Disclaimer: I do not own Angel or any of its characters. I do own my OCs and the story line but that is it.
Rating: PG13 to be safe. I don't really know how the whole rating system goes so, hey.
Characters: Angel, Doyle, Cordy, Oz, tiny bit of Giles and some OCs.
This story is slightly AU. Oz didn't take the Gem of Amara to LA but he went anyway because he was going anyway and I wanted to have him in the story. I'm not very good at writing romances so I'm not sure if there will be any pairings but I'll see how it goes.
This is my first fic and I haven't seen that many episodes with Doyle in (not that there were many in the first place) so if he is out of character please tell me. R&R please! I need feedback! Constructive flames are appreciated.
Doyle was bored. It didn't happen too often seeing as he was an envisioned half-demon and associated with a vampire with a soul and Cordelia Chase, both strange beings in their own rights. Still, he thought gloomily as he tossed back another shot of scotch, those few thoughts did nothing to change the fact that he was bored out of his wits. And to cap it all he was starting to brood.
I'm getting as bad as Angel, he thought absently as he refilled his glass. The subject of his thoughts was the young aspiring actress who he had met by way of Angel getting shot in the chest and he and Cordy patching him up. He had immediately been struck by her stunning looks and her endearing, if somewhat overwhelming, nature.
The Irishman sighed and leant back in his chair, listening to the band playing on stage to wild cheers from the crowd. They were fairly young group and the lead singer was grinning and winking unashamedly at the giggling girls below him as they smiled flirtatiously up at him. The guitarist was standing slightly further back, smiling slightly at his friend's antics.
Doyle watched wistfully, wishing he could just be like that, carefree and unaware of the troubles around him. He shook his head and downed the fiery liquor in his grasp. 'It just had to be me didn't it?' he muttered. Glancing at his watch, he groaned and stood up, stretching. Cordy did not appreciate it when he came into work looking like he had been hit by several trucks and then stomped on by a large, slimy demon.
He winced in recollection of their last confrontation when Cordelia had threatened to string electrical wires through him and set him up on a podium with a sign around his neck saying 'eat me'. He recalled the expression on her face as she glowered and Angel trying to suppress a grin as Doyle cowered. Sometimes he wondered whom their enemies would run away from first, the vampire or the actress.
Doyle slapped a few dollars on the bar, nodded to the smiling waitress and pushed his way out of the crowded club into the muggy air of the parking lot. Los Angeles was alive with drunken yells and laughs, car horns and angry shouts and the far away sound of smashing glass. Doyle fished his car keys out of his pocket and headed for the spot where his battered vehicle was parked.
Correction: where it had been parked.
"Dammit!" The parking space was empty except for a few pieces of shattered glass and a cigarette stub that was long gone out. He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Cordy is going to murder me."
It was not as though his car had been of any great value but he really had grown attached to the rickety old thing. Its rattles had spoken volumes; kind of reminded him of his Ma.
The Brachen demon's train of thought was derailed rather abruptly as something smashed into the side of his head, sending him into the back of a zebra striped van. The minuscule fraction of Doyle's brain that was still functioning was yelling at the majority of the organ to get off it's metaphorical backside and do something. This was effectively squashed by a wave of dizziness and pain that swept over his senses as he landed face down on the cold concrete.
The Irishman tensed waited for another blow to fall. It appeared however that no such blow was forthcoming. As he tentatively lifted his head a cigarette landed on the ground just in front of him and a large, black leather boot ground it out with a menacing squishing sound. Doyle was filled with a strong urge to roll his eyes.
It occurred to him that he should probably get up now and his legs reluctantly complied, his head screaming curses at him all the way. Once in a vaguely upright position he looked up at his attackers.
Fangs, yellow teeth, a severe need for wrinkle cream. Doyle swallowed and glanced around him at the five creatures that were surrounding him, smirking arrogantly.
"Er, hey fellas. Nice evening don't you think? I mean I don't, but hey, what do I know?" The lead vampire sniggered.
"Got a funny one here lads. I like funny people, they taste good." Doyle chuckled nervously, "Well, I'm not really a very funny person actually, fairly melancholy disposition me. Sorry to disappoint and all that." The vampires were closing in on the beleaguered half-demon, grinning menacingly.
