Episode 6.10 Girls' Night Out

By Ladycat777 and Mad Poetess

"Get down!" Angel shouted.

Gunn and Spike both ducked, rolling in opposite directions as Angel's ax sliced through the air. The monster they'd been double-teaming, its impenetrable rust-colored scales deflecting most of their blows, screamed once as the ax caught in one of its large, slowly whirling eyes. It toppled to the ground, leaking pale orange blood.

"I'd say thanks, if I said things like that," Spike said as Angel approached them. He reached out to grab the ax, finishing off the demon with a slice through its neck, then handed the weapon off to Angel.

"I say things like that," Gunn added without lowering his own weapon. His attention was mostly focused on another demon, as large and scaly as the first, that was closing in on him and making chittering noises. The color of its eyes changed slightly, growing redder. "Thanks. Nice timing."

The warehouse floor around them was liberally spattered with the remains of demons previously destroyed. Rapidly decomposing bodies made for an unwelcome obstacle course, and the spattered orange blood, beige in the weak lighting as it spread out on the ground, was slippery beneath their boots.

"A simple job, the guy said." Angel swung at his current opponent, heaving it halfway across the room, where it squelched against a dead compatriot. "Pest control. Already got them holed up in a warehouse. All you need to do is go in and take care of them. It's almost - " The demon surged back towards him, and he ended up slamming into it with his shoulder when his sword bounced off the scaly armor and missed the soft spot beneath the demon's jaw entirely. " - beneath you. Too easy."

"Yeah, new rule: people who say 'too easy' pay cash up front," Gunn said, sliding in a pool of blood and flailing his arm out to keep his balance. "At least when they own international shipping companies. Weed out the ones who want to get out of paying the check if we happen to come back dead."

"Some of us come back dead anyway," Angel reminded him. The lights above them flickered, swaying as blood and demon bits smacked against the hanging fluorescents. "But, yeah, sounds like a plan."

Spike had been slowly pushed back until he was standing near Angel. Demon blood made spatter-tattoos on his cheek, and the flesh around his left eye was beginning to swell. "Very least, the next time some yahoo in a cheap suit says 'no-brainer,'" he said as he came up from a swing, "I vote we shine a light in his ear just to make sure he's not talking about himself."

Gunn scrambled to his feet where a creature had thrown him, standing slightly between Angel and Spike, his back to them and his weapon held high as another demon rushed at them. "Where do these things keep coming from?"

"The door?" Spike offered. At the far end of the warehouse floor stood an open door, leading to a small loading dock, from which the seemingly unending stream of demons had emerged. The flow had slowed so that only one or two at a time were making their way out, though that was certainly enough to keep the fighters busy.

"And next week's episode of the Mr. Obvious Show..." Gunn rolled his eyes. "I meant how did 'no-brainer, ten of 'em, max,' turn into the army of darkness here? There's not even room in there for all of the ones we killed."

"I'd say either they mate fast, and I don't mean just skipping the flowers and candy and wondering if he'll respect you in the morning, or they have their own express shuttle in the other room to whichever hell they call home." Spike chopped downwards, separating a pincer-bearing head from a long, sinuous neck.

"Well, if we want to punch their ticket for good - " Angel sliced at a demon, then pointed to the door in question. " - sounds like that's where we need to be. On three?" He raised his ax.

Gunn followed Angel's earlier example by slicing into the eye of the demon in front of him, then spun forward, standing in between the two vampires. Only a handful of demons remained between them and their goal, but the creatures' eyes were burning a fiery red, and they rushed towards the men with clear intent to take no prisoners and probably leave no bones.

"Skip one and two?" Spike asked.

Gunn gave a jerky nod. "Good for me."

"Three."

On Angel's signal, they hacked, slashed, and ran their way towards the door. Spike darted ahead, followed by Angel, and Gunn brought up the rear, not quite as speedy as the vampires but fighting just as desperately.

"That was almost... refreshing," Angel said, when they had managed to slice through the demons to shove the door closed. He had blood in his hair, dripping down the side of his face, trickling into his mouth, which he swiped at with one hand while bracing the door with his shoulder. "Which in no way implies that I'm not still planning to charge Mr. No-Brainer the standard fee for non-specified hazards," he assured Gunn.

Gunn eyed him. "We have a standard fee for non-specified hazards?"

"We do now," Angel said.

"I knew you I liked you for something besides that saving my life thing." Gunn nodded approvingly.

"You two want to count the coffers after we actually finish the job, maybe?" Spike reached for the doorknob.

"Hang on." Gunn grabbed Spike's wrist before he could turn the door knob. "We don't know how many are still in there. Or how to shut down the express train from hell when we find it."

"Not gonna find out standing about outside, are we." Shaking free of Gunn's hold, Spike waited until the others had their weapons raised and then shoved the door open. "Right, here we - " Spike broke off, standing stock still in the middle of the doorway.

"What is it?" Gunn pushed past him only to freeze as well, his jaw hanging wide.

"Are you two going to move?" Angel asked, only a hint of a growl in his voice at the sudden halt to his adrenaline rush. "We need to finish this off."

Spike shook his head. "Not... so much."

Angel snorted. "Not so much? What on earth does that mean?"

Spike and Gunn both moved back, allowing Angel to push his way past them to look inside.

It was a charnel house. The demons were dead. All of them, and there was no way to determine just how many there had been initially, though even at a glance it was clearly more bodies than the men had left fallen behind them.

Parts lay scattered throughout the entire room. Orange blood had splattered up nearly to the fifty foot high ceiling and still dripped from the twisted wreckage of a machine that was either a fork-lift in its previous existence or a trans-dimensional generator; at this point it was impossible to tell. Shredded scales and viscera covered the floor; heads were split in two, blank eyes staring at the three men.

It was a sea of death. Gunn swallowed, looking distinctly queasy, and even Spike seemed taken aback at the sight, his eyes wide and mouth uncharacteristically not in motion.

In the center of it all stood Illyria, not a speck of blood on her skin. She stared at them, unmoving.

Angel spoke first. "Uh."

Gunn nodded. "What he said."

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.10: Girls' Night Out
• Written by: Ladycat777 and Mad Poetess
• Edited by: Mad Poetess
• Story Developed by: Ladycat777
• Produced by: Flaming Muse, The Brat Queen, and Mad Poetess

---

Illyria disappeared to her basement lair in the Walden as soon as they all returned the theater. Unlike the awkwardly silent, battle-grimed men in the lobby, she'd had no need to stop and clean up. None of the carnage seemed to have touched her.

"Man, you gotta talk to her," Gunn said eventually, wiping at his hands with a wet cloth. They'd each busied themselves with clothes changing, weapon cleaning, paper shuffling, and anything else that would make it look like they weren't staring at the basement door, but the effort wasn't very successful. "That was..." He trailed off, throat working as he shook his head and grimaced.

"She did kill all the demons. And shut down the inter-dimensional whatsit." Spike looked faintly admiring as he said it, though his eyes were still a bit wide and stunned. "By herself. With nothing but a bit of a blade."

"Shut down is kind of an understatement," Gunn said. "More like crushed, recycled, and turned it into abstract art."

"It's what she was supposed to do," Angel responded, sliding his ax back into the weapons cabinet.

"She wasn't supposed to slaughter them," Gunn protested. He dropped his towel on his desk and reached for a file folder, flipping it open. "If we're not lucky, your non-specified hazard fee's gonna get eaten up by the guy's cleaning bill. I think there might've been blood on the ceiling."

Spike nodded as he picked at a speck of dried orange blood on his coat. "Not like the demon horde invited us over there for a nice spot of tea, but that was a bit... splashy."

Gunn added, "She tore them apart."

"We all know Illyria has some... boundary issues," Angel argued, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he spoke the last two words. "But, hey, she's sticking to the bad guys, and without us having to point out which is which. Usually. That's progress, right?"

"Maybe six months ago that was progress," Gunn said.

Spike laughed, a short, sharp bark. "Face it, Charlie, six months ago we were happy she wasn't eating the glassware anymore. Could be worse. Still, somebody's got to rein her in, if you want to stop her scaring off the paying customers."

"Paying customers, hell," Gunn said, dropping the case file in his hand on the counter for emphasis. "Let's work on her not scaring me off."

Angel frowned. "There was that thing with the Sargwath eggs - "

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Sargwath omelet?"

"Yeah. Have we heard from the client yet on that one?" Angel asked.

"After the state they found their apartment in?" Gunn replied. "I'm thinking we're not gonna."

Angel sighed, then nodded. "Okay. Fine. You win. Somebody should talk to Illyria."

Gunn walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. "All right! Glad you agree. Good luck with that." Then he stepped quickly away, ducking behind the counter and firing up the coffee machine.

"Wait... what? When did I say I'd do it?"

Spike backed away just as fast as Gunn. "You are the boss, right?" he asked. "Of everybody but me," he added quickly. "It's your job to deal with personnel problems. She's a problem, she's sort of a person, so... deal."

Angel crossed his arms. "So if I ordered one of you to do it..."

Spike fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out. "We'd order you to get stuffed."

"Except I wouldn't say stuffed," Gunn added.

"You're both fired," Angel said as he stalked towards the basement door.

"Uh-huh." Gunn didn't look up at him. "You gonna want coffee when you get back up?"

"Cream, two sugars."

---

There was absolutely no reason for Angel to be standing in the depths of his own basement, outside the door of a room that he owned - or at least paid the rent on, unlike some former deities he could mention - with his hand raised, ready to knock, but... not. Knocking. He'd be doing that, though. Any minute now. He was just gathering his thoughts. So the knocking thing would be occurring as soon as he -

The door swung open, and Illyria gazed at him from within. "Is there a purpose for your lurking? It disturbs my concentration."

"Lurking? No, I was just - you know, this door could use a re-paint. Doesn't it bother you, always flaking off?" Angel picked at a spot of paint that stubbornly refused to oblige him by peeling away.

"I exist in a world built on the crumbled remnants of my own; such small decay is scarcely worth my notice." Illyria narrowed her eyes. "You came to study the decomposition of my door?"

"Ah... no. Just an observation. Actually, I wanted to talk to you." Angel scratched his ear and resisted the urge to cross his fingers behind his back about the 'want' part. "About the job today."

