Part 1
Every nerve in Angel’s body was on high alert, his ears buzzing as the vampire equivalent of adrenaline rushed through his system. After a moment of incredulity when Cordelia passed out, he rushed frantically to her side, calmed only slightly by the steady heartbeat and even breathing.
She lay still on her back, sprawled out on the floor, her hair pooling around her head, one arm curled up near her face. Her features were peaceful, ironic considering how she’d come to be lying there. Angel gently snuck one arm under her neck, her head lolling back as he lifted her, the ends of her short hair brushing the floor. His other hand came up to stroke the soft skin of her cheek, then moved down her body as he checked for signs of injury.
Finding none, he tried to revive her. “Cordelia, wake up.” He shook her gently, but she remained impassive. “Cordy, baby, it’s Angel. Wake up.”
Wesley looked on anxiously, his attention focused on Cordelia, but he still noticed Angel’s unintentional endearment. He shook his head briefly, a reflex action to accompany his thoughts. When were those two ever going to get on the same wavelength? They were obviously in love with each other, but neither of them were unbiased enough to stand back and view each other objectively. Someday, maybe they’d take off the blinders and grasp the possibility of bliss that was staring them in the face.
Shaking himself from his musings, Wesley knelt on Cordelia’s other side, clinically assessing her condition. Having seen many unconscious people in line of work, Wesley realized that Cordelia probably wouldn’t come around for awhile yet.
“Angel,” Wesley addressed him softly, the confident steadiness of his voice drawing Angel’s worried gaze to his face. “Why don’t you lay her on the couch in the lobby? It’s not uncommon for people who are affected by paranormal objects like this to be unconscious for a long while.”
Even though Wesley meant to reassure Angel with his suggestion, he could see that it had the opposite effect. Angel’s face had darkened considerably when Wesley’s implication sank in.
“What do you mean, ‘a long while’?” Angel said, his voice nearly a growl.
Wesley’s eyes darted everywhere but Angel’s face as he frantically backpedaled. “Ahem, well, um . . . I’m fairly certain that she’ll wake within the next few hours,” he said, knowing that he really had no idea.
“She’d better,” Angel said, his tone indicating that Wesley would be held responsible if Cordelia didn’t wake up in that time frame.
After one more stern look at his friend, Angel did as Wesley suggested, never breaking his watchful gaze on Cordelia’s face as he picked her up gently and carried her to the sofa. Only when he laid her tenderly on the velvet surface did he turn to face Wesley, his face carefully neutral.
“What’s your plan, Wesley?” Angel said. His mouth was set in a grim line, and he crossed his arms as he stood facing him, his feet planted firmly. His stance screamed “meanacing authority,” but Wesley had seen that before and wasn’t intimidated by it.
He was taken aback by the question, though. Angel’s made it sound like Wesley should have a detailed, well thought out plan, and right this instant. He had nothing. All he knew was that he’d received this object mysteriously; besides that, he had jack squat. The only thing he could think of was to call Sunnydale, a task that didn’t excite him in the slightest.
“I guess I’m going to call Giles. Cordelia thought it was from him,” Wesley finally answered, shrugging his shoulders in frustration. He faced Angel, crossing his arms and mimicking Angel’s stance.
“You guess?” Angel said angrily. “I hope you can do better than that.”
“What exactly do you want me to do, Angel? That thing,” Wesley gestured dramatically to the orb on the floor, “is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. I don’t have all the answers.” He was starting to get pissed that Angel was backing him into a corner like this.
It wasn’t as if he’d shoved the orb into Cordelia’s hands and said, “Here, twist this, please.” Cordelia got into enough trouble on her own, thank you very much. Angel should be thanking him for trying to stop her, not blaming him for her current state.
Then again, Angel could never be accused of being a slave to logic. His methods might be generally successful, but his reasoning was often driven solely by emotion, throwing common sense completely out the window. Wesley had grown exceedingly tired of trying to predict the vampire’s mood swings, especially where Cordelia was concerned.
“So you think Giles might be able to help?” Angel asked, mildly placated by the fact that Wesley at least had one option.
“It’s the only thing I’ve got right now. I can research, but we all know that takes forever to produce anything useful, and I honestly don’t know what this thing did to her. We may not have time; we may have forever. I just don’t know.”
Angel sighed, He began pacing the section off floor in front of Cordelia’s prone figure, one hand rubbing his jaw .
After a moment of contemplation, Angel nodded, then sighed, obviously not needing the breath but needing the release of frustration.
“Damn it. It just had to be Sunnydale.” Angel shook his head ruefully.
“Is there something particularly wrong with the package coming from Sunnydale?” Wesley attempted to make the question sound innocent, but he was really curious to find out what had Angel so irritated.
