"I still don't believe you actually used to live in this place. And this was *your * room?" Lindsey asked, rolling to the edge of the bed, gazing around wide eyed.

Wesley, sitting propped against the headboard, smiled at his partner's enthusiasm. "Yes."

"You're sure, 'cause it's *huge *. It's bigger than my whole house was. God, imagine all the toys you could have fit in here."

"Trust me, I spent many hours imagining just that. Actually, I did have a few things that I kept hidden in my closet. There was my favorite doll and my teddy bear, as well as my bike."

"You kept your bike in your closet?"

The sorcerer sighed. "Yes; my father didn't trust me with one. He was afraid I'd run away if he gave me something with wheels. My mother snuck it to me as a present with the understanding that Father was never to find out. Most of my room was devoted to my studies. When I still played, I had all sorts of instruments. I had a flute, a violin, and a piano in the small room that connects to this one." Wesley gestured to the closed door at the far end of the room. "They had me using all those instruments to focus my power, practicing for hours on end. And that was on in addition to my school studies and language. All these book shelves were brought in when I was a year old and filled with books about demonology, ghosts, magic, and a few fairy tales.

"Fairy tales?"

"Yes. Many of them are based in fact. The Council believed if I knew all of them, I would better recognize the demons mentioned when faced with them."

"Wes? Were all Watcher's trained as vigorously as you?"

He shook his head. "I was a prodigy and my father was very strict. When my abilities were discovered, they decided to take extra care with my training. This was on top of magic which, of course, I gave up early; by the time I was ten I could read and write almost four different languages." He sighed. "I spent a lot of time in this room"

Lindsey crawled back up the bed to Wesley and took him into his arms. "Why did you choose to stay in this one, then? There are over a hundred rooms to choose from."

"Because it was also my refuge. I hid here when he was angry, which was often. I think I frightened him. He couldn't quite figure out what to do with me. All he wanted was a normal child to follow in his footsteps. Instead he got me: a freak."

"You are *not * a freak," Lindsey said vehemently.

"That's how he made me feel." Wesley laid his head on Lindsey's shoulder, then said, "Besides, I was never comfortable in the other rooms; full of old memories and old ghosts."

"Real ghosts?"

"Yes. For awhile one of them on the third floor was a friend, but then one day he passed over. He left me. I was happy for him, of course, because it is hard to stay tied to a plane in which you cannot do much. That's why I helped Dennis, Cordelia's old flat ghost, pass over before Cordelia moved into the Hyperion. He reminded my of my friend in some ways. After that ghost disappeared, I was lonely. None of the other spirits were very nice. My father said that my playing, both musical and regular child's play, agitated them; they couldn't stand the noise. Then he said that my magic made them angry and if I was very bad and didn't control my powers, they would come into my room during the night and do horrible things to me."

"No wonder you stopped using your powers," Lindsey murmured. He kissed Wesley gently, starting with his lips and traveling down. "Your father sucked. Why don't you sell the house?"

Wesley closed his eyes, relaxing under his love's ministrations. "It's my ancestral home. It's been in the family for centuries. I am quite aware that the line will most likely die with me, unless some strange miracle happens, but I just can't." He gently stroked Lindsey's neck. "I probably sound crazy."

"Well, I lost my home when I was seven. I lived in a motel room with my family until I took off at fourteen. I haven't spoken to any of my family since my sister caught me with some guy and told me I was a dirty, disgusting pervert and that she never wanted to see me again. I came from squalor and I married a prince. So, no, I guess I don't really understand."

Wesley pulled Lindsey up to meet his eyes. "What's the matter?"

Lindsey opened his mouth to pass it off as nothing, but Wesley ^^nudged^^ him. Lindsey sighed and said," I'm frustrated. I mean, sure, you lived in luxury, but spent most of your life scared to death of being locked under the stairs, being hit by your father, tortured by ghosts. You were forced to give up your childhood to become some super-Watcher and then they fired you the first moment they had a chance. You should have had this wonderful, privileged life, and you didn't; you had a horrible life."

"I didn't have a horrible life, Lindsey. It was hard, yes, and I have scars, but I'll be fine," Wesley corrected, with a soft smile. "I have you."

