"Wesley?" he called.
"He's not here," a familiar voice answered.
Angel turned toward the sound with almost too quick reflexes. The slender figure was dressed somewhat counter to the norm, but her attitude well made up for her attire. "Faith. How did you -- where's Wesley?"
Faith raised an eyebrow at him. "What? You afraid I made quick work of your watcher bud and left the pieces for you to find later?" She snorted a laugh. "Not my style anymore." She held out her hand to reveal a handwritten note.
Perusing the note's contents, Angel nodded and set it down on the end table. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing here."
She shrugged. "That's where you and me are on the same page. There's some majorly weird stuff going on."
Angel took a sudden step toward her. "What do you know? What's happening?"
"Whoa there, tiger." Faith looked him up and down. "Something really is going on, isn't it? I knew the Powers That Be wouldn't just let me off for good behavior."
"You were let out of prison?"
"Apparently, I have a lawyer," she explained. "Creepy little guy with a really bad fashion sense. Anyway, I figured this was the place to come if something's up."
Angel went into the kitchen and sorted through Wesley's materials, spread out on the table there. The copy of the Ishmarian Chronicles was just under a notepad with a few sketchy notes on it. Apparently Wesley had run into something he couldn't decipher -- hence his trip out for supplies.
Faith followed him, staying a few steps back but tracking him with her eyes. He was anxious, she could tell. "Are you going to let me in on the big secret?"
Angel turned and looked at her, not unkindly. "I wish I knew something. It's big, whatever it is. People and creatures returning from the dead, ominous dreams...." He paused. "Old friends."
"All going down in Sunnydale, I take it?"
Angel's lips turned up into a half-smile. "Up for it?"
"I'm up for anything at this point."
Somewhere behind them, a door opened.
"Angel? Were you able to speak with--" Wesley halted both his speech and his movement the second he entered the room.
"Wes, let me--" Faith sounded almost desperate, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
"What is she doing here?" Wesley demanded, looking only at Angel.
"The same thing we are," the other answered. "Things are coming about to get big -- we need her."
"I'd have to disagree with the Powers on that one."
"The age of the slayers, Wes. And you don't think it's one bit significant that she showed up here?"
Wesley sneered. "Convenient, is more likely."
"Look Mr. High and Mighty, Angel boy is not the only one here who gets a "Get Out of Jail Free" Redemption card. Did it ever occur to you that I can be useful when I want to be?"
"Is that what you want?" he replied, looking at her directly for the first time. "To be useful? Useful to who?"
Faith looked away, and directed her answer at Angel. "What do you need me to do?"
"Have you gotten any sleep?" Angel asked as he picked up a heavy blanket from its pile in the corner.
She nodded. "Yeah, several hours."
"Good." He tossed her the car keys. "You're driving. We need to get some rest."
Wesley was resigned to follow them, despite any lingering objections at Faith's involvement. Things were complicated enough, without adding her into the mix.... Still, Angel had a point. She was, after all, still a slayer.
The door closed behind them with a loud click that echoed off of the still-bare walls of the offices. Moments later that sound was joined by another, louder sound: the telephone ringing.
"Angel Investigations -- we help the helpless. Leave your crisis after the beep." Cordelia's voice was bright and cheerful.
A muffled and confused-sounding, but unmistakenly Irish voice followed it. "Angel, Cordy, it's me. I'm in a town called Sunnydale. I'm not even sure how I got here. Man, my head feels like it's got the biggest vision hangover ever. I'm okay, just the memory's a bit fuzzy, ya know? Anyway, guess I'll try again in a bit."
He hung up.