Epilogue: Whose Time is it Anyway?

"Some people never learn," said Ethan addressing the back of his companion's head.. "What did you expect at a Hellmouth, songs round the campfire? Cleveland's not so different from Sunnydale after all's said and done."

Rupert Giles wiped his hands, dusting off the remains of the vampire he'd just staked from his clothes. He swung round to face the cause of the recent outbreak of hubbub at the Hellmouth.

"But I thought you were . . . different that is. But all this . . ." he gestured at the carnage strewn across the now-closed Hellmouth and at Andrew tending to several wounded young slayers, "was your idea of a demonstration of your reformed character?" he asked scathingly.

"I'm disappointed in you, Rupert," drawled Ethan. "It'd take a lot more than a tin-pot-army behaviour modification chip to neuter me." Ethan turned and disappeared into the night. "Chaos looks after it's own, Ripper. You should know that by now."

-----------------

Lorne took another gulp of the Early Bird Special and tapped the rim of his glass. "Same again, and don't spare the special."

A hand reached over his shoulder and covered the glass. "No more," said a familiar voice. "You've had enough".

The bartender glowered at Gunn and emptied the cocktail shaker into the slops.

Lorne sighed wearily. "That's where you're wrong, Charles." He gazed into the remaining dregs of green liquid. "I haven't had nearly enough.

Gunn perched himself on the neighbouring bar stool. "Happy Hour?" he asked after reading the notice above the bar. "You're the only customer here, and you don't look too happy to me."

Lorne glanced upwards at the sign. "I think the term Happy Hour should be banned from the English language. There's nothing happy about this hour or any other."

"Oh," said the bartender glumly scanning the empty bar. "So that's where I went wrong. Well, what'dya know?"

"Not so much these days," grimaced Lorne. "But what I do know is I started drinking the moment that I found out that a girl I loved was gonna die." Lorne choked back a sob, threw back the remains of his drink, and held out his glass. "More sea less breeze, this time."

"Angel wants you to start tailing Illyria, keep tabs on her," said Gunn, shaking his head at the bartender. "He got you a little walkie-talkie and everything." He pulled a small, shiny handset from his pocket and held it out to Lorne.

Lorne looked at it suspiciously. "Illyria's still making the headlines, huh? Front-page news and a walking obituary." He took the proffered device and sighed. "Strange times."

"Strange times," agreed Gunn.

Lorne grimaced and shook his head slowly gazing at the bottom of the discarded tumbler. "Every time I get to the bottom of the glass, I hope that that last drop is gonna take me the distance." He placed a hand on Gunn's shoulder and levered himself upwards. "A simple plan that failed utterly," he finished bitterly. "Which is why I'm gonna heave my toushi off this stool, strap the bells back on, and with a smile and a quip, go back into the belly of a very ugly beast pretending I can help. 'Cause that's what the green guy does."

Gunn threw a brotherly arm over his shoulder and walked him silently to the waiting car.

------------------------------------

Spike crashed into the wall of the training room and crumpled in a heap beside the window.

"You're improving," said Wesley clicking his stopwatch and noting the time on his clipboard.

"Improving?" Spike pushed himself up onto one knee. "How'd you figure? I'm here, head through the wall again, instead of on my feet."

"Three minutes ten seconds between feet on floor and head through wall this time," replied Wesley, placing the clipboard into its wall-mounted wallet.

"Yeah, well that's as maybe, but she's still doing major damage, "complained Spike, using the window pillar to haul himself to his feet, examining his arm as he did so. "Think it's broken," he added frowning.

"Your wrist?" asked Wesley stepping closer to examine it.

"No, the bloody watch! It's stopped." Spike spun round. "That'd be your doing," he said indignantly to Illyria.

Wesley turned Spike's wrist over and peered at the dial, fingering the cracked glass. Spike doesn't own a watch.

Illyria regarded both men with a disinterested ice-blue gaze. "This is linear time of which you speak. It is of no consequence. Time does not exist until it cracks apart. Know that I am here to stay - whether you measure it or not."

Wesley tilted his head, anxious to learn more about her power over time. "When did it crack?" he asked.

