The reality quakes were occurring almost continuously now; a constant, faint tremor made the loose change in the tray by the convertible's gear box rattle and chink even when the car was parked.

Angel reached down and pocketed the coins, without taking his gaze off the Hyperion's distant entrance. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to get up and walk straight in the front door, get Fred and Darla out of there, find some other way -- any other way -- to get home that didn't involve this.

He had dreaded this all day, been filled with an unaccustomed helplessness as he watched Fred rehearse the plan, over and over, with Darla. Even the renewed companionship of his friends as they counted away the hours at Cordelia's apartment had done little to soothe him; he could only watch numbly as Fred went out the door to face Angelus. She'd dressed herself in her Pylean tunic, drawn her hair back from her face; when she went out, she'd been smiling, as though there were nothing to fear at all.

"Lorne, go round the back of the building," Wesley said, breaking the silence. "Just in case they come out the other way."

"Not loving that plan," Lorne said. "If Angelus sees me and guesses we're thinking of tailing him, I'll be guacamole inside thirty seconds."

"He's only seen you once, briefly," Wesley pointed out. "He'll be less likely to recognize you."

"Yeah, because I don't stand out in any way," Lorne said, pointing at his horns.

Wesley was unmoved. "That's IF he sees you, which he won't, because you're going to be extremely careful."

"And I was thinking this would be the perfect opportunity to indulge my rash and self-destructive side," Lorne muttered as he went.

Wesley nodded to Gunn. "Let's wait in your truck. We'll have to move quickly when they come out."

Gunn nodded, and they walked away, toward the truck parked some distance along the road.

Angel kept watching the hotel. He was probably the only one who could see it, as the street lamps were no longer working -- instead of throwing light on to the road, they were raining cherry blossoms. The petals fell to the ground silently and softly, heaping into thick, cloud-like drifts that obscured the gray buildings and littered sidewalk. It was a surreal but eerily beautiful sight.

"It's degrading," he said.

Beside him, Cordelia looked down at her Pylean royal bikini and sandals. "Well, granted it lacks a certain dignity, but there's no need to get snippy -- Oh. You're talking about this universe. Right." She shivered, and pulled the cape more tightly around herself. "It's also way too cold. The real L.A. is never this chilly in May."

Angel took off his jacket and put it over her. "I don't understand what was wrong with the sweatshirt."

"Hey, I have my pride. We're going home tonight, and I refuse to be seen in my own dimension in Star Trek leisure wear." She pulled the jacket over her bare legs. "Thanks."

Angel had resumed his vigil over the hotel's front entrance and said nothing.

"Okay," Cordelia said. "You're doing that 'tense and withdrawn' thing again. Normally, I wouldn't mention it, but since we're on slightly shaky ground in more than the literal sense, I really want to keep talking."

Angel made himself look away from the Hyperion. "I'm worried about what might be happening in there."

"May lightning strike me for even contemplating what I'm about to say, but --" Cordelia took a deep breath. "I think we can trust Darla. She's still skanky and evil and everything, but she's for real about wanting this over. You can tell when you look in her eyes."

"I know," Angel said. "I saw it too. And I'm not worried about Darla --" He broke off, reluctant to pursue a line of conversation that might jeopardize the fragile understanding he had reached with Cordelia. Afraid it was already too late for that, he met her eye, expecting to see disappointment, disapproval, or worse.

To his surprise, Cordelia looked sympathetic. "You're worried about Fred."

There was no point denying it. "Yes."

"Well, don't be," Cordelia said firmly. "She's smart. I mean, not just book-smart. She survived five years in Pylea on her own. She can look after herself."

"This is different," Angel said quietly. "I just wish there were some other way --"

"Me too," Cordelia said. "But we need to make sure Angelus doesn't take anybody else. And we needed a human he'd never met before. That leaves Fred. But I think she can handle it."

"I hope so," Angel said. "She doesn't understand who it is she's dealing with in there. She trusts me; she thinks he's just -- just a bad man with my face. She doesn't understand we're the same. She doesn't understand that if she gets too close I'll hurt her."

"She really likes you a lot."

"Yes."

After a pause, Cordelia added, gently, "You really like her too, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you told her why that's a no-go."

He met her gaze. "Yes."

Cordelia sighed. Softly, she said, "Curses suck, huh?"

Her commiseration was so sincere and earnest that Angel found himself smiling a little. "I've thought that more than once. But I can still have her friendship. And -- yours," he added hesitantly. When Cordelia didn't say anything, he decided to plunge ahead. "I should have told you about Darla. I'm sorry. But I thought if I did, I'd lose you for good. I was afraid of that happening."

Cordelia glanced at the hotel. "With good reason, apparently." She shivered again, and pulled his jacket up so it covered her arms as well as her legs. "I guess -- we could have given you the benefit of the doubt a little more than we did. Which is NOT to say," she added, furrowing her brow, "that lying to me is okay. But you've given me your jacket, so you're earning points back already."

"Thanks." Angel hesitated, then frowned. "Although I'm not sure I can afford to buy you another whole new wardrobe."

"Oh, that's fine." Cordelia casually leaned back in the passenger seat, then glanced slyly sideways at him. "Actually, I was thinking maybe jewelry this time."

"Or jewelry --" Angel began, then stopped.