"Yeah, you will. Be fine. You turned out great. You've saved the world a bunch of times, you've never had to question right from wrong; you've always known what to do. And then there's *me *. I wasn't exactly abused; my parents were ok, except they had too many kids and not enough money. And because I didn't want to go back to that, I sold my soul. I knew I was doing the wrong thing and I didn't care."

"You did care. If you really hadn't really cared, you wouldn't have felt so dirty."

"But I still did it. I still did all those bad things just so I wouldn't be poor; what kind of person does that make me?"

"A human person. You only worked for Wolfram and Hart for three years before you switched over; compared to Angel's life of crime, that's nothing."

The Prophet smiled wryly. "I just look at you and see what you could have become under the treatment you were given and what you became despite all that. Then I look at me and what I chose and just wonder what I did to deserve you."

"You were born; that's all that was needed."

There was a knock on the door. "Master Wesley? There's been a delivery for you and Mr. McDonald," the head butler called through the door.

"Thank you, Charles. We'll be right down." Wesley kissed Lindsey. "Want to go see what we got?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure you will be ok?"

Lindsey ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Still skeptical, Wesley kissed him again, ^^opening^^ his mind and pouring his feelings into Lindsey until the Prophet relaxed and melted into him.

"Let's go," Lindsey said, pulling back. "I wanna see the present."

Smiling, Wesley got out of bed and dressed. Lindsey followed his example and a few moments later, they left the room, walking down the hall to the stairs.

"I wonder if Lord Angelus has decided to leave the arms of his most beloved Alexander, or if he is still basking in the unfamiliar luxury he finds himself in," Lindsey said as they passed the master bedroom where the vampire and Xander had taken up residence. "I'm sure this is all so new to him, being from a backwater and savage land such as Ireland."

"I heard that!" Angel's voice called through the door.

Lindsey grinned, looking pleased. He seemed to be getting a lot of pleasure out of annoying the vampire lately.

Charles was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "I directed the flowers been placed in the dining room, sir."

"Flowers?"

"Yes, the delivery, sir."

"Thank you," Wesley said, walking into the room. "Who would send flowers here?" he wonderd aloud.

One of the body guards was standing outside the room. "I've examined the arrangements, sir. It all seems to be in order." He handed each of them an envelop. "This was on the lily's for Mr. McDonald. The other was for you."

Feeling sudden dread seize hold of him, Wesley took the card and went into the room. On the table were two flower arrangements. One was large and beautiful, made up of deep red roses with some white, blue and purple thrown in with the ferns and baby's breath to make the arrangement complete. The other was less ornate and, while attractive, rather plain except for the large black bow tied around the vase..

It was made entirely of lily's.

"Give me your card," Lindsey said, his voice suddenly tight.

Wesley looked down at it, opening it, but his partner snatched it away.

The Prophet read it out loud. "My dearest Wesley, I am sorry I was not there for you when you had weakened yourself. I am sure I could have transferred some of my power to make you well, but I was detained elsewhere. I hope your quest is going well. You are in my thoughts and dreams. Forever yours, Azazel."

Wesley silently took Lindsey's card. "Prophet - read up on your symbolism and figure out what I want you to do. A.," he read. "Lindsey, I . .."

"That fucking, God damned asshole!" Lindsey said tightly. He ripped the card out of Wesley's hand, took both arrangements, and quickly left the room.

"Lindsey. Lindsey wait! Where are you going?" Wesley called, running after him, but Lindsey didn't stop.

"What's going on?" Angel asked from the stairs.

The sorcerer stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking up at his friend. "Azazel sent us flowers; guess what he sent Lindsey."

"Is this a trick question?"

"Lily's. You know, the flower of death."

"Ah. And you?"

"Roses."

"Lindsey ok?"

"I'm not sure. He ran off with them."

"Go after; don't let him do anything stupid."

Wesley nodded and followed in the direction Lindsey had gone.

* * *

Lindsey made his way blindly out to a far point in the garden. When he was by a small fountain, empty now due to long years of disuse, he threw the flowers into it. Pulling out a match, he lit it and tossed it onto the flowers, then placed both cards on top.

"God damn bastard," he muttered, feeling tears rise in his eyes. He crossed his arms tightly across his body, wanting to lash out at something, wanting to pound the beautiful demon into the ground, but couldn't. Azazel wasn't here.

But he was. Not physically, maybe, but he was *always here * standing between him and Wesley.

