Desert Rose

Summary: Angel, Cordelia and Wesley are in the desert on a new job for the Powers that Be. Problem is that they're not sure what the job is. Rated R.

Spoilers: BtVS upto Season 3; AtS, upto and including 'Expecting'

Disclaimer: The characters of Angel, Wesley and Cordelia belong to Joss Whedon and co. The original characters are mine.

Notes: Author thanks her beta readers; Adrian & Resham for their invaluable comments and input.
Thanks Elaianah for telling me the first story and getting me interested in Israel.
This story assumes that the AtS trio have been working together for more than a year, and you may not agree with how their relationship has developed. I plead a creativity license.
Further notes will follow at the end. This is my longest ever fic, but please don't let that stop you from reading it, just send me feedback. I gladly welcome your comments. Thank you for reading!

---

The sand kicks up in swirls as he walks. He tries to remain inconspicuous, but the wind senses him and raises taunting dust dervishes that dance around his stoic form, clogging nose, ears and mouth with gritty irritation.

He stands still and smiles.

Poor fools. If only they knew.

They can't touch me. Nothing can.

He walks in the harsh glare of sunlight that has killed mortal men and raises his eyes to the glaring orb above.

I can see you. For the first time in my life, I can see you.

And you can't touch me.

Exulting in the austere beauty of the desert, in the impotence of the unforgiving sun that should burn his irises but cannot, he flings wide his arms and laughs.

This is good.

.

When Angel trudges back to the house, only Wesley is out on the porch, reading a newspaper. He is wearing a solar hat, khaki, and with the spectacles to complete the ensemble, appears to be the epitome of the British archaeologist.

He looks up; shading his eyes as Angel comes in. "Had a good walk where neither man nor beast dare tread?"

Angel nods and sits down.

Wesley folds his newspaper and turns to him. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Angel shrugs. "I don't know, Wesley. I'm not even sure what I should be looking for."

Wesley quirks an eyebrow. "If you do find out, be sure to tell me."

"I will."

They sit in silence for a while, looking over the Negev.

"It's so peaceful out here," murmurs Angel.

"Perhaps because Ms. Chase is not with us yet."

Angel smiles. "Is Cordelia still resting?"

"I don't think so. She slept on the plane, and on the drive out from Tel Aviv."

On cue, the girl stalks onto the porch, dressed in form fitting khaki hot pants and shirt. Angel whistles and Wesley hiccups.

"Nice outfit. But won't you be a little -" he moves his arms vaguely, "Exposed?"

She stretches out a leg for him to admire. "Sun block. SPF 65."

Wesley fans himself with the newspaper. "Hot... isn't it."

Oblivious both to Wesley's embarrassment and Angel's amusement, Cordelia adjusts her solar hat and fishes for her sunglasses.

"Right, Angel. We're here. What are we going to do now?" she asks.

Angel shrugs. "I don't know. Wait, I guess."

"For what?"

Wesley answers her. "Information."

.

"Remind me again what I'm doing in this stupid place that's hell by day and a refrigerator by night?" complains Cordelia.

Wesley smiles at her and passes her another blanket. They are roasting marshmallows around a bonfire.

"You're in the Holy Land, Cordelia. Show a little more respect." mutters Angel. "And wear longer pants."

She turns on him mercilessly. "Oh shut up, Mr. Invulnerable-by-day-and-can't-feel-cold-at-night! It's all your stupid fault we're here anyway."

"Ms. Chase -" Wesley begins.

"I like that!" Angel rises on his elbow and glares at her. "You're the one who had the vision!"

"And you're the person I had it for!" She crosses her arms and smirks victoriously. "Ha! Can't top that, can you?"

She nudges Wesley in her glee at having won the argument. Angel grunts and rolls onto his back again. Wisely, Wesley busies himself with his 'smore.

"Another marshmallow, Ms. Chase?" He asks after a while, mouth full.

"Thanks."

They chomp in peace while Angel looks up at the stars and tries to recognize constellations.

A twig rolls out of the fire, perilously near Angel's blanket. He is oblivious.

"What's it feel like being invulnerable, Angel?" Cordelia asks blandly.

"... Sirius... Arctus... Ursus... wha'?" he mumbles distractedly.

"Only there's a big hole burning through your coat -"

"GAAAH!" Angel jumps up and brushes at himself wildly while Wesley and Cordelia snicker.

"That was not funny!" he glares at his friends.

"Relax, old boy, its not like they touched the hair!" Wesley chortles, and Angel shudders, patting his locks into perfection again.

Order is restored with a peace offering of a huge marshmallow, and Angel consents to sit down.

"Actually, I am rather curious, Angel - another one?"

"Yea, a pink one please," Pause while he sets the marshmallow on fire and rescues it. "Sorry, you were saying something... curious? About what?"

"How does it feel to be invulnerable?"

Angel chews meditatively. "I don't really know how to put it into words. Calm, actually. Peaceful... though a lot of me worries about when it will leave."

"You have time, Angel." Cordelia winces as she tries to remember the exact words. "The Powers that Be said you will have the 'armour' until your task is done." She glares suspiciously. "Then again, they also said you must follow where your heart leads and we ended up at this place. Is this really where your heart wants to be? Think about it."

"Yes. It is." Angel grins. "C'mon Cordy, you've asked me this twenty times a day since you first got the vision."

"Yes, but are you really, really, really sure that a place without Starbucks and Neiman Marcus is where you want to be?" She wheedles. "I mean, we could be staying at the Hilton in Beersheba, instead of this... this outpost of the desert!"

"The Negev, Cordy," murmurs Angel. "It's called the Negev, and we're just 20 miles out of the main city. We can go back for the camel market on Thursday if you'd like."

While Cordelia expresses her disgust at the thought of actually standing next to camels -"They spit don't they? Wesley, do camels spit?"- Wesley looks at Angel, the firelight glimmering off his spectacles.

"She has a point though. Why would you choose to come here instead of - instead of -?"

Angel politely waits for Wesley to finish stammering; then takes pity on his embarrassed silence. "You want to know why I don't want to go visit old friends? Especially now that I'm, um, exempted from some of the rules?"

Thankful to be spared asking the question, Wesley nods. "Yes, why the desert, Angel? Why this desert?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Or you can't tell us," says Wesley softly.

Angel glances at him, holds his eyes for a moment, and then looks away. "I'm going for a walk. You two -?"

Cordelia waves him on. "You go. We'll finish up here, then go back to the house."

They watch him leave, then sigh in unison. It seems to break the tension and they grin at each other.

"Lucky that we found a house right at the edge of the desert." muses Cordelia, reflectively sticking another marshmallow on the edge of her stick.

"Not really lucky - it's a remnant from the first digs of the French Archaeological mission. Supposedly, around 1917, the British armies discovered artefacts indicating that some sort of tomb was located near here -" Wesley waves his arm in a vague circle, nearly knocking Cordelia's stick out of her hand. "Oh I do beg your pardon, Ms. Chase."

"It's ok. So what happened? Did they find anything?"

"Apparently not. During the tumult of the world wars, not much excavation was done at this site. And in the rare intervals of peace, they ran into a multitude of problems, flash floods, minor border disputes, till a sandstorm obliterated the main dig - there was nothing left to go on. So from 1950 onwards, the digs have been concentrated east and this particular area has been left alone."

Cordelia shivers. "Sandstorms. Flash floods. I don't like the sound of that."

Wesley nods. "Strange though. Dust storms of such ferocity are not common in this region. There were lots of rumours of disturbed spirits and vengeful..." his voice trails off as the same thought hits the two of them.

Cordelia finds her voice first. "Could this be the 'information' we are waiting for?"

"Possibly, Ms. Chase. Quite possibly." Wesley puts his head to one side and considers, ticking off points on his fingers. "Item 1: your vision that tells Angel he has been loaned the armour of invulnerability for a while, until he can travel to the one place he has always wanted to be. Item 2: that he will find his task in this place. Item 3: Rumours of some lost building or temple."

"Unless this is a re-run of 'The Last Crusade', it doesn't make much sense. His job is to fight demons and protect people. There's nobody here but us in this desert!"

"True..." says Wesley, then considers his answer again. "True." This time, the words are a lot less palatable than before.

Oblivious, Cordelia is getting up. "I'm tired and I'm cold and I'm sleepy. You going in?"

Wesley glances at her abstractedly. "No, you go in first, Ms. Chase. I, I shall just sit out here for a while."

"Ok," She shrugs. "Don't stay up too late now."

He looks at her again, his gaze softer. "I won't. Thank you Ms. Chase."

"'Night."

"Sweet dreams," he whispers after her, following the sound of her footsteps, imagining he can hear the swish of her hips as she moves, chastising himself for that thought, and the many others that follow until the door closes behind her. Then he looks up at the night sky and exhales.

"...Sirius... Arctus..."

"...Orion... Cassiopeia..." Angel mutters under his breath, standing alone and looking up at the star spangled sky.

"Moonless nights."

He turns and sees Wesley has come up behind him. "How did you find me?"

"Watcher school. Advanced tracking scout first class." Wesley taps his chest proudly. "I have a pin somewhere."

"I'll take your word for it." says Angel, turning back to the sky. Wesley looks at his shoulder, then up with him.

"Is that Venus?"

"Possibly."

"Maybe its Vega."

"Possibly."

"You have no idea, do you, Wesley?"

"Possibly -ouch!" Wesley rubs his shoulder. "Angel, could you try and remember that what may seem like a friendly nudge to a vampire wearing the armour of invulnerability is rather more like a blow to a human!"