Lorne had appeared from the alleyway that ran along the side of the hotel. He was moving quickly along the street, almost running. As soon as he reached the convertible, he hopped breathlessly into the back seat. "It's time to play the music," he announced. "It's time to light the lights. They're leaving."

As he was speaking, a car which was the twin of Angel's own roared away from the hotel and accelerated along the street. When its taillights were faint, twin glows, Gunn pulled out and began to follow it. A moment later, Angel put the convertible into gear and followed him.

Cordelia twisted around and looked hopefully at Lorne. "You didn't happen to overhear where they were going?"

"Strangely, they were a little light on idle chitchat."

"Then we'll find out when we get there," Angel said.

Darla leaned her head back and for a moment actually enjoyed the wind in her hair; a convertible was an insane choice of transport for a vampire, but this fleeting, glorious sensation of reckless speed was one benefit of Angelus' insanity. The evening air was cool, and as they pulled further away from the city center, it became -- well, not fresh, Darla supposed. But marginally less smoggy.

All in all, a wonderful night for the world to end.

Casually, Darla lolled her head around to glance behind them. Fred was huddled in the back seat, her long hair blowing about in the wind. The girl was as white as her tunic, and Darla wanted to laugh; Fred actually thought this was scary. She didn't know the half of it. But she would.

Darla's eyes flicked back to take in the road behind them; in the very great distance, almost further than her weak human eyes could see, a car was following them. Angelus didn't seem to have noticed. So far so good.

Just then, he braked sharply and pulled the car over. Darla tensed -- had he caught on?

But no -- Angelus only looked at Fred and said, "We're here."

Darla turned her head forward again and sighed in relief. A few hundred yards up was their destination -- spotlights shone on the stories-high letters that spelled out "Hollywood".

"This is where you want to do it?" Fred said, still playing along, still killing time. But her voice was shaking so badly now that Darla could barely understand her. Not that it mattered; the fear made it all more credible.

The earth's low rumbling was more noticeable now that the car had stopped. Angelus cocked his head, listening, then held out one hand to the girl in the back seat. "Yes. This is the place. Come on." He spoke to Darla without turning to her. "Get the bag out of the trunk."

"What's the magic word?" Darla sing-songed. Angelus ignored her and began towing Fred uphill. Darla sighed and went to the trunk; as she lifted the bag, she could feel the weight of the ropes within, hear the clink of the metal.

Up ahead, Angelus was leading Fred toward the base of the letter "D." Darla trudged uphill behind them, her shallow breath catching at the effort.

By the time she caught up, Angelus and Fred were standing at the foot of the "D". The letters were shaking with the trembling of the earth. Fred looked down into the city. "The lights are nice from up here."

"Yes, they are," Angelus said without looking. "Put your hands behind your back."

Fred's eyes widened as she saw him bring the ropes out of the bag. "Oh, now, we didn't say anything about getting tied up."

"That's what you're getting paid for," Angelus said smoothly.

Darla glanced down, and saw, not one car following them, but two. And both vehicles were stopping; apparently Angel and his friends planned to come the rest of the way on foot. How circumspect, she thought. How marvelously sensible. Angelus might just be so distracted killing the girl that he wouldn't notice.

Angelus was distracted now; he took Fred's wrists in his hands and pulled her arms back in something that was half an embrace. Was he acting? Darla's eyes narrowed. "Come on," he said. "It won't be for long." Neither will this performance, Darla thought; she's got about five seconds before he just knocks her out cold.

"That's -- that's --" Fred was panicky now, but she suddenly straightened up and lifted her chin. "That's extra."

"What?"

"You'll have to pay me more," Fred said. "How much are you going to pay me?"

Angelus snarled, and Fred's eyes went wide --

And the earth split open.

Darla screamed as the ground began shaking violently -- more violently than she'd felt in any other quake, ever. She fell, digging her fingers into the hard, dry earth in an attempt to keep herself from tumbling down the hill.

Angelus tackled Fred, bearing her down with him. Fred tried to struggle against him, but his body pressed hers to the ground. Over the roaring of the quake, she could hear Angelus shout, "This can be hard or it can be easy. My advice is to lie still and let it be easy."

"I won't!" Fred cried, pushing ineffectually against his chest. "I won't!"

Darla tried to struggle to her feet, but the convulsions of the earth wouldn't let her. Fred was only a few feet away, but she might as well have been miles.

"You will," Angelus said, and in one lightning-fast move, he pinned Fred's arms above her head. One quick shift and he had both her wrists in a single powerful hand. "Darla!" he yelled. "We don't have much time! Get the knife --"

Fred screamed, as loudly and desperately as Darla had ever heard anyone scream -- which was saying something.

This is it, Darla thought. The world was ending -- the fabled, oft-prophesied apocalypse was actually happening -- and Angel and his goody-two-shoes friends weren't here. The earth was shaking violently, and Darla was certain that if they hadn't climbed the hill already, there was now no way they could.

Their plan had never stood a chance of succeeding. Darla wondered how she'd ever allowed herself to be convinced to participate.

She had nothing left to lose, so --

Darla pulled the knife out of the bag and began crawling toward Fred and Angelus. Fred was still struggling, staring up into Angelus' cold, blank face as though it were the most horrifying thing she'd ever seen. Probably it was. "Darla!" Angelus yelled.

