Hi! Yeah, I know I stole the name, but I happen to like it. Besides, this is basically an AU version of TPTB's After the Fall (though I personally don't believe that the comics are canon). So yeah, anyways, enjoy! And remember to review. I'm very fond of reviews. Very very fond.


Illyria stirred, and opened her eyes. Light shined feebly through cracks in the boarded up windows of the abandoned warehouse they were staying in. To the right of her Spike muttered and twitched in his sleep. As she pulled herself to her feet, he woke.

"Lovely day, eh, pet?" the vampire muttered as he stood up.

Illyria frowned. The air was cold and damp, and grayish, threatening clouds masked the sun's light. All in all, it did not appear to be what humans considered "good weather".

"I don't understand."

"Sarcasm, pet. Remember what I said about sarcasm?"

She tilted back her head, considering. "You said that it is when you mean the opposite of what say. You said that I should use it as often as possible, in order to annoy 'Captain Forehead'." She straightened her head once again. "I assume that is one of your colloquialisms for Angel?"

Spike smirked. "I'll give you this Blue, you learn fast when you want to. Why, I'm sure we might be able to pass you off as an acceptable human by this point." Seeing her enraged expression, he backpedaled, "Well, maybe not. In fact, you seem very demony to me. Very demony."

This seemed to please Illyria, and the conversation was halted as the two started to pack up their gear. They had been staying at the warehouse for a week, and Angel had decided that it was time to move on. Spike and Illyria had agreed; they had barely escaped the fight in the alley, and ever since then they had known that the senior partners were still looking for them. So they made an effort to stay only a couple days in one place; kill some demons, help out the locals, and then move on. It was safest that way.

They carried minimal supplies with them save weapons and some money for blood. And pictures of the life they'd left behind. The inside pocket of Angel's leather duster contained a scrappy print of him and two others grinning for the camera. On his left was a handsome yet somewhat dorkish looking man in glasses, and on his right a beautiful young woman with mocha skin and laughing deep brown eyes. The sides of the photograph were worn from much handling. Spike himself still had a photo of Gunn, Wes, Lorne, and Fred jammed into his pocket, and a somewhat more wrinkled one of Buffy. And even Illyria, who claimed to care less for mortals than a man does for a stomped on bug; even she possessed one picture of a loved one left behind. Wesley Wyndam-Price was captured looking pensively down at a book. She was pretty sure Lorne had taken the picture, in the last few months of his life, the idea of even holding a camera had been repulsive to her. But she was glad for the picture all the same. The queer attachment she had developed for the mortal had persisted beyond his death, and oft it would ease her grief to look upon his picture, though she was loath to admit it.

The days at Wolfram and Hart were but a memory to them now. At times Illyria could no longer remember Lorne's or Gunn's faces, try as she might. But the sight of Gunn's mutilated body would be stuck all of their heads forever. Logically Illyria knew that there had been no chance of him surviving that night, but for some reason it had still upset and bothered her. More mortal feelings, she supposed, slightly disgusted, but not as resistant to the idea as she had been when she was first reborn.

She and Spike finished their packing, the silence only broken by the occasional harsh caw of a crow or the splashing sound of a car running through a puddle. They had been on the run for almost two months now, and had established something of a routine.

If the two of them had been humans, they wouldn't 've heard Angel's near silent approach. Things being as they were however, they both turned swiftly at the sound of his footsteps.

He nodded slightly at them and the few bags they had. "Good. We should be leaving this afternoon. Take one last romp around the neighborhood if you like, but be back by sundown. We should be able to cover a lot of ground tonight. Hopefully."

"Sure thing Peaches," Spike replied in his usual cocky way. "Me and the Blue Meanie were going to head on down to that bar, what's its name, again, Blue?"

"D'Oblique"

Angel looked stricken for a moment. "What'd you say?"

"D'Oblique" Illyria narrowed her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Angel sighed, still looking a bit wary. "Just knew a place up in LA called that once. Probably have nothing to do with each other." He glanced at his companions. "What's keeping you two?"

"Well," said Spike, shifting his feet, and looking, oddly, rather nervous. "Well… er… well Blue was thinking-"

"You should come with us," Illyria interrupted, quickly tiring of Spike's stuttering. "Spike says that we are a 'team'. The human definition for this term requires camaraderie, and Spike believes that we are 'growing distang'."

"Hey! Now wait a second, Blue, I never said that!" said Spike, looking panicked. "What she means, Angel, is we, meaning both of us, think that you should get out, y'know, smell the roses or maybe hang and have a drinking contest with me and Blue. Now, Blue with some vodka in her, that's what I call scary!"

Angel was going to refuse, until he took a look at both Spike and Illyria. Both were worried, though they tried hard to hide it. *Can't hurt too much* the vampire decided. *Besides, unfortunately, they're all I have left.* He pretended to mull it over for a second, and then nodded his head yes.

"But there'll be no drinking today, you two. I need you both sharp so we can move fast this evening, okay?"

"Aw, Peaches, spoil the fun," complained Spike, though he didn't look all too upset. "Well c'mon, pet, Captain Forehead, we best be going then."

"Don't call me Captain Forehead."

"Course not Peaches. Wouldn't dream of it."

"Spike!"

The three unlikely companions headed down to the sewers towards D'Oblique.