"You've got a visitor," the guard said in response to his questioning glance.

Lindsey McDonald smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. A visitor, huh? Great. Still, at least it was a welcome reprieve from the endless drudgery of prison life. What's worse, he couldn't just break out. Ok, well, he COULD, but he wouldn't get very far. Not with Angel, with all the resources of Wolfram and Hart at his fingertips, bound and determined to keep him behind bars. Sure, there weren't REALLY any charges against him. But when had that stopped Wolfram and Hart in the past? No, he was well and truly caught, and he knew it.

He followed the guard to the interrogation room. This wasn't normal. He found himself wondering who it was that had come for him. Angel, perhaps? Or one of his stooges? When he reached the interrogation room, the guard removed his shackles, and then left.

OK, definitely not a normal visitor.

Whoever it was wasn't here yet, though. He sat down and waited.

A few minutes later, the sound of someone approaching in high heels echoed down the corridor outside the room. The door opened, and a well-dressed woman walked in. A very familiar woman.

"Lilah Morgan," he said bemusedly, "Heard you bought it. Standard in perpetuity clause is a bitch, isn't it? But then, so are you."

"Hello Lindsey," she said, smiling unpleasantly.

He leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on the table. "How the mighty have fallen," he said.

"I could say the same about you."

"Yeah, but in my case, I can still look forward to tomorrow. You? The woman who was once a candidate for Junior Partner reduced to being an errand-girl for the higher ups?" He smiled viciously. "So how IS the hellfire treating you?"

"There's hellfire, and then there's hellfire. The punishment that waits for you will be far worse."

"Is that a fact?" he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to what you might think, I didn't come here to gloat over your failed ambition."

"Oh, but I was just starting to enjoy it."

Lilah was not amused.

Lindsey shrugged. "All right, what did you come here for?"

She opened her briefcase and produced a manila folder, which she set down on the table in front of him. "I'm here to give you a second chance."

A second chance? There's a laugh. "Angel's feeling magnanimous today?"

She shook her head, clearly amused. "Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey. You'll find that a few things have changed since Angel stuck you in here to rot. Angel's no longer in favour with the Senior Partners."

Lindsey raised an eyebrow. "What'd he do?"

"Oh, nothing much. He only killed the entire Circle of the Black Thorn, and then sent the entire Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart on an all expense paid trip to the Qortoth."

Lindsey felt a dull roaring in his ears, and the room seemed to spin for a moment. His jaw dropped open. "WHAT?"

"The Senior Partners' sentiments exactly," Lilah said.

Lindsey collected himself, struggling to regain his composure. "And you want me to take care of our mutual friend for you?"

Lilah nodded. "We've got both the human and demon world looking for him. The order of Taraka's sent their three assassins. But the Senior Partners don't believe that any of that will be particularly effective. They want someone more... familiar with the case to handle this."

"They want me?" Lindsey shook his head. This was not what he had expected when he'd walked in here. "In exchange for...?" he asked.

"Membership in the new Circle. They're looking for candidates. Admittedly, we'll be a bit crippled in southern California for quite some time to come – especially considering that we can't simply magic the building back into place. We still can't figure out HOW Angel was able to access the Qortoth. It should have been impossible. But there will be a new Circle."

"The circle is eternal," Lindsey said.

"The circle is broken," Lilah said. "But it can be mended."

Lindsey looked at Lilah then as if she were his salvation. It was a momentary break in his composure. He thought about it, and then spoke. "One other condition."

Lilah arched an eyebrow. "Eve?" she asked.

"Eve."

Lilah smiled. "I think we can arrange that. Now if you'll just sign on the dotted line..."

Lindsey did not hesitate.

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

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

Chapter 5: Of Journeys and Foolish Mistakes

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

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

It was near noon. The sun was shining brightly, and the air was thick with summer. In a rustic home in the San Rafael Mountains near Santa Barbara, a young man sat at the kitchen table, busily studying away. Sure, it was summer vacation, and sure, he had recently discovered that he had superpowers, but if he wanted to be prepared for his sophomore year at Stanford, he needed to get some work done before the school year started.

"Connor," his mother called as she walked into the kitchen, mail in hand, "There's a letter for you." She tossed it onto the table, and it slid easily in front of him.

