6.19 Trespasses

By Justhuman

Among Wesley's possessions were items that had decorated the walls of his former apartment - coats of arms, paintings, photographs, and weapons. Despite this fact, the walls of Illyria's basement room were as bare as the day she chose to claim the space as her own. All of Wesley's things formed precariously balanced towers, like surreal sculptures, scattered about the room instead of being used for their intended purposes.

"Newspapers, frying pan, bath mat," Angel listed as he scanned the contents of the tower nearest the door. "You know, it's really that can of peas that's not working for me." He followed Illyria with his eyes as she slowly walked among the monoliths, ignoring him.

"Or do the piles make a pattern?" he continued. He moved between two of the stacks in order to get out of her way. "Like if I was looking down from the ceiling do they make a junkyard constellation?" Angel pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he studied another random arrangement of kitchen gear mixed with books and paperclips.

"No." It was all she said as she passed him and continued her circuit around the eclectic arrangement.

Angel absently ran a finger along a knife blade sticking out from one of the piles, nodding when his finger found the knick, as if he had been looking for it. "We need to have a team meeting about Wesley. Gunn and I figured out something last night."

Despite the fact that Illyria was moving slowly, her stop appeared abrupt. With no regard for Angel or the collection of objects, she stared at the wall. "You should be planning revenge. The attack on your offspring was a demonstration of power that should not be tolerated."

"Don't think revenge isn't part of my plan; you should know that already," Angel said he moved his fingers away from the blade and slid his hands back into his pockets.

With the flick of her head, Illyria turned her alien stare on Angel. "What was your opinion on my role?"

"My opinion?" Angel frowned. "Huh. That's something you usually don't ask. But I think you were good. Smooth, like psychological warfare was in your blood."

"That is not what I asked," Illyria said. "What did you think? How do you ... feel?" Her lips twisted over the verb distastefully, but her tone indicated confusion. "When I take on this form - " Seemingly without effort, Illyria's body melted into Fred's, complete with denim skirt and a halter top with a tiny blue floral print. " - what do you feel?"

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Angel began moving through the stacks again, occasionally glancing up at Illyria. She remained still for his inspection. "Look, Illyria, it's really not important - " He came to a full stop as she fixed her glare on him. They were Fred's brown eyes but with a hard edge they had never possessed in life.

Angel glanced up into the corners of the room. "I see Fred's body." Meeting her eyes, he continued, "but I would never mistake you for Fred. You're unique, not some second-rate imitation. You're Illyria."

Fading back into her familiar blue, Illyria looked at him curiously and then began moving through the stacks again.

Angel waited for a moment, but started heading to the door when she didn't respond. "We need you upstairs."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because," Angel said, looking as though this was not the time to argue with him, "somebody's got to die."

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.19: Trespasses
• Written by: Justhuman
• Edited by: LadyCat and Kara
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse

---

Gunn slid forward on the sagging couch cushion, steepling his fingertips together as his brow creased in thought. "It works out like this. When I got the lawyer brain downloaded into me, I went through everyone's contract with a fine-toothed comb. Well..." He gave Angel a sidelong look. "What I thought was everyone's. Obviously I was given a dummy contract for Angel, but the wording on mine, Lorne's, Fred's, and Wesley's were identical except for job title and things that had to do with departments. There was no after-death clause in there."

"Can you be sure?" Connor swiveled on the stool, tapping an absent rhythm against his chemistry book with his pencil. "I mean, it's been a while since you looked at them, and maybe you weren't specifically looking - "

With a snort, Gunn shook his head. "You don't think I sat there pissing my pants, wondering what the hell we'd gotten into without the benefit of demonic legal council? Trust me, I was looking."

"See, this is why I never sign anything," Spike said, weight on his elbows as he leaned back against the counter next to Connor.

"Easier to skip out that way," Angel muttered. The couch squeaked as he shifted to glare at Spike.

"Right you are," Spike said seriously, finger wagging as he pointed it at Angel. "I remember a time - "

"If we could stay on topic," Angel interrupted. "Somewhere, somehow, Wes gets stopped by Wolfram & Hart - "

"And they make him an offer he can't refuse." Connor laid on the mobster voice thick.

Spike smirked at Angel. "He gets that from your side of the family."

"The point is," Angel said, a hard edge creeping into his voice, "it would be real damn useful to know exactly what they hired him to do and what he's getting out of it."

"Power." As she spoke, Illyria's attention remained focused on the plant leaf she was gently stroking. "All warriors seek glory and renown so that others might cower in their presence."

Angel was the only one to try and meet her lowered eyes. "That doesn't sound like Wesley."

"Oh, it doesn't?" With a hard shove against the counter, Spike began pacing with increasing anger. "So tell me how you'd describe his recent behavior with Connor, those kids at the school, not to mention innocent dolls. Seems to me he's all in favor of exercising power."

"That's not Wesley," Angel said, shaking his head. Rising, he moved directly into Spike's path. "I know first-hand, remember? Nothing gets in Wesley's way once he has a plan, and he's pretty damn efficient about executing it, too." He looked at Connor for a moment before he broke away and began his own pacing. "The plan is the important part. The question is what the hell is he trying to do."

"There is that whole thing about punishing you on behalf of the Senior Partners, or have you forgotten about them?" Gunn asked.

Involuntarily, Angel brushed his hand over the spot on his chest where the brand from the Circle of the Black Thorn resided beneath his shirt. His face darkened. "Believe me, I think about them a lot. The point is they don't hire anyone to do a random job. As someone who used to be in it for the power and glory," he said as he returned Illyria's curious stare with his own hard one, "I can tell you that everything that Wes is doing is petty bullshit."

Gunn shifted on the edge of the couch, staring at the floor. "Unless he got a bigger plan, and all this is just cover up."

"We need to know why Wolfram & Hart needed him, what he brings to the party," Angel agreed.

Gunn locked eyes with Angel. "We need to see his contract, his new contract."

"That's great," Connor said. "What do we do, just walk in and ask his personal assistant to make a copy?"

Spike yawned as if bored, waving a lazy hand. "Oh, yeah, and if he says no, we'll have Charlie here sue him."

Frowning, Angel ignored them and focused on Gunn. "Isn't there some kind of demon hall of records that you've gotten contracts from before?"

Gunn nodded, bouncing his fingertips off one another. "There's a place, but it won't do us any good. Since we're not involved, I won't be able to get to it. Privacy issues."

"Doesn't a bottle of poison and the girlfriend of death make us involved?" Connor asked.

"Nope. Tangential issue," Gunn said, giving Connor a sympathetic look.

The plant rustled as Illyria abruptly walked away from it. "Pointless buzzing of insects," she said. "We are warriors of sufficient power. We should seize what we need." She stopped in front of Angel as if challenging him to disagree.

"Strangely enough, I'm with her," Gunn said. Everyone but Illyria stared at him. "Well, not so much with the armed assault, but with the walking in and taking."

Hopping up on the counter, Connor climbed over and pulled a soda out of the small refrigerator as he spoke. "Sure. Psychics, vampire-sniffers, armed guards. Maybe Illyria's tough enough - "

"There are standing orders to allow us safe passage into the building," Illyria said.

Spike let the silence hang a moment before asking, "Right, so we do ask his assistant to make a copy?"

Gunn ignored Spike's eye-rolling. "Except for the part where the open invite is so we don't break in and look for what's so important to him."

"What?" Connor frowned. "Like he's hiding the information we want in something innocuous, like a pen?"

"Nope. Wolfram & Hart is an old-school bureaucracy, and what we want is neatly tucked away in the appropriate place," Gunn said. "But going with your analogy, what if we ask to borrow that harmless looking pen that's actually a high powered kryptonite laser?"

"What is kryptonite?" Illyria demanded.

Angel's brows pulled together. "Then we get to meet the security guards and their weapons up close and personal."

Gunn nodded. "And we never get close to what we need."

"Which would mean we're getting more or less nowhere," Spike said, drumming his fingers on the counter.

Shaking his head slowly, Gunn smiled. "It just means we have to follow Illyria's suggestion and go in there and take it."

Angel turned his head, sizing up Gunn. "Not that I've got a problem with rash action concerning the Senior Partners, but I've got to point out that Wes was in on our previous break-in attempts."

"He can't be everywhere, and their security has never really been a challenge," Gunn said.

Picking up Connor's soda, Spike took a sip. "What would stop ol' Wes from using his vast experience to retrain the staff?"

A slow smile spread across Angel's face as he said, "I think we should count on the fact he has. Think about it - all day seminars on how vampires can sneak past the psychics, booby traps on every door."

"Riiight, and we would expect to get past that how?" Connor asked Angel. Without looking away, he made a lightning-fast move to snatch his soda back from Spike. Only then did Connor break eye contact to examine the top critically before putting it down.

"What?" Spike said. "We're related."

Angel sank into a nearby chair. "We get past it by ignoring it. Wes will think of a thousand ways for people to sneak in and security measures to take them out, but he never considers that you might just walk in."

"That's what I'm talking about," said Gunn.

Spike frowned. "It can't be that easy."

Angel's smile was a twisted combination of fondness laced with bitterness. "Wesley is so focused on looking six moves ahead that he forgets to look out of the corner of his eye."

"Or behind his back," Illyria added, her form melting into Fred's.

Suppressing a shiver, Connor picked up his soda once more. "So. What's the plan?"

---

Johanna walked into Wesley's office without knocking, gliding into the space between the desk and the window. Wesley's full attention was on the books and paperwork that covered his desk, which were now in Johanna's shadow.

