The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

by KyliaQuilor

The Coin may be in Sunnydale, but its effects can be felt in L.A. An L.A. that still has an Angel, but has no down-on-her-luck Cordelia, and no rogue-demon-hunter Wesley. An L.A. that still faces the same threats and problems as Fate originally planned. Welcome to the Flip Side.

5. The Vocah In A Slayer's Vocabulary

Disclaimer: I don't own AtS

If you haven't read through all of Iron Coin Chronicles Season 2, some of the Faith and Wesley dynamic in this chapter won't make as much sense, but all you need to know is that they have a pretty good professional Watcher-Slayer dynamic in the Coin-verse, and that, if pressed, they would say they 'don't not like' the other, or variations on that sort of theme.

Thanks as always to Starway Man and Deiticlast for their beta-reading help

This Chapter is a Re-write of 1x22 "To Shanshu in L.A."

The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

By Kylia

Chapter 5: The Vocah in A Slayer's Vocabulary

May 22nd, 2000

Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles

"No, Angel, there's no way I could even try to translate almost any part of this," Harry said, looking over the scroll. "Sure, I can translate the parts in Latin, what few there are, and this section over here? It looks like it's a pretty common demon dialect I know, or close enough. But the rest of it? I don't even recognize half these languages. I mean, yeah, I recognize the Aramaic, but every other word it seems to drop into a different language entirely, and not always the same one. I think."

Angel stepped away. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"Why did you take this from Wolfram and Hart, anyway?" Harry looked up at him as Angel walked over to the phone.

"It seemed... important. But I don't know why..." Angel admitted. "It was just sitting there, out in the open and..." he shrugged. "I grabbed it. Oh, by the way, thanks for the tip on that dust for taking out the Preggothian guarding the vault."

"Happy to help - guy was probably just taking a job to make ends meet where he could," Harry said, looking back at the scroll.

"Doubt it. He was working for Wolfram and Hart, remember? No one does that who wants to be petting puppies and planting flowers, Harry," Doyle said, lowering the paper. Angel could guess he was looking over horse racing results or something like that. "Guy wouldn't be just some poor working stiff."

"Jobs for demons like Preggothians that can't pass for human are a bit scarce, and Wolfram and Hart hires - they had him on security, not actually going around and killing people," Harry countered. "And you know - you're the one with the visions, so why don't you ask your Powers That Be what this is?" She gestured to the scroll.

"They aren't really big with the sharing information when they don't want to be," Doyle countered. He looked over at Angel, "Who're you calling?"

"Rupert Giles. He might be able to translate this. It's an ancient scroll that Wolfram and Hart kept in its vault. It has to be important." Angel didn't know why he was so sure it was important, apart from just the obvious: it was an ancient scroll covered in dead languages, some of them demonic. And Wolfram and Hart had possessed it. It was obviously not just some sort of archeological curiosity.

He dialed the number, expecting Giles would be there this time of the evening. Sure enough, the Watcher picked up after two rings:

"Hello?"

"Giles," Angel said. "It's me, Angel. I need some help with a translation."

"Translating what, exactly?" Giles asked, and Angel could hear the man's previous polite tone drop into clipped professionalism. Giles still hated him, or at least, really didn't like him, and Angel didn't hold it against the other man at all. It was more or less what he deserved.

"An ancient scroll I stole from Wolfram and Hart," Angel replied, and he heard what sounded like Giles nearly spitting out his tea - or whatever else he was drinking.

"You stole something from Wolfram and Hart? Good Lord - I gathered you worked against them from time to time, but to actually break into their premises? Have you taken complete leave of your senses, Angel?"

"I had help from an inside man," Angel answered. Not that he was sure where Lindsey stood now. He hoped Lindsey would run from Wolfram and Hart as far and as fast as he could, but he wasn't sure if Lindsey wouldn't backslide. "I wasn't even there for the scroll, but it seemed important. It's written in," he looked over to Harry, holding the phone a bit towards her and gesturing for her to speak up.

"At least a dozen different languages, some of them demon. And it seems to change language every other word. There's some Latin, some Aramaic, what might be a form of Phrygian, what I'm certain is Elamite and what looks like some sort of Vedic Sanskrit, maybe?" Harry shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm not that well versed in dead human languages."

Angel brought the phone back to his ear, "If it was anywhere else, it might just be unimportant, but-"

"Wolfram and Hart doesn't protect irrelevant secrets," Giles finished. "I take it you don't think this would be good to send by mail?"

"I can't say I trust Wolfram and Hart not to try get it back if we try the postal system," Angel admitted. "Plus, it's pretty fragile."

"I would send one of the children, but I'm not sure I'd trust any of them but Willow with a fragile ancient text. But... also, my Sanskrit in all forms is rusty at best, and I don't know any Elamite." Giles informed him.

Angel frowned a little. Fun. Then again, Angel didn't even know anything himself about Elamite as a language. He recognized the name from the Old Testament, one of the sons of Shem and founder of a country and people named for him, but that was it.

"But as I recall, Wesley does know Elamite, Phrygian and Vedic Sanskrit, among God knows how many others. He might have better luck translating it. He'll be able to go down there and pick it up, if that's acceptable?"

"Wesley?" Angel hadn't thought of Faith's Watcher since he'd left Sunnydale, and hadn't thought much of the guy when he did.

"He's... well, he's actually much less of a poncy git than he used to be," Giles damned with faint praise. "He is still - somewhat of a ponce, but he has a gift with human and demon languages - his knowledge of them considerably exceeds my own."

"Alright. Send him down. Is - is Buffy alright?" It was stupid to ask, stupid to bring her up at all with Giles, but he couldn't help it.

"She's doing well," Giles replied. "She's in no particular danger, now that the typical threat for the year appears to have been dealt with."

Angel nodded, even if Giles couldn't see it, "That's good. I'll, ah - I'll see Wesley when he gets here, then."

May 23rd, 2000

Wesley's Apartment, Sunnydale

Faith didn't really have Slayer dreams all that often.

Diana, her first Watcher, had told her about them, about how they could be prophetic, but Faith hadn't believed her until she'd had her first Slayer dream - shortly before Kakistos had arrived in Boston. Of course, she'd only figured out what the dream had meant afterwards.

After Kakistos had slaughtered Diana.

She'd had some other dreams like that, since then. Sunnydale was just that kind of town, after all. And sure, it kinda seemed like they'd predicted things, but never anything big. She'd talked it over with Amy a few times, and her girlfriend had said it was probably just 'postdiction' in many cases.

Something about how after a prediction was made, it was easy to twist anything to fit it, if the prediction was vague enough. She'd brought up some French guy named Nostradumbass...

Or something like that.

Faith's dreams this morning, though, had been vivid. Vivid in the same way they had been just before Kakistos. Not just vague shapes and shadows and things she couldn't give any details about, or people and places she didn't know, or some trippy blend of horror and nightmares that was out of the dark side of modern art or whatever.

A city-skyline, like you'd see on some TV show, establishing shots. It was big, important. A series of flashes - Wesley, rapping his pen against a notebook, a whole bunch of open books spread out on a table in front of him. He looked frustrated, like when she deliberately butchered the 'Queen's English' just to mess with him. But worse.

A building, ruined, smoking, parts of it on fire.

A demon, its face covered in maggots, a hole where its nose should be.

There'd been more, but that was what had stood out. That, and a real fucking sense of like... bad shit incoming. Like when you just knew that you were about to step into something way bigger than you, but you couldn't avoid it completely.

Faith had no clue what all of it really meant, but the fact that the dream had featured Wesley had her worried. Because the dream with Kakistos had featured Diana, in the exact same sort of way.

Fuck that shit. I'm not losing another Watcher to some fucking wannabe Big Bad. She decided when she was done with her Watcher, not the Council, not a vampire, and not any of the other forces of darkness.

Prissy he could be sometimes, and kinda annoying, and judgemental about her sometimes, but Wes was her prissy asshole. And he was good at being a Watcher, and... well, he'd put his life and his job on the line for her.

There weren't many people Faith really trusted to always have her back, no matter what. Amy, B, and Wesley. That was about it. It had taken her a while to get there for each of them, especially Buffy, but she was there. The rest?

Oh, sure, they'd have her back, but never all the way to the end. Not in the face of everything else. Xander and Cordelia would always go for each other first, if nothing else. Willow would always put Xander and Buffy before her, maybe even that Tara chick she seemed so tight with nowadays. Giles would always go for Buffy first, probably even Willow second, before her.

And hey, Faith didn't even feel that upset about it - world was full of people putting themselves and their own first. She'd always put Amy first, before anyone else, if it really came to that. Wesley and B were up on the list too.

So she was keeping Wesley until he got too annoying, or ended up boring her half to death with one of his lectures about the demon she'd just slain.

"Wes?" Faith called out as she knocked on the door of his apartment.

"Faith?" She heard him walk to the door, then open it. Once he saw that it was her, he stepped aside. She saw a suitcase on his couch, and another leather bag/case/whatever - she couldn't figure out what it was - half full of books next to it. The coffee table was covered in books, notebooks and papers.

"Going somewhere?" Faith stepped into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, eying the bags.

"Ah, yes - a quick trip down to L.A. Maybe a few days, but it might just be one day," Wesley answered distractedly, going back to the coffee table and sorting through the books, clearly trying to figure out which ones to take. "I was going to call you and let you know before I left. I do have a mobile phone, in case something comes up and you need my assistance."

L.A. It was a big city. The kind of city that could have the skyline she'd seen in her dream.

And he was bringing books with him, notebooks and papers too. Just like in her vision.

Well, thanks for the specificity... not. Still. It was something.

