| Part 4
Just when it looks like you’ve hit rock bottom and there is no place to go but up, rock bottom always seems to sink a few more feet down and you crash helplessly as it drops. Maybe it’s Murphy’s Law, or rotten luck, or the odd dozen bad oysters you had for lunch, but life never fails to drag you down just when you think you can’t take anymore.
These pessimistic thoughts kept running through Angel’s head as he poured his third glass of whiskey and sank down into the plush softness of his leather couch, taking comfort in the semi-darkness of his new apartment. He leaned his head wearily on the back of the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. In the other, he swirled the liquor in the tumbler, a tiny amber whirlpool with ice that clinked delicately against the glass.
His mind wandered unbidden back to his recent encounter with Spike. Even now, the thought of that little upstart ruining his life was enough to make his blood boil and his stomach churn. At one point in his long life, Angel had actually come to tolerate Spike, maybe even like him a little bit, but that was a time very, very long ago. Long enough ago to be a time when he was still Angelus and Spike was still very firmly under his controlling thumb. Ever since Angel had gained his soul and Spike had taken off with Dru, their relationship had dwindled to petty insult hurling interspersed with sporadic bouts of violence. Their last major encounter had been over the Gem of Amara. Shortly thereafter, Spike had been captured by the Initiative and taken out of the running for the “Biggest Badass Vampire in Southern California” title.
Angel supposed that what bothered him most about Spike was the fact that he had a soul now. Angel didn’t like how jealous and petty he felt himself becoming every time Spike’s soul was mentioned, but truth be told, Angel felt threatened. He had kind of liked the fact that he was unique. A vampire with a soul is an enigma, and it seemed impossible that it could have happened to another vampire, much less Spike. But now that he had one, Angel had to face the fact that Spike might be the only other being in this dimension that could truly understand what Angel went through day in and day out: the struggle of the soul versus the demon. Ironically, the fact that Spike understood Angel’s struggle only made Angel want to push the younger vampire as far away from him as possible. Spike’s soul-having presence threatened what little stability Angel had left, and he was bound and determined to see that his grand childe didn’t ruin everything for him.
The grating ring of the telephone jerked Angel out of his morose contemplation. He snatched up the receiver in his hand and lifted it to his ear. The greeting on the other end was apologetic, but urgent.
“What?” Angel’s reply was rough, irritation at having been disturbed blatantly obvious.
Pause.
“She what?”
Longer pause.
“How the hell did that happen? I thought you told me she was a lost cause.”
Silence on the other end, then frantic explanation, followed by more startling declarations.
“She WHAT??”
More rapid talking, the excuses coming from the caller doing nothing to make the growing dark cloud of anger on Angel’s face diminish.
“I want to know who’s responsible for this, and I want to know NOW. I also want to know where she is, and I want to know that FIVE MINUTES AGO. Do you understand me?”
The voice on the other end of the phone spoke again rapidly in frightened apology.
“Don’t call me back until you have answers.”
He slammed the phone back down so hard that the black plastic housing cracked and the lamp on the table scooted over a few inches from the vibration. Angel downed the rest of his drink in one long gulp, not even grimacing as the fiery liquid burned his throat, the ice rattling violently as he tipped the glass upright and slammed it onto the end table next to the broken phone.
Rock bottom had just gotten a few feet deeper.
***
Much as she had stared at Wesley’s door several hours earlier, Cordelia regarded Angel’s front door apprehensively from a small distance down the hall. Whereas she had felt minor butterflies in her stomach and some nervousness at seeing Wesley again, this time, the feelings were intense enough to nauseate her. The thought of seeing Angel, especially after hearing most of the story of last year from Wesley, was enough to make her want to run screaming in the other direction. But there was this little, nagging emotion that kept popping up and dancing in front of her face every time Angel was mentioned: love.
Despite the fact that she had been in a coma for several weeks and absent from her body for several months, Cordelia Chase was still very much in love with Angel. It was that love that kept her feet glued to the floor and her eyes fixed on the unfamiliar, nondescript gray front door of his apartment. It was also that love that made her reject Wesley’s offer to accompany her here. She just couldn’t see Angel again with someone, even Wesley, watching their reunion. She didn’t know what to expect, and having Wesley there was a variable she didn’t want to have to deal with.
After a few deep, cleansing breaths, Cordelia moved closer to the door and raised her hand to knock. She held it there, suspended, for seconds that seemed like hours. Then, in a boost of confidence, she brought her knuckles in contact with the door and rapped three times, then stepped back and crossed her arms anxiously.
