“You’re surprised.”

Angel stared at Illyria. “What?”

The demon’s eyes bored into him. “You didn’t think you’d see me again. Did you wish that I would die in battle? That you would be rid of me?” Illyria moved towards him as she spoke, her voice tinged with bitterness. She never did care for this half-breed.

“I’m…” He didn’t know how to respond. His son was badly wounded, he’d just fought a unit of regenerative zombies… and Spike was human. “I’m glad you made it,” he replied, just now realizing that Illyria was wearing black slacks and a red t-shirt. She looked like some sort of tripped-out Goth chick. “So… what happened?” he asked.

Illyria looked away, her eyes distant as she spoke. “We fought. When the sun rose the beasts turned to ash and were swept away by the wind. I found Spike. The sunlight did not affect him.”

Angel bowed his head and raised his hand to his temple. “How did Buffy find him?”

“Visions.”

Angel looked up in surprise, forgetting that Dawn was leaning against the wall across from him. “Buffy had a vision?”

“No,” she replied, adjusting her folded arms across her chest. “Xander did. He and Willow did some awakening thingy and he had a vision of Spike.” Dawn put emphasis on the end of her statement, rubbing in the fact that Spike was important somehow to the Powers That Be or whoever it was that sent Xander his visions.

“So you guys…” Dawn stared at him expectantly, but Angel shook his head in confusion. “I don’t… I need to sit down.” He wandered into the waiting room and sat in the nearest vacant seat. Giles and Willow started.

“Angel!” Willow all but shrieked, walking over and sitting in the chair beside him. “Kennedy told me what happened with Connor. He’ll be OK,” she said reassuringly, patting him on the hand. Willow frowned as she felt his cold skin. She had hoped he would be human as well. The poor man certainly deserved it.

“Thanks.”

Buffy returned to the waiting room.

“How is he?” Dawn asked.

“High as a kite on pain medication.” Buffy’s eyes met Angel’s.

“And he’s… here?” Angel asked. If Spike was in the hospital, then he definitely had to be human. And Angel was not.

Buffy nodded somewhat guiltily, feeling as if she were signing his death warrant. He stood and walked towards her, and without any words they went somewhere private.

Illyria sat beside Dawn in the waiting room and looked at her quizzically. “Do they communicate telepathically?”

Dawn snorted. “Right. That would’ve made their relationship so much easier.”

 

* * * *

Buffy stopped after walking along one of the emptier hallways, crossing her arms and turning to face him. “How are you holding up?”

“I can’t really say that I am,” Angel replied. “I’m just kind of… shocked.”

Buffy smiled sadly. “Hey. If he’s anything like you, he’ll get through this.”

“Connor is like me,” Angel agreed. “But he’s alive.”

The double entendre was quite apparent, and Buffy could feel his bitterness in waves. “What happened?” she asked. “Last I heard you had a corner office at Evil, Inc.”

“Last I heard you didn’t trust me,” he replied, finally bringing his eyes to meet hers.

Buffy scoffed and looked away. “Can you blame me? You became the C.E.O. of Wolfram & Hart, Angel,” she said, and not for the first time he heard how ridiculous it sounded. “I was definitely not going to trust you with a Slayer.”

“We were taking care of her,” Angel replied angrily, his flurry of emotions stopping momentarily on frustration. Every time he thought of the incident with Dana and what Andrew had said he lost all sense. “We had her sedated, we were going to…”

“Take her back to Wolfram & Hart so your evil scientists could probe her?”

Angel’s shoulders hunched. She really had lost faith in him. “Do you really think I would’ve let that happen?”

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed. “You know what? It’s over, we shouldn’t worry about it.”

Angel half-laughed, half-scoffed in reply. “It is over.” On her confused look, “Wolfram & Hart was kind of destroyed.”

 

* * * *

“So,” Dawn began, looking at the strange woman beside her. Illyria was staring across the room at Xander, who sat in a chair a few feet away. Even Dawn felt squirmy as she took in the woman’s penetrating gaze. “Willow said you used to be a demon?”

Xander cringed. “Baaad choice of words, Dawnie.”

“I am no demon,” Illyria replied, her eyes not leaving him. Xander was shocked she didn’t deliver the line with as much venom as she had the night before. In fact, he thought she sounded bored.

“Oh,” Dawn replied, a nervous smile plastered onto her face. Willow and Kennedy had left for the cafeteria to get coffee, leaving herself, Giles, Xander and a snoring Andrew alone with Illyria. “OK. So… what are you?”