And he was so fucking beautiful and *eternal * and Lindsey was *not *. He was going to die and he almost already had. If he had died, Azazel would probably be with Wesley right now.

With *his * Wesley.

"Lindsey?"

"Why couldn't you have just killed him? Why couldn't he just be out of our lives?" Lindsey's asked, his voice cracking through his barely contained tears.

Wesley came up besides him, looking at the small fire Lindsey had created. "Because it would have killed me too."

The Prophet turned and took Wesley roughly into his arms, pushing him to the ground. "You are mine," he said, kissing him fiercely.

"Yes," Wesley gasped back, Lindsey's energy filling him in overwhelming waves.

Lindsey began to quickly unbutton Wesley's shirt, popping some of the buttons off in his haste. Every bit of skin that was uncovered was immediately punished with bruising kisses that made Wesley gasp from the pain and pleasure of it. Lindsey's hands were all over, demanding, his mouth seeking and claiming every inch.

The Prophet couldn't think. All he could do was feel and act in his red haze of jealous and possessive anger. Wesley was his: his life, his soul, his lover, his partner.

His.

His hand plunged down the front of Wesley's pants as the sorcerer tried to pull the offending material away. Wrapping his hand around his love's cock, Lindsey began to stroke it with hard, almost violent caresses that caused Wesley to buck into Lindsey and moan loudly.

Hand still working, Lindsey leaned down and kissed Wesley, plunging his tongue deeply into his love's searching every inch, claiming.

"Mine," he whispered into Wesley's mouth.

"Yours," the sorcerer agreed, surrendering to Lindsey. Surprisingly strong, wiry arms wrapped around the Prophet's body, pulling him close. "Yours always."

*****
Part 21:

"Induna, marvelous to see you again. I was so pleased when I got your call," Ethan Rayne said as he took a seat across from the healer.

She smiled faintly. "It is not unpleasant to see you again, Ethan. Have you brought the spell I asked for?"

"Always short on pleasantries, aren't you? Oh well. Yes, I brought the spell. I have also found the prophecy you spoke of."

"You did? Does it direct us to the vampire we should use?"

He shrugged. "After the preliminary "This vampire shall be important to the Powers that Be in the fight for dominance" crap, it mentions that this vampire, the childe of two touched from above, shall not lose his soul at the moment of rebirth and, as such, will begin a quest for love."

"But no more specific than that?"

"No. Don't you just love prophecies?" Ethan asked with a grin. He gestured to the nearest waitress to bring him something to drink and leaned back against his chair. "So, how much are we getting paid for this?"

"Two million each."

Ethan raised his eyebrow. "How did you manage that?"

"This group has almost unlimited resources and are zealots. Mather sincerely believes that he has the key to destroying all vampires on earth."

"So, he doesn't understand that even if he did succeed in his goal, he'd basically destroy this dimension?"

Induna shook her head. "He sees vampirism as an unnatural disease. He does not understand."

"Well," Ethan said, taking his drink and saluting Induna, "I say more power to him. Give him the key and let chaos reign. Should be fun. All we need to do is find the vampire."

"I think we should take Angel's childe."

"Angel's childe? Why him?"

The healer shrugged. "Angel is a Warrior touched by the light. It satisfies one of the requirements."

"But the prophecy says this vampire is the childe of two."

"If we are wrong, then we are wrong."

"So we take the money and run, then?"

She looked impassively at Ethan, her face giving nothing away.

"I like the way you think." He took a sip of his drink, then said, "Still, I would like to be sure just for the sake of curiosity."

"You want to speak to your old lover."

"You know about that?"

"I know much about you, as you do me."

The warlock smiled again. "That I do. I suppose it happens when you worship the same gods. Yes, I would like to speak to Ripper again, go over old times, find out all I can about this vampire. It would get me close to the Slayer as well."

"Very well. Let us go meet with Mather before you go." She rose.

Ethan downed the rest of his drink. "Let's be off, then."

"Are you all right?" Angel asked, walking into the kitchen.

Wesley, leaning over a book, and holding his temples, looked up, his hand grabbing his robe to close it tightly over his chest. "Yes, I am. Did you and Xander have a good night exploring . . ." he trailed off as the vampire walked to him and pulled the robe back open to expose Wesley's chest.

"What the fuck happened?" he demanded, gazing down at the multitude of bruises covering Wesley's neck and chest.

