First strikes the new awakened sense;
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from thence,
When you loved me and I loved you,
Then both of us were born anew.’
“So it’s a boy?” Angel’s solemn voice cut through the silence of the otherwise empty office. “And they’re both well?” He paused, waiting for the answer. “Okay, that’s good. Well, give them my congratulations and um … love. Both of them.” Pause. “Yeah, yeah. Okay son, ah Connor. See you soon. I ah, I lo …”
He sighed and lowered the handset, staring at it as if it might suddenly reconnect. Angel didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that Connor had hung up before he’d managed to spit out that closing statement. God, he was still so awkward, with the boy. His own son, and yet it seemed so hard to let him know just how much he really cared. In fact the whole father-son dynamic had really stalled on the runway.
It wasn’t as if he could blame the boy. Between his impossible conception and birth, his violent, screwed up upbringing, and the vile abhorrence of his relationship with Cordelia/Jasmine, Connor had had almost no chance of ever being able to function happily within normal society. His psychosis had been not only explicable, but also inevitable given the physical and psychological traumas he’d been exposed to over his short life.
That Angel had wanted better for his son, was understandable, commendable even. But the manner in which he’d sought to achieve that happy ending was no doubt flawed. Angel could see now that he’d probably over reacted, gone too far, thrown the baby out with the bath water. In hindsight he could have perhaps removed the memory of the more traumatic episodes in Connor’s life, without removing the memory of his whole family, his whole existence.
At least that was how Connor obviously felt about it, his anger about finding out that his memories had been altered, his mind ‘raped’ as he had furiously described it, an almost palpable thing. Angel shuddered as he remembered the morning that Connor and Dawn had barged into his office, Faith, Wes and Fred trailing sternly behind them. The expression of confusion, sorrow and betrayal on his son’s face as Angel had haltingly revealed detail after shocking detail from their joint histories was forever fixed in his mind.
And the torture hadn’t finished with Angel's wretched reveal. No, the boy had insisted that they all march directly down to Vail’s rooms to have their memories returned. And by all, he’d meant anyone whose memories had been affected by the reality shift. So, they’d collected Gunn and Lorne, and all headed off to see the wizard, the evil wizard of L.A. Vail had been mightily amused by the whole ordeal, cackling and wheezing away as he drew out the Orlon Window and handed it over to Connor to smash.
The misery of that moment, the instant when the glass cracked and everyone’s memories came flooding back, would live to haunt him forever. The tinkling of broken glass had been followed by a moment of stunned silence. Frowns of confusion were slowly replaced by looks of disappointment, betrayal and bewilderment, as if they had each awakened from a deep sleep. Stony scowls of sorrow and accusation had been thrown his way, testament to how deeply the ill-conceived mind wipe had affected them. Without a word, the others had turned and walked away, leaving him there to wallow in his guilt and despair, accompanied by the sounds of Vail’s rasping laughter.
For the most part, his relationship with his colleagues, his friends, had never fully recovered. He could see the wariness, the loss of trust in their words and actions, the constant questioning of his decisions and motivations, the distance and coolness that had crept into their interactions. It all spoke of connections that were permanently damaged, fractured beyond repair. The bonds that had developed between him and the people that he’d spent so much time with he would have thought unbreakable.
But he’d managed the unthinkable with his poorly thought out agreement. Although, in retrospect, the Senior Partners had played him, effectively cutting him off from his greatest support with their all-encompassing reality shift, he’d been the desperate fool that had accepted their terms. Signed his happiness away on the dotted line, along no doubt with any hope for redemption. And now it was up to him to deal with the fall out.
Wes’ disappointment had been the greatest blow, the sudden withdrawal of both his friendship and trust creating a huge hole in Angel's personal and professional lives.
Although Wes had apparently had some prior knowledge of the reality shift’s existence, the sudden recollection of his own role in Connor's abduction and his subsequent ostracism, coupled with what he viewed as Angel's unwarranted interference with his perception of reality, had ripped a gaping fissure across their relationship.
He’d even questioned whether or not his decision to join Angel at Wolfram and Hart had been affected by some sort of subliminal prompt. That was baseless of course, although whether the unwiped version of Wes, the more wary, cynical guy he’d become in the wake of Connor's kidnapping, whether that Wes would have signed up to follow Angel into the belly of the beast was at least debatable.