Minutes later, the door swung open to reveal Angel, and her heart nearly stopped. The apartment behind him would have been completely dark except for a lamp that was turned on. The soft light backlit him in an ethereal glow, giving him a halo-effect that complemented his name. He was so much the person she remembered, and yet, he was so different. Her eyes took in the familiar black-on-black ensemble, the spiky hair, the chiseled features, the chocolate brown eyes that seemed bottomless. But where all of this was familiar, there was a hardened edge to everything that showed her how much he’d changed in such a short time. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, his hair mussed, his strong jaw clenched, and his eyes were almost empty, as if the light he’d found before she ascended had left him once again.
They stood there, staring at each other, for a few minutes that dragged on like hours. Finally, she cleared her throat and the sound seemed to bring Angel back from wherever it was he’d gone.
“Hi, Angel,” she said softly, a small smile caressing her face.
“Cordelia,” he said simply, the word completely devoid of emotion.
Her smile left with the fleetingness of a ghost as she felt his apathy wash over her.
Angel’s examination of her was as thorough as hers had been earlier. He’d known it was her for a few minutes before she opened the door. He’d heard and recognized the rhythm of her heartbeat, faint though it was, from down the hall. The thought of seeing her again had sent his mind into a tailspin, his remembered love for her warring with his recent promise and past love to Buffy. Then when she moved closer, he’d schooled his thoughts, determined to make sure that she was all right and take it from there.
But after opening the door and seeing her familiar, beautiful face again, it was all Angel could do not to run back into the apartment and slam the door shut. Every memory he had from the time she was possessed came rushing to the forefront of his mind and tainted what should have been a joyous reunion of two best friends. He saw her pretty face and silky brown hair in front of him, then a flash of that beautiful face contorted in pleasure beneath his son’s body. He saw the sweet smile as she greeted him, then a flash of the evil smile she’d fooled Angelus with as she offered him her body in exchange for information. He saw the gentle curves of her figure, then a flash of her swollen stomach as she descended the stairs of the hotel and flaunted her pregnancy and her affair with his son in his face.
He knew he couldn’t blame her for what happened, whether she remembered it or not, but he couldn’t erase the painful memories and clawing sting of betrayal.
“Um, can I come in?” she asked tentatively, that soft, sweet voice breaking into his unpleasant memories.
It was obvious that this conversation was going to be difficult, even more so than Cordelia had thought, but she wasn’t going to have it in the hallway if she could help it.
He said nothing, only backed into the apartment and held the door open for her. She walked in behind him and took in the sparse but expensive furnishings with a wide sweep of her eyes, then sat down on the leather couch. She didn’t sink all the way back in, just perched on the edge and clasped her purse in her lap, as if she was preparing herself for a hasty departure.
She fiddled with the handle on her bag for a few minutes before bringing her eyes up to his. He was just standing there, his hands in his pockets, three feet away from her and staring at her in an expression that was nerve-wrackingly unreadable.
The silence was killing Cordelia. He hadn’t asked her to leave, so he obviously felt they would have something to say to each other, but she had no idea what he was thinking. There was a time when she could predict what he would say before he said it, but now, it was like she was staring into a familiar face that housed the soul of a complete stranger.
Wanting desperately to break the silence, Cordelia said the first thing that came to mind.
“You don’t seem very surprised to see me.” Her eyes darted up to lock with his.
“I got a phone call about ten minutes ago that you woke up and then disappeared,” Angel said, still struggling with his jumbled thoughts. Half of him wanted to run to her and scoop her up into his arms, the other wanted to grab her and throw her bodily out into the hallway and tell her never to come back.
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Where did you go?” he asked, his tone still unreadable.
She looked back down at her purse. “I actually went to the hotel first, but when I didn’t find anyone there, I went to Wesley’s. I didn’t know where you were living and I hoped he was still in the same place. He . . . he filled me in on what happened while I was gone.”
“While you were gone?” he repeated, having a suspicion of her meaning but wanting confirmation.
She opened her mouth and took a breath, then closed it and pursed her lips in indecision. She wasn’t sure where to start or what to say. Everything she knew and loved had been broken apart like a building out of Lego’s, then thrown into a bin, tossed around, and scattered across the landscape in a hundred different pieces.
“Wesley told me what he remembered of last year. Basically, he said some evil, jacked up being possessed me because she needed my DNA to become corporeal and take over the world. He said her name was Jasmine, and that she controlled my body and led everyone to think that I was still me. Then I got pregnant with her and gave birth to her, slipped into a coma, and here I am.”
Angel nodded once. “That’s about it. You don’t remember anything?”
He was torn. Would her ignorance of that time be a blessing or a curse?
“No,” she said, her eyes coming up and searching his. “I remember nothing, nothing at all, since Skip stopped me on the highway and told me I was destined for the higher realms.” The look on her face turned to pure irritation as she remembered how she’d been duped.
