Chapter 7


Author:   Cleo
Rating:   NC-17  (overall)
Spoilers:   Somnambulist
Summary:   The events of Somnambulist as they might have happened in the 'Power of Three' universe.

Disclaimer:   They belong to Joss.  Don't sue.  I'm just a lowly college student.  All I have are debts and books.

Author's Note:   Eternal thanks go to Angela, my truly wonderful beta reader.  You're great sweetheart.  Any remaining oops are all my fault.






Cordelia was the first to wake.  She slipped easily from the bed and walked around to the other side to carefully wake Doyle without waking Angel.

//I'm going to get some breakfast and see if I can find a newspaper.  If Wesley comes barging in here he should find you in the chair.//

Doyle got up and slumped into one of the chairs.  He smiled up at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep.  //I don' know.  It might be fun t' see the look on 'is face, Princess.//

She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick kiss.  //We don't want to give him a heart attack.//

//Why not?//

Cordelia only gave him a look before wandering into the bathroom to see if she could repair the damage to her hair before going out in public.  She changed her clothes and applied her makeup and finally decided that she was presentable.  Doyle was asleep again when she passed through the room.

She opened the door as quietly as she could.  Wesley was asleep on the couch but as she came into the room he woke up.

"Morning, Wesley."  She said softly as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

"Good morning, Cordelia."  He glanced behind her at the door.  "Everything alright in there?"

She nodded.  "Everything's fine."

He looked at her closely.  "Are you sure?  You didn't fall asleep, did you?  If you did something might have happened and you wouldn't know about it."  Her eyes narrowed and he rushed to continue.  "I'm not implying that you did anything wrong.  What I mean is..."

"Save it."  Her expression had grown hard and he could see how angry she was.  "I know what you're 'implying', Wesley and I've had enough of it.  I know you probably think I'm just the same old clueless cheerleader I was in high school but here's a news flash for you.  I'm not stupid."

Wesley held out his hand.  "Cordelia I never said..."

"I thought I told you to shut up.  For once just listen to me, OK?"  Wesley hand dropped back to his side and he said nothing.

"Look, I work with these guys everyday.  They're my best friends.  I know them... BOTH of them, MUCH better than you do.  They've both saved my life at different times and that means a lot, way more than any file on Angelus or anything else you can show me.  So, I'm not going to take you coming in here and acting all Joe I-Know-Everything-About-Everyone.  I may not have been to some great university like you but I know who I can trust and who I can't.  And let me tell you, I trust them WAY more than I trust you."

Cordelia stormed passed him into the kitchen, trying to control her temper.

Wesley stood silently for a moment.  He understood were she was coming from but he still couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't, or couldn't, see the whole picture here.  He didn't want to lose what small bit of her friendship he had claim to.  If he had to lose that to keep her safe he would do so but for now he had to try to talk to her.

He took a deep breath.  She was pouring herself a glass of orange juice as he walked in.

"You want some?" she asked, not looking up at him.

"Yes, please.  That would be very nice."  Cordelia grabbed another glass from the cabinet and poured some orange juice into it.

He came forward and picked the glass up from the counter as she put the cartoon back into the refrigerator.

"I never thought you were clueless," he said softly.

She gave him a 'whatever' look and sat down at the table with her glass.  He sat across from her.

"No, really.  I... I had rather a crush on you in Sunnydale.  Which, of course, you know."  He paused trying to find the words to repair things between them.  "We've never been the closest of friends, I know this..."  He stopped again.  He took a sip of his orange juice and raised his eyes to hers.  She was watching him closely with that oddly intense gaze that she had never had in high school.  She had grown up a lot since then.  The girl he'd had that confusing infatuation with had become a woman in the few short months since Graduation.  He just wished that the change hadn't brought with it such a high price of pain.

"Most people would not have been able to do what you did," Wesley continued.  "To leave their home, everything they knew and move to a city like this.  That took a great deal of courage and I admire you for it."

Cordelia looked away then and he was almost certain that he saw her blush slightly.  "That or compete stupidity."

Wesley smiled.  "The point is that I don't think that you're unable to make your own judgements.  I'm just concerned that those judgements may be clouded by emotion right now."  He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to speak.  "Please, let me finish.  I don't want to think that Angel could be doing these things either but it is one possibility which must be ruled out before we can move on."

