Title: To Be a Wife
Author: Cordelia'sDestiny
Posted: 05/03
Email
Rating: PG
Category:
Content: C/A
Summary: Angel and Cordelia go undercover in a new case.
Spoilers: Somewhere between S1 and S2
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: I know the undercover thing has been done before, but I wanted to put my own spin on it.
Thanks/Dedication: Thanks to RGW for her ideas! I don't know if this fic would've continued without you.
Feedback: Bring it on, baby!
Part 1
“So, what exactly am I doing, again?” Cordelia rasped breathlessly. Angel’s lips on her neck were unbelievably distracting and Cordelia abandoned any attempt to maintain coherent thought. She shuddered as his tongue grazed her, burning an invisible mark into her skin.
“You’re pretending to be my wife,” Angel whispered, restrained laughter in his voice.
“Oh.” Cordy replied, her eyes sliding shut as he kissed a trail from her neck up to her earlobe. “Yeah. Right,” she continued absently. Her hand stole up to grasp the back of his head, running her fingers over the short hairs at his nape.
“Just think of it as acting practice,” Angel reasoned, the vibrations of his low voice sending sensations coursing through her like warm honey.
His mouth left her ear but his strong arms stayed wrapped around her waist, his hard stomach against her back. Cordelia’s body hummed with the desire he had so quickly kindled in her. Just minutes before they had been standing outside the club, three feet apart, friends and business associates, and now they were acting the part of passionate lovers, entranced by each other.
Funny how it wasn’t as difficult as Cordelia had imagined. They’d taken this case thinking they could solve it without any undercover work, but all their stealthy surveillance and interviews of witnesses had only exposed more questions. The last resort had been for her to play the part of his wife, or more appropriately, be the bait.
Angel Investigations had been hired by an Anogic demon, a friendly human/demon hybrid that lived peacefully among LA’s highest social circles. Their physical appearance was virtually identical to a human’s, and a little make-up hid what telltale markings did exist. Their other demonic attributes—the ability to see through walls and melt metal with a glance—were able to be used surreptitiously if at all.
The original phone call from the demon had been a test to Cordelia’s newfound patience. He’d been frantic on the phone, demanding to speak with “Mr. Angel,” claiming that it was a matter of life and death. Cordelia almost hung up on him; he’d been talking so fast that she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“Hey, calm down, mister,” Cordelia had ordered sternly, earning another stream of frantic babbling from the other end of the phone.
“No, YOU listen!” She had no patience for unprofessional behavior. Was it too much to ask for the man to slow down? Sheesh, like the world revolved around him, or something. Self-centered, much?
“Angel is not in,” she stated, her statement only agitating him further. “Stop!” She ordered. “take a deep breath, and tell me your name first.”
“Jeremy Falkirk,” he stated, obviously annoyed to be interrupted with mundane details.
“Oooo K,” Cordelia wrote his name down, her eyebrows arching at the very un-demon name.
“All right. Now tell me what’s wrong. Angel will help you if he can.”
The demon did as she asked. As Jeremy told her his story, Cordelia’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page, the light scratching the only sound in her quiet apartment, save the tinny voice coming from her telephone. She took voluminous notes, stopping a few times to change pages. This case was unlike any they’d ever had.
“Well,” she began after he’d finished. “I’m sure that Angel Investigations would be happy to take your case. I have to run it by Angel himself, of course, but I’m certain he’ll want to help you.”
After his profuse thanks, she set the phone back into its resting place, and stood silently, trying to process what he’d told her. His wife had been abducted. His very human wife. She’d known what he was when she married him, but she hadn’t cared, he said, because she loved him. His demon roots had never interfered in his life before, and he had no reason to think they ever would. He was wrong.
Less than two days before his phone call to Cordelia, Jeremy and his wife had attended a posh dinner club in West L.A. His wife, Jessica, had excused herself to go to the ladies room, and that was the last he saw of her. Frantic, he called the police, who’d coldly informed him that a missing-person’s report couldn’t be filed for 24 hours. The officer’s voice was tinged with a sarcasm that said Jessica had left Jeremy on purpose, and Jeremy was too dumb to figure it out. Angry and upset, Jeremy returned home, pacing his floor, trying to figure out what to do. Around midnight, he received a phone call from someone claiming to have his wife.
The caller was not human.
Daniel, as the caller identified himself, claimed that Jeremy was just another charlatan, living as a human when he should be honoring his demonic heritage. Daniel stated that unless Jeremy agreed to work for him, his wife would be held captive indefinitely. When Daniel explained what his work would be, Jeremy’s stomach lurched. There was no way he could do as they asked; he had to find another way to save his wife’s life. That’s when he decided to call A.I.
Angel’s early investigation uncovered the fact that Jeremy wasn’t the only one who’d been violated like this. There were seven other men who’d suffered the same crime, and their wives were still missing. The common thread was that they were all living as humans, ignoring their demonic natures, and their wives had been abducted at the same club. Angel had even witnessed the tenth abduction, but he’d been unable to follow them to the location where they were holding the women. The only thing he could do was inform the distraught husband of the situation and return home frustrated with the lack of success.
