PART ONE

Transcendence

Author: Elektra

Disclaimers: These characters and premise are Joss and companies and not mine. Thanks and don't sue me.

Part 1: Prologue

She walks through water's sacred fall, the fluid a liquid rite of baptism. The shed of water freezes yet it is not cold. A mirror of images reflects in ice pools and she sees him. She sees the transference, the pulse of life replaced by death. She witnesses the leaving of his soul to cleanse her of the last of her burden.

Her burden.

The visions.

A link between them, now broken by the simple act of love. Stumbling, she awakes from their bed of comfort, of love. To find him gone. His leaving shivers her skin and she embraces herself against the frigid fear that lurks within.

Gone.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on the fragrance of the visions. It is always there at the edge of her perceptions, tantalizing and horrifying. The lingering of death and hope stays with her as a reminder of the vision, the signal of the Powers that reside somewhere deep inside her breast. And she realizes a change as come over her, transformed her. The ever-present shadow has lifted, the pressure pushing down upon her soul as been released.

With hesitation, she touches her cheek as if to feel for fever, then she fingers her lips. She closes her eyes. Lingering, remembering. The power.

Of his kiss.

She pauses as the taste of him upon her mouth flushes her flesh and she lets her tongue dwell slightly upon her lips, feeling the memory. And her hand drifts down, glides across the pulse of blood at her neck. She stops there, recalls the pull of her blood as it leaves her body to fill his mouth. There is something giving there. Something transcendent.

And her fingers fall to her breast. The wound from which he drank. The heat of the moment heightens and she quells the wave, the need for him. The desire to feel the weight of his arms around her.

But there is only the cold. The draft of the tunnel beneath the city, the narrow entrance to the oracles chamber surrounds her. He is gone.

Gone.

A shudder comes over her.

Gone.

And she realizes the fragrance of the visions, the persistent yet peripheral glow is gone. Disappeared. Her burden has been lifted.

And she is no longer connect to him. But she knows, understands he is no longer. He is gone. Lost.

She cries.

Part 2:

In the very long distance, it comes. Small and smoldering. It wavers as if a figure on the edge of a heated horizon. The blistering desert sands transform it and mold it, warping it. It comes. Fear. She knows it comes like a thudding that drums her brain, that thickens in her throat. The weight of it is heavy in its persistence, its presence. It occurs to her that is it nothing like thunder but instead like the thrumming of a hammer. A hammer hitting again and again, the head of a nail. It slams down to only repeat the process. And an image forms of the hammer striking the nail.

A nail in a coffin.

Closed and confined.

She shivers and stumbles as she makes her way down the hallway. Count the numbers, she says to herself. Glancing at the apartment doors, she lets the flash of each number expand in her head. Yet her feet barely touch the ground. She struggles and needs to hold the wall as she rounds the corner.

"This isn't happening, Cor, this isn't happening." She stops and leans against the wall. How could it happen? She knew from the beginning what the vision meant. How to help him. She did NOT make a mistake. She holds her hand to her chest and can still feel the twinge of the puncture wounds in her breast. Under the fullness of her breast, she feels the throb of her heart. It pounds and beats at her rib cage like a wounded animal digs at its trapped leg.

Okay, she says and straightens up. She flicks her hair back and moves her shoulders. She's stronger than this, stronger than the fear. Stronger than him. And the fear bubbles up. It is an unwanted thing, a hated thing, a shadow of the monsters that once lived under her bed as a child.

"Not helping, Cor." Squeezing her eyes closed, she clears her mind, nods her head then opens her eyes. Time to go. The dizziness swarms over her and she feels the scamper of a thousand insect wings flutter over her skin.

Shit, she's passing out. She clutches the wall, forces it to pass, waits for it to pass. It does. She swallows and inhales a breath trying to clean her lungs, trying to energize her soul.

She coughs and takes a step, a tentative step as if she is testing the thickness of the ice on a frozen lake. Somewhere deep within she knows it cracks, she hears the groan as it moves to open and the frigid waters below wait to suck her in.

"Still not helping." She bites her lip and, in a great rush, makes it to the end of the hallway to the apartment door she seeks. She raises her clenched fist and, without pause, raps on the door. "Wesley? Wesley, are you home?"

She waits but all the time the fissures in the ice are following her, opening up like a great beast opening its jaws. She strikes the door again, harder. "Wesley?"

She's about to twist the knob when the door swings open.

"Cordelia?"

"You're up." She pushes past him and invites herself in. "Good, good. I need to talk to you. Something bad has happened. I'm thinking Big Bad. Something awful."

"You've had a vision?" Wesley is still dressed and she finds this odd. It is the middle of the night. He ushers her to the sofa and offers to make her tea.

"No, I don't want any tea." She shoves off his hands and glances at the table. A row of beer bottles are bleeding condensed water onto the finish. She thinks how it will warp the table, leave rings.

He crouches over her and rubs her back. "Can I get you some aspirin? Would you like to lay down for a bit." He prattles on and that's exactly what Wesley does, she thinks. Prattles. "You could have just called. No need to come all this way for a vision."

"It wasn't," she begins.

"I understand your dedication Cordelia, but we do have to set ground rules. I think we should take this up soon, at the office."

She screws up her face and says, "Listen to me, you dumb ass, it isn't a vision."

