Connections
Angel sighed as he dropped the pencil he’d been using to sketch his latest work. He rubbed a finger over each tired eye. It had been two weeks since Eva had blown into their lives. And just a short time later, blown on by. They’d finally figured out a plan of action. The trio had returned to Wolfram and Hart to talk to various people. They had magic users casting locator spells. But as Buffy had known, it was impossible without a personal item to originate on. One of the computer users had made printouts of pictures from the security tape of the chamber. They were passed out among the employees and Angel’s own people at his investigation firm, named for him.
So they had people on the street, looking for her. They’d had a few sightings that never led anywhere. It seemed Eva was a savvy young lady, who knew how to keep a low profile. Angel was sure that she had to have found a job somewhere, but he had no idea what that could be. Spike and Buffy had eventually had to leave both having their sacred duty and new life together to pick up. The day Buffy left, Angel was in a serious brood over it. On the one hand, she was finally moving on. Living the dream life that he’d wished for her. But on the other hand, it was with Spike. And as much as everyone insisted that Spike had changed, Angel couldn’t see it. But in the darkest part of the night, with only shadows and silence for friends, Angel admitted to himself that he wouldn’t see it. He needed some fragment to hold on to. He needed it as his vampire body craved blood. He would be dust without it.
After three days of brooding, he remembered his knife. Angel shuddered and refused to dwell on why he recalled it. With an idea in his mind and a mission to hold his sanity, he’d hurried to talk to the small coven he was in contact with. To his relief, they told him that his idea had merit. Instead of tracking the person, they concentrated on the item. They found it swiftly and monitored the dagger for over an hour. It wasn’t moving. While they monitored, another group pinpointed the exact physical location. Angel had raced off, address in hand. To his supreme disappointment, he ended up at an all night pawnshop. He’d entered cautiously, but there was only one wizened old man, perched on a stool behind the counter, snoring softly until the bell chime on the door woke him.
He’d greeted Angel, asked if there was anything specific he was interested in. Angel began to describe the dagger, pleased to see that the old man knew exactly what he’d been referring to. He’d unlocked his glass display case where the other swords and daggers were hung. He’d returned to Angel, cradling the knife, babbling about the exquisite craftsmanship and perfection of the gemstones. He’d presented it to his customer and Angel knew it was his. The man had continued to talk, but fell silent as the price tag swirled around, reminding the old man of something.
He’d shuffled a few feet away and pulled a slim book out from beside the register. He’d thumbed through the pages until he’d found what he’d wanted. He’d returned with the book and laid it before Angel, explaining as he did. The young woman who’d sold it to him had his assurances. He wouldn’t sell the dagger before a month was up. It could only be claimed by her, or by a member of the Wolfram and Hart law office. If no one claimed it within a month, he was free to sell it. Angel had asked to see the entry. He was pleased to see that she’d gotten three hundred dollars for it, even though it was worth much more. It was a pawnshop after all. But with a stab of regret saw that she’d signed the agreement as Penny Smith. It was one of three things. She’d lied to Spike, lied to the old man, or lied to both. Angel figured on the last. But still, it was another alias to try.
Thanking the old man, he’d slipped out one of the business cards that had been made up for him as owner of the law office. With a small gratuity, he’d explained that the office needed to get hold of Miss Smith, but she hadn’t contacted them. He’d promised to leave the dagger for now and return at the end of the grace period for it. The canny old man had promised that if Penny came in, he’d be sure to call Angel. So Angel had returned to his solitary office at the Hyperion hotel. That’s when he’d begun to draw her. All the different moods he’d seen on her face. Teasing, serious, smug…dangerous. He’d learned her well through those drawings.
The following days weren’t all bad. The next morning, the hospital had called to inform Angel that Cordelia had come out of her coma. He’d been elated to hear that. The only drawback was that she was hazy and couldn’t recall the few years prior to the coma. She did however, remember coming to Los Angeles to find an acting career and working for Angel. He’d gone to see her that evening, a bright spot for him. She was aware intellectually that time had passed, but it was easier for he to pick up emotionally where she’d believed that they left off, as friends and co-workers. So Angel let her. The doctors were doubtful that she’d ever regain the memories of those years. And Angel knew better than to push. He didn’t know how she’d react to some of the things she’d said and done. And he of all people knew that guilt was the worst punisher of all.
And then the day after she woke up, the hospital decided to release her. She was in control of all her motor skills and while she’d been in the coma, Angel had faithfully paid the rent on her apartment. With a home, a job and friends to support her, they saw no cause to keep her any longer. But the afternoon Cordelia was released she was mugged, in broad daylight.
Once she’d reached her apartment, she’d called Angel to tell him about it. He’d listened, absentminded as she described the encounter. How some punk had jumped her and grabbed her purse. But Max had saved her, beat up the punk and then returned her stolen property. Cordelia just wanted to update him. Then she’d laughed and told Angel that she had to go get ready, as she and Max were going out clubbing. Angel expressed his relief and hung up the phone. He went back to another drawing of Eva.
