Go TeamC/A
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Part 3 “She's gonna freak, man - and with good right too. They walked into that building knowing what the hell they were doing and someone was waiting... Someone tipped them off again.”
Wesley frowned at Gunn's words, knowing his friend was right. He shouldered the crossbow he'd been carrying and shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of it all. “The only people we told about tonight's operation were the team leaders, the others were following - blind, but following, nonetheless.”
“So, we know you ain't doing the tipping off and we know I ain't doing it. Cordelia's out... So that leaves who?”
“Rondell--”
“Not even.” Gunn said immediately, “I grew up with the guy, Wes. He wouldn't.”
“Gio, Roberts, Jonah...” Wesley tailed off with a frown, “I'm starting to believe more and more that we have a traitor in our midst.”
“Gee, you getting that?”
Wesley ignored the sarcasm in his voice. They were nearing the Hyperion now. 68 rooms all filled with members of their army, some doubling up with others - and five beds in there that would tonight stand empty after the failed patrol they were returning from. No hi-jinks, Cordelia had said. No putting anyone in danger, just a routine patrol - they could handle that.
It turned out, they couldn't.
Five men down.
Five.
Tired, Wesley rubbed his hand across his face and shouldered open the door. Months ago, Willow had visited Los Angeles, placing a certain kind of spell on the hotel. Anything 'Hellmouthy' as she'd put it that came within a two-mile radius of the hotel would throw off an alarm, alerting the group of people inside, letting them prepare for battle. Most of the time, the alarms were false - a demon or some other such creature ambling past. They had yet to deal with an ambush on their operations base...
As Wesley and Gunn entered the lobby, the ex-Watcher found himself frowning. It was a rare opportunity for any of them to have a night off. Along with Cordelia, a few of their group that had been injured last night had stayed behind, forgoing the patrol to get well again. For one brief moment Wesley was glad they hadn't been there - after all they'd lost tonight the casualties could have been much, much higher.
“Is Cordelia in her room?” He asked the small gathering in the lobby, face softening into a smile as his eyes settled on Tina. Tina was 16 years old, a girl much too young to be tossed into this fight. Her parents had been killed a year ago, her father of some sort of hindrance to Giles, he'd gathered - since the Vampire King had ordered him to be killed.
“In the office. She got some phone call from that Willow girl.”
Wesley knew fine well that Cordelia wouldn't have stayed in her room the entire night they'd been gone. Most nights, she spent her time sitting downstairs when they weren't patrolling, listening in on the police scanner she'd had set up in her office. He firmly believed that Cordelia needed an outlet, something that would take her mind off what they did on a nightly basis, but telling her that had proved futile. Cordelia had reminded him that this fight - then, hers - was all she had. She didn't need an outlet; she needed it to be over.
When he entered the office, Cordelia was standing with her back to him, muscles corded in her back, knuckles pressed white against the table. “Cordelia?”
“Willow called.” She said quietly, not turning round.
“I heard. Is everything all right?”
“The slayer, the one in my vision - she got free.”
He allowed himself a brief moment of hope, one that surged through him like wildfire, before confusion rained on its parade. “I don't understand, I thought that would be a good thing...” He questioned, softly.
“It was. It is...” She amended, “It's just...”
The fall in her voice told Wesley everything he needed to know. “You think he's not coming back.”
Her shoulders squared and she turned, eyes dark, sad. “I always believed he was dead,” She said, angry at herself for letting herself hope all this time even if she hadn't let herself admit it. “I always believed that if he wanted to get out enough, he could and now...”
“Now that she's out it just proves that what you believed might be true.” Wesley finished, moving towards her and placing a gentle, supporting hand on her shoulder. “Cordelia, that's only natural.”
“Is it?” She bit, “Wesley, it's been five years. Hoping after all this time that maybe he was still alive was so stupid, I just always thought that maybe, y'know? I always hoped that maybe he'd just walk back into my life one day and... Now, this has happened, I'm just not sure I can believe that.”
Wesley sighed, stared at her for a moment. There were two things he could do here. He could tell her what she wanted to hear, that hoping was all very well and good - and that maybe, someday, her miracle could happen. Or he could tell her the truth.
She'd always been honest with him, always. She'd never sugar coated anything, never laced it with sweetness just to make it that little bit better. Wesley honestly wasn't sure that he could do the same with her.