"No?" He sits away from her, separated by the words she used.

"No." She jumps up and begins to pace. It is safe here. In Wes' apartment. Not like hers. Hers isn't safe even with Phantom Dennis. This is what she tells herself over and again as she marks the length of the carpet with her strides.

"Then what, Cordelia? If it isn't a vision, what is the problem?" He stands as she continues to trace her way around the room.

It begins to rain outside and the patter of it, the low rhythm of it soothes her and she calms. "That's just it Wes, there is no vision. Or there are no visions. No PTBs or whatever camping out in my head."

"So you haven't had a vision since the last one." He shrugs. "I can't see the problem with that. You do need a rest, possibly the Powers that Be have realized this fact and have given you a break as it were."

"No, no break from the mind melting migraines. No, it just isn't there anymore." She isn't explaining this right. She sees that exasperated look on his face, he gives it to her when he thinks she is acting like a child. "There's this aura. A buzz I get, or have been getting lately. It's gone. Entirely."

He frowns, takes off his glasses and wipes them clean. He checks them against the lamplight and she knows he is just stalling for time. He doesn't want to hurt her feelings or he doesn't want to admit that the migraines are finally driving her insane.

Insanity would be a better option.

"No," she stops him. "You aren't getting it. I am the keeper of the visions, so you have to listen to me. They aren't there anymore. They're gone. Flown the coup, disappeared into the great blue yonder."

"How?"

She looks down at the carpet and notices her sandals have tiny stains of blood on them. She doesn't remember when it happened. "I don't. I can't." She's not ready to confess. Putting a hand to her head, she mumbles, "That isn't the point. The point is, the visions are gone. I can't feel them anymore. And Angel is"

A knock on the door stops her. She swings around as Wesley crosses the room to open the door. The throbbing in the back of her brain crashes into her but there is no vision. This is an honest to goodness stress headache.

Before she can halt him, Wesley grips the knob and swings open the door.

Angel.

He is standing there, a six pack of beer cradled under his arm. A smirk lines his face as he sees her over Wesley's shoulder.

"Don't." She can't get the rest out before he simply walks through the door. Without an invitation. This was supposed to be their safe haven, just in case.

Just in case.

She glares down at the beers. He's been here for a while.

"Got more beer." He bends down near her and she hears him smell her. She looks at Wesley for an explanation, but he misunderstands her silent plea.

"Angel had to crash in my door sometime ago. Had to invite him in so that he could save me." He laughs after he admits this. Like it is a good thing. "We finally fixed the door the other night after several failed attempts. Angel decided we might celebrate our success."

She looks not at Wesley but at him. She backs toward the door. "Wesley, we should go."

Wesley registers the terror scarring her features. "What Cordelia? What?" He glances at Angel then back to her. "What?"

"Wesley."

"What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of me?" he says, his smile mocks her. He drops the beer on the coffee table. " I just came over for a little drink."

And Wesley finally gets it. "Angelus."

Part 3:

Movement comes. She cannot see it, but feels the change in the texture of the air, of the wind as he passes by her slams the door behind her. She falters, stumbles on her feet. The loss of blood, the blood that feeds him now –her enemy– takes its toll. She sways but he catches her.

"Come on Wes." Angelus holds her, the embrace warm with her blood. "We were bonding, you and I." His cheek presses against hers, he purposefully inhales her breath and exhales. His breath smells of metal.

She stiffens herself, doesn't allow the shudder within her bones to jar her. She doesn't want to give him that satisfaction. This is *not* happening, Cor. Not happening.

Wesley opens both hands to Angelus and starts to circle the room. "Angel, I know you're still in there."

Angelus twists her arm and rubs his cheek against her with a cat like caress. "Oh my Cordelia, you didn't tell ol' poor Wes, did ya?" He snickers and lightly, so lightly, his tongue traces the ridge of her ear. She stifles a gasp. "Should I, my dear? Should I tell him?"

Wesley is shaking now, his eyes dart from her to Angelus and back. There is a pleading there, a denial. Of the inevitable. He knows. His voice breaks as he asks, "Tell me? Tell me what? What is there to tell?"

Angelus slides his free hand down the length of her neck while tightening his grip on her contorted arm. He pauses as she had only hours before on the throb at her neck. He sucks in a breath as if through his fingers he can taste the sweetness of her blood. She feels a shudder run through him, a shiver of desire but tells herself this isn't happening.

It is *not* happening.

Then his hand finds the wound on her breast and lingers there as he smiles. His features transform into the beast. "She freed me Wes. Can you believe it? She came to me and fed me." His hand cups her breast and she bites back a scream.

She locks eyes with Wesley as he inches closer to the closet door. He keeps staring at her as if to tell her something, anything. Again, he backs a step toward the closet.

Angelus has both his arms wrapped around her, clutching her to him. "She gave herself to me Wesley. You wouldn't believe it. Our Cordelia here is quite a"

Wesley lurches for the closet door as she spins around and kicks Angelus in the groin. The blow is powerless, painless but it startles him. He staggers backward and she pitches forward over the sofa. As she tumbles a wave of dizziness overtakes her and she collapses. A blur rushes past her and, in one graceful motion, Angelus knocks the rifle out of Wesley's hand and tosses the ex-Watcher against the wall.

