Disclaimer: Not my universe, not my characters, not my property...

I started writing this a few weeks after "Tomorrow" first aired in 2002. I wasn't able to finish it before season four started and it got hopelessly Jossed. It languished on my hard drive for some time, and I only recently unearthed it and decided it was worth finishing. For those who don't remember the exact timeline of the episodes, "Tomorrow" was the final episode of season three, and ended with Cordelia ascending to...something...and Angel descending to the bottom of the ocean. It'll run eight chapters total.

This is not a songfic, but I did find some lyrics within a Metallica song that made an impact on me as I wrote this:

I'm digging my way…to something better

I'm pushing to stay…with something better

I'm sowing the seeds…I take for granted

This thorn in my side…is from the tree I planted

Oh, it tears me and I bleed…

from Bleeding Me, by Metallica

Bleed:

1. To emit or lose blood

2. To take or remove blood from

3: To feel sympathetic grief or anguish

Caveat emptor.

Those had to be the truest words in the English language. Oops, not really English, but, hey, they were probably the truest words in any language.

Cordelia didn't remember much of what had been taught in the classrooms at good old Sunnydale High, but she clearly remembered the one bit of Latin that had actually made sense to her at the time: caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware.

After all, no one in their right mind would buy Prada on eBay, right? Knockoffs were just about everywhere you looked, and some of them were so good that they even smelled Italian. If you weren't careful, you could end up with a serious case of buyer's remorse. Of course, the closest she'd been to anything by Prada in a long time was standing on the sidewalk and admiring it through the glass.

A tentacle whipped toward her face before she could get her sword up. She reached for the energy that the Powers That Be had given her when she was made partly demon and deflected the blow before swinging the blade for what she hoped would be the last time in this backward dimension. It connected with a meaty thud that sent vibrations all the way up her arms and into the already-sore muscles at the base of her neck. It also sent the Warxlaw demon's last remaining tentacle flying to join the heap of others like it. This was butchery, pure and simple, and, by the way, not exactly what she had signed up for.

Sure, Skip's proposal from the Powers sounded great on the surface and she repeated it under her breath while she finished with the Warxlaw. "You're a great warrior, Cordelia. You're a higher being, Cordelia. You've outgrown this level, Cordelia." Skip had told her everything that, deep down inside, she'd been dying to hear, and she'd firmly ignored the little voice in the back of her mind that insisted that if it sounded too good to be true, it probably was.

As it turned out, though, Skip had omitted one vital piece of information. "Oh, and by the way, you'll still be up to your ass in demon entrails, Cordelia."

She threw her sword down in disgust and it clattered loudly on the rough stone floor. Killing the vile-smelling beasts infesting the monastery was bad enough, but dismembering them afterward was even worse. If it wasn't done properly, the freshly-killed demons gave birth to huge litters of replacements as their bodies cooled. The local monks had all taken vows of pacifism and were helpless to protect themselves from the invasion of the demon hellspawn. If not for her intervention, the whole lot of them would have been wiped out.

Cordy pushed a strand of hair out of her face with a goo-splattered hand. She was tired, hungry, and covered in an amazing variety of alien bodily fluids. If you ignored the gross-out factor, though, it did feel sort of good to be able to help people—even really short, blue, furry people like those now gathered in a loose circle around her. "Well, that's it, guys," she announced. "And after today, even Chucky's got nothing on me in the hack'n'slash department."

The fuzzy blue monks stopped eyeing the still-twitching corpses just long enough to look at her blankly.

"Never mind. Not as funny if I have to explain it," she said. A stray tentacle wrapped itself around her ankle and the boot leather began to smoke as the acidic slime ate into the hide. She stomped on the tentacle firmly and it finally uncurled and laid limply against the flagstones. "Okay, please tell me this was the last one. My sword is duller than Dawson's Creek, and I'm starting to get an Excedrin headache."

The oldest and tallest of the monks, and the only one with a beard, stepped forward and bowed deeply. She'd secretly named him Papa Smurf, but she was having a hell of a time figuring out whether or not there was a Smurfette anywhere in the bunch, and it would probably be rude to ask.

"That was indeed the last one, our beloved St. Cordelia the Magnificent, may you live forever and ever."

