“We don’t know that!” Gunn exclaimed, although it was clear to all concerned that he was simply saying it out of his remaining sense of loyalty. He knew it, too. He would’ve never found himself in this room if he didn’t believe that Angel was on his way to something very, very bad.

“We don’t know that it’s not, either, young man. Angel is on a dangerous path, a path one of our own has tread before, and there’s very little that will shake him from that now. Angel has always been given to a certain grandiosity,” here Giles paused to throw a slightly amused glare at Spike after the bleached vamp’s exaggerated snort, “and that tendency, coupled with the amount of power he currently finds at his disposal, means that he is extraordinarily unpredictable at the moment. He may not be able to stop himself.”

“But his soul…” started Gunn, only to be interrupted by Wesley.

“His soul wasn’t enough to keep him from the dark path with Darla before. It merely pulled him back before he was too far gone to return. We have no reason to have faith that it should be enough now, especially not with the stakes as high as they are.”

“You lot have no concept of what the soul actually does, do you? The soul didn’t pull Angel back before he was too far gone; Angel had to make the conscious decision to slink back to the bosom. I’m willin’ to bet he only decided that shaggin’ Darla was the bottom of the barrel because it hurt the hell out of his pride to think he’d sunk so low—he’d reached bottom on his self-pity scale, ‘s all. Bloody hell, for years I’ve had to listen to the superiority of the Poof because he had a soul and that made him noble. Soddin’ soul doesn’t make you noble… tells you that everything you’ve ever done wrong is bad and lets you know just how bad in Technicolor, but that’s not somethin’ any git with a teaspoon of sense can’t figure out on his own.”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he contemplated the slights he had suffered over the years from the Scoobies due to his lack of a magical get-out-of-bloody-jail-free soul. As his level of tension increased, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from pacing. “I always knew right from wrong… so did Angelus… so does any fledgling, but when you’re a vamp you just don’t care. The ponce had a soul for years before he started doing anything approaching noble, and that’s only because of Buffy. I had the chip—you lot always told me that the chip wasn’t a soul. Bloody well knew that—if I’d really wanted you lot destroyed, I coulda done it chip or no. You helped me—bought you a certain amount of grudging respect—and over time I came to like some of you, ‘n love one of you. Knew enough to help Buffy… loved the Bit like my own child… helped you guard the hellmouth… and all of that without that bright sparkly soul.”

“So you’re saying what, exactly?” interrupted Giles. “That everything we know about the soul…”

“Is suspect because it came from Peaches? Yeah, Rupes… got it in one. Why would he tell you the truth about it? Not like there was anybody else before me to shake up that little view of the world he gave you, and you never really asked me ‘bout it, did ya? Angelus and Angel aren’t two bloody people, any more than I am. He’s not bleedin’ schizophrenic; the Poof could just never handle shades of grey, soul or no soul…not surprisin’ he’d want you lot to have the same soddin’ blind spot. The soul… it… throws everything into sharper relief, yeah? But it doesn’t make you a new person—good ‘n bad are still there like they always were. Good without the soul is psychological strength… knowin’ who you are and what you’ll stand for.”

He sighed in frustration and scrubbed his hands agitatedly through his hair as he searched for the right words to help this lot understand. “Angelus, with the soul or without it, always defined himself by others… their fear, their hate, their pain, their adoration, their trust… never bloody well knew who he was. I got my soul cause I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do… the thing I wouldn’t stand for…” here Spike’s voice broke, and Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing small kisses to his chest and stroking the base of his spine softly. Her silent support allowed him to finish, although considerably more subdued. “Angel didn’t go lookin’ for a soul… he got it from rotten luck an’ some very brassed-off gypsies. He never had a moral code to violate, even when he was a human—he’s never had to own up to doin’ anythin’ wrong, and now he just won’t. He’s decided he’s above mistakes and he’s draggin’ you lot along in those decisions whether you like it or not.”

The group looked by turns chastened, intrigued, and somewhat convinced; Wesley, however, took up the voice of the opposition. “How can you say that he’s never had to own up to doing anything wrong? The guilt that attends the soul…”

“Is just that—guilt. Nauseatin’, cripplin’, horrifyin’ guilt if you’ve done the kinda things Angelus and I used to do. But there’s all kinds of guilt; you can hit a parked car and not leave a note and feel guilty about it—doesn’t mean you owned up to it. Every bad thing Angel’s done is laid at Angelus’ door, but they’re the same bloody person. I own everything I’ve done… it’s all on me, in here, and I deal with it best I bloody well can. Angel hides himself under the blanky of Angelus and taught you lot to do the same—if the soul was scarpered when he did it, then it’s not his to pay for. But it’s all him… that’s the big bad truth in his closet. He knows it’s all him… that all that dark-n-nasty is much closer to who he is than even he wants to believe… that’s why he can’t let you believe it.”