"The Senior Partners appreciate the spirit of your latest effort to fulfill your contract, Wesley," she said. "Bringing Angel to these offices to grovel and beg is always enjoyable and certainly what the Senior Partners had in mind when they delegated the task to you. The execution, however, was less than satisfactory. In other words - " Her smile was ice wrapped in kindness. " - the judges give it a two."

"Really?" Wesley responded in a slightly bored voice as he snapped on the desk lamp and continued to work. "Was it out of ten, like competitive diving or six, like figure skating?"

Her smile became slightly more forced. "Let's just say that you failed to land the quadruple axle and probably should have stuck with the triple. It is supposedly your best, after all." Johanna crossed her arms in front of her chest, obviously waiting for a response. After a moment or two of just the sound of Wesley's pen scratching on the paper, she added. "Or maybe you should've kept it to a double, in your case."

Closing the source book, Wesley said, "Runes of the Norns, Latin and Swedish translations." Barely waiting for magic to take effect, he opened the book and set it off to the side of his notes. "I'm rather surprised. The operation was run efficiently and under budget."

"I think the part where they solved it in a few hours and it failed to get Angel here and begging is the primary basis for their assessment," Johanna said.

"It accomplished the goals I had set. By threatening Connor, Angel will now be on edge and know that nothing is sacrosanct." For the first time in their conversation, Wesley looked up from his work and spared her a glance. "Although I will admit that knowing the skills of his current band of followers I hadn't expected any of them to be able to look up the necessary information. The groveling would have been nice, but in the grand scheme of things unnecessary." Wesley bent over his notes again, effectively dismissing Johanna.

Unfolding her arms, she planted one hand firmly on her hip. "Don't you think it's up to the Senior Partners to decide what is necessary?"

"That's what they pay me for," Wesley said absently as he flipped the rune-covered pages.

Without a flicker of emotion crossing her face, Johanna slammed the source book closed, narrowly missing Wesley's fingers, which he pulled away in time. Her hand still on the book, Johanna said, "Grimm's Fairy Tales, I don't care which edition, just make them old and actually grim."

Looking up, Wesley raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you might be ready to move up to a new level of taunting," she explained with a smirk, "and I wanted to give you some more inspiration."

"Sir?" Kyle said from the doorway.

"Ah," Johanna said. "Saved by your pretty assistant."

"What is it, Kyle? I was just about to have the pleasure of eviscerating one of my employees," Wesley said, his eyes never leaving Johanna's.

Kyle coughed and nervously shuffled his feet. "There's a problem down in the Science Lab, and, sir, I think you'll want to give this your personal attention."

"They really should be able to get their work done without me. Tell the so called department head that - " Wesley started, but was interrupted by Kyle.

"Sir, I really think this needs your attention."

---

Connor and Angel kept pace with each other for about ten steps before Connor darted ahead again to investigate an empty side tunnel in the sewer. As he moved back to Angel's side, he sidestepped and leapt several puddles like he was playing hopscotch.

"Sorry, it's always a little wet down here," Angel said.

"I don't mind," Connor answered in a rush and then grinned sheepishly. "I mean, I wouldn't care normally, but the shoes are part of my disguise." He zipped his coveralls up higher, covering his white shirt and tie even further. "Also, I can hear Mom in the back of my head telling me not to mess up my Sunday best."

Angel shifted his shoulder, stretching out a kink. "Moms are like that. Are you okay with this?"

"Yeah." Connor took several big steps over puddles so that he ended up several feet ahead into the tunnel junction they had reached. "I'm good. Just want to get on with it, you know."

"I know," Angel said, stopping in the middle of the open space, watching Connor check the side tunnels before heading back to the main one.

Connor paused, realizing he was alone. "Moving would be part of getting on with it." He inclined his head towards the tunnel.

"Going into a fight on overdrive or, you know, still pissed, is a bad idea." Angel said.

"You do that all the time. Besides, I'm not pissed," Connor said. He emphasized the frustrated outburst with his hands, which he then planted on his hips as he began to pace.

"I don't - " Angel frowned, glancing at the floor. "Okay, I may have done that once or... a dozen times, which doesn't make it a good tactic. You need to focus."

"I am focused." Connor's statement was punctuated by his foot landing in a puddle and splashing him up to the knee.

Without saying anything, Angel walked up to Connor and looked down at the puddle with him.

Connor sighed. "Okay, I was duped by a hot-looking girl, who I had to watch die horribly, so I would know exactly how the poison would kill me. I'm pissed, but not too pissed."

Laying a hand on Connor's shoulder, Angel gave it a squeeze. "You sure? You don't have to do this."

"Hey, I'm not the same kid who came out of Quor-toth," Connor said. "It's not all about revenge and getting the upper hand. It's about stopping Wes before he decides my family would make a good target the next time he has a point to prove."

Angel's brow scrunched in confusion. "Well, he actually - "

"I mean, I can't even think of what I'd feel like if he touched my sister, Megan." Connor looked up at Angel, who quickly nodded and looked down a side tunnel. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Taking his hand off Connor's shoulder, Angel scratched at the back of his neck. "Taking care of family is important. But I don't think Wes will go after your... them. Where Wes is concerned, it's all about me." Angel pointed a finger at Connor. "And if you give Spike that particular piece of ammo I'll..." He furrowed his brow into something ugly. "You won't like it."

"Yeah, sure." Connor laughed and stretched. "People used to be really scared of you?"

Angel rolled his eyes and started back down the tunnel. "Laugh, kid, laugh. They wrote books about me and the terror I caused."

"Well, they didn't have horror movies back then," Connor mused. "I bet it was easier to scare people."

With a grunt, Angel said. "People actually believed in monsters, you know."

Shrugging, Connor said, "That's what I'm saying. Have you seen modern movies? The prosthetics they make are way scarier than your face."

"Cheese," Angel said emphatically, "All cheese that only looks good with all that special effect stuff. It would never scare anyone up close and personal in an alley - " Angel stopped when he saw Connor grinning at him. "You're not funny."

"Yeah." Connor grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"This is it." Angel stopped under a square shaft, peering up. "I don't see anything dangerous, and since it's the emergency escape tunnel it's probably the one place that isn't booby-trapped. Before the building collapsed it led to a storage room. You might have to push your way past some boxes and stuff." He looked at Connor, who nodded and jumped up into the shaft, gripping the raised bits of metal that joined the sections.

"Connor," Angel called before his son could disappear out of sight.

"Yeah?" Connor looked down.

"Be careful," Angel said. When Connor continued waiting, expecting more, he added, "And I want you to know that I never wanted this kind of life for you. Never. But you're here, and you're good at what you do and... and I'm proud you're my son."

"You're not gonna cry or - " Connor gulped. " - sing, are you?"

Angel glared. "Still not funny. Listen, Connor-"

Connor's laugh floated down into the sewer. He twisted more so that he could look Angel in the eye. Seriously, he said, "Hey, I'm proud of you, too. And - " Connor glanced around the sewer and up the shaft. " - about all this. I'm here because I want to be here. I may not always use my superpowers to break into evil law firms, but today this is who I am."

---

Kyle dashed ahead, turning around to walk backwards so he could face Wesley as he spoke. "Security noted her coming in this morning. She spent some time in the lobby... um, communing."

"Communing?" Wesley asked.

"With the potted plants. She's done it before, and security has orders not to disturb her," Kyle said and then hastily added, "Your orders."

"Yes, yes, I know what I ordered," Wesley said tersely as he walked through the door that Kyle held open into the science lab.

The lab had not changed substantially with the power transition in the CEO's office. A dozen people bustled about in sterile white lab coats as an assortment of equipment blinked and beeped around them. The technicians took turns muttering to one another and furtively looking at a silver console in the middle of the laboratory.

A sweet southern voice filled the room, causing everyone to go still. "There we go. Good as new." From behind a piece of equipment, Fred stood up and straightened her glasses, pushing them up on her nose. After she handed a white-faced technician a wrench, she pulled out her barrette and adjusted her mane of brown hair.

"It was nothing, just a tweak to the mounting bolts and a tightening of the belt." Fred smiled at the technician, who remained frozen in place. "Of course if I ever have to get down on my knees again for nothing, I'll take your insides and string them up around the walls for garland." Pressing her hand against the technician's chest, she leaned in conspiratorially. "It'll save time decorating for the big company party at Halloween." Hugging her clipboard to her chest, she gave a big grin as her shoulders came up near her ears.

"Illyria," Wesley snapped. "What are you doing?"

"What pleases me," Illyria said in Fred's voice, absent of more characteristic lightness in favor of a more commanding selfishness. The blankness in her eyes confirmed the true occupant of Fred's body.

Moving to railing of the stairs overlooking the lab, Wesley laid his hand lightly on the rail, which sent the lab personnel scurrying even more but which did not seem to impress Illyria in the slightest. "I told you that I no longer wanted to see you."

Illyria's smile was cold as she spread her arms, encompassing the space. "And thus I have come to this place and not to your office. It is you who has sought out me. Did you not say that my remaining in this form would not bother you?"

Wesley flinched and gripped the railing harder. "I don't care what form you wish to take on, but you will not step in here and attempt to live some parody of Fred's life. You have no job here and no purpose other than to taunt me."

Johanna stepped forward, pressing a speed dial on her cell phone and holding it to her ear. "Illyria, you and the senior partners may have had their past differences, but they might see their way clear to offer a woman - man - " Johanna frowned and then abruptly smiled at Wesley. " - an eminently qualified former god-king a position. That is, if you're were willing to sign a contract."

"What was that suggestion before about making decorations out of internal organs?" Wesley said

"Uh...sir. " Kyle hesitated and then took a step back when Wesley's hand tensed into a fist.

