"So, they really just explode." Wallace said in amazement. He was in and out of consciousness when they were rescued, so he had missed it when Joe and Pete dusted. It was one thing to read about a vampire exploding into dust, but it was something else entirely to get confirmation from some-one you know. The hour was late and Veronica had mostly recovered from her, well, panic attack. She still seemed somewhat shaky, but was definitely in better spirits than before. The two of them were now recounting their own perspectives on the assault.

"Yep. I was staring up at him ... it" Veronica corrected "when all of a sudden: Thunk!" She paused dramatic purposes. "Arrow in the chest." "Then, it just sort of ... crumbled." She halted her narrative again, looking for the best way to describe a vamp dusting. "It looked like the vampire lost all of it's body moisture and was in terrifying need of a good skin cream." Clearly she failed.

Wallace blinked. "Skin cream." he repeated flatly, unsure whether or not he heard correctly. Veronica just nodded self importantly. It was her description, and she would stand by it damn it! "I'm impressed." And he did look impressed. "I didn't know it was possible to actually loose ALL touch with reality."

"Pshaw." Veronica waved his comment away. "You, my fine fractured friend, are just jealous of my dizzying intellect." Before she could continue her story, Veronica's cell phone rang. "Bet I know who it is." She looked at the caller I.D., and smiled. "Hi Pop!" she greeted enthusiastically. "So how soon till you get here?" She was assuming, correctly, her father was on his way to L.A.

Wallace shook his head. "Yeah, you're dizzy all right."

Keith Mars was a patient man. Really. Even his daughter would agree to that statement. Being a private investigator, patience is more than a virtue. It's an absolute necessity. So is keeping a level head. You just can't be a P.I. if you couldn't keep your cool. Being a father, on the other hand, throws all of that patience and level headedness right out the freaking window. "Oh about twenty minutes, barring traffic. So you you better enjoy them. Because when I get there, I'm going to kill you."

Veronica raised her eyebrows. "He's already threatened my life." She told Wallace. "I'm fine Dad and you?" Veronica knew that she was provoking Keith, but he was laying it on kind of strong. It wasn't her fault that she was attacked and almost murdered. He was reacting like she goes out and looks for mortal danger. Sure, she should have called him, let him know what was going on, but she was dealing with something truly horrible. The last thing she wanted to do at the time was to talk about what happened. Now, though, she was glad to hear her father's voice. Even if he was promising death. So Veronica decided to ease up on him. "Sorry," she told him "It's been bad here. Wallace got hurt."

"Is he OK?" Keith asked, concerned. Wallace has been good for Veronica, helping her to get out of a bad place that Lily's death left her in.

"He's got a broken arm, but the plucky duck won't let it get him down." She told him cheerfully. Wallace rolled his eyes at 'plucky', but smiled nonetheless. "Dad says hi. Wallace says hi back. Now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, I assume you heard from Cliff about our little sitch?"

"Not exactly. He called me earlier with the news that my daughter, whom I love more than life itself, is investigating Wolfram and Hart. Honey. What the hell are you thinking? Going up against them is like giving the finger to Jesus. It isn't done." Keith thought for a moment. "Actually, it's worse than that. Jesus is forgiving. Wolfram and Hart? Not so much."

Veronica had an explanation. One that, she was sure, would absolve her from her father's wrath for arousing any supposed danger from some stupid law firm. Now, if only her doting dad would stop ranting to her about filicide and how he hadn't always been bald, and just listen for a second. 'Fat chance.' she thought to herself, as Keith went into the logistics and likelihood of her ending up in a specially modified habitat for the rest of her natural life. Veronica really wanted to point out how inefficient it would be to build such a place if he was planning her death, so she did.

"Details sweetie." was all he had to say about that. "Now, when I get there, you shall have one, count them, one opportunity to explain why you are undeserving of such a fate."

Perfect. That's all she needed.

-

Spike washed his hands in silence. The kind of silence that leaves you feeling vaguely uncomfortable. It wasn't the torture that left him uneasy. McAlester deserved it. Greasy git. No. It was the information learned because of it. Angel stalked out of the room behind Spike, disgust plain on his face, and blood on his shirt.

"This was brand new!" he lamented. "Do you know how hard it is to wash blood out of this kind of fabric?" Spike turned around and gave him a 'duh you idiot' look. Angel, embarrassed, changed the subject to a more serious matter. "We should move in soon."

Spike nodded, putting on his trademark long leather coat. "When?"

"As soon as possible." Angel stood up, determined, and strode toward an exit. His own long coat billowing behind dramatically. The older vampire stopped and glanced down at his bloody shirt. "Right after I change." Angel amended, making a quick detour toward his room. "Oh and Spike, see to it that Mr. McAlester is taken care of."

"I just washed my hands!" Spike called out after him. "Ass. He's the one still covered in blood, but he tells me to do the dirty work." Spike went back into the room where a bleeding and frightened McAlester sat. Bound and gagged by ropes and chains, he started to quiver with an uncontrollable fear when he caught site of the ranting vampire. "I mean, is that fair?" Spike asked his captive. "I'm all cleaned up. Got all of your blood out, and now he wants me to sully myself getting rid of your stupid carcass." McAlester's eyes widened at the word 'carcass', and he started to struggle. "Oh quit it. I'm not going to kill you." Clearly McAlester didn't believe what he was told, and struggled even harder. Spike rolled his eyes and slapped him upside the head. Hard. "I said I wasn't going to kill you. Doesn't mean I don't want to." The vampire pulled in close. "You do everything I say, you don't end up a meal, and I don't have to get myself messy carrying you out. Everybody wins. Got it?" When he received no response, Spike realized McAlester was unconscious. He sighed dejectedly. "Bloody hell."

-

Angel stood there, shirtless, staring at the contents of his closet. One would assume, by looking at him, that he was trying to decide what shirt to wear. One would be wrong. He was, in fact, thinking. Thinking about those kids that were now caught up in this world for no reason other than being good people in the wrong place and time. Thinking about how McAlester sold them out for only a few grand. And a suit. It was a nice suit granted, but that's besides the point. That suit was also how Angel knew that the unpleasant merchant sold them out.

When Angel visited McAlester's shop, he was wearing old clothes, and the shop was in need of repair. The old man also tried to overcharge for the enchantment on the thermometer, claiming to need the funds. Either he was lying about needing money, or he just recently came into some. The only people around who would be interested in the information McAlester had, and had the money to pay for it, was Wolfram and Hart. Angel wasn't certain that the old man sold them out to the law firm, until they went into his office. It was, after all, conceivable that McAlester owned a nice suit and pulled it out for when he met clients. Except that Angel could smell the evil law firm all over him. One doesn't work in a place for a year without knowing the scent like the back of their hand.

It was impressive really, how quickly the Los Angeles branch of the firm was rebuilt. It would've been disheartening if he didn't know for a fact that it was operating at less than ten percent of it's previous capacity. When his team brought something down, they did it right. It will take years for Wolfram and Hart to rebuild their reputation and resources. Not to mention the damage done to the Circle of the Black Thorn. Already, a new set of puppet masters have been put in place, but with nowhere near the amount of power or influence the previous members had. But despite all that, Wolfram and Hart were still dangerous, still powerful. To underestimate them would be asking to die. And now they know the names of two innocent teenagers.

Angel could still see the look on Veronica's face when he rescued her. It was the same look Buffy had after she finally believed she was a slayer. Shock, horror, disbelief, and a realization that nothing could ever be the same. It tore his heart out then, so does it now. Angel shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He grabbed a shirt and threw it on while heading down the stairs. It was time to go to work.