The Strange Attractor, Chapter Six: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
In which the team races against time to save the world.

Chapter Six: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men

"God damn that woman!"

Sahjahn was in a rage, trying and failing to grasp at everything in his reach, wanting to destroy whatever he could find. That thrice-damned demon woman had interfered again. He'd set things up so that Burkle would be out of the picture, and all the books Angel would need to find a place to send his son would be destroyed. It had all been neat, and he'd seen where it would lead: Angel and his cronies lost, Pryce in despair, and Connor, the bane of Sahjahn's existence, in the hands of his allies--to be killed at the first opportunity.

Instead, thanks to Illyria, Burkle was alive and the books he'd worked so hard to destroy had been restored. Sahjahn was tempted to simply go and have it out with Illyria, get rid of her once and for all. The only thing that made him hesitate was not knowing what she actually was. If she was stronger than he, more powerful, then it was possible that nothing he did would do any good.

There were rules to playing with time. The first was that his own timeline must remain sacrosanct--he couldn't revisit any moment he'd already experienced, undo anything he'd already done. Nor could he undo or significantly alter his own existence. His ability to play with time was mostly limited to points after his kind had been removed from the physical plane of existence. He could see before then, but anything he actually did before that point would alter his own existence very little. The universe had a way of working fate around to avoid paradox.

The second was that he could not greatly interfere with the work of anything equal to or greater than his own power. If something bigger than him was stomping around, he'd find moments unable to be altered, magics unable to be cast, or sometimes he'd change a great deal only to find that the universe had simply arranged for all the same events to happen in a slightly different manner. It could be frustrating, but he'd learned to work around it. He knew there was something bigger moving around, larger events he was treading upon, but until now it had always seemed that those events had been helping him--as if he'd been playing into a larger plan. It had both gratified and worried him--it made his work easier, but it had also made him worry that this larger agenda might not fit his own.

And now, Illyria showed up and started fixing the things he'd changed. She wasn't really changing anything, just going in after the fact to force a different outcome than he wanted. It occurred to Sahjahn that she might be a balancing force, whether she knew it or not. That would explain why she kept fixing things without truly undoing his work. If Burkle had to remain alive for some reason, if he was butting up against a larger plan, those more powerful beings might just send an agent to keep fate on track. If she was Burkle from a possible future, she might be stuck in a time loop, and simply ensuring that certain events played out as they must in order for her own existence to become justified.

Sahjahn forced himself to become calm. This wasn't a problem to be fixed by violence and anger. Cunning was required, guile and stealth. There were things even the greatest powers could not undo; free will was always a factor, in anything that happened. If he could force such an event, there would be nothing that could change it--not Illyria, not all the forces of Heaven and Hell combined. He'd need to be rid of Pryce, of course--the man's knowledge was irritatingly useful to Sahjahn's enemies--but that was easy enough. In any future, Pryce had an appointment with the blade of a knife wielded by one of Holtz's Moonie freaks. Sahjahn would just have to make sure that appointment proved fatal.

Maybe Holtz would prove useful again. Angel's team was vulnerable, and Lilah Morgan would provide the key to getting Pryce out of the way. If Holtz moved tonight, they could force a confrontation and kill the child. If Holtz hesitated again, Sahjahn had one more trick up his sleeve. The key was getting Angel to take the bait.

***

The team was gathered in Wesley's living room--minus Cordelia, of course, but Angel insisted that she be left out of this. She needed the time, she needed the space, they could stop the world from ending, and how could she get back to L.A. on such short notice anyway? The rest of them had long since given up on arguing with him, and had regrouped to see what they could do.

Wesley had sent Angel back to the hotel to see what could be salvaged, and to everyone's surprise, Angel had found all the books they'd thought lost sitting in neat piles on the desk. Fred had told the others about the woman who'd saved her life, but she still wasn't sure they believed her. Fred, though, was convinced that it was that same figure that had restored the books. She'd even started to think of the woman as a guardian angel of sorts.

The only thing that threw her off was that, as she slept that night, she had a dream of looking in a mirror and seeing that other woman, with blue hair and enlarged eyes, creeping blue on her skin. No, not a dream--a nightmare, accompanied by utter terror. Being that woman was a horrible thing, a thing that meant Fred was dead and gone. Fred wondered why she'd dream of her savior in such a terrible way, but she didn't mention the dream to anyone else. There were more important things going on.

While she'd slept, Wesley had filled in the others on the prophecy, what the Loa had said it meant, and what their options were now. According to Fred's calculations, Connor had to be in another dimension or dead by midnight tonight, February 16, to stop the world from ending. They'd pored over books, discussed options, but nothing was forthcoming.

Fred was curled up on the couch with Wesley beside her; they were close but not touching, to keep from being distracted. Charles and Lorne were at the dining room table and Angel was pacing the floor with Connor. They'd rotated baby duty through the day--he'd been exceptionally fussy.

"This is useless." Charles tossed aside the book he'd been looking through, ignoring Wesley's wince. "We're never gonna find a dimension we can get to tonight that'll be safe for Connor, that we can also go back and forth to at will. Hell, I don't even know that we can find a demon dimension we can get into tonight, let alone one that's safe that we can get back from. How easy are these portals to open, anyhow?"

"As easy as reading out of a book," Fred muttered. Then she looked up. "It is as easy as reading out of a book, if you're in the right place."

Wesley looked over. "You don't mean--Pylea?"

"Well, why not?" Fred uncurled as everyone else stared at her. "We know how to get there, we know how to get back, it's relatively safe. We've been so busy searching for a place our enemies won't find us that we've been overlooking the obvious."

