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Part 5 “Will you trust me to love you?”
She smiled, lips parting as they met with his in a tender kiss. He felt the warmth of a soft mewl inviting his tongue to taste the sweetness of her mouth.
“Let me love you.”
Mouths nipping and sucking, he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Hips thrusting against the hard mattress, Angel groaned as unwanted consciousness pulled him from his dream, stealing the warm, soft flesh and leaving him alone with only a cold sheet clutched in his hands. Disappointment meshing with anger, eyes flashed gold sparks and fangs itched from years of neglect. Another anguished howl and Angel rolled onto his back, cursing untimely physical needs. He had barely an hour before meeting Cordelia; his shower would have to be cold and hard, and purposeful.***
The sun loomed above the horizon, a large fireball descending day into twilight; colors, wild and bright, creating a magical hue. The last, warm caress of day sailed with the wind, fluttering dark tresses left loose and abandoned.
Cordelia browsed the elegantly designed boutique windows, scolding her inner child for grieving over frivolous days long past. Priorities had changed, her situation with Angel being in the forefront of those changes. He was probably on his way to Caritas by now, she reasoned, watching her lambent shield fade into moonlit vulnerability.***
Courage as fake as her calm façade, Cordelia pushed open the door and walked inside.
You’re late, Angel’s expression whispered, dark eyes with only a hint of emotion careful not to question why.
She sized him up; know your enemy, he had taught her that. The change was subtle, but easily detected by someone who had spent the better part of a year complaining of endless black on black.
Angel had taken great care in his attire. Too much color would present the wrong impression, not enough would affirm nothing had changed. His shirt was dark blue, almost black but not quite; and boots, a common choice, replaced with casual and uncomfortable dress shoes.
“Why don’t we sit,” a hesitant voice suggested, failing to dispel the blanket of tension. “I made coffee…I’ll go get it.” No response to his offer, a discontented sigh huffed from red lips and Lorne shuffled behind the bar, the chink of china and utensils resonating into the suffocating quiet. Lorne was out of his league and failing miserably to conceal his fears of inadequacy in handling this imposed position of mediator and counselor.
They set at the table, an illusion of friends sharing a drink, coming together by chance and catching up on times missed.
“How are you?” Angel finally spoke, the rasped query giving little indication of his fervent rehearsal.
“Good-fine-I’m good,” was the stammered reply.
“That’s good.”
“Knowing where to start is…”
“Impossible is the word you’re looking for.” Cordelia whispered tilting her head to the side, sitting so close to Lorne they were almost touching.
Cordelia knew the club protected her from unwanted attention; a simple demonstration, Angel surmised, that he should remember his place.
Muscles were more tone, evidence of her newfound need for self-defense. But she was slimmer, evidence that a healthy appetite and depression were not faithful companions.
Angel studied the curve of her face. Except for their brief moment at the office, opportunity for close proximity had been nonexistent. Her eyes gave up the biggest change; they were darker and steeled with resolve, clouding the glittering smile he had grown accustomed to before Darla’s intrusion.
“What I did to you was...”
“Reprehensible? Culpable? Criminal? Evil?”
The tone was accusing, the expression condemning; and unable to face either, Angel lowered his head, eyes burning into the cup in front of him.
“Yes.” He whispered, weary defeat reaching across the table in hopes of being embraced.
“Why did you come back?” Cordelia knew Angel had learned of Darla’s demise from Wesley, and considered the likelihood they were again a temporary substitute while Angel bided his time. “Sorry if you’ve found yourself momentarily short on purpose, but we’re no longer available; you’ll have to find some other poor slobs to use until something better comes along.”
Hope swatted away like the annoyance of a gnat, his head jerked up, determination anxious to deny.
“That’s not why I’m here. That was never the reason we were together.”
“The visions are for the mission, not you.”
“The visions aren’t why I need you, but the mission is mine.”
“Not any more, you walked away because other things were more important.”
“Our destiny was foretold; you know that.”
“Yours maybe, mine’s more likely in the closed accounts file at Tiffany’s.”
“Don’t do this Cordelia. You promised you’d help me find my way out of the tunnel.”
How dare you throw that in my face. I believed we were friends, you were a champion, and I trusted you. “I meant it when I said it. I just didn’t know you planned on dragging me into the tunnel with you. If you wanted to crawl around in the dark, you had Darla for that. Maybe you should have taken better care of her. After all, you were willing to give up everything, even your life to save her.”
The trial… how the hell does she know… Lorne… A low growl rumbled from his chest.
Angel was ready to tell Cordelia everything, no more secrets, no more going off to handle things on his own; but he had to get her back first.
“This isn’t about Darla, it never...” Useless denial was, well useless when dealing with Cordelia. He had pushed her beyond the perimeters her youth could handle and she was surviving the only way she knew how...with a brutal, detached honesty of the Queen herself.
