No!" she cried.

The knot unraveled, and Cordelia could do nothing but watch in dismay as the commandos got the upper hand against Gunn's friends. Angel stood alone, fighting viciously and effectively, but he was outnumbered. More commandos swarmed in with every moment, and beyond the shattered doors Cordelia could see Lilah Morgan directing them, riding the wave of death into the room. On the table, Darla writhed and strained against her restraints, and several men in the traditional green garb of ER doctors stepped around the few skirmishes still in progress. Where there were dead men, they stepped over. They huddled around the pregnant vampire, only their eyes visible above the surgical masks tied around the lower half of their faces. Behind them all, the vortex swirled malevolently. The cries of beings suffering unbearable torture came through the portal, filling the room with the sounds of agony and despair. Then Cordelia's view was blocked by one of the doctors, and she frantically turned toward Angel. If there was any hope left at all, it would lie with him.

In a haze, she watched him fight off the horde of black-clad men around him. She watched him bite and maim and kill. It all seemed unreal…could this really be happening? Everything seemed to be in slow motion; nothing seemed to be able to break through this thick layer of surrealism that surrounded her.

Until she heard a baby's cry.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The beacon was burning her; already she couldn't stand it. She remembered the way Doyle had held on, pulling single-mindedly at the cable as his flesh was seared away, not giving up until finally he'd yanked it loose. It was the last thing he ever did, and the terrible price had been his life. When he'd finally broken, just before the end, he'd been unable to keep the scream back any longer, and it echoed now in Cordelia's ears as she stood where he had and felt just how horrible the pain truly was. She fought the rising urge to scream herself as the burning light bathed her in fire, stripping away her sanity. She could barely think past the agony of it, and she knew it was only going to get worse. Through half blind eyes that felt suddenly dry and bulbous, she looked for and found the cable. There was no way she'd be able to pull it out using her left hand, her free hand. Her right still bore the gauntlet. She could shake it off, let it fall, but she remembered how long it had taken Doyle to free the cable from its socket. She didn't think she had even that much time left.

Throwing everything she had left into it, Cordelia smashed the heavy gauntlet into the base of the cable, where it was coupled with the display panel. It bent a little. She smashed it again. And again.

From the bottom of the hold, Angel and Doyle looked up in horror. They'd watched helplessly as Cordelia executed an amazing leap onto the beacon's platform, pulling herself up into the light. Now, though they could scarcely see her form through the brightening glow, they heard metal striking metal and knew that she was trying to disable the device.

Having shifted back into human form after his graceless topple off the catwalk, Doyle was dying inside as he tried to see Cordelia beyond the painful blaze of light. He was sick at heart, knowing that she was dying up there. And the pressure still bearing down on him was nothing compared to the guilt he felt...guilt like he'd never known it. Because he knew it should have been him.

Cordelia's whole world had narrowed down to the section of the display panel where the cable was connected. She couldn't have seen anything else if she tried; her vision had been burned away as if she'd spent hours staring into the midday sun. Her arms were blistered, her face raw. She thought she could smell the putrid stench of singed hair. But she kept hitting at the coupling beyond the pain, beyond all reason, gripping the handle inside the gauntlet tightly as she slammed it home over and over again. If she were going to manage this at all, it had to be soon. She was weakening quickly, feeling faint in the face of the overwhelming luminescence. Suddenly there was an intense flash of heat and energy. For a moment she thought she heard a familiar sound, a mechanical whine, and then she couldn't hear anything over the scream that tore from her. She couldn't hold it back as the light seared her. An enormous shock wave erupted through her, past her, taking what was left of her strength and reason. Her final thought was a wordless, despairing horror that she had failed. Then she let go, and darkness swallowed her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel heard the cry, too. His head snapped up, eyes searching out and finding Darla on the table. She was exhausted. Sweat had long since beaded on her forehead, and now it ran down her neck in little rivulets. Her hair was plastered down, and she was staring at the small creature the men in the masks had just taken from her body. Cordelia was too far away to see the look of wonder that may have been in Darla's eyes, but it didn't matter, anyway. One of the doctors – if that's what they were – produced a stake and jammed it into Darla's heart almost as an afterthought.