A flush of pink swept over the pale skin to the roots of Wesley's hair. "Nothing. Lindsey. We, uh, got a little rough, I suppose. It was nothing."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Well. . ."

"Did he?"

Wesley looked into Angel's eyes. "Not really. They're just from his lips, Angel, that's all."

"Anything else?"

It seemed impossible for the sorcerer to turn a deeper shade of red, yet he did. His eyes began to glow slightly, a signal that he was deeply upset. "No. Lindsey would never . . . he wouldn't hurt me like that."

"Did you tell him to stop?"

"Angel."

"Did you?"

"No! Angel, I am all right." He pulled back and crossed him arms over his chest. "When he finally calmed down enough and *saw * what he had done, he was upset. He didn't mean it, he was just so thrown by Azazel and the flowers and everything that he got a tad possessive."

"Marking what's his."

"Would you do any less?" Wesley shot back, gazing seriously at the vampire. "I think he's down at the pub, trying to calm down. Most likely punishing himself. I can't tell; he's closed himself off to me."

Angel sat across from Wesley. "Christ, what a mess."

"He did this deliberately, you know. Azazel. He knew what this would do to Lindsey; it was an attack. I just don't understand. Why? What did he hope to gain?"

"Maybe he wants to break the two of you up."

"But why?" Wesley asked with real wonder in his voice.

"He wants you, baby," Lindsey answered from the door.

Angel turned.

The prophet was standing in the door frame, his clothes disheveled, eyes blurry, hair mussed. He was looking at his partner, eyes full of shame and self-doubt.

"I don't want him," Wesley responded.

"I know." He walked closer. "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind.

"But. . ."

"Lindsey, come here."

He walked over to Wesley and sank onto his lap. The sorcerer held him tightly, rocking him gently. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Lindsey buried his face in his partner's neck, as if trying to block out everything else.

For along time they stayed like this, wrapped up in each other, the air around them intense.

Angel started to rise, but Wesley stopped him. "No, Angel, stay, please. Lindsey?"

Lindsey looked up, kissed his partner, then slid to another chair, still holding tightly to Wesley's hand. "Where's Xander? Didn't you bring him back?"

"Naw, I got sick of him so I pitched him off the side of a cliff."

"I wish he had pitched you off the side of a cliff."

"I'd have thrown you but you'd probably bounce, and then where would be the fun?"

"Are they at it again?" Xander asked, entering the kitchen. He walked over to the cupboard and pulled out some food.

"I don't believe they will ever stop."

"We should be so lucky. What's going on? Meeting or angst party?"

Wesley pushed his glasses up his nose. "A bit of both, I'm afraid, although hopefully the angst part is over. I want to talk about the Grail. It's been three weeks since the Fisher King and we haven't made any headway."

"Well, if you and Lindsey weren't always running off to play nice to some lord or king or children's home, maybe you'd have done better," responded Angel, his voice a touch sullen. He had made the fact that he hated his boys going to such exposed places during the day without him well known over the last few weeks.

"We have to do those things," Wesley responded patiently. "Just because we're married and on our own quest doesn't mean that we can neglect our duties to the world."

"That's Lindsey talking."

Lindsey responded, "And I'm right. Wes and I are still needed, especially since everyone thought I was going to die. That freaked people. Besides, we're guarded when we go out."

"I am sorry most of these events are during the day," said the sorcerer, lightly touching Angel. "But when you are there, I do feel safer."

"And when you're not there, you're off screwing Xander, so of course we haven't found out anything useful about the Grail," Lindsey added.

Xander narrowed his eyes in a mock glare. "First of all, I do not get 'screwed.' We make love. Or fuck, one of the two. Second of all, we have too found things out. I mean, we found out that Wesley was the real Cinderella."

"I am so glad you discovered that one first," Wesley said with a long suffering sigh.

"Me too. I mean, that dress, yuck! God, Wes, what the hell were you thinking? At least you had an excuse with the shoes - those were the Grail, right?"

"Yes. We also know that I was Robin Hood and the Grail was the golden arrow, that I was a Lakota warrior woman and the Grail was an animal, and that as Aladdin it was the lamp. But that tells us nothing about where to find it now, although, looking over the evidence, I can successfully place Xavier in every life as well."

"What?" Angel asked.

"He was my stepmother, the Sheriff, and the warlock attempting to steal the lamp from me."

