Go TeamC/A
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Title: Just What the Doctor Ordered
Author: Cordelia'sDestiny
Posted: 10/06/03
Rating: NC17
Category: Angst, smut
Content: C/A
Summary: Wesley insists that Cordelia and Angel get help for their interpersonal strife.
Spoilers: After Epiphany.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know.
Notes: Based on a challenge by DamnSkippy. at end of this first page - avoid if you don't wanna know yet.
Thanks/Dedication:
Feedback: It’s what keeps me sane! Please leave feedback!
Hey, my first challenge!(Posted at bottom of page)
Part 1
“Give. It. Back.”
His voice was so low, so quiet, it nearly disappeared into the thick silence of the room, but the menace in it was unmistakable. His eyes were nearly slits as he towered over her, punctuating his anger as his broad shoulders cast a long shadow across her face.
She wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. She pinned him with her haughtiest glare and stared him down.
“Hell no, jackass! It’s mine, fair and square.”
“I had it first, Cordy. You will give it back to me.”
“’You will give it back to me’?” she imitated, her voice dropping into a low mockery of his. “What are you, Jedi Vamp? The power of suggestion doesn’t work with me, dork.”
“It’s mine,” he growled, stepping closer, his face now inches from hers, his eyes rimmed in gold as he fought his demon. “Fork it over, Cordy.”
When she stubbornly ignored him, he added, “God, sometimes you can be such a bitch.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Bitch? BITCH??”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper. Angel was chagrined to realize that it sent chills of dread up his spine. And so it should. An unhappy Cordy was a terrifying Cordy.
She marched right up to him and poked her well-manicured index finger into the solid mass of his chest, repeating the gesture throughout her statement as if to highlight the important words. “Oh, you just signed your death warrant, bucko. You are so, so dead.”
He growled, a deep rumble of pure frustration that reverberated in the room. Desperate, he shot out his arm in a blur of motion, grabbing for the coveted object in her hand.
He missed, and got a handful of firm breast instead. They both froze for a second, then he jerked his hand back as if she’d been drenched with holy water. He glowered at his error. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to miss.
Cordelia regained her wits and shrieked, jerking back from him. “What, I won’t give it to you, so you try to take it, and you GROPE me when you don’t get it?”
Her eyes flashing hazel fire, she jumped up from the sofa, marched over to the chair and planted herself firmly in its soft depths. She took her prize and buried it deep in the cushions, far from his reach. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood sentry, her mouth set in a grim line that dared him to challenge her again.
He stalked over to the chair, planting his hands on either arm and shoving his face into hers.
“Give it back, Cordy. Now.”
“No!”
“Give it! Or else!” he threatened emptily.
“Or else what? You’ll growl me to death?” She snorted indelicately. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll make your life a living hell, Cordy.”
“Been there, done that,” she yawned widely, uncrossing and recrossing her arms over her chest in a nonchalant display of defiance. “Try again, dumbass.”
He shook his head, a feral gleam in his eye. “I’ll never respect your personal bubble again.”
“I can handle that,” she said, her jaw locked in determination.
“I’ll take back all of the clothes I bought you.”
“Go ahead,” she challenged, her eyebrow arched in defiance. “I didn’t like your lousy K-Mart style, anyway.”
Angel frowned for a minute as he filtered through his remaining options. The right answer suddenly jumped out at him as if it were ringed in flashing neon lights. He stood back, crossed his arms, and smirked evilly.
The expression was so evil that it was Cordelia’s turn to get shivers as she had a déjà vu moment of Angelus before he spoke.
His voice was sinfully confident, a rich velvet resonance. “I’ll call Xander and tell him your still in love with him. I’ll make him believe you have hot, erotic dreams about him every night and that you’re nearly suicidal over losing him.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You wouldn’t!”
He smirked, finally realizing he had a bargaining chip. “I would. I’d even call Sunnydale and tell them how concerned I am, ask them to help me ‘save’ you from your misery.”
She closed her mouth and shot poisoned arrows with her eyes as he grinned his triumph.
Feeling he had won, he stated his demand again. “Give it back.”
She frowned, her mind warring with itself. Was it worth it? Was it worth the trauma that he would undoubtedly cause?
Yes, damn it. It wasn’t even about that, anymore. It was about making Angel pay.
“No,” she said, determinedly. “Take your best shot, freak. I can handle whatever it is you throw at me. I will not give it up, and I won’t let you use your lame ass, demon mafia intimidation tactics to get it back, either.”
He couldn’t take it. He roared so loudly that it bounced off the walls, his face now morphing into the visage of his true anger. He gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that he had ripped holes into the fabric.
“Give it back, Cordy! This is the last time I’m going to tell you!”
“No!”
“Give it, or I won’t be responsible for your safety!”
“Screw you! No!”
The stared at each other, both breathing heavily, as they each struggled for domination.
