Summary: Response to my own Angel-verse challenge, as posted at Visions Of... and Crumbling Walls. I never welch on my own challenges, so here is the response.
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel the Series, or any of the characters, places, or ideas therein. I merely use them to wile away the time between work shifts. :)
The Challenge:
Ok, basically, I want:
-Cordy to come back with lots of exciting "saving the universe" stories.
-Someone (not Fred or Gunn or Wesley) to find Angel... you decide how... and his mental/physical state when he gets out of the water (ex... shriveled up from starvation, mad as a hatter, angry as a wet hen... you decide).
-Can be angsty, fluffy, dramatic, humorous, dark, mixed-emotions, whatever... just DON'T KILL ANYONE (unless I tell you to)... I beg you!
-Rated R or below... if you wanna do NC-17... you're welcome to try it... and I'll probably read it, but I'd prefer the line to be at R-rated.
Required Minutiae:
-The movie "Home Alone," and someone trying to immitate the comb-singing sequence.
-A hamburger smothered in honey-barbecue sauce.
-Justine dies... painfully.
-Mis-matched earrings on the same person... or two people wearing one set of earrings (one person wears one earring, the other person wears the other).
-As many foods that have the word "Angel" in the names as you can think of.
-Someone playing either Tetris, Pokémon, or both, on a teal-colored Gameboy Color.
Think you can do it? Well, get to it:)
Prologue
The small ocean liner plunged through the briny waves majestically. It was a good hip, praised for its reliability despite its old age, and its crew, the same crew since the ship's maiden voyage, couldn't help but come back whenever her captain asked for "just one more."
On this particular day, the crew of the
S.S. Couraguex was testing out a new sonar system, searching for irregularities--or maybe even buried treasure--on the ocean floor.
The captain was a jolly man with an explorer's soul. The nearly seventy-year-old Captain John Corruthers couldn't get enough of the feeling of accomplishment he got after every voyage. It mattered not whether the mission itself was a success or a failure; Captain Corruthers was just happy that he had had the opportunity to see the beautiful globe one more time before he was "too old" to sail.
The crew loved their captain, just as they loved the ship. Each time "Jolly John," as they affectionately named him over the years, told them he had an itch to ride the waves again, the crew found themselves itching as well. The couldn't help it; they loved the sea just as much as their captain.
And so, when the sonar monitor beeped, signaling the presence of something less natural than sand or rock, the crew weren't bothered by the captains abrupt orders.
"Quickly!" Captain Corruthers instructed. "Set the anchor! Get a diver down there, get a chain ready in case we can pull it up! I want to see what it is!" Corruthers was like a kid in a candy store at the promise of a new adventure waiting just beneath the hull of his beloved vessel.
His crewmates--his dearest friends--rushed to do as he bid. Indeed, they were just as eager to know as their captain.
The diver went down, coming back up a few minutes later with a thumbs up to say that the object could be lifted.
Quickly, an iron hook on a heavy chain was lowered with the wench mechanism at the stern of the
Courageux. In minutes, the diver had hooked the chain around the object, and it was pulled to the deck of the vessel by eager hands once the chain was fully retracted.
Everyone on board gasped when they saw the contents of the rusty metal box before them.
It was a man. A corpse, more like it. Although he couldn't have been dead for more than a few days--by the crew's estimation anyway. His cheeks were sunken in, his frame and general visage unhealthy-looking. But, then again, one couldn't really expect a corpse to look healthy, could they? Definitely not.
Then--horror of horrors! The crew who had seen the world many times over, the crew who had battled modern pirates and seen the worst things there can be seen in the daytime world, indeed, the brave crew of the good ship
S.S. Courageux, had never seen a sight as ghastly as the horror of the next seconds.
The corpse's eyes snapped open of their own volition.
Chapter I
He was being moved. Too weak to do more than just let it happen, Angel rejoiced at the rescue.
Cordelia, he thought in the interminable minutes it took for his water-logged coffin to be hauled to the air above.
She must've finally had a vision. She and the others must have found me . . . I wonder what took so long?His thoughts were interrupted by voices--voices he didn't recognize--shouting and receiving orders and instructions.
A single voice--almost-feeble, yet affectionately authoritative--caught Angel's attention in particular.
Gathering the last bit of strength he had after such a long starvation, the vampire waited for the voice--and heartbeat that he could hear echoing off the walls of his metal box--to come nearer. Then, using that last bit of strength, Angel opened his eyes.