She moved past that and paused for a moment, remembering her hunch about Connor’s involvement in her pregnancy. Something, though, was telling her that now was not the time to bring the topic of Angel’s son into the conversation. There were to many other unanswered questions.
She jumped in with the hardest one first, taking his silence to mean that she should continue. “Why did you take over Wolfram & Hart, Angel? They’ve been a pain in our asses since Day 1. Why would you trust them like this?”
Angel’s shoulder’s stiffened at the accusation and mistrust in her tone. With jaw clenched, he said, “I had my reasons, Cordelia.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What reason could you possibly have to give in to pure evil? To run the place, for pete’s sake. You’ve had the opportunity to get your hands on other sources of information and power before, and you always turned them down. Why now?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t have to explain his reasons, but inside he was angry. She had no right to question his judgment, no right! He’d done this partly because of her, and he did regret it, every damn day. The only thing that had kept him from walking out into the afternoon sunlight and dusting himself was the knowledge that the firm could do whatever it pleased with her and Connor if he wasn’t around. He’d done this for her, and now she was questioning his motives?
But he said only, “At the time, it seemed like a good idea. They had something I needed, and I thought it would be best if I took them up on their offer.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Geez, cryptic, much? That’s a lame excuse and you know it, Angel. I would rather have my teeth extracted with a dirty, blunt knife than have anything to do with any of those evil lawyers and there was a time when you would’ve said the same.”
His nostrils flared as he held back what he really thought. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Cordelia, so drop the subject. What’s done is done.”
“The hell it is!” she muttered as she jumped out of her seat, her comment earning a flash of amber eyes from the vampire.
Inwardly, she cringed at his harsh words. Who the hell did he think he was, shutting her out like this? She’d told him after his beige period with Darla that he couldn’t expect to keep her in the dark and maintain their friendship. But then again, Buffy was coming to town. And Buffy changed everything.
At the thought of Angel’s soon-to-be-ex-ex-girlfriend, Cordelia’s jealousy reared its ugly head.
“Wesley tells me that Buffy is coming to live here,” she said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest and trying to keep the snark out of her voice. She failed miserably.
“Yes, she is,” Angel said, his expression daring her to challenge him.
She rolled her eyes at him and heaved a sigh of disappointment. “Really, Angel, I thought you’d gotten past that. You haven’t brooded about her in months.”
He shrugged again as if to dismiss her comments. “Buffy has always understood me in a way that no one else can, in a way that no one else ever will. She has the ability to make me happy like no one else ever has, and I wanted that back since Angelus isn’t a threat anymore.”
He knew the little speech was as much for his own benefit as hers, and it seemed to make his decision to get back together with Buffy sound so much more appealing than it had a few hours earlier.
His words were a knife in Cordelia’s heart, the pain of them bringing feelings to the surface that she’d been trying so hard to hide since she saw his unsmiling face and felt the coldness of their reunion. The love she felt for him gave way to righteous indignation as he took their friendship and undeclared love and shoved them under the rug as if they were no more important than yesterday’s newspaper.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing Angel, but you have some weird, twisted ideas. I don’t know how you think that Buffy is a good thing for you right now, but that’s beside the point. No, let me finish!” she hissed at his attempt to break into her diatribe, her hand up as if to physically ward off his unspoken words.
“When I last saw you, the real me, anyway, you were finally becoming the person I always knew you could be. You were fighting for your redemption like you have been since I met you, but you were finally getting to a place in your life where you could be happy. Now, you’ve let everything that happened last year turn you into Mr. Pity Party!”
She stared him down as she took a deep breath, the grim set of his lips and the anger in his eyes not enough to keep her from continuing.
“You’d better take a good, long look at yourself and fix what you’ve become before its too late. You’re turning into the dark, ultra-broody Angel that tried to commit soul suicide with Darla, not the man I loved and admired.”
Her eyes narrowed as she dealt the final blow.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, Angel, get over it. Deal with it. Move past it. There are battles to be fought here and we don’t have time to deal with your ‘poor me’ fest.”
His head reeled as her words sunk in. He was immediately transported back to the days after he’d seen her with Connor, after he’d watched from the nearby building as she writhed wantonly beneath his son and broke his heart into a million pieces. She’d had the nerve to come up to his room and tell him to “get over” whatever was bothering him then, too. At the time, he hadn’t known that she wasn’t really Cordelia, and her words had made him so angry, not to mention heartbroken.
They had no less of an effect now. Whatever love he had left for Cordelia Chase was squished and shoved into a box in the far recesses of his mind at those few words. She may be the woman that he fell in love with a year ago, but he was no longer the man he was then. She didn’t have what he needed anymore. She didn’t understand him, couldn’t understand what he was going through. Only Buffy could. Buffy, he could love. Cordelia, well, he didn’t know what he could do with her, but right now, love wasn’t anywhere in the horizon.