Calm, stay calm; she wants me to lose control so this can be over. “I made a lot of mistakes, and what I did to you was the worst. I don’t expect you to forgive me, at least not yet.” Angel chose his words carefully. He had no right to demand anything and couldn’t risk Cordelia misinterpreting his request. “I’m just asking that we work on us. What we had is worth the pain if we can be like we were.”
“You’re still confused Angel. There is no us. There never was. And whatever we were like before is gone.”
“You don’t mean that Cordy; you can’t-”
“Cordy’s gone too. She grew up…the hard way.”
“I know you’re hurting, but I’m hurting too.” Angel countered; the response laced in a soft whisper, he concentrated on sipping his coffee, ignoring the cooling temperature.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. That soul of yours is suppose to punish you for your bad deeds. Too bad it doesn’t stop you once in a while. So what’s the penance for ultimate betrayal? Three Hail Mary’s and a side trip to Sunnydale for some Buffy lovin’?”
Eyes jerked up before shock could be masked, the rim of the cup clinking against his teeth; and Angel switched his concentration to swallowing the bitter brew before it could spew from his mouth.
“What? You didn’t think I’d know?”
Angel had heard of Buffy’s mother and stopped in Sunnydale on his way to LA. Staying all of an hour, he offered his condolences. His need for Cordelia overshadowing his ability to comfort, guilt of failing one because he was obsessed with healing his failures with the other almost more than he could bear.
“She lost her mother.” The condensed and safer explanation sounded feeble inside his head, and once spoken out loud quickly escalated to pathetic.
“I know Angel. I know exactly how she felt. A mother suddenly gone.”
Cordelia lost both her parents, not to death, but abandonment, which in a way is worse. Her parents chose to leave her. Did she deal with the loss on her own? I don’t know, I can’t remember us talking about it.
“Suddenly without the person you trusted most in your life.”
I know Cordelia has dealt with that alone. I’d be dust if Wes and Gunn knew and she’s not confiding in Lorne, he’s not a good enough liar to keep it from me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It just cheapens what you have with Buffy. She needed you, and that was the priority. God, it’s not enough you think I’m gullible, you think I’m stupid too. You may have chosen Darla over us, but you’d never choose her over Buffy. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t remember you staked Darla for Buffy.”
“Hey kiddies,” Lorne stepped in, unsure if diverting the flow of emotions was the right decision but certain of Angel’s reaction if Cordelia continued to push him away. “Why don’t we take a few steps back; give everyone a chance to breath.” He glanced at Angel, ignoring fidgety nerves and forcing a quirky smile. “Well if you breathe that is.”
Lorne’s interruption went unnoticed, unrelenting glares beaming across the table. Heavens to Betsy, if anybody up there is listening now would be a good time for heavenly intervention.
“Look Angel, I know you’re in a pickle, suddenly without a blonde to obsess over. Darla’s gone again and you can’t be with Buffy. You want me to be your friend; fine, here’s some friendly advice. No doubt Wolfram and Hart were impressed with you locking all those people in the basement with your two girls. It’s not like they grieve for the own, so I’m sure they’ll be glad to resurrect Darla again.”
Cordelia stood from her chair, one hand fisted against her hip the other wielding an insistent, pointing finger. “Then the two of you can ride off into the sunset and leave me the hell alone. Getting dumped the second you find a loophole in that pesky curse is her problem.”
“Cor?” The soft knock against the half-opened door filtered into the room; the welcome of its timeliness varying among the room’s occupants.
“That’s my ride.” Cordelia announced, and with an abrupt spin ended her participation, marching toward Matthew who waited quietly by the door.
Lorne followed Cordelia turning back to offer, “You stay here,” grateful for Angel’s unexpected compliance, but unnerved by his mask of eerie calm.***
“I guess for a first session-”
“It was better than expected,” Angel finished, surprising Lorne with a hopefully honest view.
“Really?”
“Cordelia’s hurting, and turning that hurt into anger is the only way she can deal right now. She brought up every mistake I made because of Darla except the one thing we have to talk about.”
“And you’re OK with that?”
“For now. When do I see her again?”
“Uh, about that; there’s a stipulation to a next time…and it’s nonnegotiable. Angel’s head shifted slightly, his eyes veering to Lorne signaled him to continue. “Cordelia wants you to stay off her balcony.” Lorne revealed between worried gulps.
Angel sat stock-still, face expressionless and knuckles white as fingers unclenched seconds before shattering the cup and spilling its black liquid onto the table. “Fine. Whatever Cordelia needs to make this work, I’ll deal with it.”***
The table crashed against the wall, splintered kindling scattering on the floor; the stripped bare mattress followed close behind. The room was almost completely demolished, every piece touched while violating her innocence and trust hurled across the room as rage dominated control.
