Hell-A, pt. 2

By Mice

"Wheegettabreechinnzercurty!"

Angel, Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne stared, unsure of what had just happened.

"Repeat that," Fred asked. "This time, take breaths between your words."

"And through your nose!" Gunn added.

"We have a breach in security," Andrew clarified.

"Is it Drake?" It came out darker than Wesley had intended, but he really wanted it to be Drake.

"Worse, it's the entire department!"

Angel nodded knowingly. "I knew something was going on in Accounting."

"Hold on, Caped Crusader," Lorne tossed off to Angel. "Andrew, what's wrong with the Accounting…aside from all the accounting?"

"Someone stole my mug."

The staring and waiting resumed.

"It's my favorite mug!" Andrew insisted, shocked at the lack of enthusiasm.

No one moved.

"It has the Cantina scene in hologram form, so when you move it, they dance." Still, no one moved. The same could not be said for Andrew's lower torso…

"Are you sure someone stole it?" Lorne hedged, trying hard to bite down the added, "Did you check the flag pole to see if it was up by your boxers?"

It was 9:15. Time for Angel to glower. "Why are you telling us this? Isn't this something Bobby should be taking care of?"

"I'm telling you guys because you asked me to keep an eye out if anything went missing."

"We forgot to specify, Andrew," Gunn growled. "Anyone. If anyone went missing." Andrew opened up his mouth again, but Gunn spoke quickly. "That includes those toy dudes you have on your desk."

Andrew pouted. "I just think it's curious that my mug and Kay go missing on the same day." With that, Andrew left.

"Lord love him." Lorne quipped as he began to take a sip of his coffee. Right before the hot, dark brown waves entered his mouth, something dawned on him. "Wait, who's Kay?"

-2-

Deep in the belly of Wolfram & Hart was Kay Hartford, a twenty-five year-old accountant who had moved to Los Angeles from Baltimore for the warm weather. Now, not only was she freezing from the air conditioner, she had been kidnapped. She stared at her old boss, previous Head of Accounting, Kent Durwilling. Only she had the capacity to scream.

"I AM NOT GOING TO KILL YOU," a voice said from the frosty shadows. "AT LEAST…NOT UNTIL I GATHER THE OTHERS."

"Well, can you do me a favor then?"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I AM NOT TURNING UP THE THERMOSTAT!"

"It's not that…though you could get me a sweater! I just want to ask that if you have to kidnap someone, can you hold off on kidnapping Rose Johnson?"

"WHY?"

"She annoys me. Our cubicles are by each other, and all she ever does is talk and talk and talk and talk…she never shuts up! I mean, if it isn't too much—"

"NO, NOT AT ALL – I KNEW A PAGODA DEMON WHO DID THE SAME. MAYBE I'LL JUST EAT HER INSTEAD…"

"Well, you'll have no complaints from me about that."

-3-

His eyes were concentrated mystery and his lips were parted into a pout. With his hair properly gelled and looking particularly fantastic, he pouted. "I have a soul now."

"Oooh!" the pretty law clerk squealed, moved by the darkness in him. "So, are you a vampire?"

"…yes."

The intern moved in closer and touched the skin on his chest. "Oh, you're so cold?"

"It's because of my loss of life…and increased despair."

She swooned one more time before she noticed a chain around his neck. "What's that?"

"It's—it's a—" Before he could find an explanation, she pulled it out to reveal a cross.

"Vampire, huh?"

"I can explain! I'm a magical vampire!"

This was when the intern slapped him.

"Word of advice, Mr. Drake," Wesley spoke from behind him. "If you must hit on the women by saying you are a demon of some sort, stick to demons that no one has ever heard of. The more obscure they are, the more unlikely anyone is going to figure out that you're lying." He began to walk away, but not before one more piece of advice. "I'd get some ice on that."

-4-

Andrew entered Bobby's office and immediately sat down in one of the chairs and began to sulk. He didn't notice the huge chunk of ice Bobby had in his hand that was perfectly shaped like Kiera Kightly.

"Life sucks," Andrew proclaimed.

"What happened?"

"My mug got stolen."

"The one that has the Cantina scene in hologram form?!"

"Yes."

Bobby felt a different sting. "Is there anything I can do? I could give you one of my mugs—"

"I want MY mug!"

"You can have my—"

"You don't understand! If I don't drink from MY mug at the beginning of MY day, then nothing goes right!"

