Title: The Cost of Surrender
Author: Cordelia’sDestiny
Posted: 08/03
Email
Rating: R
Category: Angst
Content: C/A, B/S, B/A, C/S (It’s not that kind of R, so don’t get too freaky!)
Summary: Angel and Cordelia deal with the aftermath of Angel’s decision to join Wolfram & Hart.
Spoilers: Through Series Finale of BTVS and Season 4 Finale of Ats. Minor spoilers for Season 5, but this is definitely going to be AU when all is said and done.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: I don’t care where, just let me know.
Notes: Based on a challenge from Califi. It’s too lengthy and too spoilery to include here, but if you really want to check it out, look at the Hiatus Challenge thread, Califi’s Challenge #2.
Thanks/Dedication:
Feedback: Feedback is very, very important to me. Feed my demon.
Prologue
Surrender is a funny thing.
It comes as a last resort, only after all other options have been tried and have failed miserably and the only two choices left are that or death. At first glance, death looks pretty appealing. Who wants to let your enemy win, to gloat and sneer, to breathe the putrid hot breath of superiority in your face as you admit defeat? Death would let you get the last laugh, right? The most graphic, poetic display of flipping the proverbial bird?
Maybe not.
When it comes right down to it, death just leaves your loved ones to pick up the pieces of the war you’ve fought, to struggle to survive without your protection. Death may let you pee on your enemy’s victory parade, but it won’t do anything to alleviate the suffering of those most important to you. The loss of your presence, your protection, only serves to exacerbate their anguish and destroy all you fought to protect.
Choosing death over surrender at the end of war is the choice of cowards and arrogant narcissists who think they’re making the ultimate statement, one that will assure them posthumous victory emotionally, if not physically.
Death is a cop out.
Surrender wears the veneer of cowardice, but when those layers are peeled back, true strength of character resides underneath. Surrender forces you to face your own demons and own up to your own mistakes, and continue to be the shield for your family and friends. Surrender keeps you alive to find a way to revolt and take back what’s rightfully yours.
But surrender, while the more valiant option, is never easy. It may give you the opportunity to fight again someday, but it doesn’t make any promises of happiness. In fact, it guarantees a life of backward glances, “what ifs” and guilt. It is a blunt, rusty knife that twists in your gut and scrambles your insides until you can’t figure out which way to turn. It demands the forfeit of your very essence, and it may mean that you have to make so many sacrifices along with your freedom that any one of them could be considered the ultimate one.
It may mean that you have to lose your closest friends to their addictions, whether they be celebrity, power, science, or knowledge, all in the name of protecting their souls and futures.
It may mean that you have to watch your son lose all memory of his life with you, no matter how painful, and give him a family that he’s always wanted.
It may mean that you have to stand by helplessly as your best friend lies in a coma, oblivious to the pain and havoc that her possessed body caused you, stifling the love for her that grew inside of you until it withers and dies from neglect and despair.
It may mean that you have to protect a woman you once loved as she waxes lyrical about metaphoric cookie dough and acknowledge that your feelings for her may be the only real thing you have left, the only chance for a future with any measure of happiness.
It may mean that you have to become the man you’ve always hated more than your demon, the man that makes a mockery of the soul you’ve strived so hard to keep, the man that takes you further and further away from promised redemption and humanity with each compromise, the footsteps echoing like gunshots in your brain. You may not have sold your soul to the devil, but you feel like you might as well have.
Surrender is the only righteous option, but your soul won’t come away unscathed. You sacrifice your very being and are changed forever. Your surrender begins to look like a terrible mistake as it is reflected in the mirror of time. As your despair grows, it seems like nothing, no one, will change you back. . .
Part 1
The annoying buzz of the intercom echoed in the tomb that was Angel’s office. He grunted, staring at the phone as if it would bite him, then grudgingly pressed the button that connected him to the secretary he didn’t think he needed.
“Yes?” he said, his tone caustic.
“Mr. Wyndam-Price is here to see you, sir.”
Wesley. Well, at least someone he could tolerate was here for once. If he had to look one more time at the evilly angelic face of that Lilah wanna be one more time, he thought he might throw up. At least Wesley’s eccentricities were familiar.
“Send him in,” he said, immediately severing the connection and turning to face the evening sky out his window.
On the other side of the double doors, the electronic filter of Angel’s terse reply couldn’t hide the vampire’s foul mood, worrying Wesley as he stood next to the secretary’s desk. He’d come to convey some very important information and it was important that Angel was open and receptive to it.
Wesley sighed, knowing that getting an open and receptive Angel these days was like asking for a Popsicle not to melt in July weather. The vampire had severely regressed to a state that was reminiscent of Darla’s unfortunate return a few years ago. Then, he’d managed to pull out of his misery, although it had taken everyone a long time to trust him again. Wesley doubted that kind of turnaround was on the horizon this time, considering how the light of Angel’s life was currently oblivious a few floors below in a hospital bed.
The efficient woman in front of him was used to Angel’s behavior, not reacting to the darkness in her boss’s voice any more. “You can go right on in, Mr. Wyndam-Price.”
She smiled coyly up at him, batting her eyelashes and arching her back so that her breasts pressed provocatively against the low neckline of her suit.
Wesley stifled the urge to roll his eyes. He’d never been one to attract women in his younger days, but it had amazed him how a bad mood and a little bit of stubble made women salivate and throw themselves at him. It wasn’t any wonder; just look at Angel. He may not have the stubble, but his bad mood was enough to make up for it and then some. It seemed that the darker Angel was, the more women found him irresistible.
Pushing through the double doors to Angel’s office, Wesley scanned the darkened room for his employer. He had reflected many times since they’d taken over Wolfram & Hart on the irony of the situation. Originally, Angel had been the boss. Then he went into his “beige” period and lost it, running to Darla and firing them. When he’d come back, Wesley became the boss. Then Wesley lost it, abducting Connor and unleashing hell on earth. Then Angel took over Wolfram & Hart and hired Wesley, becoming the boss again. Now, it appeared that Angel was regressing back to some serious “beige” period characteristics, and Wesley wondered if a change of management wasn’t in their future once more.