"What is it now Kyle?" Wesley moved his glare from Johanna's stare back to Illyria, who waited with an impassive expression on her face.

"Mr. Gunn is up in the lobby, and security says that he's causing trouble," Kyle said.

"Ah." Unclenching his fist, Wesley visibly relaxed. "It's now very clear that there is nothing - " He glanced at Illyria before refocusing his attention on Kyle. " - that requires my attention here. Let security know that I'll stop in the lobby for a moment on my way back to my office. I trust that they will have dealt with the situation before I arrive."

Kyle stepped out of Wesley's way as he headed towards the door. "Anything else, sir?" he asked with a nervous look at Illyria's face, whose expression was darkening.

"Yes, escort Illyria out of the building and see to it the orders are changed to keep her out," Wesley said as he continued to walk.

"Sir, I don't... think that... I," Kyle stammered, his face blanching.

"Be creative," Wesley said as the door slammed behind him.

Slowly, Kyle turned around to face Illyria. He grabbed the railing as his knees buckled slightly.

---

Gunn forced an eight-by-ten flyer of a Chinkaer demon into the security guard's hands, distracting him from his attempted grab at Gunn's arm. Wincing, the guard turned his head away from the picture, but almost like he couldn't help himself he looked down at the mismatched set of eyes, mouths, ears, and what might have been snouts.

Jabbing his finger at the top of the text at the top, which read, 'REFUGEE', Gunn spoke in low into serious tones. "This is what I'm talking about. The sense of entitlement that corporate America feels it has over the man and the demon on the street." As the guard gaped in confusion, Gunn spun away, forcing more flyers into unwilling hands, his volume slowly rising.

"You come into these marble halls everyday, making white-collar war on demons that scratch out a living with their claws and pincers, who if they're lucky manage to settle in some a stucco-sided, cookie-cutter house in a development full of dead ends. Have you ever driven in a sub-division? Dead ends, people. Dead ends! Are you listening? These demons suck it up, settle down, and when all they want is decent cable you step in and bulldoze down the only affordable housing in town. For what?"

With the determination of a politician, Gunn grabbed the hand of another guard, pumping it in a bone-crushing handshake. Gunn's face was filled with the fierce light of a sidewalk preacher as he nodded at the guard, acknowledging their solidarity. This only seemed to confuse the guard, who accepted one of Gunn's flyers in his left hand as he shook out the right.

"For what, I ask you?" Gunn continued. "So that Wolfram & Hart and every evil corporation downtown can have access to unhallowed burial grounds and cursed breeding pits, mining the ancestors and the eggs yet to be for spell ingredients and dark rituals, forcing the native demons further and further out of their enclaves and into the human populations!"

Jumping in front of a woman sleek black suit, Gunn made her stop by sticking the demon poster in her face. "Is this what you want on the playground with your kid, trying to convince him that magic powders are cool and there's nothing wrong with blood sacrifices? Shouldn't those be lessons for the home?"

"I - " The woman gaped and then burst into tears.

"That's it!" A burly marine-faced security guard latched onto Gunn's arm and started pulling him to the door.

Gunn followed willingly. "Just so you know, I know you're a guy who's just doing his job because where else you gonna find a job in L.A. if not with some sleeze-ball corporations." The guard stared rolling his eyes in answer, but they bugged out and rolled back as Gunn hit him with a taser.

Gunn watched the guard drop to the ground and then started walking back to the center of the lobby. "Y'all should know, I'm a man on a mission."

"Undoubtedly," said Wesley in a voice loud enough to cut through the confused talk spreading through the lobby. "By the way, bravo." His stilted applause sent the others into silence. "It's rare that I see such a fine performance."

Gunn's shoulders eased into a comfortable slouch as he slowly held up one of his posters. "So did I move you to do right by the demon population?"

"Oh, rest assured, I'm already taking care of the demons." Wesley turned away to the guard at the reception desk and addressed him in a bored voice. "George, I take it that all the standard measures are in place for when Angel breaks into the basement at any moment?"

The portly security guard at the desk shot Gunn a look of contempt and then sat up a little straighter as he addressed Wesley. "Mr. Pryce, everything is in ready as per your standing orders." An electronic ping pulled George's attention back down to the monitor in front of him. "Sir, the psychics are reporting a vampire in the sub-basement, near the vault."

With a satisfied smile, Wesley casually slid a hand into his pocket and looked at Gunn. "Right on time. It's good to know how predictable some people are." Turning to Johanna, he continued, "Take a security force down and deal with our intruder."

There was a faint, almost admiring smile on Johanna's face before she resumed her businesslike demeanor. "Anything in particular?" Pointing at several of the guards, she moved through the parting crowd and boarded elevator.

"Johanna, who am I to second-guess your knowledge of the Senior Partners' wishes?" Wesley asked and was rewarded with a catty smirk.

As the door closed, Wesley turned back to Gunn. "Really, you could have been less obvious. What was it last time you two tried this maneuver?" With a casual roll to his shoulders, Wesley took a billy-club off the belt of one of the guards, bouncing it lightly in his hand. "Ah yes, the Prophecy of Aberjian. Did you forget that you told me all about it when I was lying in the hospital a year later after I was shot by the bullet meant for you?"

Gunn slowly shook his head, a cold smile on his face, acknowledging the levels of ugliness Wesley was apparently willing to go to.

"Sir, the psychics are reporting a vampire in the lowest sub-basement next to the vault, and - " George started.

"Yes, I know." With a look of mild frustration, Wesley slapped the club into his hand a bit harder. "What is it this time, Gunn? What is Angel after?"

"Sir - " Sweat had broken out on George's puffy face.

"What is it?" Wesley turned his full attention on the obviously flustered guard.

"Vampire, sir."

"Yes. I know." Wesley's voice was slow as if he were speaking to a child, but anger was edging into it. "We've sent a security team to intercept Angel."

George spoke in a rush. "Yes, sir. I just wanted to know what to do about the vampire on the roof?"

---

The shadow of a nearby office building cut the roof of the Wolfram & Hart building in half. Standing on the shaded side, Spike looked back at the construction crane swaying in the breeze. With gloved hands, he pulled his leather bomber cap tighter on his head, straightening his tinted goggles. "The flying ace has landed successfully behind enemy lines."

Pulling out a cigarette, Spike lit up as he headed towards a ventilation duct. He paused momentarily at the edge of the sunlight and then jogged in, frowning at the smoke rising off the patch of skin exposed at the wrist. Tugging the glove a bit tighter, he used his lighter to spark off the wick of a string of fireworks. Tossing it into the opening, he rushed back into the shade as it banged and ricocheted down the metal duct. The smoke highlighted the crisscross of laser beams in the opening.

"Not bad," he said and then turned his attention to a nearby skylight. Pulling a pry bar from inside his coat, Spike pounded on the thick plastic surface. As the clear shards of the skylight cascaded down, wooden stakes and jagged metal spikes burst though the shaft walls.

"Bit prickly," Spike muttered and swung down, using the stakes and spikes as a makeshift ladder. There was a pile of broken glass at the bottom, sitting on another glass dome, through which Spike could glimpse the top of a cubicle farm.

With a smile on his face he dropped, letting his fall take out the dome, several ceiling tiles, and a folding table below. The coffee maker, packets of tea and sugar, and a container of non-dairy creamer that had been on the table went flying. Using vampire speed to jump to his feet, Spike found himself facing an agitated crowd of office workers. Several screamed and ran.

"Lovely time of day for crane climbing. The building puts most of the north side in shadow, but I suppose you lot are used to dark shadows hanging over you." Spike shed his hat and goggles, stray sugar packets falling to the floor.

Several people were on the phone, babbling at high speed. Spike brought his hands together in loud clap. "Now, then, I'll need someone with a security clearance. What about you?"

The pencil-thin black woman, her ID badge identifying her as Keisha, casually stirred her the coffee. "Are you even a threat? You worked here for almost a year, and all we heard about was 'I'm a good guy' and 'I got a soul'. A little fangless, if you ask me."

"Fang- " Spike bit off the word. "Do you want to see fangs? I can do fangs." His face shifted as he marched forward, sending office workers scurrying in his wake.

Keisha dropped her coffee and held up both hands, taking a step back, "Fine! fine. If you want clearance, we can help you with that." She abruptly pulled a chair away from a desk, revealing a middle-aged man cowering beneath. Allow me to introduce our boss, Dick."

"Richard. My name is Richard!" He peaked out from under the table, the blood draining from his face as he met Spike's eyes.

---

Several people screamed as Angel batted a security guard into a wall with a desk chair. He addressed the small panicking crowd. "You know, the screams of terror are something I've really missed over the years."

Turning completely pale, one man shoved his way through a crowd of coworkers, sending several tumbling to the ground as he fought his way into the stairwell.

Shaking his head, Angel smiled. "That was one hell of a magical lock on the trap door. I'd send Wes my compliments, but he should have really put a little more effort into buying quality hinges to hold it in place."

Whistling, he picked up the guard's unconscious body and dragged him to the vault. After swiping the man's security badge, Angel put the man's limp hand on the identity scanner for a fingerprint read. The door to the vault room popped open with a satisfying click, revealing a gray steel door and oversized tumbler. Dropping the guard's body, Angel reached into his own pocket.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and six security guards spilled out, deploying themselves behind various pieces of furniture, stakes in hand. Johanna stepped out behind them, standing out in the open. "You know, I'm going to have to agree with Wesley concerning your lack of originality," she said.

Spinning the lock and slapping the unmoving lever, Angel turned and tapped a finger against his chin. "Josie... No, that was with pussycats."