"Even a rogue demon hunter?" teases Angel.

"Especially a rogue demon hunter! I might be forced to rethink my position and bring you down."

Angel sobers. "Wesley, if the time ever arises, I hope you will - "

He raises a hand. "It's not going to happen tonight."

Angel smiles a little. "What makes you so smart?"

Wesley shrugs and mock-intones. "The desert. The stars. Minds broaden in the vast expanses of the desert. Great thoughts originate here."

He grins at Angel. "And great tombs are built here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wesley repeats the story of the excavations.

Angel's face has new purpose. "Let's go back and see what we can find - er, you can find on the laptop. This may be what we're looking for."

Wesley shakes his head. "No need. I have all we need to know right here." He hands Angel a print out.

Angel smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "Man Friday."

Wesley winces. "Angel -!"

"Sorry."

.

"This is interesting," says Cordelia.

"What is?" Angel comes to her side, prompting a groan of 'Angel, the icepack, IF you please!" from poor Wesley. Cordelia looks at him with some asperity. "That's what you get for not wearing sunglasses in this heat."

"What price 'woman, thou ministering angel' Ms. Chase?" Wesley retorts, made bold by the coolness of the ice pack in his hand.

Angel gives Wesley a warning look. "Give it up, you'll never win."

"I thought they called you the fighting Irish!"

Angel holds out his palms in self-defence. "They never met the fighting Chase!"

Wesley mutters imprecations and holds the ice to his throbbing temples.

Cordelia taps her foot impatiently. "Are you two done insulting me behind my back?"

"We happen to be insulting you quite obviously in front of your face, Ms. Chase - oof !" Wesley rubs his shoulder aggrievedly. "Did you have to poke me QUITE so hard?"

"Sorry." Angel leaves Wesley to his misery and goes over to check on Cordelia.

"Whatever it is, could you summarise it for me in simple English?" Wesley calls out. "I don't think I could stand to make sense out of her haphazard notes in my current condition."

Angel hastily begins to speak, forestalling any comments from a simmering Cordelia. "Well, apparently, the site we're on was part of the Biblical kingdom of Judah. We're on the southern border... remains of fortified cities have been excavated east of here."

"I knew that," groans Wesley.

"Well we didn't!" snaps Cordelia. "Maybe we would have if you'd told us!"

"I did tell you! Maybe you should listen to me instead of nattering about running out of Starbucks Mocha Java Supreme or whatever God-forsaken blend of coffee you use, like it matters what blend of coffee we use, for God's sake, coffee is coffee."

"Hey -!"

"GUYS!" yells Angel.

They both stop for a second; then Wesley moans. "Did you have to be so vocal? Oh, let me die."

"Oh shut up! Even your headaches aren't consistent. One minute you're yelling at me, the other minute you're yelling you want to die."

"Cordelia - I won't tell you again," warns Angel.

"And you can shut up too, Mr. Bossy head!" she storms out of the room, shouting, "And don't bother following me, or I'll throw something at you!"

Angel pauses mid-flight. "At least take your sunglasses!" he yells.

Wesley has already put aside the icepack and is getting up. "My fault," he apologizes. "I'll go."

"No." Despite his gruff tone, Angel pushes him down gently. "Stay. You heard what she said."

"Yes, but its boiling out there!"

"And she's boiling inside. Now both her outside and inside will match."

Wesley laughs, and groans as a wave of dizziness overtakes him.

"See? You need sleep. So sleep. She'll be back."

Wesley closes his eyes gratefully, and Angel returns to his reading.

We've been together in this house for too long, he thinks. Maybe we should drive in to Beersheba tomorrow, check out the camel market or something.

He shakes his head in wonder. Damn, they actually make me feel three centuries old.

Cordelia is fuming in the desert.

All I want is air-conditioning, is that too much to ask? Something other than a creaky metal fan that blows the hot air around and drives the sand straight into my skin. Oh God, I'm blemishing, aren't I?

Who the hell does Wesley think he is, anyway? Or Angel? It's not like they know what a blemish is. I mean Aura will totally turn catty on me if I come back with a rash. Or - or a T-zone! I've never had a T-zone. Can you develop T- zones?

A fluttering of wind, a tinkling of anklets, and for a minute, the heavy veil of air lifts...

Attracted by the sound, she turns and sees...

"Angel! Wesley!"

Wesley jerks awake as Angel's chair crashes to the ground. He whips his head round in time to see Angel and Cordelia run into each other at the door.

Angel holds Cordelia, who is panting incoherently.

"A city... people... this girl... dancer... oh God! WESLEY!" She breaks out of Angel's hold and runs to the couch.

"Wesley!" she shakes him and he has to sit up. "I saw... I saw... the whole... the city! The one you said! But it's alive! It's alive!"

"Calm down, Ms. Chase. Calm down." He holds her arms and forces her to sit by him on the couch. Angel hovers over the two of them.

"Angel, get her a glass of water," suggests Wesley before telling her in his best authoritative tone that she must keep quiet and wait until she has drunk all of it before speaking again. Thankfully she listens to him and is silent until Angel returns.

"Drink slowly." Angel cautions and she does. When the glass is safely on the table, she is trembling less and the wild look in her eyes has disappeared.

Wesley's eyes meet Angel's and the vampire moves to crouch on the floor so that the three of them can see each other.

"Tell us what happened, Cordy," says Angel quietly.

She gulps and nods. "I was... out walking... when I heard these bells."

"Bells?" Wesley is incautious enough to interrupt and Angel shushes him.

"Then I turned around and ... and there was only sand before, really, I swear. And rocks, you know, some rocks, but there she was, this girl. And she was walking and she had those bell things around her feet you know "

"Anklets." They supply and she carries on.

"Yes, anklets, and then she looked at me, well, I couldn't see her eyes, because her head was all covered in this scarf, but she lifted her head and, and then... then there was like this city! With... with camels and things..." Her voice trails off and she hangs her head like she's exhausted.

After a while, Wesley prompts her. "Then what happened?"

She looks at him, confused, but like she's trying really hard to remember. "I... I don't remember."

Another pause, which stretches out and becomes painful.

"Maybe you came straight back," offers Angel.

"Yes, that must be it." Wesley concurs.

"Maybe..." but she doesn't seem convinced.

She's easily persuaded to go to bed, however, and Angel slips her a paracetamol tablet. He sits by her side until she falls asleep, which isn't long, given her exhaustion. Then he turns her fan on, covers her with a sheet and leaves to rejoin Wesley.

Wesley is sitting at the table, using the laptop.

He looks up at Angel. "Is she-?"

"Dead to the world." He sits next to Wesley and reaches for the cooler. "What's that?"

"A map of the area." Wesley moves the mouse over a square of blue and it highlights green. "Rather, a record of all the archaeological excavations near Beersheba."

Angel rubs his chin. "Should we be getting our hopes up?"

Wesley moves his shoulders slightly, still concentrating on the map. "Maybe. On one hand she could have seen a vision. But on the other hand, it was hot, she was upset and dehydrated, she could have mistaken anything for anything ..."

"... And you don't buy that explanation for a second" finishes Angel.

Wesley grins. "You know me too well boss."

Angel looks warily at the screen. "Can I help?"

"Not really." He reconsiders. "A cup of tea would be nice."

"In this heat?"

"Iced?"

Angel gets up and makes the tea. He pours Wesley a glass, and watches the screen over his shoulder. "That looks like it could be worth a look."

Wesley barely glances at it. "That's the directory of tourism. It doesn't have the in-depth information we're looking for."

"Oh."

They are silent for about three minutes. Then - "Stop fidgeting. You're breaking my alpha rhythm."

"Your what?"

"My alpha rhythm."

"I thought I was the dominant male here!"

"I'm referring to my state of concentration, not wolf pack hierarchy. Now make yourself useful and pour me another cup of tea."

"Understand that I'm only putting up with this because the laptop hates me."

"Ssh!"

Sound of liquid sloshing accompanied by "I've been demoted to Cordelia."

"I doubt it. Ms. Chase is actually of some help."

"Hey!"

"Ssh!"

More silence. More fidgeting.

"Wesley?"

"Mm?"

"I'm gonna go for a walk. If the alpha male agrees."

He looks up. "What? Oh. Oh yes, good idea," waving Angel away.

"You never get my jokes," says Angel sadly, before leaving the room.

When Angel returns, the flickering screen is the only source of light in the room. Shaking his head, he turns on the overhead tubes. "You can ruin your eyes that way."

Oblivious, Wesley types on. Angel smiles, shakes his head, and goes to check on Cordelia. She is still asleep, so he decides not to wake her. Coming back into the room, he taps Wesley on the shoulder. "Hungry yet?"

He has to repeat that twice before Wesley responds. "Yes, fine. Jolly good."

Angel sighs and makes dinner. He sets a plate next to the laptop, and waits.

"Wesley."

No reply.

"Wes?"

Silence.

"Oh for - Eat." Angel shoves the fork into Wesley's hand. He mechanically begins to put the food into his mouth, and doesn't stop till his plate has been wiped clean.

Awed, Angel repeats the experiment with another plate piled sky high with food. Wesley polishes it off on automatic pilot.

Whistling in disbelief, Angel stacks the dishes in the sink. "You're going to have to do the dishes Wesley," he calls out.

Wesley grunts.

"For the next five years."

Another grunt.

"Will you mop the floor too?"