He, for one, wouldn’t be at all upset if they imploded the evil law firm and got the hell outta Dodge, bringing what was left of their little family back to some sense of normalcy. But for now, the vampire still signed the checks and Wesley remained to act as his conscience. It was becoming more and more obvious that Angel was having trouble listening to his own.
“What do you want, Wesley?” Angel said, not being able to stop the coldness of his words. He didn’t want to alienate the closest friend he had left, but he couldn’t seem to keep from being a bastard to anyone that cared about him.
Wesley ignored the icy tone, recognizing the desperation underlying the words. He walked wordlessly over to the chair in front of Angel’s desk and sat down, reaching out to flick on the light in front of him, bathing the room in a soft glow. Angel swiveled around in the big leather chair, his empty eyes resting on Wesley’s.
The Englishman decided that bluntness was probably the best course of action. “I found a patch for your curse.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “A what?”
“A patch. Something to sew up the loopholes.”
Angel regarded him solidly, disdain now permeating his features. “I don’t think happiness is going to be a problem for me, Wesley,” Angel said.
Wesley sat back, unruffled by the vampire’s short temper. “It’s not happiness that’s a problem, Angel. We may run Wolfram & Hart, but we can’t control all of its employees or clients. And the firm is not our only enemy.”
“I am aware of that,” Angel said, growling as he clenched his teeth, his patience rapidly disappearing at this seemingly useless conversation.
“The problem with your curse is that it allows the possibility of your soul being removed. While happiness has, so far, been the only thing to separate it from your body, it is definitely not the only thing that can.”
Wesley stood and walked to the side of Angel’s desk, facing the window and crossing his arms.
“I have no doubt that someone will again try to remove your soul, Angel. I don’t know who or when, but the possibility of unleashing Angelus and attempting to harness his power is just too tempting for some.” He paused, wanting to continue but dreading Angel’s reaction. “And this time I’m not so sure that you’d try to stop them.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Angel exploded, vaulting out of the chair and shoving his face into Wesley’s.
The former watcher remained calm. “It’s no secret, at least to me, that you’re in a bad way, Angel. Losing . . . someone so close to you has obviously taken its toll. I don’t blame you for wanting to escape the pain.” Even Wesley knew better than to mention Cordelia’s name in Angel’s presence.
The fire of Angel’s temper died as quickly as it rose and he sank back down into the soft leather of his chair. He may not be angry anymore, but he still didn’t want to talk about Cordelia. Back to the matter at hand.
“So this ‘patch’ would make my soul inseparable from my body?”
Wesley turned back to face him. “Yes, except in death. But then you wouldn’t need your soul, anyway.”
Angel actually smiled slightly at Wesley’s lame comment. Of course he wouldn’t need his soul if he were dust. His glower returned as he realized that he’d smiled. He didn’t deserve to smile.
“Fine. Do it,” he said, turning his gaze back to the window and the skyline beyond it.
“Very well,” Wesley said, reaching into his pocket for a piece of paper.
He chanted seven Latin words, Angel’s gaze whipping to his face at the sound of his voice. The vampire gasped, a glow shining in his eyes as he clutched his chest. It was over almost as abruptly as it began, and Wesley placed the paper back in his pocket.
Dazed, Angel stared at Wesley. He had no doubt that something had occurred, but despite the pain, he didn’t feel anything different. He still felt desperation clawing at him, hopelessness saturating his very being. He’d always thought that having a permanent soul would make him feel more secure. If anything, he felt more uncertain than ever.
“That’s it?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Wesley said simply. “Let me know if you have any problems, any pain or symptoms that could be side effects.”
“Yeah, okay,” Angel replied automatically, still in shock.
Wesley glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting with my staff in ten minutes. I’ll see you later, Angel,” he said, then turned and left the room.
Angel just stared after him, his gaze resting on the closed doors for many minutes after Wesley’s departure.
As the shock wore off, Angel reflected on how this might have an impact on his life. It was definitely true that having a permanent soul did make some things better. Life may never be as good as it once was, but he did have some options.
Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands and stop expecting the sacrifices he’d made to pay dividends.
Before he could change his mind, Angel reached for the phone on his desk and dialed a number from memory. The other end rang, and Angel tensed.
At the greeting from the other end, Angel’s deep voice filled the room. “Hey, Buffy. I have some really good news.”
***
Wolfram & Hart
Subterranean Level Two
Room 46
Cordelia’s first sensation upon waking was the feel of something smooth and cool brushing over the nail of her third finger on her right hand. It dragged from the base of her nail to the tip, then moved over a fraction of an inch, and repeated. She felt the sensation move from her third finger to her fourth. A warm hand grasped hers gently, holding her finger out and away from the others as the cool substance was spread over her nail.
Drowsily, she opened her eyes to mere slits, peering through her eyelashes at the person at her bedside. It was a thin woman in a nurses uniform, her pretty face a study in concentration as she dipped the brush back into some light pink nail polish and withdrew it, applying the reloaded brush to Cordelia’s nail. The woman’s red hair was pulled back into a sensible ponytail at the nape of her neck, one tendril floating down to her cheek. She blew on it once, and it floated up, only to settle back to the exact place on her skin where it had been annoying her.
Something about the scene wasn’t right, but Cordelia couldn’t pinpoint it. Her mind was too fuzzy to concentrate, and she didn’t have the energy to chase her random wonderings down and string them together into coherent thought. She was just about to drift off to sleep again when another person entered the room. It was a doctor this time, her stethoscope and uniform setting her apart from the RN at Cordelia’s beside.
The nurse looked up and smiled, setting Cordelia’s hand back on the mattress and screwing the cap back onto the nail polish.