"Now you should know better than that Wesley." Angelus swaggers over to the prone Wesley. "Really, I'm quite disappointed in you. A gun?" He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as if he is a teacher. "You should really know better." He swings a kick into the ex-Watcher's belly. "Always the know it all, yet when it comes to the real world Wes. What do you know? When you were leader all you managed to do was get yourself shot." He leans down and grabs Wesley by the collar of his shirt. "And you know what? I had to come in and save you from those zombie cops. Me!" Wesley moans as another kick lands.

Grappling to her knees, Cordelia crawls around the coffee table. Only a few feet and she can reach the rifle. She stretches out a hand.

"A-a-ah!" Angelus turns around and points at her. "Where do you think you're going?" He laughs as he reaches down for a beer. "I thought we might spent some time together. You know, bonding, watching a little TV, drinking a little." He taps his finger on his temple. "Oh you know what? I think I like the drinking part the best."

She reaches for the rifle at the same moment Angelus launches toward her. Aiming isn't part of the plan. As she closes her eyes, Cordelia fires. The shock wave sends him sprawling over the sofa, a gaping hole in his abdomen. Clenching the rifle, she fumbles to stand and goes to Wesley.

Angelus moves.

She turns the rifle on him again and fires, hitting him again. Blood spreads over his chest, over his abdomen.

"Wesley, can you get up?"

"Yes." Wesley climbs to his feet and grabs the rifle from her. Turning it around, he approaches Angelus. The vampire is trembling with the pain, his face softened to his human features. She hates to see him like this. Wesley glances at her and she only nods. He lifts the rifle to swing it like a club.

But Angelus catches the rifle and yanks it out of Wesley's grip. Blood smears over his hands as he aims the weapon at them. He stands on unsure legs as he lifts his lip to sneer at them. "Just guess what I'm going to do to her once I'm finished with you." He laughs a little but it is tainted with a groan. "Better yet, maybe I'll make you watch."

This is *not* happening, Cor. But she knows it is.

Wesley pushes her behind him as they edge toward the door. Her nails dig into his arm as she searches the apartment for any weapon, anything. And she sees it. On the wall.

"Don't worry Wes, ol' friend of mine." Angelus grasps the rifle with one hand and holds the flood from his wounds with his other. "I'm not going to kill you with a simple gunshot wound. That would be so prosaic." He seems to remember another time and then says, "I have all different kinds of torture and torments to practice. I haven't been around in a while. I'm feeling kinda rusty."

She can't hesitate, she knows that. She can't let the lack of blood in her system cripple her. In one swift motion, she breaks from Wesley's side, grabs the battle ax from the wall and throws it. Though her aim is off, the blade sideswipes the vampire and he falls to his knees.

Grabbing her wrist, Wesley races to the door and they are out. The hallway lengthens and stretches out before them. She can hear a cackling behind them. He'll be there any moment as Wesley hits the door to the outside. Across the parking lot, Wesley leads her and tells her to jump onto the motorcycle. She does.

They have no destination. Only one goal. To escape. And the night collapses around them as the motorcycle speeds through the city yet she can still hear the laughing, the cackling.

Part 4:

The motorcycle swerves around the corner. She presses her face into Wesley's back. She doesn't want to look back, she knows he is there. Behind them. Following. Only the air separates them. He's there. The dizziness swells up and she gulps it back as she squeezes her eyes closed.

As the bike takes the corner, it cuts the angle too narrowly. It skids and the force sends them spinning out onto the road. She hears a scream and realizes it is her own as the impact cracks ribs. But Wesley never asks if she is all right, he never complains as the blood streams down his forehead. He only grabs her arm and yanks her to her feet.

The pain shrieks through her and stars burst before her eyes. The lights swirl and buzz. She's falling, not physically but mentally. Crying out, Cordelia stumbles but Wesley wraps his arms around her, picks her up and mounts steps.

He totters under the burden of her weight but does not falter. He climbs the steps to the cathedral and drops her to her feet as he tries the door. Locked. Her fists get bloody and bruised as she bangs on the door for admission. All the while, she knows. Knows Angelus is just a breath away. A whine and the door opens on resistant hinges.

Wesley shoves the protesting young nun from the door, sending her to the floor. As soon as Cordelia enters, he slams the door shut and twists the knob to lock it.

"Sorry my children, you may worship in the morning." The nun is younger than herself and Cordelia laughs at her.

"We don't want to worship."

"We're seeking sanctuary," Wesley says as the nun sees the wounds on his head, how she braces her arm against the splitting pain of shattered ribs.

"I'll call the hospital." The nun moves to leave but Wesley shakes his head.

"No, we don't need a hospital. A hospital won't help us."

"This place isn't going to help us either, Wesley," she adds. "He likes convents, he likes cathedrals." She stares up at the larger than life crucifix looming over the altar. "He isn't afraid of anything, not even God."

"Who are you talking about?" The nun frowns and examines their faces as if to penetrate to the core of the problem. "Is there someone after you? Should I call the police?"

As Cordelia starts to answer, a banging on the door stops her. She backs away and instead says, "Don't answer it. Don't open it."

"But."

"The inner sanctum," Wesley says and drags Cordelia from the vestibule through the nave of the church, passed the altar to the inner sanctum. The door is thankfully open.

She falls to the floor, bloodless exhaustion plaguing her. She hears nothing, feels nothing. Just the labor of her breathing stings inside of her, causing the willing of heat to spread within her.