Just as Angel began to snap and reach for her to take it back, Wesley’s exasperated voice finally penetrated the thick, throbbing haze of emotion around them.
“Bloody hell, it’s just a damn remote control! You two are worse than nursery school children!”
Wesley’s admonishment seemed to give Angel time to grasp the tattered remains of his control. With great care, he removed his hands from the battered chair and stood back, putting some distance between himself and the pouting brunette he wanted to strangle.
Either that or screw her until she screamed for him never to stop.
He stopped cold at that errant thought. Geez, he really had to get a grip on himself. Wesley once again penetrated the fog of his swirling emotions.
“I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you two lately, but it had bloody well better stop here and now or I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He pinned Angel to the wall with a withering stare, daring him to test their fledgling boss/employee relationship.
Angel weighed his options for a split second. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but the former watcher was actually pretty scary when he was angry. That man knew things. Things about how to make a vampire suffer, ways that were undetectable until it was too late.
“She started it,” Angel said petulantly, not able to resist the barb and feeling a need to defend himself as he bowed under the pressure of Wesley’s menacing stare.
“Ah!” Cordelia gasped, her mouth open in indignation. “I did not! It’s not my fault that you hate Martha Stewart. It just so happens that she’s doing a show about homemade spa treatments, and I have to watch it. I HAVE to! Wesley doesn’t pay me enough to go to Elizabeth Arden. Go find another TV!”
“Martha Stewart is a demon! An evil one! And besides, this TV is the best one. You don’t care about surround sound. Go upstairs!”
“That’s enough, you two,” Wesley said in his best authoritative adult voice, trying to intervene again.
They ignored him.
“No! I was here first!” Cordelia yelled, her two-year-old tone a perfect match for Angel’s.
“But I had the remote in my hand and you stole it!” Angel countered, closing the distance between them again.
“What were you going to watch?” she scoffed, sneering at him. “Mr. Tightass over there won’t fork over the money for cable—”
“Hey!” Wesley interrupted.
“—and the only other shows on are The Munsters and Full House. Don’t tell me you have a thing for John Stamos!”
Angel looked at her like she had two heads, but there was a guilty sparkle in his eyes, like he didn’t want his total lack of cool to be discovered.
“I do not have a thing for John Stamos,” he denied as if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world, “but the show’s funny. And those twins are really cute.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Yuck! That’s totally gross. They’re like, infants.”
“Ugh, Cordelia! I may be a freak, but not like that.”
“Whatever,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand and a practiced roll of her eyes. “Yours is a rerun. Mine’s an original. So I automatically take precedence.”
“The hell you do! This is my hotel! Find your own damn TV!”
“No!”
“Yes, damn it!”
“WILL THE TWO OF YOU SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!” Wesley screamed, his voice cracking at the volume. Both Angel and Cordelia jumped, visibly startled by Wesley’s break from his usually calm manner.
“You! Over there!” Wesley growled, pointing a finger at Angel, then stabbing it in the direction of the sofa nearest him.
Cordelia smirked at him as he walked by, smug that he was being ordered around by Wesley and she’d escaped.
Her smugness was short-lived.
“You!” Wesley’s bony finger jabbed in her direction. “There!” he ordered, indicating the chair she’d abandoned. “And give me that!” he said, snatching the offending remote out of her hand.
Wesley began to pace in front of them, pausing occasionally to glare at each of them, obviously seething as he worked out what should be done about them. He paced for so long that both Angel and Cordelia began to feel bad about their argument. Just a little bit, but not enough so that they were ready to apologize or admit that they’d been stupid.
It was just that Wesley was so angry that it made them both nervous. There was no telling what deviousness the man might be capable of when pushed to the limit. Both of them feared they’d pushed him too far.
Of course, they’d been fighting a lot lately. Always over stupid things, like drinking the last of the coffee or messing with each other’s stuff. Until now, all of them had been fights about things that were semi-legitimate, things that any co-workers might be in a tiff about at one time or another. It wasn’t until today that they’d exploded about something so unbelievably foolish. Both of them knew it. Both of them realized that they’d crossed the threshold from annoyingly petty to utterly ridiculous.
Wesley finally stopped and stared at them, his eyes boring into each of them in turn until they squirmed like kindergarteners who’d forgotten to use the bathroom at recess.
“This foolishness is going to stop. Right here, right now,” he began, his tone brooking no hint of insubordination. “The two of you have been bickering like junkyard dogs ever since Angel came back to the Agency, and I’ve had enough.”
“But, Wesley, he—” Cordelia raised her hand to begin, but he pursed his lips and stared her into silence.
“Don’t, Cordy. Just shut up!” he shouted finally when he could see her open her mouth to speak in spite of his visual warning. “I don’t want to hear it. From you, either, Angel!” he said preemptively, shooting a glare at him that would dare him to defy his order. He just glared at them, looking like an 11th grade schoolmaster who’d had his last nerve frayed to nothing by his unruly students.
