Once S'More Unto the Breach
~*~*~*~*~*~
Part 1
Our English Dead
“Ewww and did I say…ewww?” Cordy said, her cheeks pinched against her nose and her forehead scrunched up in the universal sign that said God, please don’t let this be my life.
Wesley looked around the lobby of Angel Investigations and was slapped in the face by a tsunami of fatigue and ennui.
Fred’s thin arms cradled her head as she draped her battle-wearied body across the poof. The strap to the vacuum cleaner/mystical power sucking device she’d invented just for tonight’s demon was still slung across her shoulders too heavy for her to lift off.
Gunn had given up trying to pretend he wasn’t half dead when he had trudged down the steps and dove very ungracefully face first onto the couch, his axe arm ending up flopping lifelessly on the floor. The missing axe had slid from his grasp as soon as he had crossed the door’s threshold.
Cordelia – brave and ever the cheerleader – was at least trying to maintain some semblance of order and life by trying to scrub the remains of the demon from her katana, but even that was slow and lackadaisical. He could see what she really wanted was to not care enough to stay. Those once-sharp eyes were now blurry and looked longingly at the exit and a life that never once dripped or oozed or even smelled of anything other than roses and citrus.
But the most frightening image was Angel. The warrior upon whose shoulders everyone’s lives and livelihoods rested looked beaten, ready to call the mission a failure and pass out severance checks.
He sat on the floor next to the weapons cabinet with his knees bent. It was telling of his exhaustion that his hands - cut, bloodied and bruised - hung from his limp wrists as they draped over his knees, never once even twitching from the pain he must be experiencing. So much languor consumed his body that he couldn’t summon the strength to keep his head from tipping forward and his chin digging into his chest. But the fact that he didn’t care that his leather coat was bunched on his back as a result of sliding down the side of the cabinet gave Wesley cause for grave concern.
Three weeks straight of battles with demons and vampires and Wolfram & Hart flunkies without respite was enough. They all felt as if they’d been fighting an apocalypse every day and it was decidedly too much.
Wesley’s mind whirled, albeit slowly and with many skips and chugs along the way because he was just as worn out as the others, but finally he came to a decision. They needed a break. At this point, they were the helpless and it was his job as boss to make sure his friends and allies were not only ready for battle physically but mentally and spiritually as well.
He realized at that moment how lax he’d been in that area. A tough taskmaster all his life, especially to himself, he wasn’t familiar with how one actually let loose as Cordelia would probably phrase it. Comfort and fun for him was satisfied by a few ales at the pub and a rousing round of darts, but he was not foolish enough to think that would do more than drag even more sighs from the hearts of these, for the most part, modern Americans.
Think, Wesley. What do Americans enjoy doing and especially Americans with limited time, money and access to daylight? His search for the perfect relaxing yet fun group activity was interrupted by Cordelia’s voice.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sick of fighting in
sewers and urine and rotted-trash stinky dark alleys. Where’s the ritual sacrifice at
Tiffany’s? There’s got to be a diamond
demon god, right? Heck, I’d even be happy
to risk motion sickness to cut off a few claws on the Teacups at
No one had the energy to look at her much less respond. Gunn did manage a muffled “go girl” from his cushioned-covered mouth.
“
“You figured out why we only find demons in sewers and dark alleys?” she asked.
“No,” Wesley said. “I have no idea why that happens. No, I’ve discovered the solution to our problem.”
“Which problem would that be, Wes, because I can think of at least thirty-two off the top of my head and I’m too tired to think,” Cordy said as she put the now fairly clean sword back into the cabinet. She looked down at Angel and gave him a little nudge with her toe. He was too tired to even growl.
“Yes, well, I’m still working on your problem of chronic tardiness, but there seems to be no solution available in this dimension at least.”
“Cute, but not in any way making me feel guilty. Why anyone expects me to be here at nine in the freakin’ morning when, hello, it’s three a.m. now and still here!”
Wesley curbed his natural instinct to mention that she’d only been in the office since six that evening to begin with and that their mission wasn’t exactly a 40-hour, nine to five kind of business either. Instead he breathed once and shook out his curled fingers before responding.
“As are we all, Cordelia, which is actually part of my point if I may finish. As you are all aware, these last few weeks have been more than stressful. And, barring any visions or other emergencies, I propose – no, I insist – we take tomorrow evening off and spend the time together rejuvenating our spirits in a completely different atmosphere.”
