The following characters are the property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy Productions, 20th Century Fox, etc., etc. They are used without permission, intent of infringement or expectation of profit. I do not use relationship, character-death or other warnings; you read the fic, you take your chances.

This story is set six years from now and may contain spoilers for anything that has happened through early Season Three ATS and Season Six BTVS. After that, things begin to go AU. You'll be able to tell where canon is and is not in force. Also, if you haven't watched "Casablanca" before -- well, first of all, what HAVE you been doing with yourself? Go rent it! If you choose to read this first, you'll be spoiled for the movie. (Not that anything actually spoils "Casablanca.")

Not long after I conceived of this idea, I remembered hearing that it had been done before, albeit in XF fandom, not ATS. After some pondering, I decided not to read "Letters of Transit" by Loch Ness before writing this story. I am confident that the differences between the series, sets of characters and dilemmas we were each dealing with will make the resulting stories equally different. Whatever similarities we may have are undoubtedly the result of our shared source material -- but if there's anything more worth sharing, I don't know what it is.

All thanks to beta-readers Rheanna (whose contribution here goes beyond that of a beta reader; she could more accurately be called "executive producer"), Mariner and everyone at the Angel Fanfic Workshop; thanks also to Jesse, who braved the mall with me the day after Thanksgiving to discover a clock. As ever, feedback is greatly appreciated and can be sent to Yahtzee63@aol.com

---

As Time Goes By
by Yahtzee
Yahtzee63@aol.com

Prologue:

The day shall come when the shadow battle is done When the children of light become too strong to be denied On the day of the Venareth, all things shall be transformed Battles will be waged in darkness no longer Balance will be restored, and darkness and light will come together That which was hidden will be known That which was imprisoned will be made free He who was dead will live again And as he once was, humanity shall ever be And all earth's legacies shall be shaped only By the sculptor's hand of time -- Final Prophecy, the Scroll of Aberjian

---

Chapter 1: "Everybody Comes To Rick's"

The Hyperion Hotel is again accepting guests.

So much has changed, these last few years -- the four years since the Venareth -- and not for the better. Wars are being waged and lost, first by humans and now, by demons and vampires as well. Great cities have crumbled, once-mighty nations are falling. Creatures that dare not walk in the light of day threaten to command the world at night. The time of decision is drawing near, but the vast majority of the population (human and inhuman alike) is helpless to affect it, can only stand and watching it coming, and hope not to be drawn down in its wake.

But some things remain the same. People continue about much of the business of life -- eating, drinking, fighting, loving -- with even more intensity than before. Some nations remain safe (Australia, sheltered by wide, bright seas, is best), and people will do anything to travel to these harbors. The natural and supernatural worlds know far more of each other these days, but contact is still largely negotiated through the same mysterious channels.

And the Hyperion is open for business. It looks much as it did when it was first built -- busy, stylish, bustling with energy and false glamour. Instead of movie-star photos, the walls are decorated with weapons from centuries and civilizations long past; now they are as purely ornamental as the movie stars once were. An old grandfather clock sits in one corner, but it has not been wound in a very long time. The chimes would no doubt be lost in the cacophony within, the bustle of human and demonic voices as they laugh and drink and talk and plot and scheme and pray.

Because, in its own unexpected fashion, the Hyperion remains the last help for the hopeless in the vast, violent wasteland of L.A.

---

Nov. 16, 2007

On the crowded, noisy, gray stretch of road still known -- perhaps much more aptly -- as Sunset Boulevard, an angry man said, "Watch it, there!"

The Velga demons didn't watch it -- they shoved their way past the two men on the corner. Four years ago, those men would have run screaming at the very sight of something like a Velga demon; now they were merely annoyed. Compared to the Cuzfau beast that was sleeping in the bus stop (and might awaken any second), the demons were no great worry.

One of the Velga demons barked at the others; those few in the crowd who spoke Velga knew that they were speculating about whether any of their friends or enemies might be a thief. As the demons jumped off the curb, mud splattered all over the skirt of an older woman whose hair was swept up in a bun. She paid the mud no mind as she continued whispering to her companion, a Hevreth demon. "Morgan can be bought. I've heard it said so many times --it's worth the risk."

The Hevreth shook his head mournfully, chivalrously stepping around her back to shelter her from future splatters of mud. "That one -- she doesn't need money. You can buy her with other things, but as neither of us are young and handsome men, we cannot pay her price."

"But there must be a way," the woman whispered desperately. "There must --"

The Hevreth half-collided with another couple, these both human; everyone briefly nodded apologies at each other before continuing on their ways.

The human man grasped his wife's hand a little harder and whispered, "Remember when everyone in L.A. used to drive?"

"Never thought I'd miss a traffic jam. Then again, I guess these sidewalks count as a traffic jam. But it's worse when you can smell the other commuters." She looked up at her husband, then slowed her steps. "Are you tired, Wesley? We can rest if you need to --"

"I'm quite all right, Fred," Wesley said. He smiled at her, almost convincingly. Fred smiled and kept walking, but she dropped her eyes from his face to stare down at his pale, thin hand in her own.

A vampire came striding past them, in Donna Karan, Prada and full vamp face. Nobody screamed or ran, though a few humans did discreetly move to the far sides of the sidewalk. The vampire took one look at the dozing Cuzfau beast, shook her head and began looking out for a taxi, though cars were few and far between on the streets.

"Make way! Make way!" The Guards running through the streets now weren't cops, though their uniforms were much the same. Their authority was far more absolute. "Prepare to show your identification!"

The stylish vampire groaned and tiredly pulled some papers from her black suit jacket. Other people did much the same, with varying degrees of nervousness -- depending on how much they each had to hide.

Fred held out her papers with a trembling hand, but her fear was not for herself. The Guard who walked up to them glanced at hers, then looked a little more carefully at Wesley's. His face split into a slow, unkind smile. "Nah, we don't have to take you in." He laughed. "I guess we know you're not going very far, don't we?"

Wesley said nothing, just took his papers back and continued on his way. Fred went with him, looking over again to see if he was all right. They passed under a street lamp then, and for a moment she could see the pale, foggy shimmer drifting above him. She turned her eyes away from it.

"Identification!" the Guards yelled, accosting person after person. One of them lifted up a megaphone and said, "Wolfram and Hart has reported a break-in and robbery from one of their vaults. Anyone with information regarding the theft will be rewarded for coming forward. Or punished for not coming forward. And all identification papers will be checked --"

Just out of earshot of the Guards, people whispered:

"What do you think was stolen?"

"Something important, bet your life on it. They wouldn't admit anybody could break in, not if it weren't important --"

"Shut up, shut up, they'll hear you --"

One guard grabbed the Hevreth demon's papers, then scowled. "This ain't updated, buddy. This is, what, four months old?"

"Oh, yes, yes," the Hevreth gabbled, "forgetful of me, I must have tucked the wrong ones into my coat --"

"Well, we'll go find out about that at the station, won't we?" The Guard motioned toward a patrol car (longer than a police car, and solid, gleaming black). "Come on."

The Hevreth took a couple of halting steps toward the car -- then bolted and ran. Hevreth were faster than humans, faster than anyone in that crowd had ever realized before.

But not fast enough.

One Guard lazily pulled out his gun and fired; the Hevreth collapsed in the middle of the street. A couple of people gasped. Nobody screamed.

"Throw that in the car," the Guard yelled, and they continued their sweep down Sunset. People began to relax and move on.

The older woman stepped to the place in the street where the Hevreth had fallen. Her skirt was still damp with mud, and a few strands of grey-white hair had slipped from her bun. She did not cry or scream, but only stared down at the dark pool of blood on the pavement.

Atop the Wolfram and Hart building, suddenly, lights began flashing -- silver and white, flickering in the black night sky. The hordes of beings, human and otherwise, thronging the streets were perhaps as jaded as it is possible to be -- but they all froze in place, stared up at the light show above them.

Fred slipped her arm around Wesley, and they both pretended that he wasn't leaning against her as they gazed upward. "Maybe someday that will be you," Wesley whispered.

"Not without you," Fred replied. They'd had the argument so many times before that they didn't bother repeating it now. Neither of them looked away from the bright blaze of light in the sky.

---

Atop the Wolfram and Hart building, Lilah Morgan turned her face slightly from the blast of wind and energy rushing from the Portal. After a moment, the wind stilled somewhat, and she turned back to face the light; her designer sunglasses were perfect for such occasions.

An Emissary of the Underlords, she thought tiredly. Like we don't file enough paperwork for the Underlords as it is. And now I'm gonna have one of their flunkies double-checking my every move.

Then again, Lilah thought, the independence of the past couple of years was the exception, not the rule. And she'd known it the day she signed on at Wolfram and Hart, so there was no point in getting upset about it now. Just time to grin and bear it. Or, if this Emissary was a man, to grin and bare it; Lilah braved the chill and let her white mink stole slip open and reveal just how low-cut her black satin gown actually was.

Within the Portal, shapes began to form, gray in the light. Then they coalesced, took the shapes of men. Her assistant worked with at the scrying mirror on its pedestal for a moment, and the Portal swirled back up into nothing, its blinding light gone. As she slipped her sunglasses from her face, Lilah could see this Emissary --

She managed to keep her jaw from dropping. "Lindsey."

Lindsey McDonald walked toward her, long dark coat whipping in the remaining breeze. "Well, well, well. Lilah. I imagine you're as happy to see me as I am to see you."

"Whatever you're feeling, double it," Lilah said. "You might get my reaction."

Lindsey smiled at that, the wolfish, know-it-all smile that used to make her want to smack him, hard. It still had that effect, actually. "Still on the payroll at good ol' W&H, I see."

"And you, Lindsey -- well. I'm impressed. I thought you'd traded it all in for a good, virtuous life in a cabin somewhere. Growing your own corn, listening to John Denver, the whole bit."

Again that smile. "I got tired of taking orders. Didn't mean I wouldn't like giving them someday."

"Looks like you've got the chance," she said, glancing over his shoulder at the ogres standing there. "And what pleasant company you get to keep."

"Present company included," he said. "I heard about the break-in. What did they get?"

Lilah forced herself to concentrate on the business at hand. "A Deburchan dagger."

Lindsey whistled, a low sound. "Not good. Especially not now, what with --well. Sounds like security's a little sloppier at Wolfram and Hart than it used to be."

"Back when you used to break in to steal prophecy scrolls? Not hardly. No, this was quality work. Somebody who knew what he was doing. Somebody who'd done something like this before."

"You've got a suspect already."

Lilah smiled. "Surprised, Lindsey? You shouldn't be."

"I learned not to underestimate you," Lindsey said. "So, how long until you catch this suspect?"

"I'm pretty sure we'll have him in custody tonight. You'll get to watch --not to mention have yourself a drink, catch up with some old friends."

"Old friends?" Lindsey raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you know what I mean. I'm using the term 'friend' very loosely." Lilah folded the mink stole more securely around her. "Come on. And don't mind the help."

She smiled serenely as they swept past Gavin Park --who had, in Lilah's opinion, found his true level at Wolfram and Hart -- and was enviously watching the door. His glare was hot against her back as they got in the elevator to descend into the great, roiling mass of humanity and inhumanity that was now L.A.

---

The Hyperion was lit up with searchlights that swooped across the street and the sky. Sometimes Anne let herself pretend that they were the same sort of spotlights she used to see, evidence of no more than a movie premiere or awards ceremony.

But most of the time she didn't pretend. Anne had learned the hard way to look straight at the toughest side of life, and it was a lesson she needed now more than ever.

Anne straightened her black skirt before coming through the door; the bouncer, a stately Mendenge troll, looked her up and down in a professional manner before allowing her in. She blinked, getting used to the light -- took in the sight of people and demons and vampires, all huddled around little tables or the bar, sometimes moving up and down a long, sweeping staircase. The place was a little crowded for the nightclub it had become, she decided; then again, it must have been enormous for the hotel it had been. Weapons glinted from the walls, and Anne felt a quick surge of envy and anger. To think, of using stuff like that just for decoration. When her people needed weapons so badly --

Just behind her, she heard someone else come through and pass the troll's brief inspection --

Her eyes lit up. "Gunn!"

Charles Gunn looked different than she'd ever seen him -- hard, in a way he hadn't been even when he was living on the streets. But he clearly wasn't living on the streets now; he was wearing a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie, and looked for all the world as though he were headed to one of those movie premieres. "Anne. Good to see you, girl."

He hugged her, but it wasn't the big, enveloping hug she remembered; one of his arms tightened around her shoulders and dropped away. Anne forced back her disappointment, tried to concentrate on the positive. "I'm glad you're here. I mean it."

"Not everybody in your crew feels the same way."

Anne shrugged. "Not everybody has had to start over again. I have. So I know what it's like."

"Starting over," Gunn said quietly, straightening his tie. "Is that what this is? Don't feel like it."

"What does it feel like?"

"Couldn't tell you. But I know one thing -- it feels better than most of what I've been doin' the past four years."

Anne smiled; this was the Charles Gunn she remembered. "You know, you could -- we could go ahead and --"

"No way," he said. "Buyers only."

"I thought this wasn't about money."

