- - -

On a scale of one to ten, one being estatic and ten being very, very unhappy, Buffy rates herself as maybe, oh, say, a billion when it comes to how she feels about seeing Cordelia Chase again.

Now, Buffy likes to think that she's done a fair bit of growing up since seeing Cordelia last. Heck, she's even died and been resurrected since seeing Cordelia last. But there's still that stupid high-school girl inside of her who's afraid of what big, bad Queen C is gonna dish out this time. Especially now that Cordy finally got the guy--

Although, Buffy muses, smiling at the way Spike's arm comes to rest across her shoulders, I think I got a guy, too. A good guy. A guy who looks just as hot as Angel in billowy coats, and wouldn't ever wear designer labels more expensive than me. Because looking at Angel's shiny new loafers is a little disconcerting, considering Buffy's wearing Jimmy Choo's that look downright second-hand next to those--

"Oh my god, wait a minute--" Buffy gasps. "Angel, are those crocodile skin?!"

Everyone looks really, really embarrassed for Angel as the comment sinks in. Then Cordelia is playing the Wench in Bitchy Armor and rushing to Angel's defense. (Which Buffy privately thinks is a load of poop, because yeah, Cordy might be tall enough to be all Amazon for Angel, but if she had to, Buffy could so kick Vision Girl's butt.)

"Big surprise," Cordelia observes. "Buffy's still more worried about Angel than her own boyfriends. I'd tell you to stick to guys your own size, but looks like you're already taking my advice," Cordelia says, giving Spike a withering look. She lays a possessive hand on Angel's arm, and Buffy scowls, ready to retort.

Spike's voice, low enough for just her to hear, stops her. "Leave it, Slayer. She's obviously only jealous of how you're smarter, stronger, and sexier than she is. Not to mention tanner, good on you getting some Roman sun while Secretary Sue here languished in her restful coma-state."

Buffy gives him a quick, grateful smile. "I always said you were astute." She stops. "Well, no, I never did, but I'm saying it now. Very good. Points for astutity. Or astuteness. That's a hard word to make into an adjective--"

Spike continues on, his eyes still trained on Cordelia, who's turned to have a reunion of sorts with the others: "Not to mention, I rather like it when me an' my girls match up heightwise--that way, there's no straining on your tippy-toes or standin' on a box like with Cro-Magnon over there." His fingers tighten against her shoulder and then fall away to dance across her nape, down her back, until they settle on the curve of her backside. "'Sides, our parts fit together nice-like, yeah? I think you an' me'd be the winners in this equation. Don't you agree?"

Buffy gives a nervous giggle. And she never giggles.

"Um, yeah, yes," she stammers to Spike, her body fighting with her mind. Despite how nice it is to hear Spike unequivocally defending her again (not to mention have his fingers on her person), there's this definite need to wipe off the smirk from Spike's face and have a serious talk with him, 'cause he still seems to think this is all a flirty game. And he's making her think it's a flirty game now, too, touching her and talking to her like Spike on a Sex Stick, not Spike the Potential Boyfriend Whom She Still Needs to Have a Heart to Heart With.

But still--it's a nice game with hot glances and suggestive remarks and that thing he does with his eyebrow--No! A game it is, nonetheless, and Buffy sternly pulls herself out of DreamySpikeland to grab his hand and squeeze. Hard.

Spike winces. "Right, no naughtiness when you're working, I remember."

Buffy gives a sweet smile before turning to Cordelia, who just cocks her head as if to say, Give me your best shot.

Oh, you bet I will, Buffy thinks darkly. Her smile intensifies, hitting almost saccharine levels. "What can I say, Cordelia," she says aloud. "You always have the super-best advice!" She nods her head towards Spike. "I happen to like the guy I'm sticking with right now, thanks, and I can tell you--where it counts, he's nowhere near as tiny as you seem to think he is."

The group seems to digest this comment, but it's Dawn who goes, "Ohhhh. Ew." and echoes what's on everyone's minds. Buffy realizes her mistake and goes bright red, slightly ruining her tough-girl-lecture cred.