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat but I need to be finding the bugger who stole my car. Lovely talking to you." He wheeled around only to stare into the face of a large female vampire with curly blond hair and a rather robust figure. She growled at him and he took a step back, not just from the vamp's teeth.
"Don't mean to be rude but you really need to get some mouthwash or something. What did you eat?" It occurred to him that that probably wasn't the best topic of conversation to pick as he felt a hand clamp he shoulder in a vicelike grip. The lead vamp wrenched him around. "I don't like it when my food talks back."
Doyle suddenly went demon, punching his assailant in the face as he ducked backwards. "Well I didn't ask you to eat me stink breath." Smashing his elbow into the blond bloodsucker's nose he sprinted away from the two only to run headlong into another vamp dressed in a biker's jacket. He practically bounced off the demon's chest and felt a huge, beefy hand close around his throat, cutting off his windpipe. As his oxygen drained away he reverted back to human form.
The first vamp stalked furiously over to the Irishman, wiping a trail of blood from his nose and licking his fingers. "You do know that's disgusting don't you?" Doyle managed to choke out. He was rewarded with a vicious punch to the ribs as the enraged vampire tore him from the other's grasp and slammed him against the door of the striped van.
I'm really going to enjoy killing you, freak." Doyle closed his eyes as the vampire leaned over him. As he waited for the sharp sting of teeth in his neck his thoughts rushed to Cordelia and a huge wave of regret swept through the Brachen demon at the thought that he had never told her the way he felt about her.
Suddenly the pressure on his neck was released. He gritted his teeth for the killing blow. But instead of the sensation of blood being drained from his body he got a face full of…
Dust?
Doyle gasped in the oxygen he had been deprived of as he, along with the rest of the vampire group gaped at the newcomer. A young man with spiky blond hair was calmly reloading the crossbow he had just fired. Recognition slammed into Doyle as he remembered the band that had been playing in the club. This was the lead guitarist. Doyle felt an insane urge to giggle at the thought.
The teen levelled the weapon at the vamps again as they overcame their shock. Abandoning their first victim they charged at the guitarist with revenge and bloodlust driving them. The first two were dropped by two crossbow bolts as the stranger ducked under the large vamp using his smaller size and speed to evade the huge fist swinging at his head. Doyle shook his head to clear it and lunged at another of the monsters, taking it by surprise and slamming it headfirst into a ticket dispenser with a dull 'thud'.
The large vampire looked around, distracted by the commotion, which gave the spiky haired teen enough time to load a bolt into his crossbow and embed it straight into the bloodsucker's heart. The last vamp stood up, noted the conspicuous lack of allies and fled without a backward glance.
Doyle grimaced and sat down slowly as he waited for his legs to stop feeling like two cylindrical blocks of jelly. Looking up he watched his rescuer retrieve the fallen crossbow bolts, brushing the dust off them. He then moved over to the zebra striped van and, frowning slightly at the dent in the door, opened it, slinging the crossbow inside.
Closing the door he turned and looked at the half demon who was pulling himself up using the crumpled ticket dispenser as a support. Doyle straightened up and glared at the little fuzzy black dots until they went away.
"You okay?"
The Irishman had yet another urge to start giggling insanely at the question. Struggling to keep a straight face he replied, "Well, I've just had my car nicked, been attacked by vampires, smashed into a bloody pulp, saved by a complete stranger and my arse is bloody sodden from sitting on this damn concrete. Oh yeah and I'm also having visions of the future."
To Doyle's surprise the young man merely nodded placidly, eyes still searching the Brachen demon's face. But then he did just dust four vampires with a crossbow without batting an eyelid so…
"Thanks for helping out by the way. You know, saving my life and all."
"No problem." The newcomer was still scrutinising Doyle with slightly suspicious eyes. Doyle shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Seconds stretched and tensions grew until Doyle decided to break it.
"Hey, I know I'm good-looking and all but there's no need to stare."
"What are you?"
The blunt question caught the Irishman completely by surprise and he took a defensive step backwards. "How long were you standing there?" The other shrugged, "Came out, saw the vamps, saw you, shot the vamp." Hastily sorting through the strange teen's monosyllabic answers Doyle realised that he couldn't have seen him in demon form.
Doyle was tired, fed up and had a monster headache coming on, so he decided to be frank. Holding out his hand he said, "I'm Allen Francis Doyle, just Doyle. I'm half Brachen demon on my father's side. Pleased to meet you. How did you know?"