"Is that how a Champion spends his time, watching cartoons? I can assure you that these men are not the cuddly sort that you may be used to," Johanna said, studying her nails.

"Jody - "

"Jo-hanna." She dropped her hand and glared at Angel.

"Ah, that's it. You haven't been as memorable as some of your predecessors, you know. So, Johanna, we shouldn't pick on each other's hobbies. I mean you seem to be spending your time as an errand girl for an animated corpse."

With the shake of her head, she smiled. "Do you think a petty thief is worth his time? Mr. Pryce is CEO over a very large corporation, as you should know."

"That hurts." Angel put his hand on his chest. "Wes and I were best friends once, and all I get now is a minion from middle management."

Johanna's lips thinned and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "What do you want?" she demanded, dropping the façade of friendliness. "Why are you here?"

"I've let the Senior Partners know what I want. Funny, they don't seem interested in disappearing into oblivion for me." Angel took several rapid steps backwards, causing the guards to charge.

Angel dove behind a desk. "In the meantime, I'll settle for Wesley's head on a platter."

The room filled with the roar of an explosion.

---

George's eyes became wider as he held the wireless earpiece and read the reports rolling in on the security monitor. "Mr. Pryce, we have multiple explosions. Wait, no, check that - one explosion in the basement and... and Illyria. She seems to be moving floor by floor, destroying anything in her path."

The remaining bystanders began nudging quickly towards the front door, occasionally bumping into one another, their previously quiet murmurs becoming much louder. One of the security guards near Wesley whispered, "Just like the beast, I'm telling you - "

"Stop it," Wesley snapped, moving few steps closer. The guard who'd spoken immediately backed up, staring at the floor. "All of you keep your senses." Wesley glared at the security guards. "This is just an elaborate smoke screen. I trained you better than this, and I think it's time you escorted Mr. Gunn to a more secure area."

"Hey, Wes," Gunn called from a spot near the revolving door.

Wesley turned, his eyes furrowing as he studied the device in Gunn's hands, which looked like a game controller. Curious, he edged closer. "What is that?"

Gunn asked, "You remember when we used to spend an entire weekend doing nothing but watching movies, playing video games, and ordering in pizza?"

Wesley's frowned deepened. "What?"

With a disappointed look on his face, Gunn shook his head. "Yeah. Me, neither." With practiced grace, he pulled the trigger on the controller, and acrid smoke began pouring out of every planter box in the lobby.

---

A large cardboard box fell over, and several industrial-sized rolls of toilet paper bounced on their sides and rolled into the other metal shelves as Connor pushed the vent cover off the wall and into the box. After shimmying out of the emergency escape tunnel and kicking away a few of the stray rolls of toilet tissue, he unzipped his coveralls and yanked them off.

As he straightened his tie and dusted off his clothes, he checked himself over as carefully as he could. He was still a little rumpled and a bit dusty. "Not exactly dressed for success," he muttered. Picking up the coveralls, he glanced around the and tossed them behind a shelf.

When he stepped out into the hall, there were two men in nicely tailored suits standing off to the side, talking over a report. One of the men looked at him and then over at the door. "You okay in there?"

Staring open mouthed for a moment, Connor shook his head and then caught himself. "Ah, yeah, everything's fine. You know how it is. You go to pick something up..." Connor looked at his empty hand. "Or... put something away, and it's always got to go on the top shelf behind everything else."

The man who asked said, "No, we don't know what that's like."

Connor became pale.

The man's companion laughed, "Yeah, intern. Toilet paper - not part of our job description."

With a nervous laugh, Connor pointed at the men. Shaking their heads, they turned and headed towards some offices. Connor's laugh trailed off. "Maybe I'll take the stairs."

---

"Come on, Dick." Spike shoved his portly hostage in the back, trying to get him to move.

"Richard." The man stopped and turned, glaring at Spike. "Is it so much to ask that you treat your fellow human beings with some - "

Spike shifted into vamp face and gave a flourish with his hand.

Dick's sweaty face knitted itself into a frown, making the man look like a shriveled apple. "I'm sorry. That was speciesist of me. I've been through diversity training and realize that my remark may have come off as insensitive."

"Are you kidding me?" Spike rolled his eyes and allowed his face to shift back. Pointing down the hall, he said, "Quit stalling."

With shoulders slumped Dick turned around and took a plodding step or two until Spike pushed him again. "Okay, okay, I get the point, you're in a rush to ruin my career."

"If you want, I'll give you some nice bruises so you can claim you resisted," Spike offered.

"Bruises won't be good enough," Dick told him.

"I could break some bones," Spike said and then muttered low, "Starting right now."

"They have psychics!" Dick said, twisting and trying to dodge around Spike.

Spike spun him around and propelled him several feet forward with a kick in the ass. "And look, we've finally arrived." They were standing in front of a set of double metal doors, simply marked, 'Files & Records'. Spike poked Dick in the arm.

"Stop! Stop with the violence already. I've got the badge right here." Dick swiped his ID badge and laid his hand on the palm reader. There was a long buzzing sound, and Spike opened the door, pushing Dick ahead of him.

"You don't nee- " Dick started but then stopped when he caught the look on Spike's face.

"How may I help you?" An elderly woman sat behind the desk, tapping at a keyboard.

"Yeah, we're here took take a look at some contracts," Spike replied.

"Name and passcode, please."

Dick glared at Spike but then cleared his throat and said," Richard Boxler. Passcode 6636E-8MKGS.

The woman smiled, tapping the numbers into her keyboard. "Let's see, Richard Boxler, 6 6 3 6 E - 8 M K G S, is that right?" As she repeated the numbers, boredom took a firm hold on Spike's face.

"That's it," Dick confirmed.

"Accessing authorizations," she said.

As the woman's eyes began to spin like the wheels of a slot machine, Spike stood a little straighter. "What in the hell are you?"

The woman cocked her had off to the side, smiling sweetly as her eyes continued to spin. "I'm Files & Records. Authorization check complete." Files & Records pressed a final key on her computer and then stood and sent her heavy metal desk careening towards Spike and Dick.

---

Connor quickly dropped back into a crouch between a file cabinet and a potted plant. The last of the employees seemed to be fleeing the executive floor in a Illyria-induced panic.

The god-king, still in Fred's guise, was sizing up the various objects in the room. With the odd tilt of her head she picked up a potted plant and carefully pulled the plant out, setting its dirtball on the carpet. She studied the basket for a moment before beginning to unravel it meticulously, dropping the pieces on the head of Wesley's assistant, Kyle, who was hanging onto her ankle.

"Please," Kyle whimpered hoarsely. "Please stop. I'll get fired."

Glancing down, Illyria seemed to notice him for the first time as she continued to shred the planter on top of him. She shook her leg, trying to dislodge him, but it did not stop Kyle's pleading.

"Please! I'll do anything. Anything you want!" he said.

Slowly Connor shifted the plant he was hiding behind, getting ready to dash across the open space. The movement caught Illyria's attention, and she frowned. Focusing on Kyle, she asked, "How could a mere mortal understand the desires of a god?"

Connor took a breath, poised to move, when Kyle pulled himself up on his elbow and began frantically looking around the room. "I don't. I don't know how to please a god, but, but..." Kyle turned his wet eyes up to gaze at Illyria, and an elated smile filled his face. "You're listening to me? I've been begging for twenty floors!"

Sneering, Illyria shook her leg and Kyle with it. "Pathetic. You expect a god to listen to the buzzing of insects?" Taking a few quick steps, she turned, dragging Kyle with her so that his back was to Connor, who took the opportunity to inch silently across the space.

With a certain amount of desperation, Kyle pleaded again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm a pathetic lowlife scum that isn't worthy to touch the hem of your..." He took in Illyria's Fred-inspired wardrobe and finally blurted, "Lab coat."

A small and cruel smile crossed Illyria's face. "Yet you cling to my shoe."

Somewhat horrified, Kyle released her foot and stared at it as if he had preformed a profane act on a holy relic. "I- I'm sorry." Pulling down his sleeve, he immediately began to polish the sensible black pump.

Illyria checked Connor's progress and then bestowed a small smile on Kyle as she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his knees. "You are the sycophant who waits upon Wesley. You appear to understand your place, and the purple marks on your skin are not unattractive." She let go of his hair, brushing off her hands as if she had touched something distasteful. "You may worship me."

Kyle fell face-first back to the floor grateful but picked himself immediately. "No offense, but I..." His tongue fumbled over the words as she locked her eyes on him and slowly picked up a vase, a vase that happened to have its own pedestal with a spotlight directed on it and a small brass plaque that said something about third century BC. His expression went through a complicated dance - fear of being hit, fear for the priceless object being destroyed, and then finally acceptance. Lowering his eyes, Kyle licked Illyria's shoe.

Connor paused, open mouthed, glancing between Kyle's shoe-licking and the contented look on Illyria's face. Around the corner and down the hall, the sounds of elevator doors opening and Wesley's voice snapped Connor back to the fact that he was still out in the open.

"Would one of you crack security designers please explain to me the value of the security cameras watching the emergency tunnel if we don't send security to pick up intruders?" Wesley demanded.

"Sir, those cameras were primarily installed to prevent petty theft among the employees. No one's supposed to know about the emergency tunnel," a man replied.

"Yes, thank you, Sims. It makes me feel so much better knowing that there will always be rubber bands. I assume that there's a detachment searching for Connor. I doubt that he - like his father, Mr. Gunn, and Illyria - is here for a friendly visit."

Turning towards the elevators, Connor took a few steps forward, his eyes narrowing and his hands balling themselves into fists.