"I thought you hated Pylea." This was Angel, still pacing.

"Yeah, when it was run by evil demons that worked for Wolfram and Hart. It sounds a lot better now, and besides, I don't have to go there, Connor does. I bet he'd be welcomed with parades and stuff, child of a big hero and all." Fred managed to keep most of the bitterness out of her voice. When she'd arrived in Pylea, she'd been captured and made a slave. She didn't want to even start thinking about the things that had happened to her there, but that was all behind them now. Humans were no longer "cows," they no longer wore collars that might make their heads implode if their masters became upset with them. The fact that Cordelia had been made a princess when she got there didn't even really bother Fred anymore--after all, that had turned out badly for Cordelia as well. Everything had been horrible until they'd gotten rid of the priests that used to rule the dimension.

"She's got a point." Wesley put down his own book. "You're known there, and so is Lorne. You might be able to find safe haven while we sort out how long Connor needs to be gone."

Lorne held up his hands. "Oh, no. No way am I going back there again, not after the goodbye my mother gave me last time."

Angel shook his head. "You don't need to go, Lorne. Just me and Connor." He looked to Fred. "Do we know where the book is?"

"Hopefully back in the library. Otherwise, this might be sorta shot." Fred frowned. "If it isn't there, I might be able to work out the formula to open the portal on my own. I sure repeated it often enough."

Wesley nodded, standing. "Right. Gunn, you head to the library, see if you can find that book. Fred, work on the formula--Lorne, Angel, you help her. I'm going to go see if I can't send Wolfram and Hart down the wrong track, keep them off our scent. And who knows, they might still have a way to get into Pylea."

Charles nodded and got up, started moving across the room. "Better than sitting around here. I'll give you guys a call once I know anything." Then he was gone, out the door.

Fred looked up at Wesley and frowned. "How're you gonna...?"

Wesley looked back down at her. "Lilah made me an offer, remember?" He paused at the look on the faces of the others in the room. "Don't worry. I'm not going to take it. But if she thinks I am, I might be able to get something out of her."

Fred sighed. "All right. Be careful, Mister Man. We're gonna need you if Angel's gone."

Wesley smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss. "I'll be fine," he whispered, then straightened, looking at Angel. "Keep in touch. If I don't call before Gunn finds the book or Fred works out the formula, don't wait for me. Getting Connor somewhere else is the most important thing, right now."

Angel nodded, and watched with Fred and Lorne as Wesley walked to the door, pulled on a jacket, and stepped out. Then he turned to Fred. "What's going on with you and Wesley?"

"Me and--what?" Fred blinked, then stammered, "We're just... we're dating, that's all. I mean, it's nothing bad." She wondered why she suddenly felt so defensive.

"Is that why Gunn's been moping around, acting all... jealous?" Angel sighed, clutching Connor more closely. "You know, this stuff always complicates things."

Fred frowned. "We're not complicating anything, Angel. We like each other. We're dating. Maybe it's more than that, maybe it isn't, but that doesn't have anything to do with anyone else."

"Yes, it does." Angel waved off a protest from Lorne and looked at Fred seriously. "Gunn's work is slipping over this, and you two aren't far behind. If Wesley doesn't come back from Wolfram and Hart, are you gonna go off after him? Are you gonna be able to focus if he's in trouble? And what if you're in danger, will he put you over the rest of the team? Or maybe just your happiness, your needs, over the greater good?"

"Angel... I don't... Wesley wouldn't do that. And neither would I. We know what's at stake here." Fred frowned, and stood. "And besides, Wesley's the boss, if he doesn't have an issue with it--"

"It's not about work, Fred! It's about saving the world! How can you focus on that when there's emotions involved, other things... I mean, you're not the type of people that'd send each other to hell to save the world, are you? No, you're just two normal, everyday people, and you don't... you can't understand..." Angel trailed off, as if he couldn't find the words for the thoughts he was trying to express.

Lorne got up and started walking over. "Hey, hey, Angelcakes. Slow down. What's going on?"
"I just can't keep doing this." Angel turned away from them. "I can't keep having to choose between people I love and the fate of the world."

Fred walked around to stand in front of Angel, reached up to put a hand on his arm. "This isn't about me and Wesley, is it? It's about Connor. And Cordelia."

Angel was still looking away, down at the floor. "I can't ruin her vacation, Fred. Groo, he... he makes her happy. I can't give her that. I know she'd want to be here, but I can't..."

"You can't face that you might have to choose between her and the rest of the world. Or have her watch you choose between Connor and everything else."

Angel just nodded. Then, after a moment's silence, he said, "I can't kill Connor. Even if it means the rest of the world dies."

Lorne stepped closer and said, "It isn't fair, the things they make us do, the twisted ways fate plays out. I should know. But you won't have to choose. It's the love that makes us strong. You care, I care, we all care, and that's why we go out and do these things. It's not about saving the world. It's about saving a little boy. Or whatever helpless person we have to help. It's about one person, one at a time, helping them, rescuing them. We're rescuing Connor from the fate that made his life possible, but also made it full of fear. We're going keep him from that sort of life, because we love him. Emotions aren't a weakness, Angel. They're our strength."

Angel finally looked up. "Are you saying I've been looking at this all wrong?"

"I'm saying we all have. Look... if the Apocalypse comes tomorrow, do you really want Connor to have to live in that world? Isn't it better to take him somewhere he'll be safe, until this crisis passes?"

Angel frowned. "I guess I hadn't thought of it that way."

Fred smiled. "Well, you ought to. It makes this a lot easier." She jerked her head toward the couch. "C'mon, and help me remember the words that open the portals to Pylea. For Connor's sake?"

