Cordelia swore that she would scream if Fred asked one more time if Angel was going to return. Cordelia knew that she would slap the young woman if she followed up Wesley and Gunn’s reassurances with the whining question of when.

Angel had only been gone on his self-imposed grief- working through, working beyond-sabbatical for a week and every friggin day of that week the frightened young woman would scamper downstairs whimper her questions then shoot back upstairs or under the table with tear filled eyes.

Cordelia wasn’t completely unsympathetic. Fred had been through a lot. Five years of living in a cave as a fugitive after being a slave in Pylea wasn’t exactly first class treatment at club med. But DAMN'T, the young woman had survived, didn’t that indicate even just a little that Fred had some sort of back bone and sense. But if the physicist librarian had any steel in her it disappeared as soon as Angel left to go on his grief trip. Fred’s constant flitting around, jumping at every sound, starry-eyed gaze whenever Angel’s name was spoken, and her whining about the lack of the source of her hero worship was getting on Cordelia’s every last nerve. It was making the pounding of her head even more violent. Cordelia wished the young woman back to the hidden depths of her room and her fairytale walls.

Cordelia groaned and ran to hide in basement from the sight of Wesley and Gunn trying to tempt Fred from under the table with promises of tacos and Angel’s return. The boys could handle Fred- they seemed to want too.

Cordelia kicked at the stone floor, swinging Angel’s sword in a half haphazard motion. Angel never did say whether he’d teach her to fight. She tossed the weapon back on the bench and slumped down in the near by chair. Cordelia grimaced rubbing her face, forcing the pounding in her head to a manageable level. She chewed on one of the pills that now seemed her constant companion.

It wasn’t Fred’s persistent questions that were trying her nerves. It was the fact that Cordelia had them also that was driving her as nutty as the physicist-that and everything else. Angel promised he would be back but Cordelia wasn’t so confident. It was Buffy grief that they were talking about. Cordelia hoped that Angel was taking the time to do what he said- work his way through his sorrow. But, Cordelia wasn’t positive that he wasn’t just wallowing in his guilt and allowing his brood inclination to convince him that there was no hope in their mission or no reason to continue to try to embrace his humanity or god forbid he blamed her.

Damn, Cordelia and Angel had just gotten back to a friendship that she could revel in and believe and would’ve trusted with her new founded fears. But Noooo, another blonde trauma had to go and ruin it.

Cordelia knocked her head back on the wall, triggering a flare in her headache. Quickly with practiced ease, Cordelia squelched the burning down. God. How bitchy and selfish could she be? She was blaming Buffy for saving the world and dying, preventing Angel’s strong arms from encircling Cordelia and telling her everything would be okay.

Cordelia’s thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Xander. It had been awkward at first but she couldn’t avoid calling him. Cordelia knew that if she felt a sense of loss at the slayer’s death than her former boyfriend must have been truly devastated. Those were the truths she lived with, Angel loved Buffy, Xander loved Buffy- everyone loved Buffy.

Cordelia shook her head, relieving her skull from the ache and resentment. She didn’t want to feel bitter about the blonde young woman and her everlasting grip over the hearts of the men that Cordelia had loved and loved now. Cordelia didn’t want to give blame or accept any. It was life in all of its glorious unfairness, live with it, deal with it, and die with it-that was Cordelia’s motto.

Cordelia twirled her fingers against her temples, no matter her inner turmoil she did believe what she told Angel and Xander- Buffy’s death was horrible, but it hadn’t been wasted. Buffy died protecting the world and those she loved. Buffy needed to be grieved- yes, but she also needed to honored by those she loved by continuing to live and fight the good fight. Cordelia could only hope her own death would be so worthwhile.