“Dr. Walters! How nice to see you,” the nurse greeted, her face wreathed in a smile.
Dr. Walters smiled back. “Hello, Cyndi. You’re always so cheerful.” She looked over at Cordelia, noting the fact that the young woman’s color looked much better. Walking over the bed, Dr. Walter’s grabbed Cordelia’s chart, making notations as she flipped the pages.
“Has she shown any signs of waking, Cyndi?”
“No, ma’am,” Cyndi answered, her face grave. “We’ve made certain that she’s stable, but we’ve made every effort to keep her coma intact as the Partners have requested.”
Cordelia gasped inwardly at this response, her lucidity returning as the conversation began to make sense. Wolfram & Hart had her? In a COMA? It was very difficult to remain completely still. Her fingers itched to reach up and squeeze the life out of the women in front of her, but she knew she didn’t have the strength.
Dr. Walter’s voice interrupted her raging thoughts. “And the levitation?”
“Unpredictable as always. It seems that she’s still very much a seer, but we have no way of knowing what she sees, or any way of predicting when the visions will happen.”
Frowning, Dr. Walter’s replaced the clipboard on the end of Cordelia’s bed. She glanced at her watch. “Her next dose of meds are in thirty minutes. Make sure that you aren’t late. Without them, she would have woken weeks ago. We can’t take the chance that our efforts will be thwarted. The Partners are adamant that she remain inactive.”
Cyndi nodded vigorously, her ponytail bouncing. “Of course, Dr. Walters. I was just going to prepare them now.” She stood, pushing the chair against the wall and following the doctor out of the room. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Cordelia in the soft glow of light emanating from one bedside table.
As soon as the women left, Cordelia opened her eyes fully and looked around the room. Desperate to escape, she tried to sit up, only to discover that she was dizzy and still very groggy. She looked down at the IV in her arm, then up to the bag that was empty. She noticed a drip coming from the corner and followed it to a puddle on the floor. Apparently, Nurse Cyndi hadn’t been paying much attention last time she’d started the medication and the bag had leaked. Thank God. The IV came loose with one painful jerk, and Cordelia threw it violently away from her.
Her mind now rapidly clearing, Cordelia thought back to the last thing she remembered before today. It was the highway and Skip, that conniving “guide” of hers, telling her she had to ascend to a higher plane. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that she’d been duped somehow. There was no memory of ascension, and a legitimate ascension would not land her smack dab in the pit of the hell that was Wolfram & Hart.
Her heart wrenched as she remembered her ill-fated appointment with Angel on the cliffs. He must have been going frantic trying to find her. She knew he’d still be looking, but he would have had no way of knowing where she was or if she was okay. She had to get out of here on her own and find him.
Summoning her strength, Cordelia dragged her legs out from under the covers and slid off the bed, wobbling as she stood. She felt as if she might pass out for a moment, but she gritted her teeth and the sensation passed. Tentatively, she walked to the closet, opening it to find clothing in her size. She was puzzled as to why there would be clothes for her if she was supposed to be in a coma, but she just shrugged, not wanting to try to figure it out. Only when she reached to take off the hospital gown did she realize she wasn’t wearing one. She had on regular clothes: a pair of low-rise khaki pants and a knit top. She was barefoot and there were no shoes in the closet, but that didn’t surprise her.
“These people are nuts,” she muttered, closing the closet. She searched the room for something to subdue her captors when they returned. Her eyes rested on the folding chair that Cyndi had left against the wall. Folded flat, it would make an excellent weapon. Cordelia grabbed the chair, flipped off the light and sank into a darkened corner to wait.
Just minutes later, Cordelia heard footsteps outside her door and watched anxiously as the knob turned. Cyndi entered, frowning when she realized the light had been shut off.
“Damn light bulbs. That’s the second time this week,” she complained, pulling the cart in behind her. Flipping on the overhead light, she said, “Sorry, Miss Chase, I know the bright light bothers you.”
Cordelia raised her eyebrows, wondering how Cyndi could possibly figure that, and tightened her grip on the folding chair. Cyndi busied herself preparing the meds, still not looking at the empty bed. She finally pulled the bag up and examined it, then turned to face the bed.
“Here we go, Miss—Oh, my God!!” she gasped. She looked up frantically, searching the room. Whirling around, she came face to face with a very angry Cordelia.
“Contrary to popular belief,” Cordelia said sarcastically, “Comas are not restful.”
She brought the folding chair down hard on the wide-eyed woman’s head. Cyndi’s body crumpled and she fell to the floor, sprawled out with all the stiffness of a wet noodle.
“Let me know later if you agree,” Cordelia said, leaning the chair back against the wall.
Kneeling down next to Cyndi, she pulled off the nurse’s uniform, followed by her own clothes. She pulled the uniform on, then somehow dragged Cyndi onto the bed, drawing the covers over her face. She adjusted the ID tag and swipe card on her lapel so that the picture was hidden, then smoothed her hair down. Catching sight of the open door to the bathroom, Cordelia rushed in and looked at herself in the mirror. She was surprised to find that she had make-up on and her hair looked fabulous; thick, healthy, and much longer than it had the last time she’d looked in a mirror. One thing she could say for the evil law firm; they knew their cosmetics.
She frowned, realizing that she must’ve been in a coma longer than she’d originally thought. Oh, well. All the more reason to get out of here as fast as possible.
Sneaking out of her room, she darted eyes up and down the hallway. Satisfied that she was alone, Cordelia began walking confidently away from her room, searching for an elevator. Finding one, she swiped her card and pressed the button. The doors swung open, and she entered. She frowned as she realized that the buttons only indicated subterranean levels, nothing above ground. She must have to access another elevator for that. She pushed the button for “Sub Level One.”
She was dismayed to find that the doors opened to some type of medical reception room. The room was a buzz of activity, not conducive to hiding. Noticing the reception desk, Cordelia made a command decision. Time to put that acting talent to good use.
