EPISODE FIVE
"Meanwhile, back at the ranch..."

As he exited the cave, Angel took a moment to once again revel in the suns rays. He closed his eyes and sighed at the blissful warmth on his skin.

When he opened his eyes, it was to Spike's disquieted face.

"What?" he asked. "I can't enjoy myself?"

"Yeah, I've heard that," the blonde vampire cracked, taking the question as a statement. He slung the goodie-bag over his shoulder. "I was just, I don't know, empathizing or somethin'." He shuddered. "It was horrible," he declared. "I didn't like it."

Angel's eyes crinkled a little at the corners with his amusement, but he didn't allow it to show any more than that.

"Me either," he replied. "Don't do it again."

"No fear, mate." Spike turned and headed up the grassy slope to where Buffy and Fred were waiting.

Angel had just taken a few steps to follow when Buffy began running back down, dragging Fred behind her. Spike's mirror-image reaction was only a heartbeat behind hers.

"Get down!" he snapped as he reached his Sire.

Angel allowed only enough time to frown before complying. It was only once he was on the ground that he felt the vibrations. A second later, he could hear a thundering noise.

"Horses?" he hissed urgently.

Spike ignored him. He was focused on a spot just past a row of enormous boulders. Buffy was huddled against a rock face, shielding Fred. She kept her eyes fixed on the same area that held Spike's attention, her gaze wide and frightened, afraid of not being able to protect herself or her charge. As Angel watched, she took a deep steadying breath and set her jaw, fighting past the feeling. Next to him, Spike echoed the action.

"She okay?" Angel asked.

"Just peachy," Spike grunted. He tensed, getting ready to spring. "Here they come..."

A group of palace guards on horseback burst over the ridge.

Spike pounced as they neared him, dragging one of the guards from his mount and dispatching him with a single punch. Angel hopped up to join the fray. He reached out for the next rider, but got a boot in the face instead. He snarled and harnessed the pain, trying to shift into game face.

Nothing happened.

Spike worked his way further up the hill, closer to where Buffy and Fred were. His main aim in this little fracas was to protect the women and nothing more. He flattened yet another hapless guard, then turned to see why Angel was taking so long to join him.

The older vampire was just standing there with a confused expression on his face.

"What's up with him?" Buffy asked in Spike's head.

Spike squinted. "He's not gettin' vampy," he surmised, then winced as his Sire took a blow to the back of his head.

Angel slumped to his knees, but merely put his hands to his face and tried morphing again. Another guard was bearing down on him. Spike was about to head out and intercept when Angel screamed.

It was a gut-wrenching howl of pain and there was nothing remotely human about it. The horse that was heading for him reared back in panic, depositing its rider on the grass. The unseated guard stared at Angel, then scrambled away in terror.

The planes of Angel's face had shifted, but not into their normal vampire characteristics. This was something completely different.

His entire face was ridged. Not just his forehead, but his cheekbones and chin as well. His fangs had elongated so far that he could no longer close his mouth properly, his jaw hanging loose. Vicious horn-like protrusions sprouted from his brow in bony peaks. The only feature that even resembled a regular vamp was the familiar yellow glow of his eyes.

"Holy bloody Christ," Spike whispered hoarsely. "What is that?"

Buffy couldn't even get that far. She squeaked in shock. Fred just stared, her eyes impossibly wide.

The Angel-beast roared - a terrifyingly primal sound that sent shivers up Spike's spine. This was a call to arms, a primitive cry that echoed in the very foundation of his being and instilled in him an urge to unleash his own demon.

He managed to stifle the insistent urge, a task that proved more difficult than he expected, and then backed up toward his Slayer, putting himself in front of her and the Fred girl. If Angel tried to harm them...

Spike breathed a sigh of relief as the beast turned its attention instead to the remaining palace guards. He attacked them with an intimidating zeal - effortlessly breaking bones and tearing away limbs before feeding from the fallen bodies.

Suddenly another band of guards topped the ridge. This second group seemed better prepared and was heavily armed. They filed down on foot and surrounded the beast with military precision before they began to drive it up the hill.

"They're herding him," Spike observed aloud. "They're gonna try and take him alive."

Buffy found enough equilibrium to speak to him via the link. "They've got a cage," she said. The knowledge made her uneasy. It was almost like they had been expecting this to happen.

Spike realized that these secondary guards were paying them no mind and stood to follow their progression more closely. Sure enough, there was a wagon up there, topped with a crudely constructed metal enclosure. As he watched, they shoved one of their own companions into the cage and stood back to let the Angel-beast attack the helpless man. Once he was inside, they slammed the door shut and carted him away.

"Crap," the blonde vamp muttered. "Great piles of sodding crap!"

"What are they gonna do to him?" Buffy stood up and seized her partner's arm. "What are we gonna do?" She'd never felt this useless. It was awful.

Spike huffed in frustration. "Looks like we'll be going to the castle on our own, pet." He trudged back down the hill a way and picked up the bag that he'd discarded earlier. Fat lot of good it had done. "Giles Junior and the cheerleader are already there, right? And odds are that's where they're takin' Peaches anyhow."

"Peaches," Buffy repeated. She cast an absent glance at Fred, just to make sure the girl was still with them. "So, you think that... that thing is still Angel?"

"No doubt, love," Spike reported. He tossed an arm over her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "No doubt at all."

~*[+]*~

Wesley turned around in a circle, trying to get his bearings. Had he been past that clump of trees before?

He wasn't lost, he really wasn't. The very thought was absurd. He was following the sun - headed due west, back toward the village.

He nodded to himself and started walking again. Yes, that was it. Due west.

Then he stopped and stared up at the sky. Which sun was he following again? The smaller yellow orb, or the one with the red ring around the rim?

He paused for a moment to contemplate the fiery spheres. One of the globes was slightly more petite, with a mellower glow. The larger of the two was tainted with a dark edge and its light was harsher, almost painful on the eyes.

Silas had called the Gemel the embodiment of the suns. The more Wesley thought about it the more he was convinced that the description applied to Buffy and Spike.

It was ironic that he was relying on them to find his way. But not entirely unexpected that they had led him completely off course.

There. He'd admitted it. He was lost.

Just as he'd allowed himself to admit defeat, a rag-tag band of humans descended on him from the woods - not unlike a scene from an old Robin Hood movie. Wesley doubted that these were merry men, though, as they were armed and dangerous-looking. Possibly thieves.

He held up hands in surrender. "Please don't kill me."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia curled up in the corner of her cell, Angel's leather jacket wrapped around her body. She sniffled a little and rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of the shoulder, finding comfort in its familiar texture. It was almost as if he was there with her, enfolding her in one of his smothery big-brother type hugs.

She was more concerned about him than she would like and it was wigging her out. Since when did she worry about Angel? He was like two hundred and fifty years old or something, it wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself.

But the jacket thing was major fret factor material.

It wasn't like him to leave it somewhere unattended. He was so paranoid when it came to his clothes, so finicky. It was one of his more endearing traits.

Endearing?

Jeez, Cor, how long have you been in this hole? It's scrambling your brains. Angel wasn't endearing. He was ...

All right, so he was endearing. He was also shy and sweet and incredibly good-looking. Better than good - great-looking, fantastic-looking. Beautiful, really, for a guy.

Now her brain was definitely scrambled. She hadn't allowed herself to think about Angel as a guy since way back in high school, before she'd found out about the vampire thing.

Then he'd gone nuts and tried to kill them all. Definitely an unthinky subject. She was not going there.

She picked up a piece of straw and absently started shredding it with her fingers, deep in thought.

So, what was Angel to her now?

Ex-boss come co-worker, sure. But he was also a friend, a confidant, someone that she could rely on to always be there for her. She'd never had that before. And it was scary how much she'd taken it for granted that he would come and save her. He had, though, and he'd probably done it without a second thought.

She hadn't even said thanks. How selfish was that?

Cordy snorted and threw the piece of straw away, disgusted with herself. She didn't deserve him, even as a princess. Besides, he was way too important in the PTB's scheme of things, and she was only around because of Doyle's misguided vision gifty-ness.

She took a deep breath and straightened up.