He tut-tutted Cordy’s attempt to interrupt with what he feared would be either an objection to being forced to spend time off with the group or, worse yet, a suggestion that they do so at a fashion or celebrity function.
“I propose we take advantage of what
Wesley smiled and waited for the praise of his brilliant idea to commence. When no one said anything, his smile began to fade and immediately drooped when he sensed Cordelia about to speak.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” she said. “In fact, I’ll even come in early – well, early as in late afternoon - and help you plan the menu and food shop. Hey, it’s not the mall, but chips…Choos…practically the same thing.”
“Thank you, Cordelia.” Wesley gave a mental sigh. With Cordy on his side, the others wouldn’t dare consider not participating. “So, what does everyone else think?”
From the round sofa, Fred yawned and said, “Sounds fun,” before smacking her lips together and burrowing into her arms for a longer and sounder sleep.
Gunn finally moved his face from being buried in the cushion to just laying the side of it there and said, “Yeah, sure, whatever,” before joining Fred in lip-wetting, saliva-swallowing slumber.
Both Wesley and Cordy looked to the black lump in the corner to make it one-hundred percent approval. When no sound or movement came from that area, Cordy stepped forward and kicked him again and shouted in his ear.
“Hey, Champion of the People, do you wanna go on a picnic or not?”
Angel jerked awake with enough energy to make his head lift and pound backward into the cabinet. “Huh, wha…ow!”
Cordy just snorted and mumbled, “Dork.”
“I think that’s a yes on his part, Wes. Okay, I’ve done my duty and this Girl Scout is heading home to get my merit badge in bubble bath." She yawned through her, "Night all,” and the heavy fall of her feet on the steps echoed in the morgue-like hall.
Outside the double doors, her slow and rhythmic gait lulled Wesley. The dimming sound of her soles scraping on concrete harkened a disturbing vision of a decidedly Quasimodo-esque Cordelia lumbering home.
Shaking off the bizarre image and swearing to himself never to mention the fleeting thought to anyone - ever - Wesley finally surrendered to his sapped body’s demand and lowered himself slowly onto the counter stool. Resting his chin in the palm of his propped up hand, he closed his eyes and sighed as he allowed the tension in his muscles to depart on the wave of that expelled lung-full of air.
“Wes?” Angel’s tired voice said. “Did you just say we’re going to eat demons in teacups on the beach in Tiffany’s tomorrow?”
“Yes, Angel, now go to sleep.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Wesley couldn’t help but think dork just before he succumbed to the gentle hum of snores around him and floated into that peaceful darkness with his friends.
Part 2
Greyhounds in the Slips
Angel’s nose twitched and then the back of his hand swiped at the irritated membrane trying to make the tang of mid-afternoon go away. It smelled hot and bright and he had no interest in opening his eyes to any of it.
Unfortunately, the day wasn’t going away and his sleep wasn’t coming back. This much he knew despite the fog that was his brain, just as he knew he was still in the same clothes he’d been in the night before.
The threads of his sleeve were coated with leftover Bulacka slime, gasoline fumes from the incendiary Gunn had used to take out most of the nest and strongest of all, Cordy. The sweet pungent spice of Cordy’s palm, the one that had grabbed his arm to pull him from the encroaching flames, overpowered even the constant stench of danger that the afternoon sun filled his nostrils with.
He slid his nose further up his arm and found the exact spot – breast shaped – where she’d pressed herself against his side when they’d caught their first glimpse of the demons. He’d wanted to push her behind him. No. He’d wanted her not there at all, but he’d never been able to keep her from the fight, and if he’d been able to last night then he wouldn’t be wearing her right now.
He took another whiff of the more musky aroma of that spot and then said, “Damn it,” for the thousandth time.
Every day started the same way. If he wasn’t waking from a dream of Cordy, he was scenting her in the air or on his sheets, or hearing her laughing voice wing its way from the lobby, or convincing himself his hand was her mouth wrapped around his morning erection.
He was hopeless. It was hopeless – this thing that had built inside him. It coiled around bone, twisted within sinew, and puckered skin. It made his mouth dry and his knees wobble and it was doomed to kill him. Oh, not in the ashes or flambé sense, but in the eternal hell and damnation way; in the every day a little death but not enough to actually put him out of his misery method preferred by torture experts everywhere.
It was love and he knew it, and he hated himself for allowing it to happen – again.
“Damn it!”
