Title: Tea and Madeleine
Chapter Title: Past Perfect
Author: Zoe Han
Disclaimer: Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon and Co. lucky devils.
Spoilers: Rain of Fire / Apocalypse Nowish (Angel), Never Leave Me (BTVS)
Notes: AU where ConCord exists only in the platonic sense
About the Title: based on Marcel Proust's connection between memory and a madeleine
Summary: After the destruction of The Watchers' Council, a phone call from Wesley brings Giles to L.A. to help out A.I.


Twenty-two. That last call made twenty-two in the span of a day. Giles muttered a curse as he turned off his cell phone in the midst of a blaring busy signal. The stress of approaching Armageddon was wearing down his patience and the chaotic Los Angeles traffic only made matters worse. The frenzied city was rocked by the panic of its inhabitants who were desperately trying to leave. They had good reason, a rain of fire was more than just a subtle threat of doom.

Giles smacked the steering wheel of his borrowed Nissan in frustration. He was barely inching through the jam of vehicles and assortment of profanities hurled between drivers. There was a kind of religious mania colliding through the air as self-appointed prophets stood on the side of the clogged streets, attributing the sins of humanity to the recent flood of supernatural warnings.

Exasperated, he tossed his cell phone onto the passenger side. He rubbed his eyes and then readjusted his glasses, hoping the gesture would clear both his mind and vision. It couldn't be much farther now. Giles rechecked the address he had scribbled down courtesy of Wesley, gathered his things - overnight bag, cell phone, books, notes - and exited the car. He was resigned to jog the rest of the way.

The car door had barely slammed shut when nearby people clamored for it, desperate for a means of transportation to get out of the city as quickly as possible. Giles could hear the commotion for the vehicle behind him and was silently thankful he had borrowed the car from a retired Watcher in Vegas. Losing this car would be easier on his wallet than a true rental, of course, there would be nothing to worry about if the world were to end.

He managed to get through the masses and was soon in The Hyperion's front courtyard. Although the fire had left the building's facade virtually untouched, the gardens were left charred and in decay. Giles observed the hotel's impressive architecture, clearly of Spanish influence, and imagined it had once seen glamorous days filled with Hollywood starlets and wealthy patrons. It seemed Angel Investigations had been doing all right the past couple years which was why Giles realized the severity of the present situation when he received the phone call from Wesley. It had been over three years since Angel, Cordelia, and Wesley had formed the agency and never once had they asked for help... until now.

Giles entered The Hyperion's lobby where he found Wesley with a young woman pouring over books atop what once must have been the hotel's check-in counter.

"Hello," he called, setting his things on a nearby divan. Wesley and the woman looked up from their work. Giles was taken back by the former Watcher's appearance; the man was in desperate need of a shower and a shave. His clothes were disheveled; Giles guessed he hadn't slept in days. It was a far cry from the polished Wyndham-Pryce in Sunnydale days, but then, so much had changed.

"Giles, I wasn't expecting you until later, if at all. We understood all flights to Los Angeles had been cancelled," his voice was gruff and exuded street-smart savvy as he extended a hand to the guest.

"We were forced to make an emergency landing in Las Vegas. I had to drive the rest of the way," Giles explained, taking Wesley's hand.

"Of course."

Their conversation bore rigid politeness resulting from the undertone of resentment they held against each other, coals left smoldering from their past association in Sunnydale. Giles had never been fond of Wesley's "by the book" attitude and arrogance, obvious remnants from the tremendous amounts of brown-nosing Quentin Travers and the rest of the Watchers' Council. To Wesley, Giles represented what he, himself, should have been: Watcher of what seemed to be an exemplary Slayer. Although circumstances had changed between the two men, they still had yet to shake off indignation.

"I believe I've mentioned Fred to you before," Wesley motioned toward the counter.

She hardly seemed like the Winifred Burkle of either Wesley or Willow's description. He had imagined someone naive, fragile, and despite the glasses, a little more bookish. She forced a half-smile at him then resumed her reading.

So Los Angeles wasn't the hub of friendliness.

Giles slid off his brown corduroy jacket and added it to his pile on the divan, "So what else do we know now?" He rolled up the sleeves of his forest green button-down and joined the duo. The visit to Los Angeles was business one, and present company was only too willing to remind him through the chilly reception.

They introduced him to a charted layout of supernatural events in the city as well as areas where The Beast had made appearances. They passed him a stack of notes where they had sketched translations of various prophesies and additional details on Connor, Cordelia's recent visions, and key moves by Wolfram and Hart.

"Angel and... Gunn," Wesley cast an uneasy sideways glance at Fred which went unnoticed by her, "are searching for The Beast as we speak. They don't pose much of a threat, but we're simply hoping to at least keep it distracted from hurting anyone else. It had the opportunity to kill us before, but it didn't. It's keeping us alive for something."

"And the rest?"

"Lorne is working the demon-based rumor mill," Fred answered, swivelling her chair to another desk behind her, one equipped with a computer. Her agile fingers flitted across the keyboard with dexterity reminiscent of Willow.

"And Connor and Cordelia..." Wesley's voice trailed off, his eyes catching sigh of something at the door. Giles followed his gaze.

He turned to find an attractive woman by The Hyperion's doorway, looking startled. She was dressed in a plum skirt that showed off her well-toned legs and a lilac blouse. Her short dark blond hair was swept just above her eyes. Despite the change in physical appearance, he immediately recognized her by her poise.

"Giles," Cordelia broke the silence bridging between them.

He was still momentarily at a loss for words, overcome by the alteration that had occurred in the span of three years. She could not wait for a reply as she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Cordelia, your hair..." Giles blurted.

Paranoid that the remark was received as an insult, he quickly added, "It's charming." She pulled away and blushed as she tucked a lock behind her ear. He was relieved when she met him with her brilliant Cordelia Chase smile, but it reversed into a stern frown when she saw his things on the divan.

"Don't tell me you're still wearing corduroy," she wrinkled her nose.

He chuckled, despite her tendency to exasperate him during her high school days, he was relieved to see she still retained some of that Queen C edge.

Behind her in a grey cotton sweatshirt was a young man whom Giles assumed to be Connor. Judging by the surly demeanor, he's Angel's chip off the block, not to mention shoulder, thought Giles.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, rubbing his upper arm where Cordelia had surprised him with a sharp blow. "The devil! What was that for?" He wondered if perhaps Wesley had forgot to tell him the seer had gained the ability to read thoughts as part of her premium demonization package.

"Three years and you don't visit us til now!" she folded her arms in an accusing matter.

He smiled, "I thought I'd chose 'Impending Apocalypse' season as the best time to holiday to avoid the scandalous rates of tourism."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," she touched his arm apologetically then added as an afterthought, "Did you bring presents?"