~ / ~
2,000 miles away and two hours later, Angel unlocked the door to his offices at Wolfram & Hart. He knew it was probably a sham, this care he took regarding his privacy. Odds were good that the Senior Partners did not find deadbolts an impediment to their gathering of information. Nonetheless, he found it a comforting ritual. He was enjoying the many new habits that he had acquired since moving into these comfortable offices, not the least of which was the sense of leisure -- time and money both seemed equally abundant here. He hung up his coat, tossed his briefcase on the sofa, and flung himself into his leather chair, ready to enjoy the morning paper. But it was laid aside when he saw the blinking message light next to his private line. He hit the button, punched in his code, and heard Buffy's voice:
"Angel, it's me. I know this is going to sound bizarre, but then -- I guess that means situation normal, doesn't it? Angel, I -- I think that Spike might be alive. And if he is, he's probably going to need some help. You...you might want to see if your, um...resources can locate him." There was a pause then, as she clearly didn't know quite what else to say. "I guess that's it...." another pause, then, "and, I'd like it if you'd keep me posted once in a while. Thanks. Bye."
Angel sighed and closed his eyes wearily, satisfaction with his creature comforts now dissolved and forgotten. Spike, eh? It seemed that even an heroic, sacrificial immolation could not deliver him from the troublesome vamp. "Damn!" A fist slammed onto the desk's smooth surface. But, since it was Buffy asking....
He opened his eyes, resigning himself to the inevitable, and reached for the telephone intercom.
"Wesley? I need to see you...." |