Wesley had suggested the idea of using Cordelia as bait. After all, Angel, as a vampire, could be characterized as a demon, and that could be used to their advantage. He wasn’t living completely as a human, but he was definitely turning his back on the evil that other vampires embraced. It was agreed that the men whose wives had been abducted would spread the word in their social circles about Angel’s demonic characteristics and that Cordelia was his human wife. The rumors had been in place for two days, and Jeremy agreed that it was probably enough time for all of LA’s upper echelon, including the brains behind these abductions, to know the minute details.
Cordelia was amazed that Angel would put her in such a precarious position, but he’d agreed almost before Wesley had finished suggesting it. Cordelia put up a token resistance, but the idea of going undercover was intriguing. Besides, she reasoned, Angel wouldn’t let her get hurt. Would he?
So here she was, locked in Angel’s embrace, mixing with the elite of LA’s society. Under normal circumstances, she’d be giddy at the opportunity to make so many promising contacts. Now, though, the only thing she could concentrate on was how good Angel’s sweet-nothings had sounded.
She tried valiantly to clear the fog of passion he had induced in her brain, but her attempts were short-lived as Angel’s fingers lightly stroked her stomach and drove her to distraction. His lips found her shoulder again, teeth nipping her gently, and he began to sway with the music that drifted over them from the direction of the dance floor.
“D-don’t you think—“ Cordelia had to clear her throat and begin again. “Don’t you think this is playing the part a little too well?” She reasoned, trying to pull out of his embrace and put some distance between them. His arms didn’t budge.
“What part, honey?” Angel responded. The endearment, coupled with the expression in his deep eyes, reminded her that they had an audience and she should keep her voice to a whisper when talking about their business here.
“Uhh, nothing.” She said, her smile wobbly. This time, when she grasped his hands and pulled, he released her, and she backed away. The distance restoring her equilibrium, she put their plan into action. Cordelia glanced around her at their companions. Jeremy had set them up with a few of his friends, couples he and Jessica socialized with frequently. They were oblivious to the entire situation. Jeremy had told them that Jessica had had a family emergency and was in New York.
“I have to visit the little girls’ room, Angel.” She smiled sweetly, her own gameface once again firmly in place.
Angel nodded briefly, acknowledging her verbal signal. “Don’t be gone too long,” he warned, his smile laced with the convincing hunger of a man in love with his wife. ‘Too convincing,’ Cordelia thought.
As she tore her gaze from Angel’s and turned to walk away, a voice to Angel’s right said, “That’s some woman you’ve got there, Angel.”
The appreciation in Mark’s voice was evident. Angel turned to look at Jeremy’s friend, just in time to see the man’s gaze sweep up and down the back of Cordelia’s retreating figure, his eyes lingering in appreciation on Cordelia’s butt. “Where was she when I was single?” Mark added wistfully. It was well-known that his marriage was less than fulfilling. Rumor had it that he was between mistresses and in full-fledged hunt for a new one.
Eyes narrowing, Angel replied, “Oh, we’re VERY happy.” His tone implied that he wouldn’t tolerate any more of Mark’s “appreciation” of Cordelia.
Cordelia had gladly left Angel’s side, desperately wanting to cool the heat he’d created with his overacting. At least she thought it was overacting. ‘Okay, Cordelia, get a grip. Shake it off. Be the Oscar-winning actress you are. You can do this,’ Cordelia chanted to herself.
She wove through the crowd, locating the hallway that led to the women’s restroom. She paused briefly, looking back to see if Angel was following her as they’d planned. He was no longer standing beside Mark, but she wasn’t sure where he was. Scanning the room, she spied him ambling towards her from the direction of the bar.
Satisfied that Angel was following her, Cordelia pushed through the door. Almost immediately after she entered the darkened hallway, a steely arm wrapped around her middle and a sweet-smelling cloth covered her mouth. Just before she succumbed to the darkness, she heard Angel’s angry growl and the thud of a fist connecting with flesh.
Part 2
Angel’s anger nearly consumed him. Seeing some overly-muscled creep with his arms around Cordelia had unhinged him, loosing his demon and making it difficult to spare the life of this worthless man. Angel’s fists connected repeatedly with the attacker’s face and body, denting his ugly features and reducing him to a whimpering, bloody mess. Hearing Cordy’s groan and seeing her sitting up was the only thing that kept Angel from snuffing her attacker’s life.
Cordelia slowly placed her hand on her forehead, her thoughts fuzzy. When her vision cleared, Cordy took in the pulverized features of her assailant who was now spread-eagled on the dingy hallway floor. She glared at Angel, sending him her patented Geez, you’re a moron! expression.