“Cordelia...” He began, eyes meeting hers. “I suppose... We all thought that one day he'd return, just like I'm sure Willow and the others thought the same about Buffy. Seeing you like this, I wish he would, if only to restore your faith in the fact that occasionally, good things happen to good people. People like you. You've been fighting for so long and not once have you lost sight of your mission, his mission... I think, in doing that, you've honored him. You've honored everything he came to Los Angeles to do - and you've done it each time with the glint in your eye that he loved just as much as us.”
“I sense a 'but' coming.” Said Cordelia gently, “You have 'but-face'.”
Wesley smiled, a sad smile that Cordelia had been witness to too often. “I think perhaps it's time to let him go, Cordelia. We all torture ourselves with the hope that he might show up someday, I just don't think we realise that we're doing ourselves more damage than good by thinking it. It's nice to be able to hope for something,” He continued, “But when it's something that might never come true, it begins to get dangerous.”
He watched as the tears welled up in her eyes, and when Cordelia looked down, Wesley wanted to kick himself for saying what he had.
“There's always been that little part of me, y'know?” Cordelia whispered, “Just that one little part of me that hoped maybe...”
She straightened up then, blinking back the tears that still, she hadn't let fallen.
This conversation was over.
“How was patrol?”
Her moods had changed so quickly that Wesley was taken off-guard. In one bare instant, she was back to being the self-sufficient, independent Cordelia that everyone - with the exception of a few - looked up to for guidance.
So taken aback by her mood swing, Wesley didn't answer at first - and from the look in her eye, his hesitance was all the answer she needed.
“How many?”
She'd known, instantly. How, he wasn't sure, but she had, nonetheless.
“Five.” He told her, wearily, his tiredness showing. “We interrupted a feed, a group of teenagers in a nest downtown. There were too many of them.” He faltered then, not wanting to say what he did next, “We have reason to believe that they were tipped off.”
Her face blanched. Wesley could almost swear that he could hear her heart beating quicker - or was that his? - as he looked at her.
“Again?” Her voice was strained; her hand shaking in what he believed was anger as she reached up to push her hair behind her ear.
“Again.” He nodded, “It can only be one of the team leaders. They were the only ones who knew where we'd be and what part of the city we'd be patrolling.”
The snap of the pencil in Cordelia's fingertips drew Wesley's eyes downwards. The yellow, rubber-tipped writing implement was now splintered, half lying on the floor, the other half resting in Cordelia's hand. “I'm tired of this,” Said the brunette, sharply. “They want to play with vampires? I say we let them. I'm going to find out who our traitor is and they're going to see what it's like to be on the wrong side of Cordelia Chase. From tonight, only you, George and Rondell know anything. Team leaders will take their assignments from you, me or the others, depending on what happens when we get out there. They find out nothing before that.”
“It's going to cause dissension,” Wesley advised, shaking his head slowly. “Can we really afford to alienate people like this?”
“You tell me,” Said Cordelia, taking a moment to look at Wesley, “Then tell me whether we can afford to let innocent people who put their lives on the line die like this.”
“Then I'll inform the team leaders.” He stood then, going to walk out of the door and into the lobby, when Cordelia's voice halted him.
“Wesley?”
“Yes?” He turned back to face her, eyebrows raised.
“Thanks.” She told him quietly, “For what you said earlier, about Angel. You were right. I have to let him go.”***
Picking her way through the dust and debris, Cordelia bit back a sigh.
She'd come here alone, against Wesley's advisement of taking some of the group with her, insisted that she was fine and she could handle herself.
He'd known what she was going to do, understood that in order to move on, Cordelia had to lay old ghosts to rest.
Never thought I'd be laying this old ghost to rest... She thought sadly, placing her foot carefully on one side of a broken beam. The old offices of Angel Investigations - and the last place she'd ever seen Angel - had been destroyed by a bomb blast just four short months after Doyle had died.
Cordelia had been driven crazy by her visions, a visit from Vocah putting her in hospital where she'd seen everything - every ounce of pain that would be introduced to the world, not just through Giles but by others too. People wanting to destroy each other, knives-in-eye guys. Cordelia had seen it all. While she'd been in hospital, Vocah - acting under the instruction of Wolfram and Hart, had ordered the scroll Angel had stolen two weeks before his disappearance to be retrieved. Apparently, leaving Cordelia practically insane in a hospital bed just wasn't enough for Wolfram and Hart.
Vocah had left a bomb, an ancient, multi-dimensional device - Wesley had deducted - and had blown the offices apart, Wesley inside.