He stepped closer to her, his eyes now full of more fire and passion than they had been in months. It was angry fire and passion, but it was something.
“Get over it?” he said hoarsely, grabbing her by the upper arms and jerking her once. “Get over it?!?”
His voice got softer and more threatening with each sentence. “You, little girl, have no idea what hell I’ve been through in the last year. Your body may have been there, but you sure as hell weren’t. I fought battles worse than any we’ve ever faced, and you have no idea what I sacrificed so I could get the job done. You weren’t there, you didn’t experience the pain and heartache, so don’t tell me to get over it. You have no right to do that, Cordelia. You abandoned me when I needed you the most, so don’t tell me what to do!!”
By the end of his tirade, Angel’s voice was an angry, hateful growl. His face was scant inches from hers, his fingers digging cruelly into her upper arms.
Cordelia gasped at the pain of his strong grip, her heart breaking at his hateful words. She hadn’t abandoned him on purpose, and he knew it. He was hurting and miserable, but he wouldn’t let her get close. Not after what Jasmine had done with her body.
It was a lost battle, and she knew it. She’d gone too far, and now she had to pay the price. He was right, in a way. She didn’t have any idea what he’d been through. If he’d share it with her, maybe she would. But he wanted Buffy now, not her.
She pulled away from him stiffly and he let her go. She hid the tears that were welling up in her eyes. “I want to move back into the hotel.”
He took a deep breath to calm himself, crossing his arms over his chest and tamping down the anger, retreating behind his mask of indifference once more.
“I don’t care what you do, Cordelia. I don’t have anything to do with the hotel, so you can move in there if you want to.”
“Fine,” she said, still not in control enough to turn around and face him. He was making her so angry! He had it all backwards, just like he always did. That’s why he needed her. That’s why they’d been so good together. She understood him like no one else did, knew how to mirror him in a way that made him see what he really was, and what he could be.
That’s why being with Buffy was so, so wrong. Cordelia understood Angel so much better than Buffy ever could. She loved him and could make him happier than he’d ever been with Buffy. But would he see that? Would he ever see past the Slayer to what was really good for him? Pfft. No. Just like him, the dumbass. Always taking the easy way out. The familiar way out. First Darla, now Buffy. Never wants to face his true future, his true love.
She suddenly remembered the rest of their little family.
“What happened to Fred, Gunn, and Lorne?” Cordelia asked, her voice neutral.
“They still work for me.”
Rolling her eyes even though he couldn’t see her, she answered, “Oh, so now you’ve corrupted them, too?”
“That’s unfair, Cordelia, and you know it. They came willingly.”
“They came because you didn’t give them a choice. They feel obligated to you, Angel. They’d follow you anywhere.”
He shook his head. “They had both eyes open, Cordelia. And we’re doing some good there.”
“Good being evil, you mean.”
The angry glint was back in his eyes and he opened his mouth to shout back at her, but the doorbell beat him to it. Both of them jumped at the sound, then Angel glared at her for another minute and stormed over to the door. Wrenching it open, he fully intended to growl at the person on the other side and scare them away so he could take Cordelia down a peg or two. No one was more surprised than him when he opened the door to find Buffy waiting on the other side.
Cordelia looked around him and raised an eyebrow at his visitor. Nothing had the capacity to shock her after tonight’s mess. Not even the blonde powerhouse standing out in the hall.
“Hey, Angel!” Buffy said excitedly. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “After I got off the phone with you, I just decided, what the hell. Why not come now? So here I am!”
His face softened as he took in her pretty face and smile. “I’m so glad you are! Come on in.”
Buffy stopped abruptly when she saw Cordelia standing a few feet away. “Cordy!” she said, then looked at Angel with a puzzled expression. “Angel told me you were, um. . .” she trailed off.
“In a coma?” Cordelia prompted. “Yeah, not that anyone cared,” she said with a pointed look at Angel.
She turned to the other woman. “Welcome to Hell-A, Buffy. I was just leaving.” She forced a smile, then strode toward the door. Angel followed her and grabbed her arm just before she reached it.
“Let go of me, dumbass,” she hissed, glaring at him.
“This conversation is not over, Cordelia. You and I are going to talk about this. Soon.”
She pinned him with a steely glare worthy of Queen C. “This conversation is most definitely over. I have nothing more to say to you, Angel. Come and talk to me when you get your balls back.”
With that, she stormed out the door, slamming it as she left.
Angel struggled against the temptation to vamp out in his rage. He felt a warm hand glide into his, and he nearly threw Buffy across the room in his anger, but he stopped himself just in time.