"Ah."

Xander sat at the table. "Wes, do you remember if in every life you actually had to find the Grail, or did it find you, or what?"

The sorcerer closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "A little of both, I believe. I think the stories make the finding more fantastic than it really was. Like the lamp; I have this feeling that it was simply the family's lamp and I discovered its properties. As Cinderella, the shoes were a gift from a magical being who kept them safe." He opened his eyes. "What I'm beginning to believe is that in all those lives both the grail and I were close enough to find each other with minimal effort; like I was born and then the Grail chose a form that Iwas likely to find."

"So what stopped it from doing so the last few lifetimes?" responded Angel.

"We were separated," replied Wesley. He leaned against the table, closing his eyes once more. As he turned inward, he began glowing slightly. "Azazel took it from me," he said in a trance-like voice. "He stole it and sent it through a dimensional portal. Before I could go after it, he . . ." Wesley abruptly jerked and gasped for breath, eyes flying open.

"Baby?" Lindsey's arm was around Wesley immediately, both their hearts racing from fear and shock from what Wesley had seen. "What happened?"

The Sorcerer shook his head. "He killed me. He beheaded me before I could go after the Grail. I died and the grail didn't know where I was and I couldn't find it." Wesley took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

/ "Wes, what is wrong?"/ Lindsey asked in his mind.

/ "I don't want to talk about it, not here."/ was Wesley's answer. Out loud, he said, "Perhaps in the other lifetimes I had the Grail with me at death so when I was reborn, the grail knew where to look. Our energies traveled together, so to speak." He sighed, frustrated. Lindsey tightened his grip on Wesley. "I just wish there were a way to check this."

"Why don't you try the Lady of the Lake?" asked Angel.

"What?" Lindsey said.

Angel blinked, then responded slowly, "The Lady of the Lake. On Avalon. Why don't you try there? Where the hell am I getting this?"

Wesley, eyes now glowing silver intensely, reached across the table for Angel's hand. As soon as their skin met, the sorcerer jerked slightly, then grinned.

"Hello, Lancelot," he said.

"What?" Angel, Xander, and Lindsey asked.

"I recognize you now. You were Lancelot. The Lady of the Lake was your mother."

"What?" Angel asked again.

Xander, getting it, grinned and kissed him. "You were a knight, Deadboy. And not just any knight: you were *the * knight of the Round Table. Oh. That means that you helped destroy everything, though."

"What?"

"No, you didn't. Lancelot never had an affair with Guenivere. He was too busy with Arthur." Wesley's face suddenly changed, a thought occurring to him. "That means you were my father."

They looked at each other for a moment, before Angel said, "I really don't want to know the implications of that."

"It was another life."

"Right."

"It has nothing to do with this life."

"Right."

Lindsey and Xander looked at each other, then said as one, "You slept with your father! Ewe!"

Angel lightly hit Xander. "You are such a child."

"So, punish me," the mortal said in sultry voice.

Lust flared in the vampire's eyes as he gazed at his lover. Xander licked his lips slowly and blew him a kiss.

Angel abruptly stood. "Ok, so, we'll go to Avalon tonight. Wes, find a way to get us there. See you later." He grabbed Xander, threw the mortal over his shoulder, and left the room.

"Nice to see them finally getting a chance to be together. I just wish they weren't so *together* in the same room as us," Lindsey said.

"We can hardly talk," Wesley reminded him. "Remember, you've mauled me in the lobby of the Hyperion any number of times."

The Prophet reached out and ran his hand through Wesley's silky hair. "It's just so hard to keep my hands off anyone as beautiful as you." The hand trailed down to the bruised neck. "Can you forgive me?"

Wesley slid onto Lindsey's lap. "I've never said I didn't like my sex rough, and the pleasure far out weighed any pain. There is nothing to forgive."

"I was just so angry and so . . .I just don't want to lose you."

"You won't. You can't, certainly not to him." Wesley kissed his frightened partner in life, then rose. "Come. Let's go to bed and not think about him. It just gives him power over us when we do, and that is the last thing we want." He pulled Lindsey towards the door.

Tentatively, Lindsey ^^opened^^ himself to Wesley until they were fully joined. Wesley blinked in surprise; they rarely did this outside a tense situation.

/ "Can we make love like this?" / Lindsey asked, sounding unsure.