It had been Gunn who had saved them both. Had called by to talk to Cordelia about joining her fight just two weeks after his sister had died. What he'd found was a blazing office, Wesley inside, and Cordelia lying in a hospital bed.
Charles too had shown he could mean business. He'd attended the raising of Darla - stopped it right as it was happening, killing Vocah and Lindsey McDonald in quick succession, retrieving the scroll required to bring Cordelia out of her coma.
Cordelia shivered, pulling up the zipper on her jacket. She wasn't cold, not by a long shot, it just seemed that here, there were more ghosts than usual. Doyle, Angel... The memories that Cordelia had held close to her heart for just over five years. She could still remember Wesley getting cranky over that 'Shoeshine' thing.
A ghost of a smile passed across Cordelia's face, the first one that night, as she ducked under a fallen beam and stepping into Angel's office, ready to go down the stairs. Her steps were always careful. The building itself had been condemned four years ago, deemed unsafe for public use but unable to be built upon again because of a bitter lawsuit that had raged since just after the bomb blast. Cordelia didn't know the gist of it and she'd never asked. By default, this part of the building was hers - decrepit though it was.
She slipped down the stairs in silence, her footsteps barely making a sound on the charred black floor. Everything down here was different and yet... All the same. The cabinet that housed his weapons, charred almost beyond recognition, yet still standing. The stove where he'd used to cook breakfast after a particularly long case. The wrought iron bed that, even after all these years, still stood - the mattress charred into little pieces.
A layer of dust spread over everything, making it look like a blanket of snow had settled across the dingy little bat cave, as Doyle had liked to call it. It had been five years since she'd stood in here, five long years and yet... She could still remember everything. She could smell beyond the bitter, burnt smell - smell the God-awful coffee that used to assail her senses when she walked into the office of a morning. Could still smell the beautiful aroma of breakfast wafting up the stairs when Angel was feeling generous, even the wood of the desks. She could smell it all... See it all as it had been then.
And her heart was breaking.
As tears welled up in her eyes, Cordelia crossed the room, taking the small package from her pocket. It was the last thing she had left, other than silly things she'd kept like sweaters, which had lost their smell after months of crying herself to sleep into them at night.
She took it out of the box, turning it over in her fingers for a second, the tears finally sleeping down her cheeks as her mind went back...
“You're leaving?! Angel, you can't... We need you here...” She whispered, breathlessly, her head spinning. He couldn't be leaving, could he? He wouldn't do that. Not to her, or Doyle. God, just a phone call from Buffy, one... And he was ready to drop everything and walk away from her. She hated this, and in that moment, she hated him for doing this, for putting them through this.
Her next comment was bitter, laced with anger. “Although, I guess it's Buffy...” She bit off, “Gotta go rescue your slayer, right? I mean... Forever, immortal love crap - can't miss your seat at that little revival, can you?”
He placed a hand on her arm and Cordelia wanted to slap it away.
“You know that's not true.” He pleaded, desperately, just wanting to make her see. “Cordelia, please. Look at me.”
“No." She told him with an emphatic shake of her head.
Placing his hand on her cheek, Angel turned her to face him and bent down, dusting his lips with hers. “Listen to me. These past few months, here in LA with you and Doyle. I've learned something. I've learned that I have a family that'll be there for me, no matter what. But I've also learned something else too.” In perhaps his biggest speech since Cordelia had known him, Angel continued. “I've learned that love doesn't always have to hurt. Cordelia, I love Buffy, part of me will always love her - but... She's my past. You're my future. One I intend on coming back to. I've lost too many things in my life, I refuse to let you become another one of those.”
Cordelia closed her eyes, trying not to cry, trying to be strong because even if she didn't like it, she knew that Angel had to do this, he had to go. “You're saying goodbye.” She whispered, feeling her heart break in two.
Her eyes snapped open and Cordelia looked at the place they'd stood, the place where she'd yanked away from him and yelled that if he cared, if he really cared, he'd never leave. He'd leave Buffy to handle this on her own. But in this fight, you accepted certain things. You accepted that one night, you'd put your life on the line, one night you'd be fighting and the next night, you might be dead - because that was the way it worked - but you did it, nonetheless. You did it for those less fortunate; you did it because people, innocent people, didn't deserve to die at the hands of a vampire or the claws of a hell-beast. Some people never knew what went bump in the night and it was those people, those who needed saving, that Angel was fighting for.
He was fighting for their future, no matter what it held.