Straightening her shoulders, Cordelia walked confidently up to the blonde woman behind the desk.
“Excuse me,” Cordelia said softly, keeping her tone purposefully shy.
“Yes?” the woman responded, her manner efficient but friendly.
“This is so embarrassing,” Cordelia darted her eyes down and forced a blush. “I just started working here, and I can’t remember how to get back outside to my car.”
The woman’s eyes warmed and her features softened as she smiled. “Don’t worry, hon. This place is a labyrinth, all right. The rest of us get lost occasionally, too. You came up the Sub elevator?” She said, pointing to the elevator Cordelia had just exited.
Cordelia nodded.
“Okay. Go across the lobby,” she pointed in the other direction, “And take the elevator with the big gold sign saying ‘Wolfram & Hart, Attorney’s at Law’.”
Cordelia raised her eyebrows.
The woman laughed. “I know, they’re pompous asses up there, have to write their names on everything, including the toilet paper. But what can I say? They own the building and the research facility, and they sign my checks. Who am I to complain?”
“Thanks for your help,” Cordelia said, turning to walk away.
“Don’t forget it’s payday, hon. That always makes things better,” the woman called after her.
Cordelia turned back. “Oh, really? What date is it again?”
“I know how you feel. Sometimes I even forget what year it is. It’s August 2, good old 2003. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Time flies so fast.”
Her world reeling, Cordelia just nodded back and thanked her again weakly, then walked away on shaky legs.
2003. Oh. My. God. She’d been in a coma, like, forever.
And where the hell was Angel?!?
Part 2
The skyline outside Angel’s window had not changed much since Wesley had come and gone. He’d had the tinting on the windows turned almost to black when the former Watcher had been there, making the room as dark as night. Now, after ending his phone call to Buffy, he strode over to the controls and lightened the room. It seemed fitting to adjust the ambiance to match the drastic changes he’d just made in his life. The late afternoon sun now streaming harmlessly through the necro-tinted windows should have looked like bright rays of hope and a promise of happiness, but all they seemed to do was magnify the flaws in Angel’s most recent decisions.
In the last hour, he’d had his loyalties questioned, his soul secured, and the supposed love of his life had given him what could be considered a verbal cold shoulder. Well, maybe not cold, exactly, but Buffy was definitely less enthusiastic than he would have imagined she would be given his soul’s new status and their last meeting in the Sunnydale Cemetery. He was lucky he’d convinced her to come.
He thought back to their conversation, trying to view it clinically and objectively. He conceded that he probably shouldn’t have just opened with, “I have some really good news.” Knowing Buffy and the way she analyzed things, she probably translated that to mean “When can I sleep with you again?” after he told her about his soul. She’d responded to his announcement with something less than what he’d anticipated.
“Angel, I thought we already talked our future the last time you came to visit.”
He was stunned. Hadn’t she always wanted to be with him? Even when she was with someone else? Come on, it’s not like Riley was much of a replacement. And Spike? Ha! Please. If that wasn’t a desperate attempt to Xerox her lost love, what was?
He found his voice after a few moments. “Yeah, I remember what you said, but I thought that this changed things.”
She was silent for a moment, thinking. “It does, kinda.” She paused again, and Angel could tell she was trying to find the right words. “Angel, when we said goodbye the last time, right before I fought The First, I said that I wasn’t done baking yet. That I needed some time.”
Angel gritted his teeth in irritation. That girl and her damn metaphors. “I get the idea, Buffy. You wanted some time to figure out who you were. But I thought that was just a smokescreen because I still had the curse and not much had changed.”
“It wasn’t a smokescreen, Angel. I really did need some time to work things out. I wanted to see if I could be someone apart from the Slayer. If I could have a real life.”
“And can you?” he prompted, hoping she would say no. “Maybe” or “Yes” equaled “no lovin’ for Angel.”
She sighed. “It’s been a month and a half since Sunnydale was destroyed, and I can’t seem to get away from the Hellmouth. Sure, it hasn’t followed me here, but I still slay. I still deal in the paranormal. I can’t escape it. It’s my life.”
“It’s your destiny, Buffy. Even if there are a million other Slayers in the world, you’ll still feel that pull,” he added softly.
“That’s what I think, too,” she agreed, sounding reluctant.
“So what does that mean for us?” He asked, wanting to get some kind of an answer out of her.
She turned the question back around on him. “What do you want from me, Angel?”
His hastily rehearsed speech fled his mind. “Um, well. . . I had hoped that you’d come here to visit.”
“For what, exactly?”
“To see me?” He sounded like he was fishing for her to tell him what he wanted.
“To sleep with you, you mean,” her voice was emotionless, and Angel knew that to be dangerous.
“No, Buffy, that’s not it.” He let out an unnecessary breath in an attempt to release some of his tension. “Look. A lot has happened here in the last year. While you were out fighting the invisible evil, we were fighting some serious badness of our own up here. I lost . . . some people who were very important to me. Cordelia was one of them.”
Buffy gasped. “Cordelia is dead? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“She isn’t dead, Buffy. She’s in a coma. The entity that we fought last year possessed Cordelia and wreaked havoc on our lives in a way that nothing has ever done before. For half the time she was being controlled by this being, we didn’t even know it wasn’t Cordy. She started doing some really un-Cordy things, but because it looked and sounded like her, we didn’t question it. It wasn’t until she turned violent and a whole lot of other nasty things happened that we realized it wasn’t really her.”
It was Angel’s turn to pause and reflect. “I haven’t seen the genuine version of my best friend since last May, Buffy. I don’t even know if Cordy knew what was going on and couldn’t control it, or what. All I know is that I’ve lost her, and she’s not the only person.” He wisely left out the fact that he’d been in love with her, too.
Buffy was quiet on the other end, absorbing everything he’d said. “I’m sorry, Angel. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, you had your own problems to deal with,” he said, the comment dismissing but the tone bitter.