Red satin wrapped around his feet, Angel snatched it up, ripping the frail fabric. Fibers stretched and torn revealed their secret, and Angel pressed the sheet to his face drawing her scent into his spirit. Exhausted, he slumped on the floor; his face buried in a pillow, the faint aroma of her perfume surrounding his senses.***
Repose had been brief; haunting memories invading his dreams, Angel escaped to the dark streets. He changed course at the last minute, common sense warning him to stay away he decided instead to use the last hour before sunrise to reacquaint himself with patrolling the city.
The shout of familiar voices drawing his attention, Angel cut across the street and sped down the alley.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“I don’t know. I told you it was big.” Cordelia shouted in return, waving her sword at what she could only assume was its head.
“Forgive me for thinking elephant when you were implying dinosaur. Now get back!” Matthew ordered, steeling his nerves and stepping forward to join Wesley and Gunn on the front line.
“Excuse me!” Cordelia grabbed his shirt pulling with a hardy tug until their new ally gave up and returned to his position as backup. “See this,” Cordelia marked off the space swinging her blade out as she whirled around. “This is called a personal bubble. Unless you want me to carve a big C on your chest, never cross this line.”
“Why are you threatening me? I came to help; remember?”
“Perhaps you’ve both forgotten why we’re here. A little help would be appreciated.” Blaming the disruption for causing him to miss his target, Wesley cursed as his blade sliced through empty air.
“You stay out of this-and go for the throat. I think it might be a weak spot.”
“Any idea where the throat might be? This thing is just one big blob with claws.” Gunn jumped as he swung his axe hoping to reach what might be a neck.
Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Cordelia struggled to let go of her resentment over Matthew’s concern and focus on the battle. “I’ve had more than enough of would be heroes telling me what to do. If you want to help me, help us kill this thing before it kills us.”
A vision of the strange looking demon must have brought them out at such a late hour, but no one had called for his help; and Angel stood on the sidelines watching the interaction. Though relieved by Cordelia’s refusal to accept the man’s protection, the quips and snarks were painfully similar to the feisty banter they once shared.
The demon let loose a vicious roar, a heavy limb more akin to a tentacle wielding razor-sharp claws whipped out, hurdling down toward Cordelia. Matthew raised his sword, ready to strike, until a powerful shove knocked him to the ground snatching his weapon from the air.
Angel straightened mid rotation, swinging the blade around to contact with the bellowing snarl’s source. The demon’s head hit the pavement with a heavy splat, Angel spattered with blood, landing only a second behind it.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Angel demanded, his snarl rivaling the demon’s.
“It-it-” Wesley stammered, cleared his throat and tried again. “It was almost morning when Cordelia had the vision. It made no sense to call you so close to sunrise.”
“We had an agreement Wes.”
“Nu-huh, no agreements,” Gunn stepped up to challenge, “only maybes and we’ll sees, nothin’ else.”
Angel spun around, standing over the man still lying on the ground; he cast a warning leer, tossing the sword to land with a clank beside his head. “Take Cordelia home…then leave.” He advised, the muscles in his face twitching with tension, his voice a gravelly husk.
Dark, angry eyes seeking her out, Cordelia stepped back, only nodding a reply when Angel issued his final instructions before taking off. “I’ll see you tonight at eight, and not before. So go home and get some sleep.”
“Maybe you should stay with me until he has time to cool off.” Matthew suggested pushing up from the bloody pavement and wiping his hands on his jeans.
“No!” Cordelia snapped. “Just do what he said.”
Matthew Ryan may know about the evils that roam in the dark, but he was clueless about the pissed off vampire with a soul.***
Profanities spouted, but refusing to give up, the persistent knocker became even bolder. Wesley reached down from the bed snatching up clothes tiredly shed and dumped on the floor just moments before.
Jerking open the door, he ducked barking a loud, “Bloody Hell,” as the fist intending another hard knock lunged at his face.
“Top of the morning to you too.” An invitation not forthcoming, Lorne pushed past Wesley and stepped inside, anxious to avoid nosy neighbors likely disturbed by his boisterous arrival.
“Lorne? What the bloody blazes are you doing here?”
“My, aren’t we a grumpy riser. Your eyes are a little puffy too.” Lorne leaned closer inspecting the dark circles under Wesley’s eyes. “Cucumber slices work wonders, but with those bags you might need a miracle.”
“Yes, thank you for the beauty tip. Now if you could tell me why you’re here…then leave so I can get some sleep.”
“Everybody’s always in a hurry. No one stops to smell the roses anymore. Fine, short and direct,” Lorne added when Wesley directed him an agitated glare. “There’s something important in that scroll Angel heisted.”
“The scroll of Aberjian?”
“Don’t know its name, the image was fuzzy.”
“You had a vision?”
“No; more like a dream or a memo sent from up above.”
