Angel sat surrounded by all the comforts that Wolfram and Hart had brought him. Comfortable leather chairs, necro-tempered glass, all the animal blood he could ever want, riches, power, the works, and for all of it, he was yet unsatisfied. None of this was what he was looking for.

He was brooding.

He didn't know what to think about the most recent development in the lives of his friends – in the lives of his family; his disfunctional, helpless helping family.

Fred was alive.

The thought of it gave him hope. It gave him another reason to keep fighting. Her soul had not been lost. His dear, dear friend was alive.

But with Fred's resurrection, all his plans had been derailed. If he was going to get into the Circle of the Black Thorn, he needed the Senior Partners to think that he had sacrificed her willingly. Her subsequent resurrection threw that into doubt. To make matters worse, in all the confusion following her return, the Fell Brethren had been ignored, the expectant mother had gotten second thoughts about the arrangement, Senator Brucker's needs had not been attended to, and the Circle had put his request for entry into their order on an indefinite hold pending evidence of his true conversion to their cause.

The Apocalypse continued.

Hamilton had expressed great interest in meeting with Fred. The moment the man had asked about it, he had decided not to allow them to meet outside of the work place. He couldn't afford to alienate Hamilton, however; he couldn't afford to make it look like he was protecting Fred.

He grimaced, and he carefully considered how he was going to handle his public reaction to Winifred Burkle's return to life. There were pitfalls on either side, and his one guiding light was gone.

Cordelia was gone.

But he still had the vision she had left him with. Though he had not experienced any others since then, he still had that. The powers had shown him the Circle. His attempt to gain access to them had been foiled by the resurrection of his friend. What was he going to do about it?

It was going to be a very long night.

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A Kingdom By The Sea
An Angel Crossover Fanfic
by P.H. Wise

Chapter 2: A Bringer of New Things

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. I don't own Highlander. I'm not making any money off of this.

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Charles Gunn arrived at Fred's apartment at 6:30 in the evening. The Westering sun hung low near the horizon, but it was not quite ready to set just yet. It had been nearly two weeks since Fred's resurrection, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of her in all that time. The party they were planning was being continually put off until Fred was ready. But he was beginning to doubt that she would ever be ready. Being host to an Old One probably did a number on a person. A wash of fresh guilt rose up within him, and he burned with it. It was his fault that this had happened to her, he knew. He crushed the thought as soon as it formed, but that did not stop the guilt and the shame of it from lingering on for long minutes afterward.

He knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

After about a minute, he knocked again.

No answer.

At length, he tried the door. It was unlocked.

He went in.

She was not in the entryway. Much else was. It was cluttered with scribbled notes and books and articles of clothing. Gunn raised an eyebrow.

He made his way into the apartment. "Fred?" he called.

No answer.

He found her huddled in a corner in the bedroom, staring at her hands. She was clean, and she was wearing a very flattering dark red dress. She still looked like Illyria, but the Old One's monumental arrogance and self-possession wasn't there in her face. It was Fred. Shards of broken glass lay scattered about the room.

"Fred?" he asked. "You ok?"

She didn't respond at first. She looked at him as though from across a great distance. Then her expression grew clearer, and her eyes focused on him. "Charles?" she asked.

"We've been worried about you," he said, squatting down to bring himself level with her as he looked her in the eyes. "You don't call, you don't write, only one that's seen you in weeks is Wesley. A brother might start to think he was unwanted."

Fred smiled weakly. "Not unwanted. I just... it would be awkward."

"You think you're gonna be ready to come back to work some time soon? We miss you there."

"I think it ain't unreasonable to take a few days off on account of having come back from the dead," she replied.

"OK, you have a point. But you should at least get out of the apartment. It's not healthy being shut up in here like this, Fred."

Fred shook her head, staring down at her hands. "I can't go out in public, Charles. Not like this. There'd be panic. Mass hysteria. All sorts of bad things."

Gunn's reaction was not what she expected: he laughed. He laughed out loud.

She gave him a questioning look.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he said. "Fred, this is LA. You really think anyone's gonna so much as blink at the way you look? People see you, they won't scream 'monster,' they'll think, 'dye and body paint.'"

Fred laughed somewhat hysterically. "After all," she said, "Why should this bother them if demons walking around in public doesn't? Just another makeup job. Probably an actor on his lunch break." She giggled, but the note of hysteria had not left her voice. "Just another form of self expression." Her mirth faded, and she met his gaze, looking altogether helpless. "It won't come off, Charles. I've scrubbed and I've scrubbed, and it won't come off. I dyed my hair brown but it's still blue. It won't come off."

Gunn looked thoughtful. "Well, Illyria could appear human if she wanted. Maybe you can too? Have you been able to use any of her powers?"

Fred shook her head. "My superpower is to not let them take me, not to change my shape."