“Angel!” Cordelia hissed. “The guy’s unconscious. If we wanted any information, we won’t get any from him now.” She grabbed the hand that Angel offered and struggled to her feet as gracefully as a micro-mini and five-inch heels would allow.
Angel’s dispassionate features showed no remorse for his treatment of the thug. In his opinion, the guy was fair game; Cordelia wasn’t to be touched by anyone except him. Well, maybe Wesley, but even Wesley would be walking on thin ice if he touched Cordelia with intentions beyond friendship. It belatedly occurred to Angel that his thoughts didn’t exactly sound boss-like. More in the neighborhood of stalker-like. He shrugged off the uncomfortable thoughts and concentrated on his woozy seer.
“He wasn’t our guy,” Angel explained simply. “Not a demon.” He placed Cordy’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her out of the hallway and back onto the main floor of the club.
“So!” Cordy argued in a whisper, her exasperation clearly evident. “Maybe he’s got brainless human henchmen working for him.” She didn’t want tonight’s trauma to be for nothing.
“I saw the last abduction, remember?” Angel reminded her. “There’s an MO here. Tranq dart, then abduction by brainless demon henchmen.” Angel guided her back to the group of Jeremy’s friends.
Cordy muttered, “Figures. First time I go incognito and I attract some dim-witted, beefy Jethro trying to cop a feel.” She plastered her famous 1000-watt smile firmly in place once more. “Remind me why I agreed to this again?”
“I think it was ‘helping the hopeless,’ as you like to put it,” Angel reminded her.
“Uh-huh,” Cordy returned grudgingly through clenched teeth and sighed. “I did sign up for this, didn’t I?” Giving in to the inevitable, Cordy realized she needed some alcoholic sustenance to continue with the charade. “Get me a drink, would you, Angel?” She asked. “Something fruity.”
He smiled briefly and released her arm. With a last look that said “behave yourself,” Angel turned and threaded his way through the crowd toward the bar.
The alcohol had definitely been flowing freely during Cordelia’s brief foray into the dangers of the club’s bathroom hallway. The wives, Cynthia and Jennifer, were waving wine glasses as they gossiped. It was their third round, if the empty glasses on the table were any indication. Jennifer’s speech flowed nearly uninterrupted as she scathingly dismantled every other woman in the room, from hairstyle to footwear, all comments and haughty looks poorly concealed behind her diamond-encrusted hand. Cynthia giggled frequently at Jennifer’s comments, a laugh that grated on Cordelia’s nerves. It was a high-pitched titter that Cordelia supposed was intended to sound like tinkling glass, but actually sounded more like a baby hyena with it’s tail smashed in a car door.
Jennifer momentarily paused in her catty attack on L.A.’s society when she saw Cordelia standing alone. “Where’d that scrumptious husband of yours take off to, hon?” Jennifer asked. “You shouldn’t let that one out of your sight for long,” she warned, the sticky sweetness of her phony smile not reaching her blue eyes. “He’s a prime target.”
Any answer Cordy would have given was preempted by the advances of Mark, Jeremy’s libidinous friend. A smile, undoubtedly meant to be sexy, became a drunken leer as he perused Cordelia’s features. He sauntered over, taking advantage of Cordelia’s lack of companionship to make his move. Cordy braced herself for the onslaught of sleeze.
“Cordelia,” Mark propositioned, “Is your father in prison?” A sly, toothy grin stretched across his face.
Cordy struggled to keep from rolling her eyes as she played along. Ironic that he would use that pick-up line, she thought wryly as she recalled her father’s felonious activities. “No, why?” She asked innocently.
“Well, he should be. He stole the stars from the heavens to put into your eyes.” Mark smirked, proud of himself for getting the lame line right.
“Ha, Ha! You’re so funny, Mark!” Cordelia said with false brightness, her headache intensifying as the cheesiness increased. She was infinitely relieved when she saw Angel returning to her from the bar, a pink drink in one hand, a scotch on the rocks in the other.
Handing her the pink beverage, Angel snaked his arm around her waist and brought her hips in line with his. She shivered as his hand caressed her hip, Mark’s lame come-on forgotten, Angel’s cool fingers brushing the bare skin between the silk scrap of her top and the cloth of her skirt. Her eyes slid shut at the narcotic-like bliss his touch inspired. Get a grip, Cordy! she berated herself. The last thing she wanted was a replay of the earlier inner gooiness at the feel of Angel’s hard body next to hers. He lowered his lips to her ear, looking to the casual observer as if he were murmuring passionate phrases to his lover. Cordelia was chagrined at the disappointment that surged through her when the words from Angel’s mouth were far from lover-like.
“We’re not getting anything useful here tonight,” Angel whispered. “Let’s make our excuses and leave. We can rethink this tomorrow and try again.” His lips brushed the sensitive skin under her ear, undoubtedly for the visual effect, but the physical effect was powerful.