He frowned. It was from Wolfram and Hart. From Angel. His father. Oh, he knew Angel was his father. His memories had been well and truly returned, though his new ones had not vanished. He remembered Qortoth. He remembered Holtz. He remembered Cordelia. He remembered Jasmine. He shut his book. "I'll be in my room," he said.

His mother nodded.

Once safe in the confines of his room, Connor was quick to open the letter.

It WAS from Angel. Last he'd heard, there'd been a terrorist attack on the Wolfram and Hart building, carried out by two American citizens and one British – Charles Gunn, Winifred Burkle, and Wesley Wyndham Pryce. Their pictures were shown fairly regularly on the news. He knew who they were. Fred. Gunn. Wesley. They had worked with his father. With Angel. Grimacing, he returned his attention to the letter.

'Connor,' it read,

'If you are receiving this letter, then the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart is gone, as is their leadership. I have no illusions. I know that a final victory against Wolfram and Hart is impossible. Their Senior Partners are eternal. They're in the heart of every human being, making sure that man's inhumanity towards man stays on course. That is the real Apocalypse. Not your every day demon out to end the world, but human beings hating and killing other human beings.

Nothing in the world is the way it ought to be. It's harsh, and cruel. But that's why there's us. Champions. It doesn't matter where we come from, what we've done or suffered, or even if we make a difference. We live as though the world was what it should be, to show it what it can be.

I don't expect to survive, but if I do, I'll try to contact you again. I don't know how much you remember, but know this at least: I love you very much, and I'm very proud of you. Stay on guard. They will probably come for you. Do what you can to protect your family.

Goodbye Connor

Angel.'

Connor stared blankly at the letter for a long time. His old memories surged up. He wanted to call Angel a liar. He wanted to hate him. He wanted to kill him. He wanted... he was crying. Not for the first time since the return of his memories, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had not been taken into Qortoth. If he had been raised by Angel, and Cordelia, and Fred, and Gunn, and Wesley. Would he be on the run with them now, barely more than a toddler? What if he hadn't slept with Cordelia? What if he had chosen differently when his mother's spirit had come to him to prevent the sacrifice of that innocent girl? What if...?

He crumbled the letter into a ball. He could not stop crying.

Should have. Could have. Would have.

"Take care of yourself, Dad," he said to the empty room.

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

Angel and company went north. And though it was long and dreary through the Central Valley on I-5 up to Sacramento, with endless farmland, and a faint odor of sulphur hanging in both the air and the ground water, it faded once they got up near Sacramento. The slaughterhouse right on the side of the highway an hour or two north of Bakersfield had been perhaps the most unpleasant sight (and smell) of the journey, with cows lined up in outdoor pens for as far as they cared to see, with isolated sprinklers showering a couple of them with water, and the slaughterhouse standing off in the distance.

North of Sacramento things improved. The smell vanished, and the countryside became more scenic. A few hours later, they left the central valley behind altogether, and passed into a beautiful woodland country. They crossed the Sacramento River twice, and then Fred pointed out the 'Redding city limit' sign.

Conversation had been sparse throughout the long drive. Twice, Fred had considered asking Wesley to explain Hamilton's words to her, and twice she had lost her nerve. And though she had not heard Illyria's thoughts again since her meeting with Hamilton, she felt the Old One's presence almost constantly, watching through her eyes, waiting for her chance.

Fred glanced down at the gas gauge. It was on the 'E.' She glanced over at Wesley, who was sitting next to her, with Charles on his right in the true passenger's seat. "I'm gonna pull off at this next exit for some gas," she said.

Wesley nodded absently, staring off intently towards the horizon.

Fred got off I-5 on Churn Creek Rd, and stopped at the Arco station on the right hand side of the overpass. She opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

It felt like she had opened the door to an oven. She began to sweat immediately.

Charles and Wesley got out of the car, then. "Damn," Charles said, shaking his head incredulously. "I thought it was supposed to get colder when you got further north."

"You'd think so, wouldn't cha," Fred replied, and went in to pay in cash for a full tank of gasoline. It was a relief to walk through the doors of the gas station – they had air conditioning.

Charles followed her into the station and retrieved the key for the restroom before leaving her field of vision.

The attendant stared at her. For a moment, Fred wondered what he found so strange about her appearance. Then the sense of Illyria's presence came over her, and she remembered. That is, of course, assuming he didn't simply recognize her from the description given of her on the news, though that didn't take into account the changes Illyria had brought to her appearance.

