TouchTheGround

Disclaimer: The "Angel" characters aren't mine. Bill is his.

Note: This is in honor of wwolfe�s birthday (May 7th). He is a good man, a fine musician and songwriter, and an outstanding citizen of the Cross and Stake. May this day bring him many blessings and great joy, and I hope he enjoys this little trifle, as well, and will take the fun I had at his expense in the loving and respectful spirit with which I intended it.

Archive- Sure, but email me and let me know where it�s going.

Feedback- Absolutely.

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�And southern California says to save a place, I�ll meet you there,
And it tried to pack up its Miata, all it could fit was a prayer,
Sometimes the stakes are bogus, sometimes the fast lane hits a fork,
Sometimes southern California wants to be western New York.

�And Tempe, Arizona thinks the Everglades are greener and wetter,
And Washington, D.C. thinks that Atlanta integrated better,
But I think that southern California has more pain than we can say,
Cause it wants to travel back in time, but it just can�t leave L.A.�

-Dar Williams
�Southern California Wants to Be Western New York�

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia dried the last dish and set it in the cabinet with the rest.

"Thank you, Cordelia," Angel murmured behind her. "I would have gotten those."

"It's okay," Cordelia said, "you cooked, we clean up."

"An older law than Hammarabi's code," Wesley added, shaking the crumbs from the washrag into the trash can.

Angel nodded gratefully, then stretched languidly. "You did a good job tonight," he said. "You were..." He hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"All part of the job," Wesley said, taking him off the hook. "Get a good, well, day's sleep, and we'll see you on Monday."

Angel edged towards his bedroom. "Yeah, the sun's coming up," he said. "Be careful going home."

Wesley and Cordelia climbed into the elevator. "Good night," Cordelia called out cheerily.

"I could use a good day's sleep myself," Wesley said as the elevator opened in the office.

"You and me both," Cordelia agreed.

"Well, take it easy then," Wesley said, walking towards his car. "And have a happy Easter, Cordelia."

Cordelia looked up at the sky, just starting to lighten as the sun rose. "Oh, yeah," she said.

--------------------

Cordelia opened the door to her apartment and went in. She heard the television in the next room. "Welcome back to Sportscenter, and a look at the national hockey league. It seems there's just no stopping Philadelphia..."

"Hi, Dennis,� she said.

The channels turned on the set. "...showed their Fall collection in Milan this week, and red looks to be the color of the season," said a strangely-accented female voice.

"It's okay," Cordelia said, "I'm going to bed. Just, you know, keep it down."

The TV turned back to ESPN, and the volume lowered.

Cordelia entered her bedroom and closed the door.

-----------------------------

When she woke up the sun was streaming brightly through her window. She glanced at the clock: 2 P.M. Cordelia stretched out, sighing happily.

After taking a long, unhurried shower and dressing in her most comfortable clothes she went to the kitchen and put on a kettle to boil. She opened the refrigerator, trying to decide what to make for... what? A late brunch? An early supper? Hmm, she thought, keeping vampire hours couldn't be good for her metabolism. She took a strawberry out of the fruit crisper and bit into it. She'd decide what to eat after she'd had some tea.

Slowly, the front door swung open.

Cordelia glared at the air. "Phantom Dennis!" she hissed. "What's going on?" She crossed to the door, about to close it, when she heard a man's agitated voice. She peeked out.

A dark-haired man was pacing in tight circles in the hallway, talking into a cell phone. "I've locked myself out of my apartment," he said, "and I would appreciate it if someone could come over with the pass key. My cell phone number is..." He gave the number, then, without a "thank-you" or "goodbye," snapped it shut, sighing with exasperation.

He looked up and saw Cordelia watching him. He gave an embarrassed grin.

"Sorry for yelling," he said, "I'm just so mad at myself..."

Cordelia waved her hand dismissively. "Forget it," she said. "It was..." She trailed off. No point explaining her ghost roommate had opened the door. "Do you want to come in and wait?" she finished lamely. "I'm making some tea."

The man smiled with relief. "If it's no trouble..."

"No trouble," she assured him. "By the way, my name's Cordelia."

"I'm Bill," the man said, following her into the apartment. "I've seen you down at the pool from time to time. I have a lot of days off; I work for the government. Do you?"

Cordelia shook her head. "No," she said, "why do you ask?"

"I've noticed... you seem to have a lot of days off, too."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're not a stalker, are you?"

Bill looked shocked. "No, of course not," he said insistently. "You're pretty hard not to notice, is all."

Cordelia's suspicion was gone in a flash of flattered pride. She smiled radiantly. "Well, thanks," she said, "and actually, I work for a private investigator. Nights, mostly."

Bill was impressed. "That sounds a lot more interesting."

"It is," Cordelia agreed, "a little too interesting, sometimes. And I'm also an actress." She shrugged weakly. "Just waiting for that big break."

"Well, at the risk of sounding like a stalker again," Bill said, "you're certainly good-looking enough, even by L.A. standards."

Cordelia smiled gratefully. "Thanks," she said. "I got a pretty negative personal review recently and it left me a little discouraged."

Bill nodded. "I know how you feel," he said. "I mean, I'm in a band, too, and any time you put yourself in front of people like that, you run the risk of being hurt. You have to take the criticism for what it's worth, learn what you can from it and ignore the rest. You have to do what you love."

Above the stove, the light clicked on and off once.

"See," said Bill, "your light agrees with me."

"It's the wiring," Cordelia said automatically, "but you make a good point. You should be a guidance counselor."

The teakettle began whistling and Cordelia poured two mugs, then sat with Bill at her kitchen table.

"This can be a rough town," Bill said gently. "Working for a private eye, I guess you see more than your share of ugliness."

"And then some," Cordelia added.

"Just don't lose perspective," Bill said. He took a sip of his tea. "So I gather you're not a native," he said.

"Close enough," Cordelia said, "I grew up in Sunnydale..."

Before she knew it, Cordelia had poured out her life story. Then Bill related his own, telling of his childhood back east and his move west. Cordelia found herself enjoying having a normal conversation with neither supernatural overtones or the pressure of a date. It was nice.

All too soon, Bill's cell phone rang. As he left to meet the super, he took Cordelia's hand. "Thank you again," he said. "And if you ever need anything, or you just want to talk... Anyway, I'm in 13A."

After he'd gone, Cordelia took a chicken breast and some broccoli out of the fridge.

The light over the stove blinked several times.

Cordelia paused, waiting for further communication from her ghost roommate, who, she told herself, she should really learn to trust.

She felt the prickly tingle on the back of her neck that she had come to understand was the sensation of Dennis passing very close by, and then felt the shadow of a hand touch her hair, gently, paternally.

And the front door swung open.

Cordelia gave a resigned sigh and set the food on the counter, then walked down the hall to 13A.

Through the door she could hear a guitar playing and Bill's confident, warbling baritone: "As it turns to twilight, the breezes blow in from shore� And they scatter leaves outside her window, And brush branches by her door�"

She hesitated for a minute, unwilling to interrupt, then knocked quickly.

The music stopped and Bill opened the door.

"Listen," said Cordelia, "I'm about to make some chicken divan, and I was thinking, if you don't have any plans for dinner..."

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