He rolled onto his back and then slid off the side of the bed until his feet hit the floor. Letting the strong muscles in his abdomen pull him, he sat up and ran his palms over his face. The friction felt good and real and gave him a false sense of blood circulating under his touch. If he rubbed hard enough and forever, he thought he could eventually blot out every molecule of her that infected him. Then, maybe, he could get over her – it.
He had this same idea with each rising sun, and he tested the theory every day. And it always seemed to work until he stepped off that bottom stair into the lobby and saw her. Then her eyes - that smile - bit him all over again and the infection grew stronger the more he tried to make himself immune.
Today was going to be different. He was sure. Slapping his knees, he stood and confidently headed for the shower where he was certain he could wash without a single fantasy or a subconscious stroke. Then he was going to go downstairs, look at her and not feel anything resembling an insect with wings and antlers battling to break through the confines of his belly. And he was definitely not going to have to fight to keep his eyes trained on her eyes and not wonder down to anything resembling ripe fruit or vice-like structures.
No, today was the day he tossed off the pathetic man and reclaimed the vampire. The beast that destroyed whole villages with a smile; the animal that defeated the undefeated Pylean champion without breaking a nail; the only being ever to face The Trials and come out alive.
Today was the day he faced love eye to eye and won.
“Angel.”
He turned and his heart flipped, his tongue felt like it had
baked all day in
Damn it! “Yes, Cordy?”
“Do you want a blue,” she held up a sky blue fabric with giant palm trees and surf boards on it, “or orange Hawaiian shirt?” she asked, pushing the orange one with pineapples and girls with grass skirts on it in his face. “Personally, I think blue works best with your…well, let’s face it…blue skin tone, but orange would really brighten up those eyes.”
He decided he was still dreaming because never, ever, ever would Cordelia try to dress him in a Hawaiian shirt. He didn’t think she’d even stoop so low as to touch one. That’s just the stuff of nightmares. So he decided to play along with night terror Cordy and see if she was evil enough to do nasty things to him.
“I think I’ll go with orange because that’s just hideous enough to scare demons away so I can take a rest.”
“Really?” she squealed. “I thought I’d have to put sedatives in your blood again – I mean for once because I’ve never done that before, nu-uh, not me. Anyway, here ya go, big Kahuna.” Cordy tossed the shirt over his shoulder and then stood on her toes and gave him a noisy kiss on his cheek.
“Thanks for doing this. You know with you looking like a total retard, it won’t make the rest of the macho freaks we work with feel so stupid.”
She bounced out of his suite and he stood there blinking. Nightmare over. Wake up now.
He pulled the shirt from his shoulder and sniffed it. The smell was right but the neon Jell-o and vomit colors were all wrong. Not wrong for a nightmare but…that kiss didn’t feel frightening at all. It felt really good and still warmed his cheek. But it didn’t last long enough to give him time to react and latch onto her body and pull her up against him. That part was familiar nightmare territory, so it could still be a dream. Right?
He blinked again and again. The landscape before him didn’t warp, go bright white and then refocus on the ceiling, and he wasn’t on his back in bed.
“Damn it!” It wasn’t a dream and Cordy had just got him to agree to wear that…that…there were no words in any language foul enough to describe it.
Ignoring the fact that he knew he must look horrible and smell worse, he stormed from his room screaming, “Cordelia!”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Shoot.” Cordy said to herself when she heard Angel bellowing. Guess he finally figured out he wasn’t dreaming. Why couldn’t he have been a little slower on the uptake? I would’ve been on my way to the grocery store in another minute.
“Yes, Angel?” She bent over her desk drawer to grab her purse and heard Angel’s next attempt at her name gag in his throat.
She rose, slipping the handle of the loaded-for-bear satchel over her shoulder, tipped slightly to her side from the weight and turned to see him swallowing hard and sharply turning his gaze to the floor.
She couldn’t help but smile. He was so adorable when he got caught checking her out. She’d managed to snag him doing that a lot lately. He was getting sloppy in his old age or she was looking better.
But at first it was just a feeling – an instinct. The prickly needles sensation all over that said not only were you being watched, but the watcher was getting off doing it.
She hadn’t actually discovered him leering or undressing her with his eyes for a long time, but whenever he was in the room and out of her line of sight, she could feel wet tingly licks on her neck. Then ghostly fingertips would softly reach under her blouse and plot the valley of her back. Nature would arch her back into the feathery spirit and she would slowly twist her neck to loosen the cords that constricted under that invisible tongue. When the sensation would reach the small of her back she couldn’t stop the shivers racing up her spine, her eyes shutting tight or the sudden rush of a salient trembling breath.
