Sunnydale, California, The Future

The old woman came to Restfield cemetery once a week, on every Monday. The guards at the cemetary gates greeted her like an old friend, with respect and recognition. She stayed for about twenty minutes, putting roses on the small grave in the twenty-third row. Then she stood there, maybe reflecting, maybe praying, before she pulled her shawl tightly around her body and left, in silence. They did not know what her relation was, or had been, to the person that had once been under the withered gravestone, now likely no more than ashes mingling with the cold ground. Sometimes the guards doubted she could even remember it herself, for she was truly ancient. But whoever it was, it must have been someone she had loved.

*

As she entered the house by the porch, she heard an alarmed, anxious voice calling. "Granny?"

She sighed. "Yes, darling, it's just me."

Her granddaughter appeared on the doorstep, shaking her red curls in visible disapproval. "Where have you been? You know how much we worry about you when you go out alone!"

"Oh, come down, I've just been to Restfield, like every Monday!"

The younger woman let out a deep, hopeless sigh. "I could've come with you, Gran."

"I'm not that frail yet," her grandmother protested, "Besides, this is something I have to do on my own."

"Whatever you say." Her granddaughter shrugged. "You've got mail."

"If it's that CURSED city council again, I don't wanna see it!" the elderly lady hissed resolutely.

"Granny," her granddaughter made an effort, talking slowly and clearly, as one would explain something to a very little child, "Won't you even consider the offer? We could really use 5000 credit units, just to move an old grave."

"I won't let them build a new Chase's Paradise shopping mall on this grave!" her grandmother disagreed.

"I know how much your Monday visits mean to you," the young woman said softly,"But, you see, the house needs painting, and the kids could use a new computer... Won't you at least think it over?"

"All right, I'm thinking...ready. No!"

"It's just some old ashes of a person long forgotten!" The younger woman lost her patience.

"I haven't forgotten," her grandmother said quietly. "I remember it like yesterday. I was a little girl then, but I still know how my own great-grandmother stood there, erect and strong, with more energy in her fading eyes than most young people nowadays. Her hair, which had been flaming red in her yoluth, just like yours is now, had faded into white, but her mind was as sharp as a knife. She was dressed all in black, ever since the day she lost that part of herself that had been her best friend, in this world and the next. She bent down to kiss me on the forehead, telling me she was going to die. She told me, as long as the grave was in its place, the town of Sunnydale would be safe. And I promised, I swore, to protect this grave. And I will keep the promise to my great-grandmother while there is still one drop of blood in me!"

"And you waste money putting roses on a grave that's almost two-hundred years old? Who's gonna thank you, Granny? The Summers' boy?"

Her grandmother chuckled. "The Summers' boy, yes."

"He's been dead for seven years!"

"I forbid you to talk like this, he's not dead, VOYAGER is missing in action, and they will return to us. I won't face him to tell him I let them move the grave for a couple of bucks!"

"Credit units, Granny."

"Whate'er." Janna Rosenberg nodded firmly. "The discussion is over. As long as I live, the grave of Buffy Summers will not be moved."

*

On entering the officers' mess, the Doctor noticed the nervous tension in the room at once. His subroutines told him the meeting had to be special. He frowned. "Is there anything wrong?"

"It's ER day," Chakotay attempted to enlighten him.

"Emergency Room?"

"Efficiency Report," Lieutenant Paris corrected him. "D-Day. Seven's gonna tell us where we wasted five seconds breathing where we could have worked more efficiently by restricting our breath to hyperventilation after ten seconds."

"Don't exaggerate, it's not that bad," Chakotay reproached him mildly.

"I have worked most efficiently," Tuvok remarked.

"Good, optimism is GOOD," Harry Kim mocked the Head of Security.

"But she's late," B'Elanna commented.

The Doctor noticed with astonishment she was correct. What could have delayed the former Borg?

*

"Come in." Captain Kathryn Janeway had been gathering everything she neeeded for the meeting and wondered who would want to see her now, as a familiar figure walked into the room. "Seven. I expected you at the meeting?"

Seven of Nine nodded. "I had this intention, yes. However, this could not wait. It is a matter I wanted to discuss with you in private. It concerns the Efficiency Report."

"Well, actually, the ER was top of my list for today's meeting, why not discuss with the other officers?" Janeway suggested.

"I thought you would want to know first when someone of your crew, as you put it, does not fit in."

"Does not fit in?" Janeway became suddenly alert. All too well she remembered the case of three crewmen who had turned out to be inefficient and not really part of VOYAGER during Seven's last efficiency diagnosis. She herself had taken them on an away mission to help them develop to their full potential. And now she was to do that again? She sighed. This time she would not risk her life in the process. Definitely. Maybe. "Who is it?"

Seven brought a file on the screen in Janeway's ready room. "Lieutenant Summers, Ma'am."

Kathryn Janeway frowned. "Why? Lieutenant Summers seems quite effective to me... well, as far as an expert on Earth history and culture can work efficiently in the Delta Quadrant, anyway."

Seven of Nine showed her zeal in proving her theory. "He has done cultural research of remarkable quality, and yet he is still a Lieutenant! In the Alpha Quadrant, he could be a Lieutenant Commander, if not a Commander by now, yet he never even applied to you for promotion."

Janeway shrugged. "Ensign Kim would be a Lieutenant at home by now. We all make sacrifices."

"There's more to it," Seven insisted, "According to these files, he has not had a single away mission in seven years. As you admitted yourself, Captain, an Earth history expert has his limits in our situation. He should get a new assignment. Captain, I request Lieutenant Summers for Stellar Cartography."

Janeway looked at Seven closely. "Have you talked to Lieutenant Summers about that idea?"

Seven seemed confused. "No, I mean, I realized I never talked to him at all. I was not aware there were people on this ship I never even met briefly. Anyway. His qualifications speak in his favor. Starfleet Academy best of his year, diploma in languages, among them Vulcan and Trill, Daystrom prize for his research on the death of stars, such people are required. Therefore, I ask permission to withdraw him for Stellar Cartography."

"I understand your arguments." Janeway rose from her chair. "Permission denied."

"Thank... pardon me?"

"I said no. Lieutenant Summers is very efficient where he is. Now we should attend the meeting."

"But Captain..."

Janeway patted her shoulder. "I appreciate your zeal, Seven, but in this case, it is misplaced."

For Seven of Nine, the matter was not decided for good.

*

"Doctor, I have something serious to talk to you about."

The Doctor turned around, smiling. "How may I help you, Seven? A problem with your implants, I hope not? A lesson in romantic relations?"

Seven made a weak attempt at returning the smile. "No, nothing of that nature. As you may be aware of, I studied the crew's assignments in the course of my efficiency report, and I regret to tell you that you have worked most inefficiently."

"Me? To what degree?!" The Doctor felt anger building up inside of him, but decided to hear Seven's accusations first.

"You haved failed to notice that one crewman has not had a single medical examination in the past seven years, did not even request so much as a hypospray, and failed to turn up for routine checkups."

"Nonsense," the Doctor disagreed, "Impossible, I check up on the entire crew on a regular basis. Who is that person, I'll teach him to watch his duties!"

"Lieutenant Summers," Seven replied.

The Doctor's expression changed. "Ah... thank you, Seven, I will take care of matters now."

Seven frowned. "Are you not going to summon him?"

The Doctor nodded. "Of course, of course. Thank you for informing me. Will you please excuse me now, I have pressing issues to..."

Now Seven WAS confused. It had never happened before that the Doctor practically threw her out of sickbay. "Are you not notifying the Captain?"

"Sure," the Doctor replied.

"Doctor!" Seven exclaimed in a tone that signalled any resistance was futile.

The Doctor sighed. "Seven, listen. I'm an appalling liar. So let me just ask you to forget about the whole thing. Please. Don't worry. Please accept there is nothing wrong with Lieutenant Summers, he is just a very healthy young man. He's in his mid-twenties, so why worry? Unnecessary examinations would be a waste of resources, wouldn't they? Thanks for dropping in anyway, Seven. See you again soon."

As a former Borg, Seven recognized all the symptoms the Doctor showed now: fear.

*

"Tuvok, I need your help. I believe there is a potential security risk on this ship."

The Vulcan gave her a typical cold look from his expressionless face. "Explain."

"I have checked the records of one of our crewmen, and I have noticed some worrying... gaps. To check his personal logs and medical records, I require a security permission level 5, that would be yours."

Tuvok nodded slowly. "Who are you talking about?"

"Lieutenant Summers."

Suddenly, Tuvok turned away. "There is no security risk."

"But Tuvok..."

"I regret I will be unable to assist you with your request. I recommend you return to your other duties."

*

Seven was not prepared to give up that easily. The Captain had suggested she had better not interfere with things that did not affect her. The Doctor, her friend, did not seem to mind at all that a member of the crew kept ignoring him and complimented her out of sickbay. Not even Tuvok was prepared to assist her. Either all of them underestimated the risk someone of Lieutenant Summers' abilities posed if left completely unattended, or there was really more to it, some obscure Starfleet conspiracy or something. Seven of Nine was determined to find out what was going on.

For some information, one might require special security authorisation, but that was not the only way to find out more about a person. She let out her breath.

"Computer. Personal data of Lieutenant Summers, USS VOYAGER. Sort by stardate. Search for additional information, on holodeck booking times, replicator orders, anything available."

"Searching database. Please wait."

Seven had no idea what she was looking for. Some dark spot in Lieutenant Summers' career, anything that would justify her rummaging his personal files? He seemed so completely inspectacular, except for his extraordinary Academy grades and the fact that his family history dated back right to the beginnings of Starfleet. From the first contact with Vulcans, there had always been a Summers in Starfleet, always with remarkable results, but astonishingsly never

rising above the degree of a Lieutenant.

"Search complete."

Seven's eyes widened.

*

Commander Chakotay had just settled down for a quiet evening in his quarters, when the intercom chirped, destroying every hope for a good night's sleep.

"Seven of Nine to Chakotay."

"Yes?" he asked wearily.

"Can I see you?"

He suddenly was wide awake and all his senses snapped back into alert mode. "What? Now?"

"I apologize. It is important."

"What about?"

"I had rather speak with you in private, not over the intercom system."

Chakotay raised a brow. Did Seven suspect they were being overheard?

On VOYAGER?

"All right, come on over."

*

It was difficult for Seven of Nine to go to see the First Officer in the middle of the night, for such a delicate topic, especially given the fact she got increasingly nervous in his presence without having a proper explanation for her inhibitions- but with everything she had found out, there was likely to be a conspiracy on the ship, and if this hypothesis was correct, the Captain, Tuvok and the Doctor were part of it. In that case, Chakotay was the only person aboard she could still trust.

She hit the door button.

"Come in."

Even through all her tension, his voice calmed her. She was now safe. And she had someone to share her knowledge with.

Seven walked into the First Officer's quarters, which were all dark.

"Commander Chakotay?" she asked hesitantly.

"What can I do for you, Seven?" his voice came out of the darkness.

"Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but what I have got to say cannot wait. Sir,... We have a security leak on VOYAGER."

Chakotay walked towards Seven. "Are you sure?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Are you expressing doubts concerning my judgement?"

"No," Chakotay said gently, "What do you want to tell me?"

This was the crucial moment. Up to that point, all of them had been friendly and cooperative. She hesitated for a moment to mention the name of Lieutenant Summers, but she had to trust Chakotay now. "It's about a Lieutenant on VOYAGER. He might not be who he seems."

Chakotay sighed. "I know."

Seven's shoulders began to shake. "You--- KNOW????"

Chakotay nodded. "Computer, lights."

The room was suddenly brightly lit, and Seven of Nine only now realized they

were not alone. She now saw the Doctor, Captain Janeway, Tuvok and a man she did not know in person, but whom she recognized immediately from the holopictures in his personal file.

She stared at Chakotay. "You're one of THEM!"

Chakotay smiled in amusement. "And who are THEY?"

Seven rushed towards Lieutenant Summers. "You are at the bottom of this conspiracy! You've infiltrated our ship!"

Lieutenant Summers' lips curled into a faint smile. "Pleased to meet you as well, Seven of Nine."

Seven's eyes were glowing with anger and... how unusual for her... helplessness. "Captain, you cannot allow Lieutenant Summers to stay on VOYAGER!"

"I can, and I will," Janeway replied. "And you will immediately return to your quarters and forget about your conspiracy theory. If you do not comply, I will confine you to your quarters for the rest of our journey."

Seven was glaring at the Captain now. "I'm not insane," she protested, "I entreat you, Captain, hear me out!"

"Let her talk, Kathryn," Lieutenant Summers interfered.

KATHRYN???? No one called the Captain KATHRYN! Seven shot him an angry look.

"You are a threat to security! I will state my case," she said defiantly.

"Evidence number one. You have not had a single medical examination aboard this ship in seven years, very untypical of human physiology. Evidence number

two. You use only a fraction of your replicator capacity!"

"Enough, Seven!" Janeway said, but Seven could not be stopped.

"Evidence number three. With your qualifications, you have never even asked for a promotion! Evidence number four," she added triumphantly, "Your biography is a fake! Do you expect me to believe in so many coincidences?

Lieutenant Charles Summers, successful engineer, died in the year his son Rupert entered Starfleet Academy. Lieutenant Rupert Summers, successful microbiologist, died in the year his son Francis entered Starfleet Academy. Francis Summers, successful shuttle pilot, died in the year his son Wesley entered Starfleet Academy. And your father, Lieutenant Wesley Summers, vice head of Starfleet Medical Research center, died, oh surprise, the year you entered the Academy! Surprise! And all of them had increasing cosmetic surgery costs before their deaths."

"We are none of us getting any younger," Lieutenant Summers remarked.

"What's your theory, I'm curious!"

"You faked your genealogy! Because you wanted to pass for human. Which brings me to my last evidence: Your bio signature is a fake! I scanned you manually. Your body temperature is well below human, more like a Bolian or Aquatian." Talking herself into rage, Seven paused. "Admit it, Lieutenant Summers - you are a Q."

Janeway's face was deadpan. "If he were, do you think he would have made the mistake with the body temperature?"

At that, Seven was startled for a moment.

Lieutenant Summers rose to his full height and faced Seven. "I did not fake my biography," he replied calmly. "I was all of them. Rupert, Francis, Wesley, they were all me, one and the same."

Seven hesitated, not knowing whether to cheer at her victory or feel threatened. "I suppose Summers is not your name, then."

"It isn't, I have to admit that. I took it because it was the name of someone I knew. Very well. We all wear masks. Your name is not Seven either, it's

Annika Hanson."

Seven stared at him. "So who or what are you?"

"No, Angel, DON'T," Janeway interfered, but the decision was not hers any longer.

"I'm a vampire."

His lust for blood had been satisfied for the night. Like so many nights before, he had made his way to bar, a disco, or a nightclub. Asked a girl to dance, or offered her a drink. It didn't take much of his charms to seduce them. After what seemed ages to him, he knew the game. His rules were simple. Meet them, take them, drink from them enough blood to survive, so they would wake up the next morning and mistake the marks on their necks for the reminder of another one-night stand. He had got tired of killing. He took what he needed and left, the shadow he had been for decades.

And yet what he really needed none could give him. They were all the same. Small girls, wearing plain shoes which were made for running - no high heels, never ever - , tank top, eyes grey, nearing hazel, and shiny blond hair, like liquid gold. But there was something else they had in common: They were not her.

His pain could not be cured but by a wooden stake through his heart, or the sunlight on his skin. Not that he had never considered it. But it would have been cheating her, for she had saved him so many times, in so many different ways, it would have been tainting her memory. He could have made her immortal. Could have saved her. But he hadn't. He had failed her, for the second time.

He cursed the roses on her grave. For they were his, his damned Sire's! And that fool Rosenberg kept putting them there, irritatingly, though his Sire had disappeared five years before.

"Rosenberg. She's such a fool." He looked at the grave accusatorily.

Suddenly, he heard a female voice behind him, a voice he knew well.

"Had a bad day, Bill?"

He did not turn around. "You again."

"There's not a great many of the old gang still around. Whom did you expect? Buffy's spectre? Or Angel? Hard to know you've always been second choice, isn't it?"

Dawn's face flashed before his mind like a ghost. If you can't love me, that's okay. He pushed the thought away. "What do you know of choices? You never made one."

"I did!" she protested. "I made many a choice!"

"Yeah," he said in a mocking tone, "What about the 'till death do us part'-choice?"

She shrugged. "I meant to. It was just..."

"What, that you couldn't see your own aging?"

"I tried," she replied weakly.

"For how long, a decade or two? Till you saw your first wrinkles and gray hair, and decided you preferred everlasting beauty to your balding husband? That going back to being a vengeance demon was your only option?"

"Maybe not the only one," Anya sighed. "But the best option. Don't look at me like that. People split up, they divorce. He should've been happy he didn't have to pay a cent for an ex-wife. And, hey, many singles at fifty do re-marry. It's not my fault."

"Nothing ever is your fault." Spike looked at her with disgust. "You never knew what you had!"

She put her hands on her hips. "And what would that be?"

Spike looked at the roses on the grave. "Someone for whom you were first choice," he replied quietly. Suddenly he jumped at the grave and tore at the roses, messing them up, tearing apart their petals until they were completely ruined.

"You're living in the past, Spike," Anya said, shaking her head, "Buffy's been dead for two centuries, and you still hate her thus?"

He murmured a curse and disappeared into the darkness.

Anya looked at the gravestone.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS - I'LL NEVER FORGET.

The vengeance demon sighed. "No. You still love her thus."

*

"I'll never forget. He had the words engraved on her gravestone. He never said a thing like that to me. I know he'll be there still when both my name and the names of my children, and their children, will be no more than a distant memory. In a way, it comforts me, in another way, it is driving me mad. Other people in their relationships can lie to themselves, project their dreams and desires on their partners, and pretend they are happy. I do not have that privilege. I know he appreciates me. Does he love me? Maybe he has come to love me with time, as her image slowly faded from her memory, though he returns to her grave every Monday with a host of roses. But it would be self-delusion to think anything else apart from duty and friendship keeps him at my side. Don't get me wrong, thousands of women think their marriages are happy. But what makes me different from them is: I know he isn't happy. For otherwise, I would have lost him and have a demon walking around in his body.

Why we ended up together, I can hardly say now. I guess it was the despair of two broken hearts facing emptiness..."

Seven of Nine stopped the computer replay of an old recording as the door chimed. "Yes?"

The door slid open. "Lieutenant Summers," Angel said from the door. "Do you have a minute?"

"Do you mean 60 seconds precisely?"

"Stop it, Annika. Can I come in?"

"Ah, yes. You do need an invitation," Seven said.

"So you've checked on my story?" Angel asked.

"I have checked on your family history," Seven replied cautiously, "I am just going through the personal logs of your ancestor Cordelia Chase Summers."

"She's not my ancestor, she was my first wife, and it's her diaries, not her personal logs," Angel corrected Seven mechanically.

Seven did not react.

"If you do not believe me, you can as well invite me in."

Seven nodded. "Enter."

Angel entered the scarcely furnished room. "Cosy," he said with unmistakable irony.

"Practicable," Seven remarked. "I do not need the room but as an office. I regenerate in the storage area."

On the computer screen, there was a picture of Cordelia. Angel stopped abruptly before it. She was a woman in her fifties, graying hair, her brown eyes without the sparkle of her youth, but still indicating to the beauty she had once been. "It wasn't like that," he said quietly.

"Pardon?" Seven asked.

"Vampiric hearing. I heard what the computer read from her notes. She was wrong. I didn't see her as a replacement, and I wasn't unhappy with her. And I loved her well."

Seven touched the console.

A computer reconstruction of Cordelia's voice read on. "I guess it was the despair of two broken hearts facing emptiness. I do believe he loves me. It is just that he loved Buffy more."

"Buffy Anne Summers," Seven cited from the files, "1980-2005, died childless, left one sister, Dawn."

"Yeah, that's easy for you," Angel replied bitterly, "Names, numbers, facts. No faces."

"So you still claim you knew these people, dead for more than two hundred years now!"

Angel was impatient. "I told you I'm a vampire!"

Seven's voice assumed a more challenging tone as she handed him a computer pad. "And I presume you also claim that you are identical with the mythical figure of Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, cursed by gypsies to walk the world as a demon with a human soul. You do not only claim to be a mass murderer, but excuse these supposed killings with an ancient Earth legend about the undead which haven't scared a single child in centuries! If you ask me, Lieutenant Summers, I would suggest a therapy."

Angel looked at her with a trace of amusement. "For me... or for you?"

Seven was not to be brought off-balance that easily. "And how do you explain no one ever noticed you were a.... 'vampire'?"

"I had people who knew my secret. Kathryn..."

"Captain Janeway."

"Kathryn supported me where she could. We told Chakotay because, with his spiritual background, he or his guide would have recognized me sooner or later for what I am. Tuvok helped me mask my bio signature. The Doctor replicated blood for me. I just ordered alibi food from the replicator in my quarters when I felt like it."

Seven glanced briefly at her research notes. "Ice-cream."

"Done your homework."

"So at least four people aboard knew about you. And you've been in Starfleet for generations. Seems a great risk to take, Starfleet check on their staff, so why the effort when you could have lived in less danger of discovery on Earth?"

Angel's gaze drifted towards the large windows. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to walk in sunlight when your home planet provides only darkness? The suns we encountered on our journeys are very different from Sol in chemical reaction, light consistency, molecular structure... they do not harm me."

Seven was determined not to be fooled that easily. "You can't tell me a sentimental weakness for sunlight made you go for Starfleet! And imagine the unlimited varieties of blood! How many vampires are there in Starfleet?"

Angel gave her a dark smile. "Vulcan blood is not that sensational, lest during Pon Farr. Romulan blood is good for dieting, but that's it. Klingon blood is delicious, but goes straight to you hips."

Seven tried to conceal her shock. "You are a sick man, Lieutenant."

"You only believe what you see, Annika. If only you'd bother to look." He opened the closet, knowing that a mirror on the inside door belonged to standard equipment for Starfleet furniture. There was no reflection.

Seven of Nine was confused - at best. "I don't know how you're doing that, Lieutenant Summers, but if it is my attention you crave, well, you have it. Let us just assume, for just one moment, that what you're telling me is the truth. You would have to be able to answer my questions easily. Let me start by something simple. What happened to your first wife? I can find that information via the database."

"Is that all you rely on, databases?" Angel retorted angrily.

Seven's face assumed a condescending smile. "Perhaps I should stick to marble tables, like you did in the good old days?"

"Marble tables. Yeah, sarcasm is all you're capable of, Annika."

"Stop calling me that," Seven ordered. "I do not rely entirely on the information you give me. The record says she died. As obviously did so many around you." She skipped several lines, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "What about this one, Winifred Burkle?"

Angel stared into the emptiness of space outside. "I hear her voice in my mind like it was yesterday. Angel's the champion, Gunn's the muscle, Wesley's the brain, Cordelia is the heart... and I..." He sighed. "She was a bit of all. And had no idea. She was strong when she had to, clever in her own crazy way, and, more than simply feeling, inspired feeling in others. And, turned out to be more of a champion than I ever was."

Angel seemed fully back to the past while he was watching the stars. "There she was, crying in my arms. And they say you need to be soulless to hurt others. Winifred was my best friend, the only one who never treated me any differently, in whose eyes I never saw any reproach after what happened to..." He broke off.

Seven frowned. "To whom? To Cordelia? I told you I could easily find out what happened."

He shook his head. "What's in the records is as far away from the truth as possible."

Seven frowned. "Explain."

Angel nodded. "I will. Meet me on holodeck 2 tomorrow afternoon."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"I want you to live through the experience. Only then can you understand what I am and why I am here. You will be there, on Earth, in 2005, yourself. And then you tell me again I am mad."

Spike heard the door glide closed behind him. He hated these things, you couldn't even slam them any more.

"You have 0 new messages," the computer announced.

"Surprise," Spike remarked.

He hated Anya. He admitted he hadn't thought of Dawn for a while. "Old ghosts," he said aloud.

"Please specify your instructions," the computer voice replied.

"Not you," Spike said angrily. Curious that he thought of Buffy every day, but the last time he had thought of Dawn was... he was almost ashamed he could not remember.

Yet the whole tragedy had started with her...

*

When Seven of Nine entered the holodeck at two o'clock sharp the next afternoon, she was surprised at the scenery.

"An early 17^th century village in Massachusetts?" She frowned. "I don't think they had a parking lot with 20^th century cars then."

Angel put his hand on the leather of the seats as he examined the black convertible. "Holodeck technology is something wonderful, isn't it? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it's my old car!"

"This is an anachronism, Lieutenant."

He smiled with a trace of nostalgia. "It is in fact 20^th century Danvers, Massachusetts, trying to be 17^th century Salem. It was a kind of living museum. You could come here for a few days and live like the pilgrims did, without electric lights and running water, and experience the historical witch trials."

"Why would a vampire go there?"

He shrugged. "That's what I told Connor! But he was so enthusiastic about his college project that fateful summer 2005... It was his first year, he started his college career late because of the high school years he missed. I didn't want to spoil the fun for him, so we just went, all of us. Me, Connor, Cordelia, Fred, Lorne, and Gunn." He addressed the computer. "Computer, load the preconfigured characters."

Seven looked at the holodeck characters manifesting now.

Angel walked closer and looked at Cordelia. "She was so young then. And she looked best in historical dress. Gunn looked and felt like at a fancy dress party. And Fred felt like back in Pylea. Salem reminded me of my childhood in Ireland, with that Puritan atmosphere." He paused. "It's been two hundred years. And it hurts like yesterday."

Seven looked around. "Shall we start with the reconstruction?"

Angel nodded. "Right. Computer, generate historical 17^th century dress for Seven of Nine and myself."

The computer followed the instructions immediately.

Seven touched her head. "Why is my hair covered?"

"It was indecent for 17^th century Puritan women to show their hair in public," Angel explained, "The historical holiday in Salem followed what was known about customs of the time in detail. On arrival at the hotel, we had to lock in electric watches and everything else that did not fit in the time. We got our things back on departure. I've programmed the computer with all I know about the events. I've modified parameters for you to fit in. You're playing the role of my employee Annika Hanson. This way, no one will ask questions, and you can be part of the plot without changing anything." He sighed. "Back to the past. Computer, start programme."

Suddenly, everything around Seven and Angel came to life. A carriage passed over the market place.

"This is so gorgeous!" Cordelia exclaimed enthusiastically. "Oh, Angel, it must have been great to be part of this time."

Angel stared at the holo-Cordelia for a minute. She looked so real.

"Angel?"

He had no difficulty to remember his reply, even after centuries. "Yeah, great. If you like executions, pyres and inquisition."

Gunn walked around nervously. "Where the hell is Connor fetchin' the tickets, on the moon? I feel like a clown in these clothes. Can't wait to check in and get a drink at the hotel bar."

"Sorry, no drinks," Lorne explained. "Puritans weren't allowed to drink any alcohol."

"Whatever!" Cordy said, "As an actress, I just love this place!"

"Don't say aloud you're an actress," Angel advised her, "Theaters at that time were straight from Satan, you'll end up on a pyre if you keep going like that."

"Oh."

Lorne looked at Seven. "What about you, Annika?"

Seven shrugged. "I think the place is historically inadequate. The house over there was insulated with materials that did not exist on Terra until 1950. It is a tourist attraction, not a museum. After all, it's typical of the degenerated 21^st century and pre-warp society."

Lorne looked confused.

Angel shot her a warning glance.

Fortunately, that was when Connor returned with the tickets, and... a beautiful girl.

"Wastin' no time," Gunn remarked. "She's so hot!"

Fred poked his side. "She's probably a friend from Connor's college class."

Angel shook his head. "Of all girls at the University of California, he had to meet her!"

Cordelia nodded. "Great."

Connor and the girl had reached the group.

"Look who's here," Connor exclaimed, "That's Dawn. She's in my history class and working on the same project. Witch trials in young North America. Dawn, that's..."

Dawn stared for a moment. "Hi, Angel. Hi, Cordelia."

Connor looked confused. "You know each other?"

Dawn turned to Connor reproachfully. "I thought your family were from England?"

"Er... yes, they are... friends," Connor stuttered.

"It's all right," Angel helped him out, "Cordelia and I know Dawn from our time at Sunnydale. She knows everything about us, you can trust her." He looked around carefully. "Dawn, I take it you're here for research on your own?"

Dawn smiled uneasily. "Not exactly."

Even though she was a holodeck character, Angel felt Buffy before he saw her.

He turned around. "Hi."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Hey."

Fred looked at Gunn questioningly.

Gunn nodded and whispered: "The Slayer. That's Buffy. And Connor's friend Dawn's her sister."

"Oh." Fred suddenly understood the awkward silence.

Angel broke the silence. "Buffy, you remember Gunn, this is Fred, my new employee Annika, and... Connor."

Dawn, eager to break the ice for her sister, embraced first Cordelia, then Angel. "It's good to see you again."

Buffy shook hands with Fred, Gunn, Seven, and Connor. She briefly embraced Cordelia, then, hesitantly, Angel.

"Let's go to the bar, I think we could all use a... non-alcoholic drink," Gunn suggested. The others readily accepted the offer, glad to ease the situation.

Buffy and Angel were walking slowly behind the others.

"I wasn't prepared to meet you again like that," Angel admitted.

"Neither was I," Buffy agreed.

"Hope you don't mind our being here."

"No, no. Not at all," Buffy hurried to say.

Angel nodded. "Good. I wouldn't want you to feel... uncomfortable."

"Uh-hu."

"Yeah."

"Fine."

"Okay."

There it was again. Silence.

Connor held the door of the hotel for Dawn. "So Angel and Buffy were in love."

"If that's what you call 'in love', you've got a gift for understatement," Dawn replied. "Next to them, Romeo and Juliet had a meaningless affair, and their ending was a happy one."

Connor frowned. "Who's Romeo and Juliet?"

Dawn's eyes widened. "Leonardo di Caprio? Claire Danes?"

He shrugged. "I've been abroad some time before I went to college."

"You haven't seen the movie? Where were you, kidnapped to a hell dimension?" Dawn asked.

"Sort of."

Dawn shook her head. "You don't joke about these things."

"Right." With an expression of concern, he gazed over at the table where Angel and Buffy were sitting down.

"I'm glad they don't argue," Dawn said, "This time, they seem to get along without loving, crying and yelling at each other. It might become a peaceful vacation, after all."

"Taking a week off, huh?" Buffy asked and felt incredibly foolish.

"Actually, no," Angel admitted. "We're here to help Connor with his college project."

"Connor." Buffy looked at the young man. "How long has he been working for you?"

Angel shook his head. He had to make things clear. Now. He stopped and looked at her. "Buffy, I don't know how to say this. Connor's not my employee." He cast his eyes down. "I still don't understand how, but... he's my son."

Buffy's eyes widened. "That's absurd!"

"I know."

She stared over at Cordelia.

"No, no, she's got nothing to do with that," Angel explained. "Cordelia isn't Connor's mother."

"Oh, good," Buffy replied with relief, "The idea of you and Cordelia together was just too sick to be true."

Angel cleared his voice.

Buffy understood. "Oh." This was just too much to take in at once.

"I really can't explain this in a few sentences."

Buffy had to ask the next question. "And... who is Connor's mother?"

Angel could not look into her eyes. "Darla."

Buffy shook her head in disgust. "Darla. You gotta be kidding me! That was nineteen years ago, and you never told me you had a child?"

Again Angel tried to explain the inexplicable to her, knowing he could only fail. "No, you're misunderstanding me. As a baby, Connor was kidnapped to a hell dimension where time was passing much faster. He found me three years ago, but I had missed his whole childhood."

Buffy jumped up from her chair. "So you slept with Darla AFTER you knew about the curse?"

People at the nearby tables began whispering and staring.

"Buffy, please," Angel said, "It's not wise to talk about this kind of things in public, especially not at Salem."

Dawn sighed. "So much for a peaceful vacation."

Buffy's eyes filled with tears. "Why?"

"It was a difficult time," Angel tried to say. "I just didn't care." In a low voice, he added: "I never cared about anyone but you."

Buffy shook her head. "So it was just this once and you didn't risk losing your soul again. You didn't sleep with Cordelia. Right?"

He did not reply.

"Right?" Buffy repeated her question in a shrill voice.

"Buffy..."

"No! I want you to answer my question."

"Please, don't make me."

"So it was too dangerous for the Slayer to love you, but safe enough for Cordelia???"

"No," Angel protested, trying to prevent her from running out. "You don't understand..."

"I understand that you were willing to risk your soul for Cordelia... but not for me." Buffy pushed him away and ran out.

Angel had to struggle to catch up with her.

Suddenly, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, mate."

Angel froze. He knew the voice.

Spike greeted him. "Long time no see."

Angel sighed deeply. "Spike, I don't have time for this. Where's Buffy?"

"No," Spike refused, "Leave her alone."

Angel was surprised to see something like real concern in Spike's eyes. "I need to talk to her."

"Don't you think you've said enough for one day, mate?" Spike asked. "Face it, you've ruined everything! Go back to your hotel and play with Cordelia..." With an arrogant smile, Spike told Angel what he had wanted to say for years: "... though Buffy's probably the better lay."

Angel struck him in the face.

Spike smirked, wiping away the blood. "You should see her now. You wouldn't recognize her. She's an animal. She learnt from the best... from me."

Angel hit him hard.

Spike stumbled back, but – Angel did not believe his ears – he was chuckling. "Have you noticed the cute sounds she makes just before she ----"

Angel hit him again and again.

"Computer, halt programme!" Seven commanded.

Spike froze.

"Beating up a holodeck character does not help us reconstruct what happened," Seven said matter-of-factly. "It is not what you did that night. Right, Lieutenant?"

Angel looked up. "How did you know?"

"Probabilities. There was just a 5 per cent probability for you to beat him up, yet a 95 per cent probability for you to walk away after the first insult."

Angel nodded. "It was just too tempting."

"To have a precise reconstruction of the events, you have to do exactly the same as..."

"I know," Angel cut her off, "But I've wanted to beat the crap out of Spike for all this time."

"I am confused," Seven said.

"What about?"

"About this... Spike. If he was such a horrible person, why did Buffy Summers turn to him?"

Angel sat down on the grass. "I've been asking myself the same question for centuries."

"Why don't you ask her?" Seven pointed towards the figure standing in the shadows.

Only now did Angel realize... "Buffy was there. She had been standing there all the time."

Seven looked at him encouragingly. "Ask her."

Angel hesitated.

Seven decided to make the first move. "Computer, activate the character Buffy Summers."

Buffy looked confused. "What happened?" She stared at Seven. "Annika, what..."

"I have a question," Seven said. "I would like to know why you fraternized with Spike."

"I... did what???!"

Angel shook his head. "You can't ask her like that."

"Don't worry, I will delete this conversation from her programme as soon as we carry on with the reconstruction. Buffy, why did you start a romantic relationship with Spike?"

The holo-Buffy sighed. "Do you have another hour? Actually, I couldn't stand him. I think it all started when I came back from the dead."

Seven checked her notepad. "You mean, you were in an accident and re-animated at hospital."

Angel shook his head. "No, she was brought back from the dead. After 50 days."

"That is impossible, unless she was a Bolian, and she did not look blue and balding to me."

"You still don't get it, Annika."

"Stop calling me that." Seven sat down on the grass beside Angel and Buffy. "You cannot re-animate a human being after that long a period of time, and in the 21^st century there was no stasis chamber."

Angel nodded. "Her friend Willow brought her back with magic. When I heard about it, I simply had to see her..."

"That's my story, and I'll tell it," Buffy chided him. "You can feel privileged, Annika. I never told anyone what happened that day."

Buffy was driving down the dusty road in her mother's car. Somehow it didn't seem right she had it now, selling it would have been more sensible, given her and Dawn's financial situation. But it was part of her mother's life, a part of her she wasn't prepared to give up. She hadn't told the others about the neutral ground they had agreed on, nor the reason for such a remote place.

"And so, when I got back, I started considering the possibility," Buffy closed. "I'm sorry, Angel. It was the part of you I could have." She embraced him. "I'm so sorry."

Angel could not take this. "Computer, end scene and reset character Buffy to the previous parameters." He rose. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."

Seven rose as well. "You can't stop now, Lieutenant Summers. We're not even half way through the simulation!"

Angel headed for the exit. "If I had had this conversation with her, things would have been completely different! As things were, I walked away from Spike, she watched it from the shadows, and I didn't even know she was there! I wanted this simulation because I needed to know if it was all my fault. Now I know. If I had seen her, talked to her..." He broke off, choking back tears. "That's ridiculous. I haven't shed a single tear in two centuries, I won't start now."

Seven blocked his way. "You brought me here for a reason. You wanted to prove your point. If you end the reconstruction now, you haven't proved anything."

"If you insist, we will go on," Angel said, "But there's one thing I want you to know: not even 24 hours after my row with Spike, Buffy died. And this time, forever."

4

After another few sleepless hours in his quarters, Angel wasn't ready to face the events that were expecting him. Hoewever, he knew he had to if he wanted Seven to understand what had brought him here, after all these years, decades without Buffy Summers, whose name he had taken in order to handle the despair of being responsible for her death.

"Ready?" Seven asked, her voice full of more concern than Angel had ever thought her capable of.

He nodded. "Computer, re-enter programme."

There it was. Spike's hand on his shoulder. "Easy, mate."

Angel froze.

Spike greeted him. "Long time no see."

Angel sighed deeply. "Spike, I don't have time for this. Where's Buffy?"

"No," Spike refused, "Leave her alone."

"I need to talk to her."

"Don't you think you've said enough for one day, mate?" Spike asked. "Face it, you've ruined everything! Go back to your hotel and play with Cordelia... though Buffy's probably the better lay."

Angel shook his head, resisting the urge to beat Spike up again, reminding himself this was a holodeck simulation, and promising to himself that if he would ever see the earth again, he would do exactly that.

"What, no fighting, mate?" Spike asked with audible disappointment.

Angel shook his head. "You're so pathetic, Spike, I don't expect you to understand." And he walked away, as he had done more than 200 years before.

Spike burst into laughter.

Bufy stepped from the shadows and shook her head. "Don't do that."

Spike turned around to face her. "Do what, luv?"

"Don't make things worse."

Spike approached her, frowning. "Angel's got a son with Darla, he hasn't told you in three years, and he's obviously been screwing Cordelia for all this time without even bothering about his curse – so how could things between you possibly get any worse?"

Buffy looked at him with disgust. "I'm going back to the hotel." In a determined tone, she added: "Alone."

Spike shrugged. "Whatever you say."

The vampire strolled down the path towards the market place as he suddenly became aware of a female figure standing by the village well, alone in the dark, without any electric street lighting.

"Now, shouldn't you be tucked away in bed, Dawnie?" Spike asked, lighting a cigarette.

Dawn looked at him, completely puzzled. "It's nine thirty, Spike, and I'm not in pre-school." She coughed nervously. "Well, technically, I could be, but..."

Spike barely reacted.

"What happened?" Dawn asked.

"Angel's in a bad bad mood," Spike replied, "Didn't even feel like fightin'. And that really says a lot. Oh, and Buffy was kind of shocked, too, didn't even feel like... doing other things," he added quickly. "What about your new boyfriend?"

Dawn giggled. "Connor's not my boyfriend, he's just a friend from college."

"Same fool as his dad, huh?" Spike remarked.

Dawn blushed. "No idea what you mean."

"Oh, c'mon, Dawn, you know you're pretty!"

Dawn suddenly felt a chill. Oh, c'mon, Sarah, you know you're pretty! She stared at Spike, startled. "Now, that's creepy. Did you just... speak with an American accent?"

Spike looked confused as well. "What the hell was that?"

"Do you feel that?" Dawn asked.

Spike touched her hand. "You know exactly what I feel, Sarah."

Dawn's eyes widened, scared. "John, please, don't say that. If they see us..."

"Let them see us, let the whole world know!" Spike pulled Dawn close and kissed her.

Dawn felt a sudden shock, she wanted to draw back, but she just couldn't. She felt there was a presence in her mind she could not control. "We're unmarried," Dawn pleaded, "It's a sin!"

"How can love be a sin? It was God who arranged for us to meet."

"I know, but the world won't understand!"

"Make them understand, Sarah. Marry me."

"I'm a penniless servant girl, your father will never allow our marriage! You can't be willing to risk your name and heritage for me."

"I would risk anything for you."

"John..." Dawn's cheeks were flushed with fever. She knew how wrong it was to stand here by the village well, where everyone, including Buffy, might see her any moment, exchanging kisses and love vows with Spike, yet the presence within her told her how right it felt. "Meet me by your father's barn, tomorrow morning, when I'm milking the cows," she whispered.

Spike touched her hair. "I love you, Sarah."