Gunn gave Fred a strange look.

"Besides," Fred said, her Texan twang ringing out loud and clear, "the last time I asked her for a favour, she made me promise to do something for her in return. Maybe I'm being unreasonable, but I don't think it'd be a good idea to owe Illyria too many favours."

"You've been talking to Illyria?"

Fred giggled. That note of hysteria was back.

If Gunn had had hair, it would have stood on end.

"Well," she said, "Maybe 'talking' isn't quite the right word. She lives in the mirror, ya see."

Gunn looked around. Shards of glass. All the mirrors in the apartment had been shattered.

"OK," he said, "That's it. Shut up in this place for days with only Illyria for company? This calls for some serious intervention." He took her by the hand and led her towards the door.

"A spiritual retreat?" Fred asked.

"More or less," Gunn replied.

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

Wesley sat in his office, alone, working. He looked... calmer: calmer than he'd been in weeks - sane, even. His office was no longer cluttered, but once again well and even carefully organized. His underlings no longer feared to speak his name let he appear (though they still didn't much fancy running into him if they could avoid it). Altogether, he looked much better. Saner. Calmer. Happier.

He was bent over a mystic tome, studying it carefully. 'The Monstres and Their Kynde,' the cover read.

The phone rang. He answered it.

"Yes? Hello."

There came a pause.

"Yes, I can see how that would be a problem."

A pause.

Wesley thought for a moment. "... I'll be there," he said.

He stood up, leaving 'The Monstres and Their Kynde' lying open on his desk. He walked out of his office, and did not look back.

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

Wesley met Fred and Gunn some fifteen minutes later in front of one of the local demon run casinos. Instantly, his breath was swept away, and he smiled. Fred was unspeakably beautiful. But then, she always had been. "May I?" he asked, holding out his right hand. "You may," she replied, offering her own.

Arm in arm, with Gunn walking close behind, they walked into the casino. As they entered, the various people and demons near the entrance glanced their way, but beyond that, paid them no mind. Wesley heard Fred breathe an audible sigh of relief.

"Charles," Fred said as they entered the casino proper, "Isn't this the place..."

"Where I damn near lost my soul in exchange for my truck? Yeah."

"Are you sure it's such a good idea to come back here?"

Gunn shrugged. "The new owner isn't into the soul-trade. She's more the shameless thief of material goods type."

"That hardly seems a glowing recommendation," Wesley said.

Gunn only grinned. A moment later, the cause of his grin became apparent – Gwen Raiden stepped out of a back room, dressed to the nines.

"Charles Gunn," she said fondly. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Gunn smiled. Gwen came to him, and kissed him with passion. After a moment, he returned the kiss with equal intensity.

Fred and Wesley exchanged glances. 'When had this happened?' Wesley wondered.

"Did you miss me?" Gunn asked.

Gwen laughed. "Like a bad habit."

So the night began. Wesley, Fred, Charles, and Gwen began with a few drinks at the bar. After an hour or two, Charles and Gwen wandered off on their own, leaving Fred and Wesley to themselves. Neither of them seemed to mind.

Now comfortably buzzed, Wes and Fred were having a grand old time, their troubles forgotten, at least for a little while. At first self conscious, Fred visibly relaxed as the night wore on, and the name of 'Illyria' was the furthest thing from her mind.

It was perhaps inevitable that this would be the moment that that old ninny-woman, Fate, would step in and ruin everything. For just as Wesley had worked up the courage to kiss his lady-love, and just as she had finally forgotten herself enough to allow her to enjoy the moment, she stiffened visibly, and pulled away from Wesley.

A man in dark clothes with a trench coat had entered the casino.

"What's wrong?" Wes asked.

"My head feels funny."

Wes smiled. "You've probably just had too much to drink."

Fred put her hands to her temples. "No, it's more like... there's pressure on my head, and a sound like a buzz or something."

Wesley's eyes immediately widened. 'Damn,' he thought, sobering up very quickly as adrenaline surged through his system. "We have to go. Now."

"What?" Fred asked, not understanding his urgency. She felt a peculiar need to seek out the source of this feeling. She didn't really want to leave before she found it.

"Come on," Wesley insisted.

She stood there indecisive for a moment... and then nodded.

Immediately, Wesley took her by the hand and fled for the back door.

The man followed.

Out they went, out into the alleyway behind the casino. It was dark, lit only by the red glow of the exit sign. The nearest lights were on the street some fifty yards away. A dumpster lay close at hand, its lid flung open for all the world to see.

"Who is he?" Fred asked, her voice taking on a frantic note. "What does he want?"

Wesley shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I doubt it's good. Go," he said. "I'll deal with this."

"I'm not going to leave you alone to face... whatever that man is!" Fred said.