Angel reluctantly shut his mouth, letting Cordelia’s half-said excuse go unanswered.
“This is how its going to be, and I’m not going to take any arguments. I am the boss,” he stated imperiously. “You put me in charge, willingly I might add, and I’m laying down the law.”
It was obvious that Wesley was just getting wound up, and both Angel and Cordelia suppressed groans at what was bound to be a lengthy lecture.
Wesley surprised them both with the terseness of his ultimatum. “It is abundantly clear to me that the two of you need professional help. Either get some, or you’re fired.”
Cordelia’s mouth dropped open. “You would fire me? After what happened? After everything that we went through together?” Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she realized that he meant it. Wesley firing her would be akin to losing her big brother, her protector.
Wesley’s eyes softened just a fraction. “Yes, Cordy, I would. I love you, but I won’t let this behavior continue.”
Angel took Wesley’s softened features as a chink in his armor. “We don’t need professional help, Wes. Maybe a fifth of Jack Daniels, but not professional help. A shrink wouldn’t help anyway. I can’t tell them my story, so how would that be productive?”
Angel mentally patted himself on the back as he swiftly maneuvered himself out of Wesley’s plan, or so he thought. His face visibly fell at his friend’s next words.
Every ounce of determination was once again firmly in the planes of Wesley’s face. “Oh, I’ll take care of that. I have the perfect counselor for the two of you. I met her not too long ago at a conference on supernatural and paranormal activity.”
“The one in Sacramento last year?” Cordelia asked quietly.
Wesley nodded. “Yes. Her name is Dr. Marsha Van Buren. She is a renowned therapist whose clients are both human and demon. Her reputation is impeccable, and she will, undoubtedly, be able to help you work through some of your issues.”
“We were fighting over a remote control, Wesley. It’s not like its any big deal,” Cordelia rationalized, using her eyes to plead with him to take back his ultimatum. She didn’t want to get all soul-baring with Angel. Not when her feelings towards the enigmatic vampire were so volatile.
“No, Cordy. It’s because you were fighting over something so trivial that you need help. It was clear that Angel was barely able to restrain his demon, and all he wanted was a piece of plastic with some batteries in it. And you were just as clearly unwilling to give it over, when it was not something that should have been so important. No,” he said, shaking his head. “There are obviously some deep-seeded issues here that need examining.”
Angel and Cordy stared down at their hands in silence, both too shocked to say anything. Wesley’s determined tone was rife with sincerity, and they knew, seer and vampire or not, that they’d be out on their asses if they didn’t comply.
Angel was the first to speak. He knew that Wesley was right, but he didn’t want to comply so easily. “How long do we have to go?” he asked gruffly.
“Six months,” Wesley said firmly. “No less. If you quit, for any reason other than your death, you’re out.”
“How about three months?” Cordelia asked, her voice carefully devoid of emotion as she attempted to negotiate.
“This is non-negotiable, Cordy,” Wesley said sternly. “Six months, or you’re fired.”
“Okay, Wes,” Cordelia said, her voice resigned. “Set up the appointments.”
“Angel?” Wesley asked, looking to the vampire for confirmation.
“Do it, Wesley,” Angel said, obviously reluctant. He didn’t want to bare his soul to Cordelia, but he could probably fake it. He had 250+ years experience in manipulating people, and he planned to put that experience to good use.
“Excellent,” Wesley said, nodding. “I’ll make your first appointment for as soon as possible. Please try to stay out of each other’s way until then, all right?” he said, raising an eyebrow at them, then returning to his office and leaving them in uncomfortable silence.
They refused to look at each other, both knowing that this was bound to take them to a level they’d never achieved in their relationship. It remained to be seen whether it would be the seventh level of Hell or the bliss-filled planes of Nirvana.
***
Two days later found the intrepid duo in the antiseptic, but strangely comforting waiting room of Dr. Marsha Van Buren. The woman was obviously a professional, her office tastefully done in moss greens and deep browns, earthy colors that were both cold and warm at the same time. A receptionist sat behind a gleaming mahogany desk, a hands-free headset facilitating her already anal efficiency. She typed with an economy of motion that mesmerized Cordelia as she watched the perfectly manicured fingers fly effortlessly over the keys.
Absently, Cordelia realized that she was looking at a model of what she should be in her own job. She supposed that Dr. Van Buren’s secretary could be the poster child for “What to Do” and Cordelia the “What Not to Do” in a secretary’s handbook. Cordelia’s inefficiency didn’t bother her that much, but this lazy train of inconsequential thought helped occupy her mind and kept her thoughts firmly away from the stoic figure on her left.
