Chapter Two

Ella

Cordelia Chase paced anxiously across the floor of the hotel they now called "home base". Sporting pale pajama pants and a heavy white sweater, she was used to being awake at all hours of the night. Who needed sleep when she had her boss to keep her up and unwanted, painful, pain-in-the-ass visions that attacked her unexpectedly at other times? At least she would have had good company if it weren't for the horrible tension that lingered in the air while they waited for Angel to come back.

Sprawled out on a comfortable couch, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce nursed what felt like a cracked skull with a heavy bag of ice. Even as an intellectual, he refused to think at the moment, seeing as how even his brain hurt too much to conceive an intelligent thought. Every muscle in his body screamed out in horrible pain after being hurled through a second story window and then falling through rotten floors to the basement where he had landed tactfully on old sewing machines. It was a miracle that he managed to limp away with no more than a sprained ankle and so many cuts that he stopped counting after thirty… that and he was lucky enough to walk away at all… after a fall like the one he had, he should have been dead. To him, he felt like a king and he was pretty damn proud of it.

Kneeling by his side with ointment for his wounds was Winifred "Fred" Burkle. A thin young woman with long brown locks extending down to her small bosom and powerful hazel eyes Fred was a remarkable lady. She had a mind that rivaled even Wesley's and her mind worked fast, which made her even more of an asset than she realized. She wore simple jeans, brown shoes, and a purple long-sleeved shirt that hugged her tiny frame. She constantly stared up at Wesley, her eyes filled with concern that somehow actually made the poor Englishman feel guilty for allowing himself to be thrown through a second floor window in the first place.

Charles Gunn was the only member missing from the gang. He had left twenty minutes ago to run to his place to put on decent clothing that was dry and didn't cling to him and didn't make him cold. From another room somewhere in the hotel, they could hear Lorne singing peacefully to himself, the tension affecting him in no way. Lorne was a loveable, green-skinned, red horned, red-eyed demon with a passion for fashion, music, and the high life of his own nightclub.

At that moment he walked in, whistling to himself and snapping in fingers to what sounded somewhat like jazz.

"Oh, come on, people," he told them airily. "Lighten up. Angel-face will come through like he always does and in one piece with the girl safe and s—"

The hotel entrance banged open as Angel kicked it in. He rushed in with the unconscious girl in his arms. Although she seemed to be fine except for the unconscious part, he was far from better off.

"Oh, God, Angel!" Fred exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Wesley attempted to move but thought better of it and remained regretfully where he was. "You're hurt. Terribly!"

"Not now, Fred," Angel groaned. "Upstairs. Room. Woman!"

"Is she too heavy?" Cordelia questioned curiously, all anger and worry melting away for a small moment. "Because if she is, Angel. I thought you were stronger than that. Either that, or she's just really weighs a lot. I'm going to have to teach her a thing or two about weight loss programs. I mean how is anyone supposed to rescue her and sweep her off her feet if she weighs a ton."

"Cordelia," Wesley started, taking a moment to wince in pain as he sat up slightly. "The girl weighs hardly anything. She has a very thin waist. She can't weigh more than a hundred, a hundred and ten pounds at the most."

"Oh," she drawled, a look of confusion on her face as she began to follow Angel up the stairs and to an empty room. Being they used the hotel purely for the use of a place to call "home" for their business, nearly every room was empty except for a few, like the ones Angel, Fred, Lorne, and Wesley used. Only Cordelia and Gunn had their own living quarters outside the hotel. "Then why is she too heavy for you?"

"I never said she was too heavy, Cordy," Angel replied quietly. He gently laid the young woman down of the covers of a bed, carefully laying her head on a pillow. He went to the door, leaning on it heavily while giving out orders. "Fred, go to my room and find something- anything- for her to wear: um… a big shirt and sweatpants should do fine. Also, grab some towels so she can be dried off."

Fred nodded slowly, rushing off to get what he needed.

"Oh, and Fred?" she stopped and looked up at him. He looked tired, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "Bring some extra towels and a first aid kit."

"Is she injured?" Wesley asked in a concern tone.

"No!" it sounded almost as if Angel was actually whining. "For me, Wes, for me!"

Finally, after shutting himself inside the room alone with the young woman half an hour earlier, Angel appeared in the doorway of the room and closed the door silently behind him. He smiled some as he saw everyone gathered in the lobby of the hotel, waiting impatiently to hear what he had to say.

"She's fine," he assured them as he came down the stairs, taking each step gingerly and fully aware of every place that his body hurt. "She's asleep now. She woke up for a moment but she couldn't comprehend anything. I think she's going to be fine, maybe a bit shocked when she wakes up."

"Do we know anything about her?" Gunn asked as he thrummed his fingers loudly on the marble top of the front desk. "Like name, where she comes from, age, hair color?"

"Yeah, and can she pay?" Cordy pointed out, her eyes wide. Suddenly, her brows knit together tightly and she turned her head slightly to Charles. "Why do we want to know her hair color?"

"Because—"

"Oh, I know," she nodded her brunette head with sudden understanding. "You want to know if she dyes her hair. Wow, Gunn, I didn't know you were interested in that stuff."

"I'm not, supermama," he rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his muscled chest. "I said it to emphasize that we so far know squat on this chick."

"We know she can swing a baseball bat like a pro," Angel offered while he sat down in a chair. Fred rushed over to him, helping take off his shirt and beginning to attend to his wounds. The poor girl looked as if she hadn't slept in forty-eight hours and appeared worried beyond any control.

That's our Fred, Angel thought to himself with a gentle smile.

"Why do you say that?" Wesley inquired with genuine interest.

"Because, she had a homerun crushing the skull of one of those demons. Almost could say she saved my life," he offered.

"The girl's a wonderchick," Gunn nodded his head with much approval, a crooked smile on his lips.

"More than that," Lorne agreed enthusiastically. "So much more than that. I wonder if she can sing."

"But it's not like you need any real saving anyway," Cordy smiled largely. "I mean with you being all-" she clawed her hands and bared her teeth "-girr and all. If you know what I—"

"You can say the word, Cordelia," Angel shook his head in annoyance. "I'm a vampire."

"That's what I meant!" she protested.

"Back to the wonderchick," Gunn changed the topic quickly, knowing Cordy could go on forever. "What do we know?"

"Her name's Ella Winters," their boss informed them. "She has no current address in L.A. that we know of. According to her birthday, which is August 16th, on her driver's license, she is twenty-two years old. And she has blond hair."

"But for all we know it could be dyed," Cordelia pointed out snootily.

"So for all we know, Ella Winters is a mystery," Wesley said.

"Yes, Ella…" Angel started before wincing in silent pain as Fred bandaged a wound on his arm.