Cordelia didn’t know if either man had heard her. She wasn’t sure that Xander even believed her attempts to comfort him, fortunately, Cordelia did know Angel had believed the sincerity in her words, he just hadn't reacted, just stared at her- his expression unreadable before telling her that he needed this time alone- away from her. Okay. Angel hadn’t actually said that last part, but it was obvious in his broody silence. The sudden hurt that sprung up at that realization had surprised Cordelia. She hadn't realized how much she wanted Angel to need her or how much she needed him beside her. God, in his guilt over Buffy’s death would he blame her? He hadn't been there to save Buffy because he was off in another dimension saving Cordelia.

"Errgh" Cordelia sighed out loud, yanking her hands from her head. The pain was manageable and hiding wasn't the answer, neither was self-blame. Willow had said that neither Buffy nor any of the Sunnydale gang had called Angel for help. They thought they could do it own their own and Buffy did, she just died. It wasn’t Cordelia’s fault for standing too close too whatever magic weird mishap that thrust her into Pylea. It wasn’t Angel’s for following to save her. He didn’t know there was a choice to be made- her or Buffy. Cordelia hid her head in her hands. She could never question what Angel’s choice would’ve been if he had known; and pray that he never did either. The answer could kill her.

Angel said he'd return and he that he did believe in the mission. Cordelia had to believe him. Angel needed her- she was vision girl after all. Cordelia silently sighed. She just hoped he remembered that she was his friend too. The young woman rose to her feet, pain managed and resolve solid for that moment.

Cordelia glanced around, grateful to see Fred sitting at the table rather than under it. The young woman actually seemed to be participating in a disjointed conversation with Wesley and Gunn.

Good, maybe now, Wesley could concentrate on solving their new case.

"Any luck on figuring out how to rid the Cleavers of- Cleavers can you believe it. I almost choked when the guy said his name was Ward- who thought someone would actually name his or her child Ward Cleaver.... I guess it could have been worse- Beaver anyone?"

"That just sounds nasty," Gunn made a face.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Gutter mind."

"Uh," Fred looked up in confused interest.

"Nothing, Fred," Wesley shook his head disapprovingly. "Yes, Cordy, actually, I've discovered a potion that will rid the Beaver...I mean the Cleavers' basement of all the Gorgon larvae. We just need some Xelent root."

"I'll go." Cordelia held out her hand.

"You'll go to a herb shop?"

"Why not, it's the only shopping I get to do now a days." Cordelia was happy for an errand that got her out of the hotel. Sitting around thinking and worrying about Angel was making her anxious and depressed, which was making her testy. If she didn't get her mind straight and under control or Angel didn't come back soon or at least send word, she was afraid that she would descend into true bitch mode. No one needed that. Cordelia quickly chewed another pill.

***

Cordelia browsed through the magic shop taking her time. Some of the crystals were pretty. Cordelia sighed as she put the shiny purple stone back. Wesley had practically ripped the lovely crystal she had bought off her neck and lectured her endlessly the last time she gave into the urge to by a piece of jewelry at a magic shop. It hadn't been her fault- how was she supposed to know that the necklace was a conduit for dark magic, the clerk hadn't told her. All Cordelia knew was that she could afford it and that it went perfectly with her new blouse.

Cordelia wandered over to the herb bins. Yuck, not so pretty all roots and no leaves or flowers. She fingered the dried gnarly Xentel root. Damn, they were expensive. Cordelia glanced back at Wesley's instructions. There went the rest of their not so much petty cash. Cordelia made a mental note to add the cost to the Cleaver’s final bill.

Cordelia turned. Her spine was tingling. Someone was staring at her. Cordelia’s gaze narrowed on the figures of two men. Her beginning glare turned appreciative. They both were very good looking. One, dangerously so, in the Angel-type way, all dark striking looks draped in a leather duster. His hair was longer than Cordelia usually liked, but the neat ponytail fit the man, just has the coat fit his broad shoulders and his dark eyes- they held as much knowledge and secrets as Angel's did, if not more, though the stranger's eyes looked liked they had laughed a whole helluva lot more- maybe even enjoyed life a few thousand times.