Wes’ solution was to put more and more distance between himself and both Angel, and Wolfram and Hart itself. He still spent two or three days a week at work, mainly sequestered away in his own office, where he spent hours accessing the archives for research and translations in preference to attending meetings or taking part in fieldwork. He couldn’t be faulted on either the quality or the punctuality of his work. But in terms of actually being there, Wes seemed little more than a ghostly presence at times.
When he wasn’t at work, it appeared that Wes was spending most of his time across the pond, returning to his Watcher roots as part of the team at Ashdown. Angel felt a wave of intense anger and almost, yes, jealousy, overcome him. They were really the in crowd these days over at Amazon International. They had all the cool kids playing for their team, Buffy, Faith, Fred, Wes and even his precious son. And waltzing around in the midst of it all was that annoying little pest Spike. How the bane of his existence had managed to steal away almost everything that was precious to him was beyond his comprehension.
Angel sighed and stood up, making his way over to his office doors and out into the corridor. As he stood in front of the lifts, he thought about the defection of the rest of his team. Of course Fred went where Wes went these days, the pretty physicist finally seeming to return the Englishman’s feelings. Angel would have been more pleased for the couple if they’d actually been around enough to congratulate. As it was, Fred spent so much time at Ashdown these days, that she barely managed to keep on top of her caseload in the Practical Science Division, leaving more and more work to her offsider, some guy called Knox.
It went without saying that Angel missed Fred almost as much as he missed Wes. Her friendly, bubbly nature was a much-needed contrast to the more serious personalities of most of the rest of the team. Her sweet, almost naïve trust in him seemed to have evaporated as irrevocably as her false memories had.
He frowned and stepped into the lift, pushing the button for the sixth floor. Although Gunn and Lorne were still around, Angel saw precious little of them. Lorne was always off arranging contracts for this singer or that actor. He’d initially been pretty disappointed in his boss’ actions, but Lorne had understood that Angel had been driven by altruistic motives, and had eventually forgiven him his actions. And even though Lorne had become more cynical since their shift to Wolfram and Hart, he did seem to enjoy in his job as head of the Entertainment Division, enough not to hold a grudge for long anyway.
It was a similar story with Gunn. He was irritated initially, but when the mind wipe was balanced against the benefits of the legal upgrade he’d received when they’d signed up to join the law firm, he’d chosen to overlook Angel’s actions. Not that Gunn and Lorne’s forgiveness necessarily guaranteed him their friendship. They were either too busy, or still a little too annoyed to hang out with their boss. And apart from the twice weekly staff meetings, they might have just as soon been working in another city.
The only person that had seemed mostly unaffected by the resumption of reality was Faith. She was her normal outspoken, cynical but mildly flirtatious self, and good company when he saw her. The trouble of course was that he hardly ever saw her.
Angel stepped out of the lift and turned left, heading down the corridor that led towards the Medical department. When it came down to it, he was lonely. He missed his friends, he missed his son, and he missed Cordelia badly. He may have been an evil, murderous bastard for more than half of his 270 year existence, but during that time he was rarely alone. Family was important to him and he shuddered as he remembered the endless lost years, and the sad, pathetic unlife that he had lived in the gutters and back alleyways, shut away from vampires and humans.
It was beginning to feel very like those desperate times again. Living in the lap of evil luxury, but lost and rudderless, lacking in anyone who could provide companionship or advice, Angel felt like throwing it all away. Hell, he’d have even welcomed Spike’s friendship if the bleached pest had been around; that was how low he was feeling.
He was jolted from his introspection by the sight of Fred’s scientist colleague. The guy was heading towards him, frowning at the clipboard in his hands as he walked along. Maybe it was time for him to connect with some of his employees. It certainly couldn’t hurt to be friendly anyway.
“Ah, hi there, um Knox isn’t it?”
Knox jerked to a stop, obviously disconcerted by Angel’s sudden appearance and greeting. He dropped his clipboard on the ground, the metal clip and wooden board reverberating loudly up and down the quiet corridor.
“Oh, um, Mr Angel. Um I mean Sir. I didn’t expect you. I mean I didn’t see you there. Sorry sir but you, ah, startled me.” The man was all but stuttering.
“No problem, I guess I didn’t expect to see you either,” Angel replied as jovially as he was able. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you? Moonlighting as an orderly now are you? Don’t we pay you enough as a scientist?”