Mark was obviously put-out that his conquest of Cordelia had been thwarted. He glared at Angel and sipped his martini. Cordelia met his eyes and shivered at the ruthlessness she saw. He quickly shuttered his gaze, and Cordelia was left to wonder if she’d just imagined it.
Cordy turned to Jennifer and Cynthia. “Thanks for a fun evening, girls,” she said insincerely, but attempting politeness. No one was going to say that Cordelia Chase was ill-mannered.
“Of course!” Jennifer returned, her own insincerity dripping from the words. “We must do this again soon.” Her statement was followed by Cynthia’s hyena giggle.
Angel grabbed Cordelia’s hand and they hastily exited the club. Once on the street, Angel didn’t release Cordy’s hand and she didn’t try to take it back. It felt right, somehow. Neither of them dwelt on the thought, but the feel of her warm hand encased in his was pleasant, and Angel wasn’t about to give that up.
***
Cordelia lay on her bed, counting the ceiling tiles and contemplating the state of her emotions. Angel was ensconced in the living room, asleep on the couch as he had been every night for the past month since his apartment was bombed, but Cordelia had never been more aware of his presence than she was tonight. Unbidden, the feelings his touch had unexpectedly created kept replaying in her head. Every time she thought about how it felt to be held by him, the slow fire in the pit of her stomach grew hotter. She turned over restlessly, ruthlessly pummeling her pillow and finally burying her face in it. He’s your boss, Cordelia! she lectured herself sternly. No “salty goodness” vibes there, okay? You have to work with him. Workplace romances are in poor taste. You see him every day, he lives in your apartment, he sleeps under your blankets, he showers in your bathroom, rubs your towels over his . . . Oh, make it stop! Just stop thinking! She tossed again, flinging her blankets off her heated flesh. I’ve just been without sex for too long. Yeah, that’s it. Not since that creep Wilson. He made me swear off men, and now I’m all torqued up. Nothing else! Cordelia continued her attempt to convince herself. It can’t be Angel. He’s a vampire, for Pete’s sake! Okay, so he’s a totally hot, hard-stomached, broad shouldered, full-lipped, smoldering-eyed, strong-armed hottie, but . . . Oh, this is NOT helping!! Cordy rolled over, mutilating her pillow once again in frustration. Damn pillow’s even out to get me! she groused, sending the offending object sailing towards the door.
In the living room, Angel heard the soft muffle of the pillow as it connected with the other side of the closed door. He could sense Cordelia’s unsettled state, and his own mind was in total sympathy. He had played his role of doting husband to the hilt tonight, and he was surprised at how much it had affected him. Cordelia was a beautiful woman; he’d known that since Sunnydale when he’d found her hiding in a dumpster full of severed body parts. But before tonight, he’d never considered her to be his beautiful woman.
Sure, he was territorial where she was concerned, but he’d considered that to be a result of her status as his friend and seer, not anything more. Now he wasn’t so sure. She’d dressed to kill, as she always did, but he hadn’t ever noticed just how soft her skin was, how good her hair smelled, or how perfect she fit in his embrace. He hadn’t felt anything this right since Buffy, and even that hadn’t been so fantastic at the end of his tenure in Sunnydale. In short, Cordelia’s presence was messing with his mind and heating him up faster than he’d thought possible.
There was another, more easily admitted reason for his overacting tonight: getting Cordelia worked up was a kind of fun that Angel didn’t have very often. The demon in him liked the emotional torture, and while Angelus would have ended the manipulation with pain and death, Angel was heading down a more dangerous road: falling in love. He’d intended to fluster Cordy and give himself the satisfaction of gloating in the power he’d realized he had over her, but he hadn’t intended to be affected himself. He was dangerously close to losing his heart to his beautiful seer, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Angel sighed and sat up, running his fingers through the short spikes of his hair. He knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, so he might as well be awake. He walked into the kitchen, pausing at a cabinet and removing a mug.
In her room, Cordelia sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the mirror on her wall. Her haggard appearance, highlighted by the dim light, only served to more firmly cement her bad mood. She stood up abruptly, flung open the door, and marched into the kitchen. She flung open the door to the refrigerator, only to have Angel’s hand brush hers as she reached for the milk and he for the container of blood. The sparks that flew between them as their skin brushed could have lit up the room. Their eyes whipped towards each other, and Cordelia’s heart stopped as she bathed in the heated intensity of Angel’s gaze.
“Cordelia,” his deep voice broke the silence. “We have to talk.”
Part 3
Cordelia’s breathing became shallow as she stared into the velvet darkness of Angel’s eyes and processed what he’d just said. Talk. Pfft. Yeah. I can’t think with him this close, and he wants me to talk? she thought frantically.
“Cordelia--,” Angel began, trying to frame his words appropriately. One verbal misstep with her and he’d be crucified. Or staked. Either one involved wood, which was not a pleasant prospect.