“Lorne, you’re not making any sense. Besides, the scroll isn’t here. As far as I know it’s still in the safe at the hotel.”
“Then get it Professor. There’s an important message, and The Powers want us to find it.”
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do; after I get some sleep.”
“Good, you sleep…and try the cucumbers. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Lorne flipped the hood of his cape over his head. “This gorgeous profile works best in moonlight.”
Part 6Cordelia glanced at the clock…again. If she was going to be at Caritas by eight, she’d have to leave soon. The problem with that scenario, she was still in her pajamas, in bed and it was seven o’clock.
Hands rubbing hard over tired eyes, she released a loud huff hoping to blow the weary tension from her body. Nope, didn’t help, and if the muscles in her neck didn’t relax soon they would likely meld into one big clump. Maybe she’d been wrong; overzealous paranoia working overtime. Maybe Angel had actually told the truth and wasn’t outside her bedroom window last night.
Moot point, Cordelia reasoned. The threat of Angel showing up had given her an excuse to send Matthew on his way. Better than telling the man there were times she couldn’t stand the sight of him or that the slightest brush made her skin crawl. Besides, she reasoned again, if the wayward vampire had been crouched on her balcony; what would she have done?***
Angel eased the shirt onto his back, cringing when the fabric rubbed across the burned flesh yet to heal. A scorch by sunlight was always slower to heal, and the pig’s blood he was downing did not contain the medicinal boost of his first choice. The problem, his first choice also tended to induce behavior changes and with meeting Cordelia in less than an hour, anything less than total control was not an option.
He lied to her…again. But then, Angel reasoned, their relationship was based on lies and half-truths. Cordelia had trusted him, believed in him and his mission with pure, unadulterated faith, they all had. And being a selfish bastard, he had allowed that faith to go unchallenged and basked in the warmth of her love. At least until his past caught up with him, unmasking what really existed behind the celestial name.
It’s not the demon that needs to be destroyed, it’s the man; he had told Buffy once. One truth Angel discovered during his sabbatical; that night with Cordelia, the remnants of his humanity had gained absolute control, and desecrated the only thing, good and pure, fate had granted him.***
Cordelia blinked several times, giving her head a good shake before taking a second look. Angel was slumped in his chair, legs stretched out and his feet propped on the table. Ears perked, she listened, positive it was a hallucination. No, Angel was actually laughing. Not a big hardy har har laugh, but a definite chuckle when Lorne obviously said something funny. And a chuckle from Angel was like a belly roll from a normal person.
“Muffin, you’re here. Come, join us.”
“Celebrating?” Cordelia asked, taking a seat and sniffing the cup of tea waiting for her.
“I guess it’s reason enough to celebrate.” The nervous clatter in Lorne’s voice betraying his relaxed guise. “Making Mr. Stoic laugh has been a personal goal and well…” He trailed off sweeping his hand in front of Angel’s face.
“Well congratulations. Did you win anything other than that smug look on your face?”
“Oh Princess, don’t pop my glory balloon. I’m making pastries for my two dumplings, and speaking of pastries…” Lorne called out leaping from his chair and darting into the kitchen. “I hear the oven calling.”
Death by demon or skull cracking vision was no longer a concern. The strands of awkward silence wrapping around Cordelia’s throat would be her demise.
This is worse than going to the gynecologist, dentist and DMV all on one day. As much as you might need those people from time to time, you can always just say shove it and walk away. Not exactly the case here.
The one fact Cordelia was certain of was that Angel wasn’t offering a choice of yes or no, only how they would proceed. There had to be a way to make this work; logic told her Angel returning was a practical decision. Wesley and Gunn would benefit and she’d get to step back from demon duty. Maybe it could work; she pondered the rewards of simply turning over vision statistics and staying home while the men went off to slay. Not a bad scenario Cordelia decided, when manipulated into what was best for her.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“Huh? Oh, sorry...kinda lost in thought.”
“I know…so?”
“So what? Oh; do you even have a penny?”
Angel reached into his pocket; and a penny pressed between the table and his index finger slid across the table until it laid in front of Cordelia.
Cordelia eyed the shiny copper coin. She hated idle small-talk, almost as much as she hated Angel thinking she was so easily cajoled.
“Maybe you should just keep it.” She flicked the coin, sending it back across the table. “If you hear my thoughts then ask for change, we’ll just have another reason to argue.”
“That won’t happen. Actually, I’d be getting a bargain…if you told me what you were really thinking that is.”
“Since when do I not say what I’m thinking?”
“Never, but what you’re thinking isn’t my concern.” Angel admitted, wishing other truths could be as easily confessed. “It’s what you’re feeling that I’m willing to pay for.”