"I've always loved you, Spike," Dawn whispered back.

Spike reluctantly loosened his grip around her. "Dawn, what..."

Dawn crimsoned. "What was that?"

Spike backed away from her. "Nothing. Nothing, of course. The wind in the trees."

"Yeah," Dawn said with embarrassment, avoiding his gaze. "The wind. And it's not like I asked you to meet me at some barn."

Spike shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely not."

"And we won't talk about this again," Dawn said, staring at the floor.

Spike looked up briefly. "Never. Especially not to your sister."

Dawn met his gaze, then immediately looked away. "No way."

"Spooky old village."

"Bad village, really."

"Gotta go."

"Me, too."

"Other direction."

"Of course."

Seven of Nine looked confused. "Buffy Summers' sister was in love with the other vampire?"

Angel shook his head. "No, of course not. Well, maybe she had a mild crush on him, but what you just witnessed, and what I couldn't see that night, was that there were old ghosts in the village of Danvers, formerly known as Salem, and they had taken possession of Dawn and Spike."

Seven frowned. "Ghosts. Possessing Dawn and Spike."

"Yes! If only they had talked to us!"

"But they didn't."

"No." Angel buried his face in his hands. "Computer, change scenery."

There was no sun the next morning, the skies had been cloudy all week, and mist hang over the little tourism-dependent village.

"I could move freely that day," Angel explained. "There was no sunlight, so even a vampire could spend the day outside."

"Of course," Seven said in an undertone. "Your behavior is pathological, Lieutenant Summers."

Angel sighed. "You still don't believe me. Does denial at least make you happy?"

"I believe you are suffering from Xeroderma Perniciosa and are being harmed by certain light frequencies." She looked around to find herself in a group of tourists, among them Buffy Summers, her sister Dawn, Spike, and the L.A. gang. "Where are we?"

"On a guided tour," Angel explained and pointed at a middle-aged man in historical costume. "That's our guide."

Seven followed his gaze.

"Brothers and sisters," the guide said, "Let me now recite the pamphlet written by our brother in God, Brother Cotton Mather of Boston."

"If I recall correctly, Cotton Mather was the main responsible for the Salem witch trials," Seven remarked.

Angel nodded.

"Some Councils, Directing a due Improvement of the terrible things lately done by the Unusual & Amazing Range of Evil Spirits in Our Neighbourhood: & the methods to prevent the Wrongs which those Evil Angels may intend against all sorts of people among us – especially in Accusations of the Innocent," the guide recited.

"What's he reading?" Buffy asked in a whisper.

"Wonders of the Invisible World, by Cotton Mather, 1692," Dawn explained, "It was regarded as a scientific document against the forces of evil at the time." She was taking notes on everything the guide said.

"Brothers and sisters, will you please join me now on a brief tour of the Parris household? This is where the witch trial tragedy actually started as the Reverend Parris's daughter Betty claimed to be possessed by the spirit of Carribbean slave girl Tituba. Tituba, according to modern historiography, was merely familiar with the Voodoo cults and therefore rejected by the village girls' parents."

Seven raised her hand. "Excuse me, I have a question."

"No," Angel warned her.

"Yes," the guide said eagerly.

"Do you really believe a human being can be possessed by the spirit of a witch?"

The guide coughed nervously. "As your Official Salem Witch Trials Guide, yes, possession is part of every day life in the 17^th century. From a scientific point of view of 21^st century researchers, the Salem trials represent a case of mass hysteria."

Seven looked at Angel triumphantly. "Thank you."

"Would you please follow me on to the Parris house, please."

Buffy grabbed Dawn's arm. "Dawnie, I'm sorry, I guess it's just too much culture for me for one day."

"You're bored, huh?" Dawn asked.

Buffy smiled apologetically. "Sorry! I just need a break!"

Dawn returned the smile. "We can meet for lunch at the hotel."

"And you'll be fine?"

"Of course!"

Buffy gave Spike a warning look. "If anything comes up, you call me, ok?"

Spike avoided her eyes. "Sure."

"You take care of Dawn, Spike?"

"I can take care of myself," Dawn chided a little too vehemently.

Buffy was a little sceptical about the way Dawn and Spike were acting, but she decided not to give it too much credit. "Excuse me," Buffy addressed the guide, "Question."

"Yes, sure!" The guide was all too willing to answer any possible questions.

Buffy hesitated. "It's got nothing to do with Salem and witches, but... do you have any idea where to get a coke in this place?"

Dawn blushed with shame.

The guide frowned, then replied: "There is a dispenser behind the barn on Willis farm, five minutes to walk from here. The barn is a milking museum now. But you certainly don't want to miss the rest of the tour?"

Buffy smiled apologetically and headed into the opposite direction.

Angel left the group unnoticed.

Seven joined him. "So you saw she was leaving the guided tour and wanted to seize the opportunity to talk to her."

Like drawn by an invisible power, Angel approached the barn.

"Two and a quarter dollars for a can of coke?" Buffy shook her head in disapproval. For a moment she considered smashing the glass, but she decided she would have to set an example for her sister and would pay. She inserted the coins and took the can and her change from the dispenser.

There was a cool breeze in the air that made her shiver.

Then she looked down at the can and her change. The can had transformed into a milking stool, the change into a bucket.

"Weird," Buffy managed to say, before an unknown urge caused her to enter the barn.

It was not a milking museum. These were real cows. There was no electric lighting, the barn was relatively dark, but it was like a 17^th century barn.

A little undecided, Buffy stared at the milking stool. "You don't expect me to... I mean, I'm no milk maid," she said, not quite sure to whom.

"Of course not," Angel said behind her.

Buffy turned around. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry. Buffy, wasn't this supposed to be a museum?"

Buffy nodded slowly. "My milking stool was supposed to be a can of coke."

"There's something going on," Angel said, "We have to find out..." His voice trailed off as he felt how his body was taken over by a strange presence. "I need to talk to you."

"We need to talk," Buffy agreed, but her voice was more gentle and more insecure than before. "I can't see you again."

"I'm sorry if you had the impression I wasn't willing to take risks for you, Sarah."

Buffy shook her head. "John, I wouldn't want you to risk everything you have, just for me."

Angel clasped her hand. "I'd risk anything just to be with you."

Buffy tried to back off, but instead Angel pulled her close.

"The curse," Buffy managed to say.

Angel shook his head. "There are no such things as curses and magic, Sarah."

Buffy caressed his cheek. "There is magic, my dear John. Isn't it magic that I can see my unborn children in your eyes?"

Seven of Nine left the shadows of the barn. "Computer, stop. Lieutenant Summers, before you start kissing a holodeck character..."

Angel shook his head. "I wish that had been everything we did. But we were possessed by those ghosts. It wasn't the first time I wasn't in control of my actions, but I was somehow still in there, watching the scene between John Willis and Sarah Osborne and at the same time holding Buffy in my arms. There was nothing we could do, they made us live through their love story."

Seven shook her head. "You are excusing your own cheating on your girlfriend Cordelia with a possession by ghosts."

"It's true! Buffy and I knew we could never risk my losing my soul - outside a sanctuary, we wouldn't have done it! We thought there wasn't any danger, because we were not in command of our bodies."

"A feeble excuse," Seven replied, untouched.

"It happened like that!" Angel insisted.

"All right," Seven sighed, "But I think we can skip that part of the simulation."

"Agreed," Angel said, clearly overwhelmed by the painful memories. "Computer, restart programme at time index 5, when the ghosts left us."

They were lying on a museum floor, still enfolded in each other's arms. The 17^th century scenery was all gone.

Buffy looked around, eyes wide and full of fear. "Did we...?"

"I'm afraid so. Well, not exactly we."

"I don't get this! This isn't happening!"

"There was a ghost," Angel said, "His name is John Willis."

"Sarah Osborne," Buffy replied. "She was a white witch."

"How do you know?"

Buffy couldn't decide whether to blush or giggle. Matter-of-factly, she replied: "We were floating. I mean, they were floating. They used to meet in secrecy, in this barn, and... oh God, Angel, what about the curse?"

Angel shook his head. "Nothing's changed. We weren't ourselves, Buffy. I don't think..."

"Where are they now? John and Sarah, I mean." She rose. "We have to help them. They are haunting this place, taking possession of harmless tourists. There must have been some unfinished business that makes them return here, like those two ghosts in the high school..." Buffy hesitated. "But you don't remember that, do you?"

"I remember everything Angelus experienced," Angel said, avoiding her eyes. He cleared his voice. "You're right. We have to find out what happened to John and Sarah, and we have to try and communicate with them before they can harm anyone."

For a moment, they stood between the exhibits in the museum, totally focused on each other.

Angel did not know how to phrase his next question. "Are you okay? I mean, you're not hurt or something?"

Buffy picked up her jacket from the floor and smiled faintly. "Save from my pride, no."

That moment, the barn door flew open.

Angel turned away at once, yet not fast enough for Dawn not to see he had not finished buttoning his shirt. Dawn did not ask any questions. If she had realized what had happened between Buffy and Angel, she did not show it. "Buffy," she addressed her sister, totally breathless, "we were just on tour visiting the jail cells underneath the old town hall, when... come, you have to see yourself. We have a serious problem!"

Buffy turned to hurry after Dawn.

"Wait," Angel shouted after her.

Buffy looked at him questioningly. "What?"

Angel handed Buffy her shoes. "Don't forget those... Cinderella."

Dawn's eyes widened.

"Blisters," Buffy said quickly, "Bad bad blisters. Had to take my shoes off."

Dawn nodded, not indicating whether she did believe the explanation.

When Dawn, Buffy, and Angel reached the jail cells in the catacombs beneath the old town hall, none of them was prepared for the picture that awaited them.

Surrounded by a group of touristsm who clearly seemed to enjoy what seemed to them a good show, there was a couple in historical costume, kissing and exchanging small attentions.

"We've tried to separate them, believe me, but they keep ignoring us!" Dawn assured them.

"It's not a good idea to do that," Connor added, "Lorne's ruining his skin-colored make-up, some green spots are already showing, and he's lost his hat!" He lowered his voice. "People will soon notice the horns..."

Dawn shivered. "Ugh, that's so disgusting!"

Fred shook her head. "I don't get this! I thought her and Angel..."

Gunn looked puzzled. "Always thought he was... well, gay?"

Spike grinned. "Blatantly gay."

Yet despite the impression, Lorne was standing by a jail cell in an intense embrace with...

"Cordelia!" Angel said in a loud, and clearly upset, tone.

Cordelia ignored him and kept kissing Lorne. "What if they find us?"

Lorne couldn't keep his hands off Cordelia. "We'll deal with the situation when it comes, Sarah."

"Who's Sarah?" Fred asked.

Dawn blushed deeply.

Suddenly, the tour guide felt a chill, as if someone had walked over his grave. Against his own will, he stepped forward, his face showing surprise and fear by the sudden takeover. "You'd better start dealing now, John."

Lorne's head flew around, his arms still clasping Cordelia's shoulders. "Dad. I can explain. You have to see that I..."

The tour guide nodded. "I see you're committing adultery with a sinful woman!"

"I love her, dad," Lorne confessed.

"Don't worry, son, I shall cure you of these nightmares. She enchanted you! She makes you say these things!"

"No," Cordelia protested.

"Shut up, witch!" the tour guide thundered. "The devil speaks from your unclean body!"

"Sarah's not a witch," Lorne defended her.

"No?" the guide inquired with bitter irony, "So you haven't seen death-bound people walking around after she enchanted them with her evil herbs?"

"I'm a healer," Cordelia explained, "I know a lot about the cures nature gives us, it's got nothing to do with witchcraft!"

"I've been watching you," the guide cut her off, "Tell me, my son, doesn't she have the devil's mark on her body?"

"The dark spot on your thigh?" Lorne asked.

Cordelia shook her head. "It's a birthmark, nothing more!"

"So you've seen her thigh?! John, she seduced you with her evil witchcraft!"

Lorne looked at Cordelia sceptically.

"John," she pleaded, "You can't believe that!"

Lorne backed away. "Last night, when we met in the barn... you were floating in the air."

Cordelia seized his hand. "Because I was happy! John, I didn't do anything wrong!"

Lorne shook her hand off. His face seemed drained of all colour, make-up and green. "And you can see the future. You told me yourself! You said you could see your unborn children!"

"It's a gift," Cordelia cried desperately, "It enables me to prevent evil, not cause it! Magic isn't all evil and devil's work! There is white magic, and it helps people!"

The tour guide put his hand on Lorne's shoulder. "You see? She admits her witchcraft. Let me stop her crimes and accuse her."

Lorne nodded, his expression that of a broken man. "Take her."

Cordelia burst into tears. "No!"

"Sarah Osborne, you are being charged with witchcraft and conspiracy with evil spirits. Do you confess?"

Cordelia felt a shock wave go through her as the ghost left her body. She sat on the floor, her face wet with tears.

The tourists applauded.

Lorne awoke from his trance, all dazed and confused.

The tour guide shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't remember a play being part of the guided tour, nor his own part in it, but since it seemed a success, he nodded at the tourists, pleased with himself. "Thank you, ladies and gents. Let's now proceed to the torturing chamber. Would you follow me, this way, please..."

Angel helped Cordelia to her feet.

Cordelia stared at him. "Did I just... kiss Lorne????" She wiped her lips with her hand. "Yuk yuk yuk!"

Lorne glared at her. "Don't you think it was a pleasure kissing you!"

Gunn was, as usual, the man for action. "What are we dealing with, guys?"

"Ghosts," Angel explained, "Buffy and I were obsessed as well. It is the ghosts of Sarah Osborne, a white witch, and John Willis, son of Salem's richest farmer."

"So that's what happened to us the other night!" Dawn burst out.

Buffy stared at her. "Who's 'us'?"

"Er... um.... Spike and me," Dawn finally admitted.

"Spike," Buffy said with such warning in her voice the vampire backed away.

"Hey, relax, I didn't touch your sister! We just talked!"

Buffy looked at Dawn strictly. "You just talked, nothing else?"

Dawn's head almost sunk between her shoulders. "Er... I have more information on the ghosts," she replied quickly, "He called her Sarah. I did some research after I was possessed with her ghost last night. It appears we just witnessed her arrest as a witch. Sarah would not confess evil deeds in court, so they tortured her. John believed what his father wanted him to think, that Sarah had enchanted him with the devil's help, and he did nothing to save her. They did to her what they called God's Judgment – they threw her into the water. If she would drown, she was innocent, if she would survive, she was bound to evil spirits that saved her."

"What happened?" Cordelia asked.

"Sarah survived, so they found her guilty of witchcraft and burnt her to death on a pyre."

Buffy shuddered, remembering how she had almost been burnt to death by the Sunnydale community in her senior year at high school.

"What about John?" Angel wanted to know.

Dawn shrugged. "That's the weird part of the story. He died under strange circumstances. The wheel on his waggon cracked and split suddenly, threw him from his seat on a couple of rocks, his skull was cracked wide open. The very day they killed Sarah, shortly before the execution."

"She knew it would happen," Cordelia said suddenly, staring into emptiness, but seeing obviously much more with her inner eye. "She could see the future, she had a direct link to The Powers That Be – she saw John's accident and wanted to warn him, but she couldn't because she was in jail. She sent him a portent – which scared him so much he lost control over the waggon, led it upon a rock, the wheel broke, and..." She didn't have to say anything more.

"The attempt to avoid the horror brings the horror about," Connor said silently.

All were very touched by the story.

"So what can we do about it?" Fred asked.

"Angel and I were possessed by spirits in a ballet theatre, three years ago," Cordelia suggested, "And we found out that all a ghost wants is peace. So if we can make them talk, if we can make Sarah forgive John..."

"They might get rest and not haunt this place to live through their misery all over again," Lorne closed.

"How do we do that?" Dawn wondered.

"We make them manifest. I will call Willow and ask her how to do that," Cordelia offered.

"When did they die?" Connor asked.

Dawn looked at her notes, then looked up with surprise. "In 1692, May 16^th, John at five o'clock, Sarah shortly before midnight. Tonight's the anniversary."

Buffy nodded. "Then tonight's our chance to save them another round of suffering." Under her breath, she added: "Lucky them."

"Now, this is too much to ask," Seven protested, "I've been a witness to your sick imagination for hours now. Don't you think it's time you stopped talking about ghosts?"

"There were ghosts!" Angel growled at her. "Dead people haunting a place!"

"I don't have to be here and listen to a madman's ravings." Seven walked towards a wall. "Computer, alternate."

Angel grabbed her wrist, eyes blazing yellow, transforming into the countenance of the vampire right before Seven's astonished eyes, ridged forehead and razor-sharp teeth clearly distinctive, despite the gloom around them.

Seven gasped.

"Now, which species is that, Annika?" Angel asked with open sarcasm.

Seven shook her head. "The Borg never assimilated your species. I can't explain what you are."

Angel turned around her wrist so hard she gasped again in pain. "Because I'm dead, Annika, and I've been dead for nearly four hundred years now! So if you can't explain my existence otherwise, leave statements on dead people to the experts and shut the hell up! Do you understand?"

Seven nodded, her heart beating wildly. For the first time, she could not explain what was going on around her, and it scared her out of her wits.

Angel let go off her hand. "Brace yourself, Annika. The next part is not gonna be pretty."

5

With fleeting fingers, Dawn unlocked the door to the catacombs with the key she had snatched from the tour guide's belt. Her experience as a thief had finally turned out to be good for something now, after all.

"Hurry," Connor whispered.

The lock gave in.

Buffy and Angel descended the stairs.

"You stay here," Buffy commanded.

"But Buffy..." Dawn began, but Buffy's eyes left no doubt.

"You stay with Dawn," Angel told Connor.

"Dad, I wanna help!"

"It's not safe," Angel explained, "I need you two up here – in case anything goes wrong. If a ghost is forced to manifest, they normally don't like it."

*

Cordelia was out in the fields with Lorne, Gunn, Fred, and Spike. Each of the five lit a candle, then they formed a pentagram.

"I call the spirit of John Justus Willis," Cordelia spoke the words Willow had instructed her to say on the phone. "Manifest, I pray, show thy soul."

*

Buffy and Angel stood before the very cell where Sarah was said to have been kept prisoner before her execution.

Buffy lit a candle. "I call the spirit of Sarah Osborne," she said.

Angel lit a second candle. "Manifest, I pray, show thy soul."

*

"What time is it?" Dawn asked nervously.

"Ten to five," Connor replied. "It's about time Sarah Osborne got her vision."

*

"What if it doesn't work?" Buffy wondered.

Then, suddenly, the air began to flicker before them, and the cell became so cold Buffy had to warm her hands with the candle. A cool breeze swept through the room and blew out their candles to leave them in utter darkness.

"Does that answer your question?" Angel asked.

*

"There wasn't even a breeze a minute ago!" Spike shouted against the storm that had blown out all of their five candles.

"Let's join hands," Fred suggested.

"There!" Cordelia pointed at the horizon, where a waggon was approaching at a deadly pace.

*

Buffy did not trust her eyes when she became suddenly aware of a female figure, a body covered in crusted blood and wounds from the torture, with blazing red hair curling down to her waist.

"John," the ghost of Sarah Osborne whispered, "You're in terrible danger!"

"Don't do that!" Angel yelled at her, "Don't send him a portent, it will scare him so much he'll die in the process!"

Sarah looked up. "I know you. He was within you. Vampire." She became aware of Buffy's presence. "And I was within you. Slayer."

"You were," Buffy agreed, "We want to help you find your peace."

Sarah chuckled. "How do you want to help us find our peace when you can't even find yours?" She closed her eyes. "I'll send him a warning!"

"No!"

*

John's waggon was racing down the road, his eyes blinded by tears for Sarah and their unhappy love. Only a few hours from now, she would die on a pyre, and he hadn't done anything to prevent it. He could not believe his eyes when she suddenly appeared next to him, beautiful and innocent as he had first seen her, yet transparent like a spectre.

"John," the vision spoke to him, "I've seen you dying, watch out!"

John's heart stopped. His eyes were so blind with tears he couldn't see the road, and the horses were going wild. One of the wheels cracked audibly.

"Stop the waggon!" Cordelia suddenly ran onto the street.

"No, it'll roll over her!" Fred cried, but Gunn held her.

"She's got demonic powers. I think she knows what she's doing."

Cordelia suddenly began to glow. She stretched out her hand toward the waggon. Two inches before her, and before the fatal rocks in the middle of the road, the waggon came to a halt.

Gunn took in a deep breath. "Wow, that was close!"

*

Sarah shivered. "He's safe!" Then her image flickered and was gone.

Angel looked puzzled. "Where did she go?"

*

John descended from the waggon in confusion. "I'm... this didn't happen like that!"

Cordelia smiled. "No, it didn't in 1692. But it did today."

And like a vision of beauty and glory, the figure of Sarah Osborne was floating towards him, smiling peacefully.

John's eyes glistened with tears. "How could I ever believe you evil? I cast you away and you tried to save me. How can I ever be forgiven?"

Sarah smiled. "I forgave you in 1692. And so did our child."

Fred's eyes widened. "She was pregnant?"

Cordelia nodded. "Now the three of them can find their peace in another world."

Touched, they watched as the ghosts embraced.

Then, Sarah turned to Cordelia. "Thank you, my sister seer. And please give our thanks to the Slayer and the vampire."

Cordelia beamed. "Hey, it's our job!"

Sarah nodded. "But it's not usual that a vampire helps freeing two spirits, a soulless being."

"No, no," Cordelia corrected, "Angel's different, he has a soul."

Sarah regarded her closely for a moment. Her voice was grave as she replied: "Has he?"

*

"Do you think she's with John now?" Buffy asked.

"I don't think the two of them will ever haunt this village again," Angel replied.

"Good," Buffy said, "Because it's really creepy when there's a ghost in your body."

"Yeah," Angel agreed, "Remember when you shot me in the high school? My back hurt for days after I fell down two floors."

Buffy smiled. "That was Angelus, and he was a bastard, he deserved it!"

All of a sudden, Angel's hands closed around her wrists and, fast as lightning, he fastened the cuffs of the long chains in Sarah's cell.

Buffy was so surprised by the attack she did not have time to react and resist. "Angel, if this is supposed to be funny..." She fell silent immediately as she saw the rage in his eyes and the evil smirk around his lips.

Buffy struggled to break free from the chains, then kicked into his direction, but Angelus was far enough out of her range.

"Hello, lover," Angelus said, "Didn't your mom tell you not to have unprotected sex?"

"So it did matter," Buffy whispered in a shock.

"Long time no see, Buff," Angelus replied, "But this time, I'm gonna send you to hell, and I'll make sure you stay there – after killing your friends. If you give one sound, Dawn dies first."

*

"It's so silent down there," Connor remarked, "Do you assume it worked?"

Dawn shrugged. She listened for sounds from the catacombs, but couldn't decide whether the silence was a good sign or a bad sign. "Buffy?" she asked into the darkness.

"Dawn, Connor, you can come down now, it's safe," they heard Angel's voice from downstairs.

Connor hesitated. "They told us to stay here."

"We can use some help cleaning up," Angel shouted.

Dawn walked down the stairs slowly. "It's all dark, Angel. Is Buffy with you?"

"Yes, Dawn, she's here, and she's fine. The summoning left the catacombs in quite a mess, we don't want the tourists to ask questions in the morning! So can you bring a broom and some water and detergent to help us?"

Connor nodded. "I'll go and get the things."

"All right, I'll be downstairs with Buffy and Angel, then." Dawn slowly descended the stairs into the dark and towards perdition.

*

Without hesitation, Spike ran off.

"Spike, wait! Fool!" Cordelia glared at Sarah. "Couldn't you have said something earlier?"

Sarah shrugged. "I thought you knew."

"No, we don't, because it ain't right!" Cordelia exploded, "How can we restore his soul?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment. "Do you have a Thessulan Orb?"

Cordelia shook her head. "We don't have time for such things!"

Sarah nodded. "I understand. You're lucky you're part demon." Sarah put her hand over Cordelia's heart. Cordelia began to glow.

Then the glowing stopped.

Sarah looked at her gravely. "If you touch your friend's heart, you can give him his soul."

"Thanks." Cordelia ran off into the darkness.

John looked at Sarah with regret. "You gave her your magic."

Sarah nodded. "I don't have any use for it now." She sighed. "It will help her deal when she realizes she's late."

Gunn looked at the ghosts with determination. "Not if I can help it!"

*

Dawn was literally swept of her feet.

"Hello, little one," Angelus said, "Blood from Buffy's blood – we shall see if it tastes the same."

Dawn saw her short life pass before her eyes. "Angelus," she noticed.

Buffy tore at the chains and finally managed to break them.

"Stay where you are," Angelus commanded, "You know I could snap her neck before you reach me. Put that stake down. And all your stakes. On the floor."

"Let her go. She's got nothing to do with it." Not taking her eyes off him, Buffy hesitantly emptied her clothes of the stakes hidden there.

Angelus grinned. "Also the cross around your neck."

Buffy unfastened her necklace. "Let her go!" she repeated.

The vampire's eyes were cold as ice as he replied: "No."

"Do you know what's a pity, Angelus?" Dawn asked.

"Don't provoke him!" Buffy warned her.

Angelus tightened his grip around Dawn. "What?"

"You know, I've got all these memories about you when you were living in Sunnydale," Dawn said in a trembling voice, praying he wouldn't notice her hand sliding towards the pocket of her jeans, "But, knowing they were created by the monks and aren't real..." Her fingers clutched the silver cross Buffy had given her before Xander's wedding. "...I just don't have any personal bonds with you!" She pressed the cross against Angelus' hand as firmly as she could.

The element of surprise was with her. Swearing, he let her go.

Buffy seized one of the stakes on the floor. "Dawn, run!"

Dawn picked up another two stakes. "And to be honest, I liked Riley much better than you!"

"RUN!" Buffy repeated.

Taking slow steps backwards, Dawn approached the stairs. Then she ran.

*

Dawn stood at the top of the stairs and screamed for help.

Cordelia appeared out of nothing. "Dawn, what happened?"

"It's Angel," Dawn gasped, "He's evil! And he's down there --- with Buffy!"

*

Buffy attacked at once, giving Angelus no time to recover. However, the small burn on his hand wasn't too much of a disadvantage. He managed to block her attack easily and knocked the stake from her hand - effortlessly.

With discomfort, Buffy noticed he had learnt a lot since their last fight, years ago at the mansion.

She decided to give her old tactics a shot and brought up her leg.

Angelus held it before she could do any damage. "I don't fall for that twice, lover." He thrust her against the wall.

"Done your homework," Buffy replied, not without respect for her adversary, wiping the blood from her lip.

"You, too," Angelus said, aiming another blow at her, "You've improved a great deal." With a smile, he noticed Buffy was almost flattered at the compliment. Buffy landed a few direct hits at his solar plexus. He decided to ruin the effect. "You probably didn't learn from Riley, more likely from Spike. Though Cordelia's still much better than you."

Only now did Buffy realize he hadn't meant her fighting prowess. Her fist hit his jaw as he stumbled back. "Do you really sleep with that slut?"

"She's a fantasy," Angelus chuckled as he felt blood trickling down from his nose.

Buffy tried to shake off the vision of the two of them together. She seized the stake she had lost and turned at him to finish him off while he was unguarded.

His eyes met hers. "I needed a new kitchen table."

Suddenly the picture formed in her mind of Angel's and Cordelia's naked bodies, breathless with heat, crushing the kitchen table, their kitchen table of their lost day. Then his hand went up against her wrist and pressed so hard she had to drop the stake. He pulled her close and held her in a death grip.

Buffy realized she had hesitated. He'd won.

She felt his fangs sinking into her skin and knew her time was running out with every drop of blood flowing from her. She saw a vision of herself standing on top of a tower, years before, the glowing portal to all hell's dimensions opening beneath her. And she felt herself jumping into the gateway, falling, falling... dying.

Angelus' voice was close to her ear. "But I always think of you, my love."

Suddenly someone tipped his shoulder.

He turned around to see Cordelia.

"Big mistake!" she said. Then she used the magic Sarah had given her, united with her demonic powers, and put her hand on his chest ... actually, she reached through his chest... which began to glow just like her hand... and touched his cold, dead heart.

For Angelus, time stood still.

"Buffy!" Spike rushed into the catacombs, not paying attention to the two glowing figures. He just saw the woman he loved lying lifeless on the floor in her own blood.

She was so pale. He was a vampire. He knew a dying person when he saw one. Her heartbeat was so faint he could hardly hear it, and everything was tainted with blood.

"Buffy, no," he whispered, "Not again."

Buffy's eyelids fluttered. "Spike," she whispered, "Promise me..."

"Anything," Spike said desperately, "Just don't leave me!"

Buffy tried to close her fingers around his, but she did not have the strength. "Promise me... you won't blame yourself this time."

Cordelia felt a magical pull and was violently thrust away from the vampire.

Angel stared at her, his eyes betraying the soul within.

"I did it!" Cordelia shrieked with surprise. "You're back!"

"Cordy, what..." Angel's memory was faint. Then he saw the blood on his hands, and identified it immediately... as Buffy's.

Then he saw Spike kneeling next to her. And realized Spike wasn't responsible for this... but he was.

"Buffy!" Angel wanted to rush to her side, but Cordelia's arm blocked his way.

Spike's face was that of a broken man as he looked up at him. "Stay away from her."

"I have to..."

"No!" Spike yelled, "I said STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!"

Connor rushed down the stairs, followed by Dawn.

Cordelia stretched out her hand and walked towards them. "Connor, get Dawn out of here and call an ambulance, please."

"I'm not going!" Dawn pushed her aside and forced her way to her sister's side. She stopped abruptly at the floods of blood on the walls and floor.

Spike's eyes were filled with tears. "We don't need an ambulance any more," he said quietly, cradling Buffy's lifeless body in his arms.

Dawn's voice failed. She sank down next to him and took her sister's hand. "Buffy..."

Angel slowly approached.

Dawn looked at him, eyes burning with grief and hatred. "Get out."

"I have a right to be here, Dawn," Angel said in a gentle tone.

"GET OUT!" Dawn yelled.

Spike rose and stood tall before his sire. "You've heard her. Get out."

"You know I loved her," Angel made a last attempt to speak.

"What was your love good for?" Dawn hissed, "Don't you dare and come under my eyes ever again. If you do, I'll kill you. And I mean it. I can never forgive you!"

"And she kept her promise, she never forgave me," Angel closed. "My friends never looked at me again without the silent reproach in their eyes. Except for Cordelia. She was with me till she died, at seventy-five."

They were back in contemporary clothing, surrounded by the black and yellow of the holodeck matrix.

Seven's eyes were wet. Angel could not remember the former Borg crying ever. "And... you lived with that guilt for all these years...," Seven whispered, "How could you live through all this again?"

Angel looked at her, totally in command of himself. "I have no more tears."

Seven tried to hold back the emotions welling up inside of her. "You killed your one true love because you were a vampire."

Angel's expression was one of surprise. "So you believe me, Annika."

Seven nodded. "Every word you said."

His eyes met her gaze. "Then you will understand why I have to do this." He drew his phaser and stunned her. Then he walked from the holodeck with hasty steps.

6

Angel was calm and determined, but he knew he didn't have much time before discovery. He had masked the phaser's signature, however, it was just a matter of time until someone noticed real phaser fire on the holodeck or had to contact Seven of Nine, and then he would not only be in trouble, but all these years in Starfleet would be wasted. He walked into stellar cartography and checked the data Seven had collected over the past few weeks. He had all the information he needed. Angel made a few adjustments, then knew what he had to do.

He had better make it quick.

Angel heard the sliding doors and turned around, ready to use his phaser.

"Drop that phaser, Lieutenant."

Angel looked at the person who had just entered. He knew at once his phaser would not help him here. He shook his head. "You can't stop me, doctor. No one can."

The Doctor sighed. "How often have you thought that? I know what you're up to, and I'll tell you it's not going to work. Think of your career, think of Starfleet's ideals, think of the friends you have on this ship – Tuvok, the Captain, and of course me.What can you possibly win?"

"Everything," Angel replied, "but I have nothing left to lose."

"Stop it, Angel. What you're doing is mutiny. You're a Starfleet officer!"

Angel's face hardened. "You know I'm faster than your holo-matrix. If I take the mobile emitter from you..."

The Doctor sighed. "Feel free to do so. If that helps you get over it... Angel, where is Seven?"

"Annika is unharmed," Angel replied, "You know I wouldn't hurt her."

The Doctor's eyes had an expression so familiar Angel was almost startled when he said in a calm voice: "This isn't going to bring her back."

Angel held his phaser before him protectively, as if it was any use. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The Doctor held his gaze. "About Buffy, of course."

"What do you know?" he snapped back.

"That you loved her. And that you killed her. And that you never got over her, despite your marriage to Cordelia. I know how you lost your friends, one by one. I know about the roses, and about your vendetta with Spike."

Angel stared at the Doctor. "It's not in the records... her death officially was an accident. And Spike doesn't show up in any Starfleet record, I..."

"Not if you don't know you have to look for Commander William Hayes, after his eleventh wife," the Doctor replied calmly. "Have you ever wondered why I helped you disguise your identity on this ship? Why I thought of every detail and concealed what you were even when Seven asked me? Is it possible you are so blind to think my presence here was a coincidence? Put that phaser down, Angel. It's time you started forgiving yourself."

Angel's face was dark. "What do you know of forgiving?"

The Doctor raised his hand. Out of his holo matrix, a holographic pair of glasses manifested, and he started wiping it with his uniform. "You don't see those often these days, do you. And as for what I know of forgiving..." He looked straight into his eyes. "It took me two centuries to forgive you for Jenny's death."

Angel's voice was hoarse when he asked disbelievingly: "Giles....?"

The Doctor chuckled a bit at that. "I was wondering if you would ever figure that out. I thought you knew Watchers are re-born to train the new Slayers. You didn't think Rupert Giles was my only life ever lived, did you? I trained a Slayer in the Rome of the Augustan age, another one in 16^th century France, and I was there when the first Vulcan vampire Slayer was initiated. And now I am Lewis Zimmerman, which is quite efficient because it allowed me to be in several places at the same time. Also here on this ship, as an EMH."

"So it's true," Angel said, "The new Slayer is on Voyager. Who is she?"

"You don't expect me to tell you. She has been chosen, but she has to grow up to meet her destiny."

"But if the new Slayer is here --- I'm the only vampire aboard, it doesn't make sense to call someone who's light years away from the vampires. Unless that means..."

The Doctor nodded. "Voyager will be back on Earth by the time she turns sixteen, yes. That's the reason I can't tell you who the new Slayer will be. No one must know their future, and the prophecies must be left to the Watchers."

Angel gave him a weak smile. "I'm a vampire, Giles, don't you think I felt the presence of the Chosen One? I know who the new Slayer is."

"My compliments," the Watcher replied, "So you know it won't be too long till we reach the Earth and you can make your peace with yourself, and with Buffy."

"Maybe you're right." Angel walked towards the Doctor as if to embrace him. "But I can't sit here and wait for a miracle to take us home. Computer, transfer the Doctor's programme to sickbay and protect it with my password!"

"NO!"

Angel snatched the mobile emitter from the Doctor's arm and slipped it into the pocket of his uniform. He left the cartography and headed for the turbolift.

"Computer, bridge."

*

Seven's head ached when she woke up on holodeck 3. Then the memory came back to her that Lieutenant Summers had stunned her with a phaser. She tapped her communicator. "Seven of Nine to Tuvok." No reply. "Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway." Nothing. "Seven of Nine to sickbay." The line remained dead. Seven realized he must have found a way to interrupt communications. She had no idea what he was up to, but she knew she would stop it. "Computer, exit."

"Unable to process request."

"Explain."

"Access code required."

"Authorisation?"

"Lieutenant Angel Summers."

He was pretty clever. This would take a while.

*

Angel entered the bridge. It was the night shift, so there were not too many people on duty.

Ensign Kim was in command. He rose from the chair when the higher-ranking officer entered.

"Lieutenant – what can I do for you?"

Angel handed him a pad. "Captain Janeway asked me to tell you there will be a change of course."

Kim looked at the data, frowning. "That leads us back to the coordinates where we examined the quantum singularity three days ago."

"Precisely. The Captain has evaluated material collected by Seven of Nine and decided on further investigation."

Harry Kim shook his head. "She did not say there would be any changes during nightshift. Let me just check if that'll be alright." He wanted to touch his communicator, but Angel stopped him with a gaze.

"Do you think the Captain or Commander Chakotay will be pleased if you wake them in the middle of the night just to confirm a routine order, Ensign?"

Harry cast his eyes down. "I guess not, sir." He turned to Ensign Lemara at helms. "Ensign, set course to the indicated coordinates. Warp 6."

Angel took the center seat without asking. "Thank you. I'll take turns."

Harry shrugged and took the left hand seat from Angel. "I didn't know you were on bridge duty."

"I wasn't. Seven of Nine suggested I should work in more challenging areas in her last efficiency report." He winked at Harry.

Harry nodded understandingly. "Yeah, she's most... efficient."

Angel was relieved to see the Ensign did not have any doubts about his orders. Now the waiting began. The worst part. But, after all, he had been waiting for much longer already.

*

T'Lia of Vulcan was sitting in her office overlooking Mount Seleya, watching a beautiful red sunset. Her face betrayed nothing of the anticipation she felt.

T'Lia was the shining example any young Vulcan would be happy to identify with. She had concluded the Vulcan Academy with honors. She still saw herself standing in the great hall, performing the kholinar, the ceremony by which Vulcans freed themselves of all emotion and dedicated their existence to logic exclusively. Today, her work routine would not end with sunset. Now her time of the day began: night.

The intercom chimed. "Madam, the delegation has arrived."

T'Lia rose. "Thank you."

She headed for the exit with even steps. Following long spartanic corridors and passing through several sliding doors, she finally reached the landing area. By the time she entered the field, dusk was lying over the scenery.

A human in Romulan uniform and a veiled woman in civilian clothes stood next to a shuttlecraft, accompanied by several lower-ranking officers.

The woman wore a red tunic with red veil that showed only her eyes. She greeted T'Lia in the Vulcan way.

The man's face was expressionless. He did not raise his hand.

T'Lia raised hers, however. "Peace, and long life," she said.

The man regarded her closely. A sarcastic smile was around his lips as he replied: "I was going to say 'Live long and prosper', but I see you already do."

T'Lia shook her head. "If I wasn't Vulcan and shared the irrational human tendency towards sarcasm, I would reply I am also happy to see you again."

His eyes were as cold as hers. "You are not Vulcan by birth, T'Lia."

T'Lia pretended not to have heard the insult. "A hundred years ago, your bodyguards would have cut your throat instead of calling you Senator."

One of the Romulans stepped forward, hand on his disruptor. "Senator..."

The Senator raised his hand. "It is alright, Subcommander, this is a peaceful mission. Her Excellency T'Lia and I are... old friends. I am surprised, my friend, such emotional words from you?"

"It was just a historical observation," T'Lia replied coolly.

The Senator nodded. "I see."

T'Lia gestured towards the building. "Shall we go in and get down to business, Senator?"

He turned to his followers. "You can leave us, we have to talk in private." He offered his arm to the veiled lady. He had come to Vulcan with a heavy heart, but circumstance had left him no choice.

The Vulcan led them up to a conference room which had already been equipped with refreshments.

"Have a drink," T'Lia suggested.

The woman reached for a glass and a carafe with a dark green liquid, but the Senator clutched her wrist. "I would be careful, it could be poisoned."

She chuckled. "I can smell it is alright, you're forgetting I'm not human."

He let her hand go.

T'Lia ignored the suspicions of the Senator and took a seat.

The Senator took a glass of water, but did not drink.

T'Lia stepped so close to him he could feel her breath, yet did not touch him. She lowered her voice. "Why did you bring HER along? Not for company, I guess."

He nodded. "May I have a word with you in private?"

"My ready room is next door." She pointed to the double doors.

The Senator remained silent till the door had closed behind them.

"So, how are things going on Romulus?" T'Lia asked politely.

He laughed a little. "You know perfectly how things are going, you're working for the diplomatic council of Vulcan."

Her stare was cold. "I just thought humans insisted on small talk."

His eyes caught her equal, but watchful gaze. "I didn't come all the way from Romulus for small talk. You know I went to Romulus so I would never have to see your face again."

T'Lia did not let him see if the remark affected her in any way emotionally. "Yes, when I heard the Romulan Senator for Interplanetary Affairs would come to Vulcan for negotiations on a Research Exchange Programme, I was..."

"...furious?"

"...interested. And when I heard it was you, I was..."

"...afraid?"

"...surprised. For a man of your capacities, you've been very successful. First human Romulan Senator."

