Notes: This story takes place in a somewhat alternate universe, varying significantly from cannon. The Angel the Series cast resembles that of Season 3, with Wes, Cordy, and Angel (and without Gunn and Fred). However, the story is set five years in the future, giving the gang a bit more experience in their field. Similarly, Buffy in coming from an alternative, non-cannon universe, in which Season 7 never took place. She is dealing with many of the issues that came up for her during Season 6, mostly revolving around her revivification. Again, she is pushed forward about five years from the last moment of Season 6. Please enjoy!
It was just another quiet night in the office. No demons on the loose, no evils lurking in the darkness; there hadn't been a phone call in weeks. Cordelia Chase shuffled a stack of manila folders from one end of the desk to the other, re-adjusting the alignment of her work space for the third time in an hour. In a smaller room, not much larger than a walk-in closet, Wesley Wyndam-Price stared at his computer screen while his fingers strummed through the pages of a manuscript coated with a layer of brown dust.
"It's too quiet, you know." Cordelia said thoughtfully as she got up from her chair and pulled open the drawer of a filing cabinet.
"Hmm?" Wesley replied with only a vague interest.
"I'm just saying. I haven't had a vision in almost a month. What's going on with the PTB anyway? What's with the dry spell?"
"Perhaps it's…" Wesley trailed off as he returned his focus to the task of copying files into a database on demons.
Cordelia leaned over Wesley's desk, stretching out as far as was possible, until her face was hidden just behind the monitor and her eyes situated just in front of the former watcher's face.
"Perhaps it's…what?" She asked, throwing Wesley into frenzy. He jumped back, dropping his glasses from the bridge of his nose. They fell precariously onto the desk, bending the wire at a peculiar angle. Wesley yelped, slamming his book shut and successfully losing the page from which he'd been working.
"Oh, damn." He muttered succinctly, staring back at Cordelia as she walked away with a smirk on her face.
From his tiny office, she made her way down a stairway, into the underbelly of the office. In many ways, it was like the original investigation office where Angel had set up shop when he'd first arrived in Los Angeles. The apartment he resided in was underground, safely away from the sunlight that crept through much of the rest of their office. The vampire had decorated with dark woods and red linens, giving the series of small rooms an air of refinement. However, Angel seemed to enjoy spending the majority of his time holed up in a corner compartment containing various equipment designed for maiming. It was there that Cordelia found him, throwing punches into a small leather speed bag attached to the ceiling.
"Well, that look's entertaining," she commented as she caught sight of him.
"Did you have a vision?" Angel asked, stopping the bag with both hands.
"And hello to you too."
"Sorry. Hello. Did you have a vision? A call? A case? Something?"
"No, not yet, but I'll let you know. Do you think we could work on that sword training stuff again?"
"Uh. Sure, why not."
Angel tore a few layers of gauzy tape from his hands before picking up the hilt of a small steel blade from its home against a stout cement wall. Cordelia reached out for the weapon, her hand wavering in the open space between them. She took the sword slowly, clenching it tightly between her fingers. In turn, Angel lifted his blade, a heavy steel scabbard raised at eye level. Yet, as he raised his eyes to face his opponent, Cordelia allowed the piece to drop. It clattered loudly against the basement floor, sending a sharp clanging echo throughout the enclosed gymnasium.
"There's an alley, on the pier. She's alone, hurt, in a lot of pain. I can't see much, but I think she's blond, dirty like she's been out on the streets."
"We're on our way." Angel grunted as he scraped up his jacket from the edge of a chair and threw it over his shoulders.
"It's coming back for her, Angel. Please hurry!" Cordelia called after him as he took off up the stairs.
Tires squealed as Angel's convertible sped out through the sunset-streaked city. In the seat beside him, Wes assembled a cross-bow, then loaded the contraption with a series of steel-tipped arrows.
"Don't take the freeway!" Wes yelped as Angel drove toward the overpass. "It'll be deadlocked at this time of day. Take Wilshire instead."