Angel’s eyes couldn’t say that- the ensouled vampire dark eyes were too quick to cloud in his patented guilt broody mode. Cordelia drew her eyes away from the man to the other's companion. His eyes were similar in feel and content to the other, really 'old'- but not tired old, just knowing old. He was good looking as well, but not in the same striking way as the darker man, but in that kinda really cool scholarly way, he reminded Cordelia a bit of Wesley. Though, Wesley wasn't even close too being as comfortable in his skin as the stranger. This guy had confidence in his strengths. Wesley still had a lot to learn.

Cordelia scrunched up her face trying to guess their ages, both seemed several years older than her friends or at least in Angel’s case older than his physical appearance. Cordelia chuckled; trying to imagine how either man would look if they were actually 250 years old. Yeah, right, she got it-dead. Still, it was hard too guess. They faces were smooth but their eyes were full of so much experience giving the men an ease of confidence associated with much older and successful men, those two would’ve brought her father and his business partners to their knees in shame. Cordelia frowned again. Their eyes really did remind her of Angel’s when he was just remembering all that he had seen in his advanced life but not reliving the experience and guilt of Angelus.

Cordelia diverted her glance, blushing slightly, as the men caught her staring. Hey. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed they had started it. She had turned back to challenge their stares, but the men had moved their attention to the old books.

Cordelia looked at the men's backs. They were talking in a low whisper. Cordelia was curious about what they were saying. Were they talking about her? Oh. Nevermind. Cordelia went back to the bin of Xentel's. Strange men in an occult shop weren't her idea of quality dating material- no matter how good-looking or intriguing. They were probably evil or something. She just hoped that they had been staring because they thought she was attractive rather than a good choice of victim material for whatever evil ritual or thing they probably were planning. Cordelia shook off her interest and bought the necessary amount of Xentel. The sooner she got out of there, the sooner they could complete the Cleaver job and the sooner they could get paid.

"Are you sure?" Duncan said to his companion once Cordelia left the shop.

"Yeah." Methos continued to browse the book titles. He looked up when he sensed Duncan preparing to leave the shop. "Mac, what are you doing?"

"We should follow her."

"Why?"

"If she's a Pre-immortal...."

"What about it?"

"She needs to be..."

"What? Hand held? Mac, I can sense them, but I have no clue when she's going to experience her first death. Explaining to her before that wouldn't do any good except freak her out."

"Still..."

"I know she’s beautiful and you’re chivalrous,” Methos rolled his eyes. “But, Duncan, not every damsel needs to be saved. Anyway, we here for a reason, though I can’t see why Cassandra couldn’t do this little errand herself. Russia has airports. Another damesl you just had to help, uh. What a joke that is- Cassandra a helpless damsel.”

Duncan shot a look a look his friend. “She wants the book on Baba Yaga for her research and I don’t remember her asking you to help her. For that matter, I don’t remember asking for your company.”

“I was bored. Anyway, I like the idea of Cass across the globe writing an encyclopedia on Slavic witches and myths. If she’s preoccupied then she will be less likely to remember that she really hates me and wants my head. “

“She’s given up her revenge, Methos.”

“This century. Damn. I can’t find it in these stacks. Are you sure this is the right store? Let’s…” Methos looked up as Duncan headed for the store clerk. Methos nodded following glad that Duncan was back to thinking about their original purpose. Methos had found that the many years his head remained attached to his body correlated to a major extent to the many times that he minded his own business.

Methos satisfaction took on a pessimistic spin when instead of asking about the book, Duncan asked about the young woman who had just left.

Methos shook his head. His ‘mind your own business’ rule was long adhered to, there were only a handful people that he would violate it for, if that many. However, the immortal highlander was one of them. Methos resigned himself to Duncan’s new quest even though he had a bad feeling that it was going to be a lot more complicated and involved than picking up a book for Cassandra.

The clerk’s eyes narrowed over the tortoise rims of his glasses.

“I’ve never seen you in here before. Who are you?” Walter asked suspiciously.

