Ever since she was a little girl, Cordelia Chase had the same dream: She's on stage, heavy gold statuette in her hands, a sea of ballgowns and tuxedos applauding her as she thanks the Academy, Mom, and of course her almost-as-fantastic-as-her co-stars.
Except Cordelia doesn't sleep much at night anymore. She catches a few minutes here and there in the gray hours before dawn, and if she has time, at lunch. At night, she's down in the sewers, heavy tools or weapons in her hands.
No one applauds her. No one thanks her.
She's living the dream. And fighting nightmares.
18th Century Digital Boy
"Cordelia!"
Angel's panicking again. She lets him stew in his own juices for a few minutes – for his own good, he has to learn - before going into his office.
"It just beeps at me. If I wanted something that beeped at me, I'd get a canary. What was wrong with handwritten letters and telegrams anyway?"
She rolls her eyes, takes the offending object, enters the PIN code and hands it back to him with a withering look.
"Oh. Nevermind, it's working again."
She swears that one day she'll just ignore him until he breaks down crying over his cell phone.