Illyria tore her eyes from Xander and locked them on Dawn. “I am Illyria.”

“C-Cool,” she stuttered, wilting under her gaze. “What kind of powers do you have?” Illyria merely stared at her. “You are powerful, aren’t you?”

Illyria turned her blue eyes away as nostalgia overwhelmed her features. “Not as I once was.”

“Oh, she’s pretty powerful,” Xander replied, his hand subconsciously drifting to the bruise at his neck where Illyria’s fingers had gripped tightly the night before. Blue eyes met his again, staring… penetrating. I really should refrain from the speaking.

“Illyria,” Giles muttered as if to himself, scratching the stubble on his chin. He sat up straight. “Not like… oh god,” he said, his eyes going wide as he realized where he’d heard the name before. “You were one of the many, of the original… you’re an Old One.”

“Now, when we say ‘Old One,’” prompted Xander, leaning forward in his seat. “We talkin’ older than me or like a thousand years old?”

Dawn stared at him. “That’s still older than you, Xander.”

 

* * * *

Willow leaned against the coffee machine in the cafeteria and watched as Kennedy bounced on her heels. “You know, I don’t get it.”

Willow frowned into the Styrofoam cup. “Yeah, it’s pretty crappy. You think they’d at least have good coffee in the hospital ‘cause, you know… I don’t know. I had a reason but it went away.”

“No, not that,” said Kennedy, still reeling from her caffeine fix. “This whole thing. Buffy always talked about how a Slayer has all these responsibilities. I mean, I get the whole abuse of power thing and how we can’t ignore our calling… but then I look at Buffy.”

Another frown. “Sorry, babe – not following.”

Kennedy smiled bashfully. “Sorry. Lots of coffee and Kennedy result in crazy jumbled thoughts. Seriously, though. Look at her. After what you did with the scythe and awakening the power in all of the Potentials you made it so she wasn’t the Chosen One anymore. It’s more like the chosen one percent of the world population.”

“Right.”

“So why doesn’t she quit? Hasn’t she ever wanted to? I’m sorry, but I don’t think all those “Death bad, war necessary” speeches she gave us last year came from a place of self-contentment.”

“She has!” Willow spoke suddenly and somewhat defensively, causing Kennedy to step back. “I’m sorry, I mean – Buffy has wanted to quit. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Spike, or for Angel.”

“OK, but before now. She stayed in Rome for a long time, and aside from rounding up Slayers she seemed to be living a pretty normal life. What made her call up the Scooby gang and have us meet in England to research the next apocalypse? What happened to all that normal stuff she’d been hoping for?”

“Hey,” Willow’s defensive tone returned. “Buffy’s got a lot to deal with. I don’t think it’s fair that you should be second-guessing all of her decisions.”

“Will,” Kennedy replied gently. “I’m not judging her every move. Well, maybe I am. It’s just… when I look at Buffy, I see the Slayer, not a Slayer. I know I will never be what she is. I want to know what that means.”

Willow smiled and touched her girlfriend’s hand. “You’ll never be like Buffy because you aren’t Buffy. The things she deals with, how she deals with them and why – not all of it has to do with her being the Slayer. Well, the first one of this generation… you know what I mean.”

Kennedy stared at her through her long lashes. “Rambling, Will.”

“What I’m trying to say is that she’s got her own stuff to deal with, just like everyone else. As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think she’ll ever be any textbook definition of normal. I mean, she’s got this thing for bad boys to start.”

Kennedy grinned. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve got that problem.”

 

* * * *

“What are you going to do now?”

Angel heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. When this all started with the Circle of the Black Thorn I didn’t think I’d have to worry about the future. I thought–”

“You thought you’d be dead,” Buffy finished for him. Angel nodded gravely. “Why aren’t you?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. She sounded almost disappointed. “Um, why exactly are you asking this?”

“You said you thought you were going to die. Why?”

“It was a suicide mission, Buffy. Two members of my team died performing it.”

“Wes,” Buffy replied sadly. “I think I heard the blue girl… Illyria?” Angel nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“There wasn’t anything left for him. That’s how he saw his life, and after all that’s happened to him I couldn’t really argue. I just hope… I just hope that it wasn’t too painful for him.”

There were so many things Buffy wanted to say. She was a jumbled mixture of emotions – anger, sadness, confusion, frustration – all of them were screaming inside of her head.

“What about Spike?”

Angel’s eyes shot to hers. “What about him?”

“How did this happen?”

Angel opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when a petite nurse approached him. “Excuse me, Mr. Angle?”