“Well in that case…” Thoughts and feelings were as opposite as day and night, and if thoughts were begrudgingly shared, feelings didn’t stand a chance. “You can’t afford it.” Cordelia gave the chair a quick shove scraping it across the floor. “I’m gonna check on Lorne, well to be exact, his pastries. I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet.”
Cordelia was being too civil. Not forthcoming with useful information, but the casual conversation, and change in her demeanor was too good to believe...or trust. She was working him, that much Angel was sure. He’d have to change tactics, but it would need to be handled delicately; if Cordelia felt pressured she’d strike back. Angel needed to let her move forward, confident in their casual we’re only getting along mode, while shifting their relationship in a more intimate direction. I can do that, he assured the cannonade of doubt.
Angel slipped into the kitchen undetected, quietly eyeing the hustle of activity and waiting for his opportunity. “I have a suggestion for our next meeting.”
“OK,” spit out; Cordelia gagging on the large chunk of apple turnover rolling around in her mouth, followed by a garbled “milk” and ‘high priority’ look to her snacking partner.
Lorne quickly delivering a rescue of cold, low-fat milk, dabbed a towel over Cordelia’s mouth and chin as he scolded her overzealous pastry scarfing.
“Jumping willagers princess, there’s plenty for everybody.”
“Thanks, and ewe.” Cordelia scrunched her face swallowing down the mishmash of fruit and skim milk. “Does someone think I need to watch the calories?”
“Not you my little non-fat latte, but this sleek, gorgeous body is my livelihood. Well that and the Judy Garland vocal chords.”
Angel sized up the situation; Cordelia was purposely ignoring him. The startled choke had been genuine, but now she was just dragging it out.
“So, how about it?”
“How about what?”
“My suggestion Cordelia.” Patience may be a virtue when dealing with Cordelia, but it was also a rare commodity.
“Did you actually make a suggestion or just suggest that you had one?”
Snark untempered; Angel missed that, and Cordelia had him with that one. “Right.” He’d never actually stated his case before the gagging and spitting, and fat debate. “I thought it’d be nice to go out, maybe have dinner at a nice restaurant. You choose and I’ll treat.”
And seeing doe eyes wide with fear as blaring headlights threatened to run her over, Angel quickly corrected his proposition. “All of us. If we’re going to work together, Wes and Gunn need to be comfortable having me around.”
Covert vampire watching was impossible Lorne decided, wall-eyeing Angel’s newest ploy as he stashed the milk carton inside the refrigerator. Patience and Angel do not good bedfellows make.
“Uh, what do you think Lorne; you coming with us?” Cordelia wasn’t sure how much of her confidence stemmed from Lorne’s presence instead of the club’s protection spell, but having at least part of that confidence was better than none at all.
“Would if I could pumpkin, but unless the big guy is planning a clandestine outing I’m afraid I won’t fit in.”
“Maybe we could just tell the gawkers to get over it. I mean there’s a lot of unattractive people running around, and they get to eat in nice restaurants.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned princess,” Lorne offered while sending Angel a conversant glare, “it’s that humans and demons alike are resistant to change.”
Angel felt the stinging flick of Lorne’s scorn, pushing resentment aside to concentrate on appeasing Cordelia’s discomfort. “We won’t be alone Cordelia. I wouldn’t ask for that. I just thought it’d be nice for the four of us to have dinner together.”
“Fine,” Cordelia snapped, throwing the small kitchen towel onto the counter. Angel had managed to maneuver her back against the wall and flight seemed her best option. “If you think stuffing me with a ten pound lobster will fix things; who am I to disagree?” Cordelia sprinted around the counter, spinning around as she crossed into the lounge. “In case you haven’t noticed, they don’t know…and I don’t want them to know.”
Fists firmly riding the curve of her hips, eyes squinted to narrow slits, and lips pursed warning she’d reached her limit, Angel glimpsed his Cordelia. The take no crap hellcat that would spit in an opponent’s eye before showing fear; and Angel felt the echo of a heart-beat.
“Idiot,” Lorne hissed, slapping Angel’s arm with the back of his hand. “Can you not understand the concept of good things come to those who wait?”***
“Am I the only one that sees the irony here? The dude’s a vampire, and unless this place is another demon hangout, it ain’t gonna have blood on the menu.”
“Gunn, will you please give it a rest?”
Wesley laid his head against the back of the couch, tightening the pinch on the bridge of his nose. This was actually making his time as a watcher and even life with his father look good.
“Cordelia, when did you and Angel discuss dinner plans?”
Great, Cordelia’s conscience groused, more questions meant more lies. “Angel called me yesterday, asking to talk…and I agreed to meet him at Caritas.”
After Angel’s descent into his dark past almost six months ago, they had decided to continue the mission, and in the process grown closer; but this newest development only served to confirm Wesley’s concerns. Cordelia was still clinging to her past with the Angel they once knew and trusted; and as the eerie shiver rippled up his spine, he couldn’t help but worry his friend would suffer further heartache and disappointment.