The ghost of a smile appeared on the other's face and he took the proffered hand. "Daniel Osbourne. Call me Oz. Werewolf. You smelled a little… off." Doyle relaxed slightly. "Ah. That explains the whole 'I-know-what-you-are-but-not-quite-so-I-need-you-to-tell-me' right?" Oz nodded, turning back to the club.
"Good to meet you Doyle."
"You too Oz. Thanks again."
Doyle turned back to the parking space only to have his predicament smack him full in the face once again. "Cordy is definitely going to kill me." Sighing, he pulled out his cell phone. "Damn it, Angel's out tonight." One fact that Doyle would become uncomfortably familiar with was that, even in their human forms, werewolves have excellent hearing.
"Would that be Cordelia Chase and Angel as in vamp with a soul?" Doyle wondered if the visions had finally sent him mad as he turned back to the lycanthrope. "Funny that, but yeah. Why?" The werewolf shrugged.
"Old friends. Need a lift?" Doyle briefly considered which would be more dangerous: accepting a lift from a monosyllabic, possibly psychotic werewolf or walking the streets of LA.
"Sure, that would be great."
Oz nodded again and disappeared inside. Doyle blinked and put his phone away. "Well, that was weird." He checked his watch and suppressed a yawn.
Something pricked at his senses and he frowned, turning slightly to look into the darkness of the streets. Nothing stirred. He shook himself, convinced that he was getting far too paranoid.
Oz came back out, his guitar slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag in his hand. Opening the van and chucking his belongings inside the werewolf jumped up into the driver's seat. Doyle collected himself and hopped into the passenger seat, swinging the door closed behind him. Neither of them noticed the crouched figure silhouetted against the night sky, watching the van as it roared away.
"What happened?"
"A kid showed up and shot the hell out of them."
"Good. We don't want him damaged. This newcomer, is he a threat to us?"
"Nah, just a damn good shot with a crossbow."
"Ensure that he doesn't interfere with our plans."
"But of course. Was there anything else?"
"Fail and you will face the consequences."
"Fine."
Doyle was fast learning that his strange companion was not the most talkative of people.
"So, how do you know our friendly neighbourhood vampire?"
"Angel? We killed stuff."
"Ah, so you're one of the Sunnydale gang? What are they called? The Scoobies?"
The werewolf nodded impassively as he turned a corner at a rather violent angle. Doyle wondered again if the lycanthrope was insane or just from some unknown dimension where everyone talked like Darlecs.
"You need to take a left here, it's just up this street. Not exactly the grandest of places but at least it's bug free." Doyle grimaced, "I should know. Cordy made me clear the whole damn place after she found a bantamweight cockroach on the floor. Never been big on the bugs has Cordy. I still don't see why Angel gets out of it. I mean, I know he's all heroic, soulful vamp and that but he should still have to clean up around the place. Here we are. Just park anywhere, you'll get clamped anyway."
Oz pulled in and cut the engine, jumping down onto the pavement as he glanced around warily. Doyle noticed and cocked his head to one side.
"You know, you seem a little tense. Don't worry, Cordy hasn't set trip wires. At least… she hadn't when I left…" He looked down at the ground, suddenly suspicious. The lycanthrope shrugged his actions off as he turned back to the apartment.
"It's nothing. This place just stinks of vampire."
Doyle sniffed experimentally. "Dunno, I can smell Chinese takeout but that's about it."
"You're standing in it."
"So I am."
"DOYLE!!! WHERE IN GOD'S NAME WERE YOU?!"
The half demon lurched backwards as the door of his apartment flew open and a pink and brown blur leapt down the steps. Cordelia Chase in a pair of fluffy pink slippers and pyjamas with a long woollen dressing gown, crashed into the half demon as she simultaneously punched him and hugged him around the neck.
"Oh my GOD! I was so worried and Angel went off to look for you and I almost called the cops and we thought lots of evil stuff had come and killed you and the files needed sorting but I just couldn't concentrate cause I was worried sick and- "
Oz wondered if he should intervene; the Irishman was starting to turn a rather interesting shade of blue. Shrugging he turned back to pull his crossbow and bag out of the van as Doyle struggled.
"Uh, Cordy?"