“Angel,” he corrected. “Connor, is he–”

“He’s in a recovery room now.”

Buffy watched in amazement as Angel’s face broke out in huge smile. She couldn’t recall seeing that big of a smile on his face.

“It’s rather remarkable,” the nurse continued. “The medics assumed major surgery was in order when you brought him in. But the ER doctors took one look at him and knew all he needed was a few stitches.”

“Are you sure?” asked Buffy with concern. She could still remember the boy’s wild eyes as he reached towards her. Mom? “He was pretty badly wounded.”

The nurse gave her a patronizing gaze. “You must never have seen bad wounds, dear.” She turned to Angel. “You can see him now, if you’d like.”

Angel turned to Buffy as the nurse walked away. She could see a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. “He’s OK.”

Buffy smiled. “You should go see him.”

“I want to talk with you later. There’s so much…”

“Go, Angel. Go see your son.”

Like her comment regarding Angel’s position as C.E.O. of Wolfram & Hart, the words sounded strange to her. Her smile melted away as Angel walked down the hallway towards Connor’s room.

 

* * * *

“You remind me of Wesley.”

“Me?” Giles asked warily. He wasn’t quite sure that the former demon-god recognized this as vaguely insulting.

“Yes,” Illyria replied. “You speak as he did.” A bluish hand touched the side of her face, as if trying to locate a memory there. “He had more facial hair, though.”

Ah, thought Xander as he watched the blue woman’s face glaze over in dreaminess. So she’s been mackin’ with Wannabe Watcher.

“Excuse me,” said Giles, leaning forward in his seat. “I speak as he did? Has Wesley died?”

Illyria was about to respond when Buffy’s arrival garnered the attention of the others. She glared at the blonde woman.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dawn asked. “Is Angel OK?”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied distractedly. “Connor’s better. Apparently he heals fast, because that gash on his stomach… it was really deep.”

“The spawn of two vampires,” said Giles. “Can’t expect him to be anything other than abnormal.”

“Spawn?” Dawn snorted. “Is that what you call all the kids?” Her eyes widened. “Y-You don’t call me Spawn, do you?”

Giles frowned and rolled his eyes. “Only under certain circumstances.”

“Hey,” Willow greeted as she and Kennedy returned from the cafeteria. “How’s Connor? Where’s Angel?”

“He’s with Connor now, who is fine, apparently.”

Everyone sat in uncomfortable silence until it was shattered by a loud snore.

“I’m up, I’m awake!” Andrew exclaimed shrilly, scrambling to his feet. When he saw that all eyes were focused on him, especially Illyria’s, he shrank back into his seat. “Sorry.”

 

* * * *

Buffy cried out as Spike roughly shoved her against the wall, one hand holding her wrist high over her head, the stake in her hand shaking as she tried to break free.

“Good show, Slayer,” he grinned. “Must say, you’re a hell of a dance.”

“You think you’ve won, Spike?” she spat, grunting in frustration as she failed to break free from his grasp. “You’ll always lose. No matter what you do, you’ll never win.”

“Is that right?” he asked, anger rising within him as he vamped out. “I get to taste you, now. I think that makes me the winner.” He chuckled, his demonic features contorting with a wicked grin as he did so. “You know, I’ve never seen a Slayer turned.” He leaned in closer, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke, his voice drenched with lust. “What kind of demon will you make?”

“You’ll never find out,” she retorted, fighting again against his grip.

“Shall we jump straight to the biting, then?” he asked sensually, licking his lips.

“I am not biting you, Spike.”

The oddness of her comment didn’t register as he sank his fangs into her neck, tearing through layers of skin and puncturing her jugular vein. Buffy cried out as he began to drink, the stake in her hand dropping to the ground as all the strength within her began to seep away.

Spike pulled back and looked into her drooping eyes. “Why don’t you scream?” he asked with a pout. “It’s no fun unless you shout.”

“There’s something on your face,” she replied weakly. Spike touched his forehead and felt smooth skin beneath his fingers. He ran his tongue over his teeth and found that his fangs had disappeared.

“I don’t… this can’t…” he panted, his chest suddenly feeling very heavy. “What did you do to me?”

Buffy didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed and her face was void of color as he shook her shoulders.

“Answer me, Slayer!” Her head bobbled back and forth like that of a rag doll. Realization hit him harder than a right hook to the jaw. “S-Slayer?” he stammered, all malice fleeing from his voice as he realized why she was so cold. “Buffy, wake up! This isn’t funny. It was just a game, luv, you’re not supposed to…”

He held her cold form to him, his head reeling from the sensation of being the warmer body. He wept salty tears into her neck, his nose grazing the wound there.