"You are unsettled," she said, head cocked as if a different perspective would provide her all the answers she needed. "And displeased. Are the demons not all dead?"

Angel swallowed. "No, they're still all dead. Very, very dead. Hey, can I come in?"

As she stepped back from the door to allow him to pass, Angel wished he'd been smart enough to do this in his office instead of this room where he'd never felt so much off his own turf, no matter whose name was on the building's paperwork. His little second-floor office might not have had the gargantuan space and designer furniture that he'd had at Wolfram and Hart, but it was his all the same. This felt more like he was walking into foreign territory on a visa that might get revoked at any second.

Illyria stood between him and the door, her expression still questioning.

Angel gestured towards a battered metal folding chair, which he told himself was completely about being a gentleman and not at all about hoping this might be a little less awkward if she were sitting down. Where she couldn't stare straight into his eyes. Like she was now.

She crossed her arms, ignoring his gesture. "You wished to speak with me? Very well. Speak."

"It's about what happened tonight," he started slowly. "The demons you did such a good job of killing. And, really - great job, I mean it."

"They were brittle things; their destruction is a feat unworthy of praise, even if I cared to receive it."

"Uh. Right. So." Angel put his hands in his pockets and scanned the contents of the room, not quite able to meet her eyes. It was still stuffed with Wesley's belongings, but this time he couldn't make out the pattern of the arrangement, if there was one. Maybe she'd stopped trying to figure him out via his possessions, now that she had the real thing to work on. Or maybe this time she'd just sorted them by their metaphysical intensities or what temperature they had to reach before they'd melt.

"So?" she prompted, sounding less than patient.

"Illyria, it's not that we don't appreciate the effort," Angel said. "Or the lack of effort, I guess. Really. The problem is... Well, you can get a little... violent."

Her head cocked again, hair swinging as she studied him. "Violent? You wished the demons to be destroyed. I assisted you in destroying them. This is what you refer to as 'being a part of the team,' is it not?"

"Yes, absolutely. And you are," he assured her. "A very valuable part of the team."

"Your approval is as irritating as your condescension; I require neither." Illyria shook her head. "I merely point out that as you value such behavior, you should be grateful when it coincides with my amusement."

"And I am, believe me. We're thankful for the help."

"Then what is the problem?" she demanded. "While you took care of the advance guard, I dealt with the main mass of creatures and destroyed the portal that allowed them to spill forth."

"And that's great, but..."

"That is what 'teamwork' means, is it not? Cooperative effort by the members of a group to achieve a common goal?" "Yeah, that's what being a team means. And I am... pleased... it's just that..." Angel hesitated again, remembering the scene in the warehouse, and swallowed. "It's just that you don't need to be so, ah, enthusiastic about things, you know?" Her head returned to its querying tilt. "No, okay, obviously you don't."

"Did you wish me to leave some of them alive?" she asked.

"No, no, dead is good. Really. But maybe not quite so dead? You have a tendency to get kind of... creative with it."

That made Illyria frown. "You're saying that I should kill things for you, but not take satisfaction from the act?"

Angel could almost have cheered that she finally was understanding him. "Yes!"

"As you do."

"Yeah! Exactly." As Illyria raised an eyebrow at him, Angel was hit with an echo of the rush that had run through him when they'd charged the demons earlier tonight. The rush that always went through him when he fought, because soul or no soul, he was what he was. "Okay, no. Not exactly. But you could... try not to enjoy it so much, you know? It tends not to make the client happy."

"Your client wished the demons destroyed and the portal he failed to mention shut. Why should he be displeased with what I have done?"

"You mean after he stops throwing up?" Angel asked without thinking.

She sniffed. "Why is the weakness of his stomach my concern?"

Talking to Illyria always made his eye want to start twitching. "Look, Illyria, like I said, I'm grateful for the help. And you're good at killing things. But you've got to stop making such a mess when you do it."

"You - a vampire - believe I am too bloodthirsty," she said after a moment's thought. "That I purposefully choose the most visually destructive ways to dispatch our assignments."

"Yes," he said gratefully. "That's exactly what I mean. So maybe if you could dial it down just a little?"

"No. I will not. It is too useful."

Angel blinked. "Useful?"

"Your clients should fear you," she intoned. "They come to you for help, but they do not give you the respect such a position warrants. Many are disdainful of you. Some do not pay for the services they have been rendered."

"Well, with the Sargwath eggs..."

"They should fear your displeasure, instead of you fearing theirs. It pleases me to assist in this."

She was trying to do what? Angel stared at her, then shook his head. "I'm grateful for the... good intentions," he said, voice flat and commanding. "But we don't need that kind of help, Illyria, really. I don't want to scare the clients, just - " He broke off, watching her expression grow darker with each word, and remembered what she'd done to the demons. And how she'd probably done it. Forcing himself to smile, Angel changed tactics. "Maybe you could help with the research end of things? Work with Wes more often."

"Wesley says that he is too busy to work with me right now, that my presence distracts him." If it weren't the kind of thing that could get a man disemboweled, Angel might have said her tone was almost sullen.

"Then you can handle the research he doesn't have time to do. You've got his books, you've read 'em all, seems perfect to me."

"You are attempting to distract me," she said, nose raising in unconscious arrogance. Although with Illyria, it could be conscious arrogance and no one would be able to tell the difference. "I take no joy in the reading as Wesley does, and you know this. You think my dealings with clients are somehow damaging to your repute, so you seek to distract me with menial duties that you could as easily perform yourself."

"No! I'm not. Not at all. Research isn't menial. Menial would be making the coffee." Angel tried for a charming smile, though he suspected that 'sickly grin' was probably a more accurate description. "And I think we can all agree that we don't want that happening again."

"The beverage tasted adequate to me. I am not responsible for the weakness of your - "

The chirp of the walkie-talkie that was part of Angel's cell phone interrupted them. Angel made a face of apology, then pulled his phone out to talk. "Yeah?"

Gunn's voice came out of the speaker. "Hate to barge in, but we need you to do the boss gig."

"That's fine," Angel said. "We were almost done here. What's going on?"

"Robbery in a boutique over on Rodeo," Gunn said. "Store owner wants us looking into it."

"We don't cover petty crimes," Angel said

"Did you not hear me say boutique on Rodeo?" Gunn asked. "You can't steal an after dinner mint over there without it costing two Gs. Besides, we cover it when guys doing the criming don't look human."

"Demons?" Angel asked.

"Store owner says they kept talking about blood sacrifices, and their skin wasn't any of the usual multicultural rainbow," Gunn told him. "Unless there's some new lingo and makeup thing the kids are doing, I'm thinking vamps or demons."

"Okay," Angel said, "let's get over to the shop, take a look at what evidence they might have left behind. With luck we can track these guys down and deal with them before the trail gets cold."

"I will go with you," Illyria said.

"She will?" Gunn's incredulous voice echoed.

Angel turned the walkie-talkie connection off. "Uh, maybe you should stay here."

"You do not desire my company?" Illyria demanded.

"No, no," Angel shook his head. "Nothing like that. It's just... you don't want to do this. It's boring. No violence, or hitty stuff."

"Hitty stuff," Illyria repeated, frowning slightly as though she were trying out the feel of the words on her tongue.

"Right," Angel said. "So we'll go do the boring bits and you can - "

"Remain here to stare at the walls of your domain," Illyria said.

"Good idea." Angel gave her a supportive thumbs-up. "Since Connor's in class, somebody should stay to watch the office."

"Why not Spike?" Illyria asked.

"Because I need him." Angel immediately grimaced. "Please don't tell him I said that."

"You would command me to remain alone while the three of you do as you please?" Illyria asked.

Angel shook his head. "Not as we please. Work. We all have to do work around here. That includes you."

"Why do you assume that I would obey your bidding?" Illyria asked.

"Because," Angel said, standing up straighter, "I'm the boss."

Illyria's eyes narrowed. "According to whom?"

---

"I'm aware that she can be difficult," Wesley said into his cell phone as he walked down the hallway in Wolfram & Hart. The corridors still had an unfinished look about them, several panels removed from a section of the wall where maintenance was fiddling with something in the electrical grid. The carpet, a soft hunter green, still smelled of acrid glue and fiber pressed too tightly in bags of plastic. Men and women hurried about their days, more dressed in the grey uniforms of Wolfram & Hart security than the various shades of business attire the others sported.

Wesley side-stepped some of the construction as he continued speaking. "Yes, yes, I am also aware that she enjoys violence and isn't precisely what one would call a good listener. However, what you need to be aware of is - "

Wesley stopped, noticing the knot of security guards in front of his office and, more importantly, the blue-haired creature in the middle of them.

"Never mind," Wesley told his employee on the other end of the phone. "You'll never guess who just showed up."

"Miss, if you'll just wait here," one of the guards was saying.

Illyria gave the man a withering look. "I go where I please. Now get out of my way before I tear apart your flesh and play music upon the bones of your ribs."

Wesley cleared his throat. "Problem?"

"Yes," Illyria said from the center of the knot. "These men wish to delay me."

"These men clearly wish to die," Wesley agreed. "Or they at least wish to be unemployed, as trying to keep you out is in direct contrast to my orders."

"She smashed her way in," one of the guards said.

"I thought the air was a bit more dusty than it was this morning." Wesley turned to Illyria. "Not in a good mood, I take it?"

Illyria jerked her chin higher in agreement. "I have found the minutia of this pathetic existence to be more taxing than usual."

"Pity you don't enjoy getting drunk, or I'd offer you a scotch to help with the problem," Wesley gestured to the guards to disperse, then motioned for Illyria to join him in his office. "Barring that, is there something else I can do for you?"

She followed too closely behind him, planting herself in front of his desk with a distinct lack of her usual grace. "I no longer wish to tolerate the company of Angel. He is disrespectful. He does not treat me as one who is greater than he."

"You know, by Angel's way of thinking, treating you as a peer is a compliment." Wesley sat down in his chair. He saw Illyria staring at him as though he'd just said something incomprehensible. "Right, I forgot who I was talking to. Illyria, I'm sure Angel doesn't mean to insult you."

Illyria's body language did not soften. "He implied that I am a liability."