Angel sat just as quietly, his body completely still, his hands folded neatly on his stomach. He stared unblinkingly at a Monet print on the wall, remembering the artist himself when he’d met him in Europe. The man had been annoying, so much so that Angelus had nearly eaten him just to shut him up. But one look at the man’s paintings had silenced the moody vampire, had soothed him like no other artwork had. The smudged colors, the beauty of the work was ethereal. Not a taste one would have readily attributed to a vicious killer, but Angelus had been enthralled. Even now, Claude Monet’s paintings smoothed the wrinkled, nervous soul of the vampire and soothed the irritation of his demon.
“Angel and Cordelia?” The soft, feminine voice came from a door to their left, and both of them turned to look at the speaker. Dr. Van Buren, a petite, chestnut-haired woman in a burgundy sweater and gray slacks, smiled at them and ushered them into her office. She gestured to a leather sofa across from the chair she languidly occupied, and the sometime friends sat down, leaving plenty of distance between them.
“So, shall we begin?” Dr. Van Buren said, smiling at both of them. “I’d like to start with a simple question, all right?”
Her patients nodded silently and waited anxiously for her words.
“This question is for each of you, individually, not about your relationship together, okay?”
Again, they nodded.
She smiled brightly, dangerously white teeth flashing as she asked, “How would you describe your sex life?”
Part 2“How would you describe your sex life?”
Dr. Marsha Van Buren’s million dollar question seemed to splat on the walls of the room like a rotten tomato. There was a stunned silence for a moment as the discomfort set in, and Dr. Van Buren took that opportunity to study her patients.
Cordelia gaped at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look. She blinked once, then delicately closed her full mouth and swallowed, her eyes darting away and down to the purse she clutched like a lifeline in her lap.
Angel was also shocked, although the evidence was less apparent. He didn’t move at all, not even a little bit, but his eyes dilated and grew noticeably darker. After a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitched, and Dr. Van Buren saw that he was fighting for control of his instincts. It was clear that he was considering this a show down. The stubborn line of his jaw said it all.
What was most clear to her was that neither of them wanted to answer the question. Not that she’d expected them to. This was a first session, after all. She didn’t really expect them to discuss the intimate details of their sex lives with her, in front of each other, at this first meeting. But Dr. Van Buren had found, in her many years of practice, that if she began with an earth-shaking question, her patients were much more likely to be forthcoming about other issues. Anything to avoid answering the first question she’d posed.
As Dr. Van Buren collected the data on her patients, Cordelia’s mind was rushing in a vortex of panicked thought that threatened to overload her brain.
She looked resolutely down at her lap, wanting to avoid eye contact with the evil, uncaring woman who was supposed to be her therapist.
What the hell kind of question was that? Cordelia thought angrily. My sex life? What sex life? Um, let’s see. Got screwed by a jerk who impregnated me with demon babies, and I’ve been kinda gun-shy ever since. I can’t stand to be in the same room as the vampire that I’m insanely attracted to because his presence does things to my body that “alone time” just can’t salve. Does that about cover it?
Instead, she cleared her throat and spoke, realizing that Angel might as well have been carved out of marble. It was clear that he wasn’t going to talk first.
“Do I have to answer that?” she asked timidly, her fingers, toes, ankles, and eyes crossed, just for good measure. Please, oh, please, God, make her say no.
Dr. Van Buren just smiled again, a toothy, white smile that reminded Cordelia of a piranha. All she needed to do to complete the image was to file her teeth down to a sharp point. The woman was obviously into some seriously dark shit; there was no way a person could legitimately manage to look so innocent while asking a loaded question like that.
“I’ll tell you what, Cordelia. Why don’t we save that question for later, okay?”
Cordelia nodded in relief. Never would be better, but for now, this would do.
“Is that okay with you, Angel?” Dr. Van Buren asked the silent vampire, wanting to at least hear his voice once.
“Yes,” he said tersely, staring her down.
“Very good,” the therapist said, nodding. With an efficiency of movement that could only come from years of practice, she flipped open the notepad on her lap. Scanning her notes, she made some affirming noises in the back of her throat, then looked up at the couple in front of her. Neatly folding her hands on top of the notepad, she looked them both over thoroughly. It was obvious, just from the tension in their postures alone, that she would have to work very hard to make marked progress in these short six months.
Dr. Van Buren pinned Cordelia and Angel with her eyes as she spoke. “Mr. Wyndham-Pryce tells me that the two of you are having some interpersonal problems that are affecting your work. As your employer, he felt it necessary to seek professional help for you so that he wouldn’t have to resort to letting you go. It is unfortunate that the discord in your relationship has caused strife in the workplace, but it is wonderful that the two of you have the opportunity, because of this problem, to work out the differences between you and to bring your relationship back to the rewarding place it once was.”
They just stared at her, Cordelia squirming uncomfortably and swallowing. Angel uncrossed his arms, only to re-cross them in the opposite position. Their postures were most definitely closed.
Dr. Van Buren’s speech didn’t stop despite her patients’ reluctance. “It is highly unusual, but Mr. Wyndham-Pryce will be reporting your activities at the workplace to me as part of your therapy. We both feel that this six months must be as productive as possible, since it is clear that you do not desire further treatment. It is my professional opinion that we can have many of the issues between you resolved by that point.”