Invariably at that point she would turn quickly expecting him to be staring at her, hunger-filled eyes peering at her beneath his sexy brow, but she was always disappointed. She could never hear the paper rustle as he brought it back up to hide his face, or the file suddenly open or the book, or even on one strange occasion the flicking of a fan. Did he even get hot to warrant fanning himself, she wondered.
He was just too fast, she surmised, because there was no way it was all her imagination.
And then one day she’d manage to catch him ogling her breasts when he thought she was too busy arguing with Wesley to notice. She saw him dip his head in her peripheral vision and turning quickly pinpointed exactly where his eyes were glued before his embarrassing glance zoomed to the floor and his feet shuffled nervously.
That was the first moment she was sure she had a chance. Before that, she’d only hoped and before that – well, before that she didn’t know what she felt.
Sure she knew she loved him. How could she not love a guy who saved her over and over again and spent his life helping others? But she didn’t think she love loved him until, oddly enough, Fred. All that drooling and anxious energy that poured from Fred had her stomach churning and her mood pissy every day.
But she didn’t connect the dots until she had the puppy love talk with Angel. When it became obvious he had no clue about Fred’s feelings and didn’t return them, she felt a wild hot surge of relief burst from her center and shower her skin with a deep red flush. Then she’d touched his leg and pow - a jolt of electricity shot up her arm and kick-started her heart into overdrive.
In that instant the puzzle was solved and she knew that what Fred had subconsciously evoked in her was jealousy and possessiveness. She’d been in a foul mood all the time because she thought Angel was falling for someone else.
There she was warning him about Fred’s crush and she’d just fallen head first into the deep end of the love pool.
Since that first realization there had been plenty of giddy fantasies but, unfortunately, just as many “woe is me” moments. The curse was always going to be there, and she definitely didn’t want to end up as a Buffy bookend. So she had done what she knew best and researched. Surprisingly, the LA public library has a lot of porn. She uncovered lots of non-sex sex they could share and most of it looked mighty damn fun – mouth-watering delicious in fact - but not perfect bliss worthy.
With that issue tackled, she naturally wondered if he could possibly feel the same about her. The evidence suggested that he cared deeply, but could he look at her and get all goose bumpy and, more importantly, erect? Mostly that thought, however, just seemed ridiculous because…duh, Cordelia Chase here. But he had fallen for Buffy My Life is Grayer so maybe her own brilliance was too thousand watty for his “insert sixty-watt bulb only” brain.
Now, however, the signs of sexual interest and even moments of unabashed flirting were clear. It had become so obvious that even Wesley, Mr. Nose Perpetually Stuck in a Book, had become aware of the tension. He’d done his best lately to keep them apart from sending her on errands while Angel was in the office to insisting she stay and research when he knew she would otherwise have joined Angel in the fighting.
She hoped whatever happened between herself and Angel, and that was still an unknown slightly scary prospect, would not cause a problem with Wesley. She loved them both, but she would not give up a chance at romance and happiness even for Wesley. She had compromised too much in her life to give up the one thing she never thought she could have – Wesley be damned.
A cool, shadowy palm-like breeze passed in front of her face and the sound of a snap brought her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“I said why would you think I would want to wear this?” Angel shook the offending garment inches from her face.
Pushing it back with a huff, Cordy replied, “Duh, for the luau obviously.”
“What?”
“Loooooo. Owwwww,”
Cordy enunciated slowly. “You know, that
thing where people in
Angel dropped his arms to his side and sighed rolling his
eyes. “I know what a luau is, Cordelia,
but why would I – why would any of us – be going to one?” He suddenly gripped her arms, did a fast
once-over of her body and stared piercingly into her eyes. “Did you have a vision? Are we going to
“Pfft, I wish. Not likely that the Powers That Be Cheap would ever send us anywhere that cool to kill and maim – all in the name of good, of course.”
“Cordelia,” Angel warned, his infamous impatience showing in that one word.
“Wow, it’s a good thing Wesley suggested we have a break. You’re very tense there, aren’t ya?” she confirmed his state of stress by running her hands up and down his triceps and kneading several times to loosen the banded muscle.
For a second there, she thought she had him. His whole face relaxed and he closed his eyes and just let her touch him. Then it was as if the material in his hand had poked its ugly fingers at him and said, “Hey, remember me!” because his eyelids flew up and he shimmied his body out of her clutches.