"Granted, Angel is perhaps not the most adept at picking the right thing to say," Wesley said, leaning back in his chair. "Or, for that matter, the right moment to say it. Actually, the entire realm of language and communication is a vast mystery to him, particularly as it relates to him trying to bond with others to any level of sophistication. But, still, that is part of his charm."

"You find stupidity to be charming?" Illyria asked, cocking her head to the side.

"He has a good heart," Wesley told her.

"His heart is a shriveled up ghost of an organ not fit enough to provide meat for the most common of rats, let alone - "

"Yes, thank you, I appreciate the imagery." Wesley held up a hand to stop her, then pressed it onto the desk to help emphasize his point. "What I mean to say is that metaphorically Angel has one of the greatest hearts I've ever known. He may be flawed, but he is one of the rare beings who is truly brave and noble."

"Such things are important to you." Illyria looked directly into Wesley's eyes, her gaze as precise as a laser in its focus. "You value what you consider goodness and courage. That is why you loved Fred."

Wesley's hand jerked into a fist. He held it in his lap, forcing himself to be calm. "Yes. That is exactly why I loved her."

In a flash the scrutiny was gone and was replaced with a curiosity that was almost childlike. "Do you love her still?"

"Yes," Wesley said.

"Your emotions leave you vulnerable," Illyria told him. "Sick and bleeding and open to any who would swoop in and take you with a kill."

"And here I thought actually being dead would put me long past that," Wesley replied dryly.

"You are in need of protection," Illyria said.

"I wasn't aware I was in immediate danger." Wesley stopped, hearing what Illyria was saying. "Wait - what do you have in mind?"

"When I ruled, I would let none dare challenge my power," Illyria said. "There would be no attempt at reasoning or compromise, for my will was all that mattered. If I wished the sun to go black, then I would not concern myself for the cold and shivering of those who served me. The sun would stay black."

"Yes, that's less than helpful. By the way, are you certain you wouldn't like to take a seat?" When her chin went up slightly, Wesley said, "Very well, remain standing."

"I do not wish to remain with the vampire any longer," Illyria said. "His methods are weak and supplicating."

"I'll grant that Angel often makes mistakes," Wesley said, "but he's not as bad as that. What does that have to do with why you're here?"

"You are not weak." Illyria walked around to the other side of Wesley's desk. She stared at him as though he were on display. "You do not feel shame when your job is completed."

"That all depends on which one of my jobs you're talking about," Wesley said, keeping a careful eye on her.

"Even so, your company is more pleasing to me than his," Illyria said.

"I value your company as well," Wesley told her, "but Angel needs you."

"You need me." Illyria swept her hand in the direction of the bustling reception area outside of Wesley's office door. "You need my guidance. You shall never be a true king until you learn from my wisdom."

"I don't want to be a true king," Wesley said. "I want to support Angel."

Illyria looked disbelieving. "Yet you are here."

"Here is where I can support Angel." Wesley pushed himself back from the desk. "The wars we fight are complicated. Not everything is the most obvious solution. Angel needs my help, which I can best offer him here. Angel needs your help, which you can best offer him by staying at his side."

"I am not a lowly worm of a supplicant, ready to do the bidding of any who would order me," Illyria said. "I do not obey; I command."

Wesley held up his hands to placate her. "I wouldn't presume to believe otherwise. However, my answer remains the same."

"I have come to offer you the boon of my presence, and you deny me?" Illyria's eyes flashed. She looked ready to kill something with her bare hands. "I present you with a gift that universes would weep to receive, and you dare to reject it?"

"In this universe what matters is the ultimate battle of good and evil," Wesley said. "If you care about your existence here, if you wish to continue living a life where the greater powers in the forces of darkness do not treat you like a slave, then you will help me by continuing to support Angel."

"Your battles are petty games played by gods with small minds and rapid boredom," Illyria said. "You are nothing but a toy, less than dirt to their eyes."

"That may be," Wesley said, "but our battles matter to us, and that's all that I care about."

"Your efforts are meaningless," Illyria told him. "You create nothing but your doom."

Kyle appeared at the doorway. He motioned to catch Wesley's attention. "Boss?"

"I have to go," Wesley stood up.

"I offer you one last chance," Illyria said. "A final opportunity for you to choose to be with me."

"Then forgive me, Illyria," Wesley said, as he gathered up his paperwork, "for I must decline."

"No." Illyria narrowed her eyes at him. "I shall not."

---

Illyria slammed the door shut behind her, taking pleasure in watching the glass panes rattle alarmingly. Usually such actions prompted a caution not to destroy what they did not have the money to fix. Had anyone been there to warn her, she would have crushed him where he stood.

"If I were as I once was," she said to the empty lobby, "any creature who dared insult me so would end in agony, fear and starvation whittling away at him as I made him bleed for such presumption. Slowly, one drop per day, and by the last he would be begging me to slit his throat, if he had but breath to speak."

"So, I'm thinking bad day?"

Illyria whirled to face the back of the lobby. "You. How did you gain admittance?"

Gwen, perched atop the concession counter, grinned and pointed at the doors. "You're asking a cat burglar how she managed to make it through that cruddy little lock? I'd be insulted, if I'd actually had to waste my time picking it." At Illyria's uncomprehending stare, Gwen shrugged. "Locks work better - against normal people, anyway - if you bother to lock them."

Illyria glanced back at the door that she, in fact, had left unlocked. The door that, without a key, she couldn't have secured if it had even occurred to her to do so. She shrugged back. "Angel's defenses are beneath my concern. Let him look to them himself, if he cares to."

"Where is he? Or, you know, anybody." Gwen looked around the lobby.

"Gone. On a case. All of them. Your presence is therefore unnecessary."

"Well, thanks for the welcome wagon," Gwen smiled. "But I've got nothing better to do now, since Gunn's off playing conquering hero instead of taking me to dinner. You want to tell me what's got you so pissed off?"

Illyria approached Gwen cautiously, head tilted. She was unsurprised when Gwen moved back rather than let her get too close; it was not an uncommon reaction to her presence. "Your previously arranged meeting has been ignored. Your company has been forsaken. Why are you not affronted?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." Gwen shrugged it off. "Because Gunn didn't 'forsake my company.' He got busy. There is a new case, right? Someone going to end up dead?"

"A robbery, by demons." Illyria tossed her head, dismissing the adventure from which she had been excluded. She moved closer still, trapping Gwen against the counter, not oblivious to her uncomfortable expression, but unconcerned with it. "You are truly not vexed. You should be. If an admirer had ever dared treat me so casually, taking my attention for granted and forgetting that he had arrangements previously made, I would have taken vengeance upon him with my own hands. For a mortal, ripping the skin off his arm would make an excellent beginning. It grows back without much scarring, therefore not destroying what is pleasant in your eyes, but the pain will be sufficient reminder not to mistreat you so again."

"So, your advice is to slip right past the passive part of passive-aggressive dating behavior." Gwen smiled a little too brightly and leaned away uncomfortably. "You mind moving back? Grow up unable to touch people without frying them, and you sort of develop a bigger personal bubble than usual."

Illyria inclined her head and took a single step backward. "Then I would crush the bones in a single foot. This would ensure that he is still functional but will remember the anguish he caused you with every step he attempts."

Eyes darting around rapidly, Gwen's smile turned somewhat sickly. "Whoa, okay, anguish? He hasn't caused me any anguish. So he forgot to call to say he couldn't make our date. It happens. It just means we get to go where I want next time. And possibly there's some groveling, which is nice, but total bonus material. DVD extra. Not worth torturing him to get, honestly."

Illyria sniffed. "The torture is the point of the exercise; the groveling should be assumed."

Gwen blinked and then started laughing. Her voice wasn't quite steady, but she sounded much less nervous, a fact that did not necessarily please Illyria. She enjoyed people being nervous around her.

"You've got man trouble," Gwen accused. "I should've guessed, the way you were all pissed off when you first came in. Here, hop up." She settled herself into a more relaxed position on the countertop and patted the space next to her.

Arms crossed, Illyria stood before her, ignoring the invitation. "I do not understand what you mean by 'man trouble.'"

"Well, you're talking about slitting people's throats and ripping the skin off their arms. And there's a lot of 'he's in there along with the ripping and the maiming."

Illyria laughed harshly. "You agree with Angel, then, that I am too violent. I am sure he will be pleased to hear it."

"He said you're too violent? To your face?"

"It frightens the customers, he said. Then he told me I was not welcome on his case, but should stay here and 'watch the office.'" Illyria gazed at the counter, wishing that her urge to kick it into powder wouldn't seem to support Angel's theory, as well as give evidence that his opinion affected her at all.

Gwen whistled. "Well, gotta give him credit for the balls, if not the brains. Surprised he still has either of them."

"Wesley says that in this time one does not kill or maim one's allies. At least without sufficient proof of betrayal." If the bitterness of his name upon her tongue bled out into her voice, Illyria refused to hear it.

"Anybody ever mention that you guys are just one big ball of happy, fuzzy sanity? 'Cause I'm thinking no," Gwen said. "Guess I can see why you're all metaphorically skin-rippy at Angel, though."

"Angel's opinion by itself carries no weight; that Wesley would turn me away when I went to him - " Illyria shook her head. "I thought him less of a fool."

"Both of them? That's harsh."

"Wesley refused my offers of guidance and assistance, told me to leave his side." Illyria hesitated, sorting through several terms before picking the most accurate, despite the humiliation attached to the words. What was one more humiliation in her current lowered state? "He did not want me."

"That's rough," Gwen said with a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. But, hey, it's not like he's been able to spend a lot of time with anybody these days, is it? With his new job and all."

"This is true. Yet when I first came to this body, Wesley spent a great deal of time with me. He listened to me and explained many things about how the world had changed since I had ruled it. We made a bargain - I would not kill, and he... would help me to live." She hated this feeling, of tightness in the cage of this body's ribs, the twisting of her gut, the way it made her voice go small, uncertain. "Now he wishes me away from him, would rather I help Angel. And Angel would rather I help by doing nothing."

"Like I said - man trouble." Gwen nodded. "Maybe not the traditional kind, but seems like it has the same crappy effects."

"I suppose." Illyria frowned. "It should have no effect on me. I should not care."

"Hey, you know what's good for that? At least temporarily." Gwen asked, sliding down from the counter. "We should go out on the town. Just the two of us."