Wesley fumbles by her side as he leans against the door. Pulling out his cellular phone, his hands shake as he strikes the buttons.

"What happened Cordelia? How did this happen?" His voice never breaks and he wipes blood from his brow. "What the bloody hell happened?"

Tears flow and she is unable to stop the cascade, the flood. And she thinks of the feel of the rifle as it blows Angelus –Angel– apart. Recalls the blood gushing out of him and the demon she set free.

My fault, my fault. The words ring over and again in her brain until she is nearly helpless to them. She can't make out what Wesley is doing, what he is saying.

The words come to her as structures form and disappear in thick dampening fog. "Yes, yes. Gunn just listen....the corner of....Bugger I don't know.....just pick us up immediately." He throws the phone down and faces her. "You are going to tell me exactly and I mean exactly what happened Cordelia. What happened?"

And then he sees her face.

The accusation in her head burns its brand there. My fault, my fault. Stupid bitch. You don't deserve the visions. You did this to him. You let him lose himself in you. You will always be punished, you deserves nothing.

Wesley stands over her, gripping her shoulders. "It isn't your fault, Cordelia. You don't deserve to be punished."

She realizes she's mumbled her self-flagellation out loud. "But it is my fault, Wesley. I interpreted the vision wrong. I thought I was helping him. I thought that was what the Powers wanted." Looking away, Cordelia murmurs, "It's what I wanted too. For so long, for so long."

He lifts her chin, gently. "What? Cordelia, what?"

"I love him. He. I." She shakes her head and drops her gaze to the floor. "We."

"Shhh." He asks for no more as the pounding on the church door ends. Creeping to the door, he cracks it and peers out. She staggers to her feet and joins him.

"Oh good Lord," Wesley whispers.

Standing in front of the altar in some debase act, Angelus feeds on the young nun. Her body is limp, her skin pale, yet he drinks until she is dry. He tosses the corpse away and glares up at them, smiling and licking the last of the blood from his lips.

"They say only the good die young. I'm just doing her a favor." He laughs.

Wesley bolts the door closed and shoves a sideboard in front of it. "We have to get out of here." He scans the room. "The window. Gunn is coming. He should be here any minute now."

Bang. The door vibrates and shudders against Angelus' attack.

"I thought he liked a subtler game," Wesley says as he pushes the desk under the window at the ceiling of the church. It is a stained glass window.

Bang. The door shivers in protest.

"Get up, up on the desk." Wesley takes her hand and helps her onto the desk. "The human blood is helping him heal faster. Those wounds will only slow him down not stop him." He's prattling again, stating the obvious. But she does nothing. She wants to hear his voice, it drowns out the yelling in her head.

Bang. The door splinters under the force.

Seizing the cross from the wall, Wesley jumps up on the desk. He bends down and swings a folding chair from the floor and throws it at the window. A rain of colored glass pelts them, showers them in shards and crystals.

Bang. The door gives. And like the jaws of a shark opens, slowly, purposefully, pushing back the sideboard.

She makes for the window as Wesley gives her a lift. On the edge, she slips over and drops down. The ex-Watcher follows. The cross still clutched in his hand. Streaking into the church parking lot, Gunn's white truck squeals to a stop. Racing toward the truck, her heel breaks and Cordelia tumbles to the ground.

A hand grabs her leg. "Not so fast, my precious one."

Turning, Cordelia stares into the face of her lover, her killer. Angelus allows a small smile to creep over his lips. "We haven't shared everything just yet, my precious love. I have plans for you."

A cross pummels into his skull. Angelus screams out and lurches backward. Wesley gathers her up and shoves her into the truck. Gunn hits the accelerator before Wesley can shut the door.

"Hell, either one of you want to give me the heads up on psycho-Angel back there?" Gunn asks.

"That wasn't Angel." She sinks against Wesley's shoulder. "That was Angelus."

Part 5:

At the edge of the world, she balances. She stares down at the abyss, the long deep void of heaven and hell yawning its mouth below her. Her toes hang off the cliff, and she sways as if the emptiness itself drags her, pulls her down into its gaping hole.

Her lips are chapped and she wonders at the taste of metal in her mouth. She thinks of nothing else and when she closes her eyes, she sees only the vortex. Swirling darker still, engulfing all that she is and will be. It chills her bones and it creeps outward from the marrow to prickle her skin.

Someone is wrapping her ribs, but she doesn't register it. There are voices over and above her and she considers the voice of God. Would God save her if she jumped? Could God save her if she leapt willingly into the void of Hell? And she knows the embers of hell are not warm but frigid and deadly. Cold. Pale. Bloodless.

Someone is holding her as she cries and she grasps onto him. Smells the light fragrance of Wesley's shirt and he rocks her, stroking her hair. The pounding in his chest belies the calm exterior. He is keeping it together for her. And she loves him all the more for it. He is her only family now.

"We're safe here, Cordelia. Safe." He emphasizes the last word as if to convince himself of the fact as well as her. She doubts it, knows he will come after them, even here in Caritas.

She huddles in the backroom of the bar but can still make out the strains of song leaking into their haven, their hideout. A demon massacres the lyrics of Sarah McLachlan yet the sorrow in the melody echoes in her brain.

"Bitch, does she know how to sing a happy song."