“What? Oh no, ha-ha, I see. No sir, you pay me plenty. No I’m just collecting some blood samples from Dr Sparrow. A, a, um joint project we’re looking at ah carrying out.”
“Oh well, that’s good then. Some important breakthrough no doubt. Keep up the good work Knox.”
“Yes, yes, thank you sir and ah, good night.”
He snatched up his clipboard and scurried away, back down the corridor towards the lifts.
“Weird!” Angel said out loud, “Don’t you think that …” He stopped, hanging his head and sighing, before quickly looking up and glancing around to check that no one had witnessed his momentary lapse in sanity. Trying to befriend employees, missing the company of his long time antagonist, and now talking to himself! If he didn’t sort himself out soon, next thing he knew, he’d be filling his suite with cats.
Finally he arrived at the room he’d come to know so well. He nodded at the nurse sitting at her desk and she waved him through. Quietly, he opened the door and slipped into the room. The gentle rays of the afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, throwing their pale light across her face. She was still so beautiful, even after some nine and a half months in a coma. In fact she looked great, well rested and peaceful, as if the previous year’s nightmares had been no more than that, and she was ready to wake up and face a new day.
“Hey Cordy!” Angel greeted his lost love. “How are you sweetheart?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled up the chair next to her; careful to avoid the various lines and tubes running between her body and the medical equipment situated next to her bed “You look so pretty. I see the beauty therapist has been by to work her magic. You’d really like what she’s done with your hair. Of course its much longer now, but she’s curled it a bit too.”
He took her limp hand in his, as he prepared to sink himself into the routine that had become so familiar. Maybe he was going mad, maybe this daily ritual was no different than talking to himself as he strode along the corridors of Wolfram and Hart, but he liked to think that somewhere, somehow, Cordy could hear every word he shared with her.
“So, not much going on around here. But Buffy has had her baby, a little boy. They’ve named him Aidan. I still can’t believe that Spike, of all the evil bloodsuckers in the world would end up fathering a child with Buffy….”
And so began the only time of day that Angel found any peace, just sitting next to Cordelia, going over the trials, tribulations and scant few accomplishments of his life. Until the day when she finally awakened and opened her eyes again, this was the closest approximation of companionship that Angel had in his life. It would have to be enough.
Knox wiped the sweat off of his forehead as he hurried towards the elevator. He stepped in as soon as it opened and rapidly jabbed his finger at the ‘7’ button, holding his breath until the door slid shut. He slumped against the back wall, clutching the clipboard to his chest tightly. God, running into the boss himself had rattled him badly. Knox wondered why Angel had deviated from his schedule so greatly. According to Sparrow he didn’t usually make his visits until late evening.
Still, apart from Knox’s own admittedly fishy behaviour, there was nothing to raise Angel’s suspicions. The lift doors opened and he scurried along the corridor and back to the lab. Once he was inside his office, he pulled the blood samples from his pocket and collapsed into a chair. Close calls like that were just too much for his already tightly strung nerves.
The last three months had been dreadful, a nightmarish mix of stress, excitement, secrecy, frustration and disappointment. He’d been so sure that Winifred Burkle was the one, the perfect match for their requirements. But her near desertion of Wolfram and Hart had made her all but inaccessible. They’d had to come up with a second option, and quickly.
Sparrow had really come through though. Not only had he managed to get Charles Gunn to sign the customs release papers for the sarcophagus, but more importantly, he’d come up with a viable alternative for the transfer. The candidate seemed to be a distinct possibility, but Knox wanted to go through the results of the screening they’d done in order to ensure that the patient’s body was physically strong enough to handle the infestation, before he got too excited.
Still, it seemed like the silver lining of the big black cloud that had been hanging over him. Provided that the tests results were all fine and he could time the arrival of the sarcophagus a little more carefully than his own visit to the patient today, they could be ready to roll in about six or seven days time. That would mean moving their plans forward about a month, but everything was in place, so they were good to go. Finally, the return of the one he’d worshipped for so long. The return of Illyria!
Exactly a week had passed since Angel had got the call about Buffy and Spike’s baby, and he was still feeling listless and lonely. Knox was seated across the other side of his desk, taking him through the monthly report on current investigations and findings carried out by the Science Division. Somehow, the account seemed much more tedious than when Fred presented it.
