Notes: Thank you to anyone who reviewed - I really do appreciate it:)


2.

Picking herself off the floor and turning to the most crucial task in hand - dusting off her skirt - Cordelia tutted to herself before turning to Doyle with a frustrated expression.

"When was the last time anyone thought to do any cleaning around here?" she demanded, "And don't you even look like you expect me to do it because I'll have you know, the boss may be carbon-dated but this is the twenty-first century, mister, and this is an equal opportunities gig if ever I saw one – who else would employ an Irish gambler who, considering the whinging he can do about the headaches he can get for no reason, you would think would be less than keen to self-inflict them with alcohol?"

"Are ya sure yer human?" asked Doyle suspiciously, quickly shrugging as he saw her land one of those notorious "You-did-not-just-say-that" looks on him. "I only ask 'cause I didn't see ya breathe once there! And anyway, get yersel' down off yer soap box – we've got bigger problems than women's lib …"

Letting it go as she ran a hand through her long dark hair, smoothing it back into place, Cordelia gestured around the wrecked office and nodded. "True. Where does that Willow get off landing us in this mess? She's supposed to be Wicca-girl and all big with the spells and the knowledge - are you seeing any evidence to support that claim? 'Cause I sure am not! Turning a people-eating demon into a baby people-eating demon – how hard could it be? But oh no, her spell went all phooey and now look at this place! And where did Angel go? And what is that kid doing here? God, his parents are gonna freak! We're gonna go down for kidnapping …"

Doyle shot her an incredulous look, "Don't ya see what's goin' on here?"

She stared back blankly and then it seemed to dawn on her and she snapped her fingers, "Of course! It's a demon kid … We need to get Angel back here so we can … Hey, those are Angel's clothes … Great, that's all we need – our boss getting arrested for indecent exposure … "

"Cor, darlin', newsflash for ya – that kid is Angel."

For a moment, she looked at him in disbelief. Then she looked at the child. And when she turned back to Doyle, her mouth had formed a small, silent "oh". She was speechless – wonders would never cease.

"Cute little tyke, ain't he?"

"Doyle!" Cordelia gasped, slapping his arm as she snapped out of her stunned stupor. "Is that all you can say? Our boss is now a one hundred and something year old toddler!"

"Well, there ain't really a proper way to react to these things, is there?" Doyle shrugged.

"It … it can't be him … We don't know that it is …"

"Ah, c'mon, Cordy – look at him. He's what? Four-ish? And he still looks like he's got the weight o' the world on his shoulders! Who else could he be?"

"Do something!" she ordered in a panic, "He can't stay like that!"

"Me! If I remember rightly, I ain't the one who got us in to this mess! Anyway, simmer down, princess – yer scarin' the poor kid." Doyle said, trying to stay calm as he went over to crouch before the child whose bottom lip was already quivering dangerously and his big brown eyes filling with tears at the sound of Cordelia's decidedly raised voice. "It's alright, little man, yer okay … Umm, d'ya remember me? Doyle?"

"D-Doyle …" the child whimpered unsurely.

"That's right. And Cordelia?"

"Cor … Cord …" The little boy struggled with the more difficult name, a look of concentration on his small, earnest face. "Cordy-la-la!"

"Close enough." Doyle smirked, "And d'ya know what yer own name is, huh?" I'm Doyle and yer …" Doyle pointed to his own chest and then to the child's, leaving the sentence hanging to see if he would get an answer.

Growing less afraid of this big man with the kind face and funny voice, the little boy pointed to his own chest with a big smile. "I's Angel!" he announced happily. "Angel, Angel, Angel!"

"Good lad!" Doyle said encouragingly, "And d'ya know how old ya are?"

Angel thought for a second and then nodded solemnly, holding up three little fingers. "I's this many."


"So he's Angel and he's three years old – you couldn't make it up! How did this happen? I did everything Willow said – and it wasn't easy, I can tell you, what with the fuzzy connection and everything …"

"Fuzzy connection?"

"Yeah, on the phone line – I could hardly … make her … out … Ohhhh …" she trailed off, a caught look on her face. "Guess I should maybe have double checked on a couple of things …"

"Maybe?" Doyle repeated, eyebrows raised.

"Polly want a cracker, much? Since I don't know what we're gonna do, repeating after me is hardly going to help! This just doesn't make sense …"

"Well, it ain't everyday something like this happens – things goin' wrong while demons ravage the city – oh wait … That's pretty much our lives, the uncut version."

"I don't just mean Angel getting younger – I mean Angel getting younger. Think about it," Cordelia said as Doyle just looked mystified. "He's three – so why isn't he Liam?"

The Irishman opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, sitting down on top of the desk with a frown. "Actually, that's a good question, darlin' – he's a younger Angel, but Angel was never young. He's the perpetual twenty-somethin', trapped at the age Liam was turned … Which begs the question …"

"How the hell do we put him back?"

"That too, but I meant is he totally Angel, fangs an' all, or is he just a normal kid?"

"Please!" scoffed Cordelia, "With the issues Angel has, no way is he going to be a normal kid – regardless of whether he's in the chocolate milk or the O-neg camp!"


to be continued...