“Anyway,” he continued after a moment, “the only way to salvage everything and save the world was to take over management of the law firm that has been our worst enemy since the moment I set foot in L.A. Let’s just say that this place has taken its toll on what’s left of the staff of Angel Investigations. I rarely see anyone anymore, except Wesley, and quite frankly, I was hoping you’d come here so that I could start to heal from all of this.”
He could almost hear her softening through the phone line.
“I trust you, Buffy. I need you here, even if it’s only as my friend.” He took a deep breath to calm himself, then dropped the big one. “But I won’t deny that I want you as more than that. What we had was special, Buffy, and it would mean a lot to me to see that you still think so, too.”
Even as the words left his mouth, the statement reverberated in his head, echoing with the hollow sound of self-serving pretense. He shook himself mentally, reminding himself once again that he wanted Buffy back. He did. She was all he had left.
The silence from her end roared in his ears as he waited for her response.
“I can’t come right away, Angel. I have to take care of some things here for a few days, tie up some loose ends. I could probably be there in a couple of days.” Although she had agreed, she sounded peculiarly apathetic.
Disturbingly, her acquiescence left him with an empty, gnawing feeling in his soul, not the flood of warmth and happy anticipation that he had expected. He cleared his throat and shrugged off the disquieting emotions.
“That would be fine. Do you have any idea how long you can stay?”
“Yeah, well, its kind of funny this should come up now. I’m in the process of moving again. Visiting you would be kind of a stop over in the move.”
“It’s not working out in San Diego?”
“Not really,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “Everyone else has left. Willow and Xander went to New York, Faith went to Miami, and Giles went back to England. Last week I heard from Wills, and it sounds like everyone is heading to the Hellmouth in Cleveland. It seems that Giles was contacted by the Watchers’ Council and they want him to head up some kind of Slayer Headquarters from there. He wants me to move there, too, to help him run it.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“I don’t know, Angel. I guess that coming to L.A. would give me the perfect excuse to put Giles off for awhile while I figure out what I want. So it works out for my benefit, too.”
“So basically you want to bring all your stuff and dump it at my place,” he said, forced amusement hiding behind the dry words.
She laughed harshly. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve got much. Hello, house buried in dirt and ash. Couldn’t salvage much furniture from the bottom of a crater.”
“Been there, done that,” Angel responded. “So, I can expect you in a couple of days?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” she said softly.
“Thanks, Buffy,” he said simply, ending the conversation. They hung up shortly thereafter.
Now, looking out at the late afternoon sky, Angel was filled with a mixture of anticipation at her return and dread at his spontaneity. He wouldn’t even let himself acknowledge the other, more volatile emotions that were swirling beneath the surface.
Did he really want Buffy back?
He refused to contemplate the answer to that question. The only reason for him to say “no” to a renewed romantic relationship with Buffy was in a coma indefinitely. He could not allow “what ifs” to spoil his chance at happiness. The time for second guessing had come and gone. What was done, was done. Buffy was coming to L.A., and he would be happy with her, goddamn it.
For the second time that evening, Angel reached for the telephone and dialed a number from memory. As usual, Wesley’s formal greeting came through after one and a half rings. Even after everything he’d been through, Wesley was still as predictable as always.
“Wesley.” It was a statement laced with command.
“Hello, Angel. You aren’t having any side effects from the spell, are you?” He sounded somewhat anxious.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Angel twisted the curled phone cord between his fingers as he spoke. “I know you’re always thorough, but I’d like you to double check the authenticity of the spell just in case. Buffy is coming to town, and I want to know for sure that Angelus is not a possibility.”
Wesley was silent for a moment and Angel could imagine the scowl on his face. “I can state with certainty that the spell is authentic, but I will check it again if that’s what you want.”
“It is,” Angel said firmly. “I don’t want anything screwing this up for me.”
***
Cordelia stared at the outside of Wesley’s front door with a dangerously high level of apprehension. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She wasn’t nervous to see Wesley, exactly. She was scared of what he might tell her. There were so many unanswered questions, and it seemed like more and more popped up everywhere she turned. In short, she was scared to death that the life she wanted back so badly had been wiped from the face of the earth.
As soon as she’d safely exited Wolfram & Hart, she’d walked the long stretch back to the Hyperion. Expecting to open the door and see Fred behind the counter, or Gunn practicing with his weapons in the lobby, she’d been flabbergasted to find the place practically boarded up. The front door was locked soundly, and it was only after a search of several windows that she was able to find one she could jimmy open and slide in. She walked around the building in a near catatonic state, flooded with memories and finding nothing to answer her questions but more questions.
The place was stripped. It looked as though something had caused some structural damage before they’d moved out because there were walls with holes and doors that had been seemingly ripped off their hinges. There was no order to anything; it was as if someone had caused random destruction throughout the hotel. In almost every room, Cordelia got a very creepy feeling, as if the place were filled with some sort of residual evil. Cold, bony fingers seemed to tickle the back of her neck and make her shiver.
The only room that seemed to be free of that eerie sensation was Angel’s suite. There was no furniture left, but it was as though she could feel his presence in the air. She didn’t know if it was real or imagined, but for nearly an hour, she sat cross legged in the middle of the floor with her eyes closed, just breathing in the comfort that his presence always gave her.
She’d left the hotel and not looked back. She knew she wanted to move back in, and she would, as soon as she could find Angel and figure out what was going on. A simple cleansing spell should take care of the heebie jeebies, and then she could sit in Angel’s room all day and seek the healing comfort that she needed.
Now, though, she had to face Wesley. The last thing she remembered, he and Angel weren’t on speaking terms. He’d kidnapped Connor and had been summarily banished. It had torn her heart in two to see him leave like that and head down a path of self-destruction, but her loyalties had lain with Angel. It scared her to death to see which direction Wesley had gone in the last year: further into misery or back to his old self. She prayed it was the latter.
