Angel looked up, trying to focus on the figure standing above him.  "Whistler."  It was a nice change from Angelus, though Whistler was likely to be just as talkative.

"Well, now, don't you have any words of welcome for your old teacher?"

Weariness made Angel want to weep.  "I know why you're here.  Just get it over with."

"You think this is a dream?"  Whistler opened his jacket.  "No amulet.  See?  You've still got it."  Whistler pointed to where it lay on the floor.

Whistler's words slowly penetrated the fog in Angel's brain.  He wasn't dreaming.  Whistler was really here.  Which meant that . . .

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, somebody had to drag you out of the gutter again and I got the short straw."

Whistler stooped and picked up the amulet.  His orange shirt was so bright it hurt Angel's eyes.  He flicked the amulet with a fingernail – it made a sound like jade.

"It don't take much to beat you, does it?  And after you did me so proud that day you sacrificed your humanity – in front of the Oracles, no less.  Now, look at you.  At least you don't stink yet."

Angel ignored Whistler's trademark insults.  "Tell me the truth.  Is this meant to be some kind of penance?"

"Penance?  Have you been going to church when I wasn't looking?  Who's been filling your head with that kind of nonsense?"

"Then . . . it wasn't sent by the Powers?"

"Nope.  Just a couple of dirty rotten lawyers."

"But the Oracles said – they said I was meant to have it."

"And so you were.  But maybe that means you were meant to destroy it, ever think of that?  And maybe meant to learn something," he added as an afterthought.

Angel's breath went out of him like a deflating tire.  So.  Wesley and Cordelia had been right all along.  It had all been an illusion, a trick, something toying ruthlessly with the deepest yearnings of his soul.  He felt utterly torn between rage, relief, and renewed despair.

"I'd like to think I taught you better than that," Whistler was saying.  "Those gypsies, they cursed you, right?  Gave you back your soul.  But all they wanted was for you to suffer.  They thought that would make things right.  But it didn't.  Vengeance never does."

"Doyle said a thousand deaths might help even the score."

"And he'd be spinning in his grave – if he was in one – to hear you talk like that."  Whistler paused, as if hunting for a new tack.  "You suffered a hundred years of torture in the realm of Acathla.  Did it ease your conscience any?"

"No."  The realization shook him.  "Are you saying I can't . . . ever be forgiven?"

"So, what, you think that if you could die as many times as you killed, or save a life for every one you took, you'd be even with the universe?  Is that what you've been playing at, here?  This ain't about atoning, pal.  You can put that right out of your mind.  You help people, you save people, you do it because each life is worth saving."  Whistler's voice gentled with a rare note of compassion.  "Redemption is in what you become."

Angel nodded.  It all made sense.  How had he let himself be so monstrously deceived?  He looked at the amulet, angered beyond words.  "Then how do I . . ."

". . . make it stop?  You haven't figured it out?  Of course not, you've been too busy flogging yourself.  Meanwhile, your friends are about to become sea dragon snack food."

Angel jumped.  "What?"  Wesley said he had a plan.  But it didn't come as huge surprise that there was some kind of flaw in it.  He started to push himself to his feet and nearly blacked out.  It was hell to be so utterly exhausted and still be able to able to panic.

He looked up at Whistler.  "Help me!" he demanded.

"All right, calm down.  Here, have some dinner."  Whistler slipped around the corner, opened the fridge, and tossed him a bag of blood.  He drained it obediently and felt a little stronger.  He got to his feet carefully, clinging to the amulet.  He held it out, sick with the memory of the false hope it had stirred in him.

"What about this?  I can't help them if I'm still dying in my dreams."

"You tell me."

Angel nearly strangled the smaller demon from sheer frustration.  "I don't know.  Wesley said he's looked everywhere – and I believe him on that.  There's nothing to tell me how to beat it."

"That's because no demon ever has.  But none of them had what you've got – a human soul."

"How does that help me?"