"And how did you get into Vulcan Academy without being actually Vulcan? Cosmetic surgery and a bit of bribery?"

She ran a long fingernail alongside her arm and scratched herself. Green blood trickled from her skin. "Genetic therapy and adoption."

"Yeah, they've always taken care of their employees, haven't they?" His expression was dark.

T'Lia turned to face him. "Why have you come here? To return to the family?"

"Family, now that's an understatement!" The Senator laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.

"I'll take that as a no," the Vulcan said matter-of-factly, "I guess it's not to renew our... friendship either. I do not take it personally, emotions are irrelevant. You should have seen me at my kholinar, I out-Vulcaned the Vulcans."

He walked up to her and looked straight into her eyes. "You passed the kholinar because you didn't have any emotions to begin with. I wouldn't touch you again for the world."

"Your pulse is racing," she noticed in an even, indifferent tone, "The blood on my arm is making you crazy. It's better than the replicated trash. In case you haven't noticed, you're a vampire."

"I am what I am because of you." His thoughts went back to that fateful day in what used to be T'Lia's office on earth, in another life, long ago.

T'Lia grinned. "A penny for your thoughts. Remembering the good old times? Not comin' back, sorry. Immortality is a beautiful thing, isn't it? The difference between you and me is that my heart's still beating."

"The difference between you and me," he said, "is that I still have a katra." He went into game face and sunk his fangs into her neck.

T'Lia did not flinch as he tasted her blood.

Suddenly, the veiled woman entered the ready room. "Save me some," she said with a smile.

The vampire pushed T'Lia away. " You may claim you are genetically Vulcan, but your blood is as tasteless as the cheap costumes you used to wear when you were still a lawyer. Let's leave it there. We came for business."

T'Lia nodded and replied, now herself with cynism, "Are you feeling any better now?"

His eyes were gleaming golden as he said: "I will feel better when I've snapped your neck. Call yourself T'Lia of Vulcan if you will, boast yourself of the eternal youth you bought with black magic, but for me you will always be Lilah Morgan."

The sound of her old name made T'Lia startle. "What do you want, Wes? And why did you bring HER here?"

"It's much hotter here than on Romulus." The woman took off her veil. Long black hair was curling down to her waist.

Wesley's eyes had a serious expression. "You know she's always been a prophet. She saw something, Lilah."

"What?"

"The end. He's coming back, Lilah. He's coming back to change history."

Lilah was confused. "Who?"

Drusilla's eyes were beaming with anticipation as she replied: "My Angel."

*

Seven of Nine tapped her communicator once again. "Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway."

Now the contact was established. "Yes?" a sleepy voice asked.

"At last, Captain! Lieutenant Summers attacked me with a phaser on the holodeck. I think he is trying to bring VOYAGER into his power. We must stop him!"

"Meet me on the bridge. Captain Janeway to Tuvok. Security to bridge. Arrest Lieutenant Summers. He's armed and dangerous."

*

Earth.

He hated Saurian Brandy, but it helped him forget.

"I was going to say Alcohol's gonna kill you one day, but..." suddenly a voice said behind him.

Spike was always irritated when Anya entered his dwelling without using the door. "I told you, no teleportation in my house!"

She shrugged. "Must have forgotten that part."

"Why do you keep haunting me?"

Anya ignored the question. "Is it true what they say in the underworld?"

Spike sighed. "And what do they say?"

Anya looked around the place. "Nice cobwebs. You know there are such things as electronic house cleaning systems?"

"I like it that way," Spike disagreed.

Anya shrugged and reached for a holo picture which showed Buffy and Dawn in Salem.

"Leave that!" Spike yelled and snatched the picture from her. "Don't you ever touch that again!"

"Okay, okay, bite me," she replied, offended. "Mind if I pour myself a drink?"

Spike blocked her way. "Say what you want and LEAVE. What do they say in the underworld?"

"Rumour has it that there have been cosmic changes. Seers and prophets are going crazy. Say something BIG is coming. Like apocalyptically big. Have you heard anything?"

"Even if I had, why should I tell you?"

Anya smiled. "Because I'm a nice person?"

Spike gave her a questioning look. "You're a vengeance demon, Anya!"

She shrugged. "Nobody's perfect. So do you know anything, Spike?"

Spike threw himself onto the sofa, pouring himself and Anya a glass of Saurian Brandy. "I met Drusilla a couple of weeks ago," he admitted, "She had just come back from Risa. Didn't like it, though. Tried to get a tan. Sunburn. Ouch, very bad one."

"And?" Anya asked impatiently.

"Dru was on her way to Romulus. She said she'd got visions. Totally nuts, poor girl, if you ask me. Talked nonsense, about Angel coming back to Earth soon." He chuckled. "Long trip from the Delta Quadrant, I guess. Given that he's still on VOYAGER..."

Anya paled. "You never said Angel was on VOYAGER."

"I thought you knew."

"I knew his ship was missing in action, but... I never knew he was on VOYAGER! Of all the ships in Starfleet..." Anya emptied a whole glass of Saurian Brandy. "Another one," she commanded. "That's a DISASTER!"

"What's so special about VOYAGER?" Spike asked, now very confused.

Anya let herself sink onto the floor. "Big BIG cosmic catastrophe." She took the bottle from Spike and put it to her lips.

"Hey!" Spike wound the bottle from her hand. "Will you tell me what's going on before I run out of brandy?"

Anya nodded. "Think back to the day when Buffy died."

Spike's eyes widened. "Buffy was pregnant? And you took her child away with magic and told Angel you saved her, but he'd never see her again?"

"Technically, Dawn made me do that," Anya explained.

"And he didn't look for her?"

"He did, for a while. After a few decades or so, he realized there was an infinite choice of universes, times and dimensions."

Spike grinned. "Where did you take her?"

"I knew it would be very difficult to separate Angel and the child, so I made a logical choice. I transferred her into the future. How the hell could I have known he'd be around so long, enemies that he has always had??? I had a hope you'd kill him, but... anyway, it seemed such a long time, then. And to be completely sure, I chose parents who were explorers, knowing they were working in outer space and would never be in one place for a long time. But..."

"But you still failed. Are you saying there is a girl, a child of Buffy and Angel, out on VOYAGER? Where HE is?"

Anya shrugged. "She doesn't know who she is. And he can never figure it out. I guess."

"Yeah. That's why you're drinking my brandy and murmuring about a cosmic catastrophe!"

*

"Now reaching the singularity," Ensign Lemara announced.

Angel watched in awe as the viewscreen displayed the colourful discontinuity. "Approach to 200 kilometers."

"But Sir, the singularity is going to draw us in if we get that close."

Angel rose from the Captain's seat. He drew his phaser and held it to Lemara's head. He looked at Lemara with golden hypnotic eyes. "Do it."

Suddenly, the turbolift doors slid open.

Seven of Nine stepped onto the bridge, accompanied by Captain Janeway and Tuvok, as well as several security officers.

"Drop the phaser, Angel," Janeway said.

"I will. After Lemara flew us into the singularity."

"You're trying to change history. It's a portal to 21^st century Alpha quadrant, isn't it?" Seven asked.

He nodded. "I knew when I checked your data three days ago. I had to act."

"You have a choice," Seven said.

"No."

Janeway looked at him with pleading eyes. "Angel, I've known you for so long, you don't want to do this. If you checked the data correctly, you also know it will tear VOYAGER apart if we try to fly through it, it's unstable!"

Angel's voice was dark and deep as he replied: "Would have been the only stable thing in my life, anyway."

"Don't do that," Janeway said, "I won't hesitate to have security fire on you."

Angel gave her a bitter smile. "Good luck!"

Then he saw Tuvok's weapon: an antique crossbow.

The Vulcan's eyes were expressionless. "Are you sure you want to do that, Lieutenant?"

To be continued...

7

"Don't do that," Janeway said, "I won't hesitate to have security fire on you."

Angel gave her a bitter smile. "Good luck!"

Then he saw Tuvok's weapon: an antique crossbow.

The Vulcan's eyes were expressionless. "Are you sure you want to do that, Lieutenant?"

The bridge was in total silence. Security was waiting for Tuvok's commands. Janeway, Seven, Lemara and Kim were focused on Lieutenant Summers. Tuvok's question was still unanswered. Janeway realized her phaser and all security's phasers would be totally useless when it came to a vampire.

"Angel," she said softly, "It's over. Surrender your weapon now, and no one will be harmed."

Tuvok's face did not betray the tension caused by the prospect of having to kill. A phaser was a different thing for the Vulcan, Angel realized – with a phaser, you could stun, or hurt someone to prevent him from proceeding, but one bolt from the crossbow meant destruction, irrevocable end of physical existence. Even of someone who was already dead, had been so for hundreds of years. Angel felt what everyone else could not see – fear.

Angel looked straight at the Vulcan, disregarding the lethal weapon in his hand.

"I asked a question," Tuvok said.

Angel slowly shook his head. "No, Tuvok. No, I don't want to do that. But I have to."

*

T'Lia of Vulcan woke, her face wet with sweat, and she had to stifle a shriek, for the first time in decades. She had spent a restless night, nightmares recurring from that other life she had so much longed to forget. She had spent many years dedicating her life to logic, the new life given to her by the Senior Partners as a reward after the Slayer's death. Winning Wesley over to their cause had been the crucial point.

T'Lia remembered well the dark expression on his face as he had completed their plan at the faint light of candles in her bedroom.

T'Lia smiled to herself. She did not know what had driven Wesley to that last step that night, but she guessed it was the Judas Ischariot kind of thing. If there was real danger, the Messiah would reveal himself to the people and make his legions of angels come to his aid. In both cases, the trick did not work. Ironically, without Wesley, she would never have used her connections to the University of California, would never have initiated that Dawn and Connor got to work on a project about the Salem witch trials. It had been the best trap. And her reward was eternity. If Wesley was to admit it or not, he had set it in motion. Without Wesley, Buffy Summers, the best Slayer Earth had ever seen, would have fulfilled the fate of the Vampire With A Soul. Yet after her death, nothing had been the same. The murder of Buffy Summers had disconnected the network of friends around Angel, had left him broken, and he was still undead, was still not Shan-shu, and was now even cast away in the Delta Quadrant. T'Lia washed her face with cold water. If she was in Angel's place, she would be pretty much pissed off. This was more serious than she had admitted in front of the others. If Wesley was right only to some extent, a dark avenger was about to change history, or rather, herstory, a dark avenger who had everything to win, yet nothing left to lose.

*

Chakotay rushed into engineeering, Harry Kim at his side. "B'Elanna, we have a situation on the bridge," he informed the chief engineer, "I need you to beam Lieutenant Summers to the detention cell." Puzzled, he looked around. For the first time, he noticed the Klingon and three other engineers were the only persons on the deck. "Where is everybody? I need more people, it is attempted mutiny."

B'Elanna slowly turned around, phaser in hand. "I'm afraid this is more than an attempt, Commander," she said. Then she gestured at the others three officers, who showed their phasers now as well. "I have to ask you to leave."

Chakotay shook his head. "I don't believe this, B'Elanna. You can't ruin your daughter's life like that, you will be court-martialled. That's not what you want."

She cleared her voice. "Commander Chakotay, Ensign Kim, you are confined to quarters. Lewis, beam them to the Commander's quarters." With tears in her eyes, she added: "I'm sorry, Chakotay. This is for the good of the universe."

*

Tuvok's face was expressionless. Yet his voice was dry as he added: "As chief of security, I have to ask you to drop your weapon and surrender."

"I can't," Angel refused.

Tuvok had never seen a vampire in his life on Vulcan, but before his mind's eye he could see Angel dissolving into ashes, meeting death with serenity, like a salvation from the mission he had embarked upon. Killing was something a Starfleet officer did only when all alternatives failed. Tuvok's whole thinking focused on the logic that had led him through worse situations than this one. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. Or a single individual. He raised the crossbow "Then I have no choice. I'm sorry... Captain." With a jerk, Tuvok turned and aimed the crossbow at Janeway. The Vulcan's movements were too fast for security to react, and now, with an ancient weapon threatening their Captain, no one dared to fire a phaser.

Seven made a step forward.

Tuvok raised the crossbow. "You will want the Captain alive, Seven. So stand back."

Seven hesitated.

"Tuvok!" Janeway exclaimed in surprise and disappointment.

Tuvok looked at his security staff. "For the Captain's safety, I have to ask you all to leave the bridge."

Janeway looked at him coldly. "This isn't logical. How about the good of the many outweighing the good of the few? You're killing us all!"

Tuvok shook his head. "The fact that you fail to see the logic does not imply it isn't there."

Angel exchanged a brief look with Tuvok. "You did the right thing."

Tuvok nodded.

Slowly, Kim and Lemara were moving towards the door. Security were slowly moving backwards, still under the shock of their chief turning against them.

Janeway's expression was determined. "Disarm the Commander and the Lieutenant at any cost. This is an order."

Angel's voice cut her off. "I don't think so."

Seven's eyes met Angel's. She gasped. He was in full game face and was staring at the other officers.

"Leave the bridge and make sure no one comes up here," he said calmly, "This is an order."

The turbolift doors were closing behind them.

Seven of Nine was still standing there. "Hypnosis," she noticed.

Angel nodded. "The Borg seem to have learned how to resist."

"Species 1731," Seven said matter-of-factly, "They are very adept at this discipline. Not that it helped them a lot. And it won't help you either."

Angel gave her a cold stare from sparkling golden eyes. "What's that, some advice from one killer to another?"

Seven felt as if she'd been hit in the face, but tried not to show it.

Tuvok's eyes betrayed his discomfort despite all his efforts. "It would be wiser if you left as well."

Seven shook her head. "It would be wiser if you let the Captain go. This is mutiny, Commander, it will result in your being court-martialled."

"I'm really disappointed with you, Tuvok," Janeway said calmly, "I thought you were loyal."

If the Vulcan was hurt by her words, he hid his emotions well. "My debt in this case is much older than my loyalty to you, Captain."

Angel now aimed the phaser at the Captain. "Secure the exits," he commanded.

Silently, Tuvok followed his orders.

Angel gestured at two empty chairs at the side of the bridge. "Sit down," he said quietly.

Hesitantly, Janeway and Seven were moving towards the chairs.

Tuvok activated a force field.

Seven touched the force field carefully, but shrank back from the current.

Angel put his weapon down.

"Scan the singularity," Angel told Tuvok.

The Vulcan nodded. He operated the console. "The singularity is still unstable. May I suggest we fire a photone torpedo? This may open a six-hour window of stability."

"Or make the singularity collapse into a black hole and draw us in," Janeway remarked dryly.

Angel looked at Tuvok. "Prepare for torpedo launch." And then, unexpectedly, he went back to his human guise and gave the Vulcan a smile. "Good to have you back on the team."

Tuvok did not return the smile, but for a brief second there was a sparkle in the Vulcan's eyes which was only distinctive for someone who knew him very well. "In this life, and in every other one." He concentrated on the console. "Torpedo ready to launch, Sir."

Janeway sneered as she heard the respectful address.

Angel bent over the console to have a look at the data. Then he gave the Vulcan an approving look. "Fire."

Together they watched as the wormhole received the torpedo.

The explosion that followed was gigantic, the ship was thrown around as if it was merely a toy ship. Janeway clutched the seat, Seven gasped in pain as she was thrown against the flickering force field, Tuvok was knocked off the seat in front of the console.

Angel stood tall as if the ship wasn't moving at all. His vampiric abilities were fully developed and it took him no effort to retain his balance, as if his mental equilibrium was being reflected by his outer appearance. "Status."

Tuvok climbed back on his seat and checked the displays. Then he confirmed what sounded to Janeway and Seven like a death sentence: "You have six hours."

"Red alert." Angel walked to the center chair as sirenes started to howl, and flashing red lights provided a dramatic background for the announcement he was going to make. "Bridge to crew. This is Lieutenant Angel Summers. By now you will have learned that this is an act of mutiny and that I have taken command of this vessel. Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine have been taken hostages. Within the next hour, I will manoeuver through the singularity and bring this ship back to Earth, yet to the Earth of a distant past. I strongly recommend you to leave VOYAGER on the life boats provided. If this mission is successful, the ship will pick you up under Captain Janeway's command within the next six hours. If it does not return... I wish all of you the best of luck. Bridge out."

As sirenes guided the crew to the emergency life boats, Angel approached the force field.

Janeway rose from her seat immediately to stand up to him.

"The last life boat is reserved to you and Seven, Kathryn," he said. "As soon as everyone has been evacuated, I'm letting you go."

"You can never make it to the Alpha quadrant," Janeway said. "You are crazy."

Angel's face was mere inches apart from hers, separated only by the force field.

"Maybe I am," Angel replied thoughtfully. "But at least I'm not dragging a whole crew along to feed my ego with how damn noble and righteous I am."

"What do you mean?" Janeway asked, stressing every word.

Suddenly, all the anger seemed to burst through Angel's calm surface. "Do I really have to spell it out for you? That a whole crew had to be marooned in the Delta Quadrant just for you to keep the Prime Directive you were sworn to? Do you have any idea of how many lives you've ruined, including your own? You could be home, safe and warm with the love of your life beside you, but you threw it away for your crusade, so don't you tell me what to do!" He walked away to the tactical station.

Janeway raised her voice. "Computer, initiate auto destruct. Authorisation Janeway, alph..."

"Access denied," the computer informed her, "All command functions must be authorized by Lieutenant Commander Tuvok or Lieutenant Summers."

Angel smiled. "I don't blame you for trying, Kath."

"This is my ship, and my crew, and they will never listen to you!" Janeway protested.

At that moment, the sliding doors of the turbolift opened. Tom entered, armed with a phaser.

"Take the crossbow!" Janeway exclaimed, "He's immune to phaser fire!"

Seven closed her eyes in resignation as she realized the Captain was wrong again.

Angel smiled inwardly as he remembered Tom as a little boy running up to him and staring at his face in wonder, only minutes after he had saved Tom's parents from a bunch of very thirsty vampires in Golden Gate Park. How distant that memory seemed now that Tom was a father himself.

Tom exchanged a meaningful glance with Angel. "Decks 9-12 fully evacuated, Captain," he said.

Janeway went white with rage. "Captain?"

"Thank you, Tom," Angel replied. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"If you hadn't been patrolling Golden Gate Park that night, I wouldn't be around any more." Tom took his place at the helm.

"What are you doing, Mr Paris?" Janeway asked with all authority she could muster.

"If Angel wants to fly through the singularity, he's gonna need the fleet's best pilot," Tom explained. With an apologizing look, he turned to Janeway. "I truly regret we have to do this, Captain, and I will accept whatever punishment you see fit when this is over, but I just want to make sure VOYAGER returns in one piece."

"I wonder how many others are part of this conspiracy," Seven asked under her breath.

"Bridge to engineering," Angel said.

"All systems ready, just waiting for evacuation procedure to complete," B'Elanna informed him.

Janeway sighed. "I'm not sure I want to know."

*

Harry Kim and Commander Chakotay were still trying to access the central computer over the small console in Chakotay's quarters, but they could not even access the library.

"It's no use, Sir," Kim said, resigning. "The doors are open, you should get to a life boat."

"Feel free to save yourself, Ensign," Chakotay replied, "I'll keep going."

"I'm staying with you," Kim said without hesitation. "We've been through worse situations on VOYAGER."

"Yeah," the First Officer nodded absently. He was not that sure. This time, the enemy was within the walls. Chakotay observed the displays nervously. "There MUST be a way we can get control over the bridge?"

Kim shook his head. "Tuvok's been very clever, he's overridden all security systems, we can't even blow VOYAGER up."

Still the red lights were flashing. "Warning. Abandon ship," the computer voice informed them for the n^th time.

The First Officer shook his head in disbelief. "Damnit! I won't abandon this ship!" He thought for a moment. "Can we get control over one of the minor systems without their noticing?"

Kim's fingers brushed the touchscreen. "As far as I can see, all they've left us are the environmental controls, and the replicators." Sarcastically, he added: "At least they don't let us freeze or starve to our deaths."

"Environmental controls. Replicators."Chakotay nodded slowly. "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."

Kim frowned. "Pardon?"

"It is alright, Harry. Just keep going."

*

Janeway had been walking around nervously like a caged animal, but she was sitting down now, gasping.

Seven looked at her questioningly.

"Is it just me... or is it hot in here?" Janeway asked in a whisper.

Seven frowned. The Captain was right. According to her perception, the temperature on the bridge had risen four degrees Kelvin within the past fifteen minutes.

Slowly, Seven reached into her hair and pulled a pin from it. She began to re-programm her cortical implants.

*

On a Saturday night, the bar was usually crowded, at least crowded enough for Colyta to find someone to sell her body to for the night. She was a professional from Risa, who had found her second home on the little planetoid of Kappa IV, a disregarded outpost near the Klingon border where the police were not taking matters too seriously. She had spent the afternoon washing her silky blond hair and finding a tight sexy outfit and then had started her usual crawl through the local pubs and bars, and almost as every Saturday, she ended up here. Just this time, it seemed she had come in vain. Only a few guests sat at the surrounding tables.

"Same as usual," Colyta ordered as she took a seat near the bar.

"Andorian Sunrise, as every week, Lady. And who's going to pay tonight?"

She chuckled. "We'll see. Some lonely Starfleet officer on away mission. A Klingon warrior on shore leave. Though I'd prefer an Andorian, their antennas make the job a little more interesting."

"Yes," the bartender confirmed with a dreamy look. "I once had an Andorian lover, his name was Llan'Thin'Goa, but he was so awfully jealous...!"

Colyta sipped from her cocktail. "Andorians are fun, but if you've once had a Vulcan during Ponn Farr, you'll never want anything else! Anyway, what about your love life?"

"Let's not talk about it. How's business?" the bartender asked her.

She shrugged. "A little slow lately. How 'bout you?"

The bartender sighed. "A Klingon warrior drunk on blood wine ruined business last night by starting to sing the part of Kahless in the opera Noch'Nekh. Just the first eight acts, but it was enough to empty the whole bar of guests." He sighed again. "Scared off most of my clients."

Colyta's gaze swept over the stage where a totally talent-free Bolian intonated the first stanzas of a folk song. She nodded. "I see what you mean."

There was a slight murmuring at the tables and only very reluctant applause. A couple passed the bar with a slight greeting at the bartender and left.

Colyta emptied her glass. "I guess I'll call it a night then as well."

"Oh no," he protested, "You can't leave me like that, we're open till one tonight!"

"Good luck," she replied lightly.

At that moment, a tall man in civilian clothes entered the bar and headed straight for one of the stools next to Colyta. The ridges above his nose and the ceremonial earring told her at once he was Bajoran. His hair was light brown, his eyes a shiny green, an earnest gaze giving them the depth of a crystal clear mountain stream on Colyta's home planet.

Colyta took her seat again. "Till one, you said? Y'know what? Pour me another drink, my friend."

The Bajoran walked with the grace of a predator, and there could be no doubt hundreds of Bajoran teenage girls had a crush on the silent type.

He immediately caught the bartender's attention as well. "What can I do for you, gorgeous?"

The Bajoran hardly looked up. "A Ractaccino, please."

"Right away, honey!"

Colyta shook her head in warning. He can't be gay, so let me go first! She watched as he was taking off his coat and supported his head with his hands, in a gesture that suggested he was either very tired or really desperate. Colyta was determined to change both. "So, you're a Bajoran, huh?" she started the conversation.

He nodded.

"Far away from home, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said plainly.

"Hi," she beamed, "I'm Colyta! What's your name?"

"I'm Ved... listen, I'm very tired. I just don't feel like small talk. "

Colyta exchanged a look with the bartender. This Bajoran didn't want to say he was 'very tired', he had begun to say he was a Vedek. Gee, she'd never taken a Vedek home. "That's okay," she just said, "I'm also one who likes getting straight to the point."

The stranger gestured at the bartender, who was still preparing his Klingon coffee. "Who's the bartender? Does he own this bar? Do you know him?"

Colyta sighed deeply.

The Bajoran seemed puzzled. "Did I say anything wrong?"

"No," she replied, looking troubled, "It's just that all remotely good-looking guys who come in here are gay!"

He chuckled. "No, no, I'm not gay."

"Oh, thank the Prophets!" Colyta burst out to his amusement.

He smiled faintly. "I've just heard a lot about this place. That's why I'm here. Khotur Ghia. The name of this bar. That's Klingon, isn't it?"

The bartender slowly approached and put the piping hot beverage in front of his guest. "Yes," he said, "It's the Klingon word for 'charity'."

"Interesting name," he observed.

With a little pride and also a slight trace of melancholy, the bartender replied: "I chose it for nostalgia basically. This place is my... sanctuary."

The Boolian had ended his song and stepped off the stage.

The Bajoran looked at the bartender with pleading eyes. "I've heard you have a special talent."

His host grinned. "I have many special talents, honey."

The Vedek lowered his voice. "I mean... in other parts of the galaxy, certain people say if certain people sang, you could... read their minds? See their future? Give explanations for what they can't understand?"

"That's Lorne, yeah," Colyta confirmed.

"The stage is all yours," Lorne said. "But, allow me to ask you something first: which question could be so pressing as to make you cross the whole quadrant just to come here and sing?"

The Vedek nodded. "I was watching the Shrine of the Prophets on Bajor. And I was entering the Shrine to hear them speak. They had never spoken to me before. But this time, it was different. I lit the candles, and the Orb opened, all by itself. And then, I heard that music..."

"Music?" Lorne asked.

"Yes, a song I hadn't heard before. I hope to find it here. But what I saw... It can't mean what I think it means. Oh, the fire, the destruction, the terror in children's eyes..." The Bajoran buried his head in his hands. "Oh God, it was so terrible."

Lorne pointed at the stage. "Choose a song, dear. You'll feel better."

The Vedek nodded slowly and walked toward the stage.

"What do you make of it?" Colyta asked.

Lorne shrugged.

Both of them were watching attentively as the Bajoran browsed through the isolinear chips and seemed to choose one of them blindly, completely at random.

He shyly looked around as he took the microphone.

Colyta looked at him admiringly. "A cute guy with a touching voice," she said. As Lorne did not reply, she turned around and froze. "Are you all right, Lorne?"

Lorne grabbed a bottle of Romulan Ale and downed it, his skin pale, merely greenish.

"What's wrong?" she asked in alarm.

"The vision he had," Lorne replied breathlessly, "It's the end."

"The end of what?" Colyta asked in utter confusion.

"This world," Lorne gasped, "And every other one. This song announces the end of the universe, Colyta. Apocalypse. The true apocalypse, this time."

"Lorne, how much have you drunk?" Colyta asked, but a look into Lorne's eyes silenced her.

"I heard this song, a long time ago. On a planet called Earth. And then I knew, wherever I heard this song again, the world would end."

Colyta frowned. "How can a song announce the apocalypse?"

Lorne did not reply as he kept listening and felt images flood his mind.

*

Waiting unnerved Angel, though – or perhaps because – he had waited for almost three hundred years and knew his wait was near its ending.

Tuvok put a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Angel."

The vampire turned around to look at his friend. The Vulcan's face was worn, he looked tired, sweat was trickling down his brow. "You don't look good, Tuvok."

Tuvok shook his head. "I am in perfect health. Do not worry about me."

Paris had heard the brief exchange of words and turned around. "I find it hot in here," he said, "There must be something wrong with the environmental controls. I'll check on that."´He looked up. "According to the displays, everything's all right, but the temperature I feel tells me somethin' different."

Angel looked at the hostages. Seven seemed okay, but the Captain's face was red, and she obviously found it difficult to breathe. "Computer, lower temperature by three degrees Kelvin."

"Access denied," the computer voice informed him.

Angel frowned. "Explain."

"The temperature is the lowest possible within Starfleet regulations, precisely 17.5 degrees Centigrade," the mechanical voice said.

"Can't be!" Paris exclaimed.

Tuvok took a tricorder and scanned the bridge. "According to the tricorder, the temperature here is thirty-five degrees. And rising. Thirty-six now."

"Fix it," Angel said impatiently, "High temperatures can't touch me, but I don't want anyone of you to be harmed by a computer mistake." He approached the bridge replicator system. "Computer, water. Four glasses. And one ration of A positive." As he gave the order, Angel realized he was starving as well. He had not touched a drop of blood since he had read Seven's report. The prospect of his chance to change his past had kept him from feeding, and now he really needed...

"Access denied," the computer voice said dryly. "The replicator system is currently being revised. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Paris looked up. "If you ask me, looks like sabotage."

Janeway smiled despite her condition. "Chakotay."

*

"What's the temperature on the bridge now, Harry?" Chakotay asked.

"Fourty-one point six. Replicators still turned off."

Chakotay nodded. "He'll have to do something soon, the humans on the bridge will be completely dehydrated by now."

After a pause, Harry asked: "Sir, what if... he doesn't care?"

The First Officer did not reply.

"Bridge to Commander Chakotay and Ensign Kim," Angel's voice cut the silence. "I must ask you to transfer environmental and replicator controls back to the bridge and leave VOYAGER immediately, for your own safety."

Chakotay's voice was harsh. "Starfleet doesn't bargain with terrorists."

"Strange words from a Maquis," Angel replied dryly.

"I'm Starfleet now, and so are you. If you think it over..."

"I got time, Chakotay. What about the others?" Angel's face appeared on the small monitor in Chakotay's quarters.

The First Officer was shocked at the picture. Angel in full game face, behind him Tuvok, steadying himself at the console. Janeway was sitting at the back, behind a force field, struggling for breath. Her hair was tangled, her uniform drenched with sweat. Tom Paris looked as if he was going to faint any moment.

"Look what you're doing, Chakotay," Angel said.

Chakotay shook his head. "It's what you are doing, Summers. You're not an evil person. I know you won't let the Captain or the others die from dehydration. Tom, Tuvok, are you really willing to follow this man to death? Summers, I don't know what your plan is, but it will be you who'll have their blood on his hands."

Angel was getting impatient. He tried to push back the thought of blood. Three days without blood.

Seven was watching the scene attentively. Tuvok, Paris and their leader seemed focused on the monitor, where Chakotay's stern eyes were staring coldly at them. Janeway's eyes were closed. She knew how serious the Captain's condition was, yet Summers seemed unimpressed. No one was paying attention to her. Seven had to act now. She had finished re-configuring her implants. With a jerk, she turned and touched the force field with the implants on her hand.

The field flickered, and then... was gone.

Seven jumped forward and lunghed herself at Lieutenant Summers.

Fast as lightning, he turned around and blocked her attack with superhuman strength. Within fractions of a second, he turned her arms on her back so she gasped in pain. Seven struggled, but was unable to move. She had to stifle a cry of demeanour and defeat.

Janeway struggled to her feet.

"Stand back, Kathryn." Angel's voice was just a whisper, yet it rang in the ears of those present. "Surrender, Chakotay. Or Seven dies."

"Chakotay, don't!" Seven screamed.

Angel saw her veins pulsating under her skin, could almost smell the adrenaline being pumped through her body by a heart beating wildly for fear of a pointless death.

Chakotay closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and caught a glimpse of Seven's blue eyes. His voice was hoarse. "Harry... transfer the controls back."

Suddenly, Seven came to life. "No!" Accessing all long-forgotten Borg techniques, she made one final attempt to break free from Angel's deadly grip, yanking her body back against his.

Angel clasped her shoulders. His sight was failing him. The starvation... the blood.... Instinctively, he brought his face down on her neck and thrust his fangs through her skin.

*

Wesley had not been sleeping. So the chiming of the intercom did not wake him, but seemed a welcome distraction from his deep and dark thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I'm very sorry to disturb you in your sleep, Your Excellency," his Vulcan attendant said.

"That is alright," Wesley replied. "What is the matter?"

"A call for you. I tried to tell the caller what time it is here, but she insisted on speaking to you immediately."

Wesley rose from the bed and wrapped a dressing gown around his shoulders. "I will take the call in my quarters." He smiled as he saw who wanted to talk to him. "Good to see you again. You look great."

The woman smiled. "Liar. Everytime I see you, I have aged, and you're still the same. Do you have any idea how depressing that is for a woman?"

Wesley returned the smile. "You are getting more beautiful with age, which I can't. How may I help you?"

Her blue eyes sparkled. "Actually, I was hoping this time I could help you. Remember the blood test you asked me for?"

Wesley chuckled. "That was twenty years ago, my friend. And you told me very convincingly there was no cure to my... condition."

"I know," she said, almost solemnly. "But now I'm not that sure."

"Let sleeping dogs lie," he said with melancholy in his eyes, "I am what I am, and I shall never be different."

She shook her head. "I'm still on it, Wes, and I never stopped. But yesterday I came across a very curious case. A woman came to me complaining about pain in her chest. It was an easy operation, I just replicated a new heart for her so she could take part in the marathon. Yet when I did a routine check on her blood... I noticed the same virus as in your blood."

"Wish you wouldn't call it a virus after all you know about vampires."

"You don't understand," she said, "That woman was alive, her heart was beating, she had a reflection and all... but her blood had the characteristics of vampires. I believe she used to be a vampire, but she is mortal now. I just thought you'd want to know."

He cleared his voice, trying to gain control over the hope flashing in his mind again. "I appreciate your help."

"I'm working on it. She's coming round tomorrow for a checkup. I truly think I can help you here, Wes. And I still owe you. Sleep well. I'll call again."

The screen went dark. Wesley smiled at the young (and to him, she still was) woman's enthusiasm. To him she was still the girl she had been the day their friendship began.

"I love nostalgic technology, that 20^th century movie theater downtown is adorable!" June Majors, second year student at Starfleet Academy, was completely enthusiastic.

"Yeah, I love it too," Beverly Howard replied, "But the movie was ridiculous. What's it called again, Nox...somethin'?!"

"'Nosferatu," their French roommate Françoise corrected her. "A phantom of the night!"

Beverly yawned. "It was such a childish plot. Dead people coming back to life and sucking the blood of the living? That was what people were afraid of in the 20^th century?"

"What makes you so certain it can't be?" June asked, "Bolians can be dead for 30 days and be reanimated."

"'Cos they are not dead," Beverly protested, "Their body functions are reduced to a minimum that would be considered dead in most species. But why am I explaining this to someone who's studying medicine as well? I'm a doctor, not an undertaker!"

"Aren't you sometimes dreaming," Françoise asked, "of a love stronger than death?"

"The French are glad to die for love," June mocked her, "But I guess Bev is dreaming of a special someone who is very much alive, am I right?"

Beverly blushed deeply.

Françoise clasped her hand in enthusiasm. "Did Jack ask you out yet?"

Beverly giggled at the excitement of her friends. "We went to Professor Quang's open lecture last week!"

June looked disappointed. "An open lecture at Starfleet Academy doesn't sound like a date to me exactly."

"Yes," Françoise said, "You have to make the first move!"

Beverly shook her head. "I couldn't possibly, I can't ask a guy out!"

The three girls were walking back over the campus, taking the cut through the extensive shady gardens on the Academy grounds in San Francisco. The sun had set about half and hour before, and it was now getting dark fast.

Three boys were approaching from the opposite direction.

"Ladies," one of them addressed June with an old-fashioned bow that made the girls giggle again. "Have you seen someone from Campus Watch?"

Beverly and the others exchanged brief looks.

"No, don't think so," Françoise replied.

The guy grinned. "Good."

Beverly shrieked as the faces of the boys became marred, deep ridges appeared on their foreheads, and their teeth lengthened by a few inches.

June and Françoise were fleeing into opposite directions, but the guys were faster. Beverly ran, but her attacker suddenly appeared in front of her, out of thin air as it seemed to her.

She was too scared to scream.

Cold hands seized her and pushed away her red hair from her shoulders, baring her neck.

"My lucky day," he said.

"I don't think so," a male voice in a remarkable British accent replied behind him. Beverly watched in shock as her attacker dissolved into ashes.

She was aware of the dark figure of a slender man, who now was taking on the other two attackers.

"Run," he told the girls, and June and Françoise set off into the darkness. Beverly could not run. She no longer felt she was in danger.

The man moved like a shadow, with the skill and grace of a cat, and within seconds, the men who had scared her out of her wits were dissolving as well.

He cleared his long dark coat off the dust. Then his eyes caught hers. "You are still here?"

Beverly stared at him. "You... They... were they vampires?"

He nodded slowly.

"That can't be," Beverly gasped, "I'm becoming a scientist, I know vampires do not exist, I mean, it's a legend. Isn't it?"

The stranger smiled faintly. "You had better go back to student accomodation."

Beverly nodded slowly. "Thank you." She clasped his hand. It was icy. She looked up at him with curiosity, but without fear. Her hand felt for his pulse. There was none. "You are..."

He pushed her hand away gently. "I would reckon I have to go." He turned around to vanish into the night.

"Wait!" Beverly shouted.

"Yes?"

"What's your name?"

"Wesley." With that, he disappeared.

Beverly looked around, but she knew he was too fast for her to follow. "Wesley," she repeated thoughtfully, "I kind of like the name."

*

Seven felt like falling. This was the end. She had been Borg. She had thought her assimilation was the end, a frightened child turned into a machine. She had become human. She had thought it was the end, cut off from the collective, trapped within that horrible... silence. But she had lived. Now her blood was taken from her. Seven felt no pain, just falling, just darkness--- in the darkness, she could hear her mother's voice from her subconsciousness as someone put her into her mother's arms. We'll take care of you, little Annika. I promise.

Seven wanted to clasp her mother's hand. To follow her into the light.

But then...

She was suddenly called back to reality as someone pushed her away violently against the console. Her legs were shaking as her vision cleared.

Angel was several yards away from her, his fangs and mouth covered with her blood, but his eyes looked at her in terror.

With surprise, she noticed she wasn't dead.

Angel wiped his mouth with his hand. "Get her off my bridge. Lock her up with Janeway, Chakotay and Kim."

Seven stared at him in triumph. "I'm sorry if my blood wasn't to your taste."

Angel shook his head. "Her blood has been tainted by the Borg. Get her gone."

Still looking shocked, Angel watched as the prisoners were beamed off the bridge, straight to a detention cell.

He literally fell into the center chair.

"We have full replicator control," Tuvok announced. "Can I get you anything?"

Angel looked at the Vulcan with desperate eyes. "When I drank from her... from Seven... I just couldn't..."

"Her blood is full of nanites, part of the assimilation process," Tuvok explained.

Angel shook his head. "No. The nanites weren't the problem. When I drank her blood... it was like I tasted my own."

"You shouldn't have surrendered," Seven told Chakotay reproachfully.

"And let him kill you?" he snapped back. "I'm the First Officer, I'm responsible for the well-being of our crew."

"He wouldn't have killed me," Seven said slowly.

"Look at your wounds," Harry disagreed, "He BIT you!"

"He's a vampire," Chakotay explained.

"What?" The Ensign was totally flabbergasted.

"Long story," Janeway sighed.

Chakotay had a careful look at the two marks on Seven's neck. "Does it hurt?"

"It's nothing, they're closing already," Seven replied absently.

"I should've woken you when he came onto the bridge," Harry said, casting his eyes down.

"There's no point in placing the blame," Janeway said bluntly, "I want him off my bridge ASAP, so let's figure out a way out of this detention cell! I still can't believe what Tuvok did!"

"Yes, Kathryn," Chakotay replied thoughtfully, thinking of his and Janeway's first encounter in the badlands, "He has always been a very convincing traitor."

"I can't get out of my head what Angel said to him," Janeway said,"'Good to have you back on the team.' Why 'back'? Have they ever served together before?"

"'In this life, and in every other one,'" Seven added. "According to my database, Species 452 does not hold a belief in reincarnation."

"VULCANS, Seven," Chakotay chided her mildly with a smile, "Not 'Species 452'. Vulcans."

"I didn't get that either," Janeway admitted, "Maybe he was speaking metaphorically."

"Tuvok? I doubt that," Harry said. "Vulcans don't have a reputation for poetry."

"The way he looked at me..." Seven slowly began.

"Tuvok?" Kim asked, puzzled.

"Lieutenant Summers," Seven replied. "He seemed... shocked."

"Maybe Borg blood isn't on the menu in the Alpha Quadrant a lot," Harry said sarcastically.

"It was more than that," she insisted.

"What makes you so sure?" Janeway wanted to know.

Seven gazed at her with an expression that made Janeway shudder. "I am familiar with the looks of fear, Captain. I can identify them anywhere. I just cannot make sense of it this time."

*

"Please specify the nature of the medical emergency," the Doctor said, then sighed irritatedly. "I wish people wouldn't let me say my text each and every time!" He looked around in confusion to see he was in sickbay.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," a tiny voice said, "But I didn't know where to go! I just was so tired after school, so I went to sleep, and when I woke up, the whole ship was deserted, there was red alert, and I can't find Seven!"