Illyria looked up slowly, studying Gwen's face as if the meaning to her words might be written on her skin. "I do not understand."

"This," Gwen explained as she settled onto her feet, "is what women do when they need a pick-me-up and don't need to think about man trouble for the night. They go out, they party, and they have a blast."

"And this takes away the urge to disembowel the men in question?" Illyria asked.

Gwen swallowed visibly, then gave a smile that seemed at least somewhat less forced than her earlier one. "Let's hope so, huh?"

Illyria considered for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Yes. If their behavior is affecting me as it would a human woman, perhaps there is a human cure for it. We will go party, now."

---

The Orchid boutique was the kind of store that Angel could have gone to back when he was CEO of Wolfram & Hart and that carried the kind of merchandise that he probably would have used to woo clients with, if he'd ever truly cared about wooing clients. Jewelry, textiles, antiques, and rare books were displayed on minimalist glass and marble shelving units, designed to make it clear that if anyone who had to ask how much an item cost then they most definitely could not afford it.

Currently the store was closed to everyone but Angel, Spike, Gunn, and the store owner. Not only did it keep customers out of their way, but it meant that a heavy curtain over the front prevented Angel and Spike from having to investigate while hidden under the safety of blankets.

"Subtle job, this," Spike observed, stepping carefully around the broken glass that was the only remains of one of the shelving units.

"Since they did it in broad daylight with everyone watching," Gunn said, "I'm guessing subtle wasn't high on the list of priorities."

"We need a list of what they took," Angel said. "Security tape of the guys doing it wouldn't hurt either."

"I could burn you a copy on DVD," the store owner offered. "Or, if you'd rather, I could beam it over to you."

Angel looked at Gunn. "Make that make sense."

"Regular DVD copy is fine," Gunn said.

"One of these centuries you have got to get yourself acquainted with technology," Spike told Angel as the store owner scurried off.

"Right," Angel said, "because you're so familiar with beaming."

Spike let his eyebrows raise up on his forehead. "I could be."

"Does somebody here who's not going to bleed to death from a few glass cuts want to pick through this mess and look for clues?" Gunn asked.

"I pick Spike," Angel said.

"Why me?" Spike asked.

"Because I'm in charge," Angel said. "Plus I had to talk to Illyria."

"In your dreams," Spike replied. "But, all right, fair cop on the other one. Getting out of intimate chats with Big Blue isn't high on my list of things to sneer at."

"How'd that go anyway?" Gunn asked.

"I'm here to tell the tale," Angel said. "That's something, right?"

"It is if you got her to tone the violence down from eleven," Gunn said.

"Can't blame her for wanting to get her fight on," Spike said as he picked through the glass. "Find yourself slumming with the good guys, being half the power you used to be, reputation shot all to crap - makes you long for inflicting blood and bruises on any target you can aim at."

"But you can't," Angel said. "She can't. We have to focus on winning. We don't have time for anyone to be focusing on self-pity. Especially the brutal kind."

Spike looked up at him. "Right. Much better when it's the mopey, bad-hair kind."

Angel leaned against an unbroken countertop. "Do you even try with those insults, or do you just throw the hair thing in when you can't come up with something that's actually funny?"

"Notice you don't deny you think your way's better," Spike said. "Or your hair's bad."

"So she lost her power," Angel said, continuing on with the conversation. "And her kingdom. Big deal. Join the club. Apparently we get itchy brands and a newsletter."

Gunn looked up from a the pile Spike was sorting through. "The Circle of the Black Thorn had a newsletter?"

"Been a little lax on sending out new copies," Angel said, "but before we killed every member except me there was a great one with an article about improving your long distance putts."

Spike sat back on his haunches. "Not that hypocrisy isn't a new look for you, but ever think of how it feels to her? Or were you that thrilled when the gypsies had their way with your moral compass? 'Cause we all know you never once missed the evil or even tried to join up with it again, right?"

"That's different," Angel said.

"How?" Gunn asked.

"Because I've got a soul," Angel said. "Illyria doesn't. All she has deep inside of her is a voice that reminds her of how great it used to be when she had all her power and could kill and maim as she pleased without anyone stopping her. Of how much fun it was to torment people just for the hell of it. Of how she was at the top of the food chain and anybody who stood in her way deserved nothing but laughter, torture, or both."

"If there're clues down here, I can't find them," Spike stood up, brushing broken glass off of the legs of his jeans. "Angel, the problem with you - bearing in mind this is a long topic so I'm keeping myself to the highlights - is you can't stand thinking you're not right about something."

"Spike," Angel said, "when it comes to you and me I find I save so much time when I assume I'm always the one who's right about something."

"Yeah, and that's worked out so well for you," Spike said. "Considering the success that is your love life, social status, and everything else you've set your tiny mind to."

"Hey," Angel said, "I've saved the world."

"Join the club," Spike said with a mild roll of his eyes. "Xander made T-shirts. Meanwhile it doesn't change the fact that you think your way's the only way. Just 'cause you've signed on to the hero gig doesn't mean Illyria thinks it's a grand idea. You're supposed to be the good guy. Show some pity."

"She used to be a demon-god," Angel said. "If somebody doesn't stop her, she'll keep trying to find ways to destroy the world and bring everyone to their knees."

"You don't think that's all the more reason to show her the benefits of kindness?" Spike asked.

"Not for nothing," Gunn interjected, "but far as I know she hasn't tried to find new ways to end the world. Not since the big us vs. Senior Partners throw-down."

"She could," Angel said.

"But she hasn't," Gunn replied. "You might want to ask yourself why is that?"

"Okay, fine," Angel threw his hands up into the air. "Why?"

"What? Oh." Gunn shrugged. "Hell if I know. I just thought it was a damn good question."

"Gentlemen?" the store owner reappeared. "I have the DVD for you. Would you care to watch it here first?" He gestured toward the rear of the store.

"Sure," Angel said, heading towards the back room. "Might as well solve one mystery today."

---

"We will party here?" Illyria asked in a dubious tone, hands on her hips as she gazed around at the walls of the adults-only store that was across the street from the Walden. More than a few heads turned toward her with appraising, and then appreciative, stares, Gwen noted. In that skintight leather cat suit - assuming it wasn't actually skin; God only knew - and bright cobalt hair, she certainly was a striking figure.

The wall Illyria was studying was assigned solely to leather products. Whips and floggers were presented on a metal grate near the ceiling, collars and cuffs below, ordered by their length and adornments. Leather clothing was next; several items - boots, a pair of chaps, a fringed vest - hung where anyone could see, while the rest were stacked neatly in a wooden structure full of labeled cubby holes. A particularly provocative corset was laced up on a faceless white model, bent over slightly to expose her smooth plastic bottom. An empty harness swung beside the mannequin, leading the eye directly to the other wall.

The riot of colors on that wall was startling after the smooth, rich darkness of the leather. Vibrators and dildos of all shapes, sizes, and hues - some obviously purely for novelty use, or at least not for human use - were splayed out against a simple white backdrop. The boxes containing the copies for sale were stacked below, just like you'd find in a shoe store. Patrons browsed through the options, picking them up and turning them on at whim, if they could be turned on, the buzzing underscoring everyone's conversation.

"Well, not so much partying here, no. This is kind of a pre-party place," Gwen said.

Illyria stared down at a vibrator as blue as she was, the slightly curved tip pointing rather disturbingly at her. "Toys," she said, curling her lip and turning to point at the rack of leather implements.

Gwen picked up a glittery red electric butterfly, cheap, but cute. She dropped it in the basket hanging over her arm. "Oh, good. You got that. I was afraid I'd have to do the Human Pleasure 101 lecture, and... hmm. Never actually given that one; might be fun."

"That whip is a child's weapon; not even an amateur would expect to cause any damage with it," Illyria said, pointing. "The flat boards could perhaps be used to inflict blunt trauma, but the effects would be crude and inefficient. And these..." She turned back to the blue vibrator, and Gwen quickly held up a hand before Illyria could further expound on the subject. Possibly with un-erasable mental images. "Toys."

"Okay, spoke too soon, obviously," Gwen said. "Remember that thing I said about human pleasure? Places like this are for finding ways to enjoy yourself, with or without a study buddy. Not about the trauma."

Illyria's eyes narrowed, and she turned to scan the walls again. "You wish to teach me about human pleasure using these things?" She picked up a box marked 'Happy Dolphin Buzz,' containing a vibrator shaped as its name suggested, and studied it. The smile on its silicone face was alarmingly wide, especially given its status as the participant least likely to enjoy any potential interactions.

Gwen eyed it dubiously. "Well, I hadn't exactly been planning on a hands-on demonstration, but that's - "

"You sure? I wouldn't mind watching that demo," came a man's voice from the other side of a display of t-shirts. "Might even be willing to pay for it."

Gwen flipped the unseen speaker a finger over the top of the rack. "Piss off."

"Hey, if that's your kink..."

She walked around the edge of the display stand, scowl on her face, but the man had moved off, and it was impossible to tell which of the scattered customers might have spoken. "Idiot." she muttered. "Anyway, before we were so rudely interrupted, we were talking about how to have fun without limb-removal, right?"

Gwen returned to the other side of the display, only to find Illyria was nowhere in sight. She hastily scanned the store, but the only blue hair to be seen was on a pair of senior citizens in matching black leather, genders... questionable, style impeccable.

"Well, damn."

---

"Oh, by the way," Angel said, imitating the store owner's voice as he stood outside in the safety of the setting sun, "I noticed they were M'ree demons, did you need to know that?" Angel then dropped back into his own voice as he said. "No, not at all. Definitely not anything you could have told us on the phone. I'm thrilled that you waited to mention it."

"It's no big thing," Gunn said as he and Spike joined him.

"I'm over the clients who don't tell us enough information," Angel said. "Between portals and this I say the next client who lies gets to fight off their own demons."

"Other than totally abandoning the helpless," Gunn said, "what's our next step?"

Angel pulled out his cell phone, hitting the number two on his speed dial. "Information. M'ree are killers, and they don't waste their time with small crimes. If they're prepping for a sacrifice of some kind, we need to find out where they're hanging out and what they've been doing during the past couple of weeks."

