Episode 6.16 Facets

By Soundingsea

The sinking sun pushed at the edges of the Walden's lobby windows; a few errant beams, sparkling with dust-motes stirred up from the dingy carpet, entered where the corners of the movie posters had peeled away. The faint light fell far short of the working area of Angel Investigations, posing little danger to the two vampires who sat opposite each other at the old concession counter. They were both hunched over a disorganized arrangement of papers scattered around one large, faded manuscript.

"'Anus rapas concivit?'" Spike raised an eyebrow and tapped the notebook before him with his pen. "Glad we only translate the highbrow medieval porn; wouldn't want people thinking we'll take just any old job."

"You know, at least one of those words doesn't mean what you think it means," Angel replied, barely looking up.

Spike frowned in consideration, then finally sighed. "All right, I give; hand over the dictionary."

Angel put down his pencil and glanced at Spike as he reached to shift the volume from the middle of a stack of similar reference books at his elbow. "Somebody's headmaster didn't wield a hard enough stick..."

"That was a lot of sticks ago. You remember everything you learned when you were a nipper?" Spike took the proffered book and flipped it open. "What was the going price for a bolt of wool when you were sixteen?"

"Worsted or Merino?"

Spike hmphed. "I don't even know why I've got the Latin bits," he said. "You know I'm better with demon languages."

"And the next time I need somebody to get slapped for insulting a Lakvar slime beast's taste in shoes, the job's all yours. In the meantime, you've got the Latin bits because as bad as your Latin is your Sumerian's worse. And as bad as my Sumerian is it's..." Angel squinted at the page of notes before him. "Well, it's pretty bad. But still better than yours."

"Wouldn't be hard. Don't suppose there's any Greek?" Spike asked, reaching for the manuscript with a hopeful note in his voice. "I'm - "

"No Greek," Angel answered, as over in the sunny half of the room the door creaked open. Illyria held it with her shoulder as she entered, both arms full. A number of small flowerpots were cradled in one, while the other was taken up with a squat planter creeping with long, coiled sprouts and broad, flat leaves.

"That's the second load of plants you've brought in this week. The weeds started talking to you again, Blue, or you just decide the decor needs improvement?" The lobby was already dotted heavily with foliage in pots and vases, some of it blooming colorfully, other plants just beginning to sprout spindly leaves. Spike tossed down his pen with visible relief at the interruption and leaned back on his rickety stool. "Not that I'd argue with you there."

"The song of the green is as silent as ever; nonetheless, their presence in the halls of Wolfram & Hart brought some measure of... solace. Perhaps it shall be so here as well." Illyria perched the large planter precariously atop the TV and glanced at the scattered notes on the counter.

Angel studied her as she studied the writing. "You could give us a hand, if you're not too busy turning the lobby into a rainforest."

"Yeah, you're the Ancient of Days and all; gotta speak Sumerian, right?" Spike pushed the manuscript towards her.

"The creatures that chittered in that dialect arose and vanished in the moments between supernovae," Illyria said. She didn't lift her gaze from the text. "A few of their words might echo in my memory like the unpleasant buzzing of insects, but I certainly do not speak it."

Spike rolled his eyes, but Angel just said patiently, "We don't need a conversation, just a translation. Anything buzzing at you on this page?"

"It appears to be an invocation of the powers of the..." Illyria frowned, looking away from the parchment and into the distance, as if searching for something. "Parsnip? The white root that thrives even after the first frost."

Spike didn't hold back a derisive snort. "Somebody's got plants on the brain. Or for brains; you didn't pick up one of those Batran mind-suckers that like to disguise themselves as cacti, did you?"

Angel's tone was less skeptical, but not by much. "I doubt our client's willing to pay what amounts to several months' rent on this place for a salad recipe. Maybe your buzz is a little rusty?"

Illyria turned with a dismissive shrug of one shoulder and reached up to hang a plant with dangling tendrils from a crossbeam. "When I was as I am no longer, words were toys to be played with or discarded; a wave of my hand could re-shape the meaning of an object from the very air. Or," she added with a sharp look at Angel, "reach through time to bring the writer of your little paper to you, that you might ply him with irritating questions."

Spike picked up his pen again. "Wouldn't be able to understand him anyway, would we? Could buzz at us about his alleged vegetable fetish for hours, and we'd be no further than we are now."

Fragments flaked from the crumbling edges of the manuscript as Angel slid it back towards himself. "Which isn't very. For what the client was offering I figured we should give it a shot, though."

"We could use the money," Spike agreed. "I'm about over my love affair with that new coffee you bought; smells like burnt toast. Or possibly toes."

Angel stared at the passage he'd been trying to translate, the furrow between his brows growing deeper. At last he shook his head. "I get the feeling this wouldn't make sense even if I could read it. Like whoever wrote it threw two, maybe three languages in a blender and set it on puree."

"Face it; we're not up to this one," Spike said. "We need to bring somebody in from outside."

"Contract it out?" Angel said. "To who? Wes had all our contacts in that area."

"Contacts nothing - Wes was that area," Spike nodded, a sour look crossing his face at the name. "Advertise for it?"

"Considering what happened the last time we did the classified thing?" Angel asked. "Do we really want a translator who also juggles live lobsters in the office and takes off alternate Tuesdays for Cthulhu worship?"

"Point." Spike scratched his head, then tilted it thoughtfully. "Well... we could splurge on a long-distance call to London."

"Who's in - " The answer clicked in Angel's head before he finished the question. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Got a better idea?" Spike asked. "Interviewing's a crapshoot, emphasis on the crap. Everybody you used to use is in Percy's rolodex and for all we know his pocket..."

Angel shook his head. "I get what you're saying, but you'd seriously suggest I call..."

"The shiny, spankin' new Watchers' Council? Well... yeah. Maybe."

"After last year? You're out of your mind. If they wouldn't help when Fred was -" Angel paused, looking at Illyria, and cleared his throat.

"Not likely to forget that, Angel, what with the walking reminder," Spike said. "But if we're gonna be practical, that's exactly what makes 'em a good call. They're the only folks around who we know wouldn't give Wolfram & Hart the time of day."

"You know, there's something wrong when you use logic against me," Angel said. "But what makes you think they'd give me the time of day, let alone help?"

"Not working for Hellfire & Damnation, Attorneys At Law, anymore, for one," Spike pointed out. "And all we really need's a local reference, somebody they'd trust with this stuff. Not asking for the moon here."

Angel's voice was grim. "We weren't asking for the moon then, either. Just to save a friend's life."

"Look, you don't see me dancing in the streets over the idea myself." Spike pushed his stool away from the counter. "But you may've noticed we don't exactly have a lot of friends these days. Sometimes you take what you can get. Just saying it couldn't hurt to... keep the lines open."

Angel eyed him cynically. "Which is why I remember you volunteering to call - except wait, no."

Spike shrugged. "Can, if you like." He grinned in response to Angel's look of surprise. "What? You thought I was playing chicken?"

"Where chicken is defined as you hanging up if anybody but Andrew answers the phone?"

"Cause the least trouble for all of us, wouldn't it?" Spike acknowledged. "Hairy Hobbit lad already knows I'm back among the unliving, and I don't figure he squealed to anybody else, since I never got a transatlantic call saying..."

A woman's voice rang out - clear, bright, sharp. "You bastard."

All three remaining members of Angel Investigations turned toward the sound to find Dawn Summers framed in the rectangle of sunlight at the Walden's double doors.

"Something like that," Spike said, swallowing hard.

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.16: Facets
• Written by: Soundingsea
• Edited by: Mad Poetess
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse

---

The figure in the doorway was a sight to behold: tall, willowy, and pissed-off. If her opening greeting hadn't been confirmation of that, the flat, stony expression on her face sealed the deal.

Angel was the first to open his mouth, though it took a second for him to coax actual sounds from it. "Dawn."

"Angel." The inflection didn't change much from the last word she'd said.

"Any, er, particular bastard you had in mind?" Angel asked, rising from his stool but not walking out from behind the counter.

"I have to pick just one?" Dawn replied, not moving from the door. "I'm pretty good with the multi-tasking."

Spike winced in Angel's direction before crossing his arms protectively over his body and turning back to look at Dawn. "So the little ponce ratted me out after all, eh?" he said. "Well, points for lasting this long, anyway."

"Who, Troy?" Dawn asked.

"Troy?" Spike repeated, clearly at a loss.

"The reception guy at Wolfram & Hart," Dawn said. "I don't see why anyone would be calling him names; he was just doing his job."

Angel nodded, catching on. "So you asked for us at Wolfram & Hart, and they sent you here. That was... uncharacteristically helpful of them. They didn't try to hurt you or... hire you, or anything?"

With a derisive roll of her eyes that seemed to imply that he might be brain damaged, Dawn said, "I asked for you at Wolfram & Hart. Since you hadn't even bothered to tell us you quit, let alone that Spike wasn't dust at the bottom of a really deep hole with most of my home town piled on top of him."

"Not so dusty, but I'm guessing still in the hole," Spike muttered.

"Ya think?" Dawn looked back to Angel. "So imagine my surprise when the receptionist says Angel and his people had 'creative differences' - " Dawn made the air quotes with her index fingers. " - with the firm, but he can give me the new address, and by the way, if I see Spike, tell him thanks; the goldfish did the trick."

"Oh, that Troy." Spike nodded. "He - " He paused. "You probably don't want to know."

"Probably not." Dawn put her hands on her hips. "Don't suppose you've got anything resembling an explanation that doesn't involve live bait?"

Spike opened his mouth, then shut it again, and shook his head. "I don't know that I can explain. It's - "

Dawn interrupted him. "Deep, manly, and stupid?"

"Was going to go with complicated, but that might about cover it."

"And like everything else in my life, starts with a B and ends with an uffy."

"I just... want her to have her life, you know?" Spike said.

"Not really." Dawn sighed deeply. "But if I tell her I yelled at you a lot, would it be ok if I actually skip that part and just come in and sit down?" She moved a step inside and let the doors swing shut behind her. Without the sunlight on her face, Angel could see that the flat expression was as much tiredness as it was displeasure. She brushed dust from her skirt and then tucked her long, brown, and slightly travel-mussed hair behind one ear. "I've had a long day, and it's not looking to get any shorter."

"Sure." Angel started to grab a chair for her, but Spike was already there with it before Angel got halfway out from behind the counter.

Dawn walked over and sat down but still didn't seem entirely comfortable. "You're the good guys again, right? I mean, not that I'm judging or I wouldn't have been coming to see you at Bad Guy Central in the first place, but it'd be nice to know the status quo." She added with a bit of a glare, "For once."

"Trying to be, yeah," was all Angel said.

"I wasn't sure; the sign outside doesn't say anything helpful like 'Angel Investigations, Not-Evil For Six Months And Counting.'"

"We lack an X," Illyria said. Then, her interest in the conversation and in Dawn apparently waning as quickly as her moods ever changed, she returned to arranging the draping tendrils of her strawberry plant.

"Could do 'AI, not helping evil,'" Spike added thoughtfully.

"Should I even ask what it does say?" Angel warily asked Dawn.

"Something about Elvis in a thong."

Spike was already holding up his hands in defense when Angel shot a pointed look at him. "Does that sound like one of mine?"

Angel sighed. "I should just change it back to 'Leave the sign alone.' That worked for a few days, at least." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyway, we were never evil..."

Dawn gave him the 'possibly brain-damaged' look again; even Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah," Angel corrected, "We used to be evil - "

Illyria corrected him without bothering to look at them. "I was not."

Angel snorted. "Fine, Spike and I used to be evil, Illyria used to be an amoral, all-powerful elder god."

"We fight crime," Spike interjected, deadpan. Dawn showed the first hint of a smile.