"It ain't. But you oughta know better than anybody that we need to be careful. If anybody ends up taking the fall for this, it shouldn't be you. And it sure as hell shouldn't be me." He gave her a smile that was a shadow of the one she used to love. "Maybe we'll grab us a drink later, okay? I gotta go see the boss."

Anne looked at him in surprise. "You two are still on speaking terms?"

"No grudges held inside these walls," Gunn said with a grin, and headed toward the stairs.

She looked after him, and her eyes lit upon the object on a pedestal in the center of the room. Silver metal twined around a clear, multifaceted jewel that caught the light, glinted in the relative darkness. So, that's it, Anne thought. That's the Eye. She didn't even let herself think about what it was worth -- only reflected for a moment what it would cost her to obtain it. Then she looked away and decided that she needed a drink.

Anne made her way to the bar -- a makeshift thing, something she'd once have seen at a reception, not a fully-operational nightclub. But everyone here was just doing their best, weren't they? Including the owner, as much as Anne hated to admit it. She caught snippets of conversation as she moved --

A handsome young man: "I just want to know if this Lilah keeps her word. I don't care about the rest of it, as long as she follows through --"

Three vampires, huddled over snifters of blood: "And this girl's screaming, right? I mean, they all scream, but the lungs on this one, you could hear her half a mile away, I bet. And that's when Mike jumps out and --"

A demon of a breed Anne didn't recognize, one of the furry ones: "If we don't get the money together before the end of the week, we'll have to go back underground --"

A woman with teased, white-blonde hair: "L.A. usedta be so boring. All anybody could talk about was movies. I got so sick of movies --"

A demon with small horns, well-styled hair and a shiny white suit: "Sorry about the mixup in the kitchen, folks. But, really, the line between Hrunta-demon kill and haggis -- it's a fine one."

"Quite all right, Lorne," trilled the chubby woman who was only now getting her haggis. "I'm thrilled that you serve this at all."

"We try to cater to all tastes here," Lorne said. "Including the exotic, whether that be other-dimensional, extraterrestrial or Scottish."

"And you do such a splendid job!" The woman put her bejeweled hand on Lorne's shoulder. "May I present my compliments to the owner in person?"

"The owner doesn't really mingle with the guests," Lorne said. "No offense, madam, but that's the standing policy."

"But how ridiculous," she said. "To own a nightclub and not even enjoy the company!"

Lorne shrugged. "That might cut into critical brooding time. Whoops -- did I say brooding? Let's call it 'solitary meditation.' Or 'reflection.' Or something." He grinned as he poured the woman a little more champagne. "Besides, that's what I'm here for. To add that little human touch."

The table broke up in laughter. As Anne took her wine to a table in the back, she glanced over her shoulder at them. Fun, she thought. These people are actually having fun.

Then again, that's what most people come to nightclubs for, she reminded herself. For fun.

But her purpose that night was far different. Anne half-turned so that she could keep her eye on the door.

---

Gunn went up the stairs two at a time, trying not to think about the fact that he used to climb these every day. About everything that went down in the room beneath him now. About the way Faith used to come running down these stairs to meet him. No point.

No point in worrying about anything but getting to the next-to-last person he was ever gonna have to speak to in L.A. before getting the hell out.

What was the room number Angel used to have? It would be the same one; Gunn was sure of that much. He went to the door and rapped hard.

A moment of silence. Then -- "Lorne, is that you?"

"Nope," Gunn said easily. "Yet another blast from the past."

Another pause. "Gunn, can't this wait for another time?"

"Actually, it can't. Kinda got a rush on here. But I tell you what -- let me in to talk to you, and I promise that you won't have to deal with me ever again."

"This I have to hear." Apparently that was as close to permission as Gunn was going to get. After a couple more seconds, he opened the door.

Inside was the suite, much as he remembered it -- some new things on the walls, on the shelves. Fewer books. But still the same sitting room, the same shabby-but-elegant furniture, the same windows looking out on the still-bright lights of the city.

And there, silhouetted against those lights, was the dark form of the owner of the Hyperion Hotel. Gunn grinned. "Evening, Cordelia."

She turned to face him, gave him a smile as brilliant as ever, but with none of the warmth he remembered. "Good evening, Gunn."

---

Chapter 2: "I Stick My Neck Out For Nobody"

Cordelia took a sip of her wine, dark in the crystal glass. She smiled at Gunn over the rim of the glass. "Good to see you."

"You're lyin', but I forgive you," Gunn said easily, flopping down onto a chaise longue near the window. "Ain't much to respect in days like these except money and manners."

"Isn't that something of a problem for you?" Cordelia said. "You never had much of either."

Gunn just grinned up at her. "All that's about to change. With a little help from you, maybe."

"I thought this was something I was actually going to want to hear," Cordelia said, and her smile was a little more brittle now.

She moved toward Gunn, and he took a long, hard look at her. Her hair was dark again, and long, apparently, to judge by the elaborately braided knot at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a silvery dress that clung to all the right places, which on Cordelia was just about everywhere. Around her neck was a necklace the likes of which Gunn had rarely seen -- black pearls the size of grapes, strung three-deep around her neck, with an even larger opal, snowy and glittering, in the center. "One hell of a trinket you're wearing there."

"You've seen it before."

"Been a while. Forgot how damn big it is. Tell me, Cordy, what's a lady gotta do to get a necklace like that?"

"She has to be a very good girl, and do exactly what she's told." Cordelia fingered the necklace briefly, then turned her attention back to him. "And it sounds like you've got your own money-making scheme in mind."

"The work is done, baby," he said with a grin, patting his jacket just where the inside pocket would be. "All I need is a place to keep it safe, until such time as I can sell it to the very willing buyers."

Cordelia looked at him with something that was half-contempt, half-curiosity. Gunn grinned even wider and pulled out the Deburchan dagger. The jewels sparkled faintly, and Cordelia reached out one finger.

"Never thought I'd see one of these. Gunn, do you realize how much this is worth?"

"Ain't a curse it can't seal," Gunn said. "Ain't a spell it can't make stronger. And ain't a man, woman, child, demon, vamp or beast in the world that wouldn't pay through the nose to get it. And since I got no curses I want to lay down, or spells I want to cast, the money's my main interest."

"No doubt. You do realize that there's not a man, woman, yadda yadda, that wouldn't kill you to get it?"

"With one exception, and that's you." Gunn looked up at her with a touch of his old warmth. "I can't figure out what it is you ARE after these days, Cordelia, but you ain't after money. Just the fact that you're wearing rocks like that instead of selling them tells me that much."

"I heard something major was stolen from Wolfram and Hart yesterday," Cordelia said. "Wolfram and Hart, not so big on the break-ins. Could be trouble."

"I only need to buy myself a day," Gunn said. "I meet with the buyers tonight. And these buyers -- they're serious. They're players. They have plans for this thing." For a moment, he considered telling Cordelia the truth -- the full truth about what he was doing, and why. "I wouldn't sell it to just anybody." He studied Cordelia's face carefully for a moment, then said, "Never mind. I get the money tomorrow, hand off the dagger. Use that money to get myself outta here, all the way to Australia. Looking forward to Australia after this hellhole. Put another shrimp on the barbie and Crocodile Dundee and all that jazz."

Australia. He thought of it longingly for a moment, then pushed the idea aside.

"And where do I come in?"

"You just hide it for me. The Guards are searching everybody, Cordy, and it's getting ugly out there. I just want to know the dagger's in a safe place, is all. And I think it's safe with you."

"Because I like you so much?" Even if her words hadn't been so sharp, Gunn would have caught the sarcasm.

"Because you hate me," Gunn said. "Though I never was real sure just why you started hating me, Cordy. I think I just -- remind you, that's all."

Cordelia smiled coldly. "That's enough."

"If you still liked me, you'd try to save me from myself. But you hate me now, and you'd be just too happy to take a share of the money out from under my nose. Not too big a share, now. But enough to make it worth your while."

"And how do you know I won't turn you in, keep the dagger for myself?"

"Because you hate Wolfram and Hart way more than you hate me."

Cordelia laughed, and it was as close to a real laugh as Gunn had seen from her in a while. "I could get into trouble for this."

"But not too much trouble, huh? The Powers looking out for you and all. Taking care of the Seer, ready to destroy anybody who hurts her." Gunn shook his head. "Must be nice."

"Trust me, Gunn, nice is the one thing it's definitely not." Cordelia held out her hand. "Give it here. I'll hide it. But if push comes to shove, I didn't know a damn thing about it. Got it?"

"Solid," Gunn said, putting the dagger in her hand. He fought off a shudder of guilt; he'd just put Cordelia in terrible danger, and he hadn't even told her the reason why. Because she couldn't be trusted -- but weren't there people who still thought he couldn't be trusted? Was Cordelia any worse than he had been, most of the past four years?

He didn't know. But he couldn't afford to find out. And if Cordelia ended up paying the price -- well, it was unfair, but so was just about everything else, these days.

Cordelia tucked the dagger into the black folds of her evening wrap. Gunn frowned. "You're keeping it on you?"

"You wanted it safe, right?" She smiled. "Trust me. C'mon. I need to put in my evening appearance."

---

Cordelia looked down at the swirl and bustle of activity in the lobby. In a few rare moments, she felt proud of this; all these people and creatures, good and evil, rich and poor, drawn together and bound to keeping the peace in some capacity -- not through any spell cast by the Furies, either, just because she said so. All of them admired her, and none of them knew her -- in some ways, it was like high school, but with champagne.

Come to think of it, she was overdue for her first glass.

Cordelia put on her most brilliant smile as she swept down the stairs. She took it slow -- no point in just entering when you could make an Entrance. Gunn went past her, shooting her a half-amused glance over one shoulder. Women looked up at her in envy, men in differing shades of desire, and Cordelia basked in it. She'd almost forgotten how good that glow could feel, back when she'd been drudging away here every day -- well. No point in remembering that.

Several people got up from their tables, clearly meaning to come up and talk to her, but Lorne was quicker. Lorne had learned to always be quicker. "Evening, boss," he said easily, taking her arm.

"How's the crowd tonight?"

"A little more anxious than usual, seeing as how the Guards are going berserk looking for whoever was nutty enough to go roaming inside Wolfram and Hart today."

"And are they handling the anxiety as well as they usually do?"

"Yes, they're buying booze. And lots of it. Promises to be a profitable evening."

"Well, that gets a yay from me," Cordelia said. "Listen, when were you planning on doing your set?"

"The tribute to Ella? I was getting ready to take the mic --"

"Hold off for a bit. I feel a floor show coming on."

Lorne patted her shoulder. "Sure thing."

Cordelia snapped her fingers at one of the server-trolls; he was experienced, and good at his job, so it took him just a few seconds to have a glass of champagne in her hand. Cordelia swallowed it down, ignoring the way its bright taste warred with the tang of the dark wine she'd been drinking earlier. That would pass.

She unfurled her wrap, caught the dagger easily in one hand. A man was weaving his way up to her, unsteady with drink -- oh, what was his name again --

"Cordelia?" Carter, that was his name. The liquor license guy. "I expected you the other evening."

"Gosh golly, did I forget you? How did a guy like you ever slip my mind?"

Carter glared at her, the expression accenting every wrinkle on his face, the gray at his temples. "I thought we were friends, Cordelia. That's why I signed off on your latest paperwork -- the only reason why --"

"And next year, when we're due for renewal, you and I will be good friends again." Cordelia wound the wrap around her, nonchalantly hung the Deburchan dagger on the wall with all the other armaments.

"You might be up for review before then," Carter said. His eyes never rose to the level of her face.

"I'm alive with anticipation." Her head swam. She felt a low vibration begin inside her body. Cordelia waved him off. "Excuse me. Showtime."

Cordelia made her way through the crowded room toward the Eye. As she got closer and closer to it, the buzz in the crowd became louder. They reacted in every way imaginable -- excitement, dread, amusement, wonder -- but they reacted. Lorne saw her and went for his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, your attention -- the Hyperion is about to present its world-famous form of entertainment -- you've heard about it, read about it, didn't dare dream that it was true, but it is, folks --"

Cordelia lifted the Eye from the pedestal as the crowed gasped. She held it up, almost in front of her face but a little lower, low enough to still see their reactions --

"-- Hang on to your hindquarters, those of you who have them, because you are about to witness the rarest of the rare, the purest of the pure --"

Cordelia forced herself to look into the Eye as the feeling swept through her --

"-- a actual, genuine, bona fide Vision from the Powers that Be!"

Light streamed out from the Eye -- from Cordelia through the Eye -- and flickered into shapes. Life-size, three dimensional shapes that moved and, yes, spoke. Into people. A young boy -- 16, maybe -- was running from a pack of vampires. The street sign floated conveniently into view; he wasn't very far away at all. The boy was screaming in terror. "Help me! Oh, God, help me!"

The light flickered out. The Eye went dim. Cordelia took a deep breath as the audience began to applaud.

She smiled at them all as she put the Eye back on its pedestal. Cordelia lifted her hand to snap her fingers again, but the troll was at her side with another glass of champagne even before she could do it. "Good job," she said. "Wish I'd had you around when these things used to hurt."

