It was dark.  Gunn tried to peer through the inky blackness that surrounded him but it was useless.  He wiggled his fingers in front of his face.  At least he hoped they were in front of his face, it was far too dark to tell.

He struggled to stand but thought better of it when his hand brushed something soggy and soft and decidedly unknown.  With no light to guide him, the roof of where ever it was that he was could be inches or yards from his head and a concussion was not exactly how he wanted to top off his day.

The one positive thing he could determine was that wherever he was, it was dry.  For the first time in at least a day there was no reverberating thunder, no blinding flashes of lightning, and best of all no cold piercing and downright wet rain.  His clothes were still wet though, which led him to believe that how ever long he had been out, it had not been terribly long.  He could feel the puddle of wetness he lay in and fervently hoped it was water rather than blood. 

So, he thought as he tried to piece it all together, the place was dry, he was still wet and relatively unharmed, and the only other object in his vicinity was wet and unmoving.  He rested his head against the cold stone of the floor and tried to gather what few facts he had together into some semblance of a plan of action.

The last he could remember was standing in the rain with Fred outside the Hyperion.  Yeah, she'd been worried because of the storm and they'd driven through the torrential downpour to relieve her fears.  They'd been on their way to the hotel when something knocked him flat and turned out the lights.

If it had sucked him into where he found himself, then it would only stand to reason that it would have snagged Fred too.  And there was the soggy soft something near him…  Worry for his girlfriend shoved aside any qualms he might have had about the unknown while he felt along the floor for the object he had touched. 

"Fred?" His voice sounded harsh in the void and the concerned tones echoed back at him until they rang too loudly in his ears.  "Fred?" He dropped his voice to a bare whisper.  "Is that you, Fred?"

His fingers brushed against what could only be sodden fabric and he tried to recall what it was that Fred had been wearing.  He could almost picture her as she had been in the restaurant, sitting in the warm circle of candlelight with a smile in her eyes.

"Come on, Fred.  Talk to me now…"

His fingers crept along the fabric, trying to distinguish the form it covered.  As he blindly tested the figure that unmistakably lay next to him, he became less convinced that it was Fred after all.  It was much too large, for one thing.  For another, he found a soggy loafer attached to one of its feet.  A ragged groan from the object beneath his tactile scrutiny stilled his fingers.

"Please, just be somethin' without horns or fangs," Gunn muttered as he slowly pulled away from the mystery form.

"Gunn?"

"English?"  Gunn scooted back toward the body.  "What're you doin' here, man?"

"I would imagine the same thing you are."  Wesley's voice was harsh in the darkness.  "Where are we?"

"Dunno.  One second I'm standing in the rain with Fred, the next… Wham!  I wake up here."

"Where is Winifred?"

"Not here that I can tell.  With any luck she's still at the hotel."

** *** **

"Fred," Angel softly called her name for what seemed to be the hundredth time.  He watched as she gave no indication that she had heard his voice.

The only words she had spoken since he and Cordelia had arrived at her bedroom door had been to solidify their fears that Gunn and Wesley were indeed missing.  Any attempt since those utterances to provoke her to speak had been met with stony silence.  The only sound besides his own voice was the light squeak of the magic marker's tip as it was drug against the wall.

His concerns grew exponentially with every stroke of the marker, every minute that passed.   He was at a loss.  Fred's withdrawal was no easier for him to deal with than Cordelia's pain.  To make matters worse, he found himself in the position of having to deal with them both simultaneously.  The fact that Cordelia had returned downstairs to begin a pain induced cleaning fit did not ease his mind any more than Fred's eerie calculations.

"Angel!"

The cry jolted him from his crouched position near Fred.  A sudden searing worry dashed through his head as he fled the room and descended the stairs.  His eyes swept through the lobby but found nothing that would lead him to Cordelia.

"Cordy!  Cordelia?"

He continued to walk through the entry until he came to her crumpled form.  Another vision had hit her with the force of a freight train.  Something had to give soon.  The visions were coming almost on top of one another, seeming to build with the severity of the storm that pounded the city outside.  And with Fred regressing…

Something had to give.

** *** **

Lorne trudged up the steps of the hotel, water sloshing over his shoes and unseen bits of debris trying to trip him as he made his way inside.  What a day to find himself walking back from an appointment.  Public and private transportation had both been an impossibility and although sweet Mrs. Harding had tried to insist that he remain at her home, Lorne had found himself worrying more and more about the rest of the team.

By the time he reached the hotel, the city was a black hole devoid of electricity save for the bolts of lightning that flashed overhead.  Within the confines of the Hyperion, Lorne found the same lack of electricity as he had witnessed throughout his walk.  While the darkness had made it easier to hide his differences from passersby, had there been any passersby out on such a night, it also made it more difficult to judge the terrain.

Candlelight cut through the darkness but did not manage to chase it completely away.  Lorne glanced around the lower rooms, watching for a familiar figure to appear in a doorway but none were forthcoming.  Resigned to tend to himself before he went traipsing off in search of whoever had light the candles, he sat heavily on the sofa.

Water poured from his shoes as he pried them from his feet and large slick puddles spread across the glistening floor.  Although his toes were soggy, they were unbruised, something that could not be said for his shins and ankles.  Little aches and pains shot up his legs as he stood.  It was a nuisance but he would undoubtedly live.  He was more concerned about the fate of his friends.

to be continues as time permits…