Title: You Forgot To Mention Hell, Horatio
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Nope. Not this time.
Category: Crossover with Highlander
Disclaimer: All other characters belong to their respective owners and are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
This is what happens when you get involved with too many different fandoms.
Universe setting: For you Highlander fans, this story takes place sometime after ‘Archangel’ (sorry to all those Richie Forever people). Please forgive me for playing with the timelines of the shows, but hey, it’s fan-fic and I can do that ;-)
Thanks: As always, to Carrie, and to Marius, the oak and the ash to my birds in the forest.

Back in the outer tunnel, Cordelia found her initial advantage slowly diminishing as the minutes ticked away. What had begun as a slow trickle of vampires from the main chamber quickly turned into a flood of panicked -- and deadly -- refugees.

Unlike the fire, which had come up from under their very feet, the spray of holy water came at them head on, leaving the vampires in the front of the mob to suffer the full effect of its power. Thus, the undead that followed behind were unwittingly shielded from the deadly liquid by their less-fortunate brethren.

Most of those that made it past the Slayerette’s last planned line of defense just kept on running. They were all too happy to have escaped from the diabolical with their unlives. All but one, that is.

He was, in fact, huge. Although Cordelia was above average in height, she was dwarfed by the six-foot-four, build-like-a-refrigerator vampire that hauled ass past her. Because of his size, however, the massive vampire did not escape the holy water spray unscathed.

The vampire pivoted suddenly, snarling in pain as the holy water ate through his skin like acid. The agony his was in was all-consuming. Pulling back a meaty, weightlifter-sized arm, the undead creature struck out blindly at the cause of his torment.

The wild blow struck Cordelia squarely in the back. It hit the cheerleader with the same impact of a hard-swung baseball bat. Unprepared for the assault, the brunette was physically launched into the air by the force of it.

A sickening crack echoed through the cavern as the brunette’s airborne flight was abruptly ended by one of the tunnel walls. Somehow, that horrific crunch of broken bones managed to rise above even the caterwauling of the holy-water burned vampires. Too concerned with escaping the acid-like substance, none of the other fleeing undead creatures paid any attention to the mortal girl.

Not bothering with so much as a backwards glance, the vampire that attacked her also continued on his way. Cordelia’s open but sightless eyes stared in his direction even as her limp body slid down the wall, crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

“How bad is it?” Adam asked simply. It would have been impossible for him to miss the blood on Willow’s fingers as she attempted to staunch the flow from the wound in her side.

“I’m...okay,” the teenager replied bravely, although it was clear that she was anything but. Acknowledging her courage with a single nod of his head, the Immortal turned to focus his attention on the suspended vampire.

The vestiges of a strangled cry escaped Willow’s throat as she watched Adam raise his sword in Angel’s direction. Before she could move, the heavy blade swung forward, slicing not at the vampire, but rather the heavy chains that held him. Pulled taut by Angel’s weight, the razor-sharp steel of the Ivanhoe cut through the rusted iron links with amazing ease. With nothing to hold him up, Angel’s body made a loud ‘thud’ as he crumpled helplessly to the ground.

Willow was at his side before the vampire could even attempt to sit upright. Wanting to clasp the vampire in a tight embrace to reassure herself of his safety, the young witch began reciting the words that would end her protection spell.

“Don’t do that,” Adam cautioned, clasping a warning hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t what...oh, the spell? I thought that was part of the plan?” Willow questioned in confusion.

“Call it a field revision,” the Immortal smiled. “You can hug him all you want to once we get out of here.”

“We should get moving,” Adam cautioned. While probably wise, his words served as a painful reminder that they weren’t quite out of danger just yet.

Reluctantly taking a step away from Angel, Willow began to shrug the ‘backpack’ she was wearing off her shoulders. While her burden may have appeared to be a normal schoolbag, it was in fact the body bag Adam had tested earlier -- folded and carefully jury-rigged to be unencumbering for the young redhead.

“Just leave it,” Adam ordered as he watched her struggle with it. One of Willow’s elegant eyebrows rose in an unspoken question. “The fire is almost out. He’ll be all right as long as we’re careful.”

“Angel?” Willow asked cautiously. “Do you think you can, like, stand up?”

Nodding in lieu of a verbal response, the vampire took a moment to focus before making an attempt to rise. As much as he may have wanted to, though, Angel’s abused body wasn’t yet up to the task. In fact his arms were completely numb from being strung up so long, which made it difficult for him to lever himself into a position to stand.