She paid for the gas, and went outside, shaking her head incredulously. Two dollars and fifty cents per gallon.

The heat struck her almost like a physical blow.

As she walked back to Angel's car, she noticed a woman standing by the door to the women's bathroom. A middle-aged woman with a weathered face. Her skin was leathery and heavily lined, but her hair was not yet gray. She held a cigarette in one hand, drawing in leisurely puffs even as she held an infant to her breast with the other. Smoking a cigarette and nursing a baby.

Fred looked down at her own blue-tinged skin, and suddenly felt very sad. She began to fill the car with gas.

"Something wrong?" Wesley asked, and stepped next to Fred.

Fred turned away from the woman, and gave Wesley a searching glance. For a moment, she said nothing, and then she got in the car, where it was air conditioned.

Wesley did likewise.

"I always thought I'd probably end up like that woman some day," she said, and pointed to the woman standing by the door of the gas station, who was seemingly oblivious to the summer heat.

"Back before I came to LA. That's one of the reasons I left home. I love my parents to death, but I never wanted to be just another small town Texas girl, and to grow up to be just another small town Texas old woman."

Wesley met Fred's gaze. "You could never be just another anything," he said.

She smiled sadly. "Maybe it would have been better if I'd stayed home with my folks. Lived that ordinary life. I might be well on my way to becoming just another middle-aged small town Texas woman by now."

"No," Wesley said. "Not better. Easier, perhaps."

Her smile was no longer quite so sad. He kissed her tenderly.

Gunn came out of the gas station, then, and glanced at the woman by the door. As he got back into the car, he shook his head incredulously. "There's something seriously disturbing about that picture," he said, rather nonplused.

Wesley and Fred exchanged glances.

When the tank was full, they replaced the gasoline hose, sealed up the gas tank again, and drove on.

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

Methos slept through his wakeup call, but with his reason for visiting Los Angeles now gone (as he saw it), there wasn't much point in getting up that early anyways. He got out of bed at noon, got himself a beer from the mini-bar (the bottle was woefully small), and sipped it as he watched the news.

Terrorists Attack Los Angeles! It was on all the major news stations. The Wolfram and Hart building had been completely destroyed, vaporized by a new kind of explosive. The site was being tested for radioactivity, but so far it didn't look like it was any kind of micronuke (which had been one of the popular early theories as to what had destroyed it). Three suspects were wanted in connection with the bombing. He'd seen the same report three times, so he paid it no mind this time.

After a few hours, he glanced at his plane tickets. He wasn't due to leave until tomorrow.

Damn.

He walked out into the square, into the blazing summer heat, and grimaced. Once again, he had worn his coat. He took it off, and found himself walking very close to the crater that had been left by the destruction of the Wolfram and Hart building.

It was very strange. The news had reported that all the buildings around the site had been evacuated. He had seen images of this. Supposedly, the entire area was under police quarantine. Yet here he stood at the edge of the crater, and there was not another human being, police, emergency worker, or otherwise anywhere within his field of vision. The building had not been evacuated. The hotel was still doing business. But no one was leaving the lobby. No one besides him, that is. The people around him had looked thoroughly shocked when he walked out into the square, but he had paid them no mind.

He saw the glint of sunlight off of something at the bottom of the crater. He was curious. He thought about it, estimating whether or not he could make it down there safely. After a moment, he determined that he could. The way down was smooth and firm – though the building was gone, the ground around it had not been very much disturbed, and even where there was damage, there was nothing in the way of jagged edges or other dangers. It was as if the material had not so much been damaged in an explosion as it had ceased to exist.

He went down into the crater.

There, at the very bottom, he found what looked like some sort of crystal-embedded sarcophagus. Why it didn't vanish with the rest of the building, he had no idea. But whatever it was, it wasn't something that he particularly felt like taking the risk of touching.

There was writing on it, but it was like nothing he had ever seen before.

He looked down. There was a crystal on the ground, and larger than any of the ones on the sarcophagus. He picked it up, and saw that it fit easily into a large empty socket on said sarcophagus, though he was not so foolish as to actually attempt to fit it in.

He shrugged, and pocketed the crystal. Perhaps it was valuable.

It was then that he sensed the presence of another Immortal.