Hesitating, Angel tried to decide how to answer that two-edged question. Hell, he didn’t even know if he knew the answer, but he supposed Wesley should have all the information if he was going to be successful in reversing this disaster. “I just didn’t want to see them again for awhile. When I went to see Buffy after she came back, it was . . . weird.”
The word was inadequate to express what Angel was feeling and both men knew it.
“Weird as in awkward, or weird as in ‘My God, that was hellish’?”
A grim smile crossed Angel’s face at Wesley’s uncharacteristic question. He was tempted to say the latter, but it hadn’t been quite that bad. Almost, but not quite.
His long lost love hadn’t been as anxious to see him as he’d thought she’d be. She was edgy, nervous even, the whole time they were together. She was different somehow, and that, combined with the fact that Angel had already said goodbye to her forever, made the meeting intensely uncomfortable. At the time, it had felt like a splinter under his skin, irritating and chafing; painful, but virtually irremovable.
That feeling had rushed back in full force when Wesley had revealed the package’s origins.
Angel searched Wesley’s confused eyes, the vampire’s expression revealing his frustration. “I’d eventually moved on after she died, and when she came back, I didn’t know what to think. That trip away last summer helped me sort everything out in my mind, and I was able to bring an ending to that chapter in my life. While it was a painful experience, it felt good to have closure.” He paused again, not finished, searching for words.
Wesley held still, not wanting to interrupt one of these rare glimpses into Angel’s soul.
“Then when I came back home, I saw Cordelia, and I just . . .” he trailed off, staring down into Cordelia’s sleeping face.
“You just knew?” Wesley said, finishing the sentence for him.
“Yeah,” Angel said, unfolding his arms and rubbing the back of his neck absently, his other hand sliding into his pocket. “I just knew.”
Angel looked up at his friend, the naked truth shining in his eyes. “I love Cordelia, Wesley, and it scares the hell out of me.”
Sunnydale
“What the bloody hell do you mean, she won’t wake up?” Spike demanded, his face contorted in an expression of frustrated helplessness.
“Just what I said, Spike. Nothing I’ve tried to revive her will work,” Giles said, exasperated with the vampire. Giles was just as worried, arguably more so, but he wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Giles’ heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen Buffy fall to the floor earlier, the orb rolling from her fingers. He’d rushed to her side and tried to wake her, but nothing he’d done had had the slightest effect. All he knew to do now was wait. Her vital signs were all normal, and it seemed likely that she would wake up soon.
It seemed likely – but it didn’t make anyone any less nervous.
The former watcher glanced around the main room of the Magic Box, noting the anxious expressions on all the faces gathered. Willow sat at the table, worrying the rings on her fingers anxiously. She’d wanted to try a spell to revive Buffy, but Giles had immediately shot the idea down, stating that more magic would probably make things worse. They didn’t know what had happened, so they couldn’t risk undoing it the wrong way.
Dawn had arrived at the Magic Box earlier that evening, seen her sister’s condition, and had reacted badly. It had been agreed that her hysteria wasn’t helping matters, and Giles had quickly arranged for her to stay at one of her friend’s houses for the time being.
Anya was her usual implacable, tactless self, taking inventory and dusting the shelves while the rest of them sat around, waiting for Buffy to wake up. Nothing seemed to surprise or shake her anymore, not that anything ever had.
Xander had just exacerbated the problem rather than be of help in any way, butting heads with Spike, who retaliated by provoking him into anger. The vampire, in his characteristically abrupt fashion, had made no attempt to hide his anxiety over Buffy’s condition. This had gained him no small measure of grief from Xander, who insisted on using his own worry as an excuse to remind Spike that nothing concerning Buffy was any of his business.
Spike had nearly given into his rage, the pain caused by the chip not enough of a deterrent when faced with the young man’s cutting words. Only Willow’s intervention by stepping between them had prevented an all-out fight.
Buffy lay sprawled on the floor, a pillow under her head. Giles was very wary of moving her, and since there was really no place to lie down in the shop, he’d made her as comfortable with what was available. The minutes ticked by slowly as everyone waited anxiously for the slayer to return from oblivion.
So far, she had been unconscious for 45 minutes and everyone’s nerves were frayed. Giles decided that they needed some activity to alleviate some of the tension. He stood and faced the room’s occupants.
“We aren’t going to help Buffy at all by standing around like this. We need to figure out what happened to her. Let’s go over what we know, shall we?” He stared pointedly at the young people as they reluctantly gathered around him.
Satisfied that the group was sufficiently attentive, Giles went into full-blown Watcher Mode. He picked up the stone sphere and grasped it carefully in his hand, holding it up so that everyone could examine it. “I received this orb in the mail yesterday. The return address was in L.A.; I’d assumed that the orb was from Wesley, but there was no note. I believe we should contact him immediately.”
