Author's Note: The Muse is a fickle creature. She decided it needed an epilogue...
Angel sighed to himself as he hauled his weary body out of bed. Losing Cordy and Gunn both, in such a short period of time, was almost too much to bear. And Wes, again, had been the one going in with pistols blazing, doing what needed to be done. They hadn't even informed him--the boss!--until after it was all over. It would be nice to be let in the loop every once in awhile, he grumbled mentally, stepping into his private elevator and getting ready to begin his day as the CEO of Hell, Incorporated.
He was completely unprepared for the sight that met his eyes when he walked into his office. Fred slumbered, stretched out on the couch on her side, covered by Spike's duster. Spike slept sitting up, on the floor next to her, his bandaged arm draped protectively over her shoulder.
Angel started to open his mouth to say something...then closed it. Let them sleep. They'd had a rough time. His phone rang as he sat behind his desk. "This is Angel."
"Angel, this is Buffy. I got a really bizzarro phone call last night..."