"If we get stuck behind an Escalade…" The vampire threatened with a slight growl.
"Perhaps we should have taken the sewers."
At the office, Cordelia finished putting away the weapons Angel had taken out of the cupboard. A light sigh escaped her throat as she pulled a step stool from under the sofa and leaned up to pull the first aid box from its home on top of the bookcase. The box was dented and caked with dirt, as though it had been thrown from a window into a pool of mud. Shrugging her shoulders, she thought that that particular incident was entirely possible. Strange things often seemed to happen in her life, including projectile medicine chests. The kit squeaked as she opened it, placing a variety of tools on the table beside Angel's bed. Beneath a layer of gauze, tape, scissors, and a needle and thread, lay other less common articles. Cautiously, Cordelia withdrew a small violet crystal, an amulet with an inscription in some old demonic language, and a short dagger forged from a mysterious metal unknown to most of the world.
Wes jumped forward in the seat as Angel pulled the car to an abrupt halt alongside the Pacific Park pier in Santa Monica. The park was teeming with people, loud and obnoxious. The duo struggled through them, shoving past small children with painted faces and couples with tightly linked arms.
"Lady with a baby!" Wes cried out, managing to part only two people from their path. Angel turned around briefly to shoot Wes an annoyed look.
"Well it always seems to work in the movies…" Wes pouted.
"This way!" Angel called out as he ducked through another crowd of park patrons and landed unceremoniously in a dark alley, unpopulated by visitors.
Shaded from view, dumped behind a clutter of trash bags filled with the day's scraps, a young woman was curled into a fetal position. She'd wrapped her arms pitifully around her midsection, tucked her chin against her clavicle, and thrust her body up against a clapboard wall stained with leftover decomposing waste. Even in the din lit only by a few neon signs, it was obvious that the girl was a run away. Her blond tangle of hair was stringy and dirty, as though she'd had neither the time nor the ability to wash it properly. Her clothes hung loosely from her body, giving her a malnourished appearance.
Concerned, Angel stooped down alongside her, nudging a hand against her oily crown, coaxing her to wake. She didn't stir, but a crop of hair fell from its position tucked behind her ear, revealing a ragged face, sunken cheeks, and a series of deep scratches marring her temple. Even with the markings, the obvious pain, Angel found a striking familiarity in the young woman's features. The bridge of her nose, the pout of her lips, and the softly curving brow were immediately indicative of a certain vampire slayer.
"Buffy?" Angel whispered, reaching out his palm to stroke her face with the edge of his thumb.
"We need to get out of here," Wes cautioned as he stepped up behind the crouching vampire, his hands around the base of the cross bow.
"Pull up the car, as close as you can." Angel ordered briskly. He dropped a knee against the slimy slats of the boardwalk, and slid his arms slowly beneath the woman's shoulders and knees.
"Perhaps we should call an ambulance…"
"No, no hospitals. They scare her." Angel frowned with certainty as he heaved her against his chest.
The door burst open, creaking on its hinges as it swung harshly against the wall. Cordelia cringed as she ran up the stairs, appearing in the office. She watched with eyes wide open as Angel carried a limp woman toward the stair from whence she'd come, without a word or a glance in her direction. Wes appeared in the doorway behind him. He hung the keys on a peg beside the front window, and then carefully shut the door. The two investigators exchanged looks of confusion.
"It's Buffy," Wes explained briefly. He pulled a pair of wire-rimmed, slightly askew glasses from his nose and wiped the lenses on the tail of his shirt.
"Wha…? That…that was Buffy? Buffy Summers? Vampire slayer?" Cordelia gulped, staring over her shoulder at the now empty staircase.
"We found her in the alley, on the pier. She was the woman in your vision."
"I'll go and see what he needs," Cordelia concluded, rushing down to the basement. Wes sighed as he fell into a desk chair; his eyes falling helplessly on the flashing bulb on the telephone, indicating a new message.