"Yeah. For Connor's sake." Angel smiled, and Lorne sat down on the couch with them both, and they started trying to remember.

***

Wesley parked his car in the visitor's garage at Wolfram and Hart. Much as he hated to even be on these premises, let alone park in their garage, he was trying to keep up appearances. He'd called Lilah on the way over and was gratified to find that she was working late. The sun had already set, and Wesley privately admitted to himself that walking through a lit garage was more comfortable than walking up to Wolfram and Hart in the dark. Who knew what evil and otherworldly security they employed?

He found the walk up to Lilah's office almost uncomfortably easy. She was expecting him, of course, but the sound of each door closing behind him felt dangerously final. He could get in, but could he ever get back out?

Finally he was in her office, a larger room than he'd expected, in the same wood-and-glass motif as the rest of the building. The decor was more functional than decorative, though Lilah clearly had a taste for expensive things--evidenced by the outfit she wore, a jacket and skirt combination that probably cost as much as he made in a month. Wesley could see why people might want to work here, especially people less principled than he and his associates. There were certain rare volumes he'd love to get his hands on, but the price... the price to work here was surely far too high.

He let none of that show, however, as Lilah rose from her chair and moved to greet him. "Wesley. Alone, and not carrying any obvious weaponry. Could it be you're actually considering my offer?" She'd stopped a foot away, folded her arms across her chest in a manner that showed off her manicured nails.

Wesley, standing a couple feet inside the double doors, replied, "We're running out of options." He'd never be able to pull off the complete lie, so he'd decided to play the angle of desperation. It wasn't entirely an act, either--they were desperate, and these people might be able to help. He took a deep breath and continued, "Some of our books were destroyed in the fire, and we've found out our timetable's much shorter than we'd anticipated. Everything has to happen tonight, and there just isn't time."

"Is that so?" Lilah's lips curved in a slow, sly smile. "So you thought you'd just... come running over here, and your sworn enemies would help? Our help doesn't come free, you know. But for people who pay up, the rewards are..." She inhaled, the smile widening and her eyes half-closing as if the next word was intoxicating, "...unimaginable."

"I'd imagine they are." Wesley stared at the woman for a beat as her expression became more neutral, then said, "What do you want, Lilah? A contract signed in blood? My first born, my eternal soul? You don't have to beat around the bush. I know what's at stake here, and I'm willing to pay whatever I have to. We cannot allow the world to be thrown into the chaos the prophecy foretells."

Lilah laughed, dropping her arms to her sides. "Wow, you good guys really are focused, aren't you? We're not just offering help saving the world. We're offering you a position, a future with this company."

Wesley sneered. "You really think I'd work for you?"

"I have to try, don't I?" Lilah shook her head and turned to walk back toward her desk. "We'll find your price someday. We always do." She stopped, turned to face him again. "What is it--knowledge? Power? Money?" A pause, to examine him. "No, I don't think it's any of those things. And since I don't seem to have much effect on you, I'd have to say it's probably a woman. Maybe..." She held out a hand next to her head. "So tall, big brown eyes, Texan accent?" She dropped the hand. "Am I getting anywhere?"

Wesley frowned. "What does Fred have to do with this?"

"Ah-ha! I knew it." Lilah put a finger on her chin. "It's a shame, too, what's going to happen to her--unless you stop it, of course."

He took a step forward, finding himself suddenly angry. "What are you blathering on about? What's going to happen to Fred?"

Lilah took the finger off her chin and shook it at him. "Now, now, the world needs saving, remember? Unless, of course, that's going to set you all down a path that'll lead to her slow and painful death." She looked back down at her desk, fiddling with something there, giving the impression that what she said had no real importance. "Has she been having nightmares lately? Seeing things? Maybe a woman with blue skin and hair--"

Wesley crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Lilah by the arm to pull her back to face him. "What are you doing to her? What game is this you're playing?"

"I'm not playing a game," Lilah told him. "We didn't have anything to do with this."

Wesley reached out to grab a letter opener from Lilah's desk and pressed it to her chest. The metal wasn't incredibly sharp, but a hard enough thrust in the right place would pierce the heart. "Why don't I believe you?" His voice was hard and cold, surprising even him.

The woman had strength, Wesley had to give her that. Though she was clearly startled she didn't let any fear show in her eyes. She was absolutely still, her voice was measured, but it was more a stance of reasoning down a threat than begging for her life. "Let me go and I'll tell you what I know. Then you can decide... what you want to do. Kill me, and you'll never know."

He let go of her and stepped back, taking deep breaths to calm and steady himself. Lilah was evil, but she was still human, and his willingness to attack frightened him. He didn't want to think himself capable of such things. It was in a half-daze that he listened to what Lilah was saying.

"I don't know the specifics, but I do know that there are currently two options. Option number one: Connor stays here and the world is thrown into chaos. Some force will come along to protect you, and you'll both live long and healthy lives, at the price of... probably half the world's population. Option two: Save the world, and in a few weeks you're going to start watching her die. It might take weeks, it might take months... at the outside, she'll have around two years. And before you ask, I don't know how she's going to die. I just know that blue-skinned... thing that's been running around has something to do with it." She paused a moment, then said, "There's a third option, though. You come to us, we can stop whatever's going to happen to her. Save the world, save the girl. Everybody's happy."

Wesley's mind raced. Lilah had every reason to lie to him and none at all to tell the truth. "Why should I believe you?"

"You don't really have any reason to, do you? I could simply offer to keep her safe, well, and happy if you come to us--no matter what. And you with her. Long, healthy, happy lives. Bundles of kids and grandkids if you want." Lilah said this in a tone of near-disgust. "You wouldn't even have to hand them over to the company."