It wasn’t that he believed his client list was sacrosanct. But, the Bandox demon had a healthy respect for Angel. If Walter gave up any information about any of the vampire’s humans and harm came to them and the vampire found out, Walter would be out of business in one simultaneous beat of his two hearts. And the woman in question- sheesh, from what Walter heard on the street, anything happened to her, that one echoing beat would be stopped by his hearts being ripped out by way of his throat. Then again, Walter looked at the stack of business cards he displayed religiously by the register. Cordelia Chase had threatened on the pain of siccing the vampire on him to not only display Angel Investigations business cards but also to drop them in every customers bag before they left. Walter had to admire Cordelia Chase. She did what she promised, lying, but getting her point across.

He had refused indignantly after Cordelia refused to give him a kick back on any business generated. Walter quickly changed his mercantile mind when the next night, the vampire barged in the store frightening all his customers and threatening Walter’s life and every limb for hitting on his young employee. Walter shouted through choked breath that it wasn’t true. Even mentioning that the woman while okay was human and therefore only had two breast- Bandox females had four, why would he want the deficient human. Questioning the woman’s attractiveness caused Walther to be breathing out of his mouth for two weeks as his nose was broken. The vampire seemed to be violently bothered that Walter knew how many breasts the woman had.

Walter had put the business cards up the next day after the vampire’s visit. He also began to admire the woman more as a few months later, Cordelia offered him a small percentage of the business his actions brought the agency. It hadn’t been a large amount of money, but Walter admired her actions and she continued the payments every subsequent few months. The young woman knew the value of strong persuasion and compensation to others, abet it small. She’d have made an excellent Bandox, except for the two-breast thing, which if asked Walter knew nothing about, regardless of the snug shirts the young woman had a habit of wearing.

All of which meant, Walter was in a dilemma. If these strangers turned out to be bad guys and had plans to harm the young woman, Angel would kill him. But, if they were customers in need of Angel Investigation’s services and Cordelia found out that he turned them away, she would somehow get the vampire to damage him and Walter knew she would find out, Cordelia had an eerie talent for knowing when he’d forgotten to give a customer a card. And it was more than that she counted every card left when she came to restock and pay him, she some how calculated those that were gone with an amazingly accurate count against how many customers that had come in. That girl could smell profit.

Walter glanced up. The bigger guy was looking ready to burst, the other looked like he could care less. But the pony-tailed guy looked the more dangerous. Walter smiled- he had an idea.

“Buy something.”

Both men rolled their eyes. “And how much will whatever we ‘buy’ cost us.” The more dangerous asked contemptuously.

Walter pursed his lips. “How would I know until you pick it out? You were looking at the books. Find anything? No. Okay. Here.” Picking up a small-shriveled head key chain. “No special power but it does raise eyebrows. Five dollars.”

Methos took the key chain over Duncan’s glare.

“You’ll tell us for five dollars?”

“I give you what you need if you buy something, I don’t care what. What book were you looking for?”

“The Text of Baba Yaga”

“Ah, the Slav witch; one of the more popular powers in the Central and Eastern Mythology. Some call her a practitioner of the black magic, some claim she has links to the goddess of life, death and rebirth, the evil of her powers determined by those that call for it. Whichever, that book contains many spells and better yet, we’ve got no problem here.” Walter smiled and then frowned. “You better buy something just in case, got to cover my bases and protect my arms and legs from Angel.”

“Angel?”

“You want the key chain?”

“Do you have the book?”

“Nope, sold it last week.”

“To who?”

“Key chain?”

“Fine.” Methos pulled a bill and slammed it on the counter.

“Very good purchase. Like I said no powers, more of tourist thing, but good enough for your particular questions.” Walter rang up the item, putting it in the bag, throwing an Angel Investigation card in it before handing it to the men.

“What was that?”

“That was this,” Walter held up one of the remaining cards in the holder for their inspection. “The young lady that was previously here and I have a standing arrangement, I keep them on prominent display for her and she keeps the…Angel form hurting me. She works there.”