As she sipped and strolled toward the courtyard, Cordelia gave her usual glance around the room to see how people were reacting. The thrill of seeing something that was from the Powers themselves always got the crowd going --but the curio value generally lasted no longer than the Vision itself. The table of vamps were laughing raucously, gesturing about what they'd do if they were there. That girl at the bar -- that was Anne, wasn't it? Gunn's old friend -- she looked upset. She kept looking at the door, as though she might go to help.

But she didn't. They never did.

And, as usual, most people didn't react at all. They were drinking, eating, carrying on -- perhaps with a little more gusto, having just seen a really great show. They'd tell all their friends they'd seen something straight from the Powers themselves, and probably never bother describing exactly what they'd seen.

Cordelia glanced back toward the door, saw the grandfather clock that stood nearby. She turned away and went outside as quickly as she could.

The courtyard wasn't empty, of course, but it was quieter than the interior of the hotel. She could smell smoke, both tobacco and a few substances that used to be regulated a lot more heavily. A few couples (and one trio) were nestled in corners, tight against each other, negotiating the terms under which they'd rent one of the Hyperion's rooms tonight. Cordelia thought, at a glance, that very few of them were under the impression that this might be love. These days, desperation would do. Certainly it lasted longer.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Lilah's voice came from behind her. "How you can see the stars now."

"Never could before," Cordelia said. "Unless you hung at the Viper Room."

Lilah came to stand beside her, and Cordelia half-smiled. Although she and Lilah were not friends, they had reached a certain understanding, these past few years. Cordelia used to have nothing for contempt for how Lilah had run her life; now she understood that sometimes, life ran you. "Great dress," Lilah said.

"Back at ya," Cordelia said. "I need to explore more options in satin, seriously."

"Took a trip to the Portal tonight," Lilah said.

"But not through it?" Cordelia said. "I honestly wonder, sometimes. Why you don't just throw yourself through, see what happens."

"Because I don't know what would happen," Lilah said. "And here, I do know what will happen. And it's pleasant as often as not, which is as much as you can expect, really."

"So if you weren't making your great escape, what were you doing at the Portal?"

"Welcoming back an old friend. Remember Lindsey McDonald?" When Cordelia snorted in amusement and contempt, Lilah smiled thinly. "I see that you do."

"What's he doing here?"

"Believe it or not, he's the new Emissary of the Underlords."

Cordelia's eyes were wide. "So we actually have to suck up to him. Oh, just when you thought the apocalypse couldn't get any yummier."

"The little joys of working at Wolfram and Hart are without number," Lilah said. "A temp gave me a paperweight that said something like that, once. I think they used her hide for one of the conference-room chairs."

"So not a great time to have a break-in, huh?"

"Tell me about it," Lilah said. "They got away with a Deburchan dagger."

"Major loot," Cordelia said easily.

"Not so major anymore," Lilah said. "Just between you and me, we went through a whole de-enchantment ceremony earlier this evening. That dagger's not good for anything anymore, except maybe as a really flashy steak knife. But the point is, we have to get the guy who stole it, because we have to find the people he's going to sell it to."

Inside the Hyperion, Lorne swung into his set, belting out the first verse of "Goody, Goody." The music wafted out into the courtyard.

"Anybody might want a Deburchan dagger," Cordelia said. "So you're looking at a long list of suspects."

"I don't think so," Lilah said. "According to Lindsey, the Underlords are looking out for two major Warriors. Not just do-gooders with stakes and holy water -- the real deal."

Cordelia shrugged. "Warriors come and go. Mostly go, these days."

"Word is they want to go to Sunnydale. To close the Hellmouth."

Cordelia stared at Lilah, who stared back at her. After a moment, they each burst into laughter. As soon as Cordelia could gulp in a breath, she gasped, "Go -- to Sunnydale? No human being's set foot there in years --"

"Except maybe as a to-go meal some vamp took with him," Lilah smirked. "But, seriously. According to Lindsey, these Warriors have a plan. A plan that requires a seriously high-level magical artifact."

"Like, say, a Deburchan dagger."

"Or a Eye, for that matter," Lilah said. "Though I know you well enough to know you'd never sell."

"You know me well enough to know I can't," Cordelia said. "Not without going to hell, straight to hell, not passing go, not collecting 200 dollars."

"As long as you remember that," Lilah said.

Cordelia swallowed some more champagne as she shot Lilah a glance. "That's why you're spilling all this info, isn't it? You're giving me a warning."

"Don't get me wrong, Cordelia. I have enough faith in your practical nature to know you'll do the safe thing. But you weren't always like that. There was a time when you were quite the crusader --"

"Don't remind me," Cordelia said. "That was a long time ago. I know better now."

"I know that. But Lindsey doesn't. And Lindsey -- well, the guy's always been a loose cannon. Girls like us can't be too careful. Besides, if something happened to you, I'd miss our little chats."

"You'd miss the fact that I comp all your drinks."

"That too. At this point, I can no longer put off telling you that Lindsey wanted to have a word. For old times' sake, no doubt." Lilah rolled her eyes.

"There's a lot of stuff we'd be more likely to do for old times' sake. Like, say, fight it out with axes." Cordelia sighed, thinking of the time Lindsey had sicced Vocah on her. Then again, Lilah had been in on that party too, hadn't she? Bygones. "I should be glad he just wants to chat."

---

Lindsey swirled his martini appreciatively before taking another sip. Like a cool, smooth cloud, he thought. Every detail of this place was perfect. He could appreciate that.

The captain of the Guards looked over in his direction, and Lindsey nodded slightly, without rising from his seat at the table. This was Lilah's arrest, after all; he hated watching her score a point with Wolfram and Hart. But it was unavoidable, and now would be as good a time as any.

Two Guards came up to where Gunn stood by the counter, stood at either shoulder. The captain said, "Sir, we're going to need you to come with us."

Gunn shrugged. "Sure thing. What's up?"

"We think you know," one Guard said.

"You guys are tearing up the joint looking for the thief, right? Hell, go on and search me --"

"We aren't interested in a search," the captain said. "We have our proof. You are to come with us."

Gunn's face went very still. But he remained casual as he spoke, "Yeah, whatever. Hang on while I finish my drink."

He insouciantly turned around to swallow the rest of his White Russian, then whipped around and slugged one of the Guards in the face. People began to scream, and Gunn vaulted over the barstool to run for it.

Lindsey didn't move, just watched.

The Guards barreled after him. Gunn had a head start, but there were a whole lot of tables and trolls between him and escape. Just as he lurched for the doorway, the Guards seized him. "No, don't!" Gunn yelled. "Cordy! Jesus Christ, Cordy, don't let 'em do it!"

Lindsey looked over his shoulder, saw Cordelia standing by Lilah's side near the courtyard door. He braced himself, waiting for her to cry out or take action. Instead, she stared at Gunn for a moment, then turned away to down the last of her champagne.

"Cordy!" Gunn yelled as the Guards towed him out the door. He was still screaming when the doors slammed shut.

After a moment's pause, Lorne motioned to the three-person band, which then swung into "A Tisket, A Tasket."

Cordelia came walking toward Lindsey, and he set his martini down to take her hand. "Very touching, Cordelia. Nothing like seeing that friendship never ends."

"Or in your case, never begins," Cordelia said. "Seriously, Lindsey, you're a lot less monstrous than the last Emissary the Underlords sent. Seeing you actually counts as a relief."

"Seeing you counts as something of a surprise," Lindsey said. "I mean, all those years working with Angel. All those years as the valiant Seer. Never giving up, even when those around you fell like so many dominoes."

"A whole lot more dominoes have fallen since then," Cordelia said. "Makes a girl wonder what she can rely on." Lilah strolled up behind Cordelia and smiled at them both. Cordelia was looking at her when she continued, "Turns out, she can only rely on herself."

Lindsey smiled. "Could've told you that a long time ago. Lilah here says you've changed your ways. That you don't go running around after lost causes anymore."

Cordelia gestured around the room; the light sparkled on the platinum rings on her hands. "I'm the only cause I care about these days. And I think I've served that cause pretty well, don't you?"

"Brava," Lindsey said, clapping his hands softly. "I just want to be sure of you, Cordelia. I need to know that the trust the Powers have put in you isn't misplaced."

He gestured toward the Eye; Cordelia's eyes followed the gesture, and to his surprise, she smiled a little. "They made the deal clear, Lindsey. The end of the pain, the end of my life being in danger from the Visions. All I had to do was make the Visions available to everyone -- good, bad, indifferent."

Lilah smiled slightly. "These days, the 'indifferent' group is so large that I wonder why they bothered."

"Just checking," Lindsey said. "I have to say, you've convinced me."

"Why are you checking up on this anyway?" Cordelia frowned. "The Powers are the guys in the middle. From the sound of it, you're with the Underlords now."

"The Venareth was all about balance, Cordy," Lindsey said, throwing out the old nickname to see if she'd react. She didn't. "About setting good and evil on the same footing. Seeing as how the Underlords were falling way behind before that -- well, the Venareth was pretty damn overdue, in their opinion. The Underlords like the balance. And giving the Visions back to the side of good -- that would upset the balance, wouldn't it?"

"Don't know how much difference you think the Visions made anyway," Cordelia shrugged. "As far as I can tell, they pretty much just gave me a serious Advil habit."

"I see you've moved up to more civilized painkillers," Lindsey said, as a troll brought Cordelia yet another glass of champagne.

"Civilization," she murmured as she brought the glass to her lips. "These days, I guess you take it where you can find it."

"Fair enough," Lindsey said.

Cordelia got to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, Lindsey, I make a point of not palling around with the guests. They get all grabby if I do."

Lilah waved her off, as though she had the authority to do so. "I'm sure Lindsey and I can keep each other company. Chat about old times."

Lindsey didn't laugh, just half-smiled at Cordelia as she turned and went back toward the courtyard. Lilah watched him watch her go. "See? I told you. She's no trouble anymore."

"Seems like it," Lindsey said. "Good. Good. Just one more test, then."

"Test?" Lilah's voice seemed to betray real concern, but when Lindsey glanced back at her, she was just smiling at him dryly. "So, Linz. How's that evil hand?"

"Much better, now that the rest of me caught up." He looked over at the door, and as if on cue, it opened, and they came in.

Lilah followed his gaze, and her eyes went wide. After a moment, she whispered, "The Warriors for good."

"Mmmm-hmm," Lindsey said, never taking his eyes from the door.

The damned thing about it was that he looked almost the same. The hair was a little longer, the build a little thinner, perhaps. But he was still tall, broad-shouldered, intent -- the image of a Warrior if ever there was one. And still wearing black.

Of course. Even the end of the world wouldn't make Angel stop wearing black.

On the other hand, the second Warrior didn't look it at all; she was a woman of little height and slight build, with hair an unnatural yet ethereal platinum blonde. But if word on the street, reports from the Underlords and several dozen tablets of prophecy were to believed, these days she was the more powerful of the two by far.

Though, as always, Angel was Lindsey's main concern.

---

"So this is the famous Hyperion Hotel," Buffy said. "What's it like to be back home?"

Angel put his arm around her shoulder, only just glancing at the clock beside the door. "It's not exactly a homecoming."

---

Chapter 3: "Play It Again, Sam"

Angel looked at the lobby -- what had been the lobby, and was now a combination of that and a nightclub and a restaurant, crammed somewhat uncomfortably together. Before, the Hyperion had always had a kind of grandeur; it was shabby, perhaps, sometimes even a little frightening, but still possessed of some of the dignity it was built to reflect.

But this -- women in fabrics dark and bright, laughing too shrilly at unfunny jokes; men in suits that shone at the elbows and frayed at the collars, gulping back drinks too quickly; the buzz of conversation pitched at tones that others weren't meant to overhear -- well, it conjured up many images, some of them glamorous, some even beautiful. But nothing of dignity.

And the clock was there --

As Angel began ushering Buffy to a vacant table nearby, the band struck up another number. A voice began singing, "Something's Got To Give," and he felt his stomach twist. That voice could only belong to Lorne.

"What's that?" Buffy looked up at him, and Angel realized he had spoken aloud.

"The singer's an old friend of mine," Angel said.

Buffy smiled gently as they took their seats. "We'll have to say hi. Too few old friends to run into these days."

"I know," Angel said. "It'll be good to talk to Lorne again."

"You say that as if --"

As Buffy spoke, Lorne recognized Angel in the crowd. He didn't falter in the song, didn't so much as hesitate, but Angel saw the flash of knowledge in his eyes. Angel didn't look away.

" -- you didn't mean it."

"I mean it," Angel said. "This is just a little strange. I lived here for almost four years, Buffy. It's odd to see it so changed."

"Everything's changed," Buffy said, and Angel turned then to see the sadness in her eyes. He took her hand and squeezed. it.

At that moment, a young woman with blonde hair stepped up to them; Angel realized that she looked somewhat familiar. She was glancing back and forth between Buffy and Angel -- she obviously recognized them both and was surprised by it. "Buffy?" she said.

Buffy looked at her for a long moment, then said, "Chantarelle -- no, Lily."

"No, Anne," the woman said. Buffy straightened up as if in pride as Anne continued, "I just wanted to say hi to both of you. I -- I didn't realize you knew each other."