"- And Angel found your car and it was all smashed up and we thought that you might be somewhere all smashed up and oh GOD I'm so glad you're okay!"
"Cordy! Need… to… breathe!"
"Oh yeah…" She released her tenacious hold on his neck only to gasp at the sight of the bruises left on his neck and face by the vampire attack.
"Oh my GOD!"
Oz sniffed and turned his head slightly.
"Hey Angel."
The dark-haired figure walked up from behind Oz and stood next to him watching Cordelia fussing over Doyle.
"Oz. Didn't know you were going to drop by."
"Me neither." The vampire's gaze dropped to the crossbow in Oz's hands.
"Trouble?" Oz shook his head slightly. "Nah. Vamps attacked Doyle. I helped him out." Angel nodded again as he noted that Cordelia seemed to be coming to the end of her lecture.
" – And if you ever do it again you will be sorry Mister!" Finished fuming, Cordelia turned to Angel and was about to start on him when she caught sight of the impassive werewolf standing next to him.
"Oz! What are you doing here? Oh never mind it's freezing out on in and please put that crossbow away. I don't need any more reminders of what Mr. Irresponsible here got himself into. Besides I do not like having those things pointed at me."
Angel smiled wryly, silently seconding the sentiment.
Oz slung the crossbow over his shoulder along with his guitar as the motley collection traipsed into the apartment. Cordelia snatched an ice pack out of the freezer and threw it distractedly at Doyle, hitting him in the already bruised head and sending him into the sofa.
"And don't even think about getting up!" she threatened as she filled the
kettle, shoving a stack of calling cards out of the way.
"Wasn't planning on it sweetheart." Doyle groaned as he pressed the ice pack gingerly against his abused cranium. Angel draped his leather duster over the back of the sofa. "Found your car by the way."
Doyle looked up at him hopefully. "Where?" Angel collapsed into the chair
behind the desk. "Well… most of it was scattered around 49th Street…"
"I don't want to know." Angel gave him a sympathetic look before fixing his eyes on Oz who was sitting on the window sill, one leg pulled up to his chest with his elbow resting lightly on his knee as he gazed out of the window. "So,
Oz, what you doing in LA?"
The werewolf turned away from the glass, his familiar distant look back on his face. "Touring. We've had a few gigs around. Should be heading back tomorrow." Angel nodded but Oz could tell that he wanted to know something else.
"Buffy's fine."
Angel looked up sharply, locking eyes with the wolf, dark meeting green. Oz continued speaking plainly.
"She misses you. Was a little moody for a while but she got over it."
The vampire held the gaze for a few seconds longer before dropping his eyes to the floor, battling with his conflicting emotions. Oz watched as shadowed eyes darkened and then brightened before being shuttered again. All at once, Angel was back.
"Good… that's good." He inhaled and exhaled slowly, taking in air that he didn't really need. Breathing was a difficult habit to shake even after two hundred and forty or so years. Stretching stiffly he cracked his neck audibly making both Doyle and Cordy wince. "I'm gonna take a stroll. Beat up some bad guys. See you later guys. Bye Oz."
"Angel! Calling cards!" Cordelia shouted after him, throwing a bundle of the small objects in Angel's general direction. "And try not to eat the clients!"
"Cordelia…"
"Kidding! Jeesh, can't anyone take a joke around here? Oh, I forgot, one of them is a broody Mr. I'm-undead-and-centuries-older-than-you-so-get-lost guy and the other one's a stupid, reckless, careless, thoughtless, brainless - " Doyle dropped his head into his hands and shot a sideways glance at Oz who had one eyebrow quirked as Cordy ranted on, her back to them.
"Is it me or am I lacking quite a bit?" the Irishman remarked. The werewolf smiled his curious half smile and got up. "Say Cordy, you guys got any food around here?" Cordy stopped ranting and immediately smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh silly me, sorry!" She threw one last disgruntled look in Doyle's direction before skipping over to the fridge. "Er, we have icky chocolate, beer or vinegar, not sure which, Doyle's leftover Jell-O, ew mouldy, pig's blood…" Doyle caught Oz's almost-expression. "I'll order a takeout Cordy."
