David's voice was calm. It was astonishing, the change that came over him when
he discussed business -- the stumbling, foolish geek disappeared and a professional
emerged, every inch the tycoon Money Magazine reported him to be. Angel
supposed that was reason he'd managed to keep his position, once his creative
genius got him there. But his eyes were still the eyes of a puppy that's been
kicked once again by his owners. Angel ground his teeth, trying to restrain the
urge let Angelus loose.
They were in his office, in Angel Investigations' brand-new location. Although
'new' wasn't quite accurate. A four-story townhouse just on the edge of a bad
neighborhood, it was within reach of those who really needed their help but didn't
scare away better-funded clients who accepted the location as de rigueur for hard
boiled detectives. The paint was old and scratched, the wiring sub-par, and the
floors needed refinishing, but it had a basement apartment for Angel, a top floor
apartment for Wesley, and room for both Wesley's laboratory and a practice/workout
room they could all use. Plus this office for Angel, and a small conference room
for client meetings.
All they needed now was money for renovations.
"It wouldn't be...appropriate."
David sighed, getting up to pace the office. "Why?"
"Yeah, why?" Cordelia piped up from her perch on the desk. "Don't give me that
look, Angel, you know it doesn't work. If David wants to underwrite us, why not?
Is this a guy macho thing? Cause if so, get over it. Fast."
"No, it's not." At least, Angel didn't think so. He had spent all night thinking
over David Nebbit's proposal, and all that came to his mind was 'no.' He knew
it wasn't a good idea. But he needed a solid, logical reason to appease the tycoon...not
to mention his Messenger. And that reason wasn't showing up, at least, not in
a way he could vocalize it.
David threw his hands in the air, clearly at a loss to understand. "This is ridiculous.
I have money, and I'm not doing anything with it except make more money. I could
donate it to charity -- except all they do, typically, is throw it at problems.
You're much more efficient to throw."
"Thank you. I think."
At the tone of his voice, Cordelia hopped down from the desk, and put her hand
on David's shoulder. He reacted as always, melting into a slightly confused puddle
of pitiful goo. Angel watched in appreciation as she steered him towards the door,
making promises about talking some sense into her boss, and calling him tomorrow.
"Thank you," he said when she returned.
"Oh, you're not getting out of this that easy," she warned him, clearly ready
to do battle. "I just couldn't stand sitting there watching you try to not to
say something really nasty."
"That obvious?"
"Oh yeah." She paused, and looked at him. "Look, Angel, I know what's going through
your brain. You don't want David to get caught up in this." A wave of her arm
indicated the files stacked in the corner that had yet to be sorted out. "I understand,
totally. It would be like throwing chum out for the sharks at Wolfram and Hart.
He's way more innocent than he thinks, and the bad guys would just munch him up.
But you can't ignore what having his backing would do. For one thing, we could
update the computer system, which would be a plus. And health insurance? A total
must."
"Not to mention a raise for you," Angel said dryly.
"And Wesley. I don't like the place he's living in until we get the wiring problems
upstairs fixed up. I know he's not much for creature comforts, but that place
even Korrmna demons won't go into."
She said it without sarcasm or spite, just a statement of facts. He knew how much
she missed being able to buy something simply because she saw it and liked it,
but you would never have been able to tell it from her voice or her expression.
They needed the money in order to live, not to live well.
"You're right," he admitted. "It's a gift we can't refuse, but..."
"Limit it."
Angel sat behind his desk and watched as Cordelia took over the pacing chore.
"Limit what he can do to just money. That way, he's nowhere near the line of fire.
Limit how much he can give, so we fly under the IRS's radar. And make it funnel
through a bunch of different channels, through intermediaries, so even those slime-lawyers
won't be able to pinpoint where the funds are coming form, not without tripping
all kinds of alarms."
Her plan was solid, practical, and pretty much answered all of his concerns. And
he found that he couldn't be the one to deny her this; not when so much else in
her life had been stripped away. Let her and Wesley have some real security. And
this way, if anything happened to him, the way it almost inevitably would, they
would be taken care of as well. That would be part of the deal as well. "Do you
think David will go for that?"
"David will dance in the hallway, just to think he's part of Angel Investigations,"
she told him. "And we don't have to worry about him telling anyone, 'cause it's
not like he has anyone other than us to tell."
"Harsh."
"But true."
#
It was as easy as that. Well, the decision-making part of it, anyway. Angel had
quickly taken himself out of the fray, leaving his legally-living associates to
do battle with the regulations and requirements of being part of the establishment,
even sub rosa. Cordelia had called him a coward and thrown things at him. Wesley...well,
to every crisis there came a hero. And Wesley had been theirs.
The night had been spent on what Cordelia called one of the mission of unpaid
mercy cases: taking out a particularly vile demon stalking the downtown section.
Because downtown emptied out at night, it had taken to the dawn hours to capture
its prey, making for some dicey moments as they cornered it in an alley. But it
had died, messily, and Angel had made it back into the trunk of the car without
more than a slight singe on his arms.
Traffic had slowed them down, and it was almost nine before Cordelia pulled into
the tiny garage under their building. She got out of the car and helped him extract
himself from the trunk.