For just a moment, Wesley found himself tempted. Fred safe, and them together, and happy. The world safe, too. He'd be selling his soul to this evil law firm, but it would put her out of harm's way for good. While she might be lying to get him into a contract, she had to know he could check on it, do his own research. Time was of the essence, but he didn't have to sign on with the firm to get their help. He could be rid of all threats to Fred's life--though not to her soul.

He considered what Lilah offered, and then rejected it, internally. There was probably a kernel of truth in what she said, but more likely, she was stretching or exaggerating the truth--or was mistaken about it in the first place. How often had prophecy seemed to say one thing and really meant another? How often had someone's fate to "die" turned out to mean a radical change, or even, in the case of Buffy Summers, a period of death of mere minutes, after which she'd been revived by CPR?

Outwardly, though, he sighed, let his shoulders slump, his gaze drop to the floor. He tossed the letter opener back on the desk. "I'm not signing anything until I'm sure Connor will be safe. That's why I'm here, and the most important thing."

"Of course." Lilah smiled, clearly thinking she'd won him over. "You go get him, bring him here. The girl, too, if you want. Then we'll keep you all safe."

"Safe," Wesley repeated, then looked up. "Where are you going to take him, anyhow?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Lilah replied. "Just rest assured that we will keep him alive and happy and whole. We'll even put it in the contract if you like."

Wesley found that he was suddenly sick of this charade. He wasn't going to get anything out of Lilah. He'd thrown her off the scent, and the others needed his help. He desperately wanted to see Fred. But to Lilah, he simply nodded. "There isn't much time. I should go get Connor." He turned to the door, then turned back. "Where should I meet you?"

"Just bring him here. We'll be waiting."

"Right. I'll... I'll call you, if there's any trouble. And you'll protect Fred? You won't let her die?" Wesley hoped he'd put enough worry and desperation in his voice.

Lilah shook her head. "She'll be safe. We'll make sure of it."

Wesley nodded, and didn't have to pretend to look tired and worn down. He already felt it, more deeply than he could ever remember feeling that way. "I'll be back shortly."

As he left the office, he mulled over the conversation. His actions troubled him, but what troubled him more was the temptation. He hadn't taken their offer because there wasn't an immediate, compelling need to do so, but he had considered it. Wesley had always thought that he was above that sort of thing. Despite the caution his teachers at the Academy had always warned of, that everyone had their price, he'd always figured that he was stronger than that, better. He'd do what was neccesary and right, no matter what it cost him personally. He'd told himself that anyone who had that sort of price was weak, not sufficiently dedicated to the cause.

Now he knew his price. If Fred truly was in danger, he'd do anything to save her--because without Fred, the cause didn't mean anything. Without Fred, the world wasn't worth saving. The fact was frightening, but heartening at the same time. Knowing his price meant he could, just maybe, avoid having it used against him.

These thoughts carried him back to the elevator, down through the lobby and back to the parking garage. He crossed the nearly-empty visitor's area and climbed into his Jeep, reaching into his pocket for the keys as he slid into the driver's seat.

As Wesley settled himself, he felt a sudden sharp, cold pressure at his neck, and a voice hissed in his ear, "Don't move." He froze, his thoughts racing. Who was in his car--and why did they have a knife to his throat?

***

Gunn parked his truck near the public library and got out. He knew he'd been off his game lately, but it wasn't for the reasons the others seemed to think. Wesley and Fred had been circumspect in their relationship and he was pretty sure it was at least partly because of him. Lorne had tried to have another heart-to-heart, and Angel had even hinted around at the matter--but they were barking up the wrong tree. Sure, he liked Fred, she was smart and pretty and fun to be around. She made him feel comfortable, and it was hard to see her with another man. He'd never really thought he had much chance with her, though. She'd even noted it to her parents--he was the muscle. She surely wanted more, and definitely deserved more. Oh, he'd fought a hard battle for her attention, but he'd all but given up by the time he'd come upon them kissing anyhow. If she wasn't going to notice his interest on a night like that, after he'd practically told her outright that he wanted to date her, when else would she notice?

So, no, it wasn't really about Fred. She'd chosen, and she was clearly happy, and Lorne insisted there was someone for him. It hurt but he dealt with it in the best way he knew--fighting things. Killing things. It wasn't like he'd never liked a girl that he couldn't pursue before. No, what was really getting to him was how it affected the way the others saw him. He wasn't just the muscle anymore--he was the guy that had stabbed his friend over a girl, the guy that had allowed a spell to take him over so that he nearly killed one of the team. He knew they'd trust him again, but first he had to trust himself. He had to show himself he was still up to this, that he was still okay with his role.

Except, he wasn't okay with being "the muscle" anymore. He wanted to be more than that. Not so Fred would notice him, not so any woman would notice him, but for himself. He was tired of just being the guy that hit things hard. Once, with his crew, he'd been a leader and a tactician, but he still doubted how much of that had truly been him, and how much had been others--had been his sister. He was glad he'd taken on this job, that Wesley had thought him capable of doing this alone. Tracking down a strange book that, last they knew, had fallen to the ground outside the Paramount studio gates was going to be tough, and they had to do it quickly.

The library first, he figured. They might have extra copies of the book, or know where to get one. If not, he'd have to head over to Paramount. Not something he was looking forward to, but he wasn't going to let the team down again.

As he approached the library, two large men stepped from the shadows of an alley. The larger one placed himself in front of Gunn with a menacing look. "Where you goin'?"