She scanned her notes one more time, then snapped the notebook shut and flashed another of her toothy smiles.
“So,” she concluded. “Let’s begin with a less intimidating question, shall we?”
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief and let a ghost of a smile fleet across her face. Angel’s shoulders relaxed just a bit, and the dark anger in his eyes receded just a fraction.
“I’ve informed you of what Mr. Wyndham-Pryce told me about why you are here, but I’d like to hear it from you. Cordelia, do you think your relationship with Angel has problems?”
She frowned, but nodded. “Yes. We fight all the time now, and its not ever about something important. I didn’t want to agree with him, but Wesley’s right. That’s not a good thing.”
“Angel?” Dr. Van Buren asked.
“Yeah, we have problems. But everyone fights, right?”
“Yes,” Dr. Van Buren conceded, “but the types of disagreements that you’re describing are not healthy ones. They only serve to separate you from each other even further. So, since you both agree that at least on the surface, your problems manifest themselves in arguments, lets explore some of that now.”
Cordelia grimaced and Angel visibly squirmed.
“Cordelia, what is something that Angel does that bothers you?”
“Do I have to do this?” she said, looking sideways at Angel.
“I’ll give you a choice,” Dr. Van Buren said wickedly. “I’ll let you answer my first question if you don’t want to answer this one.”
Cordelia answered so quickly she nearly overlapped her words with Dr. Van Buren’s. “He slurps his blood when he drinks it.” Dr. Van Buren’s threat had worked.
Angel frowned at her. “I do not,” he said.
“Yes, you do,” Cordelia said. “You aren’t loud about it, but when I’m standing close to you, I can hear it. It’s like you’re sipping through a straw with a hole in it, and it bugs me.”
“I can’t help that,” he said. “My fangs make it hard to swallow like a human.”
“But you don’t even vamp out when you drink!” she said.
“Not completely, but I do extend my teeth. Besides, its not like your eating habits are perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said indignantly. “I have impeccable table manners.”
“Aren’t you the one who eats a piece of pizza in three bites?”
“I was hungry! And that was only that one time.”
“You scarfed it like a pig, Cordy. Admit it.”
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did. And you belch with the best of them. That’s not rude?”
Cordelia blushed furiously. “I was drunk! All people do stupid stuff when they drink.”
“I suppose you should know,” he said cryptically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she said again, realizing she’d uttered that phrase more times than she could count lately.
He shrugged, that evil smile covering his face again. “I’ve seen you do some pretty wild stuff when you drink, Cordy.”
“Like what, Mr. Perfect?” she challenged
“Remember last summer when we were living in your apartment, and you went out with Monica?”
“Yeah,” she said suspiciously, the dread growing. She’d come home plastered and didn’t remember anything beyond stumbling out of the cab into her apartment. Angel had been gone, or so she’d thought.
“You were smashed when you came home, and you offered me a lap dance. You said that Monica had dragged you to a strip club and you’d been given a few lessons in proper technique.”
Okay, so it was an all-out lie. She’d stumbled into the apartment and to her bed without even noticing him. But god, was it fun to watch her squirm.
“I did NOT say that!” she said. Oh, god, please don’t let me have said that!
He just raised his eyebrows and dared her to question him.
“What did I do?” she whispered, biting her lip.
“You walked over to the stereo, put in a CD you thought was sexy, and started to strip. It would have been sexy, too, if it hadn’t been ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’.”
“Oh, god,” she whispered, her face flaming.
He made it worse, unfurling the talents of manipulation that had lain dormant since he’d acquired his soul. He was savoring every second. “You took off your shirt, but you got the zipper on your skirt stuck. You tried to get me to help you, but you tripped over your shirt on the floor and then passed out. I had to put you in bed.”
She wanted to melt into the carpet. She remembered waking up without her shirt on and her skirt half unzipped, her shoes barely clinging to her feet.
In an attempt to salvage her pride, she gathered up her dignity and said, with her chin thrust in the air, “You’re not exactly Mr. Personality when you’re drunk, either, Angel,” she said.
“That’s true,” he admitted, turning the tables on her and making the fun drain out of her insult like air leaking from a balloon. “My soul is less inhibited when I drink and my demon gets either mean, or horny.”
Dr. Van Buren decided this was the best point to change the subject. “Okay, I think we’ve established that complaint,” Dr. Van Buren cut in dryly. “Angel, it’s your turn.”
“But he’s humiliated me already!” Cordelia complained.
“It’s still his turn,” Dr. Van Buren said, her eyes forcing Cordelia’s compliance. “You began the last topic of conversation. Angel, what does Cordelia do that bothers you?”
The sullen brunette just sunk further back into the sofa and crossed her arms defiantly.
