Angel pulled away from Buffy and moved down the steps to the bench where Illyria sat hunched over.

"You ok?"

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears.

"I do not wish to discuss these feelings. Nor can I watch his shell burn for another moment. I wish to be alone."

Illyria stood and marched back in to the hotel, nearly knocking over Buffy on the way. The Slayer bit her tongue to stop herself from making a snide remark and moved to Angel's side on the bench. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, watching the flames die down.

Buffy reached for his hand, enjoying the familiarity of his touch.

"I'm so sorry, Angel. I know how much Wesley meant to you."

He pulled his hand away quickly and stood up. She made no move to follow him as he spoke quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But you should. You need to. I mean, this must be so hard for you. You've lost Wesley and Gunn. Not to mention the fact that Cordelia died not so long ago. But Angel, you have to remember that none of this is your fault."

He span around to face her, fire in his eyes as he yelled.

"It was my fault Buffy! How can you not see that?"

She stood to face him, laying a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Don't be stupid, Angel. I know you're in pain right now, you're grieving, but you can't blame this on yourself. You didn't kill them."

He angrily shook her off.

"Yes I did! In the end, it was me, I did it. I picked this fight, I sent them to those places, I signed their death warrants. This was all my fault. I might as well have done it with my own hands. And damn it, you've got me talking about this!"

Angel turned away from her and she stared at his back as she spoke.

"Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you let me know what was going on?"

His voice was distant when he replied.

"There was nothing you could have done."

Buffy threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Hello, have we met? I'm the Chosen One. Actually, let me rephrase that. I'm One of the Chosen Many. I could have rounded up a whole army of Slayers and you knew that!"

Angel just shook his head, his back still turned against her.

"This wasn't your fight, Buffy, just like the battle against the First wasn't mine."

She stared open-mouthed at the back of his head, the realisation dawning on her.

"You never thought any of you would actually get through this, did you?"

When he made no effort to answer her question, Buffy felt the anger rising within her and grabbed his arm hard, spinning him round to face her.

"Are you a total idiot? What the hell were you playing at? You're supposed to be a Champion, Angel, you're meant to be protecting the innocent and all that Captain America stuff, not picking excuses to go on a kamikaze mission. The world needs you."

It was Angel's turn to get angry.

"That may have been true once, Buffy, but not anymore. You're just pissed that I didn't immediately come running to you for help. No one needs me and I sure as hell don't need you."

Buffy smarted at his words but kept her composure.

"Well, that's funny because I'm here aren't I? We've come all this way because we care, because we wanted to help you. Not to mention that you've got a son waiting for you back inside. Ever thought he might need a father?"

"He's already got one and it's not me. This is no life to offer him."

Angel sunk back on to the bench, his shoulders slumped over as he stared at the ground. Buffy sat down beside him, letting him talk.

"He has a wonderful family who love and care for him. They can give him the life I can't, the life he deserves. I have to accept that. No matter how much it hurts me to do it, I have to let him go. Just like I let you go."

Buffy reached out and clutched his hand. This time he didn't shake her off.

"Well, Connor doesn't seem to be going anywhere right now. And neither do I."

oooOOOooo

The group had watched open-mouthed as the strange blue woman had marched in from the garden and straight up the stairs. Willow had shuddered. It was hard for her to see someone else using Fred's body, especially as this so-called God had killed her to do it.

Spike, however, felt a strange affinity for her. Watching her disappearing upstairs obviously upset, he wanted to help. If anything, it would get him away from the shadows of Buffy and Angel on the other side of the door he couldn't help staring at.

Venturing upstairs, Spike checked each room for Illyria. Everywhere was deserted and in disarray. Eventually he found her stood in one of the rooms that looked just like every other. A few old magazines and newspapers littered across the floor were the only indications that anyone had been there in years.

Illyria turned to face him but said nothing. Spike swallowed hard and took a step forward.

"Are you alright, pet?"

She turned away again, marching over to the far wall. She stared at it for a moment in total silence and then started scratching at it, picking off the peeling bits of paint.

Concerned, Spike took another step forward.

"Are you sure you should really be doing that?"

Her response was to simply speed up her efforts. He moved forward again as she became increasingly frantic.

"Seriously love, you just got through an apocalyptic battle basically unharmed. It'd be a shame to mess those pretty blue fingers of yours up now, wouldn't it?"

Still she didn't stop so Spike grabbed her arm, pulling her away and sending flecks of white paint flying. Something behind her caught his eye.

"What the…"

Still half obscured under layers of paint was a childlike drawing of two stick figures on what Spike assumed was a horse. He turned his gaze back on to Illyria.

"How did you know that was there?"

Her eyes were welling up as she spoke.

"The memories brought me here. The shell drew this pictogram, just as she put her pen to all of these walls. This was her cave."

"Sweetheart, I admit this place isn't The Ritz but I'd hardly call it a -"

A fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying to the ground. Spitting blood on to the carpet, he glared up at her.

"What the bleeding hell was that for?"

"We have fought on many an occasion. I wish to rid myself of these feelings. I wish to do more violence."

Spike jumped to his feet, his hands raised in surrender.

"You and me both, love."

Illyria took a step toward him, her fist raised, and he scuttled backward.

"But not here, not now and sure as hell not with me. Another battle is coming. The guy that killed Wesley? His bosses will be leading the charge. You can get your revenge."

Illyria stood perfectly still, her fist still cocked. Slowly, she lowered her arm.

"I will bring them to their knees. You will assist."

She marched out of the room and Spike followed, a grin spreading across his lips.

"Oh I do love a girl that knows what she wants."