“Buffy, wake up. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t what I wanted.”

Spike went rigid as he took in the alluring scent of human blood. Her blood. His body shook with desire as he fought the urge to drink the rest of her. He lost. Human teeth returned to the wound and a human voice cried out in disgust as he tasted her blood.

Buffy’s hollow eyes snapped open. “Spike.”

His own eyes flew open and he breathed heavily, feeling as though he were drowning. Spike knew he wasn’t supposed to think about breathing, that it was an involuntary act, but he was afraid he would stop if he didn’t.

“Spike, you OK?”

He looked beside him where Buffy stood, her hand resting on the railing of the hospital bed. She was alive and beautiful and, oh god, the blood… there was so much blood…

“Blood,” he gasped between large gulps of air.

Buffy stared at him with concern. “Hey, Spike? Look at me. You had a nightmare.”

No, he couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at her after what he’d done. He’d killed her. “Bloody hell,” Spike choked, his hands gripping the bed sheet so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His voice was small, like that of a child’s. “You’re cold.”

She sat in the chair next to the bed and wrapped warm fingers around his wrist, tugging it away from the twisted material in his lap. “Shh, stop. Do you know where you are?”

Spike stared at her hand as it gently stroked his. Blue veins, full of life. Warm skin… He looked at her and finally saw her, and he calmed down considerably. “Buffy,” he said more lucidly. “I… I’m sorry.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t be. How are you feeling?”

Spike looked down at the tangled sheets wrapped around his legs. He was covered in sweat. “Hot,” he replied. “Really hot.”

Buffy stood and untangled the sheets, and Spike could feel cool air hit his legs. He looked at her in wonder as she sat back down.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not for that. Thank you for what you said to me last night.”

Buffy didn’t want to tell him that was two nights ago, so instead she sustained her smile. “You needed to hear it.”

Spike smiled gratefully, but something about the look on his face seemed patronizing. “I’m not going there, you know.”

Buffy frowned. “Where?”

“Where you were. You an’ I both know it. Hell’s my final stop.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked with concern.

Spike laughed humorlessly. “I was a vampire for over a hundred years, pet. I slaughtered thousands, and did things… to the ones I didn’t kill, that…” he became choked up with guilt. “Heaven won’t take me after the things I’ve done.”

She shook her head. “But you didn’t have a soul. Why would your soul be punished for things the monster did?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve felt the heat of the flames, Buffy. I’m going to burn.”

“I think what you might’ve been feeling was the heat of internal combustion,” she replied sarcastically, though still trying to make her point.

“No, not that. After.”

Buffy swallowed hard. After the closing the Hellmouth. “Spike? H-How did you come back?”

He’d prepared an answer, of course. Spike knew she would want to know, and that he would have to tell her the long, confusing story. He never expected telling it to her would make him feel so guilty.

“Let me get this straight,” she said with a bitter laugh once he finished the story. “You’ve been alive for over six months and you never tried to reach me?”

“That’s not true, luv. I had a boat ticket in my hand. I was standing at the docks and everything. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me after what I did. I wanted you to remember me as a hero. I wanted to mean something to you.”

Buffy stared at him. “You do mean something to me. I wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t.”

“Right,” he said, turning his head so that he couldn’t see her face. “What do I mean to you now?”

Another frown. “I’m sorry?”

“Look at me, Buffy. I’m not strong, I’m not like you anymore. I can’t be to you what I once was. So tell me what this means,” Spike asked bitterly. His heart beat loudly in his chest like a screaming traitor. He had wanted this. He and Angel had fought almost to the dust for humanity, and now that he had it he felt like everything about him had been stripped away. All that was left was William.

“Hey, you were never just a vampire to me. Well,” she laughed. “When we first met, maybe. But I stopped thinking of you that way. That’s not how I remembered you after… after you died.”

Spike faced her, surprised to see tears in her eyes. It was odd to see them there, as the look on her face was anything but weak. “What was I, then?” he asked softly.

“You were just… you.”

 

* * * *

“Why won’t they let me go? I’m fine!” Connor insisted.

Angel couldn’t help but smile. Usually the boy’s stubborn impatience would drive him mad, but he’d almost lost him today. He felt like he had, at one point. “You’ll be out of here soon enough.”

Connor frowned and looked down at the hospital smock. “I’m wearing a polka-dotted dress,” he stated with a pout. Angel laughed. “Hey, shut up!”