/ "Yes, of course." /

Lindsey smiled, his happiness and anticipation filling Wesley. / "Good. Let's go. I want to be part of you". /

/ "You already are, my love. Never doubt that. We already are part of a whole, and always will be." /

*****
Part 22:

"Get out, Azazel," Giles said, his hand gripping his cane so tightly his knuckles were white.

The demon turned, a crystal pyramid in his hand. "I don't see a sign anywhere saying that you don't allow demons in the store. I can be here."

Willow stepped from around the counter. "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. We're refusing service to you. Get out."

"Oh please. You're pretty and you're a powerful witch, but you do not have a enough power make me leave. Don't make a fool of yourself, Willow." He placed the pyramid down and picked up a statue of a fertility goddess. "Does this work? Can I test it out? I think I want to procreate. Can you imagine lots of little me's running around? They would be so adorable." He cocked his head and gazed speculatively at the witch. "Come here, Willow; I'll try it on you."

"Get out!" the blind Watcher practically shouted.

Azazel grinned. "Oh, I stepped on someone's toes. Were you going to try the statue on her? Do you want a child of your own or is it just about sex? Admit it, Rupert, you want her. Don't you find your thoughts constantly turning to her young, nubile body?"

"Azazel . . ." He took a step forward, raising the cane.

"Oh please. What are you going to do? Hit me with your great big stick?"

Willow blinked at Azazel's suddenly sensuous tone. She couldn't help but ask, "Are you coming on to him now, too? Cause that sounded like a sexual comment to me."

"Well, *is* it a great big stick, Willow?" he asked as the door chimes sounded signaled the entrance of a customer.

The witch turned red from both embarrassment and anger. She opened her mouth to retort when a new voice said," Oh, I don't know. It seemed pretty big to me, but that could have been the haze I was always in when I saw it."

Giles turned towards the voice. "Ethan?"

"Hello Ripper. Having a spot of trouble are we?" the warlock answered, his keen eyes on Azazel.

The demon bristled at the intruder. Crossing his arms and lifting his head like an arrogant prince, he demanded, "Who are you?"

"My name is Ethan Rayne. And you?"

To Willow's surprise, Azazel paled ever so slightly, blue eyes widening a tad. He stepped back from the warlock. "Ethan Rayne? You slept with this man, Rupert? This moldy old chaos monger? I thought you would have better taste than that."

"For God's sake, Azazel, *you* are a chaos demon," Giles said, his body and face still trained towards Ethan.

"I am a fallen angel, not a chaos demon," responded Azazel affecting an air of wounded pride. "Do you see any slime? Feel free to check closer, Willow." The last part included a leer at the witch, but the heat behind it was gone and the eyes kept darting back to Ethan.

The warlock's face lit up. "So this is Azazel. I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. I am a great admirer of your work. I have some friends who would love to speak to you."

"I'll bet," was the wry response. "What brings you to this fair city?"

"Money."

"I haven't any to give you, Ethan, so don't bother," said Giles.

The warlock shook his head and walked closer to Giles. "Do you really think that after all these years I would come to you for money? You have plenty, I know, but I would never sully our relationship by asking for anything as common as money. You mean so much more to me than that." He stopped very close to his old friend, voice at a purr.

Willow stepped in front of Giles, her eyes blazing, heart pounding from adrenaline. "Back off," she told the warlock, her voice dangerous, stance possessive.

"Are you challenging me?"

"No. I am telling you to back off and stay the hell away from him. He doesn't want you."

"Is that true, Ripper? Do you really not want me?" Ethan pushed Willow into Azazel's arms and stepped close to Giles, body brushing his old lover's.

Giles lifted his hand, searching for Ethan's face, old memories playing clearly across his face. When he found it, he held on and said, "Once, Ethan, I loved you. You were what I wanted, but when I changed, you could not accept me. So I moved one way, you the other, and now, I no longer want you. I would rather sleep with Spike."

"Hey!" Azazel protested, halting his amorous intents with the struggling witch in his arms. "Why not me? I'm a thousand times prettier."

"I would rather sleep with Ethan than you," Giles told him, turning away from Ethan.

The demon pouted. "Oh, fine. You'd rather sleep with some sissy-souled vampire and a grungy chaos warlock than me. What about it, Willow? Let's go at it." He began laying a string of gentle kisses along her neck.