“Anyway, early results seem to indicate that the compound may have some impact on linear time refraction. Whether we’ll be able to harness these components, and use them to our benefit, only time will tell.”
Knox paused, a grin on his face. He seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction from Angel, but the CEO, who’d only partially been listening, had no idea what that might be.
“Hmmm,” he said, “Sounds … promising!”
Knox paused again, then shrugged. “Yes, we think so. Oh and finally, yesterday, a large container was delivered to the lab. The invoice was addressed to Winifred Burkle, Science Department, but in Miss Burkle’s absence I signed for it, or at least attempted to,” he mumbled.
“So what? A delivery of test tubes? Bunsen burners? A new molecular ray thingy? Fred doesn’t usually include purchases in her report, unless they’re of an exceptional nature. She generally just forwards the invoices to the Accounts department.”
“Oh, no, no, this wasn’t a purchase. At least not that we’re aware of. But it’s definitely quite exceptional. It appears to be a sarcophagus, very, very old as far as we can tell. I took the liberty of ringing Fred, ah Miss Burkle, and she confirmed that she wasn’t expecting anything of this nature. It’s all very mysterious.”
“Perhaps I should take a look at this sarcophagus,” Angel suggested.
“Yes, that’s a good idea sir. We have of course carried out some preliminary tests, mainly on the molecular structure of the exterior materials and taken samples for carbon dating. I’ve sent it down to the Medical department so that we could have it x-rayed. We didn’t want to attempt to open it until we had an idea of what it contained. We wouldn’t want to be responsible for setting something dangerous or malicious loose.”
“Good thinking Knox. Well, keep me up to date, and let me know when the casket is back in the lab and I’ll come and take a look.”
The scientist nodded and got to his feet, just as the phone rang. Angel picked up the phone and answered it.
“Mr Angel, it’s Kim Borden here, from the Medical wing.”
“Ah yes, Nurse, what can I do for you?”
“Dr Sparrow asked me to give you a call. It’s Miss Chase sir. She seems to have gone downhill. He’s not sure if she’s picked up a virus or whether it’s organ failure, but he suggested you come quickly.”
“Thank you nurse, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Angel leapt to his feet. If his heart had still worked, it would have been thudding loudly, racing fit to burst. He zipped out the door, pausing at Harmony’s desk only long enough to ask her to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day and hold his calls. He forewent the lifts, opting instead for the stairs and almost flying down the three double flights to make it to the sixth floor in record time. He pushed through the door to Cordy’s room less than a minute after hanging up the phone.
Dr Sparrow looked up in alarm, startled no doubt by the vampire’s sudden and very loud entrance. Next to him Cordy lay as peacefully as ever. Well, peaceful that was if he ignored the traces of her own blood he could smell on her lips, chin and gown.
“What’s wrong Sparrow, what do you know?”
“We had her down at x-ray, just prepping her for her standard monthly scan.” He waited until Angel had nodded in comprehension. “Nothing untoward happened, she just began seizing and coughing up blood. We’ll run tests, but as I’ve warned you before, patients in long-term comatose states are very susceptible to pneumonia. I think we’ll find that this is what has caused these symptoms.”
“But the nursing staff have been moving her around like we organised, haven’t they? I don’t understand why this is happening now.”
“Yes, yes, the nursing staff have been most conscientious in carrying out their duties,” Dr Sparrow replied quite sharply. “But comatose patients are always fragile. I’ll start her on a course of IV antibiotics, and we’ll see how we go. However, I want to warn you that things may not progress as you would hope. It’s been almost ten months sir, and she’s shown no signs of recovering. Sometimes this is just nature’s way.”
Angel nodded, emotion clogging his throat, making it impossible to reply immediately. He just stood there, staring hopelessly at Cordy.
“She’s resting peacefully at the moment. You may stay if you wish,” the doctor added, a more sympathetic tone gentling his voice.
He nodded again. “Thank you doctor,” he rasped quietly.
Angel settled into the chair he’d come to know so well. Suddenly it seemed like he was too big for it, too big for this room. He felt like he was taking up too much space, space that Cordy needed to breathe in and live. He began to pant, taking deep, juddering gulps of oxygen that were never going to do his lungs, or his nervous system, any good whatsoever. Finally, he calmed himself down, sat back in the chair and waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.