"What's in L.A.?" Maybe she could talk him out of going, at least not right now.

"Angel found something that might be important. Something that he - quite rightly - doesn't trust to the postal service. An ancient scroll that he stole from Wolfram and Hart, written in a number of dead languages."

No chance of convincing Wesley to not go now, then. Guy was a total nerd for his old books and translations. It'd be like trying to get her to stay away from some cool new knife. Possible, but almost certainly not worth it.

Was he translating in my dream? It seemed likely. Then Faith registered the rest of what Wesley said.

"Wait, Fang is going around stealing from people now?" The name Wolfram and Hart sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Did he go and stop being a good guy while I wasn't looking?"

"No, ah...Wolfram and Hart is very much the bad guy in this equation, as it were," Wesley absently replied, as he selected two more books and put them in the open case. "The lawyers there represent some of the most reprehensible people and demons on the planet, not to mention all the other 'services' they provide for their clients or other demons."

"Evil lawyers?" Faith laughed, "Isn't that kinda redundant?"

Wesley paused and looked at her with an expression of long-suffering exasperation, as he sighed. "Quite. Is there something in particular you wanted?"

"Yeah. I had a Slayer dream last night... this morning. Whatever. You featured in it."

Wesley straighten up and blinked, "That... probably doesn't bode well."

"Nope. I'm coming with you to L.A.," Faith said flatly.

Wesley blinked again, stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "Very well."

"Not gonna argue?"

"No...Slayer dreams don't happen to warn of good things incoming, Faith. They are...an early warning system for the evil which the Chosen One is fated in some sense to encounter. So I'm not going to object, if you'd like to make sure whatever you may have foreseen doesn't happen to me. In fact, I appreciate the concern for my well-being."

"Well, you've kinda grown on me," Like moss, but still. Faith shrugged. "Unless I can talk you out of going down to L.A. to get this ancient scroll."

"Slayer dreams aren't always the most specific things, unfortunately. I'd need something more concrete - if Wolfram and Hart had this scroll in its vault, it has to be important. It could be some sort of ritual text, or contain a prophecy or a spell of some sort - and knowing what it is could be critical in knowing what they're up to."

Faith scoffed a laugh, "More like you just want to geek out over the thing and do your Watcher stuff on it. You like translating shit just for the fun of it."

Wesley looked a little flustered, but quickly recovered. "Yes, well, I won't deny I enjoy the challenge of a difficult translation and cross-referencing various material. But if it was just that, I would be willing to delay the trip. Unless your dream has something concrete about what's going to happen?"

"No...it's more vivid than most I've had, but nothing helpful like a time or date or you know, 'this is what will happen' in big fucking neon lights." Faith subsequently relayed the dream to him, in full detail. Wesley's expression grew grim and his brow furrowed.

"Well, I can't think of any specific demon offhand like the one you described." He shook his head and kept talking while he added the last few books to his bag and closed it up. "Demons made of maggots, yes; demonic maggots, demons with no nose, absolutely. But no demons that lack a nose and have maggots crawling out of the hole where one would be."

"Guess that's that, then, we're headed south. So, where's my emergency outfit? Figure I should bring a change of clothes, if this is gonna take a few days." Given how much damage demons or their blood or whatever could do to her clothes, she'd taken to having a backup set of clothes at Wesley's, in case hers were too damaged or bloody to keep wearing.

"Here," Wesley reached behind the couch and pulled out a small duffle bag, which he tossed at her. "Also has stakes, holy water and some knives."

"Free knives? It's not my birthday, Wes," Faith grinned.

"I decided some time ago it was best to prepare some sort of ready 'go bag' in case we ever needed to leave the Hellmouth quickly," Wesley explained. "There's a few high-calorie nutrition bars in there as well, suited for Slayer metabolism. Best to save those for emergencies, though. I'm sure we can stop somewhere along the way to Los Angeles, get you a bag full of the disgusting nonsense you Americans insist on calling food from a drive through."

"Hey, I've seen you eating at the Doublemeat Palace, Wes," Faith shot back. "I'm gonna use your phone really quick." She didn't wait for a response as she walked over to where his phone sat at his desk and picked it up, dialing Amy's cell quickly.

"Go right ahead," Wesley remarked dryly, but Faith didn't bother with a response as she waited for Amy to pick up or the call to go to voicemail.

"I'm about to go into class, Wesley, is something up with Drusilla?" Amy's voice said on the other end of the phone.

"No, Amy, it's me - Faith - borrowing Wesley's home phone," Faith said. "You talk about crazy vamp with Wes often?" She'd made her peace that Amy was investing in helping the new, soul-happy (not) version of Drusilla, but it was still something she didn't like to think about.

"He knows more about her than anyone in town that isn't Spike, and Wesley's the only one other than me or Spike that's willing to spend any time around her voluntarily," Amy explained. "You told Wesley about your Slayer Dream?"

"Yeah. Turns out, he was getting ready to leave for L.A. to help Angel out with some kind of translation dealie. I'm heading down there with him, make sure nothing happens to him." She didn't have any specific plans with Amy she was bailing on, thankfully.

"Stay safe," Amy said softly. "I love you - but I do have to go. Call me tonight from L.A.?"

"Of course. Love you too," Faith hung up. She saw Wesley back at the couch, grabbing his bags. "Ready?"

"I am. Shall we?" Wesley paused for a moment, then added, "No, you can't drive."

"Hey! I didn't say anything."

"Faith, you were going to, sooner or later. And once with you driving was bad enough. Never again!"

"You have no sense of fun," Faith grumbled. Not that Wes's car was really that good for doing crazy shit with, but it had still been fun to push the vehicle to its limits while Wesley begged her to slow down and be more careful.

"Being a public menace isn't 'fun', Faith," Wesley sniped back, heading for the door and holding it up for her. "After you."

May 23rd, 2000

Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles

"I've kept an eye out for it, but there's no suggestion Wolfram and Hart has any interest in reporting the theft you instigated," Detective Kate Lockley told Angel, trying to avoid thinking about what had to be in the mug that he'd been holding when she came in.

Trying to avoid noticing the slight smell of blood.

Knowing Angel's diet really did a lot to remind Kate of the many, many reasons why her stubbornly resilient attraction to Angel was a bad, bad idea. Even before she'd known he was a vampire, it had been a bad idea, for so many obvious reasons. Now? Even more so.

Doesn't help get rid of it, but I have no intention of acting on it.

"That's not really surprising," Angel nodded.

"No, it's not, but they could have tried using it as a way to get to you, with just the right doctoring of the evidence - or someone close to you," Kate mused. "Those three blind kids are alright, by the way," she added. "I followed up on their travel, and they're safe, under the protection of some sort of order of monks. Surprisingly well armed monks, but monks nonetheless." It was odd to imagine monks armed with - perfectly legal - heavy weaponry, and she was sure the ATF was keeping an eye on their order, but at least the seer children were safe now.

And that was a win. Even if they hadn't been powerful seers or whatever they were supposed to be, saving the lives of three kids from some psychotic assassin was always a win. Kate wasn't even troubled by the fact that she'd helped Angel break into Wolfram and Hart, by helping him get the gear he needed for the job.

Of course, she was troubled by the fact that she wasn't troubled by the fact that she'd aided and abetted a crime. About what that meant about her, about where that all-too-slippery slope could go. She'd known dirty cops before, during her career. A partner she'd worked with for two years had been dirty. Even her dad had been dirty...

Kate pushed that thought aside, derailed the entire train of thought, before she could take it further down the rabbit-hole that was thinking about her father and his death and what she could have done, should have done to prevent it.

She'd helped save lives, and Wolfram and Hart - they were monsters. Even more than she'd ever thought, now that she knew they were aiding and abetting demons and vampires - evil wizards, even, for crying out loud! - in their killings.

The law doesn't really account for the supernatural...

But that didn't change the fact that the law was the law. And she was a police officer who had helped someone else to break that law.

"That's good," Angel nodded. He was still holding the mug, but not drinking from it, something Kate found herself grateful for.

"They did find Vanessa Brewer's body," she went on,"and with Wolfram and Hart washing their hands of her, the investigating detectives were able to link her to a number of murders across the country." Kate sighed. "Murders that are very convenient for Wolfram and Hart, but nothing we can tie them back to them."

"Covering their tracks seems to be what Wolfram and Hart does best," Angel observed. Kate couldn't argue with that. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Kate said. "Though I do have a bad feeling about the next few days," she admitted after a long moment's pause. Angel looked at her. "You're a cop long enough, you learn to trust your gut. If Wolfram and Hart hasn't come after you yet for the break-in, they will, soon, and in a big way. I'm keeping my ear to the ground, but I don't really have sources in the demon side of the city. So it's hard for me to know."

"I've tangled with Wolfram and Hart before, and they haven't come after me guns blazing yet," Angel pointed out.

"This is different, Angel. You didn't just happen to work at cross-purposes with them... you broke into their building. Stole something from them. Embarrassed them privately, if not publically. Those sort of people, they have a reputation, and reputation needs to be protected. Aggressively."

"I pushed one of their clients out a window, well over six months ago," Angel said blandly. Kate looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to elaborate. "He was a vampire - it was the twentieth floor. He was dust thanks to the sunlight, before he ever even hit the ground."

"And they did nothing to you, afterwards?" Kate asked - it sounded impossible.

"No."

"Then it must have been because it wasn't worth their while - Angel, believe me, Wolfram and Hart will want to take care of you sooner or later, if you keep tangling with them. Watch your back. Oh, and next time you decide to break into that building, or any other place, you'll need a new accomplice." She pulled a folded newspaper out from under her arm and tossed it at him.