"I get all that.  It's not what I'm talking about."  She studied the glass in her hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again.  "When I started looking for a way to bring Doyle back I did a lot of reading.  I read about all sorts of icky things that could happen if the spells were done wrong and about all the nasties that would hop on in if I let them.  I read stuff I SO did not want to know about.  There was this one seriously disgusting thing that... never mind.  Anyway, the point is that I knew what I was getting into.  I didn't take this lightly.  I grew up on a Hellmouth for God's sake.  I've seen what can happen when spells go wrong.  When Angel and I sat down to do this spell we knew what the dangers were and we knew how to control them."  She leaned forward.  "We did the spell right.  I know my friends.  I knew Doyle before he..."  She took a deep breathe, unable to say the word even now and Wesley's heart ached in sympathy.

"Anyway, I'm totally sure that the guy asleep in there is him and not some big bad pretending to be him for whatever reason.  You've got to trust our judgement on this one, Wesley.  We know him and you don't."

He wanted to believe her.  She was so completely sure and he couldn't help but envy her that certainty.  Wesley didn't want to believe that there was anything wrong here.  He wanted to simply trust her judgement and leave it at that but years of training wouldn't let him.  "I will try," was all he could say.

He knew that it was a lie but what else could he say.  It wasn't that he didn't believe that she and Angel had done the spell carefully, he did, but neither of them were experienced spell casters.  They had both been reeling from grief, perfect prey for so many different kinds of demons, especially Cordelia.  She was still so very young despite how much she had matured recently.

Cordelia simply nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer and stood up.  She finished off her orange juice and put the glass in the sink.

"There is nothing in the 'fridge.  I'm going to go see what I can get us for breakfast.  Anything special you want?  I can't cook but I can get cereal or bagels or something."

"If you get the ingredients I can make us French Toast."  She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled.  "Think of it as a peace offering."

"OK.  So... um... what do you need to make French Toast?  And why is it called French Toast anyway?"






Angel and Doyle had only just woken up when Cordelia got back.  She breezed into the apartment and flashed a smile at Wesley as she dropped the grocery bag she was carrying and took the newspaper into the bedroom.  He followed and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Wakie, wakie!"  Angel and Doyle both started and blinked at her.  When she was certain that all three men were watching her and were completely conscious she held up the newspaper.  "Good news, sports fan!  There's been another killing!  Well, maybe not so great news for the... you know, dead person but at least now we know that Mr. 'I'm so tortured' didn't do it."

There was no real surprise on either Doyle or Angel's faces but Wesley felt relieved.  "Well, that's that then."

"Not entirely," Angel said.  "I know who is doing it and I am still responsible."

"No, you ain't," Doyle interjected, getting up and starting to undo the chains.

Both Wesley and Cordelia moved to help him and soon they had Angel undone.

"What do you mean, you are still responsible?" Wesley asked, when it seemed no one else would.






Angelus stood looking down at the dead girl.  "There now, isn't that better?" His voice was still thick with the lilt of his native Ireland.

The blonde young man kneeling over the body stood up, the light from the street lamp falling across his face revealed the harsh ridges of the vampire.  "Better," Penn said as his face smoothed into its human mask once more.  His eyes were wide as he looked with seemingly innocent adoration at his sire.

Angelus smiled, as proud of the young man's angelic beauty as he was of his aptitude in killing.  "First kill," he commented.  "Aptly done."  He stepped around the body to lay his hand on the young man's shoulder.

Penn turned his gaze back to the girl at their feet.  "It's strange.  She was my sister..." he trailed off.

"And yet you feel nothing," Angelus finished for him.

"No."  Penn turned to his sire again.  "I feel hungry."

"Ah, you do learn very quickly," Angelus said, smiling as his protegee.

Penn's face darkened.  "My father would disagree."

"Ah, then perhaps it's time you shared with him just what a fine student you've become."

"My father, yes..."  Penn's eyes widened at the prospect, breath he no longer needed coming a bit faster in anticipation.  "They'll all be sitting down to dinner now."

"A feast.  Excellent.  When they invite you in, savor it, Penn.  You'll not recapture the moment.  Family blood is always the sweetest."






Angel sat in a chair looking intently at the floor.  Doyle and Cordelia sat on the couch the voices from the past echoing in their minds as they were in Angel's.  Wesley sat in another chair alternately watching Angel and worrying about how close together Doyle and Cordelia were sitting.

"I taught him well," Angel said softly.

Cordelia rolled her eyes.  "A real psycho-wan-kenobi."

"200 years practice," Wesley commented.  "I imagine he has it down by now."

"No kiddin'," Doyle said.  "So, what do we do to stop 'im?"

Angel looked up.  "I find him and kill him."  There was a defeat to his voice that bothered Wesley.  He saw Doyle and Cordelia both glance at Angel with concern.

"Can ya kill 'im?" Doyle asked.  "He is yer childe."