The day after her mugging, Cordelia had breezed into the office to drop off some files she’d found in her apartment. They were just copies, but she’d felt they’d be better off at the office, where filing cabinets actually resided. She’d dumped them on Angel’s desk, never noticing the sketches they landed on. He was amused to hear her rave about her evening out. But his overprotective male instincts went into overdrive when she informed him that she’d asked Max to move in with her. She’d told Angel that she felt much safer that way.
She’d reminded him that he’d promised her a little time to re-acclimate to life among the non-hospitalized bedridden and breezed out. Angel had immediately set Gunn to checking out Cordy’s new boyfriend, Max Gueverra. It wasn’t long before the preliminary report was back. Max was twenty-one, worked for a bike messenger company for the past six months and had held a similar position for two years in Seattle. Birth records would take a little more time.
But in fact, they never came. Angel’s instinct was right. Something was off about Max. But when he’d tried to tell Cordy, she blew him off. Apparently Max had already had an explanation that Cordy ate up like a cat in the cream. So Angel continued to wait for Max to screw up, hoping that Cordy wouldn’t get caught in the middle. And when he wasn’t worrying, he was brooding over Eva/Penny. Who the hell was she?
Max sighed and paused for a moment in the hallway to rub some tension out of her neck. She leaned her bike in the hallway as she fumbled for the key her new roommate had given her. But before she could unlock the door, it swung open. She glanced inside, but couldn’t see Cordelia Chase anywhere. She pulled the bike inside and wheeled it over to its customary space. "Thanks Dennis," she murmured as the door clicked shut behind her. She’d really thought Cordy was nuts when she’d told her new friend about her resident ghost. But after some occurrences that had no physical or scientific explanations that she could find, she’d just accepted it. It was another freaky thing in her even freakier life.
It hadn’t taken Max long to figure out that she was in Los Angeles. What rocked her to the core was that it seemed to be late 2003. Technically, she was only four years old; if she even existed, that was. In her old life, things were different, due to an electro-magnetic pulse being set off in ’09. But now, she was seeing America in its glory days. And funny enough, it wasn’t really that different. People still starving in the streets, cops harassing whomever they could just because they could. And rich folks looking so far down their noses, as if common folk were cockroaches to be stomped on. Preferably by the maid.
But that wasn’t the strangest thing. Those things the trio had been taking about were real. At least Vampires were. She’d run into one not long after landing. Luckily, she thought on her feet quickly. She’d broken an old crate in the alleyway, took a chance and the thing was dust in a matter of seconds. After that incident, Max had adjusted fairly quickly. But she had a lot of questions, hazy memories and no one to turn to. Of course, she liked to think that she didn’t need anyone and in most cases that was true. But right now, she was flying blind; with next to no resources, no contacts and no clues as to why she’d crossed time and dimension. So for now she was stuck. And if she didn’t have this sneaking suspicion that there was little to go back to, she’d be out of her mind. But training kicked in. Keep moving, keep surviving, and never admit defeat.
That first night in LA, she’d used money from the blonde Brit to buy shoes, some food and a paper. Only her innate sense of keeping a lid on her emotions had kept her from spraying her comparatively cheap coffee over other unsuspecting customers. She’d had to make some hard decisions then. The prime one was being to accept the reality of the situation, for the time being. Next on her list was a safe place to hide. She didn’t know exactly what she’d landed in. And she didn’t know how long those agency people would search for her. It always seemed that no matter where she went, someone was after her. It frustrated her that normal could never be part of her life.
She’d also need a job. But first, identification. In a city like LA, it would be easy, but expensive. Her first course of action was to pawn the dagger. As much as she liked it, Max knew that she could be easily identified with it in her possession. And it was very conspicuous, tucked into her sweats. So she found a likely pawnshop. The owner took a liking to her. Max occasionally liked to play fair, so she gave the tall, dark and dangerous sexy guy a chance to get his property back. She told herself that she definitely would not see it again. In all likelihood, the sexy guy would get people stationed to watch the shop for her return and maybe put a tap on the phone line. So she’d disappeared into the night three hundred dollars richer.
Her next move was to find somewhere to camp out She couldn’t risk hotels, motels or hostels. So she’d found an abandoned warehouse. In the morning, she combed through the paper and found an ad selling, among other tings, discount mountain bikes. She’d hightailed it to the store and managed to get a good, sturdy model and necessary additions for a little over three hundred. She knew though that she’d need more money, so she made her way to another sporting goods store to pick up ostensibly, some mountain climbing gear.
After spending the night staking out an affluent neighborhood, Max was ready to make her move. She slipped into house after house, taking cash only. Sometimes even when the housewives were home, going about their daily chores. It was child’s play for her. By suppertime, she’d amassed over five thousand dollars.