"I thought one of the reasons we helped each other was to watch each other's backs," Angel said, as he caught the paper easily. He unfolded it, and unsurprisingly, he saw what she meant - bottom of the front page, in big bold letters, complete with a smiling picture of the smug jackass.

WOLFRAM AND HART PROMOTES MCDONALD

"So much for wanting out," Kate commented. "I suppose evil figured out that thirty pieces of silver was outdated, and tried a six-figure salary instead."

"Evil always does seem to be better financed, aye..." Kate turned at the sound of Angel's drifter friend, Doyle, walking in through the lower door. "It's quite a shame, really."

"It's amazing what having no scruples will do for your checkbook," Kate nodded. She didn't hate Doyle - at least, he wasn't as insufferable as his ex-wife - but she still didn't really like the guy. Her instincts screamed that the man was guilty of at least a dozen misdemeanors, probably more. And he was a drunk, even if a surprisingly functional one whenever he was around Angel.

On the other hand, he seemed pretty loyal to Angel, and his visions, however they worked, helped to save lives, so...

"So Lindsey decided to stay with Wolfram and Hart? Almost makes you wonder if the whole thing wasn't simply a con job," Doyle mused, walking into the kitchen to pour himself a small drink. And wonder of wonders, it actually was a small drink.

"No, Doyle, at the time - Lindsey was sincere. He was terrified - of me, of Wolfram and Hart catching him. But obviously, he changed his mind," Angel shook his head and put the newspaper aside. "He had a chance to change. He didn't take it." His tone was casual, unconcerned, uninterested, as if Lindsey McDonald didn't really matter to him one way or another.

Probably doesn't.

"He betrayed them, and then he gets promoted? He must either be a really good lawyer, or else McDonald must have dirt on the right people over there," Kate mused. She was about to say something else when Angel turned towards the elevator, looking up at the ceiling, obviously listening. He seemed tense, but only for a moment.

"Harry's here," Angel said, looking at Doyle but talking to Kate.

Kate let out a small breath, but didn't let herself visibly react otherwise. "I'll go out the back, then," the blonde said after a moment.

Angel paused, frowning. "And Faith and Wesley, too." Those were two names Kate didn't recognize, and it must have shown on her face. "They're from Sunnydale." Angel explained. "Wesley's here to look at that scroll I took from Wolfram and Hart, and... I have no idea why Faith would be here."

It was an answer, but not particularly informative.

On the other hand, she didn't want to be around when Harriet Abrams came down the elevator, with company or not, so Kate didn't stick around to ask any follow-up questions; she just headed for the rear door as she heard the elevator start.

May 23rd, 2000

Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles

"Wait, Harriet Abrams?" Wesley said to the blonde, a grin appearing on his face. "As in - you're the one who wrote that article on the adaptations of the migratory instincts of the Varkashia Clan to modern life in the Americas!?"

The sudden spike in enthusiasm in Wesley's tone made Faith roll her eyes, as she turned away from the two - she didn't need to see Wesley have another geekgasm. He'd basically had one on the way talking - mostly to himself - about the scroll they were here to pick up. If he hadn't let her turn the radio to a station that actually played good music, instead of the weird symphony shit he had wanted to put in the cassette player instead, she'd probably have seriously contemplated strangling the guy before they even got here.

Not enough to kill him. Just... knock him out for a bit.

Although - and she would never tell Wesley this, or he'd never let her live it down - she actually kinda liked that one guy... Beethoven? That one symphony of his, Wesley's favorite, that started all 'da-da-daaaaa, da-da-daaaa'. That one was good. That one and the other one Wesley liked to listen to a lot - the one about some king in a mountain or whatever.

Not enough to voluntarily listen to either one, but if they were playing when Faith dropped by Wesley's place at the start or end of patrol or whatever, she enjoyed the bits of it she'd hear.

"That was my article, yes," The blonde - Harriet - nodded. "I'm sorry I don't recognize your name - I've been bad at keeping up with a lot of the recent literature, lately-"

Wesley shook his head, "It's quite alright - I've never actually published outside the Council's archives. But we do keep abreast on what the outside researchers are saying, of course."

"The Watchers Council?" Harriet said the name like it was some disgusting thing she had to hold in her hand at a distance. "I wouldn't think they'd be interested in anything about demons, except how to kill them."

Faith couldn't disagree with the idea of thinking the Council was the crap you scraped off the bottom of your shoe, not counting Wes and Giles - and Diana - but from Harriet's tone, she sounded like she was all fucking righteously offended at the notion of killing demons.

It reminded Faith of the preachy bullshit of some Vegetarian or Vegan or whatever the hell that crazy bitch had been, who had gone after her when she was buying food - frozen and prepackaged meals, mostly - months back, in Sunnydale. Screeching about meat being murder, or some kind of bullshit like that. It was the same level of stupid, sounded like.

Wesley cleared his throat, "Well, I'll admit the Council certainly prefers to err on the side of distrust towards demons of all stripes, but we have never denied the existence of peaceable, or at least non-violent demon clans. And as I said, we like to keep up with what outside researchers are saying. All research is useful."

Harriet said nothing for a moment, and Faith turned back around, watching her stare at Wesley for a long moment, then she nodded.

"Well... that last bit's certainly true. But if you're with the Council, then she's the Vampire Slayer..." the demon-studying chick turned to Faith: "But I thought you were blonde. Doyle told me all about how you're Angel's ex-"

"Wait, no, fuck - that's B, not me!" Faith shook her head, torn between the idea of laughing or gagging. She settled for neither, mostly so she didn't accidentally choke herself if she tried to do both at once. "I'm Faith - never dated Fang, and wouldn't want to even if I was single." Just saying that made her think of Amy, and she felt herself smile a bit.

And Faith couldn't even bring herself to berate herself for being so fucking whipped.

The Slayer shook her head a moment, bring herself back on topic. "I mean, sure, Angel's a smoking hot piece of man-meat for a walking corpse - but you do know the guy, right? Whole freaking airport's worth of baggage, loses his soul if he gets his rocks off? Man, even without that whole stupid curse loophole, all he does is sit in the dark and brood."

Harriet snorted laughter, "That's not all he does, but... yeah, Angel does sit in the dark, alone... a lot." She cleared her throat, "So you're here for the scroll?"

Wesley nodded. "It sounds like it could be extremely important."

"That's what I thought too," Harriet agreed.

"There is one thing I wanted to ask, Miss Abrams," Wes went on, "ever since I read that article of yours, I've been wanting to ask - why didn't you take into account the Voligant Folio? It seems a rather significant oversight to not include-"

"The Voligant Folio is an outdated collection of racist claptrap written by a bitter Breshkal demon trying to make his clan look better," Harriet interrupted. "And call me Harry."

Faith blinked at the sudden switch in tone, and it looked like Wes got a little whiplash too.

"Well, I'll admit that the Folio has proven to be unreliable on certain aspects, but whatever the motives of the author - and I'm not sure I agree with your interpretation-" Wesley started, but Faith raised her voice before they kept going.

"Can you two not geek out in front of me, 'kay?" Faith stepped between them and hit the button to open the elevator. "Come on, Wes, we've got a scroll to pick up - and I guess you were here for something too, Harry," Faith gestured for them to get inside the elevator.

"She's quite brusque, isn't she?" Harry asked Wesley, as they both stepped into the elevator.

Faith bristled a little. Brusque? The fuck's that mean?

"Faith can be, yes," Wesley agreed, "But she wasn't wrong that we do have a reason to be here. That's rather the reason she came, actually - to make sure I don't get distracted 'geeking out', as she put it."

Harry made a noise that sounded like a spoken shrug and they went down to Angel's lower floor, getting out to meet Angel and his Irish half-demon friend.

Angel, as always, was standing all awkward. "Harry. Wesley. Faith." He nodded to them all one after another.

For a moment, Faith considered messing with Angel, going and giving him some big dramatic hug as a greeting - he'd hate that - but after a moment, she decided it wasn't gonna be funny enough to be worth being that mean to him. Besides - she mostly liked Fang, most of the time.

Long as he never boinks B again, anyway.

Plus, even as part of fucking with someone, Faith didn't go in for hugs with anyone but Amy if she had a choice. And these days... she definitely did.

"Angel," Wesley nodded. He looked over to the coffee table, and Faith turned with his look. There was some fancy metal tube lying on the table. "Is that it?"

"That's it," Angel nodded.

"Right. Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a few hours to look at it here," Wesley said, and Faith blinked.

Oh, no, we're not Wes- The whole reason she was here was to keep an eye on him for a quick pickup, so she didn't lose her Watcher and have a break a whole new one in.

And he was gonna fucking tempt fate by sticking around here? Screw that!

"Wes-" Faith started, warning in her voice.

"I appreciate that you like your privacy, Angel," Wesley spoke over her, which was almost enough to make Faith want to punch him. "But I'm concerned there could be something of immediate relevance - it's possible, anyway - and that would mean it's best if I can at least make a preliminary start here, rather than waste time relocating elsewhere."

"If you think it's a good idea, fine," Angel said, sounding... well, neutral on the subject.

"No, this is a bad idea, Wes!" Faith cut in before Wesley could say anything. "We're taking the scroll and going back-"

"Faith, this isn't up for debate," Wesley said, trying - and failing - to sound stern. "This little partnership of ours works by me not giving you orders, and you not giving me orders."

Angel looked from one to the other, "Anything I need to know?"

"Not necessarily," Wesley said at the same time Faith said, "No."

She wasn't gonna share the details of her Slayer Dream with Angel - he didn't need to know she was actually concerned about Wes's life that much.

She had a rep to protect.