"Coming, my love," she whispered.

Then she lifted the dagger high and plunged it into his back.

Angelus froze, his body a long, hard line of shock and betrayal and pain. He stared at Darla. She smiled. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

Fred took advantage of the moment and pushed him off her, as hard as she could; Angelus fell into the dirt, still staring at Darla as though he had never seen her before. But when Fred scrambled to her feet and -- somehow, despite the tremors -- began running away, his face changed. Pure, vicious wrath twisted his features -- first figuratively, then literally, as the demon emerged. "Do you know what you've done?" he shouted.

"Yes," Darla breathed. "Yes, I do."

Get away, get away, get away get away getaway --

Fred was half-running, half-falling down the hill. She'd seen the cars coming; where were they? Why hadn't they come to save her from that -- that --

She saw Angelus' face again, the mirror of Angel's, so hard and brutal and evil. The blankness in his eyes as he had looked at her, ready to kill her --

"Fred!" She peered into the darkness to see Angel running up toward her. Wearing that same face --

No, Fred thought, Deal with what's in front of you. And that's not the same at all. She kept running toward him as fast as she could until she collided with him.

Angel tumbled with her to the ground. The night sky was shimmering purple and green above their heads. They lay on a bed of four-leaf clovers. The letters above them now spelled out "Jersey City." The end was nigh.

"Fred, are you all right? Did he hurt you? We were trying to get to you, but the quake --"

"I'm okay," she said. "He didn't hurt me." And she smiled up at him, to prove that it was true; for some reason, that made Angel shut his eyes tightly, as though he couldn't bear to look at her for a moment.

A second later, and he was back to himself; Angel managed to get to his knees as the others -- Lorne and Cordelia and Gunn and Wesley -- all fought their way up beside them. "We don't have much time!" Fred said.

Cordelia looked at her incredulously. "You think?"

In the sky, glittering bands of light began to form -- like the aurora borealis, Fred thought, if the aurora borealis could catch on fire. It would have been beautiful if it hadn't meant the sky itself was tearing apart.

"Angelus?" Wesley gasped.

"Up there," Fred gestured. "Darla stabbed him."

"Right on, Darla!" Gunn said with a fierce grin.

"Let's not give him any more time to recover, shall we?" Lorne said. "Let's get uphill, get to our portal and get the hell out of here."

"No," Fred said.

"What?" Wesley said, his face very pale. "No time?"

"No need," Fred said, pointing behind them.

The others turned to see what Fred had seen -- a new dimensional portal opening up, a swirling vortex of blue and gold. In the distance, yet another sparkled into being. "What's happening?" Angel said.

"This dimension's finally coming apart," Fred shouted over the whine of the rending earth. "Portals are opening up everywhere -- so we could open up one anywhere we want."

"We have to hurry," Wesley said. "Come on, let's go!"

Fred got unsteadily to her feet and began hurrying after the others. But Angel didn't join them. Fred, Wesley and Cordelia all stopped as the saw it. "Angel, what's wrong?" Wesley yelled.

"Darla," Angel said.

"Do NOT start that now!" Cordelia cried. "She's not real. Get over it!"

Angel shook his head. "That's not what I mean --"

Darla laughed as she watched the brilliant swirls of light and color in the sky, on the ground. She'd have worked for the end of the world before now, if only she'd realized it would be so impressive.

Angelus' hand clamped around her arm. She didn't even bother to turn around and face him as he said, in a low voice, "You realize what you've done?"

"I'm sorry, dear boy," she said. "But it's all for the best."

"Yes, it is," he answered. "I see that now."

He brought his hands around her in an embrace that would have been entirely gentle and loving, but for the bloody knife in his hand. "It's time," he whispered in her ear. "It's time for me to finally give you what you wanted."

"Angelus?" she said, her voice tremulous.

"I denied you. I never used to do that. I thought it was right -- but now that's all changed. I'm going to give you what you need. We'll be the same again, just like we used to be."

Darla began to shake as he drew a scarlet line across her shirt with the tip of the knife.

"You won't need your liver when I make you a vampire," he said.

"He's gonna sacrifice Darla?" Cordelia yelled. "How can you know that?"

"He's me," Angel said. "I'm him. And if I believed the things he believes -- that's what I'd do."

Wesley shook his head in frustration. "Can it make a difference now, Fred?"

"He might be able to hold this world together for a while." Fred had to shout to make herself heard above the background noise. "Forever -- I don't know."

"But if we go right now, he won't have time to stop us! Am I right?" Cordelia protested, and Fred nodded in response.

Angel shook his head. "I promised," he said. "If he turns her as he kills her -- that will freeze her as a vampire. Her transformation by death -- that's forever. She'll have to be a vampire forever. And I promised her I wouldn't let that happen." Angel's face became still, determined. "Take Fred and go," he said.

Wesley stared in disbelief as Angel turned away from them and ran back toward Darla.

In more than two hundred years of existence, Angel had thought he'd seen just about everything there was to see. But the end of the world -- this was something else again.

Around him, huge chunks of turf and grass were splitting from the ground and floating upwards, like icebergs slowly breaking apart in a warm sea. The sky was rapidly filling with a mass of disintegrating earth, and the flickering rainbows which lit the heavens were spreading into the gaps where the ground had been. The distinction between sky and ground was fast disappearing.

