Credits. This week's thematic Boreanaz quote: "I'm ovulating? I am. [...] I have to go sit on some eggs." Two clerical items before we move on. First, I'm tired of saying "Satan's boss." Let's just call it the Forced Evil until something better turns up. And on a whiny note, I'd finally gotten used to typing "Angelus" instead of "Angel" all the time, and now I have to switch back.
Oh, look, it's Tobey! Tobey, looking kind of nervous and shady. But still plenty cute. He's standing by a big fountain-and-pool thing that is almost certainly a recognizable landmark in Los Angeles, but I'm three thousand miles from there, so I can't help with that. It's entirely unlike the Reflecting Pool; that's the best I can do. Tobey eyes everyone who walks past him, and between his shifty looks and the trenchcoat, it's amazing that he hasn't already been hauled away as a suspected terrorist. He's lucky he's blonde. Tobey suddenly turns around, and there's Gwen. In a new outfit. Featuring a top that laces up, but seems to be several sizes too small for her so it doesn't quite meet in front. How embarrassing for her. She asks Tobey for her stuff, and also begs him to stop looking shifty. He doesn't, but he does say that she's going up against powerful people and that there are risks and so on. Gwen insists, "I'm not coming out without Lisa," and slips an envelope into Tobey's pocket. Tobey finally hands over a packet about security systems, and gets around to really looking at Gwen. He asks whether his inexperience at covert operations is obvious, and Gwen says, "Trenchcoat. Definite rookie mistake." Tobey asks, "So, I should dress more like you?" Aw yeah, work it, Tobey. Hey, Ben Edlund's a producer now? Cool. Tobey starts to suggest that "when this is all over," they could get together for makeovers, but he is interrupted when Gwen is struck by lightning. Tobey runs back to Stanford. Gwen looks up and grumbles, "Really, I'm fine. Thanks for asking!"
Uninterested in more baby-talk, Cordy, Connor, and Angel have all left the lobby. Gunn is summarizing the past two years of the show, for some reason, and good luck to him. He concludes, "Quick as you can say Easy-Bake Oven, there's a gigantic bun in [Cordelia's]." Mmm, tiny cakes. Not that I had an Easy-Bake Oven. I had the competing Holly Hobbie model. Would I lie about a thing like that? Fred mentions the sanctuary spell, and Wesley concludes that Connor must be "at least part demon." Remember who gave the "official" word that Connor was human? While looking at an ultrasound of fetal Connor? Actually, this is an interesting: Wesley once said that Connor was human, and now he's saying that Connor isn't. That means Wesley must have been right one of those times. Will wonders never cease? Cary reminds everyone that the sanctuary spell was a "flopapalooza," and then Fred wonders, "Having two part-demon parents might could [sic] explain the whoosh factor" of Cordy's pregnancy. Gunn says that soon "whoosh" will turn into "pop." Cary wonders if Angel should be part of the henfest. Angel promptly enters from the office and says, "Easy-Bake, floopalooza, whoosh, pop. I don't skulk!" Heh. Skulking jokes never get old. Angel wants to say a few things about his desouled period. Fred tells him not to feel guilty about it, and Angel quickly says, "I don't." And then the MoG chop his head off and go to find the real Angel. Actually, he says that they all knew the risks, although for some reason, he omits mentioning that the Forced Evil manipulated them all into thinking that bringing Angelus back was a good idea, which isn't a great excuse, but might spread the blame around a little more. Then Angel declares, "Angelus didn't kill Lilah. She was already dead -- killed by the Beast." Angel tells Wesley, "I'm sorry for your loss," which is a sneaky way of making sure everyone knows that Wesley hooked up with Lilah. At least that's how I choose to take it. Maybe Fred told everyone, but I still have trouble imagining that conversation happening with Gunn. On the other hand, nobody has much reaction to Angel's statement. Poop. What's the point in having sordid secret naughtiness if nobody cares when they find out?