"I have a Lynda Carter Wonder Woman mug…"

"Oooh!"

"And Andrew?"

"Yes, Mr. Drake?"

"I have a special project for you to do…you know a lot about computers, right?"

-5-

Wesley sat down and drank down the unnecessary warmth of his Earl Grey tea in a porcelin tea cup. He liked his office, it was sandwiched between two very quiet floors.

He sat down his cup in his saucer, when he noticed a small ripple in the glass.

"That's odd…" he thought out loud.

The ripple turned into multiple crashing waves in his cup, but that wasn't Wesley's main concern. It was the inexcusably loud (and enviable) sound of what seemed to be either Strauss or "99 Luft Balloons" by Nena.

German version.

-6-

Bobby and Andrew sat in Angel's office, both with eyes on the floor. Bobby hadn't met his boss yet, but was prepared for the worst. The worst being small, dorky, and definitely not cool.

"Drake…Andrew."

Bobby looked up to the dark gothic figure in Armani that entered the room and addressed them. Bobby's brain did that thing where it shut down the switch between thinking and speaking and said, "Hey, Michael Knight, where's Kitt?"

Angel didn't blink. He wanted to. He wanted to blink the entire year of 1984 away, complete with bad perm that thankfully he could never see and could never be captured on film. But Angel didn't blink. "I'm sorry we haven't gotten a chance to meet before now, Mr. Drake."

Bobby put himself into "ultra-cool" mode, which meant constantly asking himself, "What would Sean Connery do?" "Me too."

"I know that you're our head of accounting, but unfortunately, the walls here at Wolfram & Hart aren't all soundproof."

"We have soundproof walls in some parts?"

"You don't want to know."

Bobby put it aside for further investigation journaling use. "I'm sorry, Mr…" Bobby couldn't bring himself to say "Mr. Angel". Bobby was pretty sure he'd have the same problem if he had ever met "Mr. Clean". Except for when he was around Charles Gunn. He had a bloody lip from biting it back…and not quite succeeding.

"Just call me Angel."

Andrew tossed his head back and forth and lightly sang, "In the morning, baby…just touch my cheek before you leave me—"

"You only get one of those, Andrew," Angel warned.

"So I still get to do that?" Bobby asked, day definitely improving.

"No."

The day went back to bad.

"And I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate your audio equipment from your computer."

The day passed bad and went to "worse".

"One more thing - when you say you're a vampire, Drake, don't hold a garlic bagel while saying it."

"Yes, Angel."

"You're excused…except for you, Andrew."

-7-

"You know, I'm not just the head of accounting..." he whispered to the pretty young office temp. "I also happen to be a very dangerous demon."

"Are you an Ersont demon?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

Her face tried to hold back the grin, but it was doomed to fail by the time she broke out into full skip, singing, "Bobby's an Ersont! Bobby's an Ersont!"

Bobby pouted before spying Wesley walking out of an office. "Wesley, what's an Ersont demon?"

"An Ersont is a demon that lives off of human excrement - well, any excrement, really."

"So...definitely not a cool thing to be?"

"Bobby...did you tell someone that you're a demon again?"

"...yes."

"I thought we went over this the last time, not even an hour ago, when you said that you were a Graegholla demon."

"How was I supposed to know that their thing was to turn into pink goo when exposed to sun?"

"When a secretary said, "Hey, let's see if he turns into pink goo when we expose him to the sun", perhaps?"

"You know, she was really upset when I didn't...do you think I'd still have a shot at going out with her?"

Wesley ignored his last question. "I'll get out a memo in the office explaining that you aren't a demon once again, but this is the last time. The next time you say that you are a demon, I will not deny it. Understood?"

Bobby nodded with that intention in mind. It walked away when a woman who could have only be described as sex on a happy-fun stick walked up and asked, "Hey, I heard you were a Rwonsca demon, is that true?"

"Yes. Yes I am." Always agree when beautiful women ask you if you are something. He learned that from Warren. And Warren had women.

Plural.

A hand went to his right shoulder blade and he felt a sharp poke with what he assumed was her finger tip. "Then why aren't you throwing up the heads of small Hungarian babies right now?"

"Uhm…I skipped lunch."

She shook her head at him. "Word of advice, new guy: If you want to spread it around that you are a creature to be feared…and maybe a few other things, stick to the basics. And stay in your own league."

"Are you in my league?" he asked hopefully.