Angel ran, ignoring the chaos around him, ignoring the dull rumble of the dying universe, ignoring everything except the need to find the next firm place to put one foot in front of the other. "Darla!"

"Help me -- help --"

He stopped, twisted around in a desperate effort to track her voice to its source. A second later, he realized the futility of what he was attempting: now that the most basic laws of cause and effect were breaking down, there was no guarantee that the place from which he heard her call was where she was.

As he hesitated, the ground beneath Angel's feet became spongy and then started to turn to liquid. He made a snap decision based on nothing more certain than instinct, and ran.

Then he saw her.

She was lying on the ground, perfectly still. Angelus crouched over her, wielding a knife. Angel froze, afraid he was already too late --

But there was no blood pooled on the ground, no wound in Darla's stomach, and after a second Angel saw why. The blade of the knife bent in Angelus' hands; whatever it had become, it wasn't metal, and it wasn't sharp.

He could still save her.

Angelus threw the knife down in disgust. Then he stood up and saw Angel.

The moment stretched, while the maelstrom whirled around them, growing in intensity. A tree drifted past, upside down, a woman and a child clinging to its roots.

Angelus subtly shifted his feet and arms into what Angel recognized as his own preferred attack position. When this became a fight -- as it must, he realized -- he would be facing an opponent with his strength, his skills, his experience. The outcome of a battle in which both sides were perfectly matched, Angel knew, would be simply a matter of luck.

Angelus smiled thinly. "I'm guessing you're not here to lend me a knife."

"It's over," Angel said. "Let it end."

He glanced at Darla, lying on the ground. Her chest still rose and fell; she was unhurt, but unconscious. Angel guessed that in her already weakened condition, she had passed out from shock or fear. "She wants to die. Let her."

Angelus' face twisted in contempt and anger, and it was an effort for Angel not to look away. Seeing his true, demonic aspect in Pylea had been horrifying -- but somehow knowing the depth of hatred he was capable of showing as a man was even worse. "And how would you know?"

"She told me."

Angelus stared at him for a moment. Then his features contorted into a snarl. "You're one more ghost sent to haunt me. If you won't help me, I'll do this myself. With my bare hands."

Abruptly, he ripped open Darla's blouse, exposing her midriff. He placed his hands in the hollow between her ribs, preparing to dig his fingers into the flesh and pull her apart --

Angel tackled him.

They rolled together across the uneven ground, away from Darla's unconscious form. When they came to a halt, Angel was on his feet first, a second ahead of Angelus, who winced as he regained his footing. Of course -- Darla had stabbed him. Angel felt a momentary surge of confidence at the knowledge that they were not perfectly matched, after all.

On the other hand, Angel had neither fed nor slept in days. Which one was now stronger?

Angelus kicked, and Angel feinted to avoid the blow. He felt wet drops fall on his hands and head; at first he thought it was water, but when he looked down at himself, he saw streaks of reflective silver on his skin and clothing. It was raining liquid metal.

Angelus tried to punch him; Angel anticipated the move, and blocked him easily. "Go back to them. Go back where you came from," Angelus said. His eyes flashed with something Angel thought was envy. "You must want that."

Left hook -- right jab -- block. "I want to save her."

Angelus spun, grabbing Angel and pinning his arms behind his back. Now they were locked together, being slowly painted silver by the metal rain. Angel could see Angelus' profile, shining gray against the dark, swirling sky. "I am saving her," Angelus said in a low voice.

"You're going to make her like us. That's not saving her; it's damning her."

Angel jerked his elbows up, using his weight to force them into Angelus' ribs. He was rewarded with a loosening of the grip on his arms, just enough to enable him to free himself. He twisted around, and now they were face to face again. Back where they had started.

"She's dead no matter what," Angelus said. "Maybe I rip out her liver; maybe her heart gives up, or maybe it's alcohol poisoning. You can't save her either."

"There's more than one way to be saved."

But Angelus wasn't listening. "Maybe a bomb gets her, and she fights for three days while her insides liquefy, until she doesn't have the strength to hang on anymore. Or maybe she goes insane, kicks so hard against the restraints she breaks her ankles. Then, when you plead with the doctors to loosen the ties, just a little, just to give her some comfort, maybe then she works one hand free and scoops out her own eyes while your back is turned. Is that better than becoming like us? Is that better than being damned?"

Angel thought of Wesley, broken and dying. Cordelia, sinking into madness as he looked on helplessly. The pictures Angelus' words conjured were so vivid, so terrifying, that for the briefest moment, his concentration faltered.

Angelus lashed out, and Angel went down hard.

He started to get up, but he was tired now and fractionally too slow. In a moment Angelus was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. "I'm going to tell you something, because I can see you haven't worked it out for yourself yet. I can live with being damned, because now I know redemption is a fat, sweet lie. There's no such thing. Not for us."

Angel was being crushed into the ground so hard it was barely possible to speak. "Don't -- believe -- that --"

"Oh, the possibility existed once," Angelus went on, almost conversationally. "There was Buffy, wasn't there? But we took away her innocence in every way there is and went to hell for it. Strike one!" On the last word, he lifted Angel's head and slammed it down on to the hard earth.