What he saw was a group of men--not a single one under fifty-five years old--looking in horror at his coffin. Feeling guilty for scaring his rescuers, the vampire struggled to speak, and--just in case he couldn't be heard--to make his lips move with the words.
"Don't be afraid," he managed to get out.
The men--Angel surmised they were sailors--seemed to understand, because their erratic heartbeats eased considerably.
Angel observed, weakly, a single man--easily the eldest of the group--stepped forward, shouting through the box to him.
"Who are you?" the sailor queried.
Angel, again, gathered strength to shout. "Open the box . . . can't shout . . . too weak," he managed to get out in spurts.
The man gestured for two of his men to open the box, and they scrambled to get the necessary tools.
When the box had been opened, the sailors noticed that Angel had been restrained and started to remove the heavy cords that bound him inside the box like a new Ken doll at Christmas.
"No!" the vampire cried, confusing the sailors. "I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you . . . I've been down there a while, and I'm so hungry . . ."
The sailors had backed off, but Angel could clearly see that they still had questions.
"Listen . . ." he began. "I know you have questions, but I really need to get to a butcher shop . . . Where am I?"
"We're a couple clicks off of Point Dume . . . Why a butcher shop?" the leader asked.
"I'll explain everything, but you won't believe a lot of it. You'll just have to take my word that it's real," Angel fell easily into his old "Cryptic Guy" routine--even mostly-starved--left over from his Sunnydale days.
"Mister, we've seen the world hundreds of times over. There isn't much we won't believe these days," the same man stated.
The vampire couldn't control it any longer. So many heartbeats--so much blood--were pounding in his ears, the bloodlust was just too great to control anymore.
"Would you believe this?" Angel asked, game face slipping to the forefront.
"I wonder what happened to them," Fred sighed for the millionth time in three months.
"I know. I do too. It's not like them to be gone this long without telling anyone," Charles Gunn gave his girlfriend a squeeze as they huddled together in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, a take-out container of Angel Hair Pasta with white sauce on their stacked laps.
Suddenly, a bright light filled the headquarters of Angel Investigations. The light seemed to reach all corners of the exceptionally-large hotel, spilling onto the street before it dimmed in intensity.
Once the light was gone, and the pair were able to open their eyes without trama, they saw a decidedly-feminine--decidedly familiar--figure smiling at them.
The figure inhaled, as though enjoying a garden's scent after a refreshing spring rain.
"Ah . . ." the sigh became vocal. "Home!"
"Cordelia?!?" Fred asked, while Gunn merely gaped.
A young man stalked the streets of LA. The woman he had been following had betrayed him, and because of her betrayal, he had betrayed his father--his flesh-and-blood father, that is. His other father--the one who took him to the place he had called home for most of his life--had been a part of the betrayal as well.
The young man was on his way to get his father--his
real father--back, when he saw the light show at the Hyperion.
He ran through the doors, only to see the three beings standing in a tableau of confusion.
"What happened?" he asked. "What was that light?" The young man hadn't been present the last time Cordelia's power had filled the hotel to the brims, and so he was a bit disoriented.
The two people nearest the couch swung their gazes to him, saying his name like a question--not sure of the reality of his presence.
"Connor?"
"Why are you so surprised to see Connor?" Cordelia asked, confused.
"Because," Gunn started, unsure of how to finish.
"He's been missin' just as long as you have, Cordy." Fred neglected to mention the other absence that summer, but the Seer-turned-higher-being caught it.
"Where's Angel?" she questioned. "He would've been down by now . . . He had to have been able to see it from his room, even with the door closed."
"Uh . . ." Fred stuttered, not eager to have Queen C's wrath upon her.
"He's been missing just as long," Gunn cut in. "We don't know where he is. We thought he was with you two."
"He wasn't with me . . . I never got to Point Dume in the first place," Cordelia was starting to get worried.
Connor seemed to fidget a bit before he spoke. "I know where he's been. That's what I came back for . . . Help getting him back."
Gunn, Fred, and Cordelia looked at him, expecting further explanations.
"Justine . . . She tricked me," the four-month-old teen began. "She killed Holtz and poked holes in his neck with an ice pick . . . Told me my father had done it. I didn't find out otherwise until I overheard her nightmares a few nights ago . . ."
The three listeners' eyes widened.
"And . . . ?" Gunn stated the obvious question. "Where is he now?"
"He's in a metal coffin at the bottom of the ocean . . . Which is why we need to get him back. It's been three months, and he's probably starving." Connor hung his head in shame, his voice fading after the last few sentences.