For a moment, pained silence reigned in the room. For Angel’s friends, Spike had provided deeply disturbing insight into the man to whom they’d tied their lives and, to no small extent, their fates. It seemed now as though they had indeed built their castle on shifting sand. They had been so quick to believe, so quick to trust—even after the Darla debacle—that realizing that the darkness they had all seen in Angel might actually rule him was just another sharp blow to already demoralized psyches.

For the Scoobies, the news didn’t seem wholly shocking, a fact that surprised Spike. He knew how the whelp had always felt about Angel, and knew that Red didn’t really trust him either, but the looks passing between Buffy and Giles told him that the very issues he had brought up had been, at least in some small part, discussed between the two of them. Damn, but he was proud of his girl… looking beyond what she had been told. Of course, it had taken him getting a soul and going up in flames and the git taking over Evil Inc., but she had finally taken the steps to look at the issue on her own. She really had grown so much… he had been right. She was one hell of a woman. He squeezed her gently and she looked up at him, giving him another brilliant smile before turning to face the room again.

“Alright, guys, battle plan? I don’t think any of us wanna sleep here tonight, and we need to move quick if…”

“Luv, we’ve already got a plan.”

“Oh… well…. that’s good. So this would be the plan you weren’t going to tell me about?”

“Well, yeah. No reason scrappin’ a perfectly good plan ‘cause you lot had to run in and share the glory, now is there?”

Buffy gave him a glare that made it clear that he would be paying for that little remark, though not in an entirely unenjoyable way. Turning back to Wes, she asked, “So, Wes—the plan?”

“Yes, well… Illyria has offered her services in following Angel’s path through time to let us know what his coming actions will be.”

“And she can do that because….? Who is she again? And, um, why does she look like a goth dominatrixy Fred?” asked Willow, relieved that she could finally investigate the whos and whys of the being in front of her.

“Illyria…” Giles appeared to be turning the name over in his head, searching his mental databases for the source of the familiarity the name had triggered. “Good lord… Illyria is one of the Old Ones, buried in the Deeper Well… but how is this possible? The legend is so old as to be believed only a myth.”

“Giles, you were contacted regarding this; Illyria’s tomb was drawn from the Deeper Well and delivered here. She infected Fred…” Wesley stopped, unable to finish the thought so horrible that he had yet to grasp it fully. “Illyria… inhabiting Fred… was the reason Angel asked you to contact Willow to assist…”

“I recall the conversation, Wesley, and that’s part of the reason that we’re all here. I didn’t send for Willow immediately because I simply couldn’t contact her, as I attempted to explain to Angel; also, he was rather spare with the details. He didn’t seem to want to explain the situation very clearly, and although I understood it to be a deeply emotional time for your group here, I don’t take kindly to be ordered about like a minion. He refused to give me clear information or let me know exactly what we were dealing with, and quite frankly, I wasn’t inclined to trust him with an extraordinarily powerful witch. An impulse I’m rather grateful for at the moment.”

Wesley looked both chastened and extremely uncomfortable, as did Gunn and Lorne. Illyria had turned her attention from the conversation to the plants in the corner of Wesley’s office early on, but at Willow’s question had turned back to the assembled group. Head cocked to one side, she approached Buffy slowly, stopping a few feet away.

“This one has extraordinary power for one so small and young. She pulses with strength beyond that of the half-breeds. What is she?”

Buffy took one step forward, but Spike’s hand on her arm stopped her. “She’s not tryin’ to be rude, pet…’s just how Shiva is. She’s not exactly been around these parts in a few millennia.”

Buffy turned to Spike, a small frown crossing her face before she realized that, whatever was going on here, he had a pretty good handle on it. At the very least, he’d nicknamed whoever this was—that meant she had a certain standing with him. She turned back to the strange figure in front of her and replied calmly, “I’m the Slayer.”

“This is the warrior for your kind you spoke of, Wesley? She is your race’s hope for salvation from the demons?”

Spike’s grip grew a little firmer, but Buffy was already squelching the urge to show the strange woman just how much of a warrior she was. She had faced down a goddess before—for that matter, she’d stood toe to toe with the First Evil. While she could feel the power radiating off the figure in front of her and knew that this woman put Glory to shame and could give the First a run for its money, she knew instinctively that power would respond to power. Keeping a level gaze with Illyria, she simply stated, “What can I say? I’m stronger than I look.”

