August 2001

"I am," Cordelia said in awful, portentous tones, "extremely glad that I cut my hair."

She was lying back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling of the office, immobile. The heat in the old hotel was stifling. Built in 1928, it predated things like air conditioners. And they didn't have the money to install central air. They barely had the money to pay the power bills they were running up now, with fifteen fans pointed at them at all times. Not with trying to fight off Wolfram & Hart's attempt to take over the building.

"I can say, I haven't had a problem with hair," Gunn said from where he sat sharpening weapons. He put down a broadsword and picked up his favorite hubcap axe, drawing a sharpening stone along the edge.

"Yeah, easy for you to say, Mr. Clean."

Groaning, Cordelia hauled herself upright from the decadent sprawl she'd been perfecting, to sit up at the computer and start tapping keys. Work, at least, was going fine as more and more people turned to Angel Investigations for help. They even had a bit more backup, in the person of Kate, who'd shown up one day and never left. She was no longer a cop, but she was not able to stop helping people. Kicked off the force, she'd taken the best option she had. She'd even gone so far as to get a private investigator's license, so that they had some official status.

Kate had come back into the office just in time to see Cordelia's slow rise to verticality. "Nice to know you're awake, alert, and ready," she said, tossing a file down on Cordelia's desk.

"Hey. Not my boss. My boss," she said, pointing at Wesley, who was seated at a table researching, Fred beside him. "Not my boss," she enunciated carefully, pointing at Kate. "Difference. Get it?"

"Got it. By the way, I need these in a half an hour," Kate said, nodding to the papers she'd just dropped.

"Do we have to go through the boss/not boss thing again? 'Cause you can type up your own papers."

"I figured you were the clerical help."

"Office manager. Off-ice man-a-ger. Which is actually meaning something now that we've got enough people here to count as an office."

"Well, if you'd stop hogging the computer to check your beauty horoscope, I could type up the papers myself."

Cordelia rose immediately. "All yours. Although, not that I'm trying to say you're slow or anything, but laptop? Pretty portable. You could have picked it up yourself."

With a final glare, Kate sat down in Cordelia's vacated seat. Having gotten exactly what she wanted, which was an invigorating bickering match with Kate and to get out of typing duty, Cordelia wandered over to the research table. "How's it going?"

"Slow." Wesley sighed and put down the pencil he was taking notes with. "There just isn't that much information on Kalva demons. Not terribly interesting creatures, although capable of doing a lot of damage."

"Need help?"

"No, thank you. This is mostly just wrapping things up, and Fred and I have it in hand."

Fred beamed up from behind her glasses. "Sure. Research. Research, I can do. Words stay the same on the page. Kinda nice."

"Lacking subjects," Cordelia muttered, then shook her head. "Picking it up from her."

Fred was another change. With Fred around, and since she was so not the punchy-fighty type, they did have someone on research full-time. They had a nice little organized office. Wesley, boss; Cordelia, actually running everything; Kate, investigator; Gunn, enforcer; and Fred, researcher. Between the five of them, they had it covered.

Cordelia wandered out into the lobby, peering upstairs. And then there was the sixth of them. Angel was like a wind-up doll. Give him a direct order, ask him for help, and he functioned. But he seemed incapable of acting on his own initiative. Ever since they got back from the funeral, he'd been...

"Vacant," Cordelia said, and sighed.

"I wasn't really looking for a room," a strange voice behind her said.

Cordelia turned sharply to face a young guy, sandy-haired all-American type. Well, except for the goatee and the look in his eye that matched Xander in one of his less stable moods. He looked like a poster boy for a 1-800-COLLECT commercial. "Actually, I was looking for Angel Investigations."

"Found it," Cordelia said cheerfully. He didn't exactly look like a paying customer, but she'd learned to get over worrying about that. Mostly. "How can we help you?"

A small figure moved from behind the guy. She was about ten, with dark hair in a high ponytail, and the fearless stance of a street kid. She tilted her head and stared at Cordelia, totally unselfconsciously, considering, thinking, analyzing. Her calm, clear eyes were mature without being old. The guy put his hand on her head and she accepted it there with the complete physical confidence that siblings get.

Without warning, the world popped, the bubble's burst deafening her. Cordelia took three stumbling steps, then lost all track of up or down as the vision took her: vampires, more vampires, and still more vampires. And blood, which wasn't surprising with all those vampires.

And that little girl, looking at her with those calm eyes, now the glowing gold of a undead bloodsucker.

Cordelia came back to herself on the floor, being supported by the strange guy. The girl was kneeling on her other side, anxiously looking at her. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Cordelia managed to grit out. "Just fine." She reached out and touched the girl's cheek. Smooth and warm. Not a vampire. Which was obvious because of the daylight streaming into the lobby, but she just wanted to check. "I... um... who are you?"

"I'm Amanda," the girl said, helping the guy boost Cordelia to her feet. The guy took most of her weight, but he didn't brush off his little sister's help.

"Nice to meet you, Amanda," Cordelia said. She liked kids -- when they were straightforward, non-screamy, non-whiny, non-brats like this one.

"I heard voices, Cordelia." Wesley and Gunn emerged into the lobby. "Can we help?" Wesley said mildly.

"Everything's good. Just had a little problem with my vision," Cordelia said, stressing 'vision' lightly. She tilted her head toward Amanda.

"I'm Wesley Wyndham-Price," Wesley said in that tone that people took as either pompous or comforting, depending on if he was pissing them off or reassuring them. "Can I help you?"

"I sure as hell hope so." The guy grinned, holding out his hand. "I'm Pike. And I really could use some help."