Buffy and Angel looked at one another; this time the smiles were broad, and mutual. "That and then some," Buffy said. "How did you and Angel meet?"

"I swindled her in a two-million-dollar deal."

When Buffy raised her eyebrows, Anne laughed. "I actually ended up with the money."

"You need to brush up on your swindling," Buffy said. Angel shrugged.

"Well, I can't stay long," Anne said. "I just thought, seeing the two of you like this, it was like something out of a book. Something out of Wuthering Heights."

Angel felt his heartbeat quicken, but he was careful to give no outer sign of his reaction. Buffy was just as placid, half-waving as Anne leaned away from the table. "Thanks for stopping by, Anne."

Anne said nothing more, just nodded and backed away as a serving troll stepped up to get their orders. "Two gin and tonics," Buffy said. "One straight, one on the rocks."

As soon as they were alone again, as alone as it was possible to be in the din, Angel said in a low voice, "Be careful."

She looked at him sideways. "Aren't I always?" That earned a short laugh.

A woman's voice said, from behind Angel, "You know, I ought to have just the right zinger for this occasion, but it seems as though I'm out."

Without turning around, Angel said, "Lilah."

Buffy looked over his shoulder at Lilah, who came around the corner wearing black satin and a killer's smile. "And who's this?" Buffy said.

"Angel and I go way back, don't we, Angel?" When Buffy frowned, Lilah laughed. "Don't worry. The relationship was always purely business."

"Buffy, Lilah is an attorney with Wolfram and Hart. They do a lot of work for the Underlords in this district."

Buffy pressed her lips together, and Lilah shook her head. Angel realized, with something that was almost shock, that Lilah was drunk. "You know, these days, I don't get into the evil as much as I used to. I miss it. I admit that. But Wolfram and Hart is stuck in the middle these days. Like most of us."

"But not all of us." Angel looked up and frowned as Lindsey McDonald strolled to his side. "Some of us have definitely chosen sides, haven't we?"

Lilah said, "Angel, I'm sure you remember Lindsey. He's the new Emissary to the Underlords. Isn't it nice to see how virtue is rewarded?"

"Amazing," Angel muttered as he looked up at Lindsey. "Millions of people have died, and none of them were you."

Buffy held out her hand to shake. "I don't think we've met. I'm Buffy Summers."

"Lindsey McDonald. Charmed, I'm sure. I've read about you. Read quite a lot. Impressive record you've got -- if you're impressed by lost causes."

"I've learned that causes aren't lost," Buffy said. "People are, sometimes. But it's not quite the same thing."

"People are lost sometimes, it's true." Lindsey was studying Buffy's face carefully, as if trying to communicate with more than words. Then he said, slowly, "Take, for instance, Charles Gunn. Good man, once upon a time. More recently, just one more poor dog on the streets of L.A. But as of tonight, he's a prisoner in our custody."

Angel breathed in sharply; if Lindsey registered his shock and dismay, he didn't acknowledge it. "You see, he stole this dagger. Mighty fine dagger --curved blade, jewels in the hilt, enchanted six ways from Sunday --"

"I bet it makes great julienne fries," Buffy said.

Lindsey actually smiled. "Might at that. And we'll have to find out, soon as we find it. We've already found Gunn, so I imagine the answer will be forthcoming real soon. One thing's for sure -- he's outta luck. And so are the poor saps who were hoping to buy it. Any idea who that might be?"

Buffy shrugged, and, as ever, Angel found himself admiring her nonchalance in the face of even the most ghastly setbacks. "Maybe you should check the subscription list for the Really Cool Magic Daggers catalog."

"I've got a better idea," Lindsey said, and all the slick pleasantry had left his voice as he leaned across their table. "Why don't you guys come down to the Wolfram and Hart office tomorrow? We'd love to ask you a few questions. About why exactly Angel decided to pay a visit to his old haunts. Your future plans. That kinda thing."

"Small talk, really. Like a cocktail party," Lilah said. "But with guards. And no booze."

"If we walk inside Wolfram and Hart, are we going to walk out again?" Angel said.

Lindsey studied him for a moment, then nodded. "As long as you walk in under your own power. If we have to drag you -- no guarantees then."

"We'll be there," Buffy said. "Now, do you mind? The troll's been waiting to serve us for about three minutes."

Lindsey smirked as he took Lilah's arm and led her away from the table. The troll stepped close, set down the gin and tonics, and left.

As soon as they were alone, Angel whispered, "This is bad."

"Stay calm," Buffy said. "So we didn't get the dagger yet. It's still out there somewhere."

Angel thought about that for a minute. "You're right. Lindsey let that slip. He must have been drinking almost as much as Lilah."

"So we hang in there," Buffy said. She smiled at him -- that same wistful smile he remembered from the young girl he'd fallen in love with. "They counted us out before, you know. And we always come back."

He smiled back at her, took her hand again. "Always."

"Angel!" He turned his head, and this time, the surprise was far more pleasant.

"Wesley -- Fred -- oh, my God. You're here. You're both here -- " They were coming toward him, images out of a past that seemed unspeakably distant. How different they looked -- Wesley was almost painfully thin, with hair that was now salt-and-pepper instead of black. Fred's hair had been bobbed in a fashion that somehow managed to make her look even younger than she had when they'd rescued her from Pylea. Angel rose as they reached the table and embraced them each in turn. Wesley then wrapped his arms around Buffy, who returned the hug with such warmth it was hard to remember she and Wesley hadn't always been the dearest of friends.

Wesley whispered into Buffy's hair, "Some old contacts told us Heathcliff and Catherine might be coming to town. So we thought we'd check and see."

"Hey there," Fred said to Buffy. "I've heard a lot about you over the years. And when I say a lot, I mean, a whole lot. I don't suppose you heard a lot about me, but then, you know, what is there to tell, compared to, oh, 'Slayer' and 'great love of Angel's life,' or not-life as the case might be --"

Buffy grinned. "Don't tell me. You're Fred." When Fred nodded happily, Buffy laughed. "And it is life now, you know."

"That's right -- shanshu. We heard, but -- " Wesley held his hand to Angel's neck -- right at the jugular, where the pulse would be strong. His face lit up, and for a moment the past few years seemed to have dropped away from Wesley. Angel knew he ought to return the smile, but he couldn't help but realize how bony Wesley's fingers were against his skin. How shadowed his eyes were.

"Oh, good show, Angel," Wesley said softly. "At least one part of that dratted prophecy was all we hoped it would be."

"You should talk to your friends, Angel," Buffy said, stepping away from the table. "I need to get a twist for my drink. At the bar. Maybe talk a little literature."

Angel quietly repeated, "Be careful."

Buffy just nodded as she turned away.

---

How like Angel, to be frightened for her on an errand as small as this. He would rush into battle with her -- even now, when he had no powers, no special strength save that of his resolve -- and never hesitate. He had seen her leap through fire, jump off cliffs, fight three ogres while she was armed only with the contents of a basic tool chest. He never doubted her, but he always worried about her. Buffy decided that she rather liked the balance.

She straightened her white suit as she went up to the bar. Fortunately, the bartender was swamped with customers, making do with his inadequate stand. That was going to leave her quite a bit of time in line with Anne.

Anne pretended to simply shift in place, turning so that she was much nearer Buffy's ear. She whispered, "We've got trouble."

"So I hear," Buffy said. "The guy with the dagger's in custody."

"He'd been out of the fight for a long time. He came back, though, and pulled this huge job for us -- and got caught right away. He'd even talked about going to Sunnydale with you guys -- he was ready to fight again --" Anne's face clouded for a moment, as though an old sorrow were making itself felt again. But she quickly continued, "Gunn still didn't trust a whole lot of people. He didn't tell me where the dagger is. It could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. I'm not sure that we can find it."

Buffy breathed in and out. Okay, she thought. Staying calm. Coming up with a plan B. "What else could we use?"

"There's a handful of other artifacts," Anne said. "The Mirror of Yeram might do -- we'd have to do some major bargaining to get it, particularly as fast as you're gonna need it, but we can try." She laughed and shook her head. "The ironic thing is, we're standing five feet away from the most powerful magical item on the West Coast."

Buffy stared at her, forgetting to be discreet -- then caught a glimpse of what was behind Anne, glittering on a pedestal. A jewel, shining bright in the smoky darkness of the hotel. "What IS that?" she whispered.

"The Eye," Anne said, as though that answered everything. "A jewel given by the Powers That Be at the Venareth. Channels their sendings, makes them available to good and evil alike."

"Boy, that's big and shiny and helpful and not heavily guarded."

Anne shook her head. "Forget about it. The Powers have certain rules about that jewel. If anybody tries to remove it without the owner's permission, that person becomes marked for vengeance by the Powers. You might not drop dead that day -- but from then on, you're pretty well guaranteed some serious trouble for the rest of your fairly short life. If anybody kills the owner, same thing."

Buffy opened her mouth to ask another question, but as she did so, she glanced over at the table where Angel was talking animatedly with Wesley and Fred. She squinted -- it looked as if there were a kind of a fog over them. A shadow, but not a shadow -- "What is that?"

Anne sighed. "Sad, isn't it? The first couple years after the Venareth, when our resistance was getting started, Wesley was just -- a rock. The first person we went to for answers, the first guy in the fight, the last one to get to safety."

Time changes us all, Buffy thought. "But what happened?"

"About a year and a half ago, we had a raid on one of their camps. They call them labor camps, because that's actually more comforting than the truth. But all those vampires Wolfram and Hart employs -- well, you know they're not eating at the company cafeteria."

"So I've heard."

"Anyway, Wesley got caught. We thought they'd kill him for sure, but they didn't. Not fast and easy, anyway." Anne's face was hard. "They wanted to make an example of him. So they tethered a Solonach to him."

"A Soloflex?"

"Solonach," Anne repeated. "It's a kind of -- life vampire, I guess you'd say. It sucks the life energy out of you, little by little. Just attaches itself to you and never lets go, not until you're dead. But it takes you a couple years to die. I hear it hurts a little more every day."

"Oh, God," Buffy whispered. She thought of Wesley in his brand-new, shining-white tennis shoes, panting as he tried to keep up on the obstacle course. She remembered laughing at him. "There's nothing we can do?"

"Best not to think about it," Anne said. "And if you don't squint, and the light doesn't hit it quite right, you can't even see it."

Buffy shook her head, tried to clear it. If she let herself concentrate on any one of the countless tragedies unfolding around them all the time, she knew she'd go mad. Better to concentrate on what she could do, how she could help. "So, this Eye. What if we did get the owner's permission to take it out of here?"

Anne laughed. "You've obviously never met her."

---

Angel tried to concentrate on Wesley's smile, his clear happiness at seeing Angel again, as his old friend spoke. But he looked so thin -- "And when we heard about the fall of the vampires' stronghold in the north, we knew it had to have been you and Buffy."

"Mostly Buffy," Angel said. "Human now, remember? I can't eviscerate a Hrunta demon like I used to."

"Aw, bet you can," Fred said. "It's like riding a bike. Except no little wicker basket."

"What I mean to say, Angel -- you're an inspiration to us all. Those who are still fighting. Those of us who can fight no longer."

Angel looked up once more at the Solonach above them. "Wesley, isn't there any way --"

"If there were, surely between the three of us, we'd know of it, wouldn't we?" Wesley shook his head. "You with your centuries of experience as a vampire, me with my Watcher training, Fred with her absolutely compulsive study of my texts --"

Angel said, "But I could have sworn I remembered that there was something --"

"Oh, yes, there are ways," Wesley said. "If I perform a spell to move it to someone else, to force them to die in my stead. Fred tried to convince me to -- well, it was out of the question."

"I would," Fred said quietly. "You know I would."

Wesley didn't verbally acknowledge what she had said, but he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "The only other option is for one of the people who tethered it in the first place to release it. But as it was attached by our dear friends at Wolfram and Hart -- no chance there."

"I'm sorry," Angel said, feeling that the words were inadequate, but not knowing what else he could say.

"Angel, truly -- it's all right." Wesley smiled at him, his eyes bright behind his glasses. "I know why I fought. I'm willing to pay the price. If I hadn't fought -- something else in me would have died. And I'd rather lose my life than my soul."

"Take it from someone who's been there," Angel said. "You made the right choice."

Fred cut in. "I'm not feeling very well. Wesley, maybe we should go home."

"Fred?" Angel frowned. "You okay?"

"She's fine," Wesley said. "That's her tactful way of getting around the fact that I don't feel very well. Fred's forever convinced I'm overtaxing myself. But honestly, Fred, I'm all right --"

"You are overtaxing yourself," Fred said. "But, seriously, I'm really tired. I mean, it's not like I'm not happy to see you, Angel, but I just am about to drop --"

Angel didn't believe her for a minute, but he couldn't blame her for wanting to take care of Wesley. "We'll see each other again while Buffy and I are here. Maybe tomorrow afternoon -- are you still at your old place?"

Wesley shook his head as, resigned, he slowly rose to his feet. "We aren't able to afford such luxury now. Not that it was all that luxurious before, but -- well. What say we meet you back here tomorrow night? We can raise a glass to old friends."

Fred took his arm, and they were about to go -- and Angel finally knew, absolutely, that he could put it off no longer. "Is -- is she still here?"