Okay, that wasn't true. And this was so not the time to be wallowing in self-pity. She needed to Miss Resolve here.

There was a rumbling sound outside in the corridor, and she shot to her feet. The door swung open and she made brief eye contact with the guard before he backed away.

He looked absolutely terrified.

The rumbling got closer and she finally recognized that they were dragging something toward her cell. A big cagey thing with a beast...The Belial!

They weren't gonna let it loose in here with her were they?

Her worst fears were confirmed when the cage was wheeled to the doorway and unlocked, the barred gate swung open and the Belial leapt out onto the straw with a feral snarl.

He was big, she realized. He was also sort of vamp-like - only uglier.

"Nice Belial," she soothed, pressing herself into the corner.

The beast didn't even seem to notice her. He was more intent on trying to get past the cage and into the corridor. The guards beat him back inside and slammed the door shut.

That was when he turned on her.

Cordelia could feel the coarse stone of the wall digging into her back, even through the leather coat, and wished she had the power to pass through damn thing and get somewhere safe.

The Belial rocked from side to side as it regarded her, its body hunched over in a semi-crouch. It smelled the air in a testing sort of way and then suddenly took a huge leap forward, closing the distance between them.

Cordy squealed, her hands coming up to protect her face. She could feel it sniffing at her hair, at her throat, feel it's breath panting against her skin. She shuddered, gooseflesh rippling up her arms.

But then the sniffing stopped and it backed off.

She tentatively peered through her fingers to see it staring at the polished gold of her tiara, its head cocked slightly to one side.

"What?" she croaked, then gasped as the Belial reached up and, in an unusually gentle motion, dragged a long talon-like nail across the surface. The friction made a harsh screeching sound and he jumped at the noise, but then edged closer staring intently at what had to be its reflection.

The Belial let out a plaintive cry, an inexplicably heartrending sound that brought tears to Cordy's eyes. He staggered away, only to collapse on the other side of the cell and curl into a ball with his back to her, trembling.

"Hey," Cordelia took a hesitant step toward it, instinctively reaching out to help. "Hey, are you okay?"

He moaned and Cordy moved even closer.

Okay, that was definitely a humany type moan - not a big-ugly-ass beastie moan. And from this angle the rest of him was pretty damn human too.

She crouched at his side and carefully touched his shoulder. He jerked away and scuttled into the corner, the abrupt movement revealing his identity.

"Oh God," Cordy breathed, her hand covering her mouth in horror. "Angel?"

~*[+]*~

Wesley was tied to a pole, crudely constructed from a branch that had been hacked from one of the trees nearby. The prickly bark of it dug into his hands as tested his bonds, his furtive movements drawing the attention of his captors.

"Hey," one of them shouted, "Don't even think about it."

Wesley sighed and went back to his previous activity of watching them.

They were holding some kind of meeting around a small campfire. He'd deduced from their conversation that this rag-tag assembly was the advance guard of a much larger group - a rebellion of sorts against the Covenant of the Trombli. The rough-hewn man who had shouted at him was apparently their leader - though one would be hard pressed to tell if it weren't for the way the others all looked to him for guidance. They were all poorly dressed and ill equipped, their weapons consisting mainly of farm tools.

"I know how we can send the princess a message," one of them piped up. He was a small man with a cap of reddish hair. "We storm the palace."

The leader looked at him. "It'd be suicide. Our entire number would be wiped out in minutes."

The other man blinked back, assessing the verdict, then shrugged. "Yeah, but it would be a message."

"Excuse me," Wesley tried to gain their attention. "I couldn't help overhearing..."

"Quiet, reconnaissance cow, or I'll slice out your tongue!"

Wesley grimaced at that. Such an absurd title. "I've told you already, I am not a reconnaissance cow!"

"We tracked you coming from the castle," the small red-haired rebel said, pointing accusingly with a dagger. "So don't lie."

"I'm not lying," Wesley huffed. This was utter ridiculousness. "If you want to send a message to the princess, then I know I can help. I happen to be a close personal friend of hers."

The rebels stared at him, then fell about laughing.

"I can prove it," Wesley promised, feeling strangely defensive. He had nothing to prove to these men.

The leader walked over, eyeing him with curiosity. He took in the cow's unusual clothes and unfamiliar eye-coverings and folded his arms. "How?"

"In my wallet," Wes was anxious now, he needed to get away from these people and find the others. The rebel leader just continued to stare at him, his expression now blank. Wes suddenly realized that they would have no clue as to what a wallet was. "Oh, ah, in the leather holder in the back of my trousers."

The leader yanked the wallet out - with rather more force than was necessary in Wesley's opinion - and flipped it open to reveal a photograph. A snapshot of the former Watcher, Angel, and, most importantly, a merrily grinning Cordelia. He huffed in an impressed manner and held it up to show the others. "It's true. He knows the princess."

"Yes, indeed," Wesley twisted slightly to keep the man in sight as he headed back toward the fireside. "Now, if your organization would just draw up some sort of list of demands, I'll be more than happy to present it directly to her Majesty."

The rebel leader sighed, still staring at the photograph. "Let's do it," he said finally. "Let's draw up a list of demands..." Wesley's tentative smile evaporated as the man tossed his wallet onto the fire. "...Shove it in his mouth, put his severed head on a stick and display it outside the princesses window."

~*[+]*~

Spike was hot.

Well, he was always hot, in the figurative sense, but now he was in great danger of actually bursting into flames. Heavy black leather was not exactly comfortable in a world that had two suns but he was buggered if he was parting with his duster.

He wiped the film of sweat from his brow and squinted at the horizon. The castle still seemed pretty far off. Maybe they could hijack a horse. Hell, maybe even get hold of one of those wagon deals.

"I don't think the locals would take grand theft auto well," Buffy said, halting at his side and leaning her head wearily against his shoulder. "Not that they take things well as a whole."

"Yeah. Not the friendliest of sorts are they?" Spike gave her an absent peck on the forehead, his eyes still searching the tree line. He didn't want to be ambushed again. He frowned suddenly and then spun around to glare at Fred. "Bloody what?" he demanded. The girl had been staring at them for a good while now. "You're startin' to give a bloke the heebies."

Fred was unconcerned by his combative tone of voice. "Are you the Gemel?" she inquired seriously.

Spike just shook his head at her and turned back around. "An' I thought Dru was bad," he muttered.

"What's a Gemel?" Buffy asked. "It sounds creepy."

"How the bleedin' hell am I supposed to know?"

The entire situation was frustrating Spike. He adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

"Hey, back off, Mr. Snarky-pants," Buffy scolded. She thumped her chest like a caveman. "Me Buffy. Me good guy. Ugh."

Spike gave her an amused glance, his mouth kicking up at the corners. "Nice bit of comic relief, sunshine."

Buffy grinned. She loved it when he called her that.

"Are you the Gemel?" Fred reiterated. "I mean, really?"

"When we find out what that is, love, you'll be the first to know." Spike took his Slayer's hand and resumed walking.

~*[+]*~

The vampire cowered against the hard stone - stunned, devastated, and half-mad. His beautiful dark eyes were unfocused, not registering her presence or his surroundings.

"Angel, its me." She shuffled closer, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. "Its Cordy. Can you hear me?"

He let out a kind of whimper then and lowered his head onto his knees, refusing to look at her. "You saw it."

"Saw what?" He wasn't making sense, but at least he was talking to her. That had to be a good sign.

"The monster," Angel's voice was almost inaudible, catching painfully in his throat. Lord knew what all that snarling and growling had been doing to his vocal cords. "You saw what I really am."

Cordelia bit her lip. Oh man, this had really screwed him up. She rested her hand comfortingly against his forearm, only to have him yank it away.

"Don't," he rasped. "Don't touch me. You shouldn't have to..."

Cordy sat back on her heels. "Shouldn't have to what? Fondle the disgusting beast?" She snorted. "Apparently that's the whole purpose of my being here."

Angel blinked at her, not following her attempt at humor. "It - it is?"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Ha! You wish!" She gave him her brightest starlet smile, trying to pull him out of the severely neurotic state he was in.

He just blinked again, the slow quizzical motion followed by his familiar brooding frown. "You're ... not freaked."