"We weren't evil when we were at Wolfram & Hart, though," Angel said. "We were just..."

"Deep, manly, and stupid?" Dawn suggested with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Angel squirmed, adjusting his dark blue shirt as though it didn't fit him properly. "We thought we could help people. Came off a little better in theory than practice."

"But you're helping people now, right?" There was a note in her voice that didn't ring as just curiosity.

"That's the idea." Angel nodded. "Something we can help you with, maybe?"

Dawn nodded. "Maybe. I'm on a mission for the Watchers' Council... which sounds cooler than it is; I didn't have to eat the briefing statement after reading it or anything, and it didn't self-destruct in five seconds." She blinked. "And I spend way too much time around Andrew."

"Eh. Not such a bad bloke, him," Spike said.

That earned him the incredulous look from Dawn, though without the eyeroll. "Ok, I was willing to buy that you're not evil, but are you sure you're Spike?"

"Just saying. In that way where I didn't say it at all and if you repeat it I'll deny everything." Spike gave an uncomfortable shrug. "So you're working for stuffy old farts, the sequel?"

"It's more like Scooby Gang Version 2.0, now with expense account, but yeah." Dawn unslung a black nylon courier bag from her shoulder and pulled a folded piece of paper from one of the outside pockets. "You guys ever heard of something called the Eye of Amelatu?"

Angel reached for the paper, shaking his head. "Not me. Spike?"

"No bells." Spike walked over, and they both studied the photocopied sketch on the sheet.

It showed an arrow or possibly a dart, since it was small enough to fit on one's palm if the faint outlines of an actual hand sketched in beneath it were to scale. It didn't look like anything you'd ever actually try to shoot out of a bow, though; the fletching was delicate, wispy, perhaps actually decorative, as it was made of peacock feathers, which sported the characteristic eye that must have given the thing its name.

"What's it do besides look good attached to some bint's hat?" Spike asked.

"Placed upon a map, it locates the places where the walls between worlds are thin." Illyria's voice was unexpectedly loud, or rather unexpectedly close. The silence with which she moved was eerie, especially for the vampire with their keen hearing. She leaned over Angel's arm, her unnerving stare fixed on the sketch.

Dawn nodded. "What she said."

"It finds portals?" Angel asked.

Illyria shrugged. "The Eye marks little difference between a gateway that already exists and a threadbare patch of reality that might easily be torn asunder. It simply leads the user to the nearest place to walk between the worlds."

"Like you used to do," Spike pointed out. "Never saw you with one of these pretty little stickpins, though."

Illyria's glance was withering. "I have no use for such trinkets; they were the playthings of - "

"Lesser beings," Angel and Spike finished in tandem, without even needing to look at each other to cue the familiar chorus.

"You mock me." Her voice was more resigned than scornful, though. "But before you crippled me, I could shred the universe where it pleased me to, walk where I willed."

"And now you put your Lady Hanes on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us," Spike said. "Short version is, you know what they're for but never had one for your very own, right?"

Illyria inclined her head. "Nor desired one."

"There is only one." Dawn stood up to take the sketch back from Angel and pointed at it. "At least now. This one."

Angel nodded. "So you need some help finding it? We can do that."

She shook her head. "I know where it is; I even know who owns it. I just have to buy it from him."

Spike grimaced. "That we can't do. Unless it's marked down to thirty-nine ninety-five on clearance. Lost the Hollywood budget right around the time those 'creative differences' came up. Once we get paid for this translation - " He pointed towards the countertop with his elbow. " - we might actually be able to afford coffee that doesn't taste like feet for a few months, but that's about all."

"I don't need your money." Dawn tucked the sketch back into her bag and sat down. "Now with expense account, remember?"

"You wanted some backup, then?" Angel offered. "We can definitely still afford that. Muscle's free."

"No offense to your muscles," Dawn answered. "They're still as...muscley as ever. But I didn't come looking for a bodyguard. I can take care of myself."

Angel scratched his head. "So... you thought I could help with what, exactly? If I've got it, it's yours, but... obviously I'm missing something here."

"An introduction?" When Angel just blinked at her, Dawn added hastily, "I mean, not that it's not nice to see you guys. I would totally have stopped by just to say hi... at least if I'd known about the not-dead-or-evil-ness. But what I actually need once I get this thing is somebody who knows about dimensional travel to look it over. I was hoping you could introduce me to Fred Burkle. She's the portal expert, right?"

Illyria raised her head when Angel and Spike both turned to look at her, but she didn't speak.

Angel did. "That's... gonna be a problem."

---

The early evening crowd was just beginning to pour in at the East Hills Teen Center. Teenagers filled the airy room, their chatter echoing off the high ceiling. There was a small crowd around the table showcasing Gunn's latest idea, and the new all-ages dance-night competition was causing a buzz of excitement, with the kids laughing about their chances of winning as they read over the announcement. Gunn smiled as he saw that some of them took the counseling and transitional housing brochures stacked innocuously next to the dance passes, too.

Gunn was at ease in his surroundings, a worn Battlestar Galactica shirt and faded jeans helping him blend in, at least as much as an adult who wasn't Anne ever could, here. He kept what he hoped looked like an idle eye on the kids as he sorted through files at Anne's desk; it wouldn't help the atmosphere to make them feel like they were being constantly watched. Still, he was alert to any problems both in the common room and coming through the front door.

"Grants, fundraisers, liens, leases, supply contracts, restraining orders..." Gunn tossed each sheet in the appropriate pile.

"Dang, you dug all that out of one filing cabinet, G?" Anton stopped in front of the office door, staring in at the mountains of paperwork with a mixture of awe and... something. Possibly fear.

Gunn shook his head. "Cabinet was just the stuff Anne used every day. This is from one of those boxes she had stacked behind her desk. And there's plenty more where it came from."

"This place sure makes a lot of paper," the teenager said, leaning on the doorframe. "Too bad about the sharp corners; we could save... how much we spend a month on stocking the bathrooms?"

"According to these receipts? You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Gunn sighed, lifting another stack of folders out of the box at his feet. "But you're not wrong. Seems like I saw less paper going across my desk every day when I was a lawyer than I do here."

He leafed through the first two and quickly set them aside on one of his piles, but the name in black marker on the tab of the third made him blink.

"Speak of the literal devil..." he muttered, flipping it open.

Anton cocked his head. "Huh?"

"Yeah, that about covers it for me too," Gunn answered with a wary frown. The paper in his hand had Wolfram & Hart's letterhead, and it was dated January 2001.

"Something bad?" the boy asked, not sounding like he'd be too surprised if the answer was yes.

"Not sure." Gunn read over the worn document, his concern growing with each line. "Could be a standard financial services contract for a one-time fundraiser, or could be something that means I'm gonna have to kick someone's ass. Bet Anne never had a lawyer look this over besides the ones that wrote it." Gunn grimaced. "Should have given her some free legal advice, back when it would have mattered." He sighed.

"Need help with the ass-kicking?" Anton asked.

Gunn met Anton's street-smart gaze and shook his head. "I got it," he said. "I need to go check something out. Keep an eye on the place while I'm gone?"

"You know I will," Anton replied.

Gunn nodded. "Anybody asks for me, tell 'em I had a business meeting."

"Might wanna change the shirt before you go, then. Nothin' says respect my bad-ass ex-lawyer bullshit like a battle droid t-shirt."

"Watch your mouth," Gunn said reflexively as he closed the folder and tucked it under his arm and then grinned. "Battle droid? You're breaking my heart here. It's a Cylon. The original bad-ass evil robots."

"Huh," Anton said, considering. "I thought those were skanky blonde chicks?"

"Kids these days, I'm tellin' you. And I'm supposed to take fashion advice from your generation?" Shaking his head, Gunn walked out of the office.

"Time for a visit to my least favorite bastion of evil," he said to himself as he got into his truck. "But first, a quick stop for a costume change."

---

"That's... wow. I'm..." Dawn darted a sidelong glance at Illyria, who had returned to arranging plants, this time along the top of the desk that had once been Gunn's. "Is there a polite way to say 'sorry for your loss' while the person occupying the body is actually in the room? You'd think I'd know the etiquette for stuff like this by now."

"No one has yet discovered one," Illyria said without looking over at her.

"I know it sounds a little weird," Angel began.

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you do remember I'm from Sunnydale, right?"

"Expect he means the bit where we keep her around," Spike supplied.

Dawn nodded. "I get that, though; she's useful and safer with you than out roaming the streets. That's how Andrew was in the beginning, except for the useful part."

"That's about the size of it," Angel said. "She's definitely good in a fight."

"But not an expert in dimensional physics," Dawn said with a small sigh. She quickly grimaced at herself. "Sorry, like this even matters compared to you losing your friend. It's just I remembered Willow being so big with the geek-squeak over Fred, so I thought since the Eye was in town, and I was in town..."

Spike glanced over at Illyria speculatively. "Not an expert in dimensional physics exactly, but... she does have the memories of one. Sort of."

"This form holds shadows of what it once knew." Illyria's blue head dipped once in agreement before she turned back to her gardening. "But I do not comprehend the workings of such things, nor do I care to."

"So that would be a bust, then," Dawn said, standing up. "That's too bad. We've got plenty of people who can look it over with the magic-vision, but it would've been nice to have a second opinion from the nerdy side of the force."

"You're not leaving already?" Spike asked as she pulled her bag back over her shoulder, disappointment evident in his voice.

"Have to," Dawn replied. "Wish I could hang around and catch up, but I'm supposed to meet this guy in less than an hour; detouring by Wolfram & Hart threw the schedule off a bit. I just stopped in to see if it'd be all right for me to bring the Eye around, once I got it."

"Could come back after anyhow," Spike pointed out. "Or... you sure you couldn't use some backup when you meet with this guy? Who is he? How d'you know you can trust him?"

Dawn crossed her arms. "Okay, number one, I can take care of myself - fully bonded operative of the Council of Watchers, business card and everything. And two, the sun's still out, so it's not like you guys could get halfway across town to this old bar he wants me to meet him at anyway."

Spike and Angel exchanged glances. "He wants you to meet him at a bar?" Angel asked.

"Don't tell me, you've got fully bonded fake ID too." Spike shook his head.

"Don't be silly," Dawn said. "It's closed. The building's condemned."

Angel blinked. "And this isn't spelling trap to you?"

"No, it's spelling neutral place to meet because the guy's a bit paranoid about letting people know where he lives."

"No, neutral place to meet would be, say, the park." Spike reached for his coat. "Right, that's it; I'm going with her."

"Hello, grown-up adult type person in the room, able to make own decisions?" Dawn replied hotly, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Also, as mentioned previously, sunshine?"

"No problem. We've got this car - " Spike began.

"I've got the car," Angel interrupted. Spike started to argue, but Angel held up his hand. "Which we're taking to go meet this guy."

Dawn walked over towards Illyria. "Do they completely ignore anything you say, too, or is it just me?"

"Picking them up and throwing them across the room has been a successful method of obtaining their attention in the past," Illyria told her.

"I wish," Dawn said. "If I could pull that off, they wouldn't be trying to do my job for me in the first place." She turned back to face the two men. "Don't you have work you're actually getting paid to do or something? Instead of mine?"

"Well, yeah, but..." Angel glanced back at the paper-strewn counter. "We could use the break. Translation's not exactly our strong suit."

"He means we suck," Spike clarified.

"We don't suck," Angel lied. "It's just... hard." He pretended he couldn't hear the edge of a whine in his own voice.

Dawn wandered over to the counter and lifted up the manuscript. "This?" She studied it for a moment, glancing down at Angel's notes, which had lain beneath it, then read out, "The one that grows only in moonlight will... hmm. Cleave? Join. Join with the... something."

"Root," Illyria supplied.

"Oh, yeah. I was thinking tendrils, but..."