"Good slaves and minions do their leader's bidding without question," Illyria said quietly enough that only Connor and Kyle could hear her. She was watching Kyle, pushing her shoe harder against his mouth. "They do their assignments and do not pause for their own pleasure of revenge." Her head snapped up and she glared at Connor.

Connor glanced in the direction of the elevator once more and finally dove into the first open office, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Sir, we have reports from the top floor. It's Spike," Sims said.

"Our security stops neither man nor vampire. There's only one place of value on that floor and - " Wesley stopped short as he came around the corner and took in the sight of Kyle polishing Illyria's shoe with his tongue. As he looked up, Illyria locked her eyes on him.

"Sir, Files & Records was enhanced - " Sims started.

"We've had enough slip-ups today. Get up there and stop him." Snapping his head around, Wesley glared at his team. "All of you."

---

As Angel broke the nose of the guard in front of him, he could see Johanna crawling out from under the body of an unconscious guard. Another guard had been caught full on with the blast of the explosion and was lying in a crumpled heap near the door.

"You might as well stay on the floor, Johanna, because you're only ending up back there," Angel said, twisting a stake out of another guard's hand and breaking his wrist.

"Some of us can still count and see that you're outnumbered. Based on your file, I know you weren't big on acquiring useful business skills in your youth." Johanna said. She got to her feet and dusted off her jacket, calmly watching the battle in front of her.

Letting out a short, mirthless laugh, Angel grabbed the guard with the broken wrist and slammed his head into that of a guard who was charging. "You can't judge the quality of fine linen on thread count alone. Sorry it's taking me so long to get to you, but these bodies just keep getting in my way."

"That's what I'm counting on," Johanna said as she started pulling open the stairwell door. Before she could move it more than a few inches, a guard slammed into it sideways about a foot over her head. Johanna jumped back, and the guard fell unconscious to the floor, blocking her exit.

Angel became a blur of motion, catching Johanna's arm and twisting it behind her back. "Not leaving me so soon, are you?" he whispered in her ear.

She grunted, tears coming to her eyes. "I think one of us has over-stayed his welcome."

"Nonsense," Angel said as he turned Johanna around and shoved her through the open vault door.

---

"Kyle, get up," Wesley said crossly.

For a panicked moment, Kyle glanced between Wesley and Illyria. The look on her face dared him to move, while the one on Wesley's dared him not to. Kyle whimpered and stayed where he was.

"Kyle, I said get up. It would kill you as soon as have sex with you." Wesley was moving towards Illyria. Though he addressed his assistant, his attention focused on her. "Also keep in mind that you'll still be working for me after you're dead when she has no more use for you."

Kyle glared momentarily at Wesley, whose attention was too focused Illyria to notice.

Losing his patience, Wesley gave up the staring contest to look down at Kyle. "Show some survival instincts and move."

Getting up on his hands and knees, Kyle started to back away slowly, but got up and ran for the stairwell as soon as he was out of reach.

Wesley took the ancient vase out of Illyria's hand and placed it back on its stand. "Now that we're not distracted, tell me what Angel is here for."

Folding her arms across her chest, she turned her nose up into the air. "I have told you."

"Of course you have," Wes said calmly. "Tell me, Illyria, how does it feel to be backup? To be the sidekick and not the leader. Does it give you pleasure to serve the will of others?"

Illyria's head snapped around, glaring at Wesley through hard blue eyes, her own once more in Fred's face. "I go where I please. I take what I want."

Casually, Wesley began moving around the reception area, righting chairs and kicking away debris. "Yet you're still here in Los Angeles with Angel. I thought you would have been bored by now and wanting a larger range of experiences."

Illyria approached him slowly, her smile as sweet as Fred's. She slid her hand up and down Wesley's back, her voice was filled with all the innocence that Fred had ever possessed. "But Wesley, you promised to show me around, teach me about this world. Why would I ever venture far from you?"

With swift, stiff steps, Wesley moved away from her, facing the spectacular view of Los Angeles and obviously not even seeing it. "Why would a god need a dead man for a teacher? Why does the god need to imitate a dead woman?"

Peaking out the door, Connor emerged from the office and hesitated, eyeing Wesley's exposed back. Illyria stepped between them, tilting her head towards the stairs before moving between Wesley and the window. From her vantage point she was able to watch a grim-faced Connor duck into the stairwell.

Gesturing the length of her body, Illyria said, "This bothers you, despite your claim that it does not. Would this form be more pleasing?" In the blink of an eye, the guise of Fred dissolved into Illyria's own form, with her blue armor and unblinking eyes.

When Wesley did not respond, she continued, "No? What of these others?"

Rapidly, Illyria's form changed: a thin cotton dress over pale white skin, then over blue skin. Pokka-dot baby doll pajamas while she nibbled on a finger with plump, pink lips, soft ringlets framing her face. Illyria's bare blue skin corseted in fitted black leather armor and thigh-high boots, showing off chiseled Amazonian muscle.

Soldier, secretary, scientist, the forms changed too rapidly for Wesley to register all of them. Blue skin and peaches-and-cream blurred and mixed so that Wesley was not sure at any point if the body beneath the clothing was wholly Fred or Illyria's. Through it all, Wesley remained stiff, refusing to react until Illyria paused in a combination that Wesley had not expected.

Her skin was tinged green, showing off the softness of Fred's curves, with Illyria's eyes framed by glitter-coated false eyelashes. It was some sort of dancing girl costume complete with feathers, fishnets, and stiletto heels. "Fred was disappointed that was not able to show you pictures of this disguise she wore," Illyria said. "She was very sure you were inordinately attracted to bare legs and high heels."

"Are you done?" asked Wesley in a bored voice.

"I think that Fred was wrong," Illyria said. "Perhaps this form."

Again her body blurred, this time towards black clothing. Fred's long hair was tied up so tight that it looked as if it'd been cut short. No make-up highlighted her fair skin, which stood out in contrast to the masculine cut silk shirt open at the throat with a V. The leather pants were fitted, but not tight enough to reveal the curves of her frame. The men's shoes were perfectly cut to match her small feet. Even her masculine posture lent itself to the drag she was wearing, all topped off with a mid-length leather coat.

Wesley's brows came together in a frown. "What?"

Illyria's face shifted in a more familiar manner into bumps, ridges and glowing yellow eyes, a hiss escaping her fanged mouth.

---

The sound of cloth ripping preceded the clanging thud of Johanna's body slamming into the wall of metal drawers in the back of the vault. Without so much as a sigh, Johanna calmly inspected the torn seam, which separated the sleeve from the rest of her suit jacket. With a sniff she removed the entire jacket.

"So, tell me, what did the Senior Partners do for Wes that's making him stick around?" Angel asked as he began opening drawers and spilling the contents onto the floor.

Laughing, Johanna slowly rose, rubbing her upper arm where Angel had grabbed her. "Negotiations are not my specialty. You'll have to take it up with Wesley or my superiors, but I suspect that you're not anxious to speak with them. You do know we can sue for the kind of damage you're doing right now?"

Angel upended the drawer he was holding onto the growing pile of jewels, vials, bones, and ancient scrolls. "Ask me if I care."

"Tell me what you want, and maybe we can curb your destructive tendencies," Johanna said. Watching Angel's back, she wrapped her hands around a tall candlestick, made of solid gold and etched with esoteric markings. "I think you might find me more helpful than you'd imagine. Wesley and I don't always see eye to eye." Pulling back the heavy object, she swung it at him.

Without a backwards glance, Angel reached out and grabbed the candlestick as it came towards his head. "Now, that's not very helpful," he said mournfully as if to a small child. He yanked hard on Johanna's weapon, sending her stumbling forward.

"Oh, please. What the hell do you want?" Johanna spat, her composure vanishing.

Angel grabbed Johanna by the throat and slammed her into the wall of drawers again. He held her there, choking, her feet dangling a foot off of the ground.

---

Spike threw Dick and himself to the floor just in time to dodge the desk, which slammed into the wall hard enough to break through into the hallway. Untangling himself, Spike launched Dick over the top of the desk and out of the way. "My, Granny, how strong you are. Been pushing the steroids?"

"I am Files & Records. Unauthorized access to records shall be prevented by any means." Shrugging off her sweater, the clerk stood up a head taller than Spike had expected and moved like someone - or perhaps something - forty years younger.

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Blocking a blow to his face, Spike wasn't prepared for the fist that nailed him in the gut. "Bloody good thing I don't need to breathe," he gasped, dodging another punch and landing a powerful kick. It didn't slow her down.

Spike ducked, and Files & Records' fist whooshed through the place his head formerly occupied with what looked like considerable force. "It wasn't me that gave you the bad password or whatever," he said. "Going after the wrong bloke."

"Proper intruder code was given." Files & Records jumped up on the table and assuming a martial arts stance.

"Intruder code?" Spike asked as leapt up on the table, dodging a series of punches and kicks. Hooking his foot behind her ankle, Spike jerked her off of her feet. She landed on her back, orthopedic shoes momentarily flying in the air.

"That's right!" Dick shouted. He used the desk to drag himself to his feet. "New security protocols, vampire!"

Files & Records rolled off the table, grabbing a metal lectern and launching it toward his head as her eyes spun around. Spike jumped to the side. The throw set her off balance long enough for him to land a solid punch to her jaw that knocked her to the ground.

Spike smiled. "There we are. Now, Dick, you're awfully cheerful for a man facing impending death - the one I'm going to give you." He started walking towards the wide-eyed man.

Files & Records spoke, "Vampire. Most effective weapons: wood, fire, holy water, sunlight."