"I meant his heart, you unimaginable perverts," Buffy grits. She addresses Cordy once again, the false smile resurfacing. "You can totally have Angel if you want, anyway, Cordy. Think of it as a 'Hey, you survived a coma!' gift from me. Mine to Faith was a pummeling to end all pummelings, but you take what you can get, I'm sure."

Cordelia gives Buffy an even look and folds her arms, keeping silent. Obviously threats of physical harm don't exactly bug her anymore (which is a shame, 'cause they sure do make Buffy feel better), but it feels nice for Buffy to have voiced her opinion about things for once. She feels almost twistedly peaceful after letting her inner bitch out, labelling Angel ( Angel, as in salty-goodness-their-love-was-forever Angel) as charity to the bitter high school rival who never missed a chance to remind Buffy just how much of a loser she was. The rest of the evening could go by without insult or injury, Buffy thinks (yeah right, if it were a parallel universe maybe, and even then chances are slim), and she'd still be right as the rightest rain because she's finally the winner when it comes to Cordelia Chase.

Spike smiles. "You really think I have a big heart?"

Buffy smiles back shyly. "Who cares if it doesn't beat? In this case, size does matter."

Dawn lets loose a little meep that sounds suspiciously like an "Aww," and Fred looks like she's about to follow suit. Angel, however, narrows his already dark and stormy eyes to little dark and stormy slits. (Buffy wonders if his nostrils have always done that icky flaring thingy, and decides she can't quibble--when Spike gets going, his jaw gets so tight and his cheeks so hollow that he looks like his face is about to turn inside out. We all have our faults, she considers philosophically, looking at Spike idly, And Spike's right--it is better having a guy who's not two whole people taller than me for once. Less neck cramps.)

"Okay," Angel says loudly. "Let's not forget the main point of this little meeting, guys. We're here to discuss Cordelia's vision, not be at each other's throats--or bodies." He throws a clear look at Buffy and Spike, before taking Cordelia's hand, fumbling a little in his nervous--and hypocritical--energy. Buffy discreetly rolls her eyes, Spike gives an audible mocking laugh, and Cordelia just shakes her head.

"God, you are so lucky you're hot," the woman says exasperatedly, inexplicably echoing thoughts that Buffy has had many a time. "You may wear Giorgio now, and be all super-rich-business-man-guy, but you definitely still need me."

"I do," Angel admits quietly, and for a second it's like they're the only two in the room for each other. Buffy almost thinks it's sweet, if it were anyone other than Angel and Cordelia, and she wonders if that's how she and Spike look when they have their little moments. Then she thinks, Hey, wait, so unfair! They can't have smoochies if we can't!

Most of what's freaking Buffy out, though, is that she can tell Cordelia's tone is fond. It stuns her a little, seeing Angel hold hands with Cordelia Chase, but then--Buffy holding hands with Spike? Also probably weird to other people, no matter how good it feels to them.

So Buffy decides to call it even, high school rivalry and supposed-to-be-eternal-love be damned. Because in the end, it's not about who's burning who that matters anymore. It's about who's happy, and when Spike's hand drops from her casually to rake through her hair experimentally--

Buffy pretty darn sure that she's happy.

She looks up at him, her eyebrow arched, and she's aware distantly that Dawn and Fred and Cordelia are now chattering on to each other, and that Wes seems to be attempting to wrench some information from Angel. Lorne and Gunn are watching the freakshow, and Spike?

Spike just keeps his fingers running through the hair she has falling down her back, his skin cool against her sweaty nape. It's almost like she and Spike are in this contained little bubble, and all that exists is the way his fingers stroke through her hair and that look on his face, a cross of concentration, delight, and wickedness. Like he's testing his boundaries already, and why should Buffy be surprised? It was always his way, pressing his luck, measuring her reactions, doing whatever it took to get what he wanted, and what he wanted was her. It's the impatience that's ingrained in his very core, the irony of (despite the fact that he's dead) his thirst to get out in the world and live. No, it's not surprising at all that Spike isn't taking it slow, that all he knows is that Buffy came to LA for him and now he's finally allowed to be like this with her, without sharing with old ghosts or friends who don't approve. He's believing her this time about her feelings, trusting her with his own, and Buffy's heart soars.