Gunn held up his hands. "I don't want any trouble. Just headin' to the library, that's all."
"Yeah?" This was the one behind him. "What's a guy like you need with a library, huh?"

"Y'know, I really don't have time for this. How about we get to fightin', I'll beat your ass, and I can be on my way, okay?"

Gunn was relying on a confident manner to scare off the thugs, but they didn't seem to be buying. The one in front said, "There's two choices here. You can come with us, or you can die. Either way, you're not gonna interfere with us any more."

"Interfere?" Gunn lowered his hands and smiled, edging a hand toward the stake he kept in his pocket. Something sharp and pointy in the thigh would keep them from following him, at least. "Now why would I be doing that? Unless you two're planning on causing some trouble 'round here, 'cause that I might want to interfere in."

"Don't play games," said the one behind Gunn. "You work for Angelus." He spat. "Filthy vampire-lover."

"Holtz." Gunn frowned. "You guys work for Holtz."

The thug in front of him smiled. "That's right. The Captain doesn't like the idea of killing innocents, but me, I don't think you're too innocent. You work with a vampire, after all."
Gunn could almost feel the wheels turning in his brain. Holtz had sent these thugs after him. They had to have followed him--which meant they were probably watching Wesley's apartment. If they were trying to take him out now, that meant--an attack? That was the most likely thing. He had to get back there, and help them.

No. No. He had to find the book first. That was what was important. They had to get Connor away, keep him safe, keep the world safe. He didn't have time for this.

"Well, I might work for a vampire--but at least he pays me pretty well. Holtz doesn't seem like a good boss. Probably don't even have a dental plan--which is gonna be a shame." Gunn didn't give the man time to reply--he just slammed his fist into the thug's square jaw.

The thug staggered back wide-eyed, shouting wordlessly. The other man lunged out from behind, arm raised, but Gunn was expecting that; he turned to meet the new attacker and held the lanky hand as it came down. They had eye contact for just a moment before Gunn leveled the man with a right cross that crunched bone.

As soon as the second thug was down, Gunn took off toward the library. Time was of the essence, and Gunn needed range. These were vampire hunters. They might have crossbows, but they wouldn't bother with guns, especially not in a public place. He hoped they wouldn't, anyway.

He didn't get twenty paces away before agony flared through his right leg, sending him toppling down in a heap. He blinked back the pain, glanced down, and saw a wooden stake jutting out from the back of his calf. The square-jawed thug he'd sucker-punched was coming down the sidewalk, too, with renewed determination. Given the distance, the thug must have thrown the thing, taking a page right out of Gunn's book, damn him.

Gunn tried to move the leg, clutching at the wound, but only got flashes of hot pain for his troubles. He'd had worse, but it'd be hard to walk for a while.

The thug lazily closed the distance, towering over Gunn with a scowl. "I told you--come with us or die."

Gunn glared back at him. "You idiot. This is about more than your boss and his damn revenge. Something bad is coming, unless we stop it. The word Apocalypse ring a bell?"

The man sneered. "We know the kind of games you people play, convincing yourselves you're helping the innocent, saving the world. It's just a cover and we know it. Get up."

"I would," Gunn answered with a smirk, "but there's this piece of wood stuck in my leg."

The thug spat out a curse and leaned down to grab Gunn's shoulder, and Gunn saw his opportunity - he twisted aside and lurched up to get an arm around the man's neck. The thug struggled, but it was useless - Gunn slid his good leg around the thug's ankle and leveraged him down to the ground. Less than a minute of wild thrashing later, it was over.

Gunn wrenched the stake from his leg and tore a piece of cloth from the thug's shirt to bandage it with before pulling his pant leg back over the wound. He limped toward the library and looked around. Luckily, the cops seemed to be absent and no one was paying attention. Good, he thought. Questions would only slow him down. Wincing with every step but otherwise ignoring the pain, he entered the library.

***

Wesley didn't dare swallow past the knife pressed to his neck, so he left the lump in his throat as it was. He forced his breathing to remain slow and even, moderated his tone to be calm, and said, "Who are you?"

"Hands up. I want to see them. Now!"

Wesley opened his hands and dropped the keys to the floor, held his arms up in the air. He glanced to the rearview mirror, but could only barely make out a sheaf of long red hair, the curvature of the cheekbones of a female face. Who had red hair that might want to threaten him? Willow Rosenberg and Virginia Bryce were the only red-heads he knew offhand, but neither fit. Virginia's hair was curly where this woman's was straight--and he'd know his ex-girlfriend's voice anywhere. Willow would have no reason to attack him unless her forays into magical power had turned truly dark, but he thought he'd recognize her voice, too. This woman's tone was deeper, and there was a hard edge to it he couldn't imagine on either of the red-heads he knew. There was an almost grating tone, and a way of dropping consonants that spoke of either a lack of education or a lack of care.

"Who are you?" he repeated, though he hardly expected an answer.

"That's not important," the woman replied. "What matters is who I work for. I think you know Daniel Holtz?"

"Only in passing. The man's tried to blow me up a couple of times, leveled a crossbow at my friends. Things of that nature." Wesley found himself leaning toward flippance in his tone, a stance he'd begun to adopt in the last couple of years when faced with dangerous situations. He found sometimes it put people off-guard--and he also found that it bolstered his own courage.

"Daniel's a good man." There was a hitch in Justine's voice, the way she said Holtz's name, that Wesley hoped he was reading correctly as an indication of affection. "And we know you are too."

"Been following us, have you?"

"Have to stake out the vampire somehow." There was a dry sort of wit to the woman's tone.

"Look..." Wesley glanced to the mirror again and caught a glimpse of brown eyes. "Whoever you are, if you'd like to talk reasonably, you can come up here and put the knife away and talk."