"Do you know
where in the ocean? It's a big place," Cordelia was angry as she bit out the question, folding her arms across her chest as she narrowed her eyes at the boy.
"A few miles off of Point Dume," he whispered in answer. He lifted his eyes to Cordelia's, sorrow and shame clear in their irises. "I got to him before you could have . . ."
"I don't believe it," Corruthers exclaimed in irony. "What
are you?"
"A vampire, and yes, they do exist," Angel subconsciously pleaded for the man to believe him. "Please . . . A butcher's shop . . ." the vampire hated to demand anything from his saviors--they'd done so much for him already--but he was just so hungry that he just might've ended up snapping the heavy cords himself, just to get at someone's neck if he didn't feed soon. "I'm so hungry, and all of you here at once is just making me hungrier"
John's eyes widened. "A vampire?" he whispered to himself so his crew wouldn't hear.
He was surprised when the man--no,
vampire--in the box answered.
"Yes, a vampire," Angel elaborated when he saw the puzzled look on the captain's face. "Vampires have enhanced senses . . . Not only can I hear every man's heartbeat on the ship, but I can hear whispers from almost as far. Now . . . a butcher's shop? Please?"
Corruthers was startled out of his surprise. "Yes-yes, of course . . ." he turned and gave the orders to raise the anchor and turn the ship toward port. His men went to fulfill the task automatically, years of experience lending efficiency to agility.
"I'm sorry, but would you mind telling me your name? And, just out of curiosity, what were you doing in the ocean? And how long?" the "Kid-in-a-candy-store Syndrome" had returned full-force to Jolly John, and those of the crew that were left on-deck listened with rapt attention as the vampire told his tale.
"My name is Angelus, but my friends--my human friends, anyway--call me Angel . . ."
Chapter II
A phone rang, somewhere in the richer district of Los Angeles. A man picked it up, and the ringing stopped.
"Hello?" the man greeted. "Cordelia! It's good to hear from you!... How've you been? Still fightin' the good fight?..."
At the woman's reply, the man's demeanor became serious.
"Oh-Oh dear... Yes, I'll help any way I can... Say, Cordelia, do you mind if I come along?"
Back at the Hyperion, Cordelia answered.
"Sure, David, but please hurry. We need to find him ASAP... Alright, thanks so much!... It was good talking to you again too, David... Goodbye."
"So, Nabbit's in for another adventure?" Gunn quipped as the brunette set the phone back on its cradle.
"Yes, he is. He said to meet him at Point Dume around sunset. He'll have all the equipment we'll need then."
"Ah hope we find him," Fred spoke. "Y'all have been gone so long, Ah've been so worried. And now, you and Connor are back, but Angel's still missing..."
"We'll find him," Gunn reassured his girlfriend, glaring at the cause of their leader's extended absence.
"We have to."
"So, I've been in this box ever since," Angel finished his tale a short while after the
Courageux got to shore and two crew members were sent to get Angel blood from the nearest place possible. The tale-telling helped the vampire to keep his mind off of his stomach.
"How long?" Captain Corruthers asked, jolting angel out of "story mode," or what passed for it in the vampire, anyway.
"I don't know . . . What day is it?" the vampire pondered.
"Tuesday," one of the men responded, thinking that the vampire had been in the ocean less than a week.
"No, the date . . . What month and day?" Angel corrected him.
"Uh . . . September the 10th."
"But it
is still 2002, right?"
"Yes, of course it is . . . How long were you down there?"
"A little over three months . . . I can't remember exactly the day I was put in there."
The crew, John Corruthers included, just stared in awe at the long-starved, long-suffering vampire.
Cordelia shivered in the night air. True, Los Angeles was still warm during the day in early September, but it wasn't day.
To the contrary, it was about 11pm, and the ocean breezes didn't help keep the heat either. Cordy wished, for at least the millionth time that night, that one of her powers was temperature compensation.
"Anything?" the brunette inquired of the millionaire manning the sonar as she paced, trying to stay warm.
"Nope," Nabbit responded. "Are you sure this is the place?"
At David's question, Cordelia glared at Connor, who had been silent most of the trip.
"This is the place," the false-teen certified. "He should be here . . ."
"What if somebody else found him?" Fred voice her opinion.
"But wouldn't he have been back by now if they had?" Gunn countered.
"Not if he was found recently," Cordy got into the discussion. "His first priority would be food . . . David, is there a way to find out if anyone else found him?"