"Wait, you can read Sumerian?" Angel asked hopefully.

"A bit," Dawn answered, distractedly flipping though Angel's notes now. "Oh, that's just... um. No."

"We suck?" Spike asked.

"Kinda, yeah."

Spike shot Angel a loaded glance, then said to Dawn, "What would you say to a spot of moonlighting, then? Blue here could probably give you a hand."

"I'd love to, but I don't have time, guys..." Dawn dropped the notepad on the counter and the manuscript on top of it.

"You would if you stayed here and let us pick up your magic arrow," Angel pointed out.

Dawn put one hand on her hip. "How did I know you weren't going to let that go?"

Spike grinned. "You've met us?" When she couldn't quite stifle her own smile, he added, "Come on - fair exchange. Independent contractor; nobody's doing your job for you, we're just trading favors. Professional to professional."

Dawn raised an eyebrow, but even as she did she was sighing and reaching into her bag, pulling out a checkbook. "Since when have you ever been a professional anything, Spike?"

"He's a professional pain in my ass. Does that count?" Angel asked.

"Nah. I do that strictly for love of the game," Spike corrected him, holding his hand out for the check.

---

The sun had slid far enough down the sky by the time Angel pulled into the gravel parking lot that they didn't need to make a dash for the shadows of the building in front of them. Spike studied it critically, leaning against the side of the Viper as Angel got out.

"Not just me, right?" Spike pointed to the dinged-up sign, hanging by one nail, that read 'Hideaway Speakeasy and Grill' in faded blue paint. "Might as well say 'Secret Lair of Ye Olde Bad Guy, Knock Three Times To Enter.'"

"It's a little low-rent," Angel agreed, looking at the crumbling brickwork.

"It's a little no-rent. What're they teaching these kids in Watcher day-camp?" Spike asked as they approached the door. "Walk into my parlor 101?"

"Think you might just be a little overprotective in this case?" Angel suggested mildly.

"Oh, and you're not? You're here, aren't you?" Spike tried the door handle; it turned easily, if creakily, in his hand.

"Like I was letting you take my car?" Angel pushed past him to kick the door open... and swayed alarmingly at the top of a steep set of stairs just inside it before righting himself by grabbing Spike's shoulder.

"Nice moves there, tiny dancer," Spike said as Angel let go. "Yeah, it's all about protecting the paint job, I'm sure."

Angel peered into the darkness that shrouded the wooden staircase. Whatever waited at the bottom was concealed by shadows thick enough that even he couldn't see through. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight, not that the slim beam did a lot of good when he turned it on. "Not saying I want Buffy's little sister to walk into a trap, just saying maybe you've got a case of the guilt factor working overtime."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

"True, but I'm not the one who's deepest in the doghouse right now." Angel called down into the basement room, "Anybody there?" There was no answer except the echo of his voice. "Ok, not saying it's not a trap, either." The top stair creaked under his foot as he stepped down. "Though if I were a spider who wanted a fly, I think I'd make the stairs a little wider so it could get to me." He turned sideways as he took another step down.

"Maybe it's a test," Spike suggested from behind him. "See if we're fit to buy his precious Eye of Whizbang from him. Only a man whose ass is narrow, and if yours is such an ass..." There was a pause as Angel continued down, then Spike added, "Right, best hand me that check."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The room was windowless, Angel discovered at the bottom of the steps, or at least any openings were boarded or papered over. He wrinkled his nose at the smell. "It's a good thing I don't have to breathe," he muttered.

"Would it unkill you to see a movie made after 1948?" Spike asked.

"Hey, I saw Catwoman with Nina last summer."

"And you're bragging? I can't believe you just admitted that where other people could hear you."

Angel stepped forward into the darkened room, playing the flashlight across the empty floor, which was piled here and there with broken chairs and piles of what was probably construction debris. "What other people? There's nobody here."

"Wouldn't say tha- " Spike shouted as something launched itself from the shadows and tumbled him to the ground.

---

Dawn crossed one leg over the other as she sat on the stool behind the counter, Angel's beautifully-written but deeply off-base notes in front of her. "How on earth did he get 'Pony bridle' from that? On second thought, do I really want to know?"

Illyria didn't reply; she stood on the other side of the counter staring down at Spike's jottings.

"Oh, I see what he did," Dawn answered herself. "Some of this is in Akkadian. Same alphabet." She crossed out a line of Angel's and replaced it with her correction.

"I remember that race; they thought this world was formed from the corpse of the chaos-god Tiamat." Illyria said absently, still looking at Spike's scrawl-filled notebook. "The reports of her destruction brought her great amusement."

"Wow, you... really are that old." Dawn flinched when Illyria's stark blue stare raked up to meet hers. "Sorry, it just hadn't quite gelled in my head. Are you sure you shouldn't be on this side of the table?" She indicated the pictograms on her section of the manuscript.

"I made no study of their language; they were as summer flies to those like me." Illyria picked up Spike's pen and added three lines below what he'd last written, in neat, precise English. "But this body remembers the tongue of the Romans. It... she was a scientist. Their words are burned into her brain as clearly as her own speech."

Dawn toyed with her pencil. "So you do understand some things that Fred knew. The languages she spoke, at least."

Illyria's eyes grew even more distant than usual. "When they refer to things of which I have some grasp. I know what an apple is, and an equine; I have seen and touched both. 'Polydimensional substrate' holds no meaning for me."

"So asking you to take a look at the Eye once they bring it back to see if it's safe to carry around or ought to be locked up someplace really would be pointless. Unless you can tell with your nifty former god powers?"

"Nifty?" Illyria's head tilted in a way that made Dawn suspect she'd been spending way too much time around Spike - though it looked creepier with the jerky, bug-like movement of the woman's slim neck than it ever had on the vampire.

"Um. Awesome former god powers?"

"My former powers are..." Illyria's eyes narrowed. "Former. They threatened to destroy this body and this world, so all but a measly pittance were taken from me."

Dawn swallowed. "But the world and you are still here, which is nice, right? Also me; I like being still here, which kind of requires the world."

"The benefits have been pointed out to me." Illyria said it as if she was still withholding judgment.

"Guess I'll just have to take the Eye back as-is and have our geeks look at it," Dawn said, scribbling out another line of translation. "We don't have any physicists, but we do have a kick-ass witch, and she - oh." She looked up at Illyria again. "You don't happen to have Fred's stuff, do you? Willow was all... do you remember Willow?"

Illyria nodded. "She traded letters with Fred on the computer. Her scent was pleasant."

Dawn blinked. "I'll... be sure to mention that. Anyway, I remember Willow going absolutely crazy over this book when she heard you... I mean, Fred, had it." Dawn scrunched up her face. "Frostman's... no, that's not right--"

"Hey, all, I come bearing..." a young man's voice said as the front doors to the building burst open. Dawn's expression registered her annoyance at the interruption until he finished the sentence. "Pizza..." he said, and indeed he held familiar flat, white boxes in his arms.

Instead of approaching with it, however, Connor stood in the middle of the lobby, looking back and forth between Dawn and Illyria.

"Ok, did Angel hire a new intern while I was in class?" he asked. "I'm not that late."

"I'm an independent contractor," Dawn informed him. "Unless only employees get free food, in which case I'm the new intern, and you're fired." She smiled. "Leave the pizza. Check's in the mail."

He grinned in reply. "Do I at least get to know who's replacing me? I'm - "

"Elvis in a thong?" Dawn suggested, gesturing towards the door and by extension the marquee outside it.

"Only my Grandma calls me that; my friends stick with Connor," he answered with a straight face.

"I'm Dawn." She gazed longingly at the pizza boxes, and Connor smiled as he set them on the edge of the counter, midway between her and Illyria.

"She is assisting Angel by translating a manuscript while he and Spike attempt needlessly to prove their manhood by retrieving an artifact for her," Illyria summarized.

"That's... about right, actually." Dawn opened the top box, then passed it off to Illyria in favor of one that didn't have green peppers.

Connor sat down across from Dawn on the stool that Illyria had never taken. "So you asked them to go find something for you, and they drafted you into finishing their translation? Man, if I known we could do that to clients, my homework would get a lot easier."

"No, I told them I was going to go find something for me, and they had a meltdown because they're under the impression that I'm twelve," she said with her mouth half full. "And/or that my sister will kill them if something happens to me. Which, okay, true..."

"Your sister?" Connor reached for his own slice. "Wait, Dawn Summers?"

She nodded, chewing.

"Your sister's the Slayer, right? The one who used to date my da- boss."

Dawn swallowed and made a face. "Don't remind me; it was traumatizing enough living through it the first time."

"Oh, yeah, he went evil on you guys back then, didn't he. Scary times."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking of the squiggly hearts Buffy used to draw all over her notebook covers, actually, but, yeah, evil Angel also not fun. So... Elvis in a thong?"

Connor grinned. "Not that I'm admitting anything, but just in theory, it might get a little boring on desk duty. And there might be an ongoing competition to see who can get the best reaction out of Angel."

"Hmm," she said, taking another bite. With a sudden conspiratorial grin, she told him, "I've got one that I guarantee he won't expect."

"Yeah?" Connor was already reaching for a napkin to wipe his hands.

"If he doesn't make the weirdest face yet, I'll pay for the pizza."

Connor's eyes lit up as he rose from his stool. "You're so on."

---

"What the hell are these things?" Angel kicked out at a long-limbed, furry body, while another fell down on him from the rafters, scrabbling at his shoulder. Though it was hard to see, he got the physical impression they were around the size of a large monkey, but no non-demonic animal he'd ever met made the wet, hacking noises these things were making. "And why do they smell this bad?"

Spike grunted as he threw one of them away from him and into the darkness that lay past the edge of Angel's fallen flashlight. "Melix. They're usually - " There was an oof sound from him as another bounced off his torso. " - harmless. Just move into an empty space and take it over like... hermit crabs or something. Dunno what's got these so riled up."

"Too bad theirs isn't one of the languages you can buy beer and pick up sailors in," Angel said through gritted teeth as he tried to detach a clawed paw from his hair.

"Er..." Spike said. "Yeah, there's a thought." Then he made a noise that sounded for all the world like he'd suddenly come down with a terrible case of Black Plague or maybe whooping cough.

The creature clinging to Angel's jacket with one paw and his head with the other stopped its scrabbling motions, though it didn't let go. "Ackth spthit gack" it said, the sounds accompanied by a spray of foul-smelling moisture against Angel's cheek.

Spike gacked back at it, and whatever he said it seemed to do the trick, because the thing dropped to the ground, as did the one clutching at Angel's knee. The Melix that had launched itself like a beach ball at Spike's stomach now took up the nasty coughing sound.

"Ah, that's it." Spike reached down for the flashlight and swept it across the back corner of the room, where a large pile of broken furniture and drop cloths was now rippling with activity beneath the fabric. "They're nesting; that's why they've gone all territorial. Mum's about to pop out a brand new batch."

"Well, tell them we're not interested in stealing their kids; we're just looking for somebody. A human somebody." Angel wiped demon-spit from his cheek, trying not to make too disgusted a face, just in case their eyesight was better than his and it was some sort of unforgivable insult.

"Spackthrichhhhh..." Spike began, and continued in the same vein for a couple of seconds. He ended by clearing his throat, which might have been another word or just the necessary end product of loosening up so much phlegm.

The creature on the floor at Spike's feet coughed and hacked in response.

"Nobody here but us chickens," Spike translated. "Nobody's been inside in the last two days, since they took the place over."

"Not so much a trap then," Angel said. "More like the guy just changed his mind. Or if he's as paranoid as Dawn says, maybe he's watching the building and bailed when he saw us get out of the car."