The knife pressed harder to his throat. "I don't think so. See, I'm not sure you get to live yet."

"Alright, alright... could you at least tell me your name, if you're going to be killing me?" Wesley's calm tone covered real fear this time. His heart was racing, but he forced himself to take long, slow breaths. He had to think clearly, or he'd almost certainly wind up dead.

There was a long pause from the backseat, and then, in a gruding tone, the woman said, "Justine."

Wesley risked a small smile. "Justine. Nice name." When she didn't respond, he continued, "Let me guess, Justine. You lost someone dear to you, lost them to vampires. Holtz found you and recruited you to work for him. Promised revenge on the evil kind that killed your... lover? Parents?"

"Sister. And how do you know?" There was the crease of a frown on the woman's brow, just visible in the rearview.

Wesley knew he was making guesses and taking an awful risk, but his greatest hope was that a security guard would come along and notice them, and give him a chance to get away. For that to happen, he had to keep her talking. So he continued, drawing from his studies and experiences. There were many common traits among those who chose to fight evil, and hopefully he'd hit on the right one. "It's an old story. I've been trained from a young age to fight vampires myself. Most Watchers aren't in it for revenge, but most rogue demon and vampire hunters are. You train yourself, you go out and fight, secretly hoping every day that you'll die yourself. Then someone comes along to teach you, to train you." Justine had been silent so far, so Wesley gambled again, drawing on the hints of affection toward Holtz he'd garnered from the woman's tone. "He offers you a purpose. A reason to live, an enemy to fight. Now, you work for him, and you never question his integrity. His purpose."

Justine's voice matched the sneer he could glimpse at the edge of the rearview. "And what'd Angelus offer you?"

"Angel offered me nothing but a job, and a team to work with." Wesley drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I already believed in fighting evil, but Angel's mission goes beyond even that."

"Fighting evil." Justine chuckled softly. "Yeah, sure, Angelus fights evil."

"Angel," and here Wesley emphasized the name, "has a soul. He has a conscience. He's done terrible things in his past, but he's trying to atone. He does good. He saves people."

"Is he here to save you?"

Wesley paused a moment, then said, "I imagine Angel has more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

In the mirror, Wesley could see a corner of Justine's mouth pulled up into a smirk. "I bet he doesn't even know where you are. Trafficking with the enemy behind your friend's backs is dangerous business, you know."

"Angel knows where I am."

Wesley could hear the woman shift just a bit behind his seat, and felt the pressure of the blade loosen. "Does he now," Justine said. "I'm curious, Wesley... can I call you Wesley?" Without waiting for his reply, she continued, "You're a good man. You seem reasonable, and righteous. I'd think you'd be working for someone like Daniel, not a vampire."

"Holtz is a fanatic." Wesley said this without really thinking, and he felt the blade press close to his skin once more.

"You think so? Really?"

Wesley took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is... Holtz's methods are... not something I would find entirely acceptable. There is a concept of atonement..."

"Angelus will atone when he's in hell." Justine said this with a degree of bite. "Just like every other vampire."

"Is this Justine talking, or Holtz?" Wesley locked eyes with the woman in the mirror. "Do you believe, or do you just say what he tells you?"

"I believe. We're doing something important, and we're not working with vampires to do it." Justine paused, then said slowly, "You could come work with us, you know."

Wesley almost laughed. "When you've got a knife to my throat? The offers just keep coming today."

"What, like these people here? This... law firm that represents so much evil? What'd they offer? Shiny cars, pretty women, maybe some really old books?"

Wesley smirked. "You have been watching us. No, they offered... security. I knew better than to take the offer. What I let them think... is another story."

"I'm sure it is."

"Look, why don't you just... put down the knife, at least. We can talk, like civilized people."

Justine laughed. "And let you attack me?"

"No, you can stay right where you are. But certainly your arm must be getting tired. I'll stay here, I won't move, but we can talk more freely."

Justine didn't respond at first, and Wesley wondered whether she'd agree or not. Then, he felt the blade move away from his throat and heard Justine shift so that she was sitting down. "There. Happy?"

"Good," Wesley said. "Let's make this short. I have business to attend elsewhere." He couldn't quite see his wristwatch, so he had no idea what time it was. He was, however, still quite anxious. How long would it take security to make a sweep?

"Do you? Something about... a prophecy? Killing a baby to save the world?" There was both the sense of motion and movement in the mirror as Justine shook her head. "Only a vampire would kill his own child to save the world. 'Course, it's all a lie that Sahjahn thought up... but that's just how evil Angelus must be."

"What?" Wesley drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening. He was close enough to hear Justine's whispered curse. Clearly, she'd said too much. Wesley started thinking very fast. Sahjahn. He knew that name. Where did he know that name from?

"Angel's not going to kill Connor." Wesley was trying to buy time, to think. How could the prophecy be a fake?

"Well, good, 'cause Daniel isn't either. He has something else in mind. Sometimes there's better revenge than death, y'know?" Justine's tone was almost laconic, as though she was trying to draw Wesley's attention away from the subject by speaking casually.

"Listen to me, Justine." Wesley couldn't gamble on the thought that the prophecy was a fake; he had to be sure they got Connor away no matter what. "This is very important. We know the prophecy is wrong. Angel doesn't have to kill Connor. He just has to get him to another dimension before midnight, or the world will end."

"Another dimesion?" Justine laughed derisively.

"Yes, I... look, I know it sounds outlandish, but it's very important. If this Sahjahn or whomever claimed to fake the prophecy, maybe he wants the world to end."

