"It's not about brains, not logic. Not about waiting to suss out the consequences. Why don't you ever understand that? It's about love, passion, the kind that grips you and won't let go." Those were the last words Spike had with him before leaving for Sunnydale, even after all of Angel's protesting. That was a week ago. He thought about calling Willow to warn them, but ultimately decided against it. What would he really say to explain it?

Since Spike left he found that his mind wandered more than he felt it should. Sharp, deep intakes of unnecessary breath immediately followed images that flashed though his brain. Connor, Cordelia, Fred, Wesley. He couldn't make it stop. He couldn't escape himself. And even worse than that was the constant and ever present reminder of what he was and what he had turned into.

He tried to avoid his other, younger, self and hide in a room that he had chosen. Dark maroon walls and deep black velvet curtains encased him giving him a certain sense of privacy that he had been sorely lacking since they arrived. Illyria still barged into his room uninvited, although to be fair, not totally unwanted. Her frank and often, at least to the others, unwelcomed truths often gave him an odd sense of comfort. They often went to visit Gunn during the night went the others were either preoccupied or sleeping. No one really seemed to mind their absence, or notice. It seemed like they didn't much like them around anyway. He couldn't really blame them; all they ever had to give was bad news.

He thinks the Buffy thing was what really did it. At first no one believed him - again he couldn't blame them. There were fights, fists, fangs and blood. He was surprised at how much blood there had been. Of course it was all from him and his other self, and a little from Spike, who mostly just seemed happy to hit them both. But most was from him. He felt like it was right for him to get beat down, like somehow he deserved it. Cordeila tried in vain to break them up. The others just let them have at it, as if they knew it was a necessary evil. He remembered a time during his idealistic phase when he thought there was no such thing. A lot has changed. A lot.

There was a knock at his door breaking him out of his reverie. "What?" he sounded harsh and angry, he wasn't sure why, he felt more tired and broken than angry.

"Open the door." It was Cordeila "And don't say no, I have a key."

He got up out of the chair he had been wasting his time in and walked over to the door. He opened it sharply and stood covering the entrance to his room. He sighed heavily "What do you want Cordelia?"

"Nothing." She said, almost as if she were insulted. Then pushed past him and entered the room, even though she knew he was trying to avoid that. "Here." She presented him with a mug of warmed blood. "I thought you might want some." She smiled at him. And when she did it lit up his dark world for a moment.

He took the mug from her and peered into it, examining its contents like they were a mystery. He looked up at her "Uh...thanks." He fidgeted the mug around in his hands anxiously. He had been trying to avoid being alone with her. He wasn't totally sure why.

"Look Angel, we have to talk." Once she said those words he it suddenly came to him why he had been avoiding her. What did she want him to say? None of it was going to be good. Nothing had been good for a long time. "I don't know if you are trying to go for the Gold in the brooding Olympics or something, but you staying locked up in this room all day and all night isn't a good thing."

He walked slowly back to the chair he was sitting in and placed the mug down on an adjacent table. When she walked in the room he caught the smell of citrus and honey from her. It reminded him of a long time ago, or actually, right now. Everything was so confusing.

Cordelia walked further into the room approaching him with what he took as caution. 'Is she afraid of me?'

"Angel?" he was lost in thought, not really paying attention to her

"Yah, what do you want to talk about?"

She hesitated. "What – what else happened? I've thought it over for a while now and what you are saying just doesn't add up. I need to know what caused all of this to happen, and I need to know it now."

He plopped himself down in the chair again and sighed as he did so. "Your right, there is more to tell, but I'm not really sure you want to know it."

"It's bad, huh?" She sounded innocent "Of course it's bad, why you would keep fluffy puppy secrets from us?" She was talking to herself

He just gave her a long, confused yet interested gaze as a response. Of all the things that amazed him the one thing that seemed to hit the hardest and most often was how much he missed her. She was beautiful with sun kissed skin and golden highlights. He remembered not letting her know how much he cared when he had the chance. Maybe he could make up for that now?