"Well, at least one of us doesn't look like a teenage girl, true." Spike shook his head, the movement just visible in the edge of the flashlight's glow. "Still not keen on anybody who'd want to drag her out to a place like this to begin with, though."

"Might as well go back." Angel headed for the stairs. "No harm, no - " He wiped a lingering bit of moisture from his jacket. "Well, not much foul. At least Dawn's not out any money."

There was another gobby noise from the demon nearest Spike, with what sounded like a querulous note at the end.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get out of your hair. Fur. Whatever," Spike assured it, then repeated himself in whooping cough speech.

"Tell them... good luck, or happy spawning, or something. Sorry for disturbing them," Angel said from halfway up the steps.

There was a particularly disgusting string of choking sounds from Spike.

There was silence, and then a huge, wet, spattering noise rose up from the floor. Angel looked back over his shoulder.

Spike wiped glowing purple slime off the sleeves of his jacket. The gesture was pretty ineffective, since he was covered in it from head to boot. "Well, that was uncalled for."

"Remind me again why we made you ambassador for our people?" Angel asked as Spike stomped - squelched - up the stairs behind him.

"What people? The republic of souled vampires? There's only two of us. Anyway, all I said was I hoped its mother..." Spike was quiet for a second. "Oh."

---

Dawn pushed the pizza boxes aside, unused napkins piled neatly atop them, and spread Angel's notes before her once more. Through the propped-open front doors, she could see the feet of a ladder with Connor's feet just in view as he stood in front of the marquee, arranging the letters.

Illyria was still chewing at a measured pace on a slice of pizza, napkin balanced neatly on her lap. She had the focused air of someone trying to judge each nuance of flavor to see if it was up to her standards.

"So," Dawn began, looking not at Illyria but down at the pictograms in front of her, "that book I was talking about. It wasn't Frostman's; it was Fraustein's. Compendium of--"

"Gateways, and Their Keeping," Illyria finished, wiping pizza grease from blue lips.

"That's it, yeah!" Dawn looked up, pleased. "Willow said it's pretty rare; she seemed surprised Fred could even get hold of a copy."

"It was a gift," Illyria said, one corner of her mouth turning down like she'd decided she hadn't liked the taste of the pizza after all. "Wesley apologized that it was a book of magic, not science, but she said only the words gave the illusion of difference between the two."

"That's why I thought it might be useful," Dawn said. "I wouldn't know what to do with a physics text that wasn't written for freshman history majors, but I've gotten pretty decent at reading wizardy jargon."

"I cannot see how that book would help you with your toy; it speaks of controlling the entries to other worlds, not locating them," Illyria told her.

"Well, I could at least - "

"You could not," Illyria cut her off.

Dawn frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I don't have Fred's possessions."

"Okay, yeah, that would tend to put a damper on things," Dawn said, slumping with disappointment.

Illyria studied her. Small, black pupils in a wide sea of blue, growing even more tiny as they focused on Dawn's face. "Nor do I understand why you would waste your time studying such trifles as the Eye of Amelatu."

"What do you mean?" Dawn swallowed at the intensity of her stare. "I work for the Council of Watchers. They asked me to pick something up for them, they put me on a plane, I'm here."

"Do you mock me as the others do? Do you think me brought so low that I can't tell power when I see it?" There was a hint of being hurt or insulted in Illyria's voice. "Your form is a better container for it than this one that holds me, but I am not blind."

"You..." Dawn bit her lip and rubbed her palm on her thighs. "You can see..?" She didn't finish the question.

"It's an unattractive shade of green," Illyria said with a sniff, "but power is power." She leaned closer, eyes narrowing speculatively. "Yours stinks of disuse."

Dawn sat up straight, gripping her pencil tightly. "There's a reason for that; I don't have any powers. Maybe I used to be some big shiny mystical thing, but not anymore."

"You're a fool if you truly believe that. Power can be taken or used, but it doesn't just disappear."

"Yeah, well, I've been there and done that with the taking and the using," Dawn answered more sharply. "Burned the sacrificial gown. If you're thinking you can use me to make yourself a real live goddess again, you're wasting your time. "

Illyria sat back in her seat, eyes widening as if Dawn had managed to truly surprise her. "Me? Use you?"

"Great, so I actually put the idea in her head. Smooth one, Summers," Dawn muttered, looking down at the countertop and setting down her pencil. "I'm just saying you couldn't if you wanted to; I'm retired from the power business. Plain old human me, and I like it that way."

"Even if I had the ability, I would hardly stoop to playacting some parody of my former glory with borrowed power." Illyria's voice was rich with scorn.

Dawn looked up. "You... really wouldn't, would you. That's a new one - a hell god who's too stuck up to sacrifice me."

Illyria jerked one slender shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a shrug. "Any ruler too proud to use effective tools is an imbecile, but there is a difference between effective and ridiculous. Using you would be like using that thing you sent the vampires to retrieve; neither would do more than trumpet my own helplessness to all who saw me."

"Well... good." Dawn shook her head, still a bit thrown. "I've had enough being somebody's tool for one lifetime, especially one this short."

The front door opened wide, and Connor rushed inside, carrying the ladder. "They're here. Angel's car's at the light. And you two never saw me out there."

"Who else would he think has changed his sign?" Illyria called after him as he stashed the ladder inside the doors to the theater. "He knows better than to believe I would care, and Spike is with him."

Connor emerged and pulled up a stool next to Dawn, sliding a piece of now-cool pizza out of the top box. "It's the principle of the thing." He bit in heartily, then gave a happy sigh.

"I still say anybody could've made that mistake," Spike was saying as he walked through the door several feet ahead of Angel. He was soaked in purple goop that looked like squashed grapes, but its smell made Dawn immediately wrinkle up her nose.

"And I still say only you could manage to insult some demon's ancestry by coughing up a hairball." Angel stepped inside, then stopped, frowned, and backed out onto the sidewalk again. When he came back in, both eyebrows were furrowed over his nose. "Uh..."

"Yeah?" Connor asked

"The sign."

Spike dug purple goo out of his ear and glared at it. With a shrug of disgust, he wiped it on his t-shirt. "Yeah? We lose more letters? Had to fish one of the T's out of the gutter yesterday."

"No." Angel shook his head before ducking outside once more to look up at it. He returned, blinking. "It says Angel Investigations: We Help The Helpless."

"Isn't it supposed to?" Dawn's eyes were wide and guileless.

"Yeah. " Angel was still frowning, but it was becoming less confused and more suspicious. He glanced carefully around the room, peering not at its inhabitants but at the furniture and fixtures.

Dawn kept her expression innocent. Connor's was a very good match for it as he asked, "Looking for something?"

"Whatever the sign was supposed to distract me from." Angel squinted at the greenery along the edge of the counter and then, with a nervous twitch, glanced up at the ceiling. He seemed almost disappointed by the lack of anything there but a few cobwebs.

"I have no idea what you mean," Connor said. Angel just shook his head and lifted up a potted plant to check underneath. Connor snickered.

"No fair," Spike said, shaking a finger at Connor. "Calling in outside sources is cheating."

Connor laughed. "Like you guys trading translation duty for going out to beat up demons?"

"We didn't go out to beat up demons; it just kind of happened," Angel said. "Also in Spike's case it was more like getting puked on by demons."

"I think it's phlegm," Spike corrected. "I also think I'm going to take a shower before it dries." He disappeared through the theater doors, pulling his jacket off as he walked.

"So did you pick up my magic arrow before or after you got phlegmed at?" Dawn asked, holding out her hand towards Angel, palm up.

He frowned again. "Ah, yeah. About the magic arrow..."

---

Gunn scanned the lobby, obviously unimpressed by its inoffensive pastel hues, quietly expensive wood paneling, and ostentatious fountains.

"Just like it was before we took it down," he muttered as he strode past the front desk. "Crunch all you want, we'll make more."

"Hey, Mr. Gunn," the receptionist called out. "You coming back to work for us?"

Gunn turned to look back at the desk and its occupant, a young, bearded man in shirtsleeves and a tie. "You know, Troy, I almost like you. And that's why I'm giving you a chance to take that back before I do something with Moe, Larry and Curly there that I guarantee you'll like even less than they do."

Troy pulled the goldfish bowl on the corner of his desk closer to him. "No need to threaten a guy's dinner just because he makes a little mistake. You're dressed like you're working here again."

Gunn ran a hand over the lapel of his suit jacket - a bit threadbare, but neat and clean - and frowned. "This ain't my lawyer suit, trust me."

He stalked into an open elevator without looking back. When it chimed softly and let him out onto the executive level, he walked past that reception desk without a glance.

"He's - "

"He's in for me, Kyle." Gunn didn't need directions to find Wesley's office; everything was the same as when Angel had held it, except for the man sitting behind the desk when he shoved the door open.

Gunn slammed the contract down on the blotter in front of Wesley. "Keep your damn hands off my shelter."

Wesley looked up at him, apparently unfazed by the intrusion. "Why, hello to you also, Charles. You're looking well. Quite sharp, in fact; that's rather a change from the last time you were here, isn't it?"

"Last time I was here, I wasn't too proud of the way I was doing business. I am now." Gunn studied him, taking in the crisp suit and tie, neatly-cut hair, and gold cufflinks. "What about you, Wes? You feeling good about what you're up to?"

"I'm not 'up to' anything as far as your shelter goes," Wesley said mildly. He glanced down at the document in front of him. "This is a closed deal, and a more or less legitimate one as far as such things go. It's also old enough that you and I were working together when it occurred. Neither this firm nor I have the slightest interest in your charitable organization now."

"Excuse me if I don't just take your word for that," Gunn replied. "You like to have your hands in things," he said. "Been sniffing around the Walden all this time, and Angel lets you. That's his call. Don't want it happening around my place."

Wesley shook his head. "I haven't been welcome at the Walden since I ameliorated the threat posed by Drusilla, nor have I been anywhere near your shelter."

"You took out the crazy vamp chick?" Gunn paused, taken aback. "Can't say I object to that call, considering her murdering ways are why I'm currently a pathetic replacement for Anne."

"It's a pity that Anne is gone," Wesley said. "She was doing a good thing and didn't deserve such an end."

"Got that much right." Gunn crossed his arms. "Anyhow, I'm not seeing eye to eye with Angel these days, myself. If you don't exactly agree with him on how problems should be handled, well, I'm right there with you."

"But," Wesley said steadily, pointing at the paper before him.

Gunn exhaled, leaning with both hands on Wesley's desk and looking him directly in the eyes. "But I aim to make sure what Annie was doing doesn't stop because she's gone. Stay out of my way, we're fine. Mess with me or mine, and it's on."

---

"The cab's on the way," Dawn said when Angel reached the bottom of the stairs that led down from his office. She neatened up the pile of notes that she and Illyria had been working on. There was no sign of Illyria, herself, in the lobby, though Connor still sat behind the counter.

"You sure you can't stay a bit longer?" Angel asked as Dawn slid her cell-phone back into her bag. "Give us a little time. I'm sure we can track down your guy's address, no matter how well he thinks he's hiding."

"Or at least you can learn new and interesting curse words watching Angel try to operate the internet," Connor suggested with a grin.

Dawn shook her head. "I really can't. Magic arrow or no magic arrow, I've got a flight to London tomorrow morning, and I'd rather not have to sleepwalk my way on board. Anyway, if the guy changed his mind, he changed his mind; it's his magic arrow, after all."

Angel nodded. "Your call." He rocked back on his heels, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and then said with some effort, "I was just thinking Spike... It'd probably make him happy to see more of you than just hello, pretend I yelled at you, goodbye."

"Right, because he's been trying so hard to get in touch?" Dawn gave him the gimlet eye again.

"Phone lines do go both directions," Angel pointed out. "I know you guys didn't know Spike was around, but nobody was racking up the long distance bills trying to get hold of the rest of us. Pretty sure the last call came from me, actually."