They didn't ask who. Fred just nodded. Wesley said, "I'm surprised she hasn't walked through the lobby already."

"She still owns the Hyperion?" Angel was astonished, though he couldn't think why -- seeing, now, that so much of his former life was intact here, albeit greatly changed, he should have realized this on his own. But somehow he could not put her in the middle of this cacophony -- this smoky, desperate echo of the place they had all lived and loved -- and make the image make any sense. "How is she?"

Wesley and Fred looked at each other for a moment, clearly uncertain as to how to answer. Finally, Fred said, "We don't talk much. That's the way she wants it."

Angel nodded. Wesley quickly hugged him once more, and Fred followed suit; without another word, they went back out into the night.

He took a deep breath and glanced back at Buffy; she was still talking to Anne, still doing a good job of not looking as though she was talking to Anne. Lorne finished the last song of his set, and applause rang throughout the bar. Angel glanced at his watch.

Three minutes to ten.

After a moment's hesitation, Angel got up and walked to the grandfather clock. The time was all wrong, and cobwebs laced around the still pendulum. The weights had all dropped to the bottom..

Slowly, carefully, Angel began bringing up the weights, winding the clock.

"You know, big guy, I'd love for us to have a big old emotional reunion right now, complete with a violin score and soft-focus lighting, just like they used on Joan Collins in the later seasons of 'Dynasty,' but I gotta tell you, you're not supposed to be doing that."

Angel looked over his shoulder and smiled. "It's good to see you, Lorne."

Lorne smiled back at him, but his eyes were guarded. "Likewise. But you're still winding the clock."

"About time somebody did." He shifted the hands. One minute to ten.

"She's the boss. More to the point, she's MY boss, these days. And she doesn't want anybody winding that clock."

Angel put the pendulum in motion, heard the clock swing back into action as though it had never stilled. As it ticked, he shut the door again. "How is she?" he asked, for the second time in a few minutes.

"She's been better."

"Haven't we all?" Angel said.

And then the clock began to chime. One, two --

A few people in the crowd glanced lazily over in their direction. Nobody seemed to pay it much mind.

Three, four --

"Any chance you'd just bolt through those doors and never come back?" Lorne said. "Because you did a pretty good impression of it last time."

Five, six --

"I never ran away," Angel said. "And I'm not running away now."

Seven --

"Lorne!" That voice -- her voice --

Eight --

Angel saw her coming in from the courtyard, older, more beautiful, angry as hell. "I thought I said never to --"

Nine --

She saw him, stopped in her tracks, stared at him as her face went pale.

Ten.

Angel lifted his chin. "Hello, Cordelia."

---

Chapter 4: "You Must Remember This"

Cordelia had imagined this moment a thousand times in the past four years. In some of her fantasized meetings, she was imperious and cool; in others, she broke down in tears. Sometimes she was in the arms of her beloved -- who never had a name or a face, but was possessed of many vague-yet-sterling qualities. Sometimes Angel had aged poorly in his years of humanity, and was wearing coke-bottle glasses and a comb-over, albeit a heavily gelled one. There were a few variants of the fantasy that involved weapons.

None of them had anything to do with her being tipsy and tired and coming down from a vision. Or with Angel looking even better than he ever had as a vampire. Or with Buffy walking toward the two of them through the decadent fray, clothed in white, pale hair like a halo, untouched by it all. "Cordy," Buffy said. The smile on her face was genuine, and she held out her hands to grasp Cordelia's. "Angel's friends made it through the Venareth a lot better than mine did. No, don't look like that -- I'm happy for all of you. I'm glad you're okay."

"And you," Cordelia managed to say. And it was true, wasn't it? "I've heard rumors about what you were up to. Kicking ass, taking names, like always. That vamp hideout in the north --"

Buffy lifted her chin and smiled. "Ass was kicked," she admitted. "Names were taken." She looked over at Angel then, all lit up, the way she always had been when she looked at Angel back in high school. Cordelia used to laugh about it, then. "You were going to introduce me."

Angel found his tongue. "Right. Buffy, this is Lorne. Lorne, this is Buffy."

"Pleasure to know you, chica," Lorne said. "Anybody who's smacking the bad guys around is okay in my book. And trust me, my Book Of The Okay is a lot shorter than it used to be. You should be proud to be included."

"I am," Buffy said. She grinned at him, and he smiled back at her, and Cordelia was terrified that Lorne might just ask Buffy to sing right there.

Lilah sauntered up and smiled at Lorne. "Do I get a footnote?"

Lorne rolled his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I'm sure there's some woodwork that needs polishing."

He wandered off, and for a moment Cordelia envied him the ability to do so. Lilah was looking at her very closely, through half-lidded eyes that, Cordelia had learned, took in far more than you might first expect. And Angel was there, he was RIGHT THERE, and they weren't talking to each other, weren't looking at each other, and Buffy was taking his arm --

"I just wanted to remind you two," Lilah said to Buffy and Angel. "Wolfram and Hart, tomorrow, say, 11 a.m.? I know that unpleasant errands sometimes slip people's minds --"

"I'm not likely to forget about Wolfram and Hart," Angel said.

"What's happening at Wolfram and Hart?" Cordelia blurted out, well-aware that it was none of her business, and even more aware that Lilah knew this.

After a moment's pause, Lilah said, "Routine questions, Cordelia. The firm doesn't look very kindly on people in Buffy and Angel's line of work. As I think you remember."

Cordelia straightened up. "It's all about balance, right, Lilah? Even you guys need Buffy and Angel. You need the side of good." She managed to look squarely at Buffy, to give her her due. "We all do."

"We like the side of good to be fairly weak," Lilah confided. "And you two are just Energizer Bunnies of do-gooding, aren't you? You keep going and going and going --"

"As a matter of fact, we were going," Buffy said, clearly ready to be out of Lilah's sight. "Cordelia, where do you live?"

"Here," Cordelia said. "I live here." Angel reacted to that; she knew what he wanted to ask, knew he wouldn't ask. And he didn't.

"Well, great," Buffy said. "We'll come see you again tomorrow night. Maybe we can talk about old times."

And wouldn't that just be the most fun ever? "Yeah," Cordelia said weakly. "Great."

Angel put his arm around Buffy's shoulders to guide her out the door. But he paused and said, "Good night, Cordelia."

"Good night," she echoed.

She watched them go out the door, watched it swing shut behind them. The clock continued to tick away, completely undamaged by four years of non-use. Still perfect, still working, as though it had been preserved for just this moment.

"Touching," Lilah said. "Though I have to say, you and Angel -- you used to be such good friends. I would have expected a hug, at least."

"Your bar tab's running out," Cordelia said curtly. "You might want to head on home."

"My bar tab? You don't even put my drinks on a tab!" Lilah's outrage lasted just a moment, and was quickly replaced by a too-knowing smile. "Have it your way, then. But I'll want some answers tomorrow."

Tomorrow. He would be coming back tomorrow.

---

The Hyperion's last nightclub guests were shooed out by the serving trolls a little after 1 a.m. This was rather early for them to close, and more than a few of them grumbled. But Cordelia had commanded it, and in the Hyperion, Cordelia's word was law. If she said the guests stayed, they stayed. If she said they went, they went.

And if she told the trolls to bring her a bottle of champagne, and then another, they did it.

Cordelia sat at one table in the darkness of the lobby. Their overnight guests were either asleep or, more likely, busily engaged in the clandestine encounters they'd come here for. They wouldn't be coming downstairs, and so she could sit alone, drink her champagne, and survey her kingdom.

Even the darkness, she could see the Eye. The clock ticked more loudly than she'd realized -- than she'd remembered. She put one hand to her chest, felt her necklace heavy around her neck, like a slave's collar. In contempt, she tugged it off, tipped her glass back to drain it, then poured herself another.

"Getting a little extreme with the bubbly there, boss."

She didn't turn around. "Go home, Lorne."

"First off, I live here, in what has to be this hotel's least elegant suite, even counting the one we set aside for Velga-demon use. Second, I'm not sure you need to be down here on your own, brooding in the dark."

"If I went upstairs, I'd still be on my own. Brooding in the dark."

"This is true. But you wouldn't be running through our entire store of Veuve Cliquot."

Cordelia knew she should smile, say something comforting. But it wasn't in her, not anymore. Not even the pretense. "I always thought if I saw him again, it would be because he came to see me. To apologize, or to -- to --because he came to see me. Not because he was doing something else. Just passing through."

Lorne rested one hand on her shoulder. "I know it's hard, pumpkin."

She shrugged him off. "Go home, Lorne."

He sighed and turned to go upstairs.

And the clock began to chime --

One --

"The merriest Christmas Eve ever," she had said. And the world had seemed more open and alive than ever before --

Two.

---

December 22, 2003

Wesley folded his arms, looked at them all sternly. "People. Please. Two days from the Venareth, and instead of preparing, you're all --"

"Preparing," Cordelia insisted, tossing another handful of tinsel on the Christmas tree.

"Check it out," Faith said She laughed as Gunn began juggling some of the shiny ball ornaments, then tossed another one toward him. He fielded it deftly, kept juggling.

"Where's your Christmas spirit?" Fred said, hugging Wesley around his waist.

"I am replete with the Christmas spirit," Wesley said dryly. "For instance, I am wearing this ridiculous novelty tie --"

"What's ridiculous about tap-dancing reindeer?" Cordelia said, as though she meant it.

"-- because Fred bought it, and I've done all my gift-wrapping, the same as the rest of you --"

"You're done?" Gunn said, somewhat dismayed, either by Wesley's promptness or the fact that Faith was tossing him two more ornaments at once.

"You've started?" Faith said, shaking her head in amazement as she began looking for more baubles to throw at Gunn.

" -- but -- the Venareth --"

"The Venareth's not a marching-band performance," Angel said. He was sitting on the circular booth in the center of the hotel, attempting to untangle the lights Cordelia wanted on the banister. "It's been prophesied since the eighth century. Thanks to your brilliant translations --" Angel paused as the others applauded, save for Gunn, who was still juggling. "-- we all know where we're supposed to be, and what we're supposed to do. But the outcome's fixed, right?"

"Well, yes," Wesley said. He relaxed slightly, rubbed Fred's arms as she squeezed him more tightly. "I just want to be certain that all goes well."

"We all do," Gunn said, tossing each ornament back at Faith one by one, and grinning as she dived to get them all. "But we know it's gonna happen. And we've been going over our plans for four months now. We are totally, 100-percent Venareth ready. Can't you just take it for the big ol' Christmas present it is?"

"One day early," Cordelia said. She peeked around the side of the tree to see Angel scowling down at the lights; though she kept herself from laughing out loud, she couldn't help grinning. Then, as if he sensed her watching, he looked up and smiled.

The Venareth. The word was even a beautiful word -- like something in one of those Latin texts Wesley and Fred were always poring over. It could be part of a song, a chant, a prayer. But it was better than any of those things --it was their deliverance. Their victory. Their reward.

Wesley had read them the final prophecy often enough, connected it with the other writings of Anatole and Aberjian, so they knew what was coming. The powers of good were becoming too strong to be denied. They wouldn't be fighting in the shadows any longer. The Powers were going to give her a way to have her Visions without suffering the usual skull-crushing pain, or the weakness that had plagued her more and more as the years went on. And Angel --

Angel would receive his shanshu, and become human.

In short, everything any of them had ever wanted was arriving, and on Christmas Eve. There would be one more battle, one that would require them to split up and face different dangers -- and there was always the risk of any of them dying, if not all. But Cordelia didn't think much of it; they'd done too much for the Powers not to be rewarded now. They'd make it. And the Venareth would come to pass, as long as they were all there to fulfill the prophecy.

She glanced over at Fred and Wesley, who appeared to have forgotten his Venareth worries as Fred drew him near the mistletoe hanging over the counter. Meanwhile, Faith and Gunn were clowning around in a corner; ever since Faith's parole five months before, those two had hit it off fast. Gunn was pretty much the only one Faith had hit it off fast with; though whatever weirdo ex-murderer bond she and Angel shared was still in place, so was Wesley's memory of what she'd done to him. Not to mention Cordelia's memory of what Faith had done to him. (Fred, of course, didn't remember it -- but just the PG-rated version Wesley had shared with her had guaranteed that Faith wasn't one of Fred's favorite people.)

But Gunn believed in taking people at their deeds -- and Cordelia had to admit, Faith seemed to genuinely ready to do the right thing. And she lapped up Gunn's attention as though she'd been thirsty for it for years. It wasn't a romance, Cordelia thought, but it might be something better: a friendship between two people who each needed to start over, who needed to give trust as much as receive it. Of course, the effect on Angel Investigations was roughly the same as having two large, hyperactive Labrador puppies on staff. But they had so much fun together that it was fun just watching them.

Finally she looked back at Angel, who had somehow managed to create a Gordian knot of lights. In just a few days, he would no longer be a vampire. He would be human once more.

What would Angel do then?

To her surprise, and joy, and deep, heartfelt wonder, she thought she knew.

"Cordelia?" Startled from her reverie, she turned to see Wesley at her shoulder. "I wondered -- could I have a word?"