"Huh?" Spike turned in time to see the woman swinging a wooden chair at him. Putting his back to her, he took the legs of the chair on his shoulder, propelling him to his knees in front of a long row of filing cabinets. "Oh yeah, Grandma, take this." Grabbing the handle of the nearest drawer, Spike went to pull it out and swing it at her. The drawer didn't move. Spike ducked his head as Files and Records broke the chair over his back.

Dick chortled and bounced on his feet. "She locked down all the records so even if you somehow manage to save your sorry undead ass, you won't get anything."

Rolling away, Spike caught Files & Records' legs in his own, sending her sprawling to the floor. "After I'm done with her, mate, you're next!"

Dick blanched at the anger on Spike's face. Speaking rapidly, he began backing towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go back to work."

Spike snarled, but his attention was diverted back to Files & Records as she got back to her feet. He landed a series of rapid-fire punches that made her back up, but they didn't seem to otherwise do any significant damage. "What're you made of, adamantium?"

Dick laughed as he stepped out the door. "You sure picked the wro -!" The word turned into a squawk as he came flying backwards into the room and landed in a heap.

With one eye still on her, Spike jumped away from Files & Records to face the new foe.

"Hey, Spike," Connor said as he sauntered in. He frowned as he sized up the little old lady in with disheveled clothes and fly-away steel gray hair. "How's it going? Need any help?"

"Nah," Spike said. "I've got everything under - "

Files & Records shoved the edge of the table into Spike's gut, bowling him over.

---

Illyria held perfectly still as Wesley stared at her. Her normally placid self-confidence had shifted from her ramrod-straight stance into something looser, more fluid. There was a sense of calm anticipation and watchfulness, as if she was poised to go any direction at any moment.

"Is this supposed to bother me?" Wesley asked, his voice a bit ragged.

"Your question indicates that it does, whether I wish it to or not."

Wesley shifted his weight very slightly and then smoothed his expression. "Such posturing should be beneath a god-king," he said.

Illyria nodded slowly, breaking out of the stillness of her newest form to walk around Wesley in a measured circle. The bony ridges of her vampire face did not disguise its thoughtful expression. "This has been said to me before."

Wesley's fingers tightened into a fist. "You are Illyria. Such... trappings do not become you."

She came to a halt, facing him. "Do you wish convince me of this, or yourself?"

Wesley's eyes widened the smallest amount. "Do you hope to disturb me in some way? Bother me with this desecration to who Fred was?"

Illyria tilted her head in a way that was hers, no matter what form she imitated. "You no longer sound bored."

"And you are stalling me," Wesley snapped.

"Yes. Successfully, as you continue to stand here and stare at me." Backing up, Illyria surveyed Wesley from head to toe. Her golden eyes moved rapidly over his body, searching.

"What are you looking for?" Wesley asked. "What do you want from me?"

"Something that you do not have," Illyria said, abruptly sliding back into her normal blue. Turning, she stalked out of the room, snatching up the small tree she had un-potted earlier.

---

Wincing, Connor swung his legs as he sat on the desk. "Are you sure I can't help you?"

"No," Spike said, wiping some blood off his swollen lip. "This assignment's mine. I got her right where - " Spike jumped to the side as Files & Records slammed the broken leg of a chair into a metal cabinet next to him. " - I want her."

"Uh-huh," Connor said. "Since you've got her where you want her, maybe you could get her over there." He pointed to the other side of the room. "Then maybe I could do the file part. You know, doing the things that interns are good at."

"Lovely idea," Spike said, dodging another makeshift stake and landing a solid punch to her face. "You might have a bit of trouble." He leapt onto the table and then slid off the other side. "It seems that Granny here locked out all the drawers. Give me a minute, and I'll have her begging me to open them back up."

"Uh-huh," Connor said with a doubtful shrug. He watched Files & Records get up and move towards Spike. They were warily sizing each other up from opposite sides of the table. Turning to the long row of filing cabinets, Connor paused and frowned. "Spike, we've got a problem."

"Really? I'm having a positively delightful time," Spike growled, tossing a stapler, a tape dispenser, and a coffee mug at Files & Records, who dodged them easily. "What's wrong?"

"There're no markings on the drawers. All the slips of paper are white." Connor said, trying a few drawers and finding them locked.

The woman sprang onto the table and sent a kick towards Spike's head, which he avoided by diving under the table and rolling to the opposite side. "They all had letters and whatnot when I walked in."

"We don't actually have time for this. Did I mention that I beat up the four guards Wesley sent to get you?" Connor asked.

Cartwheeling off of the table, Files & Records landed between Spike and Connor, facing Spike. She flexed her arthritic-looking hands.

"Thanks for that." Spike landed a right cross and then kicked Files & Records sending her backwards towards Connor. "Grab that, would you?"

"You got it," Connor said as he jumped into the fray and pinned both of Files & Records' arms behind her back. "Uh - " Connor grunted with the effort of holding her. "If you could do whatever you're going to do, quick."

There was the sound of metal hitting rock when Spike slammed a full-sized paper cutter into Files & Records' head. Connor and Spike exchanged wide-eyed looks at the noise. Spike held the heavy piece of equipment to deal her a second blow, but Files & Records slumped in Connor's arms. He dropped her to the floor and backed up a few steps. She didn't move.

After another moment of watching her still form, Spike said, "Right." He bashed the paper cutter into the top corner of the first cabinet. After three blows the lock popped open. "Take a look at this one, and I'll go to work on another." He moved further down the line and continued assaulting the cabinets.

"Spike..." Connor said, flipping through the documents in one drawer.

"What now?" Spike swung hard, breaking the lock with a satisfying crunch. Tossing aside his makeshift weapon, he pulled open the drawer.

"White paper, it's all white paper," Connor said.

Spike tossed file after file out of the drawer, his glower getting darker by the second. "Oh, balls," he growled. "We're not leaving here empty-handed after all that. The contract's got to be here."

Connor slammed his drawer shut. "It probably is, and if we could find it we could probably figure out how to break the spell, but it's not like we can take all file cabinets with us."

"Maybe she didn't zap them all," Spike said, picking up the paper cutter again and attacking the next cabinet.

"Spike!" Connor waited until Spike looked up. Patting his chest, Connor said, "I took a folder out of Johanna's office. We might not have exactly what we came for, but we're not empty-handed."

---

Despite the tears of pain in her eyes, Johanna laughed. "How unimaginative. Exactly how many times did you grab Lilah by the neck? I note that in the multiple times you did it that you somehow managed not to kill her. Were you a secret admirer?"

She choked and gasped as Angel squeezed harder. Forcing a smile, she went on. "No, no, what am I thinking? It was that pathetic traitor Lindsey that you had eyes for. Tell me, did you keep him prisoner here so that you could break him and finally make him suck your - " Desperate noises escaped Johanna's throat as she struggled to take in air.

Bringing his face very close to hers, Angel lowered his voice as if speaking to a lover. "No. I'm not thinking of any of them. I want you to know that today I'm here only for you." A loud snapping sound ended the strangled noises Johanna had been making.

Stepping back, Angel let her body fall to the floor, splayed out like a rag doll. Deep bruising mottled the smooth skin of her throat. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, her neck obviously broken.

The ring of a cell phone filled the room. Angel pulled his phone from his pocket. "Hello? Connor, are you all right?" He nodded as he listened and watched the purple bruising rise on Johanna's neck. "I'm good, too. I was just admiring some art while I waited for word that the two of you were out. See you soon." He snapped the phone closed and turned away from the body.

There was a hoarse laugh, drawing Angel's attention back. Johanna's eyes flew open as a twisted smile spread across her face. "You didn't think you could kill me that easily?"

Squatting down, Angel smiled at her and then affixed a small white blob of putty with an electronic box just a few inches above Johanna's head. "As a matter of fact, I didn't."

The box beeped, flashing eight, seven... Standing, Angel walked out of the vault, letting the door swing shut with a heavy clang, and dropped easily into the sewer opening. A huge, fiery red explosion ripped through the vault door, filling the space where Angel had been with smoke and flames.

---

"Ow!" Spike winced and pulled his arm away from the cotton ball that Connor was holding.

"Quit being a baby," Connor said, discarding the disinfectant and applying a small butterfly bandage to the cut on Spike's upper arm. Packing up the first aid kit, he walked past Gunn, who had the contents of the stolen folder neatly spread across the concession counter.

"Did you find anything yet?" Angel asked from his seat in a nearby chair, his brows pulled together.

Picking up a handful of pages, Gunn tapped them together to straighten them. "Maybe."

"Is it what we need? I got a little distracted when I got upstairs, couldn't get into Wes' office." Connor said, glancing at Illyria, who looked up briefly from the stolen plant she was repotting on the unprotected carpet.

"Don't worry, Connor," Angel said. "We can't plan for everything; you did your best."

Swallowing, Connor went on, "I was hoping that folder from Johanna's office might have something."

"Sure as hell got further than I did," Spike said, picking up a mug of blood and giving a contented sigh as he drank from it.

Gunn held up his hand and rocked in a so-so motion. "The contract isn't in here, but there's definitely interesting stuff. Mostly it's a paper trail of all the things Wes did that Johanna didn't like - like she was building a case against him."

"Ah, yes." Spike smiled. "Loyalty runs real deep at ol' Back-stabbing & Hart."

Standing up, Angel went over to the desk, scanning the piles. "There's got to be something in there."

"I'm not saying there's not," Gunn said, slapping his hand on some papers before Angel could move them. He pointed at a different pile and said, "That's the purchasing records for the executive office."

Picking up the paperwork, Angel glanced over it. "Staplers, paper clips, gourmet coffee - real incriminating stuff, Gunn."

