Title: Well, Fine Author: Dusk (dusk@goldserve.net) Pairing: A/m (Angel/Host) Rating: PG Archive/repost: AngelSlash, RareSlash, Songs of Mercy Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit made. Just telling a story. Series/sequel: #6 in the set. Best read in order. Summary: Kind of an interlude to the series - Cordelia and Wesley discuss their boss. Comments: Feedback always appreciated. For Saraid, who's still chief Namer (and still demanding that there should be some sex soon), and also for those of you who've written to say they couldn't believe this could work... until they read my stories. That's one of the biggest compliments I've ever had :) Posted: March '01 *** Cordelia hung the phone up with a frown. "You heard. He says he's fine." "And yet you don't sound entirely convinced," Wesley commented from the couch. Cordelia flopped down next to him. "Well, no, of course I'm not. He sounded pretty cheerful, and that's just not normal. He insists he wasn't drinking last night... and I didn't see him drink, did you?" Wesley shook his head. "Right. And I'm sure he's not doing drugs after... last time. So what the heck is up?" "I'm really not sure Angel's mood is cause for concern. If he were retreating into himself, then yes, but he's not. He's in good humour, he's spending time outside his own four walls...." "Exactly! He's possessed!" Wesley laughed. "He is not!" "Explain it, then." "I can't, yet, but that doesn't mean it's some impending distaster waiting to happen." "Yeah, because that *never* happens to us." "Just like everyone else on the planet, Angel is entitled to have good days. We've certainly had enough bad days to balance things out." Cordy shook her head and picked up her soda. "Nope, not buying that. Nothing puts *me* in a mood like that except new shoes... aren't they great?" She held one foot up for inspection. "Beautiful," Wesley agreed. "But I'm not sure a pair of patent leather pumps would do much for Angel." "Okay, gross image there. I was going to say, shoes, a paycheck or a new boyfriend. If we had a new client, I would have known about it before he did. Which leaves... oh my God, do you think he's seeing someone?" "It's... possible, I suppose," Wesley said doubtfully. "I can't imagine who, though, unless he's hiding her from us. He hasn't seemed especially secretive lately, going anywhere and refusing to say where, has he?" "No. Which means I'm on totally the wrong track. But I don't know what else there *is*...." "I'm sure he's just starting to enjoy company more. He's been going to the karaoke bar a lot, recently. Enough for the bartender to know what he drinks." "He's been drinking?" "Nothing alcoholic," Wesley hastened to add. "He's been *singing*?" The horror in Cordelia's voice was evident. Singing was far worse than the odd alcoholic binge. "I don't know. If he has, it could mean some kind of emotional issue he's trying to work through. The Host is probably the best therapist one could ask for in his circumstances; the undead not really being welcomed at most psychiatric clinics, I mean." "That rat. He told me he'd *talk* to us about any crisis he was having." Cordelia slumped down. "What emotional issues does he have that we haven't already dealt with? Years of massacreing, we're addressing with the whole good-guy-now thing. Rogue offspring, ex-girlfriends... how many more skeletons can he have?" An unopened can of soda floated over to her. She took it. "Thanks, Dennis. Do you know what Angel could be up to?" A statue on the table moved a few inches to one side, then returned to it's original placement. Cordelia sighed. "That's a no," she translated for Wesley's benefit. "He could be going to the bar simply for companionship, some time spent with his own kind," Wesley said gently. "Oh, how the hell are they his own kind? *We're* his kind. He doesn't have a kind. He's the only vampire with a soul, right?" "Yes, but a vampire is still technically a demon, soul or no. The problem Angel has with most demons is their violence, their innate evil. The convivial air of Caritas allows him to spend time with other non-humans without having to face that side of them." "Well... maybe," Cordelia allowed. "Vampires. There's just no figuring them out." "I couldn't agree more." Dennis set a fashion magazine and the television remote control down on the arm of the couch. "You're sweet," Cordelia told him. "Now if I could find a guy like you, only alive... I'd be happy." Dennis turned the TV on and Cordelia started flicking through the channels. "Want to watch the afternoon talkshows?" she asked Wesley. "At least that way we can know there are people with wierder problems than us." "Talk shows have stranger problems then unexpectedly cheerful vampires?" "Oh yes," she confirmed happily. "They