“Everything okay, Angel?” The slayer asked innocently.
“Yeah,” he said through clenched teeth. “Everything’s fine.”
Part 5
Two days later
They say it takes two to tango. But when one of the dancers refuses to hear the music, resists the pull of the pulsing beat, his would-be partner is left a forlorn figure on the dance floor. She hears the music, the haunting rhythm echoing in her ears, and she tries desperately to quash the longing to be in the arms of her partner. She sees thousands of other couples lost in the dance, slaves to the rhythm, and the yearning becomes unbearable.
All the while, she sees the man she loves, his face set in a determined expression, and she knows that he hears the music too. It pains her to see that he refuses to succumb to his destiny. Instead of choosing the frenzy of the tango, he’s chosen the wrong partner and is trudging through the polka, determined to make it work.
This deliberate rejection is the most painful part of all.
***
Angel eyed the half full glass of liquor on his desk with distaste. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, practically breakfast time for him, and he was already on his second glass. He wasn’t really an alcoholic; vampires didn’t succumb to that addiction in the same way humans did, but he was dangerously close to forming a habit of medicating himself with the stuff on a regular basis. Ever since they’d defeated Jasmine, his drinking had increased steadily. He felt like he needed the numbness that the liquor provided him. It took the edge off the pain, and he definitely had his share of that.
He picked up the glass reluctantly and took a swallow, the golden liquid burning his insides on the way down. Against his wishes, his mind wandered back to a few nights ago and its disturbing events, just as it had nearly every hour since that fateful night. Remembering Buffy’s unexpected arrival brought a warm fuzzy feeling to his mind. They’d talked late into the early morning hours, then went to bed separately. Buffy had been considerate enough to leave Cordelia out of their talk, sensing his volatile feelings and respecting them. The days since then had been filled with a warm camaraderie, and they had yet to even kiss, let alone share a bed. It just seemed right to take it slow.
Angel was glad Buffy was there, but even though it was nice, he was having a hard time conjuring up passion-filled emotions for their rekindled relationship. He was getting his soul mate back, wasn’t he? Finally, a chance at happiness? Somehow what was supposed to be solid gold was suddenly looking like lead with gold plating. But he loved Buffy. He’d always loved Buffy, and he always would. He knew they could make it work, he just had to try harder.
It was the thoughts of Cordelia and their argument that really brought his emotions to life, though. The memories of his harsh words and attitude towards her burned him from the inside out much more harshly than the liquor had. He’d had no right to blame her for what had happened when she was possessed by Jasmine, and in the harsh light of day, his actions shamed him.
It wasn’t Cordelia that killed Lilah.
It wasn’t Cordelia that slept with Connor.
It wasn’t Cordelia that stole his soul.
It wasn’t Cordelia that offered Angelus her body.
It wasn’t Cordelia that flaunted her pregnancy in front of him.
It wasn’t Cordelia that flung his unspoken love back in his face.
The litany kept echoing in his mind, and it had been ever since he’d shut the door to his bedroom after she’d left and the stillness of the night had revealed his fear and anger for what it really was. She’d come to him for support, as a best friend who needed reassurance and comfort, and he’d shoved her away with every word he’d spoken.
She’d asked him questions that were piercing, but he’d owed her honest answers. He hadn’t given any. He’d just made illogical excuses in his anger.
He’d failed her. Just like he always had. She’d given him everything but her love, and he’d failed to protect her, not even noticing that she wasn’t his Cordy until it was way, way too late. Then he’d gone and acted like a total ass, driving her away when he should’ve grabbed her and held on tight.
In short, he felt like shit.
***
Twenty minutes later, the buzzer on Angel’s intercom clawed viciously at his sensitive hearing. Every time Melanie used it, he swore up and down that he was going to get something quieter. But every time, the message she sent through the intercom made that vow disappear into nothingness. She always saved the most shocking news for the intercom.
Today was no different.
“What?” He growled his usual response.
“A Ms. Chase is here to see you, Mr. Angel. She has no appointment, but she insists on speaking with you.” Just as with Spike, the disdain in Melanie’s voice was blatantly obvious. The woman thrived on order, and not having an appointment was akin to selling your soul to the devil.
“Send her in, Melanie,” Angel said, severing the connection and leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, and if he’d had a working heart, it would’ve been beating out of his chest. What was Cordelia doing here?
She breezed into the room and just like always, her presence lit up the space like nothing else could. It didn’t matter that she wore an expression of careful neutrality, or that she was dressed more severely than he’d ever seen her. It was just her; her scent, her glow, her very existence, that filled the room and overpowered his senses. Unconsciously, he drank it all in and allowed her presence to comfort him. Consciously, he registered that he wasn’t angry with her anymore, just disgusted with himself.