“I hate how she parades around in indecent outfits all the time,” Angel said truthfully. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t going to be completely dishonest during these sessions.
“I’m not indecent!” she argued.
“You are, too,” Angel argued back, getting caught up in his complaint. “Like today. What’s up with that? A skirt so short that Dr. Van Buren can probably see everything? And your shirt! It’s white, and your bra is white and sheer. Need I say more? On top of that, rain was forecasted for today, and you forgot your coat. How blatant is that?”
Cordelia knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to let him win. “Like you’re Mr. Conservative,” she shot back. “You walk around in sweatpants that leave nothing to the imagination and your chest bare. And the black on black thing fits you like a glove. Like right now! I can see every muscle in your chest and you don’t even have to take your shirt off!”
“What about Cordelia’s clothing bothers you, Angel?” Dr. Van Buren asked.
“It’s not safe,” Angel said reluctantly. “Men gape at her wherever we go, and I have to protect her. She’s like a walking Fredrick’s of Hollywood ad half the time. If she draws less attention, I don’t have to worry about it so much.”
“I wear Victoria’s Secret, moron, and you weren’t there to protect me a few months ago. I did fine without your sorry ass then,” she reminded him bitterly.
“But you had Gunn there, and he did what he could. Alone, you wouldn’t survive,” he said, not realizing how macho and man-centric he sounded.
“That is so sexist, Angel!”
He shrugged. “It’s true.”
Dr. Van Buren entered the conversation again. “It bothers you to have other men look at Cordelia?”
“Hell yeah,” Angel said. “She’s putting herself in danger by taunting men that way. She’s my seer, and I need her alive.”
“Do you think there might be other emotions involved beyond a need to protect her?” Dr. Van Buren asked.
“What?” he said, confused. Why had he ever been honest? He’d forgotten his role, and now he was losing his grasp of the conversation.
“You’ve been angry and distant from each other recently, just coming back from being separated, and you don’t like other men are looking at her. What emotion does that sound like to you?”
“It sounds like jealousy,” Cordelia answered for him, her anger fading as she was intrigued by the possibility.
Dr. Van Buren frowned at her. “Cordelia, it would be beneficial for Angel to answer the question for himself.”
Angel was just staring at Cordelia, glaring at her, actually. “I am not jealous!” his eyes whipped back to Dr. Van Buren. “Jealousy is not it. It isn’t! I don’t care who she goes out with. She doesn’t answer to me about her dates. We’re not dating, and I’m not her boss anymore. I don’t have any say in her life.”
“How does it make you feel, no longer having her undivided attention?”
“Nothing! It makes me feel nothing,” Angel practically growled, the intensity of his emotions getting in the way of his ability to control this situation. Had he really thought he could manipulate the therapist? Maybe the talents he thought he possessed were just the arrogant posturing of his demon. He’d certainly been turned inside out in the last ten minutes.
Dr. Van Buren realized she wasn’t going to get anymore out of him about this. She turned to Cordelia, hoping to get to Angel through her. “Cordelia, you said you feel that Angel is jealous. Would you explain what you mean, please?”
“He acts like he owns me half the time,” she said honestly. “You saw how he feels about my clothes, and I don’t dress nearly as provocatively as I used to. I like to look pretty. What’s the harm in that?” she asked rhetorically.
“How does his jealousy, as you call it, make you feel?”
“I like it and hate it at the same time. It makes me feel cared for, but also smothered. I guess it bugs me that he considers me his property, kinda. I never thought of it like that. It explains a helluva lot about his chauvinistic behavior. Maybe it’s a vamp thing,” she said, shrugging.
Angel was agog at her roundabout acceptance of his claim. Sure, his demon considered Cordelia his property. Maybe not his mate, but definitely in his family. The last thing he’d expected was for her to accept that, even if it was in her own, illogical way.
Shrugging it off, he used cocky arrogance and domination to rebuild his confidence and try to regain control of the situation. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as she stops dressing like she’s auditioning for a Hustler photo shoot, its all good.”
Cordelia gaped at him. Hustler? ‘It’s all good’? The man had obviously been taking advantage of cable while they’d had it.
“I would never pose for Hustler,” she huffed. “I have more taste than that.” Smiling wickedly to herself, she added as an afterthought, “I’d only pose for Playboy or Maxim. Their layouts are tastefully done.”
He snarled at her, jealousy flaring despite his denial, then said, “You could give Pamela Anderson a run for her money, Cordelia.”
“Take that back! I do not dress or act like a skanky ho!”
He just snorted, so she socked him once in his ribs. Hard.
“Knock it off, Cordelia!” he growled, finally acknowledging that he couldn’t control anything in the state he was currently in. Maybe he did need professional help. She certainly wasn’t bringing out the best in him lately. “Don’t touch me right now, okay?”
She raised an eyebrow, forgetting Dr. Van Buren again in her irritation. “Don’t touch you? Why not? Afraid you’ll get cooties?” she taunted.