"Fred, this is something you can't face yet. You're not ready for this. Trust me when I say I will be fine. The Hyperion is near here. I'll meet you there, when it's over. Now go! No matter what you hear, don't stop until you reach the hotel!"

Fred hesitated a moment longer, then kissed Wesley deeply. He returned the kiss with everything that was within him. Then he pulled away. She nodded, and ran.

The man in the trench coat emerged from the casino's back door a minute later.

He was an impressive figure, well muscled, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard.

He drew his sword – an American cavalry saber from the early 1800's, unless Wesley missed his guess, and well cared for.

"Where is she?" the Immortal demanded.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Wesley said. "You can walk away. Forget you ever saw her."

"So, has she told you all about us, then?" The man snorted derisively. "It doesn't matter. There can be only one."

"Yes, I know. I intend it to be her."

The man laughed. "You're only a mortal. When you die, you'll stay dead. And then I'll have your dye-job girlfriend's head."

"I beg to differ," Wesley said.

"What? I'll only get her over your dead body?" the man raised his sword and stalked towards the ex-watcher, his face the very picture of supreme confidence.

"Something like that," said Wesley, and pulled two pistols out of his coat and shot the Immortal repeatedly in the chest.

The immortal's eyes widened, and he fell to the ground, his body wracked with pain. He coughed up blood, and he touched his gunshot wounds, and held up his own blood drenched hands before disbelieving eyes. "But I was to live forever," he said, a note of desperation in his voice.

Wesley pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on. "No one lives forever," he said, and picked up the man's sword, and then beheaded him. Wesley was not an Immortal; with no power of quickening to aid him, it took him several strikes to completely decapitate the fallen Immortal, but in the end, the job was done just the same. He discarded the man's saber, took off his gloves, and then strolled leisurely out of the alleyway, whistling quietly to himself as the Immortal's quickening rose up from the spot of his death in a terrific lightning storm.

But there was no one to claim it. And all he was was wasted.

Robert Hamer, Immortal, born in Virginia in 1790, who died his first death in the War of 1812, was dead, and all that he was passed out of the Game forever.

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

Gwen lay naked in her bed, with Charles Gunn asleep at her side.

He'd stolen all of the silk sheets.

Still, that didn't bother her. It was good. She was satisfied. They had made love, and she was in a good place. She was very satisfied, and she luxuriated in the feeling.

At times, she could hardly believe the degree of control over her powers that the Localized Ionic Sensory Activator had brought to her. But more amazing to her than the thought of not killing a person with her touch was the thought of physical intimacy. She'd never known it before Charles Gunn, and though there had been two other boyfriends since that first encounter with him, he was the one that her mind always went back to.

She was a thief, through and through. That's how she came to be the owner of the casino, actually. And though she no longer needed to steal, she had never been able to give up her old life. Because living a normal life as a respectable business-woman, demon casino or no, was boring.

Charles was exactly the wrong kind of guy for her.

A hero.

A good guy.

Go figure.

She shook her head bemusedly. And yet... and yet... she was in a good place, and she was satisfied. She felt as though a warm glow were filling her up with light. She felt peace.

She had not much more time to enjoy the feeling, however, as a sudden knock at the door interrupted her musing.

She took her time about answering it, still too relaxed, and still feeling too good to move too quickly. At length, and after several gratuitous stretches, she put on a silk robe, tied the sash, and answered the door.

A guard stood waiting for her. "Ma'am," he said, "There's a problem."

As he spoke, her good mood began to evaporate. A minute later, Gunn awoke to Gwen's irate shout of, "There's a WHAT in the alley?"

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

Fred stood in the Hyperion lobby alone. The hotel was silent, and a thick layer of dust had settled over everything. She was breathing heavily at first, and nearly panicked, but after a few moments in the solemn atmosphere of that place, her pulse slowed, and she began to breath normally.

The echoes of her breathing were almost deafening in that silent place. That silent place that had once been full of life and love: a place full of memories, both good and ill.

The lobby.

The office.

The settee.

The desk.

The stairs.

The door that led into the other parts of the hotel.

She remembered. She remembered this place. It was a good place. It was home.

After half an hour, Wesley arrived. He saw her standing silently in the lobby, looking about at the place they all used to work and live and love.

His expression softened like it hadn't in years.

For a moment, he was that same Wesley who arrived at Angel Investigations so long ago, the innocent 'Rogue Demon Hunter.'

He looked at Fred with great tenderness, and his chest seemed to expand with his love for her.

And then the weight of the intervening years settled back over him.

She turned around and looked the man she loved.

He walked to her and took her hand, and together they gazed upon the Hyperion.

END CHAPTER 2

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Author's notes:

Feedback is most definitely welcome – particularly constructive criticism. Nothing makes me happier than to know what specifically you (the reader) liked, what you didn't like, and (most importantly) why.