“Oh bloody hell,” the Immortal cursed with a roll of his eyes. Shifting his grip on his sword, Adam bent down and pulled the lethargic vampire into a fireman’s carry. Turning back to Willow, he spoke in his most serious tone. “Clear a path for us and keep alert. Angel?” Hearing a weak ‘huh?’ from over his shoulder, the Immortal continued. “Try to keep your eyes open. Let me know if there’s anything coming up from behind.”

Orders given, the odd trio set off into the smoke.

Oz was still above-ground guarding the second, holy water filled pump truck when he noticed something odd. A burst of water erupted from the open manhole for a duration of less than a second. The werewolf greeted the sight with his usual aplomb -- just a raised eyebrow at the oddity of it.

Then it happened again. And again.

Torn between investigating and maintaining the position that the overall plan required from him, the teenager pondered his choices. Granted, it was important to make sure that the supply of holy water was uninterrupted, but Oz had yet to see a single vampire that night. Giving in to his curiosity, the werewolf set off at a slow run to check out what was happening.

Two more geyser-like eruptions occurred as he made his way to the opening. When he finally reached the hole in the ground, the teenager was careful to keep as much distance as he could, lest the powerful flow of water hit him full-on in the face.

“Cordy?” Oz called as loudly as he dared. A creepy feeling ran down his spine when he heard no reply. Then again, the thunder of rapidly flowing water tended to muffle most others sounds, anyway.

Leaning in a bit closer, the werewolf pulled out the flashlight secured to the belt of his jacket and switched it on. Shining the light down into the tunnel, he moved the beam around to find out what was taking place. Less than a second later he found his answer.

Spot-lighted by the tiny beam, the unattended fire hose was still spewing out holy water at its most open setting. The power of the flow was so great that it actually forced -- and kept -- the nozzle completely vertical, so that the water hit the ceiling of the tunnel. Without somebody to keep it under control, the hose was slithering about like a snake being charmed out of a basket. As it danced about the floor of the tunnel, the spray would occasionally pass under the open manhole cover. Hence, the ‘geysers’.

While that may have been interesting to some, Oz had a more important question on his mind. What exactly had happened to the operator of the hose?

“Cordelia!” he shouted uselessly. His call, however, was swallowed by the sound of rushing water. Throwing himself backward, Oz barely missed being nailed by a torrent of water. As soon as it moved on, he yelled again.

“Cordy? Can you hear me?” Still nothing.

Praying like hell that the erstwhile hose would stay out of his way, Oz traded his flashlight for a stake and proceeded to climb down into the sewer.

As Willow, Adam and Angel made their way towards the predetermined exit, they happened across Xander, more by accident than by design. Although still standing, the dark-haired teenager was slumped forward. His hands rested on his thighs in an effort to steady himself as his body was wracked with a deep, painful-sounding cough.

“Xander, are you okay?” Willow questioned, her eyes going wide at the sight of all the rips and tears in her friend’s heavy coat. Placing a gloved hand on Xander’s back, the young witch winced as she felt the strength of the spasms tearing through his chest.

“Got...my mask...knocked off...,” he explained through his coughing. “Be...okay...some...fresh air.”

“Let’s find Giles and get the hell out of here,” Adam prompted.

They found the man in question only moments later, on the ground, his back propped up against the archway that led to their exit tunnel. The librarian’s protective coat and pants were in even worse condition than Xander’s, a telltale sign of just how valiantly he must have fought. He held a large metal cross in one gloved hand, obviously using it to ward off any further attacks.

“Giles!” Willow and Xander cried out simultaneously. Together, the pair ran over to the fallen man. Remaining a few steps behind, Adam took immediate note of the Watcher’s most noticeable injuries.

“Don’t jostle his arm!” Adam cautioned. From the way the limb dangled uselessly at his side, the Immortal had no doubt that the librarian’s shoulder was badly dislocated.

Deftly avoiding the injured area, the two teens carefully helped the librarian to his feet. Knowing that Xander was better suited to support Giles’ weight, Willow stepped out of the way after helping to position the Watcher’s good arm around Xander’s shoulder.

Ready to move on, the group nevertheless took a moment to look back over the carnage they had created. Having reached the chamber first, the effects were perhaps more noticeable to Willow, Adam, and of course, Angel. Despite the heavy clouds of smoke that still hung in the air, they could still see patches of orange and yellow flames flickering close to the ground in the distance. Of the six hundred plus vampires that had occupied the hall, there were only a half-dozen or so still left. Those that remained lay helplessly on the ground, either unconscious or too injured to flee to safety.