"No, thank you." She kicked his knee, causing him to drop her to keep himself from falling.

"Oh, come on! I know you find me attractive, because, let's face it, I am. I know you want Rupert, but I'd be the better fuck."

"Really?" Giles said.

"Well, of *course *, I would" Azazel replied

Giles sighed in frustration. "Not you, you imbecile. Willow. Do you. . .do you really want me?" He sounded tentative and unsure.

"I hate you, Azazel. Get out," the red-faced Wicca hissed.

"Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll just get what I came for and be gone. It's been fun." Azazel walked to the shelf, picked up the pyramid, tipped his fedora, then disappeared.

"Willow?" Giles said again.

She sighed. "Of course I want you, Giles. I mean, I love you. Tara's gone, I miss her, but she wouldn't want me to stop living my life. And you're my life now."

The Watcher grinned and stepped away from Ethan, finding Willow easily. Caressing her face, he leaned down and gently kissed her.

"Oh, how sweet," the warlock drawled. "Well, it seems I've been rejected in favor of something young, pretty, and new."

"Ethan," Giles turned back. "why are you here? I don't suppose you've given up chaos."

"Not in the least. I am now and forever connected with it. I don't want to change and I am not going to change. Well, my work here is done. This afternoon has been most instructive, by the way. Thank you." With a smug smile, the warlock left the store.

Willow looked up at Giles. "What did that mean?"

Eyes turned towards where his former lover had left, Giles shook his head slowly. "I only wish I knew."

*****
Part 23:

Lindsey, Wesley, Angel, and Xander stood at the edge of the lake. Most of the lake was shrouded in mist and moonlight, giving the desolate area a vague vague hint of romance and promise. There was no one around, no sign of human inhabitance, no indication that they were even in the right place.

"Are you sure this is the right lake?" Xander asked.

"Yes," Angel replied. "Something is drawing me here. This is where we are supposed to be."

His lover looked at him, then back at the lake doubtfully. "If you say so."

"And, if it's not, we can always toss Lindsey in the lake and run away really fast."

"That sounds good."

"Don't you dare."

"At least you didn't wear the hat."

"That's because somebody hid it."

"Well . . ."

"Stop it! Not now! This is not the time," Wesley ordered angrily. He walked away from them and went to the edge of the lake, standing so close the ripples brushed at his shoes, his body tense as he gazed into the mist.

Angel stepped closer to Lindsey. "What happened?"

"It wasn't me," Lindsey answered the unspoken accusation. "He couldn't sleep; he kept having nightmares."

"I thought you said those had stopped."

"They did. Something started them again. I think yesterday, when he went into that mini-trance he saw something that triggered them."

"Did you look?" Angel asked, referring obliquely to the boys bond.

Lindsey shrugged. "Yeah, I did. It was the same stuff as before: Azazel raping him, him raping Azazel. One confusing rape fest." The Prophet was very pale. "Maybe it was my fault."

Angel put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply that it was. Wesley is strong enough to have stopped you yesterday if he had really wanted."

"And he could have done without hurting you," Xander answered. He had joined the group, gazing over at the Sorcerer.

"Thanks," Lindsey said. His voice and tone suggested he was unconvinced.

"Someone is coming," Wesley called.

The mists on the lake parted and a boat glided through. It was made of wood with gold trim, a canopy of silk with a red dragon emblazoned on it, and four seats covered in velvet. On each seat was embroidered a name: Wesley, Lindsey, Angel, Alexander.

"They got my name wrong," Xander complained.

"Get in, Alex," Angel said, gently pushing his lover towards the boat.

Wesley stepped in and turned. His eyes were suddenly unsure. "Lindsey?"

The Prophet stepped in and took his lover's hand. "You don't get sea sick, now, do you?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

"No." Tightly gripping Lindsey's hand, Wesley visibly relaxed.

"Good." Lindsey kissed Wesley on the cheek, then sat in his seat, pullin his love next to him. He took Wesley's left hand in his, interlacing their fingers so their silver wedding rings were next to each other. "Let's go to Avalon," he said, smiling into his partner's eyes.

"To Avalon," Wesley repeated softly.

With those words, the boat began it's journey through the mists towards the unknown.

* * *

"That's right, little one; kick those legs. Go on, that's my girl!"