"Excuse me?" Wesley says and moves away from her.

She only grimaces from the absence, the space between them. Rolling her eyes and bowing her head, she answers, "Nothing, Wes. Nothing."

He places a hand on her knee and, squeezing it, says, "Gunn is guarding the perimeter. We should be safe for a bit." He glances up at the clock. "Once day comes we'll be safe."

She sniffles and cradles her forehead in her hand. "He can't go on forever, right? It's not like he's the Energizer bunny, right?" She envisions a huge pink stuff animal, batting on a drum rolling after them. Giggling she adds, "Now *that* would be scary."

He's looking at her like she's finally dropping over the edge, falling into the snake pit of insanity. Frowning, it is her turn to pat him on the knee and reassure him. "Don't worry Wes. No one could ever mix up Angelus with the Energizer bunny."

He continues to stare at her, words formed but not voiced. She ignores him and, standing up against the pain in her side, begins to pace. Wesley thinks she losing it, thinks the battle with the visions and now with Angelus has been too much for her. Yet she understands it differently but does not deny what she knows he's concluded.

She's not falling into the void. She's jumping.

In a small voice, Cordelia says, "I did this."

"No, Cordelia, no." And he is at her side, smoothing her arms, standing behind her. So much like Wesley to be the noble one, the righteous man. He always tries to do the right thing.

Has she?

She shakes her head. "I saw him in my vision. I saw that he wasn't right in the head. Something was wrong, someone was screwing with him." His fingers suddenly feel cold against her skin and she steps away from his touch. "I saw him bloodied and bruised. I saw it. God, I felt it."

He remains silent, allowing her to get it out. Cleanse her soul with a confession.

"I saw him dying if he didn't feed." She turns around and faces Wesley. "I went to him, Wesley. They told me where to go." She narrows her eyes as if challenging him to accuse her. "The Powers wanted me there." Her stance softens a degree. "But for what, for what, if not to save him?"

He drops his gaze and does not reply. Slowly he lifts his eyes to her and says, "What's past is past, we need to focus on the immediate future. We need to understand what the vision meant and we need to figure it out so that we may save Angel or"

"Or?"

"Kill Angelus."

She bites back her gasp and walks away from him. She can't let him see her face because she won't do it. The pain streaked across Angel's face in the dark tunnel under the Post Office haunts her.

She would do it again. All of it.

The fault riddles her flesh like a thousand pin pricks stabbing into her at once. She did this. It is her fault. He can't be blamed. Not Angel. He was weak, dying. She thought she was saving him. Yet she killed him.

The realization gags her and she starts to cough, trembling uncontrollably as Wesley bends over her. On all fours, she closes her eyes but the image follows her. She killed Angel. She did. And now all that was left was the shell, the evil shell of a body.

Wesley has his arm wrapped around her, telling her they'll figure it out. She isn't listening, she's only focusing on the truth. When the time comes, she vows. When the time comes, she'll jump.

"Incoming!" Gunn screams from the bar. He rushes to them as the Host follows.

"Already? He's here?" Wesley glances up at Gunn. Pain streaks the street warrior's face as if he doesn't want this to happen either. He meets her eyes and there is sympathy there. She recalls his sister.

"You'd think he'd take a minute and change into some nice leather pants." The Host swallows a gulp of his drink. "At least then we could die happy."

Wesley grips her arms and helps her to stand. "Is there a back way out?"

The Host rolls his eyes and says, "Hello, look who you're talking to! Like I can stroll out onto the streets of LA in the middle of the day." He considers this and adds, "LA -- maybe I can, but don't want to advertise demon here."

Wesley manages to keep his temper in check. Cordelia sees the veins in his neck throb, the nerves at his temple twitch. "And is there another exit?."

No one answers as they realize the bar has gone deathly quiet as the lights fizzle out.

"We're done for," Wesley murmurs to himself but directs, "The exit man, the exit."

As the darkness descends, it reminds her of the pit, the chasm she perches over. A calm acceptance comes over her, Wesley is tugging on her arm but she is frozen. Staring at the first shafts of dawn trickling down from the skylight, she observes him.

"Cordelia, there isn't much time." Wesley yanks her but she struggles free of him. "What the hell?"

She races from the backroom, races to the open empty bar. She knows now. She understands it all now. Wesley follows her, grabbing for her shoulder but she slides out from his grasp and jumps.

Into his arms.

"Angelus." She embraces him, the very substance of his body crushed against hers feels right. Is right.

They are stunned and do not fight as Angelus leads her through the bar to the back exit. The last of night slips from the horizon yet the zenith still possesses the strength of darkness. He says nothing as she huddles close in the front seat of his car. She opens her window to feel the last breath of night.

The air about her bathes her but does not absolve her of her sins. Her acceptance is complete. The abyss has swallowed her.

Part 6:

Her breath halts in her lungs, and she pants as he stands before her. A chasm spans between them and the darkness expands outward like a black fire. It chills her to the bone. The sounds of dawn are muffled below as she stares at him. The hotel is empty, silent; it is her tomb. She has no doubt that she will die soon. She accepts this as he moves toward her.

Night will become her lover.

His eyes search her face, her features and she tries to keep her face from flinching under his steady gaze. This is her fault. She did this and she will end it. He laughs at her but his hand strokes the fine line of her cheek to the pulse at her throat.