“I’m sorry. I need a laugh right now.”

“Yeah, have you tried looking in the mirror?” Connor did a double-take. “Oh, guess that wouldn’t work.”

“No,” Angel replied. “Though I have tried Polaroid’s.”

Connor sat up and grinned. “Really?”

“Yeah. Not very flattering, big waste of film.” Angel’s smile waned and he sat beside the hospital bed in which his injured son lay. “You almost died, Connor.”

The boy shook his head. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were almost sliced in two.” Angel’s voice wavered as he spoke the words, their meaning painful to him. “You can’t do that again.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll avoid the pointy objects from now on.”

“Connor, I’m serious. Your family, everything I’ve done to get you here… it was so that you wouldn’t have to risk your life.” He bowed his head. “This is all my fault.”

His son smiled. “Well, yeah.”

 

* * * *

Spike didn’t say a word as he followed Buffy up the fancy stone steps to her father’s apartment. He was on a “business trip” in Prague until the end of July, so Buffy had decided that they could crash there free or charge while they tried to figure things out. Dawn, Angel, Buffy and Giles had come to the hospital to check Spike out.

Spike leaned against the railing as he watched Buffy fish for the key on the door’s railing. Sometimes he forgot how short she was. Once the door was unlocked everyone filed inside, and Spike couldn’t suppress a smirk when Angel froze at the entrance. Buffy was still standing on the opposite side of the doorway.

“Oh, right,” said Dawn, who was already helping Andrew bring in blankets and pillows from the hallway closet. “Come in, Angel.”

Angel stepped through the doorway and Dawn smiled. “Wow, didn’t think that would work. I guess since my dad owns the place I technically live here… while I’m here.”

He smiled ephemerally at her and walked into the moonlit kitchen, switching into fully-fledged brood mode.

Dawn returned her eyes to the door. “Do I have to invite you in, too?”

Connor regarded her momentarily before setting his features and stepping over the threshold. “Nope.”

Dawn pulled a pillow off of the pile on the floor and glanced at him curiously. He was cute, but oh-so-strange.

“You coming?” Buffy asked, her hand still resting on the doorknob. Spike had almost forgotten about everyone, he had been busy staring at the waning moon. When had everything become so blurry?

“Yeah,” he muttered, hands stuffed in his jean pockets as he followed her through the door. It was too hot to stay outside.

“OK,” said Dawn, resident sleeping coordinator. “I guess Connor and Spike should get the beds, since they just got out of the hospital and stuff.”

Spike shook his head. “’M fine, Nib–” It felt wrong to call her that. “’M fine.”

Dawn blinked, aware of his hesitance to use that term of endearment. “OK. Well, there are eleven of us now that Connor and Spike are out of the hospital.” And Angel, she neglected to say. The vampire had refused to leave his son during his next few days in the hospital, fearing another attack from Wolfram & Harts demonic cronies. “So, five girls, six boys. How are we gonna do this?”

It was late, and nobody really seemed to care. “Do you really even sleep?” Xander asked Illyria, who considered him with frosty eyes as he spoke.

“Sleep,” she mused, her eyes still wandering over him, making everyone else in the room slightly uneasy, including Xander. “Sleep was an amusement in my day. Necessity has stripped it of its pleasure.”

Xander grinned. Sleep… stripped… pleasure.

“I don’t really care,” moaned Kennedy, shifting her weight as she leaned against the wall. “I vote we just pick a spot and crash.”

“So do I,” agreed Giles. “Although much more eloquently.”

In a matter of minutes almost every square inch was covered with prostrate bodies, which said a lot, considering that Mr. Summers didn’t keep a modest bachelor pad. Giles and Andrew occupied the two sofas in the living room while Willow and Kennedy curled up on the plush rug. Buffy and Dawn shared the double bed in the master bedroom, Connor and Xander decided to share the guest bedroom, head to toe like manly men. Angel, who insisted that he didn’t need to sleep, rested in the armchair in the study. Illyria and Spike sat awake at the kitchen counter, silent partners in their insomnia.

“You are recovering,” Illyria pointed out, her gaze focused on the steel faucet of the kitchen sink. “You should be resting.”

Spike grunted, his eyes on the salt shaker sitting on the counter in front of him. “I’ve been resting for the past five days. Bit sick of it.”

“You are more like me now.”

Spike stared at her, although her eyes didn’t shift from the kitchen sink. “How’s that, luv?”