What is really surprising is how uptight Buffy isn't being about this whole new slew of changes. How she's taking it all in stride, how she's willing to wait a little bit to really get things right with Spike instead of rushing headlong into something that would just overwhelm them both. How she's not willing to wait forever, though. How she's finally anxious to start living, too, and how she wants that life to have Spike beside her , despite her earlier insistence that she was raw cookie dough.

She's ready for this thing she may have with him, has to admit she's maybe been ready for it ever since she heard Spike was back. Buffy is finally ready to work on moving forward with Spike, instead of looking backward at all her regrets (Crocodile-Loafer-Boy being one of the more bittersweet of those).

This revelation should scare her, an epiphany so sudden and decisive it's almost like a blow to the head. But instead, Buffy just leans her head towards Spike's, smiles a small, contented smile, and lets herself be one with the moment. In other words, she finally chills the hell out and just lets things be. In fact, if she had pointy ears and whiskers, she'd be a cat for all the purring that's about to happen, as she tilts her chin closer to his--

"Wait-- you were a demon? And you gave birth to the next what?" Dawn's voice cuts through Buffy and Spike's third almost-kiss of the night. Spike sighs beside her, and Buffy takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

"Half-demon," Cordelia corrects, "And according to these whackos, I was the birth-vessel to some major mojo goddess. Jasmine?"

"You haven't heard of her?" Wesley breaks in. "She had us all under her thrall, and indeed, sent Cordelia into a coma. I think she used television as her medium to reach the masses--worldwide adoration was one of the root reasons she was so dangerous."

"Oh, and the face of creepy, crawlin' little maggots you only saw after being infected with her blood," Fred chimes in.

"And the way she ate souls, that crap definitely ain't the stuff of peace and joy, people!" Gunn reminds. Everyone nods seriously; eating souls apparently does universally classify danger.

Dawn shrugs. "Uh. We had a big veiny Willow-issue 'round that time-- really wasn't high on our priority list to watch us some mind-melding mojo goddess. Sorry we missed it though."

Buffy nods. "Yeah," she says almost wistfully. "Sounds fun." In the face of a mad-with-power best friend who just saw her girlfriend gunned down? Yeah, a goddess who was only trying to manipulate the world into worship sounds pretty darn nice. "How'd it all end?"

Angel jumps in. "Not important," he breaks in. "Evil. Let's talk about it. Now." He folds his arms resolutely and nudges Cordelia's shoulder.

Cordelia gapes at him for a second, rubbing her arm bemusedly. "Still a sweet-talker, huh, Angel? You know how to get a girl revved up--'cause fighting evil's sexy and all." Then she grins. "I guess you do still find demon goo and battle-axes sexy."

Buffy has to refrain from saying, "Well, duh." Because, come on--who doesn't find shiny, deathly steel and demon guts a turn-on? She's about to break in with a probably ill-fated story about her and Spike and the aftermath of taking out a whole nest of N'gorkath demons when Spike chooses that moment to blow his (very attractive) top.

"Look." Spike's voice isn't so amused anymore. In fact, he sounds downright irritated. "Not that this reunion hasn't been all fun and games, but I'm a bit tired of hearing about Bossman's issues, the amazing adventures of Team Ponceypants, Coma Woman's grievances and most of all, this big, bad, as-yet-unnamed brewing evil! Now, I've been a good little boy for the past several frightening exchanges among you lot, but I can't hold my tongue any longer. I just can't. Tell us what this vision was so we can go fight it, and then me and my lady love are long overdue for something of a chat. We're gonna have that chat, and none of you lot are gonna horn in, get it? So tell your damn story or we're leaving, woman!" Spike commands Cordelia.