"Think about it.  Angelus is the one who keeps coming back.  Why?  He's the most powerful enemy you have.  The one that knows you from the inside.  But also the one you fight every day.  Most days, you win."

"But in the dreams, he's real.  I can't fight him.  He wins every time."

"OK, look, I'm gonna cut you some slack, seeing as how you haven't had an hour's sleep in almost a week.  But, boy, you try my patience, you really do."

Whistler took the amulet from him and laid it carefully on the floor.  "Of course he wins.  Because you know he will.  He has you licked before it even starts.  But that's gonna change right now, because you've got work to do.  Close your eyes."

Angel closed his eyes.  Sleep took him in an instant.

"Solvo, divello, expedio," Wesley intoned.

At first, nothing happened.  The surface of the ocean remained as calm as before, but there was a strange of tightness to the air.

Then slowly, silently, the sea dragon rose from the water.  For a moment it reminded Wesley horribly of when the mayor of Sunnydale turned into a demon, but this one had three heads.  Fortunately, all three pairs of moon-sized luminescent eyes were looking past them to the ship moored in the middle of the harbor.  Wesley nudged Cordelia, who was frozen, staring at the monstrosity right in front of them, and picked up an oar.

"I think that's done it," he whispered.  "Let's get out of here."

Cordelia hurriedly took up an oar.  They paddled furiously, realizing that somehow they had ended up right in the sea dragon's path.  They both jumped as an unearthly roar split the air above their heads.  Wesley looked up and saw three enormous bursts of flame against the dark sky.  Suddenly one of the heads swooped down and splashed into the water, narrowly missing their boat.

"Not us, you idiotic sea dragon!  We're the ones who set you free!" Wesley shouted, paddling with all his might.

"Told you it didn't take the cooperation seminar," Cordelia gasped.

Suddenly Wesley grabbed her.  "Jump!" he cried.  They hit the water moments before their boat was smashed to pieces by the sea dragon's middle  head.  As the huge beast dove it tore Cordelia from Wesley's grip and sent him tumbling head over heels through the water.  Darkness swirled before his eyes, but he held his breath and strove for the surface.  Finally he drew in a breath of wonderful air, then struggled to keep his head above the enormous swells caused by the movement of the sea dragon.

"Cordelia?" he called out, looking around frantically.

"Wesley!" she answered.  He saw her clinging to the broken hull of the boat and made his way toward her.  He stretched an arm over the keel and tried to find a stable grip as the water sucked warmth from his body.  He sneezed violently.

"Well, I guess we freed it all right," Cordelia said.  They both clung to the hull fragment and stared in silence as the undulating body of the sea dragon moved past the lights of the ship.  Wesley felt a certain measure of satisfaction as terrified cries arose from the decks.

"Time to pay the piper," he muttered as the ship caught fire.  Unfortunately, the tide seemed to be carrying them closer to it.  Wesley turned and started kicking away from the ship.  Cordelia joined him.

Shots rang out behind them, but Wesley didn't guess bullets could do the creature serious harm.  Then there was a splash, followed by a cry that was horribly cut off.  Wesley looked over his shoulder just in time to see one set of sea dragon jaws closing around a lawyer who had fallen or jumped overboard.  He redoubled his efforts, but his legs were nearing exhaustion.  Cordelia moaned beside him.  "I can't keep this up much longer," she said.

There was not much need.  The tide was carrying them inexorably back toward the ship.  They managed to direct their approach away from the sea dragon, but soon they were bumping up against the hull.

Casting nervous glances upward, they pushed away from the ship and tried to work their way around it.  If they could just get to the other side, hopefully the tide would carry them to shore.  But their hopes were dashed when a dark figure descended a ladder just ahead of them, and they found themselves on the wrong end of a revolver.

Angelus was rooting around in Angel's fridge.  He helped himself to some blood, then grimaced and spat it on the ground. "Uck. Cold?  How do you drink this stuff?  Even warm rats would be better than this."  He tossed the bag into the trash and looked up with a smile.