Cordelia instantly adopted her award ceremony pose and tried to look both gracious and imperious at the same time. There was no point in letting all of those hours spent in front of the bathroom mirror go to waste, right? "Well, I don't know if I'm too keen on the forever part—I know this guy that's been there and done that and is carrying some serious emotional baggage as a result—but I appreciate the thought."

"Nevertheless, we are grateful for your assistance." The other monks started beating on each others' backs enthusiastically, which she figured was this place's version of a round of applause. "May we provide you with some small token of our gratitude? Perhaps a carbon polymorph to adorn your ridiculously slender throat?"

The Powers that Be had somehow made her capable of understanding and speaking the native language of every place she visited, but there was still a lot that got lost in translation. "A carbon polymorph? Gee, thanks, but I don't think I've been vaccinated against those. I know—do you guys maybe have a Godiva around here, or, you know, anything even remotely chocolaty? Honestly, even a Snickers sounds good at this point."

"Ah, our champion hungers." Papa bowed again. "There will be much feasting and rejoicing in your holy name. I will have a banquet in your honor prepared immediately." He leaned over to pick up one of the severed demon parts and hoisted it over his shoulder, totally ignoring the stream of yellow goo that still spurted from the cut end. "Come, brothers." He gestured to the other monks. "We go to the kitchens to prepare the feast for our savior." The others all picked up various drippy pieces of formerly living hellspawn and headed down the corridor after him.

"I'll catch up with you in a minute," she called after them. "I just need to, um, clean my sword!" As soon as they rounded the corner, she looked anxiously around the stone walls of the monastery. "Skip!" she whispered urgently. "Skip, damn it, get me out of here now!"

Her guide to the higher planes and alternate dimensions appeared in the form of a large, gray, armor-plated demon. "You're sure you don't want to stay for dinner? I hear these guys make a twice-baked Warxlaw surprise that's just to die for."

"Fine, then you stay and eat it," she snapped. "You'd just better thank your lucky stars that there was a Taco Cabana in the last dimension we visited or you'd be dealing with one cranky champion right about now."

"Which would make you different in what way?"

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny, but don't quit your day job just yet." Since he was the only being that she saw on a regular basis, he tried to accommodate her need for some occasional verbal sparring. "Oh, wait, I guess I am your day job. Sucks to be you, huh?"

"Not at all, Cordelia." He picked up her sword and started cleaning it with a rag he pulled from a pouch on his belt. "You know that it's a privilege and a great responsibility to serve as your guide."

He actually seemed somewhat sincere, so she relented. "Look, I'm sorry Skip. I know that what I'm doing here is important."

It was something she kept telling herself too, but she was becoming increasingly convinced that she'd screwed up big time. Angel had to be frantic by now: her apartment empty, the Groosalugg gone, her car deserted on the highway. If she knew him, he was working all hours, brooding, not taking care of himself, and then brooding some more. How many legitimately helpless people would have no one to turn to with Angel Investigations derailed in the search for someone they'd never find on Earth? Crap, crap, crap.

It probably didn't help matters any that she'd taken the visions with her when she left. At least, she guessed she had. She hadn't actually passed them on to anyone on Earth, but she sure as hell hadn't had any since her ascension to…to…whatever you wanted to call where she was now. The visions had always been a guide of sorts—a way to figure out who was in trouble and needed help—but now she had Skip. She didn't know if he had visions of his own, or if he got work orders from the PTB, but he always brought her to a place where her services were desperately needed.

"Important doesn't even begin to cover it," Skip insisted. "One of the brothers that you saved today is going to invent a chemical energy storage device that'll revolutionize this dimension and bring huge advancements to their civilization."

"You mean I saved all these guys so that one of them could invent the battery? Well, gee, I sure hope future generations will appreciate their Gameboys and remote controls."

"Oh, they will, and those diamond-based batteries will last for generations."

"Diamond-based?" She suddenly remembered her conversation with the monks. "Then the carbon polythingy they offered me—"

"Yep." Skip chuckled and she started involuntarily as the harsh sound echoed eerily through the stone passageway. "This planet's lousy with them. Most of the gems they mine around here are about the size of golf balls. But hey, hard work is its own reward, right?"

So she'd chosen dead demon du jour over diamonds. She tried hard not to pout. "Well, I guess we saved some lives today, anyway. Which one was the inventor guy?"

"The one that looked like Papa Smurf."

Her jaw dropped. "You know about the Smurfs? But you're a, a…"

Skip cocked his armored head to one side and sighed softly. "Big, scary demon?"

