•••

“Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three…” Fred counted cars as they drove along the highway. She was perched on top of a small outbuilding, one that housed landscaping tools and stuff for the hotel. It was a nice place to sit, right in the full sun, hidden from view. There was a ‘privacy screen’ in front of the shed, keeping its apparent ugliness from offending guests. Fred didn’t see what was so bad about the thing; it was just a simple wooden structure with oil stains around it. The building served its purpose well and had the added benefit of a flat roof.

Actually, it was the oil stains that drew Fred to the outbuilding. The odors of chemicals—oil, pesticide and asphalt patch—effectively masked her presence. Vampires and werewolves couldn’t smell her amidst the noxious stench. Yeah, it bothered her nose as well, but that was beside the point. When she was here, she was alone. And alone was a good thing, particularly when she couldn’t go where she really wanted to be.

And that place was her cave. It became apparent shortly after she regained consciousness that retreating into her shelter would be a bad thing. The relief on Wesley’s face was painful to watch. Gunn nearly killed her with gratitude for getting Cordelia back to normal, or whatever she was now. The seer wasn’t precisely herself again, but she was closer. Wil and Angel, too, seemed more relaxed and happy now that they were all somewhat repaired.

But she wasn’t repaired. No, quite the contrary. Big chunks of her didn’t work right, and the stuff that did function was clunky. The physicist and problem-solver parts of Fred wanted to jump in with both feet and grab a roll of duct tape. The rest of her wanted to go back to her cave and hide. She tried to smile, to laugh and be a good sport, but it was so hard. Xander, Cordelia… well, nearly everyone, come to think of it had tried to get her to talk about the assault. She knew what they were doing—rape crisis counseling was nothing new, and the investigators had dealt with more than one sexual assault case over the years.

This was different. Fred knew why she was raped. It wasn’t because she asked for it, or because she had on revealing clothes or had sex out of wedlock. She knew it wasn’t simply because she was female and convenient, or they were drunk and bored, or any of the other things people said and thought about rape. No, she was assaulted because whoever had precipitated the attack knew that it would shake them—all of them, not just Fred. Oh, it was tearing her apart. It wasn’t not knowing why that bothered her, but what she knew to be true—her body had been turned into a billboard. The message was clear: Don’t Fuck With Us. Why it was her, she’d never know, but it could have been any of them—demons did the damage, and they don’t care who gets hurt.

Fred wished that the others would look to their own hurts instead of hers, though. Wesley was struggling—his lover had been violated. Cordelia had changed her while trying to save her—and despite their light-hearted facades, it wasn’t simple or ok. Angel and Wil were feeling guilty because they couldn’t help but shoulder all the blame. After all, this was their mission—redemption—and the others were just along for the ride. That attitude pissed her off. It may have started with them, but it was bigger than that now.

So every so often Fred left the room and came to her perch. Most of the time she just counted cars—red ones, blue ones, all colors. It didn’t matter. The mindless procession of automobiles helped clear her mind. That or she was getting high off fumes. Either way, it calmed her down. Sometimes she wondered how Xander put up with it—if the atmosphere of their temporary quarters bothered her, how could the empathic demon stand it?

A not-so-distant clap of thunder drew Fred out of her musings. The sun was hiding behind some nasty-looking clouds, which had snuck up on her unawares. It was going to rain soon. She clambered off the roof and turned back toward the hotel. It was almost supper time anyway.

•••

“She’s not healing,” Cordelia said to Oz. “She won’t talk about it at all.”

“She’s rationalizing,” Oz replied quietly. “Doesn’t want it to seem like a personal attack. Wants it to be a statement.”

“Oh. I was thinking denial,” Cordelia murmured. Oz shook his head.

“Nah, she knows it happened. It’s just that she can’t handle it being an attack on *her*. It has to be something done against all of us.”

“Why?” Cordelia asked.

“Easier to deal with,” Oz said. “She can put it off for a while, I guess.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the other,” Cordelia returned. “Full moon’s in less than a week.”

“She’ll be fine. So will Gunn,” Oz reassured her. He and Cordelia had been working overtime to get the two new werewolves ready for the change. Although they had a great deal of confidence in their techniques, the other four members of the group were going to spend their evenings elsewhere—not even in the adjoining room. They didn’t want to present themselves as potential threats.

“I know,” Cordelia said. She wasn’t worried about Gunn—he would stick close to her no matter what, since they were lovers. Fred, though, she wasn’t so sure about. Oz promised that he could control her, but that was only so reassuring. For the ninetieth time, Cordelia wished desperately for a few sets of chains. She hated using them, but they were good for controlling rages. She’d sat through more than one night in the things, until she’d managed to master controlling the wolf. Now they had two new pack-mates, and only two older ones to deal with them—and neither she nor Oz were really that old to begin with.

Their conversation was interrupted by Fred’s return. “It’s going to rain,” She announced as she closed the door. “Where’s Wes?”