"You know, I've got to admit – I haven't had this much fun since Buffy was around.  Who'd have thought I'd enjoy torturing myself so much?  I probably need psychiatric help."  He sauntered through the kitchen doors.  "Then again, if this is your dream, maybe it's you who needs help."

"So, how shall we do it this time?  Sunlight is getting a bit dull, wouldn't you say?  And stakes are so blase."  He opened the weapons cabinet and took out the wickedest looking axe of the lot.  "How about a good beheading?"

Angel snatched the weapon from Angelus' hands.  "That's mine."  He looked his soulless self in the eye.  "I'm through listening to you."

"Oh, you want to fight now?"  Angelus' face lit with delight.  His eyes swept contemptuously over Angel's stance.  "You couldn't go three rounds with a housefly."

A hard jab to the stomach knocked Angel back against the wall.  He nearly dropped the axe.   The next three blows landed on alternating sides of his jaw.  Angelus didn't even bother to knock the axe from his hands.  "Who needs a punching bag with you around?"

Angel launched himself from the wall just in time to avoid the next blow and swung the axe toward Angelus' neck.  The vampire blocked it easily and rammed a fist into Angel's face.  He staggered, feeling blood dripping from his nose, then doubled over as Angelus' heel plowed into his stomach, then his groin.  He fell to his knees.

Angelus danced gleefully around him.  "Having it out with your evil side – how wonderfully poetic.  Too bad your evil side is winning."

Angel got one foot under him and rolled over the axe handle just as he heard Angelus shift to drop him.  He turned and swung, slicing into Angelus' shoulder.   The vampire cried out, clamping a hand over the wound.  Then his face changed, and he pulled his hand away and licked the blood from his fingers.

"Well, still got a little fight left in you?  I'll stop pulling punches then."  A kick to the head sent Angel spinning to the ground.  He managed to push himself back up again, but he had lost the axe.  Angelus hooked a toe under it and kicked it up to his hands.  Two quick swings, and Angel had matching gashes in his thigh and chest.  He felt himself falling again.

Angelus brought the axe blade up under Angel's throat as he knelt on hands and knees, bloody and shaking.  "Not much fight left after all.  Who knew having a soul could make you such a weakling?"

Rage boiled up inside Angel at the memory of that voice in his own mouth, and all the cruel things it had said that he could never take back, and never forget.  Taunting his victims before they died.  Laughing at their fear, their pain, their helplessness.  Just as it laughed at him now.

As Angelus started to pull the axe back for the death blow, Angel shoved himself up from the floor and grabbed it with both hands.  He broke the handle in two against his uninjured thigh and jammed the end into Angelus' chest.

He felt it pierce the vampire's heart and let go, waiting for his alter ego to turn to dust – but nothing happened.  Angelus laughed.  "You can't get rid of me that easily.  This isn't real, remember?  You can't kill me.  I'm part of you.  You're the one who gets to die.  And by my count, we've still got a long ways to go."

Angel sagged with despair.  He stared at the stake buried in Angelus' heart, unbelieving.  Whistler was wrong.  He wasn't meant to win.

As if of their own volition, his eyes shifted to the amulet hanging across Angelus' chest.  It glowed brightly, painfully, shining with a siren song of redemption.  He reached up and took hold of it, yanking down to break the chain.  It burned his hand as if it were a cross, but he held onto it long enough to lay it carefully on the floor in the same spot where Whistler had.  He picked up the shortened axe.

Angelus smirked.  "This should be fun to watch.  You think it hurt before when you tried to smash it?"

Angel ignored him, lifting the axe to his shoulder.

Angelus' glib humor faltered.  "You destroy that, you destroy you destroy your own redemption."

"There's no redemption here."  Angel swung the axe with all of his remaining strength.