“So you are.” Illyria replied flatly. Interest apparently sated, she returned to the corner and her murmured conversation with the ficus.

Buffy looked at Spike and the others, taking in the amused grin on his face and the mingled amused and confused expressions on the faces of the others. “Ooookay, guys, so Illyria is going to track Angel through time and let us know what he’s planning.” Looking at Spike, she mouthed “You are so going to explain all this later” before turning back to Wesley. “That works, I guess, as long as he doesn’t do anything other than what she sees between now and then…”

“I have already explained far more than I am required to. Further explanation…”

“Illyria, if you’ll allow me,” interrupted Wes, certain that the condescending tone of the god would not go over well with the new arrivals. “According to Illyria, paths through time are not set. Free will still exists, but we are rather predisposed as a race to continue on one path once we have set upon it. For this reason, she feels certain that she will be able to travel forward and report back to us Angel’s actions. The explanation is far more complicated, and I’ll be happy to go into further detail later, but for now this explanation should be sufficient.”

“Indeed. So this, erm, excursion will take place…”

“Tomorrow, Rupes. I work with Blue here every day… testing her skills, strengths and whatnot. Won’t cause any raised eyebrows if we’re in there again, and with the Poof gone nobody’ll come in to observe ‘cept Wes. She’s a bit of a handful… nobody else wants in the line of fire.”

“Well, then, should I perhaps be here? I could observe with Wesley…”

“And immediately raise suspicion. Rupert, I think it might be best if you should all remain hidden until we’re quite certain of what we’re facing. We can gather again tomorrow, away from the office and discuss what Illyria found and what steps we should take next. Have you found accommodations? Perhaps we should arrange a time to meet at your hotel?”

“That might be best, yes. We’ll be staying in an apartment complex the Council owns; I’ll be happy to provide you with the address. Actually, it might prove useful if you should stay there as well tonight; I’d like to hear more of this plan and of what exactly has been happening here.”

“I think you might be correct. I should catch you up on events tonight. We should make every effort to hide your presence here until we’re absolutely certain that you’re needed; a secret weapon would be quite a good thing, I’m beginning to fear.”

“I’ll get the security tapes,” interjected Gunn, tugging his jacket on as he started to leave the office. “I’ll just dupe some of last night’s and throw ‘em in—the guys’ll never know the difference… empty halls are empty halls.”

“I’m just going to go sleep, cupcakes. A sleepy empath is no help to anyone, and Blueberry Streudel there may need me tomorrow.”

Plans made, the group began to file out, Giles and Wesley following Gunn and Lorne with the rest of the Scoobies trailing behind. Hanging back for a moment alone, Spike and Buffy turned towards Illyria, the only straggler remaining.

“Blue, you walkin’ the halls here again tonight?”

“I need no rest; I find myself better engaged in exploring my surroundings.”

“Alright, then, Highness—be seeing you for the usual tomorrow.” His closing remarks had been for naught, as Illyria had already disappeared down the hall, and finally Spike and Buffy found themselves alone in the corridor leading to the elevators.

“So where might you be plannin’ on settlin’ in tonight, pet?”

Buffy stopped and turned to look at him, annoyance writ large in her expression. “What part of the dramatic declaration of love did you not get, there, Spikey? I think I might be ‘settlin’ in’ where you do, for as long as we’re here.”

“What’re the watcher and your mates gonna say ‘bout that, luv? Wait a minute…we?”

“If they have any sense at all, they’re going to say ‘Have a good night, Buffy, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’ New day for us, Spike—they know, and they’re OK with it. May not understand it, but they’re OK with it. And even if they weren’t…. not letting you go again. I’m just not. So that’s it… they get that, if nothing else. Don’t mess with Buffy’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Spike asked, quietly incredulous. Such an inadequate word for what they were to each other, but it was still the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. His mind, however, quickly reeled back to the question she hadn’t answered. “We, luv? You said as long as we’re here? Do you mean the Scoobies, or…”

“No, Spike, WE.” Buffy answered, rolling her eyes despite her smile and pointing her finger back and forth between the two of them. “You and me, in a relationshippy sense, as indicated by the we.”

“So you go where I go?” he asked, wonder laced with a bit of Big Bad bravado in his voice.

“Looks like you’re finally getting the plan, Blondie… I got nowhere I’d rather be.”