“You are less than you were, confined to a body that is weak and fragile. Your senses and your abilities are not as they once were.” She bowed her head and continued in disappointment. “I suppose we cannot spar as we used to.”

Spike chuckled despite the depression her earlier words had brought him. “Not in the way you’re thinking, no,” he replied suggestively, although the innuendo flew right over her head. Spike turned in the direction of the master bedroom where Buffy slept, hoping she hadn’t heard. Wait a minute, why should it matter if she did? He wasn’t exactly being serious… well, pretty much, and it’s not like Buffy was still in love with him or anything. Not that she ever was, he reminded himself sadly.

 

* * * *

“Angel,” she whispered into his ear, her warm breath like fire on his cold flesh. She couldn’t resist pressing her lips against his skin, hoping that the contact would wake him. Seeing him again brought back all of the memories of what they had, of all the things that they could’ve had if things had ended up differently. Angel stirred in his seat, but his eyes didn’t open. “Angel,” she repeated enticingly, resting her palms on the armrests of the chair. He was so beautiful when he slept, even though the lack of breathing made him look really dead. She sighed. There was no time to lose. “Angel!”

He sat upright in the chair, his eyes darting all around him until focusing on the woman in front of him. “C-Cordelia?”

She smiled. “Hey stranger. Didn’t think you’d see me again, did ya?”

Angel’s hands slid up her arms as he regarded her with awe. “H-How are you here?” he asked, remembering her last non-visit.

“I really wish we had time for this,” she sighed, closing her eyes as his hands reached her face. “But I’ve got to tell you something. It’s a miracle I’m here at all.”

“You can say that again,” he whispered as his lips met hers. Cordelia moaned in pleasure before pulling away.

“Stop that!” she protested in annoyance, slapping him lightly on the cheek. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over a month, but the Senior Partners found a way of blocking me.”

“What?” Angel asked, sitting up straight. If it didn't take the miraculous appearance of a dead woman to get his attention, then the mention of the Senior Partners would. Cordelia sat on the edge of the desk, her hands resting on her thighs as she spoke.

“You didn’t get the full message that night. The vision I gave you, it was longer.”

“What do you mean?” asked Angel, his stomach tightening in knots. “I saw the Circle of the Black Thorn. I saw what needed to be done.” Please don’t tell me my friends died for nothing.

“You saw the first stage, Angel,” she told him, trying her best to break the news to him gently. “There was much more to that little vision, but before you could receive the full message I got cut off. And I thought I’d be done with crappy connections once I was in the mighty hereafter.”

“Hereafter? So, y-you were in…?”

“Heaven? More or less. Listen, I’d love to talk all about me, but there isn’t much time. The Circle of the Black Thorn was supposed to be a diversion, and it worked, too. The Senior Partners kept their eyes on you while you slaughtered the L.A. division.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “L-L.A. division?”

“Please,” scoffed Cordelia. “You think the major players in the apocalypse would be confined to a few upper-level demons in L.A.?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So we didn’t get rid of them all.”

Cordelia shook her head sadly.

“So Wes and Gunn really did die for nothing.”

“No,” she answered quickly. “What you guys did was necessary. Although if you’d gotten the full message, they might’ve had a better chance of surviving. Hey,” she said sharply. “Don’t you start blaming yourself for that, Buddy. You’re not the bad guy here.”

Angel stared at her doubtfully. “So what we did was just a mere distraction. Okay, then why did the Senior Partners send a legion of demons to kill us? What was with Lilah and the zombies and Hamilton?”

“Oh, they still want you dead, but I guess you could say that those were… more or less distractions as well.” Cordelia winced as she said it. “Something bigger is going down, Angel. And it’s only a matter of time before you guys catch wind of it. I’d tell you now, but there’s only so much meddling with destiny that the Powers will allow,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Just keep on your toes and keep your eye on the prize.”

“The prize?” Angel laughed humorlessly. “I think Spike’s the one that got that.”

Cordelia’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Spike? What do you mean?”

“You have noticed from your lofty seat above that he’s human, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, that was his destiny,” she replied, the word “duh” resonating with each word she spoke.

“Right,” Angel muttered. “His destiny.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, wait. You think this has to do with you signing over the Shanshu prophecy.” She laughed. “You really thought you could hand your destiny over?”

“What are you talking about? Spike’s already got my destiny.” He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. “His destiny.”

“Angel,” Cordelia laughed again. “Spike isn’t human because of the Shanshu Prophecy.”

This was the part of the program where the viewer hit the rewind button.

“Huh?”