“Angel Investigations? The Angel that you seem scared of?”

Walter grunted. “He’s known to be violent over certain things, the safety of his employees-that girl in particular- very violent. But, they do run a detective agency for those with special needs.”

“Special needs?”

“Like finding the book you’re looking far. Which shouldn’t be hard since Wesley, who I heard was now the boss, don’t understand how that happened, Cordelia has the business sense and Angel the enforcing manner, but then again I hear tell Wesley’s the brains. He does seem to know his stuff.”

“Since this brainy guy of Angel Investigations did what?” Methos commented realizing that the man hadn’t answered any of the questions about the book’s whereabouts.

“Oh, bought the book you want. He thought some of the spells looked interesting. He’s always buying books.”

***

Methos shook his head in the wind produced by the fast going convertible. “Looks like we’ll getting involved with your damsel.”

“Methos, she needs someone with her when it happens. The not understanding can drive a person crazy or get them killed.”

“Duncan, immortals have survived the changing fine without a babysitter. Mentors are found or not. Ritchie was more unique than the usual, especially since you didn’t know that he would become an immortal. You cared for him, taught him and…“

“Then killed him.” Duncan said roughly.

“Duncan, that wasn’t your fault and you know it. But, even so, you just may have had to kill him eventually. It’s the nature of the game. There can only be one.”

Duncan slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

Methos looked out over the fast passing horizon. Methos had been a killer, not a warrior, not one that fought for a cause, but just because he could, he continued his lifestyle after becoming an immortal. He had only stopped when he had been tired of it all. Those years were unimaginable to someone like MacLeod, the killing for pleasure not for honor or defense, consciously being the epitome of evil. The Highlander, the warrior, was so damn honorable and after all this time still so naive.

Methos sighed. He had spent thousands of years avoiding, hiding, just surviving, making no more connections with mortals and immortals than he had to, forgetting that living held an excitement of its own. Then he met Duncan at the height of his weariness. The Highlander had refused to take his head- that one act of mercy drew Methos to the other Immortal and that’s when Methos was reminded that there was more to living than just making it through another millennium.

Methos looked over to his friend. Someday, Methos may be destined to fight Duncan. He would regret that day but he would do his damnest to win, because ultimately, Methos would always want to survive. He chuckled. Methos would lose.

Duncan with all of his nobility and caring was also a survivor but more importantly he had one of the best sword arms Methos had ever seen. Five thousands years of use and technique didn’t quite beat the fire of a warrior’s heart and strength of pure talent. If Duncan were too die it would be because he was broken and the naiveté that made him strong was destroyed. Methos didn’t particularly want to see the day another Immortal took Duncan’s head- which was why he was concerned about Duncan’s interest in the pre-immortal. Duncan almost broke when he killed Ritchie, his student, his friend and his family. It didn’t matter that it was under the influence of a demon, not Duncan’s own actions. Duncan was able to recover, but if he were inclined to take this new pre-immortal under his guidance, Duncan would be vulnerable again.

Cordelia strode into the hotel, the bag of gnarly and smelly roots in her hand, her nose pinched at the odor. “Wesley,” she whined. God not only was it was expensive it stunk to high heavens. Cordelia just knew that its particular aroma was permanently entrenched in every fiber of her clothes and her headache was back.

“Wonderful, good.” Wesley grabbed the bag immediately.

“How long will it take?” Cordelia yelled after the retreating man. Visions of dry cleaning and bills being paid tumbled through her mind.

“Now that we have the Xentel, moments.” Wesley slammed his office door shut.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Have you ever wondered why he is always so happy to lock himself up alone in that little room?”

“No.” Fred peeked around the corner.

“Yeah.” Gunn tried to tone done his agreement for the shy Pylean refugee’s benefit.

“Hmmph.” Cordelia went to the magazine on her desk, slipping another pill into her mouth.