Before she could chicken out, she raised her fist to the door and knocked rapidly. She heard some shuffling behind the door and then it opened, revealing a scruffy-faced Wesley who was more ruggedly appealing than she’d ever remembered. She couldn’t help but smile at his disheveled but sexy appearance. Sexy Wesley. Who’dve thought.
He gaped at her, reaching up to adjust his glasses in a reflex action. “C-Cordelia?” He said, his voice nearly a whisper.
“Hi, Wes,” she said softly, smiling slightly.
“Oh, god. Cordelia!” Wesley said, his voice breaking. He reached for her, enveloping her in tight, soul-healing hug.
It was more than Cordy could take. She stopped breathing for a moment, then the next breath came out in a sob. Her arms wrapped around his back and she squeezed him with all her might, her tears flowing unchecked as sobs wracked her body.
Wesley loosened his grip somewhat, bringing one hand to stroke her hair as the other rubbed her back tenderly.
“I can’t believe it’s you, Cordelia,” Wesley said brokenly. “We thought we’d lost you forever.”
His touch soothed her more than she’d ever thought possible. After a moment, she pulled back from him and looked at him through blurry eyes.
“Everything’s changed, Wesley. It’s all so different. I went to the hotel and there was nobody there. I was so scared—.”
He led her to the couch and they sat down, hands grasped firmly.
Wesley looked at her, concerned. “How did you get out of the basement hospital, Cordelia? My staff was receiving regular reports on you, and so were Angel and the Partners. The doctors said that you were in a coma and weren’t likely to awake soon, if ever.”
Alarm bells went off in her brain at his statement. “What staff, Wesley? The Partners? What the hell is going on?”
“So much has happened, Cordelia. I don’t even know where to start. What do you last remember?”
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, almost afraid to trust him. But this was Wesley, damn it. He wouldn’t betray her, would he?
“The last thing I remember was being on the freeway, on my way to see Angel last May. Skip stopped me in the middle of traffic and told me that I was supposed to ascend to a higher plane because I had fulfilled my destiny here on earth. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.”
He blinked, stunned that she’d lost so much. “Would you like some coffee, Cordelia? This is going to be a very, very long explanation.”
Part 3
There was only so much cheery sunshine a vampire could take. Angel scowled around his bright office, going back over to the controls and plunging the room into darkness once again. For added measure, he closed the curtains with a dramatic swish. His stilted conversation with Wesley had ruined what little good mood he’d managed to make. It was obvious that Wesley thought he was being irrational and selfish.
The problem was that Angel agreed with him.
His glower increased tenfold at that involuntary admission. It had to be this office, this building. This entire place was evil. It stank of it. He stank of it. It was like working in a bar; the cigarette smoke permeates everything and no matter how many times you shower, it takes days to rid yourself of all traces. Wolfram & Hart had the same effect. Everything he touched felt oily with the filth of evil. It didn’t matter how much he tried to varnish it over with good intentions, the evil was still underneath. For not the first time since he’d agreed to take over this office, Angel cursed his decision. If it weren’t for the safety and future of both Cordelia and Connor, he’d never have taken up their offer. He was starting to think that he’d have been better off rejecting it even if the consequences were less than favorable.
Second-guessing himself might not get him anything but misery, but he still didn’t have to sit around this place and let the stench of his failed life overwhelm him. He strode toward his private elevator and entered, firmly pushing the buttons to the garage. Once there, he climbed into his necro-tinted Mustang and squealed out of the garage for a soul-healing afternoon drive.
Not fifteen yards out of the garage, he nearly mowed over four pedestrians and a dog, not to mention a narrow miss of the limousine parked at the curb in front of the building. He came screeching to a halt, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open in shock. His jaw snapped quickly shut and his lips pressed into a grim line as he angrily took in the sight that had startled him so much.
Spike. That mouthy, irritating little prick of a childe of his was walking, in broad daylight, no less, right in the front doors of Wolfram & Hart. The sun seemed to gleam off his blonde locks, his once-pale skin now bronzed and glowing. Angel growled involuntarily at the disturbing picture. Even from here and at this angle, Angel could see the stark blue of his eyes, made more striking against the golden tan of his face. The leather duster was still very firmly in place, black jeans, combat boots, and a red shirt completing his traditional ensemble. It was clear that he was still a vampire, because a human couldn’t handle late summer weather in LA while wearing full-length leather. But vampires didn’t walk around in the daylight unprotected. And vampires sure as hell didn’t tan.
What was Spike up to?
With a lurid curse, Angel swerved the car around in the light traffic and sped back into the garage. The tires squealed as he stopped abruptly, yanking the keys out of the ignition and walked determinedly back to the elevator, punching the buttons to his office.
The doors opened to his office just in time for him to hear his secretary’s voice over the intercom for the second time that afternoon.
“Mr. Angel?” She asked in that irritatingly efficient tone of hers.
“Yes, Melanie?” he growled, sitting heavily into his chair.
“A Mr. Spike is here to see you, sir. He does not have an appointment,” she said, the distaste obvious in her voice. She’d left the connection open, and Angel could hear Spike’s voice in the background.
“Oh, c’mon, luv. I can’t be that bad. I haven’t had any complaints before.”
This time the growl nearly turned into a roar. Taking a deep, calming breath, Angel called upon his frighteningly low reserve of patience. “Send him in, Melanie. And I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. Not for any reason, do you hear me? None.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” she said meekly, for once frightened by the power in his tone.
Angel sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching with unconcealed anger and irritation as the blonde vampire strode confidently through the door and sat down dramatically across from him, slouching into a comfortable position and draping his lean frame in the chair.
“Nice digs, Peaches,” Spike said with a smirk, reaching into his duster pocket and pulling out his cigarettes. He lit one and the room filled with smoke. The scent only served to fuel Angel’s anger.