"And what, pray tell, did the Bitch Cordelia Chase have planned?" He smirks and leans down. His cheek is near hers, his lips graze her ear. And Angelus whispers, "I know what I have planned."

Through the insanity of the moment, she quells her fears. She pushes back the weight of it, shoves it aside. She knows he can feel her fear, she knows he can taste it. Yet her voice comes out strong, firm, strident. "How do you know I don't have the same thing planned?"

He throws his head back and laughs. Raising his eyebrow, Angelus says, "I must admit, my precious one, you are always a surprise."

How can this be the same person? How can this be Angel? She looks from him to the warming of the day, to the windows. The world moves forward without regard to their little play, without knowing what she is about to do. What she knows she has to do. There is no other choice. But she mourns all the same.

Angel.

She caresses his chest, spreading her hands over the breath of him. She feels the wounds beneath the torn shirt. He winces as she touches him but doesn't move away. The world drops away as she glances up at him.

"I want the same thing you do," she states it simply. Her gaze never falters and for the first time, she feels a certain security, a peace. She is doing the right thing.

His hand lifts her chin and his features transform. "Do you, my dear one?"

She cups his face in her hands and pulls him to her. His lips press against hers, pushing her mouth open. She accepts his tongue letting it fill her mouth. She tears herself away from the blush of his kiss and stares into his eyes.

"I love you."

"I'm not Angel."

"I know."

She is there with a tender urgency, playing, using her own teeth to bite at his lips, at his neck. He gasps out as she breaks the surface of his flesh. Pulling her away, he shakes his head and snarls at her.

"You won't bring him back this way." He sneers at her. "He's dead and gone." Seizing her hair, he tugs her away from him. "He died in the tunnel when you set me free." He tosses her aside and she stumbles.

For only a moment, she grabs her side and eases herself against the pain. Standing, she takes in a cleansing breath and she wonders what it will feel like not to breathe, not to need to breathe.

"You think your little family will rescue you?" He circles her. "You think they'll get the spell and restore that stinking soul." He growls at her. "You think you can stall until they have it." In a blur he is at her side again. "Think again, my dear, dear heart." His hand is on her breast, feeling the throb of her heart. "Oh cold dead heart, my Cordelia."

She bites the inside of her mouth, drawing blood. It fills her mouth. She needs to feel the pain, it has to clear her head. She needs it to strengthen her resolve. Her hands go to the buttons of her blouse and slowly with purpose she bares herself to him.

"My heart isn't cold. It's warm," she whispers. "Warm and beating." She exhales near his neck, letting the moisture of her breath heat his cold flesh. "Warm."

"Not for long." He yanks her toward him and crushes her lips to his own. She feels his hunger stir as he tastes the blood staining her mouth. His mouth rushes over hers, biting and licking at once. She cries out as his hands slip off her bra and tug at her breasts, at her nipples.

Her hands pull him closer still. She wants to feel every movement, she wants to know every sensation of his body against hers before she dies. She knows it isn't Angel. It is only a ghost of him, a demon. Yet his smell, the ever penetrating depth of his fragrance still fills her senses and she can feel Angel beneath the demon.

They are on the bed, his hands ripping off the last of her clothes. His hips pump against her and she moans out, closing her eyes and remembering.

Angel.

She was doing this for him. For Angel.

His desire presses up against her inner thigh and she slips her hands into his pants. He groans as she unbuckles them. His mouth devours her tongue, her neck, her breasts. There are sins she would never confess to. There are sins she would never admit to. There are sins she would never forget. His mouth, his hands are sins, the profane blessing of the undead. She wants him, needs him and urges him on.

She begs him to touch her, to rock her with his fingers inside of her. She grasps him and draws him inside the depths of her. And as he enters her, she holds his head to her neck. She whispers the word. Only one word. It shatters every other memory she has. There is no other time than this moment, than this incident.

"Drink."

He punctures her flesh as he fills her. She cries out but does not drag him away. Instead she presses him tighter, to drink her, to fill her. And as he shudders she knows he drains the life from her. The loss opens in her, opens an emptiness and she realizes the void is within her. It grows to a hunger, a need, a yearning.

As he cries out, she drifts, falls. The darkness blackens her vision until the very day turns into the pitch of night. She understands the secret, the exigency of life lies with in blood.

Blood.

He curls around her and lifts his finger to his lips. Pricking it, he lets a drop of blood leak out. Laying his finger on her tongue, he whispers, "Is this what you wanted? Is this what you planned?"

She closes her mouth around his finger, suckling lightly at the tiny drip of blood. It disappears but she tastes the power there. It tastes of metal, it tastes of passion, it tastes of timelessness.

Withdrawing his finger, Angelus smiles down at her. "I'll let you decide." He slips from the bed. She watches him as he dresses. "You're near. You decide if you want this life."

He sits on the bed, the weight of him seems like the pressure of gravity itself. He strokes her hair, lingers at her neck.

"Can I see the sun one more time?" She's weak. She can barely speak the words. "Can I watch the sun set from the garden?"

He considers her. "Still stalling for time, my dear precious love?"

She smiles. "How long could I stall before you would just kill me?"

"You won't get far if you try to escape."