“Damn girl, I can’t believe you met with the guy without telling us; don’t tell me you feel safe around him.”
Damn Gunn, you don’t know the half of it. “Don’t look at me like that. If Angel wanted to hurt me…or any of us, he could pick us off one by one while we’re running around trying to figure out which way to go.”
“Gunn, I don’t believe encouraging Cordelia to retain a body guard service is the way to proceed.”
“Barbie don’t need body guards, she’s got us.”
“Yes, she does.” Wesley quietly agreed, gracing Cordelia with an encouraging smile. “Always remember that Cordelia, Gunn and I will always be here for you.”***
Cordelia had to admit, she felt calmer than expected. Even managing to enjoy goading Gunn into one of his Angel tirades, until Wesley threatened to turn the car around. The level of fear induced by Angel’s closeness seemed to have diminished…a little. Storming out of Caritas, fear had been pushed aside for anger; and not swallowing down a constant knot of apprehension felt good.
“Welcome to Spago. My name is Julio and I will be serving you this evening.” Dressed in a crisply starched white shirt and black trousers with distinctive tailored pleats, the waiter addressed the small table of four. “Would you care for a drink before dinner or perhaps a bottle of wine?”
“Cordelia,” Angel gestured with a slight lift of his hand. “Would you like a drink?”
A drink, the question resounded in her head; suddenly she was old enough, but pointless for Angel to quibble over age issues now…and a drink would make her newfound determination easier.
“Yes, I’ll have a hurricane please.” She decided, smiling at their attractive, if portfolio lacking, waiter.
Ignoring the scalding glare his gruff uhumm earned, Wesley interjected before Cordelia’s order could be scribbled onto the pad. “A hurricane, that sounds potent.”
“That hurricane drink sounds good, bring me one of those too.” Gunn had been taking care of himself and other kids on the streets for a long time, and the legalities of a little underage drinking just didn’t hold the same punch for him.
“Bring us a bottle of Amarone, something from the late sixties if you have it.” The command of Angel’s voice jolted everyone’s attention, rescuing Wesley from his impending tongue lashing.
“Excellent choice sir,” Julio acknowledged with a swift nod, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen and avoiding further discussion of an appropriate beverage for the young woman.
“Amarone? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that wine.”
“It’s a red wine from Italy’s Veneto Region. It’s stronger than most reds, made from a blend of partially dried grapes.”
If his expertise of history’s finer pleasures was all he needed, Cordelia would be firmly settled in his life by evening’s end. Pity, Angel’s subconscious grumbled spotting the glint of child-like fascination, that it wasn’t Wesley he wanted in his bed.
“So...Angel, have you decided to remain at the hotel?”
“For now. There’s a month left on the lease, but it’s too big for one person, and that’s a lot of money when only one room is being used.”
“I thought you liked a lot of space, you know the loner thing?” Gunn chimed in, throwing Cordelia a playful wink.
“You can be alone in a room full of people.”
“Very true,” Wesley whispered staring out at the crowd of patrons. “For most of my life I felt like I didn’t fit in.”
“But not anymore; right?” Cordelia slipped her hand over Wesley’s, remembering the pitiful geek that had joined her and Angel after they’d lost Doyle. Don’t start remembering things even sadder than this. God, if I start blubbering in public I’ll have to kill myself.
“Not at all, and I’m very grateful for that.” Wesley placed a hand over Cordelia’s giving it a squeeze.
“Hey! What about me?”
“Charles, when I think of life with you…” Wesley fell silent for a moment, lifting his free hand to give his head a concentrated scratch. “…I am at a loss for words.”
“Quick, somebody call the Guinness folks; I’ve accomplished the impossible.”
The three laughed, Wesley meeting Gunn’s hand in a rowdy high five; and Angel felt like his chest was in a vice. Watching the camaraderie, listening to the easy banter was harder than expected. He had been a part of this family, and walked away because of Darla; but not before destroying the ties that could lead him back.
“You’re wine sir.” The waiter poured a sip into Angel’s glass, moving around the table when ushered a nod of approval. “Nineteen sixty-eight was a very good year for the Veneto vineyards.”
“Indeed,” Wesley offered, sucking air across his wine coated tongue.
“May I suggest an appetizer before ordering?”
Angel glanced at Cordelia, her anxious expression a signal best not ignored. “We’ll skip the appetizer this time. I’ll have a porterhouse, extra rare.”
The waiter’s head jerked up, “extra rare,” his complacent expression betrayed as he repeated the request. “You do want it cooked; yes?”
“If Bessie’s tied out back just lead her in.”
“Gunn, behave.”
“What? I’m just making sure the man gets what he wants.”