“Cooties?” he said, his glare turning withering. “Hardly. I’m afraid of what I might do to you if you continue.”
“Like what?” Dr. Van Buren asked. “When Cordelia annoys you, what do you want to do to her?”
Should he answer that? Truthfully?
“Please be honest, Angel. There should be no secrets here.” Apparently Dr. Van Buren was a mind-reader, too.
He decided to be honest. Or at least mostly. He didn’t think either Dr. Van Buren or Cordelia were prepared for the unfiltered thoughts of his demon where Cordelia was concerned. “Honestly, I’m torn. But I usually am. The two strongest emotions are frustration and lust. Neither of those help to resolve the argument, they only fan the flames.”
For a moment he froze, berating himself for admitting that. He wasn’t usually so spontaneous. Why did he agree to this, again?
Cordelia just gaped at him as the word ‘lust’ jumped out at her. “When we’re arguing, you think about making love?”
“Never mind, Cordelia. Just forget I said anything, and don’t touch me when I’m angry, okay?”
She just stared at him, the thoughts churning in her head about what he’d meant.
“So physical touch is an important catalyst for your emotions, then,” Dr. Van Buren concluded.
Angel just nodded.
“And for you, Cordelia? What role does touch play in your emotions where Angel is concerned?”
She thought about it for a moment. “I want to touch him in the middle of an argument because I know it riles him up. He lights up like a house on fire, and its amazing to watch. And sometimes when we aren’t arguing, I want to touch him just to see if I get the same reaction. But I don’t.” she added hastily.
“I see,” Dr. Van Buren said, writing furiously on her notepad for the first time in the session. The two patients just sat and waited for a few moments as she finished.
Finally, she raised her head and perused their features. “I believe we have gotten off to an excellent start. We have identified that the hurt and anger you have between you manifests itself in petty disagreements. We have identified some of those disagreements, and have determined that physical touch in the heat of the moment only makes those disagreements worse. I believe that is a step in the right direction.”
She contemplated them for a moment longer before she continued. “One integral part of this therapy is a set of homework assignments that I will be giving you. You will be seeing me two days a week for the next six months, and on the second day of the week I will be assigning you homework. To get into that routine, I will be giving you an assignment to be completed in the days between now and Tuesday, our next session.”
As they realized that the session was ending, both Cordelia and Angel visibly relaxed, the tension draining out of them. But as Dr. Van Buren mentioned homework, frowns took residence on their faces again.
“What kind of homework?” Cordelia asked suspiciously. School was not a pleasant memory.
Dr. Van Buren smiled her piranha smile again. “It will be easy this time. I would like you to go home and go about your daily routines. When you find yourselves annoyed by each other, I would like you to immediately leave the room and write down what it was that annoyed you. This should not only curb any arguments for the time being, but it should give us something to work with during our next session.”
Angel and Cordelia nodded, visibly relieved that the assignment would be easy. Dr. Van Buren wasn’t finished, however. “In light of the fact that touch is extremely important in your relationship, I would like to caution you against touching each other until next Tuesday, even in moments not heated by anger. We will explore this avenue in future homework assignments, but doing so at this juncture would be counter-productive.”
Both Angel and Cordelia showed no outward evidence of the dismay they felt at Dr. Van Buren’s words. Not touch each other? Okay, so they’d never realized it was so important before.
Cordelia nearly groaned at the thought that she wouldn’t be able to walk up behind him and lightly touch his arm, or slap him in playful anger. She hadn’t ever noticed how much that meant to her.
Angel’s demon roared at not being able to touch Cordelia, but he refused to explore those thoughts any further. Besides, touching her was usually innocuous. A light hand on her back as they walked out a door. A soft stroke of her shoulder. A light touch of his fingers on her arm. Those touches were all that kept his demon tightly restrained. Without that, he didn’t know if he could hold on.
Not only that, but Cordelia’s visions were painful enough to cause collapse, and he wouldn’t risk her safety for the sake of therapy. He felt pressured to say as much. “Dr. Van Buren, I don’t think its wise to deny us all physical contact. Cordelia’s visions as my seer are painful, sometimes causing her to be dizzy or fall, and I’m often the only thing between her and injury.”
“I see,” the psychologist nodded. “Very well, then, we’ll modify your assignment. No touching when you’re feeling angry or annoyed with each other. Is that clear?”
They nodded.
Satisfied, Dr. Van Buren stood. Shaking each of their hands in turn, she said, “I look forward to our future sessions. Please remember to follow your instructions, so that this therapy can be as productive as possible.”
They nodded again, then left. Walking out to the car in silence, Angel’s hand absently stroked Cordelia’s back as they walked. He didn’t even notice he’d done it, despite their recent discussion. Cordelia didn’t either, although someplace in the back of her mind, his touch served to soothe her, to smooth her wrinkled nerves.