"No." She swallows. "No, I don't suppose I would." The loss of blood causes the words to only dribble out of her mouth. She doesn't know how she'll make it down the stairs. She doesn't know how she will ever finish this.

"Go then." He sits on the bed as she climb out and starts to dress.

She clutches the wall, leaning against it as the world bubbles in and out of existence. "You'll let me go?"

He smiles. "It's part of the game, my precious. I let you go. Then I find you again. It's all part of the game. You'll learn to relish it."

Using the wall to guide her, she leaves him. She can hardly make it to the elevator, and collapses as it descends. She knows he is following her. She has only a moment or two. Clambering to her feet, she stumbles but manages to stand. Sighing, she makes it to the lobby counter. She finds what she is looking for and brings the canister out. Thankfully it is full. She remembers when Wesley purchased it. It was to be their last line of defense. Straightening, she gathers the last of her energy and splashes the gasoline across the lobby of the hotel. She tries to hit every entrance, every exit.

Her hands are shaking as she takes out the matches. She hears him on the stairs. She committed a sin, she freed him. She killed Angel. She would kill him as well.

As the match leaves her hand and the flame hits its target she wonders about truth, about destiny. The fire grows around her. She should leave, escape. But she only stands there and watches the fire consume the air around her.

Part 7: The conclusion

The leafless branches arch over her, a cathedral of lifelessness. She gazes up at the gray sky, the thickness of the clouds pressing down on her. The chill in the air stings her lungs. A light musky smell covers her but she does not recognize its source. It reassures her, though, lends her a certain serenity for which she longs.

Shifting, she climbs to her knees and then to her feet. This place is distant to her but close, so close. Glancing around, the trees of the forest afford her no landmark. She brushes off the dead leaves and looks up to the sky again. Lightning streaks over the clouds, illuminating them to a silver fire. She cannot hear the thunder.

The world transforms before her, the trees dwindle and melt like candles in the heat. Two paths are laid before her. An image of Dorothy in Oz flashes through her mind. Which way? But there is no yellow brick road, there is no scarecrow to guide her. The scattered grasses curl and twist to mark the land with death.

She must choose.

Looking down, she opens her palm and sees a drop of blood there. A single pure drop of crimson fluid. She fingers it, the liquid moves with an unnatural viscosity and she is reminded of mercury. A poison. And a new image takes shape in her mind of Alice in Wonderland and her encounter with the Mad Hatter. As she rolls the red droplet around in her palm, she recalls the story. Hatters rubbed mercury along the ridge of bowlers to shape the hat into a derby. It caused them to go mad, its poison seeding in their brains.

She turns her hand over and the drop falls......

The air around her changes, the thickness becomes tainted with fear. Her eyes are closed and she realizes she had been dreaming. A weight presses down on her chest, crushes her injured ribs.

And she knows it is him.

"Are we awake yet?"

She mumbles but does not want to open her eyes, does not want to see this reality come to its fruition.

"Come, precious, I brought you a present." He chuckles as his finger dwells at the pulse of her throat. "After you burned the hotel, I thought you deserved a little gift." He inhales, holds the breath as if he is savoring the flavor of her fragrance, and then slowly exhales.

Opening her eyes, Cordelia faces Angelus as he lays over her prone form. She half-expects to be in the middle of a forest, but they are enclosed.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth playing with something more than joy, something less. "I decided to punish you, my dear." He pauses as if to stop the laughter. "I expected you to run, not burn the house down." He lifts a finger to her. "You have been a very bad daughter."

"I'm not your daughter, you bastard." She sidles away from him, but he still blocks her view of the rest of the room.

"You will be." He raises an eyebrow. "You will be."

She shakes her head. No, he was supposed to be dead. She was supposed to be dead. Way to go, Cor. You even screwed that up. You can't even commit suicide without screwing up.

He sits on his haunches and, clapping his hands, he jumps to his feet. She scans the room. It is a marbled room and there is a feel to it. She cannot describe it, the strangeness to this place. Then she knows. The portal of the oracles, the Powers that Be. He brought her to this sacred place.

"You like?" He snickers. "I wanted this to be the place you rise again. I thought it would have a kind of beauty to it, don't you think?"

But it is the huddle forms in the corner of the room that catch her attention. Bound and gagged, Wesley and Gunn are collapsed against one another. Angelus circles the room and stops at the unconscious forms.

"Time to start the party." He slaps them.

She notes the bruises and blood crusted on their faces. This is her fault. She couldn't even kill him when she had the chance.

It takes a moment but they both struggle to consciousness. Wesley groans as he sees her, his eyes wide with fear. Fear for her and she hates herself all the more. This is her fault. Gunn fights his bonds but Angelus kicks him, hard in the abdomen until the street warrior crumples.

"Now, as I said." Angelus begins to pace the room. It seems to her to be a bizarre dance, a blasphemous ritual in this holy place. "Time to start the party." He glares at her, tilts his head and says, "This is in honor of you, my precious one. This is a thank you for releasing me. For killing the soul that held me prisoner for so long."

He is at her side, his face against hers. Whispering, he says, "We know what your fate is, my childe. Don't we?" He touches her neck, the wounds there. "I'm giving you a choice now. One will die, the other will be your childe." He leaps to his feet. "Now which, which will it be?"

As his laughter echoes off the walls, the room sways, slants, and then rights itself again. In the archway a woman appears. Her golden blue skin transparent, her image flashes in and out of existence. "You broach our temples?"

