“Well, if the lights are out for good, I have a flat screen TV and a Laker's game waiting on me,” Gunn announced, glad he could get a word in around Lorne's complaining. Lorne's eyes never wavered from Angel's surprisingly serene face...especially considering moments ago, he's been supposedly reaming out an underling.

“Sounds great,” Angel said enthusiastically. “We've been working pretty hard around here, getting used to the whole corporate thing. You two enjoy the rest of the day.” He made a dismissive shooing motion, which Gunn was more than happy to obey. Lorne was still trying to sort through what he'd 'seen' when Angel had been humming. His brain was racing, trying to come us with and excuse, anything, that would explain what he saw. But the conclusions he kept drawing made his blood run colder.

***

Fred nearly had a heart attack when Lorne burst into her still-darkened lab.

“Lorne! You startled me, I—“

“Lambkins, have you noticed anything odd going on with Angel lately?” Fred, still trying to convince her racing heart to calm itself, took a moment to calm herself. What were the odds of Lorne asking questions about Angel's behavior and her increasing suspicions about their boss' motives concerning Spike?

“I...I think he *really* doesn't like Spike, and so he's acting a little...um...”

“Petulant?” Lorne asked with a small smirk. Fred felt her face flush a little.

“Why do you ask?” Lorne glanced around the sparsely lit laboratory; what he'd read off Angel had him spooked.

“Angel doesn't just dislike Spike,” Lorne said softly, his gaze following Fred's to where Spike remained motionless on the floor. His eyes widened as he put the pieces together, the wreck of Fred's lab, the scorch marks, and the black out. “Angel loathes Spike.” The weight of Lorne's words wasn't lost on either of them.

“Enough to want him dead or seriously injured?” Fred asked softly, her gaze searching the slumbering vampire for signs of life. Lorne's silence spoke volumes.

“What can we do?” Fred asked, hovering over a still-unconscious Spike. “He can't leave, and if that gray thing comes back while he's like this...my experiment was our only hope!”

“Do the phones work?” Fred picked up one of the phones off a nearby desk, the dial tone loud in the silent lab. “I think Spike needs a slayer.”

***

“What EXACTLY do they suspect?” Angel growled into the phone, ignoring the pain in his hand as his desk splintered under his grip. Dissension in the ranks was unacceptable; he couldn't afford Lorne and Fred teaming up against him. He just had too many plans in motion for them to get in the way and cause him trouble. And he wasn't read for Buffy—yet.

***

“We don't know her number,” Fred pointed out.

“But I bet the Watcher's Council does,” Lorne pointed out.

“Um...we don't know their number either, and I highly doubt they're in the Yellowpages under Watcher's Council, The.”

“We could call Wesley first, he'd have to know their number.”

“That won't be necessary.” Fred gasped and spun around, the phone clutched tightly against her chest. Angel was leaning against the door jamb, looking devilishly nonchalant. Angel NEVER looked devilish or nonchalant...but Fred had heard plenty of stories about Angelus.

“Not Angelus,” Lorne whispered to her, his red eyes locked on the dangerous vampire in front of them.

“No,” Angel said mockingly, allowing a truly feral grin to twist his features. “Consider me...a liberated Angel.” Fred took an involuntary step back, flinching when his chilling, humorless laugh cut through her.

“You sabotaged my experiment,” she accused, her voice cracking a bit. Angel rolled his eyes.

“Always the quick one, aren't you Winifred?” Lorne's hand on her elbow helped anchor her in the face of Angel's scary Mr. Hyde transformation. She straightened up and fixed Angel with what she hoped was a strong, challenging look, though she could feel her legs trembling. “Ah, isn't it cute, the prey banding together for their last gasp.” Fred's uncontrollable whimper was music to Angel's ears, his demon raging within him for MORE. The fear tasted delicious, Fred's cutting and thick, Lorne's tempered by his demonic nature but still there. His own demon was clamoring for a good hunt and kill.

“Y-you-you can't do this,” Fred exclaimed, her panic starting to overwhelm her.

“B-but-but I can!” Angel mocked, a thrill racing down his spine. He began stalking his prey, maneuvering them into a corner where they had no where to run. Maybe he'd let Lorne go for a little while, toy with the annoying empath after he'd robbed Fred of her disgusting innocence. Her death would be sweet. “Who's going to stop me? You? Lorne? How about Spike...oh, wait, not only is he still unconscious, he's not solid. Looks like you failed Freddy. So who's going to come and save you from the big, bad vampire?” Angel took a deep, deliberate breath of air, his demon springing forth at the stench of human fear. It had been far too long since he'd smelled such delicious aromas...and far too long since he'd been the cause of it.

***

Spike came grudgingly back to awareness. It's not like he had a choice; someone was making an unbearable amount of racket that was interfering with his blessed unconsciousness. He pried one eye open, grateful for once that there didn't appear to be any glaring bright lights blinding him. Spike carefully pushed himself into a standing position, everything feeling weirdly off. It took Spike a minute to realize that the racket was sound of Angel getting thrown bodily around the lab, and that he had knocked over a set of beakers.