“I bought you this.” He told her quietly, handing her a small silver box. “It's not much but... When I'm not here...”
“I understand.” She nodded, looking down at the tiny Angel in the box. Soft fingers drifted over it, touching it almost reverently, like she was afraid she'd break it. “When do you leave?”
“Tonight. As soon as the sun goes down. They need me...”
“I know.” She said nodding, then, “Angel? Promise me something?”
“I'll come back.” He nodded, making her look at him. “You have my word.”
Somehow, the silence had seemed to grow louder, taunting her.
Reminding her that Angel wasn't there.
“I'm sorry.” Cordelia told him, wondering if he could actually hear her. “I'm sorry that... I didn't come for you. I'm sorry that you never came back. I'm sorry for a lot of things but... I know what you did was right. And that if you saved just one person that night when you left, then what you did was the right thing.” Gently, she placed the Angel on the floor, running her fingers over it one last time.
“I love you. I know I never said that and I know that... That maybe I didn't show you as well as I could. But I loved you - I still love you. But I can't do this any more, Angel. I can't hold onto something I'm never going to have or hope for something that might never... I have to let you go.”
She straightened then, her tears falling freely onto her shirt. She didn't care. This was harder than she'd imagined, much,much harder. When she turned and walked away, her heart pounding in her ears, Cordelia turned, could almost imagine him standing right behind her. “I'm sorry.” She whispered to the empty room, before beginning her ascent up the stairs.***
“Have I mentioned how much I really don't like this?” Asked Michelle, turning to look at Angel. They'd been driving for the past two and a half hours in a car that, from the way it had been left, couldn't have even been classed as stolen. “Come on, who leaves a car like this lying around, keys in the engine? For all we know, it could blow up three miles down the road.”
“Has it blown up yet?” Asked Angel, “No. Why? I have no idea but... Let's just say. Gift horse, mouth - me looking the other way.”
And that was the end of that discussion.
“So,” Michelle continued, desperate for some kind of interaction, even if he was reluctant to talk. “Once we get there, what's the plan?”
“We find my friends.” Said the vampire, simply. “They promised that while I was gone - they'd hold up their end of the fight. They wouldn't go back on their word.”
“Not to be all... Ms. Stating The Obvious and everything but... You know that we could be walking right in the middle of a war here, right?”
“We're already in the middle of one.” Angel replied, “It doesn't change just because we've crossed the border. You told me yourself that the only reason Giles hadn't managed to take LA was because of Faith. I'm figuring that since you're here and she's not, he managed to kill her...”
Michelle didn't remind him that that was the reason he'd got so pissed in the first place. He was unstable enough...
“From what I heard, she fought well... Well, all things considered...”
Angel turned to look at her, sharply. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You're about to miss our exit.” She frowned.***
"Then what the fuck are you saying, man? She doesn't trust any one of us right now and you know that…"
Gunn gave a sigh, running a hand over his head. What the hell was he supposed to say, that Gio was right? Cordelia didn't trust any of them and it was a lesson she'd had to learn the hard way.
"It's not just you," He tried to explain, make the guy see reason, but that too was out of the question. Gio was pissed.
"So how come you get in on the goods," Gio asked, voice dangerously low. "Unless you're getting some goods on the side we ain't hearing about…"
Gunn was off his chair in an instant, the front of his former friends shirt balled up into his fist. "You wanna watch what you're saying, man. Start a rumour like that and you might get hurt…"
"Off you, Charlie? Nah…" He laughed, "Rumour has it, you gone soft in your old age."
"Try me and find out…"
"The both of you, back off." Wesley's voice came from the top of the stairs; looking down into the corner of the lobby Gunn had taken Gio into. It had been his decision to tell Gio and a few of the others of Cordelia's plans. He'd been fighting alongside these few for over three years. He figured he owed them as much to explain what was going on, why certain things were changing around here lately.
"You heard about this too?" Gio asked, glancing up at Wesley. "It's bullshit…"
"Actually, it's not." Wesley disagreed, "Until we find out who the traitor in our midst is, Cordelia has no other option but to do this. Perhaps now, whoever's dithering between both sides will see what they're doing. We can't go on like this."
"So what, you punish all of us?" Asked another team leader, frowning.
"It's not about punishment, it's about keeping our team alive. And right now, that's what's important. We can't go up against Giles if he keeps picking off our team one by one."
If there was a protest, no one got to voice it.