"Sure," the millionaire answered. "We know that whoever found him would've needed a boat to do so, so we could just radio the nearest vessels and ask if they found a strange metal box." Nabbit turned from the sonar indicator to the ship-to-ship radio.
"This is David Nabbit on the
Nabbit's Dream, calling all vessels. My friends and I seem to have lost something . . ."
"Nabbit's Dream,
this is the Coast Guard Night Watch. What is it you've lost?"
At the beginning of the radio exchange, Angel's ears perked up.
"What is it?" Captain Corruthers asked, not hearing the radio from his position outside the main cabin.
"Shh . . ." Angel--who had since fed and been let out of the box--held up a hand. "I think I hear something important on the radio. Is there a volume control? Can you turn it up?"
The captain ambled into the cabin to turn up the radio himself, catching the tail-end of the conversation.
". . . Steel . . . About 6½ feet long, 2 feet wide and deep . . . Sealed water-tight, with a plexi-glass-and-steel lid, welded closed with two long, metal poles at the sides . . ." It sounded like the speaker was getting the details from someone else; he kept pausing, as though listening.
"Got it, Nabbit's Dream.
We'll put out a report for any vessels who found a box with the description you gave me--"The captain interrupted the radio conversation excitedly.
"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but this is Captain John Corruthers of the
S. S. Corageux. I believe I've found what you're looking for."
A woman's voice came over the airwaves.
"And the . . . contents . . . of the box?" the woman asked.
"Intact?""Yes, everything's fine here. The contents of the box have been very . . . educational." The captain was as reluctant to mention that a man was the contents as the woman on the other end was; burial at sea had been illegal for years . . . Not to mention burial of someone not-really-dead.
There was cheering on the airwaves. Corruthers turned to the vampire, who had been listening intently.
Angel was smiling. He recognized the voices from Nabbit's boat--his family. He whispered to the captain, who nodded his head and began speaking into the receiver again.
"I can have one of my crew bring the box's contents to the Hyperion Hotel within the hour. Would that be alright,
Nabbit's Dream?"
"Perfect," Nabbit answered.
"An hour it is. Thank you, Captain Corruthers. And thanks to the Coast Guard as well. Nabbit out.""Just doing our jobs," the Coast Guard Night Watchman answered.
"Coast Guard out.""Corruthers out," the captain hung the radio receiver back in its place on the side of the radio, and turned to the vampire.
"You ready to go home? My car's just up the dock from here," the captain asked.
Angel smiled. He was going home.
A smartly-dressed and immaculately-coiffed businesswoman sat at a bar in a rather swanky pub. She was joined by a male who could only be described as "lumpy," wearing a ratty brown robe that looked as if it hadn't been washed in eons.
That's the price you pay for being non-corporeal for so many eras, I guess, Lilah Morgan thought to herself as she spoke to the millennia-old demon before her.
As the unlikely pair held a meeting at the bar, they failed to notice the figure listening from in another corner of the room.
Wesley Windham-Pryce didn't need to be close to the conversation to know what was being said. He didn't need any special lip-reading skills either.
Quite to the contrary. Wesley simply used the law firm's own technology against them. Before the infant Connor was taken to Quor'toth by Holtz, Wes had managed to find a couple of the bugs that the over-zealous Wolfram & Hart had planted in the hotel. A few simple modifications, and a little chewing gum (to stick the small device underneath the bar), and voilà--one spy device for Wesley.
He had to be sure to remove the bug that night, or else he'd surely never see it again; the bar--since it was owned by the redundantly-evil law firm--was checked for bugs and other spy devices every night.
As for Wesley being recognized by the bar's patrons, he had that covered too.
With a few subtle changes to his face--a mustache, but no beard, some hair dye, colored contact lenses--Wesley was barely recognizable unless one were to pay very close attention to him.
Ah, but Wesley had learned to lurk from the best. Just watching Angel stalk the various demons and vampires he hunted on a nightly basis gave Wesley enough lurking knowledge for this simple recon mission. With his hair slicked back, and one of the suits he pulled from his closet--left over from his more naïve Sunnydale days--Wes looked like nothing more than your average paralegal minion. No, Lilah was not likely to pay a lawyer's helper with such low rank any attention. Perfect.
Wesley sipped his drink, papers spread on the table as though working on a case. In reality, he was taking notes. It was only a matter of time before the demon and the vixen lawyer revealed anything of their plans, and he was going to be sure to hear when they did.