"Yes, yes."

"And you're taking a pay cut."

"Whatever you like - pardon me!" Wesley turns around and glares at Angel. "Could you stop your blithering and let me concentrate, please?" He turns back to the screen, grumbling, "- pay cut indeed!"

Angel grins and returns to sit beside Wesley. He begins flipping through what has already been printed out, but can't make much sense of it. He amuses himself for the next few hours by seeing how much he can make an unsuspecting Wesley eat.

At midnight, Wesley calls a halt. "You may be invulnerable, but I need rest. Would you take over?"

Angel looks at him uncomfortably. "Um... Wesley? If it doesn't have fangs or claws and I can't kill it, it's really not my area of expertise."

He shrugs blithely. "Very well. Then we'll sleep for the rest of the night." He stretches and yawns. "Though I'm feeling remarkably chipper."

"After nearly 12 hours bent over that thing? Why?"

"No reason. I merely enjoy the intellectual challenge of research." He looks around. "Did Ms. Chase have dinner?"

"Cordelia's still asleep."

"Mm." Wesley looks at the debris on the table: plates, cups, remnants of sandwiches and is taken aback. "Good Lord. Did I eat all that? And I'm still a bit peckish."

Angel is looking through the list of new bookmarks. "You did a lot of research. Probably needed the glucose."

"And there's a lot left to look at too. But, I think we can safely leave that for tomorrow." He pauses in his search for something edible. "Unless you feel there is some urgency in the matter?"

Angel randomly pecks a few keys and then draws his hand back. "No. Uh. I don't know... what have we got anyway?"

Wesley is spreading peanut butter lavishly on a slice of bread. "Nothing much apart from the early history of this place, a list of records and testaments that we can use to verify those records and a list of all the digs currently operating in and around Beersheba." He looks around for the jelly. "I don't suppose you can read the Bible, can you? Only that is where a lot of the information comes from."

Angel shrugs uncomfortably. "Don't know. Wouldn't want to try."

"Pity. Ah, there it is ... grape jelly? Where do you get grape jelly in the middle of Israel? Wouldn't date palm jelly be more appropriate?"

"It's a global economy. So Wesley, all this information we have... tells us what?"

Wesley finishes his bite of sandwich and takes another. "Nothing, really, apart from the fact that there might have been a city of some sort that extended all the way here. Under all this sand, rock..." he waves the sandwich around for emphasis, "there could be anything. Tomorrow I'll look into the myths and legends surrounding this area... that's partly why I asked if you could read the Bible without bursting into flames... mumf wait! You can now! The armour!"

"Oh. Yeah." Angel shifts uncomfortably.

Wesley pauses in the act of biting. "What? You can walk in the sunlight because Cordelia has a vision, but you won't attempt to read a book?"

Angel looks down. "Words have power." He says softly. "The sun... is a big ball of fire. It strikes the outside. Words light the fire inside."

Wesley doesn't know quite what to say. Then he shrugs and eats his sandwich. "Never mind. I'll get to it tomorrow. Ms. Chase may be recovered enough to help me."

His eyes dance mischievously. "Seeing as I'm going to be expected to do all the work here, can I expect a pay rise?"

Angel throws a pen at him and rises to leave the room. "Go to sleep Wesley. And don't push your luck."

Grinning, Wesley complies.

---

*She is dancing in the hall of kings, as every girl of age is summoned to do. It was not right, her father moaned, but had to acquiesce, for the king was the law and the law was of God. So they had come to take her and she had gone to dance.

She executes a particularly graceful turn and draws his majesty's attention. The uncomfortable sensation of strange, hot eyes upon her brings shame, and shame makes her stumble.

This displeases the king who claps his hands for her to be removed from his presence.

Flushed and uncertain of her fate, she nevertheless steps forth, head held high as her father has taught.

Never show fear. There is no one to fear besides God.

Which is when he steps forward and pleads for a gift.

"Father," he says, "give to your son what is not fit for you." *

Cordelia awakes, shaking and red.

She knows her name now.

"Katriel."

"Excuse me?" asks Wesley, sipping coffee while typing on the laptop.

"Her name is Katriel. The girl I saw yesterday?"

He looks up at that. "Sit down Cordelia. Have a cup of coffee? I could make you a sandwich."

She waves her hand in front of his face. "Hello, Wesley? Are you in there? I'm telling you I dreamt about her."

He catches her palm and places it face down on the table. "Whatever it is, it can wait until you've had breakfast. You'll feel a lot better with food in your stomach. Besides, Angel should be back by then, which will save you the trouble of repeating your story."

She gives in and waits while Wesley scrambles eggs. "Where's Angel?"

"Gone in to town for supplies. I, um, inadvertently depleted our stock last night."

She nods, then realises something. "I haven't seen him feed since we got here!"

Wesley shrugs. "Yet another mystery. Maybe the Powers that Be have granted him inexhaustible strength as well as invulnerability?"

"Or I could be stocking my blood in the cooler out back." Says the vampire carrying huge bags full of groceries. "Morning Cordy. Slept well?"

He places the bags on the table and starts to put the food away. Wandering over to the stove, he takes a sniff at the pan Wesley is juggling.

"Not enough basil." He says. Wesley shoots him a dirty look.

"You cook your way, I shall cook mine.

"Loser. Cordy," he turns to her. "Say the word and I'll take over from this incompetent."

She pretends to consider while Wesley glowers and Angel preens. "No-o," she decides finally, "I think I'd like to live life a little dangerously today."

Over breakfast, she tells them about Katriel.

"She's about 14, maybe 15 at the most. Some pig of a king was forcing the girls to dance for him and she didn't like it."

Wesley's brow furrows. "A Hebrew king choosing a harem... unusual, but not really... it might help to narrow down the precise time. Go on."

She blushes, not sure how to express what she felt and even less sure if she should. It seems private, somehow.

Angel notes the subtle shift in temperature and clears his throat. "Any other facts you can tell us, Cordy?" emphasizing the word 'facts', letting her know she doesn't have to say what she doesn't want to.

"N-no. Except that... I think she was upset about it all."

"A young Hebrew girl of good family? Definitely. Now that would also tell us..." Wesley is already tuning into research mode, formulating questions and typing out search forms. That leaves Angel and Cordelia to go exploring.

.

.

.

.

"I think it was here."

"Are you sure?"

"D-uh! Of course not! I was just walking yesterday, I didn't really pay much attention to rock formations! Or even clumps of grass, not that there are many around."

Angel holds up his hands to indicate a desire for peace. It seems to him that he's been doing a lot of that lately. "I'm sorry, I was just checking."

"Huh." She flops down on the ground and opens her bottle of water.

He stands where she left him, a little at a loss. "I've never done any archaeology before. What's the next thing I should do?"

"What, in all your 2 centuries as Angelus, you never picked up any useful skills?"

He mock glowers at her. "I *did* learn how to bite the tongues off irritating girls, so be careful."

"Ooh." She mock shudders, then trembles as she thinks of what they would have to be doing before he could get close enough to bite ...

Down! She scolds herself. Bad girl! Grr! Remember? Besides...

Besides ...

She manages to think of something else but not before soft blue eyes take the place of the shifting dark ones in her thoughts. Bad girl, very, very bad.

"Cordelia?" Angel's voice sounds very strange.

"Hm?" Her train of thought derailed, she turns...

... The air shimmers and clears.

*The wind carries the strains of his flute to her, and she hurries towards their meeting place. She knows she is late, but it is not easy for a growing girl to escape the determined bustling of a mother who wishes to initiate her daughter into the mysteries of housekeeping.

"Such a big girl now," her mother clucks, then sighs. "Soon it will be time..."

She knows what it will be time for and is not entirely displeased, considering she has known her betrothed all her life.

He is there by the caves in the rock, and sees her when she is still far away.

"Katriel!" he calls, and she places a finger on her lips. Sound carries far in the desert. If her mother found out, she would be kept at home in disgrace, never allowed to run wild like this again.

After all, she is almost a woman now.

He places his flute aside and comes to greet her, looking deep into her eyes.

"Thank you for coming," he says and unaccountably, she blushes.

"It's better than sanding the pots," she attempts to lighten the atmosphere. Unfortunately, she catches another glimpse of his expression and that terminates her composure.

"Does it really make you this happy to see me?" she asks him, looking down at their sand dusted feet.

He smiles and kisses her, missing her lips the first time, but catching them sweetly on his second attempt.

She draws back, breathless, trying to calm her racing heart. "Is that what you wanted to show me?" she manages to ask him.

He shakes his head, no, and touches her mouth with his finger. "I hadn't intended to - but..."

"It's better than sanding pots!" she finishes for him, and they laugh shakily.

Amazing, she thinks. How can someone as plain and dark as she possibly be the cause of this... this glow in his face. It humbles and delights her at the same time.

He fumbles for her hand and brings it to his lips. "Come back, Katriel," he teases. "Your mind is out in the desert and not here with me."

"Would you follow me if I went that far away?" she asks, looking over the ridge to the vast and beautiful loneliness where she has never been.

"I would follow you to Sheol," he whispers, claiming her lips once more.

It's a mystery, she thinks dizzily, a wonderful mystery how she can apparently inspire these fervent declarations of love, despite her stature and thinness and the roughness of her skin and hair... rational thought deserts her as he teaches her a new use for her tongue.

Together they explore this new mystery, this tangle of teeth and tongues, late into the afternoon, sheltering in the cool dark caves that their forefathers carved into the rock years ago.