The amulet exploded into unbearable green light.  It blazed through him like a river of lightning, a thousand deaths all at once.  He screamed, but the sound was lost in a torrent of pain, rage, and self-hatred so fierce it shook him to dust.  Fleetingly he wondered if in destroying the amulet, he had destroyed himself as well.  The light faded, and blackness claimed him.

Cold water splashed over his face and neck.

"Come on, come on, we're running out of time!"

Angel's eyes blinked open.  Whistler was kneeling over him.  His head felt like a block of cement and his body ached everywhere, but he responded to Whistler's urgency and pushed himself up stiffly from the floor.  Whistler helped him to his feet, but his legs wouldn't hold him.  He stared at the floor under his hands in confusion.

Whistler took his arm and hauled him up again with a shoulder under his armpit.  "Come on, you slug, get your feet under you."  Angel braced himself against the wall and managed to stay upright.

His eyes fell on the charred hole in the floor beside him.  The amulet was gone.  "I did it.  It's over."  Relief nearly buckled his knees again.

"Yeah, you did it, and about bloody time.  But it's not over." Whistler propelled him toward the door.  "There's still a few hours before it gets light.  You may be able to save them."  He propped Angel in the driver's seat and started the car.  "Go.  And don't mind the speed limits."

The stiff breeze whistling past his face revived him a bit.  The horror of a thousand deaths was beginning to fade.  How had he let Wesley and Cordelia go out to face the sea dragon alone?  He floored the accelerator, speeding through the empty streets.

Arriving at the harbor, he spotted Wesley's Buick at the water's edge and screeched to a halt.  He stumbled out of the car and stood peering into the darkness.  Out in the middle of the harbor a ship had caught fire.  He could just make out the massive shape of the three headed sea dragon rearing up out of the water beside it, silhouetted against the flames.  It looked as if Wesley and Cordelia had been successful in freeing it.  But where were they?

He scanned the water for a boat, but couldn't see anything.  Impatiently he tore the padlock from a speedboat moored at the pier and started the engine.  Skimming over the waves at top speed, he made a wide path around the burning ship and the sea dragon, but all he could see was some scattered wreckage that might have come from a small row boat.  One of the sea dragon's heads dove into the water, and he realized that it was picking off anyone trying to escape from the ship.  Cold fear knotted his stomach.  If Wes and Cordy were still alive, they must be trapped somewhere on that ship.

He approached the burning ship opposite the sea dragon.  The frantic people running along the decks didn't look down as he pulled up to the side and grabbed the bottom rung of a ladder.  But when he reached the top he hung back, unable to face the blistering heat and thick smoke billowing from the flames.  He had burned to death quite a few times in the last few days, but this was not a dream.  If the flames consumed him now, he would not wake up.

Frantic pounding coming from inside the hull brought him back to himself.  He leapt up onto the deck put his ear to the boards – he fancied he heard voices that could be Wesley and Cordelia's, calling for help.  The unnatural pitch of the ship suggested that it wouldn't last long.  He tried breaking the boards with his hands and feet, but they were too strong.  He tore a metal railing free and began to use it as a crowbar.

He had nearly broken through when he heard footsteps behind him and turned.  Lindsey stood staring at him, reeking of smoke and sweat.  "You?!"

Lindsey's surprise kindled a cold certainty in Angel's heart.  "You sent it."

"Of course we did," Lindsey replied.  "But it obviously didn't do its job, or you wouldn't be here.  I'm guessing we have you to thank for all of this."  A jerk of his head indicated the fire, the attacking sea dragon.

Angel didn't bother to correct him.  In an instant it all came flooding back – the pain, the exhaustion, the despair.  Anger tinged with shame flared up in response.  Something of it must have shown in his eyes, because Lindsey took a step backward, staring at him.

"Must have been some serious nightmares, though – you look like you've been through hell."

"No," Angel replied.  "Hell was a lot worse."

There was no time for this.  The amulet was gone, and nothing he did or said now would erase what had happened.  He seized Lindsay by the shoulders and flung him as hard as he could out into the water and threw a life preserver after him.  As soon as he heard the splash he went back to prying up the deck.  When he had a large enough hole, he poked his head through.