Cordelia almost choked on her wine, not sure which she enjoyed more; Gunn having fun at Angel’s expense or Wesley’s never ending effort to be the voice of parental reasoning…or maybe it was the wine.
“Angel is more than capable of getting what he wants Gunn, and let’s give Wesley the night off or next time he might get a sitter and leave you at home.” Moving the slow process of ordering along, Cordelia turned to their befuddled waiter, “I’ll have the veal parmigiana and a tuscany salad,” then offered to share her rarely used expertise of fine dining. “Gunn, do you need me to help you order something you’ll like?”
“No, I think I’ll go with Angel and play it safe, but I don’t want it to bleed when I jab my fork into it.”
“Very good sir, porterhouse well done; and you sir?”
“Oh my, everything looks so delicious it’s difficult to decide.”
Perhaps of chunk of Bessie before your friends scarf her down? Julio silently suggested behind his mask of polished decorum, relieved when the gentlemen thought it prudent to follow the young woman’s choice and praying lack of etiquette would be compensated with a hefty tip.***
“Lilly!” Lorne screeched. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“My dear friend.” The woman greeted Lorne with a loving embrace. “It’s been much too long.”
“Miguel, mind the store for a while. I’ll be in the back if you need me.” Lorne called out, leading his guest toward his private quarters.
“Your club looks wonderful Lorne; just the way I pictured it.” Lilly offered, settling into the plumb chair as Lorne set her suitcase next the bed.
“This is a small bag Lilly; you must be planning on a short stay.”
“You sounded desperate so I packed quick; and yes, next week is booked solid so the weekend is all I can afford on such short notice.”
“Desperate huh; was I that obvious?”
“Enough that I hopped on the first plane out of Chicago. So tell me what’s going on and what I can do to help.”***
God, I hope the food comes soon. If I have to keep smiling my face will crack. Look at this place, this is gonna cost a fortune. All of a sudden Angel’s the big spender? Obviously the tightwad doesn’t know dinner is supposed to come before the sex.
How long does it take to wave a steak over the flame? Not that I’m anxious to eat a slab of beef, even if it is bloody. I hate that fake smile. It might fool the bumbling duo, but not me. If Cordelia doesn’t stop smiling I might just have to shake her, and touching without permission won’t help my cause.
Why is Angel grinning like that? He can’t think Cordelia’s smiling at him. She’s just glad that me and Wes are with her. The vamp alone with our Cordy, like that’ll ever happen; yea right.
Good Lord, this is uncomfortable. I need to say something, but what can we discuss that would include Angel, and more important, not encourage false hope for Cordelia? Look at her, poor girl; she looks so happy.
“So how about you guys bring me up to speed on what’s been happening while I was away.”
Oh, thank God. That’s a relatively safe topic. “Rather busy actually. The visions take up a large portion of our time, but we’ve managed to pick up a few cases here and there to cover expenses. We’ve even discussed-”
“Enough about us; don’t want to hog the limelight. What big adventure were you off on this time?”
Cordelia’s gasp whirred over the grunt of Wesley clearing his throat, and Gunn gulped, wide eyes burning under heated glares. Saved by the waiter’s return with dinner, Gunn considered making use of Wesley’s suggestion to think before he speaks. “Or just keep it to yourself.”***
“Wow,” Lilly blurted her professional response to Lorne’s story. “If you do manage a happy ending for those two, you’d make a fortune selling the publication rights.”
“Money I don’t need, and a happy ending I’ll pay for if that’s what it takes.”
“This doesn’t sound like a story with a happily ever after, but if anyone can do, it’s you. You helped me find a happy ending when my life was falling apart.”
“Then help me help them now; we’ll call it one of those paying it forwards gigs.”***
Dinner had proceeded without further controversy, peppered with occasional polite conversation, and their evening almost over, the four walked quietly across the parking lot.
He wanted to drive her home, knowing his offer would not be received well…by any of them. But Angel readily confessed well thought out plans were not his strong suit, and throwing caution to the wind reached for her hand.
“Cordelia, I was-”
“Gees, not now!”
Angel staggered back from the blow before honed senses picked up the familiar sensations; and knees buckling, upper torso lunging forward from the vision’s force, Angel caught Cordelia, lifting her up into his arms.
“It’s Ok, ssshhh,” the soothing croon filtered through the onslaught of flashing neon lights and blaring music as slender fingers curled down, nails digging into his silk shirt and the flesh beneath it.
Angel maneuvered into the back seat; Cordelia still nestled in his arms, and with a quick shove into his pocket tossed the keys onto the front seat. A gruff “you drive,” directed to either man that chose to respond.
They eyed each other for a brief moment, Wesley shifting into his uneasy role of leadership. “Grab a few weapons, we’ll leave the truck here for now.”
Engine revving and weapons safely stashed on the floor, Wesley glanced over his shoulders, a simple shrug gesturing need for instructions.