Seeing those scattered bodies prompted Willow to move. With calm deliberation, she traveled from vampire to vampire, gently using her protection spell to reduce them to dust. Her actions, however, were not out of spite, but rather out of mercy.

The serene gentleness she exuded as she went about her work did not go unnoticed by the four men waiting for her by the exit. No one said anything to her when she returned, but for that, Willow was grateful. Only Giles gave her a small smile and a slight nod to signify his approval. The witch returned the silent communication before walking first past Adam and Angel, then Xander and Giles to take the point position for their withdrawal.

They were almost home-free.

A hundred yards further down the same tunnel, Oz was busy grappling with the out of control firehose. Temporarily stanching the flow of holy water was the first order of business, necessary so that he could move on to his second, more important concern. It was like wrestling with a big, wet fish, but finally, the werewolf managed to get a firm grasp on the nozzle and close the valve. That done, he used his free hand to reach for his flashlight, turning it on at the same time as he pulled it from his belt.

It only took a moment before the beam of light bounced brightly off of one of the reflective strips on her fireman’s jacket. But in that short span of time, Oz felt his heart stop beating.

“Cordelia,” he whispered, the strangled sound barely making it out of his tightening throat. “Oh God, Cordy.”

There on the ground, less than five feet away, lay the unmoving form of the former May Queen. Oz had never been a man of many words, but it really didn’t matter at that point in time. There simply weren’t any that could appropriately describe the emotions the werewolf was experiencing. Nevertheless, the teenager forced himself to take the few steps necessary in order to close the distance between them.

Of all the nightmares, all the fears that the group known as the Slayerettes experienced on the Hellmouth, this was by far the worst. The death of one of their own. It was, in fact, so horrific, it was a subject that not one of them would discuss aloud. Hell, most of them did their best simply *not* to think about it at all.

Not seriously, at any rate.

A stray thought came to Oz as he stood directly over Cordelia’s body. It was on a conversation he’d had months ago with Willow, the night after Angel disappeared and Buffy ran away. They’d been sitting on a tombstone in the Restside Cemetery when, out of nowhere, Willow stated that she hoped she wouldn’t be the first of their group to go. The way she said the words left no doubts in Oz’s mind as to what she was referring. Distinctly uncomfortable with the subject, the werewolf made an attempt to change it, but to no avail. His girlfriend would not let herself be distracted from her train of thought.

He’d never let himself think about it before, who was the most likely of them to...go...first. In the deepest recesses of his mind, however, Oz realized that he’d just naturally assumed it would be Buffy. After all, she was the Slayer, the one most exposed and at risk from the demonic forces that constantly surrounded them.

“I sorta hope that I’m not the first,” Willow continued, but was quick to expunge the guilt she felt over her wish. “Not that I want to put...bad karma...on anybody else. I mean, you gotta understand, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to any of us. The guilt...the guilt would be too much, y’know?”

“I know,” Oz replied with sincerity.

“But I don’t want to be the last, either,” she added in a soft, plaintive whisper. “I...I always thought that Angel...would...I don’t know...be around. That he’d be there to remember us after we’re gone. But if I’m right about...where he is...well...I don’t think that I could go on, knowing that I was the last, y’know?”

Oz kissed her then, as tenderly as he could manage. Although he knew it was childish, he secretly hoped that, somehow, it would take both their minds off her morose thoughts.

What he wouldn’t have given at that moment to have someone there to provide a similar distraction when he most needed it.

With his body numbed with shock and a lump in his throat the size of Delaware, the werewolf slowly lowered himself, crouching but not touching the fire gear-covered girl. A part of him wanted to disbelieve what his eyes were telling him. It had to be some kind of mistake, right? He found himself both wanting and dreading to check for any signs of life.

Moving with the kind of slowness one experiences in the worst nightmare, Oz reached out and pulled off one of the thick gloves covering his hands. Once that was accomplished, the werewolf was uncertain how to proceed. The upturned collar of the heavy jacket Cordelia was wearing precluded Oz from checking her neck for a pulse. Her covered wrists posed a similar problem.

Finally, the teenager found an awkward solution. With great trepidation, he placed his bare hand over Cordelia’s upper chest -- the flat portion that began at the juncture of her neck and torso. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, the guitarist closed his eyes and pressed his palm against the cool surface of her jacket.