"And we came back from hell, but we still couldn't have her, so we had to walk away from the only good thing in our miserable existence. Strike two!" Angel braced himself as, again, his skull was pounded into the ground. He could hear buzzing in his ears and his vision was starting to blur.

"And then there was a new city, and a job worth doing, and people to care about, and we fucked that up too. Strike three, you're OUT."

On the last word, Angelus slammed Angel's head down again, even harder, stunning him. Through the disorientation and pain, Angel gasped, "It -- didn't happen -- like that --"

"Maybe not for you. Maybe not yet. But it will. There are only so many second chances, my friend. And you and I both used up our quotas a long time ago." Angelus lowered his voice and whispered in Angel's ear, "I'm going to save the world. I'm going to save Darla. And you're not going to stop me."

Then Angel felt his head connect with the ground again, and again, and again, until darkness mercifully descended.

Gunn's truck was gone. To be more accurate, where Gunn's truck had been there was now a funnel-shaped whirlwind of plastic and metal auto parts. The Plymouth, fortunately, had fared better and was both in one piece and where they had left it. Wesley felt a profound sense of relief at the sight of something so mundane and so normal as a parked car.

He shepherded the others toward it through a world which was now little more than a random and disparate sequence of unconnected scenes -- a snowstorm through which camels roamed existing just yards from a tiny patch of desert where a lone polar bear perspired

And then there were the portals. It was ironic, Wesley thought, that he'd spent most of the past week tracking elusive interdimensional gateways, and now he was surrounded by them. A myriad of swirling vortexes floated over their heads, swaying and drifting as if in the current of a gentle breeze. But none of those gateways, Wesley was certain, led where they wanted to go.

"Get in," he said, indicating the car. "Quickly. Fred, if you say the words here, will it open a portal that'll take us home?"

She nodded. "This reality's very weak now, it should be possible to open a portal anywhere -- but -- Angel --"

They were all looking at him: Fred, Cordelia, Gunn, Lorne. Wesley hesitated, then shook his head. "There's nothing we can do. He chose to go back. "

"You can't just leave him here!" Fred cried.

"We don't have a choice," Wesley said. "I'm sorry, really I am. But -- look around. If we wait for him, this place will collapse around us before we can leave. Angel's made his decision."

Fred glared at him, her eyes flashing with real anger. "You're still mad at him. You don't care if he gets stuck here."

Wesley felt a stab of pain, mixed with guilt. "I'm mad as hell. But it's not that I don't care -- " He shook his head helplessly. "There are more lives at stake here than Darla's."

"He sure picks his moments," Gunn said. "I guess we should have known. It was always gonna be about Darla, at the end."

"No," Cordelia said.

Wesley looked at her; she was standing rigidly beside him, staring into the pandemonium surrounding them as if she could make Angel appear from it by force of will alone. Gently, he took hold of her arm. "Cordelia, he chose to go back. We'll probably never understand why. But he's gone now -- "

Cordelia shook her head fiercely. "I understand why. He went back for her because he's Angel." She turned around to confront the car's other occupants. Fred was smiling slightly, aware she now had an ally.

"It's not just because it's Darla. If it were me -- or you, Wesley -- he'd go back for any one of us. He went back for her because that's who Angel is." Cordelia's voice was rising as she became more vehement. "He tries to take care of people and goes off the deep end if he can't. It can't be all sweet and touching when he does it for us and then flaky and stupid when he does it for someone else. It's just Angel. He's a total obsessive dork, and he's our friend, so let's get up there and get him."

Fred was smiling broadly now, and Cordelia was grinning back at her. Wesley had the feeling he was witnessing the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Of course, it was a beautiful friendship that wasn't going to last very long, as it would certainly be destroyed along with the rest of them when the universe ripped itself apart.

"Fred," Wesley said. "Say the words. Open a portal home."

Cordelia stared at him. "I swear, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, I will never, ever forgive you --"

Wesley cut her off. "We're not going yet. Fred is going to open a portal back to our universe. She and Lorne are going to stay here and mark it. That way, we might just have enough time to find Angel, return here and still get home." He took a step away from the car, then looked back at Gunn and Cordelia. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Cordelia didn't move for a moment. Then she jumped out of the car and hugged Wesley. "I will love you to the end of the world for this."

Which was probably all of three minutes away, Wesley thought as they headed into the chaos. But it was the sentiment that counted.

Cordelia was running as quickly as she could -- it was more jumping, really, to and from various islands of reality. Through the swirling colors and surreal environments, she could glimpse a tiny raft of what looked like a normal stretch of the Hollywood hills. She moved as fast as she could, jumped lengths that would have gotten her on the Sunnydale track team if she'd ever deigned to try out, and listened for Gunn and Wesley behind her.

If we get out alive, she thought, I am going to smack Angel upside the head, then give all the guys big hugs until they die of embarrassment, and then I am going to try and market this as a video game, because it would be cool if it weren't so damn real.

"Angel!" she shouted for what seemed like the thousandth time. Was her voice even carrying through this strange, changeable atmosphere? No way to know. She could only keep calling. "Angel?"

"Cordelia?"

She turned and saw Angel. He was almost completely coated in what looked like silver paint, mixed with trickles of blood welling from cuts on his face and hands. Cordelia breathed out a quick sigh of relief. "Angel, thank God. We found you. Did you save Darla?"

