Well, here we are. I told you I'd update regularly. To my reviewers: You guys rock. I wouldn't do this if it weren't for people telling me what they got out of what I put in. I don't even know you but you're all wonderful, dahlings! XD Reviewers make the fanfic world go round. (And ChArMeDcRaZiChIcK: Yes, stupidity does, in fact, kick major ass. Maybe someday I'll publish the true tale of pretty, pretty princesses and quarters on FictionPress.)
Also: am starting a mailing list. Email and I'll put you on the notification list. You'll be emailed when a new chapter goes up. If just one person signs up, it'd make my year. xD

I guess I should get on with the story, yes?

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It was possible that Cordelia loved espresso more than shopping. In the pie chart of her mind, it seemed as if the current percentage of Things She Cared About was 50% coffee, 48% shopping, and a tiny 2% sliver of "other" --- that being Angel Investigations. She usually arrived when Angel was dragging his ass in from his night's work, her smile bright and annoyingly perky as she handed him a cup of warmed pig's blood.

"Good morning, boss!" she chirped.

"Graungh." Hurting from the smackdown a group of demons had almost successfully laid on him, Angel fell into a chair, gulping at his drink. "Nuhsugha?" Angel had found that he tolerated the lower-grade blood better after a couple of teaspoons of sugar.

"Well, of course I didn't put sugar in it. I couldn't. We're out."

This abruptly snapped Angel into a cold, harsh, sugarless reality. "But Wes just brought in a five pound bag of it yesterday!"

"Espresso requires a lot of sugar to be drinkable."

"Not five pounds' worth!" Rather than look at Cordelia in the fear he'd strangle his link to the Powers That Be, he glared at his glass of blood like it was the porker's fault. "Cordelia, you have got to stop this."

"I don't see why -- it's just a drink. What could it hur--"

Two things happened in the same moment, and one right after. Wes entered the room as Cordy had a KO of a vision; the occurrence after that was that her coffee cup flew behind her, hitting Wesley in the head, had he not ducked with his catlike reflexes. Yeah, right. The poor Brit got clobbered. Dazed, he only just managed to keep Cordelia from hitting the floor. With Angel's help, they (none too deftly) maneuvered her onto a couch, after first hitting two walls and a coffee table.

Wes cocked his head, standing above her. "She's usually awake by now."

"Yeah. You think she hit her head? Maybe we should poke her with a stick."

"Angel, if Cordelia hit her head, someone dropped her on it," Wesley said. "She's coming around now."

Angel put back the ornate quarterstaff with a sigh.

"Guys...um... corner of Oak and...Madeira... tonight, just after sunset. It's...not small. Big." She heaved a sigh. "Scaly. Purple."

"Purple. Cause, you know, purple's the sort of color that strikes fear into the hearts of the populace." Angel rolled his eyes. "What is this guy, Barney?"

"Someone's cranky this morning..." Wes said under his breath.

"Yes," Angel replied, "someone is. Someone was nearly gored oh, about --" he glanced at the clock "-- two hours ago then came home to his own house and found that someone else ate all his sugar. So yes, someone is cranky. But I don't know who. It's not me."

"Angel..." Cordy said, putting her hand out. "Don't..." He had the grace to look a little abashed.

"Cordy's right," Wes said. "Let's go and let her rest. Do you need anything, Cordelia?"

She shook her head 'no' and moved slightly, trying to get more comfortable. They left her, Wes twitching the blinds shut.

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The two men didn't see Cordelia for the entire day, Angel spending it in front of the TV, glued to 'Thelma and Louise' and Jackie Chan reruns while Wesley tried to block out the movie noise with a demon encyclopedia. By the time the sun was sinking past the horizon, Angel was twitching to duplicate Jackie's moves, and Wes even went so far as to admit that he could use a break from the inactivity as well.