...I wonder if they ever dreamed of the uses their children would put it to, he thinks dreamily, swimming in the fragrance of her hair and person, a scent unmistakably hers, and infinitely arousing.

He puts the thoughts behind him with a sigh. They are betrothed. More than that, they are friends. He can be honourable and wait.

Katriel sighs and snuggles into the crook of his arm.

If only it wasn't so damned hard ...

"Thank you," she says trustingly, looking into his eyes and letting him see the depths of her love. He looks down at her worshipfully and kisses her forehead.

"You are exquisite," he whispers, and she giggles.

Cheek to cheek, arms and legs entangled, they fall asleep together, lulled by the wind and the soft bleating of his goats outside. *

"Angel? Angel!"

The bleats resolve into words, insistent and disturbing. He grumbles and turns over, swatting at the hand on his shoulder. "Let me sleep."

"Damn it, man, wake up!"

"Whuzzat? Wesley? Wesley!" Angel sits up as he realises the sand is too hard to be his bed. He looks around him quickly and notes that it is evening and also that there is no sign of Cordelia.

"Cordy..."

"She's back at the house."

"She is?" Angel can't seem to remember how that happened.

Wesley offers him a hand. "When you didn't come back by noon, I was worried and came after you. I found both you and Cordelia -"

Wesley looks down and swallows.

"You were asleep. Both of you." He doesn't say 'curled up in each others arms'. He's hoping that if he won't say it, it will never have happened.

"So you woke up Cordy and took her back?" Angel is trying to understand.

Wesley shakes his head. "You wouldn't wake up, Angel. She was easier to wake and anyway, you were in no danger of sunstroke. I came back after making sure she... she had suffered no ill effects."

Not that she was likely to have, he thinks bitterly. You were almost on top of her. An invulnerable vampire for sun block. What an inventive idea.

Steady on, he tries to convince himself, they were under some other influence. Not, NOT their own...

He pushes the ugly thoughts away as the two men start back for home.

But they keep coming back.

.

"How is he?" Cordelia whispers. Wesley represses a pang, tells himself that he is being silly, that there is no more tenderness or concern in her voice than there was yesterday. She is merely being polite and trying not to wake Angel.

"You don't have to whisper, Ms. Chase. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow." He tries to smile and succeeds when she grins at him.

"So whatcha got?"

"At present," he murmurs, clicking the mouse, the light flickering against his skin, "nothing much apart from a few stories."

She is watching him with an expression of mingled shyness and curiosity. "Why don't you call me Cordy like Angel does?"

"Excuse me Ms. Chase?" He looks up in surprise.

"Why do you keep calling me Ms. Chase?" she asks simply. "We've known each other for more than a year. Isn't it socially acceptable to use my name by now? You do call me Cordelia sometimes, I know."

He is astonished enough to remove his spectacles and wipe them to gain time. When he puts them back on, he sees the way she is looking at him and something curls up inside.

"I don't know," he admits softly. "I suppose I like calling you Ms. Chase. It seems - polite. More appropriate."

Especially since you appear to prefer vampires to me - no, don't think of that, she doesn't remember, it wasn't her fault you bad, bad man.

Her mouth twists in a smile. "Ever asked yourself why you think it's so appropriate?"

He catches his breath, scarce daring to breathe. "Not really." He knows it is a lie.

To establish distance between us... so that you and I ... so I won't be hurt when you choose someone else.

"Perhaps you should."

"I'll try."

Their eyes remain locked for a while; then she sighs and looks away. "So, what stories have you found?"

They're back to business. He can handle that. "Ah. Now this is where you can help me sift the gold from the dross, if you'll excuse the cliché..." .

.

"So you haven't found any legends worth the mentioning yet?" Angel asks, hunching over the stove, scrambling eggs.

"None relating to the time period that the dreams seem to come from. Have either of you remembered what happened to you, by the way?" Wesley's shirt is rumpled and his hair is a mess. He wasn't able to sleep all night, so spent it in research.

I was doing work. Important work. I was not lurking in the kitchen to watch out for any kind of rendezvous. No, not I.

He realises with a start that Angel is shaking his head.

"Pity," he murmurs, trying to dismiss the unworthy thoughts that insist on jumping back in. If he were less distracted, he might have detected a false note in Cordelia's declaration.

"Sorry, mind still a blank." She looks up from a stack of papers that are neatly highlighted. "But listen to what I found; it's really creepy."

She pauses for effect and waits for their undivided attention.

"Angel!"

"Do you want your eggs burnt?"

"Fine, I'll tell Wesley." She turns to him, all melodramatic and excited. "We are living - in a house of blood!"

Wesley looks at Angel accusingly. "I thought you promised to clean up after yourself?"

Angel mimes shocked grief and Cordelia swats him on the shoulder. " Be serious! There was a murder - suicide in this house during the 1948 digs. The head archaeologist, Pierre Monterrey shot his brother and his wife, then himself, because the two of them had been doing the dirty behind his back." She refers to the stack again. "That was the last straw, I think, because after that there hasn't been another expedition to this site."

"Excavation," admonishes Wesley gently. "Did you say last straw?"

"Yup. Before the three-in-one special, the camp suffered from a flash flood, a sandstorm, and a gasoline explosion that severely injured many members of the dig." She taps her pen on the table. "That's a lot of accidents. I must say I'm intrigued."

"You're also learning big words from Wesley!" says Angel, smiling affectionately, while carrying a steaming pan to the table. "Here we go!" He sets the pan down with a proud flourish. "Eggs a la perfection!" He looks down his nose at Wesley. "Learn from the master."

Cordelia giggles and helps herself. Wesley looks at the pan, looks at Angel. The vampire is grinning at Cordelia who is shovelling the food on to her plate, oblivious of Wesley's scrutiny.

He suddenly feels very sick.

Abruptly he stands, pushing the chair back. "I - I just had an idea. I shall be right back -no, please, please continue with breakfast, it'll only take me... only take me a moment."

He is out of the house before they can stop him, walking fast.

I have to leave, he thinks. I can't take much more of this. Not anymore.

*On the wind he hears his name being called, soft and sweet.

For a moment he can hear the tinkling of anklets and the sound as if a veil has been lifted.

"Katriel," he breathes, turning towards the vision in red.

"My lord," she bows, submissive as always, yet unbroken. It's that which has kept him enthralled with her month after month. It is the reason he now offers her his protection instead of forcing her to accept it.

He goes to lift her, and revels in the forbidden contact of wrist to palm. She shivers, possibly afraid that this may be one of the days when he breaks his promise.

Ashamed, he lets her go.

"Sit with me," he invites, as always.

"It is not permitted." She replies, eyes downcast, as always.

"Then will you dance for me?" he asks, just like the first time they were alone.

"Not willingly," she says, as she has said since the first time she was brought into his chambers. He smiles, bittersweet, remembering what followed that first exchange of words, and wishing with all his might that he could erase it from her memory.

"Go then." He dismisses her, not wanting to be reminded of either his sin or his unrequited affections.

Normally she would bow and leave, anklets tinkling in relief that he did not require more of her. But today the pattern changes. She turns and looks at him, unflinching, her eyes to his, dropping the mask that she wears in his presence.

For the first time, he can see her eyes.

"Go where, my lord? My home?"

"Your home is here." He answers swiftly, his voice hard. "Your place is with me. You belong to me."

Her gaze does not shift from his face as she shakes her head. "No," she says, not a denial, a mere statement of fact.

"What!" He does not believe the evidence of his ears.

"I belong only to myself and to God." She stands perfectly poised, not challenging, not defending, simply *being*, in an act of more defiance than any prisoner has ever shown.

Her damnable poise. Her unshakeable, unalterable pride.

He stands stock still at what she has dared to do. At whom she has dared to defy.

She looks back at him, as though it is common for a slave girl to defy a prince of the royal house, as though it is he who is in the wrong here.

He finds his voice, and it is unnaturally steady. "You presume too much on my good nature."

She says nothing, and suddenly he feels the need to make her scream in anger, in hurt, to get some form of reaction out of her. Anything except this damned silence.

His hand is around her wrist, gripping it so hard he feels the bones poke into his flesh. "Do you think that I am weak? Don't make that mistake. Don't you dare think my restraint and courtesy is a sign of frailty." His voice is unsteady and his vision is darkening. "I am a prince of Judah, and you will give me the respect I deserve!"

In the silence broken only by the sound of his harsh breathing, he sees her eyes, her compelling brown eyes reach into his soul and pull away in disgust at what she finds there.

Her voice is soft and betrays no hint of fear. "I would not consider your courtesy to a woman as weakness my lord. I count it a great virtue for men to be able to subdue their baser desires and not inflict them on the unwilling."

And though the words are unspoken, he hears them clearly.

And I would respect you for that courtesy, if you had ever been so courteous to me.

Paralysed, he feels his fingers jerk, once, twice, and then release her. She stares at him a moment longer, then makes a low mocking bow.

He reaches out to her, but she has left in a swirl of perfumed red and tinkling anklets. He strains to hear the sound of her feet and imagines he can hear the bells long after she must have left his chambers.

He barks out a laugh, reassuring himself that he is still alive, has not been cut to pieces by her glance, sharper than a thousand swords.

She dared to presume upon my good nature, he tells himself. But I shall be lenient and let it pass. You trap birds with honey easier than with nets.

He pours himself a glass of wine and gulps it down. Another, then a third.

She was in the wrong. Not I.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to calm down.