***

“Eureka.” A loud voice pierced the walls.

“Brain guy’s done it again,” Gunn got up and headed for the weapons cabinet.

“Choose another less cheesy word, wouldch’ya,” Cordelia said over her shoulder to Wesley as she took the small sword that Gunn handed her.

“Cordy, where do you think you are going.” Wesley’s self-satisfied expression dimmed as he walked out into the lobby.

“To ‘Eureka’ baby Gordons, duh.”

“I’m not sure that is wise.” Wesley hesitated. Angel, before he had left, had taken Wesley aside and emphasized that no matter what Cordelia was to be safe at all times- and since Angel wouldn’t be there that meant she was not allowed in any shape or form to be involved in any of the more dangerous aspects of their upcoming cases- Cordelia was to remain safe. Actually, as Wesley thought back, Angel’s statement could’ve have been easily construed as a threat. But since Wesley and Angel were friends, Wesley liked to think of it as a very strong urging.

“Don’t care. Whatcha going do to about it?” Cordelia smiled, swing her small sword.

Wesley concentrated for a moment on Angel’s instructions; Angel had been pretty uncompromising in his tone and expression. It would probably be better not to take Cordelia out on their more ‘active’ cases. He and Gunn should be able to handle a bit of Gordon larva without a third person.

“Cordy, the office shouldn’t be left unattended. Someone should stay an answer the phones.” Wesley tried.

“Yoo-hoo, new member of AI, right down stairs, physics major even, bet she knows how to answer the phones,” Cordelia shot a look towards Fred.

Fred smiled back until she figured out what Cordelia was saying. “I ….I…. I…. don’t…. I “

“Pick up…or don’t, we’ve an answering machine.” Cordelia bit her lip. She was going on this job. God forbid, she just sat and did nothing. It was bad enough, that Angel’s absence seemed to herald the no vision time. Cordelia inwardly grumbled. Why couldn't the constant headache go away for as long as she remained vision-free? Whatever. Cordelia wasn't going to be totally useless. “Fred, maybe Angel will call.”

“Do you think he will?” Fred gazed at the telephone reverently.

“Got to stay downstairs and answer the phone to find out.” Cordelia smiled sweetly.

“I’ll do it.” Fred stood up with a burst of confidence.

Gee, that was a surprise. Cordelia directed the roll of her eyes to the opposite wall.

Wesley inwardly tensed. He knew he had many flaws but stupidity wasn’t one of them. If he even suggested that Cordelia wasn’t able to handle the job or god forbid Angel had ordered her to remain out of the fighting, Cordelia would go out and fight every vampire, demon and thug within the LA borders. She would get herself killed trying to prove them wrong. Wesley sighed. He was letting his fear at Cordelia’s recent disappearance into Pylea as well as Angel’s slow reassertion of his authority within Angel Investigations affect his judgment.

Angel may have rejoined them, but Wesley was the boss now and Wesley saw, even if Angel didn’t, that Cordelia was an able addition in the field. Well as long as she stayed far a field. Anyway, Angel wasn’t there. He was away mourning Buffy. Well, life and business went on and Cordy was a part of all that, an important qualified part. If she wanted to go, she had earned the right to go.

“Very well.” Wesley nodded. “But,” he added, “if fighting occurs you will do as we say.”

“Fine, as long as it isn’t telling me to run and hide,” she glared.

***

“Damn’t girl, run.” Gunn shouted as he swung his axe at the emerging Gordon.

“I haven’t finished the enchantment.” Cordelia yelled in between frantic recitations of butchered Latin. Damn, this was Wesley’s area of expertise. Cordelia threw more of the potion at the large spiny razor-edged beast busting through the slimy wrapped cocoon. Did Gordon’s have to come out fully-grown and deadly?

“Too late. Baby's grown and swinging.” Gunn rolled as the demon pushed at his weapon.

“Hide.” Wesley yelled to Cordelia as he jumped onto the creatures back, his knife plunging into shoulders.