Doyle was about to pick up the phone when, suddenly, blinding pain crashed through his already aching skull and he crumpled to the floor, yelling in pain. Images flashed across searing eyelids: Cordelia screaming; Angel turning, a bright light reflecting in his horrified eyes; a bloodstained silver amulet; Oz with a bloody gash on his forehead, aiming a crossbow; himself with a panicked expression; a beautiful redheaded woman crying; a group of shadowed figures grouped around a fallen figure; blood; fire and a glimmering metal object set on a plinth that glowed a horrible sickly green. The vision ended as abruptly as it had come leaving Doyle gasping for breath, palms pressed against the sides of his head as he groaned.
"Oh God Doyle!" Cordy had rushed immediately to the half demon's side and had her arms wrapped around him, gently helping him up into a sitting position. "Are you okay?" Doyle shook his head slightly, squinting against the now seemingly bright light.
"Call Angel. Now!" Urgency had overtaken Doyle's pain as he struggled to his feet, face set. He did not know what he had just seen but he knew a warning when one was sent his way.
Cordy nodded and snatched up the phone, rapidly dialling a number. Tapping long, slightly chipped nails on the desk she muttered, "Come on Angel, pick up pick up pick up… oh for God's sake! What is it with men and leaving their phones off?"
"Shh!" The sound had come from the doorway into the hall where Oz was standing, tensely, eyes alert. Doyle noticed the way his posture had shifted into a defensive stance that seemed completely natural. The werewolf's mannerisms intrigued him and he found his curiosity piqued. But for now he banished his idle thoughts and stood still and quiet.
"What is it?" whispered Cordelia, clutching Doyle's arm. Oz frowned, eyes shifting through the darkness of the hallway. "Heard something. Smelled something too I think…"
Suddenly a huge crackling ball of dark energy hurtled out of the shadows, flinging the young werewolf backward into the wall, his head connecting with a loud 'crack'. Black engulfed Oz's vision as he vaguely registered the fact that he was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up.
Doyle gaped as a figure seemingly melted from the shadows. Jet black hair was pulled up into a ponytail on the man's head in which eyes as black as pitch, burned with dark energy, focused intently on the pair. He was dressed in normal street clothes; faced black jeans, a midnight blue shirt and a black leather duster.
Doyle was only a half demon yet the power he felt from this man was almost overpowering and he stepped backwards as it swept over him. He was amazed that he hadn't felt it earlier. Cordelia clutched Doyle's arm very tightly as the stranger stepped over the threshold, his eyes fading into a disarmingly bright blue colour.
The man turned his attention from the two to look down at the unconscious werewolf lying facedown at the base of the far wall. There was a thin trail of blood tracing its way down the wall to where Oz's head was lying and he looked unusually pale. Seeing that the guitarist was not a threat the newcomer fixed his full attention on the half demon before him.
"So, you would be the seer am I right?"
The man's voice belied his appearance; it was light and conversational, his accent carrying a clear British London accent. Doyle swallowed hard and moved a little further in front of Cordy.
"Who's asking?"
The stranger smiled pleasantly.
"I'll take that as a yes."
The man's eyes darkened to inky black in a heartbeat and his hand shot out, propelling a fiery disc of energy straight at Doyle. The Irishman yelped and fell backwards as the mystical projectile soared over him, barely missing his nose. The man sighed and clicked his fingers. Cordelia screamed as an invisible force pulled her up into the air.
"Put me down you bastard!"
"As you command my Lady."
Cordelia was dropped into a graceless heap on the carpeted floor. Focusing his energies into the desk before him, the stranger made a sweeping gesture in mid air and the desk was propelled straight at Doyle.
The Irishman dived to his left but the corner of the desk smacked into his temple and he fell awkwardly, sprawling on the floor as he struggled to clear his already damaged head. Hearing a noise behind him, he turned over to look into the man's cheerful countenance as he loomed over him.
"You know, you may as well save yourself some grief and give up."
"Go to hell you son of a bitch."
"It was just a suggestion."
He raised his hand and Doyle felt the air tighten in his chest as a curling strand of dark energy lashed around his ribs, lifting him off the ground. He hung there, struggling helplessly. Hearing a scream of rage, the stranger reached lazily behind him and caught Cordelia around the throat, stopping her charge with ease.
Doyle gasped for breath as the pressure on his ribs increased. Blackness began to creep into the edges of his vision as he dimly heard a scream of terror and then something hit the floor. 'Cordy!' he thought, trying to claw his way back up to consciousness but the lack of oxygen was forcing his body to shut down.
