"Well, um... it was all Angel's fault!" Wes stammered out.

"Hey, Wes? Can we save the blame game for a time when something is not trying to rip out my entrails?" Angel sent a punch into the demon's metal side. "Owww!" He had left a sizable dent, but the demon, which still looked freakishly like a regular espresso machine (if they regularly have legs, arms, and a head), didn't feel a thing, instead hitting him in the stomach with a force that sent Angel flying into the wall, leaving another sizable dent there.

A high-pitched, enraged sound somewhere between a caterwaul and a Scottish battle-cry came from Cordelia, and before Wes could stop her, she had jumped onto the demon, kicking it and...wait, she couldn't possibly--- yes, she was biting it.

His co-workers gone mad, Wesley did the only thing he could think to do. He went and got the Holy Water, locked in a hidden compartment underneath his desk --- he'd put it in there for an emergency, like if Angel went crazy and had to be stopped.

This definitely counted as an emergency, he thought as he unscrewed the lid. By the time he returned, the situation had taken a decided turn for the worse. Angel and Cordy (whose livid strength seemed to be fading) were both getting their asses handed to them.

"A coffee machine is thumping you. Just thought you should know that," he said, splashing some of the holy liquid at the demon. It landed on Angel instead, the flesh making a sickening sound as it burned.

"Ah, ah! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off me!" He retreated from the fight, squirming uncontrollably. Wes took the time to pour the rest of the water on the demon --- it sizzled, smoked, and went boom, in roughly that order. Feeling very heroic and full of himself, the Brit dragged Cordy away from the ..." she said dazedly. that?"

"It was magic super coffee. We should have expected something like that." Angel winced, and Cordelia seemed to realize he was hurt.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said, laying a comforting hand over the burnt skin. He snarled, and Cordy withdrew very quickly. "Well, someone's a bit touchy. And it wasn't even your espresso machine that went all psycho-slap-happy."

Wes sighed. Crazy Americans. And Irish. The Irish were just plain mad, there was no other word for it. "I'm going to go have a look and see what I can find out." Shaking his head, he walked away.

"What's his problem?" he heard Cordy ask.

"He's British. They're just plain crazy."

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The morning passed uneventfully -- which also meant no new cases. Angel was beating the hell out of a punching bag, also known as "training," and Wesley was reading. Well, some things really were unvarying constants.

Cordelia walked into the offices holding two Styrofoam cups and a couple bags. Wes threw a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, dismissed her as a non-client, and went back to Ye Olde Musty, Dusty Demons. One of the cups was shoved underneath his nose, and he took his time putting a bookmark in the book and setting it down, before removing the offending cup and looking at it hesitantly.

"Relax, it's not arsenic. It's tea from that one place - oh, you know - the one in Chinatown?"

"LA's Chinatown is in Pasadena." Still, Wes took the cup, fighting not to grimace as he took a cautious sip.

"Well, there was a gas station shaped like a pagoda, so I thought--"

"'I thought' from Cordelia Chase. Now there's a first...let me write this down..."

"Just because I don't have encyclopedias shoved in my face all day doesn't mean I'm an airhead, Mr. Encyclopedia-Face!"

"No, but that last comment earns you a kindergartener title. And this tea is awful, if you can call it tea."

A dangerous light glinted in Cordy's eyes, a vein in her forehead performing the Electric Slide to Mambo no. 5. "Excuse me? I tried to do something nice for you, you stupid British-"

"And you stuffed it up, as usual," Wesley said arrogantly. Cordelia plowed on with her tirade as if he hadn't even opened his mouth. (The night after, when Wesley thought about it, he decided he might as well have kept his trap shut for all the good it did.)

"Pig! Now you owe me five bucks and-"

"Actually, he owes me five bucks. You owe me three hundred and a really good excuse." There was just the tiniest glimmer of sweat on Angel's face and neck; otherwise, he looked completely unruffled --- besides that almost-livid look on his face.

"I bought office supplies. And one new skirt. So sue me, Mr. Broody Pants." Cordy took a few wrinkled bills from her purse and threw them at Angel. He watched disinterestedly as they fluttered to the ground at his feet.

"And after that striking display of maturity..." Wesley narrated, taking a sip of his tea and nearly spitting it back out straightaway, but forcing it down with a smile more suited to a skeleton. "Mm, smashing good tea, Cordy. Thank you." Cordelia only crossed her eyes. As she turned away, Wesley stuck out his tongue. Whether it was in distaste or retaliation will remain unseen.

Cordelia had gone home after that incident, citing a headache and a fear of catching the stupid that was spreading around Angel Investigations. Wes and Angel had taken to doing their activities of the previous day -- books and old movies, respectively. Angel was drinking from a thankfully opaque container as Wes came in, sitting down on the couch beside him.

"Ugh, move."

"Pardon?" Wes asked, looking at his boss with an eyebrow raised.

"Move. It's...not right. You need the buffer space." Angel was sitting on the arm of the couch.

"The buffer space?"

"The buffer space! Your buffer! Your bubble! And for God's sake, stop eating garlic!"

"I thought that myth wasn't true." Wes scooted away indulgingly, sticking another handful of garlicky popcorn in his mouth.

"It's not, I just have heightened senses." Angel sighed, stretching out on the couch Wes had vacated. "I'm also really bored. Where is Cordy when you need her?" Wes kept his mouth shut; wisely, in Angel's opinion. The vampire groaned, reaching for the remote. "Find out anything on the demon?"

"Other than nothing? Sorry, no. Hey!" Angel changed the channel to Jerry Springer. "I was watching that movie!"

"What was it about?" Angel challenged.

Wes faltered for a moment: "Gorgeous Japanese girls?"

"They were Chinese. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is a Chinese movie."

"Fine, what's this about, then?"

Angel squinted at the tiny screen. "Tranny grannies, horse lovers, and..." He laughed out loud. "Cousins who do more than kiss."

"I believe my brain just melted." Wes looked away from the screen in disgust. Angel flipped it back to his movie quickly.

"Yeah, that was what I thought, too."

The phone rang. They looked at each other, deciding who would answer it with a mental arm wrestle.

Wes lost. "Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless. ... Cordy? No, calm down, calm down, it's all right. ... Oh, I say. ... Yes, you're right, that is highly abnormal...on our way." He hung up. "The Starbucks on Fourth just went out of control. No casualties yet, but it could get ugly."

Angel jumped up. "Taking the sewers. Don't forget the holy water." He shrugged his coat on, retreating into the inner recesses of the Hyperion.

Wes gave the TV screen a long last look. "Kung-fu, I bid thee adieu." He rushed out, jogging towards his destination.

He never noticed the sleek-looking black car that pulled out of its parking space across the street, following him on his route.

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A/N: Okay, thanks to all who reviewed. Third chapter, yay! Sorry for the length between chapter two and this, but life just kind of jerked me away from the computer. It hasn't been that long, right? There are only two more chapters to go, so stay tuned!