Angel noted the death, heard his sire's scream as she dusted, but his eyes were on the small infant held in the gloved hands of the head doctor. It had no real motor skills to speak of, but it kicked its feet slightly and clenched its fist as it tried to summon the breath for another cry. The whole room seemed to hold its breath along with it, waiting. When it came it was strong, alive and achingly innocent. And in that moment Angel knew the truth: his child was human. A miracle. It was his, and the people who had it were going to kill it.

With a wordless cry of defiance he threw himself at the men surrounding him, trying to break free of their circle. From the wall, Cordelia watched them yank out crosses that burned him and were meant to keep him penned. Angel let himself be burned and kept going. Everything was still in slow motion as he headed for the delivery table. Behind him, one of the commandos shot at him. The vampire jerked, but he kept going. A flash of steel from the center of the room drew Cordelia's attention back to the doctors. One of them had a silver dagger. He picked it up from a tray next to the table and held it out. Lilah was standing there, a mad sort of glee on her face as she took it from him. Cordelia could see her lips moving as she raised the dagger high above her head, its tip pointed sharply down at the squalling infant. Behind Lilah, the vortex had grown huge and swollen, gaping red like the maw of some giant, bloodthirsty creature. The screams of despair and pain intensified as something started to push through the portal. She heard Angel shout in helpless agony, a useless plea, but it was too late, too late.

And then the blade came down.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel and Doyle raised their arms in self-defense as the beacon shattered and glass rained down on them. There was a sonic boom that rocked the entire ship, sending not a few Lister demons to their hands and knees. Doyle fought for balance, brushing shards of glass out of his hair impatiently as he looked up. Whatever Cordelia had done, it had devastated the beacon. It swayed violently, a burned-out hulk of twisted, black metal. There was no sign of Cordelia, and a disbelieving sob tore its way out of his throat before Angel grabbed his arm. The vampire's grip was painful, urgent, and Doyle looked down again at him. He followed his gaze, heart leaping with guarded hope when he saw the fallen figure lying on the deck. "Cordelia," he breathed, and ran toward her.

When he got to her he dropped to his knees, turning her over. Shock jolted through him when he saw her long hair, her slightly younger face. It was his Cordelia. Not the one who'd just been up on the beacon's platform…the one that had been snatched away from this time over a day before. She was back. He didn't know how or why, but she was back and she was alive. And what was more, he felt free. The pressure that had been bearing down on him since they'd boarded the Quintessa was gone.

Cordelia's eyelids fluttered, then opened, and the shocked recognition in them when she saw him alleviated a generous portion of his worry. "Doyle?" she asked, and her voice was tremulous…afraid to hope. He knew the feeling. His heart wrenched at her haunted, traumatized expression, and he wondered what she'd been doing. What she'd seen that left her so terrified. He held out a hand to help pull her to a sitting position; to his surprise she slid further up, falling forward to embrace him desperately. Her arms went around his shoulders and held tight as she said his name again as if trying to convince herself that he was real. She was overwhelmed. He was here, he was alive, and all of the horrors she'd just seen hadn't happened yet.

Angel watched as Doyle, obviously surprised but pleased, returned the embrace. Over his shoulder Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut, her expression a portrait of profound relief. "You're alive," she said tearfully after the long moment, pulling back. "She did it, she didn't let you die. I knew I wouldn't just let you die!" She panted, then finally paused and looked around. Took in the carnage of the cargo hold and the confused and frightened Lister Demons. "God it's real…all of it. I'm really here." She looked back at Doyle, then Angel. "And you're alive. Both of you. Everybody's okay. We're all okay."

Overcome, she hugged Doyle again, blind to the lingering worry on the Irishman's face as he looked at Angel over her shoulder. The vampire swallowed, glancing up at the ruined beacon before returning Doyle's gaze. They had their Cordelia back…but what had happened to the other one?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Awareness came to her slowly, and the first thing she became conscious of was that there was something cool in her hand…something cool and smooth. She drew it toward her and looked at the object dumbly, not understanding. It was a mug. Green and empty, it sat in her palm and she got the weird impression that it was looking back at her expectantly.