“Willow,” he turned to the redhead, who raised concerned eyes to him immediately. “I need you to do some research. Let’s see if we can figure out what language is inscribed on the orb. Xander, please channel that aggression into something constructive and help her.”
Xander had the grace to nod briefly before making his way over to the redhead, avoiding any eye contact with the glowering vampire.
“I’m not doing any research,” Spike growled, heading Giles off before he could speak.
“I don’t expect you to,” Giles said, his tone purposefully void of emotion. “I wanted to ask if you’d go on patrol. Buffy said that the number of threats lately has been higher than usual; and since she’s not able to go out herself, you’re the logical choice to take her place.”
Spike’s eyes drifted down to Buffy’s face, lingering on her peaceful features. “I don’t want to leave her,” he said, almost to himself.
Giles looked over at Xander and Willow. Thankfully, they were immersed in research and hadn’t heard Spike’s comment. Moving closer to the anxious vampire, he spoke in low, soothing tones. “Spike, while I don’t approve of this attachment you have to Buffy, I do realize that your feelings of concern are genuine. But you won’t be doing her any good by pacing around her. When she wakes up, I don’t think she’s going to appreciate you hovering over her.”
Spike hated it that the man was right, but he stalked out the door anyway, grabbing a vicious looking axe off the shelf, his duster flaring dramatically behind him.
“Hey!” Anya yelled after him, her eyebrows coming together in a fierce scowl. “That’s for sale, not for dismembering devil spawn!”
The slam of the front door and the resulting tinkle of the bell were her only answers.
Anya huffed as she turned back into the room, only to find that everyone was staring back at her.
“What?” she asked defensively. “He’ll get it all gooey. And it’s not like he ever thinks to clean up after himself. I’ll be the one left to scrub that thing until it’s fit for the showroom again. It’s thirteenth century weaponry, not non-stick cookware.”
Rolling her eyes, Anya stalked back behind the cash register, popping it open and ruffling through the bills inside. “Men are irresponsible and thoughtless,” she muttered, shooting a pointed look at Xander, who quickly turned back to the ancient pages in front of him.
L.A. – The Hyperion
Angel paced in front of the couch where Cordelia lay, growling impatiently. He’d insisted that Wesley at least attempt to revive Cordelia, and the Englishman had reluctantly brought some cold water and smelling salts. They’d proven ineffective, and now they lay scattered across the room, having shattered against the wall they’d hit when Angel had hurled them in frustrated anger. Nothing they’d tried had worked, and Cordelia remained unconscious but at least stable. He glanced down again at her peaceful face; if she didn’t wake up soon, someone was going to die.
After Angel’s violent display, Wesley had retreated into the office, intending to call Giles. He’d not been gone more than a minute when all hell broke loose.
One instant Cordelia lay peacefully still, the next her face scrunched up as if she were in pain. She tossed her head back and forth, moaning and saying, “No, stop!”
Frantic, Angel knelt at her side and placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Cordy, wake up. It’s just a dream. Don’t be scared.”
Cordelia’s struggles only became more pronounced as Angel spoke to her, his fingers caressing her cheek as he tried to soothe her with his touch. Her hands came up and grasped his biceps, pushing against them. Her grip was quite painful.
“No, stop! Don’t touch me. Get away from me!” Cordelia groaned, her eyes still closed, her face contorted in fear and pain.
Angel spoke louder, thinking that maybe the volume of his voice would wake her up. “Cordelia, wake up. It’s just me, Angel. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re dreaming.”
His words caused Wesley to rush back into the room, the cordless phone clutched in his hand, forgotten. “What’s happening?” he asked, feeling helpless as he watched the vampire struggle to subdue her.
Angel’s ability to control her flailing body was waning. He could feel her power growing, and it frightened him. Cordelia was not normally anywhere near this strong. “She’s dreaming. She thinks I’m trying to hurt her.”
“Did you try—”
“NO!!! Leave. Me. Alone!!” Cordelia’s scream broke into Wesley’s suggestion. She shoved on Angel’s arms, putting more space between them. Her eyes shot open, one knee coming up, her foot planted firmly against his torso. With one violent thrust, Cordelia sent Angel sprawling across the room, the force of the kick so hard that he slid on the floor for a few feet before he came to a halt.
“Oh, my God,” Wesley said breathlessly.
“You can say that again,” Angel groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly examine his cracked ribs.
Cordelia stared up at Wesley, her eyes wide and clear as her coherence had returned. She was frightened by her own power. “What did that freaky little bowling ball do to me?”
Ignoring Cordelia’s question, Angel raised himself awkwardly to his feet, keeping his distance from her for the time being.
“Call Giles, Wesley. Now.”