Angel wanted to apologize for his lascivious behavior earlier, even if it was for the sake of pretense, but he wasn’t quite sure how to say it. He knew that she had been affected by him; her heart rate had increased and her body temperature had skyrocketed. The scent of her desire had been like a drug to him; the warm vapor of it wafting like steam through his nostrils and infecting his blood with her own unique essence. The power of that scent had driven him to increase his loving caresses. Cordelia’s obvious distraction and inability to maintain coherent thought at his touch only fueled his demon’s hunger for conquest.
Justifying his actions had been deceptively easy: he told himself that it was only acting, nothing more. His demon could get his rocks off and no one would be the wiser. The problem was that he’d fallen so deep into the character of himself as Cordelia’s husband that he’d pushed her too far. When she’d escaped him to lure the bad guys into kidnapping her, his head had cleared, and the remorse he felt at his behavior squelched any satisfaction that his demon might have savored.
He shifted uncomfortably every time he thought about what Cordelia must be thinking. Angel could only imagine the confusion she must be feeling at having her boss and friend make a pass at her. She still thought he was in love with Buffy. Hell, he thought he was still in love with Buffy. At least until tonight.
These thoughts raced through his head in less than two seconds, and he realized that rehearsal was not an option at this point. Might as well jump right in.
“Cordelia, I’m—“
“Couldn’t sleep, either, Angel?” Cordelia said with forced cheerfulness, effectively cutting off his good intentions.
“Um, no, I wanted—“ Angel tried again, momentarily flustered at her interruption.
“Blood? Of course you do. You didn’t get to eat all night.” Cordelia grabbed the container Angel had been reaching for out of the fridge and closed the door forcefully, nearly catching Angel’s hand in the process. He jerked it out of the way, thankful for vampire reflexes, and moved back as Cordelia shoved past him.
Opening the spice cabinet, Cordelia perused the contents as if she were trying to decide which pair of shoes would match her latest outfit purchase. In other words, as if the fate of the world rested on her decision.
“Nutmeg?” She queried, turning to look at Angel in the half-light, squinting as she took in his confused expression. “No, I don’t think so. Nutmeg is kind of Thanksgiving-ish, and it’s June, so—“
“Cordelia,” Angel tried again, “I think we need to—“
“Ahh! Chili powder!” She held up the small bottle triumphantly. “That’s what you need! Spiciness is always good, don’t you think?” She smiled brilliantly at him, then turned toward the mug he’d retrieved from the cabinet earlier.
The combined impact of Cordelia’s smile and the horror of blood tainted with chili powder momentarily distracted Angel from his mission. “You are NOT putting chili powder in my blood,” he warned. “If you must put something in it, put cinnamon; at least I’m used to that.”
“Pfft.” Cordelia huffed, rolling her eyes. “Adventure is the name of the game, Angel. You really need to try new things once in awhile. Take a walk on the wild side.”
Leave it to Cordelia to think that fighting demons and occasionally saving the world weren’t exotic enough.
Trying to get back on track with the apology, Angel began: “I want to apolo—“
“I mean, really, Angel. Fighting demons and occasionally saving the world isn’t exactly exotic for you.” She noisily stirred the cinnamon into the mug of blood. “Now going on vacation, THAT would be a change. Someplace tropical. Put this in the fridge for me, would you?” Cordy shoved the container of blood into Angel’s hand and turned to push the buttons on the microwave. “I mean, it’s not like you could get a tan or anything, but I could have some fun and you would at least have a change of scenery. Meet new people. You know, broaden your horizons a little.”
“Cordy—“ Angel set the container on the counter, fridge forgotten.
“You’re so broody all the time; if you would just loosen up a little, you could have so much more fun. Now take Wesley. He’s changed, loosened up. Not so much the stuffed shirt anymore, you know?”
“Cordelia—" The warning in Angel’s voice was clearly evident. He took a step towards her, but she ignored it.
Cordelia continued as if he’d been silent. “You should talk to him, find out what helped him. Maybe he could give you some point—mmph." Her seemingly endless babble was silenced by Angel’s mouth on hers.
Angel had been staring at her, tuning out her chatter, when it abruptly occurred to him that there was only one good way to shut her up. Not that he minded.
His lips rested firmly on hers, kissing her gently but insistently. Cordelia froze, her eyes sliding shut as the heat that had been collecting in her body since earlier that night rushed to the forefront and scorched her. At her hesitance, Angel gently flicked his tongue against her closed lips, and she squeaked in surprise.
Cordelia’s head was spinning. She’d seen the guilt in his eyes when they’d stared at each other over the open refrigerator door, and it terrified her. The last thing she wanted was for him to apologize for kissing her. Seeking an escape that didn’t require a total retreat, she’d taken the first excuse she thought of and tried to wing it. Obviously, it didn’t work.
As Angel’s tongue touched her lips, she realized that he was kissing her, really kissing her, and there wasn’t anyone watching. The knowledge that he actually wanted to kiss her was enough to elicit Cordelia’s complete cooperation in the matter. She flung her arms around his neck and opened herself to his kiss.