“NO.” Cordelia threw down the pouch and ran towards the demon swinging her sword.

The Gordon jerked to the side, one of his three heads biting at Wesley, driving the man loose from its back while its barbed tail kept Gunn at bay.

Cordelia nimbly darted in between the beast’s gouging claws, her sword striking at its neck. She screamed as the beast’s tail swung again, this time curling and driving a spike straight through her. The beast wailed as Cordelia’s physical reaction to its onslaught drove her sword deeper and wider. The demon fell to the floor as her sword thrust clean through. The beast shuddered in death, its huge body covering the young woman’s.

“Christ.” Gunn dragged his legs away from the fallen creature. “Cordy.” He yelled scrambling back to the grotesque body. Wesley joined the black man as he shoved and tugged the huge lifeless body away.

“Oh god,” Wesley said weakly. Cordelia lay motionless; the demon’s tail spike had ripped through her chest, leaving nothing but gaping flesh and a puddle of blood.

“Hospital,” he gasped as he yanked her smaller form into his arms.

Gunn nodded, leading the way grumbling nonsense and curses to the Cleavers as he passed them in the living room, running to the truck.

“Oh dear; oh dear.” Fred mumbled dropping the phone on the counter.

“What is it?”

Fred’s eyes darted quickly to the strange men in the lobby. “Oh dear.” They were still there. She told them that Wesley or Cordelia weren’t there. She told them that she would take a message. She even showed them the pad and pen she would use, but the men hadn’t left. They made her nervous. The whole being alone in the big hotel made her nervous. But now this. No, she wouldn’t fall apart. Fred straightened her shoulders. “You have to leave. There’s been an emergency. Try back in a few days.”

“This is impor….”

Fred stood even straighter, her fingers nudging at her glasses. “No. This is an emergency, whatever your problem is it can wait.” Fred’s resolve to remain strong was faltering as she looked wildly around. “I can’t drive. I…call a cab. Just call a cab. You can do that,” she said harshly to herself. She yanked at the phone book. Damn the words were all a blur. Where were her glasses? Her hand shot back up to the plastic frames. Oh god, tears. She was crying. “Can you call me a cab? I need a cab, NOW.” She swung around to the strangers the phone book dropping to the floor as she wrung her hands.

“Yes. What is it?” Duncan said quietly, trying to soothe the increasingly agitated young woman.

“Cordelia, she’s….Wesley and Gunn have taken her to the hospital, she’s dying. She can’t die not without Angel here. He’s not going to like this.” Fred rubbed hard making her sniffling nose even redder. “I don’t like this. I need a cab.”

Duncan shot a look to Methos, his silent intense gaze questioning and demanding.

Methos took a deep breath. “We’ll take you. What hospital?”

***

Fred instinctively huddled into the sides of the men that escorted her into the emergency room. The place was crowed and loud. The painful voices of the people settled into the seats or lying on the waiting gurneys scared her. There was too much commotion. Fred bit her lip. Fred straightened trying to gather any confidence that she had ever been blessed with prior to her five years in the hell dimension.

“There.” She pointed and started to run.

Fred skidded to a stop bumping into Methos as he came up behind her.

“Cordelia,” she squeaked to the crying bespectacled man and the angry black man huddled over the still form of the woman she called for.

“Dead.” Gunn said as he clinched his teeth to keep the roar from coming forth.

“No.” Fred whispered moving closer. “She can’t be. Angel won’t…She can’t be dead.” Fred said louder, staring disbelieving at the bloody motionless form before her.

Wesley straightened. “Fred. You shouldn’t have….” He looked back at Cordelia lying on the gurney. “Oh god.” His hand crept closer grasping the cold digits of the young woman. “What did I do? Cordy,” he clutched with his other hand hoping that his combined grip would bring Cordelia’s cold one warmth.

Methos looked away from the sad scene, studying the confusion of the emergency room. “When did she die?”