“What do we need to do Cordy?” Angel whispered into her ear, Cordelia’s stiff body hugging the contours of his chest.
“I don’t know,” wheezed through the pain crushing her skull, the visions had never been this excruciating before. “I just see lights flashing, and people laughing and dancing…and screaming. That’s all,” she hissed, exhausted from the barrage of useless information. “I don’t see anything else.”
“We’ll figure it out, just try to relax.” Angel tore his eyes away, giving a quick glance to the two men eagerly watching from the front seat. “We’re taking Cordelia home…now,” he barked when met with a glimpse of hesitation.
“Right; Gunn follow us in the truck.”
“But shouldn’t we-”
“I’m not moving Cordelia until we have to. The visions are always painful, but this isn’t normal.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” Gunn conceded, taking only a second to grab the weapons before sending Angel a warning glare.
Cordelia whimpered again, the lingering ache refusing to give up its torment; and Wesley slowed down, cautiously avoiding potholes and sudden stops. Cool lips brushed across her temple, her body shivering inside his embrace, and Angel speculated whether the cool, night air or his touch could lay claim to the dense layer of goose bumps.
Angel cursed, realizing his leather jacket was locked in the trunk; it wasn’t totally inconceivable the night air was the culprit. “Gunn, toss me your jacket; Cordelia’s cold.”
The jacket was off in a flash, Gunn rising up on his knees and leaning over the seat to wrap the short coat around Cordelia’s upper body. “We could stop long enough to put the top up…but we’ll be at Cordy’s place in a few more minutes.”
“No, this is good.” Angel rasped, his hands briskly rubbing over exposed skin. He tightened the wrap of his arms, sadly aware the vision’s aftermath awarded the ephemeral luxury. Covered with the borrowed cover Cordelia’s body began to warm, and laying his forehead against hers, Angel reveled in the wave of warmth enveloping him.
Her body racked with pain, her heart ached for the comfort of this long missed shelter; and eyes clinched tight against the sting of tears, Cordelia snuggled further into Angel’s protective embrace, knowing it could only last for a little while.***
“Look, I know this girl is in a really bad place right now, but she’s not the only one hurting. A rapist doesn’t come back to try to make things right; he moves on to his next victim. Only in this case, the rapist was the next victim.”
“So you’re saying Angel assaulting Cordelia was a reflection of his own personal assault?”
“Not exactly, I know it’s hard to understand. Actually, I’m having a little trouble wrapping my head around it myself.”
Lorne huffed a tired sigh, gulping down the remainder of his drink, and Lilly forged ahead with her piecemeal of facts. “Without counseling them, it’s impossible for me to understand the driving emotions, but it’s reasonable to conclude he was severing ties to what he believed he’d already lost.”
“But Angel’s back, and he wants to reattach severed ties…and he’s not real focused on the fact that Cordelia tossed her end of the rope months ago.”
“She’s obviously agreeing to these counseling sessions you’ve set up, so I have to wonder if she threw that rope away or merely buried it so she could pretend it no longer existed.”
“I did cover the part where Angel’s a vampire, right; prone to bouts of killing and maiming when he believes it’s justified…even hurting the people he’s supposed to care about.”
“We all have those tendencies, and soul or not, we don’t need to be a demon to act on them.”***
He had ignored the ramblings and suggestions of we can handle things from here, and strolled into the building. But now, standing on the outside of the open door, Cordelia still cradled in his arms, Angel had no doubt the invisible barrier would block the last step of his unexpected journey.
“Cordelia,” he whispered, leaning his head down until his lips brushed against her ear. “Invite me in, we need to get you into bed.”
Had she bothered to predict the possible endings to their night, Angel carrying her to her bedroom wouldn’t have been on the list. But then, Cordelia reconsidered, nothing about her life in LA had been predictable.
“Come in Angel,” she replied, adding on the conditions of his invitation, “if you promise to put me down; otherwise the guys are going to pass out from asphyxiation.”***
“Sweet dreams doll face.”
“Goodnight, my little red-horned devil.” Lilly giggled against Lorne’s shoulder.
“Is my lacy nightshirt tickling your nose?”
“No silly, I was just thinking about my ex’s reaction if he were here.”
“Kinky!”***
Endless replays of the vision invading her sleep, Cordelia tumbled back and forth across the bed. A strobe of colored lights danced across the floor as the small, lithe body whirled around, flaxen wisps bouncing around a face of opaline skin. Blood flowed across the scene as the speckle of lights faded to black; and lungs desperately sucking in air, Cordelia’s body lurched up, her knees folding into her chest. Arms wrapped around her legs, she rocked, her back tapping against the headboard as the desperate chant droned into her dimly lit bedroom.
“Oh God-oh God-oh God…Not again…It can’t be….Oh God-oh God-oh God…”