She is mine.

Inhaling the elusive fragrance that still lingers, he repeats silently, unconvincingly to himself.

Your place is with me, Katriel. You belong to me.

NO, answers the wind. *

No, no, no... The dust devils eddy and swirl, momentarily wrapping him in a cloak of dust that dissipates, leaving him only with the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Wesley is alone and trembling, unsure of what he has seen.

Disregarding the impulse to fall to his knees, he puts up a hand to adjust his spectacles.

Katriel... mocks the wind. 'triel... triel...'triel..

Cordelia.

.

Cordelia looks up as Wesley trudges in. "Found anything?"

"Excuse me?" He adjusts his spectacles, the contrast between dark and light causing his head to swim.

She notes his strained look and jumps up, all sympathy. "Poor Wesley! Why did you have to go out in all that hot sun - here sit down, I saved you some breakfast. The egg's really well done, and I'll pour you some juice."

He lets her chatter wash soothingly over him as he tries to remember... but he is so tired... his eyes are drooping and it can't hurt to rest his head on the table at least until breakfast is ready...

Angel comes in to find Wesley fast asleep at the table, with Cordelia looking at him thoughtfully.

"Same M.O." He remarks.

"Hmm." says Cordelia; then turns to him. "What's an M. O.?"

"Modus operandi. Method of operation," he clarifies. "I'm guessing he walked out to the same place as we did and -"

"Had a close encounter of the third kind?" she shivers. "Angel, I don't like it."

"I know."

Her eyes widen at his tone. "Hey, is that foreboding I hear in your voice? Because I can do without the foreboding. Optimism is good."

"Wish I had some to give you."

"Yea. Me too." She sighs. "He'll get a stiff neck if he keeps on like this. Let's get him to bed."

"Ooh, kinky." Angel says, but lifts Wesley up with the ease of long practice. Wesley snuffles in his sleep and turns towards Angel's chest, clutching at his shirt and mumbling a string of nonsense words. Angel looks at Cordelia, comically dismayed.

"I really hope this is one of those regression to childhood dreams and he thinks I'm a big teddy bear."

She grins. "I think I like the idea of you as a big fluffy teddy bear."

Angel rolls his eyes. "Get out of the way Cordy. You're blocking the door."

.

It's midnight and by common consent, they haven't built a bonfire tonight. Instead, they're sitting at the table. Cordelia is chewing a pen, Wesley is making frazzled notes and Angel just sits there looking cool, dark and brooding.

The pen snaps, and Cordy jumps.

"How do you do that?" she asks accusingly; then turns to Wesley. "How does he do that?"

"Do what?" Angel the bewildered.

She waves her hands hazardously, and Wesley has a few tense moments trying to rescue his coffee. "The - the thing, the thing where you just look so calm and like you just don't care! I mean, here is this strange thing happening to us, and you're just so calm! Its unfair."

Angel smirks. "Couple of centuries more experience playing poker."

Wesley taps on the table. "Alright, attention please. I think we've worked out a reasonable hypothesis."

He looks up to be sure he has their attention before continuing. "The desert, rather, that particular area appears to have the capacity to induce dreams. All of us have experienced them there, and though we cannot remember what we dreamed of, it appears to drain our strength. Which would seem to indicate that something is feeding... off... us..."

He trails off and taps the pen against the wooden surface again.

Cordelia speaks. "Wait, are you telling me we're DINNER?"

"Cordy, there is some sort of psychic draining taking place. Whether we can call what that place is doing 'feeding' is -"

"A moot point, actually Angel." Wesley drums his fingers in enthusiasm. "Though Ms. Chase can be said to be the weakest of us three, and you the strongest, each of us experienced a drain that was easily replenished according to our strengths."

Angel's brow furrows. "You're saying the 'thing' is a discriminating feeder?"

"Not a feeder. The word we may be looking for is 'director'."

Cordelia puts a hand to her forehead. "Wait, let me guess. Cecil B. Mille is haunting us and trying to recreate the Ten Commandments?"

Angel looks intrigued. "I've seen something like that before. No," this to Cordelia, "not the movie. Remember the Sadie Hawkins dance?"

"Oh, the star crossed lovers who kept making people act out their own story?"

"A precedent!" Wesley bangs on the table and they both jump. He has the grace to look abashed. "Sorry. I got carried away."
what a pathetic attempt to grab their attention. Damn it, man, get a grip on your self. Concentrate on the task at hand.
"So we agree that some kind of spirit, or spirits are using us to recreate past events."

"But why? And who?"

Wesley looks at his hands then up at them again. He is curt. "Cards on the table everybody. What do we actually remember about the dreams?"

Cordelia starts and blushes. Angel doesn't move, but withdraws into himself. Wesley looks down again.

"I'm sorry," he says. "But if we are to understand what is happening, it is imperative that we are honest with each other."
Tell me the truth. Tell me what happened between the two of you. I must know.

Cordelia shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. Sorry, I don't remember anything."

Angel seems to come alive again at that.

Wesley throws his pen down. "This is ridiculous," he hisses. "Be honest, I said, which means speak the truth, not 'tell a lie'."

"Hello! He said he doesn't remember, Wesley! Deal with it."

"I do remember, Cordy," Angel says softly. "And I think you do too."

Cordelia looks at Angel with dawning comprehension. "Oh my God. You remember."

"Cordy-"

"You lied to me!"

Angel is amazed. "Well, you lied FIRST! I thought you didn't remember, I didn't want to embarrass you!"

"You LIED TO ME!"

"Cordy-" Angel is worried now, and stretches out a hand to her.

"Oh my God!" She jumps up, toppling her chair. "Don't touch me."

He rises with her, Wesley following suit. "It was a dream, Cordy. That's all. Just a dream, it can't hurt you -"

"NO!" she screams. "Neither of you TOUCH me!"

She runs out of the room and they hear the main door slam.

Wesley could swear the vampire next to him blushes.

"I didn't think it was that bad." Angel mumbles.

Wesley tries to ignore the twisting snake in his heart. "You were lovers." He says, trying not to spit venom with the words.

Angel shrugs. "No. Not me and Cordelia. Someone called Hershel and someone called Katriel were lovers. Pledged to be engaged or something."

Wesley is surprised into truth. "You can distance yourself from it quite easily."

"It's happened to me before. Pair of doomed lovers, a teacher and student took over my body and Buffy's."

Wesley narrows his eyes and decides not to comment. Then he changes his mind. "That doesn't explain why you aren't showing as much of an emotional reaction. Perhaps the gift makes you immune to the effects of the dream?"

Angel shrugs again. "Maybe. Then again, nothing much happened anyway. Maybe girls are more sensitive than guys." He looks directly at Wesley. "Are they?"

Wesley closes his eyes, struggling with himself.
Nothing much happened. He said nothing much happened... *How much is nothing much?*

At last, he opens them again. "No." He speaks softly, but determinedly. "No, they're not."

Angel looks at him with some sympathy and much confusion. "Who were you - who's the person you dream?"

"First we need to find Ms. Chase."

Angel nods. "I should go alone. Since I'm less susceptible."

"NO!" Angel looks at him strangely, and Wesley attempts to recover his balance. "We'll both go. You may not suffer from the after effects, but you do get the dreams." He moves to the centre of the room, and waits for Angel to follow.

Angel doesn't move. "Wesley, I don't know what's happening, but it seems like a bad idea for us to go together."

He waits for a reply, a disagreement, but none is forthcoming. Instead the shadows seem to be lengthening in the silence, gathering in the centre of the room.

"Wesley?"

There is a subtle difference in the scent of the room, a feeling of wrongness as if something does not belong... but for the un-life of him, Angel cannot decide if the misplaced factor is himself, Wesley or just the wind that seems to be blowing into the room from cracks he had never noticed in the walls.

"Wesley?" He tries again.

The man in front of him fumbles at his temples, touching his spectacles like they are remote and unfamiliar. As if through a fog, Angel sees him remove the spectacles and place them in his pocket. He looks up with eyes that appear to have darkened intensely.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, moving towards Angel menacingly. "How dare you come here!"

"WES!" Angel puts out a hand. "You're not Wesley. Who the hell are you?"

The man in Wesley's body appears to contort, then solidifies again as the wind begins to keen. "You will pay the penalty for interfering."

Angel hesitates for a split second, and that is all it takes for the man to lunge.

"We'll both go. You may not suffer from the after effects, but you do get the dreams."

The sound of his voice seems to be coming from very far away.

"...Go together..." He tries again, but the words are stretching out into infinity, taking forever to say.

He shakes his head. There is a strange buzzing sound in his ears.

Bees?

"Who the hell are you?" asks a stranger.

*The sound of the wind roaring through the desert. Sand, blowing in the wind. *

I am a voice that cries on the wind.

I am a rock that touches the sky.

I am ... I am...

"You are Wesley Wyndham Price," comes a sudden jarring note in the song of the wind. Someone has hold of him and is shaking him free of sand and song.

"No," he refuses to be swayed, as the howling intensifies.

"Dust... dust in the wind... all gone..."

"Listen to me!" the cry is fainter and more urgent. "Look at me, damn you! Your name is Wesley. Wesley Wyndha-"

Irritated with the buzzing of this insect that won't let him become one with the sand, he strikes, strikes with the force of rock and starlight, making his will a spear that fits smooth in his hand. He listens for the sound of the voice, and when he has placed it, he casts the spear that flies straight and true.

"OW! DAMN! THAT HURT!"