***
The watcher’s eyes rested on the closed door of the Magic Box for some minutes after Spike exited. He knew there was something going on with Spike and Buffy, and truth be told, he wasn’t at all surprised. Buffy had a weakness for vulnerability and darkness, and despite his tough exterior, Spike had both in spades.
Not being surprised didn’t keep him from worrying, though; Spike was relatively harmless now, but they had no way of knowing if he would be incapacitated forever. And chip or not, he still didn’t have a soul.
Buffy deserved better than that.
The object of Giles’ thoughts groaned softly behind him. He went quickly to her side, kneeling down and touching his hand to her cheek. Buffy’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then wide and clear when everything came flooding back.
“What happened, Giles?”
“We’re not quite sure, Buffy,” Giles said, frustrated at not being able to explain her condition. “Willow and Xander are working on it.”
“How do you feel, Buff?” Xander asked, having rushed over with Willow when they’d seen she was awake.
Buffy frowned and slowly raised herself to a sitting position. She groaned, clasping her hand on her forehead.
“I’m okay, I think. I feel kind of weak, like I’ve been drained of my strength. It’s totally weirding me out.”
Giles took charge, taking Buffy’s hand and helping her to stand up. He led her to the table where Xander and Willow had been working. “Why don’t you sit here and rest. If you feel up to it, Willow will get you a book to read. We’re trying to figure out what language is inscribed on the object.”
“Something tells me we have hours of fun ahead of us,” Buffy sighed sarcastically, the sight of the books piled on the table increasing the volume of the marching band in her head.
Pointing to a particularly thick volume, Buffy told Xander, “Pass me that one, Xan.”
Xander grabbed the book next to the one she’d requested.
“No, the one with the bunny on it.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed as she rushed over to them. “Where’s the bunny?”
“It’s some kind of furry demon, not a bunny, honey,” Xander said, his tone soothing his phobic girlfriend.
“Bunny, honey. Heh, heh. You rhymed,” Buffy giggled, pointing at Xander. “You’re funny.”
Willow looked at her strangely. “Maybe you should just rest, Buffy.”
“No, no,” Buffy said, cracking open the Bunny Demon book. “I’m okay. Fine and dandy. Peachy keen. That’s me.” She said it in a sing-songy voice, the rhythm of her words matching the pulsating beat in her head. Somehow it alleviated the pain, weirdly enough.
She finally looked up, noticing that everyone was scrutinizing her. “What?” she said, silence her only answer.
“Okay, so the jackhammer in my head isn’t exactly making concentration easy. I know I’m kinda loopy, but I’m fine. Really.” She said, her “normal Buffy” face placating them somewhat.
After a few minutes of heavy reading, Buffy slammed her book shut, jolting everyone else at the table. “Something tells me we aren’t going to find anything very easily,” she sighed, weariness lacing her tone.
Sitting back in her chair, she looked around the room, noticing the absence of Dawn and Spike. Rarely was anything going on when they weren’t at least there on the sidelines to watch.
“Where’s everybody else?” Buffy asked, her thoughts mainly on the blonde vampire.
Giles scrutinized her intently before answering. “Dawn is staying at a friend’s. Being naturally upset by your condition, we thought it best. Spike is patrolling.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, trying not to sound too disappointed. She stared at the etching on the cover of the book in front of her, unable to concentrate. Why was it that Spike occupied so much of her mental time?
Okay, so he was great in bed. Fantastic, even. And he was built. Those washboard abs, that ass . . . She shivered in remembrance, her palms beginning to sweat. But aside from the physical, what did he have going for him?
Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Not exactly a lot of items to add to the pro column. The cons, on the other hand, were numerous.
He’s a vampire; but so was Angel.
He’s annoying; but so is Anya.
He’s got a foul mouth; but so had she, lately!
He doesn’t have a soul.
That’s what the real problem should be; but since Buffy felt like her own soul was AWOL, it didn’t seem such a glaring lack as it should.
Buffy was ripped from further contemplation by a sharp, shooting pain in her head, multiplying the force of her headache exponentially.
Xander grabbed her arm as she teetered to the side, her hands grasping her head at the temples, groaning. Suddenly, everyone in the room was surrounding her, standing by helplessly as she twitched and spasmed in what almost looked like a seizure, mewling cries of pain escaping from her.
Abruptly, her eyes cleared somewhat and she looked up at the sea of faces, searching for her watcher. “Oh, God, Giles,” she whispered, the pain and dismay filling her face, tears streaking down her cheeks. “No, this can’t be happening! There was so much fear, so much pain! S/he’ll die if we don’t do something.”
Realizing that she must have had a premonition of some kind, Giles knelt carefully in front of her; placing his palms reassuringly over her knees. “What did you see, Buffy?”
Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get the words out, the shrill ring of the phone startled them all.