He turned.

Marcus Hamilton stood on the edge of the crater, immaculately dressed, and looking down at Methos.

"Well, well, well," said Hamilton. "I never expected to see you again."

Methos smiled faintly, with neither his voice nor face betraying the panic that he felt. Damn. Damn. Damn. He should never have come into the crater. This was the second unnecessary risk that he had taken in as many days. What the hell was the matter with him? And yet... he had felt drawn to the crater. Drawn to the crystal. For a moment, he considered throwing it at Hamilton, just out of spite. "Brother Marcus," he said. "It's been a while. You've moved up in the world"

"And you haven't," Marcus said. "Still poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" He waggled a finger, as if Methos were a particularly troublesome child. "You should know better." He began to walk down the easy slope into the crater.

Methos backed away from Hamilton, up the other side of the crater. It was steeper, but still manageable. "I don't suppose you'd like to talk about this? Chat a bit? Catch up on old times?"

Hamilton cracked his neck, preparing for battle. "You know the rules. In the end, there can be only one."

Methos ran.

He scrabbled up the slope and out of the crater, and he ran.

And Hamilton was fast on his heels.

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

Lindsey had been at the San Francisco branch of Wolfram and Hart for two hours – a minor field office, to be sure. In the grand scheme of things, San Francisco was not terribly important at the moment, though the seers said that it might become so in the future (which was why they had the field office there in the first place) – and already he was disgusted with the way they were handling the problem of Angel Investigations.

They were lazy here. They lacked the proper motivation. He supposed it was probably because there was little in the way of supernatural evil here to begin with. And so far as Champions, the biggest threat was those three sister witches who lived on top of the major intersection of the area's Leylines. But they were not much more than a minor nuisance at the moment, caught up as they were in a conflict with a minor demon lord (not a client) with delusions of grandeur who had taken to calling himself 'The Source.'

As in, 'The Source of All Evil.'

He had very nearly laughed out loud when he'd heard about that one.

But they had bigger fish to fry.

The San Francisco office was not particularly well equipped, but it was the best they had in California with the Los Angeles office gone.

Lindsey shook his head. "No, no, no, you're going about this all wrong," he said.

"Oh?" Lilah asked. "How would you do it differently?"

"Look, you keep looking for Angel, he keeps hiding. You step up your efforts to find him, he just finds a deeper hole to crawl into. You need to hit him where he's vulnerable. Strike at something that he'd give anything to protect. And you have to make sure he finds out about it. Announce it for all the world to hear, and he'll come right to you."

Lilah raised an eyebrow. "And you happen to have a suggestion in that regard?" she said.

Lindsey smiled sunnily. "That I do."

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

Methos ran for all he was worth, and quickly left behind the deserted square, and came out into the crowded Los Angeles city street.

Marcus pursued him, heedless of the mortals that were now between him and his target.

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Hamilton shove his hand THROUGH the chest of a hapless mortal that had gotten between him and his prey.

His eyes widened. "Oh shit," he said, or at least the nearest Latin equivalent, and felt as though he had just made the understatement of the year.

And he ran. He tried to double back through alleyways, to lose Hamilton by taking an unexpected route.

No luck.

His heart was pounding like a drum, and his head seemed to throb in time with it, and he ran on. And Hamilton pursued him, not even seeming to exert himself to keep pace.

He burst into the hotel parking lot, and knocked over a chauffer as he did so. He didn't stop to apologize.

The hapless chauffer had only just climbed back to his feet when Hamilton threw him violently out of his way.

The chauffer hit the concrete wall of the parking garage with a sickening crack, and slid down it. Blood began to pool around him.

Methos ran on. He reached his car. He frantically unlocked the door and jumped in. He started the engine, and the tires squealed as he tore backwards out of his parking spot.

Hamilton leaped, and landed on top of the car even as Methos threw the car into gear and began to accelerate away. The Oldest Immortal did not panic when Hamilton tore a hole in the roof of his rental car. Instead, he slammed on the brakes.

With little to find purchase on, Hamilton went flying off the car, rolled for a dozen yards, and then skidded to a stop.

Methos slammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the car surged forward.

Hamilton was only beginning to climb to his feet when Methos ran him over. The weight of the car crushed him back down to the concrete. The car shuddered as it passed over his body, and then Methos was driving away at top speed, and Hamilton climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and clenched his fist until it bled.

