#
It was always cooler in churches. Damp, too, even in the middle of droughts. Cordelia didn't know if it was that way for everyone, or some kind of internal guilt-o-meter specific to the Chase family. Whatever, she wished she'd brought a sweater. Rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to get warm, she walked down the aisle, her eyes focused on the slight figure hunched over on his knees down in front.

"Stephen?"

He didn't look up as she sank gracefully to the seat beside him. She waited a moment to let him finish up his prayer. But a minute passed, then another.

"Hello?" She understood the need for forgiveness and whatnot - she worked for the King of Needs Redemption, after all - but there was such a thing as manners...

"Stephen? Come on, God can wait a minute, okay? I need to talk to you. It's about Angel."

"I pray for his soul as well," he said, not looking up. "That is all I can do for him now."

"That is not -" She stared at the back of the vampire's head as though she could force him to stand up and go with her by sheer willpower. But it didn't work. Instead, Stephen touched his cold fingers to his lips and reached out as though to touch the cross placed in front of him on the dais, then stood and walked away without another word.

"Hey! Damnit, you owe him!"

"Debt is not the way to God," a voice said. She jumped, shrieking a little. Another priest stood next to her. He was an older guy; classic Priest straight out of central casting, gray-haired with an Irish-looking face, wearing full blacks-and-collar. "Only an open heart can find the way."

She met his eyes, blue-gray and full of a gentle sadness, and felt the faintest flickering of hope.

#
Kate had gone to the prison, to bring an update, such as it was, to Faith, and Gunn had taken it on himself to chase down the ghoul-thing AI had been hired to take care of. When Willow, Anya and Xander arrived, they found Buffy sitting in Angel's office, surrounding herself with his belongings like a security blanket.

"Nice place," Anya said approvingly as she looked around. "Needs a couple of windows, though."

Xander just gave her a Look, while Willow rushed forward to hug her friend. "Is he...?"

"He's still with us," Buffy said. "But -- oh God, Will..."

"Right." Giles appeared as though summoned by Buffy's tears. He put on hand on Xander's shoulder, the other on Anya's, and steered them back out into the main room, pushing the door to Angel's office shut behind him with one foot.

"I take it things are looking worse than the worst-case scenario Riley was talking about?" Xander asked. They bypassed the room Giles had been working in for the only-slightly-neater space Wesley had referred to as the ready room. A couple of extremely comfortable sofas took up the majority of the space, with tables piled with books and magazines, and a television set off in the corner, half-hidden by a wilting plant of dubious parentage.

"It's bad," Giles confirmed. "He's woken once since we've been here, but only for a few moments, and he barely recognized Buffy. The fever is apparently causing him to hallucinate. There are no known toxins in his body - in fact, we haven't been able to find anything out of the ordinary. There's absolutely no earthy reason why he's -" he hesitated over the word, then continued. "Dying."

"And Slayer's blood..." Xander almost blanched at the look the older man shot him, but held his ground. "Hey, it's not like I've got any great love for dead boy, but I'm assuming that's the first thing Buffy asked."

"You would be right," Giles admitted heavily. "And no. That was a specific case of poison and antidote. There is nothing extant to be countered, in this case. His body simply appears to have turned against itself."

"So all we're doing is waiting?" Anya rolled her eyes. "Great. I hope some of these magazines are up to date."

"Rest assured, they're all from this month. Cordelia is a firm believer in timeliness in her fashion reads." Wesley stood in the doorway. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and his hair stood slightly on end, as though he had been repeatedly tangling his fingers in it. "But since this is the - oh lord, almost the third day he's been without any kind of nourishment whatsoever, I suspect you won't have much time for reading." His words could have been flippant, but they weren't.

"Speaking of which - where is Cordy, anyway?" Xander missed the look Anya shot him at the mention of his ex-girlfriend.

"She had an urgent errant to run," Giles said, shrugging. "I don't know any more than that."

Wesley's expression changed slightly at that, and he nodded as though confirming a suspicion. But all he said was, "Angel's awake. He has asked to see all of you."

#
He wasn't sure how he got elected to come in first - one moment they were agreeing that Anya could stay in the ready room with the magazines, and the next he was here...

"Hey." Angel's eyes were clouded, his voice a bare whisper. Giles found his way to the seat by the vampire's beside by instinct, unable to take his eyes off the other's face. "Hello."