She nodded. "Well, yeah, pretty much. No offense."

"And just how exactly do you think big, scary demons begin their lives?"

"Um, as little baby demons?"

"Right, and lots of little demons like cartoons as much as the next sentient beings, okay?" He tucked the rag back into the pouch and removed a whetstone, which he then started running along the edge of the blade.

"Okay, defensive much. Just don't tell me that you have a thing for Barney too, or I'll have to assume that you're evil incarnate."

"You know about Barney?" He looked shocked.

"Sure I do. Purple dinosaur costume, cute kids singing stupid songs—"

"Then you don't know." He nervously cast his pinkish eyes all around them before leaning down and whispering, "It's not a costume, the songs have evil subliminal messages, and he has spies everywhere. The Powers are having a hard time finding someone powerful enough to take him down."

"Oh, my God," she said breathlessly. "Are you serious, Skip?"

"Of course not," he laughed loudly, "but that'll teach you to mock my choice of childhood entertainment."

"Dumbass." Cordy slugged his shoulder hard, and only her glowy blue power prevented her from bruising her hand on his armored plates. She leaned down and surveyed the damage to her new zrang-skin boots, a gift from the last beings she had helped. "You know, Skip, I'm not sure if I would have agreed to become Secret Agent Girl for the Powers that Be if I had known exactly how much demon goo I was going to come into contact with."

"Comes with the territory, babe, but, for what it's worth, you're doing great. The head honchos are really happy with you." He handed her back her sword, now clean, sharp, and ready for action.

She sheathed it before straightening up and reaching for her inner power source again, letting it envelop her body for a few minutes. When she let it fade, all the dirt and demon ick that had covered her outfit had vanished. "Does that mean they'll let me go back to L.A. for a visit?"

"Wouldn't count on it." He turned to face the stone wall of the chamber and began the series of incantations necessary to create a dimensional portal.

"When, Skip?" She resisted the urge to stomp her feet like a frustrated two-year-old. "Am I going to go dimension-hopping with you for the rest of my natural life?"

The rock at the center of the wall began to shift and swirl in a slow circle that broadened bit by bit as they watched. "Your life is anything but natural, but it's not my place to tell you anything except where you're going next."

"Look, you're Mr. Portal Guy, you've got a direct link with the powers, you're plenty strong, so why aren't you the champion getting in the thick of things and getting the job done?"

He waved his hand and the portal's surface shimmered and became silvery and reflective, although still a little swirly around the edges.

"Look."

She didn't need to. "It's a mirror, Skip. You may find it a little hard to believe, but I've seen one before."

"Humor me." His clawed hand took hers gently and he pulled her to stand next to him. "Look, and tell me what you see."

She gave in with what little grace she could still muster. "Okay, I see a hottie with a sword and a serious need for some time off, and a big, gray, horny demon."

He rumbled indignantly, "I beg your pardon."

"Oh, come off it. You so know what I meant."

"All right. Suppose the two of us show up together, oh, pretty much anywhere. Which of us do you think is going to get the heroine's welcome, and which is going to have sharp, pointy things thrust at him?"

So the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. "Great. So the Powers weren't really interested in my abilities, then. They just wanted a pretty face and a nice ass to keep the natives happy."

He shrugged. "Well, there are a few dimensions where the locals would welcome me with open arms while cowering and shrieking in horror at your ugliness, but we're keeping you away from those."

"Gee, thanks," she muttered.

"It's more than your appearance, you know," Skip insisted softly.

When she refused to look up at him, he crouched down to her level. "You have heart, the soul, and the mind that they were looking for too."

She still wasn't convinced. "Did they actually tell you that, or are you just covering for their sorry asses?"

Before he could answer, a low gonging noise came from the kitchen level of the monastery. "Let me guess," she said. "Is that the dinner bell?"

"Right the first time," he agreed.

"In that case, you're off the hook as long as you can get us out of here before they come looking for me." She bolted for the portal. "Just tell me that whatever we have to do doesn't involve tentacles."

"No tentacles, I promise," he grinned.

As she stepped in, she heard him say, "How do you feel about maggots?"

She tried to turn around, but the portal had already pulled her in too far. She was sure he was joking, but whatever her next job entailed, maggots or not, it had to be better than this one, right? Oh, dear God, please let her be right...

End of Chapter 1