"Okay," Angel looked skeptical, but he didn't press the issue, just walked back into the kitchen, sitting his mug into the microwave. Faith rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, letting out a sigh.

"You have anything to drink in here that's not blood?" Faith called over to Angel while Wesley moved over to the Coffee table, set his bag of books on the couch next to where he sat and started unpacking books and notepads, pencils and pens and opened the tube.

Damn, that thing is old. Looked like all those fancy old scrolls they did in the movies, the ones that almost fell apart if you breathed on them wrong.

"I keep some Billy Dee here, under the counter," Doyle offered.

Faith didn't recognize the name, but she nodded.

"She's underage for alcohol, Doyle," Angel commented, though didn't sound like he was telling Doyle to stop.

"So was I when I started. She's a Slayer, pretty sure she can handle her liquor." Doyle shook his head.

"Besides, according to Wes, if I was over in Merry Olde England, I'd be old enough to drink," Faith gestured back towards him, but he was already so busy with his translating he didn't even notice.

"Ireland too, for that matter," Doyle noted. He opened the cupboard under the counter and pulled out a bottle, which he poured some into a glass and slid it across the table to her.

"Thanks," Faith took a deep pull from the cup. It took her a bit to place it - lager. She'd had that a few times, usually stolen bottles. Not really her thing - she preferred beer, or Jack, if she really wanted to get buzzed, but booze was booze.

"So how is everything in Sunnydale?" Angel asked, his stance a bit awkward, his voice even more so.

"Do you really care about how anyone but Buffy's doing?" Faith asked, sniggering a little.

"Somewhat!" Angel protested.

"Even Xander?" Those two would never like each other, Faith was pretty sure. Even if they were the last two people on Earth.

Angel cleared his throat, "Okay, maybe not him."

"Well, there's not much to say. B's happy with her boyfriend, Giles is still British, Willow's gotten over Wolfboy's death, mostly, and I'm pretty sure she's got a new crush too, for that matter." There was just something about the way Red was around Tara that made her think that, anyway. Hard to say, because Red had never given any sign she was into girls before.

Then again, Amy never did until she kissed me, so who knows how that'll turn out. She hadn't mentioned her suspicion to anyone, not even Amy.

"We beat the Big Bad - some Demon Terminator -slash- Frankenstein shit - with this fancy-ass spell, got supercharged Slayer juice, basically, chewed through an army of demons and had bonus nightmares afterwards. You know, normal Sunnydale shit."

"Demon Terminator Frankenstein?"

Faith turned back to Doyle. "Yeah. Some big-ass patchwork of demon and human parts all held together by fancy tech shit. Wanted to make more of himself."

"And that counts as normal for Sunnydale?"

"Last year we blew up a guy who was ascending into a Pure Demon, so... pretty much, yeah."

Doyle looked at her, disbelieving, eyes wide a moment, before he realized she was serious. Then he let out a bark of laughter, "Then it's a good thing I'll never be going to the Hellmouth, if that crazy shit's par for the course."

"Oh, dude, we've got all kinds of crazy shit in Sunnydale," Faith agreed. "What kind of crazy has Angel gotten up to in L.A., then? B told me all about the Scourge and what happened with them, but apart from ripping off evil demon lawyers, what else does Angel do?"

"Quite a lot," Doyle answered, pouring himself a drink. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw Angel leave the kitchen, obviously not wanting to hear Doyle regale her with tales of his adventures. "See, there was this time he went up against a body-hopping demon. Giant worm-looking thing, running around going from one body to the next..."

May 23rd, 2000

Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles

Angel was sitting in a chair in the bedroom over an hour later, reading. Doyle and Faith had traded a few stories, then Doyle had left to go do a favor for one of his many contacts and Faith had been left alone, obviously bored out of her skull, pacing around the apartment and fiddling with his weapons.

It was all he could do to not tell her to stop getting them out of the specific way he'd organized them around his apartment. But he'd managed, distracting himself with his book. The vampire was about to move on to a new chapter, when he heard Wesley come up to the open door and rap gently on the empty frame.

"A moment, Angel?" Angel looked up and saw Wesley holding the scroll lightly in one hand.

"You found something already?" Giles definitely understated Wes's translating ability, if that's the case.

"Well, I've hardly translated the entire document, but I believe I've identified what this is - the lost Prophecies of Aberjian. This scroll might very well be the only remaining copy."

Aberjian? Angel furrowed his brow at the name. That sounded familiar, maybe something Angelus had heard mentioned once before...

"I know the name, but I can't place from where," Angel admitted after a moment.

"I see. Well, according to the legends, the prophecies were first written over three thousand years ago, in Babylon, but expanded on by several subsequent seers over the centuries. The legends also say that they chronicle the details of the Final Battle between the forces of Good and Evil - if you believe such is possible." The skepticism in Wesley's voice was echoed by the slight shrug he made as he suggested the notion.

"If you don't believe the prophecies written in this thing..." Angel started, but Wesley shook his head.

"No, no, I believe the Prophecies are genuine - there are too many accounts of parts of it bearing out, and the seers involved being accurate about other things, for it to be a falsehood. But the Council has always held that a 'Final Battle' between good and evil isn't possible, and I tend to agree with that notion. Even if every demon and vampire on Earth were slain or gotten rid of somehow, 'evil' seems quite likely to always be with us, and achieving such total extermination of demons or vampires would be effectively impossible."

Wesley made an equivocating gesture as he half-shrugged, his hands spreading a bit wide. "But I do believe that the Prophecies speak of a coming battle or battles that will be very important. And, perhaps more relevant to the here and now, I'm fairly certain they speak of you."

"Me?" Angel kept his tone neutral, but it was hard to be neutral when you were told you were the subject of a prophecy. It rarely turned out well for anyone, in his experience, and even when it did... well, it never went as you expected it to, as Buffy had proven with both the Master and Acathla.

"Well, that part of the scroll doesn't actually mention you by name, but it does make reference to 'the vampire with a soul'," Wesley clarified.

"So it could be Spike or Drusilla," Angel pointed out, even though the notion of them having souls was still a disturbing one to say aloud. He understood Buffy's reasoning for doing it, even if he felt like there had to have been a better way... especially with Drusilla. She had to be even more crazy now, than ever before.

"Well, I did consider that; but there's also the fact that you were drawn to the scroll, and you took it without having any particular idea why you did, from what you said. It's been well documented that the subject of a prophecy will tend to be drawn to copies of said prophecy - it's hardly universal, of course, but it does happen quite a bit."

Well, that was good. He didn't want to imagine how insufferable Spike would become if he found out he'd been mentioned in a prophecy.

The possible irony of that thought did not occur to Angel at all.

"So... what does it say about me, then?" Angel asked, curious, concerned and... a bit apathetic. He almost didn't want to know, given everything happening these days, but... well...

He did want to know. Know what was in store for him, and what this prophecy said of him. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

"I'm not entirely sure yet... there's large parts I haven't translated yet, of course, and there's a passage I believe is key to the whole set of prophecies that revolves around one word - Shanshu - that I can't quite get a handle on yet. But from from what I have translated, it seems to center around your role - your central role - in the final battle or battles described in the Prophecies."

Angel blinked. "Central role?" That was...

That was a heavy revelation. And he...

He had no idea how he felt about the idea.

"As far as I can tell, the outcome of this particular Final Battle will rest heavily on your choices and actions, yes," Wesley confirmed. "Beyond that, I don't know... I won't be able to have the whole thing translated today, or tomorrow, or even this week. Normally, I'd just take it and go now, but since I'm here in Los Angeles, there's a particular shop I'd like to drop by, which might carry a particular tome that may be able to help me with the translation. It's somewhat rare, but this shop has... a bit of a reputation in Watcher circles for having such rare books."

Wesley held out the scroll, which Angel accepted. "While I'm gone, it's best if you keep ahold of this. Too risky to take with me, to this particular shop."

"I'll lock it up in the weapon's cabinet."

Wesley nodded, "Alright. When Faith and I get back, I'll take the scroll and we'll return to Sunnydale. I'll let you know when I've got a fuller idea of what the Prophecies have to say - assuming you want me to."

Angel inhaled, as much to delay giving an answer as any automatic reflex from once being alive. Did he want to know? Prophecies almost always came true, but they never did so how you expected. And assuming they went how you thought, Buffy had still killed the Master, and she had also sent him to hell after he'd, as Angelus, made assumptions about what awakening Acathla meant...

Still. Doyle got visions of the future, and they tended to help people. Knowing what was coming - maybe what sort of enemies he'd fight - that would likely be important, if he wanted to save more lives, do more good.

"I'd rather know," Angel finally said after a long moment.

"Very good." Wesley stood up. Angel closed his book, mentally marking his page, then headed over to the weapon's cabinet.

"...it's a book, Wes, how dangerous can buying it be?" Faith was at least playing with one of her own knives now, rather than one of his swords or axes.

"You'd be surprised when it comes to some powerful volumes. But in this case, were it not for... certain considerations," he said, turning to look over at Angel for a moment, "I wouldn't be concerned. This gentleman may not like the Watchers Council, according to rumor, but I normally wouldn't assume he'd do anything."

"Someone who doesn't like Watchers. You're shitting me!" Faith chuckled and Wesley just shook his head and headed for the elevator, Faith following him after a moment.

Angel watched them leave as he unlocked the cabinet, wondering what that was about. What 'certain considerations'? The Scroll? Why was Faith even here? And why had she been so insistent Wesley take the scroll and leave L.A. immediately?

Without asking them - and they seemed unwilling to share - he couldn't know, so Angel just shook his head and went back to his book.