In a fluid move perfected by 250 years of practice, Angel had Spike shoved up against the wall with his hands around his childe’s throat before Spike could blink.
“What the bloody hell, Angel?” Spike growled, struggling against the stronger vampire’s hold. “Can’t a vamp come for a friendly visit to his grandsire?”
“Shut up, Spike,” Angel spat, tightening his hold on the other vampire’s neck. “Explain yourself. NOW.”
The last word was underlined with a flash of amber fire and the promise of swift retribution if Spike dilly dallied any longer.
Angel was nearly at the end of his control. Spike had better explain himself, and quick. None of his usual bullshit would be tolerated. Angel was his sire, goddamn it, and he wasn’t going to put up with Spike’s antics. Not this time.
***
The only indication that Cordelia was in sensory overload was the slight whitening of her knuckles as she gripped the coffee mug in her hands. What Wesley had just told her was mind-boggling, and she had yet to remark on anything he’d told her.
Wesley just sat in silence, feeling wholly inadequate to console her. How did a friend go about comforting someone whose body had been the source of destruction of her family’s happiness? Especially when said friend didn’t remember any of it?
“This Jasmine,” Cordelia said, wanting some clarification, “she possessed me, and then I gave birth to her? She needed human DNA to become corporeal?”
“Yes,” Wesley said, nodding when he couldn’t think of anything else to add.
“This is. . .unbelievable, Wesley. I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, staring down at her reflection in the dark liquid in her mug.
He sighed. “I don’t blame you, Cordelia. I would have a hard time believing it, too. But I’m not lying to you. That’s everything that I can remember.”
A disturbing thought suddenly occurred to her. “Who was the father of this evil baby, Wesley?”
He raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “Father? I . . . I don’t know, Cordelia. We never found out if there even was one. She could’ve just planted the pregnancy within you.”
She pursed her lips and frowned in disapproval. “It’s not like you to leave loose ends like that, Wesley. I’m sure that Angel would’ve wanted to know who knocked me up. I mean, look at what he did to Wilson, and we weren’t nearly as close then.”
He started to look really confused, as if he were truly doubting what he believed to be the gospel truth. “Angel was really angry then, Cordelia. He felt like you’d betrayed him somehow. We didn’t know you weren’t you when you announced your pregnancy. You kind of threw it in his face.”
“Why would he be angry with me if someone forced this on me? That would be the same as saying that it was my fault I was raped, and Angel would never do that, no matter how angry he was.”
“You’re right about that,” Wesley conceded. “I have to admit that that whole time period is kind of fuzzy for me. It was a difficult time for all of us.”
Fuzzy memory, my ass. Cordelia thought wryly. More like altered memory. “I must’ve been willing, or at least the possessed Jasmine in me was willing. The father must’ve been someone that he was really close to, someone so close that he’d feel betrayed if I slept with him.”
She considered the options. Obviously not Wesley. Gunn maybe, but that wouldn’t anger Angel so much. The only human left was . . .The answer hit her like a ton of bricks, her breath leaving her in a whoosh and making her light headed. “Oh, god.”
She looked at him with wide, stricken eyes. “Connor!” The very wthought of exploiting that boy's innocence was enough to make her stomach roil, but the answer rang disturbingly true.
If it was possible, he looked even more confused. “Connor? Who’s Connor?”
She was stunned. “Who’s Connor? What do you mean, who’s Connor? You don’t remember him?”
Wesley raised an eyebrow, his look concerned. “No, Cordy. Should I?”
Her expression turned thoughtful. There were so many things here that didn’t make sense. She had no doubt that Wesley was telling her what he knew, what he remembered, but there were some glaring holes. Holes that stank of memory erasure. Selective memory erasure.
Whatever the hell was going on, Wesley was obviously an innocent pawn in all of it. She left the disturbing topic behind them for now, determined to find answers to how all of this started.
She changed the subject back to the other stomach lurching aspect of Wesley’s story. “Explain to me Angel’s takeover of Wolfram & Hart again. Why did he do it?”
Wesley let her earlier question go as he answered this one. “As I told you, Wolfram & Hart offered him an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. Their resources are fathomless, and he knew that his fight could be infinitely more effective if he used what they were offering him. They’d basically said that he had done them a favor by ending world peace with the destruction of Jasmine, and they were bowing out of the LA scene. He could take it and do as he wanted.”
Wesley looked down at his own drink as he paused. “And the most compelling reason he accepted the deal was because they promised they could heal you. It wasn’t until a month or so into the takeover that they told him you weren’t ever going to wake up and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.”
Cordelia didn’t buy that for a minute. Angel had had multiple opportunities in other instances to gain access to a wealth of information far greater and far less tainted than that of Wolfram & Hart, but he’d always refused on principle. She didn’t doubt that he cared about her, but him putting her in Wolfram & Hart’s less than clean hands was a ludicrous idea. There had to be another explanation. He had to have had another motivation besides what Wesley had told her. And Connor seemed to be the answer to that question.
Knowing what she knew about Connor and his attitude toward Angel, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had had some sort of emotional breakdown and Angel had opted for a cleansing of his memory and mind to heal him. Only someone like Wolfram & Hart could manage to arrange that, and Cordelia knew that they’d hold an offer like that over Angel’s head until he couldn’t help but accept.
“I have to see Angel, Wesley,” Cordelia said, her eyes searching his. She saw the questions in his eyes, the ones that wondered how she’d woken up and escaped from the hospital. Something was holding her back from answering those questions, though. Her forced coma was something that she knew Wesley had nothing to do with, but she was still wary of letting him know. She didn’t know what he might do if he went looking for answers, and she couldn’t afford to upset the apple cart just yet.
“Cordelia,” Wesley said, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Angel has been different in the last few months. When we found out you weren’t you, something inside him died. He’s been regressing to his darker nature, much like he was when Darla was back and he fired us.”