Chapter III
Angel and the captain were the first to make it back to the hotel. Almost four months' worth of cabin fever seemed to overcome the vampire as soon as he realized his family hadn't made it home yet. He paced the length and breadth of the lobby agitatedly, stopping only to interject comments like "What's taking them so long?" or "Come on, guys . . ."
Corruthers had tried, once, to calm the ensouled blood-sucker, but got a face fulll of bumps for his troubles. Instead of trying again, and risking a heart attack, the captain merely sat on the couch that covered the pentagram that none of the AI crew had been able to remove since Angel put it there when Connor was missing in Quor'Toth.
When the doors opened, the vampire sprang up the stairs, searching the faces for his seer.
But it was the seer who saw him first. Cordelia ran to the vampire, surprising Angel even more when she crushed her lips to his. She hadn't even realized he was in game face until one of his fangs nicked her tongue, but that didn't stop Cordy from kissing her vampire properly, either.
"Ahem," Fred tried to break the two apart verbally.
"Ahem," Gunn tried next.
"Uh," Connor began. "Dad?"
That did it. Angel stopped kissing Cordelia, and backed up a bit, looking toward the direction of his son's voice.
"The vampire smiled. "Hey," was all the forgiveness Connor needed. He ran to his father, wrapping him in a hug.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
Wesley had been spying on the demon and the lawyer since the over-zealous Gavin Park had opened the urn imprisoning Sahjahn, thereby pissing off not only Lilah Morgan herself, but also the senior partners.
Needless to say, Gavin was no longer among the ranks of elite Wolfram & Hart lawyers--nor of the living, for that matter.
But Wesley Windham-Pryce didn't care to dwell on Lindsey's replacement's demise. He had bigger fish to fry.
He had to make Angel listen to him while the Fang Gang still had a chance.
After the big reunion, Angel had demanded that the Fang Gang help him find Justine. Connor readily supplied her last known whereabouts, and the Gang was off.
After a few hours' drive in Angel's still-running-after-four-months Plymouth, they found her, in a motel, not far from the campsite Connor had left a few days before.
Angel slammed the redhead up against the motel room wall, game face on.
"You tricked my son, Justine," he menaced. "Now, you're gonna pay."
Fred started to protest, but Cordelia shut her up. Angel looked at the seer, as if for permission.
"She took your son from you . . . I say go ahead."
Fred changed her opinion quickly, while Gunn stood back, folding his arms, to watch.
Justine had the decency to cower in the group's presence.
Many painful hours later, Justine's cut and bruised corpse was flung into the Pacific Ocean. Angel did a ritual cleansing of the motel room, as well as a thorough finger-print wipe.
Satisfied that justice had been done, whether they took it in their own hands or not, the crew of Angel Investigations jumped back into the Plymouth convertible and drove home.
Chapter IV
"...And then, Skip showed up again, and said that I could go home, as long as I came back whenever they needed me." For the last few hours, the Fang Gang had been catching up on the past few months' events. Cordelia's tale, by far, the most exciting, had taken the longest.
"You're gonna leave again?" Angel asked like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times while it was down. He had just gotten her back; the vampire didn't want to spend any more time apart from Cordelia for a long while.
"Oh, don't worry," the woman answered, reassuring him a bit. "Skip said that trouble in that dimension doesn't happen nearly as often as it does here. Remember Slaying in Sunnydale? Kinda died down in the summer? Well, it's kinda like that, except the "summer" lasts about three times as long, sometimes, even longer."
Angel seemed to deflate in his sudden relief. Tentatively, he asked his next question. "Do you have any idea when you'll be needed there the next time?"
Cordelia smiled, catching on to the vampire's distress. "No, I don't," she teased a bit. "But," she quickly allayed the vampire's fears. "Skip did assure me that it won't be until next summer at the earliest."
Angel, Fred, Gunn, and even Connor, visibly relaxed once the seer pronounced the good news. The five warriors spent the next few minutes, chatting amicably about their hopes for the next year and the weather in L.A. as well as basic evil-fighting "shop talk."
"HELLOOOOO!" Everyone was startled from their conversations by the familiarly musical voice coming from the hotel's doorway. "I come bearing candy and compact discs . . . Not to mention lots o' mulah from the craps tables!"
"Lorne!" Fred was the first to snap out of her shock. "We really missed you! Well . . . when we weren't missing everybody else, or being bored out of our skulls, anyway. Where did that phrase come from, anyway? 'Bored out of our skulls?' I think-"
"Freddie," the green-skinned, red-horned demon smiled, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, how I missed those dulcet, southern tones . . . Hey!" The demon finally noticed the others sitting around the room, basically doing nothing. "Where's the 'Welcome Home' party? Didn't you all get my message?"