"Wesley!  Cordelia!" he called out.

Wesley's voice came out of the darkness.  "Down here!"

It was getting uncomfortably hot, and the ship groaned and rocked perilously to starboard.  Angel braced himself and reached into the hole as far as he could.  "Come on! Grab my hand!"

A flailing hand caught his and he grasped it tightly and pulled.  In a moment Cordelia knelt beside him on the deck.  "Angel!  What are you doing here?" she gasped.

"A little birdie told me you needed rescuing," he said, reaching into the hole again.  Wesley barely fit through the opening, but with a little anxious tugging they managed to pull him free.  "Are you OK?"  Cordelia asked him as Wesley crawled onto the deck.  "What about –"

"I destroyed it," he said distractedly, acutely conscious of how quickly the flames were approaching.  "Come on."  He led the way back down the ladder.

"How?" Wesley asked as they piled into the speedboat.

An explosion on board the ship cut off Angel's reply.  "Later," he said, revving the engine and pulling away from the ship.

Sirens were sounding throughout the harbor, but they were far too late.  As the three of them watched, the flames were extinguished as the ship sank ponderously from sight.  Angel thought he could just make out the shape of the sea dragon gliding sinuously out toward the deep water beyond the harbor.

The shore was strewn with flashing lights.  Fortunately they had parked near the end of the harbor.  But when they pulled up to the pier to return the boat, Kate was waiting for them.

"Do you know how many things I could charge you with?" she asked angrily.  "What in hell do you think you're doing?"

He ignored her accusations.  "It's over, Kate.  No one else dies."

She looked at him sharply.  "Except the ones on board that ship, you mean."

He glanced at the officers nearby and lowered his voice.  "It was a sea dragon.  They were trying to steal its gold.  We set it free.   It won't be back."

She blinked, as if yet another fairy tale had come to life before her eyes.  But apparently she had seen enough on the trip beyond the lighthouse to believe him.  "And you thought that turning a dangerous creature loose in the harbor would be a good solution?"

"It was the only one we could find."  Angel stared at her, defying her to argue with him.  She stared back petulantly, reluctantly taking in his appearance and the way Wesley and Cordelia were hovering protectively on either side of him, probably glaring at her.

He turned to go.  "There won't be anyone alive down there.  Don't let the search teams go down until daylight."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it.  Finally she turned and stalked away.

When Angel opened the front door to the office, he knew without looking that Whistler would not be there.  Well, it wasn't as if he needed a pat on the back.  It was enough that the Powers had sent someone whose answers he could understand and trust before it was too late.

Wesley and Cordelia came in behind him and stood uncertainly near the door, eyeing his pensive expression.  "We should probably be going," Wesley ventured.

"I suppose you'd like to be alone now," Cordelia chimed in.

Angel looked from one to the other.   They looked tired and rather bedraggled by their adventure with the sea dragon.  He should probably send them home.  But he couldn't – not yet.  And they didn't look as if they really wanted to go.

"No, that's OK," he said finally.  "I've been alone in the dark with myself about all I can stand for a while."

"Well, I guess the sea dragon got its gold back," Cordelia observed in the silence that followed.

"And one more shipwreck to add to its collection," Wesley added.  "I suppose it's too much to hope that some of the senior Wolfram and Hart people went down with it."

"I'm just happy you two didn't end up at the bottom of the harbor," Angel said.  "But it's a good thing you acted when you did.  I may have to give you both a raise – after I finish lecturing you about taking on dangerous demons and evil law firms at the same time."

They smiled at each other, annoyingly unrepentant.

"Are you going to tell us how you destroyed the amulet?" Wesley asked.

Angel wasn't sure he could explain what had happened, even to them.  "I had a little help," he said finally.  "From an old friend."

Cordelia's forehead wrinkled.  "You mean . . . Buffy?"