Pain and dark come crashing down as the enemy lashes back. He screams in agony, and falls to the ground.

The wind blasts its fury and tries to sweep him up to safety.

Instead, he falls. .

.

*He looks up at his attacker. Young, maybe his own age, muscles honed by days of herding and carrying water, no doubt. Not like him.

He is a warrior, trained and bred to fight. Scion of the royal house. This one is nothing before him and yet he dares to strike!

His anger boils at the temerity of this boy and he rises from his undignified position.

"You dare to challenge me?"

"I dare much for the sake of one I love."

So. His lips curl in disdain. This - THIS is what Katriel longs for? The mud hut of this - menial? When she could be his ?

He laughs at the incongruity of it all, and beckons with one finger. "Come, then, boy. We've seen your skill at lurking in the dark and attacking from behind. Dare now to challenge me face to face?"

"NO!" Katriel screams and throws herself at his feet. "No lord, lord, he is only a boy, he... he is not trained as you are...let him go! Please, the fault was mine, I bid him come here..." She babbles incoherently, tears wetting his feet.

He lets her surrender wash over him and finds himself unmoved.

Lifting her up gently from the ground, he presses her to his chest and speaks softly into her ear, hoping that his startled rival marks well his familiarity with her body.

"There was a time... my love... when all I wanted was for you to care for me... to hear you surrender to me as you have just done. Then... then your pleas would have moved me. But... now..."

He draws back and let her see him smile.

"NOW - " he shoves her viciously away from him, into the far wall or the arms of her lover, he cares not. "It will give me far greater pleasure to kill him."

She speaks from the shelter of the boy's arms. "Lord... please, I beg you, do not do this. There is no honour in this."

He smiles at her, feeling light-headed. It is surprisingly easy to smile. "Ah, but then, Katriel, I have never been a man of honour, have I?"

The boy speaks to her gently and sets her aside before facing him. "No." he says quietly. "No, you never have been. You and your father, to take a gently bred girl from her home and family... one moreover who has been pledged since young to another... no, Rafel, you have never been a man of honour."

He loses his good humour. "My NAME is not for your lips!"

The boy sneers. "Why? As anyone may name a stray dog on the road, I call you a cur. That is all you are - urgh! "

Rafel prince of Judah steps back from the crumpled heap, raising his bright sword to the moonlight.

Katriel screams.

Her thin high-pitched voice is surprisingly easy to disregard. It seems tonight is a night for surprises.

She falls silent after a while, and he is grateful for that. It gives him leisure to study this new sensation.

So red, he thinks. I never knew they bled this colour.

"Katriel," he calls, "See how beautiful the colour is."

He raises his blade to admire his handiwork, and only then realises that she has fled the room.

Smiling vaguely, he hefts his blade and follows. *

.

His search takes him outside the palace walls, past the north gate, well into the desert.

Fleet as an ibex is Katriel, his Katriel of the white ankles and graceful movements.

The wind is keening softly, driving sand and grit into his face. Poor ignorant fools. Poor ignorant Katriel. Don't they know who he is?

*I am the voice that cries on the wind.

I am the rock that touches the sky.

I am. *

He finds her on an outcropping of rock, veils blowing frantically in the wind.

No, not veils... hair... black hair...

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of the fractured scene.

"Go away Wesley!" she shouts querulously. "I said I didn't want any company."

He raises his sword and the moonlight glints off - through it.

A sword of starlight and shadows? He wonders.

*Forged of sand and stone, honed on the desert wind, * is the answer.

He smiles. It is fitting.

"Do you know who I am?" He asks her.

"Wesley?" She is puzzled and so is he. That is not his name; that is not how it is supposed to go.

"Rafel," he supplies. "You knew me once as Rafel?"

He sees her face contort, pulled into different directions as she fights with the wind for mastery over this situation.

Then the scene reverts and it is how it should be.

"You killed him," she breathes. "You didn't even warn him..."

He shakes his head over her foolishness, showing her the blade.

"Blood. Do you see?"

From the fear in her eyes, he knows she does not. Sighing, he explains, somehow his voice intelligible despite the screeching wind dervishes.

"It is said that only God determines the hour of a man's death. But... but look! I decided - and it was so! He is dead!"

"Murderer..." Her lips move soundlessly, forming vowels, syllables, but they are swallowed whole by the wind.

"No," he shakes his head. "Not a murderer. Power. I have the power of life and death."

She is speaking, perhaps cursing him, but the storm renders her words powerless to hurt him. Slowly he advances, sword at the ready, all the while intoning, like the priests calling the Sh'Ma.

"I am the voice of the howling wind
I am the rock that falls from the sky.
I am.
I am."

Her mouth is open and screaming, but the wind whips away sound, so that does not trouble him.

"I am. I decide your hour of death." He says, and the blade is on her neck, trembling, but poised to strike.

In that moment her posture firms and she looks back at him defiantly.

"Murderer." He hears her voice clearly. "Unclean. Less than a man. Murderer!"

He understands the words, but not what they have to do with him. "No," he tries to explain. "No, I have the power of life and death..."

"MURDERER!"

He shakes his head wonderingly. Her eyes should not be allowed to look at him like that. First he will put out her eyes.

Her eyes...

He raises the sword -

"Wesley, NO!"

Wesley?

The sword is pulled from his grasp and it shimmers, dissolving into sand and shadows. The shrieking wind dies with it and in the eerie calm, he turns and beholds the face of his enemy.

"YOU... I killed you! I ... I killed you!"

"You had a bloody good try at it, but no, you didn't kill me."

Katriel gives a shriek and flings herself past him, into the arms of the other. "Hershel!"

"Oh damn," sighs the other, folding her to him protectively. "No, not Hershel. Cordy, Wesley, this isn't real. Something else is riding your mind, trying to use you to act out something that happened years ago. Don't fool yourselves; this isn't who you are. Come back to me."

Words. Foolish words. The other wants to distract him so that he can kill him. He will not succumb to the trick.

"Cordy, sit there." The other places Katriel behind the shelter of a rock, away from the wind, then comes forward, hands raised. "Wesley, it's me, Angel. Look, no guns."

"I WILL kill you!" He tries to recreate his sword; tries calling up the wind, but neither respond to his call. In desperation, he flings himself at the other. "Devil take you!"

"I hoped I wouldn't have to do this -"

A fist crashes into his jaw and he is flung to the ground, where the world begins fragmenting again.

*Katriel's eyes blinded by blood... *

The voice behind him speaking urgently. "Cordy, snap out of it! Wake up damn it! Listen to me, your name is Cordelia Chase. You're not Katriel, you're not, you're both not ... they're using you to ride out an old story, Cordy, wake up!"

Cordelia?

"Angel?" her voice fuzzy and drugged, but unmistakably -

Angel...

He knows these names.

"Angel." Her voice is firmer and strikes a chord in his confused heart. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later, but right now, Wesley is being possessed by a ghost."

"Oh my God. Rafel."

"You know him? GOOD. We can use that maybe, try to get through to him-"

"Angel. Cordelia," testing the words and finding that his tongue knows their shape.

"Wesley!" sounds of relief as the - not man, vampire - moves to help him up. "I hoped that you'd be the one to come back; the ghost wouldn't know enough about you... how do you feel?"

I am Wesley.

Wesley. Angel. Cordelia. He knows the words and their permutations. They belong together. Friends. Partners. The three of them are family.

But two of them are Lovers.

And the odd one out is Wesley.

I am Wesley.

Knowing their names doesn't stop the hate. It fuels it.

Relieved, Angel bends down over Wesley's prone form. "Wes-?"

The head butt catches him off guard. "OW!"

He sprawls on the ground, clutching his nose. "Wesley! Wesley, you're not that... that damned prince whatever-his-name-is! Damn it Cordy, talk to him."

The calmness of Wesley's voice takes him by surprise. "Oh, I know who I am, Angel, thank you for reminding me."

"Wesley?" he asks cautiously.

"Mr. Wyndham Price to YOU, sir!"

Wesley stretches out his hand and darkness flows into it, shaping into a jagged edge. He smiles, gestures with it, and the wind starts up again, gathering momentum as Wesley speaks.

"Oh, I'll admit that I am surprised to see you still alive, but don't worry, we'll remedy that as soon as possible."

"Wesley?" Cordelia has found her tongue. "What's that in your hand?"

He smiles at her serenely. "You'll find out in a moment, as soon as I take care of your lover here!"

"Lover - Wes, that damned spirit is still riding your mind! This isn't you!"

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" Wesley screams. "How would you know?"

The sword hand is shaking and the wind is only a few decibels short of overwhelming. "This is me..." He caresses the sword, and points it at Angel's chest. "This is FOR me!"

He lunges and catches Angel in the chest.

Cordelia screams.

Angel looks down at the sword protruding from his heart... and pulls it out gently. The wound heals without a scratch. He tosses the sword away.

"What? No -NO!" Wesley scrabbles for the sword and holds it in front of him protectively.

"Wesley, no," Angel is getting tired of this apparent exercise in futility. "This isn't about us. It's an old story, it's someone else's story. He's just using you to play it out because - hell, you know its not our story!"

"YES IT IS!" He shouts, pointing to Cordelia. "She... and you... how could you? How could the two of you!"

"WHAT?!"

Disregarding Cordelia's outraged shriek, Angel moves towards Wesley, hands held out to show he is weapon-less. "We didn't. Wesley, you know we didn't."

"You did." He insists, stubborn as a child.