The gang had decided to hold a reunion party, and Connor was taking a shower in his father's suite while Angel watched a movie on the television he had gotten just hours before. The not-really teen walked into the room, towel around his waist as he held a comb, just as McCaullay Caulkin came on screen, using a similar grooming tool as a microphone.
Still not quite sure about the point of movies and television, Connor thought that the boy on screen was trying to learn something important, and did his best to immitate.
Just then, Cordelia walked past Angel's door, carrying an Angel food cake she had just baked--from a mix, of course--downstairs for dessert. Giggling, the woman watched father and son dance around, enjoying themselves.
When the song was over, Cordelia shouted, "Bravo!" thereby making the boy blush, and his father wish that he could.
"Cordy!" Angel yelped, embarrassed. "How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," she snarked, as the pair started getting dressed in matching slacks, shirts, and coats.
They had even pierced their ears and shared a pair of gold hoops; it was sort of a father/son bonding thing Angel had thought up: they'd do something together, and stick with it. Connor had chosen to dress like his father.
Cordelia had laughed, joking that one male with such horrible fashion sense was enough, thankyouverymuch, but had gone along when father and son asked her to be their "fashion consultant," and go to the mall with Connor to get their matching outfits.
When Connor had pointed to the shiny objects hanging from other shoppers' ears, asking what they were, Cordelia and Angel explained that they were for decoration. The vampire even reminisced that he had had an earring himself, back in his Angelus days, and it was decided. Father and son would pierce an ear each. Surprisingly, the jewelry didn't look so bad, and Cordelia had approved, so the two were happy.
Shaking herself out of her memories, Cordelia continued on her way, setting the cake down on the desk in the lobby downstairs where Fred was enjoying a hamburger, smothered in honey-barbecue sauce while Gunn played Tetris on a teal-colored Game Boy Color.
Angel and Connor walked down the stairs when Lorne walked into the room, whistling a jaunty tune, happy to be home again.
The peace and tranquility of the scene was interrupted, however, when Wesley burst into the hotel, panting in his panic.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!?" Angel roared, pinning Wesley to a nearby wall, a hand around the ex-Watcher's throat.
"Trouble," Wesley managed to choke out, and Angel reluctantly let the man go at Cordelia's urging.
"Get on with it," the vampire spat angrily. Apparently, Wesley still hadn't been forgiven, even though Connor had been back from Quor'toth for months now.
"Lilah," Wesley wheezed. "Sahjahn . . ."
He couldn't finish before the aforementioned demon crashed through a window, swinging on a rope, and grabbed Gunn's Game Boy from his hands.
"You'll not be spying anymore, Vampire," Sahjahn held up the toy--apparently, not knowing that it was, indeed, a toy--triumphantly as he dropped to the hotel floor.
"Give that back!" Connor yelled, bowling the demon over, knife in hand. "It's not yours!" He snatched the Game Boy away from the demon, tossing it back to its rightful owner before plunging the knife into the demon's vocal chords, killing Sahjahn instantly. Wesley winced in sympathy.
"Well, it's about time that prophecy was fulfilled," Lilah Morgan said from the doorway. "He was really starting to get on my nerves."
"Oh, Lilah," Wesley sing-songed, walking over to the lawyer.
"Yes, Lover?" Everyone's eyes widened at Ms. Morgan's "endearment."
"Go to Hell," Wesley chirped, just before punching the woman out. Fred, Lorne and Cordelia whistled and cat-called in appreciation, while Gunn applauded, Connor smirked, and Angel tried not to cheer.
He was stoically trying to stay angry at the ex-Watcher, but was finding it extremely difficult, seeing as Wesley'd done the one thing Angel had fantasized about for the last three-and-a-half years: hitting Lilah.
As the cheering died down, everyone noticed Angel's silence, hoping he'd not throw their best researcher out again. Instead, Angel merely stalked toward the other man, but Wesley showed no outward signs of intimidation.
Once he reached his old friend, Angel held out a hand, which Wesley took, shaking it as he was pulled into a manly, back-slapping hug.
"Welcome back, Wes," Angel laughed. Wesley smiled as everyone else came to welcome him back as well, crowding around the two men.
Angel had one more thing to say.
"I'm keeping my office, though."