"Spike! You better be wearing a swim suit or I will stake you where you stand. And I don't even care if your ashes clog the filter," Cordelia called, walking across the grounds from the hotel.

Spike, who was intent on the baby in his arms, didn't even look up. "I'm a vampire, Delia, not a pervert. Well, not a pedophile, at any rate," he amended, throwing a lopsided grin at his lover.

"So that means swim suit."

"Yes! Big old, emasculating, purple trunks. Happy?" He walked up the steps, holding Kimmy close to his body to model his suit.

Cordelia smiled, kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water. "Good. How's your night going?"

"Good. Little Kimmy loves the water, don't you, baby? Don't you?" Spike dunked back to his shoulders and swam out further into the water, pulling the baby with him.

The little slayer cooed in delight.

Cordelia glanced over at Riley. "And how are you?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'm good."

"And how was your doctor's appointment today? What did he say?"

"He changed my medication again. I guess he's hoping this stuff will work easier. Apparently my heart's not doing so well and the other stuff he gave me that was supposed to help didn't." As Spike swam by, Riley kicked his leg out, splashing the back of the vampire's head. "So far I'm feeling ok, but he's saying that maybe I should take it easy the next couple of days. I had to call my student, Megan, and reschedule an appointment with her."

"Is she the one who wants to start the political activist group to intergrate schools with half breed demons?"

"That's the one. She's amazing, really. Once we got her out of Mather's class she just blossomed. She's already helped to organize a peer counseling group for people who just need someone to talk to. It's working well too. Morale on campus has really gone up since the group started. Half-breed demon rights is her new cause."

"Do you really have enough strength to help?"

Riley sighed and smiled ruefully. "I hope so."

"And how are the rest of kids at school? I haven't heard you say anything about them. Has Mather stopped his little crusade of hate against you with his students?"

He shrugged. "Well, some of the kids still are at it and, no, Mather hasn't stopped, he's just come up with new, more subtle ways to get his point across. However, since Megan's become my biggest supporter, the rest of the kids have stopped. It's just the few who would act up in any case; the rest don't feel the need to act out any more now that someone has decided it's ok to like me."

"Well, good. High school kids can be rough, but you're a good teacher and deserve respect. I'm glad you're getting some."

"Thanks."

"And here she is: Kimmy, the super slayer!" Spike crowed, lifting the baby above his head. "She can fight, she can fly, she can do her hair in under one second! Cordelia, when is she going to grow some hair?"

"Soon. Don't worry, Spike. She is developing normally. Although how normal she can be living with two vampires, a seer, a sorcerer, a prophet, a psychology teacher, three Oracles, and the rest of us, I don't know." Cordelia smiled, swirling her legs in the water, careful not to get any on her nice dress.

"How was your date with Anne?" Riley asked.

"Good. We had dinner and went down to the beach until she got paged about some problems down at the shelter. Did you know ours was the first fully integrated shelter in the country? So, of course, tonight there was a demonstration in front that got a little out of hand."

"Is everyone ok?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The police showed up and took care of it. She sent me home to take care of my baby who, it seems, has been abducted by a vampire. I wish Angel, Xander, and the boys were home, though. The place seems empty without them."

"Yeah, I agree. Of course, Lindsey and Wesley will probably be moving out, unless they decided they don't like the house." He looked out at the small cottage that was being constructed along the far edge of the property.

"Well, they'll still be over here. Wesley is *the * employee of Angel Investigations since I became a social worker and Gunn. . ." She broke off abruptly. "The house is just so they can have some privacy. I hope they're doing all right." She sighed and laid her head on Riley's shoulder. "Life is so complicated."

Riley stiffened when she touched him. His shirt was off at Spike's cajoling; it had been almost easy to ignore while she had been just sitting next to him, but now she was *touching * him.

"I'm sorry. I can move if you like," she said suddenly, as if sensing his discomfort.

"No, it's ok." The solider slid his arm around his friend. "It's fine."

From the pool, Spike grinned and kissed the baby.

* * *

Megan was humming as she stepped into the back alley to empty the trash. She had a lovely voice. She had a lovely body. In fact, everything about Megan was beautiful and enticing: her hair, her eyes, her grace.

Mather stepped behind her and clamped a handkerchief soaked in chloroform over her nose. The girl struggled, but in moments, was unconscious.

Now, if we could just work on those reflexes.

*****