Illyria's eyes glazed. "You are so concerned with dates, with times – with reality."

"Y – e –s," replied Wesley slowly. He scrutinised her face. "Reality's being changed."

"Define the change you perceive," said Illyria. "The world is as it is."

"Not necessarily." Wesley turned to leave the room just as Angel pushed open the door. "Angel." Wesley nodded in response to the silent greeting. "I'll be in my office, if anyone wants me."

Illyria watched him leave, her face expressionless. Turning her back on the two vampires, she inspected Wesley's clipboard.

Angel drew Spike to one side. "You've got to stop." he whispered.

Spike frowned. "Stop?"

"These sessions."

"Not bloody likely. Almost got her tapped. That time-stop thing is a right pain, but I'm starting to suss out her million-year-old moves. Cheeky minx she is. Changes the rhythm just when I get into it - little jujitsu, then a little Bruce Lee. The bitch has a kick straight from the handbook. She probably wrote it."

"You have to stop," hissed Angel.

"Now hang on," complained Spike. "Only just getting' the gist of it. Testing her has sharpened moves I didn't even know were rusty."

Angel looked across at Illyria. "We're not testing her, Spike. She's testing us."

There was a low tap on the door. It swung back immediately, revealing a tall, well-dressed man who scanned the room. "Oh, sorry for the intrusion, I'm Marcus Hamilton, your new liaison to the senior partners."

"You're what?" asked Angel. "What happened to Eve?" He approached the man cautiously, taking in the cut of his jacket, the quality of the material. This man reeked of money, from the top of his expensively coifed hair, through the scent of his designer after-shave, to the toes of his highly polished Italian-leather shoes.

Marcus didn't flinch under Angel's scrutiny. He tightened his tie and gave a small smile. "Along with her immortality and certain other privileges, Eve has signed over her duties to me." He strolled past Angel and addressed Spike. "She's a walking nightmare, isn't she?" he commented, gesturing at Illyria.

"Well put."

"And yet Mr Wyndam Pryce seem to be the closest thing she has to a friend."

Spiked snorted. "If you knew him, you'd realise just how bloody stupid that statement is."

Hamilton turned back to Angel. "Well, the partners know her. Yes," he said at Angel's look of astonishment. "They go way back. They don't want her here. They don't want her anywhere . . .at all. But they consider this to be your problem, so . . ." He turned to go. "Oh, one more thing. You might tell Mr Pryce that what he's looking for isn't in this dimension, or this time." Hamilton opened the door. "Tell him to consult the books. They have the answers." He gave Spike a smile that never reached his eyes. "Have a nice fight."

Angel and Spike looked at one another for a moment then turned their attention to Illyria. She stood motionless, looking up at the viewing gallery window, contemplating the fine fissures in the glass only she could see.

Spike sniffed loudly. "Right. So I'll stay here then. Keep an eye on the Blue Meanie."

--------------------------

Angel stepped out through the doorway. He heard the ping of the elevator arriving followed by the swish of the opening doors.

"Hey Dad!"

Angel turned at the sound of Connor's voice and watched him step from the elevator. "What? What're you . . .?" Angel mumbled in shock.

"Dad?" Connor brushed past him and walked towards a middle-aged man standing in the doorway of Gunn's office.

"Yeah. It's okay, son. Come on in. Mr Gunn is going to sort out something for us right now."

Author's note: Many, many heartfelt thanks to my betas; bogwitch, onetwomany, Late Starter. It wouldn't have been possible without you guys. And, without ceit, kellyhk, estepheia, and paratti, the research would have been much harder. Bless you all.

To my readers. Some of the dialogue in this chapter is based on lines from 'Origins' and 'Time Bomb'.

That's all folks!

Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for staying with it. Thank you everyone who took the time and effort to give me feedback. I had great fun, some sleepless nights and a whole lot of angst writing this. But, on balance, it has definitely been worth it. I've not only developed as a writer but also as a reader and for that I am truly grateful. Sorry to those of you who wanted a happy ending – not gonna happen. It's not all doom and gloom, though. There are possibilities, even for poor Fred.