As it turned out, there's a button you can press in order to get a nurse to come in and take care of you. Veronica knew that of course, but honestly, she plain forgot. Understandable. One tends to forget things when one hasn't slept since being brutally attacked by two things that may, or may not be monsters. She apologized to Wallace for the oversight, and for freaking out over the thermometer. Wallace was just happy to get more medication.

Smiling an 'I'm so crafty' smile at her best friend, Veronica got out her cell phone and started dialing.

"Who're you calling?" he asked. Veronica shushed him.

-

Cliff McCormack was not having a good time. He really wasn't. As a lawyer, he was used to people who were nuts, and unfortunately this was pretty much par for the norm.

"Listen Punky." He was speaking to his colorfully attired client. They were sitting in one of Sheriff Lamb's lovely interrogation rooms. Cliff was trying to pretend it wasn't hot as Hell in there. His client was trying to pretend she was innocent. "You were caught on camera stealing 2,000 dollars worth of clothes from Fashionably Fabulous Boutique. There isn't actually any way for you to plead innocent without looking like a crazy person."

"First of all, my name ain't Punky! It's Tommie! Second of all, you're MY lawyer! Which means you do like I say! And I say I'm innocent!" the client reasoned logically.

Cliff's cell chose that opportune moment to ring and save him from a potential lawsuit.

"Uh-huh. Just one second." He recognized the ring tone. The melody was sweet and innocent, but the lyrics were all about Machiavellian shenanigans. He chose it specifically for her. "V! How's L.A.?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of the kleptomaniacal Tommie. He pointed to his silver pen. "Don't." Tommie, for her part, gave him the finger. "Oh that's mature."

"Who me?" Veronica used her best innocent voice. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Cliff rolled his eyes. "No not you you pixy. My client's a little ... free spirited. But really, enough of the socially misaligned, how's L.A.?"

Veronica smiled that smile to her best friend again. "L.A.'s good." Wallace stared at Veronica incredulously, and pointed to his less than useful arm. "We've already been to the Wax Museum, and the Griffith Observatory."

"Lovely. So what do you want?" Asked Cliff, snatching his pen from his client's hands before she could hide it on her person.

"What do you know about Wolfram and Hart?" She asked, looking at Wallace as understanding dawned in his eyes.

Cliff paled. "Only that I never, ever, want to work for, or against them. They have a bad reputation V. Why do you want to know?"

Veronica went for a nonchalant approach "Oh it's no big deal. I was just doing a background check for a case while I had some free time. The client is being represented by a Charles Gunn, he's an attorney for them. I thought maybe you've heard of him?"

"No I haven't. I make it an extra special point NOT to know anything about ANYONE from Wolfram and Hart. And so should you. Buh-bye." Then he hung up.

Tommie let out a slow whistle. "If your buddy's messing with them, they screwed."

Cliff agreed. "Excuse me, I just need to make one more phone call." He proceeded to do just that. "Hi Keith. Guess what."

-

The Hyperion Hotel. Established In 1927, it quickly became THE place to stay in L.A. if you were the privileged. But in the late 40's something changed. Mysterious deaths would occur. Employee turnover rates skyrocketed. Guests begin to behave in a strange manner. It wasn't the owners fault that things would happen. He tried explaining that in an effort to save his hotel. But to no avail. Everything came to an end early 1952. The guests at that grand old place started to see things. Not crazy things like monsters or ghosts. No, those came later. What the people of the Hyperion started seeing was each other. And that is far more terrifying than any made up creature.

No-one is really sure what happened exactly. Some say he was a commie spy, others say he was a bank robber, some even go so far as to say he was betrayed by a lover or a friend. Who ever he was, he ended up hung in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. Lynched by the people staying there. That was the final straw. The place was shut down. The hotel laid abandoned, but not empty. The ghost of that man still haunted that place, some said. After all, his body disappeared before anyone could cut it down. Others would say it was his betrayer. Still lingering in the place she damned herself.

People talked about it, for a time. Eventually, interest waned. Who cared what happened in some ratty old hotel ten, twenty, thirty, years ago. Until, finally, it was forgotten completely.

Or so it seemed. In the year 2000, after a little incident with a Thesulac demon, Angel Investigations re-opened their doors at 1481 Hyperion Ave, and stayed there until 2003 when the A.I. team moved to the law offices of Wolfram and Hart. I think we all know how that turned out.

-

Angel walked through the front door, memories assaulting him like a fist. Over there was where Cordelia used to pedicure her nails. The elevator shaft that always needed new doors because he got slammed through them a bunch of different times. Ooh! There's the pillar Fred imbedded an ax in with with her ax slinger/toaster!

'Good times.' Angel thought to himself. 'The best.'

He stood there at the entrance for a bit. Lost in the nostalgia. Until Spike shoved him out of the way bitching about how he was holding up traffic.

"What the hell are we doing in this old dump?" he asked, flopping down on the pouf in the middle of the lobby. "Couldn't you use your money for something better? Like maybe a condo?"

Leveling a glare at the younger vampire, Angel responded with true offense. "That's rich coming from someone who used to live in abandoned warehouses and crypts!"

"Hey!" Spike shouted, leaping from his seat "Don't dis the crypt! I'll have you know, that was an awesome place. It had cable and everything."

"It was a hole in the ground. Literally!" Angel shot back.

Spike smirked lecherously. "Buffy didn't seem to mind it."

"Buffy also dated Riley." Angel sneered.

Before Spike could come up with a scathing retort, he was distracted by the entrance of Illyria. Still looking like Fred, she wandered the lobby, touching things, looking at places. It was very disconcerting for Angel to see Illyria in this place. Spike was just pissed she hadn't changed back.

"Curious." she stated, going to the pillar that the ax had been in. "I have never been here, yet I remember." The wonder on her face was so familiar, that Angel nearly cried.

Spike didn't see her face, but he did notice the change in her body language. "What's so different about this place?" he asked her. "Fred worked at Wolfram and Hart, but I've never seen you act like this there."

Illyria's demeanor became alien again. "The shell lived here. With Angel. This was the first place Fred felt safe after returning from Pylia."

"Speaking of the 'shell'," Angel spat, suddenly angry "why do you still look like her!"

"It was advantageous to our plan that I remain in the Burkle persona. I merely extended that reasoning for while we were in transit." she said tilting her head in that reptilian way.

"Well we're here now. Change back." Angel ordered.

Illyria stared at him for a minute.

Angel stared back.

"It bothers you to see this form."

"It does."

Without taking her eyes off of Angel's, Illyria changed. Brown eyes turned to cold blue. Angel shuddered, and looked away.

"Though I work with you vampire, do not presume to command me." Illyria said coldly. "My power is diminished, yet I remain your superior." With that warning, Illyria walked up to the second floor.

Minutes passed. Angel said nothing. He just stared at the direction Illyria went, an unreadable look on his face.

"What did Buffy want?" Spike finally asked.

Angel walked into his old office and started rummaging through the desk. Spike followed him in.

"I asked a question."

"I heard you." Angel said without looking up from his task.

"So answer me."

"Clear off that chair, would you?" He asked Spike.

Confused, Spike complied, and sat down. Angel let out a small "Ahah!" of triumph, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and sat down at his desk.

Spike eyed the bottle with interest. "What's the occasion? Has this to do with Buffy calling?"

Angel opened the bottle and took a hearty swig. Then another. When he was done he passed the bottle to the younger vampire. Spike took a drink and Angel told him why Buffy called. Spike spat the booze out involuntarily, and turned to his sire with horror filled eyes.