Cordelia nodded towards the other room. “Asleep in the darkroom.” He’d taken to napping there during the day. It might have frustrated the vampires, since they had no privacy then, but they never complained. Things were incredibly cramped for all of them.

“Food?” Fred inquired as she sat next to a sleeping Gunn on the bed not occupied by Cordelia and Oz.

“We’ll go out in a bit,” Cordelia announced. “There’s a place down the street. We just have to pick up a bit more blood on the way back.”

Fred nodded and lay back against the wall. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”

•••

Supper was…not a pleasant experience. Fred quickly tired of everyone staring at her like they expected her to suddenly go into convulsions. Xander was edgy, probably because of all the negative stuff going on around him, and Oz was only so much help—the quiet werewolf was also nervous and worried about his new charges.

The last straw for Fred was the twelfth time in twenty minutes that Wesley asked her if she felt ok. “I said I’m fine, Wes,” She ground out through clenched teeth.

Wesley recoiled from the bitterness in her voice. “Fred, I wo—“ He stopped talking when she stood up and walked away. “Where is she going?”

Xander watched Fred push her way through the crowded entranceway and exit the restaurant. “I think she needs some breathing room.”

“She’s been getting plenty of that,” Gunn replied. “She’s never around—spends all day somewhere else.”

“But we keep at her whenever she’s here,” Xander reminded them. “She just needs time and space.”

Wesley nodded sadly. He knew that she needed to figure things out on her own. The faun was worried, though, that she would end up more hurt before the end of her trials. She presented a strong front, but inside, he knew she hurt. When he asked her if she wanted him to stay way, she got angry. No, she’d said, you didn’t hurt me. Why would I send you away? So they stayed together, sleeping in the same bed. And she didn’t turn away from him when he held her, didn’t have nightmares or panic attacks. But still, he could sense that all was not well.

“It’s almost dark. Why don’t we swing by the butcher’s shop and feed the suckers?” Gunn said after several tensely silent moments.

“Probably a good idea. Might want to stop by the supermarket too,” Cordelia replied. “It’s on the way.”

Oz dropped Cordelia, Gunn and Xander off at the grocery while he and Wesley went for blood. “Does your hat like that?” He asked. Wesley had developed over the last few days the habit of mauling his caps whenever he didn’t have to wear them. This one was looking quite shoddy from the abuse.

Wesley looked down at the hat. “Not really, but it’s got no say in the matter.”

“She will be ok,” Oz said. “Eventually.”

“You speak from experience?” Wesley snapped.

Oz shrugged. “I ran in a pack for a while.”

“Ah.” Wesley understood. Not all werewolf packs were as friendly, open and human as theirs. Brutality, power struggles and a casual disregard for dignity were common features of the large, roaming packs of Europe and Asia. Oz had spent some time there…

“Cow, pig, sheep?” Oz asked. Wesley looked up suddenly. He hadn’t realized they’d arrived.

“I believe that cow and sheep were the preferred flavors, unless cost prohibits it,” Wesley replied. Oz walked into the butcher’s shop while Wesley sat in wait.

“Think they’re done?” Oz inquired when he returned, carrying a cardboard box.

“At the grocery? No,” Wesley said. “You let Xander go in.”

“Point.”

Much to their surprise, their friends were waiting at the entrance when they returned. “That didn’t take long,” Oz said to Xander as they loaded the groceries.

“We split up,” Xander said flatly. It hadn’t been a happy trip—somehow Gunn managed to piss off Cordelia before they got in the door. After that, he’d been unwilling to stay with either of them.

•••

“What are we going to do?”

Angel looked over at Wil. They were lying in bed, enjoying the relative quiet of the hotel room now that the others had gone out for food. “About what?”

Wil rolled his eyes. “Take your pick. Fred, Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley, Wolfram & Hart. At least Oz and Xander seem to be on an even keel. Well, as much as they’re ever that way.”

“Ah. Wait and see, reassure often, make sure he knows we don’t think less of him, be supportive, and annihilate,” Angel replied.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and just how do you plan to do that?”

“Oh, I thought that was your job,” Angel said sullenly. “Or do I have to do everything?”

Wil punched his lover gently. “You know what I mean. We decided before London that we couldn’t just take them on directly.”

“That was before they did this,” Angel reminded him. “That was when we thought doing so would risk our lives. What do we have to risk now? They already tried to kill us, and if they find us, they’ll try again.”

“So, are we just supposed to steal a warhead and blow up the building, or what?” Wil asked.

“No, that wouldn’t do any good,” Angel replied. “Actually, what might work best would be to play their game.”

“Explain,” Wil said, rolling over.

“Remove all their support, destroy their network, and expose their non-magickal frauds and tricks to the public. Take away their credibility, so that they can’t step foot in a courtroom. Then, it won’t matter that they represent all the powerful demonic forces in the world,” Angel stated.