"Hardly." Cordelia waved a hand dismissively. "But hey, if you'd turned into one of those D'vrontrak demons we ran into a couple of weeks ago then we might've had a problem."

"D'vron-?"

"-Trak. Remember? With the claws and the scabby complexion and the grossly offensive yellow-green goo?" She squirmed. "Yeesh! Gives me a wiggins just thinking about it."

Angel was completely bewildered, still reeling from the effects of being taken over by demon inside him. It had been disturbingly different from what he'd experienced before. It wasn't the same as being Angelus, vampire with no soul, although there were similarities in that he had no control over his bloodlust, and no regrets about the lives he had taken. Defending the helpless was one thing, but to tear someone apart like that, one piece at a time...

Now that he was Angel again, he could feel what he had done weighing him down. He was guilty of killing those guards, of slaughter, and he had done it with his soul intact. What did that mean? That the demon was stronger than his soul? Stronger than him?

"Hello?" Cordelia had leant in close and brought a hand up to his cheek in an almost maternal gesture. "Are you in there?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to be, but he was.

At least Cordy was with him.

~*[+]*~

Silas sat on the throne that had recently been vacated by the cow princess and allowed himself a moment to gloat. All was going as planned. The cow had been made princess because he had decreed it. He was the true power in Pylea, but the ruse was necessary to bring the Belial. And so it had. Though it was particularly ironic that he bore the name Angel.

Even so, the Gemel were to come next, lured by the Cursed One and her beast, but they would not live to see their Golden Age. They would die so that he may be ruler.

~*[+]*~

Wesley was beginning to despair that he would have an opportunity to escape before he lost his head. He had been moved from the staff to a makeshift set of stocks that were digging a roughly circular pattern of splinters into his neck. His hands were tied behind his back in a decidedly uncomfortable position and the rebel leader was even now sharpening his sword.

He was just clearing his throat to make one final verbal attempt at freedom when a group of men on horseback rode into the clearing.

Palace guards. Lovely. Could this get any worse?

An arrow thumped into the wood beside his head and he realized that the answer to that was a resounding 'yes'.

He lurched to his feet, bringing the stocks upright with him. They hung like a bizarre set of epaulets across his shoulders.

"Look," he said, pleased that he managed to maintain some semblance of calm, "I have no quarrel with you fine people..."

He was proven wrong when a guard came directly at him and he was forced to swing the stocks and knock him down. Another charged from behind and was given the same treatment. The rebel leader caught Wesley's eye and gave him an appreciative nod.

Now Wesley was actively fighting beside them.

~*[+]*~

Angel lay on his side in the straw. He had lapsed into a heavy exhausted slumber and Cordelia sat by his side, facing him, taking the opportunity to study him. It wasn't like she had anything else to do. It was either stare at the walls or stare at Angel. He proved to be the more interesting option.

A lot of people looked younger when they were asleep. And, to her surprise, Angel wasn't any different.

When he was awake, the two hundred odd years that he'd been around showed in his eyes, but like this he seemed vulnerable, almost fragile. The furrows lifted from his brow and the lines around his mouth softened, restoring some semblance of his perpetual youth. She wondered just how old he had been when Darla turned him.

She sighed and rested her chin on her hand, content to watch. It used to freak her out, seeing him sleep. He didn't move or breathe. He looked like an incredibly well preserved corpse. And hey, literal description!

Angel snorted softly, coming out of his death-like state for a moment to shift his position, one hand reaching out to search blindly amid the straw. He mumbled, drowsily incoherent, and Cordy grabbed hold of the questing hand.

The vampire stilled, his lips curving into a dreamy smile. He brought the hand to his face and nuzzled it, then pressed a kiss against the knuckles.

Cordy froze. Maybe he thought she was Buffy?

He murmured again, and this time she could make out what he said.

"Cordy."

Cordelia's mouth dropped open in shock. He said her name. He'd kissed her hand and he knew who she was! She continued to gape at him, stunned. He still had her hand, holding it pressed against his cheek as he drifted back into deep sleep, her golden skin contrasting with his paler complexion.

Jeez, Cor, get a grip! He's just connecting to someone familiar. It's not like he meant anything by it... Except what if he did?

This was Angel, the big goofy doofus. The big, gorgeous, loveable...

She extricated her hand, feeling strangely panicked. When had she started thinking of him as loveable? The last time that she'd let herself think of anyone as loveable she'd ended up in that doomed relationship with Xander Harris. She hadn't let anyone close since. It hurt too much.

And Angel? That would only lead to pain on a level that would eclipse the Xander days. She'd seen what he did to Buffy. Can we say 'perfect happiness' clause? That way lay creepy-stalker vamp Angel, de-invite spells and quite possibly the end of the world. Again.

There was no way that anything was going to happen here.

She wouldn't let it.

EPISODE SIX
The long and the short of it.

When he would look back on it later, Wesley couldn't say that the timing of Buffy and Spike's arrival was at all coincidental.

The twin suns of Pylea were poised to slip below the horizon, one slightly above the other. By some twist of fate, at precisely that moment the linked couple crossed the top of the ridge and their solar counterparts aligned so as to cast golden halos around their matching blonde heads.

The rebels gasped in unison and knelt in reverence, whispering "Gemel" over and over, the word rippled wave-like through the twilight air.

Spike took a step back in surprise but quickly recovered. "Hey!" he chortled, surveying the genuflecting group. "A crop of Spike worshippers. 'Bout time we came across someone with a lick o' sense."

The Slayer rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it again. She blinked. "Are they saying what I think they're saying?"

Spike nodded. "Uh huh."

"See, I told ya," Fred piped up. "You're the Gemel. No doubt about it."

"Yeah," the blonde vampire drawled. "Well, that would be just brilliant ... If we knew what the bleeding hell you're all prattling on about!"

The last part came out in a frustrated explosion, causing the rebels to gawk at him in shock.

Their leader hesitantly got to his feet, and gave a deferential bow. "Has the journey from the heavens tired you, oh Luminous One?"

Journey from the heavens?

Spike glared at him. "Look mate, you've got your sodding wires crossed. If there were any place I'm not from that'd be the one. The Slayer maybe, but not me."

Wesley had been observing them with growing amusement. The way this vampire reacted to certain situations was downright fascinating. "They're referring to the prophecy," he announced, attempting to draw the pair's attention.

Buffy jumped and her partner, sensing her fright, tensed noticeably, ready to spring into action. He would defend her with his life if he had to - and probably even if he didn't.

"Jeez, Wesley," she exclaimed in a rush. "How'd you get here?"

"Long story." The former Watcher smiled and gestured to an empty place at the fireside. "Take a seat and I'll explain."

"Oh goody," Spike droned unenthusiastically. "Story time. And me without my marshmallows." He ambled toward the fire, deftly sidestepping a couple of prostrate rebels as he went. Buffy trailed after him, pulling a timid Fred behind her.

Wesley took in the newcomer and was surprised to find that her face was familiar to him. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

The girl froze, giving the impression of a startled deer. "I don't know no one," she mumbled, plopping down at the fireside and finding a sudden fascination with her feet. She stared at them with a fixed expression, her hair falling down to curtain her face.

Wesley raised his brows at Buffy.

"That's Fred," she said. "Angel found her."

"Aha," Wesley nodded. "Say no more. Case closed. Where is Angel?"

The question was followed by an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the fervent mumbling of the rebels, who had recovered from their initial shock and now huddled en masse outside the campfire's circle, and the crackle of the fire itself.

Buffy and Spike exchanged a pained look.

Wesley was filled with a sudden sense of dread. "He's not dead is he?"

"Well, if you wanna get technical..." Spike began.

"He was captured," Buffy said quickly, cutting him off.

"Captured?" Wesley sighed. "So the rescue number is now up to a total of three. Angel, The Host and Cordelia."

Buffy frowned. "Okay, confused now. Why does Cordelia need rescuing? She's the princess isn't she? I bet she's living it up."

"Actually, she was only made princess in order to lure the Belial."

Spike's shoulders slumped at the news. He knew the origins of that word. He'd even had it aimed his way a couple of times. Buffy shot him a glance.