She gasped involuntarily. “He’s gone beigey again?”
“Not completely, but he’s rapidly approaching that state. I found some information lately that led me to a cure for his curse, and I made his soul permanent just this afternoon. I was hoping that it would allow him a chance for some happiness and reverse this downward spiral he’s been set on.”
“Wesley,” she breathed, “That’s wonderful! Angel’s soul is permanent. Wow!” The excitement permeated her; she couldn’t help it.
He smiled too, but it was less enthusiastic than it should have been. “Buffy’s coming to L.A., Cordelia. To be with Angel.”
She forgot to breathe for a moment. “Oh.” Her attention turned downward again and she swirled the liquid in her half empty mug.
“Well, I’m happy that he’s getting what he’s always wanted,” she said with false cheerfulness, her heart crumbling at Wesley’s news.
“He doesn’t know you’re awake yet, Cordy,” Wesley said, hoping to give her some encouragement.
“That won’t change anything, Wes, and you know it. He’s always wanted Buffy and I’m happy for them. Really. Either way, I still want to see him. I have to see him.”
He frowned, wanting to argue with her about Angel’s true desires, but knowing she wouldn’t believe him. “Very well. He’ll be home in a few hours. We can go over to his place then.”
“Great!” she said, the word sounding so empty and broken. Her heart felt battered and her soul was torn. Angel didn’t love her; he’d forgotten her. And she was still so very much in love with him.
***
Angel eased his grip on Spike’s neck and let him slide back down to the floor.
“Talk, Spike,” he ordered, backing up to lean on the edge of his desk, his arms folded across his chest.
Spike glared at him and adjusted his wrinkled shirt. “Nice way to treat a relative, Peaches,” he complained.
His only answer was a low growl of impatience.
“Fine,” he said, leaning against the far wall and taking on a defensive stance of his own, albeit one with much more nonchalance than Angel’s.
“That little bit of jewelry you sent Sunnydale way awhile back? The one for a Champion?” he smirked at that. “Well, you’re looking at the Champion that used it. It turns out that the little bauble packed quite a punch. Made me nearly invincible. Oh, I can still be staked, I suppose, but the sun is harmless. And the best part is, I still have my soul.”
Angel couldn’t help but snort in derision, but he refrained from commenting.
Spike glared at the rude noise. “You’re not the only soul-having undead fighter in the world anymore, Angel. Get used to it.”
This time Angel couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m still the original,” he said, trying not to sound like a petulant two-year-old.
Spike rolled his eyes. “And that’s a good thing?” he said, his scarred eyebrow raised. “Seems to me like it took you a hundred years to make that soul at home in your body. And it’s so flighty, always wanting to go on vacation and leave Angelus to maim and kill in its wake.” He whistled low and long as his eyes roved over the rich opulence of Angel’s office. “He would’ve loved the power you have at your fingers these days, Peaches.”
Angel ignored that last comment. “And what, you had no trouble adjusting to a soul?” Angel scoffed, knowing that Spike couldn’t have had an easy time of it.
“Of course I did. I’m undead, you moron, not meant to have a soul. It hurt like hell. I nearly ended my own life a couple of times there at the beginning. But I had someone that helped me get through it.”
Angel clenched his teeth. “Buffy.”
Spike smiled wistfully. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work, my girl is.”
“Your girl?” Angel said scornfully. “Then how come she’s coming here to live with me?”
Spike straightened up like a shot, coming nose to nose with Angel in a nanosecond. “She’s what?” he whispered.
It was Angel’s turn to be smug, and damn, it felt good. “Wesley found a way to make my ‘flighty’ soul stick around for good. I called Buffy, and she’s moving up here.”
Okay, so Spike didn’t have to know that she wasn’t too excited about it. Let him think she was dying to jump him.
The younger vampire took a moment to calm his rapidly rising anger. Then he remembered something he’d heard recently. Something about Angel’s affections having shifted from Buffy to someone else. “What about the cheerleader, Angel? She screw you over for that pansy-assed ex-watcher?" he mocked.
Angel vamped out in his rage, grabbing Spike by the throat again. “Do not talk like that about Cordy!” Angel released him with a shove. “She’s in a coma. She’s not going to wake up.” His voice broke on the last words, a telling sign of the true nature of his affections, even if he wouldn't admit them to himself.
Spike snorted disdainfully. “So you go crawling back to Buffy. I’ve got news for you, Angel. She doesn’t love you anymore.”
“And just who do you think she does love? You?” Angel scoffed in disbelief. “She feels sorry for you, maybe, I’ll give you that. But in love with you? Face it, Spike. You’re not man enough for her,” Angel challenged. “She’s always wanted me, and only me. You were just a sad attempt at replacement when I wasn’t available.”
His eyes nearly crossing in an attempt to control his fury, Spike stood his ground. “We’ll see about that, Peaches. She doesn’t know that I’m alive. She thinks I was killed in the explosion at the Hellmouth. When she sees me again, we’ll see who makes her hearbeat speed up, her breath catch, and her thighs tingle. Last I checked, you didn't do anything of the sort. Even that lousy peck in the crypt when you came to SunnyD wasn't enough to light her fire."
He smirked confidently, then shoved his face in Angel's. "There's no way I could miss the smell of her when she's all hot and bothered. She's been that way for me more times than I can count. Face it, old man, you've lost your touch."
Angel didn’t dignify Spike's rough talk with a reply, and the two vampires stared at each other with amber fire flashing between them. After a moment of tense, non-verbal confrontation, Spike turned and walked out of the room, back down and out into the sunlight where Angel couldn’t follow.
Showy prick, Angel thought jealously. That little upstart was going to throw a monkey wrench into his well-developed plans. Angel, despite his grandstanding, knew that Spike held a very special place in Buffy’s heart, and it was going to be difficult to beat that. After all, he didn’t have a flashy re-emergence from hell going for him this time.
Part 4 |