May 23rd, 2000

St. Matthew's Hospital, Los Angeles

"I'm here for Francis - uh, my ex-husband," Harry said hurriedly as she walked up to the front desk at the hospital. Even as she said it, she knew how that sounded, and she hurriedly explained - "I'm still his emergency contact, I got a call - they said he'd collapsed after having some sort of fit?!"

Harry had rushed to get here after she'd gotten the call, fear and concern presenting her with a myriad of scenarios and possibilities as to what could be happening with Francis - and what him being in a hospital could lead to.

If they take a sample of his blood and test it...

Technically, the odds were good that it would be dismissed as a mistake or a tainted sample and thrown out. But if he changed shape, showed the demon spines and coloration...

Nightmare scenarios played out in her imagination at that possibility.

"What's your ex-husband's name, ma'am?" The woman behind the desk asked, bringing something up on her computer.

"Right - right. Allen Francis Doyle." He did have ID, and Harry was pretty sure it had his actual name on it...

"And your name?"

"Harriet Abrams... or you might possibly have it as Harriet Doyle, I don't know what it's listed as-" She pulled out her driver's license, showing it to the woman, who nodded once and began looking at her computer monitor.

"Room 315," she was told less than a minute later, "Elevators are right past that door," the woman directed, and so Harriet hurried over there, trying to stop herself from running and that was about all she could do. Her breaths were coming too quick, her pulse pounding and she felt lightheaded but she couldn't get either under control.

On the third floor, she didn't even need to look for room 315. She heard him - heard Francis screaming in pain - in agony, more like - and this time she couldn't stop herself. Harry all but bolted past the doors, ignoring the sound of a nurse calling after her -

Francis was on a bed, being held down by a pair of orderlies, crying out in pain, agony, babbling incoherently, writhing in pain, twisting his neck and legs as he kept trying to... something. It seemed like he was trying to go in every direction at once, unable to control his own body - it was like some hallucinogenic fit, total loss of control of himself -

"Try another five mils of Ativan!" The doctor directed a nurse, then she turned and said to Harry, "You can't be in here, ma'am!" The doctor tried to grab her and push her out of the room.

"What's happening to him!?" Harry demanded, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. "What's - what is he-"

"Are you family?" The doctor demanded, and even if she technically wasn't anymore, Harry lied anyway:

"Yes! Now, what's wrong with him?! Please, you have to-"

"They brought him in an hour ago, and right now, I have no idea what's going on," the doctor explained quickly, rushing back over to the hospital bed and to Francis. "Does he have any history of mental illness?"

"No!" Harry immediately answered, truthfully. Granted, sometimes her ex seemed to do things so...aggravatingly stupid she couldn't understand, things that seemed crazy, but he wasn't actually...

"What about drugs? This has all the signs of a classic psychotic episode," The doctor had to speak loudly over the sound of Francis crying out, but she was speaking clinically, so Harry bit her tongue against her immediate rejection of the notion of Francis having a 'psychotic episode'.

I'm not a doctor. She knows her field like I know mine.

"No - I mean, Francis drinks more than he should, but nothing beyond that!"

"All right. Well, we've done a CAT Scan, there's no organic damage we can see - but we're having trouble sedating him," the doctor explained, as Francis still continued to thrash about.

Oh dear God. Harry stood by the bed, her breath hitching as she watched Francis writhe, her heart feeling stuck in her throat.

As much on instinct as anything, she tried to take his hand, but it slipped out of her grip almost immediately.

"We're trying different drug therapies, does he have any known allergies?"

"No, not that I know of," Harry shook her head. Some demon and half-demon species had major allergies to human medicines, yes, but not Brachens...

This was mystical. It had to be. If there was nothing showing up on a CAT scan, if...

"Do you have any idea how to stop this?" Harry knew she had to stop herself from demanding results, try to hold back her fear from making her lash out at the doctor - who was just doing her job as best she could.

"No - and if we can't... well, I'm not sure how much longer his body, or more importantly his mind, can take this..." the doctor explained, her voice trailing off in implication

Harry's heart stopped for a moment, it felt like, and she staggered back, catching herself on the wall, hand at her throat.

"Oh my God... I -" she hyperventilated for a moment,

Pull yourself together, damn it!

"I need - I need to make a call..." she grabbed the doctor's sleeve, "Please... you have to help him!" Harry knew that Francis didn't deserve this. He was... he'd been getting a lot better over the last nine months, becoming more and more like the man she'd married. If he died, or ended up a vegetable -

No. Not now, when he was finally turning his life around...

That was not an option.

"I can't make any promises, ma'am, not without first understanding what's happening to him," the doctor warned.

Nodding, not trusting herself to say anything else, Harry left Room 315, pulling out her phone and dialing Angel. If this was mystical, then Angel needed to know, and it could be Francis was attacked because of his visions...

"Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

May 23rd, 2000

St. Matthew's Hospital, Los Angeles

"I'm stunned you're not berating me for taking us off track again," Wesley noted to Faith as they entered the hospital, skipping past the front desk to go straight to the elevators. Angel had told them which room his friend Doyle was in.

"You're here to help this guy who's obviously gotten some bad mojo thrown at him. That's worth going off course for," Faith countered. Then, "Besides, I get the feeling this is all... related, to my Slayer Dream, somehow," she added. "Don't fucking ask me how, though."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Wesley replied, pressing the button for the third door as elevator doors closed on them. "But you should probably trust that intuition."

Ever since the call from Angel - who had been about to leave for the hospital after getting a call from Harry - Wesley had been racking his brain for what could have caused this. The problem was, there were too many options to choose from - a great many demons could attack a person with what seemed like hysterical fits. There were documented reports of demons that fed on human sanity itself, including one that was purportedly somewhere in Eastern Europe, though that one fed infrequently.

But there were also magics that could mimic a psychotic episode, spells to create hallucinations... there were far too many possibilities, and each one required a different cure.

Angel's relaying of Harry's description of the symptoms reminded him so much of Buffy's symptoms, after she'd been infected by the telepathic demon... but it didn't seem likely that this was the case here.

Wesley was worried about Faith's Slayer Dream, and what it could mean for him, but he couldn't let that fear stop him. He'd been a coward more than a few times when he'd first come to Sunnydale, and he wouldn't deny that he was always afraid he might die when he went out on patrol with Faith.

But a Watcher's duty was to serve and protect, fight the good fight, and to die before their Slayer; if need be, if possible. At least, as far as Wesley saw it. He wasn't thrilled about the prospect, and he had no idea if he'd be able to live up to it in the moment, but he would try if he could.

It was only a few minutes more when they reached Room 315 - and oddly enough, they didn't hear Doyle crying out in agony. He'd been strapped down to the bed, to prevent the man from hurting himself, but he wasn't struggling now. Just staring blankly 'ahead' as if catatonic... though his lips were still moving.

Harry was standing by the bed, holding Doyle's hand and there was an expression of concern on her face that didn't seem purely platonic, and he furrowed a brow. Interesting. They must be an item, or on their way to becoming such.

Angel was pacing by the door and Wesley was grabbed by the shoulder.

"What's wrong with him?!" Angel demanded. "What's... what's happening-"

"Christ, ease up already, Angel; guy just got here," Faith cut in, pushing the vampire's arm off his shoulder. Wesley gave her an appreciative, quick glance and looked back to Angel.

"Just by looking at him, I can think of well over a dozen possibilities that could have caused what you described," Wesley answered clinically. "Without... various reagents on hand to test him with..." Wesley walked around Angel and over to the bed. "Miss Abrams...Harry, have you ever encountered anything like this?"

Harry looked up and regretfully let go of to Doyle's hand and walked a bit away from the bed to speak, her voice a low murmur.

"Some things... I've mostly ruled out any sort of attack by a Varklion or Mayskan demon..." Her eyes seemed a bit red, she inhaled a deep breath, sniffling a little. "He doesn't have the telltale damage around the eyes for the former, and the latter leaves you babbling words, not... not... this..." Harry pulled a hand down across her face. "He stopped crying out ten minutes ago, stopped struggling, and now... I can't even tell if he's still in there!"

"Sound reasoning... at a glance, I would have to agree. I'm leaning towards some sort of curse or hex -" Wesley looked back to Doyle, and then he saw something on the man's hand, the hand that Harry had just been holding.

Wait a moment...

Wesley was by Doyle's side in a moment, taking the hand and lifting it up as much as he could with the straps. A tattoo. Black ink. Some sort of stylized, reversed lowercase p - or so it looked. It had to be a glyph of some kind. It seemed familiar, somehow...

"Harry... did Doyle always have this?"

Harry approached, then... "No... no," she shook her head. "I've never seen that before. And he didn't have it this morning, I'm sure of it!"

"Hmmm. I can't place it... I've seen this before, though. It's a glyph, and it has to be what's causing this... most likely..." Wesley mused.

Harry pulled out a small notepad and a pen, about to draw a quick sketch of the glyph - Angel came from behind, took both from his hands and drew a perfect representation of the glyph, before handing the pad and the writing implement back.

"Thank you..." Wesley murmured. Then it hit him.

"The scroll. That's where I've seen this before. It was one of the glyphs on the other edge of the prophecies..." Wesley balled his hand into a fist, holding it close to his mouth. "I don't - I don't know what it is, though. I'll have to go back, and..."

"Here, for the weapons cabinet," Angel handed Wesley a key he withdrew from his coat. "It's in there. Hurry."

"I'll move as quickly as I can," Wesley assured. He turned back to Doyle, looking at the mark, noting where it was on his hand, when he realized that Doyle was still moving his lips. "Is it just me, or does it... does it seem like he's trying to say something?"

"Can't be sure... he's..." Harry watched his lips too, and out of the corner of her eye, he saw realization dawn on her face.