Cordelia pretty much just scoffs in Spike's face, and Angel gives his granite-face from his place at Cordelia's side, but Buffy appreciates the effort and understands Spike's frustration. They still haven't gotten a smoochie, and it hasn't even been because they were off being heroes. Mostly 'cause they were off being...well. In the company of idiots. She places a hand on Spike's shoulder to calm him down, 'cause he may look harmless, but she still remembers the savagery Spike has it in him to commit when it's needed. And the way he and Angel are looking at each other, Buffy's sorta positive Spike could plead that Angel's death was of the necessary sort.

"Guys, come on," Buffy soothes. "I think Angel had a good point, okay?"

"He did?" Spike asks, scandalized.

"He did?" Cordelia questions, suspicious.

"I did?" Angel echoes, confused.

"You did," Buffy confirms. "He said that we're not here to be at each other's throats or bodies--" Though one look at the way Dawn's looking at Gunn and you wouldn't think so, Buffy thinks despairingly, before deciding she can't even go there right now. "We're here, all together, at this moment, to unveil Cordy's big vision, deal with the dealie, and go on our tra-la-la-ing ways. And yes, there will be chattage between you and I," Buffy assures Spike, "And you can all have your turns on the merry-go-round of love and doom, but for now, point me to a bad guy and some weapons, please. Much simpler."

Spike grunts, and she can tell he's getting ready to argue, but she turns to face him, using one of the most lethal weapons in her arsenal. The puppy-dog eyes.

"Spike, please," she says. "I promise we're gonna be doing a lot of talking--and other stuff--later, but right now, can we just focus on the comedic stylings of Angel and Co.? The more we indulge, the more they divulge, so let's just get to the root of the problem. We're done the second whatever beastie needing killed is gone kaput. 'Kay? Just give me a little time so we can have our time."

Spike looks at her, that intense peering-into-her-soul thing he always used to do during their more serious moments. And he must see something he likes, because all opposition flees his face and he relaxes, giving a devil-may-care shrug. "Sure," he says. "Go right 'head."

Buffy just stares at him for a second. "Really? Just like that?" It throws her for a loop still, this shiny new cooperative Spike who flirts easily and is content to stand in the background while Buffy works out her issues with everything around her, instead of pushing her like he used to do in those days before either of them understood themselves. This is the Spike who's waiting for her but not at the same time, who's almost making her move forward with his indescribable pull, his very proximity.

"Yeah," Spike says. "Just like that." He looks at her and smiles. "I trust you, don't I? You say we'll get our chance, I believe you."

It's moments like this, where Buffy just can't understand him (and doesn't really feel she needs to anymore in order to just lo--like him an awful lot) that her knees go unexpectedly weak.

"Okay," Buffy says finally. "Okay. Good." Her cheeks are hot as she turns back to the others, and the expressions on their faces range from carefully blank (Angel) to soppily sweet (Fred). Buffy sighs. "If only the world could handle knowing about vampires and the forces of darkness," she deadpans. "My life would make one heck of a reality show. I mean, you guys sure like to indulge in the voyeurism." Her glare tells everyone that tender moments between her and her honey are off-limits.

"Buffy, you were standing right in front of us," Dawn says. "Kinda hard not to see everything. You're both sorta obvious even when you're trying to be the most stealthy ones in the room--which is laughable, because you guys are like elephants. Elephants with blonde hair."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Buffy asks, wounded, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment.

"I've been cutting back on the pig's blood, you know!"

"I think she meant that you two are so obvious that it's kinda hard to miss when you stop talking in the middle of a dialogue to stare meaningfully into each other's eyes. Which is really weird, by the way, because what does he see in your eyes? He doesn't have a reflection or anything, so it's probably blank Buffy space." Cordelia helpfully supplies. "Strange."

"Thanks, Cordelia," Buffy says dryly. "For calling attention to our fun little quirks. Thanks a lot."

"No problem." Cordelia smiles acidly.

Lorne jumps in. "And plus, sweet girl, your body language, not to mention your aura, is practically screaming out everything packed into your teeny little body. You want to tell honeybear something real bad, but something's holding you back. Maybe you're not ready to say it in so many words, but believe me. You'll tell him. Someday."