"I'm not leaving this room until you tell me something, so spit it out mister."

Illyria walked behind Wesley who was looking more than a bit frazzled at this point. They had gotten a case about what they figured to be a nest of Funglak demons. However they had been unsuccessful in tracking them down. He was pulling out another book from the book shelves that was looking more and more bare as they ended up gathered around the office desk.

"If you tell me what you are looking for I can help. I know things." Illyria stated, he voice smooth and even.

"You want to help?" his voice held a bit of surprise

"Is there something inappropriate about that?"

"No, no, of course not, it's just that from what I've gathered you seem to think all of our effort is futile." He starred at her quizzically, trying to get a read on what she was looking for.

"It is. But I have learned that this does not detract from your mission."

Wes looked up from his book "In the end for you, back there, was that what it was? Futile?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the past events. The only one that stood out was the only one that always stood out, and that was Wesley. Bleeding and dying and beautiful - the only thing that mattered to her. "You died as I held you. I felt your life pass beneath my hands. The blood was warm and smooth; it was consuming."

He was silent when she looked over at him, waiting for him to say something. He wasn't sure what though. What could he really say? Was he supposed to make her feel better? Did she even have feelings? "Well, death doesn't make a cause futile, Illyria."

He sounded like an instructor, which made her smile inside. Her eyes locked on his. They were blue like the sky and held a sparkle that she hadn't seen before. She wished her own held the same glint of light. "What good did your death bring?" She was mad, her voice moved from its steady tone in to something with a bit of an edge. She didn't really understand why he made her feel these things.

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"But you were." She stepped closed, with only the desk now separating them "You were just buried deep inside. I didn't recognize it then, but it was you that I saw in the final moments."

"What changed?" This conversation was so morbid. He didn't necessarily want to participate, but it was too late now.

The answer came simple and quick "Love"

Her answer caused him to look down at the books in front of him. He felt embarrassed "For you?"

"No, for her." She gestured to her form.

'Fred.' He didn't say anything. Just stood there silently looking at his books, playing with the edge of a page. His mind finished the war it was waging on it's self he sighed slightly, looked up at her and said "It's a Funglak demon. Do you know anything about them?"

He was quiet and timid and blindingly perfect. She wondered if she had offended him and thought she should ask him, but allowed him to change the subject. "I do, would you like to know?"

"Yes, please."
"Please don't be mad at me." Angel pleaded with her

"You slept with Darla! Jesus Angel! What were you thinking?!"

"I wasn't. I was upset, she had come back and you guys were gone..." He though for a moment "It wasn't one of my shining moments. I consider it a beige phase."

"We weren't just gone, you FIRED us! It is a good thing you are not human cause if you knocked up your little hussy of the night I would have never let you hear the end of it."

He didn't say a word. He just sat there swirling the remaining blood around in his cup and averted her increasingly piercing stare.

"Oh my great god in heaven! What did you do? You didn't do what I think you did, did you? You couldn't of, could you? I mean, no?" He looked up at her with pleading brown eyes "NO! No way!" she shrieked out
"They are arguing." Illyria looked up from her research book that Wesley had assigned to her.

"Hmmm?" replied Wesley, pen in mouth and 3 different books opened up in front of him

"Angel and Cordelia, they are arguing upstairs, I can hear them."

"I don't hear anything."

"You are not me."

He contemplated that for a moment. That's a good thing. "Should we...maybe...go up and find out if everything is ok?"

"Probably not. They are discussing the theft of the child. As I recall you don't care for that memory much."

He dropped his pen and looked up at her alarmed. "The theft of whose child?"

"Angel's"

"I think we should go upstairs."

TBC...

A/N: Sorry it took so long for this chapter. I had to find a certain level of inspiration and it took longer the I anticipated. I know a lot of the information in here was not exactly new, since it happened already, so I hope I captured a less then boring view of the events. As always any questions suggestions or comments are always appreciated. If you would rather email me you can catch me at pnkrkrlz hotmail.com. Hope you enjoyed the read.