Despite the situation, the Doctor had to smile: the desperate look on the little girl's face was almost comic. "Calm down, Naomi," he advised her. "I'm afraid the situation has gone from bad to worse while I was deactivated." He hesitated. "How did you manage to get past Angel's password?"

Naomi smiled shyly and pointed over the Doctor's shoulder. "She told me."

The Doctor turned around and suddenly began to moan: "Nononono..."

Anya grinned. "I'm also happy to see you, Giles."

His eyes were pure resignation. "So you've made a new career, Anya? From vengeance demon to hacker?"

Anya shook her head. "Hell, no, I'm still a demon, Giles. Angel's password wasn't too hard to figure out, to give you a hint, it starts with a B..."

"So, I do not suppose you teleported through three quadrants just to say 'hi'?"

"Wish I had!" Anya replied, "Oh, by the way, Giles, Spike asked me to say 'hi'."

The Doctor hung his head. "Thanks, I do appreciate that," he said sarcastically.

Anya looked around sickbay. "So you're a Doctor, now, quite impressing given you were a simple librarian and a magic retailer. But you're right, I'm not here to chat. Actually, I'm here to prevent a cosmic catastrophe. Just like old times!" She sighed. "To be honest, I miss the Scoobies. Apart from Xander, of course. But Willow with her magic, oh, and Tara – gone too soon. And Dawnie... how time flies! I miss Buffy, too. I really do! Miss Perfect was good at her job. Did you know Spike has kept her picture for three hundred years?"

Naomi watched them with interest and curiosity. "That's old, even for a Vulcan!"

Anya turned to the girl. "Oh, he isn't a Vul..."

The Doctor lowered his voice. "Don't you think we should postpone this discussion?"

Anya looked at Naomi, puzzled. "Why? We've always discussed matters with the Slay..." She stopped abruptly at the Doctor's warning gaze. "Oh, I see, under sixteen! No calling yet. Sorry, my mistake!"

Naomi was completely confused now. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but can we please go and find Seven? I'm scared!"

Anya smiled. "Wait for another ten years, sweetie, and they will all be scared of you!"

The Doctor was getting impatient. "Anya, we do need your help. We must find out what Angel is up to."

Anya yawned. "Flying VOYAGER through a wormhole that leads to 21^st century Earth, changing the past, bringing Buffy back, and living happily ever after, not too happily of course, not giving a damn he's causing an apocalypse. Any questions?"

"Yes," The Doctor said angrily, "How do we stop Angel?"

"We can't, that's why I'm here. Annika can."

"Seven?" Naomi asked. "So we're now going to find Seven?"

"Yes," Anya confirmed, "We let her confront Angel, he sees his mistake, goes back to brooding, and we don't get an apocalypse. That's the idea. Any more questions?"

"Yes," Naomi said. "Who's Angel? What's so special about this Angel?"

With sparkling eyes, Anya replied: "As I said before: wait for another ten years." She tossed the Doctor a mobile emitter. "Can we go?"

He gave her a questioning look. "Where did you get that one from? They haven't been invented yet!"

She shrugged. "Connections."

Colyta watched the sleeping Bajoran Vedek beside her. Normally, she asked her visitors politely to go after they had satisfied their needs, but not that night. It was four in the morning already, it was doubtful she would get another paying customer, and she had to admit she felt sorry for him. He was desperate. And after Lorne had read him, he was desperate as well. He had left the bar immediately. Colyta had creeped upstairs behind him to his apartment, just to make sure he was alright. The door had been open only by a chink. But it had been enough for her to hear his constant sobs. Colyta had gently pulled the door close and left. She had never heard Lorne cry, and it disturbed her. She just didn't want to sleep alone tonight.

The Vedek shuddered against her in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering. Colyta realized she did not even know his name.

He turned to the other side, and then back. "No, please," he whispered.

Colyta touched his shoulder, ever so slightly. "It's okay," she said quietly. "Sleep. You can stay for the night."

He did not seem to hear her. "No, I beg you!" Tears began to run down his cheeks, his skin was hot and cold at the same time.

"Wake up, you're having a nightmare," Colyta said, now with concern in her voice.

He was too lost in his dreams to respond.

"Wake up!" Colyta grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

The Vedek sat suddenly straight up in the bed. "I saw it," he gasped, eyes wide open.

"What?" the girl asked, puzzled.

He could barely breathe. "The Orb. I can't forget it. I saw it in the Orb of Time. A dark universe, those of us who survive are becoming slaves. He plunges the universe into chaos, destroys all we have achieved. He's ruthless. He doesn't care about anything any more. He will move backwards in time – oh, it's unnatural. You must not touch the flow of time. But he will, and it will be our end."

"Who?"

The Vedek's expression darkened. "There was... a man... or, no, not a man. He looks like one, but he isn't."

"I don't understand," Colyta said, her stomach tightening.

"He's not human. He's... I don't know, Bajoran faith doesn't exactly have that concept, but... I believe he is an angel, journeying beyond the stars. If the Prophets have chosen me to prevent that..." Suddenly, he seemed much calmer. "If I can inform Starfleet Command that there will be an offence against the Prime Temporal Directive... I will call them."

"You should do that, first thing in the morning " Colyta replied, not sure whether Starfleet would listen to a religious visionary talking about angels breaking the laws of time, or if, in case angels existed, Starfleet would ever be able to stop a messenger of the gods. But it was certainly important for her guest to relax.

The Vedek rose and walked towards the bathroom. "I need a hot bath."

Colyta nodded. "Sure. Feel like home."

He closed the door behind him.

Colyta walked towards the console on the other side of the room and established a subspace connection.

A woman's face appeared on the screen. "Yes." She looked at her. "What do you want? You won't get any more credits for just keeping an eye on that bar! No bargaining!"

Colyta shook her head. "I'm not calling because I want a pay rise. By the way, it would be a good idea... But... you told me to call you immediately if anyone ever mentioned an apocalypse."

The woman seemed suddenly more attentive. "Yes?"

"Well, there was that guy. Bajoran. Saw somethin' in some Orb of Time. Went on rambling about an angel plunging the world into chaos and such. Event wants to call Starfleet and tell them about someone breaking the Prime Time Directive or so."

"The Prime Temporal Directive."

"Yeah, whatever. Thought you'd want to know."

The woman nodded slowly. "Thank you, Colyta. I'll double your payment for next month. Keep watching. Good night."

Colyta looked surprised, but also quite anxious. "It's not true, right? The guy's crazy, isn't he?"

The conversation was terminated from the other end of the line.

*

Wesley had almost expected the chime at his door. After Beverly's call, he had abandoned the thought of rest till morning. "Come in."

T'Lia of Vulcan, or rather Lilah Morgan, entered the room. She was dressed in a long gown in Vulcan style that reached down to her ankles. "Were you sleeping?"

"It is not fair," Wesley said, "that a vampire has to be invited, whereas you can come and go as you please."

T'Lia looked at him coldly. In her former life, she would have chuckled at that remark. Not now. "One of my informants just called me. The day we knew would arrive has come. I just wanted to tell you there is no need to worry. Angel does not know what he will set in motion. All will go well. For me. And for you, if you're on my side." She tried to read from his eyes and regretted once again there was no way to mindmelt with a vampire. "Are you?"

Wesley's reply was short, yet full of resignation. "Undress."

The Vulcan gown slid from her shoulders down to the floor.

An hour later, Colyta found the Vedek's dead body in her bathtub.

*

Dr Beverly Crusher usually enjoyed Starfleet's special medical assigments for physicians of her reputation. Though she loved her work aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, temporary missions such as this one – surveillance of the newly established medical research unit of the Federation colony on Koman IV – were a welcome change, especially when they enabled her to pass her experience on to a young team of highly motivated doctors and researchers. Yet this time, she had been enthusiastic from the beginning, since she was working with Doctor Ogawa, who had been a nurse and a close friend on the Enterprise before she decided to take up her studies of medicine. Beverly was impressed by Ogawa's achievements, the research unit was equipped with state of the art technology, and the staff was by no means inferior to these standards. It had reminded Beverly of her own roots as a young doctor on her first assignment, and working here had seemed more like a vacation than a mission. Until the day the young woman, no older than 20, maybe 21, had entered the facility.

Beverly just had to call Wesley to tell him what she had discovered in the young woman's blood. Now she was anxiously waiting for her to turn up. She was late for the appointment. What if she didn't turn up? Beverly was chiding herself for not keeping her mouth shut. She had evoked hopes in Wesley, and he would be the more disappointed if they turned out to be empty promises.

Yet that moment, the door opened, and in walked the young woman, the sun making her blond hair all the more shiny. She had a winning smile and the athletic figure of the professional marathon runner she was training to become. With her new heart, that would not be too difficult. Beverly could see the woman's reflection in the tiles and windows.

"Isn't this the most beautiful morning, Doctor Crusher?" she said in the broad dialect of the colonists of Koman, which however betrayed she was just imitating and had probably grown up on Earth. As she had told Beverly before, she had moved here with her husband, a good-looking macrobiologist who had found work at the medical center.

"It really is, have you noticed the K'Thora bushes are in full bloom, the sun's good for them, too. How are you, Mrs DeLorian? Are you in any pain?" Beverly took up the tricorder.

"No, I'm fine, actually, I've never felt better!" DeLorian sat down on one of the medical beds.

Beverly began to scan her slowly. "The heart seems to be doing well."

"Oh, it is- I've started training again, there was no difficulty. I think I'll take part in next month's city marathon."

Beverly nodded, satisfied. "I don't see why you shouldn't. My assignment will last another six weeks, so I'll be there to keep my fingers crossed for you."

DeLorian gave her a smile. "Thank you, Doctor. Before you leave, you have to join Jack and me for dinner some time, will you? If you have the time, I mean."

"Of course." Beverly closed the tricorder. "For you, I'll make the time.

"Great." DeLorian stood up. "We're looking forward to it. I'll call you! Thanks again, Doc." She headed for the door.

"Er... could you wait for a moment, Mrs DeLorian?" Beverly asked nervously, not sure how to put this.

"Yes?" DeLorian's blue eyes were looking at her expectantly.

"I have a few additional questions. Do you have another moment?" Beverly could not help but notice her patient was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. She gestured at the empty chairs next to her desk.

Hesitantly, DeLorian walked over to the desk and took a seat.

Beverly pretended to browse through some medical data. She cleared her voice. "No need to be nervous, this is just Starfleet standard procedure. After a heart operation, we usually ask our patients a few questions for the statistics."

"Sure," DeLorian said and tried to give a relaxed impression.

In Beverly's experienced eyes, she failed. "Were there any heart diseases in your family?"

"No," she said.

"Okay." Beverly put that down. "What about infections, such as Trigellian measles?"

"None I can think of," the young woman replied.

"Any blood diseases? Anemia?"

"None," DeLorian replied, just a little too fast.

"That's strange," Beverly said hesitantly, watching her patient attentively, "When I ran the routine blood tests, there was... an anomaly."

DeLorian's eyes narrowed. "I really gotta go. Jack's mom is coming over for the week-end, and I got so much work to do, I..." She rose and stumbled towards the exit.

"Wait, please," Beverly said, "Protocol requires I ask you these questions."

DeLorian looked at her with dismay. "Look, I'm fine. Write that in your report. See ya."

She almost ran out and left a very confused Beverly behind.

*

Captain Janeway almost fainted as the force field in front of the detention cell flickered and... was gone.

"Doctor!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"Is everyone unharmed?" The Doctor asked immediately.

"Captain Janeway's still a little weak, but not seriously hurt," Chakotay informed him, leading Janeway from the cell, supporting her arm. "Slowly," he said gently.

Why did Seven feel a pang at the sight? She was still too unfamiliar with human emotions to recognize jealousy when she felt it.

"I'm fine," Janeway disagreed angrily, pushing his arm away, "But my ship's in danger!"

"Seven, we've found you!" Naomi said happily.

"Naomi Wildman, what are you doing on this ship still?" Seven replied in a strict tone.

Naomi made a guilty little face. "I fell asleep."

"Stop it," Anya said impatiently. "We have a universe to rescue!"

Seven frowned. "Who are you?"

"Your saviour," Anya replied matter-of-factly, then she gave Seven an admiring look. "How time flies. You are so... grown-up. I'm so proud of you, Annika!"

Seven looked at the Doctor questioningly.

The Doctor sighed deeply. "Can we leave the introductions until later? Anya is a friend, and, no, she's not human, and, yes, she came a long way, and no, I can't explain to you how she got here, think of it as a... long range transport. Lieutenant Summers turned off my programme and stole my mobile emittor. He's dangerous, he..."

"We know," Janeway said grimly as she pushed open the wall panel of the cell, distributing emergency phasers to all her crewmen. "It's time we taught him a lesson."

The Doctor realized he wouldn't want Janeway for an enemy.

Seven adjusted the phaser.

Then she felt someone tearing at her uniform. As she looked down, she realized it was Naomi.

"What is it?" Seven asked.

Naomi held up a sharpened piece of wood. "I think you should take this."

"Where did you get that one from?" Seven wanted to know, "You could have hurt yourself! That's not a child's toy!"

Naomi shook her head. "I replicated it."

"You WHAT?" Seven asked, and Naomi feared she would get really angry now. Yet seven just asked: "But why?"

The little girl shrugged. "I dreamed it. In my dream, a black woman with filthy hair showed me this, she told me to make one. And so I just replicated this."

"What woman?" Seven asked sharply.

"A woman from Terra," Naomi said shyly. "Her body was all painted with white symbols, and a fire was burning in the middle of a desert."

"The first Slayer," the Doctor gasped in astonishment. "She's so young, and yet she has prophetic dreams about her destiny!"

Seven stared at the stake Naomi had put into her hand.

Naomi nodded reassuringly. "Take it with you, Seven. It's a weapon, I think."

Anya put her hand on his arm, seeming almost moved to tears. "That's my girl!"

Seven nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." She turned to Harry. "Ensign Kim, take Naomi to a life boat and leave."

"No," Naomi protested, "I want to stay with you!"

"Impossible," Seven refused. "Ensign, you heard me."

"Aye." Harry took Naomi's hand and led her down the corridor. Naomi looked back at Seven, fear in her eyes. "Be careful. Please."

Seven nodded fiercely, then she followed Janeway, Chakotay, Anya and the Doctor.

Janeway headed for the turbolift.

"All turbolift transports must be authorized by personal authentification of Lieutenant Angel Summers," the computer voice informed them.

Anya cleared her voice, then spoke in Angel's deep tone: "Authorisation Lieutenant Angel Summers. Password B-U-double F-Y."

"Permission granted," the mechanical voice replied, "Turbolift access activated."

"Wow," Chakotay just said. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"It's kinda what I do," Anya shrugged and stepped out of the turbolift. "Good luck."

"Are you not coming with us?" The Doctor asked.

Anya shook her head. "I'm a demon. No interfering with human affairs. Prime Directive, you see."

Janeway did not even seem to notice the reply. With a dark expression, she said: "Bridge."

*

Angel was pacing the bridge nervously. "I just don't get it." He still felt the shock of tasting Seven's blood. He had been starving, yet it had repelled him like nothing before. He had the sudden feeling it might be a mistake to cross over without knowing the reason why.

Tom turned around to look at him. "If we want to pass through the wormhole, now would be the time."

Tuvok's face was full of concern. "You can still turn back, Angel. You know that, don't you."

Angel shook his head. "I've made up my mind. Tom... take us in."

Tom slowly turned the huge spaceship around, facing the wormhole before them, shiny and yet potentially deadly for all of them. It was an eye in the darkness, pulsating and full of tensions, a temple to the Bajorans, and yet the gates of hell for Angel.

"Course set," Tom said.

Angel straightened his shoulders. His voice was just a whisper as he confirmed his final command: "Energize."

Tom's hand moved over the console when suddenly the turbo lift doors slid open, and a phaser beam cut the scene, and Tom Paris slipped from his chair, unconscious.

Tuvok spun around and sought shelter behind the console, firing at the intruders.

Janeway fired at Tuvok.

Chakotay guarded her.

"I thought we'd talked about this, Kathryn." Angel took a phaser and fired, as fast as lightning. He managed to stun Chakotay.

"Chakotay!" Seven rushed to the First Officer's side. To her relief, he was just stunned, but seemed stable.

Janeway managed a direct phaser hit at Angel. "Get off my bridge!" she shouted.

The vampire fired back. "No."

The Doctor fired at Tuvok several times, but hit no more than a few areas on the touchscreen of the console's display. Then he suddenly noticed his phaser had run out of energy.

Tuvok rushed forward to get hold of the Doctor's mobile emitter.

The Doctor paled. He knew he did not stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat with a Vulcan.

Angel fought his way to the navigation console with his phaser.

Seven knew in an instant he would just have to press one button, and he would send them all through the wormhole at full speed. It would tear VOYAGER apart. She must not let that happen.

Angel turned and made a run for the console.

Janeway had enough. Angel did not mind normal phaser fire. She set her phaser to kill... and fired.

Tuvok's hand was at the Doctor's emittor. Then he saw the Captain fire. His eyes widened as he screamed a warning. "Angel, no!"

Angel was fully hit by the phaser beam. He dropped his phaser and staggered backwards, dazed. "I'm okay," he managed to say. Then he thrust his body forward in one final attempt to reach the console.

Suddenly, Tuvok's eyes met the Doctor's.

"You were afraid for him," the Doctor said in astonishment. "Tuvok, you are... oh my God."

Tuvok's dark eyes looked at him in sudden recognition. "Giles," he whispered.

The Doctor dropped his useless phaser. "Faith."

They were staring at each other.

"It doesn't make any sense," the Doctor stuttered, "Vulcans do not reincarnate."

"Right, Giles," Tuvok said with a sparkle the Watcher had last seen in Faith's equally black eyes, "But Slayers do." He snatched the emittor from the Doctor's arm and ducked down behind the console, firing at the Captain.

Angel was hit by Janeway's phaser once again. His dead muscles were aching. He went into game face to stand the pain. He raised his hand to energize. "This won't stop me," he pressed out between his teeth.

Seven's fingers closed around his wrist firmly, pulling him around towards her, away from the console, cold fury in her eyes. "But I will."

She hit him in the face. Once, twice.

Angel needed just these few seconds to recover. Then he fought her back with all his strength. Seven felt her lip was bleeding, she was in pain, but she drove her fist into his stomach with force.

Janeway did not dare to fire, afraid she might hit Seven, and busy to fend off Tuvok's phaser fire.

Angel blocked Seven's blows and returned them with equal strength, his eyes betraying he felt more pain hitting her than being hit himself. Seven stumbled to the floor, the world drifting into darkness before her eyes.

The vampire staggered towards the console, bending over it in one last effort.

Then he felt Seven's shadow fall on him, and the wooden stake that was pressed closely to his back. "You're under arrest," Seven said. "Stand back, or I will use this," Seven warned him.

"Come on, do it," he encouraged her.

Seven hesitated.

Angel slowly turned around, steadying himself with one hand on the edge of the console. With the other hand, he slowly guided the stake Seven held directly over his heart.

"Go away from the console," she said, almost pleading.

"Make me," he replied coldly, his hand wandering over the display almost unnoticed.

Seven realized in a shock her hand was trembling.

"You can't," Angel said, "Right? Just as I couldn't kill you."

Seven stared at him. "What are you trying to say?"

Angel's eyes locked on hers. "Never wondered about your name?"

"I'm Seven of Nine," Seven insisted, pressing the stake closer to his heart.

Angel did not show a sign of fear. "I mean your real name, Annika. Annika. Derivation of Anne. As in Buffy Anne Summers," he said.

"No," Seven said fiercely.

"Annika Hanson," Angel repeated.

"I'm not Buffy Summers," Seven almost screamed, eyes blazing.

"Correct," Angel said, "You're her daughter."

"You're a liar!"

"I'm your father." Angel spun around faster than a human eye could see, Seven's eyes, improved by Borg technology, followed his moves, but she could not prevent his fingers from touching the button.

He closed his eyes in relief. He had done it.

VOYAGER set off in a blaze of white light as the warp engines energized to full power, and the ship sped into the wormhole before them.

9

Wesley woke up in the morning to find his bed empty and Lilah gone. He got dressed with a very bad feeling. He was sure something was wrong. He did not take the time to shave, but hurried over the corridor to the quarters assigned to Drusilla.

"Where's Lilah?" he inquired.

"Gone," Dru said, giggling insanely, looking at the ceiling as she danced to a music only she could hear. "Said she had a trip to make. The stars... little wicked woman travelling to the stars... shining... so beautiful... oh, and now they're gone..."

*

As usually, Spike ignored the chime at his door. "Keep out!" he ordered when the sound became irritating. "Anya, that you again?"

At that moment, the doors slid aside. A Vulcan woman walked in unbidden.

Spike sat up on the bed. "What the 'ell d'you want?"

"I'm afraid we haven't been introduced," she said with a trace of amusement in her voice. "I am T'Lia of Vulcan."

"I bloody don't care who you are," he replied snappishly.

A ghost of a smile rushed over her otherwise wooden expression. "I imagine there are things you do care about." He fingers brushed the holo image at his bedside ever so slightly, then there was an iron grip around her wrist.

"Don't touch that," he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Must get the edge off you that you couldn't save her," she said. Before she could even move, Spike's arm was around her neck, pressing her sstrongly against the wall.

"What d'you want?" he whispered, tightening the grip. "I'm not asking again!"

"Logic dictates you let me breathe if you want me to talk," T'Lia replied, unimpressed.

With a growl, Spike let her go. T'Lia, face to face with his vampire countenance, maintained her expressionless mask. "The question is not what I want," she said, "The real question is what you want, William."

She took a small box from her pocket and placed it on the table.

"A mobile holo projector?" Spike asked skeptically.

T'Lia switched it on.

The programme caught Spike unprepared.

A strikingly similar holo projection of Buffy Summers appeared in front of him, the way she had looked on the day she had died. Her warm smile, her blond hair in the wind. The illusion was perfect. Suddenly, the walls of his crypt disappeared, and he was down in the Salem catacombs once again, where Buffy was fighting Angelus, dueling verbally as well as physically.

"This isn't real," Spike said, resisting the urge to join in the fight. "This was long ago...!"

Then Angelus's voice cut him off, attacking Buffy. "You've improved a great deal. You probably didn't learn from Riley, more likely from Spike. Though Cordelia's still much better than you."

"Do you really sleep with that slut?"

"She's a fantasy," Angelus chuckled.

Buffy tried to shake off the vision of the two of them together. She seized the stake she had lost and turned at him to finish him off while he was unguarded.

His eyes met hers. "I needed a new kitchen table."

Spike felt adrenaline rushing through his lifeless veins. That was the moment Buffy had hesitated for too long, picturing the former Queen C and her Angel. Then his hand went up against her wrist and pressed so hard she had to drop the stake. He pulled her close and held her in a death grip.

Buffy's eyes met Spikes. "Help me," she whispered breathlessly.

Only then did Spike realize a wooden stake materializing in his hand. It was no use telling himself this wasn't real. He took the stake and attacked Angelus. The other vampire was too surprised at the sudden attack and loosened his grip on Buffy so she managed to break free. She fell to the ground, gasping and choking, struggling for breath.

Spike landed another blow at Angelus. Again, and again, he hit, blind with hatred, not noticing the holographic adversary barely fought back.

Then he raised the stake and brought it down hard.

Angelus dissolved into dust.

"Buffy!" Spike, hands and coat covered with dust, rushed to her side.

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Thank God you were here," she whispered.

Then the catacombs were suddenly crowded. Dawn, Connor, Cordy, Fred, Gunn, they were all there.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried out.

"Cavalry's here!" Cordy shouted, then she suddenly realized she stood in Angelus's ashes. "Whoops. We're late."

Dawn stared at Spike. "You... took him on alone?"

Spike gave her a faint smile. "Staked 'im. No big deal."

Dawn's eyes filled with tears. "You saved Buffy's life tonight. I can never repay you."

Cordy looked at Spike with gratefulness. "Angel would have wanted it that way. I know he would thank you if he were here."

Spike nodded absently.

Buffy's lips curled into a smile. "Spike didn't have much of a choice. He's my champion, after all."

"Always by your side," Spike said gently, cradling her in his arms. "Couldn't lose you again."

Buffy's hand stroked his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

He bent down and kissed her. After a long moment, he asked slowly: "For what, luv?"

Buffy smiled faintly. "That it took me so long to realize it's you. It's always been you."

Spike closed his eyes as pain washed over him.

Buffy gazed at him with so much love it broke his heart.

He let go off the holographic Buffy, and turned off the projector, which required enormous strength of will. He buried his head in his hands.

"Get out," he whispered between his teeth. "I don't need a mockery of all that's important to me."

"Strange," T'Lia replied, "Very strange words for someone who had a robot build so he could endulge in the illusion of a Slayer eager to fulfill his needs."

Spike shook his head. "That was a lifetime ago. More than one, actually. Now leave while you can- I'll kill ya if you bother me with illusions again."

T'Lia pocketed the projector. "What I offer you, William, is not the illusion. What I offer you is the real thing. Go back in time, save Buffy Summers from Angelus, be her hero, and, more importantly to weak species such as yours, win her heart for all eternity."

Spike looked up. "People who make bad jokes don't survive long 'round here, y'know. And neither do liars."

The Vulcan nodded. "Look at me, William. I'm a Vulcan. Are we Vulcans especially known for our sense of humour? And why would I lie to you, would that be logical?"

Spike's eyes narrowed. "How?"

T'Lia smiled inwardly. She'd won. "Have you ever heard of the Guardian of Forever?"

Spike waved his hand dismissively. "A portal. O'course I know. Went to Starfleet Academy several times. Discovered by James T. Kirk, some time ago, has been forbidden territory and heavily guarded by the Federation ever since. Too dangerous, Prime Temporal Directive, blah blah, know all the stuff. Impossible to get there. Checked on it myself."

"There are always possiblities, especially when you're an important person on Vulcan with a lot of political influence and black magic," T'Lia replied. "I get you in there, and you can go back to the 21^st century and save the day. Your fantasy could become your reality, William. Would you like that?"

Spike still wasn't entirely convinced. " Why do you have an interest in making me happy? What's in for you?"

T'Lia's voice was cold, even for a Vulcan. "A favour. I just want you to store an artifact for me when you get back to the past."

Spike's face distorted into a dark grin. "Where do I sign?"

*

The recreation area of the passenger ship BOLERO was busy at this hour. All kinds of people of different races were buzzing around the bar; at some tables, Ferengi men were negotiating business conditions, or rather, trying to find ways of cheating on one another. BOLERO was not the fastest, but certainly the cheapest means of getting from A to B, so hundreds of passengers crowded in the bar to pass the time until they arrived at their destinations.

Therefore, the two women sitting at a table in the corner of the bar went unnoticed. One of the women was an ancient Vulcan woman, wearing a plain dark dress. Her pointed ears were wrinkled, as were the strong features of her face. Her aquiline nose gave her countenance a kind of aristocratic look, but a strict expression as well. Her name was T'Mira. Being of one of Vulcan's old, yet comparatively poor aristocracy, she had spent most of her life in a convent, studying Surak's teachings.

The other woman was a young Klingon warrior. Her face was hidden by a burgundy cape pulled tightly around her. The unlikely companions were talking in low voices.

"How long will the journey take us?" the Klingon asked.

"About another day or two," the T'Mira answered. "You can spend the time doing some exercise, Khassya."

Khassya gave her a good-natured, whole-hearted laugh. "Where, in our quarters? The Bolian family we're sharing with would be very amused to see me doing B'athleth training near their little children."

Her guardian raised a brow. Since the death of Khassya's parents, she had taken care of the Klingon's education, yet she came to realize too often for her liking that the young Klingon and herself disagreed. "You can catch up with your reading," T'Mira suggested. "Education is the most important thing nowadays."

Khassya rose from her seat and began to pace impatiently. "Another two days on this vessel without fresh air and training under the open sky will drive me insane! I hate being locked up here!"

"You will have to learn to control your emotions," T'Mira remarked.

"I'm a Klingon, emotions are part of my combat tactics!" Khassya contradicted her. "If you can't feel rage, how do you want to attack properly?"

Again, T'Mira wondered how the Klingon race had survived this long with an unpredictable temper like that. "If you allow your emotions to take over your life..." she began.

"... all your rage will come back to you and destroy your mental equlibrium, blah, blah, I know," Khassya interrupted her. "This ship reeks of Gorga rats!"

"Sit down," the Vulcan ordered. "I would like to discuss the details of our stay."

Khassya frowned, which her guardian could not see due to the cape. Absently, she sat down next to T'Mira, but her head was averted into the direction of another table. "Look over there and tell me what you think," Khassya said and gestured at a a group of passengers seated there.

T'Mira followed the gesture with her eyes. "A group negotiating business. A Ferengi with a greedy smile on his face, he is probably trying to cheat on the others. A dark, tall human and his comparatively beautiful blond assistant, who is permanently flirting with the Ferengi. The couple is probably attempting to cheat on the Ferengi and sell him something totally overpriced."

Khassya nodded. "The couple stinks."

"Khassya, apart from the fact that I disapprove of your choice of words, what...?" T'Mira began, but the Klingon gestured here into silence.

"Listen," she said sharply. T'Mira listened closely and caught a few words of the conversation. The human male said something about cargo, worth at least five hundred bars of latinum, whereas the Ferengi replied he was not willing to pay more than two hundred and fifty. The blond woman, dressed in an outrageously golden glittering dress that pressed smoothly against the curves of her body, giggled and lowered her voice, so T'Mira had great difficulty following her words.

"... ox... quarter ... time... long..."

The Ferengi nodded, opening the top button of his shabby shirt and wiping away his sweat.

The three of them rose. The woman cast the man a look and kissed him good-bye on the cheek. The Ferengi shook the man's hand and followed the woman to the door.

"Did you hear that?" Khassya rose. "I'm not gonna allow that."

T'Mira cleared her throat. "To be honest, parts of the conversation escaped me."

"The woman agreed to give the Ferengi Umox in her quarters and to show him a good time all night long," Khassya explained briefly, "But when she bent to kiss her companion, she whispered to him she would snap the Ferengi's neck as soon as they were outside and take his latinum."

T'Mira nodded in admiration. "You have quite a good hearing... for a Klingon. Do you need any help?"

Khassya did not even feel obliged to an answer. A Klingon needing help from a Vulcan in battle? Not in this life, my dear! Then she heard a swift sound of an item cutting the air behind her. Quickly, Khassya raised her arm and caught the B'athleth her guardian had thrown at her.

T'Mira was pleased. Khassya had good reflexes – for a Klingon.

Khassya left the recreation area with easy steps. A fight at last! Something that made this journey a little less boring.

As she stepped out into the dark corridors, she heard a whisper. It was the Ferengi's voice.

"You are soooo beautiful," he giggled.

"Oh, I just like men who are not as tall," she soothed and stepped behind him, putting her hands to his earlobes. "And I get so hot when a man has big ears..."

The Ferengi sighed with pleasure. "Not here," he whispered, "Let's go to your place."

"I'd rather not," she whispered back and increased the pressure on his ears. Then her left hand went down to his throat, first caressing, then digging her fingernails into his flesh.

"Why not?" he asked, rapt between pleasure and pain.

"Because of all the blood." That moment, the woman's face distorted into an ugly demonic visage, her teeth lenghtening into fangs, making an all-too familiar sound of morphing which rang in the Klingon warrior's ears.

Khassya decided this was the moment to attack. She hauled herself at the vampire, landing a not too painful kick at the Ferengi to get him out of range.

Dazed, he landed on the floor of the opposite wall.

Khassya punched her fist into the vampire's face and carefully evaded a hit into her abdomen. The vampire's talons drew bloody furrow's into Khassya's skin as she clawed into her forearms to prevent her from striking, but Khassya pulled at the woman's long blond hair till she had several strands of it in her hands.

The vampire shrieked in pain.

Khassya's leg went up against the enemy's forehead, then another kick at her chest, several other punches to get her back against the wall.

"Say good-bye, honey," she told her, raising the B'athleth and swinging it easily to cut the vampire's head off. She evaporated into clouds of dust. Khassya did not have to turn to know the male vampire was standing behind her in the shadow, lurking to attack as soon as she let her guard down. Totally without honor, to stab your adversary in the back. She whirled her weapon around and drove its wooden handle into the tall male's heart. And he was dust.

Khassya cleared her cape of the vampires' remains.

Slowly, the Ferengi approached, still shaking with fear. "Th...th...th..." he stuttered.

"You're welcome," Khassya said lightly. She drew a piece of tissue to clean the blade of her B'athleth and began wiping it carefully.

"What were they?" the Ferengi managed to say.

"Vampires," she replied curtly. She disliked Ferengi. They had no honor. "Though not very good ones."

"You know..." the Ferengi began, "You could make a fortune as a mercenary. You fight well, and there are many people out there who would spend loads of latinum on someomne with such skills. If you want, we can be business partners!"

Khassya slowly turned to face him. "I work alone." As the warrior pushed her cape back, the Ferengi gasped. The young Klingon's eyes were white, without colour, and --- whithout eyesight.

He stepped back in fear. "You fought... you are blind?" He hardly found breath to speak. "Y'know, there are ways to cure blindness, I could get you a pair of implants at a very civil price of just..."

She bowed down to the Ferengi. She would not bother explaining to him that blindness was defined as inability to see and had nothing to do with a lack of eyesight. "Buzz off."

He just stared at her. "In the name of the Great Nagus, who are you?"

"I am Khassya, daughter of Ghorm: the vampire slayer."

With these words, she proudly walked away. After all, she had an apocalypse to prevent. And no idea how much time they still had.

*

It took Angel only a moment to regain consciousness after the blaze of light from the time warp made him pass out. He realized his adversaries and companions were less lucky. Being already dead had its advantages, after all.

One look at the main view screen made him gasp. A blue planet beneath VOYAGER. In all these years away, he had almost forgotten what it looked like, yet it dawneds upon him that despite his voyages he had never witnessed such magnificent beauty ever again. Earth. Home.

He got to his feet and walked to the consoles with still unsteady steps. Checking the display and the instruments, he realized at once that his plan had turned out exactly the way it should be. There was only one space station orbiting Earth.

"Must be the ISS," he murmured approvingly. He took a few seconds to listen to the buzzing communication signals. Radio, television, satellites. Early twenty-first century, definitely. He looked at the view screen once again, fixing the blue planet with his eyes. Then he closed them, and he listened. He felt. He was looking for her.

*

Buffy Summers had packed too many things into her suitcase. The magic moment when she had to shut it arrived, and it just wouldn't close.

Buffy sighed. She gave the suitcase a strong punch to make the lid close with supernatural extra strength. Sometimes it paid off to be the Slayer!

Then she heard the loud crack from the suitcase and realized she had broken the lid in half.

"Whoops..."

"Buffy, are you done?" she heard a voice from downstairs.

She hesitated. "Sort of... I guess..."

She let her gaze wander around the room. Had she packed everything? The window was still open! Buffy walked towards the window to close it and leaned from the window one last time, looking down at the garden, basking in the sunlight.

She took a deep breath and faced the sun.

Suddenly, she felt a wave of warmth surge through her, but it was not from the sun. It was inside of her, but it seemed to come... from the sky?

"Now, that's weird," Buffy murmured and stepped back, closing the window.

She took her suitcase and walked towards the door... when suddenly she felt nauseous, the warmth that filled her body turning into heat and making her shiver, and then there was a voice in her mind.

*

Angel's eyes flew open. She was there. He could feel her. After all these years...

*

Buffy dropped the suitcase right on her foot. "Oooooooowwwwwww!"

Limping, she staggered back to the room.

"Is everything alright up there, Buffy?" she heard a concerned voice from the living room.

"I'm fine, just dropped my suitcase!" she yelled back. The voice in her head made her forget the physical pain she felt, this was just too weird. Buffy closed her eyes.

*

Angel smiled. He already knew the answer when he formed the question in his mind once more. Buffy, can you hear me?

*

The voice was all calm and soft like velvet in her mind, a voice to fall in love with. Buffy shivered. And somehow she knew she only had to think, not speak aloud, to be heard.

*

Angel still listened for the voice, trying to think of something to say, when that single sentence changed his world, his universe.

Angel felt her presence, now even stronger than before. How are you?

*

Buffy rubbed her ankle. My foot hurts because I dropped a suitcase on it, but otherwise...

"Buffy, hurry up! I wanna arrive before it gets dark!"

Buffy opened her eyes and sighed. Whatever it had been, the mental connection had been broken. She was the Slayer, weirdness was part of her job description, after all. If it was important, the voice would soon come back to her.

*

Angel had no idea what had broken the connection between him and Buffy, but it did not matter now. All that mattered was to prevent the chain of events that had led to Buffy's death, to save her. It was impossible to calculate how much time he had still left, time travel was a difficult thing. Buffy had talked about dropping her suitcase on her foot, so she, Dawn and Spike were probably just about to leave for Salem. The best strategy would probably be to beam down to the Summers' house in Sunnydale and tell them to stay the hell away from that place.

Angel grabbed the phaser and a few of the weapons his adversaries had brought with them and headed for the turbolift. You couldn't be too careful these days.

"Transporter room 5," he ordered.

Hidden behind one of the panels in transporter room five, there was an emergency bag he had packed, with twenty-first century clothing and some weapons.

*

Angel found himself staring at the door of the Summers' house in Sunnydale. Luckily, the porch was in the shade, so he approached until he stood at the front door. He still felt nauseous, and his head hurt. Must be a side effect of the time travel. The time travel. So many years, yet nothing had changed at all. Everything looked the same as on the day he had left for Los Angeles. Despite all his years, he felt nervous as a schoolboy. His veins ran hot with the presence of Buffy. More than two centuries past, and now he would see her, alive, and have a chance of preventing what had happened. He knocked hesitantly.

After a while, the door was opened by a young woman in a pink dress. She looked at him with a sweet smile. "Yes?"

Angel cleared his voice. "Hi, um... I'm here to see Buffy. It's important."

She smiled. "Of course it is!" She looked at him in his dark clothes, the stern look on his face. "Come on in. I'm Kennedy, a friend of Willow's." She extended her hand.

He took her hand slowly. "I'm Angel. I'm an old friend."

"My, your hand's so cold!" she remarked.

Angel smiled faintly. "Yeah, heard that a couple of times."

She closed the door behind him, and Angel was wondering at her dress made of pink silk with lots of roses and lace on it, strewn with tiny little pearls, and not suiting the girl at all.

As if she'd guessed his thoughts, she replied: "Yeah, I know, pink's definitely not my color, but people do weird things out of friendship! Can I get you a drink or something?"

"No, thanks," Angel refused, "I'm sorry, but I gotta see Buffy at once. This can't wait."

Kennedy shrugged. "Sure. She's upstairs, dressing. I'd knock if I were you."

He nodded absently and went upstairs. Hesitating again, he stood in front of Buffy's door. She would be very surprised at his being here without prior announcement. How was he gonna say what had to be said? Hi, Buffy, don't go to Danvers, because if you do, I'm gonna get you pregnant and kill you? Curiously, Angel had never wasted a single thought on how he would put that, or what he was gonna do afterwards. Was he really going to return to his universe and just see how the whole story had turned out?

He could play this through in his mind a thousand times, standing here like an idiot. Or he could go inside and hope he would find the right words, the way he always did with her.

He knocked.

"Keep out, Will, I told you before!" he heard Buffy's voice. "I'm just getting dressed, can you go downstairs and ask Dawn to help me with the zipper?"

He cleared his throat. "Buffy, this isn't Willow. It's me. Angel."

There was silence within the room.

The invitation was not repeated, so he remained outside, and felt even more like an idiot, talking to the woman he so craved to see, through a door. He imagined her standing there, only half-dressed, her hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. Yes, it would be better if he just waited right here. "Buffy, we gotta talk. I know you're not happy to see me, but this is important. I have got some information. On your future. It's about your trip to Danvers. This may seem weird to you, but you gotta trust me on that. Do not go to Danvers, ever. Stay away from that place. I know what you're gonna say, you don't need anyone to protect you, especially not me, after the history we have, and I understand you want me to leave, I'm no longer part of your life, and I respect that, believe me, I don't want to interfere with your life. But I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important. You're the Slayer, so please trust me, one champion to another. Don't go to Danvers." After a pause, he added: "Or else it will be the death of you."

There was a moment of silence. He heard Buffy breathe deep.

"Buffy?" he asked.

"Okay," she said slowly."I think you should come in."

Angel touched the handle. "Are you... dressed?"

She sighed and opened the door from the other side. "What did you think?"

