This is pure fluff. No excuses. No reasons. No angst.

I haven't seen this week's ep yet, so consider this pre-Groo. Pre Cordelia/Angel relationship blow-up. :)

Angel picked it up.

He couldn't help it. Bods, shillings, pence, pennies, even pesos -- he always picked them up. Not when he was evil... then if a few pence dropped when he was killing someone, well -- there was always the wallet and that's where the real money was kept.

Now? Well, now there was Connor to think of, and that little bank account that not even Cordelia knew about. She knew about the official one of course. She was the one who had gone to the bank under the full glare of sunlight and set it up. But this one? Nope.

So his banker was green, and the account traded in inter-dimensional instead of inter-country currency. Angel had finally learned, or at least now had an inkling, that it was best not to count on only one bank account.

The Peruvian affair, and then that little contretemps with the Russian... no -- it was best to keep Connor's options open. Connor was human; Angel was sure of it. Mostly sure. Pretty sure. Not wanting to actually get it checked out sure. He looked human, ate human (food that is), pooped human (the black stuff had been weird, but Fred had said it was normal), and... no. Connor was human. Definitely. For sure. 99 4/9% for sure.

Still... Angel picked the coin up. Then he ducked his opponent's next punch, tensed this arm to absorb the one from the lower tentacle, and whipped around with a flying kick that (unfortunately for him) meant the coin flipped out of his left hand.

So he went after it again. It looked like pure platinum, and the Argo'oins were known to prize that.

Out went the arm. Whoosh went his axe. Off went the head. Too bad his opponent had one to spare.

The coin had spun dangerously near a grating that looked like it led to the sewer.

Green ichor went everywhere, and the spare head was screaming the house down. Angel wasn't sure what his opponent was saying, what he wanted or even what he was saying, but the spare body parts strewn out all over the cave placed him squarely on the "should kill" camp.

Kick. Stomp. Sway (that tentacle again). Swoosh (axe). Stab (ouch -- didn't know he had that on him, and just how many arms does he have?). Kick again (that ichor is getting all over my new pants). Punch, kick, punch, punch, punch. Swoosh (really hard).

Thump (head). Bigger thump (rest of it/him/her).

Silence.

Angel dropped the axe to the floor and checked out his arm. The knife wound looked clean enough, but you could never tell what demons used to clean or to "shine" them. If it didn't heal up before he got back to the hotel, then he'd get Wesley to clean it out.

He stepped over the demon's body (the biggest part of it anyway), and headed for the grate. Then he noticed that the floor looked... "smoky".

It was the green ichor; he hated ichor. It was starting to smolder and smoke *everywhere* -- including the stuff on his pants and jacket. Thick gray smoke quickly filled the room, and even his pants catching on fire, consuming them (and anything else burnable) with a speed that was entirely unnatural, didn't shed much extra light. He hopped over to a section of the room that wasn't on fire. Good thing the floor and walls were made of stone. Good thing it didn't seem to be spreading past the entrance... Good thing he didn't have to breathe.

Rip, toss (Cordelia was going to laugh at him). Rip, toss (that was my favourite coat!). Rip, toss (uh-oh).

He hoped he could find some clothes on the way back.

The demon-spawned fire was rapidly burning out. The coin was warm and slightly melted where some ichor had splattered. He tossed it in the air and started to tuck it in his pants pocket before he realized he didn't have any anymore.

Cordelia was definitely going to laugh at him, but at least he'd saved the penny without wading through the sewer. Thing's could've been worse.

THE END