Angel intensified the contact, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and briefly touching hers. The feel of her hot mouth was like the first sip of a cappuccino; scorching, but intense, heady flavor. His arms wrapped around her back, one hand caressing her shoulder blades, the other toying with the place where her pajama pants met her tank top. He grasped her tightly, bring her hips against his, aligning their shadows into one.
Caught up in the storm of Angel’s kiss, Cordelia was frantically trying to keep up. She stroked the back of his neck, her hands in his hair, and savored the feel of his lips on hers. Had she been able to form a coherent thought, she might have wondered at the irony of the heat that such cool lips were able to ignite.
Suddenly, the intensity was too much.
Cordelia’s choppy breathing sliced the silence as she pushed back from Angel’s chest and fought for control of her thoughts. Angel let her go, any remorse for his actions at the club totally eclipsed by this behavior; he now felt a hundred times guiltier.
I can’t believe he kissed me. Cordelia’s mind raced frantically. Her eyes widened as she realized that his expression was now several degrees guiltier than it had been earlier. Oh, god! He didn’t want to kiss me? What the hell is he doing? Why would he kiss me like that if he doesn’t want me? Cordy reasoned. But if he doesn’t, I’ll just die if I say something and he shrugs it off or apologizes.
You have got to apologize for this. Angel berated himself. You’re her boss! She must be so confused. But, oh, god, her mouth. . .
He’s my boss! What am I thinking??? Starting something with Angel would be a disaster. He’s in love with Buffy, damn it! He doesn’t want me. Not really. Being rejected by Xander Harris was bad enough. Angel’s rejection would be ten times worse. . .I can’t take this. I’m not going to think about it anymore. Just shrug it off, and stop, Chase!!
“Well, that was good rehearsal for tomorrow night, Boss,” Cordelia commented, trying to reestablish the boundaries of their relationship. “Maybe we should rehearse how you’ll react if someone hits on me again.” As soon as she said it, Cordelia inwardly cringed. He never responded well when she criticized his protective nature.
“He wasn’t hitting on you, he was molesting you, Cordelia,” Angel argued, his eyes narrowing, apology now firmly on the back burner. He could still feel the intense passion of a few minutes ago, but it was quickly fading in favor of anger at Cordelia’s reckless words. “I was rescuing you.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t need rescuing,” Cordelia shot back, digging the hole deeper. She regretted having started this, but her embarrassment at being so helpless was fueling her irritation. “I was just fine, I could handle it.”
“Sure,” Angel said patronizingly. “You were heading straight for unconsciousness. Although you looked pretty confident when you were handling Mark.” He knew he sounded like a jealous lover, but Mark’s advances had tweaked him and since he wasn’t here to pulverize, he unfairly took it out on Cordelia.
“I wasn’t handling anything of Mark’s. He’s a creep! How could you think I would even do that?” She exclaimed, hurt by his insinuation. “It’s not like I asked him to tell me that lame ass come-on line.”
“Uh-huh,” Angel’s tone said exactly the opposite. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, his expression closed.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Cordelia asked, her voice rising in anger. “Are you suggesting that I asked to be attacked?”
“Well, it’s not like you dress demurely, Cordelia.” Even as the words left his mouth, Angel knew he’d just blown it. Big time.
“I will dress any way I damn well please, you undead jerk, and I will not apologize for it.” Her chin raised in defiance, any holes in her heart opened by Angel’s kiss now firmly closed again.
Angel opened his mouth to attempt apology one last time, but once again, his attempt was cut short.
“Don’t! Just stop. I think enough has been said already.” She glared at him one last time, a look that burned him to his toes, then swung around and marched to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Great. Angel thought, rubbing his hand over his tired features and sighing. Just great.
So much for apologies.
Part 4
Cordelia’s night had not been pleasant. She frowned as she looked at her tired expression in the bathroom mirror and discovered that even make-up wasn’t going to hide everything today. Muttering, she cursed Angel’s roller coastery behavior and shuffled around the bathroom, trying to look presentable before Wesley showed up. She hadn’t ventured out of her room or the bathroom yet this morning. Let Angel stew in his own juices for awhile. He deserved the silent treatment; hell, he deserved a good deal more than that.
Choosing an outfit only made Cordelia more bitter. She’d pulled out a pair of her favorite comfy jeans, the ones that fit her like a second skin and were worn and soft in all the right places. She’d also selected a silk tank top with beading and ribbon shoulder straps, but after she put everything on and looked in the mirror, Angel’s “demure” comment came rushing back and her blood boiled. She knew she looked sexy as hell, and the last thing she wanted was to be demure. Willow was demure back in high school and look where it got her: weird friends and social leprosy. She took one last look at her reflection, and mumbled, “Demure, my ass,” then turned around and headed for the door, her head held high.