"Come on Wesley. You know us. You're part of us. You know we didn't."

Wesley struggles for possession of himself. "No..."

Angel takes another step.

"Don't come any closer." Wesley warns him.

Angel stops where he is. "Wes-" He pleads, helpless, not knowing what else to say.

Wesley speaks as though the words are being torn from him. "This can be our story."

"The bloody hell it can!" Cordelia walks up to Wesley and slaps him hard.

The sound echoes like a clap of thunder. Wesley raises a hand to his cheek, feeling the swelling warmth.

"Don't you ever accuse me of sleeping around again, do you hear?" she yells at him. "And you can stop that too!" turning and shouting into the wind that strangely enough, quietens to a low hum.

She turns back to Wesley, who has not moved since she first slapped him. "You stupid, stupid IDIOT. This is NOT what we came here for. We're NOT going to end up like a cheesy B-movie."

"Cordelia - you," Wesley appears to be strangling on the words. The hum of the wind is dangerously low.

"Yes, me." She points to her chest. "Me, Cordelia Chase, soon-to-be superstar and Oscar winning actress."

The finger moves to Angel. "He, Angel, brooding dark soul guy who would become a raging demon if he EVER had sex, so he sure as hell hasn't slept with me. Which you would have understood if you weren't all full of centuries old testosterone."

Her palm is now flat against his chest. "And you, stupid, are Wesley Wyndham Price, rogue demon hunter, and our friend."

She leans up and kisses him softly. "Friend. Can you grasp that simple concept? We're friends, all three of us, and it's the best thing that's happened to me since we averted the Apocalypse. The last thing I'd ever do is try and screw that up. So do us a favour, kick out whatever ghost is kidding you into thinking you have to act out a grand tragedy, because acting is MY job, and I don't do gigs in cold, sandy, BLEMISH forming deserts!"

"This is NOT the approved method of exorcism, Cordy," mutters Angel, making ready to snatch Cordelia out of harm's way.

But -

"Oh bugger," Wesley swears, and stumbles. Cordelia quickly moves to catch him and the two of them end up kneeling on the sand, Wesley in Cordelia's arms.

"If you're going to start hurling pea soup, tell me now so I can get out of the way."

Wesley makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Then get out of the way now."

"I was kidding!" she protests, clutching him. "You ARE Wesley, right? You sound like Wesley, not like that stupid prince I-have-my-head-up-my-butt."

"Ms. Chase, go NOW!" Wesley shoves her away roughly and retches. The wind whines, gathering itself as if for a storm.

"No!" she yells back. "Get up Wesley!"

"It's me he wants," he chokes. "Go now."

"No, damn it, no! I lost one friend playing last action hero, and I'm not going to lose a second."

"Angel-" he appeals.

"Cordy, step back!" Angel pulls her away and behind the shelter of a nearby rock. "Down!" he adds for good measure, pounding her head into the sand, ignoring outraged shrieks of "My mousse! It'll get all sandy!"

Wesley sighs and gives him a grateful look before crumpling up and falling to the ground. His body jerks spasmodically and his mouth opens and screams in time with the wind.

Sand, grit and stone blast through the air, the sound spiralling through three octaves, giving even the invulnerable vampire a queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Angel shelters Cordelia behind his body, closes his eyes and ears, and waits, hoping Cordelia has had the sense to do the same.

When the scream is too loud for his sensitive eardrums, his eyes snap open unwillingly, in time to observe a dark shadow emerging from Wesley's mouth. It hangs uncertainly upon the air, pulsating in time to the scream.

"Ohh fuck," murmurs Angel. "Go on, go on, get the hell out of here." Because if you don't, he thinks, I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to kill you. Armour of invulnerability, fine, but how do you kill a wind? Sunlight? A vacuum? A really big paper bag?

The shadow roars and *becomes* the wind, wrapping around Wesley, beating, screaming, trying to re-enter.

It hits Angel in a flash. He sprints out from behind the rock and tackles the fallen rogue demon hunter, wrapping his arms and legs around Wesley's twitching form.

"Armour of invulnerability!" he screams defiantly at the displaced spirit. "You can't enter!" I hope.

The wind howls and batters, but Angel holds fast to his friend, attempting to cover every part of Wesley with his own body and hide it from the baffled, struggling wind.

Finally, after what seems like hours, the wind howls one last time before stretching out and disappearing into the dark vastness of the desert.

Silence.

"I'm not buying that," mutters Angel, still sheltering Wesley beneath his body. "It can't be this easy. I'm not buying this for a second."

Silence for another few minutes, until Cordelia pokes her head out from behind the rock. She takes one look at the spooned men and her face becomes a comic rictus of horror, dismay and laughter.

Uncorking her palms from the sides of her head, she staggers out to her two best friends and digs Angel in the ribs. "It's over. You can stop hugging him to death now."

Angel opens one eye and satisfies himself that she is not a delusion. Sighing, he lets Wesley go, rolls over and stretches before jumping to his feet.

"Is that it?" she asks.

"Seems to be," he says, looking down at the unconscious Wesley.

Wesley is lying on the sand, his face tired, but familiar once more. Grunting, Angel picks him up. "This is becoming a habit," he mutters, and starts homewards.

After a while, he realises that Cordelia is not following him. "Cordy...?" He turns and sees her standing where Wesley fell.

He comes back to her. "Are you ok?"

Cordelia looks at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You know the stupid thing? The really, really ironic, and downright stupid thing about this all?"

He shakes his head. "No. Tell me."

She sighs and looks up at the stars, gathering composure. "She loved him all along."

"Who, Hershel? Well, yea-"

She smiles through her tears. "No. Not Hershel."

He understands. "You mean -?"

"Yea."

Angel is silent, again at a loss for words.

Cordelia speaks again. "If only he hadn't been so macho and masculine egotistic and had actually sat down and asked her permission to woo her..."

"Then it's not over yet."

"Sorry?"

Angel sighs. "We're safe, but that wasn't my task. I think I know what it is now."

"Oh God, no, not tonight. Please, not tonight. Let's just get Wesley home and have huge long baths first."

They walk together in silence, each busy with their own thoughts, until Cordelia suddenly exclaims, "Why didn't you bring a camera? I could have taken pictures of you wrapped around Wesley!"

Angel quirks the eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

"Blackmail."

"That's a dirty word."

She folds her arms and glares. "He deserves it for insulting me like that."

"Cordy. That's not fair. He was possessed."

"You think?"

Angel looks at her sideways. "Is that sadness I hear?"

"Huh? What? No! NO way! Please!"

He smiles crookedly. "Incidentally, about the dream -"

"We never mention it again and you buy me a Prada bag."

"What? What for?"

"For taking advantage of me when defenceless."

"Cordy!"

"Alright, alright, not a bag. Shoes?"

Wrangling like always, they wend their way homewards, never looking back at the desert or the silent rocks.

Even if they had glanced behind to the place they had just left, they would not have seen a few grains of sand explode upwards in a crater, as though someone has shed a tear or two.

Angel sends back a silent promise to the one waiting in the desert. I know he's there now. I swear I'll come back.

Cold morning dawns slowly over the harsh plains of the Negev desert. The icy wind burns wherever it touches exposed flesh, whipping sand and grit in silent eerie swirls that sting the cheek and blind the eye. Rocks stretch out, the barren progeny of a dead land that can boast only these futile stones and an occasional wisp of dust dry weed.

A solitary figure appears as a blur on the horizon, slowly making his way to the shelter of an overhanging rock.

He reaches the foot of the rock and sits in its shade, waiting.

The temperature rises as the sun travels further into the sky. Gold fingers of light stretch out to cover the sand, sending questing tendrils to the very foot of the rock. The man hisses, but remains still.

The light reaches out as far as it can go, but cannot penetrate the shade where the man sits.

Cautiously, he extends a finger, letting it be warmed by the sunlight, turning it slowly around and around so that he can admire the play of light on his skin.

He stands, satisfied, and calls out to the waiting sands, "I'm here."

Nothing at first, then tiny puffs of sand are thrown up, zigzagging playfully, but the overall direction is towards the man clothed in black, standing below an overhanging rock.

"Rafel?" he asks.

The breeze swirls around in one spot, forming a miniature dust devil. Angel smiles.

"You can stop the games," he suggests. "We both know you can't get in."

The wind stops and the dust falls down soundlessly. Angel winces. He forgot about the pride.

He squats down in the shade again. "You chose the wrong person, you know," he starts conversationally. "Oh Wesley may actually be a little insecure at times, but he would never, ever willingly hurt Cordelia. And how the hell did you want him to kill me? I'm un-dead, you know. And invulnerable too." He pats his chest. "Guaranteed cent-per-cent proof against sunlight, gypsy curses, disease, hunger, thirst, cold, heat, and when awake, the list also includes ghostly possession. I'm not going to fall asleep here, " he says sharply to the landscape, which is emitting a soothing buzz, "So you may as well stop those tricks."

All is quiet again.

Angel leans back into the rock. "I've been looking for you ever since I got here. There's something I want to tell you."

The wind casts up a spray of sand that hits Angel straight in the eyes. He wipes it off unblinking. "That was rude."

Another spray. Angel avoids it easily. "Stop that," he says.