Before he could open his mouth to apologize, Cordelia dropped a manila folder in front of him and sat gingerly in one of the chairs by his desk. He couldn’t help but notice her beauty on display, admiring the golden length of her legs as they crossed gracefully when she sat. He didn’t acknowledge the thought, just felt it.
“Hi, Angel,” she said breezily, a forced smile on her lips. “I just brought by some papers for you to sign about the hotel. Apparently I can’t live there without the owner’s consent, and I totally want to be legal. Wesley gave me his key, so I’m all set, but I just need you to sign at the red flags, there.” She pointed at the manila folder and the little red flags sticking out of the edge.
He just looked at her, suddenly tongue-tied. Maybe if he’d had more warning, he could’ve practiced an apology, but—
“Really, Angel,” Cordelia said, sounding impatient and irritated. “I’m not asking you for a whole lot. Just a signature, okay? So pick up the pen, and sign where I’ve marked it. Then I’ll be out of your way and you can get back to Buffy and whatever it is you’re doing with your life.”
He frowned at her, then picked up the pen as she’d directed and scrawled his signature on the lines she’d marked. Then he spoke for the first time since she’d entered his office.
“Are you sure you’re okay there alone, Cordelia? I mean, the place is kind of torn up.”
“It is,” she conceded. “But I’ve already started working on it and I like it. It makes me feel useful.”
She closed her mouth abruptly, as if she had more to say but was unhappy that she’d already revealed that much.
He just nodded, still at a loss for words. What was it about this woman that stole every bit of his limited ability to make conversation? Sometimes she was so beautiful that he just couldn’t help but—
Wait just a goddamn second, here, he thought as the thoughts registered this time. Buffy was supposed to be the one he was thinking about as beautiful. Buffy was supposed to be the one that brought x-rated images to the forefront of his mind with her presence. Buffy was the one he loved, not Cordelia. Mentally flogging himself, Angel schooled his traitorous thoughts and conjured up images of the blonde Slayer in his mind to dispel the lingering beauty of Cordelia.
Across from him, Cordelia was less introspective and more . . . furious. She was furious with herself for coming here in the first place, an action she felt was degrading considering their argument a few days ago. She was furious with him for being so damn close-mouthed. She was even furious at herself for being furious. But what she was most upset about was something that she almost wouldn’t admit to herself, and something that she definitely wouldn’t acknowledge fully until she was safe in the confines of the elevator and away from his powerful presence.
She still loved him.
In spite of it all, in spite of his cruel words, his apathy, his blatant rejection, and his lame-brained decision making, she loved him. She loved him so much that her heart nearly disintegrated when she walked through his office door and saw him sitting there, wallowing in his own misery. She wanted so badly to walk around the desk and sink into his lap, bring his head to her chest and comfort him with her touch. Her fingers ached to touch his face and smooth away the frown lines, to run her hands over his cheek and soothe the battle she knew warred within him.
But she didn’t do any of those things. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her get close. He’d rejected her, and she had no recourse but to bury her love behind a mask of indifference.
These feelings that she’d sworn she’d ignore until she got out of his office began to seep into her conscious thought, so she sprang out of her seat and grabbed up the folder off his desk.
“Thanks, Angel. I’ll see you around, okay?” She smiled at him, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and breezed out of the room, the door closing behind her.
He’d stood up abruptly as she taken the folder from him and reached for her arm, wanting to stop her and apologize. But he’d only just opened his mouth to speak her name when she was gone, and he was left empty-handed, feeling the chill of a life without Cordelia Chase more acutely than he ever had before.
It was a good thing he still had Buffy, or he might have let this get to him.
***
Cordelia didn’t even acknowledge the crowd of attorneys swarming the hallway as she barreled through, diving for the elevator doors as they opened. Two suits pushed passed her and one non-suit stayed in, but she was oblivious. She pushed the button for the first floor frantically, desperate to escape to her car where she could cry her eyes out and then drive home. God, why did it have to hurt so much?
“Don’t let the poof get to you, Cheerleader,” a deep voice echoed in the small space, startling her so much that she whirled around and backed into the wall, hard.
“S-Spike?” she squeaked, holding a hand to her racing heart.
He flashed that handsome grin of his and said, “One and the same, luv. I take it you’re all better now?”
Cordy frowned, darkness clouding her pretty eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m all better,” she said, sounding anything but better, the pain of the moment overshadowing the fact that she was trapped in the elevator with an evil vampire.
He smiled softly at her. “Wanna talk about it?”
She looked at him strangely, really looked at him, since she’d first stepped into the small space. “Why do you care?” she asked suspiciously.