Then she’d set to looking for a good fence dealing in identity. She found one after hours in crappy, seedy bars, mostly filled with illegal aliens, just wanting a quick new life. She managed to strike a deal. But she was no dummy. When the fence passed over some documentation, she was savvy enough to realize that it was most likely picked off some poor dead Mexican girl. Poor kid’s parents were probably still looking for her, hoping against hope. So Max had refused. She certainly didn’t need to be implicated in murder. Instead, she’d borrowed the fence’s laptop and using the skills Manticore and Logan had taught her hacked into the government database. It was almost a simple matter for Max to add a new Social Security number and add a little information here and there. Granted it would take longer for a complete history, but a few years were good at the time. Se showed the fence and the impressed idiot rapidly agreed. She’d had her picture taken and once developed; she easily destroyed the negatives and the copies that the photographer kept. Max decided not to delve too deeply into the reason why the pervert might want to keep them.
It had only taken an hour until the documentation was ready. And in that time, Max received over eight beers, numerous job offers, some legit, others downright perverted and many propositions. One’s that boiled down to "hey baby, I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread, do you wanna…?" Max varied her reactions, according to the persistence of the pursuers. Some received gentle letdowns, teasing jokes, or the worst case, a blinding headache resultant of broken noses.
Max took off on her bike and finally found another place to hide. She figured she’d get a job and maybe see if she could find a roommate. It was easier to cut and run if her name wasn’t on the lease agreement. So she’d bought and scoured another paper and to her honed sense of whimsy, answered an ad for a position as a bike messenger. On the way over, she bought a map and memorized the area around the bike center and the closest business and residential areas. It was enough to get her the job. The fact that she had her own bike didn’t hurt any either. Her new boss didn’t seem to care about references or experience. Was she quick? Was she polite? Could she handle with care? That was all he cared about. So, he’d shook her hand, told her to call him Roy and to get her cute little ass to work.
Max happily obeyed. Part one of the plan was working out fine. And it only got better. Her first stop was a hospital. A mother had forgotten her son’s antihistamine and could not return to pick it up. So the nurse called their contracted service, LA Bike Messenger Service. Hardly a flashy name, but serviceable. And just as Max had arrived, she saw a woman being mugged.
It wasn’t that difficult to disarm the guy. He was strictly grab and run. So Max tripped him, pummeled his shocked face and returned the bag to the pale woman. They introduced themselves. Cordelia Chase and Max Gueverra. Cordy, as she liked to be called, invited Max to go clubbing with her. As a way to say thank you, but not as a lesbian date, thank you very much. Max liked her from the start. She agreed and they arranged to meet at a nearby club.
So Max finished her first day of work in a good mood. After having Roy beam at her, as the hospital had called and commended him on his newest employee’s act of civic duty, she felt a little more secure. Roy gave her directions to his wife’s favorite boutique and Max got ready to party.
That night, between drinks, dances with hot guys and a lot of girl talk the two women managed to swap stories. Max knew that Cordy was from a small California town. She was looking to make it on the big screen. She worked part time for the best detective agency, Angel Investigations. Unfortunately, she’d just waken up from a coma. And Cordy knew that Max was from Seattle, which she’d left after a major falling out with her parents over her boyfriend. They’d run away to LA, but with Max being of legal age, there wasn’t anything they could do about it. And creep-o boyfriend started looking for the highlife the minute they’d hit town. She found him screwing a hooker in their bed. After a screaming match, Max had gone out to clear her head. When she’d returned a few hours later, he’d cleaned out all her possessions, but for some clothes and the money she’d had on her.
The evening ended on a pleasant note with Cordy inviting Max to move in with her. Max accepted and a fast friendship was formed. Luckily, Dennis the ghost took an immediate shine to Max, which somehow cemented Cordy’s opinion of her. The days passed pleasantly as they got used to each other. Cordy returned to work and Max kept on as a messenger. When time allowed, they went clubbing together. Finally, Max had some time this afternoon, an early day and after changing and bidding Dennis farewell, she was soon riding over to Cordy’s place of employment so that she could meet her roommate’s friends.
Max pulled up to the elegant Hyperion Hotel. It definitely needed some work, but Max could see the regal bearing of the building. She wheeled in her bike and leaned it against Cordy’s desk. Cordy was almost beside herself and called for everyone to come meet Max. Shy Winifred, or Fred, as everyone called her, greeted her with a puzzled smile. It was quickly understood that Cordy had never made it clear the distinction that Max was female.
The British one, Wesley, welcomed her politely, if stiffly. It was a common mannerism of his people. He then explained that Gunn was out. Cordy looked around; realizing that Angel was ignoring them. She flipped on the intercom switch and issued her commandment that Angel was to come out and meet Max now. Max heard a resigned sigh, then some movement from the inner office. The door opened and the tall, dark, broody sex god stepped out. He focused on Max, his eyes going wide.
"You!" they hissed in the same moment.
It Ain't No Freaky Thing
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