A burst of sound spread through the hotel, sending the inhabitants scattering into position. Years of practice had honed this very moment in as near to perfection as they could get it. There was a place for everyone, should this moment occur – and everyone knew what that place was.
The two-mile radius gave them a five-minute head start on whatever was coming towards them, give or take a few seconds.
Within that few small moments, they were ready.
The doors burst open, a loud noise in the silence that reigned since the alarm had stopped sounding.
A girl entered, hands held high in the air, being pushed forth by a rifle pressed into her back.
"She asked to speak to Wes. Found her outside with this guy…" Said her captor, gesturing backwards.
Behind him, a dark-haired man was being led in, hands twisted behind his back, stake shoved up to his throat. It mightn't kill him if his captor struck – but it'd hurt like hell.
Wesley stepped out from behind the counter, eyes squinting to see who it was. "Who the hell are you?"
Michelle's eyes blazed as she glanced up angered at being caught again. "Michelle Blake. I'm the Slayer."
Hope dared to spark within Wesley but he pushed it down, frowning. "And your friend?"
"Nice to see you again, Wesley." Angel murmured, finding it difficult to speak with a stake shoved into his throat. "Course, it'd be nice if I could actually see you…"
"Let him go." Said the ex-Watcher immediately.
"But…"
"I said let him go."
The stake lowered, but his captor shoved him forward, eliciting a growl from Angel. Almost immediately, a collection of crossbows and other weapons were pointed at him.
"Put your weapons down, damnit!" Wesley growled, "He means no harm. Angel, please…"
Slowly but surely, Angel lifted his hands up, eyes flitting over the inhabitants of the hotel. "He's right. I'm not here to fight. Not you guys, anyway…"
"How? When?" Asked Wesley, walking slowly forward to gaze at Angel.
"This afternoon. Michelle…" He gestured to the slayer who'd been allowed to join him down into the lobby.
"I went to the office. She'd been there. Is she…?"
Angel faltered and in him, Wesley saw the same desperate hesitation. The wanting to believe; yet not daring to.
"She's alive." Said the ex-Watcher and found himself smiling. "I can't tell you how many times…"
The scream that rang out ended the brief moment of reminiscing. Angel could feel its presence before he saw it.
It burst into the hotel through the basement door, attached to someone that Angel knew only too well.
"Wesley!"
He recognised the demon instantly. A few months ago, Giles had sent a bunch of Cathixol demons after them, effectively wiping out one of their twenty men teams.
One had got away. It seemed it wanted more tonight.
Cordelia rolled backwards with the force of the blow, using her body weight to her advantage. Driving her knee upwards, she flipped the demon over her head and away from her, sending it spinning into one of the stone pillars of the hotel.
The demon leapt for her again, claws outstretched. Blue spittle dripped from its teeth, its red eyes burning into Cordelia.
"Boy, you really are the poster boy for the ugly stick," Cordelia growled, "Were you born that way, or did it take years of grooming?"
Damn. Usually, her bantering caught them off guard, years of practice helped.
But this demon – this one was all business, Giles had seen to that. He'd hired one of the most ruthless, most calculating groups of mercenary demons he could find. Once they had their target, they didn't stop until they were all dead.
People were filtering in from the floors they'd been waiting on, moving down into the lobby where Wesley and the others had collected. They tried shouldering their weapons, but in a fight of such close proximity, they were useless.
The demon slammed Cordelia into the wall, raising its arm to rake its claws down her face as red spots danced in front of her eyes.
Angel didn't waste a second. Letting loose with a snarl, he leapt forwards, ready to defend what was his.
The Cathixol demon let out a screech of pain as Angel drew a flurry of fists into its sides.
His last punch went right through its stomach, his eyes blazing golden, demon rejoicing inside as its blood spilled.
Not five seconds later and the demon was dead, Cordelia sitting hunched over, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other pressed against her head.
God, was it just her or did every vision take more out of her lately?
"Cordelia, are you all right? You blacked out for a…"
"I'm fine, Wesley." Came the expected response. "It just… Took it out of me, is all."
"You saw that, didn't you?"
Angel looked at Wesley, puzzled. What did he mean by that?
Cordelia nodded. "Someone left the sewer hatch open. There were two of them, I managed to kill one… I was nearly too late."
The Powers had never been forthcoming with the visions, at least, not lately.
Blinking as if to clear the cobwebs, Cordelia looked up, "Thanks, I—"
Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him, her world teetering all around her into a tailspin.