"Last call I got from you was before Sunnydale even went under," Dawn said. "You asked for Buffy, then hung up on me. Rude enough?"

"That time." Angel winced. "I... ah... wasn't exactly myself."

"Oh, was that when you - " Connor began. Angel turned and drew two quick, surreptitious fingers across his throat. "Had laryngitis?" Connor finished, eyebrows raising.

"Vampires get laryngitis?" Dawn asked.

"And attacks of really bad miming skills," Connor added.

"Things got a little weird for a while," Angel offered.

"They always do, don't they." Dawn nodded, then sighed. "It's not just the lack of contact. Stuff got... heavy, back in Sunnydale, too. We weren't exactly bestest buds even before everything went kablooey."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Dawn looked at the closed doors to the theater, where Spike was presumably still washing off demon spit.

"So... when you're not playing world-traveler for the Council, are you liking Rome?" Angel finally said with a strained smile. "Your apartment has a nice view of the plaza."

"What the... ?" Dawn looked back at him, aghast. "So wait, you had people watching us while we were busy not calling each other?"

"No, no," Angel assured her. She stared at him. "I mean, okay, yes," he admitted. "I had somebody checking in once in a while. But I saw the apartment myself. Spike and I stopped off in Rome for a... work trip, last year." He gulped at her clouded expression but forged on. "We, uh, missed you and Buffy, but we managed to chat with Andrew."

"Andrew? That little..." Dawn put two and two together. "Ponce. Of course." She shook her head. "I can't believe he managed to keep his mouth shut. You visiting is enough gossip-fodder for weeks. Spike somehow not turning to dust?" Frowning, she glanced down at the counter and picked up a pen, adding a few lines to the notebook she'd been translating into. After a second, she added in a quiet voice, "Buffy said she saw him burning."

She glanced up at Angel for a moment and then continued to write, flipping over the sheet of paper when she ran out of room.

"It's a long story. He was gone, kaput, dust, and then... he was back," Angel said gently.

"Actually that's a pretty short story." Dawn was still writing as she spoke, not looking at him. Her precise, stiff posture made it clear that she was not pleased.

"I think he would have tried to see you two, eventually," Angel tried to explain. "But he was incorporeal at first, and then later, well, things got..."

"Complicated," Dawn finished. "Where have I heard that before?"

A tapping at the front doors saved Angel from having to come up with a reply.

"That was fast," Dawn said with a frown.

"That's not your taxi," Angel told her as the door pushed open and a small, balding man in a rumpled tan suit entered the lobby. "It's our translation client."

"Mr. Angel," the man greeted him with a somewhat oily smile. "I thought I would check in on my manuscript, since I was in the neighborhood.

"It's just Angel." Angel gestured to the countertop and Dawn's notebook. "And your manuscript's doing fine, Mr. Cleeves. We've got the translation in progress."

"Excellent," said the client. "How soon do you expect-"

"Make that we've got the translation finished," Dawn said. She crossed out one line and jotted something down in its place, then tore three sheets out of the notebook, handing both them and the manuscript to Angel. He passed them on to Cleeves, who looked over them with growing pleasure.

"Yes, this is it. Wonderful!" the man said.

"Everything you need should be in there," Dawn added, speaking directly to him, "but having seen the finished product, I have to ask - are you nuts?"

"What my lovely assistant who doesn't realize that you haven't paid us yet means," Angel said smoothly, while shooting her a questioning look over his shoulder, "is that we see a lot of unusual materials here. This assignment wasn't, of course, beyond what Angel Investigations can handle."

"What his lovely assistant means is that you're paying us to translate a manuscript out of about three and a half languages into complete whackadoo gibberish. Root of the white orb, crossing the thrice-folded petals..." Dawn shook her head. "Is it in code or something? Because Sumerian to English I can do; making sense out of that English, not so much."

"Well, isn't this one smart." The man gave her a look that was more leer than smile. "Decorative and useful; if I'd known you had such attractive employees, Mr. Angel, I'd have checked in on your progress more often."

"Uh... thanks?" Dawn did a valiant job of not looking too disturbed.

"The spell is encoded, yes. But this part of the puzzle I can handle myself." He pulled a leather wallet from his pocket and began counting out cash. "You've done an admirable job. Much better than expected."

He dropped the pile of money on the counter in front of Dawn, his expression suggesting that he'd rather present the bills to her individually and under much more colorful lighting. This time she couldn't hide her moue of distaste.

"Thanks for your patronage," Angel said as he took the man's elbow and firmly steered him towards the door. "If you ever need translation services again..."

"I'll definitely think of you first," Cleeves assured Angel as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Angel's face expressed almost as much distaste as Dawn's, but he quickly smoothed it back into something more polite. "Actually, we might be getting out of the business. Be sure to call first before you stop by."

When the door closed behind Cleeves, Angel shot Dawn an apologetic look. "You know, when I met him the first time, he didn't seem nearly so..."

"Skeezy?" Dawn finished. She grinned. "Maybe you're just not decorative enough for him."

"I'm just wondering if I should be worried because he said employees," Connor said. "With an s."

Angel counted out the cash and started to put it in his pocket. "Actually, part of this is yours," he said, peeling off several bills. He held them out to Dawn. "You did the work, and we didn't exactly come up with our half of the deal."

"The half I didn't ask you to do in the first place? Don't worry about it," Dawn said.

"Call it cab fare, then." When Angel pressed it into her hand, she shrugged and tucked it away in her bag. "You know, we really could use a full-time translator," he added. "Any chance we could recruit you away from the Council? I promise we'll tell that guy you ran off to Cuba with a saxophone player if he ever calls back."

"You're gonna tell who she did what now?" Spike asked, emerging from the theater in clean clothes, damp hair slicked back but escaping here and there to drip down his collar.

"He's going to tell your slimy translation client I don't work here, if he ever comes back," Dawn explained. "Which'll be helpful, because I don't work here. Not that I don't appreciate the offer, Angel, but I like my job. Plus I sincerely doubt your dental plan is going to beat the Council's."

"We... have dental?" Connor asked.

"No," Angel answered. "We used to have dental," he added. "When we worked for evil."

"Now we have cavities," Spike said. "But they're cavities of justice."

Dawn cracked a smile but didn't comment. She wandered over to the front doors and opened one, peeking outside before letting it swing shut again. Then she dug her cell-phone from her bag and frowned at the screen.

"Not staying, then?" Spike asked quietly, moving to lean casually against the doorframe beside her.

"I've got an early flight," she answered, her voice neutral.

Spike nodded as if he'd expected the answer. "Could give you a ride back to your hotel?"

"No." Dawn looked up quickly as soon as she'd said it, though Spike had taken the refusal with no more reaction than another un-surprised nod. "No thanks, I mean; I've got a cab coming."

Spike was quiet, which was a rare enough occurrence that Angel found himself listening even more closely to the conversation. He counted out the money again between surreptitious glances at them, trying not to look like he was listening at all.

"Not much point to saying I'm sorry," Spike finally said.

"For what, not being dead?" There was a laugh in there, but it wasn't a particularly amused one.

"Among other things."

She looked away. "Couldn't hurt."

"Well... I'm not. Sorry for that part. Was at the beginning, but now..." He shrugged. "Seems like maybe I can do some good with this old carcass. Trying, anyway."

Dawn took that in, looking slightly sheepish. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah, you did." He smiled. "Just a bit."

"Okay, just a bit. But not much."

"The rest of it - "

Dawn interrupted him. "No, you were right. Don't."

"Yeah." He looked down at the ground and then back up at her.

"I'm not saying..." Dawn shook her head. "I don't know what I'm not saying. I miss when it wasn't this hard."

Spike laughed. "When was that, then?"

"Good point." Dawn looked down at her phone again, then took a deep breath. She pulled a small card from the front pocket of her bag and handed it to Spike.

"'Dawn Summers, International Council of Watchers'," he read aloud. He tucked the card into the pocket of his jeans. "Good on you; business cards and everything, just like you said."

"That'd be my phone number, you ass. Just in case you ever decide - "

"Yeah, I got that."

"Jerk." Dawn pushed the door open again to look out, but this time there was the sound of an engine outside.

"Thanks." Spike's response was low, and Dawn bent her head in acknowledgement.

Angel grabbed one of his own cards off the counter and carried it over to the doorway. "Here. Just in case you guys ever feel like calling."

Dawn tucked it into her bag. At the curb, a green and white cab honked twice. "That'd be for me." She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, looked back at them for a second, then said, "Nice meeting you, Connor. Tell Illyria..." She blinked. "Why don't we just stick with 'bye.'"

Then she was stepping into the cab, almost before it really registered that she was applying the sentiment to all of them. She raised her hand up to the window as the car pulled away.

"So..." Connor said, walking up behind Angel and staring after the departing cab alongside them. "That was Buffy's sister."

"Yeah."

There was a very brief pause. "You think she's seeing anybody?"

"Don't even think about it." Angel and Spike said in unison.

---

"Kinda weird seeing Dawn all grown up," Angel mused as he moved several pizza boxes and two of Illyria's potted plants aside to stack up the reference books they'd been using into one neat pile. "Though I guess it's not as much of a shock for you," he said to Spike. "Been longer since I spent any time in Sunnydale."

Spike scowled, looking back towards the now-closed front doors. "She's still just a kid. A human kid, not a Slayer. Should be just starting university, not running off into danger at the drop of an order."

"Hey, travel's broadening. You of all people should know that." Angel rifled through the scribbled notes Dawn had made while working out her translation.

"Right. How does it go? Explore the far reaches of the globe, meet fascinating people, and eat them? I'm not convinced Dawn's having the same experience we did." Spike's tone grew sharper. "Hey, are you even listening to me?"

"She may be a kid, but she's a smart kid," Angel said, looking up. "She finished a job in an hour that we were still stumped on after days. Gave the client a final version just about as soon as he walked in and asked for it."

"Not hard on the eyes, either," Connor added. He dug out his own notebook, pen, and sociology textbook out of his bag and placed them on the counter.

"Don't you start," Angel warned him. "Our family, her family... it only leads to badness."

"Just saying. Not like I'm the only one who noticed. That client was practically drooling on her hand."

Spike made a raspy, hacking noise in the back of his throat that sounded a lot like whatever he'd said about the Melix's mother. "So what did that jabber-jumble of his turn out to be?" He reached for the notes. "Come on, give it over."

"I thought we already established that you're no Latin scholar." Angel passed the papers across into Spike's insistently beckoning hand anyway.

"Her notes should be in English, you great ape." Spike shuffled the pages around until he had an order that seemed to satisfy him, then scanned them again. He frowned, lips pursing as he read. "Did you even read that translation before you handed it over?"

"No, Dawn sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and the client seemed good with it," Angel answered.

"The parts she read out sounded like they were about gardening," said Connor. "Something about roots and petals. The guy said even the English was in code, though, so who knows what it really means."

"Gardening? More like harvesting," Spike said. "Don't like the look of this at all. This bit in the margin there about a virgo-"

"It's a horoscope?" Connor asked with a grin. "What's it say for Scorpio?"

Spike ignored him and pointed to a spot on the second page of notes. "And then vitae ad infinitum. My Latin may not be great, but I've got enough to pick virgin and eternal life out of that."

"Come on, Spike, it could be anything," Angel replied. "Could be a spell, could be a recipe for salad dressing."

"Could be. Or could be we just let Dawn walk out of here unprotected after a guy with a virgin sacrifice spell was slobbering all over her. A spell that we translated for him." Spike reached for the phone, dialing from the business card he dug out of his pocket. After a few seconds, he hung up, his expression even darker. "No answer on her mobile."