“My tension is none of your concern and what break?”
Cordelia wanted to shout But I sure do want it to be. Instead she merely crossed her arms and yelled for Wesley.
Coming from his office, a book opened in his arms still reading as he walked, Wesley started, “What is it Corde...,” then switched gears when he looked up and saw Angel. “Oh, Angel, you’re up. Good.”
“No, it’s not good. Not when I’m apparently the last to know about some kind of break we’re taking that for some reason requires me to wear this!” he said, eager to have someone else’s face to stuff the monstrosity into and share his discomfort.
“Ah, yes, the relaxation attire. I understand it’s perfectly acceptable and even required for a proper luau.”
“And I will ask this one more time: what luau?” Angel tilted forward on the tips of his toes and spit the words out trying to keep calm but obviously failing as Wesley bent backward at his aggressive posture.
“Really, Angel, there’s no need to get testy.” He set the book on the counter and removed his glasses to hankie off the spray from the irate vampire. “After all you were right here last night when we discussed it and agreed it was a good idea.”
Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Wha...I...there was no...what?”
“Remember, the beach...eating demons from teacups...Tiffany’s?” Wesley reminded him.
“But that...that was a dream. I was asleep. You can’t consider anything said while dreaming as agreement. Besides there was definitely nothing said about a luau.”
“Oh, that was my idea,” Cordy said, her smile immediately radiated her entire being.
“Yes,” Wesley said. “And a very fine idea at that.” He returned her smile, both enjoying the rare moment of mutual admiration.
Angel looked from one to the other. Sensing a unified front, his shoulders sagged. “Fine, you want an outing at the beach, I’ll go. But no way am I wearing this thing.” He tossed the lightweight fabric on the couch and swiped his hands together several times cleansing them of any possible remaining orangeness.
“But if you don’t, then Gunn won’t,” Cordy said with a detectable screech as the decibel and octave levels rose. “And that’ll leave Wesley feeling all stupid dressing up alone so he won’t either.”
“That’s good then. None of us will wear them, and we can all be comfortable.” Angel crossed his arms over his chest, obviously pleased at getting his way.
“Fine. Spoil it for everybody.” Cordy began pacing in a tight line, her arms flinging this way and that. “We’ll just have a boring old picnic with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Cokes and be home before ten due to the extreme boredom factor.”
Humphing and mumbling to herself, the human tempest reached her desk, jerked open the bottom drawer and threw her purse back in. She kicked the compartment shut and yanked her chair out. Deciding against sitting, she turned back around, planted her feet and faced off.
“You know, it’s not like you were going to have to itch from the grass skirt and make sure your breasts were covered by a couple of coconut shells all night like me and Fred. At least you were going to be in 100% cotton and fully clothed.”
Wesley inched toward her, hesitant to engage her when she was fuming but attempting in his meager way to calm the storm. “Cordelia, I’m sure Angel wasn’t trying to ruin the evening.”
“He never tries to ruin anything, Wesley. He doesn’t have to; it’s a gift. Color me beige ring a bell?”
She glared at Angel, the flame of anger still searing her slatted eyes but the evidence of her hurt betrayed by a quivering lower lip.
At the mention of grass skirts and coconuts, Angel had begun to seriously reevaluate the fashion importance of a tacky shirt. Really what was the harm? It would be dark, the beach would most likely be deserted, and the possibility of another vampire seeing him dressed as an orange Popsicle – highly improbable. There was also the fact that at least sixteen of his fantasies involved Cordy in just such an easily accessible grass skirt.
He was on the verge of relenting when the zing of her beige comment ripped through his goodwill like a hot knife and stuck in his craw gagging his apology. It had been almost a year since his bout with insanity, and he had practically worshipped at her feet for months to make it up to her.
After all, that’s when he’d known the depths of his feelings for her because he crawled like that for no one. For her to use that time when both of them suffered so much to get back at him, was almost enough to let go with a “screw you” and beat a path for his room and some well-deserved self-flagellation.
Almost.
He sighed at the thought of having to postpone a great brood, because once he saw her lip tremble and the slight blurriness in her always brilliantly sharp eyes, he knew no matter how she had hurt him, he had done as much or more to her first. All she had wanted was a nice, relaxing, fun evening for everyone, and he and his little demon macho act had rained all over her parade like they always did.
Gathering up what little dignity he had left, he went to the couch and scooped up the shirt. Holding it up in the dim light, he stretched it out trying to convince himself it wasn’t so bad.