Then the door was wide open, and Angel looked straight into her eyes. His dizziness increased. She looked more beautiful than he remembered, and she was alive, breathing, no simulation, real, so real, he just had to rush at her and embrace her. He closed his arms around the surprised Slayer and drew in the scent of her hair, her skin, and for the first time in centuries, he felt real. "Buffy," he whispered. Then he closed his eyes. He had made it, he had saved her.

"I can't breathe," she complained matter-of-factly.

Angel abruptly let go off her. "Sorry." He felt so relieved now he had changed the past he had almost forgotten other people had to breathe. "So you're not going to Danvers?"

She shook her head and laughed nervously. "Look, Angel," she said, spelling out the name carefully, stressing every syllable, "We got two problems here. First, I never meant to go to that little village in the first place."

"But..." He looked confused. "Dawn's project... and when I contacted you, you dropped your suitcase... I thought you were planning to go to Danvers."

"No," Buffy replied, "I was packing for the Niagara Falls. Always wanted to see them. Okay. Back to my second problem." She took a deep breath. "Who the hell are you?"

*

Buffy was walking down a dark street. Her increased Slayer's perception – secretly, she called it 'her spider sense' - told her instinctively that she was being followed. She tried not to show she was aware of her follower, just kept walking, looking for some dark corner to provide shelter and a base to operate from. A cat yowled and kicked some cans as it ran away. So the little one as well had noticed they were not alone. There must be a demon in the shadows. Oh, great. So much for a fresh start at Sunnydale. Secretly, Buffy wondered at how long it would take until she would be forced to burn down the high school gym again. Right now, she had a more immediate issue to deal with.

Buffy looked upward at a bar high above the sidewalk, grabbed it and swung up.

She did not have to wait for long for her follower to reveal himself. He slowly moved into the alley, a dark figure. Vampire? She could not be sure. Damn it, as a Slayer she ought to know! She hadn't asked to be the Chosen One, but if she had to be, then why wouldn't they equip her with some instincts at least? The silhouette of a man was walking down the alley, not seeming to notice her, but looking around. When he had passed underneath her, she swung down and kicked him in the back. He was knocked to the ground, and Buffy quickly positioned herself above him with a foot on his chest.

His face still in the shadow, he asked: "Is there a problem, ma'am?"

Buffy was stunned at so much impudence. With a sharp pointed weapon over her heart, she would not ask such a question. "Yeah, there's a problem," she retorted, "Why are you following me?"

He chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. Don't worry, I don't bite."

Buffy hesitantly got up, giving him a chance to stand upright and step into the dim light of the street lamp. He was handsome, she had to give him that. Strong features. Older than she, probably a college senior. He was wearing black leather that emphasized his enigmatic eyes.

"You've gotta be ready," he said.

Buffy placed a hand on her hip. "For what?"

"For the Harvest," he said, not explaining his words. Then he turned from her to walk off as mystically as he had appeared.

"Who are you?" Buffy asked.

He turned around and looked straight at her, giving her a good look at his pale skin and steel blue eyes. "Let's just say I'm your destiny."

In the back part of the alley, Angel turned around to leave. "She doesn't need me, Whistler. Looks like she's already got a protector."

*

"Creepy, really creepy," Buffy told Willow as they were sitting at a table at the Bronze.

"Whoo, wish I'd heard that, 'I'm your destiny'," Willow repeated.

"Sort of melodramatic, isn't it?" Buffy asked.

"I think it's romantic!" Willow sighed. Her eyes sought Xander, who was getting drinks for the three of them. Then Willow sighed again, sounding resignating. "Some guys have it, others don't! So, what are you planning to do, Buffy, date him?"

Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, don't you think he might be a little old for me to date? If he's in college, well, my mom will freak out. But then again, those eyes... Life is short, isn't it?"

Willow nodded. "I guess."

"I mean, you should've seen him, when he looked at me, it was as if he'd known me for a long time. It was... scary. He was gorgeous, in an annoying way... I guess he's stronger than he looks at first sight, bet he's got muscles made of steel under all that black clothing, actually, I can't wait to find out, and he's got the movements and bad boy attraction of a rock star," Buffy chattered on.

"Was he blond, blue-eyed, wearing a leather coat?" Willow asked.

"Yeah, how d'you..." Then it dawned on Buffy, she slowly turned around to look at Spike's grinning face. "It's impolite to sneak up on others," Buffy reproached him.

Spike was still grinning. "Can't escape your destiny, can you?"

Buffy laughed outright. "You're sure not my destiny! You don't even know me!"

Spike chuckled. "Your middle name is Anne, you used to be an ice-princess as a little girl, you just love ice cream, chocolate chips and peppermint flavour in particular, and old movies you watch with your mom Joyce, you've always wanted to cut your hair but never dared - and I'm tellin' ya, don't - besides, you're the Slayer, the Chosen One, your Watcher Giles has no idea you secretly dream of studying psychology, but at the moment you don't know if you're gonna live long enough to go to college, your favourite stuffed animal is called Mr Gordo, your preferred sexual position is..."

"Stop it!" Buffy interrupted him, blushing deeply.

"Only if you dance with me." He took her hand and slowly led her away from table, just as Xander was approaching, balancing three mocaccinos. "Hey, Buffster, hey, Will.... Who's that?" he asked, staring at Spike.

Spike looked at him for a moment. "Don't waste your time, mate," he said coolly, "Willow's gay, and Buffy's not interested!"

"Hey!" Willow protested. "I'm not..." She stopped in mid-sentence, hesitated and looked at Xander questioningly. "Do I look gay to you?"

Like hypnotized, Buffy followed Spike to the dancefloor.

"How do you know all these things?" she asked in confusion.

"How does the moon know when to rise and when to set?" he replied, a phrase painfully familiar from a time when he had been called William and had tried himself at poetry, a phrase which made his stomach turn now, but he somehow had the feeling it would be the right thing to say. He said no more, just kept moving to the music with her. Yet his cold, dead heart was singing, felt the triumph and reveled in it.

*

Angel stood in silence and stared at her. He could not comprehend what was happening. He was sure the date was right. And still she didn't know him? His worst nightmare seemed to come to pass. Was he in an alternative universe? If only he could think clearly and his head stopped hurting!!! So much head ache was not normal for a vampire. But who could say what was normal for a vampire after a three hundred year time warp?

Buffy looked at Angel's face without recognition. "Would you hand me my veil?"

Angel was brought back to reality by Buffy's voice. "Sure..." He hesitated. "Your what?"

"My veil."

Only now did Angel look at Buffy's dress. It was white, laced, and ornated with sparkling diamonds, a wide long skirt which fell down to her ankles. There were more diamonds in her silver necklace that danced on her even and slightly tanned skin. On a chair, there was a white chiffon veil. It was a wedding dress.

Angel felt he would have to throw up any moment. He sat down. "You're getting married?" he gasped.

"Yes," she informed him, beaming like a child on Christmas, "My big day! That's why I had to finish packing, I wouldn't wanna miss the flight to my honeymoon."

"Honeymoon," Angel repeated.

"Yeah, Will has been at the Niagara Falls before, but didn't mind because I so wanted to go..."

Angel's head was spinning. "You're getting married to Willow?"

Buffy laughed. "I don't know if that's any of your business, but no, of course not! Willow chose that path, but not me, thank you very much! Will is short for William."

Angel jumped from the chair. "You're marrying Spike? Do you know what he is????"

"Isn't it exciting?" Buffy shrieked, "You have no idea how hard it was to get a social security number for him!"

"A Slayer marrying a demon?" Angel burst out, eyes flashing with anger.

Buffy shrugged. "Don't be so prejudiced. Yes, vampire. All in all, a big yawn. But he's got a soul. And he told me he was a vampire the night we met, when he walked me home from the Bronze. We talked it over. He told me everything he had done, and how he asked a demon to restore his soul because he wanted to be worthy of me. First I was shocked, of course I was, I mean, a sixteen year-old girl, but I appreciated he was honest with me and glad I didn't have to find out by accident when he might have kissed me and morphed without warning! Then, I would have been pissed off."

Angel cast his eyes down. "So you really do love him."

"I do," she said with sincerety, then began to laugh, dancing around her bedroom in her dress. "I do, I do, I do," she repeated, as if practicing for the ceremony.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and a woman stormed in. "Buffy, just wanted to tell you your dad's here."

Buffy's eyes sparkled. "Thanks, mom. That's the best day of my life!"

Angel stared at her. "JOYCE????"

Joyce Summers looked a bit puzzled. "Do I know you?"

"His name's Angel," Buffy informed her.

"Oh," Joyce replied, "Are you a friend of the groom?"

Angel felt sick at the sound of that. Yet he still couldn't get over the fact that Joyce was there. "Sort of," he said evasively, "Let's say I've known Sp... William for some time. Listen, Mrs Summers,... Joyce, ... I apologize for my next question," Angel said, "But... last time I heard of you, you..." were dead... "...were seriously ill."

Joyce's expression darkened for a moment as she thought back at her most difficult months. "I had a tumor," she admitted, "The operation went well, we all thought it was over. Then I had a relapse. A bleeding in my brain. Fortunately William was in the house, he rushed me to the hospital. A few more minutes, and I would've been dead. I don't even want to think for a moment what would've become of my little girls if..." She broke off and smiled at Angel. "You'll understand why I love that guy!"

Angel was dazed and suddenly felt very tired. "I see."

"Angel?" Buffy asked, looking confused. "Are you okay?"

He did not reply.

Like a broken man, he walked towards the door. On his way out, his glance fell upon Buffy's psychology diploma on the wall and a framed picture of Buffy and Spike kissing under a transparent saying HAPPY SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY, BUFFY.

He barely noticed the guests buzzing around in the Summers's house as he walked out and slammed the door. He had no idea how Spike had managed to do that, and truth be told, he did not care. The bastard's living the life I've always wanted, and the worst thing is, he's doing a good job at it!

Angel left the house not through the front door, the way he had entered, but through the kitchen, avoiding the guests. He passed a table where presents towered to the ceiling, and a huge wedding cake with a small marzipan couple on top, the woman waving a cute little toothpick.

"Nice, isn't it? That was my idea!"

He turned around and saw Dawn in that same appalling pink dress Kennedy had worn. "Yeah, know what you're thinkin'," she sighed, "I hate the color, but Buffy wanted all her bridemaids to wear that!" She hesitated. "Do I know you?"

Angel shrugged. "Looks like I'm a friend of the groom."

"Y'know, that's weird," Dawn said, "Old friends of Spike keep showin' up and he never mentioned them! There was this woman, Lilah somethin'..."

Suddenly, Angel was wide awake despite his queasiness. "Lilah Morgan?"

"Yeah," Dawn said, fetching a parcel from the table. "Just left that as a wedding gift. But the card doesn't say Spike or William, it says: 'To Angel'."

Angel snatched the parcel from her and tore it open.

"Hey," Dawn complained.

Inside, there was a weapon. An ancient knife Angel knew pretty well. He had held it in his hand before. At a time when he had been Angelus.

"Does that make sense to you?" Dawn asked. "That woman just laughed and said it would go nicely with the ugly stone statue Spike put in our garden when he moved in with us."

Angel tore the back door open.

As he had suspected, he knew the statue. It was more than a statue. It was Acathala.

Angel noticed the air was flickering in a blue shade as a woman's shape materialized on the porch, phaser in hand.

"You're under arrest," Seven of Nine shouted.

Like in a trance, Angel walked towards the sleeping demon. It did not matter now. Nothing really mattered. Angel took the knife and sliced the skin of his hand, spilling his own blood. "Now I become," he whispered and pulled the sword out of the statue with full force. "Happy honeymoon, Spike."

"Stand back, Lieutenant Summers! Raise your hands over your head and surrender!" Seven repeated.

Angel looked at her with dead eyes. Then he walked out into the sunshine...

10

He expected it to end soon. He would not live to see the end of a world that was not worth existing because his sacrifice had been in vain. He had given everything for her to have the future she deserved, and yet it had been nothing but trading one darkness for another. And she had no idea. She was happy, all shiny and innocent in her wedding dress – no, not innocent, Spike would have seen to that, he thought grimly -, and she had no idea of the doomed love of his four hundred year lifetime. A world that was so unjust did not deserve existing. And neither did he. The rays of the sun would be his purgatory, his inferno in which he would burn like a glorious flame announcing the apocalypse he had been destined to have a part in.

He heard the vortex of Acathala's statue open behind him, the vortex that would suck this distorted reality into hell.

Angel felt the sun warm his face, felt a heat rising in his whole body, was ready to burst into flames.

Seven of Nine jumped forward and threw herself upon him, knowing she had to get him away from the deadly sunlight. She used all her Borg strength to pull him out of the sun, while Angel, recovered from the surprise attack, was resisting severely.

"Get out of the sun!" she yelled.

"Let me burn," Angel growled back, going immediately into game face.

Seven struck him over the face violently, gaining a few steps towards the life-saving shadows of the trees. "I want answers," Seven replied, still dragging him on by his dark clothes.

"I don't want to hurt you," Angel said, glaring at her from demonically golden eyes, "But I got no choice." Seven's phaser was knocked from her hand by a heavy blow from the sword, and she had to duck down to evade the shiny blade.

Seven had been Borg, part of her still was, she was stronger than a usual human being, so she returned a punch at his guts. She quickly reached out for the sword and managed to wrestle it from Angel's grip, but it was too heavy for her to hold it safely in one hand and landed several yards away in the wet grass. Angel stumbled backwards, then lunged at her again. Seven's feet pushed from the ground, catapulting her body into the air so she could let herself fall down at Angel's back, dragging him down to the ground, fighting back as he tried to push her away. Angel managed to get away and launched his leg up against her chin. Seven staggered a little, but did not fall, instead her hand reached for his neck, squeezing tight. Both of Angel's hands closed around her wrist, pressing her to let go, but immediately afterwards she landed a solid kick at his chest. She used his confusion to strike again, right into his face.

Angel felt his own cold blood trickle down from his nose.

She heard him growl in anger as he jumped forward, striking her with one mighty blow. Seven of Nine was thrown several yards through the air, landing on the floor at Acathala's feet. Her pulse was racing, her cerebral implants sent a pulsating pain through her brain, she saw the edges of her vision darken and had to struggle hard not to pass out. On all fours, she crept forward till her hand closed around cool metal lying on the grass: the ritual sword. She hauled herself back on her legs and approached Angel once more, sword in hand.

"I have to take you into custody," she repeated, struggling to keep the heavy weapon upright in her hand.

Angel chuckled. "Try." His hand moved quickly as lightning, seizing the blade of the sword, while his other hand loosened Seven's fingers. She wouldn't let go. With a loud crack, Angel freed the sword from her grip, and a paralysing pain shot through Seven as she realized the crack she had heard was the breaking of a bone in her arm. Tears welled up in her eyes, never before had she felt that much pain consciously, but she didn't cry out and, instinctively, she pulled her leg upwards, as she was close enough to hit his private parts. Angel was faster. He parried her attempt and tossed her away like a discarded toy.

He could not believe his eyes as she struggled to get up again.

"You're under arrest," Seven repeated mechanically, "Resistance is futile."

Angel held the blade towards her. "Stand back," he warned her.

Seven shook her head, wishing an instant later she hadn't, for her world was spinning around. She closed her healthy hand around the blade, her blood trickling down from it. "You are going to have to kill me."

Angel stared at her, sword still in hand.

"Not if I can help it," a voice broke the silence, a voice that chilled him to the bone. It was Buffy. Still in her wedding dress, careful not to ruin the skirts, she stepped down the porch steps, crossbow in hand. "I'm really upset with you," she continued, getting closer, aiming the crossbow at Angel, "I have no idea who you are or what you want, but the increasing golden vortex in my garden is surely not a good sign. I have no intention to postpone my wedding just because of you, so drop that weapon now."

Angel shook his head. "I can't do this, Buffy."

Seven stared at the woman in the white dress with widened eyes. Was that... girl really her mother? As Seven caught a glimpse of her eyes, she realized the girlish appearance deceived her. Those eyes were much older, showing the blood and tears and despair of a yet so young life.

Angel followed her gaze. He found Buffy staring at him, and her eyes were tearing him apart. Her eyes seemed to see right through him and into his soul.

Buffy frowned. "Do I... know you?"

It was painful. So many times in his existence, he had afflicted pain on others, yet now he felt the anguish, the agony of the moment.

The moment he stood and stared at her, frozen, was enough for Seven to seize the chance. She leaped at Angel and, despite her injuries, she did not have any difficulty in taking the sword from him.

Angel did not fight back. He was defeated and he knew it.

Seven held the sword, still insecure on how to use it, she took out her tricorder and held it at the vortex. "An interdimensional subspace hole," she noted, "It is expanding exponentially."

Buffy frowned. "No idea what you're talking about, just: How do we stop it?"

That moment, Spike appeared behind her. As he caught Angel's eyes, his face showed a wide grin. "Long time no see," he said smugly. Then he put his arm around Buffy's waist. "Try his blood," he suggested.

The sight of Spike and his possessive gesture towards Buffy was too much for Angel to suffer.

"Explain," Seven said, pointing at the vortex.

Angel shrugged. "Wanted to plunge the universe into hell."

"So, stop it," Seven replied.

Angel shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

Seven sighed. "In fact, I followed you to take you into custody and find out if what you said about my origins was true. As matters are, a genetic profile will be... futile." With these words, she cut her hand with the knife and spilled her blood on the statue, pushing the sword in with full force.

The ground shook for a few moments, then the vortex behind them closed.

Seven looked suddenly very disturbed. It meant the whole story was true. If only Lieutenant Summers's blood could close the vortex... she was indeed his daughter.

Again, reminding Angel of the little girl he had first seen from a car with painted window panes as she was sitting on the stairs of her old high school awaiting her Calling, Buffy clapped her hands and turned towards Spike. "How did you know?"

Spike smirked. "Let's say, it was instinct." He lowered his voice, pulling her close. "You'll find I have lots of those."

Buffy giggled. Then she pushed him away in a shock. "You're not supposed to see me in my wedding dress!" she shrieked.

Spike's grin widened. "In this case, I suggest you take it off." He kissed her collarbone. "Let's go upstairs, we have plenty of time."

Buffy cast Seven a doubtful look. "You'll be okay now?"

Seven nodded. "I will take care of the prisoner. On behalf of Starfleet, I would like to express the gratitude of the United Federation of Planets for your aid in the arrest of the fugitive."

Buffy frowned. "Ya know, if this wasn't my wedding day, I would ask a lot of questions on that whole affair, but since I think I deserve a day off, I just ask you to take that ugly statue with you when you leave."

"Acknowledged."

Devastated, Angel watched Buffy and Spike disappear inside the house.

Seven took a deep breath. Then she glared at Angel. "You owe me an explanation... to be precise, several explanations."

Angel sighed. "Ask anything you want, Annika. I no longer care what happens to me."

Seven stared back at him. "All right, I shall start with the most logical question. Why are you not on fire?"

Angel looked up at the sky. The sun was high above them, he was in full sunlight, as he had been throughout their fight.

T'Lia heard Wesley's steps behind her before he spoke a word. She kept staring at the Guardian of Forever, scanning it with a portable console before her.

"Boo-hoo," Wesley said scornfully, "World not destroyed. All your best laid plans shattered."

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"You know perfectly well I've been standing here for long enough to see your little plot failed. You thought you could just send Acathala back in time with Spike and trick Angel into causing the apocalypse himself. What a career you could have had, a dead universe instead of just a dead Slayer, that would have secured you a seat as Senior Partner. Too bad you didn't think Spike and Angel's daughter would be there to save the world. And now you have nothing, Lilah- not even a dead Slayer."

T'Lia shrugged. "This is just a tiny setback. You don't think Angel will let Spike take his girl and move on? Return to his century and let himself be court-martialled?"

Wesley nodded. "Angel has always been the most honorable person I have ever met. That is exactly what he will do."

T'Lia shook her head and stared at him coldly. "You knew Angel in a time that is almost three hundred years away. People change. He has broken every rule there is in Starfleet and you really think he will just... back off? Wes, just how naive are you?" With more emotion than a Vulcan would ever allow, she added: "No wonder you had to join the Romulans to find a job. Trust me, sooner or later he'll take up the fight."

"Why are you so sure you will get your apocalypse then?"

T'Lia did not reply but went back to her work.

*

The Klingon Slayer Khassya was pacing up and down nervously while her Watcher was talking to the receptionist.

"I regret to tell you T'Lia will be unavailable," she replied with the annoying politeness of the Vulcans Khassya would never become used to. "As I told you before, I cannot tell you when she will return or how to reach her. If you please address your questions to the bureau, it will take a message so T'Lia can get back to you."

As T'Mira thanked the receptionist politely and returned to Khassya, the young Klingon angrily put down a foot. "They can't treat us like that!" she protested. "I'm the Sl..."

"Would you please mind your speech," T'Mira cut her off, in a low, but unmistakably strict voice. "Your losing your temper will not be helpful in completing this mission."

"It's my mission," Khassya snapped, "And if I lose my temper, that's my business! All portents and signs keep saying T'Lia does play a role in some dark mojo bringing about an apocalypse, and now we come here and are told she's out, no one knows where she is or when she comes back? I don't know about you, but if you ask me, that stinks!"

"It is a fairly good indication we are not altogether wrong," T'Mira admitted.

Khassya howled with desperate rage. "Vulcans!"

"They do that all the time," a trembling voice behind them said. Khassya turned around to see a young and very nervous-looking woman sitting in the lobby, biting her fingernails, and it seemed she had been sitting there for quite a while.

"Excuse me?" T'Mira asked.

"I... It's just... I've been trying to get to T'Lia as well, but..." The young woman's voice shook. "She's just not here..." Tears were glistening in her eyes. "And... and I'm so afraid!" She lowered her voice. "I think they're trying to kill me."

"Who?" T'Mira inquired.

The woman looked around anxiously, as if to make sure they weren't overheard. "The guys who killed the Vedek." She was talking faster, now, and tears were streaming down her face. "I didn't want to have anything to do with it, but...y'know... T'Lia paid me to keep her up to date... and then the Vedek told that weird stuff about an angel causing an apocalypse..."

Khassya and her Watcher exchanged meaningful looks.

"AND NOW HE'S DEAD! I mean, I just panicked, I packed a few things and left. Didn't know where else to go. Hoped T'Lia would help me, but she's not there!"

T'Mira gestured towards the exit. "Khassya, we have to keep moving. We're drawing attention," she said quietly.

"You're safe now," Khassya assured her, "We'll protect you. What's your name?"

"Colyta."

"Colyta. Look, I'm Khassya, and this is my W... my guardian, T'Mira."

T'Mira nodded briefly. "We shall find a quiet place somewhere near, and then you tell us everything you know. I assure you, you are in no danger."

Colyta looked doubtful, but since she had no money for a return ticket, she followed them.

*

Angel's first action back on Voyager had been to inform his conspirators that the mutiny was over and to turn all command functions back over to Captain Kathryn Janeway, insisting the whole plot had been his very own and he was taking full responsibility for the crew's actions. His friends were devastated at the failure of their mission, and now, lined up in a row on the bridge of Voyager, anxiously awaiting Janeway's lecture.

"There is no excuse whatsoever for what you've done!" Janeway was furious, her eyes glared at Angel with a rage he had not thought her capable of, but her voice was full of disappointment at his betrayal. "You are guilty of mutiny in a very, very, VERY severe case, you have endangered my whole crew, and I'm not talking about my personal feeling here. Court martial is the only available option to me, I'm afraid." She looked into his eyes, while Angel was regarding her levelly. Janeway shrank back as if she had been beaten. What she saw in his eyes was utter defeat, and a total indifference regarding what would happen to him. "Angel, you've brought us home," she said in a more gentle tone, "But to a home that has become alien to us, a foreign world existing centuries before we were born. Goodness gracious, why? Not all that just to save one girl?"

He did not reply.

"You won't talk to me, well, right." Janeway took a deep breath as she turned to the others. "Given the circumstances, I can't afford to send you all to detention. We need to get back to our own time. But this does not mean it is over for you. I will decide on appropriate measures when we get back."

"It's not their fault," Angel said, for the first time talking since his surrender.

"Did you hypnotize them, trick them in any way?" Janeway inquired.

"No," the vampire replied. "Their only crime was their belief we were saving the universe. I thought if we saved Buffy Summers, the Slayer... before she died... the resulting universe might be a better place." He cleared his voice. "I admit my judgement might have been clouded by my personal feelings."

"But you didn't save her," Janeway said, keeping an eye on Seven's report, which she was holding on a pad in her hand. "Someone was faster."

"Yeah," Angel said darkly.

"According to the scans, there are ionic emissions indicating there really was illegal activity influencing the temporal flux, apart from our own." Seven of Nine took a deep breath. "Someone went back in time just at the same time or shortly before Lieutenant Summers did. The universe he found is completely unfamiliar to him."

Janeway looked at Seven with a puzzled expression. "But the woman in question has been saved, so what he wanted was achieved?"

"Captain, if I may speak freely, that may be just the problem. If it is true that Buffy Summers is my mother – and I have found it to be true that Lieutenant Summers, genetically, is my..." She still struggled to pronounce the word. "...relation, it may be a problem that events were influenced. The reconstruction we performed on the holodeck never took place.For all we know, the universe of our time could be entirely different. And... I may not even exist when we get back."

All the anger seemed to have drained from Janeway's face. Her expression was one of serious concern. "What do you suggest?"

Seven handed Janeway another pad. "This is all our data base had on Commander William Hayes. Hardly enough information to decide how he got back in time or what he did to achieve the present state. The only way for us to proceed is to go down and gather more data. If we find out how he did it, we might be able to revert the process."

Janeway nodded slowly. "Starfleet directions on temporal matters are clear. Under all circumstances, a change of history must be avoided and all trespassing be reported immediately to the Ministry of Temporal Defence. But since the Ministry hasn't been founded yet... I'm afraid we have no choice. We can't return to a future we know nothing about. Seven, the success of our mission rests entirely on you. Find out what happened, but don't interfere, don't change anything. Come back as soon as you know more. While we are working on a way to perform the time travel, you and Angel will go back and track down William Hayes and his bride." She glared at Angel with cold eyes. "Don't think I'll ever trust you again. Currently, you're the only available expert on Earth history, that is why I'm sending you. But if you can't fix this, rest assured I will have you court-martialled by the next communiqué with Starfleet Command and drop you on the loneliest and most hostile planetoid available in the Delta Quadrant. Are we clear?"

From the look on her face, Angel was sure Kathryn Janeway was perfectly serious. He could not blame her.

Seven addressed him. "Meet me in transporter room four in thirty-five minutes. Make sure to report to the Doctor first. We need to know why you did not burn to ashes in the sun of Terra."

In spite of himself, Angel smiled briefly. Annika was born to lead, just as Buffy and himself. He would not allow her to be Spike's daughter.

*

Buffy felt like she was in a fairy tale. After arriving at Buffalo airport, they had been taken to the hotel by a limousine Spike had ordered especially for their honeymoon. Passing the spacious hall had been a bit of a problem first, as the marble tiles on the floor of the lobby had been polished with so much effort one was able to see one's reflection in it – just in case one had a reflection. Yet no one had noticed that one of the newlyweds could not be seen in the tiles. Human beings just saw what they expected to see. After all, this ignorance was what enabled the Slayer to do her job properly without interference. Anyway, this was her honeymoon, and she would enjoy it thoroughly.

"Here we are," Spike announced as they arrived at their luxury suite at Niagara Falls Marriot hotel. As he carried her over the threshold inside the room, Buffy gasped. Through the panoramic windows, she had the most beautiful view one could imagine, the majestic beauty of the illuminated Niagara Falls under the dark and starry sky right below them.

"This is gorgeous," she whispered.

"You can see them from everywhere, the restaurant, the pool, the fitness centre, and of course from the bathroom while you are relaxing in the whirlpool," Spike explained proudly.

"We have a whirlpool????" Enthusiastically, Buffy rushed into the bathroom, giving shrill cries of delight at the enourmous tub and whirlpool, both decorated with innumerable candles.

When she had explored the suite enough, she returned to the window and admired the view once again. She turned around. "Did you say restaurant?"

Spike embraced her. "Overlooking the Falls, luv. Most spectacular view. Italian, French, or Oriental cuisine, for a change. However, specialized in steak and seafood."

"Great," Buffy replied, "I'm starving."

"So am I," Spike whispered and kissed her violently.

"I think I'll stick to seafood. I have enough stakes in Sunnydale," Buffy breathed heavily.

Spike ignored the pun and pushed her towards the bed. The satin sheets were covered up by a colourful American quilt, the two lamps at the bedsides merely dim.

"You're not listening," Buffy protested gently. "I need a good dinner, and perhaps a hot tub, and then..." She turned towards the door as his cold hand closed around her wrist. She startled, yet she knew it was inevitable she kept her balance and her outer indifference, though she shuddered with anticipation within. It was a hot summer night, her clothing was, above all, short and comfortable, light-coloured to avoid storing the heat. He was indifferent to trivial circumstances such as body temperature, of course.

She looked at him with questioning eyes.

His expression was dark and unreadable. "You're not going outside," he said in a very low voice, so low it was almost a whisper, the words spoken in a hoarse voice, yet unmistakably commanding.

"I just thought, we have so much time," she replied calmly.

He stepped behind her, so close he must surely hear her heartbeat, yet without touching anything but her wrist, still tightly locked in his hand. "Are you feeling uncomfortable?" he asked, close to her ear.

A heat wave surged through her body, she knew if she did not leave now, right now, that very second, she would find herself closing her arms around his neck, holding on to him, breathing his scent, begging him to throw her down onto the bed. Her reply was barely a whisper. "No." She felt herself trembling and hated herself for her weakness that moment. Damn it, she was the Slayer, this was the 21^st century, and she'd been with Spike in all sorts of positions, why would she be scared now? What could he do to her she wasn't utterly familiar with?

"William, please," she began, gasping.

"No," he silenced her with a kiss, "In my time, this would have been your duty as my lawfully wedded wife."

Duty. She hardly suppressed a giggle. Duty. Yeah. It was a great sacrifice to couple like beasts with a man she desired so much it was almost painful. Why did modern churches never come up with so pleasing a service? She slowly turned to him and caught a glance from his stern eyes. She smiled at him seductively, closing her arms around his neck and drawing near to kiss him. "Like this?" she asked in a mock-innocent way.

He ripped her top from her body violently, tossing it away so it landed somewhere in the corner. She had not worn a bra, due to the heat, and now was shivering- She was too full of rapture and excitement as to stop him when he thrust her against one of the wooden pillars supporting the bed with a vehemence only a Slayer could take without major bruises. She was breathing heavily, even the slightest of movements caused one to break into sweat in this weather. She trembled with the chill when one of his hands made its way up under her skirt. "Like this," he whispered, brushing the skin of her shoulders and neck with his lips while his hand found her panties and cast them away as if they were nothing but a small obstacle in his way.

"And if I'd rather go to the restaurant now..." she whispered, at the same time yielding to his touch.

Spike chuckled. "If you'd rather go to the restaurant... I'll be glad to do the same things there as I would in this room."

She wanted to whisper his name breathlessly. She closed her eyes to do exactly that, yet something else made its way over her lips. "My angel of darkness," she said.

Spike froze in the movement. Only then did he realize he had gone into game face immediately at the sound of that. "Don't ever say that again," he snarled, pressing her head aside against her struggling, baring her neck before him and thrust his fangs down.

Buffy's eyes flew open immediately. "William, stop it," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. He seemed not to listen, still drew her blood. Mustering all her Slayer's strength, she pushed him off her body and leaped to her feet. "What was that all about?" she inquired angrily, "Have you gone mad?"

Spike went back to his human guise, trying hastily to clean his lips and mouth of her blood. "Sorry," he said lightly.

Buffy fled to the bathroom, examining the wounds on her neck in the mirror. What the hell had gotten into William? He had never bitten her before! "This will scar," she said reproachfully. Then she realized that might have been the purpose of all this. Marking her as his. Buffy shuddered. She did not feel like going to the restaurant any more. But she did need to get out of this room.

*

When Chakotay entered sickback, he found himself staring at the beautiful creature sitting on a chair while the Doctor made last adjustments.

Seven caught Chakotay's gaze and looked away. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked.

"No," Chakotay said slowly, "I just didn't expect these... stunning changes!"

"I have adjusted Seven's appearance to fit 21^st century surroundings," the Doctor/Giles explained with just a hint of pride in his voice. "William Hayes has seen her briefly on the planet in Starfleet uniform, we cannot risk his recognizing her should she run into him on the away mission."

"Honestly," Chakotay said, "Even I would have difficulty recognizing you, Seven."

Seven was not sure if that was meant to be a compliment. The Doctor had replaced her blond hair with a waist long artificial mane which was black as a raven. She wore a white denim jacket with fitting tight pants and high heels, which made her already tall figure even taller and gave one the impression her legs would never end. Her eyes were covered by dark brown lenses, her complexion slightly tanned, and there was not a trace of her cortical implants to be seen.

Chakotay walked around her in admiration. "Your face..." he began.

"Since we couldn't remove the implants, I have enchanted them with a minor disguise spell," the Doctor explained, "They are still there, but invisible. All Seven has to do is be careful so no one gets a chance to touch her face. I suggest you wear gloves, in case someone takes your hand."

Chakotay frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd think her a complete stranger."

"That's what I'm especially proud of," the Doctor added, "Human beings are very visual, but to fool a vampire, you have to manipulate the scent of a person as well. I have added some ingredients to Seven's cells so her sweat has a different scent to it. We only perceive this on a subconscious level, but a vampire's senses are over-acute."

Chakotay ran his fingers through Seven's hair in amazement. "This is so perfect," he said.

Seven was glad about her now darker complexion – in her usual pale state, everyone would have seen the crimson flush of her cheeks.

"There you are," the Doctor said, pleased with himself.

Angel walked in, dressed as well in clothing of the past. "Annika," he said in surprise. He frowned and sniffed the air. "Is it me, or... don't you smell alright?" he noticed.

The Doctor smiled in triumph.

"Any news about my blood test, Giles?" Angel inquired.

The smile vanished from the Doctor's face. "Nothing yet," he admitted, "There is no sign why you shouldn't have burst into flames on the surface. But I'm working on it. I'm running several tests, I'll let you know as soon as we know more."

Angel did not know why, but he suddenly got the feeling Giles was lying to him.

*

Seven gazed around the lobby, trying not to look suspicious. The hotel was huge and extremely impressing. A few yards away, guests in the lobby lounge were enjoying the view of Niagara Falls on comfortable leather armchairs, sipping coffee or cocktails. Most of them were young couples, clearly honeymooners.

Angel headed for the reception.

A friendly young man in the characteristic receptionist uniform with a name plate saying BOB addressed them. "Good evening, sir. How may I be of service?"

"A double room," Angel replied.

"Two single rooms," Seven said at the same time.

The receptionist was slightly confused.

Angel shot Seven a warning glance. Ordering two single rooms in a hotel mostly occupied by couples would inevitably draw attention.

"Just a slight argument on the plane, y'see," Angel explained to the receptionist with a small wink and a smile, "of course we take a double room."

"Of course, sir," he said, "Your names, please."

Angel produced the false documents they had replicated on Voyager.

"Ah, well, Mr and Mrs Hanson," Bob said, looking a few things up in his computer, "Which room type, sir? We have Cityview, which is $209.95 per night and person, Fallsview, which is $239.95, but, if you allow my recommendation, the Jacuzzi Fallsview is just stunning, perfect for honeymooners, it's $259.95."

"We're not honeymooners," Seven corrected him, "He's my f..."

"FRIEND," Angel cut her off, "We like to think of each other as partners as well as FRIENDS." He shot her a warning look. "Listen," Angel briefly gazed at the name plate, "Bob, there is a couple at this hotel we're good friends with, William and Buffy HAYES," he pronounced the false name with a hint of disgust which went unnoticed by Bob, "which category are they in?"

"Hold on a sec, sir..." Bob turned to his comnputer again.

Angel lowered his voice, glaring at Seven. "Would you PLEASE leave the talking to me and just try to look normal, can you manage that?"

"Ah, yeah," Bob confirmed, "Mr and Mrs Hayes have the Jacuzzi Fallsview. The suites of this type have hot tub and whirlpool, in-room safe, modem connection, cable and pay-per-view – not that you need a TV with the splendid view of the falls..."

How very typical of Spike, Angel thought, less than the most expensive room type would not have been good enough for him! They would have to replicate more US dollars. "Jacuzzi Fallsview is fine," he replied sourly.

"All right, sir." Bob seemed very pleased. "They have been assigned to room 708. If you would like to have a room on the same floor, I could offer you 710."

Angel gave him a false smile. "That would be very thoughtful of you, Bob."

Bob made the reservation on his computer. He looked up and smiled. "Have an unforgettable stay, sir. Ma'am." He nodded at Seven, then turned to a valet. "Charlie, take Mr and Mrs Hanson's baggage to 710."

"Modem connection. Cable TV," she whispered, "You did not mention we were going to visit a primitive society."

"Annika, Annika, what would you have done in Victorian England?" A small smile of nostalgia rushed over Angel's face.

*

"Isn't that the most marvellous view you've ever seen?" Angel asked when the hotel room door had closed behind them.

"The N'ha'Tera Falls on Shigoory Prime are ten times as high," Seven said dryly.

Angel cast her a mortifying look.

"What?" Seven looked puzzled. "You asked me a question, and I replied to it." She opened the suitcases and began to unpack the portable technical equipment they had brought from Voyager. She carefully began to scan her surroundings. "They are not in their room," she noted. "William Hayes is in the fitness area, Buffy Hayes is currently at the cocktail bar."

"That's not her name," Angel said angrily, "Summers. Buffy Summers."

Seven ignored the remark.

Angel turned away from the window with some regret. "I suggest we split up," he said, "Annika, try to contact Spike, but make sure you don't betray us. Behave like a normal, naive 21^st century bimbo."

"A what?" Seven frowned.

"A... less intelligent girl," Angel explained. "Try to find out as much about how they first met and what happened, but be careful. I will go and find Buffy."

Seven nodded slowly. It sounded like a plan to her.

Angel tossed her a handbag from one of the suitcases.

"What's that supposed to be?" she asked with a puzzled expression.

"It's called a handbag. Put your tricorder and phaser in it. Usually, it's for lipstick, hairbrush, tissues, things like that."

"Why don't you take one as well?" Seven asked, perfectly serious.

"Men don't usually wear handbags," Angel sighed. If Seven was not to blow their cover, it would be a miracle.

*

"So, that's it," Colyta said, emptying her ninth ractaccino. "All I know."

"T'Lia has something to do with the murder of the Vedek, so much is sure," Khassya said. "The question is, what are we gonna do?"

T'Mira silenced the Slayer with a gesture. Two men in dark blue uniforms were approaching their table.

"They're coming for me," Colyta shrieked and leaped from her chair, seeking the exit. Khassya put her hand on her shoulder and made her sit down again. A hand on her weapon, she rose and faced the intruders.

"Is there a problem?" she snarled aggressively.

T'Mira rose as well, but more slowly, her face stern and emotionless as usual. "Gentlemen, how may we help you?"

One of the men produced a holographic identity card. "My name is Lieutenant Commander Schneider, this is my colleage Lieutenant Devereaux. Ministry of Temporal Defence."

T'Mira glanced briefly at the identity card. The date of birth on the card of the young man, who seemed in his thirties, was only a week past. She exchanged a lookn with Khassya, both of them agreeing these were genuine officials.

"We have been informed there has been a breach of temporal directives originating in your time with disastrous consequences for your future, which is our present. We need your assistance as an expert in this matter."

Khassya frowned. "Why would you come to me and not send one of your own people?!"

Schneider cleared his voice. "The incident was caused..." He gazed around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "...by a vampire. Since you are an expert..."

"We'll be glad to help," T'Mira began, but Khassya cut her off.

The Klingon warrior raised her B'athleth and put it at the official's throat. "Why don't you send your own Slayer?"

Devereaux looked at her with an expression that could only be described as terror. "Due to the changes made to the past by the vampire, we don't have a Slayer any more."

"Would you kindly let me breathe?" Schneider gasped.

Khassya lowered her weapon. If this was true, it was a disaster.

"We need you to travel back in time to when the change occurs. Prevent it! In the name of Federation and Council, our future depends on you," Devereaux said.

Khassya nodded. "Tell me what to do."

"The developments are very complex, but a simple mission should do it," the young man explained, "The vampire's actions allowed a Slayer of the 21^st century to live longer than her time. So her planned successor, a very strong Slayer in Waiting, was never Chosen because she was past thirty when the said Slayer died. This disturbed the equilibrium. The line lost strength, very gradually, but steadily. By our time, the Chosen One is weak, almost completely powerless. You must go back and prevent this, or the dark side will win. Here are confirmed orders by the Council of both our and your time." Devereaux slipped her a pad with classified information on the mission.