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

That evening, Fred sat next to Wesley in the back seat of Angel's car, her head upon his shoulder. Lorne was asleep on the other side, and Gunn had only just dozed off up front. They were near the Oregon border (they'd passed the town of Weed about forty five minutes earlier), and Angel was driving.

She couldn't sleep.

Hamilton's words, spoken what seemed a lifetime ago in her lab at Wolfram and Hart, still rung in her ears. 'There's no reason for me to claim your head, and no reason for you to make a pathetic attempt to claim mine.'

She sat up and looked at Wes. "Wesley?" she said softly. "Are you awake?"

He shifted, and turned and looked at her. "Hmm?"

"You remember that feeling I told you about at Gwen's casino?"

"Mmmhmm," he said, barely awake.

"I meant to tell you – I felt it again at the welcome back party. And then Hamilton was there."

Wesley sat up, clearly alarmed at this bit of news. "Hamilton..."

"He met me later in my lab, and he said..."

Wesley sighed heavily. "I had hoped to have more time to ease you into this," he said.

"Ease me into what?"

"Perhaps it would help if you could tell me exactly what he told you."

Fred nodded. She told him. She told him everything that Hamilton had said.

Wesley let out a long, slow breath."I see."

"What did he mean, Wes?"

"Fred, when you came back..."

Angel and Spike were both listening now.

"It wasn't by accident. And it wasn't a miracle."

Fred listened patiently, waiting for him to continue.

"Fred, you survived being possessed by Illyria because you are Immortal."

Spike and Angel exchanged glances.

Fred couldn't help it. She laughed. Well, giggled is more like it. "Come again?" she said.

"There are some people who are born... different. They start out very much like the rest of us, growing up, sometimes growing old, and living more or less normal lives. And unless they die a violent death, they grow old and die just like the rest of us."

"But if they do die a violent death?"

"Then they wake up, sometimes minutes later, sometimes weeks, fully healed, and from that point on, never age another day. They are Immortal; they can not die unless..."

"Unless you cut off their head," Fred finished for him. She was no longer tired. She was no longer anything. Her emotions were in turmoil. She loved him, but he should not have kept this from her.

Wesley nodded.

"Then the man at the Casino..."

"Was an Immortal looking to collect your head."

"But why!" Her voice had a frantic note to it. "Why would he want to kill me?"

"Because in the end, there can be only one. When the Immortals have fought to the very last, the last of them will receive the Prize."

"The Prize?"

He shook his head. "No one knows. No one knows if it even exists. I'm sorry, Fred. I wanted to spare you this..."

She laughed bitterly, and Lorne awoke at the noise.

"What's all the hubub?" he asked sleepily, and fell silent when he saw the serious looks all around.

"So someone might try to cut off my head for a prize that might not actually exist? That's... great." The frantic note had not left her voice. "That's..."

Abruptly, she seized. Her jaw clenched, and she curled her hands into fists. Her entire demeanor changed, and her eyes seemed to freeze. No longer warm and inviting, but now cold, and harsh, like the very heart of winter.

"Fred?" Wesley asked, reaching out to shake her.

She caught his hand.

"Fredikins?" Lorne asked, clearly alarmed.

Illyria spoke, then, and her voice was like ice. "What have you done to me?"

Angel slammed on the brakes, and the car came to a screeching halt.

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

That evening, far away from the troubles of Fred, Wesley, and Illyria, Connor sat up long into the night, considering what he should do. Something was going to happen, he was sure of it. But how to best safeguard his new family? Could he convince them to leave, perhaps? To take a few days and go to Vegas, maybe?

Yes, that seemed like it might be the best plan. He doubted they'd be in danger if he wasn't with them. He still had the crumpled up letter from Angel in his pocket, and its words yet burned in his thoughts.

He'd need weapons. He was pretty sure he knew where to get some, too. Maybe the return of those old memories would be good for something after all.

He was pretty sure that he wasn't a Champion yet, but if things kept going the way they were, he might be before too long. But that wasn't why he was preparing for battle even as his family slept peacefully. He was preparing for battle BECAUSE his family slept peacefully, and in order that they might continue to be able to sleep peacefully.

You did what you could to protect your family.

He'd learned that from his father.

END CHAPTER 5

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