"Hey! Over here! Hey!" she screamed, waving frantically and bouncing like a kangaroo so she would stand out among the throng. And she did.

"How was it? Pretty? Did you see the Queen?"

Wesley walked across the arrivals’ lounge and tried to respond in kind to Fred’s exuberance, despite the exhaustion tugging at his every limb. "England was, as always, lovely. Unfortunately, Her Majesty was too busy to grant me an audience. How did you fare while I was away?"

"Fine and dandy. Many tacos. And enchiladas. Angel said I shouldn’t make them in the hotel just yet."

Wesley nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic mien, although he could clearly see the prudence behind Angel’s decision. "Perhaps a wise move. Not all the appliances are, ah, … trustworthy, you see. Where is he, by the way?"

"Getting your luggage," Fred said as she led him toward the baggage claim area. "Down the escalator we go. Carousel five, or maybe six, I can’t remember. I’ll bet your parents were glad to see you. Mine didn’t want me to come back to LA."

"You can understand their hesitation, surely?"

"Yeah, but they can call me anytime or even visit. A visit would be fun, don’t you think? I mean, it’s not like anyone’s going to lock me up and hold me prisoner, right?" Fred turned to receive confirmation and watched instead as the smile faded from Wesley’s face. "You’re tired. Angel needs your help at the hotel with something demonic or lawyer-y or both and then he’ll drive you home. They’re fixing the plumbing at my new place; there was a huge geyser in my bathroom, so I’m staying at the hotel. If you’re really tired, you can stay too. Angel would let you make enchiladas. Not me, no. No way, nah-unh."

Wesley alighted from the escalator, stunned at the rapidity of Fred’s speech, then decided it was best if he answered her before she made up his mind for him. "Actually, I was rather looking forward to sleeping in my own bed." And eating anything but Mexican, he added silently.

"Oh, I know what you mean," she said. She snickered and motioned toward Angel, who jerked Wesley’s suitcase from the conveyor before it could disappear back into the bowels of the terminal. "I mean, you go home after being on your own for soooo long and it’s just like nothing’s changed, like you’re a little kid again. Ain’t that right?"

~~*~~*~~*~~

Inside the darkened hotel, an old woman, bowed and haggard from age and malice, surveyed the foyer. A faint yet tenacious residue from the previous tenants’ torment remained, but was discernible only to those attuned, experts such as she. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out a handful of fine, white powder. With a rattling wheeze, she exhaled slowly and blew the particles across the large room, turning in a tight circle as she did, allowing the substance to cover every surface, those visible and those not. The powder wafted up the balustrade and the staircase to the second floor, glided across the counter to cover the desks and cabinets, flitted downward to land softly on the floors and cushions. Assured that everything was coated with a layer of dust, the hag left the building, her pleased grimace lost among the myriad of wrinkles.

Outside, among the shadows, far from moonlight and street lamps, Lilah Morgan waited for her cohort. She pulled her suit jacket tighter against a sudden chill and silently pleaded for expediency.

She stepped forward when the other emerged. "It’s done? And you’re sure it will work?" Lilah signaled to someone hidden from view.

The hag burst into a phlegmy cackle. "Who are you to doubt me? Besides, I need the money."

"It better work, Mara, or you won’t get the rest of your fee," Lilah said before the chauffeur opened the limousine door. "They made my life a living nightmare. Time I got some of my own back."

~~*~~*~~*~~

Fred leaned over the balcony and whistled to the two men behind the counter. "Y’all sure you don’t mind if I go to sleep?" she shouted.

Angel looked up from the book on the counter. "We’re fine. Thanks for your company tonight."

Wesley marked a passage with his finger, then smiled at her. "It was kind of you to meet me at the airport, Fred. Thanks again and sleep well."

"Okay, then. ‘Good night, sleep tight, and pleasant dreeeams to you. Here’s a wish and a prayer that every dreeeam comes true. And now, until we meet again. Adios, au revoir, auf wiedersehen. Good night!’" The musical interlude over, Fred disappeared into one of the second floor rooms.

The two men stared at each other in disbelief, suppressed their chuckles, then returned to their research.

"I know there’s a reference to this elsewhere, Angel. I’m certain I saw it recently." Wesley pushed the book aside. "Do you still have the Wolfram and Hart correspondence regarding Darla’s revivification?"

"Some. Downstairs, in a file box under the stairs. Why?"

"I believe I saw a mention of this very matter in a memo, signed by Manners, addressed to Lilah Morgan."

"There’re internal reports, yeah." Angel’s shoulders slumped in atypical discouragement. "I burned a lot of them, though. There’s only one stack left."

"No matter," Wesley said, trying to inject hope into the situation. "I’ll bring the box upstairs and go through it in the morning. You look a tad fatigued, Angel. Perhaps you should follow Fred’s suit?"

Angel straightened up and laughed. "And depart with the Lawrence Welk theme song? I’m not the one who flew in from England tonight. Perhaps you should heed your own advice."

Wesley nodded. "Yes. I think I will take you up on that spare bed. But first I’ll retrieve the carton and put it on the desk. That way it won’t be forgotten should a vision occur."

"Good idea. I’m going to head upstairs, then. The third room is yours for the taking. Good night."

"Pleasant dreams, Angel."

~~*~~*~~*~~

Cordelia stretched and groaned, wishing she could have slept in past dawn. But she had promised Angel she’d check on a certain lawyer before she came into the office, and a promise is a promise is a promise.

She could see Lilah’s silhouette in the kitchen when she arrived; no major lawyer conspiracy there. Unless, of course, Cordelia thought, she really was cooking up something (memo to self – no comedy before morning coffee).

Her week was not starting well, what with the lurking on the street under a lamppost and an audition for a Chekov play looming large. He’d always been her favorite on Star Trek, except when he had the giant earwig crawling in and out of his ear. Who knew he was so talented? (Addendum to self-memo: absolutely no comedy before caffeine.)

Cordelia walked through the front door and made another mental memo to give the lobby a good once over with a dust rag. She knew the guys would come barreling in – either jogging down the stairs or charging through the door – any time now, so she decided to take advantage of the quiet to surf the Internet and catch up on the latest Tinseltown gossip. Yawning, she went behind the counter, booted up the computer and started a pot of coffee.

Any night without a mind-searing vision Cordelia considered a blessing; two weeks, a miracle. So far it had been eighteen, blissful, unprecedented days.

Why was she still so incredibly tired?

~~*~~*~~*~~

Gunn drove away from the abandoned warehouse that had formerly been his fortress. Since he’d left to join forces with Angel and Wesley, leadership had changed and people had moved on. Perhaps it was for the best; his non-appearance had led to the death of a friend at the hands of vampires. At least with Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, and now Fred, he knew he would make a dent in the struggle to make the city safer for his people.

He continued toward the hotel, confident that when he arrived, Wesley would be hunched over a stack of books written in an obscure demon language (aren’t they all obscure?), while Cordelia tried to learn lines for some third-rate theatre gig and Angel attempted to dissuade Fred from using the kitchen. Such familiarity gave Gunn a bizarre sense of kinship that both comforted and unnerved him. After all, they were a weird bunch.

Yet, for all their idiosyncrasies (and what’s more idiosyncratic than a vampire with a soul or a perky, but mad, physicist with a Texan drawl?), they made a phenomenal team. Cohesive enough that one could step aside for a day or two to check on other matters and still return to find things intact and in good order.