"Right," Khassya agreed, "What am I to do?"

"Look, we know this may be difficult for you since she is your fellow Slayer, but it is for the good of a whole generation of vampire slayers and their fight against evil, you must remember that. So - go back in time... and make sure the Slayer Buffy Summers dies on May 16^th, 2005."

Khassya grabbed the pad. "She's as good as dead."

11

"I mean, it's really a fascinating area of research," Jack deLorian said for the n^th time that evening, toasting to Beverly Crusher. "You know, Beverly, fungi straddle the realms of microbiology and macrobiology. The largest known living organism on Terra is a 3.5-mile-wide mushroom, armillaria ostoyae!"

She could hardly suppress a yawn. Macrobiology might be fascinating to others, but she was just bored talking about mushrooms all evening.

"The largest species of mushroom found here on Koman is the Komanian Common Fungus, called K'Tha'Pel'Thau by the locals," Jack chattered on.

"Fascinating," Beverly said automatically.

"It translates 'the bread of the Gods'," he added. "We have covered an area of 2,500 acres of it in the last few months..."

His young wife seemed just as bored as Beverly, but she suffered her husband's tales of mushrooms with the indifference of resignation. "Can I get the dessert?" she asked politely.

"Absolutely," Beverly replied quickly and jumped from her chair, "Let me help you in the kitchen!"

"Oh, no," Jack protested, "You're our guest, Beverly, I insist on your sitting down again."

No, no more mushrooms! Beverly prayed in silent agony.

"Jack will help me," Mrs deLorian said quickly.

Jack followed her without protest, giving Beverly the opportunity to relax. She looked around the comfortable dining room. Holo pictures of Jack and Jhelia were scattered all about the room, joined with childhood pictures of Jack in his mother's arms. Oddly enough, there were no pictures of the young woman as a child. None of the pictures showed Jhelia in a time before she had met Jack. Given the fact that Beverly had traced down several anomalies in Jhelia's blood that were characteristic of vampires, she began to wonder why that was so. How old was Jhelia really? Had she been a vampire, or was she still? There was no explanation for her having a heartbeat, breath, a reflection, and yet the mysterious traces in her blood. If she saw childhood pictures of Jhelia, would they show her on Zefrem Cochran's lap, being rocked by John F. Kennedy or held by a late Victorian woman?

The couple returned from the kitchen with three glass bowles containing a brown substance with loads of cream on it.

"What's that?" Beverly asked with interest.

"Jhelia's specialty," Jack explained, "Mushroom trifle with whipped cream!"

Beverly tried not to show her horror. "I've never had that before," she said with a smile, "Is it a recipe of Koman or of your home planet?"

"I learnt how to make it on a Federation outpost," she said evasively.

Beverly took a spoonful of the cream. "Delicious!" She glanced around. "You really have beautiful pictures here. Must have great memories together."

Jack kissed his wife on the cheek. Jhelia smiled. "Yeah. You could say my life just started with meeting Jack."

"I thought so," Beverly replied, eyeing her suspiciously. "Your name is very extraordinary as well, Jhelia. Where does it come from, what does it mean?"

"I don't know, my parents died a long time ago," Jhelia said. "More trifle?"

"No, thanks, but..." Beverly began, but Jhelia cut her off.

"I'll get us some coffee to go with it!" She rose from her chair and ran off to the kitchen.

"I love her, she's so thoughtful!" Jack said dreamily. "Being married to Jhelia is heaven, I sometimes think."

"Young love always is," Beverly said gently. "How did you first meet?"

"That was the worst day definitely," Jack explained with a darkened expression, "I was on a research mission, it was my first assignment after the Academy, a routine examination of black fungus on Segellias Prime in the Gamma Quadrant, when the planet was suddenly attacked! Later, we learned it was a Borg cube, but I remember all the horror and confusion, not knowing where the enemy came from or what they wanted. We were lucky, there was just one Borg cube, but three Galaxy Class vessels around, darting through the wormhole at DS9 and saving most of us. I was wounded, however, and taken to a Federation hospital on Bajor. I first met Jhelia in one of the corridors where they had pushed my bed. Didn't look good for her then. When she lay there on the hospital bed, her face all pale, not detectable pulse, no breath, I thought my heart must break. I think I already knew that if she died, I wouldn't want to live. But she survived. Saw her again a few days later, in the park around the hospital, walking around already. Love at first sight, it was." He sighed. "We weren't a day apart since then. The Doctors really worked a miracle, she recovered so soon! Well, you see, I have great faith in what you're doing! Medicine and macrobiology, that is the future." He toasted at her again.

Beverly nodded slowly.

"Speaking of macrobiology," Jack took up the conversation again, "The black fungus on Segellias Prime really was worth the effort..."

Beverly dozed off.

*

Buffy hardly looked up from the pink cocktail with a pineapple slice and matching pink paper parasole when Angel approached and slid onto the bar stool next to her. The bartender asked him briefly what he wanted to drink, and the vampire replied curtly he took the same as the young lady.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"You again," Buffy sighed. "What are you doing, following me around?"

"No," he disagreed at once, "I'm just... taking a few days off."

Buffy looked at his face and sighed again. "You're really the lousiest liar I've ever met. No offence, of course. Y'know, I'm seriously considering wearing a sign around my neck saying THIS SLAYER IS OUT OF SERVICE."

Angel chuckled a bit at that. However, the comic relief of the situation was almost immediately followed by a searing pain. He missed her, even more so when she was so close and yet so far away. She had no memory of their history, she was Mrs William Hayes. And he would do well to remember that.

"I would like to apologize for what happened in your garden this morning. I didn't mean to..." He cleared his voice. "It's just that Spike... William and I have a history. I had to come to set a few things straight. I got... upset, but Annika was there, and... no harm was done."

Buffy took a sip of her cocktail. "I'm not asking what exactly happened today," she replied, "I'll chalk it off as part of the weird stuff that is a Slayer's daily routine. Actually my vampire radar went on alert as soon as I saw you, but then you were standing in bright sunlight, and I thought, whoops, wrong again, Buff, you do need a vacation!"

Angel gave her a weak smile. "Best place for a vacation."

"Yeah, right," Buffy said, sounding more bitter than she had intended. "I'm at Niagara Falls, staying at a five star hotel, it's my honeymoon, I'm a lucky girl."

Angel paused. He was watching her closely, as she was sitting at the bar, still with the dangling pearl earrings she had worn at her wedding, now in a light summer dress the color of new-fallen snow, but with a silk scarf around her neck and a shadow over her eyes he had not seen there in the morning. "Then why are you here with a stranger and not upstairs in your suite?"

"William and I are perfect for each other," Buffy said evasively.

"Good for you," Angel replied thoughtfully, "But that's not what I asked."

Nervously, Buffy ran her fingers through her hair.

She shrank back as Angel's hand reached in her direction. She shuddered as he gently tugged at her scarf, arranging it back to where it was, covering the two fresh marks on her neck.

"Take velvet instead of silk," he added in a low voice, "This way, the scarf will stay in place."

Buffy blushed. "That's not what it looks like."

"Sure." Angel focused his attention back on his drink. The pink liquid seemed to taste of nothing, but he felt its effects stronger that he should. His head began to ache, even stronger than in the morning. As a vampire, he normally had to drink much more than a mortal to even feel dizzy from the alcohol. "Wonder what they put in that one," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Buffy frowned. "What?"

"I was just talking about the drink. It's very strong. I'm getting a headache. Will be kind of a hangover in the morning."

Buffy shrugged. "I don't know what you mean. It's a Virgin Jacuzzi. Not a drop of alcohol in it."

Angel regarded the drink thoughtfully. It didn't taste of alcohol. But why then did he feel that way? It had to be Buffy, the nearness of her. Since he had come that close to her, he felt physical pain, increasing with every second around her. Maybe his headache was just a manifestation of the helplessness and anger he felt since he had learned about Spike and her. He had to know what had happened. How had the bastard stolen his life?

"I need some fresh air," Angel said and rose. He hesitated. "Wanna come?"

Buffy slowly rose. "Not such a bad idea." By no means did she want to go back to the room she shared with Spike now.

*

"I guess now I know everything there is about fungus," Beverly closed her report wearily.

Wesley's face on the screen showed he did his best not to burst out laughing.

"It all doesn't make any sense," Beverly added, "Jhelia deLorian is a mystery!"

"If that is her name," Wesley replied.

"I am sure I have heard the name Jhelia before, but I can't remember where!" Beverly explained desperately. "Is there some old legend, a ruthless vampire, anything?!"

"I have checked all my databases," Wesley said, "But I do fear it is useless. Jhelia deLorian is neither the name nor the anagram of any famous vampire in interplanetary history. I have also checked on her husband Jack, but I'm afraid there is no material I can provide that you haven't already got. Apart from his academy thesis on the growth rate of mushrooms in artifical atmospheres. I could send you this one, if you like."

"No!" Beverly said so energetically Wesley began to chuckle.

"Listen, Beverly," he added in a more serious tone, "I appreciate what you are trying to do for me. But I'm a vampire, and I have accepted my fate."

"It doesn't have to be your fate," Beverly insisted, "Jhelia was a vampire, but she's cured!"

"You do not know that," Wesley disagreed. "It may well be that she has just been bitten once, or that she accidentally drank a vampire's blood, and that the... seed was planted in her body that way without really turning her."

"Nonsense! It's everywhere in her, right down to her DNA," Beverly interrupted him, "There is no other explanation! Besides, why is she making such a secret of her origins? No, Wes, there's more to it and I am determined to find it!" She switched off the screen and checked her other messages. She had received confirmation of her request for a three days vacation from her assignment. Taking out a small suitcase with just the most important basics, Beverly Crusher made her way to the transporter rooms where she beamed aboard a vessel bound for Bajor.

*

As Angel had advised her, Seven of Nine had checked a 24/7 boutique close to the hotel for a swimsuit, but the assistant had talked her into buying a bikini, which she regretted the instant she first saw herself in it. It did not help to remind herself the assistant had recommended it because someone called Carrie Bradshaw had worn the thing on Sex and the City, for she had no idea what that was. Her breasts were emphasized by the top rather than covered, and she felt very exposed with nothing to cover her buttocks but a tiny stripe of tissue. She had learned one called this type of twenty-first century fashion a string tanga, and that it was considered attractive by most males of this species. Yet she marveled at the fact that she felt everyone's gaze on her, males staring and females glowering at her, as she passed through the lobby in it to reach the swimming pool of the hotel. What troubled Seven most was the fact she had no way of bringing a tricorder and phaser with her. Showering briefly, she found the long black mane extremely impracticable.

The swimming pool was empty at this hour except for Spike. Seven remained at the entrance for a few moments and watched him parting the water, doing the 50 metres crawl at superhuman speed, Seven estimated it took him about five seconds.

Realizing he was no longer alone, Spike stopped at the end of the lane to look at her. The woman making her way to the pool was a beauty. Long, raven hair like another beauty he had known long ago, but taller, with livelier eyes, and tanned by the sun. The most amazing thing about her was the tiny bikini. He as well stared at her as she climbed down the ladder into the water.

The grin on his face was not lost to Seven. She turned and faced him. "Can you tell me what is wrong with my outer appearance?"

"Nothing, dear," Spike replied, his grin even widening.

"In your view, is this type of clothing causing sexual attraction?" she inquired directly.

Spike chuckled. "If I weren't a married man, I'd call it sexual harrassment." He extended his hand. "William Hayes."

Seven stared at the hand for a moment, then remembered the human tradition. "Oh, yes, in your culture, you shake hands to show you are not conceiling a weapon," she said. At Spike's puzzled gaze, she added quickly: "Annika Hanson." To cover up her mistake, she began to talk faster. "I'm from Sweden, hand-shaking is not very common there."

Spike looked at her dark hair and skin. "You look very... Swedish," he said with slight amusement. Shaking his head at the strangeness of this woman, he dove into the water once again, this time slowing down his speed in order not to raise suspicions.

As he reached the other end of the lane, Seven was already waiting, having beaten him by an arm's length. As Spike reached her, he frowned for a moment when he caught her scent. Something was familiar about her, though he could not put his finger on it.

"You do not sound American either," Seven tried to keep the conversation going.

Why either? You do sound American. But Spike kept the thought to himself. "I'm British, but my wife's from California," Spike replied.

"Oh, really!" Seven said in a high-pitched tone she had heard in the lounge so often in conversations among women. "So you came a long way."

Spike gave her a scornful laugh. "A very long way." His chest rose and fell in imitation of deep breathing. "But it was worth it. All of it."

"Tell me about her, how did you meet?"

Spike did not seem inclined to answer personal questions. He dove in again and swam another two lanes under water, without rising to the surface for air he did not need.

Seven realized she would have to do more to receive any kind of information. She slowly climbed from the water and approached the diving platform. The former Borg did not bother starting from low, instead she climbed up to the highest board. Seven stepped forward, stretching out her arms and closing her eyes. Then she just let her body fall. Gracefully, she moved through the air and dove into the water with almost no sound.

As she came to the surface again for breath, she glanced at him with a smile the Doctor had taught her in their lessons in romantic relations. "So how about your wife?" Seven asked.

Spike was looking at her in amazement. "What are you, a professional swimmer? Bloody gold medalist or something?"

"Why don't you try?" Seven challenged him.

"No, thanks," Spike refused.

"I am completely aware of the fact that you are not currently using any swimwear," Seven said matter-of-factly.

"Thought I was alone," Spike defended himself, "I mean, it's bloody two in the mornin'!"

"Well, if you're not up to the challenge..." Seven shrugged and began to climb from the water when Spike's hand closed around her ankle.

"I am up to the challenge," he protested. With these words, he swung himself onto the side of the pool without the aid of a ladder.

Seven watched him closely, raising a brow as he climbed up to the platform.

Spike's moment of self-consciousness had faded quickly, and his usual nonchalant arrogance returned. "In your view," he said, "is this type of non-clothing causing sexual attraction?"

An image flashed before Seven's inner eye, showing Chakotay in the same pose on a diveboard, smiling at her. Seven fought to keep her voice steady. "Negative," she replied dryly.

Spike dove into the water without hesitation, yet less elegantly than Seven.

"It was the usual story," Spike began as he emerged from the water.

"Pardon?"

"My wife and me. The usual story. Boy meets girl, falls in love with her, asks her to marry, and here we are, on our honeymoon. What can I say? I'm perfectly happy."

Seven climbed from the water and wrapped a towel around her wet hair, realizing the conversation seemed over for Spike.

"Good night," she said curtly, heading for the exit.

"Wait," Spike said suddenly. "You wouldn't want to go through the lobby wearing just this," he added, handing her a bathrobe.

For a brief moment, their hands touched.

There it was again, the olfactoric disturbance. "Your scent," Spike said thoughtfully, "Are you using the same perfume as my wife?"

"Possibly," Seven replied quickly and literally fled from the pool.

*

"This is a restricted area," Buffy whispered in a warning tone as she was following Angel down a narrow path around the hotel. Not enough they had sneaked out of the hotel through the kitchen's staff entrance, he was climbing over a barrier with a huge sign:

DANGER

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PERSECUTED

"Has anyone ever told you you're a troublemaker?" Buffy asked again as Angel did not reply.

He shrugged. "Once or twice."

It was so dark the Slayer could hardly see the ground, and her words were carried away by the roaring of the waterfalls in close proximity.

As a vampire, Angel's eyesight in the dark was far above human average. So was his hearing, which allowed him to understand her every word despite the noises. "Careful here," he said, "The stones are wet."

Buffy could tell they were close to the water now, though the only thing she saw was a glow in the distance, probably from the illuminated falls below the hotel. "Seeing the stones would help," she replied with more than just a hint of sarcasm.

Without a word, Angel clasped her hand and led her on through the darkness.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?"

Angel nodded. "I've been here before. It's been a while, must have been in 1903."

"Sorry?" Buffy asked, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly through the deafening noise of the water. "Did you say you were here in 2003? That was just two years ago!"

"Yes," Angel confirmed, "Feels a lot longer."

He could see on her face she was not altogether convinced. The fact that he had stood in the sun without burning to dust was still contradicting her famous 'spider sense' which insisted Angel was a vampire. If only he could understand why it was that he could move freely in daylight. Was it because he was a time traveller and the sunrays of the past did not fit his molecular structure any longer? But then Spike would have had to be a daywalker as well, yet Angel had observed the other vampire had remained in the shade of Buffy's porch when they had met, plus they had taken a nightflight to Niagara Falls. That could not be it. He pushed the thought aside when they had reached the place he wanted to show her. A dark tunnel led to an even blacker cave. "Almost there," he explained.

"We're not supposed to be here," Buffy said, following him nevertheless, "You'll get us arrested. There are laws in this country..."

"You sound like Riley," Angel said, slightly amused.

"Riley?" Buffy looked puzzled for a moment, then it dawned on her. "Oh, you don't mean Reverend Finn, do you?"

Angel blinked in surprise. Some things in Spike's little world weren't that bad after all.

They had reached the end of the tunnel and were suddenly out in the open air again. Buffy heard the roaring of a fall and realized suddenly they were on a latch of rock behind the cascading water. The illumination cast a soft light on their faces as they were watching the water breaking on the rocks in mighty waves, timeless in its sublimity and its force.

"This is a perfect spot," Buffy whispered in awe, but Angel heard her despite the sounds of nature around them.

"Makes you feel small," he said quietly.

He realized she still held his hand in a firm grip even though she could now see the ground again and the danger of slipping and falling on the stones had passed. Her hair was wet, the light summer dress drenched as well and sticking to her body.

"Don't catch a cold," he said, draping his own leather jacket around her shoulders.

Buffy looked at him with an expression of recognition. "Feels like a déjà vu, " she said, touching the leather in wonder.

Angel shuddered. Did she remember... That was impossible, in this timeline she had never met him before, and yet her eyes told a different story, one of recognition, of electricity between them in a time long since past. And he knew he wanted her to fall in love with him again. That was why he was here.

Buffy looked straight into his eyes. "Angel," she said gently, the sound of his name ringing in his ears a thousand times like an echo of the only thing that had kept him going for the last three hundred years. "Angel, this is so weird..."

Angel did not care his reason was crying out to him not to forget he was on a mission, he had to find out about how Spike had managed to make this a reality, all he wanted to do right now was draw her close to him and make her forget Spike had ever existed, this was the moment, now or never. He had to move on her. Now.

"Buffy," he whispered, bending down to kiss her.

Buffy shivered. She caught his gaze and slowly arched up against him. Their faces were mere inches apart.

His heart sang. Destiny was destiny, no matter what anyone did to come between them. He would kiss her, and it would be alright because she felt the same way, just the moment, he would do the thinking later. In her heart she recognized him, in her heart she remembered.

"Angel, did you know..." Buffy began, not taking her eyes off his, "Just after I'd first met Spike at the Bronze, he gave me his leather coat, just the way you did just now."

Angel backed away as if someone had struck him over the face. He felt like a fool. There was nothing in her eyes, no recognition, and certainly not love. He was such an idiot.

Buffy cast her eyes down. "Thanks for showing me the place," she said formally, "Have a nice stay at the Falls still." She breathed deeply. "I'll find my own way back." As she practically ran from the cave, the jacket slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground.

*

Buffy pushed the door closed and leant against it, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking, her whole body shivering, and she was sure to have caught her death in the cold water spraying from the fall. She had to remind herself once again Spike had surely not meant to hurt her, he was just... passionate. She had overreacted.

And this made you throw yourself at a stranger? she wondered.

--- I did not throw myself at anyone, the reasonable part of her insisted.

No, you didn't come close to kissing him at all, her emotional side mocked her,

"No, I'm not," Buffy said aloud.

"What?" Spike suddenly asked. He was sitting in an armchair by the window, in the dark, fully dressed. He had waited for her.

"I'm not... angry with you any more," Buffy said a little to quickly.

A glare of distrust flashed in Spike's eyes. "Where the bloody hell have you been?" He rose and was with her faster than her eye could watch. For a moment, he again seemed to catch a familiar scent on her, almost like a faint trace of his Sire, but when he tried to concentrate on it, the scent was gone. That was impossible, he had been imagining it. Buffy's hair and clothes smelled of the waterfalls. He touched her soaking hair. "You're all wet."

Buffy quickly closed her arms around him and winked at him like a conspirator. "No, I'm not," she remarked. Guilt-ridden, a voice whispered in her head, you're just guilt-ridden.

Spike did not bother undressing her, he just ripped the wet sundress from her body. The drenched tissue gave way at once.

"These things do have buttons, you know," Buffy said.

"I'll buy you a new one," Spike replied.

*

Seven shut down the hairdryer. "This is the middle ages indeed," she ended her report. "Drying one's hair by blowing hot air into it, that is truly barbaric."

"Do you hear that?" Angel asked.

Seven listened for a moment in silence, yet her hearing was not as advanced as the vampire's, so she took her tricorder, directing it at the wall between their suite and the neighbouring one. "The thermic scan's showing increased body temperatures, indicating physical activity," she announced.

Angel cast her a mortifying look. "He's with my girl," he said sourly, bringing his fist down hard on the coffee table, which crushed a leg immediately under the impact.

"Technically, she is his wife," Seven corrected him, "Did I mention your dismembering the furniture is extremely inefficient?"

"What?" Angel burst out.

Seven took a step toward him. She set the side of her hand on the damaged coffee table, taking a deep breath. With a brief shout she released the energy and struck. The table was split in half. "This is efficiency."

Angel had to smile in spite of himself. "That work with a skull as well?" Then he began to chuckle lightly and could not stop.

Seven hesitated. "How can my damaging a piece of equipment be humorous?"

His laughter was contagious. For the first time since she had been turned Borg, Seven was shaken by a laughing fit.

*

"Do you hear that?" Buffy asked.

"What, the noises from next door?" Spike asked in amusement, "The woman's scream? The broken furniture? Laughter? Sounds like someone's having a good time." His eyes flashed with anticipation. "Let's see if I can make you scream as well."

*

Far away in time, a Klingon Slayer and her Vulcan Watcher were discussing the procedure once they would have completed the time warp. Soon they would go back in time, as soon as Schneider and Devereaux had arranged the temporal transport, which would involve an especially designed shuttlecraft being flown into the sun of Sector 1/1.

"Are you positive you will not have issues killing another Slayer?" T'Mira asked.

"I'm a Klingon," Khassya replied, "A warrior does what must be done. I will prepare her an honorable death so she can enter Stovo'khor."

"It is a public place," T'Mira contradicted her, "You cannot break an open fight with someone at a hotel. You have to catch her alone. And she is a Slayer, a twenty-first century Slayer when they used to be stronger."

"Do I look weak to you?!?!" Khassya exploded, "Woman, are you insane?"

"You are not listening," T'Mira insisted, "You may be stronger than the average human being, yet that is because you are a Klingon, not a Slayer. Think of the Slayers Chosen in the last few decades: Klingons, Cardassians, Vulcans. Never a human, or a Ferengi. Physical strength is determined by many factors, Khassya, so this old Slayer may be stronger than even you."

"What do you suggest?" Khassya asked.

"To take care," the Watcher replied. "Catch her off-guard. Finish her off quickly. Dispose of the body."

"How?" Khassya asked, slightly confused.

"We are meeting her at Niagara Falls. Such a place attracts many unfortunate... accidents. People drown in the water, their bodies never get to be found."

"That's not the Klingon way," Khassya insisted.

"No," T'Mira admitted coolly, "It is the smart way."

"It's the way of cowards, I don't like it!" the Klingon protested.

T'Mira was very concerned to make herself clear in that matter. "Do not run unnecessary risks. Honour is a good thing, but we need you, Khassya. You're our only chance, our only hope. There's nothing honourable in dying miserably if you can win another time. If that is what your honour demands, look in her face when you kill her."

The door chime finished their discussion. Schneider entered without invitation. "It's time for the time warp," he announced. With a small smile, he added: "No pun intended."

Khassya rose. "For Federation and Council, then," she said.

Schneider gestured down the corridor. "This way, Slayer. Good luck."

*

"Doctor Katami Rhan will see you now," the nurse informed Beverly at last. Beverly thanked the nurse with the ridged nose and ceremonial earring politely and was led to the office of the head of the hospital.

"Doctor Beverly Crusher of Starfleet," the nurse announced her and closed the door from the outside.

Katami Rhan had been in charge of the City Hospital for several years. Measured in earth years, he would be in his fifties, but he was still an attractive man. Blue was definitely his colour. Beverly caught herself playing nervously with a strand of her flaming red hair as she entered the office.

"Doctor Katami, thank you for making the time for me," Beverly said, smiling brightly.

"Please, Doctor Crusher, have a seat," Doctor Katami replied with a polite little bow. "Would you like some tea? I have just made some."

"Thank you, yes," Beverly said and watched as the Bajoran poured a reddish liquid into two tiny cups, handing her one of them. The scent and flavour of the Bajoran tea was strong, and Beverly inhaled it deeply.

"Have you had a pleasant journey?" Katami asked.

"Yes, thank you, I was surprised how a medical supply ship could make the journey from Koman in almost no time."

"The supplies of bandages and medication from Starfleet are a great help to us here," Katami explained. "But I didn't expect Starfleet to send us such a qualified and reputed medical officer to guide the transport."

Beverly blushed slightly. "You're very kind, but you're exaggerating," she said. "Truth be told, Doctor Katami, I'm here in private. Starfleet didn't send me, I just took the chance to join the freighter to get to Bajor. I came here to see you."

Katami looked surprised. "Really? Why is the famous Dr Beverly Crusher interested in visiting my hospital? Not that I'm not flattered you came here just for me."

"I would like to request some information on a patient. I replaced her heart, she's a marathon runner- and I came across some... irregularities which might have resulted from former injuries. She was treated here a few years ago, she is now called Jheila deLorian, I don't know her maiden name. A Borg attack in the Gamma Quadrant." She passed him a pad containing the exact stardates.

Katami gazed at it for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Ah, yes. A moment, please." He walked to a console and entered a few parameters. Beverly still gazed at him nervously. He was so nice, so helpful, and handsome as well, and he was a Doctor. She realized how long it had been since she had had a real date. Nonsense, 100 to 1 that he was married.

After a few minutes, Katami returned, shrugging. "I'm sorry, most of the documents from that time have already been lost or deleted. I saw from the record that only one patient with the first name of Jhelia was treated here at the time, but I'm afraid I can't do more at the moment. I see from the record that Dr Lorana Kryx was her physician, maybe you would like to talk to her. She is retired from service, but I'm sure she'd be glad to help. Shall I have my secretary get the details for you?"

"Thank you, that'd be great." Beverly slowly rose from her chair. "You have been very helpful, Dr Katami. Thank you for your time and effort, and good luck with the hospital."

Katami cleared his voice. "Listen, Dr Crusher... a friend of mine, who is an artist, has her grand opening of her latest exhibition tonight, and I was wondering... whether you would be available this evening."

Beverly smiled. "I'd love to."

Katami smiled back. "Good. Around eight, then?"

*

Katami was extremely punctual as he picked her up at ten minutes to eight Bajor Standard Time at the guest room she was staying at near Capital City Medical centre. He was wearing a dark suit tailored in the traditional Bajoran way which fit Beverly's dress of dark blue velvet perfectly. As he held the shuttlecraft's entrance door for her, she again became aware of the fact how out of practice at dating she had been. The shuttlecraft, which had been dispensed by the Medical Centre for Dr Katami's personal use, rounded the planet speedily and arrived at the Southern continent several minutes later.

The gallery was already crowded, with hundreds of Bajorans and extrabajorial visitors standing in small groups, discussing the paintings and sculptures in a more or less qualified way. A waiter was offering drinks in tall glasses, Beverly thanked him politely and took two glasses, handing one of them to Dr Katami.

"This one's extraordinary, don't you agree?" he said, pointing at a large sculpture right ahead of them.

Beverly followed his gaze. She could not detect anything special about a large piece of wood encarved with symbols, pierced by several corroded nails. The puzzled look on her face must have betrayed her cluelessness, for Katami began to explain: "It symbolizes the destruction of Bajoran morale under the Cardassian occupation."

Beverly looked at the sculpture again, with different eyes, now. "Oh, yes," she said and smoothed her lack of knowledge with a winning smile.

"The nails piercing the wood stand for the Cardassian labour camp overseers, but as you may notice, none of the symbols is being pierced, meaning they haven't been able to subjugate our culture. You can observe it much better from where I'm standing." Katami laid his hands on Beverly's shoulders, slowly directing her a few steps aside.

"My dear Rhan," a voice suddenly came from behind them, "Flirting again with other women?"

Katami turned around with a smile towards a middle-aged Bajoran woman, wearing a golden ceremonial earring and a plain green dress, decorated with tiny pieces of mother-of-pearl. Her long chestnut-coloured hair was held back by a rainbow scarf. She was followed by an elderly lady in an elegant robe.

"Shaani," he addressed the first woman, "I love the exhibition, it's your best pieces of work yet." He kissed her on the cheek, then nodded at the elderly lady before he led Beverly towards the two women. "I would like you to meet a colleague of mine. This is Doctor Beverly Crusher of Starfleet. Beverly, may I introduce you to Lorana Shaani, the artist of the hour?"

"Pleased to meet you," Shaani said, extending her hand to Beverly. "This is my mother, Lorana Kryx."

The name rang a bell with Beverly at once. This had to be the physician who had treated Jhelia deLorian. Beverly forced herself to smile and exchange a few courtesies. "You must be so proud," she said.

Dr Lorana shrugged. "I'd always hoped she'd go to business school, but you can't have everything, I guess."

Shaani realized Beverly's glass was just half full. "Oh, your glass is almost empty, let me get you another one."

"No, thanks, really, I'm not that thirsty," Beverly hurried to say.

"The perfect host as ever," Katami complimented the artist. "Did you finish the picture on the Battle of Shal'Koo'Nar?"

"Yeah, I did, though I wasn't really pleased with it in the end, I hope I'll get a good price for it. It's over there, in the adjoining room, but as I said before, it's not very good." They slowly began to walk toward the said piece. "A little too shallow, I think, to Brundyesk."

Beverly assumed Brundy was a local painter, but she did not bother to ask.

Katami stared at the picture for several long moments. Beverly secretly admitted she recognized nothing in it but spots of dark shades of blue, bleeding into one another.

"No," Katami disagreed, "It's not Brundyesk, I'd call it anti-analytical and anti-pointilistic. What do you think, Beverly?"

Beverly shrank from her reverie. "I'm not an expert," she admitted, "but I think it's very... blue."

Katami and Shaani stared at her in shock for a moment.

Dr Lorana patted her shoulder. "See, that's what I keep saying!" She chuckled. "I don't understand anything about art, and frankly, I'm bored out of my pants in here! Come on, Beverly, let's get a bit of fresh, anti-Brundyesk air!"

With a smile of relief, Beverly followed the retired Doctor out onto the terrace.

"I'm glad she's found a profession she loves," Lorana admitted, "and I'm happy for her success as a painter and sculptor. But to be honest, I prefer things you can measure scientifically."

"Me, too," Beverly admitted. She took a deep breath of the chilly night air.

"I assume you haven't come for the exhibition, then," Lorana started the conversation. "Rhan mentioned you came here because of a patient?"

"That's right," Beverly said, "I don't expect you to remember the case, but... she was treated by you during the Borg attack on Sigellias a few years ago. Her name was Jhelia. Her husband Jack deLorian first met her at the hospital, she was badly injured."

Lorana frowned, thinking. Then her face assumed an astonished expression. "Jack deLorian, that does sound familiar. I treated someone for serious burns after that attack, but I'm not sure if that was his name, the hospital was just crammed with people. A very young officer, didn't realize his wounds were life-threatening, and for some reason he kept talking about... mushrooms?"

"That's him, definitely," Beverly confirmed.

The Bajoran nodded. "I remember him, yeah. And I recall the tall, blond woman we pushed onto the corridor that night. Pretty face she had."

"Jhelia," Beverly said, her tension increasing. "Anything you remember about her?"

The Doctor's expression darkened. "I remember. Wasn't a pretty sight. The Borg had tried to turn her into one of them, but something must have gone terribly wrong." She made a fist. "All my life we've been fighting these... monsters. What they've done to such a young life... We fight and fight, but we never win. The darkness always wins. Death always wins."

Beverly put a calming hand on the older woman's shoulder. "But you saved her," she said gently, "Jack deLorian is still grateful for what you have accomplished. He told me how he first saw her, almost dead, and you healed her in a matter of days."

Lorana looked at her with empty eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said sharply. "That night was a nightmare. More and more wounded and traumatized people were brought in, and we were short on staff. We only treated those we thought had a slim chance of survival. Pushing beds on the corridors... Beds of the terminal candidates, those who did not have a chance to survive. I don't know who you treated, but the blond woman, Jhelia as you called her, was dead when I told the nurse to take her bed out to the corridor. She had already been dead when I first examined her. You can't have treated her. She never survived the assimilation process."

"But Jack deLorian told me she was unconscious that night, and he talked to her only days later, in the hospital park!"

Lorana shook her head in determination. "I tell you, he must be wrong. Maybe there was another Jhelia."

"No," Beverly insisted, "Dr Katami assured me there was only one Jhelia on the patient list."

"Lists," Lorana said with a snorting tone, "We were fighting for lives that night, Beverly. Do you really think the nurses bothered putting everyone down on a list?"

Beverly nodded slowly, but was entirely unconvinced. "Thank you very much, Doctor. You've been very helpful. I think I should go back inside."

Still deep in thought, Beverly entered the exhibition hall again. She found Katami standing in front of an impressive and far less abstract picture. Three mighty Bajoran symbols towering on a heap of clouds.

"What's that?" she asked, feigning interest at first, but something in that picture did catch her attention.

"The Bajoran artistic ideal," Katami said, putting an arm around Beverly's waist as if accidentally.

Beverly felt the heat rise into her face. "What do the symbols mean?"

"Srid'eia, Jh'elia, P'erayopeia," he said in Bajoran, his face approaching Beverly's. He cast his eyes down and lowered his voice. "The three pillars of Bajoran art, the principles by which the Bajoran world picture is organized," his lips brushed hers for a brief moment, "the principles of..." He fell silent and kissed her.

*

"... and then he looked into my eyes, and I felt like a stupid little schoolgirl, because I hadn't even listened to what he'd said about the picture!" Beverly told Wesley excitedly as she kept him up to date via subspace communication that night. "I mean, I'm not uneducated, surely not, but I'm a doctor, not an art critic! Can you tell me what that was all about, artist ideal, Bajoran world picture? I don't wanna look like a fool when I meet him again! What does it mean?"

"If you ask me, it means someone's got a crush, Dr Crusher," Wesley had to smile in spite of himself.

"Srid'eia, Jh'elia, P'erayopeia," Beverly repeated thoughtfully.

Suddenly, Wesley leaped from his chair, almost knocking it over. "What did you say your patient was called, Jhelia deLorian?"

"Yeah, why?"

Wesley's expression darkened. "Go back to Koman and stay, I'll meet you there."

"What happened?" she asked, puzzled.

"Not over the intercom," he said enigmatically.

"Why do you want to come to Koman?" Beverly wondered.

"Let's just say, it's time to meet an old... friend."

*

Khassya the Vampire Slayer had been able to feel the presence of vampires from the moment she entered the lobby, and her instincts made her all alert and watchful. Yet she knew she had to be unsuspicious, which proved to be extremely difficult.

Her Watcher T'Mira had undergone cosmetic surgery setting her eyebrows straight and removing the pointed tips of her ears, while Khassya had refused such treatment from the very first suggestion of it. She was a Klingon, no one would touch the ridged forehead that was her heritage. A solution was soon found. With her dark complexion, she could pass for a member of the negroid species called African-Americans at the time they were travelling to, and the physical features marking her as Klingon could as well be hidden under the cap belonging to a maid's uniform at Niagara Falls Marriot Hotel.

She pushed a trolley with fresh towels and bathrobes along one of the corridors. It had been especially prepared by Starfleet and Council and contained a tricorder, phaser and phaser rifle, a B'athleth, wooden stakes and crucifixes as well as a few veoles of Holy Water, all hidden beneath the unsuspicious towels. Do not run unnecessary risks, T'Mira's voice resounded in her head, Honor is a good thing, but we need you, Khassya. You're our only chance.

Through the door of 708, she heard muffled voices.

Hesitantly, she approached the door, heart pounding in her chest.

"And you're sure you don't wanna come?" Buffy asked as she was brushing her hair, wondering what use it was, anyway. With the Falls so near, any hairstyle was doomed to fall apart.

Spike chuckled. "Would be a great headline: VAMPIRE BURSTING INTO FLAMES ON NIAGARA FALLS GUIDED TOUR. No, luv, I'd rather survive my honeymoon."

"They say the weather will be cloudy all day," Buffy insisted.

Spike gave her an almost pitiful look. "They also say it never rains in Southern California!" With nostalgia, Spike thought back to Buffy's seventeenth birthday, when they had been surprised by a thunderstorm and made love for the first time. He grinned at her. "Besides, I gotta recover for the night. I'll be fine."

"Then I'm staying as well," Buffy replied.

"No way," Spike disagreed, "You wanted the Falls, you get them! Seeing them on a guided tour aboard a raft is something you can't seriously want to miss for my sake!" He snatched a towel from the peg and kissed Buffy's forehead. "I'll be in the gym. So be a good girl and have a great day, luv."

On walking from the suite, Spike almost bumped into a black woman with a trolley.

"Room service," Khassya announced, the way she had been advised to. Her veins ran hot with the desire to stake the clueless vampire before her. But she retained herself. Breaking a fight would alert Buffy Summers.

Spike hardly noticed her and swung his towel around his neck, walking toward the elevator, whistling a tune unknown to Khassya. Right in front of the elevator, Spike stopped abruptly and sniffed the air for a moment, frowning. "Could've sworn it smelled of Klingon," he murmured.

"Room service," someone said behind her in a thick accent, "Change towels."

"Sure," Buffy said absently. She took a tiny mirror from her handbag to check her makeup... and froze. In the mirror, she could see the maid bowed down and lifted a towel on the trolley. Under the towel, a weapon was hidden.

Buffy parried the sudden attack as it came, evading the blow and kicking her opponent hard in her abdomen. "Can't you guys even leave me alone in my honeymoon?" She frowned as she took a closer look at the weapon. It looked like an axe, and yet not so much, for its blade was divided into three parts held together by a useful handle, which gave her adversary a good grip. "That's not supposed to be an axe, is it?" Buffy asked, trading several blows onto the other woman.

Khassya gasped. That Slayer was strong, and she was merely human! With a battlecry, the Klingon swung her B'athleth at Buffy, but Buffy got hold of the handle and slammed the weapon onto the central heating, where its blade got stuck between heating and wall.

Khassya growled in anger and used her knowledge of Klingon martial arts to knock Buffy off her feet with a skillful kick on her knees.

Buffy felt the pain when Khassya tried to lunge at her, but she used the Klingon's momentum to hurl her over her head and send Khassya crashing into the walls.

Khassya was bleeding, but the blood was oddly pinkish, almost purple. She had lost the cap, her forehead was ridged.

"What kind of demon are you?" Buffy asked, puzzled, casually raining down more blows of her fists on her opponent.

"I'm not a demon," Khassya gasped, slowly recovering, as she struggled back on her feet and beginning to parry Buffy's attacks. "I'm not your enemy! I honor you, and I have come to secure your place in Stovocor!"

"Sorry," Buffy said, as she was only perceptable as a beautiful killing machine consisting of flying fists and legs and hit Khassya's temple with the heel of her boot, "Definitely not planning any trips to Russia!"

Khassya howled in pain as she was thrown to the side against the wall by the power of Buffy's kicks. At least she had hit her B'athleth, which she now managed to pull free from where it had been stuck.

Now Khassya did feel weak and dizzy. Do not run unnecessary risks. Honor is a good thing, but we need you, Khassya. You're our only chance. A Klingon never fled, a Klingon died in battle if necessary, but as a Slayer, Khassya had learned to recognize an opportunity to win. This wasn't one. There's nothing honourable in dying miserably if you can win another time. She thrust her B'athleth forward, at last hitting Buffy several times, yet she realized her blows would not do much more than a few bruises. Only with an effort she managed to get past Buffy and towards the door. "Prepare for your death, Slayer!" she snarled as she ran from the room.

Buffy did not even bother to follow her. Her gaze fell at her watch. "Gee, I'm gonna be late!"

*

"She will attend," Seven of Nine said in a steady voice as Angel kept pacing up and down the docking area nervously.

"I have a bad feeling," Angel insisted, "Something has happened."

Seven raised a brow. "After the... noise from next door last night, it would be a legitimate hypothesis to assume she is just... exhausted."