“Ah. And how do you propose we do this deed?” Wil continued.

“That’s where you, and the others, come in.” Angel reached for Wil, who obliged by curling up next to the dark vampire. “This won’t be a short-term project. It could easily take years, a decade even. Most of that time would be spent hiding.”

Wil grimaced. “What about the visions?”

“If they keep coming, and they probably will, we’ll keep sending them to Buffy. Of course, they could always rather conveniently switch to mobile visions, so that we can keep traveling,” Angel added, glaring at the ceiling.

“Now wouldn’t that be handy,” Wil muttered. “But what would Buffy do, without visions?”

“What she’s doing now—slaying and running the office,” Angel said. “Actually, she’s good cover.”

“I suppose.” Wil got an evil glint in his eyes. “Do you think she… never mind.”

Angel glared down at Wil. “Do I think what?”

“Nothing.”

“Wil…” Angel warned.

Wil smirked. “I was just wondering if she ever thought about you and me…together.”

Angel groaned. “Gods, I hope not.”

“Why’s that?” Wil asked curiously. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting.

“Because if she does, then she’ll want you, and I’m not sharing,” Angel growled. “Besides, she’s got Lorne interested, and that’s a good thing. Did I just say that?”

“Mm hmm. You just said that Buffy and Lorne would be good together,” Wil said, mimicking Angel’s voice. “He might improve her wardrobe.”

“Or she might improve his,” Angel said. “He wears lame.”

“Gold lame,” Will corrected.

“Lots of shiny fabric,” Angel generalized.

“That really does set off his skin. Makes it glow,” Wil said dreamily.

“You’ve been looking that closely?” Angel growled.

“Maybe,” Wil murmured.

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s working.”

“Good.”

“And what do you hope to gain from making me jealous?” Angel asked.

Wil pushed himself up and moved on top of Angel. “I happen to like it when you get possessive.”

Angel cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

The wide grin that split Wil’s face was positively frightening. “Yes.”

“Ok.”

Wil’s reply was muffled by Angel’s mouth, although the dark vampire was fairly sure it was something vaguely affirmative.

•••

When Oz parked in front of the hotel, he and the others found Fred waiting for them. She was sitting on the sidewalk, leaned against the wall. “You ok?” Oz asked as they piled out of the car.

Fred glanced at Wesley. “Yeah. Sorry for running out. I…”

“It’s fine,” Wesley said. “We bought groceries.”

Fred stood up to help the others carry the groceries inside. “We’d better use the doghouse,” She said, referring to the werewolves’ room.

“Angel and Wil are at it again?” Xander grumbled.

“Not right now, but earlier. They’re talking. I think it’s private,” Fred replied.

“Ah,” Wesley murmured. “Then we shall indeed use the other room.

Fred busied herself storing blood in the tiny refrigerator the hotel provided. Once that was finished she helped Xander fill a cooler with ice and perishables. “Um, Xander?”

“Yeah?” Xander replied from the mountain of bags he was searching through.

“Why do we have…sousemeat?”

Xander stuck his head up. A bag was caught on one ear. “It looked good.”

Fred peered at the stuff. It looked gross, not good. She turned it over to read the label. “Xander?”

“What?” He asked brusquely. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

“It has to be cooked.”

“We’ve got a hotplate,” He reminded her.

“Its first ingredient is pig snouts. Followed by pig skin. And then—“

Gunn reached down and grabbed the package. “This is not food,” He said, pitching it into the garbage can. “Harris, I can’t believe you would buy something without reading the label, or at least asking one of us. I know this because you would never, ever purchase something made of snouts and skins, would you?”

Xander looked up guiltily. “Um… no?”

“Good answer,” Gunn stated, nodding his head.

“It truly is appalling, what Americans will eat,” Wesley muttered.

“From the guy who fed me kidneys,” Xander shot back.

“And you’re so into haute-cuisine, Ho-ho boy,” Cordelia added.

“Miss Jolly Rancher,” Xander said snidely.

“Mr. Beer and cheetohs make a great meal!” The seer snarled.

“Children,” Wil said from the doorway. “Do I need to send you to your quiet corners?”

“Drinks blood with chocolate,” Xander muttered.

“Eeewww,” Cordelia, Gunn, and Wesley chorused.

“What? It’s good,” Wil defended. “’Sides, you all didn’t complain the last time I made mousse.” With that, he retreated into the other room and locked the connecting door.

“He wouldn’t,” Cordelia croaked.

Xander stared at the door. “Wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah, he would,” Fred stated. “But he didn’t.”

“How do you know?” Gunn asked.

“Because I was there. He put blood in the spaghetti sauce, not the mousse,” She replied.

Xander just banged his head on the floor. “That is so disgusting.”

Fred grinned. Of course, she could tell them that he’d only put blood in his and Angel’s food, but that would ruin all the fun.