His lips were moving repetitively, the same motions. He was saying the same word or phrase over and over and over again.

She leaned in close, her ear next to his mouth, then she pulled back. "It's not English, it's Brachen..." she said the phrase, then translated it, at the same time as Wesley.

"The Gateway for Lost Souls."

"Well... that's... interesting," Wesley said after a moment.

"You know what that means?"

"In theory-" Wesley equivocated, then inhaled sharply at Angel's glare. Right. "It's a doorway... to... nowhere. It's in dozens of cities, all across the world. It's something of a mystery, one the Council has studied somewhat extensively - there's no verified report of anyone actually going through one, but... there are rumors, nonetheless. Legends. People insisting that..." he trailed off as the memory of his readings about the Gateway rose back to the top of his mind as he thought on it.

That's it.

"That Champions for the higher powers dedicated to Good are capable of passing through it. If they seek guidance..." he swallowed as another realization hit him. "And there's one right here as I recall, in Los Angeles. Underneath the old Post Office Terminal Annex." It wasn't a post office anymore, but it had been for fifty years, the main postal sorting facility for all of Los Angeles.

"So... why would Doyle be talking..." Angel trailed off as the proverbial light bulb seemed to go off for him. "I think I know why. Wesley, go back to the apartment, look at the scroll, figure out what that glyph means, how to help Doyle, if you can. This can't be a coincidence - the scroll has the symbol, and Doyle is attacked with it."

"I would have to agree with you that the two must be linked..." Wesley nodded. "You do realize that whoever did this, they may want the Scroll."

"Well, if Wolfram and Hart wants that back, they'll need to go through me first," Faith declared, hands clenched into fists. "Angel, I promise I'll make sure Wes gets back with it, once he figures out how to save your buddy here."

"Thank you." He paused, "I'm going to ask Kate to help get you here. I don't want to take any chances."

"Kate?"

"Detective Kate Lockley. She's, she's a fri- an ally." Angel corrected himself mid-word. "She knows all about..."

"The night life?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"Right. I know you'll do everything you can, but I don't-"

"Want to take any chances. Fine, fine, call your ladycop friend. I don't technically have any warrants out on me. Not... anymore, anyway," Faith shrugged.

"You did?!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, then, "No, no, not the time. I don't - go, go, please. You need to - you need to help Francis as soon as possible!"

"I'll do everything I can, I promise," Wesley repeated.

May 23rd, 2000

LAPD 12th Street Station House

"Lockley," Kate said into the phone, as she picked it up. Please be the lab saying they've run those fingerprints...

"Kate," Angel's voice came out on the other end. She stiffened a bit, like she always did when he called, then she relaxed. "I need a favor."

"Angel. I'm right in the middle-"

"Someone's attacked Doyle. He's catatonic in the hospital. I think it was Wolfram and Hart." Angel's tone was icier than she'd ever heard from the vampire. "It's related to that scroll I stole from them. And I think the next thing they're going to try is to steal it back. But it might be the only thing that can help Doyle."

"Angel, you know there's only so much I can do about Wolfram and Hart-" Kate started to protest.

"No, listen - I need you to help the two people that will be at my place by the time you get there, to get back to St. Matthew's Hospital with it. That's all." Angel hesitated, then added, "Please."

Angel had never actually said 'please' before. Implied it, sometimes, but never... please.

"How big a deal is this?" Kate was already grabbing her badge and gun from her desk drawer.

"Supposedly, that scroll details the final battle between Good and Evil." Angel paused for a moment.

The final battle between Good and Evil? Some kind of Book of Revelations nonsense? Even knowing that demons and vampires existed, Kate had always thought the idea of an apocalypse, the End of Days was the kind of nonsense that-

Wait. Don't take anything for granted, Kate. She still knew very little about all this, about this world. Demons and vampires and magic were all real - why couldn't the End of Days? "You're serious?"

"It's an ancient set of prophecies that apparently have a pattern of being right. Granted, it probably doesn't actually cover the real End of Days, but... everything I've heard about it says it's a big deal. Wolfram and Hart obviously thinks it is."

"And if they want it, we shouldn't let them have it anyway," Kate finished. "Fine. Who's going to be at your place, exactly?" She stood up, grabbing her jacket and pulling it on.

"Wesley and Faith. Wesley's British, brown hair, glasses. Faith - long brown hair, short, curses a lot. She's...she's like Buffy."

"A Slayer, you mean?" As opposed to 'I dated her and slept with her when she was 17.'

"Yeah. She's not exactly a big fan of the police, but I told her you'd be coming. Kate-"

"Angel, you need my help, I'll do what I can." Kate interrupted. "What about you?"

"Trying a long shot that only I have a chance at, apparently. And then, I'm going after certain individuals at Wolfram and Hart."

Kate bit back her immediate thought to warn him against the idea. Angel was obviously on the warpath, in a way she'd never seen before from him.

"Give 'em hell," she said after a moment.

"If I have to send them there to get the point across that my people need to be left alone, I will," Angel promised, before he hung up.

May 23rd, 2000

Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles

"'I'm going to give you the keys on the way back to St. Matthew's," Wesley told her as the elevator went down. "I need as much time with the scroll as I can get - so I can somehow work a translation miracle!"

"Wes, if there's anyone who can figure this out fast enough, it's probably you," Faith reassured him, then, "And if you ever tell anyone I said that-"

"You'll break my nose?"

"I was gonna say break your tea set," Faith admitted. "I figured that would upset you more."

"Quite so! They're antique!" Wesley protested, sounding even more British than normal, then he shook his head. "Right. Your secret's safe with me." Wesley didn't even wait for the elevator doors to open completely before he was rushing through the gap into the apartment. Faith was right behind him as he went to the weapons cabinet -

Fuckity fuck. It had been broken open, the lock all but ripped off. Wesley drew up short, stiffening in front of it.

"Shit." Something told her the scroll was gone.

And that's when it hit her.

The building she'd seen in her dream, on fire, ruined.

It was this building.

Angel's building.

"Wes, step aside," Faith pushed him before he could open the cabinet. It could be rigged to blow, it could be on a timer, but if she was the bad guys, she'd make it both. "Wes, go!" She had Slayer healing, she could move faster once she got the thing open-

She opened it.

She saw the bomb.

Time seemed to slow down as she pulled away from it, grabbing Wesley and running for the stairs, pulling him after her.

And then Wesley escaped her grip, pushing him before her. Wes, what the fuck are you-

In the split-second between the bomb going off and the explosion reaching them, Wesley knocked her to the stairs, covering her body with his -

Wes, you stupid idiot, what the hell do you think-

KA-BOOM!

May 23rd, 2000

Outside Angel's Apartment Building, Los Angeles

Kate's world was still ringing, sparks dancing before her eyes as she picked herself up off the pavement - and she got a look at the still-burning shell of the office building in front of her, two cars on fire, alarms blaring, pieces of cinder drifting down...

Kate darted back to her car, grabbing her radio.

"Dispatch, this is Detective Kate Lockley!" She gave the address, "There's been an explosion! I need fire department, ambulances here, now!" They'd be on their way soon enough, but if she could get them here a little faster...

Angel's people - those two. Faith and Wesley. They'd have been inside - other people as well. She couldn't stand here and do nothing.

But she couldn't go into that raging inferno. She'd suffocate, she'd-

She tried to dial Angel's cell phone - assuming he even had it turned back on. He said he wouldn't be here, which means he's fine-

Nothing. The phone just rang.

"Angel, pick up!"

Nothing, no response. Not even voicemail.

She dialed again. It was all she could do, as she heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

Nothing again. Before Kate could dial a third time, she saw someone coming out of the front door, jumping over the fires quickly, carrying someone else over their shoulder -

It was hard to tell in all the smoke, but the someone doing the carrying looked like she was a brunette teenager, and much shorter than the guy she was carrying. At least fifty pounds lighter, too.

Slayer. Has to be.

She grabbed the first aid kit from her car.

"Faith!" Kate rushed over to the girl - her clothes and hair were covered in soot and ash, her face too, and she had a long cut over one eye, and several more. The guy looked even worse, bleeding from his face, his shirt torn to shreds, his back...

The young woman looked up as she reached the steps out.

"You're Angel's ladycop friend!?" she demanded, and Kate didn't have time to correct her.

"I am - what happened?!"

"Wolfram and Fucking Hart stole the scroll, and left that fucking bomb behind!" Faith was screaming in rage, her voice reaching a fever pitch. "And then this idiot decided to be all fucking noble and jump on top of me, and take the fucking blast for me! What the fuck was Wes thinking!?" She lowered him to the ground gently and Kate started pressing bandages to the worst of his injuries. It was like spitting on a campfire, but at least it was something.

He tried to protect her with his own body? Yes, that would explain the injuries all along his back, and the way this Faith girl seemed to be relatively unhurt.

"Ambulances are on their way-"

"Wes needs an ambulance, lady. Me, I just need to find those assholes that planted that bomb. And make them pay. Even if they're human. What do you think, should I break their arms and legs in three places? Sounds like a good start, right?!"

"You can't just-" Kate started to protest, even knowing how stupid it was, her instincts as a cop rising to the front. "If they're human, they need to be dealt with by the law!"

"The law, right, yeah. And how are you going to explain this whole fucking mess to a court of law, Detective!? Assuming the judge isn't already on the take? Screw that, I'm going to get Old Testament on these bastards - if your fucking law could do anything, Wolfram and Hart and all their evil fucking lawyers would already be in prison, right?!"