Angel glared at her with flaming eyes. "Be careful how you talk about your mother, young lady."

Several of the tourists gathered around them looked confused.

"We are drawing attention," Seven whispered in a warning tone.

Angel felt horrible. He hated the screaming yellow color of the impermeable and hood they had to wear for the raft trip, and a vampire with a life jacket seemed just as ridiculous to him.

"Everyone onto the rafts, please," a voice announced, and the first tourists began mounting the rafts. "Remember the security instructions," the guide continued, "Do not lean out. Always wear your impermeable and life jacket. Follow the instructions of the crew."

That moment, Buffy ran towards the docking station.

Angel smiled when he saw her. Her hair looked tangled, and the yellow impermeable was buttoned in the wrong way as she held her hood with her hand to prevent it from being blown off by the wind.

"You're staring," Seven warned him, pushing him onto the second raft.

Behind them, the chain was fastened.

"Wait," Angel said to the female guide watching over the docking station, "A friend of ours is coming, too." He pointed in Buffy's direction.

"The raft has already achieved the maximum number of twenty passengers. She can take the next raft, right behind you," the woman replied.

"Then we'll take the next one, too," Angel said, but the woman shook her head.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Sir, your tour guide has already loosened the ropes. Have a pleasant trip, Sir."

Angel was about to protest when the raft began to move.

"We'll meet her after the tour, then," Seven told him.

Angel watched as the guide showed Buffy to the next raft. Buffy looked up and spotted him, smiling and waving her hand.

Angel raised his hand as well, painfully aware she was out of reach. Again.

"This way, Madam," the female guide said and led Buffy onto the raft. She nodded at the other tourist already aboard the third raft, whose face was completely hidden under the hood of the impermeable. The guide stepped onto the raft and fastened the chain, then loosened the ropes that held it in place. Then the raft began to move.

"The guided tour only comprises the safe areas of the waterfall. If not precisely kept to the route, the raft otherwise might be involved in dangerous currents. If you look to your right now, ladies and gentlemen, any moment we will pass a spot from which you get a good view of..."

Angel hardly listened to the explanations of the tour guide on his own raft, he just kept his eyes on the raft following them. It seemed slightly off course, and except for Buffy, there was just the female guide and one other tourist.

"A question," Angel said aloud.

"Yes?" the tour guide asked.

"Why are there twenty people on this raft and twenty-two on the first while the third raft is going with just two people?"

The guide looked puzzled. "The rafts can take up to thirty people, sir."

Angel frowned in alarm. "I was told twenty was the maximum number!"

"By whom, if I may ask, Sir?"

"Your colleague, the woman at the docking station! Five minutes ago!"

The guide frowned. "John and myself are the only tour guides on duty today, and we have no female colleagues at the moment. Steering a raft over the waterfalls isn't really a girl thing, y'know!"

Angel stared at the raft on which Buffy was, which was slowly falling back, drifting aside to where the strong currents were, his sight being dimmed by the mists and waters around them.

Buffy looked around her and noticed the other two rafts were slowly fading from her sight, their own raft taking another way. "Is this the right way?" Buffy asked. "Why are we going on another course? And doesn't anyone give explanations, you know, such as, to your right you have a marvellous view of the hotel, and stuff?"

T'Mira shot her a cold look. "Where we are going, no explanation will be needed."

Buffy suddenly felt her stomach tighten. This didn't feel right. She glanced nervously at the other tourists. "We're gonna complain at the hotel, aren't we?"

The other tourist, a well-muscled black woman, turned around to face Buffy. T'Mira nodded at Khassya. "I am glad you have seen my way is the only one."

Khassya lunged at Buffy and pushed her over the edge of the raft down into the icy currents of the water, holding the surprised and then terrified gaze of the other Slayer until the waves had completely drawn her away. Then she broke into the mighty death howl of the Klingons to guide her worthy adversary her way to Stovocor.

12

"If you will kindly look to your right now, ladies and gentlemen. The falls on this part reach a height of over..."

Angel looked to his right indeed, yet what he saw and what made him gasp was certainly not the height of Niagara Falls or the magnificent view of endless water puring mercilessly down on sharp rocks. Seven followed his gaze and froze. It was a yellow hood, of the kind normally used on the raft tours, floating on the water, tossed around by the waves.

"Buffy," Angel whispered. His head hurt, he felt the pain would break his skull. For a moment, time stood still as he gazed down into the emptiness stretching down for hundreds of yards. So much water... No one having to breathe would be able to survive. The rocks down there were so sharp any--- body hitting them would be torn immediately.

"...which is why our tour cannot approach any closer, moving into the unpredictable currents here would just be too dangerous," the guide explained.

"It's a trap!" Angel yelled against the ramblings of the guide and the roaring of the falls.

"Set up by whom?" Seven asked, puzzled, but Angel did not seem to listen.

His eyes scanned the horizon for a trace of the third raft, but it was nowhere to be seen. Indeed he saw something moving in the water, several hundred yards away, struggling to the surface, yet sinking down again and again. It looked like a yellow impermeable. And it was drifting... closer to the waterfalls. Without hesitation, Angel pulled the useless life-jacket over his head and began unbuttoning his impermeable.

Seven clutched his wrist. "What are you doing?" she inquired.

"I can't swim in those," he insisted, pushing her hand away and doing away with the impermeable.

"SWIM?" Seven shouted so loudly everyone on the raft turned.

"Sir," the guide said in alarm, "I must ask you to put these back on."

Angel did not listen to the humming of whispering excited voices around him, or to the guide's polite but determined warnings. He did not pay attention to the searing pain in his temples. His mind ran wild with the thought he had to reach her before she was drawn down the waterfalls even as he was disposing of his shirt, casting it away regardlessly. He was about to climb over the chains of the raft.

"This is suicide!" Seven looked at him with furious, but at the same time pleading eyes.

Angel shook his head. "For a human."

"Sir, I can't allow this!" The guide grasped his shoulders, trying to force him back onto the raft. Angel struck him over the face so he fell unconscious to the floor of the raft, blood trickling down from his nose.

"Don't, we'll find another way!" Seven looked straight into his eyes. "VOYAGER could send help. Please."

Suddenly, Angel began to stare at her. It could not be... his headache... the concern for Buffy... it blurred his sight, it had to... he could not be seeing what he saw... his own reflection in his daughter's eyes... He touched his forhead, impatiently massaging it with two fingers. He was hallucinating. He must be. "We don't have time for this," Angel said. "Take care of him, Seven," he gestured toward the injured guide who was beginning to open his eyes. "And of yourself."

He let go off the raft and was consumed immediately by the waves.

*

Buffy could not see anything but grey. Her eyes were burning with the water, her lungs were slowly beginning to fill with water. She was done coughing when she came to the surface, for she could not reach the surface any longer, the currents were drawing her down. She had been struggling for minutes, but the current had been increasing, like drawn by a magnet [the waterfalls], and her strength was fading. The turbulent water all around her, she could hardly move, her clothes, how ever thin and light they were when dry, were pulling her down with a mighty force. It occurred to her what she had forgotten in the rush: she was not wearing a life-jacket. Oddly, the roaring in her ears had stopped, there was silence. I'm going to die, she though suddenly. So this is it? No Slayer advantage, no battle to death, no vampire draining me, just this?

She thought of all the battles she had fought, every moment she had thought it was over, yet she had never encountered such a deafening silence... Her ears seemed to burst, and her eyelids shut without her wanting them to, the light was just too bright to look upon... the light...oh, the light...

*

Panic had broken on the small raft as soon as Angel had disappeared into the water. The guide reckoned it best to get the raft back to the docking station as soon as possible and call for a helicopter via his walkie-talkie. "We have a Code green, I repeat, Code green!"

With no one paying attention, Seven of Nine pulled her tricorder from her handbag, scanning the area. Nineteen life-signs on their own raft... twenty-two on the first raft ahead. She observed the area for the third raft. It was a bit farther off, taking course for the docking station as well. Her eyes widened. Two life-signs... Vulcan and Klingon???

Ever so slightly, Seven touched her communicator badge, hidden under a contemporary
I © NIAGARA FALLS pin. "Seven of Nine to VOYAGER," she whispered, while still scanning the area, looking for Buffy Summers's bio signature in the water. She finally managed to locate it, though it was very weak, pulse almost non-existent.

"This is Captain Janeway," Janeway's voice sounded in her head, thanks to the retuned cortical implant. "Report!"

"I need you to confirm some scans, VOYAGER." Seven's eyes almost popped out as she stared at the display. There was another life-sign --- in the water.

*

Anya rushed into sickbay, her face sheer terror. "Giles, they've detected the second bio signature! When are you going to tell them the truth?"

The Doctor turned around with a grave expression. "As soon as someone gets him killed."

*

Jhelia deLorian was very pleased with herself as she watched the rearrangements she had made in their beautiful little garden. Now it was time to prepare lunch. She had read a wonderful new recipe for mushroom pie with mashed potatoes and country dip she had wanted to try for weeks, and Jack would be home from work. She cut off a few flowers, planning to put them into a vase on the dinner table. Whistling a tune, she entered her kitchen.

"This is a song from the 20^th century, from Terra," a female voice said behind her.

Jhelia almost dropped the flowers. "Beverly!" she gasped, holding a hand at her breast, "You startled me! You won't give me another heart-attack, will you?" She soon was in control again and smiled at her doctor. "This is a pleasant surprise! Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Beverly did not smile. Her eyes were flashing with suppressed anger. "I know lots about classical music," she replied, "The song you were whistling was by a band called Queen, very famous in its time. It is called The Great Pretender. Fitting for you, don't you think?"

Jhelia's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"How about another classical piece? Who wants to live forever?"

Jhelia passed through the kitchen with hasty steps, filling a vase and arranging the flowers. "I'm very busy, and I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather you left."

"I imagine so," Beverly snapped. "How did you do it, Jhelia?"

"Do what?!" Jhelia glared at her. She tried to walk off to the living room.

"You know exactly what I mean!" Beverly retorted, blocking her way. "Does Jack know you are old enough to be his grandma's great-grandmother?"

Jhelia's blue eyes began to fill with tears. "Why are you tormenting me like that?!"

Beverly energetically clasped Jhelia's shoulders to force her to look into her eyes. "It had something to do with that Borg attack, right? Something happened to you while you were staying at the hospital on Bajor!"

"No!" Jhelia insisted, now sobbing loudly.

"Tell me how you managed to live again, or I'll tell Jack everything!" Beverly yelled.

"He won't believe you a word," Jhelia cried.

"Maybe he won't believe her," an icy male voice cut her sobbing and pleading off, "but he will listen to me."

Jhelia whirled around to see Wesley standing at the door, dressed all in black and piercing her with his steel blue eyes.

A small smile curled around his lips as he saw the blonde woman trembling at his entrance. "Long time no see," he said in perfect, unaccented English.

Jhelia shivered and stepped back in fear. "How did you find me?"

Beverly smiled. She was walking around in a circle about the blonde woman who called herself Jhelia. "Actually, it was a coincidence. Remember my short trip to Bajor? I met a very charming gentleman, Rhan, er... I mean, Dr Katami. He took me to an art exhibition I told Wesley about."

"The three pillars of the Bajoran world picture," Wesley added, "When Beverly told me you called yourself Jhelia, I knew immediately all you had done was translate your old name into Bajoran. Srid'eia, Jh'elia, P'erayopeia. The three principles of dignified art: symmetry, harmony and proportion." He chuckled. "I would have thought you'd pick something more original, Harmony."

Harmony cast her eyes down. "At the hospital they didn't know how to spell Cordelia."

Wesley remained at the door, since he had not been invited in yet. He studied the scared-rabbit-expression on Harmony's face.

"So you're gonna blab it all out to Jack?" she asked miserably.

"Not necessarily," Wesley replied. "We have collected enough material to prove to your husband who you were, yet we may refrain from doing so if you... co-operate."

Beverly brought her fist down hard on the kitchen table so loudly Harmony jumped. "How. Did. You. Do. It?" She had to admit she was beginning to enjoy the good-cop-bad-cop game she and Wesley were playing, yet her heart beat with excitement. If she could get the woman to talk, Wesley might still be saved after all.

Harmony's cheeks were wet with tears in an instant. "The truth is: I don't know!"

*

BUFFY!

Buffy was abruptly pulled back to consciousness at the sound of her name. She did not know if it had been shouted at her, or whether it had been in her head that she'd heard it, but it was there, a voice calling her name. Buffy felt strong arms closing around her, lifting her to the surface once again. She gasped for breath, choking out water, lots of water, clinging to the person in the water beside her. She was freezing, she was so cold, and she could not stop coughing, but at least that meant she was breathing.

When her eyelids fluttered open, all she saw at first was a strand of wet, blond hair falling into her face and blocking her sight, but then she blinked and her vision cleared. It was the stranger from the hotel bar.

"Angel," she whispered in relief.

Angel gazed around with concern. He had reached her, but she was in no condition to swim against those currents herself, and her weight, how ever light it had appeared to him before, was slowing the two of them down, the turbulent water was more powerful than his attempt to move with her, to get both of them away from the danger. There were no islands of rocks here, nothing within reach to stop their being drawn down. He could survive plunging himself down the waterfall, it might just land him in a wheelchair for a few weeks as Spike had so long ago, but there was no way Buffy could survive this. He could try to shield her with his body, but he had no way of predicting where their momentum would toss them. He would have to pick one side. And if he chose the wrong one and Buffy hit those rocks...

Seven had been right. This was suicide.

Buffy's eyes were slowly closing again, she felt her grip loosening of Angel's shoulders.

"No!" Angel yelled, shaking her desperately as the roaring of the falls became louder, "Stay with me! Don't you ever let go!"

Buffy's arms closed around him, holding on to him with all the strength she still had in her, but as her confused mind cleared and she saw how close they were to the edge of the waterfall, how close to plunging into the depth, she stared at him. She was not going to die on a battlefield fighting the end of days as she had always imagined, she was either drowning or breaking her spine on a rock, falling down a waterfall, and she was not dying in her husband's arms, but those of a stranger. And... it felt right. "So this is the end," she said matter-of-factly.

"I know," he said quietly, feeling an odd serenity spreading over him as the edge of the waterfall seemed to speed towards them. "I just can't seem to care."

With a last effort, he pressed Buffy close to his body and kissed her as they were both tumbling down the waterfall.

*

"There is a cave down behind the waterfalls," Seven informed VOYAGER.

Janeway's eyes were blank as she nodded at Tuvok. "Energize."

*

Angel felt his skin burning slightly with electricity as the familiar blue light of a transporter beam caught him and Buffy.

*

When Buffy opened her eyes, she gazed around in amazement.

"Where are we? What happened?" she asked in confusion. She frowned. "We're not..."

Angel shook his head, smiling faintly. "No, you're not dead," he confirmed, choosing the pronoun with care. "We were hurled down the waterfall, and we're in the cave behind it, now," he explained.

Buffy looked at him, not entirely convinced. "How come we're not dead?"

Angel thought about it quickly. Our daughter informed my space ship, and they transported us here not to raise suspicions. By the way, Spike manipulated time to get you to marry him, and it's actually me you want. "There was... a branch of a tree reaching out several yards before the surface, it must have slowed down our pace as we fell, and we hit the water, not the rocks," he hurried to say, "I saw you had passed out and swam to this cave, we were very close to it. We were just lucky."

Buffy looked at him sceptically. "I can't remember passing out, but there was this blue light..."

Angel draped his leather jacket around her once again, the same leather jacket she had dropped there when she had fled from the cave the night before. "You'll catch your death if we stay here. Can you walk?"

Buffy tried to get up, but her face distorted as she put her foot down.

"Looks like a sprained ankle," Angel said with concern.

"Feels like one, too," Buffy said, clenching her teeth.

"You should have a doctor look at this," Angel said, then stopped abruptly. His head seemed to explode in a wave of pain. He had to sit down.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked in a shrill voice, putting her hand on his arm.

"I'm not sure," Angel admitted, burying his head in his hands. "I'm in pain," he said, "And I shouldn't be."

"You've just been hurled down a waterfall," Buffy contradicted him, "It would be a miracle if..." she cut herself off. "Why were you in the water?"

Angel shrugged. "Fell of the raft?"

Buffy shot him a mortifying look. "I don't believe a word. You tried to rescue me..." Then the whole truth dawned on her. "You jumped in because of me?"

"No, not really!" Angel cast his eyes down. "Well, sort of."

"You could've died!" Her eyes filled with tears. "You're so stupid, so very very stupid! We were dying, and you just kissed me, you used the situation!" She raised a hand to slap him.

Instinctively, Angel caught her wrist in the movement and closed his other arm around her. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Buffy looked at him, through his dark eyes, right into the depths of his soul. "No, you're not."

Angel nodded slowly. "No, I'm not. Not at all." His hand let go off her wrist and caught her fingers, intertwining them with his. For the first time, Buffy noticed how long his fingers were, and so perfectly manicured she could hardly believe they were a man's. With Spike's fingers usually covered by a layer of black nail polish, she could not help but imagine how much easier it would be to let these fingers caress her, when she did not have to push the thought aside of what they might have touched before. Angel smelled clean, too. She did not perceive the wet smell of the waterfalls, or the stale cold she always perceived when she was with Spike.

He brushed her hair away from her wet face and bent down to kiss her violently. "I won't interfere in your marriage. Just tell me to leave." His words were a soft caress, making her want to seize him and draw him back to her to kiss him, but his hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back to the former position, prevented her from doing just that. "I want you to know," he said in a low and gentle voice, yet with eyes that burnt into her mind like dark flames, "Because when we're done, you might have doubts on that." It was as if a veil was lifted, and she was slowly drifting above the clouds, not exploding, but dissolving into a dream herself. He pulled her legs up and ordered her wordless to lay them around his waist, parting them so widely it was almost painful. She could do nothing but obey. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she saw in his expression he heard it and reveled in it.

She was not conscious of the fact that her tighs parted, she just felt the thrust that made her drive her fingernails through the skin of his back, the unsettling rhythm set by Angel, the glow in his eyes, and the wetness in her own, the sweat breaking from her skin as she attempted to get rid of his pants, his condescending smile upon her struggle, and she clung to his cold skin to get a little relief from the heat surrounding them. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal by now, the pulsating energies devouring her, as she moved closer to a peak, deep down still embarrassed she was doing this, with a man she barely knew and felt drawn to by a powerful physical attraction, which was so strong she simply felt unable to resist, drawing in his scent, shaking with desire by his every move, shamelessly giving herself to him in a place where everyone could enter and see them. His fingertips caressing the soft skin of her breasts were so cold she felt her nipples harden at his first touch, shiver with cold despite the heat of the summer's night as the cold tip of his tongue met them.

She felt her world explode into caleidoscopic chasms of colours, her muscles convulsing around him, her body struggling to get away from him by an instinct of self-preservation, but he wouldn't let her, still holding her in an iron grip, so she kept exploding, crying out her agony and failure to understand what was happening, her world kept turning, yet he kept tormenting her, kept her screaming until her voice was hoarse.

And then he suddenly stopped, as his reason fought its way up to his consciousness, screaming to him the fact that he had overlooked all the time: that his heart was beating in his chest as well, that he, too, was catching his breath.

"I've never felt more alive than right now," Buffy whispered.

Angel could only agree.

13

Spike was watching the graceful movements of the dark-haired beauty he had met in the pool the night before as she was doing a hell of a workout at the rowing machine. When the man rowing next to her finished his exercises, he occupied the rowing machine next to her throwing his towel over the seat.

"Is there anything you're no good at?" he asked with a broad grin.

Seven just raised a brow.

"I mean, your performance on land is just as impressive as in the water. Just wondering why you're wasting your day here in the gym. It's your honeymoon, too, isn't it?"

Seven glanced at him briefly. "Your wife is not in the gym either."

"Nope," Spike admitted, "Went on some raft tour of the falls. I don't go in for sightseeing a lot, I'm more of a night person."

"By your definition, I would be a night person as well, then," Seven said levelly.

"So how about your husband? Haven't seen him around."

Seven saw this conversation was taking a dangerous turn, so she decided to give it another direction. "Actually, we are not married, but here on business. My company is trying to secure... a deal with his. So, how long have you known your wife?"

"Your company in Sweden," Spike added in a mock-voice.

Seven rose from the rowing machine, giving Spike a good scent of her skin. He frowned. Something about that woman was driving him mad. She smelled... like Buffy, but differently, and he could not say what was unnerving him so much.

"Yes, in Sweden," Seven confirmed.

Spike leaned back in the seat of the rowing machine while Seven was towelling her hair. "So what are you doing for a living?"

Seven hung her towel around her neck, shaking her head. "I see you around."

"No," Spike insisted, almost jumping from his seat, "I'm finished. Why don't we have something to drink?"

"Yes, that would be acceptable." Seven forced herself to smile and walked slowly toward the juice bar of the gym, closely followed by Spike.

"You haven't answered my question," he said. "What d'you do?"

"Our company is... building ships," she replied hesitantly.

The bartender looked at them. "Enough workout, huh? What can I get ya, lovebirds?"

"Water, three degrees," Seven replied automatically.

The bartender looked confused. "Sorry?"

Spike looked at her in a shock for a moment.

Seven realized her mistake. "Cold, I mean. Cold water. No ice."

The bartender nodded and turned to fill a glass.

Spike's eyes sparkled briefly. "Building ships, are you?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Not spaceships, I guess?"

Seven giggled unnaturally as she had watched so many young women do on this planet. She found she did not sound very convincing.

The bartender put her glass of water before her. To her dismay she found there were pieces of crushed ice in it. Seven sipped at her water, but she realized Spike never took his eyes off her. Cool blue steel. Fixed on her. Sparkling dangerous.

His voice was low and silky, and unmistakably skeptical, when he said: "Name a town in Sweden."

Seven felt her heartbeat go fast. "Pardon me?"

His eyes seemed to see right through her eyes. "ANY Swedish town."

Seven's thoughts were racing through her head. A woman from Sweden would answer the question right away, but she needed time to connect her cerebral implant to VOYAGER's database. Important seconds she did not have. She had to act swiftly. But she needed time! Without thinking, she seized his head with her hands and pulled Spike close to her, kissing him passionately.

Spike was caught by surprise, but when the woman's lips touched his, he immediately surrendered and kissed her back.

Seven broke the kiss a few moments later, gasping for breath. "Stockholm," she whispered.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Even Xander Harris would have known that one."

"Who?"

"No matter, I meant any idiot would know Stockholm."

Seven flung her arms around Spike's neck and kissed him again, her implants burning, searching the database. "Göteborg?"

Spike shrugged. "I'm not sure that'll do. Try another one."

Seven did not particularly mind. Now she had established a connection to the ship's database, she would be able to Out-Swedish the Swedish.

*

They did not speak a word for quite some time. Angel kept listening to his heartbeat, his breath, the blood running through his veins. It felt unreal after all this time... the last time he had felt this way had been on a day only he remembered, a day turned back by the Powers That Be to enable him to protect her, which he could not as a human being. And yet he had saved her, and he felt no weaker than when his heart had not been beating. This was different. Was he human? He had a reflection, he was breathing, and he still had his soul. Wasn't that the common definition of life? But... how? Was this another twist of fate thrown in his way, the slightest bit of happiness just to take it away from him once again? He needed to have himself scanned and examined by Giles... by the Doctor.

After minutes of unnerving silence, Buffy spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

Angel looked at her for the first time since he had noticed he was breathing. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair wet and tangled, and she had moved as close as possible to him to keep herself from shivering. In her eyes he found some hint of insecurity. "Sure."

"You haven't said a word since..." Buffy said softly.

"Sorry," he replied. "I was just... thinking."

Buffy's eyes widened. "I didn't say anything wrong, did I?" When he did not reply, she stared at him with an expression of shock. "I didn't... do anything wrong?"

He smiled faintly. "Got nothing to do with you, Buffy. I was just thinking about... what all of this means. Doesn't make any sense."

What it all means? It's all such a stereotype, a damsel in distress, a knight in shining armor, just that I don't know about the happily-ever-after part. We're both on our honeymoons, both married, just not to each other, that's the whole point! Spike will know, Spike will smell it the moment he sees me. Behave like a whore, be treated like a whore, and you bet he'll do just that. And what's worst is that I don't even care what he'll think, the only thing I care about is if I'll ever see you again, or if you'll just walk away the same mysterious way you came. Buffy could not bring herself to say these words. She rose and reached for her wet clothes, or rather, the remains of them. "It's obvious this can't happen again," she said matter-of-factly as she began to dress, but her eyes kept saying Or can it?

Angel's first reaction was to turn from her and pretend to agree. It was what he would have done in his reality. In another lifetime. A lifetime in which he had made enough mistakes. Instead, he met her eyes. "Why?"

Buffy giggled nervously. "Hey, next time someone pushes me from a raft, I'll call ya!"

His eyes were serious. "This isn't funny, Buffy."

She nodded slowly. "No, it's not."

He clasped her shoulders. "No matter what will become of the two of us, Buffy, you have to tell me now what happened. You didn't just fall off the raft, you're the Slayer!"

"It was that woman, a demon, she attacked me before in my hotel room, I don't know which species, dark skin, ridged forehead..." Buffy began, then stopped abruptly and looked at him in wonder. "You seem to know pretty well who I am, and you have a lot of knowledge about the dark world. Your turning up in my garden and operating this statue wasn't a coincidence, and neither is your being here! Who are you?"

"I told you," Angel said calmly, "Spike and I have a history." He looked away, but Buffy clasped his arm and made him meet her eyes.

"You didn't tell me anything," Buffy insisted sourly, "There's much more to this, you know more about me than you admit, but all the time you decide what to tell me! Spike has never even mentioned you!"

"I can imagine that," Angel replied with a hint of bitterness to his voice. He could not bear to look in her eyes, so full of reproach and the will to understand, knowing the truth was the only thing he could never tell her.

"Tell me what's going on," Buffy said, her temper boiling now, "Who's trying to kill me? If my life's in danger, I have the right to know, don't you think?"

"Wish I could tell you more," Angel said quietly.

"So you let me run into all of this blindly?" Buffy asked breathlessly. "You're just going to wait till she tries again, that woman on the raft? How many more attacks till she succeeds?"

"No," Angel disagreed, "I'm here to protect you this time."

Buffy's face was utter confusion. "What do you mean, this time?"

He shook his head. "I've said too much already."

"No, do tell me!"

"I told you. I'll protect you," Angel said, sounding more snappishly than he had meant to.

"I'm the Slayer, I don't need anyone's protection!" Buffy hissed back.

"You're gonna have to trust me on this, Buffy."

"Why?!"

His voice was so low only a Slayer could have heard it beneath the roaring of the waterfalls. "Because I never stopped loving you."

"You don't even know me," Buffy retorted, her voice getting shrill and petulant. "Who do you think you are, just walking into my life, turning everything upside down and not even telling me who wants me dead? And what about Spike, what kind of history do you have? Is this all some sort of game, like he pissed you off in another lifetime and you come 'round to seduce his wife to get your own back on him? Well, congratulations, it worked!" She made to storm from the cave.

"Buffy, you don't understand..." Angel began, but Buffy's cold eyes startled him so he fell silent.

"No," Buffy said testily, "You don't understand. I've made a mistake, but I'm going to correct it! I never want to see you again, ever."

*

"You are a failure," T'Mira said matter-of-factly.

"No, I'm not!" Khassya exploded, "You were there! You saw her drown!"

"I saw her go under water," the Vulcan Watcher corrected, "Scans say her life-sign is still around, moving towards the hotel. You failed, Khassya. You failed the Federation, and what is worse, the Council."

The Klingon's eyes were burning, betraying murderous rage. "It was that vampire," she snarled, "But he will be no problem any more. I won't let him get in my way again."

"According to my scans, there was no vampire around. He is as human as the rest of them. You were outwitted by a mere human being," T'Mira explained.

Khassya howled angrily and swept a vase from her nightstand which shattered to hundreds of tiny pieces. "Impossible, I felt he was a vampire! My sense never fails me! I have a long range sensor for vampires!" With another blow, Khassya shattered the nightstand as well.

T'Mira barely raised an eyebrow at the broken piece of furniture. "Do you realize what your problem is, child? You let your ego get in the way of your talents. I therefore arrive at the conclusion that all you have is... mediocrity."

"Buffy Summers will die before midnight," Khassya replied dryly, "And after that, I will consider your apology."

*

Wesley landed his fist on the table. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

Harmony's face was wet with tears. "That means, I came to the station as a vampire, like I'd been since we last met."

"A miracle you could make it this far without getting yourself staked or burnt," Wesley remarked coldly.

"That explains why the Doctor told me you were dead when you were taken in at the hospital," Beverly added.

"And when I woke at the hospital, I was breathing!" Harmony sobbed heavily. "I didn't do anything, really! I don't know, maybe it was... a sign."

Wesley's eyes narrowed. "You mean, a higher being saving you of all vampires because you were such an amiable person?"

Harmony shrugged.

"Oh, please!" Wesley sighed theatrically.

"Let me test your blood once more," Beverly suggested, "Maybe we will find..."

"We're wasting our time with that bimbo," Wesley disagreed.

"Hey!" Harmony protested. "I can be very helpful!"

"Yeah, if you want to prepare a mushroom pie," Wesley said in a low voice.

Now he had given up his threatening posture, Harmony grew bolder. Hands on her hips, she rose and blocked his way. "Wanna know what I think, Wes?"

Wesley frowned. "Actually... no."

"I think," Harmony said, shaking her head so her blond hair flowed softly over her shoulders, "I think you don't want to know why I could become a living, breathing human being again because you do not want to find a cure."

"What?" Beverly asked, astonished. "You gotta be kidding us!"

Wesley's expression was unreadable, but he did not give a cynical reply.

Encouraged by his silence, Harmony continued: "You think you're so cool, the dark avenger, immortal champion, super powers, forever young, even better than Angel 'cause you don't have his record, y'know, you just save people and vanish into the night, with those deep blue eyes saying 'Oh, the world has made me a creature of the night, boo-hoo, but I ain't complainin',' bet you get all the chicks now as well, --- but, to be honest, your whole mystique depends on your immortality. If Bev finds a cure, you're just another guy with a pre-historic taste of music."

Wesley stared at her for a long moment, and Beverly thought he might strangle Harmony with his bare hands, but Wesley turned away. "Thank you very much for those philosophical insights, Harmony."

"Always glad to help," Harmony replied without paying attention to the sarcasm in Wesley's words.

Beverly took a few steps after him and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll work in the lab all night if I have to, but I will find what makes her blood different from yours."

Wesley shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, Beverly. But I shouldn't have come. I accepted what I am a long time ago, and if some power saved Harmony, that is good for her, but it's not my way."

Beverly's eyes widened. "Oh my God, she's right!"

Wesley stared at her.

"You don't want to be cured!" Beverly exclaimed.

"That's ridiculous," Wesley disagreed, "Of course I want to be cured. I want to be human. Who wouldn't?"

"Yeah," Beverly murmured, "Who wouldn't?"

Wesley hesitated. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Should I?" Beverly gave him a weak smile. "Listen, Wes. Tonight is all I ask. If I haven't got a clue by tomorrow morning, we'll forget about all this and I'll never bother you again with my attempts to cure vampirism. Deal?"

Wesley closed his eyes briefly. Then he nodded. "You're a good friend, Beverly Crusher."

"Let's just hope I'm a good scientist as well." She did not smile, now.

*

"Don't try to persuade me, Annika, I've decided," Angel told Seven to finish their heated discussion.

"You cannot fill her in," Seven disagreed, "If you tell her where you came from and what your objective is, there is no telling how this will affect the time line!"

"She won't talk to me again," Angel said, "And there's a Klingon Slayer from the future in this building, she's tried to kill Buffy once, and she'll try again, and perhaps get lucky!" He kept pacing up and down the room impatiently. "I'll tell her everything. Tonight."

"No," Seven insisted, "I'm getting on quite well questioning William Hayes, one more meeting and I will know how he changed the timeline, and we might find a way to reverse it!"

"One more meeting, and he'll know who you are and that I am here!" Angel contradicted her. "Sooner or later, you'll make a mistake,and..." He broke off, frowning, then sniffed the air. "It smells of him. Wait... you smell of him!"

For the fraction of a second, Seven looked almost embarrassed. Then she regained her composure. "I had to act immediately, " she explained, "I kissed him."

"You did WHAT?"

"I had to distract him from asking more questions about my Swedish home country."

Angel flung himself into an armchair. "Great! While I'm carrying the weight of the world, my daughter's playin' spin-the-bottle with William the Bloody!"

A ghost of a smile played around Seven's lips. "I do not know whether I would call it carrying the weight of the world, what you did this morning. And to make things worse, your activities involved my mother."

Angel looked at her, face deadpan. "If a former Borg wants to develop a sense of humour, this is definitely the WORST time ever to start it!" He paused. "Was it your first kiss?"

Seven shrugged. "If you do not count virtual kissing in Unimatrix Zero when I was Borg, and if you also exclude holodeck characters, technically, I am not too overexperienced in that area."

"Were you okay with it?" he asked, concern sounding from his words.

"It is interesting," Seven admitted. "I studied human relationships on the holodeck, but..."

Angel sighed. "Everything's a study, huh?"

Seven shook her head. "Not everything. But I find I'm getting on quite well on the information side, so if you just give me some more time..."

"Time, Annika," Angel said darkly, "is what we do not have. Khassya will strike again, and I suspect she'll do it at dinnertime at the latest. I'll follow Buffy around, whether she likes it or not. You try and find out how Spike changed the timeline and how we can reverse the process."

*

The last thing Buffy wanted was to be at her hotel room when Spike returned from the gym. Knowing his acute senses, it would take him less than a minute to distinguish the smell of another man on her. She put the clothes she was wearing into her suitcase and into the very back of the closet so he would not stumble over it. A hot shower did much to clear her mind, but she was not sure if it cleared the smell as well. Buffy decided she would, against her actual plans, join the guided tour to the Botanical Gardens and Butterfly Observatory. The scent of flowers would definitely help. She wrote a short note to Spike telling him where she was and set off for the shuttle bus organized by the hotel.

The bus drove north, downriver, along the Niagara Parkway toward Niagara-on-the-Lake. The Parkway was nearly empty, and the shuttle bus got on quite fast. The motor was humming silently in the background. Despite the thoughts running through Buffy's head, she enjoyed the landscape and even spotted some seagulls and swans along the river from a distance.

"They're nothing unusual here," a friendly elderly lady beside her explained. "Many people come here just to watch the birds!"

Buffy gave her a smile.

"I'm Mauve," the lady introduced herself, "I came here for my honeymoon with my husband in 1954. We wanted to go on a second honeymoon." She sighed. "Vernon loved this place, you know. The butterflies were his favorite."

Buffy focused her attention on Mauve. "What happened?"

Mauve sighed again. "He died, last summer."

"I'm so sorry," Buffy said in a shock, "I didn't mean to..."

Mauve patted her hand. "That's okay, dear. You kind of remind me of myself when I first got here, I was about your age, and just like you; impatient, young and in love."

Buffy frowned. "How do you know I'm in love?"

Mauve giggled like a little girl. "Why would a kid come here on her own, surrounded by honeymooning couples? I bet your husband doesn't like butterflies, does he?"

Buffy shrugged and smiled. To be honest, she had no idea if Angel liked... Spike... if Spike liked butterflies. A shadow fell over Buffy's face which did not go unnoticed with Mauve.

With honest concern, the elderly lady studied her expression. "You don't have troubles in your relationship, do you?" As Buffy did not reply, Mauve nodded knowingly. "Let me tell you from the point of view of someone who has been married for fifty years. It isn't always easy. It will never become easier. But once you are my age, you will appreciate every day you've spend together, you never know how long you have. We don't live forever, do we."

Buffy felt a chill running down her spine. Actually, Spike would. She had signed a life-long contract – at least her life -, and she had already cheated on him. She had no wish to talk to Mauve any longer and resumed watching the river through the window.

*

Buffy found the advertisement of the Botanical Garden and the Butterfly Observatory an understatement. walking through a tropical rainforest setting, she was exploring tiny pathways among lush, exotic flora. Everywhere in the wilderness, her eyes caught spots of color, huge flowers, and among them, butterflies of considerable size for a Californian girl. She saw Mauve and some other tour guests were struggling with the warm, moist air, but she preferred it to the tumbling down a waterfall in icy currents. A part of her regretted Spike could not visit the Observatory, since it was only open dawn till dusk. Secretly she thought of breaking intio it and walking through the gardens with torches in the darkness. Had to be very romantic. Maybe then she would forget... Buffy pushed the thought of Angel aside. She realized she had fallen behind the group and was no longer sure which way the others had gone when she reached the next crossing.

"Left or right, that is the question," Buffy murmured to herself and kept listening for voices. Then she spotted a large pink butterfly straight ahead of her. She had never seen such a color on a butterfly and wondered if that was probably the best camouflage in tropical flowers in full bloom in a rainforest. Yet she wondered what species that might be, which part of the world its home was. She decided to have a look around and see if she could find it on one of the descriptions on the boards scattered across the paths. Her way led her deeper into the wilderness, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the vegetation around her. She kept one eye on the butterfly, the other on the colorful descriptions on the tables. "What's your name, sweetie?" she murmured, not really expecting a reply.

The pink butterfly flew always a few steps ahead of her, as if luring her on.

Buffy could no longer hear the voices of the guided tour, nor did she see any more visitors. She was surrounded by high exotic trees that blocked her view. Suddenly Buffy got a feeling she sometimes had in a graveyard, her senses all seemed to scream DANGER. Stupid as it was, in bright daylight, in a greenhouse, with nothing but butterflies around her.

The pink butterfly approached her.

Buffy extended her hand, and the butterfly sat on it.

"I think I gotta go, sweetie," Buffy said softly.

Then she felt a sting, and a burning pain in her hand.

"Ouch!" she screamed, "Butterflies don't sting!" Then she felt the heat rising in her body, suddenly began to feel nauseous. The greenhouse was spinning around her. Then it was all black. No sound could be heard apart from the rustling of the leaves and the small gusts of wind coming from the outside of the greenhouse. Buffy Summers lay still under the exotic trees and flowers, her breath shallow, her face significantly paler with every minute. This time there was no light ahead of her, just darkness, and she was slowly slipping away into that darkness.

Suddenly, the hot air flickered, and from a blue beam of light, two figures materialized close to her.

Angel rushed to her side.

"Life signs are weak," Seven announced, holding her tricorder over Buffy's motionless form. "The scans say it's poison. Organic origin. A Klingon Z'T'Real butterfly, a delicacy for Klingons, but lethal for humans." Seven handed Angel a hypospray. "This should work as an antidote."

Angel applied the hypospray. "A Klingon butterfly? That's impossible."

"Unless..."

"Unless our friend Khassya has been here before." Angel stroke Buffy's hair gently.

"Life signs are stabilizing," Seven informed him, "She should wake within the next few minutes. We should get the butterfly and take it back to VOYAGER with us, we cannot let it fly around freely in here. How very clever, to kill with an insect. Sounds like a plot of her Vulcan Watcher."

Angel nodded. "It's not at all like a Klingon to poison someone. She must be desperate."

Seven rose from Buffy's side and scanned the surroundings. When she had spotted the butterfly, she held a transparent container close to it. The butterfly perceived the faint scent of the bait inside the container, floated near it... and was trapped.

"I'm going to take this to the Doctor for study," Seven explained, "I suggest you join me. It would not be wise for you to be here when Buffy Summers wakes up. It will take Khassya some time to create a new scheme."

Angel nodded. With one last glance at Buffy, he assumed his position next to Seven.

"Lieutenant Summers to VOYAGER. Two to beam up."

The blue light flirred around them, and the Botanic Gardens disappeared from view.

Minutes later, the sliding doors to sickbay opened, and Seven and Angel walked in.

"Is that the insect?" the Doctor asked with interest.

"Klingon Z'T'Real butterfly," Seven confirmed.

The Doctor frowned. "Could be a subspecies, however, I'd better check, just to make sure the antidote works. Empty the container into the terrarium over there, please, Seven, so I can run some tests."

When Seven nodded and opened the terrarium, Angel addressed the Doctor. "Giles, as I said before, I want some tests done. I wanna know why I'm breathing, why I have a heartbeat and a reflection, and if..."

Giles hardly looked up from his work. "If you're human."

"I need to know. And I need to know why, and if it's permanent," Angel said quietly.

Giles now gazed at him, with a grave expression and reproach in his eyes. "And if I told you it was, what would you do, go down there and ruin Buffy's life? You have to be aware of one fact, Angel: Whatever has made you human, it was because things happened the way they did. If you correct the timeline, it might not be so. This timeline exists because Spike and Buffy are together now. How do you know this timeline is better or worse than any other? Maybe this is the way things are supposed to be. Who are you to change that? Can you really take that responsiblity?"