The wind whips around him and shadows coalesce at his feet. Angel sighs. "Ok. I get it. You don't need help. You're smart, you're strong, and even though we beat your ass yesterday, you're still the high-and-mighty prince. Fine. Fine." He gets up as if to go. "Is that who you want to be for the rest of eternity? A shadow on the wind? A cry in the night? If that's all you want, then I'll leave you alone. Have a nice hell." He pauses and looks at his feet. "By the way, I've been to hell and back. It's not all its cracked up to be. It's worse."

The shadow on his boot rears up, thrusting out a rude black protuberance. Go, it says. Good riddance.

"Those are child's tricks, Rafel," says Angel wearily. "Just admit it. Admit that you're trapped here, that you've trapped yourself here and you can't get out. You're doomed to an eternity of petty haunting, acting and recreating your death a thousand million times because you can't let go and admit your guilt."

He closes eyes and ears and waits for the tantrum of the wind to die down.

When the sandstorm is a rough breeze again, he looks out to the desert, blinding white in the heat haze.

"It's a beautiful place to visit. I've always wanted to come here. Know why? Because I'm a vampire, a thing of evil that crumbles to dust in the light of the sun. So when the powers gave me this armour, I wanted to come challenge the sun. Where better to do it than a desert that's already claimed countless lives of mortal men?"

He chuckles. "That's me. Always a little suicidal."

He looks down. The shadow has crept closer to his boot, like a child rapt in a story and eager to be near the storyteller.
"I think you can understand that can't you?"

The shadow retreats a little. How can I trust you?

Angel shrugs. "You can't invade my mind, you can't influence my life, and you can't do anything to me that I don't allow. Guess you're gonna have to take me on faith."

It hisses, but stays.

Good, breathes Angel silently. Good.

You have a word for me, says the wind shadow. Tell me what it is.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

The shadow is quiescent. Angel waits patiently.

.

Yes, says the wind. I want to know, says the shadow. Tell me the word.

He breathes, even though he has no need of breath. "The word," he speaks into the waiting shadow, "the word is redemption."

Silence. Utter and total silence.

The shadow is frozen at the toe of his boot. The air is still.

Angel leans forward cautiously. "It's a word that I'm still not comfortable with myself. I'm thinking though, that if the powers that be can offer me the word, maybe you can take it too."

The sand does not move.

"You don't have to. You can stay like this for a million more years. No one will force you to do otherwise. This is a choice you've got to make for yourself. But the powers want you to know that it's a choice that exists, even for you."

Even here. Even now?

He answers the unspoken question. "Even here. Even now."

Silence.

Angel waits, and seconds turn to minutes, minutes to an hour, two hours. Till finally,

No, says the shadow, streaming into the crevice at the foot of the rock. No.

"Why?" yells Angel, frustrated at this new caprice. "Why the hell not?"

The shadow pauses, unsure, but the burden of a thousand odd years is too heavy to have been carried alone this long.

Because of the blood, it says. Her eyes. And the boy. And the others...

Angel shakes his head. "I have killed and maimed and taken pleasure in it."

The shadow stops its retreat. But you have a soul, it says, uncertain.

"So do you."

NO! HOW CAN I? For a moment the rock is a cavern of unquenchable darkness as the shadow-that-was-Rafel pours out its guilt and rage. You didn't see the blood. You didn't see the blood I shed.

"That doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you don't do so again."

Did you stop?

"Yes."

How can I believe you?

Angel closes his eyes and wars with himself. Finally he decides.

"Come and see," he invites, opening a chink in the armour that surrounds him.

Immediately the shadow is upon him, ravenously scanning the contents of his life.

It passes in flashes... the mortal greed and lust... the vampire... the past two hundred and seventy odd years like a cupboard open and laid bare for the starving to feast on.

Finally, the shadow leaves and hovers in the air near his face.

Angel cocks his head. "Well?"

There was a woman, it says, who loved you despite...

"Yea." That is too personal for this.

The two others with you... they love you as well.

A grin spreads over his face. "Yea."

The shadow is still hovering, thinking. Angel suppresses an urge to check his watch. It must be well into the afternoon by now.

I will consider your words. The shadow leaves.

"Rafel, she did love you," Angel speaks quickly, kicking himself mentally for not saying this before. "Katriel may have been betrothed and taken against her will, but you did win her love even though her pride didn't let her tell you that face to face. I can ask Cordelia to come if you want proof..."

His voice trails off. The shadow has disappeared.

Shit, he curses. Did it work or not?

One sure way to find out. He cautiously puts his hand out into the sun - and yelps, immediately bringing it back in, shaking vigorously to douse the painful blue flames that mark the end of his armour of invulnerability.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch... damn you!" he yells to the sky. "Punctual to the bloody minute, to the bloody MINUTE - how the hell am I supposed to get back now?"

A loud honking sound attracts his attention, and in minutes an ancient jeep rattles over the ridge. Wesley leans precariously out of the driver's seat, waving to him.

The jeep rolls up to the rock, and halts so that it casts a shadow that almost bridges the gap between the rock and the jeep. Cordelia jumps out and hands him a blanket to cover up.

"Thanks," he says, using the blanket as a shield to cross the narrow strip of sunlight that separates shade from shade.
"How did you know?"

Cordelia sniffs. "Next time, tell us before leaving on your missions of mercy, ok? Wesley was really worried when he woke up and found his snuggle bunny gone."

Wesley starts the jeep, and pretends not to have heard her. "I've had some experience with the powers that be. They did say you'd only have the armour as long as you needed it to complete your task."

Angel bows as the jeep rolls off, lurching occasionally. "Such faith in me, Wesley. I'm touched."

"You were more than that yesterday," mumbles Cordelia innocently.

"Ms. Chase, please -"

"Shut up Cordy."

"Fine, deprive a girl of her fun," she sighs. "But still, it was rather cute the way you wrapped yourself around Wesley. Hey, Wesley -" she pins her hapless victim with a glance. "Did I tell you about the time Angel put you to bed and you snuggled up to him?"

Wesley blushes and changes the subject. "Did your, ah, errand bear any fruit?"

Angel shrugs. "I don't know. He said he'd consider it."

Cordelia eyes him curiously. "I'm guessing you had a tough time."

He rolls his eyes. "That would be the understatement of the year."

"Good. Maybe you can now empathize with the way I feel when you get all broody and sad," she smiles, satisfied. "God, it only takes forever to get you out of that black hole mood of yours."

"Cordelia, the two things have nothing in common."

"Wanna bet?" she nudges Wesley. "Hey, what's the difference between a dark black sink of despair and Angel in a broody mood? The dark black sink of despair is more cheerful!"

Wesley eyes her reprovingly. "Cordelia, even I find that lame."

"You're only saying that because I insulted your snuggle bunny."

"Would you mind not repeating that? I thought we had a bargain."

Angel throws Wesley a commiserating look. "I owe her a new pair of shoes. What's she got you down for?"

He blushes. "Several - ah, items of lingerie from Victoria's Secret. Expensive ones I might add."

"Hey!" Cordelia hits him. "It was supposed to be a secret!"

"Well, I don't see you keeping your end of the bargain!"

"Show me the money, Wesley."

"Then will you stop referring to me as Angel's ah - "

"Snuggle bunny?"

"Stop SAYING that!"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"Perhaps." .

.

.

Miles away, under a rock, the wind blows sand over the impressions of feet and hands, pouring and smoothing out the depressions that indicated a man ever sat beneath the rock and conversed with a shadow. When it is satisfied, it calls mournfully into the cracks and crevices that form tunnels below the hard surface.

Something moves in response.

Redemption, blows the wind, asking a question.

The shadow rises to the surface and becomes one with the wind, tasting the word and all its combinations. Together they roll and mull over the sound, the messenger and the message.

Perhaps, says the shadow finally. Perhaps... someday.

Someday.

In response, the sand throws up a little crater or two, as though someone has shed a tear.

The shadow turns, terrible in uncertainty.

Katriel?

.

.

~ End.

---

Author's end notes: Beersheba is a real place, the last town before the Negev desert. It is mentioned in Biblical and historical records as a part of the kingdom of Judah. The characters of Katriel, Hershel and Rafel were of course made up by me, and I apologize if I have offended anyone with my portrayal of any of them. I have the highest respect for Judaism and that was part of the reason I chose the Negev as a location.
Archaeological excavations have uncovered fortifications, houses and many other buildings in the area around Beersheba, some dating back to pre-historic times. There really is a French Archaeological mission, but Pierre Monterroy etc are figments of my imagination. I basically took what I had read about Beersheba, the Negev and archaeological expeditions and wove them into this story. I apologize for what I got wrong, as again it was not my intention to hurt or offend anyone.

Some terms that may be unfamiliar: 1. Sheol is the term used for grave, or hell in Judaism. 2. The use of 'I am' denotes supreme arrogance, equating oneself with God, who is referred to as 'the great I AM'. I apologize if that offended anyone.

This story was conceived and a large part written while listening to 'Desert Rose' by Sting, hence the title. I repeat that I know I do not own the characters of Cordelia, Wesley or Angel, whereas Joss Whedon does. I apologize if my interpretation of their relationship is not canon, and plead artistic license. Also, remember that this story takes place after they have been working together for more than a year. My portrayal of their interaction is based on my belief that they will form some sort of 'family unit' after this time, and indeed already show the glimmerings of one according to the show.

Once again, a big thank you to Resham and Adrian for beta reading. Any mistakes are entirely my own fault and should not be attributed to these wonderful people.

Thank you for patiently reading this. I hope you enjoyed it at least as much as I had fun writing it. If so, please do tell me at spyke_raven@gatefiction.com

SR, 9/4/00

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