Buffy shivers, the words triggering a memory from long ago. Cassie had said something much the same before she died, and Buffy had always assumed her prophecy had come true at the Hellmouth. But what if not? What if she and Spike still had some stuff to go through before it could all happen for real?

Lorne is still speaking. "Ah... and you had...pretzels for lunch, right? Oh, and in the back of your mind, you still really regret not buying those silver sandals, but honey, let me tell you--they would've looked i awful /i with probably everything you have." Lorne swishes his drink around in his glass, giving a benign smile.

Spike cocks his head. "What about my aura, then?" He looks genuinely curious, though Buffy can tell he's also itching to ask her about her reading. His eyes, flitting to her only for a moment, still seem to burn into her skin.

"Hmm. Can't say, Blondie. You have a lot more miles to go before anyone knows what's happening with your soul. But you did have pig's blood and Triscuits for lunch this afternoon. And you i are /i trying to cut back, good for you. Other than that, all I'm getting is your intense desire to jump Goldielock's--"

Again, Dawn breaks in with the "Ew," and this time, Buffy is fervently glad.

"That's all well and good," Wesley interjects. "We're glad for the insight, really, Lorne. But might I add that I think Spike had a good point?"

"He did?" Angel asks, scandalized.

"He did?" Buffy questions, suspicious.

"I did?" Spike echoes, confused.

Cordelia finishes Wesley's thought. "You did," she sighs, grudgingly. "You told me to get on with it, and I think I probably better. The sooner we get started on this, the more of a crisis we avert. And the less time we have to spend embarrassing ourselves." She turns to Angel and raises an eyebrow. "Which is what we're doing," she clarifies pointedly, looking from Angel and Buffy and Spike. "Buffy?" Cordelia takes a deep breath. "I spent a long time as a higher-being, so I think I know a little something about being the bigger person. Also, because I'm like two feet taller than you. Anyways, in light of this kind of awkward situation--" Cordelia gives a vague motion that encompasses her and Angel and Buffy and Spike, "I'm just gonna tell you that things can be totally cool with us. You're in one place and I'm in one place, and there's really no reason to be super-skanks to one another 'cause, you know--different places. Despite the fact that we were off to a rocky start--"

"'Cause of how you insulted my new honey and accused me of still being in love with my ex?" Buffy asks.

"Yeah, exactly. Despite that, I think as long as you keep your Slayery hands off Angel, we'll be perfectly okay. Okay?"

"Cordelia--" Angel starts.

"Shhh, Angel, the grownups are talking," Cordelia says distractedly. "Okay, Buffy?"

"Cordelia--" Angel intejects again, exasperatedly.

"Shh, Angelface, didn't the lady say the grownups are talkin'?" Spike says, amused. "Let 'em duke it out."

Buffy rolls her eyes. "There's not gonna be a catfight or anything, okay?" She looks at Cordelia. "Look. Staying away from Angel is a moot point now, because did you just miss the whole thing where me and Spike were having a moment? I'm not here for Angel. You are. Me and him had our time. Now it's your time with him, and my time with this bleached lug over here." Buffy jerks a thumb towards Spike. "Nevertheless, if it worries you that much, take comfort in the fact that I'm only gonna be here as long as me and Spike need to be. You, however, are gonna be here forever. Or at least as long as Angel is." Buffy gives a wide smile.

Angel mutters, "Not forever. I'm not stuck here or anything."

Cordelia heaves a deep breath. "Angel, be quiet. Me and your ex are having a bonding moment." She turns to Buffy. "Fine, Buffy. I get your point, and thanks." She looks down at her shoes. "I don't think we're really at hugging level, though, do you?"

"Oh, God, no."

"Good." They both heave twin sighs of relief before Cordelia waves everyone closer. "Now I think we can continue with the visioning, right, guys?"