"Maybe. But either way, your vampire friend isn't going to live to see midnight anyhow."

Wesley frowned. "You're going to attack. That's why you have me... he probably sent some people after Gunn as well. You're watching my flat. You're going to kill everyone there." Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice gibbered, Oh, God, Fred, but he pushed it away.

"Not everyone. Just Angelus. Sahjahn wants the kid and the woman dead, but we don't think it's right to kill a child, and Winifred Burkle won't die unless we have to defend ourselves."

Wesley couldn't help himself, now. His hands were shaking, his pulse racing, his breathing shallow. His friends were outnumbered, burdened with a child, and they were going to be attacked when they should be fleeing to Pylea. Gunn had surely been waylaid, and though he might get away in time he might not. Wesley had to warn them, somehow. But warn them of what? Why would Sahjahn want Fred dead? Or Connor?

"Who's Sahjahn?"

"Why should I keep answering you?" Justine's tone was cold and suspicious.

"Because you want me to come over to your side, yet you've waylaid me in my car and you threaten the lives of my friends. If you truly want my help, you'll answer my questions. Who is Sahjahn?"

There was another pause and then Justine said, grudgingly, "Well, I already let the cat out of the bag." She sighed. "He's a demon. He can travel through time or something, and he brought Daniel here to kill Angelus. Daniel isn't working with him directly anymore, but they keep in touch."

Realization came to Wesley all at once. He remembered where he knew the name Sahjahn from: a prophecy, that he'd thought might concern Connor but had set aside as something to worry about at a later date. The one sired by a vampire with a soul shall grow to manhood and kill Sahjahn. That was why Sahjahn wanted Connor dead, why Holtz had been brought forward in time before Connor had even been born--why Holtz had attacked them when Darla was in labor with Connor, and why he'd ultimately stood down. Sahjahn probably hadn't even told Holtz that Darla was pregnant, hoping that Holtz would simply kill the vampire before Connor could be born.

Connor was almost certainly the only child Angel would ever have. Angel was the only vampire with a soul in the history of the world. Connor almost had to be the one spoken of in that prophecy. Wesley could connect the dots from there. Sahjahn, capable of time travel, changed ancient copies of the Nyazian prophecies--more likely than creating the whole thing, as so much had happened to fit, and Wesley wasn't certain this demon could confound or bribe the Loa. If Holtz wouldn't kill Connor, then maybe Sahjahn could convince Angel he had to, and if Angel wouldn't, maybe Connor would just die in a crossfire. Why threaten Fred, then? Was she important to the prophecy somehow?

It didn't matter. Connor and Fred were in danger, Angel and Lorne with them. Gunn was likely waylaid by others working for Holtz. Wesley had to warn them that there would be an attack. His cell phone sat on the passenger seat--he'd left it there before going up to meet with Lilah.

"Did you hear me?" Justine leaned forward, and Wesley realized he'd been silent too long.

"Yes. I did. Justine..." Wesley decided to make one final gamble, and steeled himself, slowed his breathing and hence his racing heart. "Angel isn't Sahjahn's target. It's Connor. It's always been Connor."

"What?"

"There's a prophecy, about Connor and Sahjahn. It says Connor will grow to manhood and kill Sahjahn. Whatever Holtz does, Sahjahn is going to try to force someone, somewhere, to kill the boy."

"Then Daniel will see to it. He'll make sure Connor fulfills his destiny." Justine said with a smile of triumph. "He always said the boy was special."

"Holtz is going to kidnap Connor?" Wesley eyed the cell phone. Could he reach it before she moved? He threw out a hand toward the phone and Justine lunged forward. Wesley threw up his right arm to stop her getting the knife to his throat again, but she got her left around his neck and began to squeeze.

"Let go," she hissed. When he didn't move, she squeezed harder. "Let go," she repeated.
Wesley released his grasp on Justine's right arm and felt her left loosen. "You're not going to kill me."

"Don't be so sure!" Justine put the knife blade against his throat once more, on the left side this time. Wesley wondered if he'd injured her right arm.

"If you were going to do it, you would have just now." Wesley had to force his breathing to calm again. "You're hesitating. How long do you have to keep me here? Until midnight? Do you really think you can keep me hostage until then?"

"If I kill you, I won't have to. Are you going to work with us or not?"

Wesley closed his eyes for a moment. "The man you work for is no better than the vampire I work with." He opened his eyes again. "Both have souls. Both have killed. Angel has done terrible things, but Holtz is willing to kill people that won't work with him. Or is this just a threat to keep me occupied, Justine? Is Holtz truly the good man you say he is? A good man wouldn't have you kill me."

"I..." Justine hesitated. "I was supposed to kill you if you were working with Wolfram and Hart. Otherwise, just... keep you busy."

Wesley tensed his left arm. "I'm not working with Wolfram and Hart. I will never work with them. So there's no reason to threaten me. Let me go, and--"

"And you'll warn your friends we're coming to attack. I don't think so." Justine moved forward so that she was breathing right in Wesley's ear. "Maybe Daniel doesn't want you dead, but I see what you are. You defend the vampire. You're convinced he's right. What'll it take to just... push you over the edge, huh? Can you tell me you wouldn't kill me in order to save your friends?"

"Not unless I had to." Wesley took a breath, judged the moment, and moved. He reached up with his left hand to grab Justine's arm and pull it away from his throat, while his right shot out toward the cell phone again, praying that he'd truly hurt her right arm.

Injured or not, Justine grabbed his own right arm and wrenched it back against the seat. Wesley gasped in pain as he both felt and heard the shoulder dislocate. Justine twisted her left wrist around, trying to break his grasp on her arm. Wesley fought through the pain to try and keep his hold on her, to keep the knife from his throat.