He reached for her and Cordelia pulled back, pressing herself closer to the wall.
"You're not real." She told him, shaking her head.
"I am."
"You always say that." She looked around her then. There was a crowd gathered around them, waiting for Angel's next move, waiting for hers.
"Cordelia, it's me."
"You always say that too." She frowned.
"Cordy—"
She winced as if the name hurt, hearing it spoke like that.
"Don't call me that." Bracing her hands flat against the wall behind her, Cordelia pushed herself up, regarding Angel wearily. "You're here?"
He nodded, once.
"How?"
"Giles put Michelle in with me. We escaped together."
Cordelia's gaze skipped to the slayer, regarding her with cool, professional eyes, before she looked back at Angel.
"How?"
"You want the details?" He half-growled, frustrated.
"Don't get snippy with me, Angel. I just find it a little hard to believe that after five years of thinking you were dead, you're standing here now." Her words came out harsh, brittle.
"I thought you'd be pleased."
"Of all the things I am right now? Pleased isn't one of them," She said quietly, "Scared? Yes. Shocked? Maybe. But pleased is so very far down the list right now."
"Cordelia…"
"How do I know it's you I'm looking at, and not Angelus?" She asked, so softly that only Angel could hear.
"Because the only chance I had at perfect happiness got taken away from me five years ago."
"Buffy." Said Cordelia, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice and failing, miserably.
"No." He replied. "You."***
She sat in her room in the Hyperion, legs pulled up to her chest, her hair hanging wet against her back.
In her hands, she held an Angel. Tiny. Silver. The one she'd left back in amongst the rubble at their old offices.
"How did you find it?" She asked, quietly.
"I could smell you. Where you'd been."
"Are you… Mad at me?"
"For what?" He asked, gently.
"I dunno, leaving this…"
He seemed to understand what she meant by that and shook his head, "Five years is a long time to wait for somebody, Cordelia."
"There's no one else." She told him, softly, her words showing implicitly that there'd never been anyone else – never would be.
"I know."
They lapsed into silence for a while, Cordelia turning the tiny angel over in her fingers. "I know you're waiting for me to explain everything. I just have no idea where to start."
He didn't speak again, just watched her in silence, waiting.
"A few weeks after you left, Doyle had a vision. We went to help. They were a bunch of demons, hiding from the Scourge. They wanted to rid the world of half-breeds, Doyle stopped them."
"How?"
"Sacrificing himself. He saved us all." Pride shone in her eyes and her voice, far surpassing the pain she still felt over Doyle's death.
"And you got the visions."
"I cursed his name for about a month until I realised what he' d given me."
"What?" Asked Angel, bitterly, "Mind-numbing pain? A shortened life sentence?"
"No." She paused, "A part of you. Don't get me wrong, they hurt and I'm so not a fan of the pain but they're part of me, just like they were a part of you and Doyle. It was all I had left of you two."
"So much has happened," Said Angel shaking his head. "And yet… You're just like I remember you."
"I'm not. Everything changed when you went away. The world got, I dunno… Darker."
The world had got more painful; she knew that for sure.
"But you learned to live without me. What you've done, all the people you've helped over the years, I'm proud of you, Cordelia."
This, she accepted with a nod of her head. "I'm proud of me too," She told him, "I'm proud of us. But what you said? I didn't learn to live without you. I learned to survive. I had to. I had to tell myself – even if I didn't believe it – that you weren't coming back. I had to come to terms with it, or else…"
She paused then, biting down on her lip and looking away. Her emotions were boiling just beneath the surface. Just one little tug and they'd all come tumbling free.
"Or else what?"
Cordelia sighed, "Do you know how many times I saw you? Every time I turned, I thought you were there. Every person we helped, you were there. I kept expecting you to turn up one day and it was killing me."
It would be so easy to take comfort from him now. Cordelia knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she so much as sniffed the wrong way, he'd have his arms around her – he'd keep her safe.
Instead, Cordelia spoke with a clarity that both stunned Angel and broke his heart at the same time.
"I lit two candles and sat waiting for them to burn out. When they did, I told you both goodbye. Every year since then, I've lit two candles, one for you, one for Doyle."
"What are you saying?" Asked Angel, his voice choked with emotion, "Are you saying you've made your peace with me? Is that it?"