"Thought our little college boy wasn't in the office today," Spike said.

"He's not," Angel said. "I'm not calling him. I'm calling - "

"The M'ree arrived yesterday," Wesley said, walking up from behind Angel. He used a stylus to tap at the screen of his Palm Pilot. "So far they've been responsible for two robberies in the area, and I believe they're going to be responsible for a third. No word yet on what their sacrifice is regarding."

Angel flipped his cell phone closed and put it back into his pocket. "Okay, it's getting creepy with how you do that."

"It's easier to be proactive when one has full access to police files," Wesley said with a little shrug.

"Fair enough," Angel said. "And you knew where we would be because...?"

Wesley smiled. "I recognized your car."

"You said there was going to be a third robbery?" Gunn asked.

"Based on the locations of the stores and the items stolen," Wesley said, "I believe that the M'ree are going to hit Davidson's next. They recently received a shipment of magical goods from England."

"Man do I miss the Wolfram & Hart databases," Angel said. "Don't suppose you know when they're going to do it?"

"Unfortunately not," Wesley said. He then held up a silver thermos. "I don't suppose you three would care to join me on a stakeout?"

---

Obviously the guys weren't too concerned about Illyria being out without a babysitter, if she was in and out of Wolfram & Hart whenever she felt like it, but the idea of losing track of Illyria on her watch still made Gwen nervous.

She dropped her basket at the counter and turned to leave the building when the faint thud of music from above reminded her that the shop only provided half the business. The thumping beat grew louder as Gwen climbed the steps to check upstairs, the wooden railing shivering in its metal sockets with every boom.

The club wasn't overwhelmingly crowded, maybe thirty guys spread around the room, all of them watching a slim Asian dancer cozy up to the pole in the center of the tiny stage.

Illyria was sitting at a table right near the door. Grateful for her search being that easy, Gwen dropped into a chair beside her. "Don't disappear on me like that, okay? I worry. Not sure if it's more for you or anybody you might run into in this mood, but still."

"Fascinating." Illyria didn't look over at Gwen when she spoke.

"Do you always have to sound like Data when you say that? And hot chicks like me shouldn't know who Data is, so pretend I didn't ask you that." Gwen followed Illyria's eerily focused line of sight to the dancer, who was just now shimmying out of a battered brown bomber jacket to reveal a man-tailored shirt that emphasized her cleavage without giving the goods away. "Her? She's fascinating? Maybe I can shed a little light on what's wrong between you and Wes, then."

"You see nothing," Illyria said. "Look at them, not at her." She made a circling gesture, encompassing the room. "These men, who pay to watch her remove her clothing and twist to this discordant music. They cannot take their eyes from her. They... worship her."

"Ah." Gwen nodded. "Miss that, huh?"

"This is nothing to the attention that I once commanded." The tone was scornful, but Illyria frowned and lowered her gaze for a moment before flicking it back to the stripper.

Gwen did a sweep over the crowd, taking in the different knots of men and the way they positioned themselves. Usually bars like these were loud, casual affairs where often the boys were just as interested in showing off between themselves or trying to cop a feel from the g-string-clad girls serving drinks as they were in paying attention to the woman on stage.

Tonight, though, the crowd was actually watching the dancer instead of playing one-up games. Several were leaning forward, breathing heavily, while their hands drifted to places the dark lighting thankfully obscured. The rest wore expressions of rapt attention, eyes following every move she made. Half of them weren't even drinking their beer. It made Illyria's use of the word 'worship' seem pretty accurate.

"So, you want to be a stripper?" Gwen asked doubtfully, as on-stage the dress shirt gave way to satin and lace. "You've got the body for it, I guess, but..."

Illyria turned, fierce and hawk-like, to glare at Gwen. "Perform for fools like this? Lower myself to inspire worship through action? My mere presence should be enough to drive mortals to their knees. When I was..."

"You know what?" Gwen hastily cut in, not wanting to hear yet another 'when I was' from Illyria. "Fascinating or not, hanging around here picking up a bad case of the used-to-be's isn't going to wash those men right outta your hair. Why don't we try someplace else?"

The music came to a halt just as they stood up to leave, and in the hush that followed a nearby chair scraped as a man climbed to his feet. He swayed his way over, drink in hand, smirk plastered on his face. "You need a little help forgetting about those guys that did you wrong? Hey, I'm here for ya."

"Dear God, do they still make you?" Gwen gave him an incredulous look. He was sandy-blond, not bad looking, though a few years too old to get away with the frat-boy blazer and rolled-up sleeves he was sporting. Then the voice clicked in her head; it was their unseen commentator from earlier in the sex shop.

He gave her a lascivious once-over. "No, they broke the mold after me, honey. But don't worry, there's enough for two, if you're still looking to give your friend some pointers."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You have got to be kidding. Over the ashes of my dead body, maybe."

The guy shrugged. "Your loss. More interested in your little friend here, anyway. The hair... and those contacts? That's freaky hot. What d'you say, Blue?" He turned his eyes back to Illyria. "Want to ditch the dud and have some fun?"

"Excuse me?" Gwen said in disbelief.

Illyria fixed him with her odd, unblinking stare. "Fun? With you?"

"Sure. We can take my 'vette out on the highway, by the coast..."

The bow-chicka-bow music that started up for the next dancer kicked in with such bad porn movie timing that Gwen almost burst out laughing. "You and what designated driver? Come on, Illyria, let's go."

"You mind? The lady and I are having a conversation here."

The 'lady' stepped away from him. "Your words are puerile, and your breath stinks of whiskey. I have no desire to converse with you." She turned to head for the stairs, and Gwen, grinning, followed.

"Hey!" The music was loud enough to cover the rest of the man's shout, but only just. He was coming after them.

Normally Gwen wouldn't have thought twice before knocking him on his obnoxious ass, but... did they really want to cause a huge scene just across the street from the Walden? Angel and Gunn wouldn't thank her for getting Illyria involved with something else that might scare off the normals. Maybe it was best to leave with a minimum of fuss.

Gwen tried to move a little faster, but somehow - and she was never quite sure how he got in front of her - the man reached Illyria first and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"I really don't think we were finished talking," he growled.

Illyria went stock still. A strobe light started on the stage, folding everything into incremental moments, stop-motion photography tinged with shadows and booze. One moment, she was just standing there, the man's hand on her shoulder. The next, he was a foot off the ground, Illyria's hand around his throat.

"My name," Illyria said, her voice cracking through the music like the slap of a whip, "is Illyria. Shaper of worlds. God-King of the Primordium. I have been known to destroy creatures like you for daring to beg the honor of speaking it -- let alone laying hands upon my person."

"Maybe you should let him go," Gwen said in a low voice. "We don't want to start off the night by having to call the guys and get them to bail us out on murder charges, right?" The man made squeaking noises, kicking feebly as Illyria considered Gwen's request.

"I would call it vermin control sooner than murder," Illyria intoned but finally dropped the gasping, weakened man. "But I will not kill humans; this I told Wesley, and I keep my bargains, even if he does not. You have other places to take me?"

Gwen nodded, and the two of them walked away. They were halfway down the stairs when the man wheezed out, "Stupid bitch, sucker-punching me. I was bein' nice. Should've just waited for you both outside." He could have been just talking big - he certainly was about the sucker-punch that hadn't happened - but the menace in his voice made Gwen wonder how many times he'd tried something like that on girls who didn't have super powers.

Before Illyria could do anything, Gwen darted back upstairs, where he was just getting to his feet. "I would've liked to see you try," she hissed, then slid her hand across the front of his jeans. His eyes widened as she grabbed hold and smiled, then his body jerked from the current running through it, only collapsing when she finally let go of him.

No one noticed. Patrons of strip clubs weren't known for watching what went on in the shadows; they either didn't want to see, or were too busy getting up to something themselves. When Gwen caught up with Illyria, the two of them moving quickly down the stairs, Gwen was shocked to see Illyria smiling back at her.

It wasn't the broad, kitten-smile that Gwen had seen on Fred in days gone by. This smile was small and knowing, a bare lift of the corner of Illyria's pale blue mouth. "Is he dead?"

"Nah, didn't give him that much," Gwen said. "Just enough to make him think twice about pulling that on anybody else. Or pulling much of anything, for a few days, at least."

"Ah." Illyria nodded. "So he lives that he may fully regret his actions. Effective."

Gwen grinned. "Subtlety does have its advantages. Come on, let's get out of here."

---

"You're wrong," Spike said.

"How many times do I have to remind you that I'm always right?" Angel asked.

"Something else you're wrong about, and this time you are incredibly wrong," Spike said.

"I am not," Angel said. "And I am... not. To both. I'm right, is what I'm saying."

Spike sighed. "There is no way in any dimension that that shirt - " He stabbed his finger in the direction of a dark purple silk shirt that hung on a rack in the storeroom they were currently hiding in " - would look good on you."

"I look great in purple," Angel said.

"You look like a ponce in purple," Spike said. "I look great in purple."

"With your skin tones?" Angel shook his head. "Yeah, what you really need is to wear colors that make you look even more washed out."

Spike puffed up his shoulders. "I am not washed out!"

"You are when you wear purple," Angel said.

Spike cocked his head to the side and asked more seriously, "Really?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "It's the hints of blue."

"I thought blue brought out my eyes," Spike said with a faint frown.

"No, blue hides your eyes," Angel said. He began flipping through the shirts that were on the rack. "See what you need is contrast. Here, like this red number."

Spike snorted. "Please. Anyone in our family can wear red. You can wear red. Though not this one. Try the other one next to it, the burgundy."

"You two don't think that you're possibly wasting your time?" Wesley asked, stepping in between the two of them.

"We're just looking," Angel said.

"I know," Wesley said. "I mean with that shirt. It's entirely wrong for your shoulders."

"See," Spike said, "I point that out and he thinks I'm making weight jokes again."

"It's not my fault I can't get things tailored anymore," Angel said, hinting at a pout. "It's fancy clothes or let my employees eat."

"One or two proper garments that are well cared for make a worthwhile investment," Wesley said mildly. "But again not that one. You should try the dark grey and match it with the black trousers to your right."

"If you guys think you can wrap up this week's episode of Queer Eye for the Dead Guy," Gunn said, "there's a stakeout we're supposed to be on."