“What? Who are you?” Wesley’s head shot up.

Gunn moved closer his anger at Cordelia’s death directed now at the strange man.

“When? Just now? Or before? Fred got your phone call 20 minutes ago, when?”

“It doesn’t matter, we have to go now,” Duncan leaned up pulling down Cordelia’s shirt and facing the other immortal.

“Don’t touch her again or you’re dead.” Gunn moved aggressively towards Duncan.

Methos turned to Duncan grabbing at the black man’s shoulder bringing Gunn to a stop but otherwise ignoring him. “Already?”

“Soon, we’ve got to get her out of here.” Duncan shot a glance at Wesley. “Did you check her in?”

“What?” Wesley was too dazed. Cordelia was dead. Who were the strange men? What did they want? Did it matter? Did anything matter? Cordelia was dead.

“Did you check her in? Tell a doctor her name, fill out any forms?” Duncan repeated urgently.

“I…” Wesley winced. “Cordy was dead on arrival, they shoved her over here. They were coming back to get her information but then a shoot out happened on the West Boulevard- they said they were too busy. They’d get to it later. They just left her here. They left Cordy.” Anger, disgust and sorrow coated Wesley’s choked words.

Duncan nodded. “Good.” He bent down picking Cordelia’s body up in his arms.

“What? Stop.” Wesley moved forward.

Methos moved quickly. “She doesn’t need to be here. “

“Cordelia’s dead.” Wesley said his confusion as apparent as his sorrow and anger.

Duncan’s eyes saddened at the anguish of the other man’s cry. “Yes. But, she will be fine. Come, we have to leave here. We'll go back to your hotel.”

Gunn gasped a breath. “Who? What? Wes, man?”

“I don’t know” Wesley ran following the figure that held Cordelia’s lifeless body.

***

Gunn slammed his fist on the steering wheel. His curse died in his throat as he noticed that his anger was making Fred even more nervous. The young woman was pressed up to the passenger side door, sniffling quiet tears.

But, god he was furious. Cordelia was dead. Gunn remembered his first impression of the young woman. What had he called her? A Skinny White Beauty Queen and a Stick Figure Barbie. Gunn had been right about the beauty, but everything else about the young woman had been very wrong. Cordelia was as strong as she was beautiful, both surpassed by her genuine compassion and belief in the mission to help others.

He halted his fist’s descent towards the dashboard. Who were those men? Why had they moved in taking control?

Gunn turned to the young woman huddled in the corner of the truck. Fred had entered the hospital with them. “Fred, who were those guys?”

The young woman gulped as Gunn’s attention was focused on her. She fidgeted and tried to tell what little she knew.

Wesley bit his lip, stopping his questions. The men that had confiscated Cordelia’s body and the subsequent moments of his life weren’t saying a word. Wesley kept glancing at the still form of his friend. His sorrow was interposed with anger at the sight of the strange man cradling Cordelia’s lifeless body in the backseat of the strange car. Who were those men? How was Wesley going to tell Angel? Wesley slumped in his seat. Wesley didn’t even want to guess at Angel’s reaction at the news of Cordelia’s death. Why did he believe that it would be of a more violent nature than his response to the death of Buffy? Wesley wasn’t even sure how to get a hold of the vampire. This was a nightmare that needed to end soon.

***

Wesley was torn between shooting questions at the dark man that placed Cordelia on Angel’s bed or arguing and pleading with the dead woman to wake up.

Methos pulled at Duncan as Wesley pushed to take the man’s place on the bed.

“This is not a good idea.”

“Leaving her there was?” Duncan harshly whispered. “Waking up in a hospital that had declared her dead wouldn’t have been discreet. The emergency room was a mad house, they've probably already forgotten about her.”

“Okay, sure, but now we will have to tell not only her but her friends. If I show up in a super market tabloid…”

“I’ll make sure that they classify you as an ‘alien’.”

“I’m comforted.” Methos rolled his eyes.

Part 7