Cordelia blinked, breaking the odd moment of surrealism, and everything came crashing back to her. The Quintessa, the gauntlet, the beacon. Failing to shut it off before succumbing to the intense heat and pain. The pain as the light reached full strength, as it killed…Oh God. Had she killed everyone by trying to save one person's life? Had her decision murdered them all?

"She break another mug?"

The voice startled her, and she turned sharply. It was only after she lost her balance that she realized she'd been standing on a stool next to a high cabinet. With a crash the mug fell from her hand and shattered against the floor. Cordelia stumbled, reaching out instinctively to stop her fall and found Angel there, suddenly supporting her. He wasn't quite quick enough to keep her from falling, but he did save her from the impact. She stared up at him in astonishment as he gently let her feet find the floor. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Startled wasn't the word for it. For the first time Cordelia noticed her surroundings, taking in the familiar setting around her. The refrigerator, microwave and stove of the hotel kitchen. She was back at the Hyperion. The ruined mug lay in shards at her feet and its significance finally broke through her scattered thoughts. The mug. Did she break another…

She. Darla.

When it hit her, Cordelia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She was back at the Hyperion. She'd been getting a mug for Darla, who kept breaking them because she'd gone all psycho-vamp in the midst of her impossible labor. Cordelia had failed, but somehow things had been returned to the way they'd been. Belatedly, she looked down to find her arms unscathed. She reached up to feel her face, which was smooth and unburned. Confusion set in. It had all happened, hadn't it? Suddenly she remembered the Time Keeper telling her that the gauntlet would always find its way back to him. She must have lost it. He must have gotten it back and put things right, the way they'd been originally. Unless she was simply insane.

The last day and a half had been…what? A dream? An alternate reality? Despair settled over her. What did it matter? Whatever it had been, it hadn't changed anything. They were still at the Hyperion, Darla was still going to give birth to the demon child from hell, and Doyle…

Cordelia closed her eyes as a pain of the purely emotional kind gripped her. Doyle was still dead. It had all been for nothing, then. Worse than nothing, because she'd thought she could save him. Because in that short time she'd remembered what it was like to have someone in her life who thought she was special. Because she'd fallen for him, daring to dream of a better future, and she'd lost him all over again.

When she finally met Angel's eyes he must have seen the pain there, because he kept a supporting hand under her arm. "What is it…what's wrong?"

She shook her head, too upset to speak. Just then there was a noise from the hallway, and Gunn entered the kitchen. He held a beer bottle, and he looked more jovial than Cordelia could remember seeing him, outside of the times when he got to show off his superior Playstation prowess. Gunn didn't seem to pick up on the dark atmosphere in the kitchen, possibly due to the beer. "Hey man, Wesley said to tell you Buffy and the Sunnydale gang are here. He'd have told you himself, but he and Fred are…well, him and Fred. They're a little busy."

He grinned as if Cordelia was supposed to understand what that meant, and she fought past sudden confusion, shaking her head. She latched on to the one thing that had come through clearly, even if it didn't make any sense. "Buffy?"

She looked to Angel, who had brightened considerably and was already turning to leave the kitchen. As if suddenly remembering that something was wrong with Cordelia, he turned back reluctantly when Gunn answered her. "Yeah, Buffy. You know, the chick who used to be the slayer? For the Shanshu party…hello? It was your idea."

Angel chimed in. "Remember, you sent all the invitations with the little beating heart in the coffin to celebrate my new mortality? That was kinda morbid, by the way." Gunn nodded, agreeing.

"Shanshu party?" Cordelia repeated. Boy howdy, if she'd thought she was confused before… She appealed to both men, desperate for some kind of clarification. "What's going on? You said she broke another mug…"

Gunn took a swig, breaking it off with less grace than haste as he nodded, agreeing again. "Yeah, I'll never understand how Alonna can be so kickass in a fight, but take her out of the life-threatening situation, put her in a room with some innocent, harmless crockery, and suddenly she turns into Clumsy Smurf." He shook his head in mock-resignation. "She's been that way since she was a kid."