"Maybe she turned it off," Angel suggested. "Just because she gave us her number doesn't mean she was feeling ready for a heart-to-heart chat ten minutes after she got out of here."

"Or maybe your precious slimy client jumped her cab," Spike shot back.

Angel raised one eyebrow. "Precious?"

Spike started to answer him, then shut his mouth and glanced toward the doors. "You think I'm paranoid."

"Maybe just a little."

"But it's the understandable kind of crazy," Connor assured Spike. "My dad - my other dad - he's like that about my little sister."

Spike sighed. "Maybe you're - "

From outside came the sound of a car engine slowing down and shifting into park, then three quick taps on a horn.

A grin spread across Spike's face. "She must've forgot something." He opened the door, still smiling, then stopped there. "Angel..."

Angel crossed the lobby to join him, and looked outside at the cab that waited there. The bright yellow cab that waited there.

They stared at it for a few seconds before the driver's door opened. A tall man in a baseball cap unfolded himself from the car and looked across the roof at them. "This is the Walden theater, right? I'm supposed to pick up a fare here. A girl, called about twenty minutes ago, heading for Le Meridian?"

Angel and Spike looked at each other. "If this is Dawn's cab..." Spike began.

"Then you're not paranoid," Angel finished.

"So where's my passenger?" the cabbie asked.

"She got another ride," Spike said grimly. He and Angel turned back into the lobby together, heading for the weapons cabinet.

Connor looked up as they strode across the room, took in their expressions, and slapped his book shut. "Problem?"

"Dawn's in trouble," Spike confirmed. He glanced at the calendar on the countertop. "Funny, could've sworn it was Wednesday."

Connor jumped down from his stool and reached for a jacket.

Angel paused, an axe in his hand, and shook his head. "You stay put."

"Hey, I want to help. I like her; she helped me mess with your head."

"You can help by staying here," Angel said. "My head can only handle one kid in danger at a time, okay? Stay by the phone, and if we need anything, we'll call you."

"Right, because you ever call in for backup." Connor snorted as he stepped back behind the counter. "I'll just be here with my book and my phone, don't mind me." Angel could hear his voice trailing off as the two vampires headed out the doors. "Have fun storming the castle..."

---

"Call this a castle?" Spike muttered, pointing at the upright metal sewer grating in front of them. It was locked and bolted, and the bars were very thick.

"I'm still working on 'fun,'" Angel said, brushing aside some trailing vines and shaking their ooze off his hand in disgust.

"And this is why we check the client's address out before we send him away with the virgin sacrifice," Spike said in a lecturing tone. "If it belongs to a vacant lot with sewer access..."

"We know to wear galoshes for the rescue trip?" Angel suggested.

"Right." Spike shot a distracted look at him, Angel's worry mirrored on his face. "We've got to be close. Can't smell a thing down here, but that last tunnel was a dead-end, so he's got to be - "

"Here!" Angel examined a smaller grating on his right. "Covered in rust... except along the edges."

Spike slid his fingers into the holes and pulled decisively. The grate was loose, and he staggered backwards, but a firm grip on his arm stopped him from falling.

"You're welcome," Angel said as Spike dislodged himself and ducked through the opening ahead of him. Spike, already heading down the tunnel, just grunted a reply that might have been thanks but was more likely something better suited to the current environment.

The foray proved effective, since when they peered around the next corner the strange little man - now clad in a slightly dirt-streaked white shirt and red suspenders, wrinkled jacket tossed over a low-hanging pipe - was there in plain sight. He hummed merrily to himself, bending over something that was obscured by a large plastic tub of some kind. There was no sign of Dawn, however.

The two vampires sacrificed stealth for speed, reaching the man in seconds and slamming him up against the wall, one holding each shoulder.

"Where's Dawn, you pissant little shit?" Spike demanded, shaking the man.

"Who?" Cleeves replied, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Mr. Angel, what's - "

"The girl," Angel growled. "From my office. Dawn Summers. Where is she?"

"Honestly, I have no idea what you're - "

Spike wrapped a hand around Cleeves' throat, cutting him off; the other held the point of the knife that had appeared in his hand to a spot just between two of the man's ribs. "I'll say it in small words. Girl hurt, you dead. That help?"

The man's eyes widened, and he moved his head from side to side as much as he could with Spike's fingers clamped around his neck. Angel tapped Spike on the arm and got a growl and a glare for his trouble.

"Can't tell you anything if he can't talk," Angel pointed out.

Spike reluctantly loosened his grip, but only a little. "Don't even try to tell me you're not up to something. Girl goes missing right after you walk off with a manuscript all about virgins and their petals, and now you're down here in the damp, messing with God knows what kind of..." Spike took a moment to glance around. "...flowers?" he finished, on a decidedly puzzled note.

Angel let go of his own hold on the man and looked at the sewer floor past Spike. Pot after pot of curling leaves and unfurled blossoms lay there, in stark, colorful contrast to the gray-brown slime covering the floor.

"They're orchids," Cleeves said in a choked-off whisper. Spike loosened his grasp a little more and signaled to the man to keep talking. "Liberi lunari. Children of the moon. I'm crossbreeding rare orchids, that's all."

"With what? Girl-eating Venus Flytraps?" Spike loomed over Cleeves, making the small guy look even smaller.

"With these, I'm guessing." Angel pointed to the low tub that the man had been bending over and reached into the loose soil to lift up a handful of pinkish-white roots.

Spike's face contorted in puzzlement. "Albino carrots?"

Angel coughed. "I think those would be parsnips."

"You've got to be joking."

"The spell that you translated for me..." Cleeves coughed and swallowed, his voice becoming clearer. "Transfers power from root to blossom. Borrows the hardiness of a common plant to strengthen a rarer, more delicate one."

"Say you're telling the truth. What's all that rubbish about virgins in the spell, then?" Spike asked, letting go and nudging a planter with one scuffed boot as he tucked his knife into the other. "And why's it all in gobbledyspeak?"

"Careful!" The man dove for the flowers, protecting them from Spike's foot. "Did you not hear me say they're delicate?" He patted the top of the plant gently, as someone else might touch a beloved pet. "They'll thrive only under the conjunction of Venus and Virgo, bloom only - " He pointed upwards, to the open grate above his head. " - in moonlight. And kicking them can damage their stalks!"

"Virgo," Spike repeated, the timbre of his voice sinking unhappily. "Moonlight."

"It's a magical variety, of course," Cleeves said. "That's why they're so rare and why the incantation was encoded; the competition among breeders is very - "

"Yeah, I get it, Johnny Greenthumb," Spike said disgustedly. "So where the hell is Dawn?"

"Truly, I don't know," Cleeves answered, still curled protectively around the pot. "I haven't seen the young lady since I left your office; I'd certainly remember seeing such a lovely little thing again..."

"Shut it; wasn't talking to you anymore." Spike looked at Angel questioningly.

"If it's not him," Angel said, "then the last place we saw her..."

Spike nodded. "Was the cab that picked her up."

"On it." Angel pulled out his phone. He punched in the number to the Walden. The second it connected, he said, "Connor. I need your help."

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?" Connor asked.

"Funny. I need you to look up a number for me." Angel closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing up the image of the green and white cab in his head, close to photo-perfect against the backdrop of the street outside the Walden. He couldn't see a phone number on the side of it, but... "There was a symbol - a bird, and two words. The cab company that picked up Dawn."

"Eagle Enterprises," Connor replied immediately.

"Hey, can you do that memory visualization thing too?" Angel beamed a huge smile over his shoulder to Spike, "Kid's a chip off the old block."

"-head..." he heard Spike mutter.

"Memory visi-what?" Connor asked. "I see a hot girl in a short skirt step into a car, I pay attention."

"Oh," Angel said, his face falling. "Well, that's not too far from the tree either, I guess. Can you find the phone number? Client doesn't have her, so that's the best chance we have to track whoever does."

"Been here, got bored, did that, just in case the guy hadn't taken her to his place," Connor said. "But they won't release the information on who made the request or where it went. Said it's standard policy."

Angel's voice went hard as he answered, "They'll give it to us, if we have to shake it out of them by their ankles."

"Does that mean you do need back-up?" Connor asked excitedly.

"Yeah, actually, I could use some."

"All right! I'll - "

"You'll tell Illyria to put on her ass-kicking boots and meet us at their dispatch office," Angel said. "And then you'll wait by the phone."

Connor's disappointment was clear in his voice. "Illyria only has one pair of boots... and you may've noticed you don't tell her anything. Or at least I don't."

"Ask her nicely, then."

Spike coughed, and when Angel looked at him he pointed towards the vegetable tub that Cleeves was once again puttering over.

Angel rolled his eyes but nodded and spoke into the phone again. "Tell her I said she was right about the parsnips."

---

Angel pulled the car to a halt in front of the run-down building at the address Connor had given them. He and Spike stepped out onto the sidewalk, their eyes scanning the area and their bodies full of tension and ready for a fight. Ancient paint on the faded bricks promised 'Hardware, Shipping, and Sundries,' and lofts for rent on the second floor. The glossy awning over the door, however, vinyl-applique numbers surrounding a stylized bird graphic, belonged to Eagle Enterprises.

"Think anybody's still living here?" Spike asked. "Shame if they woke up the neighbors with the screaming."

Angel walked up to the heavy wooden doors and flung them open, detaching one from its hinges and loosening the frame. Stepping over the threshold, he deadpanned, "Guess not."

Spike followed him through a narrow hallway. "Can see why," Spike said as they burst through the door into the main office with a crack that didn't sound like it had done that doorframe any favors either. "Place is falling to pieces."

The cab company's dispatch center was in complete disarray. Phone handsets lay on the floor as if they'd been flung against the walls. Overturned tables teetered, and paper settled on the floor like a blizzard had struck.

In the center of it all, Illyria held the dispatcher, a middle-aged woman in jeans and a company jacket, up against the wall by her throat. "Where?" Illyria hissed.

"I'm guessing it had a little help," Angel said. He didn't move to lend a hand, whether to the woman or Illyria; he just crossed his arms, appraising her technique. "If you move your right thumb, she can talk but still hurt."

Illyria looked over her shoulder at him, then nodded and rearranged her grip. The woman coughed, her eyes wide and dazed.

"Where did your vehicle take that girl?" Illyria asked with an air of quiet menace.

"I told you, I wasn't on duty yet, so I didn't hear the radio," the dispatcher whimpered. "Twenty, thirty cabs go out every hour; I don't know which one was your friend's."

Angel rifled through the papers on the desk. "This is your logbook?"

The woman shook her head. "Those are just shift notes. The incoming calls are logged automatically by the computer, but that just has number of origin and pickup address, not destination. We don't know where the cars took people all night until we read the meters at the end of their shift."

Spike sat down at her computer, scrolling back through the recent calls. "There's the pickup at the theater. Bugger; it's no good. No destination, like she said." Spike scrolled further up. "None of 'em have."

Angel scanned the screen as it moved. "Hold on. Go back."

"Your presence is still required," Illyria stated firmly, grabbing the dispatcher's arm as she sneaked towards the door.

"No need to terrorize her, Blue," Spike said absently. "Seems like she's telling the truth. You find something, Angel?"

"Yeah." Angel turned to Illyria. "Go ahead with the terror."

Illyria quirked one delicate eyebrow and tightened her grip on the woman, enough to provoke a gasp.

"Hey, I just work here!" the dispatcher protested, breathing heavily.

"Yeah," Angel responded. "Wanna have a chat about who you work for?"

"I don't know what you mean. Eagle Enterprises - "

"Doesn't ask a lot of questions when a call comes through from that number, I bet." He jabbed a finger at the screen; the slight widening of her eyes and quick glance away told him his guess wasn't wrong.

"Why? Whose is it?" Spike asked.

"Mine," Angel said through gritted teeth. "Once upon a time."

