A Thousand Words
Meg Fox

"We have to get her back," Angel said. He pounded his fist on the desk.

Doyle patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, genius."

Angel slumped backwards in the chair. "Sorry. It's Cordy, y'know?"

"I know. Look, I've got friends in the whirly dimensional hole business. I'll get 'em to help us figure out where and when she is. But first, coffee."

Doyle walked into the kitchen and turned the tap on, waiting for the water to heat. He stared mindlessly at the print above the sink. "Since when did the Mona Lisa show so many teeth?" He grinned, ecstatic. "ANGEL!"

Doyle. Ecstatic. Painting.