"Oh," she whispered, reading him. "Really?"

The vampire nodded, then abruptly stood and started pacing, his duster billowing cape-like behind him.

Wesley followed the agitated motion, that sense of dread becoming a hard knot in his throat. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Angel is the Belial," Fred noted calmly. She glanced up, realized that she had everyone's attention, and swiveled back to focus on her feet again.

"Yeah. He, ah, turned into a big beast thingy and they took him back to the castle," Buffy confirmed. She pinned Wesley with her eyes. "He won't hurt her."

"Of course not." Wesley's reply was instinctive. "It's Angel."

Spike stopped pacing and threw him an exasperated look.

"Bloody hell, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Wesley blinked at him, but remained silent.

Spike huffed in annoyance. "Look, the whole time we've been in this daft dimension he's been flauntin' all his humany traits, right? Walkin' in the sun. Probably even reflects now too. Know I do."

Wesley nodded. Where was he was going with this?

"So, when he tried on the fangy what he did was release the demon in its purest form. Fully-fledged vamp - wasn't anything human about him. Sodding place split him in two."

"But you said he was still Angel." Buffy was teary-eyed, clearly distressed by the state of affairs. "You said there was no doubt."

"There isn't, pet. Because deep down that's what we really are - the both of us." Spike dropped to sit next to the Slayer, keeping his back toward the fire this time. He bowed his head. "Wanted me to join him, he did," he continued softly. "I could feel him calling me. But you're part of me as much as the demon." He dipped in and placed a kiss on Buffy's forehead. "And we're stronger than it is."

She smiled, reaching up to trace one finger along the familiar curve of his cheekbone. "I know."

"But is Angel?" Wesley asked. "Is he strong enough to control it?"

"Time will tell." Spike didn't take his eyes off his Slayer. "And maybe love."

"Love?"

"It's the greatest power in the known universe, Watcher boy," Spike eyed him over his shoulder with blatant disdain. "Love is everything good and right. That's what'll pull him out of it."

Wesley fell silent, confused. Wasn't Angel in love with Buffy?

Spike snorted, almost as though he'd read Wesley's thoughts. Perhaps he had, he still knew how after all. "Not Buffy, you stupid pillock. Vision girl."

Wesley's mouth dropped open.

"Hey, now he does look like Giles Junior!" Buffy giggled. "You sure you guys aren't related?"

"Reckon all those Watchers are interbred," Spike drawled. Buffy whacked him in absent admonition but the backhanded blow hardly registered.

"Angel and ... and Cordelia?" Wesley finally managed to sputter. "Are you certain?"

"Christ mate, you work with 'em every day. Don't tell me you haven't noticed anythin'."

"Well I..." Wesley trailed off, remembering back over the past few weeks. Angel had been more attentive to his seer of late. There had been a number times when he'd been caught staring at her when he thought no one else was looking. And then there was his urgency in coming after her to Pylea. "Oh my, it's true isn't it? I knew he cared about her, of course, but I never once imagined..."

"I'll bet," Spike scoffed, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. "So, what's all this prophecy nonsense then?"

Wesley shook his head, struggling to find his focus. That last revelation was a little hard to come to terms with. "The Host only mentioned it in passing, but it seems that Cordelia's arrival was the first of a series of events prophesized in times past. The Cursed One lures the Belial and both in turn bring the coming of the Gemel."

"And that's supposed to be us?" Buffy's brow furrowed in confusion.

Spike's expression matched his partner's. "How d'you figure?"

"'Gemel' means joined or linked. Either one of a set of twins..."

"The Gemel are the embodiment of the twin suns," Fred chimed in, reciting the legend by rote. She'd heard it so many times. "Two beings of such power that they end the world as we know it and bring about the Golden Age when all cows will be free."

They all turned to stare at her.

"Cows?" Buffy grimaced. "Ew."

"Bloody marvelous," Spike agreed. "Ground beef and dairy products all 'round then is it?"

"The humans here are known as cows," Wesley said. "They are the lowest class of slaves. Beasts of burden." He continued to stare at Fred. "I hadn't heard that last part before though. Silas must have deliberately left it out."

"Silas?" Buffy didn't like not knowing all the players.

"Head Priest of the Covenant of the Trombli," Wesley explained. "They've apparently ruled the dimension for the past few millennia."

"They won't be well pleased having it brought to an end then," Spike eased one leg across to straddle the log that he sat on and tossed his spent cigarette into the fire. "Freein' slaves tends to do that."

"Ah, yes. 'An end to the world as we know it'," Wesley breathed, pieces were slotting into place. "They're not referring to an apocalyptic event at all."

"Well, that brings a big 'yay' from the Slayer camp," Buffy declared. "Cause I so don't need one of those right now."

Spike grinned, edging forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. She shot him a wary glance from the corner of her eye and he batted his lashes at her. Buffy gave a soft snort of laughter and pushed him away.

Wesley watched the exchange with an almost overwhelming sense of curiosity. He'd love to know just how this link of theirs came about, but unfortunately this was not the time. There were more pressing matters at hand. He gestured to the assembled group of rebels. "This is the rebellion against the Covenant."

Spike gave them a scathing once over. "What? All of it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is merely a select group of the most capable..."

"Oh, that makes all the difference then. Now I am impressed."

Buffy jabbed a finger into the vampire's ribs and he gave her a hard look, narrowed eyes glinting in the firelight.

They held a silent debate for a moment before Spike sighed and shook his head. "Don't know why I bother," he said ruefully. "You always get me in the end."

"Damn straight." Buffy leant over and planted a kiss on his pouty lower lip.

"I'm really starting to doubt this whole Gemel thing," the small redheaded rebel suddenly declared, moving into view. He pointed at the golden couple. "I mean, Falchion and Annulet here don't look all that powerful to me."

"What'd you call us?" Spike shifted his weight, about to launch himself forward and strangle the impudent git. It would be well worth the headache.

Wesley flapped his hands in a soothing motion. "No. It's okay. It wasn't an insult." He sighed and dug a thumb into his brow, trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent.

"Right," he said, finally. "The references are all askew, jumping around in several different centuries and the Latin's a bit off ... but essentially definitions of the word 'Gemel' also include mechanics. Two separate units working together, like a hinge, are also called 'Gemel'. In most cases that is a hook and loop. Here in Pylea, that apparently translates to 'Falchion' and 'Annulet'."

He indicated a modest span with his hands. "A falchion is a short, curved sword - it's name derived from the Latin word 'falx' for sickle or hook. Annulet literally means 'a little ring' or loop."

Buffy nudged Spike's knee with her own. "Short sword," she whispered gleefully.

The vampire looked offended. "I'm not short."

"Oh honey, of course you're not," Buffy's tone was indulgent. "You're a huge monster of a man. Really."

Wesley's lips twisted. He wanted to laugh outright, but the warning glare he got from Spike subdued the urge. There was murder implicit in those pale blue eyes. "Ahem, yes. Well, I'm guessing that those are the formal astrological names for the suns here, also." He sent a questioning look to the rebel leader and received an affirmative nod.

Buffy frowned. "I don't like it."

"Don't like what?" Spike asked. "What's to like? We got our very own solar system. Neat innit?"

"Not so much." The Slayer stared down at her hands for a moment. "These Covenant guys ... they'll want to kill us won't they?"

Wesley nodded. "I'm assuming as much. The Gemel myth gives hope to the humans. Eliminating you would both crush that hope and reinforce their power base."

"Thought so." Buffy huddled into herself, folding her arms. She looked very small and fragile. "And since the whole lack of Slayery-ness pretty much makes me useless..." Her head suddenly snapped back like she'd been struck. She glared accusingly at Spike.

He glared right back, his expression formidably irate. Wesley could see the master vampire asserting dominance now and the effect was frightening.

The rebels, most notably the skeptical redhead that Wes had secretly dubbed 'Doubting Thomas', moved back out of the way, awed by the authority Spike was radiating. Even the fire seemed to flare up.

Undaunted, Buffy shot to her feet. Spike did the same.

She made to stalk away and he clamped a restraining hand around her wrist. Each move was anticipated before it occurred and effectively blocked. Their eyes remained locked in battle the entire time.