Oz’s eyes closed in sorrow, for he felt nothing -- no rise and fall of respiration, no heartbeat signifying life, and worst of all no typical, sarcastic Cordy comment, demanding that he remove his ‘furry little hands from her person before she had him made into a wolf-skin rug’. He would have given most anything to be able to hear one of her snide comments again.

Leaving his hand to rest right where it was, Oz sat there motionless -- just simply thinking until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

What was he going to tell the others, he wondered?

It was a question that took on new meaning, for at that moment, something strange happened. Something that would haunt the young werewolf for the rest of his days. Such a small event, but nevertheless, one of the most miraculous Oz had ever witnessed, even after a lifetime of living on a Hellmouth.

His hand moved.

Or, more appropriately, the chest *under* his hand moved.

“Cordelia?” Oz whispered, wondering if what he thought just happened was a hopeful figment of his imagination.

But it wasn’t.

His uncovered hand rose and fell again, this time more sharply as the cheerleader suffered a coughing spell.

“Gram?” Cordelia asked weakly once her throat and lungs cleared.

“Cordelia, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Oz persisted.

“Huh?” Cordy asked groggily.

The werewolf’s chance to question her further was lost with the arrival of the other Slayerettes. That, however, didn’t mean the incident was entirely forgotten.

“Are we...there yet?” Xander joked in between coughing spasms. The good news was that his cough was actually settling down.

Only half-kidding with his question, the dark-haired teenager let out a sigh of relief only seconds later.

“Cordelia! Oz?” Willow called out. Her lead position gave the young witch the opportunity of being the first to spot her friends. At least, she was pretty sure they were her friends -- unless some vampires appropriated Oz and Cordy’s fire gear.

“We’re over here,” Oz called out, unknowingly absolving his ex-girlfriend’s sudden fears. Pivoting around slightly, the werewolf took a quick head count of the survivors. Seeing them all present -- albeit somewhat worse for wear -- the teen allowed himself a long sigh of relief.

“Xander?” Cordelia called. Her voice was shaky but growing stronger. Raising a hand, she placed it against the werewolf’s shoulder and pushed none too gently. “You know you’re father wasn’t a glassmaker.”

Only then did he realize that he was blocking the cheerleader’s view of their friends. Oz stepped back, but not before giving Cordelia a rare smile. Although she was puzzled by the happiness she saw in his face, Cordy gave him a hesitant one in return before looking away to search for her current boyfriend.

“Cordy!” Xander cried out at his first joyful sight of her. In fact, he was so happy, the teenager tried to run over to her, wrenching a cry out of the Watcher he was still supporting. Moving simultaneously, Willow and Oz stepped forward to relieve Xander of his burden.

“Xander, you’re okay,” Cordy whispered. Her boyfriend had quickly fallen to his knees to scoop her up into a tight hug. The embrace pulled a gasping hiss of pain from the cheerleader -- one that Oz quietly observed from a distance.

“I’m okay,” Xander replied, his voice still more than a little wheezy from the smoke-residue in his lungs.

“Did we win?” Cordelia asked uncertainly.

“We came, we saw...we burned and plundered,” he reassured.

“Good,” Cordy responded. Ever the blunt one of the group, she was quick to pose her next question. “In that case, I don’t suppose we can finally *get the hell out of here*?”

Seeing as how her words echoed the thought on all of their minds, four pairs of teen-aged eyes turned on the two adults of their party.

“How about it?” Xander asked, his eyes trained on Adam. “Chaos, panic, and disorder...I think it’s safe to say that our work here...is done. Whatdaya say guys? Is it...Miller time or what?”

Xander’s increasingly raspy words were met with two exhausted -- and unamused -- looks of disbelief.

“Oookay...how about...mocha-cino’s instead? And maybe...some of those...little English tea... cookie/biscuit...thingies...you limeys...like...so much?”

Not only did the expressions on Adam and Giles’ faces remain exactly the same, but this time, Willow, Oz and Cordelia joined in as well. Once again, it was the latter who spoke up for all of them.

“I don’t know about you guys, but personally, I’m thinking a week-long coma sounds good,” Cordy suggested. “Who votes for comas?”

Had it come down to a show of hands, the decision would have been unanimously in favour of Cordelia’s idea. Just the reminder, however, was enough to get them all moving once again. The hard part now was going to be getting the injured up the ladder and out of the sewers.




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