"You mean - "

"Press one for goat sacrifices, five for anonymous kidnap cabs."

---

Dawn woke coughing. "For the record, I hate chloroform. Can't you people start using laughing gas or something?" she groused, blinking and trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"Nitrous is no good for knocking people out," said a woman's voice. "Not if you want to be sure they'll wake up afterwards."

A couple more blinks brought the woman's face into resolution on the opposite side of what Dawn realized was a conference table. She had the sort of cold, elegant beauty that Dawn usually saw among the older women in Rome, though she only looked to be in her early thirties; ten to one she'd had work done. Dawn recognized this year's designer look in her cream-colored suit and efficiently pinned-up dark hair.

"Might be worth the risk, if it made this victim of the week gag seem funny," Dawn said. "Because right now? So over it."

"You're not a victim, Ms. Summers," the woman said. Then she smiled, a small crinkle of her lips that seemed calculated within a millimeter to minimize any chance of smearing her makeup. "Well, at least not yet; I'm not entirely certain what our fearless leader has in mind for you."

"Oh, that's comforting." Dawn stretched, coaxing blood and sensation into numb limbs.

She was seated - unbound - in one of those super-expensive mesh Aeron chairs. She glanced around the conference room as her vision cleared. Whiteboard full of notes about synergies: check. Giant Polycom speakerphone: check. Letterhead notepads at each seat: score. Definitely an office building, and a high end one at that.

Dawn read the letterhead - Wolfram & Hart in clear, dark letters - and sighed. "You know, you could've just grabbed me when I was here before. Saved us all a lot of trouble, and, hey, no chloroform breath."

"I agree; much more efficient." The woman spread neatly-manicured fingers in a gesture of 'what can you do?' "Sadly our CEO didn't take it into his head to request your presence at that point, so, as it was, certain measures had to be taken to ensure your cooperation. I'm sure you understand."

Dawn rubbed at the back of her neck. "Great. I hate it when the nutjobs who kidnap me think they're reasonable. Even if compared to the last few, you kind of are."

"We're evil, not insane." The woman glanced at the doorway and then smiled that small, precise smile again. "One can be both, of course, but sanity's an advantage on the corporate level."

"Unless you're working in the entertainment division." A man's voice, pleasant and accented, came from the door behind her head. "Thank you for keeping my guest company, Johanna; I can take it from here."

As the British guy rounded the table, Dawn frowned slightly and sat up straight to see him. While his voice seemed oddly familiar, the confident, easy walk and hints of an actual sense of humor didn't match up with where her memory was trying to go.

He set a dark suede briefcase down on the table in front of him. "Miss Summers. Although given the circumstances I doubt you'll believe me, it is a pleasure to see you again."

Dawn stared hard and finally placed him, her eyes going wide. "Wesley? When exactly did you go all Sith Lord?"

Johanna seemed intrigued. "The young lady remembers you from times past," she said, perfect face settling into an unattractive smugness. "How interesting. Using your position to settle a few old scores? We may make an evil genius out of you yet."

Ignoring Johanna, Wesley fixed his gaze on Dawn, an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sith Lord? That's a bit melodramatic."

"Because the chloroform was what - your way of saying hi, want to grab a cappuccino and catch up on old times?"

"The girl does have a point," Johanna said. "I'd say you lost the right to call scenery-chewing."

"Did you miss the part where I said thank you, Johanna?" Wesley's voice never lost the calm, friendly tone, although his eyes grew cold as he looked at her. "I thought the goodbye was implicit, but perhaps I need to work on the delivery."

"No, that came through loud and clear." She rose from the table and stepped past him towards the door. "Just be sure to let Kyle know whether you're planning on killing her or recruiting her, when you get the chance; he likes to get a head start on the paperwork." Then she was gone, heels clacking firmly away down the hallway.

"The answer's no, whichever way you were going with that," Dawn said, starting to stand but immediately sinking unsteadily back down into the chair. She pressed her fingers to her temple and murmured, "God, I hate this stuff."

"If I were planning on killing you, I wouldn't be asking your permission," Wesley answered. "However, it wasn't on my immediate to-do list. I was hoping we could have a friendly conversation."

"Friendly would mean I have a choice in the matter."

Wesley shrugged. "There's no one standing over you with a weapon. You're not tied to the chair."

"Uh huh." Dawn snorted. "So if I got up and walked out, those six-foot guys in gray I remember from the security booth wouldn't try to stop me?"

"Well, no," Wesley admitted. "I didn't say that."

"So if we were actually having a friendly conversation, which we're not, what is it we'd be having a friendly conversation about?" Dawn asked warily.

"Well, since you ask, I'm rather curious about what you've been up to."

"Excuse me?" Dawn stared at him. "You did not just say that this actually is a conversation we could have had over cappuccino."

"I could have some sent in, if you like." Wesley settled in a chair, pulling it up to the table and facing Dawn. "However, I wasn't asking for an update on your social life. I'm well aware that you've been studying in Italy and working for the Council of Watchers."

"We've got to get better spies, obviously." Dawn scowled at him. "Last I heard, you were in good with Angel. So what happened? When he got off the merry-go-round of evil there was a nice empty spot on the lead pony for you?"

"Something almost completely not like that, yes." Wesley folded his hands in front of him. "The events of recent years here have been a bit tumultuous; I certainly didn't expect to end up here, but..."

Dawn said, "Oh, let me guess - you thought you could help people."

Wesley raised both eyebrows, then laughed. "You've been talking to Angel."

"Funny how he didn't mention that one of his people was still working for the bad guys."

"I'm not surprised," Wesley said. "I'm also not 'his people.' Angel would certainly agree with me on that, if on nothing else."

"One more thing he didn't bother to fill me in on." Dawn didn't try to hide the resentment in her voice. "Anything else I should know about? Births? Deaths? New cars?"

"Several of each." Wesley's eyes grew cold and distant. "None of which have anything to do with why you're here."

Dawn shrugged. "You're the one who brought me here; you tell me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I meant why you're in Los Angeles, not why you're in my conference room, but let me give it a whirl, since they're intimately related. You were here to find an artifact called the Eye of Amelatu, or rather to purchase it from its rather reclusive owner, one Mr. Richard Schott."

"You do have good spies." Dawn frowned.

"An impressive negotiation on the Council's part, considering that Wolfram & Hart has been offering to buy it from him for years without success."

"Gee, he didn't want to sell to Evil Unlimited? Color me shocked."

"He also didn't want to sell it to Angel Investigations," Wesley said, "or so I imagine Angel thinks, since you sent him and Spike traipsing halfway across the city this evening, and they returned empty-handed."

"You know, there's a difference between corporate intel and stalking..." Dawn said. She was obviously trying to sound calm, but she fidgeted with the notepad in front of her.

"I make it a point to pay attention to what Angel is doing; you could call it one of the mainstays of my job here. "

"It's not my fault the guy bugged out," Dawn said. "Maybe he still thought Angel was working for you people. There's a lot of that going around."

"That's one option. Or perhaps he didn't show up because you'd already met with him, three hours earlier." Wesley's mouth set into a hard line. "In broad daylight, in the middle of Monterey Park."

"Ah." Dawn swallowed. "I... can explain that."

"Yes, I'm sure you could provide a beautifully crafted story given a few moments to think it over, but I don't really need one." Wesley leaned against the table, his posture far more casual than their conversation was turning out to be. "What did make me curious is why, since you'd already purchased the item, you felt the need to waste Angel's time on that particular wild goose chase."

Dawn was quiet for a moment, meeting his steely stare. Finally she said, "What - messing around with Angel's head is your job and you don't want anybody else horning in on it?"

"At the very least, it's certainly worthy of my taking an interest."

Dawn crossed her arms and didn't respond, staring at the wall just past Wesley's head.

"Shall I attempt to fill this one in for you as well?" he asked. "The firsthand details are a bit sketchier here, but obviously you wanted Angel out of the way, while you went after something that you thought might be in his possession - or at least in his office."

"If you know so much about what you think I was 'up to,' why go to the trouble of dragging me in here?" Dawn asked. "Don't you have people you can pay to tell you how brilliant you are?"

"Yes, Kyle's rather good at that. It's not quite the same, though." Wesley undid the clasps on his briefcase. "And I don't know everything I'd like to know. For instance, I've figured out that what you were looking for at Angel Investigations, you didn't find - " He reached into the briefcase and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book, which he set on the table in front of Dawn. "But I'm still quite in the dark on why you didn't just ask for it in the first place."

Dawn ran her finger over the cover of Fraustein's Compendium of Gateways and Their Keeping without an answer.

"After all, if anyone could be trusted with the knowledge that the power your sister died to contain... might not be, surely it's your friends."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

---

Wolfram & Hart was as busy at night as it was during the day. It hummed with the activities of lawyers trying to get ahead and late-shift workers replacing flipcharts, emptying trashcans, and steaming blood-stained carpets.

When Angel, Spike and Illyria pushed through the wide glass doors into the lobby, weapons in hand, the ever-present buzz hushed, just for a second, before it rose again. Not to its former lord of the flies level, but to the whiny song of mosquitoes, whispering behind their hands.

"So I'm guessing there's absolutely no point in saying Mr. Wyndam-Pryce isn't receiving visitors," the receptionist said. At Angel's glare, his hand moved to protectively cover a bowl on his desk, in which a single lonely goldfish was swimming around in circles.

"No, but feel free to tell him we're coming," Angel said. He dropped the back of his ax-head with a hard ka-chunk on the man's phone. "Or not."

"You know, the gratuitous violence really isn't necessary," the man commented, picking up the remains of his phone's handset with a distasteful grimace.

"That's why they call it gratuitous, Troy," Spike said, moving past him. Illyria stalked ahead of them both.

"You plan on killing anybody with that thing, or is it just a penis metaphor?" Troy asked Angel, pointing at the ax.

"Which one means I have to waste less of my time fighting off your security goombahs?" Angel replied.

"The penis thing."

"We'll go with that, then. For now." Angel headed for the elevator,

"Oh, hey, Spike," Troy called, "I meant to tell you, about the fish - "

"Yeah, no problem; you owe me one." Spike was already pushing the button for the executive level.

Angel was right behind him, but he caught the muttered response from the receptionist. "Actually I was going to say they give me heartburn. Still, tasty." There was a slurping sound after that; Angel didn't look back.

---

Dawn recovered her composure and raised her chin. "You know, it used to be kind of a secret, that thing I used to be," she said. "Like 'let a goddess rip a hole in your chest without telling' kind of a secret. What, now it's scribbled on all the bathroom walls in L.A.?"

"I'm less concerned with what you used to be than with what you are now. Which is a distraction to Angel, for one. Possibly a danger to everyone around you." Wesley leaned across the table towards her and eyed her speculatively. "And possibly... useful."

"The only thing you're going to be using her for is to explain to your bosses why every bone in your body got broken without you even having to leave the building." Angel stood in the doorway, a glowering, towering presence, for all of a second before Spike pushed past him and into the room.

"You all right?" he asked Dawn, moving quickly to her side.

"For the moment," Wesley answered for her.

Then, so fast Dawn was barely able to follow the movement, Angel was around the table and pinning Wesley down to it, a hand on the back of his neck. "Might not be able to kill you, but I know for a fact even dead men can hurt. You touch another of my people, and you're gonna find out just how much."

"Yours? Are you certain of that?" Wesley's voice, even with his face shoved against gleaming wood, was relaxed, steady.

"If you did anything to her - " Angel began.

"I've done nothing beyond bringing her here," Wesley said. "I was referring to what she's done."

"What do you mean?" Angel flicked a glance at Dawn, then back to Wesley.

Wesley answered, "You don't know your friends as well as you think you do, Angel. Then again, you never did."