She adjusted the scarf around her neck. "Not only are you not in my league, you're not even playing a sport."

With that, she turned and walked out and he gawked the entire time. Bobby wasn't aware legs could move quite like that.

And Bobby wasn't aware that a rolled up report rapped sharply on his head would hurt so much.

"We have a manifesto here at Wolfram & Heart, Drake," Wesley spoke. "Well, it's really an ironclad belief that we all obey – "Don't boink the undead"."

"What does that have to include you clubbing me over the head?"

"Because that particular undead that just strolled out of here is particularly unboinkable."

"Why?" Bobby asked with purity in his heart. Purity of the wanting to explore legs that gave him dirty thoughts.

"She's dead, Drake!" Wesley narrowed his eyes. "Why would you still want her?"

"Did you look at her?!"

"I've done that and more," Wes said, ignoring Bobby offering him a fist bump. "But that was when she was alive. We do not mess the dead."

"She's so hot, though!"

"Yes, she is. In fact, she's quite reminiscent of Elisabeth Braddock in her early days—"

Bobby broke out of his reverie. "You know Betsy?"

Wesley stared at him. "I…I was a fan of hers in my youth. Why, were you?"

"No, I'm an old friend of hers. What were you a fan of?"

Wesley laughed. "I think you're confused. I'm speaking of Elisabeth Braddock, Britain's top model in the late eighties, early nineties, who disappeared into obscurity. Some say she had surgery done to look Asian. I don't believe it, though."

Bobby snapped his fingers. "So that's what Betsy meant when she said she was in Vogue – I thought she meant she was a part of a music act..."

Wesley blinked. "You…you know Elisabeth Braddock?"

"Yeah!"

"Britain's top model, Elisabeth Braddock, whose poster of her in an electric blue two piece bathing suit hung above my bed for four years at public school?"

"Uhm…I don't know about that last part, but that's Betsy."

"How do you know Britain's top model?"

"Warren used to date her."

"Worthington – shareholder in this company – dated Elisabeth Braddock?" Wesley added in his mind, "Past tense?"

"Yep."

Wesley wanted to ask a million questions, but felt his intimidating presence begin to slip and the old Wesley begin to seep back in. "I think that's enough for now."

"Tell me one thing though, Wes."

"Yes?"

"What is the unboinkable broad's name?"

Wesley really wanted to warn him to stay away, but the thought of him going after her would actually put him in brighter spirits. And he needed both brighter spirits and liquid spirits. "Her name is Lilah."

-8-

Wesley settled down with another glass of Earl Grey. He hadn't even taken a sip when he noticed that a small chip of the ceiling had landed neatly into it. He went to pour the cup out when he noticed that more and more of the ceiling was beginning to fall. As he looked up, the sound of Elvis Presley fell on his ears like a thousand pound gorilla.

-9-

Angel allowed his mouth to form what he considered to be a smile and shouted through the room-filling sound of "Heartbreak Hotel", "Andrew, did I ever tell you that I met Elvis?"

-10-

"Hey, Warren, it's me…Bobby. No, Bobby, not Jimmy. No, I'm not going to get off the phone! You asked me to call you? What's that? You're expecting Jimmy Buffet to call? Why would Jimmy Buffet call you, Warren? Warren…Warren…Warren, why is Jimmy Buffet playing at the Wolfram & Hart Christmas party—sorry! I didn't know it wasn't a done deal! And no, "because I can" is not a good reason!

"I'm calling you about my progress. Yeah, I had some. Yes, I met Angel. He's…well, you're more Nordic, Warren, you're a different kind of handsome—I don't have to kiss up to you, Warren. No, I don't have to. Hank made you promise! Warren, I—whoa, I am NOT going to say that over the phone! I've never even said that to a girl, Warren, I'm not saying it to you!

"What do you mean you don't think I'm getting enough done? I don't need help…Warren, what do you mean that it's too late….yes, I am looking at my door, no one is there…Warren, no one is—"

Andrew opened the door quickly and with force. "She wouldn't let me call you, Mr. Drake."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me with that "Mr. Drake" stuff." The girl turned to him. "I've seen you in your Snoopy boxer shorts. I'm not calling you "Mr." anything, even if you were to somehow change your shape into Mr. T right now this very instant."

Andrew clapped his hands. "Can he do that?!"

Bobby spoke once more into the phone. "Warren, if you don't think I'm competent enough, what makes you think Jubilee's going to help in that regard?"