Rolling his eyes, Spike sighed. “Jeez. The lines of communication between Sunnydale and L.A. are appalling. You’d think, what with everyone fighting on the same side and all, Giles and Wesley, at least, would share some information once in awhile.”
The ding of the elevator reaching its destination interrupted him, and he gestured for her to exit. She did, never taking her eyes off of him.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Cordelia asked.
He stopped and turned, and so did she. They were nearly to the door, a bright square patch of sunlight just a few feet away on the marble floor of the lobby. “I have my soul. I went through hell to get it, but I have it. I won’t hurt you, luv.”
She was astonished. The last time she’d seen or heard anything of Spike was when he’d come to steal the Gem of Amara and he was anything but nice then. It was amazing that he could make a change like that, but she’d seen the very evident difference between Angelus and Angel, so she knew it was possible. Spike, though, was still very much himself. Just softer around the edges, less defensive, more sensitive.
Shutting her gaping mouth, Cordelia just turned away and walked through the front door. After everything that had happened with Angel, Spike’s revelation was just one weird thing too many. So she did what she always did when confronted with a persistent vampire: escape into the sun.
Although this time it didn’t work. She jumped nearly a foot when a cold hand encircled her bare elbow. A squeak escaped her lips as she whipped her head around and saw Spike standing by her. She went through her mental list.
Standing in sunlight: check.
Vampire at my side: check.
Vampire standing in sunlight at my side: check check.
“What the hell? Spike, find some shade!” she said, panicking, shoving him up against the building where a small patch of shade rested near the afternoon sun.
He just laughed at her. “I’m okay, Cordelia. I’m immune to the sun now.”
At the increase in the intensity of her astonished expression, Spike laughed harder. “It’s a long story, pet. Nice to know you’ve forgiven me, though.”
Spike pulled her back out into the sun and they walked toward her car. He reached out a hand and lightly squeezed her shoulder. “Rough day, huh?” he said, trying to get her to talk.
“Yeah.” The pain of the last few days and hours came rushing back to the front of her mind and her eyes flooded with tears.
“Let’s go get something to drink, okay?” He said consolingly. “Then you can tell ol’ Spikey all about it.”
She rolled her eyes and Pfft’d. “Just so long as you spill what’s making your eyes so sad, you’ve got yourself a date.”
His confident grin disappeared as the mask fell slightly, his own pain flashing in his eyes. “I’d say that sounds fair,” he agreed.
A half hour later they were ensconced in the cozy, sunny corner of an outdoor café. Giant tropical plants bordered them on three sides, both muffling the passing traffic and shielding them from the curious stares of passers-by. They’d ordered a bottle of wine and were waiting for their food to arrive, but neither was paying much attention to the happenings around them. Both were too engrossed in the stories of each other’s misery to acknowledge anything else.
“So you watched them?” Cordelia said in disbelief, her dismay evident.
“Yeah,” he said, remembering bitterly. “And that First psycho was there right next to me in the shadows, in Buffy’s form, no less, whispering what a bitch she was and how she didn’t deserve me, driving the stake so much farther in that I couldn’t take it and I left.”
Cordelia just shook her head. Part of her was still reeling from the fact that while she was in a coma, Angel was off sucking face with his ex-girlfriend. It was true that Cordelia didn’t really have a claim on him then, but she still felt betrayed.
Spike continued with his story. “I didn’t get very far away before morbid curiosity got the better of me and I went creeping back. They were outside the crypt talking, and it was bloody awful.”
He grimaced at the memory and downed the rest of his wine in a big gulp. “She was talking some stupid nonsense about cookie dough and how she wasn’t done yet or some metaphorical rot like that. She did say, and I quote, ‘Spike is in my heart,’ but she turned right around and practically promised that all Angel had to do was wait around and eventually she’d come crawling back. Damn near broke my heart in two right there on the spot.”
Cordelia swallowed a big gulp of wine too, taking comfort in the tinglies that were already starting to soften the edges of her pain. “So then you got immune to the sun, huh?”
Smiling at that, Spike continued. “Peaches brought this mystical necklace that helped us defeat the First. I wore it as a ‘Champion’, if you can imagine that, and went up in flames for Buffy. She told me she loved me, but it was obvious in her eyes that she didn’t love me like I wanted her to. I knew then that she probably never would, so when I crawled out of the rubble and found out I could walk in the sunlight, I just disappeared. She doesn’t know I survived.”
Eyeing him surreptitiously, Cordelia warred with herself as to whether she should tell him that Buffy was here. It was obvious that Spike was as heartbroken as she was, and she knew that the knowledge would only add to his pain. But finding out by surprise was going to be even worse, and she didn’t want him to go through that.