Spike sighed. "Nothing wrong with browsing while we're here."

"I still say I'd look good in purple," Angel muttered as he sat down on one of the four metal folding chairs that they'd gathered around the security monitor. The monitor flickered from one angle of the store to the next, giving them a constant view of what was going on in the main part of the boutique.

"I'd also like to protest your choice of terms," Wesley told Gunn. Off Gunn's questioning look he clarified, "Dead. I'm hardly the average walking corpse."

"It scares me that there is an average walking corpse," Gunn replied.

Spike turned one of the chairs around and straddled it backwards. "Get used to it, Perce. You're one of us now."

"That's hardly an excuse for metaphysical slurs," Wesley said.

"Not to get all lawyer-brain on you," Gunn said, "but pointing out a fact isn't a slur."

"I see," Wesley said. "So it wouldn't bother you in the slightest if I continually pointed out that you can be described with the b-word?"

They all looked at him.

"Bald," Wesley said. "Honestly, what do you all think of me?"

Spike shrugged. "Kind of dull, reads books that are right boring, natters on about nothing that I care about, dresses about as poncy as Angel does - "

"Does the word 'rhetorical' mean nothing to you?" Wesley asked.

"Look, no offense ever meant on the you being dead stuff," Gunn said. "But you got to admit it's a little freaky for me being the only part of this gang who's held on to his pulse."

"I just want you all to notice that I didn't make any lawyer jokes in response to that," Angel said as he adjusted the position of the security monitor to get a better view. Currently there were two customers in the shop and one clerk trying to take care of them.

"Speaking of members of this gang," Wesley said, "where's Illyria?"

"Back at the office." Angel grimaced. "At least, I hope."

Wesley frowned slightly. "She didn't come with you?"

"Didn't want her to," Spike said.

"Currently Illyria's favorite colors are infra-dead and ultra-violent," Gunn said. "Made teaming up with her for the case-solving to be a little too hard on everybody, our gag reflexes included."

"You're fighting evil," Wesley said. "You would prefer dispatching the enemy with soft pillows?"

"I prefer dispatching the enemy without getting dispatched myself," Gunn said. "Plus, I like a clearer distinction between me and the enemy when the time comes for her to be snapping necks."

"So wear a name tag," Wesley said, his voice growing colder. "We're in the middle of a war. This is hardly the time to be leaving your best warriors at home to mind their knitting."

"It's just a case, Wes," Angel pointed out. "Illyria doesn't have to get involved in this one."

Wesley's eyes flashed. "She shouldn't be left unsupervised. She doesn't have anyone. She needs companionship and someone to guide her."

"Thought that was you," Spike said.

"Combining Illyria with Wolfram & Hart is dangerous," Wesley said. "She needs to be on the side of good. She needs to be with Angel."

"I'd love to have her," Angel said, "but she doesn't exactly ask how high when I say jump."

"You work with Spike, for God's sake," Wesley said. "Why should Illyria in any way throw you?"

"You of all people need to ask him that?" Gunn looked chastened as soon as he said the words. "Sorry, man. That didn't come out nearly so asshole-like in my head."

"No, it's all right." His body language still stiff, Wesley busied himself by pouring a fresh cup of coffee from his thermos. "I know that she comes with emotional baggage for all of us."

---

The tally on the electronic display read '50,000' after only the first few moments. Gwen watched the score continue to rise, Illyria's impassive expression at odds with the bloody carnage she was creating on screen. "Whoa. Somebody's got great hand-eye coordination."

"This game is a poor facsimile of actual combat. The graphical resolution is also inferior to that of Spike's machine." Illyria glanced up from the console, considering Gwen, and said, "If all you wished to do for enjoyment was play video games, there is a large selection of them at the Walden."

Around them, kids of all ages screamed and laughed, running between the different arcade games and the food stands to one side, then back to wait in lines on the carnival rides not far away.

"There's plenty of stuff to do besides the games," Gwen pointed out. "Food? Rides?" She led Illyria back out onto the midway.

"She was here," Illyria said abruptly.

"She?"

"Fred." Illyria's gaze wandered over the crowds, lingering on those who held hands, or walked closely together, heads leaning towards each other intimately. "She was here, with Gunn. They rode the giant circle that goes nowhere."

Gwen never liked thinking too hard about the time when Gunn and Fred had been together. It didn't entirely matter that they'd broken up before she'd hooked up with Gunn, herself; that the ex was not only tragically dead, but something that looked like her was still walking around reminding him was... all a bit too freaky, even for a freak like her. "They hung out here?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"The giant wheel stopped while they rode it, with them nearly to the top. Fred was... pleased by this," Illyria said thoughtfully. "She demanded that Gunn kiss her then. She said that doing so would create the perfect date."

Gwen couldn't imagine it was anybody's idea of fun to listen a past girlfriend reminisce about your current guy, but listening to the god-filled shell of a past girlfriend reminiscing was beyond surreal. "Yeah, I guess that's a classic date right there. Pretty romantic."

Illyria stopped in the middle of the walkway, heedless of the small child who almost stepped on her foot then darted away, wide-eyed, as he scrambled to find his mother. "I do not understand this concept of dating. If the purpose of such events is to spend time with a desired mate, why must they always go outside to do so? Would it not serve their desires more to spend time away from people who would interrupt them? And why do they not wish to spend time with me when they would have gladly done so with Fred?"

The subject change shouldn't have been as surprising as it was; Gwen was getting used to the abrupt transitions. It was the melancholy tone, almost childlike, that made her blink. "Ah, well, dating isn't just like spending time with a friend," Gwen said, scrambling to find some way to explain it that wouldn't traumatize all the children within hearing distance and piss off their parents. "I mean, you don't think Angel wanted to date Fred, do you?"

"That is not what I mean," Illyria said contemptuously. "I do not seek sexual congress with them. It is... something else." She stood beneath the hanging stuffed prizes of a ring-toss booth and frowned. "Angel will sometimes stare at me wistfully and mention that Fred used to come into his office with coffee and 'gossip.' Spike knows I'm not her, yet looking at me saddens him, nonetheless. Gunn..."

Gwen cut her off. "Yeah, I get the picture."

Illyria nodded. "Even Wesley no longer has time for me - yet if it were possible to bring her back, he would be at her side in an instant. They worship her memory, give it sacrifices and whispered prayers when they think I do not overhear their chatter. She is always with them. This frail human girl - not even she, but her ghost - enjoys more of their company than I ever could."

It was a strange and new thing, seeing Illyria look so disheartened. Illyria hadn't ever looked like anything but Illyria before to Gwen, and it was a shock to realize that for all her strangeness her problems were pretty simple. She'd lost her kingdom and everything she knew, and now even the few people who put up with her presence on a daily basis seemed to be blowing her off. She was lonely.

"You know," Gwen said slowly, an idea forming in her head, "maybe what you need is to see other people."

---

"I can't get past the guilt," Gunn admitted. "It's great that she's putting her all into the good fight, but every time I see her it's a slap in the face, making sure I remember what I did."

"I don't mind her so much," Spike said, leaning back in his chair. "Not that I wouldn't welcome Fred back with open arms, don't get me wrong. But Blue's okay for a god. I've met worse."

Angel motioned for Wesley to hand him the thermos. He poured his own cup of coffee into one of the Styrofoam cups the store owner had provided. "It was kind of nice bonding with her over the summer. I felt like she knew where I was coming from."

"Had to be nice having somebody who spoke your lack of language," Gunn said. "Especially considering she got about as stoic as you usually are after Wesley - uh, hey, look, another customer came in."

"It's all right," Wesley said, setting the thermos back on the floor. "You can say it. I was there, after all, so it's not as though the news of my death is any surprise to me."

"She did miss you," Angel said. "Which you could probably tell with the obsessive collecting of your stuff, but for what it's worth you obviously mean a lot to her."

Wesley rubbed his thumb over the edge of his cup. "You as well."

"Yeah, but when you came back that was a big thing," Angel said. "She thought about you all summer, she didn't talk about anything else, then when you showed up all she wanted to do was be by your side. Heck, once you take all the big picture stuff out of it, the only thing that ever seemed to matter was you."

Wesley looked up at him but did not say anything.

Angel tried not to show his discomfort. "What I'm saying is, considering that and considering how, after, you know, everything, the only thing that ever seemed to matter to you was her, what I wonder is - "

"Have you and bluebird been at it hot and heavy yet or what?" Spike asked.

Wesley immediately fixed his gaze on Spike. "I beg your pardon?"

---

"That one keeps staring at me."

Gwen glanced over to where Illyria was looking and grinned. "The college kid? Niiice. You should go talk to him," she said over the noise of the bar. "Remember what I told you. Go on."

The bar was crowded, the air thick with smoke and alcohol the way the strip club had been, but lacking the heavy undercurrent of lust. That fact pleased Illyria well enough; though it had been interesting to observe the power of the dancer, she had no desire to meet more men of the sort who had accosted them.

A beer rested on the table beside her, two empty shot glasses streaked with lingering remains of the fortification Gwen had apparently required in order to explain the rules of dating to her. "Your explanations make no sense," Illyria told her now. "Why must I attempt to flatter such creatures?"

"It's not really flattery, just casual conversation," Gwen said. "You're kinda cute, even bordering on hot. All you need is to let a guy know you're interested. Talk to him a little, and pretty soon he'll be eating out of your hand."

"I'm to feed them as well as speak to them?"

Gwen sighed and took a drink of the beer. "Figure of speech, should've known better. I mean he'll be paying complete and total attention to you. Go on, give it a try. What've you got to lose?"

Her dignity, Illyria thought as she rose and stalked across the room toward the young man. Of course she no longer possessed such a thing in this time and space. Pride, she had still, but it was a cold comfort; how much would she be losing to trade it for the company of others? Others who actually desired to spend time with her.

Near the bar, Illyria stood next to the man who'd been watching her, back stiff as she ran through some of the lines Gwen had listed for her. "Hello," she said awkwardly. "My name is Illyria." The young human smiled at her, then glared at his friends as they giggled. Illyria glared harder at them.

"All right, all right," one protested. "Have fun, Davey!"