The man watched dispassionately as the Brachen demon finally went limp, eyes fluttering closed. Kicking the girl's body away he allowed the seer fall to the floor with a limp 'thud'. Far too easy.
There was a faint sound from behind him and he whipped around just in time to see the werewolf shoot a crossbow bolt straight at his chest. He threw up a green light shield around him and smirked as the bolt was incinerated.
He snapped his fingers and Oz felt something wrap around his throat, dragging him upwards. Sauntering over, he tightened the grip around the werewolf's throat, clenching his fist. Oz felt the pain in his head numbing as his brain was slowly starved of oxygen.
"You know, we could have avoided this." The man's pensive voice cut through his daze and he opened one stinging eye to gaze blearily at his assailant. The stranger seemed to consider him for a moment and something flashed through his eyes before he snapped his pale fingers. The wolf fell to the floor, coughing violently.
The stranger crouched beside him, frowning. There was something strange about this boy, an irregularity he couldn't quite put his finger on. A nagging feeling was telling him that he should kill him right now but he was curious. By rights the teen should not have been able to open his eyes after his collision with the wall, let alone fire a crossbow. The young man was lying on his side like a fish out of water, hand to his throat. The rasping coughs that wracked his body were beginning to subside but he did not open his eyes.
"Well now… this is interesting."
Oz heard the strange voice clearer than before and he tried to focus on it. It seemed to be coming from somewhere above him. He felt something cold press against his aching head, clearing his vision somewhat as he forced his eyes open. The blurred outline of a face swam into view and he heard a sharp intake of breath.
"A werewolf? That is curious."
The man's dark features held an almost amused expression as he watched the lycanthrope try to push himself up on shaky arms. He took his hand off the young wolf's forehead and pushed him firmly back down, laughing lightly.
"You should be grateful that Sacarven wasn't sent you know. I doubt you two would have got along."
He extended a hand towards Doyle's comatose form and made a flicking motion with his wrist, lifting him off the ground, arms hanging limply like a puppet's. He drew a symbol in the air above the guitarist, sending him back into sleep then turned and vanished into the night with his prey.
Angel stared bleakly at the wreckage of the once, well ordered apartment. Furniture was strewn everywhere and there was blood staining the far wall and carpet. He walked swiftly over to Cordelia who was lying in a pile of wood that used to be the desk, lifting her gently and being careful not to trip amongst the sharp splinters.
Cordy moaned softly as Angel laid her on the sofa, checking her for injuries. Besides a nasty graze on her forehead and numerous cuts on her arms and legs she didn't seem too badly hurt.
Oz was another story. The wolf had a severe cut across the back of his head and looked like he had lost a lot of blood. Angel considered taking him to a hospital but he wasn't sure how werewolves reacted to normal treatment. He wasn't sure if it was safe to move him at all. He knew werewolves healed quicker than most so he decided to wait and see if he improved.
A groan from Cordelia made him move back to the sofa where he knelt and helped her to sit up.
"Cordy?"
She squirmed a little as she felt arms around her.
"Donwannagotaschooool…"
"Cordy…"
"Five more minutes…"
"You don't go to school anymore Cordy. Remember? Buffy blew it up."
"She did? Oh good… Angel!"
She sat up hurriedly, eyes wide as she stared around the ruined apartment.
"Oh my God…"
"Cordy?" Angel took her gently by the shoulders, "I need you to tell me what happened. Where is Doyle? Who attacked you?"
She took a deep shuddering breath and sat up a little straighter.
"Okay… Oz said he could hear something or smell something or something, which is still seriously creepy by the way. Anyway, he got hit by this big magicky blob thing and got knocked out and this really creepy guy came in…"
She looked at him with big anxious eyes.
"He knew he was the seery visiony person and he attacked us and he must have kidnapped Doyle and… oh God…"
She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
"What are we gonna do Angel?"
The hopelessness in her usually bubbly and upbeat voice made his heart burn. The vampire wasn't very good at doing 'positive' but he would have to try, for all their sakes. Standing up, he walked over to the window and stared darkly out over the lights of Los Angeles.
"We need a plan."
Rupert Giles was enjoying one of his rare free nights at home, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a cup of tea in one hand and a thick, leather bound book in the other.
And then the phone rang.
Good? Bad? Terrible? R&R.