It seemed that despite their anger, despite their volatile emotions, there was something buried deep within them that was trying to come out. Something that would shatter and shake their lives in a way that would change them forever.
And when it began to rain, Angel shrugged off his coat without a word, and Cordelia silently shrugged into it, the unspoken agreement between them a testament to the beginnings of a step in the right direction.***
Dr. Marsha Van Buren watched the door close softly behind her newest patients, then let her professional façade relax into something more friendly. She always hated to be aloof with her patients, especially the new ones, when her first instinct was to be reassuring. It was important as a therapist, however, to be clinically detached. Warm, but not let your own emotions worm their way into the therapy. When that happened, therapists would often think they saw progress, when the patient was actually just piggybacking on their doctor’s own emotions.
If her emotions were going to interfere with any of her patients, this couple would be the most likely to make her break her own rules.
Standing up from the chair, she crossed the room to the gleaming mahogany desk just behind the sofa that Cordelia and Angel had occupied earlier. She sat in the warm burgundy chair, enjoying the soft supple feel of the fabric against the back of her legs. She stared off into space for a moment, contemplating the decisions she was making regarding these two enigmatic clients, when she seemed to come to a decision.
With resolve, she picked up the black handset and dialed a number from memory. A husky, heavily accented deep voice answered in the middle of the second ring.
“’ello?” There was a crackle on the line for a moment, as if the connection weren’t the greatest, before it smoothed out and she could hear clearly.
“Uncle Ivan, it’s Marsha,” she said, smiling as she imagined the scowl that would cross his face at the sound of her voice.
“Ah, Marshanya,” her aging uncle sighed, a sound that was equal parts resignation and irritation. “Calling me again so soon?”
“Of course, Uncle. I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected,” she said.
He just snorted and waited for her to state her business. It never took her very long.
“I trust you’ve made the arrangements with the Elders as I requested?”
He sighed again, and his voice was muffled as he spoke, as if he were running his hand over his face and rubbing it tiredly. “Marshanya, these things take time. The Elders are reluctant to discuss something that is so controversial. What is done, is done. It is not up to us to question the decisions of our ancestors, young one.”
She frowned, irritated by his excuses. “The Elders will see me, Uncle. I can tell from your voice that you have arranged that much.”
“I have,” he confirmed reluctantly. “But they will not agree.”
“They don’t have to agree,” she said imperiously. “My status does not require me to consult them. I do so only out of respect for our people. This travesty cannot continue, and if the Elders do not do something, I will.”
“But Marshanya,” her uncle said, “our ways are important, and to circumvent them would defy tradition. If you go against the wishes of the Elders, you will upset the balance we rely so strongly upon.”
“I am the embodiment of tradition, Uncle Ivan. I am the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, the mystical and spiritual leader for our people. I, not the Elders, am the highest authority of our people. I have only allowed things to remain as they have been because I did not wish to cause dissention among our people. But this issue must be resolved.”
“But to do so with so little regard for the consequences?” he asked, risking her anger but feeling it must be said. He had promised the Elders as much.
Surprisingly, she did not get angry with him. “It is because of the consequences that it must be done, Uncle. If it is not, the ramifications of Mother Sasha’s actions so long ago will destroy everything. The balance that you cling to so tightly will dissolve beneath your fingers. The fates have decreed it, and I must comply as is my duty.”
“Very well, Marshanya. If you are so resolved, I will support you as I should,” Ivan said, sounding more tired and more old than he ever had.
“I am so resolved. The curse must be lifted.”
Challenge by DamnSkippy
This came to me while falling asleep last night.
*After Epiphany. The gang is back together with Wes as the boss. Angel and Cordy are fighting like cats and junkyard dogs. Wes has had enough! Their bickering is affecting the gang's performance (perhaps Angel is so distracted that he almost gets staked by a baby vamp after a particularly bitter battle with Cordy). They have to get over their differences so they can work as a team again.
*Wes gives them an ultimatum (or somehow convinces them) that they must go to counseling to work through their issues. He picks the counselor and sets it up for them. *Unbeknownst to them and Wes (or perhaps Wes knows, it's up to you), the counselor is actually a sex therapist. In my mind, the couselor doesn't realize they are NOT a couple (hence confusion on both parts), but that's up to you.
*The first few sessions go like any typical counseling session, but eventually the counselor begins giving them "homework" behaviors (like they must hug 5 times a day or they must spend 15 minutes each day touching, etc.) to practice that seem strange to them, but they do it begrudgingly. These assignments should progress from simple and disgustingly carried out, to hotter and hotter and both of them secretly looking forward to not only the assignments but, of course, putting in more effort than necessary. At some point the revelation that the counselor is a sex therapist should be divulged and C/A goodness should be the goal.
*A possible twist could be Wes finding out about the therapist and not telling them, reveling in their homework assignments OR either Angel or Cordy finding out and not telling the other.
Any psychologists or psychology students out there want to flex your muscles??