"No.  His name is Whistler.  He was sent by the Powers That Be."

"Then . . . they didn't send the amulet?" Wesley asked quietly.

"No."  Angel tried to find words to elaborate, but they didn't come.  Instead he turned and reached into a little hidden space behind the filing cabinets and pulled out a bottle of wine.  "How about a little victory celebration?" he asked.  "Doyle must have stashed it here," he added at Cordelia's look.  "I found it about a week after he died."

They could only find two wine glasses, so Wesley volunteered to use a coffee mug.  Angel poured, then held up his glass.  "To Doyle."

"We haven't forgotten you," Cordelia called out, as if he were hidden in the walls somewhere, listening.  Angel reminded himself that she lived with a ghost.

"I wish I'd known him," Wesley added more sedately.

They clinked glasses and mug and drank silently.

Wesley held Angel's eyes for a long moment.  "To redemption," he said.

Angel looked away at the added reminder of a wound still raw.  But Wesley was right.  He couldn't let the amulet destroy his essential hope.  "To redemption," he agreed quietly, and they drank again.  "Cordelia?" he prompted.

She pursed her lips.  "To the sea dragon."  They both stared at her.  "Well, it did eat a bunch of lawyers," she replied.

"To the discomfiture of Wolfram and Hart, may all their plots be foiled," Wesley offered.  On that, they drained their glasses.

"From a purely historical standpoint, it's rather too bad that you had to destroy the amulet," Wesley said, setting down the mug.

"Yeah, we could have sent it back to Wolfram and Hart with a little note – ‘Sorry boys, but you'll have to do better than that'," Cordelia said.

Angel blinked at her in horror, afraid to imagine what better than that might be.  "Just kidding," she said apologetically.

"Still," Wesley continued, "it might have come in handy if we were to run into a particularly nasty demon."

"I'm not sure I'd wish a thousand deaths on even the most evil demons," Angel replied.

"Well, after all, you used to be one of them," Cordelia said.  "Still, I think a few nightmare deaths might have been good for the mayor of Sunnydale."

"Yes," Wesley replied, warming to the subject. "And it would have made a great Christmas gift for an Ethros demon."

Angel rolled his eyes and let them go on.  The wine was making him dizzy.  He sat down on the couch.

"Too bad it doesn't work on humans," Cordelia was saying.  "We could have given it to Dr. Removable-Parts."

"Who?"

"Oh yeah, that was before your time."

"I see.  But how about that disgusting little empathy demon?"

"Barney?  Yeah, I wouldn't have minded seeing him sobbing on the floor, begging me to let him kill himself."

"It might have worked well on the Hacksaw beast – though perhaps not quickly enough."

"Which one was that?"

"The one that wanted you to have its demon babies."

"Oh, right.  No, I think turning him into a giant popsicle was better all around."

Silence.

"Angel?"

He didn't realize that he had begun to nod off until he felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder.  Sleep was sucking him down like a giant black hole, and he couldn't remember wanting anything so badly in a long, long time.  Couldn't they just throw a blanket over him and tiptoe on home?

"Angel, come on.  You don't want to sleep here."

With a monumental effort he forced his eyes open and found himself looking into the earnest faces of two mother hens who clearly had their hearts set on tucking him in.  Wesley was right – the couch was not very comfortable.  And he realized it was the least he could do.

He reached up, and Wesley pulled him to his feet.  He allowed himself to be led sleepily to the lift, then waited in the bedroom while Cordelia straightened and turned down the bed clothes and fluffed up the pillow.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked from one to the other.  "I don't know what I ever did to deserve two friends like you."

Cordelia smiled happily.

"Sleep well," Wesley admonished gruffly.

He shucked off his shoes and socks and shirt and slid between the welcoming sheets, his head sinking blissfully into the pillow.  Cordelia turned off the light and they drifted toward the door, watching quietly.  Under their contented gaze, Angel fell asleep.