In a very slightly alternative universe, Angel is working at Wolfram & Hart. Spike, Wes, Gunn, Fred, Lorne, and Harmony work with him at the law firm. There will be some vague references to a Spike/Fred flirtation. Cordelia has passed away, but is living on a higher plane again, working for the PTB. This will be a multi-chapter story, so stay tuned!

Angel sighed and turned over, nudging his head against the pillow, staring longingly at the brightly lit Los Angeles skyline. He'd been tossing and turning for an hour, struggling with the inner turmoil of another long day battling Wolfram and Hart from the inside, trying to help the helpless. His gut stirred, a sickly feeling rising up through his chest, into his throat, stinging his tongue. Groaning, he turned back over, closed his eyes, and like a light shutting off, fell down the rabbit hole into unconsciousness.

"Took you long enough," Cordelia Chase frowned, sitting down casually on the edge of the vast king size bed, tapping her fingers on her thigh.

"Cordy?" Angel blinked, sitting up. The satin sheet tumbled down his bare chest and pooled at his waist.

"I've been waiting for an hour. What's your problem? Need some Tylenol PM with your blood?"

"I...what?"

"Well, I'm not a ghost. Promise with the big guys upstairs. I don't haunt."

"I..."

"I'm here for a reason, Angel, so let's stop with the questions and get down to it." She straightened out her smile, crossed her legs on the bed, and sat forward. "If you could have anything in the world, would you want?"

"I..."

"No time to beat around the bush. Just be honest. Anything, if you could have it."

"You. Connor. World peace." Angel looked down at his hand, counting out the dreams on his fingers.

"Your fantasies, Angel. If you could have anything in the world, anything at all, the thing that you want the most."

"Buffy," Angel mumbled, almost as though he were ashamed. His eyes pointed down at the floor. His shoulders slumped as though weighted.

"Funny how I always seemed to fall for the guys in love with slayers. Even when I was evil." Cordelia shrugged. "Anyway, it isn't any old dream featuring Sunnydale's champion, is it?"

"Cordy..."

"It's fine. I already know. You fight a battle. You win. You kiss. You go at it like rabbits. And you don't go all grr."

"Only in my nightmares."

"What if I told you about a chance to make that dream reality?"

"I'd ask what's the catch."

"The PTB sent me, Angel. They want their champion back. And they're ready to cut you a deal." She moved closer to him, taking his hand in hers. Her fingers were soft, her touch gentle. Her gaze dropped down to analyze the creases in his skin. "I can't give you the Shanshu. I wouldn't know where to begin. I can't make you human, Angel. The PTB...well, it doesn't work that way."

"You still haven't told me the catch."

"I'm getting there. First the good news, right?"

"I'm listening."

"Right." Cordelia lifted her chin, glanced into the stern eyes gazing back at her. "The good news is that I can help you restore your soul, permanently. It isn't easy. In fact, it's really dangerous."

"If Spike can do it, so can I."

"I can lead you to the site of the trials, guide you in the necessary preparation, and be at your shoulder when you fight. We can remove the curse of the gypsies, Angel. We can put you on the path toward happiness."

"The catch, Cordy."

"Angel, did you listen to anything I had to say?"

"Permanent soul. Happiness. Powers that Be a pain in my ass. Yes, Cordelia. I heard you. It sounds great, maybe even too good to be true. How do I know this isn't the Senior Partners trying to fuck with me, again? How do I know that any of this is real? What is the catch? What do I have to give up to be happy? Tell me."

"Everything else."

Angel sat up suddenly, pushing back the covers and throwing his bare legs over the side of the bed. Morning light shone in through the blinds, leaving streaks of sunlight across his skin. The alarm clock bleeped loudly. Angel sighed, reaching up to brush the sleep out of his eyes. He blinked, trying to remember the dreams of the night before. Nothing came to him but the vague recollection of a slayer's skin beneath his fingertips, the scent of her hair clinging to his nostrils. With a groan, he stood up, pushed away the remnants of his bedding, and hobbled into the bathroom, flipping the knob on the shower. The phone in his bedroom rang angrily before the answering machine clicked on.

"Hey boss! Just calling to tell you that you have a ten o'clock meeting with Steve Miller, the Groshak demon. And you have a briefing about that meeting with Wes and Gunn at nine o'clock. Oh, and we've run out of pig's blood in the lounge so I put some on order for you. Let's see, what else? Oh, right, you have a business lunch with Fred and that guy from the Department of Developing World Diseases at that Chinese food place on Sunset. I'll have your breakfast on your desk. Bye!"

"Wow, Angel, you sleep okay?" Gunn asked, furrowing his brow as Angel slumped back against his chair and sucked down a sip of warm otter's blood.

"Like a rock. What's this Groshak thing?"

"Big thing. Likes kittens." Spike interjected before Wesley could answer.

"Yes. It appears that Mister Miller prefers the exotic kitten variety. He was arrested stealing white tiger kittens from the Griffith Park Zoo a few weeks ago."

"Since when did we start dealing with animal rights?"

"I'm sure that the big cat upstairs would appreciate our help on this one, Angel," Gunn frowned, nodding his head in the direction of the ceiling. "She's partial to felines."

"Always was a fan of kitten poker, myself. Back in Sunnydale, I was rich in…"

"Shut up Spike."

"Anyway, the Groshak…" Wes began.

"Steve-o," Spike muttered under his breath.

"Miller wants us to cover up his indiscretion with the zoo, and then purchase him several exotic feline breeding pairs."

"Just another day in Hell," Angel frowned.

The day screamed by like an epic nightmare, with one randomly weird and evil case after another. The Groshak compromised on the kittens of large endangered animal species, but Gunn found a loophole in the theft of tiger cubs from the zoo. At the lunch meeting with Fred, the head of the Department of Developing World Diseases got food poisoning from undercooked meat and had to be taken to the hospital. Spike and Fred made awkward googly eyes at one another across the conference table at a private meeting on street policies. At last, Angel retired to his penthouse above his office. He dimmed the lights and shed his clothes before crawling into bed with a book. The words on the page blurred into one another. Already, half-awake, he imagined the radiant warmth of the Slayer's flesh, the taste of her lips like honey and blood, the way her cheeks glowed red when he kissed her neck.

"Angel!" Cordelia growled, jabbing the sleeping vampire in the ribs with her fingers. "Have you listened to anything I've had to say?"