Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. The world would be a lot scarier place if I did.

A/N: Thanks to YOUPIN, jka1, fionnin, Louvil, and Vamp Charisma for the lovely comments. Sorry this took a hell of a long time to update.

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It had to be a physical attraction, like magnetics or something. There was no other way Cordelia Chase could explain how she and Angel kept ending up in the classic cars section of the huge car lot. The man was pining for his Plymouth, she decided, as she watched him running a hand lovingly over the hood of a '69 Mach I Mustang.

"I'm thinking something more along the lines of a minivan," she said as glanced across the lot. So far, they'd managed to avoid car salesmen attention, but it was only a matter of time before one of them swooped down on them like a hawk after field mice. This lot was big enough that they did their swooping on golf carts. It was hard to be stealthy on a golf cart, but Cordy was sure a salesman could manage it. "Plenty of room; uses less gas. Plus, it screams 'Mom Mobile'—what better disguise for us?"

Angel sighed and gave the Mustang a last, wistful look. "I think we should get a dog," he announced as they wound their way back over to the more family-oriented vehicles. Or detective agency-oriented vehicles. Or whatever the hell they were these days. "Don't most couples get a dog?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Yeah—as a precursor to having kids."

He stopped, stepping out in front of her to block her path between the cars. Reaching down, he took her hands from where they hung by her sides and squeezed them with his own. "So let's get a dog," he repeated, his dark eyes searching hers.

Cordy felt her breath catch in her chest. "Is this your indirect way of telling me you want kids?"

Angel leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, sending that little thrill through her that his kisses always did, but that wasn't the only thing twisting her stomach into knots. Children. As a little girl, she'd wanted kids. Two daughters: Rose and Claire. Their father would be as blond and handsome (and bland) as a Ken doll, and they'd live in a generously proportioned brick two-story with ivy climbing up the outside walls. As she got older, her dreams had changed. The wish to be a mother had faded as her interest in guys increased. The Ken doll had evolved into a dark, fabulously rich stud who was more interested in making love than having children.

It hadn't been until she held an infant Connor in her arms that she felt that maternal stirring again. He'd been so small and helpless, his smell sweet and powdery. She would have done anything for that baby. Now, he was an adult—one she knew both disgustingly intimate knowledge and absolutely nothing about. What she wouldn't give to have that little baby back.

She broke the kiss, moving her mouth just far enough away from his to talk. "I…it's not so simple," she confessed. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his long-still heart just beneath the surface of his skin. "I'm dead, remember? And you're…you're not exactly human."

Storm clouds rolled into his eyes as his brow settled back into the 'furrowed' position. "What're you talking about? Of course, I'm human—it's the Shanshu!"

Her chest tight like she was going to cry, Cordelia shook her head. She swallowed. "Angel, it's not. It was supposed to be, but something got mixed up. You didn't come back right."

He backed away from her, bumping up against the side of an SUV. "What'd you mean? Didn't come back right? I'm fine! Look—it's me out in the sun and not frying! My heart's beating. What's wrong with this?"

"Angel," she said quietly, leaning her back against a red Explorer, "You can hear my heart beating, can't you? From all the way over there."

The grim look that fell across his face told her that, yes, indeed he could.

"Walk me through those last few hours—did you do something to increase your strength for the fight with Wolfram & Hart? Was there a spell? Was there anything that could have made you not-quite vampire?"

Angel rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "No spells—hell, I sent Wes to assassinate my best sorcerer. Why would I trust any spells? No, it was a very mundane day for me up until the point where Hamilton and I started trashing the office: wake up, have a cup of blood…" His face froze, mouth open. "Blood."

"Blood?"

He swallowed. "During the fight with Hamilton…I was losing. I'd been thrown through walls and windows and beaten to a pulp, and he was hardly even scratched. He was taunting me—telling me how he had the power of Wolfram & Hart in his veins. I told him it was the wrong thing to say to a vampire."

"You bit him." He nodded. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. The big…dumb lug had managed to drink a whopping dose of pure evil right before receiving his grand reward from the Powers That Be. No wonder he was still registering as a supernatural power while her bosses were scratching their heads. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back so tight that she could feel the skin of her face stretch. Of all the stupid, moronic… She laughed. She couldn't help it. Only Angel could get himself into a predicament like this. Only Angel. "Congratulations," she said when she finally felt capable of forming full, coherent sentences, "You successfully made yourself into a great force for evil."