"Stop it," Spike's voice was low and abrasive, a growl bordering on inhuman. "You're not useless. Not to me."

Buffy sniffed, fighting tears, then whimpered and collapsed against Spike's chest. The vampire held her as she wept, stoically supportive, oblivious to all around him. When she eventually stilled, he simply cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, tenderly brushing the dampness from her cheeks with his thumbs.

Wesley felt like he was intruding on something incredibly private. He looked away and found himself face to face with Fred.

She blinked rapidly and then gave him a giddy smile. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" She gestured to the linked couple. "All lovey 'n romantic. Like a fairytale."

"Hmm," Wes mumbled noncommittally, not following the gesture, but continuing to study her. He was intrigued by this young woman and wondered how she had managed to survive so long in such a harsh environment. She had to be much stronger than she seemed.

Buffy and Spike were talking again and he was pulled away from his musings as their conversation escalated, manifesting in bizarre semi-vocal spurts.

"You could..." This from Spike.

"Wouldn't work." Buffy - digging her heels in.

"Bloody would too! What about the -?"

"That's different. It's only..."

Wesley cleared his throat. "What are you arguing about now?"

"Power sharing." Spike only glanced over for a second before returning his gaze to his partner's. "I'm tellin' you Summers..."

Buffy scowled. "Don't call me 'Summers'! You know I hate when you do that!"

"Temper, temper." Spike's lip curled cruelly. He moved in close, menace all but oozing from his skin. He gripped her shoulders and whispered harshly in her ear. "Bloody use it!"

Buffy lashed out, pushing him back and landing a viciously accurate punch on his nose. There was a loud crack and Spike fell backward onto the ground, clutching his face. Blood gushed out between his fingers.

There was a second's silence and then a hesitant round of applause from the rebels.

Buffy looked horrified. "Oh God. Are you okay?"

Spike propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a quizzical look. "What're you feelin' all sorry for?" he asked. "It's not like you haven't busted my nose before."

"Yeah, but that was..." She trailed off, freezing as she realized something. "We did it, didn't we?"

The vampire grinned widely, teeth flashing. "You bet your sweet buns, sunshine!"

She was at his side in an instant, launching herself into his arms. They tumbled backward in the dirt. "I love you, bleach-for-brains!"

Spike returned the embrace, making no attempt to wipe away the trickle of blood running down his face. In fact, they both ignored it, lips fusing together in an enthusiastic kiss.

Fred grimaced. "Okay, that's not so beautiful. That's 'blech'. A gag reflex sort of 'blech'. You know, like what happens sometimes when y'all get somethin' real stink-icky on your shoes."

"I agree," Wesley replied absently. He was more interested in finding out what had just happened. He swore Buffy's eyes had glinted yellow for a second there. Unfortunately, the twosome didn't appear like they would be coming up for air anytime soon. "Uh, Buffy? Spike? Spike!"

"What?" The vampire finally heard him and pulled away from his beloved Slayer. He blinked as though he'd only just noticed their audience. "Oh."

He sat upright, bringing Buffy with him. She smiled, afloat in blissfully euphoric haze, and nuzzled his neck.

Wesley squinted at her. "Is she alright?"

"Bit o' blood rush is all," Spike said. He wiped at his nose, making a sticky red smear across his cheek, and peered distractedly at the residue on his fingers. "Happens with new vamps on occasion. Appears to be a side effect."

"From what? What did you do?"

"Told you already," Spike said. "Power sharing."

Wesley just looked at him.

Was everyone trained by the Council of Wankers this bloody incompetent, or did he just get stuck with the rejects? The vampire shook his head and snuggled the now lethargic Buffy tighter against his chest.

"Slayer's been all frantic about havin' no powers since we've been here, right?" He suddenly realized that the Slayer in question had fallen asleep and the scornful expression on his face dissolved into a soppy grin. He tucked a stray lock of platinum-streaked hair behind her ear before continuing his explanation.

"We've been workin' on this thing where we tap into each other's strengths. Just small-time stuff. Me using her spider sense when I'm patrolling, or her borrowing my vamp-vision." He shrugged. "Figured we could expand on that. Try 'n make more of it."

Wesley's eyes bugged behind his glasses. "You're saying that Buffy used the link to draw physical strength from your demon?"

"Seems to take some pretty strong emotions to do it too. Gettin' her all pissed at me. Kinda like usin' the dark side of the Force, I reckon."

Wesley stared. "Do you realize how dangerous that is? Especially in light of what happened to Angel."

"Worked didn't it? No worries, Junior. We know what we're about." Spike brightened then, making yet another mercurial mood-swing. "Thing is, it'll most likely go both ways when we get back to Sunnyhell." He let out a remarkably childlike giggle. "Spikey the Vampire Slayer," he burbled. "Who'd've thought that?"

Who indeed? Wesley could feel a headache coming on. He wearily massaged his temples.

Spike's merriment eased off as he stifled a yawn. When one of them nodded off like this, the other usually wasn't that far behind. Something to do with brainwaves or breathing patterns or some such rot. Who knew? He didn't much care about the ins-and-outs of all their linky quirks. Simply put: Buffy asleep, Spike really tired.

"Hang on," he regarded Wes with heavy-lidded suspicion as his drowsy brain snagged on a stray thought. "How'd you get out here in the backwoods? Figured you'd be under lock 'n key with the rest of the Peaches Brigade."

"I'm not exactly certain of how it came about myself," Wesley disclosed. "I gave some assistance in a scuffle with a group of palace guards, mostly in defense of my own safety I might add, and suddenly I'm an active member of their rebellion." He gave the vampire a weak, watery smile. "They even promoted me to strategist. Sort of a Master-of-Arms, if you will."

The announcement sent Spike off into another bout of childish giggling, the lighthearted sound so infectious that Wesley found himself joining in.

"I know, I know. I simply don't understand why people keep putting me in charge of things."

"Death wish?" Spike suggested, wiping a tear away from his eye.

"I hope not." Wesley was serious once more. "Because I'm planning on getting us all home in one piece."

~*[+]*~

Buffy woke to the unfamiliar sound of horses and the unpalatable smells of something gross roasting on the fire.

"Guessin' that breakfast'll only make me barf," she muttered, sitting up. She glanced at Spike. He was snoring softly, his head lolling back against the log they'd been resting on. There were some strange dark streaks on his face and it took her a moment to equate them with the breaking-his-nose incident of the night before. She winced at the memory, but then shrugged. He looked all healed now.

She peered around the camp.

Fred was curled in a foetal ball to her left and Wesley sat across from her, wide-awake and watchful, eyeing them through the pungent haze of smoke. She smiled at him. "Morning."

"It is." He held up a misshapen clay mug. "You should try the kallaberry tea. It's surprisingly good."

"Gotta be better than," she squinted at the unrecognizable blob on the spit, "Whatever the hell that is."

"Drasbit," the former Watcher supplied.

"Gesundheit," Spike offered dryly before snapping into a sitting position. When he was awake, he was awake - no snuggling under the covers for this vamp.

Unfortunately, the abrupt movement made him feel strangely light-headed. He blinked dizzily.

Buffy frowned at him. His wooziness was making her all queasy - though that could also have been because of the Drasbit stinkage. "When did you last feed?"

Spike thought back. "Before we left home."

"Home home? Or the dimension home?"

He just looked at her.

Buffy tutted disapprovingly. "There's a supply in the bag," she said. "We could heat it up on the fire."

Spike sighed. "No supply in the bag, love. Noticed when I was on my little smoke-search yesterday."

"Oh," Buffy grimaced. "How did that happen?"

The blonde smirked, leaning back and tucking his hands behind his head. He looked very pleased with himself. "Figure someone got a bit sidetracked during the packing," he said, tongue curling behind his teeth.

The Slayer blushed. "But what are we gonna -?" Her eyes locked with his, widening significantly. "You could..."

"No!" Spike recoiled, all signs of smugness evaporating.

"You don't want to?" Buffy was clearly dismayed by his reaction.

Wesley suddenly realized that they were discussing whether or not the vampire should feed from her. "Here now, I must object!"

They ignored the feeble protest.