He was still there hours later, a silent, grim sentinel, guarding Cordy’s ailing body as she battled the infection that was attacking her system. Whatever it was, it wasn’t responding to the drugs they were giving her. He’d bathed her brow through fevers and held her hand as she’d twitched and trembled her way through several seizures. Despite his efforts, she definitely seemed worse than she had when he arrived, her skin pale and blotchy, her breathing shallow and erratic. His own cheeks were still damp from the helpless tears he’d shed as he’d laid witness to this dreadful battle.
The door squeaked open behind him and Dr Sparrow slipped quietly into the room. He picked up the chart at the end of her bed, perusing the latest of the hourly blood pressure, temperature and heart rate readings that the nurses had been collecting. He frowned and put the chart back.
“We’ve analysed the blood tests, and it appears I was wrong. This is definitely not pneumonia that we are looking at.”
“I could have told you that an hour ago. Well what is it then?” Angel ground out between clenched teeth.
“We’re having some difficulty diagnosing the cause. We have been able to isolate a group of unusual microscopic organisms in her bloodstream that may be responsible for her symptoms.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Angel growled. “Get on and treat her.”
“The problem, sir, is that we are unable to identify exactly what the organism is. It doesn’t match up with any of the pathogens in our archives. It’s,” he swallowed nervously, “It appears to be mystical and according to our records, it’s not ours.”
“What the hell. How on earth did that happen?”
“Two possibilities come to mind. One, that the spores of this virus have been lying dormant in her system ever since she gave birth to Jasmine back in April of last year. Maybe they came from Jasmine herself, making them inter-dimensional and thus totally unlike anything we have here on earth.”
“If that was the case, wouldn’t the symptoms have shown themselves sooner.”
“Not necessarily. The spores may have been pre-programmed to release their toxin only after a certain time period, or after specific physiological conditions in the host have been met.”
“Okay, okay, that makes sense. What’s the other option?”
“That’s she’s been infected by some toxin she’s recently come in contact with.”
“But that makes no sense. She doesn’t go anywhere, and apart from me, and a few of my senior staff, no one comes to visit her. Her routine hasn’t varied over the last ten months. There hasn’t been a change in staffing or drug protocol.” He paused, his mind racing through various possibilities, unwilling to accept the likelihood of a Jasmine-borne agent. He couldn’t imagine how they'd ever be able to combat a pathogen that originated in a higher dimension. “Hold on, did you say that she seized down in the x-ray department?”
“Yes, that’s correct. I attended to her myself.”
“Knox mentioned that he sent some ancient sarcophagus down to x-ray this morning. Was it still there when Cordy arrived?”
“Ah,” the doctor shifted nervously on his feet. “Yes, yes it was. In fact we had to wait out in the corridor while the radiographer finished up with the relic.”
“So, did Cordy come in contact with the sarcophagus at any stage?”
“Well not in contact as such. It was a pretty tight fit getting the sarcophagus past her gurney out in the corridor, and they sort of scraped by one another as the orderlies pushed from their respective sides.”
“But she didn’t actually come in contact with it? It didn’t scrape her arm or leg? There weren’t any bits of sarcophagus rock or dust that fell on her?”
“Actually,” Dr Sparrow gulped audibly, “There was a funny little moment when the two had just come alongside one another. Because the sarcophagus was jammed up against the wall, one of the small paintings must have been jiggled just enough to make it fall. It landed near the top end of the casket and then gently dropped down onto the lid. There was this sort of,” he paused, wild eyed, almost scared to go on, “Sort of gust of air that just spurted out of the lid.”
“Did it get on Cordy?” Angel asked, his voice low and barely controlled.
“It, it might have. I mean her face was parallel with the emission when it happened. I couldn’t say for sure, but maybe, maybe …”
“Alright, this is what we’re going to do. You're going to run some more tests, find that pathogen and find a cure. I’m going to pay a visit to Mr Knox and check out this sarcophagus of his. If you get anything, anything at all, page me. If Cordelia’s condition worsens at all, page me. And you’d better pray we find the answer to this.”
Angel walked out, slamming the door behind him. Fear flooded his nervous system with adrenaline, and his eyes with moisture. He couldn’t handle this on his own, there was too much to wade through and there was too little time. Despite the distance between them, he hoped he could talk the gang into working together once more, that Cordy’s peril would awaken the loyalty and camaraderie they’d always shared. Pulling his phone out, he began making calls.