"No," She turned away so he wouldn't see the shake in her shoulders. "I'm saying I can't handle another goodbye. Angel, what you said downstairs… I know you meant it. I could see it in your eyes without ever having to hear your voice. Giles broke something in you, Angel – and you sit there and… You might never say it? But you think that I can fix it. I can't. I'm not the same girl I was five years ago."
"I know that…"
"Do you?" She asked, softly. "I don't think you do, Angel. I think you came back here expecting to find same old Cordy – and this is what you've been left with."
"What?"
"Me."
"You think that's not enough?"
"I don't know what I think. But what I do know is that things just can't go back to the way they were, not to get all Barbara Streisand on you. Things aren't okay. You know that, right?"
Angel let out a breath of air and sighed. "I do."
"Good."
He stared at her for a long time, watching as her gaze slid slowly away from his. It was like she couldn't even bear to look at him any more…
"What happened to you?" He asked softly.
She didn't look up. "I got older."
"Cordy…"
"Angel, please." She spoke in a shaking, pain filled voice. "I know you want answers. I know you want to know what happened. But not tonight, please?"
"Do you want me to go?"
That got through. Something inside Cordelia shifted and she looked up, alarmed. In that moment, he saw the girl that he'd rescued from Russell Winters. He saw the girl who'd captured his heart…
She was afraid.
"Go?" She whispered, voice choked. She was trying desperately not to let her heart rule what was in her head. But… He'd just come back. She couldn't face his going away again.
"You're leaving?"
"No," He told her softly. "I just…"
"What?"
"It feels like I'm hurting you by just being here."
"Don't you dare," Cordelia whispered, hurt flashing through her eyes. "Don't say you're leaving just because you're hurting me. It's not me you're doing this for."
"I don't know how to talk to you." He frowned.
"Newsflash, Angel, you never did. It was me who did all the talking and what, now it's not the same you're going to walk out?"
"That's not it at all and you know it."
"Then what is it, Angel?!"
He didn't speak. Avoiding her gaze, he looked at the floor, listening to the little sounds he'd taken for granted five years ago. The sound of her breathing, the sound of her heart thumping against her chest.
"I'm sorry that I can't make this right with a few well placed words. I'm sorry that I can't be sarcasmo-girl and make you feel comfortable again. I'm sorry that for every time you dreamed of this, I was the girl you remember. I'm sorry it's so different. But for every tear I've shed, there's been a reason. Every time I've looked back at the past, there hasn't been a moment gone by when I didn't wish you were here, by my side. Everything changed, Angel and I can't make it right again."
"I don't want you to!"
"Then what do you want?!"
"You." He yelled, before his voice softened into a whisper. "Just you. I don't care if you're not the same person you were then. I don't care if you're scarred and battle worn. You're you, Cordelia. Underneath it all, you're still you."
"You don't know me at all, Angel. Not any more." Cordelia snapped, getting off her seat and walking away from him, standing looking out of the window and onto the darkened streets of LA.
"I know you more than you think I do." Angel growled, "I know that it's killing you standing in front of me and pretending everything's okay. I know that it's not the—"
"You don't know anything!" Cordelia spun round, "You don't know what it was like watching Doyle jump onto that stupid light thing and seeing his skin melt away! You don't know what it was like fighting this fight of yours day after day, knowing that you weren't coming back. You don't know what it's like, getting a vision and waiting for Wesley to come back, to tell you that half the people that trust you to take care of them are dead or… Or worse."
"Then tell me." He pleaded, moving towards her, "I hate seeing you like this."
Cordelia sighed. "Forgive me if I'm not share my pain gal, Angel, but I've seen enough of it to know that opening your heart to someone just gets it ripped out. I can't afford to lose it all right now."
"You mean you haven't already?"
"Damnit, Angel, what's your problem?" She cried, "You don't get to come in here and insert yourself back into my life like nothing happened, it doesn't work like that."
"And you think what, that this is the answer? This, what you're doing? Absolving yourself from pain because you refuse to let yourself feel any of it? You're dead inside Cordelia, and that not only affects you, it affects the people around you."
"Y'know what? I'm done apologising for something I'll never be. I am who I am, Angel and if that doesn't suit you, then don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
Shoving her way past him, Cordelia walked away – slamming the door to the bathroom behind her so hard it made the windows rattle.
Bracing her hands on the edge of the sink, Cordelia hunched forward, eyes squeezing tight shut. Damnit, she wouldn't cry.
She stood there for what seemed like forever, shaking, head bowed, chin tucked into her chest.