Smirking and laughing at their blushing companion, the others left him to settle at a nearby table. Illyria took the bar stool closest to Davey and tried smiling at him. The young man brightened, so she assumed she was doing so correctly. "Hello," she said again. "I haven't seen you here before."

She sounded mechanical. She knew she sounded mechanical and obsequious, lowering herself so that this young, foolish creature would spend time with her and appreciate her company. Her lips curled in disdain, but she quickly turned the look into a smile when Davey blinked questioningly at her. "Uh, hi," he said back to her. "Can I buy you a drink?"

That was on the list of things Gwen had approved, so Illyria nodded. "Thank you." The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

"Welcome," Davey said, signaling the bartender with one hand. "So are you a local? Me, I go to college at San Diego, but my friends and I thought we'd go up to L.A. for a little. Be stupid tourists and get drunk, you know? See if we could find some pretty ladies to party with."

His embarrassed leer indicated that she was one of the pretty ladies he and his friends had sought. Illyria frowned. This was what Gwen thought might calm Illyria's spirit? The attentions of this puppyish young man, as smooth-faced and innocent as Angel's son?

"I live in this city," she answered him. "But it is not my home."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm from Seattle; California's okay for school, and the weather's nice, but it's not home. So do you go to college in L.A.?"

"No." Judging from the questioning look on his face, this was not enough of an answer. "I have millennia of knowledge at my command; I find no need for such studies as Connor undertakes."

The bartender handed Davey a beer, and he passed it to her. "Uh... huh. And Connor is? Please don't say your boyfriend." He grinned expectantly.

"Connor is - " There were answers not to be given, and despite Angel's insolence to her she did not give them. " - our intern. He is in class tonight and cannot answer the phones," she added, bitterness tugging her false smile down again.

"You have an intern? Cool. What do you do?"

"I kill demons. Too well, according to some." She took a sip of her beer.

"You... kill..." Davey's face turned paler.

"Demons. It is not what I once was, but ripping them to pieces and standing amid the spray of their blood brings some measure of satisfaction, however temporary."

The young man rose to his feet, eyes wide. "Hey, you know, it was nice meeting you and all, but my friends and I... It's getting kind of late." He backed away, and as he rejoined his friends Illyria heard him whisper, "Man, why do I always pick the loonies?"

"I do not kill humans," she said as they rose from their table and moved past her towards the door. It seemed to only make them move faster.

---

"That's not what I meant," Angel asked sharply.

"Like hell it wasn't," Spike said.

"I think what the tactless twins are trying to say - " Gunn sat forward, drawing their attention towards him. " - is just... well, we're all trying to figure out what's going on, and you're the only guy here who's clocked some significant one on one time with her."

"Plus she's got no scent, so Angel and I can't tell if you two have been making with the naked touchy-feely," Spike added.

"You've actually tried smelling me?" Wesley asked.

"Not, you know, on purpose," Angel said. "It's just... you guys smell, to us."

Gunn gave the two vampires a look. "Allow me to point out the hole you're digging yourself into now has my name on top of Wes'."

"I didn't say it was bad," Angel said. "It just is. Vamps can sense these things. Believe me, there's things about your private life I wish I didn't know. It's not like the supernatural nose or ears give me a lot of choice in the matter."

"Words cannot express how much I am never going to the bathroom anywhere near you two again," Gunn said.

"Would it be useless for me to point out that if I had had sex with Illyria, you would have been able to smell it on her?" Wesley asked.

Spike shot Angel a triumphant look. "Told you. Now you owe me twenty bucks."

"Hell I do," Angel replied.

"You made bets?" His voice rising, Wesley turned his attention from Spike to Angel. "You bet against me?

"Not against." Angel held his free hand up in a placating fashion. "Never against or - or looking down on."

"I had an even thirty said you'd hit second in that particular ballgame," Gunn admitted.

Wesley stared at them. "This is what you do when I'm not around?" he asked. "You talk about the ins and outs of my sex life?"

"Not talk," Spike fished his cigarette pack out of his pocket. "If it was just talk I wouldn't care. Now get a little money involved, and then you've got my interest."

"Naturally," Wesley said. "And allow me to take a moment here to notice that of all of you Spike is the one who had any sort of faith in me."

"No, I didn't," Spike gestured to the other two with his cigarette. "Charlie said you'd hit second, I said you didn't have balls enough to make it to first unless she told you to, and Angel said - "

"Wes really doesn't need to hear the details of my part," Angel said.

Wesley folded his arms. "Oh, don't I?"

"The important thing I think we all need to remember here is that we're your friends," Angel said. "If we talked - "

"Which we did," Gunn said.

"It was out of concern," Angel said.

"Plus the curiosity," Spike added.

Wesley raised his eyebrow. "And the money, one presumes."

"We weren't concerned about the money," Angel said, then instantly corrected himself. "Okay, except for Spike. But the point is nobody here is putting you down or condemning you. We all know that when you're a little stressed you make some... questionable choices regarding your private life and that's... well, not okay, but we still support you and want to help you anyway." He gave Wesley what was probably supposed to be an encouraging smile.

"Excuse me," Wesley said, "but is this an intervention for the problem I'm not having?"

"See?" Spike said, as though Wesley had just confirmed something for him. "Denial."

"It's not an intervention," Angel said. "Nobody's calling it an intervention."

"Angel called it a friendly chat with caring and concern," Gunn said. "There were meetings. He even made us role-play saying the I statements."

"Allow me to follow that example by saying I am not sleeping with Illyria!" Wesley said. "And what do you mean 'questionable choices'?"

Angel and Gunn exchanged a look. Gunn was the one who spoke, "Well, you did hook up with Lilah."

"That's hardly the same," Wesley said.

"Hell-bitch on wheels who'd be happy to watch us all die if we got in her way?" Gunn asked. "Yeah, I can see the lack of similarity there."

"It's not as though I have a type, Charles," Wesley said.

"Actually, it'd be more like a fixation," Spike pointed out. "Or maybe a fetish."

"Whether you do or you don't doesn't matter," Angel said. "Nobody here is judging you. Heck, the whole time you were doing it with Lilah I never said one word to suggest that was maybe the dumbest thing you ever did."

"Except now," Wesley said.

"Well now I'm mostly implying it," Angel said.

"I see." Wesley fixed each of them with his icy gaze. "And what do the men who have slept with Darla, Drusilla, and the electric kleptomaniac have to offer me by way of advice on choosing normal, non-morally questionable companionship?"

"Hey," Angel said, "When I slept with Darla I didn't have the soul."

"'cept for that one time," Gunn pointed out.

Spike's head immediately swiveled around to look at Angel. "You slept with the ice queen after getting the bloody soul? And this was recent?"

Angel cleared his throat. "I think maybe we need to refocus the conversation on Wes' questionable choices."

"All I want to know is when exactly you were going to tell me," Spike said.

"About five minutes after 'shut up you slept with a robot,'" Angel said.

"See," Spike said, pointing his cigarette at him, "this is why I don't like sharing my secrets with you."

"If picturing you having sex with a robot is a result of that," Gunn said, "then allow me to ask that you don't share your secrets with me."

"We're getting off the topic," Angel said.

"Which isn't a topic," Wesley replied. "I am not having sex with Illyria, nor do I intend to."

"But it is difficult for you," Angel said. "Being around her isn't easy."

Wesley shrugged a single shoulder. "It would seem that is a common problem."

"Still," Spike said, "you think it makes it easier on her if you shove her away?"

"I think it makes it better for everyone," Wesley said.

"You sure about that?" Spike asked.

---

Gwen tapped Illyria on the arm as she turned to walk away from their table towards a thirties-ish, bespectacled man in a sport jacket, who had shot them a truly dazzling smile when he walked in. "Pop quiz: the revised rules are?"

Illyria recited them. "I do not talk about my age or my former power. I do not speak of killing demons or working with a vampire."

Gwen nodded. "I'm not saying never, but maybe it's a bit much for five minutes after you meet somebody, unless they're actually being attacked by a demon."

"I do not ask if he requires employment, no matter how many safety pins are being used to hold his apparel together." Illyria jerked her head towards the two men in heavy punk drag three tables away from them.

"I don't think it's gonna be much of an issue with Professor Hottie over there, but yeah. Lessons learned and all."

Illyria nodded. "And I do not speak of the weather, because the weather in Los Angeles is always the same, thus it is an act of obvious desperation. If he speaks so, I should leave."

"Well... politely disentangle yourself is how I worded it, I think. But sounds like you've got it down." Gwen removed her hand from Illyria's arm and watched her walk over and sit down.

The man smiled and seemed to be introducing himself.

Illyria smiled back, or at least gave the half-grimace that was her best attempt at a fake, polite smile, and responded in kind.

The man said something Gwen couldn't make out.

Illyria smiled and said nothing.

He reached for a cigarette and offered her one.

Illyria smiled and said nothing.

He cocked his head at her, much the way Illyria herself did when she was trying to analyze some unfamiliar human interaction, and said, clearly enough for Gwen to read his lips, "Are you feeling okay?"

Illyria smiled and said nothing.

Gwen, elbows resting on the table, buried her face in her hands.

---

Movement on the security monitor caught their attention.

"We've got M'ree." Angel dropped his coffee cup to the floor and ran out into the store. The other three were close on his heels.

As soon as they burst into the front, they caught the demons' attention. There were five M'ree in total. They were over six feet tall with pale grey skin, clawed hands, and mouths so filled with teeth they could have been piranhas.

Angel grabbed the first one he saw, taking it by the wrist and jerking it into a spin that ended up slamming the demon into the wall. Spike immediately jumped on it, finishing the demon off with a kick to the stomach, then a stab through the heart with his dagger.

Gunn rammed the butt end of his axe into the back of one demon's head. He was so focused on the one in front of him that he didn't see the second one come at him from behind. The demon swiped at him, tearing a hole into his T-shirt and knocking him down to the ground. As the demon reared back to claw at Gunn's face, a shot rang out. It was quickly followed by another as Wesley first shot the demon through the hand, then again through the head.

"Thanks, man," Gunn said.

Wesley offered him a hand up, then dove down as a third demon lunged for them. "Don't mention it."

Gunn leapt back onto his feet, using the momentum to crack the length of his axe right into the nose of the attacking demon. He then spun around to aim the blade of his weapon towards the first demon he'd hit, which was now making its way towards Wesley.