"Alonna?" Cordelia felt incapable of independent thought. All she could do was stand there and repeat each new startling revelation. But somewhere inside her, a dim light of hope started to burn brighter as she began to understand. New excitement struggled up through the cold, bitter disappointment of her failure, and she looked at Angel. Like Gunn, he was happier than she could remember seeing him. Over the past two and a half years she'd seen him smile only seldomly. She could scarcely recall him ever actually laughing. If she were honest with herself, the entire time that she'd known him he'd been happiest when he was with Buffy…before they found out about the curse. After that, it was obvious that he still loved her, but it was an angsty kind of love. Somewhere inside he'd known that he couldn't really be with her, and so joy was forcefully watered down to a gentle tenderness, shadowed by melancholy. Now, he was grinning like he hadn't a care in the world. His eyes were actually twinkling. There was a bounce in his step, and he appeared flushed.

Flushed? Cordelia looked closer, hoping against hope. Sure enough, Angel's pallor was no longer ashen; there was a new vitality to him. With dawning joy, his "new mortality" comment finally got through to her. Angel was human. Somehow things had changed. In this new, adjusted timeline Alonna had never been killed, and Angel had gone on to fulfill the Shanshu prophecy. Belatedly, she remembered the Time Keeper's words about the timeline and realized why they'd held such significance for her. There was no such thing as versions of people. There was simply one person, one person who reflected the timeline they lived in. Everyone here was the same person they'd been before she'd taken this journey…they had just been adjusted to this timeline. She wasn't sure why she still had the memories of that other timeline, but she didn't care. It was nothing to be concerned about next to this. This was amazing. It was really Angel, and he was really… "You're alive," she said, full of wonder.

Angel beamed back at her, confused at her confusion but too happy to explore it. Gunn nudged him. "That's right, and your very alive girlfriend is still waiting for you out in the lobby."

Needing not another word of encouragement, Angel followed Gunn out of the kitchen. A moment later, Cordelia heard him bump into someone, and then a lilting voice carried a hint of Ireland to her from down the hall. "Angel, man. What've ya' done with my fiancée?"

"She's in the kitchen," Angel's voice came back faintly as he continued on toward the lobby.

Cordelia started at the voice, fell back. She came up hard against the counter, bruising her hip, but the pain didn't even register. She needed the counter to support herself. Shocked, stunned from the barrage of new, wonderful information, Cordelia was unprepared for this. She wasn't sure she could handle it; she felt like she was on overload already. But at the same time, her eyes fixed on the doorway with shining, desperate hope.

When Doyle came through the doorway she felt as if her heart might beat right out of her chest. His physical presence here in this time was too amazing and marvelous to be true. But it was. He was here, at the Hyperion. He stepped toward her, cocking his head slightly in confusion when she gasped and pressed harder against the counter. She welcomed the bruises; the sharp, biting little pains proved that she was really here. This was really real.

Doyle stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat from his skin the instant before he touched her. He ran his fingertips down her bare arms, tugged her slightly toward him. She stumbled forward into him, into the circle of his arms. His face was suddenly inches from her own, and he leaned in to nuzzle along her jaw. His lips left a path of awakened nerve endings, his breath tickling her ear as shivers suddenly tingled all down her spine. "I missed ya' up front. What're you doin' back here?" he asked softly.

"Ah…a mug," she stammered, finding herself abruptly short of breath. "Alonna broke a mug, and I - " Cordelia's words were interrupted as Doyle claimed her mouth with his own, pressing her back up against the counter with his body. There was one moment of surprise, of displacement, then Cordelia yielded to the kiss. Her hands slid around his waist and up along his back seemingly of their own accord. His own hands came up to cup her face tenderly in his palms, holding her to him for a long, sweet moment. And in that moment she remembered. She remembered… …everything.

When he finally drew back, she found herself looking into light blue eyes that were now infinitely familiar to her. At the moment, however, they were bright with concern as Doyle took in her dazed state. "Are ya' alright, Princess?"

Cordelia looked at him in wonder, reeling from the host of new, amazing memories that had just added themselves to those of original timeline. Through tears that emotion had brought to her eyes, she smiled. "I am now."