It's not that simple, you-

Kate bit back her automatic response before she could reply. There was no arguing with her, and-

Yeah. Deep down, I don't really want to, do I? What was she going to do, stop a Slayer from giving Wolfram and Hart's employees a punishment they no doubt richly deserved? There was no way the courts would get anything done with this. The lawyers would have covered their tracks too well. Probably even set up some sort of fall guy. Something like this couldn't be swept entirely under the rug, after all, it was too public.

Someone would have to take the blame.

"Say something like that in front of a different cop, and you'd be under arrest."

"Any cop that tried to stop me-"

"Unconscious, broken bones, yeah. You're a Slayer, I know what the score would be. Then your face goes straight on the news as a wanted criminal," Kate interrupted. The girl couldn't be older than twenty, and it showed, in everything about the way she behaved.

"Focus on the wrists," Kate added after a moment. "You can still sometimes write, or do some things, with your arm in a cast."

"You're giving me advice now on how to break the law?!"

"It's becoming something of a habit, isn't it?" Kate muttered, as she pressed the last bandage to a wound on Wesley's temple. "You're right. As much as I hate to say it - the law can't deal with Wolfram and Hart. Between their demons and magic and how they're plugged into every goddamn corner of the city's government, it simply can't be done. If you're going to dish out a little justice to them, may as well make sure it's as effective as possible."

"Where's Angel?" Kate added, almost as an afterthought.

"Some fucking magic doorway. I don't know," Faith stood up, pulling a knife out of her sleeve. "His buddy Doyle got hit with a curse or something, and the scroll was supposed to have an answer on how to-"

The sound of the sirens cut her off as they drew closer, and the fire trucks finally arrived. An ambulance was right behind it. Kate gestured to the EMTs, who were on their way in seconds.

Magic doorway? Kate already knew that she didn't want to know. She dialed Angel's cell again. Thankfully, this time, he picked up.

"Angel, your place exploded," Kate said quickly before he could speak.

"Exp- Faith? Wesley? The Scroll?"

"Faith seems fine, apart from being ready to rip some lawyers apart. Wesley - the guy's pretty badly injured. That Faith girl says the Scroll is gone, and Wolfram and Hart left a bomb behind in its place. She also mentioned something about Wesley shielding her from the blast." The EMTs brought out a stretcher for Wesley. "They're getting him into an ambulance right now. Taking him to St. Matthew's as well, probably; it's the closest hospital to what's left of your office building."

"I'm on my way. If you can, try to keep Faith there-"

Kate turned back to where Faith had been, but the Slayer was gone.

"She's already gone."

"Damn it... you'll be leading the investigation?"

"I'll have a hand in it, I'm sure, alongside the LA Fire Department. On-site witness, after all."

"Which means you can't cover Wesley and Doyle at the hospital... they might go after-"

"Wesley's a possible material witness to an explosion. I can put a few uniforms-" Kate started, but Angel interrupted her.

"No, I know a guy. Vampire hunter. Has a whole team backing him. He should be willing to do me a favor. And then... Wolfram and Hart."

"You'll have to beat Faith to it."

"Yeah… Kate, if they already went after Doyle and destroyed my place, they might go after you next. They know we work together on occasion. Stay safe."

Kate shrugged, "I can take care of myself. Just give these bastards proper payback."

May 23rd, 2000

Outside Wolfram and Hart's L.A. Offices

"You never want to be on time for a ritual, the chanting, the blood rites, they go on forever," said an older-looking man walking next to Lindsey and another woman - Lilah, the lawyer who had tried to get him to leave the fighting ring alone - with several of their security goons alongside them, as they walked towards a limo and a moving van.

The older man had to be Lilah and Lindsey's boss, whoever it was.

Ritual. That had to be where Vocah was, with the scroll. They needed it for something specific. But if the older guy was right, it would be a while before it finished...

He needed the scroll to save Doyle, and he couldn't let Wolfram and Hart finish what they were up to, whatever it was.

"You guys, follow us," Lindsey gestured to the goons, who went to the moving van.

Angel ducked behind the bushes even further as the three lawyers turned, then stiffened when he smelled Faith coming close. He turned, moving quickly and quietly, low to the ground, grabbing Faith before she could jump over the bushes and attack them.

"Faith, wait!" Angel hissed, and Faith stopped her silent struggle, giving him a look that told him he had a time limit to get the words out. He spoke quickly: "We need to follow them. They don't have the scroll. Vocah does. He hit Doyle, he stole the scroll, he planted the bomb. They're headed to him. Some sort of ritual."

"Vocah?" Faith asked quietly, ripping her arm from his grip, but making no more move to attack them. "Who the fuck is that? And please tell me he's not human. Because I really need to kill that bastard."

"He's a demon of some sort, yeah." A warrior of the underworld, the ghost of that Oracle had called him. "He's working with Wolfram and Hart, a ritual called 'The Raising'. Whatever it is."

"So what's the plan? Follow them, crash their party, kill Vocah, hospitalize the lawyers and take the scroll back to Doyle?" Angel nodded. "I'm in, let's go." She peeked out over the bushes, and Angel heard the limo start.

"They're in and going, let's get to your car, now!" Then she added, "Oh, and this Vocah bastard is mine."

"Not if I get to him first," Angel countered.

May 23rd, 2000

Crypt, Los Angeles

"Five are without soul," Vocah intoned.

"Yet they live," his acolytes replied in that same solemn tone.

Christ, they really do make these stupid rituals take too long. The mercenary known as 'Skip' got that the boss wanted him to make sure it all went according to plan, but this thing was taking way too long. He had pay-per-view to watch back home, and then his shift on that monster kid's cell.

Now that was a pretty sweet job. Nice pay, decent hours, good commute. And it was his cover so that the Powers didn't think he was up to something more... well, not in line with their plans.

But right now, he was obeying the boss's orders and stuck watching some low-life 'warrior of the underworld' chant.

"They haven't even gotten to the Latin yet," one of the arriving lawyers bemoaned.

Skip had to force himself not to groan. Right there with you, bud.

"Five are without sun," Vocah kept going.

"Yet they live."

Yeah yeah, get on with it and summon the damn Grandmother, already.

Invisible and intangible as he was, Skip didn't feel it when Vocah 'walked straight through him', and thanks to his boss's magic, the demon didn't notice him either.

But when he drew up short, stopping his chanting, Skip dropped his head into his hand. "Come on, you jackass, get a move on!" He was never going to get back to his pay-per-view, at this rate!

Then Vocah set the scroll on the crate and walked to the grated window. Then he summoned his scythe, ignoring the questions of the lawyers.

Crap. This isn't according to plan. Someone was about to crash the ritual early, weren't they?

Angel. Well, Vocah could delay him long enough... if one of the lawyers picked up the ritual and completed it, that is. Which they would, if they didn't want their Senior Partners pissed at them!

Sure enough, the Grandfather made his suitably dramatic entrance - crashing through the window, swinging his own scythe at Vocah, and the two were quickly locked in battle.

And right behind Angel, lunging for Vocah as well, was another uninvited gatecrasher. It took Skip a moment to place her - Vocah dodged the stab of her knife as he blocked Angel's slash, but he was outnumbered, and...

What the hell is Lehane doing here?! This - this was not supposed to happen, at all! Crap crap crap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the lawyers walk with purpose towards the crate and the scroll, and then Faith got her knife to slash into Vocah's arm - not enough to really hurt, but...

Fuck it, there's no choice. He had to intervene.

Shifting his form to look like Vocah - and wasn't that gonna leave a mark in the morning? - Skip shifted fully into phase with the dimension, and grabbed Faith from behind, spinning her around and half-flinging her against the wall.

"You brought company?!" Faith grinned. "I'm all for that," Faith lunged at him, using the wall to propel herself forward with speed - Skip dodged out of the way, but Faith pulled herself short, punching him on the shoulder - and now that he was like Vocah, it actually hurt.

Just a bit.

Never mind, the reward will be worth it. Just need to delay her long enough for that guy to finish the ritual...

May 23rd, 2000

Crypt, Los Angeles

There wasn't much that could faze Holland Manners, not after working for Wolfram and Hart for so long. Angel arriving hadn't, not even one of the Slayers coming in right behind him had, especially once Lindsey proved his worth again and picked up the ritual where Vocah had left off.

But seeing a second Vocah appear out of nowhere to take on the Slayer, stop her from tag-teaming the first alongside Angel?

That was not according to plan. There was nothing he could do about it right now, though, and whoever or whatever this being was, he was helping make sure the ritual was a success.

The Senior Partners are watching closely. He'd said as much to Lilah and Lindsey, but this was proof. Sending another demon of Vocah's power across the dimensions without even a ritual to clear the way was an expensive proposition.

They had to make the most of it. Lindsey was almost done.

"Get the movers in here," Holland ordered Lilah.

"Yes sir," Lilah ducked back out of the crypt.

"Surge, Surge, Surge!" Lindsey called out, the final words of the chant. Arise! Arise! Arise! The entire crypt started to shake and Holland grabbed onto the wall to keep himself steady, watching in satisfaction as the five vampires started to collapse into dust, swirling into the crate - and then, in a blinding flash of light, they were gone, and Angel, Lindsey, the Slayer and the two Vocahs were all send flying into the walls by the force of the ritual's completion.

Just before Lilah and the movers returned.

"Get it out of here," he said, before the fighting resumed once more. Holland looked over at Lindsey, who still held the scroll, lying on the ground, struggling to get up.

Well. Lindsey would know what to do, and if he really had what it took, he'd get back to the office on his own. Either way, Holland saw no further reason to stick around, and followed Lilah and the movers out of the crypt.

May 23rd, 2000

Crypt, Los Angeles

Faith didn't even realize the box was gone until it was. Shit! But then she saw only one of the evil lawyers was left, lying on the ground, unable to get back up.