In the living room, Angel was folding his blankets and tidying up the couch. He heard Cordelia enter the room behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure he could face her wrath this morning. Maybe it was better to wait until Wesley got there to act as a buffer between them.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on Cordelia’s front door. Dennis, ever the gentleman, opened the door to admit a fresh-faced Wesley. He was the picture of efficiency: carefully pressed khaki trousers, a blue button down shirt open at the collar, and sparkling glasses. His arms were laden with research material and a box of donuts from the shop around the corner from Cordy’s apartment.
“Good morning, Angel,” he greeted. “How did it go last night?” He deposited the books and papers on the dining room table and carried the donuts to the kitchen. He encountered a grouchy Cordelia at the coffee maker.
“Hi, Wesley,” Cordelia said emotionlessly, not even looking up at him.
Wesley raised his eyebrows in question, finally realizing that Angel hadn’t answered his question. He turned back toward his boss in the living room.
“Angel? I asked what happened last night,” he repeated.
“I heard you the first time, Wes,” Angel stated. “Nothing happened. It didn’t work. Someone else took a shine to Cordelia and I had to take care of him.”
Cordelia coughed behind her fist, a sound that suspiciously resembled “bullshit” in the midst of all the hmmffing and clearing her throat.
Wesley gave her a stern look. Cordelia ignored him.
“I gather that you two had a falling out of some sort,” Wesley postured, sounding very British.
“Well, let’s give a medal to Captain Obvious over here,” Cordelia snarked under her breath.
Angel cleared his throat, knowing that an explanation would not be easy. “We both said some things that we shouldn’t have.” Understatement was always a good thing, wasn’t it?
Cordelia raised an eyebrow haughtily, still refusing to look at him. “Maybe you did,” she stated.
“Well,” Wesley stated, following the tense silence at Cordelia’s comment. “Whatever happened, you two need to put it aside. We have a job to do here, and you’re in the middle of it, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Did you forget who’s boss here, Wes?” Angel snapped, feeling a need to gain some control of the situation.
At Wesley’s obviously hurt look, Angel sighed. “Sorry, Wes. You’re right. We do have a job to do and we shouldn’t let emotions get in the way.”
Still not in the mood to play nice, Cordelia couldn’t resist adding bitterly, “You could’ve thought of that last night.”
“Cordelia, how many times can I say I’m sorry?” Angel asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
“Maybe if you’d try it at least once then we’d get somewhere,” she said bitterly, remembering that he’d never apologized for anything yet. Not that she’d wanted him to. About the kissing, anyway.
After a moment of confusion, Angel understood what she meant. He’d tried to apologize about 10 times last night, but none had ever actually been verbalized. “I’m sorry for what I said, Cordy,” he said softly, his tone begging her to look at him.
She finally swung her hazel gaze to his brown one, but her expression was still stony. The look they exchanged was a conversation in and of itself.
“Forgive me?”
“I will play the good girl because I have to, but I will NOT forgive you yet. I’m not ready.”
Relief flooded through Angel at the beginnings of a truce between himself and his seer. He smiled inwardly as he realized that he’d get to touch her all night, and that would make up for a lot.
Wesley, ever the realist, moved to the table. “So, now that that’s taken care of. . .Let’s get to work.”
***
Expecting a replay of the previous night’s groping, Angel was in for some bitter disappointment. He and Cordelia walked into the club and she took off toward Jeremy’s friends without waiting to see if he was following. When they got there, she grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter and joined Cynthia and Jennifer, her back to him. Every so often, she’d glance over at him and blast him with an icy glare, then swing her head away haughtily. Since she hadn’t spoken to him since that morning, he wasn’t certain if she was playacting or if she was really still that angry. He suspected that it was a little of both.
Angel turned his attention to Mark and Jeremy’s other friend, Kenny. Kenny was married to Cynthia, the one with the weird laugh, and he seemed to be totally enamored of her. While Mark was a womanizing snake, Kenny seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. Kind of chatty, but nice, nonetheless. He immediately engaged Angel in a conversation about the late 1960’s Corvette he was restoring, and Angel began to relax a little.
From her vantage point a few feet away, Cordelia could see some of the tension seep out of Angel’s shoulders as he talked with Kenny. Mark had been distracted by a floozy waitress, and Cordelia was glad that she wouldn’t have to suffer his sleazy attention tonight. The last thing they needed was another scene.
“Looks like the honeymoon’s over at your house, hon.” Jennifer’s catty comment interrupted Cordelia’s thoughts and she tore her glare away from Angel long enough to give her best Queen C haughtiness to the nosy socialite.
“Oh, he’s just being a jerk lately. Overprotective.” She sipped her wine as she thought about how far she should take this. Hell, might as well get some good acting practice in.
Her proud gaze softened, tears forming in her eyes as she entreated Jennifer to understand. “I just love him so much, you know?” Cordelia sniffled. Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. “I try to look my best for him, and he criticizes me! He thinks I want other men to hit on me.” One hand covered her now trembling mouth, the other, holding the wineglass, hovered over her neckline as if she were worried about her outfit’s appropriateness.
