Buffy sat in the window seat of Giles' office, staring out over the streets below without really seeing anything. Behind her, Willow and Giles were busy mixing up herbs and potions while pouring over ancient books.

The Slayer knew that the magic her friends were about to perform would get them to LA within minutes of the spell being ready but she did not feel any real sense of urgency, not after what Lorne had said.

She was confused. He had told her that Angel had died and in that one moment, her entire world had collapsed around her ears. They had been apart for years, they barely spoke, but she still loved him. And to hear that he was gone without her being able…

Buffy caught herself mid-thought. Without being able to what? She was in a relationship with someone else and, from the rumours she had heard, Angel was with someone too. It was then she realised why it bothered her, why it hurt so much to think that she had lost him forever. It came down to one little word.

Hope.

Ever since he left Sunnydale years before, there had always been hope. Even with the men that came after, even with the years that passed by, even with the distance between them, there had always been hope.

Xander Harris burst through the doors of Giles' home office, waving hysterically and struggling to speak after running up the stairs, instantly breaking her from her reverie.

Buffy moved forward, grabbing one of her friend's flailing arms.

"What is it, Xander?"

Coughing hard, he pointed frantically at the television set in the corner. Buffy moved over and turned it on. The screen filled with the face of a terrified reporter. Giles' looked up from his books, distracted by the fear in the man's voice.

"It's… It's… I can't even begin to describe the scene here, Bob. It's total and utter chaos. Buildings have been set alight, some even crumbling under the sheer mass of this attack. They… they seem to be members of some bizarre gangs, with the odd make up and clothing."

Behind him, a police car went up in a ball of flames as cops ran in all directions, demons pouring throughout the street. The group stared at the television in disbelief.

"Oh my god, they're coming! They're coming this way! Oh god, nothing can stop them!"

Xander changed the channel. There was another reporter, this one dishevelled and bloody, running and screaming as the camera bobbed along. He changed the channel again. Another reporter, another scene of chaos. Xander changed the channel again and again and again. Every station was showing the war that raged in Los Angeles.

Giles swallowed hard and started polishing his glasses frantically. Willow leaned on Xander, a look of fear on her face that echoed that of the reporters. Buffy just stared open-mouthed at the television. She watched as the pretty blonde reporter tried to escape the coming hordes when a bright white light flashed across the screen and the picture cut to static.

Buffy spun around and looked her former Watcher straight in the eye, determination etched on to her face.

"We gotta get there Giles, we've got to get there now."

He nodded quickly as Willow joined him at the table, both working as hard and as fast as they could to get the spell ready. Xander watched them with a confused expression.

"So, we're just gonna hop the magic train all the way to LA, huh? Right into the middle of an apocalyptic battle?"

Buffy shrugged.

"That's about the gist of it. You ok?"

Xander turned off the television set and slumped into the nearest chair.

"Well, I'm a Sunnydale boy at heart. What's another apocalypse to us, huh? Another excuse to toast marshmallows over a fiery Hell pit, that's what. Just as long as I come out of it with my good eye still intact, I'll be happy."

He offered up a smile and prayed it was convincing. Buffy just laid a hand on his shoulder.

Willow stepped forward, clutching a bowl full of some kind of lilac covered powder.

"We're ready."

oooOOOooo

Spike watched as Illyria laid Wesley's body down with great care. Both the former Watcher and Gunn had been placed on an enormous pile of wood in the garden of the Hyperion Hotel after the foursome had raided the rooms for furniture. Angel had even dumped a whole filing cabinet worth of paper on to the pile. It had not escaped Spike's notice that every piece was covered in Cordelia, Fred and Wesley's handwriting.

Illyria looked confused, a shiver shooting down her spine as she backed away from the pyre. She slowly raised a leather-clad hand to her eye, dabbing at her cheek.

"The shell is leaking."

Spike folded Gunn's arms across his chest with a sigh and turned to face her.

"It's called crying, pet. Fred loved Wesley and you can remember that, you can remember how it feels to have someone that important in your life. And when you lose them, it hurts… More than any cut or bruise, it's from the inside. Knowing that you've ended the dance for good…"

Illyria let the tears slide down her cheeks as Spike moved closer. He reached out a hand to comfort her, but could only let it hover uselessly over her back. He retreated back up the steps to where Angel and Connor were waiting.

Angel held Spike's lighter in his hand, endlessly turning it over and over. Connor looked up at him, obviously concerned for his father.

"You ok?"

The vampire just stared down on the bodies of his two friends, his voice low and husky.

"It's just… Ending like this… I can't, I mean, this isn't…"

Spike glanced at Angel and felt a pang of sympathy for the big brooder. Normally, he would have cursed his soul and proceeded to make some kind of snide remark. But not tonight.

Slowly, he took the lighter out of Angel's hand and made his way back down to Illyria's side. He did not look at her as he spoke.

"I'm sorry love but I've got to…"

He felt her eyes turn on him, felt them boring through his razor-sharp cheekbones, but he still couldn't look at her. She moved away, standing near the stone bench a short distance away.

Swallowing hard, he flicked the lighter and watched the small flame for a moment. He raised his eyes to the two bodies in front of him as he took a step closer.

"Wes, Charlie boy… I hope you find your way."

Spike threw the lighter on to the pyre and watched as the gasoline-soaked wood quickly erupted in flames that swarmed over his fallen comrades. He backed away from the heat but couldn't tear his eyes away, despite the prickling of tears.

Behind him, he heard Illyria sigh. In that one breath, he could hear the pain, the confusion, the disbelief, the acceptance and the grief. And he felt it too. His bloody soul meant he felt it too.

Spike looked back over his shoulder at Angel, his face just a stage for the flames' shadows to dance across. Connor was looking up at him, his eyes moist with unshed tears. But Angel… Angel just stared straight ahead. His jaw set, his eyes blank, he just stared. Connor patted his forearm silently and moved back inside.

Spike, swallowing hard, turned on his heel and marched back up the steps. He stopped abruptly at Angel's side. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn't find the words. They stood there for what seemed like hours. Spike with his mouth open, Angel with the fire reflected in his eyes. Just reflected. The real fire already seemed to have died.

Spike just sighed, and walked away from Angel. Past the fire, past the bodies, past the gate, Illyria's anguished sobbing following him all the way in to the night.