"I never said it wasn't going to take some work," Gunn said. "If you want to start looking for the materials Wes bought for special projects, though, that's where the interesting stuff is gonna be."

"Yeah, and a year from now when we're done looking, maybe we'll have a clue about his plans," Angel said as he began to pace.

Connor stepped up, taking the papers from Angel and ignoring the sullen glare he received. "Nice neat printouts - the scanner should be able to convert this into searchable text pretty easily."

Angel looked blank.

Quirking a grin, Connor looked over towards Gunn. "I can dump all this into a database, probably," he said. "We should be able to sort it in a couple of days."

"Ah," Angel said, still looking blank. "That's... er, good. Yeah, good. Could you make it a couple of hours?"

"Don't push it."

"Here's something interesting," Gunn said, drawing everyone's attention. "It's not the contract, but a summary of it." He glanced up at a sea of uncomprehending faces and explained, "The kind of information the lawyers stick in monthly reports. It says, 'Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, contract to torment the vampire known as Angel, sometimes known as Angelus. Torment to continue regardless of souled/unsouled condition'."

"And why would they think that would ever be an issue?" Spike asked.

"Connor, hand me that paperweight," Angel said. "I need something to throw at Spike. What else does it say, Gunn?"

"It's got a listing of all the standard boilerplate - not real useful." The frown melted off Gunn's face. "Here we go. Party of the first part - Wes - to receive special reanimation and additional conditions as stipulated in Appendix A."

Connor, who hadn't moved despite Angel's request, jumped in, "What's Appendix A say?"

Gunn sorted through some papers, looking more and more frustrated as he made a neat stack and let it slide back onto the desk, ruining the clean line. Sighing, he said, "It doesn't. Appendix A isn't here."

Angel slammed his fist into the concession counter.

Spike set down his mug. "At least we can take comfort in the fact that Wes is doing a crap job of torturing Angel."

"How do you figure that?" Angel demanded.

"Pfft. For starters, you're standing here talking to us." Spike gestured at room's occupants. "First thing I did when I came for the Gem of Amarra was separate you from your friends."

"In my day, you would weep tears of blood day and night," Illyria added as she poured more dirt into the pot.

"Hell, even I did a better job of it fresh out of Quor-toth," Connor added, immediately quieting at the look Angel gave him.

Standing up, Gunn restacked the papers. "I'm not sure how thankful we should be, but overall Wes is doing a crap job." Putting on his jacket, Gunn headed towards the door. "Look, I gotta go. The kids'll start using my office door for target practice if I don't get back to the shelter. I'll come back tomorrow and see if I can find anything more in the file. Connor, you start running that database, see what you can find."

Angel nodded, his brows furrowing into a deep brood.

"Don't worry, Dad," Connor said, resting a hand lightly on Angel's back. "I'll get to work on the invoices. We'll find a way to get him."

---

Gunn put the truck into park and looked out of the windshield into the well-lit parking garage. Stepping out, he patted his old truck before walking down the aisle of BMWs and SUVs. "All you fancy pieces of junk spend half your time in the shop."

As he reached the elevator, he pulled a Wolfram & Hart ID badge out of his pocket and smiled. "Hello, Mr. John Cantara. You're gonna be missing this tomorrow morning, I'm sure." Looking up into what he was sure was a camera, watching his every move, Gunn said, "Good to know the fingers are still nimble, at least. I haven't done that in too long."

Swiping the badge and grinning with delight when the light turned green, Gunn pushed the call button on the elevator. It whirred for a few moments then dinged as the doors opened. Stepping inside, Gunn pushed the button for the top floor. The moment the doors closed and the vertigo feeling of moving upward kicked in, Gunn keyed in a still-familiar combination.

As he hit the last number, a large white button appeared above all the others. "Looks like I still got the touch." Shaking his head, Gunn pushed the button firmly.

---

Spike opened the roof hatch and climbed up the remaining rungs of the ladder, pausing only to take his can of beer from Connor, who climbed up behind him.

"And here I thought we'd been thinking outside the box," Spike commented. There were piles scattered all over the roof surface, containing cracked windows, metal wall studs, and piles upon piles of wood. Spike wandered over to one pile, nudging it with his foot. A few unidentifiable objects rolled away. "Break down a room or three?" he asked.

Illyria stepped past him, picking up a ten-foot board. "These materials were abandoned in the basement. I claimed them as my own."

Connor popped open his beer and took a sip. "What are you making?"

Illyria continued to work without replying.

Shaking his head, Spike boosted himself up onto the roof ledge, swinging his legs. "You think she's making something?" he asked, dubious.

Shrugging, Connor joined him, taking in the view, such as it was, dimly lit by the subtle hues of twilight. "I think so. I mean, it looks like she's building something." He took another sip. "Thanks for the beer. My parents, all three of them, would probably blow their stacks."

"That's why they're the parents and I'm the... er...." Spike screwed up his face. "What the hell am I, anyway?"

"I refuse to call you Uncle Spike," Connor deadpanned. "I have enough family-related trauma."

"Actually, it's probably me who'd have to call you uncle. Which is in no way happening, just so we're clear," Spike said.

"Totally," Connor said. The two of them watched Illyria position the board across two piles of bricks. With a precise karate chop, she broke it in two. Picking up the longer piece, she moved it to her structure where it fit perfectly against the other random bits of wood and metal.

Connor tried again. "Illyria, what are you making?"

She paused, twisting only her upper torso as she stared at them, an assessing look on her face.

"Blue, whatever you're doing it's not a state secret," Spike said.

Returning to her work, Illyria said, "I am building a structure to enhance the metabolism and growth of photosynthesizing beings."

Connor blinked. "I need more beer for that to make sense."

"Who's giving you beer?" Angel's voice floated onto the roof a moment before he actually pushed the door open. He immediately glared at Connor and Spike, who were both calmly sipping their drinks and watching Illyria. "I should have known. Connor, you're underage."

"Oh, lay off, Angel," Spike said, jumping down from the ledge and leaning back against it. "If he's bloody well old enough to be fighting demons, he's old enough to have a beer."

"Yeah," Connor said. "What he said. Besides, Illyria is chaperoning to make sure things don't get out of hand."

Angel rolled his eyes at the obvious lie and then frowned at her. "What is she doing?"

Ignoring them, Illyria picked up one of the cracked windows and began to dismantle it. The glass fell into three neat pieces once the outer rim was gone. She examined all three closely, handling the jagged edges with no fear.

"She says she's building something," Connor explained.

"What, we aren't sure. Could be some transdimensional whosit." Spike merely raised an eyebrow when Illyria glared at him. "Or not."

"I desire to encourage the growth of plants," Illyria said and resumed her inspection of the glass.

"Greenhouse," Angel said, and then lifted the beer from Connor's hand. "And how much have you had that you couldn't figure that out?"

Shaking his head, Connor frowned. "So not what she said."

"Illyria, are you going to bring Wesley's things up here?" Angel asked.

Illyria stilled, head cocked to one side. "That would serve no purpose."

Swallowing some of the beer, Angel didn't protest when a grumbling Connor took it back.

"So what are you going to do with all that stuff?" Connor asked.

"It serves no purpose," she said, again moving around the growing structure purposefully.

Spike looked thoughtful for a moment then pushed off the ledge. Finishing his beer, he tossed the empty onto the roof and started strolling towards the ladder.

"Where are you going?" Angel asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Well, there's this poker game I know," Spike said.

"I thought you were broke," Angel said.

"Not if there's pawnable stuff in Illyria's former stash." Spike said and disappeared back into the building.

Connor jumped down and handed the remainder of his beer to Angel. At Angel's glare he said, "Look, someone's got to keep him out of trouble."

"Since when?" Angel asked. "I've been waiting for him to get himself dusted for decades with the trouble he gets into. He always comes back."

"I heard that!" Spike voice was faint but distinct, coming up the stairwell.

"That just means I'm totally safe, doesn't it?" Connor's grin lit up his face. "Enjoy the carpentry, Illyria," he said and vanished after Spike.

Angel sighed after his retreating son but didn't move to stop him. Illyria continued working, uncaring of the family drama that had played out around her. There was a solid structure forming around her, with a recognizable frame and the beginnings of where the windows would be held.

"You're going to need more glass," Angel said.

"This area of the city has adequate glass to suit my needs," Illyria said.

"Uh," Angel started, walking towards her. "Most people like the glass to remain attached to their homes."

With a scornful look, Illyria turned her attention towards a sagging corner. "There is more than sufficient glass in the alley behind this building."

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to imply - " Angel scratched at the back of his neck. "Actually, I did. What gives? Why the move from the basement to the roof? Why are you giving up Wesley's things?"

"Below the ground was a place of death. The only questions those objects could answer were about Wesley," Illyria said, studying her repair.

Angel studied the greenhouse with her. It was a broken, roughshod thing and probably wouldn't ever become 'finished' in the human sense of the word. Illyria, however, wasn't human.

"So now you're going to answer questions about Illyria," he guessed.

---

"Hi," Gunn said into the void of the blank room.

The empty, white room seemed to pulse in response. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Let me guess, you're here because you want something," a deep voice said, echoing out from all corners of the room.

Gunn glanced around. There was still nothing to address, but he didn't appear to be bothered by that. "I'm here to do you a favor."

"That's a new one," the voice said, a quality a human might call laughter vibrating through it. "I'm listening."