Angel looked completely confused, even panicked. "You're not supposed to be here -- this is dangerous -- why didn't you -- "

"Why didn't we go home without you?" Gunn asked. "Good question."

Wesley glared at Gunn. "We aren't leaving you behind, Angel. And that's it. We have to make our way back to Fred, right away."

"There's a lot of being-all-stupid-and-heroic going around these days," Cordelia said. "You're our friend. You're always gonna be our friend, even if you screw up. And we're not going home without you." She reached out and tugged at Angel's arm.

Angel stared down at her, and his expression of disbelieving hope changed slowly to understanding. Then, to Cordelia's immense surprise, he embraced her tightly. "I can go home," Angel whispered. He was holding Cordelia so fiercely she could hardly breathe, as if she were his life raft in a stormy sea. Without letting go of her, he turned to Wesley and Gunn. "You came back. You saw what I did. What I am. And you still came back."

"What we saw here proves what you could have been," Wesley said, "But you're not the same as the Angel from this universe. We were -- I was -- wrong to think you were."

"You both got yourselves stuck in tailspins," Gunn added. "But you pulled up out of it in time. He didn't."

Wesley finished, "You could have fallen as far as he did -- if you'd chosen. But you chose something else."

"So if you could choose to start moving, like NOW, that would be a good idea!" Cordelia freed herself from Angel and started hauling him back in the direction they had come. He didn't budge for a second; then, he took several unsteady steps after her.

Then he stopped.

Cordelia tried to pull him into motion again, but he wouldn't move. She grabbed his shirt and pulled harder. "Come ON!"

Angel lifted a hand and gently wiped blotches of sliver from Cordelia's cheek, where her face had pressed against his stained clothing. He smiled. "You have beautiful eyes."

Cordelia stared at him. Then she stared past him, at the two prone forms lying on the ground behind him, silver masses almost indistinguishable from the sodden, metallic earth. No wonder she hadn't noticed them until now. One was Darla; the other had to be -- oh God --

Cordelia looked up into Angelus' face. He gestured toward Angel -- the real Angel -- and said, "I made bad choices. I want to make one good one. You came back for him, not me."

Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia were all frozen in shock for the moment it took Angelus to turn away. He walked to Darla's limp body, picked her up, and said, quietly, "Go home." Then he walked into the chaos.

The silver rain changed to water; Angel's gray-frosted form began to wash clean, clearing his face to their view for the first time.

It took another second or two for them to snap out of their surprise; then Gunn said, "We have GOT to run."

It seemed to Angel he'd been walking forever. He couldn't remember where the journey had started, or where he was trying to go. He only knew he was tired. They were making him walk, and he wanted to stop.

He tried to sit down.

"What the hell you doing?" Gunn said. "You gotta keep moving."

Full consciousness returned slowly, and Angel became aware that he was being supported between Gunn and Wesley, his arms draped over their shoulders. Cordelia was just in front of them, scouting out a safe route through the chaos.

"Darla --"

Cordelia looked over her shoulder. "Angelus didn't take her liver, and he didn't vamp her." She seemed to consider that for a moment. "I think beating the crap out of you might have been therapeutic for him."

"Then she's --"

"We are seriously playing beat the clock here," Gunn interrupted. "Walk; don't talk."

In the confusion around them, that sounded like a sensible plan. Angel concentrated on bearing as much of his weight as possible on his own legs, leaning on Gunn and Wesley only to steady himself. They moved in silence, focused entirely on finding a path through the turmoil. The last shreds of logic were evaporating from this reality -- Angel saw sounds, heard colors, fought waves of dizziness as gravity twisted crazily, destroying any possibility of distinguishing up from down.

"Angel!" Fred's voice seemed to be coming from straight ahead of them -- right behind a shimmering silver cloud. Angel weighed the possibilities for a second as the others gathered around him. The ground on all sides was dissolving; they were crammed on to a sliver of firm earth.

"What's happening?" Gunn said.

"Through there," Cordelia gestured. They all stared at each other briefly, then clutched hands and leapt, as one, into the silver cloud.

For a few moments, it felt as though they were floating, not falling. Maybe, Angel thought, gravity didn't work the same way in the cloud. Perhaps they were going to float forever -- they would never get home -- Angelus had beaten him. He'd wondered which of them would be stronger; now he knew.

Then he felt Wesley's hand on his right sleeve, Gunn's on his left. Cordelia's arms were wrapped around his chest. Angelus' strength had been only his own. Angel shared the strength of others. And that was why he was the one who was going home.

Then the ground crashed up to meet them and they all landed, hard. Cordelia crumpled to her knees; Angel saw Gunn fall flat on his face near her. Wesley had landed on his back and apparently had the wind knocked out of him; he was gasping for breath.

Fred and Lorne pulled them into the car, one at a time. Angel landed in the driver's seat; he had never been so grateful to feel the solid leather of the steering wheel in his hands.

He looked at the others. "Thanks for saving me."

They seemed unmoved. "How come we're letting the guy with a head injury drive?" Gunn asked.

"I have the keys," Angel said.

Fred peered up into the sky -- a tapestry of chaos. Her face was sad. "Poor dragon."

Angel gunned the motor and drove into the portal of light.

Darla's first thought when she opened her eyes was, Damn it. Still alive.