"Not a matter of wanting, pet. Biting you would involve making faces of the 'Grr' variety. We can't risk that here."

"Oh for God's sake!" Buffy reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger. Before anyone could protest she ran it across her inner forearm and thrust the wound at her partner. "Suck on that."

Spike stared at her, startled, his blue eyes impossibly pale in the morning light. He took her hand and pressed a soft kiss into her palm before latching onto her arm.

Wesley shuddered. "I can't look."

~*[+]*~

Cordelia became aware of her surroundings slowly, registering the dry itchiness of the straw first. Then she realized that she was curled up on the floor with someone - a male someone who was spooned at her back with one arm tossed possessively over her body, hand resting on the bared skin of her stomach.

She glanced down at the proprietary arm. The brown shirt it wore had been rolled up to the elbow and she noted the dusting of fine dark hair on the powerful forearm, the unblemished skin, prominent veins and the longest fingers she'd ever seen - long, artistic, manly fingers.

Angel.

Cordy shifted, slightly disconcerted by the fact that he was holding her this closely, this intimately. It occurred to her that he was warmer than she'd thought he'd be. Maybe he'd absorbed her body temperature - like a lizard sunning itself on a rock.

Then he did the sleep-mumble thing and pulled her back against him - hard. Jeez! And she thought he was being intimate before!

Angel's touch was affecting her in ways that she'd never expected. There was the physical attraction thing, sure, but that was always there. She'd learned to deal with that. What was disturbing her was the contentment thing. She felt like she belonged right where she was - like the haven of Angel's arms was the only safe place in the world.

Wig alert! Hadn't she already been through the reasons why this wouldn't work?

Cordy edged onto her back, trying to distance herself. Bad move. Now she could see him, and it looked like her movement had jolted him awake.

Angel's eyelids fluttered open, his gaze instantly colliding with hers. He blinked in surprise, then glanced down along her body, taking in the strip of exposed flesh where the borrowed jacket fell open. He paused for a moment, realizing that his hand was curved around her hip. The hand tightened for a beat, but then he pulled it away.

"Sorry," he said. His voice was nothing more than a soft rasp.

"Why?" She was playing with fire now, she knew, but what a way to go...

Angel stared at her then, his eyes impossibly dark. He leant in until his face was a whisper away from hers. His hand returned to rest against her naked midsection, fingers splayed out along her ribs.

"I can feel your heart," he breathed, the huskiness of his voice tugging at her, like callused hands on silk. "It's beating pretty fast. Are you scared of me, Cordy?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "No."

Angel gave her a sly smile and lowered his head to gently nuzzle her cheek, taking in the scent of her hair, her skin. Then he pressed a light, chaste kiss against her brow and withdrew to simply look at her, delighting in her flushed cheeks and fever-bright eyes. He felt insanely proud of himself. She was finally reacting to him as a man, not just as a friend.

Cordelia was completely under his spell. Good God, if this was how he'd been with Buffy, then no wonder she'd been ruined for anyone else.

Angel sighed and shook his head, reality returning like a splash of cold water. He was taking advantage of the situation, and she would definitely be pissed at him when she came back to herself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have..." He moved away, abandoning her to sit with his back against the stone wall of their cell. He held his head in his hands, fingers fisting in the hair at his temples. "I can't do this."

Cordelia lay still for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium. "It's okay," she said, though it really wasn't. "I understand. You don't want me. You want Buffy."

Angel gaped. She couldn't be serious. "Don't want -? You think I don't want you?" He let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Cordy, I want you so bad I can taste it."

She sat upright at the revelation, stunned. "You can? You do?"

He ducked his head. "Always."

"But, but... Buffy -?"

"Buffy is with Spike. I told you that already."

"And you're okay with that?" Cordelia's eyebrows arched.

"What Buffy and I had was over a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't even come close to what she has with Spike. They were made for each other. Literally made for each other."

Cordy snorted. "You do realize what is coming out of your mouth?"

"Believe it," Angel said. "You'll understand what I mean when you see them together."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're jealous."

"Not the way you're thinking," he told her. "I don't hate Spike for being with Buffy." He conceded to her skeptical stare. "Okay, I did at first. But I got over it. This is more... What they have is so special, Cordy. It's amazing." He paused, mulling that over. "Up to a point ... then it just gets nauseating."

"So, this is relationship envy?"

"No. Well, sort of, I guess."

Cordelia studied him for a moment, then came over to crouch in front of him. "So what was that all about?" She waved a hand behind her at the pile of straw.

Angel avoided her eyes. "I don't..."

"Don't you even think about giving me the stuttering avoidy-guy speech 'cause that is so old." She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Tell me, Angel, straight up. What the hell was that?"

"Cordy..." Angel pleaded softly, begging her not to keep at him like this. Their eyes met and held - locked together in a mutual, magnetic attraction and he groaned, giving in.

He reached up to grasp her forearms, pulling her toward him. She lost her balance and sprawled against his chest, her face millimeters from his.

"Are you gonna-?"

Her question was cut off as Angel took her mouth in an openly passionate kiss.

EPISODE SEVEN
Unexpected Developments

Cordelia felt like she was drowning.

It was one thing to have all kinds of fantastical daydreams about Angel, to speculate and ponder in a semi-detached co-workery way, but actually being in his arms was something else. It was incredible. She felt so connected to him, and not just in the lip department. There was an emotional connection too - a great seething mass of emotion. The intensity of it scared her.

She pulled back and stared into his eyes. They're liquid, she thought inanely, like the blackest ink.

He returned her gaze, unblinking. "Cordy..." Her name was a whisper this time, uttered with prayer-like reverence.

"No," she withdrew from his embrace. "No, don't."

"I..."

"I said don't." She retreated to the other side of the cell, one hand pressed to her mouth in something akin to shock. She stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm herself. When she turned back, though, she was still shaking.

"Explain yourself," she commanded.

Oh ho, behold the princess-voice. Angel looked up at her, cocking his head to one side. When he'd turned into the beast she hadn't batted an eyelid, and yet this was freaking her out. Interesting.

"Explain what? I thought it was pretty self-explanatory."

"You kissed me."

"I noticed." One corner of his mouth ticked up the tiniest bit. "I also noticed that there was some kissing back."

"Well it was..." She frowned. Was he flirting? "Stop doing that."

He flicked her an amused glance from under his lashes. "Doing what?"

"Making with the cutie-patootie. It's wrong."

"Is it?"

"See!" She pointed accusingly. "There! That's just not normal. All the friskiness and schmoozability and ... and graargh!" She threw her hands up in the air. "You're being such a guy! I so want to strangle you right now."

Angel smiled then. "Go ahead. I don't breathe, you know, so strangling would be..."

Cordelia stared at him. "Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice sounded brittle. She was right on the verge of cracking up on him. "Is this some kind of game to you?"

"No!" He scrambled to his feet, his attempts at playfulness forgotten. "Not a game. Never." He reached for her but she ducked away. "Cordy..."

"And just so you know, I never gave you permission to call me that. There I was, minding my own business, and then WHAM! Suddenly its all 'Cordy' this and 'Cordy' that. My name is Cordelia, you big blockhead! Use it once in a while."

"Why are you acting like this?" Angel was getting concerned now. She was starting to rant. Ranting wasn't a good sign.

"Like what? Like one of my best friends suddenly decided to get lip-locky with me?" She huffed, fisted hands planted firmly on her hips. "Well, excuse me for being just a little bit wigged. I mean, left field much?"

"Left-?" Angel scowled. "I thought I was being really obvious."

"Obvious. Yeah, 'cause you're all out-in-the-open guy." Cordelia paused, replaying the last few minutes in her head. "Hey, back up Mr. Clamshell, I don't think we're on the same page. What the hell are you talking about?"

Angel sighed. "You still can't see it can you?"

"See what? Would you stop with the cryptic already?"

Time for the direct approach. Angel seized her upper arms, almost like he was going to try and shake some sense into her. The thought crossed his mind. He ignored it.

"When are you going to wake up and realize that I love you?"

She stopped struggling and stared at him, mouth agape. Then she shook her head. "No you don't."