"You won't kill me," he repeated as they struggled. "You're not that sort of person."

"Incapacitating you sounds good right about now." Justine was having a hard time twisting her wrist from Wesley's grasp, hampered by the seat between them. She grunted and tugged harder on his injured arm, causing him to cry out in pain.

Whether that was what finally brought security around, or whether fate just liked to play ironic tricks on him, Wesley would never know. It certainly seemed as if the security guard who suddenly came up next to the car had been summoned by his cry. The guard seemed to take in the struggle in a moment, then aimed his gun at the closed back window. "Let him go and step out of the car." Justine jumped in surprise, tugged at Wesley's arm again. With another grunt of pain, Wesley dropped her knife arm so she could get out--he didn't want the woman to get shot.

Justine immediately drew the knife across Wesley's throat. It felt like a line of fire flashing across his skin. He brought his hands up quickly to try and staunch the bleeding, though he knew it was likely of no use. He couldn't tell how deep she'd cut, but he was bleeding out. If only the security guard brought Justine down, he might be able to get help before Wesley bled to death.

Wesley felt his body slumping against the door. He heard the back door open and a grunt from the guard. He could just barely see the man staggering back, Justine's knife in his stomach. Justine herself was staring at what she'd done, though Wesley couldn't see her face and hence couldn't judge her emotions. He could only watch as Justine pulled the knife back out of the man and ran off.

That hope was gone, but... the cell phone. Wesley tried to push off the door with his elbow. He couldn't die here. He had to warn the others--they were in danger and Justine, at least, was willing to kill. He fell across the front seats with his head near the phone. He tried to reach up his right arm to grab the phone, but it was useless, and he needed the left to cover the wound.

Just a little more effort, and he could reach it. His vision was fading, sensation was fading, but he had to warn them. If he just forced his arm to move, he could get the phone. Everything was going black, but he couldn't die, not yet. Just a little further...

***

Gunn gave the librarian who'd helped him a friendly wave as he limped back out of the building. The woman had been very nice, and eager for news about Fred, who'd worked at that same library years before. The book he needed, the one that would open portals to Pylea, hadn't been on the shelf, but the library had extra copies down in storage. No one had requested it in some time, so they hadn't thought to bring it out and shelve it. Probably a good idea, Gunn thought, given that reading aloud from the book could open a portal to another dimension if you were standing in the wrong place while you did the reading.

He hurried along the sidewalk as fast as his injured leg would let him move. The thugs that had attacked him before were gone, but he didn't let down his guard. They might still be around somewhere.

As he approached his parked truck, his cell phone began ringing, with the specific tone he'd given to calls from Wesley. He fished it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hey, Wes. I got the book. How goes it on your end?"

There was silence on the other end, and Gunn repeated, "Wes? Wesley, you there?"

He strained to hear more clearly, but all he could hear was a kind of rattle, like heavy breathing, on the other end. He sighed. "Pocket call." He raised his voice. "Hey! Wes! Turn your phone off, it called me by itself!"

Gunn didn't think there'd be a response, and as he now heard voices from the other end, figured Wesley must not be able to hear him. He shrugged and shut his phone to end the call.
The action gave him pause. The entire team had flip phones--partly so they didn't make random calls in battle or other tense situations. Wesley couldn't have just accidentally hit a button on his phone that would speed-dial Gunn. But if Wesley'd called Gunn on purpose, why hadn't he said anything?

Gunn frowned. He hadn't heard Wesley's voice--just heavy breathing, and... a rattle. Like someone was trying to talk, but couldn't. And then two voices, one male but neither one Wesley's.

He opened the phone again and hit Wesley's speed dial as he continued toward his truck. The line rang several times before Wesley's voice mail picked up.

"You have reached the voice mail of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'm unable to take your call at the moment, so please leave a detailed message and I will contact you as soon as I am able."

Gunn growled at the beep and said, "Wesley, it's Gunn. I got your call, and I'm guessing you're in trouble. I've got the book, so just hang on and I'll come find you. Just... just hang on, man." He ended the call, not sure what else to say.

He stood next to his truck now, and by habit checked the area around for anyone that might be waiting to ambush him. In doing so, he noticed that something was wrong with his tires. He crouched down next to the front driver's side tire, grunting as the movement strained his wound. He reached out to touch the rubber, finding it shredded as if by a sharp knife.

"Damn." He looked around, but couldn't see anyone nearby. The sky was darkening, and he knew it was getting late. He opened his phone again and dialed the number for Wesley's apartment.

"Hello?" It was Fred. She sounded hoarse.

"Hey, Fred, it's Gunn. Is Wes back yet?"

"No, he hasn't even called. Is everything all right?"

Gunn straightened, and started walking in the direction of the hotel. He'd leave his truck behind for now, and call for a tow later. "I just got a call from him, but he didn't say anything. I heard other voices, though. I think he might be in trouble."

"Did you get the book?" Fred's voice sounded strained now, more high-pitched than usual, and Gunn knew she must be holding back worry for Wesley.

"Yeah, I got it, but I had to deal with a couple of Holtz's thugs when I got to the library, and now somebody's slashed my tires. Seems like someone's trying to keep Connor from getting where he needs to go."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Gunn lied. "Look, can somebody come pick me up now I've got the book? Then we can find Wesley."

"Yeah, sure, I'll send--" There was a clatter and a shout on the other end.

"Fred? Hey, Fred!" There was a click and Gunn knew the phone had been hung up.

"Damn it!" Ignoring the pain in his leg, Gunn started running.