“Can I at least wear black pants with it?” He dared to look at Cordy and was rewarded for his bravery with the immediate return of his personal sun, the rays from her smile and eyes bathing him in its sinful glow.
“No, silly. This is a real luau. You have to wear a sarong.”
He let go of the shirt and began backing up, shaking his head and hands as he went. “Huh-uh, not a chance in hell, Cordelia. Just get that insane thought…”
The sound of Wesley and Cordelia’s uncontrolled snickering caused him to stop mid stride.
“Really, Angel,” Wesley said, “you should see your expression. Simply priceless. That was bloody marvelous, Cordelia.”
She turned her laughter and smile toward her boss and said, “Thank you, Wesley. I thought it was kinda fun and well deserved.”
Facing the not as amused Angel, she said. “Oh, suck it up, Champ. Here.” She reached into the shopping bag on her desk that Angel hadn’t even noticed before and pulled out something else to wear and brought it to him. “Just your regular, every day khaki shorts. Yes, I realize they’re not black and not long enough to actually qualify as pants, but I’ll bet you’re counting your blessings I decided to let you guys off the sarong hook. Aren’t you?”
He fingered the vile gabardine while that trapped animal feeling coursed through every fiber of his being. What could he say? She was right. He was exceedingly grateful she hadn’t handed him a sarong. But khaki shorts? Why was it that in order for them to have fun, he had to be humiliated?
“Well, since you’re obviously so overwhelmed by my generosity to speak, I’ll leave you to take that long-overdue shower because – whew boy,” she said as she waved her hand in front of her nose.
Once more she retrieved her purse from her desk drawer and was heading out the door. On her way out she yelled, “Be clean and dressed when I get back because you’ve got a lot of cooking to do, vampire chef of mine. Pigs and cows don’t cook their own ribs you know.”
He watched her turn around in the open door to pause and give him one of her biggest and brightest smiles along with a sexy wink and then she was gone.
Angel just stood there like a man who had just seen the snakes of Medusa.
Wesley watched the interchange and observed Angel’s stony yet love-struck expression.
“Angel,” he said timidly, almost afraid the man would disintegrate into chalky powder if disturbed. “Angel,” this time a little louder but still unsuccessful in his attempt to rouse the statue. Disgusted by Angel’s lovesick display, he walked over to him and punched his arm.
That got his attention.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?” Angel asked while rubbing the sore spot.
“That was for being a putz and almost ruining a potentially lovely evening for everyone. And if you don’t want another one, you’d better say something to Cordelia very soon about how you feel about her. A man can stand only so much schoolboy angst before advising a certain seer to look elsewhere for love for her own good.”
“Wesley, I can’t…I don’t…”
“Don’t start stammering with me. Everyone, including that woman who just left, knows exactly how you feel even if you don’t. So, as Cordelia so eloquently puts it, suck it up and be a man. My God, do you think she’ll wait for you forever? Have you looked at her? Do you even realize what a stupendous woman she is? If not, you’d better take a quick course, because I dare say even her patience is wearing thin, and she’s already waited a lifetime for you.”
“Do you really think she…likes me that way?” Angel asked, afraid even after all of Wesley's assurances to hope too much.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re hopeless.” Wesley threw up his hands and headed back to his office, Angel dogging his every step.
“Wesley, really, do you know or are you just guessing?”
“Shut up, Angel, I’m not listening.”
“Come on, Wes, tell me what she said.”
“Angel, my hand is reaching into my desk drawer for a stake.”
“Seriously, does she love love me or just think I’m a hottie?”
“I’ll give you a three-second head start and then you’re dust. One-one thousand…”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Two-one thousand…”
“Wes, I just need to know…”
“Three-one thousand!”
“Jesus, Wes…Wesley!”
The sounds of screaming vampire and growling rogue demon hunter echoed throughout the cavernous halls as Gunn and Fred entered with the luau decorations Cordy had carefully instructed they purchase.
“Huh-oh,” Fred said. “I think Cordy must’ve shown Angel and Wesley what they’re wearin’ tonight.”
Gunn’s eyebrows shot up. The faraway sounds of Angel and Wesley’s battle cries sent chills down his spine. However, it was the sight of the orange and khaki pile on the floor that caused him to let out a tiny shriek.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I made Cordy save the red one for you.” She pinched his cheek. “You’re gonna look so cute!”
Gunn suddenly knew real fear for the first time.