No one answers. Because there is no one around but Buffy, Spike, Angel, and Cordelia. Buffy groans and looks beyond Cordelia, spotting Dawn and Gunn dancing amidst the crowd. Gunn looks like he's fighting an internal battle, his hands on Dawn's hips but his eyes darting this way and that. When they settle on Buffy, he yelps and steps away from Dawn, standing rigidly as the girl dances around him. Buffy snorts and peers past Angel's shoulder to see Wesley buying Fred a drink. They are standing close together, Fred peering past her long lashes, doe eyes so wide and beguiling, Buffy's surprised Wes isn't peeing himself with happiness that she's looking up at him.

And then there's Lorne. He's leaning against the bar, drinking to his merry content. His red eyes seem to sweep the room, and when he sees Buffy watching him, he raises his glass and starts making his way closer to the group, catching the arms of the others as he pushes through the crowd.

"Does your friend have a liver?" Buffy hisses worriedly.

Angel and Cordelia look at each other and shrug. "I'm not sure. I was trying so hard not to get my head cut off when I was in Pylea, I never stopped to do an anatomy lesson," Cordelia says, mock-earnestly.

"Your bad," Angel responds gravely.

Buffy ignores them. "Well, if he does have a liver, I don't think he likes it very much." She raises an eyebrow at Lorne's martini glass, and nudges Spike discreetly. "That's his fourth drink tonight."

Spike grins fondly down at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "That's m'girl," he says proudly. "Worryin' about every species under the sun. And their livers."

"Don't you think you'd drink too, honeybuns?" Lorne waves his martini around. "If you were stuck in a muddle with a bunch of emotional retards, I mean. Oh, I say that lovingly, kiddos. I do."

Buffy ponders. "We've been here for about fifteen minutes now, and the biggest thing that's been accomplished is a temporary truce between me and Cordelia. Okay, yes, if I were you, I'd probably be drinking like a fish right now. But I'm not, 'cause Buffy and beer do not mixeth very welleth. Now with that little last bit of Shakespearean insight, let's all put our listening ears on as Cordelia very kindly tells us what's happening in the world of demons." She points to Cordelia in a tone that brooks no argument. "Cordelia? Vision? Oh, and Dawn, get your hand off Gunn's--hey! That's not his arm! "

"The vision," Gunn interrupts. "For the love of every single Prada shoe you've ever wanted, girl. The vision!"

"Okay, look. It's a little unusual. There's gonna be a shooting," Cordelia announces. Angel immediately goes into leader-mode, as does Buffy:

"Where?" the both ask commandingly. At the same time. Buffy shakes her head and continues.

"When?" Again with the unison. Angel's jaw clenches and he smiles tightly. "You go ahead, Buffy."

Buffy smiles politely. "No, no. It's your city. You be the bad cop."

Angel gives a suspicious look. "Okay," he says. "Cordelia," he starts. "Where does it happen, and when?"

"Oh!" Buffy breaks in. "Sorry, I was just gonna add who to that list, too." Her glance is apolegetic. "But you go ahead. I'm sure you would've gotten to it."

Angel sighs. "Thanks, Buffy. Really. Okay, Cordy. Another question to the list. Who does it happen to?"

"Right charitable of you, love," Spike whispers, his eyes laughing. "You know you wanna be General Summers all over 'gain, but you don't wanna emasculate your old hubby. Nice."

Buffy huffs. "I thought so too. Now shhh."

Cordelia is answering Angel's question, everyone's faces rapt and serious as the last vestiges of humor and absentmindedness leave them and business settles in.

"It was a weirder vision than I'm used to, so right away I knew things were off. I was in Wesley's office, straightening some of the books and trying to figure out a little why I woke up now, and how, when I came across a book with lizardy scales on it."

"The Dreathorn Chronicles," Wesley supplies. "A book written by a sect of demon-worshippers from Olde England. They're relatively young, considering the reputation of other demon sects in the world, maybe 200 or 300 years old. But they already have a standing as a small-scale demon tribute group."