Cordelia glanced around, saw that Fred had commandeered Faith and Gunn to hang the wreath on the door. "Sure thing. What's up?"

He took her arm and led her toward his office. "Oh, I only wanted to go over this one bit of the prophecy --"

She snorted as he shut the door behind them. "God, Wesley, it is SO past time to lighten up already."

"I don't want to talk about the prophecy," Wesley said. "I wanted to talk about -- well -- my present for Fred."

"You said you were done wrapping!"

"I lied. I have this one gift left." And Wesley pulled out a small black-velvet box.

Cordelia gasped, then took it and pried it open. She squealed with delight as she saw the engagement ring sparkling inside. "Oh, my God! Wesley, this is beautiful!"

He took it back and stared at it as if doubting her words. "And you think she'll say yes?"

"Oh, how do you know what I think?" Cordelia teased him.

"Because you're hopping up and down and making silly little flappy hands," Wesley said. "Which means -- I hope it means -- you think she'll say yes?"

Cordelia forced herself to calm down and put her hands on either side of his face. "She's gonna say yes. And smooch you on the mouth, and be Mrs. Wyndham-Price. Or would you be, I don't know, Burkle-Price? Wyndham-Burkle?"

Wesley looked doubtful for a moment. "I hadn't considered -- do you think she'll want to --"

"Oh, relax already. You can be Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head for all it matters. Wesley, I'm so happy for you. For both of you."

He smiled down at her, and for a moment she saw how hard his natural reserve was warring with his happiness. And she thought back to a hundred occasions when she and Wesley had shared confidences, most all of them tragic -- high time they had some joy, she thought. Wesley, and Fred, and me too, dammit.

She hugged him tightly around the waist, and he returned the embrace. "Thank you, Cordelia. For everything."

"Right back atcha," Cordelia said. "I just want you two to be happy. And no bridesmaid's dresses in yellow, okay? Washes me out."

He laughed. "I hope we will be happy. And you, too -- I mean, you and Angel --"

Cordelia started, then leaned back from him. She felt like she ought to be denying what Wesley'd said with all of her might; after all, she and Angel weren't dating. They'd never even kissed. Never so much as said anything that would suggest that the two of them were anything but the closest of friends.

But with Wesley smiling knowingly, and her own suspicions and hopes so close to the surface, this close to the Venareth -- well, it was hard to deny.

During their four and a half years in Los Angeles, her relationship with Angel had traveled down a hundred different paths, almost all of them unexpected. They'd been friends. They'd been enemies. They'd gone months without speaking, either out of anger or, sometimes, simply from being caught up in other quests, other people. Sometimes she'd been so crushed out on him that she got swoony just smelling his leather coat, and he'd been oblivious. Other times, he'd been following her around, obviously adoring, and she'd felt nothing but awkwardness and a hope that he'd get over it, and soon.

The last few months, though, the admiration was undeniably mutual. And with his shanshu fast approaching, for the first time, Cordelia felt like they might be able to do something about it. Maybe Angel felt the same way. After all, he came to her house most evenings, when she didn't hang out at the Hyperion; they didn't do anything special, really, just rented movies or listened to music or talked about anything in the world. Then again, maybe for Angel, that was special -- just being able to be a guy, with a girl. They made up all kinds of stupid excuses to drop by and see each other, found different ways of touching each other that didn't actually constitute making a move. (She'd rest her feet in his lap as they watched television, or sometimes her head. He'd always guide her through doorways, letting his hand linger on her shoulder or her back.) But they'd never actually discussed the future, at least not their future -- at least, she thought, not directly --

A week ago, she'd dragged him to the mall for some Christmas shopping. They'd had a great evening, ducking in and out of shops, watching children visiting Santa, taking each other's hands to draw each other into displays that looked interesting. Cordelia had enjoyed herself thoroughly; as far as she was concerned, flirting plus shopping equaled a good night.

Finally, they'd gone into a furniture store; Gunn was still using folding chairs around his kitchen table, a state of affairs Cordelia intended to rectify one chair at a time. And that was when she'd seen it -- a grandfather clock. Not just any grandfather clock, either -- one with wood darker than dark, with silvery, filigreed hands, with numbers in the same curliecued font she remembered from childhood.

"Angel, this is it. The grandfather clock that used to be in the hall outside my bedroom when I was little. I mean, this is IT. Or so close I can't even tell the difference."

"It's beautiful." Hand on her shoulder. "You want it, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," she had breathed. She'd fallen asleep to the clock's ticking every night of her childhood, until the IRS hauled it off like so much junk. It was only one of the many things she'd lost, back then, and probably one of the least -- but it was amazing how much she'd missed that comforting sound as she lay in bed at night. How she still missed it, sometimes. Cordelia had picked up the price tag and frowned. "It's a lot."

Angel had looked at it too, then said, "Yeah, it is. But --"

"What?"

"Cordy -- I couldn't buy the whole clock for you for Christmas, but maybe we could, you know, split it."

"You mean, buy it together?"

"Why not?"

Cordelia couldn't immediately think of a reason why not, except that men and women who bought furniture together were usually, well, married. And bringing that up hadn't seemed at all the thing to do. And besides -- "Angel, I'd love it."

He had smiled at her as he gestured to the salesman. "You know, we could put it against the wall near the kitchen. You think Dennis would mind?"

And that was the moment that sealed it for her -- because she had realized, in that instant, that Angel wasn't just trying to decorate her house. He was imagining living there.

With her.

Of course, it was kinda nervy to start planning such a thing without even asking her, not to mention without giving her some serious smooching action, but Cordelia had found she didn't care at all. "It's gonna look great," she'd said, leaning against him.

"Coming back from dreamland anytime soon?" Wesley said.

Cordelia realized she'd completely fugued out in front of Wesley. And realized something else -- "Oh, God, Wes, I'm sorry. I just remembered something."

Wesley cocked his eyebrow, but she ignored him and leaned out of the office door. "Angel! They're delivering the clock in, like, 30 minutes!" As Angel set aside the impossible tangle of lights, she looked back at Wesley. "If you tease me, I'm totally going out there and telling Fred you bought her a Crockpot."

"Don't you dare." Wesley hugged her again. "Have fun feathering the nest."

---

They put the clock against the wall near the kitchen, brought up the weights to wind it up, set the pendulum in motion. Cordelia even ran into her bedroom to see if she could hear the ticking from her bed, and she could. Dennis either approved or had no opinion; he was unusually quiet that evening, doing no more than lighting some cinnamon-scented candles, perhaps to celebrate the season in his own way. For their part, she and Angel alternately wrapped presents and discussed Venareth plans.

"I just think Faith and I are not the ideal team," Cordelia said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she's backup with bite. But I'm convinced we're gonna kill each other on the drive back from the canyon."

"You two have been left alone before," Angel said, but he looked worried.

Cordelia shrugged; compared to everything else that was going on, the annoyance of a long car trip with Faith was minor. "Okay, but if only one of us comes back alive, you have only yourselves to blame." She carefully measured out the ribbon to go around the books she'd bought for Wesley, than asked, hoping she sounded casual, "You guys all set up in Sunnydale?"

Angel didn't react. "We're going to meet up at the Magic Box, make our move to the Hellmouth during the eclipse. Buffy and Xander and I went through it pretty thoroughly last month."

Buffy and Xander. Now, that was a pair Cordelia was still having trouble wrapping her mind around. But they'd hooked up about eight months before; when Angel had found out about it, instead of being crushed (that Riley guy) or aghast (Spike, for God's sake), he'd been perfectly calm. Though there was still no love lost between Angel and Xander, Cordelia knew Angel respected Xander's courage, his loyalty to Buffy. And now, apparently, Xander's love for her.

Cordelia knew, without asking, that Angel would not go to Buffy after his shanshu. But she didn't know if that was because he honestly didn't want to anymore -- or if it was just because he wouldn't interfere with her relationship with Xander.

As the clock tick-tocked comfortingly nearby, Cordelia asked herself: Does it matter? If he's coming home to me, what does it matter, what would have happened if only?

It did matter, of course, and she was dying to ask Angel about it. But, Cordelia figured, maybe she should wait to ask where she stood, vis-a-vis Angel's eternal love for Buffy, until after they'd actually been on a date or something.

Still, though, it was making her crazy, not knowing --

Angel was staring at Gunn's new chair and shaking his head. "There's really not any way to wrap a chair and not give away the surprise."

"No, guess not," Cordelia said. "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"--- are you excited about being human?"

"Of course." Angel looked at her curiously. "We've talked about this."

"Not really. I mean, we have -- but mostly we joked about it. You know, plaid shirts, hamburgers, Venice Beach, ha ha. But I mean really. Down deep. What are you thinking about?"

Angel was quiet for a few moments, considering. Finally he said, slowly, "Starting over. Living life like a normal man, with a job and a home and --and a family, and no vampires or ghouls or demons to deal with. Knowing what it's like just to live in this world. And not taking it for granted this time."

Cordelia nodded. Well, that was thoughtful and heartfelt and totally not specific enough, dammit. She started measuring out the paper to fit around the new running shoes for Faith. "Angel?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"-- when you say starting over, what does that mean to you?"

Angel finished tying the ribbon around Gunn's chair -- not particularly well, either, but dainty bows weren't exactly his specialty. "Not letting my life be run by the past. I mean, I don't want to forget it -- any of it, even the worst. But I figure the Powers mean for this to be a gift. Not just, you know, a shorter time for me to brood."

Cordelia managed to smile and nod; really, she should have asked some of these questions when she was in a state of mind to hear the answers. "That's great," she said, knowing it was a little lame. But Angel didn't seem to mind. He just smiled and handed her the scotch tape.

Oh, yeah, she thought, and taped the edges of the paper around the shoebox. As she looked for a name tag, she said, "Angel?"

"Yeah, Cordy?"

Then, just because she couldn't think of anything else to ask, "--- why don't you kiss me?"

She'd said it. She actually said it aloud, put it out there, where he could look horrified or laugh or deny it all. The spell was broken, and from here on out, she was gonna have to stop dreaming and deal with reality --

-- whatever reality was --

Cordelia managed to look up and meet Angel's eyes. He was staring at her, surprised, but not shocked. He seemed to be thinking his answer over very carefully. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath.

Finally, Angel said, "Because I don't want to start until I know I don't have to stop."

"Ohh," Cordelia said, sighing softly. Her entire body seemed to be melting, in the best possible way, and Angel was smiling at her a little. "Good answer."

Angel took the shoebox from her, then clasped one of her hands in his. His hands were so large and strong and cool; she twined her fingers with his, and for a long moment they both just stared down at their hands, touching for what seemed like the very first time.

"I didn't want to say anything," Cordelia whispered. "It was like I'd jinx it, you know? If I admitted it was really happening."

"I know. It was the same for me." She thought she'd seen every expression Angel had, but nothing like the way he was looking at her now -- desire and happiness and hard-fought restraint. But they didn't have to restrain themselves, not any longer, and surely any moment now they were going to be caught up in the most amazing kiss of all time --

Only they weren't. Instead, Angel looked away and shook his head. "Cordelia, we can't. I mean -- it's two days to Venareth. This would be a bad time for Angelus to go free, don't you think?"

His light tone didn't fool her; she could hear in his voice all the impatience, all the desire, that was beating throughout her body. She wanted to protest that stopping after a kiss would be safe, but then she tried to imagine stopping after that kiss. She couldn't. "Okay, good point. Thank God this shanshu is gonna be here soon, before I spontaneously combust or something."

Angel laughed, and she smiled, and all the tension and eagerness settled just the tiniest bit -- like champagne that had stopped foaming over, but still fizzled and bubbled in the glass. "We can wait two more days," he said. "Tonight can just be -- tonight."

They sank back into the sofa, curled around each other, still holding hands as though they'd been bound together, and began talking the happy, disjointed, understandable-only-by-two language of new lovers -- confessing moments of attraction, describing physical beauty, making jokes. Their conversation followed no logic, no pattern, and Cordelia didn't need for it to; it was enough that they were there, together at last. Sometimes -- when Angel smiled a slow, lazy smile at her, or when he traced along her hairline with one fingertip -- it felt more like afterglow than anticipation.

When the clock struck eleven, they were laughing.

"Nobody's ever known me like you do," Cordelia said. "That is, and known me and still liked me. Which is the miracle part."

Angel smiled and pulled her hand to his chest. "I could say the same," he said. "Sometimes I feel like you're the only who's ever seen me just for myself. Not a vampire or a warrior or a villain or a hero or anything like that. Just the man. I used to think there wasn't anything in that man worth caring about. But if you see that -- you see that, and you still want me --well, I must have been wrong."

"Angel admitted he was wrong," Cordelia said, her lips quirking in a grin she couldn't quite suppress. "God, where is a tape recorder when you need one?"

"I've admitted I was wrong before," Angel insisted, his face so stern that Cordelia thought her teasing might have made him mad -- until he held up three fingers. "At least three times."

When the clock struck twelve, they were planning.

"Cordy, if this is what you were asking -- when I think about starting over, I think about starting over with you. I mean, really starting a life together. If that's what you'd want."

"Oh, yeah," she said, breathing out softly. "I want."