make our lives look ordinary, that's why I watch them." "I *have* to see this." "Then later, maybe we should go over to Caritas... see if Angel's there. It's not spying," she added defensively. "It's... observing." "What do you expect to observe, exactly?" "If I knew that, then we wouldn't have to go, now, would we?" *** "You didn't have get all tarted up," Wesley muttered to her, surveying the crowded bar as they entered. She made a rude noise. "A girl likes to look good, Wesley, no matter what. You never know when you're going to run into the man, or agent, or casting director of your dreams." "I somehow doubt Mr. Right is going to frequent a place like this, unless you're abandoning humans altogether." "You never know. About the Mr. Right part, I mean, not the dating slime-demons, because that's just not going to happen. Ever." She glared at him. He surrended under the heat. "I'm sure you're right. Just try and remember we're here for Angel, not to pick up men, human or otherwise." "I don't recall any rule saying I can't do both," she argued, but it was mostly for the sake of it. The talent here was great if you went for antlers, brown scaly lizard-people or creatures that looked like they'd escaped from 'Star Trek'... but otherwise, not really worth bothering with. Still, she did enjoy looking her best, even if nobody appreciated it. "I don't see him, do you?" Wesley asked. "Over there," Cordelia pointed to a table. "Talking to the Host. I bet it's true, he's asking him about some big emotional issue he can't discuss with us...." "He's allowed to have secrets, Cordelia." "Not from us, he isn't," she insisted. *** Cary stopped, mid-sentence. Angel looked at him questioningly. "Well, well, take a look at who's here." He didn't look around. He didn't need to. "You didn't tell me you were expecting company, I would have given you a bigger table." Angel frowned. "I wasn't." "Must be the ambiance they came for, then. I do pride myself on a varied clientele...." He caught Cordelia's eye and waved them over. "Cordy, you look fantastic," he greeted her with a smile, then nodded at Wesley. "Thank you," she beamed. "I'm glad somebody appreciates all the work I put in." They both seated themselves, drawing up chairs to the small table. "Why are you here?" Angel asked them. Cary rolled his eyes. "Very subtle," Cordelia told Angel. "We just came to, you know...." "Check up on me." "Well, yes." "Here?" "It's not like you're ever anywhere else," she said. "You're not at the hotel, you're here. Process of elimination. Plus, we can come here if we want to. We don't need a reason." "Of course you can," he agreed, not really objecting to an evening in their company. "I just have one request... if you're going to stay, do you think we can get through the evening without you telling me I'm drunk, or insane, or anything else equally flattering?" "*Are* you drunk, or insane?" "No, to both." "Then no, we won't say anything like that." "Well, kids, I'm glad we got that sorted out," Cary interjected. "You can all just stay and enjoy the show, without the bickering." "We don't bicker," Wesley insisted. "Oh, you do, sweetie, believe me. Like children. Give Angel a break for the night, why don't you?" Angel gave him a grateful look but didn't say anything. There was a moment of relative silence. "What show?" Cordelia asked. They weren't like children... okay, maybe a little. But only because they cared. "Well, I'm doing a few fillers, but it's mostly regulars tonight. Mordar's going to sing his little heart out, as usual... I could fit you in if you want to do a turn?" She shook her head. "Nuh uh." "Not even for me?" he pleaded easily. "Not even." "I'll keep a spot vacant in case you change your mind." He downed the last of his drink and stood. "You three talk amongst yourselves for a while, okay?" "Are we really like children?" Wesley asked slowly, after the Host had moved on. "Uh... sometimes," Angel admitted, looking at his glass. "I don't mind, really... just sometimes it gets a bit much... you know?" "We just worry, Angel. That's all." "I know, and I appreciate it. But I'm fine, really. I just... why don't we just have a drink, enjoy the evening?" "I think that sounds like a great idea," Cordelia said decisively. "If you want us to leave, we will," Wesley said. "No, you don't have to go. I don't want to upset you, either of you." "Us? We're fine," Cordelia insisted. "And you're fine, so we're all... fine." "More drinks?" Angel offered to fill the pause. *** Cary made a rude noise from the safety of the other side of the bar, where he was monitering the conversation. Not that he could hear it, but with some people, the expressions on their faces told you all you needed to know. "Chicken," he told Angel, shaking his head. [end]