Angelus turns to her. "Like you once said, things are coming undone."

"You forget, Angelus, I'm dead." The woman transforms, her body shredding into bands of light. The strings streak out, netting him in ropes of flames. He screams, his shrieks rip at her ears.

Staggering to her feet, Cordelia yells above his howls, "No! No! You can't kill him. Don't kill him!" Tears are streaming down her face. She stares up at the ceiling, down at the cold tile, at the empty archway. "No! Mojo lady, don't do this, please. Please."

A tidal wave washes over the room, pushing her to the side and slamming Angelus' burnt form against the wall. Oozing up from the tiles, bluish purple coils wrapped around Angelus' ankles, his legs, his wrists and neck.

"Cordelia!" The growl rips from his throat. His features changed to his true vampire visage. He hisses at her when she approaches him and says, "I'll tear the life right out of you, my precious love."

"And you consider him your bestest of friends, Cor?"

She swings around and sees him. She nearly falls to her knees but calls on her last ember of strength to keep erect as Xander walks to her side.

He smiles and opens his hands. "And all I did was kiss Willow. Over react much?"

"You betrayed me." It sounds hollow in her ears.

He gestures to Angelus. "And he's about to kill you. I'm thinking kissing Willow not so bad anymore."

A groan from the corner alerts her to Wesley. He is trying to signal something to her, but she doesn't understand. Going to him, she reaches to untie his gag.

A force shoves her away and she turns to the figment of Xander to find Willow standing there instead. "Oh no, don't want to let him free." She rolls her eyes. "He'll just tell on us. Well not tell on us, but explain things. And that would be a good thing. And good things don't happen to you. Do they Cordelia? You don't deserve them."

"Stop it, stop." She covers her ears and turns away. The muffled cries of Angelus still leak through as the coils contort around him, searing and burning as they move.

"But why?" Willow asks as she gently drags Cordelia's hands down. "You never did."

She shook her head. "What?"

"Everything was about you," Willow says. "You want to know, want to know how I wanted to impress you. How you scared me?" She straightened her shoulders. "How little you made me feel?"

"That isn't me anymore." She looks at Wesley. He nods to her. His silent support builds a foundation in her. "I don't know who you are but you aren't Willow. And you aren't Xander." She ignores the image of her former classmate. Screaming up to the domed ceiling, she says, "Whoever you are, I want him back. Whatever you did to him, I want it to stop. Bring Angel back!"

When she looks down again, Willow has disappeared and Doyle stands in her place. "Well Princess, that was kinda nice." He walks to her side. "Problem is he sacrificed his soul to save you."

"Save me?"

"Yeah, that's the jig of it." Doyle considers the writhing form of Angelus as the living ropes burrow under his flesh. "He did a real heroic thing for ya. He went ahead and sacrifice his soul to get rid of those pesky mind bending visions I passed onto you."

"He got rid of my visions?" She steps up to Angelus and hits him, hard. "Who asked you? How come I'm always the damsel in distress?" She huffs and the action brings a new pain to her side. "How come no one ever asks my opinion? I count, don't I?"

"Course you do, Princess, otherwise why would he have given up his soul for you." Doyle frowns. "Geez, I would have shared my bed with you but giving up my soul?" He shrugs. "He did something real noble that I don't think we can change."

She eyes him, then gazes at Angelus. Distractedly she says, "He gave up his soul so that I could be free of the visions?"

"That's the short of it, yep."

"And if I ask for the visions back?" She spins around and faces him.

He is no longer there. The ghostly woman in blue and gold stands before her. "Now that is a serious proposition. One you should not enter into lightly. Consider, child."

"I have." She can hear Gunn struggle against his bonds, Wesley trying to warn her. "I can handle them. I have before."

"But do you understand the consequences?"

Involuntarily she is forced to look down as her hand opens of its own volition. A single drop of blood. It transforms from red to silver and back again.

Poison.

"A human cannot withstand the visions. A human seer will always be sentenced to insanity."

She looks back at Angelus, he is no longer conscious. She turns then to Wesley and Gunn. Wesley only shakes his head.

"I understand."

"You chose a certain path that will surely lead you to insanity." The ghost drifts to her side. "Why?"

"Because I love him."

The light is blinding, white, pure. It smashes into her skull and she tumbles, falling. A plunge into the hole, into the pit, the rabbit hole. She is curled beside the entrance to the knowing place, the place of the oracles and the Powers that Be. The tunnel is dark, cold but her breath comes easier.

Crawling to her knees, she goes to Wesley and Gunn and unties them.

Before they can say a word, she says, "It was my choice not yours. Don't tell him. Not a word. You have to promise me." A moment passes before they both agree. "Give me a minute with him, okay guys?"

She moves to his side. The scars welt his skin. She strokes his brow and calls to him, "Angel." He does not respond immediately. "Angel."

"Cordelia," he answers, the words whispered with pain.

Her weakness from the loss of blood seems a distant thing to her now as she looks down at the face of her love.

"Angel, you came back to me."

He raises his hand and cups her face. "Cordelia." He wants to ask what has happened but she stops him and shakes her head.

"Everything is going to be fine. A-okay." She smiles. They lace their fingers together. For this moment, for the remaining moments she has, she knows she will stay by his side.

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