Meep Connie. I have no words. Thanks.

gah, meant to finish this tonight. Stupid distracting stuff on my desk. Oh, well

The sounds of subdued conversation, car doors, and retreating engines drifted past Angel's attention and faded into silence. He stared at the phone in his hand, at the little screen and buttons so tiny he could never hit just the one he wanted with his big fingers. Harmony was sworn to secrecy that she programmed the speed dials for him and that he rarely even attempted to dial anything by himself. How many times had Cordelia tried to unravel the mystery for him? He'd been looking forward to taking her to the Starbucks in the Wolfram & Hart lobby, where he'd demonstrate that he finally knew the difference between a latte and a cappuccino, and somewhere in all that he'd casually flip out his fancy little phone and call up somebody. But that was before he found out that her return was a mystical "wise up!" and not the first truly good news he'd had in many long months.

She'd given him hope. That should have been his first clue of the horrors to come. He'd watched her cuddling baby Connor, cooing and singing to the infant in her arms, and he'd dared to hope that maybe this was what they'd meant by Shanshu: himself made human in the form of a baby boy. A son, plus a woman to share the joy of raising him. A family.

If Connor had been the main reason for accepting the W&H job, then Cordelia had been a very close second. The best of care, medical and mystical. He had always expected her to wake up, that she'd open those gorgeous eyes, smile that million-dollar smile, and tell him his expensive suit was just all wrong for him. He had dreamed of that day. He was really sick of the Powers tormenting him with the taste of joy that would never be his.

He slowly realized there was a heartbeat not too far away. Of course, the mortuary staff had seen the cars leave and wanted to finish their work.

"I'm sorry," he said, not looking up. "I just wanted to pay my respects in private. I'll get out of your way now."

"You're not in my way, deadboy. I got used to maneuvering around you a long time ago."

Angel frowned as the figure in the shadows walked closer. The voice was familiar, too familiar, but the man might have been a stranger. He moved too easily, with a lazy stride that was used to crossing wide open spaces. And the eyes --or, rather, eye . . . Angel's gaze was met with a level stare that still held all the unthinking courage but none of the lurking self-doubt that had defined Xander Harris.

"How did you know?" Angel finally asked.

Xander looked at the casket in its niche. "She came and said good-bye. I thought it was just another vision quest or waking dream thingie, until she kissed me." He saw Angel looking at the shadows. "No, just me. Don't know why I was the only one to get a Cordy-gram, but if she didn't want to tell the others, I don't see why I should second guess her."

Angel watched cautiously as Xander walked to the niche. He was bigger than Angel remembered, taller, broader. He was dressing differently, too. Khaki pants and shirt with many pockets, frayed on the edges and weatherbeaten. The heavy boots were scuffed and gouged, with what looked like tooth marks on the top of the left one. Around his neck was a length of rough twine, with several multi-colored fetish beads, the fang of something, and two lion claws.

"What did she say?" Angel asked when the silence got too long.

Xander glanced over his right shoulder. He smiled sardonically. "Not to take it out on you. That it didn't hurt." He turned away. "And a bunch of stuff that's none of your business."

Angel debated feeling jealous, but he didn't have the energy. He slowly went to stand beside Xander, making sure to stay on his right side. "You're being very civil to me. The 'deadboy' notwithstanding. I appreciate it. Especially with the whole 'You're in charge of Wolfram & Hart, we don't trust you, blah blah' I got from Andrew when he was here."

"Andrew was here?" Xander frowned, then nodded. "Oh, yeah, that girl in the mental hospital who woke up a Slayer. Poor kid. As for being civil, I'm working off the premise that all of this is a jetlag hallucination. Twenty-four hours ago I was in the Olduvai Gorge. Twelve hours ago I was in Johannesburg. Twenty-four hours from now I should be back at Olduvai, wondering if I imagined all this. It'd be nice if I could tell myself that, that this was just some dream."

"I know," Angel agreed.

Xander stared at the casket. "All the women I love die on me," he whispered. "I think there's a hint I'm supposed to be taking."

"I know that one, too."

Eeeee!!! More! More!

Connie, I'm loving this ever so muchly.

• *sniff.**

This is very true to their voices, Connie. I'm enjoying it.

Connie, man, the last person to break my heart like that at least bought me coffee first.

Hopefully the muse will cooperate and I can finish this today.

That's so sad. I like your Xander.

Still Kay, talking things with Cordy.

I know Munchkin used to say the country was looking the same and losing its soul and stuff, so it could be a coincidence, but the building in this ad could be the spitting image of the Waterfront.
“What’d he say?!” Cordy said.

“I think it was more what he didn’t say, huh?”

“What does that mean?”

“Hello, roomie.”

“Why is it that everybody who’s about to die comes to my house? No offense.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky, hon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. If we had to get a guest from Baltimore, why couldn’t it have been Barry Levinson. I’ve got things I could show him.”
“I’ll bet you do. Maybe I’m lucky too...”

“Well, I’m gonna go home for lunch today...pick up the place. “ I looked over at the disaster area that is Cordy’s desk.

“Don’t trust me, huh? I’m a decorated police detective...”

”With a perfect clearance rate...” Cordy finished, sounding bored. “And really tragic cuticles.”

I looked down at my hands. I don’t see anything. Cordelia acts like she can’t look. “Actually, I’m locking up the Bailey’s. I heard about that little strip show you put on at Lorne’s.” She looks satisfied, like that’s the best thing she’s heard all year. Definite ex-cheerleader. Those girls never could resist picking on me.

“It was *not* a strip show. A little sexy, maybe.” Why do I let this bug me? Before I can stop it, I’m thinking about that night again...especially that crazy kiss. Damn.

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Well, if you’re gonna believe a bunch of demons...”

“At least demons aren’t shaking me up for dimes every day.”

“Down,” I say, “Shaking you down. You couldn’t say that wrong with Levinson, huh? I hear he’s looking into police drama these days."

If we had to get a guest from Baltimore, why couldn’t it have been Barry Levinson.

BWAH!

Thought you'd like that. And, hey, shoutout! Later, Kay's gonna finally meet Phantom Dennis. But he's her second ghost, of course.(Joss Bless whoever wrote that Agnes Saunders thing. I wouldn't have done this without them.)