Angel's tone was cold when he replied: "I will go through with my mission. Just do the testing."

A small scream from Seven of Nine made them both jump.

"I am afraid I have just destroyed our object of study," Seven said, reaching for another hypospray. She had tried to empty the container into the terrarium, but the butterfly had seized the opportunity and stung her. Out of a reflex, she had squashed the insect. Blood was trickling down Seven's hand on the butterfly's distorted form. Seven applied the hypospray. Her swollen hand already began to look significantly better.

"She definitely IS your daughter," the Doctor said sourly, "She also got that crash-kill-destroy thing."

Angel flung himself on one of the medical beds. "Don't forget about the tests, Giles."

*

Beverly's eyes were burning. She could no longer look at the consoles and displays surrounding her. Jhelia's – or Harmony's, as Wesley called her – blood remained a mystery to her.

Harmony was sitting opposite from her, curling her hair around a finger and looking extremely bored.

"Can you stop doing that?" Wesley asked, sounding irritated.

Harmony sighed. "Long night. I don't see why I have to be here!"

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Because if you leave I'll tell your husband your date of birth?"

Harmony raised her hands in a defensive posture. "Good argument, right."

Wesley stepped behind Beverly, studying her notes. "Anything new?"

Beverly shook her head. "I don't get it. It must be something that happened between the attack on the station and her waking up at hospital. I just don't see what could revive a body that has been dead for hundreds of years, I mean, it's irreparable damage, nerve endings, brain tissue, everything dead..." She broke off. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound that tactless."

"No," Wesley said gently, "You're not being tactless. I'm not offended." He sighed. "Maybe we're looking the wrong way. Maybe it was some kind of magic."

Beverly shook her red hair. "I'm a doctor, not a voodoo priestess! There has to be a rational explanation, I don't believe in magic!"

Wesley smiled in amusement. "As you don't believe in vampires."

"Vampires are parasites, not demons," Beverly insisted. "It's just a name."

"If you feel more comfortable with that." Wesley shrugged.

Beverly looked at him with just a hint of indignation to her voice. "People always call something magic if they don't understand it. The ancient Greeks on Earth mistook a bunch of extraterrestrials for Gods, as James Kirk discovered. The Bajorans call the wormhole aliens Prophets. The Jinxora cult on Severus Prime even worship the...!" Suddenly, Beverly broke off. "That's it," she whispered. Like a maniac, she turned to the blood samples again. "Oh, that could be it," she said excitedly. "Of course I'll have to run some more tests, but... Yeah, that'll explain why..." With fleeting fingers, she operated the console. "Too bad I won't get a Daystrom prize for it if it's true..."

Harmony slipped from the console she was sitting on and regarded Beverly with an expression of amazement and confusion. "Does she have a fit or somethin'?"

"Beverly," Wesley said, touching her shoulder.

Beverly looked up at him with flushed cheeks and fiery eyes. "Maybe I do have a fit," she admitted. "Could the two of you leave me for an hour or so? I have to check on something. Why don't you go for a walk?"

*

Buffy pushed her keycard into the electronic reader next to the door of her suite. With a click, the door opened. When Buffy entered the room, it was already dusk. Spike was standing with his back turned at the door, gazing from the window down to the magnificently illuminated falls. When she came in, he turned and looked at her.

To her distress, Buffy found he wasn't smiling.

"Did you have a nice day, luv?" he asked.

Hesitantly, Buffy tossed her handbag on the bed. "Was okay," she replied. "Nothin' special, fell from a raft, almost drowned, and then got stung by a butterfly and fainted. So, you see, pretty normal day."

Spike gave her a smile. "Even if it were true, would still be a boring day in a Slayer's life." He took her hand and kissed her. "I missed you, Buffy."

Buffy hurried a kiss on his cheek. "Missed you too. How about your day?"

"Spend the mornin' flirtin' with a very beautiful dark lady at the fitness center, by the way the same one I went nightswimming with yesterday, stark naked. Then I robbed the hotel's nurse's fridge of several blood packs for lunch," Spike replied with a wink.

Buffy giggled. "Even if it were true, would be an ordinary day for a vampire!" She sat down on the bed, tossing her shoes aside. As she realized Spike's eyes were resting on her and watching her every move, she shifted uneasily. "Would it be very selfish to ask you to go to the Terrapin Grille with me?"

"The what?" Spike asked, coming closer. He knelt before her and ran his hands from her feet up her calves, over her knees, approaching her thighs. Buffy drew her legs closer to her body, shifting away.

"The Fallsview restaurant," Buffy explained, "You haven't forgotten about that? Unlike you, I need some food from time to time, and I hear they have great seafood and steaks."

"Like you don't get enough stakes at home," Spike said, grinning.

"It's just – I'm starving," Buffy pleaded.

Spike sighed. "All right, an hour or two won't kill me. No pun intended here." He turned his attention away from her and rose. "I thought you would want to go out tonight, so I've already chosen something for you to wear. It's in the bathroom."

Curiously, Buffy opened the bathroom door and caught her breath. In the bathroom, there hung a dream of black and red silk, a cocktail dress, clearly newly purchased from the boutique, and clearly very expensive. On the cold tiles, she saw new shoes, high heels, knew at once they would fit without having to try them on. She just loved the shoes, though she knew she would have a hard time walking on them. No man would ever wear such shoes EVER. You could not walk on those heels without your hips swaying with every step. Which was probabnly why Spike had picked them. On a stool, there lay a flat black velvet box. When Buffy opened it, she found a thin golden necklace holding a single ruby, shaped like a heart, framed in burning golden flames.

"Go easy on my conscience," she murmured.

*

"What is a 'poulet'?" Khassya asked as she was looking at T'Mira from over her menu at the Terrapin Grille. Both her Watcher and herself were dressed in long trousers with tight tops covered by blouses that could easily disposed of in combat. And combat it would be, tonight.

"Chicken," the Watcher replied.

"And 'escargots'?"

"Snails," T'Mira explained patiently.

"I'll take those," Khassya decided.

"They are already dead," T'Mira pointed out.

"Oh." The Klingon looked extremely disappointed. "Why would anyone kill them before they eat them, that's disgusting!"

"We're not here to eat," T'Mira reminded her strictly, "But because you failed, once again. The butterfly was a safe bet, but you did not eliminate the human, so he could save her again. If Buffy Summers does not die before midnight, it will be the end of the universe as we know it."

"No need to remind me of that," Khassya snapped.

"Sh," T'Mira said, "They're here."

Khassya turned around. Indeed, Buffy Summers and her husband had entered the restaurant. The Slayer clearly had difficulty walking on her high heels as they were shown to a table overlooking the American and the Canadian Horseshoe Falls.

A waiter was adjusting the chair for Buffy Summers.

Khassya slipped from the restaurant and went upstairs to the corridor right above the restaurant where she had left her equipment.

*

The Doctor's face showed surprise as Angel entered sickbay again to check for the results of the testing. He was already in disguise for their mission, wearing a dark suit. The Doctor's trained eye recognized the weapons hidden up Angel's sleeves. Sharp wooden stakes fastened around his arms, ready to snap out and pierce the enemy.

"Anything?" Angel asked.

The Doctor looked at him, his face expressionless. "You are alive, Angel, that's all I can say. I have no idea why."

Angel held his gaze and looked at him for several long moments. His eyes seemed to look right through him. "Giles, no offence," he said, "but you've never been a good liar."

The Doctor turned swiftly and raised his phaser, aiming it at Angel. "Don't come any closer," he warned him, "The phaser's set to kill."

*

Triumph was written all over Beverly's face when Wesley and Harmony returned.

"This is the first day of the rest of your life, Wesley," she announced, beaming like a child on Christmas, as she handed him a glass of blood and helped herself and Harmony to a bottle of Risan champagne.

"What did you find out?" Harmony wondered.

Beverly took a sip of the champagne. "The answer was right there under my nose, and I didn't see it! Actually it was our little discussion on science and religion that did the trick for me. Remember the Jinxora cult on Severus Prime, Wes?"

Wesley thought for a moment. "A primitive culture, pre-warp society if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, and?" Beverly asked impatiently.

"And they worship the Borg as Gods," Wesley added.

"Exactly!" Beverly replied.

Harmony yawned. "So what?"

*

"Put the phaser away, Giles," Angel said calmly.

"You're human now, Angel, but that also means you're vulnerable, and there's no way to disarm a hologramme, not even with the vampiric speed you still seem to have retained."

"Com..." Angel began, but the Doctor cut him off.

"Don't you dare instruct the computer, I would have pressed the button on this phaser before you could even say DELETE PROGRAMME," the Doctor said. "Maybe I'm just a hologramme, but I am also a Watcher. If the cure to vampirism is brought into this world by you now, and if Buffy does not die this very day, the consequences will be unpredictable."

"That implies there is a cure," Angel pointed out.

"These news will never leave sickbay," the Doctor said. "When Captain Janeway asks what happened, I will tell her that you attacked me because you could not accept I had no idea what was happening to you. She has every reason to believe me. I'm her loyal crewman, you're just a fiend from hell setting off a mutiny and stealing her ship."

"Are you gonna tell me why I live before you kill me?" Angel inquired.

The Doctor sneered. "You really don't know, do you."

"Your death will not be meaningless, Angel," the Doctor said, "It will be for the good of the universe." His finger touched the button of the phaser.

*

Beverly smiled. "Jhelia, you were taken to hospital right after the Borg attack on the station, is that correct?"

"Yeah," Harmony admitted, "So what?"

"So you got attacked by a Borg first?"

Harmony shrugged. "Vampires and Borg, that's not much of a difference, actually. We both kill to assimilate. And we both have a very unhealthy complexion."

"Shut up," Wesley snarled, "Beverly, I'm afraid I still don't see how that is supposed to help."

*

The lights went off in sickbay when the Doctor's image was suddenly gone. Seven pushed the door open from the outside with enormous effort, since the door mechanisms were cut off as well when she had cut the power.

"Are you undamaged?" she asked. In the light of her flashlight, Angel could see Seven was already in disguise, wearing a silver evening gown and a tiny purse of the same color. Probably there was a phaser inside it.

"To use your vocabulary, working within normal parameters," Angel replied as he helped push the door open from the inside.

Seven switched on her flashlight.

"Thanks," Angel said, "How did you know he was gonna kill me?"

Seven looked at Angel as if he was asking something very daft. "It was logical."

Angel stared at her. "Well, for me it wasn't that obvious!"

Seven almost smiled. "Actually, Ensign Kim informed me the Doctor had asked him for a phaser just in case there was a mutiny again. I found that extremely disturbing, so I cut off the power to sickbay, I figured that had to disable his programme as well."

"Old fool," Angel murmured, "But he knew something! He had discovered a cure and wouldn't tell me. So how can one come back from the dead and live?"

Seven's flashlight pointed at the terrarium. "I don't know. But why don't you ask him?"

Inside the terrarium, the Klingon butterfly was floating around, clearly not squashed or dead.

*

"What happened when the Borg attacked you, Jhelia?" Beverly asked.

Harmony shrugged. "The drone did what her instinct told her, tried to stab me in the neck with her cybernetic fingers, and I did what my instinct told me – I vamped out and bit her. Tasted a bit odd, her blood, but, well, I drained her completely. Don't know what these beasties drink, but never had such a hangover ever before! My head was aching all the time, and vampires aren't supposed to have headaches. Have to drink two gallons of whiskey before you even get tipsy, y'know, 'cause you're dead already. And then I passed out. They must have taken me to hospital. And that's where I woke in the morning. Alive."

Wesley's eyes widened. "So it was in the drone's blood?"

*

"Of course," Angel whispered. "The butterfly stung you. You bled on its dead form. The Borg nanites in your blood revived the Klingon butterfly. The same thing happened to me, Annika. I bit you, I drank from you on the bridge of VOYAGER."

*

"Borg blood is the elixir of life?" Harmony asked in disbelief.

"Well, technically, not the blood," Beverly explained, "More: the Borg nanites in the blood. They have regenerating powers. They restore dead tissue, help it to repair itself. Deactivate the vampiric virus. Make you live again. The headaches you got, Jhelia, they were just side-effects to the changes."

*

"So that is why you still have superhuman strength and speed," Seven remarked, "It is not vampiric strength, but Borg strength."

*

"Wesley, do you realize what that means?!" Beverly gasped. "It means I can help you. You can be human again."

Wesley did not look overjoyed at the news. "Will you excuse me for a moment, Beverly? I have to get out a little."

"Of course," Beverly agreed.

Wesley went out to feel the cold night air on his face. If Bev finds a cure, you're just another guy with a pre-historic taste of music.

By sunrise he had staked fifteen vampires without really paying attention to it.

*

Khassya fastened the rope around her waist tightly and clutched her B'athleth. She opened the window. The restaurant was right under her. Khassya looked down onto the roaring waterfalls below. Then she climbed from the window and slowly began to descend to the restaurant.

*

It all came back to Angel now as he closed his eyes and remembered. He had been there before, human, mortal, with a soul firmly in place. But he had been weak then, unable to help, stripped of his superhuman powers. And he had had to turn the gift back. He would never be able to stand another conversation like that with Buffy.

His own voice shaking, almost carried away. I asked them to turn me back.

Her shocked eyes. What? Why?

His lame reply. Because more than ever I know how much I love you.

Phase one: denial. No. No, you didn't.

His attempts to justify what he had done. If I stay mortal, one of us will wind up dead, maybe both of us. You heard what Mohra said.

Phase two: persuasion. Mohra's gone, we killed him!

He could not allow himself to listen. Others will come.

Phase three: pleading. They always come, and they always will, but that's my problem now, not yours, remember!

His decision was made, no matter how much she pleaded, nothing could change now. I won't stand by and watch you fight, maybe die alone.

Phase three: defiance. Then we fight together!

He had to call to her reason, if she had any reason left. You take chances to protect me, that's not just bad for you, it's bad for the people you are meant to help!

Phase four: anger. What, you just took 24 hours weighing the ups and downs of being a normal Joe and decided it was more fun being a superhero?

Then phase five: grief.

"Angel," Seven said gently, calling him back from the realm of memory.

Angel nodded. "I know. Let's go. Let's beam down and change history."

*

Buffy was still struggling with the French menu, wishing she had paid more attention at school. What was that again, vel de veau?

Spike grinned at her. "Problem, luv?"

"No, not at all," Buffy refused. Dear, the only thing she understood was escargots, but she could not bring herself to eating snails.

"Found anything yet?" Spike asked politely, knowing exactly Buffy had no idea what was being offered.

"Yeah," Buffy replied untruthfully. Well, at least she knew what she wanted for dessert. She remembered what a crème brûlée was. "I'll take the crème for dessert. I've had it before, and it's to die for!"

The next thing she heard was the sounds of breaking glass and the screams of fleeing guests when Khassya the Vampire Slayer swunng through the window into the restaurant. "You will not be harmed!" she announced, wielding her weapon, "Surrender Buffy Summers to me, and the rest of you will live!"

Spike jumped from his chair and shielded his wife with his body while guests and staff alike were panicking, knocking each other down and trampling on those on the floor to reach the doors.

Buffy took off her high heels. "I didn't really MEAN to die for!" she protested. She knew these shoes would be the death of her, and why didn't any designer ever think of designing a purse big enough to carry a stake?

Spike tossed her a steak knife from one of the tables.

Buffy frowned. "That supposed to be a weapon?" She tossed it aside, grabbed a chair and broke it, taking one of the splintered wooden legs as a stake. "Nothin' like a good old stake!"

"I agree," a snasrling voice said. From the neighbouring table, T'Mira pointed a crossbow at Spike.

"Buffy Summers, I will give you the chance to fight in order to die honorably," Khassya announced.

"Great," Spike said, "I will give you the chance to die miserably!"

Khassya looked at him in utter contempt. "William the Bloody," she announced.

"You know that demon?" Buffy asked , puzzled.

"I am Khassya the Vampire Slayer," the Klingon announced proudly. "I am here to right the wrongs of that fiend! I will protect the universe as I was sworn to, I am the Chosen One."

"Yeah, sure, a vampire slayer with ridged forehead and sharp teeth," Buffy said with contempt. "What's next, let me guess, you're a vampire with a soul?!" Buffy yawned. "Y'know what? I'm tired of talking. Let's just fight!" With this, she attacked.

She hit Khassya with her full fist, breaking two teeth. Blood streamed from the Klingon's mouth as she howled in anger and returned the blows. Buffy cursed the cocktail dress, it restricted her movements considerably, and the B'athleth got caught in the fold if she wanted to aim kicks at the adversary.

Spike evaded T'Mira's crossbow bolts carefully, trying to get nearer to her to bring her down.

Khassya was a lot better prepared than during their last fight. She concentrated on hitting with consideration.

"Done your homework?" Buffy asked sarcastically.

"You are going to die," Khassya snarled.

"Yeah, definitely. But not tonight."

Khassya brought her weapon forward, feigning an attack at Buffy's head. Buffy raised her arms to block the attack, as Khassya aimed at her kneecaps and brought her down. Buffy, knocked off her feet, struggled to rise against Khassya's continuing blows.

T'Mira fired her bolts frantically, but Spike was faster even than the Vulcan eye. The Vulcan stumbled back. Then she realized she had run out of bolts.

Spike grinned as his shadow fell over her.

"T'Mira!" Khassya cried in alarm, turning from Buffy, and grabbed a chair's leg, tossing it at Spike with full force.

Spike was too concentrated on winning to realize the danger.

"Spike!" Buffy never saw the blue flickering of light in the air as she struggled to reach him, knowing she could not be faster than the stake. Buffy gasped. Between Khassya and Spike, Angel had appeared out of thin air, caught the stake in the movement.

"That was close, Spike," Angel said coldly.

Only now did Spike realize what had happened.

For a moment, the fighting ceased, as everyone stared at Angel and Seven of Nine, who had materialized from nothing.

Buffy's eyes rested on Angel as he stood among them, on the one hand dressed all in black for an evening society, on the other hand holding the stake and clearly armed to the teeth, looking incredibly handsome, but even more dangerous, his dark eyes burning with rage. Neither angel nor devil, he reminded her of an ancient vengeance god.

"Angel," Buffy said breathlessly.

"Angelus," Khassya said between gritted teeth.

"Buffy," Angel said gently, "May I introduce you to Khassya the Vampire Slayer of Kronos, and T'Mira of Vulcan, her Watcher? This is Seven of Nine, our... well, I'll have to explain that one later."

"Seven of Nine? Kronos? Vulcan?" Buffy's face was very pale, and she looked extremely confused when she asked: "Could you tell me what the hell is going on?"

Angel's eyes darkened, were almost black, when he held her gaze and replied: "Why don't you ask your loving husband?"

14

Beverly returned to the quarters she inhabited during her assignment on Koman to find Wesley still up, working at a console.

"You didn't come back," Beverly said softly, "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," Wesley replied absently, rubbing his burning eyes. "I had to do some thinking."

"Is she right?" Beverly asked. "Do you even consider not trying to cure the virus?"

"It's not a virus." This time, Wesley did not smile impatiently.

Beverly took a seat next to him at the desk. "Talk to me, Wes," she said, "What's wrong?"

"It's strange," Wesley replied, "I haven't thought of him for at least a decade. And I was so convinced if ever anyone would have the chance to return from vampirism, it would be him."

"Angel?" Beverly asked.

"Yes, Angel," Wesley confirmed.

Beverly looked over his shoulder. "What's that?" She saw the display showed a scan of an ancient piece of parchment.

"My database," Wesley told her, "I haven't looked at this file for at least a hundred years. This is an old prophecy I tried to translate back in the day when we were working together on Earth. I never quite figured out what was the correct translation. At the time, I was convinced it said: 'When he has fulfilled his destiny, the vampire with a soul will become shanshu'." He chuckled bitterly. "One of life's little ironies. The crucial part, the shanshu, could mean both dead and alive. We figured it would take months, maybe years. It has been centuries, and Angel's condition is still the same. I felt I had the painful security I mistranslated and raised false hopes. Now... with the cure... things could be different. If anyone deserves to live, it is him. And he is forever out of reach."

Beverly looked at the translation. "'When he has fulfilled his destiny, the vampire with a soul will become shanshu.' That sounds so familiar. Hang on a sec..." She hurried to a shelf and came back with something very odd... a book.

Wes smiled in nostalgia. "You don't see those a lot any more."

Beverly shrugged. "Lieutenant T'Lar. My medical assistant from Vulcan. She gave me this one on a very stressful day shortly after I first got here. She said it had to be read from paper. It wasn't the same as an electronic text." She skimmed the pages.

Wesley frowned. "The collected works of Surak, Original Vulcan and English translation?"

"Hang on," Beverly insisted, tracing the lines. "Ah. Here." She put the open book on the table.

Wesley's face assumed an astonished expression as he began to read.

"Once the Revenant with a katra has fulfilled his destiny, he will..." He looked up. "Shanshu is a Vulcan verb?"

Beverly shrugged. "I knew I had read that text before."

"Fascinating, I always thought it was an adjective." Wesley looked at the page. "This is a treasure, Bev. It is my passage. The prophecy. Of course, I'll have to cross-check, but..."

*

Spike felt everyone looking at him. If Angel expected him to cast his eyes down and beg his forgiveness, he would be disappointed. Spike just stood there, looking around proudly, a grin of contempt on his face. "So this is where the story ends, mate? You win one battle, I lose the war?"

Angel's voice was cool and determined. "You lost the war a long time ago."

Spike spoke in a low voice, almost inaudible. "And yet I'm here, married to Buffy. Not you."

"Stop it, both of you!" Buffy interfered. "What's this all about?"

"This is all about you, Buffy," Spike replied calmly, "It's always been about you."

"Who is she?" Buffy inquired, pointing at Khassya.

"She told you the truth," Angel explained, "She is the vampire slayer. But she was born on another planet, light years from here, and centuries from now. In your future. The place where I come from... and Spike."

"No," Buffy said defensively, taking a few steps backward, "You're mad, I don't believe you!"

"Then come with me." Angel extended his hand. "I can show you VOYAGER, the ship I serve on."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Not a spaceship."

"I assure you, I'm not mad, nor am I a liar."

"I know." Buffy's voice was shaking. From a look at his face and Spike's, she knew it had to be true. After all, it was the only explanation for everything. The flickering blue lights that made people disappear, the odd equipment and weapons, the butterfly. Buffy turned to Khassya. "If you're the Slayer of my future, why do you want to kill me?"

"I don't want to," Khassya replied, her own tone no longer as secure as it had been, "I have no choice. You were meant to die today, in fact, you did die today, but your... husband travelled back in time, changed his past, and so, you survived."

"The result is pandaemonium," T'Mira added.

"Huh?" Buffy's expression was blank. She looked at Khassya with a faint smile. "Watcher?"

Khassya nodded knowingly. "Watcher."

"Chaos," T'Mira rephrased, "Your successor was never called. From that moment, the line of Slayers deteriorated. They became weaker and could no longer withhold the forces of darkness, so the Temporal Defence Office and the Council asked the last strong Slayer in history to correct the timeline – Khassya of Kronos. She is our last stronghold against the apocalypse. To preserve the universe, Buffy Summers, you must die."

Buffy looked stricken. "I could use a chair," she complained, and both Spike and Angel looked around for one of the few intact pieces of furniture left after the battle. "Don't bother," Buffy hurried to say and sank down on the floor. She took in the knowledge. Then she looked up. "Did I get that right? Slayers becoming weaker 'cause I survived? And I survived because... William is a time-traveler? Like in that ol' movie, with Morlocks and Eloy? Did you also have such a curious machine looking like an armchair on wheels?"

Despite the situation, Spike smiled. "Not quite like that. Actually, I just walked through a gate."

"So that's how you did it," Angel interfered, "The Guardian of Forever! But how did you get in, it's guarded!"

"Lilah," Spike replied.

"Could've figured that out myself," Angel murmured, "The woman has nine lives like a cat!"

Buffy rose and walked toward Spike, looking straight into his eyes. "Is that true? Did you really travel back in time to prevent me from dying?"

Spike took her hand. Now he cast his eyes down. "Can't deny that."

When he looked up to meet her eyes, they were full of love and warmth. Her voice was still unsteady, her eyes filled with tears. "How long... I mean..."

"Four hundred years," Spike replied, his voice hoarse. "More like, five hundred. Was like a million years to me. Never got over the fact I couldn't save you. Could neither live nor die in a world without you. So I changed my universe. For you." There was a long pause.

Angel's lips parted as he made to speak, but Seven shook her head, only very slightly.

Angel held his peace.

Buffy stood like petrified.

"I can't deny I lied to you," Spike said slowly, "I used my knowledge of you to find a fast way into your life and into your heart. I used my knowledge of your future to make your Sunnydale a better place. I manipulated Joyce and Dawnie to be part of your lovely family." He let go off her hand and dropped to his knees, yet never breaking eye-contact. "I understand if you never want to see me again. I was insincere in many ways. But what I never lied about was my love for you, Buffy. That was real. And I needed you to know."

When Buffy next spoke, tears were streaming down her face, her words were almost drowned by her sobs. "That's so... that's all sweet and noble..." She followed him on her knees and clasped his shoulders. "Will, what you did for me was just... I can't find a word..."

"...irresponsible?" Angel added helpfully.

Spike closed his arms around the sobbing Buffy and shot Angel a sneering look. His lips formed the silent words: I win.

Angel's hands formed into fists.

Khassya looked undecided, T'Mira's face was expressionless. After all, Klingons and Vulcans were not especially famous for their professional dealing with human emotions.

When Buffy had recovered, her tears dried away, she rose from the floor and straightened her skirts. She looked at Spike again. One of his arms was possessively around her waist.

"I want to know how," she informed him, "How did it happen? How did I die?"

The vampire's expression was one of cold triumph and hatred. "Why don't you ask your lover?"

*

T'Lia of Vulcan stood before the Guardian of Forever and watched.

"You knew all along, didn't you, Lilah?" Wesley asked from behind her.

Lilah smiled. For the first time, she looked like Lilah Morgan, not T'Lia of Vulcan. "About the nanites? Yes, I knew all along." She turned around and extended her hand. "So, what are you going to do now, my love? Turn down the gift of life, or hand back your extremely fashionable superman cape?"

Wesley took her hand and pulled her close. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Lilah's lips brushed his. "It was more fun to see you find out by yourself."

"Fun, yeah?" Wesley said and ripped Lilah's robe to shreds with his bare hands so she stood before him naked.

"Haven't lost it yet," Lilah replied with a small chuckle.

"Fun, Lilah?" Wesley ran his hand from her cheek over her collarbone and shoulders down to her breasts. His voice was low and gentle. "Was it fun as well to see all those Slayers weakened by their own Watchers, whom you corrupted? Was it fun to see the Ministry of Temporal Defence setting off a witchhunt for Buffy Summers, whose death had nothing to do whatsoever with the losses?"

Lilah quickly disposed of Wesley's travel cloak and shirt, running her hands over his bare chest. "Let's not talk about this right now."

Wesley pushed her a few steps forward, steadying her against the console near the Guardian, parting her thighs.

Lilah gasped when she felt his thrusts.

"Why did you do it?" Wesley whispered, thrusting Lilah against the cool metal of the console. "Was it because of the prophecy? To prevent Angel's shanshu?" He kissed her neck, his fangs slowly grazing her skin.

Lilah caught her breath when her fingers touched his ridged forehead and she realized he had gone into game face. Her eyelids fluttered, her eyes flew open.

Wesley's vampiric countenance was an impressive sight. His normally steel blue eyes were almost white, with dark red shadows below them. His marred forehead cast a dark shadow over his handsome features, and his lips revealed the sharp fangs coloured with the tiny drops of Lilah's own green blood.

Lilah arched against him.

"It's because of what shanshu really means," Wesley whispered, "And you set up a whole apocalyptic scenario to distract from the true meaning. Because it will be the end of Wolfram and Hart. The end of the Senior Partners. And of your power."

Sweat broke from Lilah's skin as she approached her climax. "How did you find out?" she whispered curiously.

Wesley's voice was suddenly cool and distant. "You just told me." He pushed her away and began to dress.

"You're not going," Lilah protested.

"And you're not coming," Wesley replied unequivocally, "So we're both disappointed."

*

Buffy's eyes were suddenly full of distrust and fear.

"Don't look so scared, pet," Spike told her, "You knew before I would always smell another man on you, no matter how much you covered his scent with shampoos, flowers or perfumes. Comes with the package when you marry a vampire."

Buffy felt her face was hot. She bet she had blushed deeply.

"I don't blame you," Spike continued, "He's always had that thing with women, though I never really understood what they saw in him."

"Class?" Angel suggested, "Style?"

Spike ignored him. "It's okay, Buffy, I forgive you. It's the first love that counts. I knew sooner or later you'd come back to me, once you learned he was the one who killed you when he was still a vampire."

Buffy stared at Angel. "No," she whispered, "No. Not you."

Angel suddenly looked very helpless. "Buffy, I..."

"Say he's wrong," Buffy said in a low voice, her eyes vulnerable.

"It wasn't me," Angel replied, almost inaudibly.

"No!" Buffy insisted, her temper rising, she was almost yelling, in a shrill tone. "TELL ME HE'S WRONG!"

"He killed you," T'Mira replied in his stead, in a matter-of-fact tone. "He defeated you in hand-to-hand combat and drained you of your blood until you died."

"Now, that was a help," Angel hissed.

Buffy looked crestfallen and confused.

"It was well done," T'Mira replied, "If Buffy Summers lives, the line of slayers will lose the battle."

"So you're in truth the big hero, huh?" Buffy asked sarcastically. "Saving the universe by killing the Slayer, good job, Angel!"

"You were killed by the demon in me, Angelus," Angel tried to defend himself, "But the demon's gone! I live."

"There is no coming back from the undead," Buffy contradicted him.

Angel's dark eyes sought hers. "You felt my heartbeat."

T'Mira gestured at Khassya to use the general confusion to her advantage. Kill her, and be done with it!

But the Klingon hesitated.

"We have a cure," Angel said, his voice shaking with excitement, "There is no need for hostility, Khassya. Buffy can live, for if we tell the universe about the cure, there won't be any more slayers or watchers. We can cure all vampires, make them live again."

"And how?" Khassya asked in a mocking tone.

"Borg nanites," Angel said, "They worked on me. Have you scanned me? Then you know I'm alive, but you also knew who I was."

"Angelus, the Scourge of Europe," Khassya replied. "A local celebrity of little importance."

"Local?" Angel asked back with incredulity.

"From our point of view," Seven said, "even the Scourge of Earth would be quite local as well."

"Whatever," Angel said quickly, "You can see I'm not a vampire now."

"Our scans confirm what he says," Khassya had to admit, looking at her Watcher insecurely.

"Cure," T'Mira sneered. "Maybe for you." The Vulcan reached into her robes and revealed a data pad, tossing it on a nearby table with sheer contempt. "Your so-called cure is a dream, human. It is not like we did not try."

"I take it we is the Watchers' Council?" Buffy concluded.

T'Mira lifted her chin, an expression of pride on her face.

Khassya'a jaw dropped. "You knew about the cure and didn't tell me?"

"It has been one of the best-kept secrets of the Council. Curing vampirism has been object to many observations, research has been conducted with nano technology from the day the Borg first encountered Federation space. Believe me, child, there is no such thing as a cure."

Reluctantly, Angel took the pad from the table and looked over the data, then handed it to Seven with a questioning look. "Do you think this authentic?"

"Definitely," Seven confirmed after a while. "Materials collected by the Watchers over the last few decades. Experiments on vampires with Borg technology dating back to..." She raised an eyebrow. "Side effects of treatment. Permanent cerebral damage, resulting in epilepsia, catatonia, schizophrenia, hallucinations, fits of violence, cannibalism, neurosis..."

Spike grinned broadly. "So, nothing changed for you, mate!"

"All in all," Seven summed up, "the chance of success for nano technology on vampires is one case in... five hundred."

"So, one cured, 499 gone psycho. Jackpot, huh?" Spike said darkly. "Just not for the Slayers – 499 totally insane human maniacs with increased Borg strength and speed, no wonder the poor girls are getting weaker and weaker! Plus, once they're human, no killing without moral issues, right?"

"Yet he is cured," Khassya replied slowly. "You didn't tell me about the cure, T'Mira, but expected me to kill a sister Slayer without ever asking so much why!" The Klingon was outraged. "I should have known Vulcans were not to be trusted!" She turned to Buffy. "I, Khassya, Daughter of Zelda, pledge my allegiance to you, Buffy, Daughter of...?" She looked at her questioningly.

"Joyce," Buffy said in confusion.

"Daughter of Joyce," Khassya repeated seriously. "You are a mighty warrior."

"Thanks," Buffy replied. "I guess..."

"So, no dying today," Spike said matter-of-factly.

"What is different?" Khassya insisted. "Why have so many gone mad and he hasn't? He's been cured, as if it had been his destiny."

"Shanshu," Angel murmured.

"Bless you," Buffy said helpfully.

"Shanshu was the word in an ancient prophecy Wes translated for me decades ago."

"Not Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, is it?" Buffy asked. "I mean, not Cordelia's Wesley?"

"Not The Dark Knight of Khome Ghon?" Khassya asked in awe.

"He's a hero for the Klingons," T'Mira explained with an odd emphasis on hero, "Just because he saved a few people from some demon on the colony world of Khome Ghon."

"Three point five million, and it was a hellgod," Khassya snapped.

"What about this Hatchoo?" Buffy asked impatiently.

"Shanshu," Angel repeated, "It means 'dead', or 'alive'. Wes never figured it out, can mean both. The theory was that one day, when my destiny would be fulfilled, I would... live."

"The word shanshu has several meanings," Seven confirmed, "It means 'dead' in Romulan, 'alive' in Bolian, 'independent' in Klingon, 'old' in Kazon creole, 'young' in medieval Bajoran, 'married' in an Orion dialect, 'pink with green spots' in Elaysian, though I think we can rule that one out..."

"Well, at least he'd look less pale then," Buffy added. A look at the others told her the joke was inappropriate. She blushed. "Sorry. No offence. So... you were lucky, huh? One in five hundred! That is jackpot."

Yet Angel's dark eyes showed no trace of happiness when he faced her. "All these years," he said, "I thought all I wanted was to be alive. To see my reflection, walk in the sun, breathe, eat ice-cream... and now I find it doesn't mean a thing, because you were the only reason for me to live."

Buffy shivered. "Don't say that."

"I'm sorry. I just thought you ought to know. I thought, if I could go back to the past and make sure you wouldn't die, that would be enough, then I would be finished, because you would get to live the life you always wanted, the life you deserved. And that is what you have. So I am finished here." Angel looked at her like a man facing execution, seeing the world around him for the very last time.

"Why are you looking at me like this?" Buffy asked in a whisper.

"I want to remember," Angel replied. "Because I will carry this picture of you with me in my mind for the years remaining. Your eyes, your smile." He took a step toward her and touched her face. "I love you, Buffy Summers. I always have and I always will."

Buffy, still holding Spike's hand, looked after Angel with tears in her eyes.

Angel turned away and stood next to Seven. He touched his communicator. "Lieutenant Summers to VOYAGER. Two to beam up."

"Lieutenant Paris here. Ready to beam at your command."

Lieutenant... Summers. That's my name! For five hundred years, he had my name? "Angel, wait!" She let go off Spike's hand and rushed to Angel's side.

She felt Spike's gaze on her and hesitated. "I'm sorry, William. You will always be my first love, and no one will ever take that away from you. But it's the true love that counts, and I would lie to you and to myself if I pretended it wasn't so. I'm so sorry! But it doesn't really matter whom we love first. It's the true love we will always end up with." She looked at Angel. "Right?"

Angel nodded mechanically, as if in a trance.

Spike looked stricken, but he preferred not to make a scene. He lit a cigarette. "True love, huh? Guess it's the girl's loss, not mine, then. Women. You change your universe for them, and they break your heart for the next best guy who's come back from the dead. Good luck, then, shanshu," he said, not noticing that T'Mira's hands clutched Khassya's B'athleth tightly now.

"In Vulcan it means 'to cross over'," T'Mira said. "When your destiny fulfills, Angelus, you will cross over. And so will the Slayer," she said, unusually softly for a Vulcan. "So please, do not make this harder than it is. There is no cure for vampires. At least none that would not equal the sacrifice of the many for the good of the few. I will see to it that your katra will reach Mount Seleya, if you wish, or perform any rituals of burial you see fit." She gestured at Khassya. "For Federation and Council."

Khassya's B'athleth was raised high in the air by the Vulcan Watcher and ready to be thrust down to sever Angel's head from his body in one strike.

But the young Klingon's sudden scream startled T'Mira so she dropped the weapon, staring in horror at the green gate opening before them and the mysterious figure emerging from it.

"The Dark Knight of Khome Ghon," Khassya gasped.

"I figured it out, Angel," Wesley said with a small smile, "Shanshu is Vulcan. It's actually a verb. It means 'to cross over'."

Angel smiled back. "So I heard."

"Hey, five hundred years for the translation of one word, that is a record, even for an ex-watcher," Spike said sarcastically.

"Who's crossing?" Buffy asked in confusion. "And where?"

Wesley took a moment to establish a tense silence. This was his moment, after all. "The Prophecy of Surak," he announced in a loud and clear voice. "Once the Revenant with a katra has fulfilled his destiny, he shall cross over. Past the boundaries of time and space he shall come when the light of the Ninth Star is fading."

"The Ninth Star as seen from Vulcan without astronomical instruments is the Nigorian sun," Seven remarked.

"Which turned into a nova last month, after the Federation had evacuated thousands," Khassya added.

"Precisely," Wesley continued. "He shall cross over from the Lost Universe and take revenge on his enemies, he shall free the Army of Light from their unfaithful Guardians trying to conquer Time, he shall smash their power and establish the Kingdom of the Chosen One, his consort, from Time's womb untimely ripped. United they shall conquer, divided they shall perish." He paused. "The Army of Light are the Slayers. The unfaithful Guardians are the watchers gone astray. There is a temporal war raging outthere in our future, and the Council of Watchers have chosen their side wrongly. The same side as Wolfram & Hart, by the way. Buffy, do you remember the herbs Giles weakened you with on your eighteenth birthday?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Nice little test, almost got me killed."

"They have done the same to the future Slayers. Just... permanently," Wesley explained. "They knew what was coming. They knew they would lose their powers to a whole generation of Slayers, and they knew about Angel's role in the battle. The weakening of the Slayers had nothing to do with your death, Buffy. It was the Watchers' doings. You were not supposed to be killed by Angelus on that day in 2005, Buffy. You were from Time's womb untimely ripped- that is, killed due to a manipulation of time. Lilah arranged that nice little trip to Danvers for the university students, knowing Connor and Dawn would both have to write something on the Salem witch hunts, just to get both of you there. She wanted Angelus to kill Buffy to make sure you would not be involved in the temporal war. I was a fool. I didn't see it coming. Lilah seemed to think your love for Buffy would fade with time, Angel. Obviously, it didn't. When Lilah realized through portents and prophecies, including Dru's visions, that you meant to go back and save Buffy, she went to plan B. It was Lilah and Wolfram & Hart, Spike. They sent you back to divide Buffy and Angel, just in case he found a way to cross over. The Time War can only be won if the two of you fight side by side."

"I'm beginning to understand," Angel said slowly. He looked at T'Mira. "And you were in it from the beginning!" He took Buffy's hand. "United we shall conquer. Buffy, I know this is very sudden, but can you imagine following me, to the future?"

Buffy smiled. "Do they have chocolate and ice-cream there?"

Angel nodded.

Buffy shrugged. "Looks like it's meant to be. Let's go!"

"There is a catch," Wesley admitted. "If Buffy goes to the future with you, Seven, or Annika, will be raised by the two of you, not taken away by Anya to live with the Hansons, and not assimilated by the Borg."

For a moment, Seven thought of the future – or past – awaiting her. No Collective, no Borg Queen, no Unimatrix Zero, no cortical implants, the ability to feel what humans felt, to go to school, to Starfleet Academy, to fall in love for the first time.

"ANNIKA IS OUR DAUGHTER???" Buffy shrieked.

Angel's expression darkened. "And if Annika never becomes Borg, I will not receive the nanites from her blood. I will remain a vampire."

"Can't you just use nanites when that happens?" Khassya wondered.

T'Mira's face assumed a devilish grin. "Timing and dose of nanites are different for each single person. It is an inexact method, mostly done by calculating and estimating. It only works in one out of five hundred cases. If you don't know the exact dose and distribution of nanites, the vampire becomes human, but receives permanent brain damage and goes insane. So what are the odds it works twice with the same person?"