She tried to sit up, but stress and exhaustion had taken their toll on her, and she didn't have sufficient strength. As she struggled, strong arms wrapped themselves around her, and she felt herself being lifted into a sitting position.

She tilted her head back to see who her helper was. When she saw the face of the man looking down at her, she frowned. She knew the features well, of course, but there was something different about them. They were softened by an unfamiliar tenderness.

"Angel?" she asked hesitantly.

He turned away from her for a moment, reaching out to lift something she couldn't see from this angle. As he moved, she could see the rip in the back of his shirt and the wound beneath it where she had stabbed him. She realized who was beside her.

"I'm sorry," Angelus murmured.

"So am I," Darla said, and meant it.

"I found this in your bag," Angelus said as he turned back to her. He pressed a small leather hip flask into Darla's hand.

She opened the flask and held it to her lips. The scent of bourbon wafted into her nostrils, so strong even her weak, human sense of smell could not mistake it. She began to tip the flask, intending to drain it and sleep out the apocalypse. Something stopped her.

"I don't want it right now," she lied, handing the flask back to Angelus. "Maybe later."

"Darla," he said quietly. "There isn't going to be a later."

She looked at him steadily. "Let me see."

Gently, he put his hand behind her head and supported her while she surveyed the dying universe. Beneath them, what remained of Los Angeles was breaking up, huge swathes of the city simply dissolving into the all-consuming beauty of the vast, rainbow strewn sky. Red and orange and yellow and green and blue and indigo and violet. Even the light was dying, Darla realized, dissipating into its component elements and serenely drifting into the endless dark.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Yes," Angelus said. "It is."

"Do you think --" Darla hesitated, then realized if she didn't ask the question now, she'd never ask it. "Do you think you have to have a soul to appreciate beauty?"

Angelus raised a hand and stroked it softly through her hair. "You can have a soul and fail to see it. It's something else, I think. Something more."

He was smiling, a small, sad smile, but still a smile. Darla found herself smiling back, and her beating heart filled with something she couldn't name. "We're not the people we were."

"No," Angelus said. "We're not."

"Hold me closer, Angel." She named him -- one last time -- and he didn't object.

He embraced her more tightly, and although Darla wasn't certain, she thought some of the sadness lifted from him.

Angel's lips brushed hers, very gently, and Darla fought back her exhaustion to respond. They'd known every kind of pleasure together, and yet in this moment it seemed that only this kiss, this once, was real.

Her world shrank until it was filled by his cheek against hers and his arms around her. And then that world, too, was gone.

Darla slept.

Fred screwed up her eyes as the Plymouth came crashing out of the portal, engine roaring, vortex swirling, bottles crashing as they landed --

-- in a nightclub.

And it looked a lot like the Longhorn, except that things were shiny instead of leathery --

Lorne shook his head. "You know, I've been thinking about remodeling the bar." He took up a couple of unbroken bottles. "Anyone for a nightcap?"

They clambered out of the car, shaking their heads. Wesley leaned toward Angel. "Are you certain you're all right?"

"I'm all right," Angel said. Fred was worried; he hadn't looked good when he had fallen with the others out of the silver cloud. But he was smiling at Wesley and Cordelia now. "And I'm certain."

"At last," Cordelia breathed. "We're home."

"Fred?" Angel said. "We did get home, right?"

"This looks familiar to you?" Fred said. Everyone nodded. "Then it's our home dimension. Or close enough as makes no difference."

"Makes no difference?" Gunn's forehead went all wrinkly when he got upset, Fred noticed. "Excuse me, but any difference is a big difference."

"Did we not just learn this?" Cordelia said.

Fred shrugged. "You don't understand the multiplicity of true dimensions. I know, for sure, we don't have counterparts in this universe; the portal let us in without a problem, and that would only work in a dimension that recognized us as real. But that doesn't mean that we're the same Fred and Angel and Cordelia and so on who left this dimension to begin with."

"What, we have a couple dozen other versions of us hopping dimensions?" Cordelia scoffed.

"No," Fred said. "There's an infinity of others. Some of them will get home. Some of them won't. Some of them will find new and better places. Some of them will die. That's the way it works."

Wesley was shaking his head in disbelief now. "Well, that's taken all the enjoyment out of watching Sliders reruns."

"'Bout time somethin' did," Gunn said under his breath.

"We might not really be home?" Angel said. He looked confused, and Fred really couldn't blame him. It was all pretty confusing, when you let yourself think about it.

"Pish-posh," said Lorne. "Of course we're home. Look at the bar. See the tusk marks? That's from that fracas when somebody interrupted Mordant the Bentback's Barry White medley. That's for real, and I know it."

Everyone cheered up at this and set about the tricky business of getting the car from the nightclub to the street. Fred helped them at it, and if she was the only one who remembered that the tusk marks had been on the other bar, she wouldn't bother reminding them.

In the alley, Cordelia said, "Okay, made myself a promise." She walked up to Angel and smacked the side of his head with the flat of her hand -- not too hard, but hard enough to make it a slap.

"Ow!"

"That is for running off and scaring us, even if it was all noble and stuff," Cordelia said. "Now, this is for being all noble and stuff, even if you did run off and scare us." She pulled him into an embrace.