Angel's only immediate reply to that was for his frown to deepen far beyond a simple glower.

"Or perhaps I'm mistaken?" Wesley continued. "Perhaps Miss Summers has been filling you in on her plans all along, and you knew when you headed across the city this evening that all you'd find would be a basement full of irate Melix demons?"

All eyes - including the one of Wesley's that was visible - turned to Dawn. She gave a weak smile. "I... don't know what he's talking about?"

"Very convincing," Wesley said.

"What is he talking about, Dawn?" Angel asked.

Dawn took a deep breath. "This, I guess," she said, pointing to the book on the table in front of her.

Spike looked over her shoulder at it, while Illyria approached from the doorway. "...Gateways, and Their Keeping..." he read aloud before opening it and flipping through the pages.

"She asked me if I had this book while you were gone," Illyria told them. "It once belonged to her." It was clear that the two pronouns didn't refer to the same person.

"I took it back," Wesley said. "Long ago. Someone should get some use out of what she left behind her."

Angel let Wesley up, leveling him with a glare. "If you try anything - "

Wesley brushed his shirt free of imaginary dirt. "If I were planning on trying something now, security would already be here."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Angel turned back to Dawn. "So what am I missing here? You wanted this book, and you couldn't just ask for it? So much that you made up some bogus magic arrow thing to send us off after?"

"No." Dawn shook her head. "I mean, well, yeah, but no."

"The Eye of Amelatu is real," Illyria supplied.

"I believe you'll find it inside Miss Summers' bag," Wesley added.

Dawn looked down to the floor beside her chair, where her courier bag had lain unnoticed all this time. Mindful of the attention fixed on her, she squared her shoulders and nodded. She lifted the flap and reached inside.

The tiny arrow, no longer than her hand, looked dull and worthless lying in her cupped palms, peacock-feather decorations long faded and disheveled from rough handling.

It seemed worn and unimpressive until Dawn held it out in front of her, over the table, and the eye in the peacock feather... opened. The dark blue center widened, pushing out and swallowing the iridescent green that surrounded it, growing brighter itself. Glowing, as bright a blue as Illyria's wide, staring eyes.

The glow spread out along the vanes of the feather, then down the dull metal shaft of the arrow to the wickedly sharp tip. It collected there, brighter and brighter, as the whole thing rose upwards, hovering over Dawn's open hands.

Then the arrow spun in the air, a laser-thin shaft of blue light shooting out of the tip... and straight at Dawn.

Angel reached for the arrow, lightning-fast, grabbing it out of the air, but the light had already hit her chest. It pooled and glowed beneath her collarbone like a beacon, roiling sluggishly between light and dark blue, as Dawn looked down at it. Then in an instant it faded softly into nothing.

Spike gently took her arm and touched her shoulder. "Are you okay? You burnt? Hurt? Dawn?"

Dawn shook her head, unable to speak just yet.

"I imagine that's what happened when you purchased it in the first place, yes?" Wesley asked.

"What was that? What did it do to her?" Spike asked angrily as Dawn just nodded in response to Wesley's question.

Angel held the arrow in his hand for a moment before setting it down on the open book in front of Dawn. "It pointed to the nearest place to walk between the worlds," he said, looking at Illyria for confirmation. She gave a single curt nod.

"Yeah. That would be me. Apparently." Dawn gripped the arms of her chair but lifted her head up high. She squinted at Angel. "Which... you knew?" She didn't even wait for him to finish his half-shrugged nod. "Of course you did. I'm wearing a sign on my back."

"Expect they told him after Buffy died, pet." Spike frowned. "But I thought that was the end of you being..."

"A danger to everybody around me?" Dawn finished bitterly. "So did I. So when that thing went all pointy at me, I kind of freaked out."

"Followed that. What I don't follow is why you didn't tell us," Spike said. "We could help; it's what we do."

"Because you guys are the big experts in glowy dimensional things? Maybe you used to be, but now..." Dawn pointed to Illyria. "Not so much."

"We could've figured something out. Told you we didn't have this thing, anyways." Spike fingered the edge of the book. "No need to play Harriet the Spy; even if you weren't sure about Angel, you should know you can trust me."

Dawn looked at him. "I should? How do I know I can trust anybody? Angel's working for the bad guys, then he's not, you're dead, then you're not, you don't have a soul, then you do, and before that - " She broke off, then shook her head. "I'm sick of being used to hurt people I care about. And even if I'd been sure I could talk to you, I'm sick of being the kid that everybody has to protect. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, but - "

"She's got a point," Angel said.

"That she shouldn't trust us?" Spike asked incredulously.

"That it's hard to know who to trust these days." He glared pointedly across the table at Wesley. "Obviously he thought he was going to use her for something."

"Did I?" Wesley's face was the picture of innocence. "I was merely trying to sort out information. Helping to clear the confusion, if you will."

Dawn laughed. "With chloroform?"

"That's Wolfram & Hart, all about helping the helpless," said Angel. "Oh, no wait, that would be me. You really think I'm an idiot, Wes?"

"Do you think I am, Angel?" Wesley made an expression of distaste. "I've no desire to waste my time battling the army of Slayers that would show up at my door should any permanent harm befall her. Granted, if she remained here of her own free will, I've a large team of mystics and scientists who could study her problem and find ways to contain it."

"To harness it, you mean," Illyria said.

"Possibly," he acknowledged. "Safely, if so." He looked at Dawn. "My offer is quite sincere."

Dawn stared levelly back at him for a few seconds, not breaking his gaze. Then she said, "Not to be rude, but are you on crack?"

Spike snorted.

"I mean, is that an executive perk," she went on, "or does everybody get a free supply? Because that could affect my decision, you know."

"I take it that's a no," Wesley said, leaning back in his chair.

"You think I'm gonna turn myself over to amalgamated evil in return for a little help with my personal problems?" She looked up at Angel. "Help me out here. Was he always a heavy user, or is this new?"

Angel coughed. "It's... been known to happen. The personal problems thing, not the crack."

"Well, it's not happening to me." Dawn rose to her feet, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "I'm taking my magic arrow, and... actually, you wanna take the magic arrow for now?" she said to Angel. "I'd rather not do the glowy thing again."

Wesley stood. "What if I took the magic arrow? For, obviously, a fair price, drafted to you or the Watchers' Council, whichever you'd prefer."

"I'm not walking out of here without it," Dawn told him. "And if I don't walk out of here... well, I'm not the one who mentioned 'army of Slayers.' "

Wesley smiled and held up both hands, empty palms out. "It was worth a try."

"Forget the army," Angel said, picking up the Eye of Amelatu and slipping it into his pocket. "She doesn't walk out of here right now, you don't walk out at all, Wes. Crawling's negotiable."

Dawn took that as her cue to do just that, walking towards the door, Spike close behind her. When she turned around to glance back at the table, he was right there, staring at her.

"Forget something?" Spike asked.

She shook her head and started to turn toward the door again when Wesley reached down and picked up the book. He held it out. "Take it."

"I do what now?" she asked.

"Take it; as I said, someone should get some use out of it. Consider it payment for the inconvenience."

Dawn took a step back into the room; Angel crossed in front of her.

"Don't," he said.

"It's not cursed or bespelled, Angel; I'd hardly try something so crude," Wesley said. "Especially considering the number of experts in such things she'll have on hand when she gets back to the Council."

"It doesn't need curses, Dawn." Angel didn't directly acknowledge Wesley at all. "It might as well have fishhooks in the spine; he wants to remind you what Wolfram & Hart can do for you, if you ever change your mind. Just another way to sink the claws in."

Wesley didn't respond; he simply continued to hold out the book.

"I'm not going to change my mind, though," Dawn said, stepping around Angel.

Angel came after her, reaching for the book as she did, but Spike put a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, Angel. You take what you can get, especially when you're walking away."

The book tucked neatly under Dawn's arm, they left without another word.

---

Early morning found the vampires seated at the counter almost exactly as they'd been the night before. Though Connor was no longer there, Spike and Angel were still at work.

"No, that's got to go for repairs to the sign," Spike was saying, pointing at a small stack of cash near Angel's wrist.

"What, we need sixty bucks for a new T?"

"No, we need sixty bucks to fix the wiring in the back-light so it doesn't burn the place down with us in it," Spike answered.

Angel pushed it towards him, nodding. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But you're not getting more than fifty for the coffee fund."

The sound of the door opening had them both looking up from the money. Dawn stood in the pale early sunlight, propping the door with her elbow and pointing over her head at the sign. "You ship evil eggplants?"

"College boy strikes again," Spike told her, standing up.

"Either that," Angel said, "or Illyria's decided to try and make a profit off her gardening spree; you never know with her." He and Spike both headed over to join her, standing just outside the spill of sunlight.

Dawn fussed with the buckle on her bag's shoulder-strap. "I'm on my way to the airport - the cab's waiting for me - but I wanted to stop in and say goodbye."

"You did make sure it's actually the cab you called, this time, right?" Angel asked her, glancing around her towards the curb.

"Duh," she said. "Wouldn't want you beating up some poor little flower breeder again, if I went missing. What was up with going after him, anyway? Pervo, yes, but kidnapper?"

Spike coughed. "There may've been a bit in your notes about virgin sacrifices that I, er... completely misread."

"Oh, that conjunction thing? But why would you think I - " Dawn stopped, glanced from one vampire to the other, then coughed, herself. "Ah. Mmhmm."

Spike shut his eyes. "I'll just be over here with my sudden case of hysterical deafness."

"Right, note to self, make sure to ask Giles for a local translation referral to give you guys," Dawn said.

Spike opened his eyes and looked at her intently. "You going to tell them?"

"That you're alive?" Dawn asked. "I don't - "

Spike cut her off. "About you. About that bloody great book from the Wyndam-Pryce lending library in your bag there."

Dawn looked abashed. "Oh. That."

"You've got to trust somebody, Dawn," Angel said.

"Yeah, I know. I'm going to tell them. I'm just... I thought I was done with being the one everybody had to rescue and protect. I've got a job, classes. A life." She took a deep breath. "People treat me like a real person. I feel like a real person."

"That'd be 'cause you are," Spike said.

"Yeah, except here comes this reminder that I wasn't always, and I still might put everybody in danger just by being me. Just by being."

"They're not gonna be in any less danger if you don't tell them about it," Angel said. "If you trust me even a little, believe I know what I'm talking about when I say keeping things from the people you love can lead to a world of hurt - for more than just you."

"And who in this room hasn't been a menace just by being?" Spike added. "Point is, you do what you can with what you've got. You balance it out with the choices you make, like walking away from that offer at Wolfram & Hart. That was a good start; don't waste it."

Dawn blinked at them. Outside, the cab's horn honked. "That was kind of... deep, manly, and not stupid. I'm impressed, you guys."

Spike frowned and glanced at Angel. "Yeah, actually, so am I."

"You're not half bad at this grown-up thing. Even Buffy would be impressed. That might freak her out more than knowing Spike's not dead," Dawn said.

Spike nodded. "You gonna tell her, then?"

She shook her head. "No, that's your call. But I do think it's a call she'd like to get. And that not keeping secrets thing works both ways, you know."

The cab honked again, longer and louder.

"All right, I'm coming!" she shouted out the door. "I'd better go," she said to them, "or he'll turn the meter back on while he waits; that'd be a waste of a good leg-flashing."

Spike rubbed at his ear. "Funny, hearing seems to be going again."

Dawn graced them with one last look of tolerant exasperation, then stepped out the door.

They both watched the cab pull away from the curb and recede down the street, in silence. Silence which Spike finally broke by saying, "Buffy'd be impressed with us, she said."

Angel grinned. "I caught that, yeah. Go team vampire maturity."

"You get that Dawn was only including you to be nice, right?"

"In your dreams, deaf boy."

THE END