"I realize we're starting something new here, but - well, we'd talked about selling the hotel before --"

"Yes, you can move in," Cordelia said. "Just try to leave, once you get here."

"We could get a nice price. I mean, technically, you could --" To better disguise Angel's lack of legal identity, Cordelia had legally assumed ownership of the Hyperion a year before. "-- and that would make a nice nest egg. For the future."

Cordelia remembered a baby boy who had not lived very long, remembered how long it had taken for the dull pain to leave Angel's eyes. She'd thought, back then, that he would never have the will to have children ever again, shanshu or not. But looking at him now, she knew what "future" truly meant. "You really mean it. You're ready to live your whole life, right now."

Angel nodded. "I don't want to rush you --"

"We met, what, seven years ago? If this is your definition of rushing me, thank God you didn't take your time."

"I'll take my time," Angel said slowly, and Cordelia was suddenly quite sure that he had switched subjects slightly. She felt herself flush with warmth again, caressed his hand.

When the clock struck one, they were confessing.

"I don't know what I'd be without you in my life," Cordelia said softly. "Everything that's happened to me these last few years -- none of it could have happened without you."

Angel couldn't meet her eyes for a moment. "That includes a lot of terrible things."

"But more good," she insisted. "And I wouldn't trade any of the bad if it meant missing the good. Especially if it meant missing you. I wouldn't change anything."

He ran his hand through her hair. "I'm so glad that I have you. That I love you."

He said it. He said the word, the L-word. The Buffy-only word, except it wasn't Buffy-only anymore, was it? He loved her, he really loved her, and this was all really happening -- "I love you, too," she whispered at last.

For one second, she was sure their resolve not to kiss one another would break; Angel grasped her hand so tightly it almost hurt, and they each leaned forward, and she knew he could feel her breath on his skin. Then he said, "Cordelia -- we could --"

"No," she whispered, pulling him down into the sofa cushions to snuggle by her side. "No, we'll wait. I kind of like the waiting."

They stayed like that for a long time, not looking at each other but at their hands as they touched -- brushing fingertips against wrists, placing their hands palm to palm, massaging the fingers and the deep muscles of the thumb. His skin warmed slightly from her touch, and she realized that this is how he would feel in a couple of days, when they could touch each other without fear of a curse, without any need for stopping.

Finally, Angel said quietly, "I should go."

"I know it," Cordelia said with a sigh. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Without letting go of her hand, Angel rose from the sofa, pulling her with him. Together they went to the door, none too quickly. Cordelia wished idly that she could somehow take this night and store it up, stay in it forever. But that would put off the future forever, and Cordelia was more eager than ever for that future to get here.

As Dennis slowly swung the door open, Angel said, "I guess we won't be alone again until after the Venareth."

"When we all meet up at the hotel for the merriest Christmas Eve ever," Cordelia said. She smiled up at him; in the soft light of the candles, with his eyes bright with happiness and desire, Angel looked more boyish than any 240-year-old vampire should have the right to. "We'll unwrap our presents, and we'll congratulate each other on ridding the world from evil, and we'll do more hugging than any fully-grown people should do. And then you and I will come back here and -- and we'll spend Christmas together. Just the two of us."

"That would be wonderful." Angel lifted her hand to his mouth and slowly kissed each fingertip in turn. And just the feeling of his lips on her skin -- Oh, Cordelia thought, when we get into bed, God help me. Finally, reluctantly, he let her hand drop. "Good night, Cordy," he whispered.

"Good night, Angel." He backed away from her into the night, still smiling as she closed the door.

Cordelia sank against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. "Did you hear that, Dennis? You're gonna have another roommate. Good with that?

Dennis floated the bag of Christmas bows over her, then shook them out so they fell like so much confetti -- then swooped and spun through the air, metallic stars in her own private sky. Cordelia laughed as she got to her feet. "You sure know how to celebrate."

The clock struck two, and Cordelia thought chimes had never sounded so beautiful. She looked at the silvery filigreed hands, and she imagined that the clock was just counting down the hours and minutes and seconds until Angel would come back, human and happy and ready to be her lover, her love, forever. She laughed from pure joy and flung her hands out; to her surprise, Dennis "took" them and spun her around in gentle circles.

Not caring how bad her voice was, Cordy started singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as she and Dennis danced amid the twirling ribbons in the candlelight. And though she'd lived in her apartment for more than four years, never before had it felt so much like home.

---

The Venareth

Cordelia screamed and swerved as a pillar of fire collapsed in front of the car. "Faith!" she cried, trying to look in the backseat and keep her eyes on the road at the same time. "Faith, can you still hear me? Can you talk? Faith!"

No response, damn, damn, damn.

In the canyon, the place Cordelia had expected to stand in the eclipse and be delivered from her Visions, they had instead been set upon by too many demons to resist. Cordelia had managed to get back to the car without getting wounded -- because Faith had fought them for her, had taken a blow meant for her that drove claws deep into Faith's gut. She'd been able to swear vehemently when they got into the car, had been able to answer Cordelia until only a few minutes ago. But now she was quiet, except for her ragged breathing.

A Cuzfau beast leaped in front of the car, and Cordelia screamed and swerved yet again. All around her, the world was going mad. Large sections of the city seemed to be ablaze. People were rioting, shrieking, running madly from this creature or that. And, in denial of all the laws of astrophysics, the eclipse hadn't yet ended -- in the hours of darkness, vampires were seizing their chance, running through the streets.

There were too many to even think of fighting them herself. She had to get to safety, had to take care of Faith -- Wesley had worked up a healing potion just in case, she just needed a safe place for the ritual --

As it turned out, the roads leading to her apartment complex were relatively clear. Cordelia slammed the pedal down -- odds were the cops weren't spending a lot of time on speeders today.

What happened? she thought through the haze of panic. This isn't the prophecy. What happened?

Finally, she screeched to a halt in the parking lot, got out, pulled open the passenger-side door -- and gasped. Faith was lying in a pool of her own blood, far too much blood for anyone to lose and live.

Faith opened her eyes and looked up at Cordy. So faintly that Cordelia could barely hear, she rasped out, "Gunn?"

"He's not here," Cordelia said, kneeling by Faith's head. "I know he's coming --"

Faith didn't seem to hear her. "Tell Angel -- " She gasped in one more breath, then whispered, "-- tell Angel -- thank you --"

Faith's head lolled to one side; her eyes dimmed. And Cordelia began to sob, knowing that she'd just watched Faith die.

She managed to pick up Faith's body -- a limp, dead body was so heavy -- and bring her to the door. Dennis didn't open it, but she managed to get it herself. "Dennis," she gasped as she staggered in the door. "Help me --"

No response. Cordelia laid Faith on the sofa, looked stupidly at her answering machine to see if anybody had left a message that might explain this. Nobody had. She grabbed up the phone and clicked "talk" -- but there was no dial tone. She'd already discovered, in the car, that her cell phone was useless too.

And without any word, any friend, any idea of what was going on, Cordelia just shut and locked the door.

"Very wise." Cordelia jumped and spun around; in the center of the room stood a man, perhaps in his late fifties, smiling at her in a maddeningly paternal manner. "Think of your safety first, Miss Chase. In the long run, it pays off."

"Who the hell are you?" Cordelia went for the taser at her belt.

"No weapons are necessary," he said, walking toward her -- and through the sofa. "More to the point, they're not very useful against the dead."

"I know some vampires that would argue with you," she said desperately. "What have you done with Dennis?"

"Nothing at all," he said. "In case you hadn't noticed, Miss Chase, a lot of exceptional events are occurring today -- including the Escape of the Spirits. Dennis has finally, as we say in the business, Gone Into The Light. Believe me, he's better off there than sticking around here. Because things around here are changing rather dramatically for the worse. And that much I suspect you did notice."

"How come you didn't escape? Because I definitely think you need to be moving on to the other side." Cordelia's hand was clamped around her taser so tightly her bones hurt.

"I'm held here, Miss Chase, by contract. I still have some work to do for my employers, Wolfram and Hart. My name is Holland Manners; Angel might have mentioned me. Then again, he might not have." The ghost's -- Holland's --eyes glittered at her strangely in the gloom. "And my final task today brings me to you."

"Wolfram and Hart," she whispered. "Of course. Of course. They messed it up -- what did they do? How did they stop the Venareth?"

"Miss Chase, this is the Venareth." As she stared at him, disbelieving, he smiled at her. "People can be so gullible, sometimes. So quick to believe what they want to believe. Think about the prophecy for a moment. The forces of good DID become too strong to be denied. Too strong for the balance between good and evil to stand. So the balance -- has been reset."

"But -- but -- the shadow battle is over --" Cordelia parroted, unwilling to believe what Holland was saying.

"Oh, yes, that's very true," Holland said, nodding. "The forces of good will be doing more fighting than ever, I expect. But from now on, the battle's going to be far too large to be fought only in the shadows."

"You mean -- we fought all these years -- we did what the Powers wanted, and we worked, and we suffered, and some of us died -- and the whole city is being punished because of it?"

"More to the point, because you were so good at it." Holland cocked his head as he looked at her. "You upset the balance. You, and your friends, and our mutual acquaintance Angel. The whole city has you to thank. Actually, the whole world. I don't guess any of the major networks are capable of broadcasting right now, but as you'll soon discover, the Venareth didn't just happen to Southern California."

"This can't be real," Cordelia said, putting a shaking hand to her temple. "This just can't be real."

Holland clucked his tongue. "I hope you're not a betting woman."

Someone knocked on the door, and Cordelia jumped. Angel! her mind said, and she ran to the door -- but even as she put her hand on the knob, she realized, today of all days, she'd better check. "Who is it?"

"It's Sonny and Cher! Who else would you expect?" Lorne's voice came through the door. "Let me in now before this Hrunta demon notices me, will you?"

Cordelia quickly fumbled with the lock, let Lorne slide in. He looked at Faith and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and saw the ghost. "Oh, you must be Dennis --"

"Not quite," Holland said. "Why don't you two finish up your business?"

"Do you know what's happening?" Cordelia said, clutching at Lorne's suit jacket.

He shook his head. "The world went crazy. I think any more details are going to be largely beside the point. But I do have this." Lorne held up a folded square of white paper. "Someone from Sunnydale dropped it off -- Oz, was that the name? Quiet type."

Cordelia saw her name on the note, recognized Angel's handwriting. "Gimme." She unfolded it and read:

"Cordelia --

I'm alive. Nothing else is like we thought.

Xander is dead. Buffy's hurt, and she's hurting, and she needs me here.

Be careful.

Angel"

And that was it.

No "I'm sorry," no "I really did care about you," no "I need some time to think about this." Xander was dead, and Buffy needed Angel, and Angel wasn't coming back, and tomorrow would be Christmas Day.

Cordelia's eyes blurred with tears as she crumpled the note in her fists. Lorne and Holland were each staring at her -- Lorne in sympathy, Holland with a nauseating satisfaction.

She'd dared to hope, dared to fight, dared to become so much more than she had ever been before. And she'd been wrong about her cause, wrong about her love. Could everything she'd struggled to build these past four and a half years have been a lie?

Cordelia thrust the note back at Lorne, who discreetly set about reading it. She turned back to Holland. "I want you out," she choked. "I don't want to have anything to do with Wolfram and Hart ever again."

"We're almost there," Holland said. "If you'll excuse us, sir?"

Lorne turned toward the door; from the parking lot came the sound of a roar and a crash. He looked back at Cordelia, who waved him into her bedroom before turning back to Holland. "What?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten the full prophecy so soon? We still have to settle the matter of your Visions. You can keep them as they are -- painful and difficult and, eventually, fatal -- or you can experience them without any pain or harm whatsoever. The only price is that you make these Visions available to all -- good and bad alike. Balance, Miss Chase. That's what the Venareth's all about."

One day before, she would have sworn at him. Found the ingredients for an exorcism (she kept them handy), performed the spell, kicked his undead ass out of there. Told Wolfram and Hart what they could do with their balances.

But now that she knew what the Powers really were -- what a terrible, ghastly trick they'd played on her and on everyone -- what was the point of suffering for them?

She remembered the time the Visions had actually burned her, seared the skin from her body, and she had despaired of living to see the winter. She remembered Angel grabbing her up in his arms as they fled Russell Winters' mansion, the way his body shook when he took the bullets meant for her. She remembered Xander Harris giving her a heart-shaped pendant and looking up at her with all the hope a 17-year-old's eyes could hold.

Something inside Cordelia seemed to harden over, go cold. She looked down at the sofa where she and Angel had held hands and talked about the future, saw Faith's corpse dark with blood.

"Do it," she'd said.

Holland Manners snapped his fingers, and in his other hand appeared a jewel that glittered and caught the light. "I'll leave you with this in just a moment," he said. "We just have a few rules to go over first --"

---

Inside the Hyperion, Cordelia forced herself to take yet another swallow of champagne. She stared at the Eye for a moment. What a lie, she thought. I live in a world made of lies.

What else is new?

As she tried to push herself to her feet, the door swung open. "We're closed," she slurred.

"Cordelia."