"I killed my sire," Angel said softly.  "I can kill Penn."  There wasn't as much conviction in his voice as the others would have liked but his eyes were determined.

"Then all we have to do is find him," Wesley said.  He picked up the newspaper that Cordelia had brought back with her and cleared his throat.  "And I think I might know how that could best be done."

They all looked at him in surprise.  "According to the newspaper the investigation is being headed by Detective Lockley.  Perhaps she might know something and be willing to share."

Angel's eyes widened.  "Kate can't have any idea what she's dealing with."

"Neat," Cordelia said.  "We can't find him and the cops stand absolutely zero chance of stopping him."

Angel stood up.  "Kate needs to be warned."

Wesley scrambled to his feet.  "You're not going to tell her!" he protested.  "Think about it.  You can't walk into a police precinct with intimate knowledge about these murders and claim a 200 year-old Puritan is responsible.  You'd be locked up faster than Lady Hamilton's virtue!"  He paused and glanced at Cordelia who had come to stand beside him.  "My apologies."

Cordelia looked at him slightly confused.  "That OK.  I... I don't know what that meant."

"She's a good cop," Angel said.  "She has resources we don't.  Eventually she will find him."

"Bad fer her then," Doyle said, coming to stand next to him.

Angel paused for a moment.  "Or good for us."






Angel took a deep breath to steady himself as he entered the police station.  He really wasn't sure how he was going to do this.  He spotted Kate sitting at her desk and made his way over to her.  She looked up as he approached and smiled, obviously pleased to see him.

"Hey, Angel."  When he didn't smile back, she stood up, her own smile fading.  "Angel, are you okay?  Not that the 'brooding man of mystery' thing isn't working for you.  I mean it is.  A lot."

"Can we talk somewhere in private?"  God, he didn't want to do this.  He didn't want to get her hurt but he wasn't kidding when he had told the others that she was a good cop.  She would catch up with Penn sooner or later.  It was better to have it sooner when Angel could be there and ready to do what was necessary.

"Sure, of course."  With growing concern she led him to an interrogation room.  He looked up as they entered and swallowed.  One whole side of the room was dominated by a large bulletin board on which pictures, maps and everything else related to the case were pinned up.  Penn's handy work stared back at him in silent recrimination.

Kate followed his gaze and sighed.  "Yeah, it's pretty grim, isn't it?  I've spent the last 48 hours putting together a suspect profile and believe me, being inside this guy's head hasn't been a whole lot of fun.  The tabloids are calling him 'the pope'.  Probably thinks he's doing God's work."

"No," Angel said, not looking at her.  "Just the opposite.  This is about mocking God."

She looked at him strangely.  "What was it you wanted?"

Angel moved closer to the pictures, still not looking away from them.  "How's the investigation?"

Kate walked over and leaned against the table behind him, pulling out the small gold cross she wore and playing with it idly.  "It's nowhere.  Some of your more inconsiderate serial killers often fail to leave us any clues."  He just stood there looking at the pictures.  "Angel?"

"He's reliving it," he murmured softly to himself as the realization dawned on him and for a brief moment he was lost in memories.

"What's going on?" Kate asked a little sharply.  She liked Angel a great deal but this was starting to give her the creeps.

He finally turned to look at her and his eyes focused on the cross she was playing with for a moment before glancing away.  "It's complicated."

"So make it simple."

He moved close to her and met her gaze directly.  "Kate, do you trust me?"

She was surprised by the question.  Normally she would have been hurt by the implication but she thought saw a flash in insecurity in his eyes.  "You know I do," she answered softly.

Angel turned from her abruptly and pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket walked back over to the bulletin board.  Unfolding the paper he revealed the drawing of a young man's face.  "Trust me when I tell you," he said, tacking the picture to the board, "this is the man you're looking for."

Kate nearly jumped off the table.  "Where did you get that?  How could you possibly..."

He turned back to her.  "Do you trust me?"

"I don't understand," she said, looking from him to the picture.  "Are you protecting a source?"  Angel didn't answer; he just watched her, his expression guarded.  "Yes, I trust you."

"His next victim will be a white male, adolescent."  He spoke with a quiet intensity that made a small ball of fear form in her stomach.  "He'll take him off the streets in a low rent neighborhood.  Probably near a bar or liquor store and he'll kill him just like he did these others.  Unless you use every resource this department has to make sure he is not successful this time."

Kate met and held Angel's intense gaze for several moments before nodding.  She didn't know where he had gotten this information and she was beginning to think that maybe she didn't want to know.  But she had told the truth.  She did trust Angel.

Then she turned away.  There was a lot to do to prepare for tonight.  When she looked back he was gone.  Somehow she had expected that he would be.