And he had the scroll.

Faith ducked under the robed demon attacking her, swept her leg at his, aiming to take them out from under him - only to trip and nearly fall.

One second, the robed bastard had been there.

The next, he was gone.

The fuck?

Faith stood back up, looking around - no sign of the magical appearing and disappearing shithead demon. Just Angel and Vocah, fighting it out. For a second, Faith watched Angel and Vocah fighting, looking for an opening to come in and finish the bastard off herself. Angel managed to wrench Vocah's mask off his face -

Revealing a very familiar maggot-faced, noseless demon. Well, already knew Vocah was the one who planted the bomb.

But there was no opening, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the last lawyer left, scroll in hand, climbing to his hands and knees.

She wanted, no needed, had to get Vocah back for what he'd done to Wes.

But if she did that, Lawyer-boy might be able to get away.

With the scroll.

And she knew which Wes would rather she get, if it came down to a choice between revenge and doing what was right. And since it was Wes she was getting revenge for...

Turning quickly, Faith dove for the lawyer, tackling him to the ground and grabbing his wrist, squeezing, and then twisting. Hard. The satisfying crack of his bones left the guy screaming in pain, as she grabbed the scroll and pulled it from his hands.

"I'll take that, shithead," Faith growled, jumping to her feet - and stepping on his hand, for good measure. Stomping repeatedly, actually. until she heard at least one finger break, hopefully more. She contemplated kicking him in the balls, but with her Slayer strength, she might even kick hard enough to kill him, and she had no plans to become a murderer again for this jackass.

The lawyer tried to scramble away, but Faith grabbed him by the front of his shirt with her free hand and lifted him up, looking him in the eye.

"Did I say you could run away, asshole?! After what you and your buddies did to my Watcher, I should really being doing worse."

To his credit, the lawyer met her gaze and didn't piss himself. He was still in pain, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, but for the moment, trying hard not to show it.

"No crying, huh? Well, let's fix that," She hurled him bodily across the room, watching him hit the floor on his ass and slide into the wall. As he struggled into a seated position, cradling his hand, He was able to mostly keep from crying aloud, the sounds of pain escaping through the clenched teeth.

"Faith!" Angel called out to her, and she turned, seeing the vampire walking away from a dead Vocah. "You have the scroll-"

"Here, take it. I still need to teach someone a lesson." She tossed the scroll at him and Angel caught it. He opened his mouth to protest, but Faith shook her head, "Look, Angel, I get that you're on some redemption kick, gotta make up for a century of evil and all that - but I'm a pretty simple woman. Someone hurts someone I care about, I make that someone hurt back." She turned away from Angel and back to the lawyer.

The lawyer started to laugh, his obvious pain making it a very broken, mocking sort of sound. "It doesn't matter what you do - the Senior Partners have won. Your connection to the Powers is cut off, Angel, all avenues blocked. So it was foretold. You think the scroll will save your friend? Our victory was foretold." He laughed again, "So much for vaunted morals of the good guys, too, right?"

"Someday, when your soul ends up in Hell, you should talk to a guy named Heinrich Nest about foretold victory," Angel countered. "You made your choice, Lindsey."

"I did," the lawyer agreed. "I had a crisis. But I'm on the winning side."

"Well, since you're so happy about being on the winning side, how about I just cut your balls off, see if you still like it then?" Faith cut in, crouching in front of him, knife in hand.

"You wouldn't," Lindsey said confidently. "You're still a Slayer, you still care about right and wrong. There's some lines people like you you won't cross. Something that brutal?" he shook his head. "Never happen."

Faith sighed, "Well... you are right about that." She stood up, starting to walk away,slowly, faking resignation. Lindsey started to laugh again, and Faith knew that was the moment to do it - she turned, spinning on her heel and flinging her knife into Lindsey's non-broken hand. The blade passed right through his palm, and this time Lindsey did let out a scream of pain.

Faith crouched in front of the lawyer. "Here's the thing, 'winning side' - yeah, there are some lines I won't cross. But there's still a hell of a lot of hurt I can lay down on you without crossing them," She pulled the knife out of his hand, twisting it a little as she did so, and ignoring the fresh scream of pain Faith then headed over to Angel.

"Okay, let's go."

Angel raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing and simply followed the Slayer out of the crypt, leaving Lindsey making noises of pain in their wake.

May 24th, 2000

St Matthew's Hospital, Los Angeles

It was past midnight, and Harry hadn't slept yet.

She couldn't.

She'd forced herself to leave Francis's side to get some cheap hospital cafeteria coffee and a protein bar, something to keep her going - but she hadn't left his side for more than a few minutes otherwise, except when the doctors were running more tests or trying something.

Mostly, she'd sat by the bed, holding her ex-husband's hand, trying to will him to snap out of this and wake up.

And trying to not think about why she was so broken up over seeing Francis laying there, not really moving, catatonic. And the prospect of what could happen. About how it was more than might seem justified...

But now, hopefully, it was about to end.

"Wes, you don't need-"

"I can manage to read one chant in Latin," Wesley said to Faith from his wheelchair. "I could translate this in my sleep, if need be." Despite the confidence in his tone, Harry could hear the pain underlying it - Wesley should probably still have been in the ICU, but once he'd awoken and been told they had the scroll, that the Words of Anatole could cure Doyle, he'd insisted.

"Thank you," Harry told him, blinking back tears of relief and joy...

Wesley nodded and unrolled the scroll partially, looking at the Words for a moment, then spoke aloud, translating them from Latin to English as he spoke, with a speed few people Harry had met or even heard of could have matched.

"And if the Beast shalt find thee, and touch thee, thou shalt be wounded in thy soul - and thou shalt know madness. The Beast shalt attack and cripple thee and thou shalt know neither friend nor family. But thou shalt undo the Beast. Thou shalt find the sacred words of Anatole and thou shalt be restored. Three times shalt thou say these words: unbind, unbind, unbind." As he said 'unbind' for the third third time, there was a crackle of electricity in the air, then a flash of light and a low 'boom' - and then Francis blinked his eyes, starting to stir.

"Harry?" He said first, looking at her, sounding confused.

"Oh thank God you're alright!" She squeezed hand hand lightly, looking down, seeing no sign of the cursed tattoo he'd been given. She put her other hand on his cheek, "Don't ever do that again, Francis!" She scolded him. "I was so -" she choked up a moment. "I was so worried."

"I..." Francis started, then he managed a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, "I'm sorry you got so worked up over nothing - over little old me." He tried to sit up, failing, and Harry resisted the urge to poke him in the chest, hard, for his self-denigration.

"I got worked up because you nearly died!" She hesitated a moment more and then added, "I'm glad you're not." She took her hand off his cheek, let go of his hand and stepped back as what she'd just done sort of registered with her in a-

No. Nope. We're not thinking about that, Harry.

Doyle nodded, "Glad I'm not dead too, all's said and done." He hesitated and then added, "Kinda nice for you to be the first one I saw waking up." Then he turned his head over to Angel. "Angel," he nodded his head a bit, and Angel did the same. "I think I might have to take the next few days off..." he joked, but then his facial expression changed. "Well, I'd like to, but..." Francis shook his head, voice more serious than it usually was, flatter, grimmer. "There's too much to do, too many people out there, who're needing help." He looked over to Wesley, holding the scroll. "You look like you've been through the wringer yourself. What happened to you, boyo?"

Wesley chuckled, then winced in pain, holding his chest. "Bomb."

"Bomb?"

"Yeah... my place, it sort of... blew up." Angel admitted.

"Blew up?" Francis chuckled, "You don't do things by half-measures, do ya, Angel? Well - my couch is always free, if you need a place to crash." He made to sit up again, and this time, he pulled it off.

"I think I'll probably have to take you up on that," Angel replied, then he turned to Wesley and Faith, nodding at them. "Back to Sunnydale?"

"Back to Sunny D," Faith agreed. "And get this - Watcher-man here is letting me drive the car, too."

"Only if you promise to actually drive like a normal person, or at least an approximation thereof," Wesley replied. "Otherwise, I'll take my chances." Harry could tell that there was no bite in his tone - Watchers having such easy rapport with their Slayers wasn't anything like how she usually heard it went.

"Thank you for everything," Harry said to both of them. "For getting the scroll and saving Francis." She shrugged, "Sorry I was kind of an ass when you asked me about that paper, by the way."

"I've been known to provoke that sort of reaction in many people, it's quite alright," Wesley gave a rueful smile. Harry pulled one of her cards out of her pocket, handing it to him.

"If you ever want to correspond about anything related to demonology - that has my office line and my office mailbox."

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that." Wesley looked over to Francis, then Angel, "Well, I'll see you both at some point again, I'm sure. And I'll call you when I have something more concrete about the Prophecies. With any luck, something that will help with whatever Wolfram and Hart raised in that box." He looked over at Faith, "Could you help me over to the elevators, perchance? I'm still not used to navigating this thing."

"You're totally gonna milk this for a while, aren't you?" Faith mock-grumbled.

"Nonsense, just for the next few hours," Wesley shot back, good-naturedly. The two of them then left the hospital room, continuing to trade verbal jabs.

"Did he just say Wolfram and Hart raised something in a box?" Francis looked at them all, "What else did I miss?!"

"A lot," Angel answered. "But we couldn't have gotten through it - not if you didn't tell us about the Gateway for Lost Souls, while you were out of it."

"I did?" Francis laughed, "Well, what do you know? Even when I'm going crazy, I still help out."

Harry couldn't help but smile. It was good to see Francis in a good mood, even if she could tell it was partially an affectation.

Anything else she was feeling with regards to her ex-husband, it could wait - for now.