Standing up a little straighter, Gunn put one hand in his pocket, taking a few steps, getting the feel for the place. "You hired Wesley to screw with Angel - "

"Torment Angel," the voice clarified. "Perhaps that sounds petty, little semantic games, but this isn't about expediency. It's about revenge. Speaking of which - " Again, the disembodied voice sounded amused. " - your track record here is... less than stellar."

Gunn raised his eyebrows, taking slow, metered steps as if he were pacing in front of a jury box. "Wesley's job performance would also fall into that less-than-stellar category. And I'm not talking about some time last year; I'm talking about right now."

"And you're in a position to know?" Wesley asked.

Turning, Gunn maintained his impassive expression as Wesley walked towards him. When they were face to face, Gunn smiled very faintly. "I get to see Angel."

Turning his head slightly, Wesley raised his eyebrows. "Not as often as you used to, as I understand it."

"Yo! Guys." Wesley and Gunn turned to see a demon clad in grey-black armor and a large ring through his chin. Razor sharp horns, shaped like daggers emerging at odd angles from his head, complimented the occasional spiny projection. The glowing red eyes appeared annoyed. "I'm busy in here. Gunn, make your point - if you got one."

Gunn frowned at Wesley. "You're not the conduit?"

Wesley returned Gunn's confused look and then focused again on the demon. "I believe he is the conduit. Skip? The demon? I shot - "

Skip shook his head, somewhat exasperated. "Yeah, yeah. You shot Skip. I thought you guys would appreciate the Conduit in this form, considering that dismembering Skip was the last bit of bonding you two did that wasn't under some kind of mind control or memory wipe. Now, the Senior Partners don't have time for this shit. Get on with it."

Turning to face Gunn, Wesley raised a hand, palm up. "Before you begin, what exactly are you hoping to gain by this?"

"Simple. I'm trying to get you fired," Gunn said.

Wesley's mouth opened slightly, and then he closed it firmly, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think that the Senior Partners forced me into this position - "

Gunn took a step forward, deeper into Wesley's space. "They didn't force you into nothing. I've seen a summary of your contract - your new contract. You signed up for this gig."

"You have no idea what went into that decision." Wesley stepped back, his hand making an emphatic, slashing motion. "You can't begin to comprehend the - "

"I can comprehend that you suck at your job," Gunn said. "You're supposed to torment Angel, and, frankly, the Senior Partners were doing a better job of terrorizing Angel with the Haunter demons. At least they packed a punch when they managed to materialize." Gunn began to move around Wesley, his movements compact so that when he did gesture it underlined his point. "I also comprehend that you signed an 'at-will' employment agreement. The Senior Partners can terminate your employment at any time."

Skip let out a short laugh. "I did a good job getting you that lawyer brain, didn't I?"

"Be that as it may," Wesley said. He didn't look away from Gunn, moving slightly to stay face to face. "The partners knew fully well what they were getting into by hiring one of Angel's associates. They didn't hire me for my efficiency."

"There's a difference between efficient and job non-performance," Gunn said.

"Again," Wesley said. "You are not in a position to judge - "

"I am," Skip interrupted. "And I can tell you that the Senior Partners are not pleased. Oh, they knew you'd be wishy-washy at first, but they did have certain expectations, Wesley. Expectations that you are not living up to."

Skip stepped between them, facing Gunn. "You know, Gunn, this is some fire we didn't expect from you." Staring into the distance momentarily, when he looked back a sickeningly false smile stretched over his face. "I believe we've got an offer to make."

Skip pulled a fancy set of papers out of thin air. The sheaf of documents were legal sized, the Wolfram & Hart seal in color on the bottom. With a flourish, Skip produced a fountain pen. "You'll have to provide your own red ink - if you catch my meaning." He forced the contract and pen into Gunn's hands and then stepped back, out of the way.

Wesley had gone rigid the moment Skip mentioned the deal, hands clenching into a white-knuckled fist when the documents appeared. "Excuse me," Wesley said, voice clipped and loud.

"Look that over, Gunn," Skip said, ignoring Wesley. "But hey, don't take too much time."

Gunn didn't even glance at the papers. "No way in hell I'm signing anything," he snapped. "You can't offer me anything-"

"I can fire Wes and send him back on his way through the afterlife," Skip said. "That's what you're here for, right? Think about it. You can stop Wesley, end all of his evil plans. Be the hero." Skip's smile widened into a shark's toothy grin as he ran down his points. "And hey, if the salary bothers you just think of what that money would do for all your poor shelter kids."

Wesley stared at the contract, hanging limply in Gunn's hands. "I can't let this happen."

Gunn took an aggressive step forward, staring hard at Wesley, and then raised the papers to scan the first few lines. "It's really not your call, Wes. The partners are negotiating with me."

"Then I suppose I'll have to stop the negotiations," Wesley said very softly.

Gunn snorted. "What are you going to do, Wes? Cast a spell, toss a fireball?"

"No." Wesley frowned, moving toward him. "No, that would be a mystically caused death. It would open doors to resurrection and reanimation - something I wouldn't wish on my best friend..." Wesley hesitated, avoiding Gunn's eyes as he pulled a knife from his jacket. "And an opportunity I wouldn't offer to my worst enemy."

"Finally made up your mind then, about what we are?" Gunn asked as he assumed a fighting stance, dropping the pen and allowing the contract to flutter to the floor. "How long have you been carrying that, waiting?"

Wesley replied by feinting with the knife and taking a swing with his free hand. Gunn forearm connected with Wesley's, easily deflecting the blow and allowing him to dancing away from the knife blade.

"Fighting a guy without a weapon. You are the man, Wes," Gunn mocked, jumping to the side and trying to hit Wesley's weaponless arm, but only managing to strike a glancing blow.

Spinning around, Wesley leveled the knife between them, shaking his arm out. His eyes were dark and grim, lips pressed tightly together. "You whine quite a lot for the man with the muscle," he said, tauntingly.

Laughing, Gunn moved to the right and then jogged to the left, landing a punch on Wesley's back as he moved past. "Schoolyard insults from a CEO. I got news for you, Wes - the muscle makes me look good in a suit."

"So glad the price you paid for legal knowledge was worth your while." Wesley spun, swinging the knife low and fast.

The move was quicker and faster than Gunn had expected; he wasn't quite agile enough to evade the blow, nearly losing his balance as he scrambled back a step.

"Girls, girls!" Skip shouted. "I don't have all night - so let's get it on!"

Wesley recovered first, driving the knife towards Gunn's neck. Catching Wesley's hand in both of his, Gunn struggled to push Wesley away. With fierce determination in his face, Wesley put his weight behind his arm, inching the knife downward.

"I'm never gonna stop regretting what happened to Fred and the part I played in it," Gunn said, breathing hard into Wesley's face. "For all I care, Skip can take the lawyer brain right back. Lawyer, doctor, Indian chief." He kicked out, catching Wesley's ankle, breaking his stance and sending him to the floor. "I know what kind of man I am. I don't sell out my friends, and I do my best to take care of the ones that can't do for themselves." Gunn lunged forward, trying to pin Wesley's knife hand with his foot.

As he rolled away, Wesley sent a vicious kick to the back of Gunn's knee. Caught off guard, Gunn tumbled to the floor, landing on his back, his eyes wide.

"So self-righteous. You have no concept of what's happened to me, the sacrifices I've made." Not wasting the momentary advantage, Wesley dove on top of Gunn, nailing him in the face with vicious punch.

"Calling me self-righteous? I don't care about the concepts or the sacrifices. I care about my friends and doing right by them," Gunn spat out.

Wesley hit him again and took advantage of Gunn's momentary daze to plunge the knife toward his throat.

Grabbing the blade with his hand, Gunn growled and gritted his teeth. He swung at Wesley's jaw, though the blow seemed to have little effect. "Give it up, Wes. No matter what the hell you think you're doing it's because you always - "

With renewed vigor, Wesley wrestled for control of the knife, twisting. "You don't understand the necessity - " He stopped short at the sound of Gunn's shout of pain.

The knife was wet, slippery with Gunn's blood. The twist had done its job, freeing it to tear into Gunn's throat - an ugly cut that went from jaw to collarbone, right over the carotid artery. Blood spilled down Gunn's body, staining his clothes -

The room filled with blinding white light.

---

At the Walden, Angel jumped from the desk, snatching up a sword and running towards the center of the lobby where a brilliant white light was coalescing into a ball. Before he could reach the spot, the light had faded, revealing Gunn, thrashing and bleeding.

"Gunn!" Angel shouted.

"Fuck, Angel... Always figured I'd get it in the neck, but - " Gunn gasped, trying to fit his shaking hand over the gash in his throat.

Angel dropped to his knees and ripped off his shirt, shoving Gunn's hands away to press the cloth firmly against the wound. "It's gonna be fine, Gunn. We'll get you to the hospital, and it's gonna be fine. Who the hell did this to you?"

Struggling to breathe, Gunn said, "Liar." He blinked repeatedly, like he was trying to bring the room into focus.

Angel glanced around at the room and then shouted up at the ceiling, "Illyria! Get down here!" Using his free hand to turn Gunn's head, Angel looked into his glassy eyes. "Who did this?"

Gunn let out a breath, his face tight with pain. "Had to go back, had to try. Nearly got those bastards to break the contract, but then Wes sticks the knife in me."

Angel started shaking his head the moment Gunn said 'go back'. "Wolfram & Hart? You went in there alone. What the fuck were you thinking?" Gunn's blood was soaking through Angel's shirt and beginning to ooze between his fingers. "Illyria!"

"Had to..." Gunn made a choked sound of pain, wavering on the edge of consciousness. "Had to try. Wes is family. Can't stand to see a man I know like that - " His eyes rolling back, he whispered, "He'd be better off dead."

The End.