"I really hate doing that."
"You hate it? Think how I feel? One mile over the speed limit, and I risk getting
stopped with a corpse in my trunk!"
She grinned at him, to show him that she was - mostly - kidding, and started unloading
weapons out of the back seat. Truthfully, he thought, she'd have a more difficult
time explaining those, especially the bloody ones. He would just turn to dust
if anyone made her open the trunk, and then the cops would have to write a report
that didn't land them into the padded room.
Cordelia put aside a sword that needed resharpening, while Angel draped the flamethrower
hose over a hook set in the wall.
"I so need a shower," she said in disgust, running her fingers through her hair
and making a face. "Can I -"
"My house is yours," he said, ushering her inside. "Or maybe you can use Wesley's.
I'm sure he's already in the office by now."
Two steps up and through a thick metal door, and they were in the entry hall.
And sure enough, they could hear Wesley's voice floating down the short staircase
leading to the office.
"No. It's simply not acceptable."
They left their coats in the hallway and walked into the waiting room to see Wesley
at Cordelia's desk, his feet up on the cleared surface, talking on the phone.
He saw them, holding up one finger. Wait, I'll be finished in just a moment,
he was telling them. "Yes. I think we can accept that. I will expect to see the
paperwork on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Good day."
He hung up the phone, a look of glee lighting his sharp-edged features and making
him, Angel thought, not without affection, look like a mongoose who had taken
down a cobra. Which, it sounded like, he just had.
"Having fun?" Cordelia asked unnecessarily. Wesley had taken to dealing with the
money people David employed like the proverbial duck to water. "All those years
of sitting in Council meetings, listening to them doubletalk each other," he had
explained after the first session with David's understandably leery lawyers. "I
learned from masters."
That had been an understatement. Under the suit of a dweeby misfit lay the soul
of a talented negotiator. Although, Angel admitted, the dweebiness was useful
camouflage. No-one expected any fight from him -- until he whipped out the paperwork.
And then it was too late.
"I believe we have finally come to an understanding on the last of the finances
needed," Wesley said.
"And they said it couldn't be done," Angel said, only in jest.
"It was simply a question of explaining our needs to them in terms they could
adjust on their spreadsheets, and justify on the tax returns. Consider me the
practical child of the family." Wesley's eyelids dropped slightly over his eyes,
a sign Angel had learned meant he was about to be roasted. "Although a few more
years and you're going to have to play that role. Or maybe the dedicated grandson,
helping out his doddering old relatives..."
Angel choked down a laugh at the visual. The Powers That Be willing...
Cordelia ignored them both, moving to stand behind Wesley and looking at the papers
on her desk. "Hey, way to go!" She scanned the numbers, and dropped a kiss on
the top of Wesley's head, then mussed his hair. He made a half-hearted grab for
her, and she skittered out of reach. "Slow reflexes, Wes."
"Brat."
Angel had a flashback suddenly. Wesley and Cordelia, the night of the Prom; the
two of them dancing, almost fitting together, but not quite. He wasn't the best
judge of relationships, but this seemed healthier, somehow. The touching was almost
casual, unthinking. The smiles were unforced, unrehearsed. Then Cordelia caught
the vampire up in her dance, swinging her arms around his neck and dragging him
into a reluctant half-step. "Rent's gonna be paid," she sang in his ear. "Toys
gonna be bought --" she turned to grin at Wesley "medical insurance! Happy happy
happy day..."
I've provided for my family, Angel thought. I've done everything I can to keep
them safe. And he looked down into Cordelia's flushed, smiling face, and placed
a kiss on her forehead, then headed off for bed.
#
"What?" Wesley stopped leafing through the mail and looked over the where Cordelia
sat at her desk. When Cordelia said 'huh' in that tone of voice, it could be anything
from a new shade of nail polish she wasn't sure about, to an impending demonic
disaster. It always paid to be paranoid.
"E-mail. From Willow."
That didn't narrow the choices down by much.
"We're invited to a party."
"A party?" All right then, most likely not impending demonic disaster. Although
in Sunnydale, one never knew...
"A picnic, actually. For the Fourth."
"Fourth?"
"Of July, Wes. Wake up, smell the Americana!"
"Ah. Yes. Well -"
"Buffy's mom is doing a whole shindig. Apparently Buffy decided to stick around,
after Giles', y'know -"
"Heart attack."
"Right. Anyway. Picnic. This Tuesday. Food, fun, sun, and fireworks. Angel's specifically
invited for the fireworks, not the whole fun in the sun thing. Willow's words,
not mine."
"I'm not sure Angel will wish to return to -"
"Wes."
He knew that tone of voice too. They were going.
He supposed it wasn't such a terrible thing. He would enjoy seeing Willow again.
And it would not be amiss for them to check on Giles as well. He claimed to be
taking better care of himself - saying that Buffy was playing quite the mother
hen with his eating habits - but these sorts of things are best seen in person.
And it would be...interesting, he supposed, to see if his suspicions about Cordelia's
visions were correct. In the name of research, of course.
#
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