Startled, she peered into the gloom -- Angel was walking toward her, rumpled, as though he'd left Buffy's bed to sneak out to see her. The thought of that -- Angel in Buffy's bed -- turned her stomach, and she sneered, "What's the matter? Nice 'n' Easy won't let you off your leash to talk to me, so you have to slip out while she's sleeping?"

Angel stared at her. "Cordelia -- we have to talk. I'm not angry anymore. I just want to understand why."

"Why? Good question, that one. Why." Cordelia saw him taking in her drunkenness, tried to toss her head as if she didn't care. The room spun unpleasantly. "Why does a man say he loves you when you're really only second-best? When he's only interested in the one that got away?"

"That's not true," Angel said. "You know that's not true --"

"I don't know anything except money in the safe, champagne in the cellar and a place where people will leave me the hell alone. Speaking of which, why don't you leave me the hell alone? Go off to your big hopeless quest, sacrifice yourself like the fool you are. You talked a nice game about wanting a normal life, about wanting somebody to see you for who you really are. But let's face it. In your heart of hearts, you're glad about all this, aren't you? Because you're finally invisible again. You've finally got a fight so big it can swallow you right up."

Angel's face went blank, then iced over in the chill she remembered so well -- better, sometimes, than his smile. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" she laughed. But something in her wanted to hear the answer.

"I'm sorry for the woman you've become."

Cordelia drew her head back as though she'd been struck. The room spun again, and she whispered, "Well, I'm sorry for the man you never got to be."

And that hurt him -- she could see the flash of pain in his eyes. She'd been hoping to hurt him. It was less satisfying than she would have thought..

Quietly, Angel said, "Good night, Cordelia."

She was able to hold back the tears until after he'd slammed the door shut behind him.

---

Chapter 5: "A Case Of Do Or Die"

"She's got it," Lindsey said, watching Lilah's reaction carefully.

Lilah laughed and shook her head, as though she could barely be bothered to respond to such a comment. "She hasn't got it. If she had it, she'd have gotten rid of it as fast as she could."

"That's what I'm wondering," Lindsey said. "Would Cordelia get rid of the Deburchan dagger right away? Give it to Buffy and Angel, to help them?"

"Doubt it," Lilah said. "You missed Angel and Cordy's big reunion last night."

Lindsey raised an eyebrow. "Not friendly."

"I had the icy-cold sensation of biting into a York peppermint patty," Lilah said dryly.

"Still, those two -- they had their fallings-out before. Never stopped her from joining the fight," Lindsey said.

"First off, I think four years of total bitter silence constitutes more than a falling-out," Lilah said. "Second, what do you even care? If Cordelia gave them the dagger, it wouldn't do them any good. Remember the big de-enchantment ritual?"

"Of course. But we need Buffy and Angel to be desperate for a bit. We need to find out just what they'll do. Just who they'll go to. If they get the dagger, they run to Sunnydale, try their big routine, and fail. Which has a certain ring to it, but doesn't tell us nearly as much." Lindsey sipped his black coffee for a moment before continuing, as casually as he could, "Then again, I guess if Cordelia had been warned about the dagger, she wouldn't bother giving it to them."

Lilah's back stiffened -- almost imperceptibly. But Lindsey hadn't survived several years at Wolfram and Hart without learning to read such signs.

Lilah had warned Cordelia. Interesting. Might make a difference in how he dealt with Lilah, in the near future.

Before she had time to recover, Lindsey followed it up, "Unless, of course, she really wanted to help them. In that case, she could give them the Eye."

"The Eye?" Lilah was looking at him in honest amazement and contempt now. "Cordelia give up the Eye? It'd be a cold day in hell."

"I hear the weather down there is more unpredictable than you'd expect," Lindsey said.

"Listen, hang around here a little longer and you'll see -- there is no way Cordelia would put herself on the line like that. If she gives up the Eye, she's giving up the visions. And the Powers -- well, nobody knows what they'd do, but everybody knows they wouldn't like it. At all. Cordelia would never risk that. And to help Angel run off with another woman? Not a chance."

We shall see, Lindsey thought.

---

The day was unexpectedly bright and sunny, like Southern California used to be more often, Fred thought. Taking advantage of the good weather -- and the lack of vampires -- even more people thronged the streets than usual.

She'd hoped the sunshine might do Wesley some good, but the difficulty of their trip -- fighting through crowds, the unaccustomed heat -- seemed to be tiring him all the more. Still, he was determined, and she couldn't blame him.

By the time they'd reached Wolfram and Hart's offices, Wesley's steps were halting, but he was able to speak to the guard in a firm voice. "Gavin Park, please."

"Mr. Park sees clients by appointment only --"

Fred reached in her purse and pulled out a bill that would have fed her and Wesley -- and better than they usually ate -- for weeks. "We're not clients," she said. "We're friends of Mr. Park's." That was probably true, she figured, given that Gavin Park probably had no friends in any sense of the word that didn't involve bribery.

The guard ushered them into a small side room, the sort of place where clients would usually be searched and questioned. The walls were gray, there were no windows, and one sign read, "Breathe deeply and calmly." Fred motioned Wesley toward the one chair, and it was a measure of his exhaustion that he didn't argue before taking it.

He's getting worse, she thought. The weaker he gets, the faster that thing can suck the life out of him. It won't be long before --

She realized some of her fear had to be showing one her face, because Wesley was looking at her, clearly concerned. "I'm antsy," she said, drumming her fingers against her arms as she hugged herself. "Wolfram and Hart makes me antsy."

"Can't say I blame you," Wesley replied.

Gavin Park came in the door, his expression proclaiming the combined pompousness and desperation of a lower-level worker at the firm. "Well, what's this?" Park said. "Hadn't ever expected to see you again after the Solonach ceremony --"

"Spare us the stroll down memory lane," Wesley said, a little too quickly. "We're here to ask about an old associate of mine. Charles Gunn."

"Charles Gunn. Didn't think you two were such close friends anymore."

"We're not," Wesley said. "But we were once. And that's enough for me to find out what's become of him. And -- and to get him out, if possible."

Fred's eyes went wide. She and Wesley had little money and less influence; the only thing Wesley could have to trade was information. And Wesley had given up his life rather than give up information --

She remembered a long-ago Christmas season when Gunn was juggling Christmas ornaments, and put a comforting hand on Wesley's shoulder.

"It's your lucky day," Park grinned. "As it happens, I don't have much use for hanging on to Charles Gunn. And I have a lot of use for something you might know." He leaned forward, and all his pride was gone as he asked, in a desperate whisper, "Where is the Deburchan dagger?"

Wesley stared, and Fred was sure her face looked the same. Of all the things he might have asked, this was the least painful for them to reveal. But --

"We're not certain," Wesley said. "I can only tell you my suspicion." When Park nodded, he said, "I think he must have given it to Cordelia Chase. He would only have taken it to someone he knew very well, and he didn't bring it to us. I know of nobody else to whom he was so close. Had been so close, I mean."

Park pursed his lips, considering that. "Reasonable assumption. It's not information, exactly, but I think it'll do."

"Really?" Fred said. She knew she should feel happy and relieved, but she didn't. "You mean it? You're saying we can take Charles and go?"

Gavin Park smiled. "That's what I'm saying."

---

The intercom buzzed. "Your 11 a.m. is here."

"Send them in," Lilah said. Lindsey took his seat beside her, at one end of the conference table.

Buffy and Angel came in, looking for all the world like the firm's clients used to in the old days -- nicely dressed, well-coiffed, quiet and intent. The deep, glowing hatred that used to radiate from Angel like waves of heat had either ebbed or become far better concealed; he looked at Lindsey with only the faintest disdain.

"Good morning, you two," Lilah chirped. "Want some coffee? Blood? Oh, wait, that's right -- you're off the liquid diet now." Angel frowned.

"Cut the chit-chat," Buffy said, sitting down at the other end of the conference table as Angel did the same. "I know this district's rules. And you know I haven't broken any of them."

"So far," Lilah said under her breath.

"So what is it you want to know?" Buffy said, as if she hadn't heard.

"Just wanted to talk with you, really," Lindsey said, leaning back in his chair. "You hear a lot about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Just about the longest-lived Slayer in history, at this point, I think. Certainly the most effective. You've been up against some heavy batters in your day. The Master. Glorificus. Your significant other's even more significant evil half. And you struck them all out. Like I said last night -- it's impressive."

"If you just wanted an autograph, I would've been happy to sign your cocktail napkin last night."

"Your abilities are extraordinary," Lindsey said. "Even the Underlords admit that. And they wish they had such abilities on their side."

Buffy screwed her mouth up in a poorly stifled grin. "Are you actually deluded enough to ask me to work for them?"

"Not quite that deluded yet, no." Lindsey looked at her for a long moment, then at Angel, before he spoke again. "Slayers work hard. And they die young. Even at age -- what is now, 26? -- you're young to die. And tired of fighting, I imagine. Very, very tired."

Unconsciously, Angel moved a little closer to Buffy. Aha, Lindsey thought, this is where he's weak. Buffy was a little less glib as she said, "That's kind of the deal of being a Slayer. No vacations, no retirement. I know the drill."

"Retirement. Interesting word. What if I told you that the Underlords sent me here to offer you just that?" She didn't immediately react, so Lindsey plowed on. "They have means of transferring your abilities into someone else -- a candidate of our choosing, naturally. The line of Slayers since Faith has still been Watcher-trained, by and large; we'll break that cycle in another couple of years, but in the meantime, it would be nice to have a Slayer on the payroll. You, meanwhile -- you'd be free. A human woman like any other --and don't knock the transformation. I'm sure Angel there could tell you it's nice. We'll send you both to Australia, put together enough money for you to live reasonably well. It's safe there, you know. You could rest. Live easy. Have children, maybe. Enjoy all the things you can't enjoy here. Lead a normal life."

Buffy and Angel were each quiet for a few moments, and Lindsey had difficulty not letting his surprise show. Surely it wasn't going to be this easy --

Finally, Buffy leaned forward slightly and said, "I'd need more."

His voice almost a whisper, Lindsey said, "What's that?"

"A gold watch. And a farewell luncheon. And, ooh, one of those little engraved plaques." She grinned, and Angel breathed out slowly.

"I see sarcasm is your specialty," Lindsey said. "Never mind. Didn't seriously expect you to take us up on the offer -- but I figured you deserved to hear it."

"You picked the wrong carrot to tie to the stick," Buffy said. "Babies and puppies and white picket fences? Get real. We gave up even wanting a normal life a long time ago."

"Is that so, Angel?" Lindsey said, turning his attention at last to the real subject of his interest.

After a pause so short it was almost unnoticeable, Angel said, "That's right."

I almost believe him, Lindsey thought. "Then I guess our business here is done," he said.

"Not quite," Angel said. "Last night, you arrested Charles Gunn. Can we see him? Talk to him?"

"Looking in on old friends?" Lilah purred. "That's touching. But I'm afraid you're a little late. Charles Gunn was released from custody about an hour ago -- that is, his body was released to some friends."

"His body," Angel said. "Gunn's dead."

"You know Hrunta demons," Lilah said with a shrug. "Overzealous. And sometimes, human life is cheap." She smiled softly up at Angel. "You used to know that."

---

Once the brutal hangover had dwindled into a dull ache, Cordelia pulled herself together to face the day. She made it a point not to let anything on the inside affect her polish on the outside, and so made up her face with eyeliner and dark lipstick, picked out a black cotton sundress and brushed out her hair so that it fell free. She rarely wore it that way anymore. After a moment's reflection, she put her necklace in a strongbox and decided not to take it out until the evening.

As she came downstairs to see the trolls busily straightening up for the new day, Cordelia heard the clock chime once, marking that it was quarter 'til 12. She remembered last night with fresh pain -- and a different clarity.

"I'm not angry anymore." Last night that had only seemed rich -- how dare Angel, how dare he claim to be angry? He was the one who abandoned her, after all.

But now she realized -- it really didn't make any sense. And Angel, King of Guilt, was unlikely to admit being mad at anybody if he thought he owed them something.

There's something to this I'm not getting, she thought. Something more.

Back in those first terrible days after the Venareth, she'd come up with a hundred explanations, a hundred excuses. Since then, she'd rejected them all as a stupid girl's wishful thinking -- but they floated up to the surface now, demanding reconsideration. Could the note have been a forgery? Lorne had never met Oz, after all; somebody else could have shown up, pretended to be him. Or could Angel have thought better of it when the panic cleared, tried to contact her, been unable to find her? She'd moved out of her apartment pretty quickly afterward; without Dennis, there was no reason to stay.

She'd brought her things -- and the clock, which she now hated but couldn't quite give up -- to the Hyperion. Lorne had needed a place of business, and she had needed a way to make money, so setting up shop here had worked out. Wesley and Fred had still wanted to fight the bad guys; apparently they'd somehow failed to catch on to the fact that the Powers they'd served had just screwed them all over. Gunn got the point, though; from the moment when Cordelia had told him about Faith's death, the way she'd been asking for him even as she bled her last, he hadn't wanted any more to do with the Powers, the good fight, or anything besides his own safety. He'd taken off about the same time Cordelia had finally gotten Wesley and Fred to stop coming around, bothering her. So it had just been her and Lorne --

Well, that killed the "couldn't find her" theory. If he had seriously been looking for her, he certainly would've