When she looked up into the mirror above the sink, she didn't recognise what she saw. She recognised a couple of fading bruises here and there. The small scar above her right cheekbone, that was hers.
But the eyes, they were haunted. The look so scarred and jaded that for a moment, Cordelia found herself wondering who she was, how she'd got here.
She was staring at her own self-destruction… And Cordelia couldn't bring herself to keep watching.***
He was at the door when he heard it. Hand poised over the handle, ready to leave.
A second later, he smelt the blood.
If he hadn't smelt it, he might've just thought it was a glass crashing, something dropping to the floor.
That smell was distinctly Cordelia.
He ran to the bathroom, bursting through the bathroom door in time to find her sinking to the floor beside the bathtub, fists balled, glass biting into them.
There was blood everywhere.
"Cordelia," He cried, sinking fast to his knees. "What the hell did you do?"
Her eyes raised to his, slowly, the movement almost sluggish. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"
Angel reached for a towel, wrapping it around her blood-soaked hands.
"You're hurt."
"No shit, Sherlock." She laughed, but the sound was empty.
He could still remember her laugh. It was nothing like it was now. Helping her to her feet, Angel got her seated on the edge of the bath, before grabbing the first aid kit from the top of the bathroom cabinet.
Usually, his demon would have rolled inside at the smell of so much blood – battling for dominance.
For once, he stayed silent.
The white towel was now blood red round her hands. When Angel unwrapped it, she hissed a little, but didn't move otherwise.
"This'll sting a little." He told her gently, grabbing a piece of tissue and some antiseptic spray to clean the cuts.
"I hate that. 'This'll hurt a little' –" She mimicked him, quietly. "—Why not just say it's going to sting like a bitch and get it over with?"
"Comfort?"
"Who for? The person inflicting the pain or the one getting it?" She asked, her entire body shivering.
When Angel applied a little of the antiseptic spray, Cordelia jolted upright, her back snapping straight.
"Sorry." He winced, removing the glass from her hands with gentle fingers. "You should go to a hospital."
"No hospital. It's not critical. I'm fine."
"Cordelia…"
"For once, can you not argue with me?"
Angel sighed and looked down, she was in no fit state to be going anywhere, unless by some miracle a paramedic arrived and whisked her away to hospital.
Time for other tactics. "Why'd you hate the mirror?" He asked, gently.
"I had nothing against the mirror, I just didn't like the person looking back."
She was trembling now, tears welling up in her eyes. "For five years, I've avoided looking in the mirror. A glance here and there, fine. Checking for bruises and stuff – part of the job. But I've never just… Looked. You come here and everything changes… I looked because you still see something in me and I…
Cordelia faltered and looked down at her hands. "I just wanted to see what you saw. I want her to be there, Angel, not just for you but for me too. I wish she was…"
"Listen to me, Cordelia." Said Angel softly, slipping his hand under her chin and bringing her gaze up to his. "I fell for you because you're you, not because of what you can give me, what somebody you used to be meant to me. When I came back to LA I had to face up to the fact that you might be dead or… Worse. Underneath all of this hurt and pain, you're still you. And you're still who I love."
"Angel…" The tears ran down her cheeks then and Cordelia's mouth opened in a scream that never left her lips.
He winced as she grabbed his shirt with still-bloody hands, sure that it was hurting her – Cordelia didn't seem to notice as she buried her face into his chest, her body heaving with the sobs that were wracking her body.
He didn't tell her it was okay. He didn't whisper tired promises in her ear. Angel held her until the sobs had subsided and Cordelia was lying curled up in his arms.
Gently, he scooped her up in his arms, taking her through and into her room, placing her on her bed.
"Angel…"
"We'll talk later. Get some sleep."
"Oh, sure." She smiled, tiredly. "The one time I wanna talk, you decide you don't want to."
Reaching over, Angel pressed his lips against her forehead. "You need to sleep."
"I wasn't… I was just…" Cordelia flushed, eyes filling with uncertainty again for a moment. "Stay with me?"
"You want me to…"
"Stay." She nodded, "Just stay with me."
He sat down opposite her in the wicker chair she had by her bed, watching as she drifted off to sleep.
There were things he noticed, little things. The fact that Cordelia slept with a variety of weapons by her bed. The fact that she slept facing the door, so that if someone should get in, she'd be able to defend herself.
The fact that the full time Cordelia slept, she never relaxed once. She was primed for fight, ready should someone get in.
Angel sighed, resting his head on his balled up fist as he watched her sleep…
TBC...
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