"Like a rock tribute group? Only with demons?" Fred asks. "'Cause that'd be sorta cute, actually--"

Wesley grimaces. "Decidedly not. These worshippers are ashamed of their blood status, and their one goal is to be pure demon, utterly powerful. It's made up of everyone from humans to vampires to your everyday monster of the week. They pay tribute to the Old Ones of the world, the pure demons who walked the earth and have lived, or even been destroyed and sent to Hell, without mingling their blood with humans. Not a very nice group of creatures, really. They once sent a Molotav cocktail sailing through our windows at the Council. Burned a priceless tome." Wesley's eyes narrow. "Bastards. Also, they eat souls. The pure energy of a soul feeds them, and after they have fed, they are offered as tribute. With each passing tribute of soul and devotee, the demon they are worshipping grows more powerful. This is why the Dreathorn are so dangerous; they recruit more and more with each passing day, and there is more potential that countless older, dangerous demons, pure demons, can be reawakened through ritualistic means. Essentially, if they ever prove successful, which they haven't yet, you're looking at an Ascension a day."

Cordelia curls her lip in disgust. "Fun little group there. Big giant snakes every day of the week. Exactly what I would join a club for."

"Why can't they just do it for extra-credit? Like me?" Dawn asks forlornly.

Buffy sighs. "Always with the rituals. Can't a demon-group just, like, make a sign or something? Rah, rah, go Malthor, King of the Bowels of Hell! Wear the team colors or something? Blood and guts and entrails, goooo team!"

"Not that easy," Angel mutters, thinking. "It's always a ritual. I came across a Dreathorn once, but my soul wasn't good enough for it. I mean, I was offended then, but now I guess it was a good thing."

Gunn snorts. "Your soul wasn't good enough? What in the hell is that s'pposed to mean, huh? It ain't shiny enough for something?"

"Not pure," Spike speaks up. "They can only feed on pure souls, that right?"

Wesley nods. "Yes. And as Angel did his fair share of louting and whoring and sinning as a human, I doubt even his conscience would be enough to make his soul adequate for a sacrifice."

"I was young," Angel scowls. "Me dad was a brute that chased his own son from his rightful home." His accent thickens on its own and everyone looks at him.

Spike narrows his eyes. " Faker," he accuses.

"Anyway," Cordelia continues, loudly. "I picked up the book and it was like the vision came out of nowhere. There was no pain, Angel. It was like, surround-sound, IMAX visioning, but none of the Advil-popping pain. I closed my eyes, and there it was. Outside a bar a lot like this one, but farther away. I didn't get the name, but it was a city, because I could hear city noises and it was in a smelly, city alley. There was a girl, tiny. Jane, I think, or Jen. Blonde, 'cause aren't they all? And then a gunshot, and blood everywhere. I saw another guy, too, and he was holding the gun, but he looked--shocked or something. Like he didn't know what had just happened. Then a horde of demons came around, a variety assortment even. Like fruit snacks, except not nearly as fun. The guy took off with the demons, and the girl was carted off by a few lackey-types. You can always tell who the lackeys are, 'cause they never have nearly as expensive cars."

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it's true. Evil does pay an awful lot."

"It's a high-risk job," Angel defends. "Not that fighting evil isn't just as rewarding," he hastily amends. "Just, uh, in different ways."

"Is that it, though?" Fred asks. "Is that the whole vision? I mean, it sounds like it oughta be a little bit more grave for you to call us all together. And where do Buffy and Spike fit into it?"

"The vision didn't end there," Cordelia says seriously. "It was mainly a series of freeze-frame moments coming at me anyway, so we're missing a lot of information. But the part that really sent me into freakoutsville was that one of the images was of the girl tied up somewhere, later on. She had a symbol, like a knot of brambles, carved into her stomach."

"That's the symbol of the Dreathorn, I'm certain of it," Wesley says. "It's supposed to represent the unification of many forms of life into the center of the knot: purity."

"Well, fun tattoo, Wes," Cordelia says, "But I don't think I'd want it carved into my stomach by a really big, ornate-looking knife."

"And that's not the freaky-deakiest part of it, is it?" Gunn asks. "There's gotta be more. Always is."

"Oh, there's more," Lorne chuckles. "You're a good storyteller, appledumpling. But cut to the Chase, excuse the pun. Time's a tickin' and our heroes are no less clueless than they usually are."