Amazed, Cordelia saw Jennifer’s expression transform. Some of the cattiness disappeared and sympathy replaced it. Realizing she was in the presence of a scorned woman, Cordelia knew she’d played her part right. Last night’s flaunting of her “happy” marriage must have intensified Jennifer’s bitterness at her own failed marriage. Her husband was picking up other women in her very presence, and that must hurt, even if he wasn’t very good at it.
“The nerve!” Jennifer commiserated, patting Cordelia on the shoulder. “Men can be so insensitive. I mean, do they realize what lengths we go to for them?” She shook her head, glaring over at Angel. She stopped abruptly, turned to Cordelia and looked her up and down. “You look fantastic, girl. Don’t ever let that man stifle you. You should be displayed as the beautiful queen you are, not hidden like a mousy housewife.”
“I know,” Cordelia straightened, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Damn, I’m good! she thought with satisfaction. “It’s just that I want him to be happy,” her voice was wistful, just the right mixture of pain and longing.
“Of course you do, dear,” Jennifer reassured, squeezing her arm. “I think you need a margarita to cheer you up.” She flagged down the waiter passing their table again. Cordelia fleetingly thought about how easy it was to get alcohol even though she was underage. Something should be done about that.
As Jennifer ordered her drink, Cordelia’s eyes drifted over to Angel. He was still fully engrossed in his conversation with Kenny, and since Cordelia knew it couldn’t be about demon hunting, it had to be about vintage cars. She smiled as she thought about his limited list of viable conversation topics. Her gaze wandered down to his hand, which was firmly grasping his drink. His strong fingers wrapped around the glass, the blunt thumb rubbing the condensation gently, back and forth, hypnotizing in its rhythm. Her mouth went dry as she watched the absent stroking. She was instantly transported back to last night, when that same thumb had grazed her lower back, brushing her tattoo and playing with the hem of her pajama top as his mouth had hungrily devoured hers. The memories were scorching in their force.
“Isn’t it hot in here?” She asked huskily to no one in particular.
“Here you go, hon,” Jennifer shoved the margarita glass into Cordelia’s empty hand, removing the wine from the other. Cordy automatically took a sip, grimacing at the amount of alcohol. Having been distracted from Angel’s hands to her drink, her eyes searched him out again. This time she met his gaze. His eyes darkened when he took in her flushed face and open mouth, but he wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked. Cordelia’s eyes widened when she saw him jerk his head, as if to signal her that they should leave. She had stomach-churning thoughts about finishing what they’d started last night, but those flames were doused the minute she figured out that he’d motioned in the direction of the bathroom, not the exit.
She sighed at the inevitable call of duty. Using their prearranged signal, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder and set down her drink. “Excuse me for a minute, Jen,” she said to her companion. “I need to freshen up.”
“Of course,” Jennifer returned absently, her eyes narrowing as she took in her husband’s antics with the forward waitress.
Angel excused himself from his conversation with Kenny when he saw Cordelia take the hint and saunter off to the back of the club. He followed her surreptitiously, determined to avoid a fiasco like last night. He frowned, also determined to avoid the force drawing his eyes to the sway of her graceful hips as she walked.
Cordelia’s heart pounded as she pushed open the entrance to the hallway. Last night’s events played over in her head, causing her to hesitate briefly, but she pushed on.
Angel trailed close behind, blending into the shadowy corners of the dimly lit hallway. He could hear her heartbeat in the stillness, assuring him that she was all right. He watched as she disappeared into the ladies’ room, stifling the urge to run in and grab her, take her home, and make her his, all under the guise of “It’s too dangerous; I need to protect her.” The only thing holding him back was the realization that there was probably no other way to successfully solve this case. That, and he knew that Cordelia would have no qualms about kicking his ass if he ruined things again tonight.
Cordelia stood at the counter in the bathroom, gazing at her reflection in an attempt to regain her composure and berating herself for being such a coward. She was scared. She could admit that. The part she couldn’t admit was the abduction wasn’t the only thing that was scaring her. Think about it later, Chase. She admonished herself. You have work to do. After a convincing amount of time had passed, she exited the bathroom.
Before the door even closed behind her, she heard a small pop and felt something sharp sting her neck. Her hand automatically going to the source of the pain, she removed a small dart from her skin.
Had consciousness remained for a little longer, she would have sworn she heard a low growl from behind her. As it was, the last thought she had before the fuzziness turned black was that Angel had better behave himself this time because she was NOT going to go through this again.
***
Cordelia woke abruptly, no fuzziness at all. She opened her eyes, sat up, and shreiked at the sight before her.
"Oh.MY.GOD!!" she exclaimed in shock. "What the hell are YOU doing here?!?!?"
The familiar brown eyes of Alexander Lavelle Harris looked back into Cordelia’s as her mouth hung open in amazement.
Part 5 |