He hadn't really known what to expect, but he knew that wasn't it. She sounded like she was humoring him or something. Like he was delusional. He willed his hands not to tighten their grasp on her arms. "I'm not playing here. Cordelia, I'm in love with you."

"You can say it as much as you want, but it doesn't make it true." Her voice had gone oddly flat now, lifeless. "You're in love with Buffy. You'll always be in love with Buffy. You guys had the big forever love, remember? The eternal soul-mate, death-do-us-part thing, all moony-eyed and star-crossed... Well, not so much with the crosses, I guess, but..."

Angel shoved her away from him. "God, you can be so stubborn," he gritted, running an impatient hand through his hair. "What part of 'over' did you not understand?"

"Hey, you're the emotionally stunted one," she returned hotly. "You are so totally clueless when it comes to stuff like this. You don't love me, Angel. You're projecting. I'm just the projectee - the convenient little Slayer substitute."

Angel snorted and then blinked at the noise, startled. Great, now he was starting to sound like Spike. The thought annoyed him just that much further.

"I'm two and a half centuries old," he growled. "I'm a big boy now. I think I'm up with the feelings. And the convenient thing? Spare me. There is nothing convenient about this."

He folded his arms and stared her down, positive that he'd just seen the slightest flicker of uncertainty. "I - Love - You." He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, determined to get through to her. "And I'm just gonna keep saying it until you believe me. Or..." An impish light flared in his eyes. "I could keep kissing you. That was fun."

"Fun? Did you just say fun?" The uncertainty exploded into full-blown skepticism. "Okay, it's official. The big beast-morph melted your brain."

"Nah." Angel grinned crookedly. "I think it was the kissing."

"Would you stop with the flirting!" she cried. "There's enough freakage here already without the extra helping of weird."

"I know." The vampire grew serious again. He rammed his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. "I'm sorry. It's just... It's a relief, I guess, to finally have it out in the open. You need time to adjust and I'm..." He trailed off and frowned, his brows knitting together in concentration.

"What?" Cordelia demanded. "What's wrong now?"

"Shh!" Angel waved a hand at her, listening intently. He wandered over to the wall and rested an ear against the stone. "Someone's in the next cell."

Cordy grimaced. "It's not Wesley is it? 'Cause if it is, we are so screwed."

"No, it's..." he straightened and shook his head in amusement. "It's Lorne. He's singing."

"Oh please! Dungeon karaoke?"

"I'm not kidding."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Now there's a huge surprise."

Angel glowered for a moment, offended. He could have been kidding. He was a great kidder - he could kid her ass off. He rapped his knuckles against the dense stone. "If the walls weren't so thick you could probably..." He stopped and let out a chuckle. "Andy Williams?"

Cordelia's nose crinkled in utter disgust. "Ugh. And you think you know someone..."

Angel looked at her. "What's wrong with Andy Williams? Especially 'Can't Take My Eyes off You' - it's a classic."

"Yeah, a classic pile of schmaltzy crap."

Angel sighed. There she was - Queen C. Her defenses were back up. Now there would be no getting through to her.

~*[+]*~

Spike was beginning to worry. He shouldn't be so nauseous and lightheaded. The sampling of blood he'd taken from Buffy should have been enough to sustain him for days, but even that tiny amount was making his stomach churn.

Way back when he'd first gotten the chip he had gone a few weeks without feeding and he still hadn't been this bad. It didn't make sense. He speculated momentarily that Buffy's current weakness was somehow sapping him via the link, but deep down he knew that wasn't the right reason. And it had been going on longer than just this little cross-dimensional jaunt.

One of them was ill.

Buffy looked up from her mug of kallaberry tea and raised an inquiring brow. Her bright "What's wrong with you?" reverberated in his head and he winced. The slight headache he was nurturing apparently didn't appreciate link-speak.

"Not a thing." He sent the reply in a whisper, even his own voice was echoing too loudly now. He felt the wave of her concern rush over him and gave her a weak smile. "It's nothing, pet. I'll be right as rain 'fore you know it."

"And strangely? Not comforted," she drawled. "Might be that great big knot of anxiety I'm picking up."

Spike stared at her, absently chewing the inner wall of his cheek, and Buffy was suddenly struck by how drawn he looked. He hadn't been this pale since the pre-heartbeat days and there were bruise-dark shadows under his eyes. He looked bad. Real bad. Post-Initiative bad.

Why hadn't she noticed sooner?

She was kneeling at his feet before she even realized she was moving, abandoning her tea to take both his hands in hers. "Spike?"

He didn't respond. He just tilted his head to one side and went on staring at her. His eyes were a little glassy and a muscle ticked rhythmically in his jaw as he continued to gnaw at his cheek. Buffy could taste the coppery tang of blood and knew that he'd broken the skin.

"Spike, stop it." She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. He wasn't overly warm, but she could sense that he wasn't quite himself. "You're scaring me."

He blinked at the light touch, coming back from wherever he'd zoned off to. "Oh, sorry love. Didn't realize."

Buffy frowned. They normally didn't do this without asking - tried to maintain a small slice of privacy - but his behavior was giving her the wiggins. And besides, the link didn't go as deep as it did for no reason.

Spike noticed the cute concentration wrinkle between her brows right before he felt her delving into the shielded recesses of his psyche. Jig was up, then. He knew he'd been made when she pursed her lips and gave him her patented Buffy 'look of death'.

"How long?" she ground out.

"'Bout a week. Ten days at most."

Buffy stood and planted her fists on her hips, glaring down at the top of his head. She wished she had her Slayer strength back so she could hit him without injuring himself in the process. "How dare you try and hide this from me!"

Spike actually cringed, ducking his head. "I was just..."

"You've been sick all this time?"

"Been worse the last couple of days," he admitted with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He sounded miserable. "Mornings mostly. Can't keep anything down..."

It was only as the words were leaving his mouth that the implications hit. His head shot up and his gaze collided with Buffy's. She'd obviously reached the same conclusion, gaping at him in open-mouthed shock.

Spike's eyes dropped to stare at her midsection in disbelief. He reached out a tentative hand, the palm hovering over her stomach. He didn't touch her. He didn't have to. "Bloody hell, sunshine..."

"No," she whispered, backing away.

He looked back up, a superior smirk spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he purred, "Spike gets it right first pop."

Buffy's lips curled. "That is so... Ugh! You're such a pig."

He nodded. "Maybe so. But I'm a Daddy pig."

"What?" She shook her head, retreating even further and folding her arms protectively. "No! Big no! Move it along mister, there's nothing to see - nothing. Zip, zilch, nada..."

Spike's smirk didn't falter in the slightest. He was absolutely certain now, even if she wanted to stay in Denial-land. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, happier than he'd ever been in his entire existence.

"So," he chirped blithely. "What're we gonna name the Little Nipper?"

The Slayer stared at him, stricken, not dealing at all. Tears welled in the deep green pools of her eyes. "Spike..."

He relented then, getting to his feet and pulling her into his arms. "Hey, come on. Thought this was supposed to be a happy occasion. Time to make with the merry, break out the sodding Champagne and all that celebratory crap."

"I don't understand how this happened," Buffy lamented. He chuckled and she kicked him in the shin. "Not that part, you idiot. The conceptiony part." She butted her forehead against his shoulder. "We've been so careful."

"Oh, that's complete rot and you know it," he snorted. "'Sides, neither've us has ever been the most responsible of sorts, have we?"

Buffy gave him a rueful half-smile. "That's gonna have to change, huh?"

"Just one item in a long list, pet." The vampire lowered himself onto his knees, keeping one arm slung around her hips, and pressed his cheek against her abdomen. "Hey there, Spikelet," he greeted softly. "Alright, yeah?"

Wesley chose that moment to rejoin them at the fire. He took in their unusual positions and frowned. "What on earth are you doing now?"

Spike gave him huge, deliriously happy grin. "Congratulate me!" he ordered, eyes sparkling. "I'm gonna be a Dad!"

The former Watcher seemed to shut down completely. He stopped dead, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two as he tried to process the announcement.

"Good Lord," he finally managed to squeak and collapsed onto a nearby tree stump like his legs could no longer hold him.