Angel put his arms around her and returned the hug. Fred felt a quick, unwilling flare of jealousy that was instantly snuffed as Cordelia let go of Angel and hugged Wesley and Gunn in turn.

When Cordelia finally pulled away from Gunn, she straightened her cape and said, "Now, who still has David Nabbit's phone number? Because I have a video game I want to pitch."

"It's at home," Angel said. "Let's go."

As they drove toward the hotel -- home base in this dimension too, apparently -- the mood became giddier and giddier. Angel was clearly happy to be in his friends' company again; he kept turning to them, wanting to talk about this or that, to the point that Lorne had to motion for him to keep his eyes on the road.

But as they chattered on and on, Fred felt an all-too-familiar set of emotions returning to her: confusion, fear, uncertainty. Before, she'd had a job to do, equations to complete -- something to focus on besides her own worries. But now, she couldn't stop asking herself: What was real from the dimension they'd just visited, and what was fake? What would follow them here? What had she forgotten from before? A lot, she figured.

And the five years the world went spinning on without her -- what had happened? To her family, her friends, her coworkers. She held her hand to her face as an image shimmered in front of her: a goldfish, with fins like shining veils, circling in a bowl. His name was -- Albert. Yes, Albert. Did anyone come to feed him while she was gone?

Fred couldn't have said why that, of all the things she might have chosen, tugged at her throat. She blinked hard and hugged her arms around herself.

Angel noticed. "Everything okay, Fred?"

The others were talking animatedly among themselves; for a moment, her conversation with Angel was a private one. "I'm all right," Fred said. "Just feeling a little -- scared."

A little of Angel's ebullient good humor evaporated. "Fred, I want you to know -- I understand. You've seen the worst that I am, in every way. If you don't feel comfortable around me -- that's okay."

"Oh, no," Fred said quickly. "I'm not scared of YOU."

Angel seemed genuinely confounded. "You're -- not? But Angelus --"

Fred shrugged. "Sure, I was scared of HIM. But he's not here. I just deal with what's in front of me. And, right now -- you are."

Angel looked at her. She couldn't tell if he was pleased or worried. His expression was a little of both. "Thanks," he said at last. "Then -- why are you scared?"

"For the love of me, please remain facing forward while you're driving," Lorne said.

Fred tried to explain. "I've been lost for a long time. I still feel lost."

"Lost?" Gunn laughed and patted her shoulder. "You just got yourself found."

"I know the adjustment will be difficult, Fred," Wesley said. "But think of all the comforts of home you must have missed. They're all still here waiting for you."

Fred thought about this. "Is -- is there still strawberry ice cream?"

"And 30 other flavors at a Baskin Robbins near you," Cordelia said with a grin.

"And it just rains rain here, right? No silver or cherry blossoms or anything?"

"Real rain only," Angel promised.

"And nobody will call me a cow or put an exploding collar on my neck?"

"Highly unlikely," Gunn said. "Anybody tries it, they got us to deal with." He pounded his fist into his other hand for emphasis.

Fred brightened. "And the X-Files is still on? That's my favorite show."

"It's still on," Cordelia said guardedly, then shook her head. "You are the queen of setting yourself up for disappointment, aren't you?"

Fred paid this no mind, just kept creating beautiful lists in her mind as Angel pulled the car up in front of the hotel. "And there's still Mexican food, right? And all the good-smelling scrubby stuff at the Body Shop? And, ooh, water slides?"

"Plenty of water slides at the wide variety of theme parks L.A. has to offer," Gunn said. Then he added, mostly to himself, "That portal jumping's a fun ride, too -- sell it to a theme park, we could make some money."

"You're sure about that?" Fred said.

"Trust me," Cordelia said. "Tacos everywhere. And soap."

The front doors of the hotel were before them, and Angel was smiling. "Can I say it? I'm going to say it."

Wesley glanced at him. "Say what?"

Angel pushed through the doors triumphantly and said, "There's no place like --"

Home. That was the next word, home. But Angel didn't say it. Instead, he stood in the doorway, staring at the figure inside the hotel. A short girl with red hair -- nobody Fred had ever seen, in any dimension. "Willow?" Angel said.

Cordelia seemed to know the girl too. "Hi, what's --" Then her voice trailed off.

Slowly, the girl named Willow stood up. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"It's Buffy," Angel said quietly.

Behind Fred, Cordelia gave a little gasp. Willow nodded and started to say something, but she choked on her own sob.

Angel clutched onto Wesley and Cordelia's arms as though he lacked the strength to stand alone. Fred could see that his hands were shaking, his eyes wide.

Willow finally whispered, "I'm so sorry, Angel. But Buffy -- she's --"

"No," Angel interrupted. "No. No, this isn't real. This can't be real." Suddenly, Fred felt his hands on her shoulders; he was staring at her with frightening intensity. "You said we might not be home. This might be another universe."

Fred nodded dumbly.

"I need to know -- is she dead in our universe? Or are we in another universe where she died? Tell me. Tell me!"

Willow was standing very still, her expression half-tearful, half-confused. No one else had moved; Cordelia and Wesley and Gunn were looking at Fred too, now. Waiting for her to give them the answer.

"I can't," she said. "There's no way to be certain. This is the reality we have to live with. This is home now."

Home, Fred repeated to herself. It ought to mean everything. But it can mean anything. Anything at all.