"The girl wasn't alone on the sacrificial slab," Cordelia says apprehensively. "And I got a really bad feeling that what she was being sacrificed for was a pretty insidious reason. I think they were raising something a bit more dangerous than additional funds for a school dance."

"Cordelia, tell us," Buffy says impatiently. "What did you see?"

"Yeah," Spike chimes in. "Was it a giant worm? 'Cause those are never good."

Dawn and Buffy emphatically nod.

"No," Cordelia sighs. "It was an Old One. I'm sure of it now, especially after Wes's description. Back in the day, when I was, you know, awake to research, I came across this description of the resting place full of some of the Eldest demons to walk the earth. It's guarded by a gateskeeper, usually. But there are thousands and thousands of Old Ones, and one little bitty gravekeeper. I'm assuming that, by the way, physically he could be the freakin' hulk for all we know. But what's important is that somehow, a sarcophagus from the graveyard is in my vision. Or I think it is."

"An Old One?" Wesley breathes. "The Dreathorn are trying new means to untrap an Old One from eternal sleep?"

"All I know is I see a big sarcophagus, hear a chant, see a knife, and poof! Big blue lady comes walking out." Cordelia looks shaken. "I dunno much about the reps of the Elderly Ones, but Wes. Angel. Guys. It felt bad. Really, really bad."

"It should," Spike says. "The Old Ones, any of 'em, are no Sunday picnic. If bloodshed was an art for us back in the day, it's Masterpiece Theater for them. War and worship is the way they live, or exist in any case. From what the stories say, there wasn't a pleasant one among them."

"A sarcophogus," Gunn is muttering. "Wait a minute. I just got a document...Jesus, a few days back! About a sarcophagus. Held up in customs! I was supposed to release it--"

Everyone looks at him. "And um. Well. We work at an evil law firm. And I got the legal mojo, which I mojo'ed. And uh...aw, crap. That damn thing could be anywhere now!"

"The Dreathorn have it," Wesley says solemnly. "I'm certain of it."

"How do you release it, though?" Angel asks. "The Old One's are just spirits, essences now. They need human bodies."

"Host bodies. The sacrifices. They...aren't being used for their soul at all," Buffy says slowly. "They're being kept as a harvest. For the Dreathorn to choose who the Old One will inhabit. The rest are just...cannon fodder. Food, maybe."

"So this is what we have to stop," Fred says decisively. "Old Ones from risin' and people from dyin'. Noble cause."

"The noblest," Buffy agrees grimly.

"But where do Buffy and Spike come in?" Dawn interjects, her eyes wide. "You said you saw them, too."

Cordelia looks at Angel, then Buffy, then down, biting her lip. "That's the thing," she says, taking a deep breath. Lorne leans in and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Better spit it out, my leggy lovely. Just remember that predestination isn't always as pre as people think it is. You can always change what's written. You just need a handy, dandy metaphorical eraser."

"I think Greeney's drunk," Spike says in a stage-whisper.

"In the vision," Cordelia says, "In the vision, there are a lot of people I don't recognize on the slab. Probably club-goers. But two people I did recognize were there. Spike," she says, and Buffy's blood runs cold. "And Buffy."

"Hey," Buffy says, after a moment. "No big. We avert this big club shebang, ruin the Drearyborn's fun, and we're fine."

"Not so easy," Angel says. "We need to ensure the sarcophagus isn't opened. At all."

"So we find it, Forehead," Spike says. "We find it and take it back to the Well. All's well that end's well," he smirks.

Cordelia rolls her eyes. "Ignoring that appalling pun, lemme just say it gets complicated. Because yeah, you're both there. But one of you is on the slab, and the other isn't. I said that the Old One walks out of the smoke as a lady." Her eyes zero in on Buffy. "You're the lady, Buffy. Bigger, bluer, and ice-princess-y-er, but it's you." She turns to the others. "If we don't do something..."

"Buffy's gonna end up being the host body to an unspeakable evil."

- - -TBC