“Spike, Buffy’s here,” she said simply, softly to cushion the blow.
His head jerked up and his beautiful blue eyes searched hers. “Here? In L.A.? I thought she was in San Diego.”
Cordelia nodded. “Angel’s soul is permanent. Wesley found some kind of patch or something that makes it as secure as yours, like he’d sought it himself instead of being cursed.”
Spike nearly growled at her words. He’d gone through countless forms of torture to get this soul, and Angel got his handed to him on a silver platter? Totally unfair.
She continued, unaware of his indignation. “Then he called Buffy, and she came running to be with him. I guess post-Sunnydale slayage isn’t all that great after all.”
“Buffy’s staying with the poof?” Spike asked, hoping she’d say no.
“Yup. All cuddly at his new apartment,” she said bitterly.
“I need to see her,” Spike said, his eyes staring off into nothingness as he anticipated their reunion.
She smiled at him and raised her eyebrow. “I thought you’d given up on her,” she reminded him.
He frowned and rolled his eyes. “That’s what I tell myself, every single minute of the day. But you know as well as I do that you never really give up. You can’t tell me that you don’t go through the same thing with Angel.”
Suddenly the pain in Cordelia’s eyes nearly overwhelmed him. In a twisted way it comforted him, knowing that someone else suffered as much as he did.
“I love him, Spike. I try not to. God, I try, but I can’t help it.”
She looked down at the table, her vision blurry as she rubbed her index finger over the edge of her wineglass. “I lost almost a year of my life when I was body snatched, and Angel can’t seem to get past it. I can see it in his eyes. He can’t look at me without remembering the awful things that my evil twin did, and I can’t apologize because I didn’t do any of it. He’s punishing me for everything I didn’t do, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Each word she spoke grew softer and thicker with the tears clogging her throat, and at the end, they welled up and spilled over, rolling down her cheeks.
“And now he’s with Buffy. His soul is permanent, and he’s trying to find the happiness that has always eluded him.”
Her tortured eyes came up and locked with Spike’s, his face as intense as hers as he listened in pained silence.
“More than anything, I just want my best friend back. It’s true that I’m in love with him, but I would settle for what we had before because I don’t want to lose him completely. The pitiful thing is that I would let Buffy have him if I knew that it would make him happy. I would stand back and watch them together, as painful as that would be, if I knew that he could find perfect happiness with her.”
She paused, the intensity becoming too much. Spike waited, feeling her pain as keenly as he felt his own.
“But I don’t think he can be happy with her, not anymore. She needs you, not him. He needs me, not her. And that’s not the selfishness in me talking, it’s the truth.”
Spike nodded, sensing the rightness of her words. “You’ve got it, pet. The problem is, I don’t think we’ll get them to see that truth until they both fall apart.”
“But you still have to see her, don’t you,” Cordelia said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I’m a glutton for punishment. But I have to know how she feels. I have to look her in the eyes as she tells me that she loves him, not me. I can’t leave the hope behind unless she does.”
Cordelia silently agreed with him, but she knew that even hearing those words and seeing the determination in the eyes of your loved one wouldn’t even succeed in erasing the hope or the love. Angel had told her point blank the other night that he wanted Buffy, not her, and it hadn’t let her move on. But she understood what Spike was saying.
As she looked across the table at her partner in misery, Cordelia was struck with a flash of brilliance.
“Spike, where are you staying?”
He just stared at her for a moment, trying to process the change in topic. “Staying? Uh, nowhere, really. A hotel.”
“I’ve got a hotel,” she said, smiling slightly. “Wanna move in?”
He grinned at her, the first real smile she’d seen from him since they’d entered the café. “You’re still at Angel’s hotel?”
“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “It has comforting memories, and I don’t feel at home anywhere else. I could use a roommate, if you’re interested.”
He reached his hand across the table and squeezed hers. “Thanks, cheerleader, but I think I’m going to try to make it on my own for awhile. I’ll make sure I visit, though.”
Just then, the waiter arrived with her meal. As he placed the food in front of her, Cordelia tried to hide her disappointment. Living with Spike was something she’d never, ever thought she’d want, but after just one afternoon with him, she knew she’d found a friend that would stand by her through anything. Having his presence in the hotel would take away some of the pain of losing Angel, and she was sad that he didn’t accept her offer.
“If you change your mind, come on by,” she said, her eyes begging him to reconsider.
“Thanks, luv,” Spike said. “I’ll definitely remember that.”
She dug into her food, suddenly ravenous after spilling her guts. Already, she was feeling her pain beginning to recede in the warmth of a friendly presence. As she ate, Spike began to entertain her with stories of Xander and his dorkiness right up to the final battle, and the afternoon slowly turned from torture to healing.
Part 6 |