They crept out past a still-out Cordy, after Angel had scribbled a hasty "Went slay be back will bring Thai" Post-It and stuck it to her forehead. Hopping into the Thunderbird after loading their stakes and swords, and headed to Oak and Madeira.

"A studio? Cordelia sent us to a studio?" Angel almost laughed.

"Movies today have demonic influences," Wes said, feeling the need to defend Cordelia's vision. "Look at Home Alone. It was so bad it had to have demonic influences."

"Nah, one of the producers sold their soul." At Wes's curious glance, Angel really did laugh. "What? You hear these things."

"Right. I wonder what they're filming here..." Wes got out, walking to the door.

"I hope it's an action movie," Angel said, following. "Maybe they could use another stuntman." He feigned a karate pose, hands stuck out at odd angles. "Huwaaaaaaa!" He smirked. "What do you think? Am I the next Pierce Brosnan?"

"I think if you don't straighten up I'm going to have to find a broom to sweep up your remains." Angel quieted. "Good."

As they neared the door, a security guard rounded the corner. "I'm sorry," he said. "You have to have permission to be in there."

Angel smoothly intervened, putting a hand on Wes' shoulder. "Excuse me, buddy. It's just my friend, here -" he jerked his head toward Wes "- is fresh off the boat from London and he's curious as to what you're filming here."

"Oh," the security guard said, giving Wes a look of disdain specially reserved for tourists and puppy-kickers. "Nothing you two would be interested in. It's 'Barney; The Musical.'"

"Right," Wes said. "Thank you, then. Have a nice night." He gave Angel a nasty look as they headed back to the car. "'Fresh off the boat'? Does anyone actually say that any more?"

"I wouldn't know." Angel started the car up, accelerating out of the parking lot. "Barney. Barney."

"So are we still going to..." Wes was silenced as Angel ruthlessly cut off a red Corvette, ignoring the driver's shouts.

"No. Anyone who's in league with Barney deserves to die." Angel stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

"What do you have against Barney?" Wes looked out the window, hoping that such a casual question would hopefully defuse Angel's anger.

"When I was in Sunnydale, and shut up in that mansion all day, I had a TV. Unfortunately, the thing only got one channel. One time, they showed Barney for a week straight. A week straight, Wes."

Wes grimaced. "What happened?"

"I broke the TV. Didn't have any entertainment at all after that, but at least no one sang that stupid song. Ugh. Barney."

Okay, now would be a good time for a change of subject. "Back to the Hyperion?"

"Gotta pick up the Thai." The rest of the ride was in silence, save for the few instructions Angel barked at the drive-thru window. Arriving back at the Hotel in record time, Angel stormed through the doors, nearly taking one off its hinges. Through the window in Cordy's office, he could see her firing up that blasted machine, holding her cup (Angel didn't see how pink bunnies on a mug could improve coffee, but Cordy swore by it) under the spout expectantly.

It moved. Just a fraction, a twitch, a tic. But still: the thing fucking moved.

Angel flung the bag of Thai food into Wes's arms. "Hold it!"

"Wha-" His boss was no longer beside him, having instead made it through the small window by some miracle of God, the laws of physics and common sense having decided to take a picnic.

Cordelia was flung into him, and Wes decided that his own personal Lady Luck had joined the forces that governed the universe on their picnic.

"Wes?" Cordy sounded slightly awed.

"I'm fine, thanks." He extracted the bag of food and handed it to her. She took it without comment, then pointed to her office.

Her friend took off his glasses and polished them, slipping them back on. He decided he must be delusional, because there was just no way Wesley Wyndham-Pryce could be seeing what he was seeing.

The espresso machine -- now looking like something out of Star Trek -- was fighting Angel.

"Where the hell did you guys get that thing?" Cordy asked.

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And so that's the chapter. Inspired by coffee, written by me, and haunted by Barney. Sonuvabitch always winds up in my thoughts at least once a day.

So, what did you think? I hope it was all right. I was incredibly tired when I wrote it.

XD Oh, and I don't own anything. As usual.