"That about sums it up," Buffy commented, playing with the tousled white curls of Spike's hair. He traced indecipherable patterns on her belly with his fingertips, emitting a contented vibe that made her feel all warm and cozy.

"Congratulations!" Fred blurted. She was standing next to Wesley, though none of them had noticed her arrival.

Spike twitched, shoulder muscles rippling beneath his duster. He'd been so engrossed that Fred had actually managed to scare him. "Make some noise when you approach a bloke," he grumbled, eyeing the girl with annoyance. "The old ticker's a tad past warranty. I could have a heart attack or what all, and it wouldn't do to leave the bloody tot an orphan, now, would it?"

Fred was instantly contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to holler at you. 'Specially with you bein' delicate 'n all."

Buffy burst out laughing. "Delicate!" she guffawed. "She thinks you're delicate. Poor delicate widdle Spikey!"

Spike sat back on his heels and scowled. "Sod off."

"Hey, watch the language in front of the baby!" Buffy went to cuff his ear, but the enormity of her words finally registered and she froze. "Baby?" Her hands fluttered and clutched at her stomach, an overflow of panicky awe rippling through the link. "Oh God, there's a baby in here! Spike's baby, baby of Spike!"

The vampire was unable to keep the joy from showing on his expressive face. "Hello? Where were you five minutes ago? Always knew you were a bit on the slow side, Slayer. Hope Nipper gets the brains from my branch of the family tree."

"You're going to keep calling it that, aren't you?" Buffy asked resignedly.

Spike ruminated on that for a moment, then shrugged. "Fits, dunnit?"

She rolled her eyes. If there was a nickname to be had, Spike invariably used it. It was a sign of affection thing. If Spike used your actual name, he was either being very serious, or he didn't like you. That was just how it was.

He quirked an eyebrow and effected an exaggerated eye-roll of his own. When she giggled at his antics, he sprang to his feet and threw his arms around her, enveloping them in their own private bubble of happy.

Then he thought of something horrifying, something that made him nauseous all over again. "Hey, Slayer?" he inquired uneasily. "Does this mean Peaches is the Nip's granddad?"

She frowned, processing the logistics. The vamp family connections were sort of convoluted. It made her brain hurt thinking about it. "Um, yeah. I suppose." She grimaced. "Weird much?"

Spike sighed. "Bloody PTB," he muttered. "Just when you think you're gettin' someplace, the wankers set about knockin' you back a peg."

"But, hey, on the bright side," Buffy said, patting her stomach. "Baby of us."

"Oh yeah."

Spike made the simple confirmation sound obscenely intimate. His hands slid down to catch hold of her hips and draw her tighter against him. They kissed softly, lingeringly, retracing well-known and oft-visited territory. When they finally pulled back, it was to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes and drift off into a pleasant sensual fog. Everyone outside their link-sphere was excluded from their perception.

Wesley was in such a stunned funk that it took him a few minutes to remember his original purpose in approaching the couple. "Oh," he said, straightening up. "In light of recent developments, I'd almost..." He cleared his throat. "It seems that in order to lure the Gemel there's to be a tournament in the village."

The Slayer stirred as he spoke. She dragged her attention away from her partner and gave the former Watcher a distracted heavy-lidded look.

"Tournament?" she asked. "What, with like, jousting 'n stuff?"

Wes nodded. "So I'm led to believe." He waved a sheet of papyrus-like parchment in one hand. "According to their advertising material, there are to be several public executions and, uh..." He adjusted his glasses and read aloud from the flyer. "'A match predestined by ancient Pylean lore - the Mighty Groosalugg against the most fearsome Belial'."

"Ooh, now there's name to strike fear in a bloke's heart," Spike scoffed. "Groosalugg. Real boot-shaker that. I'm all a-flutter." He cast a wide-eyed look at Buffy. "Can you feel me tremblin', pet?"

The Slayer ignored him, contemplating instead the fit of her clingy red T-shirt. No sign of a bump yet, just a little bloaty-type swelling. She shrugged and focused back on what Wes was saying. She'd worry about turning into Little Miss Swallowed-a-Basketball later.

Wesley pointed back toward the rebel leader. "Jonah tells me that the Groosalugg is Pylea's undefeated champion. A mythic warrior, if you will. Angel will be fighting for his life."

Spike's lips twisted into a sneer. "'Mythic warrior' my shiny white bum," he said. "Wager the newly parental Chosen Ones could knock him cold." He winked at Buffy.

She grinned up at him, confident that together they could take on the world.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia had come to the conclusion that at some point in the Belial mutating process Angel had lost his mind. There was no other explanation. The way he was acting was so un-Angel.

First of all there was the singing. Well, not so much singing as a kind of groany drone. The guy had serious tune issues, in that he couldn't carry one to save himself. He was apparently taking part in the 'Let's mangle every lovesick ballad in history' sing-along that Lorne was conducting in the adjacent cell. She couldn't hear the green-skinned demon herself of course, not having ears of the super-vamp variety, so she was taking his word at face value.

On top of the singing badness, there was the touching. Any chance he got. He'd brush against her or fool around with her hair. When she called him on it, he'd just smile at her.

That was something else, too, the damn smiling. Slow melty grins that lit up something insidiously wicked in his eyes and made a big puddle of warm pool in her belly. That was on the plus side, though, 'cause at least the warm poolyness drowned the crazed mass of butterflies stirred up by the touching part.

Crazy Angel was getting on her nerves.

"Would you knock it off?" she pleaded. "There is only so much of this I can take. And my taking level is at an all time low."

Crazy Angel did the slow grin thing again, nicely paired with a mock innocent lifting of brow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I bothering you?"

"Bother, schmother. Right now I'm all for hating you." Cordelia turned her back on him and curled into a ball in the corner of the cell, shutting him out completely. "Stupid vampire."

Angel's face dropped. He'd pushed it too far. He was such an idiot.

"Cordy?" he called softly, tentatively. "Please, I didn't want to..." His voice cracked a little and he winced. He sounded like a complete wuss. Spike would be laughing his ass off. He sighed and slumped to one side, staring at the tense line of her back. He banged his head against the wall.

"Trying to knock some sense into yourself?"

He blinked. "What?"

Cordelia peered at him over her shoulder, then angled her back against the wall. "You're serious about this love thing, aren't you?"

Angel met her eyes determinedly. "Deadly."

"Uh huh." She looked down at her hands, nervously twisting one of the gaudy rings decorating her fingers. She shot him a glance that was uncharacteristically shy, almost coy. "I didn't mean it. I don't hate you."

"You don't?"

"Nah. Hate's too strong a word. I'm finding you sort of disagreeable at the moment, but you're too nice a guy for an all-encompassing hate."

"Nice?" Angel grimaced. Was this the start of a 'just want to be friends' speech? He didn't think he could deal with one of those right now, especially not from Cordy. He set his jaw. "I'm not nice."

She smiled. "You so are."

"Well, I don't wanna be." He scowled. "I told Buffy and Spike this was gonna happen."

Cordelia arched an artful brow. "You talked to them about me?"

"'Talk to her', they said. 'Do something different', they said." He folded his arms. "What the hell do they know?"

She suppressed a grin at his petulant tone, then tensed as a familiar roar echoed in her head. "Angel..." Her voice was weak, plaintive.

He was across the cell in a heartbeat, one of the stuttering irregular heartbeats that always heralded one of her visions. He managed to slip a hand behind her head just as she was flung backward, saving her from cracking her skull against the stone, and pulled her tight against his chest. He held her as the vision tore it's way through her body, leaving her shuddering in its wake.

As it eased, she clutched at him, sobbing from pain and shock.

"Easy baby," the vampire soothed. "It's okay. I've got you." He stroked her hair, tears shimmering in his own eyes. He hated that she went through this for him - because of him. "I've got you."

Cordelia stared up at him, her hands curled around his biceps. "Promise me you won't fight," she implored, tearstains glistening like quicksilver on her cheeks. Angel stared at her blankly and she became more insistent, her fingers digging into his flesh. "Promise me!"

"I can't do that, Cordy. Not until you tell me what you saw."

"Their champion guy," she whispered. "He's going to kill you."

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