"I take it you're caught up on all the details?"

The Watcher nodded.

"Good. Don't let Wesley beat himself up over this. I don't think it was anything he could have found in his books... overdeveloped guilt complex. Do they teach you that, too?"

"It's a subtle lesson, but...yes."

Angel almost cracked a smile at that. "Thought so. " A labored breath, then - "I need to ask you to do something. Take care of them. Wes, and Cordelia. They're going to be so busy being strong for each other.... They need to remember to grieve. Don't let them forget to do that."

Giles felt his breath catch in his throat. No last plea for forgiveness - he hadn't expected that. Angel had never asked for forgiveness for what his demon had done, knowing that Giles could never give it. But this... and yet, who else could he ask.

And, seeing in this room the proof of Angel's affection for his 'family,' Giles also knew the depth of trust this request placed on him. He clasped Angel's cool, sweating hand between his own, and nodded.

"Thank you. When Wes is ready, there are books in the library I want to make sure he has..."

#
When Giles left the bedroom several moments later, his step was heavy, and his eyes were tired. "Willow, he asked to see you next. But I'm not sure he's up to -"

The door slammed open overhead, and the clicking of heels in the stairwell alerted them to the fact that Cordelia had returned. But there was another set of footsteps as well: heavier, a man's shoes.

"Is he awake?" She barely waited for their response before turning the man behind her. "You ready? I mean, do you need to, I don't know, prepare anything?"

He shook his head with a small smile. "From what you've told me, everything that's needed is already waiting for me."

Buffy's gaze took in the collar and the crucifix lapel pin, and dashed to stand in front of the door as though to bar this stranger bearing holy water from getting anywhere near Angel.

"Cordelia!" Willow sounded scandalized. "How could you do that to Angel? After all..."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, scorn overwhelming the grief on her face for an instant. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, people." But then she remembered that these people didn't know what was normal in their lives, didn't know Sister Matilde, who helped them with that possessed kid, or Brother Thomas, the Franciscan who translated stuff for Wesley, or Stephen...

"My name is Michael," he told them. "Father Michael Sebastian. I'm told there is a soul in need of confession?"

Buffy's gaze flicked to Cordelia, then to Giles, then she stood aside, keeping a wary eye on this stranger.

"Thank you," he said to her gravely, then turned to Cordelia, touching the side of her face with one finger. "Patience, daughter. God has a plan for us all."

"So far, I've not been real thrilled with the play book," she told him, then sighed. "I know, I know. Sparrows, etc. Go."

He opened the bedroom door, then closed it firmly behind him when Buffy started to follow.

"This is, traditionally, a private moment," Wesley told her. She blinked, then nodded, stepping back. Giles moved to Cordelia's side, touching her gently on the shoulder. She sighed, and let him enfold her in a gentle hug. "It's too much like letting go," she told him.

"It's exactly like letting go," he agreed. "Which is what he wanted."

She sniffed once, resting her head against his chest, feeling the reassuring thump of his heartbeat. "He wouldn't ask - that whole 'I'm not worthy thing', but I though maybe he'd need it. And Father Michael agreed." She looked at Wesley. "He was Stephen's mentor at the seminary. So he knows..."

Wesley nodded his understanding. "That was well done, Cordelia."

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Xander asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Last Rites," Buffy told him. "The whole 'making peace with God' thing. Honestly, did you never go to church?"

"He should summon the presbyters of the church, and they should pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. If he has committed any sins, he will be forgiven." Giles noted the looks everyone was giving him, and gave a half-shrug. "James 5:14-15. More or less. At this point, I think Angel has earned whatever solace we can give him."

Willow blinked, then looked behind here at the closed door. "Um... doesn't that involve, you know, crosses? And holy water?"

"Father Michael knows the whole vamp deal," Cordelia told her. "He'll work around it. Somehow."

#
"Almighty and Everlasting God, preserver of souls, who dost correct those whom Thou dost love, and for their betterment dost tenderly chastise those whom Thou dost receive, we call upon Thee, O Lord, to grant Thy healing, that the soul of Thy servant, at the hour of its departure from the body, may by the hands of Thy holy Angels be presented without spot unto Thee. Amen."

"Amen," Angel echoed weekly, his eyes firmly fixed on the small silver cross Father Michael held over him. "Do you believe that he'll hear you?"

"It doesn't matter if he hears me, Liam. What matters is that he hears you."