Angel grabbed a silver serving platter off of one of the displays and spun it, Frisbee-like, towards the demon Gunn had abandoned. It hit the demon in the head, stunning it enough that Angel was able to knock it down with a spinning kick, then snap its neck before it could fight.

Spike had the fifth demon cornered. It lashed out at him, hissing in disapproval. Spike went into game-face in return, butting heads with it and grabbing it by the arms so that he could wrestle it to the ground. He and the demon rolled over and over until they thudded into the solid mass of Angel's legs. Angel immediately grabbed a katana off of one of the wall displays and used it to cut off the demon's head.

The final demon was left between Wesley and Gunn. Seeing itself cornered, the demon knocked Wesley into one of the counters before running toward the front door.

Before the demon got very far, Angel stood in its way. He held the blade of his weapon up to the demon's neck and gave his most inviting smile. "Sit. Let's talk."

---

"I still don't know where you get off talking about the color of my hair!" the skinny young man with long green-and-purple braids said. He pushed past Illyria, heading for the bar. She stared after him as she sat down across from Gwen.

"Another one?" Gwen asked. Her tone had gone from sympathetic to something less patient, Illyria noted, over the last hour.

"It was not meant as an insult. His hair does look as if it were decorated with Jhawherian mood-slime. I was curious to know if it is once again in fashion."

Gwen's mouth twitched. "I was obviously too specific about not making personal comments. Hair counts, too."

Illyria slammed her fist down onto the table, making the candle in the center jump, the flame sputtering as if it, like the universe, were mocking her. "These rules are senseless and humiliating. I cannot speak of what I was, I cannot speak of what I am, what I do, what I see before me. I am Illyria; I do not bow and scrape before the likes of mortal men."

"Hey, nobody's bowing and scraping before the men-folk here; I'm as 'you go sistah' as the next girl, but you've got to make some compromise with..." Gwen spread her hands helplessly. "... polite society?"

"Why?"

Gwen blinked. "To get along with people? To make friends?"

"In my day, alliances were formed based upon the strength of one's hand and one's voice, not the pretending of interest in some fool's aimless prattle." Illyria set her jaw stubbornly.

Her growing rage was not directed at Gwen. She recognized, if distantly, that Gwen viewed these concepts as helpful to her. That they did not help Illyria was not Gwen's fault. However different her electrical powers had made her, she was still mortal. Human. She was not Illyria. Could never understand what it was that made up Illyria.

"But it's not your day," Gwen said. "I'm not saying Angel was entirely right to tell you to stay home and mind the kitchen, but you can't pretend nothing's changed since you were Megagodzilla, and sitting around bitching about the differences obviously isn't making you happy. You have to at least try."

"I have tried," Illyria protested. "Your ways do not work for me. You have seen that they don't."

"Well, what would you suggest?" Gwen threw up her hands, her exasperation plain. "Throttling him until he decides he likes you?"

"If I had the choice of it?" Illyria rose from her chair and stalked over to the bar, stopping to stand before a mild-looking rusty-haired man in a colorful, fruit-covered shirt. "I would not hide who or what I am, or what I desire. Like so - " She turned to face him, arms crossed. "I am Illyria. You are not unattractive and show potential for amusing me. This would involve frequent kneeling at my feet and begging to be allowed to please me in any way that strikes my imagination. What is your response to such an offer?"

A grin spread rapidly across the man's face. "Yes, please?"

Illyria turned back to Gwen. "Like so." Then it occurred to her that the man was not, like the others before him, backing away to another part of the room or leaving the bar entirely. "What did you say?"

He was still grinning, but his eyes widened. "Yes... ma'am?"

Illyria smiled slowly, and for only the second time tonight the expression did not feel pasted to her face. "Much better."

Gwen was making that gesture where she hid her face with her hands again, but somehow this time it did not seem to indicate failure on Illyria's part. "Only in L.A.," she heard Gwen mutter.

---

Angel paced, annoyed by the wait. The demon had been cuffed and bound to one of the metal chairs in the storeroom. Spike and Gunn stood guard over it while Wesley interrogated it via a translator on the other end of his cell phone.

"Why is this taking so long?" Angel complained.

"Because I don't speak M'ree," Wesley reminded him. "And the only translator I have who does only speaks M'ree and Flauditian. The only other Flauditian speaker on my staff speaks nothing but Flauditian and Spanish. Fortunately I speak Spanish but we are quite literally playing the telephone game, and I daresay it would go a bit faster if you wouldn't interrupt me."

"You couldn't cram one extra language into your head?" Angel asked Gunn.

"Sorry, man," Gunn said. "If we wanted to sue him for something I'd be your guy, though."

"Make sure he tells us what the sacrifice is about," Angel told Wesley. "Make sure he tells us what's going on and when it's happening."

"Yes, thank you, Angel. I was going to ask him for his grandmother's recipe for peach cobbler, but your idea sounds so much more productive," Wesley replied dryly.

"I miss the good old days when I could hit somebody until they told me what I wanted," Angel said. "Also when I didn't get all this back talk when I asked for something."

"When was that, exactly?" Gunn asked.

"Apparently in my dreams," Angel replied.

Wesley finally flipped his cell phone shut. He jotted a few notes down on a spare piece of paper. "All right, I'm not one hundred percent certain that we didn't lose some nuance, particularly on a few idioms, but it would seem that tonight is a high holy day in the M'ree calendar."

"Let me guess," Gunn said. "Not the kind of holiday they celebrate with food, gifts, and family drunkenness?"

"Actually, it is," Wesley said. "Hence the stealing. Apparently in their culture it is considered proper to only give things that have been brought about through someone else's pain."

"Sounds like us," Spike said, giving Angel a nudge with his elbow.

"Indeed," Wesley said, "particularly the part which says the festivities end at midnight with the M'ree killing as many humans as they can get their claws on."

"Never much for waiting for midnight," Spike said. "Too poncy. Sod the wait and kill 'em now. Get all the blood you like and have plenty of time for merriment later, preferably with the bird of your choice."

"There's an art to waiting to midnight," Angel muttered.

"Yeah, and you're a ponce," Spike replied. "QED."

"You guys want to finish the rehash of family squabbles sometime later?" Gunn asked. "Preferably after we stop the free-for-all holiday slaughter?"

"We'll need help," Wesley said. "The M'ree are gathering in significant numbers. The four of us alone won't be able to stop them."

Angel glanced at the tied-up demon and then back at Wesley. "No problem. You've got your own personal wet-works team. Tell them to fire up the Wolfram & Hart choppers and hop to."

"Of course," Wesley said. "For one thing I truly wish to do is encourage the most violent of my evil employees to go out and unleash that violence in the streets of Los Angeles. I'm sure they'll take extra care in making certain there are no civilian casualties."

"Can't say I'm too happy about advertising the fact that we can't take care of this city without a little Wolfram & Hart-sponsored help," Gunn added. "No offense, Wes."

"Could go all out," Spike suggested. "Guns blazing, fists and fangs, may the best man win, or at least keep as many body parts as he's fond of being attached to."

Wesley looked at Angel. "There is another solution."

---

The lights in the lobby of the Walden seemed bright and welcoming as Angel led the others into the building. Inside, he heard the murmur of a familiar if unexpected voice coming from behind Spike's TV.

"You're right, the resolution is better." There was the sound of an electronic explosion, then, "Damn. I'm out."

"That better have been you getting killed, Sparky, not blowing up my system," Spike said as he pushed in around Angel and stomped toward the counter.

Gwen stood up, tossing the controller to him. "Relax, Spike. Your video game lives to beep another day." She raised an eyebrow as Gunn entered. "Hey, stranger."

Gunn looked confused for a second, then sheepish. "Hey. Think we could reschedule dinner, movie, and possible groveling for tomorrow? We've got demon trouble."

"No problem; duty calls. I get it."

"You want in?" Gunn asked. "We actually came back to pick up - "

"Illyria." Angel greeted her calmly as she rose from her stool behind the TV and folded her arms, staring at him.

"Angel."

"So, you know that thing where I said maybe you could tone down the carnage a bit?"

"I recall." Illyria nodded once. "It was just before you ordered me to remain here and watch your office," she added coldly.

He bit down on a grimace and proceeded with caution. "And it looks like you did a really good job of that. Glad you found some company so it wasn't boring."

She regarded him with slitted eyes and didn't respond.

"But... you know, maybe there's some times when your... ah... zest for the job might come in handier than others. It's just a matter of..."

"Timing," Wesley offered.

"Right," Angel said. "Timing. There's a time for everything. A time for restraint and a time to go all-out."

Illyria unfolded her arms. "A time when defeating the enemy is more important than the method, you mean, and a time when subtlety is more effective."

Angel blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Exactly."

"And this is not a time of subtlety, thus you need my assistance."

"Yes?" he said somewhat hesitantly, unable to read her mood.

Illyria shrugged and headed for the weapons cabinet. "I believe the proper response should be 'yes, please,' but I shall let it pass. This time."

Angel stared after her. "Ah. Thanks?"

She pulled out a sword and nodded. "Much better." When no one spoke or moved, since they were all - with the exception of Gwen, who wore a wide smile - staring at her with varying expressions of incomprehension, she added, "Why are you standing there? If there is killing to be done, let us get it over with. I would like at least a few hours to rest before my breakfast date tomorrow."

Illyria pushed past the others and walked out the door, sword slung over her shoulder. Gwen followed, still grinning.

The four men stood in the lobby, staring after them.

"Date?" Angel repeated. He tried turning his head on his side, the way Illyria did, to see if it would make more sense. "Date?"

"I heard it too," Wesley confirmed. He didn't look as though he were entirely pleased.

Into the silence that was nobody having anything more coherent to say came the door opening and Illyria's voice. "Did you wish me to kill the demons by myself? Come on. Let us party."

"Party," Angel repeated, slowly leading the way back out front.

"I can't tell," Gunn said. "Is this better or worse?"

"She seems happy," Spike offered.

"I repeat," Gunn said, "is this better or - "

Illyria's voice rang out, sharp and strong. "Are you coming or not?"

The four men exchanged wary looks.

"Yes, ma'am," Angel said and quickened his pace to catch up.

THE END