"I never felt I had the right to pray. Not after everything I've done."

"Then don't pray," the priest advised him. "Talk. God is always up for a good chat, is my feeling. And He's got all the time in the world."

Angel smiled weakly. "I used to know that feeling. As though the night stretched out into infinity, with no end in sight..." He closed his eyes as the man wrapped the cross in a thick cotton handkerchief and placed it between his fingers. They were so numb now that the pain was barely a tingle, muted ever further by the cloth.

It's been a long time since I called upon you in anything other than anger...

#
There had been faint murmurings, first the priest's voice, then Angel, then the priest again, but none of it decipherable. Buffy sat on the stairs leading up to the first floor, her head on Willow's shoulder. Xander had gone back upstairs, to keep Anya company, while Wesley had finally succumbed to three days without sleep, and crashed face-down on the sofa. Cordelia had been pacing the apartment until Giles finally put her into a chair and made her stay there. He rummaged in Angel's kitchenette until he found the makings for tea, then busied himself with boiling the water to an exact rolling boil.

She watched him, taking comfort in his movements. Where once she would have ridiculed him as fussy, she could see the precision in his actions, the ritual of them. It was good to have a ritual, she thought. Something that was familiar, that you didn't have to think about, while you process what you're going to have to deal with. How many people had to die in your life before death became a ritual?

"Can I have some - Ah!"

The pain wasn't so painful this time. Instead of feeling like her brain was being cracked open, it was almost like it was overflowing from inside, swelling with the vision like a balloon.

A darkened room, the flickering of candlelight and an overpowering sense of cold and heat scorching her skin all at once, only from the inside out, like someone was pushing coals and icicles through the flesh of her back... the whisper of feathers unfolding, wings black as pitch and soft as a baby's sigh...

Angel. Standing, strong, healthy, his skin pale but his eyes bright, and the darkness of wings rising over his head...

She staggered out of the chair, only to find Giles there to catch her. She raised her gaze to his face, surprised to discover that she was weeping.

"Angel... Oh Angel..."

He held her, and she didn't know how to tell him that they were tears of joy.

#
Almost an hour later, Father Michael came out through the door of Angel's bedroom. His shoulders were stooped with exhaustion, but the eyes that met Cordelia's were filled with a quiet sense of exaltation. And she knew, bone-deep and soul-strong, that he had been given the gift of her vision as well.

"Can I-" Buffy made a gesture towards the door, and he smiled, nodding. "He's sleeping more peacefully," he told the others as she disappeared - leaving the door slightly ajar, as though aware that no-one gathered could stand to be shut out now.

"The fever?" Wesley clearly didn't want to risk false hopes, but the anticipation in his voice was a palpable thing.

"Broken." Cordelia was the one who spoke, but Michael nodded. "Yes. I believe that it has. There's still a fair ways to go, but he knows the way now."

"He'll make it," Cordelia said with confidence.

Neither of them were speaking, entirely, about the vampire's mysterious fever.

#
He was sleeping. A half-filled glass stood on the table, a book carefully closed and put aside, leather bookmark holding his place. The floor beside the sofa was littered with newspapers form the last week, half-read.

Cordelia sat in a chair across the room and watched him, unmoving. Behind her, the refrigerator hummed, and the faint noise of Wesley cleaning and reshelving the research books came down the stairs and through the floor. Other than that, it was silent throughout the entire building. The Sunnydalers had gone home - been chased out, in truth, by Wesley, and by Giles' own blessed sense of timing and appropriate behavior.

Giles had taken her aside, before shoving Buffy forcibly into his car, and held her in a gentle hug. "I'm very proud of you," was all he said. But it had been more than enough. She still wasn't sure when they'd become friends, or if that friendship was going to go -anywhere. But it was a nice thing. A warm, comforting, subtle, human thing.

She was growing to appreciate those qualities as she got older. As she saw more, learned more. Understood more. Sometimes, the best gifts were the ones you had to earn.

Through drawn curtains, the slow wave of dappled, filtered sunlight crossed the floor in front of her. She knew watched, no less enthralled than any time before, as the sunbeam rose, stroking up one outflung arm, across a broad chest. And when it reached his face, even in his sleep, Angel smiled.

It wasn't Shanshu. But it was miracle enough. For now.

#
And somewhere that was elsewhere...

Is it done?
It is...begun.



The end.